Chapter 10

There it was. I had popped the question. Sort of. It had not been planned. It's not like I got up that morning and thought, "I'm going to ask Valerie to marry me today. How should I go about that?"

She hopped off the machine, gracefully. Her breasts bounced as she landed on the balls of her feet. There was no trace of submission as she stalked up to me. There was defiance on her face.

"First you fold me in half, making me helpless. Then you tell me you're going to get me pregnant. Now you say I have to marry you. Don't I get some say in the matter?"

"Of course you do," I said, remembering her fingernails pressing deep into my ass cheeks as I seeded her. I'd also asked. Granted, there really wasn't much she could do about it short of violence to dislodge me, but she did have that option.

"Please," I begged. "Marry me. I can't live without you."

"Because I show you my boobs, occasionally?" She cupped and lifted them.

"Put your shirt back on and I'll ask you again," I said.

"What if I don't want to marry you?" she asked, jutting her chin out.

"Then I'll be devastated. I'll be crushed. I'll waste away and become a feeble old man."

"Your brain is already feeble," she growled.

"No it's not. I'm sharp as a tack. I know what I'm doing. I know I can't be happy without you in my life."

"I can be in your life without marrying you," she said.

"Yes, but it won't be the same. I want you to have my babies. I've never had a family, but I want one now. Please!"

"Babies? Now it's more than one? You want me to blow up like a whale and be fat and ugly?"

"You could never be ugly," I said. "Even if you tried. When you had all that green paint on your face, and those black lines to make you look fierce, you still looked gorgeous."

She stepped back.

"You mean when you scared us half to death so you could lure us into your lair and masturbate while you had fantasies about fucking me?"

"Come on," I groaned. "It wasn't like that. I didn't lure you anywhere."

"But you did lie there on that couch and jerk off while you thought about me," she insisted.

"Yes. I admit it. But I'm normal. I mean ... look at you! Trust me, I'm not the first man to see you and remember you later."

"Remember me later," she said, in a sing song voice. "What a pretty euphemism for imagining that they're on top of me, and I'm helpless to resist them fucking me until they spurt."

"Valerie," I said. "It's a simple question. Will you marry me or not? And just in case you're worried, your answer will have no bearing on your continued welcome in this house until Dean gets your house rebuilt."

She stepped up to me as that hard look melted off her face. She reached for my hands.

"Of course I'll marry you, silly."

I know my face must have looked shocked, because she added, "Really. I already called Dean this morning and told him to hold off on things for a few days."

"What? Why did you do that?" I asked.

"Because the floor plan I discussed with Dean isn't the right floor plan for a family of five," she said.

"You knew I was going to ask you to marry me?"

"No, but I knew we were going to be together for the foreseeable future. I hoped you'd ask me to marry you."

"Then what was all that, just a minute ago?" I asked, outraged.

"I had to make sure you were serious," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "It didn't exactly come out in a very romantic way."

"I didn't actually mean to say it," I said. Then my mouth slammed closed as I realized I might just have screwed the pooch.

"Then why did you?" was all she said.

I thought about it. I picked up my shirt and handed it to her.

"Please put this on. I can't think when you look like that."

She lifted her hands and let the cloth fall down to her shoulders. It got caught there because of her hair. She turned, an unspoken request for me to help her with her tresses. I did, pulling it up in fistfuls through the neck of the shirt. When she turned around, her breasts were covered, but her nipples made two distinct points in the dry part of the cloth on either side of a long, narrow line left by the absorption of her sweat.

"Is that better?" she asked.

"No, I still can't think," I said.

"I can put on more clothes," she suggested.

"You could be wearing a burka and, if I knew it was you, I wouldn't be able to think."

"You're sweet."

"No I'm not. I'm in love," I said. "And I'm not used to being in that condition, so give me a minute."

"I don't think I have to," she said, softly. "I think you just answered my question."

"I did?"

"You said you love me."

"I've said that before."

"Yes, once," she said. "Right after you found out I wasn't on the pill, and that you might just have gotten me pregnant."

"Okay," I said.

"My mother told me something that's always stuck in my mind," said Valerie. "She said that if a man tells you he loves you while he's in bed with you, it's really his balls talking, and not to take it seriously."

"But I meant it," I argued.

"How do you know? You admitted you've never really been in love before. So how do you know?"

"Do you love me?" I asked.

She blinked, but then nodded.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"I just do," she said, shrugging.

"Then we understand each other perfectly," I said.

"Bob, sweetie, I'd be happy as a lark living with you, and having your babies under any circumstances. You don't have to marry me."

"But I want to marry you!" I shouted.

She smiled.

"That's why I said yes."

Celebrating after a proposal of marriage is accepted is quite natural. I don't know how most people celebrate, but the first thing we did was have hot, sweaty sex.

Valerie had the jump on me, because she was already sweaty. She wanted to take a shower, in fact, before she let me drag her into bed. But I was having none of that. It wasn't until I started licking the salt off her body that she actually accepted the idea that hot, sweaty sex may not be as icky as she had first thought it would be.

And then I worked up a sweat, making sure she had at least two orgasms before I sank into her and whispered in her ear, "I'm making a baby in my wife."

Her "Hmmmmmmmmm," of acceptance made my balls ache as I powered her full of my sperm.

Then we took a shower, during which I couldn't keep my hands off of her. She was satisfied, though, so all I did was have fun as my hands slid all over her body. At one point, when my middle finger slid between her buns, and my fingertip found her tight sphincter, I pushed, ever so gently, and tickled her rose bud.

"Why does that feel so good?" she said into my chest. "That's supposed to be nasty."

"Nothing about you is nasty," I said.

"I never thought about that part of my body as sexual," she said.

"Want to see what the fuss is all about?" I asked, pressing harder.

She went up on tiptoes as I overcame the strength of her closure and got just my soapy fingertip inside her. She danced on toes, squealing, but finally settled down.

"That's so weird! It's so nasty! Why does it feel good?"

"I don't know. The only experience I have with that is when the doctor checks my prostate."

"Does that feel good?"

"It can. It's kind of weird."

"You're telling me. Take it out now, please."

I did, and she settled flat on her feet.

"Bend over," she ordered.

"Why?"

"You did it to me, and now I'm going to do it to you."

"You're kidding."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" She gave me the finger.

I bent over, tensing up.

"Only your fingertip," I warned.

"This is so nasty!" she said, as her hand slid over my butt. Very carefully, she slipped the tip of her finger through my sphincter. She pulled it out immediately and held her hand up to examine the finger that had penetrated me.

"I don't see anything," she said, letting water cascade over her hand.

I held my finger up.