Chapter 1

Donna Wants a Baby

LET ME START by saying this is my first story here and I’m sure it won’t be a best seller. It’s a short story, so I’m not going to turn on voting. But you can comment all you want! I’d love it.

I’m J-Hop. Yeah, that’s short for Jacob Hopkins. You might know me from aroslav’s massive series “The Transmogrification of Jacob Hopkins.” Double Take just won a Clitorides Award for Best Erotic Do-Over 2019. If you’ve read that, you know that I’m a classical guitarist and half of the duo Marvel and Hopkins. You also know I have eleven wonderful pod mates and I love every one of those beautiful women. And I’m an aspiring sci fi and fantasy writer. That was my second career choice and I’m still doing it. I’ve just never posted anything.

But about the time I entered National Service, my mates—not all of them, but more than two—started talking about babies! And when I completed my two years, Donna started making that suggestion pretty specific.

I’m in favor. But I don’t want to just start rutting and dump a come-load in her and say ‘That’s it!’ I want to make the whole thing special.

Well, Donna used to be my high school English teacher and she coached me through a lot of my writing—even my erotica—and got kind of turned on by it. In fact, Donna gets really turned on by words, so I decided to write a special little story for her to get her in the mood to get pregnant!

Here it is.

Hot, Strong, and Black, Like God Made It

I WAS IN MY SIXTH YEAR as a long-haul trucker. I’d started as soon as I could get a license and mostly, I liked it. It could get a little lonely, though. I’d never managed to hold a relationship together. My girlfriends thought riding cross-country with me was boring and weren’t interested in waiting at home while I was gone every week. I sure could pick them.

I’m not particularly proud of it, but I admit I occasionally stopped at a strip club, just to see if I remembered what a boob looked like. I never bought time with a hooker, though there were always a few hanging around the big truck stops. I did come in my pants during a lap dance once, though.

Anyway, I had a week off while my rig was in the shop and had nothing to do but feel sorry for myself. Which is why I ended up at ‘Bikini Baristas,’ an espresso drive through in the unincorporated part of the county but still on a main commuter route. I figured, why not?

That’s where I met Judy.

Okay. Her name was definitely not the first thing I noticed. First was her butt. She wore a one-piece, not a bikini. And it was pretty much transparent. I guess the law just says the tits and pussy have to be covered, not that they have to be hidden. But the back of that outfit was just a string that ran between her butt-cheeks up to the straps over her shoulders. And what a butt!

I confess, I’m usually a face-first guy. If she’s got a nice face, then I’ll consider looking at anything else. The thing is, as soon as she took my order ($10 for a cup of coffee! But I wasn’t really paying for the coffee. The view was worth it.), she turned away from me to make my drink and I saw that impressive backside. She wasn’t a heavy girl, but her ass was generous. And I had an unobstructed view of it.

She had obviously done this a million times and knew exactly what her backside did to guys. She did little dance steps that made it jiggle in just the right way. I remember an author who described a woman in a dress who could walk so it looked like she had two cats fighting to get out of a bag under her skirt. I was seeing the cats. Wow!

She wasn’t in a hurry to finish my drink and turned back to me to make small talk. That’s when I noticed the top was transparent. Her breasts were beautifully shaped—not huge, but nice handfuls. She asked what I did and where I was headed. Then, with a dreamy look in her eyes as she shifted enough to keep my eyes on her nipples, which were punching the fabric out so I couldn’t miss them, and said, “That sounds so nice. I’d do about anything to get out of this little hut.”

Full stop. My brain whipped around so fast I was dizzy. Then she turned around and I saw that incredible butt again. Blood drained from my head and went south in a rush. I could just see myself waking up spooned behind this barista with my morning wood nestled between those cheeks. My mouth started writing checks I could only hope my body and bank could cash.

“Really? I’ve been looking for a sex slave,” I said. “Want to apply for the position?” The position was going to be on her hands and knees with my cock sawing in and out of that spectacular ass. She whipped around to look at me so fast she almost spilled the hot coffee. I thought she might just toss it at me.

“If the offer was good, I might consider it,” she said, handing me the cup. Oh. My. God! “I’d want to know I was getting a good master, you know?”

“Yeah. I can understand that. I wouldn’t want to buy a dud, either. We should get together and discuss the terms.” Where the fuck did I get the balls to say that? It was so out of character for me. Most of my previous girlfriends considered me a bit of a milquetoast.

“I get off at four. Traci takes over the stand for the after-work crowd.”

“Do you want me to pick you up or do you want to meet me somewhere? Remember, this could be the only time you get to make an independent decision.” I didn’t think her nipples could get any harder, but I swear that bulge in her top just popped!

“Oh, shit! You’re serious. I was just ... No, I wasn’t. I’m not making sense. I wasn’t teasing. I was ... hopeful. This is so unlike me. I never take chances. Um ... Pick me up. I want to know what it’s like to place myself in your hands. You really are serious, aren’t you?”

“It’s not exactly the kind of thing I do on a regular basis, either. But I’ve gotta say, you have the most spectacular, beautiful booty I’ve ever seen. I can’t help myself.”

“I have to serve the next customer. Um ... I’ll see you at four ... Master.”

Master! Fuck! I made a little kissy face that she mimicked and drove off.

I was glazed over. What had I done? I just picked up a date with a girl who was now showing her tits and ass to the next driver in line. Was I crazy? And, no. It wasn’t a date. It was an interview. I was going to interview a potential sex slave. The image of her ass just kept replaying in my head all morning. This needed careful planning.

I sipped my Americano thoughtfully as I pulled into the carwash. The coffee was pretty mediocre. But I figured I’d really gotten my ten bucks’ worth. Okay, I was washing the car and vacuuming it out. I needed to make a good but not extravagant impression. I went to my small apartment and made sure the dishes were washed and the bed linens were clean. I’d worry about laundry later. It wasn’t lying on the floor. I didn’t expect I’d bring her back here but I wasn’t ruling out the possibility. Oh, to wake up rubbing that butt!

Choosing a venue for our talk was even trickier. I wasn’t taking her to a fancy restaurant for dinner. I didn’t want either of us to get drunk and make stupid offers. Especially me. It needed to be public enough that she wasn’t afraid to be alone with me but private enough that we could talk without being overheard.

Hmm. Would she still be wearing that revealing outfit? Or lack of an outfit? I got to thinking about a wine tasting room I used to go to with an old flame. It was a nice place but not ostentatious. Drinking a glass or two of wine was a lot different than meeting at a bar and tossing back cocktails. If it went long enough, we could order a sandwich from a nearby restaurant and they’d deliver to the tasting room. That seemed like a good choice. If I picked her up at four, we’d get there by about twenty past. That was a good time as the after-work crowd wouldn’t have claimed the tables yet.

“You actually came!” Judy said as I opened the car door for her. Even a slave deserves common decency, I decided. “Traci tried to convince me no one would make a date like that and show up. She almost had me convinced but then I thought it wasn’t a date. It’s an interview, right? We’re seeing how things would work.” Smart girl. She had the same idea I did. She’d put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. We’d see how she really felt before I even pulled away from the java shop.

“Are you still wearing that little leotard you had on this morning?” I asked. She stopped midway with the seatbelt in hand.

“Yes. I just put my day clothes on over the top. I usually change out of my work clothes when I get home,” she said.

“Take your T-shirt off. I want to talk to the same girl I talked to this morning.” She stared at me open-mouthed.

“You mean to my tits?” The answer was a bit edgy, but she only hesitated a moment before she lifted the T-shirt over her head. Yeah. The tits were as nice as I remembered. The nipples were still tenting the transparent fabric.