Chapter 19 Knight #2
“Most of the other things I dreamed about doing we’ve already done.”
“We have?”
“Yes.”
“Like what?” she pushes, always wanting more.
“Tasting you, feeling you, sleeping inside of you. In the pool, the gym, the car.”
“That’s it?”
“What’s on your list?” I ask, turning her curiosity back on her.
“I want…” Pausing, she swallows quickly.
“Tell me,” I insist.
“I want what you threatened,” she finally blurts.
“What I threatened?” Thinking back, I try to remember what sexual act I mentioned that could be considered a threat. When I remember, another unexpected smile spreads across my lips. “You want me to take you over my knee and spank you?” I state.
“I-I-I…” she stutters.
“You liked it the last time I spanked you. I liked it too. But you need more, don’t you? You need to be put over my knee like a naughty little doll and spanked. I won’t hurt you. But I think we’d both find pleasure in me heating your skin until it’s red and hot to the touch.”
A small whine of need slips from her parted lips as she nods.
A fresh surge of her arousal, mixed with my cum, oozes from her cunt, but we don’t have time for me to fuck her again. The sound of the alarm on my cell buzzes, and I remember for the first time since we drove away from the studio that it’s after 1300 hours, and we haven’t eaten yet.
Apparently, her needs are more important than my desire to stay on schedule, because even after I check my watch, the clawing need isn’t gnawing at me in the same way it normally does.
“We need to clean up and eat,” she sighs, yawning tiredly.
The afternoon passes slowly, and by the time Octavia cleans up her space and restocks her supply cabinet, it’s way past 2100 hours. When her jaw splits with yet another yawn, I hurry her through her goodbyes and lead her out to the car.
The moment I open the door, the smell of sex assaults us, and a soft, sleepy grin tips the corners of my doll’s lips.
“It smells like a brothel in here.” She chuckles, exhaustedly climbing into the seat before letting her arms fall to the side, not even considering trying to strap her own seat belt.
She’s asleep by the time we get home, and I carry her out of the car, strip her clothes off, and crawl into bed behind her.
The next few days pass in a similar way.
We wake up happy, then bicker, before we make up, and everything is fine until lunchtime.
Like her body has its own internal alarm, by 1200 hours, her neediness has started to grow, and instead of just me giving her an orgasm, she’s started to demand I fuck her, only settling after her swollen and dripping pussy is full of my cock.
I suspect that her birth control has fully left her body, and that’s why she’s feeling a greater sexual drive, but when I suggested that to her, she burst into tears and informed me that I’ve made her a sexual deviant, and that it’s all my fault she’s a freak.
Our appointment at the doctor’s is this afternoon, and while I know it’s unlikely she’s pregnant, I’m hoping that the gynecologist will confirm that she’s no longer protected by the birth control injection she’s been using for the last few years.
Holding my hand tightly, Octavia clings to me as she scans the faces of the other people in the doctor’s office. “I don’t know why we’re here. I know I’m not pregnant, so this is a waste of time,” she hisses quietly.
Not bothering to respond, I sit down in a corner and pull her onto my lap, ignoring her reluctance and knowing that we’ll both feel better the more connected we are.
“Great, not only am I a freak who looks like a gothic Bratz doll, but I’m sitting in my husband’s lap, like a fucking idiot,” she murmurs to herself quietly, but loud enough for me to hear.
“Wife,” I say, lowering my voice in warning.
“What? It’s the truth,” she states.
“I think tonight might be the time for that spanking you asked for,” I whisper into her ear.
Her shocked gasp is the only sound she makes until the nurse calls her name.
“Octavia Taylor.”
Pushing out of my lap, she stands and starts to walk away, not waiting for me. Closing the distance between us in a single stride, I take her hand, following behind.
“What are you doing? You can’t come to my gyno appointment with me,” she says, glancing around us to see if anyone is watching.
Ignoring her protests, I step past her, taking the lead, and towing her behind me as I follow the nurse down a corridor and into a room.
Watching us as we enter the room, the nurse eyes us both, then closes the door behind her.
“I’ll need you to fill out some paperwork, then pee in a cup.
I’ve put a gown for you to change into. Then you can take a seat up on the bed.
The bathroom is just over there.” She points to a door.
“And the doctor will be in to see you shortly. Your husband can stay with you until the exam, but the doctor usually asks everyone except for the patient to step out at that point.”
Octavia nods. I don’t. I’m not leaving, and both my wife and the doctor will have to accept that.
Handing Octavia a clipboard and a sample cup, the nurse smiles, then leaves, closing the door behind her.
“I’ll help,” I tell my wife, taking the clipboard from her and leaving her with the sample cup.
Placing my palm on the base of her spine, I steer her toward the bathroom, opening the door and turning on the light.
Placing the clipboard on the counter, I take the cup from her hands, lift up her skirt, and pull down her panties.
“What are you doing?” she asks, flashing me an embarrassed grin.
“Helping,” I tell her, unscrewing the lid of the cup, then crouching down onto my haunches at the side of the toilet.
“You really want to hold the cup while I pee in it?” she asks.
“I’m not scared of a little pee,” I advise her, then tug her down, holding the cup beneath her. Once she’s finished, I screw the top on, then wash my hands while Octavia cleans up, her cheeks pink with embarrassment.
“We’re so weird,” she says, shaking her head as she steps around me to wash her hands in the small basin.
“We’re perfect,” I remind her, turning off the light as I trail her back into the room with the clipboard in my hand.
Taking the pen, I fill out the insurance forms, and as much of her medical history as I know, memorizing her answers when there’s a question I don’t know the answer to and I have to ask her.
When I’m done, I unzip her dress and help her pull on the gown, then lift her onto the examination bed.
The doctor knocks on the door and enters, reaching out for the forms as she introduces herself. “Hi Octavia, I’m Dr. Singh. And you are?” she asks me politely.
“Knight Taylor, husband,” I tell her.
“Okay, well, let’s have a look at these,” she says, flipping through the forms I’ve filled out. “So you’ve been on the birth control injection for the last four years. Have you had any issues?”
“No, none,” Octavia tells her.
“Regular periods?”
“Not really, but my last doctor told me that could happen.”
“Yes, some people keep a regular period, some have sporadic periods. It can vary person to person. So when was your last injection? It doesn’t say here,” the doctor asks.
“I think it was due a couple of weeks ago, so I’d say a little over three months ago,” Octavia says.
“Okay, well, I had your previous doctor send over your medical records when you registered with us, so let me go ahead and check.” Sitting down on a rolling stool, she slides a mouse with her hand and brings the computer screen to life.
Typing quickly, she enters Octavia’s name into a database and starts to scroll through entries.
“Oh. Okay, so it looks like it’s been over four months since your last shot. Have you been sexually active that whole time?”
Octavia’s cheeks bloom red. “Err. No, but we got married almost six weeks ago, and since then…” She trails off like she’s too embarrassed to admit that we’ve been having sex.
“But prior to that? No other sexual partners?”
“No,” Octavia quickly says. “Before we got married, it had been about six months since the last time I was”—she swallows—“sexually active.”
“Okay. So have you been using protection?” the doctor asks, looking at both Octavia and me in turn.
“No. We are planning to start a family right away,” I tell her.
“Okay, well, given the time since your last birth control shot, I think it’s best that we do a pregnancy test, just to check, then we can do the exam and I can answer any questions you have,” Dr. Singh says. “Do you have a urine sample for me?”
“It’s there,” I say, pointing to the sample cup.
Pulling on gloves, the doctor opens a drawer and lifts out a foil packet. Ripping off the end, she opens the sample cup, then pulls a thin strip from the packet and dips it into Octavia’s urine. Holding it there for a second, she places it on top of the foil.
No one speaks, and the silence feels thick as the doctor watches the strip, and we both watch the doctor.
“Congratulations, you’re pregnant,” she announces, twisting around to face us, a wide smile spread across her face.
“I’m pregnant?” Octavia gasps.
“The test is positive, but occasionally false positives do happen, so I’d like to do an ultrasound and see how far along you are, if that’s okay with you.”
“Yes,” I answer before Doll can speak.
“Well, okay,” the doctor says, picking up the sample cup and the test and carrying them over to the disposal bin, placing them and her gloves inside. “I’ll go and get the ultrasound machine.”
“Thank you, Dr. Singh,” I say, reaching out to Octavia as the doctor leaves the room.
“I’m pregnant,” Doll whispers.
“I love you, Doll,” I tell her, placing my hand over her stomach, as I lean down and kiss her.
Dipping her chin, she stares down at my hand, then back up to me again. “I’m pregnant,” she repeats, her brow furrowed. “How?”
“Well,” I start, planning to explain how my sperm has fertilized her egg, but the door opens and Dr. Singh walks in, pushing a large machine on wheels.
“Okay, if you could lie back, bend your knees, and rest your heels on the end of the bed, then let your knees fall to the sides,” she says, closing the door.
“What?” Octavia squeaks.
“As we don’t know how many weeks pregnant you are, I’m going to use an internal probe to see the baby and get an accurate measurement,” she says, sliding a condom onto a long white probe that looks a little like a plastic sex toy.
“You shouldn’t feel any pain, but there may be a little pressure, which is normal. ”
Glancing at me, then the doctor, then back to me again, Octavia shuffles up the bed and lies back, putting her feet on the mattress before letting her legs fall open. Reaching for me, she grabs my hand in both of hers, pulling it toward her and holding it tightly.
“Okay, deep breath in, and try to relax,” the doctor says.
A part of me wishes I could lean forward to see what the doctor is doing, but the rest of me is relieved that I can’t, because the thought of anyone else seeing or touching my wife’s cunt makes a flash of newly recognizable anger thump inside my chest.
The screen on the ultrasound machine is turned toward the doctor, but after a couple of moments, she spins it around to face us. On it is the outline of something that looks a little like a kidney bean-shaped sack with a tiny white dot in it.
“And there is your baby,” the doctor says, her voice soft and reverent.
“Oh my god,” Octavia gasps, squeezing my hand even tighter between both of hers.
“Congratulations. I’d say you’re approximately four weeks pregnant, which means there isn’t much to see, but so far everything seems to be as it should.”
The rest of the appointment passes quickly.
Dr. Singh writes Doll a script for prenatal vitamins and folic acid, then schedules our next appointment in three weeks’ time.
Octavia nods and answers any questions the doctor has, but she’s dazed and clearly a little shocked at the news that she’s already carrying my baby.
Taking her hand, I lead her out of the doctor’s office, swinging her off the floor and into my arms the moment we step onto the sidewalk. “I love you, Doll, and I love our baby.”
“I can’t believe I’m pregnant. I mean, how did that even happen? I didn’t even know my birth control had run out, and what are the odds that you’d knock me up the first time you fucked me?” she says, talking quickly and without taking a breath.
“It wasn’t the first time I fucked you.”
“Oh my god, I know, but still. How am I pregnant?” Her eyes are wide, and her expression is shocked.
“You’re carrying my baby—”
“Our baby,” she interrupts. “It’s our baby, not just yours. It’s inside me.”
Smiling has never felt so easy as I press my lips to hers. “Our baby.”
“I’m pregnant,” she says quietly as I reluctantly lower her to her feet, smoothing her skirt down to make sure no one else can see what’s mine.
“Let’s go home. You need to rest,” I growl, scooping her off her feet and into my arms bridal style.
“What are you talking about? I don’t need to rest. I need to go and get these pills and draw up my designs for tomorrow,” she insists, not fighting being carried as she rests her cheek against my shoulder.
“Building a baby is hard. Your body is creating life. I’ll look into apartments near the studio so you can have somewhere close to take a nap.
I’ll rearrange your appointments so you have two hours for lunch, not just one, and nothing after 1800 hours so we can be home where you can rest,” I say, talking more to myself than her.
“Knight, I don’t need to take naps. I’m not a toddler, and a lot of my clients can’t do appointments until after work. I can’t only work until six p.m. Betty is pregnant and working, and she’s fine. You need to relax.”
“Cody’s failings as a husband are not mine. You will be taking a nap. You will be working fewer hours. I will be doing what needs to be done to ensure that you and our baby are healthy and well rested,” I tell her, not willing to negotiate.
“I don’t want to tell anyone yet,” Doll blurts.
“Why?”
“Because I’m only four weeks pregnant. Most people don’t find out this early, and things happen in early pregnancies. Let’s wait until after the first trimester, then we’ll tell people.”
“Nothing will happen to this baby. I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure everything is okay,” I inform her, already going over our daily schedule and adjusting accordingly. A familiar pang of discomfort at the idea of change pulses in my gut, but I push it aside. My baby—our baby—is more important.