Baby For The Bear

I have to get this under way.

Daring himself to utter the name, he whispered huskily: “Samantha.”

There. He’d said it. He’d spoken her name aloud. Well, audibly, anyway; not that anyone but Ken himself could hear.

Allowing the face to hover in his mind’s eye, he asked—to himself, to her, to no one: “So then…is it going to be you? Are you the one?”

Ken sighed. He could tell that his self-imposed twenty-four-hour deadline was off the table. His mind—and his prick—had made the call.

The offer of the job of bearing his cub would go to the one female, of all the candidates, that he could most imagine himself fu*king. It was an impractical, irrational, unscientific, unbusinesslike decision. And perhaps that was the way it really ought to be. Cubs—or human infants—as a rule were not conceived deliberately, not with thought or planning or calculation. Even a “planned” pregnancy depended on passion and desire and the abandon of a male thr*sting his hot and engorged prick inside a female. Perhaps it was only right and proper that Ken should hire the surrogate that he would most want under him in bed.

And perhaps it was only fitting that the role should go to her, considering the words that had passed between her and him only hours ago.

He pursed his lips, not as a frown but as a look of decision. “Samantha it is, then. If she wants the job…it’s hers.”

Now it was only a matter of telling her.

*****

When Samantha was this upset in the morning, only bacon with breakfast would do. Oh, to be sure, she had made her customary healthy breakfast. She had fresh strawberries, scrambled egg whites, toast, and orange juice all set out. But a plate of crispy bacon lay at the side and it wasn’t going to stay there for long. This morning Samantha had needs other than her health to satisfy. As soon as she got out of bed, the bacon was calling her name.