Beyond My Control

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Author’s Note: I wish to express my unending appreciation to Literotica’s Copperbutterfly for her editing skills in making my story better for you readers.

I will never forget the day my life took a jackrabbit turn to the left and went racing off. It wasn’t the first time I had experienced a major hurdle in my life but it was probably the biggest one that came without warning.

Let me back up a bit and lay some groundwork. During my college years, I had met Anne and we began dating. The Friday after we had graduated on Sunday we got married. By then we had been living together for nearly two years and we knew we were compatible. We got along famously.

For three years, we changed jobs several times, each time both of us managing to better ourselves. Then Anne announced that she was pregnant and our joy was unbounded. By then she was just over two months along. Seven months later she delivered my first son, a bouncing baby boy that we named Daniel after his maternal grandfather. Although he was in ill health at the time, Anne’s dad was the only living relative we had to use as a role model; I was an orphan raised as a ward of the state and never adopted.

The only bad thing about Daniel’s birth was that there were complications during the birth. He was okay but Anne required a hysterectomy to stop the bleeding. That meant that Daniel was not only my first son, he would be my only son.

That was okay. He was a great son, at least in my eyes. He wasn’t particularly outstanding at anything but very early he showed an interest in an enormously wide variety of subjects. As he got old enough, he got into Scouts and pee-wee football and t-ball, followed by Little League. His grades in school were very good, mostly A’s with a few B’s. Both his mom and I were very proud to call him our son.

Then we got bad news the year Daniel started junior high. Anne was diagnosed as having cancer. She endured weeks of treatment and was pronounced cancer free … for exactly seven months. Then it came back with a vengeance. She died five months later, exhausted and in constant pain, relieved only by shots that dulled the impact.

Daniel and I became a family of two. He took care of me. I took care of him. Eventually things returned to normal and settled into a routine. I kept up with my work and handled the housekeeping chores in the evenings and on weekends with a lot of Daniel’s help. Since Anne’s father had passed away when Daniel was only three years old, we only had each other but we made a pretty good team.

Once he got into college, Daniel could not decide in what direction he wanted his life to go. He had difficulty making a choice of majors, so for the first two years, he took a course of general studies before deciding on a pre-med path. He didn’t really want to be a doctor but would like to help in the medical profession some way.

The college Daniel had chosen was in a relatively small town, one that almost doubled in population when school was in session. They had a small professional fire department which was supplemented by volunteers. In his sophomore year, Daniel decided to join the volunteers and he was readily accepted after the required medical exams and completion of application forms. He trained, officially, with the pros one weekend a month and unofficially on many of the other weekends.

When one of the paid emergency medical technicians moved to a bigger city for more money, the city found it difficult to fill the position. Daniel applied to fill in until they could find someone and with his schooling and after taking a crash course to become state certified, he became a volunteer EMT.

One weekend Daniel came home on a visit and poured out his heart. He loved the EMT work and vowed that he had found his life’s work. He was going to finish school and find a place where he could work full time in a job that would help people, just as he had always wanted.

In the meantime, he had met a young lady named Kathy, a very beautiful woman who was a year older than Daniel. However that didn’t seem to matter to either of them. They dated for a while and when she invited him to move into her apartment, he did. As Anne and I had done years earlier, Daniel and Kathy married shortly after he graduated from college.

Although she was working, she gave up her job and they moved to another larger city, one that was far enough from me that we didn’t get to see each other very often. However they had an opening for a reasonably well-paid EMT and lots of opportunities to help people., so they moved and Kathy found another job near their new home.

For most of two years, we would see each other for a few hours about every three months or on special holidays, when I would drive over to visit them or they would come see me. With Daniel gone, our house seemed like a sprawling mansion, far too big for me, and I thought about selling and moving into something smaller. However consolidating our things was painful to contemplate, especially since it would mean losing one more Eskort Bayan tie to my wonderful wife. So I simply kept putting it off.

September 11, 2001 was a shock to the whole nation. Daniel volunteered to go to New York to help with the massive recovery effort and when he came back weeks later, he was a changed man. His ready smile was gone, replaced by a consistent look of agony. He called me two or three times a week and I always had the feeling that he wanted to say something but just didn’t know how to bring it out.

Of course the nation went to war against terrorists. First it was in Afghanistan, then Iraq. As the months went by, Daniel became more and more concerned. Then one day he called to say that he had enlisted because the military was always short of medical technicians and he felt it was his duty to serve his country. I didn’t want him to go but how could I argue against that logic?

All too soon Daniel shipped out to Iraq. Kathy and I talked on the phone three or four times every week. If she got the rare phone call from Daniel, she’d tell me all about how he was doing. If she got a letter, which was fairly often, she read me all but the personal stuff. I know she wrote him often and so did I but it probably took several weeks for the mail to arrive.

One evening about three months after Dan’s last visit home just before he went overseas, Kathy had just read me Daniel’s last letter when there was a long pause before she continued.



“I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, Kathy! That makes me so happy! How are you doing?”

“I’m doing fine. I went to the doctor today for my first check-up. I’m just over three months along so the baby will be about two months old when Dan comes home.”

“That is fantastic. What a present for him when he gets back!”

“I just wish he was here to share it with me.”

“Are you all right, Kathy?”

“Yes, just having a little morning sickness but I’ll be okay.”

We talked a little longer and then said our goodbyes. Damn! I was going to be a grandpop! What a feeling!

I hardly had time to enjoy it. Six weeks later, Kathy called crying so hard I could barely understand her. She had just had a visitor from the Army who told her that Daniel’s helicopter had been shot down with a rocket and all hands on board had been killed. Suddenly my world fell apart.

The next week was a whirlwind of activity, all of it sad. Daniel’s body was brought home and, with Kathy’s agreement, we buried him in a plot near his mother’s grave, all with a full military service and 21 gun salute. That’s small consolation when you are burying your only child.

I turned my attention to Kathy. She wasn’t a blood relative but was the only family I had left. All of Anne’s family were dead, I never knew any of my own relatives and now my only son was gone. The only hope I had left was the life still inside Kathy’s swelling belly.

Leaving the cemetery, for the first time I realized that Kathy was very pale and not just from the stress of losing her husband. I coaxed her into talking and she told me that she’d begun to have some problems. Her doctor said that she needed to take it easy, quit working and do no major housework or she was at risk of losing the baby. Suddenly I was alarmed again.

Kathy tearfully explained that she couldn’t follow the doctor’s orders … if she quit working, she had no means of supporting herself and the baby. It didn’t take me long to decide what needed to be done. I convinced Kathy that she had to quit her job, let me move her into my big empty house and I would provide for her and my grandchild.

Somewhat reluctantly and with many tears, Kathy agreed that my solution was the only thing that made any sense. She called her boss and resigned and later told me that the people where she worked didn’t expect to see her come back, given the situation.

A couple of weeks later, I rented a truck and we drove over to their place. I hired a couple of young men to help me and we loaded their belongings into the truck and had them back at my house late the following morning.

Kathy had her choice of the three empty bedrooms and not surprisingly chose Daniel’s old room, which still had a lot of mementos of his earlier days. I began working on the adjacent bedroom, turning it into a nursery for the baby. We bought a crib to go in Kathy’s room and all new baby furniture for the nursery. She wanted to paint it a pale yellow, as a sort of “yellow ribbon around the old oak tree” in memory of Daniel but I made her promise to stay downstairs out of the fumes while I did the painting.

All through those days, there were many evenings when, after dinner, Kathy would curl up beside me and cry from missing Daniel. It became nearly a nightly ritual for weeks on end that I would sit on the sofa and hold her tightly while she cried herself out. Finally she would get up and waddle up the stairs to bed, leaving me alone with my thoughts. There was sadness for the loss of Daniel, sadness for the loss of my Anne, but it was also tempered with anticipation of the birth of my grandchild. (She had decided that she didn’t want to know the sex of the baby until it was born and that was fine with me.)

Kathy felt so bad about the doctor’s orders that she just could not follow them. She cooked meals for us, she cleaned house, and she did the laundry, all in spite of my lectures and scoldings. Finally one evening I sat her down, looked her in the eye and said, “Kathy, if you have a miscarriage and cost me the only chance I’ll ever have of having a grandchild just because you felt the urge to “do something useful,” I will never forgive you.” Suddenly it was if the light had clicked on.

From that point on, Kathy rested and took care of herself and the baby. I handled the cooking, cleaning and laundry myself for a while, finally hiring a once-a-week maid service to provide some help.

When the time came for Kathy to go to the hospital, I was as nervous as if I was the father. Kathy had begged me to go with her to her childbirth classes and participate as her “coach” so I gowned up and joined her in the delivery room, a little uncomfortable at seeing my daughter-in-law’s now shaven pussy as it began to dilate … and a dear little girl’s head appeared. She was perfect … the redness and wrinkles and mess didn’t mean a thing when her shrill little cry signaled the start of a new life.

Because of her previous problems, the doctor kept Kathy and the baby in the hospital for three days rather than the customary one but when the nurse wheeled her to my car and handed me my little bundle of joy to hold while Kathy settled into the car, both of them were doing fine and given a clean bill of health by their doctor.

Kathy was adamant about breast feeding Danielle – she had decided early that she was going to name her child after its father, whether it was a boy or girl – and she was lactating freely by the time we went home. Danielle had lost a few ounces of her original 6 pounds 5 ounces but she took to the nipple with a passion and was soon nursing and gaining again.

Kathy was completely uninhibited about feeding Danielle in front of me. Since the birth of my grandchild, the sadness that we had shared had eased and we no longer got together for our hug-and-cry sessions. They were replaced by even more frequent feedings and, at least for the two weeks that I took off from work right after Kathy and Danielle came home, Kathy shared every feeding time with me. Those were tender moments.

They were also problematic situations. The more of Kathy’s swollen breasts I saw, the more I missed having sex. In all the time since Anne’s death, I had had sex with a woman exactly four times, never more than once with the same lady. Each of the four was a wonderful woman in her own right but compared to my Anne, each was missing something I needed, a certain loving quality.

Now watching Kathy feeding my granddaughter made me yearn for that sexual release again. Was it the beauty of the act of providing life-sustaining fluid to the child? Was it her own beautiful face that made me yearn to take her? Was it the voluptuousness of her body, which was undoubtedly as fine as any woman I’d ever known? I didn’t know and knew I could not let my feelings be known. I watched … and covered my arousal behind a casually held newspaper or magazine until Kathy carried the child to bed and I could escape to my room.

Days passed quickly in much the same routine as Kathy regained her strength and the baby grew. My time off passed quickly and I went back to work. Kathy was feeling well enough that she took over the household chores, even telling me that I should cancel the weekly maid service but I decided to keep it. Still she did the cooking and laundry for both of us and Danielle, took her out for daily strolls and generally made herself useful.

One evening over dinner, Kathy said, “Dad, I’ve decided it’s time I looked for a job and contributed to our upkeep.”

“Why, Kathy? Are you not comfortable with our situation?”

“No, Dad. I don’t want to keep sponging off you. I want to earn something to help raise Danielle.”

“Kathy, you can do that if you insist. However I wish you wouldn’t. Financially we’re doing fine with what I make. If you’d like, I can set up a separate bank account for you so you don’t need to feel like you have to ask me for money…I’m sorry I hadn’t thought of that before.”

“But, Dad, it’s just not right for me to sponge off you.”

“Kathy, you’re not sponging off me. You’re taking care of my house, you’re cooking my meals, you’re doing my laundry. And most important, you are raising my granddaughter. I would prefer that you concentrate on those things, just like you have been. I don’t think you’re sponging. You are performing probably the most important job on earth – being a mother.”

She pushed her chair back, walked around the table and hugged and kissed me. “Oh, Dad,” she said, tears rolling down her cheeks, “you have been so good to me. I love you, Dad.”

Grateful that she was not looking in my eyes where she could see my tears, I hugged her and managed to rasp, “I love you, too, Kathy.”

After cleaning up from dinner, we spent some time in the den, reading and watching TV until time for Danielle’s 10 o’clock feeding. Right on time, her plaintive little cry signalled time for a diaper change. Kathy brought her back to the den a few minutes later and settled onto the sofa, opening her blouse and nursing bra, revealing her magnificent, milky breast. She lifted it in one hand and Danielle in the crook of her other arm until the hungry child, latched onto the distended nipple as if she had just found treasure.

I watched, fascinated, as my granddaughter drank the precious fluids from her mother’s body. And, as usual, it had the same impact on me. I crossed my legs, lowered my magazine to my lap to cover my erection and kept watching. Kathy smiled at her daughter, then at me, before turning her attention back to the semi-sleeping babe.

When Kathy finally burped Danielle and took her up to her crib to put her down to sleep, I took the opportunity to escape to my bedroom across the hall. Turning back the covers, I slipped out of my clothes and under the covers, my thoughts a jumble of mixed passions. I lay there trying to sleep, trying to settle down the controversy raging in my mind, trying to shut out the sounds of Kathy as she showered and got ready for bed.

I finally closed my eyes, forcing my mind to shut off the erotic thoughts that kept flooding back. Finally I felt my heart rate slowing and thought that sleep might be achievable after all … just as the door to my room creaked open. I saw the outline of Kathy’s lush body against the faint nightlight she kept in the hallway. I wondered if something was amiss.

However she didn’t speak. She slowly, carefully moved over to the side of my bed. To my surprise, she lifted the covers and slipped into the bed. Very carefully, obviously trying to keep from disturbing me, she eased back until her form was spooned with my body.

“Dad?” she whispered.

“Yes?” I replied.

“Please hold me.”

Ohmigosh! Was there anything I would rather do? I put my arms around her and hugged her tightly to me, laying my cheek beside hers after kissing her neck. It must have been a dream, an apparition, a figment of my fertile imagination. But no, the sweet smell of her hair, the soft warmth of her body was real.

I was a little embarrassed when my cock grew stiff and poked her bottom. I started to back away but she reached back and captured my cock through my briefs and held me so I couldn’t move away. Seconds passed. I was afraid to break the spell, afraid that it wasn’t real.

Then she whispered, “Dad? Please don’t think badly of me. I NEED you. Please!”

I reached around her and tugged her back to me tightly, laying my head cheek-to-cheek with hers. She smelled oh-so-good and I wanted her so badly.

But was this the right thing to do? I agonized for long seconds and finally whispered, “Kathy are you sure?”

“Yes, Dad, I’m very sure.”

Any resistance I had crumbled away like a sand castle in front of a spring storm. My hand moved over her side and glided over her smooth stomach, then slipped upward until it cupped her fabulous breast. I felt her push her chest forward, pressing her breast into my hand as she sighed.

Her hand had not been idle either. She had worked the waistband of my briefs down until it was under my scrotum and she was frantically fondling my cock and balls. The foreplay must have lasted all of … maybe 30 seconds before my hand slid between her legs and found her shaven pussy lips coated with her own slick moisture.

Quickly she twisted her body until she was on her back and said in a plaintive croak, “Please, Dad! I need you in me!”

I scrambled up and over her and she guided my stiff member into her overheated pussy. I had every intention of taking it slow and easy and fucking her so long. That resolution lasted until my first stroke ended at my root and suddenly I was thrusting hard and fast, in total bliss from the indescribably wonderful sensations emanating from my cock.

Unfortunately the lack of activity for so long and the desire I had developed for Kathy did me in. In just a few pumps, my balls began spewing their load into Kathy’s wonderful cunt. I had blown it! This might have been my one opportunity and I had screwed it up royally!

No sooner did I feel the beginnings of my release than I knew I had been so much less than I wanted to be to this dear woman. “I’m sorry, Kathy, I am so sorry!” I pled for forgiveness, for destroying the ultimate moment of tenderness, because I had unthinkingly done nothing for my sweet partner.

“Shhhh, Dad. Don’t worry about it. Shhhh,” she whispered, brushing softly at my face. I thought to move off her but her legs were wrapped tightly around my waist and I realized that she had my cock in a tight grip, still inside her wonderful pussy. She kept whispering to me that it was okay, that she understood … and that there would be other times!

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