Thangaiku Theriyaamal Amma Magalai Oothen
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Death By FuckingChapter 16: Sharing The Wealth free porn video
The Year Three
Andrew's Story
I've got so many balls in the air I wonder when they are all going to fall on my head. My business is going great guns. It's unbelievable what some simple little programming can bring in when applied in the right places.
IAM has finally gotten off of the ground. I've built several websites for various people to access: different strokes for different folks. We are getting regular hits from twins all over the country, as well as more than a few male geniuses who are interested in getting their rocks off. Hey, you've got to start somewhere.
We've done several mailings to the twins' database. That was a chore - loading forty thousand names, addresses, and family histories from the records Doris was maintaining. And Doris is no prize in the handwriting department. Maybe when she was young, say seventy, one could read her writing. But now her writing looks like the marks made by a lie detector. Try figuring that out.
So I created a SQL Server 2000 database added on a visual basic front end and away we went! I created some nice websites that interfaced with the same SQL database we were using locally and we were ready for business.
Do you know what it costs to mail things to forty thousand people? You do the math. We aren't a charitable organization, you know. The IRS might not look kindly at some of my websites if we claimed to be a non-profit.
We've got to pay for all of this. I let Donnie and Deirdre take care of the money end of things. They arrange for whatever dirty tricks they can come up with to minimize our costs and maximize our profits. What the hell do I know? I'm a lowly computer geek. I do my job and that's it. Let the big brains do the heavy lifting, business-wise.
My computer room is state of the art, or at least as close as we can afford it to be, out here in the boondocks of east Georgia. We've got redundancy built within redundancy. We backup like there is no tomorrow. Actually it isn't mission critical that we stay on-line all of the time. If our T3 line goes down for a while we can live with that.
We had our second batch of kids last year. This really was a 'biological clock' kind of decision. Donnie and Deirdre were thirty-seven at the time and we just didn't want to push our luck by waiting any longer.
Besides which, it may be a bit crass of me, but I really did want to see if we could get pregnant a second time as a kind of experiment. None of the twins of any family had ever gotten pregnant twice, to the best of our knowledge. And our knowledge is the knowledge of the entire institute, such as it is.
It's kind of a key to the next generation's future that our match-ups be able to procreate without the restraint of a single birthing per female after long attempts at pregnancy.
I don't want to brag, but I am one potent guy. We've only tried to get pregnant four times (two times per girl, after all) and I'm batting four for four. No blanks being shot here.
The big news, the really big news, is that our second batch wasn't twins and it wasn't girls either. I knew by the seventh month. The twerps knew too, I might add. I made them promise on pain of death to keep their pretty little mouths shut.
Emma keeping her mouth shut is a physical impossibility. I detailed Elle with the task of watching over Emma. Her job (and she was glad to accept it) was to make sure that Emma didn't spill the beans to Donnie or Dee Dee.
I threatened physical violence, though they never take me seriously about those threats for some reason. But Elle was more than happy to tackle Emma, and then sit on her until she agreed to keep quiet. That's what it took on more than one occasion.
So when we made our trek down to the hospital in Savannah this time, the girls were expecting the same old thing: four adorable little girl babies. Instead they got two little boys. I didn't tell them because I wanted it to be a surprise.
Was it ever! I thought they would never stop crying! Not the babies, they didn't cry at all. Donnie and Deirdre were beside themselves. They wanted to hold those little boys and never let them go.
And we didn't have any boy names chosen. I thought I might have given it away when I insisted that our next batch of girls would include Edith and Ethel, two names that I totally despise.
I actually scored some points with Deirdre early on. She wanted a girl named 'Eve' but I told her we couldn't have an 'Eve' since she was already Eve to my Adam. I can be romantic sometimes, given the proper incentive.
So that's how Eric and Ethan came to be. I wanted 'Elvis' but Deirdre decided to be stubborn. Same story, different sex. The eBoys have the self-same capabilities as the eGirls. Trouble waiting to happen is six kids who can communicate with each other without words.
The twerps love the babies. Em can make the boys laugh just by looking at them. My theory is she is telling them things a one year will find obscenely funny; toilet humor probably. She's good at that. She can come up with a hundred different uses for the word 'fart'. I mean, the boys aren't one yet. If Deirdre thinks I was a bad influence she hasn't seen nothing yet. Em will take the cake.
I am not looking forward to them trying to keep a straight face during a solemn event when there are other people present. Em just won't let it happen.
But now they are only eleven months, just toddling a little bit, learning to walk, laughing all of the time. It's the best time for babies as far as I'm concerned.
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Donnie's Story
It's a well known fact that the early years of childhood are the best for learning language. Until the fifth year or so the brain is very receptive to languages of all kinds. Dee Dee and I decided to take advantage of that fact.
Well, we have a little money (Andrew is doing quite well in his business ventures), we have the time and the little ones are very intelligent. We decided to see how far we could push the envelope.
A language teacher comes each day to the house and teaches our girls a language. To rephrase that, each day of the week, a different teacher arrives to teach the girls a different language. Monday is French, Tuesday is Japanese, Wednesday is German, Thursday is Chinese, and Friday is Swahili. We want to see if language does come easily especially to our precocious little girls. Andrew insisted on French. He wanted someone to help him with the menu when we go out to eat.
I feel confident when I say that Emma is the only three-year old in the world who can say 'fuck you' in six different languages. How she got that information out of these very conservative teachers is beyond me. Andrew isn't a bit surprised.
Andrew agrees that languages come easily in the early years. I don't think he quite gets the point. Human languages are what are supposed to come easily. He is teaching the girls computer languages. Each day it is Pascal, then Visual Basic, then C, then HTML, then Java and who knows what else. Andrew claims that they are better than most programmers he knows already.
I worry about overworking them, but Andrew has a strict rule that the girls abide by. When they begin to get bored, they quit. Not one second of boredom is allowed. They go and play, or whatever they want to do.
Andrew had a crew come in and put a HarTru tennis court out back. Then he had a swimming pool put in. As often as they want, the little ones get tennis lessons or swimming lessons, or just play on the court or splash in the pool. Or play on the monkey bars and swing set. Or play on the computer. Andrew has all adult access blocked, but is pessimistic about the efficacy of the blocking in the face of Em's counter programming. He just hopes she isn't interested. It's the blocking that challenges her. Once she is past it, she will move on to something else to get in trouble about.
Andrew gives them the lessons himself. He spends every waking moment either programming or being with the girls. Well, I will admit, he does spend a significant amount of time making love to Dee Dee and me. Add in eating and Andrew's day is pretty well taken care of. He doesn't seem to mind. His needs are quite simple.
Last year we got a letter from our cousin Danielle. She said that she had received our wedding announcement (well let's be honest, Deirdre's and Andrew's announcement). Later (but not much later) she had received our birth announcements.
It didn't take much for her to put two and two together. She realized that we had to get married. And the fact that both of us gave birth at the same time made her realize that we shared the same man, and that he was obviously potent.
We've known Danny and her sister Dory since we were small children. They are only a couple of years younger than us. Both have been married for years. Dory has twins, but Danny is childless. I suppose I wasn't surprised by what she wanted.
Danny wanted a shot at Andrew. How else does one put it? She wants her babies. They may never come, even though she tries and tries with Artie.
Yes we know about modern methods to help induce pregnancy, but they just don't appear to work for Danny (or any of the other twins from what we've been able to gather). Danny may remain childless without the right kind of help: Andrew's kind of help.
I showed Dee Dee the letter. Our cousin was asking us to let our husband make love to another woman, namely her. She knew nothing of Andrew other than his name, and yet she wanted him as a bed partner. His only qualifications from her point of view: he can make the twins pregnant.
We should have seen this coming. I remember that Andrew had jokingly referred to this very fact when we first told him about all of the twins. The boy is so smart he even foresaw that probability with only a cursory knowledge of the facts.
Deirdre and I are not saints. The concept of sharing our husband's sexual favors with other women is not a pleasant one to us. But we are the Institute for the Advancement of Mankind, after all. It is our goal to create the next generation. Right now, Andrew is the only man we are aware of who may be able to do just that.
I feel like Shylock: my daughter or my ducats. How will our dear Andrew react to such a mission, eagerly or reluctantly? My theory, to paraphrase Andrew, is that he will refuse. But if Dee Dee and I are adamant, he can refuse us nothing. He loves us. It is time, I think, to trust in that love.
Andrew's Story
Well this takes the cake. We were having lunch on the patio. I was downing a PB and J, while the girls were eating something green. The munchkins were playing on the tennis court, trying to hit the ball over the net, occasionally succeeding.
Doris is away on one of her little excursions. There is this little old lady from town who Doris has known for like fifty years or something. She is a widow and Doris considers her a friend. We just didn't feel right sending Doris on these trips all by herself. So when we found out about Janice Edwards, we offered to pay her way if she would agree to accompany Doris. So these two old chicks fly around the country, having a ball. They are in Arizona this time.
Just as I was taking a sip of my chocolate milk, Donnie springs the question.
"Andrew, would you consider fathering a child for one of our cousins?"
Did you ever get chocolate milk up your nose? It isn't a pleasant experience, let me assure you.
When I had recovered from the result of her question I tried to respond. "Donnie, please don't say things like that when I'm drinking. Now what the hell are you talking about?"
So she gave me this involved explanation about her cousin Danny, something like that. Then she repeated the question. "Will you do it, Andrew?"
Why do these girls keep throwing staggeringly difficult information in my direction? I'm this simple guy with simple needs. My simple needs are amply satisfied by my gloriously beautiful and sexy wives. I told them so.
"I have never looked at another woman since I met Dee Dee. You don't count, Donnie. Of course I've looked at you. I have no interest in another woman. How can I have more sex? I'm maxed out on sex as it is. There isn't time in my schedule for more sex."
Deirdre joined the discussion. "This isn't sex for sex's sake, Andrew. This is sex for impregnation. Well we are proud of you. We would expect you to give a good accounting of yourself. But Danny needs her babies. You know it isn't easy for us to think of sharing you with others. But what is the alternative? Until we find another man like you, who else can we turn to?"
Donnie actually looked like she might laugh. "'Give a good accounting of yourself?' Dee Dee wants to make sure that by the time Danny is pregnant, she is also jealous of us. Andrew, when she takes her first look at you she will be jealous of us."
I was like "But... But..." What do you say to a thing like that? "But I don't want to have sex with another woman. I've got the world's greatest sex life. The only possible direction it can go is down."
Donnie said "But Andrew, I thought you liked going down!"
"Donnie you're actually enjoying this. You love to make me squirm. How would this work? Where would it work? I'm not going anywhere for the purposes of having sex with some woman. I mean it. If it isn't here, if you two aren't here, then there is absolutely no deal."
Damn it, they had made me agree against my agreement. When I said 'forsaking all others' I meant it. I wasn't the least bit interested in this thing. Not even in the deepest most secret parts of my mind did I contemplate other women. I get laid twice a day every day of my life, pretty much, allowing for periods and the occasional headache (on my part). Who could ask for more than that?
Deirdre said "We'll bring her here, of course, sweetheart. We wouldn't make you leave us. We'll have to do it while Danny is at her most fertile. If we're lucky, it will be while Donnie and I are on our period. Had you thought of that? You wouldn't have to give up sex during our period, if it works out."
To be perfectly frank, I sometimes liked their period time. It relieved a little of the pressure, if you know what I mean. That's one bit of information my beautiful wives will never know.
I am almost always an eager participant in our sex life. Actually especially on weekends I often go for three or four times a day. I love half times at football games. I don't have to watch the forced camaraderie between the talking heads. I leave the room, get laid, and am back just in time for the second half kick-off. My life is good.
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