February 14, 2027 – UPMC Magee-Women’s Hospital
Delivery Room 7, 3:17 a.m.
Lynda’s final push was a guttural roar that seemed to tear from the depths of her soul.The obstetrician—Dr. Harlan, a man Michael had known and respected for fifteen years—lifted the baby and let out a low, incredulous laugh beneath his mask.
“Well, damn. Somebody’s been busy.”
The words hung heavy in the sterile air like bitter smoke.
The baby girl emerged screaming, tiny fists flailing in fury, her rich warm brown skin unmistakable, green-hazel eyes already blazing, dark curls plastered to her head. She was Lynda in miniature—same delicate nose, same perfect mouth—but the color was all DeShawn.
Lynda reached for her with desperate, trembling arms, tears streaming down her face.
“Give me my daughter—please, now!”
Michael stood frozen at Lynda’s shoulder, still in scrubs, hands shaking violently as he cut the cord.
Dr. Harlan handed the baby over with a smirk that never reached his eyes.
“Congratulations… Daddy.”
The sarcasm sliced through the room. Michael barely registered it; he was lost staring at the furious little miracle cradled in Lynda’s arms.
“She’s perfect,” he whispered, voice breaking like glass. “God, Lynda… she looks just like you.”
They named her Mikki—spelled with two k’s because Michael needed her to carry a piece of him too.
The first twenty-four hours blurred into a nightmare of averted eyes and hushed corridors. Nurses who once fawned over Dr. Fair now couldn’t meet his gaze.“That’s Dr. Fair… yeah, the oncologist… guess his research wasn’t the only thing he was working on in the lab, huh?”
“Look at the baby. No wonder he’s been walking around like a ghost.”
One Black orderly—Jamal, whom Michael had always liked—leaned in close while wheeling Lynda to postpartum and muttered low, “Bro, your wife is fire. If you ever need real help at home… I got you.”
Michael’s fists clenched so hard his nails drew blood. He walked away shaking, rage and shame burning in his throat.
Both sets of parents descended within hours.
Michael’s father took one look at Mikki sleeping in the bassinet and went purple with rage.
“You disgusting cuckold freak!” he snarled. “You let some black man breed your wife? In my day, we called that treason to your race!”
His mother tried softness, patting Michael’s hand while refusing to even glance at the baby.
“Honey, it’s okay. Women make mistakes. We can help you through the cheating. We’ll get the best lawyer—”
“She didn’t cheat,” Michael said, voice deadly quiet.
His mother froze, then stood and walked out without another word.
Lynda’s mother was worse. She loomed over the bassinet; face twisted in revulsion.
“I’m ashamed you brought this… this bastard into the world,” she hissed. “What will people say? You’ve ruined our family name forever.”
Lynda—still bleeding, still tethered to an IV—lifted her head and met her mother’s eyes with pure ice.
“Get out,” she said, voice trembling with fury. “And don’t you ever come back.”
Her mother fled in tears.
By discharge three days later, Michael and Lynda were hollow-eyed ghosts.
February 17, 2027 – Shadyside, 4:42 p.m.
They carried Mikki into a silent house. The nursery—once sunny yellow, now soft lavender with elephants—felt like a vandalized shrine to lost hope.
Lynda collapsed into the rocking chair, feeding Mikki while tears dripped steadily into the baby’s dark curls. Michael stood in the doorway, arms wrapped tight around himself, staring at the floor.
“We’re pariahs,” he whispered, voice cracking. “My own father called our daughter a bastard. Your mother won’t even speak her name. The hospital looks at me like I’m a fucking joke. I’m going to have to leave UPMC—I can’t breathe there anymore, Lynda, I can’t—”
“We’ll move,” Lynda cut in, raw and fierce. “We’ll change our names if we have to. I don’t care. She’s ours.”
Michael dropped to his knees in the doorway.
“I thought I could take the looks, the whispers… but seeing them look at her like she’s wrong—like we’re wrong—it’s killing me. I can’t breathe.”
Sobs tore out of him, ugly and uncontrollable.
Lynda gently placed Mikki in the crib, then knelt and pulled Michael into her lap on the nursery floor, cradling him even though he was taller than her.
“We are not wrong,” she said, voice shaking with ferocity. “We are a family. We fought for her. We bled for her. She is perfect—do you hear me? Perfect.”
Her own voice shattered on the last word.
They clung together on the rug until dusk swallowed the room.
Then came the knock—three measured knocks, exactly like always.
Michael froze. Lynda’s breath hitched.
He stumbled to the door on numb legs and opened it.
DeShawn stood on the cold porch, clutching a tiny pink gift bag and a massive stuffed elephant, eyes red and bloodshot. Without a word he stepped inside, dropped the gifts, and enveloped them both in his huge arms—Lynda first, then Michael—crushing them to his chest as if he could shield them from the entire world.
Michael shattered instantly, burying his face in DeShawn’s coat and sobbing.
“They hate us,” he choked. “They hate her. My own father—”
“Shh, baby boy,” DeShawn rumbled, voice thick with unshed tears. “I know. I know.”
He guided them to the nursery without letting go, sank into the rocking chair, and pulled them both into his lap like they weighed nothing, cradling sleeping Mikki against his chest with one enormous hand. He gazed down at her and his face crumpled.
“She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Looks just like her mama… my God.”
Lynda’s sobs grew harder.
DeShawn pressed kisses to Mikki’s forehead, then Lynda’s, then Michael’s.
“Listen to me—both of you,” he said, fierce and low. “The world is full of small, ugly people who’ll never understand. But this little girl? She’s going to grow up knowing exactly how desperately she was wanted. How her daddy—her real daddy, Mikey—fought with everything he had to bring her here. How fiercely her mama loves her. And how her Daddy DeShawn would burn the whole goddamn world down before letting anyone hurt her.”
He locked eyes with Michael.
“You are her father, in every way that matters. You’ll teach her science and kindness and courage. I’ll teach her strength. Lynda will teach her a love so fierce nothing can touch it.”
Michael clung tighter, trembling.
DeShawn kissed his temple.
“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Not for a long time”
He stayed that night—and every night for the next few months. The porch light stayed on. In the soft lavender nursery, a family of four began, slowly, to heal.
February 17, 2027 – Shadyside, late afternoon
DeShawn held them for a long time, Mikki’s tiny chest rising and falling against his. Finally he spoke, voice steady and sure.“This storm feels endless right now because it’s fresh. You’re the scandal of the hospital, the country-club gossip, the bridge-club horror story. But gossip dies fast. Six months from now someone else will fuck up worse. In a year Mikki will just be that gorgeous little girl with the brilliant doctor daddy and the model-beautiful mama. It fades. It always does.”
He turned to Michael.
“Your parents, Lynda’s—they’re in shock. Give them time. Flood them with pictures of this perfect sleeping angel, videos of her first smile, her first laugh. Love erodes hate. They’ll come around… or they won’t, and then you’ll know they never deserved your tears.”
Lynda’s voice was small, broken.
“They called her a bastard.”
DeShawn’s jaw clenched, eyes flashing.
“Then they can apologize on their knees before they ever meet her. Until then we shield her from that poison.”
He brushed another kiss across Mikki’s curls.
“And when people ask—and they will—you keep it simple: anonymous Black donor, high IQ, perfect health, done through a clinic. That’s it. No details. No shame.”
Michael wiped his eyes, nodding.
“Sperm donor. Got it.”
DeShawn eased Mikki into her crib, tucked the blanket gently under her chin, then faced them.
“Now—both of you look like hell. Go shower. Together. I’ve got her.”
They obeyed instantly.
In the scalding shower Michael collapsed again, sliding down the tile to sit at Lynda’s feet while she washed his hair, tears mixing with the water.
“I can’t do this without him,” he whispered, voice raw. “I thought we could… but I can’t.”
Lynda knelt, cupped his face in shaking hands.
“We don’t have to,” she said softly. “We never have to again. I want him here as often as he can be, Michael—with us, every day. He belongs with us.”
They emerged in robes to find DeShawn in the living room, Mikki asleep in the baby swing he’d brought. He opened his arms wide. They fell into him.
Michael dropped to his knees first, pressing his face to DeShawn’s thigh.
“Daddy… please,” he begged, voice trembling. “May I? I need to feel like your girl again… your woman.”
DeShawn threaded gentle fingers through Michael’s ponytail.
“Go ahead, princess. Show Daddy how much you crave being my pretty little girl.”
Michael’s hands shook as he opened DeShawn’s jeans, freeing the thick, veined black cock that had reshaped his world. He took it into his mouth like a penitent returning to sacrament—slow, worshipful, tongue swirling around the swollen head, savoring the salty pre-cum as he bobbed deeper, gagging slightly but pushing through, desperate to take every inch down his throat. His own small cock strained against the robe, but he ignored it, lost in the feminine submission, wishing his body matched the woman he felt inside when DeShawn was near.
Lynda watched, eyes dark with hunger, biting her lip hard enough to leave marks. “God, yes, Mikey—suck him like the good girl you are,” she murmured, her hand slipping between her thighs. “I love seeing my husband on his knees for our Daddy… it’s so hot, so right. You were made for this.”
DeShawn hauled Michael up by the hair and kissed him deep and filthy, tasting himself.
“Bedroom,” he growled. “Both of you. Daddy’s breeding his girls one more time before this little princess wakes up.”
In the bedroom, DeShawn took Lynda missionary—slow, deep, claiming—eyes locked on hers as his massive cock stretched her tight pussy inch by inch, her walls clenching around him like velvet, juices coating his shaft as he bottomed out with a groan. Michael knelt beside them holding her hand, whispering brokenly how breathtaking she looked stretched around Daddy, her folds glistening and swollen from the relentless thrusts.
When DeShawn came, he stayed buried, grinding possessively, flooding her womb with thick ropes of hot cum, ensuring every drop took root deep inside her fertile core.
Then he turned to Michael.
“Your turn, princess. Ass up—now. Show me that pretty pink hole.”
Michael scrambled to obey, robe rucked up, body shaking with desperate need. He arched his back like a woman in heat, wishing for curves and breasts to offer Daddy. “Please, Daddy… make me feel like a real woman. Fuck me until I forget I’m not.”
DeShawn entered him in one long, merciless thrust—his lubed cock sliding past the tight ring of muscle into Mikey’s eager ass, filling him completely, prostate sparking with every inch—and fucked him hard, hand fisted in the ponytail like reins, balls slapping against Mikey’s as he pounded relentlessly, the wet sounds echoing.
Lynda slid beneath Michael, kissing him through every brutal thrust, murmuring, “You’re perfect, baby—so perfect taking Daddy like this. I love you so much… my bisexual prince, my sissy queen. Watching you get fucked turns me on more than anything.” Her fingers teased Mikey’s nipples, pinching them as if they were budding breasts.
DeShawn bred him with a roar, flooding his ass with pulse after pulse of creamy seed until it leaked down trembling thighs, marking him inside and out.
Afterward, Michael—ever the devoted sissy—cleaned Daddy’s cock first, licking every trace of cum and ass from the softening shaft, then Lynda’s overflowing pussy with gentle, loving laps, tongue delving deep to scoop out DeShawn’s load, savoring the mixed flavors as Lynda moaned and stroked his hair.
They lay tangled, breathless.
Lynda traced slow circles on DeShawn’s chest.
“We miss you,” she whispered, voice cracking. “We miss your guidance… your rules… your cock. We miss you so much it hurts. Please, DeShawn… move in with us. Full time. I need you here every day, not just visits. We’re incomplete without you.”
Michael pressed closer, voice tiny.
“I miss being your sissy. I miss feeling owned. Safe. When you’re here, I feel like I could be a woman for you… hormones, surgery, anything to be your perfect girl.”
DeShawn’s smile was warm, dangerous, full of love.
“I can’t be here full-time because there are others who need me as well. Then here’s the new rule. Once a month—Lynda’s peak day—I come home to you. That day, I am your lord. Mikey becomes my pretty sissy girl again: cage, panties, collar, everything. I breed Lynda deep, I use you both, I remind you who you belong to. The other twenty-nine days, you’re Michael and Lynda Fair, perfect parents to the most extraordinary little girl in Pittsburgh. I’m always one text away.”
He looked between them, eyes fierce.
“How does that sound?”
Lynda’s smile blazed through tears.
“Perfect,” she breathed. “But promise me we’ll talk about making it permanent soon. I want you here forever.”
Michael’s eyes overflowed with relief.
“Thank you, Daddy,” he choked. “Thank you.”
DeShawn kissed them both—long, lingering, sealing the promise.
“Next peak day, March 12. Seven p.m. sharp. Mikey—pink cage polished, pinkest panties ready. And don’t even think about those hormones, princess… I think your perfect as you are. we’ll make you even prettier with some weight distribution.”
Michael laughed through happy sobs.
“Yes, Sir.”
Downstairs, Mikki stirred with a small cry.
DeShawn rose, pulled on jeans, and lifted her instantly against his chest.
“There’s my princess,” he murmured as she quieted. “Daddy’s got you. Always.”
Lynda and Michael watched from the doorway, arms around each other.
The world outside could hate all it wanted.
Inside these walls, beneath the steady glow of the porch light, their family was perfect.
And once a month, Daddy would come home.
Once a Month – The Rhythm of Return
March 12, 2027 – Peak Day #1
DeShawn arrived at 6:58 p.m. carrying a small black leather weekender and a bottle of Lynda’s favorite red.
Michael met him at the door already dressed: sheer white babydoll clinging to his slim frame, white lace panties soaked at the front from anticipation, matching garter belt and stockings, pink cage gleaming around his tiny clit. The silver collar with DADDY’S engraved on the tag locked around his throat. He’d shaved everything smooth, applied light makeup—pink lips, mascara—wishing and yearning for the day he could have real breasts to fill the babydoll.
DeShawn’s smile was slow and lethal.
“Good girl. You’ve been waiting all month, haven’t you? Dreaming of being my woman?”Michael dropped to his knees right there in the foyer and nuzzled the bulge in DeShawn’s jeans.
“Yes, Daddy… I want to be her so badly. Please make me feel like your wife tonight.”
The night was long, reverent, filthy.
DeShawn started by bending Michael over the foyer table, pulling the panties aside and tonguing his smooth ass until it quivered and dripped, then sliding two thick fingers in to stretch him while Michael whimpered like a girl in heat.
Lynda watched from the stairs, fingering herself. “Look at my pretty husband… so eager for Daddy’s cock. I love this side of you, Mikey—your bisexual hunger. It makes me wet just watching.”
DeShawn fucked Lynda against the wall first, her legs wrapped around him as he pistoned deep, her pussy squelching around his girth, orgasms ripping through her six times before midnight, each one leaving her trembling and begging for more.
Michael came twice—once untouched while DeShawn fucked his throat, gagging on the thick shaft as it pulsed cum down his gullet; once when Daddy unlocked the cage and let him reclaim Lynda for exactly sixty seconds, his small cock slipping into her cum-filled pussy before being locked back up, denied further release.
They fell asleep tangled, Mikki asleep in the next room with the monitor on.
DeShawn left at dawn with kisses and a quiet,
“See you in thirty days. And Lynda… we’ll talk about that full-time move soon.”
April 9, 2027 – Peak Day #2
This time, DeShawn brought gifts:
A new plug for Mikey—rose-gold, heart-shaped base that read PROPERTY OF DADDY.
A delicate gold waist chain for Lynda with a tiny charm that said BREED ME.
He fucked Lynda on the kitchen island while Michael held her legs open wide, reciting ovulation facts like a prayer, his caged clit leaking as he watched DeShawn’s cock disappear into her, stretching her labia taut, her clit throbbing visibly with each thrust.
Later, in the shower, DeShawn washed them both, slow and tender, telling them how proud he was of the parents they were becoming. His soapy hands lingered on Michael’s chest, teasing nipples. “These would look so good bigger, princess… real tits for Daddy to suck.”Michael cried when DeShawn kissed the stretch marks on Lynda’s belly and called them “badges of honor,” whispering, “I wish I had them too… from carrying your babies.”Lynda pulled DeShawn close. “Stay with us forever this time. Please. I need you here every night.”
May 14, 2027 – Peak Day #3
Mikki was three months old and smiling at everything.DeShawn walked in to find Michael pushing her stroller in circles in the living room, singing off-key. He dropped the bag, scooped Mikki up, and danced with her while she giggled.
That night, he bred Lynda on the nursery rug—his cock plunging deep as she rode him reverse cowgirl, her ass cheeks rippling with each bounce, cum eventually overflowing when he erupted inside her—while Michael rocked Mikki to sleep in the glider, tears in his eyes at the beauty of it all, his panties tented despite the cage.
After the baby was down, DeShawn bent Michael over the changing table and fucked him until the cage dripped a steady stream onto the carpet, his ass clenching rhythmically around DeShawn’s shaft, prostate milking every thrust.
“Still my perfect sissy,” DeShawn growled in his ear. “But you want more, don’t you? To be my full woman?”
Michael came just from the words, sobbing, “Yes, Daddy… help me become her.”
Lynda stroked Michael’s back. “I’d love that for you, baby. And for us—imagine DeShawn here every day, breeding us both.”
The Second Miracle – June 2027 through March 2028
June 11, 2027 – The Night It Happened
Peak Day #4
The pregnancy test was still in DeShawn’s hand when the second line blazed into existence.
Lynda stared at it, mouth open, then let out a scream that woke Mikki in the next room.
Michael dropped to his knees on the bedroom rug, face in his hands, sobbing so hard his whole body shook.
DeShawn—big, unflappable DeShawn—stood frozen for three full seconds, then crushed them both to his chest, the test still clutched in one massive fist.
They didn’t fuck that night the way they usually did.
They made love.
Slow, reverent, all three of them touching every inch of Lynda’s belly like they could already feel the new life.
DeShawn entered her gently, eyes locked on hers, whispering, “Another baby. Another perfect baby.”
His cock slid in smoothly and deep, her pussy hugging him like a glove, slow thrusts building to a shared climax where he painted her insides with his seed.
Michael lay beside them, kissing Lynda’s tears, his own cock soft and uncaged for once, because this wasn’t about roles tonight. But later, he begged DeShawn to finger him while Lynda watched, moaning, “I wish I could carry one too… be your breeding girl.”
When DeShawn came, he stayed inside her, grinding deep, tears falling onto Lynda’s breasts.
Michael followed—no penetration, just grinding against Lynda’s thigh—coming like a teenager again, coming with a broken “I love you both” that cracked in the middle.
July – August 2027
Morning sickness hit Lynda like a truck.
She lost eight pounds in two weeks and couldn’t keep water down.
Michael took family leave immediately.
DeShawn moved into the guest room “temporarily”—he never moved out, at Lynda’s tearful insistence, “Stay, please. Make this permanent. We need you here full time.”
He was at every appointment, holding the bucket when she puked in the parking garage, rubbing her back while Michael held her hair.
At the eight-week ultrasound, the heartbeat fluttered on the screen—strong, perfect.
DeShawn’s hand crushed Michael’s so hard, bones creaked.
Lynda laughed through tears, “We’re really doing this again.”
September 2027 – Anatomy Scan
Another girl.
The tech asked if they wanted to know the likely skin tone based on parental contribution.
DeShawn answered before they could:
“Doesn’t matter. She’s ours.”
On the screen, the baby sucked her thumb exactly like Mikki had.
Michael cried in the dark ultrasound room, whispering to DeShawn later, “I started researching estrogen… for me. To be more like the woman you deserve.”
Lynda reached for both their hands. “I support you, Mikey. And DeShawn… thank you for staying. Don’t ever leave.”
October – December 2027
Lynda’s belly grew faster this time.
By Christmas she was huge, waddling, radiant.
Mikki—ten months old—learned to say “Dada” and “Baby” and pointed at Lynda’s stomach constantly.
DeShawn built a second crib himself—dark walnut to match Mikki’s—sanding it by hand in the garage while Michael painted the new nursery a soft sage green. In the evenings, Michael would dress in lingerie, practicing feminine walks, begging DeShawn for approval.
On Christmas Eve, DeShawn bred Lynda one last time before the “no-sex-after-36-weeks” rule—slow, on her side, his cock curving perfectly to hit her G-spot with each gentle thrust, Michael spooned behind her kissing her neck, his fingers circling her clit until she squirted around DeShawn’s shaft.
After, DeShawn laid his head on her belly and felt the baby kick against his cheek.
He cried quietly.
Michael and Lynda held him until he slept, Lynda murmuring, “This is how it should be—every night. Our family, together.”
January – February 2028
Lynda’s blood pressure crept up.
Bed rest at 34 weeks.
DeShawn took over everything—cooking, diapers, 3 a.m. feeds for Mikki so Lynda could rest.
Michael slept on the floor beside her bed in case she needed anything, often slipping into the guest room to service DeShawn orally, deepthroating him while whispering fantasies of full feminization.
The hospital gossip had mostly died—as DeShawn predicted. A new scandal had taken over—someone else’s affair, someone else’s drama.
Dr. Harlan retired early after an “unrelated” ethics complaint.
Michael walked the halls again with his head high.
March 8, 2028 – 37 weeks, 2 days
Lynda’s water broke at 2:17 a.m. during a thunderstorm.
DeShawn carried her to the car while Michael grabbed the hospital bag and Mikki’s overnight bag for the sitter’s house.
Labor was fast and brutal—six hours.
Michael never left her side.
DeShawn stood at the foot of the bed, holding her foot, whispering “Push, baby girl, you’re so strong” like a mantra.
At 8:43 a.m., their second daughter slid into the world screaming, dark curls, rich brown skin, Lynda’s mouth, and Michael’s long fingers.
The new obstetrician—a young Black woman who’d heard the rumors and didn’t care—placed the baby on Lynda’s chest and said simply, “She’s perfect.”
They named her Zoe Mikayla Fair—Zoe meaning “life,” Mikayla for the man who gave them everything.
DeShawn kissed Lynda’s sweaty forehead, then Michael’s, then the baby’s tiny fist.
“Two princesses,” he whispered, voice cracking. “You gave me two princesses.”That night in the recovery room, with Mikki asleep in a bassinet and Zoe nursing at Lynda’s breast, Lynda looked at the two men who loved her—one her husband, one her everything else—and said the words she’d been carrying for months.
“Thank you for giving us this life. Both of you.”
DeShawn leaned over and kissed her—soft, reverent, final.
“Thank you for letting me be part of it.”
The porch light stayed on that night, and every night after.
Because once a month wasn’t enough anymore.
Some families are born.
Some are chosen.
Some are fought for with blood and tears and love so fiercely it burns the world down and builds it back better.
The Fairs—Michael, Lynda, Mikki, Zoe, and the man who came when the light was on—were all three.
