Timmy, Bree, and Jamal: Chapter 10

Abstract:
The 10th of 12 chapters. Timmy & Bree invite their family and friends over for a formal dinner. Jamal announces their relationship to everyone - with an additional surprise.
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The garden patio was adorned with flair and exquisite taste, the kind of setup Timmy had orchestrated with his usual flair for excess hosting dinner parties. He'd spared no expense, hiring Chef Laurent, the Michelin-starred legend, along with a team of servers gliding like shadows in crisp whites. It was meant to be a celebration of sorts—Timmy and Bree's circle of family, including their parents, and friends, all gathered to toast another chapter in their charmed life.

Bree was wearing a most revealing mini dress Jamal bought for her, with a plunging neckline, leaving little for the imagination. As guests arrived, they took notice of her dress, the gold "JAMAL" pendant around her neck, heavy and gleaming, and her wedding band, all but absent.

When Mia, Bree’s younger sister arrived, she was shocked at Bree’s appearance. She took Bree aside and said "Bree, what the hell? Why the slutty dress? Mom and Dad are here! Where’s your wedding ring and what’s with the necklace?" Bree responded that an announcement would be made before dinner.

Jamal was there introducing himself, sharply dressed, stylish blazer with light wool slacks. Guests were surprised to meet Jamal since Timmy and Bree normally did not associate with black people.

Mia cornered Timmy by the charcuterie spread, whispering fiercely, "What's going on Tim? Bree looks... different." Timmy's face flushed, but he just shrugged, that charming deflection in place. "It's all good, Mia. Bree's happy."

Once all were in attendance, Jamal rose and spoke. “I want to thank Timmy and Bree for gathering all of us this evening. I have some important announcements.” He paused, locking eyes with Bree, who stood beside him, her hand slipping into his for a squeeze. "Bree and I are lovers. She belongs to me. I live here now, and we share the master bedroom. Timmy's in the guest room—he's my servant, takes care of things around the house, for me personally, and he obeys my every command. And Bree? She's pregnant with my baby. We’re starting a family together."

The words landed like a nuclear bomb explosion. Silence crashed over the patio, thick and unyielding. Faces froze. Bree's mom fainted and had to be revived. Everyone was silent, motionless, in a state of shock. No gasps, no outbursts—just a collective stillness, the kind that sucks the air from a room. The quiet was broken as Chef Laurent's voice boomed through the open doors: "Dinner is served, mes amis!

Guests rose, like the walking dead, appearing lifeless, made their way to their assigned seats. Jamal was seated at the head of the table with Bree next to him. They held hands, smiled at each other, and occasionally kissed. Timmy was seated at the other side of the table, near the end.

The silence continued while the appetizers were served. Finally, Timmy’s longtime friend Greg said "Okay, someone say something. How the hell did this happen? Timmy, you and Bree—you've been solid. And now... this?"

The dam broke. Mia, angered and enraged, shouted “Bree! pregnant? What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck were you thinking?” She got up, collected her belongings, and left. After more silence, Timmy explained his fantasy to Bree, she found Jamal, he entered their lives, and that changed everything.

By the main course, the fog lifted, people overcame the shock, collected themselves, and conversation started to flow. By dessert, there was warmth, smiles, and occasional laughter.

After the last guest left and the dining staff cleaned and cleared, Jamal put his arms around Bree and Timmy. He thanked them for getting his family and friends together and for them to know of their new life together.

Three months later..........

The first rays of dawn slithered through the half-drawn blinds of the master bedroom. Bree stirred under the weight of Timmy's arm draped across her waist, his small frame curled against her like a contented puppy. Jamal had left before the sun cracked the horizon, off to some early meeting in the city, his side of the Alaskan King bed cool and empty.

Bree's belly, now a gentle swell at five months along, pressed softly against Timmy's palm as he absentmindedly traced circles over the taut skin, his touch reverent, almost worshipful. She turned her head, her lips brushing his forehead. "Morning, little one," she murmured, her voice husky from sleep. Timmy blinked awake, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her.

They had slipped into this rhythm since the dinner party—nights when Jamal claimed her fully, and mornings like this, when Jamal allowed Timmy to nestle her close, sharing warmth without the barriers of expectation. No penetration, per Jamal's firm rule; Timmy's role was devotion, not dominance. But Bree had her ways of making it sweet, her hand often wandering to coax his 'Tinnie Wennie' to life with slow, teasing finger strokes.

Timmy nuzzled her neck, inhaling the faint scent of her lavender shampoo mixed with the musky remnants of last night's passion. "You feel amazing," he whispered, his fingers splaying wider over her bump. "The little one's kicking already? Or is that just you squirming?" Bree chuckled, shifting to face him fully. Their lips met in a lazy kiss, building that familiar heat without rushing. She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. "Not kicking yet, but very present.

Last night... Jamal and I talked. Pillow talk, you know? The kind that lingers." Timmy's hand stilled, his breath catching. "What'd he say?" She cupped his cheek, her thumb stroking the faint stubble. "He's grown to love you Tim. Really. He says you're family now, not just... whatever this started as. He wants you to be a second father to the baby. Help raise this child, be there for all of it—the diapers, the school runs, the whole messy joy."

The words hit Timmy like a wave, crashing through the walls he'd built around his heart. Joy bubbled up, hot and unexpected, spilling over into tears that traced wet paths down his cheeks. "Bree... really? Me? I mean, I'd give anything for that." His voice cracked, and he buried his face in her shoulder, weeping. Bree's eyes welled up too, her own tears mixing with his as she held him tight, their bodies pressed close in a tangle of limbs and emotion.

It wasn't just the baby; it was the validation, the circle closing around their unconventional life. They lay like that for what felt like hours, though the clock ticked only minutes, until the tears dried and gave way to softer touches. Bree's hand slid down, finding the thin fabric of Timmy's boxers, her fingers wrapping gently around the small bulge of his arousal. "Shh, let me take care of you," she said, her voice a soothing purr. Timmy groaned, hips bucking instinctively as she began to rub the Tinnie-Weenie with her thumb and forefinger, slow and deliberate, drawing out his pleasure like she knew he craved. No rush to the finish—just the intimacy of her control, her care. He kissed her bump, then her breasts, spilling over the edges of her loose tank top, but kept to the rules, his mouth never venturing lower without permission.

By midday, the house hummed with quiet domesticity. Jamal wouldn't return until evening, leaving Bree and Timmy to their private world. They migrated to the sun-drenched living room, where floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the pool and ocean.

Bree, feeling bold in the privacy, peeled off her tank top, letting her larger and full breasts sway free, nipples hardening in the cool air. "Join me?" she teased, shimmying out of her shorts until she stood nude, her body a canvas of curves and the subtle roundness of pregnancy. Timmy's eyes devoured her, his own clothes discarded in a heap. He was no Adonis—short, slight, with that endearing Tinnie Wennie, but in her gaze, he felt like a king.

They sank onto the oversized sectional, Bree reclining against pillows with Timmy laying next to her. They dozed after, nude and entwined on the couch, the afternoon sun warming their skin.