The Last Time
Erotic goodbyes and an unspoken confession.
She catches the bus on her own, enjoying the rumble of the engine beneath her, and the sun warming her through the window. At thirty-six weeks her belly is large and heavy, pressing down on her pelvis in an achy but strangely pleasant way, and the vibration of the bus is enough to make her feel horny again.
No one told her being pregnant would make her so incredibly randy. She feels like she is in heat, turned on all the time, and slippery wet between her thighs. Her breasts are swollen, larger than they used to be, and ridiculously sensitive. She has stopped wearing normal bras, relying on crop tops and tight singlets to keep them in place and the cotton fabric rubbing against her nipples sends pleasurable sensations tingling. She breathes deep, enjoying her body’s reaction to the smallest stimuli, but trying to ready herself for today.
She was going to see him. Maybe for the last time.
When she reaches her stop, she takes a moment as the bus pulls away, rubbing her tummy, settling the little one growing within. She walks up the street, slowly now, her hips swaying. She is in no rush to say goodbye.
He opens the door with a smile, taking in the glow in her cheeks, her curvy form, her round belly. She looks beautiful. He resists the urge to lean forward and kiss her, instead ushering her inside, away from prying eyes.
Once inside he reaches to touch her, to run his hands over her ripening belly, the tightening skin, to feel her full breasts, but she puts her hands up to stop him, a troubled look in her eye.
“ What’s wrong?” he asks.
She tries to turn away from him, but he pulls her back, pressing her against the wall, his hands on her shoulders so she has to meet his gaze.
“ Nothing… I…” Her eyes plead for understanding, so she doesn’t have to say it.
He kisses her hard, taking her lack of explanation as an opportunity to touch her as he had wanted, his hands reaching to feel the smooth, taut perfection of her tummy, to squeeze her swollen and already leaking breasts. He pulls her singlet down, dipping his head to suckle and taste the sweetness of her milk and she groans at the sensation, unable to help herself.
“Stop!” she forces it out, with a groan that says anything but stop, “Sir, stop”.
He lifts his head to look at her. They had been playing like this for years, and not once had she asked him to stop. He kisses her gently once more.
“Out with it…” he orders.
She bites her lip hesitant. It’s adorable, and he is overwhelmed with a need to protect her, to reassure her. The silence extends and she finally cracks, her words rushing all at once.
“I think we have to stop this… I’m due, and I have to concentrate on…” her breathlessness and nerves making her lose her words, “…and I don’t know how I’ll see you, without him knowing.”
Her voice quavers, on the verge of tears, and inwardly he sighs. He has no intention of losing her, but he understands how vulnerable she must be feeling. He takes a deep breath and simply places his hand gently but firmly on her throat. Not enough to trigger her maternal instinct to fight — he had already experienced that once before. Just enough to remind her of his place in her life, the control she enjoys, the submission she has given him.
“Who do you belong to?” he whispers.
“I can’t .. “ she whimpers.
“Who?” Louder now, growling in her ear, his teeth grazing her earlobe.
Her tears start to flow, and immediately he wraps his arms around her, bringing her close, licking the salty fluid from her cheeks.
His actions soften her resolve. She has never known someone so intuitive, who got her needs, who would hold her like this, demand these things of her, and then kiss away her tears. Her head told her she should put this aside, but her heart… And he is looking at her now, and he knows. He knows exactly where she is, what she wants deep down.
She pulls back and looks at him, into his intense grey eyes. He gives the smallest of nods, and she returns the smallest of smiles.
“You,” she whispers, answering him finally.
He closes his eyes for a second, hands moving down her body again, that round tummy beautiful and wondrous to him.
He finds her pregnancy incredibly erotic, and he can’t help but continue to skim over the ripeness of her belly, amazed at how sexy she is. He kisses her again, trailing nibbling bites down her neck, breathing in her musky earthy mummy scent. He lifts her top up and off, ignoring her protests, and lifts her swollen breast to his mouth, pulling the nipple deep into his mouth, sucking deep and hard. His other hand begins to milk the other so she receives a dual release, sending orgasmic sensations down her body.
He likes the feeling of the hot milk running between his fingers, rubbing his mouth across it enjoying the sweet scent. She whimpers in pleasure, giving in to him, and he starts to move down her body, kneeling to nuzzle, lick and kiss the smooth skin of her tummy, fingers tracing the fine little stretch marks beneath. He pulls down her skirt, finding her naked beneath. His fingers move to play with her clit, sliding between her lips already soft and a little swollen in readiness, his mouth on her now, his tongue invading the heat of her sex, making her moan, her tears forgotten.
He worships her, the way she has for him a thousand times, sucking and tasting and fucking her with his tongue until she cums on his face. Kissing her, making her taste her juices from his lips afterward.
He leads her into the bedroom now and makes her kneel on the bed on all fours. She is a little awkward and ungainly, her back automatically arching in this position with the weight of her belly hanging low.
He takes his belt off and slips it around her neck, a reminder of her place with him, knowing it is a turn-on for her. She has grown since he saw her last month, her belly full and heavy now, her breasts bigger, her nipples darker, her skin soft and peachy. He pinches her nipples then, squeezing and pulling, milking her, enjoying the visual as she whimpers in pleasure. Small droplets of milk ease out and he bends to suck on them, to taste how sweet they are. His cock is hard, pressing against his jeans.
He explores her exposed arse and pussy, noticing how her vulva has swollen a little. He pushes his fingers inside and feels how her passage has started to become more flexible, silkier, and yet with the swelling and the pressure of the growing child inside her, her pussy feels tight, squeezing. And so very hot and wet. She pushes back against him, against his hands and exploring fingers.
Eager now, the heaviness of her growing body is pressuring her in all the rights ways, leaving her in a permanent state of arousal. Now, with the belt on her neck and his fingers in her pussy, god she wants him, and the harder the better. It is an almost animalistic desire...
“Fuck me.. “ she begs, “please, Sir, I need to be fucked!”
He takes off his clothes and kneels before her first, where she immediately takes him into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the head, before taking him into her throat. He pulls back, lifting her chin, and instead grabs her breasts and rubs the head of his cock between their heavy weight, pressing them together and enjoying the smooth texture of her skin coupled with the wetness of the milk in her cleavage and between his fingers. He slides his cock back into her mouth, letting her taste her own sweetness.
When he moves behind her, rubbing his hard cock up and down her lips, teasing her, she lets out a guttural moan; frustrated and horny, she pushes back at him again, and he smiles at her eagerness. Slowly he slides into her hot, swollen pussy, wet with cum, and pressure-tight; she feels amazing. He groans, running his hand over her arse and then under to play with her pendulous breasts, to hold that tummy, feeling the ripples of movement beneath. He has to hold back, getting the urge to just squeeze her hard, to eat her up and fuck her into the ground, his animalistic urges fighting with his need to savor her like this.
He thrusts slow but deep, and she responds by pushing to meet him, clenching around him, groaning with him.
Wanting to see her he pulls away, seating himself on the bed, he pulls her belt leash to him, guides her to sit astride him. “ Ride me,” he whispers.
She does as he wishes; horny as hell, she positions herself above him and rides his thick cock, taking advantage of the position to play with her clitoris, “I want to cum again, Sir,” she whispers.
He watches her as she moves above him, her round belly and breasts exposed for him to play with, her skin thin and taut under his fingers, almost translucent.
She is fucking him, and he can feel the blood pulsing beneath her stretched out skin. She is fucking him and he can feel how her pussy is clenching, thick and tight around his cock, pulsing and hot. She is fucking him, and he doesn’t want it to stop, the heat and the pressure and the movement of life within, everything she represents.
“Cum for me now,” He whispers, watching her expression as she brings herself to orgasm, the mother and the harlot and the slave, so intoxicating to see her this way. He grabs her breasts hard and squeezes them, watching them leak milk through his fingers as she cries out in ecstasy, crying his name, and as she thrusts herself harder onto his cock, as he rises to meet her, he is overwhelmed, his balls aching as he reaches his own high, cumming hard into her, growling in his orgasm as she convulses above him.
He holds her for a long time afterward, spooning her, and resting his hands on her tummy, feeling the miraculous movement beneath.
When it comes time for her to leave, he grabs her hand, making her pause.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
She doesn’t look him in the eye, but she nods, realizing this isn’t something she knows how to walk away from. Realizing she never really wanted to walk away. She turns again to leave, her hand on the door.
“Is it mine?” He whispers, so quiet she hardly hears.
She looks back in astonishment. Stares at him.
“You never wanted to discuss it…” her voice hoarse.
He waits, and she doesn’t answer. Just a single tear rolling down her cheek.
“I have to go… Sir.” The final word was spoken abruptly, a hint of defiance.
She turns, but pauses by the door, as though trying to decide whether to tell him the truth. He waits, but with a sinking in his chest. Already grieving for her, even though she is still in reach…
The door opens — then closes. And he is alone.
