So, the baby is due any day, now.  Congratulations!  You must be so proud of Annie. 

Truly, your little wife has never looked more beautiful than she does right now. You can tell she adores being pregnant.  Look at the way she caresses the taut skin of her belly, with that drowsy smile. She’s so big she can hardly reach around herself. See how she cups her hands under those heavy breasts, already seeping milk into the foam pads of her maternity bra.  As a man who has a thing for big boobs, you must be beside yourself with happiness. 32J, and still growing!

Yes, I know her bra size. Is that a problem?

Anyway, enjoy this time while you can. In a couple of weeks, you’ll be groggy from midnight feedings, diapers, colic and all the stress and worry that goes with being a new dad.  It will take a while to get used to it. For now, though, you can just sit back and congratulate yourself on what a lucky man, you are! You have a great job, at the head of a department with nearly two dozen employees. You have a big house in the 'burbs. 

Best of all, you have a sweet-tempered, incredibly voluptuous wife, nearly ten years younger than you.  Even before she became pregnant, she was just your type: a little under five feet tall, and barely out of her teens, with those wide hips, that slim waist, and tits like a couple of muskmelons. And now here she is, the fulfillment of every fantasy you’ve ever had: radiant with new life, her belly swollen with the child you put inside her. Everything is going your way.

Mind you, it would be nice if she occasionally allowed you to put your hands on that magnificent body.  I mean, how long has it been since you two had sex?  Here you are, weak with lust all day long, going around with your stiff little pecker sticking out, and a wife who has absolutely no interest in sex. And you can’t take your eyes off her, can you? It must be driving you mad.

A couple of weeks ago, you watched her from the other room as she was emerging from the shower. She was wrapping her long hair in a towel, her boobs swinging as he leaned forward, a halo of light caught in that little tuft of golden pubic hair under her belly.  You were almost fainting with desire, and came pretty close to losing ejaculating right into your pajamas! 

When she entered the room, you had to cover up the big splotch of precum seeping into the cloth. She pretended not to notice, but she saw that, and believe me, she did not find it the least bit arousing. These days, all she feels when she looks at you is pity and faint disgust. The thought of letting you poke that little breadstick of yours into her makes her feel ill.

Well, don’t be too concerned about that. Some women lose interest in sex, during pregnancy. It’s a hormonal thing, you know?

Of course, it’s not as if you were having a lot of sex before the pregnancy.  To be honest, it’s a mystery how you managed to knock her up at all.  You’ve wondered about that, haven’t you?

She told you it must have happened on the night of the Waltham’s housewarming party.  You remember the first part of that night pretty well. The whole neighborhood was there, including a lot of people you’d never met.  You hit the sangria pretty hard, and made a fool of yourself, flirting with that slutty divorcee, Sheena Danko, who already has three kids by two different guys.

And where’s the harm in that, you might ask? You were just messing around a bit, being sociable.  You seemed awfully pleased when she leaned over the sectional couch to get a handful of peanuts and nonchalantly pressed one of her big, pointy boobs into your arm. Did you think nobody noticed, when you reached out and gave her ripe little butt a deft squeeze? Annie certainly saw that, and you can bet she was pissed off about it.  

By the end of the evening, you were almost too drunk to stagger home, and the last thing you remember was falling onto the living room couch and passing out.  

But apparently, that wasn’t the end of the evening for you.  That is, if you can believe what Annie told you a couple of month or two later, when she announced she was pregnant. As she describes it, you had just dozed off on the couch, and she went to the kitchen for a glass of water. Then,  she says, you woke up again and came into the kitchen with her, and put your arms around her from behind. You were very assertive, she said. 

Before she knew it, you had hoisted her up on the counter and pulled up her dress, and then you took her right next to the bread machine, scattering sugar bowls and cans of tea all over the room. You were a real sex machine, apparently. What a shame that you don’t remember any of it!

What you do remember is waking up the next morning, fully dressed on the couch, your belt buckled and your fly zipped up.  You had a godawful hangover, and stumbled out to the kitchen for some aspirin. If you’d been paying attention, you might have taken note of how tidy it was, all the tea cans neatly lined up between the bread machine and the fridge. But even if you had noticed this, it wouldn’t mean anything. Probably, she had taken a few minutes to to straighten things up, the night before, after your little escapade. You know how she hates a mess in the kitchen.

You do remember one other detail of that day. Later in the morning, you had found something on the hall carpet, next to the front door. It was a piece of torn paper, with your house address written in blue ballpoint. The handwriting looked just like Annie’s. You asked her about it,  but she said she had no idea where it had come from. You accepted this, but perhaps a dark thought went through your mind, just then. A fleeting suspicion.

What if she too had found someone to flirt with at the Waltham’s party? Suppose she had met some well-built fellow her own age, and they had gotten to talking, then stepped outside for some fresh air. And then, out on the patio in the moonlight, on a sudden impulse - partly fueled by anger at your behavior, perhaps - she had kissed him.

And he had kissed her back, pressing his hard, body against hers, and she had felt his arousal. Fearful that someone might see them, she had pulled away. But before leaving him, she had ripped a page out of her agenda, and written her home address on it.  And then she slipped the paper to him with a shy and secretive smile.

That seems plausible, but then how did this paper come to be on the floor of their house?

Well, suppose the younger man had come over, later that same night, while you were passed out on the couch. It’s an easy scene to picture, if you have any imagination. He would knock softly, and she would let him in, and they would embrace briefly in the hall, inadvertently allowing the address fall to the floor. She would take his hand and quietly led him upstairs, glancing over over at you as they passed by,  sleeping it off in your rumpled suit,  completely oblivious.

They would enter the bedroom together, and, standing there by your marital bed, she would begin demurely unbuttoning her blouse. But he would clasp her to him with a breathless urgency, and push her small hands aside. He would take the filmy fabric in his own strong fingers and rudely tear it open, letting the loose buttons scatter across the floor.  Startled, she would begin to cry out, but by then he would be pulling off her brassiere, not fiddling with the hooks but just ripping them apart.

And she would give in to him and melt into his arms, gasping faintly as her breasts spilled out.

She would be shocked at the thickness and length of it. She had never felt anything like that. Before meeting you, her only sexual encounter had occurred when she was sixteen, and her older cousin had pulled her into a hall closet to fool around. After he had felt her up for a while, clumsily probing her precocious tits through the fabric of her shirt, he had pulled out his youthful erection and placed her cool fingers around it.

She had liked the way it felt. It was kind of skinny and short, and very warm to the touch, with just a dusting of soft hair around the base. As soon as she touched it, it began bobbing up and down, and within a few seconds it had shot a thin jolt of sperm up her arm, and over the front of her t-shirt. There were only a few drops, but they came out so suddenly and with such force that she almost laughed. Afterwards, they never talked about it again.

So, that boy’s penis and yours were the only male members she had ever touched. Imagine how it might have felt to close her fingers around the full-sized cock of a well-endowed man!

Perhaps you’ve already pictured what might have happened next? How she might have run one hand up and down the veiny shaft of his cock, and reached around his muscular torso with the other hand to pull him closer, guiding him into the warm wetness between her thighs. No doubt you can even imagine the look on her face, the mixture of pleasure and alarm as he thrust his full length and thickness into her.

She would have struggled to suppress a cry, not wanting to awaken you. Then, as he thrust again,  she would have moaned softly, digging her nails into the small of his back. And when he pressed down upon her and began moving his hips rhythmically, thrusting himself into her again and again, she would have had a sudden orgasm, and let out a small squeak of surprise.  

Of course, we both know why that would have been a surprise to her. You’ve never given her an orgasm in that way, have you? Yes, you’ve occasionally been able to satisfy her, more or less, after a lot of fiddling and diddling with your fingers or your tongue.  Afterwards, you would ask if it had been “good for her," and she always assured you it was just fine. 

But you’ve never driven her over the brink during penetration, have you? And she has certainly never come multiple times.  So, after that first unexpected orgasm with her young lover,  she would have been very surprised indeed by the second one. And when that was followed by another, and then another, she must have thought she’d gone to heaven!

And each time she came, the intensity would have been greater, until she could no longer stifle her shrieks and moans, and no longer cared if she woke you from your drunken sleep. She might climax at least five times - I’m speaking hypothetically, of course -and only then would she feel his heavy body stiffening over her, and hear his long grunt of pleasure as he came inside her, filling her with his sperm.

That is the final thing that would have taken her by surprise. Your ejaculations are so small that she hardly bothers to clean up afterward.  But this young man would ejaculate so copiously that the sperm would well out over the lips of her vulva, completely drenching her pubic hair, before dribbling thickly over her thighs and soaking the clean sheets around her ripe little ass.

If those were the thoughts that were going through your mind as you looked at that scrap of paper, with your home address written on it, I suppose it is only natural.  

But what if it was even worse than that? What if her little fling had not ended on that night. Suppose she had continued to meet the younger man in secret, in the coming weeks, on those evenings when you were working late.  If you were to think back, you might remember a few clues. Perhaps there was a strange pile of kleenex under the bed, curiously stiff panties in the hamper, a mangled brassiere in the mending pile.

A whiff of men’s cologne on your pillow. And if you had come home from work just a few minutes early, on some summer evening, you might have been there in time to see a complete stranger pressing your young wife down into the bed with his large body and fucking her hard and long, making her big, soft breasts wobble and bounce with each long, confident stroke.  And you might have seen how she kind of arched her back and squeaked when she came, sometimes as often as seven or eight times in a row, wriggling beneath him as he emptied loads of sperm into her.

And as long as you’re stretching your imagination, thinking about purely imaginary situations, and so on, who was this younger man, anyway? Why had he suddenly stepped into Annie’s life, and what did he want with her? Well, I suppose what he wanted is self-explanatory: he wanted to fuck her, obviously and she was certainly a very attractive girl.

But what if there was another reason? What if it wasn’t really about her, but about you? What if your wife’s lover was actually somebody you knew, somebody you’d once treated rather badly. What if - and I’m just asking this as a sort of exercise, not meaning to imply anything by it - what if, he was somebody who used to work in your department, but you had fired him suddenly, and without provocation, just to shave a few bucks off the annual budget?

What if he really needed that job, and wasn’t the kind of guy to forgive something like that. And what if, by pure luck, he happened to find himself one evening at the Waltham’s housewarming party, and there was his ex-boss’s wife, so young, so pretty, so lonely.  A man like that might just take advantage of the situation to take his pleasure and get revenge at the same time.

But enough of this idle “imagining.” You’re coming up on the big day! After Annie gives birth, nothing will ever be the same after that. According to the ultrasound, it will be a boy, and you’ve already painted the nursery blue. A really good choice!  There’s no telling what he might look like, of course. Will he be small and cute, like his mom, or reedy and pale, with red hair like his “dad?” Will he inherit your small penis and receding hairline?

Personally, I think he will be a big, sturdy child and his hair will be thick, dark and curly, and  Anyway, no matter what he looks like, his mother will love him with all her heart, far more than she’ll ever love you. When she stares into his dark eyes, and strokes his little brown cheeks, he’ll be all she needs or cares for in this world. I want you to think about that, as you watch him latch hungrily onto her huge, milky boobs, and grow, and grow.