Katie:

I hadn’t mean to get pregnant.

I forgot my pill during a week in Ibiza with my husband: a wild, sweaty, week where we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. We fucked in the shower, against the balcony railing, and tangled in hotel sheets. I’d never seen him like that before. Never felt so insatiable myself.

But once we were home and I missed my period and took the test, things changed. The sex stopped being wild and started being careful.

Now he treats me like I’m going to snap in half if he grabs my hips too hard. I’ve begged him to be rougher, to stop worrying about the baby. He kisses my forehead. He says, “Later, when it’s safe.” He says, “I just want to protect you.”

It’s sweet, it’s thoughtful and makes me want to scream into a pillow.

And that’s where Matt comes in, Matt from work. He is older than me, maybe by twenty years or more, but we’ve always got on well after bonding over one of our early terrible bosses. We’ve always had this push-pull tension, just below the surface.

The day I came back from the holiday, still glowing and sore from the week, before I knew I was pregnant, we were sitting in the break room, avoiding work when I stood to stretch. “I think I pulled something while being pounded into a hotel mattress,” I’d said without thinking, mostly.

He looked up from his coffee, smiled slow, and said, “It’s always worth a pulled muscle if it’s done right.” Then he added, “God, I miss it. My wife hasn’t touched me in two years.”

What followed was a conversations that was entirely not appropriate for work as we discussed our sex lives. Since that conversation I had felt a tension in him when he was around me, and when I told him a few weeks later that I was pregnant, his eyes dropped to my stomach and stayed there just a beat too long.

Matt: 

She doesn’t even know what she’s doing to me. Or maybe she does. That’s the thing with Katie, she’s smart, and a little evil. And lately she’s a menace. If she knew what I was thinking I’d be sent to HR and fired so fast my feet wouldn’t touch the ground.

She walks past my desk, round and glowing and practically barefoot in those stupid soft flats, and I feel like a fucking animal. There’s a heaviness to her now. A fullness. That tight stretch of her shirt over her belly, it’s captivating.

And I hate myself for staring. But I still do. And I swear sometimes she seems to encourage it. 

I know she’s married. I know she’s pregnant. I know this is a bad idea, even just thinking about it. But she started it. That story about her holiday, the story I now know is also how she got impregnated, I swear she told me just to tease me, and the thought of it still gets me horny every fucking time. 

In return I told her about my marriage, that it was dead. I loved my wife, but she is more of a roommate than a lover these days. I confided that I hadn’t been touched in two years. That I miss it hard. Rough. That I miss teeth and sweat and hair-pulling and the sound a woman makes when you don’t hold back.

Since then we have discussed our sex lives more regularly; Katie has even told me how frustrated she is about how gentle her husband is being. And I told her how turned on I got when my wife was pregnant; I’d barely left her alone. 

She has been initiating these conversations more and more as her frustrations with her husband grow. I’ve been jerking off like a teenager again. Thinking about what I’d be doing if she were my wife. Thinking about how her thighs would feel wrapped around me. How her belly would press against me as I laid her on a desk. How good it would feel to stop pretending I don’t want her.

When she sent me a message over Teams, “Hey Matt. Can you stop by after work? I could use some help with something.” I stared at it for ten minutes before answering. I believed it would be something mundane; she had asked for help with some DIY stuff before. She and her husband are both millennials, and barely know which end of a hammer is which. Also, I knew they didn’t have much family in the area to call on for that stuff; I knew she viewed me as something like a surrogate father. 

And yet I couldn’t help picturing caressing and kissing that taut belly. I couldn’t help imagining sucking on the nipples of her swollen breasts, which had once been a little small for my taste but had become…heavy.

That evening, standing in front of the door, about to knock, my pulse thudding in my ears like I was twenty again, I kept trying to calm myself. I had to get control over my libido. 

She opened the door in a long, loose shirt. The soft cotton draped the curve of her belly and did absolutely nothing to hide the fact she was not wearing a bra. Her hair was tied back, her cheeks flushed. And she was barefoot, which shouldn’t be sexy, but something about a barefoot pregnant lady made the animal inside me squirm. 

“Hey,” she said, relaxed and casual, beckoning me inside.
“Hey,” I replied, trying to match her tone while my animal brain told me to bend her over right there and then. 

I followed her into the kitchen, trying not to stare at the sway of her hips, trying not to wonder if she was wearing knickers. I failed.

She handed me a mug. Our fingers touched. Her eyes met mine and lingered a second too long. “Thanks for coming,” she said, leaning against the counter. “It’s nice to talk to someone who doesn’t treat me like I’m about to explode.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”

She exhaled, sharply. “Worse. Alex looks at me like I’m made of glass. I get it, the baby and all, but I swear, if he apologizes one more time for touching my boobs too hard…”

I chuckled to hide the little gasp I made at the thought of her breasts. I kept my eyes firmly fixed on her face, although in my peripheral vision I could see the shadow of her areola’s through that shirt. It was a herculean effort to keep my eyes fixed on hers. She had nice eyes: deep green, mischievous. 

Holding back my lecherous instincts was consuming all my attention, I almost missed it when she asked quietly, “You said you really liked it, when your wife was pregnant. That you could barely keep your hands off her. That you just wanted to fuck the whole time. Was she into that was well?”

“Yes, I think the hormones swirling round her body had made her as horny as she made me, maybe even more so. She would also burst into tears at the tiniest little thing, but then the next minute she would be pulling me upstairs again.”

“Ok, so the fact that I’m constantly randy is pretty normal then?”

I nearly choked on the coffee. My throat tightened. My brain short-circuited. I set the mug down carefully. “I suppose.” I said. I chose my words slowly.

She smiled. Slow. Dangerous. She knew exactly what she was doing. “The difference is your wife was getting well satisfied. I’m not.” 

I exhaled hard. My body answered before my mouth could catch up. “Katie…”

She stepped closer. Just a few inches. Her belly brushed against me, making my insides fizz. “You said you missed it rough,” she murmured.

“I need it rough. I’ve seen the way you look at me, Matt,” she said. “You’re not exactly subtle. But you’re not gross either. That’s why I let you look.”

The mug felt heavy in my hand. My heart pounded, slow and hard. “I wasn’t trying to stare.”

“You were,” she said softly. “You are. But it’s okay. Because I’ve been staring right back.”

Katie:

He didn’t realize how much I needed to hear those things: that someone sees me like this, swollen and needy and half feral, and wants it, not in spite of the belly, but because of it.

When I told him I’d noticed the way he looks at me, his whole body tensed. I thought for a second he might bolt. But he didn’t. He just stared at me.

I set my coffee down and stepped a little closer.

“I’ve been so…” I paused, searching for the right word. “Starved, Matt. Like I’m crawling out of my skin. I try to tell my husband, and he just tucks me into bed like I’m some delicate thing.”

His jaw flexed. He said nothing. But his eyes were telling me everything.

So I tested him. One more step closer. My belly pushed into him. My fingers grazed the front of his jeans. “Tell me,” I whispered, “tell me what you’ve been thinking.”

His voice, when it came, was hoarse..

“That you’re the most goddamn beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. That I want to see what your body looks like when you’re begging. That I’ve been trying so hard to be decent, and I don’t think I can anymore.”

I smiled. Slow. Triumphant.

Then I said, “Good. Because I don’t want 'decent' tonight.”

Matt:

“You’ve been thinking about touching me here?” she whispered, tracing her finger over the swell of her belly, “Wanting to run you hands all over my body?”

“Yes,” I said, barely able to breathe. “Katie, you have no idea.” But she did. God, she absolutely did. She had been toying with me the whole time. All the time that I thought I had hidden the looks, the lust, she had known. 

My train of thought was broken as her hands went to my belt. I should have stopped her, said something, anything, but I didn’t. I just stood there, heart hammering, watching her undo the buckle, pop the button, and drag the zipper down. She wanted it as much as I did. No, she wanted it more than I did. 

Her hand slipped inside my trousers. A groan tore out of me, low and broken, as my head tipped back. She stroked me through my boxers. My knees nearly buckled even though I was seated.

“I thought about you last night,” she murmured, her lips brushing my ear. “touching myself. Thinking about your hands on my hips, your mouth on my neck, how hard you’d fuck me if I let you stop pretending.”

That was it. The last of my restraint gave out. My hands landed on her without thought, her hips, her ass, the small of her back. The press of her belly against me sent heat flooding through my entire body as I desperately explored her body.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” I said, voice rough, “I’m not going to be gentle.”

She pulled back just enough to meet my eyes.

“Good,” she said.

I grabbed the hem of her shirt and lifted it. I kept my eyes on hers. She raised her arms and let me take it off. She was bare beneath, round belly, full breasts, nipples already stiff from the cool air. My mouth went dry. My pulse roared in my ears.

She was radiant. And in that moment, she was mine.

As her shirt hit the floor, she gripped my belt loops and pulled me forward. Her mouth brushed mine, not quite a kiss, more a threat. A promise.

Then she took my hand, firmly, “Upstairs,” she said. “Now.”

I followed her in a haze. My shirt hung open, my jeans sat loose on my hips, and my cock pressed hard against the fabric. She moved ahead of me, climbing the stairs with measured steps. Her bare thighs flexed; her belly swayed gently with each motion. I couldn’t stop looking. I couldn’t believe it was happening. But it was. It was.

She led me into her bedroom. The room was dim, the bed unmade, warmth clinging to the air. Something soft and floral lingered in the room. I stood at the threshold like an intruder in someone else’s dream.

She turned to face me, chest rising and falling, eyes burning.

“I want to feel you, now!” she said, “No more pretending I’m fragile.”

I stepped in. I took her face in my hands, brushed my thumbs along her cheeks. She leaned into the touch, desperate for it.

“You’re not fragile,” I said, voice thick, “You’re fucking divine.”

Then I kissed her. Really kissed her. Deep, rough, hungry. Her mouth opened under mine, and she moaned softly. Her arms wrapped around my neck, pulling me tighter against her. I felt the heat of her, the shape of her. All of her.

She pushed my shirt off my shoulders, and I let it fall. My hands moved down her back, over her ass. When I squeezed, she whimpered, not from pain, but from something that sounded like relief. Like need.

She pushed my jeans and boxers down, and I stepped out of them without ever breaking the kiss. Then she pulled away and climbed onto the bed. On her back she lay, flushed and radiant, her hair a mess, her belly full and high, her thighs parted just enough to shatter what little control I had left.

Katie:

Witnessing the look in his eyes when I got on that bed was like watching a dam break. All that calm, careful patience was shattered in a heartbeat. He crossed the room in two long strides, eyes locked on mine. Then he dropped to his knees.

His hands found the edge of my skirt, and he pulled it down in one smooth motion. I hadn’t been wearing knickers. I knew what I’d had planned for the night. He paused just for a heartbeat where he looked at me. His breath caught, and I swear I saw something close to reverence flicker in his eyes.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, more to himself than to me.

And then he buried his face between my thighs.

I cried out as his tongue found me. He didn’t start slow and gentle; he was like a man possessed. Just lips and tongue and hunger, like he’d been fantasizing for months and was making up for lost time.

“Fuck, Matt!” I gasped, hips jerking. My hand flew to his head, fingers sinking into the back of his neck, and he groaned against me.

He gripped my thighs tighter, guiding them apart with practiced confidence. Then he lifted one leg, draped it over his shoulder, and used the shift in angle to open me completely. His mouth found me again, deeper this time, and his tongue worked in tight, precise circles before switching to hard, fast flicks against my clit. Then he slowed. Then he sucked. Then he sped up again. He kept me guessing, and kept me moaning.

He was moaning into me like he was the one being fucked when I rocked my hips against his face. That low, needy sound went straight through me. I grabbed fistfuls of his hair, digging my nails into his scalp to hold him exactly where I needed him, but he already knew. 

My belly tightened with each flick of his tongue, every filthy, wet sound he made. It was overwhelming, being touched like that, desired like that. After months of being coddled and tiptoed around, of feeling like a vessel instead of a woman, I was being devoured.

Matt:

She tasted like everything I’d been craving and everything I didn’t deserve. Sweet and wet and alive under my tongue, Katie writhed on the bed while my hands explored. One slid up to her belly, the swollen curve of it warm and taut beneath my palm. I moaned into her when I touched it. She cried out, hips bucking, thighs trembling around my head.

Her belly rose and fell with every panting breath, and my fingers mapped it blindly, possessively. I let my palm spread wide over her stomach while my tongue circled her clit, soft and then hard, teasing and then merciless. The sound she made? It was pure madness.

And she was soaked.

Needing to give her more, I slid one hand down, dragging two fingers through her slick heat and pushing one deep inside her.

She arched off the bed like I’d shocked her.

“*Matt, oh my, fuck!”

I groaned against her, felt the vibration echo through both of us.

She was hot and tight and desperate, her body clenching around my finger, welcoming it. I worked it slowly at first, savoring the stretch of her around me. Then faster. Harder. Adding a second when she cried out again, her hips rolling into my hand like she couldn’t help herself.

Her hormones had her feral. I could feel it, the slick, frantic way she moved, the gasping way she begged without words. My free hand slid up to her breast, heavy, swollen, more sensitive than even she probably expected, and I cupped it, thumb brushing across her nipple until she let out a strangled, helpless moan.

Back and forth I went, one hand working inside her, the other moving from breast to belly, worshipping every curve, every inch of her maddening, perfect body. My mouth never stopped moving, lips wrapped around her clit, tongue flicking, licking.

I wanted her to cum. I wanted her to scream for me. And judging by the sounds coming out of her, I was getting damn close.