Damned forced overtime, he thought. Why can’t the cheap bastards see that they need to hire at least three more people? The ride home sucked too. Wearily he closed the door behind him and turned to see his wife – in a bordello-red chemise – loping in full, long-legged strides straight at him.
He had no time to react as she jumped into his arms and clamped her legs around his waist. His hands cupped her bottom. It was bare.
She drowned him with kisses and crushed him between her well-toned thighs as he fell against the door.
“Jesus, Sophie,” he gasped. “No one’s greeted me at the door like that since my old collie.”
“I can lick your face, too,” she said, and did.
He could barely speak. “G-g-god, what’s gotten into you?”
“I’ve been climbing the walls waiting for you to get home so we can haveunprotectedsex.”
“Oh, god, honey, you’re crushing me.”
She slid off his hips. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”
“Those skater’s thighs of yours,” he wheezed. “I love them but, jeesh, an anaconda couldn’t squeeze any tighter.”
“Oh, poor baby. I’ll keep them separated for the rest of the night – I promise,” she purred, and twirled a strand of dark chestnut hair.
“Just let me get my breath, it was a bitch of a day. I’m wasted.”
“Oh, honey, no-no-no. You agreed – it’s baby time. I’ve been thinking all day about you knocking me up. Just the thought of you planting a baby in my tummy – I dunno – it’s making me more aroused than I’ve ever been in my life.”
“Sophie, sweetie, we don’t have to rush. Anyway, I’m so tired, I don’t even know if I can …”
“No, honey, don’t say that. Please, I’m wired!”
“I can see that.”
She reached down and cupped the bulge in his crotch. “You’re notthattired.” She grinned.
She led him into the living room by his tie and pushed him back onto the love seat. She unzipped his pants, and before he could utter a protest, she had the trousers and his briefs tugged off his ankles. He stood at attention.
“I’m going to stroke that gorgeous, yummy cock, but just to get you started,” she warned, wagging a finger in his face. “You are not to spill a drop of baby juice, understand? It’s all going inside me.”
“Sophie?” His chin dropped as his bride of seven years gently caressed his swelling cock, stroking the underside with her fingernails until he began to groan. He let her talk.
“Oh, honey, you’re like steel. I want you nice and deep inside me when you come. The thought of you making me pregnant just has me burning – it’s so erotic.”
“Sophie – gawd – baby? You – you might not feel so – erotic – when your belly is so big you can’t get comfortable.”
“Shhh, yes I will. I can’t wait for my belly to get big. I want to be huge – I want my tits to be huge, too.”
“But – but, baby, I‘m the oldest of seven kids. I remember my poor mom, hauling herself around …”
“Oh, stop it, now. It’ll be beautiful. I’ll be beautiful. There – you’re all ready, just starting to drip.”
She let go of his cock and he whimpered at the loss.
“Screw me doggie-style,” she instructed. “You always feel deeper when you fuck me that way.”
She clambered onto the love seat and set herself on hands and knees. He kneeled behind her.
“C’mon, honey. Get me preggers, fill me with …” She gasped as his cock slid inside her, slowly, steadily.
In the years they’d been together, he had never felt sensations like this. Her pussy was like butter. He was as deep as he could go yet he strained to extend his length even more.
She flexed her thigh muscles, gently jostling his balls as they drooped between them.
He withdrew, then thrust again, and she began to cry out. In a moment they had fallen into a steady rhythm.
He beheld her behind as he steered her hips, and the sensual hillocks of her spine as she arched and stretched her back. Her hair spilled in a dark cascade over her shoulders.
She pushed her ass against his thighs with each thrust. “Fuck me, fuck me deeper.”
He felt her cunt tighten around his cock.
She raised her head. “I – I – oh god! Come with me – please!”
Her pleadings drew his fluids forth in a roiling surge; he felt them rush from his cock as she cried incomprehensible things. His balls tightened like he was squeezing every last drop out of them.
She collapsed, limp as a rag doll, and he tumbled onto her, kissing her shoulders, feeling her heart beating through her back. His own pulse was pounding in his ears.
“I can feel them,” she sighed.
“Huh?”
“Your little squigglies. They’re racing up my cunt. They want eggs for breakfast.”
He began to laugh.
She did too, even as she admonished him. “I really can. They’re ticklish.”
He burst out laughing, and she wiggled her ass beneath his crotch.
“I can,” she insisted. “I just know you’ve knocked me up. But, maybe we should send in a second wave, just to be sure.”
“In the morning,” he said, and stifled a yawn.
“Tonight– please? I’m at my most fertile right now.”
“Okay, just let me rest a while.”
“Of course, honey. I’ll lick you to get you started. But, remember …”
“I know, I know: don’t spill a drop.”
© 2014 Bob Buckley. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.