by Gabi Moore
She spun around to face me and giggled, then all at once she was doing that same snaky dance with her hands held loosely above her head. She was teetering high on her heels, balanced up here for everyone to see her, from every angle. With a swift movement, she reached down and pulled the hem of her dress, turning it inside out over her head and letting it carelessly float down into the pool below. It was so brazen, so unlike her, I couldn’t help but laugh. Something stirred below us, and I became aware out the corner of my eye that a small, curious crowd had gathered around the pool below.
She twisted and turned a little now in her lingerie, a tipsy diva enjoying nothing but the music and the feel of the cool air on her hips, her breasts. I knew better though. I knew that inside she was steadily working herself into a frenzy, ready to explode at the first touch, like the ravenous little slut she was.
I flopped down on the bed and watched her, happily realizing that every eye was firmly glued on my wife and not me.
The bra and panties came off, to an indistinct cheer from below, which broke her reverie for a while and caused her to smile and hide her face, embarrassed. Even from the bed, I could tell her turned on how she was. She pounced onto the cushions next to me and drank up a deep, luscious kiss. Her hands were greedy, too, and rushed all over my body to unzip and unbutton me, and my dick sprang up to meet her, pleased that I had brought her here, and that now I would take her the rest of the way, too.
I had had enough of her toying and showing off anyway, so I lunged to grab her and fling her down flat on the bed, wild hair tossing out beside her.
For the next few minutes, my lips and tongue worked over her beautiful body as she lay back like I was worshipping her: I rolled my lips over her taut belly, nibbled and kissed the fullness around her breasts, and gave only the most fleeting licks to her slightly parted legs.
Now, my preferred style is just to pin her down and fuck her till she gets that zombie-look on her face and stops convulsing, but here, oh, she would want a little more teasing. I wanted her to be the star of the show. She parted her legs and lifted hungry hips to my tongue, but I pulled away. I knelt and gestured for her to suck me, and I imagined, not without a little vanity, that at least half of the people below envied me at that moment.
I gripped her head and forced her throat down onto me, loving the subduing effect this had on her. I pushed my full length into her mouth, admiring the perfect kiss her lips made at the hilt.
With each plunge, I grew harder, but she enveloped me completely with her skillful mouth, little tongue working inside. I brushed a lock of hair from her face, glowing and tightened in concentration, and was filled with nothing but bliss and love for her. I pulled back, reached forward and plucked her up, then lay her on the bed, her supple body waiting, buzzing with anticipation.
Here, she gave me a look that froze me in my tracks. It was a simple look. It had something of the past in it, some gentle yearning glance that spoke of so many years, so much water under so many bridges. It was like a momentary flicker of nostalgia, and it seemed to draw a brief curtain round us, creating a split second bubble of privacy in this vast, open club, this bedroom with no walls. My breathing stopped, my heart stopped, and every last atom of my attention went to her, and the fragile look on her beautiful face.
Look, I’m not a romantic, but something changed in me then. They say that women truly become mothers the moment they decide that they want children, or the very second they fall pregnant. Fathers, on the other hand, only become fathers once the baby is born and they’re in front of them. Me? I became a father the moment I stared down at my beautiful wife, purple light glowing all round her, her sweet, open face to mine, and I knew I wanted nothing more than to love her and fill her up with enough cum to make a million babies.
Until then, baby-making had seemed like something she was doing, something that only required me to stand by and do my bit when the time came. But now …something in her golden eyes made me want to really give it to her. I had been giving Tanya things my whole life, and now, here, I wanted to give her every last bit of me. My life. My heart. My soul. My body. My cock.
The curtain lifted again and without wasting any time, I dove in, parted her legs and rammed into her with one slick, brutal thrust. She cried out. I sunk deep into the wet folds of her, pressing away her body’s last fluttering resistance, stroking deep into her body; each stroke meeting a moan from her. She clutched desperately at my back to stabilize herself against what I was subjecting her to. Instead of easing up, I stabbed harder, each thrust lifting her hips off the bed. I felt wild. Her head hung limply off the edge of the bed, her long hair making a light brown fountain onto the platform below, shaking with each pump.
I felt bigger than I ever had in my life, enlarged somehow by my new purpose to immerse completely in her, to plunge my greedy cock right into the heart of her and fill with her with hot, sticky cum. She had a look of blissed out shock on her face, her little eyebrows quivering as my body dominated hers. And then, something strange happened: the lights in the club visibly dimmed, and this time the curtain wasn’t in my imagination. A soft spotlight hovering above us began to glow purple, while the lights in the rest of the club died down and darkened.
We were being put on display. If people hadn’t been watching us before, they certainly were now.
It was as though this sent tangible ripples through her body, and she arched her back, showing off her breasts and white throat. She loved it, being fucked in full view of everyone here, a literal spotlight on her body. I leaned in close, so close I could smell the moisture on her skin, and growled something in her ear, something I didn’t even comprehend, but could have only one meaning: I was going to come.
With all her might she wrapped her body tightly around mine, arms and legs coiled around me and her devouring pussy pressed up close to me as possible. I found a little nook of warmth nestled beside her head, and pressed my lips here, breathing in her smell. With a desperate, shuddering cry, she orgasmed hard around my cock and as she did, her voice distorted.
“Alan! Oh god. Put a baby in me…”
At any other time these words would have been ridiculous. Over the top. They would have ripped me right out of the moment. But now …there was nothing in the world I wanted to do more than put a baby in her, my baby, here in front of all these people.
All at once, a great pulsing wave tore through me and I burst inside her; her twitching body clung to mine, drawing me in as deep as I could go. It was my essence, the seed for something more to grow, everything I had.
I emptied out into her and she took it all, smiling.
I stared down at her amused face, something unspeakable forming in her eyes, and I knew. We both knew: it had happened.
We had conceived.
Chapter Thirteen
Like I said, I’m not a sappy guy. I think auras and ESP are bullshit, and I judge the hell out of people who believe in astrology.
I didn’t really think it was possible to “feel” that moment when conception actually happened. Somehow, in the next few days, Tanya and I enjoyed this new, weird secret we had. She had felt the same thing, too. The evening was a blur after that. We both remembered a playful cheer from some people down below, and drinks on the house for the good show we had given (although we hardly needed them); I remembered my wife beaming from ear to ear. I remembered the purple light, the yellow dress.
I was proud of her. I wanted to show her off to the whole world.
They had seen everything – her lithe, naked body drenched in sweat and cum, how her legs had been shaking when she stepped down from the platform, as though descending from heaven to look people in the eye again and find her clothes. They had seen her flustered and tying up her bedraggled hair, had seen her laughing as a young couple helped her fish her dress from the pool.
But even they hadn’t seen our secret, the way our bodies had agreed at just that moment to fuse, to make the living, flesh-and-blood proof of our love. Even at
this outrageously exhibitionistic moment, there was still some deep, secret part inside her …a part that I and only I had access to.
It was cheesy, I know, but we loved it.
It was too soon to take a pregnancy test, but we both went on with life, excited, both tentative that what we had hoped – and felt – to be true actually might be.
It had never seemed hot to me before, any of this. But she seemed different to me in those days afterwards. She was overflowing, brim full of some new mischief and some improbable bit of magic: a new life was growing inside her.
A life I had put there.
It was two weeks later when we snuck into a café bathroom and she peed on a stick, and we both waited for those two lines that would legitimize everything. Two little lines… one for each of us.
They appeared.
She shoved the test back into the plastic Boots bag I brought for her and we sat in the café and looked at each other for a long time.
“Well now, you’ve only gone and knocked me up,” she said, teasing.
“Who me?” I said, teasing back.
We kissed.
“I can’t believe it, Alan. We did it. Maybe I should ring Doctor Melville and tell him how…”
“Yes, I’m sure he’d be very interested in hearing what a little slut you are.”
“Who, me?” she said, laughing.
I kissed her again.
“You’re sexy,” I said.
“You’re silly.”
“No, really. Pregnancy becomes you.”
“Oh…?”
“Yeah. I wonder if I’m imagining it or if you actually look different now.”
“You big idiot, it can’t be.”
“No, I think you do look different. Sexier.”
“Oh?”Her eyes sparkled. “You wanna…?”
God she was so naughty.
“What, here?”
“Mmm.”
“Here here?”
“Mmm.”
I finished my coffee and got up, then moved over to the bathrooms again, casual as can be. She followed a minute later, and we fucked in that tiny stall, while I held a hand over her screaming mouth.
Chapter Fourteen
We went back to that club many times in the next few months. And others. Tanya was seemingly in her final form, fully transformed, unfolding like some naughty flower that only blooms under the gaze of others.
We kept going, and eventually her soft belly domed outwards with the first signs of a pregnancy. The little secret we had gradually shared with the world around us became more and more obvious.
Pregnancy suited her well. She became even more golden, even naughtier, her sexual persona completely taking over. At home she was my sweet little wife in sweet little sundresses, but when we went out, she was a sexual superstar, someone who fed on the admiring gaze of others, seeming to turn on every male within a one-mile radius.
And sweet lord, if she wasn’t already pregnant I sure as hell would have done the job a thousand times over again. Just knowing how her body responded, how I had fertilized her, planted seed deep in her belly …it brought out something primal me. I wanted to drench her in cum; I relished the sight of her exhausted, dribbling body. We had found her sexual buttons, and finding all her new ones just happened to be my sexual button.
We were back in Doctor Melville’s office, and I was noticing with some consternation that Ovaria, queen of the vaginas was nowhere to be found. I had to lighten the mood some other way. I nodded towards a gestational poster, you know the kind, one with a cross section of some woman and a curled up baby rolled inside her like a pork chop.
“Oh my god, Tanya, so help me, you’d better not be growing us a baby that looks like that.”
She stroked her belly like an evil villain. “Hehe, just you watch, this little guy’s going to be on my side, and we’ll kick your butt together.”
The doctor walked in and we had our consultation, Tanya smiling throughout as thought she had personally proven him wrong and that she never needed a holiday after all, just a damn good seeing to. Personally, I kind of agreed.
We did the sonars and ticked all the boxes. Everything was perfect.
“Finding more time to relax these days?” he asked.
Tanya flashed a smile at me and replied that yes, she was, although I knew that these days her idea of relaxing would exhaust a less adventurous woman.
“So you’ll want to make some arrangements with the birth itself, like we spoke about. No rush, but bring your birth plan in next appointment and I’ll have you and the nurse go over it in detail.”
Tanya had ramped up her list-making ways in the last few weeks, and was deeply engrossed in plans for the nursery, buying clothing and knick knacks …she packed a little D-day hospital bag that seemed to contain different things every time I checked in.
If there’s anything she loved more than getting nailed in front of a crowd of strangers, it was making lists, and make them she did.
This was just another adventure, and one we were going on together.
“I tell this to all my patients, but think very carefully about who you want to be in the room with you,” he continued.
“The last thing you want is to have people there who you’re not comfortable with. It can feel very exposing, of course.”
“Exposing? Sounds horrible,” she said.
We laughed about that, all the way on the drive home. But not before a quick detour, of course.
- THE END -
Unholy - A Bad Boy Romance
Chapter One
My name is Melanie, and I’m a pretty good girl, if I do say so myself.
I have just two secrets.
Judging from what a crazy mess the world is, and how awful most people are, I would rate I’m not doing too badly if I’ve only racked up two so far. Just two.
The first one is my hidden wedding Pinterest board where I collect millions of pictures of dream dresses, beautiful cakes, fun things to do with shells, wedding manicures and sexy yet classy bridal lingerie that has the name of your dream guy embroidered in tiny white stitches on a silky suspender belt…
The other is that I seem to be addicted to watching hardcore porn.
I always thought that the best colors for a wedding are obviously pastels, even though I know they’re a little predictable, right? Still, you can always go with a retro theme. There’s a whole section of my “Dresses” board that shows, like the stripes in a rock, the periods of my life where I was intensely interested in 50s wedding frocks with poofy skirts and the cutest little shoes.
But then I decided I wanted a bright Frida Kahlo style Mexican theme with paper cut outs and piñatas that rained down wedding favors when the guests hit them with sticks that had ribbons plaited on them. But I soon decided that would probably end up cheap-looking and that what I really wanted was something all mute and elegant – lace, you know, and pearls, and little desserts that look like roses with tiny cakes tucked inside.
My tastes in porn …well, that stayed pretty much constant. I always chose the same, nasty, horrible, no good stuff to look at, sadly.
Now, I like fitted wedding dresses the most, honestly, and find they flatter my butt nicely, even if I do say so myself. Like I said, I’m a pretty good girl, but lord help me I do think I have a nice butt, and it’s not too vain if I say so. Good girls wait for the wedding night, and listen to their mammas, and do well in school so they can be dental technicians and live the dream. And that’s what I did. A Pinterest board may have been jumping the gun a little, sure, but so what if I fantasized once in a while about what my groom would wear even before he technically existed? Only a bad girl would let such a small detail get in the way of her planning a decent wedding.
The porn though. Ugh. What could I say? God knows I tried my best to get over this filthy habit. I read “The Beauty of the Chaste Woman” by Reverend Peters. I took cold showers (does that only work for boys though?) and I wore my own makeshift pledge ring on m
y middle finger, where it was too small and so would hurt the most. I put special parental controls on my browser. Then I took them off again.
Nothing worked, which just goes to show you that even good girls struggle sometimes. Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I’m some poor repressed Christian soul. You’re thinking I’m a big old prude and that I’m like one of those girls on the TV who believes the idiot in her youth group when he tells her you can’t get pregnant on Easter or something.
Well, I’m not. I’m no fool. I may be on the inexperienced side but I know a thing or two about you-know-what. My family’s a bit uptight about these things, sure, but besides my Aunt Carol, we all just like to do things properly. The right way. What’s so wrong about that?
I’m young, I know (nineteen years old and ten months!) but it seems to me that living a good life is a bit like planning a wedding: you have to pay attention to the details, you have to plan ahead, or else you’ll have a big old flop on your hands, won’t you? Besides the nasty issue with the porn (don’t judge me, I’m working on it and no, I certainly won’t tell you what kind of porn it is) I was going to have that good life for myself. Right down to the last table arrangement and swan shaped bottle of bubbles. I thought nothing could possibly stand in my way.
Boy, how wrong I was.
Chapter Two
“For Christ’s sake, Jenny, it’s not lube, it’s personal moisturizer” said my Aunt Carol, who had not only taken to using the lord’s name in vain, but had also joined a pyramid scheme, from what I could tell.
“Personal moisturizer? Well, for such an open minded company, they sure have some funny ideas about calling a thing what it really is,” said my mom, turning a green bottle over in her hands a few times before plonking it on the table like it was poison. If my mom had been in charge of what to call the stuff, she’d probably have gone with “slut water” but I told you, my Aunt Carol was a bit of an outlier in the family.
