When he opened the door, what he expected to see was Anne fretting around in front of the kitchen, sorting through papers and arranging the trash to get ready to go out. It was a Wednesday, and Wednesday was the night they usually took care of that sort of thing.
What he wasn’t expected to see was what he actually saw, which was his hot pregnant wife dressed in black-and-silver lingerie, complete with stockings, high heels, elbow-length gloves, and a tiny corset that somehow accentuated both her monumentally perfect bust and the gorgeous round belly she now possessed.
Slowly, he shut the door. Whatever was about to happen, he didn’t want the neighbors to see.
“Good evening, baby,” she moaned. “I’m so glad you’ve come home to me.”
Peter gulped. His wife was looking...well, hot.
She was always beautiful. Always. Like with any beautiful woman, that was really the first thing you noticed about her. It was certainly what he’d noticed about Anne first when he met her four years ago in college, at the college graduation party of a friend. But he had stuck with Anne because of her great compassion for others. She would drive through the night in the middle of an ice storm to help out a friend too drunk to drive—and had, without once complaining. Helping out others was both her reward and duty for operating in the world, she said.
But right now...right now, she was simply hot. Like, model hot. Movie hot. Porn star hot. His cock pushed hard against his pants, wanting to come out instantly.
She strutted toward him, her massive tits jiggling in hypnotic manner in her tight lingerie. God, when did she get this lingerie? He’d never seen her wear it before. In fact, he would have been hard-pressed to remember the last time he saw her wear lingerie at all. She was more of a sweat pants and tee shirt girl, which was fine by him, as all her pants and tees fit rather tightly on her slender, busty frame.
Peter's libido was such that he could get hard just looking at her tight, toned ass in sweats—seeing her now in this luxurious lingerie, her face perfectly made up, her hair done like a model’s and flowing down halfway to her back, he was breathless.
Smiling, her body luscious as she curved her way into his frame, she wrapped her gloved hands around his neck and kissed him slowly, deeply. Lovingly, even hungrily. Like he had been gone for months instead of hours. Her enormous, pregnancy-plump breasts pushed hard against his body, so hot and soft.
“You’ve had such a long, hard day at work,” she moaned, sliding down his body. “Won’t you let me show you how much I appreciate you?”
“Wh-what did you have in mind?”
Anne smiled, slowly dancing her way down to her stocking-clad knees. “What do you think, silly?”
Her expression was teasing, but wasn’t it also just a bit...submissive? Like she was waiting for him to approve what she was doing. Well, he did, and incredibly so.
“Yeah,” he said. “Suck me off. Do it. Quick.”
“Yes, Peter,” she moaned. “I have to do what my husband says.”
His cock was already hard by the time she had taken it out from his pants. Quickly she started stroking, her gloved hands soft and loving.
They had a loving relationship, despite the current rough patch. They’d had sex plenty of times. But now, when Anne looked at his cock, he could barely restrain himself from the look at passion on her face. A little bit of drool was dripping down from her mouth. Her eyes were burning with submissive need. He was taken aback by the fierce, possessive fervor of her sudden licks and kisses on his shaft. She had sucked him off countless times, but for whatever reason, she acted now like she was some lovestruck school girl who finally had caught up with her rock star crush.
His cock fit easily down her mouth and into her throat. Within moments, she had him backed up against the door, slamming it every other second as she slurped up and down his massiveness. Dumbly, in the midst of his extreme pleasure, Peter thought about how he needed to get that hinge fixed. His hands moved eagerly through his wife’s soft, golden hair, and he rose one leg up and wrapped it around her back, pulling her closer to him.
“Oh fuck, Anne,” he moaned. “Oh god, baby. Baby...baby, baby...oh fuck...”
She moaned, encouraging him. He couldn’t contain himself for very long. The surprise of her appearance, in conjunction with the surprise of her utter insistence on giving him the blowjob he so desperately needed, was too much to handle. God, what if it was like this all the time? That was what he needed. In his lustful frenzy, fucking his wife’s mouth openly, he knew that was what he deserved.
To have this incredible beauty on her hands and knees at all times, loving and adoring him, worshiping him, doting on him, waiting on him, desperate to hear a single approving word from his mouth...
Moaning, his hips spasmed, and orgasm overcame him. With hot, furtive pumps, he spurted into his wife’s mouth and down her throat.
As his orgasm subsided, the adrenaline tapering off, he allowed his thoughts to return to normalcy. Still kneeling before him, Anne cleaned off his shaft with a patient, loving tongue. She was really putting in the effort. God, she was a great woman. He loved Anne. He loved his wife.
“God,” he said. “That was just...great.”
He expected now some return to routine. Clean up around the house. Eat a quiet dinner. Snuggle into watching some streaming shows, the usual. But instead, she stood up and began kissing his neck. He could see her lingerie around her pussy was soaking wet, a trail of her juices sliding down her stocking-clad thigh. One gloved hand wrapped around his still-wet and semi-hard cock.
“Here,” she said, smiling slyly, “come to bed with me. Please?”
Embarrassment hit him. She wanted more. Wow. “I’m...you know. A little spent.”
“You don’t want to watch porn while I suck you off?”
He gulped. Of course he did. But, the notion of that was so unreal that he had trouble accepting it as what might happen. “I...uh. I'm a a bit hungry.”
“I’ve got snacks for you, silly. I was cooking all day. And cleaning. So don’t worry about tonight. You’ve got the whole night off. You can eat, and watch whatever you want...and I’ll be sitting there sliding my mouth around your cock like a good girl. Won’t that be nice for you, Sir?”
Fuck. Oh fuck. How did she know that? How did she know he loved being called Sir? That he jerked off at night to just that—to her moaning out “Sir” like it was his name, like it was his title. And calling herself his “good girl.” Fuck, fuck, oh man, fuck. That was hot.
Without waiting for him to say anything else, Anne pulled him forward, stroking him as she strutted by his side to the bedroom. Peter said nothing, only tacit approval and wonder on his face as his wife served him all night long.
* * * * *
The first time Anne looked at Peter’s computer, it could be logged into the annals of accidental motions—like how she constantly bumped her widened hips against walls these days, or how she had only found out the “asylum” was pronounced “a-sy-lum” and not “azzy-lum” because she had learned the word by reading, and said it aloud during a speech at school one year.
But this time, as she sat down in front of Peter’s desk and opened up his laptop, she most definitely could not throw out that same justification. This time, it was on purpose. It was two days since she had sprung her blowjob-and-lingerie-and-service-night on him, and she wanted her job report, dammit. She wanted that validation! She wanted him to have written at least a page of satisfaction about her efforts to Jerry.
That wasn’t so much, right? A page? Just three hundred little words, give or take. Hell, if he had played with the font somehow, made it bigger, stretched it out just so that he could take a page to appreciate his lingerie-clad wife...was that so very much to ask? She began reading toward the middle of the message—the first parts just lead-ins and stupid catching up about business, that sort of thing.
Honestly, if it weren’t the fact that those big pregnant tits turn me on so much, I don’t think I’d stic
k around for long.
Plus the incumbent kid, of course.
No, that’s stupid. I don’t mean that. I’m just frustrated. Venting! You know how it goes.
I love my wife, I do. I want to stay with her forever.
Especially after the other night, geez. I need to show her something about how I appreciate that, because goddamn and shit. That was amazing. That lingerie...her tits!
But man, I just want some crazy ass sex before I’m a dad, you know? I feel like my whole life is going to get consumed by parenthood. That’s what happens to everyone, right? And before that happens, I just want something...insane, you know? Like a threesome. But a threesome with someone nothing like Anne. Even though she's great.
She’s got this friend, Tatiana...toned and fit, a real fitness freak. Someone like that would definitely do the trick for me, I think. The two of them even used to date before I showed up. The thought of them in bed together...man.
Anyway, just day dreams. Thanks for listening.
For the first hour after reading it, she traversed the emotional spectrum between incensed and devastated.
She paced through the house, unable to sit. That old familiar standard rose up again—“That bastard. That bastard. That bastard!”
Finally, the afternoon alarm dinged, and she took another purple pill. Slowly, her blood began to rise. Though she still felt the pang of rejection, her arousal levels were fighting such trivial things away. She had a husband, and he had needs. What was sexier than that? He was so big and burly, and had chest hair, and biceps, and shoulders, and god, she was wet just thinking about him.
His shirts were almost always too tight. His chest was too broad for them. And so she would run her fingers up and down his rock-hard pecs and abs, drooling all the way, needing to feel his cock slide back inside of her where it was home, where she made him feel good.
Twenty minutes later, she realized she had been in the corner of the kitchen, half-squatting with her eyes closed and her fingers up her sopping-wet pussy, fantasizing about her husband's construction-work-solid muscles.
These pills really were something different. She was absolutely in control of her faculties. She was herself. Just a sort of focused version of herself. There was obviously a part of her that was still upset over what he wrote. But there was also a part of her that was excited, even elated by what the email revealed. He had complimented her, numerous times. He’d had a wonderful time.
He simply wanted more.
She bit her lip at the thought of giving him more. The thought was inherently sexy. His appetite was ravenous, and she could help him sate it. She was on his side. Her fingers drifted back down to her pussy. She'd taken to no longer wearing panties around the house. What was the point? They only got in the way.
What, was she so silly and dumb to think that her husband would be satisfied simply with her pussy forever? Look at how easily he had gotten her fertile body pregnant, after all. His spent his free time woodworking, for god’s sake! Working with his hands after spending all day and night working with his hands at construction. Of course he was brimming to the top with masculinity. It was no wonder she wasn’t enough for him all by herself.
In fact, this email could be seen as a blessing, couldn’t it? She wasn’t just complimented. She had been given a solution the entire problem.
Tatiana.
She and Tatiana had dated back in college. Then, her best friend got a scholarship to study abroad, and the relationship fizzled out..and in the meantime, Anne met Peter. Tatiana thought Peter was wonderful, of course, and they were still all close friends.
Now, all she had to do to win her husband’s favor was seduce her best friend and former lover.
Was that so very hard? Maybe for someone else. But Anne was full of confidence now. Her body felt more alive than it had in ages. And she knew that she could have Tatiana wrapped around her fingers—yes, those pussy-juice-wet fingers—in no time at all.
* * * * *
The following day, her shadowy feelings of lustful desperation fueled by a very large cup of ginseng tea, Anne met with her best friend, Tatiana.
Their meeting place was a small crepe restaurant in the central part of town where they had taken breakfast many times before, The Crepe Place. Anne had picked it because she knew there was a table in the back where they could sit comfortably without anyone overhearing them. While Anne did want to be more adventurous for her husband, she wasn’t quite at the point where she wanted everyone around her knowing what she was doing. Perhaps exhibitionism would come later.
Tatiana arrived about fifteen minutes late, which was her custom—which was, incidentally, why Anne arrived about ten minutes late. She’d spent the time waiting arranging sugar packets in complex spiral patterns, noting idly how she was going to miss her work in a few months when she had the child. She assumed that for the first several months, she would be taking care of the baby while Peter kept working and supporting them. Already, Anne was doubling her work results for her various clients week by week, so that she would have enough done before the break that she could have a little bit of momentum to carry her over the bridge.
Tatiana, as Peter noted in his correspondence, was completely hot. Heads turned, and turned again, as she sauntered through the small restaurant. She was something of a fitness freak, the sort you would see walk into a shop wearing the same kind of tiny, barely-there outfit she had on now—nothing but a tiny pair of workout shorts, too-tight sports bra, half-unzipped hoodie, and music player attached to one firm arm—and look absolutely at home. And look, incidentally, absolutely beautiful. When her tiny, fit body was covered in sheets of sweat, her toned arms throbbing with lean muscle, her tied-up hair in an absolute mess around her face—she looked beautiful.
So, a person could imagine what she looked like when she was putting forward the effort and trying to present herself for others. Today, though, she was clearly fresh from a workout, her thick dark hair falling in places around her face, the sweat just barely showing on her forehead.
Even with all that, appearances didn’t seem to matter that much to Tatiana. Anne believed this was because Tatiana was so used to the way she looked that thinking about the way others looked wasn’t all that compelling anymore. Tatiana had had dates lined up for herself for as long as Anne could remember, and had learned years before that she cared much more about a good belly laugh and fascinating conversation about the state of the world than she ever did about cut abs.
If the hilarity and cut abs could align, though...that started to do things to Tatiana’s brain.
The fitness-freak beauty was, by nature, a submissive. An intense, honest-to-god, wanted-to-live-on-her-knees submissive. She had left the city for the entirety of last year following a man who she thought would be her one and only, her true Dom, her Master. But, over time, the facade dropped, and he had about as much interest in being a real Master to Tatiana as Anne had interest in getting a doctorate in biology. It seemed maybe like a fun thing to do, but all that work? Feh.
So, Tatiana had been burned. And bad. And ever since she got back from the coast a few months ago, she hadn’t gone on a single date. With anyone.
Over a few drinks—Anne’s not being alcoholic, of course—Tatiana had revealed to Anne that she was on the verge of giving up on men entirely. She had always been rather bisexual, and had very fond memories of licking Anne's pussy (Tatiana had been rather drunk as she said this). But why not go back to the other team for a while?
The instant-clinginess of lesbians might have been something of a cliche, but it was also frequently true, and at this point, Tatiana was much more interested in commitment than excitement.
Anne wished she could have Tatiana’s self-confidence, especially now that she was pregnant. It had taken literally her entire reserve of ego to dress up for Peter the other night, and while that had technically been a success—she’d had her husband’s sweet, hot, perfect cum inside of her once more, and several times over—it also
didn’t get the results she wanted. She wanted her man to be crazy about her again.
In the restaurant, the two old friends greeted each other happily, sharing a small cup of coffee as they waited for their crepes. Anne was allowed one cup a day with the baby on the way, and she treasured each one.
Slowly, after exhausting conversation about old friends, the weather, and work, the subject came around to Peter.
“Um, that’s actually why I wanted to talk to you,” said Anne. “I’ve got kind of a weird favor to ask you.”
Tatiana nodded excitedly. “You want to break up with Peter and run away with me. Check. I’m on it.”
Anne’s face must have betrayed something, because Tatiana started laughing furiously.
“I wasn’t serious, Anne, oh my gosh.” She stopped laughing suddenly. “Are you...holy shit, are you serious?”
“No. No, it’s just...that’s awfully close.”
“Holy shit, Anne, you’re leaving Peter? Or, is he leaving you?” She stood up. “No, he’s crazy. That’s insane. You’re too wonderful. And you’re pregnant. I won’t allow it. I’ll kill him.”
Anne grabbed Tatiana. “Sit down, love. Please? Just listen for a minute.”
Tatiana sat and crossed her legs, hands in her lap. Anne took a moment and deliberately did not moan as she watched the shiny, tanned surface of her friend’s legs displayed so alluringly. Or the way her hoodie had opened up slightly more, revealing the long tanned line of her cleavage in such a fetching formation.
Her relationship with Anne might have been completely done, but that didn't mean she wasn't still thoroughly turned on by her friend.
Nadia Nightside's Best of 2015 Page 2
