I am heavy with child. My breasts are swollen with milk, my abdomen fully distended. I slump on the wicker chair feeling the baby prod my stomach. He lays his head in my lap. I ask if we can go upstairs - and fuck.
We find our way up the stairs to the pink bedroom: my wedding cake bed with its nest of soft cuddly toys, snow-white cot, rocking horse, the cradle bedecked in pink. As soon as I fell pregnant, I instinctively knew, my baby would be a girl.
We enjoy a perfect love, a love that's all-consuming, unselfish, respectful. I'm happy at last: he's all I want in a man: passionate, caring, and considerate. My eyes mist with tears.
I take his hand, wrap my fingers round his palm and hold him to my swollen belly. I'm enormous. The skin on my bulge is stretched. A brown line runs the full length of my belly from my protruding navel to the swathe of teak hair which sprouts profusely, hiding my folds. Proudly, I rub his fingers over the round of my belly so he can feel my baby, kicking inside me.
He beams with pride as he feels the baby reach for its father. Its tiny fists pummel the lining of my womb, wanting to touch the man who seeded me with all his sperm. I lightly stroke the hair on the back of his hand, seeking his intimacy.
Exhausted, I close my eyes, savouring the smell of his skin as he moves closer to me. I feel his lips kiss my eyes, the subtle brush of his mouth over my pursed lips, his hot breath on my face. The tip of his tongue licks my neck.
I stir, feeling a delicious tingle inside my cunt, a glorious hardening of my clit I haven't felt for months. His tongue leaves a line of saliva down my chest, licking the salt from the moist fjord that separates my heaving breasts.
I become aroused, pushing his hand inside my panties, guiding his fingers through my matted hair, parting my folds, feeling my wet love-hole. I feel his leg slide up my thigh, alarmed by my daring, knowing how I might gratify myself through his tender touch.
He thrills for me, brushing the shock of hair off my face, kissing me fully on the lips. I feel his eager tongue enter my wet mouth. His tip tickles the back of my throat. He rubs my splayed cunt. I gasp, I struggle to control the thrill of my arousal, I plead for him to strip for me.
I admire his muscular physique: his hairy chest as he unbuttons his shirt, his pert bum when he drops his pants, the rigid, turgid, rearing, huge cock that crows so proudly for me.
Wearing just my bra and briefs, I plead, dizzied by my rampant lust, 'Think we should fuck on the bed, don't you?'
Stretched with erect torsion, he hobbles to my tidy bed and settles at the centre, watching me expectantly as I slip the bra straps off my shoulders, uncupping each breast, leaving my bra hanging loosely to tease him. I push one of my heavy breasts up to my mouth for him, tickling my complected nipple with the tip of my tongue, tasting my milk. I fight to contain myself, the taste of my colostrum goes to my head.
