"Don't look, don't look, don't look."
Ignoring her own advice, Steph turned her head and glanced at the clock. When she saw the time, 2:36, she groaned out loud. Tom wouldn't be home for another four hours at best—longer if his plane back from Chicago was late. And let's face it, she thought, these days airline flights were almost always late.
She fought off a sudden wave of panic, forcing herself to take several deep breaths. As she did so, she became aware of a gentle throbbing between her legs. At the moment it was like a distant drumbeat, so faint she wasn't quite sure it was even there. But Steph knew what was about to happen. With each passing minute, the drumbeat would become louder and more insistent until it could no longer be ignored. Until it demanded her full attention.
As she paced the kitchen floor, an idea popped into her head in that odd way ideas sometimes do. "Oh, please," she thought to herself. "I'm not that desperate." But as she continued to pace back and forth—and as the pulsing in her groin gradually intensified—the idea blossomed and grew.
"Why not?" she finally asked herself. "Why the hell not?"
She reached the refrigerator in three quick strides and threw open the door.
****
During the first three months of her pregnancy, Steph was convinced that she'd never want to have sex again.
Ever.
She'd said as much to her husband one night. When he slid a tentative hand onto her hip—his "testing the waters" move—she'd pushed it off so hard she almost knocked him out of bed.
"Are you out of your mind?" she'd snarled. "You're the one who did this to me. Even if I ever want to have sex again—which I won't—you're never getting any."
She'd apologized the next morning. She even gave him a hand job to relieve his frustration. But he'd barely started to ejaculate when she had to run to the bathroom to throw up.
Running to the bathroom had become a regular part of Steph's routine during her first trimester. She'd spent hours kneeling on the cold tiles, hugging the toilet like a long-lost friend while she puked and dry heaved into the porcelain bowl. It was a good thing she worked at home as a freelance writer because she couldn't have even made it into an office let alone lasted the day there. Just walking from one room to another made her queasy.
And then—as if by magic—the nausea passed and her sex drive returned. Except that it didn't feel like her sex drive. It was as if someone had thrown a switch that instantly turned her libido from off to hyper drive. Or to put it another way, it felt like she was channeling the sex drive of a raging nymphomaniac.
Steph had read in one of her many pregnancy books that some women experienced an increase in libido during the second trimester. Since she'd read it between bouts of vomiting, she'd dismissed it as the stuff of fantasy.
Now she found herself masturbating several times a day: on her back, on her knees, astride the arm of the living room sofa. The word horny didn't begin to cover what she was feeling, and the relief she got from her orgasms was fleeting at best. Less than hour after she came, she'd feel her clit stir back to life, and before she knew it she was a desperate housewife again.
Tom had been delighted at first. It was like a return to the first steamy weeks of their relationship when they did it on any available surface at every available moment. But after a few weeks even Tom seemed to be tiring. He'd actually complained one morning that his dick was getting sore, but Steph had refused to take no for an answer.
"Suck it up and fuck me," she'd demanded, shocking both herself and her husband. He'd done as he was told.
****
Lying on her back on the kitchen floor, her skirt and panties down around her ankles, Steph rubbed the tip of the cucumber back and forth between her legs. Her clit was now humming like a turbo generator, and her upper thighs were sticky from her juices. The cucumber was bigger than any cock she'd ever seen, and the more she thought about putting it inside her the hotter she felt.
With a growing sense of urgency, she kicked off her skirt and panties so she could spread her legs further apart. After wetting the cucumber with saliva, she positioned its narrower end at her opening and let it slip in and out of her cunt. She let out an involuntary moan as she gradually worked three-quarters of it inside her.
Steph began to move the cucumber back and forth in her pussy with one hand while she massaged her clit with the other. The smooth cool skin of the vegetable felt wonderful inside her, and she could feel the throbbing intensify. A sudden image of what she must look like flashed through her head, and she laughed out loud, momentarily losing her concentration.
"This is what I've been reduced to," she thought. "I'm fucking a cucumber on the kitchen floor."
The peal of the doorbell triggered instant panic. Steph bolted to a sitting position, trying desperately to remember if she'd locked the door when Tom left. She sat frozen for a moment, hoping whoever it was would give up and go away.
But the doorbell rang again, followed by a familiar voice.
"Hello, Mrs. Holton? It's Will from across the street."
Steph groaned. Tom had reminded her the night before that he'd hired Will, the neighbors' son, to clean up the basement. Will had just finished his first year of college and was looking to earn some extra money by doing odd jobs in the neighborhood.
"Coming," she called and winced at her unfortunate choice of words. If only, she thought.
Pulling the cucumber out of her vagina, she looked around wildly for a moment, as if searching for a hiding place, but finally deposited it in the sink. Then she quickly pulled on her panties and skirt. She stopped for a moment in the hallway to collect herself and smooth her hair before opening the front door.
"Hi Will," she said, doing her best to sound casual.
"Hello."
Will's eyes slid down from Steph's face to her chest, like a magnet to metal, and she inwardly kicked herself. During the first four months of her pregnancy, Steph's normally B-cup breasts had grown a full cup size, making her feel like a Victoria's Secret model. Not wanting to deal with the discomfort of a bra that morning, she'd pulled on a skimpy tank top instead. Now she was acutely aware that she was flashing some serious cleavage while her fully erect nipples were clearly visible through the thin cotton of her shirt.
