I was halfway home when I saw her standing on the street with her thumb out. The closer I got, the slower I drove. She was tall, about five feet seven, with medium length black hair falling loosely about her shoulders. Her eyes were deep black. She was wearing a short skirt, a cutoff white t-shirt, and barefoot. Barefoot and pregnant, I thought. She was very, very pregnant, indeed. Her navel was exposed between the waistband of her skirt and the hem of her t-shirt. Her stomach was huge, with a foot of skin showing between the t-shirt and skirt. She had one tiny hand folded protectively against her, as if helping to hold her stomach up. I like pregnant women. Women who are expecting are the sexiest and most beautiful women in the world. Women at their most womanly—and she was as pregnant as any woman I'd ever seen. She stood there watching me drive toward her, one foot curled on top of the other, hips and shoulders cocked back to balance her enormous protruding belly.
I only looked at her stomach for a moment, though, before forgetting it entirely. Her tits were incredible. She wore no bra, and her teats swung loosely beneath her t-shirt as she moved towards my car. They were the size and shape of footballs, long, fat, and pointed. Her fist-sized aureole were clearly visible through the threadbare cotton—big dark puffs with long, baby-bottle nipples. The hem of the t-shirt dangled barely two inches below those fat faucets of hers, and almost a foot from the slope of her big belly.
I pictured what I would see if I was lying on the ground looking up under that t-shirt; two enormous globes, brown, full and bare to the nipples, resting on her swollen middle.
By the time I stopped beside her, my dick was harder than steel. She looked in the window, and said,
"Hi, mister—can I have a ride?" Her voice was sweet and childlike.
"Sure," I said, trying to sound cool and calm. "Hop in."
She did just that, and I almost came in my pants. Her tits flopped and waggled wildly as she yanked open the door and hopped in, landing on the seat hard enough to bounce twice.
She held her belly with both hands, and her huge jugs bounced upward high enough to give me a split second glimpse of their swollen lower curves. She turned and shyly smiled at me, while her tits were still bouncing, and wobbling.
I realized then why her dark nipples were so clearly visible. The t-shirt material at the tips of her tits were wet; it clung to her big knobs as if painted on, plastered stickily to her fat nips, clinging tight enough to let me examine the swollen veins that raced to her tight nipples, which stuck out from those big puffs like vienna sausages.
My mouth was literally watering. Her teats were so full, she was leaking milk. I realized I was staring, and quickly turned my gaze downward. It didn't help. Her long legs were perfect, with big meaty thighs, and curvy calves, and she had the prettiest little bare feet I'd ever seen. She was wearing a slim gold ankle bracelet, something I've always found to be unbearably sexy, and she wore no toenail polish, which I also like. She wiggled her toes, as if she knew I was staring at her bare feet.
"My name's Pamela—what's yours?"
I was lost in those brown eyes, as soon as I looked at her.
"Uhh... Ralph," I stuttered. My mouth was dry.
Did I mention her face? Plump, baby cheeks, and sweetly vulnerable, dimple on her chin, with big fat sensuous looking lips, and tiny turned up nose. She smiled.
"Thanks for stopping," she said.
"How far do you want to go?" I asked. It was a question with obvious double meaning.
"As far as you're going, Ralph," She answered, with a sensuous smile.
"I really haven't decided where I'm headed. I don't suppose you know a place where I could stay for a day or two?"
I grinned. "I think that could be arranged."
I glanced at her huge wet tipped tits. She looked down at her chest and gasped.
"Ooohh—I've soaked my shirt with milk!"
"It's all right."
"Oohh—but it's so gross!"
"It's ok—honest. Don't worry about it," I insisted.
"I think it's kinda sexy to tell you the truth. Sexy and intimate."
She slid over into my arms and hugged me hard. I felt her wet tits splat against me as she struggled to maneuver her big belly out of the way to hug me closer.
"You have no idea how much I've wanted to hear a man say that," she whispered into my chest. "I... well—I like giving milk. It makes me feel so very much female—also, very sexual."
I put the car into gear, and drove down the road with Pamela by my side, the warm sweet smell of her milk surrounding us. Her big bare belly was so tempting that I couldn't help stroking her taut brown skin gently, moving my hand in a circle round and round her outthrust navel.
She murmured with pleasure and pulled the hem of her t-shirt back just a bit to expose more of herself to my moving hand, and even stuck out her belly a little further for me.
"I like that," she said, softly.
A drop of milk from her right teat dribbled onto the back of my hand as I petted her distended belly. I left it there. Pamela snuggled onto my shoulder and I petted her big pregnant belly all the way to the house. When we pulled up into the yard, she sat up with a start.
"Ohh, it's so lovely!" she said.
She opened the door and was out of the car in seconds. My dog ran up to her, barking, and she squatted to pet him, and play with his ears.
I felt weak standing behind her watching. Her tits were so enormous, I could see both of them. She had to squat with her thighs splayed wide to make room for her belly, and her plump deep split ass cheeks seemed about to burst from under her skirt. The sides of her huge milkers peeked out from beneath the hem of her t-shirt as she bent forward, her breast flesh sliding out to either side beneath her arms.