I married a good man. A man who worships the ground I walk on, who buys me whatever I want and gives me more freedom than in truth I deserve. Indeed, he treats me like a goddess, but there are times I would sooner be his whore. Even before I was pregnant, our lovemaking was sweet and tender - though admittedly passionate, competent and overall satisfying - but as my belly has swelled with child, so his use of me has been so utterly respectful (and increasingly infrequent) as to have me gritting my teeth with frustration.
My few attempts to spur him to use coarser language, or to lay his hands on me with harsh determination, or to attempt even so mild a perversion as a good ass-fucking (which I was sure that all men loved, though it seems my husband is the exception) have failed. Worse, he has grown reluctant to pursue even the oral pleasures we once delighted in.
A good man. A loving husband. But I am no angel to be adored with such purity of affection. Shame on me, but I am a woman who occasionally needs to be fucked properly.
"If not by my husband, then someone else," I tell Amy, adding guiltily, "Anyone, really."
"Maybe once the baby's out, he'll pay more attention to you," she says.
"Or maybe less. And I'll probably be exhausted from looking after it all day and being woken in the middle of the night. Not to mention I won't be all tight and virginal anymore..."
Amy laughs. "No." She leans over and presses her hands to my belly. It has been three months since we met last. "Is it kicking yet?"
"Sometimes." It's not just my belly that has grown. My nipples are bigger, and starting to leak too.
She sighs mournfully. "I wish I had a cock. I'd give you what you want."
I echo her sigh. "I wish you did too." I kiss her hungrily. "Pussy is sweet, but it's cock I crave."
"I always told you you were too much of a cumslut to ever settle for one man."
I've so far been faithful to my husband - not counting occasional trysts with Amy, that is. "Are you going to help me or not?"
"What's in it for me?"
"Once I've had my fill of cock, you can have me any way you like."
"Mmm." She kisses me, her lips curling with a mischievous grin. "You may end up regretting that promise."
"I certainly hope so..."
*
Nothing makes me melt like my husband's kiss. We've been married for two years, and together (on and off) since school, but being held by his firm hands tight against his muscular frame as his soft, warm lips descend on my neck, his sharp stubble scratching at my cheek... ah, it still does it for me.
That and the pressure of his hard cock through his jeans - except the bump separates us these days, unless he grabs me from behind, which I wish he would do more often. Thirty-six weeks and counting. Much as I love being pregnant, it does have its downsides, from endless aches and pains to moments where I am an ungainly hormonal mess, about as sexy as a block of butter melting in the sun.
I love him. I really do. It's just the sex is so tame. I love that he trusts and respects me, that he's not the sort of man to treat a woman like she's a whore, but there are times like this when I'm like a bitch in heat, when I crave to be treated roughly. Especially now that I'm waddling around like a duck and I'd trade all the kisses from my husband for one hard, urgent, messy fuck.
I push my sweatpants and grotesque knickers down to my knees and push my bare ass back into his crotch. "I need to go," he says.
"Then you'd better be quick..."
He extracts his hard cock awkwardly from the fly of his jeans, and I guide him into me. I'm not as wet as I'd like to be, but not completely dry either. The discomfort of his penetration passes swiftly as my fingers brush my clit and his strokes increase in depth and speed. "Harder," I beg him, but there is no change in his rhythm.
He does come quickly though, shuddering to a finish within me. I am nowhere near done, but I don't mind. "Thanks, honey," I say. "You can go now."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Have a good trip."
"Are you sure you'll be okay?" His cock, shrinking rapidly now, slips from me and he tucks it away.
"I'll be fine." I kiss him to reassure him. His baby is in my rounded belly, and his cum is leaking from my pussy.
Two minutes later he is gone, the taxi taking him to the airport. I make my way to the bedroom, spreading my legs in front of the mirror and parting my dark lips to reveal the pink interior. As I stroke my clit, building finally towards orgasm, I pause to scoop up my husband's cum and suck it from my fingers.
*
One ex-boyfriend loved to cover my belly with his cum - back when my belly was toned and flat. I often wonder if it would excite him more now, my belly swollen with another man's child. That had been a weird, secret and shameful relationship, based purely on how much I enjoyed the size and skilful use of his cock, and his fetish for the sight of white cum on black skin.
It wasn't easy growing up the only black girl in school, but I had two saving graces. I was fast and could outrun trouble, and I found a great friend in Amy - the only trouble I couldn't outrun. Together we learned all about sex, with each other at first, then later, away from the village that had limited our choices for so long, with what men we considered worthy of our attention.
The first time I sucked a cock, I was kneeling side-by-side with Amy. Although I had lost my virginity, so to speak, in the back of my future husband's car the year before, I had never before had a cock right in front of my face. There's a huge difference between a hasty, fumbled encounter with a boyfriend and being presented with a relative stranger's thick, throbbing member.
We were at a summer barbecue, invited along as friends of friends, at a posh place in the city, the garden's high walls making it a secluded spot. The smell of burning wood and meat making me dizzy with hunger. It was immediately obvious that this was no innocent occasion, even ignoring the two guys doing coke in plain sight, for not one of the women was clothed, excepting stilettos.
It was like walking into a outdoors version of a strip club. "Um, Amy," I said.
"Relax," she said. "It'll be fun." In this she was encouraged by her friends George and Eduard, who soon had her down to her bra and knickers between kisses and obvious groping. Those last items of lingerie soon joined the pile of discarded clothing.
Being the only woman there still clothed, and lacking the courage to walk out and leave my best friend alone at a very dubious party, I didn't resist as I too was stripped by hands that caressed my breasts and fondled my ass, and that slipped momentarily between my thighs. Never had I felt so vulnerable, or so exposed. So completely at the mercy of so many strange men.
