My usual plotless fuck. Apologies for having stolen half an idea; the heft of it, however, is undeniably mine. Yes.
*
It's been a long day. They seem to be getting longer. Although I'm tired and so weary, I wake up in the early hours parched, just craving tea, weirdly aching for it, and I drag my heavy body from the bed and plod downstairs to the kitchen.
I am wearing something flimsy. Silky. Smooth. Shorter than it used to be, but at least it still fits at a time when most things just don't. I'm growing bigger by the day.
Not wanting to disturb, I keep the lights out and walk comfortably through my home in the dark. Barefoot.
As I walk into my kitchen, you step quietly out of the shadows. I feel, not see you. Your gloved hand is wrapped over my mouth, and you whisper a gentle 'hush' in my ear. Firm.
I'm not arguing.
We stand. You appeared from behind, so my back is against your growing front. One hand of yours, I realise, has reached round and is tenderly rubbing my swollen belly. The other still encompasses my closed mouth. I am leaning against you slightly, comfortable, excited, nervous.
My family, small son and husband, are asleep upstairs. He's used to me getting up at odd times lately. Carrying my son I slept like a log. Everyone says girls are more trouble, but I didn't realise this extended to pre-birth.
I lean further, sinking further into you. We don't, neither one, acknowledge who you are. I feel your hardening cock against my buttocks, and I know where it's going. And despite everything, babe, this makes me so scared.
I am wearing just the nightdress. No knickers. You smooth your, now ungloved, hand over the roundness of me and under the gown to my mound. I can't help but push her up to meet your probing figures. You slip between those warm outer lips, rub over that moist jewel, and run your cold hand into the sticky warmth of me. I move my hips, still standing up, back to your front. Push forward to greet your hand; push back onto that now hard cock.
