James – Twenty-Nine Weeks
What’s she looking for?
Standing in the kitchen doorway, I watch as Charlotte, her back to me, rummages through the shelves of the store cupboard.
The latest tee-shirt is already tight, rolling up a little over her expanded waistline as she stretches upwards. Muttering to herself, she works through tins and jars then, with an audible Mmmm… takes a plastic container from the top shelf. Unclipping the lid, she extracts a slab of chocolate brownie.
Caught in the act.
“That will be your third this morning, Charlotte.”
She jolts, looking over her shoulder at me, pressing fingers to her mouth as she chews then gulps. “Michael brought them over from the hotel for me when I said I fancied something sweet.”
Stepping across to her, I take the cake from her hand and replace it in the box, minus one bite. “He brought enough for everyone. I don’t think he intended you to eat the lot yourself.”
She drops her eyes. “If you don’t want me to eat them,” she mutters, “then put them somewhere I can’t get them.”
“Fine.” I clip the lid back on the box and place it on the ground at her feet.
She leans forward, trying to see over her own stomach. “That’s not fair,” But there’s laughter in her voice.
“Life’s not fair. I’m not having Peanut coming out chocolate-coated.” I reach for the bowl on the table, then holding her by the wrist, slap an apple in her palm. “If you want something sweet, eat fruit.”
She takes a bite from the apple, then waddling to the table, sits, legs splayed, to take another. “We can’t keep calling her Peanut. She’s got to have a proper name sometime.”
“Got anything in mind?”
“Actually, yes. I thought… well, she’s my daughter and your daughter, but Michael helped and he’s going to be officially the father so…”
“You don’t have to give me the sales pitch. What’s in your mind?”
“I thought, Michael’s mom; she’s called Cara.”
Cara?
Cara…
“Cara.” I roll the word around my mouth.
“What do you think?”
“Cara… Yes, I like that. It’s a Spanish word, did you know?”
“What does it mean?”
“Expensive.”
She laughs. “Well, that certainly true with everything we’re spending. But I looked up the name too. It also means ‘loved’.
“Loved? Cara it is then.”
She smiles, wide and bright. “Do we tell him yet?”
I give her a squeeze around the shoulders. “Let’s keep it as a surprise, eh.”
*****
Charlotte – Thirty Weeks
The stretchy black leggings bulge at my waist. Tugging at the front of my Hippopotamus tee-shirt, I try to draw it down to cover my stomach. With a stretch, it just goes over and I survey the result in the mirror.
When were my tits ever this size?
I’m blessed with large breasts, just good luck on my part I suppose; an inheritance from my mother. But now they are huge.
And my belly protrudes beyond them.
Well beyond them.
I suck in, trying to draw in my stomach. Of course, it won’t go and as I release my breath, the tee-shirt abruptly rolls itself back up my stomach to sit like a belt under my swinging boobs…
Well, that’s one way of supporting them…
Defeated, I take Elephant tee-shirt from my wardrobe and try it for size. It looks odd, the label dangling at the back, but the fit is depressingly good.
I’m lying to myself. It’s tight.
It still stretches over my belly. Tugging at it, trying to settle it to drape a little more loosely, but the horrible thing creases into lines over my widest middle.
And there’s weeks to go yet.
How big am I going to get?
Click!
I whirl, in time to see my Master, still laughing as he holds up his phone, displaying the screen and the photo he just took.
“Oh, God no. Wipe it, please.”
“Why for heaven’s sake?” He examines the screen. “It’s a lovely photo. Just caught the moment.” He scissors fingers, zooming in and his smile glows.
Then as he looks back to me, “Charlotte, really. I just wanted to catch you stroking yourself over the stomach like that as you saw yourself in the mirror.” The smile returns, dancing around his eyes. “You look amazing.” He lays a hand on my belly, stroking the bump. “Both of you.”
“But I’m… I’m… so fat… and I feel ugly… And my boobs are too big. And none of my real clothes fit any more… And… I’m so clumsy. I waddle when I walk and… I thought maybe… maybe…” And…”
I must sound ridiculous…
And I shut up.
He exhales, looking away from me, then pulls me into his arms.
He murmurs, “You are not fat and ugly. You are pregnant and beautiful. Pregnant with our beautiful daughter. And she is going to grow up to be as brave and intelligent and beautiful as her mother. And I cannot wait for her to be born so I can see that happening. But for now, I am very happy to watch my beautiful, pregnant wife getting ready for all that.”
“You’re sure?” My voice trembles as I cast across to the mirror where, somehow, my Master’s arms don’t wrap around me as widely as they used to.
“Oh, Charlotte. My Jade-Eyes. You really are being…” He rubs the back of his head. “Why are you so insecure about this? You have two men who love you more than life itself and a third who’s only reason for not feeling the same is that his wife is your cousin.”
He halts. Then his tone changes.
The Dom…
“Get down.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” He snaps the instruction. “Bend over the end of the bed. Support yourself on your arms. No pressure on your stomach.”
“Master…”
But he turns me, positions me, pushes me down at the shoulders. “Your weight on your hands. That’s it.”
From behind me the snap of leather and the rasp off metal. “If I have to do something as absurd as prove to you that I still want you just as much as I ever did, then it’s easy enough.”
He slips thumbs into the waistband of the leggings, pulling it clear of my belly then tugging down.
“Panties too. Step.”
He yanks the lot free of me as I raise one foot then the other. “Now…” The heat of his groin presses to my hips, the warmth of his chest to my spine, as he strokes down my arms. “… You’re comfortable? Supported properly?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Good. Now… Relax, and remind yourself that you are loved…” And with that, his body heat leaves my skin…
… replaced by the glide of his fingers at the back of my knees.
Aaahhh…
My legs buckle, but his arm snaps around me, supporting me. “Careful…” And as I steady myself. “Want to try that again?”
“Yes, Master. Please. It just caught me by surprise.”
He curves around me, pressing a kiss into my neck. “Good girl.”
I think he squats down behind me, warm breath washing over my rear, but I don’t think it’s deliberate…
… Yet…
… simply a measure of his position behind me.
And this time, at the sweet/tormenting touch of fingernails over skin, drawing between upper calves and lower thighs, I hold myself, huffing air as electricity skitters up and between my thighs, centering into my sex and setting my clit pulsing.
“Much better… Wet already. That’s my girl…”
I want him to move into more sexual territory, up and in, and I shuffle, spreading my ankles…
The fingers freeze. “Who is Master here?”
My flash quivering, “You are.”
“So, wait.”
The fingers resume, a small journey, digging in oh-so-slightly to sensitive skin and jangling nerves…
My huffing turns to gasping and now the heat comes from inside, blooming into my purring pussy…
And as the nails draw up higher, easing a path into the delicate skin of my inner thighs…
… and up…
… and in…
A hot mouth… hot lips… a hot tongue… plant themselves over me, sucking, licking, probing…
Then station themselves on my bud, winding circles, nudging the base, swiping over the tip…
It’s exquisite. Agonising. Ecstatic. Unbearable…
What’s the sound I’m making?
I have no idea. A yell? A howl? A scream…
I don’t know, but it is born somewhere deep in my throat to emerge as a kind of guttural wail as I try to hang onto enough sanity and control to keep myself supported over the bed.
Something moves and, straining my neck a little to see:
It’s Michael, smiling as he seats himself on the edge of the bed. “I swear, Babe, if I was surrounded by canon going off, I’d hear you singing out like that.” He grins. “Sheer catnip.”
Behind me, my Master shifts, I think standing up. “Michael. Perfect timing. Charlotte here seems to be of the opinion that being pregnant has made her… What were the words? Ah, yes. Fat and ugly.”
From my semi-up-side-down position, I see Michael’s eyes roll. He looks away, then back again, shaking his head. But his voice is soft. “You’re an idiot, Charlotte.” His gaze slants off and behind me. “I take it that’s the point you’re about to prove?”
“You could say that, yes.” A pause. “Where’s Mitch?”
Michael thumbs across to the window. “We were chatting outside. Then she suddenly made her excuses, grabbed a paintbrush and set off for the hotel.”
“Good.” And with no preamble, fingers from either side open me and my Master pushes in and home.
I yelp, and Michael rockets close, holding me under the arms, supporting me with his body as my Master fucks me, not hard, but thoroughly.
Ohhh…. Goddd….
My body rocks with his rhythm, and Michael’s with me. From the fore, he slips fingers between my thighs, tweaking my bud. “You gonna come for us, Babe?”
My Master withdraws, my pussy contracting around the abrupt emptiness, and a hard hand swats across my ass. “I have never heard anything so fucking ridiculous, Charlotte.”
A hand comes across the other side, harder now, stinging. “If it weren’t for your condition, I would punish you to straighten out your thinking. As it is, I will assume that you are doing too much of that thinking with your hormones instead of your head.”
Another slap, again harder and on the same spot, and I gasp. “And once we are past this…” Another slap… “… and I can act freely with your beautiful body… I am going to fuck you ’til you need a baby-sitter for a week, while you learn to walk again after I’ve done with you.”
And he plunges in again, filling me.
Michael is playing havoc with my clit, arousal sparking and stabbing and jabbing through to my core, tightening me around my Master’s cock as he pounds me. My face heated, I’m dripping sweat over Michael…
“Come on, Babe…”
I’m liquifying, melting…
And with a yell, I Come.
A hand tugs at my hair, lifting my face and Michael fastens his mouth over mine, still playing a virtuoso performance on my bud while from behind, my Master fucks me hard.
And as I shudder to a dripping, gasping halt, he groans, his hips grinding against me.
Still panting, he withdraws, releasing me and I roll onto the bed, both my husbands watching me.
My Master’s voice is dry. “Is that enough proof for you?” Then his eyes widen, and he points. “Look!”
“What? What is it?”
I swing around then realise where both he and Michael are looking, and my gaze drops to join theirs.
And there, where Elephant tee-shirt stretches over me, drawn tight, quite clearly visible is the outline of a tiny handprint, pressing outwards.
My Master, grinning delightedly, snatches up his phone again, opening the camera and flicking on to video. The tiny hand moves. “She’s waving! Peanut is waving ‘Hello’.”
Michael simply stares, mesmerised. Then he reaches to touch. His outstretched forefinger is larger than the tiny handprint, but he rubs gently at it. “Hello, Peanut.”
I flop back. “Gotta say, Guys. She feels more like Coconut these days”
*****