Morning Heat: Alone & Pregnant

The silence of the house pressed in on me, thick and heavy like a velvet blanket soaked in sweat. Twenty weeks. Twenty weeks since Mark left for his latest business trip, twenty weeks of navigating this strange, new landscape of my body – swollen, aching, and pulsing with a heat I hadn’t known existed just months ago. It wasn’t just the physical changes, though those were certainly overwhelming, it was the desperate, primal need that had taken root within me, fueled by the loneliness and the sheer, undeniable pleasure of being utterly, gloriously alone.

I peeled off the soft cotton of my nightgown, letting it pool around my feet as I lay on the plush king-sized bed. The sheets, cool against my skin, did little to quell the rising tide of heat. My hands, heavy with the burgeoning weight of the life growing inside me, moved instinctively to my stomach, tracing the gentle curve of my belly. My breasts, swollen and tender, felt like ripe peaches straining against their skins. I began to knead, to massage, finding a strange comfort in the rhythmic pressure, the feeling of connection to the life within me. My nipples, noticeably larger now, throbbed with anticipation. I ran my fingertips over them, circling them, pinching them gently, letting the sensitivity spread through my core. Tiny droplets of colostrum, pale and sweet, leaked from my teats, a tangible sign of the changes happening within. The scent, subtly milky and warm, filled the air.

My pussy, already moist, began to swell with an insistent ache. The sensation was both thrilling and slightly alarming, a reminder of the power and vulnerability I felt as a pregnant woman. I ran my hands down my thighs, feeling the slickness of my arousal, my lady juice flowing freely, collecting in small pools between my buttocks and the entrance to my asshole. It was a strange, almost perverse pleasure, this awareness of my own wetness, my own body responding so intensely to the primal urge. I continued rubbing myself, focusing on my outer pussy lips, teasing them with my fingertips, building the anticipation. The clit, a small, sensitive nub beneath my pubic bone, throbbed in response, begging for attention.

Two fingers, slick with moisture, descended into the folds of my pussy, finding their way to the base of my clit. I began to rub, circular motions at first, gentle and slow, building the pressure gradually. My hips swayed, responding to the escalating pleasure, my breath catching in my throat. The heat intensified, spreading through my body like wildfire. As my arousal deepened, I shifted my focus to my ass hole, sliding two fingers into the darkness, feeling the resistance of the flesh, the exquisite pressure of my pussy walls against my fingers. The combination of sensations was overwhelming, a dizzying rush of pleasure and anticipation. My body was completely consumed by the desire, every nerve ending screaming for release. The wetness intensified, becoming a torrent, a waterfall of sensation that threatened to drown me in its intensity.

My fingers moved faster now, deeper, exploring every inch of my clit, pressing, pulling, twisting. The pleasure became unbearable, a white-hot agony that threatened to consume me. I pushed my fingers in as far as they could go, feeling the sharp sting of the walls of my vagina against my sensitive flesh. I flicked at my g-spot, a small, highly sensitive area located just a few inches inside my vagina, a spot that always delivered the most intense pleasure. My breathing became ragged, my heart pounded in my chest, my muscles tense with the effort of containing the eruption of pleasure. The waves of pleasure washed over me, building in intensity, threatening to break free.

Finally, I could hold it no longer. My body convulsed, my muscles tensed, and a massive release of fluid exploded from my pussy hole, accompanied by a guttural moan of pleasure. The sensation was both shocking and liberating, a complete and utter surrender to the primal urge. The waves of pleasure continued to surge through my body, leaving me breathless and weak. The wetness continued to flow, soaking into the sheets, a testament to the intensity of my experience. Lying there, drenched in my own arousal, I felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction, a deep connection to the life growing inside me, and a profound sense of pleasure in my own body.

The scent of my own arousal filled the room, mingling with the lingering fragrance of my husband’s cologne. It was a strange and intoxicating combination, a reminder of the life we had built together, and the secret desires that simmered beneath the surface. I closed my eyes, savoring the lingering pleasure, anticipating the joy of seeing Mark’s face again when he returned home. The thought of his touch, his kisses, his love, filled me with an almost unbearable excitement. This alone time had been an incredible release, a chance to reconnect with my body, to explore my desires, and to find pleasure in the most unexpected places.

The experience had left me feeling vulnerable yet powerful, both humbled by the miracle of pregnancy and exhilarated by the sheer intensity of my own arousal. It was a strange and wonderful paradox, a reminder that even in the midst of new life, there was still room for pleasure, for passion, for the wild, untamed desires that made us human. As I lay there, surrounded by the evidence of my pleasure, I couldn't help but smile. My pregnant heat had served its purpose, and I was ready for whatever came next.

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Morning Heat: Alone & Pregnant

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