Five Days of Heat and Longing

The November air hung thick and heavy, clinging to South Africa with the promise of heat. It wasn’t just the weather that felt oppressive; it was the anticipation of Hans’ departure, a looming five-day absence that had plunged me into a turbulent sea of emotions. Being seven months pregnant, I was prone to fits of melancholic weeping, clinging to his every word of reassurance as if they were lifelines in a drowning world. "You’ll be fine," he’d said, his voice a low rumble against my skin, "Time flies when you’re having fun." Fun felt a million miles away, replaced by a desperate need to fill the void he’d leave behind, a primal urge that bubbled beneath the surface of my pregnancy.

Looking in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. My body, swollen and curved with the burgeoning life within me, felt both alien and intimately familiar. The thought struck me with brutal clarity: I was utterly, completely alone, and the only way to navigate this solitude was to indulge in the desires that surged through me. Nakedness, once a vulnerability, now felt like a defiant act of ownership, a reclamation of my own body. I ripped off my clothes, the cotton fabric pooling around me like a discarded skin, and stepped into the living room, a sudden, liberating impulse washing over me.

Marriage Heat lay open on the coffee table, its pages filled with tales of lust and passion. I devoured a few stories, letting the vicarious thrill ignite my own desires, before logging out, eager to lose myself in the tangible sensations that awaited. It took a good hour for the initial shock of being unclothed to wear off, replaced by a growing sense of confidence and abandon. I tackled the housework in my birthday suit, scrubbing the kitchen counters, folding laundry, and generally reveling in the freedom from societal expectations. The sweat slicked my skin, a delicious reminder of my own sensuality.

At 1:30 pm, I succumbed to the siren call of sleep, sinking into the plush cushions of the sofa. It was during this slumber that the storm truly broke. A torrential downpour of horniness flooded my mind, a relentless torrent of erotic fantasies that left me breathless and desperate. The dreams came quickly, vivid and insistent, each one pushing me closer to the brink of ecstasy.

The first dream began with Hans commanding me to perform oral sex on him while simultaneously sucking his cock. His voice, deep and resonant, echoed in my ears as he urged me on, his hands guiding my movements with possessive insistence. Then, the scene shifted. I found myself in Hans’ bed at his parent’s house in Friesland, Netherlands, the sheets tangled around us as he proceeded to fuck me with brutal force. The sensation was both terrifying and exhilarating, a primal release that left me gasping for air. I woke with a jolt, my heart pounding in my chest, the lingering heat still radiating from my body.

The aftermath of the dream left me raw and desperate for more. My fingers instinctively sought out my clitoris, caressing it with a feverish intensity. I imagined Hans’ hands on my body, his touch both dominant and gentle, and the desire escalated into a burning ache. As my body grew more sensitive, I realized that my pregnancy wasn't a barrier to pleasure, but rather a catalyst for it. My clitoris pulsed with anticipation, responding to every touch, every caress. My tits, too, felt exquisitely sensitive, begging for attention. I found myself lost in the sensation, a wave of pleasure washing over me as I explored my own body, free from the constraints of societal norms.

After a few minutes of self-gratification, I rose from the sofa, still naked and brimming with energy. The kitchen beckoned, and I headed there for a snack, my body moving with a newfound confidence. The thought of Hans interrupted this moment of intense pleasure, and a new wave of arousal washed over me. It was then that I realized that Hans would be back in two days. I decided to indulge in the pleasure that my pregnancy was providing. I grabbed a bottle of olive oil from the pantry, pouring a generous amount into my hands. As I began to caress my breasts with the oil, my body started to tremble with anticipation. My pussy felt hot and sensitive, eager for attention. Soon, my fingers began to stroke my clitoris, building the tension, bringing me closer and closer to orgasm. I could feel the baby kicking inside me, a tiny reminder of the life growing within me, but it didn't diminish my desire.

As I continued my self-exploration, Hans entered the room, his presence sending a jolt of electricity through my body. He watched me with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction, as if he knew exactly what I was craving. He didn’t interrupt my pleasure, simply observing, savoring the moment. My mind raced with thoughts of him, his hands, his touch, his voice. The baby kicked again, a gentle reminder of the life we were about to share. Taking one of my fingers, I gently rimmed my asshole while the other finger caressed my pussy. At the same time, I inserted one finger in my ass, while the other fingers brought me closer and closer to climax. Finally, as my body reached its peak, I inserted two fingers in my pussy. My orgasm was intense, a wave of pure pleasure that left me breathless and weak. I felt completely consumed by my own body, lost in the sensation of release. My orgasm was so intense that my ass and pussy tightened around my fingers.

By the time I had finished, I was exhausted but profoundly satisfied. I remained naked, savoring the lingering warmth of my orgasm, until I drifted off to sleep, the memory of the experience vivid in my mind. It was then that I realized I didn't miss Hans that much. The freedom from his presence, combined with the intense pleasure I had found in my own body, had made him seem distant and unimportant.

Later that day, I found myself craving another round of pleasure. I grabbed my phone and found a free fantasy story on Wadpad titled "Bride of Alvar." The story was explicit and graphic, filled with scenes of forced submission and domination. It was exactly what I needed. The story did not cool me down, and after one chapter, I felt an even stronger urge to masturbate. I went back to the kitchen, where I found a bottle of olive oil. As I began petting my pussy with the oil, my body started to tremble with anticipation. Soon, my fingers began to stroke my clitoris, building the tension, bringing me closer and closer to orgasm.

The scent of the olive oil mixed with my sweat, creating a potent cocktail of arousal. My mind was completely consumed by the sensation, lost in the pleasure of self-gratification. I could feel the baby kicking inside me, a tiny reminder of the life growing within me, but it didn’t diminish my desire. The waves of pleasure continued to wash over me, each one more intense than the last.

As my body reached its peak, I felt an uncontrollable urge to continue. I got on my hands and knees, bringing my body closer to the floor. I began to writhe around, my body arching and twisting, as my orgasm reached its climax. My pregnant tummy hung down, a testament to the incredible changes taking place within me. I felt like a cow, completely in heat, waiting to be mounted by my bull, Hans. Growing up on a farm likely inspired this particular moment of horniness.

By bedtime, I was tired, but still buzzing with energy. I stayed nude, continuing to masturbate myself to sleep, lost in the pleasure of my own body. Was anyone else out there doing the same thing? I enjoyed the day immensely, finding solace and excitement in the solitude and the uninhibited expression of my desires.

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