Morning After Bliss: A Pregnant Pleasure

The rain hammered against the windows of our small, coastal cottage, a relentless rhythm mirroring the pounding in my chest. Just a few months ago, we were just Matthew and me, enjoying a passionate, almost frantic sex life – up to five times a week, fueled by an undeniable chemistry that crackled in the air between us. Then came the news, a tiny, pink miracle nestled within my womb, and everything shifted. Matthew, always intensely driven, seemed to ignite with a primal hunger, a desperate need to connect with me in a way we hadn't explored before. I felt it too, a strange, exhilarating anticipation, a blossoming desire that went far beyond the physical.

Tonight, the storm was a perfect backdrop to the simmering tension between us. I was standing at the worn wooden countertop, stirring a bowl of plain oatmeal, the silence broken only by the clatter of the spoon against the ceramic. The scent of cinnamon hung faintly in the air, a comforting, familiar aroma that did little to soothe the restlessness bubbling beneath my skin. Then, he appeared, a shadow melting into the dim light of the kitchen. Matthew. He moved silently, fluidly, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, his muscular frame pressing against my own. His touch was both possessive and gentle, sending shivers down my spine.

Slowly, deliberately, his fingers descended, tracing the curve of my belly. They pressed firmly against my clitoris, the material of my simple cotton dress and thin cotton panties offering little resistance. The sensation was exquisite, a slow, building heat that quickly escalated into a desperate need. A moan escaped my lips, a small, involuntary sound that drew his attention. He shifted his weight, pulling me closer, his gaze intense and hungry. Then, he began to kiss me, starting at the nape of my neck, his lips lingering there before moving down to nibble playfully on my ears. It was a slow, sensual torture, designed to tease and build anticipation.

Turning to face him, I wrapped my hands around his neck, pulling him close, desperate for the release I knew was coming. He pulled my dress up, slowly, deliberately, his thumbs sliding aside the cups of my bra, exposing my breasts to his eager gaze. As he leaned in, his mouth descended upon my left breast, his lips moaning softly against the sensitive skin. Simultaneously, his free hand gripped my butt, squeezing and rubbing with a possessive intensity. The touch was electrifying, igniting a fire within me that threatened to consume me whole.

“I think we should take this upstairs, darling,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. The words were a promise, an invitation to a deeper, more intense experience. Nodding, unable to form coherent thoughts, I allowed myself to be led, my body responding instinctively to his touch.

He carried me gently, supporting my weight with ease, as we navigated the narrow hallway to the master bedroom. The entire journey was an exercise in restraint, his touch a constant reminder of the pleasure that awaited us. The anticipation built with every step, a crescendo of longing that threatened to overwhelm me.

Laying me on the crisp, white sheets of the bed, he quickly removed my dress and bra, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. The cool air on my skin sent a delicious shiver through my body. Then, he reached for me, his touch firm and confident. His tongue entered my clitoris, a slow, deliberate act of pure pleasure. Groans erupted from my throat, a torrent of sound expressing the exquisite agony and ecstasy he was inflicting upon me.

As he continued to caress my clitoris, increasing the speed and intensity of his movements, I felt something else, a deeper penetration that sent a jolt of pure, primal sensation through my body. His finger, thick and insistent, slid into my wet hole, plunging deep into the sensitive tissue. I nearly lost it, my breath catching in my throat, my body arching in response to the overwhelming pleasure.

“Matt, you need to be in me now!” I screamed, my voice raw with desire. The words were primal, urgent, a desperate plea for release.

Without hesitation, he unbuckled his pants, sending them flying across the room, landing with a soft thud near the fireplace. His enormous, erect penis was fully exposed, a testament to his arousal and the potent pleasure he derived from me. The sight of it, so massive and powerful, sent shivers down my spine. He plunged into me, thrusting in and out with an almost violent intensity, a rhythmic dance of pleasure and pain.

He was careful, though, mindful of the growing bulge in my abdomen, adjusting his thrusts to avoid any discomfort. The combination of his raw power and my desperate need was intoxicating, pushing us both to the very edge of our limits.

As the storm raged outside, our world narrowed down to the shared experience of pleasure, a primal connection that transcended words. We continued like that for what felt like an eternity, lost in a vortex of sensation. Then, we changed positions, experimenting with the missionary, doggy style, and the Kama sutra, each position offering a new layer of intimacy and pleasure. Finally, we settled into a deep, languid spooning session, allowing our bodies to intertwine and explore every inch of each other. Matthew came at least four times before we finally succumbed to exhaustion, collapsing into a tangled heap of limbs and sheets.

Later, as the rain subsided and the first rays of dawn peeked through the curtains, we lay entangled, our bodies still warm from the intensity of our encounter. And then, he pulled out his phone, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You know,” he said, his voice low and suggestive, “I’ve been thinking about starting a little side project. Homemade sex videos. Just for us.”

A slow smile spread across my face. The thought of capturing our passion, our primal connection, for posterity was both thrilling and slightly unsettling. As we continued to cuddle, lost in the aftermath of our shared pleasure, I couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation, a delicious uncertainty about the future. The oatmeal remained cold on the counter, a silent testament to the night we had just shared, a night filled with lust, desire, and the intoxicating thrill of pure, unadulterated pleasure. And as he continued to film, documenting every moment of our passionate encounter, I knew that this was just the beginning of something truly extraordinary.

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Morning After Bliss: A Pregnant Pleasure

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