Pregnant Vows: A Sacred Sin

The confession hung in the air, a humid, unspoken truth between us. My wife, Natalie, had been three months pregnant on our wedding night, a secret she’d carried for years, a burden she’d finally let go. It wasn’t something she was proud of, not really, but we’d built a life together over twenty years, weathering storms and finding solace in each other’s arms. The initial awkwardness had dissolved into a passionate, almost frantic intimacy, fueled by a shared desire and a healthy disregard for societal expectations. We discovered a strange, insistent pull towards each other, a magnetism that found purchase in the curve of her breasts, the softness of her thighs. The sundresses, thin and revealing, seemed to invite my hands, leading me to her damp, yielding panties. There, in that hidden space, a thrill of anticipation ignited within me, a primal need that demanded exploration. Natalie took a deep breath, a silent surrender, and I pressed on, emboldened by her lack of resistance.

The snogging evolved into mutually stimulating sessions, a comfortable compromise between our conflicting desires. It was a slow, sensual dance, a gradual erosion of boundaries as we found pleasure in each other’s bodies, a secret language spoken through touch. We were both consenting adults, comfortable in our desires, finding a balance that felt both liberating and deeply satisfying. The invisible force that had initially drawn us together shifted its focus, becoming more deliberate, more insistent. The hugs grew tighter, the embraces more prolonged, culminating in moments where my erect member brushed against her burgeoning belly. She’d wiggle free, creating a space for me to move closer, to explore the depths of her pleasure. It felt illicit, forbidden, yet undeniably compelling. The anticipation built with each hesitant advance, each stolen glance, until we reached a point where our bodies met with a shared, unspoken longing.

As engagement loomed, the tension intensified, a palpable undercurrent beneath our everyday life. The playful exploration morphed into something deeper, more demanding, as our connection grew stronger and our boundaries blurred. The invisible force became an undeniable pull, a relentless yearning that demanded fulfillment. We snuggled, held, and caressed, our bodies intertwining in a desperate attempt to satiate the growing hunger within us. The moments of close contact became more frequent, more intense, culminating in passionate encounters where we pushed each other to the brink of ecstasy. The weight of our unfulfilled desires pressed upon us, a constant reminder of the intimacy we craved.

The pregnancy, a small, unwelcome surprise, served as a catalyst, forcing us to confront our desires and accelerate our plans for a wedding. Natalie's bridal dress, beautiful and elegant, posed a challenge, a visual representation of the societal expectations we had temporarily abandoned. She shed it with a sigh of relief, revealing the slight but undeniable curve of her abdomen. The sight of her bump filled me with a surge of both tenderness and arousal. "Well, wifey," I murmured, stroking her belly with gentle reverence, "what have you got in there? Is it a boy or a girl?"

"I think it's a girl," she replied, a maternal instinct flickering in her eyes. "I can feel it. Maternal instinct."

"Let's find out," I suggested, seizing the opportunity to satisfy my own curiosity. "Let's try the pendulum test. Apparently, swinging a wedding ring over a pregnant woman’s belly determines the sex of the baby. If it swings back and forth, it’s a boy; if it goes around, it’s a girl."

"Oh yes, I've heard of it," she giggled, her voice laced with amusement. "How accurate is it?"

“Totally,” I said with a straight face. “Well, okay, fifty percent. If the worst comes to the worst, our daughter will just have to wear blue baby clothes for a few months.”

Finding a piece of thread proved surprisingly difficult, but eventually, we located one tucked away in a sewing kit. I carefully tied it to the end of a string, holding it as still as possible, my hand trembling slightly. The pendulum began to swing, hesitant at first, then gaining momentum. The direction was unclear, erratic, as if the baby within her wasn’t yet determined. My other hand, resting on her leg, found its way to her thigh, tracing the contours of her body. Just as it reached her bush, her legs parted slightly, revealing the entrance to her vagina. There, a damp patch glistened, an invitation to further exploration.

I pinched the ring, pulling it along the smooth gold surface, and rolled it over her clitoris. A gasp escaped her lips, a mixture of pleasure and surprise. "Oh, that's lovely. It’s nice and cold." The ring reached the entrance of her vagina. "With this ring, I thee wed," I whispered, gently pushing it up inside her, holding onto the thread, then slowly pulling it back. Natalie’s pussy lips parted in a silent invitation, and the ring reemerged, glistening with her pussy juices.

Her breathing grew heavy, ragged, as she surrendered to the sensation. "I want you inside me," she groaned, her voice thick with desire. She pulled up her knees, bringing her body closer, and I entered, embracing her with a possessive tenderness. The dampness intensified, clinging to my skin as I moved deeper, exploring the hidden chambers of her pleasure. She was completely engorged, wide open, inviting me to fill her completely. It was as if she were begging for release, for the ultimate satisfaction of merging our bodies in a shared moment of ecstasy. As I neared the point of climax, she began to come, her body convulsing with rhythmic spasms. The pleasure intensified, becoming overwhelming, as her pussy lips opened wider, and I shot all my cum inside her.

We lay there panting, breathless, lost in the afterglow of our mutual orgasm. She looked at me, a look of pure contentment on her face. “Well, there’s no way back now, young man,” she teased, a playful glint in her eyes. “We’ve consummated our marriage.”

“You look quite pleased about that,” I smiled, nuzzling into her hair.

“I most definitely am,” she replied, her voice soft and sensual.

It was the perfect end to our courtship, the perfect beginning to our marriage. We never again played with the wedding ring in such a blatant manner, perhaps feeling that it was a one-off special ceremony, a sacred ritual we performed that night. As for the maternal instinct, she was wrong – our daughter was born six months later, a healthy, beautiful girl who now embodies the spirit of our shared desire. Or perhaps she just misjudged the timing, as two years later we had a son too. He is now an 18-year-old man, a testament to our unconventional love story and the enduring power of our connection.

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