Weekend Rendezvous, Secret Birth

The rain hammered against the windows of the Hampton Inn in rural Ohio, mirroring the frantic drumming in my chest. It had been a brutal month, a relentless grind of spreadsheets, client calls, and lukewarm coffee, all while four hundred miles from my wife, Sarah. The branch office was demanding, the pressure immense, and every night I’d stare at the flickering fluorescent lights and desperately crave the simple comfort of her presence. Then, the call came. A cheerful, unexpected voice on the other end of the line, a voice that sliced through the monotony like a hot knife through butter. “Honey, I’m coming to surprise you!”

My heart leaped. Sarah. The thought of her, her radiant smile, her intoxicating scent, was enough to momentarily quell the anxieties gnawing at my gut. I practically tore out of the office, a manic grin plastered across my face, and made my way back to the hotel room. The lobby was deserted, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and disinfectant. As I approached my room, I could hear her laughter, light and airy, a sound that instantly dissolved the tension in my muscles.

She arrived like a burst of sunshine, pulling open the door with a flourish, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. She was wearing a simple sundress, the fabric clinging to her curves, and a pair of bright red heels that seemed to scream, “Look at me!” The scent of her perfume, a blend of vanilla and jasmine, filled the room, instantly turning up the heat. I was breathless, lost for words, completely overwhelmed by her sudden appearance.

We ordered a ridiculously large bottle of champagne and a mountain of appetizers from room service, settling onto the plush king-sized bed, the rain continuing its insistent rhythm against the glass. We talked, really talked, for hours. We reminisced about our first date, the awkward fumble of our first kiss, and the day we realized we were undeniably, irrevocably in love. We discussed our parents, their quirks, and the endless stream of unsolicited advice they seemed to dispense without fail. We even broached the subject of expanding the house, mentally mapping out the addition of a nursery, a playroom, and maybe, just maybe, a guest room for future grandchildren.

As the evening wore on, the conversation shifted, becoming more intimate, more sensual. I found myself staring at her, really *seeing* her, noticing the delicate curve of her neck, the way her eyes sparkled with mischief, the subtle flush of her cheeks. My own body responded instinctively, my arousal building with each passing moment. She seemed to sense my mounting desire, her gaze lingering on my chest, her fingers tracing the contours of my arm.

Then, she did something unexpected. She reached into her purse and produced a small, satin-wrapped package. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she handed it to me. Inside, nestled in a bed of tissue paper, was her panties. A single, knowing smile played on her lips. I quickly slipped them into my pocket, the cool silk a tangible reminder of the delicious anticipation that hung in the air.

As we rose to our feet, she slipped off her bra, the gesture both casual and deliberate. The sight of her bare skin, pale and flawless, sent a jolt of electricity through me. I didn’t wait for an invitation; I moved on her, stripping off her shirt with swift, confident movements. The rain continued to lash against the windows, but inside the room, the atmosphere had shifted, charged with a primal energy.

We embraced, clinging to each other, our bodies molding against one another. My erection swelled, a throbbing testament to the escalating desire within me. She wrapped her arms around my waist, pulling me close, her hips brushing against my chest. We kissed deeply, passionately, lost in the intoxicating heat of the moment. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of us, consumed by our shared longing.

Then, she surprised me. Gently, she lifted me off the ground, her hands supporting my weight as she positioned me over her swollen, vulnerable belly. It was a completely new sensation, an intense, primal intimacy that left me gasping for air. Her vaginal lips were soft and yielding, but also undeniably powerful, a gateway to untold pleasure. I lowered myself onto her, the first time we had ever engaged in such a vulnerable, intimate act. The world tilted on its axis, the rain outside suddenly seeming distant and irrelevant. Her pleasure was immediate, a wave of intense sensation that coursed through my body.

As she arched her back, her muscles tensing, I felt a surge of adrenaline, a desperate need to please her. I bent over the bed, my body contorting in an animalistic pose, driven by instinct and pure, unadulterated lust. Her butt pressed firmly against my lap, a thrilling sensation that intensified my arousal. The sight of her, vulnerable and exposed, ignited a fire within me, fueling my desire to fulfill her every whim. I pushed closer, feeling the heat building, anticipating the inevitable climax. Her moans intensified, her body convulsing with pleasure. As I reached my own peak, a torrent of sperm erupted from my depths, flooding her love canal. She let out a piercing shriek of ecstasy, a sound that resonated deep within my soul.

A few moments later, her body began to relax, her breathing returning to normal. She looked at me, her eyes wide with pleasure and gratitude. As she bounced on my hard boner, her nipples super hard under my hands, she began to come again. She rode me like a stallion, her movements both frantic and powerful. Her nipples vibrated intensely, projecting out about three-quarters of an inch from her areola, a clear indication of her escalating pleasure. She had multiple orgasms in rapid succession, each one more intense than the last. I felt myself becoming hard again, responding to her every move, lost in the sheer abandon of the moment.

By the wee hours of the morning, we were both exhausted, breathless, and utterly spent. We lay tangled together in the sheets, clinging to each other, our bodies humming with the afterglow of our passionate encounter. The rain had finally subsided, and a sliver of moon peeked through the clouds, casting a soft, ethereal light upon the room.

We slept soundly that night, nestled close, lost in the warmth of our love. The memory of our encounter, the raw, primal connection we had forged, would forever remain etched in our minds.

Two weeks later, she arrived at the hospital, pale and clutching her stomach. The doctor confirmed what we both had suspected: she was pregnant. The news filled us with an overwhelming joy, a sense of completion, a confirmation that our love had brought us closer than ever before.

As the business trip drew to a close, we returned home, our hearts overflowing with gratitude and anticipation. We made love again, a celebration of our new life together, a testament to the enduring power of our love. And as we drifted off to sleep, we knew that the surprise visit had not only brought us a child, but also a deeper understanding of the profound connection that bound us together. We are still deeply in love, still pursuing our desires with abandon, and we are looking forward to the arrival of our future grandchildren, a living legacy of the night we first made love standing up. The memory of that unforgettable moment will forever be cherished, a reminder of the pure, unadulterated joy of being together. And yes, we are still doing it many times a week. She remains a beautiful, sexy wife, and I am eternally thankful to God for her.

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