Chapter 1
This story I’m about to tell was, without a doubt, one of the craziest things I’ve ever done. Maybe for some more open-minded folks, it wouldn’t be a big deal, but for me, it was wild. So much so that I never told anyone — until now. Sending this story to the site is my way of venting and, who knows, shaking off some of that weight inside me.
My pregnancy was a total whirlwind. I wasn’t ready for it, and my marriage was already hanging by a thread. We fought all the time, and divorce was just days away. When I found out I was pregnant, the guy totally lost it. He accused me of crazy shit, hinted that the kid wasn’t even his, and said he’d only step up with a DNA test in hand. Until then? No way. And, of course, he did the easiest thing for him: packed his bags, left me high and dry with a belly full, and took off. I went back to my mom’s house, wrecked, feeling like trash.
But at the same time, motherhood changed me. I started living for my kid — he’s 10 now and the best thing in my life. And during that time, my friends turned into total lions around me. They took care of me, spoiled me nonstop, it was like the pregnancy was theirs.
Then one day, we were hanging out at home, having a little get-together, drinking — they were, anyway, since I was sticking to water — when one of my friends, already totally buzzed, hits me with this:
“Girl, you know what you need? A boyfriend!”
I looked at her and shot back, pointing at my huge belly:
“Lady, look at this! What guy in his right mind is gonna want a pregnant chick with another dude’s kid?”
Truth is, I didn’t even feel like it. I felt heavy, awkward, face all puffy, covered in stretch marks, just awful. If a guy smiled at me on the street, I’d find a way to hide.
“Look, if a guy shows up at this stage, it’s because he’s the one for you.”
Another one said.
“Or some perverted creep, right? Which, let’s be real, is way more likely!”
We all cracked up laughing.
That’s when one of them dropped the question that made me choke:
“But girl, aren’t you curious about fucking while pregnant, just to see what it’s like?”
Me, laughing but kinda embarrassed, said:
“Curious? Every damn day! This flower down here has doubled in size and is screaming for attention!”
“Then there you go! Let’s find someone!”
“Stop! Don’t start that mess…”
But they were already hyped up and, just for kicks, they grabbed my phone and set up a Tinder for me — and a paid one at that, to make sure it was a total hit. The whole afternoon was taken over by the most excited one in the group, swiping right on random guys, while the others cracked up at the ridiculous bios she made up about me. It didn’t take long for matches to pop up, along with funny or disastrous chats, and most of them didn’t even notice my advanced pregnancy in the pics; and when I — or they, those bitches — told them I was thirty weeks along, seven months for anyone who’s never been a mom, they’d bolt scared, vanishing like ghosts.
Once the party’s over, the joke lost all its fun, and my friends, happy with the chaos they’d caused in my name, headed out. But that night, before bed, driven by this almost morbid curiosity, I grabbed my phone, determined to check the damage they’d done to my online rep. Amid all the weird messages, there was this one guy a bit older than me, seeming more level-headed, and for some reason, I started chatting with him without that instant feeling of awkwardness or embarrassment.
I confess I was interested — or maybe it was just loneliness — but the doubts, tons of them and totally reasonable, flooded my head. Still, he seemed like a nice guy, the kind with easy conversation, who surprisingly assured me he wasn’t bothered by me being pregnant. “Pervert or nutjob”, I thought to myself, wondering what kind of weird fetish was running through that man’s mind. But then he explained, in a sincere tone that kinda disarmed me, that he’d never been actively involved in his previous kids’ pregnancies, an absence that weighed on his conscience, and he wanted to experience, even if in an unusual way, this intense fatherhood thing that had slipped away from him before.
Me, caught up in a mix of curiosity and suspicion, not really knowing what I was getting into, I said yes — and from that moment, the night took on an unexpected vibe, loaded with new and dangerously exciting expectations.
I called my friends, my loyal sidekicks, to tag along on the first date, because, you know, always smart to have a safety squad in case the guy was a psycho. And damn, they took it seriously! Three of them were there, each with their boyfriend or husband, positioned strategically around the food court at the mall, pretending to be super into their snacks but keeping an eye on me the whole time.
When he showed up, you could tell he was a little shy, and for good reason, ‘cause he was dressed way too fancy for the occasion — like, who wears a button-up shirt to a mall date? But okay, we started talking, and from the way I kept glancing around, he quickly figured out I wasn’t alone. And instead of getting uncomfortable or weirded out, he told me to call everyone over to meet him. Point for him! The group loosened up, the vibe got better, and by the end of the date, there was even a little goodbye kiss on the lips, with the crew cheering and whooping like it was the Super Bowl. We looked like a bunch of teenagers, and him? He had a blast with the whole circus.
During the week, the guy kept being sweet as hell. He’d visit me, help with whatever I needed, and even took me to a doctor’s appointment. When they asked if he was the dad, he said yes without missing a beat:
“We didn’t plan it, but I figured it’d be less weird that way.”
And me? I was touched. But at the same time, a thought started nagging at me: “I wanna see if after he fucks me for real, if he’ll stick around or if this dad playacting will fizzle out quick.”
And that thought got stronger when he invited me over for a romantic dinner at his place. And then came the question of the century: how the hell do you fuck while pregnant?
My underwear drawer was split into two categories: the ones that didn’t fit anymore and the massive ones that looked more like grandma’s beige panties than anything else. When you get pregnant, you buy undies thinking about the nine months, and let me tell you… zero sexiness involved. To try and save a bit of dignity, I borrowed one from my mom, who was curvier than me, so at least it fit a little better. As for the tits? No chance! They had to stay locked in the giant bra ‘cause they were sore as hell and already leaking milk. Nobody deserves that.
He picked me up and we went to his place. The effort was obvious: table set, little flower in the center, dim lights, and that cheesy soundtrack from someone who clearly wanted to get laid. While he finished cooking, trying to pay attention to me at the same time, all I could think about was what came after dinner.
We settled on the couch, starting with those slow, delicious kisses, like we had all the time in the world. But soon the hands started wandering on their own, exploring here and there, and I was already on fire. My body, which ran hot anyway, felt like a furnace now, especially with him grabbing me, teasing me. But out of nowhere, he froze.
“Backing out? Don’t want it anymore?” I teased, no patience for games.
He let out an awkward sigh.
“It’s just… I dunno, I’m kinda weird about touching your belly. If that kid kicks right now, I’ll go limp on the spot.”
I couldn’t help it — I burst out laughing. The whole situation was bizarre as fuck. And then a weird thought hit me: does my kid feel what’s going on? Any clue about this shit?
“Come here, you goof, touch here…” I grabbed his hand and guided it to my belly, letting him feel my body the right way.
And then, folks… shit turned into a whole different story.
The only no-go zone was the tits. They hurt like hell, and worse, if I took off the pads, milk could spray everywhere. Better keep the bra on tight and focus on what mattered. But fucking while pregnant? Oh man, what a nightmare! No position worked right, the belly got in the way of everything, and he was trying to slide his hand between my legs, but it was tricky.
“Let’s do this lying down?” I suggested, already frustrated.
“Yeah… I don’t really know how…” He laughed, totally lost.
“We’ll figure it out.”
We headed to the bedroom. He helped me undress, being way too gentle, nothing like the rough way I usually like. But fine, I’d let it slide. When we lay down, he slid his hand down there, and the feeling was like nothing else. It was like those zaps when you’re on your period, this intense electricity, your body warning “easy there.” My heart raced, and right on cue, the baby kicked hard.
“Easy, kiddo… let Mommy have a little fun, okay?” I murmured, laughing at the irony.
While he kissed me, his fingers worked me over, spot-on, and my body reacted way too fast. Too damn fast! I didn’t want to cum like that, so soon. So he moved down, trailing his mouth over my body, massaging my skin with kisses and light bites. I spread my legs to make it easier, dying for what was next. But when I looked down… I started cracking up, laughing like a maniac.
“I can’t even see you!”
He lifted his head a bit, laughing with me.
“But can you feel this?”
And before I could answer, I felt his tongue slide hot and wet right where I needed it most, making me grip the sheets hard. At the first touch, a shiver shot up my spine, and a moan slipped out before I could stop it. He started slow, exploring, teasing my clit, switching between long licks and soft kisses, like he was savoring every reaction.
My breathing got heavy, fingers twisting in the sheets, and my body started moving on its own, matching the rhythm he set. When he sucked gently, my belly shifted and my legs shook. It was this wild mix of sensations: his tongue pressing, lips sucking, fingers gripping my skin like he wanted to hold me right there in the explosion of pleasure he was building.
His tongue moved like he knew exactly what to do with me, no rush but precise, picking up speed bit by bit. I was close, so damn close, feeling the orgasm building inside, taking over every inch of me. My chest heaved, heart pounding in my throat, and my brain couldn’t string together a single coherent thought.
“There… keep going like that…” was all I could whisper, between louder and louder moans.
And then he ramped it up. Tongue circling, lips sucking just right, and that was it — I launched out of control into the orgasm. My whole body clenched, this overwhelming heat flooded me, and it hit in waves, each spasm stronger, ripping a long, desperate moan from me. My legs trembled, the baby kicked, and I clung to whatever I could, sinking into the sheets as the last wave of pleasure rolled through.
He lay down next to me, and I was giggling, light and loose, like a kid after candy. My body still buzzed with the aftershocks, my ragged breathing trying to catch up to my racing heart. But I wanted more. I needed more.
I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the throb between my legs, and looked at him. My desire still burned, but now in a different way. I missed sucking a cock, feeling that hot, throbbing texture filling my mouth. I was pregnant, but that didn’t change how much I loved a thick, veiny dick. And his? Beautiful. Thick. Hard. The kind you love to lick.
I leaned in and took him in my hands, feeling the weight, the stiffness, the hot, soft skin. I ran my tongue over the tip, teasing, before swallowing him down, feeling the head hit the back of my throat. He let out a rough groan, and that just egged me on. I sucked sloppy and deep, lips sliding the full length, tongue pressing the right spots, saliva dripping, making everything wet and messy the way I like it.
But I’d already cum, I was wired on 220 volts, and my hunger was different now. I needed to be fucked. Needed to feel him inside me. Without a second thought, I got on my knees on the bed and lifted my ass, offering myself to him, spreading my legs wide, exposing the hot, slick skin of my pussy for him.
“Come on… fuck me. But slow, okay?”
I knew it’d be different. Being pregnant changed everything. I was swollen inside, the pressure was intense. Everything felt tighter, hotter, like every nerve down there was hypersensitive, pulsing, waiting for him.
He came up behind me, gripped my waist, and pressed the tip of his cock against my entrance, rubbing lightly. My whole body shivered in response. He pushed in slow, the head forcing its way, sliding between my wet, super tight folds.
The sensation was one of a kind. The pressure inside was insane, like my body was sucking him in, squeezing every inch. Fucking while pregnant wasn’t just pleasure; it was this almost suffocating fit, a grip that made every thrust feel more intense, deeper. The pleasure came in different waves, more internal, hotter, spreading through my belly and lower back, each move of his pulling moans from me I didn’t even know I had.
“Fuck…” he muttered, gripping my waist. “You’re so… shit, you’re squeezing me so tight.”
And I knew. I felt it too. With every thrust, it was like he was being pulled in, his cock sliding in and out with effort, my body holding him there like it didn’t want to let go. The intensity bordered on too much. The way he held me, his hips lightly slapping my ass, every motion making my belly tingle with heat… it was like nothing else.
I moaned without shame, burying my face in the sheets, as he picked up the pace, going deeper, harder, the wet sounds of our fucking filling the room. I knew he wouldn’t last long. And then, with a final deep groan, he gripped my waist tighter, buried himself all the way, and I felt it. The hot rush of his cum filling me up, thick, warm, pulsing, making my body clench around him again, like it wanted to milk every last drop.
He stayed there, breathing heavy, still deep inside me. I smiled, this huge satisfaction washing over me. Fucking while pregnant was different. More intense, hotter, more desperate. And damn… I’d do it all over again, so much so that this guy from the story is still with me today and he’s the dad to my three kids, two biological and one from the heart.