“I could make it worth your while, Ryan.”

I had my hand on the door handle when her voice stopped me.

“I could make it worth your while, Ryan.”

I turned. Lisa was still on the couch, but something in her posture had shifted. She sat a little straighter, chin lifted, that enormous belly resting heavily between her spread thighs like an offering. The short black dress had ridden up, and I could see the pale flash of her inner thighs. Her dark hair framed a pretty face that looked both fragile and determined. Those tits—fuck, they really were size H—strained against the thin fabric, heavy and full, resting on the upper curve of her belly.

My brain told me to leave. My cock had other plans.

She pushed herself up slowly, one hand sliding under the massive dome of her belly to support it. The movement made the dress pull even tighter across her body. I could see the dark outline of her navel poking out, the way the fabric stretched shiny over the tight, stretched skin.

“Ryan,” she said quietly, taking a step toward me. “I know how this looks. I’m… very pregnant. And I’m married. But that’s exactly why I’m here tonight.”

She stopped close enough that I could smell her perfume—something sweet and warm, undercut with the richer, muskier scent of a woman who was turned on. Pregnancy had changed her scent too. It did something to my head.

“My husband hasn’t touched me in six months,” she continued, voice low. “Not since I started showing properly. He says it feels wrong now. Like I’m not his wife anymore, just… this.” She gestured at her body with a small, self-deprecating laugh that cracked at the edges. “He won’t even look at me when I’m naked. Says the belly makes him squeamish.”

Her eyes met mine. There was real pain there, but underneath it, something hotter. Need.

“But I’m still me,” she whispered. “I’m still twenty-two. I still get wet. I still want to be fucked. And this body…” She took my right hand gently and placed it on the side of her belly. The skin was warm, drum-tight, alive. I could feel faint movements beneath my palm—subtle shifts, maybe the baby turning. “This body is so sensitive now. Everywhere. My tits ache constantly. They’re so full they leak if I even think about it too hard. And my pussy…” She guided my hand lower, past the heavy curve of her belly, under the hem of her dress.

No panties. Just smooth, puffy lips and slick, hot wetness. My fingers slid between her folds without resistance. She was dripping.

“I’ve been like this for weeks,” she breathed, pressing my hand harder against her. “Thinking about someone—anyone—touching me like I’m still desirable. Like I’m still a woman and not just an incubator.”

My cock was rock-hard, straining against my trousers. She felt it when she brushed against me and gave a small, shaky smile.

“See? Your body already knows what it wants.”

I should have pulled away. Every decent instinct I had was screaming at me. She was married. She was eight-and-a-half months pregnant with another man’s child. This was wrong on every level.

Instead I kissed her.

She made a soft, **** sound and kissed me back like she was starving. Her tongue slid against mine, eager and wet. One of her hands fisted in my shirt while the other kept my fingers trapped against her soaked pussy. I rubbed her clit in slow circles and she moaned into my mouth, her massive belly pressing firmly into my stomach.

We didn’t make it to the bedroom.

I walked her backward to the couch. She sat heavily, then reclined against the arm and cushions, propping herself so her belly wasn’t crushed. I helped her hike the black dress up over her hips. The sight punched the air from my lungs.

That huge, round, tight pregnant belly rose high and proud, the skin smooth and marked with a faint dark line down the center. Below it, her pussy was shaved bare, lips swollen and glistening. Above it, her H-cup tits strained against the dress, nipples visibly hard and already darkening the fabric with small wet spots.

I shoved my trousers down. My cock sprang free, aching.

Lisa reached for it with both hands, stroking me slowly, eyes half-lidded.

“God, it’s been so long,” she whispered. “And you’re so hard for me. For this.” She patted the top of her belly with one hand while the other squeezed my shaft. “You like how big I am, don’t you? Even if you don’t want to admit it yet.”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because the truth was sitting right there between us, thick and undeniable.

I knelt between her spread thighs, rubbed the head of my cock along her slick slit, and pushed in.

She was tight. Tighter than I expected—her walls plush and swollen from pregnancy, gripping me in rhythmic pulses as I sank deeper. When my hips met the underside of her massive belly, the contrast made my head spin. Soft, yielding woman and hard, life-filled curve.

I started to move.

Slow at first. Careful. She wasn’t fragile, but she was heavily pregnant and I didn’t want to hurt her. She quickly disabused me of that notion.

“Harder,” she gasped, hands gripping my hips. “I’m not going to break. Fuck me like you mean it. Like you’re not scared of this belly.”

Her dirty talk hit something deep in me. I thrust harder, the wet sounds of her pussy filling the quiet flat. Every stroke made her belly jiggle slightly, the heavy weight of it shifting. My lower stomach pressed against that firm dome with each movement. I couldn’t stop looking at it. Couldn’t stop touching it.

One hand braced on the couch, the other roamed her body—stroking the tight curve of her belly, feeling the life inside move when I hit a certain angle, then sliding up to cup one massive, milk-heavy tit. I pinched the nipple through the dress and she cried out, back arching. A wet spot spread instantly.

“Fuck—yes. They leak so easy now. Suck them. Please.”

I leaned down as far as the belly allowed and sucked her nipple through the thin fabric. Sweet, thin milk flooded my mouth. She wailed, pussy clamping down around my cock like a vice.

That was it. The combination of her tight, pregnant cunt gripping me, the taste of her milk, the sheer visual and tactile reality of that enormous belly between us while I fucked her—it short-circuited something in my brain.

I fucked her harder, one hand braced on her belly now, feeling it move with every thrust. She was moaning constantly, dirty words spilling out between gasps.

“Fill me up… pretend it’s your baby in there… fuck your pregnant slut…”

I came with a groan that felt ripped from somewhere deep, slamming in as deep as I could go and pumping rope after rope of cum into her. She came with me, her whole body shaking, belly visibly tightening under my hand, pussy milking every drop from me.

For a long moment we just stayed there, panting. My cock still buried inside her, twitching with aftershocks. Her belly a warm, living presence between us. One of her hands stroked my hair while the other rested on top of mine where it still cupped the side of her belly.

She spoke first, voice soft and satisfied but with a knowing edge.

“You came so hard when I said that thing about pretending you bred me.” She smiled, lazy and a little wicked. “I felt it. The way your cock jumped inside me. You like this more than you thought you would, Ryan.”

I didn’t deny it. Couldn’t. My softening cock was still nestled against her pregnant body, and I was already half-hard again at the thought of what her belly would look like glazed with my cum, or how it would feel to take her from behind so I could watch that heavy globe sway and hang.

She kissed my forehead, then my mouth, slow and sweet.

“Stay the night,” she murmured against my lips. “The girls won’t be back till morning. And I have so much more I want to show you about this body… and what it does to a man who stops fighting it.”

Her hand drifted down between us, fingers tracing where we were still joined, spreading our mixed wetness over the stretched lips of her pussy and the base of my cock.

I felt myself twitch and start to harden again inside her.

She felt it too. Her smile widened.

“See?” she whispered. “You’re already getting ideas.”