Yes and Gets an Eyeful

Seven months pregnant. My belly curved heavy and round beneath my loose dress, the life inside me kicking against my ribs as I walked the familiar hallway to Mr. Dewitt's door.

Mr. Dewitt opened the door before I knocked. His pale blue eyes swept over me, lingering on the curve of my belly. "Come in. He's waiting."

Grandpa sat in the armchair, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He stood when I entered, crossed to me, and pulled me against his chest. His beard scratched my forehead. "Stacy-girl. You're more beautiful every time I see you."

My hand found my belly. "The baby's been kicking all day."

"Eager," Mr. Dewitt said, closing the door. "Like its fathers."

They exchanged a look. Something unspoken passed between them.

"Tonight," Grandpa said, his voice low, "we want to try something new."

I knew before he said it. The fantasies I'd been having during Mr. Dewitt's visits. The way my body craved more fullness, more stretch, more being filled completely.

"Both of you," I said. "At the same time."

Grandpa's hand found my cheek. "If you're willing. If you think you can take it."

My belly pressed between us. The baby kicked, a flutter against my ribs.

"I want to," I said. "I've been thinking about it."

Mr. Dewitt moved behind me, his hands finding my shoulders. "We'll go slow. If it's too much, we stop."

I nodded. He unzipped my dress, let it fall to the floor. My belly was round and pale beneath my bra, the veins visible beneath the skin. My breasts were heavier now, the nipples darker, wider. Grandpa's breath caught.

"You're stunning," he said. "Carrying our child. Full of us."

He knelt before me, pressed his mouth to the curve of my stomach. His beard scratched the taut skin. The baby kicked against his cheek, and he laughed, a warm, rumbling sound.

"She knows her grandfather," he said.

Mr. Dewitt unclasped my bra. It fell away. His hands cupped my breasts, thumbs circling the dark nipples. "They're fuller," he said. "More sensitive?"

"Yes."

He squeezed gently. I gasped at the sensation—sharper than before, more intense. My nipples peaked under his touch, dark and aching.

Grandpa stood. He undressed slowly, folding his flannel, his trousers. His cock was already hard, jutting from his grey curls. Thick. Familiar. I reached for him, wrapped my fingers around the shaft, and guided him to my mouth.

I took him deep, the taste of salt and skin filling my senses. He groaned, his hand finding the back of my head. I moved slow, savoring the weight, the stretch of my lips around his girth.

Mr. Dewitt's hands worked my breasts from behind, his fingers pinching, rolling. The double sensation—Grandpa's cock in my mouth, Mr. Dewitt's hands on my chest—built a warmth between my thighs.

"Enough," Grandpa said, pulling back. "I want to be inside you when I come."

He led me to the bed. The black sheets were fresh, the ropes coiled at each post. But they didn't bind me tonight. They laid me on my side, my belly resting on the mattress, my top leg bent and raised.

Mr. Dewitt positioned himself behind me, his cock pressing against my ass. Grandpa lay facing me, his cock pressing against my pussy.

"Together," Mr. Dewitt said. "On three."

One. The head of his cock pressed against my anus. The lubricant was cool, familiar.

Two. Grandpa's cock pressed against my entrance, slick with my wetness.

Three. They pushed in together.

The stretch was immediate, overwhelming. Two cocks filling me at once, one in each hole, pressing deeper, spreading me wide. I cried out, my hands gripping the sheet.

"Breathe," Grandpa said, his voice strained. "Breathe, Stacy."

I exhaled. They pushed deeper. The fullness was absolute—every space inside me claimed, stretched, filled. My body pulsed around them, trying to accommodate.

"More," I breathed.

They thrust. Slow, synchronized strokes that rocked my body between them. Mr. Dewitt's cock in my ass, Grandpa's in my pussy, separated by only a thin wall of flesh. I could feel each other through me, could feel their cocks pressing against each other through my depths.

"Oh God," I gasped.

Grandpa's hand found my clit, rubbing in circles. "We've got you," he said. "We're both inside you. Filling you completely."

They moved together, finding a rhythm. Mr. Dewitt thrust as Grandpa withdrew, Grandpa thrust as Mr. Dewitt withdrew, creating a continuous wave of sensation. I was pinned between them, filled past capacity, every nerve ending firing at once.

The pleasure built fast, fed by the fullness, the wrongness, the weight of my belly pressing against Grandpa's chest. I felt the baby shift inside me, felt the flutter of movement against the cocks that surrounded it.

"She's kicking," I said, the words broken.

Grandpa's eyes widened. "She can feel us?"

"Both of you. She knows."

Mr. Dewitt's hand pressed against my belly, feeling the movement. "Our daughter," he said, "being fucked into existence."

The words broke something in me. The orgasm rose like a tide, pulled from somewhere deep. I came with a sob, my body clenching around both of them, my inner walls contracting against Grandpa's cock, my ass squeezing Mr. Dewitt's.

They kept thrusting through it. Mr. Dewitt's pace quickened. "I'm close," he said.

"Together," Grandpa said. "Fill her together."

They thrust deeper, held, and I felt them both release. Two pulses, almost simultaneous, flooding both my holes. Grandpa's seed pumped into my pussy, hot and thick. Mr. Dewitt's pumped into my ass, wave after wave. I felt them mixing inside me, separated by that thin wall, filling every space.

They stayed inside, breathing hard. My body trembled between them, full of their seed, full of their child.

The door opened.

I turned my head. My father stood in the doorway, his face pale, his eyes wide. He wore the same jacket from months ago. His hand still rested on the doorknob.

"Stacy." His voice was a whisper. "What are you—"

He saw them. Saw Grandpa's cock inside me. Saw Mr. Dewitt's. Saw my belly, round and heavy, pressed between them.

"No," he said. "No."

Grandpa didn't move. Mr. Dewitt didn't move. They stayed inside me, their seed leaking from where we were joined.

"Get out," Mr. Dewitt said. His voice was calm. "Close the door."

My father's face cycled through expressions. Horror. Disgust. Rage. His hands shook at his sides.

"You're supposed to be her grandfather," he said, his voice cracking. "You're supposed to protect her. Not—" He couldn't finish.

"Dad." My voice came out thin. "Please. Let me explain."

"Explain what?" He laughed, the sound hollow. "Explain how my father and her ancient landlord are both fucking my pregnant daughter? Explain how you're carrying one of their babies and do you even know which one?"

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

Grandpa slowly withdrew from me. Mr. Dewitt followed. I felt their seed spill onto the black sheet, warm and wet.

"Son," Grandpa said, reaching for his trousers. "Let's talk about this."

"Don't." My father held up a hand. "Don't you dare call me son."

He backed out of the doorway. His eyes found mine, held them.

"I came here to apologize," he said. "To tell you I was wrong to leave. To say I'd help with the baby." His voice broke. "But I can't. I can't unsee this."

He turned. Walked down the hall.

"Dad—"

The front door opened. Closed.

I lay there, naked, pregnant, full of both their seed. The baby kicked against my ribs, a hard, insistent movement.

Grandpa sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. Mr. Dewitt stood by the window, staring out at the street.