Message-ID: <59554asstr$1257606602@assm.asstr.org>
From: Larry Twitmore <larrytwitmore@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Pregnant Bride (MF, preg, wife, slut, milk, rape)
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Date: Sat, 07 Nov 2009 10:10:02 -0500
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THE PREGNANT BRIDE
BY LARRY TWITMORE

   Our friend Jane is what we used to pointedly call "a nice girl":
polite, slightly prudish, but still good company.  She's the brainy
sort that is mostly quiet but will come out with something very funny
and sharp when you're least expecting it, the sort that surprises you.
   We were certainly surprised when we heard that Jane had been
knocked up, but weren't surprised to learn that she was keeping the
child and marrying the father.  We didn't see her much in the two
months between receiving the invitation and the wedding itself; en
route to the church, my wife and I wondered what she'd look like.
   The short answer is, terrible.  And I don't mean that she had put
on too much weight; pregnant women are divinely sexy creatures: the
bigger the belly, the fleshier the hips, the fuller the breasts, the
better.  And Jane didn't disappoint in that respect.  Her white dress
hugged her ample belly and was tight around her ass.  My wife guessed
that Jane's breasts had increased a full cup-size, and the strapless
dress showed off her big tits rather nicely.
   That's what was so weird: conservative, sweater-wearing Jane was
showing some cleavage, along with most of her smooth, white back.  Her
hair, usually combed straight back, had been meticulously teased.  And
her face was absolutely caked with make-up: her mouth smeared with
firetruck red, her cheeks painted with blush like a kewpie doll, her
eyes covered with eyeliner.
   "Oh, wow," whispered my wife in utter disbelief. "She looks like a
tramp."

((--*--))

   My wife and I aren't the most social people, and so instead of
waiting around the church and shaking hands and catching up, we zipped
right over to the reception.  As soon as I started the car, my wife
repeated her previous pronouncement: Jane looked like a tramp.
   "Did you see her mother?" said my wife.  "Same make-up."
   "You think her mother did it?"
   "Or she suggested the make-up person."
   "Either way, it was ghastly," I said.  "She looked like a hooker."
   "Oh, I wouldn't say a hooker," said my wife.  "A slut, sure.  She's
too much of a dumb blonde bitch to charge for it."
   Let it be said again that Jane's actually one of the smartest
people we know.  But my cock didn't seem to mind the incongruence.
   "I bet she spreads her thighs for anyone who wants some," my wife
continued.  "Anyone.  White wedding!  The nerve of that stupid cunt.
I bet she doesn't even know who the father is."
   My wife leaned close to me, put her lips against my ear. "Is it
yours?  Did you fuck her, my sweet?  Did you pump her pussy full of
sperm with your big, thick dick?"
   And while my dick isn't anything more than average-sized, it still
didn't mind the incongruence.
   "Oh, no," I said.
   "No?" said my wife in mock disappointment.
   "Oh, I fucked her, sure, I fucked her real hard," I said, smiling.
"Like you said, she's a dumb bitch who'll fuck and suck anything that
moves.  But I didn't come in her pussy.  I pumped it down her hot
throat."
   "Was she wearing that red lipstick?" asked my wife.  "Did she smear
it up and down your cock?"
   It was at this moment that I started veering over into another
lane.  And so my wife decided to put our little storytelling game on a
slight hiatus.

((--*--))

   We were the first to arrive at the reception hall.  I took our
seats while my wife went to the bathroom.  A moment later, she called
me with her cell phone.  To make a long story short, she asked me to
go into the lady's bathroom, as she was very wet and very interested
in continuing the story we had begun in the car.  As this sort of
thing doesn't happen terribly often, I did as I told.
   She took me into the stall with her and locked the door; I kissed
her on the mouth and she asked me what happened next.
   "I don't remember, actually," I said.  "How about we talk about
what might happen in the very near future?"
   "You always did have a hard-on for big, fat pregnant sluts," she
said.
   "With great big titties aching full of milk," I added as I opened
the first few buttons of her blouse.  I kissed her own not-
inconsiderable tit-flesh while holding one gorgeous globe in each
hand.  "Do you want to know the great thing about a dumb slut like
Jane?"
   "What's the great thing about a dumb slut like Jane?"
   "I can slap those big boobs," I said.  "With you, my love, I am
delicate.  Well, reasonably delicate.  But with Jane, I can just slap
those big juicy fuckers around."
   "Or you can bend her over and milk her."
   "Mmm," I said, "just tug on those big udders like the stupid
fucking cow she is.  I bet it'd make her wet."
   "It's making me wet," said my wife.
   I knelt on the floor, which was relatively clean, and removed both
her shoes reverently before I took off her pants.  Her panties were
noticeably damp, and I brushed the darkly-spreading circle lightly
with my fingertips.  She shuddered.
   I took off her panties.  "I bet Jane's pussy is nice and swollen,"
I said.  "Pink, pulsing, swollen."
   "It wouldn't be nearly so bad if she wasn't playing with it all day
long," said my wife as she put one leg up on the toilet, spreading her
thighs.  I gave her pretty pink pussy a few licks before standing up.
"I bet she wasn't even wearing any panties under her wedding dress."
   "She looked so fucking hot in that dress," I said as I pulled out
my cock.  "God, that belly.  If I fuck her today..."
   "When you fuck her," corrected my wife.
   I positioned my cock at the entrance of her pussy.  "When I fuck
her, I'm going to make her keep that tight sexy wedding dress on."  I
thrust my cock into my wife's pussy.
   "Oh, God," she said.  "That's good.  But fuck me gently, lover.
I'm not a stupid slut like Jane.  But tell me, what if she didn't let
you?"
   "If she didn't let me."
   "What if she wasn't a slut at all?" said my wife.  "What if she was
a tease?  What if she put on that hot, sexy wedding dress, and showed
you those gorgeous, milky tits, and spread her swollen pussy lips and
said, no, you can't fuck me?"
   "Then I guess I'd save my sperm for you, my love," I said.
   "Are you sure you wouldn't rape her?"
   I looked at her in utter shock, and she flinched, her face suddenly
melting into an apology for having thought, let alone said, something
so dark and forbidden.  Something had turned her on, and now that she
had said it, I had made her feel terrible about it with a single
look.  And I couldn't do that to the woman I love, to my one and
only.  "Well, of course I would," I said.
   "You would rape her," said my wife.  "You would rape our good
friend Jane, slam her against the wall and make her open her legs.  No
matter how hard she cried or begged for mercy, you would..."
   I put my fingers in my wife's mouth; she sucked on them eagerly.
"I would rape her brutally," I said.  "I would pull her hair and slap
her stupid slutty cheeks.  I would tell her what a dumb bitch and a
whore she was.  The mascara would clump and run down her cheeks in
tears as I fucked her dry pussy."
   My wife mumbled something.  I took out the fingers.
   "I thought she was wet," she repeated.
   "That was your story," I said.  "My story, her tight hot cunt is
dry and every thrust hurts like hell."
   "But she loves it," instructed my wife.  She opened her mouth wide
and I put my fingers in again.
   "She loves it," I said.  "She starts to get wet and I make her
cum.  She loves not just being fucked, she loves getting raped.  She
begs me to slap her face, begs me to rape her pussy harder.  The milk
leaks from her big tits, stains her dress, and then I pull out my
cock, throw her on the dirty floor, and shove it in her mouth.  She's
such a stupid cunt that she has another orgasm just sucking my cock,
and then I spray my come all over her face."
   My wife moaned as she herself was coming.  I felt my own orgasm
just seconds away.
   "And then," I said, determined to finish my fiction before I came,
"then the dumb bitch gets up with this come all over face, mascara
running down her cheeks, her dress ripped and her pussy throbbing, and
she walks right into the hall where everyone can... oh, oh, my love,
I'm coming, I love you so much..."
   I pulled out and my beautiful wife sat down on the toilet to let
the come dribble out of her.
   "You know, honey," I said, "uh, I wouldn't ever really cheat on
you, let alone, uh, assault anybody..."
   "Don't be a doofus," said my wife.  "Of course I know that.  I'm...
I'm sorry I..."
   "No, you did nothing wrong," I said.  "It's a little sexy sometimes
to think about bad things.  That doesn't make us bad people.  Just
people, that's all..."
   From the stall next to us came a sound that was disconcertingly
like a woman having an orgasm.  We gasped; we had been so engrossed in
our fantasies that we had forgotten the world around us.  We could
hear music outside in the dance hall; the reception had begun in
earnest and we were not alone in the bathroom.
   The other stall door opened quickly and whoever it was rushed out.
   "Oh, Jesus," I said.  "I hope they didn't recognize us."
   "It was still lovely, though,"  said my wife as she wiped herself
and began getting dressed.

(--*--)

   No one ever mentioned the incident, nor did anyone ever act any
differently towards us, at least to our face, and so we assume that
whoever was eavesdropping understood what we were doing and that it
was (mostly) normal.  They certainly enjoyed themselves, and perhaps
kept mum as a token of thanks.
   But when the missus and I are feeling a trifle bit more creative,
we'd spin a tale that begun with our friend Jane herself in the next
stall, imagining, if just for a moment, that she was not the polite,
proper, and whip-smart mother-to-be we knew and adored, but rather a
craven slut and pregnant tease, ready to be ravished.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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