The Submission of Sara

When we were seated in the car, she reached over and presented me with a positive pregnancy test. I was so hot and horny that I almost fucked her in the parking garage if it were not for all the people passing by.

As soon as I got her home, I literally tore off her clothes. Her tits had started to swell and her nipples were painfully sensitive. I love her so much.

“How many guys did you fuck?” I asked her.

“Three, plus a US Senator, so I guess that’s four.”

In the past three weeks she has fucked twenty men. What a slut!

“Does it turn you on?” she asks.

“Oh, yeah. My own dirty little whore, knocked up by someone she couldn’t recognize in a line-up.”

I slap her, calling her a cunt. She orgasms instantly.

The sex gets wilder each day. I came home from work one night to find three well-hung black men in my living room, all sharing my wife. She has had to take time off from work because she wants to fuck all day and all night. And me? I have made 15 million dollars in ten weeks, a company record. Two companies are trying to recruit me, including one in Paris. I am at the top of my game.

Sara’s abdomen is getting firm. Her breasts are larger and she is starting to show. Her clothes are tight, but she’s hiding it well. I asked her what she would do when she could no longer hide it.

“Winter is coming. There are always sweaters available. What would you like me to do?” she asked in return.

Part of me wanted to announce to the world she was pregnant, and another part said end the charade now before it gets too dangerous.

Marilyn drifted into my head. I looked at Sara and imagined her giving birth to a mulatto child while I stood by her side.

“What if we moved to Paris?” I suggested. I wasn’t ready to end this. In reality, I wanted to keep her pregnant for a year, but never more than four months. Obviously, this wasn’t going to happen.

“What would that solve?” she asked.

I wasn’t sure, but in Paris my colleagues didn’t know that I had a vasectomy and that my wife had to be pregnant with another man’s child. Every time I fucked her, I could feel the presence of another. Her pussy became tighter as her organs became engorged with blood. Her breasts were rounder and fuller than they had ever been, her hair was luxurious, and she glowed like you wouldn’t believe possible. And the sex was amazing. It’s hard to give up all that.

We didn’t say anything for the rest of the evening. Sara went to bed early. One of her symptoms at this stage was fatigue. I played the days video on my big screen. Sara was standing in front of the mirror, playing with her tits and rubbing her belly. She laid down on the floor and fucked herself with a huge dildo she retrieved from under the bed. She would rub her belly and tits with one hand, and use the dildo with the other. God, she was horny. She relieved herself three times over four hours. She stopped to admire her tits and belly every hour, marveling at the changes. I watched her spend time trying on different outfits for a Thanksgiving party we will be attending in a few weeks. She tried support hose, but her hourglass figure was beginning to thicken and there was no hiding her shape. She definitely looked pregnant, and there would be no disguising it for all the Christmas parties.

I was so turned on as I watched the video. It wasn’t even so much that she was pregnant as it was that I had the power to take a baby-hating woman and convince her to fuck a bunch of strangers so I could get off knowing my wife was a little cum slut.

I crawled into bed and started massaging her back until she awoke. Before she could say anything, I entered her from behind. I reached down to squeeze her breasts. She squirmed in pleasure and pain.

“I would get off seeing you nine months pregnant, but I don’t know about keeping a baby after that.” It sounded callous, but it was the truth. “I might change my mind, but I can’t be sure.”

“I just have a few days for a first trimester. After that, it gets more complicated.”

I wanted to feel something move inside her, but that wasn’t going to happen today or tomorrow.

“Let’s schedule it then. This has gone too far. I can’t let the world know that my wife is a fucking slut.”

“Saturday, 9 a.m.”

I was shocked that she had scheduled it without my consent, but I remained quiet. It was her decision.

The next day at work was terrible. I put in my stops, so I didn’t get killed, but the market did exactly the opposite. This was my first bad day in almost three months. I picked up the phone and called Paris office. I imagined Sara walking through the streets of Paris in April, her belly bulging out for all to see. I cannot say what will happen, but I’m hard just thinking about it.