Preggo and Pushing the Limits Ch. 01

"Please, Baby," she said, molding herself to my body, her belly round and hard against me.

At 32 weeks, more or less, she was still a couple of months from delivering our first baby, but Tammy is one of those women who had started showing almost from the night of conception. By six weeks she was reduced to only elastic waistbands and things she hadn't worn because they were too big. Now she had a true pregnant woman's body and, although she was constantly bemoaning the changes even as she seemed happy at the prospect of being a Mom, I think she liked her look too.

To me, there is nothing sexier than a pregnant woman. I love everything about it. I love the shape of her, the roundness of her belly, and her posture, leaning back to counter the weight of the growing baby. I love the third-trimester spread of her hips. I love the baby fat and I absolutely ADORE the stretchmarks.

Around the house, she had taken on a "Clothing Optional" attitude. She said she found clothes tight and confining. I think she liked the reaction she got from me.

I'm one of those men who never really got the skinny woman thing. I suppose, in part anyway, Mom was a big woman and set my tastes. After all, EVERY man's mother is the most important woman in his life for most of it.

Prologue

When I met Tammy it was, as often happens, through work. I had finished a planning project, the result of which was a new office being established and staff hired. She was hired as the Deputy Director and was the one responsible for setting up the systems.

Oh, the project? We were setting up a local revolving loan fund to support small business development. We were supposed to focus on high-tech start-ups but I'm the kind of guy who tends to think there are plenty of good jobs that don't require coding skills or a Master's Degree in Some Boring Subject. My own Master's Degree, if it matters, is in American History with an emphasis on American Foreign Policy. Its usefulness in the real world? Precisely zero.

Anyway, they hired Tammy as a business major with experience in finance to set up the systems that would get the money into the hands of the businesses that needed it. The Executive Director was a blithering idiot who happened to be a college buddy of the Chairman of the RLF Executive Committee. You get the picture.

So it was up to us grunts to do the work.

I spent almost every day with her and discovered I liked her.

After the first two weeks, we went out for a drink after a particularly grueling day trying to get the goddam website to link into a usable form while still retaining confidentiality. At one point I had seriously contemplated just taking off my tie and strangling the coding wizard we had hired to handle that part of the project.

The following Friday was our first real "date," dinner and a movie. I kissed her, very chastely, at her door.

After the fourth date, when I walked her to the door of her apartment and bent to kiss her lightly she put her hands on my chest and pushed me back.

"Are you EVER going to really kiss me?" she asked.

Okay, I had been a bit paranoid but I was a year off of a bad divorce and a bit gunshy and I liked this woman so I had been very careful not to push too hard.

But I took this as an invitation and had her in my arms.

Tammy, as I've indicated, is a big girl. Not fat or obese or anything, she's one of those "robust" females. You know. Not the cross-country runner on the track team. Tammy was more the distance swimmer on the swim team with good buoyancy, or maybe the girl who was their shot putter (putter of the shot? What IS the proper nomenclature?).

She's tall, at 5'8" only two inches short of my Mr. Average 5'10", and a couple of inches taller than me in the 3" pumps she liked to wear. Her hair, piled a bit up on her head, added a couple of inches to that. I've weighed in at 165 since I got out of basic training and I figured with her interesting padding, she outweighed me by at least 20 pounds.

20 VERY nice pounds I might add.

It was a good kiss. Oh, hell, who am I kidding? It was a GREAT kiss. It was a world-class kiss. She knew exactly where the noses went, precisely how much pressure was just right.

Well, maybe my judgment was a bit off. Since the divorce, I had been dipping into the college pool and while they were fun, all pink and giggly, I hadn't found one of the dozen or so I had bedded that didn't need lessons on how to kiss properly.

Tammy definitely needed no lessons.

Her apartment was about what you'd expect of a young professional woman fairly new in town. The place had obviously come furnished. The furniture was mixed, none of it expensive and no two pieces matched. There was one family portrait displayed on a bookshelf that contained a dead plant of some kind, a few books, and a Bose Wave radio. The picture was of Tammy with, I assumed, mom, dad, a brother, and a sister.

She watched me as I looked around and then said, "Home Crap Home," making me laugh.

She crooked her finger, beckoning, and I closed the distance between us.

"I started this," she said, smiling her good smile, "so let me do the work."

I smiled back and said, well, my memory is a bit blurry, there had been a few drinks, but I like to think I said, "I am but putty in your hands."

Okay, maybe I said something like, "Okay," but it's my story so I think I'll stick with the good line.

This was new to me. I've always enjoyed women and I'm good-looking enough and a good enough conversationalist that I never had a problem persuading them into my bed or, in my younger days, the back seat of my car, but I'd always been the aggressor. Always been the one to initiate the contact and then press it.

I liked it as she started on the buttons of my shirt. Okay, I liked it a lot. I've always been afraid that sex would get boring if it was predictable, so I always liked trying new things. This was new and it was getting to me in that way it can get to a man. I was squirming, trying to adjust my burgeoning erection without being too obvious about it.

She had clearly taken charge.

She had the top three buttons undone when I felt her fingers wrap in my hair and she pulled my head back. With me in that position she did an obviously dramatic movement, leaned her head back, and then, like a scene out of any of a dozen vampire movies you've seen, moved it forward quickly, hissing, and latched onto my neck. I could feel the pressure as she sucked, HARD, and I knew she was planting a hickey on my neck.

And it got to me. I couldn't breathe. She was sucking hard enough that it hurt, and I realized I liked it, very much.

When she pulled off she kept sucking and I could feel the skin stretching. The sensation was sending little electric jolts from where she was latched on like a vampire, to my cock which was bound up in my shorts and hurting a little as my now-solid erection could not point up my body as it needed to.

Her hands moved then, spreading my shirt open and working it down my arms, pinning them since she had only undone the top three buttons. There was something about her aggression, approaching bondage now, that left me breathless.

She took a step back, smiling at me. She reached out and used her fingertips, starting at my cheeks and then slowly tracing down, caressing the hollows of my collarbones, the tops of my pectoral muscles, and ending at my nipples.

"Do you like what I'm doing, David?" she asked, her thumbs and forefingers rolling my nipples gently. They were hard and she was sending those little trickles of electricity between them and down to my cock, still bound uncomfortably.

"Oh yes," I said, a little tremble in my voice.

The rolling turned into a sudden pinch, making me groan but also sending an even sharper jolt of electricity between my nipples and my cock.

"Do you still like it?" she asked, her head cocked slightly as if she was genuinely curious.

"Yessssssss," I hissed, the voiceless alveolar sibilant "s" sound getting louder as she squeezed harder.

And I meant it.

There was something about her aggression, her naked skill, and the pure unalloyed sex of what she was doing that had me captivated.

"Tell me," she said, twisting now, adding a fresh level of pain, a new level of current to the electricity running between my erogenous zones, and a nuance of surrender to my already reeling psyche.

"I like what you're doing to me," I said, meeting her eyes, not flinching as she twisted.

Her smile was sweet. I could see the third grader she had been when she brought home a new piece of school art and got praise from her mother.

"That wasn't very convincing," she said, twisting harder and pushing down, forcing me to my knees to ease the pressure. I think it was the contrast between that sweet, innocent smile and what she was doing that convinced me, right then, that I would marry this woman.

"Tammy," I said, meeting her eyes, unable to stop the writhing in my body, "I LOVE what you're doing."

Her smile turned adult then and she released my nipples, the release from pain was almost orgasmic.

"Stand up, Baby," she said, "Let me finish what I started."

I stood, a little shaky, and managed to stay still and not grab her as she finished unbuttoning my shirt, worked it off my arms, and then eased to her knees.

Now, come on guys, let's be honest here. Is there ANYTHING sexier, anything more alluring than a woman you like on her knees before you?

But she didn't reach for my belt buckle. Instead, she lifted my right foot, forcing me to put my hands on her shoulders, got my loafer off, and then peeled my sock. When my foot was bare she played with it. She wiggled each toe separately, ran a fingernail up the arch making me squirm and giggle, and then surprised me by bending and kissing it before doing the same thing to the other foot.

This was all new to me. Oh, I understood the need for taking it slow and easy, but this was a whole new level. We were a half hour into our first sexual encounter and I was still half-dressed and she had every stitch she started the evening with still on.

I liked it.

She finally went to my belt buckle, lingering over it as she had done with everything. She got the belt unbuckled, the pants unbuttoned, my zipper down, and she tugged them past my ass and let them drop to pool at my feet.

"Tell me," she said, looking up at me, smiling.

"Tammy," I said, drawing a deep breath, "I absolutely LOVE what you're doing."

She smiled and, again, there was that girl finding a hoped-for doll under the Christmas Tree.

She pulled my boxers down, her hands catching the elastic of the waistband at my hips, and started pulling them down, hooking my erection on the elastic and giggling as she forced it down, pulling my cock which points straight up my body when it's fully hard until is pointed straight ahead and then down. It was an amazing pain.

Finally, my cock sprung free and she giggled again.

"Well, hello there," she said and bent forward and kissed the bottom of my shaft.

She seemed fascinated with my cock, and I didn't do a thing to dissuade her.

I'm circumcised, but like all circumcised men there is a little bit of residual foreskin and she pulled that down, exposing my glans completely. I was watching and interested in the way it looked like a little pink ball with a slit in the end.

She lightly traced the shape of the corona and then used her thumbs to open my urethra, my peehole, and touched it with the tip of her tongue.

Then she cupped my balls in her hand and held them, squeezing them very gently.

"Tell me," she said again, holding my eyes with hers.

"I love what you're doing," I said,

She squeezed, giving me the first twinge of pain.

"Tell me," she said, and her grin was suddenly predatory.

"I love what you're doing," I said, and I meant it. This was new but I had never been this purely aroused before.

She squeezed harder, the twinge turning into real pain, my body trying to pull away reflexively, and when it did that she squeezed even harder, and I regained control of my body and stopped.

"Tell me," she said, holding my eyes with hers, and I realized that this was the make-or-break moment in our relationship.

"I," groan, "love what," groan, "you're doing," I managed, standing on tiptoes now to ease the pressure.

She released me and, once again, I was struck by the way the release from pain was so sexual in and of itself.

"Step out of your clothes, Sugar," she said and the slight southern accent on the word "Sugar" cemented my certainty that I would marry this woman.

"Come on," she said, and took my hand and led me into her bedroom.

"Lay up here, David," she said, indicating the bed with its three pillows.

When I did she giggled and said, "Spread your legs a little, honey, show me that beautiful cock."

So I did as she asked.

She giggled and said, "Play with it, Baby."

I suppose that really set the tone for a wonderful marriage.

As I played with my erection, not masturbating, just playing with it, enjoying having her watch, she started unbuttoning her blouse.

"Well, David," she said as she reached back and did the double-jointed thing all women know, I think it's at the instinctual level, to unhook her bra, "I sure hope you like flat chested, pear-shaped women, because I think I like you a LOT."

Her breasts were small, almost perfect cones, with small, very dark areolas and large nipples even darker. She turned out to be a tweener. She overflowed her 38A cup but didn't really fill a B cup.

"Well, at least you didn't run away," she said as she started on the buckle of her belt.

I pushed down, pointing my cock straight at her, and said, "So far, all I can say is BEAUTIFUL."

She giggled at that and pushed down her jeans, along with her panties She had kicked off her shoes and stood, naked, in only her white gym socks.

She was perfectly smooth, her labia full, that delicious slit of her pussy running almost all of the way to her mons Veneris, that beautiful Mound of Venus. Just a hint of delicate pink inner lips peeked out. Christ, it was as beautiful a pussy as I ever saw.

Then she struck a pose, the classic pinup model with her right leg bent slightly, back arched, looking over her shoulder at me around her left arm raised straight over her head.

And she had, VERY clearly, given up shaving under her arms.

I found the reversal of what I considered normal amazingly exciting. I mean, come on. Most women shave under their arms and limit what happens between their legs to a tidy trim. Tammy was absolutely hairless from the waist down, and obviously untouched by razor from the waist up.

She giggled and said, "I try to be unique."

"Oh, you are that," I said, crooking my finger, beckoning her.

"Nuh-uh," she said, giggling and wagging her forefinger back and forth, "You gotta take this in first."

She was right. Tammy is very much a pear-shaped woman. I later measured her, yes, alcohol and pot were involved, and those "vital statistics" were 38-30-44. Her hips flared and there was just the hint of a little pouch low on her belly. Her thighs were thick and even with her arms down little tufts of very dark coarse hair peeked out.

She's not really pretty. She's cute, very attractive, striking, and unique, but she's not really pretty. She has a great mass of auburn hair, a round face, wide-set hazel eyes, and one of those little bulbs on the end of her nose that suggests a great, or maybe great-great-grandfather named Heinz or Gottlieb. Those wide-set eyes, though, suggest that Heinz or Gottlieb got into Luciana or Isabella's panties at some point.

She struck a pose again, found a little flat remote control device, and soft background music came on. Sarah Vaughan was doing Black Coffee and Tammy quickly picked up the beat. Her big hips started twitching, the only thing that moved on her. She didn't start moving toward me until Lena Horne was well into Stormy Weather and when she did start moving toward me it was a special show.

She crawled, her entire body moving with the music, those little titties jiggling invitingly.

"Stay with me, now," she said as she crawled forward before straddling my hips lifting her hips, and taking me into her body.

She was slick and ready and surrounded me with wet warmth.

I was surprised at how loose she was. She showed no signs that she'd ever been pregnant.

"Stay with me, now," she repeated and I felt her slowly squeeze on me, almost pulling me deeper.

"I'll try," I said although I was pretty confident. I have good control.

She leaned forward then, slowly, and kissed me. It was another of those world-class kisses and she held it as she worked those highly educated vaginal muscles.

I was straining to hold my control, giving her what she wanted. Hell, what she demanded.

"That's right, baby," she said, her breath warm in my ear, "Stay with me."

I wrapped my fingers in her hair and pulled her down. I probed her ear with my tongue and said, "Don't hold back."

She giggled and said, "Relax now, let me do the work."

So I laid back, lacing my fingers behind my head, relaxing, and watching. "It's your show," I said.

She was moving in that spineless way some women manage, her body almost serpentine, moving in a beautiful wave from her neck to her hips and then starting over.

It was watching her face, though, that made it easy to maintain the control she wanted. I've said she's cute rather than pretty, but at that moment she was beautiful. Her face was smooth, her smile angelic, her eyes were closed, and as I watched, her lips parted slightly as the effort she was putting out started tiring her.

It was her cumface though, as the first orgasm took her, that made me realize that this was more than casual. I was in love, something I hadn't felt since that first blush of excitement with my first wife. And when Tammy came I knew I wanted to see that face, that truly beautiful face right then, over and over.

The motions of her hips had been speeding up as she got close, and her mouth was open by the time the climax hit. She was panting and sweating and her nose was running a little.

But it was the cumface, that moment of pure pleasure, that almost tore my control away. She gasped a deep breath and I felt sudden tightness as she pushed and came, wetly, hot, soaking us both. Her face turned red, verging on purple as she strained. Her eyes were closed tightly, little tracks of wrinkles forming at the corners. Her forehead was crossed with deep lines and her mouth was wide open in a silent scream of ecstasy.

She was beautiful.

Her orgasm lingered. I felt her relax slightly, she drew in a great whooping breath, and then she bore down again, squeezing where I was inside of her, her face, which had lost a bit of color, darkened again.

She came in four distinct waves like that before she suddenly relaxed and leaned forward.

But I caught her, my hands on her arms, high, near the shoulders, and said, "Don't stop. I'm not done,"

Her eyes got big.

"Finish me," I said, smiling, my grip on her arm solid.

She took a deep breath and leaned back, taking me in the classic cowgirl position, her back straight as her hips started working again.

She was panting and sweating. Her nose was running freely now and I could tell she was nearly exhausted.

"Come on, Baby," I said, laying back, "Don't stop."

Her body kept moving but she was exhausted and the movements were slowing.

"Do you want me to cum?" I asked.

"Yes," she gasped.

"Tell me," I said.

"Cum for me, David," she gasped, "Please baby, please."

And that seemed to give her fresh energy. Sweat was pouring off of her and she was breathing in harsh little gasps, but her hips picked up speed and she resumed the serpentine motion that gave me such wonderful sensations.