The Pregnant Ex

I manage to pull out before I shoot, arranging Ashley on her back so I can cum on her bump again. This time, I rub my organic moisturizer into her belly myself. The smile never leaves her post-coital face.

Post-climaxes, I languidly continue to stroke her fertile form. My sticky hands can't keep away from her sticky bump; I enjoy the new sensation comprehensively, hands on her belly for a solid six or seven minutes. She barely moves and audibly breathes hard, clearly exhausted from the sexual exertion. "I haven't felt sexy in 6 months," she purrs. "Now I feel like a fucking goddess."

Fifteen minutes go by, and we finally roll off the bed and go back to the living room for our clothes. We make some small talk and each have a can of raspberry-lime seltzer. The magical time is over, and it's not going to come again. It doesn't have to be said: we both know it. But I'm certain we'll both remember and appreciate our afternoon together for a long time to come. Absolutely amazing.