The Final Tease

I was full. Of life. Of desire. Of Ethan.

At nearly 39 weeks pregnant, I was a vision of ripeness—curves exaggerated, breasts huge and swollen, belly round and high. Every breath I took felt heavier, slower, more deliberate. My body pulsed with anticipation. I wasn’t just ready for labor—I was on fire with need.

Ethan knew it.

Which was why, after a routine doctor’s appointment that morning, he didn’t drive us home.

“Where are we going?” I asked, shifting in the passenger seat, thighs pressed together under the only sundress I still had that could pass for decent.

He grinned, one hand casually resting on my thigh, fingers sneaking higher. “Somewhere with privacy. Somewhere we don’t have to be quiet.”

That’s when I noticed we were heading toward the lake house his friend had let him borrow a year ago—the one with the big open windows, no neighbors, and a king-sized bed with an antique headboard that could take a lot of punishment.

My mouth went dry.

The second we stepped inside, Ethan turned to me, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He dropped our overnight bag by the door, came to me, and kissed me slowly—no words, just a claim. His hands found my hips, thumbs brushing the underside of my belly.

“I’ve been fantasizing about this for weeks,” he murmured. “You, swollen and dripping for me, tied to that bed.”

I trembled. “Then don’t make me wait.”

He didn’t.

He helped me undress—carefully, reverently, like I was the most precious thing in the world. My breasts were already leaking faintly, nipples stiff and overly sensitive. He kissed them one by one, tongued each nipple until I moaned, until I begged him not to tease.

We made it to the bedroom, and he guided me onto the bed. My belly was too big for maneuvering, so he adjusted pillows beneath me, gently lifting my hips before tying my wrists to the wrought iron bedframe with soft, wide silk ties.

“Comfortable?” he asked, voice low.

“Yes.” My thighs quivered.

“Good.”

Then he knelt between them, and that filthy, glorious mouth of his went to work.

His tongue licked my waiting pussy slow and deep, savoring every part of me. I writhed, hips rocking helplessly as I flooded for him. He teased my clit with maddening precision, adding just the right pressure with his fingers, slipping them in slowly, then curling. His free hand caressed my belly, then moved up to cup my leaking breast, kneading it gently while his tongue sent me spiraling.

“Oh my god, Ethan—please—I’m gonna—”

He didn’t stop. He buried himself in me, moaning as I came undone, crying out so loud I thought the windows might crack. I convulsed beneath him, limbs trembling, the ties holding me in place as my body let go.

But he wasn’t finished.

He climbed over me, kissed me deep, then pushed his throbbing dick inside me—slowly, reverently, letting me feel every inch. My hands still bound, I was helpless to do anything but moan, gasp, and receive.

He moved with that confident, dirty rhythm—gripping my hips, praising me between every thrust.

“You feel so damn tight around me.”

“Fuck, I can see your breasts bounce every time I go deep…”

“Look how full you are with my baby.”

It was wild, sweaty, sacred and profane all at once. His pelvis hit mine just right, again and again, and I shattered a second time, crying out, soaking him with my cum, clenching so hard he groaned and finally lost control.

He came deep, shooting a massive load of cum in me, holding himself inside me, forehead pressed to mine, both of us panting and shaking.

He untied me gently, rubbing my wrists before wrapping me in his arms.

“You okay?” he whispered, voice rough.

“Better than okay,” I breathed. “I needed that.”

“Good,” he said, nuzzling my neck. “Because I’m not done.”

We spent the rest of the evening wrapped in each other, kissing, touching, drifting from the bed to the bath to the couch and back again. He massaged my aching hips, my lower back, my feet—and when he touched me between my legs again, I was already wet.

That night, I fell asleep in his arms with the sound of the lake outside and the feel of him still lingering between my thighs.

I didn’t go into labor that night.

But my body had been put on high alert.

And so had my heart.