MY PREGNANT COWORKER
A PREGNANCY IN THE OFFICE?
This is probably still just wishful thinking on my part at this point, but I think my (very attractive) coworker Gwen may be pregnant. As someone stuck in an incredibly boring job and harboring a long-standing pregnancy fetish, this is very exciting for me. And I have more than enough free time on my hands to keep a record of witnessing her gestation…if she is in fact gestating. She’s of child-bearing age and has been married for a few years, so she seems to be positioned for it.
More importantly, she’s been wearing baggier attire than usual for the past month or so, though that hasn’t managed to hide some growth in her chest and waist/ass. She started off with a modest but pleasant bosom and tight, small ass; she was now approaching “curvy” status. My imagination may be running away from me, but I swear I’ve seen a little bloating in her previously flat midsection, too. I’ve noticed these changes because I’ve been checking her out regularly for several years now.
Gwen and I have been what I’d probably refer to as “work friends” for some time. Now, I need to hang around her more than usual so as not to arouse suspicions if I were to suddenly be around constantly if/when she actually announces a pregnancy. And it is absolutely my intention to be around her as much as possible if I’m dealing with a knocked-up coworker. So, time to get closer to her ahead of time and keep an eye on her changing physique…which will, fingers crossed, soon be confirmed as an in-my-immediate-orbit pregnancy. Awesome.
18 WEEKS
Turns out the first entry in my little journal here was at about 16 weeks: Gwen made the official announcement of her pregnancy today, 2 weeks later, and she’s 18 weeks along at the moment (yes, I am a math whiz). She held her blue empire-waisted dress to her abdomen, bump larger already than I’d even imagined; certainly substantially larger than I’d been able to catch a glimpse of.
I immediately went into planning mode. Though I’d already thought of putting myself in Gwen’s orbit when I’d only suspected she was pregnant, I’d only managed to purposefully spend two or three coffee breaks with her since then, and only about half of one of those breaks was spent alone with her. My attempts would have to be better planned and executed to allow me to spend time talking with her privately: I didn’t feel like I’d be able to ask her about her experience and have the conversations I desired with other coworkers present. Paying closer attention to when and where she takes her lunches and coffee breaks should help me secure time with her. I would have to be careful not to come off as creepy, of course…which was a very real risk, as you could probably guess by now.
The ideal outcome, I thought, was getting her comfortable enough discussing her condition with me that she’d offer to let me rub her baby bump a bit (an invitation I’d readily accept, obviously). My aim was set and I had some work to do, but I figured my goal was pretty attainable. Social awkwardness, already present in my personality, might end up being my greatest challenge. I hadn’t spent much time around pregnant ladies, and I hoped I could keep my cool. Only time would tell…
19 WEEKS
In direct contrast to her pre-announcement pregnancy-concealing attire, as soon as Gwen made her condition public she began wearing clothing as tight or tighter than anything I’d seen her wear pre-pregnancy. Her maternity wardrobe seemed to primarily consist of short, low-cut bodycon dresses that accentuated all her curves. This was, of course, pretty fantastic for me. My eyes were on her constantly, waiting for her to stand up from her desk and give me even a brief glimpse of that modest but already pleasantly round bump.
It turned out to be a bit of a double-edged sword, though. How much she flaunted her belly made me more awkward around her than I already would’ve been. I’ve passed up some prime opportunities for alone time with her due to my social anxiety. Also, she’s for sure caught me staring at least five or six times at this point, always making my face turn beet red in a conspicuously guilty fashion.
I have managed to have three or four good one-on-one interactions with her in the past week, though. All short, but thrilling for me nonetheless. During one break, I sidled past her in our narrow mini-kitchen and commented about how I wouldn’t be able to make it past her much longer, which made her laugh and agree as she rubbed her belly. I impressed myself with that one, broaching the fact of her pregnancy growth myself.
I sat next to her during one lunch; she was mostly speaking with another female coworker sitting on the other side of her, but I got to listen in on a good deal of pregnancy-related conversation, rather basic though it may have been. And during a coffee break yesterday, I noticed she was about to bend down for the creamer towards the bottom of the refrigerator and quickly stepped in and grabbed it for her. She thanked me and talked for a minute about how it’s crazy how hard it is already to move around and do basic things with her belly in the way. Just the type of thing I want to hear about. So, I’ve already had some success. Onward and upward!
21 WEEKS
Yesterday, I finally managed to have an entire lunch break alone with Gwen and engage her in a pretty in-depth conversation about her pregnancy experiences. I don’t have a perfect memory or anything, but here’s a rough transcript of our talk:
ME:
So how far along are you now?
GWEN:
I’m 21 weeks. Just over halfway there!
ME:
Oh wow, that must be exciting.
GWEN:
Yeah, it’s crazy. It’s gone by so fast. And I hadn’t really felt particularly pregnant until I started to show at about 15 weeks, so it feels very sudden to be this far into it.
ME:
Are you feeling pretty well, generally?
GWEN:
Yeah, I am! Morning sickness ended a while ago. That sucked, but at least it’s over now. There’s plenty of soreness all over the place, which I believe gets worse and worse as you grow. I don’t mean to complain, though. I’m in the second trimester, which tends to come with some energy for most women. That’s been nice. And I really like finally having a belly that’s obvious to everyone, being noticeably pregnant. The attention you get can be annoying, but people are usually just really happy for me and very nice. Bumps just look good, too, don’t you think?
ME:
Y-yeah, I guess they do look pretty…pretty good.
I changed the subject there, unprepared to discuss my feelings about her amazing pregnant belly. Really great progress nonetheless. Also, in addition to the words exchanged (and approximated above), she rubbed her belly for pretty much our entire conversation. It was great to witness from so close to her and made me even more desperate to get to that touch I’m aiming for myself. I’m on the right track, I hope.
24 WEEKS
It happened today. The longed-for touch. I’ll get to it in due time, but it felt like it had to be the headline of this entry.
Since our lunch together, I’ve been much more comfortable and talkative around Gwen. I’ve been consistently lining up my breaks with hers: not all the time, but close to it. She must have picked up on it or be on the verge of picking up on it, but I don’t think that’s such a bad thing: hopefully it’ll be taken more as evidence of my interest than run-of-the-mill stalking.
With the amount of time we’ve been spending together and the sustained focus on pregnancy (which she seems as incapable of tiring of discussing as I am), it’s come to pass that I’m the primary person in her life she complains to. I love hearing the complaints, finding every aspect of pregnancy fascinating, including the unpleasant stuff. And I love that it shows she’s come to trust me more and more, treating me more as a friend lately than as a workplace acquaintance. It’s a good position to be in, especially a mere 6 weeks after she revealed her pregnancy.
After these 3 weeks or so of staying so close to her, Gwen did note my omnipresence keenly enough to bring it up in one of our conversations this morning. “You’ve been hanging around with me a whole lot lately, huh Greg?” she asked to silence from my end. We were alone in the break room, granted blessed privacy. “And I can’t help but notice how much you like looking at my pregnant belly. So, would you like to really see it?” She was wearing khakis and a cardigan over a tank top, an outfit far more conducive to bearing one’s bump than a bodycon dress is. I nodded my assent, speechless at my great luck.
Securing her tank top under the bottom of her bra, she revealed the entirety of her baby bump to me. It wasn’t yet huge at just 24 weeks, but it was impressively rounded and almost miraculously unblemished. The belly protruded only a few inches further than her pregnancy-assisted bosom at this point; I couldn’t wait to see how it would grow from here. I was lost in my reverie, remaining wordless and gawking with my mouth wide open like a fucking idiot. Maybe a minute or two went by before she giggled at my hypnotized state. “You okay, Greg? I guess you like the look of it bare, too, don’t you?” I nodded slowly, eyes still plastered to the bump. “You can touch it, too, if you’d like…” Holy shit, it was happening.
“Really?” I asked quietly, apparently requiring explicit confirmation before taking this step about which I’d been fantasizing for a very long time. She smiled and nodded, taking my wrist in her hand and placing my palm on the left side of her bump. It was delightfully smooth and soft to the touch, though when I pushed in on her belly even slightly I could feel the uterine firmness within. The sensations I felt were more exciting than I could even have imagined.
“You can rub it, too, if you’re comfortable with that,” she told me. “It feels great to have it rubbed.” Further permission thus granted, both of my hands rushed onto the belly, rubbing softly and depressing the flesh slightly in the process of investigating the shape and consistency of each and every square inch. Her eyes were closed in quiet pleasure as I explored her midsection. Time moved about as abstractly as I’ve ever experienced (sober, at least). If I had to guess, I’d say I had my hands on her for five or six minutes; I only disengaged when I heard someone approaching us, the sound of which also led Gwen to quickly lower her shirt over her belly. We weren’t caught, but I don’t think I would’ve cared too much if we had been. These had been a few of the best minutes of my life.
27 WEEKS
Gwen’s third trimester has begun! She was excited about that milestone and her excitement was contagious by this point in our relationship. For the past several weeks I’ve been getting belly rubs in just about every day, usually over the clothes as she continues to primarily wear tight-fitting dresses. Still awesome, but I was totally floored on the rare occasions when I got bare bump access again. Even getting only occasional bare glances over the course of a measly three weeks, I was paying close enough attention to her bump that I noticed its growth over that brief span. Magical, exciting stuff. I can only imagine what it’s like being the one who’s actually pregnant, how powerful and thrilling it must be.
With conversations about her pregnancy occurring multiple times on most days, Gwen has been opening up more and more and providing increasingly personal details. Most intimate, I think, have been the breast-related changes she’s discussed with me. Her breasts have grown, her areolas have widened and darkened, her nipples are almost painfully sensitive: she trusts me enough to share such things with me at this point, which is quite an honor, I must say.
Since I’ve been surreptitiously tracking (which I do feel a bit gross about) the weeks of her pregnancy with this journal, I can look up a particular week’s typical symptoms online and subtly guide the discussion towards such things, really keeping our talks going at length and in detail. For example, around now in her pregnancy (end of 2nd trimester, beginning of 3rd), I’ve brought up things like Braxton Hicks contractions, sleeping difficulties, and brain fog. All things she’s either experienced or is anticipating. I may be cheating slightly with the week-tracking, but I’m doing a bang-up job of keeping our chats fresh and frequent.
A few days ago, during the last time I got the opportunity to rub the bare bump, we had a bit of an awkward moment. I got lost in the moment of caressing the wondrous bump, forgetting to think of less sexy things and back off on the intensity of the massage to keep from getting conspicuously aroused. The erection produced was clear even through my rather thick khakis, straining visibly against the material. She noticed the hard-on before I did, my eyes following hers down to my crotch. We made awkward eye contact for a moment, then Gwen smiled kindly and changed the subject to something non-pregnancy-related.
She was very kind to brush it off like that. I’m a little bit embarrassed about the incident, but also a little bit intrigued (trying not to get overly hopeful) by the fact that she now for sure knows the belly’s doing it for me sexually. That little piece of information isn’t the worst thing I could indirectly impart to her. We’re only at the start of the last trimester. Who knows what may transpire in the last third of her pregnancy?
28 WEEKS
Though she was kind enough to smile at me in response to my obvious erection, I remained nervous for a day or two that my involuntary state of arousal may have soured things between Gwen and myself. I was wrong to worry: if anything’s changed, things have actually heated up. Last Friday, our boss treated us all to sandwiches from a shop a few blocks from the office; Gwen offered to walk over and get them…but she needed my help to do so, she said. I was more than eager to lend a hand, of course.
She made her motive for roping me into the task clear about half a second after we got out the office’s door. “I wanted a chance to talk to you in private, Greg. More private than our usual time alone together, even. Is that all right?” I nodded, butterflies in my stomach with the uncertainty of where she was heading with this. “So…the erection. You got it rubbing my belly, I noticed, you saw me notice. We should just talk about it, not let it make things weird between us, right?”
I was slightly taken aback by this level of directness, but still managed to answer promptly. “Yes, absolutely.”
She continued. “Great. I guess, mostly, I just have a question that comes pretty organically from that situation: I know you’re very interested in pregnancy, mine at least, but do you have a sexual interest in it as well?”
I felt myself blushing, but very quickly came to the conclusion that she had my number and denying it would be pointless. Plus, with my predilection on the table there was the ever-so-slight chance of something sexual happening between us, which would obviously be amazing. “Yes…I’m into it sexually. I’ve had a pregnancy fetish for as long as I can remember. I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable…”
“Oh no, I’m not uncomfortable! I’m flattered, honestly. Pregnant ladies don’t seem to get much of that type of attention, which has always seemed like a shame to me. So I think it’s cool that you’re into it. What do you like about us preggos, Greg?”
I shrugged. “Everything, basically. You get curvier in spots that were already nicely curvy and develop this whole new incredibly sexy midsection curve, of course. It’s about the most feminine thing there is. There’s just a whole lot of natural power and almost magic to the act of creating a life inside yourself. I could go on for a very long time, honestly. Pretty much anything related to pregnancy really does it for me. And I have never told another soul any of this before now!”
She stopped walking and looked me squarely in the face. “Really?! Well, I’m honored! And saddened, a little bit. It sucks you couldn’t share something you’re so passionate about with anyone else. I understand why, I’m sure lots of people would be very judgmental about it. Don’t have to worry about that with me, though. You told the right person, Greg.” I smiled and hugged her, enjoying every moment of her bump pressing into me.
We resumed the walk. “Of course, I am married, so you can’t really do anything about your attraction that involves me anyway. Maybe I’ll meet a single pregnant girl at a Lamaze class or something and I can set you up! I don’t have any problem with what we’ve been doing, the talking and belly rubs and such. I don’t feel like I’m betraying my husband’s trust in the least, so I hope we can continue sharing my pregnancy during work hours. I’ve really been enjoying it. And, according to your penis, you have as well…”
I laughed. “My penis doesn’t lie, Gwen. My penis doesn’t lie.” We got to the sandwich shop, picked up our order and walked back. I couldn’t stop staring at her belly, as usual, but I was also spellbound by her walk: she most definitely already had a bit of a waddle. So fucking hot.
30 WEEKS
Now that our cards were pretty much on the table, Gwen started to tease me pretty relentlessly. It was divine torture. First of all, she requested to move to a desk nearer the bathroom for the remainder of her pregnancy. Not at all coincidentally, that desk was right across from mine. She was constantly putting on a show for me, starting with wearing ever tighter and more revealing outfits. I could hardly take my eyes off her. Poses were struck in my direct line of vision incessantly; I had no idea there were so many different ways for a pregnant woman to dramatically push her protruding belly even further out. Gwen was extremely creative in her choices of bodily positioning, that was for sure.
As she flaunted more and more flagrantly, I gawked at her sexiness with diminishing subtlety. During our breaks together her provocative poses continued, broken up only by her need to periodically lean over and stare at my crotch to make sure there was physical evidence of how turned-on she was getting me. I didn’t know where this all was headed at the moment. She’d explicitly mentioned the fact that we couldn’t do anything due to her being married, but she clearly loved the fact that she turned me on, and did everything in her power to keep me visually stimulated. What’s next from here?
31 WEEKS
At a private lunch break we shared yesterday, Gwen opened up to me in a new and slightly dangerous-feeling way. I don’t think I can produce anything close to a transcript of what she said, as my mind was racing throughout the talk, trying to figure out what exactly was going on and what I should be doing about it. In short, she admitted to being extremely horny due to both pregnancy hormones and a lack of attention from her uninterested husband. She was deeply sexually unsatisfied. I do remember one exact phrase from her: “I really think I need outside help.”
Meaning outside her marriage, of course. What the fuck was I supposed to do with that? Was she expecting me to step in right there and start having an affair with her? She claimed she wanted me to know about these things because I’m her “most trusted confidante,” which seemed like a fairly weak rationale. Her husband isn’t treating her right, sure, but I still didn’t feel great about the possibility of helping Gwen out extramaritally. Was I supposed to find a third party to satisfy her on the downlow? I wouldn’t be comfortable with that, either. I didn’t know where things were headed for Gwen and myself, but I resolved to wait until further interactions and conversations progressed before making any kind of decision. Things are just too confusing at the moment.
32 WEEKS
Yesterday I was sitting at my desk reading through some of this journal’s earlier entries when Gwen snuck up behind me and pushed her belly into my shoulders and the back of my head. I immediately closed the journal, but she’d apparently gotten a glimpse. “What was that?” she asked; my blood went cold.
“It’s…embarrassing,” I tried to get out of it.
She moved to my side, put her hands on her hips and looked at me with head tilted in disapproval. “Come on now, Greg! We’ve shared quite a lot by now, haven’t we? What’s so embarrassing about what you were looking at in a text document?”
I lowered my head in defeat: it felt like I had no choice but to own up to it, though I feared it might scare her off from continuing to socialize with me. I sighed and began to explain. “It’s a journal I’ve been keeping for the last few months about…” I couldn’t quite get all the words out.
Her eyes lit up after a few seconds of silence and contemplation. “Is it about me?!” she asked eagerly. I nodded. “Oh my God, I’m so flattered! You’ve gotta let me read it, Greg! Please?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, Gwen. It’s…pretty private, you know? Like journals usually are?”
She laughed. “It’s about me, though! Is it mean or something?”
“No, it’s not mean at all. I’m scared…I’m scared it might creep you out,” I admitted.
“Oh, don’t be silly,” she waved away my reservations. “You won’t creep me out, Greg; you don’t need to worry about that. Email it to me?”
My shoulders dropped in resignation. “Yeah, okay.” I sent the file in question to her and she hustled back to her desk to read it.
The next 30 minutes felt like 30 hours. I was about as nervous as I’d ever been, horrified that this would end what we had together. Finally, she walked back over to me…with a plainly distraught look on her face. My heart sank: our friendship was over.
Once she was standing next to me, she suddenly exploded in laughter. “I’m sorry, Greg, I couldn’t resist fucking with you just for a second! I loved the journal! I feel so honored!”
I exhaled with a gigantic sigh of relief. “Oh my God, Gwen. Fuck. I thought you hated me!” She laughed. “Good one, I guess. It’s really okay, though?”
She nodded emphatically. “More than okay. I loved every word. It made me feel so good about myself, so attractive…” Her eyes drifted towards the bathroom. “I’ll be back in a few. I just need to…take care of…something…” Gwen trailed off and rushed into the bathroom. Reading between the lines even a tiny bit, it was pretty damned obvious that she went in there to rub one out. She seemed to have a tiny bit of an exhibitionist streak, if I had to guess what had turned her on so thoroughly.
When she returned (visibly more relaxed…), she promised she wouldn’t insist on reading any further entries so as not to contaminate my project of writing it: it could remain just for me. That was very sweet of her.
I cannot believe her masturbation and feeling of flattery were the only consequences of my getting busted for keeping a journal tracking and sexualizing her. The world is truly an unpredictable place.
33 WEEKS
Even with such a positive result coming from the journal incident, I was rather shy around Gwen for a bit afterwards. It was just so awkward to have been busted with such a document by the person it not-at-all-platonically revolved around. I majorly decreased the amount of break time I spent around her, and was far quieter and less vocally pregnancy-curious when I was around her. She noticed, of course, and after a few days of this sent me a message on our company’s antiquated instant messaging program.
“I miss having fun with you.” That was the succinct first message I received. I didn’t respond too quickly, and another arrived from her before I figured out what to write: “I could really use a belly rub right about now!” More provocative this time. I decided to torture her just a bit, like she had done to me with her sour facial expression after reading the journal. I wouldn’t respond to her messages; I’d just wait and see how far she’d take things. The ensuing messages, though, left me wondering which one of us was actually doing the torturing at the moment:
“I’m tight as a drum and freshly lotioned…”
“My bump feels like it’s going to bust right out of my dress.”
“Do you think it would be inappropriate for me to practice my prenatal yoga poses in the office?”
“I think my milk is coming in. Can you tell by looking at my chest?”
“Where do you think I can buy maternity underwear? I’ve been going commando for a month.”
I couldn’t handle it any longer. “Would you please stop?” I shot back.
Her “LOL” reached me mere moments after I’d pressed my ‘Send’ button. She walked right over to me: “Will you take a break with me, weirdo? No one’s in the kitchen: come fucking talk to me!” I gave in and took a break with her; she goaded me into talking about and rubbing her belly, breaking the ice and soon making me as comfortable around her as I had been prior to her reading the journal. I’m very happy she put forth such an effort to rehabilitate what we had going; it’s good to be close friends again.
34 WEEKS
Gwen approached my desk just after work started two days ago. “I think something’s wrong with my car, Greg. Do you think you could give me a ride home after work? I live really close by…” I agreed, of course, though the proposal left me in suspense for the entirety of the workday. Was this a ruse of some sort? How personal would things get, alone and outside the office? Would she be as provocative as she’d been in her messages to me last week? The day felt like it lasted forever with the amount of worrying and internally played-out scenarios I indulged in.
Ultimately, of course, the workday ended and it was time for the ride with Gwen. She was wearing a sweater; she hiked it up above her bump and started rubbing her smooth skin the moment she buckled herself in. Bare belly temptation would be present for our time together, it seemed; and my attention to the road was instantly compromised. “It’s hot, right? I cannot get enough of this belly.” Those were the first words uttered during our drive. “My husband isn’t into it,” she continued. “Half the time he won’t even touch it to feel his own baby move. It’s ridiculous. I feel sexier than I ever have in my life, and I can barely get him to touch me at all.”
She paused, then upped the ante: “Pretty much all I think about is dick, and I never get to fucking play with one.” Gwen looked at my crotch: I may not have been answering her verbally, but my glaring erection made it clear I was paying close attention to what she was saying (and displaying). Her left hand creeped over onto my right thigh, then down into my crotch to gently stroke my cock through my khakis. It felt divine; I had to stifle a moan after about two seconds of contact. “May I?” she asked. As she’d already put her hand on my dick sans permission, I was curious and eager to find out what exactly she was asking; I nodded my head immediately.
She wasted no time moving her hand to unbutton my fly, unzip my zipper, and pull my cock out of the slit in my boxers. Her cock-stroking technique was of a medium pace and steady rhythm; it also included a subtle twist of the hand that added a special little extra something. It was very, very hard to follow the rules of the road, but I somehow managed to avoid crashing the car. A minute or so in, she realized she could easily turn me on even further; she added visual stimuli as she pulled the sweater up further to reveal her braless breasts. They were dark-nippled and heavy, resting on top of her bump. My eyes were darting around quickly, spending equal time on the road, the tits, the bump, and the miracle of a preggo’s hand jerking me off. I came after another minute or two, my load running down her knuckles. She wiped it off on the inside of her sweater: “So I can feel your sticky load and remember the fun we had,” she told me. Jesus Fucking Christ.
She left my softening dick hanging out, apparently no longer interested in it now that she’d gotten me off. We pulled up to her house five minutes later; as she exited the car, she said “You owe me one” matter-of-factly before closing the door behind her. Owed her hand-induced pleasure? An orgasm via my choice of method? A view of my nipples? I could not fucking wait to find out. And since she’d mentioned how inattentive her idiot of a husband was, I barely felt guilty at all about helping her cheat a little. She had me even more squarely in the palm of her hand; I’d probably do just about anything for or to her.
35 WEEKS
I had to stay late to finish a project the deadline for which had been abruptly moved up. It seemed I was alone in the deserted office by 5:15; but, of course, I wasn't entirely by myself. The creak of the bathroom door made me look over in surprise; there she was, clad only in a bra and maternity panties.
Her bump was perfection: tear drop-shaped, elegantly curving from bosom to pubic hair, tight-to-bursting with a dramatic outie of a belly button. Gwen added a sultry motion to her slow walk over to me, somewhat in conflict with her heavily pregnant waddle, but hot nonetheless. Her scant garments dropped off her before she could reach me, her whole glory thus revealed to me.
She wasted no time, continuous motion bringing her to her knees in front of my desk chair. I got the clear message of her intentions and stood for a moment to help her out, quickly dropping slacks and underwear to my shins and sitting back down. My already semi-hard cock was promptly in her mouth and fully hardened. She gave a mean blowjob, powerful suction doing as much of the work as the bobbing of her head. One of her hands massaged my balls; the other was down at her crotch. The feel of her firm belly against my legs added to my already intense arousal. A few minutes later I shot my load and I shot it hard, rope after rope right into the back of her throat. She swallowed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she stood up, pushing my keyboard aside so she could sit her naked ass on my desk. Her legs spread, slowly and seductively, vulva displayed ever so clearly.
“Your turn.” Gwen only needed to say two words and I was on it. On my knees, face buried in her crotch. I’m not going to brag about my cunnilingus skills or anything, but I think I’m generally more than adequate. My enthusiasm at the moment, though, made my technique sloppier than usual. I was all over her pussy, my usual primary focus on the clit too precise an idea for my current ultra-horny state of mind.
Nevertheless, whatever I was doing was audibly working for her. Groan after groan, muscle-tightening climax after muscle-tightening climax: I got her off three times in five minutes. She then gently pushed my head away from her crotch and threw her head back in exhausted, post-orgasm bliss. After maintaining this pose for 30 seconds or so, she scooted off my desk and headed back to the bathroom, grabbing her underwear from the floor with an awkward belly-hobbled crouch on her way. She exited the bathroom two minutes later, looking like she was ready for a new workday. Without saying a word, she left the building.
This thing we have going is progressing nicely, I’d say.
36 WEEKS
Yesterday was, sadly enough, Gwen’s last day before her maternity leave began. She asked our boss if she could have my assistance in wrapping up some of her work before she left; he let us have the conference room. Door closed and blinds shut, the two of us had some real privacy. And no actual work that had to be finished, of course: Gwen’s ruse worked like a charm.
We talked for a few minutes, mostly expressing how much we were going to miss each other and the fun we’d been having together. It got depressing quickly, both of us turning quiet. Without breaking the silence Gwen slid her hand between my legs and started massaging my dick through my khakis. After getting me fully hard in about 5 seconds, she took it out of my unzipped pants and started stroking firmly and rhythmically under the table. It was difficult to stifle the groans of pleasure that repeatedly tried to escape my throat, but that was much of the fun of behaving thusly in an operating workplace, I figured. I shot my load after four or five minutes; Gwen had brought a tissue box into the conference room, presumably for this particular mess that she knew all along she’d have to clean up. Her planning ran deep.
I didn’t have to ask her to hike her dress up to her waist: she just did it nonchalantly once she was finished with me. And, a sign of even more planning, she had gone commando. I reached over between her legs; she had recently shaved and was already wet. All was fantastic. As I worked her clit between my index and middle fingers, I finger-fucked her with my ring and pinkie fingers. She seemed to have even more trouble staying quiet than I had. A few of her louder noises made me pause and wait for the knock on the door I was sure would come imminently. No one knocked or otherwise disturbed us, though, and I brought her to pussy-clenching climax three times in seven or eight minutes of handwork. Then she pulled her dress back down.
It was a nice activity she’d engineered for us on her final day. Overall, though, the occasion was suffused with melancholy. I would very much miss her naughty pregnant ass being around the office.
37 WEEKS
Even though she’s gone on leave, I seem to still be tracking Gwen’s pregnancy. She’s 37 weeks along and not with me anymore. The boredom and drudgery of my dead-end job has become my prevalent thought, much as it had been before Gwen started showing and magnificently brightened up my situation. I miss her terribly.
38 WEEKS
At 38 weeks pregnant Gwen was, of course, still on maternity leave. She did me a great kindness and brightened my days, though, by starting to send me messages again via the company's old messaging system. We exchanged messages about how boring our days were, how much we missed each other’s company, how much fun we’d had over the last few months.
I believe it was all a warmup towards some more sexually explicit messages she initiated a few days in:
“My huge tits are leaking milk right through my bra and my shirt. It’s hot. I could really use some help practicing breastfeeding…”
“The belly’s gotten so much bigger and tighter since I started my leave. I’m thinking about you rubbing your dick all over it. Would you like that?”
“I keep thinking about you when I masturbate. Do you think about me when you touch yourself? I’d love that.”
“I’m dripping wet and not being attended to. I REALLY want you to finally fuck me properly. I need it, Greg.”
I didn’t know how to respond to most of them, generally sending back lamely brief messages that didn’t add much to the conversation. Sometimes I’d freeze up and not even respond at all. It felt to me like she was probably getting off simply by sending me explicit content; I wasn’t so sure the desires she was announcing were even things she actually wanted, much as I wanted to believe there could still be a chance we’d indulge in such fun. I felt vaguely uncomfortable, sometimes aroused, and overwhelmingly sad that these messages were most likely idle talk and our sexual dalliances had most likely reached their conclusion.
39 WEEKS
In retrospect, considering her final message (“dripping wet,” “fuck me,” etc.), I should’ve probably been able to guess what was coming next. She was not indulging in idle talk, I found out the next week.
There was a knock on my door Saturday around noon. Gwen was there when I answered, of course. Her bump had indeed grown substantially in the short two weeks since I'd seen her, which I managed to observe briefly before she wordlessly moved in to start kissing me.
It felt...well, right, to be totally honest. We were passionate and sloppy, lips locked and tongues wrestling almost aggressively. My hands were on her breasts and bump, hers on my ass and crotch. A minute or two in I finally managed to back us up enough to be able to kick the door shut. "Bedroom," she managed after a few more minutes of standing just inside the door. I somehow led her there without taking my tongue out of her mouth.
Even with all the time we'd spent over the months on her bump and more recently on each other's genitals, I hadn't exactly considered us as a romantic pair, hadn't fantasized about the possibility of passion, not even kissing. She'd had to initiate it, but as soon as she did it became crystal clear that I wanted it too. Badly.
Having reached the bedroom, we were finally forced to disengage our locked mouths in order to get our clothes off. "Are you really sure about this?" I asked once my tongue was available for word production. Eyes wide and very purposefully locked on mine, she nodded emphatically. I was convinced and harbored no serious reservations myself, to hell with how poorly that speaks to my character. I could hardly believe this was happening, but was nonetheless floored by it all. Free of clothes and still exploring each other with our hands, we both had the clear evidence we were ready to go, erection- and lubrication-wise. No real foreplay occurred beyond the kissing and groping that had taken us this far.
Gwen pushed me onto my back on the bed. "I need you inside me now," I was informed. I nodded my consent as I centered myself on the bed and she climbed up and onto her knees. She swung a leg over my waist with an audible groan of effort and wasted no time lowering her pussy to take my cock in tip-to-base. The weight of her sitting squarely on my crotch, heavily hanging bump resting on my lower abdomen, was straight-up divine. As was the sensation of getting inside her, of course. Her pussy was tight, wet, warm; all the positive adjectives one might apply to a vagina, really. She bounced on my cock hard and fast: after a few seconds of her pendulous breasts swinging wildly she took a tit in each hand, presumably to account for the sensitivity of her nipples easily turning painful with her breasts flying around in every conceivable direction. My hands were on her bump, so firm and tight it moved only slightly as she bucked on top of me.
Her groans were pretty much constant throughout our 6 or 7 minutes of intercourse, occasional increases in intensity suggesting she got off two or three times. Once my own vocalizations began 5 minutes or so in, she gave me my directions: “Cum inside me.” That wasn’t a problem for me, my cock spasming with magnificent pleasure shortly thereafter. It felt like I shot remarkably powerfully and voluminously; she kept bouncing after I’d climaxed and the great volume was confirmed as I saw my load leaking out of her and down my shaft in multiple thick rivulets. The cum was visibly pooling amongst my pubic hair, her continued rocking on my softening dick spreading it around our respective greater crotch areas.
She dismounted maybe 90 seconds after I’d finished and got on her back next to me with a pleased sigh. Her belly shot straight up, an eye-catching mountain within the rather flat topography of the bed. Not bothering to discuss it, she gathered as much of the cum that had collected above my dick as she could and began rubbing it all over her bump. It was so, so hot. She shined with my seed, the sticky mess she was creating turning gradually whiter and more opalescent on her soft skin. “Sorry, just felt compelled,” was the only explanation she provided, though even that much rationale wasn’t necessary as far as I was concerned. The level of hotness spoke for itself.
“No apologies, it’s really fucking sexy.” I leaned over and kissed her for a few moments. “I can’t believe we just did that. I barely let myself even fantasize we’d get this far…”
“But you did fantasize about it a little?” Gwen interrupted. I nodded. “I’ve been thinking about fucking you since the first time I caught you hungrily looking at my baby bump. Long build-up to get here, but I have no regrets. And it lived up to the ever-increasing hype in my head, too, in case you were wondering.” She yawned. “Christ, I’m tired. That was quite the workout for a preggo of my size. I’d love to stay for round two…three, four, and so on. But I’ve gotta get back home pretty soon if I don’t want to cause any suspicions to develop. Could we just cuddle for a few minutes, Greg?”
“I’d love that, Gwen.” I spooned her, one of my arms under her neck to grip a breast from below, the other over her side to rub her cum-sticky belly. My dick pressed against her delightfully pregnancy-thickened bubble of an ass. We stayed like this for 10 minutes or so, silently enjoying each other’s physical presence. I felt a slight sense of melancholy and thought I sensed it in Gwen’s tensed muscles and silence, too. “This is it for us, isn’t it?” I asked quietly.
She flipped over to face me and nodded, quiet and sad. “This is it,” she whispered. “But it has been fun, hasn’t it?” I nodded back. “I’m going to fall asleep if I lay here for much longer.” And with that she sat up, stood with a groan, and started putting her clothes back on. I stayed in the bed, sadness at the end of our romantic time together overwhelming me. “I’ll miss this, Greg. See you in a few weeks.”
That was it. She walked out of my room and straight out the front door. I cried for a few minutes before getting up myself. Feeling gloomy or not, I’d jerked off thinking of the consummation of our relationship 5 times before I went to bed that night. Things felt bittersweet, fantasies having been fulfilled but inevitably and abruptly ending. The fleeting nature of pregnancy is the inescapable downside of my particular sexual proclivities, I suppose. I was incredibly lucky to have experienced what I did with Gwen: no complaints, no regrets.
40 WEEKS
I was still bummed out about the end of our affair (or whatever you want to call it) well into the next week, fearful as to whether I’d reached and concluded the sexual highlight of my entire life. Yesterday morning at work, though, I received a text and a pic from Gwen. “Thinking of you” was the simple message. The pic was her in a maternity ward, hospital gown pulled up to her neck to give me one last look at her bare pregnant form before she gave birth.
I’ll always have this lone pic to accompany all my fond memories. And maybe, just maybe, if I was on her mind even as she was in labor, there was some kind of romantic future possible for Gwen and me. Maybe things with her husband were even worse than she’d let on. Maybe things weren’t as over as I thought they were. And some ladies do get pregnant more than once, after all…
A PREGNANCY IN THE OFFICE?
This is probably still just wishful thinking on my part at this point, but I think my (very attractive) coworker Gwen may be pregnant. As someone stuck in an incredibly boring job and harboring a long-standing pregnancy fetish, this is very exciting for me. And I have more than enough free time on my hands to keep a record of witnessing her gestation…if she is in fact gestating. She’s of child-bearing age and has been married for a few years, so she seems to be positioned for it.
More importantly, she’s been wearing baggier attire than usual for the past month or so, though that hasn’t managed to hide some growth in her chest and waist/ass. She started off with a modest but pleasant bosom and tight, small ass; she was now approaching “curvy” status. My imagination may be running away from me, but I swear I’ve seen a little bloating in her previously flat midsection, too. I’ve noticed these changes because I’ve been checking her out regularly for several years now.
Gwen and I have been what I’d probably refer to as “work friends” for some time. Now, I need to hang around her more than usual so as not to arouse suspicions if I were to suddenly be around constantly if/when she actually announces a pregnancy. And it is absolutely my intention to be around her as much as possible if I’m dealing with a knocked-up coworker. So, time to get closer to her ahead of time and keep an eye on her changing physique…which will, fingers crossed, soon be confirmed as an in-my-immediate-orbit pregnancy. Awesome.
18 WEEKS
Turns out the first entry in my little journal here was at about 16 weeks: Gwen made the official announcement of her pregnancy today, 2 weeks later, and she’s 18 weeks along at the moment (yes, I am a math whiz). She held her blue empire-waisted dress to her abdomen, bump larger already than I’d even imagined; certainly substantially larger than I’d been able to catch a glimpse of.
I immediately went into planning mode. Though I’d already thought of putting myself in Gwen’s orbit when I’d only suspected she was pregnant, I’d only managed to purposefully spend two or three coffee breaks with her since then, and only about half of one of those breaks was spent alone with her. My attempts would have to be better planned and executed to allow me to spend time talking with her privately: I didn’t feel like I’d be able to ask her about her experience and have the conversations I desired with other coworkers present. Paying closer attention to when and where she takes her lunches and coffee breaks should help me secure time with her. I would have to be careful not to come off as creepy, of course…which was a very real risk, as you could probably guess by now.
The ideal outcome, I thought, was getting her comfortable enough discussing her condition with me that she’d offer to let me rub her baby bump a bit (an invitation I’d readily accept, obviously). My aim was set and I had some work to do, but I figured my goal was pretty attainable. Social awkwardness, already present in my personality, might end up being my greatest challenge. I hadn’t spent much time around pregnant ladies, and I hoped I could keep my cool. Only time would tell…
19 WEEKS
In direct contrast to her pre-announcement pregnancy-concealing attire, as soon as Gwen made her condition public she began wearing clothing as tight or tighter than anything I’d seen her wear pre-pregnancy. Her maternity wardrobe seemed to primarily consist of short, low-cut bodycon dresses that accentuated all her curves. This was, of course, pretty fantastic for me. My eyes were on her constantly, waiting for her to stand up from her desk and give me even a brief glimpse of that modest but already pleasantly round bump.
It turned out to be a bit of a double-edged sword, though. How much she flaunted her belly made me more awkward around her than I already would’ve been. I’ve passed up some prime opportunities for alone time with her due to my social anxiety. Also, she’s for sure caught me staring at least five or six times at this point, always making my face turn beet red in a conspicuously guilty fashion.
I have managed to have three or four good one-on-one interactions with her in the past week, though. All short, but thrilling for me nonetheless. During one break, I sidled past her in our narrow mini-kitchen and commented about how I wouldn’t be able to make it past her much longer, which made her laugh and agree as she rubbed her belly. I impressed myself with that one, broaching the fact of her pregnancy growth myself.
I sat next to her during one lunch; she was mostly speaking with another female coworker sitting on the other side of her, but I got to listen in on a good deal of pregnancy-related conversation, rather basic though it may have been. And during a coffee break yesterday, I noticed she was about to bend down for the creamer towards the bottom of the refrigerator and quickly stepped in and grabbed it for her. She thanked me and talked for a minute about how it’s crazy how hard it is already to move around and do basic things with her belly in the way. Just the type of thing I want to hear about. So, I’ve already had some success. Onward and upward!
21 WEEKS
Yesterday, I finally managed to have an entire lunch break alone with Gwen and engage her in a pretty in-depth conversation about her pregnancy experiences. I don’t have a perfect memory or anything, but here’s a rough transcript of our talk:
ME:
So how far along are you now?
GWEN:
I’m 21 weeks. Just over halfway there!
ME:
Oh wow, that must be exciting.
GWEN:
Yeah, it’s crazy. It’s gone by so fast. And I hadn’t really felt particularly pregnant until I started to show at about 15 weeks, so it feels very sudden to be this far into it.
ME:
Are you feeling pretty well, generally?
GWEN:
Yeah, I am! Morning sickness ended a while ago. That sucked, but at least it’s over now. There’s plenty of soreness all over the place, which I believe gets worse and worse as you grow. I don’t mean to complain, though. I’m in the second trimester, which tends to come with some energy for most women. That’s been nice. And I really like finally having a belly that’s obvious to everyone, being noticeably pregnant. The attention you get can be annoying, but people are usually just really happy for me and very nice. Bumps just look good, too, don’t you think?
ME:
Y-yeah, I guess they do look pretty…pretty good.
I changed the subject there, unprepared to discuss my feelings about her amazing pregnant belly. Really great progress nonetheless. Also, in addition to the words exchanged (and approximated above), she rubbed her belly for pretty much our entire conversation. It was great to witness from so close to her and made me even more desperate to get to that touch I’m aiming for myself. I’m on the right track, I hope.
24 WEEKS
It happened today. The longed-for touch. I’ll get to it in due time, but it felt like it had to be the headline of this entry.
Since our lunch together, I’ve been much more comfortable and talkative around Gwen. I’ve been consistently lining up my breaks with hers: not all the time, but close to it. She must have picked up on it or be on the verge of picking up on it, but I don’t think that’s such a bad thing: hopefully it’ll be taken more as evidence of my interest than run-of-the-mill stalking.
With the amount of time we’ve been spending together and the sustained focus on pregnancy (which she seems as incapable of tiring of discussing as I am), it’s come to pass that I’m the primary person in her life she complains to. I love hearing the complaints, finding every aspect of pregnancy fascinating, including the unpleasant stuff. And I love that it shows she’s come to trust me more and more, treating me more as a friend lately than as a workplace acquaintance. It’s a good position to be in, especially a mere 6 weeks after she revealed her pregnancy.
After these 3 weeks or so of staying so close to her, Gwen did note my omnipresence keenly enough to bring it up in one of our conversations this morning. “You’ve been hanging around with me a whole lot lately, huh Greg?” she asked to silence from my end. We were alone in the break room, granted blessed privacy. “And I can’t help but notice how much you like looking at my pregnant belly. So, would you like to really see it?” She was wearing khakis and a cardigan over a tank top, an outfit far more conducive to bearing one’s bump than a bodycon dress is. I nodded my assent, speechless at my great luck.
Securing her tank top under the bottom of her bra, she revealed the entirety of her baby bump to me. It wasn’t yet huge at just 24 weeks, but it was impressively rounded and almost miraculously unblemished. The belly protruded only a few inches further than her pregnancy-assisted bosom at this point; I couldn’t wait to see how it would grow from here. I was lost in my reverie, remaining wordless and gawking with my mouth wide open like a fucking idiot. Maybe a minute or two went by before she giggled at my hypnotized state. “You okay, Greg? I guess you like the look of it bare, too, don’t you?” I nodded slowly, eyes still plastered to the bump. “You can touch it, too, if you’d like…” Holy shit, it was happening.
“Really?” I asked quietly, apparently requiring explicit confirmation before taking this step about which I’d been fantasizing for a very long time. She smiled and nodded, taking my wrist in her hand and placing my palm on the left side of her bump. It was delightfully smooth and soft to the touch, though when I pushed in on her belly even slightly I could feel the uterine firmness within. The sensations I felt were more exciting than I could even have imagined.
“You can rub it, too, if you’re comfortable with that,” she told me. “It feels great to have it rubbed.” Further permission thus granted, both of my hands rushed onto the belly, rubbing softly and depressing the flesh slightly in the process of investigating the shape and consistency of each and every square inch. Her eyes were closed in quiet pleasure as I explored her midsection. Time moved about as abstractly as I’ve ever experienced (sober, at least). If I had to guess, I’d say I had my hands on her for five or six minutes; I only disengaged when I heard someone approaching us, the sound of which also led Gwen to quickly lower her shirt over her belly. We weren’t caught, but I don’t think I would’ve cared too much if we had been. These had been a few of the best minutes of my life.
27 WEEKS
Gwen’s third trimester has begun! She was excited about that milestone and her excitement was contagious by this point in our relationship. For the past several weeks I’ve been getting belly rubs in just about every day, usually over the clothes as she continues to primarily wear tight-fitting dresses. Still awesome, but I was totally floored on the rare occasions when I got bare bump access again. Even getting only occasional bare glances over the course of a measly three weeks, I was paying close enough attention to her bump that I noticed its growth over that brief span. Magical, exciting stuff. I can only imagine what it’s like being the one who’s actually pregnant, how powerful and thrilling it must be.
With conversations about her pregnancy occurring multiple times on most days, Gwen has been opening up more and more and providing increasingly personal details. Most intimate, I think, have been the breast-related changes she’s discussed with me. Her breasts have grown, her areolas have widened and darkened, her nipples are almost painfully sensitive: she trusts me enough to share such things with me at this point, which is quite an honor, I must say.
Since I’ve been surreptitiously tracking (which I do feel a bit gross about) the weeks of her pregnancy with this journal, I can look up a particular week’s typical symptoms online and subtly guide the discussion towards such things, really keeping our talks going at length and in detail. For example, around now in her pregnancy (end of 2nd trimester, beginning of 3rd), I’ve brought up things like Braxton Hicks contractions, sleeping difficulties, and brain fog. All things she’s either experienced or is anticipating. I may be cheating slightly with the week-tracking, but I’m doing a bang-up job of keeping our chats fresh and frequent.
A few days ago, during the last time I got the opportunity to rub the bare bump, we had a bit of an awkward moment. I got lost in the moment of caressing the wondrous bump, forgetting to think of less sexy things and back off on the intensity of the massage to keep from getting conspicuously aroused. The erection produced was clear even through my rather thick khakis, straining visibly against the material. She noticed the hard-on before I did, my eyes following hers down to my crotch. We made awkward eye contact for a moment, then Gwen smiled kindly and changed the subject to something non-pregnancy-related.
She was very kind to brush it off like that. I’m a little bit embarrassed about the incident, but also a little bit intrigued (trying not to get overly hopeful) by the fact that she now for sure knows the belly’s doing it for me sexually. That little piece of information isn’t the worst thing I could indirectly impart to her. We’re only at the start of the last trimester. Who knows what may transpire in the last third of her pregnancy?
28 WEEKS
Though she was kind enough to smile at me in response to my obvious erection, I remained nervous for a day or two that my involuntary state of arousal may have soured things between Gwen and myself. I was wrong to worry: if anything’s changed, things have actually heated up. Last Friday, our boss treated us all to sandwiches from a shop a few blocks from the office; Gwen offered to walk over and get them…but she needed my help to do so, she said. I was more than eager to lend a hand, of course.
She made her motive for roping me into the task clear about half a second after we got out the office’s door. “I wanted a chance to talk to you in private, Greg. More private than our usual time alone together, even. Is that all right?” I nodded, butterflies in my stomach with the uncertainty of where she was heading with this. “So…the erection. You got it rubbing my belly, I noticed, you saw me notice. We should just talk about it, not let it make things weird between us, right?”
I was slightly taken aback by this level of directness, but still managed to answer promptly. “Yes, absolutely.”
She continued. “Great. I guess, mostly, I just have a question that comes pretty organically from that situation: I know you’re very interested in pregnancy, mine at least, but do you have a sexual interest in it as well?”
I felt myself blushing, but very quickly came to the conclusion that she had my number and denying it would be pointless. Plus, with my predilection on the table there was the ever-so-slight chance of something sexual happening between us, which would obviously be amazing. “Yes…I’m into it sexually. I’ve had a pregnancy fetish for as long as I can remember. I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable…”
“Oh no, I’m not uncomfortable! I’m flattered, honestly. Pregnant ladies don’t seem to get much of that type of attention, which has always seemed like a shame to me. So I think it’s cool that you’re into it. What do you like about us preggos, Greg?”
I shrugged. “Everything, basically. You get curvier in spots that were already nicely curvy and develop this whole new incredibly sexy midsection curve, of course. It’s about the most feminine thing there is. There’s just a whole lot of natural power and almost magic to the act of creating a life inside yourself. I could go on for a very long time, honestly. Pretty much anything related to pregnancy really does it for me. And I have never told another soul any of this before now!”
She stopped walking and looked me squarely in the face. “Really?! Well, I’m honored! And saddened, a little bit. It sucks you couldn’t share something you’re so passionate about with anyone else. I understand why, I’m sure lots of people would be very judgmental about it. Don’t have to worry about that with me, though. You told the right person, Greg.” I smiled and hugged her, enjoying every moment of her bump pressing into me.
We resumed the walk. “Of course, I am married, so you can’t really do anything about your attraction that involves me anyway. Maybe I’ll meet a single pregnant girl at a Lamaze class or something and I can set you up! I don’t have any problem with what we’ve been doing, the talking and belly rubs and such. I don’t feel like I’m betraying my husband’s trust in the least, so I hope we can continue sharing my pregnancy during work hours. I’ve really been enjoying it. And, according to your penis, you have as well…”
I laughed. “My penis doesn’t lie, Gwen. My penis doesn’t lie.” We got to the sandwich shop, picked up our order and walked back. I couldn’t stop staring at her belly, as usual, but I was also spellbound by her walk: she most definitely already had a bit of a waddle. So fucking hot.
30 WEEKS
Now that our cards were pretty much on the table, Gwen started to tease me pretty relentlessly. It was divine torture. First of all, she requested to move to a desk nearer the bathroom for the remainder of her pregnancy. Not at all coincidentally, that desk was right across from mine. She was constantly putting on a show for me, starting with wearing ever tighter and more revealing outfits. I could hardly take my eyes off her. Poses were struck in my direct line of vision incessantly; I had no idea there were so many different ways for a pregnant woman to dramatically push her protruding belly even further out. Gwen was extremely creative in her choices of bodily positioning, that was for sure.
As she flaunted more and more flagrantly, I gawked at her sexiness with diminishing subtlety. During our breaks together her provocative poses continued, broken up only by her need to periodically lean over and stare at my crotch to make sure there was physical evidence of how turned-on she was getting me. I didn’t know where this all was headed at the moment. She’d explicitly mentioned the fact that we couldn’t do anything due to her being married, but she clearly loved the fact that she turned me on, and did everything in her power to keep me visually stimulated. What’s next from here?
31 WEEKS
At a private lunch break we shared yesterday, Gwen opened up to me in a new and slightly dangerous-feeling way. I don’t think I can produce anything close to a transcript of what she said, as my mind was racing throughout the talk, trying to figure out what exactly was going on and what I should be doing about it. In short, she admitted to being extremely horny due to both pregnancy hormones and a lack of attention from her uninterested husband. She was deeply sexually unsatisfied. I do remember one exact phrase from her: “I really think I need outside help.”
Meaning outside her marriage, of course. What the fuck was I supposed to do with that? Was she expecting me to step in right there and start having an affair with her? She claimed she wanted me to know about these things because I’m her “most trusted confidante,” which seemed like a fairly weak rationale. Her husband isn’t treating her right, sure, but I still didn’t feel great about the possibility of helping Gwen out extramaritally. Was I supposed to find a third party to satisfy her on the downlow? I wouldn’t be comfortable with that, either. I didn’t know where things were headed for Gwen and myself, but I resolved to wait until further interactions and conversations progressed before making any kind of decision. Things are just too confusing at the moment.
32 WEEKS
Yesterday I was sitting at my desk reading through some of this journal’s earlier entries when Gwen snuck up behind me and pushed her belly into my shoulders and the back of my head. I immediately closed the journal, but she’d apparently gotten a glimpse. “What was that?” she asked; my blood went cold.
“It’s…embarrassing,” I tried to get out of it.
She moved to my side, put her hands on her hips and looked at me with head tilted in disapproval. “Come on now, Greg! We’ve shared quite a lot by now, haven’t we? What’s so embarrassing about what you were looking at in a text document?”
I lowered my head in defeat: it felt like I had no choice but to own up to it, though I feared it might scare her off from continuing to socialize with me. I sighed and began to explain. “It’s a journal I’ve been keeping for the last few months about…” I couldn’t quite get all the words out.
Her eyes lit up after a few seconds of silence and contemplation. “Is it about me?!” she asked eagerly. I nodded. “Oh my God, I’m so flattered! You’ve gotta let me read it, Greg! Please?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, Gwen. It’s…pretty private, you know? Like journals usually are?”
She laughed. “It’s about me, though! Is it mean or something?”
“No, it’s not mean at all. I’m scared…I’m scared it might creep you out,” I admitted.
“Oh, don’t be silly,” she waved away my reservations. “You won’t creep me out, Greg; you don’t need to worry about that. Email it to me?”
My shoulders dropped in resignation. “Yeah, okay.” I sent the file in question to her and she hustled back to her desk to read it.
The next 30 minutes felt like 30 hours. I was about as nervous as I’d ever been, horrified that this would end what we had together. Finally, she walked back over to me…with a plainly distraught look on her face. My heart sank: our friendship was over.
Once she was standing next to me, she suddenly exploded in laughter. “I’m sorry, Greg, I couldn’t resist fucking with you just for a second! I loved the journal! I feel so honored!”
I exhaled with a gigantic sigh of relief. “Oh my God, Gwen. Fuck. I thought you hated me!” She laughed. “Good one, I guess. It’s really okay, though?”
She nodded emphatically. “More than okay. I loved every word. It made me feel so good about myself, so attractive…” Her eyes drifted towards the bathroom. “I’ll be back in a few. I just need to…take care of…something…” Gwen trailed off and rushed into the bathroom. Reading between the lines even a tiny bit, it was pretty damned obvious that she went in there to rub one out. She seemed to have a tiny bit of an exhibitionist streak, if I had to guess what had turned her on so thoroughly.
When she returned (visibly more relaxed…), she promised she wouldn’t insist on reading any further entries so as not to contaminate my project of writing it: it could remain just for me. That was very sweet of her.
I cannot believe her masturbation and feeling of flattery were the only consequences of my getting busted for keeping a journal tracking and sexualizing her. The world is truly an unpredictable place.
33 WEEKS
Even with such a positive result coming from the journal incident, I was rather shy around Gwen for a bit afterwards. It was just so awkward to have been busted with such a document by the person it not-at-all-platonically revolved around. I majorly decreased the amount of break time I spent around her, and was far quieter and less vocally pregnancy-curious when I was around her. She noticed, of course, and after a few days of this sent me a message on our company’s antiquated instant messaging program.
“I miss having fun with you.” That was the succinct first message I received. I didn’t respond too quickly, and another arrived from her before I figured out what to write: “I could really use a belly rub right about now!” More provocative this time. I decided to torture her just a bit, like she had done to me with her sour facial expression after reading the journal. I wouldn’t respond to her messages; I’d just wait and see how far she’d take things. The ensuing messages, though, left me wondering which one of us was actually doing the torturing at the moment:
“I’m tight as a drum and freshly lotioned…”
“My bump feels like it’s going to bust right out of my dress.”
“Do you think it would be inappropriate for me to practice my prenatal yoga poses in the office?”
“I think my milk is coming in. Can you tell by looking at my chest?”
“Where do you think I can buy maternity underwear? I’ve been going commando for a month.”
I couldn’t handle it any longer. “Would you please stop?” I shot back.
Her “LOL” reached me mere moments after I’d pressed my ‘Send’ button. She walked right over to me: “Will you take a break with me, weirdo? No one’s in the kitchen: come fucking talk to me!” I gave in and took a break with her; she goaded me into talking about and rubbing her belly, breaking the ice and soon making me as comfortable around her as I had been prior to her reading the journal. I’m very happy she put forth such an effort to rehabilitate what we had going; it’s good to be close friends again.
34 WEEKS
Gwen approached my desk just after work started two days ago. “I think something’s wrong with my car, Greg. Do you think you could give me a ride home after work? I live really close by…” I agreed, of course, though the proposal left me in suspense for the entirety of the workday. Was this a ruse of some sort? How personal would things get, alone and outside the office? Would she be as provocative as she’d been in her messages to me last week? The day felt like it lasted forever with the amount of worrying and internally played-out scenarios I indulged in.
Ultimately, of course, the workday ended and it was time for the ride with Gwen. She was wearing a sweater; she hiked it up above her bump and started rubbing her smooth skin the moment she buckled herself in. Bare belly temptation would be present for our time together, it seemed; and my attention to the road was instantly compromised. “It’s hot, right? I cannot get enough of this belly.” Those were the first words uttered during our drive. “My husband isn’t into it,” she continued. “Half the time he won’t even touch it to feel his own baby move. It’s ridiculous. I feel sexier than I ever have in my life, and I can barely get him to touch me at all.”
She paused, then upped the ante: “Pretty much all I think about is dick, and I never get to fucking play with one.” Gwen looked at my crotch: I may not have been answering her verbally, but my glaring erection made it clear I was paying close attention to what she was saying (and displaying). Her left hand creeped over onto my right thigh, then down into my crotch to gently stroke my cock through my khakis. It felt divine; I had to stifle a moan after about two seconds of contact. “May I?” she asked. As she’d already put her hand on my dick sans permission, I was curious and eager to find out what exactly she was asking; I nodded my head immediately.
She wasted no time moving her hand to unbutton my fly, unzip my zipper, and pull my cock out of the slit in my boxers. Her cock-stroking technique was of a medium pace and steady rhythm; it also included a subtle twist of the hand that added a special little extra something. It was very, very hard to follow the rules of the road, but I somehow managed to avoid crashing the car. A minute or so in, she realized she could easily turn me on even further; she added visual stimuli as she pulled the sweater up further to reveal her braless breasts. They were dark-nippled and heavy, resting on top of her bump. My eyes were darting around quickly, spending equal time on the road, the tits, the bump, and the miracle of a preggo’s hand jerking me off. I came after another minute or two, my load running down her knuckles. She wiped it off on the inside of her sweater: “So I can feel your sticky load and remember the fun we had,” she told me. Jesus Fucking Christ.
She left my softening dick hanging out, apparently no longer interested in it now that she’d gotten me off. We pulled up to her house five minutes later; as she exited the car, she said “You owe me one” matter-of-factly before closing the door behind her. Owed her hand-induced pleasure? An orgasm via my choice of method? A view of my nipples? I could not fucking wait to find out. And since she’d mentioned how inattentive her idiot of a husband was, I barely felt guilty at all about helping her cheat a little. She had me even more squarely in the palm of her hand; I’d probably do just about anything for or to her.
35 WEEKS
I had to stay late to finish a project the deadline for which had been abruptly moved up. It seemed I was alone in the deserted office by 5:15; but, of course, I wasn't entirely by myself. The creak of the bathroom door made me look over in surprise; there she was, clad only in a bra and maternity panties.
Her bump was perfection: tear drop-shaped, elegantly curving from bosom to pubic hair, tight-to-bursting with a dramatic outie of a belly button. Gwen added a sultry motion to her slow walk over to me, somewhat in conflict with her heavily pregnant waddle, but hot nonetheless. Her scant garments dropped off her before she could reach me, her whole glory thus revealed to me.
She wasted no time, continuous motion bringing her to her knees in front of my desk chair. I got the clear message of her intentions and stood for a moment to help her out, quickly dropping slacks and underwear to my shins and sitting back down. My already semi-hard cock was promptly in her mouth and fully hardened. She gave a mean blowjob, powerful suction doing as much of the work as the bobbing of her head. One of her hands massaged my balls; the other was down at her crotch. The feel of her firm belly against my legs added to my already intense arousal. A few minutes later I shot my load and I shot it hard, rope after rope right into the back of her throat. She swallowed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she stood up, pushing my keyboard aside so she could sit her naked ass on my desk. Her legs spread, slowly and seductively, vulva displayed ever so clearly.
“Your turn.” Gwen only needed to say two words and I was on it. On my knees, face buried in her crotch. I’m not going to brag about my cunnilingus skills or anything, but I think I’m generally more than adequate. My enthusiasm at the moment, though, made my technique sloppier than usual. I was all over her pussy, my usual primary focus on the clit too precise an idea for my current ultra-horny state of mind.
Nevertheless, whatever I was doing was audibly working for her. Groan after groan, muscle-tightening climax after muscle-tightening climax: I got her off three times in five minutes. She then gently pushed my head away from her crotch and threw her head back in exhausted, post-orgasm bliss. After maintaining this pose for 30 seconds or so, she scooted off my desk and headed back to the bathroom, grabbing her underwear from the floor with an awkward belly-hobbled crouch on her way. She exited the bathroom two minutes later, looking like she was ready for a new workday. Without saying a word, she left the building.
This thing we have going is progressing nicely, I’d say.
36 WEEKS
Yesterday was, sadly enough, Gwen’s last day before her maternity leave began. She asked our boss if she could have my assistance in wrapping up some of her work before she left; he let us have the conference room. Door closed and blinds shut, the two of us had some real privacy. And no actual work that had to be finished, of course: Gwen’s ruse worked like a charm.
We talked for a few minutes, mostly expressing how much we were going to miss each other and the fun we’d been having together. It got depressing quickly, both of us turning quiet. Without breaking the silence Gwen slid her hand between my legs and started massaging my dick through my khakis. After getting me fully hard in about 5 seconds, she took it out of my unzipped pants and started stroking firmly and rhythmically under the table. It was difficult to stifle the groans of pleasure that repeatedly tried to escape my throat, but that was much of the fun of behaving thusly in an operating workplace, I figured. I shot my load after four or five minutes; Gwen had brought a tissue box into the conference room, presumably for this particular mess that she knew all along she’d have to clean up. Her planning ran deep.
I didn’t have to ask her to hike her dress up to her waist: she just did it nonchalantly once she was finished with me. And, a sign of even more planning, she had gone commando. I reached over between her legs; she had recently shaved and was already wet. All was fantastic. As I worked her clit between my index and middle fingers, I finger-fucked her with my ring and pinkie fingers. She seemed to have even more trouble staying quiet than I had. A few of her louder noises made me pause and wait for the knock on the door I was sure would come imminently. No one knocked or otherwise disturbed us, though, and I brought her to pussy-clenching climax three times in seven or eight minutes of handwork. Then she pulled her dress back down.
It was a nice activity she’d engineered for us on her final day. Overall, though, the occasion was suffused with melancholy. I would very much miss her naughty pregnant ass being around the office.
37 WEEKS
Even though she’s gone on leave, I seem to still be tracking Gwen’s pregnancy. She’s 37 weeks along and not with me anymore. The boredom and drudgery of my dead-end job has become my prevalent thought, much as it had been before Gwen started showing and magnificently brightened up my situation. I miss her terribly.
38 WEEKS
At 38 weeks pregnant Gwen was, of course, still on maternity leave. She did me a great kindness and brightened my days, though, by starting to send me messages again via the company's old messaging system. We exchanged messages about how boring our days were, how much we missed each other’s company, how much fun we’d had over the last few months.
I believe it was all a warmup towards some more sexually explicit messages she initiated a few days in:
“My huge tits are leaking milk right through my bra and my shirt. It’s hot. I could really use some help practicing breastfeeding…”
“The belly’s gotten so much bigger and tighter since I started my leave. I’m thinking about you rubbing your dick all over it. Would you like that?”
“I keep thinking about you when I masturbate. Do you think about me when you touch yourself? I’d love that.”
“I’m dripping wet and not being attended to. I REALLY want you to finally fuck me properly. I need it, Greg.”
I didn’t know how to respond to most of them, generally sending back lamely brief messages that didn’t add much to the conversation. Sometimes I’d freeze up and not even respond at all. It felt to me like she was probably getting off simply by sending me explicit content; I wasn’t so sure the desires she was announcing were even things she actually wanted, much as I wanted to believe there could still be a chance we’d indulge in such fun. I felt vaguely uncomfortable, sometimes aroused, and overwhelmingly sad that these messages were most likely idle talk and our sexual dalliances had most likely reached their conclusion.
39 WEEKS
In retrospect, considering her final message (“dripping wet,” “fuck me,” etc.), I should’ve probably been able to guess what was coming next. She was not indulging in idle talk, I found out the next week.
There was a knock on my door Saturday around noon. Gwen was there when I answered, of course. Her bump had indeed grown substantially in the short two weeks since I'd seen her, which I managed to observe briefly before she wordlessly moved in to start kissing me.
It felt...well, right, to be totally honest. We were passionate and sloppy, lips locked and tongues wrestling almost aggressively. My hands were on her breasts and bump, hers on my ass and crotch. A minute or two in I finally managed to back us up enough to be able to kick the door shut. "Bedroom," she managed after a few more minutes of standing just inside the door. I somehow led her there without taking my tongue out of her mouth.
Even with all the time we'd spent over the months on her bump and more recently on each other's genitals, I hadn't exactly considered us as a romantic pair, hadn't fantasized about the possibility of passion, not even kissing. She'd had to initiate it, but as soon as she did it became crystal clear that I wanted it too. Badly.
Having reached the bedroom, we were finally forced to disengage our locked mouths in order to get our clothes off. "Are you really sure about this?" I asked once my tongue was available for word production. Eyes wide and very purposefully locked on mine, she nodded emphatically. I was convinced and harbored no serious reservations myself, to hell with how poorly that speaks to my character. I could hardly believe this was happening, but was nonetheless floored by it all. Free of clothes and still exploring each other with our hands, we both had the clear evidence we were ready to go, erection- and lubrication-wise. No real foreplay occurred beyond the kissing and groping that had taken us this far.
Gwen pushed me onto my back on the bed. "I need you inside me now," I was informed. I nodded my consent as I centered myself on the bed and she climbed up and onto her knees. She swung a leg over my waist with an audible groan of effort and wasted no time lowering her pussy to take my cock in tip-to-base. The weight of her sitting squarely on my crotch, heavily hanging bump resting on my lower abdomen, was straight-up divine. As was the sensation of getting inside her, of course. Her pussy was tight, wet, warm; all the positive adjectives one might apply to a vagina, really. She bounced on my cock hard and fast: after a few seconds of her pendulous breasts swinging wildly she took a tit in each hand, presumably to account for the sensitivity of her nipples easily turning painful with her breasts flying around in every conceivable direction. My hands were on her bump, so firm and tight it moved only slightly as she bucked on top of me.
Her groans were pretty much constant throughout our 6 or 7 minutes of intercourse, occasional increases in intensity suggesting she got off two or three times. Once my own vocalizations began 5 minutes or so in, she gave me my directions: “Cum inside me.” That wasn’t a problem for me, my cock spasming with magnificent pleasure shortly thereafter. It felt like I shot remarkably powerfully and voluminously; she kept bouncing after I’d climaxed and the great volume was confirmed as I saw my load leaking out of her and down my shaft in multiple thick rivulets. The cum was visibly pooling amongst my pubic hair, her continued rocking on my softening dick spreading it around our respective greater crotch areas.
She dismounted maybe 90 seconds after I’d finished and got on her back next to me with a pleased sigh. Her belly shot straight up, an eye-catching mountain within the rather flat topography of the bed. Not bothering to discuss it, she gathered as much of the cum that had collected above my dick as she could and began rubbing it all over her bump. It was so, so hot. She shined with my seed, the sticky mess she was creating turning gradually whiter and more opalescent on her soft skin. “Sorry, just felt compelled,” was the only explanation she provided, though even that much rationale wasn’t necessary as far as I was concerned. The level of hotness spoke for itself.
“No apologies, it’s really fucking sexy.” I leaned over and kissed her for a few moments. “I can’t believe we just did that. I barely let myself even fantasize we’d get this far…”
“But you did fantasize about it a little?” Gwen interrupted. I nodded. “I’ve been thinking about fucking you since the first time I caught you hungrily looking at my baby bump. Long build-up to get here, but I have no regrets. And it lived up to the ever-increasing hype in my head, too, in case you were wondering.” She yawned. “Christ, I’m tired. That was quite the workout for a preggo of my size. I’d love to stay for round two…three, four, and so on. But I’ve gotta get back home pretty soon if I don’t want to cause any suspicions to develop. Could we just cuddle for a few minutes, Greg?”
“I’d love that, Gwen.” I spooned her, one of my arms under her neck to grip a breast from below, the other over her side to rub her cum-sticky belly. My dick pressed against her delightfully pregnancy-thickened bubble of an ass. We stayed like this for 10 minutes or so, silently enjoying each other’s physical presence. I felt a slight sense of melancholy and thought I sensed it in Gwen’s tensed muscles and silence, too. “This is it for us, isn’t it?” I asked quietly.
She flipped over to face me and nodded, quiet and sad. “This is it,” she whispered. “But it has been fun, hasn’t it?” I nodded back. “I’m going to fall asleep if I lay here for much longer.” And with that she sat up, stood with a groan, and started putting her clothes back on. I stayed in the bed, sadness at the end of our romantic time together overwhelming me. “I’ll miss this, Greg. See you in a few weeks.”
That was it. She walked out of my room and straight out the front door. I cried for a few minutes before getting up myself. Feeling gloomy or not, I’d jerked off thinking of the consummation of our relationship 5 times before I went to bed that night. Things felt bittersweet, fantasies having been fulfilled but inevitably and abruptly ending. The fleeting nature of pregnancy is the inescapable downside of my particular sexual proclivities, I suppose. I was incredibly lucky to have experienced what I did with Gwen: no complaints, no regrets.
40 WEEKS
I was still bummed out about the end of our affair (or whatever you want to call it) well into the next week, fearful as to whether I’d reached and concluded the sexual highlight of my entire life. Yesterday morning at work, though, I received a text and a pic from Gwen. “Thinking of you” was the simple message. The pic was her in a maternity ward, hospital gown pulled up to her neck to give me one last look at her bare pregnant form before she gave birth.
I’ll always have this lone pic to accompany all my fond memories. And maybe, just maybe, if I was on her mind even as she was in labor, there was some kind of romantic future possible for Gwen and me. Maybe things with her husband were even worse than she’d let on. Maybe things weren’t as over as I thought they were. And some ladies do get pregnant more than once, after all…
