the-surrogate-ch-14
EROTIC COUPLINGS

The Surrogate

The Surrogate

by Thegraduate88
19 min read
4.42 (6000 views)
bbwpostpartumpregnancypreggocravings
Loading audio...

As it turned out, my first pregnancy with my wife could be broken into pretty distinct weeks.

Week One - The Hormone Blast

The preparation for implantation involved huge doses of a variety of hormones. The primary result, and reason for the pills and injections, was to get her womb ready of course. But the unintended although, as I would find from Dr. Jim, not unanticipated result was an over-the-top increase in libido.

She was insatiable. She was an eating, drinking, peeing, pooping, sex-crazed animal. I would feed her, kiss her as she sat on the toilet, offer her the ice water or iced tea we kept on the little bedside table, and she would want, no, she would

demand

sex.

I gave her orgasms with my mouth and she would be, well, "quiet" for a few minutes but then want it again.

When she went to sleep, exhausted from what I had been doing to her with my mouth for an hour or so, I snuck out, and that's what it felt like, I was sneaking out, and called Dr. Jim sitting on the front porch swing.

He laughed when I told him what was going on.

"There's nothing wrong," he managed and then broke down laughing again.

"Look, David," he said, finally calmed down, "Go by the

CVS

on Alsip Street, I'll call in a prescription for you."

"Prescription?" I asked.

"Yes, David, a prescription," he said, and there was the chuckle again, "We'll try Viagra first, and if that doesn't work well move on to Cialis and Levitra."

"BONER PILLS?" I asked.

There was the laughter again.

"David, Nancy is awash in hormones right now. Remember puberty, when you were nothing but a large hormone in tennis shoes? Well, that's where she's at right now," he said. "It will pass but if you want to keep her happy until it does, take the pills, keep your dick hard, and love her."

"You're serious?" I asked.

"David," he said, chuckling, "there are one hell of a lot of men in the world who would give one hell of a lot to change places with you."

And it was my turn to laugh.

"Okay, Doc," I said, "send in the prescription. I need to get over there before the big brunette machine wakes up and heads out on the prowl."

He laughed and said, "It's on the way and I'll ask them to expedite."

I didn't exactly race to the drugstore but I damn sure didn't dawdle. I really wasn't sure what would happen if Nancy woke up and I wasn't there.

The prescription was ready and the druggist (okay, the pharmacist if we're being formal) asked if it was my first time. I thought he looked at me a little funny but I explained that my wife was pregnant and demanding and I needed the help.

I guess that's not all that unusual because he just nodded and told me to be careful and if the erection just wouldn't go away I needed to get to the emergency room.

"How will I know?" I asked.

He chuckled and said, "Don't worry, a pain like that is reminder enough."

I headed back and found Nancy in the kitchen, drinking iced tea and pacing like a caged tiger.

"Where the fuck...," she started and I stopped her with a kiss.

"David, I...," and I stopped her again with a kiss and my hand on her back.

"Da...," but she stopped when I dropped to my knees and took those dangling lips into my mouth.

It was a blowjob, plain and simple. I sucked a mouthful of the soft tissue and began bobbing my head, trying to look as much like a woman on her knees servicing a man as I could.

And it worked.

I felt the tension of anger leave and the tension of arousal replace it.

When her fingers started running through my hair it felt like some sort of crisis had passed and when she started talking, and encouraging me, I settled into giving her what she wanted. Hell, what she needed.

"That's right, Baby," she said.

"Ooooooooh yeah, like that," she said.

"God I love your mouth," she whispered.

My hands on her ass felt the sudden tension as her orgasm neared and I slowed what I was going with my mouth.

"Oh you bastard," she groaned, entwining her fingers in my hair and twisting.

I eased the pressure more, opening my mouth, breaking my latch on that soft tissue, just holding her while my tongue probed slowly.

"BABY!" she groaned, her fingers twisting in my hair now, pulling me to her.

I brought her along slowly, taking her close and stopping, liking the way she was arching her body, the way she jerked on my hair, demanding, getting desperate, and the way her voice softened until it was a barely audible, whispered, "Please."

When I finished her I pulled off, like she did with me sometimes when it was her on her knees, and accepted her female ejaculation on my face and in my hair, feeling it soaking the chest of the T-shirt I wore.

When her breathing steadied I caressed those hanging lips with my face before standing.

Her breathing was easy as I stood.

Her eyes got big when she looked at my face and she giggled.

"Will you still kiss me?" I asked.

She smiled, reached behind my head, and pulled me down for a kiss.

"But I'm not going to let you wash your face, you bastard," she whispered in my ear after she broke the kiss. "Now feed me, I'm eating for two."

That first day, after breakfast, she led me to bed and wanted sex in the missionary position.

About an hour later she wanted it again and I said, "Hold that thought," as I went into the bathroom and popped one of the Viagra pills.

The only time she let me out of bed that first day was to go to the bathroom and make lunch and then dinner.

I made love to her five times and in between I nursed and caressed and generally played with her.

The rest of week one was much the same. She liked standing as I gave her a morning blowjob after she finished her morning toilet and we showered. She decided she liked it right there, outside of the shower, clean and warm, freshly dried, with me on my knees on the soft rug that cushioned our feet (and my knees) from the cold tile floor.

She went through phases. For two days she wanted it doggie fashion, sometimes vaginally, sometimes anally.

πŸ“– Related Erotic Couplings Magazines

Explore premium magazines in this category

View All β†’

One day she wanted to be on top, sometimes cowgirl style facing me, sometimes reverse cowgirl.

One day it was mutual oral sex, her on top first and then me on top with her hands on my ass pulling me deeper, triggering her gag reflex, the retching making her cum even harder than normal.

The last couple of days of that first week she wanted to make love, slow and easy, in the missionary position.

Week one was wonderful and I never had to contend with one of those dreaded four-hour erections.

Week Two Through Four - Pukefest

The second week started with my waking as she rolled quickly out of bed and moved, almost running, into the bathroom.

I followed and by the time I got to the bathroom she was on her knees, her arms hanging on the bowl, and she was throwing up violently and loudly.

I pulled her hair back, a bit late as it happened, the tips were wet, rubbed her back, and waited her out.

Okay, I'll admit it since it's just us talking here. I found the way her body worked, the way her back arched up, the way her ass clenched, with each wave of vomiting, oddly sexy. It was a woman's body working hard, and what could be more beautiful? The sheen of sweat that broke out as that violent retching went on just made her more attractive in my eyes.

I rubbed her back, my hand running from her ass to her neck and back slowly, and told her it was okay, that she was beautiful, that I was taking care of her.

Finally, the morning sickness passed and she hung there, panting, exhausted. Throwing up like that is hard work.

"Is it wrong that I want you right now?" I asked.

She giggled, weakly, and said, "Pervert."

She hung there, and I comforted her for several minutes before she pushed herself up, turned, sat, peed, and pooped while I held her hand and kissed her.

We showered and I walked her down to the kitchen, a little unsteady still.

"Ready for breakfast?" I asked.

She looked up weakly and said, "Maybe some toast?"

So I made some oat bread toast, buttered it, and smeared it with some of her favorite strawberry jam.

"Actually," she said, smiling, "I could use one of your omelets now."

So I made her breakfast and then fed her, enjoying her smile as I performed that little service for her.

She had settled down, so we only made love twice and I left the Viagra in the bottle.

The second morning of pukefest, while she was retching and I was holding her hair out of the way, I realized I could smell her aroused womanscent. As I was running my hand down her back, this time I didn't stop at her ass and touched her pussy. Sure enough, she was wet and slick.

"Go ahead, Pervert," she said between gasps, "you said you wanted to."

So I did.

Pukesex became part of our morning routine. It was an interesting sensation, the way she tightened when her body retched. I could feel her cervix pressing against me and found that an interesting sensation. A couple of times it got messy when she retched too hard but, by and large, it was good sex.

I did have to get the Viagra bottle out again, though. After the morning performance, she still wanted sex a couple of times a day so I relied on chemical enhancement.

Week Five through Fifteen - The Days of Rage

Then the hormones kicked in.

It started during the morning sickness.

I moved behind her to take her. This had become almost our "routine" over the last weeks. Yeah, I know, kinky as hell, but we both seemed to enjoy it.

But not this morning.

"Jesus Christ, you fucking pervert," she snapped over her shoulder, "can't you let me die in fucking peace?"

"Sorry, Baby," I started, but anything else I might have had to say was drowned out as she got noisily sick again.

The rest of that week marked the first time we had gone more than 24 hours without sex. To call her surly would be an understatement at the level of calling the loaves and fishes a quick

Deal Dash

order from

McDonald's

or

Wendy's

.

I was walking on eggs and every crackle of an eggshell would drag anger out again.

After a week she went on a day-long crying jag and then took me to bed like she'd been released from woman's prison after a ten-year sentence. She rode me and came like a fountain and then told me to take a Viagra.

We made love four times that day, each time as energetic as the first. The fourth time I felt that odd friction and realized we had managed to fuck each other dry. When I started to pull out she grabbed my ass and said, "No, Baby, stay with me."

"We need the K-Y Jelly," I said.

"No, we don't," she said, giggling. "Sometimes I like it to hurt," she added, bucking against me.

The thing is, I couldn't finish no matter how much she encouraged me. I had cum three times already and the Viagra had me hard but my balls and prostate were empty.

And I was tiring. Christ, fucking like that is hard work, you know. Those muscles low on my back were burning and I was getting little Charlie horses in my thighs. Not full-blown cramps but little twinges that would make me hiss a sharp breath.

She came, suddenly and spectacularly.

The sound she made was an opened mouth "eeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEE" rising in pitch until I expected dogs to start barking. Her fingers dug into my ass, holding me to her while she came in waves, that sound moving up the scale until it was just a silent breathy exhalation.

When she finally relaxed.

Let me rephrase.

When she finally collapsed she continued to hold me to her, fingers digging into my ass.

"Stay with me, Baby, please," she said.

I started to say something like, "Of course, I will," but she went on.

"I'm sorry, Honey, I've been a bitch, I know," she kept on like that, a drawn-out apology, until she finally wound down, all the while those fingers digging into my ass.

We comforted each other, her apologizing, me telling her it was okay until the Viagra finally gave up and I softened and slipped out. Then I held her, telling her how much I loved her until she went to sleep.

Week Sixteen through Thirty - Cravings and Craziness

πŸ”“

Unlock Premium Content

Join thousands of readers enjoying unlimited access to our complete collection.

Get Premium Access

πŸ›οΈ Featured Products

Premium apparel and accessories

Shop All β†’

I realized, as I woke the next morning and just watched her sleep for a while, something I did almost every morning, that she was showing.

I was instantly hard. Up until this morning, despite the things that had gone on, Nancy's pregnancy was kind of an abstract concept. Now, there it was. It was real.

And Jesus, it was beautiful.

I had been just surviving through the days of rage, and hadn't paid the attention I should to her but, well, I wasn't the one doing all the yelling, either.

But now I

did

take the time to look. The baby bump, and it was just a little bump still, took up the soft wrinkles of that little pouch low on her belly where the skin had been stretched so often. But below it her pubic mound was growing, preparing her body for the delivery to come. She was, as she put it, "eating for two," and it showed in the soft pads of fat high on her arms and the saddlebags growing at her hips.

An interesting tuft of coarse curly hair had grown, seemingly overnight, just below her left areola, and one single hair, about an inch long, had sprouted from her chin.

I watched her sleep, taking inventory of my beloved, and happy with what I found.

Her eyes fluttered open and I laid my palm on the baby bump.

"You are beautiful," I said.

She smiled.

"Lower," she said, doing that thing only a woman seems to be able to do, a slow, boneless, sinuous ripple moving down her body.

I moved my hand down to the little hollow where the baby bump ended and the newly growing rise of her pubis began.

She smiled.

"Lower," she said.

I moved my hand again, covering the roundness of her mons, pressing gently, not rubbing or masturbating her.

"Mmmmmmmmm," she said, "lower."

The way she dangled, soft inner lips hanging free, warm and floppy, was more pronounced. I suppose, thinking back about it, that it has something to do with the baby growing in her womb taking up space. I know that it felt wonderful in my hand as I played with them.

I moved around then and slipped into her where she was so slick and ready, as I covered her face in kisses and told her how beautiful she was.

"Tell me I'm beautiful," she said, her eyes closed and her lips smiling.

As I started a slow, easy rhythm, I started telling her.

"You are beautiful," I said and kissed her.

"You are gorgeous," I said and traced the shell of her ear with my tongue.

"You are Earth Mother," I said, kissing her eyelids, "Fertility Goddess," I said, kissing her cheeks, "you are Woman distilled into," kissing her lips, the lightest brush, "one beautiful Celestial being."

She giggled at the last one.

"Celestial being?" she asked, smiling up at me, her orgasm building.

"You are divine," I said, kissing her nose, "you are perfect," I said, kissing that soft spot under her chin, "you bring life," I said, nuzzling the line of her jaw up to the bottom of her ear, "and then feed it," I said, arching my body so I could latch on to her breast.

She came then, an almost gentle orgasm. I could feel her squeeze where I was inside of her, and feel her flow, soaking my erection and balls. I could feel the catch in her breathing.

I kept her going, kept telling her she was perfect, she was beautiful, accompanying every little compliment (is it a compliment if it's just the truth?) with a kiss, a nuzzle, or a little nip.

"Finish, Honey," she said, her voice soft, "give me your gift."

I didn't hurry, I kept up that slow rhythm, covering her mouth with mine and making it a minutes-long kiss.

My ejaculation was as gentle as her orgasm had been. I kept the rhythm and did not engage in those final, you know, "short strokes" to get the pump going. Instead, as she had done, I flowed into her.

I had my palms flat on her cheeks. I was lifted on my arms enough to be able to focus on her eyes. And I held her eyes as my own gentle release flowed into her.

Her eyes were big. I suppose mine were too.

Later that afternoon, she was

at

me. He had me pinned to the bed, her hands catching my wrists and holding them by my ears, while she rode me roughly.

I was taking Viagra with my vitamin in the morning by then so I was hard for her, and I enjoyed watching her breasts, heavier now as the natural hormones of her pregnancy got her body ready to take care of the baby, as they bobbed and swung while she strained through her second orgasm of the day.

When she came it was hot and wet and the faint scent of urine reminded me that her body was getting crowded.

Spent and gasping she flopped onto her back and said, "I need broccoli and chocolate."

I knew better than to question her by then. I kissed her, rolled out of bed, pulled on my jeans and a T-shirt, and headed for the supermarket.

She was sitting at the kitchen table when I got home, naked and angry.

"Jesus Fucking Christ," she yelled, "what took you so fucking long."

I smiled, kissed her, and put the big head of broccoli, still cool from being in the produce case, and the squeeze bottle of Hershey's dark chocolate syrup on the table in front of her.

"God I love you," she said, the irrational anger gone now.

Weeks 30 through 40 - The Home Stretch

The last trimester was beautiful.

Oh, there was plenty of weird shit. Liver and marshmallow cream, ice cream with ketchup on it. You come up with a weird taste combination and there's a pretty good chance I've provided it to my bride. This first full-term pregnancy with her was an eye-opener, but it never made me think, not for a fraction of a second, that I had made a bad decision asking her to marry me.

I suppose, when you get down to it, it was that first night, as I lay beside her, relaxed in the afterglow of love well and tenderly made, and I felt the baby move under my hand.

Two things happened.

First, I literally "sprang erect" as the saying goes. I was soft and relaxed and laying with her and when I felt that wonderful bulge move across under my hand I was hard, just like that. Soft to hard in no more than a single second.

Second, I fell in love. Oh, I was, and still am for that matter, in love with my wife. And as that final trimester of our first pregnancy together moved along, I loved the changes in her body. But this was more than just thinking her pregnant belly was feminity distilled. I realized I was in love with that baby and that I would cry with her when we gave it up to its parents (I didn't know the sex yet). I was crying as I held her and when she asked why I tried to explain.

And then we cried together.

That final trimester, it turns out, when her great distended belly made her awkward and ponderous, was full of special intimacies. Many of them were quasi-sexual. Her morning toilet ended with me wiping her because she couldn't really reach very well. Our morning shower involved me doing all of the work and making her giggle when I could. I inventoried the new little tufts of hair each morning and she no longer seemed to think they were a curse, especially since I had thrown away, well, hidden away on a top shelf, her razor and the pregnancy had given her a truly spectacular set of pubic and armpit hair, and left the rest of her pretty damn furry. I liked it all.

I did her hair and makeup every morning, helped her dress, and put her shoes on, something she had no chance at all of managing by herself.

I cooked and fed her. I kept the house clean.

Every pregnancy is different, but this first together was one of those that seemed to wear on her. She slept poorly and even on good days she was crabby. Her digestive system would cycle through almost explosive diarrhea that would leave a mess for me to clean up to constipation that required overdoses of Ex-Lax and enemas to loosen up, a duty that is quite intimate.

Enjoyed this story?

Rate it and discover more like it

You Might Also Like