Eight Months Pregnant, I Gave Myself to the Painter

That Saturday afternoon my husband did what he always did: he grabbed the car and went off drinking with his friends, with the excuse that “a man needs to clear his head.” I already knew how the story ended. He’d come back after midnight, slurring his words, smelling of warm beer, and collapse into bed without even looking at me.

Ever since I got pregnant, Mateo had stopped touching me. I don’t know what was going through his head. I think my changing body put him off somehow, the huge belly, the swollen breasts. As if instead of his wife he now had a stranger in the house.

The problem was that I felt exactly the opposite. Eight months pregnant, I was hotter than ever. The hormones had me in a constant state of arousal, with a heat between my legs that nothing could put out. I’d masturbate in secret, with three fingers buried in my pussy and my thumb rubbing my swollen clit, and even then I wouldn’t be satisfied. I’d come fast, yes, but ten minutes later I’d be dripping again, biting the pillow, needing something thicker, harder, more real. I needed someone. I needed to feel a man on top of me, inside me, a real cock splitting me in two, anything.

Those days we were fixing up the baby’s room, and Mateo had hired a painter to add color to the walls. A quiet guy with big hands who had already spent a couple of days on the ladder while my husband half-supervised him.

That afternoon, before leaving, I heard him say goodbye from the doorway.

—See you, maestro. I’m counting on you to do a good job on my wife; you can see how demanding she is.

—Don’t worry, boss. You’ll remember me —the painter replied, and I swear I didn’t catch the double meaning at the time.

***

The afternoon heat was unbearable. The man painted and painted, his T-shirt plastered to his body with sweat, and I, trying to be the good hostess, offered him a very cold beer and something to nibble on. By the second can I could tell he was loosening up, becoming more talkative, and for some reason he started seeming attractive to me in a way I hadn’t expected.

He wasn’t a handsome man. He was more rough than anything, with a weathered face and a thick moustache. But he had that assured-male presence, the kind that makes it obvious he’s been through a lot of beds. And in my condition, that was enough to make my mouth water and my panties get soaked without him even touching me.

—Tell me something, Esteban —I blurted out, using his name for the first time—. Are you married?

—No, ma’am. What for? There are plenty of women who are eager enough.

—Willing women, you mean —I corrected, pretending to be modest.

—Call them what you want. The point is there’s always one who knows what she needs.

I kept looking at him a second too long. He noticed. He set the brush down on the paint can and wiped his hands on his pants without taking his eyes off mine.

—And have you ever —I went on, no longer holding back— been with a pregnant woman?

—Never had that luck —he said, lowering his voice.

—And what if I told you today is your lucky day?

I don’t know where I found the audacity, but I said it without hesitation.

—I’d ask you to explain it to me properly. I don’t want to make a mistake and disrespect you —he said, though his whole body was already leaning toward me.

—I’ll make it very clear: I’ve had a soaking pussy for weeks, my husband hasn’t fucked me since my belly started showing, and he won’t be back for hours. Does that seem like enough explanation?

***

Nothing else was needed. Esteban crossed the room in two steps, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed my neck while squeezing my breasts with the kind of roughness delicate men never have. And that roughness was exactly what set me on fire. I had missed it without even knowing.

When his fingers found the dampness of my blouse, he realized I was leaking milk. Far from backing off, he pressed against me like a hungry animal. I ripped off my blouse and bra in one yank, and he paused for a moment staring at my bare tits, swollen, with dark nipples dripping, before throwing himself on them and sucking with such greed that I moaned. He sucked them hard, tugging with his lips, and I could feel the milk filling his mouth and running down his chin. He squeezed one breast with his hand while choking on the other, and every bite he gave me went straight to my cunt.

—Suck them, suck them harder —I begged him—. Get all my milk out, you bastard.

I didn’t stay still. I took my hand down to his crotch and squeezed him over the fabric. I felt him grow, harden, until I couldn’t help letting out a gasp of surprise. I’d never imagined a guy like that was hiding something like that. I unbuttoned his pants in a flurry, yanked his underwear down, and an enormous cock sprang out at me, thick, with marked veins and a purple glans ready to burst. Just thinking about having it inside me dried my throat and made my knees shake.

I knelt on the floor covered in plastic sheeting and paint drips, and took it into my mouth like I’d been starving for years. I licked it all over, slowly, running my tongue from the balls to the tip, kissing it, spitting saliva down the shaft so it would slide better. Then I swallowed it to the back of my throat, feeling it bump against me, gagging, my eyes full of tears and drool running from my chin down to my tits. Lost in a heat even I didn’t recognize, I sucked it with both hands and my mouth at the same time, milking it, sucking his balls, swallowing his cock again down to the root. Esteban held my hair with one hand and looked down at me, panting, hardly believing what was happening.

—You’re a lot hotter than you look —he murmured—. What a way to suck cock, fuck, what a delicious whore.

—You have no idea —I replied hoarsely, before taking it back to my throat and massaging his balls with my tongue.

A while later he had me naked, lying on my back on the table where he kept the rollers, my legs spread wide and his mouth between my thighs. He pulled my cunt lips apart with his thumbs and drove his tongue inside, searching for the back, while rubbing my clit with his nose. It had been months since I’d felt a tongue there, and the pleasure was so intense I had to bite my forearm to keep from screaming and letting the neighbors hear. He licked me from top to bottom, sucked my clit between his lips, shoved two thick fingers in and curled them while he kept eating me out. I came in his mouth within minutes, pushing his face against my cunt, holding his head in place with my thighs, and he didn’t pull away: he kept licking while I convulsed, swallowing every drop of my juices as if they were his own.

When he finally penetrated me, he did it carefully because of my belly but without losing any force. He positioned me on my side, one leg lifted, and drove his cock into me in a single thrust. I felt myself being opened, felt my cunt stretching to fit all that hot, throbbing flesh, and a long moan escaped me from deep in my belly. He started slowly, measuring me, then built up the pace until he was fucking me hard, pulling almost all the way out and shoving it back in to the balls. He was an tireless lover, the kind who knows how to keep the rhythm for hours. I could hear the wet slapping of my cunt, the hard thud of his hips against my ass, his rough panting in my ear.

—What a delicious cunt you’ve got, pregnant girl —he growled at me—. Look how you’re sucking my cock with that whore pussy.

—Harder, harder, don’t stop —I begged, panting—. Tear my cunt apart, Esteban, tear it apart.

He changed my position several times. He put me on all fours on the table, my belly hanging and my tits swaying and dripping milk with every thrust, and he fucked me from behind while smacking my ass. Then he sat me on top of him, made me ride him, I rode his cock with all the strength I had left, and he sucked my tits while he thrust up into me from below. I gave myself over completely, ready to give him whatever he wanted. And boy did I give it to him —all the way to my ass, everything I’d never given Mateo, screaming between the pain and the pleasure of having him where he wasn’t supposed to be. He came inside me twice, and both times I felt his hot seed filling me and running down my thighs.

At that instant I completely forgot I was a faithful, modest wife.

That afternoon the baby’s room was left half-painted. There were more urgent things to attend to, and the paint could wait.

***

Esteban left around midnight, long before my husband showed up. At the door he promised he’d come back the next day to “finish the job,” and we both knew he wasn’t talking about the walls.

That night I fell asleep with a stupid grin on my face and my pussy still dripping his semen onto the sheets. He had left me satisfied like no man had in years. But he had also awakened something inside me that I no longer knew how to turn off. I fell asleep wanting more. More of him, more of his cock, more of that feeling of doing something forbidden just yards from my sleeping husband.

The next day the doorbell woke me. I knew at once who it was. I sprang up, put on a short, sheer robe with nothing underneath, and went downstairs barefoot to open the door. I felt shameless, exposed, with my nipples outlined through the fabric and my cunt wet again just thinking about what was coming. And I loved it.

I opened the door expecting to find him alone. And for a second my heart stopped.

Esteban hadn’t come alone. Behind him were three more men, all of them looking at me with their eyes fixed on my body barely covered by the thin fabric. I felt myself turning red all the way to my ears.

—Hello, gorgeous —he said with a crooked smile—. I brought reinforcements to finish faster.

I should have been outraged. I should have slammed the door in their faces. But the truth is that something in me lit up even more knowing I was desired by all of them at once. I liked that he spoke to me like that in front of the others, as if I already belonged to him, as if they all knew exactly why they’d come: to fuck the boss’s horny pregnant wife.

***

Esteban took me by the hand and, to my astonishment, led me straight to my own bedroom. There, sprawled on the bed, my husband was snoring, lost in the drunkenness of the previous night. The mere idea of doing it beside him, without him knowing, hit me in a way I couldn’t even explain. My nipples went hard and I felt a jolt in my clit.

They ripped my robe off amid muffled laughs and threw me onto the mattress on the other side of the bed, a hand’s breadth from Mateo. The four of them pulled out their cocks at the same time, and I stared at them in disbelief: four hard dicks pointing at me, different in thickness and length, all for me. Esteban got behind me and drove his cock into my pussy in one thrust while another man sat on my face and filled my mouth. I sucked him hungrily, choking, feeling the first one fucking me hard from behind, feeling the bed creak inches from my sleeping husband’s body.

I passed from one set of hands to another without rest, changing positions, trying them all. They fucked me in the pussy, the mouth, the ass. While two held my legs and arms, another filled my mouth to the back and the fourth waited his turn, stroking my tits or working his fingers into me. One of them fucked me doggy-style while I sucked another and jerked off the two still waiting with my hands. They switched holes, took turns, called me a whore, a pig, a pregnant slut, and every word sent me into another orgasm.

The most incredible thing was feeling two of them take me at once. Esteban lay on his back and sat me on his cock, impaling me through the pussy, and another climbed up behind me and slowly worked his cock into my ass, with saliva and my own slick, until he buried it all the way in. I felt them both moving inside me, brushing against each other within, separated only by a thin wall of flesh, and I screamed so loudly I had to cover my own mouth so as not to wake Mateo. It was a feeling of fullness I had never experienced, so intense it made me cry with pleasure, while to one side my husband kept sleeping off his hangover, oblivious to everything. A third man shoved his cock into my mouth and they kept me like that, impaled through all three holes, until the first came inside my ass, the second filled my cunt, and the third emptied my mouth of thick semen they made me swallow whole.

I felt like the most shameless woman in the world, letting those strangers do anything they wanted to me, in my own bed, beside the man I was supposed to respect. And the more I thought about how forbidden the scene was, the more turned on I got. The whole room stank of sweat, semen, and wet pussy, and still I begged for more, begged them not to stop, to keep fucking me.

They used me until they were satisfied, coming all over me one after another: on my tits, my face, my belly, my hair. They left me lying on the mattress, wrecked, trembling, with semen dripping from my pussy and ass, unable to move. It took me a good while to catch my breath, still not quite believing what had just happened. Beside me, Mateo rolled over in his sleep, not noticing a thing.

The days it took to finish painting the baby’s room, needless to say, those scenes repeated themselves again and again. My husband never suspected a thing. To him, the painter was simply doing slow, meticulous work.

Today, with my son already born and our routine back in the house, I look at those sky-blue walls in that room and no one could imagine what happened between them. It’s my secret. The secret of the modest wife who, for one week of pregnancy, stopped being modest altogether.