Pregnant and Bound
By Astrid Cherry
Copyright 2012 Astrid Cherry
Smashwords Edition
It’s a shame, Cindy thought, that Gary’s out of town for the weekend. She was driving home from the bank, and she felt good. The first three months had been rough. Mornings were too horrible to think about, dizziness and almost fainting in the shower - just terrible. But the second trimester had gotten better day by day. Now here she was, zipping along in her Jetta, feeling not just good, but great.
So great, in fact, that she really wished Gary was home. She was really enjoying the changes in her body. Her fuller, rounder breasts, tender though they were, felt like they were ready to burst from her bra. Her round belly, she thought, made her look like a goddess. And the added thickness of her thighs combined with her much curvier ass… well. This morning when she’s been dressing, she’d seen the look in Gary’s eyes in the mirror. He liked it too. She’d been slow to slip on the gray velvet dress, wanting to watch him drink her in, watch him taking in all of her brand new curves. But finally they’d both had to go - her to the loan desk of the bank, and him to the airport.
She pulled into her driveway, parked, and got out of the car. It was warmer this evening, warmer than it had been lately, and she briefly considered walking to the park. No, she thought, I think maybe a bath would be even better. And no walking!
She unlocked the front door and waled through her living room, heading for the kitchen. Thirsty! She was always so thirsty lately! Reaching for the handle of the refrigerator, she saw a note on the door. He must have written it in a hurry; it didn’t even look like his handwriting. Take a bath, it read, and then look in the back bedroom.
Sometimes, she thought, he can almost read my mind.
Cindy almost finished her bottle of water before the bathtub was full, so she went back and got a second one, as well as a glass loaded to the rim with ice. She was planning ahead; if she woke later, thirsty, the ice would have melted, and she’d still have nice, cold water without even getting out of the bed. She sat the bottle and glass down on the sink, then reached down to her raised foot and pulled her shoe off. Then the other.
She looked in the mirror, her profile pleasing her. I look good. I am one hot pregnant chick. MILF? Well, if I’m not a MILF, I will be in about three months!
She pulled her dress off over her head and draped it over the towel bar. Damn! Look at my tits! Why can’t they always look like that!
She unsnapped her bra, shrugged and slid it off her shoulders and down her arms, then hooked her thumbs into the elastic of her panties and slid them down. They felt hot and damp on her feet. Curious, she kicked her foot back and grabbed them.
I must feel really good, she thought, and laughed out loud. The cotton in the center was wet and warm. Guess I just miss my man. She ran her hand over the taut curve of her belly, paused, then continued down, her nails riffling her curling hair. Her fingertips found slickness. She was dripping wet. She trailed her fingers around the edges of herself, delighting in the feeling.
She sighed, then got in the bath. After experimenting with angling her back and moving her legs around, she found that taking care of things with her own hand would be uncomfortable at least, more likely frustrating, and quite possibly impossible. She tried to just relax and enjoy the hot water, but found that her hands kept finding themselves on her breasts as she thought about someone else touching her.
It was just maddening, and she finally stopped. The water was cooling and she was getting too worked up to continue with no end in sight. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself, covering her breasts but leaving the curves of her belly and buttocks nearly naked. Grabbing her glass of ice and the bottle of water, she left the bathroom.
The door to the back bedroom was closed. Even without the note, she would have been intrigued and looked inside at some point over the weekend. They never closed the door to the room. Well, not any more. After they’d first moved it, it had been the room where all of the boxes that they never seemed to get around to unpacking had gone to stay. After she’d found out and told him, he cleared the room out. It was to be the nursery. She’d painted it, but it was still empty. Waking past an empty room with the door open made her feel happy, expectant; now here she stood in front of a closed door.
She turned the knob and went in, flipping on the light switch. The room was no longer empty. There was a footstool, the big, overstuffed old-fashioned kind that you saw in front of antique ouches. Footrest? Something like that, she thought. It looked soft and inviting, and was about two by three feet. A little behind that, a fainting couch, she thought. Flat, long enough to lay out on, with a rolled rest on one end like a tube-shaped pillow, the other end open. The back was low, and ended halfway down from the cushioned end. And on the floor, a triangular wedge… pillow? It looked like a cloth covered ramp. What was that for?
Cindy started to turn around, thinking she’d go take the water and glass to her room, when a hand covered her mouth and an arm went around her midriff. She almost screamed.
Relaxing, she put her hand on his wrist and pulled his hand down form her face. He’d shocked the hell out of her, and she’d spilled ice all over the floor.
“Gary, you ass! You scared the hell out of me!” She tried to turn around, but his arm tightened around her, the other hand dropping to her hip and pressing there firmly. He pressed against her, the pressure delighting her as her cheeks were pushed against him.
“I like this stuff, though. When did you get it? And where are we going to put it? Not really baby-sized, you know? And what’s the weird cushion for?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, the hand on her hip slid up and across her belly, under the towel, gentle but deliberate.
“Oooooh my. Shall we take this to our room?” Cindy was so glad she’d not been able to figure out how to get herself off in the tub. All of the frustration was gone. She had been getting herself ready without even knowing it.
Again, there was no answer. Not in words. Instead she found herself being turned around to face the door. She reached for the knob, but found her wrist grabbed immediately and pulled away. The arm around her waist slid away, and she found that suddenly both her wrists were held. He pulled her hands behind her and held them both with one of his. Cindy shivered. Sometimes she liked it when he was rough, when he took charge. She sighed and tilted her head back, looking at the coathook on the door.
“I want-” She stopped, stunned. He had whipped down the towel and pushed her against the door, and the cold wood on her still damp skin was shocking. Things were happening fast now. Smooth, soft cloth went around one of her wrists, then the other; his hand let go but she felt restrained still. His hands tickled the small of her back for a delicious second, then before she new, the light disappeared. No, it didn’t disappear, just grew dim. There was cloth across her eyes as well, cool and smooth as silk. It had to be silk - one of her scarves. And on her wrists too. He could read her mind, she thought. This was exactly what she thought about on those weekends he wasn’t around. Being tied and blindfolded and pleasured.
Her hands were pulled apart. He must have tied them separately. Leading her by pulling on the scarf, he turned her around again. Then she felt her arms being pulled up, and went with it. His body leaned into her, and she suddenly felt the cool of wood against her ample buttocks as she almost fell into the door. Her arms were pulled straight up and then pulled tight. He had tied her to the hook on the door. He was no longer pressed against her. She was standing naked and blind and tied in front of him.
It felt right.