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the-librarby · 11 days ago

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HOME EARLY II

- SIMON RILEY (COD)

18+ MDNI

Simon knows what’s good for his wife before she does, which is why when he tells her to sit on it, she sits on it whether she likes it or not.

.･:★ I sat on this idea for too fucking long, work got in the way and derailed my thought process so, here it is, the final installation.

Part I

No one warned you how purely uncomfortable pregnancy was. Besides the noticeable shift in your belly swelling— the aches, pains, and amount of times you need to pee throughout the day is becoming unbearable. Your breasts feel sensitive to the point you’ve even banned Simon from touching them at times, something he mourns each day.

Everyday tasks are getting more difficult when you need to take frequent breaks from standing, thankfully your husband has picked up a lot of the slack without a word.

“I can’t believe you did this to me,” you moan from your seat at the dining table.

“I know, love,” Simon replies on autopilot as he cleans up the dishes, it’s not the first time you’ve blamed him.

“Can you go through the rest of this for me?” You plead.

“Would if I could, love,” he smiles, turning on the kitchen sink tap.

You clasp your hands over your swollen belly and cross your ankles over each other as you watch him clean, “You would?” You muse, “Fat tits and all?”

He chuckles and shakes his head, “Part of the package, so yes, tits and all.”

A sigh leaves your lips as you sink deeper into your chair, the wooden back is digging uncomfortably into your spine but you’re too lazy to move. The kitchen is peaceful as you watch Simon scrub at the dishes you promised to get to later, the soap seems to cling to his forearms not wanting to let go, his arms looked good in that old t-shirt of his which is more more tighter on him than when you wear it around the house. Did washing the dishes make him more attractive? You squinted in thought, must be pregnancy brain making your hormones run haywire.

With an exhaustive huff you stand to your feet and walk over to the sink, grabbing the hanging tea towel off the oven door on your way. Simon watches you curiously and shakes his head, but you grab a plate off the drying rack before he can dismiss you.

“I’ve got it,” you assure, “Not bedridden Si, I can move around,”

“Shouldn’t have to move around,” he mutters, hauling another dish out of the sink and onto the rack, “S’what I’m here for.”

You grin as you out the plate back in its cabinet above you. Simon was insistent that you shouldn’t have to lift a finger, if it weren’t endearing to hear how much he cared about your wellbeing, you would have lost your mind by now. You step up behind him and snake your arms in between his and drag them up his chest until both hands settle around his pecs, squeezing them softly between your fingers.

“Keep talking like that and you’re gonna have to take responsibility,” you mumble coyly, pressing against him as much as your body will allow. You reach up and press a kiss against the back of his neck.

You can’t see it but you can hear the smirk in his amused tone as he looks over his shoulder, “You making a move on me, sweetheart?”

You laugh at how bluntly he called your game, reaching up on your tiptoes to kiss his jaw, “Is it working for you?”

He chuckles and looks away, reaching to turn off the tap, “You’re lucky we’re already married,”

You scoff, offended by his insult, “Are you saying my charms are weaker now?”

“I’m saying,” he dries his hands before turning around to face you, inches apart and separated only by your protruding belly, “You don’t have to put on an act to have me,”

“Putting in effort isn’t an act, Simon,” you reply, holding onto his arms as he reaches out to caress your sides, “Are you saying you wouldn’t put on an act for me if you wanted to get in my pants?”

He raises an eyebrow, “Get in your pants?” He repeats, “What am I, a teenager?”

You slap his arm, “You know what I mean,”

He sighs, “What are you really asking? I’d always put in effort for you,” he squeezes your hip softly, “You’re my wife,”

The split second pause you take to respond is enough to make him worry. He curls his finger and uses the knuckle to knock your chin upwards until you’re looking at him, “What’s wrong?”

“Am I a chore to you?” You blurt out, diverting your attention down to the details of his t-shirt. It’s blue colour has darkened patches from the water that splashed onto him while cleaning, “You’ve picked up so much slack since this pregnancy…”

His hands are still cradling your hips, thumb gently rubbing circles in reassurance while you collect your thoughts. You take a deep breath and sigh, “I don’t want sex to be another responsibility you feel like you have to take on,”

He sighs roughly, “Look at me,” you peek up at him through your eyelashes, his gaze leaves no room for misinterpretation, “When have I ever acted like fucking you is a chore?”

You bite your lip and remain silent, in the back of your mind you can rationalise you’re just being sensitive but the paranoia eats away at you.

He crouches down until he meets your lowered gaze, “Do you realise how hard it has been for me to hold back?”

You stare at him through parted lips, the sound of a pin dropping could be heard through the silence of the kitchen. Simon doesn’t elaborate just to ensure you get it through your thick head that he finds you incredibly desirable— even more so now with how your body is filling out, a selfish part of him wants to keep you pregnant forever if it means he gets to take care of you like this.

Before pregnancy you were very independent, sure you loved showering him in affection and were a doting partner, but nothing compares to how dependent you are on him now. The sheer need and reliance you have on your husband to support you through this curls in his gut and feeds his self-assurance.

Gradually, his hands trail up your sides until the sides of his thumbs support the outline of your breasts. You breathe in sharply at the immediate pricks of sensitivity shoot through your chest at the slight pressure.

Simon pauses instantly, leaving his fingers wrapped around the side of your ribs and chest, "I have watched these shirts of yours get impossibly tighter each day," he comments calmly, "And I have kept my hands to myself,” his eyes catch yours staring,” Because you want me to,”

“So it’s my fault?” You shoot back defensively, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. It was stupid to bring this up, and you just want to end it now before you ask something else that you’ll regret the answer to.

“Stop deflecting,” he grunts, tugging you closer until he secures his arms around your waist, giving you nothing to do other than hold his arms to keep yourself upright. Even with no space between the two of you, you still try to lean as far out as you can in defiance.

“I didn’t say it was your fault,” he continues, “Are you listening to me?”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest when his arms won’t give way, “I’ve heard enough,” you mumble, pointedly looking away, “I’m a terrible wife because I won’t let you touch me,”

“Now you’re just talking bullshit,” he calls frankly, “Come with me.”

He takes your hand in his and walks down past the living room straight into the bedroom. It’s clean and taken care of just like the rest of the house under your husband’s control. You try not to dwell on the thoughts of uselessness festering in your mind as Simon seats himself onto the edge of the bed, taking you down with him by gently guiding you into straddling his lap.

A hand rests on your belly protectively as you shift to get comfortable—it’s getting increasingly harder to sit like this as you swell— Simon waits patiently for you to still, his eyes watching cautiously in case you lose balance.

In the safety of the bedroom Simon watches as your shoulders slowly unwind. It’s silent as he rubs his hands up and down your forearms which hang loosely in your lap, eyes refusing to meet each other as understanding tries to piece itself together.

“You know I love you, right?”

The earnestly makes your heart ache and clench your eyes shut. You moan pitifully and knock your forehead against his shoulder, “Don’t say that,”

Simon frowns and tries to look down at you but you stay stubbornly glued to him, “Don’t say I love you?”

You moan again and shake your head, digging further into his shoulder. He sits there silently with a bemused smile on his face, he knows you’re finding it hard to stay upset with him—you could never stay mad for that long. So he waits another minute letting you sit in the last vestiges of your simmered annoyance before speaking again.

“Can I show you then?” He asks, wondering.

You raise your head just to look at him questioningly, “Show me what? That you love me?”

He nods at your clarification, smug smile on his face. It cracks an unwillingly upward tug of your lips, “And you say my lines are weak,”

He shrugs, “You know my actions speak louder than my words love, been that way since day one,”

You hum in agreeance, curious where his mind is leading, “Go on then.”

Simon reclines back until he’s laying flat on the mattress, his legs are still propped up in order to keep you seated on his lap but he makes no further move other than gesturing you to crawl forward with the curl on his fingers.

You crawl forward until you’re seated on his lower stomach but he keeps urging you to move. Cautiously you stop once you reach high on his chest, your knees are knocking into his armpits and forcing you to either stop or readjust—you choose to stop because this is getting ridiculous, you have no idea what he’s trying to communicate, he just keeps gesturing you to move forward.

“What do you want?” You finally ask, looking down at him with hands perched flat against the mattress either side of his head for balance.

His hands reach out to wrap around your outer thighs, from this position he has a full view of the indecent way your leggings crease against your crotch. He inches his thumb forward until it rubs across the stitched seam, causing your breath to hitch, the soft sensation feels so nice you would have missed what he said if you weren’t crouched so close to his face.

“Want you to sit on it,” he demands, gazing up at you.

You immediately try to shuffle away, shaking your head, “No way, Simon,” you reply, “I thought I was heavy before pregnancy, and I am much more heavy now, I’m not going to sit anywhere—”

He rolls his eyes, tuning out your rant in favour of ripping a hole until he has a good view of your underwear. You gasp and lift one hand to slap his away, “Fucking—stop! I’m not doing this.” your complaints fall on deaf ears as he brute forces his arms under your thighs, grabbing you by your rear and shoving you up until you’ve got no other choice but to hover over his face.

Your arms wobble as you kneel over him, for a moment you think you can stay like this out of spite until he gets this ridiculous idea out of his head, but it hard to hold yourself up and he knows it. He gazes up at you with a lazy smirk, perfectly content and waiting below you— you’ll have to come down at some point. Is what he’s thinking.

“You want this to not feel like a chore?” He asks, reminding you of your previous statement, “Then let me do what I want,”

You whine, “Does it have to be like this?” You ask pitifully, already turned on despite your embarrassment, “I will squash you Simon, and not in a sexy way,”

He pats your ass playfully with one hand while the other reaches over for your underwear, “Countin’ on it sweetheart.” he rumbles, hooking his thumb in and pulling the dampening fabric to the side.

Anxiously you lower yourself until you can feel the warmth of his breath against your folds, his nose just nudges the edge of your mound and it’s enough to set your thighs on fire. The burn of straining yourself makes you tense up but you refuse to lower yourself any further.

The first probe of your husband’s tongue against your clit has your thighs closing in with a soft curse. Simon rests one hand flat against your ass while the other keeps your panties hooked aside as he flattens his tongue in a wide swipe upwards. It feels good at this angle, you hate to admit it because you’re still feeling reservations about your weight, but Simon has completely shut off—eyes closed and grip tensing as he gets reacquainted with your sweet spots. It had been so long since he was able to take his time and just map you out.

The soft sounds filter out like a leaking tap, once you start you can’t stop. Your hips twitch forward minutely when his tongue flicks at just right angle, causing you to remember how your thighs are starting to get sore from tensing so much. When you look down, Simon is already gazing up at you through hooded eyes, his hair is swept off his forehead and looking like he’d rather be nowhere else with your thighs closing in around his head.

“Fucks sake,” you huff, “I’m too pregnant for this,”

Simon hums beneath you before tilting his chin up so you can hear him, “‘cause yer’ bein’ a fuckin’ idiot,” he scoffs, momentarily letting your underwear snap back in place as he lets go.

You bite the inside of your cheek hard, trying to hold your tongue but you can’t, “You try feeling like this Simon,” you snap, “Honestly, I don’t care how strong you think you are, breaking your jaw does not sound the least bit sexy to me—stop looking at me like that and stop seriously considering it!”

You can feel the way he chuckles with the rise and fall of his chest, “It would be an honour to be sent to emergency with an unhinged jaw because my pregnant wife had the ride of ‘er life,”

You shake your head with a frown, “This is not a joke, I’m genuinely worried,” your complaint bounces off Simon’s head as he tugs your panties to the side again. But you continue your rant nonetheless, “How would I even begin to explain that? You can’t lie to the paramedics Si, I would have to give details, you can’t do this to me.”

When he’s had enough of your stalling, he takes matters into his own hands and forcibly seats you by tugging you flush against his mouth. Your thighs spread to accomodate the drop, and his anchored grip on your thighs drives your knees down into the mattress.

“Wait,” you pant, wriggling desperately in his grip, “Wait—Simon, stop, I’ll hurt—” his lips circle around your clit and suck softly, effectively cutting off the rest of your sentence.

“Fuck,” you sigh, tilting your head back and letting your thighs fall further apart so you can press even closer, “You play fucking dirty.”

Simon pats your ass affectionately at your comment and flattens his tongue once again, drawing wide from hole to clit. Your thighs are tingling from finally having your weight shifted, and his tongue moves with skilled efforts as he circles and sucks against your clit until you’re seeing stars. When that pleasured numbness starts to build your hips twitch forwards to chase it, you hold your breath and wait for some kind of pained groan but when it doesn’t come you sigh in relief.

With renewed confidence—and reckless abandonment at the onslaught of pleasure—you press your palm against your husband’s forehead and grip his hair hard as you drive your hips back and forth against his mouth until he settles against that one spot that has you moaning.

He lets his jaw go slack as you take control, riding against his tongue and grinding down against his nose until his mouth covered in your slickness. When your thrusts become more frantic he takes ahold of your ass and sucks hard against your clit until your sobbing and clenching your thighs around his head, shoving his head closer by your grip as you ride out the trembling pleasure.

You’re panting above him, boneless in your after glow and momentarily forgetting where—or who, you’re sitting on. When your thoughts decide to organise themselves you quickly dislodge yourself from Simon’s mouth and sit back on his chest. He takes in large gulps of air, self satisfied and glowing himself as he lets his arms fall back against the mattress like he’s the one who just came.

You purse your lips together at the wetness you’ve left behind on his lower face, slightly mortified about how you took advantage in the end, but Simon is just silently glad you finished before he managed to come in his shorts.

He lifts a hand and cups his own jaw, opening and closing it slightly as he feels around, “Think it’s intact,” he notes, “Wasn’t sure in the end with the way you were ridin’ me like a horse,”

You huff and slap his shoulder, “You were fucking asking for it,”

He nods with a smirk, “That I was love.” He instantly concedes.

Gently you climb off him and lay down on your back, the air is cool on your inner thighs with the gaping hole in your leggings. Simon lays down for a moment longer, your trail your gaze down slowly until you see the tent in his shorts, satisfaction curls in your gut that he’s still rock hard—serves him right for not listening to your anxieties. You watch him lazily as he rises, he kneels in front of you and presses his hands against your knees which are propped up. You can feel the outline of his cock against your shin as he looks down at you smugly.

“Worth it?” He asks.

You lift your foot and stroke it up and down his thigh, “Well worth it, thank you.”

He hums, leaning forward to kiss you softly. It’s a strain as his chest presses against your knees and pushes them against your stomach, but he’s utterly gentle in his descent and quick to lift himself back up before it becomes painful. Wordlessly he hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of your leggings and underwear, pulling them off in one go and letting them fall out of sight.

You’re about to warn him that you can’t go another round as he pulls his shorts beneath his balls, cock slapping against his abdomen as his shirt joins your pants on the floor. However, you shut up when instead of prying your legs apart he pushes them together, and slings your knees over his right shoulder.

“What are you—” he spits into his hand and gives his cock a stroke, you watch curiously as his arm pumps up and down before resuming to his holding place on your outer thigh.

His intentions start to clear when you feel his cock poke at the seam between your thighs until it breaks through. It’s a wet slide with his saliva as he leisurely pumps in and out, he grunts at the way your plush thighs envelop him, it won’t take him long to blow if he keeps thinking about the way you were riding him earlier.

“Give ‘em a squeeze love,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around your thighs and fucking into them more rigorously, you clench your thighs together as much as you can and watch enraptured by the way the head of his cock peaks through on each forward thrust.

“Feel nice?” You ask, breath punched out of you as his thighs slap against yours.

“Unbelievable,” he replies, “Wish I could keep you like this forever,”

You raise an eyebrow, “On my back or pregnant?”

He huffs, “Fuckin’ both,” he grunts, looking down at you from over the bridge of his nose, “I’d invent new ways to fuck you if it meant you’d stay like this.”

You reach down for the hem of your shirt and awkwardly hike it over your head, Simon pauses so you can take it off fully but quickly resumes once it’s gone. His eyes are glued to your tits as they bounce with each thrust, your nipples are pointed and sensitive, he knows this but reaches down to pinch one anyway.

You twist and arch your back at the overwhelming tingling that erupts underneath his fingertips, gritting your teeth as you bare your way through it. Simon watches, captivated by the newfound sensitivity his touch brings, he could sit for hours playing with your tits just to see how much he could make you squirm if you’d let him.

But he eases off eventually, giving you momentary relief as he wraps his arms around your thighs again as he thrusts forward. Your thighs are becoming more slimy with the way he drips between them, you can’t help but throb as you watch him slowly unwind and get closer to the edge.

“Could get used to this,” you sigh, gently taking hold of your own chest and lightly rubbing your nipples with your forefingers, “I’d stay pregnant if it meant never lifting a finger again,”

Simon zones in on the way your fingers massage your tits, it makes his cock twitch and leak even more, “Mm never,” he agrees, “I’d do it all,”

You smile coyly, “Such a good husband,” you coo, using your thumbs to pinch your nipples, “Bet you’d let me use that cock like a toy, huh? All for your wife, right?”

He groans and delivers a particularly hard thrust at your words, “Fuckin’ hell.” he grunts.

You cross your ankles over each other and squeeze your thighs harder, Simon exhales roughly and resorts to rutting between them desperately.

“C’mon baby,” you murmur, “Need you to come now, come on.”

Simon drives one last thrust forward and stills. You can feel the wetness spill in between and trickle down to your cunt. He breathes deeply and rests his forehead against your legs as he collects himself.

“Worth it?” You ask, amused.

“You need to stop tempting me with idea of keeping you pregnant, it’s fucking with my head,” he groans.

You laugh and reach forward to stroke his forearm still wrapped around your legs, “But you have the best reactions to the thought of it,”

He looks at you through hooded eyes, “Your gonna eat your words when I take you up on it one day.”

You roll your eyes, happy to play with fire for now.

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