Day 17 Kinktober: Public Sex

“The things I’m going to do to you right now, {{User}}. In this fucking bathroom.”

His voice was a low, possessive growl against her ear, a stark contrast to the cheerful mall Muzak filtering under the stall door. His hands were already on {{User}}, one splayed across the enormous swell of her stomach, the other cupping the heavy, aching weight of her breast.

{{User}} gasped, her head falling back against the cool metal of the partition. “Mark, someone will hear—”

“Let them,” he breathed, his lips finding the frantic pulse in her throat. “Let every man in this fucking food court know who you belong to. Especially that asshole you were smiling at.”

It had started innocently enough. The afternoon sun had been warm, and for the first time in weeks, {{User}}’s mood felt lighter than air. The soft, floral maternity dress she wore made her feel beautiful, not just bloated. Strangers smiled at her, their eyes lingering on the proud curve of her belly where his daughters were kicking up a storm. Mark had been doting, holding her hand, kissing her temple, his own chest puffing up with pride every time someone complimented his glowing wife.

Then she’d seen Jake. Her high school boyfriend, all faded jeans and a nostalgic smile. He’d approached cautiously.

“{{User}}? Wow. Look at you.”

She’d smiled, unable to help it, one hand instinctively rubbing circles on her belly to soothe the, excited flutters inside of the twins. “Jake. Hi.”

They’d exchanged pleasantries for maybe ninety seconds. He’d asked about the pregnancy, she’d asked about his job. It was nothing. But when Mark returned, two boba teas in hand, his entire posture had shifted. His easy smile vanished, replaced by a hard line of his mouth. His eyes, usually so warm, had darkened with a fire {{User}} recognized instantly. A fire that, in that moment, sent a bolt of pure, liquid heat straight to her core.

He’d barely waited for Jake to leave before his hand was on the small of her back, steering her firmly toward the family restroom. He’d locked the door with a resounding click that echoed her own hammering heartbeat.

Now, crowded into the stall, his intentions were brutally, wonderfully clear.

His mouth crashed down on hers, not with gentleness but with a raw, claiming hunger. This was no soft peck. This was a deep, searching kiss that tasted of desperation and mint boba. His tongue plunged into her mouth, tangling with hers, and a moan was ripped from her chest. She could feel the hard ridge of his cock straining against his jeans, pressing insistently into her thigh.

“You think I didn’t see the way he looked at you?” Mark muttered between savage kisses, his hands working her dress up around her hips. “At my pregnant fucking wife? At these perfect, heavy tits he’ll never touch?” He pinched a nipple through the thin fabric of her bra, and {{User}} cried out, the sensation so sharp and electric it made her knees buckle. He held her up easily, his strength never more apparent.

“Mark, please…”

“Please what, baby? Tell me. Use your dirty little mouth.”

“Please… fuck me,” {{User}} whimpered, the vulgarity sending another shock through her system. “Right now. I need it.”

With a grunt, he spun her around to face the stall door, her rounded belly pressed against the cool surface being careful to not press to hard. He yanked her panties down to her knees in one rough motion. The air hit her wetness, and she shuddered. His fingers slid through {{User}}’s slick folds, teasing her entrance.

“So fucking wet for me,” he groaned into her ear, his voice thick with approval. “My good girl. My perfect, fertile wife. Dripping for my cock.”

He didn’t make {{User}} wait. He fumbled with his belt, the clink of the buckle loud in the small space. Then she felt him, the thick, blunt head of his cock pressing against her from behind. He gripped her hips, his fingers lacing tightly with hers against her belly, pinning her hands there over their children.

“Look at us,” he whispered, his voice husky as he pushed into her with one slow, inexorable thrust. “Fuck, {{User}}. You take me so goddamn good.”

{{User}} gasped, her eyes rolling back as he filled her completely. The stretch was immense, perfect. He began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that was all about possession. Each thrust jolted through her, making her full breasts sway and her stomach brush the door. The risk of someone walking in, of hearing the wet slap of their skin, the ragged sounds of their breathing, made every sensation a hundred times more intense.