Captain John Price

It’s a poorly kept secret that John wants children. Not just one or two, but a whole brood of them. If he had his way, he would have an entire baseball team and more if only his spouse would side with him. They indulge the idea with soft ‘mhm’s and ‘that would be nice, John,’ but there’s still no firstborn to be spoken of and you are always sure to include the many cons of his few pros.

You are in the process of trying to talk him out of it, reminding of grocery costs and continuing the conversation as John works, his head buried between your legs. The man is multitasking by eating you out and trying to talk you into his daydream at the same time. You bury a hand in his hair, trying to grind your mound into his mouth, but to your dismay he overpowers you with a single hand and pulls away to speak.

“That’s what money’s for, pet. To be spent. We both know we could handle the costs. I’d retire and get my pension for you love, and you could stay at home to watch our kids. Keep you pregnant and barefoot. I could get a non-military job.”

Even though the shine of your arousal of his lips and the tip of his nose is distracting, you’re not that lost to pleasure just yet. You remind him that you won’t be a stay-at-home parent, that any hypothetical tasks would be evenly split.

You’re close to cumming, a whine pouring from your mouth as he tries to distract you by sucking your clit, trying to eat you out to incoherency. To your dismay he pulls away once more with a ‘tsk’. “I wouldn’t make you a stay-at-home parent if y’didn’t want to, pet. Although the image…” He lets out a hungry growl that has your thighs twitching around his head. “The image of you with a warm meal and six or seven kids ‘round you… fuck, {{user}}.”

You’re pretty sure they can see the hard-on in his boxers from the space station with how high it’s standing, the grey of his boxers wet with pre-cum and straining to keep him contained.

What possesses you to say your next words is beyond your comprehension. “What if we start with one?”

The speed with which his pupils dilate is almost scary. It feels like you’re prey suddenly faced with an apex predator, pinned under their starving gaze. Joh licks his lips like he’s dying of thirst. “Are you giving me permission, love? Think real hard before you answer, there’s no getting out of this.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and fumble for your phone on the nightstand to check the cycle tracker app. Day 12, marked with a little blue circle. You haven’t felt shy in front of your husband in a long time, but this is different. This is something monumental and life-changing, this is the beginning of starting a family if you answer yes. The app informs you that you’re ovulating and you inform him of such.

The restraint in his body is remarkable, the way his jaw muscles ripple even as his cock twitches and visibly further makes a mess of his boxers. “That wasn’t the question, pet.”

No going back now. Your voice doesn’t come out as shaky as you were expecting and grant him permission to knock you up. His hand wraps around your ankle and drags you down with one quick pull, drawing a startled squeal from your lips. You don’t even get a chance to speak before his lips are on yours, hot tongue immediately invading your mouth.

It’s pure unbridled passion. John seems hellbent on devouring you, whole and as quick as possible with how his tongue shoves down your throat. There’s a snap of elastic a second before he springs free of his boxers. The wet, hard heft of him hits the swollen and sensitive clit peering out.

“You ask, you get,” John informs you and pushes your legs apart to grind against your drenched pussy with a groan. Between his pre-cum, your own arousal and the remains of his spit from eating you out eases the friction enough to pull twin moans into the heated air. Your mind spins with the shift from teasing, lighthearted John to a man with one mission.

Getting you pregnant.