DISCLAIMER:- The following text is sexually explicit and contains depictions of sexual acts that have been classified by the surgeon general as potentially dangerous and unhealthy. You must be a broad minded adult to read the text, and you must not make this text available to minors or to any person who does not wish to view it. Unprotected sexual relations with unknown partners is hazardous and we urge the use of condoms and safe sex at all times.

Readers Note: All of the “Cathy” story is true. All of it. I’m going to do my
best to start at the beginning, and follow through to the story’s wild
conclusion.

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In the early ‘80s, I moved to Dana Point, California to pursue my career as a
writer. Anyone familiar with the writing trade knows that it doesn’t pay too
well – especially for an entry-level position. But I’d landed a job at a small
magazine, which paid even worse. Still, it would prove a start to my career.

I made just enough to afford a modest apartment about a mile from the coast. A
six-unit building, where, the week that I moved in, my next-door neighbors Bill
and Cathy were in the process of celebrating the birth of their first child. I
lived alone, thanks for a recently failed relationship, and enjoyed their
company. We all became fast friends, drinking and partying in the finest of
Southern California Beach Town tradition.

Less than a year had passed when, one winter afternoon Bill knocked and poked
his head in my front door. I was busy at the typewriter, but never too busy for
a worthwhile distraction. “Jim ol’ Buddy… I’ve done it again! Cathy’s preggers
with number two! Have a cigar!” With six-pack and cigars at the ready, how
could I refuse? Cathy joined us an hour or so later, blushing profoundly over
the clear evidence of her sexuality.

While Bill and I pounded down the beers and filled the room with smoke, I
couldn’t help but notice that Cathy would … more than once … fix her gaze on my
crotch. Daydreaming? Perhaps. But then more than once, I watched has she
rubbed her pregnant belly, stroking it slowly as her gaze settled on my lap.
And, in spite of the beer, I found myself responding. It made for awkward
moments: any man that’s worn Levis’ 501 button-fly jeans knows they’re not the
most comfortable casing for a growing hard-on.

Months passed, and Bill’s work schedule changed: swing shift, 3pm to midnight.
Not only that, but he fell into the habit of closing the local bars with work
buddies, putting him home in the wee-small hours of the morning, with just
enough time to pass out, sleep it off, and get up again just in time to leave
for work.

Predictably, Cathy became lonely. She started dropping by my apartment in the
afternoons, almost as soon as Bill would leave for work. She’d usually bring
her infant son. One day when he cried, Cathy turned to me with an anxious look:
“Jim, I’m really enjoying our visit, but he’s hungry… I hope you don’t mind…”
And simple as that, she pulled one strap down over her shoulder, pulling her
dress down to expose a naked breast. And cradled her son to suckle it. Right
there on my couch, in my living room.

Now I realize that this was a completely innocent and natural act: mother
feeding son. But I’m not the least bit ashamed to admit: that same night, I
masturbated myself to sleep over the vision of Cathy’s ample breasts. And
thinking of how she’d been looking me straight in the eye as she pulled her
breast free from the confines of her dress. A moment that I replayed
over-and-over in my mind, as my aching cock found frustrated release into the
bedsheets.

Once I established myself at the magazine, my hours became somewhat flexible.
Proven writers were offered a wide latitude for “working at home”, and I began
to shift my office hours earlier and earlier in the morning… ultimately, to
arrive home just after Bill would leave for work. The time when Cathy would
most likely come to knock on the door.

It was the middle of June when Cathy was nearly 6-months pregnant with her
second child. I hadn’t known Bill and Cathy during her first pregnancy, and
they’d taken no pictures of her “when she was showing.” But I’ll be the first
to admit two things: first, I’ve had a lifelong attraction to pregnant women. I
could bullshit about that “motherly glow” and on and on, but the fact is:
pregnant women flat out turn me on. And the second thing is… Cathy looked
magnificent at this stage of her pregnancy.

The middle of June: the third trimester. To most, the changes would be
imperceptible. For me, it became a daily thrill. A change in the way she’d
walk… a more pronounced “waddle” to offset her swelling belly. The way she’d
bend to pick things up from the floor. The way her familiar clothes became
tighter by the day. You have to understand: either the look of a pregnant woman
does something for you or it doesn’t. For me: it does. Profoundly.

And it was the same middle of June when Dana Point was experiencing a true
Southern California heat wave; we’d gone for nine straight days where the
daytime temperature was over 105 degrees. Nearly record-setting. Still, I left
the comforts of my air-conditioned office every day, promptly at 3pm, to streak
straight home.

Straight home to my writing work, right? No; at this point, I couldn’t even
fool myself. I was going home, hoping for a visit from Cathy. Hoping for an
innocent glimpse of her swelling motherhood: a glimpse that would, once again,
etched in my mind’s eye, provide fuel for my soiling my bedsheets before I
drifted off to sleep.

Now there’s a particular afternoon during this time; one that will forever be
etched in my erotically-twisted mind. And this particular afternoon measured
106 degrees at 4pm. Maybe a record. Doesn’t matter.

In my small apartment, I had the front door open, as my desk was right next to
the door. I’d also opened the window in the small kitchen, to get some breeze
through the room. For whatever reason, the breeze flowed through the kitchen
window, and out the front door. Quite a good breeze, actually. Still, the heat
was stifling.

As I did my writing work, I’d occasionally look out the door to the small
balcony beyond the front door, which, in turn, overlooked the courtyard of the
other apartments. Writers know about this: from time to time, you just have to
look away and daydream while you compose your thoughts.

So it was during one of those look-away-and-think moments that… my gaze followed
out the door to find… a very pregnant Cathy, leaning over the balcony railing,
and watching the setting sun.

Cathy was wearing a light summer-dress that was very short. And, with the
brilliant light of the setting sun behind her… it was nearly transparent. As
she shifted against the railing, balancing on her elbows, I could clearly see
the shadowed outlines of her pregnant form.

With the wind blowing out the door, the back of her dress was pressed firm
against her backside. It only took two long inspections of same to determine:
no panties. A short summer dress, and no panties.

I remember that I actually stopped breathing at some point. And I remember
gulping for air as I dropped my hands from the keyboard, slack-jawed, to marvel
at this unintentional display of her charms.

And it must have been that I’d stopped typing, that caused her to whirl about,
looking straight at me: “Jim, I’m sorry… I’m not disturbing you, am I? I mean,
your writing. Do you mind if I stand here? It’s just so hot inside.”

“Cathy…” I stammered. “Of course you’re not bothering me. I just… I just…” as
my voice trailed. Cathy was now facing me, and thanks to the angle of the sun,
it was clear that she was also not wearing a bra.

The shadows from the sun defined the form and shape of her swelling breasts.
And the wind through the door pressed the clearly defined points of her nipples
through the flimsy fabric of her dress.

“May I come in and join you?” she asked. I nodded numbly in reply, as my cock
stirred in my shorts.

As she walked through the door, it was clear that this summer dress was from her
old wardrobe: pre-pregnancy. Clear, because her breasts were more than tight
against the fabric. Also clear because this was a very short summer dress. Her
swollen belly caused the hem to ride high on her thighs… pulled up high,
exposing her legs to the very top.

Owing to her third-trimester form, she awkwardly walked the few steps to my
living-room couch, and then dropped heavily; leaning back into the couch.

A moment passed. Finally; “Wow. I’m so big. I don’t think my tummy was so big
last time…” Her eyes locked with mine, as she continued: “…but you didn’t get
to see this, the last time I was pregnant, did you?”

The air grew heavy as I contemplated my reply. She’s clearly fishing for
something… but I didn’t dare risk our friendship. What should I say? What
could I say?

Lamely, while shifting my gaze to my feet, I responded softly with: “No, Cathy,
I didn’t get to see you last time. You know that.” I remember shifting in my
chair, struggling to keep my swelling cock bent into my pants, and away from her
view.

“So tell me…” I continued: “…what is it… that I didn’t get to see?”

Cathy thought for a moment, dropping her hands to her lap. I watched as she
slowly moved her hands to the bottom of her swollen belly, tracing circles
around its form. I looked up to see her eyes locked with mine… only to steal
glances downward, as she continued to rub wide circles with her palms… the thin
material of her summer-dress pulling taught against her skin.

I watched as she traced the palms of her hands up over her breasts, finally
bringing a finger up into her mouth, wetting it, and then tracing the tip of the
finger in spiraling circles around the tip of her left breast. Rough circles,
tugging the sweated fabric tight over the swell of her nipple.

Her eyes again locked with mine, as she rasped out six simple words… words again
etched into my mind: “… close the door. Someone might see.”

I did… which, following sunset, pitched the room into an awkward darkness. As
my eyes adjusted, Cathy stirred on the couch, arching back, and causing the hem
of her dress to ride to the tops of her thighs. She again put her index finger
in her mouth, and looked me in the eye while she traced the tip of her finger
under her left breast, pulling up against its pregnant swelling weight.

“We need some light in here…” she said, as she pushed back against the couch.
“Do you have any candles?”

“Well yes but…” I stammered as I flicked on the living-room light. Her response
was immediate: “NO. NO. I want candles.”

I nodded, speechlessly, and turned off the lights. Even in the growing
darkness, I had to deliberately hide the swell of my cock in my shorts.

Being a bachelor, it only took me about 10 minutes to find the candles…
worthless white candles: cast-offs from a garage sale. Of course, as a
bachelor, I had no candle-holders. Finally, three empty wine bottles served the
purpose. I crammed the candles into the wine bottles, and lit them, one by one.

“Nice…” she said with a sigh, pushing back into the cushions of the couch. She
leaned back again… dropping one leg to the side of the couch. And her other
leg… slowly inching higher, as she moved it to the top of the back cushions.
She was … now … legs apart on my living room couch … by candle-light … She was
now in a very explicit and inviting position.

Inviting position? I watched as she pushed back against the couch, and splayed
her legs wider… the hem of her short dress gradually exposing the folds of her
womanhood. There was no mistaking the invitation: I rose, and stepped towards
her in the candlelight.

“NO.” This one word stopped me dead in my tracks… mere feet from her spot on
the couch.

“NO. STOP…” she said again. I stood lamely, half-bent to hopefully cover my
erection. An erection now straining at the buttons of my jeans. I stumbled
back into my chair, sitting down while I watched her continue to writhe on the
couch.

Finally, we locked eyes, and she continued: “Jim, what I have to say is
difficult. But promise me this: Billy’s my husband. He’s your best friend. I
can never cheat on Billy. And you wouldn’t want me to. Am I right?”

She finished this last statement by reaching around her swollen belly, and
pressing the index finger of her right hand deep up into her pussy. I watched
by candlelight as she churned this finger, deep in her folds, glancing down, and
then up to look me in the eye: “Am I RIGHT?”

“R-R-R-right!” What could a man say in this position? “RIGHT!” I said again,
as I stroked the swelling bulge in my pants.

With this, Cathy moved back into the corner of the couch. I watched as she
pulled her summer-dress up and over her shoulders, and finally over her head.
Which made her a very naked, and very pregnant woman, very exposed on my living
room couch.

With this, I started to stand again… and once again, was warned off by Cathy.

“I know you’ve been watching me. I know that I turn you on.” She shifted her
legs again, leaning forward to emphasize her pregnant belly.

“Do I…” she asked, while locking her eyes once again with mine... “Do I turn
YOU on?”

“Y-Yes… YES, Cathy. Okay, there, I said it. YES, you turn me on.”

“Like you didn’t know...” I said as I stood and pulled my shorts to my ankles.

For a moment, Cathy sat, transfixed on my cock. I stood, watching her inching
closer to the tip of my cock. Closer. Closer.

Her lips grazed the head of my cock before she stopped.

“I can’t!” she exclaimed, falling back onto the couch. “I just can’t!”

I paused for a moment, thinking of a hundred things I might do. A living
daydream. A living daydream that clearly directed as how I should just jam my
cock into her, and jam away until I shot my cum into her pregnant womb. God,
how I wanted to do that!

But just as suddenly, she pushed the flat of her palms against my chest, pushing
me away from her. Leaving me half-standing, hard cock bobbing, poised at the
ready. And her legs splayed… gaping… with her pregnant wet arousal trickling
from her slit.

“We… cannot… do this” she gasped. “I cannot be unfaithful to my husband. And
you cannot betray the trust of your friend!”

She had a point. Guilt overwhelmed me, and my cock shrank at the thought.
Something… something had to be different.

Cathy lowered her gaze to my shrinking cock, Illuminated by the flickering
candlelight. She then twisted her legs obscenely, moving her moist and gaping
crotch closer and closer to me.

“Stand there,” she said. “Stand right there. I have an idea. I’m going to
hold myself open for you. Wide, really wide.” As she said this, she hooked her
knees with each hand, and pulled her legs up, wide and apart.

“I want you to…” I watched as her hands fell from her knees… legs falling down
to the couch. “Oh Jim, I don’t know if this is right… don’t move… wait a
second.”

I watched as she looked down at her swollen belly, and perhaps thought about the
last time a man really wanted… WANTED to take her; to shove a hard cock into her
most private spot. The conflict of love, friendship, and marriage commitment
was clear as she struggled to continue:

“Jim, I want you to step closer. Between my legs. Don’t touch me. I want you
to jerk off onto my pussy. I want to feel you shoot your cum onto my clit! Do
it… Do it now!”

The candlelight flickered in my sparse living room while our eyes locked.
“Cathy…” I said as I dropped my shorts to my ankles, and then kicked them off my
feet… “Cathy, I have wanted to… take you, since the first day we met. But with
Bill in the picture, you know I cannot. WILL not.”

“But yes…” I continued… “YES… I will shoot my cum all over your clit. All over
your pregnant, swollen clit. I won’t touch you. Pull your legs apart. Are you
ready?”

I watched as Cathy once again hooked her hands behind her knees, and pulled them
up as high and apart as she possibly could. At the same time, she inched her
ass down to the edge of the couch, in line with the tip of my cock.

“Don’t touch,” I whispered. She nodded in agreement. I inched the tip of my
cock closer to her, stroking it slowly and deliberately with my left hand. I
moved my cock closer yet, just grazing its underside with the tip of her clit.

I looked down to see the tip of my cock… just above her red and swollen clit. I
looked up, scanning my view over her vast, swollen and very pregnant belly. I
looked up, to view her breasts, bursting to feed her newborn. Red. Engorged.
Ready.

Cathy cranked her head to the side, and looked down, trying to get a glimpse of
my hard cock, ready to spew on her clit. Knowing that she couldn’t see, I
pressed her head back with the palm of my hand. “Shhhh…” I said. “Shhhh. Just
feel. Feel me shoot all over your pregnant clit.”

And with that: I did. The point of no return: feeling my balls contract, and
that familiar feeling of my load shooting up through the length of my cock. I
threw my head back as each contraction sprayed another string of cum onto the
tip of her clit… over and over again.

Amazingly, we’d not touched once during this… our non-contact coupling. As my
head cleared from my climax, I stepped away… watching the rich syrup of my semen
drip down through the petals of her folds. I stepped away… to watch her drop
her legs… her fertile belly quivering as my semen flowed down, dripping onto the
couch.

I stepped back to the chair by my desk, and eased myself onto the seat. My cock
still throbbing, I looked down to see the last pulses of semen drizzle out of
the tip.

And I looked over at Cathy: her eyes glazed, and her wrists reaching around her
pregnant belly. I watched as her fingertips scooped up puddles of my semen, and
pushed them into her pregnant slit.

“We didn’t touch…” she said. I collapsed back into the chair at my desk, and
laced my fingers behind my head. In a moment, I nodded in agreement, still too
weak for words.

“We didn’t touch… so we really didn’t ‘do it.’ Jim, I think you wanted to ‘do
it.’ I know that I wanted to ‘do it.’ But we didn’t. Did we?”

A long moment passed; she and I exchanging long, languid traces of our eyes up
one another. A long, awkward moment.

Cathy finally stood to grab her summer dress, shifting one leg to another as she
slid the thin fabric down over her shoulders, finally smoothing it over her
swollen motherhood, and the scant bit that flowed over her hips.

I watched as she turned to the door, opening it, and then glancing back to me.

“Jim… I know we’re friends, and we can’t really touch in a sexual way… but I
want to do this again. Maybe more. Do you?”

I started to stand. No more than a start… my cum-drained cock dangling between
my legs. “Cathy, I…”

And just then: Cathy blew a kiss from her lips, and a shimmy to straighten her
tight summer dress over her swollen belly.

“Don’t say it, Jim. Just be here tomorrow.”

As quickly as said, as quickly as gone. She nearly scraped her wide belly on
the door as she turned, closing the door behind her.

The ‘click’ of the door latch punctuated my anticipation for the following day.