About yesterday’s symposium
You couldn’t miss her- the first thing your eyes found when you walked in the room. Not the stunning ocean view, not the pristine new furniture arranged perfectly, not the crowd of business acquaintances. Her.
Well, not just HER, though, yes… she was lovely. Golden brown hair, falling just to her shoulders, lightly curled. Jawline angling to a delicately pointed chin, gilded skin glowing. A white floral sundress, ruffling over her shoulders.
No, all of that was secondary. The thing that arrested your gaze, that stole the show, that made you catch your breath… her swollen womb- a perfectly rounded, impressively large orb resting just below her heavy breasts. “She must be due any day… how, just….how?” you wonder.
She was beatific. Heavy, and humongous, her sundress straining around that bump- the evidence of her fertility, her femininity, her favor. You watch her sit, working to keep her legs from spreading indelicately as her pregnant belly weighed her down. It was a pretty struggle for her to even reach the table around it, her arms resting and reaching at odd angles around and over her massive middle. Almost imperceptibly, her breathing grows a bit labored with the effort it takes to work around the baby inside her. You wouldn’t notice if you weren’t paying attention— but of course, you are paying attention. How could you look away? Focus on anything other than this beautiful bump?
It moves, then. Her whole belly shifts, lurching quietly. She doesn’t acknowledge it, aside from a brief caress. Just goes on, arranging pens, straightening papers, tidying up her workspace, avoiding eye contact with the crowd that’s growing in the room. You watch her gorgeous form, casually sensual, heavy with child, uncomfortably full. You’re hypnotised- mesmerized. And then you watch others notice her. See their roaming eyes, their embarassed glances, their disbelief that a woman this pregnant could still be working— isn’t actively birthing her baby.
Your mind wanders, imagining what her future holds. How brief the… hours? Days? Before she gives birth. How her delicate frame will manage the undeniably large baby, how long she’ll labor…how beautiful she will be.
You blink, startled back to the present by someone clearing their throat. And then you realize- her eyes are locked on yours. She sees you, driven to the point of distraction by her beautifully swollen womb. She’s felt the heat of your gaze, the desire, the need there. She knows. Your cheeks flush, but you do not look away. She stands, not without effort, her oversized belly protruding, her hips swaying, hair bouncing as she flips it over her shoulder. She whispers something to her colleague, and walks to the door, never breaking eye contact with you. She lingers there in the doorway, for just a moment, and then signals to you, with one finger.
“Come…” she mouths, and waits to be sure you understand, sees you begin to move in her direction, before she slips out the door, leaving you with no choice but to obey.
romaincrisis
baratheonpilled
discoholicmusic
prguitarman
andulkaphoto
areudirty
dededos
