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Read from here : 👉 #Cheating #Cuckold #Pregnancy3 days ago2.2k words | | 4.33 | 👁️
In the nursery, Tara and Marcus reveal a pregnancy to Daniel, shattering their agreement. As Marcus dominates Tara, Daniel is forced to witness, trapped in infa
The nursery lamp cast a buttery glow across the pastel walls as Tara settled into the rocking chair, the hem of her floral sundress riding up her tanned thighs. Her heavy-lidded eyes found Marcus lounging against the doorframe, arms folded, a grin crooking the corner of his mouth. Between them, on a patch of fleece rug patterned with cartoon giraffes, knelt Daniel—thirty-two years old and clothed in an oversized onesie of soft mint terry cloth, the snap buttons straining across his shoulders. A pastel pacifier dangled from a ribbon pinned to his chest, bobbing each time he shifted his weight on the thick diaper that crinkled beneath him.
“Mommy and Daddy have something important to tell you, sweet pea,” Tara sang, smoothing her palms over the skirt stretched taut across her lap. The glint in her hazel eyes contradicted the syrupy lilt of her voice; Daniel recognized the spark of triumph she always wore when Marcus came over. She patted her knees, beckoning. “Come crawl to Mama.”
Daniel’s palms slid forward, the rug’s synthetic fur prickling his skin. He hated the rasp of the diaper between his knees, hated even more the way it forced him to rock from side to side like an clumsy toddler. Still, he obeyed, stopping at Tara’s bare feet. Marcus stepped closer, the floorboards creaking beneath his solid frame. He wore slate-gray sweatpants that clung to the sculpted bulk of his quads, and nothing else; candlelight licked across the ridges of his abdomen and illuminated the faint dark trail that plunged beneath the drawstring. Daniel’s cheeks burned at the casual arrogance of the man’s half-nakedness.
Marcus folded himself onto the padded arm of the rocker, one large hand draping along Tara’s collarbone, thumb stroking the delicate hollow at the base of her throat. “You listening, baby boy?” His baritone dripped condescension. “We’ve got big-kid news.”
Tara’s breath hitched, her lips parting as Marcus’s fingers descended to cup the gentle swell of her breast through the cotton. She arched slightly into his touch. “Mommy’s tummy is going to get round,” she murmured, gaze pinned on Daniel. “You’re going to be a big brother soon.”
The words landed like hot stones in Daniel’s gut. He jerked back on his heels, the pacifier ribbon snapping tight. “W-we agreed—” The sibilant wilted behind the rubber guard; only a muffled moan escaped.
Marcus chuckled, pinching Tara’s nipple until the fabric tented. “Agreements change, little man. Adults make new decisions.” He slid his palm down the curve of her waist, splaying possessively across her belly—still flat, still smooth—but cupped as though protecting a ripening secret. “Your mom and I decided it’s time we give you a sibling.”
“N-no—” Daniel spit the pacifier out. It bounced off his lap, rolling across the giraffes. He hated the tremor in his voice. “We talked about kids, T, we said we’d wait until—”
“Hush.” Tara’s hand cracked across his cheek—not hard enough to sting for long, but with the crisp authority of a mother scolding a reckless child. “Use your quiet voice, baby. Babies don’t question Mommy.” She softened at once, brushing the reddening skin with apologetic knuckles. “Besides, Marcus and I are ready now.”
Daniel swallowed, eyes watering from the slap more than pain. He watched Marcus’s fingers roam across the plane of her stomach, tracing circles that seemed to mark territory. The bull’s thumb dipped under Tara’s waistband, teasing the sensitive skin beneath. “I’ve been saving up just for this,” Marcus murmured, tilting Tara’s chin so her gaze lifted to his. “Every night this week, no release. Balls are so full they ache.” He lowered his mouth to her ear, loud enough for Daniel to hear each crass syllable. “Gonna flood her so deep tonight she’ll be leaking seed till morning.”
Tara whimpered, thighs squeezing together. A visible shudder rippled through her. “Yes, daddy,” she breathed.
Daniel recoiled, the diaper’s padding rustling. A cold sweat misted his lower back. The sight of Marcus touching what had once been his exclusive domain—her belly, her breasts, the promise of her womb—felt like shards of glass sliding under his ribs. Yet his cock, trapped inside waterproof lining, stirred traitorously.
Marcus noticed. His dark gaze slanted down, lip curling. “Look at that little bump in baby Danny’s diapee.” He nudged Tara, urging her attention. “Excites him, knowing Mommy’s taking real man’s cum.”
Color flooded Tara’s cheeks; she tucked a strand of honey-blonde hair behind her ear, then rose from the rocker. “I think our big boy needs to be put down for the night.” She bent, kissing Daniel’s forehead with the same tenderness she might offer a sleeping infant. “Crawl to your crib, sweetheart.”
Across the room sat a white iron daybed converted into a makeshift nursery crib. Rails ran along three sides; the fourth was open but blocked by a knee-high gate. A mobile of felt stars dangled overhead, twirling gently from the ceiling fan’s draft. Inside, a mound of plush blankets awaited.
Daniel hesitated, casting a plaintive glance at Tara. “Please, just talk to me—like adults—”
Marcus stepped forward, twining an arm around Tara’s waist from behind, fingers laced beneath her navel. “Adults are talking,” he said. “And fucking. You’re neither tonight.”
Tara’s head lolled against Marcus’s shoulder as he mouthed her neck, tongue slipping along her pulse. The hand beneath her belly slid upward, bunching the sundress until the lower swell of her breasts peeked into view. She gasped, arching, then addressed Daniel in a breathy lullaby. “Bedtime, little one. Close your eyes, let Mommy and Daddy make you a brother or sister.”
Humiliation pressed Daniel’s gaze to the carpet. He shuffled forward on hands and knees, diaper crinkling. Each scuff against the rug sounded overloud, announcing surrender. At the gate he stopped, fumbling the latch with clumsy fingers made thicker by nerves. Marcus murmured something lewd—too low to fully catch, but laughter rumbled in his chest all the same.
Once inside, Daniel curled on the mattress, the elastic leg bands of the diaper gripping his thighs. He faced the room, clutching a stuffed elephant whose glassy button eyes reflected the tableau outside: Tara flat against the nursery wall, Marcus pinning her wrists above her head, mouths fused, hips rocking slow.
The mobile’s lullaby plinked as its wind-up coil unwound. Strings tugged felt stars in lazy circles, their whisking silhouettes shading Daniel’s face. He felt small, absurdly small, as though shrinking inside the padding. His erection had wilted; the clammy lining stuck to sensitive skin, amplifying every twitch.
Marcus broke the kiss, panting. With one hand he jerked the drawstring of his sweatpants; the fabric slid down thick quads, pooling at his ankles. His cock sprang free—heavier than Daniel remembered glimpsing before—arching up to slap his abdomen, glossy at the tip. He wrapped his fist mid-shaft and gave a slow pump, directing it toward Tara as one might gesture with a weapon. “Ready for daddy’s load?”
Tara braced her palms flat on the wall, bending slightly, dress fluttering around her waist. “Please,” she whispered, voice hoarse. “Do it in me—make the baby for him.”
Daniel bit down on a knuckle, tasting detergent from the onesie cuff. Part of him wanted to shut his eyes, to spare himself the desecration of their shared dream—kids decided upon together, timelines sketched over late-night tea. Yet he stared anyway, shocked by how fiercely the spectacle burned him, branding new images atop old vows.
Marcus hooked his fingers under Tara’s panties—lace, pale blue—and tugged. They slipped down to mid-thigh, catching there, the elastic stretched by her arousal. He nudged her feet apart with his own, angling his hips until the broad head of his erection bumped her slick folds. Even from the crib Daniel heard the wet glide of contact, the low grunt Marcus gave. “Fuck, she’s dripping,” he muttered over his shoulder, taunting.
Daniel’s throat rasped, “Don’t—”
Tara’s gaze flicked toward the crib, eyes shining with apology and hunger both, then fluttered shut as Marcus entered. He pushed inward in one measured thrust, stretching her until her lips parted on a silent cry. Her palms scraped the wall, seeking purchase. “Yes—right there.”
The crib’s bars rattled softly as Daniel shifted, blankets rustling. No longer trying to flee, instead he watched, cheek to cool iron, breath hiccupping. Arousal warred with nausea; twin instincts split him down his spine, each tugged at him but neither quite claimed victory. He remained frozen, a spectator bound by mental shackles sturdier than any physical rail.
Marcus drew back, hips snapping forward, the wet slapping filling the hush between lullaby notes. Each drive lifted Tara to her toes, breasts jostling inside her sundress. She bit her lip, but small sounds escaped—tiny oh’s muffled by the need to keep quiet for the “sleeping baby.” Sweat shimmered on her collarbones; Marcus licked a droplet away, groaning.
“You feel that, Danny?” he ground out, teeth grazing Tara’s shoulder. “Your mommy’s cunt sucking me in, begging for seed. Learn how a real man breeds.”
Tara whimpered, hand reaching behind to claw at Marcus’s flank, urging him deeper. “Please fill me,” she panted. “Do it now—while he’s watching. Show him who gives us babies.”
Daniel’s hips gave an involuntary jerk against the mattress. The diaper’s padding rasped his half-risen cock, friction dulled but persistent. Shame flared; he forced stillness, counting breaths, yet the image of her body yielding to Marcus—of her womb accepting the claim—thrashed behind his eyelids whenever he blinked.
Marcus’s rhythm stuttered, muscles locking. He crushed Tara to the wall, one hand diving beneath her dress to clamp over her belly once more, pressing inward as though sealing a promise. “Here it comes,” he growled, voice fraying, “every fucking drop.”
Tara’s answering moan trembled, eyes wide on the ceiling. “Yes—give me it—”
The buttress of Marcus’s shoulders corded, hips ramming tight circles as he spent. A guttural breath see-sawed out of him, each pulse visible in the clench of his ass, the quiver of his locked knees. Beneath his palm Tara’s stomach rose and fell with her own sharp gasps, accepting, inviting.
Daniel tasted copper; he realized he’d bitten through the fabric of the onesie cuff, the faint metallic tang of blood on his tongue. The mobile’s music slowed, notes stretching like a record winding down. Over it he still heard their heavy breaths, the wet stir of Marcus withdrawing, a trickle that pattered to the floorboards.
Seconds folded, thick and gluey. Marcus exhaled, long and satisfied, easing back until his slick shaft bobbed free, glistening under lamplight. He gave it one idle stroke, milking a last bead that dripped to the rug. “Sleep tight, big brother,” he said, voice syrupy, zipping nothing but air. His sweatpants remained pooled at his feet; he stepped out, kicking them aside. With casual ownership he embraced Tara from behind, both hands cupping her belly, meeting Daniel’s gaze over her shoulder. “Mommy and daddy will be in the next room making sure it sticks.”
Tara’s head lolled, a dazed smile curving her swollen mouth. “Night-night, baby,” she murmured, voice distant, palms covering Marcus’s as if to cradle the seed already inside. “We’ll check on you in the morning.”
She allowed Marcus to guide her toward the hallway, bare thighs glistening, panties still tangled at her knees. The pair paused at the door. Marcus reached to dim the nursery lamp until only a bruised twilight remained. In silhouette they looked a perfect, expectant couple—her dress wrinkled at the waist, his bare chest rising, both hands layered across her midriff.
Daniel lay motionless. The diaper clung coldly, a poor swaddle for the tremble that rattled his bones. Echoes of Marcus’s final thrusts flickered behind his eyes, sensations he could neither block nor embrace fully. Words—protest, plea, prayer—dissolved on his tongue, leaving a chalky silence.
Behind the gate wooden floorboards creaked: two sets of footsteps retreating toward the master bedroom. Then the soft click of the distant door, and a hush even thicker than before. The mobile’s last note sighed into stillness; felt stars hung frozen overhead, witnesses to a covenant rewritten in semen and sweat.
In the cottony dim, Daniel stared at the ceiling until giraffes blurred into smears. Tomorrow, he knew, they would ask him to celebrate the life begun tonight. Tomorrow the world would tilt further on this new axis. Tonight only the smells lingered—Tara’s perfume, Marcus’s musk, the faint tang of sex cooling on nursery walls—proof that bedtime stories could change, and princes could fall into cribs while bulls seeded queens beyond the gate.
His eyes slid closed; tension ebbed despite resistance. Sleep ambushed him on surges of disbelief, carrying him under while a muted crinkle whispered with every shallow breath—the sound of a baby who could not wake, could not speak, could not undo what mommy and daddy had so lovingly begun.
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#Cheating #Cuckold #Pregnancy