Tasting Candy: Over 60 Erotic Pregnancy Stories

He finished fixing the drinks, pouring a couple White Russians for them before heading over to the sofa with her. “Not as close as you and I are gonna get, Brittany,” he said in a low voice, handing her the drink as he slipped down beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders. He was closer than he’d ever been with her, his hard body pressed up beside her, really accentuating just how much bigger the man was than her.

Leaning in, he inhaled her feminine scent and smiled. “Everything about you is just fuckin’ beautiful, doll.”

She loved the constant barrage of familiar nicknames, the feel of him... lusting for her. Wanting her.

And yet she knew she wasn’t the one in control. She wasn’t the one calling the shots.

He was.

She licked her lower lip before sipping the creamy liqueur, her eyelids fluttering pleasurably. “I never thought this is where I’d be tonight. Or any night.”

He took a sip of his own drink then laid the glass down on a coaster on the coffee table before reaching over and resting his hand upon her knee. “Never?” he questioned her, as if doubting her. Those strong fingers of his rubbing over her inner thigh as he moved from her knee. “I guess imagination’s not your forte, doll. It’s okay,” he said soothingly, smiling fondly at her.

She smirked back at him, already feeling the effects of the alcohol. Or, more likely, her youthful idea of the effects of the alcohol, combined with her own burning lust.

“I said I never thought this is where I’d be. Not that I didn’t want it.”

Some music seemed to start playing all of its own accord, or perhaps Brittany didn’t notice him start it up. The rhythm of it starting off smooth and getting rather lively before long, though she didn’t recognize it at all.

“You know, I’ve been waiting for this day to come for quite some time, doll,” he said in his deep voice, rubbing her shoulder and along her thigh as he edged his fingers beneath her skirt. “Watched you grow up. Saw the telltale signs that you were becoming such a little sex bomb all the time.” He gave a big, broad smile. “I don’t think you could’ve turned out any more promising.”

She uncrossed her legs and her knees pressed together, that throbbing of her pussy nearly driving her mad as she drank more of the White Russian. It was nerves. She knew it was. Her stomach was flipping and dancing unlike it ever had before, and she was feeling so damned hot.

“Oh?” she practically stammered, and cursed herself for not being better at keeping herself calm and collected. Uncaring of her teacher’s desire for her.

He tilted his head, his thick blonde hair spilling to the side as he smiled at her. “Yeah, that’s right. I was looking out for you even if you didn’t notice it as such,” he explained, his hand squeezing her leg as he moved in so daringly close to her feminine heat, forcibly prying her thighs apart enough to graze over her panties. “You’re a very special woman, Brittany. A beautiful little airheaded bimbo,” he said, as if it were the highest compliment.

“Oh god,” she pleaded again, her head tilting back and her long, straight hair spilling over the cushion on the back of the sofa. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, and when he touched her, she barely knew what to do with herself. Her hands shook as she brought the rest of the drink into her mouth, eager for the creamy coolness to ease the scorching heat, but it only inflamed her more.

Mr. Hawthorne leaned over her, his mouth finding her neck and kissing upon her smooth, pale skin as his hand crept up to rub over her panties. His long finger tracing the outline of her slit as he kissed and suckled her neck up towards her ear, where he nibbled her lobe.

She could hear his rising breathing, and his low, lust-laden voice so quiet yet right there against her. “You’re a walking, talking dickteaser in the flesh,” he husked as he felt her dampness through her panties. “You’re pure sex, and you’ve got no room in that head for anything else, just like you should be.”

Brittany made a small noise, but it was incoherent. Halfway between a moan and a protest, her hips writhed against him of their own volition.

Her teacher was touching her.

Mr. Hawthorne was touching her.

Kissing her.

Purring in her ear.

She was putty in his hands as she put the glass on the end table, her body pressed to his eagerly.

He was so different from the way he acted during class, that warm, knowledgeable veneer replaced with bawdy talk and lewd touches. This was the man in his own home, acting with her as he truly wanted to, she realized.

The handsome, dashing man she had a crush on for so long feeling her up, pressing his long, powerful fingers into the cleft of her womanhood. Prying those well-trimmed digits in under her panties and tugging them aside so he could touch her slit bare, with

nothing between them. He gave such an expert little swirl of his fingers around her sensitive clit and stoked her excitement so high.

“You were always an obedient girl, weren’t ya, Brittany? Just never so good at the follow-through on all that boring schoolwork,” he said in a low, lusty voice, eying her so hungrily.

She was squirming against him without even realizing, her body needing him so badly. Wanting for him so badly.

Her lithe thighs parted and she pulled back from him to stare at him with her bedroom eyes, her lips partially parted. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” she moaned, and begged for him to tell her she was wrong. Her back arched, her chest lifted, and she pushed herself towards him, her arms wrapping around his neck.

“Shhh.” He hushed her softly as he continued to tease and excite her, kissing along her jaw towards her pouty lips where he licked and sucked those luscious morsels. “You leave the thinking to me, doll,” he said quite firmly.