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“I don’t know what those babies are doing but I’m going to thank them when they come out for making their mother into a sex machine.”
Jane has already shed her robe and stole, and is down to a short, flouncy maternity dress.
Jane giggles and kisses down my neck, working on the button at the front of my linen shirt.
“Don’t do that, that’s highly inappropriate,” she says.
“Oh, and leaving in the middle of a wedding is appropriate behavior for a minister?”
“I have to find something to do when I can’t have cocktails,” she says, her hand spreading over the length of my cock.
“You keep that up we’re going to miss the first dance.”
She sighs and tugs open the buckle and zipper, lifting my thick, swollen cock in her warm hand. “Uhm,” I grunt at the sensation. I never get tired of my girl’s eager hands on my rod.
“What if somebody walks in and sees us?” I say.
She arches one eyebrow at me. “I guess they’ll get a lesson on how to do it pregnant.”
Jane’s got me worked up with her hands and her lips and her sassy mouth.
I grit out, “hands on the couch.”
She assumes the position: kneeling, facing the back of the couch, arms supporting herself on the backrest.
I get right to it, in case some drunk wedding guest stumbles in here and get an eyeful.
My hands slide up, moving aside the dress, revealing her bare ass, which has spread thickly and deliciously during the last trimester of pregnancy.
“You’re not wearing any underwear,” I say, running my hands over her cheeks and downward, cupping her mound from behind.
She hisses and pushes back into me. “I was hot and nothing fits right.”
I hold her hips and gently help her bend outward so I have the best angle.
I cozy up behind her, rubbing my cock over her ass to tease her while I unbutton my shirt.
She moans. “God, I still love the way you love my ass.”
I don’t even have to check; I know her pussy is ready for me. She’s never not ready these days. I sink into her from behind and she lets out a loud whimper. Her warm, sticky pussy welcomes me in.
I thrust gently, carefully, letting her body guide my speed.
I can hear we’re missing the first dance, but we’ve got our own dance to finish right here.
We do it slowly, lovingly, while my hands explore the familiar softness of her breasts, the firm, round tummy that nurtures our tiny daughters, the thighs that have thickened and grown even stronger over the years between working outdoors and chasing after our little one.
Just then the first dance finishes and I hear the deejay playing “Sweet Jane,” no doubt for our benefit.
I pick up my pace but Jane’s body tames me into keeping my steady, slow rhythm. I sigh in my surrender to her wants. I warm her back wi
th my chest; my body is a shell around this perfect female.
“They’re playing our wedding song,” I say to her.
“They can play it again for us later,” she says, her breathing ragged with need.
I reach around and trace circles around her clit.
