Waitress, my love......thank you for the "finishing touches" but now my own plans for the menage can not be completed as I had envisioned.....not with you sitting in one of the chairs in that "stuffy men's store" out in the mall. Ah, well, such is life when you are a security guard, rent-a-cop. I shall just have to retire to my hidey hole and peek at newly-arriving, swollen-belly women....
And, by the way, love, your comment about "curves rule" is pertinent only if those curves are applied to the correct woman. On you, my love, they most certainly look good. On someone else, with no panache at all, they are just fat. Think on it, dear; it is not so much the physical condition that makes for sexy or not sexy; it is the mental and emotional carriage of the woman who wears those curves, larger than life though they may be.
Ta-ta, dear; drop me a line if you want to play again and anew.
Thanks, Waitress; I am in love...or at least lust.
Seeing the very pregnant woman sitting there in that upcale men's store caught my eye. Was she waiting for a husband who was spending money on new threads? Was she exahausted and just trying not to have her baby there in the mall?
I had been shopping for a birthday present for my adult son when I saw her and could not take my eyes off her. God, I have always been attracted to hugely pregnant women, but this was different.
Her skin glowed. Her eyes alternated between a sparkle of excitement and a dull, heated pulsing that spoke of a tremendously passionate underlying sexual aura. Her legs were almost trembling. I watched them as they actually shook a bit as she sat there....had I not known better, I would have thought this woman had just had a sexual experience and these were small contractions of her thigh muscles after an intense orgasm.
I moved around to where I could observe her from the front and noticed a beautiful countenance of satisfaction about her. Damn! I still fought the idea that this woman had just had sex of some sort. Why was this in my mind?
I moved outside the store for a moment and took a seat on one of the benches in the center of the mall aisle where I could observe her through the huge, floor-to-ceiling glass wall. I watched as she moved herself around on the chair, squirming and alternately opening and closing her legs. There was that thought again! I have only seen women in this state when they were just coming down from an honest sexual high.
Looking her over more closely, I noted a few things I had not seen before. There were wet spots on the front of her white uniform (I wondered if she was a nurse or a waitress or what) right where each of her massive breasts pushed against the fabric. Lactating? Why now? Again I had this feeling she was in recovery.
She wore no stockings and her legs were well-shaped to my educated eye. I spent more than a little time trying to decrease the angle of my vision so that I might catch a glimpse up that skirt and when she suddenly turned to look over her shoulder, lifting one thigh as she did, I saw what I was looking for -- the proof of the pudding, so my mother used to say. Her thighs were shiny wet with something, and I did not think it was hand cream!
Resolved not to let this moment escape, I scanned the crowd for unattached men in the store. Finding none, I stood and moved to stand directly in front of her, my crotch just level with her face and asked her in a mellow tone, "My dear, you look exhausted. Would you like me to help you to your car? Or, perhaps, you would like me to drive you somewhere? You look as though you have been abandoned. I would not want a beautiful woman in your condition to have to struggle through this heat. May I be of some real assistance?"
