A Massage With Consequences Pt2

Hopefully you have read chapter one. otherwise this next instalment won’t make much sense at all.

My name’s Rebecca. I’m thirty, married to Daniel, thirty-two, and we’re expecting our first child in six weeks, which is why I’m on early maternity leave from my job as a professional massage therapist, employed by a spa at a high-end hotel

Before I fell pregnant, one might have described me as the kind of woman who turned heads without ever meaning to. I have soft, warm hazel eyes, long, brown hair, softly rounded, hips, and a full, 34D bust, which has now swollen to a heavier 34E, along with my fully grown belly.

Also, right before I fell pregnant, I gave my retired at sixty father-in-law a massage in my home to help ease his back pain. Jack is tall and broad with a full head of grey hair. A nice, kind, rugged man, married to Susan, Daniel’s, mum.

It was a huge mistake.

What started out as a professional, but friendly-family massage, quickly escalated into something outrageously inappropriate, treacherous, and taboo. The worst part is that I enjoyed every second until it was over, the primal ecstasy replaced with tremendous guilt.

In the weeks that followed the massage, life on the surface was seemingly normal. Jack was the same warm, slightly gruff man he was before he had me over the massage table in front of my framed wedding day photo.

Respectful, caring, and polite, never once did he let his gaze linger too long or his words carry any hidden weight.

He joked at a family dinner about the massage being painful, but thanked me in front of everyone for “trying.” I fake-smiled, playing the perfect wife and daughter-in-law while the memory of what really happened replayed in my mind at the most inconvenient times.

Two months later, the pregnancy test showed up positive. Daniel and I had been trying, and that night after the massage he had indeed filled me again. But the dates overlapped, meaning the baby’s father could either be my husband or father-in-law. The math was a karma I would have to live with.

At the twelve-week scan, Daniel was over the moon. He practically jumped up and down with excitement as he clutched the images. “I’m telling Mum and Dad tonight,” he declared, kissing my forehead. “They’ll be thrilled. It’ll be a big moment for the whole family.”

But I couldn’t face the truth, so I made my excuses quickly. Early nausea, exhaustion from work, needing to rest. Daniel looked disappointed, but he didn’t push and went alone while I stayed at home, suffering a deserved mix of pregnancy and guilty sickness.

A few days later, on one of my days off, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find Jack standing there with a bunch of flowers and a nervous smile on his face, his grey hair neatly combed, wearing a casual shirt and jeans.

“Hello, Rebecca. Would it be ok if I come in for a chat?” he asked softly.

I was wearing a light, floral summer dress. The soft cotton fabric skimmed my still-narrow waist before flowing over my small, firm bump. My breasts, still a firm 34D, but beginning to ache, strained against the bodice, the neckline offering a generous but not an indecent view of my ample cleavage.

My long chestnut hair fell in loose waves down my back, and my soft, warm hazel eyes were suddenly not so soft and warm, as I begrudgingly let him inside and went into the kitchen.

“I brought you these to say congratulations,” he said, placing the flowers down on the counter. “But your absence at the big news… well…”

“You want to know if you could be the father?” I cut in, arms folded, trying to stay composed.

“Well, we both know the timing suggests I could be. I wished you’d said you and Daniel were trying for a baby.”

“Why? Would it have made any difference?” I spat a little unfairly, heart pounding hard against my chest.

“Of course it would have. I would have pulled…” Jack stopped short of saying it and sighed, scratching his head.

He knew the massage should have never gotten sexual. Yet, he was right, I knew I was unprotected, but it wasn’t like I’d planned to have sex with anyone else, let alone my father-in-law. Had I been thinking clearly, then we wouldn’t even be in this mess.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jack sighed again. “I just want you to know… as far as I’m concerned, the baby is Daniel’s. I won’t ever ask or demand for a DNA test.”

“How dare you come round here thinking that is my biggest concern,” I scoffed angrily, even though it was, and turned around to face the window.

I wasn’t angry with Jack. I was angry with myself, staring into the back garden, gripping the edge of the counter. “It is Daniel’s baby,” I said.

Behind me, Jack approached slowly until I could feel the heat of his body at my back. Then his big, warm hands slid around me, settling gently over my small bump. The touch was tender, making me quiver as my nipples hardened and my panties dampened.

“What are you doing?” I breathed sharply.

“I won’t ruin your life, or Daniel’s. I swear it, Rebecca,” he whispered, breathing in my scent as his hands caressed the gentle swell of my belly.

“You need to leave now, Jack,” I muttered, trying to pull away, but he pressed harder against my back. “Stop. I’m being serious, Jack. This is wrong.”

His breath brushed my ear. “You feel so good like this. Carrying a baby… my hands remember every inch of you.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, hating how my nipples instantly stiffened against the thin fabric of my dress, how a rush of wetness soaked my panties. I should have just turned around and pushed him away, but something stopped me as his hands grew even more bolder.

One stayed on my belly, caressing the gentle swell, while the other slid up to cup my heavy breast, squeezing the swollen flesh. A broken whimper escaped my lips despite myself.

“Jack… please,” I begged him, voice trembling. “We can’t do this again.

“Shh. Just let me hold you,” he murmured, lips grazing my neck. “One last time. Then I’ll go,” he lied pressing his thick erection against my buttocks.

My body had already betrayed me, hips twitching backward against him as his fingers pinched my nipple through the dress, rolling it firmly. I bit my lip hard, tears of frustration and unwanted arousal stinging my eyes.

I… I don’t want this, I lied weakly to myself.

“Jack.” His name slipped out in a moan as I absently pushed back against him.

“Shh. Just stay right where you are,” he whispered calmly, pulling the summer dress up my trembling thighs.

I stayed facing the window, sure about how I felt, but confused about why, and let him lift the hem over my hips. Panties exposed, he hooked his fingers into the waistband and slid them down just enough for what he wanted, and for what I now felt I needed. His cock.

“That’s it, Rebecca. Stay right where you are,” he said, his voice huskier.

I closed my eyes, trying to blank it out when his belt buckle clinked and his zipper rasped. He then shuffled his feet closer, pushed down gently on my back, and nudged the head of his thick, hot length along my already slick folds.

“You’re soaking. Dripping down your thighs already. You need this, don’t you, Rebecca? Daniel told me he’s too nervous to touch you intimately, now that you’re pregnant.” He entered me slowly. “I told him a woman needs cock even more when she’s with child.”

A desperate moan tore from my throat as he pushed deep inside me. “Oh God… stop… we can’t, Jack.”

“You don’t mean that,” he growled.

He stretched my pregnant pussy wide open over the kitchen sink, one arm wrapped around my waist, his hand resting on my bump while the other reached around to rub my aching clit.

“You feel even better pregnant,” he groaned, voice rough with lust as he fucked me with long, deep, unhurried strokes, pressing against my backside.

“Yes, oh God yes,” I moaned, pushing back gently to meet his amazingly slow but deep thrusts. “I’m gonna come.”

“Do it, Rebecca. Let go and enjoy it.”

Biting my lip harder to stifle my cries, my walls clenched and fluttered around his thick shaft as I came hard and quickly. My body needed it more than I was prepared to admit. Pleasure washed over me in waves, my small bump pressing against his strong arm.

“Yes, that’s it. Mmm, you love the feeling of me inside you, don’t you?” he said with a hint of arrogance. I refused to answer.

Then, Jack pulled out and guided me over to the wooden table, where he lifted me onto it and pulled my thighs apart. When he kissed me hungrily, I tried to push him away, palms against his broad chest, but my fingers curled into his shirt instead as his tongue invaded my mouth for a very hot kiss.

When he finally pulled back, both of us breathing hard, he slipped my dress down, removed my bra, exposing my heavy breasts, then pushed me back flat on the table before thrusting into me, stretching my pregnant pussy wide around his thick shaft once more.

“Ohhh fuck, Jack!” I cried out.

He fucked me hard right there on the kitchen table, pounding me with deep, measured strokes, while mauling my breasts and sucking greedily on my taut, sensitive nipples, making me moan like a cheap whore beneath him.

When I came the second time, clenching violently around his cock, Jack didn’t stop. He kept going, grunting and snarling until he buried himself to the hilt and flooded my pussy with thick, hot ropes of cum.

Afterward, he kissed me softly, pulled his trousers up, and left with a quiet promise that it wasn’t the last time.

I stayed on the table for a few minutes, legs spread, his cum leaking steadily from my ruined pussy onto the wooden table beneath me. My hands trembled as they rested on my bump.

The guilt hit like a tidal wave, sharper and darker than ever. What have I done? I thought, tears down my face. What if the baby is his? How can I look at Daniel or ever forgive myself?

Yet even as disgust and self-loathing choked me, my pussy continued to flutter with aftershocks, still hungry for more of my father-in-law’s cock. The thrill of the forbidden was already twisting inside me again, whispering that I was utterly lost in this world.