The news hit us like a thunderbolt after nearly two years of desperate trying—late nights charting ovulation cycles, awkward doctor’s visits, and me fumbling through my inadequacies as a husband. Amber, my delicate little wife with her endless blonde waves and those piercing blue eyes that could melt steel, clutched the pregnancy test strip like it was a winning lottery ticket. At 5’1″ and barely 104 pounds, she looked ethereal even in her oversized sweats, her flat stomach already a canvas for the miracle we’d chased. The doctor’s office confirmed it: six weeks along, a tiny life flickering in her womb. ‘No smoking, obviously,’ the doc said, ticking off the list. ‘No rough sex—keep things gentle to avoid any strain. And no tight clothes; let that belly breathe as it grows.’ Amber nodded solemnly, her hand on mine, but I could see the spark in her eyes, the relief mixed with that restless energy she always carried.

A few days later, she was back at her routine, hitting the yoga studio and gym to stay limber despite the early fatigue. That’s where she met him: Marcus. Towering at 6’4″, built like a sculpted obsidian statue with rippling abs, broad shoulders, and arms that could crush stone, he was the new trainer—dominant in every sense, his deep voice commanding the room without effort. I tagged along that first session, pretending to spot her on the mats, but really just watching, intimidated as hell. Amber’s infatuation was instant; she lingered by his station, asking about form on squats, her laughter brighter than usual, those huge eyes locking onto his with a hunger I hadn’t seen in ages. He flirted back subtly, all charm and control, but I felt small, my wimpy accountant frame shrinking further in the corner.

That night, over dinner, she confessed her crush, cheeks flushing as she twirled pasta on her fork. My secret cuckold fantasies bubbled up—visions of her with a real man, me on the sidelines, throbbing with humiliated arousal. ‘If he asks you out, honey,’ I said, voice cracking into a submissive whimper, ‘go for it. Just be careful. You know black studs like him… they have huge cocks. The doctor said no rough sex.’ Amber’s eyes widened, a mix of shock and thrill, but she squeezed my hand, whispering how sweet I was for understanding her needs.

It didn’t take long. Marcus asked her for coffee after a session, and she went, glowing when she came home with stories of his attentiveness. Their dates escalated quickly—dinners where he’d pull out her chair, walks where his massive hand engulfed hers. He was a gentleman at first, mindful of her condition, kissing her softly, hands roaming her body with feather-light touches that left her breathless. ‘You’re carrying something precious,’ he’d murmur against her neck, his baritone sending shivers down her spine. But as weeks turned to months, Amber’s petite frame began to betray the changes. Her tummy swelled just enough to notice—a gentle curve under her loose tops, her yoga pants hugging the subtle bump. She was radiant, but Marcus’s demeanor shifted. I caught the agitation in his dark eyes during visits to our place, the way his jaw tightened when she rested a hand on her belly.

One evening, after a particularly intense gym date, he cornered her in our living room while I pretended to busy myself in the kitchen. ‘That swell… it’s ruining your lines, baby,’ he growled, his voice low and possessive. ‘I like you tight, perfect. Wear a corset—compress it. Keep that little pooch hidden for me.’ Amber hesitated, glancing at me with wide eyes, knowing it flew in the face of the doctor’s orders. But the pull of his dominance was too strong; she nodded, biting her lip. The next day, she ordered one online—a sleek black lace number, boned and unyielding. When it arrived, Marcus came over, his presence filling the room like a storm. He helped her into it, his strong fingers deftly lacing the back, pulling tighter and tighter until her breath hitched, the fabric molding her midsection flat again. Her breasts strained against the top, nipples peaking through the sheer panels, but that bump? Vanished, squeezed into oblivion.

It started innocently enough—or as innocent as it could be with him. He’d wrap his thick arms around her from behind, squeezing her midriff in what he called ‘hugs,’ his biceps flexing as he compressed the hidden swell. Amber gasped at first, a flicker of fear, but then… excitement. Her blue eyes glazed with forbidden heat, and she’d whisper, ‘Harder, Marcus. Make it disappear.’ I watched from the armchair, my cock stirring traitorously, heart pounding as she arched into his grip, her tiny body yielding to his power. The corsets became daily ritual—white satin for workouts, red velvet for dates—each one cinched until she could barely draw full breaths, her waist cinched to an impossible 22 inches.

Marcus’s dominance ramped up, the gentleman facade cracking. He’d pin her against the wall after sessions, one hand splayed over her flattened abdomen, pressing firmly as he claimed her mouth in bruising kisses. ‘Feel that? Nothing’s gonna ruin my slut,’ he’d say, and Amber would moan, grinding against his thigh, begging for more pressure. I hovered impotently, offering weak smiles when she looked my way, my own arousal a shameful secret as I jerked off later to the sounds of their play.

The real escalation came one humid Friday night. We’d had a quiet dinner—me, Amber, and Marcus sprawled on our couch like it was his throne. She was in a short sundress, the corset beneath hidden but evident in her rigid posture, her legs crossed demurely. But Marcus was restless, his eyes on that faint outline where the fabric draped. Without warning, he stood, towering over her. ‘Up,’ he commanded, and she obeyed, heels clicking as he grabbed her wrist. In a fluid motion, he spun her and slammed her belly-first over the high back of the couch—the thick, upholstered ridge digging right into her compressed tummy. Amber yelped, the impact jarring, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the cushions. ‘Marcus! The baby—’ she started, but her voice trailed into a needy whine.

He loomed behind her, one hand fisting her blonde hair, yanking her head back. ‘Shut up, you pregnant whore. This is what you get for swelling up on me.’ His free palm pressed down on her lower back, forcing her harder against the couch edge, the boning of the corset creaking under the strain. I froze in my seat, mouth dry, erection straining as Amber’s eyes met mine—pleading, then defiant with lust. ‘Do it again,’ she begged, voice husky. ‘Slam me. Flatten it all.’

Marcus laughed, dark and triumphant, obliging with another thrust of her hips forward. The couch bit into her midsection, compressing the life inside even further, and she cried out—a mix of pain and ecstasy that made my stomach twist. He didn’t stop there. Reaching under her tiny skirt, he hooked his fingers into her lace panties and ripped them aside with a sharp tear, exposing her slick, shaved folds. She was dripping, arousal betraying every taboo line we crossed. His pants hit the floor next, revealing that monster—ten thick inches of veined black cock, already throbbing, far beyond anything I could offer.

He lined up and drove in without mercy, the brutal plunge stretching her wide, her walls clenching around his girth. Amber screamed, pushing back into him, her stilettos scraping the floor. ‘Yes! Fuck me harder—crush it!’ Marcus obliged, hips snapping with violent force, each thrust grinding her belly against the couch’s unyielding back. His hand snaked around, pressing down on her corseted abdomen, fingers digging in as if to pulverize the hidden bump. ‘You disgusting cumdump,’ he snarled, pounding deeper, the slap of skin echoing. ‘I’m beating that worthless brat inside you—feel it squirm? Your hubby’s pathetic seed, getting smashed while I ruin you.’

Amber only moaned louder, her body rocking with eager pleasure, blonde hair whipping as she bucked against him. ‘More! Hurt it—make me yours!’ The words spilled from her lips like a prayer, her huge blue eyes rolling back. I couldn’t look away, hand slipping into my pants, stroking frantically to the sight of my pregnant wife degraded, her tiny frame jolted by his assaults. Marcus’s pace turned feral, grunts punctuating vile taunts—’Breeding sow, taking black dick while your belly’s pulp’—until he buried himself to the hilt, roaring as he flooded her with hot spurts, the overflow trickling down her thighs.

She came undone then, shuddering violently, the corset barely containing her heaving form. When he pulled out, spent and smug, Amber slid to the floor in a heap, skirt hiked, corset askew, a hand instinctively going to her abused midsection. But even then, she smiled up at him, whispering for round two. I came in my fist, silent and spent, knowing our marriage had crossed into something irreversibly twisted—my cuckold dreams made flesh, with our unborn child as unwitting collateral.

Tags: After over a year of trying, my little wife is finally pregnant