Emma’s heart was still racing as she pulled into the driveway, the tires crunching softly on the gravel. It was just after 7pm early enough that Mark would still be home, probably finishing the dinner he’d insisted on cooking for them. Her hands trembled slightly on the steering wheel. The heavy steel plug Marcus had shoved back inside her was doing its best to contain the massive load he’d pumped into her pregnant p***y just fifteen minutes earlier, but she could already feel warm, sticky trickles escaping around the edges, soaking into the crotch of her maternity leggings.
She had been reckless again. Marcus had texted her mid-afternoon while she was folding laundry: *Pulling up behind the old warehouse on 5th. Ten minutes. Be ready, pregnant slut.* She had made an excuse to Mark about
