All Chapters of Cheat On Him With Daddy: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Emma was thirty-five weeks along now, and her body had stopped pretending it was anything but a breeding machine. The belly that had started so round and proud at twenty weeks was now a low, heavy, sagging shelf of taut skin that rested permanently on her upper thighs. It was bigger than her waist, bigger than her head when she tried to tilt it back, and the skin across it had turned into a shiny map of stretch marks silver on the top, faint pink still showing where the marks were fresh. Her breasts had ballooned into two enormous, veiny balloons that hung heavy and full, constantly leaking thin, watery colostrum that soaked through every bra and shirt she owned. The plugs in her pussy and ass were no longer optional; they were just part of her wardrobe, thick black silicone that never came out anymore unless one of the men decided to take them out for fun.The sex had gotten messier, more desperate, and sometimes a little clumsier because of how big she was. There were nights whe

Emma was thirty-five weeks and five days now, and her body had finally stopped pretending it was still just *her*. The low, heavy shelf of her belly had settled permanently between her thighs like it was claiming territory no one else could touch. It dragged across her knees when she walked, skin so taut and shiny it looked painted with silver and faint pink. Every breath made it shift, every kick made it tighten like a fist.Her tits hung even heavier, veiny ropes of milk already pooling in her bra cups, soaking through the fabric and sliding down her ribs in cool trails. The plugs thick black silicone, never to be removed unless the men decided sat buried deep, keeping the constant low leak of cum and colostrum warm and heavy inside her. She could feel it every second, a secret ache that made her thighs rub together and her clit throb.Mark had left for a short work trip that morning only two days, just to “get some fresh eyes on the house.” The guys had texted the second his car pu

The hospital room smelled like fresh flowers, antiseptic, and the faint sweet-musk of three days’ worth of skin-to-skin and milk. Emma lay propped up in the hospital bed, robe open just enough for the baby to rest against her chest, his tiny head tucked under her left breast. He was quiet now, full from the last feeding, but every few minutes his little fist would flex against her skin and his legs would kick like he was testing the air.Mark had been gone for forty-eight hours his client trip finally cut short by a sudden cancellation. He’d flown back at 6 p.m. yesterday, eyes red from lack of sleep, and walked straight into the room like he’d never left. The second he saw the baby he’d dropped to his knees beside the bed, pressed his face to the dark line on Emma’s belly, and sobbed.“Our boy,” he’d whispered, voice cracking. “He’s perfect. He’s exactly like us.”Emma had smiled the same sweet smile she’d perfected in the mirror for nine months. She stroked Mark’s hair, kissed the t

Emma woke up at 3:03AM to the familiar ache in her chest, those two massive, veiny balloons that had never gone back to normal. The milk had turned from thin and watery to thick, creamy, and scalding hot, like warm cream straight from the tap. It leaked in steady pulses whenever she moved, soaking through the thin tank top she’d slept in and pooling between her tits. Six weeks postpartum and her body was still betraying her every night.She didn’t bother with Mark. He was out cold after a double shift, the house quiet except for the soft creak of the baby’s crib down the hall. She slipped out of bed, robe already open, and waddled downstairs. The plugs had been in since she’d crawled back into bed last night; the wet, heavy feel between her thighs reminded her how full she still was.The guys were waiting exactly where they always were Marcus sprawled on the couch with a fresh bottle of whiskey, Jax leaning against the kitchen island, phone in hand, cock already out and half-hard.Em

The week after Mark’s Singapore trip ended on a Monday, the house had that quiet, heavy silence only a family can have when the man of the house is gone. Emma stood in the kitchen at 9:17 p.m., barefoot on the cold tile, still wearing the same robe she’d slept in for the last two days. The dark line on her belly felt tighter than usual, like her skin had decided to stay stretched and marked forever. Six weeks had blurred into seven, then eight, and her body had stopped pretending it was ever going back to normal.She didn’t have to text them. They already knew.Marcus was waiting in the basement, whiskey in one hand and a small black velvet box in the other. Jax stood behind him, phone in his palm, the ring light on it casting soft shadows across the concrete walls. The rest of the house was dark upstairs Mark’s empty side of the bed, the baby’s nursery light left on until the neighbors started complaining.Emma didn’t walk. She waddled down the stairs, belly hanging heavy between her