25. THE INNER CIRCLE
Sophie sat at her editing rig late into the night, headphones snug and coffee cold beside her. She had hours of footage, most of it illicit, all of it damning. The wedding had provided a treasure trove: the receiving line, the first dance, the honeymoon suite. Her fingers moved with precision – cutting, looping, highlighting just the right moan, the perfect arch of Amanda’s back, the way her wedding dress had bunched up around her waist.
The receiving line footage captured Amanda in her wedding dress, kneeling in front of the vanity as Sophie welcomed one guest after another into the room. Each man stepped forward in turn, and Amanda welcomed them with trembling hands and parted lips. Her wedding dress remained mostly intact, except where the bodice had slipped low to reveal flushed breasts for adoring hands. She took each man gently into her mouth, her fingers working those too large for her throat, moaning softly as Sophie whispered encouragements just off-camera.
When the best man – Paul’s younger brother Evan – entered, the tone shifted. Taller, thicker, and less gentle, he pulled Amanda roughly against his crotch, threading fingers through her hair. He groaned as her mouth wrapped around him, one hand stroking his shaft while the other braced against his thigh.
The camera lingered as Amanda sucked and licked eagerly, her chest bouncing, now with both hands gripping her hair, pulling her deeper with growing urgency. She came noisily, one hand buried between her thighs trembling with aftershock, just as he thrust his whole length into her throat to deposit his load. Just before he slipped away, Sophie leaned in and whispered, “Now you owe me, little bro.”
The “first dance” was even more daring. Amanda bent over the bridal table, trembling, as Paul’s father slid his throbbing, veined cock deep inside her from behind, one strong hand on her hip, the other holding a champagne flute. From the camera’s angle, the string lights glittered above them, casting a romantic glow over the passionate, rhythmic fucking.
The wedding night footage included Marcus entering in more ways than one. Amanda’s face was blurred in just the right places, but her ecstasy was unmistakable. Her body rocked beneath him, whispering, “Thank you… thank you…” as Marcus filled her again and again. Paul’s face was blurred out, but his occasional snores could still be heard as he laid in the bed, drugged and unaware.
Sophie compiled the moments into a short film – tasteful in editing, vulgar in content. No faces were shown, no names. But anyone who’d been there would know. Her group chat lit up as she shared it to a select list – an elite, exclusive group of friends, exes, clients. The title read simply: Openness: A Wedding Celebration.
The reactions were instant:
“That’s the best best-man speech I’ve ever seen.”
“Did the father-of-the-groom get his dance before or after the buffet?”
“Pretty sure my table number saw more action than I did.”
Amanda found out within days. The group chat was private, but nothing stayed secret for long.
She confronted Sophie in a quiet moment over video call, voice shaky, cheeks flushed.
“Wait… did you… Did Paul approve this?”
Sophie didn’t hesitate. “Sweetie, I sent the notes to him weeks ago. He knows. He’s not mad. If anything, I think he gets off on people knowing how irresistible you are.”
Amanda looked down, biting her lip. “You think so?”
“I know so,” Sophie purred. “This is about pride. About growth. You’ve come so far – and you should be celebrated. Paul’s lucky. And trust me, everyone agrees.”
Meanwhile…
Paul sat at his desk, phone buzzing with unfamiliar numbers and vague, congratulatory messages:
“She’s a star, man. You’re a lucky guy.””Can’t believe you let her dance like that.””Bro, is that your dad in the background? LMAO.””Real open relationships are rare. Respect.”He blinked, confused. The texts felt warm, but strange. Vague, but knowing. His brow furrowed.
Paul typed back to one of them.
Paul: Haha. Thanks. What clip?
No reply.
He sat back in his chair, stomach fluttering. What was everyone talking about? “Can’t believe you let her dance like that.” “Is that your dad?” Were people sharing videos from the wedding? Laughing? Judging? The thought of strangers dissecting moments from their wedding, speculating about his wife, about him, sent a hot wave of shame washing over him. It wasn’t just confusion; it was the sickening dread of public humiliation, of his private life becoming fodder for gossip and mockery.
He opened his messages again.
Paul stared at his phone, the short, grainy video clip looping silently. It was only three seconds long, sent from an unknown number with no message. But it was enough. Amanda, in her wedding dress, during the reception. The curtain dance. Her back arched slightly, hands braced on something unseen. And behind her, unmistakable even in the poor lighting, his father’s hands settled possessively on her hips before the clip abruptly cut out.
His blood ran cold, then hot. He remembered that dance. The silhouettes. Amanda’s flushed face afterward. Emotionally present, she’d called his father. Bile rose in his throat. He grabbed his keys, heart hammering a frantic, panicked rhythm against his ribs. He didn’t think, just drove, the image burning behind his eyelids. He needed to see her. Now.
The team facility buzzed with mid-afternoon activity, but Paul barely registered it. He bypassed the front desk, flashing his visitor’s pass from a previous visit, his steps quick and urgent. He didn’t know where Amanda’s assigned office space was, but he remembered her mentioning meetings near the players’ recovery area. He pushed through a set of double doors marked “Authorized Personnel Only.”
The corridor opened into a quieter wing. He heard a low sound – a rhythmic groan, soft but distinct – coming from a room partway down the hall, the door slightly ajar. Therapy Room 3.
He pushed the door open without knocking.
The scene hit him like a physical blow. Amanda was face down on a padded therapy table, seemingly nude except for a single, thin massage sheet draped precariously across her lower back and the upper curve of her ass. It barely concealed anything, shifting with every subtle movement, revealing flashes of bare skin along her hips and the deep cleft between her buttocks. Her legs were slightly spread, knees bent, feet bare against the vinyl table.
Standing over her, leaning close, was Dr. Rayner, the team therapist. Rayner’s sleeves were rolled up, his forearms flexing as his hands worked deep into the muscle where Amanda’s lower back met her glutes, his thumbs pressing firmly, rhythmically, dangerously close to the edge of the sheet.
Amanda moaned again, a low, breathy sound that vibrated in the quiet room. Her hips shifted subtly under Rayner’s hands, causing the sheet to slide further down, exposing the full, naked curve of one buttock.
“Amanda?!” Paul choked out, the word ripped from his throat.
Amanda’s head snapped up, eyes flying wide with shock and panic. Her face was flushed, damp with sweat. She instinctively tried to grab the sheet, pulling it higher with trembling hands. Dr. Rayner straightened slowly, turning with an expression of mild, professional annoyance.
“Paul! What are you doing here?” Amanda gasped, clutching the sheet to her back, her voice trembling.
“What am I doing here?” Paul echoed, stepping fully into the room, gesturing wildly between her mostly naked form and Rayner, the video clip flashing in his mind. “What the hell is this? I just got sent… I saw…” He couldn’t form the words. The sight of her exposed like this, the intimate sounds, combined with the video, felt like undeniable proof of… something awful.
Dr. Rayner stepped forward calmly, placing himself subtly between Paul and the table. “Sir, this is a private physical therapy session. Amanda has been experiencing significant hip and lower back pain due to the travel schedule.” His voice was level, professional, but held an undercurrent of authority. “We’re working on deep tissue release for her hip flexors and gluteal muscles. Proper draping is essential for accessing the necessary areas.”
“Draping?” Paul repeated, his voice shaking with disbelief and rage. He pointed a trembling finger towards the table. “She was moaning! You were… your hands were right on her ass! She’s practically naked!”
Amanda pushed herself up onto her elbows, pulling the sheet around her front now, her face crumpling. “Paul, please! Stop! This is exactly what I was afraid of!” Tears welled in her eyes. “Dr. Rayner is helping me! This job is incredibly demanding physically, all the flying, the long hours… my back has been killing me! He needs access to the muscles!”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Paul demanded, the accusation raw. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here like this?”
Amanda looked genuinely hurt now, tears spilling over. “I didn’t tell you because… because Sophie warned me!”
Paul froze. “Sophie?”
“Yes! She said you were feeling… fragile lately. Stressed. Overwhelmed.” Amanda’s voice dropped, thick with tears. “She said I shouldn’t burden you with my physical complaints, that you had enough on your plate. She said you might misinterpret things if you knew how… involved… the therapy has to be, how much skin needs to be exposed for it to work. I was trying to protect you, Paul! I didn’t want you to worry!”
She buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. “And now you burst in here, accusing me… accusing Dr. Rayner… seeing me like this and thinking the worst… How could you think…?”
Paul stared at her, his anger faltering, replaced by a wave of confusion and sudden, crushing guilt. Fragile? Sophie had told her he was fragile? He remembered confiding in Sophie about feeling overwhelmed… had Sophie twisted that? Amanda was protecting him by not telling him about painful therapy that required her to be undressed?
Dr. Rayner cleared his throat. “Perhaps you should step outside, sir. Amanda needs to finish her session, and this level of stress isn’t conducive to treatment. We maintain professional boundaries and draping protocols at all times.” His tone was firm, dismissive, subtly shaming Paul for his outburst.
Paul looked from Rayner’s impassive face to Amanda’s tear-streaked one, hidden behind her hands. The video clip felt distant now, unreal compared to the raw emotion, the plausible explanation, the professional setting. Had he jumped to conclusions? Had Sophie manipulated him? Had he just humiliated himself and Amanda because he couldn’t handle the reality of physical therapy?
“I… I’m sorry,” he stammered, taking a step back. The fight drained out of him, replaced by shame. “Amanda, I… I didn’t realize. I just… I got this message… I panicked.”
Amanda peeked through her fingers, her expression wounded. “A message? You didn’t trust me.”
“I do! I do trust you,” Paul insisted desperately. “I just… I was scared. I’m sorry.” He felt foolish. Intrusive. Paranoid.
Dr. Rayner opened the door pointedly. “We’ll finish up here.”
Paul nodded numbly and backed out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him. He leaned against the cool corridor wall, his legs weak. He had seen… something. But Amanda’s tears, her explanation involving necessary exposure for treatment, the mention of Sophie wanting to protect his ‘fragile’ state… it all tangled together, creating just enough doubt, just enough guilt, to make him question his own eyes.
He pulled out his phone and deleted the video clip without watching it again. He felt sick. He had let his insecurity run wild. He had hurt Amanda when she was just trying to take care of herself – and protect him.
Inside the room, Amanda slowly lowered her face from her hands as the sound of Paul’s retreating footsteps faded. Dr. Rayner turned back to the table.
Amanda met his eyes, a single tear tracing a path through the flush on her cheek. Then, a slow, shaky smile touched her lips.
Rayner smirked. “Nicely handled.” He gestured back to the table, picking up the now-discarded sheet. “Now, where were we? You were just starting to loosen up. Let’s get this drape properly repositioned so we can access those deep hip rotators.”
Amanda took a deep, shuddering breath and lowered herself back onto the table, face down, offering herself once more, completely bare beneath Rayner’s professional gaze.
The silence in their apartment that evening was heavy, punctuated only by the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic. Paul sat rigidly on the edge of the couch, staring at the coffee table. Amanda curled at the other end, wrapped in a soft blanket, occasionally sipping tea. She hadn’t spoken much since they got home, her earlier tears replaced by a quiet, wounded stillness.
Finally, Paul broke the silence, his voice low and rough. “Amanda… I need to say… I am so, so sorry about today. At the facility.”
Amanda looked up, her eyes guarded.
“I was completely out of line,” Paul continued, scrubbing a hand over his face. He couldn’t meet her gaze. “I got that… that message… the video clip… and I just lost it. I didn’t think. I just reacted.” He finally looked at her, his own eyes filled with shame. “Seeing you like that, on the table… after seeing the clip… I jumped to the worst possible conclusion. I didn’t trust you. And I am so ashamed.”
Amanda watched him, her expression softening slightly. “You scared me, Paul. The way you burst in. The way you looked at me… at Dr. Rayner. And all because of dancing with your father? You were there and saw what happened.”
“I know, I know,” Paul rushed, leaning forward earnestly. “It was wrong. Completely unprofessional of me, and unfair to both of you. Especially when you explained… that you were only trying to protect me. Because Sophie said I was… fragile.” He winced at the word. “I hate that I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me you were hurting, that you needed help.”
He reached out tentatively, touching her knee through the blanket. “I do trust you, Amanda. More than anything. I know how demanding this job is, how much pressure you’re under. If you need that kind of… intense therapy… I support it. I want you to take care of yourself.”
Amanda searched his face, seeming to weigh his words. “I just didn’t want you to worry,” she whispered. “Sophie made it sound like you were barely holding it together, and the therapy… it’s not pretty. It’s deep work. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes I make noises.” She blushed faintly. “I didn’t want you picturing that, thinking I was in pain when it was actually… helping.”
Paul nodded quickly, latching onto the explanation. “No, I get it. I do. And that’s the other thing I’m sorry for.” He took a deep breath, forcing himself to articulate the thought that had been solidifying since his humiliating retreat from the therapy room. “I know I asked you before… to protect me from the details. Because I wasn’t handling it well. And today… today just proved it.”
He looked down at his hands. “Seeing you on that table, even knowing it was therapy… it was too much for me. I couldn’t handle it reasonably. I reacted badly. I made assumptions.” He looked back at her, his expression earnest and pained. “I guess I’ve just confirmed that there are some things you need to do – for your job, for your well-being – that I really shouldn’t be there for. Things I shouldn’t see.”
Amanda blinked, processing his words.
Paul pressed on, desperate to make her understand, to regain her trust. “It’s not about you, Amanda. It’s my limitation. I can’t handle seeing it without jumping to conclusions or getting overwhelmed. It gets in the way of your needs, of your process. You were right to try and shield me from it. I just… I need you to keep doing that. Don’t let me get in the way of you getting the… deep work… you need.”
A slow warmth spread through Amanda’s chest, chasing away the last of her hurt. He understood. He wasn’t blaming her; he was blaming himself. He wasn’t asking her to stop; he was asking her not to show him. He trusted her to continue her journey, her “therapy,” her “deep work,” as long as he didn’t have to witness the parts that unsettled him. It was exactly what she needed to hear – a reaffirmation of his trust, wrapped in an admission of his own weakness.
She leaned forward, taking his face in her hands, her smile soft and forgiving now. “Oh, Paul,” she murmured, kissing him gently. “Thank you for saying that. I was so afraid I’d broken something between us.”
“No,” he said quickly, relief flooding him as she kissed him again. “No, I almost broke it. But you were just doing what you needed to do. And trying to protect me.” He managed a shaky smile. “I love you. I trust you. Just… keep doing what you need to do. I’ll be right here.”
Amanda nestled against him, relief washing over her. He got it. He really got it. He wanted her to continue, to be open, to get the “therapy” she needed – he just couldn’t bear witness. It was perfect.
“Okay, baby,” she whispered against his chest, her mind already drifting to the possibilities, the freedom his words implied. “I can do that. For us.”
He’d apologized. He’d told her he trusted her. But the image of her on that table, Rayner’s hands so close… it wouldn’t leave him. He found himself late at night, phone hidden under the covers, typing hesitant searches: “deep tissue glute release,” “therapist patient boundaries,” “why does wife’s openness make me anxious?” He always deleted the history before morning.
26. MONITOR THE VIEW
The weeks that followed blurred into a strange new rhythm. Amanda kept traveling with the team, always busy, always glowing. When she was home, the apartment felt different – quieter somehow, but heavier.
Paul spent more and more of those days between her thighs, his mouth the only part of him she truly needed anymore. After Sophie’s guidance, Amanda barely had to ask. A look. A tilt of her hips. And Paul was there, eager to serve, grateful for the smallest hint of approval. She praised him often – gently, affectionately – but she rarely let him finish. Not without permission. Not without a purpose.
They talked about the baby in soft, practical tones. Names. Due dates. Whether Amanda would keep traveling during the second trimester. But Paul never asked again about the night he couldn’t remember. About what he thought he saw. He told himself it didn’t matter. That Amanda was still Amanda. That he was doing his part.
So when she asked him to come to the ultrasound appointment – to hold her hand and see their child for the first time – he said yes without hesitation.
The clinic was bright and sterile, the faint smell of antiseptic lingering beneath the soft thrum of a white noise machine. Amanda perched on the exam table, the thin cotton gown falling open at the front and tied loosely at the neck, barely skimming her thighs where the paper sheet ended. Paul sat beside her in a molded plastic chair, fingers laced tightly with hers, his thumb brushing slow circles against her palm.
“You okay?” he asked gently.
Amanda nodded with a soft smile. “Just nerves. I didn’t expect to feel this… twitchy.”
Sophie stood near the door, thumbing through her phone like she wasn’t really paying attention. But Amanda knew better. She felt Sophie’s eyes flick toward her every few seconds, sharp and unreadable.
“It’s your first real scan,” Sophie offered without looking up. “Totally normal to feel weird. Hormones make everything weird.”
A moment later, a nurse entered – young, cheerful, clipboard in hand. “Hi, Amanda! I’m Rachel. We’re just getting everything set up before the doctor comes in, so go ahead and lie back for me.”
Amanda eased onto her back as the nurse adjusted the table, then pulled the privacy curtain across her midsection, shielding her hips and legs from view. She positioned the monitor so Paul could see, angled toward his chair, and rolled a tray closer with a squeeze bottle and probe.
Rachel spread a generous dollop of gel onto Amanda’s lower belly. It was cold enough to make her flinch.
“Sorry,” Rachel said with a sympathetic wince. “It’ll warm up fast. Doctor should be in shortly.”
As she moved to the door, Rachel glanced toward Sophie. “Dr. Langston asked if your guest could stay quiet during the scan.”
Sophie raised her eyebrows. “Me? I’m a ghost.” She gave Amanda a wink, then went back to scrolling.
Amanda gave Paul a nervous smile as Rachel left. “Well… here we go.”
Paul grinned. “I still can’t believe this is real. I get to see them today. Our baby.”
She squeezed his hand, guilt tugging under her ribs.
The door opened again, and the room shifted.
As soon as Sophie heard the sound of the door, she pressed record on her phone, anticipating the look on Amanda’s face, positioned to catch both Amanda’s upper body and the ultrasound monitor. The camera rolled silently as she angled herself for a clear view.
Amanda’s breath caught the moment she heard the voice.
Her stomach dropped. It couldn’t be. Not here. Not in this room, not with Paul sitting inches away. But it was unmistakable. That voice. That walk. That cock –
“Good morning. Sorry for the wait.”
The man who entered wore the standard white coat – clean-shaven, hair slicked back, stethoscope draped casually over one shoulder. His expression was composed. Professional.
But Amanda knew him.
She knew the depth of his voice when he groaned into her ear. She knew how it sounded when he grunted behind her, cock buried to the hilt. She knew the way his fingers bruised. The weight of him. The size.
Her chest tightened like a vice.
It was Bryce.
She almost sat up – almost cried out – but Paul’s hand tightened on hers.
“Hi there,” Paul said cheerfully. “Are you Dr. Langston?”
Bryce smiled, extending a hand. “Just Bryce is fine. I’ll be doing the scan today.”
Amanda forced a smile, the blood roaring in her ears. Her thighs clenched beneath the drape, toes curling inside her paper socks.
“Nice to meet you,” she heard herself say, voice faint.
Bryce didn’t look at her directly. Not yet. Just moved to the sink, washing his hands in slow, methodical motions.
As Bryce slipped into the room and calmly introduced himself, Sophie’s camera subtly tracked him. The contrast between his professional calm and Amanda’s widening eyes was gold. She zoomed slightly, catching Amanda’s throat bobbing in a swallow, the way her legs tensed as she realized who he was. She made sure to pan slowly across the sterile room, anchoring Paul in the corner of the frame – smiling, clueless.
Bryce stepped forward, wielding the probe with an easy, clinical confidence. His fingers brushed her abdomen with practiced familiarity, the wand sliding through the gel with an obscene sort of grace. “Let me know if the pressure’s uncomfortable,” he said smoothly.
Amanda swallowed. The wand wasn’t the problem.
The curtain separating Paul from the view of her lower body now felt like gauze. The paper drape covering her crotch and thighs might as well have been translucent and useless. She could already feel herself growing slick – not with gel, but with something far more dangerous.
She tried to breathe, tried to focus on the flickering shadows on the monitor.
But Bryce’s ungloved hand had just brushed the inside of her thigh. Slowly. Like he was reacquainting himself.
He adjusted her legs slightly, his fingers grazing her inner thighs under the pretense of repositioning her for the scan. His touch lingered a moment too long – firm, proprietary. Amanda’s back arched almost imperceptibly.
Paul glanced at the screen. “Is that…?”
Bryce’s voice didn’t miss a beat. “That’s the fetus. Healthy size for this stage.”
Amanda’s head swam. Her body was screaming. She couldn’t clench. She couldn’t shift away. She could only lie there, trembling, as Bryce’s hand slid lower.
He moved deliberately, easing between her thighs now, fingers curling under the gown.
Amanda’s breath caught sharply in her chest.
She knew what was coming.
She also knew she wouldn’t stop it.
And worst of all – part of her didn’t want to.
She startled again as Paul, who sat nervously at her side, squeezed her hand in excitement.
“Can you see the screen okay?” Amanda asked, her voice bright and reassuring.
Paul nodded. “Yeah. I just… I can’t believe it. That’s our baby in there.”
At the foot of the table, hidden behind the curtain, stood Dr. Bryce Langston – the same man who had wrecked Amanda at the kissing booth. He wore a white lab coat now, professional and unassuming on the surface, but his eyes glinted with recognition as he glanced up at Amanda.
Sophie moved again, crossing behind Paul as he turned his attention to the monitor. But her camera followed Bryce’s hands as they disappeared beneath the curtain, catching the subtle motion of Amanda’s hips tensing, and the way her fingers clenched at the paper beneath her. She angled herself low, capturing the full visual suggestion of what was happening behind the modesty drape, careful to let the ultrasound screen hover in the background of the wide shot – an ironic overlay.
Bryce adjusted the probe with one hand while his other raised Amanda’s gown, guiding himself between her thighs. Amanda’s breath hitched.
“You okay?” Paul asked, squeezing her hand.
Amanda smiled quickly, eyes wide. “Y-yeah, just cold gel.”
Bryce’s cock met Amanda’s slick, trembling entrance with a heavy, deliberate press – wide and unyielding, the swollen head forcing her open with breath-halting resistance. Despite everything she’d taken in the past, it was still a challenge to accept his sheer girth. Her inner walls fluttered reflexively, trying to adjust, the initial stretch intense enough to draw a gasp she barely swallowed.
He didn’t rush. Bryce was methodical, inching deeper with each shallow roll of his hips, giving her just enough to burn but never enough to adjust fully. Her cunt clutched at him instinctively, slick and pulsing, trying to pull him deeper even as her body struggled to accommodate. Amanda’s fingers dug into the table’s edge, her breath ragged, her thighs trembling as the slow, unbearable fullness crept higher.
Her hips betrayed her, tilting just enough to invite what she couldn’t ask for. Bryce driving a little deeper, the thick flare of his cockhead stretching her open around its widest point. The pressure built with each passing second, sensation teetering between pleasure and something more dangerous. Her toes curled in their socks, her jaw clenched hard behind a shaky smile. He was nearly seated inside her now, the final few inches dragging slow and cruel against every overstimulated nerve. It wasn’t gentle. It was possessive. Intentional.
Sophie stepped to the side wall, phone still up, adjusting for a better angle. She zoomed slowly, not on the ultrasound now – but on the rhythmic, unmistakable twitch of Amanda’s thighs through the curtain gap, the motion syncing too perfectly with Bryce’s breathing. She wanted every angle: Amanda’s face in focus, Paul’s hand in hers, and the absolute filthy truth of what Bryce was doing – proof positive of Amanda’s transformation, and a record of a memory she would cherish forever.
Bryce never stopped talking about the images on the screen, moving the probe to display a variety of views, keeping Paul’s attention carefully on the monitor. Paul adjusted in his seat, squinting at the screen with furrowed brows, unaware that just inches away, his wife’s thighs trembled with every slow, brutal thrust.
She blinked rapidly, breath catching in her throat as he bottomed out – her body frozen in the moment, helplessly stretched around him. Her mind reeled backward, unbidden, to the booth at the carnival – the way he’d gripped her hips, the way he’d forced himself inside her with no warning, no restraint, no care. The humiliating ache. The terrifying pressure. The awful fullness she had no choice but to endure.
And yet… she’d thought of nothing else since.
Even now, the feel of him buried to the root made her dizzy. He was thicker than she remembered – maybe because she wasn’t locked in place this time, maybe because she wasn’t supposed to want it. But her body welcomed the stretch with trembling need, her cunt pounding, her breath shallow and sharp. Her gown fluttered subtly, the motion masked by the hum of the machine and the rustle of paper – but inside, everything screamed that she was being split apart again. And she loved it.
“Everything okay, Amanda?” Paul asked, noticing the tension in her hand.
“She’s fine,” Bryce interjected smoothly, shifting the probe across her belly. “Sometimes the wand, gel, and pressure can be… stimulating. Totally normal. Some women react strongly – it’s nothing to worry about.”
Amanda forced a smile, biting her lip as Bryce began to move again – slow, rolling thrusts that made her thighs twitch involuntarily. “Y-yeah,” she added breathily. “Just… a lot happening at once.”
Sophie stepped forward with a perfectly timed chuckle. “Pregnancy makes everything more intense,” she said. “Heightened sensitivity, full-body reactions… it’s a beautiful thing.”
Paul’s gaze softened. “Of course. You’re doing amazing, babe.”
Amanda’s voice trembled. “You always said being open to new sensations was part of growing together.” Her eyes fluttered as Bryce angled deeper, the thick flare of his cockhead grinding against a spot that made her toes curl.
Sophie stepped closer, glancing at the screen. “Everything looking good?” she asked Bryce casually.
“Perfect measurements,” he said. “Healthy growth. Strong heartbeat.”
Paul let out a shaky breath, his shoulders relaxing. “That’s… that’s amazing.”
Amanda whimpered softly, disguising it as an emotional reaction. “I just… I didn’t think I’d get to share this with you,” she said, stroking Paul’s hand.
Behind the curtain, Bryce’s thrusts deepened. Amanda’s hips twitched involuntarily. Sophie panned her phone in slow, reverent arcs, immortalizing the moment Amanda trembled between worlds.
Paul noticed Amanda’s flushed cheeks, the tension in her jaw. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
She nodded quickly. “It’s just… a lot of pressure. But I’m so glad you’re here.”
Sophie tilted her head. “She’s being very brave, Paul. Pregnancy can make women extra sensitive,” she said as she carefully directed Paul’s attention to the monitor screen, keeping him focused on the image at Bryce’s gesture.
Bryce leaned in close, his breath warm against Amanda’s ear as he murmured, “Still so tight. You missed this cock, didn’t you?” The words hit her like a punch and a promise all at once. Her fingers spasmed against Paul’s hand, her breath stalling in her throat.
Behind the curtain, Bryce subtly shifted the ultrasound wand lower, as if adjusting his angle, but his other hand guided Amanda’s hips toward a better position – one that let him drive deeper. The monitor flickered briefly, its grainy image momentarily betraying the rhythmic movement of something too thick, too blunt to be the wand.
Paul squinted. “What was that?”
Amanda’s heart seized, her pussy fluttering around the thickness buried inside her. “Glitch,” she whispered too fast, too soft.
Bryce didn’t miss a beat. “Sometimes deeper pressure near the cervix causes the equipment to spike. Totally normal. Should settle in a second.”
Paul squinted. “That looked like… movement. Inside?”
Bryce nodded toward the screen, calming. “Just pressure against the uterus – fluid shifts can cause shadows. Happens all the time.”
Paul looked around, “Are you sure? Should we call the nurse?”
Amanda squeezed his hand firmly, “The doctor is taking good care of me baby, don’t worry.”
Amanda’s cheeks burned, sweat blooming along her temples. Bryce remained still inside her, letting the sheer size of his cock speak for itself – throbbing gently against her walls, impossible to ignore. Her cunt fluttered helplessly, involuntarily clenching as her body struggled to hold him, stretch around him, adjust to the unforgiving girth. She could feel every vein, every throb, like her body was being sculpted from the inside out.
On the monitor, the wand’s placement captured the rhythmic pressure – each pulse registering as a subtle motion onscreen. A thick shape loomed, unmistakably cylindrical, pressing along the top edge of her uterus with slow, incremental movements. Paul’s brow furrowed as he stared, watching the flickering, grainy image with growing uncertainty.
“Is that… normal?” he asked quietly.
Amanda’s voice caught in her throat. Her breath hitched, her thighs trembling. She forced a smile – fragile and too bright. “I… I think so. It’s just… deep pressure.”
Bryce shifted slightly inside her, the motion registering onscreen as a rolling shadow – clearly organic, far too large and defined to be the wand. Sophie stepped closer, feigning curiosity, but her eyes danced with cruel amusement.
Paul leaned forward, squinting. “It’s just… that movement. Is the baby doing that?”
Bryce’s tone was perfectly calm. “The uterus reacts to stimuli – movement, pressure, even breath can create interference. It’s… completely normal.”
Amanda blinked rapidly, her fingers tightening around Paul’s. Her pussy spasmed again, helplessly, around Bryce’s cock. She could feel another wave building – slow, terrifying, inevitable. She smiled through clenched teeth, trying not to shake.
Paul tilted his head, still watching the screen. “It almost looks like something’s… pushing upward. From the inside.”
Amanda laughed too quickly. “I think that’s just… the machine catching up.”
The shadow moved again, thicker this time, the motion subtle but unmistakably rhythmic. Sophie tilted her head, lips twitching.
“Looks like everything’s… progressing,” she murmured.
Bryce pulsed forward, the barest flex of his hips, and Amanda’s lungs forgot their task. Paul looked up, concerned.
“You okay?”
Amanda’s eyes glistened. “Never better.”
Sophie tilted her head slightly, watching Amanda’s face flicker between panic and ecstasy. She almost felt sorry for Paul – almost. But this? This was working.
“Don’t worry, uh… Paul, right?” Bryce said, keeping his voice level. “Sometimes the deeper pressure near the cervix can trigger odd visuals or sensations. Totally normal. Just let the equipment recalibrate. Here, I’ll help adjust the alignment.”
Amanda blinked and gasped quickly, her fingers squeezing Paul’s. “You always make me feel safe,” she murmured, loud enough for Paul to hear.
Paul beamed, completely unaware. “I just want you to know how proud I am. You’ve been incredible through all this.”
She couldn’t speak – not without moaning. Instead, she squeezed Paul’s hand again, holding his gaze, her voice a whisper: “This means so much to me. That you’re here. That you believe in me.”
Bryce’s next thrust was slow, merciless – dragging against every nerve. Her cunt spasmed around him, the orgasm coiling dangerously behind her ribs.
Paul beamed, brushing hair from her damp forehead. “I believe in us.”
Behind the curtain, Amanda’s thighs trembled uncontrollably, each muscle clenching as Bryce shifted his grip on her hips – tight, possessive, grounding her in place. She could feel him throb, his cock swelling with the unmistakable signals of an imminent release. But he wasn’t there yet. He needed more.
Outside the curtain, Paul sat upright in his chair, eyes narrowing at the flickering ultrasound monitor as strange pulses and shadows danced onscreen. “It’s still doing that movement thing,” he murmured, brow furrowed.
Sophie stepped closer and leaned slightly over his shoulder, angling her body to subtly block part of his view. “That’s probably uterine spasms,” she said smoothly. “Happens sometimes. Can you grab the printed report off the counter for a second?”
As Paul turned, Sophie angled her phone toward the curtain again, capturing the barely perceptible jolt of Amanda’s hips, the shifting shadows on the screen, and the flutter of Amanda’s lashes. Her thumb slid subtly to adjust the zoom. She wanted every frame.
Paul turned his head toward the counter. That was all the distraction Bryce needed.
The second Paul looked away, Bryce’s hand tightened and he began to move – slow at first, then hard, unforgiving. The pace ramped fast and brutal, his thick cock slamming into Amanda’s soaked cunt with wet, echoing force. Each thrust landed deep, a punishing rhythm that jolted Amanda forward in tiny, helpless spasms. Her jaw clenched, her body arching slightly under the curtain, her grip on Paul’s hand turning vice-tight as the pounding escalated.
Amanda could barely breathe. Bryce’s cock drove into her over and over, her pussy stretched to its limit, clenching and gripping desperately with every brutal slam. She bit the inside of her cheek, blinking away tears – not from pain, but the intensity of it, the way her body had no choice but to surrender. Her orgasm crashed through her like a wave – violent, uncontrollable, her cunt clenching greedily just as Bryce gave a sharp grunt.
He came hard. Thick, burning jets of cum flooded her, each pulse brutally deep, pushed inward by short, sharp thrusts that sealed the release inside her. Amanda jerked slightly, her thighs twitching, the gush of warmth unmistakable. Her cunt spasmed around him, milking the load in involuntary waves.
On the monitor, the ultrasound image momentarily flickered with a dark, rhythmic bloom – too fluid, too organic to be anything but a release. The screen glitched briefly, a swirl of grainy movement pulsing outward from a central point. She could feel it: each savage pulse of cum timed perfectly with the flickering shadow blooming onscreen like an inkblot – proof of her undoing.
Paul had just returned to his chair, craning to make sense of the shapes. “What was that?” he asked, confused, leaning forward. “Why did it fill with black like that?”
Bryce struggled to keep his voice steady as he responded “Transient amniotic… ugh… swirl – it’s common after a maternal… muscle… spasm.”
When Amanda tensed and Bryce’s final thrust drew a gasp from behind the curtain, Sophie’s camera panned left – capturing Paul’s sudden shift as he turned back toward the monitor – just as a thick pulse of cum flickered across the black-and-white image, unmistakable even in grainy clarity. Sophie caught it all: Paul’s confusion, Amanda’s tears, Bryce’s smug composure.
Amanda lay frozen, shaking, her cunt flooded and twitching, Bryce still buried inside her. Her smile barely held. She turned her head, met Paul’s eyes, and whispered, “I love you.” This is what Paul meant, she reminded herself, when he said openness meant growing together. This was growth. This was love. This was what he wanted… wasn’t it?
Sophie stepped forward, handing Amanda a tissue. “It’s a beautiful moment,” she said, her voice warm but mocking.
Bryce pulled back silently, cleaning himself with a casual efficiency as Amanda adjusted her gown. The curtain never moved.
“Congratulations,” he said, glancing at both of them.
Paul smiled, unaware of anything beneath the surface. “Thank you, Doctor.”
Sophie’s eyes gleamed. “You two are going to make such a strong, open family.” Sophie tapped her phone screen to stop the recording, her face unreadable. She slipped it into her purse as Bryce peeled off his gloves, then leaned close to whisper:
“Send me the full ultrasound video, uncut. I’m doing a little… composite edit.”
Bryce raised a brow, amused. “You’ll owe me creative credit.”
“You’ll get royalties,” Sophie smirked, brushing past him. “If you keep this up.”
27. WHO’S YOUR DADDY
The fluorescent lights of the private clinic buzzed softly overhead as Amanda sat perched nervously on the edge of the examination table. Her heart hammered with a strange cocktail of anticipation and guilt, her fingers fidgeting in her lap.
The door opened. Bryce entered with a casual swagger, a confidential folder tucked under his arm. His dark eyes roamed over her appreciatively, and a slow, satisfied smile curved his lips.
“Good to see you again, Amanda,” he said, his voice low and rich.
Amanda flushed, shame and hunger climbing her throat in tandem. “Thanks for… seeing me privately,” she murmured.
Bryce chuckled, stepping closer. He flipped the folder open and held it out to her casually. “Have some results for you, standard non-invasive NIPT panel we added. Just thought you’d want to know for sure.”
Amanda blinked and took it with trembling hands. Her eyes scanned the results, heart stuttering in her chest.
Paternity Analysis: Positive Match. Father: Dr. Bryce Langston.
Her breath caught. She looked up at him, her vision blurring slightly.
“This is what you wanted,” Bryce said, voice soft but firm. He stepped between her knees, his hands settling possessively on her thighs. “Isn’t it?”
Amanda opened her mouth – to protest, to rationalize, she wasn’t sure – but no words came. Her cunt remembered him with cruel clarity, pulsing to the rhythm of his absent thrusts. Her heart remembered Paul’s encouragement, his words about trust and openness. Her mind clung desperately to the idea that this was part of what Paul wanted for them – part of what she was supposed to give. The guilty thrill twisting low in her belly only made the thought cling tighter, more desperate, more necessary.
Bryce leaned in, his forehead brushing hers for a moment, startlingly intimate.
“I’m going to need to see more of you. On my schedule,” he murmured.
Amanda shivered, torn between shame and a deep, helpless ache that pulsed low in her belly. Without thinking, she dropped to her knees, shame blooming as her thighs parted on instinct. Her cheeks burned with humiliation and need, but it felt right – this was what he wanted. This was what Paul would want her to give.
Bryce’s smile widened, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest. He brushed his thumb across her cheek, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze.
“Good girl,” he said, his voice rich with approval. “But I don’t have time to treat you the way you deserve today.”
Amanda flushed deeper, swallowing her disappointment, trembling under the weight of his gaze as he adjusted his coat, sealing his quiet claim on her.
He paused, smiling broadly, knowingly, at the way her shoulders sagged, then he stepped back, adjusting his coat as if sealing the transaction. “I’ll be in touch soon. Your next appointment is scheduled to be… internal.”
Amanda sat frozen for a long moment after he left, clutching the folder against her chest, heart pounding so hard she thought she might faint. Disappointment gnawed at her – a hollow, aching need that Bryce had ignited but left unfulfilled.
She had knelt for him. She had offered herself completely. And yet, he had turned away with a casual promise, leaving her trembling, soaked, and aching for more – a need she couldn’t fully blame on Paul anymore, no matter how hard she tried.
Was she still doing this for Paul? she wondered, the question flashing through her mind like a guilty whisper. Or was she doing it for herself now too – for the way it made her feel wanted, needed, claimed? She buried her face against the folder, struggling to steady her breathing, desperate to believe that her surrender still belonged to Paul as much as it did to Bryce.
The cool air of the hallway shocked her back into movement. She stumbled outside – only to find Sophie leaning casually against a parked car, sipping a coffee, her smile bright and welcoming.
“Hey, honey,” Sophie said, straightening. She took one look at Amanda’s face and opened her arms. Amanda stepped into the hug without thinking, the folder crumpling between them.
Sophie pulled back and tucked a strand of Amanda’s hair behind her ear. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “You’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to.”
Amanda’s lip quivered. “He’s… it’s Bryce,” she whispered, as if admitting it made it more real.
Sophie’s smile was warm, almost maternal. “Of course it is. Who else would it be? It had to be someone strong enough for you.”
Amanda blinked up at her, dazed.
Sophie cupped her cheek. “You’re his gift now, Amanda. The gift Paul always wanted you to give.”
Amanda’s heart twisted painfully. She wanted to believe that. She needed to believe that.
“He gave you to the world,” Sophie murmured. “It’s the purest kind of love. Trusting you to be wanted. To be needed.”
Amanda closed her eyes, breathing raggedly, nodding as she fought back tears. The guilty whisper rose again – the question she hadn’t fully silenced. Was she really doing this for Paul, or had some part of her started doing it for herself too? She buried the thought as quickly as it came, clinging tighter to Sophie’s words like a lifeline as she subconsciously squeezed her dripping thighs together.
She was doing this for Paul.
She was.
She had to be.
Sophie glanced down as her phone buzzed.
Bryce: Next Trimester check 6PM Thursday
Without even realizing it, Amanda clutched the folder tighter against her chest, as if the thin paper between her hands could anchor her to the life she was trying so desperately to protect – the life she still believed she was giving back to Paul, even as a deeper, darker need curled tighter inside her.
28. OPEN TO HIS ROLE
Amanda curled closer to Paul on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder. She’d been back from her latest work trip for a day, and while she was physically present, Paul felt a subtle distance, a new energy about her that both thrilled and terrified him.
“You know, Paul,” she began, her voice soft, almost reverent, “with all these new experiences, all these intense connections I’m making… sometimes it feels like I’m sailing in uncharted waters.” She looked up at him, her eyes shining with an earnestness that twisted something in his chest. “But then I think of you, and I know I’m safe. You’re my anchor, baby. The one constant, steady thing that lets me explore all of this, knowing I always have you to come back to. Your strength is what makes me brave enough to be so… open.”
She smiled, expecting him to be pleased, to feel the depth of her appreciation.
But the word “anchor” landed in Paul’s mind with the thud of a lead weight, his world shrinking down to just those six letters. Anchor? He forced a smile, but his stomach churned. An anchor didn’t facilitate flight; it held things down. It prevented drifting, yes, but it also signified being stationary, a fixed point while the ship strained to explore the vast, open sea. His mind flashed back to Sophie’s earlier words, her voice dripping with mock sympathy when she’d first spoken of his role: ‘She loves you, of course. You’re her rock. But rocks can become… anchors, if they don’t also learn to move with the tide.’ Sophie had warned him. An anchor was what you became if you couldn’t keep up.
Was that how Amanda saw him now? As the heavy, unmoving thing that kept her tethered, perhaps even held her back, while she yearned for boundless oceans?
The image of Amanda, radiant and “expansive” in her new world, contrasted sharply with the cold, unyielding iron of an anchor sunk deep in the mud. His earlier fears of being “small,” of her outgrowing him, resurfaced with a vengeance. She thought she was praising his strength, but all he heard was a confirmation of his inertia, his inability to sail those wild seas with her – the very thing Sophie had cautioned him against becoming.
“That’s… really sweet of you to say, Amanda,” he managed, his voice sounding distant even to his own ears. He pulled her a little closer, a desperate gesture.
Amanda, mistaking his quietness for deep emotion, nuzzled into him contentedly.
But Paul’s mind was spinning. My anchor. The words echoed, each repetition cementing his fear that he was becoming the very thing he knew he couldn’t be: a limitation. This new dread was a fresh layer upon his existing anxieties, a heavy cloak he couldn’t shake.
Later that week, Paul sat hunched over the kitchen table, his coffee cooling untouched beside him. The silence of the house pressed down like a physical weight. Amanda had been different lately – distant sometimes, radiant and affectionate at others, but always just slightly… elsewhere. And Paul couldn’t shake the gnawing anxiety that something was slipping through his fingers. He had to fix this. He couldn’t lose her.
Sophie… Sophie would know what to do. She clearly understood Amanda’s new world in ways that escaped him.
In desperation, he started to text his sister.
His thumb quivered over the send button, then with a curse, he deleted it.
Paul wrote another message.
Halfway through, he deleted it again.
He paced.
Then sitting again, he finally drew the courage to press send.
Sophie responded immediately.
Sophie: Of course. Come by.
Now, sitting stiffly on Sophie’s plush sectional, Paul felt exposed. Sophie, lounging like a queen in her armchair, one bare leg draped elegantly over the side, cradled her glass of wine with lazy confidence. She regarded him with a patient, almost pitying smile – the smile of someone who already knew the outcome of a conversation before it even began. Despite her carefully supportive tone, there was a glint of triumph in her eyes, a subtle imperiousness in the tilt of her chin. Paul had come to her for help, and she intended to savor every moment of it.
“Talk to me,” she urged gently.
Paul hesitated. “It’s Amanda,” he said finally, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if it’s just me, but… something feels different.”
Sophie sipped her wine, her gaze steady. “Different how?”
“She’s more… confident,” Paul said hesitantly, staring down at his hands.
Sophie tilted her head, a small smile playing at her lips. “You wanted that for her, didn’t you? You wanted her to feel empowered.”
Paul nodded, a drowning man mistaking the chain for a rope. “Yeah, of course… Of course I did.”
“So why does it scare you now?” Sophie asked, her voice gentle but probing.
Paul fumbled for words. “Because… she’s more distant sometimes. Like she’s outgrowing me,” his voice tightening with a desperation he could no longer conceal. “Sophie,” he began, “Amanda called me her anchor… and I don’t know if I can be what she needs anymore…”
Sophie’s expression melted to empathy, but her eyes gleamed like a wolf dressed in silk. “Paul,” she said, voice low and soothing, “Amanda is blossoming. She’s becoming the woman she was always meant to be. And that’s beautiful. And she loves you – maybe more now than ever. She loves you because you pushed her to… open up. Because you trusted her enough to let her grow, to really …stretch… without holding her back, or making her feel bad about how she… lets people in. That’s rare, Paul. Most men could never do that.”
Paul swallowed. “But what if… what if I’m not enough for her anymore?”
Sophie’s smile deepened – a mix of warmth and something sharper. “Little brother, don’t be silly. Of course you are. Just not in exactly the same way you used to be.”
Paul blinked slowly, as a chill ran down his spine.
Sophie’s admonition to avoid being “the thing in Amanda’s life that feels… small’ rang in his ears. An image of Marcus flashed unbidden behind his eyelids before he banished it, leaving behind the faint sting of tears that had nearly sprung loose.
“Amanda needs things,” Sophie continued, her tone rich with double meaning. “She needs to experience big, overwhelming things that not everyone can provide. Deep needs that… well, aren’t a fair burden to put on one man.”
She took a small sip before she continued, “You’ve seen how satisfied she is at her job, and she’s amazing at it. She’s working… so hard to keep the team happy. The basketball team is pushing her to… fully embrace those needs… That’s not something you can provide.”
Paul flushed, guilt and shame rising in his throat.
Sophie set her glass down and moved to sit beside him, her hand brushing his knee reassuringly. “But you, Paul… you can give her something even more important.”
He looked at her, desperate.
“Emotional support. Trust. Devotion. A foundation she can build her freedom on.”
Paul’s heart twisted. He shifted awkwardly, flushing. “I mean… lately, it’s more… me taking care of her. Not so much… you know. Regular stuff.”
He couldn’t bring himself to say it – to admit out loud that Amanda rarely let him inside her anymore, that most nights ended with his mouth between her thighs and little else. He fumbled. “Just… making her feel good. In other ways.”
Sophie’s smile was almost tender.
Sophie’s smile was almost tender, though a flicker of mischief gleamed in her eyes. “You’re still important there too. Just… differently.”
She paused, letting the silence stretch until Paul shifted uncomfortably. Then, with a teasing lilt, she added, “Not every man can say he’s made himself that useful, you know. Most would just get in the way.” Her voice was warm, her hand squeezing his knee gently, but the faint, amused edge beneath her words made Paul’s face burn hotter.
She let the implication hang before leaning in closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “You can be her safe place. Her reward. Her reminder that no matter what else she explores, she’s got a rock to rely on.”
Paul absorbed this with a dazed, painful kind of hope.
“And besides,” Sophie added with a soft laugh, “you’ve been doing such good work lately, haven’t you?”
Paul blushed, nodding slightly, though the memory made his stomach twist. The training had been humiliating, degrading – being coached step-by-step, forced to prove just how eager and thorough he could be. But he couldn’t deny the results.
Amanda had responded to his efforts with more warmth, more smiles, more little gestures of affection. He clung to that fragile sense of pride, desperate for it to outweigh the hollow shame still lingering inside him.
“Amanda needs that,” Sophie said warmly. “She needs to know you’re always ready to support her. To cherish her. To make her feel treasured – especially when she’s been working hard to please people when she’s… been overwhelmed.”
Paul swallowed thickly.
“That’s your role now, Paul,” Sophie whispered, her hand squeezing his. “Not to keep her caged. Not to keep her small. Not to try to match everything she experiences. But to be big in the ways that you can. To be there for her, with your whole heart.”
He nodded slowly, clinging to the lifeline she offered, ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut.
“You want Amanda to feel supported, right?”
Sophie smiled again – gentle, reassuring, victorious. “She’s happier than I’ve ever seen her. You should be proud. You’ve given her the freedom to grow, and now you get to be the one she always comes home to. You just have to keep doing what you’ve been doing, and be careful you don’t start to weigh her down.”
She let that sink in, her thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles. “And to keep it that way… well, you’ll need to stay flexible too, little brother. Open-minded. Show her you’re truly devoted. Maybe even yielding to a few… deeper experiences yourself”
Her voice stayed soft and encouraging, but the faint glint in her eye promised far more than simple advice.
Paul forced a smile, even as Sophie’s words echoed hollowly in his ears.
“You’re right of course, I can’t be a hypocrite. I want to be open too,” he heard himself say, the words tumbling out clumsily. “I can’t let myself become an anchor. I have to make sure she knows she can go out and then come back to me no matter what. I have to be… whatever she needs,” he concluded, his eyes wide and pleading, searching Sophie’s face for confirmation, for absolution, for anything that would make him feel proud again.
Sophie’s smile sharpened just slightly, her fingers giving his hand an approving squeeze. She let her thumb glide slowly over the back of his hand – soothing, possessive – before leaning back with a satisfied hum, as if savoring the quiet, inevitable fall of a carefully toppled domino.
The Bad Idea Guy 