A joke about April Fool’s Day and wanting bacon prompted this… it's a story I wrote under my Dani Jacobs (cuckold) pen name.

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The scent of sizzling bacon wafts through the thin apartment walls, making my mouth water and stomach rumble with fierce hunger. "Harold!" I call out. "Brent's cooking bacon again. Get in here and fry some up for me. I'll make it worth your while."

Harold's muffled reply drifts in from the living room, but the words are lost, drowned out by the incessant siren song of crispy, savory bacon. Ever since this baby took root inside me, strange cravings overwhelm me at all hours. Harold claims it's just my imagination---except when I'm craving his cum. Funny how he never questions that particular appetite.

"Did you hear me?" I shout again impatiently.

This time, his voice rings out from closer by. "Babe, you need sleep. You were up all night with heartburn."

He appears in the bedroom doorway, handsome face etched with concern. He's right---I barely slept, tossing and turning on the too-firm mattress, my tender nipples aching and tingling with every brush of fabric. But exhaustion wars with the gnawing emptiness in my belly.

I pout at him, playing up the pitiful pregnant wife. "I know, I'm just so tired and hungry. Please, if you make me some bacon, I swear I'll rest easier after. I think some food will help settle me."

His jaw tightens. "I'm not making bacon right now, Bri."

Shock lances through me at his flat refusal. "Are you seriously denying the woman carrying your child some goddamn bacon? I'd fry some up for you if you had to lug this baby around!"

"That's not fair," he argues. "I cook for you constantly. I just don't feel like bacon this minute."

Indignation flares, irrational and all-consuming. "How is that unfair? It's just fucking bacon!"

"Remember when you screamed at me for making the pancakes too lumpy? You're not thinking straight, it's the hormones---"

"Well maybe if you didn't suck at cooking, I wouldn't have thrown the plate at you! I can't believe you're blaming me for this."

Tense silence stretches between us as he struggles for a response. I know my wild mood swings are driving him insane, but I'm too far gone to care. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I fix him with a defiant glare.

"Fine. If you won't get me bacon, I'll go next door and offer Brent whatever he wants for some."

Harold's eyes flash with anger. He stalks toward me, voice a low growl. "Don't you dare. You're definitely not getting any bacon now."

Ignoring his impotent fury, I rummage through the closet. I pull out a flowy yellow sundress and slip it on. As I slide my feet into a pair of comfy house slippers, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The dress hugs my belly, but I look pretty dang good. I feel unexpectedly alluring despite my pregnant state.

With renewed determination, I waddle out of the apartment and knock on Brent's door, belly jutting obscenely in front of me. He answers a moment later, fresh from the shower with water sluicing over his chiseled abs, a towel slung low around his waist. Holy hell, he's mouthwatering. But the intoxicating aroma of bacon frying behind him quickly redirects my focus.

I lean against the doorframe in what I hope is a seductive pose despite my pregnant form. "Hey Brent, sorry to disturb your shower. I'm absolutely starving and can't seem to get what I need at home. Mind if I come in for a minute?"

His eyes rake appreciatively over my curves, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. "Be my guest, beautiful. I'm sure I have just what you're craving."

As I step inside, the scent of bacon grows stronger, and my stomach growls. The towel tenting over his crotch catches my eye, and I let out a soft, appreciative murmur. He's just as yummy looking as his bacon is going to taste.

He leads me to the kitchenette, where a heaping plate of glistening bacon awaits. The sight of it makes my knees weak, and I feel a flutter in my belly.

"I was hoping you might have something else in mind to eat," he says, arching an eyebrow suggestively.

My heart races as I hear the unspoken suggestion in his voice. "Mmmm, nope. Just want your bacon. What do I need to do to get a taste? And please don't make a pregnant lady wash dishes."

He chuckles, his eyes lingering on my rounded belly. "You don't have to do a thing, Brianna." His voice is low and husky, sending shivers down my spine.

"What if I want it?" I ask, licking my lips and sending him a bold look. His cock twitches under the towel in response.

"My bacon?" he repeats, a sly grin spreading across his face.

"Oh yes, definitely your bacon. That's what I want right now." I take a step closer to him, my eyes fixed on his erection. My mouth waters at the sight of it, and I can feel a flush spreading across my cheeks.

I give him my best innocent look. "What can I do for the bacon? Surely there is something you want?"

His eyes drop to my mouth, and a thrill runs through me as he growls, "Oh yeah. I want something."

He doesn't have to say anything more. I stand next to the kitchen table and use it to help lower myself to my knees. I feel awkward. I'm a very pregnant kneeling woman, ready to do whatever it takes to get some bacon.

"What would you like from me?" I ask, and his cock jerks visibly through the towel. My desire for him grows with each passing second.

"Open your mouth and stick out your tongue," he orders, his voice low and commanding.

*Yes, sir!* I obey instantly, my heart pounding as I wait for his next move. He steps closer, dropping his towel to reveal his hard, throbbing cock. Mmmm, yummy. I reach for him, and when I take hold of the base, I can barely wrap my fingers all the way around. He's a freaking stallion. I think I'm in love with his cock.

He shakes his head. "No touching unless I give you permission to do so."

Dammit, I love it when guys get all dominant. I drop my hand as I imagine stroking the velvety skin of his cock.

He presses on the back of my head with his palm, drawing me towards his groin. I let him lead me to what I want. When he starts to feed his cock into my mouth, my tongue circles the tip of his cock, and I moan in anticipation.

Oh, he tastes good. He's bigger than my husband, and when I try to deep throat him, it's a tight fit. He's hitting the back of my throat, and tears fill my eyes as I struggle to please him. I relax my throat, opening up to take more of him. This is divine.

I brace my hands on his thighs as he pushes deeper into me. The salty pre-cum slides down my throat as I gag. He's almost at my limit, and I can feel him pressing against the back of my throat. Oh fuck, this is so hot.

I can't swallow my saliva. Spit is flowing from my mouth. He pulls my head back off him so I can breathe for a moment. As air fills my lungs, I feel a fire ignite my pussy. He feeds me his cock again, this time being gentle and giving me a chance to breathe while he slowly fucks my face. I take every inch of him deep into my throat, and my pussy aches and gets wetter every time I gag on him.

"Such a beautiful pregnant slut. Does your husband know you're over here sucking my cock for bacon?"

I moan around his cock as the ache in my pussy builds. I pull off of him, so I can answer.

"Yes. I told him that if he didn't make me some bacon, I was coming over here and offering you whatever you wanted for some."

He smirks. "Good girl."

His praise thrills me, and he rewards me by fucking my face hard and fast. I feel dirty and used in the most delicious way. I'm a filthy whore who will suck off some guy for bacon.

And I'm enjoying every. Fucking. Second. Of. It.

I moan as I slobber all over his cock. When he slams in to the back of my throat and holds it, I nearly convulse with pleasure. I'm craving his cum so much that I'm shaking with desire, and he hasn't even touched my pussy.

I'm desperate to touch myself to relieve the building pressure of sexual energy, but my belly is so round I'm not sure I can do it myself. Fuck, this is torture, but I'm going to try anyway.

I shift and spread my knees wider, and as soon as he can tell I'm trying to touch myself, his words stop me in my tracks.

"What are you doing, little whore?"

I freeze, wishing I could answer, but my mouth is stuffed full of cock. I pull my head back and moan, "Need to touch myself."

He grabs a fistful of my hair and fucks my face again. "No touching. You're here for bacon, not to come. Be a good girl."

He's right. I don't deserve to touch. I throw myself onto his cock, determined to earn my bacon. A deep keening noise reverberates from my throat the longer he fucks me, and I lose control of the noises I'm making.

He's controlling me, using me, and I'll do anything to please him. It's the most twisted erotic thing I've ever experienced. My senses are in overdrive. Every time he tugs my hair and calls me his whore, a jolt of lightning shoots through my pussy, sending ripples of pleasure through my veins. He's pounding his massive cock in and out of my throat, and the world takes on a surreal feeling. I'm just a hole for him to use.

I can feel the wetness between my thighs, and it matches the moisture from my mouth. I'm a filthy whore who is creating a slippery mess. Drool is flowing from my lips onto my cleavage. My sundress is damp, and the fabric plasters to my hardened and aching nipples.

When I look up at him with his cock stuffed deep down my throat, I've never wanted a man more in my life. The things I want him to do to me---the depraved acts I want him to perform---make me feel filthy, and it makes me need his cock even more. I'm just a needy, cock-crazy whore and I want him to fuck me in every hole.

Brent's thrusts slow down and become erratic, and I realize that he's close to coming. The thought excites me, and I force myself to focus on making it better for him. I press my thighs together even more tightly and hum in low moans, vibrating my vocal chords to increase the tightness in my throat. When I see the shudder run up his thighs and into his muscles, I know he likes it. His soft moan makes my clit throb with desire, and my body aches for his touch.

"Suck me off, whore. Be a good slut and swallow my cum."

His words turn me on and make me feel a primal connection to him. I'm eager to taste his seed, and I suck for all I'm worth. His fist clenches my hair tightly as he begins to buck wildly into my mouth. I want his cum more than I want anything.

His thighs flex, and his body tenses as he prepares to burst inside me. His cock swells inside my throat.

"Ohhh fuck," he growls, "Swallow it, whore."

He blows a hot load into my mouth, and my throat contracts in reflex to swallow. I moan as he unloads his balls in long streams as he continues to fuck my face. I can't swallow it all, and saliva and cum dribble from the sides of my mouth as he pulses again.

When he's finished unloading, he pulls his cock from my mouth. He stands there looking down at me, his cum dribbling off my lips as I try to lick it all up. My eyes drift to his glorious cock, and a few strands of my saliva mixed with his cum hang from the head of his cock.

I want to finish cleaning him up, but his voice breaks my thoughts, and my gaze flicks up to meet his. I know I'm a mess, but I feel wonderful. My breasts are full and aching, and my body feels loose. His eyes are half-closed, and the sated look on his face makes me smile.

He pats my head gently and then grabs the edge of my dress, wiping my face with the soaked cotton.

"Thanks, Brent."

"You're welcome, my pregnant slut."

He helps me up, and I wobble a little as I stand, but I'm content because I pleased him. I can go home a happy slut.

He hands me the plate of bacon, piled high, but doesn't let go of it. "Now remember, you can't share with your husband unless he kisses you with tongue. That's the rule."

Holding on to the other edge of the plate, I grin at him. "Yes, Sir."

He finally surrenders the plate. "Just bring the plate back next weekend."

I give him a cutesy wave and head back to my apartment, clutching my hard-earned plate of bacon.

When I walk in, Harold is sitting at the kitchen table waiting for me. He looks at me as if he's in a trance.

I set the plate down and run my hands through his hair. "Do you want some bacon, hon?"

He nods, and I lean over and brush my lips against his. As he deepens the kiss without my coaxing him, I smile as our tongues twirl together. Harold moans into my mouth, and I know he's enjoying the taste of Brent.

If he didn't, he'd make me bacon every weekend when I ask.

The End