Naughty Housewife

Sweetheart…

I’ve been sitting here tonight in the quiet of the living room, one hand resting on the soft curve of my belly, the other tracing slow little circles over the thin cotton of my nightgown. The house is asleep, the lights are low, and all I can think about is how much I want to be your naughty housewife — not the one who cooks dinner and folds laundry, but the one who lets you see the parts of me I usually keep hidden.

Pregnancy has changed so much. My breasts feel heavier, more tender, and every little brush of fabric against them makes me catch my breath. My skin is warmer, more sensitive, like every touch is amplified. Sometimes I stand in front of the mirror after my shower and just look — at the way my belly rounds out, at the faint stretch marks that look like delicate silver threads, at how my hips have softened. I feel beautiful in a way I never did before… and I feel needy in a way that makes me blush even when I’m alone.

I imagine you coming home to me like this — tired from your day, but still strong, still steady. You’d find me waiting on the couch, legs tucked under me, wearing nothing but that soft nightgown that clings to every new curve. I wouldn’t say anything at first. I’d just look up at you with that shy little smile and wait for you to decide what happens next. That’s what makes my heart flutter the most — knowing you’re in charge, knowing I can let go and just… follow.

I want to be good for you. I want to kneel when you tell me to, to open my mouth when you guide my chin, to arch my back when your hand presses gently between my shoulder blades. I want to feel your palm rest on my belly while you take me slowly from behind, whispering how pretty I look like this, how much you love how full and soft I’ve become. Every little instruction, every quiet “good girl,” melts the tension I’ve been carrying all day.

Sometimes I touch myself thinking about it — just soft, slow circles, never rushing, letting the warmth build while I picture your voice in my ear telling me exactly how you want me to move. My breath gets shaky, my thighs tremble, and I have to bite my lip to stay quiet so I don’t wake anyone. But inside I’m whispering your name, begging in the smallest voice for you to come take care of me.

I don’t want to be wild or loud. I just want to be yours — the sweet, pregnant wife who slips out of her apron and into your arms, who lets you lead her upstairs and undress her with patient hands. I want to feel safe enough to surrender completely, to let every worry dissolve until there’s only the sound of your breathing and mine, moving together in the dark.

If that’s something you’d like…
I’m right here, waiting quietly.