Tom Holland smuts

Breeding Kink

You didn't know when it really started but lately Tom had been extremely amorous, sweeping you into bed at every opportunity that he had. You weren't complaining - of course not, but you had wondered what had caused such a flurry of attention. You often caught him staring at you, well your body, with a glint in his eye. At first you were convinced he was eyeing up your cleavage, prominent with the help of a well fitting structured bra, so you made sure to tug your tops down a little, popping them even higher in the v neck top you were wearing, or arching your back subtly so they loomed large through your tight top, but he seemed to pay no additional attention so you watched him, watching you.

You were stretching up to grab the edge of the bag of flour on the top shelf in the cupboard when you turned to ask him for some help, to see him staring avidly, longingly and was it wistfully at your taut stomach on show, your top having risen up as you reached, giving a clear view of your belly.

"Tom." you tried, but his gaze remained on your lower half. "TOM!" you tried again and he shook his head, gaze jumping to your face as he looked attentively to you.

"A little help?" you asked softly wondering at the fleetingly sad expression on his face as he walked over. He leaned over you reaching to grab the flour, pressing his body tight to yours as he did so, before sliding the bag onto the work surface and still behind you wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and nuzzling into your hair and neck, pressing gentle kisses to you warm skin as his hands splayed across your tummy and tightened slightly.

"Whats wrong?" you whispered, too scared to voice your concerns out loud as you stood frozen by the kitchen counter.

"Nothing." came Toms voice, muffled by your hair.

You turned in his embrace, looking up into his face, noting once again that look of sadness and longing pass across his well defined features in a flash as he closed his mouth, his eyebrows set in a line.

Tom's PoV

It had all started last month with a dream, just a stupid dream where nothing made sense, streets which led to the wrong places, buying a new pair of shoes from the zoo, just nonsense that my brain had junked together, but she'd been in it, beautiful as ever, her hair gleaming under the sun, her smile lighting up my world and making my heart ache, the ever present glint in her eye as she turned to me, her pregnant belly swollen and magnificent as she ran her hands lovingly over the bump of our child, our son. And it was everything I'd ever wanted, the joy lifting me above the ground.

When I woke I was pressed up against her warm lithe body, my hands cupping nothing, lying against her flat stomach and my heart dropped, still half dreaming, feeling the absence of a child. Tears began sliding down my face and I had to quickly scoot back as she began to stir, sitting up, turning my back to her listening to her honey voice murming good morning to me as I mumbled nothing back, heading off to the bathroom to compose myself. I looked into the mirror over the sink, wiping frantically at the tears that fell, my heart still a stone in my chest at what I no longer had. I looked at my reflection, hands gripping the sink.

"You need to get a grip, it was a dream. Just a dream.............but, it could be real, it can happen." I muttered to myself. Looking down at the sink, and feeling the beginnings of stirring in my loins, I wiped my face quickly, before opening the door, seeing her still curled in the duvet and pouncing on her, excited at the thought of filling her up, making a child, my hard dick pressing into her succulent thighs as I kissed my way down her collarbone as she grinned sleepily up at me her arms welcoming me into her embrace.

I kept it up, every time I saw her all I could  imagine was her belly, swollen with our child, the life growing inside her, the slope of her stomach pushing her shirts out, and I had to pounce on her wherever I could, desperate to fill her with my seed, the thought exciting me beyond anything.