Between Her Thighs, Between His Fears

This story contains explicit sexual content, erotic power dynamics, and references to past reproductive coercion. Reader discretion is advised.

Sandra bit down on his nipple hard enough to make him curse, and then moan.

She didn’t apologise. She didn’t even slow down. Just grinned against his chest and dragged her teeth lower, until her mouth hovered above the place he throbbed for her. One hand circled his cock, squeezing tight. The other slapped it once, light but deliberate.

He groanedhi, high and helpless.

“Still like that?” she asked, eyes locked on his. “Still mine?”

His answer came in the way his body arched toward her. In the way his pupils darkened like he wanted her to ruin him.

It had started four weeks , after the doctor confirmed what they had already suspected: she was pregnant. Four months along, healthy. His child. His legacy. The news had made her hungrier. More possessive. Her hands were more demanding. Her mouth was more dangerous.

At first, he’d flinched when she slapped his cock. The first time she bit the tip, he gasped like she’d shocked him. But his arousal never faded. It grew. Thickened. His eyes said yes even when his voice stuttered.

And Sandra noticed. Every time. She was no sadist, not really, but she loved watching power melt him. Loved the way he trembled when she rode him and whispered, “You’re lucky I let you put it in.”

Outside the bedroom, the dynamic softened. He was kind. She teased him. They played house. He still opened her car door and massaged her swollen feet without her asking. No one would’ve guessed how she owned him in bed, and Sandra liked it that way.

She was happy. No, ecstatic. This was the life she wanted. Love. Lust. Control laced with tenderness. And now a child. Their child.

Which is why, when Robert cleared his throat at the dinner table one Thursday night and said, “I want to get a paternity test,” she thought she’d misheard him.

She blinked, still chewing, setting her fork down too slowly.

“What did you just say?”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. His face was soft, too soft, like he thought that would soften the blow.

“I just… I think it’s something we should do. Just to be sure.”

“Sure of what?” she asked. Her voice didn’t rise, but it dropped half an octave, dangerous.

He hesitated.

“I don’t think you cheated,” he said quickly. “It’s not that. I just… want to know for certain.”

Sandra stood slowly, pushing her chair back without a sound. Walked around the table until she stood behind him, letting her fingers trail lightly down his neck. His breath caught.

“You don’t think I cheated,” she whispered, leaning down, “but you want proof.”

He didn’t answer.

She reached lower. Palmed his cock through his jeans. He was already getting hard. The traitor.

“You come in me three times a week,” she murmured, voice silk and static. “You cry when you finish sometimes. You beg to stay inside when you’re soft. But you want a fucking test?”

“I just—” His voice cracked.

She tightened her grip, just enough to make his eyes water.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she said, calm again. “You want the test? Schedule it. You pick the lab. You call them. You tell them what kind of man you are.”

“Sandra—”

“No,” she cut in. “You’re not doing this to me and pretending you’re still the victim.”

He looked up at her, eyes wide, desperate, like he wanted to explain—but couldn’t.

She let him go. Walked to the bedroom. Left him hard and aching at the table, caught between guilt and the kind of arousal that made a man question who he really was.

Robert didn’t sleep in the bed that night.

Not because she told him not to. She didn’t say a word. Just left the door open, lay on her side, and let silence work like a knife.

She knew he was still hard. She could hear him shifting on the couch, restless, thick with frustration and shame. She imagined him lying there with one hand clenched around the erection she’d given him, too afraid to touch himself without permission.

Good.

Let him sit in it. Let him feel what it means to doubt her and still want her in the same breath.

By morning, he was quiet. Apologetic with his hands but not his mouth, he made her tea, rubbed her back while she brushed her teeth, kissed her belly like nothing had fractured. Like love was still enough.

But it wasn’t.

Not until he said it.

Not until he earned her again.

It took three days before he brought it up again. She was on the sofa, legs tucked under her, flicking through an article about second-trimester cravings, when he sat across from her with a look that was already breaking.

“I haven’t made the call,” he said.

She didn’t answer. Didn’t look up.

“But I’m going to.”

Now her eyes lifted. Calm. Cold.

“I said you could. I didn’t say you had to.”

“I know.” He hesitated. “It’s not about you. It’s about me.”

Something in her chest curled, tight and warning.

“You think that makes it better?” she asked.

He shook his head. Then stood, slowly, and walked over to her. Sat on the edge of the sofa, facing her knees. She didn’t stop him when he placed his hand on her ankle.

“You remember Natalia?” he asked quietly.

She blinked. “Your ex?”

“Yeah.” He exhaled, jaw tight. “She talked me into a vasectomy when I was twenty-six.”

Sandra stared. Not shocked, but still, her heart kicked against her ribs like it wanted to get out.

“What?”

“She said she didn’t want kids. And neither did I. At least, I thought I didn’t. But I wasn’t in a good place. I didn’t ask enough questions. I just… did it.”

Sandra sat up, slowly.

“You told me you wanted children.”

“I do,” he said quickly. “I do. That’s why I tried to reverse it. I didn’t want to scare you off. I thought, I hoped, it worked.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You thought,” she repeated.

He nodded, shame curling his shoulders.

“I never went back to check. I was scared. And then you got pregnant and I… I panicked.”

Silence stretched between them like a bruise.

“So the test isn’t to prove I cheated,” she said finally. “It’s to prove you’re still a man.”

He winced.

“No,” she said, standing now, circling him like prey. “That’s not fair. You are a man. A weak one, maybe. A foolish one. But still mine.”

She placed his hand on her belly.

“Feel that?”

He nodded.

“You want to be sure?” she asked. “Fine. But you’ll earn it.”

Her fingers went to his waistband. Unbuttoned him. Pulled him out, half-hard and twitching.

“On your knees,” she said.

He looked up, startled.

“Sandra—”

“You want proof of who you are? Then worship what you built. With your mouth. With your fucking silence.”

And he did. Fell to his knees in front of her swollen body, the woman who still let him inside even when he didn’t trust himself.

She didn’t forgive him yet. That would come later.

But for now, she let him drown in her. Let him find redemption between her thighs, breathless and ruined.

Let him belong again, because she said so.

Three days later, the clinic sent a confirmation email.

Robert didn’t say a word when he handed her the phone. Just placed it on the kitchen counter next to her morning tea, screen glowing: Paternity Test – Non-Invasive Prenatal – Thursday at 4:15 PM.

Sandra sipped her drink without looking at it. Earl Grey. Slightly too much milk. He never quite got it right.

She let the silence stretch until he started to squirm, then looked up with a slow, unreadable smile.

“Good boy.”

He flinched. Not from the words—but from how they made his cock twitch in his trousers. It was always like that lately. Desire in the wrong places. Shame tangled with need.

“You didn’t forget to book your own swab, did you?” she asked lightly.

He shook his head. “They’ll take my sample when we get there.”

“Perfect.”

She didn’t say another word about it until Thursday. Didn’t bring it up. Didn’t punish him—at least not overtly. But she made sure the days leading up to it were full of little reminders: her fingernails scraping down his chest when he reached for her, the way she refused to kiss him after sex unless he asked properly. Once, she pressed the head of his cock between her teeth, held it there, and said nothing—just waited until he moaned please.

He was good at begging now.

By the time they pulled into the clinic’s car park, he was pale, sweating, hard under his jeans. Sandra, on the other hand, wore a thin white dress that hugged her belly and no bra. The receptionist did a double-take. So did the man in the waiting room.

Good.

Let them look.

Let them wonder why the man beside her couldn’t meet her eyes.

They called her name. She stood. He followed.

In the exam room, they asked her to lie back. The nurse was friendly. Professional. She explained the blood draw would be simple. Two vials. One for her, one for the foetal DNA.

“The father’s sample?” she asked, glancing at Robert.

He nodded, voice tight. “Here.”

The nurse handed him a swab kit and pointed toward the bathroom.

He looked at Sandra.

She tilted her head. Smiled sweetly.

“Don’t forget to get it wet first,” she whispered.

His face flushed crimson.

He took the kit and left.

The door shut. The nurse prepped Sandra’s arm. The needle slid in. She watched the blood fill the vial with quiet fascination. That was him in there, whether he believed it or not. That was the proof he needed. The proof he didn’t trust her enough to feel.

She wondered what it would take to make him earn the truth once it came.

When he returned, he looked dishevelled. Flushed. The swab was sealed and handed over without a word.

The nurse gave them both polite smiles and said the results would be back in a week.

They didn’t speak until they were back in the car. She didn’t tell him to drive. He did it anyway.

Halfway home, she reached across and unzipped his jeans.

“San—”

“Keep your eyes on the road.”

Her hand slid inside. He was hard. Of course he was.

“Does it turn you on?” she murmured. “Not knowing?”

He didn’t answer. Just groaned.

“I think it does,” she whispered. “You want me to be faithful, but you like pretending I’m not. That’s the real problem, isn’t it? You want me to fuck someone else. You want me to punish you for it.”

“No,” he said, but his hips were lifting off the seat.

“Yes.”

She pulled her hand away. Wet with him.

“You’ll get your result,” she said. “But I decide what happens after.”

He nodded, dazed, submissive. Perfect.

And as she stared out the window, her belly rising against the seatbelt, she realised something: no matter what that test said—he was hers.

Always had been.

Always would be.