Work Text:
When I first started working for this lab, I thought I would be working on medicines that would genuinely help the general public. Creating actual cures to illnesses instead of simply combating or numbing the symptoms. However, when my boss told me we were basically commissioned by a ‘generous’ benefactor to work on a specific drug, a part of me was excited by the opportunity. But I know it’s never a good idea to be strong-armed by one group or a single individual with too much money. But it’s just a job, and for whatever reason we managed to actually make it into clinical testing.
As I enter the meeting room, dawning my typical, sensible navy-blue tuxedo jumpsuit and lab coat, a figure catches my eye. I’m early, but I’m not the earliest bird. Though, I’m unfamiliar with this person. He’s cladding a charcoal gray pinstripe suit, standing with his back to me. His attention seems to be solely on the high-rise view this floor provides of the city. I have the distinct feeling that this man has noted my arrival, but he doesn’t turn to greet me.
I clear my throat, hashing out a quick greeting before taking a seat at the oval table. I pull out my laptop, quickly answering a handful of emails before tending to the boring record keeping part of my position. And so, as I go through my underlings’ submitted reports for the previous few days, more and more people file into the meeting room. Before long, everyone, but the boss, has selected their seat and is just waiting for things to begin.
Closing my laptop, I glance up to notice how the man I spotted before is staring directly at me. He’s a fat, middle-aged, white guy with tired, sunken eyes, fleshy cheeks, and a self-entitled air about him. But that can be said about a lot of the narcissists working in this lab. However, he looks like an important figure. So I avert my eyes, returning my focus to putting away my laptop.
Before long, the lab’s PI, my boss, strides through the glass door of the meeting room, briskly greeting a handful of people before immediately jumping into the meeting. He talked about what we can expect going into clinical trials with this drug, warning all of us to basically note down everything, no matter how insignificant it may seem. But, in truth, I knew this meeting was actually just to introduce our mysterious benefactor to the team. Jonathan Garfield-Coelho.
“Sir, let me introduce you to Dr. Rechelle Ayers. She’s a young, but dedicated scientist. It was actually her idea to change the binding agent in the medicine to make the results more stable and consistent upon a variety of conditions,” my boss adds, making it sound as though what I did was an absolutely bewildering miracle. As the sexist-racist he is, I wouldn’t be surprised if he originally tried to downplay my contributions to this experiment.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mister Garfield-Coelho,” I say, offering my hand to the plump, thirty or forty-something year old before me.
“Mister Garfield-Coelho has decided upon volunteering for the first set of trials. And, as one of the more capable scientists on this project, I’m sure you’ll take great care of the man. Won’t you, Ayers?” It’s not an actual question. It’s a poorly disguised threat and I can guess that it was our ‘gracious’ benefactor’s idea to have one of the few females in this lab work directly with him. Especially when these trials are bound to get intimate, considering this is a drug meant to increase the virility of a man’s sperm and lower the perfunctory period between… well… the deed.
In short, it’s a drug that turns men into potent, rutting beasts who can, potentially, last for hours at a time. But, unlike similar readily available medications of this sort, it shouldn’t interfere with the size of one’s genitalia.
“Good morning, Mister Garfield-Coelho—“
“Please, call me John,” he insists. However, considering the fact that he’s the only person assigned to me for these trials, I’m a little too irritable to act congenially.
“Mister John, to have a baseline for what we can expect from you, I will be keeping detailed records about any and all information prevalent to the trial. First, I’ll need to measure your genitalia. Second, I’ll track the period of time it takes you to reach full arousal. Third, I’ll than track the period of time it takes you to ejaculate. Fourth, I will provide you with a condom to collect a sample of your semen. And fifth, I’ll track the length of time after ejaculation to full arousal once again,” I explain cynically, keeping my eyes on my tablet as I read through his questionnaire. Though, from my peripheral, I can clearly make out him nodding along. “Do you have any questions?” I ask perfunctorily.
“Will you be observing me during the entire process?”
“If you’d prefer it, I can avert my observations for the third task. But my due diligence is necessary for the rest,” I answer, clicking my tablet off and placing it aside to give my ‘subject’ my complete attention.
“I think that’ll be fine,” he says, obviously not too perturbed by the prospects of having a woman essentially watch him jerk off.
“Whenever you’re ready, you can undress and find a comfortable position.”
He wastes no time in releasing his blazer, resting it on the back of the plain folding chair that was provided for this, hopefully quick, first session. As he releases his belt and opens his fly, a sudden musk begins to permeate from him. The recognizable body odor of a man who doesn’t know how to properly clean himself. Or, in Mr. John’s case, an inability to reach certain areas.
Trying to restrain my face from revealing my utter contempt for this man, I pull out my measuring tape and prepare my stopwatch. Because, the moment Mr. John shucks off his dress pants and boxer briefs, I begin the timer. I make my way to him, wordlessly kneeling to be crotch level as I begin to measure his obscene cock.
Flaccid Length: 3 11/16th inches - 9.37 cm
Flaccid Girth: 3 1/8th inches - 7.94 cm
Testicle Length: 2 1/4th inches - 5.72 cm
Testicle Girth: 6 7/8th inches - 17.46 cm
His balls are almost unreal, with an obvious distinction between his two testicles and are large enough to fill my palm. However, it also seems to be the source of the stench. I had to choke down a gag the moment I had to move his dick aside and measure them. For a surprisingly pasty guy, his cock and balls were practically beet red with his exposed glands being a deep reddish-purple that resembles a bruise. But the worst of it is the unnatural shape. Starting at the base, the girth looks average, but it thickens obscenely near the middle, than tapers in again.
As I wrap up noting down the measurements, I look up to fine Mr. John already stroking himself. Holding back a sneer, I concede to the convenience of letting him move things along so I don’t have to keep getting up and kneeling back down. But I could do without that disgusting entitled glare pinning me in place.
“Remember, I need to take your measurements again once you reach full arousal,” I remind him as I turn my attention to my stopwatch. Two minutes and forty-nine seconds and counting. I switch my attention between observing the state of Mr. John and quietly begging time to pass by faster.
“I—“ he croaks out, releasing his hold over himself as he pants heavily, his entire body heaving as his stench only grows in strength. I let him settle down for a second, marking down the time and ignoring the pearl of precum leaking from his urethra.
Erect Length: 8 7/16th inches - 21.43 cm
Erect Girth: 4 5/8th inches - 11.75 cm
Testicle Length: 1 15/16th inches – 4.92 cm
Testicle Girth: 6 7/8th inches - 17.46 cm
Wait? Eight and seven-sixteenth inches? That can’t be possible. I measure his length again, ignoring the throbbing of his member. But I’m met with the same number. Somehow, Mr. John went from being just under four inches to almost nine inches. He more than doubled in size. And that’s without a history of penis lengthening drugs.
Setting aside my astonishment, I finally get off my knees and offer a condom to Mr. John. He accepts it, fingers grazing against my gloved hand for a moment. I feel violated, even with the nylon separating my skin from his. However, with his BO still assaulting my senses, I can only push through it. All that’s left for him to do is to cum into the condom and try to recover from the orgasm as quickly as he can.
I let my thoughts wander, still keeping an eye on Mr. John, but wishing I was doing this with literally anyone else. Surely there was at lease one fit participant, with a beautiful, well taken care of cock. I don’t even care about length or girth. I just need a decent modicum of propriety from my subject.
Mr. John releases into the condom with a guttural groan, his belly jiggling, legs shaking, and eyes glued to my face. God, did he actually cum from watching me do nothing but blankly observe him? What a disgusting insect of a man. But, I have to set aside my contempt, taking a moment to document the time and refresh the stopwatch.
He collapses into his chair, out of breath and sweaty, with the condom still wrapped around his softening member. “Please remove the condom and tie it as tightly as possible,” I instruct, leaning against the far wall in an attempt to escape his musk.
Over thirty minutes passes until Mr. John manages to reach full arousal once again. I offer him another condom, but this time I don’t remain in the room. I escape into the hallway, finally able to take a deep breath. Today wasn’t even the first day of administrating the drug. I have to do this all again in two days, than once a week after that point. And there’s no chance another participant will be assigned to me with Mr. John wanting me all to himself.
I have a feeling my life will only get more fucked up from this point forward.
When the perfunctory forty-eight hours passed, I conducted the same exam on Mr. John after administering the drug. But, as expected, it didn’t have any immediate effects. All the results were practically the same as that first day. Even as a month passes, the only noticeable change is Mr. John’s sperm count. Even though his load is roughly the same each time, his sperm count has increased by, from my calculations, twelve percent. it’s not exactly what the team was hoping for, but it’s something.
So, based on my findings, I decided to increase the dosage I’ll be giving him. Just an additional ten percent to somewhat match the increase of his sperm count.
And, by week nine, I can confidently say that there were notable changes in Mr. John’s results. For starters, the amount of semen he ejaculated increased by double his original amount, while his sperm count increased from an additional twelve percent to forty percent. And, my Sisyphus boulder of this project, Mr. John’s musk has also shifted. Instead of the putrid scent of sweat and built up grime, during our latest session I noticed how his odor didn’t quite lessen in strength but somehow became more alluring. His BO emanating less of the stench of a barn animal, and more so of a man who’s simply in need of a shower after an extensive workout. It’s still unpleasant, but more manageable.
This all goes without saying that his perfunctory period is almost nonexistent at this point.
“Good morning, Dr. Ayers,” Mr. John greets, holding the testing room’s door open for me. I nod my head, now acclimatized to the casual conversation Mr. John likes to push on me during the preliminary interview section of this exam.
“Good morning, Mister John,” I say, taking my seat in the slightly more furnished testing room. Since that first month, some of the project’s budget when into making the testing rooms more comfortable for the volunteers, while maintaining the required ease of keeping everything sanitized.
The folding chairs were replaced with the surprisingly heavy, plastic arm chairs found in hospitals. And the table, that was once in the center of the small space, was pushed against a wall to keep things open. I place my equipment on the table. My tablet, stopwatch, measuring tape, and a handful of condoms.
“Tell me, Mister John, have you notice any changes within yourself since our last session?” I ask, picking up my tablet again and taking a seat in the chair across from him. If it wasn’t so ungodly heavy, I’d slide it just a bit further away from him. But no luck.
“Yeah, but before we go into that, I have a question. The drug isn’t meant to increase the length of my cock, right?”
“It’s not an intended result, but previous trials have shown varying results within some animals of the same species but not others. Have you been experiencing such a change?” I ask cynically, keeping my tone neutral as I take notes.
“Yes. It… my dick has grown a lot over this past week. It— well… is it all right if I just show you?” he asks but doesn’t give me a chance to respond before he’s already standing up, releasing his belt and sliding his pants down. I reach over for my measuring tape, snatching it up before my eyes land on Mr. John’s penis.
It’s flaccid, as red as ever, but significantly longer than I remember. Hesitantly, I reach forward and begin to take his measurements.
Flaccid Length: 7 5/8th inches – 19.37 cm
Flaccid Girth: 5 1/4th inches – 13.34 cm
Testicle Length: 2 13/16th inches - 7.14 cm
Testicle Girth: 9 inches - 22.86 cm
Not only has his dick grown, but so has his testicles. It’s even hanging lower than before. But I can’t understand why. Why are these changes happening now when he’s been on this increased dosage for four weeks. These sorts of things don’t happen unprompted.
“Did you make any lifestyle changes, recently? Started a new medication or changed up your diet?” I ask, documenting everything on my tablet, ignoring proper etiquette as I let more unvoiced questions plague my mind.
“I started going to the gym last month… oh, and my trainer suggested a pre-workout supplement I started taking last Thursday, but that should be the extent of it.”
“Are you available to bring it in tomorrow? If something within the pre-workout is reacting with the drug in such a way, it’s best if we make alterations now,” I mutter mostly to myself, quickly typing out an email to my boss before looking up.
“There’s one more thing. I’ve noticed that a lot more precum than normal leaks from my slit when I’m…” he trails off, leaving his pants off as he settles back into his seat.
I send off the email, reaching for my stopwatch next and start it up. A silent signal for Mr. John to begin. “Increased seminal leakage doesn’t necessarily mean that the drug is the cause. If you’ve started frequenting the gym, I’m sure you’ve grown more conscious about staying hydrated. And seminal fluid is mostly water. So, an increased intake of water can result in—“
“But it’s not watery. It’s thick and kinda foggy. I think my sperm is becoming too potent. But… if I were to stop receiving injections, would the changes be reversed?” he asks, absently stroking himself as his eyes barely leaves my chest. I chose to wear the floral patterned blouse my mother gifted me last spring, since it’s fitting for breast cancer awareness month. But the fabric is practically sheer. If I wasn’t wearing a tank top beneath it, Mr. John would have a eyeful of my silk bra.
“According to the few volunteers who quit having the injections, the only notable changes were a slight decrease in sperm count. But they’ve only been off injections for two or so weeks. Remember, Mister John, this is all still being tested. Any changes within yourself will be used to hopefully modify the drug for the better. To limit or eliminate unwanted side effects while efficiently presenting the desired outcome,” I explain.
“I understand— augh…” he groans, his musk, which has become slightly sweet, floods my nose as precum begins streaming from his urethra. He wasn’t over exaggerating, there really is a lot more being produced than normal.
Leaning forward, I swipe up a bit of the thick, milky precum and rub it between my gloved fingers. Though, acting before the thought has fully formed, I reach for a condom and instruct, “put this on so I can have a sample of it.”
“fuuck…” Mr. John groans, slapping the condom out of my hand as he rushes to stand up. His hands grab hold of my box braids, yanking my head forward as he tries to force his tip past my lips.
“WHAT— STOP IT,” I hiss through clenched teeth, trying to keep his disgusting cock out of my mouth. But he shifts his grip, taking hold of my jaw and applying an unbearable pressure to force my teeth apart.
He slams his hips forward, shoving his entire, unmeasurable length down my throat. Uncaring about my gag reflexes, his bulbous glands and girthy shaft pummels my throat. Saliva gathers and spills past my lips as his musk, now more pungent than ever, is pressed directly into my nose.
This fucking jackass rapes my throat as he seems immune to my fists. I scratch at his legs, trying everything to get him to stop. But his groans just overtakes my cries. The slap of flesh on flesh absorbs into the sound proofing of the room. No one can even enter this room without either my or my boss’s IDs. No one can save me.
My tears, snot, and saliva mixes with this deadman’s fluids as with one, two more brutal thrusts of his hips his abnormally potent, sperm laden cum rockets through his cock and chokes me. The taste… salty bitterness and the tiniest hint of sweetness… it all overwhelms my taste buds. I can’t help the vial that tries to push past his still erect member. My throat contracting in a hopeless feat to push him out of me.
I try to plea for his mercy, hoping he doesn’t just pick up again as I know he’s more than capable of doing. And, thankfully, he relaxed his fingers and slowly pulls out of my throat. Though, before he’s even fully pulled out of my mouth, I keel over. Vomiting saliva and his spent because, since the third week of the clinical trials, I skip breakfast to avoid gagging throughout the entire duration of our sessions.
“It’s alright, you took me so well,” he coos, rubbing my back as his still erect member dangles just inches from my face. This bastard doesn’t even regret a thing, acting as though is attack on me was consensual when his bleeding thighs and my blood stained finger tips is enough evidence to say otherwise. “Look at the mess you made, wasting my gift. And those claws… got to do something about that before I properly give you my seed.”
Suddenly, Mr. John is pulling at my blouse, stretching and ripping the sheer fabric before doing the same to my tank top and releasing my bra. His fingers are heavy, unforgiving in whether or not his nails scratches at my own skin. And, for whatever reason, my body seems to actually want this. My arms feel too weak to even hold up my body weight, a fluttery sensation makes itself known in my lower abdomen, and I can feel my pussy getting wet. I’ve never been turned on by one of these sessions, but the signs are all there.
“I wondered…” his words trails off as he works to pull my pencil skirt off. “Why you were never effected by my scent. Most women become all meek and willing with only a single sniff. But, even after twelve fucking weeks it still had no effect, even as it intensified with other women.” He roughly pulls my hair, forcing me to meet his eyes. Pride, lust, gluttony. This is a man riddled with sin and, as expected, the wealthy white man gets away with everything.
I know the moment he’s had his fill of me, no one would even lift a finger to bring him down. They’d probably write it off as a side effect of the drug but he’s just admitted to doing exactly this before it was even administered into him. God, I wish I foresaw this sooner. Sure, I overlooked his lingering eyes, but eyes aren’t the same as hands. And it’s certainly not the same as his penis.
His patience seems to give in, as he roughly pulls me to my feet and spins me around. “I know that mind of yours is becoming all muddled. Soon enough, you’ll be begging for me to take you rough and raw. For me to flood your awaiting womb with my seed. For my orgasm after orgasm to collect and distend this pretty little body of yours. And you’ll take it like a good girl, won’t you?” he asks, shredding my underwear before taking hold of my hips and pressing his tip to my swollen clit.
I jump at the sudden pressure. The warmth of his body trying to entice my uncontrollable urges to match his arousal. But it’s impossible. I don’t want this. He literally just brutalized my mouth, forcing his semen down my throat and in my stomach. He ripped my clothes into pieces and is moving my body about as though I’m some doll. But, as my sluggish brain finally connects with his words, I’m reluctant to admit he’s right.
It must be the drug. Some sort of chemical change in his semen to make it into a sort of aphrodisiac. Forcing my body to give up its will while making my reproductive organs grow with need. The need to be fertilized. Fertilized by his potent sperm. And his sperm alone.
“This ebony pussy…” he draws out, heavy hands slamming down on my ass as he pulls my cheeks apart and exposes my leaking core. “Your own scent is tantalizing in a different way. Do you even realize that I’ve been pressing my face to your seat, imagining it’s your pussy this entire time. And all your stylish, business savvy outfits perfectly complementing this curvaceous figure. I’m surprised I managed to keep myself from taking you sooner. Tell me, Rechelle, have you thought of me in the same way?”
“No,” my response escapes my lips before I can even place a filter over myself. And, as expected, it wasn’t the answer Mr. John was hoping for. His large hand comes down on my ass, making a reverberating slap as my entire body tenses and a mewl rumbles out of my chest. My inner walls clench around nothing as more of my juices drip down my thighs.
“So fucking ungrateful,” he emphasizes his comment with another slap on my cheeks. “I see you’re not ready for my seed.” He pulls away from me, reaching over to the table and grabs a condom. I hear the rip of plastic, feel his guttural groan as I watch him slide an almost too small bit of latex over his long and thick member.
Since the start of these trials, not only has his perfunctory period completely diminished, but his own stamina has increased. Maybe it’s a contribution of the drug. Maybe it’s a result of his time in the gym. But it doesn’t really matter at this point. Not with is length stroking over my opening.
“Already so wet for me. Don’t even need me to warm you up, slut? Could take me as I am now, can’t you? I know you want it. Don’t delude yourself. I’ve seen the way you do a double take over my cock. You might wrinkle your nose and sneer, but I know you long for it. Answer me, slut. And don’t fucking lie,” he demands, alternating his assault on my cheeks as his tip continues to tease my opening. He pushes forward the slightest bit, never letting the crown of his glands venture deep enough.
I almost want to guide my hips back. To take the initiative of engulfing his cock with my pussy. My womb is begging me to do just so. But I can’t. He’s my boss’s boss. The sole benefactor to this entire lab. The reason I have a job. And if I were to do this, than it’d be no better than consenting. Consenting to let this vial man rape me and force me out of my job. And, with how potent his sperm is, the chances of my birth control preventing a pregnancy is practically zero.
Biting down on my lip, I burry my face into my arm, uncaring in how it further presents my ass to him. If I open my mouth, I know I’ll say all the wrong things. I’d plead and beg for his cock. His sperm. And, for the sake of my own propriety, I have to just keep my mouth shut.
“I said—“ slap, “answer—“ slap, “me—“ slap, “slut.” Each of his slaps makes me tense up, my pussy clinging to his tip, as a burning tingle emanates from my angry skin.
“Please,” I sob, pulling away from him and curling into myself. He lets me ball myself up in my chair. His hand rests on my shoulder as he lowers himself to be face-to-face with me.
“If you want me to be gentle, say it. Otherwise you’ll only be punished like the brat you are,” he explains. And, through the blur of my teary eyes, I can make out a soft, condoling expression in his plump face. “So… what will it be?”
“Gen— gentle, Sir,” I stumble out, my tears uncontrollably flowing down my face and snot leaking from my nose. I must look like an absolute mess, but my core still calls for him. I need him. Even though I hate him.
“Good girl,” he praises, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping my nose for me. “Was that so hard?” Mr. John stands again, his erection momentarily level with my eyes before he walks over to the table. “Come,” he commands, swiping my equipment and the extra condoms aside.
I slowly stand up on shaky legs, making my way beside him before sitting up on the table. The fake wooden surface is cold. In fact, the entire room feels so much colder now that Mr. John isn’t pressed up against me.
“That’s it, lay down for me,” he coos, placing a pale hand over my rich, ebony skin. I try to do exactly as he say, but have to lift my legs up because of the way half of my ass hangs off the edge. “Mmm… putting this pretty pussy on display for me? You must really want my cock.”
“Need,” I grumble as I take hold of my knees and pull them closer to my chest.
“What was that?” Mr. John asks as he picks up teasing my clit with his tip again. His deep reddish-purple glands flicks my sensitive bud, applying the perfect amount of pressure.
“I need it, Sir,” I answer, as I let my hand slip around his girth and guide him down to my vaginal opening. I don’t care if I haven’t been properly stretched to take him, I need it. I need him to slowly plunge into my pussy. “Gently,” I add as a little reminder.
“Of course. Good girls deserve rewards. Naughty sluts will get nothing but punishments.” Mr. John places a lingering kiss on my knee. The prickly hairs of his four o’clock shadow presses against my skin as he finally rocks his hips forward just enough for his bulbous glands to sink into my heat. “Ahh…” he sighs, holding his hips in place even as my contracting inner walls tries to lead him deeper. “So warm and needy. It’s a shame you’re not ready to take my seed.”
“I am,” I rush out, my hand absently stroking the remaining length of him. He’s so girthy, my fingers can’t completely wrap around him but I try to intensify my allure. If he wants a good girl, than I’ll be the goodest girl. I’ll be perfect for him. Show him how perfect we fit together. I shift my hold of my legs, resting my calves on his shoulders as I entice him to lean into me. “Kiss me. Please, Sir.”
I barely have the chance to take a breath as Mr. John is suddenly, relentlessly, devouring my lips. His tongue invades my mouth as though he can’t get enough of me. And I try to return his enthusiasm. I lock my arm around the back of his sweaty neck, rolling my hips as more of his cock sinks into me, and his musk… I can’t get enough.
Instinctually, I lick at his face, trying to collect as much if his sweat as I possibly can. A separate sort of salty bitterness to his cum. I’m not sure which one I crave more. No, I do know. I crave his semen. I need it, not in my mouth, but my womb.
As a breathy moan is drawn out of me as I feel Mr. John’s tip press against my cervix. His gradual plunge into my depth didn’t even hurt. But the stretch, God, the pressure of his girth pressing against all my sensitive points. I can already feel my orgasm gathering. And looking down, I can’t help the way my pussy clenches. It’s utterly obscene. He’s so thick, long, and deep, my stomach bulges with the invasion.
I release my hold of his neck, letting my hand travel over my heaving breast, down to the plains of my stomach, to trace over our connection. But looking past my mound, I can see he’s still has several inches waiting for me.
“I’m too small,” I pout, lifting my hand to run over the soft fabric of his button down.
“It’ll fit,” he groans, lowering his head to my shoulder, and fervently placing open mouth kisses on my skin. “Just need to…” he trails off as he slightly withdraws from my aching walls. His tip perfectly passes over my g-spot, pushing me right to the edge of my orgasm. I moan against his shirt, clinging to him as he begins to shallowly thrust into the erogenous area.
“Don’t stop,” I beg as I vehemently begin to circle my clit. God, the building pressure. The heat and weight of his body. Taking me from behind would’ve been easier, but I wouldn’t have known how much I needed this fat man to pin me down. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” I moan, my words blending together as my orgasm finally rolls over me.
Like an all consuming wave, heat floods my core. My inner walls contract, trying to milk John’s cock as he thrusts grows deeper. My legs shake with the sudden release and I allow my hand to lull back.
“Such a good girl, cumming on my cock. That’s it. I can’t—“ John is suddenly wrenching himself from me, but holds me in place. He pins my legs down, forcing my core to spread wide open, gaping from his sudden retreat. His eyes hone in on the fingers still circling my clit before he plunges back into me. No more gentleness. Instead, his lust takes over, guiding his assault of my cervix as I’m reduced to a mess of moans.
It hurts, but I need it. I need him. To go as deep as possible. For his entire cock to be sheathed in my pussy. For there to be little to no distinction between the two of us. I need him to claim me. To mark me with his seed. And ruin all other men for me.
“Remove—“ I gasp out, my plea cut off by the sudden thrust of John’s length breaking through my cervix. A scream of anguish and lust is wrenched out of my throat. But it doesn’t stop him. John increases his assault of my womb. His meaty shaft rearranging my insides to fit him, and only him. There truly won’t be another. He’s destroyed my cervix and the residual pain is drawing out another of my orgasms. “The condom,” I groan, my voice raw. “Remove it.”
“Mhmm… do you deserve it…” John groans, his relentless thrusts interrupting his words as his eyes become cold and arrogant. “I’m too close… to stop now…fuuck, can’t hold back.” With another one, two more deep, brutalizing thrusts, John stills himself. His girthy length throbs. His thick, impregnating sperm rockets up his urethra and burst into the condom. The pressure pushes me off the cliff of my own orgasm. My walls fluttering with Every inch of the man buried into my channel. My legs give in as my entire body spasms. And a guttural groan of my own mixes with John’s.
Spurt after spurt of his hot, heady sperm fills the condom until… something shifts. The condom breaks and there’s no barrier between my breedable womb and his seed. It’s perfect. The never ending rivulets of his cum. I can feel it. His seed flooding my womb, claiming my eggs, and making me his.
“Stay with me.”
Bonus:
I can’t remember exactly how many times John came inside me that day. I can’t even remember how he brought me back to his apartment, where he’s kept my womb full of his spent. Even with our child growing within me, he still pummels my pussy with that obscene cock.
Pinching my nipples, I bounce myself on John’s lap. Unable to watch exactly how my folds wrap around his girth with my seven months pregnant belly in the way. But, God, can I feel it. The drag of his girthy shaft along my inner walls. The way his bulbous head easily kisses my cervix. can’t go any further without endangering our baby. But it’s fine. The pressure is enough. Especially with his thick fingers circling my clit.
“I’m so close,” I warn him, pulling away from his mouth only to lick up the sweat at his brow. I can never get enough of his taste. His musk. And this cock. It’s all I need to live.
All I need is him.