Alex is remorseless

The door slams. A distant car starts. Silence returns to the neighborhood. You stare at Alex, who sits brooding in front of you.

You know that Alex cannot be wholly to blame. Even much at all, if you want to get detailed about it. Carly clearly has the ability to shape reality to her will, so what does it matter if the legendarily horny and none-too-bright Alex fucked her? Surely he's not in control of his actions?

So why do you feel like someone has ripped out your insides and dumped them in a blender? Here you are, in your own bedroom, on your knees, with a naked, gorgeous man in front of you - on your own bed - his big glistening cock flopping about stupidly. A man you know so well, love so much, who is the father of the life that kicks in your belly and makes your lithe body feel so heavy and ****. This man has literally minutes ago fucked a woman you can only consider to be your greatest enemy in existence. Not since the day you turned, since the day Alex impregnated you by the pool, have you felt so out of control of everything around you. Lost in it all, you look up again at the face of your man and pray for him to be the rock that you need.

"Face it, slut. She's a lot easier on the eye than you right now. Maybe she was even before you got so fat."

His words don't connect, they have no meaning. This is so unlike Alex's speech that despite the loathing and aggression in his voice it does nothing to you.

"How did you not notice that I've been fucking her every chance I got for months? Think about all those times I 'stayed late at college' or that she had to 'dash from class'? All this time she's been showing me something better."

Now it's starting to smart. You think about the nights where he's stayed out to study, leaving you alone on the sofa with the TV remote, sometimes losing your mind with horniness and boredom. Is he really telling the truth, that Carly has been using him this long?

He's on his feet now, walking towards you with his semi-hard dick swaying in front of your eyes. His eyes flash in the half-light, and you scramble up as he approaches. Everything is wrong. He moves and speaks like a different person, somebody full of venom and disdain, not the bumbling, relaxed man that you've spent the last thirty-odd weeks in love with.

He reaches out to you forcefully, grabbing your shoulder, jabbing his thumb beneath your collarbone and using the pain to twist you back down to the floor. You crumble beneath his ****, falling heavily onto your side with a shout. His hands are already at your waist, pulling your jeans and panties down with one violent jerk.

Your left hand flails at him, slapping his face, pushing at his chin, but he is undeterred. Your other arm is trapped beneath you, heavy boobs squashed to either side, grinding into the carpet of your bedroom floor. You hear him spit, and wet fingers roughly probe your asshole while a knee pushes one thigh wide.

Realization dawns and a sudden scream bursts from your lungs.