Get knocked up

You climb into the backseat, dress riding up as you go, exposing everything. James follows, slamming the door behind him and pulling you onto his lap in one rough motion. The windows are already starting to fog as he hikes your dress to your waist, groaning at the sight of you bare and dripping.

“Fuck, look at you,” he mutters, freeing his cock from the sweatpants. It springs out thick and leaking, veins pulsing. “No condoms left to protect you. That means every drop goes straight into this greedy little pussy.”

He doesn’t wait for permission—he lines up and thrusts up into you in one brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt. You cry out, the sudden stretch overwhelming after hours of teasing, your walls fluttering around him as he bottoms out.

James sets a punishing pace immediately, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he bounces you on his cock like a ragdoll. The car rocks with every slam, suspension creaking. “Take it,” he snarls, teeth grazing your neck. “Gonna flood this cunt—pump you full until you’re leaking my cum for days. You’re gonna get bred tonight, baby. No more playing safe.”

You moan helplessly, grinding down to meet him, the angle letting him hit deep. Within minutes his rhythm stutters—he drives up hard, holding you flush against him as he erupts. You feel it clearly: thick, hot ropes of cum shooting directly into your womb, pulse after pulse, more than should be humanly possible. He grinds through it, stirring his load deeper, until it starts to seep out around his shaft, coating your thighs and his balls. When he finally lifts you off, a gush of white follows, dripping onto the seat.

You barely have time to breathe before he flips you onto your hands and knees between the two front seats, dress bunched around your waist. He mounts you from behind like an animal, sliding back in with a wet squelch. “Hear that?” he taunts, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in. “That’s the sound of your body finally surrendering to what it's supposed to do.”

He fucks you harder this time, one hand fisted in your hair, the other reaching around to rub rough circles on your clit. The car fills with obscene sounds—skin slapping skin, your soaked pussy taking him, his grunts growing feral. “Gonna knock you up,” he promises darkly. “Fill this fertile little hole until it takes. You’ll be stuck as my perfect girl forever—tits swollen, belly round with my kid.”

The dirty talk sends you over first, clenching hard around him as you come with a wail. He follows seconds later, burying himself deep and unloading again—another ridiculous flood of cum, thick and scalding, painting your insides white. You feel bloated with it, the overflow immediately running down your legs in creamy rivulets as he keeps thrusting lazily through his orgasm.

He doesn’t pull out this time. Instead he only gives you a minute to breathe before starting to thrust into your sloppy hole again. He starts slow, deep grinds that churn his previous loads into a messy froth around your entrance.

He picks up speed again, hips snapping, the wet sounds obscene. You’re oversensitive, trembling, but your body craves more—arching back into every thrust. He reaches down to spread your folds, letting two fingers rub your clit while he pounds into you. “Come on my cock again while I breed you,” he demands. “Milk every drop out of me.”

You shatter a third time, vision whiting out as your walls spasm around him. He groans long and low, slamming in one last time and holding—cock pulsing as he pumps yet another massive load deep inside. It feels endless, warmth spreading through you until you’re sure you can’t take any more. When he finally stills, you’re both panting, his cum leaking steadily out around him, soaking the seat beneath you.

The night blurs into a marathon—positions shifting in the tight space, windows completely fogged, the car reeking of sex. He takes you against the door, bent over the center console, riding him reverse until your thighs burn. Every orgasm milks another load from him—impossibly, his body keeps producing, flooding you again and again until you lose count. Your hungry pussy tries to drink it all up but James just has too much to spend. Cum drips from you in thick streams, painting your thighs, stomach, breasts when he pulls out to paint you before sliding back in.

Hours pass. The sky outside darkens fully. Eventually exhaustion claims you both—limbs tangled, bodies slick with sweat and his seed, passed out in the backseat with him still half-hard inside you, plugging his mess.

When you finally stir, sore and sticky, the dashboard clock reads well past midnight. Nearly a full day left on the curse—and your womb is already stuffed full of his cum.