He finally erupts inside you

He draws back again, pulling what feels like nearly his whole shaft from your hungry pussy.

"No... no..." you half splutter, half pant. "Please... no... please... don't stop."

You beg him not to pull out.

"Fill me, ple..."

Before you can finish your sentence he rams back inside you, his full length re-entering you, with a force you've never felt before. It's like a juggernaut has slammed you into the sofa. It forces through your words. You don't finish your sentence. You wail ecstatically as your breath is crushed out of your body by this hunk dominating you, owning you.

In your mind you feel like you're sucking him into, sucking out his sperm, sucking it into your ovaries...

The thought sends you to heights of sexual excitement you've never imagined... but at the same time, fear surges through you like ice.

Impregnation. A womb that was not yours this morning. This college kid’s load finding something pink and newly hungry and taking. Nine months. A belly. Walking around ruined because you nodded on a chain and said impregnate me like it was dirty talk instead of a sentence. Twins.

The fear should kill it.

It does the opposite though.

It sends your arousal nuclear.

The terror and the need braid together until you cannot tell them apart: he’s going to get you pregnant at the same time as, at last, filling you with his juices and releasing you to the heavenly orgasm you have chased - and begged for - for what feels like a. year.

"PEEAWUH... PUH... PUH... please, fill me". You are whimpering, as he draws out again, and then rams himself home with even more force, jolting your whole body as he thrusts even deeper than ever inside you.

Your cunt clamps down on him in a panic that feels exactly like lust. You writhe under that tall, beautiful athlete and the writhing is half struggle, half offering. Your small hands fist in his preppy hair. Your legs lock at those tight glutes you stared at across the room, not to push him off — to keep him in.

And with that thrust he explodes.

You feel him grow inside you - so intimate.

You feel him pulse.

You feel the eruption of hot, globby spunk deep in your womb.

Heat. Wet. Heavy. The first pulse hits so deep it itself almost knocks a sound out of your chest.

This young stranger’s cum floods the fertile cunt that the pill has primed to take.

A second pulse feels weaker but thicker.

The third is already leaking around his shaft, flooding down out of your pussy and towards your arse crack, because there is too much of him and too little of you, and still it keeps coming, pulse after pulse painting you from the inside.

The lights go out.

The orgasm the Breeder promised does not arrive. It detonates, flowing over and flooding your entire body.

You push yourself closer to his huge, heavy frame, crushing your small breasts against him harder, as though you want your two bodies to become one.

The feelings are the best thing you have ever felt - and that fact is its own humiliation.

Better than anything Michael ever had in his old body. Better than the mouth, the condom, the almosts.

It rips up from the flood he is still pumping into you — from the exact knowledge that you are being bred on a couch, in the kink club, collared, in public, by a lad who paid cash — and it floods the club with stars.

Real ones. Bursting, sliding, stupid and gorgeous. Your back arches so hard you lift him with you. Your pussy seizes around his cock and milks it in long, helpless pulls, as if the orgasm itself is trying to suck his cum up into the place that will make it count.

You come because he is impregnating you.

You come harder because you are afraid of it.

Your are more excited by it because you are afraid of it.

The collar bites your throat as you shake and the chain slithers between your bodies and you cannot stop clenching, cannot stop taking, cannot stop seeing stars while a college jock finishes the job your master sold.

Aftershock stacks on aftershock, each one bright and filthy and worse, your vision sparkling every time his cock kicks and fills you again.

Slick heat pours out around him and still you feel full, packed, used in the specific way the pill wanted. Your eyes are wet. Your mouth is open on his - a deep passionate kiss as your tongues entwine.

You hear yourself thanking him, or cursing him, or begging him not to pull out, and you cannot tell which.

When the first wave finally loosens, you are still twitching under him, still full of a stranger, still glittering behind the eyelids. The empty ache is gone. In its place is a floating, lights-out peace with a black edge: you got what you needed, and what you needed might have just started something you cannot take back.

He stays buried, panting, gorgeous and stunned, a boy who just bred a collared girl and looks like he might fall in love with the mistake.

Your master’s voice arrives from somewhere above the stars, calm as ever.

“There. That’s the product.”

You lie under the jock with his cum cooling at the edges of you and the collar warm at your throat, still seeing little white sparks when you blink, and the thing that scares you most is not the load inside you.

It is how much you want another one.