I fuck her everyday

I've become a man obsessed with a single mission: flooding my fiancée's womb with my seed every chance I get. The knowledge that Wiley tampered with her birth control has awakened something primal in me, transforming our bedroom into a battlefield where his sperm and mine wage silent war.

"Again?" Sarah gasps one night, her body still trembling from her third orgasm as I flip her onto her stomach and enter her from behind. "Liam, we just—"

"Need more of you," I growl, driving deeper, feeling the head of my cock kiss the entrance to her womb. "Need to be inside you."

Our sex life has become relentless, insatiable. Morning, noon, night—I find every opportunity to empty myself inside her. In the shower before work, bent over the kitchen counter during lunch breaks, and multiple times each evening before sleep. Sarah is delighted and confused by my sudden stamina, my **** need to claim her body at every opportunity.

"Not that I'm complaining," she pants one evening, her legs still wrapped around my waist as I pulse inside her, "but what's gotten into you lately?"

I kiss her deeply, hiding my secret knowledge behind passion. "Just making sure you remember who you belong to."

The weekends she spends with Wiley only intensify my determination. When she returns on Sunday nights, I reclaim her with a ferocity that leaves us both breathless, ensuring my seed outnumbers his by sheer volume. I must lose ten pounds a week in cum alone, my body working overtime to produce enough to drown out any chance of Wiley's victory.

A few weeks before our wedding, I notice the first changes. Subtle things that Sarah herself hasn't registered yet—the slight darkening around her nipples, the new sensitivity that makes her gasp when my tongue circles them, the almost imperceptible swell below her navel that only my obsessively attentive hands detect.

The most telling sign is her missed period, which she casually dismisses with a shrug. "Probably just stress from wedding planning," she says, applying her makeup one morning while I watch her from our bed, cataloging each symptom she doesn't recognize.

"You've been tired lately too," I observe, trying to sound casual.

Sarah laughs, dabbing concealer under eyes that have grown slightly darker. "Between work, the wedding, and your insatiable appetite for me, I'm surprised I can stand upright."

I marvel at how Wiley, for all his obsessive attention to Sarah, hasn't noticed these changes either. During their weekends together, which I witness through the purse camera, he remains oblivious to the subtle transformations of her body—the fuller breasts, the occasional moment when she presses a hand to her stomach during a wave of nausea she attributes to hunger.

One night, as our wedding date looms just two weeks away, I make a suggestion that surprises even myself.

"You should spend the night before our wedding with Wiley," I say, running my fingers through her hair as she lies beside me. Knowing that there was no risk of him getting her pregnant made me want to send her off to him as a way of showing off.

Sarah props herself up on one elbow, her expression bewildered. "What? The night before our wedding?"

I nod, feeling strangely calm. "Think about it—it would be the ultimate reclaiming. Taking you as my wife just hours after he's had you."

Her eyes widen, a familiar spark of excitement igniting in their depths. "That's... twisted," she says, but her quickening breath betrays her arousal at the idea.

“The biggest reclaiming of them all," I continue, my hand drifting to her stomach, feeling the slight firmness there that she hasn't acknowledged.

Sarah bites her lip, considering. "You're sure?"

"Absolutely," I reply, already imagining Wiley's desperation as he makes one final attempt to claim what's already mine in ways he can't possibly understand.

When the night before our wedding arrives, I kiss Sarah goodbye with a possessive intensity that makes her knees weak. "Tomorrow," I whisper against her lips, "you'll be mine completely."

She leaves for Wiley's house wearing nothing but a trench coat, her engagement ring, and the lacy white garter she'll wear under her wedding dress. I settle onto our couch, phone in hand, watching through the purse camera as she arrives at his doorstep.

Wiley's face when he opens the door is a study in conflicted emotions—desire, pain, **** hope. "You came," he says, his voice breaking slightly.

"Of course I would," Sarah replies, slipping the coat from her shoulders to reveal her naked body beneath.

What follows is the most ****, pathetic display I've ever witnessed.

His movements were frantic yet tender, his eyes never leaving her face as if searching for any sign that she might change her mind about tomorrow.

"Don't marry him," he begs between kisses, his hands trembling as they caress her skin. "Stay with me instead. I'll give you everything."

Sarah merely smiles, guiding him inside her with practiced ease. "Tonight is about pleasure, Wiley. Don't ruin it with talk."

Their coupling is intense but carries an undercurrent of finality that even Wiley seems to sense. He takes her again and again throughout the night, as if trying to imprint himself on her body, to leave a mark so deep I'll never be able to erase it.

Little does he know the mark has already been made—just not by him.

In the morning, while Sarah showers, I watch through the purse camera as Wiley paces his bedroom, running his hands through his hair in agitation.

"Fucking hell," he mutters, punching the wall in frustration. "She's not pregnant yet. If she were, she wouldn't go through with this wedding. She'd have to stay with me."

I suppress a laugh as he continues his tirade, oblivious to the fact that the very thing he's desperately trying to achieve has already happened—just not the way he planned.

"I've been fucking her for months," he hisses to himself. "Those pills should have stopped working weeks ago. What am I doing wrong?"

When Sarah emerges from the bathroom, Wiley transforms instantly, his expression softening into one of adoration. "You look beautiful this morning," he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Sarah smiles, completely unaware of his scheming or the life growing within her. "I need to go," she says, gathering her things. "I have a wedding to prepare for."

Wiley's smile falters but doesn't disappear entirely. "Maybe I'll see you again... after?"

"Maybe," Sarah replies noncommittally, slipping into her coat. "Goodbye, Wiley."

Hours later, as Sarah walks down the aisle toward me, radiant in white, I feel a surge of triumph so intense it nearly brings me to my knees. She has no idea that the vows we're about to exchange are binding us in more ways than one—that she's carrying my child as she promises to love me forever.

The ceremony passes in a blur of emotion. When we're finally pronounced husband and wife, I pull her into a kiss that silently declares my victory to the universe.

At our reception, I notice Wiley lurking at the edges, watching Sarah with hungry eyes. When he catches my gaze, I raise my champagne glass in a subtle toast, enjoying the flash of confusion that crosses his features.

Later that night, in our honeymoon suite, I claim my wife with deliberate slowness, savoring every inch of her body. As she lies beneath me, flushed and breathless, I trail my fingers over the almost imperceptible curve of her stomach.

"I think you're pregnant," I whisper, watching her eyes widen in shock.

"What? No, that's impossible. I'm on birth control," she stammers, her hand automatically moving to cover mine on her abdomen.

"Your breasts are fuller," I murmur, brushing my thumb across her sensitive nipple, making her gasp. "Your period is late. You've been nauseous in the mornings."

Sarah stares at me, processing my words. "But... how could you know all that?"

"Because I notice everything about you," I reply, kissing her softly. "Because I've been watching for the signs."

"But my pills—"

"Might not have been working," I interrupt gently, deciding in that moment not to reveal Wiley's treachery. Some secrets are better kept buried. "These things happen sometimes."

Sarah's expression shifts from confusion to wonder as she places both hands on her stomach. "A baby," she whispers, a smile slowly spreading across her face. "Our baby."

I nod, placing my hands over hers. "Our baby," I echo, the certainty in my voice leaving no room for doubt.

The next morning, we confirm my suspicions with a pregnancy test—two pink lines appearing almost immediately. Sarah laughs through her tears, throwing her arms around my neck.

"I can't believe we're going to be parents," she says, her voice thick with emotion.

"I can," I reply, holding her close, feeling the slight swell of her stomach pressed against mine. "It's perfect timing."

Two weeks later, at our first ultrasound appointment, the technician squints at the screen, moving the wand across Sarah's gel-covered abdomen. As I watch the screen to see the face of MY child for the first time