Isabella

"Jesus," you whisper, your voice hoarse as you reread her words. The raw hunger in her profile sends a jolt of electricity straight to your groin. "She wants to be bred on purpose."

Angela nods, her eyes dark with desire. "That's exactly what she wants. She's been very specific about it." She scrolls down to show you more photos—the woman, Isabella, in various poses that highlight her fertility. One shows her cradling her belly with her hands, as if already imagining it swollen with child.

"She's thirty-one," Angela continues, her finger tracing the curve of Isabella's hip in the photo. "Never been pregnant before, but she's been tracking her ovulation religiously for the past two years, preparing herself." She looks up at you, her breath coming faster. "She's in her fertile window right now."

You feel your cock twitch at the implication. "Right now?"

"According to her profile, yes. She's been taking supplements, doing fertility yoga, everything to prepare her body." Angela's voice drops to a whisper. "She wants to be impregnated this cycle."

You take the phone, studying Isabella's face more carefully. Something almost desperate flickers in her expression, a hunger that matches what you've just seen in your wife's eyes.

"And you think she'd be okay with... with you being there?" you ask, still trying to process the reality of what Angela is proposing.

Angela smiles, a slow, seductive curve of her lips. "I've already messaged her. She's excited about the idea.”

“Set up a meeting, maybe over wine.”