It's Complicated. And hot. And kind of messed up.

You stare at her in shock and horror. Your whole body feels numb with it. "How could you..." you whisper, not trusting you voice at first, then, more loudly, and angrily, "How could you do this to me?! I'm... I don't WANT to be..." You look down, cupping your hands around your pelvis, staring down at your pussy. And it IS yours, now. You meet her gaze, and though the triumph has not faded, her eyes are all the more furious now.

She shoves you onto your back, pressing you down back onto the bed, holding you down. "How dare you? How fucking dare you, Doe? You don't get to play the victim here." You can feel the tip of the strap-on sliding down your leg, moving towards your thoroughly abused entrance. "You were going to do the same damn thing to me! If I hadn't fought you off, I'd be the one knocked up right now; I didn't do anything to you that you weren't trying to do to me." She positions herself, lining up the strap-on. "You wanted to be free of your curse. You thought you could **** me to do it."

Shame rushes through you, and arousal, and resentment, and oh god but she looks gorgeous as she glares down at you with hatred in her eyes. She hates you. She wants you. You're still wet. You can't look away. She's still...

She grabs you by the hips and thrusts into you savagely, burying the strap-on as deeply within you as it can go, and you gasp aloud at the sudden return of that fullness. "I didn't mean..." you try to say.

"Bullshit you didn't mean it," she says, and she's right, and you shiver as she pulls back and then thrusts in again, your breasts jiggling with the impact, and they're YOUR breasts, and it feels... good. "You were trying to knock me up," she says, "So I had you knocked up." And then her body is pressed against yours, her smaller breasts against your larger as she continues her thrusts, and she can't hide the excitement in her voice as she asks, "How does it feel, 'Mommy'?"

Another reminder of what you are now, and another spike of rage, and shame, and arousal rips through you, and the pressure inside you rising and falling in time to her thrusts, your body glistening with sweat, her hands clenching tightly around your hips. This isn't just ****. This isn't just doing to you what you would have done to her. She's still... She never breaks eye contact, never looks away. Your skin is flushed. So is hers. Someone is moaning. Is it her? Is it you? You can't tell. She's still... Everything is the feel of her body against yours, and the rising pressure, and the cresting wave, and heat, and movement, and the knowledge that you're pregnant, that you're going to be a girl forever, and that SHE did this to you.

She's still...
... dominating you.