Lie there locked together and wait for his knot to deflate, feeling his cum settle inside you.

Marco's House (First House), Breedmore Lane, at 9:02 PM on Friday October 31, 2024.

I lie there beneath him, pinned by his weight and his knot, feeling every micro-movement of his cock still buried to the hilt inside my ruined virgin pussy. The velvet couch is soaked beneath my ass — a puddle of mixed fluids, his cum and my squirt, darkening the fabric. My devil costume is wrecked: the red top torn down the middle, my left breast fully exposed, the tiny skirt bunched uselessly around my waist. My thong is somewhere on the floor. The horned headband fell off minutes ago.

Marco's fur has receded almost entirely now. He looks almost human again — handsome, salt-and-pepper hair, those warm brown eyes returning to normal though they still hold a faint amber glow. His weight is supported on his forearms on either side of my head, and he's looking down at me with an expression that's half satisfaction, half genuine tenderness.

"How do you feel?" he asks, his voice human again, rough but gentle.

I can't answer right away. I'm too focused on the sensation inside me — the impossible fullness. His cum is settling. I can feel it — thick, heavy, warm — pooling deep in my womb. There's so much of it that my lower belly feels distended, a slight roundness pressing against his stomach where our bodies are joined. Every tiny shift of his hips sends ripples through the fluid, and I can feel it sloshing gently, sealed inside by the still-swollen knot plugging my entrance.

"Full," I finally whisper. "I feel... full."

Marco smiles — a real smile, not the predatory one from before. His hand strokes my hair, pushing damp strands off my sweaty forehead. "You did beautifully, Bambi. Most girls scream a lot louder the first time they take a knot."

I let out a shaky laugh that turns into a whimper when his cock twitches inside me — a lazy, post-orgasmic throb that sends a fresh pulse of heat through my stuffed womb. My pussy clenches around him involuntarily and I feel more cum shift inside me, pressing against my cervix.

The minutes crawl past. Marco talks to me softly — telling me about the neighborhood, about Halloween on Breedmore Lane, about how the other houses will be different from his. His hand traces idle patterns on my hip while his knot slowly, slowly begins to soften. I can feel it — the gradual reduction in pressure against my stretched entrance, the slight give in the seal.

But something else is happening. Something I don't understand at first.

A cramp. Low in my belly, deep — not like period cramps, but deeper, centered right where his cum is pooled. It's not painful exactly. More like... pressure. Building pressure. My hand drifts down to my stomach and I feel it — my belly is firmer than it should be, the slight distension from his cum now accompanied by something else. Something growing.

"Marco," I say, my voice small and confused. "Something's — I feel weird. In my stomach."

His eyes meet mine and there's something in them — knowledge, maybe. A flicker of that amber glow.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "That happens, with my kind. The seed works fast."

Another cramp, stronger this time, and I gasp. It feels like something is moving inside me — shifting, forming, solidifying in the warm bath of his supernatural cum. My pussy clenches hard around his softening knot and a moan escapes my lips that surprises me with its intensity. The pressure isn't painful — it's pleasurable, a deep internal massage that radiates outward from my core.

"What's happening to me?" I breathe, my fingers pressing against my firming belly.

Marco's knot finally deflates enough to slip free with a wet pop. A gush of thick white cum pours from my gaping pussy, running down my thighs, pooling on the couch. But even as it flows out, I can feel that something remains inside — something solid, something growing.

The cramping intensifies. My thighs spread wider instinctively, my back arching, and I feel my pussy lips part — not from a cock this time, but from something pushing outward. Something smooth and warm and round, descending through my channel with agonizing slowness.

"Oh — oh god —" I gasp, my hands gripping the couch cushions. The sensation is indescribable — my walls stretching around something firm and oval, my pussy opening wider as it descends, every nerve ending firing with a pleasure so intense it borders on pain. It's like being fucked in reverse, something filling me and then leaving, dragging against every sensitive spot on the way out.

Marco kneels between my legs, his hands on my thighs, watching with rapt attention. "Push, Bambi. Let it come."

I push. My body obeys before my mind can object, muscles contracting, and I feel it crest — the widest part stretching my entrance to its limit — and then it slides free with a rush of fluid and a scream torn from my throat that is pure ecstasy.

A large, pearlescent egg — smooth, warm, roughly the size of a grapefruit — rests between my trembling thighs, glistening with my juices and Marco's cum. My pussy is still spasming, clenching on nothing, aftershocks rolling through me from the most intense orgasmic experience of my life.

"Beautiful," Marco murmurs, carefully cradling the egg in his large hands. "Absolutely beautiful. I'll take care of this one. Don't you worry about a thing."

He carries the egg toward a door I haven't noticed before — a warm, glowing room beyond the kitchen. Then he returns, a folded bundle of white fabric in his hands.

"Your costume didn't survive the night," he says with a gentle smile, holding out the outfit. "But I have something that might fit you better for the rest of your evening."