More of the Same

You sigh deeply, silently, drinking from a buzzing well of tickling satisfaction. You feel complete, and more than that, you feel an orgasm tremble up your body and wash over you. You bask in the sensation, sinking deeper into its addictive embrace. You drift in delight. Miranda is less satisfied.

"Oh no. You're not done." She thrusts with surprising strength once again, popping the soap bubble of satisfaction, and plunging you back into the immediate present with over-stimulation. You cry out loudly. "God a screamer." She thrusts again. "You're going to be hoarse by the end of this." She pushes you onto your back, with both feet in the air, and hisses, as your gravid middle gets in the way. She lets one leg down, and keeps at her rhythm. "Fuck, this feels good. " She growls.

Your lips curl in a tight smile involuntarily. Yes. Feel good. Use me. Fuck me. Fuck me senseless. Your brain pulses with the delight at the breached taboo.

A sharp slap against one of your boobs breaks you out of your wonder. "These fat ugly tits. God I hate sluts like... unf*" She huffs and winces, a soft gasp betraying her pleasure. "Sluts like you. Loose sloppy body. Good for nothing but sex." You can't help but feel she's right as every thrust into you sends ripples up your body. Your big breasts shaking loosely, almost comically, to the rhythm.

Miranda Bites her bottom lip and grunts, then grunts again, higher, and at last explodes within you. You feel heat pouring into your middle. So hot it could burn. So full you're afraid something will tear. But as you pant, catching your breath, Miranda merely picks up the pace again, set on making true her promise to leave you hoarse.

You lie on the bed staring at the ceiling, unsure of how long you'd been like that. Minutes? Hours? Hopefully not days. You try to bring your thoughts back in order, but your mind is buzzing. Every thought and inkling of consciousness is saturated in post coital bliss. Lazily, your eyes turn downward, and you watch as your chest and belly rise and fall. Your steamy battered cunt still pulses between your legs. You touch yourself tenderly, but despite the temptation, find your body too raw to stimulate any more. You roll over onto your side, and your heart leaps in your chest. Miranda stands by the side of the bed, a tall glass of water in her hand.

"I said. You should probably drink. You were already pretty dehydrated when I picked you up." She states, apparently for the second time.

You simply stare, Something doesn't seem quite right. She's put on a pair of sweatpants and a flat baggy T but...

She rolls her eyes, sets the glass of water on the bedside table, and hoists you upright. Putting the glass directly in your hands, she finally convinces you to drink. Suddenly realizing your need, you down the glass in seconds.

"I'll take your silence to mean it was good for you too." She crosses her arms, and smirks. "I've been pent up all week." She laughs. "Isn't that what guys say? Fuck I needed this though. I didn't know I needed it until..." You interrupt her by placing a hand on her flat chest, suddenly realizing what seemed off. "Hey!" She shouts.

"Where's your boobs?" You ask flatly.

"T-That's none of your business!" She steps back and crosses her hands over her chest, protecting her secret.

"I mean... I already know about your dick."

Arms crossed over her chest, she glows bright red, and finally spits. "I lost them to the fake Zoe. Ok?"

"So you're a bo-"

"NO!" She cuts you off. "Absolutely not. I just..." she growls her frustration. "Look we can't keep getting distracted, this is probably what that bitch wanted. If we keep this up, we'll never rescue Zoe, I'll be stuck with a dick, and you'll end up a dick hungry pregnant slut." She pauses long enough to le the threat loom, and you look down. "I put some maternity clothes in the bathroom. Wash up. We'll leave as soon as you're done."

"Where are we going?"

"Where we lost the real Zoe." She states. "Vegas."