In her Womb of course

The thoughts flickered through Simon's mind in quick succession, each one sharper than the last. Sharon swallowing him down like his release was the finest thing she'd ever tasted. Or pulling back at the peak to paint her transformed face, her full lips and high cheekbones streaked with evidence of his claim. Her breasts, those heavy swells straining the black sweater dress, offered another temptation, warm and yielding around him until he spilled across them. Even her ass held a dark appeal, that once-rigid posture finally yielding in the most intimate way.

But none fit quite like this. Sharon O’Dwyer Mazur, the harpy who had spent years poisoning the floor with her complaints, her entitled jabs at every neighbour who dared exist too loudly. The woman who had singled him out for special scorn, her lectures laced with venom disguised as civility. For her, it would be perfect. Simon, the man she had tormented for sport, would be the one to fill her, to change her forever. The irony settled in him like a quiet satisfaction.

“Sharon,” he said, voice low and even. He watched her lips hover near the head of his erection, still glistening from her kisses. “Answer me. Do you want children?”

She pulled back slowly, her emerald eyes lifting to meet his. A faint sheen lingered on her mouth. “I never had time,” she replied, the words steady but soft. “Never wanted them.”

Simon’s lips curved, the smile small and knowing. He had her exactly where he wanted. “You want my children, though. Don’t you.”

Her expression shifted, hunger sharpening into something deeper, more certain. “Yes,” she said, a smile breaking across her face. “I want to have your children. And now that my body is younger, I think I can try.”

“Good.” He let the word hang for a beat. “Because you are going to get pregnant when I come inside your pussy.”

The power moved again, silent and absolute. Sharon’s breath caught, her body responding beneath the dress in ways he could not see but felt in the sudden heat radiating from her. Her thighs pressed together once, involuntarily, as a flush climbed her neck. “I will be getting pregnant with your child,” she agreed, voice husky with fresh certainty.

“Well then?” Simon raised an eyebrow, glancing down at his erection, still moist from her attentions. “What are you waiting for?”

Sharon rose without hesitation. Her hands moved to the hem of the black sweater dress, lifting it over her head in one fluid motion. The fabric whispered against her skin as it fell aside, revealing the full curves he had shaped, breasts heavy and nipples already peaked. She peeled away the rest, stepping out of her heels, then her panties, until she stood bare before him, every inch glowing with the vitality of her new form.

She stepped close, facing him, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. Simon gripped her firm, plush ass, fingers sinking into the soft give as she lifted one leg, then the other, wrapping them around his waist. He guided her down, the head of his cock brushing her entrance before she sank onto him.

Her pussy was tight, almost impossibly so, the walls clenching around him with a greedy heat that pulled him deeper. She moved slowly at first, rising and falling with deliberate control, but the grip never eased. Each descent drew a low sound from her throat, her inner muscles fluttering, squeezing as if determined to milk every drop straight toward her womb. Simon held her steady, hands supporting her weight, helping the rhythm build as her breaths turned ragged against his neck.

Sharon's breaths came in sharp, uneven bursts as she adjusted to him, her emerald eyes half-lidded, locked on his face with a mix of awe and raw need. The black sweater dress lay discarded on the floor, her sexy body bare and pressed against him—skin flushed, dewy with the first sheen of sweat that made her glow under the dim apartment light. She braced her hands on his shoulders, nails digging in just enough to leave faint marks, as she lifted herself higher, only to sink back down with a deliberate slowness that dragged every inch of him through her clenching heat.

This caused Simon to grip her ass tighter, fingers sinking into the plush firmness he had reshaped, guiding her movements with the same steady control he used to direct crowds at work. Her pussy gripped him like a vice, walls rippling in waves that pulled at him relentlessly, slick and hot, as if her body had been remade not just for youth but for this exact purpose. Each rise exposed him to the cool air of the room, a stark contrast that made the plunge back inside her all the more intense—wet sounds filling the space between them, punctuated by her soft whimpers.

"You're so deep," she murmured, voice husky and stripped of its former primness, her hips grinding in small circles at the bottom of each stroke to take him fuller. Her heavy breasts bounced with the motion, nipples grazing his chest, sending sparks through both of them. Simon thrust up to meet her, his own rhythm building, the coil in his gut tightening as her inner muscles fluttered around him, squeezing in rhythmic pulses that mimicked her heartbeat. He could feel her arousal coating him, dripping down to where their bodies joined, the scent of her floral essence mingling with the musky evidence of their coupling.

She picked up pace, riding him harder now, her thighs flexing with newfound strength, slamming down with a **** that made her gasp each time. Simon's hands roamed up her back, tracing the curve of her spine, then down to cup her breasts, thumbs circling the hardened peaks until she arched into his touch. "Simon... yes," she panted, her waves of brown hair cascading over her shoulders, sticking to her skin. The apartment echoed with the slap of flesh, her moans growing louder, unrestrained—nothing like the rigid woman who had knocked on his door minutes ago.

Leaning in, Simon trailed rough kisses along Sharon's neck, his teeth grazing the elegant line of her throat as he drove deeper, Sharon's pussy contracting wildly around him. The build was inevitable now, pressure mounting in his core, her body trembling as she neared the edge. Sharon arched back, exposing more of her skin to his mouth.

"Oh God, Simon... I'm close," she groaned, her movements erratic, grinding down with **** urgency.

"Impregnate me, Simon," Sharon whimpered against his ear, her voice soft but fervent, fingers threading through his hair. "Fill me with your child... make it real."

They crested together in a rush, her walls clamping down in a final, shuddering vice that pulled his release from him. Simon groaned low, spilling deep inside her, pulse after pulse flooding her womb as her own climax ripped through her—body convulsing, a cry escaping her lips that echoed off the walls. She clung to him, riding out the waves, her pussy milking him dry until they both stilled, breaths mingling in the afterglow.

Simon stayed buried deep inside her, the warmth of her body still pulsing faintly around him in the aftershocks, when the haze cleared like a fog lifting off a morning shift. Post-nut clarity, he recalled the term with a dry twist of irony, sharpening his thoughts as he registered the full weight of what he'd done. He'd just impregnated Sharon O’Dwyer Mazur—a woman who, legally and officially, remained sixty-nine years old, her records unchanged in some dusty database or memory.

Sure, he'd reshaped her into this vision of youth, mid-twenties at a glance, maybe early thirties if the light hit just right, all soft curves and vibrant energy. But the transformation had been immediate, not retroactive, a targeted fix to let her indulge the attraction he'd planted without the drag of her old self's form.

Which meant that right now, no one stepping through that door would buy her as the same rigid harpy from across the hall; she'd pass for a stranger, his words the only thread tying her new form to the old identity, leaving complications stacked like unchecked reports waiting to bury him later.