You tell him

He stays in your mouth through the last pulse, hand locked in your hair, until his shaft gives one final, lazy twitch against your tongue. Then he pulls back. His bulbous head drags over your lower lip and a thin string of white follows it, stretching, breaking, landing on your chin, dripping down to your pert tits. A shorter string remains hanging from the head of his cock, and your mouth is full of his last load, settling under and around your tongue.

“Swallow. And then clean this.”

Not a request. You gulp down the hot, salty mixture, and then lean in before the Michael-side-of-your-brain can argue and lick the mess off him — the slit, the ridge, the wet veined underside — chasing what you've already swallowed with what you haven't yet. It is thicker than you expected, salty-bitter, and the body treats it like something you have been starving for. You take him to the back of your throat again just to scrape the last of it down, then kiss along the shaft and suck each of those enormous shaved balls in turn until they are shining. Where did that flourish come from? The aching void between your legs?

Only when he is gleaming and starting to soften does he let you off.

He looks down at you, thumb smearing the smear on your chin back toward your mouth.

“What do you want.”

The Compliance is already in the wiring. The honest answer arrives without permission.

“That inside me. I know it's the pill..." you protested, though unconvinced, "...but I need you to fuck me.” Your voice is wrecked, small, greedy. “Please. I’m so empty it hurts. I just— I don’t want to be pregnant. I can’t— not that. Fuck me. Just not that.”

He laughs once, quiet, like you have told a joke he already knew the punchline to. From a pocket he produces a foil square. He tears it with his teeth, rolls the rubber down that still-impressive length with two fingers, and gives himself a testing stroke. Even sheathed, the thing looks obscene in front of your face.

“On your back. Legs open.”

You scramble. The second he covers you, the size of him is rammed home nearly as hard as you want his dick to be — chest, shoulders, the bear-paw hands pinning your wrists for a moment before he decides he wants your hips instead. He notches the blunt, rubber-slick head against you. You are soaked enough that it takes no effort to pop inside, and the sound you make is embarrassing.

Then he fucks you like an animal.

No rhythm to start with. Just weight and depth, slamming to the hilt so the condom-wrapped head punches the place that has been aching since he first put himself on your tongue. Your smaller body jolts up the floor with every thrust. You lock your ankles at his back and haul him in harder, nails in his shoulders, lipstick probably wrecked against his throat. It is perfect. It is savage. Every stroke lights the fuse the pill built and the fuse never quite catches. You feel like a tiny koala, clinging to his huge - almost obscenely huge - cock like it is a tree trunk, but with your pussy.

Closer. Closer. A bright, vicious pressure stacks behind your clit and in the clutch of your cunt and then stops, like a door slammed in your face. You snarl and meet him anyway, grinding up, trying to drag the orgasm out of a body that will not release it. Your thoughts smear. All that is left is deeper, harder, fill it, use it. You hear yourself begging in a voice that is not your own - in sound or in heart - yet begging you are.

You begin to tire, your whole body drenched in running sweat as you desperately thrash, and press and grind chasing a mind-blowing climax.

He lasts longer than the mouth did. When he finally goes, you feel it — the sudden swell, the heat through the latex, the condom fattening inside you as he empties into the reservoir instead of into you. He grinds through it, buried, panting against your hair.

You do not come.

But you need to come more.

You keep moving under him, frantic and slippery, chasing a peak - but it sill will not arrive. The wall is right there. You can see over it. You cannot climb it.

You can feel him softening, shrinking inside you... you bounce your hips more, desperately seeking that friction, that pleasure, but as he shrinks he doesn't drive you towards climax any more, but still you yearn it, you need it.

He laughs, still inside you, still twitching, still shrinking.

“Christ. Look at you. Why are you going at it so hard?”

You can barely speak. “I— I can’t— I was right there. I’m still right there. Why can’t I—”

He lifts his head. The smirk is lazy and delighted.

“Forgotten the rules of the pill already, little bitch?”

The sentence lands like a hand around your throat. Twelve hours. Horny as heat. Fertile. Consent to anything. And you can only come if someone comes inside you.

The condom is still in you, warm and heavy with him, and it might as well be a locked door.

He does not pull out. You feel him thicken again almost at once at the power and excitement of his position in this dilemma — the Compliance-Breeder making you clench, the sight of you ruined and unfinished doing the rest. The rubber is slick with you and full of what he already spent.

As he stiffens again, you feel more traction. You feel you can get closer. You grind, and grind, like a woman possessed... then he draws back until just the head stretches you. Just as you begin to hate the emptiness, to pine to be filled - BOOM. He slams home hard and deep. You shriek in delight and relief, and starts fucking you in earnest a second time, slower only in the sense that he wants you to feel every inch of what you cannot have.

“No creampie,” he says against your ear, almost kind. “No lights-out. You can take this cock until you cry and you still won’t get there. Not until I take this off and give you what the pill actually wants.”

Your pussy grabs at him like it is trying to rip the latex away by force. You hate how good it feels. You hate that you are already nodding, already lifting, reaching, your hips for the most penetration, for the hardest slam, for the most stimulation for your pussy and clitoris. You hate how desperate you are to cum... and how increasingly, you feel, how desperate you are for him to explode freely inside you, filling you with his salty semen... but... pregnancy... you can't... though you don't know how long you can stand this before you say the words he is waiting for.