You get railed

He keeps you there.

Not buried. Not denied completely. Just that mean middle distance where the fat head of his cock stretches you open and the rest of it hangs behind, full of threat and alluring promise...

Every short thrust seems to kiss the spot the pill has turned into a live wire before pulling away and stealing back the satisfaction. The bench takes your weight. The collar takes your breath.

You try to edge forward closer to satisfaction. You push back, hungry, sloppy, trying to spear yourself on him to the hilt - trying to entice him to cum, to fill you up, to open the door to the true satisfaction of the orgasm for which you are desperate.

He lets you have half an inch more for your crime, then hauls on the chain until your throat meets leather and your tits drag on the pad. The sound you make is wet, ugly and loud enough that someone behind you swears.

“Fuck you are desperate,” the jock murmurs, almost affectionate. “You feel tiny. Like I could snap you if I actually fucked you.”

He proves the point with one sudden, vicious stroke that finally — finally — slams him to the root. The air leaves you. Your mouth opens on the leather. He is thicker than the condom-slick cock that already ruined you tonight. He bottoms out like he is trying to bruise you inside. For three filthy seconds you are full, stuffed, the empty ache crushed under the weight of him...

Then he pulls back to the tip again.

You almost sob, moaning to yourself.

“There it is.” He laughs, breathless, delighted with himself. “That’s the noise. Fuck. You are so thirsty for it.”

He does it again. All the way in. All the way out. In. Out. Driving you relentlessly up a never-ending hillside. Yet you never reach the summit.

You feel your cunt cling to him on every retreat, and are able to pick up an audible suck, trying to keep what the Breeder tells your body is the only thing that matters. Slick runs down to your knees. The leftover mess from your master’s overflowing condom mixes with the new wet and makes a shining string from your hole to his shaft.

The jock's huge hand spans your hip easily. The other keeps the chain short. He leans forward and his mouth, whispering, finds your ear.

“Say it again. Not the please. The other thing.”

You know what he wants. The pill supplies it before your old brain can lock the door.

“Impregnate me.” It comes out wrecked, small, hungry. “Please. Fill me. I want you to come in me. I want... you'll give me twins, I don’t care, just don’t pull out, don’t you dare pull out—”

“Mm.” He rewards the honesty with deeper strokes, still not steady, still cruel. “You’d look so fucked. Little collar, big belly. Walking around campus after I did this to you in front of all these people.”

The fantasy hits the Compliance like a match in rocket fuel. Your pussy spasms around him. You are so close, your clit feels like a scream with nowhere to go.

He feels you bucking and writhing. Of course he feels it. He stops dead, buried to the balls, and just holds you there, pulsing, while you thrash and grind and try to fuck yourself on a cock that will not move.

“No,” he says softly. “Not yet. You don’t get to sneak it.”

He pulls out entirely.

The emptiness is obscene. Cold air on a hole that has been stretched around him. You clench on nothing and a thick drip of pussy juice and pre-cum hits the floor between your feet.

He uses the chain to turn your head so you have to look at him.

He is tall, flushed, shirt still on, that athlete’s chest stretching against the fabric, his huge cock standing proud out of his open trousers - shining and dark and furious. He strokes himself once, slowly, from your wetness, and taps the head against your clit.

You jerk. It does not count. It will never count.

“I could finish on your butt.” He slips his cock under you and against your ass, then slides it back trailing it - enticingly - over your cunt, then - as you strain upwards - onto your stomach, resting it on your navel.

“I could paint you. Leave you dripping.”

He grins down at you. God he is handsome, you think. You yearn to have him inside you again, hammering you like you're an extension of his gorgeous muscled body.

"Or I could breed you like the bitch you are?" He notches his pulsing cock against your labia you again, your body trying to suck him in. “Last chance to sound like you don’t want it.”

You don’t take it. You can’t. You push your groin down, placing pressure against the wet head of his cock, until it pops inside. As he slides it deeper, you strain to encourage it in further, shameless, a naked girl on a lead yearning for him to fill your hole, and then pump it fuller...