Surrender to the overwhelming pleasure and let him breed you as many times as he wants tonight

Megan's House, Westwood Heights, at 11:02 PM on Thursday October 31st, 2024

The first pulse of his cum hits my cervix like a brand and every thought I've ever had about responsibility, about protection, about myself — evaporates. I feel his cock throb inside me, thick and impossibly hot, pumping rope after rope of thick seed directly into my unprotected womb. My pussy clenches around him in desperate, rhythmic spasms, milking every drop, pulling him deeper as if my body knows exactly what it wants even if my brain has checked out entirely.

"Oh god — oh fuck —" My voice cracks on the words. I can feel it — the sheer volume of him flooding my insides, so much cum that it has nowhere to go, pressing against my walls, leaking around his shaft and pooling beneath my ass. It's hot, almost scalding, and my womb seems to drink it in, a warmth spreading through my lower belly that feels almost alive.

He doesn't pull out. Doesn't even soften. His cock stays rock-hard inside my cum-soaked pussy and he starts thrusting again before the last spasm fades, churning his own seed deeper with each stroke. The wet, obscene sounds fill the room — squelching, slapping, the liquid rhythm of a pussy being fucked full.

"That's it," he growls, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. "Take it all, Megan. Every drop."

"Yes," I hear myself moan. "Yes, yes, please —"

I don't recognize my own voice. It's breathy, desperate, completely stripped of the confidence that defines me. My legs are locked around his waist and my nails are raking down his back through the flannel and I'm arching up to meet every thrust like my life depends on it. My tits bounce wildly in the tiny pirate corset, the velvet straining, my nipples so hard they ache.

He flips me over without warning — one hand on my hip, the other between my shoulder blades — and I end up face-down on the mattress with my ass in the air, my microskirt bunched around my waist. His cock slides back into me from behind and the new angle drives him even deeper, the head pressing against places no one has ever reached before. I scream into the pillow.

"Good girl," he murmurs, and the words make my pussy gush. "You're going to take every load tonight. Aren't you?"

"Yes," I sob into the sheets. "Anything — please —"

He fucks me through my first orgasm — a shattering, full-body convulsion that makes my toes curl and my vision go white — and keeps going right through it, his pace relentless, his cock splitting me open with mechanical precision. I cum again before he does, my walls clenching so tight around him that he groans and buries himself to the root, flooding me a second time. More cum. So much cum. I can feel it dripping down my thighs, pooling on the white sheets beneath us.

He doesn't stop.

By the third time he fills me, I've lost count of my own orgasms. My body is a trembling, overstimulated mess — every nerve ending firing, every muscle shaking, my pussy swollen and raw and still begging for more. He's cum inside me four times now and his cock shows no sign of flagging. The sheets beneath my hips are soaked through — a dark, spreading stain of cum and pussy juice.

Somewhere in the haze, I hear the bedroom door open. I try to turn my head but his hand presses me flat against the mattress, his cock still buried deep.

"Don't move," he says, his voice calm and commanding. Then, to whoever's at the door: "Come in. Both of you."

I hear two sets of footsteps. Two gasps. And then Brianna's voice — uncertain, aroused, barely recognizable: "Oh my god, Megan — is that — are you —"

"She's fine," Trevor says, his thumb tracing circles on my lower back. "Better than fine. Aren't you, Megan?"

"Mmhm," I moan, too fucked-out to form words. His cock twitches inside me and I clench around it instinctively.

"Close the door," he tells them. "Lock it. You're next."