Switch to Pan(as Trevor) point of view and back up a bit

Megan's House, Westwood Heights, at 11:42 PM on Thursday October 31st, 2024

I have been alive for millennia, and still — still — the first thrust into a new conquest makes something ancient sing in my blood.

Megan Holloway is tight. Tighter than I expected from a girl who throws legendary parties — her pussy grips my cock like it's never been properly stretched, the walls fluttering and clenching as I push deeper into her bare, unprotected cunt. She's dripping wet, soaked through her ridiculous pirate thong, and the slick heat of her surrounds me as I bottom out against her cervix.

"Oh god —" she gasps, her green eyes wide, her freckled face flushed crimson. "Trevor — you're so —"

I don't let her finish. I start thrusting — deep, measured strokes designed to open her completely, to make her body memorize the shape of me. My cock drags through her tight channel and I can feel every ridge of her inner walls, every clench and spasm as her body adjusts to my size. The werewolf costume gives me this form — broad shoulders, thick cock, amber eyes — but the seed is all mine. Divine. Purposeful. Designed to find its mark regardless of what mortal precautions she might have taken.

"Condom," she manages, her fingers clawing at my flannel. "You need —"

"Tell me to stop," I say, and I mean it. I always give them the choice. It's more satisfying when they choose to surrender.

She doesn't tell me to stop. Her legs wrap around my waist and her pussy pulls me deeper, and I feel the moment her resistance crumbles — a physical sensation, like a lock turning. Her body has already decided. Her mind is just catching up.

I cum inside her for the first time and the sound she makes is exquisite — a raw, broken scream that vibrates through her entire body. My cock pulses, pumping thick ropes of divine seed directly against her cervix, and I feel her womb drink it in. The supernatural essence rewrites her fertility on a cellular level, overriding her body's natural cycle, planting itself with absolute certainty. She doesn't know it yet, but Megan Holloway is already carrying my child.

I breed her four more times. Each load thicker than the last, each orgasm from her louder and more desperate. By the fourth time, she's face-down on the mattress, barely conscious, her pussy a swollen, cum-flooded mess leaking onto the sheets. Beautiful. Broken. Mine.

Then I open the door.

Brianna Torres is easier than Megan — she wants this, has wanted something like it for years, even if she doesn't know exactly what. The nurse costume comes off and her body is lovely — full tits, soft hips, a pussy so wet it's practically dripping down her thighs. She lies back and opens her legs for me with barely a murmur of protest.

"I'm on birth control," she whispers as I position myself between her thighs. "But you should still —"

I push inside her and her words dissolve into a moan. She's tighter than Megan — virgin-tight despite her experience, her walls gripping my shaft with desperate hunger. I fuck her slowly at first, letting her feel every inch, every vein, the raw heat of bare cock splitting her open.

"Cum inside me," she begs, and I smile. Her birth control. That adorable mortal confidence in chemical prevention. My seed has already rewritten Megan's reproductive system — it will do the same to Brianna's. The synthetic hormones in her pills are nothing against divine intent. Less than nothing.

I thrust deep and hold, my cock swelling against her cervix, and I cum with deliberate, pulsing intensity. Rope after rope of thick supernatural seed floods her womb, finding its mark with absolute precision. Her birth control never had a chance. Brianna arches beneath me, screaming through her own orgasm, her pussy milking my cock with rhythmic spasms, unknowingly pulling my seed deeper into her fertile body.

She collapses, gasping, a blissful smile on her face. She thinks she's safe. She thinks the little daily pill will protect her from consequences.

She has no idea she's already mine.