than he looks

Time seems to slow to a crawl, each second stretching into an eternity as you watch Darrell's face above you. His eyes are still squeezed shut, his jaw clenched tight, every muscle in his body tensed and straining. You can see the exact moment your words finally penetrate through the fog of his pleasure—his eyes snap open, dark and unfocused, struggling to process what you're saying even as his body continues its primal rhythm.

"What?" The word comes out strangled, confused, his hips still moving even as his brain tries to catch up. "What did you—"

"PULL OUT!" You scream it this time, your voice breaking with desperation. Your hands push against his chest with all your strength, your nails digging into his skin. "Please, God, please pull out! I'm not on birth control! You can't—you can't cum inside me!"

The words finally register. You see the exact moment comprehension dawns in his eyes—they widen in shock, then panic, and suddenly he's trying to pull back, his hands bracing against the seat on either side of you. But his body is already in motion, already past the point of no return, his cock pulsing and throbbing inside you as his orgasm begins.

"Fuck—I can't—I'm already—" His voice is agonized, ****, and you feel the first hot pulse of his cum shooting deep inside you.

"NO!" The word tears from your throat as a sob. You can feel it—the warmth spreading inside you, his cock jerking and pulsing as he tries desperately to pull out even as his body betrays him. He manages to withdraw halfway, his thick shaft sliding out of your clenching pussy, but not before several powerful spurts have already been released deep inside you.

The moment his cock clears your entrance, the rest of his orgasm erupts across your body. Hot ropes of cum splash across your stomach, your breasts, your chest, painting your pale skin with thick white streaks. He's groaning above you, his whole body shaking, one hand wrapped around his cock as he strokes himself through the rest of his climax, trying to direct it away from your pussy even as more cum pulses out in thick spurts.

You're frozen beneath him, your body still trembling with aftershocks, your mind reeling with horror as you feel his cum—the cum that's already inside you—beginning to leak out of your pussy. It's warm and thick, trickling down between your ass cheeks onto the leather seat, and the sensation makes you want to vomit.

Oh God. Oh God, he came inside me. He actually came inside me.

Darrell collapses beside you in the cramped backseat, his chest heaving, sweat dripping from his body. For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The only sound is your combined ragged breathing and the distant hum of traffic outside the car. The air is thick with the smell of sex and sweat, oppressive in its own right.

"Fuck," Darrell finally breathes, his voice rough and shaky. "Why the fuck you stupid white high school bitches fucking unprotected?" He roars angrily.

You look back with fear in your eyes causing him to run a hand over his face, his expression stricken. "Why didn't you say something earlier? Before I was about to—"

"I did!" The words burst from you, sharp and defensive, your voice cracking. "I did, okay? I just—I wasn't thinking. I got caught up and I—"

Your voice breaks completely and suddenly you're sobbing, your whole body shaking with the **** of it. "Oh God, what did I do? What the fuck did I do?"

You can feel his cum still leaking out of you, warm and obscene, a constant reminder of your stupidity. Your hand moves to your stomach instinctively, pressing against the flat plane of your belly as if you could somehow stop what might already be happening inside you. The gesture is futile and you know it, but you can't help yourself.

Darrell sits up, reaching for something in the front seat. He comes back with a handful of fast-food napkins from the glove compartment—crumpled and slightly greasy, but better than nothing. He starts wiping the cum off your stomach and breasts with surprising gentleness, his large hands careful and methodical.

"Here," he says quietly, handing you several napkins. "You should, uh... clean yourself out. As much as you can."

Your hands shake as you take the napkins, pressing them between your legs. The paper is rough and inadequate, but you do your best, trying to wipe away as much of his cum as possible. It's a losing battle—you can feel how much is still inside you, how deep he came before he pulled out. The napkins come away soaked with his seed mixed with your own arousal, the sight making your stomach turn.

"How much..." Your voice is barely a whisper. "How much do you think got inside me? Before you pulled out?"

Darrell's jaw clenches, his eyes avoiding yours. "I don't know. A few seconds worth? Maybe... maybe three or four pumps?" He sounds as terrified as you feel. "But I pulled out as fast as I could. Most of it ended up on you, not in you."

"A few seconds," you repeat spiraling.

The word hangs in the air between you like a curse. Pregnant. Raising a child you're not ready for, being trapped in this female body forever because you were too stupid and too horny to think about consequence.

"Stop." Darrell's voice is firm, his hand gripping your shoulder. "Stop spiraling bitch. There's Plan B, right? The morning-after pill? We can get that. It's not too late."

(Comments appreciated)