[$200] Take her with a condom.

No sooner than how long it took to put ten Jacksons on your coffee table did "Nutmeg" get to work, taking only seconds to go from poorly dressed to lavishly nude. You don't see a hair on her body, save the slightest hint of stubble on her pubic mound, and she doesn't even wait for you to ask for the condom before she's unpacking it. This doesn't gel with your plan at all, and you contemplate just how you'd get her pregnant if you end up filling a condom... but then, how much can that condom hold? Truth be told, you've yet to test its limits given your new volume of output, and the tight channel in which it would be filled. She approaches you, smiling with said condom between her lips, before she lowers her head and envelops you in latex and a sucking strong enough to be felt through it. Your concerns take a backseat as your cock twitches with pumping blood once she removes her mouth.

"Calm dooooown, Hot Stuff, we just gettin' started!" Without ceremony, Nutmeg throws her bony leg over you, rubs her own crotch with a palm-full of spit, and impales herself slowly onto you. Truth be told, you're half-expecting a cavernous, worn-out hole; instead, her pussy's grip threatens to drive you to a premature ending, a problem compounded when she rotates on your rubber-sleeved cock with gyrations unexpected from such a skinny gal. Between being horny all day and saving up for this moment, you realize that not even the numbing humiliation of a condom can save you from a professional's hard work. You clutch each of her hips and drive her downward, digging your censored member into her birth canal as you start to come. "Ooooh baby, it feels so good when you cuuum inside me," she coos, putting her perky B-cups (a full cup down from her padded outfit) in your face. Never letting up, she continues to gyrate while building up her moans to crescendo into a fake orgasm (you knew damn well what those sound like and she was no Academy Award winner). You feel yourself pulsing into the resevoir tip, which rests against the entrance of her womb... and keeps growing as your first, monstrous wave outperforms any normal ejaculation. You continue to pin her to you while throwing your head back and reveling in the newfound pressure of the suffocating rubber. "Feels sooo go-... whoa, that's... that's alot, baby, how are-"

She tries to dismount, finding your grip of iron on her thighs. You're hardly in a state to consider the facts, but a condom, while flexible and usually quite durable, suffers a fragility under the right sorts and amounts of stress, as many unexpected fathers and mothers well know. Nutmeg herself was a daughter of such a pair, only one aspect of the sad tale you know nothing about. The reservoir tip inflates... and fills her cunt... and, in a violation entirely new to this veteran of street corners, finds relief by inflating through the tight muscle of her cervix and continuing its growth inside her womb. She howls with an animal mixture of pain and pleasure, a sharp change in her tone from the bad acting earlier, but you've halves of a seconds to register it as you begin your second volley. The tip inflates and deforms, pouring more and more through the narrow tunnel of latex that connected the tip of your cock and the growing bubble inside her womb, widening your side of the resevoir tip until it inflates around the rest of your cock... and rubs too many bits of latex against one another. "Baaby, this huuuuungh! Fuck, it hurts, take it out, I think it's gonna-... it's gonna-!"

You lean your head forward, and sigh your words. {if Morality > 0}"Please... take it all!"{else@}"Take it, whore."{endif} Her eyes go wide when she finally realizes your makeshift plan, but it's too late.

The last explosion of your orgasm flows into the woefully unprepared condom. Its inflation inside her terrified, crushing vagina leaves little room to grow inside the rest of the condom, and so more and more fills her womb, ballooning to fill her uterus and even threatening to find relief through the openings of her fallopian tubes. The latex tunnel formed in her cervix, already stretched beyond its recommended maximum, is crushed tight as the muscle tries to reject this foreign object. The fragile neck of the bloated head of dangerous sperm is pinched, its circular walls rubbing together for latex-on-latex friction... which proves its undoing. The condom ruptures at the entrance of her womb, snapping the latex, shooting it around the massive fist of cum you've slowly smuggled into her babymaker, and back towards that tight, donut-shaped gate. For a unit of time too small for you to measure, the gray liquid mass hovers inside the womb, an orb of some billions of sperm, a teeming horde ready to raid, surrounded by an insufficient layer of spermicide brought in by the condom. By the time the condom has snapped back out of the cervix, the horde disperses in all directions, filling her uterus in gray. Nutmeg's eyes roll into the back of her head as she gasps and, unbeknownst to you, has her first real orgasm in her adult life as the tenderest of membranes is bombarded by your mind-bending jizz. Her waiting egg, still traveling down towards the womb, finds itself drowned and fertilized in short order, and your breeder senses let you watch as it drifts downward towards the uterus proper, pushed on all sides by sperm that seem almost intelligent as they help it cut through the new, hazardous currents of your explosive orgasm. When at last her orgasm ebbs enough to regain her senses, she looks down in horror as your cum already begins to leak from between you, even as you continue to hold her down in your vice grip.

Your appreciation dies off as Nutmeg punches the back of either of your hand with all the strength she can muster, nearly shattering the tiny bones her knuckles find. You howl in agony at the sudden ****, and your loosened grip is enough for her to rip away from you, leaving your still-hard prick twitching in the air, still coated in the ruined condom and your own semen. "You fucking asshole, you... you freak! What the fuck... how did you... what did you do?!" Her hands are wide as she begs these stupid questions, and she spaces out her legs out to let a copious stream of gray fall from her crotch. Though still in pain from the awkward blows, you can't help but laugh at how futile her anger is. "You're going to pay double for this, asshole, or my sugar daddy is going to fucking kill you!"

You sigh contently, watching as your seed pools between her feet... and, with your enhanced sense, watching her fertilized egg drift into her uterus and downward toward the nearest wall. Regardless of how you felt about her before, her instant switch to a violent, money-hungry whore (which, frankly, you should've seen coming) makes you far less empathic. "I can pay you double," you confess. "I could even pay you triple. Should I pay you triple?"

She blinks at you, her anger never relenting. "You think this is funny?"

"I'm asking! Should I pay you triple instead?"

"You're going to pay me another two hundred, cash, right now, or so help me God-!"

"Tell you what: when you leave here, I want you to come back, and pay me my money back for permission to suck my cock clean. Then, and this is only if I let you, THEN you'll happily do it... I mean, I think you'll happily do it no matter what I say about how you should feel, come to think of it but- whatever, those are my instructions to you."

A blank stare. A shake of her head. "You're a fucking dead man," she hisses.

At last, the ovum finds its nest, and buries itself into her, rooting her fate into her womb. "The elevator acts up at night, so you should probably take the stairs... I mean, unless you still want that extra two hundred?"

She continues to put her simple clothes back on. "You better make that money appear before I step out that door, or so help me God nothing is going to save you, you little faggot."

Her ugly, street-wise tongue is something you'll have to get to her to unlearn, you decide. "It's in the kitchen, in the center drawer... I mean there's more than two hundred there, but please only take two hundred."

Shaking her head in disbelief, and now as fully dressed as when you found her, she stomps over to your kitchen, somehow able to ignore the gliding, squishing noises coming from between her thighs. There is no money in the center drawer, of course: you keep a bunch of old notepads, measuring tapes, batteries, and all other widgets that you don't otherwise have a home for in this bachelor pad. You lean back in your chair, letting the cool air tickle your soaked rod. It's a shame to let her meal get cold, but she has a job to do, you decide. The precious minute in which she's throwing everything out and onto your counter buys your future child time to slowly **** its mother, and when a final string of curses she rushes out of your apartment, eager to go get you killed if her words are to be believed.

You lay back into your chair, relaxing. She left the door unlocked. Good... after all, you wouldn't want to have to get up. A few minutes pass... and there's a knock at the door. "Come in," you whimsically declare.

The door slowly opens... and a crying Nutmeg is there, hand shoved between her legs, your seed continuing to drain down her shins and into her hooker boots. "Why...?" she sobs. Her eyes lock with yours. She closes the door behind you. She never releases your gaze until, with a soft, crying squeal somewhere in the back of her throat, she sees your hard prick still covered in strips of latex and wasted sperm. "How are you... doing this... please, no..." She falls to her knees... and produces the two hundred you gave her at the start of her night with you. She holds it out to her right, and stares at her own hand with wide-eyed horror.

"What's that for?"

She looks up to you, tears streaming down her face... and a confused smile growing there. "Why... it's... I just want to pay for the right to... to suck you clean..." Her eyebrows continue to furrow in terror, and the tears keep coming, but that twitching smile, that slow domination that courses through her... it's hard to not enjoy it. {if Morality < 0}Hell, you revel in it.{endif}

"To suck you cleeean...?" You let the word hang in the air, and motion to her to correctly complete the sentence.

She looks at you, confused... and more and more of that wonderful, tailored **** from her womb fills her brain, adjusts the various triggers that control who Lana was, and who she now is. Her smile grows. The tears stop. "... To suck you clean, Master."