[Chantel Arousal 4-5] Chantel bitterly accepts her fate.

You can see that your work here is finally starting to break that wavering effort on her face to hate you. You step towards the foot of the bed, paying no mind to your hard rod as the girls clear away from her bottom, leaving her spasming core bare for you to appreciate. A dark patch of so many fluids pools underneath her small butt and outwards from her cooter, and the smells in the air{if@ Chantel_nutmeg = true}, in part thanks to Nutmeg,{endif} tell of the loss of bladder control. You lean forward, wrinkling your nose as you peer into her twitching, eager hole... and give her irritated, abused clitoris a single lick.

Her body bucks as your saliva sinks into that sensitive nub, and her tight little snatch spits back, missing you and staining your floor with femcum. "Do you want this, Chantel?" you whisper. She hears you. She can't miss a word you say in her current state of obsession. "Should I finally fuck you?" She mutters half-heartedly, {if@ Chantel_ophelia = true}only to be smothered by your milk maid's massive boob.{else}only to bury her face to the left, as if trying to burrow through the pillow.{endif} "I don't think I heard that," you chuckle. Your hands come up and rub her inner-thighs, appreciating the taut flesh there and, with a grin growing on your face, how even this touch makes her twat squirt and drool heavily. "You sure look eager for-"

"If you're going to FUCKING **** ME, then just FUChghnng!" Your girls leap to smother her again, and you can't help but flinch at the noise she just made. What would the neighbors think? You have enough girls for them to think you've a kinky night or two, so you could explain it away... right? God, but if someone came asking about the body in the dumpster, and figured out it was from this floor...

"Fnge." You motion to her smotherer, who cautiously raises her hand from Chantel's nose and mouth. "Fine... just do it." Tears well in her eyes, but she looks away from you and continues to speak. "I can't even... I can't even think anymore... my head's foggy, and I know what you're going to do... and I don't think any of these girls slipped me anything, which means what you said was..."

"Yes," you finish her sentence, earning a wide-eyed glance, "I wasn't joking: you're going to be mine, no matter what you say or think. It's pretty fair, right? You guys were going to kill me, after all." You intended to sound sarcastic, even jovial... but you can't get the hostile edge out of those last words. You'd be dead right now if you hadn't overcome them.

"... So you'll kill me, or fuck me into drooling idiot like these whores?"

"I don't want to kill you." It's an honest statement; it surprises you, given your anger, but you continue. {if@ Morality > 20}"I don't even really want more slaves... but I have to, if I'm ever going to find a way to fix this, for everyone." The girls don't meet your eyes; to them, it hurts to be so readily dismissed in your good-hearted plan for them.{elseif Morality > 0}"I'm still not sure about this whole... ****... thing, but despite what you did I don't plan to teach you badly..."{elseif Morality < -40}"I'm going to be honest... I'd sooner turn you into a house appliance before I let you see the light of day again, but even a breeder slut like you might prove useful enough to keep alive... certainly more fun to me that way."{else}"That doesn't mean it's not what you deserve... but for now, you haven't given me a reason."{endif} Your words don't comfort her. {if Morality < 0}You didn't want them to. {endif}She starts to weep, a mixture of anger, sorrow, and the occasional whorish moan that reminds you just how deep she's fallen under your influence. "You should be grateful... this will feel better than everything you're already feel...ing..." That sounded better in your head. "L-Look, you're going to-"

"Just do it..." It is a hoarse whisper, but her legs relax... and you let your awkward moment pass. Truth be told, your balls almost hurt with how eager they are to deliver the full dose into the ovulating womb laid bare before you. You can't risk ejaculating uselessly into the air now: with three motions, you plant knee after knee onto the bed, square in the space between her widespread thighs, and plunge yourself in. You glide up to some absurd pool of her overflowing honeypot, splashing your waist and bed with an explosion of her arousal, and more follows as she cums from your invading presence, wrenching you with a natural expertise. She almost held out against you... but her body quit the battle ages ago. It welcomes you, suckles and squeezes, and her uterus kisses you as you try a few pumps into her crotch. Chantel has lost all semblance of control: her eyes roll to the back of her head, her tongue lulls, and she moans stupidly and loudly until, for fear of attracting the wrong kind of attention, you have {if@ Chantel_ophelia = true}Ophelia continue nursing your newest addition to the harem{else}one of your slaves shove their tit into her mouth.{endif} That worry is all that keeps you in this for longer than a few minutes: the entire night has riled you up, and at last you're ready to discharge all of your stress and fear into the source.

"Take my cum, you bitch," you gasp as you let yourself fall onto her, pinning your cock against her womb as your torso lands on her drenched tits.

"Oh God, you're going to-!" You seal your mouth over hers, wrestle her tongue, and you both moan in ecstacy as you pack her birth canal with one of your children, and its millions of friends.

The next day...

You never did end up hearing from your neighbors or the police, though that meant nothing in the long run: you've called sudden, violent noise coming from elsewhere in the apartment, only to never see hair nor head of a police officer. It might be in a database somewhere, or those neighbors might talk to the wrong government employee one day, and then they might connect that to the body in the trash and... well, you can't worry about that right now. Laying in your bed, contemplating the barely-achieved mission of yesterday, you're absentmindedly stroking the straight black hairs on Chantel's (real name: Emma Chin, though you decide to continue calling her Chantel as punishment) head. She looks up at you, trying to cheer you up with a smile and, thanks to the tiny growth in her uterus, frowning as guilt washes over her. "I'm sorry, Master..." You inhale sharply, but say nothing more. "I... him and I, we had a good gig going. I mean, sure some people took big hits... sometimes I wondered if they'd really be OK once we left, but... I mean, none of that really mattered once-"

"Cooking," you finally decide. She looks up at you, startled at the first word you've told her since the night before. Your bodies are entwined and resting on the cold, drying stains of all of last night's mistakes, but still you manage to realize how very hungry you are, and how very useful she might be. "Are you any good at cooking?"

"... Why, yes! It's not particularly a passion, but I learned plenty from my mother."

You nod... and let yourself smile. The passion last night, of her saturated body and your sated lust, finally overcomes the worries that have yet to manifest. "How would you like to cook for me, then?"

"Oh Master, of course I-"

"{if@ Nutmeg_slave = true}... and Nutmeg in the kitchen, of course. {else}... and that'll be mostly what you do. {endif}Maybe I'll find something better for you to do in the future... and if you cook really well, maybe I'll reward you."

"I-I see..." {if@ Morality > 0}You put a comforting hand on her head.{else}You hook your fingers into her cleft, and her body arcs as she forgets whatever disappointment she was harboring.{endif} "W-Well, I guess that's for the best, for now." There is a charm there, in her subservience, her disappointment in not being given a more active role in your bed... and for the first time, you derive pleasure from a **** from some kind of punishment that isn't sexual...

You could get used to this.