Confront your brother

You storm into the kitchen, bare feet slapping against the tile, the oversized t-shirt barely skimming the tops of your thighs. Every step sends another warm, shameful trickle sliding down your inner leg, the ruined G-string doing nothing to contain the thick load still seeping out of you. The musky scent of sex clings to your skin, unmistakable, and you don’t care. You want him to see it. You want him to **** on it.

He’s at the counter, pouring coffee like it’s any other morning. The casual clink of the mug against the granite makes something inside you snap.

You slam your hand down on the island, hard enough to rattle the spoon in his cup. “Look at me.”

He turns slowly, and the moment his eyes land on you—on the way the shirt clings to your breasts, on the dark wet patch at the crotch of your G-string, on the glistening trail of cum running down your thigh—his composure cracks. Just for a second. Then the mask slides back into place.

You don’t give him the chance to speak.

“I woke up full of you,” you hiss, voice low and shaking with fury. “Soaked. Leaking. My pussy is swollen and sore and absolutely packed with your cum. I can feel it sloshing inside me right now.” You take a step closer, another thick bead escaping as you move, dripping audibly onto the floor between your feet. “You waited until I was asleep. You held me down—or didn’t even need to, because I couldn’t wake up—and you fucked me raw and came deep. Over and over, until you were sure it took.”

His knuckles whiten around the mug. He doesn’t deny it.

You lean in, close enough that he can see the faint red marks on your hips where his fingers dug in, smell the sex still on you. “You knew the rules. You knew one creampie would trap me like this forever. And you did it anyway.”

The silence is suffocating.

Then, quietly, almost reverently, he says, “I did.”

No apology. No excuse. Just ownership.

Your breath catches, rage and betrayal and something darker twisting together in your chest. “Why?”

His gaze finally meets yours—dark, unrepentant, burning. “Because I wanted you like this. Because the thought of you stuck—your body changing, belly rounding, tits getting heavier, all because of me—drove me fucking insane. I couldn’t stop myself. I don’t want to stop.”

Another slow leak slides down your leg, warm and obscene. You don’t wipe it away.

“You violated me,” you whisper, voice breaking. “You stole the choice. You made me a woman permanently. You bred me like I was yours to use.”

He sets the mug down carefully, steps around the island until he’s right in front of you. Close enough that you have to tilt your head back to hold his stare.

“You are mine,” he says, low and certain. “You’ve always been mine. I just made sure the rest of the world knows it now.”

The words hit like a slap. You stare at him, chest heaving, cum still dripping steadily from your body, marking the floor beneath you. There’s nothing left to say.

You’re pregnant.

And he’s not sorry at all.