Day 1

There's a lot of nasty things you could say about your boss, Old Man Carver, he's cruel, petty, ruthless, and you had a sneaking suspicion the man knew Epstein back in the day. But for all that, no one could ever accuse him of being cheap. The Arc Royale was a five-star resort housing half a dozen high end restaurants, a huge event center and a state of the art conference hall that could host a rock show with ease. All that and amenities for days.

You had the run of the place, just needed to get the work stuff out of the way first; a few meetings with suppliers and clients, team-building bullshit, and maybe a speeches if you were unlucky. Of course, usually those same events gave you ample opportunity to hunt, but you brought your own prey this year. Was it a mistake, a bit like dragging a fresh deer carcass to a hunting trip? Nah, you could still have a bit of fun while you worked on Amy. No one would ever call you Mr. Plays-it-safe. Not after what you did to the Diversity, Equity and Inclusion officer last year anyway. You smile at the memory, but are pulled back to the present with the welcome sight of an old friend greeting guests in the lobby.

"Victoire!" You practically squeal, taking in the slender hotel manager you've known for years. As with every women, you can't help but rake your eyes over her, not that it would do you much good here. She's tall and pretty, with dark hair and eyes, and wrapped up in a bespoke Alexander McQueen suit is the body of a former career athlete. You've seen her in the hotel fitness center, crushing leg day enough to know she keeps up her physicality even in retirement.

"Matt!" Victoire's smile is genuine and warm. "And who is this delicious slice of chocolate cake?" She never did manage to learn professional courtesy and dialogue either, but she had a way of winning people over, that sports star charisma and all.

Amy shot her a dazzling smile, all confidence and charm now, the insecure mess in the car, forgotten, or maybe just covered up. "Amy."

"Amy. Amy. Amy." She repeats again and again as if tasting it with each utterance. She shoots you a quizzical look. She's been your wingman dozens of times, and you hers. She was a guest at your wedding, though you doubt Amy remembers, or Karen for that matter. Victoire waits for you to speak, so she can roll with whatever it is you have playing here.

"Vicki, I want you to meet my wife, Amy." You snake an arm around you wife's best and oldest friend, making sure to 'accidentally graze the bottom of her tits as you pull her in for an affectionate side hug and a quick peck on the cheek. "Hun. This is Victoire. I've told you all about her, she's the manager here at the Arc Royale."

Both women roll with your lies. Though Vicky is the one who actually knows what you're up to, Amy speaks up first. "Of course. Thank you for taking such good care of my husband."

"He doesn't make it easy." Vicky laughs. Amy does too, but you can tell she's trying to figure this woman out. Assessing a threat to her best friend. That was what she was supposedly to be here for, to safeguard her best friend's marriage. You need to throw her off the trail early. Time to gaslight the shit out of your wife's BFF. 'Hug me', you mouth over Amy's head.

Victoire pulls you into a bear hug as you whisper in her ear. "Flirt with me in front of her."

She pulls back slowly, making sure her hands linger on your waist for just a moment too long. Her eyes holding yours with a longing smile on her face. Even you felt some spark in that moment, times like this it was hard to remember Vicky played firmly for the other team. Amy of course, didn't know that. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Perfect.

"I'll be working the desk most of this week, so if you need anything ... you can just give me a call." She held up a small envelope with a pair of keycards inside. "Looks like you guys are in 844. I'll walk you up."

"We're full service here at the Royale." Vicky calls back as she leads you to the elevator banks, a bellhop just behind with your luggage. "Everything is billed to your employer, so if you want room service, a massage, spa, car, whatever, just dial 0." You playfully take Amy's hand, and follow.

Victoire holds up a pair of thin plastic bracelets. "One more thing.These bracelets let the staff know you're all inclusive guests of the resort. Use them at the bar, the beach, concerts.... Once you put them on, they don't loosen, so be careful how tight you cinch them."

"Are we really supposed to just rack up a bill here?" Your 'wife' asked incredulously.

"This is the Old Man's way of giving back to all the little people." You assure her. "Spoil yourself. It will be our little secret."

The two of you share a naughty smile on the elevator ride up and you can feel Amy's natural excitement overtaking her. You look over your shoulder at Victoire, who is as .... colorful as you have come to expect from her.

You swallow a laugh and give her a nod, just before Amy looks back and Victoire shifts to brushing a lock just behind her ear before slowly twisting it between her fingers. Amy's eyes flashed to something dark and angry at the sight and she deliberately snuggled in close to you, her massive cleavage pressed up against your chest until it threatened to burst out of her top, and yet she was all smiles for the hotel manager. Women were such capricious delights. This is why you loved them so.

You had to admit, on the walk down the hall to your room, Victoire's hips swung a bit more than was probably necessary. And with every pop of her hips, Amy pressed herself tighter against your body, by the time you reached your room, she was practically riding you. Now there's an image.

"Ocean facing half suite with balcony and hot tub bath, King sized bed and kitchen nook." She turns back to face you, draped like a muse against a nearby counter. "I trust you like what you see?"

"Actually about the bed-

"It's fine. Everything is fine. Thank you." Amy growled, then very deliberately looked at the door.

Victoire bowed her head graciously, as if Amy had paid her the finest of compliments. "My personal number is on the dresser, call me any time." And with that, she strutted out of the room as if unaware that Amy was looking around for things to throw at her.

Amy stared at the closed door, quivering in rage. You gently put a hand on her shoulder and she flinches at your touch. "You alright?"

"Am I alright? Am I alright?!?!"

"Okay, you're pissed. I don't know why, but I'm willing to listen."

"You don't know why I'm pissed, Matt? Really?" Actually you do know why. It seems little Amy has a competitive streak, and Victoire set it off like a bomb. You'll have to thank her later. "How about that front desk slut, practically throwing herself at you?"

"She's actually the manager and-

"Fuck you."

"Excuse me?" You **** her to overstep and now she's got her foot caught in the trap. "Look, I know she's flirty. But people flirt in the workplace, it's not a secret. Karen doesn't mind it, hell she does it too. And I promise you, Vicky is harmless."

"Not when she flirts with my husband right in front of me!"

"But I'm not your husband, Amy."

"She doesn't know that!"

"So this is just about you being disrespected, not some misplaced jealousy?"

"Of course." Amy sounds like she's trying to convince herself of her own words.

"Alright, well she's gone, and now we only have one bed. What happened there?"

"Cause that's our bed, its where WE fuck every night!" Amy shot back hotly.

You feel your eyebrow's touch your hairline. Who knew Amy had this much fire underneath the hood?

"I meant..." She flushed and took a steadying breath. "I meant that's where she thinks we fuck every night. That's-that's what I...shit." Amy seems to shrink two sizes as she finally comes down from her rage high. "I'm sorry Matt. I just got so worked up and then the bed and her and you..."

"Hey. Hey." You say as you pull her into a tight hug that makes her squeal. Soon Amy will naturally look to you for comfort and decisive action.

"Fresh start?"

She nods.

"I'm gonna call down to them later and get us two Queens-

"But-

You look down at her face, inches from your own, her body still wrapped up in your strong arms. "I will make it clear to the nosy prudes at the front desk that we smash three times a day, every day." You feel a thrill run down your spine at Amy's blush, she looked simultaneously confused, embarrassed and proud. "And I'll tell them I tweaked my back last week and I need to sleep spread out. But that even though my back is all jacked up, it still doesn't get in the way of our ridiculously active and very healthy sex life." You fight down a smile for all of four seconds before the laughter erupts from both of you.

"We good?"

"Yeah." Amy admitted after the chuckles died down. "That sounds perfect."

---

"And who's that?" Amy asked, pointing at a leggy blonde standing at the bar, swirling a dark amber in a tulip shaped glass before giving it a sniff.

"Barbie." Matt said, as they weaved around the dinner tables on the way to their seats. "Barbara Kingsley, she's the manager for Grass and Guppies. It's-

"Low level projects, like grassroots and start ups with potential. I'm not stupid, Matt."

His surprised smile was dazzling. "No, you're definitely not." He pulled out a chair for her at a nearly full table. "This is us."

Six predatory faces swung their way. Mostly men who raked Amy with an all too familiar gaze, but there was also a woman and a girl who couldn't be more opposite if they tried. The former had rich cocoa skin, enough height to play pro basketball, looking equal parts bored and bitchy. The latter didn't look old enough to drink, much less have fun at a formal dinner; she was tanned and short, pretty, though she wore too much makeup in an effort to seem older. Everyone was dressed to the nines, men in suits, the girl in a tight little number with no bra and the woman in a cream colored dress and jacket. They oozed that sense of superiority that came from people with too much money and not enough morals.

She grit her teeth and hoped it was mistaken for a smile as she sat down. This was for Karen. For Matt and Karen.

Oblivious to the war inside her head, Matt started putting names to faces. On their left were the Tyrell brothers, Todd and Tyler; they had ginger hair that clashed obnoxiously with their baby blue Tom Ford suits. Beside them was massive dark skinned man with a buzz cut who looked almost comical looming over everyone else at the table. TJ Ryder, he was the only one not bothering to pretend to smile. On his other side was the woman, Shelly Washington and next to her was the girl, Zoie Jansen. Lastly there was an older man, who sat rather hunched in his seat, Zoie's father, Peter. Upon closer inspection, Amy could see his suit was shabbier than the rest, a nice quality, but old, patched and worn, it needed replacement, not repair. She wanted to like him, just for that, but the spiteful look he sent her way killed that impulse instantly. It was going to be a long dinner.

Later, after they'd been stuffed full of the kind of food people with rich people liked to convince themselves they enjoyed, Matt left to use the restroom and the sharks began to circle.

"So what do you do, Amy?" TJ Ryder's voice boomed across the table. He really was massive, and with three drinks in her system, Amy couldn't help but wonder if that size extended... everywhere.

"I'm a librarian." She replied.

"No. Shit." I didn't even know libraries were still a thing!" Shelly exclaimed. "Did you know they were still a thing?"

Keep calm. Don't make a scene. Matt and Karen. Remember?

"Women belong at home." A drunk Jansen cut in. His daughter looked apoplectic.

"Yeah dad. In the kitchen, right?" Zoie said.

"That isn't the first room that comes to mind." TJ cut in. His eyes were locked on Amy like target. He stood up slowly, deliberately showing off the enormous bulge in his pants. Amy was seeing red. These people were fucking degenerates! Matt and fucking Karen!

"I'd ask if libraries pay well, but..." One of the Tyrell twins nodded rather meaningfully toward Amy's dress.

A flash of embarrassment cut through her belly, feeding the anger inside. Amy had thrown on a simple slip, with a high neckline, too plain and too cheap for all these fucking peacocks, it seemed. She tried to hold it together, keep her temper in check. Her eyes caught Matt on the way back, but far. Too far.

"I would have thought the third best salesMAN in the company could afford more than a garbage bag." The other twin agreed. He locked eyes with Amy and sucked his lower lip.

"I like your dress." Shelly laughed shrilly. She reminded Amy of those all too popular girls in school, who never learned an ounce of empathy. "People look down on Target, but it really has some great deals."

Well, that was enough of fucking that.

"Thanks Shelly." Amy smiled, sweet as a rotten plum. "You know that jacket really does a great job hiding those shoulders, but you need to let out the crotch on your dress a bit."

"What?" The dumb bitch said as she bit into the hook.

"I can see your penis."

For a moment nothing happened. Then the table erupted, Zoie and the Tyrells roared with laughter. Jansen actually looked down at Shelly's crotch, confused.

"I don't have a-" Shelly's face screwed up with rage. "Stop looking. Fuck you!" She stormed off.

Amy stood up, so she could loom over the twins. "As for you, Gingivitis twins, you can wrap shit up in a bow, it's still shit. I bet you know all about women who get paid by the hour. But you know what they say, if you have to pay for it." She leaned in and growled. "You probably shouldn't brag about it."

The two redheads shot her a very ugly look before leaving too. Amy felt herself calm down a micron before she felt a hand slide down to her lower back.

"The dress looks good on you." TJ whispered in her ear. His hand slid down to cup her ass, slow and possessive. "It'll look even better on the floor."

Amy's eyes bulged. She glanced over at Peter, but he just turned his head and pretended not to see. Amy broke free of TJ's grip and nearly ran straight into her 'husband'.

"What the fuck was that, Matt?" She demanded.

"What do-

"You leave me alone with your coworkers who aren't just shitty, they're fucking degenerates, by the way."

"Okay, they're a bit much, but-

"TJ-" Amy looked around but the dusky giant had disappeared. "Had his hand IN my ass, Matt. And you're going to fucking defend them?"

"Amy!" Matt grabbed her shoulders. "THINK about what you're saying. Why would I leave you somewhere if I thought that would happen? Yes. Some of them are scumbags, but-

"And you'd leave your wife alone with them? Without even a warning? You're unbelievable." Amy nearly slapped him. "You are the company you keep. I can't believe I thought you were one of the good ones." She walked away, aware of the dozens of eyes on them both now. Fuck it all.

"Where are you going?" Matt called after her.

"What do you care?"

---

You're fuming. This weekend was off to a perfect start. Forget fucking Amy, you'd be lucky if you kept her from ratting you out to your actual wife as this point. Time to play defense. Get her back in your corner. Nice guy, Matt. Good guy Matt. The kind she liked and trusted. You could still do this.
But first you have to get your rocks off.

Your eyes slide to the nearest target. Jansen's daughter would do, cute enough for a distraction, probably weak enough to do whatever you wanted to her. You would attack through the father.

"Jansen!"

"Uh- ye-ye-yes?" Jansen replied. The two of you didn't run in much the same circles. You are a rising star, he is a dying one. The years of almost promotions and nearly missed career advancements had made him bitter and ****.

"What did those fuckers do to my wife?" You whisper fiercely as you sit.

"I don't- uhhh."

Something your bastard father that he was, taught you still rang true. 'Never confuse a weak person, with a good person. Jansen wasn't some good guy deserving of mercy or pity, he'd been a fucker like you twenty years past, been in the shit, took what he could from whoever he could. He just wasn't talented or smart or ruthless enough to claw his way to the top. So you certainly didn't have a problem stepping on his neck.

"One fucking lie to me and there will be a pink slip waiting for you on your pillow tonight."

"Shelly and the twins were just doing what they always do. And TJ..."

Yeah. That was your fuck up. What had possessed you to think that barbarian wouldn't try something in public. The man was legend. New the company, but hot on your trail and matching all of your appetites. You'd have to watch him closely in the future.

"Go find him."

"What?"

"Go. Find. TJ." You growl. "Do that and I'll make sure you're on the new Blackrock account with me."

The bait was too much for the old has been. "R-re-really?"

"Hurry the fuck up before I change my mind."

"But what about Zoie?"

"I'll keep an eye on her."

"But-

"Do you want the account or not?"

Jansen scurried away, leaving you with his doe-eyed little girl. She was pretty, in her little pink dress, with her youthful curls and dimpled smiled. She looked too young, though you had no doubt she was legal. And you knew whose eye she was made to catch. Too bad for the old man. Tonight she was yours. All yours.

"Zoie, right?"

"Yeah?" There's more than a trace of nervousness. Best guess, she's rounded the bases, but hasn't been around the block. Good.

"Bored?"

"There's no one here my age and Dad won't let me drink..."

"Well, we can fix one of those things..." You give her a dazzling smile, but make sure to look her up and down in that tight little dress. She blushes when you take her hand and lead her through the kitchen, dropping Victoire's name whenever you need to grease the wheels. You let the cute teen pick out her own bottle from the store room and motion to leave out the back.

"We're not going back to the table?"

"Can't drink that out there, you'll get in trouble." You reply, your smile crocodilian.

"But-

You shush her and walk out the other way, trusting her natural curiosity and nervousness to get her to follow. The two of you take a service elevator up to the roof in silence, though she stares at you nearly the entire time. Some deep, primal part of her knows this is wrong. Dangerous. And yet, she is drawn to that danger, like a moth to flame. A few words and touches in the right place... The **** would do the rest.

You step out onto the fresh air, its littered with construction equipment and half finished wooden skeletons, soon to be rooftop cabanas overlooking the where privileged dicks like you will get drunk and piss off the rooftop onto the well off but not quite wealthy guest below. God you're an asshole.

"Oh my God." Zoie squeals. I can see so far! The ocean looks incredible!"

"Have you swam in it yet?" You ask, casually pulling the stopper on the Veuve Clicquot Brut she picked out. The champagne pours out foamy and thick and you guzzle a bit before handing it back.

"Uhhh. No. Umm. We've been busy so far." She mumbles before taking a long pull. You take note of her bare wrist.

"Your dad sold your all inclusive wristband, huh?"

"I-what-No he...." She slumps. "How did you know?"

"It's what my dad used to do." You lie. You could never have afforded to stay in a place like this growing up. Never. But no need to share that with the temporarily embarrassed princess over there. Let her think that her demotion to middle class was the height of suffering.

You pull the wristband off your own hand, gritting your teeth as it passes over your thumb joint. You turned to the shocked girl and shove it on her and cinch it tight. She looks up at you, shocked and grateful.

"But...but..."

"I'll just buy another one." You wave off her protests. "That's our little secret okay?"

She nods ferociously, her hand wrapped so tight around her bracelet covered wrist her fingers turn white. You can sense the mood turning very rapidly in your direction.

"Tomorrow, I'll take you swimming in the ocean, but you have to do one thing for me."

"What?" She whispers, her eyes wide.

"Stop hogging the booze!" You snatch the bottle away and upend it on your mouth.

"Hey. That's mine!" She tries to grab it back as you take another swallow.

"I don't see your name on it." You jeer, dancing out of her reach. She jumps on your back, clinging to you and reaching, but its no use, your hand is far above her reach.

"Please Matt!" She begs so very prettily. "You can just get more! I can't!"

"Alright." You stop pretending to drink. More than half the bottle is left. Plenty enough to get this girl sauced. "You can finish it."

She takes it back gratefully, nursing at the bottle and giggling in her victory. "I like the bubbles."

"Me too." Probably the one honest thing you've said to this girl all night. Time to bring this plane in for a landing.

You vault up on the low wall and sit down, legs dangling over the nothingness. Your teenage companion squeals at the flash of motion and danger, then giggles.

"Help me up there, please."

"Finish your drink, then you can come up." You reply sternly.

She guzzles the last of the brut like the pampered ignorant philistine she is and scrambles up beside you. She takes one look over the edge and practically dives into your arms. Goosebumps race up her body at the contact and the danger. You can practically smell her sweet little puss creaming itself already. And now, the final blow.

"I used to come up here with my wife back when things were...." You sigh wistfully, watching as the sun falls into the ocean, the last traces of the day painting the water in stunning shades of red and orange. "I just wish things could be different."

"Are you guys...okay?" The little minx asks, her head burrowed in your shoulder.

"You saw how things were down there." You put and arm over her and draw her close. She shivers, but not from the cold, its from your bullshit story about your fake wife. "It's been like that for a long time. I think its my fault. If I could just get through to her. I've given up so much. Maybe, if I just give a little more...Maybe I can show her...."

You can feel Zoie's gaze is laser locked on your face; her entire world is centered around your words, but you don't look down. Not yet.

"It's a terrible thing to feel alone in this world. Here we are, surrounded by people, and ... Does anyone really notice?" You feed that last bit of psych 101 bullshit to the eager young coed and finally drag your gaze down to her tremulous face. "Does anyone even see us?"

"I see you." She whispers.

Her kiss is so explosive it nearly throws you off the roof. She dives into your arms, tiny hands tugging at your tie as she drags your mouth onto hers. Her tongue reaches in to briefly battle your own, before she pulls back and coquettishly bites your lip. Before she can think otherwise, you peel her out of that dress and leave her shuddering under your gaze, with only her thin cotton panties to protect her. She shyly tries to cover herself, but you pull her hands away and resume your attack.

Your hands wind through her hair, before tracing her supple young body. She's an athlete- a cheerleader, you recall from a picture on Jansen's desk -and her body is supple and toned. Long legs and a tight tummy with perky breasts and light pink nipples already hardening under your touch. You pop one in your mouth, as sweet as candy and the pleased yelps she lets out are music to your ears. God, you hope she's a screamer.

"Let...let me..." She gasps. as she tries to drift south, to satisfy you with her mouth, but you tug her up. You need to keep her hot, keep her head muddled until you get inside her. You shove her onto a nearby table and dive into the warm wetness between her legs. Her cries urge you on as you devour her savory core. She's slick and tight, with a like thatch of blonde curls that tickles your nose as you work.

You beat her clit mercilessly as your fingers explore her tight snatch. You work her inside and out, scratching that itch she's been feeling for nearly an hour. Her thighs clamp down on your head and her back arches, just as she is about to cum, you stop. She clenches, gasping and twisting, her body so tightly wound she can't even think.

"Please. Please." Zoie begs.

"Please what?" You growl.

"Please let me cum."

"We shouldn't be doing this." You can't resist torturing her. Spoiled little brat thinks she has it so tough. "I'm a married man."

Even as you say this, you softly blow across her saliva wet clit. She shudders again.

"It's okay. I promise I don't care. Please Matt!"

"Call me, Mr. Bauer"

"Please let me cum, Mr. Bauer!"

You give wet, trembling gash a lick. "Are you mine?"

"What?"

"Are. You mine?"

"I'm yours. I promise I'm yours! Only yours!" She cries.

You reach up and cup her firm breast, rolling the aching nipple between finger and thumb and dive back into her cunt. You press her thighs wide and feast on the gentle folds of her sex; drinking the nectar of her orgasm even as Zoie screams and clutches your hair, writhing in her ecstasy.

You bring her to climax twice more with your hands and mouth, breaking her stamina and mind. Clearly none of her young lovers cared enough to show her this kind of attention. After you've eaten your fill of your newest conquest, you gaze down at her, splayed out on the table, in a sweaty pleasured stupor, lacking the will or the awareness to fight back. Perfect.

Your trousers drop with barely a sound and the main even rises eagerly between your legs; angry and red and spitting your love venom. You position yourself between Zoie's legs once more, the blunt head already prying open her lower lips.

"Wait." She gasps. "Wait. I've got a condom." She reaches for the clutch on the ground beside her. You almost ram yourself home. Almost. But after the disaster of dinner, you decide to play it safe and play along. For now.

She looks up at you as you roll the plastic sleeve down your shaft; She's hungry for dick and more than a little in love. With the right moves, you might just get to fuck her in her cheerleader uniform someday. But for now, you'll just have to console yourself with an eager young lover.

You press into her in one long stroke. She doesn't take you easily, but she takes every inch and it feels amazing; even through the condom, her walls are snug and fluttering with pleasure. You drag yourself back and thrust home again, grinding your pelvic bone against her clit. Zoie cums for the first time on your cock, twisted and screaming as crushes your manhood. You begin to saw in and out of her, a gentle tempo, as you explore her body, suckling at her turgid nipples and kissing her gently as your thrust.

When she cums again you tug her gently by her hair, pulling her head aside and latching on to her neck. You suckle and bite until a mark forms. A hickie. When you pull away, she clamps a hand down to the sex bruise.

"My father will see!" She gasps.

"Let him." You growl. "You don't belong to him anymore."

She gasps at your words.

"You're mine. Say it!"

"...Yours." She whispers, eyes wide, more than a little scared at the power you have over her.

You pound her after that. Stretching and shaping her young cunt to take alpha cock, and be satisfied with nothing less. Still, you couldn't cum even if you wanted to, not with the fucking condom on. And Zoie notices.

"What's wrong?"

"Let's try a different position."

She nods eagerly before you roll her on to all fours. You press home, the head of your hock nudges firmly against her cervix and pulls a grunt from Zoie's lips. You withdraw completely.

"Wha-

She cuts off, eyes wide as you pull off the condom. Only to shove her back down and impale her once more.

"God damn, Zoie." You chuckle. "Your pussy is exquisite!"

She's completely at your mercy now. Begging is all she has, and begs she does.

"Please put the condom back on, please please please put it back on!"

"In a minute." You growl.

You fuck her relentlessly, ignoring her please and worries, the little slut gets off on the danger, cumming again and again even as she begs you to stop. Her teenaged pussy stays stubbornly tight around your thick shaft, milking dangerous precum into her warmth. You haven't done any ground work with this one. No ****, no emotional leverage. It's a risk. But it's one you know you were always going to take. And what's more, you've already begun to fantasize. In your mind's eye you see her six months from now. Swollen and beautiful, taking a pounding from you once more.

"Fucking tight little slut. You don't waste pussy this good with a rubber." She gasps in response. Your words aren't sweet and seductive anymore, they're the gutter trash dialect of your youth. But you don't care. This fuck has become something else, something personal. You want to see this angel fall from grace, to hear stories about the little rich girl who ruined her life before she even left high school. Make her waddle across that stage to get her diploma. Make her drop out to give birth to your baby. Make her suffer.

Make her push.

It's too much. You feel your pleasure peaking, your cock twitches and swells.

"I'm gonna cum." You groan as your balls begin to tighten.

"Pull out!"

"Are you safe?" You withdrawn until only the head of your cock remains inside.

"No." She gasps.

"Good." And your ram yourself home.

Zoie shrieks in denial, trying desperately to **** you out of her, but you're too large, too strong and even as she pushes, the first thick wads of cum blast into her belly, invading her fertile womb. You hold her tight, and grind against the door to her baby chamber, desperately trying to impregnate her. Rope after rope of potent cum floods her pussy, until the excess begin to squelch out the tiny gaps around your cock. You feel her clench around you, her nipple hardens beneath your hand and she cums with a wail of regret.

Afterwards, minutes or hours later, you simply hold her as she comes down. Gently stroking her hair and telling her she is your 'good girl'. She looks up at you. Confused and scared and ****, a little girl in a man's world. You've conquered her, in the only way a man can conquer a woman. And now she's yours to do what you want with.

You put the number for your burner into her phone and get her dressed, she's sweaty and dirty and glowing red from you attentions.

"What if I get pregnant?" She mumbles, eyes downcast.

"Then you'll have a baby." You cup her chin and **** her to meet your eyes. "Do you regret it?"

Without ever looking away from you, Zoie shakes her head.

"You're a woman now. A real woman."

"... your woman?"

You pause. "We'll see."