No dice. He's going for the one-thrust-bust!

"The most important thing about gambling," Adrain says in a slow, thoughtful tone, while shuffling closer to you, "is knowing when to stop."

Something bumps against your labia. Something round, and hard, and soft, and warm... fuck, it's the head of his dick, isn't it? Disappointing as it is, you can't even bring yourself to enjoy the feel of it.

You flop your head and torso back against the sofa, your legs finishing their journey to opposite ends of the compass with little resistance from you. You're defeated. Even with your best efforts, you couldn't convince him.

You close your eyes and tense up, preparing for the imminent penetration... but it doesn't come. He's just rubbing the tip up and down against your lips, which are still wet from when you were still feeling good about this whole thing earlier. You suppose that'll be good for easing the pain, at least. You certainly won't be making any extra lubrication from here on out.

"What are you waiting for, then?" you groan. "Just get it over with."

And yet still, he doesn't penetrate you. You open your eyes, and take a look to see exactly what it is he's doing.

Down between your legs, with his tip still teasing your folds, he's taken his cock in one hand, and is masturbating furiously.

"Wh-wha-?"

He smirks. "Your one-thrust-bust comment was actually a pretty good idea. I'm gonna jack off 'til I'm just about ready to cum, and then thrust in at the last second. Cumming right as I break through your cherry!"

"Whoa whoa whoa, no no!" Shit this has gone from bad to worse. You and your big mouth! "I'm n-not on any birth control. If you cum inside me, I might get..."

You bite your lip. You can't even bring yourself to say it.

But that's okay, because he tactlessly says it for you. "Pregnant?" Your whole body tenses up at that word, your fingernails digging into your skin.

He pauses his masturbation for a moment, and starts tapping away at his GT again. "This has some pretty interesting stats, y'know... there it is! Apparently my virility, or impregnation chance, right now is at about forty-five percent." He laughs, as if this weren't horrifying. "Guess it has been a while since I jacked off. I must have a pretty big load stored up."

Forty-five percent. Fucking hell. The odds are technically on your side, sure. But that's still not a gamble you'd be willing to take, given the choice.

Of course, it's not solely dependent on him...

He must've come to the same conclusion as you, because he stands up and walks back over to the TV. Picking up your sweatpants, he rummages through your pockets for a moment before finally finding your own GT.

"Heh, nice," he chuckles. "Your fertility right now is at sixty-nine percent."

Sixty-nine! Fuck! It has been almost two weeks since your last period, so you guess it makes sense, but fuck. Fuck! Tallying up your fertility scores combined, your overall chance of pregnancy if he follows through on this plan would be...

"Fifty-seven percent," the maths student declares. While you were lost in thought, he'd walked back over to you, and knelt between your legs once more. "Better than half."

You're trembling. This no longer feels like a mere regrettable sexual escapade. Your very future is on the line, and at the mercy of this perverted geek. His dick between your legs might as well be a gun, for all the danger it poses to you right now.