You don't "get out"

You stare at her cock in a religious awe. Or at least, you stare at the after image it left burning in your mind. There was little room for anything else in your mind. One voice told you to close the door, and pretend you never saw this. Another voice told you to hide your eyes in embarrassment at what you've just seen. The most rational part of your mind spoke up and lamented two simple words. "Not Again..."

But it wasn't again. Not exactly. Liam swept you away, it's true, but this beastly member has changed you. The lust of it resonates through your body like the dark energy of some forsaken magic. Even the rational part of your mind recognizes this difference. Had the fake Zoe expected this encounter? Had she done something deep in your psyche to make you respond this way?

You blink and realize you're standing at the edge of the bed. Miranda looks somewhere between bashful and furious.

Something primal is thrumming through your veins, as if what you saw was encoded in your very nervous system. Food Water Air. All these desires were secondary to the cascading need you felt inside yourself. One by one it overloaded every doubt, every fear, every anxiety.

Miranda crossed her ankles, and curled up as you crawled onto the foot of the bed, panting heavily. "W-what are you doing? I told you to Get..."

You don't let her finish as you lock lips. Your tongue plunges into her mouth as if seeking some sweet nectar. Your belly rests against the throbbing member as you kiss her. Electricity frolics through your groin like a living spirit of passion, and you moan into her mouth.

You break away at last, and stare deeply into her eyes. For the first time since you've seen her, she's off guard, whimpering, **** for what she knows she shouldn't want. You see a bit of yourself in her eyes. The ****, the fear, the doubt, and shame. But those voices are tired in your own mind, and the need burning in your fat cunt is strong.

Sitting on her lap, you start to remove your shirt. You attempt a pretense of stripping alluringly, hoping to provoke a reaction as if every throb of that ugly shaft is a sip of water in the desert, but your desperation makes you too clumsy for that. Just as quickly and clumsily you slip Miranda out of her shirt. Her eyes are still wide, and her hands quickly cover over her chest. She closes her eyes, and breaths in deeply through her nose. Your unwashed musk filling her nostrils and she sighs heavily, as if you were sitting on her chest, not her lap. With trembling hands she starts to tug down your pants. You sit back and oblige.

As she frees the jeans from your legs, she finally starts to regain her composure. You sit opposite one another, you with your legs open, her with her legs still curled defensively. You reach forward towards that glorious log of flesh. "You're right." She spits. "She did turn you into a pregnant slut."