... in her fertile little twat.

The room is so silent. Aside from the faraway hum of the air conditioning, the only sounds are your breathing (because she's holding her breath in abject fear) and the wet, fleshy noise of her labia hugging your shaft. You drag it forward. God, what would it feel like? Probably similar to Isabella, of course... but what would happen to this poor girl's psyche? She trusts you, loves you more than Jesus, her family, anything... your betrayal would be... whoa now, you almost came uselessly, then and there. You drag it back as pressure builds at the base of your spine, threatening to spunk her fat little puss up, and the head of your cock hits the side of her vagina's proper entrance. What was the name of it, of that precipice between covering her pussy and filling it? Fuck the name of it. Fuck the Percys. Fuck Penelope's unfertilized womb. You have a real chance here: to have her absolute trust absolutely shattered, to give her that terrifying, second pregnancy, forcing her to carry it to term, and to watch hope die in her eyes all in one... single...

It's already decided. "You can trust me, Penelope, remember? You can trust me..." Penelope nods frantically, still eyeing the cock... which slips further into the entrance of her birth canal.

"Wha-"

"You can trust me," you chuckle.

Your head slides in, and she can do nothing but squirm and scream. "NOO! GOD PLEASE-" You drive it in hard, no ceremony, no pomp, no teasing. There's no hymen, given her previous gangbang, but there's a sacred tightness of an otherwise unsullied young woman. With only the cocoa butter and a bit of blood from your violent entry, your cock is buried into her precious wound, your urethra kissing that wet donut of muscle that sighs silently with the last hours of ovulation. Her breathing is uneven, and you keep yourself buried as pressure turns to the pleasure of relief. "Please, Mister- pull it out before you-"

A strangled pulse, the viscous rush felt by you and then by her, kills her plea. Her breath and prayer catch in her throat as her woeful gaze doesn't dare to leave your eyes. You can't match her however; your eyes roll into the back of your head as satisfaction, male and base, animal and monster, ripples through your body and plants you firmly inside the fertile youth beneath you. From here, you plant your own young into the soil of her womb, splattering her fears and phobias and abject terror all over her cervix. She winces, still breathless, still wordless, as every pulse shoves more hopelessness down through that tight cavity and towards her waiting egg, nearly perished in its short life cycle. You think to pull out when you're done... but you can't. You're trapped here now, in this terrible decision you can't be bothered to regret, softening in her velvety, now well-lubricated grip. You leverage yourself onto her, keeping her birth canal diagonal and letting all the extra seed slowly, for minutes on end, seep into her uterus. You and she are both trapped in this doom, silent, observing. Her eyes constantly flick between her pubic mound, under which swells a womb and a fertilized egg, and your blissful smile.

"P-please, take it out... I might get... pregnant-"

"I will not... and you will."

Her face twists, but she has no more tears to shed. Her face is red with humiliation, fury, grief, all but the last one confounding her. She can't place such emotions on you. You would never hurt or betray her. You've done both, irreparably, monstrously. Your cock begins to harden inside of her; you doubt you've much seed left to give, but you revel in the chance to fire off in her again.

"Please... This is hurting... this will ruin my life... please-"

"You're going to get pregnant... swollen with my baby," you whisper in a shuddering voice, "and you won't take birth control... you won't get an abortion... you won't even hate me for it. You'll thank me for this baby once you go into labor and give birth." She screams as her terror finally breaks through at your words. Your basement is soundproofed; there is no fear of discovery to go with the pleasure of enjoying her suffering. "And then I'll put another one in you. Twins, or triplets this time! So please-" You find yourself fucking her again, and your voice shudders until it's incomprehensible as your sensitive head sends your body writhing from the sensation of thrusting in and out of the handicapped teenager you've targeted, for no crime other than being beautiful under your watch. She continues to wail, your cum froths as your thrusting forces its remainder up to her parted lips, wrapped around your shaft, and she does not stop her cries until you bottom out and come again. Her cervix tortures her as the fertility-supporting mucus is flushed away by your first orgasm, and her uterus aches with newfound filling... but the pain of having you fire another blast in through her widened, sore cervical hole proves too much. Penelope passes out ****, impregnated, betrayed, and warped by your lust.

You're glad you've got a fridge down here. You'd enjoy spending all day with your new pet.

~THREE MONTHS LATER~

The back of the police car is as charming and comfortable as every police drama makes it out to be. How did they find you out? Did Penelope's suffering let her break through your carefully worded logic traps and puzzles, giving her the edge needed to clue her parents in? Did Isabella finally slip and accidentally rat you out? It didn't matter now. When the police finally busted in, you were in your kitchen... balls deep inside your step-daughter's well-abused ass. The list of crimes shouted into your ears as you were thrown to the linoleum floor was too damning, and too accurate, for it to be a guess on some nosy neighbor's part, and you'd soon learn that the heinous nature of your crimes warranted the maximum combined sentence of more decades you'd likely have on this world... even if you weren't spending them as a sex offender in state prison. As your house and **** palace shrink into a speck on the rear-view mirror of the police cruiser, you're left regretting nothing on the basis of morality... but instead on the basis of foolishness. If there was a safer way to rope Penelope into your service, yours wasn't it... and if it ultimately came down to Isabella turning you in, then perhaps your "****" was never meant to be.

In any case, you'd have plenty of time to contemplate the nuances and values of **** where you're going.

FATE: A [C]allous Mistake