What is there even left to say, at this point? Surely the well of “hey did you know breeding kink is hot” has long since dried up at this point? Well, if my currently in progress conversation with Mistress Charlotte is anything to go by, no the fuck it has not.
Today started much how yesterday started, with me at my work desk (WFH today, at least) chatting to Mistress about the hottest things in the world. The only difference was, this time, we’d already done the hottest things in the world last night, so we were mostly reminiscing about that… to start with, anyway. See, the thing about chatting about horny stuff is that it makes you get all horny again. It’s not so much a problem, more of a feature – but then, once you’re horny AND talking about horny stuff, it’s very easy to then go from there straight into NEW horny stuff. The end result is, I’m sitting there, pretending to be working, pretending to be anything but a horny fuckslut (and massively failing), while Mistress and I throw stupidly hot new fantasies at each other. I recorded a few voice clips to send her way, so she could hear exactly how my breaths catch in my throat, listen in real time as my brain simply stops processing and I struggle to find the words to describe how impossibly arousing every word she types is. She mentions the idea of lifting me up and pinning me against the wall, and hoo boy, that activates some neurons for me.
It’s the urgent desperation that really does it, I think. I can feel it in myself when I read her words – when I speak a reply aloud. My breath gets all ragged, as I imagine her spearing me open, pushing more and more into me as I gasp and squirm and cry out with the sheer blissful agony of being so stretched around her. So incredibly full with her fat cock, more than my body can endure – but it must. It has to, at this point. It’s not a matter of wanting, it’s… so much FUCKING more than that. It’s a need, it’s a craving – it’s a primal, animal, urge, to be taken and ruined, ruined for anybody but her. And that’s before she even starts moving.
My legs are already shaking from her sheer presence inside me, and her drawing back for her first thrust is simply too much for them, as they give out completely. But I’m not the only one this badly affected, and her own primal urges are much too great to be stopped by something like that. So she slams me into the wall behind me, grabbing my thighs and lifting me up as she does so, pinning me in place, forcing my legs spread. In another timeline, this position could’ve been cute – the closeness of it rather intimate, and familiar, my face tucked into her neck as she slowly pushes deeper into me. But there’s none of that here, today. This is a hunger in her eyes, a declaration that she will take me, and use me, and fuck me absolutely full. And then, if I’m lucky, and still conscious, she will do it again. And again. None of this is spoken, and frankly at this point it doesn’t need to be. I wonder what messages she reads in my eyes, though, as she prepares herself for the ruination she’s about to deliver. Is it eloquent and passionate, a serenade of submissive bliss? Or is it the incoherent babbling of a desperate, needy, breed-slut in heat, crying out hunger and the aching, almost violent craving to be stuffed full, packed to the brim with babymaking cum?
Reader, I think we both know the answer here, don’t we.
She certainly does. In an instant, she’s grabbed my hips and, with a howl of desire coming unbidden to her lips, thrusting up into me, hard, fast, deep. ALL the way in, not stopping until the tops of her thighs smack into the bottom of mine. My eyes roll back in my head from the sensations – stretching, and friction, and impact, and – but she doesn’t wait for me to recover, she’s already pulling back for the next one. I can’t move – there’s nothing but wall behind me, and her grip on my thighs forces me open and spread for her – so all I can do is will my body to relax and accept her into me. This will happen, and the less resistance I put up, the better for everyone. She builds up to a good, fast, rhythm, pounding into me over and over, my tongue lolling out of my mouth from sheer sensory overload. She pauses, for a second, and leans over – and for a second I think she’s going to whisper some abject filth into my ear, about how she’s going to fuck a baby into me, watch me swell from the inside with her spawn, until I’m all soft and round. But she doesn’t need to. We’re both already thinking it.
Instead, she puts her mouth to my neck, and bites down, hard, thrusting hard up into me in the same moment. My mind breaks, the combined pleasure and pain too much for it to handle, and it’s all I can do to moan like a desperate bitch into her ear. She comes alive at this – as if she wasn’t so incredibly full of that primal energy already – and pounds me against the wall even faster, teeth still clamped on my neck. There’s no resistance there against her any more, not in my mind, not in my body, and she takes that moan as a symbol of my absolute submission before her power. Which, of course, it is. With a final, powerful movement, she slams her dick home, filling me up with her hot seed. Her cock pulsing against my prostate is enough, along with the battering it’s already received, to trigger my own orgasm, a few average-sized spurts directly onto her stomach. Decent, but nothing compared to the flood of cum she pumps into me. She leans in once more, a wicked smile splitting her face, and this time she actually does whisper in my ear:
“Ready for round two, baby boy?”
This… was not intended to be another story when I started writing it. How did I get here? Hello? I feel like I just woke up from some sort of fugue state. Oh well, at least it’s hot. Thanks for reading!
Service and Sluttery 