Romans & histoires Impregnation Erotica

I pressed my thighs together tighter under the desk, trying to ignore the growing throb between my legs. My nipples tightened against the lace of my bra, pressing noticeably against my blouse if the light hit just right. I hoped he wouldn’t notice. He continued, voice growing richer. “Degradation adds to the intensity. Calling her my filthy whore while she’s soaked and desperate. Pinning her down, yanking her hair, slamming into her from behind until she’s screaming. And breeding… the fantasy of pumping load after load into her unprotected pussy, filling her until she’s overflowing, imagining her swelling with my seed. Marking her as mine in the most primal way possible.”

“That is my good little witch. Already addicted to demonic seed. Your mortal body is changing. Soon you will beg to be taken to my realm. To be my eternal breeding whore.” He fucked me through three more shattering orgasms, filling me again and again until cum poured out of me in glowing rivers every time he thrust. My thighs were soaked. My ass leaked from the tentacle play. My mind floated in a sea of corrupt pleasure. When he finally lowered me to the floor, I collapsed in a trembling, cum-soaked heap. My belly looked slightly swollen. My pussy pulsed visibly, still leaking his glowing essence. The taste of him lingered on my tongue. The scent of sex and demonic musk clung to my skin.

The mix of our arousal impregnates the air around us. Impregnate. He has a breeding kink; he’s fetish is to cum inside me and watch his seed run down my legs. He hasn’t use a condom with me, is not like we are going to catch a disease or get pregnant, so bareback it is. It felt oddly good, yet something within me tells me this is all wrong.

Everything mixed into pain and unwanted pleasure. Damon finally ripped the dildo out and replaced it with his cock. He fucked her soaked, sloppy cunt like he was trying to break her in half, slamming against the massive plug in her ass with every thrust. The double stuffing made her feel like she was tearing. “Gonna flood this womb again,” he panted. “Maybe knock you up this time. Then you’ll never leave.” Clara came again, screaming, body betraying her completely. Her asshole clenched around the plug so hard it hurt. Damon buried himself deep and unloaded, pumping rope after thick rope into her until it squirted back out around his shaft, mixing with her squirt and piss on the floor.

The steam swirled around us, the heat was suffocating, and the pleasure was blinding. I leaned forward, biting the nape of her neck, licking the water off her skin. She reached back, her nails digging into my ass, urging me deeper, harder, faster. "Cum inside me again," she begged. "Fill me up with your cousin juice. Make me pregnant, Alex." The dirty talk, the absolute taboo of it, snapped the last thread of my sanity. The idea of breeding her, of leaving a permanent mark of our sin, sent me over the edge.

She was on her knees in the study, those big doe eyes looking up at me as she took my cock deeper into her throat. I woke up leaking precum, sheets ruined. No other woman compares. I’ve fucked a few since she left—cold, empty encounters—but they all pale. I want her innocence corrupted by me. Want to teach her how to ride a man’s face until she floods my tongue. Want to fill her womb with load after load until she’s marked as mine forever. Her nipples tightened against the lace of her bra. Elena shifted in the chair, one hand unconsciously drifting to the hem of her sundress. The silk whispered against her thighs as she read on, the journal detailing fantasies that grew darker and more posse

"Ride me like the whore you are." I swung astride him, positioning his wet, gleaming cock at my entrance. I sank down slowly, a long, passionate moan tearing from my throat as he filled me, stretching me, forging his way deep inside until I felt him pressed against my womb. I sat up straight, my hair falling around my shoulders, my tits jiggling with every movement.

He moved closer and, still fondling his bulge, Karen sat back in the chair, one leg thrown over the other, squeezing her thighs together to bring pressure to bear on her clitoris. There was something powerfully erotic about the glorious interior of Blackwood Towers. Generations of Burnets had fucked there — not only husbands and wives but, no doubt, a multitude of illicit lovers as well. It was as if the tumescence, liquid arousal and violent pleasure of these people from the past had impregnated the walls. She could almost see them dressed in period costume, ruffles and lace, trooped skirts and powdered wigs. Her mind slipped notches, filled with swirling coloured lights and images of forni