3
"I promise."
"Promise me you'll breed this pussy."
"I'm going to breed this pussy. I'm going to pump you full and watch it leak out of you."
"Oh, fuck — oh god —" Her voice breaks, pitches high, cracks apart. She's losing the ability to form sentences, the words decaying into syllables, the syllables decaying into sounds.
I fuck her harder, my hand still tangled in her hair, and Nikki gets louder in direct proportion to the force — not performing anymore, past performing, somewhere beyond the point where sound is a choice.
Her voice is involuntary now, punched out of her by the impact of my hips against her body, each thrust driving a sound that's more animal than human.
Her legs tighten around my head, ankles locked, pulling me deeper, and the angle shift hits something inside her that makes her entire body jerk.
Her back arches off the cushion and her eyes lose focus, staring through me at something that doesn't exist outside her own nervous system, and the sound she makes is a broken, stuttering moan that trails into something almost like a sob.
"Right there — don't you dare stop — right fucking there, oh my god —"
I don't stop. I keep the angle and the depth and the pace, drilling into the spot that's turning her voice into static, and her pussy tightens around me in waves, clenching and releasing in a rhythm that's no longer under her control.
She's close. I can feel it in the way her body gathers, every muscle pulling taut, her breathing sharp and shallow and desperate, her nails carving lines down my forearms that I'll see in the mirror tomorrow.
"I'm gonna — oh fuck, oh fuck — I'm gonna come — don't stop, don't stop, don't you fucking stop —"
She comes. Her entire body locks up, rigid, every muscle from her thighs to her jaw going taut, and her pussy clamps down on me in a series of violent, rhythmic contractions that are so tight I can barely move inside her.
She screams through it — not words, not syllables, just a raw, wrecked sound that empties her lungs and fills the apartment and probably carries through every wall in the building.
Her hips buck against me, grinding, trying to take me deeper during the contractions, and I feel the rush of wetness that comes with her orgasm, a liquid heat that floods around my shaft and soaks into the cushion beneath her.
I don't stop fucking her. I can't. Her pussy is rippling around me in the aftermath, aftershocks pulsing against the shaft, and the sensation is too good to interrupt.
She whimpers with each thrust through her orgasm, oversensitive, her body twitching, but she doesn't tell me to stop and her legs don't loosen from around my head.
"Oh my god," she breathes, and her voice sounds wrecked, scraped raw, the voice of someone who just got dragged through her own body and came out the other side. "Oh my god, I just — fuck — I just came so hard. I can't feel my legs."
"I know. I felt it."
"Don't stop. Don't you dare stop." She reaches up and grabs the back of my neck, pulling my face down toward hers, and her eyes are unfocused, glassy, pupils blown wide.
"I want you to come in me while I can still feel that. I want to feel your cum hitting the walls of my pussy while it's still clenching."
"You want me to breed you while you're still coming?"
"Yes — fuck — yes, that's exactly what I want. I want you to pump this pussy full of cum and breed me. Can you do that? Can you give me — ah — give me every last fucking drop? I want all of it. I want to feel it dripping out of me for the rest of the night."
My phone lights up on the cushion beside her hip. A text from Ben: just leaving now, 30 min.
She sees it. We both see it. She looks at me with those dark eyes and her grin is wild, teeth and heat, flushed and wrecked and still clenching around me from the aftershocks of an orgasm that hasn't fully subsided.
"Thirty minutes." She laughs, and the laugh vibrates through her body and into mine through the place where we're connected. "He has no idea what he's missing."
She picks up the phone and types one-handed while I'm still inside her, still moving, still driving into her with the rhythm she demanded. Her concentration splits between the screen and the sex in a way that should be insulting but instead reads as deranged.
"Fuck buddy —" she reads aloud between thrusts, her voice hitching, "— you're already — ah — getting replaced on your own couch. Too. Fucking. Late." She hits send and drops the phone and grabs my arms with both hands, pulling me into her.
"He's half an hour out," I say.
"Then you have plenty of time to — oh, fuck — to fill me up and still let me clean up before he walks in."
She tightens her legs and bears down on me, her pussy gripping me with a force that feels intentional and devastating.
"Come in me, Jude. Come inside your roommate's fuck buddy because he was too busy — too fucking — ah — too stupid to get here first."
I pull her hair again, harder this time, and she gasps, her neck stretching, her pulse visible in her throat.
I lean in and drag my teeth along the tendon that runs from her ear to her collarbone, and the taste of her skin fills my mouth — salt and perfume and something faintly metallic, adrenaline or arousal or both.
"You want me to breed you?" I say it against her throat, and I feel her shiver beneath me, a full-body tremor. "Say it again."
"Breed me. Breed this pussy. Plant your seed in me and make me fucking take it."
"Again."
"Please — fuck — please breed me, Jude. Fill me up. I want your cum so deep inside me it never comes out. I want to walk around tomorrow with you still inside me."
The pressure has been building, a heavy, gathering heat at the base of my spine that compresses everything into a single point of focus.
Every stroke feeds it, the suction and grip of her pussy pulling me toward the edge with a force that feels biological, inevitable, the oldest machinery in the human body doing exactly what it's designed to do.
Nikki reads it on my face or in my body or in whatever frequency she's been tuned to since she walked through the door, because she shifts beneath me, tilting her hips higher, pulling me deeper, her body reconfiguring itself to take me as far inside her as anatomy allows.
"You're close," she whispers. "I can feel your cock getting harder. I can feel you swelling inside me. Give it to me. Come inside me. Come deep inside my fucking pussy and breed me."
She says my name. Not Ben. Jude. She says it while looking directly into my eyes with a focus that could melt steel, and that's what does it.
I bury myself as deep as the angle allows and my hips lock against her, and the orgasm tears through me in a hot, blinding wave that empties everything — thought, tension, the ambient resentment I've been carrying for months — all of it compressed into the pulse of my cock inside her.
I feel each rope leave me, feel it surge through the shaft and empty into her, a heat that travels the full length of me before it reaches the deepest part of her, and her body receives it with a clenching, pulling greed that draws every drop deeper.
Her mouth opens when she feels it — a gasp that transitions into a moan that transitions into a sound that has no name, something primal and satisfied and bottomless.
Her pussy clenches around me in rhythmic contractions, milking every spasm, and she grinds against me through the aftershocks, refusing to let me pull back even an inch.
I feel my cum pooling inside her, the heat of it mixing with her own wetness, and the fullness changes the sensation — thicker, heavier, every micro-movement amplified by the slick mess building between us.
"Oh my god," she breathes. "Oh my god, yeah. That's — fuck. All of it. Don't stop. Keep going. Keep coming in me."
She comes again — not a new orgasm, more like the first one never fully ended and the feeling of me emptying inside her pushed her back over the edge.
Her body shudders beneath me and her pussy contracts in tight, rapid pulses that squeeze the last drops out of me, and the sound she makes is quiet this time, small and desperate and overwhelmed, a whimper that breaks in the middle and trails off into something breathless and unfinished.
"I can feel it," she says, and her voice is thick and dreamy, the words slightly slurred. "I can feel your cum inside me. It's so warm. It's so fucking warm, Jude. Oh my god."
I stay inside her while the last contractions fade, my forehead pressed against the cushion beside her head.
Her arms wrap around my back and hold me there with a surprising gentleness that doesn't match anything else about her.
For ten seconds, maybe fifteen, we exist in a stillness that feels almost tender, the only sounds our breathing and the quiet, wet click of her pussy still pulsing around my softening cock.
Then she says, "Don't pull out yet. I want to keep it in me. I want to feel full."
I don't pull out. I stay buried in her and feel myself soften incrementally against the tight heat of her body, and she hums beneath me, content, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my back.
Her breathing has gone slow and heavy, each exhale carrying a faint tremor, and her eyes are half-closed with the glazed, unfocused look of someone whose body has been wrung out and isn't finished processing it.
"That was perfect," she says into my shoulder. Her voice is syrupy, too loose, the crisp edges of her earlier composure melted into something dazed. "You filled me the fuck up."