Quintet

I startle awake and find myself surrounded by hard cocks. Before I can even blink, returning memories jolt me like an electric shocks:

Each face is familiar – I’ve seen them dozens of times before.

Like this.

One of them belongs to the father of the child growing in me.

None of them are my husband.

Horror grips me – as does the memory of the same thing happening each time before.

The knowing smiles they give me now are the same.

They laugh, and joke, and some of the jokes are familiar, too. They do this every time – wait for me to remember, to know. Every time I’ve woken up this way, the first moments of confusion and terrible realization are followed by fucking. Hours of fucking, and orgasm after orgasm after orgasm. Each big cock will take several turns deep in my pussy. And load after load after load of cum will pump into my ever more pregnant belly.

The echoing, repeating memory forces its way to the surface, even as I feel my pussy getting wet, as it always does. I’m at the weekly “massage and aromatherapy” session my husband had found for me online and gifted me with on our first anniversary, the day we decided to start trying to make a family.

I watch my legs part and spread wide of their own volition, as they always do, as I remember how each massage begins, with gentle hands on my temples and a pleasant scent of exotic oils. My masseuse, a lovely older woman, tells me to breathe deep in and out, and I space out into bliss as seconds, minutes, hours later the sheet covering me slides off and the room is suddenly filled with men surrounding the table, cocks hard and pointing, nudging at me until the awareness floods back.

Two of them take hold of my widely spread knees as a third steps up between my legs. His too-large cock disappears from my view, eclipsed by my swollen belly to unerringly find my pussy. As the fourth man presents his cock to my mouth to suck, I remember when my belly was flat and the scene unfolded in front of my unbelieving eyes, watching and feeling the first time a stranger’s massive cock stretched my pussy lips open around it and sank deeper and deeper into me. Watching and oh, God, feeling every inch of that first penetration, the utterly stuffed sensation of being filled completely, as never before. The awful, awesome pleasure of that fuck, and the look of the stranger’s face staring down into mine as my body writhed with ecstasy, the intensity in his dark eyes. I remember his words, telling me they were going to knock me up, words that each of them repeated each time they took their place between my legs. Each said they were going to put their baby in my belly and watch it grow. The electric feeling of my first orgasm around a cock that was not my husband’s repeats every time as if it were the first, intensifying with each echo over the weeks and months, adding to the even more shocking sensation of that monster cumming hard inside me.

As the first cock finishes unloading inside my pussy, I feel my muscles contract in my own orgasm, my full womb tensing and relaxing. I remember the first time I came helplessly around this specific fat shaft, and the second, and the third. I don’t know any of their names but I know their cocks by shape, thickness, bend, texture. Each one of them fucks me differently, and each throbs and jerks and jets differently when he cums inside me. This one is three large, long blasts. The next one moving to take his place has the veiniest cock of the five, and cums in eight or nine short, intense spurts.

I remember the fourth time, and then the fifth, after I’d missed my period and had celebrated with my husband, so happy, not remembering until I was surrounded by them again, and the chilling the gut-twisting certainty that it was one of these men, who had done it – whose seed had found the egg meant for my husband. I remember the realization happening again and again in subsequent weeks and moan, and whine even as I did then, even as I hump my swollen belly up at them. on the brink of another climax.

Over the first three months, piece by piece they explain the whole thing. They tell me the name and properties of the oil that messes with my memory, makes me suggestible. They tell me I’m not their first “breeder”, nor will I be their last. They tell me this has been going on for a long time, and they’re not just fucking my body, they’re fucking my mind. They say this wouldn’t be happening at all, that I wouldn’t even be susceptible if, deep down, I didn’t really want to be fucked. If I didn’t want to be bred deep and true, by them. I wouldn’t get so wet, wouldn’t cum so impossibly much if I weren’t in my heart, in my cunt, in my womb, a slut for it. For them. I wouldn’t forget – I wouldn’t blank this all out, even from my dreams, if I didn’t want to come back, again and again, and take cock after cock, load after load of cum in my ever growing belly.

The whole progression is crystal clear in my head, as the fourth cock fills me with cum. Each truth, the endless fucking, the sensation of my belly growing heavier, more full. The fear of the first few weeks knowing that that each time one of them came in me they could be impregnating me. And then, after I knew I was pregnant, it was always a question whether any of them had done it, or my husband. I still didn’t know, really, but with each time one of those cocks pumped its semen inside me, I became more and more sure it was one of them. And I cum, again, and again, despite my certainty, despite the fear of what it means.

I stare into familiar eyes, I know I’m going to forget all of it yet again, and return home after my massage, relaxed and happy, and prepare my home for the new life set to arrive in a few short weeks. The last of the five is fucking me. He’s usually the last, because, he’s just that much bigger, thicker, longer than everyone else, and makes me feel like I’m about to burst. This is when they tell me the last new thing. They say that when first contractions hit, I’ll start seeing their faces, one at a time, with every clenching of my womb, and when my water breaks, I’m going to remember everything in the flood. And never be able to forget.

And that’s when the last of them hilts his cock inside me and cums, pumping, grinning, triumphant, and I follow, crying out hoarsely, helplessly, totally lost, drowning in terrible pleasure until everything goes away again. For now.

Categories: Cassie Andra, Erotic Fiction, The Wrong AlphabetTags: , , ,

Cassi Andra

Old enough to know better and not care. Vanilla on the outside. Vanilla through and through, except for the mind. You don't want to go there, but I'll give you peeks. Be warned: erotica themes include standard fun, but also the taboo-est of the taboo. Coming of age, infidelity, family relations, dubious and non-consent. Every throbbing inch of it is, however, fantasy, and should be treated as such.

Share your thoughts.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.