cw. Baby trapping. Ranging from dub to noncon. Somnophilia, desperation versus spite. Pseudoincest because Morgan is Morgan.
Characters. Kylar, Avery, Harper, Morgan, Bailey, Whitney, Remy.
Baby traps you out of desperation:
Kylar. You can't leave him now, not ever! Not when you two are forever joined with the life growing inside of you. Would prick holes in the condoms you tell him to use, or just smears his own fingers with cum before fingering you greedily. Even crushes up fertility pills and puts them in your drink, watching you drink it down with wet, staring eyes. You wouldn't be allowed near anyone else the moment it's confirmed you're carrying his kid.
Avery. If you're leaving him before he leaves you. Leaving the town for university, leaving him for someone better off, or for love. You let him down easy, with a soft smile, and thank him for all the years of help. Help. What he had done for you reached beyond help. He was your saviour from god knows what. Anger burns in his veins but he just breathes low and even before asking if you want to have one last evening, just like the old times. How could you say no? You should have said no. You think it'll just be slow, soft, goodbye sex but the moment the handcuffs come out, you realise it won't be. In the hot tub, on the bed, against the balcony railing, Avery drills into you, slamming in deep with every thrust. You should have known to try and run when you reminded him of the condoms in his back pocket and he took them out just to throw them in the bin right in front of you. Cums deep inside of you every time, groaning into your neck. Dawn slips in through the curtains and Avery lights another cigarette before looking at your spent body next to him. Do you think your had any future now, with anyone or anything else, when swollen with a child?
Harper. You were going to be released. After so much time together at the asylum, you'd leave the intimate nest that kept you close to him at all times. He had been so blind to every thing other than his work, his work and you, that he hadn't realised that the time for you to go had arrived. Just one last night together. So he creeps to your room, just to watch you sleep a bit. Just that. Just watching. He always likes you like this, unaware and soft. He watches, soft, until he can't watch anymore. No more mandatory therapy. No more check ups. No more washing you in the shower, soapy fingers slipping between your thighs. Harper could make it mandatory, but who would make you go? What could force you to keep coming to him, to his office, to his embrace? Well, it's obvious. It's the time of your life that would be the most closely monitored with doctor's visits and check ups. He doesn't even take his shirt off, just shuck his trousers down to his thighs and climbs on top of you. Doesn't matter if you wake up. His desperate rutting into you, making sure to cum deep inside, the thoughtless need of it all, it doesn't feel like a disgusting act of violence, but tastes like the honeymoon night, with the only person for him.
Morgan. He always wanted grandkids. He loves grandkids. Seeing his baby round with life, and knowing it'll tie them to their papa for the rest of their life filled him with blind euphoria. No one could ever take you away from him, not like everyone from his wife, to the town had tried. You were his baby... He just had missed you so much. Doesn't help that you seemed so lonely at times, asking him to go to see your friends and go to your part time job. After all, he was the one insisting on home schooling and special cuddles since he made enough for the both of you. You needed to be home. You could have your baby for company, the same way he had his own for company. "Let daddy make you happy." He whispers to you, even as you act out. He just wants you to be happy. His baby deserves it all, his cock, his seed, your own bundle of joy.
Baby traps you out of spite:
Bailey. Maybe you ran your mouth just a bit too much that day. Maybe he was sick of your love sick puppies coming to the door and whine for some time with you. Maybe he just happened to grit his teeth to the point of pain as one of his brats sat before him, belly swollen as their baby daddy sat next to them, making plans to take them off his hands and live full time with them instead. Another source of income cut off. Maybe it was because you were his best earner and god knows if you fucking used protection. It didn't matter. What mattered is that, despite your pleas, he wasn't going to pull out. Slamming deep inside of you, hissing under his breath that you'd never be able to leave with any of your little boyfriends, not when another man's child grew in your belly. Later he might regret snapping like that, now that you had his brat. He might. Or he leans against your door frame, staring as you slept, shirt riding up to show the subtle bump of something growing inside of you.
Avery. But this time, if you're being bad. You ghosted him, you spurned him, you ran around with everyone in town without sparing a thought for the man that handed over enough money for you to thrive amongst Bailey's brats. Perhaps his snaps when he sees you flirting with one of his superiors, or that stupid kid you ran around with. Perhaps he waits outside the pub, smoking his imported cigarettes down to the filters until you appear, tipsy and looking like a whore. It doesn't take much to force you into the back of his car, ripping at your shirt to force it up, over your head to force your arms up, restraining you. You were his first. You were the one that was so perfect on every date before this rebellious streak. You've humiliated him. So there's nothing he'd want more than to return the favour. And when you're round with his child, and in need of support, he'd laugh. No one would believe you, a common street rat would have been forced to carry his child, him, a respected businessman. Doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy your hole squeezing tight around him as he roughly ruts into your poor guts.
Whitney. You dirty fucking whore. Running around with the greasy rat, the loser and the religious freak while he proclaims you as his bitch? Did the collar, did the tattoo, did your sore hole mean fucking nothing? So he corners you in the bathroom, snickering with his friends as he boxes you into the stall and begins to undo his belt. His bitch deserved a litter if you were going to let anyone who sniffed around you fuck you. Also it's just funny. The way the teachers would look at you with disappointment, the way your other dogs would stop sniffing around you. The way your uniform won't fit you at all in just a few months. Whitney still can't decide if he should show you off, the knocked up slut all for him, or to make you beg for him to keep you around. After all, the way you squealed and kicked on his cock, even now had him fucking dizzy.
Remy. Of course it made perfect sense. What sort of cow produces even more milk? One swollen with a calf. It helps that the idea occured to him after you made your latest successful escape attempt and Wren was the one to return you to your proper place in life. It's hard to run with a swollen belly, and milky tits. Maybe it would even endear him to you, snuffling into his hand, wanting some attention since your stupid, empty brain thought of him as master and as mate. So, with you struggling and huffing in your breeding bench, Remy sends everyone else out. He should just use some of the semen that the bulls deposited earlier, but why should he? Not when you were his favourite for so long, licking his fingers clean when the juices from the apple stained his skin. The one he looked forward to seeing the most. The one he fisted his cock to, imagining the way you'd keen and whine with his cock rutting into you and filling you up with his own milk. He could also prepare a room for your calf to live in, just so you'd paw at him to let you see his only heir, the one to inherit it all, even if they did have soft cow eyes and spotted, velvety ears.
