You text me to say you’re feeling dysphoric today. The “come to my place” you get in response leads to what it always does: me fingering your pretty little pussy to make you feel better about it.
Needy whimpers and the desperate sound of squelching fill the room.
Your mind goes blank. Then, suddenly: the fingering stops and a solid, smooth, cylindrical shape is pressed against your swollen clit.
You open your eyes and blearily look down between your thighs. You thought you were just here for a hookup, but the sight of a thick syringe full of cum has you in panic mode. It’s holding so much, easily more than five loads of warm semen.
And now, I’m working the syringe inside you. Your stomach lurches.
You try to whimper and protest but I’ve fucked your pussy open with my fingers so successfully that the syringe slides in easily, the plastic coated in your eager juices.
You let out a high pitched-moan as you feel it push you wide open. The pressure makes you wetter. It feels good.
Your heart is pounding, from pleasure and fear, knowing that our games have led you to skip more than a few T doses and you’re not on birth control.
I slowly ease the syringe in and out of you. You didn’t know it would come to this so quickly. I growl softly into your ear.
“I have twenty five loads right here, all from various men. They rubbed their dicks to your old pictures. So today, let’s get you knocked up.”
My words hit you like a ton of bricks, you’re so wet you’re practically dripping down the inside of your soft thighs, making my knuckles glisten around the base of the syringe. Silently, I move my thumb onto the plunger.
You feel the object shift deeper into your pussy and then there’s a pressure on your cervix. There’s a dull ache that comes with it, but it only adds to your desperation. Although you’d like to say it’s a shock your body is betraying you like this, it comes as no surprise that you’re so ready to get bred.
“Keep those legs wide open for me.”
My other hand gropes your chest, under your tee shirt. You feel split almost in two by the syringe as I pinch and circle your nipples. You learned to stop wearing a binder during your visits.
You imagine what it’ll be like when your breasts start to swell from pregnancy, unable to hide or bind, and heavy with milk.
The thought brings another bolt of fear but your pussy trembles.
Without any further warning, I slam the plunger down with my thumb. The top of the syringe is placed directly against your cervix, where you feel a sudden warm pressure. Twenty five anonymous loads coat your walls and are deposited directly into your womb in one thick, seemingly never ending spurt.
All it takes is my thumb on your aching clit to tip you over the edge. You climax with the syringe still wedged inside you, your contractions drinking up the ropes of semen. You’re shaking, high from orgasm and not fully understanding the next nine months of your life.
I kiss you on the forehead and keep you plugged up with the emptied syringe. I can’t wait to watch you swell.
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