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You couldn’t stop.

(Your boyfriend’s dad gets you pregnant over several encounters. TW for cheating, misgen, cnc, eventual preg etc. I tag my shit so please check OP tags if unsure & proceed with caution.)

Nowadays, when your boyfriend texts you to say his dad’s not home, you already know. Before his message even comes through, you’re often on all fours, and his dad is usually on your mattress, clutching your hips, and pumping cum into you, as deep as it can go - your discreetly growing stomach brushing the sheets. The text notification isn’t even audible over your squeals.

You’ve been with your boyfriend for four months, but recently, you’ve been filled by his dad at least once a week. Of course, at the start, every time it happened you felt eaten alive by shame. You knew you had to draw a line under it, but giving in was addictive.

How did it start?

You ask yourself this question often. The truth is, it was all set in motion the very first night you stayed over. Your boyfriend still lives at his parents’ house whilst he saves for his own flat, so he invited you over one night, timidly fucked you with a condom after dinner (whilst respecting all the boundaries you laid down around your tolerance for dysphoria) and then fell asleep next to you. You were still awake when his father arrived home late. You were filling a glass with water in the kitchen as he shut the front door behind him. A spontaneous nightcap in the lounge over introductions somehow turned into him asking for a blowjob, which then turned into you, legs spread wide on the sofa, getting your pussy pummelled.

Oops.

But the most shameful and confusing thing about it was that he kept calling you a girl as he pounded you - and worse, you very quickly stopped feeling the need to correct him. In the week that followed that initial incident, you had to stave off anxiety attacks from the guilt.

What now? Being misgendered by him felt weirdly amazing - and that scares you. And sleeping with your partner’s dad, more than twice your age? The fucked-upness of it. But life just seemed to go on even though it happened. So it didn’t take long for it to happen again:

Your flatmate spent the next weekend away and it was soon your turn to host your new boyfriend.

You had already decided against telling him. Let things be normal. Let life go on. And yet, when he was shyly pushing into you with an ill-fitting condom, carefully avoiding touching your chest like you’d always asked, even lovingly affirming your gender - you couldn’t focus. The image of his dad was fixed in your mind. His full balls ready to burst. His rough hands all over your exposed tits, and the way he forced himself on top of you. As your boyfriend fucked you, all you could think of was how the more experienced man made you beg: drooling precum and rock hard for your young unprotected pussy.

Nonetheless, all those thoughts must’ve made you tighten because your boyfriend ejaculated into the condom with a whine and a shake before you could finish your recollection. You told him it was fine to head home for the evening. Early start. The guilt came creeping back.

As you kiss him goodnight and close the front door after him, your phone buzzes, as if on cue.

You receive a text from a number you don’t recognise.

The sole content is a flash photograph of a dick you can’t mistake.

That girth, swollen, erect but hanging - it looks so heavy, and practically bursting from the flies of a pair of familiar grey chinos. The photo shows a bright, beaded strand of precum caught in the camera flash.

Was this taken just now? He knows where his son has been, so he knows you‘re probably horny and under-fucked.

You can’t reply, even though you’re much more turned on than you were when your boyfriend was here. You force yourself to ignore the message.

But you need to touch yourself first. You clutch your phone, staring at the photo message, and rub your clit frantically. You cum hard, to the memory of the glistening cock head in the picture massaging your cervix, and spilling his cum against it.

It’s interesting how guilt comes and goes, isn’t it?

You’re invited to dinner with his family the next week.

You can hold a conversation pretty well but you can’t hold his father’s gaze, not after how many times you ended up touching yourself to his text. When he earnestly excuses himself from the dinner table to take a work call, you feel relieved. You polish off your dessert without him returning. After more than a few glasses of wine with your boyfriend and his relatives, you pop to the upstairs bathroom.

The floorboards creak beyond the bathroom door just as you’re washing your hands. You turn off the tap to listen. Your stomach drops as the sound of your boyfriend’s dad’s stern voice becomes clear. He’s taken his work call on the landing.

You consider waiting in the bathroom for him to pace away, then realise how ridiculous that is. You could be gone a while. He’s on the phone. You’ll just head back downstairs and rejoin the chatter - obviously.

When you step out, he’s there in front of you, leaning against the wall on the landing, still on the phone, with his free hand pressed to his crotch.

Without so much as a glance in your direction, he continues his conversation whilst taking his bare cock out from his trousers. You watch, glued to the spot, as he carries on talking down the phone for his family downstairs to hear. He fondles his lengthening dick nonchalantly. His tone is adamant.

“…Yes I know but that’s just how we are going to have to do it.”

He unzips a little further and pulls out his balls, too, stroking his appendage and cradling them, allowing himself to completely stiffen in front of you. Your legs feel weak.

“…It is hard,” his eyes are on you now, as he talks, “it’s very, very hard. We’re going to have to get it done together.”

Before you can decide what to do, he beckons you forwards and you can’t fight the urge to comply. Your heart is racing. Just as you get near enough, he reaches out and grips your shoulder, pushing you down onto your knees.

“…sure. Well we should have a look at those figures from March…”

He continues talking as he grabs the back of your head and smothers your face squarely into his crotch. The hot velvet skin and the unbelievable hardness against your cheeks and brow turns all thoughts to static. Your heart is still racing. You’re so fucking horny. You open your mouth wide and roll his full balls against your tongue, taking them in as much as you can. How many times have you thought about doing this?

He’s agreeing with his colleague about something as you become more and more intoxicated by it, his only audible reactions are the stifled sighs and hums that he somehow manages to work into his conversation.

You’ve just moved your lips to the warm, smooth, leaking tip of his penis when another voice makes your stomach lurch. It’s one of your boyfriend’s relatives calling chirpily upstairs from the hallway:

“Are you still on the phone? And Luke’s wondering where our lovely guest has gone!”

You jolt back instinctively but simultaneously, the firm hand on the back of your head pulls you deep onto his bare cock and holds you there. You drool uncontrollably as he forces himself down your throat.

“Hello?”

You can’t breathe, but you can’t move or gasp or moan either. All you can do is drool silently down your chin and dribble onto the carpet as the dick you’ve been obsessing over stuffs your mouth quiet.

You’re seeing stars, clawing at his trousers. You feel his cock throb, forcing you to accommodate. He sighs contentedly, apologises to the phone and replies:

“Yes, just finishing up. And you can tell Luke I saw her go into his room. How much wine did you give her? I’m sure she’ll be down soon.”

It’s still throbbing. You’re trying so hard not to audibly choke. You hear a giggle and the footsteps downstairs pace away without correcting the older man on your behalf. You strain to look up at him through your tears and he’s smiling down at you, knowing exactly what he said. He holds you there, gazing down for a moment longer, past his ample gut, while he finishes his call.

“…yes, thanks. I’d better leave you to your Sunday, too. No bother. Let’s pick this up again when I’m back in the office.”

He finally ends the call and releases your head. You let out a string of weak gasping coughs, praying that none of the rest of the household is in earshot. He purrs down at you, quietly, playfully patting you on the cheek with his solid cock:

“That was close, wasn’t it? But if you didn’t want to choke like that you shouldn’t have made me this hard.”

With the absence of your wet little throat, the older man instinctively starts to jerk off right in front of your face.

Without instruction, you open your mouth expectantly, ready to swallow however much cum he’s about to give you.

“Oh sweetheart. Haven’t you already had dessert tonight? You are a greedy thing.”

Suddenly, with a grunt, he takes a fistful of your top and drags you against the wall, pinning you there and stretching the fabric.

You try not to trip up as the carpet burns your knees.

Without so much as a thought to why you might be wearing it, he pulls the base of the binder, which you’re wearing under your top, up and over your nipples. They’re already poking out hard.

Being so tight, it requires two hands and some force on his part; his stiff penis bounces wildly with the movement, still coated in your drool. After some tugging, it doesn’t take him long to fully expose your chest.

It really hurts, pinching under your arms, and you can feel your soft, round tits finally bursting forward for him.

“There’s my girl.”

Your t shirt, stretched, sits neatly on top of your bulging, exposed breasts. You cower against the wall as he rubs his engorged cock furiously over them. He grabs your head again with his free hand and makes you see yourself.

“Good girl. Good girl, sweetheart. You’ve missed daddy’s nice big dick, haven’t you? I can read you like a fucking book.“

You nod, it feels so good to finally admit it. Every night you touched yourself to that text message, and how disgustingly obvious it was that you were waiting for it to come to this. This man makes you love your breasts.

He gives himself a couple more strokes, then, with a stifled grunt, he finally drains his heavy balls over all you.

With wide eyes, you’re made to watch his hot semen land on your forcibly protruding tits. His wet warmth splashes your skin.

The older man’s body is heaving over you as you watch his balls tighten and his dick throb to pump out rope after rope after rope. Your pussy aches in desperation. As he finishes, he’s still clutching your hair. Breathing heavily, he doesn’t let you go.

“Stay there.”

Whilst his cum is still warm, he moves his hand from his crotch and drags his fingertips across your breasts around each of your nipples; tracing all over your tender exposed skin. You stifle a whimper, goosebumps raising.

You feel your stomach drop as slowly, he reaches into your waistband and slides two completely cum-covered fingers straight into your needy hole. His movement is surprisingly gentle, constant, and he stops as soon as you feel the pads of his fingers press at your cervix. In a hushed tone, he leans closer to you, still pressing his fingers, and growls your final instruction:

“Now cum for me.”

Momentarily, under your boxers, he grazes his thumb across your aching clit, and then back again. As you start to whimper at the precipice of orgasm, he does it again. With his thick, cum-soaked fingers wedged sloppily and deep inside your pussy, it tips you over the edge. Suddenly, you feel him push his fingers forward as your insides flutter, dragging the warm semen from them. He actively tries to smear cum against your cervix as you lie there gasping.

“There. There, baby. Just like that. Right there.”

You’re shuddering as pleasure wracks your body, your breasts still exposed.

“You really are daddy’s good girl, aren’t you?”

It feels so strange, the sensation there - insemination by fingering - but you’re too blissed out to care. As slowly as he inserted them, he pulls his hand from between your legs.

“Well done.”

He yanks your binder back down carelessly and painfully, and the cum left on your skin is trapped underneath and seeping through the mesh.

He tucks his cock back into his trousers. You zone out for a minute on the floor of the landing whilst you listen to him rejoin his family, and apologise for the length of his call.

By some miracle, you didn’t get caught in the state he left you in.

You picked yourself up from the carpet, went back into the bathroom, tidied your hair, fixed your binder, nearly endured a panic attack, and were the first of the guests to call a taxi home.

Your boyfriend was concerned about you, but you told him you drank too much wine and just needed sleep. Hugging him tightly before you left felt like such a charade. The parting pat on the back and the “sleep well” from his dad even more so.

In the back of the Uber, you still feel the cum smeared against your skin. You take a long, hot, shower at home, knowing it’s still coating your walls.

As though that night was some kind of initiation, similar occurrences have taken place every time you’ve visited your boyfriend’s home.

That being said, it’s never been as brazen:

Shortly after the dinner, coursework deadlines began to loom, leaving less time for your relationship. In the days where you were able to stop by your boyfriend’s house, you came to expect more groping, a quick fingering under your waistband, or - simply - demands that you give his dad a hug just so that he can press his erection against you.

Despite the less frequent visits, you continue to receive a torrent of dick pics from his unsaved number - and you still cum hard every night to the thought of his cock finally stuffing you full.

In honesty, Luke’s a bit of a pain. It crosses your mind that perhaps you’re only still in your new relationship because of what’s happening. When it does, you try to ignore the possibility.

You can’t ignore how it’s now impacting your life, though. You’re making choices with your clothes based on things you’ve never considered before. Maybe your ass looks better in gym shorts - or even leggings? You haven’t worn leggings in years. You’re caring less about what you eat, you honestly don’t mind the perpetual softness of being pre-everything so much now. Eating what you want feels good. And, let’s say, some of the ardour you once had for your studies has gone elsewhere.

Time passes.

It’s a bank holiday Monday and Luke, your boyfriend, has torn you away from your scheduled study to spend time at the family barbecue. He pleaded with you on the phone: He’s hardly seen you in the past couple of weeks, and when he has, you just don’t seem as into it. It’s gotta be the stress. He wants you to allow yourself a day off, enjoy the sunshine, drink some beer, hang out, have a home-cooked meal.

So here you are, sitting in his parents’ garden surrounded by their friends and chatting about work. Your boyfriend’s dad is allegedly in the home office, you haven’t seen him yet, which is annoying to you, because you wore the smallest denim shorts you own just to see how he’d react. On top of your binder, all you wear is a baggy sports vest.

Your boyfriend is halfway across the lawn with a plate for you when his dad makes an appearance at the entrance to the garden. He glances at you, but barely acknowledges the mass of friends and family present. He calls over to him.

“Luke, my computer still can’t get onto the WiFi.”

“Can it wait, dad? I’ll look at it again tomorrow. It’s fucked right now, you know there’s nothing you can do without an engineer”

His father apologises to the party in earshot and insists it needs sorting before tomorrow. He can’t join the party until it’s fixed. After some familial back-and-fourth, he asks you if you would try.

You’re wet.

“Dad, come on,” Luke pleads, “it’s a bank holiday-”

Before the dispute turns into animosity, you stand and say you’ll have a quick look. You tell your boyfriend you’ll be out to eat in a sec. It’s probably beyond your capabilities.

As you hop across the patio, you catch your boyfriend’s glare. You’re certain it was for his dad, but you can’t be sure.

The minute you reach the home office, the older man slams the door shut. There are no pleasantries this time. He’s ravenous. You clock the tissues by the desk. Has he..?

“Right. I’m sick to death of this fucking thing.”

Before you can let out more than a squeal, you’re against his solid wood desk. He snatches the scissors from a pen pot and cuts into your binder, pushing your baggy vest to one side. Your soft tits flop out. He snips the shoulders, severs the front, and pulls it right off you.

“That’s better.”

As he talks, he unzips his flies and pulls out his cock. Without waiting for a response, he yanks your denim shorts and underwear down your ankles, and immediately forces his cock into you for the first time since that first time. You gasp loudly and clutch something - anything - as he shushes you. Rocking his hips.

You’re stretched open on the desk. Soaking. He’s grunting as he stuffs you. Pushing deeper. Leaking precum into the deepest parts of you. Using you. He’s got one hand on your breasts, pinching your nipples and squeezing their heft. He’s muttering but you can’t make it out.

You’re interrupted by the sound of your boyfriend entering the downstairs hallway. Even more quickly than he pressed himself into you, his father immediately pulls out and exits the room, taking the tattered binder with him. You have seconds to pull your shorts back up and look as though you’ve been fiddling with the modem. Your pussy hurts. The door to the study creaks open gently.

“I’m sorry about dad.”

You tell your boyfriend it’s fine, doing your best to hide your arousal. You assure him you’ll be back out in the sunshine in a couple of minutes.

But he doesn’t leave, he wants to spend time with you.

“Want a h-?”

He stumbles over his words when he sees your nipples protruding through your vest. It’s the first time he’s seen your chest at all, almost always bound, or under a t shirt when in bed. Not for him to touch.

You realise this and turn pink. An outpouring of plausible excuses follow. You tell him it’s hard to bind on a hot day. You tell him you took the opportunity to give yourself a break from it. He doesn’t reply, cogs turning, clearly figuring out what the most respectful thing to say could be.

You fill the silence with a real confession. You want to try not binding for a bit.

Luke, always so feeble and tender, asks, “can I touch…them?”

You turn and slowly lift your tank. Your boyfriend bites his lip hard and stares, reaching his hands out. He asks you if it feels good. He’s so gentle.

Desperate to keep up a facade, you shrug nonchalantly. As he runs his hands down to your waist, it dawns on you that if he his hands wander any lower, he’ll discover the soaked mess his father made of you just minutes ago.

You pull back. Your hands stilling his own. You don’t need to say any more.

“Okay, okay yeah. Let’s go back outside,” he sighs, passing his gaze across your flesh (just like his dad did when you first met), “but you should borrow something less exposing.”

You don’t stay long. Even so, once you’re home, it’s late. Your phone buzzes. The unsaved number, but no photo this time - just a text message:

I’m on my way.

Clearly, the tantalising ten or so seconds of sex that afternoon was enough to coax him across town. You can’t believe it’s come to this. What are you doing. What are you doing. What are you doing?

He knocks quietly, and, silently, you pace down the hallway to your room, past your flatmates closed doors.

It feels so out of place having a man this much older than you in your bedroom.

But you’re so, so, wet.

He throws off his coat and you see that already, his erection is tenting. He grins as your expression changes at the sight of it protruding from beneath his straining shirt buttons.

“So. You want that?”

The fabric of his trousers is struggling to contain it and he leans back to show it off, just like that first time on the sofa. You quietly agree.

“Yeah, I thought so. Don’t worry, that’s what daddy’s come all this way for. We’re going to make the most of not having to be interrupted any more. Now, take everything you’re wearing off.”

You obey, trembling, eventually stark naked in front of the fully clothed man.

“On your bed. Legs apart.”

You comply.

“Now there’s my good girl.”

You mutter something noncommittal about not being a girl. You don’t even mean it any more. He runs his rough hands down your parted thighs, making you forget the habit.

“You’re going to be my special girl. I’m going to do something very special for you. Christ, look at you. Look at this-“

Then, his mouth is between your legs. Hungrily, he’s pressing his flat, hot, tongue against your labia and rubbing his mouth over your clit repeatedly. You’re already so close, the sensation of an experienced older man devouring you like this is so intense, so new. He pulls away to coo at you, holding your legs apart.

“Daddy’s wanted to make out with your little pussy ever since we got to know eachother. You’ve needed this for a long time.”

He circles his hot, firm tongue just around your opening, occasionally leaving short sloppy kisses, there at the entrance, your labia, and on your clit and inner thighs.

“That feel good? How about this?”

He tilts his head slightly, his grip on your legs strengthening. You feel his tongue dart deep into your pussy, over and over again. Your cheeks flush red as it dawns on you that he’s fucking you with his tongue.

“Such a beautiful pussy. Focus on daddy’s mouth.”

You can’t hold back your high-pitched moans any longer. You don’t care about your flatmates, only the pleasure shooting through your body from your pink little hole, which is starting to quiver against his rapidly moving tongue.

You never let his son do this. You’ve never really let anyone do this. Combined with the sensation of having your breasts exposed, too, you realise how much you enjoy this new experience of womanhood.

It seems to go on forever. He lets go of one leg, and you hear the jingle of an undone belt as he unzips his trousers with one hand. Beneath the wet messy noise of your soaked pussy against his mouth and tongue, you hear him pleasuring himself with quick strokes.

Keeping you pressed into the mattress with one hand, he finally stands, his enormous penis bursting from his trousers.

“Here it is baby”

He wipes his mouth on your sheets and moves up the mattress, kneeling over you like he did on the landing. He rubs the full length across your face, including his balls. You can feel the veins in his dick throbbing and the weight of his balls as they cover your features.

He slaps himself against your cheek, punctuating his sentences;

“You’re a slut. Admit it. But Daddy’s going to make you a pretty girl. You’re going to be mine for good.”

You try to question him, weakly, maybe even to correct him again, but before you can get a single word out he stuffs his cock between your lips, stretching your mouth once more around his girth.

“What was that, baby?”

He begins to thrust into your throat.

“You’re going to be daddy’s slut from now on?”

He bucks harder, using his other hand to pull you onto his dick and force fuck your face as you lie there. You gag and gargle but he doesn’t stop.

“Theeeere we go. It feels nice to be daddy’s girl.”

The hand that was pinning you down has moved between your still-parted thighs. He slides in and fingers you, preparing you. You’re already so soft and wet from all the kisses he left there.

The sound of squelching becomes more rapid, along with the sound of the fucking he’s giving your throat.

You feel used at both ends, he presses your face into his crotch. Every time you manage to breathe, your nostrils fill with the scent of his clothes and sweaty skin.

Rhythmically now, he’s forcing his cock into your mouth and pulling back. You’re amazed at how much your throat has relaxed to take it. Practise. You can taste his slimy precum oozing all over your tongue when the tip drags back against it. When he pushes it in, his protruding stomach presses against your face, and your breasts bounce too. You hold them, touching yourself there. Everything matches a rhythm.

“That’s my girl. daddy’s girl.”

After what feels like an eternity, he finally pulls away, pulling multiple strands of precum-mixed-with-saliva from your lips across your clean sheets.

You lie still, legs spread. Without another word, just the creaking mattress, he mounts you.

First, you feel the smooth, hot, swollen tip parting your labia.

Then, as he eases forward, the feeling widens. It doesn’t stop. In fact, it deepens. He’s making you feel every inch. You turn and bite the sheets.

“We know you can take it. Come on, sweetheart. Let daddy in.”

You’re so unbelievably full when his hanging ballsack eventually presses against your ass. He sighs, looking down at you.

“Theeere we go.”

The initial sensation is almost unbearable as he begins to thrust but you’ve been so well-fingered and eaten out that stretching to accommodate him isn’t a problem.

“Well done.”

His whole body looms over your soft frame, still in his buttoned shirt, as your pussy repeatedly takes the full length he’s determined to give you. He grabs your waist and rolls onto his back, kicking his trousers off, pulling you with him.

“Bounce for me.”

Obediently, you force yourself down onto his fat cock, even deeper than before with the help of gravity. You’re so wet it’s dripping down you both, and hungrily, you try to stuff yourself with more. You need it. His hands squeeze your breasts, his thumbs circling your nipples as you desperately ride him.

“We’re going to make these bigger.”

You no longer care. In fact, you don’t plan to wear a binder again. Before you can even acknowledge what the older man meant, he grabs your hips and pulls you down hard. You let out a shriek.

“Shhh, that’s my girl.”

Rapidly, he bucks upwards. Your eyes roll back, all thoughts of this relationship being even vaguely problematic are gone in that instant. You’ve never felt so well stuffed in your life. You’re still grinding onto him, trying and faltering to match his pace.

Once it’s apparent you’re too blissed out and desperate to keep yourself upright, he wrestles you back onto your back, this time, into a mating press. There’s a cushion placed squarely under your hips.

He bursts a shirt button as he repositions himself and commences the piston-like motion in and out of you. In and out. Trapped under his sheer heft. His stubble is rough against your cheek as he growls into your ear, breathily, his movements unrelenting.

“This is how you get pregnant.”

His words hardly register as your eyes roll back and your pussy squelches beneath him. The pressure on your cervix adds to the bliss. When they do, though, you try to move.

“Shhh, darling, let it happen,” and, lowering his voice even more, “We’ll know who to blame. Relax. You need this.”

His teeth meet your earlobe and his thrusting picks up speed again. You whimper as your eager juices coat his cock, your mind turning blank. All that matters now is the thick cock stretching you, over and again. As you whine and squeal louder, he shushes you, coaxing you nearer to orgasm.

“Good girl. My girl.”

You cum hard, trapped beneath him, your pussy tightening rhythmically and uncontrollably.

“Yes sweetheart! That’s it. Fuck, I’m going to-“

Soon enough, the sensation is met with a series of hard throbs, and the sudden flush of warmth from the older man’s cum, unloaded deep against your battered cervix. He groans into your ear as his balls raise, pumping out thick rope after thick rope, directly where he knows it needs to go.

When it’s over, there’s a quiet moment before he heaves himself off you. He takes his time putting his trousers back on, and his shoes, straightening his shirt and tucking it in again. He tells you to stay on your pillow as he gets dressed.

“I’m proud of you, sweetheart. Get some rest.”

And with that, he grabs his coat from the hook, and lets himself out.

Your finals come around, and, like always, simply carried on with life. Luke had visited a couple of times, fucked you badly with a condom, like always, but never ventured to ask to touch your chest again. He was leaving you to figure how you felt out.

You asked him to tell his family that you were studying hard, and would see them after the exam season was over.

Each morning, you feel sick. Anxiety. You haven’t been studying like you used to, and it’s fair to say you’ve had a lot of identity issues weighing on your mind. You decide to wait until after graduation to explore the possibility of taking HRT.

You don’t hear from your boyfriend’s dad, either. Apart from when his son tells you, one night outside the library, that he says “good luck”.

That next morning, you slip on your little denim shorts. The ones you wore to the barbecue. They no longer fit. You’ve been stress-eating, absolutely, but the fit seems tolerable at your thighs - unlike at your stomach, where you can’t even get the button to meet the fabric.

You look at yourself in the mirror, and really look, for the first time in a couple of weeks. Your hand meets your stomach. There’s a roundness to it, now.

You leap to your bedside drawer and pull out a test kit.

Within ten minutes, it’s perfectly clear. You’ve been bred by your boyfriend’s father.

(sequel to this.)

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