Note: “Adrian Griffin (The Invisible Man)... his girlfriend/wife would never be allowed to leave that amazing house… Pregnant but not by choice.” To what should be no one’s surprise, this contains birth control tampering and worse.
Imagine Adrian making sure you’re pregnant, but not by your choice.
If only you hadn’t been so trusting. But there was no way you could have known what lengths your husband would go to. The scariest part was how prepared he’d been. And by himself. No security guards, no spying housekeeper ready to tattle at any second.
At least, you thought, trying not to wince as Adrian’s hands guided your hips. At least he’s letting me outside now.
“Is this going to shock-?”
“No,” he had said, smiling at your worry. “It’ll just vibrate a little if you try to take it off.”
At the time, you didn’t know you were pregnant. Adrian knew, of course. Had later bragged about knowing. Whether he’d secretly drawn your blood or was just so confident in his own virility, who knew?
“Is it too tight?” he’d asked, feigning concern for your comfort. Then he paused. Palms firmly planted on your waist. Grass tickled your sandal-clad feet. Ankle monitor remained unspoken.
“No.”
Adrian didn’t need to deceive you as much as he thought he’d have to. Six months’ worth of placebo blister packs? Unnecessary. His wife finished getting ready for bed, climbed in beside him, and graciously took the pill and sip of water without question. Obliviously trained. Fertility pills quickly replaced sugar pills.
You had trusted him each time he handed you a pill from his nightstand. Thought it was romantic that he wanted to be responsible for your birth control. His newfound hatred of condoms after the wedding, despite being able to orgasm perfectly before, hadn’t registered as a red flag.
In his mind, you were essentially a virgin until he had sheathed himself inside you unsheathed. Adrian Griffin wasn’t ignorant about female anatomy. He just felt that his penis overrode everyone else’s. No misunderstandings about microchimerism or the hymen. His wife didn’t even think about other guys during sex and hers was probably ruptured nonsexually. The clitoris needed stimulation. His wife had never cum on another dick because her previous lovers were inept- Yes, all of them. Orgasms weren’t needed to conceive. His wife-
“Maybe after all this we can get you a proper vibrator.”
“After what?” you’d naively asked, wishing you could buck away his roaming hands. The way they’d migrated to your belly felt off. The whole situation was beyond off.
He just smiled that same arrogant smile.
At first he’d been an attentive and protective, if kinky, spouse. Much later you’d realize that, for all his hubris, Adrian sure was clingy.
Adrian couldn’t stand the thought of you using a sex toy that resembled anything other than his cock. If your genders were reversed, you were sure you would be gifted a fleshlight, or -lights, resembling female Adrian’s orifices. And instead of a breast pump, the milking machine would have been for male _____’s cock.
Like Amy Dunne on steroids, you thought, his hands on your hips again, this time guiding you onto his shaft, harder than you’d ever seen it. A lightbulb turned on. Maybe that’s how he knew I was pregnant. He collected my urin-
“You know better than to resist. Your body knows better than to resist.”
Referring to your sopping pussy. And clitoris, twinning with his massive dick in how almost painfully swollen it was.
“Sorry,” you said, forcing yourself to make eye contact. “I was just daydreaming-”
“Momnesia.”
“Huh?”
“Momnesia, mom plus amnesia. You have momnesia,” he thoughtfully explained. “All those pregnancy hormones,” Adrian continued, relishing pregnancy, “are making you spacy. It’s why you’ve been so forgetful lately. More than usual.”
What an obnoxious portmanteau.
You made yourself smile gratefully. Cockhead kissing your lower lips. If you stalled a little, he might come prematurely again. Premature ejaculation was new. Had never happened while you were dating. But your expecting body had him completely hooked. He’d really never been that hard before breeding you. Outside of you, anyway. Even wrapped, Adrian never suffered any performance anxiety.
It looks almost ready to burst. The veins look almost ready to burst.
It was scary. And you were wetter than you could ever remember being.
No oral for nine months. Maybe until you’d weaned the baby. You could understand why no blowjobs, but you wished he’d go back to licking your clit. Now creampies seemed like an obligation. Adrian had to cum inside your needy little pussy, replaying his fertilization of your womb over and over and over again.
You could imagine his response: “Why would I ever need another hole to fill?”
He at least didn’t care if you masturbated, provided you left your shlick dildo where he could find it. It was actually casted from his dick. Not just modeled after. Casted. At least he hadn’t gotten any molds of your cunt. Unless he’d drugged you. Which he hadn’t yet. Probably.
Aside from the fertility pills, you huffed.
The optic scientist probably had hidden cameras. Other than the ones you were told about. He’d been honest, as far as you knew, initially. Maybe it was just to keep you on edge. Or obedient. There was never any evidence he jerked off alone. Except a couple times you’d “caught” him in the shower. In which case he’d happily substituted you for his hand.
If he’d been truthful about wanting to knock you up, if he and you’d planned it, he wouldn’t have fucked you this much. Bent over the kitchen counter or table while clearing the dishes. Picked up and fucked against the wall. Any wall. Didn’t matter if it was the shower wall or one next to an all-exposing, ceiling-to-floor window. The latter felt more spontaneous, though.
No landscapers for a few weeks, so the grounds were “overgrown.” Even after the announcement, guests in general were few and far between. You’d discussed a baby shower. For now, though, he was so enthralled by your expanding belly (and tits), your husband had to keep you for himself and only himself. With how this situation was unfolding, the baby shower would probably be last minute. It would suck if you gave birth then and there. Not just go into labor, because Adrian was adamant on a home birth.
So far everything has gone well. Better than well. Perfect. All those supplements he insisted you swallow. If anything did go wrong, he assured, there was flatter land for a helicopter nearby. Hmph.
He flicked your lovebud. Impatient frown turned into a smile at the sight of your pretty eyes welling up. Adrian flicked it again and you almost jolted until he forced himself inside proper. Lifting you up, he readjusted himself to reenter at another angle, stuffing himself inside all at once. With your husband balls deep, tears streamed down your cheeks. Of joy or fear you weren’t entirely sure.
Instead of making you slam on his cock over and over, he made you stay still. Skewered. If only you could rip your gaze from his. Then you would’ve seen the very visible outline of his bulge. How can he still be so in control this aroused?
The inevitable orgasm was horrifying. You shut your eyes, his mocking laugh making you just want this session to be over. You tried to obediently ride his agonizing cock until Adrian slid out.
“Just going to hook my thumbs into this greedy pussy, then…”
Glans rubbed against glans.
“Please,” you begged, “I want you insi-!”
A hand covered your mouth, smearing your own juice on your face. Thankfully none of it got in your mouth.
“We are never using condoms again. You are going to let me finish inside you whenever and wherever I want. The only time,” he grunted, rubbing his erection against your clit, “I won’t ejaculate in you if I want to jizz on those soft, fat tits or on your grateful face.” The way he held you open was starting to hurt. Making you gape. “And you will be grateful. For every orgasm, for however many children I can make you make, and-”
“Children?”
Those blister packets. The ones you’d found after picking the lock to his nightstand. They looked like your BC pills. But the prescription only allowed three packs.
You didn’t mean to say anything. Adrian smirked.
“What? If you have a problem with it, I can shackle your other ankle to the bed.”
“No, I- I want to have your babies.”
“I know a world renowned fertility clinic.” Continuing, like you hadn’t spoken at all. “Not only can they safely postpone a woman’s menopause-” Your heart would have dropped if it hadn’t been thumping so hard. “-we can even make sure you have multiples. Not just twins or triplets. How’d you like to have a handful of ‘litters’?”
The scenario was ridiculous. He was basically planning on turning you into a real life Old Woman in a Shoe. You tried to concoct an excuse about the space. But money was no object. Dozens of scenarios, each more kinky and terrifying than the last blasted through your thoughts. And worse of all was he could just move you into a location even more remote. Isolate you. If you disobeyed.
Weakly, you tried to tilt your crotch away from his cock, which only earned you mocking laughter.
“No,” Adrian admonished, finally leaving your clit alone. “You don’t get to waste my semen anymore.” The fact he was technically “wasting” his own seed was pointed out. “Well, you can be modified. Why do computers get to be the only ones with extra storage?”
And with that inquiry Adrian effortlessly pushed himself inside. Both of you climaxed harder and messier than you’d ever before in your lives. The thought of storing your husband’s sperm, like a hive queen to be “self”-impregnated again over and over again so pussy-drippingly horrific, you would revisit it countless times when Adrian finally trusted you enough to leave you alone while he worked.
Note: It’s up to the reader to decide if he’s serious or just tormenting her. :P
