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I want to breed Elira. I don't just want to fuck her. I want to breed her like the female she is. I want to fuck her from the back and from ontop. She would come to bed every night trembling, the loud crackling of the bed frame still in her eardrums, knowing my sperm would burst and stay in her pussy and yet -- unable to refuse. She would look at me on the side in sadness and resentment, a tear running down her cheek, soaked by her sweat and mine almost as much as the cold heavy sheets, and then her lights would be out from exhaustion.
And yet little by little, from the depths of her animal brain, the desire to be bred would start to surface. Of course she'd be annoyed at the wirey proofs of postpubescence she'd have to spit along the jelly like chunks coming out of my cock. Of course she'd wash herself roughly to wipe away my stench even if the soap bubbles and the sponge felt bad against her lips. Of course she'd refuse to look in the mirror any time I had gripped her too ruggedly by the legs, or the arms, or the breasts, or the buttocks, or the neck. Of course... but...
Her breathing would stop cold the day she'd realize her period really didn't come, and would not come. She'd start paying notice to how her belly feels, and she'd face a dilemma: Would telling me so her nightly torture stops would be worth admitting the truth to someone else, and so herself? Could her heart take it? Could her body take it? She'd be stuck in indecision, and it would erode her defenses. One day she'd think she's not just letting it happen, but that she wants it to keep happening. Even as her belly swoles. As her breasts grow and spurt milk. As it becomes obvious she's with child. She would kiss me and moan with with pleasure.
She would wish it wasn't over yet. She would wish it would start again. She would it would never end.