BRED BY MARK -- CHAPTER 2
By Pete Smith
Over time, you become increasingly frustrated at my failure to get pregnant with your baby. You decide to step up your efforts. When one weekend your wife goes out of town with the kids to visit her family, you instruct me to report to your house on Friday night. You require me to make you dinner and afterwards to gently massage your tired feet for a full hour. You've obtained a large supply of Viagra for the weekend and we both ingest some.
Over the course of the weekend, you breed me with your hard cock every two hours like clockwork, depositing load after load of your straight babymakers into my boypussy. Of course, in between breedings you require me to make you meals and give you regular deep-tissue massages.
You administer a pregnancy test to me every few hours and get increasingly frustrated and angry when I fail to get pregnant. You inform me that you know you've got potent sperm. (Even a lesbian couple asked you to be a sperm donor, although you politely demurred, slightly uncomfortable with the idea of lesbian parents.) You conclude that the fertility problem obviously must be with me.
Thereafter, you initiate a series of increasingly bizarre and painful "fertility enhancement" techniques you claim to have discovered browsing the Internet.
First, you order me to lie face down on your bed. You then attach lengths of rope to my wrists and ankles, securely fastening me to the bedposts. You claim that by immobilizing my body in this way, your sperm have a better chance of becoming implanted. After you breed my hole a few times with me securely tied to your bed, my arms and legs are aching and I beg you to untie me. This pisses you off and you claim it shows I don't really want to have your baby after all. When I delicately try to point out to you that your "fertility enhancement" techniques are bullshit, you don't reply. Instead, you silently get off the bed and I can see you rummaging around in your dirty clothes hamper.
A moment later you're standing next to my head, sharply instructing me to "Open up your goddamn mouth." When I open my mouth to again protest being tied down, you quickly and expertly stuff a dirty athletic sock into my mouth. Taken aback, I next see you dangle one of your used jockstraps before my face. I can see how the pouch has been stretched out of shape from holding your big cock and balls. I can also see yellow piss stains. My fascination with your jockstrap is interrupted when the garment disappears from my vision. A second later, you place the inside of the jockstrap against my face, securing it firmly around my head with the elastic straps. You adjust the garment so that the inside of the pouch entirely covers my nose. When I breathe in a moment later, my brain is hit with an intoxicating bouquet: the combined smell of your sweat, piss and what seems like dried precum. I take in a couple of sharp breaths, each time holding your smells deep inside my lungs. The aroma gives me a super sex high like the finest pot on the face of the planet!
Over the next 12 hours, you mount my ass again and again, depositing what feels like a gallon of hot cum deep in my guts. Awed by your animal stamina and seemingly endless supply of hot spooge, I passively accept your forceful use of my hole. In between breedings, I hear you watching TV or making yourself a snack while I remain tied firmly to your bedposts. Sometimes you just put a quick fuck to me before dumping your load in my boypussy. Other times, you put a long and leisurely fuck into me before injecting me with your straight babymakers. I quickly lose count of the number of times my faggot clit explodes onto the sheets below me. Just when I think it is impossible for my clit to get hard again, you mount me and my body responds automatically to being used by a real man like you.
Of course, you never lose sight of your mission and so continue to administer regular pregnancy tests to me. When I again fail them, you decide to return to employing your painful and humiliating "fertility enhancement" techniques. One of these consists of your slapping my asscheeks violently every time you bury your huge hard tool deep in my pussy during the fuck. You inform me that this technique heats my "baby oven" and makes me more likely to conceive.
Inexplicably, this fails to deliver the desired results and so you move on to yet another technique.
You report that one Internet website recommends a vigorous manual massage and stretching of the woman's vagina to increase the chances of conception. Implementation of this idea has me perplexed until you appear at the side of the bed with a latex glove and a bottle of lube. After pulling the glove onto your right hand and lubricating it liberally, you disappear behind me. I feel you get up on the bed and a moment later feel your gloved hand begin to work itself into my pussyhole. It feels terrific to have your fingers inside my hole. It's a different feeling from your awesome hard cock. Somehow it's wild and dirty to know that your hand is exploring my innards.
When I feel all four of your fingers inside my pussy and you start to work your thumb in, I begin to get nervous. What the fuck is this sex-crazed stud trying to do to me? I wonder. As your gloved hand continues to push itself forward into me, panic hits my head and I break out in a sweat. I begin trying to protest through the dirty sock stuffed into my face and to break free of the ropes securing me to your bed. Only muffled desperate noises escape from my mouth, though, and you've secured me so expertly to the bed that I can hardly move at all.
"Take it easy, bitch," you tell me, apparently trying to calm me down. "If we really want this baby, we need to try every technique we can, even if it's a little painful."
Strangely, I find your explanation reassuring and do my best to accept the fertility treatment being administered by your gloved hand to my painfully stretched hole.
A moment later your clenched fist pushes forcefully forward, inserting itself fully inside my impossibly stretched rectum!
"Oh, yeah! Way to go, bitch. You've got my whole fuckin' fist up your goddamn twat now. I really think this is gonna do the trick!"
I feel real pride at your comment.
You begin gently pushing in and out of my hole, painfully breeding me with your lubed fist.
After maybe 15 minutes of fist-fucking, I have cum spontaneously twice and you withdraw your fist and replace it with your hard dripping cock.
By late Sunday afternoon you finally accept that your fertility experiments have been unsuccessful. You end up kicking me out of the house a couple of hours before your wife and kids are due home, although not before making me wash your bed sheets and clean the entire fucking house, so your wife will be happy when she gets home!
I manage to drag myself home, filled to overflowing with your straight babymakers. It feels like your spooge is literally oozing out of my pores. I immediately make my way to the bathroom, where I spend the next two hours on the toilet expelling the seemingly endless supply of jizz you have pumped deep into my guts.
I finally drag myself off the toilet and fall exhausted onto my bed. Twelve hours later, I wake to find myself still dressed and with a bladder that is ready to explode. Still feeling exhausted, I decide to take my piss sitting down in the shower stall with hot water streaming down on me. Just as I finish pissing like a race horse, strange noises erupt from my butt and a moment later more of your cum streams out of my ass and heads toward the shower drain. Fuck, it seems I'll be evacuating your spooge for days!
As I walk back into my bedroom, I suddenly feel something kicking in my stomach. I stop dead in my tracks. A bizarre thought instantly pops into my head: Oh, my God! Am I carrying Mark's baby? This crazy thought is dispelled a moment later when I hear my stomach grumbling. Jeez, I realize my stomach is grumbling because I haven't had anything the fuck to eat in over 12 hours! Shaking my head, I make my way to the kitchen to see what I have in the frig to eat. As I pull open the refrigerator door, an overwhelming feeling of disappointment washes over me. Somehow, as crazy as it sounds, I desperately wanted to be able to give you what you had demanded from me, but knew I never would be able to. Tears stream down my face as I stare blankly at the contents of the refrigerator.
By that evening it seems I had managed to evacuate most of your cum from my guts, but I notice that I am starting to feel anxious and a little shaky. Within a couple of hours, I'm sweating and trembling. I seem to experiencing some kind of withdrawal symptoms. I lay down on my bed feeling weak and a little sick. My pants and underwear are lying on the bed and I hold them against my body to comfort myself. That's when I notice it: The smell of your jizz in my briefs and jeans. I was filled with so much of your cum that some of it had leaked out of my ass into my underwear and pants. The strange thing was that the smell somehow made me feel better. I pulled my briefs into my face and took a few deep breaths. Oh, fuck! The smell instantly made my sick feelings fall away. They were replaced by a calm high in my mind and body. I realize with a start that my body had been going through some kind of withdrawal symptoms because it was being deprived of your cum!
I try to dismiss this implausible idea, but soon after dropping my underwear onto the floor beside the bed I start to feel anxious and sick again. These feelings are quickly relieved by retrieving my dirty briefs and once again inhaling the strong smell of your cum. This time I don't want to take any chances with my health, so I gently lick the inside of the pouch to take some of your dried spooge into my body. Your cum again does the trick and I quickly feel good.
By morning I have licked my briefs and jeans completely clean of your residual cum and start to panic about how I am going to get my next fix. I jerk off and try smelling and tasting my own cum, but it doesn't have the magical qualities of yours. I begin to feel nervous and sick again.
Reluctantly, I call you on your cellphone while you're at work and ask if it might be possible for us to get together soon. You tell me no, you have to work until five and then you and your wife have plans for the evening. Feeling increasingly agitated, I blurt out that I have somehow become addicted to your cum and need to get some more soon or I am really going to be sick. You pause for a moment, seemingly trying to figure out if this is some kind of joke. You realize from the desperation in my voice that it isn't. Then you just laugh and tell me that I must be some major kind of freak to become addicted to a straight stud's spooge. Your cruel laughter is the last thing I hear before you hang up on me.
I am feeling really panicked now. My hands are trembling and my stomach is doing flip-flops. Having no choice, I call you back and with tears streaming down my face beg you to help me. I'll pay you money, I offer. Never the most ethical person in the world, you recognize a good thing when you hear one and make me an offer: You will sell me a daily fix of Mark spooge for $50 per serving. Each morning you will leave a tied-off condom of fresh jizz in the bushes at your house in exchange for cash. The arrangement seems humiliating to me, but I realize I have no choice and readily agree.
I beg you for an early first installment. Laughing out loud, you tell me that for a special $100 "rush handling" fee you will jerk off a load as soon as you get home from work and will leave the condom of fresh spooge in the bushes for me. I humbly thank you for your special consideration.
"Goddamn fuckin' freak!" is all you say before hanging up.
That night at home I heat your sperm in a big metal spoon over the stove before using a plastic syringe to carefully suck up the precious fluid and then inject it into my boypussy. The fix of your hot jizz quickly makes my body and mind feel warm and relaxed. Soon, I am sleeping like a contented baby who has just finished a warm bottle of milk.