Chapter 34: The Sauna's Second Wave
The clean clothes felt like a fragile membrane between the heat we carried inside and the mall’s cold, dead air. The silk, velvet, and lace were already damp with sauna sweat, clinging to places that were tender, well-used. We moved in a loose group, the breeders shuffling behind us, a perimeter of silent, obedient hunger. The silence of the mall was a physical presence, a weight that made the click of Dee’s impractical heels on the tile sound like a betrayal.
“We need practical things,” Mary stated, her eyes scanning the directory beside a shattered fountain. “Sealable containers. Water purification tablets if they exist. Cordage.”
“We need a place that feels like a place,” Ellie countered, her hand brushing a display of mannequins dressed in hiking gear. “Something with walls that aren’t glass. I’m tired of being on display.”
It was the dichotomy that kept us moving: Mary’s stark necessity, Ellie’s yearning for sanctuary. My engineering mind sided with Mary, but my nerves, still singing from the sauna, understood Ellie’s need for a nest.
We found it past the sporting goods store, behind an unmarked steel door Mary pried open with a crowbar from a hardware kiosk. It wasn’t a retail space. It was a supply corridor, low-ceilinged, lit by the dim emergency lights that hummed somewhere in the building’s dying heart. It smelled of concrete dust and old cardboard. At its end was another door, this one labeled ‘FURNITURE REPOSITORY – STOCK’.
Inside was a cavernous space, a warehouse within a warehouse. It was a graveyard of display items: sleek sofas stained with water damage, racks of mattresses still wrapped in plastic, towers of cardboard boxes containing unassembled bookshelves and tables. The air was chill and still, thick with dust motes dancing in the slivers of light from high, filthy windows.
“It’s perfect,” Ellie breathed, her voice full of wonder. She walked to a large, L-shaped sectional sofa, its upholstery a microfiber suede in a bland beige. She ran a hand over it. “It’s clean. It’s soft.”
Nancy immediately began pulling plastic sheeting off a pile of queen-sized mattresses. “We can make proper beds. Layers of them.”
The daughters scattered, exploring. Anya and Bec found a pallet of decorative throw pillows, pulling them free with giggles. Cass discovered a rack of faux fur blankets, still in their packaging. Dee, ever quiet, located the practical prize: a steel shelving unit stacked with janitorial supplies—bottles of bleach, rolls of plastic sheeting, bundles of fresh cloths.
For an hour, we worked with a quiet, focused energy. We shoved sofas together to form a large, square enclave. We laid out mattresses, creating a deep, padded floor. We spread blankets and heaped pillows. Mary and I, with Dee’s help, used the plastic sheeting and duct tape to cover the high windows, casting the room in a deep, private gloom broken only by a few battery-powered lanterns we’d scavenged earlier. We created a fort. A bunker. A den.
The breeders stood where we’d left them, just inside the main door, watching. Their obedience was absolute, unnerving. They’d fought for us, killed for us, fucked us raw on cold stone. Now they waited.
We finished. We stood in the center of our new nest, surrounded by the faint, chemical smell of new furniture and clean plastic. The silence settled again, but this time it was a different quality. It was expectant. The heat from the sauna, banked during our labor, began to reassert itself, prickling under my silk top. Ellie caught my eye. She saw it too. The practicality was spent. The raw, hungry core of our existence remained.
“They were good,” Nancy said, nodding toward the silent figures. “They waited. They didn’t… interfere.”
“They’re learning parameters,” Mary observed. “Their cognitive decay seems to have plateaued around task retention and reward association.”
“So reward them,” Ellie said softly, her fingers going to the top button of her velvet dress.
It wasn’t a command. It was an invitation. A shared decision. The logic was inescapable. They were our tools, our protectors, our genesis. Their obedience was our safety. Reinforce the behavior.
I looked at my daughters, at my wife, at my step-daughter. We were all thinking the same thing. The filmy barriers of our favorite clothes, now dust-smudged from work, felt suddenly absurd. We were clean beneath them, but we weren’t meant to stay that way.
“Foreplay,” I said, the word hanging in the dusty air. “Our choice. How we want them first.”
A slow, understanding smile spread across Nancy’s face. She walked toward her breeder, her hips swaying in the tight satin gown. She stopped before him, looking up at his placid, ruined face. “You,” she whispered, her hands going to his stained trousers. She unfastened the button, drew down the zip. “You get my mouth first. For being so patient.”
She sank to her knees on the concrete floor, not caring about the dust. She didn’t hesitate. She took his soft, thick cock into her hands, stroking him to a rapid, morbid rigidity. She leaned forward, her long curls cascading over his thighs, and took the blunt, purple head past her lips.
The sound was a wet, sucking pull. She worked him with a dedicated, sensual focus, her head bobbing, her tongue swirling around the corona. One hand cupped his heavy balls, rolling them gently. The other braced against his hip. Her eyes were closed in concentration, a low hum of pleasure vibrating in her throat as he hardened fully against her palate.
It was a signal. The room broke into motion.
Ellie approached hers. She didn’t kneel. She turned her back to him, leaning her voluptuous body against his chest. Reaching behind her, she guided his hands up under her velvet dress, over the silk of her stockings, to the bare, plump flesh of her ass. “Touch me,” she murmured, arching into him. “Just touch. Get me ready for you.” His cold hands kneaded the monumental curves, his fingers digging into the yielding flesh, sliding down to find her already wet and open. She gasped as two fingers entered her easily, her head falling back against his shoulder.
Mary was clinical. She directed her breeder to sit on the arm of the sofa. She stood before him, her practical mind assessing the task. “Optimal arousal requires varied stimulation,” she stated, as if to herself. She opened his trousers, took his cock in one firm hand, and began to pump him with a steady, rhythmic motion. With her other hand, she unbuttoned her own sensible blouse, pulling the fabric aside. She brought her breasts together around his shaft, the immense, pale orbs engulfing him in a suffocating valley of warm, soft flesh. She began to move, using her hands and the pressure of her tits to create a slick, tight channel, her eyes watching his face for physiological responses.
My daughters chose their own methods. Anya and Bec teamed up on one, Anya taking his cock deep into her throat while Bec positioned his head between her own massive breasts, smothering him in her cleavage, riding his face with her dripping cunt. Cass was on her back on a mattress, her breeder kneeling over her, as she used both hands and her mouth on him with a greedy, athletic zeal. Dee was the most surprising. She led hers to a stack of blankets, made him lie down, and then straddled his face, lowering her soaking pussy onto his mouth while she took his cock in her hand, jerking him off with slow, intense twists of her wrist.
I watched them for a moment, this tableau of depraved gratitude. The room filled with the sounds of wet flesh, sucked air, choked groans from the breeders, soft moans and directives from my family. The dusty air now carried the tang of salt and sex.
Then I turned to mine.
He stood, as always, waiting for my initiative. I closed the distance. I didn’t touch his cock. I reached up and pulled my silk camisole over my head, letting it drop. I unhooked the lace bra, my breasts falling free, their weight a familiar ache. I saw the dull flicker in his dead eyes, a tracking of movement, a recognition of exposed flesh.
“You like these?” I asked, my voice low. I cupped them, lifting their heavy fullness. “You’ve fucked them before. You want to again?”
I didn’t wait for an answer. I pushed him back until his legs hit a low coffee table. I made him sit. I stood over him, then leaned forward, engulfing his rigid length between my tits. The skin was fever-warm from my body, from the work, from the latent sauna heat. His cock was a stark, cold line trapped in that hot, soft vise. I squeezed my arms together, creating intense pressure, and began to move, sliding him up and down through the slick valley I’d made with my own sweat and saliva.
I looked down at him. His hands came up, large and cold, and covered my breasts, his thumbs rubbing roughly over my nipples. The dual sensation—the friction on my sensitive peaks, the slide of his shaft against my sternum—sent jolts directly to my core. My cunt clenched, empty and demanding.
“That’s it,” I hissed. “Use them. Get your reward.”
Around the room, the foreplay was escalating. Nancy was gagging softly, taking her breeder deeper into her throat, tears beading at the corners of her eyes. Ellie was panting, grinding herself against the fingers pumping in and out of her, her velvet dress hiked up around her waist. Mary’s breeder was shuddering, his hips twitching as she milked him with the tight, wet friction of her tits.
It couldn’t last. The intention was a catalyst, not a conclusion. We were stoking the very engine that would dismantle our control.
Nancy pulled off with a gasping, spit-strung breath. She looked up at her breeder, her lips swollen, her chin glistening. “Okay,” she panted. “Okay, now. Fuck me. However you want.”
It was the permission. The final release.
Her breeder moved. He didn’t lift her. He bent, hooked his hands under her arms, and dragged her up the mattress on her back. He shoved her satin gown up to her neck, exposing her completely. He positioned himself between her splayed legs, and with a single, powerful thrust, buried himself to the root inside her.
Nancy’s shriek was one of pure, shocked ecstasy. The force of it slid her further up the mattress. He didn’t pause. He set a brutal, deep pace, each slam of his hips punching a wet sound from her lungs. Her hands flew to her own breasts, squeezing them as he ravaged her.
It was the trigger. The room dissolved into a frenzy of breeding.
Ellie’s breeder withdrew his fingers, lifted her by the hips, and bent her over the back of the sofa. He yanked the velvet dress up, exposing the full, glorious pale moons of her ass. He spat onto his hand, slicked his cock, and drove into her from behind in one long, continuous stroke. Ellie cried out, her fingers scrabbling at the upholstery, her body jolting forward with each impact.
Mary’s breeder erupted between her breasts with a guttural groan, stripes of white shooting across her chin and collarbone. He was barely spent before he pushed her backwards onto the mattress, pushing her legs up and apart, and plunged back into her dripping cunt, the spent come acting as additional lubrication.
My daughters were overwhelmed. Anya’s breeder lifted her bodily, impaling her on his cock as he stood, her legs wrapping around his waist as he bounced her on his shaft like a ragdoll. Bec and Cass were both taken from behind, bent over boxes and furniture, their cries echoing as they were penetrated with ruthless, jackhammer intensity.
My own breeder’s hands tightened on my breasts. He stood up suddenly, breaking my titty-fuck. He turned me around, pushing me forward until I was bent over the same coffee table he’d been sitting on. The wood was cool and hard against my belly. He kicked my legs wider apart. I heard the wet sound of him spitting into his palm again, then the broad, insistent pressure of his cockhead against my entrance.
“Do it,” I snarled, pushing back against him. “Breed me in this fucking nest. Claim it.”
He shoved forward. The stretch was instantaneous, breathtaking. He filled me in one relentless, deep invasion, his pelvis slamming against my ass. He didn’t start slow. He set a punishing rhythm from the first stroke, each one a deep, grinding piston that rubbed my inner walls raw and hammered my cervix. The coffee table shuddered with the force.
The warehouse became a symphony of obscenity. The wet, rhythmic slapping of flesh on flesh. The choked cries, the guttural groans of the breeders, the squeak of sofa springs, the rustle of plastic mattresses. The air grew thick, hot, heavy with the musky stench of sex and sweat, overriding the dust and chemicals.
My mind fragmented. There was only the sensation of being split open, of being used, of the deep, internal bruising that felt like a brand. His cold hands gripped my hips, his fingers surely leaving bruises. I reached between my own legs, finding my swollen clit, and rubbed frantic circles as he fucked me. The added stimulation tipped me over the edge quickly, a sharp, convulsive climax that made my cunt spasm wildly around his driving cock. He didn’t falter. He used my tightening channel, fucking me through the orgasm, prolonging the painful-sweet agony.
I saw Ellie, her face pressed into the sofa cushions, her mouth open in a silent scream as her breeder pounded into her, one hand fisted in her long blond hair. I saw Mary, her legs in the air, her expression one of intense, analytical focus even as her body was rocked by the relentless thrusts above her. I saw Nancy, on her back, her breeder pinning her wrists above her head as he drove into her, her eyes rolling back in her head.
My daughters were lost in it, their younger bodies meeting the onslaught with a frenzied, shameless abandon, their exaggerated curves jiggling and swaying with the force of their taking.
My second climax built, deeper, slower, a tectonic pressure. I matched his rhythm, meeting each thrust, forcing him deeper. “Come in me,” I grunted, the words ripped from me. “Fill this fucking nest with your seed. Mark it.”
He understood. His thrusts became ragged, losing their mechanical precision. A series of short, deep jabs. Then he stilled, buried to the hilt, and I felt the hot, sudden flood inside me. The pulse was weaker than before, a phantom sensation, but the volume was staggering. It filled me, a cool rush in my overheated core, overflowing almost immediately to drip down my inner thighs onto the floor.
He collapsed over me, his dead weight pressing me into the table. Around the room, one by one, the others finished. The symphony descended into a cacophony of final grunts, choked sobs, and the wet, soft sounds of separation.
Silence, deeper than before, seeped back in. It was punctuated by heavy breathing, the rustle of bodies moving on sensitive flesh.
We lay where we fell, sprawled across the furniture of our new home, spent, leaking, marked. The breeders withdrew, returning to their patient, silent vigil near the door. Their reward was given. The obedience was reinforced.
After a long time, Ellie lifted her head from the sofa cushion. A strand of blond hair stuck to her damp cheek. She looked at me across the space, her eyes hazy but clear. She smiled, a slow, exhausted, real smile.
“Home,” she whispered.
It was. It was a home built on a foundation of filth and obedience, fucked into existence in a dust-choked warehouse. We were its heart, its warm, wet, fertile core. The heat from the sauna was no longer just inside us. It was in the air we’d heated with our bodies, in the sweat-slick furniture, in the pools of cooling come on the mattresses.
Mary sat up, wincing slightly. She looked at the scene, at the stained velvet of her mother’s dress, at the seed dripping from between her own thighs onto the faux fur blanket. “Hygiene protocol is compromised,” she stated, but there was no urgency in her voice. “Containment is now the priority.”
Nancy let out a weak laugh, curling onto her side. “Contain this,” she mumbled, gesturing vaguely at her own devastated body.
We drifted into a sated, collective stillness. The den was truly ours now, consecrated in the only way we knew. The distant, guttural groans from the mall beyond the walls seemed softer, farther away. For now, the nest held. The walls, for the moment, were solid.
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