Chapter 52: The transformed Bull asserts his dominance over the magically enhanced wives, using their mouths with brutal possessiveness.
The silence was a living thing, thick and heavy with the scent of spent bodies and the low hum of magic. I lay between them, my skin still buzzing, feeling the profound, cellular shift inside me. It was more than a pregnancy; it was a rewriting.
The Bull moved first. He sat up, the mattress groaning under his weight, and his shadow fell over us. His cock, still thick and half-hard, swung heavily between his thighs. He looked down at Gena and me, his gaze not one of affection, but of possession. A farmer surveying his fertile field.
His hands, rough and immense, came down. One tangled in my short, sweaty hair, the other in Gena’s long, silken strands. He didn’t ask. He pulled.
A sharp gasp tore from my lips as my head was wrenched back. Gena made a similar sound, her body going taut. He forced us both onto our knees before him on the rumpled sheets, our faces level with his groin. The heat radiating from him was immense.
“Clean it,” he commanded, his voice a low rumble. “Both of you. Get it ready.”
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird in a cage. But the resistance I expected, the old Amy’s flare of defiance, didn’t come. Something deeper, older, and far more primal had taken its place. I leaned forward, my tongue tracing the thick, salty vein along the underside of his shaft. Gena was already there, her lips closing around the head, sucking gently, her eyes closed in concentration.
The taste was us—her arousal, mine, the distinct, musky flavor of him. We worked in a strange, synchronized rhythm, licking and sucking, our hands braced on his powerful thighs. I felt him swell, the flesh hardening against my tongue until he was fully erect once more, a monstrous pillar of flesh glistening with our saliva.
He pushed Gena back onto the pillows with a casual shove. “Watch,” he told her.
Then his focus was entirely on me. His grip in my hair tightened, guiding me, forcing me down onto my back. He loomed over me, his presence blocking out the light. He didn’t bother with positioning. He just drove into me with a single, brutal thrust that punched the air from my lungs.
“Fuck!” The curse was ripped from me, a raw, honest reaction to the overwhelming fullness.
He set a ruthless pace, each slam of his hips jolting my entire body. My breasts, already feeling heavy and sensitive, bounced with the force. And then I felt it—a strange, warm pressure building, then a sudden, shocking release. A stream of warm, rich milk shot from my nipple, arcing through the air to land on his pounding stomach.
He grunted, a sound of dark approval. “That’s it. Your body knows what it’s for.”
The sight, the sensation, unlocked something feral in him. He fucked me harder, deeper, his rhythm becoming a punishing, animalistic hammering. With each thrust, another spurt of milk leaked from my breasts, coating our skin, the scent sweet and thick in the air.
“Gena,” I gasped, my head thrashing side to side. I didn’t know what I was asking for.
But she did. She moved beside me, her eyes dark with a mixture of awe and hunger. She leaned over, her long hair trailing across my skin, and her mouth closed over my leaking nipple. Her suction was strong, eager, drawing the milk out in a steady, pulling rhythm.
The dual sensation was too much. His cock splitting me open, her mouth drawing sustenance from my body. It was a circuit of pure, debased energy. My orgasm built not as a wave, but as a seismic event, gathering in the deep, magically-altered core of me.
“I’m gonna… I can’t…” My words were incoherent pleas.
The Bull’s thrusts became ragged, his control shattering. “Take it,” he growled, his body slamming into mine one final, devastating time. “Take every fucking drop.”
His release flooded me, so deep and so hot it felt like he was branding my soul. The trigger was pulled. My climax erupted, a silent, screaming convulsion that locked my body rigid, my cunt clenching around him in endless, milking spasms. Through the haze, I felt Gena’s gentle hand on my cheek, her lips still sealed to my breast, drinking steadily as my body was claimed and used.
He collapsed atop me, his weight a solid, suffocating comfort. We were a mess of sweat, milk, and seed. Gena finally pulled away, a tiny trickle of white on her lips. She looked from his still-pulsing cock, buried deep inside me, to my face.
“It’s happening, isn’t it?” she whispered, her voice filled with a terrifying wonder.
I could only nod, my breath coming in ragged hitches. The magic wasn’t just humming anymore; it was singing a victory song in my blood, in my bones, in the new, rapidly dividing cells within my womb. The challenge was over, but the transformation had only just begun.