Chapter 57: The Bull's knot stretches Amy's transformed pussy to its limits as Gena watches with hungry eyes, her fingers working her own dripping cunt while whispering filthy encouragement into her mother's ear.
The scent of our own sex hung in the air, a heavy, musky perfume that clung to the sheets and our skin. My cunt still throbbed from his last claiming, a sore, well-used emptiness that ached for a different kind of filling. Gena was tracing the silver band on my finger, her touch light, her thoughts clearly far away.
“Do you ever think about the mountains?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “The cold, clean air?”
Before I could form an answer, the door groaned open. He didn’t need to announce himself; his presence was a shift in the atmosphere, a drop in pressure that made the hair on my arms stand up. The Bull’s eyes glowed with a low, amber light in the dim room, fixed on us with possessive intensity.
“Up,” he commanded, his voice a gravelly rumble that brooked no argument.
Our bodies moved on instinct, trained by countless cycles. We stood on the plush rug, naked and waiting. He circled us, a predator assessing his prey, his hot breath ghosting over our shoulders. Then his hands were on us, rough and demanding. He spun me around to face Gena, pressing my front against hers. Our breasts flattened together, nipples hardening instantly. His massive frame crowded us from behind, pinning us in place.
“Still so greedy for it,” he grunted, his cock sliding through the cleft of our asses, then down, the thick, hot head nudging against both our slits at once. We were both slick, our bodies betraying any lingering thought of resistance.
He teased us, rubbing his length back and forth, coating himself in our combined wetness. The feeling was maddening. Gena’s breath hitched. “Please,” she murmured, a desperate sound.
With a low growl, he adjusted his angle. The broad tip pressed against my entrance, and I knew. He wanted the tighter fit first, the one that made him work for it.
He drove into me with a single, brutal thrust that stole my breath. I cried out against Gena’s shoulder, my fingers digging into her back. It was too much, too soon, stretching me to a burning ache. But he wasn’t finished. He pushed deeper, past the usual barrier, a searing, internal pressure that made my vision swim.
“Oh god,” I gasped, my legs trembling. He was inside my cervix, a violation so profound it felt like he was rearranging my very core. The head of his cock lodged deep in the mouth of my uterus, a solid, unyielding presence that promised permanent occupation.
“Fuck, yes,” he snarled, his hips beginning a slow, punishing rhythm. “Take it. Your womb is mine.”
Each inward plunge was a shock to my system, a direct claiming of the space where his children grew. Gena writhed against me, her own need a palpable force. She reached between our bodies, her fingers finding my clit, rubbing in frantic circles as he fucked into the deepest part of me.
“Can you feel him, Mom?” she breathed into my ear, her voice thick with lust. “Can you feel him planting his seed right at the source?”
I could only moan, a broken, continuous sound. The pleasure was a sharp, blinding wire, pulled taut with every thrust. It was pain and ecstasy fused into one unbearable sensation. My orgasm built not in my clit, but deep within, a convulsive tightening around his invading shaft.
“I’m… I’m coming,” I choked out.
His pace turned frantic, animalistic. “Come on my cock, you fertile bitch. Milk my cum into that cunt.”
The climax ripped through me, a raw, screaming thing that left me limp and shaking. He roared, his own release a hot, pulsing flood that seemed to fill me beyond capacity. I felt it, a searing gush that coated the deepest chamber of me, a claiming that felt more permanent than any before.
He held himself there, buried to the hilt, for a long moment before pulling out. A gush of his seed followed, dripping down my thighs. He turned his attention to Gena, spinning her around and bending her over the bed.
As he entered her with the same brutal efficiency, I slid to the floor, my hand pressed to my lower belly. It felt different. Hot. Full. A deep, resonant ache that promised a swift and certain result. I looked at Gena, her face a mask of rapturous agony as he took her, and I knew. The cycle was already turning again. The emptiness was gone, replaced by a new, terrifying gravity.