Chapter 58: The Bull returns to find his wives pleasuring each other, their magically enhanced bodies glistening with sweat and arousal. He wastes no time flipping Amy onto her stomach and spreading her cheeks wide, his monstrous cock spearing into her tight, transformed pussy in one brutal thrust that makes her scream into the mattress.
The first thing I registered was the wetness. A slow, constant seep between my thighs that had nothing to do with sweat and everything to do with the raw, humming need that had become the new baseline of my existence. I shifted on the silk sheets, and the movement sent a fresh trickle of arousal down my inner thigh. The ache was deep, a hollow, throbbing pressure in my womb that remembered the brutal fullness of him, the searing heat of his seed.
Next to me, Gena stirred. Her long hair was fanned across the pillow, and even in the soft, jasmine-scented light of the room, I could see the changes. Her breasts were fuller, the nipples dark and pebbled against the cream-colored sheets, a faint sheen of moisture on the skin above them. Milk. The thought was a foreign, shocking spike through my own awareness. I looked down at myself. My small, athletic breasts were swollen, heavy, the blue veins more prominent beneath the pale skin. A dull, persistent ache radiated from them.
“Mom?” Gena’s voice was sleep-roughened, but her eyes were wide, mirroring my own dawning horror. “I feel… strange. So empty.”
“I know.” My voice was a rasp. I pushed myself up on my elbows, and the movement made my cunt weep another slick strand of want. The silver ring on my finger felt cool, a stark contrast to the feverish heat of my skin. “It’s like… I can feel every inch of where he was. It’s not enough anymore. Nothing is.”
Gena sat up, the sheets pooling around her waist. Her gaze dropped to my chest, then to the damp patch between my legs. “You’re leaking,” she whispered, her own hand drifting to her stomach. “So am I. It won’t stop. It’s like my body is just… waiting for him. Begging for it.”
She was right. This wasn't just soreness from a rough fuck. This was a fundamental rewiring. My pussy was perpetually slick and open, the lips swollen and sensitive. Every brush of the sheet against my clit was a jolt of electricity, a promise of relief that never came. The deep, internal ache where he’d planted himself was a constant, gnawing hunger.
“We can’t stay like this,” I said, but even as the words left my mouth, my hips gave a small, involuntary roll against the mattress, seeking friction. A low moan escaped me.
Gena’s eyes darkened with shared need. She reached out, her fingers tracing the curve of my hip. “It hurts, Amy. This emptiness. It’s worse than any pain I’ve ever felt.”
Her use of my name, not ‘Mom’, in this context sent a fresh wave of heat through me. This was different. This was about two creatures, bound by this curse, understanding the same primal desperation. Her touch slid lower, over my thigh, and then her fingers were there, dipping into the slickness that coated my folds.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” she breathed, her own breath catching.
I arched into her touch, my brain short-circuiting. “Don’t stop.”
She didn’t. Two of her fingers slid inside me, and I cried out, my back bowing off the bed. It was too much and not enough. Her fingers were slender, a poor substitute for the massive, womb-stretching girth we craved, but the contact was a lightning rod for the tension coiling in my belly. She worked them in and out, her thumb circling my clit with a frantic rhythm.
“Is this what you need?” she murmured, her other hand cupping my heavy breast, her thumb brushing over the nipple. A bead of milky fluid welled up and spilled over.
“Yes… no… god, I don’t know,” I sobbed, my own hands fisting in the sheets. “It’s not deep enough. He ruined me, Gena. He fucked me so deep nothing else will ever fit.”
The door swung open without a sound. He filled the doorway, his amber eyes burning into us. The scent of jasmine was instantly overwhelmed by the musk of animal, of earth, of pure, undiluted male.
“You called,” he rumbled, and it wasn’t a question.
We froze, Gena’s fingers still buried inside me. He strode forward, his gaze locked on the place where we were joined. A possessive, feral smile twisted his lips.
“Playing with your food?” he grunted, his hand closing around Gena’s wrist, pulling her fingers from my cunt with a wet, sucking sound. He brought them to his mouth, licking them clean with a slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue. “Pathetic. You need the real thing.”
He shoved Gena back onto the bed and turned his full attention to me. His hands were on my hips, flipping me onto my stomach with effortless strength. He dragged me to the edge of the bed, my ass in the air, my dripping cunt exposed and clenching around nothing.
“This greedy little hole is still hungry,” he snarled, his fingers spreading me open. “I can smell it. It remembers being stretched around my cock.”
I was beyond words, just a keening, desperate animal. I felt the broad, blistering heat of his tip press against my entrance. There was no gentle preparation, no slow build. He owned this. He owned me.
With a brutal, single-minded thrust, he sheathed himself inside me to the hilt. The scream that tore from my throat was one of pure, unadulterated relief. The emptiness was gone, violently, wonderfully eradicated by the searing stretch of him. He was even bigger than I remembered, his cock a rigid, pounding instrument that filled me completely.
“That’s it,” he growled, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. “Take every fucking inch. Your cunt was made for this.”
He set a punishing pace, each drive of his hips slamming into the mouth of my womb, that deep, sacred space he had claimed as his personal sheath. The pain was exquisite, a sharp, bright counterpoint to the overwhelming pleasure. I could feel the internal walls of my cervix being forced apart, accommodating him, welcoming him home.
“Please,” I begged, the word a broken sob. “Deeper.”
He laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “You want me in your womb, you slut? You want me to pump my cum directly into your belly?”
“Yes! God, yes!”
His thrusts became shorter, harder, more focused. I felt the moment he breached that final barrier, the head of his cock popping past my cervix and into the soft, yielding space beyond. The sensation was unbelievable, a full-body shock that made my vision whiten. He was fucking my uterus, his length pistoning into the very core of my fertility.
“Gena,” I gasped, my eyes finding hers. She was watching, one hand pinching her own nipple, the other frantically working her clit, her expression a mixture of awe and envy.
The Bull reached out, grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling her close. “Watch, little succubus. Watch how I breed your mother. This is where you came from.”
His words pushed me over the edge. My orgasm detonated from that deepest point, a convulsive, screaming wave of pleasure that ripped through me, milking his cock with violent, involuntary spasms. He roared, his own release a hot, torrential flood that filled me beyond reason. I felt it, jet after jet of his seed, painting the inside of my womb, a scalding claim that I knew would take root.
He held himself there, pulsing, for a long moment before pulling out. A gush of his cum followed, dripping onto the floor. He turned to Gena, his cock still glistening with my fluids.
“Your turn,” he said, his voice a dark promise. “Let’s see if we can’t get a litter started in this family.”
He pushed her onto her back, and I collapsed onto the floor, my hand pressed to my lower belly, feeling the impossible heat within. The emptiness was gone, replaced by a devastating fullness. But as I watched him mount my daughter, I knew it was only a temporary reprieve. The hunger was already beginning to stir again, a low, insistent thrum that promised this would never, ever end.