Chapter 60: The Bull growls as Amy sinks down onto his monstrous shaft, her transformed pussy stretching obscenely around his girth while Gena's juices smear across his face. 'Fuck yes, breed us again,' Amy moans, her nails digging into Gena's thighs as their swollen breasts brush together, twin streams of milk arcing through the air with each brutal thrust.
The silence after he left was a physical weight, thick and suffocating. His scent, a mix of musk, sweat, and our own milk, clung to the sheets, to our skin. I lay on my side, one hand cradling the impossible curve of my stomach, the other pressed between my legs, as if I could hold the memory of his filling inside me. The ache was returning, a dull throb that echoed the frantic kicks from within.
Gena shifted beside me. Her breathing was still uneven. "It's faster this time," she whispered, her voice raspy. Her hand rested on her own swollen belly. "The... the movement. It's stronger."
I knew what she meant. The life inside me wasn't just kicking; it was rolling, shifting, a constant, squirming pressure that made my skin feel paper-thin. My breasts, heavy and tight, began to leak again, two warm trails tracing paths down my ribs. The let-down was becoming a constant, humiliating reminder of my body's new purpose.
"We can't keep doing this," I said, the words hollow even to my own ears.
"We have to," Gena replied, simply. There was no fear in her voice, just a flat acceptance that was worse than terror. Her eyes, those beautiful, loyal eyes, were fixed on the mountain peaks through the window. "He'll be back. He always comes back when we're full."
The door opened before the heat in my core could become a demanding fire. He stood there, his gaze immediately dropping to our chests, to the fresh milk beading on our nipples. A low sound, like a predator's rumble, vibrated in his chest.
"Up," he commanded.
We moved, our movements clumsy with the weight we carried. We stood before him, two pregnant women, naked and leaking, our bodies on blatant display.
His eyes roamed over us, a craftsman inspecting his work. He reached out a thick finger and swiped it through the milk trickling from my nipple. He brought it to his mouth, sucking it clean without breaking eye contact. The obscene intimacy of the gesture made my cunt clench with a fresh wave of wetness.
"On the bed," he grunted. "Facing each other."
We obeyed, lying on our sides, our enormous bellies almost touching. The sight of Gena like this, her body a mirror of my own transformation, sent a confusing jolt of solidarity and shame through me.
He didn't join us between us. He stood at the edge of the bed, his cock already rigid and jutting from his body. He gripped my hip, his fingers digging into the flesh, and pulled me onto my knees, my back to him. At the same time, he shoved a pillow under Gena's hips, tilting her up, opening her to my view.
"Watch," he told me, his voice a hot breath against my ear. "Watch while I fuck your daughter's pregnant cunt."
He positioned himself at her entrance. I saw the broad, veined head of his cock press against her slick, swollen folds. I saw her body jolt as he pushed in, not with a slow, careful grace, but with a single, brutal thrust that buried him to the hilt inside her.
Gena cried out, a sharp, gasping sound that was half pain, half ecstasy. Her eyes, wide and dark, locked with mine.
"See how she opens for me?" he growled, his hips already beginning a punishing rhythm. His balls slapped against her with each drive. "See how her body takes my cock, even stuffed with my child? Her cunt is a greedy, perfect little hole."
I was forced to watch, my own need coiling into a tight, desperate knot. I saw every inch of him slide in and out of her, glistening and wet. I saw the way her stomach moved with the force of his thrusts. The wet, slapping sounds filled the room, a vulgar soundtrack to the scene.
His hand left my hip and fisted in my hair, yanking my head back. "You want this, don't you?" he snarled in my ear. "You want me to empty my seed in her while you watch, you jealous bitch."
I was. God help me, I was. My own hips were rocking, seeking friction against the empty air. My milk was flowing freely now, dripping onto the sheets below me.
After a few more deep, grinding thrusts into Gena, he pulled out of her with a wet, sucking sound. He was dripping, coated in her arousal. He kept his grip on my hair and guided himself to my own desperate, weeping entrance.
He didn't push in slowly. He rammed into me, a single, brutal invasion that stole my breath. My cunt stretched around his girth, a familiar, overwhelming fullness that made me see stars. He felt even bigger than before, the pressure against my overfull womb immense and terrifying.
He fucked me with the same relentless pace, his body slamming against mine. "This is what you needed, wasn't it?" he grunted, each word a puff of hot air against my neck. "To be filled. To be used. Your tight little cunt is milking me dry."
I couldn't speak. I could only moan, my body responding to his brutal possession with a traitorous, rising climax. I was close, so close, the tension coiling impossibly tight.
But he stopped. He pulled out of me, leaving me empty and throbbing, on the very edge. He moved back to Gena, who was whimpering, her hands clutching at the sheets. He drove into her again, three, four, five deep strokes.
Back he came to me. Out. A few devastating thrusts that pushed me back toward the edge, then withdrawal.
He was playing us. Tuning our bodies like instruments, pushing us both to the brink of orgasm and denying us release. The room was filled with our ragged pleas, the slick sounds of his cock moving in and out of our willing, desperate bodies.
Finally, with a guttural roar, he chose me. He slammed into me one last time, his hips locking against my ass, and I felt the hot, pulsing jet of his release flood my depths. It was the trigger. My orgasm exploded through me, a convulsive, mind-shattering wave that made my vision whiten at the edges. My cunt clamped down on him, milking every last drop from his cock as my own milk sprayed from my nipples in short, sharp arcs.
He held himself there, buried deep, until the last of his spasms faded. He pulled out, and a gush of his seed followed, running down my thighs.
He collapsed onto the bed, his breathing harsh. Gena was crying softly, her own need unmet, her body trembling with frustrated desire.
The heat in my belly was now a simmering, satisfied glow. The kicks inside me felt less frantic, more like languid stretches. For a moment, there was peace.
Then Gena rolled onto her back, a low groan escaping her. Her hand slid between her legs, her fingers circling her clit with frantic, desperate motions. "Please," she moaned, not to him, but to the room, to the universe. "I'm so close... I just need..."
He watched her, a faint, cruel smile on his face. He made no move to help her. He just watched as my daughter brought herself to a shuddering, solitary climax, her body bowing off the bed, a single, broken sob echoing in the quiet room.
The sight of it, her lonely pleasure, felt like the final violation. The peace shattered. We were full of his seed, swollen with his children, and still, it wasn't enough. The hunger was a cycle, a wheel, and we were forever trapped in its turning.