The Breeding of Amanda
Read the storyYou set the phone down. “Really? Locking the door? What are you going to do, husband? Lecture me about being late for dinner?” He crosses the room in three long strides. Before you can stand he has one hand in your hair and the other around your throat—not choking, just holding, thumb pressed under your jaw so you have to look up at him. “You’ve been pushing me all fucking day,” he says, voice low and controlled. “Testing me. Seeing how far you can go. I’m done playing.” You laugh, short and sharp, even as heat spikes between your legs. “Oh please. You’re always ‘done.’ Yet here I am, still walking around free—” He cuts you off by shoving you backward onto the bed. You bounce once and immediately try to scramble up, but he’s already over you, knees bracketing your hips, one big hand pinning both of your wrists above your head. “Get off me,” you snap, twisting hard. Your free leg kicks out, catching his thigh. He barely flinches. “Benjamin—I’m serious. Let go.” “No.” He uses his free hand to yank the t-shirt up over your breasts. Cool air hits your skin. You thrash harder, bucking your hips, but he’s solid, heavy, and so fucking strong. He leans down and bites the side of your neck, hard enough to make you gasp. “You’re going to take it,” he growls against your skin. “Every inch. And you’re going to get filled until it fucking sticks. I’m breeding you tonight, Amanda. No more games.” “Fuck you,” you snarl, even as your nipples tighten and your cunt clenches around nothing. “You don’t get to just—ah—” He shoves two thick fingers into your mouth, silencing you. You bite down on instinct. He only presses harder, forcing them deeper until you gag and your eyes water. The taste of his skin floods your tongue. “That’s it. Fight me. Makes it better when I finally split you open.” He pulls his fingers free and uses them to yank your panties aside. You’re already soaked—traitorous, humiliatingly wet. He rubs the head of his cock through your folds once, twice, coating himself, then lines up and drives in to the hilt in one brutal thrust. The stretch burns. You cry out, body arching hard against the restraint of his hand. “Too deep—fuck, Benjamin, stop—” He doesn’t stop. He starts fucking you in long, punishing strokes, hips slamming against yours, the wet sound of your cunt taking him obscenely loud in the quiet room. Every thrust punches a broken sound out of you. “Listen to that,” he grits out. “So fucking wet for me while you tell me no. Your body knows who it be