Chapter 32: The Impregnation Fantasy
The silence after Sloane’s camera clicked off was a physical thing, heavy and humid in the master bedroom. Aidan lay spent, watching dust motes dance in the diagonal slash of morning sun. Thea’s tongue had left him clean, but the promise it had seared into his skin remained.
“Okay, superstar,” Sloane said, her voice shifting from director to co-conspirator. She stretched, the bones in her back cracking softly. “Hydrate. We’ve got a concept for this morning. A fun one.”
By the time he returned from the kitchen with three glasses of water, the room had transformed. Thea and Sloane stood by the bed, now clad in matching lace baby dolls of pale ivory. But the shape of them was different. Softer. Their abdomens curved with a gentle, firm swell, the light catching on the subtle seams of silicone prosthetics.
“What’s this?” Aidan asked, handing them the water. He couldn’t help but stare. The effect was startlingly convincing.
“This,” Thea said, patting her rounded belly with a soft thump, “is our narrative. We’re Clara and Elise. A married couple. Deeply in love.” She took Sloane’s hand, interlacing their fingers. “And desperately wanting to complete our family.”
Sloane picked up the thread, her tone taking on a rehearsed, wistful quality. “We’ve tried everything. The charts, the temperatures, the heartbreaking negatives. So we’ve decided on a known donor. Someone kind. Healthy.” Her eyes traveled up his body, landing on his face. “Someone with proven… potency.”
Aidan took a slow drink. The roleplay was a new layer. It felt more structured than the raw hunger of earlier.
“The scene is simple,” Thea directed, steering him to stand before them at the edge of the bed. “First take is clinical. Efficient. You’re doing a job. We’re recipients. It’s about the… deposit.” Her gaze dropped to his cock, which was already stirring under her scrutiny. “Just stand there. Let us… assess the goods.”
Sloane reached out first. Her fingers, cool from the water glass, brushed his length, then wrapped around him. He was only half-hard, but she gasped anyway, a sharp, scripted inhalation. Her thumb smoothed over the head. “Oh, my.”
Thea leaned in, her breath warm. “That’s not going to fit in a cup.”
“No,” Sloane murmured, her clinical facade cracking with a genuine, husky interest. “It’s not.” She looked at Thea, the camera forgotten on the bedside table for a moment. “The script said one try. But we’ll need more than one.”
“Definitely,” Thea agreed, her voice dropping an octave.
The first take was supposed to be quick. Sloane lay back on the bed, her padded belly rising toward the ceiling, her lace pushed aside. Aidan positioned himself between her spread knees, guided by her hand. The director in her whispered, “Just push in. Slow. Look determined, not turned on.”
He pushed. The tight, wet heat of her was utterly familiar, but the visual of her swollen stomach beneath him was a bizarre, potent aphrodisiac. Her scripted gasp twisted into a ragged moan. Her legs, which were to remain politely open, slammed around his waist, her heels locking at the small of his back.
“Forget the plan,” she choked out, her nails scoring his shoulders. Her eyes were wild, looking past him to where Thea had grabbed the camera. “Don’t you dare pull out. Fill me up. I need it. Give me every drop.”
The clinical concept vaporized. Aidan’s thrusts became deep, claiming pistons. He could feel the hard curve of the prosthetic against his abdomen with every drive. Sloane chanted “yes” and “please” and “right there,” her hands fisting in the sheets. The camera was a silent witness as his control snapped. With a guttural shout, he buried himself to the hilt and let go, pumping his release into her in hot, pulsing waves.
He collapsed beside her, breath sawing. Sloane’s hand immediately went to her stomach, rubbing slow circles. “Oh, god,” she panted, a dazed, triumphant smile on her face. “I can feel it. I can feel how deep that went.”
Before he could recover, Thea was there. She straddled him, her own rounded belly a soft weight against him. She was already soaking wet, her entrance slick and eager against his renewed hardness. Sloane, recovering with shocking speed, raised the camera, aiming it at the point where their bodies joined.
“My turn,” Thea breathed, sinking down onto him in one smooth, devastating motion. She threw her head back, the lace of her babydoll straining. “I want your babies too, Aidan. I want to be full of you. I want to feel that seed take root.”
Her riding was relentless, a fierce, rolling rhythm. She watched herself impaled on him in the camera’s flip-screen, her expression one of rapturous greed. Aidan held her hips, his fingers sinking into her soft flesh, helping her grind down onto him. The pressure built again, a staggering feat after his first climax. It was the visual—the two fake pregnant bellies, the absolute hunger in Thea’s face, the unblinking eye of the lens capturing it all—that pushed him over the edge a second time.
His release was a shuddering, full-body convulsion. Thea milked him through it, clenching around him until he was utterly empty.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breaths and the distant laughter from the pool terrace below. Then, moving in sync, the women lay back side by side, their legs spread wide. Sloane aimed the camera down the length of their bodies, a master shot.
Aidan’s cum, thick and white, began to seep out of Suki’s black pussy, a vivid contrast against her skin. It trickled onto the sheets beneath her. From Thea, it pooled momentarily before spilling over her own swollen lips.
“I feel so fertile,” Sloane moaned to the ceiling, her hand still on her stomach.
“I feel chosen,” Thea whispered, her fingers delicately spreading herself open for the camera. “I can feel it working.”
Aidan sat up on his elbows, watching them, watching the evidence of his exhaustion spill from them. The six-load finale loomed in his mind, a mountain now slightly less impossible. He’d given two. He had four left in him. He had to.
Sloane finally lowered the camera. She turned her head on the pillow, a smirk replacing the dreamy maternal expression. “Not bad for a morning’s work, donor. You stick to that schedule, and we’ll have our happy ending by sunset.”
Thea giggled, a light, girlish sound that clashed wonderfully with the explicit tableau. She kicked her feet playfully. “Maybe we should order him a steak lunch. You know, for stamina.”
Aidan just laughed, a low, weary, and strangely happy sound that echoed in the sunlit room. He was in deep, and the only way out was through.