Speaker 1: I nearly drove away three times. The club didn't even
look real when I finally found it, just an unmarked
black building tucked between warehouses near the river front, its
windows darkened, music vibrating through the walls like a distant heartbeat.
No sign outside, no line, just a single gold light
above the entrance, and a man in a suit checking
names at the door. My hands were shaking against the
steering wheel. I read the title on my invitation breeding night,
even thinking the words made heat curl low in my stomach.
The invitation had arrived through a private member's app. I
barely understood sent After weeks of flirting in anonymous chat rooms,
I probably should have deleted. The rules had been simple,
dress elegantly, be certain, leave your inhibitions outside, leave pregnant.
I wasn't certain about anything. I sat in the car
for another full minute, staring at my reflection in the
rear view mirror, red lipstick, black dress, nervous eyes, and
wondering what kind of woman willingly walked into something like
this alone. Then I did it anyway. Inside everything smelled
cheap and nasty. The people downstairs barely looked at me,
but I felt watched all the same evaluated. That's when
I met the event organizer, tall, calm, tailored black suit,
the kind of man who never raised his voice because
he never needed to. His eyes moved over me slowly, knowingly.
You came, he said, like he already doubted I would.
Before I could answer, he leaned closer and lowered his voice.
The event is upstairs. My pulse stumbled. I should have
left then, instead, I followed him. You can leave, the
door is unlocked, or you can stay. The man's voice
was calm, clinical. It cut through the low thrum of
from the party downstairs and the quiet, expectant breathing of
the ten other men standing around me in the dimly
lit private suite. My heart hammered against my ribs. He
gestured to them, this is the initiation, a structured experience.
We all understand the dynamic. You will be the focus.
The purpose is breeding, breeding. The word wasn't a shock.
It was the frankness of it, the sheer lack of pretense.
My mouth went dry, but a different heat pooled low
in my belly. This wasn't a hidden desire, but it
was a fantasy. I'd never dare to articulate to be
used openly for a singular, primal goal to be used
until I was pregnant. Do you consent, the man asked,
his gaze unwavering. You must say it. The ten men watched,
their expressions, ranging from intense curiosity to hungry anticipation. They
were all attractive, well dressed, varying in age and build.
They were participants, not predators. This was a game with rules,
and I was being offered the key. I swallowed. My
voice came out steady, surprising me. I consent. I stay
a collective, almost imperceptible shift in the room's energy, approval, excitement.
The man nodded, Then we begin. He guided me to
the stalks. The wood was smooth, cool against my skin.
He helped me place my wrists into the carved openings,
then my ankles into the lower set. The mechanism locked
with a soft final click. I was bent forward, my
back arched, my head lowered. The position was exposing, vulnerable,
but also designed. My mouth was perfectly accessible. My rear
presented the first rule. The man said, standing before me,
each of us will use your mouth to achieve readiness.
You are the instrument. Then we will take our turns
from behind the objective for each is to deposit his
seed as deeply as possible. We will not stop until
every man has completed his attempt. He unzipped his trousers.
The other men formed a loose circle, watching, some already
freeing themselves. The air grew thick with the scent of
male skin and rising arousal. The man's cock, already half hard,
slid into my view. Didn't force it. He placed it
against my lips, open, he commanded. I did. The taste
of him, clean and slightly salty, filled my mouth as
he pushed in. He was thick, and the act was
impersonal efficient. His hands gripped the stalks on either side
of my head, not my hair. He worked himself in
and out of my mouth with steady, deep strokes, his
gaze fixed on some point on the wall. My jaw stretched,
my tongue flattened. I focused on the sensation, the fullness,
the rhythmic pressure, the growing hardness. As he used me
to become fully erect. Drool strung from my lips, he
groaned a low, private sound, and pulled out, glistening and
fully ready. He moved behind me. His hands smoothed over
my hips, gripped them. He yanked up my skirt, ripped
my pants off. The first push of his cock into
my soaked waiting cunt was a blunt, breath taking invasion.
I gasped into the empty air. He didn't pause. He
fucked me with a focused drive in intensity, each thrust
a deep, claiming piston aimed at the core of me.
The stocks held me immobile, absorbing his force. The slap
of his body against mine, the slick sounds of our
joining filled the quiet room. His pace increased, became urgent,
and with a final grinding push, he shuddered and released.
A hot, sudden flood of coum erupted inside me, so
deep it felt like it was reaching my womb. He
held himself there, pulsing for a long moment before withdrawing.
The immediate emptiness was profound, but the wet heat of
his deposit remained pooled within me. He stepped away, and
the next man was immediately before my face. This one
was younger, eager. His cock was already hard. He fed
it to me without preamble, his fingers tangling in my hair,
this time guiding my head. Good girl, he muttered, as
I sucked my lips stretching around him. The taste was different, dirty,
the rhythm faster. He came quickly in my mouth, a
brief salty burst, but he wasn't done. He pulled out,
went around the back, and entered my already used slick channel.
His thrusts were frenetic, passionate. He kissed my shoulder, bit
it gently as he drove into me, chasing his own climax.
When he came, it was with a shout, another gush
of warmth joining the first inside me. Fuck. I could
feel it ooze deeper in me. Then another used me,
and another. The process became a rhythm. A man at
my mouth, the brief intimate service of making him hard,
sometimes with just lips and tongue, sometimes with deeper sucking
draws that made them moan. Then the shift, the hands
on my hips, my ass, the entry, always a shock
of fullness. No matter how many times it happened, each
man had his own style, some slow and deliberate, aiming
for depth, some fast and rough, lost in sensation, one
who whispered praises against my skin as he filled me.
The stalks kept me secure, a constant in the whirl
of changing bodies, changing rhythms. My world narrowed to physical input,
the stretch of my mouth, the thick slide of a cock,
the burn of my inner muscles as they were worked over,
the accumulating liquid heat deep in my belly. Each new
deposit blended with the last, a growing reservoir, a human
cum dumpster. I lost count sensation blurred into a continuous,
overwhelming tide of pleasure, pain fulfillment. I was a vessel,
and they were filling me, one after another, a relentless
shared purpose. A man with a beard, his thrusts measured
and powerful, growled, Take it, you bitch, take all of it.
As he peeked his release, feeling particularly copious, a wave
that seemed to overflow the already full space. The last man,
the tenth, was the largest. By the time he stood
before me, I was dripping, swollen, my cunt a raw,
ragged piece of fucked meat, my body humming from over use.
He looked into my eyes, his own darth with concentration.
He didn't use my mouth long. He was already ready.
When he entered me from behind. It was a conquest.
My breath seized. He filled a space that felt already full,
stretching me to a new limit. He fucked me with
a brutal final urgency, his hands gripping my hips so
hard I knew there would be marks. His climax was
a prolonged, shuddering eruption so deep and voluminous, I felt
a phantom pressure in my stomach. He collapsed against me
for a moment, breathing heavily, before pulling out. Come strung
from my fucked cunt to a disgusting white pool on
the floor between my legs. Silence. The men stepped back.
The first man approached. He unlocked the stalks. The release
of my wrists and ankles made me stagger. My legs
were weak, trembling. I felt heavy liquid, warmth, thick and abundant,
rolled down the inside of my thighs. As I stood upright,
he handed me a towel. It was white, pristine. I
didn't use it. I let the evidence seep onto my skin,
rolling down my legs. The party downstairs is ending, He said,
you may leave as you are, or you may clean
up here. I looked at the ten men. They were
watching me, their expressions now softened, satisfied, respectful. I nodded,
turned and walked unsteadily toward the door. My stomach ached,
and when I got home and out the car, a
huge wet comstain glistened on my seat. I got in
and laid on the couch with my legs in the air,
letting the cum set deep in me. I rubbed my
belly and smiled, said, have fun finding your dad kid,
and laughed loud. Who knew getting pregnant could be so
fucking filthy? I hoped you enjoyed today's sexy story. If
you love this podcast, leave an Apple review, Share what
sexy fantasies you want to hear. Maybe we can make
your dirty dreams come true. See you soon,