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“Squeeze it... good. Again. Harder, slut. You can do better than that.” He slapped her bottom, the generous flesh wobbling, his great palm print a pale, pink shadow upon her ass.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped, and obeyed, her pussy clamping around his shaft deliciously tight. “Please, Sir. Please fuck me!”
He liked to make her bend for him on all fours on the bed when she got this far along. Perhaps a month away from giving birth again, her belly was broad and heavy, her breasts swollen, tender, overfull with her milk.
Earlier that morning, he’d made her kneel before him on the bed, staying still and quiet while his fingers stroked, pinched, and twisted her engorged, brown nipples. He hadn’t stopped until the milk dripped in steady rivulets down the lower slopes of each globe, and she pleaded with him to either stop or suck them for her.
He’d been inclined to do neither, instead standing before her and stroking his hard cock until he’d been convinced her begging was genuine, until she pleaded persuasively to let her taste his seed again.
Eventually, he’d granted her wish, loving the greedy way she’d swallowed his cock, taking it down her throat repeatedly, her cheeks blushing bright as he told her what a slut she was at how eager she was to suck cock, to swallow cum.
In a last second pique of playful cruelty though, he’d deprived her of swallowing his seed straight from the source, instead standing over her, gruffly ordering her to hold her great breasts up for him as he sluiced rope after sticky rope of pearly semen over their soft, generous slopes.
Then he’d held her by the hair, ordering her to lick his seed from her tits, to get every last drop or he’d think she wasn’t grateful to be allowed a taste of his essence.
Such diversions only made her pussy wetter, the more degrading the better, her arousal at such a continuously high boil that even the most depraved and humiliating of acts only served to excite her imagination still more.
In later pregnancy, she was positively insatiable, her sex drive shooting into the stratosphere, and he relished taking great—and selfish—advantage of the fact his little Selena became nothing more than a cock-crazed whore once her hormone levels rose high enough.
Now, as she squeezed his cock within the confines of her hot and extremely wet cunt in a bid to get him to begin thrusting, he decided he would have mercy on her.
Taking up a gentle, but steadily increasing plunge and retreat deep within her, he smoothed his palms over her broad, luscious bottom. He loved the smooth lushness of her thighs in late-stage pregnancy, the glowing, wild locks of her hair he used as a bridle to control her by the tight grip of his fist, all serving to amplify his lust higher. Her body was gorgeous in any state, but in her gravid state, something about her made him want her even more.
That alluring blend of vulnerability and animal carnality an aroused, heavily pregnant female gave off in waves was something he found utterly impossible to resist.
He loved the way her belly hung low, stroking it with his palms as he fucked her from behind, her breathing growing more and more heavy as her milk-swollen breasts swayed provocatively under the force of his thrusting. Occasionally, he would give her bottom light slaps, murmuring to her that she was his “good slut” that she was “a good girl to bend and take the cock so quietly and obediently.” As his own arousal increased, he smacked her breasts to and fro, delighting in watching the heavy globes bounce and jiggle, more droplets of milk flying off, soaking into the sheets below.
Finally, he could resist her no longer, finishing with a frantic burst of firm thrusts that had her crying out at almost the same moment his semen poured into the deepest recesses of her sex.
His seed still dripping down her inner thighs, he led his pregnant mate—a female at times like this he liked to think of as his little obedient brood mare—out onto the balcony of the stone palace.
He’d constructed it at the summit of the mountain, many centuries ago. It had been the same summit he’d shown her at the very beginning, the way to her friends—and away from him—open to her, if she’d chosen to take it.
She hadn’t though, and as she shivered in his embrace, the aftershocks of her several hard orgasms still rocketing through her naked and very pregnant body, they both looked down upon those same valleys.
Their offspring had moved on to populate other valleys, mating and breeding with the matakee-ra, and other tribes over the centuries, and now millennia.
They were called the demi-humans, these new peoples, blessed with his strength and long life; Selena’s beauty, compassion, and determination; and the matakee-ra’s mischievous playfulness and animal sensuality.
Their children were now the children of the planet, and their children’s children would further populate the world, growing fruitfully and multiplying.
Long after they—and their deep love—were gone, the spirits of Malcolm and Selena would live on, in the rocks and the trees and the rivers, in the lives and lusts and adventures of the demi-humans.
The inheritors of a world.
The inheritors of everlasting love.
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The End
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