Master PC: Breeding Edition
Copyright© 2025 by North Point
Chapter 2: Seeded and Erased
Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 2: Seeded and Erased - She thinks it’s just a kink. He knows it’s much more. When Chris secretly makes his wife fertile again, her reckless craving for unprotected sex spirals into obsession. Now pregnant — and loving it — Sandy has no idea the clock is already ticking. Because for Chris, the real thrill isn’t fatherhood… it’s the risk.
Caution: This Mind Control Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mind Control Reluctant Heterosexual Fiction Cuckold Sharing Slut Wife Wife Watching Cream Pie Exhibitionism Oral Sex Pregnancy Safe Sex Body Modification Public Sex Transformation
Scene 1: Cleanup
The bedroom was quiet — thick with the scent of sex, the sheets tangled and damp, the air still carrying the ghost of last night’s heat.
Sandy lay sprawled across the bed like an offering left too long in the sun — naked, flushed, one leg thrown carelessly over the edge. Faint streaks stained the insides of her thighs, and her pussy, though no longer swollen with motion, still glistened faintly in the soft wash of morning light — red, sensitive, twitching now and then in her sleep like it remembered what had been done to it.
Chris sat beside her, unmoving.
He hadn’t slept.
Not after what he’d done. Not after what she’d admitted. Not after the realization of what might already be forming inside her.
He reached for his tablet.
The Program opened without hesitation — her profile blooming to life with the smooth, clinical glow of real-time data. The biometric feed pulsed: resting heart rate, vaginal elasticity index, blood oxygen saturation. All stable. All ordinary.
And beneath it — in quiet, definitive text: Pregnancy Status: POSITIVE
Chris exhaled through his nose, slow and soundless.
He tapped to expand.
Conception Window: 6 days agoCurrent Status: Day 19Paternity Index: 98.2% Match — Trent
No surprise.
Just confirmation.
He stared at the name. Let it settle into his chest like a slow, spreading heat. Then blinked it away.
The cursor hovered over the termination protocol — steady, patient, waiting.
He could have done it gently. Nudged her hormone levels just enough to let the pregnancy slip out on its own, over a few days. Let her cramp. Bleed. Wonder. But that came with questions. Missed periods. Emotional volatility. The chance she’d reach for another test.
He didn’t want questions.
He wanted clarity.
So instead, he selected the faster option: → Remove embryo and uterine memory → Reset hormonal profile → Erase conscious memory of prior pregnancy symptoms
And, almost as an afterthought — or maybe not — he added one last line: → Retain faint emotional residue (subconscious unease, mild confusion)
She wouldn’t remember the test. Wouldn’t remember the dread. Wouldn’t remember the whispered confession from the night before.
But something inside her would.
Just enough to feel the absence.
He tapped Execute.
Sandy twitched once in her sleep — a soft, full-body flinch, barely more than a spasm.
A ripple passed invisibly across her belly.
And then the data shifted.
Pregnancy Status: NEGATIVE
Chris closed the window. Let the tablet fall gently to the nightstand.
He looked at her again.
Her chest rose and fell steadily. Her brow furrowed, just slightly, as if caught in the middle of a dream she didn’t want to wake from. Maybe she was. Maybe the phantom of something lost — something taken — still pulsed faintly inside her, unreachable but not gone.
He reached down and placed his palm flat over her lower belly, his touch soft, reverent.
“Next time,” he whispered, “I want to be there when it happens.”
Let me know if you want changes — otherwise I’ll move on to Scene 2: The Agreement.
Scene 2: The Agreement
The scent of coffee curled through the kitchen — rich and grounding, a familiar anchor in the morning quiet.
Sandy stood barefoot by the counter, wrapped in one of Chris’s old T-shirts that hung too long in the sleeves and just short enough at the hem to tease her thighs. She held her mug in both hands like it was a tether, but she didn’t drink. Just inhaled the steam. Stared into it like it might answer the question she couldn’t quite form.
Something felt wrong.
Not sharp, not urgent — just ... displaced. Like she’d woken from a long, vivid dream and couldn’t remember why her heart felt sore.
Chris watched her from the table — eyes steady, fingers still.
“You slept hard,” he said eventually.
She nodded slowly, almost without awareness. “Yeah. I don’t even remember falling asleep.”
He smiled faintly. “Night like that, I’m not surprised.”
She smirked — or tried to — but the expression didn’t quite land. It faded at the edges.
He stood.
Walked to her in silence.
Set a hand at her hip, not possessive but present, then leaned against the counter beside her, letting their shoulders touch.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said.
Her eyes flicked toward him, just once.
“About us,” he continued. “About this thing between us. What turns us on now.”
A pause stretched between them — quiet, but not empty.
“I don’t think it’s a phase,” he said.
Sandy didn’t look away. “No. It’s not.”
Chris’s voice dropped slightly, softened without losing weight.
“I know you like not knowing. You like giving it up. That edge. That risk.”
Her breath caught in her chest.
“Yeah,” she said.
“I’m not trying to take that away from you,” he added, gently.
But his next words came slower. Measured.
“I want to be part of it.”
She turned her head slightly — not resisting, but not yet offering.
“Really part of it,” he said.
Another pause.
“I don’t want surprises,” he went on. “Not anymore.”
She stayed quiet, body still.
“If you’re going to keep taking those risks — bare sex, random partners, ovulation roulette — I need to know. Who’s fucking you. When. How.”
He looked at her.
“I want to be in the loop. Always.”
Her breath came out a little sharper this time. Not from resistance — from recognition.
She nodded. Once.
Then again, firmer.
Chris didn’t stop.
“And if you get pregnant—”
“We keep it,” she said, cutting him off.
There was no hesitation.
Chris met her eyes. And smiled.
“Yeah. We keep it.”
She searched his face for a long moment, something like disbelief dancing just behind her gaze.
“You’re sure?”
He nodded.
“I’m sure.”
“Even if it’s not yours?”
His expression didn’t change.
“I still want you full.”
Sandy bit her lip.
Something in her posture shifted — not quite slumping, not quite surrendering — but yielding, just a little.
“So I can keep doing it?” she asked.
“You can,” he said.
“But I tell you everything.”
Chris nodded again. Steady. Certain.
“You don’t have to know what’s coming next,” he said. “Just make sure I do.”
She shivered.
Not from cold.
A small laugh slipped from her lips — nervous at first, then warmer underneath.
“You’re going to turn me into a mess,” she whispered.
Chris leaned in, kissed her cheek, let his voice sink just above a breath.
“You already are.”
Scene 3: Shifts
Chris made the changes quietly.
Each of Sandy’s boyfriends received subtle tweaks in The Program: • Memory Alignment: They believed they’d always used condoms with Sandy. • Behavioral Shift: Mild attraction to bare sex, countered by social caution. • Fertility Boost: High sperm count, aggressive motility. • Obedience Cue: Accept condom-related decisions from Sandy without pressing the issue.
Then he moved to her profile.
He didn’t remove inhibitions.
He simply made them easier to ignore.
⸻
Sandy’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, and she barely glanced at the message. It was a simple text from Alex: “Free tonight?”
She didn’t bother replying. She just tossed her hair up into a loose bun, slipped on a sundress with nothing underneath, and left the house with a subtle smirk curling on her lips. Her steps were light, her heart drumming steadily with anticipation. Chris didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. He knew exactly what she was doing — and she knew he was watching.
When she arrived at Alex’s apartment, Sandy didn’t knock. She let herself in with the spare key he had given her weeks ago, as if she belonged there. Alex was on the couch, half-distracted by a video game, until he looked up and saw her standing in his living room doorway — one shoulder bare, the neckline of her sundress sagging just enough to hint at the curve of her breast. She said nothing, just walked over, slipped into his lap, and kissed him hard. The game controller clattered to the floor.
Moments later, he was inside her.
Sandy rode him facing the window, the sheer hem of her sundress fluttering around her hips as she bounced on his cock with increasing urgency. Her tits were bare beneath the thin fabric, her nipples stiff and dark against the cool air. Alex’s hands clutched her waist as he struggled to hold back, eyes fluttering shut as she clenched around him.
She leaned in and whispered, “Don’t cum yet ... Not until I say so.”
Alex groaned. “Sandy, we didn’t put on—”
“Shh,” she whispered, kissing him again. “You’re already inside.”
Her hips rolled faster, grinding against the base of his cock, her inner walls tightening with every motion. “Just pull out,” she murmured, pretending to be concerned, but she was already locking her ankles around his back.
His voice cracked with panic and pleasure. “Fuck, Sandy—”
“I don’t care,” she said breathlessly. “I want to feel it. I want to feel you give in.”
He tried. He really did. But when Sandy dug her nails into his shoulders and moaned, “Fill me up,” his restraint shattered.
He climaxed with a cry, gripping her tightly as his cock twitched deep inside her. Sandy gasped as the heat spread inside her, each pulse of his cock triggering little tremors of delight.
When it was over, she didn’t move. She stayed there, still straddling him, her cunt slowly leaking his cum back down onto his thighs.
Alex looked up at her, dazed. “You said you didn’t care ... but what if you...?”
Sandy smiled and leaned down, brushing her lips against his ear.
“That’s the fun part.”
She left Alex’s place with her panties stuffed into her purse, soaked and forgotten, thighs slick as she slid into the car. She didn’t clean herself out. Didn’t even check the seat before she sat. She just drove.
She still had time before her dinner with Marcus.
Marcus was waiting when she arrived — button-down shirt, clean-shaven, wine already breathing on the counter like he thought this was a date.
Sandy didn’t say a word. She stepped in close, took his face in her hands, and kissed him with tongue and teeth.
Marcus tensed, surprised — then dropped the gentleman act and slammed her back against the kitchen island.
“I missed you,” he growled, lifting her dress.
“No, you didn’t,” Sandy gasped, legs already wrapping around his waist. “You missed this.”
She was already soaked. Marcus barely had time to roll on a condom before she grabbed his cock and guided it into her, biting her lip as the thick head spread her open.
He fucked her against the counter, rough and fast, glassware rattling with every thrust. Her ass slapped against the edge. She moaned into his shoulder, dragging her nails down his back, whispering filth between gasps.
“You like fucking me like this?” she panted. “Like someone else already came inside me?”
Marcus groaned, nearly lost control.
“Because I didn’t clean up,” she hissed. “I’m still full of it. And now I want yours.”
He tried to keep his rhythm, but she was clenching so hard, her slick heat swallowing him whole, the friction too perfect.
“I’m not gonna last,” he warned.
“Then don’t,” she moaned, biting his ear. “Fill the condom. Make it drip.”
Marcus came hard, fingers gripping her hips like he was afraid he’d fall. When he pulled out, the condom sagged with cum, the base slippery from where her juices had leaked past the seal.
He slumped against her, chest heaving. She kissed his cheek once, softly.
Then excused herself to the bathroom — not to clean up, but to finger herself over the sight of the condom in the trash, nearly bursting.
She saw Trent the next afternoon.
He was always the cautious one. Always the one to double-check the wrapper, to ask twice if she was sure, to hesitate when he felt her bare thighs press too close.
And he was the easiest to corrupt.
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