Master PC: Breeding Edition
Copyright© 2025 by North Point
Chapter 4: Overflow
Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 4: Overflow - 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: Embodied
It started with her shirts not fitting right.
Not dramatically — just enough that Chris noticed how the hem clung tighter across her belly, how the fabric stretched awkwardly over her growing hips. She tugged at them at first, distracted, even a little annoyed. But it didn’t take long before she gave up on hiding anything at all.
One morning, she stood in front of the bedroom mirror in a camisole that no longer reached her navel and traced the gentle curve of her lower belly with both hands. She said nothing at first — only studied herself with a slow, curious tilt of her head — then brushed her thumb across her own nipple and exhaled like she’d just touched an exposed nerve.
Chris stood in the doorway, watching. Watching her learn herself again. Watching her body bloom.
“You’ve been staring a lot lately,” Sandy said, her voice low and unhurried as her fingers skimmed her breast again. “Is it the belly? Or the tits?”
Chris stepped behind her, his hands slipping around her waist, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“All of it.”
Her smile curled. “Good.”
⸻
The changes didn’t stop. And they didn’t slow.
Her arousal, once just a response, became a constant condition — not a mood, not a spike, but a baseline. A fact. A pulse under her skin. Her breasts ached near constantly. Her clit throbbed at random. Her underwear was soaked within minutes of putting it on.
After the second week, she stopped wearing panties entirely around the house. Even sleep shorts were pointless — they came away wet and stayed that way.
By week four, she had to start wearing period pads anytime she left the house. Her body simply wouldn’t stop leaking arousal. A wet patch on her leggings had already gotten her a look in the grocery store line, and while the attention was thrilling, the logistics were impossible to ignore.
“It’s like I’m in heat,” she muttered one night, tugging off a second soaked pair of panties and tossing them onto the bathroom floor. “I swear I’m leaving a trail behind me.”
Chris didn’t disagree.
He just reached for her, dropped to his knees, and slid his tongue between her thighs — the scent of her slick thick and warm, more intense than ever, as if her body was begging for more even while already carrying proof it had been filled.
⸻
She touched herself constantly now.
Not even always out of need — just to take the edge off. At her desk, while making tea, during conference calls. Once, Chris walked into the kitchen to find her bent over the counter, two fingers buried deep, her other hand under her shirt, rubbing slow, desperate circles over a breast that looked ready to burst.
“I couldn’t concentrate,” she said, not even trying to stop. “My cunt’s been pulsing all day.”
He fucked her right there — hard and deep — and when he pulled out, she looked down at the puddle forming between her thighs and laughed breathlessly.
“You’re just adding to the problem.”
⸻
Their sex had changed too.
Chris no longer felt like he was just inside her. He felt like he was anchoring her. Like his cock was the only thing holding her in place while her body kept spiraling higher, wetter, needier by the hour.
Sandy wasn’t shy about it either.
She would climb onto his lap unprompted, grind against him during movie night, wake him up at 3 a.m. with her fingers wrapped around his shaft, whispering, “It won’t go away. You have to do something.”
And he did.
But no matter how many times he filled her, no matter how deeply he stayed inside her, it was never enough to satisfy her. Only enough to calm the craving for a while. To lull it. Delay it.
⸻
At night, when she was half-asleep in his arms, her thighs still damp from the last session, Chris would open The Program and monitor everything.
It wasn’t just arousal.
Her entire hormonal profile had shifted into something aberrant — an unforeseen side effect of stacking long-term fertility enhancements with hormonal tolerance boosts and emotional feedback conditioning. Her dopamine levels were elevated, her oxytocin thresholds skewed, her vaginal secretions upregulated beyond normal gestational bounds.
In simple terms: she was being driven mad with lust — not by accident, but by design.
By his design.
Or rather, by his oversight.
⸻
Still, he couldn’t stop watching her change. Couldn’t stop getting hard when she pulled her top up to show him how swollen her breasts had gotten, or when she came twice in a row just from humping the bed, muttering, “I’m not even touching my clit...”
One night, she walked into the living room wearing nothing but one of his hoodies unzipped in front. Her belly jutted slightly. Her thighs gleamed. Her nipples strained against the inside cotton, outlined like soaked paper.
“I need it,” she said, already turning. “And I don’t care if I break the couch this time.”
Chris took her from behind — fast, hard, relentless — and came deep inside her while she trembled and shouted and finally collapsed into the cushions with a strangled moan that sounded half euphoric, half broken.
⸻
When he carried her to bed after, she clung to his neck, lips brushing his cheek.
“I’m so fucking horny,” she whispered. “It never stops.”
Chris didn’t sleep that night.
He stayed awake beside her, watching her breathing slow, her body twitch occasionally in lust-fueled dreams, and wondering just how far she would go before she finally broke.
And if he would let her.
Scene 2: Carrying and Craving
They all saw it instantly.
Not just the curve of her belly — now firm and unmistakable beneath tight clothes — but the way she embraced it. Sandy didn’t hide her pregnancy; she flaunted it. Her tops stretched taut over the subtle swell, her dresses clung to the outline like they’d been tailored for it. Her breasts, engorged and swollen, pressed heavy and proud against thin fabric, nipples puffed and dark, clearly visible beneath anything she wore. She walked like a woman aware of the effect she had — and eager to provoke it.
To her lovers, Sandy was no longer just irresistible.
She was dangerous.
⸻
Marcus came first — and not just once.
She opened the door wearing a crimson crop top that barely held the weight of her breasts and clung lovingly to the slope of her belly. Her yoga shorts rode scandalously low, skimming the crest of her hips, revealing the gentle arc that had grown too prominent to ignore. Her nipples, swollen and clearly braless, poked at the fabric with unapologetic stiffness.
Marcus just stared.
“Jesus, Sandy...”
“Problem?” she purred, stepping into his space, reaching for his hand and guiding it down her front — first over the swell of her bump, then lower, right over her wet heat. She exhaled as his fingers brushed the soaked crotch of her shorts.
“I’m already leaking,” she whispered, biting her lip. “Want to see what your baby feels like?”
She dropped to her knees before he could answer, her hands working open his jeans with the kind of practiced urgency that made him groan. His cock sprang free, half-hard but pulsing, and she licked the underside slowly — teasing him with her eyes, her breath hot against his skin. Then, without warning, she swallowed him to the hilt, moaning low and hungry as her tongue danced and her throat tightened around him.
He gasped, his hand tangling in her hair.
She pulled back long enough to grin and whisper, “Still think this bump came from just one load?”
He didn’t last. Not with the way she sucked him — deep and eager, like she wanted to milk him dry on the spot. His first climax spilled across her lips and chin, some of it streaking across her flushed tits as she gasped and licked her fingers clean.
“One,” she whispered, licking a droplet from her breast. “Next.”
Round two began with Sandy bent over the dining table, her crop top now hiked up to bare her swinging breasts, her shorts peeled halfway down her thighs. Her belly hung forward beneath her, tight and firm, shifting gently with each breath. She reached back, spread her lips, and gave Marcus a look over her shoulder.
“Still think I can take another?” she asked, wiggling her hips.
He didn’t bother replying — just stepped behind her, grabbed her by the waist, and pushed in deep. Her pussy swallowed him in a wet, hungry clutch, the obscene squelch of penetration making them both moan. With each thrust, her belly bounced, her tits smacked softly against the table, and her breath hitched in ragged gasps.
“You feel that?” she groaned. “You feel how this pregnant pussy needs you?”
“Fuck,” he gasped, gripping her tighter. “You’re soaked.”
She clenched around him, looked back with wild eyes. “Then fill me again. Add to it. You think this belly’s big now?”
He came with a strangled groan, pumping a second load into her, warm and thick. When he pulled out, it gushed down her inner thighs, soaking the back of her legs.
“Two,” she said, reaching between her legs to smear some of it up across her belly.
The third time, she made him kneel in front of her. She sat back on the floor, legs spread, belly lifted, her fingers working her clit as she stared into his eyes. His cock twitched, already slick with her juices and his own spend.
“Come on,” she teased. “Mark your baby. I want it dripping down my stomach.”
He jerked himself fast, groaning as he painted her bump with long, sticky ropes. The cum glistened across her navel and slid lower, pooling just above her mound. She dipped a finger through it and sucked it slowly into her mouth.
Chris would get that photo.
⸻
Trent got her next — in public.
She wore a white maternity dress that clung lovingly to her belly and turned translucent in sunlight. Her nipples were stiff points under the thin fabric, and she hadn’t bothered with panties. The way her breasts shifted beneath the dress made it clear she wanted to be seen — even caught.
They walked together through the park until Sandy suddenly turned off the trail and ducked behind the trees. Trent followed, half-anxious, half-hard.
“Sandy, what are we—”
“I want to get fucked out here,” she said plainly. “I want people to wonder who knocked me up while you’re stuffing me full again.”
He swallowed hard.
She bent over a wooden bench, lifting her dress, baring her ass and swollen, glistening pussy.
“Don’t keep me waiting. My pussy’s already wet with Marcus.”
Trent stepped behind her and entered her in one smooth thrust, and Sandy cried out, her fingers clutching the edge of the bench. Her belly bounced softly beneath her with every thrust. Her breasts swayed, nipples dragging faintly across the worn wood.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned.
“I’m so fucking full,” she countered. “And I still want more.”
He groaned louder, his pace breaking, and with one final thrust he emptied himself into her — hot, fast, needy.
But she wasn’t done.
She pushed him to the grass and mounted him again, her soaked slit swallowing his cock with a squish. She rode him hard, grinding until her belly slapped gently against his stomach. She grabbed his hands and pulled them to her tits.
“Hold them. They hurt if I bounce too much.”
He moaned as she clenched and rolled her hips, and when he came again, she gasped as her walls squeezed every drop from him.
Still unsatisfied, she dropped to her knees and sucked him until he gave her one last, weaker spurt — which she let drip from her lips before swallowing deliberately.
“I should probably go home now,” she said, licking her fingers.
She didn’t wipe the cum from her thighs.
She walked partway home through the neighborhood, thighs sticky, a long trickle of white trailing down the back of her legs. Her dress clung to her, rising slightly with each step.
An older woman on a walk gawked.
Two teenagers on bikes stared and whispered.
Sandy’s pussy clenched at the attention.
⸻
Alex came last. And Sandy made sure he gave her everything.
She opened the door in nothing but a towel — loosely wrapped, casually knotted, still damp from the shower. Her hair was pulled back into a soft bun, loose strands sticking to her temples, and her bare skin glistened faintly under the hallway light. Her breasts pressed heavily against the thin terry cloth, the curve of her belly visible where the towel didn’t quite meet. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. She didn’t need to.
Alex blinked and immediately forgot whatever greeting he’d planned.
“I—hey. You look...”
“Wet?” Sandy teased, stepping aside to let him in. “That’s because I am.”
She didn’t give him time to respond. The towel slipped open as she walked ahead of him, the soft fabric falling to the floor and leaving a trail of warm skin and full, gently swaying hips behind her. Her bare ass bounced slightly with each step. She glanced over her shoulder once and smirked when she saw the outline growing in his jeans.
“Bedroom. Now.”
Even after everything, Alex still fumbled a little when he undressed. Sandy sat on the edge of the bed, legs parted, belly curved gently forward between her thighs. Her nipples looked impossibly swollen — flushed, engorged, visibly throbbing with sensitivity — and she didn’t try to hide how often she brushed them just to feel the tingling ache.
When Alex reached for his wallet and pulled out a condom, she raised an eyebrow.
“You’re really going to try and be the responsible one now?”
He chuckled weakly. “Just ... habit.”
She took it from his hand, tore the wrapper open, and slowly unrolled it down his cock — but only halfway. She made a point of stopping just below the ridge.
“Looks good enough to me,” she said, giving him a single, slow stroke.
Sandy pushed him back on the bed, straddled his thighs, and sank down onto him with an aching, wet groan. Her pussy took him greedily, the condom doing little to dampen the feeling of her tight heat. She moved slowly at first, grinding her hips in slow, controlled circles that made him gasp with every pass.
Her tits bounced with each motion, her belly rising and falling between them like a center of gravity.
“You like watching it move?” she whispered, placing his hands on the curve. “Feels different, doesn’t it? Fucking a woman who’s already full.”
Alex moaned, barely able to respond. His eyes were locked on the way her body flexed above him, the way her cunt squeezed around the base of his cock — still bare beneath the half-rolled latex.
Then Sandy leaned forward, her lips brushing his ear.
“You know what would feel even better?”
He groaned. “What?”
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.