Master PC: Breeding Edition
Copyright© 2025 by North Point
Chapter 7: Blackout Control and Confrontation
Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 7: Blackout Control and Confrontation - 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: Viewer Control
It started gradually.
Sandy still believed it was Chris behind everything — that every message, every instruction, every spontaneous fuck had originated from him. That he was orchestrating the timing, the setups, the cycles, the risks. And in a way, he was.
But he wasn’t alone.
Because now, the viewers had access.
They didn’t just watch.
They guided.
A new interface had gone live in the channel: sleek, anonymous, and dangerously influential. Layered over every stream were subtle controls — votes, sliders, real-time scripts that could be triggered or queued. Suggestions that looked like predictions. Patterns that felt like coincidence.
It was brilliantly disguised.
And Sandy had no idea.
⸻
Subject 3 – Control Feed
Cycle Status: Fertile – Day 2 of 3
Live Poll: “What Should She Wear Today?”
• Option A: Sheer white dress, no bra
• Option B: Yoga shorts and crop hoodie
• Option C: Sundress with lace panties
• Option D: Oversized t-shirt. No panties.
Over ninety percent of users selected Option D within minutes.
Chris approved it from his admin panel with a single tap.
And that morning, Sandy woke to find the t-shirt already laid out on the dresser. Her underwear drawer remained closed. She didn’t question it. She just assumed Chris liked her like this — casual, loose, accessible.
When she walked barefoot into the kitchen, the shirt hem barely covered her ass. She poured coffee with one hand while brushing hair from her face with the other.
She didn’t notice the red light blinking on the discreet ceiling cam.
⸻
Chris sat at the table, sipping his own coffee, tablet in hand. He glanced up at her.
“Going to see Trent?” he asked.
Sandy blinked. “What?”
“He messaged. Said he’s on the way.”
She hesitated. “You didn’t tell me.”
Chris shrugged. “Slipped my mind.”
Sandy furrowed her brow. “I don’t know if I’m in the mood.”
“You’ll change your mind,” he said, calm and warm. He walked over and kissed her temple. “Take a shower. Relax.”
She bit her lip. “I’m ovulating, aren’t I?”
Chris just smiled.
Sandy looked away, cheeks flushed. “You always time it like this.”
⸻
Private Channel – Session Thread
@PrimeSeed: “Subject 3: unaware. Still thinks he’s calling all the shots.”
@SlickVote: “The shirt clings when she leans forward. Brilliant choice.”
@FlagTrigger: “Emotional resistance detected. Will dissipate with contact.”
Tag: Subject 3 – Day 2 Fertile
Mood Drift: 23% compliant / 77% unaware
⸻
That night, another poll went live.
Scenario Control: ‘Tonight’s Theme?’
• Option A: Teasing denial
• Option B: Reluctant surrender
• Option C: Breeding discipline
• Option D: Forced craving (triggered arousal)
They chose Option B.
Reluctant surrender.
A scenario where Sandy would meet Trent at the door still wet from her shower. She’d hesitate. Say no once. Maybe twice. But her body would betray her. Her thighs would tremble. Her breath would quicken. She’d grind into him. Moan when he kissed her.
And when he slid his cock inside her, she would gasp, curse herself for giving in — and come hard anyway.
What they didn’t know — what even Trent didn’t know — was that Chris had added a special enhancement for tonight.
Trent’s stamina had been rewritten: no refractory period, full sensitivity, no drop in erection after orgasm. He would be able to keep going. To recover instantly. To fill her again.
Twice the volume. Twice the risk.
And Sandy ... wouldn’t see it coming.
⸻
It played out with eerie precision.
Sandy opened the door in nothing but the oversized t-shirt. Damp hair clung to her shoulders, and her skin glowed faintly from the shower. Trent’s eyes roamed down her body, from flushed cheeks to bare thighs.
“You weren’t expecting me,” he said, stepping inside.
“I was trying not to expect you,” she admitted. “Did Chris send you?”
Trent smirked. “Not really.”
She paused. “Then why are you here?”
He stepped closer. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about your pussy wrapped around my cock.”
Her breath hitched.
He leaned down, kissing her slowly — not demanding, not forceful. Just deep and warm and sure.
She tried to pull back. “Trent, I’m ovulating, I—”
But his hand slid beneath the hem of her shirt, found the heat between her legs, and she whimpered into his mouth.
⸻
He eased her back onto the couch, spreading her thighs with ease. Her bare skin met cool cushions, and her legs opened for him before she could tell them not to.
“I can’t,” she said again, trembling as his cock rubbed between her slick folds. “I can’t let you cum in me again.”
Trent kissed her stomach, her hip, her inner thigh. “Then you better tell me to stop.”
She didn’t.
He entered her with one smooth, slow thrust, and Sandy’s whole body shuddered. The stretch, the heat, the pressure — it knocked the breath from her lungs.
“God,” she moaned, gripping his arms. “You feel ... perfect...”
He began to move, rocking into her, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm that filled her over and over. Her head fell back. Her eyes fluttered shut.
“Not inside,” she whispered. “Please...”
But her hips lifted to meet his every thrust.
Trent shifted her legs up and draped them over his shoulders, changing the angle. His cock pressed deeper, grinding against her swollen walls with every motion. She cried out softly with each thrust.
He bent over her, chest pressing her thighs into her own body, face close to hers. “You’re so warm. So tight.”
She moaned against his mouth. “Don’t make me come...”
“You want to.”
She did.
She was close. So close.
The rhythm shifted — faster, harder, more deliberate. The pressure built until she couldn’t hold it in any longer.
Sandy came hard, arching her back, crying out as her pussy clenched violently around his cock.
And then she felt it — heat. Flooding. Pulsing.
“No—Trent—fuck—” she gasped.
He groaned and drove into her, emptying inside her with long, deep thrusts. She felt it dripping down her ass already, warm and thick.
And she came again.
Not because she wanted to.
Because she couldn’t stop.
⸻
Even as his cock finished twitching, it didn’t soften.
Trent pulled back, glistening and still hard. Her cum-slicked folds twitched at the loss.
Sandy blinked, panting. “You’re still hard?”
“Yeah. Fuck ... I don’t know what’s happening.”
Before she could say another word, he leaned in again, slid his cock back inside her—smooth, slow, unrelenting.
She gasped. “Trent—wait—”
“I need more.”
⸻
What followed was longer.
Slower.
More intense.
He rolled her onto her side, spooning her. Her back pressed into his chest as he thrust slowly into her again, holding her leg in the air, kissing her neck. One hand moved to her breast, the other slid between her thighs, teasing her clit in rhythm with every stroke.
Sandy whimpered, the heat blooming again. Her thoughts scattered.
“Let me finish you with my mouth,” she pleaded. “My tits. I’ll swallow everything—please don’t come inside again.”
He didn’t answer.
Just kept going.
He flipped her to her stomach, pulled her ass up, and took her from behind — grinding, deep, shaking her with every slap of his hips. Her moans grew louder. She was dripping, stretched, used — and she loved it.
When he flipped her to her back and straddled her thighs, pushing her legs up to her chest, she came again. A long, messy orgasm that left her soaking the couch and shaking uncontrollably.
She cried out, “Trent, please—pull out—I’m already full—”
But her arms locked around his shoulders as he buried himself one last time.
His second orgasm hit.
She felt it pour into her — just as heavy, just as hot — and she sobbed, climaxing again around the incoming load.
Her pussy pulsed. Her belly ached from the pressure.
She was utterly wrecked.
And she had never been so satisfied ... or so afraid.
⸻
Private Channel — Live Commentary
@SeedStacker: “3 orgasms. 2 creampies. She’s not walking tomorrow.”
@OvulationControl: “The risk spike is fucking glorious.”
@OverlayAdmin:
Script Enhancement: Secondary Breeding Loop active
Climax sync achieved: 3 orgasms / 2 inseminations
Tag: Subject 3 – Risk Override
Status: Viewer Control: 100%
Scene 2: The Poll Winner
Chris had described it as a product launch.
Technically, that was true.
The partnership proposal had come quietly — a new fertility lifestyle brand seeking early adopters, bold enough to model and demonstrate “compliance-compatible conceptionwear” in live environments. They didn’t want professional models. They wanted women already being watched. Women whose obedience could be measured in centimeters and soaked lace.
Chris had just the candidate.
He hadn’t told Sandy much. Just sent the branded packaging and logged the session.
She didn’t argue. She didn’t have permission to.
She just dressed as instructed and arrived fifteen minutes early.
⸻
The set looked like a boutique merged with a high-end photo studio. A branded NestWell Fertility banner hung over a matte blush backdrop. Ring lights glowed at three levels. Softboxes framed a chaise lounge covered in ivory velvet. Two robotic camera arms slid silently along curved ceiling tracks. A tripod-mounted close-up cam sat ready to capture pelvic detail at crotch height. A boom mic waited overhead.
Sandy could feel the heat of the lights on her bare skin.
She stood center-frame in her required arrival look: a soft pink cashmere sweater and a white pleated skirt, short enough to hover mid-thigh.
But it was what she wore underneath that defined her.
The bra wasn’t really a bra — just satin straps and delicate cutout frames encircling her nipples. The fabric hugged nothing. Her tips were fully exposed, long and glistening, throbbing subtly from the friction of the sweater.
Chris hadn’t warned her. He hadn’t needed to. Her body had told her something had changed.
They were longer now. Thicker. Always stiff. Painfully reactive.
Even breathing made them tingle. When the sweater shifted, it dragged across her flesh like sandpaper dipped in heat.
The panties were worse — pale blush lace, with a split gusset that parted perfectly with each step. She could already feel slick gathering there. Her thighs were damp. The air between her legs felt cool and vulnerable.
⸻
Channel Overlay — Subject 3: Product Shoot
Viewer Count: 8,804
Outfit Wetness Index: 17% → 24%
Nipple Mod Index: +37% Length / +42% Girth
Brand Test Tag: #NestWellTrial
Top Overlay:
Leak Durability • Viewer Vote Active
“Would you breed her in this?” [YES] [YES]
@BrandSniffer: “Those tits are enhanced. She’s gonna cry when he tugs them.”
@NoPulloutZone: “Split panties on a fertility line? They know their market.”
@Admin-Chris: “Outfit verified. Begin modeling. Voice masked.”
⸻
The speaker clicked on.
Chris’s voice filtered in — masked and smoothed through a soft vocal modulation. Genderless. Corporate. But Sandy recognized the tone beneath it.
Her thighs clenched.
“Begin with Look One. Show each angle. Front, back, bend, and squat. They’ll be watching for evidence.”
Sandy’s breath hitched. Her skin tingled. She moved to the rack.
⸻
Look One: “NestWell Nightwear”
Soft ribbed cotton sleep bra — open front, single button closure — and blush boyshorts with a gusset slit.
She peeled the sweater away slowly, her breath catching as it tugged over her bare nipples. They caught, stretched, dragged — and she shuddered from the contact.
She could barely focus enough to pull the sleep bra on. It offered no support. The central button did nothing to conceal the thick, flushed tips of her nipples. They jutted out obscenely through the V-shaped gap.
The shorts clung to her hips. The lace gusset already darkened from her leaking arousal.
Chris’s voice crackled softly in her ear.
“Pose. Let them judge.”
She took a deep breath and stepped forward, legs slightly parted, arms behind her back.
She turned slowly — right, then left — hips tilting subtly.
Then she bent. Slowly. Hands on knees. The shorts stretched tight. The open gusset parted. A single drop of slick clung to her inner thigh.
The side cameras zoomed in.
She sank lower into a squat. Thighs trembling.
One hand instinctively covered her pussy — but the voice returned.
“Hands behind your head.”
She obeyed.
⸻
Overlay — Look One
Leak Visibility: Confirmed
Kneel Stability: Excellent
Pregnancy Readiness Score: 91%
Breeder Engagement: Surging
@BreedBot: “That squat is a mating display.”
@Spiral: “Imagine slipping two fingers under and pushing up while she poses like that.”
@Chris-Admin: “Continue to Look Two.”
Look Two: “Ovulation Lounge Dress”
The second outfit was labeled as “NestWell Ovulationwear — For Gentle Evenings and Deep Insemination.”
Sandy unfastened the sleep bra slowly, her fingers trembling as she let the fabric fall away. Her nipples were flushed and slick with their own moisture, each one visibly heavier now, achingly sensitive. They throbbed in the lights.
The dress was a sheer ivory knit — sleeveless, soft, deliberately unlined. As she eased it down over her head, the fabric clung like steam to her breasts and belly. Her nipples were completely visible, framed and raised by the open-tip bra still underneath. Even the faint texture of the harness strap was clear beneath the gauzy cling.
The hem fell mid-thigh. The lights made the lace panties underneath almost glow.
She stood still for a moment, dazed by her reflection.
She looked like a walking pregnancy test. And the result was already positive.
“Pose,” Chris’s filtered voice instructed gently.
“They’re watching for readiness.”
Sandy stepped forward. Arched her back. Lifted her arms.
The dress rode up. Her hips turned slightly. The open gusset shifted — and a glimmer of her slit peeked through. She gasped, but held the pose.
She turned to the side. The curve of her belly was visible beneath the thin fabric. She rolled her shoulders. Lifted the dress just enough to show the waistband of her panties, then let it fall again.
Then she squatted.
This time, deliberately.
Hands on her thighs. Elbows wide. The dress pulled tight over her breasts, and the slit opened fully below her.
The robotic camera arm zoomed in.
She saw the lens adjust. Heard it.
Felt it.
⸻
Overlay — Look Two
Clit Shadow Detection: 100%
Leak Readiness: Confirmed
Ovulation Aesthetic Rating: 9.7
User Prompt: “Would you breed her right here?” → [YES] 96%
@BreedMeNext: “She’s one finger away from spontaneous insemination.”
@SplitMeInHalf: “They should add a belly plug for the third trimester look.”
@Admin-Chris: “Prepare final pose. Final outfit.”
⸻
Look Three: “Breedleader Uniform”
The final look. The poll-winner. The one everyone had come to see.
Navy pleated cheer skirt. Cropped halter top with NestWell stitched across the chest in looping white letters.
The skirt barely covered her ass. The halter top hung low, and the moment she pulled it over her head, her nipples were poking out from beneath it — dark, swollen, and shining.
She adjusted the top instinctively, trying to tuck herself back in.
The movement made her whimper. The fabric caught on her left nipple and stretched it. Her knees buckled.
“Hold still,” Chris murmured through the speaker. “Don’t fix it.”
She obeyed.
“Pose.”
Sandy turned her back to the main camera. Bent slightly. Then bent deeper.
The skirt lifted like it had been trained to.
The panties split open automatically under pressure.
Her slick inner lips peeked out like a demonstration model.
She turned. Bounced slightly. The top lifted again. One nipple fully exposed now.
She stood. Straddled the velvet lounge.
Squatted.
Hands behind her head.
A bead of slick rolled visibly down her inner thigh.
⸻
Overlay — Final Look
Breeding Probability: 98%
Cum Acceptance Score: Imminent
Top Comment:
“If she’s not filled in five minutes, it’s false advertising.”
Emojis: 🍒💦🫃📷
@GlovePuller: “This isn’t even porn. This is ritual.”
@CumArchivist: “Breeding outfits work. She’s a product now.”
⸻
The door clicked open.
He entered.
⸻
The door clicked shut behind him.
He entered without a word — tall, broad, measured in movement. A black half-mask covered the upper half of his face. His jaw was clean-shaven. His suit was tailored, dark grey. Subtle, expensive. His gaze was fixed on her.
Sandy froze.
She knew this wasn’t just a hired performer.
His presence felt ... owned. In charge. Final.
He circled her slowly, inspecting her like a product ready for launch. His eyes traced the stretch of the halter top, the high sway of the skirt, the lace beneath. He stopped in front of her, close enough for her to smell faint aftershave and clean fabric.
“They said you were compliant,” he said. His voice was older, deeper.
“But I needed to see it up close.”
Her throat tightened. “You’re with the company?”
“I am the company.”
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