Chapter 5: The Descent

The days after that fateful weekend were a blur for Emma. Her body moved through the motions—school, meals, homework—but her mind was fractured, consumed by the gnawing emptiness that settled in her chest when her father wasn’t near her. His words echoed in her head: “You’re mine, Emma. All mine.” She hated him for it, hated herself for the way her body betrayed her, but most of all, she hated the traitorous flicker of longing that sparked whenever she thought of him.

Her mother’s return brought a semblance of normalcy, but it was a fragile illusion. Emma avoided her father’s gaze, terrified of what she might see in his eyes—or worse, what he might see in hers. But the memories of that weekend lingered, vivid and unrelenting.

At night, when the house was quiet and her mother was asleep, Emma lay in bed, her body humming with restless energy. Her hand drifted lower, her fingers brushing against the sensitive skin between her thighs. She hated herself for it, but she couldn’t stop. She closed her eyes and imagined it was him—his hands on her body, his voice in her ear, his thick cock stretching her wide. The fantasies were intoxicating, overwhelming, and she hated how much they aroused her.

Afterward, the guilt washed over her like a tidal wave. But even as the shame consumed her, she couldn’t deny the truth: she missed him. She hated herself for it, but she missed him.

Emma knew it was only a matter of time before her pregnancy would be impossible to hide. She and her father had discussed the need for a story—a carefully crafted narrative to explain the baby’s existence. For her mother, it would be the “donor” alibi—a private arrangement, a selfless act of love to fulfill her mother’s dream of motherhood.

“We’ll say it was a donor,” her father had explained one evening, his voice calm and steady. “That you’re carrying a child for us—for her. She’s always wanted this, Emma. She’ll be grateful. Proud of you.”

Emma’s stomach had churned at the thought, but she’d nodded, her heart heavy with guilt. She hated the idea of lying to her mother, but the truth was too terrible to reveal—that this baby wasn’t from a donor, but from her own father.

Later that night, her father called a family meeting. Emma sat stiffly on the couch, her hands trembling as she clutched the positive pregnancy test. Her mother looked between them, her brow furrowed with concern.

“We have something to tell you,” her father began, his voice steady but serious.

Emma’s mother’s eyes widened. “What is it?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Her father took a deep breath, his hand resting on Emma’s knee. “Emma is pregnant,” he said, his tone calm and measured. “She’s carrying a child for us—for you. It’s a donor pregnancy. We arranged it privately.”

Emma’s mother stared at him, her face pale with shock. “What?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “A donor? But ... she’s only sixteen. Isn’t that ... illegal?”

Her father hesitated, his expression carefully neutral. “It’s ... unconventional,” he admitted. “But we wanted this for you. We thought ... we thought it would make you happy.”

Emma’s mother’s eyes filled with tears, and for a moment, Emma thought she might break down completely. But then her mother reached out, her hands trembling as she cupped Emma’s face.

“You ... you’re pregnant?” she whispered, her voice shaking. “You’re giving me a grandchild?”

Emma nodded, her heart pounding. “Yes,” she whispered.

Her mother pulled her into a tight embrace, her tears wet against Emma’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice choked with emotion. “Thank you, Emma. You’ve made me so happy.”

Emma forced a smile, but the guilt gnawed at her. She hated lying to her mother, but she knew there was no other way.

With her mom’s alibi in place, Emma turned her attention to her friends. She needed a believable story to explain her pregnancy—a boyfriend to pin it on. She mentioned Dan—a tall, dark-haired, broad-shouldered man who was too busy to visit but had left an undeniable impression. She hoped it would be enough to create plausible deniability, to control the narrative before questions were asked.

Now, a week later, she was hosting a small get-together at her house. Her friends arrived with snacks and curiosity, their eyes gleaming with the promise of gossip.

“Where is he?” Sophia asked the moment they walked in. “I thought you said Dan was coming.”

Emma hesitated, her heart skipping a beat. She forced a smile, but her stomach twisted with anxiety. “He ... had to work,” she said, her voice wavering slightly. “He’s really busy.”

Her friends exchanged glances, their curiosity piqued but not yet probing.

“Too busy to hang out with us?” Olivia teased, raising an eyebrow. “Is he, like, a CEO or something?”

Emma laughed nervously, the sound brittle and unconvincing. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sweater, her palms damp with sweat. “No, just ... you know, busy with work. He’s really dedicated.”

“Dedicated, huh?” Amy smirked, her tone playful. “Sounds like he’s dedicated to avoiding us.”

Emma’s cheeks burned, and she forced another laugh. She hated how easily her friends could poke holes in her story, but she couldn’t let them see how flustered she was. “He’s not avoiding you. He’s just ... busy.”

The girls laughed, but Emma could feel their eyes on her, their curiosity lingering.

The conversation turned to Dan—his size, whether they’d done the deed—when Emma’s father appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray of snacks.

“Hey, girls,” he said, his tone warm but authoritative. “Help yourselves.”

Emma’s friends turned to look at him, their eyes lingering a little too long. He was tall, dark-haired, and broad-shouldered—exactly like Emma’s description of Dan.

“Thanks, Mr. Harper,” Sophia said, her tone polite but curious.

Emma’s father smiled, his expression warm but slightly forced. “So, Emma’s told you about Dan, huh?” His voice was calm, but Emma noticed the way his gaze lingered on her, as if daring her to slip up.

Sophia nodded. “Yeah. She said he’s, like, huge.”

Emma’s father chuckled, his tone casual. “Yeah, he’s a big guy. Stopped by for dinner last week. Nice kid.”

Emma’s heart sank. Last week? Her friends exchanged glances, their curiosity piqued.

“Last week?” Amy asked, her tone innocent but probing.

Emma’s father hesitated, just for a moment, but he recovered quickly. “Yeah,” he said, his tone calm and steady. “He dropped by for dinner. Tall guy, dark hair, right?”

Emma’s friends nodded, their eyes flicking between Emma and her father.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Emma said, her voice trembling. She could feel the weight of their scrutiny, the unspoken questions hanging in the air.

Her father smiled, his expression warm, and then he excused himself, leaving the girls to their conversation.

As soon as the door closed behind him, the room fell into an awkward silence.

Emma’s heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing. She knew her friends were suspicious, but she couldn’t let them uncover the truth. She plastered on a weak smile, trying to steer the conversation in a safer direction.

“So ... your dad’s tall and dark-haired too, right?” Olivia asked, her tone somewhere between teasing and curious.

Emma hesitated, her heart racing. She forced a laugh, but it came out hollow. “Yeah, I guess,” she said, her voice shaking slightly.

Olivia leaned in, her tone playful but probing. “Okay, but seriously ... Dan’s huge, right? Like, 8 or 9 inches?”

Emma hesitated, her cheeks flushing. She felt a bead of sweat trickle down her spine. Her stomach churned with guilt and dread, but she forced herself to answer. “Yeah. I mean ... I didn’t measure him, but it’s definitely more than average.”

Amy’s eyes widened, her tone a mix of curiosity and envy. “Matt’s, like, 6 inches. I thought that was big, but now I feel like I’m missing out.”

Sophia laughed, her tone teasing. “Amy, don’t act like Matt’s size is a problem. You’re always raving about how good he is.”

Amy smirked. “Yeah, he’s great. But I’m just saying ... I’m curious what it would feel like to take something huge.”

Emma’s cheeks burned, but she didn’t say anything.

Olivia leaned in, her tone somewhere between teasing and serious. “Okay, but speaking of size ... do you think it leaves a lasting impact? Like ... would it change the way your pussy looks?”

Emma hesitated, her heart racing. Her mind screamed at her to shut down the conversation, but she couldn’t find the words. She felt trapped, cornered, and utterly exposed. “I ... I don’t know. Maybe?”

Sophia’s eyes lit up. “Let’s find out.”

Emma’s eyes widened. Her stomach dropped, and she felt a surge of panic. She wanted to refuse, to run, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak. “What do you mean?”

“We’re going to compare,” Sophia said, her tone matter-of-fact. “Emma and Amy, you’re stripping down. Let’s see if Dan’s size has left any lasting impressions.”

Amy burst out laughing. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” Olivia said, her tone firm. “Come on, we’ve been friends forever. We’ve seen each other in bikinis, in bras, in everything. Let’s see the difference.”

Emma hesitated, her cheeks burning, but she knew there was no escaping this.

“Fine,” she said, her voice trembling.

Amy shrugged, her tone casual. “Okay, why not? Let’s compare.”

Emma and Amy reluctantly moved to Emma’s bed, pulling down their jeans and underwear. They lay on their backs, their legs spread apart, exposing themselves completely to their friends. Olivia and Sophia crouched at the foot of the bed, peering intently at their pussies side by side.

Emma’s heart pounded as she glanced over at Amy, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. Amy’s pussy looked tight and neatly closed, her labia smooth and barely parted. In contrast, Emma’s was visibly stretched, her labia spread wide and slightly swollen, as if still recovering from being stretched beyond their limits.

“Wow,” Olivia said, her tone somewhere between awe and disbelief. “Emma’s is ... definitely gaped. Look at her labia—they’re spread wide, like they’re still trying to recover from whatever stretched her out like that.”

Sophia nodded, her tone curious. “And it’s ... really loose, too. Like, you can see the difference in the opening. Amy’s is tighter, more ... compact. Emma’s looks like it’s been stretched to the limit.”

Amy glanced down, her eyes flicking between her own pussy and Emma’s. “Yeah,” she said, her voice tinged with curiosity. “Mine doesn’t look nearly as ... well, wrecked.”

Olivia leaned in closer, her eyes narrowing as she noticed something else. “And ... is that ... sperm?” she asked, her tone incredulous.

Emma’s heart stopped as she looked down and saw the creamy trail of thick, milky-white fluid leaking out of her pussy, oozing down the crack of her buttocks. The evidence was undeniable—the sperm was fresh, still glistening in the light. The pungent, musky scent filled the room, unmistakable and overwhelming.