Chapter 11

The apartment was a stark, masculine sanctuary, with November’s icy bite slithering through cracked windows, chilling the air but failing to douse the lingering musk of spunk, sweat, and the faint caramel tang of Jamie’s shots, a primal scent baked into the scrubbed linoleum and polished walls. Jamie, Reese’s devoted housewife pet slut, had spent any time not getting fucked by Reese’s huge cock, transforming the space into a gleaming shrine—countertops sparkling under the new lights that had replaced the single flickering bulb, the cum stained love seat placed with a new pull out sofa that was still unused, couch cushions fluffed, every surface spotless yet pulsing with their raw essence, Wolferton’s gritty edge tamed by his obsessive care. The lamps bulbs glowed casting a warm glow over the tidy bedroom, the bed replaced three times after being broken, while fresh sheets faintly reeking of Reese’s cock, a testament to their relentless heat. Tara was gone, working her overnight shift at the Wolf’s Howl Motel, her absence a quiet void in the haze. Jamie had been Reese’s cock slave for months, his body sculpted by daily service—pleasing, serving, cleaning, sucking, fucking—molded into Reese’s perfect toy by the milkshakes, their chemical fire burning through his veins. The strip mall crew, their lust stoked their reckless edge, cheered Jamie’s slutty dances, gifting ever-skimpier outfits, their hands groping as he teased, while Vince’s SomeSluts.com clips of Jamie’s performances drove a frenzy of views, swelling Reese’s cut, paying off debts, and allowing their lives to be more comfortable. Tara, buried in grueling shifts, spoke with a heavier tone, her motel tales muted, a shadow of trouble looming, her eyes clouded by the tea’s haze, blind to the Reese’s grip even as she stumbled past Jamie’s ass-fucks without a flinch.

Monday Morning:

Jamie woke at 6:30 AM in Reese’s bed, the mattress sighing under them, fresh sheets crisp but steeped in last night’s fuck-musk, the air thick with Reese’s scent. He wore a neon yellow jockstrap, straps biting his fuller hips, a sheer black tank hugging his flat abs, and knee-high socks, caked with alley mud from last night’s piss guidance. His freckled face glowed, silkier skin shimmering, a fuller belly—not bulging, just a soft, shot-driven curve—quivering with need, months of shots crafting him into a slutty, limber pet, Mpreg changes pulsing under Reese’s grip. Jamie’s eyes fixed on Reese’s 6’1” frame, shirtless, jeans open, skull tattoo slick with dawn sweat, his thick cock hard, pre-cum glinting. Jamie knelt, socks scuffing the clean floor, and sucked with honed skill, refined since Chapter 8’s truck blowjob—sloppy, deep, ravenous.

His lips sealed tight, tongue lapping the tip, probing the slit, then plunging down, deep throating with wet gags, the sound bouncing off the scrubbed walls, spit soaking his sheer tank, darkening it. He cradled Reese’s balls, squeezing softly, shot-fueled dexterity bold, his other hand pumping the shaft, slick with drool. Reese groaned, “Pup, my fuckin’ cock slave—servin’ my dick like a good pet!” yanking Jamie’s curls, hips bucking, fucking his face, balls smacking his chin. Jamie’s moans hummed, “Yes, stud,” choked, his fuller belly tingling, shots spiking his craving, freckles shining with sweat, the bed creaking. For 15 minutes, he worshipped, gags loud, spit pooling on the clean floor, until Reese pulled back, cock dripping, growling, “Enough, pup—bed, spread ‘em.”

Jamie woke in the bedroom, naked, his freckled frame curled at the foot of Reese’s bed, a cum-stained blanket draped over his fuller hips, his large bubble butt still slick with last night’s load, a glossy trail leaking from his puffy hole, streaking his silkier thighs. His tiny cock, barely a nub, left no bulge, his body a lean, fuckable canvas sculpted by months of transformative shakes—flat abs tighter, hips rounder, a subtle belly curve hinting at deeper changes, his skin glowing under the warm light. His green eyes fluttered open, glazed with a trance-like hunger, every nerve craving Reese’s touch. Reese sprawled naked across the bed, his 6’2” frame a towering, ripped monument, his body hardened and bulked by the pills’ subtle work, muscles carved sharper, veins pulsing under taut skin. His skull tattoo gleamed with sweat, his cock—now thicker, longer, unnaturally engorged—stood rigid, pre-cum dripping in heavy beads, his balls swollen, brimming with an amplified load, a testament to the pills’ relentless drive. His hazel eyes cracked open, locking on Jamie, a predatory smirk curling his lips. “Mornin’, pup,” he growled, voice a gravelly rasp, hand lazily stroking his enhanced cock. “Crawl up here—start my day right.”

Jamie, shots buzzing, grinned, his freckled face flushing crimson as he crawled onto the bed, bubble butt jiggling, thighs slick with cum. “Yours, stud,” he purred, voice sultry, lips brushing Reese’s cock, tongue flicking the salty pre-cum, the taste sparking a primal wave. He sucked deep, skilled and sloppy from months of practice—long, teasing licks up the veined shaft, swirling the swollen tip, deep-throating with wet gags, hands rolling Reese’s balls with shot-fueled strength. The gags echoed, spit drooling down his chin, pooling on the sheets, the room’s musky haze thickening. Reese groaned, “Fuck, pup, your throat’s a goddamn furnace—chokin’ my dick like a pro slut!” His hand fisted Jamie’s curls, thrusting into his mouth, balls slapping his chin, the bed creaking under the force. “Goddamn, pup, love that slobber, those gags—my perfect toy,” Reese snarled, his dirty talk a raw torrent, hazel eyes burning as Jamie’s freckled cheeks hollowed, lips glossy and stretched.

After 15 minutes, Reese yanked Jamie up, flipping him onto his back, bubble butt spread wide, hole winking, dripping cum and sweat. “Time to breed, pup,” he growled, spitting a thick glob onto his cock, smearing it over Jamie’s puffy rim. He slammed in, the slick heat swallowing him with a lewd squelch, fucking hard, 20 minutes of deep, relentless thrusts, the bedframe groaning, wet slaps drowning the bulb’s hum. Jamie’s moans were raw, “Stud, wreck me!” his abs flexing, subtle belly curve quivering, hands clawing Reese’s thighs, nails leaving faint scratches. Reese’s chatter roared, “Fuck, pup, this ass is mine—gonna seed you till you’re swollen!” Mid-fuck, he slowed, cock buried deep, and growled, “Feel this, pup,” pissing inside Jamie’s ass, a hot, surging flood stretching his hole, the taboo rush making Jamie gasp, “Stud, it’s fuckin’ hot!” His body trembled, shots amplifying the sensation, piss leaking out, pooling on the sheets, mixing with cum.

Reese came hard, flooding Jamie’s hole with a thick load, cum and piss spurting out, drenching his bubble butt, thighs glistening. He pulled out, cock slick, and went ass-to-mouth, snarling, “Clean it, pup—taste your filthy hole.” Jamie sucked eagerly, lips wrapping tight, gagging on the musky mix, spit smearing his freckled face, shots locking in his craving. Reese groaned, “Fuck, pup, those lips are perfect—swallow that shit!” The apartment’s haze choked with their scent, November’s chill no match for their heat.

Tara’s key scraped the lock, her overnight shift at the Wolf’s Howl Motel done, the door creaking open. She stumbled in, exhausted, her navy blazer damp from the morning mist, hair plastered to her face, eyes heavy with fatigue. The air was thick with the stench of sex, but she didn’t clock Reese fucking Jamie on the love seat, Jamie bent over its arm, fully naked, bubble butt high, hole dripping cum and piss, moaning, “Stud, harder!” as Reese pounded, growling, “Take my load, pup!” Tara shrugged off her blazer, tossing it over a chair, muttering, “Fuckin’ cold out there,” her voice a tired rasp, stepping over a puddle of cum near the counter, oblivious to the wet slaps and Jamie’s gasps.

Reese came again, seeding Jamie’s hole, cum spurting out, dripping onto the love seat, as he snarled, “Mine, pup!” and shoved his cock into Jamie’s mouth for ass-to-mouth. Jamie gagged, tongue lapping cum and ass, spit drooling, as Reese groaned, “Clean it, pup!” Tara, rinsing a stale mug under the faucet, chugged cold coffee, then turned to Jamie, her voice firm but weary, “Be a good boy, Jamie—work hard, do everything Reese says.” Her eyes flicked to his sweat-soaked, freckled face, missing the cum smearing his lips. “Yes, mom,” Jamie rasped. She grabbed her keycard from the counter, shoving it in her pocket, and shuffled toward her bedroom, loafers squelching in the mess. “Don’t trash the place,” she called, voice flat, closing her door behind her, leaving the apartment to its pulsing haze, Reese’s growls and Jamie’s muffled moans echoing.

Jamie, shots surging, knelt before Reese, sucking his cock deep, gags loud, spit pooling on the love seat. Reese’s dirty talk roared, “Goddamn, pup, your throat’s chokin’ my dick—love that slobber!” After 10 minutes, Reese came, flooding Jamie’s throat with cum, then pissed, a hot torrent filling his belly, Jamie gasping, “Stud, fuck, it’s intense!” his freckled face smeared, devotion absolute. Reese yanked him into his lap, bubble butt pressed against his cock, growling, “My pup, my future,” fingers tracing Jamie’s subtle belly curve, the Mpreg vow a molten promise. Jamie whispered, “Yours, stud, forever,” melting into Reese’s thighs, the apartment’s haze—spunk, piss, caramel shots—pulsing, dawn’s chill a faint whisper against their heat, poised for the site’s raw play.

Reese grabbed a clear plastic bottle and tossed it to Jamie as he dressed, growling, “Piss in this, pup.” Jamie, grinning, socks bunched, saw it as a kinky game, his neon jockstrap skewed, sheer tank discarded on the floor. He knelt on the spotless linoleum, holding the bottle, and unleashed a hot, golden stream, the piss hissing as it filled the container. Jamie’s grin widened, “Like this, stud?” Reese capped it, smirking, “Good pet,” but slipped it into his bag, hazel eyes glinting with a secret, leaving Jamie curious. They dressed for work in the November chill—Jamie in a sheer, black mesh crop top, cut high to bare his tight abs and tiny nipples, paired with tight, ripped black leather shorts that hugged his large bubble butt, the hem teasing his fuller hips, no bulge from his tiny cock. Over it, he threw on a cropped, faux-fur jacket, its fluffy white trim framing his freckled face, adding a slutty yet cozy vibe, the fur brushing his silkier skin. He swapped his socks for sheer, thigh-high stockings, their glossy black weave peeking out above knee-high, black combat boots, keeping his legs warm while screaming sexy submission. Reese, his 6’2” frame bulked and ripped from the pills, pulled on dark jeans that strained against his thicker cock and swollen balls, the denim worn but snug, and a red flannel shirt, unbuttoned halfway to show his chiseled chest and sweat-slick skull tattoo, his larger body shrugging off the cold. His cock stayed half-hard, dominance sealed, the flannel’s sleeves rolled up to flex his veined forearms.

The strip mall site was a gritty, open skeleton in the early morning, November’s chill slicing through the unfinished walls, the frame and roof solid from months of labor but no windows or doors, leaving it raw to the elements, damp with morning mist and reeking of wet concrete, rust, and the crew’s stale sweat. The mud-caked lot crunched underfoot, partially frozen in the chilly air, Wolferton’s pulse throbbing in the haze. Jamie and Reese rolled up, their clothes clean and crisp. The crew waiting and cheering.

Vince, now focused on the construction job to meet deadlines, had shifted Jamie’s explicit content to SomeSluts.com after TikTok flagged his harness-clad flips and jockstrap-bared spins for being too sexual, the clips—once smashing records—now thriving on the spicy site, fans raving for “more Jokes, less clothes.” But the work account still needed content, so Jamie piloted a buzzing drone, its camera hovering as he strutted the site, flirting with the crew and explaining the day’s tasks to viewers, his shots-fueled charm electric. From 9 AM to noon, he hustled, hauling tools and scaling scaffolds, fuller hips swaying, leather shorts riding up, the crew’s eyes devouring him despite their drink mix buzz. The drone trailed, capturing Jamie’s sultry narration: “Here’s Mike wiring a panel—show ‘em how, big guy.” Mike, slurring, “Goddamn, Jokes, that ass!” grinned, then explained, “Strip the wire, twist it tight, cap it—keeps the juice flowin’.” Jamie winked at the drone, “See, folks, Mike’s got skills.” Next, he leaned close to Rico, who was swapping a pipe, thigh pat bolder than simple grazes, cock stiffening in jeans. “Rico, tell the fans about this pipe,” Jamie purred. Rico growled, “Cut the old one, thread the new, seal it—fuck, Jokes, you’re distractin’ me!” The crew whooped, Tony hollering, “Jokes, you’re killin’ us!” as Jamie danced for the drone—slow grinds, ass shakes, bending low to flash his cheeks—each move fluid, filthy, the boombox’s bass amping their frenzy. Their hands grazed—Rico’s ass brush, Mike’s belly tap—drink mix spiking lust, Reese watching, flannel open, cock bulging, dominance coiled.

At lunch, the crew swarmed a weathered scaffold, November’s midday sun shredding the morning’s mist, its faint heat coaxing steam from the damp concrete, the boombox dialed to a low, pulsing hum. Jamie pressed against Reese’s side, his neon green jockstrap a vivid blaze under the pale light, black leather harness biting into his taut abs, no collar yet claiming his bare neck—a promise crackling in the air. Over it, he wore a sheer, black mesh crop top baring his tiny nipples, tight, ripped black leather shorts hugging his large bubble butt, the hem teasing his fuller hips, no bulge from his tiny cock. A cropped, faux-fur jacket with fluffy white trim framed his freckled face, its slutty warmth brushing his silkier skin, while sheer, thigh-high black stockings peeked above knee-high black combat boots, screaming sexy submission. His fuller belly, a subtle, shot-sculpted curve, glowed faintly beneath the harness, freckled face flushed crimson, green eyes blazing with unshakable devotion. Reese, his 6’2” frame a pill-bulked colossus, loomed in dark jeans straining over his thickened cock and swollen balls, a red flannel unbuttoned to flaunt his chiseled chest and sweat-slick skull tattoo, sleeves rolled to flex veined forearms, hazel eyes smoldering with possessive fire. His voice, a raw, commanding blade, carved through the site’s din, “Look at my pup—hotter than hellfire, sexiest fuckin’ tease alive, cutest goddamn slut you’ll ever see. This ass, this belly, every inch mine.” His hand cracked against Jamie’s bubble butt, the slap a thunderclap, Jamie’s gasp, “Yes, stud!” a high, desperate whimper, the crew erupting in a feral cacophony, cocks throbbing in their jeans.

Reese’s grin was a predator’s snarl, thrusting a positive pregnancy test into the air, its blue lines searing under the sun, triumph blazing in his eyes. “My pup’s bred—carryin’ my kid, ripe as fuck!” Jamie’s breath snagged, shots sparking a surge of awe, his fuller belly tingling like it was lit from within, silkier skin radiating a luminous glow, the Mpreg truth exploding from hint to undeniable reality. His freckled face flashed shock, then dissolved into worship, voice quaking, “Stud, really? Your baby inside me?” The crew detonated into a frenzied uproar, their drink mix-fueled lust boiling over. Mike roared, “Holy fuck, Jokes, your knocked-up ass is fuckin’ perfect! Gonna milk that belly!” his hands grinding his bulge, slurring through a manic grin. Tony bellowed, “Jokes, you’re glowing like a damn cum-slut—Reese fucked you pregnant!” stroking through his boxers, eyes wild, pre-cum staining the fabric. Rico, voice thick, shouted, “Shit, kid, that belly’s so ripe, you’re gonna pop with Reese’s load!” his fingers clawing his jeans, cock leaking, then cracked, “What’s next, Jokes, you gonna squirt milk from those tits?” The crew howled, Reese’s hazel eyes flashing as he growled back, “Keep dreamin’, Rico—only I get to taste my pup’s ripe fuckin’ glow.” Vince, camera rolling for SomeSluts.com, hollered, “Fans’ll nut their brains out—Jokes, you’re a pregnant cock-tease god!” his lens zooming on Jamie’s “ripe” belly, harness framing it like a sacred altar, the crew’s hands stroking themselves, eyes devouring Jamie’s curve, their chatter a relentless, filthy torrent.