Chapter 10: All-Night Airtight Breeding

Night had swallowed the cabin by the time the guys marched Emma back from the dock, her bare feet crunching over pine needles still damp from the lake mist. Every step sent warm trails of mixed release sliding down her inner thighs, the Sharpie arrows on her belly pointing accusingly toward the swollen ring between her cheeks. The living room lights glowed low and amber, casting long shadows across the floorboards that groaned under fourteen sets of heavy steps. They had dragged a king-sized mattress into the center, clearing couches aside, and locked the front door with a decisive click that echoed like a starting gun.

“Eight straight hours, no breaks,” Jamal announced, voice thick with promise as he stripped off his shirt. “Breeding shift starts now. We’re filling every part of you until dawn.” Mark’s latest text flashed on the phone they held up: Please tell me it’s a joke. The group read it aloud in mocking unison, laughter rumbling through the room while they circled her. She stood there trembling, body still humming from the dock carries, but the craving flared hotter than ever—low, insistent, impossible to ignore.

They laid her on the mattress first in pretzel position. Jamal dropped onto his back, pulling her folded frame down so her ankles hooked behind her own head. Tyrone mounted immediately behind, both thick Black shafts forcing their way into her pussy together. The double vaginal stretch burned fresh and savage, walls parting wider than the dock had ever demanded, veins dragging in perfect sync while Jamal thrust upward and Tyrone drove down. Her cervix took the brunt of each heavy slap, the pressure building until her first orgasm of the night tore free in a silent scream, juices pulsing out in hot, steady streams that soaked their joined hips.

They passed her through the rotation without mercy—Leon sliding beneath next, Marcus piling on top, then the White guys joining the crush: Derek and Ryan pairing with Malik for the same folded, pretzeled assault. Legs trembled behind her head, breath came in ragged bursts, but the motion never slowed. When the pretzel round ended, they flipped her into mating-press piles, two or three bodies crushing down at once, hips hammering with bruising force while the rest waited their turn.