Chapter 10: Pregnant Pet Routine

Morning light filtered through the half-drawn blinds of the master bedroom, casting pale stripes across the hardwood where Emma knelt naked before the full-length mirror. Two weeks had passed since those two pink lines had sealed her fate, and already her body was answering in ways she couldn’t ignore. The subtle swell of her lower belly pressed gently against her palms as she traced it, skin stretched taut and warm, a faint curve that hadn’t been there before. Her breath hitched. It’s really starting. My father’s baby is growing inside me, pushing outward, and every time I feel it I get wetter than I ever did before the collar locked around my throat.

Marcus stood in the doorway, arms crossed, the crisp lines of his button-down shirt doing nothing to hide the powerful frame beneath. His eyes—those piercing blue eyes she’d inherited—drank in the sight of her: heavy breasts fuller now, nipples darker and perpetually sensitive, the silver day collar resting delicate against her flushed collarbone. “Look at you,” he said, voice low and rich, carrying that measured authority that always made her thighs clench. “Already showing for Daddy. That womb is doing exactly what it was made for.”

Emma’s cheeks burned, but the heat pooled lower, a slow, insistent throb between her legs. She stayed on her knees, palms still cradling the gentle roundness, as he crossed the room and knelt behind her. His large hands covered hers, guiding her fingers in slow circles over the swell. The touch was reverent, possessive, sending sparks racing straight to her core. “Feel that, puppy? My seed took root so perfectly. This belly is going to keep growing, round and full, while you stay collared and obedient every single day.”

A fresh rush of slickness coated her inner thighs. She hated how her body responded—how the shame of carrying her own father’s child only sharpened the ache—but the truth was undeniable. Her pussy fluttered, empty and needy, already missing the thick stretch of him from last night’s shower. Marcus had kept his promise: every morning and every night, he filled her, leaving her dripping and claimed. Yet today he had something new planned. She could feel it in the way his fingers lingered, tracing the curve like it was sacred ground.

He rose and fetched the item from the nightstand drawer—a sleek chastity belt of supple black leather and polished steel, designed specifically for her changing body. The front plate was curved to cradle her mound, the rear strap wide enough to sit comfortably above the swell of her ass without pressing on the baby. Emma’s pulse quickened as he knelt again, fitting the cool metal against her heated skin. The leather straps wrapped around her hips with deliberate care, the steel plate kissing her swollen folds and pressing lightly against her clit. The lock clicked shut with a final, metallic snap that echoed through her bones.

“There,” he murmured, tugging gently on the belt to test the fit. “Locked between breedings, puppy. This pretty cunt belongs to Daddy now—denied and dripping until I decide it’s time to fill you again. Feel how it hugs you? How it reminds you that even your pleasure is mine?”

The sensation was immediate and overwhelming. The metal was cool at first, then warmed to her body heat, creating a constant, intimate pressure that kept her clit trapped and aching. Every tiny shift of her hips sent a teasing friction through the plate, never enough to satisfy, only enough to torment. Her walls clenched hard around nothing, the denial already coiling tight in her belly. He’s caging me while I’m carrying his child ... and the thought of being locked up, helpless, is making me throb worse than ever. A soft whimper escaped her lips as she rocked experimentally, the belt holding firm, unyielding.