Executive Wife Bred by Bbc
by Thomas Spencer
Copyright© 2025 by Thomas Spencer
Erotica Sex Story: Emily's affair with Marcus spirals into total depravity as a pregnancy scare awakens her breeding kink. Assuming her fertile days, she begs for his thick BBC creampies in risky office spots—supply closets, under her desk—her wet pussy dripping with anticipation, nipples hard through sheer blouses as she dresses like a desperate slut. Hiding nausea and swelling breasts from her clueless husband Tom, Emily's hormones rage, turning her into a submissive fucktoy craving rougher play, like first-time
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma Fa Consensual Reluctant Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Cheating Cuckold Slut Wife Wimp Husband Rough Interracial Black Male White Female Cream Pie Masturbation Oral Sex Squirting .
I woke up with that familiar ache between my legs, the kind that lingers like a promise. Tom was still asleep beside me, his breathing steady and soft, the covers tangled around his waist. The room was dim, early morning light sneaking through the blinds, and I lay there for a moment, letting the soreness wash over me. My pussy felt tender, stretched from yesterday’s quickie in the office—Marcus bending me over the desk, his thick cock slamming into me until I came so hard I saw stars. I could still feel the ghost of his cum inside me, dried and sticky, a secret reminder that made my clit throb even now.
I shifted slightly, and that’s when it hit me. My period was late. Three days. I should have started by now—I’m like clockwork, always have been. A jolt of panic shot through me, but it wasn’t just fear. No, it was something darker, hotter. The thought of his seed taking root, swelling my belly with something that wasn’t Tom’s ... God, it made me wet. I pressed my thighs together, feeling a fresh rush of slickness. What kind of woman gets turned on by a pregnancy scare? Me, apparently. The dirty, slutty part of me that craved being filled, claimed, bred like an animal.
Tom stirred, rolling over to face me. “Morning, Em,” he murmured, eyes half-open, smiling that sweet, sleepy smile. He leaned in for a kiss, his hand sliding up my thigh under the sheet—gentle, familiar, boring.
I kissed him back, but my mind was already elsewhere. “Morning,” I whispered, arching just a little as his fingers brushed higher. He took it as encouragement, rolling on top of me, his body warm but soft, his cock half-hard against my hip. He nuzzled my neck, murmuring how beautiful I was, how much he loved waking up to me.
It was nice. Safe. Predictable.
He slid my nightgown up, cupping my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they peaked. I moaned for him, faking the intensity, wrapping my legs around his waist as he pushed into me—slow, careful, like he was afraid to break me. His thrusts were steady, rhythmic, hitting that shallow spot that barely scratched the itch. I rocked my hips, clenching around him, digging my nails into his back just enough to make him groan. “You feel so good, baby,” he whispered, kissing my ear.
But all I could think about was Marcus. His thick, veined cock stretching me wide, pounding me until I screamed. Filling me with hot, thick loads that dripped out for hours. The scare amplified it—my body betraying me, maybe already changing, growing something from him. I came suddenly, harder than Tom deserved, my pussy spasming as I imagined Marcus’s cum taking hold, making me his in a way Tom never could.
Tom finished right after, grunting softly, collapsing onto me with a satisfied sigh. “That was amazing,” he said, kissing my forehead before rolling off to shower.
I lay there, his cum mixing with whatever was left of Marcus’s, feeling empty despite it all. The scare buzzed in my head like a drug. I should be terrified. Instead, I was horny. Desperate for more.
The drive to work was torture. Every red light had me shifting in my seat, thighs pressed together, nipples hard against my lace bra. I wore a tight red dress today—low cut, hugging my curves, hem short enough to show thigh when I crossed my legs. No panties, of course. I wanted to feel ready, exposed, like the slut I’d become.
Marcus was at his desk when I walked past. He looked up, eyes flicking over me—lingering on my cleavage, the way the fabric clung to my ass. “Morning, Ms. Harper,” he said, voice smooth, a hint of that cocky edge I’d started noticing. Like he knew he could have any woman he wanted, and I was just the latest notch.
“Morning,” I replied, my voice breathy. I felt his gaze on my back as I headed to my office.
The morning crawled. Emails blurred on my screen. My mind kept drifting to the calendar app on my phone—I’d checked it three times already. Late. Definitely late. The panic twisted into arousal again, making me throb. What if? The thought of my belly rounding, breasts swelling, all because of him ... I squeezed my thighs under the desk, biting my lip.
By eleven, I couldn’t take it. I buzzed him. “Marcus. My office.”
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.