The flat screen television flickered on. In the few dim rays of morning light that crept through the tattered curtains of my cell, I heard the voice that wouldn't stop haunting me.
"Ahh, there we go. You're going to enjoy this," Nathan said, straightening up on the screen. The well-worked muscles of his chest and midsection filled out the image while the camera jittered with his adjustments. He wasn't wearing any clothes. My eyes traced down the trail of hair from his chest and belly to his large, swaying...
I turned to roll away from it, but my restraints caught my neck. A familial pain made me wince, and I stopped trying. He wouldn't even let me look away, not even in the mornings when I was alone. Every day began with this ritual. Instead of an alarm clock he awoke me with porn, and not just any porn.
"Let me go, please!" I sobbed behind the man, my voice tinny in the recording. His dark laugh chilled me even now, about seven months after he recorded this one. A caption he had written scrolled across the bottom of the screen:
Day of Conception
My insides froze when I saw that. At least mine did. The chains weighed on my wrists, but I still lifted my arms to pet across my stomach. They had to lift high now, my womb dancing painfully with my unborn child who had awoken with me this morning.
"Shhh, please..." I whimpered, petting my squirming belly. I knew he was a boy. A mother knew as much as that. The way he moved inside me, strong enough even now to subdue every thought of me with a mere kick of his tiny feet, took after his father. Would he have the same dark hair and eyes? A sob escaped my lips, but it was nowhere near as loud as my wailing on the recording.
"Please, someone help me!"
"Shhh, I'm all you need," Nathan said. I jerked my face away from his hand as he traced my jaw. That wouldn't do. A growl and a firm grab later he was drawing my eyes back to his, my cheeks held inescapably between his fingers.
"P-p-please... don't... fuck, I'm sorry."
"You know I don't like foul language from you," he tore back the sheets that I had cocooned myself in, revealing the chains that bound me to the bedframe. The same that bound me now. I heard them rattle as my feet kicked uselessly, and even now the cold of the chains bound me in the same way -- thighs spread and unable to close, made ready for him to take me at any time.
My muffled whines died in his palm, and I in the bed watched his great cock hanging low above my past self. Its veiny length dragged against my heaving breasts and knocked against my chin before he pressed the semi-turgid head against my lips.
"I'll clean out that foul mouth of yours," he said, grabbing my hair tight. My gasp gave him opportunity, and he shoved his member past my lips. I gurgled, my face disappearing behind Nathan's muscled legs and pumping ass. But I didn't need to see it to remember the way his cock felt, gliding against my tongue, forcing my lips to stretch out to accommodate him. The same lips that my fingers traced unconsciously right then in the bed as his rutting ass and my gurgling protests played out on the screen.
"That's it, good girl... Choke on my cock,"
Nathan cooed, his hand releasing my hair as I tearfully bobbed up and down on his cock. It was just as he taught me, session after session. And every session he would reward me the same way, by taking his hand and trailing it down to my breast. His hand enveloped one on screen, his strong fingers squeezing tight and letting my nipple appear and disappear beneath his fingers. My own hand followed suit.
My hips rose, both on screen and in the bed. He knew my weaknesses, and even now he had sway over them. My own hand couldn't close in around my tit the way his did, especially now. It weighed heavy and taut, almost painfully swollen and sensitive. The cold metal of the rings he'd since put through my nipples caught against my palm. He squeezed on screen, and I mimicked him without thinking. A tickle across my stomach drew my attention down to the streak of creamy milk I'd sprayed over myself. I was lactating already, and already wasting the nourishment for his baby growing inside me.
"Mmm, yesss..." Nathan hissed on screen as he kept massaging my breast, "You'll be weeping out of these tits for me too soon enough."
A sob broke from my lips, and another spray confirmed his prophetic words. Its warmth went everywhere -- my stomach, my hands, even the bedsheets - thanks to those glimmering rings ruining my nipples. He had told me that wives get rings on their fingers, but breeding mares get them through their tits. I bit my lip and squeezed my eyes closed, the warm tears streaking down my cheeks as more of my cream squirted from my tits.
"Noooo! I don't want your baby!" I wailed on the screen the moment his cock popped out of my mouth. But Nathan didn't stop. He dragged that slimy, saliva-dripping cock down my body and hiked my legs up onto his broad shoulders.
"Mmm, your body disagrees," he nuzzled his face against my calf, snarling against it like a dog with his bone. His dangerous shaft, bare and drooling precum, twitched against my vulnerable slit. It lurched like a baton, rising only to knock against my defenseless pussy. On screen my hips squirmed in vain to get away from his. In the bed my hips roved against the bedsheets until my hand crept down between my thighs.
"I can't... not now... It's the worst time," I whined beneath him.
"Now is the best time," he thrust in, and my squealing cry pealed out as he rutted in.
"Ohhh god, please noo-ooooh!" I groaned in the bed along with my on-screen wails, flicking my fingertips along my slit. That time was the worst time to be fucking bareback, and he knew what he was going to do to me. What he would make of my flat belly and little tits. I plowed my fingers in, two at a time, and pumped in rhythm with Nathan's purposeful strokes.
It went on and on, the thrusting and the whining and the guilty pleasure playing out in the movements of my body beneath his. My wails turned to desperate moans on the screen, my pussy gripping tight around his plunging shaft and my fingernails digging into his pumping flanks. Much the same happened amid my gently clanking chains, the frigging of my pussy sounding out the same squelching that came out from the television. Only on the screen my forced mate pressed his hand against my flat stomach.
