Have You Ever Seen A Rooster?

big builder

Sexy Member
Joined
Jun 14, 2006
Posts
27
Media
0
Likes
48
Points
233
Have you ever seen a rooster....

Chapter 1 Animals
If you’ve ever been around animals for any length of time, you know that, though they have things in common with the human species, their behavior, without some sort of rules and discipline, is unacceptable to us. Whether it’s a nip from their natural mama, or a scolding from their human daddy, most have the ability to learn at least some rudimentary manners. Left to their own devices, animals, including humans, will do what’s best for them. They won’t stop until the pain outweighs the pleasure.

Pain could be a beating from the guy you stole from, an arrest or big fine from the judicial system, or simply a horrible feeling of guilt. We don’t want to let our family, friends or deity down. Thankfully, the latter works well for most, excluding socio/psychopaths. We’ve been taught societal, sometimes religious rules, from the very start. “No. No. No, Jimmy. That toy belongs to Johnny. We have to earn things we want.” “Use your words, Susie. We don’t hurt other people when we’re angry.” “God doesn’t like that.” We learn that it’s not right to do some things that our pleasure seeking bodies and minds would really like to, if there were no consequences, even if the only reason is the Golden Rule. “I’d feel really bad if I were on the other side of this behavior.” But what if the rules were different?

Have you ever seen a rooster when a new hen is introduced to the coop? A particular rooster will immediately run over, pin the novel hen down, and have his way with her, effectively marking his territory. It’s called the Coolidge effect. He will do this all day long, anytime he wants, as many times as he wants, to as many hens as he wants. And want he does. 10-30 times a day. In fact, if there are not enough hens to satisfy him (8-12), his excessive mating causes too much stress on the hens.

There’s a definite hierarchy in the coop, which may contain many hens and a few roosters. There is one cock that rules the roost. He’s the biggest, strongest and toughest one of the bunch. Similar to other male animals that live in community, he’s the alpha, and has unlimited sexual access to the females. If any of the other males try to take their turn, he will aggressively attack them, then likely have at her, just to show his dominance. I’ve heard told that some species’ alpha males actually change physically from all of the chemicals released during sex.

Imagine if the rules didn’t forbid it. Imagine what would happen if we retained most of our manners, but our sexual behavior more closely mimicked the animals...
 
  • Like
Reactions: 41769

big builder

Sexy Member
Joined
Jun 14, 2006
Posts
27
Media
0
Likes
48
Points
233
Chapter 2 Him
He was walking through the store, looking for a new pair of jeans. He went through them relatively quickly. He liked them snug, very low on the waist, displaying his “swimmer’s V”, and made from that stretchy denim with integrated spandex. The ones that started out with a three inch zipper and showed off his small, tight butt and thick, muscular thighs. He would buy two very expensive pairs of the same color and have his seamstress cut up the second to custom tailor the first.

His ruggedly handsome face was clean shaven and immaculately maintained. No Einstein hairs in his ears or nose. His blonde eyebrows were trimmed perfectly. A fresh, medium-short haircut perched on his head with a chaotic Ceasar coiffure in medium brown, darkened by the application of styling product. Short sideburns, with a touch of grey, indicated the top of his model jawline. His piercing green eyes stared so intensely. So seriously. They literally stopped both men and women in their tracks.

He was exactly 200 lbs of superhumanly powerful, lean, hairless muscle, shaped not unlike a six-foot Michael Phelps, with Lance Armstrong endurance. Basically the ultimate superbly fit human specimen.

Tapered to fit v-neck t-shirts in black or white looked comfortably painted on and were almost always the top de jur. His unusually long and powerful arms protruded from the sleeves, leading to strangely large hands. Pectorals and abdominals gave much texture to his front and side profiles, while his extra-wide back spread like outsized eagles’ wings, just above his 30” waist. It’s ominous shadow was monstrously intimidating.

With looks and physical capabilities beyond normal humanity, he could have been as self-serving as he wanted. A narcissist, taking anything he wanted by force. There was no need, desire or intentions for that. He was incredibly charming and genius smart. With a glance and a few words (or not) he would lure them in, transforming the most stubborn and defiant attitudes into admirers, lovers and even worshippers.
 

meatymuscle

Superior Member
Joined
Oct 23, 2014
Posts
378
Media
1
Likes
3,575
Points
313
Location
Raleigh, North Carolina, United States of America
Gender
Male
Chapter 2 Him
He was walking through the store, looking for a new pair of jeans. He went through them relatively quickly. He liked them snug, very low on the waist, displaying his “swimmer’s V”, and made from that stretchy denim with integrated spandex. The ones that started out with a three inch zipper and showed off his small, tight butt and thick, muscular thighs. He would buy two very expensive pairs of the same color and have his seamstress cut up the second to custom tailor the first.

His ruggedly handsome face was clean shaven and immaculately maintained. No Einstein hairs in his ears or nose. His blonde eyebrows were trimmed perfectly. A fresh, medium-short haircut perched on his head with a chaotic Ceasar coiffure in medium brown, darkened by the application of styling product. Short sideburns, with a touch of grey, indicated the top of his model jawline. His piercing green eyes stared so intensely. So seriously. They literally stopped both men and women in their tracks.

He was exactly 200 lbs of superhumanly powerful, lean, hairless muscle, shaped not unlike a six-foot Michael Phelps, with Lance Armstrong endurance. Basically the ultimate superbly fit human specimen.

Tapered to fit v-neck t-shirts in black or white looked comfortably painted on and were almost always the top de jur. His unusually long and powerful arms protruded from the sleeves, leading to strangely large hands. Pectorals and abdominals gave much texture to his front and side profiles, while his extra-wide back spread like outsized eagles’ wings, just above his 30” waist. It’s ominous shadow was monstrously intimidating.

With looks and physical capabilities beyond normal humanity, he could have been as self-serving as he wanted. A narcissist, taking anything he wanted by force. There was no need, desire or intentions for that. He was incredibly charming and genius smart. With a glance and a few words (or not) he would lure them in, transforming the most stubborn and defiant attitudes into admirers, lovers and even worshippers.
Love it man. I’m excited to read more!!
 
  • Like
Reactions: big builder

big builder

Sexy Member
Joined
Jun 14, 2006
Posts
27
Media
0
Likes
48
Points
233
Chapter 3 Breeders

Stallions think about two things: food and sex. He was only slightly different. His day to day manners and etiquette mirrored the other men, but with an unparalleled confidence that he could do anything he wanted. He much preferred the willing, who would gladly line-up for miles for his attention. It was extremely rare to run into a challenger, and there had never been any he couldn’t turn, even by force.

He was a breeder. The only one for at least hundreds of miles. Everyone grew up learning about them. Their purpose in life was to breed. Their offspring would be the smartest and healthiest by far, so females, though able to maintain traditional relationships, would figuratively, and occasionally literally, kill for a chance to be implanted with his seed. Males gladly shared their wives in gratitude for the chance to raise a child of superior genetics, bringing them to him in droves, with collective millions in dowry as tribute.

The opportunity to bear his child and experience his affection was just part of the attraction. The stories of the out of this world sexual pleasure from a breeder were the stuff of dreams. Uncounted vaginal orgasms were described as the norm, from the perfectly shaped and outrageously giant organs they possessed, hence the need for his tailored jeans.

Just below his waist sat the most impressive penis and testicles ever. The thighs from the second pair of jeans was used to make a stretchy pouch, which held the set away from his body, as a string bikini would support a huge breast. Essentially, his sex was in its own satchel, hanging over the outside of his pants. There was no zipper and the top of the pouch was closed with a “button fly” of eight equally spaced buttons, starting at the super low waist band, and terminating halfway down his purse, the bottom of which was smooth and full, resembling a snug, but comfortable, knit ski cap perched upon a noggin. The weight tugged heavily on his belt, as the package bounced and swayed with his movement.

It was truly obvious, even comical or grotesque, compared to what we might call a bulge. However, the reactions to it, and him, weren’t of laughter or disgust. Coupled with his model looks, charming uber-confident presence, intriguing scent of cologne and pheromones, the mass of his goods him movie star status, with an unlimited supply of fawning admirers clamoring for him to give attention. And give it to them he did...
 

big builder

Sexy Member
Joined
Jun 14, 2006
Posts
27
Media
0
Likes
48
Points
233
Chapter 4 Expression

Just inside his ripped abdomen, behind his massive testicles and under his firehose corpus cavernosum laid his prostate. The normal prostate is often described as similar to a “walnut” or one and a half inches. At the diameter of a large softball, over five inches, his dwarfed the standard, in both volume and production.

The average expression of semen is one to four cc’s, with four being considered unusually voluminous. Having back to back orgasms, men report expelled fluid significantly diminished, almost non existent, after four loads, so we could estimate about 10 cc’s total (assuming 4, 3, 2, 1 consecutively). If there were no tissue in an average prostate, it could hold about an ounce, or 29 cc’s. It produces about 30% of the fluid in ejaculate. Using 10 cc’s as an average for , a prostate is about 10% fluid. The volume of a five inch softball is about 1073 cc’s. 10% of that is over 100 cc’s. That assumes the percentage of tissue remains the same, but it doesn’t. His was only 70% tissue, the remainder a holding tank for over 300 cc’s. Combined with the fluid produced by his equally extraordinary seminal glands, a “full tank” could contain a liter/quart of the most potent, life giving liquid known to man. How much from one load? Expressed in thick flying ropes that numbered over 20, he would pump out 200-300 cc’s, or about a cup, over a minute’s time. A sixty second orgasm. That doesn’t include “pre-cum”.

He reproduced his secretion at a super-human rate as well. In less than an hour, he would be topped off, making it possible to unload pretty much as often as he wanted, each with a volume and intensity as great as the one before. Recovery time? What recovery? If it went down, it came right back up, as frequently as desired. No refractory period. No increased prolactin. A total machine. A cum machine. A “human” cumming machine. More than a stallion. More than a bull. A breeder...
 

big builder

Sexy Member
Joined
Jun 14, 2006
Posts
27
Media
0
Likes
48
Points
233
Chapter 5 Presentation of the Does

He chose to shop on his own. He didn’t “have” to, but he preferred it. Though his subservient admirers would gladly do the shopping for a chance to win his favor, liked to choose his wardrobe. He chose fits and materials that looked and felt best to him.

As he passed through the racks of the exclusive purveyor with his jeans in hand, he sensed at least two women. Unexplained to them, their nipples were hardening and their loins were dampening in response to his mild scent. The ladies didn’t know what was happening. He’d been down this road many, many times, but they were in the dark. He was feeling randy, and the fact that there was more than one female in close proximity caused his blood to flow.

The ladies looked at each other with sultry expressions normally reserved for their bedroom. They were married lesbians, neither having any physical attraction to men whatsoever. Not understanding what was happening in their minds and bodies, they simply leaned in to kiss each other.

At 5’11” Harlow was a little butch, really muscular, with a fantastically athletic figure. 12 solid years of bodybuilding, great genes and “supplementation” built her. Bleached Sinead O’Connor hair. A little goth makeup on the eyes. Sexy tattoos covered her bulging vascular arms. A somewhat masculine squared jaw. Deep green eyes. Painted-on, ultra low-waisted designer jeans highlighted her tiny, tight boy butt, supported by tree trunk thighs. She had not an ounce of fat, giant male muscles, but the smoothness of a woman. She had the right mix of steroids nailed. No Adam’s Apple or deep voice. No acne. Soft, clear skin. Hanging on her broad shoulders, a shortened, well worn, slightly translucent concert T showed the ring in her navel and was given relief perky dark nipples that stood prominently at attention on her braless DD breasts. They were perfectly implanted, no doubt, as there wasn’t any sign of sagging. She was 32, had never been with a man, and would make a great fantasy dominatrix, but had already made a fortune with a manufacturing opportunity she ran into while modeling for a firearms magazine. Like a surfer girl, the frayed cuffs of her jeans overhung her strapless, leather thong sandals.

Estrella was girly and 20. The trophy wife of Harlow, she was drop dead gorgeous. Like her spouse, she had done some modeling. Her 4’10” stature made her other features stand out. Smooth legs. Wide hips. JLo ass. Her waist was tiny. Not lean, but not soft or “thick”, by any measure. A natural, but still quite firm 30 DDD bosom adorned the Latina’s torso. Uniquely blue eyes and brilliant ivory teeth were surrounded by her thick, shiny, jet-black mane. She wore thin, white pajama like pants. Soft and really thin, like a swimsuit coverup, allowed a peek at her “worn on purpose” lacy black underwear. Her matching brassiere, overflowing with bronze globes was hidden under a white designer hoodie. Gold bracelets and anklets shown near her hands and feet, just above her $300 jeweled flip-flops.

The girls maintained a relationship that would make a man green with envy. Harlow would come home each day to a home cooked meal (arroz con pollo imperial was her favorite), a hot bath, complete with lavender, a glass of wine and candles, a coconut oil full-body massage, and a few orgasms from her tiny, beauty of a wife.

Estrella would always be super clean, fresh, alert and ready to please. She was a fine chef of Cuban descent, and an even better masseuse, but her long, tireless, eager tongue was her true talent. She would lead off with kisses galore over the ripped, oiled body of her lover, working her way from neck to calf and back again to the slick, tasteless space between Harlow’s long legs. She circled the dark, puffy labia, with ever shrinking circumference until she reached Harlow’s testosterone grown clitoris. She lapped the sides. Slowly. Tenderly. Like a male’s, it would begin to stretch out in response.

There was one secondary sex characteristic from the injected hormones that Harlow couldn’t, and didn’t want to, avoid. She had a naturally extra large clit. Combined with years of overdosing on testosterone, it became a monster. She liked it so much that she began applying creams used by female to male transsexuals. Essentially an average penis with the multiple orgasmic ability of a clitoris, she could downright fuck the living hell out of someone with it. She did.

As it began to grow, Estrella progressed to sucking as she tugged on the “foreskin”. It’s spongy pink head blossomed from its sheath due to the increasing length of the blood filled shaft. The erection of Harlow’s clit brought it away from her body and parallel to the floor. Her orgasms came fast, effortlessly and often. She could literally stand or sit, petting her subject lover’s head, and cum every few minutes for hours.

Harlow felt extremely powerful when aroused, her sex a literal sword. With it, she commanded Estrella to do her sexual bidding, in the same way that a benevolent pet owner tells its dog to do a trick. No force. Just a loving but serious order. Estrella lived to please Harlow and could be found at her side, like a begging puppy under the dinner table.
 

big builder

Sexy Member
Joined
Jun 14, 2006
Posts
27
Media
0
Likes
48
Points
233
Chapter 6 Interruption

Before he could see the couple, out of the dressing room walked Samantha, known by her friends as Sam, a 60 something socialite, with three marriages under her diamond studded belt. She was opinionated and demanding of the best, which she could afford, if it wasn’t handed to her in exchange for her attention and uncanny ability to access even the most exclusive establishments and parties, invited or not. The definition of cougar, Sam was pretty hot. She worked out every day, had her hair done weekly and never hesitated making an appointment at the med-spa or plastic surgeon. Estrella at 60, but without the subservient demeanor. Sam wanted everyone to know who was in control.

When she was in the dressing room, Sam wasn’t in a position to sense him. When she walked out, his presence stopped her in her tracks. She was a crotch watcher. A size queen who’s had many inches under her belt over the years. But she’d never seen anything like him. Stone cold handsome. An apparently thick wallet. Something even thicker in the groin. Much, much thicker.

She stood still and stared at him and his outstanding package, like a doe frozen in headlights. Her heart skipped a beat, before pounding like a jackhammer trying to chip its way through her sternum from the inside. Goosebumps. A whimper. Tears of joy welled up in the corners of her eyes as she slowly lowered herself to her knees before him. Her eyes crawled upward from his bulge to his eyes and locked with a look of total submission, begging for his approval. As if to catch water from a well, she raised both of her hands to the level of her chin, just under the hammock containing the idol of her greatest fantasies. She had finally found one.
 

big builder

Sexy Member
Joined
Jun 14, 2006
Posts
27
Media
0
Likes
48
Points
233
Chapter 7 Submission

Slowly, Sam raised her hands to touch him, his pouch hanging heavily, like a cantaloupe in a spandex bag, full and stretchy. It swayed a little, even after the rest of his body came to a standstill. She cupped a great testicle in each hand and felt them shift on their own to adjust for her warmth. She lifted them up and out, as if bringing a crystal ball closer to her face. The mass was undeniable. Very heavy. He reached down, and with one finger to her forehead, pushed her gently away. She dropped his mighty package.

The release of his masculinity was sudden, and it fell with force. The weight of its contents strained the elastic infused denim pouch causing it to stretch deeply before bouncing up and down, up and down, up and down, before settling on a position of rest.

“Good afternoon,” he said. Her face grimaced to her thoughts of missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime. A tear ran from her puppy dog face. “Take a deep breath and relax,” followed, as he smiled kindly and pet her hair. Eager to please, she quickly reached for him. “Patience, my dear. I’m not going anywhere and we both know you’re not either.” Her mouth and vagina responded as rapidly as her heartbeat, each producing copious amounts of fluid and both drooling in their own way.

“What’s your name?”

“Samantha,” she replied.

“I’ll call you Sam,” he commanded, like the sweetest, most loving and confident pet owner talks to his animal. He used her nickname, just like she’d fantasized since she first dreamed of meeting a breeder. Her face beamed, like that same puppy expecting a reward for doing a trick. He owned her already, and he’d hardly touched her. She was excited to see and please her owner.
 

big builder

Sexy Member
Joined
Jun 14, 2006
Posts
27
Media
0
Likes
48
Points
233
Chapter 8 Unveiling


“Go ahead. Unbutton my jeans. Slowly loosen my belt.”

As his belt grew less tight, his satchel lowered, still pronunced out front.

“Reach in and lift each testicle out and carefully hold them until they are fully supported by my sack. That’s good. Yes, I know. They are heavy. Now, pull out my cock.”

She was struck stupid with the visual of his hairless scrotum, it’s super masculinity undeniable, but when she grasped his soft penis, she began to shake. She could make out three distinct inner structures, like bratwursts, two on top, set upon the thinner third. It was like fishing out a pork tenderloin.


On her knees, Sam felt butterflies in her tummy, mesmerized at its flaccid weight. More tears, these of joy, rolled down her cheeks. She had fallen under its spell. It was now her solemn duty to care for it. Worship it.


He was completely hairless. Not even a follicle, it’s perfectly smooth dermis without blemish. There were folds of skin, lots of them, presumably to allow for substantial growth, and thick blue veins raised obviously up, down and across its plentiful length and circumference, bigger soft than any man’s erected.


“You’re doing nicely. Let it hang, so you can see it unobstructed.” After measuring its heft in her tiny palms. She reluctantly let it dangle like a ship’s rope and anchors, all parts of his genitalia straining under their own weight.


“Don’t touch. Just take it in.” She stared dumbfounded at the serpent like appendage before her, his pulse slowly inflating it like it was its own living, breathing creature. Visualize one of those time lapse videos from your school days of a bean growing into a stalk. His stupendous testicles slowly lolling about in their oversized duffel, reminiscent of a lava lamp from the 70’s. The pulse could be seen in its growth. Each beat of his powerful heart delivered more blood. More weight. More stiffness. More energy. More magnificence.


Once it began to rise on its own, he motioned for her hands. She suddenly felt scared, terrified actually. “What am I about to do? Can I even survive this?” She pondered. He grasped her wrist an brought it to his cock, making sure she grabbed it with both hands, as neither could encircle it’s girth on their own. When satisfied that she couldn’t let go he patiently rotated so he could sit down. The chair by the changing rooms, the one provided for frustrated husbands to occupy as their spouses explored the shelves, was wide, plush and of red leather, the color representing power. Perfect for him.
 
D

deleted969111

Guest
Straight here. I like how he dominates with his masculine force, not even having touched Sam.
 

big builder

Sexy Member
Joined
Jun 14, 2006
Posts
27
Media
0
Likes
48
Points
233
Chapter 9 Worship

Between his legs she knelt, with doe eyes fixed on his, she waited for instruction. A slight nod indicated that she was permitted to begin. Sam held it as if it were gold. She studied every inch with wonder in her eyes. How could she be so lucky, so blessed, to be in the presence of this idol. Her hands worked down his weighty scrotum. It was smooth as silk and soft as kid leather. She caressed his testicles, in awe their heaviness. They shifted in response. These were the great measure of his fertility.

As she worshipped him manually, his snake like appendage lengthened, thickened, rose and fell as if it was breathing. The stiffening started at the base. Imagine a meaty syringe, with the plunger pushing slowly from his abdomen to its broad helmet, the tube becoming rigid along the way. With her hands now on his shaft, Sam brought it to her lips. She kissed it, over and over, demonstrating her love and appreciation for the opportunity.

There was no musky odor, just a clean, freshly bathed, powdered scent. Attractive. Precum began to flow with her kisses. Take a bottle of honey. Poke a hole in it with a small nail. Take the top off to release the pressure. An almost constant flow. Long strings of sweet, clear, lubricating nectar, reaching nearly to the floor before separating into a puddle with a dripping sound. Her lips covered his slit, sealed snugly around it with suction. She wrapped all ten of her fingers around his base and began to tug back and forth from his body towards her ready mouth. She swallowed with every pump.

Soft, it stuffed her mouth full. As it hardened, it became increasingly difficult to fit. Long before it reached its pinnacle she was in too much pain to continue. By then, the flow got to be too much as well. She returned to drinking from his fountain until it stoped growing

She pointed it upwards and leaned back to get a full view. It was a tower of virility. A mighty weapon. A missile. A cannon.

For a split second, she looked past its statuesque form for his approval. He nodded, and in a calm, sure voice instructed, “Turn away and get on all fours.” She obediently complied, presenting her sexy, denim-clothed ass to him. “I’m going to fuck you now,” he spoke confidently, “Take your jeans off and prepare for me.” He removed a squeeze bottle of coconut oil from his pocket, bathed his shaft in it, then set it on the floor where Sam could reach it. She liberally coated her labia and vaginal entrance with the naturally slick lubricant, twitching with pleasure as she did so. When satisfied that everything was protected from chafing, she returned the bottle to its previous spot on the floor and breathed a one word sentence, “Please.”

He smeared the copious agave flow about his crown, aimed it at her opening and ordered her to back-down on it. Sam was taking orders like a champ. In fact, she accepted that she had no other choice. Not because she feared his wrath, but because her heart, body and mind would not let her do otherwise. She was serving her omnipotent master willfully.
 
  • Like
Reactions: meatymuscle

big builder

Sexy Member
Joined
Jun 14, 2006
Posts
27
Media
0
Likes
48
Points
233
Chapter 10 Voyeurs


As her opening began to take its place around the thick, spongy head of his cock, she bit her lip and expelled a blast of air from her nose, suggesting there was pain involved in this transaction.


At that exhale, from around the nearest clothing rack, came a gasp. Because they were seated and kneeling, they couldn’t see the now exposed and super hot lesbian couple watching them.


Estrella and Harlow had been watching the whole thing. Attracted by the indescribable airborne pheromones, they followed and were greeted by the sight of his profile, just as he sat in the waiting chair. Though the pull of his animal magnetism was luring them in, they mustered just enough resistance to peek around the collection of business jackets first. Without being detected, they could see Sam on the floor, along with his legs and genitalia. They were already dripping with their own lubrications, but couldn’t remain quiet an the thought of the incredible stretch that was occurring between Sam’s loins.


He’d already sensed them, he just didn’t know there were two of them, until they got closer, each of their lady parts steaming wet with desire. “Good morning, friends. Please join us.” They locked eyes with each other asking simultaneously, “What do we do?”
 

big builder

Sexy Member
Joined
Jun 14, 2006
Posts
27
Media
0
Likes
48
Points
233
Chapter 11 Release

With Samantha still working the swollen corona into her puffy damp opening, he again commanded, in the most confident, pleasant tone imaginable, “Come.” It was moths to a flame. The usually cock-sure Harlow was actually frightened. She knew there was no way either could resist this temptation. How would it affect them? Would they ever be the same afterwards? Questioning themselves was fruitless against the irresistible draw of the breeder.

“Thank you,” he responded to their approach. At that very instant, his bulbous head entered completely and Sam had her first orgasm. The constant back and forth of the rosy helmet against her equally pink and swollen labia tugged on her clitoris until she couldn’t help but cum as he finally made entry. With that, Sam’s internal fluids flushed around the partially buried shaft, giving it the frictionless surface needed to really make progress. A sudden vaginal orgasm rocked her world next. Her bits pulsed erratically around him, impaled by his sword.

“Ladies, this is Sam. And who do we have the pleasure of sharing our company with?” His voice was calm and soothing. He was so polite. Attractive as anything. More than anything. That leader you would do anything to bask in his greatness. They replied and then Estrella asked him the same question. “You may call me anything that pops into your head. Make it up. I am who I am, but Popeye is not an option,” he chuckled. “He’s got a sense of humor!” they snickered, attraction level now reaching 12 on a scale of 1-10.

“Estrella, in a moment, I’m going to put a child in you. Are you prepared to receive my seed? Harlow, are you ready to care for our offspring?” Harlow looked at Estrella, then to him. Both women nodded in approval. “That’s nice,” he smiled with a legitimately cheerful grin.

Sam, stuffed to the hilt, was on the verge of number thee, when he began to let loose, giant testicles rising high. As one would act and sound as they swung a sledgehammer with all their might, he grit his teeth and roared with each of the first 15 or so shots. Sam could feel the pumping action of his powerful cum muscles as they forced out rope after rope of his dense seed. The girls watched the remaining inches of his urethra that wouldn’t fit, pulsing every couple seconds. After the initial thirty seconds or so, he relaxed as the orgasm continued. This went on for a full minute, unlike any of the women had seen in life or on film. Sam took it. It filled every crevice in her opening, and then some, before he pulled out and let the remainder pump out on the carpet. Sam moaned and collapsed, flat on the floor.

“Estrella?”