Sins Of The Flesh: A Taboo Collection

Chapter 8.

Layla's POV.

The next morning, I woke to the feeling of Marcus’s thick c**k already nudging against my entrance from behind.

I was still half-asleep, spooned against his large, warm body in my bed, when he pushed inside me with one slow, deliberate thrust. A soft moan escaped my lips as he filled me completely, stretching my sore, c*m-filled p***y once again.

“Morning, little girl,” he murmured against the back of my neck, his voice rough with sleep and lust. His hand slid over my hip and settled possessively on my lower belly. “Time for your first load of the day.”

He f****d me lazily at first — deep, grinding strokes that made me feel every inch while his fingers circled my c**t with practiced ease. I pushed back against him, gasping as pleasure quickly overtook the soreness.

“Sir… yes…” I whispered, reaching back to grip his thigh.

Marcus nipped at my shoulder. “That’s right. Take it. Keep this womb nice and full for me.”

He came inside me with a low groan, pumping several thick ropes of c*m deep into my core. When he finally pulled out, he immediately replaced his c**k with two fingers, pushing his seed back inside me.

“No leaking today,” he ordered. “I want you plugged with my c*m while you’re at college.”

Before I could respond, he reached into the nightstand and produced a small, smooth silicone plug, short but thick at the base.

My eyes widened. What the f**k?!

“Lift your hips.” he ordered, and I found myself obeying at this insane command, my heart racing, as he worked the plug into my well-lubricated p***y. The stretch was strange but not uncomfortable, and once it was seated, it held his c*m securely inside me. The fullness made my c**t throb with fresh need.

Marcus kissed my forehead. “Good girl. Now go shower and present yourself for inspection. Naked, as usual.”

The new morning ritual felt even more intimate and degrading. I stood in the kitchen completely bare while Marcus drank his coffee and inspected me thoroughly, his fingers checking that the plug was secure, his hands squeezing my breasts, his thumbs brushing my n*****s until they were tight peaks.

“Perfect,” he declared. “You’ll wear the plug all day. Text me every two hours with a picture proving it’s still in place, and no removing it until I say so.”

My mouth fell open, but jeez, I couldn't say no. My head was screaming no, but my body and mind were obeying so effortlessly.

I dressed in another modest outfit he chose — a blouse and a flowy skirt that hid the bulge of the plug between my legs. The constant fullness made walking feel obscene. Every step reminded me that my stepfather’s c*m was trapped inside me, held there by his toy.

The drive to campus was quiet but charged. Marcus rested his hand on my thigh, occasionally pressing against the base of the plug through my skirt, making me squirm.

“Think about how full you are,” he told me when he dropped me off. “Think about what it will feel like when my baby starts growing in there instead of just my cum.”

Baby, the word hit me again.

No, this has to end.

I spent the entire day in a fog of arousal and anxiety.

The plug made sitting in lectures torture. I had to bite my lip to stay quiet every time I shifted and felt it press against my sensitive walls. During a group project meeting, I nearly moaned aloud when the pressure hit my G-spot perfectly. My classmates chatted normally about assignments while I sat there leaking arousal around the silicone, my panties growing damper by the hour.

I sent the required photos from bathroom stalls, my legs spread, fingers holding my skirt up to show the base of the plug nestled between my slick folds. I promised myself not to, I was going to take out the plug but then the plug hit my spot, and I moaned out in pleasure, changing my mind instantly.

Marcus’s replies were short but devastating: “Good girl. Keep Daddy’s c*m inside you.”

“Imagine your belly rounding out soon.”

By late afternoon, the constant stimulation and denial had me desperate. My n*****s ached, my c**t throbbed, and the plug felt like it was getting slicker with every passing minute.

When I finally got home, Marcus was waiting in the living room. “Strip,” he ordered the moment the door closed behind me.

I peeled off my clothes with trembling hands until I stood naked in front of him, the plug still firmly in place.

Marcus crooked a finger. “Come here and bend over the arm of the couch.”

I draped myself over the leather armrest, my ass up, my legs spread. Marcus approached and slowly worked the plug out of me. A gush of his earlier c*m mixed with my own arousal spilled out, dripping down my thighs.

“Look at this messy little cunt,” he said, his voice thick with lust. He spread my cheeks wider, watching the c*m leak from my stretched hole. “You kept it all inside for me like a perfect breeding slut.”

He didn’t give me time to respond. He lined up his thick c**k and slammed into me in one powerful thrust, driving deep into my c*m-slick heat.

I cried out, gripping the couch cushions as he began f*****g me hard and fast from behind. The wet, obscene sounds of his c**k churning through the mess he had left earlier filled the room.

“Sir… oh God, it feels so good,” I moaned shamelessly, pushing back to meet his thrusts.

Marcus gripped my hips bruisingly. “This is what you were made for, Layla. Taking your stepfather’s c**k and his seed every single day. I can’t wait until you’re pregnant and these t**s start filling with milk for our baby.”

The baby talk again. Scary but yet, it pushed me closer to the edge. I was so sensitive from the plug and the day-long teasing that my orgasm built rapidly.

“Please… can I come?” I begged.

“Not until I do,” he growled, pounding into me relentlessly. “I want to feel this p***y milk every drop out of me.”

He reached around and rubbed my c**t with firm circles. The dual stimulation was too much. When Marcus finally buried himself deep and started coming with a guttural groan, flooding me with another heavy load, I shattered.

My orgasm crashed over me violently, my p***y convulsing around his pulsing c**k as I screamed into the couch cushion. Wave after wave of pleasure left me shaking and sobbing with intensity.

Marcus stayed buried inside me long after, grinding slowly to push his c*m as deep as possible. When he finally pulled out, he turned me around and kissed me deeply, possessively.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured against my lips. “But we need to talk about something important.”

He led me to the couch and pulled me onto his lap, still naked and leaking. His hand rested on my lower belly again, stroking gently.

“I stopped your birth control pills yesterday,” he confessed calmly. “They’re gone. From now on, there’s nothing stopping me from breeding you properly.”

My eyes widened, a fresh wave of fear cutting through the post-orgasm haze. “Sir… what if I actually get pregnant? Mom comes back in five months. How are we going to explain this?”

Marcus’s expression remained stern but his touch stayed gentle. “We’ll figure it out when the time comes. But I’m not pulling out anymore, Layla. Not ever. This body is mine to breed. If it happens soon, we’ll deal with the consequences together. You’ll be mine completely, tied to me in the most permanent way.”

The reality of my situation hit me harder than ever. No protection, daily creampies, a man who was supposed to be my stepfather actively trying to impregnate me in our family home.

I should have been horrified, I should have demanded he stop. Instead, I felt my p***y clench around the fresh load he had just given me, another trickle of c*m leaking out as my body responded to his words with shameful eagerness.

Marcus noticed and smiled darkly. “See? Your body already knows what it wants.”

He kissed me again, slower this time, then stood and carried me upstairs like I weighed nothing.

He still f****d me twice more, once in the shower, pressing me against the tiles as hot water cascaded over us, and again in bed, slow and deep while he whispered filthy breeding fantasies in my ear.

By the time we finally slept, I was exhausted, thoroughly used, and leaking his c*m from every f**k.

As I drifted off with Marcus’s arm wrapped possessively around me and his hand resting on my belly, one terrifying thought circled in my mind: I was no longer just submitting to his rules, I was actively hoping the test would come back positive in a few weeks. And that realization scared me more than anything else.

Because if I was pregnant with my stepfather’s child, there would be no hiding it. No going back.

The consequences were coming, and part of me, the darkest, most addicted part, couldn’t wait.