TROPES: IMPREGNATION, FERTILITY TREATMENT
Come to the fertility farm, where impregnation tends to be far more fun.
Betty’s new hormone regiment has her re-enacting her favorite porn scenes with her husband at home, much to his pleasure.
But when the man she’s paying to impregnate her takes the boyfriend experience to the next level, she’s afraid of what her reaction to him means.
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AN EXCERPT FROM "BOYFRIEND EXPERIENCE"
Betty settled the twins in their play pen with a movie, their favorite, before she prepped dinner at the nearby kitchen counter. It was the kind of night to make something easy: meat, vegetables, noodles, and cheese mixed in a pot, covered with foil, and shoved into a preheated oven.
Checking on the boys, they lay cuddled with their toys, eyes drooping as they followed the colorful creatures on the TV.
The garage door opened and closed, and Betty slipped away to meet her husband in the mud room, driven by the spikes of her hormones and the anticipation of what came tomorrow—her visit to the fertility farm for a second round of treatment.
She’d tackled Charlie against the door before he could shrug off his jacket and put his briefcase down. Her hands roamed his broad chest and stomach, a little softer than when they married a decade ago, but she liked it. It did nothing to distract from the solid strength of her husband against her.
His plump mouth curled into a slow grin. Betty’s sexdrive spiked last week, and she’d taken it out on him.
“The kids are subdued in the living room. We should have a couple of minutes.” She yanked at his belt and opened his slacks to grab ahold of him, delighted by how a few seconds of her touch and the promise of pleasure could have him half hard already.
Charlie sank a hand in her hair and kissed her, pumping her blood harder. “What did you have in mind?”
Betty pumped her hand over his cock, earning a soft moan. “For now, I want you in my mouth.”
A squeeze earned a second moan, lower and more gruff.
“I want to build you up until you fuck my face.”
Charlie started, eyes wild at her dirty words. They weren’t shy with each other, but she didn’t often talk so explicitly. But while the boys napped midmorning, Betty’s restlessness got the best of her, and she clicked through a few of the porn videos on her husband’s search history.
They gave her enough inspiration to rub one out, but the fantasies wouldn’t stop. She imagined all day what it would take for the tears to stream down her face like the women in those videos.
Her husband’s shaft was hard as stone as she sank to her knees.
He didn’t need to ask what had gotten into her, merely cupping her cheek and running his thumb over her parted lips.
A long stroke of his cock hooded his eyes, and his breath came in bigger waves.
Leaning in shifted his grip on her, weaving his fingers into her hair as Betty suckled on his fat red head, tasting his precum as her tongue smoothed down his shaft.
Charlie grunted as she worked him to the back of her throat. He was thick like the rest of him, heavy and wide and not too long. It was why she liked to blow him—maybe not all the time, but often enough that she knew how to work him into a frenzy.
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