Fertility Rites in Porcelain

I'm eighteen, you're both old enough to be my dads, and I'm eight months pregnant with a belly so tight it shines like a waxed apple. My tits rest on that belly like two heavy, pale moons, and my nipples—god, my nipples—they've gone from pink pencil erasers to fat, dark rosebuds that leak every time I breathe too hard. You two know that. You've both had your mouths on them enough times to map every vein.

The bathtub in my apartment is old porcelain, stained faintly yellow, and right now it's half full of something much thicker than water. I don't know how many loads it took to get it this deep. I stopped counting after the seventh cock finished into the tub. The stuff is warm, almost hot, and it clings to my thighs when I shift. I'm sitting in it up to my waist, my pregnant belly a slick island, and my cunt is already so wet I can't tell where my own slick ends and the semen begins.

You're both standing over me, Peter and Bobby, along with three other men I picked up from the usual place—the one with the sticky floors and the back room where nobody asks questions. All of you are hard. All of you are uncut. And every single one of those cocks is pointed at my face like a loaded gun.

"You look like a goddamn fertility goddess," Bobby says, and his voice is low and rough, the way it gets when he's been stroking himself too long.

"Goddess of the overflow," I say back, and I scoop a handful of the tub's contents and pour it over my belly. It runs down in thick ropes, catching in my navel, pooling in the crease where my belly meets my mound. "I want to feel it everywhere. Inside and out."

Peter groans. His cock jerks, and a fresh bead of pre-cum wells at the slit, then stretches down in a long, shiny thread that lands on my shoulder. His foreskin is pulled back just enough to show the swollen, purple-red head, and it's so wet it looks lacquered.

I reach up and take him in my hand. He's so thick my fingers can't close around him—my thumb and middle finger don't even touch. The skin is hot and velvety, and when I slide my hand down, the foreskin bunches, then rolls back over the head with a wet sound.

"You're leaking again," I say. "You're always leaking. I could wring you out like a washcloth and you'd still have more for me."

"Keep talking," he says, and his hips push forward, fucking my fist.

I look around the circle. Five cocks, all different, all beautiful in their own swollen, dripping way. The man to my left has one that curves hard to the right, the foreskin so long it overhangs the tip even when he's fully hard. The man next to him is shorter but thicker, with a fat, mushroom-shaped head and a vein that pulses along the underside like a river after rain. Bobby's I know by heart—long, dark, with a foreskin that slides back easy and a head that flares like a cobra's hood. Peter's is the monster, the one that hurts, the one I've learned to breathe through.

And then there's the last man, quiet, with a cock that's uncut and heavy, hanging low even when erect, the head peeking out just a sliver, shy and wet.

"Come closer," I say. "All of you. I want to taste each one. I want to tell you exactly what you feel like in my mouth."

They shuffle forward, knees bumping the edge of the tub. I'm surrounded now, a ring of hard, dripping flesh, and the air smells like bleach and salt and something deeper, muskier. I take the curved one first. I pull his foreskin back with my lips, using my tongue to gather the pre-cum that's pooled under the hood. He's bitter and sharp, and his skin tastes like soap and sweat.

"You taste like you've been hard for hours," I say, pulling off with a wet pop. "Your foreskin is so long I could tie it in a knot. I love it. I love how it rolls under my tongue."

He shudders and more pre-cum beads up, and I lap it away before moving to the next.

The thick one. I have to open my mouth wide, wider than feels natural, and even then the head scrapes against my teeth. I hollow my cheeks and suck, and he lets out a sound like a wounded animal. His foreskin is tighter, snug around the head, and I use my tongue to work it back and forth, back and forth, until he's panting.

"God, you're thick," I say, pulling off to catch my breath. "You're stretching my lips. I can feel your pulse on my tongue. Your foreskin is so tight it's like a second skin, and when I pull it back, the head is so shiny I can see my own reflection."

I move to Bobby. I know his cock better than my own reflection. I take him deep, letting him hit the back of my throat, and I swallow around him so he feels the squeeze. His foreskin slides back with a slick, practiced ease, and the head presses against my soft palate. He groans and threads his fingers through my hair.

"Carole," he breathes. "Your mouth is so fucking hot."

I pull back, letting him slide out slow, and I look up at him through my lashes. "Your foreskin is like silk, Bobby. It moves so smooth, like it was made to slide over that big, shiny head. And you're leaking so much I can taste you in the back of my throat."

Then Peter. I don't take him deep right away. I start with the head, just the head, because that's all I can manage. I swirl my tongue around the rim, dip into the slit, and he jerks so hard I have to grip his thighs. His pre-cum is constant, a steady flow that coats my tongue and drips down my chin. I pull his foreskin up over the head and suck on it like a nipple, and he swears.

"Fuck, Carole, that's—"

"I know," I say, pulling back. "Your foreskin is so thick, Peter. It's like a hood, a heavy, wet hood, and when I pull it back, the head is so huge and shiny it looks like it's been polished. It hurts, doesn't it? Being this hard, this full. I can see it throbbing. I can see every heartbeat."

I take the last one, the shy one. His foreskin is long but loose, and when I pull it back, the head is smaller, more delicate, but no less hard. I suck him gently, using my hand to work the shaft, and he comes almost immediately, flooding my mouth with a thin, hot rush. I swallow, then pull back and smile.

"You taste sweet," I say. "Like you've been saving it up. Your foreskin is so soft, and when it rolls back, your head is like a little plum, all purple and wet."

He blushes, actually blushes, and I laugh.

While I've been sucking, I've been working myself. My fingers have been busy under the surface of the semen, rubbing my clit in slow, steady circles. My other hand is on my nipple, pinching and rolling, and every time I squeeze, a thin stream of milk sprays out. It lands on the nearest cock—Bobby's—and he groans as it drips down his shaft.

"Your tits are fucking leaking," he says.

"I know," I say, and I pinch harder, aiming for Peter this time. The milk arcs through the air and splashes against his swollen head, mixing with his pre-cum until it runs down his shaft in milky rivulets. "I can't stop it. Every time I touch myself, they just—"

I pinch both nipples at once, and twin streams spray out, hitting the curved cock and the thick one. The men groan, and I feel a surge of heat between my legs. I'm so wet, so swollen, and the semen in the tub is starting to cool, but I don't care. I reach for the dildo—a thick, veined thing I keep suctioned to the bottom of the tub—and I position it under me.

"Watch," I say, and I sink down.

The dildo slides in easy, because I'm so wet, because the semen is everywhere, because my cunt is practically gaping with need. I moan, loud and unashamed, and I start to ride it. The water—the semen—sloshes around me, and every thrust pushes more of it inside me. I can feel it, thick and warm, filling me up, and I press my fingers against my clit and rub.

"Fuck, yes," I pant. "I can feel it. I can feel all of you inside me. Every load, every drop. It's so thick. It's so warm. I'm so full."

I look up at the circle of cocks, all of them still hard, still dripping, and I pinch my nipples again. Milk sprays, and I aim it at each cock in turn, cleaning them off, coating them in a thin, white film that mixes with the pre-cum and the semen. The men are stroking themselves now, watching me ride the dildo, watching my belly bounce, watching my tits spray.

"Come on me," I say. "All of you. I want to feel it. I want to be covered."

The first to come is the shy one again. He's been leaking since I sucked him, and now he lets go with a groan, and his cum lands on my belly, hot and thin, running down into the tub. The curved one follows, his load thick and ropey, splashing across my tits and mixing with the milk. The thick one comes next, and his cum is so heavy it lands with a wet slap on my shoulder and slides down my arm.

Bobby and Peter hold back, stroking themselves slow, watching me. I'm still riding the dildo, still rubbing my clit, and I'm close, so close. I can feel the orgasm building, a hot, tight knot in my belly, and I pinch my nipples one last time and spray milk into the air.

"Please," I whimper. "Please, I need you both. I need you inside me."

They move at the same time. Bobby steps into the tub, his cock bobbing, and Peter follows. The semen sloshes over the edge, and I feel hands on my hips, on my thighs, spreading me open. Bobby positions himself behind me, and Peter in front, and then they're both pressing against my entrance.

"Both of you," I gasp. "At the same time. I want to feel you both."

It's too much. It's impossible. But they push anyway, and I scream as they both slide in. My cunt stretches, burns, and then—oh god—they're both inside me, their cocks pressed together, and I can feel every vein, every pulse, every throb. The semen in my cunt is pushed out with each thrust, and it runs down my thighs, mixing with the tub water.

The third cock—the thick one—steps forward, and I know what he wants. I nod, and he presses against my ass, and then he's inside me too. Three cocks, all inside me at once, and I'm so full I can't breathe. My belly is pressed against Peter's, and my tits are squashed between us, and every time they move, milk sprays out.

"Describe it," Peter grunts. "Tell us what you feel."

"Peter," I gasp, "your cock is so huge, so thick, I can feel it splitting me open. It's throbbing so hard, like a second heartbeat, and your foreskin is sliding back and forth, back and forth, and every time it pulls back, your head hits something deep inside me that makes me see stars."

"Bobby," I continue, "your cock is so long, so dark, and I can feel it sliding against Peter's, rubbing, and your foreskin is so smooth, like wet silk, and you're leaking so much it's mixing with everything else inside me."

"And you," I say to the thick one, "you're stretching my ass so wide, and your foreskin is so tight, and I can feel your head pulsing, and—"

I come. I come so hard my vision goes white, and I squirt, and the tub overflows, and all three of them come at once. Peter's load is huge, hot, flooding my cunt and pushing out past the seal of our bodies. Bobby's is thick and heavy, and I can feel it pooling inside me. The thick one's cum fills my ass, and I can feel it dripping down my legs.

The other two men are still stroking, and they come too, aiming at my face, my tits, my belly. I'm covered, absolutely covered, and I'm still coming, still shaking, and the semen is everywhere—in my hair, in my mouth, in my cunt, in my ass, on my skin.

When it's over, I'm lying in the tub, panting, my body slick and spent. The men are leaning against the walls, catching their breath. The tub is a mess, and so am I.

Peter looks at me and shakes his head. "You're going to need another bath."

I laugh, and it comes out wet and shaky. "Fuck that. I'm never washing this off. I want to smell like all of you for a week."

Bobby grins. "You already do."

I look down at my body, at the mess, at my swollen belly and my leaking tits, and I smile. "Good. Then I guess we'll just have to add more tomorrow."

Peter's cock twitches, and I see a fresh bead of pre-cum form at the tip.

"Tomorrow?" he says.

I reach up and catch the bead on my finger, then bring it to my mouth and suck it clean.

"Tomorrow," I say. "And the next day. And the day after that. I'm not done with any of you yet."

The shy one blushes again, and I laugh, and the water—the semen—sloshes around me, warm and thick and full of possibility.