Opening Scene – Week 3 Postpartum
The house was quiet. The newborn rested in the cradle beside the bed, and I
finally had a moment to breathe. Or so I thought.
Max’s fingers traced the curve of my waist, reverent and hungry.
“You’re ours again,” he whispered.
Ant stood behind him, shirtless, his eyes dark with a craving that hadn’t eased
through the pregnancy—it had only changed.
“You healed enough?”
I nodded. Maybe not fully. But I needed them. Needed to be taken, touched,
claimed again.
That night, they didn’t ravage—they worshipped. Slow,
coaxing touches. Mouths at my breasts, drinking the milk that still flowed.
Kisses down my belly. Gentle fingers parting me open. They didn’t fuck me to
break me. They made love to reawaken me.
Week 4–7: Escalation
Desire returned faster than I imagined. My body remembered theirs.
They pushed the limits daily, sometimes hourly. Max tested how long I could
take him deep again. Ant whispered his filth while I nursed, slipping his cock
between my thighs.
They worked in shifts—one with the baby, the other with me.
Some nights, we ended in a tangled heap, baby dozing nearby, me dripping with
cum, panting, milk wet on my skin.
By week six, they had only one goal.
“We’re going to knock you up again,” Ant growled.
Max grinned. “She’s never going to be empty.”
Week 8–9: The Ritual Begins Again
Ovulation returned like a signal flare. Max and Ant didn’t miss it.
They charted it. Timed it. Made every session count.
They bred me again, over and over. In the breeding room. In
the nursery. On the kitchen counter while a nanny took the older kids to the
park. Their obsession renewed, intensified by watching me nurse their
newborn with one hand and stroke their cocks with the other.
Week 9: Confirmation
The test was positive.
“You’re really pregnant again?” Max asked, voice hoarse,
already hardening at the thought.
I nodded. “You bred me. Again.”
Ant pulled me into his lap. “And we’re just getting started.”
Family Returns – Full Circle
The kids returned, loud and full of energy. I was already queasy and glowing.
Nannies helped—thank god. Max and Ant still pulled me away for quick, stolen
sessions. A brush of their hands, a whispered promise, and I was once again on
my knees in the pantry, or bent over the back stairs.
Even surrounded by chaos, they made time to share me.
To own me.
To start it all again.
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