A Roomie Roomie
- 2 years ago
- 23
- 0
Knocking Up free porn video
One of the fantasies I often go back to is one where I’m not so much physically tormented as psychologically.
In this fantasy, I work in the high powered corporate world. I’m ruthless and successful and good looking. I strut around in sexy business wear that’s just risqué enough to excite the men around me but still acceptable in the office. I have the perfect body. I fuck whoever I want to and I make my disdain clear for women who do something as useless as staying home and having c***dren. A big promotion is coming up when one of the senior people is retiring and competition for the spot is beyond fierce. I have my eye on the prize. But so does someone else. Someone else who decides that I not only need to be taken out of race, but I need to be taken down a peg or twenty.
His plan isn’t all that difficult, it just requires timing. He bribes my usual doctor into prescribing a new kind of birth control for me, the kind that he says “may stop your periods altogether”. Of course I’m all for it thinking it’ll be great to fuck raw every day of the month. I don’t think twice before filling the prescription and taking it. Only, it’s not birth control. It’s a fertility d**g.
I find myself hornier than usual, but I don’t notice anything much. And this competitor of mine? He comes to me and says that he knows that I’ll be getting that promotion, so he wants to get in good with the boss lady while he can, before he goes on his extended business trip. And I let him. He’s fantastic in bed, I spread my legs for him willingly. He seems intensely into me as well. Every time he fucks me for all he’s worth, and he cums so hard in my unprotected pussy. All the while I think I’m completely safe. I don’t need condoms. We’re all clean around here, right? And I’m on birth control, right?
My period stops, just like the doctor said it might, and I don’t think anything of it. I start to notice that my breasts are sore, and they’re a bit bigger. My clothes are tighter. I tell myself it’s weight gain and I hit the gym extra hard. For weeks upon weeks I can’t figure it out. Then, one day, I’m looking at myself in the mirror. The rest of me hasn’t really gained weight, just my breasts and my tummy. Only, it feels firm instead of flabby, and I can’t really suck it in. Then, as I’m touching my rounding tummy, I feel something move inside me. I feel a tiny kick. Horrified, I realize what’s been happening to me. I pray it isn’t true, but when I go to the doctor’s office, he confirms it is. I’m knocked up. And not just knocked up, I’m a little over four months along. I’m already in my second trimester. He informs me that it’s too late now. Most doctors won’t perform an abortion this late. I’m trapped. I have to have this baby.
I’m devastated and furious. I wait for the man who knocked me up to return from his overseas business a couple of weeks later. I’m waiting for him in his office, full of anger and resentment. I barely wait until he closes the door to say, “You asshole.”
He gives me a smile. “Hello to you, too.”
“I’m pregnant,” I say, angrily. I stand and raise my shirt so he can see the swell of my belly. “Look at what you did to me you asshole. Look!”
I expect him to be worried or scared or stunned by the prospect of fatherhood. But he isn’t at all. He smiles even more. He comes over to me and puts his hands on my stomach, possessively. “Oh, I’m looking. You’re really starting to show, aren’t you? Do you know what it is yet?”
“Did you do this on purpose?”
“Doctors are so open to bribes these day. All those loans from medical school, I guess.”
“Bastard!
He laughs. "No, the bastard is what’s inside you.”
I push his hands away. “Fuck you.”
“Well, you already did and look what it got you,” he says. Then he pushes me hard back down into the chair. “I think we need to get something clear. I own you now. I owned you from the minute you spread your slutty little legs and let me empty my balls inside you while you were moaning like a bitch in heat. So let me tell you what’s going to happen. You’re obviously trying to hide it, but that won’t last long. And when people realize you got yourself pregnant, you’re gonna start training your replacement. Because we’re getting married.”
“No. Never. You can’t make me.”
“I think I can. You see, when a man sleeps around, he’s just a man. When a woman sleeps around, nobody can trust her. You don’t even really know for sure if it’s mine, do you? How many other guys were you fucking?”
“No.”
“Yes. We’re going to married and then you’re going to announce that you’re fulfilling your dreams of motherhood and staying home to raise our baby. Once you do that, you’re going to be a good little mommy. And part of that is keeping daddy happy.”
I feel horror and dread. Inside me, his baby kicks hard. I put a hand to the side of my baby bump. “You can’t.”
“I can. And if you think I won’t make a scene in the office, pleading with you to marry me, because I love you and our unborn c***d so much, think again.”
I realize that he’s right. That there’s no way out. I’m finished. My career is over. The only other option is to have this baby alone, maybe give it up for adoption. “I won’t do it.”
“Oh, you think you’ll just squeeze the k** out and give it up and try to start over? No, no. I’ll have you blackballed from this entire industry. I’ll sabotage every effort you make. You won’t be able to get a job serving fast food.”
My heart is racing and I realize that I’m well and truly trapped. My life is ending right before my eyes. Everything is crumbling. I can’t stand to stay in his office any longer and I run out, with him laughing as I close the door.
Everything that he promised happens. Two weeks later, he sees me in the middle of the office with a cup of coffee and he loudly asks me if I made sure to get decaf, because caffeine isn’t good for the baby. Right then and there, he gives me away. He unbuttons my jacket so that people can see the baby bump underneath. He pretends to be excited and enthused and in love. And I have to play along. He tells me that we’re getting married soon.
Soon enough, I’m huge. All those stylish clothes are a thing of the past now that I’m waddling down the halls in maternity dresses that only make my condition more obvious, make my belly look that much bigger. I’m a joke to people now. I’m just another mommy who couldn’t handle a real career.
I have to fake happiness at our sham wedding, the white dress tight over my seven and a half months pregnant belly. When he gets me home that night, he says that it’s time to start learning how to be a good wife. The first lesson is keeping your husband satisfied. He puts me on all fours and pushes up the wedding dress he hasn’t let me take off and he rams into me without caring if it hurts. I tell him to please stop, it’s hurting me. He says good wives don’t complain, they learn to take it. I try to tell him I won’t let him do this to me, I’ll tell people he’s r****g me and abusing me. I try to get away from him.
He pushes me down onto the bed, on my back and pins me. He tells me, “You know what the only think worse for you than having this baby is? Not having this baby? I don’t mind you fighting me once and a while, it’s fun. And I love when you tell me how much it hurts. I’m sure eventually you’ll come to need it like a slut. But if you try anything like what you’re suggesting, you’re gonna have an excruciating, bloody miscarriage and everyone’s going to know you caused it deliberately, that you killed our precious little baby just because you’re an evil bitch. I think you can go to prison for something like that. Is that what you want.”
I shake my head. “No,” I whimper.
He spreads my legs wide and says, “Let’s try this again.” He seems to like it when I start crying, or when he’s slamming into me so hard that I have to hold onto my belly with both hands. I keep hoping he’ll cum quickly, but he takes his time. It seems to last forever, and I’m bruised inside and out after he’s done.
That becomes my life. I hate him and I resent him more than I can say, but I’m powerless. I have to let him fuck me in any way he wants, no matter how degrading or painful. If he wants to use me as his footstool for hours while he watches TV and works on his laptop, I have to let him. If he wants me to suck him off I have to get on my knees and make it good. If he wants to jam sex toys into my ass, my pussy or just shove his own sizable cock there, I have to take it.
Then the day I’ve been dreading arrives. I go into labor, two weeks overdue. He’s taken some time off of work so he can be there with me when it happens. Only, I don’t get to go to a hospital. I don’t even get a doula or a midwife. I have to do it all on my own, unassisted. He has no mercy on me while I’m in labor. He tells me that since the baby’s on the way, I need to make sure the house is spic and span. While I’m having contractions, I’m cleaning and sweeping and doing laundry. It’s agony every time I have a contraction. He enjoys hearing me groan in pain and breathe hard, pleading with him to let me go to a hospital, telling him how much pain I’m in. But he tells me I have to keep cleaning. And keep servicing him whenever he wants. While I’m on my knees scrubbing the bathtub, in the middle of the worst contraction yet, he comes from behind me and rams into my pussy, so hard he hits my dilating cervix. I give out a scream of pain and grab my contracting belly.
“I didn’t say you could stop,” he tells me. So I have to get through this labor pain, still scrubbing away while he fucks me.
I’m in labor for over a day and a half and my water hasn’t even broken yet. The head keeps moving down, trying to get through my cervix, but I’m not there yet. He doesn’t let me sleep or rest. He seems full of energy, enough to fuck me several times in all holes. Then I find myself in the kitchen, and suddenly my water breaks, splashing on the tile floor beneath me. A contraction so bad it brings me to my knees hits me. I know this is it, it’s happening. I’m about to give birth to his baby, make his conquest over me complete.
He finds me on the kitchen floor, on my knees holding my belly and bearing down. He’s got a video camera pointed at me. I have to push so badly, but it feels like it’s getting nowhere. I look up at him and beg him for help. He just keeps filming me in my moment of utter humiliation and agony.
“God, look at you. You’re not just pregnant and barefoot in the kitchen. You’re pregnant and giving birth in the kitchen. How does it feel?”
“It hurts!” I scream and bear down again with all my might. “Oh god, please help me! Ahhhhggggggghhhhhhhnnnnnn! Ohhhhhhhh! Oh god I don’t wanna do this, I don’t wanna have a baby.”
“Too late now. You’re the one who spread your legs. That’s what you get for being a whore and a bitch.”
I can’t even say anything back, I’m screaming as I push with all my might. I’m sobbing, too, thinking that he did this to me, he took everything and now he’s watching me forced to have his baby. And I can’t stop it. I have to have this baby now. My body isn’t even really mine anymore. It’s his to put babies into whenever he wants and I have no choice but to carry them and birth them.
Crowning is excruciating, it happens so slow and I have to push so hard but it keeps sliding back inside me. It tears me when I push, but I have no choice. I keep pushing for all I’m worth, I just want it out of me now. The shoulders are so wide I almost can’t do it. Finally, I get past that and push the rest of the body out. Breathing hard, I sit back and look at the baby laying there on the floor in between my legs, still attached to the cord. I’m sitting in a puddle of blood and birth fluids.
“You’re a mommy now! How do you like it?” he asks me from behind the camera.
I start crying even harder. “I hate it! I hate it! Why did you do this to me I don’t want it I don’t wanna be a mommy!”
But I have no choice. I have to pick the newborn up, have to cut the cord and deliver the afterbirth myself, have to nurse it, take care of it. I have to pretend for everyone else that I’m so happy. He tells me that since we have another mouth to feed that I’m going to need a job, and my job is going to be that I’m a full time mommy.
I don’t get it at first, not until a mere two months when he starts fucking me again. I’m barely healed from the birth, barely just gotten my figure back, and he’s already emptying his balls into me again. I’ve been taking what I think are vitamins, then he reveals to me that they’re not. That now that he’s gotten that promotion, he’s helping the company invest in a bio tech company, one that’s developing some exciting new fertility d**gs. He managed to get some of them. He says that my job as full time mommy means that I will make babies, babies for him to give to couples looking to adopt - for a fee.
I run to the bathroom and get horribly sick when he tells me that. Then I take a pregnancy test. It’s positive. The first baby he forced me to have isn’t even three months old and now he’s put another in me. I start crying, knowing this is my life now. I’m nothing but a mommy. Just like I always feared.
In this fantasy, I work in the high powered corporate world. I’m ruthless and successful and good looking. I strut around in sexy business wear that’s just risqué enough to excite the men around me but still acceptable in the office. I have the perfect body. I fuck whoever I want to and I make my disdain clear for women who do something as useless as staying home and having c***dren. A big promotion is coming up when one of the senior people is retiring and competition for the spot is beyond fierce. I have my eye on the prize. But so does someone else. Someone else who decides that I not only need to be taken out of race, but I need to be taken down a peg or twenty.
His plan isn’t all that difficult, it just requires timing. He bribes my usual doctor into prescribing a new kind of birth control for me, the kind that he says “may stop your periods altogether”. Of course I’m all for it thinking it’ll be great to fuck raw every day of the month. I don’t think twice before filling the prescription and taking it. Only, it’s not birth control. It’s a fertility d**g.
I find myself hornier than usual, but I don’t notice anything much. And this competitor of mine? He comes to me and says that he knows that I’ll be getting that promotion, so he wants to get in good with the boss lady while he can, before he goes on his extended business trip. And I let him. He’s fantastic in bed, I spread my legs for him willingly. He seems intensely into me as well. Every time he fucks me for all he’s worth, and he cums so hard in my unprotected pussy. All the while I think I’m completely safe. I don’t need condoms. We’re all clean around here, right? And I’m on birth control, right?
My period stops, just like the doctor said it might, and I don’t think anything of it. I start to notice that my breasts are sore, and they’re a bit bigger. My clothes are tighter. I tell myself it’s weight gain and I hit the gym extra hard. For weeks upon weeks I can’t figure it out. Then, one day, I’m looking at myself in the mirror. The rest of me hasn’t really gained weight, just my breasts and my tummy. Only, it feels firm instead of flabby, and I can’t really suck it in. Then, as I’m touching my rounding tummy, I feel something move inside me. I feel a tiny kick. Horrified, I realize what’s been happening to me. I pray it isn’t true, but when I go to the doctor’s office, he confirms it is. I’m knocked up. And not just knocked up, I’m a little over four months along. I’m already in my second trimester. He informs me that it’s too late now. Most doctors won’t perform an abortion this late. I’m trapped. I have to have this baby.
I’m devastated and furious. I wait for the man who knocked me up to return from his overseas business a couple of weeks later. I’m waiting for him in his office, full of anger and resentment. I barely wait until he closes the door to say, “You asshole.”
He gives me a smile. “Hello to you, too.”
“I’m pregnant,” I say, angrily. I stand and raise my shirt so he can see the swell of my belly. “Look at what you did to me you asshole. Look!”
I expect him to be worried or scared or stunned by the prospect of fatherhood. But he isn’t at all. He smiles even more. He comes over to me and puts his hands on my stomach, possessively. “Oh, I’m looking. You’re really starting to show, aren’t you? Do you know what it is yet?”
“Did you do this on purpose?”
“Doctors are so open to bribes these day. All those loans from medical school, I guess.”
“Bastard!
He laughs. "No, the bastard is what’s inside you.”
I push his hands away. “Fuck you.”
“Well, you already did and look what it got you,” he says. Then he pushes me hard back down into the chair. “I think we need to get something clear. I own you now. I owned you from the minute you spread your slutty little legs and let me empty my balls inside you while you were moaning like a bitch in heat. So let me tell you what’s going to happen. You’re obviously trying to hide it, but that won’t last long. And when people realize you got yourself pregnant, you’re gonna start training your replacement. Because we’re getting married.”
“No. Never. You can’t make me.”
“I think I can. You see, when a man sleeps around, he’s just a man. When a woman sleeps around, nobody can trust her. You don’t even really know for sure if it’s mine, do you? How many other guys were you fucking?”
“No.”
“Yes. We’re going to married and then you’re going to announce that you’re fulfilling your dreams of motherhood and staying home to raise our baby. Once you do that, you’re going to be a good little mommy. And part of that is keeping daddy happy.”
I feel horror and dread. Inside me, his baby kicks hard. I put a hand to the side of my baby bump. “You can’t.”
“I can. And if you think I won’t make a scene in the office, pleading with you to marry me, because I love you and our unborn c***d so much, think again.”
I realize that he’s right. That there’s no way out. I’m finished. My career is over. The only other option is to have this baby alone, maybe give it up for adoption. “I won’t do it.”
“Oh, you think you’ll just squeeze the k** out and give it up and try to start over? No, no. I’ll have you blackballed from this entire industry. I’ll sabotage every effort you make. You won’t be able to get a job serving fast food.”
My heart is racing and I realize that I’m well and truly trapped. My life is ending right before my eyes. Everything is crumbling. I can’t stand to stay in his office any longer and I run out, with him laughing as I close the door.
Everything that he promised happens. Two weeks later, he sees me in the middle of the office with a cup of coffee and he loudly asks me if I made sure to get decaf, because caffeine isn’t good for the baby. Right then and there, he gives me away. He unbuttons my jacket so that people can see the baby bump underneath. He pretends to be excited and enthused and in love. And I have to play along. He tells me that we’re getting married soon.
Soon enough, I’m huge. All those stylish clothes are a thing of the past now that I’m waddling down the halls in maternity dresses that only make my condition more obvious, make my belly look that much bigger. I’m a joke to people now. I’m just another mommy who couldn’t handle a real career.
I have to fake happiness at our sham wedding, the white dress tight over my seven and a half months pregnant belly. When he gets me home that night, he says that it’s time to start learning how to be a good wife. The first lesson is keeping your husband satisfied. He puts me on all fours and pushes up the wedding dress he hasn’t let me take off and he rams into me without caring if it hurts. I tell him to please stop, it’s hurting me. He says good wives don’t complain, they learn to take it. I try to tell him I won’t let him do this to me, I’ll tell people he’s r****g me and abusing me. I try to get away from him.
He pushes me down onto the bed, on my back and pins me. He tells me, “You know what the only think worse for you than having this baby is? Not having this baby? I don’t mind you fighting me once and a while, it’s fun. And I love when you tell me how much it hurts. I’m sure eventually you’ll come to need it like a slut. But if you try anything like what you’re suggesting, you’re gonna have an excruciating, bloody miscarriage and everyone’s going to know you caused it deliberately, that you killed our precious little baby just because you’re an evil bitch. I think you can go to prison for something like that. Is that what you want.”
I shake my head. “No,” I whimper.
He spreads my legs wide and says, “Let’s try this again.” He seems to like it when I start crying, or when he’s slamming into me so hard that I have to hold onto my belly with both hands. I keep hoping he’ll cum quickly, but he takes his time. It seems to last forever, and I’m bruised inside and out after he’s done.
That becomes my life. I hate him and I resent him more than I can say, but I’m powerless. I have to let him fuck me in any way he wants, no matter how degrading or painful. If he wants to use me as his footstool for hours while he watches TV and works on his laptop, I have to let him. If he wants me to suck him off I have to get on my knees and make it good. If he wants to jam sex toys into my ass, my pussy or just shove his own sizable cock there, I have to take it.
Then the day I’ve been dreading arrives. I go into labor, two weeks overdue. He’s taken some time off of work so he can be there with me when it happens. Only, I don’t get to go to a hospital. I don’t even get a doula or a midwife. I have to do it all on my own, unassisted. He has no mercy on me while I’m in labor. He tells me that since the baby’s on the way, I need to make sure the house is spic and span. While I’m having contractions, I’m cleaning and sweeping and doing laundry. It’s agony every time I have a contraction. He enjoys hearing me groan in pain and breathe hard, pleading with him to let me go to a hospital, telling him how much pain I’m in. But he tells me I have to keep cleaning. And keep servicing him whenever he wants. While I’m on my knees scrubbing the bathtub, in the middle of the worst contraction yet, he comes from behind me and rams into my pussy, so hard he hits my dilating cervix. I give out a scream of pain and grab my contracting belly.
“I didn’t say you could stop,” he tells me. So I have to get through this labor pain, still scrubbing away while he fucks me.
I’m in labor for over a day and a half and my water hasn’t even broken yet. The head keeps moving down, trying to get through my cervix, but I’m not there yet. He doesn’t let me sleep or rest. He seems full of energy, enough to fuck me several times in all holes. Then I find myself in the kitchen, and suddenly my water breaks, splashing on the tile floor beneath me. A contraction so bad it brings me to my knees hits me. I know this is it, it’s happening. I’m about to give birth to his baby, make his conquest over me complete.
He finds me on the kitchen floor, on my knees holding my belly and bearing down. He’s got a video camera pointed at me. I have to push so badly, but it feels like it’s getting nowhere. I look up at him and beg him for help. He just keeps filming me in my moment of utter humiliation and agony.
“God, look at you. You’re not just pregnant and barefoot in the kitchen. You’re pregnant and giving birth in the kitchen. How does it feel?”
“It hurts!” I scream and bear down again with all my might. “Oh god, please help me! Ahhhhggggggghhhhhhhnnnnnn! Ohhhhhhhh! Oh god I don’t wanna do this, I don’t wanna have a baby.”
“Too late now. You’re the one who spread your legs. That’s what you get for being a whore and a bitch.”
I can’t even say anything back, I’m screaming as I push with all my might. I’m sobbing, too, thinking that he did this to me, he took everything and now he’s watching me forced to have his baby. And I can’t stop it. I have to have this baby now. My body isn’t even really mine anymore. It’s his to put babies into whenever he wants and I have no choice but to carry them and birth them.
Crowning is excruciating, it happens so slow and I have to push so hard but it keeps sliding back inside me. It tears me when I push, but I have no choice. I keep pushing for all I’m worth, I just want it out of me now. The shoulders are so wide I almost can’t do it. Finally, I get past that and push the rest of the body out. Breathing hard, I sit back and look at the baby laying there on the floor in between my legs, still attached to the cord. I’m sitting in a puddle of blood and birth fluids.
“You’re a mommy now! How do you like it?” he asks me from behind the camera.
I start crying even harder. “I hate it! I hate it! Why did you do this to me I don’t want it I don’t wanna be a mommy!”
But I have no choice. I have to pick the newborn up, have to cut the cord and deliver the afterbirth myself, have to nurse it, take care of it. I have to pretend for everyone else that I’m so happy. He tells me that since we have another mouth to feed that I’m going to need a job, and my job is going to be that I’m a full time mommy.
I don’t get it at first, not until a mere two months when he starts fucking me again. I’m barely healed from the birth, barely just gotten my figure back, and he’s already emptying his balls into me again. I’ve been taking what I think are vitamins, then he reveals to me that they’re not. That now that he’s gotten that promotion, he’s helping the company invest in a bio tech company, one that’s developing some exciting new fertility d**gs. He managed to get some of them. He says that my job as full time mommy means that I will make babies, babies for him to give to couples looking to adopt - for a fee.
I run to the bathroom and get horribly sick when he tells me that. Then I take a pregnancy test. It’s positive. The first baby he forced me to have isn’t even three months old and now he’s put another in me. I start crying, knowing this is my life now. I’m nothing but a mommy. Just like I always feared.
Marisol
- 30.10.2022
- 24
- 0
