Hello There 💌

It's just a different kind of strength: a strength of endurance.

The strength to be wracked with cramps every month, from your body rehearsing for the day you conceive - and to go about your business as if nothing were wrong.

The strength to be pinned down and fucked full of cum, with or without your consent - and to stand up afterwards and walk away, even if your future has just been chosen for you.

The strength to grow, to carry - to be altered from head to toe, hips and breasts and womb, to bring new life into the world.

The strength to grit your teeth and push a baby out from between your legs - or to endure the surgeon's scalpel and the long recovery, all to the same purpose.

Isn't that empowering? Sure, men can open jars and lift weights and pin you down and rape you. But you're built for so much more. You may not have sheer physical strength, but you have the fortitude to do what needs to be done to ensure the survival of the human species - sometimes even willingly.

I know why you thought so, of course. You would've had to have been much further gone to miss the predatory gleam in my eye when I smiled at you. And even if you weren't used to going home with men like me - or going home with men at all - you couldn't have been too naive to think you knew what I wanted from you.

But you were wrong.

It's not all different. You're still splayed out underneath me, bare and vulnerable - but I'm still clothed, with a hungry smile, and a heavy syringe in my hand.

I'm not going to fuck you. I'm just going to hold you down and fill you with my cum until you overflow with it. I'm going to let you exhaust yourself struggling against me, while every drop sinks deeper into you.

He pulls out his cock, soft, and motions me over to the couch. I match the last pair of socks and sigh inwardly -- to him, I smile.

"You mind?" he asks. "Just 'til the game is over."

I glance at the tv. Second quarter.

"I... how long is that?" I ask. "I was going to finish my chores and read for a few minutes..."

"An hour or two. But if reading is more important than our relationship--"

"No, it's fine," I say. "I'm sorry."

I take his cock in my mouth, my nose pressed close to his belly. He settles back, breathing out a long sigh.

"I'm so glad you're into this," he says. He turns up the game. He takes a drink. "It's incredibly relaxing."

"Mmphf."

"Little deeper, please. That's perfect."

He calls his friend, talks about hitting some balls at the range. Ice cubes clink in his glass. He laughs about something on his phone. The minutes crawl. My jaw aches. I cannot imagine how -- how -- he can get hard again but inevitably he does.

Who needs rights when you have to big, swinging udders and a full pregnant belly, after all?

Having a big, swollen belly bulging off of you should be where you feel your most natural, your most normal.