Despite a long history of libertine activity, there are some ground rules that exist in my sex life. I refuse to have sex with a woman unless I can cum inside her and she is not on the pill. I generally refuse to have sex unless she is nearing her fertile period. I like it best when I leave knowing that there is a baby brewing inside of her, which is why I only have sex with women with whom I could have an excellent child. Did I mention that, as an experienced “network security expert,” I have removed any trace of myself on the grid, so I can do so with impunity?
All of this depends on the lady being game, of course. I never lie and I never pretend. These things are beneath me. Luckily, in the small midwestern city where I live, there is no shortage of women who for whatever reason need to be bred and cannot do it through the conventional method (marriage, family, and perfunctory sex after work). My habits of this nature started when I helped [an old friend have a child](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/9pd76c/lady_in_the_night_mf/) despite an infertile husband. After that night, I was hooked.
On my days off, I volunteer at a local group that plants trees to offset pollution, carbon, and the general ugliness of this concrete-coated wasteland. An old friend named Gene started it a long time ago, but he died suddenly a few years ago, and a woman named Diana stepped up to run the organization. She had done a good job so far, but among volunteers, grumbling spread. We ran short of seedlings, fertilizer, mulch, and aerators, and often times we were short-handed on a dig. It came to a head one day when somehow, the shovels had been forgotten. We stood looking around, growing more discontent.
Finally one of our volunteers, a petite blonde named Marsha, had enough and laid in wait for Diana outside her office. This resulted in a half-hour of raised voices and Marsha flinging herself out of the door, slamming it behind her, and saying loudly, “She’s not going to do anything. I’m done! We’re a third-rate outfit!” All eyes turned to me, because I am generally the negotiator with troublesome people we encounter in our doings, so I told everyone to hang tight and went inside.
“I’m not here to make things any wo–” I began, but then stopped because instead of seeing an angry face, I saw a crumpled face streaked in tears. I stepped back and locked the door, then went to the staff bathroom and dug out some facial tissues, which I handed to Diana. She took them gratefully, and after a few moments, sobbed, “I’m doing such a terrible job here.”
In my experience, the best thing to do when a woman is upset is to let her talk it out. It is part of their cycle: they become upset, they think it through, then they feel better. I made sympathetic noises and then asked her what was going wrong. She laid it on the line: she was busy at work, had trouble meeting people, and was often tired when she came in on Saturdays or worked over the documents in the evenings. Finally she said that she thought that the volunteers hated her.
The silence fell heavily on the room. “I haven’t heard anything in particular, except gripes about things actually going wrong. No one has complained about you directly. It sounds like you are overloaded and…”
I searched for the word. “Well, it sounds lonely.” Long pause. “Anyway, I can help you fix the supply chain and for starters, get our shovels from wherever they are.” She looked up at me with these bright blue eyes and I felt a longing in my soul. We dug around the files, some of which showed the signs of recent disarray, and others of which were a mess from when Gene wrote them all in his unraveling longhand, but after a half-hour I had a list of places they might be, and a few phone calls later, located them in one of our trailers.
We had a great day after that, planting more trees than usual because it seemed like order was restored. I spent several nights with Diana at her house that week, and a few more in the office, creating order where chaos once existed. She started to trust me, and one night after a few beers in the wake of a dig, she let on that she was indeed, lonely, and it was exhausting her.
“I’ve succeeded beyond my wildest dreams at my career,” she said. She was some kind of lawyer, environmental law or business regulations or something. I forget. She told me that she could do her job in a few hours a week, and the rest of the time, she was alone. “I’ve never been one to date much. Relationships take up too much of my energy. Most men tell you they want one thing and then demand another. But time is ticking by, and I want a family, and I don’t think I’ll ever get to have one.”
I stood up and leaned in close to her. I sniffed. “You smell fertile,” I said.
“Well, yes, it’s about day eight,” she said.
I sat down next to her and put a hand on her knee. For the next half hour I told her my whole story: about how after having sex early in life, I had become bored, and then how I had fallen in love with the idea of children, and now how I had my rules and several children scattered across the state. Her eyes grew misty. Then I told her that I would not be roped into a relationship either, and how I could simply disappear and reinvent myself anywhere else I chose to if someone was so stupid as to try to haul me into court.
“That’s a lot to think about,” she said. I gave her a Cheshire cat grin, sat down and drained the rest of my beer, then went into the kitchen to get another. I opened her refrigerator (sounds like sexual slang, I remember thinking) and fished out a longneck, then turned around and was promptly knocked into the wall. The beer flew, denting its lid just enough to spray a fine mist of yeasty deliciousness across the kitchen, but I was pinned down by 135 lbs of ardent woman, her lips on mine as if she wanted to consume me.
Diana never struck me as attractive during my early days of knowing her, but that was mostly from not seeing her up close. She wore no makeup and dressed like an FBI agent, so most of us just passed her by with our eyes, as I think was her desire. But it was those eyes, those blue eyes like my own, which drew me in and had me re-examine the rest of her. She was tall for a woman, but slender, with small breasts that fit within the overall contour of her body, and a long thin face that lit up when she smiled. Her hair was a strawberry blonde, and natural, as I would later find out, and she had elegant fingers and a quick mind.
I rose up, holding her at my waist, and carried her upstairs to her bedroom. I could feel her dampness increase as my muscles strained to lift us both a flight of stairs, and I kept kissing her, noticing how her kisses became more tender, more submissive, as she let me gently toss her onto the bed and push her arms to her sides. She was wearing a pencil skirt and business blouse, which I opened between kisses a button at a time. I unzipped her skirt and flicked it aside, seeing her lie before me in her red bra and panties, not quite matching (but close enough for government work).
Stripping off my shirt and stepping out of my jeans, I massaged her inner thighs in round circular motions, noticing that her legs spread further as I did so. Her breathing went shallow, slow, and irregular as I unclasped her bra. As if by my command, she slid her panties down her legs, letting the soft damp cloth drop onto the carpet below the bed. Then she closed her eyes as I inspected her, going over every inch of her body with my eyes and then my hands. I stopped at her delicious mound, parting the hair and massaging the flesh at the top of her slit.
She possessed an unusually attractive vagina, narrow and elegant, with a soft tuft at the top. The vertical entrance glistened and parted as I rubbed above it, her eyes rolling as she moaned. Then I felt her hand reach for the waistband of my boxers, and I flung that unnecessary cloth aside and kneeled above her, my life-giving wand standing erect and proud as if eyeing its next conquest. I moved my hands to her shoulders, and she said the sexiest thing I think a woman has ever said to me, “Put it in me before I die of longing.”
Well, you don’t have to tell me twice! I lined up with her entrance and probed it with my tip, feeling the soft lips part as she prepared to receiver me. Then I slid forward slowly, just a few inches, so that the head of my reproductive warrior entered her inner cavern. She breathed in lightly, quickly, and then relaxed around me, so I withdrew and then plunged in further, a little faster. This time her breath came quickly, and I pushed forward, feeling her warmth envelop me as she cried out my name. Lying on top of her, I began a gentle pulse of my hips, working myself in further each time until I felt her cervix twich near my tip.
Sadistically, I drew out and heard her disappointed sigh, then slid back in and began a gentle rocking motion that accelerated with her breathed to a piston thrust matching her heartbeat. “More, more,” she gasped, her hand clutching my testicles, rubbing them like one might comfort a small woodland creature. I pulled out just to hear her sigh again, then began at a slower pace, making myself penetrate deep within her and gyrate against her walls at the same time my pubic mound mashed down on her plump moist clitoris. “More, more,” she sighed, and my motions matched her urgency until I was in pure animalistic lust, plunging inside of her with a manic intensity that match my growing lust and the trickle of loss of control beginning at the base of my shaft.
Suddenly she stopped breathing altogether, flung her hands back, and with a voice between a whisper and howl spoke my name again, then writhed briefly and collapsed on the bed. She heaved in air, then murmured something inaudible, and I slowly began to pick up the pace again. Her moisture covered me, easing the slick passage as I began again to hammer her like a beast in the throes of passion. I felt her cervix open up beneath the hole in my tip at the same time a small earthquake began beneath my testicles, shooting into them with electric agony as the convulsion began.
“I’m — ” I said, but she knew because I was stiffer than steel and rutting wildly in an ecstasy of hormones. She shot her legs behind my back and locked them around me, then licked her lips said, “Cum in me. Fill me with babies.”
This was all I could take and soon the pulsing energy took control as I shook and unloaded spurt after spurt of my life-giving fluid into her. I felt the cervix undulate, drawing my seed inside of her, and this inspired several more spurts, more than I had ever cum before. My vision blacked out and sparks danced before my eyes in total blackness, but then I was breathing again, furiously drawing air as I crashed onto the bed beside her, my member leaving her muscular entrance with a small kissing noise.
Silently she drew her legs up to her chest and lifted her hips, conserving as much of me as she could within her. “Mmm,” she said, and sighed, then returned to regular deep breathing. I took her hand in mine. She began to drift off to a contented sleep, in which I would soon join her, but in her last conscious moments she said, “I never knew that starting a family could be… so compelling.” I kissed her shoulder and joined her in the mapless land of slumber.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/9rxvic/breeder_mf