Impregnating My Daughter's Best Friend

The Saturday sun laid itself across the kitchen tile in wide, lazy stripes. Declan, forty-two and three years divorced, rinsed his coffee mug and listened to his twenty-two-year-old daughter Beatrice zip her weekend bag in the hallway. She was already late for the lake house, talking a mile a minute about her college friends and the long drive north.

“Kendra’s staying,” she said, hitching the strap onto her shoulder. “The fumigation at his apartment is still going. You’re sure that’s fine?”

“He’s been here half the week already,” Declan said. “It’s fine.”

Kendra drifted in from the living room, twenty-two, lean as a whip, dark hair falling into his eyes. Beatrice’s best friend had the kind of body that looked like it had been drawn with a single clean line—narrow hips, long legs, a T-shirt that kept slipping off one collarbone. He was a college student with his own job and his own rent, unmistakably grown, and he’d been crashing on the guest futon while his place aired out. He caught Declan’s eye and offered a small, easy smile.

Beatrice hugged them both, promised to text when she arrived, and was gone. The front door clicked. The house settled into that particular Saturday quiet that only happens when a loud person leaves.

Magnus arrived twenty minutes later with work gloves hooked in his back pocket. Thirty-eight, openly gay, a family friend since before the divorce, he filled the doorway like a wall. Thick chest, heavier arms, thighs that made his faded jeans look unfair. He’d volunteered to help Declan tear out the dead hedges along the back fence.

Declan clapped him on the shoulder, then swore under his breath. “We’re short on mulch. I’ll run to the hardware store. Start without me—Kendra can give you a hand.”

Magnus’s gaze slid past Declan and landed on Kendra, and it stayed there. Kendra didn’t look away. He stood a little too close to the older man already, lingering in the space Magnus occupied, his eyes traveling the ink on Magnus’s shoulder, the veined forearms, the easy dominance in the way Magnus stood. The spark was immediate and mutual, heat gathering in the quiet between two men who had just been left alone.

“All right,” Magnus said, voice low. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The backyard was a mess of dry roots and overgrown beds. Magnus dropped to a crouch and started ripping. Kendra knelt beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed every time either of them shifted. Sweat darkened the collar of Magnus’s tank. Every time the older man flexed, Kendra’s eyes snagged on the motion and stayed there a beat too long. They worked in a thick, charged silence broken by light teasing that didn’t stay light for long.

“You keep looking at my arms like that,” Magnus said, dumping a handful of weeds into the bin, “I’m going to start charging.”

Kendra’s laugh came out breathless. “They’re worth looking at.”

The banter turned. Glances lingered. When Magnus stood, Kendra rose with him, deliberately near, the lean line of his body angled toward Magnus’s bulk. Heat came off Magnus in waves. Kendra’s thin shirt clung to his chest.

“I’ve thought about this,” Kendra said suddenly, not bothering to pretend it was about the garden. “About an older man. Someone like you. Someone who wouldn’t ask permission twice. Who’d just take over.”

Magnus went still. Then he stepped in, one big hand closing around Kendra’s waist, pulling the younger man flush against him. Their bodies pressed together in the heat—Kendra’s slim frame against Magnus’s solid muscle, the unmistakable ridge of Magnus’s cock already thickening behind denim. Kendra made a small sound and rolled his hips, shameless, grinding against that hardness until Magnus’s breath went ragged.

“Inside,” Magnus said.

They barely made it to the living room. The second the sliding door shut, Kendra’s knees hit the rug. He looked up, lips parted, hands already on Magnus’s belt.

“I want this,” Kendra said, voice raw. “I’ve wanted a man like you to wreck me. Tell me you want it too.”

Magnus cupped his jaw, thumb dragging over Kendra’s mouth. “I want to bury myself in you until you can’t think. I want to breed that tight little hole until you drip. You good with that?”

“Yes. God, yes. Further. All of it.”

Kendra got the belt open, got the jeans down. Magnus’s cock sprang out thick and heavy, already wet at the head, the kind of cock that made Kendra’s throat work just looking at it. Kendra’s tongue dragged a slow stripe up the underside, then he took as much as he could, moaning around the stretch. Magnus’s hand fisted in his hair, not shoving, just holding, letting Kendra show how eager he was. Spit ran down Kendra’s chin. He bobbed, messy and hungry, until Magnus growled and hauled him up.

Magnus kissed him hard—open-mouthed, claiming—and steered him toward the couch.

Magnus bent him over the back of it. Kendra went willingly, chest to the cushions, ass up, reaching back with both hands to spread himself. Magnus dropped to his knees behind him, big palms splitting those lean cheeks, and put his mouth on Kendra’s hole.

He rimmed him thoroughly. Slow at first, filthy and patient, tongue circling the tight furl until it glistened. He licked broad, wet stripes, then pointed his tongue and pressed in, working Kendra open with spit and heat and the low, satisfied sounds Magnus made against him. Kendra cursed and pushed back, thighs shaking. Magnus held him open and ate him like he had all afternoon—sucking at the rim, dipping inside, pulling back to blow cool air over the soaked, fluttering hole, then diving in again until Kendra was dripping and begging in broken sentences.

“Please—Magnus—please, I’m ready, I need your cock—”

Magnus stood, spit in his palm, stroked his thick cock once, twice, lined the fat head against that slick rim, and pushed. Kendra’s body opened for him, tight, hot, greedy. Magnus sank in slow at first, letting Kendra feel every inch of the stretch, the heavy glide, the way Magnus’s hips finally met his ass when he bottomed out. Both of them groaned. Magnus stayed buried, grinding, giving Kendra time to adjust around the thickness, then drew back and snapped forward.

He started to fuck him. Raw, pounding, doggy-style, the wet slap of skin filling the living room. Magnus gripped Kendra’s hips and used him, deep and relentless, the kind of fucking that made Kendra’s voice crack on every other thrust. Kendra clawed at the couch cushions, moaning loud, taking it, asking for harder. Magnus gave it to him. He folded over Kendra’s back, one hand braced, the other wrapping Kendra’s throat just enough to hold him, and drove in until Kendra’s hole clung on every withdrawal.

“That’s it,” Magnus rasped against his ear. “Take it. This is what you wanted. An older man stuffing you full.”

“Yes—fuck—don’t stop—”

They went at it until Magnus’s control frayed. He pulled out with a slick sound, manhandled Kendra around, and put him on his back on the couch cushions. Kendra’s legs came up immediately. Magnus hooked them, folded him nearly in half, and slid back in to the hilt in one thrust.

Missionary. Magnus wanted to watch his face.

He did. He fucked him like that, dominant, grinding deep, watching Kendra’s mouth fall open, watching his eyes go glassy and wet. One of Magnus’s hands stayed on Kendra’s hip, pinning him to the couch; the other braced beside his head. Every thrust punched a punched-out sound out of Kendra. Magnus’s cock dragged over that spot inside him again and again until Kendra was shaking, stroking himself in frantic time, cock leaking over his fist, the head flushed and slick.

“Breed me,” Kendra begged. “Please. Fill me up. I want to feel it—I want your cum in me, I want you to knock me up, I want to be full—”

Magnus’s rhythm turned brutal and precise. “Take it. You’re going to take every drop. This hole is mine today. I’m going to pump you so full you’ll feel me walking tomorrow.”

Kendra nodded, desperate, stroking faster, the wet sound of his fist matching the wet sound of Magnus’s cock. “Yours. Fill me. Please, Magnus, I’m so close—breed me, breed me—”

Magnus buried himself as deep as he could go, hips flush, and came with a guttural sound that shook through both of them. His cock pulsed hard, pumping a massive load into Kendra’s ass—pulse after pulse, hot and thick, breeding him, flooding him until Kendra could feel the heat pooling. Kendra’s orgasm hit at the same time. He cried out and came hard across his own chest, white streaks up to his collarbone, his hole clenching around Magnus’s still-spasming cock, milking him, pulling more cum out of him. Magnus kept grinding through it, feeding it deeper, watching Kendra’s face twist with it.

They stayed locked like that, panting, Magnus’s weight a welcome crush, Kendra’s legs still hooked around his waist, the air between them smelling like sex and sweat and the open window.

Magnus pulled out slowly. He watched. Kendra’s used hole stayed open a moment, pink and shiny, then fluttered, and a thick bead of cum welled up and dripped down toward his balls, onto the couch. Magnus thumbed it, pushed a little back inside, then leaned down and kissed Kendra deeply, unhurried, tasting him.

“Next time Beatrice is away,” Magnus said against his mouth, “I’m coming back. We’re not done. I want you dripping for days.”

Kendra’s laugh was wrecked and happy. He pulled Magnus closer by the back of the neck.

“You really going to keep breeding me every time she leaves town?”