The Leap Year Visitor's Breeding

The bedroom held its breath. Anton, twenty-eight, lay on his back a little after midnight on the twenty-ninth of February and did not pretend to sleep. Beside him Carmen, twenty-seven, his wife, watched the dark the same way—bare under the sheet they had already shoved down to their hips, both of them awake on purpose. They had circled the date in red on the kitchen calendar. They had cleared the week and told work they would be unreachable. The visitor came once every leap year and did not leave until its balls were empty, and they had spent four years remembering the last time and wanting the next.

Cold arrived before the shape did. Not a window draft—Anton had locked the sash himself—but a dry, mineral chill that tasted of old bone and settled on their skin. The mattress dipped at the foot without a creak of floorboards. Carmen's fingers found his and squeezed once, the signal they had agreed on years ago: it's here, and we still want this.

It stood where the quilt ended. Tall enough that the smooth crown of its skull nearly brushed the ceiling beam. Slender as something starved past the point of flesh, bone-white from the blank of its head to the long toes that gripped the carpet without a sound. Its arms hung too far, elbows set high and wrong, and the fingers—too many joints, pale as roots—flexed once and went still. The legs were the same: narrow, overlong, knees that seemed to bend a fraction farther than a knee should. The face held no eyes he could name and no mouth, only a smooth plane the color of boiled bone, and still Anton felt the weight of being seen. Visceral dread climbed his throat and sat there, hot and sour, the old animal alarm that said run. He did not run. His cock twitched against his thigh anyway, thickening from the wait alone, and he let it.

Carmen made a small sound that was not quite fear. She did not pull the sheet up over her breasts. The cold had already drawn her nipples tight, and the rise and fall of her chest was too quick for sleep, too steady for panic. They had seen this thing before, in this same room, on the last night the calendar gave them. They had stayed. They had opened for it. They had lain awake afterward sticky and shaken and already counting the years until it could come again. The horror of the shape was real—Anton felt it in his teeth—and the want was real too. Looking away would have been the only lie left, and they had agreed, both of them, clear-eyed and sober and old enough to know their own hunger, that they would not lie about this.

The creature did not speak. It never had. It only stood, silent, its grotesque height filling the foot of the bed, elongated limbs casting thin shadows up the wall, featureless face tilted a degree toward Carmen as if it already knew which body it had come to breed. Anton swallowed. Carmen turned her face toward him in the thin spill of hallway light, and he saw the dread he felt and, under it, the eagerness they had nursed in private for four years. She nodded once. He nodded back. Their hands stayed locked. The pale visitor waited, patient as a tide, because it had been welcomed before and it would be welcomed now.

The tension thickened until Anton could feel it on his tongue, electric and metallic, like the air before a storm that never broke into rain. The creature's narrow hips shifted. Between the long white thighs something that had been tucked and still began to move. It lengthened first, a pale column uncoiling from the smooth groin, and then it thickened, vein by vein, until the sight of it made Carmen's breath catch hard enough that Anton heard it.

The cock was obscene. Insanely long, longer than Anton's forearm and then some, and thick enough that his wrist would have disappeared inside the girth of it. Heavy veins stood out under skin the same bone-white as the rest of the body, ridged and pulsing, the head broad and blunt and already shining with a clear slick that strung from the slit and fell in a slow thread onto the sheet. Beneath it the balls hung huge and full, taut, swinging once as the shaft rose and steadied, aimed at the bed like a claim. Anton stared. His own cock stood fully hard now, flushed and smaller by a ridiculous margin, and the comparison did not shame him. It fed the dark arousal that had lived in him since the first time he had watched this thing open his wife.

Carmen's breath came quicker. She pushed the sheet the rest of the way off and spread her thighs on the mattress, knees bent, feet planted, the dark curls between her legs already damp. The smell of her reached Anton, warm and familiar and sharpened by want. She did not look away from the cock. Her lips parted. When she spoke, her voice was low and certain, the voice she used when she meant a thing all the way down.

"We waited for you," she said. "Four years. I'm ready. I want it. Both of us do. Use me until you're empty. He wants to watch. I want him to watch."

Anton heard himself answer, rough. "She's right. We knew you were coming. We want this. Don't stop until those balls are drained."

The featureless face did not change. The long fingers flexed again. The cock twitched, a fat drop of fluid rolling down the underside and over one swollen vein. Carmen's hips lifted a fraction off the bed, offering, and she whispered again, filthier, eyes bright with the dread she refused to obey.

"Look how wet I am for that monster cock. Put it in me. Stretch me open in front of him. I can take it. I took it last time and I've been aching for it ever since. Breed me. Fill me until I bulge."

Anton's hand found his cock and he stroked once, slow, not to finish, only to feel how hard the sight made him. The horror was still there—the blank face, the wrong limbs, the size of the thing about to wreck his wife—and it sat beside the want without canceling it. They had agreed to this in daylight, sober, again and again, and they were agreeing now with their bodies and their mouths.

The creature moved. One elongated arm reached across the bed, fingers spreading, and settled on Carmen's ankle, then her calf, cool and dry and stronger than the slenderness suggested. She shivered and did not pull away. She opened wider. Anton watched the pale hand travel up the inside of her thigh, pausing where her skin jumped, and he felt his pulse in his teeth. The head of that enormous cock bobbed nearer, dripping onto her stomach, a clear stripe over her navel. Carmen's breath broke into a moan she did not try to hide.

"Yes," she whispered. "Take me. He's right here. Let him see all of it."

Anton met her eyes. She nodded again, fierce and sure. He nodded back, fist tight around his shaft. The creature's other hand closed around her hip and drew her down the bed toward the cock that would not fit any gentle way. Carmen went willingly, laughing once, breathless, already spreading for the first impossible inch.

It turned her with those long hands, and Carmen went to her hands and knees at the foot of the bed, back arched, ass up, presenting her cunt to the thing that had come to empty itself in her. Anton shifted to the side so he could see. The creature's cock looked even bigger against her body. The blunt head nudged her slick folds, and she pushed back with a hungry sound.

"Do it," she said. "All the way. I want him to see you bottom out."

The first push spread her wide around a head thicker than Anton's wrist. Carmen cried out, fingers clawing the sheet, and then she moaned, low and wrecked, and rocked back for more. The shaft sank in inch by inch, obscene, her lips stretched thin and shiny around the bone-white girth, clear slick and her own wetness running down her thighs. Halfway, she was panting, belly already showing the faintest outward press of the cock inside her. She reached back, found one of the creature's narrow thighs, and pulled.

"Deeper. Balls-deep. I can take it. Fuck me."

It drove in. The rest of that insanely long cock disappeared into her in one relentless glide until the heavy balls slapped against her clit and the head lodged deep, past anywhere Anton could picture a cock belonging. Carmen screamed, not in refusal—her hips shoved back, grinding, taking the last fraction—and then she was coming already, shaking, cunt fluttering visibly around the base. The creature did not pause for her orgasm. It drew out until the head tugged at her entrance and slammed back in, balls-deep again, and set a pace that shook the bedframe.

Anton stroked himself and watched. Each thrust bulged her lower belly for a second before vanishing, the outline of that wrist-thick shaft moving under her skin when the angle was right. The sound was wet and filthy, a steady clap of those huge balls against her, her voice breaking into yes and more and don't stop. She came a second time with her face in the mattress, drooling, and the creature fucked her through it, long strokes that never shortened, never gentled. When it came, the first load was a visible event: its narrow hips seated flush, a tremor running up those elongated legs, and Carmen's eyes went wide.

"Oh—fuck—it's pumping—" she gasped. "Anton, it's so much, I can feel it flooding me—"

He saw her stomach round a little, a soft swell low in her abdomen as the creature held deep and emptied the first thick pulse, then another, hot enough that she whimpered at the heat. It did not soften. It did not pull out. It started thrusting again through its own cum, squelching, white cream already leaking around the seal of her stretched cunt and dripping onto the sheet in heavy strings. Hours blurred. Morning grayed the hallway and the creature did not stop, pinning her on all fours, driving that monstrous cock into her until her arms shook and Anton braced her shoulders so she wouldn't collapse. She came until her voice was raw. It came again, and again, each load a hot flood she took with her ass in the air and her husband's name on her tongue.

By the time the sun was fully up it flipped her.

Those long hands turned Carmen onto her back, the cock slipping out in a rush of cum that poured onto the mattress, her hole gaping pink and used before the head speared back in and she wailed in pleasure. It folded her legs up over its narrow shoulders, ankles near that featureless face, and folded itself over her so the length could sink straight down. Anton crawled close and took her hand. Her fingers locked with his, slick with sweat, and she looked at him while the creature bottomed out, the bulge of its cock rising under her skin between her navel and her mound.

"Hold me," she panted. "Watch it fuck me. I want this. I want every inch."

"I've got you," he said, and he did not look away.

The pace turned punishing. Each downward drive punched a gasp out of her and shoved that insane length so deep her belly tented around it, a moving ridge he could have traced with his free hand. The creature's balls swung and slapped her ass, still heavy, nowhere near empty. Cum from the earlier loads frothed out around the shaft with every withdrawal, white and thick, and was shoved back in on the next stroke. Carmen came with her mouth open against Anton's wrist, biting, shaking, and the creature fucked her through that orgasm and the next while the day burned out beyond the curtains. It spilled inside her again while she was on her back, hips jammed tight, and Anton watched her abdomen swell another visible fraction, rounder, heavier, skin tightening over the sperm it packed into her.

"Still not done," she whispered. "Good. Don't let it stop. I want to be full."

Night came back. They lost the count of loads. The creature never flagged. When Carmen's legs trembled too hard to stay hooked over those narrow shoulders, it moved her again, and she went, eager, cum-slick and still asking for more.

It lay back on the ruined bed, a long white sprawl of limbs, cock standing up like a pillar glazed in her juices and its own seed. Carmen swung a leg over and faced Anton, reverse, so he would miss nothing. She reached down, spread herself with two fingers, and sank.

Anton saw every inch. The head caught, her cunt stretched into a shining ring, and the shaft disappeared into her while he watched from the front—her belly, her spread thighs, the way she worked herself down in gasping drops because the length would not all fit at once and she meant to take it anyway. Halfway she was moaning his name. Lower, the outline of the cock pushed her stomach out in a thick ridge he could see shift as she rolled her hips. She grabbed his knees for balance and dropped the rest of the way, ass meeting those huge balls, and the bulge jumped high under her skin.

"Look," she said, voice shredded. "Look at what it's doing to me. Look how deep."

"I see it," Anton said. "Ride it. Let me watch that belly."

She rode. Up until the head nearly popped free, her hole clinging, cream spilling down the bone-white shaft in thick rivulets, then down again, taking the whole insane length until her stomach bulged around it and she sobbed with the pleasure. The creature's hands spanned her waist and helped, lifting and dropping her, using her cunt like it had all the time in the world—which it did. She drank when he offered water and climbed back on, ravenous, whispering filth while that cock rearranged her. She came on the downstroke, cunt clamping, and the creature answered by slamming up into her and unloading again, a hot rush he could almost see traveling, her abdomen rounding further, tighter, the swell no longer subtle. Load after load. Her stomach bowed out, heavy and taut, sloshing faintly when she moved, packed with thick hot sperm until she looked bred past anything ordinary.

It did not stop when she was full. Through a second night and into the next day it kept pounding her, load after load, until her abdomen visibly swelled and rounded, heavy with thick hot sperm, and still it fucked her through every orgasm she had left.

After nearly three full days the rhythm finally changed. The creature drove in one last time, hips flush, and Anton watched the final thick pulse travel into her, her belly jumping, already gloriously bloated. Then it pulled. The cock dragged out of her still hard, insanely long, gleaming, a wrist-thick length that did not soften, and her cunt released it with a wet, obscene sound. A heavy flood poured from her gaping hole onto the ruined sheet, and still her stomach stayed round and distended, sloshing when she shifted. The balls that had hung so full hung empty now, drained.

Carmen lay on her back, legs fallen open, exhausted and gloriously bloated with cum. She smiled at Anton and set both hands on the swell of her belly, rubbing the taut curve where she had been bred full. Cum leaked from her used cunt and coated her ass, her thighs, the mattress. Anton stared at the mess, cock throbbing.

The pale visitor stood, featureless and silent, elongated limbs folding into the dark. It dissolved back into the night the way it had come, bone-white thinning to nothing, gone until the next leap year. They were sated and sticky, already anticipating its return in another four years.

She spread her ruined hole with two fingers and pushed, and a thick rope of sperm spilled out for him to see. "Next time I want that monster to pump me even fuller than this, until I'm leaking down my thighs for days and you can't look at my cunt without seeing how hard it bred me."