This scene is a continuation of the “in a dystopian world” series. TL;DR: a soldier knocks up an unmarried woman to make her comply with the one child policy in the new world order. Now he’s coming back for more.

—

It’s been six months since I last saw you. I’ve been relocated to another area in the city, away from your building. The rough kind, where violence is a daily occurrence and injuries among my colleagues are common. It’s around nightfall when we tour the area and I see a familiar face across the street. Long, dark hair and large, round belly. It’s you. Your belly has grown a lot since I last saw you. Stretching out the dress you wear. My son is getting bigger… But what the hell are you doing here?

I tell my colleague, “I will be right back,” and cross the street. You’re talking to an old man who appears quite excited about the prospect of you having a baby. He even touches your belly. I frown the closer I get. My approaching presence makes you look in my direction. Our eyes lock. Your attention is no longer on the man you’ve been talking to. He retracts his hand too.

Stepping closer, I look at him, then at you.

“Good evening, officer,” you greet me, your tone as sweet as sugar…in a teasing way.

“Leave,” I tell the man, staring him down. Obviously horrified about my behavior, you watch him turn and mutter to himself.

“Who is he?” I ask you sternly, territorial as I am.

“A family friend.”

“And what are you doing here?”

“Can’t a woman go out for a walk anymore?” Your tone is quite sharp. You adjust your grip on the bag full of groceries you’re holding and place one hand on top of your round belly.

I grin at your foolishness and shake my head. “Do you have any idea where you are?” Do you have any idea of the danger you’re in?

Smiling up at me, you say: “I grew up here. Everyone knows me. Loves me. I know where I am, brave soldier.”

There you are again, the little rebel I met half a year ago. Before I impregnated you with my seed. I sneer at your comment. “I’ll escort you home.”

“Oh, will you now?” As you rub your belly, my gaze drops. I can feel my knees go weak at the sight. “To make sure we get home safe?”

Fuck.

“Yes,” I reply sharply. I press the button of the earpiece to inform my colleague that I have to escort a vulnerable and stupid woman home.

He answers with, “Roger that.”

I reach for the heavy bag of groceries you carry, pry it from your fingers and then grab your arm to force you into motion. I drive you home in a military vehicle. The streets are empty but for police and military trucks and cars. It’s going to be a rough night, I can sense it in the air. The anticipation of violence. Once I let the door to the car drop shut, I round the vehicle to help you out of it. Or try to. You refuse to take my hand and instead keep one hand against the door of the car, the other on your belly. You’ve gotten pretty big the last six months…

Back at your apartment, I step inside without asking for permission. You raise an eyebrow when I close the door behind me. “You’ve got some nerve, soldier, coming in here.” I tilt my head. Rude much? “Do you have any idea what it’s like being pregnant without a husband?” Your voice gets louder with every word.

“Has someone tried to hurt you?” I ask and take a threatening step closer, jumping to conclusions. If anyone laid a hand on you, I’ll make him regret it. Even if we’re not married, I’ll protect you, and my son, with my life.

“No,” you snap, staring ahead, right at my chest. You avoid looking at me. Slow breath in, slow breath out. “You know,” you start again, this time your tone is much…softer. “Before the war, we were allowed to use…” you pause and clear your throat as if you’re thinking about whether you should finish the sentence.

“What?” I probe, curiosity taking the better of me.

“Toys.” When you say that your large eyes flick up to meet mine. A whole body shudder ripples through me; I suppress it as best I can. “Vibrators, artificial dicks…but now“—you blow out a frustrated breath—“there’s literally nothing you can buy to satisfy a pregnant woman!” You laugh at your own confession. At how ridiculous our lives have become. I remember when there were sex toys. I remember the life before the war. At the idea of you using a sex toy, my body temperature rises. “I’ve never been so…hot and bothered in my life,” you admit, both hands on your belly, holding it. I stand still before you, frozen in place. Like a statue. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. The indecency of what you’re saying could put you behind bars… and me with you, because I am letting it happen. “Instead, I am here…fantasying about—“ you pause again, eyes on mine, your breath shallow. God, you look so needy…so desperate.

“What?” My voice cracks. I know I shouldn’t push it. Goosebumps rise across my arms and shoulders in pure excitement. I need you to tell me what you fantasise about. I need to know.

“About“—you swallow, hard—“being pounded, fucked, railed…” Sucking in a shaky breath, you close your eyes. You know this is bad. So do I. You shouldn’t be speaking to me like this. To anyone, really. “To soothe that ache deep inside me. It makes me want to whimper and cry.” I inhale through my nose, my vision turning narrower. There you are, helpless little female…pregnant with my son. “It makes me crazy,” you sob out the last word. “All I think about is being…being…fucked.”

At that, you look at me again. I cannot resist you. I just cannot. I am strong, but not that strong.

So I dip down, move one arm under your knees, the other under your arm and back, lifting you up. You cry out in surprise when I carry you through your apartment. My military boots are loud on your creaking wooden floors. I turn sideways to pass through your bedroom door, put you down on your bed, and then start unbuckling my belt. You stare at what I’m doing but then carefully turn onto your hands and knees. Dress tugged up. You know what’s going to happen. You want it, too.

I unzip the front of my pants. I’m already hard underneath all those layers. Fucking hell. Look at you… belly hanging low in your dress, ass up. I hook my fingers in the sides of your panties, pull them down… there’s a wet patch, giving you away. You’re fucking creamy already.

We don’t speak anymore. This is just about what you need. And I need. I haven’t had sex since the night I knocked you up. I pull out my cock, push you further onto the bed, so you can hold on to the metal headboard, and set my tip between your folds. With my hands on your hips, I drag you back onto my thick dick. You cry out loudly, your belly shuddering. You asked for this, remember? I grip the metal frame of the bed right beside your hands and then drive in deeper. You are goddamn soaked already. Holy shit.

You want to be pounded, fucked, railed?

Here you go, darling.

The whimpers and whines that escape your lips are everything. So loud, desperate. Primal. I stuff your pregnant, puffy pussy full of my cock, all the way to hilt. Covering your soft, round body with my large, hard one. With every downward thrust, your tits bounce off the curve of your taut belly, threatening to spill out of your dress. You let your head hang down, hands gripping the frame so tightly that your knuckles turn white. I can’t believe how fucking wet you are. When I look down to where we’re joined, your juices are all over my shaft, slicking me up right to my pubes. I bury my length in deep, hit your cervix, and moan. Oh God, yeah… one hand on the frame, the other holding your hips in place. Your dress pools around your waist when I start drilling into you.

Sobs. Cries… little chants of “ohmygod, yes, yes, please, give it to me. I need it…” low, guttural, primal groans echo through your bedroom. I’ve never heard anything hotter.

In an attempt to stuff you full, I wrap both my arms around your body, roll my hips forward, over and over again, and drive my dick as deep as possible. You start to shake, thighs trembling, the sounds you make turn from whimpers to high pitched screams until…until I feel your pussy contract, pulsing all around my shaft. All of that built up tension suddenly evaporates and what’s left is your pliable, pregnant body in my arms. I release my forceful grip and instead place one of my hands on your heavy belly to hold it up.

Oh. God.

Never have I felt anything like this. Your belly is so heavy. You shudder whenever I pump into your stretched open pussy. I want this to last as long as possible. In fact, I never want it to end. I press in deep when I suddenly feel something against my hand. A kick. Holy shit. The reality of it makes my brain short circuit. You made a baby. With my sperm. You’re growing a life in your belly. I twitch, tense, and gasp for air when my orgasm barrels through me from one second to the next. My load hits right against your cervix, pooling there in thick, creamy spurts. I drop my hands to either side of you so I won’t collapse on top of you. There’s a static sound in my ear. I can’t hear. I can’t see. I can’t think. All I know is that I’ve claimed you for a second time. An unclaimed female…pregnant with my son.

And then, I hear the softest little sound, “thank you…” you sob. Your body and belly trembles underneath me. I can feel it. When I open my eyes, I can see it too. Your pussy clenches again, tighter than before, gripping my dick from its base to the tip. Like you’re trying to milk more out of me. I can feel another jet of come spill into you. That seems to soothe you. You sigh loudly and drop to your elbows on the bed, ass still up.

We stay like this for another ten seconds, breathing, calming down… I’m a hot, sweaty mess under my uniform, and so are you under your dress. When I pull out and you roll onto your back, tugging down your dress to cover yourself, I notice large, wet patches around your nipples. Another surge of arousal rushes between my legs. Are you leaking…milk?

Slowly, you manage to sit up. Hair a mess, your tits wet. When you look down on yourself, you exhale a breath, “oh…”

Yeah, oh.

Jesus fuck.

I tuck myself in, zip up, buckle up. I cannot help but stare at your breasts. Why is this so hot?

“I…I have to get back, miss,” I say. You nod, obviously embarrassed at the state you’re in.

With one hand on your belly, you use the other one to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yes. You should.”

I give you a tight smile and turn to leave. I take one more moment to look at you. My God, I’ve never seen a woman this…hot. I had no idea I could be even more into you when you’re pregnant. “Good night to you, miss.”

“Good night, officer.”