Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, trapped in the torment of suckling this thick cock in full view. She gagged around the shaft, emitting a symphony of wet, lewd sounds. Streams of spit and throat slime poured down her chin and over her voluptuous breasts. As the warm cumblast exploded across her tongue and splattered on her face, she protested about the shame and the mess it caused, dreading her discovery by her friends or family, slathered in cum and with her perfect makeup ruined. Yet, beneath her facade of reluctance, she secretly craved the shameful thrill of being degraded like a total slut.
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The bull was endowed with a towering rod of a delectable length, perfectly thick and standing proudly above its swollen nuts.  The bulbous crown, nearly the size of a fist, teems with a fragrant musk, constantly oozing of sweet smelling pre-cum droplet by droplet. that breeding tool will ease it's entry in any orifice, be it a throat, anus or birth canal of any willing (or not) recipient, serving up pleasure or pain. The girthy bitch braker is hanging over an oversized sack that pendulously dangles between her legs. It seems to be so bloated with thick, potent seed that she has to walk with her thighs slightly parted.
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Her pussy walls pulsed with a slow, rhythmic heartbeat. She was overflowing, slick with her own intimate secretions, that were slowly ooze out of her, slathering her labia and dripping toward her anus. Her intimate parts were glistened under the dim light. Every inch of her her loins were flexing, waiting.
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At the depths of this fleshy canal, something stirred. The bulls girthy, bloated breeding rod  writhed, its surface a covered by meandering pulsating arteries. The swollen bulbous tip oozed a sticky, lubricating fluid, leaving a glistening trail as it moved thrusting inside her. It had one goal: to reach the final barrier at the bottom of the tunnel.
As the bull moved his turgid rod slammed against her walls, each thrust was slamming his groin on her rear, sending ripples through her soft ass. It slid forward, driven by an insatiable itch, a primal need to claim her, to sent its seed way beyond the barrier of her womb. Her tight pussy resisted, her walls were tightening around it, but he pressed on. Its movements were rhythmic, almost mechanical, as if it had done this a thousand times before. But this time felt different. The barrier ahead was thicker, tighter, more resistant. It was the final obstacle, the last line of defence.
Her intimate tunnel convulsed. Its walls flexed and twisted, trying to expel the intruder. The tentacle writhed, its swollen tip oozing more fluid, slicking the path ahead. The struggle was intense. Her intimate passage tightened, refusing to yield. But it only managed to massage the engorged with lust tentacle, that was penetrating with a relentless vigour. The invader stirred relentlessly slick with urgency, bursting forth with wild abandon a collision of primal instincts.  It slammed harder, faster, driven by a force that seemed almost sentient. Her tender walls shuddered, her accommodating tunnel was spasming as if in pain. The tension rose, her body responding with fierce defiance, yet the relentless force surged on, slamming harder, faster, unyielding, as driven by a primal urge.
Her intimate core throbbed with the slow, intoxicating rhythm of desire, each pulse a siren call of overwhelming pleasure. She brimmed with her sensual essence, slick and shimmering in the dim light, a liquid promise that clung to her velvet folds. Each supple inch of her being flexed, quivered, caught in the anticipatory dance of yearning. Deep within her lush depths, something stirred.
===================
Soon, the girl's eager pussy was overflowing. She was gushing with precum mixed with her slick, intimate lube. The carnal pleasure turned wild and messy, every deep thrust producing obscene sounds like "splort, squirt, splart", as streams of heated juices erupted from her cockpluged cunt, splattering against the bull's groin and dripping greedily down her trembling inner thighs.
===================
The beast unleashed. The bull's hefty, straining member twisted and writhed, a living thing cloaked in pulsating veins, longing to breach the sanctuary of her flesh. Its swollen head dripped a thick, intoxicating nectar, crafting a shimmering trail as it surged forth, driven by a singular ambition: to shatter the final boundaries nestled within her depths.

As the bull thrust forth, his body clashed against her soft curves, each impact sending ripples through her form, igniting every nerve alive. The relentless urge propelled him, a primal drive to conquer, to spill his essence far beyond the sacred confines of her womb. Her tight passage rose in defiance, constricting around him, yet he pressed determinedly against her resistance. His movements were relentless, a rhythmic piston of raw instinct, a beast that had mastered this ritual a thousand times, yet now felt the pulse of something different, something primal in the air. The barrier before him was a fortress, stronger, tighter, an ultimatum that demanded surrender.

Her intimate tunnel convulsed with fervor, walls twisting valiantly, seeking to expel the invader. Yet the member roared with urgency, oozing slickness to pave its path forward. The struggle surged with a maddening intensity; her passage tightened and writhed, resisting with all its might. But this only served to further stoke the raging fire of lust in the intruder, vibrating with an almost sentient ferocity. Each collision echoed in a symphony of primal echoes, her tender walls trembling, responding to the invasion with fierce resolve. The tension coiled tighter, her form alive with defiance, yet the relentless force pursued, pounding harder, faster, a tempest of untamed desire, eager to claim what lay within.

=========
As the bull thrust forth, his body clashed against her soft curves, each impact sending ripples through her form, making her plump thighs and large breasts jiggle the most lewd way. The heavy thrusts had igniting every nerve of alive. "YES, YES, TAKE IT ALL" roared, a clear indication that the cumblast would be imminent. As soon as she realised that her fertile loins were about to be flooded with sticky potent seed she panicked. She try to dislodge the hefty member out of her outstretched pussy. But it was too late, the pulsating tip spew rope after rope of thick viscus baby butter, soon she was flooded up to the brim.
========
As the mighty bull charged forth, his powerful form met her soft curves with a force that sent shivers of raw electricity coursing through her very soul, every clash igniting her senses like a fervent firestorm. 'YES, YES, TAKE IT,' he bellowed, the words reverberating like a warrior's battle cry, heralding the tempest of ecstasy that was about to engulf them both. In a moment of sheer clarity, she understood, with a bolt of fear, that her fertile depths were awaiting the torrential surge of his thick, molten essence. Panic clawed at her heart as she fought to dislodge his impressive rod from her terrified, and yet willing body, but alas, it was too late. The throbbing, urgent tip unleashed a deluge of warm, viscous seed, filling her entirely until she teetered on the brink of blissful overflow.
===========
The bull, with a predatory grin of raw lust, pried apart the girls' trembling rear cheeks and spat on her several times. A torrent of thick, glistening saliva cascade over her exposed curves over her vulnerable rear cleavage. Each heavy drop, a promise of intimate lubrication, dripped and conglomerated, succumbing to gravity's merciless pull, trailing to a moist path down to the depths her rear secret sanctum, gliding over her shivering sphincter and eventually teasing the very edge of the gleaming entrance of her slit.
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The bull lifted a hand, delivering sharp, stinging slaps that rippled through her ample cheeks, sending delicious vibrations coursing through her. Each impact branded her skin with fiery red welts, perfectly outlining the shape of a palm, a mark of possession on her soft flesh.
==========
The whoremaster's grip was firm and unyielding as he pushed her through the swinging doors of the brothel, the air thick with the scent of cheap perfume and despair. The crimson walls, though faded, still bore the marks of countless hands that had slammed against them in passion or need. The floorboards creaked with each step, whispering the secrets of the countless transactions that had taken place upon them.

Her new reality dawned as she was shoved into a dimly lit chamber, the walls adorned with mirrors that reflected the confusion in her eyes. She was told to strip, her protests falling on deaf ears. Each piece of clothing that hit the floor was a piece of her dignity lost. The cold metal of the collar around her neck was a stark reminder of her new status. The whoremaster leered at her, appraising her like a piece of meat at market, his eyes lingering on her firm breasts and the curves of her hips. He muttered something about a good investment to himself, his salivating gaze making her stomach churn.

Her first customer of the night was a burly man with a stench of ale and sweat. He didn't bother with pleasantries, instead grabbing her roughly by the hair and forcing her to her knees. She felt the warmth of his cock pressing against her cheek, his calloused hands guiding her mouth towards his crotch. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the cock in her mouth, but it was futile. The taste of him was bitter and foreign, a violation that she never could imagined enduring.

As she worked, her mind drifted to the life she left behind, the warmth of her home, the sound of her friends laughter. These thoughts brought tears to her eyes, which only seemed to excite him further. He grunted and groaned, he shoved deep until she felt she could no longer breathe. The act was quick and messy, when he finished, he tossed a few silver coins onto the floor, leaving the taste of cum in her mouth. The whoremaster's voice echoed from the hallway, bellowing for the next "lucky" patron.

Her jaw was sore and her throat was raw, but she had to keep going. Each man brought a new taste or odour, often she gaged on the bitter taste of their spent seed. It was a never-ending cycle, each encounter leaving her feeling more and more hollow and yet needy. Her eyes, once vibrant with hope, had grown tired, reflecting the sinful life of a cocksucker. The only respite came when she get a brake between customers, her throat burning from the relentless assault.

One night, the whoremaster approached her with a smirk that sent chills down her spine. "You're going to be popular tonight," he said, his eyes gleaming with greed. "I've decided to let the clients use more than just your mouth." He yanked her to her feet, the collar around her neck digging into her skin. "Your pussy's been getting jealous of all the attention your throat's been getting. It's time to spread those legs and earn your keep like the good little whore you are."

The realization hit her like a hammer, driving the last nail into the coffin of her self-worth. She knew she couldn't refuse; the punishment for disobedience was something she couldn't bear to think about. She was led to a more luxurious room, where the bed was stained with the evidence of countless others who had come before her. The thought of men filling her with their seed, potentially leaving her with a daughter to endure a whore's fate, was too much to bear.

Her first "full service" customer was a wealthy merchant, his belly rolling over his belt as he eyed her hungrily. He didn't bother to remove his clothing, merely unbuckling his trousers and pulling out his engorged cock. "No condom," he said, flicking a gold coin at her. She knew better than to protest. As he pushed into her, she bit her lip to hold back a scream, feeling her tight pussy stretch around his girth. His eyes never left hers, watching her discomfort with a twisted pleasure that made her feel shame. The next month she missed her period. After that all were a blur of unwanted cumshots, painful thrusts, and the ever-growing girth of her tummy. Her once-lithe body swelled with the life growing inside her, a constant reminder of her new role as a breeding whore. Her stomach stretched taut, and her breasts grew heavy and sensitive. The other whores whispered about her, their eyes filled with a mix of lust and envy. The whoremaster had plans for her, they said, now that she could bear children. Her value had skyrocketed.

Each day, the men grew more eager to claim her, their hands more insistent squeezing her distended belly. They whispered lewd things about her stretched-out pussy, about the daughter that grew within her, and what they would do to both once she grown. Her body was no longer her own; it had become a commodity to be used and abused until it was no longer profitable. The whoremaster had her fed and cared for, ensuring her daughter will grow strong, and have her sucking cock kneeing next to her mother, in a life of whoring.

One evening, as she lay on her side in the small, stifling room that had become her prison, she heard the unmistakable sounds of pleasure from the room next door. The rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh and the high-pitched squeals of a girl being spitroasted by two men flood her with a confusing mix of revulsion and envy. Her own body, swollen and heavy with the child she never asked for, grew wet and needy at the thought of being filled by their lengths. The ache grew stronger, a deep, primal need that she couldn't ignore. She hated herself for it, but she craved the feel of a man inside her, the fullness and submission that came with it.

Her mind reeled as she watched the scene unfold through the keyhole, the girl's body contorted in pleasure, her mouth stretched around one cock while another pummeled her pussy. She felt the phantom touch of hands on her own skin, the burn of a cock sliding into her. The moans grew louder, the room spinning with each thrust she witness. It was then she realized the depth of her own depravity. She had become one of them, a whore that craved the very thing that brought her the most shame. The revelation was like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of her, leaving her dizzy and disgusted with herself.

The whoremaster had noticed her condition and had been biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to cash in on her newfound desires. As the due date of her unwanted child grew nearer, he saw an opportunity to twist her degradation into a new form of entertainment. He knew there were men who would pay top dollar to see a pregnant whore take it all, to watch her belly jiggle as she was fucked mercilessly. And she knew it too, the thought of it making her pussy quiver with anticipation and disgust.

Her days were filled with a strange mix of boredom and dread, as the other girls continued to work around her, their moans of pleasure echoing through the thin walls. She found herself listening intently, her hand straying to her swollen belly and lower, her fingers tracing the slick folds of her sex. The desire grew stronger with each passing day, a hunger that gnawed at her soul. She tried to fight it, telling herself that she was better than this, that she didn't want to be just another hole for the johns to use and empty their load.