The Great Dildo Wars - Sex Stories

The Great Dildo Wars

... It’s fighting against my weight, and I let it dig into my squished pussy lips. I shuffle forward until the tip catches my vaginal opening, where I allow myself the subtlest of gasps. Please don’t let my obituary read: suicide by giant dildo.

It needs to happen fast and smooth; the teacher asking me why I’m taking so long to sit down or getting stuck halfway through would be signs of weakness. The game’s rules are nebulous, but I know that Kimmy’s ready to count anything as a win. I’m just sitting down on a chair as if there isn’t a thick log riding up my cooch. No emotions required.

I sink as I take more and more weight off my toes, fulfilling the dildo’s urge to straighten. My hands are casually by my sides, but they are secretly searching for the edges of my chair because I’m afraid my cervix had too much time to recover from my nightly baseball-bat-dilation training. I’m going to hit a wall soon that needs more than my light bodyweight to overcome.

Fuck it. I can’t take a chance. I throw myself at the mercy of the cock. One big swing. It’s a facial workout not to wince when the cock head punches my cervix, but it collapses on itself deep enough for my fingers to catch the seat. I then pull with everything I have. My cervix dilates, my womb stretches. Eventually, the mega dildo bottoms out in my baby maker, but that’s not enough... there’s still another six inches. “Stretch dammit,” I tell my womb, internally, of course; on the outside, I’m just a simple girl ...

... sitting on a simple chair. But when this simple girl finally feels the cold lacquered wood on her bare bum, she can’t help but crack a sly smile. My pussy is resting uncomfortably on the big black rubber balls of the largest dildo in the world. In your face, Kimmy.

I move the school bag off the desk. It’s heavy, and notice too late the tube that links it to the dildo. It vibrates with the sound of a compressor, white liquid flowing up into the fake rubber balls.

My womb is as tight as a condom on the cock, and, like a condom, it begins inflating at the tip, pressuring my other organs. I’m about to cry out when I see Kimmy’s blonde curls swinging in front of my face. She’s turning around, and that’s the burst of motivation I need to make of my face a sculpture.

“That’s real sperm, by the way,” Kimmy says with her usual obnoxiousness I used to think only existed in teen movies. “I didn’t think you’d mind getting pregnant since being a single mother runs in your family.”

Money can’t buy happiness, but apparently, it can buy a gallon of rejected donor semen at the sperm bank.

So much cum pumps into my womb that I know my fertile ovaries will be saturated with the lukewarm slush. If my eggs are overachievers like I am, it’s not a question of if I get pregnant but whether it’s twins or triplets. I have to stay cool, though; my ruined life is no reason to let Kimmy have an ounce of happiness.

“Even if you filled me up with the sperm of a thousand different guys every ...