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  • Writer's picturedonnylaja


The other “ceremonial” impreg was of Moonglow (a.k.a. Constance McAuliffe), a boisterous hippie woman from British Columbia, and it was the polar opposite of the Nepalese impreg. “Polar” was the right word, because it took place in January during a heavy snowfall. Moonglow decided to go through with the planned time and place anyway, on the soccer field, because a lot of trouble had gone into arranging the bus which brought not only her husband but about thirty friends and relatives, as free-spirited and unrestrained as she was. Mindful (a little) of a naked person’s vulnerability to cold, even one as toughened as Kai-Kai, they had him wait under a makeshift tent-canopy with the others while the “altar” was set up. Lots of beer was drunk, though knowing Kai-Kai’s habits, the beer he was offered was alcohol-free. He took some sips and tried to hide his reaction to the bitter taste. Setting up the pagan altar was a difficult task; a foot of snow lay on the ground, and big wet flakes were falling. Fortunately there was no wind. The Sire’s pink skin, flushed with the cold, contrasted with the heavy bundling worn by everyone else.

Finally the great moment arrived, and to lots of cheering Moonglow and then Kai-Kai stepped out from the canopy, like two boxers entering the ring. “Let’s rock and roll!” she shouted, taking the embarrassed boy by the hand. The others followed and formed a circle. Moonglow, a little tipsy after four beers, freezing in her poncho and long skirt and moccasins, arranged herself on the altar in front of the Sire, who was submerged in snow up to his knees. She bared her thighs and abundant pubic bush as she spread herself for him, white skin being exposed as uninhibitedly as the black skin of Ms. Agawa. She hooted and howled as the massive phallus wedged her open and carefully eased in to a depth of exactly five inches. “God! That’s a huge f**king dick!!” she shouted with a loud laughing grunt. “You’re a size queen anyway!” someone shouted back. There was some more back and forth banter with the crowd. Moonglow’s husband Mitchell stood to the side, laughing and clapping rhythmically as if to pace the thrusting, secure in his masculinity as all the Project’s familial fathers were.

Angela was at first horrified but then saw the amused smile on Kai-Kai’s face as he carefully leaned forward and back, a mere spectator enjoying Moonglow’s performance as she grunted loudly every time he leaned in. It seemed like with every other grunt she said, “Goddamn!! That’s huge!! . . . Gigantic!! . . . You’re splitting me open!!” Kai-Kai was usually embarrassed when someone talked about how big his penis was, but to Angela’s surprise he took the running commentary with good humor. Moonglow’s clothes were soon blanketed with the puffy wet falling snow. So was Kai-Kai’s hair. A moment later she came loudly, then came again, one of her moccasins falling off. At their request Kai-Kai refrained from his usual low moan; instead, he announced in what he must have hoped was an acceptably loud voice: “I’m — coming!” As he spasmed inside the stretched vagina the crowd cheered and whistled, a racket that not even the snowy field could muffle as Moonglow screamed with her third orgasm. After the boy’s little butt stopped thrusting, the precious load of Sire DNA having been deposited deep inside her, Moonglow closed her eyes and caught her breath, then gave a big thumbs-up sign and yelled, “Yeah! I’m knocked up!!” The whole event seemed a cheapening of the Project and the impreg experience, and an affront to the Sire’s dignity. But Angela couldn’t deny that it made her smile. Also it was clear Kai-Kai got a kick out of it. . .

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