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Transfixed | S1 E21 | Stay Gold
America's Next Top Trans Season 05
America's Next Top Trans Season 04
Emma swung the door open still wearing that stretched tee over her bump, and Claire stepped inside grinning like she’d just been handed somebody else’s victory lap. Small talk lasted maybe two minutes—due dates, heartbeat apps—before Emma let it spill: she was fucking desperate for a hot load. Her husband had pumped her full every night until his balls threw in the towel, and now she hadn’t felt that warm, wet push for days. Claire blinked, almost dropped her clipboard. Emma didn’t wait. She grabbed the doula’s wrist and tugged her into the bedroom, babbling about how just the thought made her soaked. Claire tried to keep it professional—one warning glance at the door—then Emma peeled off her panties and climbed onto the sheets spread wide, and the protest died. Mouth on cunt, quick fingers working the slick open, Claire climbed on top, grinding their clits together until both of them shook. They kept it almost silent, tiny wet sounds, stifled breaths, until footsteps thumped upstairs. Emma froze, Claire’s cock (thick strap-on harness biting her hips) buried halfway, hearts hammering against each other. The steps faded. They exhaled together. Claire drove in deeper, fucking with a steady, hungry rhythm, until the dam broke and she pushed all the way, pulsing thick spurts of warm lube deep inside. Emma came so hard her thighs trembled, eyes rolling, whispering thanks against Claire’s neck while the creamy mess leaked down her crack, the craving momentarily satisfied.
Emma swung the door open still wearing that stretched tee over her bump, and Claire stepped inside grinning like she’d just been handed somebody else’s victory lap. Small talk lasted maybe two minutes—due dates, heartbeat apps—before Emma let it spill: she was fucking desperate for a hot load. Her husband had pumped her full every night until his balls threw in the towel, and now she hadn’t felt that warm, wet push for days. Claire blinked, almost dropped her clipboard. Emma didn’t wait. She grabbed the doula’s wrist and tugged her into the bedroom, babbling about how just the thought made her soaked. Claire tried to keep it professional—one warning glance at the door—then Emma peeled off her panties and climbed onto the sheets spread wide, and the protest died. Mouth on cunt, quick fingers working the slick open, Claire climbed on top, grinding their clits together until both of them shook. They kept it almost silent, tiny wet sounds, stifled breaths, until footsteps thumped upstairs. Emma froze, Claire’s cock (thick strap-on harness biting her hips) buried halfway, hearts hammering against each other. The steps faded. They exhaled together. Claire drove in deeper, fucking with a steady, hungry rhythm, until the dam broke and she pushed all the way, pulsing thick spurts of warm lube deep inside. Emma came so hard her thighs trembled, eyes rolling, whispering thanks against Claire’s neck while the creamy mess leaked down her crack, the craving momentarily satisfied.