You volunteered for this. You agreed to let these people perform their experiments on you, basically do whatever they want to you. Because you know that this means that you’ll get to experience the one thing you’ve always wished for. You’re gonna get a baby in your belly. You are going to get pregnant.
They have put you on a table. There’s at least ten of them around you now, doctors, nurses… All in white. All with mouth covers.
“Spread the legs!” You legs are lifted into holders and strapped in. Then they grab your arms, pull them to the sides and place straps on your wrists as well. Paper sheets are placed over your thighs. A bright light is turned on above you and adjusted to shine right onto your opening. It feels warm. You hear the snapping of latex gloves.
“A thermometer in each opening.” A tall, male doctor orders the nurses around, and one of them quickly inserts the two little sticks into your body. “Squeeze around them until you hear beeping.” You do as you’re told. 30 seconds of hard work. Then the beep comes and you are told to relax. “Good. The temperature is ideal. Let’s insert the embryo.”
In comes the speculum, with no warning. The clanking of other instruments. And pressure, as something reaches your cervix. “Relax now. Here we go.” You can feel that your womb is being filled up inside. Three doctors are working between your legs now. The process is over in minutes, and the speculum is pulled out, but your legs remain tied. The table is tilted, so that your lower half is higher than you upper.
One of the doctors comes to your side. He puts a hand on your belly. It was flat before all this, but now it is noticeably swelling. “Congratulations. We’ve impregnated you. You should be ready to give birth in the morning.”
The night is intense. Your legs remain tied to the holders, and every hour someone comes by and sticks two fingers inside you to check the progress. During the 7 AM exam, your water breaks. Your belly is big and round now, like a basketball. By 7.30, they have put you in an OR, your legs still spread in holders. It’s just as busy as the day before, there are people everywhere. The drapes go over your legs again. Someone is cleaning your most private parts using cotton balls drenched in some strange smelling fluid. Then there are gloved fingers inside you again. “You’re ready. Push!”
You take a deep breath, and you try to do as they say. It does seem to be working, something is definitely happening. They tell you to keep going, so you do. Then you’re told to stop. Breathe. Pant for a moment. Now cough, hard. Deep breath, and push again!
For what seems like hours, but is actually more like 30 minutes, this continues. Push and pause. Breathe. Cough hard. Push. Push harder! And pause. Then there’s suddenly more pressure. Your opening is streched out, little by little…
“You’re crowning,” one of the doctors explain. “Now, we’re going to insert this probe in your anus, see if that’ll pop the head out of you.” He barely finishes the sentence before the probe goes in. And sure enough, the added pressure makes something force it’s way out of you, as you wail in pain, excitement and surprise.
“The head is out! Now, don’t push yet! We need to make sure the baby is OK first.” They’re taking the probe ack out now. You try to keep yourself from pushing as they work between your legs. The sensation is so strange, painful, yet not. Satisfying, yet there’s such an urge to push again. You breathe, and try to concentrate.
“Right, push out the shoulders. Come on now! Push! Big big push now, we’re nearly there.” With effort, you seem to make something happen down there. The opening is stretched to its limits now, and it burns like you’ve never felt it before.
“OK, stop pushing again!” The doctor sounds stern. “The baby is halfway out. We’d like to keep it there for a bit. No pushing until I say so!” You manage to resist again, allthough every fiber of your being is telling you to bear down and push the rest of the baby out. They’re doing something down there, but you can’t see any of it, you can only feel their hands and their instruments, moving around between your legs. The baby feels heavy in the opening, so heavy…
“You can push again now! Let’s see a real good final push!”
You lean into a hard push, your whole face contorted with pain and strain. And with a gush of fluid, the baby is sent shooting into the world. The relief is enourmous. You lie down and take a deep breath as the doctor holds your son up for you to see.
I wake up and see that it was not a dream I really did grow massively pregnant overnight. My shirt now too small to cover my belly and my pants straining against the bulge and weight of my belly. I feel the pressure of the baby on my insides as she kicks and rolls in my swollen womb. How am I suppose to go to class like this? How am I going to explain this to my roommates and my parents?
Can somebody write a story about my becoming immensely pregnant so quickly that i do not have time to react. If it happens in public, like the mall even better. My clothes rip away and i am too big to move.
The only warning was a faint tingle deep in your belly followed by a sudden and dramatic ache as your belly began to stretch! You released the button on your shorts just in time to see the leaves spring forward eagerly to give room to your burgeoning bump. You felt another tingle and another, and another! And ANOTHER! With each one the speed of your growth increased! You grab the second floor railing for support and could only arch your back as you felt yourself continuing to expand. Your belly hanging below you already looked nearly nine months pregnant. You were royally paying the price for getting your hungry pussy happily flooded with thick, rich cum. But your belly just continued to swell, growing rounder and big as a beach ball. You could feel your thighs widening into plush, birthing hips. You could feel the strain on your shorts and knew you were starting to attract attention with the public spectacle your body was producing. But now, it won’t just be the shame of falling pregnant so publicly, everyone knowing that you were getting your horny pussy pumped full by unprotected cocks. Your shorts began to rip as your widening hips popped the seams. Your panties snapped, hanging around your expanded thigh enough to just barely preserve your modesty. You were then visibly pregnant with twins at least. A new feeling imposed on your frenzy of growing pains and embarrassment. You could feel your breasts pushing out against the confines of your bra. Your baby feeders began to swell rapidly, aching with the growing flesh’s expansion and feeling tight as they bloated with milk. It seemed like in no time you looked pregnant with triplets. Your newly massive jugs rapidly filled up all available room in your bra, burst though it and began filling up any remaining slack they could find in your top. Your throbbing nipples began to leak, darkening patches of your shirt to provide you with even more embarrassment than being unable to hide your pussy as the tatters of your shorts slipped down your leg. But in a few moments even that minor modesty was stripped away as your shirt began to tear at the sides as your breasts expanded into the watermelon range. As your top shredded before your helpless efforts to stop it and retain some modesty it left you bare naked on the second floor of the mall in a circle of mangled fabric with a belly clearly sized for quints that would be due any minute, generous hips to birth them, and great, big titties the size of pumpkins and overloaded with plenty of milk for your impending brood. But you weren’t even done growing as you felt your tummy stretch even more…
I would barely reach 100 pounds on a good day. Most of the time I struggled to keep weight on because all I wanted was to have curves and look sexy. I told my friend that I wish I weighed more that I would gladly double my weight if it meant I could have some curves. My friend said be careful what you wish for - you might get.
The next morning Laying on my back in bed I could barely breath. Under the covers I could see three mounds. Throwing off my blankets my eyes were met by two much larger breasts and a giant belly. I had to roll myself over and slide out of bed. I knew I was heavier - a lot heavier - because my hips and knees began to buckle under my new weight.
Finding my center of gravity I waddled to the bathroom and stepped on the scale. I had to use my phone to take a picture of the scale because I could not see over my belly - 190 pounds and all of it belly and boobs. The rest of me was still stick thin, but I definitely had some curves now.
When the counter on my tumblr blog hit 1000 I suddenly felt hotter and hornier than I ever have in my life. I wanted and needed to hump something anything! As my hip ground against the chair arm I could feel my body getting chubbier and my belly began to grow. Within moments my belly looked like I was 7 months pregnant and my breasts filled with milk. Soon my belly and boobs were bursting out of my top! My belly growing so large it force my legs open, making it look like i was in a permanent position for procuring men’s seed. The seed of all my male followers entering my womb and planting itself in eggs and forcing my belly to grow. My blog made me pregnant
This story is pretty sloppy, but I hope some people enjoy it.
(ModNote: Please read the tags carefully and proceed with caution.)
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8:49 in the morning, and Will is glancing between the cardboard to-go cup he left on Samantha’s desk and the doorway that leads to this floor’s elevators. He’s been watching and waiting for nearly twenty minutes, almost an hour before anyone actually needs to be in the office, but he was far to excited for what today has in store to take his time getting here this morning.
Finally, she’s here, swaying into the office in her nice white blouse with elbow-length sleeves, tucked into a black pencil skirt that reaches her knees. Her straight, middle parted black hair looks glossy as it brushes back and forth over her shoulders while she walks past his desk.
“Hey, Sammy!” He sounds just as casually friendly as usual.
“Morning, Will,” she says with a bright smile, slowing her pace for the moment.
“I got you a cup of coffee. It’s waiting on your desk.”
“Oh, that’s so nice of you! Thanks.” She briefly touches his shoulder before seating herself in her own cubicle, immediately taking a swig of the coffee. “It’s perfect. Thanks so much, I forgot to stop for one this morning, too.”
“No problem.” He smiles back, apparently turning his attention back to his monitor. As the minutes pass, he takes as many looks at Sam as he can, watching as she takes sip after sip of her coffee. It doesn’t take long before she seems to have finished it, tipping the cup back to try and get the last drops out.
Still, he has to be patient, watching secretly as they go about their work day, having no idea how long this will take to actually work.
Finally, after about thirty agonizing minutes, he notices something, trying not to perk up and give away that he’s watching.
Sammy lets out a quick but deep breath, almost as if she’s suddenly winded or in pain, but it’s too quiet for anyone who isn’t paying attention to notice. At the same moment, her hand clasps to her flat belly, and Will feels a rush of excitement, knowing that this must be it. Sammy’s other hand goes to lay flat on her desk, as if for support, even though she’s still seated. She grunts, a little louder this time, and looks down at herself. She snaps up, knocking her chair back with enough force to slam it into the cubicle wall behind her. Her hand jerks away from her stomach, and she screams, by now holding the attention of the entire office.
Will rushes over, quickly enough to be the first one at her side as their colleagues gather around.
“What’s wrong?” “What happened?” “Are you okay, Sam?”
Everyone is beginning to surround her, and slowly they begin to see her stomach is bulging out, making her look nearly four months pregnant. The lower buttons of her blouse are beginning to strain against the sudden growth, along with the clasp above her skirt’s zipper.
“What’s happening?!” she cries out, again pressing a hand to her swollen stomach.
“She needs to get to the hospital!” Will shouts, his voice cutting through all of the chatter. Their coworkers nod and agree, moving aside as he helps her towards the elevator. “She needs space! Look, I’ll get her there!” He waves them away from the elevator, the suddenness of the situation and his friendship with Sam more than enough to get them to back off.
His fingers press the button for the ground floor frantically, keeping up the illusion that he only wants to get her to the hospital as soon as possible. Sam holds his shoulder, bending at the knees and groaning from the discomfort of having something growing so quickly inside of her. The bottom two buttons pop off of her blouse, and the skirt’s clasp snaps, making her scream in shock. “It’s okay, we’ll be in the car soon!” Will reassures her as the elevator doors finally slide open, and he helps her towards his car. She manages to mostly get herself into the passenger’s seat on her own, while Will starts up the car.
“Just try and relax! You’re gonna be fine, okay? Just take deep breaths!” He tries to reassure her.
Sam grabs the lever on the side of her seat, reclining it farther and farther back, trying to get into a position with the least discomfort from all the room her swelling belly is taking up. By this point, she appears to be over five months along, and another button flies off of her shirt, pinging against the roof of the car, and the zipper on her skirt is forced down.
“Here, try and drink some water!” Will gestures to the water bottle in the cupholder. Sam’s shaking hand takes it, twisting the cap off and immediately dropping it, spilling just a little as she brings the bottle to her full lips. She seems to realize just how thirsty she is, gulping down half the bottle very quickly, and continuing to take small sips, until very soon, something seems to come over her. The drug Will laced the water with begins to take effect, and her eyelids begin to droop, her head begins to nod. Before she can form the words to ask anything about what’s happening, she’s laying unconscious in the nearly horizontal passenger’s seat.
Will smiles, glancing around to find a fairly remote spot on the side of the road to temporarily park.
“Wow.” he whispers to himself as he turns to admire Sam’s changed body, her breasts bulging out of her bra, and the button of her blouse finally losing the battle against her growing breasts. He reaches into the console, grabbing a pair of scissors to snip her bra in the front and on both straps so he can easily remove it, tossing it into the backseat.
Sam’s belly button has begun to slightly protrude, almost her entire belly bare, now. The only button remaining, the one just beneath her breasts and above her belly, is barely hanging on, and Will snaps it easily with a pull of his finger. Her nipples are looking puffier, and it’s very obvious by now that she’s pregnant. His hands slide over her breasts, cupping them, before gliding over her belly, rubbing it, feeling how big and round she’s already gotten. He squeezes it gently, leaning down to kiss it all over, stopping at her belly button to lick and suck it.
“This is perfect,” he murmurs, keeping his left hand on her belly while he moves his lips to her nipple, taking her breast into his mouth and sucking. Soon, milk is already slowly being released, and he switches to her other nipple, quickly getting her milk to let down. His hand squeezes the breast he’s drinking from to get a better flow, which gets a bit stronger as the moments pass and her pregnancy progresses.
“Just perfect.” He raises up, leaving her blouse open to expose her now leaking breasts, slowly dripping breast milk down her sides. He starts the car, continuing to drive for a few more minutes until they arrive at his house. He pulls the car into the garage, waiting for the door to fully close before carrying Sam into the house and placing her on the bed. He easily removes her busted, milk stained blouse, but has to use a knife to get her skirt all the way off, her ass and thighs having widened so much, it was stuck on her. Now, she lays naked on the bed, her wrists and ankles strapped to the bed.
He walks to her side, placing his hand over the top of her distended belly, rubbing large circles over it. Just barely, he can feel tiny movements from under the skin, too small to be seen from the outside just yet, despite the fact that she appears to be nearly eight months along.
Slowly, Sam begins to open her eyes, blinking a few times as she tries to regain her bearings. “What happened?” She slurs, looking all around the room, her movements clearly still a little affected by the drug Will gave her. Her eyes finally land on him, but quickly snap to her own body, seeing just how big and full she’s gotten since she fell asleep.
“Oh! Oh, god! What the fuck?! What did you do to me?!” she screams, raising herself up with the palms of her hands. As she does, she notices the straps on her wrists and the chains attached to them to allow her limited movement on the bed. “What the fuck?! What the hell is this?!” She shouts, looking around at all of her bound limbs.
“I don’t know! I think someone must have done something to your coffee this morning!” Will says in feigned concern before smiling, still rubbing her belly.
“I need to go to a hospital!” she futilely strains against her wrist chains. “No, no. You’re gonna be just fine.” Will assures, taking a seat next to her on the bed. Both hands cup and squeeze her breasts, causing her to gasp and scream as she tries to move away with nowhere to go. He moves down, kissing and licking all over her belly, now able to suck her belly button in earnest, with it fully popped out on her full-term looking belly. Every spot he kisses, she feels a little kick, causing her to gasp and cry out. “Stop it! Oh, god!”
“You look so good, so big and pregnant with my babies.” He almost breathes the words against her belly, still pressing kisses to it as it grows and the movement inside gets stronger. He continues massaging her breasts, moving up to latch onto her thickened nipple, getting a small scream from Sam as he starts suckling hard on her swollen, milky teat. Milk floods his mouth, and the kicks from within her full belly are starting to become visible from the outside, his hand moving all over to press and feel the activity inside.
“Your milk tastes so good, I’m gonna keep you pregnant forever. Just my big, milky baby-factory.” He dives back in to nurse from her breast, which swells bigger and bigger, even as he drains the milk from it.
“What’s wrong with you?! Get off me! Let go!” Sam screams and tries to pull away, struggling with the weight of her newly heavily pregnant body, but Will doesn’t seem to notice beyond latching harder onto her breast as he gulps down her milk. The babies inside get bigger, and the kicks get stronger, now easily visible from the outside, and Sam is looking about due to drop twins, yet still the babies keep growing inside her, and the way they push out all over, she seems to be carrying far more than just two.
“Aren’t you excited to be a mommy, Sammy?” Will asks after breaking the latch, dribbling a little milk down his chin. His hands roam her huge belly some more, feeling the babies grow and move around beneath her skin.
“Oh, god, this isn’t happening!” Sam shakes her head, staring in awe at her burgeoning belly, so round and full of life. Suddenly, her belly begins swelling faster, growing bigger and heavier by the second. Sam grunts and groans in discomfort and fear, giving a weak scream as her belly gets absurdly huge, rapidly growing past looking overdue with triplets. Her breasts continue to swell, now about F cups, and dripping milk constantly.
Soon, she’s about the size of a yoga ball, with powerful movements distinctly obvious from all over her swollen middle. Neither of them have ever seen anyone so big and pregnant before, with Will feeling overjoyed at the sight of her, and Sam in horror.
Sam cries out a little, feeling a very uncomfortable cramping in her middle, and screams from the shock of a burst of water from between her legs.
“It’s time!” Will says excitedly, rubbing to feel all of their babies kicking from inside her massive form.
“Oh, god! No, no! Get them out of me!”
“They’re coming out. Don’t worry.” Will smiles and pats her belly, feeling it shift as her babies turn inside of her.
She’s almost too distracted to notice two other men entering the room, until one slides two fingers inside of her, and the other is at her side, opposite of Will.
“She’s fully dilated. Wow, that stuff really worked.” The first man says with a smile, also rubbing across the top of her massively pregnant belly.
Will and the second man each grab a breast, fitting as much of it as they can into their mouths and pumping it with their hands as they suckle hungrily, guzzling down as much milk as they can.
Sam screams, both from the invasions and the contraction gripping her overfilled belly. “Okay, on the next contraction, I need you to push. Get ready. Okay, push, come on, push!” The first man instructs her, keeping a hand on her contracting belly. Instinctively, Sam squeezes her eyes shut and pushes, feeling something large move in the middle of her pelvis. It feels like she’s being pulled apart.
As she pushes, her breasts release stronger streams of milk into her drinkers mouths, which they don’t seem to mind, eagerly nursing from her huge mommy milkers. The babies continue to kick and move around, making her groan in discomfort from that and the contractions.
“Push! Push!” The man continues to order on each contraction, Sam screaming as she bears down with two men latched firmly onto both teats. “I can see the head! Keep pushing! Come on, push push push!”
Sam pushes hard, feeling the mass move lower and lower, until she feels a pop between her thighs, something big and round and wet sticking out of her vagina.
“The head is out! Keep going!”
She pushes again, keeping it going for as long as she can, until she feels the first baby slide out. Her belly isn’t any smaller, still full to the brim with kicking babies.
“Wonderful.” The man says, seeming to do nothing with the crying, squirming infant laying between her legs. “Here comes another. Give me another big push.”
Sam grits her teeth, pushing as hard as she can, feeling the baby move lower faster than the last one. Both men continue to guzzle her milk, their suckling feeling as powerful to her as she imagines an electric milker would be.
“It’s coming! Keep pushing! That’s it, another big one!” The head pops free, and Sam gasps and pants for a moment, not having long to rest before another contraction grips her, and she finds herself pushing the rest of the baby out in one go. “That’s great. Keep ‘em coming.”
The two babies are crying as they lay on the bed, causing both breasts to gush milk into the eager mouths of both men nursing from her while she births baby after baby.
“Breathe, breathe.” the man standing between her legs orders. “Hoo hoo hoo,” Sam pants, imitating what she’s seen women do when giving birth in the movies.
“That’s it, good. Okay, here it comes. Time to push.” Sam’s legs tense with the force of her pushing, this time pushing the entire baby out in one long push.
“Amazing. You’re perfect at this.”
Sam gives the man a death glare, but they can hardly see each other’s faces over her still massive belly.
The men at her sides continue to pump her milk with their hands while they nurse, drinking her overflowing milk as if they’re starved. Sam can’t wrap her head around her situation, with her enormous pregnant body, huge milky teats, and birthing baby after baby.
“Hoo hoo, hee hee,” she continues to pant between contractions, the “doctor” or whoever he is continuing to rub all over her big, active belly. “Push now, Sammy, you’ve got plenty more babies on the way.”
Sam shouts, pushing yet another baby out of herself, hearing it cry alongside its three siblings, feeling as if she may be stuck here forever, giving birth endlessly and breastfeeding these two men, breasts and belly never becoming empty.
[Pill here, finally back with a second, more substantial story. I have two additional chapters of similar length to this one planned, but they may take a while to finish. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this first chapter. Please note that CCEL is primarily Mpreg, as it follows two male main characters, and merely has some Fpreg on the side.]
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Chapter 1| Siege From Inside
King Emil Florian Daybreaker focused his superhumanly sharp eyes on the large, perfectly round moon in the night sky as crimson light bled slowly across its rocky, white surface. Swelling from the top right, the light dripped into the craters and thoroughly filled the great sphere until it was completely red. And, bathed under its radiance, so too was the city of Gravelveil.
The stone walkway atop the outer wall was dyed the color of wine. Armor clinking about as they ran, Emil’s soldiers seemed as if they had been painted with blood, though none had yet fought that day.
Despite that Emil’s inhuman ears picked up his footsteps from the bottom of the stairs below, the messenger huffed all the way to the top and to his king’s side before speaking. “Your Highn-, I’m sorry, Your Majesty, it is as you feared.”
Continuing to stare at the moon, Emil nodded. “A slaughter then?”
“Yes, Sire,” he said. “Captain of our guard, dead in his bed with a sword through the chest. Our finest mages, torn asunder in their own study. The kingdom’s most valuable and forbidden grimoires, gone—burned in a great pyre in the eastern courtyard. Empty bottles of poison carelessly discarded inside the door of our largest granary. Quite thoroughly have we been betrayed, I’m afraid.”
I shouldn’t be surprised, Emil thought. Honestly, I should have had the foresight to stop him.
For years, Emil knew this day would come. Perhaps not this day exactly, but one like it, where that fool finally gave himself fully to temptation and betrayed his kingdom. Emil admitted, however, that he had expected something a tad more subtle. A handful human sacrifices, perhaps. Few enough to count on one’s fingers. Not the hundreds of thousands that lived in Gravelveil and its surrounding towns.
“Fetch Drogo,” Emil commanded. “As I now am king, he now is captain of my guard.”
“Lord Drogo has already gone to take charge at the northern gate,” the messenger said. “I was told to inform you he would order the soldiers there to move, then jump to meet you here.”
Emil nodded. In other words, he’d land at this side of the wall any second. Always, Emil was in awe of his friend’s Prowess.
Most noblemen, and even some peasants, were born with remnants of the ancient magic on which their world was founded. ‘Prowesses’ that let them defy the mundane binds of simple mortality, each unique to the user’s spirit.
Emil’s Prowess let him increase his senses. When concentrating, he could see in the near pitch black of a moonless night as easily as daylight, hear the skitter of a mouse blocks away, and smell supposedly odorless poison in a cup across the castle’s longest dining table. He could feel every fiber in the sleek, tight, finely tailored suit he wore, the beating of his own heart, and even the precise flow of the blood in his veins by the minuscule vibrations it made. With a lifetime of training, he easily controlled the sensory overload of the footsteps around him ringing like thunderclaps, and the chill breeze raking its frozen claws across his exposed, sensitive face, and other such bothersome things. Most of the time. Unless they surprised him. Handy, yes—few could eavesdrop like Emil. Great for a freshly crowned king who needed to know much about his kingdom to rule it. But nothing flashy. Not like Drogo’s Prowess.
Looking out over the city, Emil watched as something dark flew from the northern gate, high over the peaks of the tallest buildings, directly toward him. Drogo Steelblade, hurtling in boots first, hit the very outer lip of the wall like a meteor, sending bits of stone crumbling to the dusty ground outside the city. Heavy fur cloak fluttering as easily as silk as he flailed his arms for balance, he stopped himself from toppling over with the stones and stepped down from the lip, sighing. “Awful night. The stress nearly caused me to miss my trajectory.”
Dismissing the messenger, Emil smiled. “I’m relieved to see you at least in one piece.”
Drogo nodded, smiling himself. “And you, Emil—crowned king!” He pat his friend on the back. Felt like a whack with a cane to Emil’s sensitive skin, but he never minded enough to turn his Prowess down. “Glad to finally be in charge?”
“Not as glad as I’d have been if I were crowned after my father had simply stumbled into an unfortunate ‘accident’ at the whims of one of his many enemies,” he sighed. “But yes.”
Smile fading, Drogo clapped his friend on the shoulder. “We can fight them. We can still save this kingdom.”
As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, Emil thought. I’m not sure we can.
Standing atop the wall, the two stared across the crimson dusts surrounding the city at the dark blotch forming on the horizon. With Emil’s eyesight, he could make out the army in some detail. They wore no armor. No weapons. Rather, they wore not much in the way of clothing at all. Their fashion was little more than leather straps and scraps of silk. Terrible horns like those of beasts sprouted from between the locks of their light red hair—possibly white under the sun—twisting in all sorts of strange shapes. They did not break their advance to camp. They believed the city to already be theirs, and so marched promptly toward it. Before now, Emil never had the gall or misfortune to have seen one in person, let alone thousands, but he recognized the creatures easily from the dozens of books he’d read about them.
Demons. A demon army at his doorstep.
“Are they heavily armed?” Drogo asked.
Emil frowned. “Were they human, I’d have laughed and said no, not at all. I can’t spot a bit of steel between them, besides the buckles of a belt or two. Yet they march with confidence. They even march with women among their ranks.” Taking a closer look, Emil spotted numerous demon women with swollen, rounded bellies, bellybuttons popped and poking out, exposed in full by their lack of clothes. Blushing redder than the moonlight, he felt blood gather in his cheeks, and other unwanted places. “S-some are heavy with child. I think they expect to take the city completely without resistance.”
“Tch.” Drogo glared at what must be nothing but a distant blob to his eyes. “They mock us.”
“They have a right to mock us, Drogo—they are demons.”
“We can stop them. Kill the men for taking us so lightly. The women will retreat once they see our defenses are not lowered.”
“They’ve magic directly from the First Demon Goddess, Hazaelia,” Emil reminded him, intensely feeling every bead of sweat forming across his brow. “The women will attack from afar with powerful Prowesses. This is what our mages and our grimoires were for. Without them-“
“Dusty old men with dusty old books,” he scoffed. Drogo turned, strode across the walkway, and leaped from the edge, falling slowly and landing unharmed from the hundred foot drop. That was Drogo’s Prowess: the power to control the ground’s pull on his body. At his will, he could be light as a feather, or heavy as a boulder.
Or heavy as a demoness carrying an enormous litter of imps. Perhaps they all could lessen the ground’s pull. Emil had a hard time imagining himself married one day, but, when his kingdom eventually demanded he take a bride, he was certain he would never dare order her to march any distance in such a condition. But demon culture was different than human culture, and unknown to Emil. Perhaps, to them, the order was acceptable.
Drogo stared up at Emil and spoke normally, knowing the king could hear him. “Come. The people are in a panic. You should give a speech to calm them.”
Nodding, Emil made his way down from the wall.
…
With a procession of one hundred guards, Emil and Drogo marched to the city square. Drogo put on a brave face for his men, but Emil could see he was anxious. Afraid. Biting his lip, looking sick, cloak pulled around him as he fidgeted beneath it. Emil couldn’t blame him. The situation was dire, and Emil would probably have fidgeted just the same if his mannerisms were not being closely monitored by the crowds to either side of the street. They needed a strong, confident, fearless king, now more than ever. He made an effort to stand even straighter, head held even higher.
While listening to the whispers of the crowd, Emil’s ears caught a cry of pain. Turning to peek over the heads of the bystanders and down an alley, he spotted a woman bent over, holding her gravid belly as she labored. Why there? Perhaps she was out for a walk when the stress of the situation pushed her into labor, and now she struggled to stumble home through the busy streets to give birth.
Emil caught the ear of his closest guard. “There is a woman in labor down that alley. Please see that she gets home safely and finds the care she needs.”
The man was shocked, but nodded and broke off from his procession.
…
The square was packed tight with bodies. Thousands of noblemen, workers, and even beggars awaited Emil’s speech, panicked voices forming an orchestra beneath the crimson moon. Somehow, Emil’s procession cleared a path to the hardwood stage in the center, surrounding it and allowing Emil to take the podium.
At his side, Drogo held both hands clasped in front of his stomach in an effort to not fidget openly.
Adjusting the thin, gold crown atop his head, Emil examined the worried faces of his people before clearing his throat to speak. “I am King Emil Florian Daybreaker. Just this evening, in a haphazard rush, I was crowned. Your rumors have reached me—many saw the palace in a panic and assumed my father dead. I regret to inform you that this is not the case. Your previous king yet lives. My sincerest apologies for breaking tradition and taking the crown early. And even greater apologies for the stir I am about to cause by admitting to you the truth of the matter.” Emil took a deep breath. “In exchange for immortality, Gravelveil has been sold to a Demon Goddess of Lust.”
Sounds of worry rippled through the crowd. Gasps, prayers, curses, groans, and… moans?
Drogo grimaced at him.
Emil continued. “Think ill of me for disturbing your nights with knowledge if you must, but you all can clearly see the state of the moon,” he said, pointing skyward. “That bloodstained abomination is demon magic. It is meant to cripple our morale as the demoness’ army approaches. And, thanks to my father, we are without most of the men and defenses we would have used to fight off such a spell. Wishing my potentially short rule to be an honest one, I will admit to you this: Gravelveil may fall.
“But, do not fear for your lives. This is a Demon Goddess of Lust, not of Wrath, of Greed, or of Pride. It is unlikely her army comes to kill. I have seen for myself that they are not armed with swords or spears. Should they breach our walls, I doubt they shall stage any slaughter. Of course, we have not yet given up. If the fine soldiers of our city can yet send them away, we shall! The best you all can do for your home is remain calm!” Emil clenched a fist and thumped it to his chest, rattling his bones though the intensity of his Prowess. “Remain strong, and together we shall weather this storm!”
The sounds of the crowd changed such that at least some of them must have been reassured. Emil stepped off stage, having done his best. A carriage was brought. He climbed inside, taking a seat on the plush bench within.
Joining him, Drogo became weightless and sat on the carriage’s ceiling, upside down, cloak wrapped around him, like a bat hanging from the roof of a cave. “Gravelveil may fall?”
Emil squinted. “You don’t believe it might?”
“I believe it so unlikely as to not be worth a warning.”
“If I did not warn them, and the city fell, they might have come to think I sent for the army, to chase away my father and take his kingdom. I cannot have my people refuse to trust me in our most trying time.”
“They will not take the city. You said yourself, they approach without weapons!”
“Because they are confident we will fall without fighting!”
“Arrogant,” he snapped.
“No,” Emil said. “Powerful. I claimed the moon was turned red to kill our morale, but it possibly has a greater purpose. Perhaps it magically weakens us.”
Drogo grit his teeth, looking uncomfortable. For whatever reason, he seemed to agree with Emil’s theory.
Abruptly, the carriage stopped. Catching up with it, another messenger opened the door and bowed to Emil before speaking. “Y-your Majesty. An, um… an emergency is… occurring.”
Frowning at him, Emil concentrated. In the distance, there was screaming. Over what, he couldn’t tell. “What’s happened? Speak, soldier.”
Sweating, the man cleared his throat and looked away in shame. “Uh… Women are giving birth, Sire.”
Emil raised an eyebrow. “… Yes… That is… a thing women do sometimes.”
“No, Your Majesty, I don’t mean natural births,” he clarified. “Around the city, thousands of them are starting to just… swell up. Filling with children, since the moon’s been red. They just…” He tried to explain with his hands, spreading his fingers like a loaf of bread rising in the oven. “They just expand. I-I seen it.”
Stunned silent, Emil turned to Drogo. The guard captain was pale as a sheet, staring back with the same look of confused concern.
“Show me,” Emil told the messenger.
Leaping from the carriage, Emil and Drogo, accompanied by their guards, followed the man toward a large source of the screaming. One of the city’s wider streets had been commandeered, traffic blocked by wooden signs dragged from shops. People were frantically laying hundreds of blankets across the cobblestones, and on top of them hundreds of women, their bellies burgeoning with life. From workers’ wives, with their tunics and trousers split around their filling wombs, to noblewomen, with their beautiful ball gowns torn open along the seems. Swollen, leaking breasts spilled out of low-necked and broken-buttoned shirts. More and more women flooded the street, helped along by terrified husbands and brothers as Emil watched, dumbfounded.
He could hear and see it all much too vividly. Their guttural moans of pleasure and pain. The focused, or glazed, looks in their eyes as they either tried very hard to stay strong, or simply let the sensations take them. The heat of their ragged breathing. The way their skin stretched tight as a drum, tearing just a little with long, pinkish stretch marks. The way their lower lips bulged and split around the heads of tiny demon creatures.
Gods, what must that be like? Emil wondered, trying to maintain a calm posture despite the mayhem. Horrifying, losing control of one’s body to demons who think incubation a better use for it. These poor girls. I cannot imagine feeling so… vulnerable. And full. The… sexual nature of the situation was causing an awful rush of blood to places it very much should not be right now, forcing Emil to dampen his Prowess in order to think.
Beside him, Drogo watched the scene, jaw locked with frustration and cloak pulled around himself again.
The messenger swallowed, rubbing his own pudgy stomach in sympathy. “Your Majesty, what ought we do?”
Emil thought. Waving his arms to gather the attention of the guards and those tending the women, he began barking orders. “This curse is caused by the crimson moonlight! Get the women inside! Into houses and shops, anything will do, and board the windows! Bring them water, and cage the offspring!”
Most took his orders and began helping their wives and sisters inside.
Gasping as a small demon scampered by and knocked into his legs, Emil frowned.
“There are too many!” a guard called, carrying eight demons in his arms, and chasing twelve more down the road.
Drogo groaned. “What in the name of the old gods are we to do about this?”
Emil shook his head. “Nothing. I fear that’s the point. The Demoness intends to torture half our city until we open its gates for her.”
“Our whole city, actually,” said another voice.
Emil turned and spotted a familiar mustached nobleman and his son weaving their way through the crowd. He’d met the two at many a ball, and the older man’s input was generally wise. Excellent timing. “Ah. Lord Belamy. What of-“ He stopped, blinking as he truly looked at them for the first time.
Young Belamy, a lad of eighteen—and Emil had been sure a moment ago that he was in fact a lad—struggled for breath as he hauled a hanging, heavy belly almost larger than the rest of his body, barely keeping up with his father. His distended, red bellybutton nearly scraped the cobblestones. Lord Belamy too was swollen, the buttons of his suit broken around a new paunch. Earlier that week, at the most recent ball, his abs had been flat.
Unable to process what he was seeing, Emil simply stared. “The magic of a demon goddess! Ah, what a wonder,” Lord Belamy laughed, giving his belly a slap. “Seems it needs not a natural womb to burrow in. Any port in a storm, as they say. Fascinating. And uncomfortable. I wonder if you yet might be spared, Your Highness. Pardon—Your Majesty. Perhaps if we all survive with our senses about us, I’ll grow used to that.”
“Y-… You… ah…” Emil swallowed. “You’re… pregnant.”
“Not as much so as my son,” he said, patting the poor lad on the shoulder. “Over a hearty dinner, he suddenly complained of feeling quite full. And, well… simply continued getting fuller.”
Young Belamy moaned, barely supporting himself. With his Prowess, Emil could hear five or six imps squirming inside him. “I’m so heavy… Gonna… burst…”
Shaking off his stupefaction, Emil flagged down a guard. “Get this lad some help, like the women affected by the curse. And pass on the word that this will slowly happen to everyone. We need as few people outside as possible, be they woman or man.”
The guard agreed and helped young Belamy stagger into a shop. Thanking Emil, his father followed.
Looking sick, the messenger trotted off after them, rubbing his own gut, which seemed larger than a moment ago. “Thought it was indigestion… Gods above…”
Backing against a wall to rest, Drogo cowered within his cloak. “This has to be a joke.”
Joining him, Emil frowned at his friend. “Perhaps, to the demon army, it is. But I assure you their pregnancies were real.”
“Shit,” he swore, fingers digging into the thick fur.
“Indeed. It’s over. Let us take a carriage to the southern gate and order it opened.”
“Excuse me?” Drogo snapped, turning to stare incredulously at him. “What is ‘over’ about it? My men can still fight! I will not allow their king to abandon them!”
“For now, yes, they can still fight. But the demon army is not at the gate right now,” Emil said. “At the pace they walked, they will be here in maybe an hour or two. And what state will our men be in then? Will their armor still fit? Will they be able to focus their aim while ignoring the imps’ squirming? Is it fair to demand they rush about with wombs they may barely be able to lift? Look me in the eyes and tell me you will feel morally secure ordering our soldiers to ward off an army as they battle through the pains of labor. Which, mind you, they will be completely mentally unprepared for, as this is a situation no human male has ever had to contemplate.”
Having lost the nerve to keep eye contact, Drogo glared down at the wine-colored street, cloak held closed by one shaking hand. “Shit… Shit, shit, shit!”
Emil clenched his own fists. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am so sorry, to you, and to everyone else I now rule. I know how you feel. I don’t like this either. We dreamt so long, studied so hard, trained like our lives depended on it, waiting for the day I’d be king and you’d be captain. I hate that my first order to our army has to be a command to surrender…”
Drogo did not respond, lost in his own dread.
Flagging down another guard, Emil asked for a new carriage to be brought. As he saw it coming, he turned back toward his friend. “We have to go, Drogo. Come on, let’s get inside before we too are cursed.”
Again, he did not respond.
“Drogo?” Emil asked. Suddenly concerned, he flared his Prowess and listened to the frantic beating of the man’s heart.
And the multiple, smaller heartbeats accompanying it.
“Oh no,” Emil gasped, rushing to his side. “Drogo-“
“Don’t say it,” he demanded.
“Drogo, you’re-“
“Do not say it!” he snapped, breathing heavily and sweating a storm. “If you say it out loud, you’ll make it real.”
Emil shook his head. “Refusing to acknowledge it won’t make it not real.”
Comforting his friend, Emil steered Drogo toward the carriage and helped him inside, sitting with him on the bench. The guard captain sat shaking and clutching his cloak for dear life as the horses began trotting.
“Let me see,” Emil said, softly.
Drogo hesitated a long minute before allowing the cloak to be pushed aside. His belly was small as of yet, compared to Belamy’s, but distinctly bloated, leather belt digging into the bottom curve of it harshly. Emil undid the buckle of that belt, lifting the man’s shirt, from where it was tucked into the waist of his pants, for a better look. The buckle had left a red impression in his skin, which was also crossed by dozens of scars from years of battle, stretched and distorted by the bloat. Drogo’s once proud abs smoothed and faded into his newly expanded middle. His bellybutton seemed shallow, as if it could push out any minute. Gently, Emil placed a hand on him and felt around. His belly was firm, but not hard, like a very large peach.
Drogo shivered, letting out a small noise, and Emil stopped. Partly to apologize for upsetting his friend, which Drogo forgave him for, giving him permission to continue. And partly to stop to ask himself what in Hazaelia’s Void he was doing.
Poor Drogo probably thinks I’m examining him like some doctor, diagnosing his exact state of progress and reasoning how to help him, Emil thought. Truth was… Emil just wanted to touch that belly. Perhaps the demonic moonlight had touched Emil’s mind, because he found it stuffed with lustful thoughts. There was an unexplainable air of eroticism about the perfect roundness of Drogo’s paunch. The weight. The way the man blushed so hard and squirmed in such embarrassment at having it exposed. The way such a strong, masculine warrior shivered with pleasure and allowed a girlish moan to escape his lips as his king touched him. Daring, Emil touched him again! Felt around the sides of his swell, as if sizing him up for medical purposes! Unfortunately, Drogo remained quiet and composed this time, and Emil was ashamed to admit that almost made him mad.
“H-how many do you think are in there?” Drogo asked, a worried crack in his voice.
Emil quickly flared his Prowess and counted heartbeats to find out. One… Two… “I think there are… three? No, four. Definitely four.”
“Four?!” Drogo gasped, suddenly breathing hard and floating slightly off his seat as he panicked and his Prowess lightened him. “Fuck! Hold on, how many did that nobleman’s son have?”
“Five or six,” Emil said, anchoring him with a hand on his thigh.
“So, I won’t be as massive as he was,” he breathed, relieved. “That’s reassuring, though not by much.”
Emil nodded, listening intently to Drogo’s racing heartbeat, the four hearts of the tiny demon fetuses, and the slow, enticing creak of his womb swelling ever larger. “Unless each of his was particularly small, and yours grow particularly large.”
“Don’t suggest such awful possibilities!” he choked. “The bigger they grow, the harder they’ll be to get out, right? Hang about, where will they evacuate in the first place?”
Keeping his Prowess at full power, Emil gently gripped his friend’s belly again, fascinated by the feeling of Drogo swelling against his palm. “I haven’t got a clue. Hopefully, the doctors who deliver young Belamy’s brood will pass that information on to-“
It hit him like a punch to the gut, but from inside. Sensitive as he could make himself, Emil really felt it when something the size of a small apple burst forth into existence between his organs, as if violently shoved there by an intangible fist.
“OH!” he choked, buckling over with the wind knocked out of him and both hands on his stomach.
“Emil!” Drogo sat forward in alarm, holding him by the shoulders. “Emil? Oh gods, it’s happened to you, hasn’t it? I barely noticed when it happened to me, but with your senses…”
“… fi-… I’m fine…” Emil wheezed, steading himself with deep breaths. Dampening his Prowess so his senses returned to normal lost him the ability to feel it at all, and gained him a quick recovery from the shock. “Y-you’re right, I was using my Prowess at maximum strength to examine yours when mine appeared suddenly. I’m quite alright. No need for concern.”
Drogo frowned. “You’re cursed too, now. You’re-…”
“Pregnant, yes.” And shaking with anticipation. Emil let his friend slide his shirt back down as the king moved to the opposite bench, just in case Drogo decided to touch Emil to elicit more girlish moans.
Prowess reignited, he focused on the false womb. Growing downward into a pear shape, the bulbous end kept it in place above his bladder as the stem of said pear stretched to form a tube that pierced into the lowest inches of his intestines, rooting itself. Sprouting its own veins and arteries, the womb wove itself into Emil’s blood supply and officially became one of his organs. Hormones surged suddenly through his bloodstream, Emil’s body behaving strangely as it noticed the obtrusive new resident.
“But we’re out of the moonlight,” Drogo interrupted. “How?”
“Moonlight’s still coming in, a bit,” Emil said, nodding toward the curtained windows. “Besides, we were out in it for a while. Maybe it’s only now caught up with me.”
Biting his lip to stop himself from making any unflattering noises, Emil rode out a growth spurt, the womb expanding quickly to twice its size. Though still it was nowhere near large enough to show on his frame. With the minute vibrations it made, Emil could perceive the contents. Full mostly of liquid, exit tube tightly plugged by a structure of mucous or something, it sat in him like a tiny, round, corked bottle. Stuck to the inner front of the womb was some pillow of tissue, and sprouting from that were a number of strings with bits of flesh the size of grains of rice dangling at their ends. Slowly, Emil realized these must be the imp embryos. Even more slowly, it dawned on him how god damned many of them there were.
“What?” Drogo asked, alarmed by the horror Emil wore openly on his face.
“I-… Th-there are nine of them,” Emil gasped, clutching his as of yet still flat stomach.
“Nine what?” Drogo asked. Then his eyes widened. “Nine?! Inside of you?!”
He nodded.
“You’re absolutely sure?”
“Well, not absolutely. Small internal vibrations can be difficult to count. There may be as many as ten.”
“By the gods, and I complained about four!”
Neither of them spoke much for the rest of the ride. As the carriage wove carefully through the screaming crowds, the wait was agonizing. Emil had nothing to do but sit and feel the slow, creeping growth of his womb. Drogo eventually broke down and allowed himself to moan and rub his belly as it started to swell uncomfortably big, riding his shirt back up to show a strip of skin, and his freshly popped bellybutton. For whatever reason, Emil’s expansion was much, much less expedient. The hormonal cocktail rushing through his blood made him nauseous and tired. His nipples were strangely sore, and his abdomen cramped as the womb ever so gently, yet ruthlessly, began to push his other organs aside for more room.
And there was something unfathomably erotic about it. The glacial spread of his fingers and the fabric of his shirt as he bloated beneath them. The weight of the womb somehow pressing down on just the right spot, growing ever so slightly heavier every minute. There was even something arousing about the helplessness of not being able to stop his body from changing, allowing this thing to grow unchecked, and the humiliation of having to sit quietly in front of another man as it happened.
Emil was raised to be a perfectly behaved prince. In the public eye, he did not get sick, yet here he was red in the face, dripping sweat, trying to massage his cramps away before he puked. He did not overindulge, yet here his stomach began to curve as if he’d wolfed down two meals in a single sitting. He did not get aroused—except in the presence of his eventual queen as she conspired to bear his children—and yet here he sat with nine or ten children growing in his own belly, as Emil carefully considered ripping off Drogo’s pants and touching him in less and less appropriate places until the guard captain could physically no longer contain those adorable noises of pleasure.
Emil internally thanked his tailors, as if they were gods, for designing his undergarments tight and firm such that they did not allow his incredibly confused erection to show. Otherwise, he could not have been convinced to exit the carriage as it stopped a ways from the southern gate.
Drogo made a fruitless effort to pull his shirt down, and his pants up, then let out a huff as he stood with some difficulty and covered himself again with his cloak. It mostly hid him, though it bent slightly at the peak of his belly. “What in the world took so long?” he yelled up to the carriage driver.
“Traffic,” the man called down. “Streets are filled with waddling pregnant people ‘n scampering demons, m’Lord. I’m gonna need a break here to give birth m’self.”
Growling, the guard captain stepped out.
Wiping his face and returning it to a mask of confidence, Emil stood. His womb was the size of an orange, the imps inside the size of peas. Mistakenly, the tightness of his suit accentuated his slight bloat, clinging to the subtle curve of it. People would notice, and there was nothing he could do.
Sighing, Emil found Drogo waiting to help him down from the carriage. He accepted the man’s hand. Gawkers, all with bloated bellies of their own, bearing various sizes, stages and numbers of imps, crowded the sides of the streets behind lines of soldiers in their same condition. They wore no armor, as Emil had predicted. It no longer fit.
A path was made for the king and his captain, which had the unfortunate side effect of making them stand out. Although Emil did his best to compose himself, stand up straight and true, and keep his hands off his middle, the whispers began immediately.
“Look at the way Lord Steelblade’s cloak juts out—he must be cursed too.”
“Forget Lord Steelblade. Look at the king.”
“What about him?”
“Look at the front of his suit. He-… He’s curvaceous.”
Curvaceous! By the gods, Emil wanted to die on the spot.
“Hah! ‘Curvaceous’, to describe His Majesty?”
“Well forgive me, woman, for trying to think of a more flattering term for our nobility than ‘round’!”
Round! Goodness, he wasn’t that big yet, was he?! He dared not stare down at himself to check!
The crowd was absolutely churning with chatter like that, dozens of people realizing Emil must be pregnant like the rest of them and gossiping about it. Wondering when it happened. If he’d noticed. How big he was going to get. How many imps he would push out. And Emil merely had to stand there and listen. What was he to do? Demand silence and admit he’d heard? Admit he was flustered? No. King Emil could admit to no such things. He had to cast off his strange thoughts and hold his society together as the stoic ruler it needed.
Drogo crouched—not all the way, as the half crouch he bent into seemed to strain his swell under the cloak—and leaped hundreds of feet, directly skyward, to peer over the wall. As he floated back down, he rejoined Emil with a frown. “They are here.”
“Open the gates!” Emil commanded his guards. “We surrender with all the dignity we can muster, so that our people might be relieved of this torment!”
A team of soldiers waddled to the gate and began figuring out how to pull it open with their bellies in the way. Dignity indeed.
Marching over, Drogo barked orders at them. “Come on, men, pull!”
The heavy doors made little progress. Three of the men had to pause suddenly and buckle in pain as their waters broke, colorless liquid gushing down the backs of their pants.
“For the gods’ sake!” Drogo groaned, clapping a hand to his forehead.
Something banged against the gates. At the first bang, the team of soldiers froze, startled. The second bang sent them running—well, waddling.
Drogo took a breath, perhaps to order them back into position, then hesitated.
Around the edges of the wood, vines grew. Fingers of green crept into the gaps between the doors and the stone, spooling like thread across the great slabs of iron birch. Stronger they grew, thicker and sturdier, like muscular arms squeezing the enormous doors until the wood began to crack. Creaking ominously, the gates split and splintered, the tops and bottoms bending inward. Finally, with a great snap, they broke, falling to the ground in a deafening crash and a cloud of dust, grass and wood chips.
Hand flying to his belly, Emil felt his womb swell in another growth spurt, and pull, as if magnetically, toward the demoness who had easily breached their city.
Riley was almost a normal college student. She was a junior. She woke up on the first day of the school year with a grin on her face. She could barely stop herself from skipping to class as she walked through the oblivious freshman and transfer students surrounding her.
She walked through the doors to her favorite class, finding the most comfortable seat among the pillows and beanbags littered across the floor. A freshman came and sat next to her, giving her a small hello.
“Hi! I’m Sarah, this your first time taking the class?”, she asked, and Riley gave a small laugh.
“No, not for me. I take this class every year. It’s my favorite.”, Riley said with a smirk, making Sarah seem to relax into the cushions.
Riley heard the bell ring and the door slammed shut with an audible click and she grinned again. This was the fun part.
She could almost feel herself getting heavier as the teacher walked to the front of the classroom, but she knew she wasn’t really. Not yet. The teacher lit some candles around the room and then sat down at the front, not saying anything.
A single word whispered from his mouth and Riley threw her head back as the first orgasm started. “Begin.”
Riley knew well enough to shed her clothes early on, as her bra was already tightening as she ripped off her skirt. Another orgasm swept through her, and she moaned as she heard some of the freshman scream while the returning students moaned in chorus.
Sarah, who was next to her, started quietly, quick moans like a kitten meowing coming from her mouth. That was until Riley bent down, shoving her face between Sarah’s short skirt, her tongue making Sarah scream in excitement.
Riley stopped as another orgasm ran her over like a truck and she laughed as she felt the all-too familiar pouch forming about her underwear. She moaned, leaning back on her feet as she continued to grow.
She could hear Sarah’s confused sounds as the freshman grew, slower than Riley, but still faster than usual. Riley’s belly button popped loudly in the room of moans and screams and Riley let herself groan loudly as her belly continued to grow.
Sarah’s popped just minutes after Riley’s, and she was less thrilled, screaming as her belly stretched and grew.
At this point, only 20 minutes in, Riley looked pregnant with at least 5. Sarah was behind her, her smaller bump making Riley think she had triplets.
As Riley’s belly continued to grow, tipping her forward, she rearranged so she could still lick Sarah’s pussy, adding more pleasure to the freshman’s experience. Sarah’s bra was still on, and Riley let their bellies clash as she reached to undo it, letting the girl’s breasts spring forward with a moan as the air touched the sensitive nipples.
It was 45 minutes into an hour long class when it all stopped. Riley felt her belly stop growing, and the skin stopped stretching around the mass in her stomach.
Sarah had slowed down sometime during the period, and when Riley gave her a smirking once-over, she was about pregnant with 6 kids, a measly number compared to the 20 that were residing in the junior’s womb.
A glance around the room proved to Riley that she was the biggest in their classroom, once again. She heard a couple groans from the returning class and screams from the new students, and she groaned herself as she felt the contractions start to rip through.
Sarah was sobbing at this point, her legs involuntarily spreading open as a head started to crown from her swollen lips. Riley laid back on the beanbags, swishing her hips from left to right as she felt a baby descend.
It started to crown and she moaned through the ring of fire before a satisfying release of pressure ricocheted through her. She strained to check for a cord around the baby’s neck, already feeling it’s sibling behind it, adding to the pressure.
Satisfied there was no cord, she gave a final push, with the second child’s head popping out right after the first baby’s feet. She continued the process until she was pushing against baby number 15, with the head sliding in and out of her as she pushed.
She felt someone by her head and she looked over to see Sarah, who was finished delivering. “Want some help?”, Sarah asked, and Riley gave a nod.
Sarah went between Riley’s legs, cupping the baby’s head. “Just.. Just pull it out. I’ve got to finish before the bell rings.”, Riley said, and there was a simple hesitation in Sarah’s face.
“Do it, Sarah. P-Pull.”, Riley panted out, and Sarah gripped as gently as she could, pulling the baby free to it’s shoulders. She gave another tug and Riley threw her head back with a scream as the baby came out followed quickly by two more almost falling out of her gaping pussy.
She pushed as the last 3 came with little effort on her part, moving quickly down her stretched reproductive system.
The bell rang just as Riley’s stomach completely deflated, and a group of seniors walked through the room, collecting the children and tagging them for which parent they belonged to.
Riley couldn’t wait for them to join her hundreds of others in the nursery, and she couldn’t wait for the next period. Maybe she’d convince Sarah to return some of the favors that Riley did for her today.
