Heavy With Child

When I started this blog, it was a place for me to share some fantasies free of shame. I never expected quite so many of you would enjoy my writing, let alone follow me.

My job is physically exhausting me and I have got to find a better option. Doing more of this is the dream, and every tip buys me a little time to answer asks and work on longer pieces.

Instead of commissions, I've set up a tip jar. No pressure, no pay to play. But if you leave me a request and tell me how much you tipped, I'll bump you to the top of my queue.

Horny now and still flat chested, she keeps mixing higher and higher doses, swallowing pills like candy until finally she’s up to a pert bouncy rack.

The pills are slow release, and she might have her perfect form on day one, but she keeps growing. Her tits get heavy and full until not a single shirt fits her, past cantaloupe size and into watermelon, until she’s leaking milk constantly. There’s no maternity bra that fits her, but her tits are so full they are dense as overfilled balloons, no support necessary.

Whimpering with pain, she has to call up her ex and beg for help, letting them suckle her colossal mommy milkers just for temporary relief.

The doctors on board, who signed on to deliver babies, are suddenly cooking up drugs to induce hyper-ovulation. They use one of their own as a test subject, injecting him daily and then all taking a turn pumping him full of sperm.

His womb starts swelling almost as soon as they finish. His breasts go up three cup sizes that first week. When they do they an ultrasound, they see NINE embryos growing in his fertile womb.

He knows how dangerous it is to carry that many babies, but he has to do it. His doctor colleagues are eager to help, massaging his spreading hips and the rapidly expanding dome of his belly. Five months in, when he already looks like he's carrying about a beach ball, he moves into the zero-G part of the ship.

The reduced gravity takes the weight off his joints, but that means his womb isn't limited by his own strength. His babies keep growing, stomach swelling impossibly far, skin patterned with stretchmarks. He gets visibly bigger every day, until his skin is paper thin and he can see constant rippling movement.

Whimpering and delirious, he delivers all of the babies at full term, not one of them under ten pounds.

I knew I was right to choose you. I could have picked out anyone in the world to carry my babies, and I picked you. Doesn’t that make you feel special? It should.

You’re taking my cock so well. You were meant for this. I’m giving you a purpose. I’m putting my seed inside you, and you’ll get to carry it with you for months. Everyone will know what you mean to me.

Oh you like that, huh? I can feel you clench around me. You want me to cum in you now? You’re ready for me to claim you.

Don’t worry. We’ll do this tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. Until it takes. I won’t let you be empty.

He’s so big, in fact, that sometimes you can’t focus on anything but the swell of his biceps. When he takes his shirt off in the heat and his back muscles ripple, you might swoon.

You force the feelings down. You can’t fuck a coworker, even if you have to crawl home and jack off every day instead.

Breeding season hits, and you spend every day helping the cows until you don’t have energy for anything else. You stay late one night and stop into the barn to grab your jacket when you hear the unmistakable sounds of flesh slapping against flesh. You think a bull has got loose to mount the heifers, and start forward.

It’s your minotaur, braced against a wall, eyes shut, mouth panting, fist around his cock. It’s the biggest you’ve ever seen, bigger than you ever imagined, and you’ve been eyeing his obscene bulge in his tight jeans for weeks. A proper bull cock with a flared head, thick against his massive hands.

You take a step forward, already half cockdrunk. You want to wrap your tiny hands around it, if they’ll reach.

His eyes snap open and lock onto yours. You can’t breathe.

“Please,” he rasps. “I need…”

All you can do is nod.

He pulls you to him, pressing you against his thick belly and barrel chest. He’s huge and sweaty and smells of bull, and he’s so talk his cock rubs against your breasts while you’re both standing. You would jack him off that way, but taking your binder off would take too long. Your thighs are already dripping slick.

He shreds your jeans, lifts you against the wall, and sinks you onto his length. Your eyes roll back at the stretch as he pushes against your cervix. He snuffles your neck and slides you down farther. You press against your stomach, jacking him off through your belly.

Long before you adjust to his girth, he’s driving into you, slamming you against the barn wall, bellowing and grunting. One hand holds you up, the other desperately kneads at your nipples through your binder. “Need,” he groans. “You. Need you. Months. You.”

He jerks inside you, shooting thick ropes that bloat your womb until your belly presses against him. His monster cock keeps every drop inside you.

“Months,” he says again. “And every bull in here bellowing his need to breed, and here you are, perfect little heifer for me, and I couldn’t have you.”

He lowers you to the ground, his cock somehow staying nestled inside you. It throbs, thickening.

He rips your shirt off you, then unfastens your binder. Your heavy D breasts feel different under his appreciative gaze. He palms them, works nipples between his rough fingers. You touch your clit while he spoils your milk bags, praising them with a low, desperate voice.

He’s fully hard inside you, pressing out your belly, massaging every inch of you. He’s going to fuck you until his bull stamina gives out, until you’re bred with his calf, until your udders swell and double in size.

That way he'll be so desperate for your cock inside him it won't even occur to him to ask for a condom. He'll be bent over the kitchen counter before he's even taken his shoes off, slacks around his thighs as you shoot your load into him.

Outside, the enemy is searching your castle, looking for valuables. You sent the servants away, but your heaving, gravid belly slowed you down too much. You thought you could hide.

But now you’re in agony, lips spread around your baby’s crown, bones creaking, in a puddle of your own waters.

He’s getting older now, thinking about finding a farm to call home. It might be nice to stay put and watch one of a young girl swell with his sons. If he’d married the first girl he’d had, they might have grandchildren by now.

There’s a particular village, with a good pub and a view of the mountains. He’s gone back a few times, had his way with barmaids and milkmaids. Nineteen years he’s been coming.

The girl serving him has spectacular tits, her corset laced to show them to advantage. Her dark hair and sly smile fill him with a memory of when he was a younger man in just this pub. He slides a hand over her wide breeding hips and gives her a wink.

He takes her virginity in his room. What was once an idle thought is now a need. He’s never wanted like this. He has to keep her forever, protect her, wake up every morning with his cock between her thighs.

Then there’s a monster attack, and a border skirmish, and suddenly six months pass before he can get back to her. He comes with a ring. She meets him with a belly that looks ready to pop. Her milky breasts spill over the top of her blouse. Her hips sway. She takes his hand and presses it to her swell so he can feel the babies kick.

“Twins,” she tells him. Then, the bigger surprise.

Nineteen years ago, he left another girl in this pub in this very condition. His daughter grew up waiting for daddy to return and claim her. Claim her he did, before she knew who he was.