Here's a weird idea: what if your boss orders you a new office chair, but it turns out to be a high-tech breeding bench that holds you in place for robotic insemination. The device pesters your coworkers to leave semen samples, and they do just to shut it up (or maybe they love the idea of you stuffed full with their babies). You're confused and humiliated as you swell up with every sample. The device is programmed to announce how full your womb is and how full your teats are. Your coworkers accept that you're the office babymaker now, and talk about you as if you're a finicky printer when you struggle with your first of many births.
This is a fun one! I love the idea of being the only one who doesn't know what's going on until I'm swollen with everyone's babies, so maybe the device doesn't make its announcements until I'm decently far along. But first I don't even realize I'm pregnant at all, I'm just trying to hide and deal with this sudden weight I've been gaining. I'm already embarrassed about getting fat so fast, and everyone seems to be staring at me all of the time, but maybe it's my imagination because I'm self conscious. I'm in denial as I feel the first flutters. I don't want to be pregnant, and how could I be? But I can't deny it for long, and I'm horrified and humiliated when the device announces to the office how well bred I am.
I get big fast, with at least one baby from each of my coworkers stuffed into my womb. Soon I'm waddling around the office, panting and blushing from the exertion and embarrassment. My boss and coworkers pat and rub my belly without asking, talking about me like I'm not even there, talking about how well production is going and what a lucrative quarter it should be when I finally pop. The device announces that my big, swollen milkers are full to capacity, and they discuss how well I'm exceeding the projections while opening up my shirt so they can suckle and drain me.
The babies kick and roll inside of me constantly, and even if everyone couldn't already see how massively pregnant I am, the device announces how far along I am and how big my babies are getting. There are meetings about my progress, and the staff discuss goals for next time, and how they can exceed production by filling me even more. I'm present for the meetings, but no one asks for my input or addresses me at all. All I can do is lean back in my seat, huffing as the babies move, rubbing my boulder of a belly, completely overcome by being turned into a baby factory for the entire office.
When my water breaks, right in the middle of the office in front of everyone, the reactions are casual. My coworkers nonchalantly check my dilation as if they're checking their email. The first baby is huge, and takes forever to even breach my cervix, and my coworkers press on my belly and make me squat as if they're troubleshooting a finicky printer while trying to make me crown. I end up laying in the middle of the office, my legs spread as I struggle to birth the first baby, my coworkers taking turns drinking my milk and watching me labor while drinking coffee and chatting about how long it's taking for me to get this baby out.
















