A decade ago sheβd been a 110-pound college volleyball player with an ass that could fit in size XS and who only needed to wear a sports bra to keep her nipples from poking through her uniform. Now sheβs a 200-pound monument to fertility just about to finish baking her second set of twins in four years. Occasionally she wonders, what would the old her have thought if she knew this was how things would turn out?
And then she remembers: it was the old her who fucking wanted this in the first place. It was the old her who refused to go on birth control, who got her pick of all the men to fuck because she made it clear she wouldnβt hassle them about wearing a condom. She was the one who had been turned on by the thought of being knocked up, or being bred, and she was the one who had walked down the aisle at graduation day with her first bump of many hidden under that billowing gown.
Each baby put into her made her tits bigger, her hips wider, her ass fatter, and most importantly: her hunger for breeding even stronger. No, she had no regrets about what sheβd become. Only excitement about all the pregnancies to come.
