puppy brain

You jolt awake, reflexively trying to pull away-- surely this is a nurse or custodian who doesn't know you also work there-- but your assailant doesn't speak, doesn't reprimand or demand answers. Just holds you down. Just grabs your knees as well-- there must be two of them--Just forces your legs open--

You cry out for help but find your mouth covered by an unseen hand, then there's a cool breath at your ear;

You will give them the life owed to them. The life stolen from them. The life they should have had...

The bed is abruptly adjusted to push you up into a sitting position, and through your scrubs, you feel something cool nudging between your legs. Your scream is muffled as you thrash, trying to get away from whatever it is before it---enters you, pushes itself inside you. More hands--how many people are there??--hold your hips down as the sensation advances, filling your belly with a strange, swelling chill that leaves you feeling strangely bloated, the elastic of your pants pressing into your skin.

Amidst your squirming, one hand travels between your legs, and begins stroking through the thin fabric of your scrubs, making small, almost soothing circles over your clit.

You gasp, trying to twist away from it until another cool pressure begins pushing its way into you. This one feels bigger, the sensation of being stretched accompanied by the stimulation of your clit making you whimper and weakening your resolve. It slides along your walls--are you getting wet?--joining the other strange coolness and you're able to lift your chin just enough to see your belly visibly rise beneath your top, putting you solidly in "ate too much" territory.

Another begins filling you. This time there's no moment to catch your breath between them because as soon as it's entirely in, another cool something presses its way inside of you. The hand is still working your clit in slow, practiced circles and you can feel a growing damp spot where the fabric is being pressed against you. The constant stimulation is beginning to cloud out the panic you felt moments ago, your mind unable to hold both simultaneously even as your belly swells once more like rising bread dough, leaving you looking like you have a half-basketball tucked under your top.

At this point you start feeling an ache in your chest and groan, back arching as if to attempt to alleviate the pain. A pair of hands finds each breast and begins massaging again in that slow, soothing way. In the low light you can see the indentations of fingers pressing into the fabric as you start feeling your bra beginning to tighten. You don't care-- it feels...so nice....

More sensation pushes its way into you. They're continuous now so you quickly lose track, your belly swelling larger and larger like a filling water balloon. You find your hips jerking involuntarily when a particularly large one shoves itself in, twisting and grinding against your g-spot, sending pleasure shooting up your spine. You moan behind the hand over your mouth, your belly pushing out to the size of a watermelon, full term.

And they're still coming.

Your breasts are visibly pulling your top tight, plump flesh beginning to spill over your bra cups. Despite your back pressed back against the mattress, you feel your bra become unhooked, feel your arms gently bent to pull the straps over them before it's tugged up and out of your collar and tossed to the mattress besides you. You get one brief look at your breasts-- now the size of grapefruits, much larger than you started, with swollen nipples poking through the fabric--before the massaging continues again.

You're doing great, says that voice in your ear.

The filling sensation keeps coming, a relentless stream of pressure that has your hips bucking underneath the growing weight of your belly as your clit is continuously stimulated. You're easily overdue with twins now, beach ball sized, your nipples throbbing and breasts swelling to the size of your head and--are those wet spots on your shirt?

Almost as soon as you have that thought, you feel mouths pressed over the outlines of fingertip-sized nipples through your shirt and begin to suck. You gasp, the sensitivity unexpected, and now you're purposefully rocking your hips in time with the ministrations of the hand at your clit, in time with the feeling of fullness still pushing its way into you and filling your belly, now too large to wrap your arms around if you weren't restrained, in time with the rhythmic sucking and lapping of the mouths over your nipples as your breasts, seemingly encouraged by the stimulation, balloon with milk.

"More," you moan behind the hand, "please, more..."

The sets of hands and mouths oblige you-- now there's hands squeezing and kneading your breasts as they're sucked and lapped at, now there's hands stroking and rubbing your filling belly and at your inner thighs, now there's a multitude of fingers trailing and stroking and rubbing your clit, your labia, all the while you're still being filled and filled and filled--

You shriek as the orgasm crashes into you, your walls gripping whatever is inside you in hard, clamping pulses. Milk gushes out of you and drenches the taut fabric of your top in a letdown.

The hands continue stroking and sucking and massaging you through an orgasm that feels like it lasts for ages, the filling sensation finally coming to a stop and you collapse back against the pillow, panting and sweating, ironically, as if you've just given birth.

Then the lights flick on, and with it the sensation of hands disappear. For a moment you think it was a dream and you've just been woken up-- but then you look down, and are able to see yourself clearly for the first time.

Breasts that must be larger than basketballs slump atop a stretchmark-laced belly the size of the labor-assisting yoga balls sitting in the corner of the room, your nipples, cork-sized now, throbbing through your strained top, dribbling thick cream onto the mattress around you. You can feel the fabric between your legs is soaked, your pussy twitching with the aftershocks of an orgasm.

Dazedly you look up and find a fellow nurse standing in the doorway, looking at you with a mix of shock and exasperation.

"The sign's there for a reason, honey," she deadpans.

"I--I was just--"

She puts her hands up as if in surrender. "I'm not dealing with this tonight," she says, reaching back for the light switch. "Have fun. You're in good hands."

"Wait--"

The lights go out, and the door closes.

And then the feeling of hands, so many hands, sliding and rubbing and massaging and--