#mpregstory

Seven months had changed everything. The gym that had once been Liam’s sanctuary now felt unfamiliar. His enormous belly strained against a loose training shirt, making every movement deliberate and measured. Still, he refused to give up completely. “I’ll take it easy,” he said, adjusting the support band beneath his stomach. Ethan smiled. “We’re not chasing personal bests today.”

Together they walked onto the gym floor, drawing curious glances that Liam had long since learned to ignore. Ethan loaded a light pair of dumbbells while Liam settled onto an adjustable bench. “No ego lifting,” Ethan reminded him. Liam grinned. “Since when did you become my coach?” “Since you started carrying the world’s most unexpected workout partner.” Liam laughed, the sound echoing through the gym. Despite the size of his belly, it felt good to be back.

They worked through gentle shoulder presses, seated rows, and light curls, Ethan staying close, ready to steady Liam whenever he stood. Between sets, Liam rested both hands beneath the broad curve of his stomach, catching his breath. “You okay?” Ethan asked. Liam nodded with a smile. “I’ve never worked this hard with so little weight.”

As they finished their final set, a firm kick rippled visibly across Liam’s belly. He froze. Ethan looked up just in time to see the movement. “There it goes again.” Both men stared in amazement before bursting into laughter. Even after seven months, moments like that still felt impossible. Yet somehow, surrounded by the familiar sounds of clanging weights and whirring treadmills, they had found a new routine—one that neither of them could ever have imagined.

———————

Liam wandered into the living room shirtless, a playful smile spreading across his face as he caught Ethan’s attention. His enormous nine-month belly led the way, perfectly round and impossibly prominent against his muscular chest and arms. Turning slowly, he struck an exaggerated pose before placing both hands beneath its weight with a grin. “Well?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Ethan could only stare in amazement before laughing softly. “You’re incredible.” Liam rested a hand over the top of his belly as it shifted gently beneath his touch. “I never thought I’d end up looking like this,” he admitted with a smile. Ethan stepped closer, wrapping an arm carefully around Liam’s waist and resting his free hand on the smooth curve of his stomach. “You still look amazing,” he said quietly. Liam leaned into him, feeling another gentle kick. They shared a laugh, savouring the moment together, knowing they were only days away from meeting the babies.

Liam lowered himself carefully into the passenger seat with a quiet sigh, both hands instinctively supporting the immense weight of his nine-month belly as Ethan closed the door behind him. The steering wheel had become an impossible obstacle weeks ago, leaving Ethan to drive them everywhere. As they pulled away, Liam rested a hand over the smooth curve of his stomach, watching it shift gently beneath his fingertips. “One last workout before everything changes,” he said with a smile. Ethan reached across the centre console, giving Liam’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s make it a good one.”

Nine months had transformed Liam completely. Standing shirtless before the full-length mirror, he slowly turned from side to side, admiring the enormous, perfectly rounded curve of his belly. It projected proudly from his once sculpted frame, smooth and taut, impossible to ignore. Resting both hands beneath its weight, he smiled as he felt another firm kick from within. Ethan watched from the doorway, shaking his head in amazement. “I still can’t believe this is real,” he whispered. Liam laughed softly, gently cradling his belly. “Neither can I—but somehow, here we are, almost at the finish line.”

[this is a new version of my original]

The wind cuts through my skin like a blade, but I’ve long grown numb to it. My arms are spread wide, each wrist shackled to the cold stone wall behind me. My belly—huge, round, and swollen—presses forward, straining with the weight of my unborn burden. I shift, trying to ease the ache in my lower back, but the iron cuffs bite into my flesh and remind me that there’s no comfort here. I’m nine months now. Ready to pop, they say. That’s the joke everyone loves to make as they walk by, laughing at the way I waddle when the chains allow. My body, once lean and free, now serves as a grim display for the entire village—a testament to the punishment given to men like me. No one talks about who did it to me that night. An unknown man, a stranger in the dark, stronger than me, forced himself on me until I was left trembling and broken in the dirt. The elders say I was chosen by fate, that my belly is proof of the gods’ will. They say my presence here—naked, heavy, on display—is a reminder of my crime: being fertile when no man should be. Every morning, the guards check me for signs of labor. Every night, the strangers come. Hands—rough, eager, searching—prodding, invading. The law says any man who breaks my water, who claims that final moment of power, can take me for his own. Rescue or slavery, they say. A chance at freedom or a life in chains all the same. My only hope—if you can call it that—is that when the time comes, whoever it is who takes me will have mercy. But mercy is in short supply here. Most come only for their own release. I’ve stopped hoping for anything more. I watch the horizon, a dull gray against the stone. I count the days, the hours, the minutes. My body is so heavy, every movement is a strain. My nipples leak, a bitter reminder of the life I carry. My legs are swollen, my back aches, and the cramps come more often now. I know it’s almost time. I close my eyes and breathe. This is my world. The wall, the chains, the leering eyes, the rough hands. I am a man made to carry shame, to bear the burden, to remind them all that no man is safe from the gods’ cruel humor. Maybe tonight the waters will break. Maybe tonight someone will claim me. Maybe tonight I’ll find an end to this. Or maybe the night will bring only more of the same.

I lose track of the days here. The sun rises and sets, but the stone wall never changes. My wrists remain shackled, my legs spread just enough to display me to every passing pair of eyes. My belly, swollen and tight, sits like a bloated curse above my trembling thighs. Every day I wonder how much more it can grow—how much more of me it can consume. Today is no different. The guard—a gray-bearded man named Gareth—arrives at dawn. He checks my belly, pressing his cold hands against the taut skin, feeling for any sign of true labor. I flinch, but I’m too tired to fight him. “Just Braxton Hicks,” he mutters, his breath sour. I almost want it to be more—anything to break the monotony. As the sun climbs higher, the men come. One by one, they step up to me, undoing their trousers or lifting their tunics. They don’t look at my face, only at the swollen belly, the vulnerable slit between my legs. I stopped crying a long time ago. Now I just stare at the horizon and let it happen. Five men today. One after another, they use me—some with grunts and sighs, some in silence. They come inside me, or between my thighs, and move on as if I’m nothing more than a well-worn cup. I try not to think about the seed that collects inside me, mixing with the fluids of so many strangers. When the last man leaves, the sun is high overhead. My thighs are slick, sticky, and raw. I shift against the wall, trying to find relief, but the chains hold me fast. My belly tightens—another false labor pain, just enough to make me gasp. I can’t help but imagine it growing bigger still, a monstrous dome pressing outward until it bursts. No end in sight. A woman named Mara arrives with a rag and a bucket. It’s her job to keep me clean—or at least clean enough to avoid infection. She squats before me, her eyes dull and resigned. She wipes between my legs, swabbing away the mess of semen and sweat and whatever else has spilled from my trembling body. She doesn’t speak. She never does. I’ve tried to talk to her before, but she just wipes me in silence and leaves. I think she pities me. Or maybe she just hates me less than the others. When she’s done, she rinses the rag and carries it away. I’m left with the wind on my skin and the weight of my belly pressing down on me. My back aches. My nipples leak, a slow trickle of milk I can’t stop. Another Braxton Hicks contraction rolls through me, hard and sharp, but it’s not the real thing. Not yet. My belly feels like it could hold a kingdom, a prison of its own. I lean my head against the cold stone, closing my eyes. I count the breaths between the pain, the minutes between the strangers, the hours between sunrises. Another day. Another cycle. Another reminder that even now, nine months in, I’m still just a vessel—something to be used, to be claimed, to be broken.

The afternoon sun burns my skin where it isn’t already raw. The air is thick and heavy, pressing down on me just like the weight in my belly. Another false pain twists through my gut, making me catch my breath. It’s just Braxton Hicks again, mocking me with the promise of labor that never comes. I hear the sound of hooves first—a low rumble on the dry ground. I lift my head, squinting into the glare. A knight emerges, riding a tall, black horse. His armor gleams like silver in the harsh light, adorned with etchings I can’t make out from here. Wealth. Power. Nothing I’ve seen in all these long months has shone like that. He dismounts with practiced grace, removing his helmet in one smooth motion. And for a brief, stolen moment, I see his face—young, angular, with hair like pale fire and eyes so sharp they could cut stone. He doesn’t come close, only stands there, studying me from a distance. I can’t read his expression. There’s curiosity there, maybe, or pity—or something else I don’t have a name for. Before I can call out, before I can ask him for help or mercy or anything at all, he turns away. A group of men falls in around him, and they vanish down the dirt path like a dream fading at sunrise. I stare after him long after they’re gone, my heart pounding as if I’d just run a mile. I tell myself it means nothing. Just another man. Just another pair of hands waiting to use me. But his face—those eyes—won’t leave my mind. Night falls slow and cruel. The cold seeps into my bones, and I shiver in my chains. I try to sleep, but the wind rattles the iron cuffs, and the pain in my lower back keeps me awake. The false contractions come and go, hardening my belly until I can hardly breathe. Somewhere in the darkness, I hear movement—soft, deliberate. Not the shuffling of guards or the drunk laughter of villagers. This is quieter. Closer. I raise my head, the links of my chains scraping against the wall. A figure steps from the shadows. The knight. But he’s different now. He wears no armor—only a simple tunic and breeches, loose and dark, blending with the night. The moonlight catches his hair like a halo. His face is shadowed, but I can see the same sharp eyes staring at me—burning into me. My mouth goes dry. I can’t find words. My heart hammers against my ribs, and my belly feels impossibly heavy, as if the life inside me can sense the tension. He comes closer, each step slow, deliberate, until he stands at the edge of my reach. He says nothing, only watches me, his expression unreadable. I can smell the leather of his gloves, the faint tang of steel and horses. Something about him makes the world around us shrink until it’s only him and me, caught in the dark. I want to ask why he’s here. I want to ask what he wants. But my voice is gone. All I can do is stare, the iron biting into my wrists, my swollen belly trembling with each labored breath. He tilts his head, as if considering me. The wind lifts a strand of his hair, and his eyes seem to glow in the moonlight. A knight. A stranger. A mystery. I don’t know if he’s come to claim me, to rescue me, or to ruin me. But I know he’s here for me.

He stands before me, his eyes gleaming with something I can’t quite name—curiosity, maybe, or hunger. He’s taller than I thought, broad-shouldered, his arms crossed over his chest as if he’s assessing me like a prize at the market. His voice is low, smooth but edged with authority. “You’re heavier than I expected,” he says, his gaze drifting to my swollen belly. “A good sign. It means the child’s strong.” I shiver at his words—no one’s ever said that before. Most men just use me and leave. But He studies me, his eyes lingering on the curve of my stomach, the way my nipples leak in the moonlight. I swallow hard, my throat dry. “Why are you here?” I ask, though my voice is weak, more a plea than a question. He steps closer, so close I can smell his body and sweat. His hand rises, hesitating, then brushes the curve of my belly with a touch that’s both possessive and oddly gentle. I gasp, the contact sending a shiver up my spine, a reminder of what I haven’t felt in so long—something like tenderness. His fingers trail up, just below my ribs, and my body reacts before my mind can catch up. A flush of heat spreads through me, desire pooling low in my belly. I reach out, trembling, and rest my hand on his chest. He’s warm, solid, alive in a way I’d forgotten men could be. “Please…” I whisper, though I don’t know if I’m asking him to stop or to go further. His eyes meet mine—so dark, so intense. He leans forward, his lips brushing my ear. “Do you want me to claim you now?” he asks, his voice low and thick with promise. Before I can answer, a sharp pain slices through my gut. My belly tightens hard, like a fist, and I cry out, my body jerking against the chains. Braxton Hicks again—false labor, but real enough to steal my breath and twist my insides. His eyes narrow as he watches me, his brow furrowing. “Is it time?” he demands, his voice commanding. I shake my head, tears stinging my eyes. “No—just…just another false one,” I manage between gasps. He scowls, his jaw tense. He looks me over as if measuring my worth, his fingers still resting on my trembling stomach. Then he takes a deep breath, his eyes hard and determined. “What would I have to do,” he says, his voice like a promise and a threat all at once, “to keep you at last? To claim you—not just in the moment, but truly, as mine.” The words hang between us, heavy and dangerous. My heart stutters in my chest, fear and hope warring inside me. No one has ever asked me that before. I can’t answer. Not yet. The pain fades, leaving me breathless and trembling. His eyes are still on me, waiting, hungry for something I’m not sure I can give. And for the first time in so long, I dare to imagine a choice.

“You’re trembling,” he says, his fingers brushing my cheek, almost tender. His touch leaves a trail of warmth that makes me shiver again. “I—I’m always trembling,” I whisper, the chains rattling as I shift. He laughs softly, a sound that’s both bitter and amused. “Fair enough,” he says. He leans closer, his breath ghosting over my ear. “You want to know my name?” I nod, unable to meet his eyes. “Edwin,” he says. “Sir Edwin of Vargrave. Knight of the King’s Order.” He pulls back just enough to look at me fully, his eyes sharp despite the drink. “Remember it. Remember who’s come to you tonight.” The name settles into my mind like a stone at the bottom of a well. Sir Edwin. A knight. A man of rank and power. I wonder if that means he can save me—or only break me harder than the others ever could. He reaches for my belly again, his hand possessive, pressing against the taut, swollen skin. “You’re heavy with child,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire and something darker. “You know the law: any man who breaks your water claims you.” I flinch at the reminder, my belly tightening with another false pain, though it’s weaker than before. Edwin’s hand stills, resting there like a brand. His gaze darkens, and he lets out a low sigh, eyes half-lidded. “I’m drunk, Adam,” he admits. “Drunk enough to tell you this: I want you. I want you more than the others. But I want it to be mine—not the way they take you like dogs at the trough. I want your consent.” I swallow hard, my heart racing. “But understand,” he says, his voice dropping to a growl, “if you don’t give it—if you refuse me—I’ll take you anyway. Just like them. No different.” His hand slides lower, between my legs, resting there with a possessive weight that makes my breath catch. “So tell me, Adam,” he says, his mouth close enough that I can taste the wine on his lips. “Will you give me permission to claim you? Or will I take you like the others do, with no mercy left to spare?” His eyes bore into mine, waiting for my answer. The air feels heavy, the night pressing down like a judgment. My belly churns, false labor stirring again, a cruel reminder that I’m not free. In that moment, I realize that this is the only choice I have left. And even that might be no choice at all.

I close my eyes, the chains rattling as I shift against the cold stone. My belly feels like a stone itself—heavy, taut, so swollen it seems as though it might split. A sharp pain rolls through me, low and deep, making me whimper. Edwin’s breath is hot against my neck, his hand still resting possessively on my belly. “Well?” he whispers, his voice a dark promise. “Will you give me permission, Adam?” Tears sting my eyes. I think of the strangers who’ve used me day after day—no name, no face, no mercy. At least Edwin has a name. At least he asked. I let out a trembling breath. “Y-yes,” I whisper. “Yes, take me.” His lips find mine, rough and demanding, tasting of wine and iron. His hand slides between my legs, fingers finding the slickness left by so many before him. I whimper again, my belly cramping tight. His other hand presses against my belly, as though testing the size of his prize. “Gods,” he breathes, pulling back just enough to stare at me. “You’re… you’re so tight. I can’t believe how big you’ve gotten.” His voice is husky with awe—and lust. Two knights stand at either side of me, their eyes fixed on the scene. I know why they’re here—to witness, to make sure whoever breaks my water can rightfully claim me. Their presence is like a brand on my skin, reminding me that even this—my first real choice in months—might not truly be mine. Edwin pulls at his breeches, freeing himself. My eyes widen at the sight of him, thick and flushed. He presses himself against me, and the pain in my belly deepens—a sharp, stretching ache that makes me gasp. “Steady,” Edwin growls, his voice trembling. “Gods, Adam, you’re tighter than I expected. It’s like your body is—” He breaks off, his breath ragged, as he pushes inside me, inch by inch. The pressure is almost too much, my belly tight as a drum, pain blooming through my core. I bite my lip to keep from crying out, but a moan escapes anyway—half pain, half shameful pleasure. Edwin groans, his hands braced on either side of me, his face flushed. “Fuck,” he gasps, eyes wild. “You’re… you’re perfect.” The two knights shift, watching intently, but Edwin’s gaze never leaves mine. Something in his expression—some raw, primal need—burns through the haze of pain and fear. “Adam,” he murmurs, voice rough and urgent, “if this… if this is to be mine, I’ll make it so. No matter who watches. No matter who waits.” His hips move, each thrust sending a jolt through my aching belly. The pain is sharp, but under it, a trembling pleasure grows—something I never thought I’d feel again. My head falls back against the wall, tears slipping down my cheeks as the contractions—still just Braxton Hicks—pulse in time with his movements. Edwin’s breath comes harder now, his face a mask of desire and possession. “Mine,” he growls, the word breaking from his lips like a vow. “You’re mine, Adam. No matter what the law says.” The world narrows to his body inside me, the weight of my swollen belly pressing down, and the knowledge that—whatever happens—this moment has claimed a piece of me no one else can touch.

Edwin’s pace grows faster, rougher, as though the drink has stripped away the last remnants of his control. His hands grip my hips like iron, fingers digging bruises into my skin. My belly sways between us, heavy and taut, pressing against him with every thrust. The false labor that’s plagued me for days now feels sharper, deeper—like a blade waiting to slice me open from the inside. “Gods, Adam,” Edwin pants, his breath hot and ragged against my neck. “You feel… you feel like a vice around me.” He hunches forward, pressing me harder against the wall. I whimper, my chains rattling above my head, the stone cold against my back. His mouth finds my throat, biting down just enough to make me gasp. I feel his desperation—his need to make this moment his own, to leave his mark on me before the others can claim me. “Listen to me,” he growls into my ear, his voice low and fevered. “I have a plan. When it’s done—when the child comes—I’ll take you away from here. I’ll bribe the guards, bribe the watchers, whatever it takes. You’ll be mine, Adam. No more strangers. No more wall. Just me.” His words are a promise and a threat all at once. My heart hammers in my chest, hope and dread tangled together like a noose. He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes wild. “But for now,” he says, his voice thick with need, “you’re going to take me—every last inch. And when I’m done, they’ll know who you belong to.” He slams into me again, harder than before. My belly heaves with the force, a sharp pain shooting through my core. I cry out, but the sound is swallowed by the wind and the roar of blood in my ears. “Mine,” Edwin groans, his pace brutal now. “All mine.” A sharp pain—different from before—rips through me, starting low and deep and tearing upward like a breaking wave. My breath catches in my throat, my belly tightening so hard I think I’ll split apart. “Edwin,” I gasp, my voice strangled. “Something—” He thrusts again, his eyes rolling back. “Fuck, Adam—” But before he can finish, I feel it: a sudden, overwhelming rush, a warm gush of water flooding down my thighs. My head snaps back against the wall, my mouth open in a silent scream as my body releases, my water breaking in a torrent. Edwin’s eyes fly wide, shock and raw triumph burning in his gaze. His hands tighten on my hips, and his thrusts falter for just a moment as he feels the hot flood between us. “Gods,” he groans, his voice ragged, “It’s happening—” And then his body shudders, the tension in him snapping as he spills himself inside me, his seed mixing with the rush of my broken water. The two knights at my sides lean in, their eyes gleaming with hungry interest, ready to bear witness to the claiming of a man by law. But in that moment, all I can feel is Edwin—his heat, his weight, his breath hot against my ear as he clutches me with a possessive hunger that leaves no doubt. He’s marked me. He’s claimed me. And no matter what comes next—rescue or ruin—my fate is bound to him.

The air is cold against my wet skin, the water still trickling down my thighs, sticky and warm. My belly is a hard, heavy knot, each shallow breath a reminder that labor is near—but not quite here. My wrists ache from the chains, but now the knights move, unlocking the cuffs with practiced ease. One of them—a tall, silent man with a scar across his cheek—catches me as I collapse, my legs too weak to hold me. He says nothing, only drags me forward like a sack of grain. My belly sways low, cramping lightly but not enough to stop them. They drop me at Edwin’s feet—Sir Edwin of Vargrave, now fully in control. He stands tall, his eyes dark and greedy, though a flicker of protectiveness crosses his face as he looks me over, water still pooling beneath me on the ground. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice low and satisfied. “No need to wake the villagers. You’re mine now, Adam. Mine by law.” He crouches beside me, his strong hands cupping my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You’re safe now,” he says, though I hear the possessive growl in his tone. “No one else will touch you—no one but me.” My heart stutters in my chest, my belly contracting again—sharp but not enough to send me into the final agony of birth. “Come,” Edwin says, his tone gentler now, but no less commanding. He gestures to a small covered carriage hitched to his horse—a battered thing but sturdy enough. “My house is two hours from here. We’ll be there before dawn.” The knights lift me into the carriage, my belly so swollen it brushes the wooden side as I settle in. Edwin climbs in behind me, his presence filling the tiny space like a storm. He wraps a blanket around my shoulders, his fingers brushing my skin with a gentleness that belies his earlier roughness. I catch my breath as another contraction ripples through me—a low, dull ache that makes my belly clench and harden. I close my eyes, trying to breathe through it. Edwin watches me closely, his eyes dark and hungry but also… worried? Protective? I can’t tell. “Don’t fight it,” he murmurs, his hand finding mine and squeezing. “We’re close. You’ll be safe at my home.” The carriage jerks as it starts to move, the horse’s hooves striking the dirt rhythmically. I feel every bump, every jolt, my belly tightening again and again. Each wave of pain reminds me that I’m no longer on the wall—but I’m still trapped in this body, heavy and trembling with the life inside me. Yet Edwin’s hand remains in mine, his thumb brushing the back of my knuckles in a slow, possessive stroke. His other arm rests around my shoulders, his warmth pressing against my side. For the first time in months, I feel… not quite safe, but protected. As though someone wants me alive—not just as a vessel, but as a man. I lean into him, too exhausted to resist, as the carriage rattles down the road toward his house. Toward whatever fate awaits me there. Two hours. That’s all. Just two hours to a new life—whether that means salvation or ruin, I can’t yet tell.

The carriage jolts to a stop, the clatter of hooves giving way to a deep, eerie silence. Edwin’s hand tightens on mine as he shifts, climbing out first before turning to help me down. My belly feels like a boulder, hard and unyielding, but his arms are strong, guiding me with a possessive gentleness that sends shivers down my spine. His house looms in the darkness—a tall, looming structure of ancient stone and wood, its windows like dark eyes watching me. A single torch flickers near the door, casting long shadows across the courtyard. “Welcome home,” Edwin murmurs, his voice low and even. He glances at my belly, his eyes gleaming. “You’ll be safe here, Adam.” The way he says it—smooth, practiced—sends a chill down my spine. Inside, the house is too warm, the air thick with the scent of burning oil and old wood. Tapestries hang from the walls—some depicting knights in battle, others showing scenes I can’t quite make out in the flickering light. Edwin guides me down a narrow hallway, his hand firm on my back. I’m too exhausted to resist, though my heart hammers in my chest. Every step feels like a descent into something I don’t fully understand. Finally, he leads me into a chamber—large and sparsely furnished, with a heavy bed draped in dark furs. A brazier burns in the corner, casting a reddish glow that makes the shadows dance like devils on the walls. “Sit,” Edwin orders, his tone sharper now. I obey, lowering myself onto the edge of the bed with a wince as another contraction grips my belly. He stands over me, watching with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. “I meant what I said,” he says. “You’ll be safe here—from the villagers, from the others. No one will touch you unless I allow it.” My eyes widen. “Unless you allow it?” I whisper, my voice trembling. His lips curve in a slow, predatory smile. “Did you really think safety was free, Adam? I claimed you by law, but I’ll keep you by choice. And you’ll keep me satisfied—because that’s what you are now. Mine.” A cold dread seeps through me as he steps closer. I catch a glimpse of something in the shadows—a set of iron cuffs bolted to the bedpost. A chain coiled on the floor. And on a small table, a wicked-looking knife glinting in the firelight. “Edwin…” I choke, my voice a strangled whisper. His eyes darken, his smile widening. “You gave me permission, remember?” he says, his voice dripping with dangerous amusement. “I intend to keep you—body and mind. And if you please me, perhaps I’ll let you walk the gardens. Perhaps.” I shudder as the pain in my belly intensifies—contractions coming faster now, sharper, but I can’t focus on that. All I can see is the hunger in Edwin’s eyes. It wasn’t rescue. It was capture. And now I know: the stone wall was only the beginning.

His hand slides lower, possessive, as he shifts between my legs, his breath hot against my ear. I tremble, my mind screaming to resist even as my body trembles with the weight of my condition. But then—sharp, deeper than before—a contraction seizes me, a white-hot pain that explodes from my lower belly and wraps around my spine. I cry out, my body buckling, the pain too raw to ignore. Edwin freezes, his hands on my thighs, his breath catching in his throat. “What—” he starts, but I can’t answer, the contraction consuming me. My belly is a hard, trembling sphere, the skin stretched so tight I think it might split. “Gods, Adam,” Edwin curses, his voice thick with frustration and disbelief. He tries to press himself inside me—hungry, urgent—but I clench tight, the pain too strong, too real. He grunts, his body trembling with need, but I can’t. I can’t. “Edwin—” I gasp, my voice ragged, sweat pouring down my temples. “It’s… it’s coming—” His eyes go wide, a flicker of panic cutting through the lust. “No,” he mutters, as though denial could stop it. He tries again, pressing against me, but my body’s too tense, too consumed by the waves of pain. Another contraction rips through me—sharper this time, driving me to the brink. I scream, my head falling back, the room spinning. My belly tightens, pressing down, the child inside me demanding to be born. “Gods damn it,” Edwin snarls, his frustration boiling over. “Not yet—” But it’s no use. My body has claimed this moment, refusing him even as he curses and withdraws. He stands back, his fists clenching, his face a mask of rage and disbelief. “Fine,” he spits, pacing like a caged animal. “Then I’ll have you after. But you’ll finish this—here, under my roof. And then you’re mine again.” His words blur in my ears as another contraction crashes over me, stealing my breath. The pain is all-consuming now, washing everything else away. I brace myself, knowing that whatever happens next, Edwin is right: there’s no turning back. And I’m about to give birth in the house of the man who claimed me.

CONFIDENTIAL LOGISTICS REPORT

DRC, Planning & Evaluation Office, Logistics & Infrastructure Division

Date: [REDACTED]

To: Director [REDACTED]

From: Administrator [REDACTED], Logistics & Infrastructure Division

Subject: Facility Expansion: New Paternity Compound Construction

Executive Summary

This report outlines the ongoing expansion of DRC-operated paternity compounds across several strategic locations nationwide. In response to increasing insemination rates and projected surrogacy demands, we have begun constructing new high-capacity compounds to accommodate more surrogates. These expansions will enable the DRC to streamline the conscription process, optimize surrogacy cycles, and ensure our ability to meet the population sustainability targets outlined for the next fiscal period.

The new compounds focus on enhanced security, specialized medical equipment, and increased surrogacy capacity.