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Permapreg in the 'laying eggs for hours and being just as pregnant by the end of it' type of way.

Mage meets Slime

Like an oathbreaker dying and becoming an undead creature still wearing its past incarnation's armour; they don't have a body as such, and they're mostly held together with pure magic.

Now imagine that oathbreaker dying with a huge round belly that their armour can barely contain. Imagine them rising again, two red lights shining from the slit in their visor the only indication that they're more than a suit of armour. And yet their chainmail is stretched across their round middle.

Are they still pregnant? How is that possible?

Their gravid shape clearly hinders them: the arc of their swinging greatsword is slow and unbalanced. This must be how they died.

The general protocol here would be to send the knight to their second death with a well-timed smite, but this particular specimen is too interesting to just put down.

Disarming them is easier. Pushing them onto their back even more so.

They're unnaturally still; no breathing, no trembling, just a walking corpse. And yet they cradle their heavy-looking belly with both hands.

Your swordhand keeps your blade steady under their chin, holy light casting shadows across the knight's helmet.

The other hand reaches for that irresistable, paradoxical roundness.

You startle. Your hand flies back to your side as if burned, then returns immediately to the knight's swollen middle.

The metal feels slightly warm, and there's movement.

How can that be? You can clearly see the narrow gap between pieces of armour. You can run your finger along the rim of a gauntlet and feel the empty space that would normally contain living flesh. You can look up into the pitch black darkness showing through the visor where two dim red lights stare out instead of eyes...

As you watch, the light grows even dimmer and briefly flicker, almost like it's blinking. Your free hand returns to the bewildering movement, cupping and lifting gently, testing its weight and give.

Your eyes never stray from the helmet, and so you see the precise moment your touch registers: the lights flare, like wide suprised eyes, and dim again, almost to nothing.

You jostle its belly experimentally, and are rewarded with an even bigger reaction. Interesting.

Well, you can't just kill this knight while such a baffling mystery goes unexplored.

Better truss it up and take it back into the city. Let some scholars shine their light on it.

He enthousiastically pulls his catch aboard his little fishing vessel, eager to properly lay eyes on the creature.

Realising a few seconds too late he's made a critical error, there's nothing he can do when a strong, frenzied merman--clearly in heat--grabs him by the belt.

Mere minutes after he spotted the unexpected bycatch, his pants are around his ankles and he's speared on the merman's throbbing cock.

He'd worry if he wasn't out of his mind with pleasure.

By the time he knows which way's up again, the merman is disappearing over the side with a splash.

Sprawled against the rough wood, the fisherman looks down at his poor, overstuffed belly. His shakily exploring hands find that squishy mer-eggs have little give when packed in this tight. And there's slick dripping from his still senstive hole.

He looks around, lost. So much for fish...

Three months later, the fisherman's little problem weighs on him even more. He looks properly pregnant now, belly showing through any number of thick coats and sweaters. The... spawn has come alive inside of him, thrashing and squirming under his skin.

He can't fish like this, but one morning he wakes to an inexorable pull towards the sea.

By the time he reaches the water's edge, his belly is cramping up and he's dripping wet between his legs. It's all he can do to pull off his shoes and pants and sit in the surf, groaning against the waves of pain and unexpected pleasure.

Soon, weight has shifted down into his pelvis, and something is crowning.

He's far too busy to notice anyone coming closer, until suddenly the merman is in front of him. It's definitely the same one, although he looks clear-eyed and curious now.

Strong hands lift and part the fisherman's legs, and he sobs with relief when the first egg pops free.

The next one arrives much faster, and after the third and fourth, there's a nearly continuous stream of eggs that don't allow him to catch his breath.

Once he's finally empty, it takes a long while before he can sit up again. When he does, there's a small group of merpeople a little way off, clearly carrying the eggs--which look disappointingly small given the pain he went through--away into the sea.

The original merman is still here, now running his hands over the fisherman's crotch and belly as if to check for any stragglers.

Satisfied that the whole haul has been laid, he swims away, leaving the fisherman to splutter indignantly at his retreating silhouette under the water.

It takes quite a while before the fisherman is back out on the water, and he curses at himself whenever he pulls a net over the side and some part of him is watching for any signs of merpeople.

Luckily, he's quickly distracted by a merman pulling himself onto the boat.

It's not one he's seen before, but the crazed look and obscene, swollen cock are all too familiar.

When the fisherman pulls down his own pants, he tells himself he's just surrendering to the inevitable, but soon his traitorous body sings with pleasure at every egg settling into his belly.