haunting of horny house

“T-tributes?”

“Well, that’s one word for them. You should consider yourself blessed to be here. Our Master picks his carriers very carefully.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Oh, no, silly. We won’t kill you. In fact, you may find the whole rather pleasurable, once the gestation completes. See, we have to scare you, terrify the carriers. The tributes feed on adrenaline, they need it to grow. But once they reach full-term, our Master tries to make the experience good for you in repayment.”

You are pushed into a massive open space, the factory floor you assume, though you can’t see much from your prone position on the gurney. Hospital-style privacy screens block off any view you might have had of the rest of the room. But you can hear plenty. Cries, screams, sobs. It sounds like torture. Your heard pounds, your belly grows bigger and bigger.

“That’s it! Good job!” Sexy Nurse cheers, patting your belly again. She pulls the gurney to a stop and fixes you with a serious look. “Now, we have to prepare you for the rest of your gestation and birth. There’s no getting out of this at this point. You can’t escape, and if you try running, I promise you will not get far, if you can run at all with that beautiful belly weighing you down. Will you cooperate if I untie you? Or do I need to do things the hard way.”

“I… I’ll cooperate.”

“Good!” She slowly undoes your restraints.

The thought crosses your mind to try and fight, but you feel so weak, and absolutely pinned beneath the growing weight of your belly. You can’t even sit up without a lot of help and support from Sexy Nurse.

Your belly forces your legs apart as they hang over the edge of the gurney. In the fuller light, you can see the damage being done to your body. Your skin is red, angry stretch marks rip up and down the thin skin. You are very visibly still swelling, and your mind struggles with that, because already you look like someone who is weeks overdue. Beneath your skin, you see and feel a great many kicks and pushes against you from the inside.

Sexy Nurse said there were multiple what – babies? Monsters? – inside you. How big does one get? How many are inside you? How much bigger will you get before you’re done growing?

At least the abdominal pain is gone. Now you just feel full with the building pressure inside.

Despite the sheer terror washing over you, you realize, dimly in the back of your mind, that this is kind of erotic. Watching your belly grow and swell like this is turning you on in some very messed up way.

“You need to strip naked.” Sexy Nurse tells you.

Removing your shirt is little problem, it’s in tatters already. Your jeans though… Sexy Nurse has to cut them off you and remove them. You can’t stand and balance long enough to pull them off properly. Your socks and shoes get unceremoniously tossed aside with the rest of the scraps of your clothing.

You are helped to your feet. Your legs tremble weakly beneath the weight of your belly – god you feel like you’re gained fifty pounds in there – Sexy Nurse supports you as you walk through the screens.

You see what fate awaits you and stop cold, feeling another irrepressible wave of fear wash over you. There are ten metal slabs arranged in the center of the factory floor around a large tank. The walls are solid metal, and you can’t see what lives inside the tank, but it has plenty of tentacles slithering in and out of the tank, trailing water and fluids all over the place.

On nine of the slabs is a person, they are strapped down and suspended, standing almost upright, slightly tipped forward to ease the weight of their enormous bellies from crushing them. Every single person is enormously pregnant, bigger than a normal human pregnancy has any right to be. Gender doesn’t matter, nor age. You even see the woman in her fifties strapped to a table, her belly bouncing and burgeoning with whatever you all have growing inside you. As you walk, you see another transformation had happened to each victim. They are all growing large, heavy breasts.

The closest tables, the ones you assume came in first, are hooked up to mechanical pumps. You can see rich white milk flowing through plastic tubing, feeding into a collection tank. The newer victims aren’t getting milked yet, but you can see their breasts growing large, swelling like their bellies did.

You look down at your own naked chest, and realize your breasts are growing larger too. You had been so preoccupied with your belly, you had almost forgotten the growing ache in your chest. You feel yourself tentatively, still soft, but growing firm.

The cavernous room echoes with the screams of the others. Shouts of pain, agony, fear, and you realize now, wanton pleasure. As you’ve walked, you’ve gotten a better view of what’s happening. The first victims, the ones that must be done gestating, are being tended to by thick black tentacles. They pushed into and out of various holes, ones with suction cups squeezed sensitive bellies and leaving behind innumerable hickies. Some victims are being tended to by the human workers. Some of them wander between the tables, checking on the trapped victims, squeezing milk-swollen breasts to check for lactation. But you see the Witch sucking off a guy strapped on the table next to the woman in her fifties.

It looks like Sexy Nurse was right, things looked pleasurable for the people who were done gestating. The people still growing… you look at the three others who came before you. They’re in agony, writhing as their bellies continue to grow, swelling larger and larger. There are thick tentacles pumping into them, but they don’t appear to be enjoying that in the least.

Particularly the guy that got taken just before you did. His belly is twice the size it was when you saw him last, and he’s thrashing against his restraints, screaming out in fear and pain as a tentacle pushes its way slowly into his ass.

You do a quick assessment of the others and then look down at your own belly. You’re easily already as big as most of the others, even the ones who were done gestating. There’s one person who might rival you, a woman on the fourth table. Her belly is almost comically large, and her breasts have gotten so big they hang down to the sides of the dome of her belly.

“How many cups of cider did she have?” you ask in a weak voice.

“Just two.”

Oh god, just two? You drank three!

You groan fearfully. Your knees go weak. Your belly shoots out several inches bigger and grows several pounds heavier. Sexy Nurse keeps you from hitting the ground, but it’s clear she can’t carry you alone to your metal slab.

“Need a hand here!”

A second later, knock-off Rambo is at your other side, hooking his arms around you and picking you up.

“You’re doing great, honey,” Sexy Nurse trills, patting your ballooning belly. “All that adrenaline is exactly what you need.”

You can only moan, knocked almost senseless by the sudden increase in pressure and spike of arousal as you swell up before your own eyes. You are laid on the last metal slab, looking at the ceiling for a moment. The weight is almost too much to handle, you can’t breathe with your massive belly pressing down on you. You are strapped in securely, your legs are spread as wide as they can go, leaving you entirely exposed.

“My, my, looks like someone’s already beginning to enjoy things.” Sexy Nurse purrs, giving you a sly look. She then shakes a chiding finger. “Can’t have you slipping into pleasure yet, though, dear. You still have a long way to grow.”

The table rises, lifts you and tilts you slightly forward. The immense weight of your belly is lifted from you, instead following gravity and pulling your down. Your back bows, just a little, but enough to leave you straining against the restraints. You have a clear view of the nine others on their slabs. Milking pumps are being attached to the older woman’s enlarged breasts. She sobs in relief as milk begins to flow from her.

A strange growl draws your attention to the large metal tank as several tentacles rise out of the water and come straight at you. Fuck. Somehow you had almost forgotten about that monster. Instinctively you flinch away, you twitch to swat at the tentacles, but there’s nothing you can do.

A dozen of them swarm all over your body, touching every inch, pushing into every hole they can access. One forces its way into your mouth and down your throat, wedging itself in your esophagus. You can feel it wriggling around in there.  It only takes you a second to realize with the tentacle in your throat, you can’t breathe. Will it suffocate you?

You try to wiggle free, you try to scream. You look for Rambo or the Nurse to tell them you can’t breathe. Your lungs burn. Your vision begins to go spotty. Just when you think you’re on the brink of unconsciousness, the tentacle withdraws. You take deep, ragged breaths, filling you lungs.

All this time, you’ve felt your belly growing, faster and faster by the second. The movement from within is constant, growing rougher as the things inside you jockey around for space to grow and move. You sob to see your belly like this. You’re huge, impossibly huge! There’s no way you can keep growing like this, you’ll burst!

You are stuck in an endless cycle. What is happening to you is terrifying. The more scared you become, the bigger you get, and you can’t stop being scared. You can’t zen your way out of this with some breathing exercises and thinking of kittens and rainbows. There’s no stopping the adrenaline coursing through your bloodstream, feeding these things inside you. There’s no stopping until you’re done, and you’re almost afraid you won’t survive to see the end of this night.

Oh, why did you have to think that fucking cider was so damn delicious!?

A tentacle rises into your line of sight, it’s as thick as your arm and dances almost teasingly before you before moving downwards. You don’t even have time to think of where it might be going before it’s pressing, none too gently into you. It’s moving slowly, easing its girth inside you, but that does nothing to stop the pain. You scream, as it sinks deeper and deeper into you, stretching you wider and wider around it.

Your belly swells. Your breasts swell. You feel like an overfilled balloon that’s about to pop from everything that’s been stuffed inside you. Finally, when you don’t think you can take another second of this. When you’re certain you’re going to split in two, either because of your belly or around the fucking tentacle, something changes. Something stops.

Your belly, you realize, has stopped growing.

Everyone looks at you. The employees, the victims, they all turn wide eyes to you.

“Wow, you might be a new record.” Rambo comments, giving your belly a squeeze. “What are the measurements?”

Sexy Nurse approaches with a tape measure, the calls out the impossible numbers.

The Witch joins the other three, nodding appreciatively. “You know I think this batch was more potent than the last few have been.”

“That much was obvious, looking at our crop tonight,” the Grim Reaper says, stepping over to fondle your belly. “But this one… I bet there’s at least ten in there. Good job on that brew.”

The others voice their agreement.

“Even Mister ‘not a cider guy’ over there has three, and he didn’t even finish a whole cup.” The Witch gestures to the guy next to you and his large round belly. “This greedy one drank three cups.”

“I’ll put money on a dozen,” Rambo laughs.

“I’ll take a baker’s dozen,” Sexy Nurse counters. She meets your eyes. “Master is going to be very pleased with you, honey. Nobody’s given him this many tributes before. He might even decide to invite you to join our exclusive club.”

Revulsion claws through you. “Fuck you! You’re all psychopaths! There’s no way I’m following some fucking tentacle monster and luring other unsuspecting people into this trap!”

They all laugh.

“You say that now. Wait and tell us how you feel in the morning, after Master has given you the best goddamn night of your life.” Sexy Nurse says. “Besides, you’re a bit of a kinky freak, aren’t you? You like being big and round like this. All heavy and swollen with child. Master needs lots of tributes, you could be like this for forever if you want to.”

“Not in a million years!” You protest, maybe a little too vehemently, because, fuck, this is actually turning you on a bit, being trussed up like this with your belly hanging low and heavy and a huge fucking tentacle pushed up your ass.

No! You shake yourself. This isn’t erotic. It has to be the adrenaline, the fear, hormones, or drugs, or whatever the fuck was in the cider making you feel this way.

“Nobody can keep their eyes off you. You’re so fucking beautiful.” Sexy Nurse affirms.

You look around, the other victims are looking at you, their eyes burning with arousal, their jaws slack. Those with penises are standing fully erect, some dripping precum already.

“Take a look, honey. See for yourself.”

A large mirror is placed before you and you can see yourself in all your glory. Fuck, you do look amazing! Your belly is so big, it’s hanging so low it almost looks like it’s brushing the floor. And the thick tentacle in your ass is just sitting there, moving deeper and deeper. Your belly is moving on its own accord, bouncing, jiggling as the things inside you kick and push. Your breasts are huge now, your nipples large and erect. They look like they’re straining under the pressure of the milk building up inside just as much as your belly is straining to hold all the life inside it.

You moan, not out of fear or pain, but from want this time. Arousal burns through you like fire, burning up all traces of fear or apprehension. This is hot. You are so fucking hot! Like Narcissus with his reflection, you can’t tear your eyes away from your burgeoning belly. Your hands jerk against the restraints, you long to touch yourself, touch your belly, your tits. Any touch anywhere!

You need it so badly.

The Master is happy to oblige. Tentacles return to your body, sucking at every inch of skin, thrusting into your hole with renewed vigor. Fuck, it feels good! It feels so good!

Within just a minute, you’re coming, so fast, it’s like you’re an inexperienced virgin again. But even as your orgasm slows, you’re already building up to the next one. You roll your head back and give yourself over to the pleasure. You keep your eyes on the mirror, finding the sight of your body getting fucked like this so arousing. The tentacle is thrusting in and out now, hard enough to rock your body in the restraints and send your belly bouncing up and down with each thrust. It hurts, but in the best way. The tributes inside you get excited at the movement, pushing harder against you, wriggling around vigorously. It’s all too much and you’re coming again, screaming through a toe-curling orgasm.

Your whole body feels tingly with pleasure except for two things.

“My tits,” you beg, “Please, they’re going to explode. Milk me. I have to be ready.”

Sexy Nurse approaches, giving you a coy smile. “Let’s see, honey?”

The tentacles on your chest part for her, and she leans in and gives your engorged nipple a long lick. Then she latches on, sucking and nibbling. You expect a release of pressure, but nothing happens, except your tits seem to get even bigger, swelling fuller with milk. You can’t fucking take it!

You sob, begging for release.

Sexy Nurse releases your nipple with a sympathetic smile. “You’re not ready to be milked yet. But soon. We can help speed things along.”

Knock off Rambo joins her at your other breast. They each put a nipple in their mouth and begin suckling with earnest. Your tits grow more and more engorged, pressing against their sucking mouths. They each put a hand on your breasts and begin kneading. Even Rambo’s large hand isn’t enough to cover your entire breast anymore, they’ve gotten so fucking huge.

You teeter on the brink of ecstasy and agony. The tentacle is still working vigorously at your hole, but your breasts are now so swollen and painful the pain keeps you from coming. You pant and sob and beg for release. If your breasts would just release the milk, you’d come, you know you would.

Suddenly, everything comes crashing together and you cry out in pleasure through your next orgasm. Your milk has started flowing. Sexy Nurse and Rambo are drinking greedily from you as you squirt so much milk into their mouths is begins to leak from the corners.

When it ends, they release your nipples with a wet pop. You whimper, because already you can feel the milk pressure building up again, but you’re not abandoned for long. Quickly, you’re hooked up to the milk pumps, and you can see your own rich milk flowing down the clear tubes into the large milk collection talk.

“Good job, honey,” Sexy Nurse whispers in your ear, “Now just relax and enjoy the night.”

You do as she suggests and give yourself entirely over to the immense pleasure of everything. You lose track of time, you lose count of how many times you come. You are an overstimulated bundle of nerves. It is torture and pain and pure, mind-numbing ecstasy.

You only come back to your senses when the pleasure suddenly stops and pain rips through you. In a flash, all the tentacles leave your body, pulling out of your gaping hole, leaving you whining for more in their absence. The only thing that does not abandon you is the milking machine, still suckling at your nipples and drawing away the ever-flowing milk. As if waking from a fever dream, you blink blearily, looking around you.

The others have change positions, no longer handing upright to take the weight of their bellies off them, they’re lying back, their legs are spread wide, and you can see they’re in the midst of birthing whatever has been growing inside you. They scream once again, crying out in pain as their bodies stretch around the large objects pushing out of them.

Sexy Nurse enters your line of sight, grinning with excitement. “It’s time,” she trills, maneuvering your table so you assume a birthing position. The full weight of your belly presses down on you, squeezing the breath from your lung. You’re so huge, your belly is writhing with life, it’s so heavy, you have to imagine you’ve gained nearly a hundred pounds in there.

Sexy Nurse unbinds your legs, bending them around your enormous belly and flips out a pair of sturdy stirrups for you to push against.

“You have a lot to deliver, honey, let labor takes its course, and when you feel ready to push, listen to your body.” She then pushes what looks like an aquarium right up to the base of the table, positioned so whatever you’re giving birth to will slide right out of you and into the tank of water.

You hear someone cry out, “OH GOD! It’s tearing me in two!” and turn your head in morbid fascination to watch.

One of the earlier victims looks like they’re stretched impossibly wide around something that looks like it’s stuck halfway inside them. Their attendant, a man in a Wolfman costume, pats their hand and mops their forehead, muttering words of encouragement. They scream again as another contraction comes and the tribute slides out of them, landing in their own aquarium with a splash. The water becomes instantly murky with blood and birthing fluids, but you can see the shape is dark and many-tentacled.

You must be carrying the young of whatever large monster resides in the metal tank. You shudder, wondering how many of these things are out there, doing the same thing to people all around the world.

Then thoughts of that kind are driven completely from your mind as another contraction rips through you. There’s a strangely metallic scent in the air, almost blood-like, and it seems to spur on everybody’s labor. Soon you and all the others are in the throes of constant contractions as their bodies push harder and harder to deliver what is inside you.

You feel the first of your tributes descending inside you, pressing against your entrance, stretching you wide. At first, it’s like having one of the girthy tentacles inside you again, but soon you realize this offspring is going to get far larger than any of the tentacles got – large even than when you took three at a time.

With every contraction, you push and strain, trying to get this thing out of you. You’re aware that there are so many of these things inside you, you’ll be doing this for hours. Desperation seizes you. You don’t want your strength to run out. If you run out of energy, what will happen then? Will they cut the tributes out of you? Or just hold you until your exhausted, ruined body finally pushes out the last of them?

If there really is a dozen inside you, it could take days to deliver them all.

The first tribute reaches its widest point, stretching you so far you know you’ll tear right in two before this thing comes out. You push and push and push, not even waiting for a contraction to continue pushing, until finally with a pop and a gush of fluids, the tribute is splashing into the aquarium beneath you.

Relief and exhaustion wash over you. You pant, trying to catch your breath. Your belly looks no smaller, you feel no less empty, and it seems the tributes inside you are moving even more now that they’ve realized they’re getting out. You can already feel the next one sliding into position, and you moan with trepidation.

You breathe through contractions, waiting until it’s closer to your hole before pushing, and you realize that you’re hungry and thirsty. Who knows how long its been since you entered the factory, since you drank that cider. With how much you came, you had to be so dehydrated already from the exertions, and with an indefinitely long labor and delivery ahead of you, you’re half afraid you might pass out from exhaustion.

As soon as the thought crosses your mind, someone places something in your mouth. It’s a tube with a rubber nozzle on the tip, the kind where if you bite down it opens the hose. You suck at it without even thinking, and something so decadently rich and creamy washes over your tongue you open you eyes in shock. Everyone on the tables has the same kind of hose in their mouths, and they’re sucking greedily at them. You do the same, drinking in as much of this delicious, creamy substance as you can. It almost seems to hit your bloodstream immediately, energizing you and giving you strength to continue with your labor. You follow the tubes and realize they’re coming from the same tank your breasts are getting milked into.

You all are drinking your breast milk. Nursing at the rich, nutritious fluid like starving babes. You think briefly that this is strange, then you suck down another mouthful of milk and decide you don’t care. If it makes this easier, if it gives you strength and energy, you’ll drink anything.

You push out the second tribute and it splashes into the tank, and you realize that its delivery was a little easier than the first. Whether it’s because your body was already stretched, or the milk is working some magic on your body, you don’t care.

The third tribute is delivered with a moderate amount of strain, and the fourth follows soon after with an equal amount of effort. Only after those four does your belly look smaller. Sexy Nurse wheels away the now filled aquarium and places a new one between your legs.

Between contractions, you spare glances around to the others. Some of the smaller ones are nearly done, working on delivering their last tribute. The man next to you is actively crowning when you look his way. He’s a mess, sobbing and swearing and sweating, clearly having a terrible time with all of this. But the Witch is helping him, giving him a hand to hold as he delivers. With a splash, his third and final delivery enters the tank below him.

“Good boy,” the Witch croons, patting his shoulder. “Very good boy. You rest now. We’ll get you cleaned up.”

He slumps against the table, looking almost dead save for the rise and fall of his chest – noticeable only because of the massive tits he’s rocking that are still getting milked. But even that process is slowing down. The milk flow from his nipples slows and then stops entirely, and once he’s been drained of every drop, the Witch detaches the milkers from him. She lies his table back down and begins cleaning his sweaty, bloody body with tender care.

His belly sags, empty of the life that so recently was inside it. You watch as someone in a clown costume wheels the aquarium away, over to the metal tank. Giant tentacles hover over the aquarium then reach in and gently lift out the three squirming tributes. You can’t see much of them other than writhing balls of tentacles. They are lifted into the metal tank and disappear beneath the surface.

You wonder if perhaps the giant metal tank has more than one monster inside it, since apparently the young also go in and life with the parent. Then you wonder, looking around at all of the massively swollen bellies around you, why the tentacle monster needs so many babies to be born at once. Are they like fish and other sea creatures? Do only one or two of hundreds survive to adulthood?

Then once again, your musings are driven from your mind as the fifth tribute presses against your hole and begins stretching you excruciatingly wide once more.

You drink the milk. You deliver tributes into the waiting aquariums. Your belly shrinks one by one. Slowly, the others begin to finish their labors. Five or six tributes seems to be the average. They’re all tended to so lovingly as they’re milked dry and cleaned up after their efforts.

Soon, only you and the second biggest woman are left delivering. She’s on her eighth tribute, you’re delivering number seven. You wonder how many she has, your belly was easily twice as big as hers when your gestation was complete, and seeing her count would give you a good approximation of your count.

She finishes at ten. Your belly is still big enough for there to be another six or seven in there.

Eventually, birthing becomes mindlessly easy. Your hole is so stretched out and loose after the eleventh baby, you barely have to push to send the next tribute sliding into the aquariums below you. Passing them becomes as easy as taking a shit, but you’re also exhausted. You’re tired of being in labor, of birthing these tentacle monsters, even the breast milk has stopped energizing you as it had before.

After thirteen, you can barely muster the strength to flex your abdominal walls, much less make a real effort at pushing. Your belly is still so big. How much longer can you possibly last.

Fortunately, you have help now. Most of the costumed devotees of the tentacle monster are at your side assisting you. When a contraction comes, Rambo and the Grim Reaper push on your belly, forcing the tributes down and out faster than would be natural. It hurts more, but you stopped caring about that long ago. They push and the tributes come faster and faster, sometimes two popping out in quick succession with the same contraction.

Then finally, finally, the last tribute is born, sliding out of you like your hole isn’t even there.

Your laid back on your table, you teeter on the brink of unconsciousness as the others move quickly to clean you up. Sexy Nurse wipes your brow with a cool cloth.

“Good job, honey, your count is eighteen tributes delivered. Master is so pleased with you. Now you rest, okay. We’ll take care of everything else.”

Too exhausted to care any more about anything, you close your eyes and let the darkness take you.

When you wake up, you’re still on the table, strapped down, naked, your belly is completely deflated and saggy, your tits too are hanging limply off you like flat tires. You moan lowly, wondering how the hell you’re going to explain away any of this change in your appearance.

You then realize that there is something inside you once again. You can barely see between your legs, but you look down and see a tentacle pumping inside you once again. This one is different from the previous one, it’s a different color and texture. But it also feels fucking incredible inside you. It has thick ridges all up its length that are brushing against you in all the right places.

You moan lewdly, trying to use what mobility you have to grind down on the tentacle and push it deeper inside you. As if motivated by your enthusiasm, the tentacle begins thrusting harder.

Yes. Oh, fuck yes!

You let your head loll to the side as you enjoy the fucking and realize all of the other victims are receiving the same treatment. These pinkish, ridged tentacles are pistoning into their various holes.

You’re just on the brink of coming when you feel the tentacle inside you get noticeably thick, swelling up like a pinched off balloon. Then something hot and fluid rushes out of the tentacles and into you, and you come hard and fast around the tentacle. The tentacle pumps what feels like a gallon of cum into you before pulling out with a squelch.

You look at your belly, all that cum should make you look bloated, but you’re already to stretched and saggy, you can hardly notice. As your mind clears from the orgasmic haze, you whine and realize that the monster just dumped a gallon of cum inside you. After delivering eighteen of its young. It’s gone and impregnated you again.

Is the whole cycle about to start over again? You’re not sure you can go through all that so soon.

The Witch is carrying around cups of something to all the tables, gently urging the others to drink. When she gets to you, you try and turn away. You don’t want to do that all over again.

She smiles kindly. “This isn’t the cider. This is a different brew. It will put your body back right again. You’re done now. Drink this and you can rest.”

You glance to the side, and see she was telling the truth. The limp, exhausted bodies of the others are shrinking back to their original proportions. Sagging breasts shrink away, loose bellies shrivel up, skin tightens and stretch marks disappear, and the few loose holes you can see from your vantage point even seem to be repairing themselves.

You drink the potion the Witch offers you. It’s sour and acidic, like unsweetened lemonade, and cooling to drink – nothing like the cider from earlier. You feel your own body begin to knit itself back together, you watch your deflated belly shrink. Relieved, you lay your head back and fall into a deep sleep. The worst is over.

When you wake next, you’re in a small, but reasonably comfortable cot. Daylight streams in through dirty windows. The other victims from the night before are also in the same room, tucked into cots and left to rest and recover. Groggy and sore in every fiber of your being, you slowly get up, rubbing at the headache pounding behind your eyes. You are no longer naked. Each of you have been dressed in light blue scrubs and your shoes are waiting at the foot of your bed.

Speaking in low voices, you all confirm that what happened last night really did happen. It wasn’t some wild trip, because there was no way that many of you had shared the exact same hallucination. Though your bodies are all back to normal – better than normal in some cases. The woman in her fifties says happily that her tits haven’t been this perky in twenty years.

A woman enters the room, you think she might be Sexy Nurse from the night before, though she’s sans costume and make up, just wearing street clothes. Brightly she informs you that there are coffee and bagels waiting for you all to enjoy in the lobby. Then, when you’ve eaten breakfast, you’re all free to go.

Nobody argues. You all just pull on your shoes and follow her.

The bagels and coffee taste amazing, and help your pounding headache immensely.

Some more employees come in and begin debriefing your group, reminding you of the waiver you signed, and ask you to not spill trade secrets. After all, adrenaline is the key to this little Haunted House, and if people com in knowing what to expect, it’s just not as scary.

Who would believe you if you told the truth anyways? You wonder idly, sipping your coffee.

You’re each given a business card with a phone number to call “should complications arise” and sent on your merry way.

Most are quick to leave, wanting to get away from the people who had shared in this experience as soon as possible. Others linger a little longer, laughing awkwardly together about discovering some things about themselves. You have a question to ask, and manage to linger over your coffee long enough to be the last one.

“So, those things we birthed,” you begin slowly, refilling your cup of coffee. “They’re babies of that monster, aren’t they?”

The woman packing up the leftover bagels laughs. “Babies? Goodness no! Tributes are our Master’s source of food. Imagine if all of those were let loose around the world. Every year we stock his tank, giving him plenty to eat. He only breeds after the tributes have been delivered, and even then, it’s very rare he produces offspring.”

You grow silent, the coffee curdles in your stomach. “When he came in us… that was breeding us, wasn’t it?”

“Sure was.” She smiles brightly, pointing to the business card in your hand. “Again, call if anything develops, and we’ll be sure to come around same time next year.”

It isn’t until you get home, shower, throw away the scrubs, and spend a very long time looking yourself over in the mirror to find any sign of what happened to you that you notice. Low in your abdomen, right where a pregnancy might begin to show, is a hard little bulge.

Your blood runs cold as your pet your fingers over it. Arousal spreads through you involuntarily as you picture what you might look like in a few months, as the tentacle monster offspring grows inside you.

You smile.

Miles Edgeworth sat in front of his TV set, his gaze transfixed upon the screen. The usually stern and serious prosecutor had taken his yearly vacation and decided to spend some of his new free time catching up on reruns of The Steel Samurai. He had, of course, stocked up on plenty of healthy snacks and fancy teas for this binge watch session, but when a commercial for some new disgusting junk food dessert came on during an ad break, Miles winced in disgust. “How could anyone in their right mind want to eat something like that?!” He snapped, sneering at an ice cream sundae piled high with multiple donuts, slices of bacon, and even deep fried cookie dough. “That looks completely horrific!” He made note of the restaurant chain advertising the culinary abomination. The Japanifornia Donut Shack. He would have to go see if he could complain to the establishment about their unholy creation tomorrow.

The next morning, right as The Japanifornia Donut Shack opened, the young college dropout running the entire opening shift was surprised to see such a well-dresser man step into the fast food place. He was wearing a n immaculate tailored wine-red suit and a cravat. The classy looking man stepped up to the counter, grimacing as he scanned the menu boards above. “Uh… Can I like, help you, or something, dude?” The guy behind the counter asked hesitantly. He was hoping this rich dude wasn’t going to cause a scene, but those hopes were immediately dashed once the man’s piercing grey eyes locked with his own.

“Yes, actually, you may help me, “dude”. What in God’s name are you serving here?” He pointed up at the menu behind the employee. “Are you trying to kill people with this slop?! Donut cheeseburgers, deep fried cookie dough stuffed donuts, and that horrid sundae abomination you just launched! Absolutely disgusting!”

The employee laughed. “Whoa, guy, chill out, you mean the Deluxe Gutbuster Donut Sundae? Nah, that’s like, absolutely bomb. It’s so delicious, man.”

Edgeworth sneered, pulling out his wallet. “I doubt that, but I’ll put my money where my mouth is. Bring me one of those horrific concoctions and I’ll prove to you it’s absolute filth.”

Miles sat down at a table, placing a napkin around his neck to avoid staining his suit or cravat. The employee came out shortly after with the sundae, and Edgeworth immediately felt intimidated. It was a lot larger than it looked in the commercial. At least two entire gallons of ice cream sat in what was basically a giant mixing bowl, covered in hot fudge and caramel sauce, with a dozen donuts and an entire deep fried cookie dough log as toppings. There were crumbled up strips of fried bacon sprinkled abundantly atop the entire mountain of sugary dessert. Edgeworth picked up his spoon. He’d already paid for it, he wasn’t backing down now.

As his first spoonful of ice cream hit his tongue, his eyes widened. This was hands-down the most delicious ice cream he’d ever tasted. Edgeworth couldn’t stop himself from shoveling more and more into his mouth. The employee stood by smirking as he observed. “Pretty good, isn’t it?”

Miles glared, taking a moment to chew and swallow part of one of the donuts before he replied. “It’s certainly not one of the better things I’ve eaten in my life, but I paid for it, so I suppose I shall have to choke it down to get my money’s worth.” He immediately resumed stuffing donuts and ice cream into his mouth at a frightening pace for someone as skinny as he was, and the employee chuckled as he went back to the counter.

By the time he was halfway through the enormous pile of sundae, Edgeworth’s waistcoat buttons were straining against his tightly packed gut. His face was flushed and sweaty as he slowed in his consumption, but he had to prove his point, even if it killed him. Half an hour later, his spoon scraped the bottom of the mixing bowl, as he cradled his painfully round and overstuffed stomach. The cashier guy came over to remove the empty bowl from the table as Miles sat there, still breathing heavily as he hauled himself out of his seat and unsteadily stumbled out the door without a word. The lone employee grinned at the retreating form of the rude man. “Oh, he’ll definitely be back again.”

As his vacation went by, Miles Edgeworth couldn’t keep the Donut Shack out of his mind. He would stop by every morning as the place opened, under the pretense of wanting to prove the entire menu offered was disgusting and inedible slop. The employees got used to his complaining and criticisms, electing to ignore the snooty lawyer and just prepare his food as quickly as possible to shut him up. Internally, Miles struggled with his addiction to the extremely greasy and sweet massive meals sold at the Donut Shack; he knew he logically shouldn’t be enjoying such garbage, so why was he craving it every morning? Weeks passed and he even began visiting multiple times a day, first one extra visit in the evening, then he started stopping by for lunch as well. The workers became accustomed to his schedule, making sure to have plenty of deep fried sugar filled goodies for their least favorite customer.

One day, two months into his now extended vacation, Edgeworth huffed and wheezed as he waddled down the sidewalk to the Donut Shack. The once-svelte lawyer had become a jiggling ball of lard, wobbling back and forth as he slowly inched his way to get his day started. He had recently gotten a new suit tailor made for him, so even though he has hundreds of pounds heavier than at the start of his time off from work, he was still fully clothed… for now. His gut was already straining against his waistcoat’s buttons, and he had to tuck the lowest roll into his trousers otherwise it would be exposed for all the world to see. It still sagged down like an apron of fat, wobbling against his meaty thighs every step he took. His love handles bulged out from his sides, working with his enormous breasts to force his arms out at a right angle, unable to lay them flat at his sides for weeks now. His ass cheeks jiggled hypnotically, his waistband digging into them halfway up his body as he couldn’t contain their prodigious bulk in even his freshly tailored pants. A sliver of flesh peeked out from his behind for any onlookers to see.

As Miles arrived at the Donut Shack, he was already wheezing and sweaty just from walking a block. He turned his bulk sideways to squeeze through the entrance, wincing as he felt the single glass door press against his rolls. “I… *haahh* th-thought I… *huff* told you imbeciles… *a-aahhh* to WIDEN this…” He panted as he slid into the restaurant, painfully slowly inching his obese body in.

The single employee scheduled to work that morning shrugged. “Boss said he’s working on it, I can’t help ya, man. I just work here.” He took out a notepad, knowing the fatass prosecutor was a customer he didn’t want to piss off. “You want me to just get your order started while you work on that?”

Edgeworth huffed indignantly before relenting. “F-fine. I’ll take… *hhhh* a dozen…. *wheeze* quintuple donut cheeseburgers…. *haaaahhh* with extra b-bacon and cheese….” He winced as a loud rumble emanated from his gut. “A-and two XXXXXL chocolate cookie dough milkshakes.”

The employee nodded, slipping back into the kitchen while Miles continued trying to maneuver his body through the door. His apron of a gut and flabby ass cheeks slowly oozed through the metal door frame, as an ominous creaking emanated from the strained cheap metal. He wheezed and huffed as he shuffled slowly sideways, his barrel sized legs screaming in pain from holding up his hundreds of pounds of weight for so long. Finally, with a final pop, Edgeworth’s bulk made it inside the restaurant. He held himself up against the wall, face bright crimson and sweaty as he desperately gasped for air.

Once he regained his composure, he waddled to one of the booths, knowing his rear was far too wide for the simple stools at the smaller tables. Miles squeezed his bulk into the booth, his enormous gut pooling atop and below the table. He huffed impatiently. “Where is my food?! I expected it to be at my table by now!”

The single cook peeked his head around the kitchen doorway. “Dude, chill the fuck out, you ordered enough burgers to feed an entire family. It’ll be a minute.”

Edgeworth’s stomach grumbled angrily. He hadn’t eaten since half an hour ago. “This is completely unacceptable! I am a paying customer, you can’t just expect me to starve!”

The cook sneered at the morbidly obese man who could barely fit into the booth he was seated at. “Somethin’ tells me you ain’t starving to death any time soon, big guy. Here, lemme see if I got anything to tide you over while these burgers cook.” He retreated back to the kitchen, muttering under his breath, “Fuckin’ lardass…”

He returned, carrying a couple boxes of donuts, and one of the milkshakes Miles had ordered. “Here, free of charge to apologize for the wait. Now leave me alone.”

Edgeworth glared at the cook as he returned to the kitchen. He was too hungry to keep up his complaining, so he quickly opened the topmost box and began messily stuffing donuts into his mouth. His jowls and double chin wobbled as he frantically chewed, his cheeks bulging with the amount of fried dough he was shoving into his face. Other patrons who entered the Donut Shack glared at the enormously obese man and his dreadful table manners as he loudly chewed and gulped, especially as the cook finally brought out his tray of a dozen quintuple donut bacon cheeseburgers and his second milkshake. Miles greedily reached for his first burger, his chubby sausage fingers instantly covered in grease from the fatty delicacy. He opened his mouth wide, smearing cheese and crumbs all over his cheeks and chins as he shoved the burger into his greedy maw as best as he could manage. His recently tailored suit began straining against his bulk as he stuffed himself more and more with disgusting junk food, buttons pinging from his waistcoat and pale, soft flab seeping through burst seams.

Finally, as he chugged the last of his deep fried cookie dough milkshake, Miles unleashed a loud belch, his face flushed and covered in oily grease. He looked down at his chest, his lard-laden breasts and the top of his boulder-like gut bare for the entire restaurant to see. His blazer was ripping at the shoulders, his flabby bingo wings merging with his shoulder fat to completely ruin his suit jacket. Miles tried to use his chubby hands to leverage his bulk out of the booth, but after much straining and wheezing, he couldn’t budge even an inch. He was well and truly wedged in place. He looked at the grinning cook behind the counter and the horrified onlookers, as he huffed breathlessly, “C-could…. *haaaahhh* one of you….. *huffff* h-help m-me?”

It had been over a year and a half since The Japanifornia Donut Shack launched its Central LA location, and the owner had finally decided to hire more staff. The old guard employees knew it was all due to the increased revenue, much like the remodeling of the entire restaurant building a few months ago. They knew exactly where the money came from, and they all hated the guy, but the owner loved any way of getting richer, even if the source of said money was a royal pain in the ass.

The opening shift manager had coached the new employees on what to expect on their first day. They were all scheduled to start three hours before opening and begin prepping as much of the menu as possible ahead of time. The manager didn’t give details on why, but did tell the trainees to expect this to be a daily routine with undisguised bitterness in his voice. He had one of the new girls head out to man the front counter and cash register ten minutes before opening, staying in the kitchen himself to prep their “contingency plan” for his least favorite customer.

The cashier stood up front, leaning on the counter as she scrolled mindlessly on her phone, waiting for the okay to unlock the front doors. “Ugh, why the hell are there such big doors anyways, not like there’s a crowd at 7 am anyways…” She muttered to herself. She didn’t get this place at all. The dining area had a few booths and tables with bar stool seating, but much of the floor space was kept completely empty in the middle for some reason. There were weird cracks in the tile floor too, starting from the doors and ending right at the front of the counter. She kept looking at her phone until a few minutes before opening time, when she started hearing a strange discordant noise from outside the restaurant. It was like a mix of screeching metal, crunching rocks, and… heavy breathing? The woman looked up from her phone, and as the noise got louder, she wondered if she should tell the manager. What if it was like, a semi truck about to crash into the place? But before she could move, the source of the noise came into view.

First, the front of an enormous modified mobility platform crept into view, with what looked like a blob of pale, glistening dough oozing around the controls and drooping over the base of the platform. The reinforced treads of the platform were clearly struggling to carry whatever the jiggling mass upon it was; they were grinding the pavement to dust in their wake. The shapeless blob rose higher and higher as it drove into view, split in the middle into a sort of deep divot that almost looked like… a belly button. Above the highest point of the sloping hill of mass were two enormous drooping sacks, with… oh god, those were nipples. “That’s… that’s a PERSON?!” The new cashier had to stop herself from falling over in shock as she realized. “Oh, that’s… that’s fucked.” But she had even seen half of the body slowly wheeling into view yet. Above the sagging engorged breasts were two jiggling piles of rolls like stacks of pancakes, with fat-choked and completely useless hands wiggling their stubby orbular fingers in anticipation of arriving at the Donut Shack. The legs beside the rolls of the blob’s multi-ton gut were in a similar state as its arms, toes almost completely buried in the collapsing rolls engulfing their calves and ankles. The only identifying feature of the wobbling mound of flesh was a mop of silvery hair atop the monolith, wreathed in by a tire of neck, chin, and jowl flab that almost completely buried the face of the person within. A staircase of back rolls cascaded down the rear of the platform, meeting at the top of two shapeless, cellulite-dimpled ass cheeks with a crevasse splitting them down the middle.

The platform slowly screeched to a halt in front of the wide glass doors, and the new girl finally realized why this place was so big as it began backing up to get at a better angle to enter the restaurant. She stood up straight, her phone long forgotten on the counter in front of her, as she watched in horror and disgust as this mound of pure lard slowly inched its way up to the doors. The lowest rolls of the gut squelched against the glass as they pushed the doors open, sweat fogging up the entire glass surface as the mobility platform shrieked its way in. The tiles cracked as the wheels strained to move the tons of flesh upon them, and the sound of heavy breathing and occasional moans echoed through the restaurant. The mountain of flab came to a halt in front of the counter, all of the rolls and folds making up the behemoth that was now Miles Edgeworth wobbling for at least an entire minute just from the sudden halt in movement.

The cashier realized her mouth had been hanging open in shock, as she closed it quickly. “Uh… Can I… Help you?” She spoke hesitantly, barely able to see the blob’s face between all the flab gradually burying his features, so she was unsure of whether he would even respond.

Edgeworth panted and huffed, already exhausted from his long journey down the block to the restaurant and needing to gather the energy to speak. “Juh-juhsht… *hweeehh*… give… muh-me… *hffffffh*… shixh… ohf… *haaaahhhh* ehverehh… thin’…. *nnnngh*” He wheezed, his voice deepened significantly by the lard caking his neck, and his cushion-sized jowls causing him to lisp. “An’… *huffff* make… iht… *wheeeeeze* fahsht… *haaahhhh* ‘m… shtahvin’…”

The cashier groaned. So this land whale was why she and the other new hires had to come in so early? She rang up his insane order, looking at the massive menu boards behind her to double check she had everything rung up. This had to be enough food to solve world hunger or something, and it was all going into this greedy asshole’s gut? She ran back into the kitchen to find her manager just to check that they could even accommodate this freak. “Hey, uh, sir? Some fuc—uh, some rich dude just came in and ordered, uh, six of everything off the menu? Can we even…”

The opening manager held up his hand to interrupt her. “Yeah, that’s just Mr. Edgeworth. He comes in every day, has been for like a year now. He’s why we were able to remodel and hire all you new blood.” He sighed. “Six of everything today, eh? We’re a bit under prepared for that even with the extra hours of prep we had… but I have a backup for this. Go tell him it’s gonna be an hour or so for his food, I’ll be out shortly to help if things get… well. You’ll see.”

As the cashier rounded the corner back into the front of the restaurant, she could hear and feel Edgeworth’s gut loudly rumbling in hunger. The blob man moaned, desperately wishing to fill his monstrous stomach. “Whehre’sh… muh-my… food?” He whined, grasping vainly with his spherical fatty fingers as if that would manifest a cheeseburger into his mouth. “Ah’m… shooo… huhngry….”

The new girl winced. It had hardly been ten minutes since he ordered, this fatass couldn’t be serious, could he? “Sorry, sir, but you ordered, like, a LOT of food. Manager said it’ll be at least an hour before—” She was cut off as Miles groaned in despair.

“Th-thish… ish… uh-uhnaccshep-- *hnmgh* -- tahble! Ah-ah’m SHTAHRVIN’!!” He whimpered, his stomach rumbling even louder than before. The cashier looked worried, trying to figure out how to placate the immobile blob of lard taking up the entire dining room, until her manager appeared wheeling a cart stacked high with unmarked boxes.

The manager wheeled up to Edgeworth side rolls, patting him reluctantly since he knew the mound of adipose couldn’t see him past his own flab. “Excuse me, Mister Edgeworth, we’re so sorry for the wait on your order. As a token of apology, I’ve brought plenty for you to eat as an appetizer before your meal, free of charge of course. We hope you can understand.” Miles merely moaned, huffing and flushed in the face from his hunger and his outburst. The manager lifted one of the boxes, opening it and began tossing blocks of pure lard up to the immobile man’s waiting mouth. He greedily slurped down the “appetizer”, so hungry that he didn’t even care that it was just pure fat. As he gulped eagerly, the manager had his employees hook up a new conveyor belt, piling the banquet of disgustingly greasy foods he ordered onto it to land directly into the slowly sinking divot his face was buried in, seeing as how he couldn’t even move his hands anymore. Edgeworth greedily swallowed all sorts of fattening junk, from sundaes stacked high with fried butter, to entire XL pizzas wrapped around donut bacon cheeseburgers, to even bricks of lard that had been battered, fried, and drenched in a mixture of cheese sauce and chocolate. His body grew by the second from the hundreds of thousands of calories he was devouring, his rolls inching closer to the ground, his limbs and face buried deeper and deeper within his own prison of adipose. About midway through his breakfast feast, his mobility platform gave one last agonized shriek before shattering apart under his bulk, and five tons of prosecutor flab came crashing to the ground. The tiles cracked under his weight, the entire restaurant and even buildings outside shook from the tremors, and his rolls rippled from the impact, but Edgeworth didn’t even notice and just kept desperately swallowing the mounds of greasy fast food dropped into his maw. The manager pulled out his cell phone, calling up the owner. “Hey, yeah, Mr. Edgeworth just busted his mobility scooter thing. Yep, he’s still eating too, he’s not even halfway done with his order. Okay, I’ll let him know when he’s finished his food, thanks boss.”

A cool breeze blew through the air in Rito Village, blowing south from the Hebra Mountains. Link suppressed a shiver, feeling the brisk chill around the bottom of his tunic. He adjusted the feather-lined garment quickly, pulling it down to cover his abdomen, but it immediately started riding up on him as soon as he continued walking. The Hylian grumbled to himself, opting to try and ignore it while he stocked up on supplies at the general store. Link walked into the cozy open-air hut, nodding at the Rito shopkeeper with a warm smile as he piled all of the goat butter the shop had in stock into his satchel. He handed a pouch of rupees to the Rito as payment before walking out of the store to head back out adventuring Hyrule. 

Link didn’t want to admit it to himself, but the Hylian has packed on some pounds in recent months. Once he had discovered the joys of cooking with goat butter, he never looked back, and the delicious, creamy, fattening substance had clearly affected his waistline. The sliver of pale, soft chub that peeked out from his warm Rito Tunic gave him a slight muffin top, and his thighs ever so slightly brushed together when he walked. Link seemed ignorant to these changes to his body, though; mentally, he attributed his tighter clothing to an ill-advised attempt at making a fan powered raft that fell apart, plunging him into icy cold water while fully clothed. To him, the cold water must have shrunk his clothing somehow! It couldn’t have anything to do with his new culinary obsession, surely! 

The pudgy Hylian sat at a cooking pot, sorting through his available ingredients. Link pulled out a slab of prime meat, a large hearty bass, some Hylian mushrooms, and a stick of goat butter. He paused, thinking for a moment. If just one stick of goat butter improved the flavor of a dish so much… Why not use two? Reaching into his bag, Link grabbed another stick of butter, and tossed it into the pot with the rest of the food, watching it melt and coat the meat and mushrooms, sizzling delightfully. As soon as his meal was done, Link immediately took an eager bite, too hungry to wait any longer. The flavors exploded in his mouth, coating his tongue in a rich, oily sensation. This was amazing! He scarfed down the rest of the pile of meat, seafood, and mushrooms, patting his pudgy stomach in satisfaction. Link knew one thing for sure now: he was going to have to keep trying butter in more recipes if it made them taste this good!

Months passed, and Link’s reputation for cooking rich, decadent meals for himself grew. Shops all over Hyrule knew to stock up on extra goat butter, as the eager Hylian hero would travel to each and every settlement just to get his fix. As his desire for egregious amounts of butter grew, so did his waistline. Link had absolutely blown up since discovering that adding more butter to his cooking made it taste even better. The Hylian man was undeniably morbidly obese, and many of the citizens of Hyrule were a little bit worried about how rapidly he had descended into obesity, but none of them felt brave enough to try and broach the subject with the rapidly-fattening hero. 

Link has taken to using his Purah Pad to teleport him directly to each town to minimize the amount of walking he had to do. For some reason he had been getting very tired even from brief walks lately, and his horse had been similarly exhausted just from short rides. Link materialized outside the shrine at Hateno Village, taking time to gather himself before the arduous walk downhill towards the general store. He somehow still didn’t realize the cause of his growing problems was the hundreds of pounds he’d packed onto his body in mere months. Link’s body was bloated with lard, to the point that he was nearing half a ton of fat on his once-lithe frame. His face was framed by a set of cherubic chipmunk cheeks, already flushed and sweaty just from a few slow, wobbling steps away from the shrine. His neck was buried under a ring of flab, graduating him from a double chin to a pronounced triple chin. His once-toned arms were replaced with bloated sacks of blubber the size of pillows, sagging down his sides and forcing his arms out at an angle even when not in use. His elbows were long buried under all of this lard, and even his wrists and hands were beginning to plump up at the joints, making bending his fingers and grabbing food a chore. His pecs had ballooned into flabby breasts that were just starting to droop down either side of his gut. The tunic he currently wore, his blue Champions Tunic that he was given over one hundred years ago, was stretched tightly across his chest, functioning more as a bra than a more decent article of clothing and riddled with rips and tears from stretching across so much flab. His former muffin top had graduated into a stack of fluffy love handles, pooling over the straight waistband of his trousers and , when combined with his flabby chest, were half of the reason his arms stuck out at such an angle now. His bloated thighs touched at every point no matter how far apart his spread his legs to walk, forcing him into a pronounced waddle. He couldn’t even bend his knees anymore; the flab from his thighs had long since enveloped the joints, joining his meaty calves in the downfall of his once-proud stride.  

His biggest asset, however, was his gut. The slab of lard was a monument to his gluttony, forming an apron of flab that sagged down to his buried knees. Every slow, measured step he took, his stomach slapped against his meaty thighs, sending his entire flabby body jiggling and wobbling endlessly. The obese hero was sweaty and exhausted after just a few steps, panting and wheezing from the exertion of shifting just under half a ton of fat with every shuffling step, but his craving for butter-soaked food kept him from giving up on his journey to the store.  

When the sweaty, huffing pile of lard finally made it, he shoved the door open with his titanic gut, dreading what came next. Link knew intimately well that doors and him didn’t mix these days, even if he refused to accept or acknowledge why. The Hylian was an absolute wall of flab and rolls, trying to force himself through a tiny doorway. The shopkeeper could only stare in horror and fascination as the legendary hero attempted to squeeze his enormous bulk into the store, wheezing from the exertion. He grabbed the doorframe with his pudgy fingers, trying to force his double-wide hips through, but his rolls and folds were firmly wedged. Link continued panting and groaning, his bulky body oozing around either side of the door frame, when an ominous cracking noise started to occur. Suddenly, with a loud snap, the wood of the doorway and the surrounding walls splintered, and Link stumbled through into the shop, his entire body wobbling from the sudden forward momentum. Barreling forward at speeds his obese form weren’t meant to handle, the lard-laden Hylian hero overbalanced, landing on his cascading gut with so much force that it shook the entire building. Merchandise clattered to the floor from the display shelves as shockwaves rippled through his body like an ocean, and he lay on the floor gasping for air after all of his weight knocked it out of his poor, overtaxed lungs. The shopkeeper looked at the damaged doorway in horror, knowing that no matter how much butter the legendary hero was here to purchase, it wouldn’t pay for the repair costs, especially with his increased visits. Something had to be done about the gluttonous hero, but what? 

After the disastrous incident at the Hateno General Store, shopkeepers around Hyrule had begun taking Link’s purchases to him as he waited outside their shops, to minimize damage done to their buildings. It was a solution, for sure, but many worried about what would happen when Link grew too large to make the short walks to their stores from the teleport points at the towns’ shrines. Many ideas were proposed: shop stalls set up right at the shrines just for Link, some sort of horse and cart system to carry the growing hero to his destinations, even a conveyor belt to carry him to the store entrances was suggested! However, Link ended up solving the problem himself while cooking one day. He’d begun using his Ultra Hand powers to help him grab ingredients once his arms became basically useless at grabbing things around his enormous bulk. As he sat on a log that his fat ass almost completely devoured, using his prosthetic’s powers to move a fourth stick of butter into the cooking pot for the large hunk of gourmet meat he was sauteeing, Link got an idea. He used his fat sausage fingers to switch the function of his hand to the Copy ability, which usually only worked for building materials. He noticed that the sticks of butter were able to be copied, somehow. Confused, Link decided to try it out, multiplying one stick of goat butter into ten, and moving the pile onto his chest where he could inspect them better. The sticks of butter had a gentle greenish-blue glow to them, but otherwise appeared to be normal sticks of butter.  

Link devoured the butter-soaked gourmet meat as he contemplated the glowing butter sticks nestled between his ample breasts when suddenly he was struck by an idea. Straining against the rolls of his arm fat, he craned his overburdened arm towards his chest, grabbing a stick of greenish butter in his fattened hands. Link brought the strange butter towards his pudgy lips slowly, his bountiful lard making it hard for him to reach his mouth with his pillowy arms. He finally shoved the stick of butter into his mouth, the oily fats coating his tongue. His blue eyes lit up as he swallowed: it was incredible! The duplicated butter tasted even richer and more delicious than normal goat butter, and that was without cooking it! Link shoved his hands under his bloated pecs, shifting their mass upwards and forcing the nine remaining sticks of magical butter directly in range of his greedy maw. The greedy Hylian began slurping down the stack of entire sticks of butter while using his Ultra Hand to create more copies, piling them up on his chest within easy eating distance. Link had no idea of the future he had just very quickly resigned himself to with this discovery, but the shopkeepers of Hyrule wouldn’t have to worry about their entryways being broken anymore. 

The citizens of Hyrule whispered about what had become of their legendary hero. Shopkeepers quickly noticed his increasingly-frequent trips to their stores had stopped abruptly, leaving them with mixed feelings of concern for what could have happened to Link, but also relieved that they wouldn’t have to keep paying for hefty repair bills anymore. Only those who were closest to Link knew where he’d ended up, and why he’d disappeared altogether. When asked by any concerned Hylians, they would simply assure them that Link was fine, comfortable, and happily retired from adventuring. 

Sidon, the newly-crowned king of Zora’s Domain, walked swiftly through the thick underbrush of a secluded forest region tucked away from any towns or roaming travelers. The red scaled Zora knew the way to go intimately, having made the journey many times over the year or so he’d been coming here in secret. Plus, it wasn’t too hard to find what he was looking for—All he had to do was follow the sounds of loud gurgling and slurping. Sidon crested the top of a hill, looking down into what had once been a lush, forested valley. The trees had long since been buried, the valley completely filled by a churning, wobbling mass of pale flab. He knew the mountainous blob below him was his most cherished partner, Link, the hero of Hyrule. 

Sidon hopped down from the forested hill, sliding on his finned feet until he landed on the soft form below. It was harder than ever to tell exactly what part of Link’s swollen body he was standing upon, but Sidon was pretty sure it was his stomach. His gigantic gut was constantly stuffed with the replicated butter that Link was somehow constantly creating more of, causing the cascading waterfall of flab to grow more and more every moment as his body worked overtime to convert the literal gallons of butter he consumed into adipose. Sidon could feel the mountainesque stomach below his feet groaning and churning, causing the blobby body of his boyfriend to always be in some sort of state of movement even after long ago losing his mobility.  

The Zora king began the long hike towards the center of Link’s growing mass, clinging desperately to whatever rolls and folds he could grab whenever a particularly strong tremor shifted the oceanic mass like tides crashing upon a shore. Sidon crested the top of Link’s stomach rolls after twenty minutes of climbing, trying to identify more parts of the blob’s body to use as landmarks. He could pretty easily find Link’s breasts due to his nipples, though they were a lot lower down than Sidon was now. Link’s tits were so huge that they’d lost all shape and form, sagging under their weight to the point that they drooped towards the lowest rolls of his gut. He could also guess where Link’s arms were from the location of his chest, gazing at the swollen pancake stacks of rolls directly above the meaty breasts. Sidon figured that Link’s hands must be buried under literal feet of flab at this point, looking at the divots where they’d long ago vanished. Even if he could unearth his fands from all of that lard, there was no way he’d be able to use them for anything aside from his Ultra Hand’s powers; his digits must be so coated in fat that they’d be barely recognizable as hands anymore.  

Once he’d figured out where Link’s useless arms were, finding his head was easy. Sidon looked at the recessed dip in the blobby mountain between the boulder-sized fat deposits that used to be Link’s biceps and forearms towards where a constant flow of glowing green liquid was manifesting and pouring downward into. Sidon swiftly scrambled over Link’s bloated cleavage, taking care not to slip; he’d once made that mistake and it took him hours to wrench his leg free from the cavernous crevasse. Once he’d crested the twin hills of lard, it was easy going from there, as Link’s chins had multiplied into a nice staircase of neck rolls. As he descended down, Sidon entered what could only be described as a cavern of fat formed by the encroaching mass of Link’s flabby jowls and collapsing back rolls. He followed the green glow of magically-duplicated butter deeper into the humid cave, the sounds of hungry slurping and desperate moans growing louder and louder. Finally, Sidon reached the end of the vast fat cave and approached his boyfriend’s bloated face eagerly.  

A cool breeze blew through the air in Rito Village, blowing south from the Hebra Mountains. Link suppressed a shiver, feeling the brisk chill around the bottom of his tunic. He adjusted the feather-lined garment quickly, pulling it down to cover his abdomen, but it immediately started riding up on him as soon as he continued walking. The Hylian grumbled to himself, opting to try and ignore it while he stocked up on supplies at the general store. Link walked into the cozy open-air hut, nodding at the Rito shopkeeper with a warm smile as he piled all of the goat butter the shop had in stock into his satchel. He handed a pouch of rupees to the Rito as payment before walking out of the store to head back out adventuring Hyrule. 

Link didn’t want to admit it to himself, but the Hylian has packed on some pounds in recent months. Once he had discovered the joys of cooking with goat butter, he never looked back, and the delicious, creamy, fattening substance had clearly affected his waistline. The sliver of pale, soft chub that peeked out from his warm Rito Tunic gave him a slight muffin top, and his thighs ever so slightly brushed together when he walked. Link seemed ignorant to these changes to his body, though; mentally, he attributed his tighter clothing to an ill-advised attempt at making a fan powered raft that fell apart, plunging him into icy cold water while fully clothed. To him, the cold water must have shrunk his clothing somehow! It couldn’t have anything to do with his new culinary obsession, surely! 

The pudgy Hylian sat at a cooking pot, sorting through his available ingredients. Link pulled out a slab of prime meat, a large hearty bass, some Hylian mushrooms, and a stick of goat butter. He paused, thinking for a moment. If just one stick of goat butter improved the flavor of a dish so much… Why not use two? Reaching into his bag, Link grabbed another stick of butter, and tossed it into the pot with the rest of the food, watching it melt and coat the meat and mushrooms, sizzling delightfully. As soon as his meal was done, Link immediately took an eager bite, too hungry to wait any longer. The flavors exploded in his mouth, coating his tongue in a rich, oily sensation. This was amazing! He scarfed down the rest of the pile of meat, seafood, and mushrooms, patting his pudgy stomach in satisfaction. Link knew one thing for sure now: he was going to have to keep trying butter in more recipes if it made them taste this good!

Months passed, and Link’s reputation for cooking rich, decadent meals for himself grew. Shops all over Hyrule knew to stock up on extra goat butter, as the eager Hylian hero would travel to each and every settlement just to get his fix. As his desire for egregious amounts of butter grew, so did his waistline. Link had absolutely blown up since discovering that adding more butter to his cooking made it taste even better. The Hylian man was undeniably morbidly obese, and many of the citizens of Hyrule were a little bit worried about how rapidly he had descended into obesity, but none of them felt brave enough to try and broach the subject with the rapidly-fattening hero. 

Link has taken to using his Purah Pad to teleport him directly to each town to minimize the amount of walking he had to do. For some reason he had been getting very tired even from brief walks lately, and his horse had been similarly exhausted just from short rides. Link materialized outside the shrine at Hateno Village, taking time to gather himself before the arduous walk downhill towards the general store. He somehow still didn’t realize the cause of his growing problems was the hundreds of pounds he’d packed onto his body in mere months. Link’s body was bloated with lard, to the point that he was nearing half a ton of fat on his once-lithe frame. His face was framed by a set of cherubic chipmunk cheeks, already flushed and sweaty just from a few slow, wobbling steps away from the shrine. His neck was buried under a ring of flab, graduating him from a double chin to a pronounced triple chin. His once-toned arms were replaced with bloated sacks of blubber the size of pillows, sagging down his sides and forcing his arms out at an angle even when not in use. His elbows were long buried under all of this lard, and even his wrists and hands were beginning to plump up at the joints, making bending his fingers and grabbing food a chore. His pecs had ballooned into flabby breasts that were just starting to droop down either side of his gut. The tunic he currently wore, his blue Champions Tunic that he was given over one hundred years ago, was stretched tightly across his chest, functioning more as a bra than a more decent article of clothing and riddled with rips and tears from stretching across so much flab. His former muffin top had graduated into a stack of fluffy love handles, pooling over the straight waistband of his trousers and , when combined with his flabby chest, were half of the reason his arms stuck out at such an angle now. His bloated thighs touched at every point no matter how far apart his spread his legs to walk, forcing him into a pronounced waddle. He couldn’t even bend his knees anymore; the flab from his thighs had long since enveloped the joints, joining his meaty calves in the downfall of his once-proud stride.  

His biggest asset, however, was his gut. The slab of lard was a monument to his gluttony, forming an apron of flab that sagged down to his buried knees. Every slow, measured step he took, his stomach slapped against his meaty thighs, sending his entire flabby body jiggling and wobbling endlessly. The obese hero was sweaty and exhausted after just a few steps, panting and wheezing from the exertion of shifting just under half a ton of fat with every shuffling step, but his craving for butter-soaked food kept him from giving up on his journey to the store.  

When the sweaty, huffing pile of lard finally made it, he shoved the door open with his titanic gut, dreading what came next. Link knew intimately well that doors and him didn’t mix these days, even if he refused to accept or acknowledge why. The Hylian was an absolute wall of flab and rolls, trying to force himself through a tiny doorway. The shopkeeper could only stare in horror and fascination as the legendary hero attempted to squeeze his enormous bulk into the store, wheezing from the exertion. He grabbed the doorframe with his pudgy fingers, trying to force his double-wide hips through, but his rolls and folds were firmly wedged. Link continued panting and groaning, his bulky body oozing around either side of the door frame, when an ominous cracking noise started to occur. Suddenly, with a loud snap, the wood of the doorway and the surrounding walls splintered, and Link stumbled through into the shop, his entire body wobbling from the sudden forward momentum. Barreling forward at speeds his obese form weren’t meant to handle, the lard-laden Hylian hero overbalanced, landing on his cascading gut with so much force that it shook the entire building. Merchandise clattered to the floor from the display shelves as shockwaves rippled through his body like an ocean, and he lay on the floor gasping for air after all of his weight knocked it out of his poor, overtaxed lungs. The shopkeeper looked at the damaged doorway in horror, knowing that no matter how much butter the legendary hero was here to purchase, it wouldn’t pay for the repair costs, especially with his increased visits. Something had to be done about the gluttonous hero, but what? 

After the disastrous incident at the Hateno General Store, shopkeepers around Hyrule had begun taking Link’s purchases to him as he waited outside their shops, to minimize damage done to their buildings. It was a solution, for sure, but many worried about what would happen when Link grew too large to make the short walks to their stores from the teleport points at the towns’ shrines. Many ideas were proposed: shop stalls set up right at the shrines just for Link, some sort of horse and cart system to carry the growing hero to his destinations, even a conveyor belt to carry him to the store entrances was suggested! However, Link ended up solving the problem himself while cooking one day. He’d begun using his Ultra Hand powers to help him grab ingredients once his arms became basically useless at grabbing things around his enormous bulk. As he sat on a log that his fat ass almost completely devoured, using his prosthetic’s powers to move a fourth stick of butter into the cooking pot for the large hunk of gourmet meat he was sauteeing, Link got an idea. He used his fat sausage fingers to switch the function of his hand to the Copy ability, which usually only worked for building materials. He noticed that the sticks of butter were able to be copied, somehow. Confused, Link decided to try it out, multiplying one stick of goat butter into ten, and moving the pile onto his chest where he could inspect them better. The sticks of butter had a gentle greenish-blue glow to them, but otherwise appeared to be normal sticks of butter.  

Link devoured the butter-soaked gourmet meat as he contemplated the glowing butter sticks nestled between his ample breasts when suddenly he was struck by an idea. Straining against the rolls of his arm fat, he craned his overburdened arm towards his chest, grabbing a stick of greenish butter in his fattened hands. Link brought the strange butter towards his pudgy lips slowly, his bountiful lard making it hard for him to reach his mouth with his pillowy arms. He finally shoved the stick of butter into his mouth, the oily fats coating his tongue. His blue eyes lit up as he swallowed: it was incredible! The duplicated butter tasted even richer and more delicious than normal goat butter, and that was without cooking it! Link shoved his hands under his bloated pecs, shifting their mass upwards and forcing the nine remaining sticks of magical butter directly in range of his greedy maw. The greedy Hylian began slurping down the stack of entire sticks of butter while using his Ultra Hand to create more copies, piling them up on his chest within easy eating distance. Link had no idea of the future he had just very quickly resigned himself to with this discovery, but the shopkeepers of Hyrule wouldn’t have to worry about their entryways being broken anymore. 

The citizens of Hyrule whispered about what had become of their legendary hero. Shopkeepers quickly noticed his increasingly-frequent trips to their stores had stopped abruptly, leaving them with mixed feelings of concern for what could have happened to Link, but also relieved that they wouldn’t have to keep paying for hefty repair bills anymore. Only those who were closest to Link knew where he’d ended up, and why he’d disappeared altogether. When asked by any concerned Hylians, they would simply assure them that Link was fine, comfortable, and happily retired from adventuring. 

Sidon, the newly-crowned king of Zora’s Domain, walked swiftly through the thick underbrush of a secluded forest region tucked away from any towns or roaming travelers. The red scaled Zora knew the way to go intimately, having made the journey many times over the year or so he’d been coming here in secret. Plus, it wasn’t too hard to find what he was looking for—All he had to do was follow the sounds of loud gurgling and slurping. Sidon crested the top of a hill, looking down into what had once been a lush, forested valley. The trees had long since been buried, the valley completely filled by a churning, wobbling mass of pale flab. He knew the mountainous blob below him was his most cherished partner, Link, the hero of Hyrule. 

Sidon hopped down from the forested hill, sliding on his finned feet until he landed on the soft form below. It was harder than ever to tell exactly what part of Link’s swollen body he was standing upon, but Sidon was pretty sure it was his stomach. His gigantic gut was constantly stuffed with the replicated butter that Link was somehow constantly creating more of, causing the cascading waterfall of flab to grow more and more every moment as his body worked overtime to convert the literal gallons of butter he consumed into adipose. Sidon could feel the mountainesque stomach below his feet groaning and churning, causing the blobby body of his boyfriend to always be in some sort of state of movement even after long ago losing his mobility.  

The Zora king began the long hike towards the center of Link’s growing mass, clinging desperately to whatever rolls and folds he could grab whenever a particularly strong tremor shifted the oceanic mass like tides crashing upon a shore. Sidon crested the top of Link’s stomach rolls after twenty minutes of climbing, trying to identify more parts of the blob’s body to use as landmarks. He could pretty easily find Link’s breasts due to his nipples, though they were a lot lower down than Sidon was now. Link’s tits were so huge that they’d lost all shape and form, sagging under their weight to the point that they drooped towards the lowest rolls of his gut. He could also guess where Link’s arms were from the location of his chest, gazing at the swollen pancake stacks of rolls directly above the meaty breasts. Sidon figured that Link’s hands must be buried under literal feet of flab at this point, looking at the divots where they’d long ago vanished. Even if he could unearth his fands from all of that lard, there was no way he’d be able to use them for anything aside from his Ultra Hand’s powers; his digits must be so coated in fat that they’d be barely recognizable as hands anymore.  

Once he’d figured out where Link’s useless arms were, finding his head was easy. Sidon looked at the recessed dip in the blobby mountain between the boulder-sized fat deposits that used to be Link’s biceps and forearms towards where a constant flow of glowing green liquid was manifesting and pouring downward into. Sidon swiftly scrambled over Link’s bloated cleavage, taking care not to slip; he’d once made that mistake and it took him hours to wrench his leg free from the cavernous crevasse. Once he’d crested the twin hills of lard, it was easy going from there, as Link’s chins had multiplied into a nice staircase of neck rolls. As he descended down, Sidon entered what could only be described as a cavern of fat formed by the encroaching mass of Link’s flabby jowls and collapsing back rolls. He followed the green glow of magically-duplicated butter deeper into the humid cave, the sounds of hungry slurping and desperate moans growing louder and louder. Finally, Sidon reached the end of the vast fat cave and approached his boyfriend’s bloated face eagerly.  

While his jaw hangs open, she prattles on, saying how proud she is of him for doubling the foal’s size in the last six weeks. She informs him the growth will continue at a similar rate, at which point he finds enough worlds to tell her in a panic that he can barely get out of bed now! He’s going to be practically immobile if he gets any bigger!

That’s how he gets moved from his room to the breeding stables. When he first hears of the change, he legitimately thinks they’re going to put him in a stall with the animal horses for a moment, so he’s actually relieved when he finds out they’re going to convert the medical room where he’s been getting his checkups into a bedroom for him. His boss moves some new equipment in, and it ends up being relatively livable, though not homely. He doesn’t like sleeping in a hospital bed, but as his womb grows heavier and heavier, he concedes that he wouldn’t be able to get up without the power-adjusting and the bars on the sides.

He’s relieved when they provide him with a walker, though when he realizes the modified shelf on it is for his belly to rest on, he’s too embarrassed to use it for a few days. When he finally gives in, though, the relief is too great to really care. It may make him a spectacle, an otherwise-small boy with the unsightly, misshapen growth of his gut plopped proudly on a pedestal in front of him, but it takes almost 30lbs of weight off of his lower back, so he lives with it. There is still a faint embarrassment to entering a room like this, his stretched-flat navel and the dark shock of a linea nigra bulging through the door before the rest of him waddles after, but it’s gotten to the point that he blushes under the attention.

And he really gets attention when the baby moves. Especially when his belly is resting on his walker, it distorts his bump so much that it’s hardly even round anymore, just skin stretched over constantly-shifting angles. It’s hurt more and more as the baby has grown, and now it’s almost unbearable, flurries of movement dealt with by clutching his sides and groaning, begging the child to stop moving.

He’s halfway through his 32nd week when the pain begins in his pelvic floor. Not the continuous ache he’s felt since he began to show, or even the seizing cramps that have grown more common as his ligaments are forced to stretch too fast, but something crueler, sharper. Something that digs into him from inside, making him yelp and grab at his pussy reflexively. He forgets the mare he’s been watching and radios his boss, telling her the baby is coming.

She meets him at the stables with a wheelchair and wheels him back to his room. Every bump feels like a knife in his cervix, little ah! ah! ah!s slipping out of him with each rock they roll over.

In his room, his boss gets him into his bed and deploys stirrups from the end. No stranger to them by now, he laboriously lifts his legs, groaning as he holds his belly up to keep it from falling between his thighs, and rests his heels in the stirrups. After a few minutes of prodding painfully at his pussy and cervix, the boss declares that it’s just a case of lightning crotch, and he shouldn’t expect labor until 40, maybe even 42 or 42 weeks. He blanches and cries that he can’t do this for another two months, let alone 10 more weeks! Really, they should have done the C-section a month before now, it’s simply absurd to be pregnant with a 40lb baby! What breed was the father, even? A Clydesdale? He knows Clydes-men can sire babies the size of toddlers, but this is insane! Is she sure it’s not twins?

The boss takes in his feverish dismay with a calm, almost amused look. Then she tells him she’s going to give him an IV for the pain. He’s in too much agony to think better of it.

Only a few minutes after she sets up the IV, he swims out of reality.

Consciousness comes in hints and slips. He feels sensations deep in his body, pressure and pain, and movement, so much movement, like he’s under the ocean and there’s more ocean inside of him, not quite deep enough for whatever’s trying to swim inside his body.

He hears voices, sees changing light, feels cold hands on his belly. Only once or twice does he gain enough consciousness to feel afraid or confused; mostly, it’s peaceful and quiet.

When he finally wakes up, the first thing he feels is the heaviness. It’s like nothing he’s experienced, a bone-creaking, organ-crushing pressure, a not-enough-room, like whatever is inside his body is so big that it’s going to push him out. His breaths come thin and small, the effort of each gasp driving him towards panic and causing more pain to spike deeper inside him. It feels like a tent peg is being hammered deep into his pelvis.

Finally, he notices that he’s sitting in a wheelchair, and there’s someone sitting in his lap. No—wait, fuck, it’s just him. He’s huge. No, he’s beyond huge, he’s—he can’t think of another word. His head is still swimming. His belly is so large now that it pins his legs to the sides of the chair and forces his rib cage back, so that he feels like it’s the thing sitting in the chair, and he just happens to be under it.

Then it shifts. A faded cry rises from his atrophied throat, and he shakes his head instinctively as he watches what looks like a goddamn 8 year old moving inside his belly. His chest—heavy and tender—jumps as he fights for air, whimpers eking out with every alien shift of his womb. Then it kicks, and he screams as he thinks for a moment that the foot will tear through his tummy. But it only ignites a sting of varicose veins and a burn of itching, over-stretched flesh.

The sharp agony flares deep inside him again- his cervix, he realizes- and he didn’t think anything could hurt this bad.

Then it gets worse.

Even in his disorientation, he knows it’s a contraction. Hard to think it’s anything else as he watches his bare belly tense, lifting ever so slightly and shrinking away from his thighs, tightening around an inscruitable shape inside of him. He groans wretchedly and tries to reach for his belly, only to find that his hands are velcroed to the chair. He just clings to the arm rests, and futilely tries to breathe through the tightness of the pain, the pressure, the screwing of something thick and serrated into his cervix.

When the contraction ends, he starts to cry softly, though it only makes the stabbing sensation deep inside feel worse.

Through the tears, he sees that he’s in some kind of husbandry stable, similar to the one at his job but clearly elsewhere. He’s so used to the scents of hay and manure that it didn’t even occur to him that those aren’t the kinds of things a person should be able to smell when they’re in labor.

Four contractions later, the door opens, and his boss appears.

“What the fuck did you do to me,” he sobs, in a broken, pathetic voice that can’t carry an ounce of his anger.

She tuts and checks a her phone. “I saved you from the ten most uncomfortable weeks of your life. And you got paid for them! You should be thankful.”

“You drugged me, and— augh!” His belly shifts massively, and he doesn’t get enough oxygen for a moment, panting. “What is this?! What’s happening?!”

She hums at something on the screen. “You’re in labor. We’ve got a buyer for your foal, but he has to see it come out of you.”

“Wh-what?! Why?!”

“Because that’s the whole point. Folk-carried thoroughbreds go for a pretty penny. You’re going to earn $300k today.”

“Wh- no, I don’t—“ he shakes his head, then makes a high, ragged sound at another jab against his cervix. “Fuck, it hurts so bad, something’s wrong!”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

He clenches his teeth. “It’s all wrong! Why the fuck is it so big?! How—“ He wheezes for air and tries not to sob. “How am I gonna get it out!?”

Finally, she looks up at him and actually focuses her attention, giving him an odd look. “Did you expect it to be smaller because you’re folk?”

“I- I expected it to be normal! It’s almost as big as me!”

“Oh, you’re exaggerating. She’s only 90 pounds.”

He feels sick. “Wh- what?!”

“That’s on the small side, honestly. The last foal from this sire was over a hundred. Though, that was from Missy.”

His ears start to ring. Missy. One of the mares he sat on watch with. A regular, four-legged horse. An animal.

A kick stretches his belly. He stares at it, the sharp shape suddenly clear to him. A hoof.

“No… no, no, no, I can’t, I— AUGH!”

His cervix screams and the sharp pain lances right into his lower spine. It’s starting to come out of his womb. Not a head, but—

“The hooves,” he whimpers, “fuck, the hooves are coming!”

“Oh, shoot. Where is he?” She looks impatiently at her watch. “Shit.” Then she turns and rushes out of the stable.

He pants, incredulous. He’s nothing but a broodmare to her. His womb the same as the animals they work with. Tears run down his face as he groans through the brutal contraction, through the terrible press of sharp keratin through his dilating cervix.

His seized-up belly softens, and though the awful sensation of the hooves pushing into his tailbone remains, it’s not as bad without the cramping. He sits there, trying not to sob, feeling so, so stupid. How did he not realize? He knew it was possible, he just…

Spending his time wishing he never signed that contract, he doesn’t expect the next contraction to come so soon. His eyes fly wide, and he groans with the sudden urge to push. A small noise of effort rises in his throat as his face screws up, his over-stretched abs struggling to tighten.

His noise grows louder as he feels a shift, the painful spread of his cervix, hooves digging into him like they might come out of his asshole instead. Whimpering in pain, he struggles to shove his hips forward, fighting the 90lbs of foal weighing down his lap. It’s impossible to get out from under his enormous breeder belly, but he does manage to at least scoot his butt forward, making more room to spread his thighs and creating a space for something to actually come out.

For the foal to come out.

The next contraction comes fast, and he finds that with his posture sunken like this it’s even harder to breathe. His head spins and the world darkens as he pushes. The sensation is so foreign yet shockingly clear as he feels himself steadily pushing the hooves out of his cervix, their angles stretching his pussy. He stops to gasp for air, then ducks his head and grunts as he keeps pushing. Oh, fuck, they’re starting to stretch his cunt. He clenches his teeth and spreads his legs, and manages to push them right to his entrance before the contraction ends. With the next one, the stretch sharpens and he keens high in the back of his throat as he feels like he might tear—

Then he births the hooves, only to feel them butt up against something. His eyes fly wide, and he starts to panic as he realizes he’s wearing some kind of bottoms. He didn’t even think about it, can’t see any of his body beyond his foal-filled belly.

“Shit,” he whimpers. He spends the whole time waiting for the next contraction trying to wriggle around, looking for some way to- to fix this, or— there. The resistance is suddenly gone, like the hooves are free of whatever they caught on. He has no idea how that worked, but he’ll take it. It isn’t until he’s pushing again that he realizes he managed to direct the hooves down one pant leg. He only has a moment to feel vaguely amused by the idea before pain ignites in his cervix again.

Fuck.

Over the next several minutes, in fits and starts, he pushes as much as he can. It’s massive, the pain driving his head to loll around listlessly, his hands to ache gripping the arm rests. His cunt still strains around the foal’s legs, the knobby ankles resting against his thigh, as he struggles to push on the head and knees. It’s a brutal combination, and he hears the grunts and groans he makes as if from far away.

Suddenly, the door opens again, and his boss cries, “Shoot! Stop pushing, wait!”

He shakes his head. His pussy stretches. It’s getting close to his entrance. “Need it… out…!”

“If you push, you’re in breach of contract! You won’t get a dime!”

He stops with an agonized wheeze.

“Good!”

He shakes his head, eyes clenched shut. “No… no, the head’s in my pussy, it’s almost out, it hurts! Let me push it out!”

“Soon, soon, just be patient.”

There is no such thing as patience with his body forced wide from cunt to womb. He can see the image so vividly in his mind’s eye, the knees and head bulging inside his vagina, legs hanging out of him. Fuck, he’s really foaling…

He contracts, and can do nothing but sit there and groan, a long, mournful sound of a broodmare needing to push.

“Please,” he groans. “Please let me foal…”

“Not yet.”

His voice dissolves into a pathetic whine.

Even without pushing, his pussy burns more and more as the spindly legs widen and the nose descends. He can feel them behind his cunt lips, and would kick his own legs in frustration if they weren’t asleep from the weight of his belly.

“Ohhh fuck, please! Please let me… need to push… need to push so bad, need it out…!”

She ignores him, and his womb ignores her, steadily wringing the foal out of him bit by bit, even without his pushing. He starts to whimper as his labia is pried wider and wider.

“It’s coming! It’s coming out!”

“Stop pushing!”

“I’m not! It’s just- hnnng, fuck, it’s just coming out of me!”

She growls in frustration and stomps to the door, throwing it open and yelling, “Get in here! He’s about to foal into his pants!”

Gasping, he claws at the arm rests. “The head! The head! It’s coming out! And the knees, oh god, oh god, it’s crowning! It’s crowning all at once! Fuck! I’m foaling! FUUUCK!”

His cunt opens wider than it was ever meant to, spread around two bulbous knees and the broadening muzzle of the foal. Even as he clenches his jaw and screams in his effort not to push, his contracting body urges the head even further until the true crown wedges his pussy wide around the boxy width of the creature’s head and legs.

The buyer enters the room to the sight of a hugely pregnant boy shrieking as he births the head of a foal into one of his pant legs. The buyer has the boy’s handler lift up his grotesque belly, then pulls off the disgusting, drenched sweatpants himself and releases a hushed gasp at the pretty view of a cunt straining to give birth.

He whistles lowly. “Look at that. Hanging out of him like that… you’ve got a good broodmare, here. Go on, finish foaling for us, boy.”

With nothing left but the desperation to have this horse out of his body, the boy immediately tenses up and grunts deeply. The shoulders bulge his birthing hole, and he trembles for a moment before making a tiny, garbled sound deep in his chest and shoving them out.

The amniotic sac breaks, water splashing everywhere as the foal begins to shift and twitch. The boy groans as its back hooves kick inside his belly. But he manages to lift his legs, grab at his knees, and make a primal, guttural groan as he keeps pushing. For a moment, the foal just dangles half-inside him. Then the barrel torso bursts out of him, tearing a scream of pain from his throat. His handler deftly drags the rest of the horse out, and the buyer watches in bright-eyed fascination as the haunches stretch the boy’s hole one last time before the gangly legs slip out.

The boy looks, bewildered, at what just came out of him, his gaping red pussy pouring fluids.

“I foaled,” he mumbles vacantly, and his cunt clenches like it enjoys the thought.

“Not bad,” says the buyer. He observes his new horse and hums thoughtfully. “A little on the small side, huh?” He pats the still-bulbous belly of the breeder, who whimpers. “Have him make me a Clydesdale next time.”

“Agreed,” says the handler. The breeder’s pussy flutters weakly, and he starts to cry.

“Cheer up, kid,” the buyer laughs. “You’re gonna be rich.”

———

The newly hired horse boy walks uncomfortably into the stable, holding his nauseous belly. He can still feel the bulge and slosh of semen inside, and winces at the memory of being artificially impregnated. He still can’t believe this has happened to him…

But he can’t change it, so he tries to focus on his job. They said stall 8, right? Seeing the hand-painted 8 midway down the stable, he opens that gate and steps in.

He stops in his tracks, limbs going cold at the sight of a naked horse boy on his hands and knees with a a blue and purple belly so large that it presses heavily into the straw-covered ground. He rocks in place, and lets out a low, concentrated grunt, his ears flicking back against his head.

There’s a foal coming out of him. The boy stares in horror at the inflamed ring of his pussy, displacing his hips and his asshole and his clit, making his bound-up tail arch up almost impossibly, room for nothing but giving birth.

Groaning, the boy keeps pushing, slowly birthing the head of a massive, sturdy foal. He stops every once in a while to pant, and doesn’t even scream until the hulking shoulders are splitting his pussy lips.

Suddenly he moans sharply, and it isn’t until he speaks that the watching boy realizes he didn’t expect him to be able to.

“Oh, I’m gonna foal!” he whines, hips squirming, head falling back. “I’m about to foal! I’m foaling! Augh—!” He starts to shudder, his pussy spasming, and his lips fall open.

With an arch of his spine and a full-body heave, the boy cums as he foals out the biggest newborn horse the observing boy has ever seen. It’s easily over a hundred, maybe as much as a hundred and twenty pounds. It’s almost as big as the birthing boy, himself, probably was before that belly grew on him.

Still standing in the door of the stable, the newly-bred boy stares numbly.

“That’s- that’s not what’s inside of me, is it?!” he finally squeaks.

The breeder, half-collapsed next to his foal, looks up with cloudy eyes. He smiles vacantly, glancing down to the small swell stretching his new coworker’s shirt.