the horny corner

pun, 20s, monsterfucker 4 life • 🔞

[bredpun]

imagine having a monster boyfriend with a detachable tongue that slides all the way inside of you whenever he's not around, licking around your cervix until you finally relax enough that it can slip through and coil itself up in your womb, making the cutest little bulge in your abdomen, pressing gently against your walls so you never forget it's there. every so often it slides its long slender tip out of you and licks at you until you come, gushing a mixture of your own fluids and its aphrodisiac saliva. you'd just get more and more aroused while it was inside of you no matter how many times you came, big slippery droplets of aphrodisiac sliding constantly through your cervix, keeping you loose and dripping, coating the walls of your cunt and making you useless for anything else—until your boyfriend finally comes back and takes pity on you, fucking you through it until you finally come back to yourself, loose-limbed and trembling, fucked-out and already anticipating the next time you can spend a full day stretched full and desperate for more

[bredpun]

what if: you buy a new sex toy, an egg that you can clench around all day while you work from home. when it arrives, you're a little disappointed at how small it is, but you want to try it out anyway, so you push it into your cunt. almost immediately you can feel your body pulling it deeper than you thought possible, and after a moment you feel a new, unfamiliar sensation—the feeling of it settling into your womb. but you don't panic—something about the weight, the round smoothness, feels right and soothing on a subconscious level, because you leave it in all day and go to sleep with it in.

the next morning you wake up with a bump, and after a few minutes in front of the mirror, running your hands over your swollen belly, you realize that the egg has been replicating inside of you. you can feel the shape of multiple eggs now, and after a moment you begin to feel them dropping and moving lower. you climb into the bathtub, so wet that you're dripping down your thighs, and a half-dozen eggs slip out of you, rolling around the inside of the tub until they vanish down the drain. each one brings you closer to orgasm until the last one pushes you over the edge, sliding out in a flood of fluid as you come harder than you ever have before.

you can feel the eggs multiplying inside of you all day as you try to work, and by the end of the day, your belly is swollen all over again. but this time you resist the urge to push and go to bed, so aroused that it takes you hours to fall asleep. when you wake up, your belly is so full that you can see the eggs packed inside of it, and this time when you squat in the tub you push out more than a dozen eggs, coming after every three or four, even as more are growing inside of you by the second. you wonder how big you can get—how many eggs it'll take to make your belly button pop out and your hips widen. you rub your belly, already beginning to grow convex again, feel the answering flare of pleasure deep inside of you, and look forward to finding out.

[bredpun]

imagine you're a new model of sexbot designed for parties and gatherings. like all sexbots, you have a sturdy chassis and extra-flexible joints so that people can bend you into all kinds of interesting positions. and you're a higher-end model, so you come with a few reaction genres programmed in. tonight's customers, like most people, seem to like the one where you find everything pleasurable—specifically the subsetting where you act like it's the first time you've experienced sexual stimulus of any kind, so you start out bashful and embarrassed, but before long you're begging for more.

but that's not what makes you so special. the reason this group of friends is paying so much to rent you for the night is because your synthskin is transparent, like sturdy but crystal-clear vinyl that lets them see inside you—all the way to the thick cock currently rearranging your components. as you gasp and squirm, the man yanks your hips back against his and comes deep inside of you, his seed spurting into a reservoir prominently placed just beneath the surface of your abdomen.

the liquid barely has time to settle inside of you before the next person, a woman, steps up and pushes her cock all the way inside of you in one thrust. she bends your legs up next to your ears and locks them in place, leaving you exposed and helpless to resist—not that you'd want to, given that your neural feedback sensors are telling you that this is the best you've ever felt, even as your cheeks glow pink and your programming makes you try and hold in your moans.

after she comes, adding more than a little fluid to the amount already sloshing around inside of you, a third person steps up. the cock swinging between their legs is an augment, huge and knotted at the base where it connects seamlessly to their body, and everyone still waiting in line claps and cheers. "want to see if i can void this warranty, boys?" they say, before picking you up beneath your arms and settling you onto their cock like an oversized toy.

they hold you up like you barely weigh anything and fuck into you hard and fast, like they're trying to work you open. you've taken a lot of cocks, but none quite like this one, its bulbous head as thick and blunt as a fist, pistoning inside of you like nothing you've ever felt before. even if you weren't programmed to feel overwhelmed by every brush against your skin, every inch stretching you open, you can tell you'd be overwhelmed by this sensation—but the fact that your feedback is making you clench down around every thrust certainly doesn't help.

even as they fuck you relentlessly, the person feels around at the back of your skull until they find your manual override button, the one that makes you come immediately every time it's pressed. "hope you're ready for this," they grunt, "because i'm about to rewrite your processor," and shove deep inside of you until you're pressed against their growing knot. "one," they say, thrusting, "two, three—" and on the third thrust, they slide all the way home, pressing down on the button at the same time.

blinding pleasure erupts inside of you, racing all the way down the wires that lead to your toes and sparking like a lightning storm across the gold filaments of your core. you can feel yourself glitching, your legs twitching where they're locked in place, your hands shaking and your eyes blinking in and out of focus, their apertures spinning wildly as you lose control of every function. dimly you can feel your belly filling as they pump you full of cum, the one-way valve in your artificial womb making sure it all stays deep inside of you even as your reservoir begins to stretch to accommodate the sheer volume.

you slowly come back to yourself to find everyone gathered around you. you're still stuck on the person's knotted cock—you can feel it twitching inside of you as it continues to spurt—and your belly is a perfect rounded hemisphere in front of you, ballooned so far out that you can't see the floor. "what do you think?" they say. "will the company want this one back, or do you think we've ruined it for anyone else?"

even before people start to answer, chuckling, slapping each other on the back, gathering around to poke at your taut belly and watch the cum slosh around inside, you know the answer, and you try to say something, but your voice is still rebooting, and the only noise that comes from your mouth is the crackle of static.

"smart bot," the person says, thrusting up into you a little. "we're going to keep you like this all the time. is that what you want? to be our live-in toy, fucked so stupid that you can't even moan?"

before you can answer, they press your manual override and pleasure renders you useless all over again as everyone laughs. "save some for the rest of us," someone else says, and the person grins.

"oh, don't worry," they say, "there's plenty to go around. now—who's next?"

[bredpun]

outside the wind is screaming and snow is rattling against the windows of the remote research outpost where you’ve been stationed for the winter. it’s so cold that if you went outside, your breath would crystallize in the air and settle on your skin as a light dusting of frost. but you won’t be going outside anytime soon—not until the thing that’s behind you, inside of you, has taken its fill.

it used to be your colleague—maybe some part of it still is—but the moment it stepped into your workshop, you knew something was off: its unfamiliar gait, its blank affect, the way it moved toward you with the utter, unhurried certainty of an apex predator. some part of you wanted to run, but it was between you and the door, and anyway where else would you go? it made short work of your cold-weather gear, stripping off your thick parka, unfastening your belt, and only then did you notice the strange new light in its eyes—the reflective layer newly grown over the back of its retinas, shining blue and green and all the shimmering, shifting colors of pack ice.

now it has you bent over your workbench. tendrils of that same iridescent material are creeping across your skin, seeking a way in, even as its cock twitches and throbs inside of you, far warmer than a human's should be. you only caught a glimpse before it started pushing into you, but the vein along its underside was swollen, those same tendrils writhing beneath the skin and peeking out of the tip, brief flickers of movement beneath the pearly, viscous liquid gathering there

there are tendrils snaking deep into your ears, where you can feel them wriggling deeper and deeper, far past the point where they should have encountered resistance. there are tendrils inside of your nostrils, deep in your sinuses; there are tendrils—so fine that you can't even feel them—threaded into your tear ducts, no doubt growing a layer of that same reflective material inside of your own eyes. no matter what happens next, you'll be forever changed, taken over and remade by whatever transformed your colleague. as it grinds its hips against yours, cock hilted deep inside of you, the tendrils you saw playing beneath its skin push even deeper, working their way through your cervix and further still, up toward your ovaries.

as it starts to come, every drop of seed directed straight into your womb, you can feel yourself start to change deep inside—the popping sensation of eggs releasing from your ovaries, or whatever the tendrils have mutated them into, by the dozens—and you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that new life is taking root inside of you as your belly swells and swells, growing heavy and round as you watch.

the thing that used to be your colleague makes a sound like ice floes cracking, and you think at first that it'll detach from you, tendrils sliding back beneath its skin now that its job is done, but soon you realize that—to the contrary—even more tentacles are growing between the two of you. some of them are yours, reaching out to meet it, and they slide quickly beneath its skin, pulling the two of you even closer together as its cock pulses inside of you.

only then do you realize that your true fate is to be half of a whole, part of an entwined new organism: its cock forever buried deep inside of you, your belly forever full and swollen with its brood. as you begin to lose all sense of yourself as an individual, your last thought is that you can feel its pleasure through the rapidly strengthening connections between you—a vast, roaring tide of pleasure that overwhelms your fading senses and drags you under into an endless feedback cycle of unceasing orgasm—as, together, you become something beautiful and awful and new.

[bredpun]

imagine getting fucked by an angel, a being so powerful and inhuman that your senses can only perceive it as embodied light, a constantly shifting brightness, a voice that seems to speak directly into your mind. despite that, the experience is distinctly physical; you can feel your body reacting to its presence, your legs spreading as if compelled, your cheeks flushing and your cunt dripping and clenching even though there’s nothing physically inside of you

then you gaze deeper into its perpetually unfolding celestial geometry and realize that it’s the light, sliding like velvet along your optical nerves and directly into your brain, making your body react however it wants: now you feel it at your entrance, stretching you wide; now you feel it pushing back into you; now you feel it pressing for the briefest moment at the entrance to your womb before it slides through, unbound by the laws of physics or anatomy, to fill you utterly. it changes size and shape inside of you, taking on curves and edges to press against all your most sensitive places and make you moan, then liquefying into a thick, pliable mass like hot glass so it can fill you to the very brim, testing the limits of what you can hold

by the time its rhythm becomes more insistent, you’ve already come so many times you’re barely clinging to consciousness and sanity, and when it comes inside of you, your belly begins to swell, rounding out into a smooth hemisphere. despite the fact that the only place it’s actually penetrated is your mind, you can feel how full your womb is, and by the time it’s finished coming, your belly button has popped out and you can barely see over the generous curve of your abdomen—which, you notice, is glowing gently with a luminosity from within. whatever is inside of you, it isn’t meant to ever come out; it’s meant to mark you. maybe for some higher purpose, you think, but more likely as a sign to other angels: that you’re an eager, willing vessel who craves nothing more than having your mind and womb fucked and filled—for all eternity

[bredpun]

imagine having a womb full of lighter-than-air eggs with firm but flexible membranes. no matter how big your belly got it would always stay perfectly round, never getting heavy, eggs never settling into your hips. you’d go everywhere with a spring in your step, buoyed up by your cargo, belly slipping out from under your shirts and making any dresses you might try to wear ride up in the front. which is helpful, in fact, because your lighter-than-air pregnancy is one you can’t ignore, your belly always bobbing in front of you, your womb always stretched by the floating clutch inside of you, and all you want is to get pumped full of cum to swell your belly even farther. but no matter how full you get, even when your belly button pops out and your abdomen swells into a perfect hemisphere, swollen with cum-bathed eggs and getting bigger by the day, you never feel a single labor pang. unaffected as it is by gravity, it seems the clutch inside of you will remain there until you push it out of your own free will. but you’re having so much fun—why would you ever do that when instead you could stay permanently full, womb forever laden, belly perpetually swollen, bred and on display for all to see?

[bredpun]

let’s say you’re in an antiques shop—not really looking for anything, just browsing. it’s a cool space, packed from top to bottom with vintage furniture, and you take your time looking around until you step into a back room, barely bigger than a closet, and see the pool table. it’s in beautiful condition, its felt velvety and soft and its legs carved from some wood you don’t recognize but know must be expensive from the way it’s glossy and smooth and almost seems to be glowing from within. as you run a hand over its surface, you can practically feel it purring with happiness at being touched for the first time in who knows how long—and then you realize that it is thrumming under your palm

before you can react, you feel bands of that same smooth wood—apparently living—tighten around your ankles, and matching ones close around your wrists as the table bucks and twists beneath you until you’re pinioned on your back atop its soft felt, clothes strewn around the room, legs spread and knees pushed up to your chest, arms held above your head in its iron grip. you don’t have to wonder what’s going to happen next: another of those appendages nudges between your legs. you’re so wet already that its smooth, blunt tip slides into you easily

as it fucks you, slowly and thoroughly, you realize that you must be in the grip of a mimic of some kind. you wonder what it has in store for you—is it just seeking pleasure after waiting for so long, untouched and gathering dust, in this back room? or does it want something more? the appendage inside of you quickly drives any such questions from your mind as its unyielding length presses against all your most sensitive spots, making your knees shake and your cunt gush as you come for the first time—but not the last. it brings you to orgasm again and again until you’re a quivering, mewling mess, and then it sinks that appendage as deep inside of you as it can and pulls your legs even farther apart, spreading you wide as a bulge travels up its length and begins to press into you

eggs, you realize. it’s laying eggs: the first one slips into you with a distinct pop, and its size and weight are familiar. it feels exactly like a pool ball, smooth and spherical and heavy enough that when it’s joined by a second egg, they clack against each other inside of you. distracted by the feeling of another one slipping more easily through your stretched entrance, you can’t remember how many balls are in a set, but you know it’s more than a dozen—how many can you possibly take?

somewhere between the eighth and ninth, you lose count, but by the time the mimic releases you, the bonds around your ankles and wrists sliding back to wherever they first appeared from, your belly is swollen and lumpy, your womb full and heavy inside of you. when you move, you can feel the clutch moving as well, eggs knocking and jostling against each other. you do your best to put your clothes back in order, but there’s no hiding how round your belly is. the shopkeeper gives you a knowing look when you inquire about the pool table’s price—but if you’re being honest with yourself, it gives you a thrill to think that other people might know exactly why your belly is so swollen and what’s growing inside of you. and besides, as long as you get to spend time with that table as often as you want, who cares? as full as your womb is already, you have a sneaking feeling that you can take even more—and you can’t wait to find out

[bredpun]

you’re the queen’s favorite member of her retinue not just because you’re her type, physically speaking—although that’s also true—but because you share her taste for more… unconventional pleasures. so it’s no surprise when you arrive at her chambers one day, in response to her summons, to find the royal magician waiting with her. they've assisted the two of you with all kinds of exploits in the past, altering your bodies and granting the queen temporary powers to increase her pleasure, and thus yours, and this time is no exception. they tell you to stand still, assume a phantasmal aspect—their form grows dimmer, and light begins to shine through them—and reach into your abdomen. it's a strange sensation, though not an unpleasant one, and after a moment they withdraw their hand, nod to the queen, and leave, work apparently complete. she snaps her fingers, and you assume your customary position: on the bed on your elbows and knees, presenting yourself to be used as she pleases.

at first, you don't notice anything different when her cock slides into you—it's the perfect size and shape, curved at just the right angle, to make you sob with pleasure—and then you realize that she's pushed deeper inside of you than ever before, with no resistance. "that's right," she says, "your womb is mine to use as i see fit." and as if that on its own wasn't enough to make you mewl with pleasure, her grip tightens on your hips and you feel something tighten inside of you in response until you can feel every thrust, every time the head of her cock pops into and out of your womb—and then her grip loosens and you do, too, and you realize that she can control the tightness of your cervix with just a thought: making it clench until every thrust feels like it's splitting you open, relaxing it so thoroughly that you can hardly feel a thing. she does this over and over again until you come, and then begins to fuck you in earnest, tightening your cervix until you can feel it clutching at her cock every time she thrusts in, every twitch, every tiny increase in girth and hardness as she gets closer to losing herself in pleasure. when she finally comes, she pushes so far into you that you feel the head of her cock pressing against the back of your womb, and that thought makes you come again, arms giving out under you so that you gasp your pleasure into the sheets.

"all right," she says. "get up and make yourself presentable. i want you at the banquet early."

when you stand, you expect to feel her seed dripping down your legs, but nothing comes, and you realize that she's tightened your cervix so much that nothing can escape. as you return to your own chambers, wash, dress over the slight swell of your full belly, and make your way to the banquet hall, you keep expecting to feel a sticky trickle of cum, but nothing happens until the banquet is well underway, with you seated at the queen's right hand and hundreds of subjects gazing at you from the greater part of the hall. then you feel a slight loosening, the relaxation of a tightness you'd almost grown used to, and the tiniest trickle of wetness inside of you. when you look at the queen, there's the tiniest trace of a smile on her face. "something wrong?" she says. "contain yourself, why don't you?"

you try, but of course you can't; she has total control over your womb and whether it holds in the generous helping of cum she left inside you earlier or whether it loosens, letting it gush out all over you in front of everybody. for the rest of the meal, you can feel it trickling out a drop at a time—sometimes faster, sometimes slower, depending on the queen's whims—until finally, when almost all the guests are gone, you feel your cervix loosen entirely. cum floods out of you, soaking your chair, dripping onto the floor, and a few guests look up at the wet sound of it. "what are you waiting for?" the queen shouts. "haven't you got somewhere to be?"

not waiting for an answer, she hauls you up by the collar and bends you over the table. "my, my," she says. "it looks like you've wasted my generous gift from earlier. i'll just have to give you another—and make sure it takes this time." as she slides into you, her thrusts made easier by the lingering wetness and the last traces of her cum, you think about how often the queen has caressed your belly after sex, a speculative look in her eye, and realize she means it—and that you don't mind. after all, your womb is hers to use as she sees fit, and perhaps labor will be easier with her there to loosen your womb and ease your pangs—or perhaps she'll do the opposite, tightening your cervix and closing your womb as surely as with a drawstring, leaving you to struggle and sweat until she's had her fill and relinquishes control once more. either way, you serve at the queen's pleasure—and what better way to do that than as her vessel, to be filled and fucked as she pleases?

[bredpun]

let's say a dragon chooses you not to be their mate but for an even more special purpose: to be their hoard. every time they find a particularly beautiful gem, an especially shiny golden coin, they use their long tongue to work you open, and then with one enormous claw they delicately slide their treasure into you until it bumps up against the entrance to your womb, and then, with the aid of a whispered spell to soften and relax your cervix, they push it into your womb with the rest of their most cherished objects. of course, your belly soon grows swollen and heavy with plunder—stolen spells frozen in crystal balls, cabochons and fine cameos, wyvern eggs and mermaid's purses, gold bullion and fine silverwork. but a dragon's attention is notoriously fickle, and just as often as they find a new treasure to store inside of you, they ask you to spread your legs and push out the contents of your womb so they can inspect and polish and preen over their incomparable hoard before gently, carefully, one piece at a time, pushing it all right back into you, making your belly just as heavy and swollen as it was before—perhaps with the addition of a few new objects, but none quite as cherished and valuable as you, the dragon's swollen-bellied, brimful treasure chest

[bredpun]

imagine being a living lantern. maybe that means having your womb pumped full of reagents every week that react inside of you to produce a glow so bright it shines through your skin; at the end of every week, you're emptied out—that's the worst part, but it only lasts for a few seconds—and then pumped full of fresh reagents that will make your swollen belly shine all over again. or maybe it means having a womb full of glowworm eggs that shine even before they hatch, an irregular light that clearly outlines each and every egg inside of you, and when the glowworms hatch they squirm out of you one at a time, still glowing, leaving your womb faintly luminescent with the last traces of their incubation. or maybe it means having a round, smooth crystal sphere inside of you that draws energy from your body's warmth to exude its own light, pushing your belly into a perfect round dome. or what about a spell that makes your womb itself glow? imagine how clear the shape of your womb would be through your skin, and imagine how anything that ended up inside of it would cast its own shadow: the blunt head and squirming tail of a minotaur's huge sperm, for example, or the slosh and splatter of werewolf seed, locked inside of you by its knot, or the enormous oblong of a dragon's egg, stretching your womb—and thus the light it casts—to its very limits

[bredpun]

imagine you're a researcher on a distant space station working on a prototype life-support suit of your own design. it has to be viable for different species, not just humans, so it has a variety of possible limb configurations and biological support options, and most life-support systems don't take reproductive health into account, a deficiency you're aiming to solve. for the last year, you've been on the space station to test the suit in zero gravity and troubleshoot any issues that might come up, and you think it's almost ready to go—the only step left is to do a field test.

of course, you'd never ask someone else to test such an experimental prototype, so when the day comes, you start the cameras in your lab, strip off, stand in the assembly booth, and activate the machinery that will build the suit around you. first come the boots, which are jointed to move with you; then comes the pelvis, which has two parts—front and back—that the machinery locks you into; then the torso, arms and helmet, which can retract to reveal your face or slide down a visor with a display. you leave it open—after all, sometimes the best evidence is what you gather with your own eyes—and, once the suit is locked onto you, begin running test protocols.

the first is a feeding protocol. there are a few options—one is an esophageal tube, which deploys and retracts without any issues; another is intravenous, which you've tested before, so you skip it; the third is via a well-lubricated probe that vibrates gently against your ass until you relax enough that it can slide into you and begin pumping a nutrient-rich waste-free slurry directly into your guts, where it begins to absorb almost immediately. you know you should shut down that system once you've tested it, but you find yourself enjoying the sensation of being slowly filled, so you leave it on—after all, it's automated, so it'll shut off once the suit judges you to be adequately nourished.

the nervous hookup, cardiac and circulatory systems seem to be recording data well; temperature regulation is running smoothly; all that's left to test is the reproductive function. this is the most experimental part of the suit, as it turns out; rather than a crude probe or other appendage, the suit uses an experimental smart matter that can set or liquefy at a moment's notice. you can feel the pump hum to life, then the suit seals a wide-mouthed nozzle between your legs and begins to fill you with the matter. it fills you to the brim and then a little past it; you feel momentary discomfort that soon passes as you get used to the stretch, and then the matter begins to slide into your womb, coating your insides, its level rising until it reaches your ovaries—and then the suit pumps most of it back out of you again, leaving only a thin coating that covers your inner walls and holds you as open as if you were still full.

then the display glitches a little. confused but not concerned, you check through the settings and realize you've left one setting on test protocols—it takes you a moment to remember the species name, and just as you do, you feel a round mass settling into your womb, then another, then another. it's the setting for an egg-laying species, one that produces dozens of unfertilized eggs and lays them on a weekly basis, and that's what you've told the suit to do to your body—to fill you up like a brooder. before you can change the setting, the probe in your ass starts to pump again, and several more eggs settle into your womb, jostling against each other.

the pressure grows and grows, and you realize you can feel it against your bladder—but the suit senses it, and extrudes a tiny nozzle that fills your urethra with a slippery, cooling substance before extending a slender, flexible probe all the way into your bladder. the pressure releases immediately, leaving you free to focus on the way the suit is reforming around your stomach to accommodate its growing girth; after a few moments, it folds back entirely, exposing your round, swollen belly. and more eggs are still settling into your womb, created by the suit using your own ova, swollen and mutated to fill your belly with round, smooth spheres.

you should shut the test down, probably, but it feels so good to be so full. after all, the suit will make sure you're safe and happy—that's the entire reason you built it. and if being safe and happy means having a belly full of eggs, then what's the harm? after all, you're out here to test the bounds of science and the human body, and if that means seeing how many eggs your belly can hold and what it feels like to push them out each week, well, you'll happily spend another few years—enough time to incubate and lay dozens and dozens of clutches—finding out.

[bredpun]

you've just resigned yourself to another boring summer at your family's house in the suburbs when you notice the moving van—at first, you think it's just another boring human family, but then one day you notice a tall, horned man standing on the porch of the house next door and you realize that the new neighbors are orcs. of course, you go over to introduce yourself a few days later—you're not a huge fan of way people in the suburbs always expect to be best friends with their neighbors, but you're genuinely excited to see some new faces, and if you're being honest with yourself, you've noticed that they're particularly attractive faces. what better way to spend the summer than by getting to know the hot new neighbors?

they're excited to meet you too, it turns out—not least because they've been looking for a new babysitter. of course you say you're interested; it's not like you have anything else to do, after all. you ask when they need you to start, and they give each other a look and ask if you're free the next night.

you spend the next day finding your most babysitting-appropriate clothes—nothing too sexy, but nothing too boring, either; you want to be fun—and you go over that evening. the husband asks if you wouldn't mind waiting downstairs for a few minutes, and while you're standing in the living room taking in their art—they have beautiful taste, and the room is already mostly finished, even though they only moved in a week ago—the wife comes in and stands behind you, resting her hands lightly on your hips. you'd be lying if you said you weren't hoping something like this might happen, and you press back into her immediately, feeling her cock as it stiffens against your back. she wastes no time undressing you, and by the time the husband comes back downstairs, only a towel around his waist, she's got you bent over the back of the sofa, her cock deep inside of you, hands on your shoulders so she can jerk you back onto her cock even harder.

the husband laughs and says he should have known better than to leave her alone in the house with a hot young thing like yourself, then drops his towel, revealing his own cock, already hard, fluid pearling at the tip. of course it's only natural for you to offer him your mouth, relaxing as much as you can so he can bury his cock in your throat on the very first thrust. you can feel fluid dripping down your throat, and it only makes you moan, which makes him thrust harder, pushing you back onto his wife's cock and making her rhythm stutter. though she's been fucking you for some time already, she holds out for another ten minutes before she shoves into you and comes directly against your cervix, only encountering a moment of resistance before her cum spurts through, carrying her eggs like tiny, smooth pearls directly into your womb, a sensation that makes your eyes roll back as you come too.

it's her husband's turn next. rather than fucking you over the back of the couch, he scoops you up with one arm under your knees and lowers you directly onto his cock, thrusting as he holds you up as if you weigh nothing at all. his cock is thicker, but not quite as long, and it reams you open with blunt efficiency, making you moan and twitch with the aftershocks of your first orgasm as he fucks you steadily and relentlessly. mind blurry with pleasure, you lose track of time, but it's probably only a few minutes before the wife steps up next to you, a sly look on her face, and slips her finger into his mouth. he sucks on it for a few moments before she withdraws it, and you only have a moment to wonder what she's going to do before you feel her fingertip pressing against your ass, making you reflexively clench—her husband groans at the sudden tightness—before you make yourself relax enough for her to slip it in.

the sensation is almost too much for you to bear, and your vision goes white for a moment before you come back to yourself. you feel fuller than you've ever been, between the thick stretch of her finger in your ass and her husband's cock inside of you, rubbing so closely against each other through you; her husband clearly feels the same, because he only manages a few more stuttering thrusts before he shoves up into you, gravity pulling you down until his thick cock is fully seated, stretching you wide, making you come harder than you ever have before before he comes in huge gouts that shoot directly into your womb.

by the time he's done, your belly is slightly swollen and warm with the cum inside of it. when he sets you down, your knees buckle, and the wife chuckles as she catches you and helps you to the sofa, your belly sloshing slightly as you sit down. you laugh, pulling yourself back together a little, and tell them that much as you'd like to be helpful, you think you might be too tired for babysitting after all.

they look at each other and laugh as well before they tell you that, actually, they don't have kids yet, but they're expecting some soon—and the husband rests his palm protectively on your swollen belly. more than one, probably—maybe even triplets, since they run in his family. how about triplets, they ask you—would you be interested in triplets?

you stroke your belly, only slightly swollen as it is, and think about how big it would be with orc triplets growing inside—how round and heavy, how they'd settle into your hips and make your belly button pop out and make you waddle when you walked, how everyone in the neighborhood would know how you got so knocked up, who did it, what kind of slut you must have been to get so heavy with an orc couple's children—and smile. of course you'd be interested in triplets, you tell them; what about another round or three, just to make sure?

as they look at each other and smile, cocks still wet from being inside of you and already hardening again, the husband says that he's always wanted a big family anyway—maybe a dozen kids. the wife laughs and says, why stop at one dozen? and as she folds your legs back over your head and slides into you, the head of her cock bumping against your cervix on the very first thrust, you think that you've never been so happy to be wrong: it won't be a boring summer after all. in fact, it won't just be an exciting summer, but an exciting few years at minimum—and maybe, if you're lucky, an exciting rest of your life.

[bredpun]

imagine you're a garden dryad, and every year you grow a new kind of crop inside of yourself. some years the fruit that grows inside of you is the kind that takes the entire season to ripen, a heavy squash or melon that starts as a tiny, firm bump in your belly and swells into a huge, heavy oblong that swells your abdomen into a smooth, round dome, resting low in your hips and making you waddle when you walk. and some years it's small but plentiful: cherries that slide against each other's smooth skins inside of you; grapes that grow in irregular bunches, pushing your belly into asymmetrical bulges; small thin-skinned plums that mean no matter how carefully you carry yourself, some always split inside of you, leaving your belly sloshy and full of sticky juice that helps cushion the rest. peaches whose rough-furred skin drags against your insides; cucumbers that are easy to birth, but which make it impossible to find a position where you aren't constantly aware of their blunt ends pressing against your womb; thick-skinned citrus, big round pomelos and grapefruits whose rinds rub against you deliciously on the way out; and of course, at the very end of the season, apples: heavy, smooth-skinned, and the perfect way to wrap up the year—with your belly full and swollen with ripe, firm fruit, ready for the harvest

[bredpun]

you've been chosen as your village's offering for the winter and suspended from a carefully tied webbing of ropes, decorated with baubles and ribbons, tied to the thickest branch of the ancient oak that marks the village's furthest outskirts. there's a chilly breeze, but even though you're naked, you can hardly feel it—you're too distracted by the unfamiliar weight of your stomach, hanging down below you, and the faint chiming that comes from it every time the wind makes you swing. the village witch explained that this was part of the ritual, the balms and salves she used to work you open and then anoint the deepest part of yourself—and then the slender, smooth glass instruments she used to slowly dilate you until the entrance to your womb was as loose and relaxed as a second cunt.

then she started to fill you with silver bells, each a smooth sphere with a clapper hidden inside that chimed as it slid into your womb and bumped against the bells already there. the more bells, the better the offering, she said, and by the time she was done, nodding with approval at the heavy, jingling swell of your belly, she told you that you might be the village's finest offering yet.

so now you hang, watching the spirit of winter—an entity with tightly curled ram's horns and split hooves—come toward you, its cock swinging free between its legs and already starting to stiffen and fill, listening to the faint music emanating inside of you. when it reaches you, the spirit squeezes your belly gently, muffling its chimes—although you can still feel the thrumming vibrations they send through you, making you whimper and twitch. you seem to meet its satisfaction; after weighing you in its enormous palm for a moment, it steps up behind you and starts to work its cock into you.

even with all the balms and salves, it's a tight fit; its cock has a flared head that, when it finally pops into you, makes you gasp with the bluntness of the sensation, and then, when it's halfway in, you feel a ridge pressing against your entrance before it finally slips through, rubbing and tugging inside of you. your belly jingles with every thrust, the bells chiming so clearly that you wonder if they're audible back in the village—if everyone knows what's happening to make that music, the sound of your sacred coupling. bound and suspended as you are, you're helpless to thrust back or seek any pleasure of your own. the spirit fucks you, taking what it wants and needs, and you hang there and take it, eyes rolling back in your head, limbs twitching against their bonds, hoping that the sheer sensation of its size and heft, combined with the ever-present jingling and thrumming of the bells, will be enough to make you come.

finally, as the spirit's thrusts speed up and become more irregular, you feel pleasure building deep in your belly, your hips, your full, heavy womb, and as it shoves its cock deep into you one last time, you come so hard that your entire body goes rigid. you clench reflexively, and you can feel every twitch of its cock as it spurts inside of you, every hot splash of cum, until the totality of your pleasure is too much for you and your vision goes white.

when you come back to yourself, the spirit has rearranged and retied the ropes so that you're bound to its front, its cock still hard and deep inside of you as it carries you toward the woods. your belly is still chiming with every step, although the sound is more muffled now; you look down and realize that's because it's plugged you full of its cum. your belly is, impossibly, even fuller, your belly button popped out—a sign of things yet to come, you think, because there's no way you aren't pregnant, with that much seed inside of you and more spurting into your womb with every step. if this is how full you are now, imagine how round you'll be once its young are fully grown, jostling inside of your swollen, chiming belly, playing with the bells that, you realize, will be their first toys—a suitable offering indeed.

[bredpun]

searching for dry twigs and brush to use as kindling, you've wandered far from your campsite when the creature finds you. afterward you realize that it must have picked up your scent long before you knew it was following you, because when it breaks cover, ambling out of the undergrowth, it shows no sign of fear or hurry—almost as if it already knows that you won't run or fight when it presses you down into the leaves and closes its jaw carefully around the nape of your neck, its razor-sharp teeth barely pricking your skin. if that's the case, then it can almost certainly smell your arousal, immediate and overwhelming, and perhaps that's why it wastes no time removing your clothes—just uses its claws to tear them at the seams and slides its cock into you. tapering to a slim tip, it's thick enough at the base that you can feel yourself stretching wider than you ever have before.

it fucks you thoroughly and relentlessly, for hours, until you can take its entire cock without any resistance; the slender head has long since breached your womb, and you can feel it sliding deeper inside of you than anything has ever been every time the creature thrusts in. you come a dozen times, easily, stifling your moans and whimpers to avoid drawing attention—the last thing you want is for someone to intervene, after all—or spooking the creature, and when it finally comes it does so with its cock pushed as far into you as it can go. impossibly, you feel it widen even further at the base as something smooth and warm slides into you, a heavy oblong that settles easily into your womb and stays there when the creature withdraws its cock. it snuffles between your legs for a moment or two and then disappears back into the brush, vanishing as quickly as it appeared and leaving you to hobble, pleasantly sore, your belly a smooth rounded swell, back to your campsite.

at first you think it's an egg, of course, so heavy and solid inside of you. but later that night, as you sit near your crackling campfire, you realize that your belly is rounder—but less firm—than it was just a few hours ago. rubbing gingerly at your stomach, you realize that you can feel movement, faint but present, inside of it. but it's been a long day and there's nothing you can do about it now, so you crawl into your tent, slide into your sleeping bag, and let unconsciousness claim you.

in the morning, your belly is even bigger, of course, and distinctly sloshy; when you rest your hand on it, you can feel the bump and jostle of distinct forms—round-headed, wriggling—and that's when you realize that it wasn't an egg but rather a solid mass of sperm cells, the sticky substance holding them still and together now dissolved inside your body's wetness and warmth, releasing them to seek your egg. and in the meantime, you also realize, they're still growing. you pull out your phone and check your calendar: you're due to ovulate in two days. you caress your stomach, already so round and full, and shiver in anticipation: based on how fast they're growing, who knows how big the sperm inside of you will have gotten by then? and who knows what kind of young they'll quicken inside of you—and how many?

[bredpun]

what about plant pregnancies—so distinctly alive yet unlike anything you might have expected to feel growing inside of you. a round heavy belly full of moss balls, for example, plush and firm, packed tightly enough that you can feel them rubbing against each other when you move. or a firm mass of lianas, slowly growing and squirming, ropy and thick enough that you can feel their bumpy surfaces when you press a hand against your abdomen. a creeping plant, maybe, with slender tendrils that wriggle against every inch of your insides, creeping their way toward your ovaries to take root and seed more of themselves. or a succulent that makes your belly slosh with the water it absorbs as it grows and swells. or maybe you're just a carrier, your belly packed full of smooth, hard seeds, and every so often, when you encounter fertile soil, an impulse compels you to push one out so it can put down temporary roots there and wait for the next unwary human who passes—and start the cycle anew

[bredpun]

imagine it's the age of sail: you're in a shipwreck, and the last thing you see are tentacles rising all the way up to the sky, it seems, huge shadowy forms against the towering storm, and then there's a huge cracking noise and everything goes black.

you wake up in a cavern, a little scraped but otherwise none the worse for wear, and when you haul yourself to your feet and step outside you realize you're on a tiny island, barely more than a crag of rock, with nothing but ocean on all sides. when those tentacles rise from the sea again, you're helpless to do anything but stare, especially when they descend toward you and an enormous eye rises from the waves and fixes you with its stare. it's a kraken, you realize, a creature you thought until now was a myth, its enormous form largely hidden beneath the sea—and its tentacles are pulling at what remains of your sodden, torn clothes.

at first you're taken aback, a little flustered by its impropriety, but you can't deny there's something alluring about the strange beast and the iridescent sheen of its skin. besides, you want to see what it's going to do, so you let it undress you. only then do you notice the strange appendage rising from the water nearest you, a long thin tendril with what appears to be a single sucker at the tip. it slides between your legs, twitching delicately at your skin; the unfamiliar sensation makes you giggle, and you sit down and open your legs to give it better access. after a little exploring, it pushes up against the entrance to your cunt, and clearly decides that's what it's been looking for—but you've never been touched there before, and you tense up almost immediately. it withdraws and goes back to rubbing and stroking elsewhere between your legs, making you squirm and blush, and after a while it tries again. this time you're relaxed enough that it slips in easily, working its way into you slowly and carefully, apparently taking great delight in making you shiver and moan.

finally, once it's worked you open enough to slide all the way in, you feel a strange sensation—the sucker at its tip has latched onto something inside of you, and after a moment you realize that it must be the entrance to your womb. you feel a series of pricks and then a sudden rush of warmth—there must be a ring of stingers at its tip, or perhaps tiny barbs—and then you feel the tendril swell several times in quick succession, followed by a sudden unexpected pressure in that same unfamiliar place. for a moment you don't understand what you're feeling, and then you realize, just as the pressure releases with a burst of pleasure and something round and smooth settles into your womb: it's an egg. the kraken is laying its eggs inside of you.

by the time it's finished, you've had not only your first orgasm but several more, and your belly is swollen and round, only slightly lumpy from the dozens and dozens of eggs the kraken has deposited in your womb. what a turn of events, you think: not only are you alive, but you've had so many other firsts in the past few hours alone. and judging the way the kraken is eyeing you, and the series of other intriguingly shaped tentacles rising from the water, you aren't done yet—after all, it went to all the trouble of saving you; what's the point if it can't have a little fun now?

after a few months of carrying the kraken's brood, your belly has swollen even further and you've started to undergo a number of additional changes. webbing has grown between your fingers and toes, making it easy for you to slip into the water and join your mate; a series of parallel slits—gills—have opened on either side of your neck, making it possible for you to spend long hours underwater as the kraken introduces you to pleasures you've never imagined. someday the eggs growing within you will be ready to be laid, but not for a while yet, if your guess is anything to go by: after all, the kraken is a leviathan with a lifespan measured in millennia, not years, so it stands to reason that its young should likewise take their time developing. and with all the new changes in your body—with more, no doubt, yet to come—you hope that you'll have a lifespan to match, if for no other reason than to spend all that time as the kraken's mate. after all, what could be better than this: an eternity of carrying its eggs and letting it shape your body to its liking, filling and fucking you every day as it pleases, taking its pleasure from you and providing plenty in return—and making sure that you're never alone or empty again.