Imagine growing infatuated with a tboy at your favorite cafe. You’ve heard it’s a faux pas to ask for a person’s number while they’re at work, so you wait until he clocks out for the night—and you rape him. Between the ski mask and your restraint in not making a sound, even when you were inside him, he never suspects that his rapist is the personable regular who likes to stop for a little chat a few times a week. So, you get to watch up close when he starts resting his hand on his belly, accentuating the ever-so-slight curve beneath his uniform. You note between one day and the next how he starts to properly waddle, your baby spreading his hips apart.
You make a point of coming by as often as you’re able, until finally he’s so round that his uniform doesn’t fit, a rubber band keeping his pants on and the stretch-marked flesh of his belly hanging past the hem of his shirt. You spend several hours pretending to work as you hungrily watch him struggle behind the counter, the burden you left in his womb rendering him unable to reach cabinets or lean over sinks, and making him an obstacle to everyone else working. When you spot him pausing to wince and grip his belly more than once, you know it’s time.
The cafe staff have started leaving in pairs to prevent anything from happening again. But that’s not a problem for you. You’re already waiting at his house when he gets home. You overwhelm him easily. Still disguised, you ignore his begging to know what’s going on as you start to tie him up. You practiced these knots on a mannequin over and over, so even with his struggling, you tie the harness on him flawlessly. It criss-crosses around his contracting belly and his engorged tits, which you take your time appreciating, but what’s really important are the ropes crossed over his puffy cunt.
Soon, he ceases struggling as labor demands all of his energy. He keeps appealing to you, excessive babbling pleas at first, then hoarse sobs between pushes. Then, the beautiful moment you’ve been waiting for. Either he doesn’t remember the harness or thinks he can circumvent it, because he grunts lowly and keeps pushing. You watch, mesmerized, as the ropes strain around his bulging cunt lips, and the head of the baby crowns. For a second, you think you left too much give and he’ll be able to get it out. But as soon as he stops to gasp for breath, the ropes shove the head back into him. He thrashes his head and wails in agony.
It’s all you ever dreamed of.
He screams with increasing horror that he needs to give birth, he needs the baby out, and you just nod. He’ll get to push it out when you’re done with him. Not that you would ever be done with him if you could help it, but you will have to leave for work, eventually. Still, that’s Monday. Now, you’re spending an unforgettable Friday night watching a boy try and fail to scream out your rape baby. His belly seizing, his face nearly purple with the strain, his cunt bulging so beautifully around the head… Fuck, it’s going to be a good weekend.
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