Imagine You Meet a Stranger on the Train...
Mpreg submissive prostitute boy fucking a stranger on a train and gets pregnant + Could we get some more mpreg tentacle fantasies please?
You’re on your way home from your most recent customer’s place—well, more like his shabby apartment—and the money stuffed into your back pocket feels heavy as you step onto the subway. It always feels as if everyone knows, everyone is staring, everyone is judging. You’re sure that they all think your pants are too tight, you suspect that your skin is permanently marked with the undeniable scent of sex, and you figure your hair is always that tousled after-sex hair even after you’ve showered, scrubbing your skin raw to erase all traces of your latest customer.  You’re disgusted with yourself, but… it pays well.
On the train, you pick an empty car. It’s late enough at night that there’s basically no one else aboard, so you curl up in a corner, knees pulled up to your chest, and you rest your head against the window, watching your breath fog up the glass as the subway zooms through the dark tunnel.
A man boards at the next stop and, rather than sit somewhere far away, like any normal human being might, he sits right next to you.
Eyeing him suspiciously, you scooch just a bit closer to the window, worried this guy is some creep… Even a prostitute doesn’t like getting felt up on the train.
When you feel a touch on your ankle, you nearly jump, startled as something slithers around, and you look down to see something dark and slimy firmly fixed around your ankle… coming from the stranger’s pant leg. Before you can yell, before you can scream, another one slips out of one of his long sleeves to silence you, wrapping around your throat and pressing itself against your closed lips in the blink of an eye.
“It is my understanding that you do this every night,” says the man as he finally turns to look at you. His eyes are black as night, his skin has just the slightest tint of green, and his teeth are sharp—leaving no doubt in your mind that he is not of this world, that he is dangerous, and that something here is very, verywrong. “Please allow me to conduct my experiment and you will receive monetary compensation.”
You struggle to breathe, your hands tugging at the long appendage around your throat as you try to squirm away, and when you gasp desperately for breath the slimy thing plunges down your throat. You try to yell, but it only comes out as a garbled, strangled sound around him and soon even your arms are held back as you are suddenly lifted in the air by five, no, seven, no… there are least ten of the long, slimy tentacles coming for you now. Around each arm and leg and down your throat and slithering up your clothes, they explore and constrict and leave a slimy trail all over your skin where they touch.
“Relax,” commands the stranger as he discards his coat to allow his tentacles more freedom. They surge forward eagerly to grope and rub and you are helpless to stop them, even too helpless to call for aid. The next stop is in a few minutes, though, so you figure your best chance at being saved is to endure until then. Just a few minutes and someone on the platform would see, you’re sure.
You feel a distinct tug on your clothes and then, with a loud sound, they are torn to shreds in an instant, leaving you bare, covered in swarming tentacles that poke and prod at every inch of you. The one in your throat pushes deeper and you can feel it reaching down your chest, winding as it reaches down to even your stomach, while another suddenly pushes into your already stretched, lubed, and puckered ass, surging into you without mercy, and you can only thank god that it’s slimy enough not to hurt too horribly.
Soon it’s thrusting into you and you can feel the end of its long tentacles meeting, dancing, and wriggling inside of your stomach until you think you might be sick. Two more tentacles latch onto your nipples and you can feel something being injected, making your chest feel hot, full, and overly sensitive in a way you can’t begin to describe.
The next station comes and goes without notice.  You might just be the only ones on the subway at this time of night—and you’re sure that that was exactlywhat this alien creep was aiming for.
His pushes another into your mouth and adds two more tentacles to your ass, stretching you to impossible limits as you squirm and wiggle uselessly in his writhing net. The thrusts only speed up in response, as if he’s trying to get off as quickly as possible—and then, as he throws his head back in a soundless orgasm, you see bumps in the tentacles… coming right toward you.
They push past your lips and nearly choke you as the hard knots are pushed down your throat and still more are shoved up into your ass, one after another, and every hard lump is deposited into your stomach.
It goes on for what feels like an hour. Your body simply twitches, so tired and pained and full that you can barely move as your stomach is stuffed to the very brim with what you can only assume are something like eggs. There must be hundreds; you lost count after about seventy-five. You swear you should have run out of space inside long ago, but more eggs come down the line and your body somehow finds the space to accommodate.
When he’s finally done pushing every last egg inside of you, your belly so stuffed that you wonder if you might explode, he withdraws.  His tentacles pull out of you with a wet sound and you are lowered to the floor far more gently than before.
“What’ve you done to me?!” you demand when the tentacles are gone from your throat as you sit on the cold floor of the rattling subway car, unable to even reach the your bellybutton in front of you for how massive you’ve become in such a short while.
“You’ll soon find out,” he replies with a smile that sends chills down your spine.
Or maybe that’s just the first contraction.
Pain shoots through you and you feel your belly shift, a rush of fluid bursts from your ass, and you throw your head back in agony as the mass of eggs moves south. “Fuck!” you curse as your eyes screw shut in pain, your hands pressing at the top of your large belly, feeling hundreds of hard bumps under your fingers. “Get them out!”
But he makes no move to help or to ease your pain or to explain what’s happening. He only sits in his seat and smiles as eggs that are bigger than you recall them being a moment ago begin to press against your opening.
You spread your legs, unable to believe what’s actually happening to you as you prepare to give birth—a human man giving birth!—and there’s no time to waste. You want these things out of you as quickly as possible and so you grit your teeth and bear down, pushing with all of your might. It’s slow going, but after a few minutes, you get the first egg into position and, finally, it slips free.
One down and about nine hundred and ninety-nine left…
Once the first one is out, the rest are easier, at least, for a while. You can push out five in a minute if you push your hardest. Your chest aches and begins to leak with a white fluid you can’t identify, but you ignore it, focusing on the birth.
Another three hundred or so eggs come out when you realize… you haven’t changed in size all that much. You’ve been birthing for what feels like hours, hundreds of eggs piled between your legs, and yet your stomach feels and looks no smaller. On top of that, the births seem to be getting more difficult. Maybe it’s just because you’re tired, but each egg feels just a bit bigger than the last.
Sensing your distress, the alien notes with pride, “My brood can grow quite quickly, you know. If you don’t birth them all fast enough, they’ll hatch—inside you.”
Panic rising immediately in response, you gather all of your strength and push like your life depends on it.  For all you know, it just might! You grasp onto a metal handrail and cry out, screaming as you force out as many eggs as you can, desperate to get them all out even if you ruin your body in the process. If your ass is never tight again, that’d be better than giving birth to anything larger than those eggs already are.
Despite your best efforts, however, a handful of now-enormous eggs remain when the time you feel a distinct shift, like a crack, and you feel movement where there was none before.
You push and cry out as you force the next egg through, but the ones behind, the few remaining, have all begun to crack. Little tentacles wiggle around inside of you, the brood growing in size with every passing moment, and the next time you feel pressure at your opening, it’s a head.
The first three slip out of you after a good deal of pushing—thankfully, they’re a bit smaller than the eggs they’d hatched from for now—but the last two are stuck, the first at the shoulders and the second still high up in your stomach.
Without the mass of before, you can now reach between your legs and so you firmly seize the child and pull it safely out as quickly as you can, letting it rest on the floor beside its siblings, but the last proves to be another problem. It’s not even in position, as if it doesn’t wish to be born. It stays stubbornly in your stomach and you look about ten months pregnant still as it suddenly kicks and you can feel its little tentacles pushing out at you from the inside, looking for an escape, but no matter how you bear down and grunt and push, it doesn’t move even an inch.
“Here. Let me,” says the alien as his tentacles extend and roughly enter you again, making you scream as they push all the way into your belly and wrap around your child. Without even giving a warning, he tugs, pulling it out of you, ready or not, and you’re left to only scream, your voice quickly growing hoarse as your child is violently ripped from your body.
It joins its siblings like the others, but they soon simply disappear, sparkling for a moment before, you assume, they’re sent back to a some spaceship via transmatter teleportation like you’ve seen in Star Trek, and you’re left to tremble, shaking in fear and exhaustion and pain in your empty subway car at five in the morning, your body so ruined that you can barely move.
And then… you feel them again.
You didn’t notice before, so distracted by your own pain and your ass so stretched, that one of the man’s tentacles had remained inside of you when he’d pulled the last child out. Small, hard lumps make their way down the long appendage again, dropping into your belly as he smiles and asks, “Round two?”
prguitarman
amandla
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
