You're belly grows too fast, leaving you wondering what knocked you up after all. Hoping its just multiples, and not the horse the took you on the first day, you try to make yourself useful. The other ranch hands start laughing and bullying you, calling you a slut and a sow for getting knocked up so soon. After the first three months you look ready to pop and the extra weight starts wearing you down. They make you sleep in the stalls like an animal since the dormitory for ranch hands is too far to walk too for someone in your condition - or so they say.
At first you feel slighted, but as your belly swells, you are grateful. Looking full term with twins and not even halfway way, you are stuck in your stall until someone comes and let's you out. You look at your belly, covered in stretch marks and glistening in sweat, spending your nights groaning and trying to calm the activity within.
Your meals start coming in buckets instead of plates, youre fed when the animals are fed, not the other workers. The food is a slop of bland mush with a weird aftertaste, an additive "for the foals" one of the ranch hands tells you, he laughs while giving your belly a harsh smack. You stifle a cry as you resort to eating your slop, knowing what you dont eat will be forced down your throat later.
As your belly grows your mobility becomes hindered. Growth spurts plague you at night, along with painful kicks and punches from inside and outside. One ranch hands like to place his boot on your belly during your feedings. You almost choke and gag as the slop is forced down your throat, lying on your back, the pressure unbearable. He laughs as your belly leaves and swells beneath his boot leaving you in tears. This just gets him more excited, and soon enough, he spreads your legs and has you screaming as he fills you from the other end, your belly noticeably swollen after he's done.
Nine months and its only gotten worse. Its raining and you're outside, arms behind your back bent over with your belly down to your knees. Its enormous and weighs almost as much as you by this point. The painful stretch of the skin exemplified by the red, anry stretch marks across its surface. The foals within never seeming to rest, blows and punches cause you to whimper while occasional strikes to the spine nearly cause you to faint. Beyond that, your chest burns too, nipples hot and feeling like they will explode as your chest slowly swells. You wish for the mercy of large breasts to store this milk, but alas your body will not comply. Your lower body is now constantly sore. Feet swollen and throbbing, hips aching and widening as though there are multiple dowl8bg balls trying to escape from within.
Despite all this, you must still work. A harness connects you tp a plow as you drag your way through the field tilling the soil. Normally the work of a draft horse, its been relegated to you as a wy of "pulling your own weight" the farmer told you one day. It's torture on your heavy body. Your legs, barely able to carry your womb, are now having to push you across a field and drag farm equipment like you're livestock. Your breasts leaking you trudge through the fields like this daily, with no days off.
Somehow, the other ranch hands find a way to make it worse. They laugh at your big round belly, shiny with with bright red stretch marks circling your popped belly button. They notice that it looks like a big, round target with the belly button being a bullseye. One of th says they have an idea while rubbing your sweaty belly as you drag yourself across the farm. They return with a sports ball and start taking turns trying to "get a bulls eye". The ball leaves red welts on your belly each time it makes contact, the pressure nearly making you vomit.
Twelve months in and you're showing no signs of giving birth. Your foals are overdue, active and ready to come out. In your stall, you have been strung upright and harnessed facing a mirror they installed just for you. You cant believe how much youve changed. Your legs are swollen a muscled, hips widened like a woman, but still too narrow for whatever is inside you. You belly looks large enough to fit your previous self inside. Its smooth surface with occasional kicks is marred with stretch marks and residual welts -the other workers having turned it into target practice for their paintball guns. Your chest, barely a C cup, is painfully swollen, with milk occasional spraying from your nipples each time you take a breath. The clamps unable to contain it all. After your milking, your chest is almost flat, but rapidly they fill with a painful amount of milk for the coming foals.
Your face is similar twisted with femininity not present a year ago. Past your enormous gag, your pouty lips stretch painfully around its surface, your eyes filled with pain and sorrow as you now see yourself for what you are: livestock. You realize there is no going back to your old life even if you escaped. Youre standing there, carrying who knows how many oversized horse foals within your belly, body twisted for this sole purpose. Unable to control when tou eat, when you speak, or even when you sleep, you are a burden no one else would want. At least here, you can serve a purpose.
You close your eyes from the horrid sight in the mirror before you. Crying yourself to sleep as you always do. You focus on the se sation of thr foals within your belly, wishing you could rub your belly as some latent maternal instinct kicks in. You can't, of course, arms bound as they are. So you simple add your tears to its wet, shiny surface. The tears blending with sweat and milk dripping down its surface.
Maybe tomorrow they'll let you give birth.
