I’m fantasising about being forcibly impregnated with an alien baby. Not knowing that it’s inside me at first. My stomach would be bloated and hurting, but I wouldn’t know why. I’d get a sinking feeling, getting paranoid that my belly was expanding, getting heavier. I’d pass it off as big meals I’d eaten, but my stomach would continue to swell, getting tighter by the second.
Eventually, my stomach would drop, as if there were a huge bowling ball inside of me, weighing me down. Then, it would start squirming, slowly at first, but getting steadily more noticeable, to the point where I would be painfully aware that I was indeed pregnant, and with something unnatural. It would mould my huge belly from the inside, kicking outwards, making me cry out in agony and pleasure. I’d try to soothe it, but to no avail.
I would be drum tight, my sides marred by small stretch marks, trying to prop myself up and adjust to the sudden heaviness of my distended middle that had dropped between my legs, brushing against my dick. I would marvel at my new, gravid pregnant stomach, stroking myself all over, caressing my popped out belly button tentatively.
Then, the contractions would start. I’d stroke my heaving stomach, trying to relieve some of the tension. I’d moan and groan and try to soothe the aching mound, but the violent movements would be too much for me. I’d beg for them to come out of me as my water breaks, but this is just the beginning.
You snap to consciousness with a panicked jolt, but you don’t move anywhere. You’re lying on something hard. You’re strapped down. Overhead, flickering fluorescent lights pass overhead. You’re moving.
You’re on a gurney and someone is pushing you.
“Well, well, someone’s awake early.” You recognize Sexy Nurse’s voice. Her face appears over yours again just a moment later. She’s smiling hungrily.
You feel pain in your abdomen. You lift your head, and are horrified to see your belly, huge, round, bare, looming over you. It’s still growing. On top of that, your chest has begun to hurt, ache.
“What did you do to me?”
“What we do to every guest of our attraction.”
“What is it? What’s inside me?” Your voice cracks in fear.
“A tribute, or, in your case, tributes I suspect, you drank so much cider.” She reaches over and pats your belly. “Lots in there,” she adds in afterthought. “You’re far from done growing.”
“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.
This survey is intended to get a general idea of how common different aspects of pregnancy fetish/fascination are, as well as some general demographics. Your answers are private and anonymous. Your name, e-mail, and IP address are not connected to anything you enter here. Results will be posted at https://twitter.com/terrifiedtwin/ with the tag #PregnancySurvey (https://twitter.com/search?q=%23PregnancySurvey%20%40terrifiedtwin) and at https://terrifiedtwinning.tumblr.com/tagged/pregnancy-survey
I’ve created a survey for people who like pregnancy! I want to get a better idea of how popular different types and aspects of pregnancy are, and of the kind of audience for pregnancy content! It should take ten minutes or less to fill out. If you’re interested, please reblog this post or share the link wherever it might be seen! I plan to let the survey run through all of July. Results will be posted here and on my Twitter account.
We’re up to 373 responses, with one week to go! If you haven’t taken the survey or shared the link, please consider doing so! Let’s see if we can reach 400 responses before I close the survey and share the results!
dailybridgerton
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