You live in a remote village where people struggle to conceive, so each pregnancy is treasured. One of your earliest memories is that of a woman lucky enough to bear twins. You clearly remember, even now, how massive she became, how everyone paid her deference... and you remember how keenly you wanted to be like her. Her gravid body became your ideal. Alas, pregnancy has eluded you as an adult, no matter who you lay with, how often you try at it, how badly you pray for the seed inside you to take. It's terrible. You start to consider even the most implausible methods to guarantee a pregnancy.
That's when you learn of a derelict shrine up in the mountains, dedicated to a god of fertility and abundance that no one has worshiped in hundreds of years. But you're willing to try anything at this point. So you make the venture. It's a hard trek, up a winding path that has long since overgrown, but the trail terminates at the mouth of a cave where the foliage is at its thickest. You push through the vegetation, and at the very back is a moss-covered idol that is... rather phallic--impressively so, reaching all the way down to his feet.
You kneel before the altar and pray, although you do not know the god's name. At first, you pray for a single baby, the least you could ask for. But you feel nothing. The longer you remain there, the more earnest you become. You open the floodgates, speaking aloud your wildest fantasies, sharing dreams that left you dripping wet, confessing the envy you've felt whenever you lay eyes on the pregnant belly of another. You abandon all shame, all dignity, debasing yourself before a god that may no longer exist. You don't merely want to be pregnant! You want to be huge! You want a ridiculous amount of babies! You want the heaviest, most gargantuan belly that anyone has ever seen! You want to be the fattest, sexiest, most gravid cow in the history of the world!
As you lay your heart bare, your thoughts become flustered, your cheeks burning with arousal. And eventually, miraculously, your faith is rewarded. A new heat blossoms deep inside you, just at the moment of climax. You rise to your feet, and you already feel different with every fiber of your being. You pull up your shirt to see a gentle swell that wasn't there previously. You're ecstatic, and begin to rush home. Your prayers have been answered!
... perhaps a little too well. If you thought the journey up the mountain was difficult, imagine making the same trek while steadily growing more pregnant. You enter the second trimester, then pass into the third, and at first you are worried about the speed of it, that you'll give birth on the mountain all alone. But your belly never drops. At least, not in the way it should. It just keeps growing, larger and heavier. You look ready to burst with twins, then eventually triplets, which has only happened once in living memory, but you're still growing and growing...
The sun is setting when people spot you coming down the mountain path. You're rather hard to miss. Your belly has swollen to the size of a wagon, a huge expanse of pale flesh covered in stretch-marks and veins. That's not the only thing about you that's changed, however. Each of your breasts is the size of an overfull sack of grain. Your hips have gotten so wide, no one else would be able to walk beside you without falling off the path. Your thighs are now like tree trunks, not merely with fat (which you are) but the muscle necessary to convey you and your heavy burden down the mountain. Your legs are on fire. Obviously, your clothes were torn to shreds about halfway down the mountain, exposing your gravid body to the brisk mountain wind. Your huge, stiff nipples are so thick around, you can't wrap your hand around either one. Oh, and the sloshing. Once your breasts swelled to a sufficient size, they began to noisily slosh. Sometimes they would start leaking all on their own, dribbling down your mound of a belly and down the mountain steps (unbeknownst to you, wherever that milk fell, plantlife flourished). As you can imagine, you had to make more frequent stops the larger you became, stopping for minutes at a time just to descend a few more meters. It's hard to get air into your lungs when they can't fully expand, with your colossal womb in the way. And you're starving, hungrier than you thought was inhumanly possible, deep as the ocean. And, of course, you're doubly exhausted from growing so impossibly huge.
You hear shouting, exclamations of both relief and confusion about your new form. You were modest this morning, and you've returned as a fertility idol. How could it be anything else but the work of the gods? Your proportions aren't humanly possible. But that doesn't matter so much as getting you inside and off your feet! A dozen people come to help you; some take your hands, while everyone else bends down to lift your enormous belly, that low threatens to drag across the ground. You mention food, and immediately receive promises to be fed; a whole feast, even! Yes, the whole village will celebrate! You're so very pregnant, you'll have babies for everyone! It all washes over you, your body is kaput and your brain is mush. But you feel, more than anything, a bone-deep satisfaction, fulfillment like never before.
You live in a village that will soon have many, many children running around.
