A bitter taste lingers in your mouth as you read about that alien species on the verge of extinction. Your gut twists into knots thinking about how the industrial-military complex lays waste to whole planets without people doing anything.
You're overwhelmed by a wave of desolation as you imagine what it must feel like to be the last of your kind.
You're done feeling helpless. Done being passive.
So you decide to do something about it.
When you contact the Endangered Alien Species Breeding Program, they say you would already be a huge help as a sperm donor. But you want to go the extra mile, so you get a biotechnological procedure that allows you to carry their eggs in your belly without it interfering with your physiology.
But now, as you gaze upon the alien your mouth goes dry, not from fear or repulsion but from the sheer otherness. Tentacles cover the whole blob of a body with no indication of a head or even symmetry. Their viscous skin seems to be crawling along their surface.
"We think what you are doing is really awesome." A human voice interrupts your thoughts. You turn around to find a woman with big eyes and a huge pregnant belly. "O&7U is elated that they will get to give and receive seed. That's the way they did it, you know? Their species…" You swallow hard, unable to find enough saliva in your mouth to answer. That's when she notices your unsettled state. "Oh! You're nervous. You don't need to be, O&7U would never hurt you. I think they're actually more attentive than a human lover…"
In bad need of reassurance, you hang on to her every word.
"Tell you what, I'll be right outside in case you need anything."
"You'd really do that?"
"Of course. As I said, I really respect your level of commitment. Besides, we're gonna be preg buddies."
The door clicks as you return your gaze to the alien. They seem to be waiting for you to make the first move.
You undress, letting your clothes fall to the floor and step towards them.
The tentacles envelop you, brushing your skin gently. They have a briny smell, it's just like a sea breeze. Your sensitivity comes alive with the feathery touch. Slowly you let go of your reservations, relaxing into their touch, breathing them in.
A tentacle trails gentle lines along your cock as it begins to harden.
You gasp when two suckers attach to your nipples. They're sensitive from the hormones and sparks of need and delight bloom from them. Is this what women feel? You feel as if you'd just been allowed into arcane mystery—the secret that cost Tiresias his sight.
O&7U engulfs your penis into one of their receptive tentacles. It's warm and moist. A moan escapes your lips as it moves up and down your length pulling you under oblivious pleasure. You lose yourself inside the whirlwind of sensations.
Your moans turn needy and breathy as the tentacles keep sucking your nipples and cock.
You instinctively tense up when you feel a tentacle caress the line between your butt cheeks . The tentacle recedes immediately.
"I'm sorry, I'm just— it's my first time…"
You consciously try to relax, taking a deep breath.
The tentacle gently slides in between. It brushes in circles along the bud of your anus making a warm sensation tingle from the area. The touch is brief, leaving you wanting more. As the tentacle touches you a little more firmly, your anus clings to it with a tiny sucking motion as the tentacle retreats.
Your hips start to buckle, searching for more contact. That's when the tentacle starts dripping a slick substance that coats your hole. It positions its tip at your entrance but seems to wait for your consent.
You ache for it.
"Yes." It comes out breathy as your hips unconsciously roll upwards, exposing more of yourself to O&7U.
The tentacle seems to quiver as it slowly enters your body. It stretches you, pressure mounting until it's almost unbearable. But then it slips past the ring of muscle with a silent plop.
Now it begins to fill you smoothly, the friction sending wave after wave of pleasure through your whole body.
"Mmmhhh" The moans spill from your mouth like honey.
O&7U seems pleased at your sounds, picking up pace, thrusting deeper each time.
You melt into them, surrendering your body completely. As they sense it, they smoothly adjust their tentacles to make you more comfortable. They prop your bum even higher, two tentacles spreading your cheeks apart.
After a short while you fall into your first orgasm. Your cock spills into O&7U's tentacle which swallows every drop, milking you for more.
Another tentacle grazes near your anus tentatively, as if asking if you'd like another one inside you.
You do.
You blush deeply at your ass' gluttony: you crave it.
"Yes." Your voice equal parts needy and embarrassed.
The slime around it is slippery as it slides in. Still the squeeze seems unyielding as it stretches that ring of muscles, pushing in and filling you up beyond your comprehension.
The tentacles throb inside you. They thrust into you in a perfect rhythm. Your moans shatter into cries as pleasure courses through your veins
That's when one of the tentacles latches to your new organ and pushes the first egg in. The sensation is like nothing you could've prepared for. You cry out as an explosion of ecstasy detonates within you, tearing through your being.
Your breath catches as you feel the egg's pulsing weight in your insides. It feels like an expansive warm fluid before it condenses, nestling among your entrails. Your muscles relax around it, as if reverent. O&7U's tendrils tremble as one brushes a stray lock of hair from your brow.
You find yourself hoping for another egg and another one, greedily pushing your hips up and bucking them against O&7U's tentacles. Your orgasms expand within you like galaxies, igniting and colliding over and over.
You can't help but place your hands on your belly, wanting to feel it swelling with every new egg. That's when you realize you've been spilling inside O&7U for a while now. They avidly swallow all your seed, shuddering as they take it. The quiver in their tendrils mirrors yours.
Thinking about a king who’s yet to have any heirs begging the gods for fertility. When his queen’s blood continues to come for many months regardless of his pleas, he curses the gods for abandoning him; he has no reason yet to believe that his own growing gut is anything other than winter weight.
When spring comes, people begin to notice the protruding roundness of his belly, his physician recommending him more exercise and his tailor having to let out his royal garb every few weeks.
Still, the king attempts to plant his heir in the queen’s womb every night, though now he must rest his belly on her back to complete their union.
Nine months since he appealed to the gods, murmurs of concern follow the king wherever he goes. His gait has slowed and widened, a ponderous, rocking movement as his great belly hefts side to side. His physician looks more and more disturbed every time he examines the tight ball growing beneath the king’s gently swollen chest, warning him that he must have an imbalance of humors that have led to a massive tumor. The movement the king has felt, and the physician now feels and even sees from outside, must be the cankerous wolf, the physician surmises grimly, a malady that eats the flesh of the afflicted. Most often found in the breasts of women, it could nevertheless affect any part of the body, and the king should be prepared for a painful illness and untimely death.
But something else happens, instead. The king’s cock begins to swell. At first it’s barely enough to notice, but after a few weeks, it’s so thick and bloated that he can barely stand to touch it. He shudders at the slightest brushes against the tender, stretched flesh, and just the most tentative touch of the queen’s lips makes him cry out and dribble seed.
The physician warns him that the wolf might be on the move throughout his body, that this is likely a tumor that could destroy his member, but the king has another thought. He remembers pleading with the gods, and believes that they must have finally answered his prayers, and this large and sensitive cock is a sign of fertility.
The overstimulation is excruciating, but he barely manages to squeeze his massively swollen cock into the queen. She gasps and squirms and trembles, feeling split open by him. Tears cover his face by the time he reaches his climax. Both of them cry out as a sudden torrent of fluid erupts from him, believing this outpouring to be seed given to him by the gods. Once the servants change their linens, they go to sleep convinced that their heir will come soon.
They’re right—it will just be much sooner than they think.
The king wakes in agony at dawn. His belly cramps so tightly that he can do nothing but bend over it and groan. Assuming his illness must be consuming him, he remembers the physician informing him that there is no treatment or cure for the canker, and he resigns himself to his fate. His queen stays by his side as his body is wracked with fits of tension. She finds herself thinking that his agony reminds her of a laboring woman, especially the way the low-hanging bulge of his belly lifts and contracts with each wave of pain, but she fears such an observation would simply upset him, and keeps it to herself.
The king is lying on his side when the change comes. He groans, hair sticking to his sweat-drenched brow as he shakes his head against the soured sheets. He moans for the gods’ mercy, and instinctively lifts one leg, spreading his thighs wide. That’s when the queen sees how the flesh above his member, normally a relatively flat, triangular space, bulges as if around something hard and spherical. She stares as he thrashes and groans, watching as the tendons below his belly tighten and the shape sinks a little lower.
She figures it out, then. She stares at him, her jaw slowly loosening as she realizes what she’s witnessing. The heaving belly, contracting around a babe. And the head… the head descending towards his member.
She tells him she needs to get help, and he begs her to stay, but she leaves anyway. Terrified and in agony, the king feels something shifting deep within him, and is sure he must be dying. When the door bursts open and several people enter, he barely notices, eyes blurry with exhaustion and tears.
The physician and the midwife stare at the laboring man, stunned, but it’s the midwife who leaps into action first. She ducks between the king’s legs and begins to gently palpate around his bulging crotch, holding his thighs open when he screams and tries to close them. He demands to know the meaning of this, and she tells him. He’s giving birth. He tries to laugh at her, but a contraction steals his breath. His hands knot into the sheets and he groans long and low, while the midwife, physician, and queen all watch his crotch grow heavier and heavier with the head, until the base of his flushed cock begins to stretch with it. He hisses in pain, totally unaware of what’s coming.
He screams with the next contraction, eyes flashing wide with shocked terror as the base of his cock stretches a little more, trying to widen enough to accept the head. No, he begs. Not there. Please not there! The queen can do nothing but cradle his head in her lap. The midwife rubs his hip and tells him how well he’s doing. The physician, pale-faced, sits at the king’s desk taking notes and wondering if anyone will believe him.
Oh god, no, the king sobs as he feels another contraction coming. He cries for someone to stop it, but nothing can be done as his body squeezes, and the crown of the head peeks into the base of his cock. The king begins to thrash, and the midwife has to call the physician for help to hold down his legs. It gives both of them a prime view as, over the course of several contractions, the base of the king’s penis slowly wraps around the babe’s skull.
For many hours, he labors. The king screams for help, for mercy, for his mother, for death, as the hint of head inside his cock slowly eases forward. Finally it crowns into him, his base rendered nearly translucent around the widest part of the head, skin stretched pale and veins bulging blue with the tension. His chest rattles with tearful wheezing, his hands cramping from gripping the sheets.
The next milestone comes with a thrash of his whole body and a wail of, simply, Fuck! as the head pops into his shaft. His tip is beginning to stretch, now, an angry, weeping red, slit pulling open. He rests, then, such as a man can with a baby’s head deforming his cock, eyelids fluttering shut and chest heaving as he pants for breath. The queen dabs his forehead with a wet cloth and tells him how brave he is.
The midwife begins to gently stretch his hole, and he whimpers, but lets her, knowing she’s preparing him for—
Oh, nooooo, no, no, it won’t fit, it won’t fit! he sobs, but his cockhead splays all the same, pulled nearly flat as it comes flush to the crown. His crotch bulges again, too, as the shoulders push at it. Make it stop, just cut me open and take it out, I order you! Do it! he screams, but his three helpers exchange looks grimly, knowing that the flesh of his birthing member is much too thin to be cut without hurting the child, nevermind the risk of the king bleeding out. He must endure.
A litany of No, no, no no nonono no nooo noooooo! fills the room as his body pushes the child forward. The slight splay of his slit opens eye-like over slimy hair, his spongy cockhead reduced to something like a heart shape as it hugs the emerging head. His crotch stretches sharply, then the head eases back, his slit closing a little. He whimpers with relief.
But the midwife begins to rub around his base, trying to stretch him. She tells him he needs to push with the next contraction, or the child will never come out. He weeps bitterly.
Yet, he pushes. A high, wobbling agony gargles in his throat as he clenches his teeth and heaves air through the cracks. Veins stand out in his forehead and his shaft. His cockhead flares to the point it had reached before, and then a little further, a little less than a thumb’s length of the baby’s head visible through the slit. The shoulders don’t enter his cock, yet, but the base stays wide, ready to accept them when he does push them through.
He begs the midwife not to touch, sobs that it hurts, but she assures him gently that she’s keeping him from tearing, and keeps running her fingertip around the reddened edges of his birthing slit.
His belly lifts and tenses, and voices encourage him to push from every side. He’s only able to bear down for an instant before he loses the air in his lungs to a shriek as his slit-lips open wider. He whips his head in delirious denial, barely conscious.
This is when the midwife leans forward and pushes on the top of his belly. His eyes snap open and he screams like a dying animal as a shoulder bursts into his cock and the head surges against his tip. The bruise-purple tissue of what used to be his cockhead is indistinguishable as any part of a penis, more like a cunt now, if anything. This new cock-cunt twitches and pulses around the broad teardrop of crown now visible.
With the next contraction, he does his own pushing, fearing the pain in his belly again. He pushes until his face goes red and his whole body trembles, cock lopsided with the single shoulder and cunt lips peeling slowly down the dome of the head, until finally—
“AAAAAAAUUUUUURRRRGHHHHHHHH!!!!!”
The king’s agony echoes off the walls, his back arching and chest heaving as what was once his cock crowns around his child’s head. It holds him perfectly round and open, leaving him wheezing for breath with a high, tortured whimper threaded into his voice. He tries to keep pushing, but the midwife tells him to wait. He screams that he can’t. It’s too big! It’s gonna rip his cock off! But his attempts to push are futile, the head simply bobbing slightly, and he must endure the torment of the crown.
The next contraction should bring relief. But when it comes, his pushes only bring an awful pressure at the base of his cock, the drag of the shoulder inside his shaft, and the stinging tickle of his birthing slit struggling to release the babe’s skull. It’s stuck.
It’s stuck! It’s stuck! he shrieks.
The midwife tells him to keep his head on, and makes him roll from his side to his back and pull his legs up by his knees. He does as he’s told, though his hands tremble so badly that the queen must pull his legs back, leaning over him until his belly juts out between his upturned thighs, and his knees nearly touch his shoulders. His cock sticks up at an angle, though it wilts at the end with the weight of the babe’s head until the midwife supports it.
When pushing in that position does nothing, she continues to support his cock as she forces him to get on his hands and knees. His limbs tremble. He buries his pain-paled face in the queen’s breast and pants while he waits for a contraction. His hot breath and loose saliva seep into her dress as he pushes, but he finds no relief.
The midwife doesn’t warn him before she starts to physically tug his birthing slit down. He screams and tries to kick her, but the physician holds his legs still and the queen wraps her arms around his head to quell him. Her gown muffles his shrieks as the tip of his penis is dragged over the widest part of the skull, and he goes limp and wheezing when the head finally bursts free of his birthing slit. The gaping mouth of his cock crumples loosely around the neck, until the midwife keeps pushing it back to expose the shoulder.
When her fingers worm past the shoulder and dip inside of him, he lurches and gags. His wife is quick enough to let him loose, and he vomits over the side of the bed at the sensation of a foreign hand digging into his cervix. It leaves him tear-streaked and dry heaving, but finally, the midwife frees the second shoulder. He can do nothing but gargle in reaction.
Finally, a contraction comes, and he pushes with all he has left, his whole body trembling and his eyes rolling back. He bleats out a delirious whimper as both shoulders stretch his birthing slit at once, but they linger for only a moment before the midwife pulls the heir to the throne from his quivering body. His former penis falls limp, nothing but a gaping birth canal leaking blood and fluid.
He knows, in that moment, that the gods answered him. The first time he beseeched them, they gave him a womb with a miracle babe within… only for him to curse them, not knowing he already carried their blessing. This was his punishment.
At least it’s over.
Or, that’s what he thinks, until he consults his looking glass a few months later, and finds his sagging belly beginning to swell and harden once again.
Price sliding his cock through your folds, paying extra attention to make sure he grinds against your t dick. Sweet swollen little thing.
He loves watching you writhe and moan beneath him. Crying out his name when you break for the second time tonight.
Price frotting with you and working your little cock between his forefinger and thumb jerking you off until your nails dug into his shoulders. And he sank into your heat.
Feeling your walls flutter around his dick. God he loved you like this. Loved your sounds and your sweet little cock.
But most of all, he was going to love getting his boyfriend pregnant. All that muscle turned round and soft. He’d make you his husband. Say it’s for the sake of the baby.
He rutted into you, fingers stroking your t dick to bring you to yet another release. He wanted you so fucked out you wouldn’t even question his lack of a condom.
You panted his name, as he spilled inside your heat.
His sweet boyfriend would look so good, carrying his child.
You come home and see him.
He’s prepared and waiting for you. His belly is full and tight. He slowly runs his finger over his taut belly and waits for you to come and take him. He’s been waiting all day for your cock. He’s earned it, hasn’t he?
