It's dark, and awful spider-webs made of burnished steel stand in place of walls and a ceiling. The moon above is a great black disk bordered in a narrow band of glowing silver, but the light inside the room is the light of the full moon. It's warm. Silk sheets against your skin. Smooth skin against yours: someone's in bed with you, spooning up against you. It feels... good. A warm presence with arms wrapped around you and a face buried in your hair.
Your back aches. You feel... full. Heavy. It's uncomfortable, but it's good. There's a complicated word for what you feel: alive. Full of aches and vaguely bloated and uncomfortable and your belly itches and your breasts tingle and the warmth of arms around you and a body spooning with you is so very good and you feel oh so very alive... You start to shift in bed, but it's not comfortable. Your weight is resting wrong. You move your hands down to scratch at your belly button, incidentally tracing the shape of your belly, and...
Oh.
OH.
You stare down at yourself: you're pregnant. Nine months pregnant.
"Can't sleep?" Chet asks gently from behind you.
Your eyes go wide, and a shock of fear flashes through you. You turn to look: it's him. He's in bed with you, just as naked as you are. His hard-on begins to press against your thigh.
You stare at him in open-mouthed shock. "What are..." you begin, and then he catches your mouth with his, silencing you with a long, sensual, tender kiss. His hand is moving, sliding around your hips. His fingers gently brush against your labia, and you gasp involuntarily, feeling the first stirrings of arousal.
He gently squeezes your right breast with his free hand, still locked with you in a deep, passionate kiss... and you relax against him, letting his tongue press pass your lips, feeling those wonderful little shivers as his probing finger slides between your folds. You let out a soft moan in spite of yourself.
Your body feels flushed now, your nipples have gone hard, your breath quickening. He breaks the kiss, but you're still looking at him over your shoulder, staring into his eyes. He slides his hands possessively around your pregnant belly. "You know that you're mine, right?" he asks, his cock brushing against your cunt, need growing within you. "And you'll always be mine." The pressure grows, and he slowly starts to slide into you. "It was me," he whispers. "I made you this. I made you a girl," He thrusts his hips, burying himself to the hilt with shocking suddenness, and then you feel doubly full. "And then I made you a mother," he begins to build a regular rhythm, thrusting regularly into you, the discomfort of your advanced pregnancy mingling with rising pleasure, little electric sparks seeming to dance across your pelvis, "And that's my baby you're carrying." Even as he says this, it MOVES. The child in your belly MOVES, and you FEEL it.
Suddenly, there's the strangest sense of duality. Your perception splits. Part of you remains in the bed with Chet fucking you for all he's worth. Part of you lies in an identical bed a few meters distant, and in this bed it's Gemma, not Chet. Gemma's lips suckling from your milk-filled breasts before drawing you into a kiss that burns like fire and leaves the taste of your own milk upon your tongue, her tomboy's body pressed against your pregnant figure, her fingers probing your clit as you gasp and both yous build towards a climax. "You know that you're mine, right?" Gemma asks, her touch electric, her body and yours joined together in a union every bit as profound as the one still ongoing - the one you STILL FEEL - between you and Chet in the other bed. You're not sure where she ends and you begin. "And you'll always be mine," she murmurs, caressing your pregnant belly possessively. "It was me," she says. "I made you this." She's moving now. Pushing you down onto your back. She kisses her way down your body: breasts, belly, and then between your thighs. Her breath on your lower lips tickles ever so slightly. "I made you a girl," she says, and then probes your entrance with her tongue, teasing her way inside as you writhe beneath her. She looks up, taking in the sight of your pregnant body. "First I made you a woman, then I made you a mother. And that's MY baby you're carrying." You feel her again, feeling those little sparks flashing out from between your thighs as she works her tongue into you as deeply as she can before drawing it out and turning her attention to your clit. "How does it feel, 'Mommy?'" she whispers into your ear. You turn to look, and now there are two Gemmas, one eating you out, the other only now settling onto the bed and stopping your surprised protest with her kisses. Your hearts are racing. Chet has the other you on your hands and knees, now, plowing into you from behind, and every time he does you can FEEL your cunt gripping his cock. You can feel every vein pressing against you from the inside, and it's...
And then there's a third you. A third awareness. You're watching as the Gemmas fuck you on one hand, and Chet fucking you on the other, and the Gemmas are fucking YOU, and Chet is fucking YOU, and you're all three at once. This third you isn't visibly pregnant yet. This third you matches your waking body, and as your other selves hang on the very brink of surrender, on the very brink of orgasm, an unfamiliar woman's voice speaks: "Well now," she says, "Isn't this complicated?" Her faintly accented voice is rich and textured and filled with a dry amusement.
The third you turns. A shadowed female form stands leaning against the burnished steel spider-web walls. She's naked, but you can't make out the details. Her whole body is in shadow, but her eyes gleam in the dark. "You've already made one choice," she says. "For most, that would have been enough. But you've got a second decision to make. Best get to it." Her lips quirk into a wry smile. "I'm not sure you can take much more." |