Addicted III (Patreon)

Note: This is a story-prompt for skyshield.

$20 Patreon Directory

Previous

-

The phone rang. Emma’s hand fumbled slightly as she reached for her cell on the night table. “Oh hi Jean,” she said breathlessly into the receiver. “Oh yes, we’re all…ngghhh…doing fine today.”

Jean was Emma’s first client at her new job.

Emma had taken employment as a mass surrogate, guaranteed to produce a litter of large, healthy babies—or so her advertisement had said. The gig was absolutely perfect for her. She couldn’t believe people would actually pay her for this. (She was entirely willing to do it for free!).

“Ohh…” Emma groaned as her gut clenched. She was sprawled back in bed against a mountain of pillows. It was, in fact, a new bed, double the size of the previous one, and much sturdier. “Yes…mmghh…everything’s fine,” Emma assured Jean.

Carrying other people’s children was kind of nice. Emma always felt well attended-to, and was often showered with rich foods and gifts.

Her husband found the career choice to be very odd, but he was mostly just relieved that the new children weren’t theirs. Sometimes he would give her a queer look, and Emma would wonder if he was starting to realize how utterly addicted she was to being pregnant.

Just as Emma ended the call, her stomach gave a roll and tensed, causing her to grunt out, face flushing.

Her groin was plump and puffy, bulging slightly in her strained panties. Her belly was a heaving mountain towering above her. During insemination, they had attempted for fifteen children, but she somehow ended up pregnant with twenty. Jean and her husband were overwhelmed but thrilled. Emma had just offered a strained smile, and as the months passed, her body stretched and strained as well. She was more fertile than she had anticipated, moreso than should have even been possible. More fertile than her body could handle, and yet she pushed on.

This pregnancy was lasting longer than the others, and she didn’t know why. It didn’t make sense. She had sailed passed the nine months mark, and was already four weeks overdue, with no end in sight. Her loins throbbed, clit bulging between her swollen lips, as though her birth canal would give at any moment. Her belly regularly tightened and tensed, sometimes visibly pushing outwards, as she reddened and squirmed beneath it.

She was pinned beneath the great mound, which was larger than she was, and seemed at risk of actually crushing her. Her legs were spread painfully wide to make room for it between them, the mound sinking heavily against the mattress though still pressing heavily into her torso. Sometimes she would try to entertain herself with a crossword puzzle, but that proved itself another dilemma as she struggled to maneuver the newspaper against the basketball-sized breasts perched on her mound, that rose with growth every day, pressing into her chin and rising toward her face.

She had become a blimp of a woman, a baby-mound with a few feeble limbs attached. “Ohhh…” Emma groaned, as a baby jabbed at her, a protrusion rising on her massive expanse. She reached out, attempted to rub at the irritation, but her hand didn’t even come close. She sighed and slumped back.

She still couldn’t believe how good this felt, to be so completely full. She was practically bursting with offspring. She wondered if Jean would let her be a surrogate for her again. But then, it didn’t matter. She could always get other clients.

With a weary smile, Emma rubbed her hands up and down what she could reach of her bulging flanks. She would stay pregnant indefinitely if she could. Heh. She wondered what John would think of that.

Next