Proud - Alternate Ending (Patreon)

Story Directory: $5 Patrons
Story Directory: $10 Patrons
Story Directory: $20 Patrons

Story Schedule

Note: This is an alternate ending for Proud.

-

In just several days, Raya had certainly changed.

At present she was wearing a strapless dress, the V-neck dipping into her deep line of cleavage. The material clung to the swollen FF-cups bobbing on her chest. Raya's breasts were too sensitive for a bra by then, her swollen nipples bulging visibly against the thin fabric, which just added to her image of bountiful fertility.

Her belly had grown to be massive. It was an effort just to balance it. When she sat, it settled against her thighs, filling her lap while lifting her swollen breasts yet higher. When she was standing, it protruded out by feet ahead of her. Her waddle had descended to a wobble, and that morning, she had barely managed to get out of bed, even with the King's aid. Her mass was just so large, so heavy.

It had to be the size of a beach ball, if not larger. It sat heavy against her pelvis, her loins engorged and throbbing, feeling as though she could just start pushing offspring out though she was not in labor.

Raya struggled her way through the dining room that evening, her dress practically pasted to her. Even her seamstress seemed entirely keen to show off every curve of her body. Raya was becoming a spectacle. But it was a good thing. Approval of the kingdom was at an all-time high. The King had more than fulfilled his duty to produce an heir, and had entrusted Raya to carry his young. He knew she could handle it. He was an exceptional man and she was an exceptional Queen. She would not let him down and she would see this task through to fruition.

Her insides were alive with movement. She would freeze up when her mound tremored visibly. Sometimes lumps of shape would rise and roll across the surface, her chest heaving as she breathed through it.

As Raya happily made her way towards the table, she was disappointed to realize that her husband was not present. Refusing the aid of a guard, she gingerly continued forward. "Where is the King?"

One of the dignitaries fidgeted somewhat where he stood. "My Queen, there was some trouble during his visit into town this afternoon. We are still assessing the situation. I found it premature to apprise you before we fully understood what was going on." He threw a nervous glance at her massive abdomen.

"What kind of trouble?" Raya said suspiciously. One of her hands absently cupped the side of her huge swell.

"It appears the King has fallen ill, however —"

Raya's pulse quickened. "My husband is ill and you would have us dine without a worry? You could not even care to inform me? Take me to him immediately!" Face flushed and chest heaving, Raya felt a twinge in her belly that surged to hot, throbbing pressure. "Ohhhh..." she groaned as the material of her dress grew thinner. It tightened and strained as her belly shifted forward, her breasts close to spilling free of the low V-neck as it was dragged yet lower. Raya gripped the chair and tried to focus on not toppling over as her body swelled in heaving throbs. "Mmgggghhh," she moaned, unable to stop herself before releasing such an undignified sound. When the growth spurt ended, she was left gasping for breath. Her nipples tingled as her dress grew damp at the chest. She looked down and realized that she was lactating.

The room was dead silent for several moments. Eventually, Sir Lancor stepped forward. "Shall we go check in on the King?" He offered Raya his arm.

Raya weakly took it.

It was a long, slow walk across the palace, several guards moving into formation to lead and flank, two taking up the rear as well. It was larger than her usual security detail, and it made Raya's sense of unease grow. She was panting, hardly able to catch her breath. Never did she let her subjects see her in such a state of discomposure, yet she was just so desperate to see her husband, she could hardly care.

She had expected to be led to the medical wing, but instead was brought to an antiquated private room behind the servants quarters, of all places.

Malcolm was lying back in a large bed, his face taut with pain. But his eyes were closed, and he did not respond when she called to him.

"What's wrong with him?" Raya demanded, waddling to his side as quickly as her body would allow. She laid her hand against his cheek. It was warm with fever.

"We are not sure, my Queen. He took ill about an hour ago,” said Lancor quietly behind her.

Raya turned the King's face to examine him more closely. He was the strongest, ablest man she knew. She spotted a tiny scratch on the side of his throat which had not been present there that morning. She knew her husband's body better than her own. "He was poisoned."

–

Officers retraced the King's steps and scoured the city for whomever might have had ill intentions towards him. It didn't make any sense to Raya. The King had always been adored by all of his subjects.

Raya would not leave Malcolm's side, even as her belly lurched in discomfort and even as her thighs went numb beneath it. She sat on the bed, holding Malcolm's hand, or cradling his face. Staring at him, wishing she could brush away the creases of pain on his brow. His whole body was tense, hands gripping his sheets. But much as she called his name, he could not hear her. He did not awake.

"Leave us," Raya murmured, weary of the four guards who stood in her periphery around the room.

"We will not," one of them said.

Raya's eyes snapped towards him, and she was shocked to see the obstinate gaze he returned. She was acquainted with the severity of the situation. Was she in danger, herself? Would someone make another attempt on the King's life?

Raya's belly lurched, causing her to bite her lip. Her children were discontent, perhaps aware of her state of anxiety or the ill health of their father. Her innards stirred and twisted, believe flesh shifting and bulging, heaving and falling. She groaned and arched, too distressed to maintain her poise.

As the sun rose, she was absorbed in her thoughts and Malcolm's tenuous state. She realized she was still in the gown she had worn to dinner the night before, and her chest was still wet, producing food for their common children.

Lancor returned. Malcolm had always favored the man as one of his top advisers. "My Queen, you must rest," he said gently as he knelt beside where she was perched on the side of the bed.

Her back was aching badly, her breasts hot and throbbing. Her gown was sticking to her flushed, overheated body, and everything was uncomfortable. Even her skin itself felt too tight on her. "I will stay with my husband," she said.

Lancor sighed. "Then please, at least eat something. Think of the heirs."

Raya's face crumpled. She managed a nod. Lancor stood and motioned to a guard by the door. He opened it, and several servants began to filter into the room, carrying trays of food. Raya hesitated, then gingerly turned away from her husband's form.

Now a small table was being set up with a fresh white cloth, her stomach grumbling just in response to the delicious aromas. She flushed and looked dubiously at the large amounts of food being piled before her.

"You have not eaten since yesterday afternoon. You must take care of your children. Please my Queen. Do it for Malcolm."

Raya weakly nodded. She lifted a fork.

She took her first bite, and the babies instantly seemed appreciative, calming somewhat. She was aware of the guards and Lancor watching her. She knew they would report to her husband when he recovered. She could not allow anyone to think she was being neglectful of the future rulers. She had to ensure that they were well taken care of, especially now that the King was indisposed.

Raya ate slowly and neatly, but with a consistency that left no room for pause. If she wasn't chewing or swallowing, she was biting into something. She worked her way through succulent meats and tangy cheeses, soft roles of bread that she buttered diligently. It was more than enough for four grown men, but these were the King's babies, and they deserved everything and more.

When the meal was done, her belly was no longer lurching, but tight and throbbing, up and down, as though with a demon’s pulse. She was full to gasping, her face ruddy, and her mass visibly stretching out the young she had on. But Raya didn't show weakness. She lifted her third judge of milk and indulged, drinking every drop of it, taking only brief pauses to inhale. "Thank you," she said as evenly as she could. "It was all quite delicious."

"I am pleased that you enjoyed it, my Queen," said Lancor. "The chef prepared you a special dessert."

Two servants came in balancing a tray piled with all her favorite cakes and pastries. The sight of it was daunting but Raya's calm expression did not twitch. "How lovely."

"I believe the King will grow in strength alongside you, his love."

This caused Raya's throat to tighten. She swallowed. "Indeed. Of course." She forced herself not to because she didn't want to fall apart again so quickly. So she lifted a spoon and slowly, methodically ate the pastries, even as her belly began to move past tension to the point of aching. It was just so full, so tight. She would do anything for her babies.

The servants watched attentively, ensuring that not a bite was to the Queen's distaste. She diligently consumed, fighting the urge to groan as icings and creams gushed into her mouth and syrups at times got on her delicate fingers. She pressed a napkin to her lips only as a façade, because she just needed a moment to suck in some extra air. But then she was back to eating every single dessert until the tray was empty of even one crown.

"Marvelous," she said, though her eyes were watering. "I — I think I might lie down for a moment. With my husband."

"Of course. Rest," Lancor urged. He nodded to the guards, and though reluctant, they obediently followed him out of the room.

The moment they were gone, Raya squeezed her eyes shut, a grunt escaping her throat. Oh Gods, the pressure, it was… “Nrrrggghhh!” Her face poured sweat as her belly inched outwards.

Lancor strolled back in. "Raya, I just wanted to check — oh my —"

Raya could hardly hear him, her belly inching outwards as she arched and whined out. Her breasts began to bulge against the low neckline of her gown, outgrowing its. Milk gushed into the thin material.

When it ended, she was gasping, and Lancor was staring at her in astonishment. It took him a moment to collect his jaw from the floor. "I, well — this is marvelous." He averted his gaze. "Might I send your maid, to help… Get you in order?"

"No," Raya gasped out, a bit mortified. "Please, leave me with my husband."

Lancor bowed and took his leave.

–

Her belly divided them on the bed. It was just so broad, so expansive. Still, she managed to pull the King closer, brought his face to her chest. Perhaps she was being out of line, treating him with such familiarity in the presence of guards. Still, she did not care. She needed to be closer to him.

His face had relaxed, at least partly. A doctor had been in to see him, treating him with medicines. But he expressed concern that the King was growing weaker.
Raya pushed down the top of her dress, freeing one of her large, volleyball – sized breasts. The guards looked panicked and turned away from her, to face the wall. By then, Raya couldn't care if they saw her nudity. They could leave if they wanted to.

She pulled Malcolm to her breast, placing his mouth at her swollen nipple. Nothing was more healing than mother's milk. She waited, his lips still warm on her. She pressed him closer. “Come now."

Then he began to suck, her eyes widened in surprised relief then lowering as she rested her tender gaze on him, nursing from her even as he was sleeping. The sensation was surprisingly pleasant and filled her with warmth. It was nice to feel connection with him again. Her eyelids grew heavier as her flesh tingled and the children lazily shifted inside of her.

It was an hour before he stopped. By then, she was so comfortable she had nearly dozed. She smiled contently before she tried to ease her breasts back into her dress, but it was difficult. She had evidently outgrown the material.

The door opened. Raya looked up to see her favorite maid hesitantly enter the room. Raya knew that the maid could not have come on her, she would have had to have been ordered, otherwise this would be an egregious intrusion.

"Please, my lady," said the maid timidly. "The King would be in anguish by the state you're in on his account. Let me run you a bath."

She was right. Raya drew a long breath, then nodded. It would be difficult to leave him, but it would only be for a short time. She kissed Malcolm's hand.

When Raya tried to stand, she was surprised by the effort it took. Though she initially refused any aid, it proved impossible to rise on her own, and by struggling on the mattress with her dome bumping in her lap, she was only making a mockery of herself.

She needed the assistance of the maid as well as a guard to get her to her feet. And when she had risen, she almost toppled due to the sharp shift in weight in front of her, her belly incredibly heavy and spanning out farther than she could have ever imagined.

She allowed the maid to run her a hot bath, and when Raya eased down into the wooden basin, water gushed over the edges, spilling onto the floor. Her belly could hardly fit in the circular tub, instead pressing into the edges. Raya threw a distraught look to the maid, who in turn looked panicked.

The water did ease a lot of the strain from her back, and that alone made the bath worth it. Raya tried her best to relax as she soaked. The maid kneeled down behind her and started to wash her shoulders.

With her husband indisposed, Raya had become the sole monarch of her country. It seemed an impossible burden to bear without him, and so vulnerable in her condition. She suspected that she was avoiding it, but there was only so long that she could.

There was only one thing Raya was certain of. She could not allow her children to be born in this air of danger and uncertainty. What if the person who had hurt Malcolm came for them next? Or what if she was attacked while incapacitated by the pains of labor? She did not want them to be born into a world without their father, it was too dangerous and nothing was whole.

–

The following night, Raya awoke to her belly tensing and trembling as she sat partially upright, groaning as she clutched it. Her insides squeezed, making her feel as though she might burst. She watched her mass shifted outward, just slightly. When it ended, she was left gasping.

It was a contraction.

Raya summoned a handmaid.

"My Queen," said the girl, her eyes wide with panic. "Should I get the doctor?"

Raya fought back another moan of pain, as she pointed to a bureau across the room. "No. Bring me the herb. It's — it's in the top d-drawer. Quickly."

The maid did as ordered, delivering Raya a jar half – full with some dried roots.

Raya quickly opened the jar and placed a piece of root into her mouth, biting down and grimacing at the bitter taste. Then she turned and grasped for her husband's hand. It felt as though he was holding hers back, but it was more likely that it was just the natural curl of his fingers. She sighed. "I will have these children when the King is awake to greet them."

And the contractions subsided.

–

There was a somber air over the kingdom. It had already been weeks since the King had fallen ill, and the people were dispirited. They were without faith; fearful that it was the end of a majestic reign and the start of discord.

"You must speak to them," Lancor urged her one morning. "Your people have not seen you for weeks. They think the worst."

Raya knew she had been putting this off. She was reluctant to step into Malcolm's role. It was his kingdom, not hers.

She had her maids dress her in the finest silks. It was more arduous than ever just to stand, and she had to grip the arms of two guards to walk forward, shifting into court where more people than she had ever seen were crammed into the hall, desperate to see their Queen alive and well, even if they only got a glimpse of her.

The chattering voices immediately died down as Raya emerged through the thick scarlet curtains, still flanked by the two guards helping her along in the great exertion of walking.

She could hardly breathe. She was too heavy. She was red and gasping, sweat pouring down her forehead where a vein bulged, as she struggled not to grunt out audibly as she strained to support her babies. Her belly was massive. It resembled a boulder, her swollen breasts perched atop it, swollen nipples bulging out prominently.
She gripped what she could of her mass, but her hands couldn't come close to wrapping around it. "They're getting stronger every day!" Raya called to her people as they stood there silently staring at her in shock or amazement. "The kingdom remains abundant. Malcolm is rich with love and family. Do not give up on the King; your liege!"

The stunned silence seemed to go on for eternity, Raya finally succumbing to a groan, unaccustomed to this brutal gravity since most of her days were spent in bed watching over the King these days. She hunched slightly, one of the guards placing his hand on her back, looking to offer support where he could not. And just when Raya was certain her people had given up and so should she, one man raised his fist and shouted, "Long live the monarchy!"

Soon others joined in until everyone was shouting it. Long live the monarchy. Tears rolled down Raya's cheeks.

–

It took several more weeks before they figured out what had poisoned the King. It wasn't a man but a rare plant that must have scratched against his skin during their tour of the city’s botanical gardens two days prior to his falling ill.

It had taken that long for the poison to take full effect and completely incapacitate him. The poison would have also caused him to waste away, but Raya's milk kept him strong. Well, all this was the theory. The antidote to the poison was administered and the kingdom waited for days in anticipation.

When Malcolm awoke, his head was throbbing. His vision was blurry, his mind was foggy, and his limbs felt as though they were made of stone. He blinked and rubbed his eyes until he could see properly, and looked down himself. He didn't know how it was possible, but he was different. No longer was his body lean, but soft now.

His belly was somewhat rounded, his chest fuller as well, even his fingers looking pudgier as he gazed down at his hand. And he was in a room he did not recognize.

"Darling," came the lovely voice of his wife.

Malcolm turned to look at her, his eyes going wide.
Raya was massive, pinned to the bed by a belly that looked larger than the rest of her. It was a bolder — larger, taking up most of the mattress, shoving Malcolm to the edge. Raya squirmed feebly, immobilized by her hugeness. She was clasping a jar atop her swollen basketball sized breasts, chewing something, a root? And she was gasping, her face red as she chewed, strained, and sweat.

"I — I nursed you every day," she managed, as her nipples released twin squirts of milk. “Nghhhh…”

"Raya…"

"I knew you would recover." Her thighs twitched and another moan escaped her throat, the vein on her forehead bulging harder. "I knew I had to hold on, to wait for you," she gasped out.

With effort, Malcolm managed to sit up, using muscles he had not used in a while, apparently. But it was worth the exertion to lean over and press his lips against her sweat – sleek curve of broad flesh. "My Queen, you are perfect."