Heir, Part 4 (Patreon)

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

Story Schedule

Summary: Ian is the last in line to the throne, and the only way to pass down  his family’s magic is by carrying an heir himself. Though the idea is  unpleasant to him, and in fact, unheard of, Connor enlists several witch  doctors and warlocks, who manage to get him in a state of pregnancy,  but he constantly miscarries. As he goes on without an heir, domestic  unrest grows, and the country is on the brink of a civil war. Connor’s  uncle enlists a unique warlock who utilizes both science and magic in  his procedures, and Connor soon finds himself more fertile than he’d  hoped or wanted. Contains: Male: pregnancy, breast expansion, butt expansion, weight gain.

Previous Chapter 

-

An enterprise that should have taken a couple of days was taking weeks.

But Ian’s work was proving a rather complex strain on his magic. Each land managed to overwhelm him as it never had in the past. He could feel the power of his ancestors coursing through his body whenever he sank to his knees and pressed his hands against the dry earth, encouraging fecundity. Each blessing took him up to an hour.

Afterwards, he was drained. His magic was overzealous, and not entirely under his control. As he was helped to his feet following the latest blessing, he could already see greens sprouting up from the ground, leaves blossoming on bare trees, and flowers popping up at his feet.

“Your magic is most fertile this year,” Derrin remarked.

Face warm, Ian ignored him. The commoners tried to swarm him as he was led back towards the carriage, but his guards kept them at bay, maintaining a clear path as Ian got to the door and climbed inside.

Ian slumped back, keen to rest, but was instead urged to eat.

“You need to keep your energy up,” Derrin advised.

Ian could not deny that he was hungry. This was the fifth stop on their tour, and also the fifth time the citizens had come offering gifts of fine cloths, jewelry, and food. A lot of it. Which made sense, as food was the easiest gift to procure for the common man or woman. Food had the added benefit of also serving as a gift to the rumored — now obvious — offspring. Ian was bombarded with platters, parcels, boxes, and bags, all crammed with local delicacies. At the second stop, Ian had attempted to wave the gifts off, but the guards still accepted everything, loading it all into the carriage.

And every time Ian entered the carriage, he was assailed with the delicious aromas. Three months ago, it might have disgusted him. But now it made his belly ache and grumble, and he ate each treat he pulled out of the pile, not really thinking, just indulging his ravenous appetite.

“Many mouths to feed,” Derrin noted as he closed the curtains.

Ian was not sure why Derrin constantly reminded him. It wasn’t like he didn’t know it.

“You’ll need plenty of food to support their developing magics.”

Ian’s body seemed to agree. He felt like passing out but was still eating. He bit into a doughy pastry and chewed lethargically.

Perhaps that was true. Ian suspected that his increased hunger corresponded with his increasing magical expenditure. He couldn’t stop eating, forcing down food even as he grew impossibly tight and his belly started to throb. It was like he was possessed by some intrinsic need, hands moving mechanically. The desperation took priority over everything else. Soon even Derrin was talking him down.

“Easy,” his uncle said softly. Derrin was suddenly seated beside Ian, with a hand on Ian’s back. Ian tensed for a moment, but then relaxed, and groaned out. His body felt hot, and he realized that he was sweating significantly. “I know you want to nurture them…but take it slow,” Derrin went on.

That wasn’t it at all. Ian had just…he had just lost himself for a moment. He slumped back and moaned, arching his throat to stare up at the ceiling. “I need…rest,” he managed, mortified.

“You’ve earned it,” Derrin assured.

And as Ian’s eyelids sunk, he felt a curious sensation. A broad hand resting gently against his over-packed belly. It wasn’t a bad thing.

He fell asleep.

-

Ian was used to girls fawning over him, as they fantasized of being his chosen princess. He was used to young men looking up to him in envy, wanting to be as witty, and stylish, and handsome as Ian was.

But there was none of that at Ian’s stop in Anbrotha. Girls who had fawned and men who had envied now look decidedly aghast. Ian could see many youths that he used to frequent pubs with in his prior travels. He remembered how they would dine, drink, and dance together. They would feast, and fuck, and treat life like it was one ceaseless party. Because that was how life had been for Ian.

But now he was becoming…a parent? A mother? What a foul concept. His face was hot, and he did not meet one of their eyes. He felt decidedly awkward there, huffing and puffing, wanting to hide the bulge that Derrin was bent on displaying. Ian was certain he’d had a growth spurt the night before, because his clothes were even tighter than previously. There was just so much to accommodate, so many children. A great size was to be expected, and it was all the more humiliating. Yet his guards stood proud, and so did his uncle.

Ian was growing, but there was no tailor on hand to adjust his clothing. This trip was taking too long, with all the breaks Ian needed to either eat or nap. Thankfully, this was the last stop. Ian rested his hand on his sore back, not knowing what to say to the crowd that looked at him, and so expectantly, his pregnancy more evident than ever before. Perhaps it was time to formally acknowledge it.

A peasant man pushed his way forward. “A farce!” he screamed, as two guards stepped in front of Ian.

The man was quickly dragged away, struggling, but now mutterings were starting up in the crowd, looks of amazement turning to dubious frowns. Ian felt himself blushing worse. Gods, he wished it was only a farce.

“Ignore him,” Derrin whispered beside him.

Ian didn’t think he could have spoken had he tried. His heart was pounding, his belly tight to bursting from his increasing inability to control himself around any amount of food.

“Clear the way!” a guard shouted, then Ian, with his men, began their procession towards the country’s largest farm.

He was interrupted again. A woman in the front tugged at his sleeve. Another joined her, hands making contact with his clothing, and his belly. It caused him to freeze up.

“Please, hold the babe,” one entreated, as she presented a small bundle clutched in her arms. It wasn’t unusual. People thought it fortunate for their child to have any contact with the royal family.

“Hold mine,” another pleaded. A baby began to wail and Ian’s heart clenched. More fingers reached out to glide across his clothing, but he wrenched himself away, doggedly ignoring them as he continued forward.

“Appealing for your sympathies,” Derrin noted. “One mother to another.”

“Don’t call me that,” Ian hissed back bitterly. “I am not some emotional wench.”

“Babes are something you’ll have to get used to,” Derrin responded smoothly. “Soon you’ll have a swarm of your own.”

Ian winced.

It was the last stop of their tour. Ian was scheduled to meet with the owners of the farm, who were also one of the country’s oldest families. The conference was customary, and supposedly could not be avoided. The rationale was entirely political. The people looked up to the elder families, and it was crucial to maintain good relations. Or so Derrin insisted.

When they arrived to the old and expansive farm house, the guards cleared the way for Derrin to knock on the door. The woman who answered stared at Ian for a full moment. “C-come in, come in,” she stammered eventually.

Two of the guards accompanied Ian and Derrin inside, while the rest stationed themselves about the property. Ian felt as though they were smothering him lately. It was obvious that Derrin had sent for extra men at some point during this venture. And they kept closer to Ian than ever before. It was like the more he grew, the more protective they became.

The Corven family consisted of an elderly couple, their daughter-in-law, and the young woman’s baby. The infant whimpered as they habitually talked over it.

“Please, have a seat,” the elderly man insisted, pulling out a rough old kitchen chair that wasn’t nearly worthy of royalty.

Ian gratefully sat down. It felt odd to be below them and to have everyone looking down at him, but his exhaustion had far exceeded his efforts at dignity. Derrin looked vaguely disapproving.

There was a bit more staring. For a while, no part of the family seemed to know what to say of the prince. They were gawking enough that Ian was getting agitated.

“Where is your son, Themis?” Derrin broke the silence, addressing the elderly man.

“Off working the mines,” the man, Themis, responded. “Only comes home once a fortnight. We need the coin. Not much harvest this year. Everything wilted after — after your parents died, rest their souls.” Themis gave a small bow to Ian. “You all know our crops run on magic.”

The baby had started bawling, the mother bobbing him in her arms, to no effect. The wails seemed to be getting louder, and Ian’s head was throbbing.

“I’m sorry, he’s hungry,” she said, looking mortified, for not being able to quiet him. For not being able to feed him, even.

“Their deaths hit all of us hard,” Themis said, giving Ian a solemn look.

“It seems you are not the only one in mourning, sire,” said Derrin, to Ian. “Even the lands —”

“The people are starving,” said Themis.

Ian’s chest was aching, nipples burning. He felt terribly hot, his flesh practically pulsating. He puffed out a breath as he felt himself starting to leak. Right there in his tunic.

The conversation awkwardly froze there, everyone staring at him, and all was silent except for the babe’s continued wails. Ian was completely humiliated. He hated his life at that moment. He felt trapped in his own body, with no reprieve from his womanly state. Even Derrin looked embarrassed, and seemed like he might attempt to segue again, as Ian’s breathing grew thinner.

Yet Ian still knew what was right and what was honorable. He knew that his parents would have never allowed the decline that had occurred over the past several months, as the land withered and the people went without sustenance. He had been selfish. “Give him to me,” Ian said.

For a moment, everyone looked confused. But Ian nodded to the girl, and after a startled moment, she reacted accordingly. She leaned down and eased her child into Ian’s arms.

Ian tried not to think of the many pairs of eyes glued to him as he unbuttoned the top of his tunic, revealing pump flesh and cleavage, and the engorged breasts that had sprouted on his chest only weeks earlier. He unbuttoned just enough to give the child access to the nipple. Then the child latched on, and nursed.

Ian thought his blush would be permanently glued to his face. He was sitting here, nursing, like a wench, this babe resting against the ones packed in his belly. Ian stared off, his hand absently rubbing along the infant’s back as it drank keenly.

“Th-this is an honor,” the girl finally found words. “You are a compassionate and humble prince. Thank you.” She dropped to her knees, tears pouring down her cheeks.

With effort, Ian stood. “It’s time to finish here,” he said, as he walked towards the door, the others instinctively stepping out of his way. He kept the baby, for the time being, as he walked out the door and looked upon the expansive farmlands. They seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. He walked out onto them, and it was one of those rare instances where no one followed, where no guards flanked him, and Derrin wasn’t muttering in his ear. These distractions would only corrupt the purity of his magic. So sometimes he savored it, the solitude of his power. Ian got to his knees on the dirt, the infant fidgeting somewhat against him, but continuing to drink, so terribly hungry. This was his fault. Clutching the baby with one arm, Ian allowed the fingers of his free hand to sink into the soil. This was the most sacred place of harvest of the entire country, and to think, that it had been neglected so profoundly.

Ian allowed his magic to seep into the soil, encouraging fertility, but it came easily now. His belly lurched as his magic pulsed, and spread in waves around him. Grasses sprouted and rose till it tickled his ankles, steadily crawling to his thighs, and higher. This land seemed so keen for his touch, practically drawing the magic out of him. And then something extraordinary happened. All at once, it shot back into him, causing him to gasp and arch, as his eyes brightened and his belly tightened.

The baby whined as it detached, and Ian did all he could to keep his arms around it. He was growing. “Mmmghh…nrghhhh…” He could feel his belly pushing outwards, diamonds of flesh bulging between his buttons, until a few of them snapped right off. His belly button popped outwards and his nipples squirted milk, sweat pouring down his flesh and tears running down his cheeks. The baby looked up at him, seemingly in amazement. Then Ian hunched down, gasping for breath, clutching his mass. He could no longer support himself. He sunk to his side on the soft grass, barely managing to secure the baby before the world went dark.

“Prince Ian.”

Ian didn’t know how long he had lain there, but Derrin was above him, staring down at him with a look that was somewhere between astonished and concerned. The grass was high, going up to Derrin’s hips. And Ian was buried in it.

Someone lifted the babe from Ian’s arms. Derrin crouched down, placing his hand on Ian’s shoulder. “Can you get up?”

Ian wasn’t sure but he nodded anyway. When Derrin helped him to his feet, Ian was assaulted with waves of dizziness. He leaned heavily on his uncle’s side.

“You grew,” Derrin noted in awe.

Ian could only groan.

Ian’s trembling hand clutched his belly as he was helped back towards his carriage, his stride feeling awkward. He was still panting like a dog, still overheated and faint. Soon he could hear the mutterings of the crowd, their gasps and whispers. He knew that much of his flesh was exposed, and so too, was his growth spurt. Perhaps now they knew it wasn’t a farce. Ian couldn’t much care at that moment.

“The magic…attacked me,” Ian managed, once he was slumped back in the carriage, his feeble hands rubbing desperate circles on his tight, heaving belly. He could feel Derrin staring.

“You know your magic cannot do harm,” Derrin responded quietly.

Ian just felt too tight all over. He felt like his magic, milk, and children all wanted to burst forth simultaneously. Another button on his tunic snapped. He whimpered and started to undo the rest of them, freeing his breasts. They were at least C-cups, but overly round and too engorged for him to stand. He squeezed one of his nipples, producing a squirt of milk as he groaned. Derrin gawked for a moment then quickly averted his eyes, his own face reddening.

There was a knock on the carriage door.

Derrin awkwardly cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, before taking his leave.

Ian just focused on breathing. He felt so uncomfortable, but so, so tired. His vision began to blur again, then he heard the door open once more.

Next Chapter