Unintended Side-Effects (Commission for Visha) (Patreon)

Maggie’s attempts at addressing her lacking fertility had universally ended in failure. No matter what she did, nothing really changed; she might develop a more hyperactive libido (as, indeed, she definitely did), but beyond that, nothing much was done to the fact that her body was unable to get anything to “stick”, as it were.

Beyond a certain point, the mouse’s constant search for new answers couldn’t even be said be motivated by any conventional desires; while she still convinced herself that it was about motherhood and the experience thereof, more often than not she would find herself thinking about things in a far more explicit, overtly sexualised manner. It was as if she were doing this for her own elation, rather than edification; that it made her horny, rather than merely satisfied and more at peace with herself.

Hence why she so gleefully threw herself into that clinical trial. It didn’t matter to her that a good chunk of the ad was devoted exclusively to the potential side effects of it; as far as she cared, as long as the experiment left her more fertile, more capable of bearing young, then it was everything she could possibly want. Maggie even went so far as to sign the suspiciously lengthy waiver relating to the pharmaceutical company’s responsibility; she just literally couldn’t care.

What she wanted were those pills: convenient in shape and form, extra speedy in terms of delivery. She was told to only ever take one every month, and if any side-effects should show themselves, to report back to that address as quickly as possible; the chemicals were only meant to improve her chance of being fertilised, so anything beyond it was automatically not in the project’s scope, as the researchers continuously reminded her, and as Maggie continuously failed to give a shit about.

The moment she came home, after the injections she received were done leaving her woozy, the mouse gal uncapped the pill bottle and promptly took one. She didn’t jot down the time, nor care about what she ate before, or any of the things the people running the study presumably told her to at least try to remember. Instead, she rushed for the mirror in the bathroom, having convinced herself that something would happen if only she paid close enough attention.

For most, this would be a losing proposition: changes in fertility didn’t usually manifest any outward changes, at least not until the person made good on them. Even Maggie didn’t know what she expected to see when she parked herself in the middle of the bathroom and took her shirt off… but it definitely wasn’t the four bumps on her belly that were definitely there, and definitely hadn’t been there just moments ago.

Only then did the sense of pressure filter up to her brain, as if the piece of meat between her ears needed visual confirmation of what had taken place before it allowed itself to believe it was real. To be fair to her, the treatment wasn’t supposed to leave her ovaries bigger… certainly not to the point where she could both feel and see them pushing against her skin from underneath. Maggie didn’t quite understand how and why that could happen, nor just how swollen those things had to be in order for them to be visible, but she did know she wanted more, and she had a whole bottle’s worth of pills to use just sitting on her nightstand.

Not a minute went by before the mouse was standing in front of the mirror, bottle in hand, practically buzzing with excitement at the thought of what was about to happen to her. She’d missed her first growth spurt; there was no way she was throwing away a second one, not when it was entirely within her power to see it from start to finish. Thus, with no concern for her own personal safety, nor indeed any thoughts spared for whether or not she was in genuine, serious danger, Maggie took another pill.

Immediately the pressure inside of her abdomen skyrocketed, with her automatically wincing and doubling over before she forced her back to straighten out: she had to see it happen, and needed as clear of a view as possible. There, down below where the four bumps protruded from her sides, was where most of the activity was focused, for it was there that she saw it first: the multiplication.

There was no other word for it, beyond, perhaps, some exotic form of mitosis. What she saw were the four bumps rumbling, their surface quivering as if possessed by muscle spasms, before they slightly shrunk; a seam developed along their central line, pushing down as if trying to split each mass in half, clearing through most of them before, with an inaudible sense of finality, her four ovaries Maggie had on her were doubled to eight before her very eyes.

This was not, of course, the end of it, as her body had far different plans. After all, her initial egg repositories were so small compared to the rest of her that they weren’t visible; for them to be seen as tiny bumps after splitting into four had to mean they underwent some kind of change to their size, a secondary growth spurt which merely made them bigger, as opposed to more numerous.

Which was precisely what happened to the now-eight lumps that Maggie tracked with a hunger that bordered on the supernatural. Lumps, not bumps: were anything else inside of her to be as visible as her octet of ovaries, she might’ve actually thought it worrying, but then and there? Her seeing those things swell, watching as they grew and bloated their way to the same size the first four had been at, then keep going further still, was everything she could’ve wanted and more. It was her body doing exactly what it was supposed to have done, brought into overdrive and stacked on itself.

And it wasn’t over.

The growth spurt didn’t stop until each of her ovaries was roughly the same size as her balled-up fists, which she just then noticed were stuck motionless at her side. She could do far more with them: such as bringing her fingers up to caress the bumps jutting out from her belly. It felt obscene, in a way: like she shouldn’t be doing, like what happened to her was unnatural and she was just enabling it… and yet, that was exactly what she wanted to do: not just make sure her body knew it was fine, but that it knew to go further.

So she did it. She touched the surface of her skin, stretched out by the ovaries beneath, and woke up some thirty minutes later on the floor of her bathroom. In front of her, slung out to an almost comical degree, was her belly: rotund, stretched to the point where its skin was visibly red, and very clearly on the verge of yet another round of additional mass, given how it was stretching already. Lining not just its flanks, but going all the way around its circumference to the degree that there wasn’t any free space… were more ovaries.

They weren’t so much lining anything as they were completely covering her entire stomach area… and most of her torso up to her tits, bringing to mind serious questions as to how long she’d been out, and just what she’d been doing. It was hard to tell just how much belly there was underneath it all, though given what Maggie was feeling, there had to be more than usual; it was an odd sense of fullness, not unlike when she ate far too much… though, given what else was on food display, that likely wasn’t just a food baby she had there.

Surely, there was no way in all the seven hells that she could’ve been knocked up without someone there to knock her up. Surely, the fertility treatment hadn’t been so potent that she was now fully capable of doing it to herself, becoming an engine of motherhood that needed nothing but her own continued existence… and a source of calories, given how famished she felt. Getting up wasn’t an option though, she was far too heavy for that; though, thankfully, there was a solution just sitting there, resting on her chest: her chest itself.

It had gone by her initially, but as soon as the mouse actually looked at her tits, she could see they were significantly bigger than they had been for… well, most of her life, really. Puberty had swung by her with some minimal changes to her hips and waistline; sure, she had breasts, a full A-Cup of them, but nothing more than that. So to look at herself and see a pair of milkers each about as big as her entire head was about as exciting as it was novel, and the moment Maggie saw the white droplets oozing from her nipples was the same one she dug in.

How could she not? After literal years spent fantasizing about that exact same scenario, she couldn’t not drink from herself; she had effectively been given the one thing she most wanted, in the most convenient form, in a way she literally couldn’t ignore, so why not dig in? Her tits were both big enough that Maggie could bring her leaking teats over to her mouth to drink as greedily as possible without even bending her back; she was certain that, with her body being on overdrive, this would only ever get easier going forward, especially with how much of the cream was being made.

Really, it was… surprising. Enough so that she had to go through multiple mouthfuls before she managed to pull her buds off of her mouth, there being so much milk in there that she was left practically gagging, unable to react properly; all she could think of was the warmth, the thickness, the near-syrupy consistency, the odd caramel twinge to it all… and she wanted more. She wanted more, and her body provided, so of course she had to bring her bust over so she could suckle some more.

Did it matter that this wasn’t even the worst part about her? Hardly; in fact, let her belly swell even further! She took the damned pills for a reason, and if the effect was, in essence, a hypercharged transformation of her entire reproductive system, who was she to say no? All Maggie could see was a belly full of bumps, each one a repository of countless billions of eggs, each one ready to be unleashed, each one begging to be fertilised to create new life. It didn’t occur to her that she needed someone else in there to help her accomplish that; indeed, as far as the mouse gal was concerned, she didn’t need anyone to help breed her.

Sure, it’d be nice to have a cock big enough to fill her womb before it filled her womb get thrust inside of her; it’d be really nice if she had a lover large enough that he very nearly split her in half before she had the chance to do anything about that. Alas, she was stuck to the bathroom floor, feeling heavier by the moment, and judging from the amount of pressure and weight emanating from her womb already, Maggie couldn’t help but feel like she didn’t really need someone to offer up their seed.

Was it possible for someone like her to self-fertilise? Last she checked, mice weren’t capable of breeding themselves without the aid of a partner… though, at the same time, last she checked they weren’t capable of developing so many ovaries that the tangled mess pushed out against their skin and turned their bellies into a series of lumps stacked on one another. Last she checked, she shouldn’t be able to feel her eggs being jettisoned in one gloriously pleasurable wave the moment she touched one of those bumps; last she checked, she shouldn’t be able to sense the birthing of new life the moment those trillions of eggs reached her womb.

And yet, she still did. She still brought both hands to an ovary each, leaving her tits to her hungry mouth, just so she could rub them down, massaging their outer layer through her stretched skin; she still forced them to release their full contents, momentarily shrinking before filling back up, larger than ever before. And she still forced her system to make do with the overabundance of egg cells needing a good fertilisation… which it seemed to do by somehow, through some unknown force, simply fertilising them on the spot.

This had two immediate consequences. Firstly, the amount of empty room inside of Maggie’s bathroom went drastically down, as all of a sudden, her womb had to contend with countless new lives being formed out of thin air; indeed, she didn’t so much occupy all the space in there as much as she did plow through it, breaking the walls down and invading both her bedroom and the hallway directly outside. This had the compounded effect of leading to the rest of her ovaries releasing their full load as well, preparing the mouse gal for a second row of fertilisations, sure to leave her even bigger than before.

Secondly, the rest of her almost instantly adapted as well. While little could be said about whether or not she’d actually give birth, or if all of  this was one immensely complex wet dream brought about by chemical overdosing, her body definitely seemed to think that it had to change. She likely still had months left before she was close to labour, and yet, for whatever reason, her tits decided this would be the best possible time for them to start filling, as did her ass and thighs figure they should get in on the growth spurt as well.

It didn’t seem enough that her belly alone had already crushed a good half of her house and was getting ready for another, much larger upgrade in size; no, her bust had to produce so much milk for  her young ones that the resulting boost in mass was enough to completely cover Maggie’s field of view, completely burying her face and head in soft breastflesh. And while she couldn’t see it, she could definitely feel that rump of hers bloating outwards as endless amounts of pudge were just magicked from nothing, made to deposit themselves into a pair of cheeks and set of thighs that would be used to deliver… how many young she’d end up with.

All of her grew, all of her was growing, and nothing she could do could salvage it. For anyone else, perhaps a nightmare scenario; for Maggie, exactly what she’d wanted her entire life, given to her on a silver platter, in a way that could be abused simply by her existing: she was horny, thus, she released eggs, thus, she was fertilised, thus, she grew, thus, she became hornier. By remaining conscious, indeed, by experiencing life itself, she guaranteed the escalating spiral would never end, guaranteed that her body, wherever it may be-

-wherever it may be. A moment of lucidity flashed in front of her: she was immobile, yes, her body was fertilising itself because no dicks could reach her in time, yes, but that needn’t be the case forever. She was still growing, and with enough force that her home would likely be the next victim in the following spurt; if only she held on for long enough that she could get one good scream out, if only she lasted to the point where all the walls around her broke down, then she could call for help.

Not actual help, that’d be ridiculous; the last thing Maggie wanted was someone to show up with a suppressant solution or an antidote, forcing her back into her old and boring self. No, what she wanted was someone with a big enough cock and fat enough pair of cumtanks to come up to her and fill her; what she needed was a breeder to do with her what no one else could: make good use of her hyper-activated fertility, and truly send her into the proverbial stratosphere.

Because what she needed now wasn’t to stop, wasn’t even to slow down; maybe other people would want to put a brake to it, but she wasn’t most people, she was Maggie! She was the same damned mouse gal that had spent years trying to get pregnant, failed, then had to resort to an unstable mutagenic compound as delivered by conveniently-shaped pills! And now she was Maggie, living baby factory, with a womb so stuffed and full that she’d barrelled through the walls of her apartment!

And she wasn’t going to stop there. She wasn’t going to stop ever, in fact, not if she could avoid it. She was going to keep going, until everything she could feel was her gravid self, until everything, in every direction, for as far and long as her brain could process, was just her. It didn’t matter to Maggie if this meant her whole body had to be subverted to the cause; certainly didn’t matter if she had to make herself bloat so much that most of the city was covered by her. What mattered was that now, she had the chance to be everything she always wanted to be, and wasn’t about to let that go.

So of course she pushed her hands against one of the head-sized lumps in front of her; why wouldn’t she, when it was the simplest way out? Her ovaries were already going haywire, she might as well help them along! Sure, it barely did anything when she already had a gargantuan number of eggs heading directly into her womb, but for the mouse, this was irrelevant: it was her decision, and she was bringing it to life. It was simple. It was plain for all to see.

It would be plain for all to see.

When the second row of fertilisations rushed in, whatever remained of Maggie’s apartment block didn’t stand for much longer. She wasn’t even being bred properly and already her body had turned into a living incubator, little more than something to be used for the creation of new life… and with all the extras that came with it, the mouse gal couldn’t have asked for more.

Beneath her, an ass so cushiony she didn’t feel the fall after her third-floor apartment came crashing down to street levels. Around it, a pair of thighs of such great weight and softness that what should have been a thunderous crash became a sonic clap instead. In front of her, burying her face still, a pair of tits of a magnitude so gargantuan that to even think about doing anything other than spurting milk for miles around was heresy. And yet, none of this remotely compared to the incomprehensibly titanic belly she had slung out in all directions, or the coating of car-sized ovaries pushing against her skin from within.

Maggie didn’t understand how her body was still in one piece: so much stress would no doubt have torn a lesser mouse into two, and yet there she was, holding fast, growing still greater and bigger with every moment. She could feel her insides twisting and rearranging, multiplying further; though her gut was so distended as to cover the better part of a city block, it was nonetheless completely covered in the same bumps it had been ever since she’d blacked out back at the bathroom. The difference was, of course, these were several times larger each, and were also naught but a fraction of the total number.

She didn’t have enough belly to put all of her ovaries on display; most of them were just beneath the surface, pushing against the lucky ones that got to bump and crash into the outside world, desperate for stimulation of their own. By then, Maggie herself couldn’t reach them: her arms were far too short to get to any part of herself that wasn’t just more of her bust… not that she particularly cared, given how even a single finger pushing into her soft flesh was enough to bring her to the edge and beyond.

And deeper still, underneath the multiple layers of egg factories, was the multitude of wombs being serviced by them. Wombs filled with endless waves of egg cells waiting for a chance of being fertilised properly, then simply doing so to themselves when they could find no seed to make use of. It was no longer a matter of whether or not Maggie would find an appropriate mate; if she didn’t, then her body would make due with what it had, end of story. If she could not find someone big and strong enough to breed her, then she herself would handle the load.

As it looked to be the case, more and more the bigger she turned out to be. If her needs were already absurd when she still fit inside a bathroom, who could possibly hope to live up to the broodmother’s expectations now that she was so gargantuan that her mere presence was enough to flatten cars into pancakes, or topple buildings like dominoes?

Besides, in the time it took for any one breeder to finish, the mouse mother knew for a fact she could have fertilised herself tenfold times over… so, why wait? Why wait for a hypothetical stud who’d only waste her precious time, when instead she could make herself bigger, when she could force herself to become more numerous and fertile? She didn’t even need the pills anymore: her very body had become an engine for growth, feeding itself as more eggs turned to more life turned to more arousal turned to more eggs. Her belly grew ever more giant, her ovaries multiplied to ever-escalating exponentials, and her wombs raced to fill every available inch of space; in the process, her once-smooth belly had become a maze network of ridges and bumps and lumps and valleys, crevices where one could lose themselves amidst countless ovaries.

It was her dream, realised. Every moment that passed, Maggie felt herself growing bigger; not just that, but she sensed how her countless egg factories released yet more of their contents, with them washing into her wombs in massive, unstoppable tidal waves, only to attach to whatever empty patch of lining was still there so they may begin the process anew. She wasn’t even thinking about what would happen when time came to deliver all those young; in fact, she wasn’t thinking about the young at all.

She was thinking about the pressure.

The endless, ever-increasing pressure, the sense of fullness that was slowly turning from merely pleasurable to… almost painful. The notion, albeit distant, that she was approaching some sort of limit, and that no matter how much her body wanted to multiply, it just couldn’t anymore… and yet did so regardless.

Creaking, groaning, slorshing, all of it together to let Maggie know she wasn’t going to last much longer in that blissful state of mindless ecstasy. Soon enough, things would flip, and where once had been endless pleasure, there would come nothing but endless pressure… and, nonetheless, the mouse gal couldn’t really focus on that.

All Maggie could think about was how much bigger she was getting at any one moment, how much fuller, how much more fertile. The numbers had long-since stopped making sense, tens into hundreds into thousands; the numbers were too great for the mouse gal to understand them, especially as applied to her own body. It had to be a dream, because it couldn’t be real… but, if it wasn’t real, then there was no reason not to exploit it to the best of her ability.

It was, after all, a perfect out: it wasn’t real, so she didn’t need to worry about all the pressure. In fact, she could keep going further! If it didn’t matter, then surely it wouldn’t make a difference whether or not she had a million ovaries or ten. Or twenty. Or so many she could no longer count them! The only thing that mattered was becoming a broodmother, achieving the most fertility possible, turning herself into a living, breathing baby factory that knew nothing beyond the need to reproduce, and grow, and fill, and bloat.

Her body was reaching its limit, she could feel it. No matter how much she wanted to be bigger, no matter how easily she toppled buildings and flooded entire avenues with her milk, there was only so much she could take, and she couldn’t take much more for longer. With her skin stretching to near its breaking point, her insides should have stopped multiplying; by all means, it was the best sign her body had that maybe it should quit making more ovaries… a sign it pointedly refused to listen to.

Quite the contrary, as the pressure that Maggie felt inside of her only kept rising, and at an increasingly higher rate as the seconds ticked by and her continuous growth spurt refused to abate. Maybe, if she were properly bred, then it would serve as a brake of sorts: by giving her body what it wanted, the mouse gal would stop the endless expansion, the bottomless wellspring of multiplicative numerosity… but who was going to breed her now?

Maybe when she was still small enough to fit inside her bathroom, or perhaps even in the preliminary stages, when her belly was merely big enough to completely and thoroughly obliterate the interior of her home. Maybe then, when she was still at a girth that could be handled, someone could’ve walked up to her and offered their services. But now?

One of her tits alone was likely the same size as her old apartment block, and they dominated her frame, burgeoning with creamy milk, slorshing loudly enough that they nearly overpowered the creaking. Maggie’s thighs alone were so immense that entire skyscrapers looked tiny next to them, and her ass had burgeoned to such absurd dimensions as to make her legs appear diminutive. Not that this mattered at all, seeing as the true monument to fertility was… well, not so much slung out in front of her as it was most of her: her belly.

Or rather, what counted as a belly. There wasn’t much “belly” there in between the countless egg factories and the multitude of wombs making up its inside, both of which were still in the process of continuously dividing, filling, and dividing again, in an endless loop that seemed to have no means of stopping. Each one of her ovaries, too, had burgeoned to outsize entire cargo trucks, and only grew bigger still, not not nearly at the same rate as before; rather than explosively surging out several feet at a time, each of those gargantuan lumps had to fight for every inch of terrain, forcing themselves into whatever open space there still was. At least, until there simply wasn’t anymore.

Her skin was no longer its usual tone, having gone red quite some time prior; by then, once Maggie truly came to realise she was running out of room, it had progressed to outright scarlet: a titanic, red mound of bumps and lumps stretching from the ground all the way to beyond the first cloud layer, having flattened several dozen city blocks in the process. It looked less like a belly and more like a distorted, misshapen mountain, hiding underneath it so many hyperactive wombs that it was quite likely Maggie was carrying more life inside of her than there was outside.

And she was slowing down. Whether or not she liked it, the expansion rate was slowing to a crawl, though not because her body had decided to let up. Quite the contrary: her wombs were still trying to grow and multiply, as were her ovaries doing their level best to stretch her skin out further, until there came a point where Maggie could no longer hear anything but herself. Nothing but the sound of her body, creaking in agony as it was overfilled to several times its proper capacity, the sound of her self, being brought to the edge and beyond, until she was no longer a living being as much as the personification of her primary drive.

And she wanted it. She didn’t want to go back. Even though her brain was struggling to discern between what was meant to be pain and what was supposed to be ceaseless agony, Maggie didn’t want to turn around. It was too late now: she had seen Heaven, and couldn’t just ignore it. She couldn’t go back to her old life now that she had experienced what it was like to be perfect… not the least of which because she had destroyed a great deal of the city, and didn’t exactly have the money to pay for it.

So what better way to go than… forward? Than to keep on plowing through, growing bigger and more fertile with every moment that went by, even as her body very clearly failed to keep up with demand? She could carry on; she’d likely spend a few more days in that state of ecstatic suffering before something terrible happened to her, but she could keep going: the creaking, the groaning, the splashing of femcum as her orgasms came and went in quick succession, she loved every second of it.

Even if it pained her, even if she knew she shouldn’t, she still would. Onwards and outwards, even if the latter no longer really applied. Onwards and outwards, until she literally had no more room to grow, and a limit was crossed. Onwards and outwards, ever more fertile, ever more fecund, ever fuller and more encumbered… until, at some point in the near future, the decision would be made for her. She relished the chance for that to happen. She needed that to happen.

It was her destiny.