Split, Part V - Conclusion (Patreon)

Samara has changed in a way none could guess, but is she free of Charlie's horrors? Find out in the conclusion of Split.

Samara Five was just buttering her toast when the echo of an orgasm rolled over her. She shuddered briefly, bathing in the afterglow, and she could see another of her ‘sisters’ – Samara Three – was doing the same from her lounging spot in the living room.

“That was a big one, but then Two always has big ones,” Samara Five said.

Samara Three nodded vaguely, turned her head back towards the trashy celebrity mag she had her nose stuck into. Samara Five stuck out her tongue at her doppelganger.

“Don’t be gross,” Three said, despite not having seen her directly. “You know we’re always linked, right?”

“It’s still fun to try. Especially when you’re – oooohhh!” She moaned again as another echo of an orgasm rolled through her. Three moaned in unison with her. Jesus Christ how powerful must they be for her if we’re just getting sloppy seconds!? She rode it out, scattering the plates and utensils on the kitchen before her as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. The contents of her rounded belly squirmed. Even now, from the kitchen, she could sense the second-hand sensations of a man’s delicate kisses, his gentle thrusting into Samara Two. Thankfully, it only really became overwhelming during sex, which to be fair, was quite often. Two’s lovers often had a certain stamina.

She managed to finish her toast, ignoring the wetness in her panties, and waddled her way to the living room for breakfast. Three was applying her makeup, doing her best to look as stunning and perfect as possible, no matter how much eyelash care and Instagram posts it took. Meanwhile, she – Samara Five – must have looked a total mess. Her much shorter hair was wild and tangled, her own makeup non-existent and eyelashes purely natural. She had slept in and still hadn’t showered, meaning she was still in her pajamas with half the buttons undone. Yet she still noticed Three looking occasionally with jealousy at her, a jealousy she could feel directly if she focused enough. After all, there was a reason her top few buttons weren’t done up. Or some of the lower ones, judging by how she was progressing.

“Ah well, weird as this is, it’s better than how things were . . .”

◊◊◊

Samara could clearly remember that terrifying night with Tila, the Wandering Witch, when she had felt as if she were splitting apart. She had been, in fact. At the moment the ritual ended, she felt as if she were scattered across five places at once. She could feel Charlie’s charm had been ended, but that was not as pleasing as she imagined it would be; she felt different, somehow. More maternal, compassionate. As she scrambled up from the ground she could tell she was still pregnant, but her body was heavier - plumper, more maternal around the bosom and in the belly. Meanwhile, other shards of her were rising.  It had been incredibly confusing and frightening to slowly uncover that there was no ‘original’ Samara left. She had been split. Divided into the many essences that made her up, each still linked in feeling and personality, but all reflected some other aspect of her.

Tila was astonished. No magic had ever accomplished such a thing, and as each Samara proclaimed themselves to be the original, she was forced to tell them that there was no way back. Samara, who had always been divided in mind, was now divided in body as well. The Wandering Witch could only confirm that the magic was severed, and a backlash had resulted. She couldn’t confirm what might have happened to Charlie, but it was likely dramatic.

The five Samaras left together, unbelieving at what their new lives held.

◊◊◊

That was five months ago. Things were much easier now, and they had settled into a shared routine in their home. For all their neighbours knew, the girls were a set of quadruplets, though they knew in fact it was more like Quintuplets. Each had new wants and needs, but they were all bound together by their link, their common interests, and their shared sisterhood.

Though some, Five reflected, as Two entered the living room clad in a bathroom and reeking of sex, ended up with greater needs than others.

“Someone had a good time,” Five said, smirking at her ‘sister.’

Two blushed, crossed her arms over her silk bathrobe a little tighter. She sat down next to Five, resting her head on her enormous chest like a snug pillow. “It’s not my fault Five, you’d be the same if you were as constantly horny as me.”

“I know sis, I know.” She wrapped an arm around Two, who snuggled further into her breast. “Still, it could always be worse.” She patted her hand over her gravid form, and startled slightly as a small kick jutted into her bladder. Was that Charlie’s son, or . . .?

The thought was enough to reach the rest of her. The three of them that were in the room shuddered at the fate of One. Four had it bad too, in an altogether way, but One was far more changed than any of them. Though perhaps it was for the best. Two snuggled in again.

“Ow!” Five said, “take it easy there.”

“Yeah, even I could feel that,” Three complained, rubbing her own meagre breast in response.

Two blushed again. “I’m sorry, I just can’t help it. God, I wish I had tits like yours Five.”

“We all do,” Three complained, looking up from her celebrity mag.

“They’re, like, even bigger than Four’s, and she’s bigger than the original!”

“We’re all the original. And I’m wildly aware,” Five replied, but she couldn’t help but smile and shake her shoulders a bit, setting her ample bosom wobbling. Her chest was very warm this morning, which could only mean that she was full. “However,” she continued, “if either of you want these udders, then you’ll also have to learn to put up with the constant lactating, the feeling of always being full and all this milk being so warm.”

“We already feel it. We’re you, after all.”

“Not as I feel it. These damned udders are bursting with goddamned milk each morning, and even when I empty them I can feel them filling back up. If I don’t pump myself again at night I leave milk stains everywhere. Once these two arrive I’ll finally have more than just you guys to drink it.”

“That handsome man you’ve been seeing drinks it. We all felt it.”

Five blushed. “Rory accepts me, and I hope one day he can accept all of us. At the moment, we’re still seeing where things go. Besides Two, you’ll get to feel what it’s like soon. You’re coming along yourself.”

Two gave a look of hesitation. “Sometimes,” she said, “I think One was actually the luckiest of all of us. It’s weird, sure, but at least she isn’t constantly horny like I am, or . . .”

She let the delicate nature of Five’s particular personality hang in the air. It was true, some of them had been luckier than others. Three was considered the luckiest of all of them; in both mind and body she’d come off well, if made a bit younger. The night of that fateful step outside the magic circle, they’d all split, retaining all of Samara’s memories but each representing a slightly different aspect of her personality and self-image.

Two was obvious; the poor girl had inherited Samara’s sex drive turned up to 11, needing to climax several times a day. If she wasn’t being filled with some handsome stud’s seed, begging desperately for them to cum inside any of her available orifices, then she was masturbating in the shower, fondling herself on the couch, even having sex with one of the other Samaras. On more than one occasion it had been Five that had obliged her; giving new meaning to the term ‘go fuck yourself’ as the two of them shared the echoes of the other’s pleasure on top of their own. It wasn’t hard, really; the original Samara had always had a high opinion of herself, and a little self-love went a long way. Especially when your ‘sisters’ were not actually your sisters, so much as yourself.

It was basically an advanced form of masturbation.

Five patted Two again. If it wasn’t for One, she’d be the baby of the group. As it was, the remaining Samaras made sure to take care of her, given that her needs were so constant. The poor girl had taken on the most bimbo-eque qualities of Samara, with rounded breasts always on display in cheap v-necks. She couldn’t help herself, wearing anything else but the most exploitative outfits felt ‘all wrong’ as she had put it, and unlike Five she couldn’t stop herself from caking her face in makeup each morning and leaving little red kisses over whomever she planted her lips on. Even her syntax had been affected.

“I’m like, not throwing up this morning,” she said, “do you think that’s, you know, all done?”
Five glanced down the open split of Two’s bathrobe, where she could just perceive the slight outward curvature of Two’s tiny baby belly. Three rolled her eyes.

“Yeah right. With our luck, you’ll be chucking up your breakfast right up until labour hits. I hate tasting your morning sickness when I’m not even pregnant.” Five glared, and Three she went back to her mag to avoid that gaze. It wasn’t really Three’s fault. If Two was Samara’s bimbo side, then Three was the haughty, shallow, bullying side of her, though thankfully they were doing well to steer her away from her worst impulses. Her domineering attitude also made her a defender of the girls, and who had a strong sense of justice. Three was roughly sixteen years in age as far as they could figure, and with the exception of One – for obvious reasons – her body was the least developed, with still-respectable B-cups and a comparably flat ass. In some ways she was lucky though; all of them wished they could be a carefree teenage brat again. Especially, Five considered as life squirmed within her large stomach, since some of us have bigger duties.

“Ah, ‘tis a fine morning for thine exercises!” bellowed a very familiar voice. Samara Four entered the room, stretching her strong muscled limbs and showing off her toned abs. As usual, she wore a two piece ensemble of leather and fur that left her perfect stomach exposed above her battle skirt. Her legs were also extraordinarily fit; muscles pronounced, but in a way that enhanced her powerful femininity rather than making her masculine. Her thick brown boots thudded softly on the floor as she performed her regular stretches, the sheathed dagger at her hip jangling occasionally with her movements.

“How are we Shaleera?” Five asked. Deep down she knew, they all did. But it was easier to put up a pretence of normality than face the full oddity of their hivemind just yet.

“Mine self is good,” she responded, her voice loud and ridiculous. She began rebraiding her long red ponytail, and the various ornaments of animal teeth and clay trinkets rattled in her hair as she did. “I have slept divinely. How of thee?”

The three other Samaras in the room struggled not to snort, and Samara Four frowned at their reaction. “’Tis not my fault that mine speech is such,” she proclaimed, taking a spare seat. “I cannot help it so.”

Five gave her a sympathetic smile. It was true, really. Four was the part of Samara who enjoyed role playing and nerdy endeavours, but far from materialising as the young-teen version of herself, she instead became – appropriately, they supposed – a manifestation of her current tabletop character – Shaleera. This was much to Four’s chagrin, as she was forced to strut from room to room wearing her two-piece ‘furkini’ of sorts, and much to the joy of the gentlemen in her tabletop group she played with twice a week.

“Alas, if only mine speech could be normal again.”

Five gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Good morning girls!”

“Morning Steven!” the four of them said in unison, sweet and soprano-like, except for Shaleera who was forced to say “Good morning, good sir!” Despite themselves, they all found Two’s conquest more than a little attractive. A consequence of all of them basking in the afterglow of Two’s sex. Five was deeply aware that her fat nipples were poking through her pajamas. She unconsciously undid another button on her top, showing more of her bountiful cleavage, and shifted to show her bosomy profile.

Charlie smiled awkwardly. “Wow, you four sisters are really something, huh?” he asked.

“Mmm, better thanks to you,” Two groaned. She rubbed her belly as Steven took a seat between her and Five, placing his arms around both of them. Five scowled.

“You’re starting to show, Two,” Steven said, as he traced his fingers over the very slight belly that their sister was growing. “Won’t be long until you’re as big as Five here.”

Five huffed. “Not likely, unless you’ve put two in her.”

At that the poor thing shook anxiously. “I know. I’m, like, sooo nervous. I don’t want to be a bad mummy.”

“Hey, hey,” Steven said reassuringly, “I meant what I said, I’ll do my best to help you out. I don’t . . . fully understand everything that goes on in this weird family, but you guys are all pretty accommodating.”

Five huffed. Accommodating meant ‘willing to share’.

“Aye,” said Four, frowning, “’tis won’t be long till mine game tonight, but if ye wish for a more rough-and-tumble scrap of love, I am game for that as well.”

Steven’s eyebrows raised. “I swear I will never get used to this.”

◊◊◊

Steven had begun as just another one-night stand with Two. He was good looking and he knew it, but didn’t exactly have the highest level of intelligence, though that still suited the Samaras just fine. More than that, after Two stupidly brought him home, he didn’t flee or act weird around their dynamic, instead simply enjoying the casual sex and friendship of it. He had the unique superpower of being perhaps the most relaxed person the Samaras had ever known. Perhaps it was simply because he made a mean pot brownie.

Regardless, the girls had come to share him, though it was Two who was most enamoured with him, and he with her. Five sometimes got the sense that he was verging on understanding the true nature of the girls, but had seen no real evidence yet. It made things easier for her, at least, to know that affection was possible. Rory was a good man, and liked her despite her advancing pregnancy. It gave her hope for the future, something that with Charlie, she never thought she’d have.

◊◊◊

Five was brought back to reality by some comment from Steven. He was chatting with Three.

“And how are you, fashionista Three?” he asked.

“Not long till I’m eighteen,” Three complained, checking her nails, “again.”

Steven chuckled. “Again. Man, I’m going to figure this mystery out some day.”

The girls all smiled in unison. It probably looked real creepy, but he didn’t even notice. He was nice and simple that way. Rory on the other hand, was an accountant. The girls made fun of him for his job, but he was incredibly perceptive. God, he’ll figure it out any day now, and then what will he think?

“So when are you going to marry Two?” Three asked, not even looking up.

Chad was taken aback. “Uh, well, we’re just keeping things casual for now.”

Five rolled her eyes as Three smiled. She was a devious thing, making him and Two feel awkward, even if it made the rest of them feel awkward. She imagined how strange and ridiculous a wedding for Two would be, with each of them as bridesmaids. It would be a circus, especially given that, thanks to their mental link, they would also in part be the bride. Two would be bouncing up and down, wanting the speeches to end so she could kiss the groom and see to her wedding night needs. Three would be posting photos of the event on social media even as it unfolded, Four would be in some medieval fur-clad dress get up, and Five herself might at least look normal, unless she was pregnant again by that time – a real possibility. Either way, her own enormous triple-D jugs would be spilling out of her outfit.

Hopefully to Rory’s delight. The man did love her figure.

She was so lost in thought that she almost didn’t get to say goodbye to Steven, who had to leave in a hurry, much to the sadness of all of them.

“Don’t forget your hat!” Two exclaimed, and Steven smiled, turning back to grab it from the hat-rack.

“Jeez, are you guys sure you want to keep that rack? It looks . . . weird.”

All of them smiled conspiratorially, and he shrugged, knowing he wouldn’t win. He left with a laugh and a wave. Two was staring at his butt, which meant all of them had a fixed image of it in their minds also.

“Two rubbed her belly and wistfully said goodbye to the simple man her own simply mind had fallen in love with.”

Five tried to push away that love. God, being five different people is so hard.

“Well, glad he’s gone,” she said, “now that the himbo is out the door we can finally get the house in order.”

She felt Two’s shame before she even expressed it.

“He’s a good man and I love him. You do too, at least a little bit, I know because I feel it! Why do you always have to ruin it Five?”

Five stood, and her immense bosom trembled in her open top. “Why? WHY!? Oh, I don’t know Two, maybe it’s because instead of being one person with my own life, we’re five people all all caught up in being a ‘harem’ for that man. What’s Rory going to think? Am I going to have to share him? Probably!

“God, I can’t even make toast for breakfast without scattering the plates because I can feel fucking constantly. We have been turned into some kind of new superorganisms that’s so weird and new and terrible and fantastic, but it’s hard to get anything done when I’m so damn full of milk and you’re having sex and we’re all celebrating Shaleera rolling a Natural 20, and . . . you get what I mean.”

She breathed deeply, and felt the expanse of her bosom pressing at the remaining done-up buttons of her top as another small stream escaped from her jugs. Three whimpered slightly at the feeling. If only she knew how much I feel it compared to her. “God, I’m sorry girls. I lose it sometimes. Pregnancy hormones. Something to look forward to, Two.”

The girls crowded around to hug her, and tears developed in her eyes.

“Oh God, thanks girls. Wow, the feedback on this is crazy. You guys are awesome.”

“So are you,” they all said at once.”

Two sets of feet kicked inside her womb. “God, I’m already so huge and swollen with these two. And I just know I’m going to want more with Rory. Stupid personality traits.”

It was true. If Samara Three was her fashion-obsession, Two her horny side, and Four her more geeky, roleplaying aspect, then Five was a manifestation of the original Samara’s independence, but also her maternal side. The motherly Samara. The leader. It was why she took care of the rest of the parts of herself, working out any of her inner disagreements and helping each of them in turn, and they worked as a group to keep her own stress under control.

It was also why, she imagined, despite being less muscled than Samara Four/Shaleera, she was easily the tallest of them, with a pronounced bosom that lactated constantly for her coming children. God, she was so full even in this moment, and she could have jumped Steven’s bones in that moment just so he could milk her dry with his mouthm which was the real reason she wanted him out of the house: she needed to save that action for Rory. Because deep down, despite what she wanted, she was the Samara that desperately needed to have a baby. Not just one baby, in fact. More babies. Just being pregnant with twins, as strange a pair of twins as they were in her womb, made her glow deep inside. She needed to have babies. It was just a good thing that Rory was quite wealthy, and seemed to accept that she was pregnant when they met. Her rounded form, she suspected, was actually a bit of a turn on for him.

“It’s not fair,” she whined, placing her hands over her prodigious, lactating bosom. “Why do I have to be the one so baby-crazy?” She eyed Two, who actually seemed genuinely sympathetic. “I need to make babies, babies, and more babies. And worst of all I just know that this body is capable of it. It’s made for getting knocked up with kids. Ugh. I wanted to be a model when I was just one me.”

“You’ll be a model mother,” Three reassured her, taking a selfie with her in the pic.

“That’s a thought.”

“We know,” Four said, “thine self had it, therefore so did we all.”

Five’s hand rested over her stomach, and a much smaller hand made contact with his, the stretched skin of her pregnant belly resting between them.

“That’s her, isn’t it?” Two asked, her eyes fascinated, even a little saddened. Five nodded, breathing deeply. When they made contact like this, she could feel the last fragment of Samara within her even more than usual; her thoughts, feelings and mood. She was more distant than the others, just a small blip on their continual radar. It was for the best, though perhaps the connection would grow when she came of age. Or perhaps it would fade.

“How is she feeling? Little One?”

Five hesitated, focused upon those fragments of her own mind that were growing inside of her. “She feels . . . grumpy. Nostalgic. Part of her wishes she was her own normal self again and not . . . you know . . . a baby again.”

“I do miss her, you know,” Two said, circling a finger over Five’s belly, “even if it would be difficult to have her around with us. It would be easier for her.”

Five considered. “I’m not sure . . .”

◊◊◊

As far as they could all figure, Samara’s intent upon visiting the Wandering Witch that fateful night had come to pass, just in a way she could never fully expect. Shards of herself were granted full life, but the part of her that was consumed by guilt and shame over her past - both as a nerd and as a bully - didn’t just go away. No, that Samara still existed, and was her own adult self just long enough to look with panic and confusion at these new Samaras that she could feel and sense and see around her. Within moments, however, she began to shrink, her limbs becoming younger, her features simpler. She cried in shock as she collapsed within a pile of her own clothing, surrounded by other Samaras. She became weak and feeble, her cries becoming a child’s, then a toddler’s, then the wail of a newborn child, and she could do little more than grunt and cry as a tugging in her belly button revealed an umbilical cord steadily growing like a vine and lashing up into the nethers of the most maternal Samara – Five – who had approached to comfort the baby on instinct. But in moments, Five herself was struggling and moaning on the ground as she experienced the agony of an unexpected unbirthing. Samara One could still understand much of what was going on, even in child form, but her mind became simpler - streamlined - as she found herself pulled into the gap between Five’s parting thighs. Each of the shards of Samara cringed as they experienced a portion of the unbirthing, but Five felt all of it in full.

And moments later, she found herself not just pregnant with Charlie’s child, but a twin girl as well. A Samara nesting within a Samara.

When the dust settled, One had been given exactly what she wanted in a way she had never anticipated; she was free of her slavery from Charlie, and had a way to start over. She could never have known it would be a start over from the very beginning.

And so she would experience all of it. The sensations of being a child in the womb again, floating in amniotic fluid and lulled to sleep by the constant thumping of a mother’s heartbeat. Every sound distorted through the linings of the uterus in which she was growing, days drawing nearer and nearer towards the moment in which she would be pushed and pulled out of her mother’s loins, alongside her own son – now her twin brother - for the second time in her life. She would grow up with her own selves, who would become her mothers, her aunts, her sisters, and her elder twins.

She would never forget who she used to be. But she would be free.

And as for me? Five thought. Well, I’ll be the first person in history to give birth to myself, just as she’ll be the first person to be birthed a second time. It was a strange thought, and felt stranger with each developing month. She was broken from the thought as there was a knock upon the door.

“Ooooh, who could it be?” Three giggled, the annoying teenager that she was.

“Ah, mine own bet is that it be Rory, slayer of Five’s affections!” boasted Four, who was enjoying a fine ale in the corner like the barbarian princess she pretended to.

“Oh, go on,” Five said, rolling her eyes. She quickly checked over herself and cussed under her breath. Her shirt was wet with milk stains. Again. But before she could grab another garment, Two was at her side, having sensed her worry, with a fresh top.

“Hello! It’s me, Rory!”

“J-just a minute!” she called, getting her new top and settling her enormous jugs into the cups. Two gave her some minor adjustments and gave a thumbs up. Each of the girls could sense her relief, and she could feel their encouragement also. She opened the door.

There he stood, the plain, ordinary, yet quietly handsome man who had stolen her heart. He wore rectangular glasses and had a light beard, and was dressed well in a winter coat and button shirt. He smiled when he saw her. Somewhere behind, Two fluttered romantically, feeling a reverberation of Five’s affection.

“Rory, I’m sorry, I had a spill I had to clean up.”

“Yes, twas a great spillage!” laughed Four.

“Oh, shut up back there!”

“Are your sisters well?”

She smiled. “Very well. And so am I. Shall we go out? These little gremlins are making me starved.”

“Then let’s go, my lady.”

He smiled magnanimously, allowing her to place her arm in his, and taking some burden off her heavy, rounded belly.

“Such a gentleman,” she said. She could feel Three rolling her eyes behind her, but was born aloft by Four’s exuberant encouragement and Two’s own attraction to the man. This one’s all mine, Five thought. Well, at least for now. I’ll have to learn to share eventually.

Rory went to close the door, but stopped. “Wait, Samara, your hat! It’s cold outside.”

“Ah, I’m such an idiot. I’d forget my own head if there weren’t four or five of them around.” She stepped back inside, but Four was already striving to retrieve it. The hat was setting atop the rack, the one that made Steven and even Rory feel a little unsettled. It probably would anyone, really. It looked incredibly life-like; a life-sized human carved of fine wood, hands contorted and curled upwards and face in agony and horror. Those fingers were so very good at holding the hats, but guests often got the feeling that the carving was watching them, as if its eyes could just ever-so-slightly shift to follow them. Like they were screaming to be let free of their prison.

Samara Five just smiled at the rack, blew it a kiss, winked, and waddled back out the door. She had a date with a fine man, and the past was well behind her.

They were strolling to his car when she had to stop. One of her babies was kissing, and she had the real sense it was One. Occasionally her regret and self-hate and shame bubbled to the surface, but today it was something different. Something knew.

“Anything wrong?” Rory asked.

Five seemed not to notice him for some time, and then she rose again, beaming.

“Better than fine. I think I know what to call her.”

“Another Samara?” he jested, not realising how true that statement was.

“No,” she said, cradling her stomach, and feeling the change overcoming another shard of her, deep within her womb.

“I think I’ll call her Hope.”

THE END