Becoming Kalanri: Matriarch Stage (Patron Exclusive Epilogue) (Patreon)

An Anonymous Commission

Alan and Marcus are young men selected to become diplomatic emissaries to the kalanri, an beautiful, blue-skinned, all-female race of aliens. However, they soon find that the kalanri’s idea of ‘cementing relations’ involves literally becoming members of their species, and more than that, becoming pregnant with their young!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3 

Epilogue: Matriarch Stage

The children greeted Cereia as she entered the temple to give her respects to the statue of the Goddess. She gave them each a gentle wave, passing out noraleaf flowers to them, a small piece of candy in the centre of each. They looked to her with beaming eyes, unbelieving that a matriarch was visiting their small village, and the matriarch from the stars nonetheless; the famous Cereia, who was once Alan Pickett, a human male from Earth. She stood before them, regal in her long red dress, her impressive selu braided loosely around one another, sliding on the red train of dress that fell behind her.

“Are you really the Matriarch Cereia?” one asked.

Cereia smiled easily, bending down to face the child. Her tentacle hair shifted in sensuous patterns, easily reflecting her calm, and her bosom wobbled slightly in her top; even a matriarch could only contain so much of their own tremendous bust.

“It is I,” she said, still smiling.

“You used to be a man. You used to be human.”

She chuckled lightly. “That was a long time ago. And look at me now, do I look like a human man to you now?”

They shook their heads. “You look beautiful.”

“Why thank you.”

“When I grow up, I want to be a matriarch just like you and have lots and lots and lots of babies.”

Cereia was taken a little back, but passed the child another sweet. “Enjoy your childhood, little one, then decide what you want. Life can give you all sorts of strange twists and turns. I know this better than most.”

She blessed each of the children, offering a tiny piece of wisdom and a light peck on the cheek before sending them out of the temple. That was one benefit to being a matriarch; they alone could find a piece of privacy that younger Kalanri found no need for.

“Of course,” Cereia said to herself, as she approached the reflective stone containing the scriptures of the Goddess, “I am quite young still.”

She gazed at her reflection, unbelieving that she was a kalanri matriarch. Her blue skin was utterly radiant, practically glowing even without pregnancy. One could spot her in a crowd of fellow blue women easily. Her eyes were completely purple, shining like subtle torchlights, their expression unreadable were it not for her expressive brow and easy smile. Her skin had also taken on a gorgeous spiralling pattern; raised ‘pebbles’ of soft skin were coloured a shade half-way between that of her eyes and that of her skin, starting at her wrists and feet and extending along her limbs, reaching over her back and even forming light patterns on her forehead and cheeks and neck, like subtle tribal tattoos. She turned her head, admiring the two dozen prehensile protuberances that ran from her scalp down her back, writhing slowly like undulating snakes on the ground behind her feet. They were heavy, but her body had became taller and stronger to deal with it, and like all matriarchs she moved with a slow, easy grace rather than the energy of youth. There was no matriarch who could be taken seriously if they tripped on their own selu after all. Avara had spent many days in private teaching Cereia how to navigate just that problem.

But beyond these changes were the more curvier ones. Cereia was undeniably proud of her body, but even she had been shocked at how far her matriarchal form had progressed, becoming an image of buxom fertility. Her breasts - once meagre B-cups after her initial change - were now H-cups or larger, human sizes had no real meaning to her. But she had taught the people of Kalen the game of beachball, back when she could run without tripping on her selu or hitting herself in the face with her own bosom, and her breasts were easily the size of those same volleyballs now. They hung lower, as gravity would have them, but were still incredibly rounded and pert for their size, and her large, dark nipples, so accustomed to feeding new life, were still slightly raised upwards, and not extended or drooping.

The marvels of a Kalanri body. And there were other marvels too: her hips were wider than ever, from dozens and dozens of childbirths. Her legs were long and strong, yet carried a slim grace all the same, and her ass rounded out any costume, her cheeks swollen to melons, but had never hit the point of absurdity. In fact, all her curves seemed to fall thankfully shy of hyperbole; she simply embodied the ultra-fecund form of a matriarch, though Cereia was even bustier and more beautiful than most. It was a body made for sex, and the compulsion was still strong ever to mate. Stronger, even. The strongest it had ever been.

“Which is why I’m here,” she whispered to herself, breathing heavily so that her tremendous bosom rose and fell, cleavage pushing upwards like a rising empire.

Because as much as her life had been joy, she had reached an uncertainty. The average matriarch reached their stage around their two hundredth year of life, sometimes later. Cereia, on the other hand, was only eighty-four years old; it was utterly unheard of for any of her kind to advance through the stages of life that quickly. Even when willing them so could shift the timeline forward by a decade or two. She was an anomaly, and for a time had feared her lifespan would be the same as a humans, but the best Kalanri geneticists confirmed that she would most certainly live to the species’ usual three hundred or more years. No, the reasons were deeper. Her origins were human, and moreover she had her own . . . inclinations to consider. The same inclinations that brought her here now.

“I still want to make life,” she said, touching her flat belly, “but I know that I shouldn’t.”

“Oh mother, in one of those moods again, are you?”

Cereia turned suddenly, and the top of her dress strained to contain her wobbling. There, standing at the entrance to the temple, was a familiar figure in her own blossom stage, her belly just beginning to round. Her skin was as blue as both her mothers.

“Dacia, my firstborn, how did you know I was coming here?”

She moved to embrace her daughter, and they held close for a moment, the former male’s matriarchal shelf of flesh practically burying her daughter’s face.

“Enough mother! Or else I shall suffocate between them as my other mother so clearly enjoys to partake in, now that you are equal or great to her in size.”

Cereia pulled back, blushing a little purple along her arms and face. “Sorry, my daughter. I still forget how, um, ‘blessed’ I am now.”

Her daughter smirked, entering with a natural swagger that Auntie Nithynia must have taught her from her Earth days. “All going a bit fast, is it?”

“You still didn’t answer my question, how did you find me here?”

“A daughter just knows, mother,” she said, grinning. She had a smattering of dark green freckles on her face, a trait unique to her children; some remnant of Cereia’s human past. “And also Avara sent me. She was worried about you.”

The one once known as Alan sagged her shoulders slightly. “She knows me better than I know myself.”

“She believes you are worried because you have reached the matriarch stage so quickly. That you may be ageing too fast.”

Cereia waved off the concern, and was once again caught a little off guard at how heavily her bust wobbled in response. She was new to being a matriarch, and it was difficult to keep the grace and poise of one with all the . . . bouncing.

“No, Dacia, it is not that. I know that I shall live as long as any Kalanri. No, I’m simply worried about the fact that I’ll spend the remaining two and a half centuries of my life as a matriarch. When I chose to become Kalanri, I knew it was because I loved the feeling of creating life. You and your sister were the world to me, and I cannot wait for you to feel the same blessing I did. And from that time on, I found pregnancy . . .”

“Addictive?”

“I was going to say admirable. I wanted to bring forth life, and your other mother was so wonderfully supportive. We have had so many children, and I love you all. I just worry . . . I’m a matriarch already, and I can already feel the urges to procreate stronger than ever, and I can feel in my womb that I am more fertile. Carrying five or six little ones inside me was such a great blessing in my purelight stage, but should I not stop? Would it not be best to put aside these wants, and enter this stage with grace and poise, and stop being such a - a - a broodmare!”

It was meant to sound dramatic, but Dacia only laughed. Cereia realised too late that one of her stray selu was tapping against her ass. She hastily brushed it behind her, but it helped relieve her tension.

“Don’t laugh, you’ll have to get used to it one day.”

“Oh, I still have plenty of years before I have to drag my selu around behind me.”

Cereia chuckled, feeling at her fleshy tentacles. “Don’t get your hopes up, your biggest change is yet to come. Motherhood suits you.”

“And you too, mother. I say that on behalf of all your daughters, many of whom send their love, even from other worlds. I’ve got quite a lot of mail to give you. None of us are embarrassed or ashamed of you. We are proud that you are a matriarch, proud to be of a lineage that springs from the union of Earth and Kalen, and we are proud that you have taught us our ways and our wisdom despite hailing from another world - because you hail from another world and found your place here.”

Dacia placed a hand on her mother’s blue arm. “Mother, you are an inspiration to us, and your very history tells us we are to embrace the changes we desire, not reject them. If you wish to spend your matriarchal years full with litters of children, then you will be supported in that choice. And I know that Avara feels the same way. She tells me that when you return, she will be ready for her.”

Cereia rolled her eyes, before realising that no one could ever tell she was rolling her eyes ever again. “That’s just like your mother. I’ll go teach her a lesson, then.”

She began to stride off, her chest a proud shelf jutting forth from her being, her selu trailing behind her.

“Sure mother,” Dacia called, “is that what we call getting knocked up now? I shall have to ask Nithynia if that is so! She’s just become a matriarch too!”

“That infernal woman! A matriarch as well and she spends her time tending bar!”

***

“Oooohhhh,” Cereia groaned, clutching her enormously rounded form, “s-sooo m-many b-b-babies, ahhhhh.”

There was simply no way of her ever reaching around her stomach; it was almost larger than the rest of her, and its weight made it near impossible for her to walk, except for short distances, and even those put her a little out of breath. She was immensely gravid, and had been on this journey ever since she had returned to the waiting Avara, her selu trailing behind her, and wrapped her lover in her blue arms and took her passionately.

“I’ve made my decision,” she had said.”

“I know. It was the decision you were always going to make. Enter Infinity, my love, and I shall bless you with new life, more than ever before.”

And Avara had not disappointed on that front. Cereia leaned back in her chair, admiring the setting blue sun of her new homeworld. She was so unbelievably gravid with children that there was rumour she would be setting new records. At last count, Avara had knocked her up with eleven little daughters, all of them fully grown within her, but still at least a year away from exiting into the world.

It was a lot to take in, and for Cereia, it was easier to remain largely naked but for what her lover draped over her. Her breasts had swollen yet again, becoming the size of basketballs, overflowing with milk so prodigiously that Avara received half her daily nourishment from them. Still, they embarrassingly leaked from time to time.

But it was the neverending movement in her great womb that was the largest change. She had felt that she would be blessed with enormous fertility as a matriarch, but even Cereia was shocked at how profoundly pregnant she had become. In their room, she often looked at the old photo of herself when she was still Alan Pickett, and compared the form she had then with the form she had now. It was almost enough to make her miss being able to run, jump, and so forth without falling on her belly and being stuck without help.

Almost enough.

Even Nithynia couldn’t believe it, and she had entered the matriarchal stage too, but like many at that age, she used their contraception to avoid becoming effectively a mobile womb. But the truth was, Cereia knew she had made the right choice. She was often uncomfortable, overheated, and sleep did not come easily. People came to her for wisdom, rather than she to them to dispense it, but many others came to admire her, and see the blessing the Goddess had given her.

“Mmmhhhmm . . . ahhh . . . my little ones. You are so w-wonderful,” she said. By the Goddess, she knew that even as pregnant as she was in that moment, she could still daydream of more. Her body wanted babies, babies, and more babies, and it would always be capable of producing more, she knew. To become so stretched, so round and full and overcome with new life, it made her content each and every day.

“Are you enjoying yourself, my love?” Avara said, entering slowly, and lowering herself carefully beside her paramour, adjusting her head-tentacles to make room.

“Mmhhmm,” she moaned in response, “they are v-very active at the moment.”

A smile. “But you are indeed enjoying yourself?”

Cereia nodded. “I am . . . content. Truly content. I feel so round and full. Like I’m just bursting with life, and every day my body works to make more. I love being hostage to this great dome, I really do. I love that it dominates me, as you do, and to feel so fertile every day, it is beyond words. Thank you for convincing me to go ahead with this. I would feel an emptiness inside, if I were not able to bring more children into the world. I thank you every day Avara, for filling me with life.”

“It suits you, far more than any I have known. I am simply fortunate to call myself the other mother of your children.” Avara looked over to the image of Alan, inside. “But I am curious. Is there some small part of Alan remaining? Do you ever regret it? Even for a moment?”

Cereia turned to her lover as another ripple of kicks began in her womb.

“I am still Alan, and I am still Cereia. All parts of me want this. I have no regrets. Not even for a moment. Now come here and let me show you just how much this matriarch appreciates you.”

The End