Hey All,
This is a very special sneak-peek at my next book coming out at Lot's Cave, Smashwords, and elsewhere. I anticipate a release date in the next two to three weeks. You can find my work at
https://www.lotscave.com/ebooks/author/mike-kokadjo.php or at Smashwords, with some limited titles released at Barnes & Noble. Below is a lengthy sample, far more than you get online anywhere else.
Also, as always, if any of you want to read an extended excerpt from any of my titles (now almost 40, though not all with pregnancy themes), please PM me. I am very happy to oblige.
Peace Out
Anaïs, 17 Months Pregnant
By Mike Kokadjo
Copyright 2021 Mike Kokadjo
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the author.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years old or older.
-o-
Anaïs lay on her back, pinned down by the artificially enormous belly her owner forced her to carry. Oh, he had not done the work himself. He spent too much of his days and nights using and abusing his several properties in the remote, snow-blanketed log cabin to have time to perform the delicate work on Anaïs. No, he left that to one of his properties, the nurse with cosmetic surgical training. The seven uterine balloons permanently inflated inside Anaïs swelled her belly to a size and roundness that mimicked either sextuplets or a woman far beyond her due date.
Anaïs, who neither owned nor determined the uses of her body, stared up at the ceiling of her basement quarters. She could hear the activity of the cabin on the floors above, her ears sensitive to every moan, every shriek of pain her owner elicited from her sister properties.
Ten women, stripped of their dignity, clothes, and names, lived under the log cabin’s roof in rooms, the attic, and hallways of the snow-bound home. They served their owner’s endless sexual appetite, the perversions of his many friends, and the clients who rented them for long weekends of rough use away from the cabin.
The ten properties, a number that included Anaïs, were kept pregnant more or less constantly so that their ripe, swollen bellies could entice men to use them heavily, harshly, and humiliatingly. Anaïs alone was always pregnant, her belly forced to fullness by the cosmetic balloons filling her uterus. She would never deliver, never squirt milk from her tits, and never unburden herself of her ample, ripe belly. Regular doses of oxytocin kept her primed for the sexual conquests heaped on her by her owner and his friends.
Anaïs rode the waves of her owner’s fickleness up and down, from being honored to lie next to her owner and his wife on the floor of their bedroom to being cast once again into the basement, neglected except when her owner’s cock yearned for her.
She still struggled to carry out her duties, tending to the other properties, climbing the stairs with trays of food, climbing further into the attic to clean and tend his cabled, chained properties there.
She still accompanied the owner’s wife on weekends when an anonymous bidder won the full use of one, two, or three of the properties from Friday dusk through Sunday, minutes before midnight. Her owner profited generously from the perversions of the underground culture of men (mostly men — sometimes women) who lusted after submissive, pregnant women. The whole affair was a kernel of thought first in Anaïs, who shared it eagerly with her owner in hopes of earning his approval.
He’d shown his approval of her innovations (an online site, the online auction, the black pipes for cabling his properties, more) each time by anally raping her to his heart’s content. He’d shown his approval of Anaïs and her meek willingness to fulfill his every wish by inflicting first four, and then three, uterine balloons on her.
He’d used her even as the balloons were filling, not showing the slightest concern for her comfort, her health, her safety. She was his property. They both knew it. His wife knew the cabin was replete with his properties. If it was a conspiracy in service to a madman, then they were all complicit, all responsible.
Anaïs did not see her service to her owner as a conspiracy, nor did she think of herself as deluded. He was no madman. He was an ordinary man with an ordinary cock who, through his own sheer will and contrivances, created a world exactly to his liking. All under his roof were long past any question of legality or illegality. They were surviving by serving. They served their owner’s unquenchable appetite for sexual pleasure, sexual deviance, sexual perversion.
And Anaïs served with zeal, with her own unquenchable appetite for reducing herself still further to whatever her owner wanted. Every weight he placed on her was, she knew, hers alone to suffer without complaint. That her belly was so massive, so round and intrusive that she could not see her feet as she struggled up and down the narrow stairs of the cabin — that was her ordeal to suffer in service to her owner.
That she functioned on scraps of sleep and food was proper and right, because her owner had ordained it. That she was robbed of the pleasures of the owner’s wife (who for a weirdly magnificent time bestowed orgasms, real orgasms, on Anaïs) was as it should be. She deserved only what her owner said she deserved. All could be given and taken away in a breath.
Anaïs opened herself to her owner many times each day. She was always to be ready to take his cock in her mouth, between her tits, into her barren cunt, and deep inside her asshole.
She spent most of her days and nights dripping cum from her cunt and asshole, feeling its cooling slickness run down her thighs and splatter the floor of her basement quarters. He seldom allowed her to wash her face and tits, so cum dried and flaked from her throughout her duties.
As she moved through the cabin, bringing meals to her owner’s other properties or emptying their chamber pots, she usually — nearly always — stumbled upon her owner or his friends having their way with the other properties. In those moments she was as meek, silent, and polite as a Victorian upstairs maid. She would stand meekly in the doorway of whichever tiny room the other property was in, her head down as she pretended not to notice the sounds.
The sounds of the other property, rent and wracked by cocks, whips, riding crops, or merely the hands of men far larger than she. The sounds of her agonies and thrills at being impaled, gagged, or raped by the men whose hands roamed over her body, feeling her full and ripe belly as their cocks plowed hard into her. The choking sounds of the property flooded with cum in her mouth moments after the same cock had invaded and ripped wide her asshole.
All this Anaïs heard, and ignored, and reverently observed without interruption. When her owner or one of his friends (or, more likely, her owner and several of his friends) were done with the property, they would sometimes order Anaïs to clean their cocks as they were leaving. More often, they would merely slap at Anaïs’s tits and belly, and leave to find another property to exert their will upon.
And then Anaïs would deposit the meal, remove the chamber pot, or wash off the property. No words needed to be exchanged. Anaïs would provide no comfort to the property, and the property would not plead for her release. Both knew neither action would do any good. They were owned, they were kept, they were used.
From time to time on her rounds Anaïs would cross paths with the owner’s wife, a woman she’d genuinely fallen in love with some time ago. Time meant nothing to Anaïs or the other properties.
They were to service their owner day and night, every day and night, without interruption. So time meant nothing, and Anaïs’s memory of the time with her owner’s wife was as sharp and clear months after as it had been in the days of their lustful encounters.
Anaïs had perfect memories of being forced into the folds of the wife’s cunt, tonguing her asshole, rubbing her clit until she had a succession of orgasms. And Anaïs had sweet, cherished memories of reaching orgasms herself under the practiced tongue of the owner’s wife.
And Anaïs had jarring memories of an end to it all, at the owner’s direction. Just another reminder of the separation always seared into them within the cabin: men, with their cocks, ruled women with their vile and wretched cunts.
So as Anaïs lay on her back on her bed, a bed covered in sheets stained with cum and seldom washed, she let her hands climb up and over her massive belly. It was a towering, looming presence. She as much as her owner celebrated her sheer volume, her monumental belly that tantalized and excited all the men who came to her, who came on her, and who filled her with their cum.
When she lay on her back with her legs over the side of the bed, anyone examining her cunt could not see her head. When she was on all fours to open her asshole to whichever cock wished to fuck her, her belly dragged and sagged onto the bed.
Because she carried gas-filled balloons her belly did not have the heft and weight of a true pregnancy. This meant, for the men abusing her, the all-fours position was not the strain it often is in genuinely pregnant women. Anaïs could pose with her ass and cunt toward whatever man was using her, her belly dropping down like a backdrop to a theatrical show with her legs as the proscenium, and it would not hurt her back. She could pose and allow the lusting man all the time he wished to admire and enjoy the sight of her bald cunt, her bruised asshole, and that belly.
Sometimes a man, sent down with the owner’s blessing to use her for as long as he wished, would luxuriate in forcing Anaïs to hold this pose for 20 minutes, a half hour. And then he would fuck her asshole before roughly tugging her cunt cables aside to finish in her cunt.
He didn’t care about the risks such fucking brought to Anaïs, infections he might carry from her asshole into her cunt. That was her problem, not his. All he cared about was the tremendous blasts of cum he would unload in this supremely obedient woman.
