THE ALIEN INCUBATOR PT. 01
I had a craving to swell. I wanted my thick ass and hips to bust through the waist of my jeans. I wanted my milky tits to break the clasp of my bra. I wanted my taut belly to balloon up and peek out from the bottom of every inadequate top.
I needed to get knocked up again.
It would be my third pregnancy. I’d had one of my very own, with my daughter Penelope, about four years ago. Having your own healthy, naturally-conceived child is a prerequisite for becoming a surrogate later. Greatly enjoying my first pregnancy and learning of how you can make tens of thousands of dollars as a surrogate, my mind was made up well before giving birth that I’d be doing this again for pay. As a first-time surrogate, I made $40,000 for my second amazing nine month experience. One successful surrogacy now under my belt, I hoped to make even more for my second mercenary pregnancy.
I used the same online surrogacy board as last time to find a family in need of my services. One post in particular got my attention as it promised pay of at least $100K, more than double my last preggo paycheck. Why so much? It did mention requiring “an open mind” right at the top. Whatever that meant: I had no earthly idea. But the money was crazy, so I reached out to make contact with the couple in question.
Their names were Jim and Laura, and based on the messages we sent back and forth we all seemed to get along swimmingly. They were thrilled that I not only had had a successful pregnancy of my own, but had also gone through the surrogacy process smoothly once before. I’d proven that I could carry a healthy child and hand it to its proper parents, a final step some surrogates have a complicatedly difficult time accomplishing. With this attractive experience of mine in mind, they offered me a whopping $125K for my services…without my even having to negotiate.
The obvious questions hanging in the air remained even after a dozen messages had been exchanged: why such a grand amount of money for this particular pregnancy? What did the requirement for “an open mind” in their initial posting mean? I left these questions for our first in-person meeting, thinking they may be more delicately approached in a more personal setting. We finally met at a little coffee shop outside the city, convenient for me and quite a hike for them. They were being careful not to inconvenience me even a little bit, it seemed, maybe nervous they might screw up our developing arrangement somehow.
Jim, Laura, and I all got along well enough in the flesh. They were…”awkward” would cover it, I suppose. Their English was flawless but they still struck me as foreigners somehow. Everything just felt slightly off in how they communicated, despite their proficiency with the language. Were they just nervous, maybe? This certainly was an emotionally-loaded situation, they very well could be. We spent about an hour at the coffee shop, chatting about my previous pregnancies and their desire to be parents. General surrogacy conversation, really.
I wondered how I’d broach the question of “an open mind” that was so prevalently featured in my own mind. Before I got there, though, Jim did me a favor. “You might be wondering about the ‘open mind’ part of our post,” he began. “Would you like to come back to our hotel room with us to discuss? It is a little bit delicate.” I consented: they may have been a bit socially awkward, but they seemed trustworthy enough and rather warm towards me. So, I sensed they weren’t going to take me back to theirs and kill me or anything.
They were staying in an expensive boutique hotel. I’d never been inside, knowing this was the type of place you didn’t even sneak into to use the bathroom. Their room was gorgeous, expansive and well-appointed. We sat on the soft, overfilled couch of their living room area to chat. Laura flicked on a warm red light sitting on the table next to the couch. It produced a strange visual quality in the room, but I felt inexplicably at ease nonetheless.
“I suppose I will just say it,” Jim said once we were all settled. “Laura and I are not human.”
I didn’t scream or run out of the room, for some reason. I couldn’t help but look between my two hosts’ faces and bodies, though. They sure looked human to me! “Ooooookay,” I finally and quietly managed in response.
“We look human right now, yes,” Laura interjected, “but we are actually from a planet some light years from Earth. We want to have a child with someone from Earth to mix our genetic materials and create offspring that can survive well and blend in here. Our species usually has more than two parents per child. Jim and I will be genetic contributors, as will you. Our children will be of our race and yours simultaneously, well-suited to life on Earth and potential ambassadors between our two planets.”
My mind focused on the plurals Laura had thrown in there, maybe not yet capable of wrestling with this whole “inhuman” thing. “Children?” I asked nervously. The suggestion certainly seemed to be that we were going for more than one. My mind flashed briefly to my fantasies of swelling everywhere, a smile creeping onto my lips as I considered the possibility of carrying multiples.
“Yes, children,” Jim replied. “We would like to impregnate you with two embryos. You will be compensated appropriately, as mentioned.”
I nodded, lost in thought over this insanity but still somehow eager to comply. It was a lot of money. And I really wanted to swell dramatically with twins. “How am I not freaking out right now?” I blurted suddenly. It was a thought that had been on the tip of my tongue for a few minutes.
Jim smiled at Laura and responded. “It is the light.” He nodded toward the red lamp on the table. “It is a piece of our technology, something we use sometimes to help people remain calm. I am glad it is working for you, Elizabeth.”
“Huh!” was all I could manage in response. Mind-blowing stuff was going on, and this light was apparently allowing me to roll with it all. I wondered how hard I’d panic later, but decided to keep that eventuality to myself. “Besides the twins thing and the not-entirely-human angle, is there anything else I should know about before I agree to this? The compensation certainly seems fair, I must say.”
“Well,” Laura started quietly, “with the alien aspect come some different specifics for the pregnancy, in all likelihood. We have not conceived such an interspecies gestation before, but we believe your symptoms and growth will all be…enhanced, you could say. You will be implanted with two eggs, both of which will hatch within you and become more similar to human fetuses about halfway through the pregnancy. Things will likely be significantly more intense. You can expect to be pregnant for longer than the usual human nine months, for instance. Probably closer to a year. There will be more and slightly different hormones than usual, leading to more swelling, aches, and morning sickness. Larger breasts with darker nipples, which we understand are not necessarily undesirable for humans. More of an increase to your libido, as well, which may not be entirely negative.”
Intriguing. Truly intriguing. Alarming, too, of course. More intense morning sickness and aches? More hormones than usual, leading almost certainly to more extreme mood swings and general emotional turmoil? That all sounded rough. I couldn’t say I didn’t want to get bigger and hornier than ever, though. That all sounded fantastic.
“All right,” I said with a shrug. So I was in, and they looked very happy to hear it.
“Can we impregnate you now, or would you prefer to wait?” Jim asked, holding Laura’s hand. I must’ve looked as perplexed as I felt. “We cannot utilize the help of a doctor in getting you pregnant, Elizabeth. It would raise too many questions. Our species has a very high rate of impregnation when that is our intention, though. We should be able to impregnate you in just a few minutes, if that is not inconvenient for you.”
I was a bit stunned by the suddenness of this development, but also feeling sort of serenely excited to be starting the process and to be on my way to another nicely swollen pregnancy. I shrugged again. “All right, let’s do it! Where should we start?”
They both stood and undressed unceremoniously. Their bodies were pretty much the definition of average, probably in order to be as inconspicuous as Earth folks as possible. There’s little to report here beyond just your basic human nudity. Laura laid on her back on the floor, Jim taking his position above her. The couple seemed to require little foreplay, Jim being instantly hard and entering Laura without any fanfare. Wait…why was he entering Laura? Were they fucking each other to get me pregnant? Was there some confusion over how human reproduction works?
After a dozen thrusts or so, Jim happened to glance over and see that I was still fully clothed and staring at them with an unmistakable look of confusion on my face. “I apologize, Elizabeth,” he said evenly and without interrupting the rhythm with which he was fucking his partner. “Laura and I have to copulate first, then I can copulate with you to impregnate you with our child. Is that all right?”
I shrugged once again, sure I had no real say in the matter but not particularly bothered about being second in line for a screw. “No worries,” I replied. I sat back down on the couch to wait my turn. Apparently the mechanics of human-alien reproduction had not been clear to me. That was fine. It was strange to watch them fuck in front of me, though. It was business-like and nearly silent. Jim lasted for about five minutes and never broke his steady rhythm, not even at the end when I could only assume he came in Laura. Who the hell maintained a steady thrusting rhythm while cumming? Talk about inhuman!
Finished with Laura, Jim stood up and nodded at me. Laura quietly redonned her clothing. I disrobed myself and laid down on my back on the couch. “Is this all right?” I asked. Jim nodded. His dick glistened with Laura’s juices, never losing its erection from his sexual encounter of a few minutes ago. No refractory periods for aliens, apparently? I didn’t see him go soft for a even a moment, somehow. Anyway, I will admit to being just a bit wet myself from having watched the couple fuck on the floor. Jim positioned himself carefully and entered me straightaway, as seemed to be his preferred style. I moaned briefly, catching myself feeling slightly embarrassed after Jim’s and Laura’s vocalization-free session. I managed to control my auditory signs of pleasure from there on out. I did not cum during our sexual congress, which made this a bit easier.
Jim took another five minutes or so of screwing to shoot inside me, again never breaking his steady rhythm. He gently lifted my lower back and placed a pillow under my pelvic area. “Stay on your back for half an hour, please,” he basically demanded, to my slightly perverse pleasure: I loved a strong commanding presence in the bedroom, and had to stop just short of playing with myself in my newly-developed arousal. Jim got dressed again, too, and the two went about repacking the luggage in the hotel room while I laid and gave the alien seed its best opportunity for impregnation. I guess they didn’t want to waste any time, or maybe their checkout time was coming up? Probably easier not to guess at the psychology of these aliens.
The 30 minutes passed, and Jim told me I could sit up and dress again. I did so, then Laura handed me a nondescript black briefcase. “$75,000,” she said simply. “You will get the other $50,000 after the birth. You are now pregnant. We will be in touch.” Really warm vibes from these aliens!
I left the calming red glow of the hotel room, nerves hitting me hard the moment I entered the fluorescent light of the hallway. That special lamp of there’s really seemed to work wonders; I kinda wanted one for myself. What else could’ve let me fuck aliens with such calm? I regained my composure after a few moments of “What-the-fuck-have-I-done!?” panic, made a hasty exit from the hotel and headed home. I probably would’ve really freaked out at this point, but I found myself quite overwhelmingly exhausted and went to bed right away.
I woke up at 11 the next morning, a good 5 hours later than my usual, natural waking time. For whatever reason I felt positively hungover. Dehydrated, nausea, headache: the works, and intense as hell. Like I’d gone on a real bender for a few sleepless nights or something. I dragged my ass out of bed to pee and potentially throw up. I narrowly avoided vomiting, somehow, and dragged my ass back into bed.
My hands drifted down to my highly-bothered stomach as I rested. My lower abdomen was…firm. Wait, what?! I remembered the feeling from both previous pregnancies, but certainly not on the morning after getting knocked up. Maybe 6 weeks or so later, I wanted to say. On the bright side, I guess I could be pretty confident as far as having been successfully impregnated: the feeling was quite unmistakable.
On a less-bright side, how the hell had things progressed so damn quickly?! If my uterus had firmed up overnight, how long could it be before I’d be showing? If this pregnancy was truly going to be a full 3 months longer than normal human gestations, how massive was I going to get by the end?
My answer to the “showing” question, at least, would be answered within about 4 days. The answer was that it took about 4 days to start showing, and in a way that was already not to be confused with mere bloating. Crazy, scary-fast growth. What the fuck was in store for me?
THE FIRST MONTH
A mere month in and I was looking pregnant enough to draw constant public stares. My belly already looked like I was at the start of a second trimester for a standard (human) singleton pregnancy, I’d say. Strangers asked when I was due. I had no choice but to inform friends and family that I was expecting again, simply unable to hide my condition due to my swelling midsection. I had no clue what I’d say to them in 11 months when I was still pregnant for some (inhuman) reason. I did have the foresight to let them all know that I would be having twins, though, which would at least buy me some wiggle room in terms of the immense size I was sure to achieve. And it was, of course, true that I was carrying twins; I just left out the whole “alien” angle.
A stranger struck up a conversation with me at the supermarket. He noticed me idly cradling the bump in one arm and asked how far along I was. We chatted for a minute; he finally asked if he could touch my belly, a first for this gestation. Normally, in my previous two pregnancies, I was a bit weirded out by this not-infrequent request. If it was a woman asking, I was usually okay enough with it. Men asking usually freaked me out, though. I enjoyed my pregnancies thoroughly, but hadn’t really had the desire to share this pleasure with random potential perverts. This time was different, however. To be blunt, I felt my pussy getting wet at the mere thought, before I even consented to allow his hand on me. Once I did agree and he touched me, I nearly swooned. Boy, were these hormones wild already! I was truly excited by the encounter, masturbating furiously in the car on my drive home. In quite the marked shift, I sure seemed to be aroused at the prospect of sharing this pregnancy with others. Might this trend continue?
It very well might. The next day, I had lunch with a close girlfriend of mine. At one point she asked if she could see the bump and give it a rub. I was kinda shocked at how eager I was as I gave my agreement, lifted my shirt and slapped her hand onto my abdomen. I mean, I’d certainly obliged friends and family who’d wanted to see and touch my belly during my previous pregnancies. But it had always felt like a favor I was doing for them, not something that got me excited. This touch, though, most definitely excited me. And it was from a woman, which added an extra layer of sexual confusion to the whole affair. I’d never had a gay thought in my life, and now this: the hormones must have been truly out of control to get me wet down there with a mere rub from a female friend. Was it that I’d been made so sensitive that any touch would do it for me at the moment? Or did I have a new lesbian thing going on? It was hard to say at the moment.
At this point the hormones were wreaking havoc in othr ways, too. Morning sickness was very intense during these early weeks. An absurd percentage of my time was spent kneeling in front of my toilet. It was very lucky that the alien couple paid me enough that I didn’t have to keep another job during this pregnancy. I’d had a decent amount of nausea during my first two gestational journeys, but never leading so frequently to straight-up vomiting. My heaves turned from dry to productive multiple times per day, seriously exhausting me. General exhaustion was a huge problem around this time, too. Not only did I spend substantial periods of time in front of the toilet; I also more-than-occasionally woke up in front of the toilet, having nauseously drifted off while waiting to puke. Much more extreme stuff than during my purely human pregnancies, I can tell you that.
My nipples were more radically altered than in the past as well. They’d turned from just-darker-than-my-fairly-pale-skin to a chocolatey dark brown during my other pregnancies. This time, they nearly attained a full-on black color. They were almost alarming against the rest of my flesh, very distinctive and noticeable through my clothing unless I wore the darkest articles I owned. My breasts, too, underwent some dramatic changes. I’d already gained more than a cup size (from a modest C to a large D) within just a month of getting knocked up. I can’t say I wasn’t enjoying my larger and darker parts, though they were growing and darkening at an alarming rate that made me nervous about the coming months.
My pubic hair was getting flagrantly darker, too. Not something I’d experienced at all before, but now it had turned from the chestnut of most of my hair to jet black. I wondered what the first guy to see me naked during this pregnancy would think of my substantial physical changes. Would a guy ever see me naked in this state, though? I both mildly hoped so and seriously dreaded it in this moment. That dread would change soon enough, though.
THE SECOND MONTH
Two months gone, and I looked very solidly second trimester already. Ridiculousness! How the hell big was I going to get over the course of an entire damn year?! It was anxiety-provoking to even consider.
But things did get luckier symptoms-wise around this time despite my nervousness over my rapidly ballooning size. Morning sickness was largely out; and horniness was majorly in. I was masturbating near-constantly, my libido raging when compared to previous pregnancies. Or, really, when compared to any other stage of my life. Even during my rubbing-one-out-laden pubescent period I hadn’t touched myself half as much as I did during this part of my expectant journey. I was always wet and always fantasizing, glad to be a homebody so that my crotch-seeking hands were always allowed to do as they pleased.
I wished I could bring my sexual energy to something beyond the masturbatory, but it was feeling quite difficult. It was a real challenge to get comfortable in my body when it was changing so very rapidly. How could I flaunt what I hardly even recognized as my own? Adapting to the many shifts was not easy. So, I lacked the confidence to approach men. Going solo it was, for the time being. Single and pregnant is no way to go through a horny life.
On the masturbation front, though, things were kinda great. I’d gone multi-orgasmic for the first time, requiring no refractory period of recovery in between cumming. I could cum and just keep rubbing into my next orgasm, ad nauseam. One climax followed the next; I could go until I nearly passed out from exhaustion, arousal nearly inexhaustible.
Additionally and even more strikingly, I’d begun squirting. Another first for this alien pregnancy! It wasn’t something I’d been warned about as a potential side effect, so it was quite stunning when it suddenly started. The consistency and color struck me as different than what I’d observed in porn. It was very semen-like, not urine-like as I’d seen in so many videos. My ejaculate had the pale white translucence of male cum, and that familiar smell to go with it. The volume was far greater than a guy’s load, though. I was cumming several ounces at once, if I had to estimate. It was a hot mess, especially combined with the multi-orgasmic angle. I’d just keep jerking off and squirting this thick fluid everywhere, jerking off more and shooting more fluid. I had to throw out a set of sheets and extensively spot-clean my mattress before I thought to buy a liner to keep the bed moisture at bay.
My activities were only really hindered by having to exhaustedly reach around my rapidly growing midsection to access my crotch. Though the rapid growth was turning me on more and more, tending to lead to more sexual energy that allowed me to overcome my tiredness in favor of further self-pleasure.
To add to the messiness, my swelling tits were somewhat miraculously already producing milk. And, naturally, I was frequently fooling around with idly shooting it everywhere. My home was not clean at this moment.
THE THIRD MONTH
I could no longer wear any of my pre-pregnancy clothes. My tits were swelling at least as quickly as my belly this month. And my belly growth was really something in itself. This all pretty substantially altered my figure, not terribly surprisingly. Additionally, my tits were leaking like crazy with the slightest pressure, arguing for the loosest garments that could still manage to cover my most sensitive areas. While I hadn’t yet outgrown my biggest bump days from my other pregnancies, my distribution of curves leaning so heavily into my breasts made much of my saved maternity wardrobe obsolete. I was just shaped too differently to wear my old clothes. Thus, a trip to Motherhood was in order. I can’t say this was an unpleasant development, as I’ve always enjoyed these preggo shopping outings.
This would be my first time out in public for any appreciable amount of time in several weeks. I’d become even more of a homebody lately, owing to the simultaneous facts of my awkwardly fast gestational growth and uncontrollable horniness. I had to get off near-constantly, and I wasn’t yet feeling confident enough for intimate human contact. Masturbating repeatedly at home was the obvious solution, and I rolled with it pretty enthusiastically.
Having to leave to shop for clothes at this point, I wore a baggy sweatshirt over my too-small t-shirt to hide most of my intense curviness from public eyes. For me it functioned as a security blanket of sorts. When I arrived at Motherhood and found a man lingering among the racks and staring at me, though, I was flooded with unexpectedly exhibitionist impulses. My mind went to when I just started showing and got wet from a few harmless belly rubs. Now, I had the uncontrollable urge to flaunt what I had. I removed my security sweatshirt and revealed the top that rode right up to my semi-popped navel. Already measuring around late second/early third trimester, my pregnant belly was quite substantial. And that’s not even mentioning my intensely swollen rack…
The man noticed. Of course he did. I purposefully made fleeting eye contact with him, averted my eyes and smiled. Rubbing my exposed belly skin, I apologized: “Sorry, sir. As you can see, I need some maternity clothes pretty badly. I don’t mean to walk around here half-naked or anything.”
He smiled and approached me, extending his hand for a shake. I took it with a wide smile on my face. “Sam,” he introduced himself.
“Liz.” I went with an abbreviation I usually hate for reasons I still don’t understand. “Listen, would you…” I halted myself, knowing the idea that had just occurred to me out of nowhere and almost spilled from my lips was embarrassingly forward and inappropriate. Fuck it: I charged forward nonetheless. “…would you let me try on some clothes for you? I just really need another set of eyes on me, but I’m here alone. Help a single girl out?” What a horrible slut I was!
He couldn’t keep the perverted smile from spreading across his entire face. “Sure, I’m not too busy,” he agreed. I giggled like an idiot and headed into the dressing room with a few pieces I was considering.
Flirting had never been my strong suit. Ever, pregnant or not. Now it seemed to be an uncontrollable urge. What the hell was going on with me? Well, I was pregnant with alien babies. Right. An overabundance of non-human hormones had apparently made me an exhibitionist. I was just going to go with it for the time being.
I flipped through the clothes I had brought into the dressing room. Most were too conservative: I was trying to show off, after all. One bodycon dress I’d grabbed was far too small for my gigantic breasts, forcing them about halfway up and out of the neck. That’d do to get started. The man’s eyes straight-up bulged out of their sockets when I re-entered his line of vision. It was extremely gratifying; I was grateful I was wearing underwear so I didn’t dirty the store’s inventory. “It’s okay?” I asked nonchalantly. He nodded, wordless and smiling as his eyes stayed glued to my bountifully overflowing chest.
I basked in the attention, getting wetter and more curious by the minute. Was the exhibitionism a byproduct of a libido stretched beyond its limit by an overabundance of the same hormones that frequently made all-human pregnancies hornier? Or was this a different, alien hormone having an effect on me? If alien, what the hell kind of purpose did it serve in its species of origin? If an alien is already impregnated, what benefit does being more sexually confident serve? I knew these aliens could (and did, in our specific case) have more than two parents per offspring: if more sex is had during the alien gestation, could that add more individuals to the genetic pool from which the egg pulls its material? There could surely be some benefit to that if so. Maybe it was about genetic diversity after all. I could at least understand this hypothesis. I’d never know for sure, of course.
These thoughts percolated. My mind drifted towards a stronger and stronger desire to get this guy’s genetic material for myself. I needed his cock in me. A hot load shot right into my cunt. His plentiful cum dripping down my inner thighs afterward. I made myself very, very wet with just the thoughts. I was more than ready for him.
I continued trying on clothes for the man, none of which really fit me properly. Just as I knew they wouldn’t. A pair of stretch-waisted maternity jeans that still wouldn’t button up over my belly. A blouse that only managed to come down to about an inch above my belly button. A dress I had to spend several minutes wiggling into, with seams that seemed ready to burst at hips, ass, bump, and tits. All sized too small for me, naturally: I did want to give this pervert a show.
How would I transition to fucking him, though? I couldn’t think of a garment that would make a logical bridge from staring to screwing. A lack of garments, on the other hand, may just do the trick. So, following half a dozen or so exhibitions for my new friend I exited the dressing room in just my bra and panties, rushed over to him, grabbed him by the hand and pulled him into the dressing room behind me. I don’t believe any other patrons or employees saw us, though I wasn’t particularly concerned either way.
“What’s wrong?” the man asked once we had the door of our tiny private room closed. I unceremoniously removed my undergarments. He wasted no time in stripping to nothing himself. The man was chubby, hirsute, and not particularly well-endowed. I was dripping wet for his mediocre ass, and he was hard for me just from looking at my nude form for a few moments.
Turning away from him and lifting a leg to rest on the tiny seat in one corner of the cubicle, I provided easy fucking access. Again he wasted no time, entering me from behind with a satisfied grunt. I moaned as he slid into my tight, wet, pregnant pussy. He thrusted quickly to start, then slowed down after 30 seconds or so of forceful pounding. I assume he got too close to cumming prematurely and decided to back off a bit. His slower, more methodical humps that followed were far more satisfying to me. He wrapped one arm around me to rub my belly as he humped, which did it for me nearly as much as his cock in my cunt did.
I could hear how gushingly wet I was with every one of his thrusts into me; I could feel my fluids overflowing and beginning to run down my legs. One of my hands was spread on the wall to maintain my balance; the other rubbed my clit determinedly. I started to cum after three or four minutes of our activity, my cunt clenching around his slowly humping cock. The feeling of my tightening was enough to bring him to the edge of climax, too. “Where should I cum?” he asked breathlessly.
“In me,” I responded instinctually, no conscious thought going into my reply. We both moaned as we came, louder and louder as it got more intense at the peak of our accomplishment together. I wondered if anyone would hear us, and I didn’t really give a shit about the answer. He pulsed within me, shooting rope after rope right against the outer wall of my busy womb.
Our simultaneous orgasms were seriously draining. I had to hold myself up with both hands against the wall as post-coital relaxation and exhaustion set in. His cock softened within me and slipped out with a sloshing sound; I could feel tiny flecks of his seed hitting my inner thighs upon his clumsy exit.
He sat his bare ass on the dressing room’s tiny seat and breathed heavily. I stared at his dick, glistening with my pussy’s juices, and found myself excited all over again. As his cum slowly leaked from me, I reached down and collected two fingers-worth of his juices and brought this portion of the load up to rub into my clit. It was a decent liquid for the job, the perverse thrill of it more than making up for its subpar physical attributes as a lubricant. I spread it all over myself and rubbed vigorously despite the tiredness that had so recently set in. As I masturbated my new friend rubbed his flaccid cock, not yet able to make it stand again. That was fine: I still very much enjoyed watching him touch himself. I got myself off again after 90 seconds, tops.
I licked our collective liquids off my fingertips. “You can dress and go,” I let him know. I’d gotten off twice with this guy’s help, and was now done with him. No feelings, just horniness briefly satisfied. He got up, pulled his clothes on about as quickly as humanly possible, and abruptly took his leave without a word.
I had no regrets. I had found my pregnant self suddenly cum-hungry, so I did something about it. And I loved every moment of it.
TO BE CONTINUED…
I had a craving to swell. I wanted my thick ass and hips to bust through the waist of my jeans. I wanted my milky tits to break the clasp of my bra. I wanted my taut belly to balloon up and peek out from the bottom of every inadequate top.
I needed to get knocked up again.
It would be my third pregnancy. I’d had one of my very own, with my daughter Penelope, about four years ago. Having your own healthy, naturally-conceived child is a prerequisite for becoming a surrogate later. Greatly enjoying my first pregnancy and learning of how you can make tens of thousands of dollars as a surrogate, my mind was made up well before giving birth that I’d be doing this again for pay. As a first-time surrogate, I made $40,000 for my second amazing nine month experience. One successful surrogacy now under my belt, I hoped to make even more for my second mercenary pregnancy.
I used the same online surrogacy board as last time to find a family in need of my services. One post in particular got my attention as it promised pay of at least $100K, more than double my last preggo paycheck. Why so much? It did mention requiring “an open mind” right at the top. Whatever that meant: I had no earthly idea. But the money was crazy, so I reached out to make contact with the couple in question.
Their names were Jim and Laura, and based on the messages we sent back and forth we all seemed to get along swimmingly. They were thrilled that I not only had had a successful pregnancy of my own, but had also gone through the surrogacy process smoothly once before. I’d proven that I could carry a healthy child and hand it to its proper parents, a final step some surrogates have a complicatedly difficult time accomplishing. With this attractive experience of mine in mind, they offered me a whopping $125K for my services…without my even having to negotiate.
The obvious questions hanging in the air remained even after a dozen messages had been exchanged: why such a grand amount of money for this particular pregnancy? What did the requirement for “an open mind” in their initial posting mean? I left these questions for our first in-person meeting, thinking they may be more delicately approached in a more personal setting. We finally met at a little coffee shop outside the city, convenient for me and quite a hike for them. They were being careful not to inconvenience me even a little bit, it seemed, maybe nervous they might screw up our developing arrangement somehow.
Jim, Laura, and I all got along well enough in the flesh. They were…”awkward” would cover it, I suppose. Their English was flawless but they still struck me as foreigners somehow. Everything just felt slightly off in how they communicated, despite their proficiency with the language. Were they just nervous, maybe? This certainly was an emotionally-loaded situation, they very well could be. We spent about an hour at the coffee shop, chatting about my previous pregnancies and their desire to be parents. General surrogacy conversation, really.
I wondered how I’d broach the question of “an open mind” that was so prevalently featured in my own mind. Before I got there, though, Jim did me a favor. “You might be wondering about the ‘open mind’ part of our post,” he began. “Would you like to come back to our hotel room with us to discuss? It is a little bit delicate.” I consented: they may have been a bit socially awkward, but they seemed trustworthy enough and rather warm towards me. So, I sensed they weren’t going to take me back to theirs and kill me or anything.
They were staying in an expensive boutique hotel. I’d never been inside, knowing this was the type of place you didn’t even sneak into to use the bathroom. Their room was gorgeous, expansive and well-appointed. We sat on the soft, overfilled couch of their living room area to chat. Laura flicked on a warm red light sitting on the table next to the couch. It produced a strange visual quality in the room, but I felt inexplicably at ease nonetheless.
“I suppose I will just say it,” Jim said once we were all settled. “Laura and I are not human.”
I didn’t scream or run out of the room, for some reason. I couldn’t help but look between my two hosts’ faces and bodies, though. They sure looked human to me! “Ooooookay,” I finally and quietly managed in response.
“We look human right now, yes,” Laura interjected, “but we are actually from a planet some light years from Earth. We want to have a child with someone from Earth to mix our genetic materials and create offspring that can survive well and blend in here. Our species usually has more than two parents per child. Jim and I will be genetic contributors, as will you. Our children will be of our race and yours simultaneously, well-suited to life on Earth and potential ambassadors between our two planets.”
My mind focused on the plurals Laura had thrown in there, maybe not yet capable of wrestling with this whole “inhuman” thing. “Children?” I asked nervously. The suggestion certainly seemed to be that we were going for more than one. My mind flashed briefly to my fantasies of swelling everywhere, a smile creeping onto my lips as I considered the possibility of carrying multiples.
“Yes, children,” Jim replied. “We would like to impregnate you with two embryos. You will be compensated appropriately, as mentioned.”
I nodded, lost in thought over this insanity but still somehow eager to comply. It was a lot of money. And I really wanted to swell dramatically with twins. “How am I not freaking out right now?” I blurted suddenly. It was a thought that had been on the tip of my tongue for a few minutes.
Jim smiled at Laura and responded. “It is the light.” He nodded toward the red lamp on the table. “It is a piece of our technology, something we use sometimes to help people remain calm. I am glad it is working for you, Elizabeth.”
“Huh!” was all I could manage in response. Mind-blowing stuff was going on, and this light was apparently allowing me to roll with it all. I wondered how hard I’d panic later, but decided to keep that eventuality to myself. “Besides the twins thing and the not-entirely-human angle, is there anything else I should know about before I agree to this? The compensation certainly seems fair, I must say.”
“Well,” Laura started quietly, “with the alien aspect come some different specifics for the pregnancy, in all likelihood. We have not conceived such an interspecies gestation before, but we believe your symptoms and growth will all be…enhanced, you could say. You will be implanted with two eggs, both of which will hatch within you and become more similar to human fetuses about halfway through the pregnancy. Things will likely be significantly more intense. You can expect to be pregnant for longer than the usual human nine months, for instance. Probably closer to a year. There will be more and slightly different hormones than usual, leading to more swelling, aches, and morning sickness. Larger breasts with darker nipples, which we understand are not necessarily undesirable for humans. More of an increase to your libido, as well, which may not be entirely negative.”
Intriguing. Truly intriguing. Alarming, too, of course. More intense morning sickness and aches? More hormones than usual, leading almost certainly to more extreme mood swings and general emotional turmoil? That all sounded rough. I couldn’t say I didn’t want to get bigger and hornier than ever, though. That all sounded fantastic.
“All right,” I said with a shrug. So I was in, and they looked very happy to hear it.
“Can we impregnate you now, or would you prefer to wait?” Jim asked, holding Laura’s hand. I must’ve looked as perplexed as I felt. “We cannot utilize the help of a doctor in getting you pregnant, Elizabeth. It would raise too many questions. Our species has a very high rate of impregnation when that is our intention, though. We should be able to impregnate you in just a few minutes, if that is not inconvenient for you.”
I was a bit stunned by the suddenness of this development, but also feeling sort of serenely excited to be starting the process and to be on my way to another nicely swollen pregnancy. I shrugged again. “All right, let’s do it! Where should we start?”
They both stood and undressed unceremoniously. Their bodies were pretty much the definition of average, probably in order to be as inconspicuous as Earth folks as possible. There’s little to report here beyond just your basic human nudity. Laura laid on her back on the floor, Jim taking his position above her. The couple seemed to require little foreplay, Jim being instantly hard and entering Laura without any fanfare. Wait…why was he entering Laura? Were they fucking each other to get me pregnant? Was there some confusion over how human reproduction works?
After a dozen thrusts or so, Jim happened to glance over and see that I was still fully clothed and staring at them with an unmistakable look of confusion on my face. “I apologize, Elizabeth,” he said evenly and without interrupting the rhythm with which he was fucking his partner. “Laura and I have to copulate first, then I can copulate with you to impregnate you with our child. Is that all right?”
I shrugged once again, sure I had no real say in the matter but not particularly bothered about being second in line for a screw. “No worries,” I replied. I sat back down on the couch to wait my turn. Apparently the mechanics of human-alien reproduction had not been clear to me. That was fine. It was strange to watch them fuck in front of me, though. It was business-like and nearly silent. Jim lasted for about five minutes and never broke his steady rhythm, not even at the end when I could only assume he came in Laura. Who the hell maintained a steady thrusting rhythm while cumming? Talk about inhuman!
Finished with Laura, Jim stood up and nodded at me. Laura quietly redonned her clothing. I disrobed myself and laid down on my back on the couch. “Is this all right?” I asked. Jim nodded. His dick glistened with Laura’s juices, never losing its erection from his sexual encounter of a few minutes ago. No refractory periods for aliens, apparently? I didn’t see him go soft for a even a moment, somehow. Anyway, I will admit to being just a bit wet myself from having watched the couple fuck on the floor. Jim positioned himself carefully and entered me straightaway, as seemed to be his preferred style. I moaned briefly, catching myself feeling slightly embarrassed after Jim’s and Laura’s vocalization-free session. I managed to control my auditory signs of pleasure from there on out. I did not cum during our sexual congress, which made this a bit easier.
Jim took another five minutes or so of screwing to shoot inside me, again never breaking his steady rhythm. He gently lifted my lower back and placed a pillow under my pelvic area. “Stay on your back for half an hour, please,” he basically demanded, to my slightly perverse pleasure: I loved a strong commanding presence in the bedroom, and had to stop just short of playing with myself in my newly-developed arousal. Jim got dressed again, too, and the two went about repacking the luggage in the hotel room while I laid and gave the alien seed its best opportunity for impregnation. I guess they didn’t want to waste any time, or maybe their checkout time was coming up? Probably easier not to guess at the psychology of these aliens.
The 30 minutes passed, and Jim told me I could sit up and dress again. I did so, then Laura handed me a nondescript black briefcase. “$75,000,” she said simply. “You will get the other $50,000 after the birth. You are now pregnant. We will be in touch.” Really warm vibes from these aliens!
I left the calming red glow of the hotel room, nerves hitting me hard the moment I entered the fluorescent light of the hallway. That special lamp of there’s really seemed to work wonders; I kinda wanted one for myself. What else could’ve let me fuck aliens with such calm? I regained my composure after a few moments of “What-the-fuck-have-I-done!?” panic, made a hasty exit from the hotel and headed home. I probably would’ve really freaked out at this point, but I found myself quite overwhelmingly exhausted and went to bed right away.
I woke up at 11 the next morning, a good 5 hours later than my usual, natural waking time. For whatever reason I felt positively hungover. Dehydrated, nausea, headache: the works, and intense as hell. Like I’d gone on a real bender for a few sleepless nights or something. I dragged my ass out of bed to pee and potentially throw up. I narrowly avoided vomiting, somehow, and dragged my ass back into bed.
My hands drifted down to my highly-bothered stomach as I rested. My lower abdomen was…firm. Wait, what?! I remembered the feeling from both previous pregnancies, but certainly not on the morning after getting knocked up. Maybe 6 weeks or so later, I wanted to say. On the bright side, I guess I could be pretty confident as far as having been successfully impregnated: the feeling was quite unmistakable.
On a less-bright side, how the hell had things progressed so damn quickly?! If my uterus had firmed up overnight, how long could it be before I’d be showing? If this pregnancy was truly going to be a full 3 months longer than normal human gestations, how massive was I going to get by the end?
My answer to the “showing” question, at least, would be answered within about 4 days. The answer was that it took about 4 days to start showing, and in a way that was already not to be confused with mere bloating. Crazy, scary-fast growth. What the fuck was in store for me?
THE FIRST MONTH
A mere month in and I was looking pregnant enough to draw constant public stares. My belly already looked like I was at the start of a second trimester for a standard (human) singleton pregnancy, I’d say. Strangers asked when I was due. I had no choice but to inform friends and family that I was expecting again, simply unable to hide my condition due to my swelling midsection. I had no clue what I’d say to them in 11 months when I was still pregnant for some (inhuman) reason. I did have the foresight to let them all know that I would be having twins, though, which would at least buy me some wiggle room in terms of the immense size I was sure to achieve. And it was, of course, true that I was carrying twins; I just left out the whole “alien” angle.
A stranger struck up a conversation with me at the supermarket. He noticed me idly cradling the bump in one arm and asked how far along I was. We chatted for a minute; he finally asked if he could touch my belly, a first for this gestation. Normally, in my previous two pregnancies, I was a bit weirded out by this not-infrequent request. If it was a woman asking, I was usually okay enough with it. Men asking usually freaked me out, though. I enjoyed my pregnancies thoroughly, but hadn’t really had the desire to share this pleasure with random potential perverts. This time was different, however. To be blunt, I felt my pussy getting wet at the mere thought, before I even consented to allow his hand on me. Once I did agree and he touched me, I nearly swooned. Boy, were these hormones wild already! I was truly excited by the encounter, masturbating furiously in the car on my drive home. In quite the marked shift, I sure seemed to be aroused at the prospect of sharing this pregnancy with others. Might this trend continue?
It very well might. The next day, I had lunch with a close girlfriend of mine. At one point she asked if she could see the bump and give it a rub. I was kinda shocked at how eager I was as I gave my agreement, lifted my shirt and slapped her hand onto my abdomen. I mean, I’d certainly obliged friends and family who’d wanted to see and touch my belly during my previous pregnancies. But it had always felt like a favor I was doing for them, not something that got me excited. This touch, though, most definitely excited me. And it was from a woman, which added an extra layer of sexual confusion to the whole affair. I’d never had a gay thought in my life, and now this: the hormones must have been truly out of control to get me wet down there with a mere rub from a female friend. Was it that I’d been made so sensitive that any touch would do it for me at the moment? Or did I have a new lesbian thing going on? It was hard to say at the moment.
At this point the hormones were wreaking havoc in othr ways, too. Morning sickness was very intense during these early weeks. An absurd percentage of my time was spent kneeling in front of my toilet. It was very lucky that the alien couple paid me enough that I didn’t have to keep another job during this pregnancy. I’d had a decent amount of nausea during my first two gestational journeys, but never leading so frequently to straight-up vomiting. My heaves turned from dry to productive multiple times per day, seriously exhausting me. General exhaustion was a huge problem around this time, too. Not only did I spend substantial periods of time in front of the toilet; I also more-than-occasionally woke up in front of the toilet, having nauseously drifted off while waiting to puke. Much more extreme stuff than during my purely human pregnancies, I can tell you that.
My nipples were more radically altered than in the past as well. They’d turned from just-darker-than-my-fairly-pale-skin to a chocolatey dark brown during my other pregnancies. This time, they nearly attained a full-on black color. They were almost alarming against the rest of my flesh, very distinctive and noticeable through my clothing unless I wore the darkest articles I owned. My breasts, too, underwent some dramatic changes. I’d already gained more than a cup size (from a modest C to a large D) within just a month of getting knocked up. I can’t say I wasn’t enjoying my larger and darker parts, though they were growing and darkening at an alarming rate that made me nervous about the coming months.
My pubic hair was getting flagrantly darker, too. Not something I’d experienced at all before, but now it had turned from the chestnut of most of my hair to jet black. I wondered what the first guy to see me naked during this pregnancy would think of my substantial physical changes. Would a guy ever see me naked in this state, though? I both mildly hoped so and seriously dreaded it in this moment. That dread would change soon enough, though.
THE SECOND MONTH
Two months gone, and I looked very solidly second trimester already. Ridiculousness! How the hell big was I going to get over the course of an entire damn year?! It was anxiety-provoking to even consider.
But things did get luckier symptoms-wise around this time despite my nervousness over my rapidly ballooning size. Morning sickness was largely out; and horniness was majorly in. I was masturbating near-constantly, my libido raging when compared to previous pregnancies. Or, really, when compared to any other stage of my life. Even during my rubbing-one-out-laden pubescent period I hadn’t touched myself half as much as I did during this part of my expectant journey. I was always wet and always fantasizing, glad to be a homebody so that my crotch-seeking hands were always allowed to do as they pleased.
I wished I could bring my sexual energy to something beyond the masturbatory, but it was feeling quite difficult. It was a real challenge to get comfortable in my body when it was changing so very rapidly. How could I flaunt what I hardly even recognized as my own? Adapting to the many shifts was not easy. So, I lacked the confidence to approach men. Going solo it was, for the time being. Single and pregnant is no way to go through a horny life.
On the masturbation front, though, things were kinda great. I’d gone multi-orgasmic for the first time, requiring no refractory period of recovery in between cumming. I could cum and just keep rubbing into my next orgasm, ad nauseam. One climax followed the next; I could go until I nearly passed out from exhaustion, arousal nearly inexhaustible.
Additionally and even more strikingly, I’d begun squirting. Another first for this alien pregnancy! It wasn’t something I’d been warned about as a potential side effect, so it was quite stunning when it suddenly started. The consistency and color struck me as different than what I’d observed in porn. It was very semen-like, not urine-like as I’d seen in so many videos. My ejaculate had the pale white translucence of male cum, and that familiar smell to go with it. The volume was far greater than a guy’s load, though. I was cumming several ounces at once, if I had to estimate. It was a hot mess, especially combined with the multi-orgasmic angle. I’d just keep jerking off and squirting this thick fluid everywhere, jerking off more and shooting more fluid. I had to throw out a set of sheets and extensively spot-clean my mattress before I thought to buy a liner to keep the bed moisture at bay.
My activities were only really hindered by having to exhaustedly reach around my rapidly growing midsection to access my crotch. Though the rapid growth was turning me on more and more, tending to lead to more sexual energy that allowed me to overcome my tiredness in favor of further self-pleasure.
To add to the messiness, my swelling tits were somewhat miraculously already producing milk. And, naturally, I was frequently fooling around with idly shooting it everywhere. My home was not clean at this moment.
THE THIRD MONTH
I could no longer wear any of my pre-pregnancy clothes. My tits were swelling at least as quickly as my belly this month. And my belly growth was really something in itself. This all pretty substantially altered my figure, not terribly surprisingly. Additionally, my tits were leaking like crazy with the slightest pressure, arguing for the loosest garments that could still manage to cover my most sensitive areas. While I hadn’t yet outgrown my biggest bump days from my other pregnancies, my distribution of curves leaning so heavily into my breasts made much of my saved maternity wardrobe obsolete. I was just shaped too differently to wear my old clothes. Thus, a trip to Motherhood was in order. I can’t say this was an unpleasant development, as I’ve always enjoyed these preggo shopping outings.
This would be my first time out in public for any appreciable amount of time in several weeks. I’d become even more of a homebody lately, owing to the simultaneous facts of my awkwardly fast gestational growth and uncontrollable horniness. I had to get off near-constantly, and I wasn’t yet feeling confident enough for intimate human contact. Masturbating repeatedly at home was the obvious solution, and I rolled with it pretty enthusiastically.
Having to leave to shop for clothes at this point, I wore a baggy sweatshirt over my too-small t-shirt to hide most of my intense curviness from public eyes. For me it functioned as a security blanket of sorts. When I arrived at Motherhood and found a man lingering among the racks and staring at me, though, I was flooded with unexpectedly exhibitionist impulses. My mind went to when I just started showing and got wet from a few harmless belly rubs. Now, I had the uncontrollable urge to flaunt what I had. I removed my security sweatshirt and revealed the top that rode right up to my semi-popped navel. Already measuring around late second/early third trimester, my pregnant belly was quite substantial. And that’s not even mentioning my intensely swollen rack…
The man noticed. Of course he did. I purposefully made fleeting eye contact with him, averted my eyes and smiled. Rubbing my exposed belly skin, I apologized: “Sorry, sir. As you can see, I need some maternity clothes pretty badly. I don’t mean to walk around here half-naked or anything.”
He smiled and approached me, extending his hand for a shake. I took it with a wide smile on my face. “Sam,” he introduced himself.
“Liz.” I went with an abbreviation I usually hate for reasons I still don’t understand. “Listen, would you…” I halted myself, knowing the idea that had just occurred to me out of nowhere and almost spilled from my lips was embarrassingly forward and inappropriate. Fuck it: I charged forward nonetheless. “…would you let me try on some clothes for you? I just really need another set of eyes on me, but I’m here alone. Help a single girl out?” What a horrible slut I was!
He couldn’t keep the perverted smile from spreading across his entire face. “Sure, I’m not too busy,” he agreed. I giggled like an idiot and headed into the dressing room with a few pieces I was considering.
Flirting had never been my strong suit. Ever, pregnant or not. Now it seemed to be an uncontrollable urge. What the hell was going on with me? Well, I was pregnant with alien babies. Right. An overabundance of non-human hormones had apparently made me an exhibitionist. I was just going to go with it for the time being.
I flipped through the clothes I had brought into the dressing room. Most were too conservative: I was trying to show off, after all. One bodycon dress I’d grabbed was far too small for my gigantic breasts, forcing them about halfway up and out of the neck. That’d do to get started. The man’s eyes straight-up bulged out of their sockets when I re-entered his line of vision. It was extremely gratifying; I was grateful I was wearing underwear so I didn’t dirty the store’s inventory. “It’s okay?” I asked nonchalantly. He nodded, wordless and smiling as his eyes stayed glued to my bountifully overflowing chest.
I basked in the attention, getting wetter and more curious by the minute. Was the exhibitionism a byproduct of a libido stretched beyond its limit by an overabundance of the same hormones that frequently made all-human pregnancies hornier? Or was this a different, alien hormone having an effect on me? If alien, what the hell kind of purpose did it serve in its species of origin? If an alien is already impregnated, what benefit does being more sexually confident serve? I knew these aliens could (and did, in our specific case) have more than two parents per offspring: if more sex is had during the alien gestation, could that add more individuals to the genetic pool from which the egg pulls its material? There could surely be some benefit to that if so. Maybe it was about genetic diversity after all. I could at least understand this hypothesis. I’d never know for sure, of course.
These thoughts percolated. My mind drifted towards a stronger and stronger desire to get this guy’s genetic material for myself. I needed his cock in me. A hot load shot right into my cunt. His plentiful cum dripping down my inner thighs afterward. I made myself very, very wet with just the thoughts. I was more than ready for him.
I continued trying on clothes for the man, none of which really fit me properly. Just as I knew they wouldn’t. A pair of stretch-waisted maternity jeans that still wouldn’t button up over my belly. A blouse that only managed to come down to about an inch above my belly button. A dress I had to spend several minutes wiggling into, with seams that seemed ready to burst at hips, ass, bump, and tits. All sized too small for me, naturally: I did want to give this pervert a show.
How would I transition to fucking him, though? I couldn’t think of a garment that would make a logical bridge from staring to screwing. A lack of garments, on the other hand, may just do the trick. So, following half a dozen or so exhibitions for my new friend I exited the dressing room in just my bra and panties, rushed over to him, grabbed him by the hand and pulled him into the dressing room behind me. I don’t believe any other patrons or employees saw us, though I wasn’t particularly concerned either way.
“What’s wrong?” the man asked once we had the door of our tiny private room closed. I unceremoniously removed my undergarments. He wasted no time in stripping to nothing himself. The man was chubby, hirsute, and not particularly well-endowed. I was dripping wet for his mediocre ass, and he was hard for me just from looking at my nude form for a few moments.
Turning away from him and lifting a leg to rest on the tiny seat in one corner of the cubicle, I provided easy fucking access. Again he wasted no time, entering me from behind with a satisfied grunt. I moaned as he slid into my tight, wet, pregnant pussy. He thrusted quickly to start, then slowed down after 30 seconds or so of forceful pounding. I assume he got too close to cumming prematurely and decided to back off a bit. His slower, more methodical humps that followed were far more satisfying to me. He wrapped one arm around me to rub my belly as he humped, which did it for me nearly as much as his cock in my cunt did.
I could hear how gushingly wet I was with every one of his thrusts into me; I could feel my fluids overflowing and beginning to run down my legs. One of my hands was spread on the wall to maintain my balance; the other rubbed my clit determinedly. I started to cum after three or four minutes of our activity, my cunt clenching around his slowly humping cock. The feeling of my tightening was enough to bring him to the edge of climax, too. “Where should I cum?” he asked breathlessly.
“In me,” I responded instinctually, no conscious thought going into my reply. We both moaned as we came, louder and louder as it got more intense at the peak of our accomplishment together. I wondered if anyone would hear us, and I didn’t really give a shit about the answer. He pulsed within me, shooting rope after rope right against the outer wall of my busy womb.
Our simultaneous orgasms were seriously draining. I had to hold myself up with both hands against the wall as post-coital relaxation and exhaustion set in. His cock softened within me and slipped out with a sloshing sound; I could feel tiny flecks of his seed hitting my inner thighs upon his clumsy exit.
He sat his bare ass on the dressing room’s tiny seat and breathed heavily. I stared at his dick, glistening with my pussy’s juices, and found myself excited all over again. As his cum slowly leaked from me, I reached down and collected two fingers-worth of his juices and brought this portion of the load up to rub into my clit. It was a decent liquid for the job, the perverse thrill of it more than making up for its subpar physical attributes as a lubricant. I spread it all over myself and rubbed vigorously despite the tiredness that had so recently set in. As I masturbated my new friend rubbed his flaccid cock, not yet able to make it stand again. That was fine: I still very much enjoyed watching him touch himself. I got myself off again after 90 seconds, tops.
I licked our collective liquids off my fingertips. “You can dress and go,” I let him know. I’d gotten off twice with this guy’s help, and was now done with him. No feelings, just horniness briefly satisfied. He got up, pulled his clothes on about as quickly as humanly possible, and abruptly took his leave without a word.
I had no regrets. I had found my pregnant self suddenly cum-hungry, so I did something about it. And I loved every moment of it.
TO BE CONTINUED…
