From DeviantArt author MuchBelly
https://www.deviantart.com/muchbirth/art...-798184295
One does not gain the power of an empire without being willing to display it ruthlessly.
I have earned the right, through my wisdom and beauty, to be matriarch of the most powerful family in the entire nation. My husband has limitless wealth, and unspeakable political influence. Our word is treated as law, and if it can be bought, we can easily afford it. Of course, when one is this rich, you quickly realize EVERYTHING can be bought.
My name is Rebecca, and I am bride to Malcom Prigmen, the CEO of In-Prig Incorporated. We do… many, many things, but our motto is “Unrestrained creation.” If we can imagine that it can be made, then it should be. As long as we stand to gain massive profit from it, that is.
The pair of us were married some time ago in a whirlwind romance, the both of us now in our late thirties. Somehow we are still together, even after all this time. Oh I always found a way to forgive him, Malcom always gave me a reason to fall helplessly in love with him all over any time I truly grew cross with his antics. But today… Today was one of the days I found myself wondering how I allow myself to be tricked into keeping him around.
My husband, unfortunately, had many needs. Our mansion is massive, visible for miles atop it’s hill, and we need an extensive cleaning crew to maintain it and the grounds. My beloved is in charge of the hiring for these crews, and unfortunately, by coincidence I’m quite sure, every employee is a young woman, either fresh out of high school or near enough to it. And our house is located on the boarders a town that, frankly, I would rather not be anywhere near. He loves it, for reasons that rackle me.
The laws here are… old fashioned, at best. Largely based off of, I’m fairly certain, intentionally misread religious text. They say that some god commanded that women be as servants to the men whom they bore children to, that if life is created then the act is inherently good. Thus it is that if one is made pregnant, even if against one’s will, the male who inflicted that upon them effectively has ownership of them. Ordered by law to follow any orders he gives, because supposedly everyone knows that seed won’t take in a woman’s belly if she didn’t desire child.
With such an archaic take on gender roles, it’s no surprise medical care is denied to them. Once the test is confirmed positive, the entire gestation of the child is up to this god’s whims, even up to the birth as long as it doesn’t become a potentially fatal situation. It’s believed that women made the choice to become pregnant, and thus other’s care must be prioritized. Essentially, getting help for being pregnant is impossible until all other diseases are cured, because its a preventable condition.
My husband fell for me in no small part because I gave myself a measure of independence from this law. My family took me on vacation, outside of the borders of this town, and I had hoarded enough money to get my tubes tied. I was effectively sterile, unable to conceive, and thus on the occasion I was assaulted and some bastard tried to claim ownership of me, it didn’t work. Malcolm saw the fury, the vengeful spirit burning within me, and loved me immediately. For my mind, adoring the fact I was thinking ahead, even that young. The fact that of all the people he could own, either by money or conquest, I was out of his reach.
He got me, eventually. But he had to work for it, more than he has for anything else. And to this day, I love him enough to not leave. Even when these things happen.
The maid stood before me, whimpering and cradling her bulging bump. Her name was Lisa or something unbearably common such as that. The red-head had joined us about ten months ago, a young harlot who was trying to save money for college, or so she claimed. The sheltered white girl came from some other town nearby, didn’t know the laws were so barbaric here, saying she thought it was just rumor, fake news, as it were.
The fresh-out-of-highschool girl CLAIMS that my husband caught her while she was cleaning the bathroom and forced himself upon her. The idiot spent hours crying, terrified she was going to get pregnant, said she was at her most fertile part of her cycle, she hadn’t been able to find any birth control prior to this, or any form of conception prevention medication either. The idiot seemed to not realize those things had been outlawed not long after abortion had, some rhetoric about pre-emptive abortion or some such.
I called Malcom into the HR room and asked him what had happened. He grinned, saying that Lisa had heard about my inability to conceive a child, and had graciously offered to be a surrogate. I could do nothing but glare at him and sigh.
Every time with this. Every single time, he had a new excuse. Every girl we’d hired had, within a month of their arrival, come to me crying about their employer taking them by force, and every one of them got pregnant. Most of the time he said it was an accident, or they had threatened him with a lawsuit if her didn’t, or some-such hat-in-hand confession. Some took him to court, but… well. It resulted in pregnancy. Wouldn’t want to leave the child fatherless, the union was blessed by the lord, it was meant to be, etcetera etcetera. It was nrever found to be rape, and within nine months the foolish thing would have her legs spread, screaming out another bastard in front of me.
This time was different. It was the first time Malcolm had talked about making an heir to the family fortune. Charges were pressed, but of course his seed took, as it always did, which meant it was no longer rape, but an extension of God’s will, and thus legal. Encouraged even. We were told to offer her room and board, sent her one her way with a hearty congratulation, and a reminder that the adoption and foster systems were so overwhelmed that her options, after giving birth, where to either leave the child on the street, which was illegal, or raise it like a good girl.
Lisa was, of course, horrified when I informed her that she effectively was my husband’s property. Her pregnancy served as proof of the holiness of their union, making them the equivalent of locked into some bizarre combination of marriage and slavery.
The red-haired woman, shirt already straining with her forming baby bump, cried and begged, pleaded with me to let her leave, to call the police. I only responded that she should be honored to be carrying Mr. Inprig’s offspring. He’d even claimed it, that meant she may be due SOME compensation.
The months crawled by. Special care was taken with this particular case, as it was our first ever semi-legitimate heir. As the head of the Human Relations department, I often punished our impregnated workers for allowing my husband’s infidelity. I have countless delightful memories of the workforce of the household having all manner of misadventures during their children’s gestation and inevitable birth…
But you’re here for her tale. I should focus on that, shouldn’t I?
Lisa came into work complaining of pains from her midriff. “It hurts…” she moaned, clutching the swollen orb holding my future responsibility. “I’m gonna give birth soon, I think… please, just let me lay down until it’s over, it’s cramping so bad, the head is sitting so low…” I rolled my eyes, exasperated with her laziness.
The birth of a child is no reason to slack off, our state had abolished maternity leave for a reason. I’d patiently explained that time and again all month as she begged to go home to her parents or to go to a hospital. If it was up to me, she’d have been locked in the delivery dungeon as soon as the gravid nineteen year old had started complaining, along with all the other slackers who insisted they just COULDN’T keep going.
But my husband had requested I show his mistress leniency, as we were going to claim this child as our own. So I rose from my desk, heading to the refrigerated safe in my office. “While I... ‘empathize’... with your plight, I assure you there is no need to be concerned. You’ll be able to continue work as normal…” I droned disinterestedly, entering the code and pulling open the container with a pressurized hiss. “But, as your condition is important to us, we do have solutions to help you deal with your imminent delivery. I can only imagine how excited you are to finally have this baby, after all.”
I pulled a syringe of oddly colored liquid from its stand. A lovely woman by the name of Sarah had offered to give us all sorts of new prototype medication in exchange for funding her more… interesting experiments. So far the investment had been VERY lucrative, and the perk of early access to the somewhat shady concoctions that sometimes were created as a result of her research was always a treat. I still remembered fondly how the board meeting where we’d decided to grant her request had ended…
Closing the door, hearing it lock, I turned to the laboring girl and told her to sit. She’d clearly been having contractions for some time, they were already very close together. I pulled her arm out, and swiftly injected the sweating mother-to-be with the potent concoction. “This is an interesting little serum designed to make the process of labor and birthing pleasurable. It’ll work for about eight hours, so your normal duties will continue uninterrupted.”
Lisa looked at me, and I could see the drug take effect. Her breathing went from ragged panting to smooth, and her eyes attained an almost glaze, as the pain of her spasms were replaced by pleasure. “There we go… now, since this is the birth of my child, we’re going to be holding a banquet, for which you’ll be in charge of food prep. I’m to assist you, but mostly to monitor the progress of your labor. The child is NOT to be born until the time of our choosing. Do I make myself utterly, perfectly clear?”
I looked down, seeing a tight pair of maternity pants clinging to the tramp’s shapely thighs, only the tiniest gap noticeable between. Before pregnancy had ravaged her body, this teenager had clearly been taking care of herself. “Your jeans will help you not deliver too soon, so no change of clothes will be necessary. But if things do start to look dicey, we have assistance available for you. It can be rough, however, and if it all possible I would strive to avoid it.”
The disoriented girl nodded, still struggling to focus. “The drowsiness will fade shortly, no need to fear. Now come, to the kitchen…” I grabbed the red-head’s arm, and guided her out of the room.
We were halfway to our destination when the laboring young woman stiffened, gasping. I turned, an eyebrow lifted quizzically, and she started quivering, hands locked around her belly. Then, I saw her crotch become damp, as her freshly-broken waters began to flow from nineteen-year-old’s tunnel, and down her thighs, soaking everything between her legs. The teenage mother groaned, panting out “I’m s-sorry… My waters broke… oh god, the baby’s really coming soon… I’m not ready, I don’t want to be a mom. Please ma’am, don’t make me-” I grabbed her arm again and yanked her down the hall. “There will be plenty of time for prattle after dinner, thank you.” I snapped.
As I pulled the laboring teen along, I felt her shuddering with what I recognized as the pleasure her labor was causing her due to the injection. “I can feel it… it’s moving… moving down… opening me up deep inside…” Her groans were low, tinged with simmering desire, making shivers of want tingle through my own body. I, unlike some worthless whores, however, could control my carnal urges, and continued trudging forward.
We reached the kitchen without further incident, though the mother-to-be was clearly having contractions regularly. There were two other pregnant girls, one only just showing, and the other just starting her second trimester, ready to help with the food prep. I let them get to it, standing back and watching as the heavier girls waddled around the kitchen, their bellies getting in the way of everything and huffing in breaths, the earlier ones looking at their futures with anxiety and trying to focus on work.
I couldn’t help but notice the laboring girl becoming more aroused with every huff and groan, stopping and bracing herself against a table or counter, rising up on her toes as she obviously bore down. If she wanted to make this more difficult for herself, I wasn’t going to stop her, but every time I clicked my tongue in my cheek and glared as she’d whimper something about how low the head felt, about how she couldn’t stop herself.
After an hour of this, she stumbled, leaning on the table in the center of the kitchen. I threw my arms up in frustration, tired of her relentless complaining. “What could possibly be the matter now?” I snapped, impatience dripping from every syllable. “The baby…” she gasped, fingers curling into claws on the wood. “It’s… stretching my… cervix… oh god, it’s being booooooorn…” The red-haired surrogate leaned her head back, the baby inside opening her wider.
A long-suffering sigh escaped me as I took in her body, from posture to how it glistened with sweat to how her back was arching. I’d seen many births in many circumstances, and knew to my frustration that she wasn’t lying. The pressure of the emerging child was setting the chemicals in her system into overdrive, this slow, agonizing delivery being turned into an equivalent amount of pleasure. She squeezed her eyes shut, letting out a cry that increased in pitch, and she began to shake. Clearly she was orgasming, and shortly after I wrinkled my nose in disgust as I looked between her legs, and saw moisture once again gathering in the crotch of her pants.
Lisa blushed deeply as her girlcum dripped down, forming a musky puddle under her. “Well. Are you proud that all your co-workers just watched you cum? Does it make you feel sexy? Ugh, I can smell it… For supposedly hating this baby so much feeling it move inside you certainly did make you squirt awfully hard.” Head hanging low, humiliated and ashamed, the redhead nodded. “I’m so sorry Ma’am…” she whispered, wiping away tears as she struggled to stand fully as the afterglow left her.
I held my hand over the softly crying teen’s groin, making her gasp in surprise. I could feel the wet heat radiating from it like a furnace. Shaking my head, I commanded “As soon as you recover from this… unseemly carnal display, return to work. There’s no reason to be lollygagging like this over something as natural as labor.” Lisa nodded, trying to continue preparing the food for tonight’s banquet, a party to celebrate her own child’s impending arrival. Contractions continued to wrack her body, and even as pleasure they were clearly overwhelming.
The baby was moving down now, the head slipping through her birth canal. I could see the stupid tramp trying to keep working, even as her hands shook, her breathing ragged, every squat sending a moan of relief from her. It was clear every cell in her body wanted the teenage mother-to-be to lay down, strip naked, open her legs wide and scream out my husband’s offspring. But we weren’t paying her to laze around and squirt out babies all day, there were so many guests coming tonight, everything had to be perfect.
After another hour I heard a gasp come from the overwhelmed, frightened thing, though she forced herself to keep working, as was proper. I walked toward her slowly, and the red-haired girl had tears running down her face, and was whispering something to herself. I came close enough to hear it, surprised and delighted to hear the young woman’s voice breathlessly repeating “it’s crowning, it’s crowning, it’s really crowning” to herself desperately.
The teenage girl stiffened, lifting up on her tip-toes once more, her entire body trembling. “It’s coming, it’s opening me it’s coming!” Her voice a breathy whisper, so quiet even I could barely hear her. I could hear the dripping patter of more of her feminine juices, likely a blend of amniotic fluid and girlcum, from the smell of it, making another puddle underneath her.
With a moan of effort, Lisa collapsed in front of the counters. She was bracing her palms against the wood, biting her lip hard, and I watched in simultaneous disgust and delight as I saw the crotch of her pants begin to bulge with the emerging child. She hadn’t been lying… the bulge grew and grew as she pushed, it was breathtaking. Knowing the secret head was just in there, ready to emerge…
Lisa couldn’t stand anymore, and I watched, silent, breathing heavily as more contractions wracked the young mother, the other workers continuing without pause, knowing what I would do if I caught them staring. Finally, the teen mother was clearly on the edge of yet another orgasm, obviously the strongest of any she’d ever had due to the agony she’d have normally been in at this point, pale and dripping with sweat as her entire being worked to expel this new person from her delicate, swollen form.
The unwanted offspring made a huge bump between Lisa’s legs, but the tough fabric meant it was unable to emerge further. I strode over, and crouched next to the laboring maid, asking in a sultry whisper “How far out is it, mommy?”
She finished her contraction, and replied just as quietly “It’s… so wide… the head isn’t out, but it’s so close… I don’t w-want to be a mommy, but if feels so good, I’m g-gonna explode...” I came in close, putting one hand gently on the struggling nineteen-year-olds arm, and the other resting on the waistband of her jeans. “That must be very distracting and difficult to work around…” I continued in a husky, quiet tone, keeping it between her and me. My hand slid down the seam of her crotch, starting at the back, just over her rear, tracing the center of her small, tight behind, and then rubbing over the damp bulge between her legs.
I allowed myself a gasp of delight, carefully letting my finger continue up as she gasped in surprise and pleasure, until I reached her pubis. Then, my fingers danced back down, tracing all around the crowning child’s head, knowing the sensitive, straining lips must be screaming with the additional stimulation. “I bet you are, dearie. This must be the best kind of torture. You don’t want to cum my husband’s baby out, do you? Here in the kitchen, little more than property, scared and with nobody to help you. This pleasure must be driving you insane… and knowing you’ll be a mother by the end of it…” All the while I was touching everything, soaking wet, leaving trails of birthing juices behind, rubbing over and along the head, her groin, even carefully brushing her almost entirely hidden clit as another contraction ravaged the poor thing.
It was taking a terrible toll. She wasn’t breathing, her muscles tensing, staring at the floor with wide eyes, waiting to see what I would do, poised on the very edge. I patiently worked my way back to the straining seam of her pants, and then cupped my palm over her child’s head. I put my lips next to the stunned girl’s ear, and breathed “I know, hon. You don’t want to be a mommy yet with all your heart. I understand. Here, I’ll help you…”
With that, I gently bit her earlobe, and slowly, deliberately pushed against the emerging child’s head, feeling it moving back into her body.
Lisa’s eyes shot wide, every muscle locked, and she clutched me desperately as she orgasmed, the would-be unspeakable pain of her crowning baby moving back up her straining birth canal being turned to soul-shattering pleasure by the drugs. I kept pushing, until I felt her lips back in their normal, entirely closed state, though she was on the very cusp of bulging down there once more with eager-to-emerge life. “w-w-WHY?!” she gasped, arching her back as warm, salty, musky fluids poured down over my hand, my victim uncontrollably cumming against her will.
I patted her loins gently as the already exhausted girl fell to the ground, panting. “That should do you for a while.” I mocked, grinning. “Just come to me when you need it again, hon. I’m so happy to help.”
Need it again she did. The baby became more eager to emerge every time I slid it back in so as to not interrupt work. Each time I saw a bulge beginning to form in the birthing maid’s pants, I would quietly come up behind her, gently caress her sweating, staring body, whisper that this was for her own good, and that I was just helping her not become a mother before she was ready for it. Then I would slowly, carefully press against the son she was holding for me as she came fiercely.
The baby was crowning off and on for roughly six hours, me having to push it in again with obnoxious regularity. Lisa’s shift ended, and we had an amazing set for everyone to feast on, celebrating the birth of my beautiful son. Of course, the girl carrying it was beginning to cry out in pain, the miraculous serum she’d been given finally almost fully worn off.
I didn’t care to refresh her dose, however. It was time to start getting the mother-to-be ready, and I couldn’t stand the thought of her squirting the baby out in front of everybody, or letting out those lustful, needy moans as she crowned at the dinner table.
“Come, we need to get you dressed for the party…” I growled, grabbing Lisa’s arm and pulling her from the kitchen, the other two girls looking on in a combination of fear and horror, one of them holding her belly, wondering if the same torments would be inflicted on her.
It made me smile to know that she would likely be BEGGING me to only have to endure this by the time her own delivery came. The girls who convince my husband to impregnate them pay for being so enticing dearly…
I took the laboring maid to my bedroom, and locked the door behind me. “Now we just need to change your clothes, get you presentable…” I muttered, ignoring the red-headed mommy’s gasps and moans of pain. “Please, Mrs. Inprig, the baby, it hurts so much, I’m so tired, just let me have it, and we can pretend…” I stormed over, pressing my hand against her groin, savoring her agonized cry as I put pressure on her brat’s head, once again pressing it back into her birth canal.
The injection had run its course, however, and she clawed at the air, begging me to stop as I snarled “We will pretend NOTHING, you lying whore!” Screams echoed in the chamber, but I’d sound-proofed the room long ago, and made sure nobody was around for this. Lisa thrashed helplessly, pleading with me, as the infant slid bit by bit back in. “Just because you think it’s ok to lie and act like my husband raped you, doesn’t mean EVERYONE does!” My hand became parallel with the dripping wet crotch of her pants, and she burst into tears.
“He DID! I hate him, I hate this!” And the little harlot looked right at me, and dared to say “I hate YOU, you sadistic bitch!” Glaring, I turned away, heading to the closet. “Fine. I wanted an apology, but it’s no big deal, it can wait until later, after you’ve had time to endure your body’s punishment for being born a female. You should know by now that existing as a girl is to tempt men, and it’s your fault if one chooses to force motherhood onto you, after all. Childbirth is the normal consequence for acting like you have any other purpose in life.
“You WILL apologize, though, I promise you that. And you’ll realize you want to have this child. Even if getting there is hell.” I grabbed the dress she was to wear, a beautiful sky blue affair that she wouldn’t ever wear the likes of again. It cost thousands, but this spoiled skank would never appreciate that, even if I told her. Would probably just get birth juices and breast milk all over it.
Foul, disgusting little tramp.
Lisa was laid upon my mattress, sobbing in agony, holding her abused crotch as I approached with the dress and special belt for the celebration. I strode quickly to her side, and snapped “Arms up.” Slowly, clearly still struggling with her labor, she did. I pulled the shirt from the nineteen-year-old’s body, then huffed in disdain as I realized the foolish teenager had left her bra on. I wrenched at the clasp, hearing it break, and pulled it off as well.
The redhead’s breasts were, admittedly, lovely. In spite of the pregnancy, they had miraculously not sagged at all, still perky c-cups, probably because she’d been keeping them supported. The nipples were broad and dark with her fertility. I reached down, and gave one a gentle squeeze. “No, please, stop…” Lisa moaned, and I grinned as delight as a little drop of milk dribbled from her clearly sensitive, aching breasts. I licked it off, and then tossed down her dress.
“Wear it.” I demanded, while I reached for the next thing she would need. Malcom, for all his transgressions, had an eye for fashion, and as the smooth fabric covered the massively pregnant teenagers aching, quivering body, I couldn’t help but find her lovely. As soon as it reached her waist, finally covering her gravid womb, she laid back again, trying quietly to bear down.
My hand found her groin again, already feeling the bump that was her eagerly emerging babies head. “This is going to be a problem, isn’t it?” I asked, only getting an exhausted groan and begging for mercy as a result. “Fortunately, my husband and I prepared for this…” I grinned as I felt her continuing to push, more of the desperate teens child emerging into my hand through her soaked jeans. “You’ve always been annoyingly strong-headed, and figured you would try to deliver early in spite of the importance of this presentation. So we got something special made…”
The girl, in the helpless act of delivering her child, continued bearing down, and once again, the full bulge of my future son was cupped in my hand. “Wh… what is it?” She asked, exhausted. I tossed it onto the bed, within sight, and the laboring maid was silent, horrified at what she was seeing. “I-is that a…”
I pushed against her clothes, causing a bloodcurdling screech to be torn from the pain wracked victim. “Yes, it’s a steel chastity belt, with a lock that only I have the key too.” The poor girls swollen lips once again closed around her infant, and I patted her groin gently, as she panted, paralyzed by the pain, utterly exhausted from this prolonged active labor and dripping with sweat. “This way, you can push all you need to, and won’t have to worry about our baby coming out too soon. Isn’t that considerate of us?!”
Lisa sobbed, helpless to stop me as I put the thing around her waist, and locked it shut. With that done, it was time for dinner. I do love parties, and this one was sure to be wonderful.
I helped the laboring teen to her feet, and let her lean against me for support until we reached the banquet hall, even as she kept shuddering and groaning. I explained that this was to celebrate the birth of her baby, and thus there was a certain image expected of the pain-wracked maid. Lisa wasn’t, under any circumstances, to show that she was in labor, ask for help, or tell anyone of the day’s events or the goings on in the house or grounds. Otherwise, there would be consequences that I would happily enforce.
She was a girl, after all, and the law was clear. She’d been bred, claimed. She belonged to the one that had planted his seed in her belly, as nature demanded. And bad girls get punished.
The doors were thrown open, and everyone oooh’d and aaah’d at the pregnant teenager and her lovely dress that clung promisingly, enticingly to her curves. So tight, in fact, that the assembled crowd could still see her bump shrinking with the overwhelming power of her contractions.
I escorted the nineteen-year-old redhead from group to group, introducing her and making small talk. She, of course, was to say nothing unless directly spoken to. It went fairly well, and nobody pointed out the condition that the girl was in, the strained, tired smile remaining pasted to her face the entire time.
The time came for the feast, and Lisa was seated between my husband and myself. I could see the glint in Malcom’s eyes as he gazed at the product of his conquest, and knew she was tempting him with her obvious fertility all over again, the tramp. Right in front of me and everything!
The soon-to-be mother was desperately curling her fingers into claws on the table cloth, and I could hear the solid metal plates rattling between her legs, the child she was bearing down on straining against them. “You should eat something.” I muttered, trying to be compassionate. “It’s by far some of the best food you’re likely ever to have, knowing how you peasants live.” After a moment, the suffering teen managed to grunt through gritted teeth “Not hungry. Thank you.”
What an ungrateful, ugly thing.
I stealthily slid my hand up her dress, pressing gently on the smoother steel of her chastity belt. The shocked girl gasped, fingers going flat on the table, head lolling back and a quiet groan escaping. I told her not to be so dramatic, or other people would notice, and then there would be problems. Besides, I wasn’t even pushing that hard. The drama queen rested her head in her arms, shaking and sobbing.
Teenagers. You’d think she had a difficult day or something. She had no idea how stressed I’d been the last few weeks trying to figure how to invite people to a banquet that I didn’t have a solid date for. I should be the one crying here, if anyone.
Finally, it was almost time. My husband got up, walking in front of the assembled crowd, and began a delightful speech. Going on about how the youth was our future, that nothing truly lasted forever, and that even the offspring of the lower class could be used for great things. I’d heard the whole thing before, and instead passed the time pressing against the groin of the girl next to me, enjoying her desperation and pain, as well as the occasional trickle of dampness from her body, the scent of pain, sex, and childbirth exuding from her.
Before the baby had slipped too much further back, I heard my name called. Grabbing Lisa’s arm, I took her up the stairs, keeping the laboring red-head from stumbling or tripping. Malcom continued his speech, and I focused on keeping the utterly exhausted, pale girl on her feet. The nineteen-year-old looked like she was about to pass out any moment, and her eyes, roamed the room, unfocused, dazed. Poor thing.
Finally, the words I’d been waiting for came. “And now, we witness the heir to the Inprig empire, as he makes his entrance to the world.” I knelt down, slipping my head under the skirt of Lisa’s dress. I withdrew the key to the steel underwear before me, and deftly unlocked it. I Carefully set aside the chastity belt where the audience couldn’t see it, leaving only the heavily stained and thoroughly ruined jeans clinging to the young woman’s body.
I unzipped them first, delighting in the scent of the Lisa’s womanhood. She smelled of desperation and fear, embarrassment and shame. Sex from her orgasms earlier in the day, sweat and, of course, the musky, powerful smell of birth from the last few hours.
Slowly, I unbuttoned her jeans, and carefully, deliberately slid them to just above her knees.
The child’s head was a massive bulge in the maid’s utterly soaked panties, the force of the fully crowned head pulling the waistband down, showing me the brush of her bright pubic hair. I grabbed the elastic waistband, my role to remove them, and catch the child.
Before I did though… there was one outstanding problem I hadn’t attended to yet, an insult, a lack of gratitude that I had let slide, that I would not allow to go unanswered when delivered by this street urchin.
I was owed an apology.
I pulled the waistband of her light blue panties up. Lisa convulsed, the child still unable to come out even as she bore down. “I could keep you like this for hours…” I whispered, just loud enough for her to hear me. “But I won’t. As long as you apologize. Say you’re sorry for letting my husband cheat on me with you.” As quietly as the teenager could, she replied “But your husband raped me… I didn’t want it, didn’t want this baby… please, show mercy…” She pushed again. And again. And I resolutely held the baby in place, unwilling to stop until she gave me what I wanted.
Finally, I heard, quietly and in a voice choked with tears and exhaustion, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let your husband use my body.” I grinned. “That’s better…” I cooed, and then pulled down Lisa’s underwear quickly, getting my hands up to catch the emerging baby as the shoulders quickly slid from the girl’s opening. She screamed, loudly, but it was alright, just this once. Fluids poured out, and the maid fell to her knees, the larger part of her work over. I stood, holding the child, and cut the cord, before carefully bringing it to my beloved. He looked at me, knowingly, and I grinned back.
This was why I loved the man. This was why, even with the accusations of rape and infidelity, even if they were true, I wouldn’t care. He did this to give me these moments, to punish these maids however I see fit. He gets to enjoy their bodies for a few minutes, long enough to get them pregnant, and I get to enjoy them for the other nine months.
We were perfect for each other.
And now... we had a son. Malcom held the newborn as it cried, mingling with the desperate sobbing of its mother as she lay curled in a heap on the ground, a few other maids collecting her as carefully and quietly as they could.
“He’s beautiful. Perfect. And his name shall be Pattrick. Behold, Pattrick Inprig!” The crowd cheered, awed by the display they’d just witnessed, exactly as planned. The birth of my first son was truly one of the best of my life.
Truly, birth is a beautiful thing, meant to be celebrated. For the rich, at least. For the poor it was yet another symbol of subjection, of helplessness, unable to control even one’s own form. I explained this to one of the other servants as her waters broke while cleaning up after the festivities, her unwanted baby sliding out in the middle of the ballroom as she screamed for help fruitlessly. She was SUPPOSED to be mopping the floor, of course, but I was in a merciful mood, and let her give birth, alone and unaided, without interfering. I didn’t even make her keep cleaning.
As I watched her gather up the latest wailing child that my husband had allegedly produced, I couldn’t help but think that it was just another pitiful urchin, unloved by the universe, by its own morally bankrupt mother even. I couldn’t imagine how it felt. But, then, I never need to.
Truly, the advantages of being the mistress of the Inprig empire are endless.
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One does not gain the power of an empire without being willing to display it ruthlessly.
I have earned the right, through my wisdom and beauty, to be matriarch of the most powerful family in the entire nation. My husband has limitless wealth, and unspeakable political influence. Our word is treated as law, and if it can be bought, we can easily afford it. Of course, when one is this rich, you quickly realize EVERYTHING can be bought.
My name is Rebecca, and I am bride to Malcom Prigmen, the CEO of In-Prig Incorporated. We do… many, many things, but our motto is “Unrestrained creation.” If we can imagine that it can be made, then it should be. As long as we stand to gain massive profit from it, that is.
The pair of us were married some time ago in a whirlwind romance, the both of us now in our late thirties. Somehow we are still together, even after all this time. Oh I always found a way to forgive him, Malcom always gave me a reason to fall helplessly in love with him all over any time I truly grew cross with his antics. But today… Today was one of the days I found myself wondering how I allow myself to be tricked into keeping him around.
My husband, unfortunately, had many needs. Our mansion is massive, visible for miles atop it’s hill, and we need an extensive cleaning crew to maintain it and the grounds. My beloved is in charge of the hiring for these crews, and unfortunately, by coincidence I’m quite sure, every employee is a young woman, either fresh out of high school or near enough to it. And our house is located on the boarders a town that, frankly, I would rather not be anywhere near. He loves it, for reasons that rackle me.
The laws here are… old fashioned, at best. Largely based off of, I’m fairly certain, intentionally misread religious text. They say that some god commanded that women be as servants to the men whom they bore children to, that if life is created then the act is inherently good. Thus it is that if one is made pregnant, even if against one’s will, the male who inflicted that upon them effectively has ownership of them. Ordered by law to follow any orders he gives, because supposedly everyone knows that seed won’t take in a woman’s belly if she didn’t desire child.
With such an archaic take on gender roles, it’s no surprise medical care is denied to them. Once the test is confirmed positive, the entire gestation of the child is up to this god’s whims, even up to the birth as long as it doesn’t become a potentially fatal situation. It’s believed that women made the choice to become pregnant, and thus other’s care must be prioritized. Essentially, getting help for being pregnant is impossible until all other diseases are cured, because its a preventable condition.
My husband fell for me in no small part because I gave myself a measure of independence from this law. My family took me on vacation, outside of the borders of this town, and I had hoarded enough money to get my tubes tied. I was effectively sterile, unable to conceive, and thus on the occasion I was assaulted and some bastard tried to claim ownership of me, it didn’t work. Malcolm saw the fury, the vengeful spirit burning within me, and loved me immediately. For my mind, adoring the fact I was thinking ahead, even that young. The fact that of all the people he could own, either by money or conquest, I was out of his reach.
He got me, eventually. But he had to work for it, more than he has for anything else. And to this day, I love him enough to not leave. Even when these things happen.
The maid stood before me, whimpering and cradling her bulging bump. Her name was Lisa or something unbearably common such as that. The red-head had joined us about ten months ago, a young harlot who was trying to save money for college, or so she claimed. The sheltered white girl came from some other town nearby, didn’t know the laws were so barbaric here, saying she thought it was just rumor, fake news, as it were.
The fresh-out-of-highschool girl CLAIMS that my husband caught her while she was cleaning the bathroom and forced himself upon her. The idiot spent hours crying, terrified she was going to get pregnant, said she was at her most fertile part of her cycle, she hadn’t been able to find any birth control prior to this, or any form of conception prevention medication either. The idiot seemed to not realize those things had been outlawed not long after abortion had, some rhetoric about pre-emptive abortion or some such.
I called Malcom into the HR room and asked him what had happened. He grinned, saying that Lisa had heard about my inability to conceive a child, and had graciously offered to be a surrogate. I could do nothing but glare at him and sigh.
Every time with this. Every single time, he had a new excuse. Every girl we’d hired had, within a month of their arrival, come to me crying about their employer taking them by force, and every one of them got pregnant. Most of the time he said it was an accident, or they had threatened him with a lawsuit if her didn’t, or some-such hat-in-hand confession. Some took him to court, but… well. It resulted in pregnancy. Wouldn’t want to leave the child fatherless, the union was blessed by the lord, it was meant to be, etcetera etcetera. It was nrever found to be rape, and within nine months the foolish thing would have her legs spread, screaming out another bastard in front of me.
This time was different. It was the first time Malcolm had talked about making an heir to the family fortune. Charges were pressed, but of course his seed took, as it always did, which meant it was no longer rape, but an extension of God’s will, and thus legal. Encouraged even. We were told to offer her room and board, sent her one her way with a hearty congratulation, and a reminder that the adoption and foster systems were so overwhelmed that her options, after giving birth, where to either leave the child on the street, which was illegal, or raise it like a good girl.
Lisa was, of course, horrified when I informed her that she effectively was my husband’s property. Her pregnancy served as proof of the holiness of their union, making them the equivalent of locked into some bizarre combination of marriage and slavery.
The red-haired woman, shirt already straining with her forming baby bump, cried and begged, pleaded with me to let her leave, to call the police. I only responded that she should be honored to be carrying Mr. Inprig’s offspring. He’d even claimed it, that meant she may be due SOME compensation.
The months crawled by. Special care was taken with this particular case, as it was our first ever semi-legitimate heir. As the head of the Human Relations department, I often punished our impregnated workers for allowing my husband’s infidelity. I have countless delightful memories of the workforce of the household having all manner of misadventures during their children’s gestation and inevitable birth…
But you’re here for her tale. I should focus on that, shouldn’t I?
Lisa came into work complaining of pains from her midriff. “It hurts…” she moaned, clutching the swollen orb holding my future responsibility. “I’m gonna give birth soon, I think… please, just let me lay down until it’s over, it’s cramping so bad, the head is sitting so low…” I rolled my eyes, exasperated with her laziness.
The birth of a child is no reason to slack off, our state had abolished maternity leave for a reason. I’d patiently explained that time and again all month as she begged to go home to her parents or to go to a hospital. If it was up to me, she’d have been locked in the delivery dungeon as soon as the gravid nineteen year old had started complaining, along with all the other slackers who insisted they just COULDN’T keep going.
But my husband had requested I show his mistress leniency, as we were going to claim this child as our own. So I rose from my desk, heading to the refrigerated safe in my office. “While I... ‘empathize’... with your plight, I assure you there is no need to be concerned. You’ll be able to continue work as normal…” I droned disinterestedly, entering the code and pulling open the container with a pressurized hiss. “But, as your condition is important to us, we do have solutions to help you deal with your imminent delivery. I can only imagine how excited you are to finally have this baby, after all.”
I pulled a syringe of oddly colored liquid from its stand. A lovely woman by the name of Sarah had offered to give us all sorts of new prototype medication in exchange for funding her more… interesting experiments. So far the investment had been VERY lucrative, and the perk of early access to the somewhat shady concoctions that sometimes were created as a result of her research was always a treat. I still remembered fondly how the board meeting where we’d decided to grant her request had ended…
Closing the door, hearing it lock, I turned to the laboring girl and told her to sit. She’d clearly been having contractions for some time, they were already very close together. I pulled her arm out, and swiftly injected the sweating mother-to-be with the potent concoction. “This is an interesting little serum designed to make the process of labor and birthing pleasurable. It’ll work for about eight hours, so your normal duties will continue uninterrupted.”
Lisa looked at me, and I could see the drug take effect. Her breathing went from ragged panting to smooth, and her eyes attained an almost glaze, as the pain of her spasms were replaced by pleasure. “There we go… now, since this is the birth of my child, we’re going to be holding a banquet, for which you’ll be in charge of food prep. I’m to assist you, but mostly to monitor the progress of your labor. The child is NOT to be born until the time of our choosing. Do I make myself utterly, perfectly clear?”
I looked down, seeing a tight pair of maternity pants clinging to the tramp’s shapely thighs, only the tiniest gap noticeable between. Before pregnancy had ravaged her body, this teenager had clearly been taking care of herself. “Your jeans will help you not deliver too soon, so no change of clothes will be necessary. But if things do start to look dicey, we have assistance available for you. It can be rough, however, and if it all possible I would strive to avoid it.”
The disoriented girl nodded, still struggling to focus. “The drowsiness will fade shortly, no need to fear. Now come, to the kitchen…” I grabbed the red-head’s arm, and guided her out of the room.
We were halfway to our destination when the laboring young woman stiffened, gasping. I turned, an eyebrow lifted quizzically, and she started quivering, hands locked around her belly. Then, I saw her crotch become damp, as her freshly-broken waters began to flow from nineteen-year-old’s tunnel, and down her thighs, soaking everything between her legs. The teenage mother groaned, panting out “I’m s-sorry… My waters broke… oh god, the baby’s really coming soon… I’m not ready, I don’t want to be a mom. Please ma’am, don’t make me-” I grabbed her arm again and yanked her down the hall. “There will be plenty of time for prattle after dinner, thank you.” I snapped.
As I pulled the laboring teen along, I felt her shuddering with what I recognized as the pleasure her labor was causing her due to the injection. “I can feel it… it’s moving… moving down… opening me up deep inside…” Her groans were low, tinged with simmering desire, making shivers of want tingle through my own body. I, unlike some worthless whores, however, could control my carnal urges, and continued trudging forward.
We reached the kitchen without further incident, though the mother-to-be was clearly having contractions regularly. There were two other pregnant girls, one only just showing, and the other just starting her second trimester, ready to help with the food prep. I let them get to it, standing back and watching as the heavier girls waddled around the kitchen, their bellies getting in the way of everything and huffing in breaths, the earlier ones looking at their futures with anxiety and trying to focus on work.
I couldn’t help but notice the laboring girl becoming more aroused with every huff and groan, stopping and bracing herself against a table or counter, rising up on her toes as she obviously bore down. If she wanted to make this more difficult for herself, I wasn’t going to stop her, but every time I clicked my tongue in my cheek and glared as she’d whimper something about how low the head felt, about how she couldn’t stop herself.
After an hour of this, she stumbled, leaning on the table in the center of the kitchen. I threw my arms up in frustration, tired of her relentless complaining. “What could possibly be the matter now?” I snapped, impatience dripping from every syllable. “The baby…” she gasped, fingers curling into claws on the wood. “It’s… stretching my… cervix… oh god, it’s being booooooorn…” The red-haired surrogate leaned her head back, the baby inside opening her wider.
A long-suffering sigh escaped me as I took in her body, from posture to how it glistened with sweat to how her back was arching. I’d seen many births in many circumstances, and knew to my frustration that she wasn’t lying. The pressure of the emerging child was setting the chemicals in her system into overdrive, this slow, agonizing delivery being turned into an equivalent amount of pleasure. She squeezed her eyes shut, letting out a cry that increased in pitch, and she began to shake. Clearly she was orgasming, and shortly after I wrinkled my nose in disgust as I looked between her legs, and saw moisture once again gathering in the crotch of her pants.
Lisa blushed deeply as her girlcum dripped down, forming a musky puddle under her. “Well. Are you proud that all your co-workers just watched you cum? Does it make you feel sexy? Ugh, I can smell it… For supposedly hating this baby so much feeling it move inside you certainly did make you squirt awfully hard.” Head hanging low, humiliated and ashamed, the redhead nodded. “I’m so sorry Ma’am…” she whispered, wiping away tears as she struggled to stand fully as the afterglow left her.
I held my hand over the softly crying teen’s groin, making her gasp in surprise. I could feel the wet heat radiating from it like a furnace. Shaking my head, I commanded “As soon as you recover from this… unseemly carnal display, return to work. There’s no reason to be lollygagging like this over something as natural as labor.” Lisa nodded, trying to continue preparing the food for tonight’s banquet, a party to celebrate her own child’s impending arrival. Contractions continued to wrack her body, and even as pleasure they were clearly overwhelming.
The baby was moving down now, the head slipping through her birth canal. I could see the stupid tramp trying to keep working, even as her hands shook, her breathing ragged, every squat sending a moan of relief from her. It was clear every cell in her body wanted the teenage mother-to-be to lay down, strip naked, open her legs wide and scream out my husband’s offspring. But we weren’t paying her to laze around and squirt out babies all day, there were so many guests coming tonight, everything had to be perfect.
After another hour I heard a gasp come from the overwhelmed, frightened thing, though she forced herself to keep working, as was proper. I walked toward her slowly, and the red-haired girl had tears running down her face, and was whispering something to herself. I came close enough to hear it, surprised and delighted to hear the young woman’s voice breathlessly repeating “it’s crowning, it’s crowning, it’s really crowning” to herself desperately.
The teenage girl stiffened, lifting up on her tip-toes once more, her entire body trembling. “It’s coming, it’s opening me it’s coming!” Her voice a breathy whisper, so quiet even I could barely hear her. I could hear the dripping patter of more of her feminine juices, likely a blend of amniotic fluid and girlcum, from the smell of it, making another puddle underneath her.
With a moan of effort, Lisa collapsed in front of the counters. She was bracing her palms against the wood, biting her lip hard, and I watched in simultaneous disgust and delight as I saw the crotch of her pants begin to bulge with the emerging child. She hadn’t been lying… the bulge grew and grew as she pushed, it was breathtaking. Knowing the secret head was just in there, ready to emerge…
Lisa couldn’t stand anymore, and I watched, silent, breathing heavily as more contractions wracked the young mother, the other workers continuing without pause, knowing what I would do if I caught them staring. Finally, the teen mother was clearly on the edge of yet another orgasm, obviously the strongest of any she’d ever had due to the agony she’d have normally been in at this point, pale and dripping with sweat as her entire being worked to expel this new person from her delicate, swollen form.
The unwanted offspring made a huge bump between Lisa’s legs, but the tough fabric meant it was unable to emerge further. I strode over, and crouched next to the laboring maid, asking in a sultry whisper “How far out is it, mommy?”
She finished her contraction, and replied just as quietly “It’s… so wide… the head isn’t out, but it’s so close… I don’t w-want to be a mommy, but if feels so good, I’m g-gonna explode...” I came in close, putting one hand gently on the struggling nineteen-year-olds arm, and the other resting on the waistband of her jeans. “That must be very distracting and difficult to work around…” I continued in a husky, quiet tone, keeping it between her and me. My hand slid down the seam of her crotch, starting at the back, just over her rear, tracing the center of her small, tight behind, and then rubbing over the damp bulge between her legs.
I allowed myself a gasp of delight, carefully letting my finger continue up as she gasped in surprise and pleasure, until I reached her pubis. Then, my fingers danced back down, tracing all around the crowning child’s head, knowing the sensitive, straining lips must be screaming with the additional stimulation. “I bet you are, dearie. This must be the best kind of torture. You don’t want to cum my husband’s baby out, do you? Here in the kitchen, little more than property, scared and with nobody to help you. This pleasure must be driving you insane… and knowing you’ll be a mother by the end of it…” All the while I was touching everything, soaking wet, leaving trails of birthing juices behind, rubbing over and along the head, her groin, even carefully brushing her almost entirely hidden clit as another contraction ravaged the poor thing.
It was taking a terrible toll. She wasn’t breathing, her muscles tensing, staring at the floor with wide eyes, waiting to see what I would do, poised on the very edge. I patiently worked my way back to the straining seam of her pants, and then cupped my palm over her child’s head. I put my lips next to the stunned girl’s ear, and breathed “I know, hon. You don’t want to be a mommy yet with all your heart. I understand. Here, I’ll help you…”
With that, I gently bit her earlobe, and slowly, deliberately pushed against the emerging child’s head, feeling it moving back into her body.
Lisa’s eyes shot wide, every muscle locked, and she clutched me desperately as she orgasmed, the would-be unspeakable pain of her crowning baby moving back up her straining birth canal being turned to soul-shattering pleasure by the drugs. I kept pushing, until I felt her lips back in their normal, entirely closed state, though she was on the very cusp of bulging down there once more with eager-to-emerge life. “w-w-WHY?!” she gasped, arching her back as warm, salty, musky fluids poured down over my hand, my victim uncontrollably cumming against her will.
I patted her loins gently as the already exhausted girl fell to the ground, panting. “That should do you for a while.” I mocked, grinning. “Just come to me when you need it again, hon. I’m so happy to help.”
Need it again she did. The baby became more eager to emerge every time I slid it back in so as to not interrupt work. Each time I saw a bulge beginning to form in the birthing maid’s pants, I would quietly come up behind her, gently caress her sweating, staring body, whisper that this was for her own good, and that I was just helping her not become a mother before she was ready for it. Then I would slowly, carefully press against the son she was holding for me as she came fiercely.
The baby was crowning off and on for roughly six hours, me having to push it in again with obnoxious regularity. Lisa’s shift ended, and we had an amazing set for everyone to feast on, celebrating the birth of my beautiful son. Of course, the girl carrying it was beginning to cry out in pain, the miraculous serum she’d been given finally almost fully worn off.
I didn’t care to refresh her dose, however. It was time to start getting the mother-to-be ready, and I couldn’t stand the thought of her squirting the baby out in front of everybody, or letting out those lustful, needy moans as she crowned at the dinner table.
“Come, we need to get you dressed for the party…” I growled, grabbing Lisa’s arm and pulling her from the kitchen, the other two girls looking on in a combination of fear and horror, one of them holding her belly, wondering if the same torments would be inflicted on her.
It made me smile to know that she would likely be BEGGING me to only have to endure this by the time her own delivery came. The girls who convince my husband to impregnate them pay for being so enticing dearly…
I took the laboring maid to my bedroom, and locked the door behind me. “Now we just need to change your clothes, get you presentable…” I muttered, ignoring the red-headed mommy’s gasps and moans of pain. “Please, Mrs. Inprig, the baby, it hurts so much, I’m so tired, just let me have it, and we can pretend…” I stormed over, pressing my hand against her groin, savoring her agonized cry as I put pressure on her brat’s head, once again pressing it back into her birth canal.
The injection had run its course, however, and she clawed at the air, begging me to stop as I snarled “We will pretend NOTHING, you lying whore!” Screams echoed in the chamber, but I’d sound-proofed the room long ago, and made sure nobody was around for this. Lisa thrashed helplessly, pleading with me, as the infant slid bit by bit back in. “Just because you think it’s ok to lie and act like my husband raped you, doesn’t mean EVERYONE does!” My hand became parallel with the dripping wet crotch of her pants, and she burst into tears.
“He DID! I hate him, I hate this!” And the little harlot looked right at me, and dared to say “I hate YOU, you sadistic bitch!” Glaring, I turned away, heading to the closet. “Fine. I wanted an apology, but it’s no big deal, it can wait until later, after you’ve had time to endure your body’s punishment for being born a female. You should know by now that existing as a girl is to tempt men, and it’s your fault if one chooses to force motherhood onto you, after all. Childbirth is the normal consequence for acting like you have any other purpose in life.
“You WILL apologize, though, I promise you that. And you’ll realize you want to have this child. Even if getting there is hell.” I grabbed the dress she was to wear, a beautiful sky blue affair that she wouldn’t ever wear the likes of again. It cost thousands, but this spoiled skank would never appreciate that, even if I told her. Would probably just get birth juices and breast milk all over it.
Foul, disgusting little tramp.
Lisa was laid upon my mattress, sobbing in agony, holding her abused crotch as I approached with the dress and special belt for the celebration. I strode quickly to her side, and snapped “Arms up.” Slowly, clearly still struggling with her labor, she did. I pulled the shirt from the nineteen-year-old’s body, then huffed in disdain as I realized the foolish teenager had left her bra on. I wrenched at the clasp, hearing it break, and pulled it off as well.
The redhead’s breasts were, admittedly, lovely. In spite of the pregnancy, they had miraculously not sagged at all, still perky c-cups, probably because she’d been keeping them supported. The nipples were broad and dark with her fertility. I reached down, and gave one a gentle squeeze. “No, please, stop…” Lisa moaned, and I grinned as delight as a little drop of milk dribbled from her clearly sensitive, aching breasts. I licked it off, and then tossed down her dress.
“Wear it.” I demanded, while I reached for the next thing she would need. Malcom, for all his transgressions, had an eye for fashion, and as the smooth fabric covered the massively pregnant teenagers aching, quivering body, I couldn’t help but find her lovely. As soon as it reached her waist, finally covering her gravid womb, she laid back again, trying quietly to bear down.
My hand found her groin again, already feeling the bump that was her eagerly emerging babies head. “This is going to be a problem, isn’t it?” I asked, only getting an exhausted groan and begging for mercy as a result. “Fortunately, my husband and I prepared for this…” I grinned as I felt her continuing to push, more of the desperate teens child emerging into my hand through her soaked jeans. “You’ve always been annoyingly strong-headed, and figured you would try to deliver early in spite of the importance of this presentation. So we got something special made…”
The girl, in the helpless act of delivering her child, continued bearing down, and once again, the full bulge of my future son was cupped in my hand. “Wh… what is it?” She asked, exhausted. I tossed it onto the bed, within sight, and the laboring maid was silent, horrified at what she was seeing. “I-is that a…”
I pushed against her clothes, causing a bloodcurdling screech to be torn from the pain wracked victim. “Yes, it’s a steel chastity belt, with a lock that only I have the key too.” The poor girls swollen lips once again closed around her infant, and I patted her groin gently, as she panted, paralyzed by the pain, utterly exhausted from this prolonged active labor and dripping with sweat. “This way, you can push all you need to, and won’t have to worry about our baby coming out too soon. Isn’t that considerate of us?!”
Lisa sobbed, helpless to stop me as I put the thing around her waist, and locked it shut. With that done, it was time for dinner. I do love parties, and this one was sure to be wonderful.
I helped the laboring teen to her feet, and let her lean against me for support until we reached the banquet hall, even as she kept shuddering and groaning. I explained that this was to celebrate the birth of her baby, and thus there was a certain image expected of the pain-wracked maid. Lisa wasn’t, under any circumstances, to show that she was in labor, ask for help, or tell anyone of the day’s events or the goings on in the house or grounds. Otherwise, there would be consequences that I would happily enforce.
She was a girl, after all, and the law was clear. She’d been bred, claimed. She belonged to the one that had planted his seed in her belly, as nature demanded. And bad girls get punished.
The doors were thrown open, and everyone oooh’d and aaah’d at the pregnant teenager and her lovely dress that clung promisingly, enticingly to her curves. So tight, in fact, that the assembled crowd could still see her bump shrinking with the overwhelming power of her contractions.
I escorted the nineteen-year-old redhead from group to group, introducing her and making small talk. She, of course, was to say nothing unless directly spoken to. It went fairly well, and nobody pointed out the condition that the girl was in, the strained, tired smile remaining pasted to her face the entire time.
The time came for the feast, and Lisa was seated between my husband and myself. I could see the glint in Malcom’s eyes as he gazed at the product of his conquest, and knew she was tempting him with her obvious fertility all over again, the tramp. Right in front of me and everything!
The soon-to-be mother was desperately curling her fingers into claws on the table cloth, and I could hear the solid metal plates rattling between her legs, the child she was bearing down on straining against them. “You should eat something.” I muttered, trying to be compassionate. “It’s by far some of the best food you’re likely ever to have, knowing how you peasants live.” After a moment, the suffering teen managed to grunt through gritted teeth “Not hungry. Thank you.”
What an ungrateful, ugly thing.
I stealthily slid my hand up her dress, pressing gently on the smoother steel of her chastity belt. The shocked girl gasped, fingers going flat on the table, head lolling back and a quiet groan escaping. I told her not to be so dramatic, or other people would notice, and then there would be problems. Besides, I wasn’t even pushing that hard. The drama queen rested her head in her arms, shaking and sobbing.
Teenagers. You’d think she had a difficult day or something. She had no idea how stressed I’d been the last few weeks trying to figure how to invite people to a banquet that I didn’t have a solid date for. I should be the one crying here, if anyone.
Finally, it was almost time. My husband got up, walking in front of the assembled crowd, and began a delightful speech. Going on about how the youth was our future, that nothing truly lasted forever, and that even the offspring of the lower class could be used for great things. I’d heard the whole thing before, and instead passed the time pressing against the groin of the girl next to me, enjoying her desperation and pain, as well as the occasional trickle of dampness from her body, the scent of pain, sex, and childbirth exuding from her.
Before the baby had slipped too much further back, I heard my name called. Grabbing Lisa’s arm, I took her up the stairs, keeping the laboring red-head from stumbling or tripping. Malcom continued his speech, and I focused on keeping the utterly exhausted, pale girl on her feet. The nineteen-year-old looked like she was about to pass out any moment, and her eyes, roamed the room, unfocused, dazed. Poor thing.
Finally, the words I’d been waiting for came. “And now, we witness the heir to the Inprig empire, as he makes his entrance to the world.” I knelt down, slipping my head under the skirt of Lisa’s dress. I withdrew the key to the steel underwear before me, and deftly unlocked it. I Carefully set aside the chastity belt where the audience couldn’t see it, leaving only the heavily stained and thoroughly ruined jeans clinging to the young woman’s body.
I unzipped them first, delighting in the scent of the Lisa’s womanhood. She smelled of desperation and fear, embarrassment and shame. Sex from her orgasms earlier in the day, sweat and, of course, the musky, powerful smell of birth from the last few hours.
Slowly, I unbuttoned her jeans, and carefully, deliberately slid them to just above her knees.
The child’s head was a massive bulge in the maid’s utterly soaked panties, the force of the fully crowned head pulling the waistband down, showing me the brush of her bright pubic hair. I grabbed the elastic waistband, my role to remove them, and catch the child.
Before I did though… there was one outstanding problem I hadn’t attended to yet, an insult, a lack of gratitude that I had let slide, that I would not allow to go unanswered when delivered by this street urchin.
I was owed an apology.
I pulled the waistband of her light blue panties up. Lisa convulsed, the child still unable to come out even as she bore down. “I could keep you like this for hours…” I whispered, just loud enough for her to hear me. “But I won’t. As long as you apologize. Say you’re sorry for letting my husband cheat on me with you.” As quietly as the teenager could, she replied “But your husband raped me… I didn’t want it, didn’t want this baby… please, show mercy…” She pushed again. And again. And I resolutely held the baby in place, unwilling to stop until she gave me what I wanted.
Finally, I heard, quietly and in a voice choked with tears and exhaustion, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let your husband use my body.” I grinned. “That’s better…” I cooed, and then pulled down Lisa’s underwear quickly, getting my hands up to catch the emerging baby as the shoulders quickly slid from the girl’s opening. She screamed, loudly, but it was alright, just this once. Fluids poured out, and the maid fell to her knees, the larger part of her work over. I stood, holding the child, and cut the cord, before carefully bringing it to my beloved. He looked at me, knowingly, and I grinned back.
This was why I loved the man. This was why, even with the accusations of rape and infidelity, even if they were true, I wouldn’t care. He did this to give me these moments, to punish these maids however I see fit. He gets to enjoy their bodies for a few minutes, long enough to get them pregnant, and I get to enjoy them for the other nine months.
We were perfect for each other.
And now... we had a son. Malcom held the newborn as it cried, mingling with the desperate sobbing of its mother as she lay curled in a heap on the ground, a few other maids collecting her as carefully and quietly as they could.
“He’s beautiful. Perfect. And his name shall be Pattrick. Behold, Pattrick Inprig!” The crowd cheered, awed by the display they’d just witnessed, exactly as planned. The birth of my first son was truly one of the best of my life.
Truly, birth is a beautiful thing, meant to be celebrated. For the rich, at least. For the poor it was yet another symbol of subjection, of helplessness, unable to control even one’s own form. I explained this to one of the other servants as her waters broke while cleaning up after the festivities, her unwanted baby sliding out in the middle of the ballroom as she screamed for help fruitlessly. She was SUPPOSED to be mopping the floor, of course, but I was in a merciful mood, and let her give birth, alone and unaided, without interfering. I didn’t even make her keep cleaning.
As I watched her gather up the latest wailing child that my husband had allegedly produced, I couldn’t help but think that it was just another pitiful urchin, unloved by the universe, by its own morally bankrupt mother even. I couldn’t imagine how it felt. But, then, I never need to.
Truly, the advantages of being the mistress of the Inprig empire are endless.
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