Stories
Unpopular
  • 4 Vote(s) - 2 Average
  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • 4
  • 5
muchbirth
I was always unpopular. Not unattractive (red hair and light freckles will get you a long way), but always too dorky to be able to hang out with the cool girls. I never really had many friends, and tended to prefer solitude anyway. At the age of eighteen, I assumed I had plenty of time to find my social niche, always figured that I would end up in with the nerds, once I bothered to seek them out. But there were always other things to do, other interests to pursue that were more interesting than finding others to share my passions.

Of course, since I didn’t meet social standards, many of the other girls were fairly cruel to me. I began to go out of my way to avoid them, preferring to simply not deal with their bullying than try to defend myself. As a result, I had gotten in the habit of waiting until all the other girls were gone before I took a shower, since gym was the last period of the day for me. I always felt my most vulnerable there, naked and exposed, ripe to be gawked at and judged.

So unfortunately, I was totally alone that day in the girl’s locker room, completely nude and dripping wet, having just finished a shower. I didn’t have my glasses on, and so didn’t realize something was wrong when I saw a blurry figure walking toward me. I went back to getting my clothes, hoping they would ignore me. Then the footsteps stopped right next to where I was standing, the breathing heavy and deep. Something finally began to seem off, and I looked over, only to see the captain of the football team standing next to me, looking my bare, still slick body over.

I froze, and moved to cover myself. “W-what are you doing here? This is the girl’s locker room.” I stammered, embarrassed and flustered. Nobody who wasn’t a girl had ever seen me naked, and I wasn’t sure I liked the feeling of his hungry eyes on me. Then I looked down, and saw a blurry, growing mass from his groin. I realized that the most popular boy in school was getting turned on by the sight of my body. “Wow… It’s just like they said, you’re pretty hot.” He muttered, almost to himself. “Yea, this’ll definitely be worth it.”

I backed away, tried to run, but in a matter of seconds, he had forced me to the ground and was trying to pry my legs open. Begging him to stop, I resisted as best I could. But he was so strong, there was nothing I could do but slow the inevitable. Within moments, he had my legs spread wide, and I felt the tip of his penis nudging my opening. “nooooo, please, don’t…” But it was too late.

He thrust deep inside me, taking my virginity, and I cried out in fear and pain. Tears flowed from my eyes as he slid in and out, and I screamed at the top of my lungs. Nobody was around, however, and I was left to endure this horrible violation. I tried to focus on anything else, as I felt the tip of his member nudge my cervix. He was so deep, deeper than I thought anything could go, and I felt my sex clamping down on his member as it thrust in and out, trying to force it from my body. It wasn’t long before I felt him beginning to throb inside me.

“Please…” I gasped. “Please don’t… c-cum… inside me…” He only laughed, and thrust harder and faster. “No, I’ll… ugh… I’ll get p-pregnant! PLEASE!” The most popular boy in school ignored my desperation, and bellowed as he came. I felt his hot seed pour into my belly, oozing deeper, the feeling of it disappearing as is slithered past my cervix. I moaned in despair, shuddering at every jet that was pumped in, helpless to do anything to stop it.

He stayed inside for a few seconds, panting. Then, my rapist stood, saying “That was pretty good, for a nerd.” and left without another word. I still felt the heat of his semen inside me, starting to slide down my opening in thick streams, and I crawled back into the shower. I turned the faucet as hot as it went, and curled up beneath it. I cried without restraint, letting the burning heat scorch away the feeling of filth.

I tried to report the crime almost immediately. The school refused to cast doubt on their star player for some dorky unpopular girl. Said that they got their funding from the football team, not my Magic cards, good grades or Gameboy. I went to the police, but they echoed the school’s sentiments, saying that “the championship is more important than your regret for being a whore. Besides, it’s not like Mecha-Arm Pete would ever fuck a girl like you.”

And so I withdrew even further into myself. My parents learned of everything that had happened, but they had always been disappointed in me, wishing I’d been more popular, more attractive. In additions, they were huge fans of the football team, and knew that if they backed me up, it would ruin any chances of their favorite team winning this year. So it was easy for them to take the same line as the school and police. I was known as a whore everywhere, even within my own home. And then I started to get sick.

A test showed that I was pregnant, and the subsequent doctor’s visit confirmed it, just finishing up my first trimester, about to start my second. I went to my parents, begged them to let me get rid of the rape-baby that had been forced into me. They were disgusted. Accused me of sleeping around and getting myself knocked up, and then refusing to take responsibility. They said this was my mess, and so I had to deal with the consequences.

It wasn’t long after that I started to show. I covered it up as best I could, and nobody really paid attention to me most of the time, so I got away with it for a long time. But every time I looked at my swelling belly in the mirror, or my breasts ached with the milk they’d started to produce, or I looked at the boy that had forced me to have this child, I couldn’t help but tear up.

My grades began to slip, but nobody cared. I was lost in the shuffle of students struggling to succeed, and the changes went unreported. My parents refused to get me maternity clothes, or even so much as a dress, saying that as long as I was going to be a teenage mother, I may as well dress like it. They kept getting me big tee-shirts and sweaters, combined with normal jeans and sweat pants. They told me to hide it as best I could, because they didn’t want to have to deal with the questions. I didn’t dare argue.

The baby continued to grow, making everything harder, every little bit of weight hanging off the front of my body making it more difficult to move, bend over, sit, and dress myself. The day came, as I entered my third trimester, that I felt it kick. It became far too real, and as I cried in my bedroom, cradling my invaded womb, I hated this child. Everything about it. I hated the football player who got me pregnant. I hated my parents, the school, the police, and my peers for brushing it off as my fault. And above all, I hated this baby, growing inside me, slowly changing everything about me, weather I wanted it to or not.

And the most frightening thing was, I had no idea when my due date was. At any moment, this baby could force me to give birth to it. Every time it kicked, I would shudder in disgust. I was getting so big, so quickly. Eventually, even with the oversized clothes, the pregnancy became impossible to hide. Not much came of it, just more mocking and hateful words. But I was used to that.

By the time I was eight months, I felt massive. I looked at myself in the mirror to try to come to terms with my body’s changes, and saw that, under my gravid belly, my womanhood had become swollen and puffy between the little tufts of bright red pubic hair. A brief touch showed that it was hyper-sensitive as well. My breasts had become larger, and would leak milk if any pressure was put on them. The nipples were dark, and were over-sensitive as well. My belly was still covered in light freckles, though it was stretched taut, and hard as a rock. I looked entirely different. I hated what I had become, some sculpture of fertility against my will.

My parents sat me down later that day, and said that when I went into labor, they didn’t want to be bothered with it. Hospital visits were expensive, and at this point, I wasn’t worth the cost. They suggested I get a friend to help me, and then went back to talking excitedly about the upcoming game.

And so it was that I came to school, in my ninth month of forced pregnancy, wearing jeans and a poorly fitting t-shirt, nervous as I had been for the last several days. I was half way through first period when I felt the first contraction. I decided to ignore it as best I could, hoping it was more Braxton hicks. By the time I was in fourth period, it was clear it wasn’t the case. The contractions were about two minutes apart, and painful.

The lunch bell rang, and I walked to the cafeteria. As I reached the doorway, a strong contraction hit, and I groaned in pain, sinking to my knees, clutching my swollen belly as I felt something give inside me. My eyes shot open in horror, and I saw everyone staring at me as my water broke, soaking my pants and panties, and dripping onto the floor.

Everyone started laughing, and a teacher walked over with a mop and bucket. “Clean up your mess, won’t you? Oh, and you’ll be expected to attend all your classes, or you will be punished accordingly.” I spent lunch cleaning up my own amniotic fluids, riding out contractions as best I could, while everyone stared at me, judging me. The bell rang before I was done, and the dining hall cleared out, while I was told to finish cleaning it up as quickly as possible.

Just as I finish, I’m struck with a strong contraction, and much to my horror, I feel the baby slip down a little. My cervix is fully dilated, the baby’s being born. I lean against the wall, struggling not to push until the contraction’s over. As it ends, I turn around, only to see him behind me. The one who did this to me. The fabled Mecha-arm Pete grins at me, reaches out, and caresses my hot, laboring mound. “It’s looking like that hurts.” He grins smugly, clearly amused by my obvious difficulties. “Of course, any baby I make is going to be a big one. Strong and fast, probably can’t wait for your unathletic book-worm body to push it out in your own time. I bet it’s already slipping down that little tunnel I got to enjoy nine months ago.”

Another contraction his, my belly visibly shrinking under his hand, and I feel his spawn slip another inch down my birth canal. I continue to not push, holding my legs together, hoping I can hold back until the end of the day. I let out a pained moan, as his hand slips to the side of my aching, sweaty middle, the other hand coming around to hold the other side. “Of course, I don’t have anywhere to be. I can sit here all day, and watch you struggle not to give birth to my baby. God, it’s made me so hot, seeing you walk around, getting all big with our kid.” Another contraction, and the child in question moves further down my womanhood, opening me deep within, ravaging my birth canal all over again, the product of his seed causing pain with every small movement.

I’m panting and sweating, in so much pain I’m starting to see spots, and my vision begins to go black around the edges. I realize that I’m not going to be able to make out of this school before this happens, won’t even make it to my next class. It’s too late, the baby wants to be born, right now. I let out a groan, and look at the horrible monster that raped this baby into me. “Please… ugh… go away… this is very painful, and having you here is… AGH!” Another spasm rips through my belly, and I feel the baby slip a bit further down. I slide to the ground, holding my belly, and the horrible monster of a person joins me, clearly enjoying every moment of my pain, seeming almost turned on by it.

“I know. I’m pretty great. I imagine just having me here is making you feel lame. I mean, how sad is it that the first time you got laid, you got knocked up? Man, it’s crazy. To be honest, you should consider yourself lucky, that such a cool guy like me decided to let you have my baby.” Tears flow freely from me as another contraction hits, and this time I give in, pushing desperately. I feel the baby slide down, eager to emerge from my body.

“I just figured, since I put the kid into you, I’d come wish you luck in pushing it out.” With that, he got up and walked away, laughing at the agonized victim that he forced into this predicament. I only have a few seconds rest before another spasm wracks my hot, laboring womb. I push with the pain, and my entrance bulges slightly with the baby’s head. I feel the fabric of my panties slip over my wet opening, and panic, as I realize I’m still clothed.

Desperately, I reach down to my waist, unbuttoning and unzipping my ruined jeans. Just as I get the zipper down, however, another contraction hits me like a truck. I try to ride it out, not push, but the baby crowns anyway. My opening burns as the baby’s head emerges from between my swollen lips, opening me wide in spite of my desperate urge to hold back. The emerging head pushing my undergarments out, away from my burning hot loins, and I know I can’t get my pants off. The baby is too far out of me, I have to keep my legs open.

As I desperately try to figure out how to get around this, another contraction comes hot on the heels of the last, opening me even wider, and causing me to cry out in agony and despair. I can’t help but push, and I shudder in pain as the baby’s head slips from me entirely. Between contractions, I slip my hand under my clothes, between my legs. I feel the head of my rape-baby, pushing against the unyielding fabric of my jeans. I trace it back to where it’s emerging, and shudder again as my finger brushes the point where the child’s head lies next to my over-sensitive folds.

Another crushing spasm, and my belly visibly shrinks. I scream, and push as hard as I can. As I feel the shoulders begin to slip from my throbbing womanhood, I push the baby gently to the side, giving it room to emerge. One shoulder pops out, then another, and the worst is over. I use my fingers to pull the baby from my body, a little bit at a time, until it’s resting in the groin of my pants. I finally am able to close my legs enough to remove my bottoms, and I look down at the child that I conceived against my will with the most popular boy in the whole school.

It’s a little girl, hair as red as mine. I reach down, and pick her up, crying. Some teachers come into the lunch room, and see me sitting there, umbilical cord trailing from inside me to the child I just birthed. I weep as I’m told I’m expelled for this unseemly, lewd display. But not because my rapist has effectively ended any chance of a successful life. But because I know that he bred another girl inside me, another victim for himself and people like him. Someday, this innocent child will probably go through the same horrors I just did.


Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)