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“A bit too skinny, but will do,” said the voice. Mik couldn’t see who it was; the blindfold over his eyes didn’t allow much. He tried to stand still while the stranger touched him: his narrow chest with barely-there breasts, his belly, his hips, equally narrow. He was on a rather small side, always was. Food was hard to get on the Outskirts, and he was used to not eating much.
Someone untied his wrists and tugged him by the rope attached to his collar.
“Come,” they said, and so he did, stepping slowly. They left the blindfold on, but didn’t seem to hurry, and even held him by the shoulder so he didn’t stumble and fall.
“Sit,” they said, and he carefully prodded the space in front of him, feeling the soft material of something: a stool, a bench? He sat, and accepted a mug full of drink he couldn’t identify but drank anyway. It was soft on his tongue and tasted a bit like beer but much sweeter.
He fell asleep before he finished drinking.
*
When he woke up he realized the blindfold wasn’t on. He was half-laying, half-sitting on what looked like a lounge chair—if lounge chairs had stirrups for legs. The room he was in was brightly lit, white and mostly empty aside from the little cabinet on the wall—from what he could see from his position, anyway. His legs were bent in the knee and tied to the stirrups with leather belts, and when he tried to move his arms he quickly realized that they were tied up as well.
With a sudden spring of shame and horror he realized that he was naked, and with his legs spread wide as they were, anyone could see his cunt. He couldn’t do anything to cover up, not with the belts securing him firmly, so he closed his eyes and waited.
He didn’t have to wait for long. Sooner than later he heard footsteps, and the sound of door opening and closing, and then the voice, different from the one he heard at the market, said: “Hello there, pet.”
Mik swallowed and dared to open one eye. The person standing in front of him—right between his spread out legs—was wearing a long white coat, not unlike the wizards’. They had long gloves on, coated in something and therefore glistening in the bright light of the room. Something about those gloves made his stomach tighten.
“Well, let’s get this over with, shall we? Don’t worry, I will talk you through the process,” the person said and reached out for something out of Mik’s vision.
“This,” they said, showing him a big ball with holes in it and straps attached to it, “is a ball gag. Just so you won’t do anything you might regret, like bite your tongue off.”
When they tried to shove it up his mouth, he struggled as much as he could, turning his face away and keeping his lips pressed shut. The implication of biting his tongue off made his skin crawl and his insides cramp, but he was tied up too thoroughly to pick up a real fight.
The gag was big, and stretched his mouth and jaws uncomfortably so. He whimpered, feeling its weight settle on his tongue and whimpered even louder when he saw the next item being shown up to him.
It was a weird metal cone with two handles. The person covered it up in some gel from the big jar and said, holding it up so Mik could see it: “This is a stretcher. I need to see how wide you can open up. It’s very important to determine the exact width,” they said, and Mik felt his cunt clench. “Do try not to struggle,” they said, noticing it. “It will make it more difficult. After all, this is for your own benefit.”
He whined, trashing his head when they started to position the— stretcher in front of his cunt. It was cold, covered in slick, and narrow enough for its tip to slide inside easily, but it couldn’t go much further than that, not with how hard he tried to clench on it.
“Mm,” the person said, withdrawing. “Perhaps…”
They rummaged on the table—there had to be a table, Mik thought frantically, trying not to focus on what was being done to him—beside the chair and came up with a small device, shaped like a thimble, but not made of steel. It was bigger, and looked soft, squeezing when the person pressed their fingers together, showing it off.
“This will help you relax,” they said, and covered it with gel. They reached between his legs, stroking his clitoral hood with slick fingers, and uncovered his clit—and placed the device on it, squeezing slightly. “External stimulation does wonders to the muscles of your cunt. You will be all nice and relaxed in a few minutes.”
For a few seconds nothing happened, and Mik, sweating and trying not to cry, hoped that it would be it—the thing wasn’t working, and they would untie him and send him somewhere else—
But then the device started buzzing, ever so slightly, and then it sucked on his clit. The feeling was so weird, so foreign that he tried to close his mouth but of course the gag didn’t allow it, and then he trashed, trying to get away, because it was simply too intense to endure. The straps were holding him down so firmly he could barely move his arms and legs, but his chest and his belly were free, although lifting himself off the chair as much as he could didn’t help at all. He felt the warmth gathering between his legs, the intense pressure he rarely felt when he touched himself, and then, all of a sudden, he came, clenching on nothing and whining high in his throat, still trying to get away.
The cold hand pressed down on his stomach, holding him in place. The device didn’t stop , and it almost hurt, how sharp the feeling was. He came again, tugging on his bounds and feeling the wetness between his spread out thighs, gushing out of him.
“I think that’s enough for now,” the person said and removed the device not at all gently, making Mik flinch and whine with the overstimulation on his clit. “Let’s try again.”
This time, when the spreader pushed into him, he found that he couldn’t quite clench on it, his cunt relaxed after two orgazms in a row, wet with natural juices. The cold thing pressed deep inside him, not meeting much resistance, and didn’t stop until it was buried to a hilt.
“It’s not that long,” the person said, adjusting something on the spreader. “But it’s about how wide , not how far .”
Then they started to push the spreader open . Mik whined, feeling his cunt stretch and spread, yielding to hard steel. He was wet enough it didn’t hurt, but the pressure was no less intense because of it. It pushed, and pushed, and pushed, until he was sure he couldn’t stretch any more, and then it pushed again , and he screamed into the gag, trying to squirm away.
“Oh, not bad,” the person said, writing something down on a small patch of paper attached to the thin wooden board. “Not bad at all.”
Mik, delirious, thought that maybe it meant this—whatever it was—would be over, but the person simply picked up the device that was on his clit again.
“Let’s see if you can take more,” they said, and put it on.
His clit was aching still, and with the way his cunt was spread out it felt like something was pushing at it from the inside . There was nothing he could do, however, to stop it—the buzzing of the device, the sucking feeling that seemed to pick up speed randomly. Soon he was coming again, crying, squeezing on the steel spreader inside of him, but the device didn’t stop. Like the first time, it hurt to come, his thighs spasmed and tried to close, and he was making high-pitched noises through the gag, tugging on his bounds. Unlike the first time, however, the person didn’t remove the device after the second orgasm. They left it on, making Mik cry harder, feeling his own sweat and tears and saliva running down his cheeks and chin. His cunt felt like it was on fire—stretched, unable to close and so wet he could almost hear it gushing. His clit was so oversensitive even the slightest touch felt like too much, and the buzzing and sucking didn’t stop .
He cried and cried, and tried to get away, but the person just petted his heaving belly and pushed the spreader open and, much to Mik’s terror, it went , stretching him even more than he could’ve imagined.
“Good, good,” the person said, and finally, finally removed both the device on Mik’s clit and the stretcher. Mik sobbed in relief, saggin in his bounds. His cunt was so stretched it couldn’t even close right away, squeezing on nothing.
The person wiped out Mik’s face and cunt with a soft towel and patted his cheek. “Well done, boy,” they said. “The hard part is over. Let’s get you out of these.”
*
Mik waited, tugging on his collar. It didn’t have a buckle, so there was no way for him to force it open, but there was nothing else to do. Other breeders around him were either doing the same or stood still. Three or four, it was hard to tell, hugged together in the corner.
It was Mik’s first time in the waiting room. He had to go through multiple procedures to be able to be a breeder , because that was his life now. Be a warm, soft body for the beasts of the Empire. At first he couldn’t even sleep, terrified of this, but after a few days of being fed and cared for and reassured that he will absolutely not die , he somewhat stopped struggling. He was a slave, sold by his family for debts, bought on the market and brought there, and there wasn’t much he could do. At least here he had food and his own bed to sleep in, and he could take bath every day, and talk to other— breeders .
It wasn’t that bad, he told himself, feeling fear coiling in his belly. It wasn’t bad, but he didn’t want it.
After a few minutes of waiting, the door on the other side of the room opened. The personnel, as they called themselves, called: “Come in. Four at a time.”
No one moved and Mik, deciding that it would be better to deal with whatever waited on the other side of the door sooner than later, made a few unsteady steps.
“Good boy,” said the woman with bright red hair, cut nicely in a bob. “Lay on this one, please. Belly down. Three more!”
The table he was told to lay on was made of wood, and had two holes— one for his head, cushioned with something soft, and one big, probably for his belly. There were straps on the table, above the hole for the head and on the floor, tied to the metal rings. Mik swallowed and lay down, adjusting himself into a comfortable position. He was bent down in his waist, hips pressed to the edge of the table, when he realized that the table had a slight incline to it, making him push forward a little more.
Someone—probably the woman—patted his bare back. “I’m going to tie you down, now,” she said.
There were enough straps to render him motionless—his arms stretched above his head, wrists and forearms tied; his legs spread further apart and tied to the metal rings on the floor by ankles. There were straps tied to the edge of the big hole, he realized now, when he was being forced to look at the floor. The woman buckled them to the straps she placed on his thighs, and then she did something similar to his neck as well. Now he couldn’t move at all, apart from wriggling slightly and pushing his flat stomach into the hole. His tits were pressed firmly into the table, but they were small and the table was smooth enough it didn’t hurt.
“Well,” the woman clasped her hands. “Let’s begin.”
Mik heard a weird noise, like whirling, and felt something press to his ass. It was warm, but unmistakably metal. Before he could try to figure out what it was, it pushed into his cunt, spreading his open but staying at the entrance. Something wet was poured into him, sliding deep into his cunt thanks to the slight incline of the table and the way his hips were forced up. He whined, because whatever it was, it was cold , and heard similar whines from other breeders.
The metal thing moved away. For a few moments nothing was happening. Then something else, something hot and alive and writhing pressed at him, into him and he shouted, instinctively trying to close his legs and get away. It wasn’t thick, but it was unmistakably there—a firm, moving pressure inside his cunt; and the heavy weight on his lower back, where it settled, pressed onto him and leaking. He felt something prod his asshole but quickly pulled back, and then it slid into his cunt again . Two things—it must’ve been tentacles, he realized, whining and breathing hard—were wide enough to make him clench, to hope there won’t be more. They pushed inside him, not quite thrusting, and they were flexible enough to press at his cunt at weird angles. He felt them move deeper and deeper, until they hit something—his cervix, he realized soon enough. The pressure inside him was maddening, but it didn’t hurt—not after what the personnel had done to him. Eventually he felt himself open , and the tentacles slid inside his womb. He could see them now, writhing under the thin skin of his belly, bulges visible even to him. It felt like too much, all the pressure and the feeling of being stretched, and he spasmed, clenching, trying to—he didn’t even know what he was trying to do.
The tentacles stopped after they realized there wasn’t anywhere in him they could go. They retreated to the opening of his cervix, not pulling out, and he whimpered, because they started to spread , opening him further and further until he sobbed, clenching his fists and wriggling.
Then something else pressed to his cunt, and he stilled.
It was big enough by itself, and the other two tentacles were still there, and so when it pushed, trying to get in, he cried, because surely he couldn’t open that wide, that far.
But it turned out he could , because the pressure didn’t go away, and eventually it was inside him, along the other two tentacles, making him sob again. His cunt was so open and stuffed full it almost started to hurt, but when the third tentacle squeezed in, pushing at his walls, he came, struggling and crying out. He could see his abdomen bulging up from the sheer size of the things that were inside him, and the sight made him whine high in his throat—from fear or arousal, he couldn’t tell.
Eventually the third tentacle reached his cervix, still held open by the other two, and stopped. He clenched down on it, thinking it would fill him full of cum, but then something pressed to the opening of his cunt. Something—maybe not big by itself, but big enough it hurt coming in, with the way he was stuffed full. It pushed in, ignoring his struggling attempts to clench on it, and traveled in, in, in, until it reached his cervix and plopped into his womb.
An egg, he realized. It was laying eggs .
When the next egg pushed inside, he sobbed and squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t take it, couldn’t take the slow squeeze of his cunt, the way two tentacles latched on the opening of his cervix, the way his belly felt so full already, but he knew he didn’t have a choice.
*
When the woman untied him from the table, he was panting hard and fast, unable to take deep breaths with the way eggs inside him pressed on his lungs. The creature might’ve laid at least thirty in him, and his belly, when he pulled himself up, was big and round, like the one of a deeply pregnant woman. Perhaps even more—it came up almost to his breasts, which were red and irritated from all his thrashing, but he couldn’t feel it, all his attention gone to his new belly and aching cunt. He couldn’t stand up by himself, weak and exhausted he was, and the personnel had to help him and the other three breeders off to their rooms.
He lay on his bed, curled on his side as much as his belly would allow, and cried himself to sleep.
*
The pregnancy didn’t last long. His belly was getting bigger and bigger, and by the end of the month he could barely move by himself, even if it was to turn f. The personnel gave him weird tasting potions that made it so he didn’t have to visit the facilities at all, and helped him to the common room where he could lay down and chat with other breeders.
When the time of birth came, he could barely breathe with the way eggs, now grown up in size, pressed inside of him, but he didn’t feel light-headed at all. The personnel—an older man with a short white beard—gave him another potion and helped him into the chair, similar to the one he was on when he first got there. The pressure in his belly eased somewhat, and he didn’t protest when the man tied his arms to the shair and pushed his legs open with stirrups.
“You will push when I tell you to,” he said. Mik nodded weakly, feeling something seizing up at the bottom of his belly.
The first egg was the hardest. Mik sweated, pulling at his bounds, and pushed, and pushed; the egg, unnaturally big, moved slowly, opening his cervix so wide it made him sob from the mere feeling, and then it dropped down his cunt where it got stuck for a few terrifying moments until it was time to push again. Mik bore down and felt it going out, pushing his cunt to its limits. He could see the egg glistening where it lay in the personnel’s hand—big, bright pink. It was probably bigger than the two of Mik’s fists combined, and the realization of it made him sob.
“Thirty-two to go,” said the man, and Mik didn’t start to cry only because the second egg pressed to his cervix, opening it again.
*
By the end of the birth Mik was so sweaty the personnel had to fetch a towel from the cabinet and put it under him, otherwise he would’ve kept sliding down in the chair. He stopped making any noise by the twentieth egg, too exhausted, and only trembled slightly, breathing hard.
“Almost there,” said the man, petting Mik’s stretched belly. It was much smaller now, but still bigger than before, and soft. “It’s the last one.”
Mik took a deep shuddering breath and bore down. The egg slipped out of him easily, Mik’s cunt stretched out by its predecessors. He squeezed weakly, feeling the gaping emptiness between his legs, and fell asleep even before the personnel could untie him.