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The Blessings of the Brotherhood

For request 465.13

13. an order of monks where, sometimes, they get pregnant. no one knows why. the robes hide it well enough, and they're not supposed to speak on it. when a brother gives birth, he is meant to do it alone, and leave the child at the alter when no one sees him. no one knows what happens to the infants...until one brother rebels.

As the newest monk in the order, you never have the good work, or the easy tasks. You spend most of your working hours laboring away outside in the fields, chopping firewood, or otherwise doing something back-breaking. It keeps you lean and fit, as all the young second-order monks are. You and your peers keep the abbey heated, fed, clean, and in good repair while the first order actually performs the service to your god- acquisition and safekeeping of knowledge. 

Every twelve hours, a service is held in the temple, the elder monks seat on low benches before the abbot, and the second order kneeling in rows behind them. You pray every day for your god to use you as his vessel, to make you an instrument of the faith, and to grant you the patience and wisdom to recognize his blessing when it comes. When you lift your head and survey your brothers in faith, you notice Brother Aspen is missing from his spot near the first order's benches. He'd been a little off for a few weeks now, and you ponder if he had had an injury or illness. 

Rising from the morning service, you take your usual task for the day from the elder monk who oversees the second order and go to the wood shed. Wagons of wood have been dumped to one side, and you will split and stack as much as you can for the day before evening service. It's one of the few tasks that permit you to remove your robes, leaving you in a thin linen shirt and plain trousers. 

You chop wood all morning and afternoon, pausing only for water and brief rests to catch your breath. You're unsure as to what your brothers do during their menial labors, but you recite the prayers you learned in the abbey's school down the hill, preparing to enter as a monk. It means you pray for hours and hours every day and have since your induction into the second order several months prior. You wonder if it makes you a good monk, or merely one who doesn't understand the calling of your god. 

By the evening service, you are physically exhausted, but you take your spot at the back and watch as the rest of your brothers file in, robes perfectly ordered and faces lowered. The abbot begins the first prayer, voice smooth and even and ringing in the temple chamber, echoed by the brothers. You notice the abbot's robes aren't falling quite right for once, but know better than to remark upon it at dinner. No one ever remarks upon why. 

When you recite the last prayer, entreating your god to use you as an instrument for the faith, as a vessel for his will, to bless you as he sees fit, you feel a warm sort of squeeze low in your belly. Thinking nothing of it, you rise at the end and go to the refectory for your dinner. Your days pass in a very similar fashion, right down to the warm squeeze in your pelvis at the end of every service. By the end of the week, you've begun to anticipate that squeeze. You've also noticed the abbot looking distinctly blessed, as it were. Sooner or later, he will miss a service and then all will be as it was. Indeed, he misses the evening service a week after those warm sensations began, and at the end of the final prayer, you feel a distinct pop! instead of the usual pulse. You eat dinner as usual, speaking amongst your friends, and go to bed with a final prayer before blowing out the candle. 

In the morning, when you dress, you notice your trousers are fitting rather snug. Usually comfortable and easy to move in, they're tight across the front of your hips and lower belly. There are no mirrors in the abbey, but you think maybe your middle feels a little less flat than it normally does- that, or the monks in the laundry boiled the clothes too long again. You carry on with your day, eating breakfast, attending the morning service, and then taking this week's assignment. The abbot lets his eye linger over you for a moment before sending you to the kitchens. Surprised, you report to the cook-monk and begin washing the endless supply of dishes. As you work, you recite your prayers over and over and over. When everyone departs for the evening service, your trousers are pinching terribly, and you know. 

Instead of praying for the god's blessing, you recite the prayers of thanks and gratitude. He chose you to carry his next offering, to use you as his vessel. You indeed had patience to wait to be sure, and wisdom enough to recognize the earliest signs. You've been in the abbey less than a year, and already carrying an offering inside you!

At dinner, you're quieter but immensely pleased, and eat your meal quickly to retire to your room. Shedding your robes, you notice the way your once-flat middle pushes out between your hip bones, straining the waist of your trousers. Releasing the buttons, you know immediately that you won't be able to do them back up in the morning, the bulge pushing out as the pressure is released. Stripping down to your undergarment, you smooth your hands over the firm bulge, your callouses scraping the smooth skin. Out of habit, you recite a prayer in your head, and feel a gentle pressure against your palms. Did your belly... grow?

Kneeling down beside your cot, you rest your hands on the modest bulge and bow your head. One after another, you recite every prayer that you could possibly apply to your situation. The more you mean them, the more your gut begins to strain out and away from your body. And with every bit of growth, the gratitude becomes more and more sincere. 

When the curfew bell rings, you jolt out of a sort of trace, and admire the taut globe under your hands. Deep inside you, something swishes and flutters. Your blessing! Deeply satisfied, you clamor quickly into bed, eager for the morning and yet more to offer your god. 

Dressing for the day, you can fit into only your robes, your stomach having swollen further through the night. Eating quickly, you are one of the first into the temple for the service, second only to the abbot. He watches you cross to your spot near the back, undeniably blessed, and there is surprise in his features. Kneeling down and lowering your head, you begin to pray again. During the service, you hardly notice any growth at all, but once you're back washing dishes, everything accelerates again. Twelve hours at a sink leave you with lots of time for worship, and your burgeoning belly swells outward, eventually impeding your ability to reach into the deepest sink. The flutters turned to swoops and rolls and then undeniable hands and feet under your skin and robes. Leaving the back corner of the kitchen, the cook-monk does a double-take when he sees your altered gait. You pray fervently in the service, pulling your navel another inch away from your spine, weight sinking deeply into your pelvis. Soon, so soon, you will have committed your first offering to your god!

The moment your door closes behind you, you strip naked again and stroke the prodigious belly hanging off of your frame. Kneeling beside your bed again, you get through the first line of the first prayer of gratitude when something gives way inside you, and fluid gushes from your hole to splatter on the floor. Again, you sink into the trance as you pray, meaning every word with every fibre of yourself. Your enormous belly visibly tightens in a regular pattern, the weight sinking further into your pelvis, pleasure rolling in waves through you. You stroke your erect cock with one hand as a spasm rolls through you, tipping your head back in pleasure. 

Just as the curfew bell rings, you feel the undeniable urge to bear down. Pressure and pleasure mix as you tuck your chin, pushing and praying in equal measure. Something begins to spread your hole, and you reach back to feel the muscular ring sitting open about an inch. The next spasm seizes you, and you mentally scream your prayers to your god as your body clenches down in ecstasy. Your hole softens and spreads more, leaving your hand there to feel your progress. The next spasm never relents, spreading your body as you stroke your cock with one hand and cup your blessing as it emerges from your body with the other. Stuck in the unrelenting spasm, you silently scream through a few orgasms as the blessing is pushed out into the world. 

Slumped against the edge of the bed, it takes a few minutes for you to come around enough to reach down and touch the babe between your thighs. There's no cord, no afterbirth, just aftershocks as your belly returns to its sleek, lean state right before your eyes. Scooping the babe up, you wrap him in a towel from your washstand. Absolute perfection. Your god planted a seed of his power in your body, and your devoutness brought forth the blessing in a matter of days, instead of the two or more weeks most monks take- only the abbot could do it a single week. 

Laying down on the bed with your perfect bundle, you drift off without meaning to, and wake late the following morning. No one would bother you unless you called for aid- some brothers took days to be delivered of their blessings. The child rooted at your chest, and you didn't protest when he latched onto your nipple, though you hadn't developed breasts. The babe was nourished anyway, a hot prickle announcing the let down of milk. Amazed, you fed him from the other side before drifting off again. 

You next awoke in the middle of the night, though a candle burned on your bedtable. Sitting on the foot of the bed was a glorious, naked man. Impossible to describe visually but radiating heat, and with the cleverest golden eyes. 

"You didn't bring your offering to my alter," the god said mildly, studying the way you cradled the babe against you. 

You lower your head, ashamed. "I have failed you, my lord."

The god shook his head. "I will overlook the disobedience this time, but next time, the offering must be given over to the alter, to me. Do you understand?"

You nod sadly, offering the babe to him. He takes pity on you briefly, speaking as he accepts the child. 

"This is the price the founders of this abbey agreed to pay in exchange for the ability to find and preserve the knowledge of this world," the god said, tucking the babe into the crook of his elbow. "The brothers will bear my offerings, but not raise them. Instead, these babes are raised throughout the kingdom- to return to join the order and continue to seek the knowledge of this place, and bring forth the next brothers. Only when all of history and learning is safe within these walls will the price be considered paid." 

You marvel up at your god. "But that's... we can never achieve that. Not when this kingdom, when civilization continues to expand, to make progress!"

"I know," the god said, smirking as he rose with the babe. "Enjoy your blessing."

Deep in your belly, you felt that distinct pop! again. Without hesitating, you began to recite your prayers again, a bulge pushing outward between your hipbones again. 

It's Rambles again! Bit of a long one this time, but here you go!

Fun eldritch pregnancy idea I just had where whatever creatures are inside you are incredibly active, constantly making your heavy belly sway too and fro; frequent "kicks", too large and heavy and of the wrong shape to belong to any human infant, jut out and stretch your skin to its limits. When they're really disturbed several limbs will push out from multiple opposite directions; far too many than seems possible, even taking into account how large you've grown.

Yet, when you finally (finally) start giving birth, bearing down with all your might, you feel whatever's coming out of you is large and hard. It takes almost an hour of struggling until you finally push out what somehow appears to be an egg. Strangely colored, hard and heavy yet smooth to the touch, it could easily be mistaken for some sort of rock. Completely still and stagnant, you can't fathom how this is what you ended up giving birth to.

You don't have much time to inspect it further before another travels down and starts stretching you open, demanding all of your attention and effort; then another, each one feeling bigger than the last.

Yet your womb hasn't settled at all; it thrashes like never before, the kicks so frequent and tenting so hard that you worry what's in there is trying to burst out.

Still, nothing comes out of you but eggs, slow and steady, the increased activity in your womb doing nothing to help force them out; you have to do all the work yourself, bearing down hard, each egg obstinate about coming out of you. Your belly finally starts to deflate, though you can barely tell over the frenzied activity inside of you, though perhaps there are fewer kicks now? Given how long the labor's already been, there's no telling when the end will be in sight...

4 months ago, you saw your best friend and she complained about an ache in her stomach. Tonight, she shows up on your doorstep looking like this, panting, begging you to let her in, she doesn't feel good, she doesn't know what's happeninf. You see her massive stomach move unnaturally under her hand.

Do you let her in?

431.3 There’s an alien invasion and they capture some people w uteruses to impregnate them with their species. Problem is their species head is way larger than the human birth canal. Between that and the thick body with extra arms, all of the experiments have ended in long agonizing labors, and death so far. The aliens keep tweaking the genetics but so far to no avail. Your water just broke. Were they able to make the baby (or babies) small enough to fit after another long agonizing labor? Or are you just another casualty. Do you know about the fates of the others going into this? 

———

Number 731 was ever so slightly smaller than her cell mate, 730 and slightly bigger than 732 next door. Mind you, she was fairly certain they each carried twins. Either that or they each carried one large baby. Their captors refused to give them any information of their condition. Either way they all knew they were pregnant.

When 730 went into labor, 731 was able to hear her agonizes screams for days. She counted the days.. one.. two.. three.. the screams got quieter and less frequent.. four.. five.. on the sixth day there was nothing. Her cell mate wasn’t coming back. Neither was the baby. (Babies? She didn’t know.)

Three more days pass, and during this time 731 paced her cell. She had a hand on her back, worrying about what was going to come of her. If 730 didn’t come back.. did any of the others? Had seven hundred and thirty people really come to the same fate? Was she next? A cramp in her abdomen seemed to confirm her question.

The cramps came and went, despite her pacing, or attempts to get comfortable, but she did not cry out. Not yet. She kept her mouth shut until it was time for lights out. In the night there was nothing to muffle her groans of pain. The guard on duty quickly called for the medical team to extract her.

She was carried to the hospital wing and strapped to a bed with her legs spread. Her arms tied down to her sides. The pain in her back amplified greatly. It’s like these beings didn’t realize that laying flat on your back narrows the birth canal.. before they picked her up, she’s dilated to maybe a 6, but since being strapped down her progress stalled. The contractions did less for her.

She groaned through out the night as the aliens constantly roughly checked her with their thick fingers.. by the morning she had barely hit 7cm. They gave her medicine to up the intensity of the contractions but still she stalled. She writhed in pain, now screaming loud enough to scare 732 all the way back at her cell. She tried to hold her stomach, or to move or anything but she could only lay there suffering. Screaming.

Still it was another day and a half before she felt the urge to push. She was exhausted, starving, and still barely able to move. She begged the doctors to let her get out of her bed, let her walk around, let her squat for god sakes!

She pushed the best she could for being laid out. It was hours before she finally felt the baby bulge behind her lips.

The aliens got excited, perhaps 731 is going to be the one?? They watched eatery as the bulge pushed forward creating a sliver, and groaned when the baby slipped backward. A few of them even seemed to place bets, most of them betting against 731 though. It’s the safest bet.

She pushed, she strained, and she screamed. Her face turned red with bursted blood vessels. The baby barely made the sliver stay open. 731 had never felt so full in her life. Never felt so ready to split apart at the seems. Each push began to get weaker, her screams had long since faded. The baby stopped kicking it’s appendages.

The aliens took notes, and scribbled away. It’s the farthest anybody had gotten their baby yet, but the baby had yet to even come to a full crown by the time the monitors confirmed the truth, after 5 days of labor, 731 was just another statistic.

Screams from down the hall perked the aliens attention though.. maybe 732 would have a better chance?

You love being a nun. You honor your vows of chastity so much you don’t even touch yourself. You hide your body under long robes and do penance every time your mind strays. 

You have dreams of shadowy caresses that leave you sticky and sweating, and you have to spend long hours in chapel to atone. You take to wearing a heavy chain around your waist and between your legs. 

Your belly starts swelling, and you will yourself not to notice. You pretend it isn’t happening for months. Your hips and back ache with the weight you refuse to acknowledge. Your breasts are full and tender. Your nipples rub against the rough fabric of your robes and it lights you on fire. 

You lay awake at night and feel the thing inside you moving. It kicks so hard your robes ripple. You cradle your belly and pray to God for answers. You pray for it to go away.

Eventually the shapeless black of your robes can’t save you anymore. The mother superior chastises you for being a whore. She places an iron collar around your throat to remind you of your sins. She tells you to do penance where everyone can see your punishment.

You weep and swear your virginity. You beg for help. She is unmoved. She tells you to swear on the Virgin Mother and maybe your innocence will be proved, but more likely you will be punished for claiming her holiness.

You kneel at a pew to do as you are told. Your knees are bare on the cold floor. Your hips burn as they spread under the weight of your bastard. Your belly hangs with nothing to support it. Pain rips through you as your womb tightens. She tells you that is punishment for your sins.

You pray through a haze of days. Your belly grows, and sags, and writhes. You spread your knees and rock your hips and sob. Your breasts are so tight they throb. Your robe strains against your girth. You keep your hands on the pew.

Water trickles down your legs. Your womb is nothing but agony, squeezing down on the monster inside you. It rips you open. Your bones creak. Instinct tells you to reach between your legs and ease its way. The mother superior seizes your wrists and binds them to the pew.

You scream and scream. You are a warning to the other harlots in the convent. Your whelp spreads you open. You push and strain, but there’s no one to help you or soothe you. You scream for God’s help and hear no answer. 

There is a night, and a day, and its head slips out in a gush of fluids that puddle around your knees. You sag with exhaustion, unable to keep going, pain leaving you incoherent.

Gravity does its job eventually. Inch by agonizing inch, your massive offspring squeezes out of you, changing your body forever. When you push a demon into the church, everyone will know you for the devil's bride.

Love the idea of hiding a pregnancy, even more so of a pregnancy where the baby has gotten so big most people would just give up hiding it but not you. You suck in as best as you can and then put on a tight fitting corset and even at 7 months you manage to have a flat looking belly, despite the kicking and squirming still being just as hard…

waking up to a belly that has dropped a bit, notably bigger and more pushed out than the day before, and knowing i’ll really have to do some contortions and be out of breath all day in order to fit in my corset. staring at my roundness in the mirror with disgust, and pleading with it to cooperate as i wrestle the corset on.

having to deal with the coworker that put this thing in me, the jealousy i feel that he can walk away from our encounter and forget about it, while i grow heavy. he doesn’t even know his baby is squirming in me, making me nauseous. he just asks if i’m gaining a bit of weight like an oblivious asshole—that’s how i know the corset isn’t working as well as it used to. it’s buckling at the seams. pushing up against my shirt, a little—a shirt that would tear clean open if the corset were to burst. sometimes it feels like it’s close if i take a deep breath.

knowing that, despite all of this, i still have weeks upon weeks to go. it’s only going to get bigger.

i have no plan, have taken no time off. maybe i’ll push it out in the breakroom if i’m not careful. but that’s for the future—for now, i just try to get through the day and forget about my ripening, active belly.

Have Me Swollen