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“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Of course not. I didn’t just bring you into this chamber because it is more of a punishment. I brought you here because things are about to get messy.”
“What do you mean, messy?”
He smiles again, and his tongue extends, unfurling down between my thighs, that precocious organ promising pleasure.
“Don’t think you can distract me, Justice,” I moan as he distracts me completely with those soft little licks and caresses that make my inner thighs tremble. No man gives oral pleasure this intense. It is good enough to make me find this captivity a little on the hot side. I cannot be held responsible for what happens now. He has taken me prisoner and that means I am at his mercy.
“Haven’t you felt the slightest bit strange lately?” he asks between licks.
“I have felt nothing but strange lately,” I reply. “You got a specific in that vague serving of bullshit?”
He chuckles in ayou’ll seesort of way that I particularly hate. This fucker knows something he is not telling me.
The more his unfurling tongue makes contact with the sensitive petals of my sex, probing for the nectar of my desire, the more those thoughts spur my arousal on. Perhaps there is some deep, secret part of me that enjoys this helplessness, this vulnerability. Maybe I can only indulge it in the most extreme of circumstances. I am discovering new facets to my nature even as I part my legs and arch my hips and give myself to my double-crossing lover.
The more he licks, the more I writhe, the more I feel pleasure snaking around my spine and up to my brain, then down to my toes. I am letting myself go. I am surrendering.
He has never been so generous with his oral pleasure before. Usually it is a precursor to sex, to his cock surging inside me. But he shows no interest in fucking me. He is feeding on me instead, drinking from my essence, and my body is responding as it has not done before.
Discharge is emerging from between my thighs. It’s more than wetness from typical arousal, it’s a thicker, more viscous liquid and there is a lot of it.
“Justice?”
He keeps licking me, one of his hands reaching up to stroke my hair soothingly. For a moment he lifts his tongue from my streaming sex so he can speak.
“It’s alright,” he says. “You are becoming what you were always destined to be. Relax and let it happen.”
“Let what happen?”
There is a pressure, as though something is moving through from the inside of me, something that pushes out through my cervix and expands in my vaginal canal. It is like some strange reverse fucking, an intense and all too strange experience that feels much more than sexual.
“Justice!” I scream his name in real fear.
“Shhh… easy. It’s okay. Just let it happen.”
He grabs me by the hips between two pairs of his hands, keeping me still. I want to get up. I want to run. I need to flee, but I can’t. I am a mess of arousal and terror. It is a potent combination.
“What is happening to me, Justice?”
“You’re going to be a mother,” he says, his eyes flashing at me. “You are giving birth.”
As he speaks, something is crowning, sliding from my body. Something far bigger than has ever gone in. I know I am not pregnant, but something is happening. It doesn’t hurt. It just feels like being stretched. It feels an odd kind of natural. A process is taking place inside me, something I cannot resist, cannot help, and cannot fight.
I look down between my thighs and see something large and creamy emerging from inside me. It is not a baby. It is something else. Something soft but tough, something that bears life. It emerges from me and rolls a few inches between my thighs, sitting pearlescent between myself and Justice.
“The fuck…”
No sooner do I vocalize my confusion than another one is coming, a second and then a third. Eggs emerge from my vagina, big, thick, globulous entities that pulse with life. The sensation is beyond strange. I am stretched beyond what I thought was possible. The first two are larger than the last, which seems to be a little bit of a biological afterthought.
Staring down at the ground between my mutant lover and I, I realize that I have laid three eggs. They are perfectly round, about the size of a cantelope. Their shells are thicker than I imagined, just beginning to harden as I touch them.
This is all so incredibly strange, I find myself not quite as disgusted and horrified as I might otherwise be, simply because I can’t be sure it is all real. I feel stretched and I ache, but there is a certain hormonal surge, a happiness in the depths of my gut. I feel proud of these three round spheres, these very large jewels of life. I don’t feel motherly, but I do feel somehow invested. It’s chemical, that’s all, just the reaction of a being when other beings emerge from it. Programmed in by nature so we don’t eat our young.
“In nine months, these will hatch, and new life will emerge from them. You have become the mother of a new generation of heroes,” Justice explains.
“Do I need to sit on them?”
