A Different Kind of Coming Down

Gorbachev Springfield Bunker, 9:03AM

Tricia was first aware of how the feeling of an arm wrapped around her waist wasn’t going away on waking. The nature of dreams, as rarely as she had them in her usual, suit-regulated sleep cycles, made this an anomaly. A persistent, lucid dream, then; she turned in the stranger’s grasp and found John in her bed, offering a strange smile. This one, Tricia thought with a happy sigh, this is a good dream...

The orgy of her fanciful dreams, as far as she knew them, had not yet ended; she mounted John, wondering at how real the dream felt as she rubbed her undercarriage against John’s thighs. He stared up at her through half-lidded eyes, as far as she could tell; he wasn’t upset with her, he didn’t hate her, and his hardening rod followed every prescription of a lucid sex dream she might want. She was wanted. She was loved.

“Tricia...” Dream John was saying something.

She wanted to kiss him. This was a dream, so she did, ducking her head low while reaching between her legs with all the bold assertion her fantasies permitted. He met her kisses willingly; he sighed hot, morning breath that had a charm of realism that was often missing from these fantasy encounters. She felt the head of his prick, as monstrous an instrument as she remembered it, and tried forcing it into herself. She winced. Pain... But I'm... I'm always wet enough... She dismissed it and licked her fingers before shoving them into herself, panting with eyes closed over the stunned false-John. She pressed herself down on his meat once more, and slowly it inched in as she half-twerked herself onto it, deeper by quarter-inches as she worked it into her unready vagina. Damn it... what kind of...

"Tricia, I'm... I'm really... this feels too good, I'm going to come-"

What? No, I'm not done with you y-

Her eyes opened wide as she felt a flood of thick warmth begin to help lubricate her birth canal, and she watched John's face twist in obvious pleasure as his seed overflowed until he managed to get hands on her rump and root her down on his coming cock. Tricia, too stupefied to react, could only manage a strangled moan of confusion and arousal; her eyes ever remained wide, and her jaw firmly dropped. She looked down at herself; her suit-less, pale self, and where John's pubes poked out from their union where they weren't matted with semen... and slowly the orgy rushed back into her mind-

Last night...

"W-What do you mean congratulations?!" Tricia asked in a panicked sigh.

"I mean you're going to be a mother, Tricia." John had sealed her sentencing with a kiss, and she almost found herself being grateful before enough sense cut through to send her panicking.

"Don't worry! Look, I... oh..." Tricia, still unsure, still terrified of the news of what was allegedly readying to grow inside of her, looked John in the eye... and blinked as his left eye flashed green, first in its entirety and then in small, iris-based bursts. He grinned stupidly at her and resumed his pumping into her over-sensitive twat, erasing the last of her worries while the succubus rubbed more of her essence into Tricia's unprotected body...

Gorbachev Springfield Bunker, 9:09AM

The rest of the night came in drunken bursts: Tricia, far from considering herself bisexual, had spent some ungodly amount of time lapping up Lily, then trading to share her bounty with Moira until she, too, was feeling this arrangement. Tricia had met a pair of pregnant elves (Was he implying that they were his? That should be impossible according to any understanding of genetics...) and an undead monster, and had surely swapped spit, cum, and all manner of debauchery with each of them. John had filled her stomach and ass with seed, and a bun in her oven as a souvenir of that amazing, terrifying night... and now, riding ever more of his seed into herself, Tricia realized she was still welcoming it.

She leaned forward, and let John's never-deflating manhood slip out of her before sitting back down on top of it. A flood of jizz came out of her before she got the chance, but she ignored it, and leaked onto his rod as her well-fucked pussy struggled to hotdog it. "This... isn't a dream..." I really... I really used my Eyes on him again! She rose, and rested her hands on her belly. But that also means I'm... I'm... oh my.... oh my...!

John blinked up at her. "N-No... were you... were you asleep-?"

"I... have to go to the bathroom."

John nodded, and continued to lay on the bed as Tricia kicked her legs off of it and approached the uncensored toilet in the corner. Without ceremony or even a look back, she squatted over the bowl and began to puke.

Newman Residence, 8:04AM

"By the Lady... what... have I done?" Moira stared with eyes like saucers at a ceiling she should've abandoned by now, wearing none of the clothes she ought to have on before then, and panting and sweating without sheets next to the MILF who made it all happen.

"Don't feel bad, sweetie," Brenda confidently declared with a stretch,"after all, John has enough of you tasty girls to himself..." A low, perverted chuckle escaped the woman, and Moira remained bow-legged as her crotch all but glowed with the pleasant ache of the mother's attentions. "But you shouldn't be as selfish as you were last night."

"What... do you... mean-?"

Brenda reached over Moira, crawled over her body, and dragged her breasts down Moira's body as she kissed her way back to Moira's tortured twat. A massive thigh swung over the Warden's head, and she came face-to-face with the matriarch's glistening below. "My college roommate used to call this 'queening' when she did it to me... do you girls still call it that?"

Moira swallowed her arousal and shook her head. This is... John's mother. This is a demon's victim, and I am the Warden of the Golden Rose! I cannot allow this to continue! "Mrs. Newman, I am sorry I've taken so long-" Moira's words were drowned out as Brenda dropped herself onto her new throne, smothering the redhead with her cunt as she sat half-bent over the rest of the tight little body under her.

"Don't worry, Moira," Brenda moaned, stretching her hands between the Warden's legs, "I am a fair queen."

Gorbachev Springfield Bunker, 9:12AM

Tricia continued to retch into the toilet, tortured by her fear in the most physical sense she could manage. John kept a supporting hand flat against her naked back, doing his best to rub in excessive heals in hopes that it produced some kind of relief.

"There there," he awkwardly whispered. His eyes couldn't help but drift up to her status.

Status Effects: Eye of Gorbachev (Tabiti)
Qualities: Gorbachev Puberty (one remaining)

He tried to wager what effect, if any, the mysterious new Eye was having; she had yet to say anything that didn't sound like garbled sobbing into the porcelain altar.

Tricia casts Eye of Forms on toilet.

A confused, hacking cough... and Tricia rose to walk to the nearby sink, still keeping her face hidden from John. He rose to follow her... and he eyed the toilet, looking for some kind of change. There was none that he could see; it seemed perfectly fine, and his own Eye saw no magical effects in place. It was immaculate, perfect even... which was odd next to a sink and mirror that had the obvious signs of age and wear.

"Tricia, it's... it's alright."

Tricia only whimpered in response as she rinsed her mouth.

Tricia casts Eye of Forms on bathroom sink.

Tricia casts Eye of Forms on bathroom mirror.

John watched as small pockmarks at the edges of the sink turned perfect white, the naked pipes below it began to shine like new chrome, and the mirror, with a single, but barely notable crack in its corner, slowly erased the crack and reverted to perfection. In that reflection he saw it there on her forehead: a faceted jewel of obsidian, shaped like an eye and sparkling glowing cyan irises on each facet. Her eyes joined it in staring at John with a naked fear.

“I'm... I'm so..." More tears rolled down her face. With violently shaking hands, she grabbed the toothbrush and tried to manage some paste onto it.

I should leave... but she needs help... but should I stay? It's my fault she's like this... God, I did it again, didn't I? She's a mage, sure, but... but I wanted to keep her and Moira from killing each other! I was helping... and... John continued to wrestle with his excuses as he stood awkwardly in the wall-less bathroom. I just wish she'd say something... I just want to know if she... wait, of course! John shoved aside the pang of guilt at the idea; after all, not reading her mind risked that he committed more harm in staying or going. He opened his mind to hers, to simply taste her thoughts, to get an inkling of what she expected him to do. He waded into the waters of her mind-

The waters withdrew violently, and overshadowed him with a wave ten stories tall. Warmth rolled down his cheeks as the tsunami crushed his self.

I did it again. I wanted to put him at ease, and I went on an emotional tirade, and I did it- I need to reinforce the suit's A.I. to ignore my commands. I did it again! Is that safe? Who cares. If I don't, I'll keep pushing him away. He wants to leave. He married me. He wants to get away from me. He... he got me pregnant?! He is disgusted with me. I want him. I'm a monster. He hates me. Why must these feelings keep ruining my life- Why won't anyone ever love- Why don't I just die- Why am I so fucking self-pitying?! Why don't I just die- I just want to feel normal! I just want to feel!

John struggled to breathe as undertows of her mind swept beneath that narrative, and streams of self-loathing cross-stitched over it in her mind. What should've been the sadness of one mind was the screaming sorrow and rage of some dozens of her. His own tears kept coming; it was Hell to feel as she felt, and nothing of his Game kept it at bay.

There were no facts to back the intensity of her downward spiral: it was illogical, magical, horrible. It infused her being, and channeled into her blood to keep it from killing her; without a similar out, John was left stunned, grasping onto her identity and thoughts and almost suicidal urgings like the only branch keeping him from being swept under and drowned. He too felt nauseous with the pain of the flood, and he struggled to open his mouth as she rinsed the foam from hers. Every word he thought to form drowned in the cynicism, the dread, the despair that raked through her and widened the Eye on her head. How did she keep herself steady under this barrage? How could John help her? How-

I don't deserve to feel.

Tricia's thoughts came crashing into reality as she was spun around by her shoulder. Arms enshrouded her, and her face was buried into a now-familiar male chest. It trembled, but felt firmer than the earth. A hand caressed her hair and another on the small of her back. With the feeling of their honest bodies pressed against one another, her mind quieted just enough to let John remember himself, and his control.

He shattered the link between their minds, and suddenly inhaled as he finally felt the breathable air and the wetness on his cheeks. "Fucking Christ-!"

Tricia remained silent; the black Eye remained opened.

But now John knew what Tricia's silence meant.