Help! I Got Knocked Up by a Loser Who Turned Into a Chad!

No one paid attention to Chad for much of high school. In many ways, he might as well have been completely invisible.

Neither popular nor hated, Chad was always… just there. Nerdy enough, awkward a bit, sure, but… meh. A great piece of nothing.

Chad didn’t seem to mind his isolation. In fact, he preferred it this way. He was sociable enough not to come across as a creep, but not much else.

Literally, no one knew he existed. Men greeted him a few times a year, and every time they thought it was the first time they’d seen him. When people asked what grade he was in, they were usually shocked to realize that he was in their class.

Invisible. Utterly invisible – but again, he seemed to like it this way.

Chad was neither bitter not joyous. Neither resentful not overly excited in any way. No one knew what hobbies he had and, well, no one knew he existed at all.

Physically, too, Chad was utterly unremarkable. A little short for a man, but not too short to draw attention to himself – and mockery from the girls.

Last time anyone bothered to check, he was 5’8’’, 5’9’’, something like that.

Thin and lanky, not very graceful, but also a total wreck of a human being, Chad played no sports and exceeded on no academic subject in specific.

If plain white bread was a human being, it probably would NOT be Chad, because plain white bread is usually actually very tasty and extremely popular on the markets.

Chad, on the other end, was nothing. Sheer nothing. He wasn’t even air: colorless, odorless, pure gas, because air is essential for living.

Chad was just… nobody. Nothing and no one in particular – and it was okay. It was alright. He liked it that way. And if he didn’t, well, no one would ever notice, and fewer people still would ever bother.

* * * * *

Stacy was everything.

At the youngest, tenderest age, she developed sexual characteristics that would put a grown-up, fully matured supermodel to shame.

It was actually a little concerning how early Stacy reached puberty, and how fully he developed as soon as puberty hit her like a freight train. If some kids need to be moved up grades because they’re too smart, Stacy had to be removed from many classes, even schools, because most people who came across her thought she was an adult sitting with preschoolers.

It was awkward. It was absurd. For Stacy, though, it was the beginning of heaven.

Now, one must be careful when describing Stacy at such young age because of pedophilia and whatnot, so the best roundabout way to convey what an enormity this woman was is by describing her, well, as soon as she turned eighteen.

It was the final year of high-school, the final months actually, and Stacy’s growth was finally slowing down a little.

From the earliest, most indecently young age, she developed her body and mind so fast that some scientists actually paid top dollar to study her, for her biological growth lay far beyond the edge of what anyone thought possible for a human being – or for a mammal!

As Stacy neared her 18th birthday, though, her stupendous growth leveled out somewhat, and most people could see the woman for who she would be for the rest of her life: a 6’8’’, triple-Z-breasted, long-legged and hard-assed blonde supermodel who’d earn billions of dollars a year in whatever modeling career she chose to pursue.

For a high schooler, even one at the tail end of her grade, putting Stacy next to other girls was like having a fight between a roided up Alpha gorilla and a newborn kitten.

Hydrogen bomb and coughing babies, truly.

Stacy wasn’t just stunning. She was extremely smart to boot. Her IQ had been measured at north of 148, and given her generally reserved and studious ways, she could have her pick of any course in any university on the planet – but she, of course, being smart, chose easy money before anything else, and way, waaaay before she turned 18, Stacy was already pulling tens to hundreds of millions of dollars a year on several modeling gigs and premium “naughty” online accounts, causing a stir in whatever country she chose to debut her newest brand or account.

Stacy’s parent’s weren’t exactly happy with her choices, but they were mostly above morality themselves, being both outrageously rich and ridiculous handsome, the top genetic specimens of humanity, and as long as their daughter was being independent and free, yelp, all was good in life.

Stacy’s family had been rich since the 1200s, being nobility in all the Nordic countries, and eventually wealthy entrepreneurs and whatnot. Her parents alone accounted for some 12% of Norway’s GDP, decabillionaires, and Stacy, being their only offspring, knew she could expect an inheritance north of 18 billion USD or something.

She cared little for the money, of course, for she could apparate hundreds of millions with basically the snap of her fingers – or a careful snapshot of her feet.

Stacy was hot, hot, hot, HOT. Not merely the type of hot that molds generations and shape entire demographic cultures, like Marilyn Monroe or Gisele Budchen, but hot like… she-can’t-be-human kind of hot. Greek-goddess kind of hot.

And, to be fair, Aphrodite, Athena, Freya, and any fertility deity one could think of would ALL probably come short of the absolute, stupendous beauty (and sheer, mind-numbing eroticism) of Stacy even from waaaay before she turned 18.

Many years before becoming (legally) a woman, Stacy was already the most gorgeous female specimen humankind had ever produced, earning no small praise from even her mother, a successful supermodel-turned-businesswoman.

When she actually turned 18… well… fuck, she wasn’t a woman no more. Just a god. A goddess, truly.

In her uber-expensive private college, Stacy was the goddess-above-godhood itself; so insanely above her peers – of all peers, actually – that a full 40% of the female body (both students and teachers) just up and left when they couldn’t bear the presence of that demi-human, that half-god, half-human hybrid that, again, just could not be real!

The Laws of Physics seemed to reject her existence.

Stacy had the blondest, shiniest hair, fairest face, most massive, even burdensome pair of breasts, incredibly large, stocky, hard ass, microscopic waist contrasting Jessica-Rabbit-like expansive hips, and long long loooong muscular legs that were full of meat and shiny with her ever-juicy thighs, a pornographic cartoon woman made into a flesh-and-bone human being.

Yeah. Stacy was everything. She was such everything that she even knew about the existence of a certain Chad, just like she technically knew every name and face of every person in any environment she was in.

Her super brain, you see, scanned everyone and everything. She knew that Chad existed, but just like anyone who had ever come across that lad, that ghost of a man, her impression of him was… nothing. Just utterly muted.

Regular face

Shorter-than-average

Thin body. Rather frail

Not dumb, not smart

No interests in particular

Shy around girls. Not too creepy

Family not particularly rich (is here on aid)

And that was everything that she bothered to “file” on him. This is literally everything that her brain made of him as soon as she caught a glimpse of that ghoul-like non-entity of a human being.

Chad existed – and that was it.

On with much more exciting people.

* * * * *

Stacy didn’t know them. Exciting people. Not actually, really, because a goddess like her could never actually be impressed with any human being, could she?

The top-of-the-top, ‘cream of the crop’ humans were all like regular people to her, and regular people were just… meh.

They were there, she guessed.

Shrug.

The biggest disappointment of her life was sex, though. You know, for a woman of her caliber, Stacy always thought sex would be the most out-of-body cosmic experience ever, only to come up short – every – single – time.

Stacy had standards, sure. The highest standards known to men. Short of a few, desperate exceptions, no man she’s ever “dated” (if you can call it that) was shorter than 6’4’’ (a midget in her eyes) or 6 inches.

She had her pick on literally every single guy in the world. She knew it, for the hottest movie stars, princes, and heirs offered to PAY HER for sex – and these guys were the ones any other woman on the planet would pay to have sex with.

Ten million dollars…

Twenty-five million dollars…

Fifty-seven million…

The highest bid Stacy ever got was from an Eastern European prince with exceptional pedigree, even more exceptional looks, 6’7’’, extremely muscular (and all natural), and a mouth-watering, jaw-breaking 12-inch veiny white monster cock – one of the biggest and juiciest Stacy had ever tasted.

She was tempted enough to give the guy a pass, but… nope. If Brad-Pitt-caliber womanizers had to pay her seven, eight figures for sex, she’d lend her pussy for free for no other guy – not even a delectable piece of hunk like this literal royalty.

Tall, dashing, blond, rich (and from a family that was rich for generation), and hung like a stallion. She still demanded payment for this piece of meat, and she was actually quite surprised when he did, in fact, decide to pay her.

158 million dollars was his offer. She accepted, sure, with a bit of suspicion actually (he was definitely a psycho who wanted to hack-and-slash her, she swore), and the pleasure he gave her was the highest and most frequent she had ever felt during sex. A lot of pleasure, yes, and maybe even “orgasms”, but she wouldn’t know it for sure.

Ultimately, she slept with him once and that was it. “Guy came like a horse, though,” she told her closest (rare) friends, recounting how he filled up his condom until it was as big as a tennis ball.

“You actually made him wear a condom??”

“Yes,” she said, and she actually rued having to say any more than this, for a goddess like her needed to explain her actions no further, but… sigh. Alas! Her friends were no goddesses, merely all-time supermodels, so Stacy growled impatiently when she explained to them her reasons: “He just didn’t feel like ‘it’. He didn’t feel right.”

She touched her slim, ultra-thin belly, and sighed, feeling her womb always hot, her eggs always desperate and frustrated for being so, so empty for so, soooo long. “My womb is better than his dick.”

Before any of her “friends” murdered her out of jealousy, she hooked them up with said prince. He went on to marry five of her friends and get them all very well bred and thoroughly impregnated.

She was happy for them and rather proud of him. “He is impressive, don’t get me wrong,” she muttered to herself, sometimes, letting her thoughts flow through her thick, naturally scarlet red, strawberry lips.

The multi-billionaire prince got every one of his wives knocked up almost every year, and last time she checked on them, when she turned 18, he had planted four to five babies on each of their bellies. Twenty-four heirs, she heard he’d had, and the virility to keep making as many as her girlfriends were willing to bear.

“How the FUCK do you pass on a man like this??” They told her, feeling victorious about their accomplishments, for they had kids and Stacy had none, and for all of Stacy’s superhuman looks, it seemed she was condemned to be a perpetual auntie, forever a cat-lady due to her extreme standards and such nonsense. “This guy cums like a firehose!” They rubbed their pregnant bellies when she checked on them again. “I feel my eggs being impregnated each time! Even his sperm is thick and chunky, like… eggnog or something!”

“Uhm, I know. I drank from his filled-up condom.”

“Girl, you don’t know what you’re missing on!”

But she knew.

Yeah. Stacy knew what she was missing on, but the problem was: the object she missed did not exist!

“Largest man I ever had was fourteen inches,” she sighed, remembering having been left completely numb by that lad – and not because he fucked her so hard that, well, her insides went numb, but because she was soooo bored, and she had felt so little when she was penetrated!

“The thickest one was wrist-thick.” She raised her arm in before her eyes and saw her wrist, so long and delicate. “Thicker than my wrist. A baseball bat. Still…” She sighed. “Nothing. I felt nothing.”

The most virile man came a bit more than the prince: about a whole cup. She measured it. She drank his semen as he spurted it in her throat, and his 13-inch prick reached halfway down to her stomach, where she felt his thick, steamy load gathering in a large puddle (but small for her) in her delicate stomach.

“He was the thickest, richest semen I have ever drank, and his sperm were so potent I could feel them wiggling in my cheeks. Still…”

Nothing. Nothing.

She felt nothing from all these men, and she realized (with a bit of horror, indeed), that she might never actually feel anything with anyone – ever! And that this was the curse that perfect beings were forced to bear.

Irony of the gods. Heavens laughing at her.

“Oh, mother… daddy…” She cursed her parents in secret whenever they weren’t listening. “Why did you give such great genes???”

Great was an understatement, of course. The greatest understatement of all. Through no fault of her own, Stacy was condemned to a lifetime of anhedonia born out of her nearly-divine blood. She had unwittingly become the end point of human evolution, the uttermost ideal of a human female, and the highest peak of both aesthetics and intelligence in the feminine form.

20,000 years of civilized human evolution had led to her. Every single spotless pairing of DNA during mating has resulted in her, and as the final result of this triumphant lineage, the victory of her evolutionary race, Stacy realized… she would race no more!

The race was over. She had hit a solid, brick wall.

At the turn of her 18th birthday, Stacy realized, with a bit of cosmic horror and existential pain, that winning the genetic race meant the end of her genes.

She would get to feel no pleasure – ever.

She would never know what it was like to get an orgasm, let alone… LOVE!

She would never know what it felt like to get “butterflies” in her tummy or tingles in her pussy. Hell, she might never even get anything in her tummy at all, not even heirs from desperate sex after she’d given up all hope of finding an attractive mate.

“I’m so pretty…” She purred, biting her lip with a budding arousal for herself. “I’m so… flawless…” Her pussy throb. Thinking and talking about herself was the only thing that ever got her going, so to speak. “I might never get preggy. Literally impossible to be impregnated!”

Her womb was just too damn strong! Any other sperm… pfff! Just too damn feeble!

“DAMN, MOM AND DAD, FOR YOUR PERFECT, PERFECT GENES!” She tried to punch a table, but she punched her tits instead, which were so big they easily overflowed into any table, and loads and loads of milk were sprayed from her tits, which were always full and fat and lactating. “Damn it!”

Always milking for the kids she would never get, preparing her for a motherhood that would never come.

For the woman who had everything ended up with nothing in the end.