Evelyn will answer

Peter took a deep, steadying breath as he rose from the couch, sweat cooling on his skin, muscles aching pleasantly from the marathon exertion. The room smelled of sex and satisfaction, the five HR women lounging in various states of dishevelment—blazers askew, skirts rumpled, faces flushed with lingering bliss. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the afterglow settle.

That brief darkness was all it took for a sharper memory to surface.

Evelyn Thorpe—the one who’d stormed into his interview, screamed at Harley, and bragged about her policy of blocking male candidates like him with that smug, self-righteous glare. She’d made a point of bragging about her “diversity initiative,” the one that had far from subtly meant his own application was doomed to fail. Her vicious smug, self-righteous fury burning into his memory.

Now, here she stood transformed into a vision of fiery red curls, cherry-red lips, and a body poured into a sexy business suit that accentuated every exaggerated curve. She was radiant, fluttering her eyelashes at him with a radiant smile, one hand resting unconsciously on her still-flat belly where his child—children—were already taking root.

A darker, vindictive spark flickered in Peter’s chest. The others in HR had never personally blocked him; they’d just been cogs in the machine. But Evelyn? She’d been the architect. And now she was his—pregnant, devoted, blissful—yet somehow still enjoying the fruits of his own enhancements without paying any extra price.

He decided she could stand a little… adjustment.

Raising the remote, Peter’s thumb slid across the dials until the fertility and gestation controls glowed. Locking onto Evelyn alone he fired the beam at her.

Mid-smile, the beam hit her—her eyes flew wide, and a breathless “Oh!” slipped past her lips. Then her belly began to swell—slowly at first, a gentle rounding beneath the fitted black suit, then faster, pushing outward in a smooth, inexorable curve. The jacket buttons strained, then gave way with soft pops, revealing the expanding dome of her abdomen stretching the underlying blouse taut. Her breasts surged again, heavier and fuller, milk-heavy weight pulling the fabric tighter until seams creaked.

Evelyn’s hands flew to her stomach, cradling the sudden six-month swell with a mix of shock, delight, and overwhelmed arousal. “Oh my… what—?” she breathed, voice trembling between horror and ecstasy. “What happened?”

“You’re six months pregnant now,” Peter said calmly, sauntering closer, eyes drinking in the sight of her transformed figure—massive breasts resting atop the firm, rounded belly, hips flared even wider to accommodate the new weight.

But, Peter didn’t stop there. Another quick adjustment—twins—and he fired again.

This caused Evelyn’s belly to balloon further, stretching to an impressive dome that made her look ready to pop, skin glowing with that tell-tale pregnancy sheen. Evelyn let out a long, shuddering moan, knees buckling slightly as she clutched the swell.

“Now you’re six months pregnant with twins.” Peter added.

“Twins?” Evelyn whispered, her eyes glassy. Then her expression melted into pure bliss as the first kick rippled across her taut skin.

“Oh, dear me… they’re kicking already.” Her voice cracked on a needy whimper, thighs attempting to press together as a visible shiver of pleasure coursed through her. “It feels… incredible.”

Peter’s smile widened, dark satisfaction blooming in his chest. “Seems our children are an excited bunch,” he murmured, stepping in close to capture her cherry-red lips in a slow, possessive kiss. She melted against him, massive breasts and swollen belly pressing into his torso, hands clutching his shoulders as tiny flutters danced beneath her skin.

He pulled back just enough to meet her dazed gaze. “But this means you only have three months left,” he said softly, almost tenderly. “Three months until they’re born. You won’t get the full nine months to enjoy this feeling.”

Evelyn’s eyes widened in genuine distress, her hands cradling the huge swell protectively. “No… please, Peter,” she pleaded, voice thick with emotion. “I want to carry your children for the full nine months. This feeling—being so full of you, of us—it’s the most fulfilled I’ve ever been. Well… second only to when you’re inside me.” A fresh shiver ran through her, her thighs clenching again as another kick sent a visible ripple across her belly.

Those words caused Peter to pause for a moment, inwardly he chided himself for expecting anything else—this raw, **** longing. The settings he had used on all the board members and now the HR department earlier had backfired in the sweetest way; the blissful pregnancy state he’d gifted all the women had hit Evelyn hardest, turning his petty **** into her deepest craving.

Still, Peter wasn’t quite done indulging the vindictive streak. With a final tweak to the remote, he slowed her gestation—just enough that the remaining “three months” would stretch into a full nine, giving her the long, blissful carry she begged for. Twins at 36 weeks was average anyway, he reasoned; close enough to nine months for his purposes.

Evelyn’s relief was instant, a radiant smile breaking across her face as she pulled him into another kiss, her swollen belly pressing warmly between them. “Thank you,” she whispered against his lips, voice trembling with gratitude and renewed desire. “I’ll carry them proudly… for you.”

Peter let the kiss linger, his hand resting possessively atop her belly, feeling the faint flutter of movement beneath. **** tasted sweeter when it came gift-wrapped in devotion.