Three years after the curse

Three years have passed since that first night, and your life has settled into a rhythm that once would have horrified you but now feels as natural as breathing. You're currently pregnant with your third child, your belly swollen and round beneath the thin fabric of the nightgown your mother picked out for you—one that pulls tight across your breasts and belly.

"You look beautiful, Stacy," your mother says, brushing a strand of hair from your face as you sit at the kitchen table, your feet aching from the weight of the baby. "Pregnancy suits you." You smile at her, accepting the cup of tea she offers.

"Thank you, Mom." Gwen breezes into the kitchen, her own body recovered from her pregnancy—she had agreed to bear your father one child, but only after she finished college, and only once. Now she's back to her slim figure, while you've been perpetually round with child for nearly three years.

"Daddy wants you upstairs tonight," Gwen says, her tone casual as she pours herself coffee.

"He says it's been two days since he's had you." You feel a flutter of arousal at the words, your body already responding to the thought of him.

"I'll go up after dinner," you say.

"Good," Gwen says. "You know how he gets when he has to wait."

Your mother chuckles. "Your father has always been... demanding." She looks at you with a knowing smile. "But that's what makes him a good husband to all of us." You think back over the past three years—how you've been pregnant almost continuously, how your father ensures you're bred again almost immediately after each birth, how you've never experienced a period since the transformation. Your body has become an instrument for his pleasure and procreation, and you've embraced it completely.

"I love being pregnant," you admit, rubbing your belly. "I love feeling the baby grow inside me, knowing Daddy put it there."

"That's our girl," your mother says. "You've taken to your role so well. Better than I ever did."

Gwen sits down across from you. "I don't know how you do it, honestly. One pregnancy was enough for me. I don't miss it."

"You'll find someone else to breed you eventually," your mother says to Gwen. "Someone outside this family."

"Maybe," Gwen says, though she doesn't sound convinced. "For now, I'm happy just helping with the babies."

Your mother shares the household duties with you—cooking, cleaning, caring for the children—but when night falls, she steps back, most of the time leaving you and Gwen to attend to your father's needs.

"It's been months since I've shared his bed," your mother admits. "I'm past that stage. But I'm happy to be a grandmother, to watch my daughters please their husband."

"He's still your husband too," you point out.

"He is," she agrees. "But a man has needs, and I've passed that duty to you two. It's the natural order—younger women for breeding, older women for wisdom."