I Want To Be Pregnant

Lois said out loud, staring at the figure on screen. Eight weeks pregnant with eight babies...the belly was noticeable, undeniable, sticking out past the breasts, but still like a little potbelly, except rounded and hard, the skin stretched. The other changes to the body were more subtle, but there. The healthy skin. Nipples a bit puffy and a shade darker. Breasts a little fuller, but still perky. No stretch marks yet—no dark line down the belly.

The reporter rubbed her flat stomach, pussy suddenly aching and empty. She wanted right then to be that woman on the screen. Damn the consequences, the hardship, the looks. Even if she had to raise them herself. Just to grow week by week, so big and full and...

Response recorded. The voice said. Then there was a bright crimson glow. A tingle swept through Lois' body. The screen changed.

Lois stared at herself on the screen in front of her—the little fish-eye lens of a camera staring blindly at her. She was bathed in a ruddy glow, naked flesh covered with goosebumps, nipples erect, pussy sitting in a damp stain on the chair.

Then she began to change. It was like the timelapse from the simulation, from the videos earlier, only now she could see it happening to herself. See...and feel. There was a pressure in her belly, and a flittering like butterflies in her stomach. A pressure that wasn't gas but also didn't go away...and on screen she could see it, moment by moment, as her handful of tits swelled a little, blue veins more visible beneath the surface, nipples a little darker.

What made Lois' heart skip a beat was watching her flat belly began to dome out. It was subtle to start, and there was a slight wave of weakness that went with it—her ribs showed a bit more prominently, and Lois wondered if all the fat in her body wasn't being requisitioned for this dramatic new growth—but that just made it more prominent. Tentatively, she reached out with her hand and place it on her slightly swollen abdomen, watching herself do that on screen.

Hard, smooth flesh. She pressed slightly, but it wouldn't give. There was something in her, beneath the skin. Eight somethings, she didn't doubt. Because the woman on screen was the spitting image of her simulated self.

It was insane. Impossible. A dream made flesh. Yet she could see and feel it.

Lois ran her hand down the curve of her eight-week-with-eight pregnant belly...until her fingers touched her pubic hair. Then she smiled and leaned back in the chair. If she was pregnant, she might as well enjoy it...yet even then, part of her mind was screaming at her, questions bubbling up in the back of her brain.