Think it over

“This is all happening so fast. Could you let me get cleaned up before I make any rash decisions?”

“Sure,” replied Doe, “but don’t leave it too long. Time is ticking and that baby won’t wait for anyone.”

You stood up and walked into the bathroom. As you passed the mirror you realize just how much of a mess you were. Your hair was going every which way, their was a nasty black-blue bruise on your cheek, and your dress was covered is filth. You slowly peeled off your dress, revealing that at some point that night your thong had been stolen. All over your back were tiny cuts from being ravaged against the brick wall. Just remembering it sent a shiver of fear down your spine, and made your pussy clench.

That was when you noticed the other strange feeling. Your pussy felt full. Still unfamiliar with how you could look at your crotch without your breasts blocking the view, you instead put one leg up on the toilet seat and examined yourself in the mirror. The lips of your vagina were puffy and swollen, with dried flakes of cum sticking to them like dandruff. As you parted your sore lips with your fingers (a far from painless process) you noticed a small string sticking out of your vagina. You grabbed the string and gently pulled it out, revealing a long familiar site. A tampon.

Having shared a bathroom with an older sister, you were more than knowledgeable about what a tampon looked like. What confused you was why it was their? Then you remembered back to that night. Your **** had shoved something inside of you after he finished. This must have been it. Your **** didn’t want a single drop of his baby-batter slipping out of your fertile womb. That bastard didn’t knock you up accidentally, it was his intention!

You briefly considered if the **** could have been the work of the witch. However, even if he was, what would that change? You dispose of the tampon in the garbage. You unhook your bra and relieve yourself before stepping into the shower.

While washing away the shame of your ****, you begin to contemplate the options Doe has given you. Of the three, marrying a rich man certainly seemed the most advantageous. If carried out correctly, the only work you’ed ever have to do again would be to spread your legs and moan. However, their were significant hurdles in the way. First is the bruise on your face, until that thing heals no man is gonna want to touch you, and if you wait to long you might start showing. And even if you do sleep with the guy, you’ed have to hope he’s gullible enough to take you at your word. If he demanded a paternity test, the whole plan would fall through.

The second option seemed pretty safe. Doe would never turn down an extra source of income, and as long as you brought in more than you cost, you would always have a place to stay. However, this would also mean you’ed be tying yourself to Doe. If you stopped being profitable, or if Doe got married, you’ed be up shit’s creek without a paddle.

The third option was definitely the most terrifying. You had no papers, no birth certificate, nothing. You didn’t legally exist. You might be able to get them if you claimed you lost them or were homeless, but even that was a gamble. The only upside is that you’ed be in complete control of your future.

Your were brought out of your thoughts when you absentmindedly started to clean your belly. And what about that? This whole time you’ed been ignoring it, hoping it would go away if you didn’t acknowledge it, but you can’t deny it anymore. Your pregnant. Their is life growing inside your womb. You are carrying a living being, and in nine months time, that thing is going to leave your body and come into whatever path you have decided to take. Your not just living for yourself anymore.

You turn off the water and step out the shower. You dry yourself off, then wrap the towel around yourself like you’ve seen women do. It takes you a couple tries. You walk into the living room.

“Doe, I’ve decided.”