You struggle to hold on long enough to question the woman

"Who are..." you begin, and Chet bottoms out inside of one you, brushing against THAT spot, sending your third body staggering as your vision nearly goes white, two sets of your eyes widening and tiny beads of milk leaking from your nipples and one Gemma's hard athletic body pressed against you, sucking at your breast, drinking greedily of your milk and a painful pressure that you hadn't realized was there subsiding, giving freely of yourself as the second Gemma probes your folds with her tongue even as one hand clutches as your hips and the second teases your clitoris with a growing urgency, the awkward weight of your pregnancy and you're crying out, she's crying out, Chet's breathing quickens as does his pace and your whole world seems to build into an overwhelming melange of sensation, your bodies glistening with sweat, building towards something, something else, perhaps release. For a long moment, it's all you can do for your third self to stay standing.

"Who are you?" you manage, your nipples hard as rocks (and your other breasts gently massaged now by the first Gemma with eyes shining as she draws close to kiss you once again, and you moan into her mouth as her fingers slide easily through your loose blonde hair while the other Gemma's probing tongue brings you ever closer to release even as Chet seizes the other you by your hair to slam into again and again, your breasts bouncing uncomfortably in time to his frantic thrusts, the baby stirring within your womb. Your center of balance seems to shift back and forth in time to his thrusts, and you begin to roll your hips back against his thrusts in spite of yourself, and it feels so very different to move like this in your gravid state, all to the rhythm of your joining, pain and pleasure mingling together as you struggle to block the stimuli from your bodies.

The woman laughs a rich, resonant laugh, her voice like the voice of a queen, the very sound of it giving you chills. "Perhaps I am a figment of your imagination," she replies, "An aspect of your dream brought on by shame, regret, and a broken heart. Perhaps I am a fragment of the woman who cursed you lingering still to observe her handiwork. Perhaps I am a manifestation of your subconscious, and all of this is just a part of your attempting to resolve the cognitive dissonance between your sense of self as a man and the reality that you are, in fact, a woman, and will be for the rest of your life. Does it matter?"

Your thoughts are racing now. The moonlight makes the burnished steel spider-webs shine like silver, but the woman remains in shadow. You can see your breath upon the air with every exhalation, but the cold doesn't touch the two yous and your lovers, all of you suspended at the very brink of the moment of surrender.

"It matters," you whisper. And then, "What choice?"

"Whose are you?" the woman asks. "Are you Gemma's, or are you Chet's? Do you belong to the boy whose seed actually took root inside you and ended your old life, or do you belong to the girl who made it happen?"

You shiver, and goosebumps break out across your smooth arms, and your other selves reach their peak. You stagger visibly as the sensations roll over you, and then time seems to stop for your pregnant bodies. Who do you belong to? It feels... it feels like she's asking who your owner is, and you fight down the all-consuming pleasure with a spark of anger. "I'm mine," you tell her.

She raises an eyebrow. "Are you? Are you really?"

You hold onto that spark of anger like your only shelter in a storm, and it quickly grows into a flame burning brilliantly inside your mind. "Getting pregnant doesn't mean someone owns me," you tell her.

"Doesn't it?"

You stare at her. Your bodies are both on the edge. The whole scene has paused between moments: your two pregnant selves, the two Gemmas, Chet, each suspended in time, frozen in eerie silence, the sensation of that one moment filling almost your entire awareness: the warmth of Chet's cum surging inside of you, the feeling of your vaginal muscles caught in mid pulse, the wave of ecstasy which the Gemmas had brought to a crest seemingly crystallized inside your pelvis, neither advancing nor receding, the moment suspended in amber.

"I..." you begin, swallowing thickly. The intensity of sensation is actually painful. It needs to end. You NEED to... oh God...

"Give yourself to one of them, Doe," the woman says, seeming more amused by your resistance than anything else. "I don't care which. Give yourself over, and this can all end."

You fall to your knees, the frozen moment pressing in more and more upon your consciousness. You don't get used to it. It doesn't recede. Every moment just as intense as when it started. Your eyes lose focus for a moment, and you almost don't hear yourself whisper, "No."

She raises an eyebrow. "But don't you deserve this? You were going to reduce that girl to little better than an incubator for your child, weren't you?" The woman in shadow gestures to Gemma. "You wanted to TAME her. You wanted her to be YOURS, didn't you? Don't you deserve to be tamed in turn? Why should you be allowed to decide your own destiny when you were willing to decide hers, and to completely transform her entire life, to CREATE life within her, for your own convenience?"

And now there are new things suspended in the crystalline moment: Guilt. Shame. Regret. It doesn't make your anger towards Gemma go away, doesn't take away from the sense of violation at your **** impregnation, but it does temper it.

You can see the woman in shadow's eyes on you even as the rest of the world fades away. Even as the frozen moment resumes, and you cum helplessly on Chet's cock, your pregnant pussy milking his seed up to the very gates of your womb, and Gemma grins as your vaginal muscles spasm in release, the ecstatic wave rippling out from between your thighs to white out your senses in a tumultuous tide of sensation and release and the joining of you and her and him, and then...

You awaken face down on your bed in your dorm room. It's dark. The sun has set. All is quiet in your room mate's bedroom. The sound of the nightly news drifts in under your door: the television is on in the main room. Your sheets are soaked with sweat, and you can still feel the afterglow of the orgasm that woke you, and you can still feel the guilt, the shame, and the regret that were mingled with it.

You roll over and stare at the ceiling for a long moment, eyes not focusing on anything in particular. "What..." Your heart is still racing, your breath still quickened. You can FEEL your pulse pounding against your eardrums. "the hell... was that?"

You look down at your stomach. No sign of pregnancy. Not yet. You can't help but imagine your toned body swelling with child, your abs losing all definition, your breasts swelling with milk, and you shiver once again.

What now?