Epilogue - 3 months later

Your Daddy still fucks you hard and often, even though his seed almost certainly took that very first night. 3 months later, you're starting to show. The life growing inside you fills you with joy, and the thought of it being Daddys, of having been bred by him, still excites you. You hope you'll have many more.

Your day-to-day life now mostly consists of keeping the house. You do your utmost to serve your husband-to-bes every need - both because he demands your subservience, and because you crave to devote yourself to him - as well as make a tolerable impression on his son, David. Yes, David. That's still a bit weird, seeing your old self walking around the house. Of course, he knows what's up, accepts it. Up until a few weeks after the Holiday party, he was someone else. A poor, orphan transgendered boy, his own age. Someone noone would miss, and who would be grateful to get the opportunity to become the son of a now quite wealthy and successfull businessman, with just a dose of X-Change Clone. Henry does treats him like his own son, but you have a harder time. You almost resent him, not for getting your life, but for the time he takes from you and Henry. Even if he knows, you can't exactly live out your desired dynamic in front of him. For one, it would feel extremely weird for you to go around naked in front of him. It's only a few more months, though, until he's off to college. He's already been accepted into a prestigious university. When he leaves, you expect that wearing clothes inside will be a thing of the past, at least until the child growing inside you grows old enough that you'll need to hide it from him or her as well.

Speaking of which, you hear David leaving. "Bye, Julie," he shouts. He's off on a road trip for the weekend, with his girlfriend and his new friends. The new David is certainly a more popular man than you had ever been.

As you hear him speeding away, you go to the bedroom, passing a pile of papers. Documents proving that you exist. Birth certificate, old photos, school records. All forged, of course, but very well-made. Noone will question that you are Julie MacMillan, 22, with a mediocre liberal arts degree from a mediocre college. Everything about your constructed past is bland, really. You start to undress, folding each item before putting them down, at last inserting a remote-controlled vaginal egg inside of yourself. Naked but for a collar locked around your neck, you stand in front of the mirror, admiring your hot body. Soon, it'll be ruined, stretched by the child you're carrying. But for now, you'll enjoy it. And anyway, there's treatments for all of that.

As you walk back downstairs and kneel down at the main door, you instruct your house security system to take a photo of you and send it to Henry. "Caption it 'I'm waiting for you, Sir.' " Moments later, the egg inside you start to hum, confirming that your man has gotten the message. Soon, he'll be home, and you'll have the entire weekend all for yourself.