Her sisters house

The recap was more cathartic than you expected, and you find yourself heaving softly as you recount the tale. The anger fades quickly, much to your surprise. It's not that you aren't still angry, but it gives way to a sense of helplessness, and confusion, and fear. Despite your best efforts, the emotions begin to wet your eyes, and put a tremble in your voice. You growl repeatedly during the telling, insisting you're just mad. Miranda remains stoic, and seems unperturbed by your brimming emotions. With a stammer, you conspicuously omit your rendezvous with Liam.

You stare out the window, feeling a strange apprehension at how Miranda will react. The wind is annoying to say the least, throwing every stray wisp of hair into your eyes and nose.

"So..." You being. You trail off, expecting Miranda to speak. She remains silent, so you continue. "What are we going to do? You know something I don..."

"My sisters house."

"Huh? What about your sisters house?"

"She's pregnant. We'll borrow some of her clothes."

"Ok. Clothes are great." You stammer, shifting in your seat. "But that's not exactly priority one here."

"No. It's step one. Get you clothes, and a shower."

"Fine, whatever, that's great. Can you tell me what's going on now?"

"All you need to know is that Zoe, being Zoe, got herself mixed up in something really big. And she got me mixed up in it too. The fake Zoe promised she would change me back, and let Zoe go once she got her little gun back. Very Apparently." She gestures to you. "She lied." Miranda sighs. "So, all we can do is go after her." She cuts a gaze at you out of the corner of her eyes. "Unless you want to give birth in some secret government detention center."

Your mouth goes dry, and your throat seizes up. You'd been so preoccupied with the inconvenience of being pregnant, you'd not taken the time to consider the repercussions of your new body. Giving birth? That seemed impossible. Inconceivable. Absurd... And yet the proof was bulging from your middle. The fear pushes all other concerns and questions from your mind.

with a hoarse whisper you state. "So, I guess we're on a bit of a time limit."

"Yup." She states.

The house the two of you pull up to was small, but cute. A lush front garden, tended to with emasculate precision and care, bordered by a slate rock retaining wall. The paint on the walls of the house was pale blue and trimmed with crisp white. The front door opened to reveal a shabby chic design inside.

"Sheesh." You murmur. "How can your sister afford all this?"

"She's a pretty hard worker, but Daddy helps out with a few things too." Miranda responds.

You roll your eyes at the realization. Miranda, and her sister, evidently came from money. That probably explained her trendy car as well, considering she was a full time student and unemployed. At least as far as you could recall.

"The shower's that way." Miranda gestures down a hall. "I'll get you some clothes, and pack some luggage."

"What about you?"

"I never trusted that bitch anyway. I'm already packed."

You roll the thought around your mind, then with a sigh make your way to the shower, eager to wash up, no matter how awkward the experience, and even more eager to release your aching bladder.

Jeans hugging your hips tightly, and ass on the porcelain throne, you finally relieve yourself. Barely anything comes out, before you're all dry. "W-what!?" You huff, strain, and try to **** a bit more out, but not even a drop more escapes. You sigh, and lean forward, head in hands. "I hate being pregnant."

As you set in silence, a tight knot slowly wraps itself around your lower abdomen. It grows slowly, almost imperceptibly slow. At first you think it's just the awkward position you're resting in, but as the seconds continue to pass, it becomes more and more noticeable. You wince, and put your hand to your belly, but it doesn't hurt, not exactly. It's more like a cramp, or muscle spasm.

Contraction

The thought comes to you suddenly, and in a panic, you stagger to your feet, pull up your pants as best as you can, and run to find Miranda.

You throw open one door, only to find an empty office, a second door reveals a guest room, and the last door reveals... Your jaw drops.

Miranda is propped up in a king size bed. Her eyes are closed, but you can see her eyelids fluttering in rapture. Even more shocking is why. Her delicate, feminine hands are wrapped around the fattest longest cock you've ever seen, coming right from her crotch. For a second your mind insists that it's just a dildo, it doesn't even look like it fits her body. Her skin is perfectly tanned, with a fine bikini line of porcelain pale skin, but her cock is massive, brown, ugly, and bent in the middle angling off to one side. It's splotched with either black freckles, or something worse, and her foreskin is long and droopy. Her balls sit in a over-sized, wrinkly, hairy sack of flesh. And her muff, in contrast to her lovely blonde locks, is a brier bush of black, kinked, and tangled hair.

Despite yourself, your heartbeat quickens. You must look like a drooling idiot standing there in the door frame.

Her eyes peel open with a sigh, as her hand slathers the beastly member with her precum. Then, she spies you, and immediately her eyes stretch wider than the moon. A heartbeat passes before she pulls a pillow over her shaft to hide it from view, and cries out in wordless fury. Finally she manages to scream a the words. "GET OUT!"