Island

Note: This is a story-prompt for Daniel Craft.

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“Nrrgghhh…godddd…Johnn…” Chloe groaned.

Though they had not kept track of how long they had been stuck on the deserted island, John estimated it had been months. Nine, maybe more, maybe less. Chloe’s body was his only indication. It served as a timer, of sorts.

That felt far too long. But then, how could it not have been nine months? Chloe was fucking huge. Just, immense. He hurried over to her, where she was slumped at the base of a palm tree, thighs spread and fluid dampening the ragged skirt she had on. John crouched down beside her, taking her hand, trying to comfort, but internally he was panicking.

It had all happened so fast. They had been stranded, just the two of them, struggling with fear and grief, as they awaited rescue. But rescue never came. As weeks turned to months, their hopes of being found dwindled, but in its place was the desperate need for comfort. They found solace in each other’s bodies. It wasn’t long before Chloe was putting on weight.

At present, she released a long whine, her face twisted in pain. Every time he saw her belly he couldn’t help marveling at it. She had been a skinny girl, but somehow she had transformed.

“Goddddd…ngghhhhhh…” she groaned as she clutched her massive midsection. It was gigantic. Surely this couldn’t be normal. Or maybe she was carrying multiples, though both had noted that it didn’t run in their families. Even from the start, she’d had a good belly, practically just days after their first coupling. Admittedly, it had been daunting. Both had thought she was sick or something.

Now she was just tremendous, looking like she had a beach ball attached to her torso! Surely it couldn’t just be one, or even two or three. She was just huge—like she had some strange medical anomaly. But with the advent of movement, it had become clear, early on, that Chloe was pregnant. What else could patter gently at her flesh from the inside, so to cause little bulges and indentations? A child kicking. That had been obvious, at least.

Chloe slopped, the orbit of her belly practically crushing against her. Another odd thing was that John, himself, was famished. But somehow, to accompany the belly, Chloe had developed a plump fullness to her hips, thighs, and backside. And her breasts had grown to several times their original size, plump and round, and now leaking. Even at present, she was dribbling milk all over herself. She had become the paragon of fertility. But nothing in their diet seemed to facilitate such an abundant pregnancy. They lived almost entirely off of coconuts and the occasional bugs. John had never found any success in hunting. He just wasn’t all that manly. Contrary to what Chloe’s condition would make one think.

“Aggghhhhh!” She was spreading those thick, quavering thighs, her face red and sweaty. “Guhhhhh, noooo…I c-can’t…I…nrggghhhh…” She was terrified. Who wouldn’t be in this scenario? John was so anxious he felt dizzy. He watched Chloe’s belly give forceful heaves, pushing itself out from her ill-fitting top, peeling the aged cloth away. He could see bulges rising to the surface and sinking away again, feet, hands, and elbows, prodding at the packed mound that housed them.

“Nrggghhhh!” She sat partially forward, her nipples squirting, her hands clutching what she could reach of her belly. Whatever was inside of her couldn’t possibly make its way out…could it? John was truly worried. He was in no way qualified for dealing with whatever the hell was going on.

“I’m so sorry,” he babbled helplessly as she moaned and panted. “Tell me what I can do?”

She was bearing down, eyes squeezed shut, face twisted as she tried to sob and whine simultaneously. Her chest was bouncing with her gasping breaths. The huge mound seemed as though it was inching lower. John wished it would stop. This was dangerous. It wasn’t a good idea at all. Birthing babies? On a deserted island? One of his trembling hands found her flank, resting against the fitful curve, reflecting on the fact that her belly had outgrown the rest of her. It was too big for her. Wider than every other part of her body. She could hardly support it anymore, most days spent plopped in the sand, or her clutching at a tree for balance.

“It’s coming,” she moaned, tears pouring down her cheeks. Her belly gave another visible throb that made her scream, throat arching. “Oh god, it’s huge. Oh fuck, it’s huge, it’s too big…” she babbled.

Charles crawled to her thighs, having to lean down to get a view. He placed a hand against the underside of her belly, keeping it high enough for him to see. And she was right. Something was crowning, and it was big. He gulped. “Fuck, you’re right. Maybe don’t push,” he stammered.

She wailed, and the head shifted a notch forward as her belly absolutely quaked.

“I mean—you’ve got this,” he managed. “We’ve got this. Push, you can do this. Push!”

She did, and the first of many lives came to being.