Bloodline

Note: This is a story-prompt for Ani.

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"For the 10th time, I'm not interested!" cried Denise, before she slammed her phone onto the table.

Asher did his best to maintain an impassive expression as he sipped his  tea. He always found his sisters shenanigans to be amusing.

Asher descended from a bloodline of famously fertile women. His eight  sisters were constantly being pursued by men who wanted large families.  Asher was actually the first male to be born in his family for at least  five generations. He was a black sheep amongst a horde of girls, but  over the years, he had learned to navigate the abundance of estrogen.

"So what are you ladies up to tonight?" Asher asked conversationally.

"Staying in," said Denise.

"Staying in," Clara echoed.

"Hmph. Staying in." Myrna patted her pregnant belly. Twins, apparently.

"I'm off to play some board games at that little café on Keynes,” said Asher's bubbly sister, Sarah.

"Sarah!" Myra chastised. "You can't! What if, what if you —" the whole lot of them started to squabble.

Asher just smiled. He was hitting the club. Though he was slim and  short, he was quite attractive, or so he had been assured a time or two.  There was seldom a weekend that Asher didn't have a date or go out  partying. He enjoyed all manner of company, though he tried not to  flaunt the benefits of being born a male in such a feminine and fertile  family. Well, he had in the past. Sometimes his sisters got on his  nerves, understandably.

–

“Eugh,” Asher moaned into his pillow after a weekend spent bent down for  a guy named Brad or Rich or something. God, it had been amazing. Asher  hoped he had at least gotten the bloke’s number.

It took a while for him to peel himself away from his sheets. He got  washed and dressed, and went down to the kitchen, where four of his  sisters were at the table undoubtedly gossiping as they threw him their  usual disapproving looks.

"’Morning, sisters," Asher greeted, as he made his usual Moroccan mint tea.

"It's noon," Penelope informed.

Asher ignored her. "Anyone got pregnant?" He muttered sarcastically  under his breath as he poured out his drink, but one sniff made him  rigid. Eyes widening, he covered his mouth and ran into the loo.

–

Asher was putting on weight… A lot of it. Within a couple of weeks, all  his shirts were getting quite tight on him. Last weekend he had been too  insecure about it to even go out. It was embarrassing.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Myra asked him sweetly. He swore, she looked like a whale these days.

"What?" Asher said, not looking up from the black nail polish he was applying.

"The babies."

"What?" He repeated, meeting her eyes to see her nodding towards his  rounded stomach. "Myra, I'm a man. Have you finally lost your mind?"

Myra just sighed.

–

Asher finally went back to the club, and everyone stared at him. He even  bumped into that Brad guy, who stumbled back and fell on his arse at  the sight of Asher.

The weight gain wasn't that bad, Asher didn't think. He self-consciously  tugged at his stretched out button down shirt, which only came down as  far as his navel. He had been holding off on getting new clothing. It  would be wasteful once he lost the weight, after all.

"I didn't know," Brad, or Rich, babbled. "I would have used a… Well, you  didn't tell me that you were — er — what are you exactly?" He was  sweating profusely.

What was this numbskull prattling about? "If you'll excuse me, I'm going  to dance." Asher unsteadily made his way to the dance floor, people  hurriedly clearing the way.

–

A view months later, Asher was huge. Just massive. Bigger than Myra had been when she had dropped a few weeks earlier.

But he didn't think it was that big of a deal. A little weight. He did his best not to think about it, to be honest.

He was red and flushed, straining as he staggered towards the kitchen,  his massive midsection preceding him through the door, protruding so far  out he could no longer encircle it with his arms. He didn't come close,  actually.

Clara hurried to his aid, but he brushed her off while managing not to  teeter over. His shirt had been rendered a belly shirt, not even  beginning to pull over the sharp jet of his belly. It hugged against his  chest, where the flesh had softened and rounded, to become perky  breasts if he was being honest with himself.

Asher grunted out as he slowly eased himself down on a kitchen chair,  before he gasped for breath, legs spread to make more room for his gut.  He watched his huge belly heaved up and down, his belly button sticking  out prominently.

"How are you feeling today, Asher?" Penelope asked him delicately.

"All right. A bit if, um, indigestion." He bit his lip, cheeks flushing worse. "I reckon if I grow another inch, I'm gonna pop."

"At least six, I suspect," Sarah murmured not-quietly-enough to Maude.  "Haven't seen anyone this bred since those old pictures of mum when she  was with us."

Asher's face contorted as his belly trembled. He arched and gasped out.  "Do you think…we should arrange for a doctor?" He managed.

"For what, darling?" Denise stroked his hair.

"For…for my babies."

"Oh Asher." His sisters gathered around and hugged him the best they could.