Competitive XII

Note: This is a story-prompt for That-Other-Guy.

$20 Patreon Directory

Previous

-

Two days earlier, several heavily pregnant women sat in a circle around a thatched hut in the rain forest outside of Buenos Aires. Smoke rose from the smoldering coals of the fire pit. The women shifted continually in their discomfort, their positions on their mats not offering much to comfort their straining bodies. Their skin was flushed and sweaty, their plump, unblemished flesh peeking out from beneath their canvas tunics and animal skins. Each pregnancy was clearly far past term, the sheer size of each of their mounds seeming to overwhelm their throbbing bodies. Flesh heaved and rolled with harsh kicks and tumbles as their grossly overdue babies demanded exit. Breasts were flushed, swollen, and almost painfully perk, nipples leaking, and milk rolling down distended bellies. Hips were swollen round and twitching, as though in desperation, thighs plump and thick, struggling to support the impossibly large offspring. The women had all been desperate to birth for three months already. They were hardly able to move anymore because their babies were just so large.

The only person amongst them who was not with child was the one who all the others faced—a middle-aged woman, who was just beyond child-bearing age. Her name was Moema and she was the matriarch of the tribe. At Moema’s side sat her future successor, Taís, who was hugely pregnant with twins.

Taís' bronzed abdomen was freely exposed, round and heaving, beads of sweat rolling down its face. Her belly was wider than she was, the rounded flanks of her mass bulging out at her sides. It did not fit her lap. Her legs were crossed, practically quashed beneath the mass. Beads of milk dripped persistently from Taís’s swollen nipples, squirting at times when she gave a harsh twitch. Her body rocked with her thin breathing. Her neck was arched, face pointed to the canopy of leaves and clear sky. Her eyes were wide but unseeing. She was deeply absorbed in a vision.

Taís snapped out of her vision with a jerk of her head, and turned away from the others, face twisted, almost in pain. Eyes squeezed shut, she panted, as the other women murmured worriedly. Moema spread a natural cooling balm across Taís’s shoulders, chest, and the top of her belly. She rubbed Taís’s arm, waiting for the younger woman to catch her breath.

Finally, Taís looked up and met Moema’s eyes, an uneasy look on her face. “Three boys took the scroll,” she hissed. “Foreigners.”

There were more gasps and whispers. Women held what they could of their enormous bellies as their skin warped, the impatient children becoming even more fretful. Some of the womens’ expressions were shocked. Others, hopeful, or even relieved. Taís went on:

“Ever since the boys took the scroll, they have been getting pregnant over and over again. All three. One even impregnated the other.”

One woman clasped her hands together and began to pray to their gods. Moema wore a grim look on her face.

“No one here will be able to give birth until the scroll is brought back to the village,” said Moema. The scroll had been gone all summer. Some women had already been due or overdue when the scroll had first disappeared.

“The boys are coming back,” said Taís, causing the others to lift their heads, eyes alight with new hope. “They wish to return it.”

The matriarch responded only by squeezing Taís’s arm and muttering one word: “Go.”

Taís left within the hour. She wrapped herself in a tunic that strained against her massive girth, her belly looking too big for her, in fact, leaving her unbalanced.

She waddled heavily, trying not to collapse, her belly heaving forcefully with her every step. The large amount of food and water strapped to her back helped with her balance, if only slightly. She needed an immense amount of calories and hydration to fuel the continued growth of her children.

Taís struggled arduously towards the bus stop outside of the forest. It was going to be a long day.

Next