Asexual Reproduction, Part 7

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Summary: Following her eighteenth birthday, Cona begins her inauguration as queen, and starts to undergo daily pregnancies, giving birth to an egg at midnight every night. This will go on for 1 year until the village is populated with a new generation of children. But when an oddity occurs, and two other princesses are discovered, Cona begins to explore her options… Contains: Belly expansion, breast expansion, butt expansion, pregnancy, egg laying, and more.

Cona

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Cona kept her head down.

Dressed in an oversized cloak, she sat on the ground in a corner of the ferry, ignoring as people chattered, laughed, and drank around her.

The boat made two trips daily around the dozen islands surrounding the mainland. Cona had just barely managed to catch the dawn departure from the castle docks.

She remained hunched over her small, growing mound. She would grow continuously throughout the day until midnight, just as she had with the last egg. Hooded by her cloak, and newly thin from her recent birth, she remained undetected, at least for the time being. Cona knew that word of her disappearance would spread to the islands by midday, at the latest. Hopefully, by then, she was on the outskirts of the monarchy’s purview.

Cona could not deny the remorse she felt for leaving her newly-born egg behind. Producing the egg had not been as difficult as she had anticipated, though it had only been her first. The egg was roughly the size of a cantaloupe, and a deep red in color. With the egg, Cona had developed a newfound burden. She was a mother now. This fact left her with an unsettling amount of vulnerability when her heart still yearned for freedom from it all.

And the knowledge that she would birth again and again, every day, for the whole of a year, just added fuel to Cona’s obstinacy. She could not handle the emotional responsibility of 365 children. Two eggs were already too much for her.

Cona reached into her cloak, absently cradling the small mound where her second egg was growing. She had to reach the good witch before it was born. It was the only way to ensure that she would not carry a third.

When the boat finally reached its third stop, the island of Candur, a delay at the dock caused Cona’s anxiety to surge. The ferry would not allow the passengers to disembark because of routine traffic at the local docks, but Cona could not help worrying that it was related to her somehow. She kept her body curled over her mound, which was now a sizable bump on her torso, it being past noon by then.

It ached and grumbled. She had eaten a few snacks she had packed in throughout the morning, but it clearly wasn’t sufficient, if judging by the way her stomach gurgled in protest. She knew that malnourishment was dangerous, especially for a princess with child. But Cona had no choice but to push forward, while promising herself that she would eat properly the first chance she had.

The ferry finally began to disembark. Cona stood with care, but she was already beginning to feel unbalanced. She curled her back and awkwardly folded her arms over her waist, conscious of two soldiers standing at the exits, eying each passenger in turn. Cona moved unhurriedly, but made sure not to meet their eyes.

Cona navigated her way through the crowd, hardly feeling discreet in her black, bulky clothes. Her added girth worsened things. Pregnancy was unique, as only the princess had the ability to carry children. If anyone paid close enough attention to her, they would be able to figure out who she was.

Cona made it to the main road and quickly hired a carriage. She ducked inside, allowing herself to slump down on the bench and arch her sore back, but not daring to remove the heavy cloak.

She cradled her stomach as the carriage bumped along the stone roads. The good witch was illustrious enough on the small island that her driver knew exactly where to take her.

Cona rubbed her palms against the tight skin of her fitful stomach. Her skin was tautly stretched, lacking the resistance and softness she had known in her pregnancy the day before. Cona wondered if this was because she had not eating enough, but she tried not to think too much about it. She released a soft grunt and shifted her hips, trying to find a more comfortable position, the egg feeling awkwardly solid where it was perched above her hips. She was a little past half way thought the pregnancy, on track for a midnight birth, as would be expected.

Cona didn’t know how much time had passed before she was jerked awake when the carriage stopped. She had dozed off at some point when the ground became softer with dirt and vegetation, no longer jarring her into clenching her jaw and clutching her gut.

She paid the driver double the fee in hopes of purchasing his discretion as well. The sun was beginning to set. Cona surveyed the quaint cabin before her, and trailed towards it as she heard the carriage speed off in her wake.

Her skin was hot and flushed, her belly tight and throbbing, with the vaguest hints of pain to add to her growing discomfort. Her stretched skin prickled as its burden gradually increased. Cona drew a deep breath, winced, and knocked firmly on the thick oak door. She was so tired and hungry, she swayed a bit.

It wasn’t long before the cabin door creaked open, revealing a thin, elderly woman with a mane of wild gray hair, and blue eyes so bright they were almost electric in their intensity. The woman looked at Cona in question, before her eyes darted, almost immediately, down to Cona’s stomach. Cona wondered if it was so obvious by then. Commoners typically did not accumulate weight around their midsections, and even so, hers was too plain, too pronounced, much as she tried to keep it hidden.

“Princess,” the woman hissed, stepping back in shock.

“Good witch,” Cona managed, placing one of her feet through the threshold, almost in fear that she would be turned away.

The old woman’s lips thinned, her eyes wide and wary. “Tema,” she stated.

“Tema,” Cona repeated. “I—I’ve heard of you. The witch of Candur. You have the gift of magic and you can do wondrous things.”

Tema’s frown deepened. “I do not do spells for hire, princess. Though I have the gift of magic, I use it sparingly.” Her eyes darted over Cona’s shoulder, as though she expected the royal guard to jump out from the surrounding forestry. “I wish you several hundred healthy pregnancies, though if you expect magic to solidify the oath—”

“No—I—that’s not what I want,” said Cona, stepping all the way into the cabin. She grimaced and clutched the side of her belly, feeling it tighten in subtle waves that made her skin almost burn. “The opposite, actually. I don’t want to be pregnant for the rest of the year.”

“Blasphemy,” said Tema, looking at Cona as though she was insane. “You are the princess. You are the only hope for our race’s surviva—”

“Actually, I’m not. There’s a second. Another—princess. You don’t have to believe me,” she added quickly, at Tema’s dubious look. “But my pregnancies are only going to burden the economy. Our people hardly have the supplies to support 365 children, let alone 730. People will be without homes. They might even starve.” It was pure speculation, but Cona had to believe that what she was doing wasn’t wrong, and wasn’t a detriment to her people. “Susana is a better princess than I’ll ever been. She’s complacent, and—and content. Please help me; please Tema.” Cona gripped the doorframe, breathing heavily.

Tema appraised her for a while, before turning away, and motioning for Cona to follow. The living room was dusty, the floors a faded wood, furnishings, old and shabby. Cona eased herself down on a straw sofa, trying to keep her torso relaxed despite how tense it felt. “Can I trouble you for a glass of water?” she breathed.

Tema walked to a bucket in the corner of the room. She dipped a chipped mug into it and withdrew a cup of liquid. When she offered it to Cona, Cona determined that it must have been lake water, based on the murkiness. She drank it hurriedly, gasping when she finished. After she handed the mug back to Tema, Cona coughed a few times and pushed her cloak off her shoulders, finding that her clothing was moist with sweat, her belly stretching against her tunic.

“Princess, you were born for this duty,” said Tema, peering at Cona pityingly. “To halt your pregnancies would be contradictive to your very nature. It could even backfire. Magic rebels when—”

“Please.” Cona gripped the harsh fabric of Tema’s plain dress. “I will pay you generously. I know there’s a risk, I just—I wasn’t meant for this. Truly.” She gave Tema an imploring look.

Tema released a long sigh. She bowed her head in capitulation. “Very well.”

“I have faith in magic,” said Cona, clutching her belly despite herself. The sun had completely set by then, and there would be no way of hiding her condition, even when she was back under the cloak.

Tema gave a slight shake of her head, before closing her eyes, and raising her arms. She murmured something under her breath, and Cona shuddered. She squeezed her eyes shut as she felt the warmth of magic descend on her body. Magic was a rare gift, and exclusive to the elderly. Cona had felt it before, just once, as a child, when she had been blessed with perseverance by a village elder. She gasped now as Tema’s magic ran down her throat and tingled down her limbs. It reached her stomach, twisting pleasantly, the egg throbbing with heat, before…changing somehow. Growing lighter, then heavier, making her belly swell slightly, then soften, and leaving it lurching.

Cona held her head, suddenly dizzy. “I think I’m going to…” She quickly leaned down and vomited on the cushion beside her.

There was a pounding on the front door. Cona breathed heavily, trying to focus. That had to be the authorities. Someone must have tipped them off. She felt the warmth of the magic retract from her body. “No, please, f-finish the spell,” she stammered.

“It…is finished, princess,” said Tema, her words brittle.

Cona swallowed and looked down at herself. “But I…I’m…” Her belly was clearly larger, and there was nothing to indicate that this would be her last pregnancy. She felt largely the same, if not just…slightly more awkward, physically. Her face contorted as she felt as weird flutter in her stomach near the surface, almost taunting her still-flushed and tender skin. Cona slid her hand to her abdomen, cupping the sensation, where she felt an unpleasant lurch, and her skin seemed to…shift, and push against her fingers. “What?” she whispered to herself, pulling up the tightly-stretched tunic to gaze at her mass. She flinched, horrified by the sight of her skin pushing outwards near her navel, as though something animated was nudging at it from within. Cona jerked down the tunic, but her skin continued to twitch, a lurching, prodding, horrifying sensation that unnerved her to no end. “What is this!?”

Cona groaned as her nipples stung, flesh tingling and warm. The skin beneath her breasts began to prickle and ache. There was something wrong. She felt as though she might be sick again. Tema stood frozen, looking terrified. Cona cried out, and arched to the bizarre sensations and growing discomfort. Just before she could demand that Tema fix her properly, the door burst open, and guards flooded the cabin.