Heir, Part 3 - Female Version

$7/Bronze Directory
$12/Silver Directory
$22/Gold Directory

Story Schedule

Summary: Ivy is the last in line to the throne, and the only way to pass down her family’s magic is by producing an heir. Though she suffers from infertility, Ivy enlists several witch doctors and warlocks, but is still unable to sustain a pregnancy. As she goes on without an heir, domestic unrest grows, and the country is brought to the brink of a civil war. Ivy’s uncle enlists a unique warlock who utilizes both science and magic in his procedures, and Ivy soon finds herself more fertile than she had hoped or wanted. Contains: Female: pregnancy, breast expansion, and more.

This story is a work of fiction. As specified throughout the story, all characters featured in this work are 18 years of age or older.

Previous Chapter

-

“So it’s true?” said Al breathily.

He was sprawled in the bed, recovering from recent vigorous activities and Ivy’s abundant need to be filled daily, but preferably several times a day. Ivy couldn’t believe how horny her condition was making her.

Ivy was sitting up beside him, sheets piled around her hips, but even with her back turned to Al, there was no hiding the rounded curve of her abdomen. Al had felt it too. Ivy rubbed her face with her hand. “Don’t worry yourself with such things,” she murmured. She grimaced at the sensation of fluid rolling down the underside of each of her breasts. She was leaking again.

“But I think it warrants my attention,” said Al.

“Disgusting, isn’t it?”

Al sat upright. Ivy didn’t look, but she could feel his movements. He moved closer, behind her, Ivy shivering as Al’s chest pressed to her back. His hands rested on Ivy’s waist and steadily shifted forward, encircling her, resting on her belly. His thumbs lazily stroked circles against the bloated flesh. He gave a thoughtful hum but he did not remark. He knew better than to comment.

Al’s hands began to move again, sliding upwards, cupping the small B-cups that sat pert on Ivy’s chest, again rubbing, exploring the moisture there. Her breath shuddered through her throat. She could feel Al peeking over her shoulder, scrutinizing her in silence.

Al dropped his lips on her shoulder, and she wasn’t opposed to another round. The kisses moved up her throat, and down again, her flesh tingling, groin aching with need. Then Al was leaning over her to plant kisses against the plump flesh of her chest. As his lips found a nipple, Ivy released a gasp.

She didn’t stop him. This was new. She was…curious. She had yet to explore these new sensations, in fact, repelled by them. But something stopped her from intervening as Al pressed flush to her right nipple and took a suck.

She groaned, her hand instinctively shooting up to grip at Al’s hair.

The two spent the whole weekend in Ivy’s quarters.

-

By Monday morning, Ivy was having certain, uncomfortable, issues.

For one, the small new breasts on her chest were up a whole cup size. They were terribly bloated and hot, full of – full of fluid, despite being drained consistently, and…enthusiastically, several times the previous day and the day prior to that as well.

Ivy could not decide which of her developments was the most embarrassing, but she put in an order for a new wardrobe to hopefully negate the visible weight gain in her chest, arse, and stomach. She needed clothing that was larger and looser, because the attire that she had at present wasn’t cutting it. Everything had gotten tight on her, and she despised the sensation of having to squeeze into her own clothing. She hated how easily anyone might see her changes. Ordinarily the Royal seamstress would handle this sort of thing, ensuring that any expecting monarch was suitably clothed with dignity. But of course, these pieces were ostentatious. Tenuous as things were, Ivy had made no official announcement of being pregnant. Why would she, when it was likely that she would miscarry? Secondly, changes had popped up out of nowhere, and in the span of days sometimes. She swore, some days she awoke in bed to find her belly a little broader than it had been the day before. But she was carrying five, so it was to be…expected? She honestly wasn’t sure and didn’t like to think much on that.

Any which way, she was in a shameful state indeed. No princess should be outgrowing their dresses, nearly bursting their buttons. She looked like a glutton.

Ivy was just grateful that the service at the palace was always prompt and meticulous. Not a full day later, she had a whole new arrangement of clothing draped in her closets. They were made of the finest materials, some practically gliding against her fingers. For the first time in a while, Ivy felt quite pleased.

Of course the dopamine helped. One couldn’t avoid the chemical inebriation of a whole weekend spent on their back.

Ivy tried on one of her new pairs of pants, but the fit wasn’t what she had expected. Instead of being loose, it fit her form, but the waistband was more flexible and snug, curving into her comfortably rather than cutting into her new swell of flesh.

Well, it was just the pants. No bother. This time Ivy selected a long tunic, pulling it over her head.

It didn’t fall loosely over her, as she hadn’t anticipated it would. Instead she had to pull it down. This fit was wrong as well. Though it was more comfortable than her old clothing, it was not styled to disguise or even soften the curve of her stomach. Instead, it seemed stitched almost specifically to emphasize the jut of her abdomen. As Ivy examined herself in her mirror, she was affronted to find that she looked even bigger than before, the material fitted specifically to her body, snug and drawing focus to her belly.

Ivy immediately summoned the seamstress. She didn’t even have something looser she could change into, so had to endure the woman staring at her midsection with wide, bulging eyes.

“What is the meaning of this?” Ivy brandished some of the new dresses and tunics that had been placed in her closets, replacing her old clothes. “This is not what I requested. These pieces are absolutely ridiculous!”

The seamstress bowed lowly, then just got on her knees and hunched her head, as though she could not bear this reprimand. Her work was usually impeccable. “Princess, I do not understand. I received the requests directly from Sir Derrin—”

“What?” said Ivy. “My uncle sent an order?”

The seamstress nodded.

“And you did not receive mine?”

“I’m sorry, your Majesty, I did not,” said the seamstress mournfully.

Ivy almost stormed off to confront Derrin, but then remembered herself; her appearance. She couldn’t walk around the palace like this, her condition so blatant. The dopamine had almost entirely drained by then, replaced by irritation. “You may leave,” she said as calmly as she could. “Tell the guards to summon my uncle. I would like an audience with him immediately.”

“Yes, princess.” The seamstress stood. “You would like to have him summoned…here? In your personal quarters?”

“Yes,” said Ivy. Desperate times and all that. She found herself bizarrely bound to her bedroom, unable to leave for shame. It was completely outrageous and it was Derrin’s doing. “And seamstress, I would appreciate if you do not speak what you saw here today. What’s…going on with me, I mean.”

The seamstress’s eyes compulsively shot down to Ivy’s stomach, but instantly moved up again to meet Ivy’s eyes. “I assure you, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

-

Perhaps Ivy was being ridiculous. It wasn’t as though everyone did not already know.… Still, she wasn’t trying to flaunt her desperation. These sciences were unnatural, and she resented the fact that she had to resort to it.

“I was summoned?” said Derrin with a curious look as he strode into the chamber. His eyes discreetly traveled along Ivy’s form.

“What is the meaning of this?” Ivy demanded, motioning vaguely to her body. Her cheeks were hot as she knew the apparel revealed every curve of her recent growth to her uncle.

“Princess?” Derrin appeared politely confused.

“Since when do you have authority over my wardrobe?” Ivy elaborated. “You intercepted my own personal requests and put in an order for such fitted clothing. You would have me traipsing around like some pig?”

“Ivy, you’re not a pig. You are pregnant. You should be proud.”

“I see no need to be anything but fatigued. You overstepped.”

Derrin sighed. “You saw how they reacted when you stepped out in the rain. They're on the brink of a coup. We must restore faith in the kingdom.”

It was an unexpected turn in the conversation and Ivy did not know what to say.

“And if that means we must show off the, erm…forthcoming heirs, then we must. I’m just glad you’re showing so early.

“Ivy, I know you would prefer that this detail be kept hidden away and forgotten, but the kingdom is under incredible strain. I don’t think you have that luxury. Just be grateful we’ve survived this far.”

He had left her speechless. Derrin turned and walked off, cape billowing behind him. Ivy slowly sat down at her desk and stared off, a frown pulling at her lips.

-

Part of why the monarchy was so important was because the kingdom largely ran on its magic. Annually, the royal family would visit each major city and bless the harvest with a touch of magic. By extension, the people would be blessed, and so would their lands. It didn’t seem like much, but it had been critical to their survival up to this point, on such parched, deficient soils that couldn’t keep up with the needs of the populace on its own.

It was a few weeks later, and Ivy was wearing the thickest jacket she could find in her closet. She didn’t want to do this. It was practically torture to her. Lately, she spent most of her days hidden away in her quarters, having meals brought to her. But this ritual could not be avoided. This had to be done in person.

“Head up. Shoulders back. You are the princess, stop hunching. Arch a bit, will you?”

“Shut up,” Ivy snapped, her temper getting the better of her, as it was wont to lately. She climbed into the carriage, nearly slamming the door in Derrin’s face.

She couldn’t believe how much she was growing; how big she was getting. Accompanying this were swollen breasts, a plump backside, an insatiable appetite for food and more sordid affairs, and clothing that was far too snug for her liking.

The seamstress came by almost weekly now, constantly upgrading and adjusting things, adding inches, recording Ivy’s growth with the measure of materials. Never did the seamstress meet Ivy’s eyes.

Ivy looked blatantly pregnant. She knew, by the gasps that greeted her when she had finally exited her quarters, her guards astonished by her transformation.

And now she was to go out in public. She had spent the carriage ride to the first city sitting in the dark, her gloved hand covering her face. Her uncle was seated on the bench across from her.

“Are you ill?” Derrin asked.

Ivy ignored him.

In no time, the carriage came to a halt. Ivy could hear the horses of her guards slowing to a stop around her. She could hear the riders dismounting. It wasn’t long before her arrival was being announced outside of the carriage door.

She hesitated as long as she could; longer than was appropriate. She could hear mutterings of a crowd outside. For what felt like an hour, she lingered. The mutterings were getting louder, people getting testy and impatient.

“Ivy,” said Derrin quietly. “They are counting on you.”

Ivy fidgeted with the button of her jacket. She missed the days that she would travel all over the country, meeting the people—her subjects who loved her. Men would kiss her hand or beg for her company. Women would praise her or fret over her. Ivy would have loved to continue about her affairs and social life with a discrete little bump. But she was carrying five. Toting them around with her. She couldn’t hide that. They were meant to be marveled.

Derrin leaned over and wrapped his cape about Ivy’s shoulders, allowing the thick material to enshroud her like a cloak. Ivy trembled slightly, patting his hand. “Thank you.” She drew a deep breath. “But it’s okay.” She was only going to get larger, after all. She couldn’t hide it. So she shrugged the cape off her, standing in the process.

She exited the carriage, the bright sunlight stinging her eyes. She was hardly three months along but was certain she looked six. Her body had transformed in only a few weeks, and now she was to be shown off like a prized, fattened animal.

The crowd was expansive. Everyone in the village must have been present. The commoners were staring at her in utter shock, as though they had not believed the reports of what had transpired at the palace during the last protest on that stormy evening.

But now they could see it for themselves. Everything became utterly silent, and it took everything Ivy had not to bow her head in shame. Unconsciously, her hand slid up, cupping the evident mound under her jacket. It was so obvious. It couldn’t be anything but a pregnancy. Unless anyone thought it to be a farce. But it wasn’t. And somehow, the people knew it.

They began to cheer, to Ivy’s astonishment. They clapped and screamed, throwing their arms in the air. It went on and on, Ivy’s embarrassment swelling by the moment. But beyond that, was a strength. A comfort. Her people were pleased with her unnatural state. They were proud. Derrin threw Ivy a knowing look.

“Thank you,” Ivy managed as the applause started to subside, though she still didn’t think she had the stomach to publicly acknowledge her rather evident condition. She realized that she was still clutching her belly, and slowly lowered her arms. “For your perseverance. For your faith in me. Now let us carry on with the ritual.”

Next Chapter