Imp, Part 5

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Summary: A beleagered and underpaid clerk by day, Lyla is doing the thankless work of at least three people at her job. By night she is an aspiring witch. Well, kind of. She's only ever read about spells and rituals until now, as she decides to summon and bind an imp to her service to help with her staggering workload. At first the summoning ritual seems to yield nothing...until, that is, her belly swells and she unexpectedly births her newly indentured demonic servant from the portal now rooted within her womb. Contains: demonic pregnancies, birth, eventual multiples, lactation, magical shenanigans. Idea by Chel.

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.

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As Lyla returned to her desk, she felt a powerful surge of hunger. Conveniently enough, this discomfort was almost immediately followed by a waft of the sweet, buttery aroma of the fresh cakes the imps had packed in her briefcase.

Feeling rather sheepish, Lyla laid the briefcase across her desk and opened it. She lifted the first block of cake, which was about the size of a brick, and felt surprisingly heavy in her hand. Lyla shrugged, before she carefully peeled back the foil, leaned forward, and took a large bite.

It was dense, moist, and greasy. The interior gushed sweet, creamy icing. It was blatantly rich and caloric, and Lyla would have despised such an indulgence in the past, even deeming it to be disgusting.

But those were not her thoughts now. Surprisingly, Lyla found the heavy pastry to be utterly delicious. She unconsciously hummed as she took another bite, filling her mouth. She suddenly felt ravenous.

In no time, she was working on her second huge block of cake, only vaguely registering how fattening the pastries must have been. On the occasions that a coworker passed by, Lyla was quick to lower the hood of her briefcase as she smiled peaceably at the passerby, pretending that her cheeks weren’t bulging with pastry. And once the coworker moved along, Lyla would dive back into eating.

After she had scarfed down three blocks of cake, she was visibly stuffed, yet somehow still considering unwrapping a fourth block. It was a compulsion. It just felt good to eat. If fulfilled her body in some unidentifiable way. It served some intrinsic need to stuff herself beyond necessity.

She licked icing off her fingers if just to give herself pause. But soon she was peeling back the foil on a fourth cake with trembling fingers. She took a large bite, letting the pervasive flavor saturate her senses. She moaned after she forced it down, gulping it into her already over-packed belly that was straining from the ordeal. Yet Lyla kept going — biting, chewing, and swallowing like clockwork. Forcing more cake into her aching body. She finished the fourth block, and even a fifth one, before she was feeling so sick and woozy, she simply could not go on.

Lyla breathed deeply, fighting back waves of nausea, all while still inexplicably considering how delicious the cakes were.

She shrugged off her blazer and clumsily shut her briefcase. That, at least, cut off the aroma of the remaining cakes from fueling her desire to eat even more.

As Lyla blinked around at the books, papers, and folders littering her desk, she realized the concerning absence of a particular item. She shuffled things around a bit, but the item did not emerge from beneath any piles. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath. She must have left her satchel down in the basement.

Lyla stood, perhaps before she was quite ready. There was a fleeting stitch of pain in her stomach that made her wince. There was also an unexpected heaviness on her chest. Lyla looked down in surprise as her breasts wobbled. “Whoa,” she breathed, gaping down at the DDs on her chest. Lyla’s face contorted from the strain of her blouse pinching farther into her plump, tender flesh. She tugged awkwardly on the constricted material, but there was no relief to be found.

She inhaled deeply, her lungs compressed. She felt a tingling sensation run through both her breasts, and suddenly the blouse was yet tighter as more of her cleavage heaved over the buttons straining to contain her.

Droplets of sweat beaded on her temples, her chest heaving with her heavy breathing. She could certainly see why people would assume that she had gotten a boob job. She gripped the back of her chair, her knees weak.

Someone walked over. “Lyla, did you finish the report on the…” Reese trailed off to gawk at her.

Lyla’s cheeks heated up, her nipples starting to sting. This was followed by the dreaded sensation of wetness. “B-bathroom,” she stammered, before she hurried off towards the lavatory, her head bowed as she cradled her breasts with her hands.

Once inside, Lyla approached the mirror and gripped the sink, panting.

She hurriedly unbuttoned her blouse then found herself peeling it away. She wrinkled her nose as she encountered an abundance of sweat and also milky purple fluid that was leaking in droplets from her nipples.

Lyla raised her gaze to her reflection in the mirror, her lips parting at how truly plump her breasts were getting. They were practically bursting out of her bra, the cups no longer having any hope of containing them. Lyla hurriedly unlatched the torturous contraption, allowing the bra to drop.

Even without the support of a bra, her breasts were round and full, not sagging. They were absurdly fat, and hardly looked natural. And still, they were dripping.

They tingled more. Lyla’s fingers twitched to rub and explore; to soothe the discomfort while deriving more of that secret pleasure she had gotten a mere taste of earlier.

They were so hot. Her chest felt like a furnace, beads of perspiration emerging on her sleek skin.

Lyla’s cheeks were flushed as she tried to breathe through the combined discomfort and arousal. Once she had managed to gather her bearings, she grabbed up a wad of tissues and started to gingerly dab at the fluid trailing along the undersides of her breasts.

“Eugh.” She was truly lactating. Something milky, but sticky, with a lavender hue. Undoubtedly, this was some weird side effect of the spell. Lyla just hoped that it didn’t go on for much longer.

Her nipples finally stopped seeping. Lyla hardly moved for several moments; she hardly breathed. When no more droplets emerged from her body, she puffed out a sigh of relief. With careful movements, she finished cleaning herself up, before throwing the damp tissues in the trash and fanning her chest with her hand to dry off any lingering wetness.

Lyla had just lifted her blouse from the floor, and was studying it with doubt, when she felt another wave of warmth and arousal wash over her upper body. Her lips parted and her eyelids fluttered as the blouse fell from her hands. “Ngghhhh…” she groaned as her breasts expanded, seeming to heave as they incrementally grew more plump, round, and full, right there in the bathroom. Her flesh shivered as it endured subtle throbs of tension, Lyla panting like a dog as she tried to bear the sensation. Her cheeks were a deep red color by the time the pressure steadily ebbed. Lyla just tried to catch her breath as she stared down at her heavy chest, which had expanded at least another cup size in just the past few minutes. As if just to spite her, her nipples started to drip again.

The stretched blouse lying on the floor seemed more inadequate than ever before. Lyla blinked a few times, trying to gather her thoughts.

To the far right of the room was a row of lockers that were sometimes used by employees during the unfortunate weeks they had to work truly grueling hours to the point that they were practically living in the office.

Lyla started towards the lockers, but froze at the pronounced wobble of her breasts. Her face warmed. They felt so…jiggly. This was certainly going to take some getting used to. Lyla slowly continued towards the lockers. Upon reaching them, she tried each one, growing more desperate with each door that she found to be locked.

But when she tried the second to last compartment, the latch actually clicked. Lyla hesitated. She wasn’t the type of person to take things that did not belong to her, but she was frankly out of options.

So she opened the locker and quickly scanned the few clothing items hanging inside. There was a blazer, a silk shirt, and a few blouses that did not look like they would come close to fitting Lyla’s newly-“enhanced” physique.

Growing more desperate, she rummaged in the locker, separating some of the articles of clothing, checking to see if there was something she had missed hiding between them.

She found a T-shirt.

Lyla raised the plain white shirt, which had the company logo written across the chest in large block lettering. It was small in size but comprised of thin, stretchy cotton.

Lyla drew a fortifying breath, then pulled the T-shirt on, the material straining tightly against her chest and barely pulling down past her navel. As her nipples tingled, Lyla quickly grabbed some tissues out of a nearby dispenser, stuffing them into her top so that they could absorb any leakage. She frowned as she ran her fingers over her flat, exposed, midriff. She thought for a moment, then grabbed the blazer out of the locker and tied it around her waist. She then walked over to the mirror and surveyed her appearance.

She looked woefully unprofessional, her attire more suited for a skate park than a legal office.

And yet it was all she had.

Lyla knew that she needed to get out of there. But not before she got her satchel back from the file room. The loss of her grimoire would definitively end Lyla’s short tenure as a witch, and she simply could not allow it.

Despite a serious inclination to just hide out in the bathroom for the remainder of the workday, Lyla forced herself to open the door. She hunched her shoulders in a feeble effort to make herself more inconspicuous.

Only a handful of employees worked on Lyla’s floor, and she was fortunate enough not to bump into any one of them as she shuffled towards the elevator, her breasts wobbling in a rather overwhelming sensation.

She breathed a sigh of relief once she was securely in the elevator, alone. She descended several levels to the depths of the basement, where Rose worked.

As the elevator stopped and the door began to slide open, Lyla started forward, but froze, her breasts bobbing as she caught sight of a janitor.

The janitor had been waiting for the elevator, but was now staring at her huge breasts, which were clearly not contained by a bra. Belatedly, he averted his gaze, coughing awkwardly. “Should you be down here, miss?”

“I work here,” Lyla assured, even though she clearly didn’t look the part, walking around the office in what was basically a crop shirt.

The janitor was dubious. “Do you have your employee ID?”

Lyla was getting irritated. “I really don’t have time for this. I just have to make a stop in the file room. I left my—” She faltered as her stomach lurched, her face twisting in discomfort. She clutched her abdomen. Clearly all those damn cakes weren’t agreeing with her.

“Why don’t I escort you out?” offered the janitor.

Lyla would have given the man a few choice words, had her belly not been positively bubbling with vigor. She gripped the edge of the elevator entrance for support.

There was a sharp jolt of a wet, squelching sensation. Simultaneously, Lyla’s belly pushed outward. She yelped as she clutched her now-bloated stomach. The blazer tied around her waist came loose from the strain, and fell to the floor.

The janitor was stunned.

“I’ll be in and out,” Lyla gasped out she practically staggered past him, blazer abandoned. The sensation of wetness against her nipples made her aware of the fact that the tissues stuffed in her top were getting soaked through. Hurriedly, she made her way to the file room.

When Lyla burst through the entrance, Rose’s head snapped up from a text she had been perusing. At seeing Lyla, her calm expression became murderous.

“You’re back.” Rose sneered.

“Is that — my grimoire?” Lyla managed, nodding to the book in Rose’s arms. Feeling dizzy, Lyla gripped onto a nearby shelf for balance.

“I figured someone’s got to make use of it,” said Rose icily as she snapped the text closed. “I could only imagine how long it’s been sitting around collecting dust. A grimoire like this deserves a witch more adequate.”

Lyla’s shirt was inadequate. She was reminded of this is her belly gurgled again, then popped out at least two inches as Lyla arched, groaning.

Rose’s jaw dropped. “What the fuck.” Her gaze was pinned to Lyla’s rounded, exposed abdomen.

Lyla weakly cupped the swell, estimating that she already looked six months pregnant. “Now do you believe me?” she forced out, pouring sweat. “Rose, I need your help.”

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