Belly Bug
I had a dream last night about some sort of program where a delicate, vaguely caterpillar-like creature is slowly introduced to the participant’s slit and then inches towards their womb by degrees, before finally curling into their new home. For whatever reason, this species could only reproduce when within a host body, and would lay a huge number of eggs in its carriers that would be gestated rapidly and soon grew up to twenty times larger from their initial stage. The result was a willing participant with a huge, happy, textured belly full of hard eggs. Of course, eventually the host would have to deliver all those thick eggs quite painfully, a process that could take up to several days. In the days following delivery, the creature would begin depositing more eggs into the newly vacated space, allowing the host no rest after their troubles.
Such symbiosis would continue for four years, until such a time as the creature passed its reproductive years and would be gently coaxed out, only for the host to gain a new, fertile replacement immediately afterwards to continue a constant cycle of egg-laying.
I have no idea where any of that came from but I really enjoyed it while it lasted.
Cindy fidgeted as the doctors fussed around her. She wasn’t used to lying prone like this, her legs spread, her slit carefully opens with forceps. It was uncomfortable. She briefly considered backing out, but no, the thought of the mountain of debts this program was going to help her pay off pushed such doubts from her mind.
The little critter that was currently crawling up into her womb was, scientifically, venter bestiola, or as it was popularly know, the Belly Bug. Discovered deep within the jungle a decade previously, the creature produced a host of beneficial compounds and molecules that had biologists and pharmacologists drooling at the mouth to produce at an industrial scale. The only problem was its life cycle: it could only reproduce inside the womb of an otherwise fertile female human – a symbiote with incredible health implications.
The first deliberate implantation programs had begun about five years ago, and Cindy had seen some of her former classmates undergoing the program. Their waistlines would fluctuate wildly, from trim and fit at the start of a month to vastly rotund two months later, then a few days away from campus and then back to their initial size. She’d scoffed at the time, amazed that anyone could put up with such an invasion of their bodies for so long.
“All done,” one of the techs said near her head. Cindy felt the restraints loosen near her ankles. “She’s in place. We’ll schedule a follow-up to make sure everything’s okay in about a week, but otherwise we’re done for now.” She looked down at her body, now host to a strange alien creature. Was it her imagination, or was she already starting to show?
The doctor must have followed her gaze, or was perhaps used to her patients having this reaction. “There’s no visible change yet. You’ll only start to notice some swelling once the first clutch is laid in about a week. Don’t worry.”
Embarrassed at her predictability, Cindy slid off the table and adjusted her hospital gown.
By coincidence, the first check from the program cleared the same day that her passenger laid its first clutch. Cindy’s eyes rested on the much larger figure in her checking account as her hand stroked the potbelly she’d developed overnight. It was hard and firm, not at all like what she’s imagined. She associated bellies with fat, indulgence, softness, but this was different. This was something foreign, an invasion, an injection. This was her playing host. This was new life.
New life? Where had that come from? The literature warned that some empathy with the parasite was natural, but she wasn’t at all sure that’s what she meant to think. Either way, she was hungry. Cindy decided that at least some of that check was going to go toward a nice big lunch. Absently, she patted her basketball-sized tummy, as if to comfort it.
Endorphins, Cindy decided, are awesome. Her body’s pseudo-pregnancy response was in full swing as her belly hit the halfway point. The world around her seemed full of new, exciting textures and colors, and Cindy’s world was awash in wonder and joy. Especially her belly, vast, ponderous, and lumpy as it was. Her huge midsection was not the largest the doctors had ever seen, but they praised her and her ambitious little symbiot partner none-the-less.
Of course, with how high on joy hormones Cindy was right now, they could have told her that she had a beautiful appendix and she would have been over the moon. No wonder those classmates of hers on the program had always been in such a good mood!
She truly did love her belly, though. This past weekend she’d spent most of Saturday sitting in bed and exploring it as fully as possible, running her hands over its lumpy, uneven surface. It was exquisitely sensitive, and just a few minutes of petting was enough to turn her into a sweaty, orgasming mess.
Each egg was about the size of a softball, and she had somewhere between 35 and 40 of them within her, giving her a belly around two feet wide and about as deep. Her skin was smooth and somewhat rubbery, a side effect of her little guest’s chemical surrogacy – she was in no danger of rupturing even as she swelled far beyond the size of a normal human pregnancy. Pushing on her belly quickly revealed the outlines of the dozens of eggs, each one a firm, solid, heavy mass.
It was heaven.
Dating while in the program was interesting, Cindy was finding. Most men were extremely turned off when a woman showed up to a first date waddlingly huge with non-human eggs, so program participants tended to stay off the normal dating sites. In lieu of that, smaller, niche options opened up – and there was always just the classifieds. Cindy had heard of a few women who worked as call-girls for a very specific clientele while in the program, even though that sort of behavior was frowned upon by the doctors.
For Cindy, not much changed. She had always been a woman who found chemistry worked best when it was tested in person, and so she continued to visit bars with her girlfriends, even as she entered the 6th week of her first clutch of eggs. Unlike a normal pregnancy, there were no restrictions on alcohol for someone in the program, although participants were warned that losing clutches due to personal accident was a serious mark against continuing enrollment.
She knew within moments of locking eyes with a man if he was into the belly or not, and she provisionally accepted all comers: the curious, the aroused, the desperate. Some of them opened their mouths and disqualified themselves; others were simply not her type. But she found a steady stream of men ready and willing to bed a woman with 40 eggs jammed into her womb by a strange creature from the depths of the jungle.
There were a few types of men whom she quickly learned not to put up with. The role-players were the worst – the first time a man asked her to pretend it was his baby in her, she nearly puked. Something about that idea seemed exceptionally off-putting. The “biologists”, as she termed them, were also unpalatable – they had a habit of ruining the mood by asking all these questions about the mechanics of how her body was coping, and how the eggs were formed, and so many other things that not only did she not know the answer to, but that actively bored her.
But the ones that just loved her body, those were her favorites. One man in particular, who was sadly dumb as a rock, and therefore only lasted for a few dates, had a wonderful way of stimulating her sides and slit simultaneously that sent her to the absolute heights of ecstasy, simply out-of-her-mind for minutes on end. He also seemed to have no interests outside of sports and Avengers comics, and eventually she had to dump him, no matter how amazing he was in bed.
She’d even once met a fellow member of the program and headed to bed with her. Cindy had been further along in her cycle by about a week, but the size difference wasn’t that noticeable. Cindy enjoyed herself, although she admitted afterward that most of that had been purely out of curiosity – she didn’t find herself particularly attracted to women, but the idea of sleeping with someone else in the same position as her was simply too good to resist. They’d just ended up spending most of the time stroking each other’s bellies and groaning as their eggs collided through their skin.
There was no water to break with the eggs. There simply was a growing sense of pressure as the time came closer and closer, and then, just as the literature had warned, a sharp, piercing pain.
Cindy had been ready. As soon as the pain hit, she sat down and smashed the button on her phone to summon the car to the delivery clinic. They were there in minutes, and a half-hour later Cindy and her go-bag were ensconced in a birthing room.
The first egg was another hour away.
The process was painful. Cindy was pretty sure the descriptions she had read both over-and under-stated the experience. Yes, pushing football-sized hard-shelled eggs out of her massive, overstuffed womb was probably the hardest, most painful thing she had ever done, and that included the time she had broken her arm on a playground two decades previously.
But by the same measure, the period between pushes was marked by an almost surreal calm and serenity. Presumably her little symbiot’s feel-good drugs were at work here again, but Cindy was flooded with good vibes for every second of the birth process that wasn’t dominated by extremely concentrated pain.
It was a long, hard process. It took around an hour per egg, and with over forty eggs, Cindy’s labor stretched on for days. At some point, the doctors slipped her a drug of some sort that seemed to pause the labor and let her sleep for a few hours. She awoke to yet another egg pushing its way out of her and realized that her body had continued to strain even in her unconscious state and birthed another egg, although more slowly than when she was awake.
Finally, two days later, Cindy pushed for the last time, and realized that she was done. As the attendants took away the last large, mottled egg, the same doctor who had implanted her appeared in the room.
“How are we feeling?” she asked.
Cindy considered the question. She was tired, sore, and deeply sleep-deprived. Her body was playing host to a creature that filled her with enormous eggs, and would to do so another 23 times before it was removed. A large portion of the opposite sex found her repulsive, and a small group thought her unbearably arousing. Her life was not, in any sense, her own. And yet…
“I feel amazing.”