Short Story 11

Author's Note: This is part of a series of short stories. They are written very quickly and are not edited. They are also VERY weird and are not for everyone. You have been warned.

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I couldn't help but sigh as I waddled awkwardly through the crowded mall. Everyone around me turned to stare at me, though the object of their ostentatious curiosity was hardly a mystery, what with my fecund middle clearing the path before me. Yes, I was heavily pregnant, not that such an adjective fitted me. Enormously could work, though even that didn't quite suit me. I had exhausted my vocabulary long ago trying to come up with new ways to describe myself. Certainly doesn't hurt that I kept exceeding any new word I could find.

"Sorry, excuse me," I apologised as I tried to squeeze pass a young woman to get into the maternity store. Her eyes threatened to bulge from their sockets when she saw my overly fertile middle, no doubt comparing it to her own barely visible baby bump. I smiled gratefully at her and quickly moved to the counter, though I could feel her gaze zeroed in on my wide hips. There were always perks to being a constantly impregnated baby mama.

"Hi there, could you check if you have anything in stock for a Miss. Carla Heavy?" I questioned the cashier, another young lady whose vision seemed consumed by my abdomen. I repeated my question to snap her back to reality. She blinked and, flustered, went about checking their stock. My family name was well known in clothing stores ever since I had hit puberty. That's to say, since my 'condition' showed itself.

I lost my virginity in my early teens. The boy was nice enough, though our relationship didn't last afterwards, especially when I discovered myself to be pregnant. Not that he or I had any idea what was to come of it. I managed to convince my parents to let me give birth, which was possibly the smartest decision in my life as it revealed my condition, though not immediately. I gave birth to three healthy, beautiful children with surprising ease.

Then I got pregnant again after a fling with some boy at a party. At this point suspicions that something was amiss with my body arose as I later gave birth to quintuplets. Though it was just as easy as before. I'm not exaggerating either. Each child came out with minimal effort and pain, not to mention the pregnancies themselves had been smooth. For a while I honestly thought I was born to be surrogate mother or caregiver because of this.

So I went to college to study childcare. On my first day on campus I met a guy and, as one might guess, we found ourselves in my dorm room, and later myself to be pregnant once more. I knew something was definitely up when I looked ready to pop mere weeks in. When I later got my first ultrasound and appeared to be carting around triplets at the very least, I found that I had a minimum of seven babies in my womb. I wasn't stupid. As soon as I had delivered them safely, I went through every test imaginable.

All of them told me one single thing; I was crazy fertile. I'm not simply talking about a guaranteed pregnancy or multiples; I'm talking literally crazy. Each time I got pregnant, my fertility rose a notch as did a desire to be inseminated. Which explained why I rarely said no to a guy, even if they didn't use a condom. Speaking of which, I later developed an allergy to birth control and condoms. Go figure right?

There were perks of course. I got special treatment almost everywhere I went and my increasing difficulty in moving later into my pregnancies gave me plenty of time to study. I honestly believe that my condition played a key role in getting me through college with decent grades. But that was hardly the most blatant perk my overactive ovaries granted me.

To give a better idea as to how insane this part was let me give some context. An average woman of 25 weighed roughly 130lbs, well I weighed a little over 200 minus the added weight of life in my womb. This is no exaggeration, I promise. Each pregnancy caused my body to fatten in all the right ways and places.

In the brief intermission between my pregnancies, my stomach was trim. I made it a point to exercise to the point of excess when I was afforded the mobility to do so, as such my limbs were fairly solid with trained muscles. My legs in particular showed off honed muscles with each step. I could possibly kick someone harder than Chun Li from Street Fighter.

My thighs were thick and meaty in the most delicious sense. I hardly had a thigh gap, but one wouldn't look quite right on me given my excessively wide hips, and I'm not merely talking about something relatively trivial like maybe 40'' or even that girl with 70'', no, last time I measured them I came in at 85''. And that would change as soon as I birthed my newest litter.

I'm not finished yet either. From what I understand, most women with a fairly slim figure wear B or C cup bras, though I can't speak from experience since the last time I wore a bra that small I was still in the 7th grade. Whenever I didn't have a belly large enough for full grown men to crawl inside comfortably, I think I have the epitome of an hourglass figure. And I'm pretty sure I have the right to think so, considering my upper body is a perfect reflection of my lower half.

Let's keep it fairly simple. My band size is 32 and I have outgrown the alphabet twice, at least if I recall correctly. So, if I had to give myself a cup size then it'd have to be something like a 32Z2. Insane, right? Everyone else certainly thinks so if the stares I get just walking down the street are anything to go by. I can't complain though; I've landed dozens of guys with these mountains. My bras are all custom made of course.

My enormous belly was actually pretty convenient when it needed to be. I rested my plate atop it, since I had to see over two feet from the table. After all the years I'd spent with a stomach like this I had mastered the art of balancing anything on it, so long as none of my babies kicked up a fuss that is. Everyone around me gawked openly. The waiters weren't even doing their jobs now, captivated by the sight of a woman's whose body was so completely... well, absurd for lack of a better term.

I smirked broadly to myself when I thought about what their faces if they saw me later on. After all, I was only about 2 months into my pregnancy, a point that most women are only just beginning to show. When I was younger the number of kids I carried would go up by 2s or 3s, but as soon as my official puberty came to an end around 5 years ago, my pregnancies simply exploded. I'm 25 now by the way.

"Hmm," I murmured to myself as I tried to recall how many I gave birth to last time. All of my pregnancies just seemed to blur together lately. I think it had been something like 20 or 30, but my memory isn't what it used to be. If I had to guess based on how I look at this moment, I think this time might be anywhere from a solid 25 to an impossible 50. Not that estimates were ever my strong point.

7 months later and my guess was pretty much spot on. This time I pushed a total of 45 healthy, crying babies from my inhuman womb. At that point, I was confined to the hospital room since my belly outgrew most doors. I even had to rest atop my stomach, but truth be told it wasn't all that uncomfortable, especially with my pillow-like breasts squishing against my face. Unlike most women who took a while to recover, I was up and moving in a couple of days. Then only a few weeks later I bought a pregnancy test for the umpteenth time. Positive, of course.

Wonder how many I'm gonna have this time. Just the ideas alone make me feel warm all over, after all who couldn't be insanely pregnant all the time and not develop a fetish for it? The nurses found it strange when they walked in to find me not groping my breasts for some form of pleasure. Some even decided to help me out from time to time. One even seemed to have taken a liking to me. Maybe a relationship wasn't impossible for me after all? Well, who knows?