Note: “Imagine how greedy Ross Humboldt gets over your body when he can tell you’re pregnant with multiples.” Contains sex pollen, too.
It was late by less than two weeks. How Mr. Humboldt knew he was a father again was beyond you. Eight days. A week and a day since he’d successfully inseminated you. Which Ross claimed would result in “a whole brood of ______-Humboldts!”
A father again and again and…
The lush grassland wanted to share its fecundity with its guests. Or subjects. Whatever it deemed you two. You weren’t a member of the Church of the Black Rock. Ross was. Initially, you didn’t like calling him by his first name. Who would, in your circumstances? Pretending he was still married to Natalie didn’t help. (You’d tried.) “Till death do we part” and all that. A normal union whose vows might not apply to Ross’s new marriage.
“I haven’t even taken a test.”
“But you are,” Ross insisted with a smile. Ignoring the ridiculousness of your statement. There were no pharmacies out here.
Dodging his caresses wasn’t an option now.
Not that you wanted to. There wasn’t much else to do. A bag of books to fight ennui. Some convenience store fare. Your leash was shorter than ever after the escape. Which had been too easy. Ross slept like the dead after screwing. Maybe the Tall Grass thought it tamed you. Or it liked to tease. A yawning path tempted you out of the maze. The church remained fixed even as you jumped up one, two, three, four times. Heart thumping, you made a break for it. Thankful that with everything/-one lost, your keys remained pocketed.
Find a station. No, not a police station. A gas station. Nobody rational will believe me. Becky, Cal, Tobin, Travis. All gone. Whether from the mortal plane or just the Grass, who knows? And what plane is the Tall Grass the entry for, anyway? Fairyland, limbo, some fresh hellscape? Okay, found a station.
After that, you were on autopilot. Waking up in the passenger seat to Ross racing back down the way you came. “Racing” was a bit strong. Just going a bit above the speed limit. Nothing a typical suburban dad wouldn’t do on the way to a beguiling destination.
“Picked up some groceries while you were out.”
It wasn’t stated like a question. You had one or a dozen, but swallowed your queries. The Tall Grass wasn’t so isolated. Not like Ross and me and babies makes one, two, three… It shouldn’t have been able to reach out that far. Pollen, maybe. Your new family was rooted here. The idea of rhizomes reaching out miles upon miles, seeking your footfalls… Because you had been barefoot. Shoes long lost to the Grass during Ross’s wooing. You hoped the convenience store clerk didn’t notice. She either hadn’t or was too polite to say anything. Too bad there hadn’t been a drive-through.
“Good,” Ross continued, “you’re going to need all the nutrients you can get. Need to keep your strength up. For all the fucking.”
A giggle bolted from your mouth. The sky was darkening but you spotted a Plymouth Fury. So you were entering the Tall Grass where you’d exited. For the last time, probably.
“And the birthing, of course. I’ll help with that.”
“Like you did with Becky?”
It just slipped out. Ross smoothly parked your vehicle. For a wild second, you imagined plowing through the vegetation. Mowing it down. Ripping open packs of snacks, scattering, and stomping on them. Their saltiness ensuring nothing green grew there ever again as you smooshed them into the ground.
“Now, ______,” Ross chastised, rolling down your window. Like you needed fresh air. “I’m not a certified midwife, but we’re going to have help. I want our babies to be safe and healthy just as much as you do.”
His tone made you feel childish. Throwing a temper tantrum wasn’t going to help. Your face flushed further as he poked at your panties.
“Look, all those hormones aren’t just making you wet. They’re also giving you nesting instincts.”
“They are?” you asked, snapping your eyes away from the Grass. The blades of which sought you out like sunlight. If it wasn’t dusk, you might have noticed the large clumps of pollen wafting through the air. If it wasn’t dusk, and Ross hadn’t been massaging you through your underwear.
You shut your eyes and inhaled.
“Let me do the errands in the future, okay?”
“Ross, someone might see usssss.” Your plea quickly turned into a hiss of pleasure. He’d pulled aside the soaked cotton to reveal your warm cunt. His thumb teased your slit, making you try to push yourself onto it. Mr. Humboldt’s current favorite hole of yours leaked onto his hands.
Your thighs tried to rub together, but your spouse quickly withdrew his thumb before prying apart both soft limbs.
“Uh uh. Take your skirt off.”
You nodded, obediently unbuttoning. However, the skirt was actually part of a dress with a differently patterned top and bottom. As soon as Ross caught sight of your soon-to-be swollen breasts, the last thread of his restraint unraveled.
“Fuck, I’m so greedy for your body.”
His face burrowed into your tits, supported by a front-fastening bra. Once unlocked, they sprang free, ready to get sucked by Ross for nine months straight. And afterwards. His hands stayed on your legs. Squeezing them tighter and tighter, till you cried out. Wanting to suckle each nipple, but unsure which to start on, he nuzzled the cleft of your breasts.
“Twins mean double the milk. And quads-!”
He groaned, unable to resist your now yielding thighs. Or your puffy nips or the fact you had an unfilled gap hot and dripping. You hadn’t been penetrated for almost half a day, which was a problem. Unless asleep, Ross knew you needed at least a couple fingers inside your warm hole. Preferably a cock, though. He needed to be stretching you out for childbirth. Make it feel almost weird not to have something inside you.
(The fact that’s not how vaginae worked wouldn’t occur until post-nut clarity. Ross was just that psyched for you to deliver quadruplets.)
If your nethers got too sore, he’d love to sandwich himself between plump tits. Plumpening tits.
“Ross, take me inside the grass.”
Your husband complied, leading you by the waist. The tips of your nips hardened, reaching out for the Grass’s blades. Ross matched your smile as the greenery encased you both. Looking forward to ______’s birth canal getting plugged, overflowing with cum, bearing brood after brood after brood. You were spot on about the Tall Grass’s desire to share its fecundity. About making Mr. Humboldt’s length swell only at the thought of worshiping your arable body.
Letting you go had been a fun experiment. Ross would be in charge of grocery shopping from now on, though. It didn’t need you to touch the Rock. Not yet. Not with its pollen keeping you compliant and, more importantly, aroused.
The newlyweds were enjoying their stroll to the center of the contiguous United States. You absentmindedly fingered your coochie, prepping it for more breeding, while one of Ross’s hands slid up to work a nipple.
Yeah, you were going to enjoy maternity.
