Chapter 4: The Internal Cock
The blue light in the observation suite was unforgiving. It turned everything to cold cerulean steel and washed-out shadows, a sterile simulation of a moonlit night. The only warmth was the pain, a deep, red furnace blooming in Mei Ling’s pelvis. The contraction that had seized her receded, leaving a trembling vacuum in its wake. The flood of amniotic fluid had soaked into the recliner’s black leather, a dark, spreading stain.
Lance was already in motion, his earlier lassitude burned away by adrenal focus. He wiped his cock clean with a clinical swipe of a towel, his eyes not on her face but on the digital chronometer now displayed on the main screen.“Interval: two minutes, forty-seven seconds.Duration: eighty-two seconds.Strong. Prodromal stage is being bypassed entirely. Your cervix is dilating at an exponential rate.”
Another vise of pressure began to tighten, lower and more insistent than the last. Mei Ling grunted, the sound guttural and foreign to her own ears. Her hands gripped the edges of the recliner, the reinforced polymer groaning under her enhanced strength.
“Breathe through it,” Lance said, but he wasn’t watching her breathe. He was watching the biometric displays, his fingers tapping rapidly on a tablet.“The fetal monitors show all three tolerating the stress. Heart rates elevated but steady. Perfect.” He looked up, his gaze landing on her splayed, glistening cunt.“But the passage needs to be optimized. The cervical opening needs to match the accelerated descent.”
He discarded the tablet.It clattered on the steel trolley. He moved to her, his hands firm on her inner thighs, pushing them wider apart. The cool air of the room hit her swollen labia, a shocking contrast to the internal inferno. “The leading head is at zero station.Crowning is imminent, but the tissue needs to be more… compliant. The epigenetic modifications prioritized muscular and skeletal expansion.The soft tissue needs encouragement.”
She knew what he meant. A cynical, detached part of her brain recognized the warped logic. Another contraction swelled, cresting before she could speak.This one was different. It wasn’t just a squeeze; it was a relentless, downward shove.Her body bore down without her conscious command. A raw scream was torn from her throat.“Good. Good,” Lance coaxed, his voice hot in her ear.He was on the recliner with her again, his body crowding hers. “The urge to push is correct.Don’t fight it. Work with it.” His cock, already half-hard from the brutal spectacle, found her entrance again. It was slick with her fluids, with the lingering traces of his last release, with the clear amniotic leakage. He pressed the broad head against her stretched opening, where a new, unyielding pressure—the first baby’s head—was already demanding space.He didn’t wait.He shoved himself inside.The stretch was apocalyptic. It wasn’t just him. It was him and the baby, a double invasion of a channel being ripped open from within and without.She shrieked, her vision dissolving into static. Her nails, untrimmed and strong, clawed across his back, drawing instant, bloody lines. He didn’t flinch.
“Fuck, yes,” he hissed, his face buried in her neck.“That’s it.You feel that?My shaft is against its skull. I’m dilating you around it.” He withdrew, a slow, grinding pull, and then hammered back in, his hips piston-fast. Each deep plunge met the resistant, solid curve of the descending head. A rhythmic, obscene dance: his inward thrust, the baby’s counter-pressure from within, her own body’s involuntary, powerful push against them both.
The pain fragmented into something else. A terrifying, all-consuming fullness that blurred the lines between violation and birth, between agony and a primal, bodily imperative.Her screams mutated into ragged, open-mouthed pants. “Oh god… oh fuck… it’s too much…”
“It’s exactly enough,” Lance grunted, his rhythm becoming more focused, less frantic.He was matching her now. When her body seized in a contraction and bore down, he drove into her, stretching the ring of muscle to its limit. In the brief lull, he’d pull back slightly, letting the tissue throb.“You’re taking it.You’re fucking made for this. Look at you.” He grabbed her jaw, forcing her head to look down the length of their joined bodies, to where his pelvis smashed against her swollen, laboring mound. “You’re a goddess splitting open to give life.My life.Now push.”
Another wave took her. She roared, a sound of pure, animal effort. She pushed with every fiber of her transformed being, her enhanced abdominal muscles locking into a rigid, unyielding plate of force. Lance timed his final, deepest thrust perfectly, burying himself to the root as she crushed down.
The sensation of him erupting inside her was overshadowed by a sudden, profound, tearing release. His hot come flooded her, a mere trickle against the cataclysmic shift happening at her core. The pressure that had been a contained, bursting star suddenly… changed.
Lance gasped, shuddering, and pulled out abruptly.A gush of fresh fluid followed, tinged pink.
He shifted down the recliner, his eyes wide, his breath held.He didn’t touch her.He just stared.
Between her trembling, blood-smeared thighs, something was happening. The labia, stretched impossibly thin and shiny, were parting around a new, damp firmness. Not the head of his cock.The crown of a baby’s head. A thatch of wet, dark hair plastered against a scalp distending her very being.It didn’t retreat. With the next, shaky, faltering contraction, it advanced. A centimetre more of the tiny head presented itself, a slick, miraculous obscenity.Mei Ling’s head fell back against the leather. Her chest heaved.The pain was a sharp, clear, ringing note now, centred on that impossible stretch. The blur of sexual violation snapped into a terrifying, crystalline focus. This was biology, raw and unadorned.This was the result.
Lance’s hand, cool and steady, touched her inner thigh.“The perineum is intact. The modifications are holding.” His voice was full of awe, but it was the awe of a sculptor for his masterpiece, not a lover for his partner. “On the next push, I want you to breathe and focus the pressure downwards. We’re meeting it.Don’t rush.”
She had no choice. Her body was already gathering itself, the demand building from a deep, seismic level. She was a vessel, and the cargo was demanding egress. She bore down with a choked cry, her hands fumbling to grip behind her knees, pulling herself open.Lance watched, utterly rapt. The baby’s head steadily, relentlessly, emerged, turning naturally to face her thigh. The tiny face was pressed tightly, features blurred by the passage, but there.A nose.A mouth.A life.
The head was fully out, cradled in his waiting, gloved hands. One shoulder, then the other, slid free with a slippery, sudden ease. And then the rest—a small, bluish, perfectly formed body followed in a rush of fluid and blood.
A sharp, gasping cry shattered the sterile hum of the suite.Weak, then stronger.Insistent.
Lance held the child, his hands skilled and sure, clearing its airways.He placed the squirming, crying infant on her heaving abdomen. The cord, thick and pulsing, connected them still.
“A boy,” Lance said, his thumb stroking the baby’s back.“Vigorous. Apgar score will be off the charts.” He looked from the child to Mei Ling’s face. His expression was one of transcendent victory.“Phase Two is a success. The first of three.”
But even as he said it, even as the raw, miraculous weight of her son trembled on her stomach, another contraction, brutal and unannounced, clamped down deep within her.The monitors chirped a frantic alert. The second heart rate sped up, responding to the newly available space.The lull was over. The process, horrifying and efficient, was already moving forward. Lance’s eyes snapped from the newborn to the monitors, then back to her still-distended belly, where the next life was already making its descent known.The predatory gleam in his eyes hadn’t faded.It had intensified. There were two more to go.
The newborn’s cries were a raw, grating counterpoint to the electronic symphony of the monitors.Mei Ling’s shaking hands fumbled, but instinct won. She guided the baby to her engorged, aching breast. The little mouth latched with surprising force, and a sharp, pulling sensation shot through her nipple, deep into her exhausted core. The relief of the milk letting down was profound, a warm, internal unspooling that momentarily blurred the fresh hell awaiting her.She waited for the next contraction. Sweat beaded on her upper lip and dripped between her swollen breasts.The infant fed greedily, a small, desperate anchor in the swirling pain. Her body, however, was already moving on, a factory ignoring its first product to continue the run.
Another contraction started to build. This one felt different, deeper and more focused, a tightening corkscrew aimed at the now-vacated space.Lance watched the biometrics, his pupils dilated. He watched her nurse. His cock, resting against his thigh, began to thicken and rise again, a blatant, unsympathetic fact. He waited patiently as his cock hardened fully, his gaze a physical weight on her stretched, vulnerable body.The pressure peaked, a demanding fist inside her. She took deep, ragged breaths, and as the urge to bear down became undeniable, her mouth flew open in a silent gasp. He swooped in. He put his thick, leaking cock in her open mouth, pressing past her lips without hesitation.The salty-bitter taste of her own fluids and his last release coated her tongue.
She sucked his cock deeply, a reflex of breath and need. The act was grotesque, a perversion of comfort. She moaned around him, the vibration travelling down his shaft, as her body seized and she bore down with all her might. The twin sensations—the hollowing of her cheeks, the brutal, internal push—merged into a single, degrading exertion. He fucked her mouth in short, controlled thrusts, matching the rhythm of her pushing. “That’s it,” he grunted, his hands gripping her sweat-damped hair.“Use it.Channel it. Push my dick out with your fucking throat while you push your baby out.”
The contraction subsided. He pulled his glistening cock from her mouth with a wet pop. She panted, milk still leaking from the breast the first son had abandoned.“Cervix is fully retracted. Second head is descending.Faster than the first,” Lance reported, his voice rough with arousal. He moved down her body again, his fingers probing the mess of blood and vernix.“I can feel the suture lines. Anterior fontanelle. It’s coming.”
The next wave came quickly, refusing her any real recovery.She screamed into the sterile air, her back arching off the leather. Lance didn’t help. He watched, his hand now cradling the emerging crown of the second child, his other hand stroking his own erection.“Ease up!Pant! Don’t tear yourself open for me.” It was a clinical command, devoid of compassion.
She fought the urge, panting in short, sharp bursts. The burning, stretching sensation was a white-hot ring of fire.“Now,” he barked.She roared, bearing down. The head erupted from her in a sudden, slippery rush, followed instantly by the shoulders and a slender, slippery body.
This one did not cry immediately.Lance held it, a tiny girl, and cleared her airways with brisk efficiency. A slap, minute and precise, landed on the small back. A weak, gurgling cry emerged, strengthening into a robust wail.He placed the second child on her other breast. “Another perfect specimen,” he muttered, more to the room than to her. His attention was already elsewhere, drawn back to the screen, to the third and final heartbeat, now accelerating with frantic urgency. “No rest.The uterus is already clamping down.The third is in the canal.”
Mei Ling felt it. A profound, grinding shift, the remaining child turning, seeking the exit. The emptiness was being filled again, violently fast.The pseudo-labour of minutes ago was now a true, relentless delivery. She looked at the two infants sucking at her breasts, their faces blotchy and new. Then she looked at Lance, who was watching her body complete its task with the fervent intensity of a collector awaiting his final prize.The momentum was absolute. There was no stopping it.
There was no stopping it. The third child, deprived of its siblings’ cushioning presence, now drove downward with urgent, violent force. Mei Ling’s body convulsed, a mere vessel for this final, seismic expulsion. The two newborns at her breasts whimpered, their feeding disrupted by the tremors racking her frame.
Lance watched the third fetal heart rate spike on the monitor, a frantic, staccato line.His own breath hitched in sync. He leaned over her, his weight pressing the infants between them, their soft cries muffled against his chest. His hardened cock brushed her thigh, leaving a slick trail.“It’s eager,” he murmured, his voice thick. “It knows it’s the last. It wants to meet its father.”
A brief, terrifying lull settled in her core, a silent avalanche poised to fall.It was the quiet before the rupture. Her muscles, shredded and spent, twitched in anticipation.Lance seized the moment. He guided himself to her lips, his tip pressing against her teeth.He resumed fucking her mouth. She sucked hard, her jaw aching, while her body was temporarily at rest while the last triplet began its final descent her birth canal.The invasion was a grotesque anchor, a focal point outside the internal storm. She gagged, tears springing to her eyes, but her throat opened, taking him deeper. The taste was brutal—salt, iron, her own milk.
“I’ll come when you push out the last baby,” he grunted, his hips pistoning slowly, relentlessly. His fingers tangled in her damp hair, controlling the depth.“You’ll feel it. My final gift swimming up to meet my child.” The obscenity of the promise coiled in her gut, a strange, dark motivation.
A contraction started to build.It wasn’t a wave this time. It was the entire ocean floor rising.Her breath quickened, flaring her nostrils. She hummed into his cock, the vibration a desperate, involuntary signal.The sound excited him. He fucked her mouth faster, his balls tightening against her chin.The peak hit, a white-hot spear of pure, physical imperative. She shoved against him, her throat constricting around his shaft as her pelvis lifted, driven by a force older than science.She pushed with a raw, shredded scream that was muffled by his flesh. He groaned, a deep, shuddering sound of ecstasy.“Now! Fucking push it out!” he roared.She was. The burning crown stretched her beyond thought, beyond feeling anything but the rip and the release.Lance’s rhythm shattered into frantic, shallow thrusts. He was losing control. Her body clamped, bore down, and the small, slick head emerged in a burst of fluid.He shouted, a wordless, raw noise, as his orgasm ripped through him. He jammed his cock to the back of her throat and came, pulsing jets of come down her constricted esophagus as, simultaneously, the final child slithered from her ravaged body in a gush of placental blood. The sensations merged into one catastrophic finale—choking, birthing, being filled and emptied in the same agonizing instant.He collapsed backward, his spent body slipping from her mouth. She gasped, sucking in air that felt like broken glass. Between her legs, the third infant lay silent and still on the bloodied leather.Lance, panting, stared at it. Then he reached down, clearing the tiny mouth with two fingers. He gave a sharp, percussive tap to the tiny chest.A weak, wet cough. Then a thin, reedy cry joined the chorus of its siblings.“Three,” Lance breathed, his voice awestruck and utterly drained. He did not move to place this child on her. He simply looked at it, then at her ruined body, then at the two infants still nuzzling weakly at her breasts. His creation was complete.The suite echoed with the sounds of new life and his own labored breath. The monitors continued to blink, their data streams recording the impossible as fact. Mei Ling stared at the ceiling, her mind a perfect, silent blank, while all around her, the consequences of her ambition screamed.