Chapter 7: Pregnant
The hum of the air conditioner was the only sound in the sleek waiting room, a sterile white noise that did nothing to calm the tension coiling in Eve's stomach. She sat in the plush leather chair between Serge and Zeke, her hands folded tightly in her lap, trying to ignore the way her insides had been churning for the past three days. Morning sickness, she had told herself at first. But it wasn't morning, and it wasn't going away.
Drey stood by the window, his massive frame silhouetted against the pale winter light filtering through the blinds. He hadn't sat down once since they'd arrived, his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw set in that hard line that meant he was thinking too much and liking none of his conclusions.
"You should have told us sooner," he said, not turning around.
Eve flinched. "I didn't want to worry anyone. I thought it would pass."
"Three days of vomiting isn't something that just passes." Zeke's hand found hers, squeezing gently. "You should have said something, baby."
"I'm sorry." Her voice was small, thinner than she wanted it to be. "I just—after everything that happened, I didn't want to seem like I was complaining."
Serge made a low sound in his throat. "You're carrying our child, Eve. You don't get to apologize for needing care."
She wanted to correct him—to say maybe carrying a child, because they didn't know yet, couldn't know—but a door opened at the end of the hall, and a tall woman in navy scrubs stepped out with a clipboard.
"Eve Montgomery?" the nurse called, her eyes scanning the waiting room.
Eve stood, her legs unsteady. The three men rose with her, a wall of muscle and dark skin that made the nurse's eyes widen slightly.
"Just the patient, please," the nurse said carefully. "Family can wait—"
"She goes nowhere alone." Drey's voice cut through the air like a blade. "Not until we know what's wrong."
The nurse's mouth opened, then closed. She looked at Eve, who offered a weak, apologetic smile.
"It's fine," Eve said. "They're very... protective."
The nurse hesitated, clearly weighing the professional protocol against the three imposing men who were staring at her with expressions that brooked no argument. Finally, she nodded stiffly.
"Very well. Dr. Evan is expecting you. Follow me."
The examination room was larger than Eve had expected, filled with state-of-the-art equipment that gleamed under fluorescent lights. A paper-covered table sat in the center, surrounded by monitors and machines whose purposes she couldn't begin to guess. Dr. Evan was already there, a middle-aged white man with silver-streaked hair and kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He looked up as they entered, his smile faltering slightly as he registered the three men filing in behind her.
"Mrs. Montgomery," he said, extending a hand. "I'm Dr. Evan. The nurse mentioned you've been experiencing some gastrointestinal distress?"
Eve shook his hand, her palm clammy. "I've been nauseous for the past few days. It's not getting better."
"I see." Dr. Evan's gaze flickered to the three men, who had arranged themselves around the room like sentinels. Serge had taken a seat in the corner, his long legs stretched out before him. Zeke stood near the examination table, his arms crossed. Drey had positioned himself by the door, his back against the wall, his eyes never leaving Eve.
"And these are—" Dr. Evan started.
"My husband," Eve said quickly, gesturing to Zeke. "And our... family."
Dr. Evan's eyebrows rose slightly, but he was too professional to pry. "Well. Why don't you have a seat on the table, and we'll see what's going on."
Eve hoisted herself onto the paper-covered table, the crinkle of the material loud in the quiet room. Dr. Evan washed his hands at the sink, then turned back to her with a small, reassuring smile.
"When was your last menstrual cycle?" he asked, picking up a clipboard.
Eve's face flushed. She had been so caught up in the chaos of the past month, so consumed by the new dynamic that had consumed every waking moment, that she hadn't even thought about it.
"I—" She paused, counting backward. "I'm not sure. Maybe six weeks? Seven?"
Dr. Evan's pen stilled. "And have you been sexually active since then?"
A beat of silence. Then, from the corner, Serge's voice, low and measured: "Yes."
Dr. Evan looked up, his gaze moving from Serge to Zeke to Drey. Something flickered in his eyes—understanding, perhaps, or the beginning of suspicion.
"With multiple partners?" he asked carefully.
Eve's blush deepened. She could feel all three men's gazes on her, could feel the weight of their attention like a physical thing.
"Yes," she whispered.
Dr. Evan set down his clipboard. "I think we should do an ultrasound to see what we're dealing with. Given the symptoms you're describing, there's a strong possibility that you're pregnant."
Eve's heart lurched. Pregnant. She had known, on some level, that this was a possibility. They hadn't been careful—none of them had. The cabin, the study, the countless nights since where she had been filled over and over again without any thought to protection. But hearing the word spoken aloud, in the sterile confines of a doctor's office, made it real in a way that it hadn't been before.
"Okay," she breathed. "Okay."
Dr. Evan gestured for her to lie back on the table. "I'm going to be honest with you, Mrs. Montgomery. What I'm about to do will probably be uncomfortable. Given the symptoms you've described and the, ah, nature of your situation, I suspect we may encounter some... irregularities."
Zeke stepped closer, his hand finding Eve's. "What kind of irregularities?"
Dr. Evan didn't answer immediately. He moved to the ultrasound machine, powering it on with a soft hum. The screen flickered to life, displaying a grayscale grid waiting to be filled with images.
"Let's take a look first," he said. "Then we'll discuss."
He had her lift her shirt, exposing her stomach. Eve felt exposed under the fluorescent lights, her pale skin almost glowing against the white paper of the table. She watched as Dr. Evan squeezed cold gel onto a transducer, then pressed it against her lower abdomen.
The room fell silent as he moved the wand in slow, deliberate circles. The only sound was the soft whoosh of the machine and the hum of the air conditioning. Eve held her breath, her eyes fixed on the screen, waiting for something to appear.
Dr. Evan's brow furrowed. He adjusted the angle of the wand, pressing harder.
"Interesting," he murmured.
"What? What is it?" Eve's voice was sharp with anxiety.
"I'm seeing... multiple gestational sacs." He moved the wand again, his eyes narrowing. "Three, actually. There are three distinct heartbeats."
The words hung in the air like a grenade, waiting to explode.
"Three?" Zeke repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Triplets," Dr. Evan confirmed. He paused, adjusting the settings on the machine. "But that's not all."
Drey pushed off the wall, moving closer. "What else?"
Dr. Evan's jaw tightened. He removed the transducer and set it aside, then reached for a different instrument—a long, slender wand with a rounded tip.
"I'm going to need to do an internal examination," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "The external ultrasound is showing some... unusual fluid buildup. I need a clearer picture."
Eve's heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. She looked at Zeke, who nodded reassuringly, then at Serge, who was watching Dr. Evan with a guarded expression. Drey's face was unreadable.
"Okay," she said. "Do what you need to do."
Dr. Evan had her reposition herself at the edge of the table, her feet in the stirrups. The paper crinkled beneath her as she spread her legs, her dress hiked up around her waist. She felt exposed, vulnerable, with all three men watching and the doctor's professional gaze fixed between her thighs.
"This may be cold," Dr. Evan said, holding up the wand. "Just try to relax."
He guided the lubricated wand to her entrance, and Eve gasped as it slid inside her. The sensation was strange, the pressure unfamiliar. But it was the sound that made her cheeks burn—a wet, squelching noise that seemed obscenely loud in the quiet room.
Dr. Evan froze. His eyes widened, and for a moment, his professional composure cracked.
"What—" He pulled the wand back slightly, then advanced it again. Another wet sound, thicker this time. "Mrs. Montgomery, when you say you've been sexually active..."
"I've been with my husbands," Eve said, her voice wavering. "All of them."
Dr. Evan's gaze moved to the ultrasound screen, which was now displaying a clear, detailed image. His face went through a series of emotions—shock, disbelief, something that might have been horror or might have been fascination.
"There's an excessive amount of semen here," he said, his voice strained. "I've never seen anything like it. It's—it's pooling in the vaginal canal, coating the cervix. The ultrasound is picking it up as a fluid mass."
Zeke's grip on Eve's hand tightened. "Is that a problem?"
"It's not a problem," Dr. Evan said slowly. "But it's certainly unusual. The amount of seminal fluid present suggests that intercourse occurred very recently, and with multiple partners in a short window of time."
He moved the wand deeper, and the image on the screen shifted. He stared at it for a long moment, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
"This explains the triplets," he finally managed. "The gestational sacs are... they're developing at different rates. Slightly different sizes. That's not typically something we see with identical multiples."
"What does that mean?" Drey's voice was low, dangerous.
Dr. Evan looked at him, then at Serge, then at Zeke. He seemed to be putting together pieces that he hadn't been expecting to find.
"It means," he said carefully, "that there's a strong possibility the three fetuses have different genetic fathers."
The room went absolutely still.
Eve could feel her own heartbeat in her ears. She looked at the screen, at the tiny flickering images that represented the lives growing inside her, and she couldn't process what she was seeing.
"Different fathers," she repeated. "There are three babies, and they're from three different—"
"Ejaculations," Dr. Evan finished. "From three different men."
He pulled the wand out slowly, and Eve felt a gush of warm liquid follow it. She looked up at Dr. Evan's face, which was flushed red with a complex mixture of embarrassment and arousal that he was clearly fighting to control.
"There's more," he said, his voice slightly hoarse. "The elasticity of the vaginal canal indicates that you've experienced what I can only describe as double penetration—two partners simultaneously. The tissue has adjusted to accommodate that kind of stretching, which is why you're still tight despite the... volume of seminal fluid present. It's actually quite remarkable."
Drey let out a low, dark laugh. He moved to Eve's side, his hand coming to rest on her thigh.
"So our girl's a breeding slut," he said, his voice filled with satisfaction. "Carrying all three of our babies at once."
Eve's face was on fire. She could feel Zeke and Serge's eyes on her, could feel the heat of their gaze, and she knew—she knew—that this should have felt humiliating. She should have been mortified, lying there with her legs spread, her body on display, the evidence of her depravity being examined by a stranger under fluorescent lights.
But it wasn't mortification she felt. It was something else. Something that made her thighs clench and her nipples harden beneath her dress.
"I concur," Dr. Evan said, clearing his throat. "There are definitely three viable fetuses, and the genetic markers are distinct enough that I feel confident attributing them to three separate fathers at three different times. Given the timeline of your symptoms, conception likely occurred over the course of several days."
"We were at the cabin," Eve murmured. "A little over a month ago. We were there for a week."
"Then that would be the window." Dr. Evan's hand was shaking slightly as he set down the wand. "I'm going to write you a prescription for prenatal vitamins and schedule you for a follow-up in two weeks. In the meantime—" He paused, swallowing hard. "I would recommend moderating your physical activity. Especially the kind of activity that requires, ah, multiple participants."
Eve could see the bulge in his trousers, the telltale sign that he was not as professional as he was pretending to be. He was scandalized, yes, but he was also as visibly hard as a rock from what he'd just seen. That knowledge made something dark and hungry coil in Eve's belly.
As the cold gel of the wand was wiped away, Zeke leaned close to her ear. "You heard the doctor. For the sake of the babies..." His breath was hot against her skin. "You need to rest."
But Drey clearly had a different plan.
He walked over to where Eve lay, let his thumb slide up her inner thigh until it pressed against the very place from which evidence of his desire still dripped. He addressed Dr. Evan in a voice that was pure velvet filth.
"She'll take her vitamins. But we have a special concern. While she's pregnant, is there a certain exercise that will help strengthen her for the delivery? Something we should be practicing... regularly?"
Dr. Evan's face was scarlet. He swallowed hard. "I... Kegel exercises can be implemented to strengthen the pelvic floor..."
Drey, apparently, had never heard of a Kegel.
"No, no, doctor. We've been using her holes regularly, all three of us. We're interested in keeping her loose enough for DVP while keeping her tight enough to hold us. And given that she clearly breeds well when stuffed..." Drey slid one thick finger into Eve, drawing another wet squelch that made the room's temperature spike. "We want to know exactly how much we can push her without hurting our pups. You get me?"
Dr. Evan's eyes flicked between Drey's finger and Eve's swollen, glistening pussy, and every pretense of professional detachment vanished. "I—the current medical consensus—if the... patient's frame and previous history can handle it—" He cleared his throat. "She's showing remarkable elasticity. I wouldn't recommend anything beyond the level of stretching she's already demonstrated. But—" He licked his lips, a gesture he probably hadn't intended to be lewd, but which was. "If you want her to continue handling you all... I'd advise regular, um, dilation. To prevent the tissue from tightening too much."
Serge gave a sharp, surprised laugh. "That's doctor-speak for 'keep fucking her', isn't it?"
"The terminology is—" Dr. Evan adjusted his glasses, then gave up on pretending entirely. "Yes. That's precisely what it is."
Eve giggled half-hysterically. She looked down at herself, at Drey's finger buried inside her, at the cream and jizz slowly being pushed out by his intrusion. She felt no shame. For the first time in a long time, she felt nothing but a quiet, pure certainty.
She looked at each of them in turn. Zeke: her husband, young and hungry, eyes burning with love and lust. Serge: her stepfather, whose guilt and longing had made him both her mentor and her mirror. Drey: the patriarch, who had taken everything he wanted and was now putting his hand inside her exactly like he owned it.
"I need you all inside me tonight," she said, in a small, filthy voice. "All of you. As deep as I can take it."
Dr. Evan swallowed involuntarily.
"A nutrition plan for multiples will be filed. But first—if you'll write me a note for copious bed rest and a vaginal dilation schedule, doctor..." Drey's finger curled inside Eve, making her gasp. "We'll take it from here."
The doctor thought of refusing, but he could feel the heat cracking his own composure and the unmistakable throb in his own trousers. He wrote the note without comment, then handed it to Drey with shaking fingers. Eve gave her new doctor a sweet smile over her shoulder as they left, the evidence of all three fathers dripping down her inner thigh and pooling on the paper-lined table.