Breeding Sow for Disgusting Monsters

In the years after the disgusting monsters rose and claimed every continent, the remaining humans learned their place or they vanished into the mucus tides. Magda was nineteen years old, and she had found her place on her knees in a cavern of dripping flesh, serving as a breeding sow for the horrific slimy creature who ruled her stretch of ruined earth.

Grant filled the den like a living landslide. He was a towering grotesque mass of translucent gray-green hide, knotted organs shifting visibly beneath the slime that constantly sheeted off him. Dozens of milky eyes clustered along his ridged spine. Thick, ropey tendrils hung from his flanks, always wet, always searching. Between his massive hindquarters hung the organ Magda lived for: a heavy, meat-colored ovipositor as thick as her thigh, its surface ringed with slow-pulsing ridges, already drooling cloudy ropes onto the stone. The stink of him was ammonia and rot and musk, and Magda breathed it like perfume.

She never wore clothes. Her body was his. At nineteen she had the hips of a woman kept constantly pregnant, the heavy, milk-swollen breasts she loved to offer, nipples dark and leaking in slow drips that she sometimes caught on her own fingers and sucked clean. Her cunt stayed slick. Grant bred her without pause. She carried his grotesque young until her belly strained, pushed them out in writhing litters, then gathered the squirming, many-limbed things to her chest and let them nurse until her breasts ached empty. Then he filled her again. Magda wanted nothing else. She loved being used. She loved being drenched. She loved the obscene purpose of her womb.

This morning she woke in the nest of shed slime-skins and moss, already grinding her hips against the wetness beneath her. The last litter had been weaned into the tunnels days ago. Her belly was almost flat again, her cunt empty and greedy. Milk still sat heavy in her tits. She palmed them, squeezed, watched white beads roll down the undersides, and moaned Grant's name into the reeking dark.

The walls shuddered. Grant emerged from the blacker recesses, his bulk scraping mucus in long streaks, that ovipositor swinging and spattering. Magda's mouth flooded. She rose onto her knees in the muck, spreading her thighs, presenting her dripping sex and her milk-heavy chest.

"Master," she said, voice shaking with eagerness. "Your sow is empty. Breed me."

Grant did not speak in words. He answered with a low, gurgling roar that vibrated through the floor and up into Magda's bones. Then he came for her.

The first tendrils found her while he was still crossing the chamber. They slapped wetly across her shoulders, her breasts, her belly, leaving thick glistening trails. Magda gasped and arched into them. The slime was warm, viscous, almost gluey, and it clung in layers, coating her nipples until they shone, sliding down the cleft of her ass, dripping off her chin. She rubbed it into her skin with both hands, smearing it over her throat, her tits, her inner thighs, moaning at the weight of it, at the way it sealed her pores and made her shine like something prepared for slaughter.

Grant loomed. His underbelly dragged over her as he slithered across her naked body, burying her for a moment under a living blanket of slime and muscle. Magda laughed in delight, squirming, her mouth open to catch the strings of mucus that poured off him. They filled her mouth, thick as egg white, tasting of salt and rot. She swallowed greedily. More coated her hair, her face, her back. She was becoming a shining thing, a girl glazed like meat left too long in the sun.

"Yes," she begged, voice muffled by slime. "Cover me. Drown me in it. Grant, please, I need your cock, I need you to fill me again, I'm your sow, I'm empty, I'm aching—"

A thick tendril shoved between her lips and she sucked it, moaning around the girth, drool and slime running down her chin in ropes. Another tendril found her cunt and rubbed, not entering, just smearing her folds with that same viscous coat until she was dripping a mix of her own arousal and his filth down her thighs. Magda's hips jerked. She tried to impale herself on it and he withheld, teasing, the rumble in his chest almost amused. The tendril circled her clit, slow and insulting, until her thighs shook.

She broke. Magda scrambled onto all fours in the muck, knees wide, back arched, ass high. She reached back with both hands and spread her ass cheeks, showing him the soaked, clenching hole of her cunt, the way it winked and dripped, the way it was already trying to suck at empty air.

"Here," she demanded, grinding back, searching for him. "Put it in me. Breed me like the eager sow I am. I love it. I love being your hole. I love your disgusting cock. Fill me with liters, Grant, stuff my womb until I burst, I want to be pregnant again, I want to drip with you—"

The ovipositor dragged over the small of her back, scalding hot, pulsating, leaving a wide stripe of pre-ejaculate that ran down the cleft of her ass and over her cunt in a heavy sheet. Magda sobbed with want and shoved herself backward, grinding her pussy along the underside of that massive dripping shaft, coating herself further, chasing the ridges, smearing her own slick into his slime until the smell in the den turned thick enough to chew.

"Breed me," she said, raw and loud. "Use your breeding sow. Now."

Grant mounted her.

His weight drove Magda's chest into the slime. Forelimbs like wet tree trunks planted on either side of her ribs. The ovipositor—no, the cock, the same massive slimy organ, thick as her thigh and longer than her arm—found her cunt and shoved.

There was no easing. He slammed into her in one brutal stroke, the fat head battering through her soaked entrance, ridges scraping her inner walls, the sheer girth stretching her until her mouth opened in a silent scream of pleasure. Magda's eyes rolled. Her cunt clutched at him, greedy, and still he kept feeding it into her, deeper, until she felt him punch against the mouth of her womb and then through, the head lodging in that hungry place that had been made for him. Her belly bulged with the shape of him from the inside.

"Yes—fuck—Grant—yes—"

He fucked her in a slick, brutal mating press. Each thrust drove her knees wider in the muck. The wet slap of his underbelly against her ass was deafening. Slime poured off him in sheets, soaking her hair, her back, pooling under her heavy hanging breasts so that milk and mucus mixed on the floor in pale swirling puddles. Magda came on the third stroke, a hard, shaking orgasm that made her cunt seize around the invading shaft, and she kept coming, little aftershocks every time a ridge dragged over the swollen spot inside her. Her arms gave out. She went down on her chest, cheek in the slime, ass still offered, taking the next dozen strokes as if they were prayer.

Grant's pace turned vicious. He rammed her, using her, the way she had begged to be used. Magda's voice broke into a stream of worship that bubbled through the mucus in her mouth.

"I love it—I love your cock—I love being drenched—use me, use your sow, fill me, I'm nothing but a womb for you—fuck your liters into me, I want to slosh, I want to be heavy—"

She felt him swell. The organ inside her throbbed, ridges locking behind her pubic bone, and then Grant came.

It was not a human climax. It was a flooding. The first spurt hit her womb like a hose, hot and thick as pudding, liters of it, a volume that made Magda's eyes fly wide. Her belly jumped. He kept pumping. Pulse after pulse after pulse, gallons of seed roaring into her, bloating her uterus in seconds. Magda screamed in ecstasy as her abdomen swelled, rounding, tautening, the skin stretching shiny and pale. Cum sprayed back out around his still-thrusting shaft in heavy jets, splashing her thighs, her calves, the floor, and still there was more, still he pumped liters into her until her belly hung heavy and sloshing, pregnant-looking in a matter of minutes. The overflow ran in a continuous sheet. She could hear it pattering.

Magda orgasmed again, harder, her whole body locking, milk spraying from her nipples in thin arcs as the contractions milched her. She collapsed onto her forearms, ass still up, taking it, moaning through it, laughing when another spurt punched her navel outward.

"I love being drenched in your disgusting cum," she gasped, grinding back even as overflow poured out of her in sheets. "I love being used like a breeding sow. Don't stop. Never stop. I'm yours. Fill me until I can't walk. I want to drip you for days. I want every monster in the tunnels to smell that I belong to you."

Grant gave her another long, shuddering series of spurts, each one a wet punch inside her, each one making her belly lurch. When he finally pulled out, the ovipositor left her with a filthy sucking sound and a torrent of seed followed, pouring from her gaping cunt in a thick white waterfall that ran down her thighs and steamed on the stone. Magda reached back, scooped a double handful of the stuff, and smeared it over her face, her tits, into her mouth, swallowing, coating herself while her bloated belly hung beneath her like a drum of warm soup. She stayed like that, panting, dripping, blissed, a nineteen-year-old girl turned into a shining, leaking vessel, and she would not have traded the filth for any clean world that had ever existed.

Time moved strangely in the den. Magda carried what he had put in her. Her belly grew from that single feeding into a vast, shifting drum, the skin marked with the restless push of things that were not human. When her labor came it arrived as a low, sweet cramp that made her smile.

She birthed them on her back in the same nest, knees drawn up, hands hooked under her thighs, pushing with the same greedy joy she used to take Grant's cock. The first of the litter crowned in a rush of slime and old seed. It was grotesque: a fist-sized knot of gray-green flesh with too many jointed limbs folded tight, a cluster of milky eyes already open, a mouth like a slit. Magda bore down and it slithered free in a wet heap, followed by another, and another, a squirming litter of monstrous young that writhed in the afterbirth and mewled with thin, needling voices. She counted them as they came, six, seven, eight, each one more twisted than the last, each one hers. Her cunt stretched and yielded and she moaned through every contraction, proud, open, used exactly as she wished to be used.

When the last of them slipped out, Magda gathered the writhing pile against her chest without wiping the bloodless ichor from her thighs. Her breasts were painfully full. Milk already beaded and ran. She lifted the nearest creature, its little claws pricking her skin, and pressed a leaking nipple into its hungry mouth. It latched with a sharp, sucking pull that made her gasp and then laugh. Another found the other breast. Two more wriggled up her ribs, mouths seeking, and she helped them, offering herself, cupping the heavy, milk-fat flesh and feeding them while they fed. The remaining young nuzzled her belly, her throat, anywhere they could taste her. Magda lay in the muck and nursed them, stroking their slimy backs, whispering yes, yes, drink, that's what these tits are for, that's what your sow is for.

Grant watched from the shadows at the edge of the nest. His bulk dripped. His ovipositor, already renewed, hung heavy and glossy, a slow pulse traveling its length as he stroked it with two tendrils, working himself while he looked at her: Magda on her back, afterbirth shining on her skin, monstrous young latched to her nipples, belly still soft from emptying, cunt still slack and wet. She turned her head and met as many of his eyes as she could, and she smiled with her whole ruined, beautiful face.

After the last of the litter had drunk its fill and tumbled into a twitching sleep against her side, Magda did not rest. She eased the young aside, rolled onto her hands and knees, and presented herself again. Cum and afterbirth still ran down her inner thighs in pink-gray strings. Her belly hung loose. Her breasts swung, milk still leaking from the nipples the young had used. She reached back, spread herself, and looked over her shoulder at Grant with a hunger that had no bottom.

"Again," Magda begged. "Breed me. My body's still swollen, still milky, still open. Put another litter in me before this one even dries. I want the cycle. I want to be your perfect, endlessly fertile monster breeding sow. Drench me. Please."

Grant obliged.

He reared over her and the ovipositor came down like a club, not even entering at first, just hosing her. Liters of thick slime and seed erupted across her spine, her hair, her face. Magda opened her mouth and caught what she could. Another jet painted her hanging breasts, mixing with the milk. He shoved into her ruined cunt in one stroke and came again almost at once, flooding the space the young had left, bloating her in fresh pulses while overflow sprayed out around his shaft and ran down to her knees. He pulled out and painted her from head to toe, several more liters, until Magda was a dripping statue of filth, laughing, shaking, ecstatic, every inch of her shining with him.

She laughed with pure ecstatic joy, the sound bright and broken and utterly willing, because she was his, and the earth was theirs, and there would never be an end to the filling.

Magda would die still open for him, still begging to be filled, a sow who had chosen the slime over the sky.