Emma was thirty-five weeks along now, and her body had stopped pretending it was anything but a breeding machine. The belly that had started so round and proud at twenty weeks was now a low, heavy, sagging shelf of taut skin that rested permanently on her upper thighs. It was bigger than her waist, bigger than her head when she tried to tilt it back, and the skin across it had turned into a shiny map of stretch marks silver on the top, faint pink still showing where the marks were fresh. Her breasts had ballooned into two enormous, veiny balloons that hung heavy and full, constantly leaking thin, watery colostrum that soaked through every bra and shirt she owned. The plugs in her pussy and ass were no longer optional; they were just part of her wardrobe, thick black silicone that never came out anymore unless one of the men decided to take them out for fun.The sex had gotten messier, more desperate, and sometimes a little clumsier because of how big she was. There were nights whe
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