I wake the following morning with a realisation that today is an auspicious one.
A day where, if the Queen -- Mother -- is telling it true, I'm going to find myself facing a very different reality, going forwards. Today, I undergo my true betrayal, if I choose to go along with it. If I choose to get that thing which I want more than anything else in the world.
The Empress of Eternity. The Witch Queen. The Mother of Mothers.
I shiver, to consider it. To consider that even after a night's sleep, waking late and alone -- as if time means much, though the palace does keep to a clock, for the sake of her counsel and audiences -- with a bottomless well of lusts utterly expunged from me the night before and yet in their place now resides a crystallised aspect of want.
I want her.
The noblest parts of me, or those best talented in the act of deception, might well view that desire through a rose-tinted lens. In becoming her child, in becoming a shard of herself, I'll have some element of power that -- if her truths are revealed to be lies -- might allow me to make things brighter for those she's wronged. If there truly are no other worlds, if she really has wrought evil upon the many peoples under her Eternal Empire, then I can at least fudge the numbers going forwards.
Yet I blush, knowing the truth. Blush, knowing that my truest desire is to make her my woman. To put a baby in her, to claim her body, to reduce this Queen of Queens to nothing more than an outlet for my sexual needs. Oh, I know it'll be purely in line with her own desires, of course. I know my place, insofar as power stacks up between us. Whatever happens, it happens per her own agreement. In no way, shape, or form, can I come out of this somehow at the reins of things.
Still, it doesn't matter. I can either do some good, or at least find good in enjoying myself. Ugly though the latter thought is, it's built upon the hope that she's been truthful with me.
Because if the Witch Queen is as benevolent as she claims, then I can enjoy myself without an atom of guilt.
I climb from the big bed and go to the adjacent bathing room, soaking my nude form for a while and passingly inspecting myself. My body, honed to be hard and firm during the futility of our rebellion, has regained its full vigour on account of...her feedings. I can't pretend I don't want her milk, and equally I can't pretend I'd so strongly desire it -- despite its deliciousness -- were there not the illicit intimacy of the act of nursing involved.
How far gone I am, truly, and yet it makes me smile. I've put up a fight, and I can justify my behaviour to myself. I can cope with who I'm becoming, even though...even though in some sense, I've no idea who I'm about to become.
I let my head relax back on the shelf of the bath and stare at the ceiling, at its mosaic patterns and beautiful artwork etched into the very stones themselves. This entire place is wrought from her, designed by her, wholly the product of that sublime and enchanting consciousness. Was the Queen always like this? Did it come about on account of her power, the tremendous abilities she developed in the course of becoming the tantalising terror I know her to be?
What will I become, if I go through with this? And more importantly -- so importantly -- why am I so happy to do this? Just for a chance of...impregnating her? In the light of day, in the warming steam of the bath, it's difficult to wield that reasoning as I intended it to be used.
Better to be powerful, of course. But there's another aspect there, and one which I'm passingly ashamed of. These feelings, towards her. These urges, which encompass her. To think of the Witch Queen, the Mother of Mothers -- who wants me to be her son, her scion, and to call her Mother -- is to experience a fluttering in the soul that nobody has ever induced in me before.
There have been women, yes. Pretty girls, clever girls, interesting girls...but the Empress of Eternities is not some mere girl. This twisted relationship I find myself in, appetising as it is, involves a mortal and a deity. That's the truth of it, the part that's impossible to deny.
'Lost in thought?'
Her voice wrenches me out of my contemplation, and I instinctively -- foolishly -- cover my junk, as if my cock hadn't been embedded inside of her last night.
The Queen stands at the entrance to the bathing chamber, in full garb despite being in the privacy of her quarters. Something about the contrast of her paleness and the blackness of her metallic armour appeals to me on a fundamental level, conjuring forth an amalgamation of love and fear. It has cut-outs at just the right spots to reveal her matronly curvature, the thickness of her thighs and plushness of her hips, the immensity of her motherly breasts. A body, my mind is eager to remind me, I could claim. A womb, ripe and ready, if I go along this path which awaits me.
'No, Mother,' I say, the word having such power even in daylight. 'Simply enjoying the waters. I never had a bath like this, even when all was normal.'
'It'll feel normal again, darling.' She steps forwards, once and then twice, the armoured heels of her thigh-high sabaton-boots rattling sonorously against the tiled floor. 'Do you still want to see what has become of your friends?'
The details of which have already been discussed, of course. Either I trust her, or I do not. But the offer is still tempting, if only to see...to see what my gut says. Though part of me, perhaps the same part wearing a different face, worries that I'll like what I find and lose myself in her grace.
'I thought we talked about this?'
'We did,' she says, smiling in her enigmatic fashion. 'I thought I'd offer it, all the same. I do want you to be comfortable with me, if it can be helped. Assuming that you still want to become my scion, and the only man worthy of breeding me.'
Her tone takes a slight dip into the vulgar as she says that last bit, and her luxurious lips hint at the makings of a sultry smirk. The Witch Queen knows all too well how to push my buttons, and seems to relish watching for any responses on my face. Sadly I lack her exquisite control, and I'm sure I give something away. That part of me which longs, like nothing else, to see her belly fat with a child of my own...it's ravenous beyond language.
'Let me just dry,' I say. 'I want to see. I want to...want to trust you.'
'I'll be waiting in the throne room. Don't give me a chance to get bored.'
She turns away with a wicked wink, passingly presenting her proud posterior to me, a feast for the eyes as exceptional as her breasts. The armour is obviously for show, given how it rides up between her pale plump buttocks like some thong strap. Her dark hair, vaguely purplish with her immense magics where the light hits it just so, sways side to side against her cheeks as they bounce up and down with every step she takes.
Her absence is like a chill, and it leaves a seed of worry. The Empress of Eternities is an addictive thing to contend with, a drug in sentient form. Even being in the presence of her voice is something to marvel at, the way the notes of her luscious tone seem to engulf and envelop. Not to begin on her raw physical appeal, the beauty of that baleful, impressive physique, the superior of any woman from the entire span of human history.
I don't quite notice myself thinking about her as I finish my washing and hurry out of the bath to dry myself off, but my mind revolves around her. A hunger for her milk, for the sweetness of her mouth, for her touch upon my skin. There, in the background, always.
The clothing in the wardrobe is...whatever I want it to be, it seems, so long as it stylistically suits her own apparel. Everything is dark, though the actual garments themselves are manifold in their variants. From clothing befitting some relic of the Middle Ages all the way up to modern outfits that would look at home on London's streets -- if notably gothic -- and then other things that seem almost futuristic.
I settle for something familiar enough, a jacket and jeans, a t-shirt beneath the jacket. The drawer beneath the wardrobe proper seems to extend out as far as I am happy to pull it, revealing a similarly endless array of footwear, though some stylish boots will do me fine.
Suitably comfortable, feeling more at home than I ever have in this place, I make my way to the throne room. That stained glass window which overlooks the audience hall possesses on either side of it a set of doors, and I slip through the leftmost one, coming out on the opposite side of the chamber from the Queen's seat. The vast room is empty for the moment, though I'm sure it'll be riddled with sycophants and servitors before long.
'There you are,' Mother says, manifesting beside me as if stepping out from unseen shadows. 'Are you ready to go?'
'As I'll ever be,' I say. Her scent is vaguely inebriating, syrupy and luscious. 'For whatever it's worth, I want to trust you. I do.'
'I believe you.' She wraps a hand around one of mine, clenching it with gentle tightness, fingers latticing about my own. 'I gain nothing from tricking you, darling boy. I want this to be authentic, lest I remind you. The sweetest victory here is your willingness, your wanting this. Nothing else will do.'
She eases me close to her, beside her body. It's easy to forget sometimes how much taller she is than me, even without her heeled sabatons, but right now almost a half-foot separates us. The metal which so sporadically encases her perfect paleness is warm to the touch where it brushes against me. If anything, her whole body generates a kind of comfortable heat, and a comforting sense of safety. Of...being home.
'I know, Mother. I'm ready to go. Show me my friends.'
The transition is instantaneous, a sudden injection of colour and sound into the omnipresent darkness which makes up the halls of her great house. We materialise on a field of green grass, overlooking a cottage which at first glance seems to be on the edge of a humble town out of a fantasy story. The very house I saw in the brief thoughts she filtered into my head, where Derrick and Charlotte were supposed to end up.
'They can't see us unless I allow them to, so observe as you see fit. Go brush the fencing and get splinters, or prick yourself on a knife in their kitchen, if you must. Anything to believe me.'
Her voice is momentarily odd, as if quivering. When I examine her face I find no sign of anything but her characteristic confidence, but the sound plays back in my head and I'm not quite sure how to describe it. Not a bad sound, by any means. A faint whimper, almost? A...vulnerability, perhaps?
'It's a beautiful place,' I say, acting no further on the curiosity. I step forwards, towards the half-height wooden fence which surrounds the cottage, and the wind on my face feels ever so real. The scent of smoke on the wind, drifting down from the chimney atop the thatched roof, is ever so real. 'Did you make it for them?'
'I made this world, but the houses themselves, the towns and cities and farms, are the product of the people who live here,' the Queen says, coming up beside me. 'They are free. I have no desire to control or command.'
'You know why I struggle with that.'
'I do, but tell me, truly: would the leaders of your world allow somewhere like this to exist?' She steps slightly ahead of me, up against the fence, and turns my way. The Empress of Eternities, in the sunlight of this place so unlike her palace, is all the more enchanting. Her milky flesh, her amethyst eyes, and the velvet darkness of her hair are glorious in the daytime. 'The fields will never grow barren here. The earth will never fail to give up its bounty. Magic infuses all, makes daily life easy. There will be no miscarriages, no ailments, no suffering. Storms bring no harm to the crops, and the same applies to the seasons. Each exists only to enliven the experience. The people govern themselves, and the only rule is that no single person, no group of people for that matter, may rule over the rest.'
The Queen places her hands upon the fence, the thing of masterfully hewn wood, and sighs as she looks past the house towards the town beyond it, its chimneys smoking and the distant sound of laughter, life, existence ongoing. 'There are no rulers here, Daniel. None but me, and yet you do not see me here dictating the lives of these people. I set them free. If the stories about me were just, they would call me, above all other titles, that which is truest: Liberator of Liberators.'
For just a moment, I'm distracted by movement in the windows of the cottage. My best friend and his wife, passing by on the ground floor, and then the front door opens and she steps out, noticeably pregnant. A massive smile on her mouth as she sees him, as he comes to her and slings a coat over her shoulders and kisses her cheek, all well. All healthy and happy.
They walk by us, towards the road which leads into town, chattering away. I know she could fake it, but it's them. It is. His hand movements, his eagerness to try out another pub. Her sweet smile, charmed by him, in love with him. A god could recreate them, I'm sure. Especially one as powerful as the Witch Queen.
But I said I'd trust my gut, and my gut says that they're real.'
'How do I become your son?' I say, moving up against the fence, watching them go.
'It took that little to convince you? I could be tricking you, you know.'
I shake my head. 'It's your face. It's your eyes. Your posture. It's the fact that you sit on that throne, listening for hours. It's the fact that what you just said -- about the rulers of my world -- is completely true.'
It takes great boldness, to reach for her face. To touch the delicate cheek of the Queen of Queens, and earn myself a smile. The little crow's feet around her eyes, the faint laugh lines around her full ruby lips, the soft details of her age are motherly and kind despite the darkness of her armoured form and the spikes of her crown. And Mother lets me cup her chin, despite her being taller and stronger, and allows me to turn her face towards me.
'Like we said, I'll never really know. But...I want to believe you. I...want many things, but the foundation of them is that I believe you.'
'You don't fear me anymore, do you?' She draws back from the fence and turns wholly towards me, bringing her hands to my shoulders. The creamy valley of her cleavage would distract my baser appetites, if not for the glory of her gaze. 'I can't quite describe how happy that makes me. I need this, darling. I need you.'
The wetness in her eyes sells it. 'You can't be serious.'
Mother twists her mouth playfully, and slides her hands inwards, towards my throat. 'You know me better than anyone, Daniel. Only you see this side. You're not a sycophant, not a slave. All the power in the world, all the power that I wield, cannot give me the gift you are offering.'
She guides me closer, gently yet firmly, and the warmth of her breasts heats the underside of my chin, separated by a mere few inches. I look up to her, and she looks down, the sweetness of her breath intoxicating.
'Why me?'
Mother cocks her head to the side, and smiles. 'Why not? If not you, it might've been another, but when? Where? I have seen greater men than you cower before me, and fear my every breath, but look at you. You meet my gaze and you touch my face and you only blush to see me.'
Mwah. Smooch.
She brings her mouth to mine, in control yet not in command. I shut my eyes and lose myself to the kiss, to the lushness of her lips and the syrup of her spit. Only a brief thing, a respite from a world where I'm not always tasting her, basking in her affection, but it instils an electricity in my bones right down to the smallest and deepest atom.
When she pulls away, smiling all the deeper, the Queen regards me with a fondness that at once bothers and brightens. A mother, beholding her child. The kind of look only my own mother has given me, once upon a time. It shouldn't provoke a stiffening of my cock, but it does. This woman, this goddess, is beyond traditional mores and morals.
'Will I really be your son?'
'You will. When you kiss me for the first time, after I give birth to you...you'll be kissing your own mother. Your true, and eternal mother.' She strokes my neck, smiles warmly. 'And you will be my son, my scion, my prince.'
'Not your king?'
She glances to the side, away across the fields. 'I do not have a fondness for kings.'
'Sorry, I didn't mean to--'
The Queen of Queens quickly applies a finger to my lips, her focus again on me, those alluring amethyst eyes smouldering for a moment. In them, there are worlds, endlessness, power beyond my dreams. Her smile, however, wields more godliness than any other usage of her strength.
'I know, and you don't need to apologise. You are not the men I am used to. But still, you will be my prince. My prince-consort. But never a king. There will be no more of those.'
She takes hold of my shoulders and brings me forwards with her easy and irresistible strength, not a flex of her arm muscles in sight. My chin comes to rest upon the valley of her cleavage, against such perfect pillowy softness that might otherwise only be dreamt of. Her smells fill my nose, her warmth blankets my face, and the smile I smile is one of genuine relaxation as those last and difficult pieces begin to fit into place.
This is okay. This is fine. It's all right, if I am to be selfish for a change. To give into her, to cease my complaints, my worries, my cautiousness that does nothing to change the state of things. The Empress of Eternities is superhuman and I am only a man, only a small speck on the horizon, and if she lies or if she speaks truly...I should nonetheless do my best to enjoy it. My friends, surely, would not hate me for that. Not when I cannot do otherwise.
'I'm going to regrow you in my womb,' she says, slowly stroking my back. Mother rests her chin atop my head and traces patterns across my skin, meaningful or otherwise, alien to me. 'I'm going to give birth to you, and when you are born again, you will be my scion. A Prince of Princes, a Son of Sons. And then, with our souls sufficiently bonded...I will give you permission to mount me, as you so hungrily desire.'
'How...how does this work, Mother? Is it literal or--'
'Literal. I'm going to swallow you, bodily, into my vagina. Into my uterus. It will take as long as it takes, but within me, you'll know nothing but raw pleasure as your body and soul are remade in my image. Insofar as it needs to be. You'll be yourself, when you are born, but infused with me, as well.'
A shiver runs through me, at the prospect of such perverseness. From the tone of her voice, from the luxury of her touch, from the way I understand her mind, I know that this isn't entirely a matter of necessity. That surely, she could simply click a finger and have me become what she needs me to be.
'You...you get off on this, don't you?'
The Queen chuckles. 'You tell me.' Something clinks, something about her armoured form, and then a hot lance presses against my clothed belly. A throbbing shape, fiery, rigid as solid steel. 'You are not just my son, Daniel. My lover, after all, should experience all possible pleasures my body can give him, just as I should experience all that his body can provide.'
I stare wide-eyed at her black-plated gorget, the ruby in the centre of it seeming to pulse. For so long, I've avoided that part of her. Avoided accepting that Mother is, after all, not fully female. In her dethroning of tyrants she saw fit to give herself a body that utilises their weapon against them, and now her cock is pressing against my gut, a thing of tremendous size and strength.
But whereas in those earlier incidents, I panicked...now I'm curious. The Queen of Queens has a beautiful body, and that is part of it, after all. A stranger part, an unfamiliar one, but not something to despise if I am really going to do this.
She doesn't hold me in place, allows me to slide backwards a little so that my attention can dip downwards to her exposed erection. I suck in a small breath, beholding it for the first time in what feels like an age.
It must be over a foot in length, more than twice the size of my above-average endowment. Thick around the shaft but largest of all at the head, which is for the moment shrouded in pale foreskin. Her manhood begins in that overgrown bush of oil-black darkness, and beneath it swings a pair of testicles like fat oranges, in a silken and hairless sack. It definitely has an appeal to it, one that was never quite there before.
'As my son, you would have earned the right to consume my seed,' Mother says, a powerful lustiness in her voice. 'Judging by the way you look at my body, I can only imagine that your thoughts might have changed a little, around such matters?'
My own words are still fresh in my ears, my own fears of what she ultimately wants. When I pull my gaze away from her giant cock, I find a devilish smile on her lovely lips, a flaring fire in those amethyst eyes. And for a long moment, I'm lost in them. Lost in possibility.
All of this time, all of my concerning myself over whether giving into pleasure is fair on the people she might have hurt, and yet I've put so little thought into whether or not her aims for me are quite what she claims. Am I truly to be her scion, or am I instead to be her slave?
'You...you do want me to be your prince, don't you?'
The Queen chuckles. 'So frightened, aren't you? I haven't seen that look in a long time. It almost takes me back to our first meeting.' She casually grips my jaw and strokes her fingers against it, smiling away. 'As my prince, and my consort, you will have duties. Duties to me, first of all, that nobody else can fulfil. What I have shown you so far is not a trick, but it isn't the whole variety of what's to come.'
I'm aware of the increasing rumbling of my heart behind my ribs, and the budding arousal most prominently obvious between my legs. For all her divinity, her supreme power, there's something about the Witch Queen that would not be amiss in some goddess of sensuality.
The way she considers me, cocking her head slightly to the left, her smile ripe and rich, amethyst eyes faintly crackling with their inhuman energies, makes all the potential difficulties of this future I am choosing somehow negligible. I am made small, weak, vulnerable, and yet...it's okay. That trust I've chosen to place in her remains, and the shifting tone between us, the hints of a different kind of perversion, does nothing to damage its foundations. I can still turn back. I can still choose a different fate.
'I want to be your prince,' I say, nodding against her gentle touch. 'I trust you.'
She blinks softly, and the world melts into smoke and skittering darkness for half a second, the transitional period between this beautiful place and the black marble of her palace. At no point are my feet threatened by instability, despite the disappearance of the grass and soil and momentary void which connects the two distinct planes.
When reality solidifies again, we're in her bedchamber, standing at the foot of the great four-poster bed that acts as the room's centrepiece. The Witch Queen at last releases her hold of my jaw and steps backwards, sitting herself down on the bottom edge of the bed.
'Are you ready to be reborn, Daniel? For us to begin this properly, as it should be?'
As she speaks, Mother widens her legs almost to the point that they press back against the dark iron frame of the bed. Her armour melts away, becomes dust and then less than, exposing in full her nude and magnificent matronly body. Full, slightly sagging breasts with wide and bumpy areolas, each boob as large as my head. Wide childbearing hips, and voluptuous thighs, all creamy pale. Her phenomenally sturdy erect cock, drooping upon that pair of enormous balls, its mound a thing of oil-black hairiness.
She smiles salaciously as she takes hold of her member with one hand, and cups her big balls with the other, scooping all of that maleness up and out of the way to reveal the pretty pink paradise of her motherly coochie. The glistening orifice, a dimensional gateway dedicated solely to sex and pleasure -- at least, up until now, in my reckoning -- glistens and faintly quivers, quakes in anticipation, as I behold its ordinarily hidden self.
'How does it happen?'
The Queen gestures to me with a curling finger, her smile now a smirk, lust given physical form. 'Come closer. Let Mother put you in your rightful place.'
It's only two steps, but the first one is laborious. To lift my foot and return it to the smooth flagstones of the floor is akin to lifting an immense weight, as if my body is suddenly made of metal and yet my own reserves of strength remain suited to mere flesh. There's no going back, I realise. No turning away now. I'm too excited, too enamoured, too curious about the possibilities.
I chose to be myself, when I could've started anew. When the Empress of Eternities gave me my options, allowed me to either remain with her as myself, or to live freely as another, I chose myself. Chose her.
And now...now I'm going to adapt to the way things are going. To take the final step, feeling like a man of unshifting metal, until at last Mother brings her hand against the arch of my left hip and suddenly I'm weightless. Weightless, because she's got me right where she wants me, and I'm no longer my usual height and strength. My clothes melt away, and I'm naked, naked and exposed and at her mercy and...it's a mad state of affairs.
'Holy shit,' I say, realising the change. She's so big, and so...I must be so small.
'How quaint,' the Queen says, easily holding me up before her with just the one hand, its long pale fingers reaching around half of my waistline. From a few inches short of six feet to maybe a few short of two. 'You're going to make such a wonderful son.'
She brings me forwards, until our faces are a hair's breadth apart, hers so much larger than my own. The world is now the Empress, her height normal, mine diminutive. I glance about myself, finding everything in proportion, an adult body but rendered tiny. Perhaps that of a particularly large baby in terms of size, at best.
The Queen kisses my face, her lips like molten flame, her breath candied and sweet. Her eyes possess a tremendous dirtiness to them, a vulgarity that suits her well and yet usually seems to be somewhat leashed. More and more, her perverseness is leaking through. More and more, it's clear that for her, a major element of this -- if not the defining one -- is about sex and sensuality above all else.
'I...are you going to unbirth me now?'
She smiles wider, and chuckles. 'I'm going to put you right where you belong, my lovely boy. I'm going to infuse you with myself, and when you come out again, you'll be such a wonderful prince.'
I tremble as she begins to lower me, as she lifts her proud and excessive male genitals up to ensure an easy pathway to her pussy. Some part of me demands I protest, resist, but it's such a pointless thing. I'm too excited, too aroused, too all-around interested in the madness, the magic, the motherliness of this beautiful and terrible deity.
Her coochie's lips glisten, widen almost in anticipation of me. The sexual smells of her lower lips provoke a faint twitching of my nostrils, her natural tang pheromonal and musky with womanliness, no hint of the arcane at work despite her whole body being fundamentally infused with the stuff.
It's strange, that my predominant passion here is lust. Lust, raw and ripe and fiery, dripping from every element of myself capable of thought. I have no idea what's about to happen, really. Only her words, and what are they, after all, but possibilities?
The Empress of Empresses holds me steadily, beginning to angle me roughly horizontally, so that I'm going in feet-first. Mother smiles, wets her luscious lips, and her pussy seems to glisten all the stronger, anticipating my arrival. Whatever is about to happen, it's going to change the course of my life. For better or worse.
'You're so excited,' she says, rubbing her thumb back and forth over the sensitive tip of my shrunken member. 'I'm glad. I want you inside me, too. Warm and safe and ever so pleasant.'
The Queen brings me forwards, and my heart thunders. Words fail me, because how could they do anything else? My eyes are as wide as saucers, at their very limits, and all I can do is marvel at the increasing vastness of her body, inch after inch bringing us so close to this point beyond which all is uncertain, all is illicit, all is perversely insane.
Schlick.
'Ughn.'
'Mhm. How does that feel?'
My feet find themselves engulfed in a hot humidity, sticky and swallowing. So easily they disappear into her body, and twitching my toes only provokes trembles through her. She moans, as if the mere addition of my tiny feet is enough to bring her great satisfaction. And fuck me, the simplest touch provokes a groan on my part, because it's as if my whole body -- now entering her in this vulgar fashion -- is an erogenous zone.
'Why is it...why's it so--'
Schlick-schlick.
I suck in a deep breath, the air perfumed with her coochie's eroticism. Mother slides me up to my calves inside her, and my cock erupts. Not a traditional orgasm but something stranger, whole-body, like the purest and truest species of that most desired and sought-after animal drive. It's like all is white, all is glorious, all is perfect.
'Because you belong inside of me,' the Witch Queen says. Schlick-schlick. Up to the knees, the warmth magnificent, the tightness growing. 'You're going to spend a long, long time inside me, darling. Because I am, forever more, your true mother.'
To look up, to meet those amethyst eyes, is to look beyond a pair of sublimely plump breasts that possess such an alluring degree of matronly sag, to behold a face that is so much larger than my own, to behold a woman whose beauty is enchanting and whose body is a paradise.
Schlick-schlick.
My cock continues to spurt as it disappears past her lips, which so easily swallow my entire lower half. What use are tiny sperms in fertilising the eggs of a goddess? What use is a tiny cock? And fuck, her hand above me is the only thing preventing the descent of those mammoth testicles, that huge dick, that before long will fall back atop her vulva like some mythological boulder across the entrance of a cave, sealing me away.
Mother leans forwards slightly, her enormous tits jiggling forwards, the ripest of smiles upon her voluptuous lips. 'Oh, you feel so good in there. Squirm all you like, it'll only make it better for me. I can't wait to get you in my--aahn--womb.'
I try to speak but my mind is utterly wracked with perverse pleasure, lost in the throes of exultant ecstasy. She adjusts her grip on me, placing that holding hand above my shoulders, her body's hold on mine more than enough to keep me easily clasped within her welcoming walls. At the first sign of looseness she squeezes tighter, and my nuts feel as though they're wholly emptied, as if some minuscule mouth is sucking fiercely on my cock.
'Ughn. Ugh. Fuck, M-other.'
'Well, you will be a motherfucker.' She chuckles, pushing her fingers on my shoulders. Schlick-schlick, schlick-schlick. This seems almost the end, the final moments in the world beyond her pussy. 'Bye, darling. See you when I see you. Aahn. Ooh.'
Her face disappears, and her fingers leave me be as her hot and sticky coochie slides up to my shoulders. The Queen must release her hold on her junk, because suddenly the underside of her nut sack comes down like a hood across my face, and all the world is plunged into darkness. Humid, fragrant, erotic darkness.
'Mhm. Oh, so close.'
Schlick-schlick, schlick-schlick.
Suddenly I'm being pulled from within, swallowed bodily. For just a moment my head is wedged in the opening of her pussy and then her lips fall around me, solidifying the darkness. I wriggle and squirm, locked in a perpetual climax, and her vagina feels tendrilous against my bare flesh, a muscular magnificence that swells and crushes, that engulfs me with constant wetness and warmth.
Mother moves, perhaps laying back, and moans loudly. Her voice is muffled, distant and yet close, a vibration felt through me as my face becomes entirely glazed in her fluids. Salty, sweet, sticky. My feet press up against an opening which promptly parts, making way, drawing me into that last and most fertile of places. Her womb. Mother's womb.
'Aah. Oh, it's divine. It's--mhm--perfect!'
Her whole body shudders around me as I'm rapidly sucked into a different place, a chamber of utter heat and electrifying ecstasy. The gateway of her cervix grips around my neck and head, desperate to shut, to lock me inside, and the moment I'm through it seals tightly to prevent any chance of escape.
'Ugh. Shit.'
I can't seem to stop moaning, twisting about, the universe a place of blackness and yet tremendous comfort. Safety. All of a sudden I seem to grow, to become a bit larger, large enough to be moulded into a position by the walls of her womb. To be forced into a foetal position, my knees up against my chest, a baby in its mother. Her baby. My mother.
But the darkness is suddenly broken. 'Mhm. Hello in there.'
A vision appears before my eyes, some lens across the mind's eye. A vision of the Queen of Queens, laid upon her back on that magnificent bed, with a fat and fertile-looking belly. Extremely pregnant, with all the alluring accoutrements: thicker curves in places, even more abundant breasts, nipples faintly glistening with milk.
Like a hovering camera, I behold her side-on, and she smiles at me as if knowing just where my face will be. The gorgeous goddess brings a pale hand down atop her bloated belly, the belly button forced outwards, and slowly strokes the shape. I'm rocked by a series of further convulsions, shivering away from the exceptional pleasure that rushes through me as a result of such distant and external contact. If I'm cumming, if I'm simply existing in a psychological state of ejaculatory ecstasy, I can't tell. My whole body, constantly, is bathed in blissfulness. The longest, most perfect climax.
'You're inside of me,' she says, shutting her eyes and smiling with utmost exultation. 'You're inside, Daniel. Darling. Ooh.' Mother chews on her lower lip and steadily shakes her head from side to side, her cock throbbing between her thighs. She frantically takes hold of it and begins to tug, eliciting an instantly sloppy schl-fap, schl-fap, schl-fap as her foreskin slickly slides back to reveal the purple magnificence of her tremendous glans. 'Inside me, right where you belong. Ugh. Don't I look so, so good, pregnant with you?'
She does. Ugh. I'm a prince of perverts, if nothing else. It's impossible to pretend away the fact that she looks superb, carrying a child. Carrying...me. It's the strangest thing, to consider that erotic and exotic state of affairs, but it's wonderful as well. Drenching in her fluids, awash in the waters of her womb, I'm nothing more than a child in waiting. A life to be born, as and when she wills it, wants it.
As she continues to stroke herself, all of her voluptuousness jiggles and shudders, from hips to heavy breasts. Those in particular look simply sublime, the blue veins on them more noticeable, the areolas seeming bumpier, wider, and a distinct dribble of that cream I so crave to feast upon leaking from her nipples.
'We're just going to lie here, for as long as I want.' She opens her eyes and they burn bright, the amethyst glory of her irises aflame and powerful. 'Maybe I'll never let you out. Maybe we'll just exist like this, forever, and ever.'
The thought is confusing, for one part of it chills and the other is so, so welcome. If this is my fate, to dwell in this state of rapturous ecstasy and the safest warmth I've ever encountered, then...then a strong part of me shouts: so be it.
'I can hear you, you know? All those thoughts. Mhm. All those worries and daydreams.'
Schl-fap, schl-fap, schl-fap.
She continues to stroke her magnificent member and sighs sweetly, eyes shutting again, mouth holding that heavenly smile. 'I'm only joking about keeping you here. Though you were--ugh--right. I don't have to do this. Aahn. It feels wonderful, which is as good a reason as any. We might have to--ooh--do it again, sometime.'
Her fat-headed cock erupts, shooting a veritable banquet of the thickest, creamiest, whitest semen. It releases in such sturdy strings, these voluminous white serpents that nonetheless never touch the floor. Each simply adds to a growing bubble, a ballooning mass that could easily fill some massive pitcher glass. I can't seem to look away, can't seem to stop marvelling at the sight, even though so much of the image is more traditionally desirable.
'It's for you,' the Empress says, groaning softly as her climax seems to come to an end, leaving but a single thick dribble of white cream leaking from the wide cycloptic hole in the middle of her bulbous bell-end. 'It's full of sperm, darling. Full of my essence. Your new favourite comfort food. Not sweet like my breastmilk, but more fitting. A cocksucker prince. Mhm.'
That dirty title only strengthens my ongoing orgasm. Some awful part of me...some part of me wants her in every sense, and will do anything to have her. Even if that means sacrificing certain things that I hold up as part of my masculinity. My independence.
'Oh, shush. It's not about that. I don't need a prince, and I certainly don't need to give him any children.' The Witch Queen opens her eyes again, and smirks in an almost sinister fashion. 'Come on, darling. You know that it was never going to end like that. I told you, didn't I? I told you what I wanted, right at the start. The best kind of subservience is not taken by force, but given freely.'
She chuckles, lust personified. The floating balloon of semen pulsates and writhes, alive with her sperm, her genes, her power. It hangs there in place for the moment, but something about it suggests great importance. And something in me...wants whatever that is going to be.
'Tell me you don't want this, think it, and I will set you free. I'll--ugh--send you to your friends, and wipe the memories of anyone who recalls your rebellion. I'll--aah--fix it all. You can have the life of your dreams...or you can be my pet prince, my royal pet, and live at my side until the end of time.'
But how can I stay? How can I stay with you, if I'm not getting what I wanted?
'What you wanted? Do you even know what I'm offering you?' She smirks, a touch vicious, lustful as sin. The swirling collection of load drifts forwards, towards her still-drooling cock. 'Nobody, in all of time and space, has the luxury of truly serving me. Nobody but you. If you so choose it.'
The immense quantity of whiteness dips down, forming a surging stream of jism that extends beneath her member and into that waiting womanhood. I can only watch, anticipating, curious, all of my lusts and desires enflamed like a fire stoked to the point of conflagration.
'I am the Empress of Eternities, darling Daniel,' she says, the rippling creaminess disappearing inch by inch into her pussy. 'I am going to get what I want, and what I want is all that matters. You'll give it to me. You'll do for me what nobody else can, and you've already decided. Your heart is already mine.'
Her confidence is at once unsettling and deeply arousing. Arrogance, perhaps, but I've always thought arrogance requires a degree of mismatch between belief and actualisation. Mother has no such mismatch. To look upon her nude and pregnant form, to behold the vessel of my transformation -- be it into a prince or a pet -- is to find in myself a deep uncertainty. Part of me wanting one outcome but not the other. Part of me wanting either, without a care in the world.
The Witch Queen licks her lips, and I'm dimly aware of a shift within her womb. 'The uncertainty is natural, darling. But I take good care of my pets, especially one so prized as you. You've seen my works, my worlds. I don't want to rule you by force, only by choice. You've chosen, each and every time, to--mhm--accept this fate. What makes this choice, now, any different?'
I realise, as the vision of her fades, as a thick and squirming gooiness rapidly encapsulates me, that I'm no longer alone in here. That I'm soaking not merely in the waters of her womb but the viscous virility of her semen, of her sperm. And perhaps it would be noticeable were I normal-sized, but shrunken as I am the sensation of her ejaculate as it swims across my skin brings with it a distinct sense of motility and presence. That her productive nuts have basted me in her genetic payload, and that I am now, unmistakably, bathing in the stuff.
'Mhm. My good, good boy. I'm sure you'll--aah--do what's best. For both of us.'
She must pat her belly again, because the world shudders. I...I know what she wants, surely. I understand her, perhaps like no one else in the world. Just as she understands me, in the same but opposite sense.
To open my mouth is to accept something molten, monumental, onto my tongue. A squirming shifting explosion, all hot and vividly mobile, bringing with it a fusion of filthy and fantastic flavours. Saltiness, muskiness, tanginess. Not what I expected, not exactly, and yet possessing a delightfulness that transcends anything sweet and syrupy like her milk.
'You're tasting me,' Mother says. 'You're tasting my--ugh--sperm. Swallow. Accept me. Become mine.'
Every inch of me seems to be aflame, burning bright in the darkness as I gulp down my first mouthful. It infuses me, bringing with that infusion a hint of a stranger taste, edging it all like darkly delicious lightning on the fringe of experience. Power, raw and true. Power, distilled into the reproductive muck of her aged and weighty loins. Devoured by me and yet devouring me in turn.
'Mhm. Mhmf.'
I moan into the void, rolling the creamy cum around my mouth, swallowing and savouring, swallowing and savouring. Mouthful after mouthful after mouthful. It goes down so easily, like molten velvet, leaving a tremendous warmth intruding into the very core of my being. There's no sense of bloating, or growth, or discomfort, despite the vast quantity I witnessed released from her.
'Time for--aah--that later,' she says, patting her tummy again. 'Mhm. Just become one with me. Just become m-ine.'
Something clicks, so suddenly, and I do. Time fades, melts into nowhere. All I am, in this moment, in this eternal bliss, is a pet. A plaything. A vessel for her power, honoured and storied, the luckiest man in the world. For who else has the luxury of tasting a fraction of this?
Holy shit. She's not lied for a moment. Can't even hide them from me. All the possibilities, all the worlds, all the truths. I am inside of her, but I am not. I am there, in that wombic wonderland, bathed in musky jism and gulping it down, and yet I am also standing atop a mountainside. No. Not standing.
Floating. Feet above the snow, naked as the day I was born -- is that now? Is that parallel to now? Is that the future or some past? -- and yet not cold. Coldness isn't a thing. How could it be, when elsewhere I am raising cities from dust and from the void itself? When I am skating across roiling oceans and swimming beneath the waves with vast things out of nightmare and yet they fear me! When I am the sky and the sun and the moon, the stars which twinkle and the worlds which dance upon their axes.
And then, with the drumming of her fingers upon her bloated belly, and the return of that vision before my eyes, I am drawn back to the waters of the womb.
'Good, isn't it?' she says. 'I didn't lie. You are my scion. My son. My prince. But...my pet, as well. You know, now, how much that means to me. How important it is. Please, please say that you know.'
'I do,' I say, sitting down at the foot of the bed, beside her and yet within her. 'Woah.'
Mother sits upright in a flash, the bulkiness of her body nothing compared to the powers of a goddess. Her smile is honey, her eyes alive with an affection that is unrivalled in all of eternity. 'Oh my. Daniel.'
She clutches the sides of my face and takes in my features with utmost contentment. I understand it intuitively, the look of one who has never before beheld someone so close to her level as I now am. As I now am, sat here beside her, and yet also within her, stewing away, somehow the shrunken self and also this new, divinely-empowered form.
Mwah. Smooch.
Mother hungrily devours my mouth, tasting my lips with her tongue, fiending after my spit. Her tastebuds lash about mine, filling my world with the deliciousness of her saliva, electrifying my outside of her just as I am within her. It seems to last and last, and when she finally comes away, she cocks her head to the side and grins. 'You understand now, don't you?'
'Is this going to fade?'
Her eyes seem wet, to the point of tears, but she shakes her head and none fall. 'No. It's something I could, of course, undo, but I've no need to. You know the truth.'
I do. It's impossible to avoid the facts, laid out before me as all else is. There was no trick, no trap. I don't have to obey, and yet...her power is unfathomable. Mine is like that of a universe, and hers a multiverse. A megaverse. An infinity of infinities. Like comparing the flame of a candle to the light of the Earth's Sun. The suddenness of satisfaction, of accepting my place in all of this, is immediate and immense.
To bring my hand to her belly, to feel the firmness of it, harbouring my true consciousness, or some fraction of it, is bizarre and yet beautiful. An honour, to be within her. An honour, to lay with her. An honour, to taste her.
'I'll do it,' I say, nodding. 'I'll be your prince. And your pet.'
'Are you sure? I can set you free still. I can let you wander. All this power, all possibilities short of rebelling against me at your disposal. Doesn't that tempt you?'
'It does.' Of course, it does. 'Why are you giving me so many chances to refuse?'
She leans in closer, and rests her chin upon my right shoulder. Her motherly breasts, all the bigger right now in her pseudo-pregnant state, brush against my arm. Practically sandwich it between them, into such warmth and wonder. Her breathing, sweet and humid, tickles the skin of my neck.
'Because I want this more than anything else in the world, and I cannot have it taken from me once I get it,' Mother says. The urgency, the desperation, gives an edge to her sultry voice. Need, never before presented in quite so prominent a fashion. 'I want to teach you how to service me, darling. I want to mount you. I want you to belong to me, a man who serves me, a god who serves me. And yes, I do so love your flights of fancy, your urge to make me your queen, and to breed me...but I have suppressed my needs for far too long.'
She takes my hand from her belly, clutching it at the wrist, and dips it down to her penis. To her big, queenly, royal penis. Even somewhat soft, it's huge. Warm against my fingers, which eagerly take hold of it. Faintly throbbing, distantly. That final drool of thick creamy jism still hangs from the eyelet of her exposed glans, the heavy purple perfection atop her shaft.
'I'm...I want to, but I'm scared.'
Smooch. She pecks the side of my neck, and nuzzles against me. 'You don't have to do it right now. We'll ease into things. I know it bothers you, as much as I know you want it.'
'It's so intimate.'
'It's a beautiful thing, to worship your queen. Mother or no.' She chuckles beside my ear, runs the tip of her nose against my skin. 'I'll teach you. Mummy will teach you. For now...why don't you go and enjoy your current home?'
Her words fall upon me like warm rain, whisking me away from the world beyond those dark, heavenly confines. No semen left, all within me, inside my soul or whatever else. A choice made, a life decided upon. A future...filthy as can be. Her pet prince. The Empress of Eternities, finally getting her own way.
'Sleep tight,' she says, stroking her stomach. The vibrations soothe me, though all existence remains some perpetual and unending ecstasy. 'You know as well as I do, be it a second or a thousand years, it won't be long now.'
I...
I know made the right choice.