Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4340576.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Supernatural, Supernatural_RPF
  Relationship:
      Jensen/Castiel;_Jensen/John_Winchester;_Jensen/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Jensen, Castiel_(Supernatural), Sam_Winchester, John_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Size_Kink, Size_Difference, Ritual_Sex, Training, Impregnation, Breeding,
      Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics, Alpha_John, Omega_Castiel, birth_kink, non-
      con/dub-con_elements, underage_(teenage_implied), Alternate_Universe,
      Threesome_-_M/M/M, Loss_of_Virginity, Double_Penetration, Come_Inflation,
      Possessive_Behavior, Nipple_Play, Orgasm_Delay/Denial, Mpreg, Childbirth,
      labor
  Collections:
      Anonymous
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-07-14 Completed: 2015-10-10 Chapters: 8/8 Words: 34176
****** Babymaker ******
by Anonymous
Summary
     This is a response to the spn_kink meme prompt beginning; "Jensen/
     OMCs; ritualized sex, mpreg, body horror--Every seven years a
     teenager from Jensen's village is chosen to become the embodiment of
     the fertility goddess worshipped in their culture. At the summer
     solstice festival, the teen is prepared with oils and ungents and
     during the great ritual every male in the village has intercourse
     with the chosen one who is impregnated. This ritual usually leads to
     twins or triplets at least. The more babies the chosen one is
     impregnated with, the better fortune is associated with it -- better
     crops and weather, etc. The babies are born in the spring, and the
     chosen one nurses for them for eight weeks or so before they are
     adopted out by families of the village and the chosen one is prepared
     for the festival again and again, year after year for seven years
     before another is chosen."
     It is inexcusably filthy, so pay close attention to the list of
     kinks: non-specific underage (teenage); intersex; ritualized sex,
     mpreg, body horror; lactation; belly kink; inflation kink; dub-con/
     manipulation; A/B/O breeding; birth kink;
Notes
     The kinks, let me list them for you: non-specific underage (teenage);
     intersex; ritualized sex, mpreg, body horror; lactation; belly kink;
     inflation kink; dub-con/manipulation; A/B/O breeding; birth kink;
     now with a WIP sequel: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8070328/
     chapters/18491929
***** training ("the way of these things") *****
Cas has been back with The Community for less than a month when Bobby sidles up
to him, nods at one of the boys out on the ball pitch, and mutters, “He’s the
one.”
“Already?” Cas scans the crowd of boys.
“Well, Jo’s weaned and gone two weeks now”—Jo had been the last Babymaker, a
female—“and John’d like to get this one bred up by the end of the summer. The
Council is in agreement.” John the Council is the head of The Community’s
Council, but Bobby is his right-hand man. Cas is just the Keeper, brought in to
coach this Babymaker through his first breeding festival. If Bobby says it is
the wish of the Council, then it is. That is the way of these things.
The scrum clears and Cas’s eyes catch on one of the younger boys. He’s clearly
an omega, still small for his age, and with the typical bow legs that are meant
to compensate for a lack of true child-bearing hips. Freckles, Cas notes even
from a distance, and a sweet mouth. “He the only Triple O this year?” he asks.
“There’re others,” Bobby shrugs. The Babymaker must be an omega, an orphan, and
an only child—the last two requirements guarantee that there will be no family
claims on any offspring, and the first…well, that’s a biological necessity.
Some years, no one of the right age meets all the requirements, so Babymakers
cycle every seven years: seven years of breeding and birthing, and then a
seven-year period called the hiatus, where they’re sent out of The Community.
Jo’s just begun her hiatus; Cas has just finished his, so he’s back in The
Community for one year as a Keeper. “A couple others,” Bobby continues, “but
John likes that one. Jensen, he’s called.”
“Jensen.” Cas watches the kid on the field, darting among the older, bigger
kids. Graceful and fearless, and with those pretty, pretty lips. No wonder John
had chosen him from the other Triple O's this year. (Cas remembers John fondly
from his own breedings; the man had a delicious, uncut horse-dick and knew how
to use it. Cas would swear at least one set of his twins were John’s). Lithe
Jensen trips up one of the clumsier kids and they both go down. The huge kid
hauls Jensen out of the mud of the pitch like he weighs nothing at all.
Laughing, Jensen wipes off his face with the tail of his tunic—a flash of pale
flat stomach that suddenly make Cas hungry for his own breeding years.
Cas does the math in his head. It’s May now, nearly June, and if the Council
want offspring by the next spring, September is about as late as they can wait
for a breeding. And that’s assuming this Jensen is as fertile a specimen as he
looks. Three months is a long training period for a Babymaker—omegas a born to
breed and most take to it like a duck to water. Cas certainly had… but then,
Cas had been older, nearly 19 at his first breeding, and he hadn’t been—
“Virgin-virgin, or cunt-virgin?” Cas asks Bobby, his eyes fixed on the boy. The
Babymaker has to be a virgin (that is the way of these things), but for a male
omega, that just means that no one can have been inside his breeding cunt, that
orifice behind his balls that opens to his womb. If he’s had some other young
buck up his ass, well—that certainly hadn’t disqualified Cas fourteen years
ago.
“Totally pure, as far as we can tell,” Bobby gives him a knowing look. “And his
next heat’s the second week of June. Better get cracking.”
                                      ~~~
Cas ignores Bobby's advice and bides his time. Patience is one of the virtues
he’d learned during years of breeding. Of course, he can afford to wait: The
Community assigns the Keeper his or her own house, at the edge of the fields
near the forest. He gets the first pick of the food from the kitchens and is
freed from the endless round of agricultural chores that are mandatory for
everyone else in The Community. This is all to support the Babymaker, who has
only one job—to bear offspring for the glory of the Goddess. Well, two jobs,
since most Babymakers come back for a one-year stint as the Keeper, ensuring
the traditions are followed. Cas waits and watches, going out into the long
early summer evenings to observe the boys playing ball behind the spring house.
He tries to remember lessons from his own Keeper.

Of course, it’s not as though Lucifer had to tell him about the birds and the
bees. Cas had been a cunt-virgin, as tradition required, but he sure hadn’t
been virginal in any other regard. He’d never known why the Council had chosen
him, but he’d been happy enough to serve. He loved being bred, enjoyed being
pregnant, and dutifully popped out eleven perfect babies over his seven years.
But he’s been watching the new chosen one, Jensen, and he’s begun to suspect
that he may have his work cut out for him.

Jensen doesn’t exactly boss around the other boys, but he certainly isn’t cowed
by their size. He's bold, joking along with them, teasing the big one—Sam—who
had pulled him out of the mud that first day. He doesn’t seem to have any
special friends, any favorites. He even seems a little modest, keeping his
tunic on when most of the others strip off to play in just leggings. Virgin-
virgin for sure.

So Cas watches and considers. There's no denying biology: that is the way of
these things. And sure enough, one spring evening, when the other boys head
back to the Orphan House, Jensen picks up the discarded ball and walks right
over to where Cas is standing in the growing shadows at the edge of the pitch.

“I know why you’re here,” Jensen says, vaguely accusing. He's even prettier up
close, where Cas can see the golden specks in his green eyes and really
appreciate his full lower lip.  Cas is usually drawn to betas, male- or female-
type, but he doesn't blame John Winchester one bit for selecting this
particular omega.

Cas shrugs, “It’s not a secret.” Jensen is too young to have been part of a
breeding festival, but he must have known about Jo.

“No, I mean…” Jensen folds his arms around the ball protectively. “John told
me. About, uh, the Council’s decision.” He actually blushes, bold and shy at
once. “Anyway, I thought I should tell you, you’re wasting your time. I don’t
want to do it.”

Cas feigns confusion. “Do what?”

Jensen steps closer, as Cas knew he would, not that there’s anyone left to hear
them. “Be the…the Babymaker,” he mutters.

“Hmm?” Cas shifts closer, dropping his head as though he can’t quite hear.

“I don’t want to be, uh, p-pregnant,” Jensen stammers.

"No?" Cas steps closer, almost pinning Jensen against the worn boards of the
springhouse behind him. Being an omega himself, Cas can't smell Jensen's heat
as intensely as an alpha would, but there's no denying that the kid is almost
ripe. "But you'd be so pretty pregnant." He sees the boy's fingers clench on
the ball, which he is holding against his stomach like it can protect his
virtue. He puts his hands over Jensen's smaller ones, traces over the curve of
the ball, lets one travel up Jensen's arm. "So...round."
"No, I..." Jensen starts, but when Cas's hand reaches the bare skin at the neck
of his tunic, Jensen's head falls back, mouth still open but silent. Cas can
feel his pulse thundering beneath the too-warm skin. He suspects they've
already started putting the prescribed aphrodisiacs in Jensen's food because
this is an intense response, even for a young omega.

"I think you do want it," Cas says, quietly, blowing the words across Jensen's
skin so he shivers. "The Babymaker is where you came from, where all the
orphans come from." He lets his thumb slip into Jensen's mouth and Jensen's
lips automatically close and suckle. Sweet Goddess, they should be careful with
those aphrodisiacs; if Cas had been an Alpha, Jensen would probably be on his
hands and knees right here on the pitch. "It's what your body was made for: to
grow big and round and full," Cas punctuates each adjective with a little more
pressure on the ball, pushing it against Jensen's stomach, against the place
where his babies will be. Sure enough, he feels Jensen's hips snap back against
it.

"Nnn...I'll be too big," Jensen gasps around Cas's thumb. "I'll get, get, uh,
bred and be all fat and I won't—".

"It's okay to be a little frightened," Cas hushes him. "That's what I'm here
for...to help, to explain things, so you feel good. 'Cause it can be so good."
Jensen's hips roll again, twice, and his eyelids flutter. Cas wonders if he's
coming; soon he'll know all Jensen's little tells.

And then, suddenly, from somewhere, Jensen musters the presence of mind to push
back. "No!" he gasps, twisting away, nearly stumbling without Cas's support. He
tries to throw the ball at Cas, but his motor coordination is scrambled and it
falls harmlessly. "No, I won't!"
                                      ~~~
Five days later, he's back, and this time, he's sought out Cas instead of the
other way around. When Cas opens the door to the House of the Babymaker, Jensen
is standing in the yard with a bag at his feet. He is flushed and slightly
distracted—it takes him a moment to speak—so Cas knows he must be nearly in
heat.

"The Orphan House won't keep me," Jensen announces sullenly, a beat too
late."They say I'm too disruptive to the Alphas."  For a moment, Cas considers
suggesting that he move in with one of his friends...that boy Sam, for
instance...just to see what Jensen would say. It's no time for teasing, though.
Cas holds open the door: Jensen belongs here, in the house set aside for the
Babymaker.

"Well, come in, then. You can put your things in the back room—let me get you
something to drink."

Cas had known Jensen would come eventually, so he had herb tea chilling (nettle
and red clover, for fertility) in the cold room. He pours a glass and dawdles a
few moments, letting Jensen explore in peace. It's a relatively big house,
especially for someone used to sharing the cramped bunkrooms at the Orphan
House. There is an open interior courtyard, with the kitchen and reception
rooms in the front; sitting rooms, guest rooms, bathrooms, storerooms make up
the sides, and the whole large room at the back of the house is given over to
the Babymaker.

That's where Cas finds Jensen, eventually, and he's not surprised that the kid
went first to the place that most unnerves him. Cas can sense his nervousness
as he hands over the glass of tea.

"Just the one level?" Jensen asks, trying to make conversation. "That's
convenient." His eyes keep returning to the large oval bed in the center of the
room.

"There's a root cellar, but all the living areas are on this floor, yes." Cas
doesn't explain that navigating stairs can be tricky when your belly gets so
big you can't see your feet; Jensen will learn that soon enough.
Cas casually wanders over and sits on the bed, toes off his house slippers.
Nearly six feet across at its widest point, the bed is set on a stepped plinth,
for ease of access from all angles, but he thinks there must be a headboard
somewhere. He distinctly remembers hanging onto a headboard to steady himself
during a birthing. Or was it a breeding? Sometimes the two get tangled in his
memory. "C'mon, have a seat," he invites Jensen. No use letting the boy get
skittish over a piece of furniture.

Jensen is still clutching his glass a little nervously, but all omegas are more
biddable during heats, so he perches on the mattress, docile as you please. Cas
moves so their hips touch, leaning back on his palms and stretching his legs
out in front. The shift of the mattress pulls Jensen toward him, almost resting
against his shoulder. "I conceived all of my babies on this bed," he remarks.
"Birthed nearly all of them here, too. Did have one set of twins out there," he
nods to the birthing pool in the courtyard.

Jensen's eyes grow big over the rim of the glass; his throat works as he
swallows the last of the tea. Cas can see him figuring, considering, deciding
that maybe being the Babymaker is not the end of his life, that maybe it's not
as impossible as it seems. If Cas can do it, and can return to The Community no
different from anyone else—in fact, provided for and awarded a position of
respect... Maybe it's his character, maybe it's a result of growing up in the
Orphan House, but Cas suspects that Jensen is, at heart, a pragmatist and maybe
even a bit of a rule-follower, despite all his protestations. Jensen wouldn't
have come if he hadn't already made up his mind. He doesn't say anything more,
though, just waits for the boy's own desires and the years of Community
conditioning to make the choice for him.

When Jensen speaks, his lips are stained red by the tea. "Will it hurt?" he
asks at last, and Cas smiles—because helikes this boy, like the way he faces
his fears, because he didn't ask "Did it hurt?". Jensen may not realize it yet,
but he's made his decision: Cas has him now. The Community will live.

"Oh, sweeting, don't worry." Now that Jensen has begun to accept his fate, Cas
finds his caution and stubbornness almost endearing. "I'll explain everything.
Here, why don't you lay down, make yourself comfortable."

Jensen shoots him a suspicious look, but he does lay back on the mattress,
still holding the glass. His knees bend, feet dangling over the edge, and he
looks small and confused in the wide bed. Again, Cas feels a sudden wave of
tenderness. Lucifer, Cas's own Keeper, had been horny as hell and not above
deception; they'd had a lot of fun, but Cas had long ago resolved to be more
open and honest about the role of Babymaker. "Breeding can be a little..." Cas
searches for an adjective, "intense. At least the first time. But most people
enjoy it—especially omegas. You certainly will," he adds, thinking about how
responsive Jensen was to touch, to the herbs and aphrodisiacs. Jensen allows a
small smile, as though he's been complimented.

"And the—uhm, the birth?" Jensen blushes. Cas hopes he never gets over that.

"Well, contractions are not much fun, I've gotta tell you, but the rest of
it...." Even in memory, Cas can barely suppress a wriggle of pleasure at the
memory of his birthings. Omega anatomy means that healthy births are almost
always orgasmic. He wonders if Jensen has ever had an orgasm. Virgin-virgin, he
reminds himself, and decides to begin at the beginning.
"What do you know about the types?" Cas asks, casually.
Jensen rolls his eyes: he's young, not stupid. "Alpha, beta, omega, female," he
rattles off.
"And how are they different?"
"Well...alphas and some betas have cocks, but only the alphas have knots. The
other betas and all the females have front-holes. Omegas have both."
"Why?" Cas asks, thinking:front-hole—Goddess, he's so young! Cas had almost
forgotten that polite euphemism.
"What d'you mean?"
"I mean, why are the types different?"
The confused look returns to Jensen's face. No one has ever asked him this
before. "Because...uh, diversity makes us stronger?" he guesses, falling back
on The Community creed.
Cas knows he hadn't been this ignorant when he'd become the Babymaker. What
were they teaching kids in school these days? Probably all abstinence and
political correctness. He places his palm flat on Jensen's lower belly, between
the points of his hips. Jensen looks up at him, startled, and Cas feels the
muscles there jump under his hand, but Jensen doesn't pull away.
"This," Cas says, "is your womb. It connects to your...uh, front-hole, just
like mine, just like in all omegas and all females."
"And female-type betas," Jensen adds, the little smart-ass.
"Exactly. Right now, it's just a muscle, about the size of your fist." Cas
makes his hand into a fist, pushes a little, just to feel Jensen's hips roll up
against the pressure. So responsive...that's never going to get old. "But when
you're bred, that's where the baby goes. Now, above the womb are your egg-
sacs," Cas slips his hand under Jensen's tunic and traces the placement of the
three egg-sacs onto his bare belly. "Now, females only have two egg-sacs—they
don't call them that, by the way—and they get cleared out every month or so.
Omegas have three, and the eggs all stay there until they get fertilized or re-
absorbed by your body. That's why females have periods and omegas have heats:
your body is telling you that you have too many unfertilized eggs. That's also
why so many omegas have twins or triplets."
"More eggs, more babies?" Jensen says, and Cas pets his belly in approval.
"But you can't just fertilize the eggs yourself."
"No?"
Cas eases Jensen't tunic up toward his collarbone and resolves to write a
strongly-worded letter to his Council representative about the pathetic state
of sex education in The Community. "No, you need an Alpha. With a cock." He
lets his hand slide down to the corresponding part of Jensen's own anatomy; he
feels how Jensen's little dick has thickened up beneath his leggings, notices
how Jensen's thighs fall open to give him more access.
"Do you ever touch your cock, Jensen?"
Big, surprised eyes. "Ss-some, sometimes."
Cas tugs at the leggings and Jensen obediently lifts his hips, hissing when his
cock slaps back against his belly.
"Do you want to show me how?" Cas asks, and he means it gently, but it's too
much, too soon. Jensen curls away from him, pulling his knees to his chest. He
traps Cas's hand between his legs. Cas stifles a sigh: virgin-virgin. He's
beginning to understand why the Council had given him all summer. This could
take a while.
"Shhh," he soothes, spooning around Jensen's body. "You don't have to." He
kisses the bare, tender skin on the back of Jensen's neck. "It's not your cock
that is the important part now, anyway. It's his."
After a moment—"His?" Jensen's voice is muffled but curious.
"The Alpha's." Cas starts to talk, can feel Jensen's body relaxing as he
rambles, as he explains how Alpha cocks are bigger than those of the other
types. "Usually thicker, but always longer," he says, "to reach the cervix."
When Cas starts talking about the knot, Jensen opens his legs a little, letting
Cas's fingers describe where the knot grows. "That's the best part," Cas
concludes, "because..." He moves down the stalk of Jensen's cock, behind his
tight little balls, to the wrinkled lips in his perineum.
Jensen gasps, sensitive, and it takes another five minutes of coaxing before
Cas gets a good look at his cunt.
Jensen's cunt is a neat little raspberry-colored mouth between his tight balls
and his ass. Cas supposes his was small, too, before he pushed out nearly a
dozen babies. He expects Jensen to startle when he touches it, but Jensen is so
wet it takes a moment for the touch to even register. When it does, Jensen lets
his knees loll open.
"That's right, beauty," Cas praises, untangling Jensen's left foot from his
legging so he can kneel between the boy's legs. He hitches Jensen's thigh over
his own, spreading him on the bed. He traces Jensen's cuntlips with two
fingertips, using his other hand to knead his belly until they're both so wet
there's almost no friction. Jensen's cock is dripping onto the back of his hand
and Cas almost thinks he can feel the kid's egg sacs, a little swollen beneath
the skin. He can't say for sure, of course; Jensen's so young his first few
heats are bound to be unpredictable. An Alpha would know, would be able to
smell the fertility, but Cas has only experience to go off of—his own, and
those recorded in the birthing notebooks kept by earlier Keepers. It must be a
reaction to the Orphan House's aphrodisiacs. Surely Jensen can't be broody yet?
Jensen is so slick his thighs shine with it and Cas's finger slides into his
ass up to the first knuckle. Jensen wriggles but he can't get any leverage. Cas
wraps his other hand loosely around Jensen's cock and waits until the kid can
resist no longer: he arches up into the fist, seeking the sort of pleasure that
would be familiar to a virgin omega, and when he rocks down, Cas's finger
breaches him further. A little further each time, and he's getting such a
pretty pink flush all down his freckled chest. Jensen's breaths come out as
grunts, surprisingly deep, and Cas feels his own cock growing half-hard despite
his suppressants. He takes a hand off Jensen's cock for just a split second
(the boy whines) to shift his leg up. This new angle helps him slide a quarter-
inch deeper and means the barely visible golden hairs on Jensen's calf now rub
over Cas's left nipple. It's heavenly. Does Jensen has sensitive nipples, Cas
wonders idly? Not all omegas do. Of course, that might develop with time: Cas's
have been like livewires ever since he fed his triplets.
"There now," Cas kisses Jensen's ankle where it rests on his shoulder, "I know
just what you need," and he's about to go back to stroking Jensen's cock when
the boy thrashes and then freezes.
"Oh-uh, ooooh," he breathes out slowly and when Cas curls his finger again,
Jensen's voice jumps half an octave and his ass goes tight as a vise.
Again, and a pause, and again. Cas, who can see Jensen's toes out of the corner
of his eyes, watches as they clench in time with the finger in his ass.
"Can you..." Jensen starts, "uhm—more?"
"You're sure?"
"Yes! Yes, I....please!" So polite, even when he's desperate: Cas could just
eat him up.
"Breathe out," Cas instructs, "bear down," and then while Jensen is still
trying to process those directions, he presses his fingertip straight up and
flickers it across the rough patch he can feel inside Jensen's slick young
body.
Jensen positivelywails, arching until his body is a bow from shoulders to
ankles. His hips twist rhythmically, like he's already in labour,
three—four—five times, and even after he's collapsed onto the soaked sheets, he
shivers and spasms occasionally.
"Prostate," Cas informs him when he can bear to be touched, brushing the sweat-
damp hair off his forehead.
"Goddess," Jensen mumbles sleepily.
                                      ~~~
 "There's another spot, up inside your cunt, just like it but bigger," Cas
strips off his own damp tunic and wipes off what slick and spunk he can. He's
tries to wrap Jensen up in a sheet, but, like so many omegas, the kid gets
touch-hungry after orgasm and seems to prefer being wrapped up in Cas himself.
"Plus your clit."
"So, birthing..." Jensen mutters against Cas's shoulder. And Cas almost laughs:
even wrung-out with pleasure, this stubborn boy has a one-track mind.
"Well, like I said, the contractions can be unpleasant, but—" Cas's words catch
in his throat suddenly because Jensen, half-asleep, has just latched on to his
nipple. Cas's hand comes up to cup the kid's skull automatically, to keep that
lovely tongue in place, before he can even marvel at the fact that he is still
giving an anatomy lesson.
"Uh-huh?" Jensen grunts. His eyes have closed, lashes dark against his freckled
cheeks.
"But then you have—this big Alpha baby—moving! And...and pushing against both
spots at once," Beloved Goddess, the mouth on him, Cas strokes Jensen's hair,
"Yes, darling, like that—oh, teeth—And there are other—uh, nerves. At the
opening. Of the cunt. And they, they have to stretch, you know..." Jensen
doesn't seem at all bothered by the fact that Cas is slowly rocking against his
slippery ass-cheek. In fact, his suckling seems to have fallen into the same
rhythm. Cas can't even tell if the boy is still listening until after Cas has
shuddered through his own climax.
"Will you touch me there?" Jensen asks, sleepy-eyed, his mouth nearly as puffy
as Cas's nipple.
"Hmm?" Cas tried to remember what they were talking about. A suppressed orgasm
in an omega is nothing to write home about, but it's been awhile.
"In my cunt, where the other spot is. Will you touch me there, too?"
Cas blinks. He shouldn't, of course. Jensen is young and eager and not
unattractive: they could enjoy themselves, just as Cas and Lucifer had before
Cas's first breeding. But Lucifer hadn't touched Cas's cunt. And the Babymaker
is sacred to the Goddess: that is the way of these things. On the other hand,
as an omega, Cas won't ever breed Jensen, and it might be a kindness not to
send him to the Alphas as a complete virgin. A few fingers, a little toy...he's
so very, very small. There are methods, naturally, to prevent too much pain on
the day of deflowering—and it's not like Jensen isn't going to have to stretch
plenty eight months later. But Cas knows John the Council's prodigious knot and
now he knows Jensen's sweet pink breeding cunt, too. Square peg, he thinks,
smoothing a hand down Jensen's back, round hole.
                                      ~~~
There are special foods, full of milk-fat and folic acid and herbs to keep
Jensen in a constant low-level arousal. Exercises to strengthen his hips and
thighs and lower back. Lots of abdominal work: his flat teenage belly becomes
ridged with muscles. Cas mixes up a cream and massages it every day to keep the
skin supple. Jensen could do this himself, but his body will not be his own for
long and it's best if he gets used to that idea quickly.
The recipes, prescriptions, and exercises are all detailed in the notebooks
kept by previous Keepers. On occasion, Cas will let Jensen read a few passages
(although nothing too graphic: "The Babymaker laboured for three suns and was
delivered of two small babies, 4917 and 5624 grams apiece"; Cas takes that
volume away when he sees that Jensen has worked out the conversion—over ten and
twelve pounds). Mostly, he thinks, Jensen looks at the pictures; the books are
full of round bellies and swollen breasts ("At twenty-four weeks, this
Babymaker expresses milk whenever the nipple is pinched sharply, see Figure
3."). He has a lot of questions about how the Babymakers are chosen—questions
Cas can't answer—and Cas wonders if he's having second thoughts.
When too many of those questions come up, Cas tells him to go to bed...and then
follows with the toy chest. Obviously, after all these years, the House of the
Babymaker has a wide range of playthings. Long, short, thick, knotted. The
Alphas won't be interested in Jensen's ass, but he should understand a little
of what it meant to be knotted. There's one inflatable that, once Cas has the
knot stretching Jensen's hole, turns the boy into a moaning, trembling mess.
After that, he's usually so blissed out that Cas can roll him onto his back,
eat the luscious peach of a cunt for a few moments, and then slide in a dildo
thinner than his finger. Most of the Babymaker toys are thick and veined, meant
to simulate Alpha cock, but this one can slip in without breaking his hymen.
Jensen still whines and cramps when the little ball at the end touches his
cervix, but he used to yelp and try to pull away. Practice makes perfect.
When Jensen begins running a slight temperature every day, Cas goes off his
suppressants for a week and teaches the kid how to suck cock.
"But I already—"
"We're not talking about turn-about after the lights are out in the Orphan
House," Cas reminds him, "These are full-grown Alphas."
Jensen is good, though, for a virgin-virgin: he keeps his teeth covered, lets
his throat open, and swallows in delicious, sucking gulps.
Cas collapses onto the bed, drained. "Sweet Goddess!"
Jensen sits up, wipes his mouth. "Well, Sam wasn't exactly small, you know.
Neither were some of the others." Then he flops down again and begins tracing
Cas's stretch marks with a curious finger.
Cas growls. He can imagine what orphans get up to at night; he was one himself,
once. Sam, of course, is not an orphan—he's the son of John the Council, and
Cas is about to ask how Jensen has gotten to know Sam's cock so well when
Jensen straddles his thighs and asks, "Will I get marks like these?"
Cas looks down at the silvery lines on his abdomen. "Probably," he hedges. What
he really means is "definitely." Jensen is younger, his skin more elastic, and
Cas had been more diligent about the cream massages than Lucifer ever was, but
one can only do so much with those trim teenage hips. "The babies have to go
somewhere."
Jensen puts a hand on his own belly, tanned to a beautiful, uniform brown by
all those yoga sessions in the courtyard. "I can't imagine it."
Cas ruts up against him, almost involuntary, remembering what it felt like to
be so full that his skin was tight. "You'll be beautiful," he says, tugging at
Jensen until the kid is arranged just where he wants him. Maybe it's a
subliminal trigger from all those pregnancies, but having some weight pinning
him to the bed always drives Cas crazy.
"I'll be fat," Jensen pouts theatrically, summoning his oldest argument.
"You'll be round." Cas corrects, putting his hand over Jensen's stomach.
"Here." He sweeps up to Jensen's hard little nipples, tweaks them. "And here.
Omegas get their milk much sooner than females."
Jensen huffs and rolls his eyes. He's been teasing Cas lately about all the
anatomy lessons at inappropriate moments. He shifts, bringing one knee off the
bed (Goddess, Cas thinks, they're so flexible at this age) and he's just doing
what feels good, what feels right.  He doesn't even realize that he's opening
himself up until the head of Cas's dick catches on the rim of his ass.
Jensen is still open from the toy and wet because...well, these days, he's
always wet. Cas's omega dick slides in easily: he's off his suppressants and
horny as hell.
Jensen makes a curious sound; his eyelids flutter.
"Okay?" asks Cas. After all their prep, an omega cock should be nothing.
"It's different when it's real," Jensen breathes. "When it's another p-person
inside you."
Jensen rides him beautifully, his own cock bobbing, leaving smears of pre-cum
behind. Cas runs his thumb down the shaft, brushes the clit at its base, just
to feel the strength in Jensen's thighs when they tighten around him. Jensen
yelps, then forces himself down harder. Could be the hormones, could just be
youth, but Jensen has no sense of his own limits, Cas realizes: kid would fuck
himself raw. It's an intriguing thought, but Cas can feel his own orgasm
pulling like something tidal. At this point, he knows Jensen's body almost
better than his own, so he plants his feet in the tumbled sheets and aims
unerringly for the boy's prostate.
"Izzat—uh, is that—what it's like?" Jensen asks when he can speak again.
"Getting bred?"
"Oh, sweetheart," Cas says. He runs a finger through the sweat on the Jensen's
stomach and, no doubt now, he can feel the egg-sacs, slightly swollen. Can't be
long now. "You have no idea."
                                      ~~~
In fact, Jensen's full, true heat begins a week later, on the last Thursday in
August. It's not just a metaphor: Cas can feel him burning as he dresses him
for the procession. Fortunately, the ceremonial clothing is lightweight. The
gown is mostly gauze, with a wide leather strap that wraps around Jensen's
lower ribs like a corset. Another leather affair ties around his waist, keeping
his cock trussed up and out of the way. The gauze is white, bridal white, but
it's lucky that green is the traditional color of the fertility goddess, Cas
thinks, because the green leather matches Jensen's eyes. He's found varnish
just the same shade for Jensen's toes.
"Sit while I fix this crown," Cas directs him, and points to the palanquin in
the courtyard. Jensen will be carried by the four council members during the
procession, and then returned to the House for the first night of breeding.
There is a back, like a throne—which is good, because in his current, feverish
state, Cas isn't sure Jensen can keep himself upright. The throne has no seat,
however: Jensen has to straddle the base as though he were riding a horse. He
groans with pleasure as he does so, loving the feeling of being spread so
widely. The heat has burnt away any self-consciousness that remained after
Cas's months of training.
Cas arranges the flower crown on Jensen's head. Similar flowers and fertility
sigils have been painted on his stomach and thighs. Runes have been drawn along
his collarbone and around each rouged nipple.
"Itches," the boy complains, oversensitive. "And dunno why," Jensen loses the
thought for a moment, a surge of heat. "Dunno why you bother," he fidgets with
the gauze. "This outfit. Y'can see right through."
"That is the way of these things," Cas says. If Jensen's mind weren't so heat-
fogged, he'd realize what everyone else knows: that the purpose of the
transparent garment is to display Jensen's body—the boyish hips, flat tits, and
empty belly that are about to be changed forever.
***** breeding ("a knock on the door") *****
Chapter Summary
     part 2--still disgusting! I will be adding to the tags. The story is
     winding down, maybe 1-2 more chapters if I stay interested. So
     comment with what you like or what you'd like to see more of (if
     you'd like to see more).
     Edited to add: I don't really know the show, except for the first few
     seasons, and in coming chapters, I might need a character to play the
     midwife...any suggestions? please comment!
Cas doesn’t plan to watch the whole procession. After all, he’s seen it from
the inside seven times. He fixes Jensen’s crown for the umpteenth time and pins
on the voluminous veil that completes the traditional uniform, then signals the
four Council members to lift the palanquin. He hears the sound Jensen makes—a
high, sweet moan—and watches his thighs flex as he tries to keep his balance.
Kid probably doesn’t have enough air to make too much noise: Cas had pulled the
half-corset pretty tight, trying to give Jensen a Goddess-like bosom when he
really doesn’t have much up top. Yet.
Cas leaves by the front door and positions himself in front of the courtyard
entrance. The House of the Babymaker is at the edge of The Community, but today
it is the center of everything. The festival-day crowd cheers when they see
him, and then settle down briefly for his traditional announcement. Cas pauses
for a moment, enjoying everyone’s suspense. The Keeper is only obligated to
serve for one year, guarding the Babymaker’s virginity and passing on
traditions about breeding and birthing. Some Keepers stay on after their
Babymaker’s first confinement, but most fade back into ordinary life. (Cas had
last seen his Keeper from a haze of hormonal after-birth ecstacy, a newborn
twin on each tit). Cas hasn’t decided whether he’ll stay—this may be his only
Breeding Day Announcement. It will certainly be the last time it is true for
Jensen. He savors the thought, then takes a deep breath, looks out over the
eager crowd, and shouts: “I send the virgin forth!”
Cas opens the courtyard gates and the crowd heaves to catch a sight of the
Babymaker beneath his veils. The palanquin comes into view and the decibel
level rises. Shouts, applause, someone strikes up the traditional ballad about
how the birthing Babymaker brings grace and good crops. Under the public
revelry, Cas hears the occasional grunting and pleading: not everyone can
control themselves and the Babymaker is not the only one who will be delivered
of a baby next spring. Every kid in The Community runs free on Breeding Day,
which just adds to the mayhem. Un-mated Alphas are hobbled when out in public;
they howl and rattle their chains at Jensen’s ripe scent. Bookmakers call for
custom: every year bets are laid about how fertile the Babymaker is, who will
knock him up. Jensen’s appearance—young and obviously in heat—starts a frenzy
of betting. Females who want babies rush forward to touch his danging feet, to
suck on his toes, believing it will bring them fertility in the new year.
Slowly, the council members bear the palanquin away, Jensen swaying smoothly on
top like his hips have ball-bearings.
Cas judges the size of the crowd with a practiced eye: he should have two or
three hours before Jensen returns for the main even. He strips the big oval bed
and puts on a new rubber underlayer and fresh linen sheets. A few days ago he
summoned workmen to put on the curved headboard and now he arranges a small
mountain range of pillows and cushions. He lights lavender candles, puts out
flagons of fortified water: Jensen and the Alphas will need to replenish a lot
of fluids. He lays out the trays of narcotic herbs in the bedroom and the
matches to burn them. He moves an extra sofa into one of the sitting rooms and,
upon consideration, moves a few of the more fragile pieces to a storeroom. The
Babymaker must be bred by every member of the Council and the head of the
Council—that’s five right there—plus representatives from each of The
Community's other Old Families. The Alphas in rut might knot him for half an
hour. Maybe longer, if Jensen grows too tired to milk them efficiently. The
representatives who have to wait will be horny and careless. Cas picks up two
rather delicate stools and takes them with him. No sense in letting them wreck
the place while they waited.
At last, Cas has prepared and double-checked everything. The House is still and
silent around him, waiting. Occasionally, he can hear applause from the crowd,
gathered now in the center of town. Cas gets a double-dose of his daily
suppressant, but before swallowing it, he climbs the courtyard ladder to the
House’s flat roof. In the distance, he can see the crowd and, on a flower-
decorated platform, the white form that must be Jensen. Years ago, that’s where
the whole breeding used to take place. Of course, years ago, the Babymaker had
to be bred by every male—Alpha, beta, citizen, visitor—in The Community. The
whole thing simply became unfeasible as The Community grew. It was clearly a
barbaric practice that led to jealousy, feuds, and pregnancies so fecund that
that the Babymakers spent most of it on bedrest. It is also one of Cas’s
favorite fantasies.
Cas takes his dick in hand; it is nearly hard despite the suppressants he’s
already taken. Far away, the white figure grows smaller. Jensen, representing
the Goddess, has knelt before John the Council, who represents The Community.
“You worship his body,” Cas had explained to Jensen, “and then he gives you
what you want—it’s supposed to be the symbolic reverse of The Community’s
relationship with nature, where we worship the Goddess and she gives us crops
and rain.” He’d talked a lot about symbolism and anatomy over the past two
months, but he remembers that had barely made an impression on his first
Breeding Day. In his memory, it was a blazing summer day, everything too
bright. The gauze gown had teased his skin and he’d needed help leaving the
palanquin; his legs hadn’t wanted to close. John hadn’t been the head of the
Council then, just a regular Councilor and the head of his family. He had been
the one to confirm Cas’s virginity, though, positioning him in the stirrups and
sliding two deliciously thick fingers into his breeding cunt as the crowd
cheered. He’d said something—Cas can’t remember quite what, something about how
wet he was—and had let Cas suck his fingers clean before leading him to kneel
before the head of the Council. Cas remembers opening his mouth, taking in the
Alpha cock—salty, too big even when it was soft—and being overwhelmed with a
sense of rightness. He’d felt so empty, and he’d just craved being filled.
                                      ~~~
The procession must involve many toasts to the health of the Goddess, because
Jensen is slightly drunk when the Councilors bear him home. He slumps in Cas’s
arms as Cas removes the gown, rubbing against him like a cat. Cas leaves the
green leather: sometimes the Alphas like to have something to hold onto.
Fortified by his double dose of suppressants, Cas patiently untangles himself
from Jensen and goes to get the paints—Jensen’s sigils have been smeared by
sweat and slick and many, many hands. When he returns, Cas pauses for a moment
to light the herbs he put out and enjoy the view. Jensen looks so small in the
big bed, thoughtlessly brushing his nipples with the edge of his veil. Now
they’re sensitive? Weeks of patient stimulation yield nothing and..now? Such an
impossible boy, Cas sighs.  Behind him, someone knocks on the frame of the
meadow door. 
There is a speech, a ceremonial summoning spoken by the Babymaker, and Jensen
and Cas have practiced it. But the moment John enters the room, all language
seems to go right out of Jensen’s head. Jensen looks from Cas to John and back
again, his expression beautifully dazed. “Hello,” he says at last, and the word
comes out thin and airy because the leather strap around his ribs keeps him
from taking a full breath.
“Goddess,” John growls, and Cas can’t tell if he’s cursing, commenting, or
naming. The smoke from the smoldering herbs is meant to pacify Alphas, so they
don’t get too savage when faced with a fertile omega in heat, but Cas just lit
them a few minutes ago. Right now, the only thing standing between Jensen and
complete ravishment is John’s self-control…and Cas has to wonder how long that
will stand at all. John pulls off his tunic, nearly tearing it, and he should
be smaller than Cas’s memory, but he’s not. Not at all.
Now would be the time for Jensen to deliver that traditional Babymaker speech,
the one that Cas knows he has memorized backwards and forwards, because there
was a solid two weeks when he wouldn’t let Jensen come until he’d recited it.
But Jensen just sits there primly, at the edge of the bed, and looks at the
enormous, flared head of John the Council’s cock with undisguised hunger, like
he hadn’t had it in his mouth an hour ago in front of the entire Community. And
then, still in his veil, still daubed with paint, Jensen simply lays back,
showing his belly, and opens his legs.
John kneels at the edge of the bed like a supplicant and buries his face in
Jensen’s breeding cunt. Cas suddenly finds himself clenching his hand around
the paintbrush he’s holding to stop himself from reaching out to touch the
Alpha’s balls, round and heavy as plums. John is at least twice Jensen's size,
maybe larger; the omega nearly disappears behind the man’s broad back. Jensen
hooks one of his legs over John’s muscled shoulder, his foot pointed as
delicately as a dancer, the green-painted toenails curling tighter and tighter
against John’s back. John lets Jensen whimper his way through two orgasms
before he attacks the corset leather with his teeth. Jensen gasps at the new
supply of oxygen; the whimpers become full-throated moans.
John turns, looking over his shoulder at Cas without giving up the proprietary
grip he has on Jensen’s squirming hips. The room has grown smoky, but that
doesn’t seem to have tamed anyone’s hormones. “Help me move 'im. Wan’ ‘im on
his knees,” the Alpha slurs hoarsely. His face gleams with Jensen’s slick.
Cas is dumbstruck. Usually, the Babymaker is on top for the first breeding; in
addition to being a gentler way to break in new Babymakers, it is considered
diplomatic to leave the more potent positions for the later candidates.
Moreover, as Keeper, Cas is only obligated to watch the breedings as a neutral
observer. He’s here as a formality, really. There’s nothing in any of the
notebooks about actually facilitating the process. John doesn’t care about the
notebooks, or diplomacy: John wants to impregnate this omega, and every hormone
and chemical in his body is urging him to that end.
Impatient with Cas's momentary delay, the Alpha hauls Jensen to the center of
the bed,tries to mount him, but Jensen twines his arms and legs around his
torso. John snarls and breaks free easily, nearly tossing Jensen onto the mass
of cushions and pillows. When Jensen, crazed for touch, reaches again for the
frustrated Alpha, Cas decides to intervene before someone gets hurt. John
actually snaps at him before realizing that Cas doesn’t smell like another
Alpha out to steal a bitch.
“C’mere, lovely,” Cas coaxes,climbing onto the bed and lying back against the
pillows. He drapes Jensen over himself, feeling the prick of the boy's tiny
hard nipples against his own chest as he pulls Jensen’s arms around his own
neck so he has something to hold onto. The kid is shivering with aftershocks,
aroused out of his mind, slick and smooth because Cas had him shave every hair
below his chin. Tradition prescribes that—such is the way of these things.
Tradition does not, explicitly, require that when an Alpha, ravenous and clumsy
with his own heat, sends his thick cock snubbing against the Babymaker’s ass
and hips, Cas must reaches down and leads it to the target.  But Cas does it
anyway.
Jensen bucks and twists, alarmed by the size of the cockhead against his vulva,
but he’s uncoordinated and effectively pinned. He bites down on the nearest
thing—Cas’s shoulder—when John succeeds in penetrating him. Suddenly, the fight
goes out of him as quickly as it entered, his mouth falling open, eyes rolling
back as he arches into the long stretch. “Oh…oh..oh,” he pants as each push
fills him, forces the air out of his lungs. “No, I—I can’t…so big—I want…”
“Yes,” Cas coaches, bracing Jensen’s hips with his hands, “yes, yes, yes.”
“More…wet,” John growls over Jensen’s shoulder, looking likes he’s barely able
to summon the human words. Cas thinks he’s misunderstood— Jensen is always
soaking—but, of course, the kid has never been filled like this before. Cas
reaches down to tease Jensen’s clit and finds it fully exposed. He traces the
stretched opening below it: the boy’s cuntlips are wide around a knot nearly as
big as the head of the child this Alpha will surely seed within him. But
Jensen’s struggles have aroused the Alpha need for dominance; John has started
to knot too early.
Cas puts his thumb in Jensen’s mouth, lets him drool over it for a moment, and
then flickers that clit in time with John’s thrusts. He puts his own mouth to
suckle on Jensen’s tiny, furled nipple. He leaves the John to maul the other
one, pinching and pulling with those thick fingers. Above him, Jensen gasps and
heaves, pummeled against Cas by each strong thrust. And slowly, slowly, the
little omega opens, flowers, takes the knot into his body.
John groans like he’s been stabbed when he feels his knot seated against
Jensen's pelvic bone, then subsides, tugging the omega against his broad chest
to suck bruising kisses across Jensen’s shoulder blades.
“Oh,” Jensen says again, in wonderment. “So deeeep,” he sighs, dazed. For a
moment, the only sound in the room is the fire chewing at the still-burning
herbs and John’s ragged breathing. The knot is plainly visible under the taut
skin between Jensen's hips. Then, involuntarily, those hips begin to roll. This
has not been part of the training: for a stimulated omega, the breeding reflex
is as automatic as breathing. Cas had felt it that first day at the spring
house, when he had taunted the kid with the football.  Jensen whines.  This
motion stretches him cruelly, as Cas well knows—the knot is massive, lodged
between Jensen’s tender cervix and the sensitive root of the clitoris at the
base of his cock. Even so, the need to pull now is as automatic as the need to
push will be during birthing. Jensen's ass lifts off John’s lap, thigh muscles
cording, abdomen tightening around the knot like a hot, wet fist before
dropping back against John. After a few repetitions, Cas watches John’s furry
balls draw up.  He'd swear he sees the moment when they begin to pulse their
seed.
Jensen convulses, his hands flutter down to touch, then away, only to seize on
Cas’s fingers, press them to his belly.
“I c’n feel it. Feel him. Inside me,” Jensen gasps, looking overwhelmed,
looking for a split-second like he might cry.
Cas can feel it, too, right through the smooth skin of Jensen’s belly: the hard
swell of the knot, throbbing as it empties, and then above it, clenching
steadily, the young omega’s womb. Jensen milks John dry in twenty minutes,
which has got to be a record. When the knot finally pulls free, Jensen whines
and John gently shushes him, like a father to a toddler. He arranges him
carefully, finding a dry spot on the bed, propping his hips up on two pillows,
kissing his feverish forehead. Jensen settles, but restlessly--murmuring to
himself, plucking at the sheets.  He doesn't rest for long. There’s a knock at
the door.
                                      ~~~
“Dunno whether to congratulate you or send my condolences,” Bobby remarks when
Cas opens it, his white Keeper’s robes now damp and sticky. “Or maybe just
offer you a cigarette?”
Cas glowers at him, but Jensen seems happy to see him.
“Hey,” Jensen beams up from the bed, hips still higher than his shoulders,
afloat on endorphins.
“Good?” Bobby asks.
“The best!” Jensen affirms, with adolescent enthusiasm, already spreading his
legs for another round.
Bobby and the next two councillors are easy: Jensen is wet and eager, takes
them deeply and emptying them quickly. (“Goddess, but he’s strong,” one of them
swears after stumbling out of the bedroom, “I think his insides bruised my
cock.” And Cas, overhearing, can’t help but flush with pride: he’d always said
Jensen would thank him one day for all those reps and sets).
The last Councillor, Gabriel, doubles up with Ellen Harvelle. Since there are
no available male Harvelles, Ellen represents her family in a figurative
capacity. (Based on the girth of the oiled wood cock strapped between her legs,
Cas wonders if she’s clear on the meaning of figurative). They’re slow and
gentle, things end with Gabriel knotting from behind while Ellen sweet-talks,
muttering things Cas can’t hear as Jensen sucks at her tit.
Cas intends to pause the proceedings after Ellen and the Councillors.  He’s got
a menu of quick, light meals to keep up Jensen’s strength and he wants to
massage the boy’s hips before they cramp. But Ellen has other ideas: she
corners him in the kitchen and tips him over the table. There’s no knot, of
course, but Cas allows himself a few moments of post-coital bliss, enjoying the
fullness in his belly and the feel of her breasts hot on his back. He then
cleans her very fine cock with his tongue.
“What did Jo think of this young man?” he teases, sliding a strap out of the
way so he can work his fingers into her.
“Oh…oh, she was very—ugh!—fond of him,” Ellen laughs.
“And did you—every year?”
“All seven,” Ellen replies pleasantly, before throwing her head back and
shuddering to pieces.She squirts like a fountain, and cleaning up takes longer
than expected. By the time Cas makes it back to the bedroom, Jensen is already
hanging off another knot.  Dinner will have to wait.
                                      ~~~
The Keeper only really has to observe the first breeding--after that, the
Babymaker hardly needs a witness to his or her virginity.  But Cas has grown
very fond of Jensen, so he tries to keep an eye on things, in between
restocking the narcotic herbs and making sure the randy Alphas don't tear up
the sitting room.  He brings in food (which Jensen eats like a starving man)
and insists that he drink a full cup of fortified water after every other
breeding, even when Jensen sulks and insists that he's fine, that all he needs
is the next Alpha. He daubs ointment on Jensen's thighs, on his newly-sensitive
nipples, to counteract the burn of stubbled kisses. Occasionally, he locks the
bedroom door so that Jensen can take cat-naps: twenty minutes in a dark room
with a cold compress on his cunt, before his heat wakes him up, desperate
again.
All night and into the next morning, as the Alphas representing various
families knock to gain entry, Cas tries to maintain his watch.  Eventually
things start to blur together.  Wide Alpha hands guiding slim teenage hips in a
very old dance.  Jensen's legs latched around someone's waist, his heels
drumming their ass like a rider urging a stallion.  The kid straddling an Alpha
so large that his feet barely brush the floor on the downstroke. Those
shockingly deep grunts that Jensen makes when someone's cock brushes his womb. 
An Alpha, balls deep, tenderly licking Jensen's instep: thick fingers around a
slender ankle, toes clenched. 
Just before midnight, Cas loosens the strings on the green leather binder
cradling Jensen's cock.  His stomach has begun to swell—Alpha cum is
extraordinarily viscous and Jensen's being filled too often to completely
absorb it all. When he has to loosen it again not four hours later, Cas
considers just getting rid of the binder altogether.  A cock is not much use to
any  omega during a breeding, but it does get very sensitive during his heat.  
Cas peeks out at the sitting room where four pacing Alphas wait their turn.  He
tucks Jensen's cock into the sleeve: just easier to have it out of the way.
Jensen smiles, temporarily sated.  He runs his fingers along the thin leather
and then continues across the new curve of his belly.  "I like it,"  he says,
shyly.  Cas doesn't know whether he means breeding, or his changing body, or
something else.  Before he can ask, there is another knock on the door. 
Not long after, Jensen begins to flag.  It takes him nearly forty minutes to
fully milk Gavin MacLeod, and then only after Cas curls up behind him and
massages his belly to kick-start the breeding reflex. He can still feel
Jensen's uterus moving, but distantly, tired. The boy is so bloated, Cas can't
feel the egg-sacs at all. Cas summons the last Alpha. Jensen barely moves, just
moans his pleasure, when Shane enters him.  The Alpha has to pick him up, still
tied, and carry him around the bedroom, out to the courtyard under the waning
stars, knot moving with each step, before the friction finally triggers
Jensen's milking response.
Jensen is utterly limp when Shane pulls out; he offers up a weary kiss and
drops back amongst the pillows.  Round, just as Cas had promised.  Exhausted,
but satisfied.  Cas douses the last of the burning herbs and opens the window
to let in the cool morning air.  He has just decided against forcing another
glass of water on Jensen when there is—oh, sweet Goddess—a knock on the door.
It is Sam Winchester, looking tousled and sweaty and not at all as though he
has had a restful night.  For a moment, Cas's tired brain can't imagine what
he's doing there.  And then he realizes...John bred the Babymaker in his
capacity as head of the Community Council, not as head of his household. Of all
the family representatives, at least a dozen, no one had represented the Old
Family of Winchester.  Cas doesn't know the sequence of the breedings, except
that the Head of Council goes first, and then the other Councillors, by
seniority.  Sam, who may be even younger than Jensen, would of course be the
most junior.  The last Alpha. 
"I'm here to...I need to—" Sam stutters.
"Go to the front door," hisses Cas. "You can wait in the sitting room." 

But he's too late.  "Sam?" Jensen calls sleepily from his nest of cushions.
"Sammy?"
Sam perks up and he's too young to have his father's restraint: if he gets a
whiff of Jensen, even well-fucked as he is, there will be no stopping him. 
"Front door," he snaps, and closes the bedroom door firmly, leaving Sam out in
the back meadow.
Jensen looks anxious.  "Where's Sam?"
"He's gone around the front;  I'll have him wait in the sitting room for a
little bit, until you're ready."
"I'm ready now," Jensen says, petulantly. 
What you are now is debauched;that's what Cas wants to say.  Jensen is sprawled
against the pillows like he'd fall without their support.  He has bruises
dotting his collarbone, a fucking bite mark on one cheek of his ass. His
nipples have been sucked a vivid pink.  And the strings of his cocksleeve are
now cutting into his swollen belly. 
Cas sits on the bed, suspecting that what Jensen really wants—what is always
wants after an orgasm—is to be held.  "You 're tired, sweetling.  You can
barely sit up. Rest a little."
"No! I want Sam." Jensen actually has tears in his eyes.
Cas smooths his hair. "Darling, you had trouble with Shane, remember?  The
reflex? You need to give yourself a break.  It's not good for the—"
"It won't be," Jensen's voice breaks, horrified.  "It won't begood.  I'm
not...I'm not tight anymore, I can't milk him." He looks at Cas with an
agonized expression on his face.  "I'm too big. And ugly. I knewit. I knew this
would happen!"
It's the hormones talking, and the exhaustion. Jensen's characteristic
pragmatism will resurface eventually.  Cas knows this (he had some spectacular
temper tantrums with Lucifer over the smallest things), but he also knows that
Jensen's greatest fear is being unwanted.  He can't bear to let his little
omega, whom he's trained so carefully, who had exceeded his expectations, be so
upset. 
"Oh, little one," Cas sighs, giving in.  "Don't cry."
                                      ~~~
Sam is half-naked and all hard when Cas finally opens the bedroom door.  Cas
suspects he'd been masturbating, aflame with teenage hormones and Alpha
hormones and the lingering scent of all that happened in the House over the
past day. Cas had pulled him aside and explained what was going to
happen—"gently, we're doing this very gently"—and insisted that Sam put on a
collar.  Horny young Alphas were unpredictable. Cas wasn't taking any chances,
especially since at some point during the last twenty-four hours, Jensen had
almost certainly become pregnant. He ties a shredded ribbon of green leather
from what once was Jensen's corset around Sam's neck.  It must still smell
faintly like Jensen, because Sam whimpers. 
He seems to be struck dumb by the sight of Jensen, though.  His mouth opens and
closes wordlessly before he manages, "I want—Can I...touch?"
Cas shadows him to the bed, watching him closely, before sliding in behind
Jensen who really can barely sit himself up.
"Yes,"  Jensen whispers.  "Please.  Touch me."
Sam doesn't dive in like his father.  He starts with Jensen's toes, still
painted green, and then runs his hands up Jensen's calves, kisses the inside of
his left knee.  He growls when he sees the fingerprint bruises on the meat of
Jensen's thigh, but Cas gives him a sharp look and he quiets. He settles his
hands in the notch between Jensen's hips and his new belly, then cups the
swelling in his big palms.  "Baby."
"Well, soon," Jensen smiles indulgently, rich with the wealth of new
experience. He winces when Sam's huge paws reach his tits and Sam pulls back
instantly.
"Sorry!"
"No, no—it's fine.  A little ss-uh, sensitive but.  I like it."
Sam looks doubtful.
"I do.  Really.  Do it again,"  Jensen thrusts his chest out and shivers when
Sam plucks his nipples.
Reassured, Sam sweeps his hand down Jensen's body, laughing with delight when
he reaches Jensen's cunt.  "You're so wet!"
Jensen moans and manages to summon enough strength to rock up against Sam's
fingers. Show and tell is over. "Sammy,"  he pleads,  "I need you!"
"But I don't..." Sam begins.  "Dunno how—I mean, I want to...Goddess, I really,
really want...but." 
"Cas will show you," Jensen pants.  "Won't you, Cas?  Taught me everything I
know,"  he assures Sam.
Cas doesn't really have to explain much.  He simply gets one hand under
Jensen's knee and for the second time in one day, he finds himself guiding a
Winchester cock to the Babymaker's cunt.  Once Sam's cock touches that puffed,
wet hole, some inner instinct drives him forward, inward.
Jensen's whole body shudders as Sam enters.  The Alpha is definitely his
father's son, size-wise, but Cas's hand on Sam's hip keep him from moving too
quickly. Cas moves his hands onto Sam's flexing ass, pulling him into Jensen,
guiding his speed and rhythm.  He knows he's been successful when Jensen starts
to grunt.
Sam makes a confused, quizzical sound, tries to hold back.
"No, don't...don't stop.  It's good," Jensen manages.  "So good to me, Sam,
so...oh, Goddess...deep. That's the, uh, womb.  Where the, where the baby
goes."
When Cas hears his own words being echoed back to him, he can't wait any
longer.  He nudges Jensen up onto wobbly knees and reaches down to where the
two teenagers are joined.  Slick is dripping out of Jensen's cunt, smoothing
the way for Sam's emerging knot, and it's the work of a moment to bring some of
it back to his asshole.  Slowly, in time with Sam's increasingly powerful
thrusts, Cas eases his way into Jensen's ass. 
The noises Sam makes as Jensen grows tighter around him are absolutely feral,
and Jensen himself lets his head fall back onto Cas's shoulder.  "Oh, full," 
he breathes, hands on his stomach.  "Merciful Goddess, I am so full."
Sam's knot pops—and Cas can feel it.  Cas can feel everything: the spongy knob
of a new Alpha knot crammed against the firm ridge of Jensen's cervix, the
liquidity of the spunk that makes Jensen look like he's already three months
gone. Cas knows this body, inside and out, so he snugs Jensen's ass up against
his own belly and mimics the rock of a breeding reflex he hasn't needed himself
in seven years.
It takes time, but eventually Jensen's own body picks up the rhythm. Cas can
feel that too: the needful pain when Jensen's uterus starts to pump, the scald
of Sam's spunk.  Sam howls when Jensen begins to milk him properly, so loudly
that if Cas hadn't been right behind them, he would never have heard Jensen
whispered chant: "Come on, Sam...fill me up.  Knockme up, Sammy.  Come on..."
                                      ~~~
Cas's work is done, so he lets himself luxuriate under the weight of both
teenagers until he begins to lose feeling in his extremities. Only then does he
crawl out from under the sprawl of limbs.  Speaking of extremities—Goddess, his
balls have been drained so completely, they hurt. Just the thought of touching
his own cock starts an enjoyable ache. Experienced from the inside, Jensen's
orgasms were like fucking birthing contractions: extreme and inescapable.  If
he hadn't known better—if he hadn't known how frequently and how thoroughly
Jensen had been fucked, how statistically certain it was that he'd been
impregnated before Sam even arrived—Cas would have said he'd felt the moment of
conception when Sam poured himself into Jensen, triggering a sublime climax.
Cas glances at the wreckage that is the bed.  At some point, the two kids had
rearranged themselves, Jensen pulled into the curl of Sam's body.  Cas wonders
if they're still tied. He lifts Jensen's knee: yup, Sam's still buried between
the lips of Jensen's engorged cunt. The omega doesn't even move during this
inspection: he is finally well and truly fucked out. Somehow, though, Sam
senses it: he snarls in his sleep and his hand tightens possessively on
Jensen's heavy, swollen belly.
 
 
***** quickening ("big like its daddy") *****
Chapter Notes
     more kinks, chiefly nipple play. This is actually the first part of
     this chapter, but all I'll have time to post today.
Jensen, inevitably, falls pregnant the night of his first breeding. He proceeds
to swell up so quickly, it’s like his body was just waiting for the excuse. 
Which it was, Cas supposes.  Cas can actually see his waist expanding from week
to week, and the measurements in the breeding notebook confirm it. The boy
carries low, a firm globe hanging from his hips, making even his walk look
obscenely sensual. By the fourth month, when Jensen is presented before the
council, his stomach is so big he has to sit with his legs spread, the dome of
his belly resting between them. 
Jensen’s belly looks even more outsized because his tits haven’t caught up
yet—each one is little more than a puffy handful, mostly areola. However, the
sensitivity that came with that first breeding has never abated. If anything,
it’s grown: for nearly a week at the end of his first trimester, Jensen went
around shirtless because he couldn’t bear even the softest linen against his
chest. Eventually, things become so desperate that Cas pokes around the cellar
and comes out with the milking pump. The winter birthing pool inside the House
is smaller than the one in the courtyard, so Cas kneels in the shallow end with
Jensen between his legs. The young omega sighs with delight at the warm,
lapping water. Against his own stomach, Cas can feel the tense muscles knitting
the kid’s low back into his expanding hips. He’s a trooper, never complains,
but Cas knows the changes wrought by pregnancy are intense on a teenage frame.
“Mmmm,” Jensen plays his wet fingers across the arc of his belly. “Please,
Cas?” That’s another change; except for the ten days or so immediately after
his breeding, when Jensen could hardly bear to be touched, he’s been voracious
ever since he got knocked up. Cas doesn’t even bother putting the toy chest
away any more, and it seems like Sam is at the House more often than not. It’s
hard to believe this was the boy who blushed at “front-hole” just a few months
ago. Part of it is that Jensen is a good little soldier, and probably couldn’t
indulge himself until his mission—impregnation—was complete. But it’s something
beyond that. Most pregnant omegas have difficulty reaching the fierce orgasms
that characterize heats.   There’s an old-wives tale about orgasms bringing on
labour, but that’s perpetuated only because omegas generally orgasm during
labour. Really, it’s just a change in hormone levels. Cas had never been
bothered: he’d enjoyed the gentle, slow-building waves of his pregnancy
pleasures. There had been none of that mind-melting need to be filled—because,
of course, he was already as full as a person could be. Jensen, however, seems
to be constantly chasing the all-consuming physical cataclysm that had given
him that extraordinary belly to begin with.
“Not now, darling,” Cas kisses Jensen’s shoulder to take away the sting of
denial, “Today I’m here for these.” He cups Jensen’s little tits in his palms.
Jensen squirms. Cas has allowed a few curls of pubic hair above his cock, but
has kept him shaved otherwise: in the water he is sleek as an eel.
“Don’t fuss,” Cas pinches a nipple in reproof. “I don’t know why you’re so
stubborn about this.” Jensen doesn’t seem to mind his rapidly-growing stomach,
and feels free to demand Cas’s fingers or mouth at any time of the day. But
he’s shy to the point of shame about his tits. He’d gasped with each breeze and
fidgeted with his tunic until finally Cas told him to just take the blessed
thing off. Once bare-chested, though, he’d kept turning his back, answering
over his shoulder when Cas spoke to him. No one could even enjoy the sight of
his pretty, puffy mounds—which seems a waste, to Cas’s mind.
“They hurt,” Jensen pouts. “They’re—ow, oh—sore.”
Cas can see why. Jensen’s always had big, smooth pecs, but now he has breasts.
In Cas’s hands, they feel like heavy, soft-skinned fruit about to split their
casings. Cas can sense the tension; they’re ready to burst. Jensen’s chest is
enthusiastically trying to keep up with the developing belly (how many
offspring are in there, anyway?), but he’s just too small. There are
injections, Cas remembers from one of the breeding notebooks: a midwife can
administer them to help the skin stretch, but Cas will keep that as a last
resort. The idea of a needle, sharp and cold, piercing the over-ripe flesh of
Jensen’s aching baby titties…well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.
Jensen is whimpering, even though Cas is just barely circling each nipple with
his thumb. His summer tan is fading and Cas strokes where he can see the blue
veins under the skin.
“Just let me try something, and then I’ll take care of you,” Cas offers.
Jensen’s slutty ass pushes back, automatically eager, but the obstinate little
brat refuses to answer. Cas licks the rim of his ear. Sometimes, Jensen needs
to be wooed. Cas suckles the lobe, tightens his knees around Jensen’s hips.
“Can’t I have your cunt, lovely boy?”
That’s more than Jensen can ignore—Cas has never…and Sam is off on a hunting
trip, and it’s just been days and fingers can’t reach, and he’ll never be full
enough. “Oh, yes! Yes, please.”
“Alright, then. Be brave just a few more minutes.” Cas kisses Jensen’s
shoulder, his throat, distracting him as he readies the cups of the milker.
It’s unlikely that Jensen is actually producing; according to the breeding
notebooks, most omegas let down their milk in their seventh or eighth month,
just a little earlier than females. The record was held by an experienced
Babymaker who could be teased to produce in month six. Jensen is barely halfway
there, and it’s only his first pregnancy. Still, the kid is precocious and
highly receptive. Cas has to try: if there’s milk, or even colostrum, in
Jensen’s ducts, that could explain why he’s so touchy.
The cups of the milker are lined with velvet and modeled after the mouths of
infants. As offspring grow, they lose the cheek-pads of fat; the jaw and
esophagus change to facilitate an adult pattern of chewing, but infants’ mouths
are designed to create irresistible suction. On the milker, this suction is
controlled by the balloon attached to the cups by long tubes. A clockwork
gasket allows the suction to be changed. Setting four is roughly equivalent to
a newborn, five to a six-month-old. Jensen yelps at three, but it’s hard to get
a seal on wet skin, so Cas adjusts the gasket higher and quickly pumps the
balloon a few times. He keeps one arm clamped firmly across Jensen's ribs,
above his belly, to keep him in place. Finally, the cups begin to draw, sucking
Jensen’s pink-brown buds into the tubing.
Jensen’s hands jump to his chest, startled by the new feeling, but he doesn’t
interfere with the cups. Cas nudges the gasket to six, then gently places the
balloon on the rim of the pool, careful to keep it out of the water.
“Ahhh—uhh, it’s too much. I can’t, I—too much!” Jensen is panting, each breath
making the milker pull at his chest.
“Shh,”   Cas brings Jensen’s hands down to his own thighs, so the kid has
something to hang onto. “It’s good practice.” He slides his palms under
Jensen’s half-submerged belly, hefts the weight. “Swear to the Goddess, you’ve
got twins in there,” he teases.
Jensen huffs in time with the suckling tubes. “Nnnn—baby’s just big, like—ah,
ah, ah!—its daddy.” Cas wonders if he’s thinking of Sam…or John.
All Babymakers have multiple offspring eventually. After all, their fertility
is carefully cultivated and during the breeding festivals, they are simply
saturated with virile Alpha sperm. Jo had two sets of quadruplets, just one
breeding apart. However, the first breeding usually only yields a single baby
since the Babymaker’s eggs are still a little immature. Cas had been delivered
of twins at his first confinement, but he was the only Babymaker in nine cycles
to have more than a singleton for his initial birth. Had he been as big as
Jensen?
Cas puts his thumb in Jensen’s belly-button, now grown shallow as he stretches
from the inside. “Still, a big baby like that’ll be very hungry.” With his
other hand, he twists the gasket on the balloon, and also flicks the alternator
up a notch. Jensen’s fingers dig into Cas’s legs; he keens as both the rate and
the suction increase. The milker is working hard enough that the titflesh
vibrates around each cup. Cas presses around one seal: it’s still holding and
the breast seems, if anything, denser, more swollen. Cas can’t tell if the
ducts are filling with milk or if they’re just overstimulated. Jensen’s nipples
are being drawn nearly an inch into the tubes, and there’s still no milk
flowing into the suction balloon.
Jensen’s ribs work like bellows as he sucks in air. Cas can feel the young
omega’s hips pulsing in time with the milker—he can’t fight the weight of his
belly and the water, but he’s too aroused to sit still. His head drops forward,
hangs. Cas licks the vulnerable nape of Jensen’s neck, nuzzling his damp hair.
“You’re doing so well, sweetness. D’you feel any milk coming in?”
“Hurts a’lil,” Jensen sounds faintly surprised. So far, his experiences with
Cas have been so pleasurable.
“Do you want to stop?”
A long second of hesitation, just the rattle of the milker and the slosh of
water, and then Jensen lets out a deep breath and shakes his head firmly.
Cas kisses his bare, wet shoulder. “Such a brave boy,” he croons, and then,
made reckless by an unexpected surge of pride, “Shall I have you now?”
“Yes,” Jensen whines, “oh, yes, Cas!”
Cas instantly regrets offering—he’d wanted his first time in Jensen’s cunt to
happen in a proper bed—but he can’t back down now. “C’mon, let’s go where it’s
deeper,” he urges Jensen a few feet into the deep end of the pool. There is no
decking here, so Cas has to let the balloon hang over the edge of the pool.
When he hears a deep, wanton growl, he wonders if the kid has orgasmed from
added weight drawing on his nipples. Almost: Jensen clings to the edge, keeping
the milking apparatus mostly dry, but his lower half ripples. He has an
ecstatic expression on his face, his hips temporarily free from their burden.
In the deeper water, Jensen can float, his body regaining its virginal ease and
lightness.
Cas turns the kid so he floats on his back, and guides his fingers over his
head to grip the rim of the birthing pool. It’s awkward, but Jensen is buoyant
and youthful and flexible. The position immobilizes Jensen’s arms, keeps his
chest out of the water, and does amazing things for the muscles in his
surprisingly masculine shoulder. Cas holds his wrists together with one hand
while the other slides down the boy’s wet body, along the drum-tight dome. He
fondles Jensen’s soft cock, his ballsac; their texture is intriguingly foreign
under the water.
“When I’m inside, I’m going to let go of your hands,” he says, “and then I’m
going to turn up the milker. I’ll need you to hold on. Okay?”
Jensen’s face creases with desperation. “Oh—okay. Just—now! Now, Cas.”
Cas can’t see his cock around Jensen’s stomach, but he can feel the thick lips
of the vulva and imagines them parting around the head of his prick. The boy is
deliciously tight inside, muscled but soft. Pregnant omegas produce less slick
than when breeding, so even in the water Cas can enjoy the slight resistance of
penetration. He rises on his toes, falling into Jensen’s cunt. The water he
displaces washes over the island of Jensen’s belly.  
Four days ago, Cas had returned from getting herbs at the morning market to
hear two young voices moaning in counterpoint in the bedroom.   It wasn’t the
first morning Sam had sneaked over before school. (The sneaking wasn’t
necessary—Jensen was safely pregnant, and obviously so—but boys will be boys,
and these two seemed to like having their little secret). On that morning,
Jensen had been on his knees, braced on his forearms, so that Sam’s rabbiting
thrusts didn’t send him across the bed. His belly brushed the sheets each time
Sam moved; the weight of it dragged Jensen’s back into a submissive bow. At the
time, Cas had simply registered that soon Jensen would be too big to be fucked
like that. Now, though, he is wondering how a cunt that could take Sam’s Alpha
cock, that had—not too long ago—taken John, and Bobby, and Gabriel, could
possibly feel so tight around his own.
Jensen bleats: his cock and clit are trapped in the angle between his swollen
stomach and Cas’s body. Cas is about to move when Jensen’s long legs come up
and cinch themselves around his waist. Now the kid is slung like a hammock
between Cas and the edge of the pool. Cas cradles the boy’s hips, moves them a
fraction, and feels the head of his cock draw across the ring of Jensen’s
cervix. Jensen’s breath hitches and his thighs twitch.
“Hurt?”
“Nuh…just—tic, tickles?” Jensen gasps, sounding like he can’t find a word for
the new sensation.
Cas arches his back, touches Jensen’s cervix again. The kid is sensitive
there—no surprise. The surprise is that Cas can reach that depth with so little
effort. After all, he’s not an Alpha, his cock is not that large—oh, but of
course, Jensen is. Large. Full, inside. That, of course, is how he manages to
be so tight. And despite Cas, despite Sam, he’s just going to get tighter.
Cas has never been particularly envious of Alphas. Once you’ve had a few
slavering between your legs, fighting over you, begging to fill you, it’s hard
to see them as the superior just because they have big cocks and high sperm-
counts. But now, as he slides his hands up Jensen’s back, forcing an arch,
encouraging the boy to undulate in the water, to pleasure himself against Cas’s
body, he’s beginning to see the appeal. To have your own fertile omega, just on
the masculine side of androgynous, a virginal teenager. Cas lets his eyes drift
closed, listening to Jensen panting little hiccupy gasps, enjoying the slide of
Jensen’s wet curves. An omega who couldn’t withstand Cas’s body, who was just
so overflowing with his mate that he filled and then bulged with it. Not
androgynous anymore, not virginal, a totally sexual being literally re-formed
by desire.
Cas has his arms around Jensen’s hips to support his weight in the water. He
can feel the muscles there working, can feel Jensen’s asscheeks flexing as he
rolls himself on Cas’s cock. Would his imaginary omega work so hard? And if so,
how would Cas reward him? Quick, little strokes like Sam? Cas tries it,
immediately feels Jensen respond with fast pulsing clenches. Or something
slow—now Jensen wails. Poor omega! Cas is not moving in time with the suction
of the milker, and Jensen can’t decide which rhythm to follow. Cas had almost
forgotten about it, the faint sucking sounds fading into the background of his
fantasy.
Jensen is hanging from the rim, the muscles in his arms painfully visible. His
tits are held high and separate above the water by the cups of the milker. The
pressure makes them pale while the rest of him is beautifully flushed. Cas has
to nearly fold him in half in order to reach the milker and push it to its
highest setting. He’s got all of Jensen pressed against him, open and slick
outside and inside. He can feel the swell of belly, the milker cups sucking
more vigorously, he feels Jensen’s open mouth—kissing? gasping?—against his
throat. Even the kid’s little cock is half-hard, something that hadn’t happened
to Cas in seven pregnancies. Cas grips Jensen’s ass viciously, kneading with
one hand, and strokes the boy's cock so gently with the other, just training it
up against the curve of his stomach. He moves two fingers from Jensen’s clit to
his thick cockhead and back, methodically tracing a route. “This,” he says, and
he can feel the air scraping his lungs, the cum boiling in his tightening sac
at the thought, “this is where my cock is, inside you. I’d be able to feel...to
feel myself—in you—if, if you weren’t alreadyso. So fucking. Full.”
Jensen shatters, hips pumping, stomach wobbling, moaning as he tumbles over the
edge. Cas grits his teeth, nearly losing himself, almost falling into the
throbbing pull of Jensen’s body, but he can’t…not yet. He shifts Jensen’s hips,
hears him cry out even in the midst of his climax, feels the boy twinge inside
as Cas butts roughly against his cervix. Cas dips under Jensen’s clit, slides
two fingers into his fluttering cunt, crooks them, stretching him like he would
if he had a knot. Then, and only then—deep, knotted, pressed right up against
Jensen’s womb—Cas allows himself to come.
The spill inside sends Jensen into another orgasm, and then his contortions
cause one tit to burst free, and the shock of air and water on his abused
nipple make him come again. It’s somewhere in this third…or is it fourth?…that
Cas feels it. He sweeps his palm along Jensen's twisting body and..yes, faint
but definite, near the crease where Jensen's distended stomach folds into his
hip, one of the offspring is kicking.
                                      ~~~
Jensen can’t be sure. “I don’t know,” he snaps the fourth time Cas asks him,
“I’ve never been pregnant before. I guess I’ve felt it? Them? I don’t know.
What’s it supposed to feel like?” He is pressing his hands to various points on
his belly (can a sphere have points?), but the surface remains smooth and taut
as a drumhead.
Cas isn’t really sure how to describe the feeling of having something alive
moving inside you, totally of its own volition. He always figure it for a “you
know it when you feel it” sort of sensation, but evidently not. Err, evidently
knot—it must be said that Jensen has had a lot of very lively things moving
inside him lately. It’s that thought, the sort of raunchy pun that drifts into
a sex-sodden brain, that gives him the idea of involving Sam.
Sam is a little nonplussed to find Cas waiting for him in the large bedroom
when he arrives two days later. Not that you’d have to be a genius—Sam’s been
gone nearly two weeks on a hunting trip, the pack had just returned last night,
the school won’t open for another two hours, where else would you expect to
find a lusty young Alpha? But Sam clearly thinks he’s been very subtle about
sneaking in on mornings when Cas is out of the House.
“Uh, g-good morning, sir,” Sam stutters and he really is a sweet boy, rather
like a puppy with his shaggy hair and gangly limbs. Sir.Cas likes the sound of
that. Jensen has grown just a little demanding in his pregnancy, and it’s nice
to come across someone who still recognizes Cas’s importance to this process.
After all, the Keeper is essential at least until the first birthing and
they’ve got a few months yet, despite Jensen’s increasing size.
“Good morning, Sam. Good hunt?”
“Y-yes. Very good, sir.”
“Well, that’s always nice to hear. Come in, have a seat,” Cas remembers saying
exactly those words to Jensen, once. He steps behind Sam to close the door.
“Say hello to Jensen. He’s been waiting for you.”
Sam obediently sits in the  chair next to the bed where Jensen is curled up in
a nest of pillows, idly stoking his belly. Jensen turns up his face for a kiss
and Sam, with a shy glance toward Cas, obliges. Jensen pulls away quickly,
teeth catching on Sam’s lower lip, and then relenting, offering his mouth to
Sam’s tongue, sliding his hand into Sam’s thick hair. Sam shifts one knee onto
the bed, brings his hand up to Jensen’s belly without even removing his mouth
from Jensen’s—“Goddess, you’re ev’bigger’n when I lef’,” he grunts between
kisses. Jensen tips his head back, looking dazed, letting Sam mouth along his
throat; already his breaths are hoarse little moans. “Oh..oooh, you should—oh,
yes, yes!…see my, uhhh, tits…”
“Can I?” Sam’s big paws are already fumbling with Jensen’s tunic when Cas
clears his throat.
“A moment, boys?”
Sam’s head snaps up; he’s blushing furiously. It’s clear that, in the space of
thirty seconds with Jensen, he’d completely forgotten Cas was still in the
room. Jensen, in turn, nestles in next to the Alpha, looking as round and
satisfied as the cat that ate the canary and a very large watermelon.
“Not to interrupt the proceedings—” Sam flushes even hotter, if that’s
possible, darling child, “but there has been a development, while you were
away, Sam, that Jensen and I think you could help us explore.”
“Uh. Devel…?” Sam blinks.
“I’ve quickened,” Jensen says casually, nudging at Sam’s hand until it resumes
stroking his hair.
Sam looks from Jensen to Cas and back again, forehead crumpling in concern. “Is
that…I mean, are you—is it dangerous?”
His worry is so sweetly naïve. Cas forgets that Sam is even younger than Jensen
and hasn’t had the same…well, let’s call it practical, hands-on education.
“Not at all, darling,” Cas sits in the chair that Sam vacated and puts a
soothing hand on his knee. “It just means that the offspring are moving.”
“What?—you mean…inside?!”
Jensen laughs, “Yeah, inside, stupid!” he says fondly, and nips at Sam’s
fingers. “It’s supposed to happen.”
“It is,” Cas confirms when Sam looks to him in surprise. “Quite an ordinary
part of any breeding. In fact, it’s an important part of the Babymaker
tradition. As soon as the quickening is confirmed, the Babymaker goes before
the council and a midwife confirms the number of offspring. That way the
Community can make arrangements for the offspring as new members.”
Sam’s eyes grow wide with amazement. “And you can feel it? Can I touch? How
many, do you think? More than one?” Clearly, the idea of the offspring as
living beings is beginning to take hold. Like Cas, like all Babymakers, Jensen
is largely uninterested in the offspring as people. Babymakers are not parents,
and so they have none of the concerns of parents (will she have your eyes? Can
we name him after my father? What color in the nursery? What school, what
profession?). The Council names the offspring, and the Orphan House raises
them, and, for a very select few, the Keepe educates them. (Occasionally, there
are fostering arrangements, as with Jo and Ellen Harvelle, but those are
uncommon and special cases. As the old saying goes, “Once in a blue moon, rare
as a female Babymaker.”) Sam, as an Alpha, probably a future Council member, is
naturally thinking ahead.
Cas reins him in: “Yes, that’s the issue.”
“Are you all right? Are the babies?” Sam turns to Jensen anxiously.
“He’s fine,” Cas assures. “As are the offspring. They’re just a little…shy.”
Jensen drops his eyes demurely. “I can only feel them when I get…y’know.
Close.”
“Clo—? Oh. Oh!” Sam is turning red again. Jensen gives him a wicked grin and
sucks one of the Alpha’s fingers into his mouth.
“Yes,” Cas continues airily, as though he hasn’t noticed Jensen’s teasing.
“We’ve been unable to determine the pattern of movement. My babies were always
most active just after I woke up. Jensen’s seem to be excited by...well, by his
excitement.” Is it possible, Cas wonders, for Sam to actually catch fire from
blushing? “But we’d like to confirm that pattern before we go before the
Council for the presentation ceremony, naturally.”
“Naturally,” Sam echoes.
“It would be embarrassing if I couldn’t,” Cas fishes for an appropriately
clinical word, “elicit anything in the moment.”
“With the midwife there, and the Council, and everything,” Jensen adds.
Sam chews his lip. “Couldn’t you just. If it’s a natural progression. Couldn’t
you just wait a few weeks? I mean, I don’t want to hurt anything and, anyway,
eventually…” He fades away, but they all know what he’s thinking: eventually,
Jensen will grow so big, and the babies so active, that their number will be
obvious. “It can’t be more than a couple of weeks, right?”
Cas has nothing to say to that. Sam is completely right, and Jensen is bred: it
doesn’t really matter when he’s presented to the Council. The number of
offspring won’t change.
Jensen mindlessly brings a hand up to circle his stomach. “I think,” he muses.
“I think I’d like to know as soon as possible. How many.” He glances up at Cas,
then looks to Sam. “Just to be prepared.”
It is those last four words, and their very faint hint of nervousness, that
persuades Sam onto his back amidst Jensen’s many pillows. “I won’t knot much,”
the boy warns, panting as Jensen settles between his legs and begins to lick
his cock. “I, I’ll pro’ly come, but…oh, Jen, Goddess!” Jensen looks up, mouth
already full, and does something with his tongue that causes Sam to flop
backwards.
Cas suspects that Sam will certainly knot a little. It won’t be the full-on
breeding knot that would be triggered in rut. Sam’s body will know, from
Jensen’s smell, from Jensen’s slick, that the omega is already pregnant and
that a knot is, biologically, useless. Nevertheless, Sam is young and, as Cas
has reason to know, Jensen is very tight. As for coming—well, that is
guaranteed. But Cas will be in charge of that.
                                      ~~~
Cas helps Jensen squat over Sam’s cock, once it’s been sucked rigid. “We’ve
never, like this,” Jensen says, and for a moment he looks innocent and virginal
again, in spite of the gravid belly jutting from his hips.
“You’ll like it,” Cas assures him, “and you’ll soon be too big to be taken like
a bitch.” It’s Sam that growls at the coarse language; Jensen is too busy
working himself slowly down toward Sam’s abdomen.
As usual, Jensen stops—twice—convinced that the Alpha cock is too big, that it
will split him in half, but Cas sits on Sam’s knees so the Alpha can’t move. He
massages Jensen’s thighs and persuades him down until his balls are trapped
between his round stomach and Sam’s flat one.
“There, now,” Cas teases, running his hands along Jensen’s trembling legs,
“isn’t that more comfortable?” Sam looks savage: he’s is gripping handfuls of
the sheets, like he might shred them if he can’t move in the next twenty
seconds…move, preferably, into the hot omega cunt wrapped around his dick. “You
can go like this all the way until the end,” Cas chirps, easing over to the
edge of the bed. “Sometimes they even use this position to induce labour.”
Jensen makes an impatient, wordless noise, and nearly rips his tunic pulling it
off. By the time he gets it over his head, Sam is already thrusting hard enough
to lift him off the bed, offspring and all. The Alpha curses when he finally
sees Jensen naked.
“Fuck, you’ve gotten so big. You get morepregnant? Who’s been up this cunt,”
Sam gasps, “while I’ve been gone?”
“L-language, Sammy,” Jensen’s voice jumps in pitch with each thrust. “Not. In
front. Of the baby.”
And that’s how Cas learns that naïve little Sammy Winchester has a filthy
mouth, and that Jensen, so recently a virgin, loves it.
                                      ~~~
They’re mesmerizing to watch: Sam’s acres of golden skin, tanned and muscled
from hunting; Jensen just getting fleshy; and between them the enormous swell
of belly. Jensen’s new tits bounce, smacking deliciously until Sam gets his
big, long-fingered hands around them. Cas never did coax any milk out, but the
nipples now look like they belong to a nursing mother and Sam is vocal in his
praise. Once Sam starts in on what he’s going to do with his mouth, Jensen
begins a new, rolling rhythm and that’s Cas’s cue. He quickly wraps one arm
around, stilling Jensen’s hips, and reaches down to give Sam’s balls a savage
twist.
Jensen wails in disappointment, his orgasm ruined, and Sam bares his teeth.
“…the fuck?” Cas brings the Alpha’s big hand down and watches the astonishment
on his face as he feels the flutter-kick within Jensen’s stomach.
                                      ~~~
Cas repeats his experiment twice more, just to be certain that the offspring
are most active just before their omega climaxes. After the last trial, Jensen
is nearly sobbing in frustration. Cas makes lay on his side among the
pillows—he’s too strung out to ride Sam anymore—and spreads his slick thighs.
His cunt is rosy and sore: he whimpers when Sam jacks himself, and pushes in
again.  Sam has already come once, spilling accidentally on Jensen’s belly
after the second trial, right above were his palm was pressed to feel the
offspring.

"Can I, please, sir?"  Sam begs and it takes Cas a moment to realize he wants
to make Jensen come.  And he does, but only after Cas nods his assent.
Sam never makes it to school: the teens not really knotted, but too worn out to
move.  Cas leaves them in bed when he goes to begin the preparations for
Jensen's presentation to the Council.  They're still there when he returns, but
this time he notices something.  He wouldn't normally have said Sam and Jensen
looked similar;  Sam is big and built like an Alpha, while Jensen is smaller. 
Maybe it's because they're sharing the same pillow, heads at the same angle,
faces relaxed in sleep, but there is definitely a symmetry there that makes
them look related.  Cousins, perhaps brothers.  Jensen is, of course, offspring
of an earlier Babymaker and there may be no way to ever know, but Cas wouldn't
be surprised it he'd been sired by John Winchester.
 
 
***** presenting ("in very good hands") *****
The Babymaker is presented to the Council in the same filmy gown worn during
the breeding festival procession. That’s why Cas had so carefully store
Jensen’s away before the actual breeding began (and it’s a good thing he had:
Jensen’s veil, which hadn’t received the same careful treatment, had ended up
in sodden shreds, stained with paint and lipstick, crumpled under a pillow).
Cas hadn’t thought much about the tradition when he had been partaking in it,
but during his hiatus, one of his more adventurous lovers had invited him to a
costume party full of adults in school-boy uniforms, cheerleader skirts,
babydoll pyjamas. At the time, Cas had never slept with anyone younger than he
was, but he’d had to admit the conjunction of very grown-up bodies in childish
clothing had been curiously appealing. Now he can’t help but wonder if the
costuming tradition for the presentation isn’t meant to be similarly erotic.
Jensen’s gown had, naturally, been fitted to Jensen’s body before he’d been
bred, his virginal body: slim and spare and male. The wide-shouldered high-
waisted bodice had needed the half-corset to give him any shape at all, and the
flowing skirt had been split up the middle, right to Jensen’s sternum, so he
could straddle the palanquin and so that Council-member selected to confirm his
virginity could get at his cunt. It even smells faintly like Jensen—like
Jensen, before: fresh and spicy, like newly-mown grass. Cas takes a deep breath
when he opens the storage box; he’d forgotten that Jensen had ever had anything
other than his current, rich scent of ripeness. It’s a good thing Sam won’t be
participating in the Presentation ceremony: just a whiff and the young Alpha
would probably break something.
As he had the first time, Jensen allows himself to be dressed like a doll. His
shoulders and arms are still broad and muscled, so the sleeves fit easily. The
bodice, however, pulls tight across his chest, tucking itself under his new
tits, making them even more obvious. It’s actually good, for once, that his
breasts aren’t any bigger.
“Can’t breathe,” Jensen complains, and Cas kisses the bare skin of his back
where the buttons gape. He’s asked the midwife to stay after the presentation
and administer the injections to keep their growth aligned with the rest of
Jensen’s body. After all, Jensen’s stretched about as far as he can go, and his
milk hasn’t even come in yet. Soon, though, Cas thinks, as he sits Jensen on
his lap and mouths at his nipples through the lace of the gown. Under his
tongue, he can sense a change, a roughening of the texture of the aureole, a
thickening of the tissue.  Will Jensen make it to six months dry? He is so
advanced for his age!
Cas suckles until Jensen is whimpering and clawing at his shoulders, until his
erect nipples are a pretty mauve colour, plainly visible through the gown.
(Later, when Cas undresses Jensen, the boy’s tits will bear a faint tracery of
the bodice’s lace fabric, from having been pressed up against it for so long).
The gown itself doesn’t even pretend to cover Jensen’s stomach, despite all the
extra panels of fabric that had made him look so endearingly petite on his
breeding day. Cas paints the prescribed sigils on skin stretched as well as any
canvas and manages to pin the gown closed, but the front of the skirt still
hangs a foot higher than the back and the fabric is stretched to transparency
around the lowest curve of Jensen’s belly. In the shadow of that belly, Cas can
see the kid’s cock. Wearing this costume again arouses Jensen’s memories of
breeding, arouses Jensen. From the back, given the gauzy fabric, he almost
looks the same as he had in August: the strong triangle of his shoulders and
back narrowing to a nicely-rounded ass and strong thighs. From the front, he
looks like the fertility Goddess herself, bursting and fecund. Or he will, Cas
decides, once his tits lose that teen-girl tightness.
The Councillors come to the House of the Babymaker for the Presentation, as a
show of respect, so Cas brings Jensen to the reception room to wait for them.
Gabriel had come over that morning with the breeding throne, and it sits in the
back of the room. Tradition says this had been used to hold the Babymakers back
when they were bred by each and every male in the Community on a public stage
during a three-day orgy. Cas had examined it and confirmed what Lucifer had
told him ages ago: the mechanism that works the stirrups is far too modern for
that to be true. “Old, but not that old. Probably the last in a long line of
breeding benches—imagine what they’ve seen,” Lucifer had said lewdly, those
many years ago, “Makes a good story, though,” And it does.
Cas remembers, through the blur of years and long-ago heat, the way those
stirrups has spread him, spread until he thought his hips would crack with
being so open. He’d never been bred in it, of course. As he’d told Jensen,
every one of his offspring had been conceived in the House, in the large bed
where Jensen had been bred. But Babymakers were placed in the breeding throne
during their first breeding festival procession so that a Councillor could
confirm their virginity and, in later cycles—thick fingers working deeper,
gentle but unrelenting, a big palm hot on Cas’s stomach, then shifting Cas’s
hips, angling for the os of the uterus, checking its texture and tightness—the
fact that they were not already pregnant. And, of course, the midwife will use
it to make her examination after the Presentation.
Jensen had wandered over to it when they’d entered the room, the sway of his
burdened walk making his ass twitch temptingly under the gauzy skirt. He’d
stroked the new, velvety upholstery. Does he recognize it from his breeding
procession? It’s a memorable piece of furniture: a solid carved chair with a
high, very narrow back, tilted so the stirrups angle out like grasshopper’s
legs. Not like anything else in The Community. However, on the day of his
breeding, Jensen’s had been high on an intense cocktail of heat hormones,
aphrodisiacs, and animal neediness--even before the traditional twelve toasts.
It would be enough to scramble anyone, never mind someone as young and innocent
as Jensen had been. Cas occasionally wonders what Jensen remembers from his
first breeding.
“You can sit in it, if you want,” Cas had offered. “Try it out.”
But Jensen had brought the hand on the chair up to cup his heavy belly. “No
need; I’ll fit just fine,” he’d replied with a smug, dreamy little smile that
makes Cas suspect he remembers his breeding day very well, indeed.
There is another chair at the opposite end of the room and Jensen, groaning
slightly, lowers himself into this one. He sits, legs spraddled to leave room
for his swollen stomach, and awaits the Council.
When the five Alphas arrive, they each salute Jensen as the Babymaker, bowing
to kiss his forehead, bowing lower to kiss each breast, and finally kneeling to
kiss his belly. Cas had seen Bobby’s eyes widen when he saw Jensen and he only
wishes he hadn't been busy lighting the fire in the fireplace when John had
entered. Has Sam mentioned to his father just how quickly Jensen had developed?
Gabriel is the only one of the Council who has seen Jensen in weeks. Cas had
let him steal a peek this morning after supervising the delivery of the
breeding throne. (“Good Goddess, he’s beautiful,” Gabe had whispered, his
breath hot on the back of Cas’s neck as they’d watched the sleeping omega. “And
bigger than Jo was at four months, except with the quads. ‘Cept for the tits,
he’s big as you, with the twins.” And Gabriel’s hand had wandered around to
Cas’s stomach…had wandered lower. Cas had been Gabriel’s first Babymaker, back
when he’d been appointed to the Council. He’d liked to tease that he’d sired at
least one of the triplets Cas had birthed that year. “No time,” Cas had warned,
feeling Gabriel’s cock thickening. “I’ve got to get him up and dressed and—”
“There’s always time,” Gabe had breathed, and had proven it by rubbing himself
off quite satisfactorily against Cas’s hip while stripping Cas’s cock. The
whole time he’d kept one hand kneading low on Cas’s flat belly, moving only at
the last minute to cover Cas’s mouth when he came. “Shhh,” Gabe had soothed,
trembling himself, “let the kid sleep.”)
After the Council members have taken their seats, Bobby stands up. He has a
list of questions, the same questions he’s asked every Babymaker since he’s
been appointed to this position, but something about Jensen’s unexpected
fertility makes him stumble over the first few.
“So, uh. You’re pregnant.”
Jensen smiles his catlike smile. “Obviously.”
Bobby clears his throat. “’N when did that happen?”
Jensen gives the date of the breeding festival.
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“Couldn’tve been earlier? You’re awful big.”
Cas had warned Jensen that this would be an issue. “They have to ask. It’s
important for the ritual that the Babymaker is impregnated during the festival.
They all know you were”—“damn straight,” Jensen had huffed, “we were all
there”—“but it’s tradition to ask, And you are big. Just answer respectfully.”
“Before that date, I was a virgin. As you gentlemen may recall,” Jensen says
loftily and if he can feel Cas’s reproving glare, he doesn’t react. “If I am
large, it is because I was bred by Alphas.” He shifts in his chair as he says
this, and perhaps he’s just relieving the strain on his back, but his new
position thrusts his hips forward, highlighting his luscious roundness. Nearly
spilling out of his gown, Jensen looks good enough to eat. Cas hears someone
growl, faintly.
“And who is the father of these offspring?” Bobby hurries ahead, returning to
his script now.
“An Alpha,” Jensen replies, the traditional answer, no opportunity for teasing.
“And how many offspring do you carry?”
Jensen looks down the row of the Councillors, slowly letting his hand circle
his stomach. He twines one foot innocently around the leg of the chair. “I
don’t know,” he replies with a shrug that has every eye in the room focused on
his breasts. (Sam has taken to calling Jensen “sweet-tits,” a nickname Jensen
claims to hate but which, it cannot be denied, does suit him very well).  
Most Babymakers can’t tell how many offspring they have, especially if they’re
pregnant for the first time. After a few birthings, Cas had been able to
identify when he carried just one baby, but he’d needed the midwife to confirm
his second set of twins and the triplets had been a surprise to everyone.
 Jensen’s answer isn’t unexpected. Bobby reads out the standard summoning for
the midwife and when Ellen appears, she and Cas lead Jensen around the
Councillor’s bench to the breeding throne.
Ellen hadn’t been the midwife when Cas had been a Babymaker, although she had
assisted during his last birthing. (There had been twins, big ones, and Cas had
been tired after seven years of pregnancy). She’d been promoted when Jo had
become Babymaker; female Babymakers being so rare, it made sense to have a
female-type midwife. She’d been allowed to adopt Jo out of the Orphan House and
her appointment had been an excellent choice. Like most Keepers, Jo’s had
chosen to leave after the first birthing. Ellen had seen Jo through the last
six pregnancies, including both sets of quadruplets. Jensen is in very good
hands.
Cas had met with Ellen soon after he’d announced the quickening to the Council.
He’d asked about the injections and answered her questions. Yes, Jensen seemed
very healthy.   No, there hadn’t been excessive morning sickness or any other
adverse responses. Yes, Cas had observed the quickening, under specific
circumstances. (“What circumstances?” “Usually when he’s right on the brink of
coming and then…” Ellen had smiled, “Well, that should be fun.”) No, Cas really
couldn’t say how many offspring the boy carried: on one hand, he looked big for
four months; on the other hand, he was still a teenager and he’d been bred by
some enormous Alphas, any one of whom could be the father. Jensen seemed
convinced he was carrying one large baby, but then, Jensen also seemed to think
that Sam’s sperm—plentiful, yes, but immature and arriving very late in the
game—had beaten out all the earlier contestants in the race to fertilize
Jensen’s eggs. Was the boy being practical or romantic?
The breeding throne has been placed in front of the blazing fireplace, with
little bowls of oil placed to warm along the mantelpiece. It is behind the
bench where the Councillors sit and tradition forbids them from turning around.
They can hear the ceremony, but they cannot look upon the Babymaker. That is
the way of these things. The Councillors draw lots to see who will confirm the
quickening. John draws the short straw, so Ellen efficiently leads him to the
corner near the fireplace and blindfolds him. Gabe winks at Cas before turning
around to face the far wall.
Cas arranges Jensen in the breeding throne; he unpins the gown so the dome of
the boy’s belly is exposed and fits his legs into the stirrups. Jensen
obediently closes his eyes, allows Cas to tie the blindfold snugly. He opens
his prettily painted mouth for the gag without being asked. He permits Ellen to
lead his arms behind his back, to cross his wrists and tie them at the back of
the throne. That is the way of these things.
It’s curious: the Council takes no part in the birthing and they leave the
Keeper and the Babymaker alone for months at a time. The rituals extend only to
the breeding and to the presentation, but those rituals are inviolable.  Cas
hadn’t thought about any of this when he’d been a Babymaker. He’d been young
and horny, only too delighted to find that he could serve The Community by
opening his legs and letting big-cocked Alphas fill him up. Now, having read
all the breeding notebooks and distilled their information to shepherd a more
inquisitive young omega through the rituals, he can see the political
machinations. The breeding process is meant to make sure that all families, in
the form of Alphas from the Head of the Council to the youngest knotting
schoolboy, have an equal chance at knocking up the Babymaker. That’s why he
must be a virgin before his breeding, why he must be shown not to be pregnant
during the procession, and to be very pregnant some months later, at the
presentation. It’s also why, once he’s bred up, he can sleep with whomever he
chooses. (Or whomever she chooses. Jo, Cas has heard, kept a stable of lovers
and changed it up with each pregnancy). The rituals all enforce anonymity.
Things fall apart if anyone knows who has sired the offspring: there will be
jealousy, feuds, factions. The offspring will be claimed by families instead of
being raised by the whole Community; the larger families will become too
powerful; the smaller families will feel under-represented.  
Ellen slowly pours a stream of warmed oil onto Jensen’s belly. Jensen sighs
around his gag as she begins to work it into his skin. Cas starts to turn the
winch, each revolution pushing the stirrups farther apart. If the breeding is
about anonymity, the presentation is about impersonality. Cas has read that in
the past, whole courts witnessed royal births to guarantee that no-one
substituted a boy for a girl, or a commoner for the legitimate heir. The
presentation serves the same purpose: the midwife—always a beta, and therefore
presumed to be unbiased—will ascertain how many offspring the Babymaker carries
and no one, not the Council, not the blindfolded Babymaker himself, is allowed
to interfere or influence.
Jensen begins to whimper when the stirrups are a foot and a half apart, so Cas
pauses and borrows some of Ellen’s oil. He works it into the kid’s hips and
thighs, the gangly legs and knobby knees still undeniably those of a teenaged
boy. Once relaxed, Jensen opens another ten inches. Even Ellen looks impressed
as Cas binds Jensen’s straining thighs to the stirrups with leather thongs.
Other restraints go around his chest—another whimper as Ellen lifts his tits
out of the way—and below his belly. His toes are already curling as Cas wraps
the last bonds around his ankles. Jensen’s belly gleams with oil and firelight
as Cas surveys their work. The little omega is thoroughly tied; the Council is
forbidden to look; John, the observing Alpha, is blindfolded. The midwife is
standing by and Cas knows her to be an incorruptible woman. She will determine
the number of offspring Jensen is carrying and, in a few more months, she will
bring forth that number and no one will add, subtract, or falsify them. Cas
bends his head, accepts his own blindfold, and then kneels to take Jensen’s
ball sack into his mouth. 
Jensen clearly expected Cas to go straight for his cunt, but Cas devotes
himself to the kid's cock.  He eases his fingers in and against Jensen's
prostate. It doesn't take much; in minutes, Cas can hear his rough breathing. 
Jensen whines around the gag when Cas gives his cock a sharp twist and sits
back; he wriggles against his bounds to try and get more contact, but Cas waits
until he is still before resuming.  Cas brings Jensen to the brink once more,
and then, when the sounds from behind the gag are truly desperate, he gently
pushes him over.  
Cas rips off his blindfold, blinking in the firelight, and watches Ellen. She
has a funny little ear-horn that she presses against Jensen’s belly, though
what can she hear over Jensen’s gasping? Soon, she sets it aside and begins
expertly moving her hands over Jensen’s bump, identifying each twitch and
pulse, as the bound boy writhes under her palms. “One…yes, and a foot. Elbow?”
Ellen mutters to herself. “Oh, there’s a…two. Definitely. Maybe.” She pushes
back with the flat of her hand, occasionally, and Cas has a sudden sense memory
of Ellen leaning her weight into his belly as he’d laboured, pressing one of
the twins into the proper position for birthing. It had made him orgasm seven
years ago, feeling the strength of her move the child through his womb and it
nearly brings him off again, suppressants be damned, as between them Jensen
moans and strains against his bonds.
“Two, for sure,” Ellen whispers, “and maybe…” She puts Cas’s hand just below
Jensen’s belly button, right where a dark line of skin is beginning to form.
“I’m pretty sure, but I can’t tell,” she says. And Can’t either. He can
feel—something, a little spasm, deep inside. But whether it’s another baby or
an aftershock, he can’t tell.
“D’you think you can get him to go again?” Ellen asks, and her voice is still
low but Jensen overhears and sobs around the gag in his mouth.
Cas walks around to his side. The boy’s cheeks are wet below the blindfold,
sweat or tears. Cas unties the gag, pulls the ball from the kid’s mouth with a
faint “pop,” and replaces it with his tongue. Jensen’s lips are dry, but he
lifts his head into the kiss as much as he can, always so desperate to be
touched after he comes. “I can’t, not again,” he whines into Cas’s mouth. Cas
lets his kisses meander down Jensen’s throat, up to his ear, so his words are
just for Jensen.
“That’s what you said right before you took John the Council’s knot,” he says,
his hand on Jensen’s jaw, “I can’t you said, but you did, you took it all, and
then you took all the others. It’s what you said when I taught you how to ride
Sam—you know how much he likes that, you on top of him.” Jensen gurgles at that
thought and Cas slips his thumb into the boy’s mouth, puts some force into his
whisper. “All I hear from you: can’t and won’t. But you do, and you can, sweet-
tits,” another gurgle at Sam’s nickname. “Now, Ellen wants to double-check,
wants to make sure how many babies you’re carrying, and then let an Alpha
confirm it. You gonna tell her no?”
Jensen shakes his head.
“Of course not. You’re going to let me tease you, just a little, so she can get
what she needs, okay?” Cas moves his thumb so the boy can answer.
“Yessir,” Jensen says, hoarsely, and leaves his mouth open until Cas fits the
gag back in.
“Good boy,” Cas kisses his forehead, “it’ll be good practice.” Jensen squirms.
That is how Cas persuades him into taking bigger toys, into tolerating the
milking machine, into trying the new positions that stretch him so beautifully.
At first it was to help a young virgin understand knotting, but now they both
know that when Jensen practices pushing his body’s limits it’s for one
inevitable thing: pushing his big, heavy offspring out of his over-stuffed
womb. However many there are.
“How can I help?” Ellen whispers when Cas has walked back to stand between the
stirrups. She is close enough that he could turn and kiss her, too. So he does.
He pulls away, finally, to survey Jensen. The kid is tired and he’s been
brought to the edge so many times that maybe the offspring have grown used to
the ebb and flow of orgasm. “Play with his tits,” Cas says at last, “but be
gentle.”
Cas starts with Jensen’s cunt this time…two fingers, three, and his mouth on
the boy’s clit. He can feel when Ellen starts in, because Jensen cries out
behind the gag and starts to move his hips, infinitesimally, despite the bonds.
Slowly, Cas counts down from ten. When he reaches one, when he can hear
Jensen’s muffled cries again, he pulls his fingers out and bites down hard on
the inside of the kid’s thigh. With that orgasm effectively derailed, he waits
until he sees the boy’s toes unclench and then starts again, gently blowing a
stream of air against his wet pussy. After that, he teases Jensen’s prostate
until the sore little cock struggles to half-hardness. Cas jacks him carefully,
avoiding the too sensitive head, and watches across the length of Jensen’s body
as Ellen’s oiled fingers circle the boy’s tits. Twice they sync their movements
and then slow to stillness. Jensen’s head thrashes, his stifled panting full of
rough begging.
Cas had never put his blindfold back on, but now he closes his eyes, tries to
imagine what this sounds like to the Councillors, to John: the fire crackling,
Jensen’s sweet muffled pleading, the wet sound of oiled flesh. He puts two
fingers back into Jensen’s cunt, feels the boy clenching around them, adding a
new sound to the symphony. He opens his eyes. Ellen is watching him, her own
eyes gleaming with excitement. Leaving one hand to pluck at Jensen’s nipples,
she sends the other down over the swell of his stomach, and then she nods. Cas
watches the rhythm of Ellen’s fingers and mimics that when he thumbs Jensen’s
clit, when he tongues the frenulum of his cock. He begins the slow count in his
head, but this time he doesn’t stop at one. He is at negative four when
Jensen’s whole body starts to quake, at negative six when the tremors coalesce.
To the councilors, this final orgasm must sound like tearing threads and
creaking wood, because Jensen throws back his head, whole body going so rigid
that Cas could trace the muscles in his legs. He howls silently into his gag.
Ellen puts one hand immediately to the questionable spot below Jensen’s belly
button, and then she abandons Jensen’s nipples entirely, triggering another
round of pleasure. She brings John, still blindfolded, to the side of the
breeding throne and guides his big rough hands over the roiling surface of
Jensen’s stomach. “Here’s the first baby, that’s a foot…And then, up here—feel
that? Yes, another foot, but far enough away that it must be a second baby.
Both pretty big, though. And then here—that’s number three.”
When John pushes up his blindfold and ducks to undo Jensen’s bound arms, Cas
leans forward and puts his hand on the spot Ellen had indicated. And now he can
feel it, no doubt, a third child roused at last and kicking away.
Ellen has stepped away to wash her hands, and John in his haste to untie
Jensen, hadn’t realized that Cas isn’t wearing his blindfold. So Cas is the
only and unintended witness to John pressing desperate kisses to Jensen’s
mouth, still held open by the gag. “Triplets—you’ve got three in there, my
amazing boy,” John growls, his hand splayed on Jensen’s gleaming belly.
Jensen’s fingers, pins-and-needles clumsy after having been tied so long, grasp
at John’s hair, at his shoulders, pulling him closer, like three is not enough.
 
***** piercing ("and they're not small") *****
Chapter Summary
     (A lot) more breasst-play and...sort-of medical kink? Nothing too
     graphic, but if you don't like needles, consider yourselves warned.
Chapter Notes
     OK, we’re running out of time here and soon Jensen’s going to need to
     produce some babies. Does he go naturally? Should he be induced—and
     if so, how? (or, should I say: by whom?). I leave it in your hands,
     gentle readers: put your thoughts in the comments and I’ll write
     whichever scenario gets 5 comments first.
John has to carry Jensen to bed; the little omega is limp with exhausted
satiation.   Between them, Cas and Ellen had pushed him to climax six times
(plus, Cas knows for a fact Sam had him twice just that morning, and Sam almost
never leaves Jensen without an orgasm). The teasing and denial had been
necessary to get an accurate sense of just how many offspring he carried, but
Cas is also hoping it will ease the next part of the evening.
Ellen goes to the kitchen to ready her tools, and Cas extinguishes the fire in
the reception room. The other Councillors bid him a swift goodnight. All except
Gabriel walk with the careful gait indicative of painfully-swollen Alpha balls.
“Good night,” Gabriel is the last to leave, and his voice drops, teasingly,
“and good thing I took the edge off earlier. Your sweet omega is the hottest
thing I’ve, well, heard in the longest time.” He helps collect the little
dishes of oil and, as he hands them to Cas at the door, he steals a quick kiss.
“Still think you were bigger, with the last twins.”
Cas goes to fill the large bathtub with hot water and scented herbs. As he
passes the dim bedroom, he can see Jensen curled on the bed. John is kneeling
at his side, gently stroking the boy’s hair. John’s other hand is working
steadily under his own leggings, and Cas can only imagine what sweet nothings
he is whispering in Jensen’s ear. It’s a pretty lamplit tableau, but Cas has
work to do, so he makes enough noise in the linen closet that John is
presentable—if slightly flushed—when Cas returns to ask him to carry Jensen to
the bath.
Cas dismisses the Head of Council firmly at the door and settles a pliant
Jensen into the water. He carefully sponges away oil, sweat, spunk. How
remarkable it is that Jensen is still ejaculating this far into his pregnancy;
he really is an unbelievable hormonal specimen! Cas makes a mental note about
adding to the breeding book and begins to peel away the gown, now truly ruined.
No matter; the kid will have something else to wear after tonight. The warm
water revives Jensen enough to run his soapy hands lazily over his body.
“I feel tighter,” he says, words thick with fatigue, “jus’ knowin’ there’s
three. Really thought…jus’ th’ one.”
“Don’t worry about it; it can be hard to tell, especially your first time,” Cas
explains. Jensen’s writhing on the breeding throne has torn a hole in the seam
under one arm, so he just rips the delicate fabric, widening it to free the
kid’s shoulders. “Multiples in females always have the same sire so they’re
close together when they’re growing. Omegas, not so much.”
“So Jo’s quads…?”
“Yup, just one sperm each time.”
“Weird!” Jensen smiles at the odd idea. “And these?” Jensen cradles his swollen
stomach. He’d never think to say and mine? The offspring belong to The
Community; he’s just holding them for a while.
“Hard to tell—sit up, if you can, there we go.” Cas drops the torn gown to the
floor. “If two or three share the same amniotic sac, then that means they have
the same sire. But an omega could have three eggs fertilized by three different
Alphas.” He lets his hand wander across Jensen’s smooth stretched belly. “Rare,
but it does happen when you’re bred so frequently and, uh, vigorously. Omega
bodies can get confused.”
“How’ll we know?”
“We won’t, not ‘til they’re born. If they share the same sac, they’ll be a
little smaller—less room to grow inside. None of my triplets were much more
than ten pounds.” The last set of twins, though, had been thirteen and fifteen
pounds apiece: different fathers, big virile Alphas. The stubborn thirteen-
pounder—the one Cas thinks of as John’s baby—had been breech until Ellen had
twisted it around. Cas had laboured for ages, wracked with pleasure as each
contraction rolled the baby first against his g-spot, then along the internal
side of his prostate.  His legs go weak just remembering it and he sits on the
rim of the tub. He doesn’t say anything to Jensen, though: no use promising the
boy things he can’t guarantee.
Jensen doesn’t notice; he’s absentmindedly drawing patterns around his belly
button with a wet finger. “That’s still thirty pounds,” he mumbles drowsily. He
doesn’t seem terribly opposed to the idea.
Cas wraps Jensen well against the cold and guides him back to the bedroom.
“C’n walk, y’know,” Jensen complains, but he’s half asleep even as he says it.
Sam and Ellen have hauled the breeding throne across the courtyard from the
reception room, set it up in front of a blazing fire in the bedroom. Cas hadn’t
wanted to use it again, thought Jensen might have negative associations after
all their teasing, but Ellen had insisted. “These tools are sharp,” she said,
“I want him relaxed but tied before I even start.”
They’d compromised by agreeing to let Sam restrain Jensen’s arms, and the young
Alpha immediately takes up his position behind the throne as soon as Cas pours
the loose-limbed omega into it. Ellen has adjusted the tilt from 180 degrees to
just past 90, so Jensen is more or less upright and Cas fits the stirrups to a
the wide-legged stance Jensen has had to adopt to accommodate his stomach.
Sam gets as close as the furniture will allow, wrapping one broad arm under
Jensen’s belly. “Heard you got knocked up but good, little sweet-tits,” he
croons quietly. Seated, he has to crane his neck to kiss Jensen, licking at the
sides of his mouth where the skin is a little raw from the gag.
“Three,” Jensen moans.
“Mmm, but how many are mine?”
“Less flirting, more sucking,” Ellen calls, all business as she prepares the
injection.
“Oh, yes, ma’am,” Sam breathes, shifting his chair to the side of the throne so
he can get his mouth on Jensen’s nipple. “My pleasure.”
Jensen sighs, mindlessly twining his fingers in Sam’s over-long hair as the
Alpha suckles his nipples to hard, red points. When Ellen hands Cas the set of
ampoules, six little vials in a wooden crate, Sam resumes his position behind
Jensen. Ellen had read him the riot act when she was explaining the procedure
to Jensen, and she’d sworn she’d throw him out of the House if he didn’t stick
to the script. His role is to hold Jensen’s hands behind the chair and nothing
more.
Ellen takes one vial, flicks it to settle the contents, and then fills a long,
thin needle. The concoction that fills the reservoir is a dark, rich blue.
Ellen nods to Cas, who cups the boy’s left tit. He allows himself to squeeze
just once: a compact, perfect handful.
“Deep breath now, sweetie,” Ellen says, and then she eases the needle into
Jensen’s flesh, right where his skin draws into the nipple. Jensen gasps as a
bead of blood wells up, runs down the curve of his breast. Cas sees his
shoulders tense, but Sam is holding him too tightly for the motion to dislodge
the needle before Ellen depresses it. She injects a third of the vial, then
pauses, then another third…When she finishes, Cas hands her a second vial and
she braces her hand on Jensen’s sternum before starting on the other side.
The effect is extraordinary in part because it’s so immediate. Cas knows—Ellen
has explained—that the fluid will be absorbed into the skin before long,
rendering it pliable and enabling the tissue below to expand as it should,
slowly and naturally. But in the interval, Jensen’s tits grow with each drop of
the injection, inflating until they wobble like water balloons.
Jensen draws a long, whimpering breath each time Ellen plunges the depressor,
and then lets it out in a series of tiny gasps as his tits bloom. They are the
same adorable, pained noises he’d made when his breeding reflex kicked in, when
he just hadto move around some big Alpha knot, even though he knew it was going
to hurt. He doesn’t get hard, but the fourth vial makes his toes curl and he
wriggles the way he does when Cas touches his cockhead too soon after coming,
like he’s so sensitive he can hardly bear his own skin.   He’s belted into the
breeding throne, though, with Sam still restricting his hands, so all the
movement does is make his tits quiver.
“Gonna get so big, Jen—fill up to feed our babies. Know it hurts, so brave,
just taking it. Can’t wait to put my mouth on you, know just how you want it…”
Sam keeps up a constant, explicit litany, but Jensen barely acknowledges it.
His glassy eyes follow the tip of Ellen’s needle, even though he hardly has the
energy to lift his head: from ampoule into skin, first left side then right.
Halfway through the fourth vial, Jensen’s eyes overfill, teartracks glimmering
in the candlelight. Cas licks the salt from his cheek.
“Do you want—” Ellen begins gently.
“Nnnn,” Jensen growls. “More, Ellen.”
“We can…” Cas starts. He knows Jensen likes a little pain, suspects he always
will, given how he lost his virginity, but the boy has already had a lot
tonight. No need to push it.
“There are three of them,” Jensen’s voice is ragged. “And they’re not small.”
He squares his shoulders, winces. “More.”
                                      ~~~
“ I can inject you, too,” Ellen offers, later, when they’ve put Jensen to bed
and crawled back to Cas’s own.
“Mmm, yeah?” Cas slings an arm around her waist, keeping her on top even as his
cock softens within her. “Did Jensen tell you I like anatomical pillow talk?”
Ellen’s laugh is husky and gorgeous. “Don’t have to sweet-talk you, honey…I’ve
already had my wicked way with you.”
“I noticed,” Cas ducks to take one of her large, soft nipples into his mouth.
Ellen moans and ruffles his hair.
“Tease! I’m serious. Jo had a milk surrogate for the quads, both times. She
couldn’t have produced enough on her own.”
“You don’t think Jensen is having…?!”
That irresistible laugh again. “Oh, Goddess, no. Can you imagine? Poor kid
would barely be able to move by eight months. No, but omegas produce less milk
than females and he’s right…those three are gonna be big eaters. You should
talk to him, see what he thinks about it. It would only be for a few months,
anyway. Any omega could do it, but..,” Ellen pinches Cas’s right nipple and
easily rides the surge when his hips come off the mattress. “I think you’d like
it.”
She gives him a wicked smile and then puts her mouth on him, alternating
between pinching and sucking. Cas tries vainly to keep his mind on
practicalities: it would only be a few months—eight weeks at the most, before
the offspring are weaned and the Babymaker is bred up all over again. The
second time will be easier: Jensen won’t need Cas to hold him down, open him
up…
“Oh, you do like it,” Ellen whispers, “I can feel how much. You’re getting
harder, in me.”
Cas squirms, reminded of the clinical scrutiny (what keeps him wet? what makes
him fertile? how can we enhance it?) that he hasn’t felt since he was a
Babymaker himself.
Ellen settles her weight on him, like she can sense his discomfort and wants to
calm him. She sets her head in the notch of his shoulder and lets her hand
smooth down his flank. For a moment, the only movement is her pussy, squeezing
him inside, bringing him to hardness.
“Do you ever think about having more babies? For your own?” She is mindlessly
running her fingertips over Cas’s silvered stretch marks—there is a cluster
over his right hip, more visible than elsewhere, Cas doesn’t know why. It could
almost be an idle question, except for the pleased noise she makes when he
rocks his hips up involuntarily. Her breath on his spit-wet nipple makes it
pucker, or maybe it’s the idea of being bred again. Cas hadn’t seriously
considered it—well, other than sporadic fantasies as he’s watched Jensen swell
bigger and bigger. Of course, those fantasies have been more frequent since
he’s had occasion to watch Sam and Jensen together, the Alpha working like he
could put yet another baby in Jensen’s already-full womb. Sam was so young, so
eager, it had made Cas wonder once or twice if Jensen’s friend would be able to
resist impregnating another fertile omega, should one present himself.
“You could, you know—you’re still young.” Ellen whispers, “No reason you
couldn’t find yourself a nice Alpha...”
Cas grunts, slides his hands down her back, grabs handfuls of her soft ass. He
grinds into her wetness, where her womb would be if she were Jensen and he were
Sam. In his experience, breeding had been work: as pleasurable as fucking, but
to an end dictated by others. Parenthood had never entered into it. But Cas has
to admit that taking care of Jensen, shepherding him through all the
experiences of being Babymaker, taking pride in how he’s changed…he’d begun to
wonder if there weren’t some way to prolong that. To have that, and also the
freedom of hiatus, of fucking without consequence. And if he can’t have both,
which would he choose? He’s abandoned anything elaborate now, just thrusting up
into Ellen where he’s holding her down: eight inches of determined movement
that have her digging her nails into his shoulder and whimpering into his ear.
“Find yourself—oh, oh, Goddess—a nice, big Alpha,” she pants, “let’em fill you
up. Prob’ly still so fertile from all those years breedin’ professional—ah!
Have your own set of quads, carry ‘em an’ pop ‘em out…”
Cas’s orgasm turns him inside out, even though it’s his second, even though
he’s exhausted from preparing all day for Jensen’s presentation. Fucking
suppressants just don’t seem to work when he recognizes that the fullness
Ellen’s pussy is pulling out of his balls is distant cousin to the fullness of
breeding, of being bred.
                                      ~~~
Cas wakes late the next morning. Late and a little sore: Ellen had three
fingers in his cunt before he’d come so hard that his memories of the night get
hazy. Where is Ellen? He stretches, feeling a pleasant pull in his thighs, and
tries to place the noise that woke him. He’s nearly gone back to sleep when he
figures it must have been the meadow door leading outside from Jensen’s
bedroom. Goddess, had Sam spent the night? He hopes they hadn’t tried anything:
they’re horny as any teenagers, but Jensen really hadn’t been in any shape to…
Cas eases himself out of bed. He should check on Jensen, bring him some herbal
tea—to strengthen the uterus—see what the kid wants for breakfast.
The tea things are already laid in the kitchen, and two mugs sit on the
draining board. Ellen and Sam? Cas wonders what those two had been chatting
about! Next to the pot of plain tea is a scrap of paper.
“Sam held his hand; J. took it like a champ,” is all Ellen’s note says.
Oh, Goddess, how had he overslept? Cas hurries in to the large bedroom to check
on the little omega. He’s asleep in his nest of pillows, one wedged under his
distended belly. Someone has already left a cup of tea on the floor. Jensen’s
nightshirt is unbuttoned to the navel, which just popped out a week ago. A
faint line runs over the curve of his belly, under the white fabric, down
toward his cunt. Above it, his tits are pale and pink-tipped. They’ve deflated
a bit as they absorbed the serum, but they’re already softer than they were
yesterday morning. The nipples in particular are swollen: each one now bears a
small silver ring with a tiny bell and three beads, one for each of the
offspring.
***** waiting ("trying to break him") *****
Chapter Summary
     almost at the end of this porny universe. I'll have to go back and
     add tags: just assume for now that it's all unredeemed filth. Also,
     as I mentioned to one commenter: if you want to comment with your
     favorite part/line, I will be gratified and inspired! Plus it will
     make for fun reading while you wait for the last 2-3 chapters
Jensen’s milk comes in during his 28th week, as early as any other first-time
Babymaker recorded in the breeding books, but not early enough to break the 24-
week record. No matter, as far as Cas is concerned. It’s worth the wait,
because Jensen doesn’t yield any thin, bland colostrum. There’s no
inconsistency to the flow, no spotting on his tunic as his body prepares
itself, none of the colorless whey some omegas make before birthing. No, when
Jensen’s milk comes in, it is abundant, thick and flavorful. When Jensen begins
to produce, his body offers up cream.
Ellen’s treatment has given him a chest appropriate to his station as a breeder
carrying triplets. As his belly grows firmer, his tits grow softer. Now they
overflow Cas’s hands when he fits them into the milker. They have to rig up a
halter to go under his tunic to support them. Before long, they have to make
another one, in a larger size. Sam can’t get enough, loves mouthing the thick
nipples, tracing the silver-dollar areola with his tongue. The teenaged Alpha
sneaks in at least twice a week before school to drain Jensen.
One day, Jensen’s nipples are particularly sensitive, a sensitivity that
continues all the way around the globe of his breasts, given his reaction to
Cas’s inquisitive fingers. Jensen tries gamely to pretend nothing has changed,
as Cas finds a thousand new ways to tease and taunt, to adjust the milker cups,
“just a little tighter now,” and… “Sammy,” Jensen gasps finally, almost
ashamed. “Sammy what?” That’s how Cas learns the boys have discovered the art
of titty-fucking. Jensen has grown too big for some of their more acrobatic
positions and the innocent little dears think they have invented this new
pleasure.
Cas does the job on days when Sam doesn’t show up by 7:30. Jensen is too tender
for anything but a mouth in the mornings and, besides, it’s a pleasure to slide
into his warm bed while he’s still relaxed and peaceful with sleep. He sleeps
more heavily as the offspring grow. Sometimes he sleeps right through Cas
crawling under the covers and unbuttoning his sleep tunic. Cas palms the pale
flesh of the kid’s heavy tits, toys with the piercings, waits for his nipples
to peak in the early spring chill. Some days, Jensen sleeps straight through
until Cas’s warm mouth settles on him, drawing inexorably. His own moans wake
him as the luscious tingle of let-down curls through his chest.
Within a month, Jensen is producing so much that he needs to be drained twice a
day. Cas consults with Ellen about the wisdom of bottling the milk. One reason
omegas’ milk comes in so early is so some of it can be put up and used after
the birth. Female Babymakers often carry their offspring for a full 40 weeks,
but omegas usually birth earlier. After all, an omega’s pelvis is narrower and
with an extra set of internal sexual organs plus the propensity for multiples,
there’s simply not room for nine months of development. Having extra milk at
hand ensures that omega babies stay healthy despite their slightly earlier
births. Could all this milk be a sign that baby’s on the way?
As a midwife, Ellen says, she doesn’t like to interfere too much: yes, Jensen’s
belly is enormous, obscene on his lean teenage hips, but that’s to be expected
when one considers his size relative to the size of the Alphas that bred him.
Jensen is young and strong; he’ll carry to seven months, probably seven and a
half, easily. Well, maybe not easily but at the end of the day, Ellen explains,
the kid’s an omega, built for breeding and birthing. Start bottling the milk at
34 weeks, she advises Cas. Jensen will probably go into labour around 36 weeks,
and it’s best to be prepared with so many hungry mouths to consider. So Cas
sets up the milker by the sofa in a spare room and Jensen spends an hour every
afternoon dozing to the rattle-click as it suckles away at his newly-engorged
tits. He’s so big that it’s hard to find a comfortable position at night, and
sometimes the offspring’s movement inside keep him up, so the extra nap is not
an entirely futile exercise. Cas keeps a bottle of the yield for porridge and
tips the rest of it down the sink: they’ve got weeks to go yet.
As a special treat, sometimes, when Jensen has been particularly diligent at
his pre-natal yoga, or when Sam is away hunting, Cas locks the milking room
door. Then Jensen’s tits continue to fill all evening, swelling so heavy that
Jensen is aware of them with every breath. By dinnertime they are becoming
delightfully painful; by the time he takes his evening bath, the warm water
makes him moan. The way the nipples pucker around the piercings in the cold
when he gets out of the bath is even more sweet torture. And when he sees Cas
waiting with the rough towel, stiff from being dried in that afternoon’s sun,
Jensen can hardly waddle fast enough. He clambers onto his Keeper’s lap, eager
for the scrape of coarse towelling on his bare thighs, his massive belly,
and—at last, dear Goddess!—on his bursting tits, aching like bruises. Cas milks
him, then, like a cow: fingers pulling steadily until there’s not a drop left.
He polishes the boy’s reddened nipples until he is squirming and sobbing and
half-hard despite all the oestrogen coursing within him. Finally, Cas sets
aside the sodden towel, licks any tears off Jensen’s cheeks and asks if he’d
like two fingers or three. Jensen always asks for three (and sometimes begs for
four); Cas slides that number into his cunt and lets him rock out a final
orgasm, always marveling at how gracefully Jensen works the weight of his
stomach.
The weeks tick by, the offspring growing a little larger, but Cas isn’t
worried. Jensen took over a dozen full knots, one after the other, on the night
he was bred, and he’s taken one knot (ahem, Sam) at least a dozen times since.
In addition to assorted unknotted cocks, fingers, and toys, there had been the
blissful February afternoon when Cas had built a blazing fire in the bedroom
and painstakingly, knuckle by knuckle, worked his whole hand into Jensen’s
grasping cunt. Not to mention the day three weeks later when, worn down by
their pleading, he’d put Jensen on his lap and held his thighs open to take
Sam’s huge fist as well. Jensen’s belly had prevented Cas from seeing the
delicate cunt all stretched around Sam’s big wrist, but he’d seen the Alpha’s
eyes go wide at the sensation of being swallowed in and heard Jensen’s groan as
he’d somehow managed to fit more when he was already stuffed full. “Pull a
little,” Cas had instructed, almost breathless with his own arousal and the way
Jensen was fidgeting in his lap.
“Pull like your hand is a knot.” And Sam had, tugging just enough to test
Jensen’s hold before letting the omega’s body pull him back in.
“Again,” Cas had commanded. That time he’d leaned forward, squashing Jensen
slightly, so he could reach down to feel the tight cunt-lips, the way the
perineum bulged around Sam’s solid fist.
“Oh, Goddesssss,” Jensen’s voice had been thready, “They can—feel you.” He’d
smoothed his hand along his burgeoning belly, calming the kicking offspring.
“Again.” Cas had watched the muscles of Sam’s shoulder, felt the answering flex
of Jensen’s body. “Once more.”
“I’monna come,” Jensen had wailed, high and broken.
“Not yet, lovely,” Cas instructed. “I want you to push first.”
Jensen gasped. “Huh?”
“I want you to push against Sam’s fist, like you want to push it out of
you—No,” Cas corrected when he saw Jensen clumsily plant one bare foot against
Sam’s shoulder. “Use the muscles inside. Here,” he’d illustrated with his hand,
fingers on stretched skin, remembering the day he’d first explained the concept
of an egg-sac.
Sweet and obedient, Jensen had tried. Cas had felt him tightening the muscles
in his back, in his hips, but none of it translated to a true internal push.
Sweating and too full, Jensen had grown frustrated. “Not working,” he huffed
fretfully. “Deeper,” Cas had told Sam, re-positioning Jensen on his own lap so
the omega was nearly sitting on Sam’s fist.
“Jen—oh, fuck, Jen, I’m touching…” Sam had been so dumbstruck he couldn’t even
finish the sentence.
“Yeah, womb,” Jensen had grunted, ignoring Sam’s cursing for once. Energized by
this new pressure, he’d rolled his hips, rocked his pelvis, flexed his ass. Cas
could sense his concentration. Suddenly, Jensen had growled deeply and at the
same moment, Sam shouted.
Sam’s eyes were saucers. “You did it! I felt—Jen, you’re amazing! Goddess, you
squeezed me so tight…” Cas moved one palm under Jensen’s belly, hooking his
thumb around the protruding navel, and he, too, felt Jensen’s second push.
Then, when Jensen had a moment to gather himself, a third. Sam’s fist was
slowly squeezed lower and lower until once again it bulged behind Jensen’s
balls like a giant knot. Cas remembered how Jensen had stretched to take John’s
knot, but he didn’t ask Jensen to push the fist all the way out. Instead, he’d
let Sam open his fist and the Alpha eased his hand free, almost gently. Only
when the last finger had slipped from Jensen’s cunt did Cas realize that the
boy had come, possibly twice, given the quantity of spunk on his belly and
thighs. He rubbed what he could reach into Jensen’s stomach, feeling the
offspring kick and turn beneath the taut skin, and let Sam lick up the rest.
                                      ~~~
So Cas knows Jensen’s body will stretch when it needs to, knows he can push
more or less on command. He’s always known that the kid could withstand a
little pain if there was a pleasurable payoff at the end. There will certainly
be enough milk. Really, there’s nothing to worry about. And Cas isn’t worried.
Week 34 comes and goes, and Cas starts stockpiling bottles of Jensen’s milk.
Week 35, week 36. Cas adds a regular third milking session before bedtime so
Jensen’s tits don’t get so full and sore that they leak all over the bedclothes
as he sleeps. Week 37 passes and, as always, Cas takes down Jensen’s
measurements. He is at capacity: his stomach is no larger than the week before,
just tighter. Week 38, and Jensen’s gait changes subtly. He takes shorter
steps, fists kneading the base of his spine, his back arching inadvertently to
put his enormous belly on display. Ellen examines him and confirms the
offspring are dropping lower in his pelvis. But no contractions, no birthing.
Week 39: Jensen is nearly full-term for a female, which makes him well overdue
for an omega. Cas consults the breeding notebooks; no Babymaker of any type has
ever carried this long with triplets. Jensen’s skin is drawn so tightly, you
could bounce a quarter off his belly. Sometimes, his cock gets half-hard
beneath it, responding to some internal stimulation, some kick or flutter with
no outside source.
Ellen returns, sits at Jensen’s bedside and brings up the idea of inducing
labor. Alpha sperm softens an omega’s cervix, she explains; a good, hard
breeding is the best thing for stimulating labour. Jensen refuses. Everyone
knows that if you induce a Babymaker for the first birthing, he or she will
never learn to birth naturally. If he gives in now, Jensen can expect to be
induced for his next six Babymaker pregnancies, plus any children he bears as a
private citizen. The babies are big, that’s all, and if they were bred on him
by different Alphas, he maintains, they’re just developing at slightly
different rates. It’s the first time Cas has heard Jensen deviate from his
private belief that Sam fathered all the offspring. Now, he begins to worry.
The 40th week of pregnancy arrives. Jensen’s stomach is a thing of beauty, a
big dome rising from immediately below his ribs, round as the moon and so full
it’s almost hard to the touch. He’s so tight that his skin is ironed smooth,
barely even stretch marks, just the dark line below a navel that juts out like
a nob. When Jensen sits, his firm belly forces his legs wide and forms a shelf
for his pillowy tits. On the evening of Second Day, when Cas milks him before
bed, the boy feels warm, flushed with more than just the exertion of hauling
around the triplets. The next morning, Ellen confirms that he’s slightly
feverish, like an omega in the first days of heat. Again, she mentions inducing
(“You could even choose the Alpha,” she wheedles, “You’ve been carrying so
long, wouldn’t it feel nice to let go?”). Jensen looks at her, sweetly
confused, and processes the suggestion so slowly he might as well be in a heat-
fog. He’s decisive when he shakes his head, though. The offspring roil below
the taut surface as though they can sense Jensen’s heat-like arousal. Sitting
is uncomfortable, so Jensen walks—waddles—the courtyard until Sam stops by
after school. He spends the afternoons dozing in bed, his tunic rucked up so
Sam can rub his stomach or play with his nipples. He’s passive, but still
responsive, blushing, moaning, orgasming prettily when Cas fingers him at
night. But no contractions, no birthing.
He’s asleep by the time Cas has licked his fingers clean, though he stirs
slightly when Cas widens the sprawled legs and angles his fingers toward the
uterus.
“Caaas?” Jensen says blearily. His nipples are hard again; since the start of
this false heat, he can’t bear to wear his halter. His hips shift slightly:
he’s sensitive, but his belly is too big for him to move much. “Nothing,
sweetling. Go back to sleep.” Cas finger finds the cervix: it’s still firmly
plugged.
Week 41, and Ellen goes to the Council. They debate for five hours, but come to
the conclusion that, although the offspring are technically public property, it
is extra-legal and probably sacrilegious to force the Babymaker to an induced
labor. Besides, they say, a midwife is only a precaution, present at the
birthing more for the infants than for the Babymaker. They inadvertently echo
Ellen’s own argument: Babymakers are built for this, trained for this. Nearly
all birth just fine on their own. Is Ellen perhaps overstepping her remit?
Ellen holds her tongue in Council, but to Cas she says they’re all
superstitious old Alphas and what do they know about anything. Jensen is young
and flexible, but these are Alpha babies, getting bigger every day. No wonder
the kid is in the throes of a false heat, she complains to Cas. The boy’s never
been stretched so completely in his life! Cas considers this: does Jensen’s
body, being new to pregnancy, not realize that it is different from breeding?
Has some internal signal failed to register that the point is not to be made as
full as possible? Or…he remembers how Jensen needed coaxing to open for his
first knot, how he needed to be pleasured to exhaustion before quickening, how
shyly greedy Jensen had been for physical pleasure even as a virgin. Maybe
Jensen’s body just requires a little more stimulation to follow the usual
course of breeding and birthing. Or perhaps he’s just adapted so well to taking
the Alpha knot, to carrying their heavy offspring, that he’s not registering
the biological imperative that says too much.
The forty-second week dawns, and when Cas brings Jensen his morning tea, Sam is
already in bed with him, shaggy head obscuring one large tit as he suckles.
Jensen smiles at Cas and nudges Sam to the other breast. He combs through Sam’s
hair as the Alpha sucks and Sam, in turn, traces comforting circles on Jensen’s
belly. Both boys sigh contentedly when Sam finally pulls away and licks his
lips.
“Do me favor, Sammy?” Jensen asks as Sam is tying the boots he left by the
door.
“Anything, just name it.”
“Stop by Shane’s, see if he can come fuck me today.” Sam’s fingers get tangled
in his laces and Cas is aware that his own mouth has fallen open.
“What?” Sam says, at the same moment that Cas says, “Shane?”
“Yeah, d’you remember Shane? From my breeding? Prometheus, some people call
him.” Jensen is as casual as if he were discussing the weather. He puts aside
his teacup and eases himself up from the bed, belly-first. “He’s got a big
cock, and I’m gonna need it if I’m ever going to get these babies out.”
“Today?!” Sam looks delighted. He untangles his fingers and comes over, one
boot undone, to wrap his arms around Jensen, cradling his belly from behind.
Even with his long arms, his fingertips barely touch at Jensen’s largest point.
“Yup,” Jensen says shortly, relaxing into Sam. “And omegas birth pretty quickly
once they get started, right, Cas? So be sure to stop by after school and meet
the newest members of the Community.”
“But—why? I mean, I thought you didn’t want…” Cas stutters.
Jensen shrugs, “I’m tired of waiting.” And that is how Jensen, as the reigning
Babymaker, decides to bring his first pregnancy to a conclusion.
                                      ~~~
But, of course, it won’t be that easy. No sooner does Cas return from
explaining the situation to Ellen (“Goddess, it’s about time! Well, you get
things started and I’ll drop by in a few hours, when he’s progressed to active
labour”), then Sam returns as well.
“Shane’s not here—he’s making a delivery, out of the Community until next
Monday.”
Jensen rolls his eyes. “I’m the one making a delivery, here. Okay…let me think.
Hey, what’s your Dad doing today?” Before Sam can think of how to respond, Cas
vetoes the idea.
“You can’t be induced by the head of the Council. Too political. There would be
no end to the conspiracy theories and court intrigue.”
“Well, who then? Ellen said Alpha sperm and, not to be indelicate,”—Cas snorts,
like that has ever stopped Jensen—“I’m going to need to be stretched something
good. So, a big Alpha.” Jensen paces around the room, one hand under his belly
for support. “To be honest, some of my breeding night is a little hazy. I
remember Shane, and John the Council, and Sam, of course…Was Gabriel there? Oh,
but he’s on the Council, too…”
“Let me do it,” Sam interrupts impulsively. “Cas can help, if I’m not big
enough, or I’ll take one of those stimulants to bring on a rut, and, and—I’ll
leave whenever you want me to, but please, let me try.”
“Sam…Sammy,” Jensen pushes Sam’s hair out of his face, catching his eye, “you
know I always want you, but—we can’t keep them, okay?” His voice drops to a
private tone, “I mean, if it’s going to be too hard to give up the babies after
you help bring on the birth, than you’d better not…” He puts his hands on top
of Sam’s where they rest on his belly.
“No. I understand. I understand about the babies; they’re Community offspring
and they need to go to the Orphan’s house. I get that.” Sam squares his
shoulders, looks up from Jensen’s belly to his face. “I still want to help.”
“Ellen says it has to be hard,” Jensen warns.
Sam ducks in for a kiss that leaves Jensen’s mouth red. “Who’s harder than me,
sweet-tits?”
Jensen scowls, “Call me that again and I’ll change my mind.”
                                      ~~~
Cas goes to find the cloths and baby clothes that have been ready for weeks
while Jensen takes a bath hot enough to ease his over-stretched muscles. When
Cas checks back on him, there are a pile of damp towels by the bath and Jensen
is back in bed, this time with Sam’s head between his thighs. The little omega
is rosy and relaxed from his bath, and Cas can tell from the suppleness of his
movements as he crawls on top of Sam that he’s come at least twice on the
Alpha’s tongue. Jensen looks best nude; any piece of clothing just tends to
emphasize how out of proportion his swollen stomach and tits are: it’s almost
too much. But naked, he is all smooth, stretched skin and fertility. Cas helps
him balance as he straddles Sam, thighs wide over the Alpha’s powerful hips,
and leans forward, his own round belly and hardening cock pressed against Sam’s
lean teenaged abs.
Cas runs two clinical fingers from Jensen’s balls to his perineum—and again,
and again, until his cunt pouts open and the little bead of his clit appears.
Sam’s cock is always thick and long, but today it practically twitches with the
excitement of impending birth, the smell of half-heat. Cas wonders if the boy
did take some sort of stimulant. Probably didn’t need to: after weeks of
shallow penetration and titty-fucks and gentleness, Sam is going to be deep
inside his lover again, with the mandate to essentially fuck the offspring out
of him. Cas can see the vein on the underside of his cock, the foreskin has
rolled back around the heavy, purpled head. Sam curses softly under his breath
as Cas—not for the first time—presses that cockhead against the mouth of
Jensen’s cunt.
Jensen is too small, Cas always thinks at this point: he’s too small and too
young, and stretched as he is, he’ll never—but he does. A brief hesitation and
then, with an almost audible snap of his spine, Jensen aligns his hips and
takes Sam’s cockhead inside. It’s slow work after that, though: Cas keeps a
steady pressure on Jensen’s hips, Sam growls and fists the sheets, and Jensen
slowly eases down, opens up. The pregnancy means he produces less slick, so
twice Cas has to bring Jensen’s hands to his own tits—“go on, play with
them,”—because that always makes him wet. When at last Cas reaches around to
jack Jensen’s hot little cock (he’s taken all but two inches, and Sam’s already
making furtive little thrusts), he feels a spatter of warm milk on the back of
his hand. The boys are still for a moment when Jensen finally takes the last
inch.
“Fuck, Jen,” Sam says thickly, running his hands over the omega’s belly. Jensen
must feel so tight to him, Cas thinks, probably tighter than he had on breeding
day after he’d been plowed by other Alphas all night. “Fuck, look at you, all
full up, you’re a goddess.” Then, Sam digs his heels into the mattress and
fucks Jensen until the omega is bouncing like a rag doll, the bells in his
nipple rings chiming. Sam comes quickly the first time (although, to be fair,
it would’ve been hard for him to do anything else, with a very pregnant Jensen
moaning “Oh, give it to me, Sammy, I need you,” on every other breath) and
Jensen leans down to feed him a tit and whisper something in his ear. When he
sits back up again, he has a mischievous glint in his eye.
“Cas,” he calls, “come tell me again how it’s going to be?” For all his teasing
about anatomical pillow-talk, hearing about birthing had been Jensen’s favorite
bedtime story for a few weeks in his sixth month. He could probably tell the
sequence himself. They hadn’t covered induction though, since that was
relatively rare. Cas is halfway to the bed, having convinced himself that the
kid just needs reassuring when—
“Did you just wink at me?”
Jensen tries to stifle a cheeky smirk. “Please, Cas? It’s my first time. What’s
it going to fe—”
“You did, didn’t you?” Cas clambers onto the bed and pulls Jensen against his
chest, hearing the omega gasp as Sam’s cockhead rubs him inside. “Here you are,
stuffed full of Alpha babies from Alpha spunk, still riding an Alpha cock, and
winking at me?” He pinches Jensen’s tits. “You shameless slut!”
The outrage is mostly manufactured: Cas is glad that Jensen is still his usual
self, shameless though it may be, that the induction and the birthing aren’t
worrying him. But part of him has just watched a pregnant young Babymaker
getting beautifully fucked in preparation for birthing, and he’s hard and eager
and just maybe jealous.
“Do you think I’ll stretch enough?” Jensen leans forward, showing his cunt,
split by Sam’s cock and with just a fringe of white spunk. Most of Sam’s
release has already been absorbed; it’s probably softening Jensen’s strong
uterus as they speak. Jensen looks over his shoulder at Cas, blinks innocently,
“What if I can’t?”
“Come on, Cas,” Sam pleads, muffled against Jensen’s breasts. “Get in him
already!” Clearly this is some little fantasy they’ve worked up between the two
of them. Who is Cas to refuse?
His own cock looks relatively small when he lines it up next to Sam’s, but when
he pushes in alongside, the noises Jensen makes lead him to believe that it
doesn’t feel small. Jensen does stretch, though Cas has to grab the boy’s thigh
and force his last three thrusts. Wedged in between Sam’s half-knotted cock and
Jensen’s full uterus, he’s never felt so much living, moving pressure. At
least, not since he was knocked up himself.
“Bet you’re tighter now than when you came to this house,” Cas manages to say
when Jensen drops back against his shoulder and offers his mouth up. “Virgin
tight. Maybe Sam can ask his Dad,” Cas whispers. Jensen’s eyes snap open and
Cas knows then that Jensen hasn’t told Sam that it was John who had put him on
his knees and taken his virginity. John, with his big balls and a knot you
could see in Jensen’s pelvis. He’d had first crack at Jensen’s fertile young
eggs; how many of the babies were his? Cas sucks a kiss to Jensen’s jaw: he’ll
never tell.
Cas comes first, which triggers Jensen’s orgasm and that, in turn, pushes Sam
over the edge. Cas pulls out, resting for a moment against Jensen’s hot back.
“Are you milking him?” he asks finally, “The knot, I mean? You need to get him
good and hard if you expect him to break your waters.” Jensen looks like
blissful, impaled though he is. He’d happily rock on Sam’s dick forever, babies
or not, but it’s been forty-two weeks, so Cas decides that drastic measures are
necessary. He gives Jensen’s perfect asscheek a quick, sharp smack and the boy
is so surprised that he jumps, involuntarily tightening as he surges forward.
“Oh, sweet Goddess,” Sam whimpers.
Cas slaps Jensen again. He alternates sides until Jensen’s ass is a uniform
pink and the omega is clenching regularly around Sam’s growing knot. At some
point, after Ellen has stuck her head in to see how things are going, but
before Jensen actually starts wailing with pleasure, the kids roll. Jensen ends
up on his back with Sam on his knees. Cas can’t resist kneeling behind him. Sam
growls possessively, like his father had during the breeding, but he’s only a
boy: Cas swats his thigh and he settles down.
“Slow but hard,” he instructs, putting a guiding hand on Sam’s low back, right
above the swell of his ass. “Try to lift his hips up with each thrust. Use
every inch of that big cock of yours! And pull on his tits at the same time.
Rough. You’re trying to break him.”
Jensen outright sobs with joy the third time Sam drives into his womb, but Cas
refuses to let the Alpha slow and soon Jensen is rocking up against each
plowing stroke. “Oh, yes, oh yes, harder, Sammy, open me up. We can take it.”
***** labouring ("you inside me, filling me") *****
Chapter Summary
     Happy Labor Day to my North American readers, and happy reading to
     everyone else!
     This part includes labour, pretty graphic birth--surely that's not a
     spoiler at this point?--and Sam/Cas-- Don't read it if you don't like
     it!
Cas helps Jensen turn on the knot, so his back is to Sam’s front and the Alpha
can hold him, gentling him as the breeding reflex slowly transitions to the
uterine contractions of true labour. Suddenly, Jensen brings one hand up to his
belly, as though he has a stitch in his side. His forehead creases with
confusion, pain...and then his expression clears: a moment of relief. Sam’s
powerful thrusts have burst the amniotic sacs, although his growing knot still
holds the waters inside: now the birthing can begin in earnest.
This is the difficult bit, and watching the heaving chests and tangled limbs,
Cas isn’t sure who feels the pain more. Sam presses his face against Jensen’s
shoulder blade, letting out deep, shuddering breaths as his raw knot is
squeezed relentlessly by each new contraction. Jensen, tethered by the knot
splitting him open, can’t get enough leverage to force it out. He is running
with sweat, eyes half-closed against it, mouth open but silent except when he
loses the battle and the knot slides back, deeper. Then he grunts like he’s
been punched and starts to push all over again, his body urging him to clear
the birth canal before his cervix has dilated completely.
Cas lays down next to him, brushing his damp hair out of his eyes, reminding
him to breathe into the contractions. He feels Jensen’s belly go hard with each
one and tells him to push with them, not against them. And each time the pain
passes and the boys collapse together, Sam’s knot is a little lower. It’s still
big, though, only half-milked, and they’re running out of time.
“Help, Cas!” Jensen gasps finally, his voice hoarse and panicked. “I can’t—the
babies are coming and… uhhh, I’m too tight.”
Sam, mumbling encouragement despite his own torment, gets his arm under
Jensen’s leg and hoists it roughly. For a moment, Cas can see the knot bulging,
red and bulbous between Jensen’s pussy lips. Then it retreats back into Jensen
as the contraction passes, leaving his wet cunt stretched around the thickness
of Alpha cock, the knot still sunk within.
A glimpse of Jensen’s asshole, winking with the effort of the push, gives Cas
the idea. He nudges Sam’s lanky leg out of the way, eases behind his gargantuan
balls, and gets a finger up against the Alpha’s prostate almost before either
of them know what he’s doing.
“On the next contraction, try to pull out,” Cas growls and, after looking at
him stupidly for a minute, Sam nods.
“Say when, sweetling,” Sam palms Jensen’s pulsing stomach.
“Okay, okay—oh, oh, Goddess,” Jensen chokes, “Now!”
Each contraction—a tight, internal rippling akin to the breeding reflex—causes
Sam to spill a little. Cas can hear Jensen whimpering when it happens, like he
craves Sam’s spunk even now. This time, with Cas’s fingers kneading his
prostate, Sam spurts enough that the knot shrinks and wedges itself in the
mouth of Jensen’s quivering pussy even after the contraction has passed. When
the next one comes, the knot is reduced enough and slick enough to pop out when
Sam pulls. Sam rolls away, drawing his knees to his chest, panting with relief
and tender with hypersensitivity. Jensen orgasms around the gush of fluids and
his sudden emptiness; his toes curl with pleasure, the same tell he’s had since
he was a virgin.
This orgasm doesn’t stop, but grows into an opening, tearing sensation. Jensen
yelps and rolls onto his back, hands clutching his stomach. Cas is there to
calm him. “You’re fine. Your cervix is dilated enough: the baby’s just moving
out of your womb.” He runs a soothing hand along the boy’s hot, trembling
flank.
“Oh, sweet G—oh, fuck, that’s good, Cas. It’s so good,” Jensen croons, wide-
eyed, and his hips begin to circle languorously as his birth canal is filled
and stretched from within. His lids flutter, eyes rolling back, his focus gone
internal. One hand rides his belly, the other sneaks up to play with his
nipples. He makes a satisfied humming sound, broken by little cries whenever
the moving baby nudges a nerve.
Cas withdraws to join Sam and watch the performance from the foot of the large
bed.
“It’d be easier if he weren’t on his back,” Sam frets. “Gravity,” he explains
when Cas gives him a surprised look—though he shouldn’t be surprised that Sam
has researched childbirth.
“He’ll turn when the baby moves lower, if he needs to,” Cas says. “Some omegas
like to birth on their backs.” Now it’s his turn to get a surprised look. “They
like the, er, stretch,” he offers, trying to sound objective.
“He was on his back when I bred him,” Sam recalls nostalgically, “that first
time, in your lap.”
“Exactly.”
Jensen comes twice more as the baby descends and is so loose-limbed that Cas
and Sam have to help him squat when the baby starts to crown. The boy’s body
goes tight as a piano wire in their arms, undulates twice from his knees to his
neck, then sags heavily. Jensen cries out, sweet and high, as Ellen leans in to
catch his first son.
The young omega falls back on the pillows, laughing and crying at the same
time, shivering with exertion as the infant roots for a nipple. Cas can barely
get the piercing out before the hungry newborn latches on. Jensen laughs with
delight: “Look! Look at ‘im, Sammy, he’s perfect.”
                                      ~~~
Jensen nurses as long as he can. When he feels the second baby moving into his
birth canal, he turns to labour on his knees, leaning on his forearms with his
tits hanging down so the first baby can still suckle. “Okay,” he gasps finally,
his hips twitching, “Ellen, you’d better take this one. His brother’s on his
way and—uh, uh, Goddess!—he’s—fuck, he’s biiig!”
This time, Jensen clings to the headboard as the child moves lower. His hips
begin to roll, and then to snap, and soon it looks like he is being fucked from
behind—deeply, brutally—by an invisible lover. His cock gets hard, strings of
pre-cum leaving wet marks where it slaps his large belly.
“That looks…” Sam starts, and then seems to run out of words. At some point
before the first baby, Ellen had draped a sheet around his wide shoulders but
it’s fallen open. Cas wonders if the boy realizes he’s cupping his own balls,
his cock hardening despite Jensen’s previous abuses.
“The baby is rubbing against his prostate,” Cas explains, barely able to take
his eyes from the little laboring omega.
“That’s where you touched me, before?”
“That’s the one.”
“And he’s got twelve pounds of baby pressing on it?!”
“Moving against it, is more like, every time he has a contraction. And I think
twelve pounds would be a conservative estimate.”
“Goddess…!” Sam sounds almost jealous.
At that moment, Jensen drops to his hands and wide-spread knees. “Oh, oh, it’s
coming Ellen—I’m coming...”
“Hold it in, Cas,” Ellen calls from the other side of the room where she is
bottle-feeding the first baby, now swaddled.
“What?” Cas and Jensen speak at the same time, though Jensen definitely sounds
more desperate.
“Put your hand on him,” Ellen snaps impatiently, “hold that baby in for at
least thirty more seconds—count if you have to!” And then, more gently, “This
baby is bigger, Jensen. You need more time to stretch or you’ll tear, and
you’ve still gone one more in there.”
So Cas crawls across the rumpled sheets from his post at the foot of the large
bed. He gently cups his hand against Jensen’s slick, open cunt. “Twenty-nine,”
he whispers, not pressing, just holding the boy together, oh so carefully, to
keep him from shattering. “Twenty-eight, twenty-seven…”
“Ahhhh, but Cas….he’s so heavy,” Jensen wails, looking over his shoulder, his
hips jerking with the effort of holding back. His pelvic muscles slip once and
a curve of wet skull kisses Cas’s palm. It works, though, because when Cas
reaches “three, two, one,” and moves his hand, there’s a moment of total
stillness. Then all the muscles in Jensen’s back twist—once, twice—and his
cuntlips bloom around a large, dark head. The second of the offspring, all
fifteen squalling pounds of him, is birthed in three smooth pushes.  Jensen’s
toes curl tighter with each one.
                                      ~~~
Ellen moves her hands over Jensen's back and belly, and assures him that he has
some time before baby number 3 makes an appearance.  She settles the weary
omega against a pile of pillows, one baby at each breast, and shoos Cas out of
the room with orders to put Sam to bed before he falls asleep where he sits.
Cas thinks that’s unlikely—Jensen in the throes of orgasmic birth is enough to
keep anyone awake—but it’s true that Sam has been up since dawn, never mind
being subjected to some very athletic sex. The Alpha goes surprisingly
willingly once he sees Jensen engaged with the babies. He lets Cas lead him
down the hall to one of the guest bedrooms, still wearing his sheet like a
toga.
Sam stops suddenly at the sight of the bed, maybe thinking of the first time
he’d been bedded in this house. “Jen looked like he was really enjo—I mean,
that was very…” He stutters into silence. He looks dazed, like he’s just waking
up from a blow to the head. Cas can’t tell how much of it is exhaustion, how
much hormonal—Jensen’s contractions had started in earnest before Sam had ever
finished his knotting cycle—and how much of it is shock from having witnessed
the birth. It’s not something most Alphas ever see. As far as most of them
know, birthing is painful and degrading, fit only for the lesser types.
“He was. Enjoying it, that is,” Cas assures him. “There’s got to be some
recompense for carrying that big belly all those months. Omegas aren’t stupid,
boy. If it wasn’t fun, the Babymaker system would never have lasted this long.”
He takes Sam’s big paw in his hand and tugs him toward the clean white bed. Sam
resists for a moment, and then follows, sitting on the edge of the mattress.
He’s looking up at Cas when suddenly his eyes clear a little. He breathes in
deeply, his gaze sharp, and then suddenly gathers Cas to him, pressing his face
to Cas’s tunic.
“You smell like him,” Sam says into Cas’s chest.
Cas has no idea what happened to his leggings after he’d peeled them off this
morning, but given the amount of slick and sweat and pheromones Jensen has been
pumping out for the last six hours, any fabric in the room must have been
redolent. Sam’s sheet probably smells the same. What Sam is smelling, what is
causing him to rut a little against Cas’s thigh, isn’t Jensen: it’s omega. Cas
gently combs his fingers through Sam’s shaggy hair, the way he’s seen Jensen do
dozens of times, and Sam nuzzles harder. He rubs his cheek against Cas’s tunic,
his big hands closing on Cas’s hips.
“Have you been carrying a knot since this morning?” Cas asks. “Poor boy!” The
young Alpha had been denied right at the height of his knotting, forced out of
Jensen’s cunt by the early contractions, and forgotten in the excitement of
birth. Thinking on it, Cas is amazed that the kid hasn’t said anything before
now. Shy, sweet Sammy.
Sam pulls back a moment, eyes darting as his finely tuned senses register
something new. Then he’s pushing up Cas’s tunic, his gaze settling on Cas’s
nipples: they are the size and color of ripe raspberries.
Cas doesn’t say anything until Sam’s thumb has pressed and explored and coaxed
out a thin trickle of milk. It runs down the corrugated skin over his ribs,
down his flat belly. Sam intercepts it with his tongue, traces it back to the
source.
“Ellen gave me the injections,” Cas explains at last, his breath short, “so I
could help Jensen feed, be his milk surrogate.” Without pregnancy hormones and
a hefty dose of Alpha DNA in his uterus, Cas can only express milk when he’s
being stimulated. That means he won’t get breasts as large as Jensen’s, but the
suckle and pull of Sam’s hot, wet mouth still yields the same result. Before
long, he is pouring down the Alpha’s throat and, when Sam’s milk-slicked hand
settles into a slow stroke on his cock, he feels his balls start to fill.
Unlike Jensen, Cas had rarely ever gotten more than half-hard during his
pregnancies—every body’s different. So the feeling of being milked both ways at
once is entirely new. He comes quickly and so hard.
Cas’s legs are shaking; Sam has to guide him onto the bed, arranging him with a
few quick, proprietary moves. Then he sits there, licking cum from his hand and
watching with hooded, desirous eyes. He’s not a horny kid now, colluding with
Jensen to tease the Keeper; he’s an experienced breeding Alpha seeing an
aroused, milk-producing omega. Little Sammy is still in there, of course: Cas
could shut this down with a word. He’s the true adult here—Goddess, he’d helped
this boy lose his virginity to the other boy currently in labour down the
hallway. Of course, that had been months ago: Sam’s not so innocent now. And
he’s been waiting so long: his thick, heavy cock lolls against one thigh, a
partially-blown knot just visible.
And Cas—well, Cas has been waiting a long time, too. He’d taken the job as a
Keeper because, after seven years of sleeping around on hiatus, he’d felt the
need to return to the Community and consider his purpose: could there be a
middle ground between living for the Community and living for his own physical
pleasure? These last months had been months of service. He’d set aside the
needs of his own body for those of the Babymaker’s. Well, mostly. There had
been Ellen. And Gabriel. And now, what about Sam, his charge’s lover? Cas
considers the knot. He could, as a Community sexual health professional, get
Sam on his knees, put two fingers up his ass, and work him until that knot
deflated completely. It would take a long time and, given how raw Sam must be
after Jensen’s contractions, it might be a little painful. But it would do the
job.
Or he could milk this boy the way nature intended.
Sam takes one of Cas’s nipples between thumb and forefinger. Clearly he’s
thinking of the rings Ellen had put through Jensen’s tits, not realizing they
were a way to document his fertility after the quickening, not part of the
injection process. “You’re not pierced,” the Alpha observes.
“Well.” When the Alpha shifts on the bed, Cas can see Sam’s balls, big and
loaded behind the knot. That makes up his mind: he wants them. “Well, that’s
because I’m not pregnant.”
Cas slides onto his knees, dropping his head lower than his hips, a sweetly
submissive pose not unlike the one that Jensen had just adopted while birthing.
It’s probably not a position that Sam and Jensen had been able to enjoy much,
given how quickly Jensen’s stomach had grown, but somehow Sam’s inner Alpha
recognizes it as the best for breeding. Sam’s eases his hand off Cas’s nipple,
lower, onto his flat belly. Cas feels that palm hot as a brand and spreads his
legs wantonly, aware of the slickness between them: that won’t smell like
Jensen. He sees Sam’s broad chest rise and fall as he breathes it in, sees the
boy’s eyes widen as the scent registers. There is a ceremonial invitation that
the Babymaker issues to his or her first breeding-day Alpha. Jensen had
forgotten it when confronted by John the Council’s cock, and Sam has never
heard it, not having been Jensen’s first. So Cas skips directly to the last
line: he looks into Sam’s dilated pupils, and then drops his head meekly. “Come
to me, Alpha.”
Sam is huge, wider than he looks, each inch a new invasion against Cas’s plush
interior. Moreover, his knot is almost half-blown. Why hadn’t Cas thought to
prepare him by mouth first? No matter: Cas has been bred seven times and
birthed more than that; he knows how to make himself open. He drops his hips,
arches his back, presses his little tits into the mattress, digs his hands into
the bedclothes. He is vaguely aware that Sam is fucking truly unearthly sounds
out of him, but it can’t be helped: his mouth has fallen wide, he can taste the
head of that tremendous cock in his throat. Sam bends over him and bites his
shoulder as his knot squeezes in. He’s whining, raw-sore from being wrenched
about by Jensen’s contractions, but biologically unable to resist the new omega
in front of him. Cas frees one hand and reaches for what he can: it flails and
lands with a sweaty slap on Sam’s thigh, aligned behind his own, and he grasps
the muscle there until the Alpha’s pain subsides a little. He feels that muscle
tremble a split-second before Sam thrusts into him. The knot gets bigger each
time it runs over Cas’s g-spot: it must be the size of a plum, of an orange, of
a fist holding an orange.
I’ve had babies smaller than this knot, Cas thinks hysterically, and it’ll
explode when he finally comes. I’ll explode. He loses count of the pounding
thrusts and then Sam’s cockhead bumps something deep inside and Cas’s hips jump
automatically.
Too deep, too big, too much, Cas body says, and pulls away before he can
override the impulse. But Sam wraps him in his big arms and tugs him back, onto
the cock.
“No,” he growls as though Cas had spoken, “mine,” and then, like he recognizes
the pain-pleasure grunts escaping Cas’s mouth, his big palm comes to rest right
over where his knot is throbbing. “Womb,” he says.
“Ye-es,” Cas whines, feeling the knot pop fully, unfurling gloriously within
him. “Where—where the baby goes.”
Cas is not as slim as Jensen; he’s not sure anyone would be able to see the
knot pushing through his body, but he can feel it when he runs his palm over
his stomach. It fills his hand.
Sam licks the bitemark he put into Cas’s shoulder and, now that the frenzy of
knotting is over, seems to regain some of his vocabulary. “C’n I fill you, Cas?
Put babies inside you?” He sounds so young, asking permission when the deed is
done, that Cas doesn’t have the heart to tell him there won’t be babies, not
this time. It’s gratifying, though, to hear his own name: Cas had chosen their
fucking position because it had allowed Sam to get into him so deeply, but he
also to avoid having the young Alpha face-to-face. Nice to know Sam hadn’t been
imagining Jensen the whole time. He brings Sam’s big hand around, lays it over
the knot.
“That’s you,” he whispers, “that’s you inside me, filling me.”
They stay there, Cas impaled on Sam, four hands on his stomach, until the
breeding reflex kicks in and Cas has to move. He milks quickly: after so much
pleasure, he craves the delightful ache of pulling against such a big,
unyielding knot, like stretching after a long nap. When Sam finally spills
inside, Cas is so surprised he tumbles forward. All this time, he’s imagined
that Jensen was deluding himself when he insisted that Sam had sired his
offspring. After all, Jensen had been so far in heat, his fertile eggs just
begging for sperm, and he’d been bred by—what? a dozen horny, full-grown
experienced Alphas? More? He’d barely had the energy to open his legs by the
time stripling Sam had come along. But now, the floods of hot spunk spurting
with such force that Cas can feel each thick jet distinctly splash against his
cervix, Cas has no doubt that Sam could have beaten all the other Alphas to the
prize. Cas knows, he knows, that he can’t fall pregnant while he’s nursing.
It’s impossible, biologically, hormonally. And that’s a good thing; even an
omega can’t be pregnant all the time. But he sprawls onto the sheets, so cool
on his overheated body, hanging off Sam’s knot as the Alpha groans behind him,
and strokes his belly as it swells with each pulse deep inside. And he thinks,
if anyone could knock him up now, it would be Sam.
***** birthing *****
Chapter Summary
     The end of the porn epic!
Afterwards, Cas pulls Sam on top of him, enjoying the weight of him, and lets
the Alpha suck his tits until he falls asleep, finally exhausted. When he sits
up, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the far wall. His nipples
are enlarged and vivid; his belly as round as though he’s nearing his second
trimester. He feels the liquid weight when he stands; he moans at the
familiarity of it. Almost as soon as he registers his new, lower center of
gravity, though, he feels the slickness dripping out of him.
Goddess, there’s so much of it! He kneels besides the bed, on the sheet that
Sam had discarded, and wraps one hand around his cock. He slips two fingers
from the other into his open cunt and begins to work. Sam’s spunk is so
extraordinarily thick that he can feel his belly shrinking as each orgasm
pushes a little more of it out. Biting his lip, Cas puts his head against the
mattress and rolls his hips; he imagines he is birthing.
                                      ~~~
The bedrooms in the House of the Babymaker are nearly sound-proofed, but the
hallways are not. When Cas slips out into the hallway, leaving Sam asleep
behind him, he can faintly hear Jensen’s high-pitched, breathy cries. As he
draws closer to the Babymaker’s bedroom, something in the sounds starts a
needling feeling under his tunic. It isn’t soothed until he enters the room and
Ellen hands him a baby—the second, still hungry, always hungry—and he brings it
to suckle while she goes to attend Jensen. The infant latches quick and strong.
Cas studies him: even now he can see it has Winchester coloring.
Meanwhile, the boy who birthed him is on his back, propped up on his elbows,
the position inefficient but pleasurable as a new child leaves his womb. His
belly has barely shrunk; with each contraction, it tightens, hips lifting as
though pulled by invisible strings. Untouched, his tits are streaming, full
again, and eventually Ellen calls Cas over. She doesn’t quite trust Jensen to
hold the feeding baby himself, since his whole body shakes each time its
sibling rolls over some delicious nerve inside. However, after some
maneuvering, Jensen ends up half-sitting against Cas’s chest, and Cas wraps his
arms around to so hold the baby in front of them both. Jensen relaxes visibly
when the little mouth finds a fat pink nipple.
“There y’are, beauty,” Jensen slurs, bringing unsteady fingers up to trace a
tiny ear.
Cas nuzzles Jensen’s temple, where his hair has curled with sweat. “Don’t you
want to be on your knees?” he suggests. Given the tension in Jensen’s back,
soon the boy will have to really push.
“Don’ wanna stop,” Jensen mumbles, eyes closing in satisfaction. He bites his
lip until the next ecstatic wave passes. “Be full forever. She’s so nice inside
me. Feels good.”
“C’mon, Jen, you know it’s time. Why don’t you push on the next one?” Cas
wheedles, moving the baby to the other tit.
“Y’smell like Sammy,” Jensen smiles without opening his eyes, clearly not
listening to a work Cas is saying. Ellen’s strong hands have been massaging
Jensen’s belly and the kid sighs—a long, breathy Ahhhh—when the offspring
inside settles into the lowest part of his pelvis. Jensen seems content to
leave it there, bobbing between his prostate and his g-spot, setting off small
orgasmic tremors but nothing substantial enough to open his cunt. He’s tired,
Cas senses, nearly worn out from too much sensation, unable to coordinate a
true push. After all, this is the same little omega who had nearly passed out
from his first prostate orgasm, who had been overwhelmed by his first
experience with the milker, who’d had to be carried to bed after his
Presentation ceremony. After the rough fucking to end his long pregnancy and
the hard, fast labour to yield two large offspring, Jensen’s had enough.
Ellen gently dislodges the second baby from Jensen’s tit, ready to carry him
over to sleep in the large Moses basket beside his brother. “Jensen,
sweetheart, it’s time to push,” she says.
“Nnnn,” Jensen burrows against Cas.
“That’s right, lovely,” Cas deliberately misunderstands, “Make as much noise as
you want to. Empty your diaphragm, empty your belly, gotta be empty so those
Alphas can fill you up again.”
That gets Jensen’s interest, as Cas thought it might. “Wanna be full again,” he
groans. The little omega lets Cas lift him to his knees, open his slim soft
thighs, pliable as a doll.
“Yeah?” Cas reaches around the boy’s belly for his hardening cock. “Quads this
time? Quintuplets?” He lets his voice drop to a dirty whisper. “Think how big
you’d be with five of Sam’s babies in you…yes, yeah, like that, move your hips,
work that baby free so we can put more in you.”
Jensen is so ready, it’s barely ten minutes before he begins to make those
throaty rhythmic sounds that Cas always thinks of as his fucking whimpers—the
quiet unh, unh, ah! that he doesn’t even realize he makes when he’s being
stretched by a knot. He’s being stretched now: Cas can feel it in the roll of
his hips, the way his ass flexes and lifts. When Cas moves his hand under
Jensen’s tight little balls, the boy’s cuntlips are fluttering from the
pressure within. Cas puts two fingertips against his clit, gives him something
to rub against even as he’s reciting, “Don’t come, not yet. Hold on!” But
Jensen is young and exhausted and not used to denying himself: he does come,
convulsing, bright-eyed and flushed prettily. Cas lets him rest for a few
breaths. Then they start over.
Cas wraps his arms around his charge, thinking how he’s trained the boy up from
bashful virginity for this moment of ripeness. He has two fingers up Jensen’s
ass to monitor the contractions from the inside, the other hand alternately
jacking his hot little cock to keep his hips moving or checking the dilation of
his pussy. Ellen stands by with swaddling clothes and a knife for the cord,
ready to catch. So near, so near, the boy is trembling with the fullness of it,
back arched, legs splayed. But again, the goodness is too good: inside, the
baby slithers over Jensen’s g-spot and he comes before he can get her beyond
the mouth of his cunt.
The third time, leaning still more heavily on Cas, Jensen’s whimpers transition
into moans. Low and deep and almost musical, the cries are timed with the
pulsing of his belly. He is practically singing out his pleasure as the baby
crowns, splitting the tender, sensitive cunt already stretched to its limits by
her big brothers. Cas watches the boy’s delicate toes tighten and relax,
tighten and relax, as he tosses his head, gasping and shaking and pushing this
last baby into the world. His red cock spurts and leaks, swollen and neglected
against his belly. Below it, his vulva is like thin, wet silk pulled taut
around the head of this last baby. Cas’s thumb strokes him there, asking
wordlessly for just a little more. The pleading look Jensen gives him in reply
is disbelieving: How am I here, feeling this? So much! Andstillnot enough? The
kid licks his bitten lips, panting, desperate for this final climax. Cheeks
stained a fevered pink, strands of sweaty hair plastered to his furrowed
forehead, Jensen looks nearly delirious. He’s wrecked, wild-eyed, impossibly
young, but still trained to obey: he grips the bedclothes tighter and wills
himself open a moment longer. His heels scrabble for purchase; his straining
thighs part a fraction wider; his pelvis tips up, up, offering... The double
orgasm that finally crashes down as he is breached, first by the baby’s
shoulders, then by her hips, makes Jensen’s eyes roll back into his head. Cas
wouldn’t say the kid fully returns to consciousness until Ellen places the
swaddled baby on his chest, steadying it with her capable hand, and the eager
little mouth fastens on.
                                      ~~~
Nearly two weeks later, Cas is left in charge of the babies when Ellen invites
Jensen to her house for lunch. Other than a ceremonial reception, it’s the
first time Jensen’s left the House since he was delivered of the offspring.
It’ll be good for the boy to get out; he’s been moping a bit since Sam left on
a hunting trip. Cas warms a bottle of omega milk to feed the babies. He goes in
birth order, settling each one down for a nap afterwards. When the little girl
has nearly drunk her fill, though, he sets the bottle aside, unbuttons his
tunic, and gives her his nipple. He’s just settled into the enjoyable animal
haze of feeding when he hears a knock on the door.
It’s Gabriel so Cas doesn’t bother to cover himself. The baby girl is finished,
just suckling sleepily for comfort, and it’s nothing Gabriel hasn’t seen
before.
Gabriel puts down the tray he’s carried from the kitchen and peeks into the
blankets. He strokes the infant’s cheek, gentle. “What do you think? She one of
John’s?” He speaks quietly enough not to rouse her from her near-sleep.
“She does have that Winchester look.” Cas says, surprised that Gabriel had
noticed. Most of the Council has little use for the offspring as individual
babies: they are content as long as the numbers are enough to stock the orphan
House, as long as the breeding ceremony goes as it always has, as long as there
is a fertile omega to plow every spring. Gabriel, Cas vaguely remembers from
before his hiatus, had always been good with the Community children.
Cas won’t say it—discretion is the watchword of a Keeper—but he thinks the girl
might be Sam’s. Maybe the first boy, too. In Cas’s professional opinion, only
the second boy, the one so large he’d nearly torn Jensen, is definitely John’s.
“Shall I?” Gabriel whispers, and Cas allows him to take the sleeping child. The
Alpha shifts her into her basket so gently she doesn’t even wake. When he
returns to sit with Cas, he has a cup of tea. “Keep your strength up,” he says.
Cas accepts the cup, settling back into the cushions, sleepy and relaxed
himself.
“I didn’t realize…” Gabriel clears his throat, still speaking in a hush. “I
mean, that you were feeding them. Uhm, yourself.”
“Milk surrogate,” Cas explains, letting his eyes drift closed. “Though we’ve
got enough of Jensen’s put up to last us almost until weaning, probably.”
Jensen’s milk production hasn’t slackened at all since the births, and Cas
isn’t sure whether that’s due to the injections or to the many needy mouths.
“Well, he certainly carried long enough. Must’ve suited him, pregnancy,”
Gabriel remarks. The silence that follows is warm and companionable. Cas thinks
he could almost drop off himself if his breasts weren’t so full. The prickle of
milk is enhanced by the imagined heat of Gabriel’s gaze. Cas doesn’t need to
open his own eyes to know where Gabriel’s are fixed. He lowers the cup to his
lap, breathes deeply, enhances the view.
“I like it,” he says quickly, keeping his eyes closed. “I want…it feels
good—right—having a mouth on me…” Cas isn’t sure how else to make the offer
without soundly like a mindless slut, but Gabriel understands. His fingers are
rough, palms more work-worn than Sam’s, but his tongue is wet and gentle.
Gabriel kneels in front of Cas’s chair, gently lifting the cup from between his
thighs and replaces it with his hand. He can take Cas’s whole little breast
into his mouth, and he does, suckling him dry. When Gabriel finally lifts his
head to move to the other tit, Cas simply slips off the cushions and into his
lap.
“You looked so good, nursing. Taste even better,” Gabriel mumbles, teasing
Cas’s left nipple with little licks. “Tell me you want more, more babies. You
were meant for it, made to be bred up and full…”
Cas gasps, pulling Gabriel’s head against his tits. More babies. It can’t
happen now. Yes, he’s off his suppressants, to keep his milk clean, but he
cannot be impregnated while he is still producing. However, in the few weeks
after the offspring are weaned and sent to the Orphan House, his milk will dry
up. Jensen must be celibate during this period: the Council will confirm that
he is not pregnant at the ceremony before his next breeding, as they had once
confirmed his virginity. Cas, however, has no such restriction. Even if he
stays on as Keeper, his private life is his own. Unsuppressed, after the
hormonal havoc of milking, he will be frantically fertile. His eggs will be so
ready. The biology is incontrovertible: if Gabriel is the first Alpha to knot
him once his milk dries up, it will be Gabriel who sires his next baby.
Babies, plural: Cas is aware of his plump egg-sacs even now, as he crouches on
the floor rubbing up against Gabriel. Goddess, he’s good for twins or maybe
triplets. If he gets knocked up before the next breeding ceremony and decides
to stay on as Keeper? He imagines himself assisting during the boy’s second
breeding, smelling the heat knowing that he himself is already bred up, a
delicious, still-invisible secret.
“Goddess, I want to be in you,” Gabriel pants, frantically peeling off Cas’s
clothing. “Say I can. I’m gonna make you so big,” he promises, milk-warm mouth
kissing each word into Cas’s body—nipples, flat belly, soft cock, wet cunt.
“Yes,” Cas whimpers, “Please, yes. More.” His mind is swirling with fantasies.
A baby of his own. He thinks how he’d grown to enjoy caring for Jensen these
past month, making sure the boy was properly fed and well-trained. He remembers
how his breasts had ached to hear the kid’s birthing cries, like his body had
adopted Jensen as his own. He feels himself turning, automatically presenting
itself to Gabriel, the Alpha begging to breed him.
Cas folds his arms onto the seat of the chair, drops his head, spreads his legs
to show his cunt. Gabriel’s cock is familiar: long and slim, big-headed. They
both grunt when that head taps Cas’s womb. Ungh, Goddess, Gabriel always
touches so deeply inside. Cas remembers how Jensen had quieted himself against
Ellen’s tits when Gabriel had bred him the first time. As a member of the
Council, Gabriel will have his turn inside Jensen again this next breeding
cycle. Fuck, Cas might hold the kid’s thighs apart to help him take a knot
whose seed is already blooming in his own belly. And in the subsequent months,
he and Jensen would become large and heavy together, carrying babies that could
even be half-siblings. He would quicken first—Cas just knows Gabriel’s babies
will be big and active—and Jensen would feel the gentle flutters soon after.
Jensen will know what to expect this time; there will be less work now that
he’s experienced it all once. More time for other things, other pleasures. Sam
hadn’t been able to keep his hands off Jensen’s swelling belly; would he want
Cas too? Maybe Gabriel could be persuaded to share. Would Cas be fertile enough
to…? No, sweet Goddess, there’s no way he could carry Sam’s babies and
Gabriel’s: he’d be so big… Just the thought makes him groan and go tight
inside, so tight that Gabriel swears and bucks his hips.
Cas drops more of his weight onto the Alpha, letting himself be split. He runs
lust-clumsy fingers over his soft cock down to where Gabriel’s heavy balls slap
his needy cunt with every thrust. Cas rocks into it and presses a hand against
his stomach, feeling the Alpha beneath his fingers. If he falls pregnant before
the breeding ceremony, he’ll be quite large by the time of the Presentation.
He’d have to maneuver his own large belly while Ellen examines Jensen’s.
Gabriel and the rest of the council will be watching, imagining the acts that
make omega bellies so large. Gravid omegas living in close proximity often fall
into sync hormonally, becoming broody or going into labour or even coming into
their milk at the same time. Cas’s nipples are already sore from rubbing
against the cushion he’s being fucked into. Will his pregnant tits produce as
well and as richly as Jensen had? They’ll have to get a second milker, more
bottles. Or share, one being milked by machine while feeding from the other.
They both like the mouth; they will argue over who has to settle for the
machine’s suckling cups. Jensen will sulk when it is his turn; Cas will make it
up to him.
The knot is starting. Cas feels it catching his rim every so often. His vision
sparks each time Gabriel’s cock nudges his cervix. His eager cunt throbs in
time with his thundering heartbeat. Cas wants to scream with impatience;
Goddess, he needs to be full. His mind summons an image of how full Jensen had
been at the end. Knowing what they do—that Jensen will need to be induced, that
he must be forced to release its offspring—they won’t wait so long this second
time. Especially if he proves fecund enough to carry multiples again, if Sam
does breed quadruplets on him. In that case, Cas might still be pregnant, far
gone but not yet delivered, when Jensen begins to labour. This last time, as
just a milk surrogate, he’d felt Jensen’s birthing cries in his chest; when he
is pregnant, the boy’s sounds will make his milk let down in torrents. He
remembers holding the boy’s slippery, shivering body against his own,
supporting him as he’d moaned and worked to push out the last baby. Being skin
to skin with the laboring boy while his own belly is so full and tight, heavy
on his spreading hips—that is the image in Cas’s mind when Gabriel’s knot
finally pops, catapulting them into orgasm.
Cas burns with an internal supernova, hot and bursting, as he comes in long,
wracking spasms. Only gradually does he become aware of Gabriel’s strong hands
kneading his thighs. He releases his fingers from where they have grasped the
cushion—his toes have curled so tightly they cramp—and drops one hand to his
stomach. Gabriel’s big knot is a surprise after his long, slender cock. Cas can
feel it in his low belly and, above it, distinct as a walnut behind his belly
button, the cockhead spurting against his womb. Gabriel’s whole body shakes
when Cas touches himself there. Cas had wanted to turn so that Gabriel could
feel his belly filling between them but already the knot is too big: the
stretch of it makes his breath catch and sets off another climax. If this were
a true breeding, he’d be locked until he was pregnant. As it is, he tugs
Gabriel’s arms t encircle his hips and arches his back so those big Alpha paws
can cradle his belly, slowly but undeniably swelling. This is not a real
breeding. It’s just—well, call it practice; but look at how well all that
practice had served Jensen. Cas gasps as his uterus contracts, the muscle
clenching in a curious mix of pleasurable pain that is like nothing except
birthing. In a moment, he knows, the breeding reflex will start and he will be
lost to the demands of his omega biology, milking the Alpha knot that fills him
until he is full in a different way. While he can still think straight, he
leans forward into Gabriel’s arms, groaning against the pull of the knot, and
sinks his teeth into a cushion. Nearby, the Community’s newest offspring—Mary,
Adam, and little Dean—are still sleeping; it wouldn’t do to wake them.
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