The Burden You Would Carry - Chapter 1 - Tenabelle (2024)

Chapter Text

You were four jumps away from your home sector when the subspace message came through. The indicator light blinked on your monitor to let you know that it was classified as ‘urgent’ and you did not hesitate to tap the notification and open the message whose sender you were certain of.

It was from your wife, and it consisted of two words:

“They’re ready.”

You were exhausted.

Your small cargo ship was low on fuel, your small crew of two others had poor morale, and your transport mission was under the imminent duress of the actively imposing Rebel Fleet. You were part of the Federation, sure, but only in the loosest sense: you were tasked with moving drone and weapon schematics to the various Federation stores peppered across the active beacons of the civilian sector your job resided in.

You were, unfortunately, not a drone operator, a weapons expert or a ship engineer; only a modest pilot, your expertise was in evading the threat of enemy ships—usually pirates or slavers—that sought to take advantage of the ongoing war by destroying and looting smaller, more vulnerable ships.

Your ship, personally, was only equipped with meek dual lasers—they were often used by transport ships that couldn't afford better—and so taking fights was usually not something you would even consider; hell, you didn't even have crew to man weapons to begin with, and the out-of-date ship AI manned the vacant system poorly—it did not come close to matching the effectiveness of the latest models of auto-scouts that were rapidly becoming common in empty space. You had learned of their proclivity for nebulas, and had taken to avoiding the sensor-disrupting beacons altogether if you could.

Frankly, you were burnt out. The constant fear of death because of dangerous space and the lack of appropriate pay from the Federation was bad enough, but the absence of proper friends or family while in the emptiness of space was the major nail in the coffin that held your sanity.

Your ship, finally docked at your home station at the populated beacon your FTL drive was able to jump to with the last of its remaining fuel, was in rough shape. The model was decommissioned years ago by the Federation, their most current ships sporting artillery that you could only dream of having the security of. While your ship refueled in return for payment with the small amount of scrap left in the storage caches—an exchange that took place automatically within the computer that controlled the station's storefront—you needed rest.

If anything, you needed a drink (preferably something alcoholic), but you knew that alcohol wasn’t an option now and for the coming months.

You pulled down the release switch on the airlock that came to a rest with a loud clack and accompanied an expected woosh as the atmospheres of the station and the ship's interior equalized. A quick saunter out came next, followed by a double check that the intruding-detection system was online and ready to alert you of any potential break-ins or attempts at ship robbery—you could never be too careful, even in a civilian sector. The ship was set in one of the long-term docks, for you knew in the back of your head that you wouldn’t be leaving for work in quite a while—it was that same thought that was bugging you, not in an unhappy way but in the excited-but-extremely-anxious way: you were anxious for your ship being left alone to your crewmates for so long, anxious to see your wife, anxious for the burden you would carry.

The station opened up almost immediately following the docking port and its thin entrance halls, stretching into a vast atrium that was bustling with activity; it was not just Humans that occupied the space, the crowds also consisting of Engi, Mantis, Rock, Zoltan, and the occasional Slug. The interior of the station was white and sleek, a testament to the modern aesthetic that the Federation was known for, and the walls were adorned with various storefronts that offered up wares for scrap.

You were not here for souvenirs or any of the cutting-edge, way-to-expensive ship systems that were being offered up in the center of commerce. Your eyes were instead fixed on the upper decks that were partially visible from the open commerce center; your wife was up there in one of them, waiting for you.

Though this station was diverse, it was still mostly Human-populated and a stark bit of prejudice existed towards Mantes, though thankfully not nearly as much as the race of Slugs that were hardly welcome kindly here. You were lucky to have such a wonderful wife at all, and the fact that it—against any of your past expectations—ended up being an interspecies relationship was inconsequential to you.

But that was only one of the few considerations dragging its way through your mind; you also couldn’t help the nagging hunger pang through your body desperately. Your arms and legs tingled and had a slight pain, and your stomach begged for food, growling as you exhaled a long breath and trudged across the sleek off-white floors. It had been two days since you had eaten, a strict requirement if you wished for what was coming to go smoothly and as painlessly as possible. Your wife had recommended, before you had left on your last cargo trip, that you at least consume some nutritious liquid to quench your body prior to the big event, but you weren’t taking your chances: you wanted all of this to go without a hitch, and filling your intestines was the last thing you wanted to do.

Past the sound of the many feet tapping along the floor around you, you heard the sound of someone calling out your name. You felt confused for a moment, but then turned your head to recognize the voice and the man behind it. A Rockman of about your stature, if not a little taller, stood behind a market stall at the edge of the room.

Kieran. A friend of yours and your wife’s.

Despite your desire to hurry home to your titular wife, you twisted in place and redirected towards him to at least give him a hello—it had been a couple weeks since you had seen him—before you went to your next destination.

The bulky Rock race were not unfamiliar to you (of course not, having a friend in one), but they were always a little shocking to see up close—massive broad shoulders, entire bodies made of dark stone, and glowing red eyes made them far more intimidating than any Human could manage.

But Kieran was anything but intimidating.

“Hey there, stranger!” he called out to you, a rocky grin curving his face. “How was your last mission?”

Last? What did he mean?

“I mean, it went fine,” you huffed, shrugging your shoulders. “I’m just happy to be home.”

“You look exhausted,” he said as he rearranged wares on his market table, “You sure you’re up for the big event today?”

You laughed, but it came out more like a shocked sputter of a dying FTL drive.

“Big… event?”

He raised an eyebrow—or, more like a rockbrow.

“With your wife?”

After a moment you realized what he was talking about, but not how the f*ck he knew about that.


He let out a deep, foreboding chuckle, then saved you from your own incompetence.

“I should probably let you get going. I’ll have plenty of time to catch up with you when it’s not urgent. Go!” he motioned with his giant stone arms. “Go see your partner, not me!”

“Of—, of course!” you came out of your haze.

You swiveled and didn’t plan on wasting any more time. You hurried through the crowds of people that stuffed the busy atrium and made your way towards the lifts that would bring you up to the residential district of the station and home to your wife where you could hopefully catch your breath.

The sliding door to your quarters opened, and you wiped the tears of exhaustion from your eyes to at least try and look slightly less helpless to your partner whom you were positive would be absolutely panicked at the sight of your current state—and you were right; you heard her chitinous legs clack against the hardwood flooring of your apartment space as she hurried like a predator in from the adjacent bedroom and into your line of sight.

Her body was not that different from the average Mantis, a body adept at combat but not built for the dexterity that was required for in-flight ship repairs. She was almost a foot taller than you, and her body was about twice the width of yours with her extended six barbed green legs, long thorax that extended into her abdomen, and twitching wings that laid on her back; it didn’t help that she was large for her species, and that you were small for yours.

Despite the differences between you, you loved her. You loved her when she had brought you on your first date, when you had kissed her for the first time, when you first had sex, and when you wed.

Her bug-eyes gleamed on seeing you across the room from her, and she let out a loud shriek followed by a rapid chitter as she bridged the gap between both of you in a mere instant. Her forelegs were quick to wrap around your waist, pulling you against her thorax. She squeezed you almost a bit too hard, but you weren’t one to complain—it had been so long since you had been in the comfort of her grip, and it was a grip that made you feel safe, sound, and protected.

“Hey, Iris,” you mirrored her gesture by circling her viridescent armor with your comparatively meager arms, a movement that only made the two of you press closer to each other.

When you finally pulled away, you found her ommatidia directed straight at your face with a proximity that made you shudder, but not before concerned words escaped her mouth.

“You’re crying,” she said softly as her mandibles moved in their typical fashion, “Are you okay? What’s wrong? Did someone hurt you? Do I need to rough someone up?”

Your face perked up in a rapid expression of disagreement as you raised your hands and waved them in front of you.

“No!—gods, no! No one hurt me, I’m just…” you pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing, “work has been rough, my crew isn’t any more happy than I am, I’m nervous about, well, carrying for you, and I’m really, really hungry.”

Iris’s upper body rose gradually in understanding as your explanation rushed out of you, her head tilted to her right, and her legs’ stiffness loosened as she looked much more comfortable—an emotional signal you understood this time, but one that was an exception: even though you had known her for a few years now, it was still sometimes hard to discern what emotions she was showing. You were only Human, after all, and not of her exoskeleton-bound phylum.

Without immediately saying anything, she hurried away from you as her four hind legs clacked into the tile of the kitchen floor and her forelegs began raiding the refrigerator. Your eyes went wide when you saw the chilled box that had once been full of various solid foods (most often assorted meats, your wife’s favorite for most meals) was instead stuffed to the brim with bottles of liquid that were of different colors from red to purple. Though you already suspected what they were, you didn’t try and stop her following description.

“I know that you won’t be able to eat solid food for the next six months, a feat I am,” she met her two front claws together a few times accompanied by a light clicking sound, “keenly aware will be rough on you, so I took the liberty of getting some custom made nutrition shakes imported by our friend Kieran in the market. They’re from the next sector over—I hear they’re Zoltan made, and extremely sweet for your Human taste buds!”

You cringed. That’s how he knew. The idea of Kieran knowing about you carrying Iris’s brood was disconcerting, but, nonetheless, you smiled at the kind act from her and couldn’t help the blush that formed across your face as your legs moved you forward to be close to her once again.

“You’re really too nice, you know that?” you giggled, grinning widely.

She gave you an indeterminate look that you hoped was one of joy, yet your hunch was then confirmed by her words.

“Thank you. And, as for work, I think that that issue may be solved.”

“Solved?” you asked. “What do you mean?”

Iris curled her forelegs inward in a more innocent and less intimidating position, and her mandibles shut contently.

“I got a promotion. A big promotion. Money won’t be a problem while you’re carrying, and I suspect it won’t be afterward either with the extra we’ll get reimbursed for breeding. Besides, I’m tired of you taking up that dangerous transport job! It’s not safe with the war going on; the pirates, the slavers, the scrap looters…” she shook her head, “so I took the liberty of calling up the upper management at the station. You’ve already quit.”

The color drained from your face.

“Quit?! No—, no, I can’t just quit!” you said, moving closer to her and putting your hand caringly—though worryingly—on the blunt end of her leg. “I need a job, I need—, I need something to do when I’m finished carrying!”

“It’s too late. They already appointed a replacement captain for your vessel before you even arrived at the station. And besides, don’t you want to mother more after this batch?” she beamed, “Aren’t you excited?”

You paused, considered your outburst, and then sighed with resignation.

“I guess you’re right… but being a starship captain,” your voice lowered with embarrassment, “even if it was for a measly cargo vessel, felt good! I felt like I was contributing something!”

Iris took you back into her insectoid arms and pulled you to her again, dragging you across the floor a few inches to meet her intent gaze.

“You’ll be contributing a lot more as a mother. Mantes mature quickly, remember? Do you know how many soldiers for the Federation we’ll be able to produce together? It’s wonderful!”

You knew that your wife came from a war-torn background being a Mantis, but her heart being set on ‘producing more soldiers’ was still a vast contrast to what you anticipated when you thought you would one day have children—not that you now had any choice, as it was normal for Mantis nymphs to hatch already ready to brave the world before them: to hunt, to fight, to grow; they didn’t need what you were expectant of from Human motherhood, and that idea had taken some getting used to. Furthermore, the concept of mass-producing kids wasn’t helped by the money the Federation was granting you for being what was essentially a Human incubator for the war.

You had resigned to your fate, though, and, oddly enough, you weren’t nearly as dismayed as you felt you should have been about your situation—especially with how attentive your wife was showing she was and would continue to be throughout your imminent pregnancy.

You nodded in response to her. You had agreed to this wholeheartedly months and months ago when the plan first began as a simple conversation, and, while she would absolutely support you if you did, you weren’t going to back out now. It had already been a month since you had fertilized her eggs in a bout of fantastic sex, and her cold-blooded body was no longer sufficient to incubate the little ones—that duty was placed on you, now; or, well, soon.

“You’re right,” you said. “I want to do this,” you repeated, squeezing the sides of her thorax as she embraced your fleshy form. “I want to be your mate. I want to be a mom.”

From her mandibles was elicited a deep, rough sound that you identified as her laughter. She then patted your ass gently—causing you to yelp—and encouraged you.

“Then get in the bathroom, clean yourself, and change out of these nasty old clothes and into something more comfortable. I left a suggestion folded up in the bathroom cabinet, if you’d like,” she said as she turned her head away abashedly—what did she have in store for you?

You couldn’t help but want to find out.

“Okay,” you pushed her away playfully and made a heart with your hands—a sign that you had explained the significance to her in the past—and pivoted around to go to the apartment’s bathroom. “I’ll see you in a few minutes!”

You stepped out of the shower and onto the floor mat in the now-steamy air that enveloped you. You could hear the jittering of Iris’s legs through the door while you stood in front of the foggy mirror naked, an act of pacing that was no doubt due to her stress of what you were both preparing for.

The stress was not lost on you, either. It felt like your stomach was in your throat, and, despite the shower being necessary after returning in your dirtied uniform, it still felt like an act of delaying the inevitable act that had been building in wait for the past few weeks.

You grabbed the towel that was hanging on the door and, as you dried yourself off and subsequently wrapped the towel around your chest, moved towards the cabinet.

You hesitated with your hand hovering over the handle for a moment, then finally dug deep and opened the door.

Before you laid a beautiful red—Iris’s favorite color—lace lingerie set that had a light sheer top with spaghetti straps and a small pair of matching panties; they were unlikely to be able to contain your co*ck, but it was likely that that was your wife’s intention from the beginning.

After drying yourself down with the towel once more, you didn’t hesitate to throw it over the shower curtain rod and grab the clothing.

This wasn’t just an act of reproduction, it was an act of love. An act of closeness and intimacy and devotion.

Regardless, holding the lingerie in your hands, you felt embarrassment with your next breath inward. This was, without a doubt, slu*ttier than anything you had ever worn before, and you almost worried that you weren’t beautiful enough to be worthy of placing it atop your skin.

That was, until a knock came at the door while you stood in thought in front of the bathroom mirror.

“Sweetiepie, are you okay in there? Do you like the outfit?”

The sound of Iris’s voice shook you from your paralyzed state, and you realized suddenly how silly you were being—your wife did not care what you were wearing. She would find you gorgeous no matter what. That shift in perspective warmed your heart, and you took little time to start stumbling into the panties from the set.

“Yes, I’m okay! I’m getting dressed, I’ll be out in just a moment!”

“A-And the outfit?” the words stumbled out like she was fully aware of its departure from what you would normally wear.

Her hesitative unsureness didn’t matter, though, for the outfit already clung to your ever-so-slightly damp skin. The mirror had defogged slightly and you aided it with a circular wipe that made it clear enough for you to see yourself.

You inhaled a short breath. Your breasts looked brilliant through the translucent material, and the fabric hung down from where it cupped them in a gentle cherry wave. The panties clung to you as you expected them to—just barely, your bulge plainly obvious.

“The outfit is… the outfit is perfect.”

When you stepped into your bedroom for the first time since arriving home, the first thing that struck you was how cold it was; the second was the shift in organization and furniture of the entire room—rather than the bed being in the center of the room and taking up most of the space, it was pushed into the corner leaving a wide open chunk of floor when you entered. The space, which had previously at least held nightstands and was somewhat-cluttered the last time you had been here, was otherwise spotless now. Nonetheless, there was—you did a double take—another, smaller refrigerator next to the bed?

Iris was already perched on the bed when you walked in. She didn’t normally need a bed to sleep, an act that she usually did standing up instead, but she had agreed long ago to share the tradition with you regardless—she was so kind like that; accommodating and understanding.

Her eyes, despite being so different from yours, were beautiful to you as they took in your body. What was more beautiful, though, was the shriek of joy that came from her mouth-parts when she saw what you looked like.

“You—, you look amazing!” she exclaimed.

You gripped the hem of the hanging-down part of the lingerie and blushed, looking up at her.

“You think so? Where did you even find something like this? Actually—, scratch that,” your blush grew redder, knowing that this was likely Kieran’s doing too. “I don’t want to know.”

She giggled, holding up her forelegs in an adorable gesture of hilarity.

“You’re so pretty when you turn pink like that,” she said as she started a gesture that invited you onto the bed.

You complied, and grabbed her leg to heave yourself up on the bed.

“What’s with the layout change?” you asked pointedly.

“Ah, that,” she tilted her head, looking at the position of the bed. “Given you will be bedridden for most hours of the day—especially in the later months—I took the liberty of making more room for me to, erm, take care of you.”

If you were not yet fully understanding of the burden you were undertaking, now you definitely were. Bedridden for six months? Sure, you would probably be able to walk around every now and then, but you wouldn’t be able to do anything strenuous.

Iris must have seen the worry on your face, because she was quick to reassure you.

“It is not without honor to be helpless during a pregnancy, you know,” she said gently. “In fact, it is an act of greatness if anything. You’re helping create new life, for gods’ sake!”

After weighing the argument you knew that she was right, but it still nagged in the back of your mind knowing that you wouldn’t be able to help around the quarters anymore following taking on her eggs. Even still, you resigned, and smiled.

“You’re right, but I’m still so worried. Will you be able to keep up?”

She exhaled air—a Mantis sigh—and embraced you in her rough structures for a final time. You squeaked in surprise at the movement, and she shifted you so that you were laying down underneath her. You gripped onto her two frontmost hind legs, and she was now completely on top of you. From this angle, you could get a good look at her underbelly—her smooth abdomen. It was much larger than normal, filled with her eggs. It had never appeared to hinder her, though, with her massive frame and strong, still appendages that held her up. She lowered her bug head in close to you, staring you down.

“Yes, yes I will be able to keep up. Do not worry about me—worry about carrying our children instead, and everything will be alright.”

The demand coming from her mouth was unlike her, and it was clear that she was serious about this—she would be here for you because you were carrying for her, and you taking on any more burden was out of the question. Perhaps she realized she was being a little too forward, because her next words were without such acerbity.

“I love you,” she stated.

The saliva in your throat dried, and you couldn’t help but get a little teary eyed at the sudden show of attachment. She was so kind to you, a truth that was not constant in your life—most of the people in the Federation were cold and unassuming, and meeting Iris by bumping into her at the station was a memory you would never forget.

Her eyes were the first thing you had noticed then.

“I love you too, Iris,” you responded softly, and you could see the forthcoming swoon in her face.

She started with a soft voice, a voice that sounded concerned but one with anticipation in it.

“We should probably go over this one more time.”

You hesitated—though you had gone over this plenty of times in the past and you had done your fair share of research online as to what to expect, it wouldn’t hurt to let her give the Mantis birds-and-bees ‘talk’ again—if anything, to excite you more for the act that was about to happen.

You nodded quickly. Why Iris had set the environmental controls so chillingly in the room became evident to you now—you were already sweating a tiny bit from anticipation and anxiety for what was coming, and how hot you would be during and after was something you had not even considered yet.

“Mantis females,” she started, “need a warm place to incubate their eggs. Given that they are soft and gelatinous, keeping them out in the open is generally inadvisable without a special facility to keep them. The next best place is typically inside of a warm blooded creature—the Human digestive system, in this case, is ideal for this purpose.”

“But they can’t just hang out in there, they need to, erm, stick in somehow?” you recited what you could remember from the Mantis encyclopedia website you had read and reread.

“Correct. After being deposited, the eggs will attach to the lumen of your large intestine and remain there for the duration of their incubation period. After that, when they are ready, they will detach from your insides and you will lay them preceding them finally hatching.”

“And… solid food is a no-go,” you added.

“It is. Since you’ll basically have a bowel obstruction, that is of the utmost importance. Thus, I will be controlling your diet.”

You nodded again—this was all so much, and the feelings of unsure anxiety were still swimming through your head. But that fear was inconsequential in the face of what you truly wanted: to be a mother, to be mates with your wife. You could do this.

“As for actually delivering the eggs for you to begin with, I’ll be using my ovipositor. I’ll need to… bury it inside of you to transfer them, and it may be a little bit intense. So,” Iris, now fully bound over you, laid either of her forelegs on each side of your head and made eye contact with you, “I need to ask again—are you okay with this?”

It was no question. You had been waiting for this moment for so long and your love for your wife was now overflowing and breaking apart at the seams. You wanted to carry for her, you wanted to be fully hers—you wanted to bear her children.

“Yes, I am,” you said flatly, putting on the most serious look one could laying under a giant, super-hot Mantis woman who had put you in a slu*tty little red sex outfit.

“Then,” her antennae twitched—another expression of joy—and she lowered herself so that her abdomen was pressed lightly against your belly, “let’s begin—”

But, before she could finish, you leaned up and kissed her, mashing your face against her mandibles. You pushed your tongue into her mouth-opening, taking her aback slightly, and she eventually leaned back into the kiss after a moment.

“Someone’s eager,” she mumbled, to which you only squeezed her tough frame with your hands harder and responded with more kissing.

You could feel her long, black tongue unfurl from her opening. It was one completely unlike yours, but what you shared was more than what you didn’t—you both loved rubbing your tongues against each other, and this was no exception. Hers entered your mouth with a languid movement, and you could feel the wet appendage curl around your own.

When you pulled away to catch your breath, you slumped down against the pillow beneath you with a fast exhale. Your shirt—if it could even be called that—had ridden up to show your belly. You looked down at yourself knowing that that relatively flat surface would soon be round and huge, filled with what she had in store for you.

Iris must have caught your glance, because she made another effort of care.

“It’s okay to be worried. But I’ll make sure that it goes smoothly. Now, during, and for all six months after. Got it?”

You bit your lip.

“I got it, Iris. I’m just…” sweat beaded up on your forehead. “It’s hard not to be. Worried, I mean.”

She made a clicking sound with her mandibles.

“I understand. We will take it slow. One day at a time.”

You sighed, trying to make peace with what you would face for the next half-year.

“Let’s do it. Now, before I stress myself out more.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Very well,” she clicked, and rose again to show you what she had already exposed.

Her ovipositor, a pink, slimy, ribbed tube must have slipped out of the end of her abdomen while you were kissing. It was hanging obvious above the space between your legs, and it twitched with control. It was thin at the end, but thickened as it went up closer to her abdomen.

You thought that that was all there was to it, but she dropped it out more until it laid across the sheet of the bed—it was, at full length, about two feet long, and the thought of that being inside you made you shudder a little.

“You can change your mind still,” she clarified. She was serious in that statement, though caring.

“I’m not changing my mind.”

With that consent, the ovipositor finally showed that it had a consciousness of its own—she moved it like one long muscle (which, from the research you had done, was pretty much all it was), and dragged it across the sheet. In its movement, you felt it rub against your leg. It was hot, and the lubricant on it left a slick slime across your skin.

Iris gripped onto the edge of your panties with the front-rightmost of her hind legs. She made some sort of mechanical, maniacal sound that almost startled you before with one movement she ripped through the waistband of the gorgeous carmine underwear. They crumbled on the spot, falling apart to the sides of your hips and exposing your co*ck and the space between your legs.

“I-Iris! Why did you do that?!”

“I bought them. I can do whatever I want with them,” she chuckled, and you shriveled up in place in an act of subtle submission. “Besides,” her eyes bore into you, “I think you like what I just did.”

“S-Shut up!” you squealed, even though you did, very much, like it.

Iris did shut up, but not before she dragged her pulsating ovipositor forward so that it met with your co*ck. The rigid yet slimy tube of muscle caused your dick to stiffen somewhat, and you let out a moan from the sensation.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“Yes,” you nearly choked out, “yes I’m ready.”

She then lowered the hind part of her abdomen to get it closer to your crotch, and slid the tip of her ovipositor so that it was up against one of your inner thighs. The closeness made breath catch in your throat, and you then felt the tube move closer—closer—closer—until the tip rubbed up against your entrance.

“I have ten eggs in me, so bear with me. This may take a while.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the feeling of the tip of her ovipositor gradually applying pressure to your asshole silenced you. She rubbed it there for a few slow seconds to apply the lubricant to make the entrance easier, and then started applying more serious force to the area.

You gulped, and she spoke.


“Okay,” you gasped.

With one more push, she finally opened your anus enough and her tip entered inside of you. It felt immensely warm and wet, although unexpectedly pleasurable. She paused it in that position while you acclimated—she was empathetic like that—and then pushed harder.

The gentle force opened your entrance further, and you could feel her ovipositor snaking its way deeper into you while you struggled to stay still. You swept both arms out across the bed and started panting—you were already sweating like mad, and it was lucky that you were wearing something so lightweight, lest you would have been dying. Iris really had planned out all of this perfectly, hadn’t she?

Your legs began to shake in a solid rhythm from the oppression of what was unnatural—a thick organ invading your sacred place, your walls binding to it with suction that begged the act to be reversed even though there was good to be felt from it.

“You’re doing great,” she cooed, leaning down to lick her worm-like tongue across your neck and up the side of your cheek.

Her ovipositor was actually inside you, now, but the anxiety that you had before had not yet subsided—this was unlike anything you had ever experienced before, and you felt almost dirty for it.

“I-It feels tight,” you sputtered out.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry, but that was the worst of it. This next part will feel a little weird, though.”

The next part was something you were already aware of. She needed to put the eggs in one by one in your intestines, so she needed to go quite deep to put the first egg in—far deeper than any normal anal-play would involve.

“I trust you.”

She nodded her head, and then her ovipositor slid further inside you. The ribbed surface of it felt amazing against your asshole, and you couldn’t resist your co*ck getting hard from the feeling. It perked up against her chitinous exoskeleton, and rubbed there. You shifted your hips back and forth ever so slightly to get some sort of stimulation from it, and all the while her ovipositor buried deeper and deeper inside you.

You could feel it go further as your belly formed a bulge from where it was filling you. Your body almost rejected the act completely, but not painfully—it felt like something was filling you (which it was), but you felt full in the way as if you had eaten too much for dinner the night before. It wasn’t necessarily displeasurable, but it was new.

Each inch deeper that her appendage burrowed inside you felt more intense around your asshole than the last did, and you took long, slow gasps as your breaths slowed and deepened.

You finally shut your eyes, shifting your breathing from through your mouth to through your nose, and tried to focus on the good feeling and not the kind-of-awkward sensation of your belly being stuffed full.

“I’m all the way in,” Iris said, her words making you flutter your eyes open and look up at her. You probably looked like a sweating mess right now, but if you did, Iris didn’t seem to show any care.

“N-Now for—, for the eggs?”

“Yes, but,” she chirped, “maybe I lied a little. This next part might be pretty intense. I can’t stop once I start this, so…” she turned her head away with worry, “please try not to pass out on me.”

That was another tidbit you recalled from your research: once a Mantis female began her oviposition, she couldn’t cease it until all of her eggs were deposited. You had already given your enthusiastic consent, of course, but Iris was clearly all-too-worried about your health. It warmed your heart.

Her words spurred your anxiety, though. Mantis eggs… weren’t small. Iris had taken you to the station doctor’s weeks prior to ensure that you were fit for taking all ten of her eggs and, while the doctor gave you both the go-ahead, they warned you that it would be rough and wasn’t to be taken lightly.

“I’ll try my best,” you affirmed.

“Okay. Here goes,” she responded.

Her body stiffened, and she curled around the intersection between her thorax and her abdomen in a strenuous effort. She let out a groan, lowered her head into the pillow at the side of your head—you nuzzled against her to encourage her—and she exhaled.

“They’re—, they’re coming,” she panted.

From underneath her body, you could see the little bit of thick ovipositor that wasn’t inside of you. A bulge appeared at the end of it closest to her abdomen, and your eyes widened at the size of it—the internet wasn’t kidding, they were big.

You held as still as your nervousness allowed you to and watched the egg move by way of the ovipositor’s peristalsis. You winced as it went out of sight and you could begin to feel the thickening of the tub against your anus. You held your breath for the moment of truth, and the pressure against your ass washed over you in waves.

At first it felt a tiny bit painful—then there was a numbness—then there was the absurd stir of pleasure that covered you when the egg pressed against your prostate. Your co*ck perked up in place, pre-cum dripping gradually from your tip, and your breath-holding was cut abruptly.

You looked back down at your belly, and it was obvious now: a distinct bulge of the egg moving through your abdomen and deeper into your intestines. It felt unnatural as it passed your prostate and went up past the point of pleasure…

Before the next egg hit your prostate. You must have not been paying attention to Iris’s ovipositor, because another came soon after and was already pressing inside of you. You were dizzy now from the prolonged feeling of sensuality, and Iris turned to look at you.

“H-How are you—, hanging in there?” she asked, her voice having a minute shudder to it like even her, in all her dominance, was struggling some.

It took you a few seconds to properly respond because the third egg had already come and your co*ck was oozing in more pre-cum.

“I’m… I’m hanging,” you barely got out.

“Good… good. You’re doing amazing.”

By the time the fourth egg came, your stomach had enlarged so much that it wasn’t even recognizable anymore. It had a roundness to it that was the tell-tale sign of pregnancy, and you weren’t even halfway there yet.

You could feel Iris’s ovipositor slide down gradually through your digestive system with each egg that deposited inside you. Each time a new egg finally came out of her and inside of you, you could hear the soft ‘pop’ sound from the depths of your bowels. It was as hot as it was disturbing.

All the while you were having a grand old time trying to remain conscious. This was all so much on you, and your eyes drooped with exhaustion as you felt egg after egg drop into your feeble form.

“They’re probably beginning to attach now. I apologize if it feels uncomfortable for you, baby,” she slipped out while your eyes struggled to stay open.

The eggs—attach—that was something that they did, you reminded yourself as you forced your eyelids back open in a futile attempt. You could feel your bowels trying to reject what was being left in them, but that too was futile; the sticky substance secreted by Iris’s eggs would be adhering them to your GI tract right about now, preventing any unwanted movement.

At the same time, your co*ck was at full mast and pleaded for attention. You had already given up on trying to thrust against her in your exhaustion, but Iris must have noticed this while it pressed against her underbelly because, next thing you knew, she was thrusting against you.

“F-f*ck, Iris, f*ck,” you managed to get out, saliva dripping down the side of your lip as your mind was going into oblivion.

“Does that feel good?” she encouragingly asked as she continued, your stomach resembled a bulbous mass more and more.

“Y-Yes, f*ck, yes, it feels good,” you said.

The fifth egg coming past the point of no return was where the waves of pleasure became a tsunami—your whole body was tingling now, an experience you thought was only possible during org*sm but that you were now feeling before the main event had even happened. Sweat was beading up on your skin everywhere it was exposed, and where it wasn’t it was soaking the thin veil of clothing you were wearing.

“Everything is going to be okay,” Iris whispered into your ear at the moment her tongue flicked against your ear. Her attentiveness was steadfast, a testament to her ability to subvert her vicious nature as a Mantis and adapt herself for love and comfort instead.

“E-E-Everything is okay,” you clarified, continuing with, “but I’m having s-some… difficulty… staying awake…”

“I know, I know it’s hard. Try for me. You’re doing a great job,” she recited as she was shifting her body in a metronomic motion to give you that extra bit of sexual activity; something that you were not indebted to, but that she did anyways because she knew you wanted it, because she knew you deserved it.

“I’m trying. I am,” you inhaled strongly.

Her face was still at the junction between your neck and shoulder when the sixth egg entered you, her tongue tracing up against the outline of your sternocleidomastoid that was exposed with the twist of your head on your pillow.

“Here comes the sixth. Keep on hanging in there.”

You squeezed your eyes shut for this one—an effort that made little difference in the grand scheme of things, but one that you did nonetheless. This egg was tighter than the rest likely because of the amount already filling you, put it passed inside just as rapidly as the rest. You could feel the difference in where this one deposited as opposed to the last few, the location inside you getting turned around and lower in your belly. Your stomach must have been huge by now, but you didn’t dare look.

On the seventh egg that hit your prostate, your whole body shuttered involuntarily, cum spurting lightly from the tip of your co*ck. You were so out of it that the org*sm was instead like a inconsequential wave of pleasure—one more in the already-abundant waves that were already there.

“Great job. Perfect, baby,” you heard through your waning wakefulness—did she know that you just came? Did it matter? Nothing seemed to be surprising, anymore, with the absurd intensity that you were going through.

Then something unexpected did happen.

“Hold still, sweetiepie, I’m going to feed you. I know you’re hungry,” your wife said, her left foreleg reaching to the edge of the bed where the smaller mini-fridge was that you had seen earlier.

“You—, You’re going to what?” your eyes sprang open from their previously shut state. What was she talking about?

You almost regretted doing so, though, because on opening your eyes you were met with the sight of your stomach—a view that, unbeknownst to you, so much ‘worse’ than you had thought. Your stomach was the incarnation of a snowglobe, a massive orb that rivaled any normally pregnant Human woman. You gawked for a few seconds before hearing Iris’s voice.

“I’m going to feed you.”

You could see out of the corner of your eye her leg pull the fridge open and grasp what looked like a smaller bottle—it was shaped so that she could grab it between the spines on her leg—and, as it came closer, you could tell that it looked like… like… like a sippy-cup? You cringed in embarrassment.

“What?” you asked again, your thoughts turning back to the current moment.

“I’m. Going. To. Feed. You.” she flicked her tongue out.

“I—, I can feed myself after we’re done, it’s fine, really—”

“No,” she chided, “you’ve waited two full days to eat and I’m not letting you wait anymore.”

“But—, that’s, like—,” you groaned, your vision darkening around the edges. You were trying so, so hard to stay awake. “That’s, like, embarrassing.”

Iris scoffed, and rose more to look you over with her eyes. Her antennae sprang up, and she tilted her head.

“Look at yourself. You’re a soon-to-be mother. Remember what I said? There’s nothing embarrassing about being taken care of. Now, please open your mouth for me?”

You pouted.

“Eugh, fine,” you groaned (as much as you could with your body full of eggs and a giant ovipositor). You knew she would let up if you argued, but you weren’t about to argue with a giant Mantis lady—even if she was in love with you.

There was such a strong level of humiliation associated to you with her holding what was essentially a baby-bottle up to your mouth, but the way she acted about it indicated anything other than humiliation. She glared at you with big, concerned ommatidia while she tipped the end of the cup up into the space between your lips, and you sucked on it slowly.

The liquid in the cup was green-colored, and while you half-expected that you were about to taste some sort of disgusting vegetable mix, your taste-buds were instead met with a strong sweet taste—one you could smell, too, as the liquid escaped the bottle.

All the while, you could feel the eighth egg enter you. You had already cum, but the sexual pleasure didn’t cease there—this egg pressed against you just the same as the others had, and it felt just as amazing. Your belly was bulbous now, sporting the look of—well, the look of someone full of f*cking eggs.

You succumbed to the infantilizing act and sucked harder on the bottle she held against your lips, drinking the liquid as you realized how hungry you really were again—seeing Iris again had made you forget the empty pit in your stomach that you had had when you entered the apartment.

While you fed, Iris’s other foreleg rose up and started to stroke your hair that was in waves down the sides of your head. It took everything in you to not recall that these were the same forelegs that she had likely used in combat when she was still an active soldier in the war—a specialty that Mantes were known for, being perfect support against teleporting ship-boarders, but—oh well, you just had reminded yourself anyways. sh*t.

The ninth egg went in just as smoothly, and before you knew it the tenth was on its way. It deposited quickly, lower inside of you, and suddenly you heard another ‘pop’ as Iris’s ovipositor exited your anus.

You gasped, loudly, and Iris pulled the bottle away from your mouth.

Your stomach was so big that the lingerie that had easily fit you before now couldn’t even cover a portion of your belly, and you were left laying in the bed sweating and full in more ways than one.

“Is—, is it done?” you asked, shivering and hardly able to move—not easily, at least.

Iris groaned, her ovipositor still out. She stretched her legs, then set down the bottle on top of the fridge. She moved both of her forelegs down to your belly and started rubbing it with the blunt ends gently.

“It is. And, gosh, do you look beautiful.”

You squeezed your eyes shut again, then back open.

“You think so? I look… ridiculous—”

“Shush,” she scolded you.

You blushed. It had all dawned on you now: you had succeeded in taking on her burden.

It was hard to stay conscious while you grinned like a kid in a candy shop up at Iris, her ovipositor retracting gradually back into her and her stomach now relaxed rather than having the tautness it had prior. Her antennae drooped in a caring manner and her mandibles curled into an expression you were all too happy to see.

She was smiling back.

The Burden You Would Carry - Chapter 1 - Tenabelle (2024)


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