When Caden’s god deposits him in the cornfield, full to bursting with eggs, he’s so round that he can’t see his own feet when, after much hesitation, a couple of his fellow disciples help him stand. He has to lean on them as they escort him back to the farmhouse. This is probably partly because his legs are shaking.
He is waited on, given everything he wants. Daniel brings him fresh fruit and omelettes for breakfast, and Monica brings him sandwiches and milk for lunch. They won’t meet his eyes, but he catches them staring when they think he isn’t looking. Sometimes he sees disgust in their eyes, hears them whispering. He grins, knowing it unnerves them.
He has to be helped to his feet whenever he needs to get up, and he can’t walk further than a lap around the farmhouse, his daily exercise routine. He’s given a room on the ground floor, his own room, since he struggles to climb the stairs. It has a real bed in it, and the silence he gets when he closes the door is magical. He sleeps like the dead every night, exhausted from the effort it takes him just to walk to the kitchen for supper, and his overtaxed body aches constantly, but he never utters a single complaint.
His belly continues to grow, slowly but noticeably. More stretch marks appear, until his belly is red and shiny with them. He eats as much as he can but is always hungry, as the nutrients are diverted to feed his growing brood.
He’s also constantly aroused. The eggs shift inside him whenever he moves, rubbing and pressing on his prostate. It only takes a few strokes of his hand for him to come, and then moments later he’s hard again. When his belly grows too big for him to reach his own cock, he gets himself off by humping up against a pillow, barely needing any extra stimulation at all when all the stimulation he needs is inside him.
When winter comes, Caden nests in his bed under a pile of quilts, desperate to keep the eggs warm. He drinks endless cups of hot tea, and meditates. It’s almost like a type of hibernation.
When midsummer comes around again, Caden has to be nearly carried back out into the cornfield. His legs can’t bear the weight enough for him to stand on his own. The two disciples set him down on the ground and then back away, as if his pregnancy or possibly his insanity might be contagious.
The moon is as round as Caden, and casts an orangish light over the corn. No sooner has Caden hit the ground than a spear of pain spikes through him. His belly, already hard as a rock, contracts around the eggs, and he can see the individual shapes of them beneath his skin.
This time, they don’t have to summon their god. It’s free now to come and go as it pleases, and it keeps its word. Thick tendrils of darkness swirl around Caden as he shudders through another contraction, gritting his teeth. He won’t let his less worthy fellows hear him cry out.
Tentacles lift the hem of the tent-like robe Caden wears and pull it off him, baring his gravid, trembling stomach. More tentacles gently encircle him and lift him up, cradling him and spreading his legs. Caden takes deep breaths. The eggs shift inside him, pressing down hard on his prostate, and his cock twitches and jumps to attention. A tentacle strokes gently up the underside of his cock and Caden nearly comes right then. It’s only another wave of pain that dampens his impending orgasm.
A tentacle presses between his lips, and Caden opens his mouth to it. It secretes the same salty-sweet slime he remembers from this time last year. It seems to make the pain lessen.
Caden feels an intense pressure at the top of his pelvis, and on instinct he pushes. A hard, round egg slides slowly down his passage, spreading his hips until they creak. A tentacle prods at his hole, stretching it and slicking it with the same slime that Caden is now sucking on. He pushes with another contraction, and the egg slides down another centimeter. He breathes as deeply as he can and tries his best to relax. It’s not really working.
When the next contraction sends the enormous egg pushing past his prostate, Caden comes like a lightning strike, pleasure and pain so mixed up that he can’t tell them apart. His vision goes white as his cock paints the underside of his belly with come. When he comes back to reality, his hole feels strangely empty, and he realizes he must have birthed the egg. A tentacle takes advantage of this reprieve to spread more slime inside him. It’s cool and soothing, but Caden is wrung out and oversensitive, so he just twitches pathetically at the invasion. He’s tired, a bone-deep weariness greater than he’s ever experienced. One egg down, who knows how many more to go.
Another contraction, another egg pushing past his hips. He seems to stretch easier around this one, although it’s all the more painful due to his overstimulation. He closes his eyes, feeling tears slip out, and lets out a whimper. Tentacles stroke the hot swell of his belly, soothing him, reminding him that he is not alone. One wraps around the palm of his hand, giving him something to squeeze when the next contraction takes his breath away.
He pushes with all his might during the next contraction, but he doesn’t manage to force the egg out. It stays trapped in his hole at the widest point, forcing his legs apart, his hole stretched obscenely around it. He relaxes his muscles and gasps for breath, sparing a moment to think of what he must look like, opened up like this. Fortunately, he is hidden from the other disciples’ view by a curtain of roiling black. This sight is not for them.
Another contraction pushes the egg out, and he can’t see where it goes, but he knows that his god has taken it, and it is safe. He wonders what will come out of these eggs and imagines small, writhing balls of black tentacles, miniatures of the one that embraces him now. The thought makes him smile through the pain of another egg sliding into place.
Just as he did when he was being stuffed full of them, Caden loses track of how many of the eggs he’s birthed. The hard shells massaging his prostate begin to feel pleasurable again rather than painful, and the next birth sends him careening over the edge into orgasm again. He pushes and pants and comes until there’s nothing left in his balls and he just spasms weakly as the sparks of orgasm shock through him. Tears stream down his face now, and each breath is a sob. The whole world focuses down to this singularity of sensation. There is no time passing, no existence outside Caden and his eggs.
At last, he forces out an egg and realizes there are no more left in him. His belly is a flat slab of stretched-out skin, striped with red stretch marks. He feels empty, deflated, shrunken, but also incredibly proud of a job well done. He has made the ultimate sacrifice for his god.
Tentacles are still fluttering around him, playing with the loose skin of his belly, tickling his well-spent cock, and prodding his wide, gaping hole. He relaxes into the attention until he becomes aware that the tentacles in his ass are moving in and out in rhythm, fucking him.
V̶̤̩̿͊̚͠ẹ̷͚͚͆͆ȓ̶̳͉͕̠̜̐̕͝y̷̧̛̝̣̬̞̆̾̀͊ ̶̞̪̜̝͍̓g̶͚͕͋͑͝ó̶̪͙̹o̶̤̙͎̦͌d̵̼͚͔, the voice croons in his head. T̵͚͍͉h̵̡͚̀e̶͇̙̾͑ ̶̺͔͖̇́n̴̹̓̔͘ẹ̴͋͘͜x̸̪̟͌̈́t̸̠̓̔ ̴̻̼̾͒͠b̷̝̣̈́̈́͝r̴͎͐̓o̵̬̲̞͐̆͝ǫ̷͎̺̎d̵̞̼͗͜ ̴̺͕͎̍̉̕ẇ̸̩̥͖͑i̷̻̘̭̇ļ̷͇͛͑̌͜l̷̦͉͆̈́̒ͅ ̷͉͎̈́b̷͎̈́ȇ̴̞ ̴̬͚̻̒͝b̵̺̟̬̅i̴̪̖̹͋̈́̚ģ̴̹͒̉̒g̶̱ē̵̬̫͐̒r̵͇̙͙̔̍.̸̡̝̭̋.