Uterus for Daddy
By Empress Yellow Plug
He's waiting for me in the room. I don't want to go in there, but every part of me tells me this is the right thing for me to do. I haven't anywhere else to go.
I take the steps slowly, partly because I'm afraid and partly because it hurts less when I do. I peak through the crack in the door and see him working feverishly over the equipment and in spite of myself I feel my mouth fill with saliva and my stomach moves.
He looks up. “Tara. Come on in, baby. I've got it all set up for you.”
I step around into view and survey the situation. As usual, I will lie down on the queen-sized mattress on the floor, my legs spread wide and my hands over my belly. He'll secure my legs open with the wide upper straps to prevent my thighs from hindering his entry. He'll use the soft cuffs on my wrists so that I can still feed myself.
I cringe as he picks up the catheter expectantly. I don't want that thing in me again. I don't want to be immobile. His face goes stern and suddenly I jerk into action. As quickly as I can I move my 350lb body into place and bend my cracking knees.
Although arthritis runs in my family, I know the pop comes from the fact my joints haven't yet adjusted to the rapid speed at which I've put on the weight and not the disease. I plop down onto the mattress, and, after a quick sting of pain from the jerk on my bare and unsupported 46FF breasts, I feel a strange sense of relief as I find the familiar dent and relax my muscles. He gently arranges the deep bedpan, my two body pillows and the throws until I smile at him to signal that I'm comfortable. It's been some time since he's forbidden me to speak.
I weighed a mere 200lbs then, and I was still trying to tell him what to do. He helped me then by using vibrating dildos he reworked as sound-trigger gags. I got the hang of silence after a while and have grown to prefer it. I understand that what happens to me and my body is his pleasure and his responsibility and not mine.
It's a comforting thought.
I know there is something different this time, because, instead of securing my hands together, he ties them out, just like my feet. I feel a wave of dread wash over me, but there is no reason to entertain it. I have no power here. He knows what he's doing.
The opaque lenses are next and as he slips them in I feel his manhood stand to attention against my soft middle. I get wet, too, I know, but just because he's trained me that I should be excited when he is excited.
I do my best. I hope he will come into me.
He doesn't. I hear the warm familiar whir of my feeding machine kick alive as the somewhat thicker tube is pressed against my lips.
“Take it in…” he mumbles, and by the way his breath is coming sharp I can tell exactly what his other hand is doing. I take the tube.
The mixture I have come to know as my constant companion pours into my mouth, and I let it set for a second before I gulp it down. I know from experience, once I have cleared that first taste, the flavor is lost to me as the machine recognizes I am ready to feed and begins to pump me full.
I am only allowed to stop the flow with the tip of my tongue when I am full to capacity and having trouble taking in air. My capacity is always growing and with each breath I take, the machine measures my ability to breathe. It resumes automatically when it believes I can go again.
I can feel him rubbing his penis against my chins. I want to drop the tube and pleasure him, but I know that's not what he wants.
After he empties on me, I can feel his retreating steps on the mattress. In just a few seconds he'll turn it on, the soothing sounds. I won't think about this anymore. I'll hear the pleasant words, the soft echoes of water and a mother's heartbeat. I'll be in my little womb again, growing for my daddy.
I won't see him for another month or so, not even when he's changing the lenses. I won't notice him. Not when he's making love to me. I won't notice the time. I'll fade into the nirvana of the tube and of the atmosphere. I'll just lie here, swelling, swallowing…