“This is not normal.”

“Ya think, Velma? Wanna add a jinkies for good measure?”

Diane, in shock more than anything, wearing only a matching pair of red panties and bra, gripped onto her stomach as if she didn’t know what to do.

Gripped her pregnant stomach.

Very pregnant.

Like, nine-months-with-triplets pregnant.

Both Honoka Jefferson and her first wife, Diane, were in Honoka’s bed - wide awake now - on an early Friday morning, August 29th. The covers were thrown to the floor in a panic. Honoka wore an oversized brown shirt with a faded spaceship on the front and the caption Browncoats Do It In The Verse. A month ago the shirt had been more oversized than now, but the twenty-six year old mixed African and Japanese American woman was experiencing a late growth spurt. As was common since the Change for her, the black skinned hermaphrodite sported a painful, throbbing, oozing-with-precum, sixteen inch (41 cm) long and thirteen inch (33 cm) circumference, veiny, uncircumcised, tilting upward and slightly curved penis shaft growing out where the clitoris would be on a normal woman. This flesh column resided above a damp, engorged-with-lust yet otherwise normal vagina. Typically, the Beast (Honoka’s pet name for her black man-sausage) would invade her thoughts with mounting need (or a need to do some mounting), but right now Honoka had other problems. Pregnant problems.

“Did you, I don’t know, accidentally eat something?” Honoka asked, flustered to the point of asking stupid questions.

“Does this look like a food baby?!” Diane shifted around - trying to move into a more comfortable sitting position - failed, and growled in frustration. Shooting her bright green eyes up at her wife, Honoka was hit with a full-powered hormonal glare. “A little help?”

Honoka started, blinked, then leaned over to help the irritable redhead succubus sit comfortably. Or tried. Honoka was five foot four inches (163 cm), four inches (10 cm) taller than a month ago, yet she still resembled a recovering anorexic; without Status help, moving a five foot eleven (180 cm) pregnant woman was exhausting. Emerald green wings and tail only made it more difficult. The brokenness of the mattress from a surprise event last Monday morning made it more difficult.

“I’m no expert,” Honoka said, flopping back onto her side of the bed, giving Diane’s stomach a more critical examination, “but isn’t there supposed to be something a bit more...gradual in the process?”

On Sunday this week, an orgy in the basement gym of their large Indian styled home occurred. Hundreds of feet beneath formerly-Harvard and twenty-four days after the five year anniversary of the aptly named Change - bringing to earth fantastical Races and Classes and blue-colored Status menus - a group of eight married women performed their spousal duties following a fun movie night. The main event was Honoka copulating with Diane for the first unprotected time with the express intention to have a child. It was possibly the happiest moment of both their lives, made better with mind blowing orgasms, magical growth of all sorts and enough milk and cum to fill a water tower.

Sunday. Five days ago.

“It’s not like I’ve been secretly pregnant for the last nine months,” Diane replied, her frustration subsiding and replaced with worry. “We’ve seen each other every day since we met. We went to bed four hours ago: both you know and I know I was as flat as a washboard last night.” Holding out her hands, she looked down at herself as if this was some kind of prank. “Unless you have a better theory, I’m calling Status shenanigans.”

Both of them grew silent, giving the Beast side-eyed glares as if it was his fault. It was, but blaming the penis seemed adolescent.

“Next step is obvious.” Honoka gave the succubus a quick kiss, rolled off the bed, picking up her phone and walking towards the door. “Either a healthy baby or magical mega cancer is in there: both mean you are going to a hospital.”

“Mega cancer?!” Diane squeaked, the idea this might be something other than a baby never occurring to her.

Honoka winced, giving an apologetic glance back toward the bed. “Sorry, guess the joke wasn’t funny.” Checking her phone, the black futa peeked out the door to see if there were any underaged children waiting outside. “It’s five-thirty right now. Be ready to leave at six. I’m going to wake up everyone, eat a few boxes of cereal, get a quick handjob, then we are heading to a hospital even if we need Banda to carry you there. Loves.”

Diane blew a kiss and Honoka walked out, both of them furiously texting. However, even if Honoka was trying to sound unworried, this new development terrified her inside.

********************

♫ Let’s do the time warp again ♫
♫ Let’s do the time warp again ♫

4 days previous
Monday, Aug 25th

“Who’s texting you?” Eve asked Miaka, the little goblin crawling on top of a chair to try and peek. Eve was rocking a lot of fishnet with a black T, black denim shorts snug over top the body stocking. She also decided to break out her piercings collection for her ears and nose and compliment everything with black eyeliner and lipstick over her green skin.

“My parents,” Miaka replied, her voice having the same inflection as if saying someone just found the body.

Originally hired to train the wives in combat, Miaka’s clothing selection was limited until she could retrieve the rest of her things: few of the wife menagerie had stylish clothing to match wings, talons and bright red and blue feathers. Despite these shortcomings, everyone did their best to share. Currently wearing a loose white tank with clashing yellow bikini top tied in enough knots to keep her modest despite being made for much larger breasts. Below, she had a long white skirt from Honoka. The feathers underneath glowed fluffy after shampooing a bajillion times in the last couple of hours, the aftereffect of surviving an immersive jizz bath.

The owl woman groaned and she pushed breakfast out of the way, sinking into the table. “They want me to come home to discuss my marriage.” It really wasn’t the owl woman’s morning. She wanted to jump Honoka’s bone last night but both of them were tired after the orgy. Then in the middle of the night both women were rudely awakened from the first wet dream Honoka experienced, engulfing the two in semen and definitely putting a stop to any more sleeping or hanky panky.

“Crappy crap!” Dolly exclaimed, dropping a waffle with a plop of syrup. “I forgot ta tell my pa I’m married!”

Honoka smirked, it was adorable how Dolly’s accent got thicker the more flustered she got. After living for months as a prisoner and repeatedly raped in that time, Dolly would have returned to nothing if it wasn’t for Quinn putting all her things in a storage shed. Today, the cheetaur was dressing full Centorea: untucked style, buttoned white blouse with long sleeves and her entire cheetah backside draped in a black skirt. Honoka loved the look but wondered if the muggy heat of Harvardtown would push her to lighter clothing options soon. More worrying was Dolly’s mental state despite the lighthearted banter at the breakfast table.

“Where do they live?” Padmava asked Miaka politely, coordinating Jaya and Aruna to collect breakfast’s dishes with her dark purple and bright yellow chevroned tail. The cobra naga wore a sari done in blues which Honoka had only recently learned was sewn by her snakey self. The speed at which everything happened meant the black woman was still gathering information about her wives and it was only after Pad worked altering Banda’s and Quinn’s clothing to fit their new sizes did Honoka learn the naga had a sewing workshop in one of the rooms.

*bzzz*

“Osaka.” Miaka grabbed her phone, fumbling because her hand still missed a few fingers. Tapping with claws, her face took on what Honoka reasoned was a frown under the beak and feathers. “And that’s my dad telling me my flight departs in four hours. Uuuug! How’s a girl supposed to get laid?!”

“I have a meetin’ at FDR this mornin’, I’ll drop ya off at Logan but we gotta scoot!” Quinn said, shoving the last waffle into her otter muzzle and chugging holstaur milk as she stood and strode to the door. Normally the dark furred otter beastkin walked around in bikini tops and daisy dukes, but the meeting must have been important because she was borrowing a conservative(ish) blouse from Diane and a long skirt from Honoka with a stretchy waist. The shirt lacked most of the back but Quinn paired a cream blazer she planned to wear over it, though it was going to be obvious to everyone the blazer no longer fit her improved figure.

Miaka resigned to fate and followed without much energy, giving Honoka a quick farewell kiss and passing the two unusually quiet wives. Banda methodically shoveled a salad bowl of oatmeal into her mouth, yet there was something in her eyes and brow that was triggering a wifey instinct in Honoka. The massive holstaur was draped in a ridiculous poncho and gym shorts because until Pad could finish her alterations nothing was going to fit Banda’s frame.

“Who’s on milking this afternoon?” Honoka asked, tapping her phone awake while nabbing another waffle from the center stack and slathering butter on. The small black woman was still in her First Breakfast outfit of matching pink sports bra and bike shorts, what she wore as Jaya crammed the Ymirian full of massive food requirements Honoka needed every day in the basement gym. While the unmistakable bulge of the Beast broadcast to the room from inside stretchy pink fabric, First Coitus happened an hour ago and looked only mildly obscene in its flaccid state.

“That’s me,” Eve piped up, finished with her plate and helping move it to the sink where Jaya and Aruna busily rinsed.

Honoka nodded, looking through her calendar. “Trade me? My next milking is Wednesday morning.”

Eve put the dishes in the sink and confirmed the switch with a double finger gun and cheesy wink. Honoka blew a kiss and made the calendar change.

Before the hermaphrodite could speak, Banda finished her bowl and stood, leaving the room without saying anything to anyone.

Concerned, Honoka looked to Diane but the succubus was picking at her food, only a few nibbles missing. “Diane?”

“Huh?” Diane replied, her head bent down as her fork drew circles in syrup. Bedazzled baggy black off-shoulder crop top with neon blue yoga pants and white leg warmers, somehow the fashion queen of the house was making 80s chic appear drab. Normally, by this time each morning the succubus oozed sexual energy, making risqué banter with the wives or frantically confirming everyone’s schedule for the day and typing it into her calendar. Lackluster and mopey were uncommon, her whole body from green wings and tail to normally sensual red hair was limp.

“Are you ok?” Honoka asked.

“I’m fine, just nauseous.”

“Is it...?”

“Maybe…?”

The two stared together silently as their eyes drifted down to Diane’s partial exposed abdomen.

“Wow, looks like some physiology lessons are in order,” Padmava interrupted, smiling as her tongue flicked out to taste the air.

Honoka paused, noticing the wives left in the room were fixed on Diane and intensely quiet. Honoka blushed, unsure what to say. Of course Padmava, mother of two children, would know the most about this.

Padmava continued, her tone lightly lecturing. “While I am sure Diane will be pregnant soon, it has been less than twelve hours. Actual conception likely won’t happen until later today and we won’t even get confirmation of anything for three weeks. Pregnancy related nausea doesn’t start until six weeks normally. Having children isn’t a fast process, you need to be prepared for the long haul. Knowing Diane, her nausea is likely nerves.” Finishing, she did pointedly glare at the cup of vitamins next to Diane’s plate. “However, even if you skip breakfast you need to take your prenatals.”

Now Diane blushed, her face growing red but she smiled and popped pills. “Sorry, you’re probably right.”

“Ooo!” Jaya squealed as she slithered over from the sink, her hands still wet from dishes, bending down and hovering over Diane’s stomach. “Can I have a sister? A little succubus sister with pink wings?”

The laughter that followed was good for everyone, but Honoka worried about Banda as the black woman joined Aruna to clean up.

It wouldn’t be until late afternoon that they met at Banda’s milking station.

“Can we talk?” Honoka asked, screwing in the oversized metal milking cups to the hoses.

For a moment Banda looked like she wanted to argue, then sighed and deflated, turning away as she spoke. “About what?”

“This, whatever this is.” Honoka set the cups aside and stepped over, hugging as much of Banda’s thick waist as she could. “I don’t like the silent treatment.”

Banda was quite for a whole minute, weighing something in her mind while Honoka patiently waited. “I talked with Eve last week, after...everything. She’s been going over Diane’s budget and realized we might run out of money a lot sooner than we planned.”

“What?!” Honoka nearly screeched, money problems were a major stressor to the frugal black woman, already feeling her breath growing short and a panic attack coming on.

“[Diane is going to murder me,]” she replied under her breath. Banda turned and petted Honoka’s head softly, comforting with her gentle strength. “You have been through so much in the last month and have done more for all of us than we could ever repay. It isn’t an emergency yet, so we didn’t want to worry you, but we might have to tighten our belts until all our new businesses get off the ground.”

“Grr, I don’t like not being told stuff.”

Banda smiled, bending down and kissing the top of Honoka’s head. “As I said, not as big a deal as I’m probably making it sound. And Eve is taking over the finances, which is good because while I think Diane is a good organizer, the little greenie has a better head for numbers.”

A few things clicked into place, how Padmava altered clothing instead of the wife in need buying something new, Quinn rushing off to the FDR building when Dolly was less than a week from rescue out of months of captivity. Even some of the recent family meals were simpler despite Honoka’s own daily foods not changing. Other little things were making sense as well.

“Your milk isn’t selling for as high a price as last week.” Honoka might not have known, but she was a quick thinker and this should have been obvious.

“Right now, I’m our top earner.” Banda sounded resigned, unable to fight kismet. “Can’t safely produce more milk without those Alchemical meal bars Diane developed, but the extra milk I sell doesn’t cover the cost of the magical ingredients for the bars. On top of it all, Bethany Sweeney - she owns a dairy on the other side of the Floor - bought a new herd of cows and now Harvardtown is flooded in milk. People still prefer holstaur milk but we’ve cut our price to a fraction to compete.”

“So why are you the one looking worried at breakfast?”

“I guess I feel like it’s all on me, in a way. I know it isn’t, but it still feels like it is, and it’s heavier than I can bear.”

Honoka reached up, pulling Banda’s head down and kissing her sensually on the lips. Then she kissed her again for good measure. “I love you, and we’ll get past this.” Touching their heads together, the two basked in the love they had for each other. “Remember, you are not alone. When we’re done here I’m calling a meeting and we are going to work something out. Capisce?”

The holstaur nodded and they stepped apart, taking off their robes and preparing for some serious milking.

And sex. There was a lot of sex.

 

3 Days Previous
Tuesday, Aug 26th

“Are you sure those things will…?” Honoka trailed off, her face a mask of worry.

“My dentist friend said they would, uses them all the time on Race kids with sharp teeth.”

Honoka remained skeptical. Eve was strapped into the sex swing in the Harmony Room, but facing the ground instead, Superwoman style. Next to both wives was a collapsible table with potions and what Eve explained were <em>specific pieces of dental equipment.</em> They both remained unsure what the implements were called, each having two guards and two locking spreaders. The guards were metal and fit over Eve’s metallicly sharp teeth like what martial artists wore in their mouth during sparring. Then the spreaders propped the mouth open and kept the guards in place.

The potions were there to make everything more fun. One to transform Eve into something more flexible and her skin and organs rubbery while the other would work as a kind of jaw relaxant. The little goblin already had an industrial strength butt plug installed and if the puddle under her faucet-of-a-pussy indicated, she looked forward to her meal.

Honoka was really looking forward to this. One of the potions was for herself, acting as an acid damage reduction. She needed this because the hermaphrodite was about to enter the final frontier and put her penis where no penis had gone before. She already streamed a constant flow of premen after Banda came by earlier to bestow a quick blessing, though Honoka’s arousal was rabid enough to probably not require the clerical boost.

“Ready to find out what a water balloon feels like?” Honoka announces before flicking the lid and downing her potion in one pull.

Eve might have been smiling, but after gulping her own potions she quickly put on the guards and was currently working the spreaders into place. Clamping the handles together hard she managed to jam her mouth open impossibly wide, over triple what the goblin could open regularly while she locked the spreaders in place. Finished, she gave a double thumbs up before grabbing the straps on either side and lusted after the Beast with her intent stare.

Just when Honoka was getting jiggy with it, her phone buzzed on the table. Normally, this would be an excellent time to ignore incoming, but the SOS pattern it buzzed was apart of a system the wives set up. Holding up a finger, Honoka leaned over the table and tapped it awake. It was from Quinn:

+20 STR
+3 ft
Bull
5 min

The allocation request was simple enough, pulling up her Status and making the changes. All the wives would have gotten the same SOS, so no surprises if they suddenly got weaker, shorter or lost their Racial Feature Bullish Strength for the next five minutes. And while Quinn had been the one to use this system the most in the last two days, well, as the raid leader for the guild she spent the most time in dangerous situations. Honoka finished and came back around, grinning at the impatient goblin.

“Before we begin I’m obliged to remind you that you asked for this.” Honoka was busily pushing her hard cock in a downward angle, moving it more parallel to the floor and lining up her thick dark glans with the open green mouth, eager to be engulfed with wet blue tissue and tongue inside. “I mean, I’m going to have a literal blast, but I don’t think you’ll be able to move for a couple days. Still want to do this?”

If her mouth wasn’t clamped open, Eve might have tried to bite her frustration onto Honoka. Her goblin growl got the point across enough to the horny futa.

Despite wanting to try this, Honoka hesitated, an irrational fear as she eyed the metal guards covering very sharp teeth. It was only a moment, stepping forward slowly and easing her dick into the goblin’s mouth. She felt the small, rough tongue of Eve flick onto the urethra and pushed past the tight gateway of Eve’s uvula and entered the esophagus. Then kept going. Potions and goblins being unable to feel pain notwithstanding, Honoka moved at a snail’s pace. Partially, it was incredibly tight, possibly the singularly tightest hole Honoka had encountered. Porno dirty talk aside, tighter didn’t always mean better and the pressure gripped painful around the hermaphrodite. Thankfully, there was plenty of lubrication inside the passage from saliva and precum. Eve also apparently practiced for weeks using various dildos and worked her way up to a baseball bat with Diane’s alchemical assistance.

Before today, the two woman discussed and planned what was going to happen. A goblin’s head is oversized and the mouth is longer by a little bit, meaning the space from lips to throat is eight inches (20 cm). But this goblin is shorter and only has six inches (16 cm) of estimated esophagus. So when Honoka had an inch left in her shaft - Eve’s overly large nose already buried into the trimmed crinkly pubes of Honoka’s mons, hot breath tickling her abdomen - the black woman felt her meatus butt up against something.

“I’m at the esophageal sphincter,” Honoka announced, breathing labored body slick in sweat. “Last chance to back out.”

Eve tried to say something - which vibrated along the length of Honoka’s meat stick - though her hands motioning in a clear bring it on was what Honoka wanted to see. Pulling up the Status submenu for Mjölnir, the Ymirian woman eased the dial from 100% to 200%.

Honoka’s most recent Class Feature, Forging Of Mjölnir, surprised everyone last Sunday when she managed to grow from sixteen inches long (41 cm) and thirteen inch girth (33 cm) to a massive thirteen foot and four inches long (406 cm), eleven foot girthed (308 cm), weighing in at over four tons (3629 kg), penis. It was a wonder Honoka hadn’t been crushed to death by her own mammoth black cock.

Thirty-two inches (81 cm) wouldn’t be thirteen feet (396 cm), but it was still a lot more veiny dick than Eve deepthroated before. When the size reached only half way to full growth, Honoka grabbed under the goblin’s arm pits and pushed as hard as she could, her head breaching the esophagus sphincter and entering the stomach proper, a maneuver certainly tearing something.

“...!!”

Eve couldn’t scream, her throat obstructed cumpletely, but the little green woman did the best imitation possible as her entire body wracked in convulsions, pussy exploded in a fountain of girljaculation. If Eve hadn’t been secured to the sex swing, she would have flopped to the ground a mess of orgasmic jelly. Pain translated into pleasure and the goblin likely never experienced more of either sensation in her life.

When Honoka’s growth finished, she had her thick rod brushing the guards in Eve’s mouth, eight inches (20 cm) apart, bringing a metal coldness to her hot swollen screwstick. Growth forced the black woman to step back, two thirds of the cock inside and one third out. Although sensations almost brought Honoka to her knees, the futa distracted herself by allocating a few points in Strength, Endurance and Health over, reveling in the feeling of her skin stretching and tightening to contain burgeoning muscles. It wasn’t a lot, other wives had other things to do and only a few points here and there from the pool, but it was enough to bring Honoka from runway model thin to fitness athlete definition and cut. If she didn’t already have her twitching dick inside a tight hole, she would spend hours touching herself all over. Feeling her body expand and grow was really her favorite thing. Alright, second favorite thing.

The base of her dick contracted, causing Honoka to suck in a sharp breath. Not an orgasm yet, but creeping closer.

However, when Honoka stepped forward and tried to find a rhythm, the door behind the two women flew open.

“Eve-chan, Hono-chan, we got a problem!”

“Kinda busy!” As Honoka turned her head back around, she wasn’t about to stop and kept moving back and forth.

“...!” Eve hummed something, her frantic hands gesturing similar obvious frustrations.

Diane leaned against the doorway, her skin so pale it was translucent, making those sexy freckles appear like tiny fires on a snowbank. The succubus hadn’t bothered to put on anything other than a fluffy white bathrobe, front absently open enough to flash the dungeon with her bare J sized breasts. There were circles under her eyes, right now wide with alarm as she pushed herself into the room and stumbled over, leaning onto the table for support.

“Do it later, I need Eve-chan now.” She paused, holding her head as Honoka realized Diane’s urgency and stopped her thrusting.

“What’s wrong?” Honoka asked, twisting around awkwardly with her penis still in Eve and putting a hand gently on Diane’s head, moving some sweat drenched hair out of her eyes.

“Aside from this stomach flu I’ve had all week, there is an IRS agent waiting with Aruna in the shop up front.”

“...?” Impossible as it was to know exactly what Eve said, her eyes made it obviously something like what is the IRS doing here?

Diane was perceptive, she could read silent goblin eyes. “He says we’re being audited. You’ve been going over our books and I’m honestly not in much shape to make sure we’ve paid our taxes.”

“Guess we’re done here,” Honoka said, giving Eve a light pat on the cheek. “I’ll give you a two-fer on our next appointment.”

Eve’s deep red eyes had a soulful, Little Orphan Annie eyed pleading to them, but it couldn’t be helped.

As Honoka stepped back, gently pushing on the goblin’s shoulders, she found her dick head stuck inside the stomach. Frowning a little, Honoka pushed in and pulled back sharply. Stuck, push in, pull back. Stuck, push in, pull back.

It wasn’t like this was her first rodeo. The futa girl should have figured it out sooner.

“Rackin’ frackin’ oh...oh...aaaAAAHHH!!”

From Diane’s perspective, the cumflation of a tiny green girl was absolutely hot. Honoka was frustrated one moment and then her back arched, arms thrown back in taut orgasm. Eve joined in with her own release, adding and oozing into the significant puddle underneath the swing. Yet the main event was the distention and bloating of the goblin’s abdomen. This wasn’t a localized roundness, like a woman holding a child inside her belly or the uneven expansion of obesity. Whatever potion Diane had created and given Eve, it brought the goblin into the realm of Tex Avery. Within one minute her abdomen ballooned in every direction, the next looking like she chewed Wonka bubblegum. After four minutes, Honoka relaxed and nearly fell to the ground, retaining enough presence of mind to slide her allocation dials down to normal and pull out.

As the cock slipped out of her throat, Eve sprayed a gallon (3.8 L) of jizz onto Honoka before the greenie’s gag reflex returned. The goblin’s dark green, leather skin stretched to the absolute limit and beyond. Normally, her skin had fine cracks that showed a neon green underneath. At the moment, the cracks gaped wide, her skin half dark half neon. In terms of volume, she looked like she ate a sofa, though the mass evenly distributed throughout her now spherical body. Hanging two and a half feet (76 cm) over the floor when they started, her tummy now rested on the ground.

“...crap...” Eve managed as she unclamped and took out the guards, talking slowly, burping a large white bubble and having trouble preventing a massive volcano of semen vomit. “I need...clothing? A forklift?...I feel like the boulder in Raiders. Also, probably a good idea to allocate all the INT my way so I can think about the tax man.”

Honoka glanced at Diane, who shrugged and pulled out her phone while the Ymirian dismissed the blue box that popped up. Twenty minutes later, the IRS agent was surprised to meet a spherical goblin wearing a poncho. Nevertheless, as the agent assigned to Harvardtown, he took it surprisingly in stride.

 

Yesterday
Thursday, Aug 28th

Late at night, after most everyone slept, Honoka finished setting up her profile on a dating app. She was seated in one of the larger party rooms of the house the wives converted into a collective office, Honoka slumped at her computer amid half a dozen other desks.

Welcome, HonoChanJ, to the Delver Dating App DoubleD
We understand life can be dangerous and hectic and sometimes it can be difficult finding love while covered in ichor.
Connecting to that special monster hunter has never been easier with our 2000 point connection algorithm.
LFG has now become LFLove.

In Honoka’s opinion, the selfie displayed on the screen was not flattering. Skinny, lacking most curves, pink blouse and white skirt gaining a bit more appeal because they looked a little small on her growing frame. The black woman’s one constant, long straight black hair from Japanese heritage with bangs just above stunning cobalt eyes, acted like a weird stabilizing factor to a woman able to change so much about her body. All together, she appeared young but not youthful, female but not feminine, exotic but not alluring. Just another person looking for another person.

This last week, decompressing the aftermath of Bone Castle and Enoch and Heralds, Honoka was only beginning to realize how much out of her depth she was swimming. Specifically, where did Honoka fit in not only the world, but within her own family? Diane brewed potions that kept sex safe and fun while also keeping them alive, healthy. And then the rest of those potions were sold to the public for a profit. Padmava and her children ran the storefront, selling those potions and milk and keeping the revenue stream of the family flowing. Quinn ran the Becoming Monsters guild. With Dolly and Miaka, their delving hauls provided a fourth of the total family income as well as kept alchemical and house upkeep costs down. Miaka doubled as the family security officer: too often had they been attacked, and Miaka was determined to keep them all safe. Banda provided milk for sale as well as contributing to Honoka’s daily food budget. Even Eve tracked all their various finances, budgeting everything between taking online college courses in economics.

Then there were all the chores each wife performed. Quinn cooked their food, including tracking everyone’s special dietary requirements. Padmava maintained the home and grounds, Aruna took care of the shopping and Jaya was in charge of Honoka’s morning feedings. Banda cleaned up after everyone and kept the rooms immaculate. Diane monitored and everyone’s Class and Harmony levels, having a tight rein on who does who, when and for how long so no wife felt neglected. Miaka woke everyone early every morning to work out and train in combat. Eve remained the gofer, filling in when another wife requested a little help. Dolly took on laundry, though she didn’t care for the task and traded Aruna for shopping packhorse whenever possible.

Which left Honoka as...what?

It was a building anxiety that Honoka received all this help and assistance, then a pile of apprehension buried her with the expectation that Honoka needed to focus on the Big Picture and ignore the little things. As if she was too important to do dishes. Only Honoka wasn’t sure what the big picture was. In some ways the former architect was fine with this new normal: wake up, eat food, have sex, level up. However, eating away at her soul was the need to do more, to be more, while also being a person.

*ring ring*

*tap* “Honoka.”

“Why are you still awake?” Miaka asked, her voice drowning in the background sounds of a crowd. “Isn’t it midnight in Boston?”

“Isn’t it...early afternoon in Japan?” Honoka responded, typing into her computer to finish the dating profile. “Shouldn’t you be...having a late lunch?”

“That comeback was weak sauce.” A loud PA spoke in the background. “My flight just arrived in LAX, only one more hop and I’m home. Anyway, other than a major missing-you heartache going on, I have important news.”

“Uh huh,” Honoka replied, paying half attention as she answered such pressing dating questions as do you think of yourself as a Red/White or Blue/Yellow person?

“Somehow, my grandparents and your grandparents talked on the phone and became best friends. Now your grandparents have chartered an entire jet and they’re flying both clans to Boston. Your mom got involved and the Hondas are flying in every other relative and family friend of every wife to Boston as well. They plan on having them invade our lives for a month before ending in a massive wedding ceremony.”

“Uh huh.”

“Honoka!”

“What?”

Miaka repeated herself, this time with Honoka paying attention. By the time the owl woman had finished, Honoka turned three shades paler and hyperventilated.

“How come...why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?!” Honoka wasn’t handling this news well at all.

“I didn’t know they were plotting this! I found out in a text when I stepped off my flight!”

“Grr, my mother is behind this,” Honoka grumbled, putting her phone on speaker so she could open up a text to Uzume Jefferson. “She warned someone I don’t like big family events and probably planned on telling me an hour before the plane lands.”

Both women went silent as Honoka wrote a passive aggressive text to her mother. Finally, sending the text, the black woman sighed and ducked her head to rub her temples.

“I’m sorry,” Honoka said, feeling immensely tired at the moment. “This isn’t your fault or even your doing. This sounds like the most horrible thing ever, but at least I have a little warning and the even bigger bonus is you’ll be home soon.” Honoka shifted in her seat, adjusting the crusty pad stuck to her Bloody Panties and grimaced from another wave of cramps. “Also not your fault I’m on day three of my monthly appointment with Aunt Flo.”

“Right, should have remembered your time was this week from the Red Calendar. My uterus cries out in empathy. See you soon. Loves!”

Ending the call, Honoka sat and stared at her computer screen, groaning a bit from her menstruation. It wasn’t fair, one half of her genitalia was bleeding and bloated (in a very definite unsexy way), making her want to curl in a blanket and mope with a tub of ice cream. The other half smelled her blood and dead tissue cocktail and wanted to see if there were any other hemorrhaging women in the house willing to let in some dick. That strange duality of Honoka’s instincts led to the creation of the Red Calendar, a simple list of everyone’s predicted ovulation and menstruation cycles so the super randy were taken care of and other women in agony could lock themselves in their rooms and watch Pride And Prejudice under a heating pad.

Nevertheless, this wasn’t the futa-girl’s first period. Despite fanciful sitcoms fantasies, a woman’s life continues regardless of cramps and blood. Honoka moved her focus back to dealing with her mother’s machinations.

To her mind, there was no way out of this. Hundreds of people would visit her and the wives, period (ha!). What bothered Honoka wasn’t the coming guests or the fact she was being told after the fact. Honoka’s wives were all so capable, they would immediately and efficiently deal with the entire thing so thoroughly Honoka felt all she’d have to do is stand at the front gate and shake a few hands. What really bothered Honoka was being useless.

It all came back to this whole idea of the big picture, which is why after a minute more of moping Honoka returned to answering inane questions for the dating app. Honoka was still typing when Diane stepped into the room.

“Hey, sexy, you coming to bed?” Diane asked, wearing a fetching bit of red satin bra and panties that matched her hair, the shimmering fabric begging hands to run along them before being discarded for other activities. And the succubus was ready for other activities, coming around behind the chair and draping herself across the back, wings folding down like a warm blanket and her green tail lightly rubbing against Honoka’s thigh.

“You look a lot better,” Honoka said, her skirt rising as she hardened, one hand casually reaching and finding a nipple under Diane’s bra, twirling it around as Honoka clicked a bit, finishing the profile setup.

“This last week was awful, I don’t think I’ve ever been that sick. And on top of everything, a couple handjobs between a fingering or two is barely enough to live on. My Hunger’s super low and I demand a good solid dicking tonight so I can put this whole mess behind me.” Pausing, leaning forward and resting her boobs on Honoka’s head, she pointed with a wing at the screen. “By the way, what’s up with the dating app?”

“I figured out what I can do.” Honoka closed the browser window and brought up the dozens of spreadsheets, showing Diane what she had been organizing for the last week. “Everyone is working so hard. I’ve felt a bit useless when it comes to dealing with Heralds and everything, like you all expect me to take care of it.”

“That’s not...”

“I know,” Honoka interrupted, tweaking a nipple as she smiled and highlighted her data. “Doesn’t change how I feel or the reality our number one long term problem is we need more girls.”

“And because powerful Races don’t usually visit clubs, you figure your best bet is a dating app? Makes sense. If you want a wingwoman, hit me up: succubi make the best arm candy.”

“I’ll start swiping tomorrow, see if there are any fish in the sea that want to join a harem.” The black woman closed down her programs and put the computer to sleep, turning around and giving Diane’s fun bags a firm squeeze. “Until then, wouldn’t want to neglect my prospective wingwoman.”

Diane, her smile pure hunger, leaned forward and wrapped her tail around Honoka’s waist. The pair didn’t get to their bed for another hour, but both were pleasantly satiated and exhausted when they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

The next morning brought a big surprise to the entire family.