Visions of The Crystal Feast. Day 12

The twelfth of our thirteen Thirteens made by the lovely Becsantus: Breeder D-125

Altruistic as ever, this Doctor volunteered both her and Yaz to help an alien species whose civilisation was devastated by natural disaster. Unfortunately given that medical, financial and reconstructive aid were already being handled, the only job left to do was to help the aliens repopulate... Months later Breeders D-125 and Y-217 happily provide their hosts with litters of new children, bred repeatedly and pampered through their hyper-speed pregnancies as comfortable, docile broodmares.

-o-o-o-

“Fuck!” Yaz gasped as The Doctor ground her pussy faster and harder against her own. “D… don’t… stop!”

“Not… going to.” The Doctor grunted in reply, leaning back and letting her hips do all the work. She bit her lip and whimpered, the sopping dark patch in her baggy blue pants spreading by the second as she and Yaz scissored. “Gods… even… better than I… imagined.”

Yaz moaned. “You pervert… I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”

“It feels sooo good.” The Doctor said, ignoring Yaz as the girl bucked her hips against her. “Haah… gotta…” She jerked away from Yaz and grabbed at her waistband, yanking her pants down with panties in tow. Yaz whimpered and followed suit, desperate to feel the kiss of the Doctor’s cunt against her virgin pussy again.

“Fuck!”

“Oh God!”

The pair’s howls of bliss as their naked, sopping pussies pressed together and began to slide were almost in perfect chorus, and the crystals around them glowed a little brighter.

‘The Doctor’s altruism is core to their character in most of their incarnations, so much so that self-sacrifice is almost second-nature to many. There are versions, however, who find ways to help the citizens of the universe whilst also helping themselves, and who are happy to provide the same benefits for their companions…’

-o-o-o-

The stars twinkled contentedly beyond the glass bulkhead that separated the ship’s bridge from the vacuum of space. Usually it was a pleasant sight that all three women present enjoyed, but the mood in the small, empty room was solemn.

“I’m so, so sorry.” Yaz said, wincing with sympathy as Lororl sank back into her seat with a heavy sigh. “When we got your distress signal…”

“We thought we’d be able to help.” The Doctor finished for her, placing her palm on her companion’s back comfortingly.

“But even a doctor cannot heal the dead.” Lororl sighed, glancing up at the two time-travellers with big, sad, black eyes. “I… am grateful for your intent, at the very least. Knowing that there is someone good left in this universe is some small comfort.”

The TARDIS had landed aboard about a half-hour prior, The Doctor and Yaz both ready to help however they could. Unfortunately, it was too little far, far too late. The Aliant species had been doomed days ago, their planet swallowed by the gravity well of a rogue gas giant, and now Lororl, her ship, and its thirty or so passengers, were all that was left.

“What’ll you do now?” Yaz asked, “If this ship is all that’s left of your whole species… what do you do?”

Lororl pursed her lips and leaned back. “I do not know.”

“This ship is a cruise liner, right?” The Doctor said, peering at the various glowing screens around them. “You’ve got enough resources to keep thirty people alive for years. Food, water, medical supplies. You’ve got a wealth of entertainment too.”

“What good will it do?” Lororl scowled. “Thirty people… that’s not enough to rebuild a civilisation.”

“Why not? Your people are capable of changing sex on a whim, even into a hermaphroditic state, with the facilities aboard you could all be pregnant in a week.” The Doctor shrugged.

“Doctor!” Yaz gasped, scandalised.

“Your resources are all in abundance, the only thing you’re low in is population.” The Doctor sighed, “Given a little time… I could even overclock your metabolism and internal processes so…” she paused, thinking deeply, before shaking her head.

“What?” Lororl asked, sitting forwards. “Would it not work? It… it might not be pleasant but with thirty of us… if we all… paired, with one another we could produce over four hundred genetically diverse offspring, no?”

“Your people’s genetic structure is… brittle.” The Doctor explained, “You’re at the end of your evolutionary process, your DNA is what it is, it won’t be able to mutate into any new forms without totally unravelling. Even if all thirty of you got pregnant, your gestation period would have to be the usual two years, and with a lifespan of about sixty years, plus the youngest amongst you being thirty-two and infertility becoming almost certain at forty-five…”

“The mathematics are not on our side.” Lororl whispered. “And even the young we would birth… they would have lives dedicated totally to learning how to maintain this ship… is that the life we wish for our young?”

“There is an alternative.” The Doctor offered, squeezing Yaz’s shoulder. “We could lend a hand…”

-o-o-o-

One Year Later

Yasmin Khan howled with bliss as Lororl pounded into her plush brown backside with her usual ferocity, fat grey cock stretching her poor Pakistani pussy to its limit. Her legs were wobbling, but Lororl’s grip on her shoulders kept her upright, even as she went limp under her relentless breeding frenzy.

Her tongue lolled, drool dripping off its pointed tip down onto her colossal coffee-coloured udders, each currently hooked up to tubes relentlessly milking her like the dozens of babies she’d popped out over the past twelve months.

Lororl groaned, mighty forearms squeezing Yaz’s arms as she came, hooked under each armpit to keep her standing even as her legs turned to jelly. The familiar explosion of alien sperm into her womb made Yaz cum on the spot, it always did, and she smiled deliriously at the immense round swell of her pregnant gut with nothing but delight in her fuck-drunk eyes.

The Aliant genetics had been too brittle to tamper with, but her and the Doctor’s? Not so much.

A little hormone therapy, a few regulatory implants, and a whole lot of genetic engineering, and now the pair were certified breeding machines. Yaz enjoyed monthly visits to the infirmary these days, squeezing out litters of three to four healthy young Aliant babies each session, all genetically diverse thanks to her human heritage and The Doctor’s tampering.

Her body had adapted to cope with her new lifestyle in a number of ways, even beyond her hyper-speed gestation, endlessly regenerating eggs, and of course the super-flexible womb to fit her babies into too. She’d put on weight, her always tight and bubbly backside expanding into a fat, fleshy fuckpad. Her tits had ballooned outwards as well, now larger than her head and drooping down over her beachball belly, endlessly oozing milk that the crew devoured ravenously. It had taken some convincing by The Doctor to get her to agree to be a surrogate mother to a whole species, but now she couldn’t imagine ever leaving!

“Fuhck.” She slurred, squelching wetly to the floor as Lororl lay her back down. “Sooo… fucking… goooood.”

“I… I’m spent.” Her baby-daddy wheezed, wiping her forehead with the back of a hand and sitting down beside her. “Do… you think that…”

A confirmatory beep sounded from Yaz’s navel, where a tiny circular piercing hung from her protruding bellybutton.

“Yup.” Yaz sighed, lying flat on her back and caressing her colossal pregnancy with loving hands. “Knocked me up again… you… still got it.”

Lororl smiled and kissed Yaz’s cheek. “Thank you, Y-43. I’m glad I can still… perform.”

“Fuck yeah you can.” Yaz giggled, hands wandering to the milking tubes suckling on her teats. Inside the clear-plastic suction cups, she could see her two-inch nipples jerking and spewing milk with every tug. “You’re… only forty-six, y’know.”

“Our lifespan is short, by all rights my breeding days should be behind me.” Lororl breathed, stroking Yaz’s belly thoughtfully and watching as her seed oozed out of her brutally-bred babymaker. “Excuse me, I must spend some time with our sons and daughters, not just their mother.”

“Kay.” Yaz sighed, smiling up at her as she stood and stretched. “Come back soon?”

“Tomorrow, I promise.” Lororl smiled, tucking her fat cock back into her underwear before leaving the breeding den.

Yaz bit her lip and spread her legs as much as she could, reaching all the way to her own pussy was a difficult task these days, but she persevered to scoop up her bounty and bring it to her hungry lips.

A burbling coo caught her attention and she turned her head, grinning jealously as she saw what her fellow broodmare was up to.

Time-lords were no strangers to genetic manipulation, at some points in their history all children of Gallifrey had been built rather than born, and of course their ability to regenerate was hardly natural. Thanks to this, The Doctor was even more capable of meeting the Aliant’s needs.

Whilst Yaz popped out triplets and quadruplets every month, The Doctor was in and out of the infirmary on a weekly basis. Babies came pouring out of the cum-addicted sow by the dozen, and by the same time next week, she’d be back in again to birth some more. The blonde breeder guzzled cum almost constantly, and was by far larger than Yaz, her pale udders almost reaching the floor when she knelt and rested her weight on her boulder-sized belly. She was essentially five fat, fleshy globes now, two titanic tits, one bulbous belly, and two more enormous globes of assmeat, with her arms, legs and grinning head protruding.

A frenzied, fuck-drunk animal, The Doctor was largely nonverbal beyond the pleading cry of ‘BREEED!’, and had been renamed D-125 to be known by the number of babies she’d produced, just as Yaz had. The underside of her massive stomach was covered in tattooed tally-marks, which D-125 loved adding too almost as much as she loved gorging herself on Aliant sperm, which she was doing right now…

It was hard for The Doctor to speak at the best of times, and downright impossible when she had two fat grey cocks in her mouth, but that didn’t stop her trying.

An incessant bubbling, gurgling sound came from her stretched lips as spit and sperm coated her chin in equal amounts. If Yaz really stretched her imagination, she could identify some of the noises as ‘bweahd mheeeee.’ But honestly The Doctor may have well been gargling cum, which she also sometimes did.

Whilst Yaz had been enjoying Captain Lororl’s somewhat tender affection, The Doctor had been playing the part of stress-relief for the engineering crew. She was already thoroughly glazed in sweat, but by the perverse glow in her eyes, Yaz guessed she was aiming to be coated in a lot more very soon.

This week’s litter was stretching her belly to capacity and she was rubbing it excitedly, she only did that whilst cocks were available to her when she was getting nice and close.

Yaz bit her lip as The Doctor popped both cocks out of her mouth and slathered them thoroughly with her hungry tongue. She reluctantly stopped massaging her own gut and gripped each breeding tool tight, jerking them off furiously as she stared up at their owners.

“B… breeeeed.” She crooned, almost seductively, placing loving kisses on each plump grey cockhead before smiling. “Breed?”

“Spirits… I’m gonna bust.” The chief engineer groaned, pitch-black eyes rolling back in her head as The Doctor massaged her throbbing erection.

The Doctor let out a mad little giggle and leaned back, pulling on the cocks of the two Aliants in her grasp, who both whimpered as they were yanked. “Ah… what are you doing you mad… oh.”

The Aliant trailed off as The Doctor gave her belly a wiggle.

“Breeeeeed.” She cooed softly, making it clear just what she wanted, and exactly where she wanted it.

The Aliants obliged.

Thick sperm rained over The Doctor.

Yaz cooed and suckled on a finger as she watched her sister cackle and smear the heavy, gooey glaze of cum she received from above into her skin. She’d always been a beautiful woman, but somehow in this perpetually pregnant state, in her utter single-minded devotion to repopulation and in her borderline religious devotion to sperm, The Doctor had transcended.

This, Yaz thought, was what a perfect woman looked like: Happy, horny, and singularly devoted to baby-making like the good little broodwhore she was.