Primal Eclipse: Birthing the Void Spawn
Storm sirens wailed like banshees across the jagged peaks, the sky splitting open with veins of unnatural purple lightning. Marcus gripped the wheel of his battered pickup, cursing the cosmic freakshow that had turned his evening patrol into a nightmare drive. As a backwoods ranger in these forsaken mountains, he’d seen bears maul campers and flash floods swallow trails whole, but this—this was something eldritch ripping through reality itself.
The radio crackled warnings: 92% monster probability, advising hunkered-down survival. Hail pelted the windshield like frozen fists, and ahead, his headlights caught a flicker—something huddled by the roadside, dwarfed by the towering pines.
He slammed the brakes, tires hydroplaning on slick mud. Leaping out, rain lashed his broad shoulders, soaking his flannel shirt to cling against rippling muscles honed from years chopping wood and wrestling fallen logs. “Hey! You alive?”
A figure stirred, small and drenched, long dark hair plastered to a sharp jawline shadowed by faint stubble. Not a kid—a man, early thirties maybe, but wiry-thin, chest flat and scarred under torn fabric, like top surgery gone raw in memory. Below the navel, though… fuck. A grotesque dome protruded, skin stretched taut and veined, shifting with unnatural ripples.
“Help,” the stranger rasped, voice hoarse from screams swallowed by wind. “It’s… growing.”
Marcus hauled him into the cab, primal instinct overriding questions—the raw urge to protect kicking in like a gut punch. The guy reeked of ozone and something sweeter, muskier, like fertile earth after a kill. They tore back to Marcus’s isolated ranger cabin, thunder shaking the timbers as he dragged the stranger inside.
Jump to Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
Chapter 1: Storm’s Stranger
Fire crackled in the stone hearth, casting flickering shadows that danced over the stranger’s swollen form. Marcus had stripped him down to spare thermals—his own spares, tight across the lean torso but obscenely strained over that belly. It ballooned outward, nine months’ worth at least, navel popped like a ripe berry, faint stretch marks glowing purple in the firelight.
“Name’s Marcus,” he grunted, handing over a steaming mug of black coffee laced with whiskey. “You got one?”
“Alex.” The word came out clipped, hands cradling the underside of his gut as it gurgled audibly. Alex winced, sweat beading despite the chill seeping through log walls. Outside, wind howled primal fury, rattling windows like an angry god.
Marcus couldn’t look away. He’d always harbored this deep-seated hunger for curves heavy with life—dreamt of a woman’s form blooming under his seed—but this twisted parody stirred something darker, more animal. His cock twitched involuntarily, thickening against his jeans as he imagined the weight of it, the heat pulsing within.
“What the hell happened? You eat a basketball?” Crude, but tension demanded bluntness.
Alex’s laugh was bitter, chest heaving. “Worse. Much worse.” He shifted, the chair creaking under him, and Marcus caught a whiff—salty arousal mingled with the sharp tang of fear-sweat. Between Alex’s thighs, through thin fabric, a bulge poked insistently: bottom growth, swollen clit straining like a mini-shaft, slickness darkening the cotton.
“Eclipse event,” Alex muttered. “Those sky-beasts… they drop folks back altered. Implanted. I was hiking, scouting for my blog—paranormal shit. Felt tentacles, slime-cold and endless, forcing in. Woke up like this.”
Marcus poured another round, mind racing. Rumors swirled in these hills: abductees swelling with void spawn, bellies bursting if not… expelled. His hand itched to palm that dome, feel the churn inside. Primal protectiveness warred with a surging lust, cock now half-hard, pressing for release.
Night deepened. Alex dozed fitfully on the couch, belly rising like a moon, ripples visible under skin. Marcus retreated to his loft bed, stripping to boxers, fist wrapping his thick length. He stroked slow, visions of pinning Alex down, rutting into that pregnant heat, flooding it till the beast birthed. Shame burned, but release came hard, ropes splattering his abs. 🔥
Dawn crept gray through frost-laced panes. Alex groaned awake, belly visibly larger—impossibly rounder, skin drum-tight, veins throbbing like rivers of ink.
The First Ripple
“It’s moving more,” Alex panted, palms pressing futilely. “Feels like… fists inside, pounding.”
Marcus knelt, hesitating. “Lemme check.” Fingers splayed broad over the swell—hot, velvet-smooth, thrumming with life not human. Alex gasped, hips bucking once, his t-dick tenting hard. The contact shocked them both; Marcus’s breath hitched, erection blooming full against his thigh.
“Fuck… sorry.” Alex flushed, but didn’t pull away. Their eyes locked, air thick with unspoken need.
Chapter 2: Hidden Footage
Power flickered as another wave hit—cosmic interference jamming signals. Marcus fired up his satellite laptop, the screen’s glow illuminating Alex’s distress. “Show me proof. If we’re trapped here, I need the full story.”
Alex nodded, fumbling keys with trembling hands. Footage loaded: shaky cam in a sterile bunker-ward, rows of swollen victims strapped down, bellies from subtle pooches to grotesque orbs sagging to knees. Men, women, all genders—trans, cis, whatever—legs in stirrups, genitals exposed and dripping, moans echoing wet and desperate.
“Government black-site,” Alex whispered. “I snuck in posing as a medic tech. My ex worked there—ghosted after an abduction. This is what they do: collect the spawn.”
Onscreen, a hazmat tech forced a gloved hand into a screaming man’s cunt, knuckles-deep, twisting till contractions hit. The victim arched, belly contracting violently, spawn slithering out in a gush of black ichor—tentacled horror birthed amid orgasmic shrieks.
Marcus’s gut clenched, but his shaft throbbed, leaking pre into his pants. “How… how do they trigger it?”
Alex’s voice dropped. “Friction. Penetration. Simulates… mating. Makes the thing think it’s time.” He rubbed his dome, which pulsed in response, his own arousal scent spiking—musky, fertile, intoxicating.
“No hospitals. They’d dissect me—or it. Please… just help me wait it out.”
Primal drive roared in Marcus’s veins, cock aching to claim, to plunge into that slick void and force the birth. He stood abruptly, adjusting himself. “Lunch first. Steak, rare. You need fuel.”
In the kitchen, sizzle of meat filled the air, juices popping like tiny orgasms. They ate ravenously, thighs brushing under the table, electricity sparking. Alex moaned at the first bite, belly gurgling approval—or hunger?
Afternoon Swell
By mid-afternoon, Alex’s gut dominated the room, protruding like a beach ball, navel inverted no more, skin translucent with shadowy coils beneath. He paced clumsily, sweat sheening his scars, t-dick rigid and leaking.
“It’s too big. Pressure… building.” He bent forward, ass clenching, a trickle of wetness down his thigh.
Marcus gripped his shoulders, guiding him to the rug by the fire. “Breathe. Like this.” Their bodies aligned, heat radiating, Marcus’s bulge nudging Alex’s hip. A groan escaped them both.
Chapter 3: Fever Dreams
Sunset bled crimson through cracks, storm unrelenting. Alex collapsed onto the bearskin rug, belly mountainous, undulating wildly. “Dreams… it’s sending visions.”
Marcus sat close, mesmerized. “Tell me.”
“Tentacles everywhere. Filling me, stretching… you, above me, thrusting primal deep. Birthing in ecstasy.” Alex’s hand dipped between legs, stroking his swollen nub frantically, hips grinding air.
Marcus watched, transfixed, his own hand freeing his cock—nine inches thick, veined like twisted roots, head purple and weeping. “Show me how it feels.”
No words; Alex just spread legs, fingers plunging into his pussy—still there, lips puffy and parted, clit engorged. Wet schlicks filled the room, mingled with fire’s snap and rain’s pound. Marcus pumped himself, matching rhythm, eyes on the belly’s primal dance.
“Need more,” Alex begged. “Fingers aren’t enough. It’s clawing to get out.”
Marcus crawled forward, primal hunger snapping restraint. One thick digit breached—tight, scorching, walls fluttering alien grip. Alex keened, belly contracting, spawn thrashing visibly. Marcus added a second, then third, knuckles grinding cervix, slick coating his wrist.
“Like that? My fist breeding you?” Voice gravelly, lost to lust.
“Yes—fuck, deeper! Make it come!” 💋 Alex’s hole spasmed, squirting clear nectar, but the belly only swelled fuller.
Climax crashed through Alex, body seizing, but spawn quieted, mocking. Marcus withdrew, panting, cock untouched but steel-hard. Afterglow hung heavy—vulnerability raw, connection forged in sweat and shame.
“Not enough,” Alex whispered, tears tracking. “Needs a real cock. Yours.”
Night’s Confession
Marcus bundled him in blankets, exhaustion claiming them side-by-side. Dreams haunted: Marcus mounting, pounding till ichor flooded, Alex’s cries birthing void-young. He woke humping the mattress, primal seed spilling wasted.
Chapter 4: Breaking Point
Day two dawned apocalyptic—winds carving flesh from bone outside. Alex’s belly was obscene now, skin paper-thin, black shapes coiling like serpents hungry for freedom. He labored on all fours, ass high, pussy gaping slightly, dripping strands to the floor. Smell intoxicating: cunt-honey, sweat, otherworldly musk.
“Can’t… hold it. Bursting soon.” Voice wrecked, primal desperation etching face.
Marcus stripped, body a wall of muscle—chest furred dark, abs clenched, cock jutting proud, balls heavy with need. “You submit. I take. That’s how it works.”
Dubcon haze thickened; Alex nodded frantically, no choice left. Marcus gripped hips, thumbs parting cheeks, tongue lashing first—salty-sweet folds, clit sucking like a ripe berry, belly dragging rug with each lap.
“Oh god—your mouth!” Alex bucked, spawn rippling approval.
Marcus rose, blunt head nudging entrance. One primal thrust breached—walls vise-tight, pregnant squeeze milking him halfway. Alex screamed, pleasure-pain, nails raking wood. Marcus bottomed out, balls slapping ass, buried to hilt in heat that pulsed alien rhythms.
“Fuck, so full… you’re splitting me!” But hips ground back, begging more.
The Rut
Pounding relentless—short jabs, then long glides, each slam jolting the belly forward. Sweat flew, grunts animalistic. Marcus’s hands roamed: palming the dome, feeling spawn coil around his invading length through thin walls. “Feel that? My cock owning your womb.”
Alex babbled filth: “Breed me harder—make the monster cum out your cum!” T-dick frothed against Marcus’s shaft base, dual climaxes building.
Spawn thrashed violently, contractions gripping like a fist. Marcus roared, flooding deep—hot jets painting cervix, mixing seed with void essence. Alex shattered, squirting arcs, belly deflating as tentacles writhed out in gush: slick black limbs probing air before slithering free, vanishing up chimney in smoke-trail.
Collapse together, trembling. Aftercare tender: Marcus licking clean, whispering praises, bodies entwined as storm raged on.
Chapter 5: Echoes of the Void
Birth’s euphoria faded to ache. Alex curled small against Marcus’s chest, belly slack now, loose skin folding soft. “It’s gone… but I feel… empty.”
Marcus stroked scars, lips brushing temple. Guilt flickered—had he raped salvation into being?—but Alex’s hand found his softening cock, stirring it anew. “Don’t regret. Felt right. Primal right.”
They fucked slow then, exploratory: Marcus on back, Alex riding tentative, reclaimed pussy swallowing gentle. Sensations layered—silky drag, residual ichor slicking thrusts, moans harmonizing with dying winds.
Hours blurred: oral worship, 69 devouring twin arousals, ass-play teasing uncharted. Marcus fisted him shallow, knuckles churning till Alex pissed pleasure, golden streams mixing cum.
Deepening Bond
Storm broke by eve, stars piercing like eyes. Over venison stew, confessions flowed. Alex: runaway journalist, chasing anomalies since transition at 25, ex a casualty. Marcus: widowed young, celibate years nursing void-shaped loneliness.
“Stay,” Marcus growled. “Build something here.”
Alex grinned wicked. “Only if you knock me up proper next time.” 🔥
Chapter 6: New Horizons
Weeks later, cabin life solidified. Alex’s body healed fuller—hips widening from hormones, t-dick permanent throb. They hiked trails, primal hunts yielding game, nights rutting wild.
One eclipse tease, Alex swelled faint—phantom?—triggering urgent fuck on forest floor: leaves crunching under, earth scent thick, Marcus pounding missionary, bellies (his beer-softening one) slapping till release bonded eternal.
Word spread cautious; they aid others subtly, birthing rites whispered legend. In each other, voids filled—not monsters, but love’s raw pulse.
Under full moon, Marcus took Alex rough—chokehold gentle, ass claimed first time, girth stretching ring till tears joyed. “Mine,” primal claim sealed.
Ecstasy peaked, world fading to their shared breath, forever altered, forever one.
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