This choice: "Am.... Am I fertile?" you ask, softly patting your stomach. • Go Back...Chapter #6"Am.... Am I fertile?" you ask, softly ... by: Mr. George   She smiles before answering, and you aren't sure if that's a good or a bad thing. But she shakes her head 'no', "You're crafted simply for pleasure, you'll enjoy everything." the way she says 'everything' makes you worry about all kinds of kinks.
"The breeding duties are kept for natal girls." Her hand coming to her own bust as she explains. Tapping on her Pad, she flips it around to show you a woman.
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A stunning busty blonde fills the screen. You imagine her being crafted for that body. "This is Cindi Hawkins." a sad, pained look flashes briefly across Nurse Shields face. Already you feel sympathy for those immense nipples, wondering how sensitive they'd be. How sore her shoulders were bound to be.
"This is her, after her first birth.... twins."
Tapping the screen, the image shifts.
"The DNA changes accelerated her pregnancy and shot her hormones to hell."
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Your hand rises to your mouth, covering the gasp of horror. Her nipples are bigger than her nose, as big as her clenched fist.
"She has to live in a bio-tank. To keep her from overloading. She's constantly aroused, and her needs have completely displaced her intelligence."
In the image, her eyelashes flicker and dance, her mouth twitching from gasps to silent moans as euphoria fills every sense. Her hands slip over her body, sometimes darting between her thighs, at other moments tenderly brushing those mountainous nips.
"Nobody wants to risk that fate.... again." her quiet last word almost unspoken.
Tapping the screen again, and you see a pouting Goddess. As she mirrors your surprise, you see her eyes shrink in horror.
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"Those lips are another benefit of your change." She reaches for your face, but doesn't touch you. You have to wonder how sensitive they are.
"All your openings... your whole body is boosted to help you enjoy your job."
Your hand slaps resoundingly off the abundant swell of your rear, as it goes to guard your asshole against potential intruders. The mere suggestion making you uncomfortable.
Drawing your knees up to your chest, you crush your bosom against your thighs, as you quake in the seat, shaking your head in denial.
"Is there?... Do I have to?... A miner... I want .... I want to be a miner...." your fragments are sobbed out, half as pleas, half in desperation.
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