One quiet afternoon, Stiles found herself alone in her bathroom, staring at the little white stick in her hand. Her tits had been so sore lately—swollen and sensitive, aching with every brush of fabric against her nipples. She’d felt nauseous in the mornings, her body tired in a new, profound way, and her usual slutty outfits felt tighter around her curves. It had been weeks since their whirlwind days of nonstop breeding, and the symptoms were impossible to ignore. With trembling fingers, she peed on the test, set it on the counter, and waited.

Two pink lines appeared almost immediately. Positive.