KINKTOBER: DAY 7 (Patreon)

Day 7: Chastity

WORD COUNT: 1k words

SUMMARY: Away from home for college, Charlotte drifts away from the word of God. When she comes back to her hometown heavily pregnant, with no father in sight and no purity ring on her finger, her parents and Father Connor decide to teach her a lesson.

TAGS: fpreg, unwanted pregnancy, birth kink, labor kink, chastity belt, religious guilt, mentions of religion and such topics, slight sadism, nsfw, +18 content.

A/N: This one leans towards a very specific tone, and there are lots of mentions to religion and religious stuff, so it might not be everyone's cup of tea. Beware!

Charlotte wanted so badly not to do it. She wanted to obey Father Connor. She wanted to obey her parents. She wanted to just keep her legs closed, to honor the promise on her left finger.

God does not like sluts. 

But her dad was right after all; she was just a bit too dumb for her own good. She just doesn't get it, Dad said. And it was true, like all those times she would think the boys were playing with her and not playing her, all the times they missed the ball just to see her bend over to pick it up, her skirt riding up just enough to show her cotton panties. 

Her dad was probably right when he said that people just were bad. That she was too good for them. It was inevitable that one day she was going to run into someone who would jump at her like vultures to a carcass.

Her daddy and Father Connor were always right. There were strong, smart men. Smarter than her, at least. 

She had always tried to be good. Wear the appropriate clothes even when her own body betrayed her, when her tits overgrew all of her training bras and her shirts, when her skirts kept riding higher and higher at her sudden growth spurts.

She should have listened when dad said that she was better here, at home with them, and not away in college. God knows what kind of things happened there, a land of sin and sex and perverts, away from the eye of God.

She should have known better. She should have known better, and she should have stayed away from the parties, the alcohol. It was no good. She knew that. 

But it was so nice to have the boys be gentlemen with her. And all it took was for her to pull her shirts a bit lower, to ride her skirts a bit higher. The purity ring on her finger was there for a reason, and she was sure that they would get it, right? Just like Father Connor said, it was a message to the world that you had chosen to stay with God until marriage. 

She often dreamed of her future husband. Strong hands and a warm, big body wrapping around hers. A man of God to protect her, to provide for her. She could not wait until the day she was at the altar, saying I do with the man of her life. She could not wait until God sends them all the babies they were meant to have, to start her own family.

Charlotte was fascinated with that weird feeling throbbing between her legs, the slickness on her pussy that just the thought of the working hands of her future husband moving over her body created.

She shouldn't have let herself be fooled when the boys were a bit too nice. A bit too warm. A bit too funny. Corinthians: and it is no wonder, for Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light.

She knew what she was doing that night was wrong. She knew her parents wouldn't approve of it, that Father Connor wouldn't approve of it. Good girls didn't go to parties, a breeding ground for sin. A place for whores.

And she wasn't a whore.

But they insisted so much. Her friends had always insisted Charlotte needed to loosen up. That she was too cold, too tight, too boring. And that night, no matter how many times she said no, her girlfriends ended up shoving a can of beer in her hand and popping it open.

The boys were the ones who insisted she drank. And oh, how Father Connor was right. One slip and one enters a bottomless pit, falling and falling. One beer turned into two, three, four. Enough to make her body warm and her laugh easy and her brain fuzzy.

Enough to make her cunt throb just at the slightest touch of the boys. 

She didn't even remember how exactly it happened, but before she realized, Jack and Kevin were all over her. Each one by her side, one strong arm wrapped around her waist, the other roaming lower, under her skirt. This was not the way she had envisioned at all. These were not the hard, steady, warm hands of her future husband.

But she didn't stop. She couldn't stop. She didn't want to stop.

That was not the way a woman of God behaved.

There was, at first, denial. Then shame. Then panic when her stomach started to grow, when the waist of her pants became a bit too tight, when her tits became swollen and sensitive.

Then, back at shame. No matter how hard she tried to hide it, to pretend it wasn't there, to pretend the seed of a sinner hadn't ingrained itself in her womb and was growing inside of her. And she couldn't even tell who the father of the baby growing in her womb was. 

She took the purity ring off her finger because she knew she didn't deserve it.

She thought that maybe, just maybe, she would have a way to pretend none of this had happened. She didn't: before she realized her stomach was a swollen thing protruding from her frame, stretching out all her sweaters, making her look like the whore who let some jerk fuck a baby into her, barely a few months into college. 

Then winter came, and she had to go back home. 

She had been taught to own up to her fucking mistakes. Not like she had any other option. It was either go back home or the streets. Charlotte was not happy when the first thing she noticed when she waddled down the bus in her town’s terminal was the staring. The way the people’s eyes gravitated towards her. Towards her stomach. 

Her parents were not happy when they saw her standing there, in their front door, with a gravid stomach hanging low in front of her, the living proof of the disgrace she brought to their family.

The chastity belt was the least of the things she deserved. She just didn't realize their parents were serious when they meant they wouldn't take it out until she learnt her lesson.

Not even when she started having contractions. Not when her water broke.

Not even when she begged them to please let her out of it, it was so uncomfortable. She could barely walk with the pressure of the huge head of her baby —she could feel it, the bastard in her damned womb was huge— moving down on her birth canal, threatening to spread her pussy open.

Not even when the pressure got so bad that all Charlotte could do was rock back and forth on the floor of her old bedroom, her huge, contracting stomach swinging beneath her, her milk-filled tits leaking down to the floor.

Not even when she physically couldn't keep herself from pushing, her own body doing what had to be done.

Not even when she screamed and pleaded that she was crowning, that the baby was coming. Not even when she could only shriek in agony as her tight hole stretched around the biggest part of the baby's head constantly, because the chastity belt didn't allow the head to move any lower. Just enough to stretch her hole wide and let the fire spread between her legs.

She was physically unable to give birth, and no matter how much she moaned and whimpered and begged, the chastity belt stayed on.

The moment Father Connor appeared in her bedroom door, accompanied by her parents, she thought that finally they were going to allow her to push the bastard out. She was almost crying with relief and happiness as Father Connor lowered himself next to her, and Charlotte could almost imagine the feeling of the head coming out of her, finally allowing her wrecked and bruised pussy a break.

Father Connor leaned in and pressed his palm over the crotch of the chastity belt. Then, as Charlotte looked up at him, he pressed in, pushing the head back inside of her fully.

God did not like sluts. And she hadn't learnt her lesson yet.