The Genetrixa: Cradle to the Grave (Patreon)

All based around the idea by Rapscallion posted at https://twitter.com/Rapscallion_Art/status/1568446777459605504. I cover it in the story, but basically a pregnant berserker set on birthing her child on a battlefield for fate reasons.

Realizing I love these fanatical cultish sort of characters. It creates some crazy dialogue and wild scenarios. Honestly, half the time the best stories come out of passion; writing about someone who’s just super into whatever they’re doing, fighting or fucking.

Also realized I don’t write a lot of pregnancy stories. Sometimes it’s in the ending, but I had a decent gap near the end where I had to ask around for what made the best story; fucking right after or before she gives birth at the climax. I honestly heard people suggesting either or, but I ended up figuring it out. The image of her breastfeeding her kid while in action seemed like a vivid one, but also never wanted to suggest the baby was in danger. Besides, the anatomy and logic were never in question here. Raps draws a goblin cumming up someone’s ass so hard that it shoots out their mouth, and I’m writing superhuman berserker women who’s been birthing mid-fight for generations. It’s fine.

The people of Dunlukin were a strong and stoic bunch with a reputation for being full of great warriors. To outsiders, few were as fearsome and terrifying as their women. It wasn’t so much that they were stronger than the men but they were far better known across the land. Their culture was rife with superstition and put great faith in oracles and destiny; even more than the normal inhabitant of their fresh and raw world. One of the most infamous beliefs was that true warriors were literally born on the battlefield. It led to many’s unfortunate first encounters with a Dunlukinian being one with a rampaging pregnant woman dressed and ready for battle.

Venya mounted her mate like she would be riding him into battle. The deeply tanned mother in the making was thickly muscled like most of her village. Her body was taut and swollen with muscle, except where her oaky brown orbs the size of overripe melons bobbed in front of her chest. Their softness bounced from the firmly attaching pectoral muscles pulsing in time with her rising and falling hips. Thick, dark blonde curls danced over her shoulders as she bounced on her mate’s cock, filling their hut with the flesh claps of their colliding hips. Her hefty tits rapidly swayed out and back together to their own additional rhythm.

The hung warrior laying beneath her was a broadly built man with a hairy chest. She was charmed by his scarred smile and the colossal sword he’d had strapped across his back, and she was just as glad to find that he was as hung as he was armed. His massive dick filled her up until she could feel every vein inside her, pulsing as she felt them working to deliver his payload. It pierced as deeply as a spear to the gut, holding great promise that it would knock Venya up or pop something inside her from trying.

She grasped his hands, pinning them to the furs laid out on the floor beneath them. She huffed like a frenzied beast, her hot breath blowing over the burly man’s face as she pressed her body up against him. Her sweaty breasts bumped against his broad chest and she made no effort to contain the drool running from her mouth onto his face. This was sex between warriors to create a warrior. It wasn’t meant to be tidy or polite.

“Bury your seed in me,” Venya grunted in her low and smokey voice.

“Plant it well and I will grow them strong.”

She recited her part of the local fertility ritual between heavy breaths. Her toned abs from years of training and fighting swelled slightly in their efforts to contain her partner’s cock.

“I’ll fill you with their strength worthy of legend,” the man replied in kind, squeezing a hand around her thick and powerful buttocks. The other squashed her breast between his mighty fingers.

“That this fat nut will kindle inside you the fate of a hero birthed anew into fresh battle.”

Venya shuddered at the thought. Nothing got her going like the thought of getting knocked up with a fated warrior. Her pussy clenched, variously clutching the massive dick inside her and loosening up again to let it burrow in deep against the brim of her womb. Her muscles tensed and her jaw dropped slack as the slab of manhood hammered up into her once more. Her breasts swung up from the impact and dropped back down with a slap against her abs as his thick, potent seed flooded into her. Her body yielded to it, accepting and swallowing up all of his load that she could. She shivered at just how much of it there was, thick and clingy like it would stick to her ribs. She could all but feel his semen attacking her egg already, letting it fill her to the brim until it overflowed past her thighs. The creamy white streaks ran like blood down her legs and onto her lover’s stomach. The deep sensation of swelling in her lower belly already felt promising. Her mate squeezed her around the waist, pulling her down to keep himself sheathed against her womb.

“Now that feels gods damned fulla fate,” he groaned as he finished emptying his meaty balls into her.

She smirked and gave him an affectionate punch in the side. Nowhere vital. Just a common local custom. He grinned back and smacked a meaty palm into the side of her breast, pointedly avoiding her potentially fertile middle. .

“Figure it worked?”

“You filled me with a small river’s worth of manmilk, Janus. I’m confident I’ll be in my mother’s birthing robes in no time and leaving the homelands.”

It was generally the polite thing to do. If one was going to be birthing their child in the heat of combat, it seemed best to do it away from friends and family that might get caught in the crossfire. Few other settlements dared to mess with Dunlukin, which left them leaving to seek a battle worth birthing for.

“Fair, fair… but my name’s Arnus.”

Venya ran her hand through his hair and kissed him with her pouty lips.

“You know I don’t care,” she assured him before sliding off of him, her body full of what she’d come here for.

---

Venya was certain about her fate within a few days. Morning sickness set in before long until she managed to tough those out with herbs and raw grit. When she started to show the clearer signs, she knew it was her time. She unpacked her mother’s ancestral armor; a strange mix of sexual, ceremonial and brutally efficient. Her bloodline was one of dragonslayers, and the vestments were the proof. Large scales the size of shields framed her stomach from either side, solid but bound by loose chords to allow her belly room to grow. Similarly draped and studded fins were strapped over each of her breasts, bound by elastic tendons to account for her immensely growing bosom and letting her reveal them as needed to feed her future young. A silken hood of finely peeled dragon horn and decorated with symbols and depictions of glorious battles covered much of her head and face. A long and flowing gown covered a few lighter pieces on her legs while great, thick arm and shoulder armor showed no such formality. She bore a massive sword a foot wide and nearly her own impressive height in her powerful arms; a carefully honed fang that had a gem like a reptilian eye embedded into the hilt, as if its former owner was forced to watch in horror what had been done to its body.

The fates were clear. If she wanted to be sure her child was a fearsome warrior, they would need to be born surrounded by the chaos of battle and the blood of enemies.

---

“Oh nah. Nothin like that goin’ on lately,” the stubby gobbo man explained.

Venya stared at him dumbstruck. It didn’t show beneath her hood, so the green man and his pack-loaded lizard fidgeted under her unreadable silence. She was miles from her home, heading to what the mothers back home had assured her was territory always packed with feuding over territory or resources.

“Are you sure? I was told this was a land of… conflict.”

The human adjusted her greatsword to rest its sheathed tip in the dusty road. The gobbo clearly noticed it.

“Well that’d be The Founder, I’d guess,” he replied after a moment.

He saw her interest subtly perk up.

“Yea, one of the Hump Hill clan’s. Cousin of their leader or somethin’. He found this oasis and wanted to share it with the people from the Hills and the Double Dunes. Plenty of water to go around made for a lot less to fight about, so they patched things up not too long ago. Hasn’t been much worse than a traveling bandit or pub brawl, from what I can tell.”

Venya considered all this for a moment. What others saw as a solution, she saw as an obstacle. The sudden peace between the clans put a major damper in her plans. She felt as restless as her stirring, unborn child. Her belly and tits had filled out notably, her round stomach protruding from between her armor like a maternal challenge. Her tan breasts weighed heavy on her crisscrossing top.

“I see.”

She briefly considered killing him just to stay in practice, but it felt like more of a bother than anything. She wanted glorious battle. If she had a whole army of bandits to ravage a town, that would be one thing, but a single gobbo would feel like an insult to her kin. She yanked her sword back up in a surprisingly armored and muscular arm for how large and round her more visible flesh looked.

“So uh… where you headed?” the gobbo pried sheepishly.

His yellow eyes bobbed between her chest and her weapon.

“I only seek to ensure my child’s destiny,” she muttered back cryptically.

The pregnant amazon unconsciously brushed the soft palm of her gauntlet over her stomach.

“I have some cravings to satisfy…”

---

A startled scream pierced the night. The settlement had been as lax as she had expected. Soft in their newfound comforts. She only needed to take out a few guards as she moved through the darkened camps around the oasis, quick and quiet as a desert cat. A quick, deep stab into the sleeping Founder’s belly made sure that he died painfully and loudly while she bolted back out into the night. She stayed away at a safe distance for now, watching the outlines of people breaking into a panic. Distant echoes of threats and accusations broke out.

Venya sighed, brushing another hand over her fertile belly.

“Worry not, little one. Ours is not to be a life of peace,” she mused happily.

---

The truce between the clans was considered broken. Hump Hill and Double Dunes didn’t take long to be manipulated into rekindling their localized feud. Travelers quickly learned to seek other routes rather than enter the crossfire as Venya quietly kept the factions at each other’s throats. Their shouts and skirmishes were as lullabies to assure the warrior woman and soothe her child into their calming battle trance.

Within a few days, the opportunity arose. The clans broke into all-out war, throwing every fighter or passing mercenary they could gather at the other faction. It was chaos, and exactly what Venya had been waiting for. With her body full of pride and life, the hooded woman unsheathed her colossal sword, gave an assuring pat to her padded belly and waded into the middle of the battle. Venya paid no mind to the factions at play or taking sides; she simply sliced through one person after another.

The Dunlukinian’s heart hadn’t raced like this in weeks. It took tons of them to create anything close to a challenge for her, but here they were. Her hidden eyes went wide and wild as she cleaved a dragonkin in half. Between the smell of blood and the constant weight of her unborn child like a natural handicap, Venya couldn’t remember the last time she had been this aroused.

She had mowed down seven soldiers before an archer realized she was there and fired at her. The arrow shattered on one of her well-stretched breastplates and while much of her face was veiled beneath her hood, the archer flinched as he sensed her predatory gaze settle on him. She drew back her sword, readying another massive swing as she stormed towards him.

Venya faltered along the way, gasping and shuddering. The lean human with the bow briefly thought he had managed to wound her, but the amazon’s hand went to her stomach. The pressure in her stomach grew greater as she felt a powerful surge of labor pains. Even the fertile warrior had to brace herself as her child fought to escape her womb.

“Perfect timing…” she whispered to herself and her future child.

Bolstered by the pain, Venya lunged forward and swept her heavy blade upward. She let out a heated, wordless war cry as she sliced into the archer from his navel to his chin. She held the blade overhead, spotting another charging pair of men with spears. She let her muscled arm give in and swing down alongside gravity to shred through their spears and torsos in all one stroke.

She advanced further into the battle. Her thick thighs rubbed together, lubricated by the wetness of her pussy. It was a mix of arousal and her water breaking as she continued interrupting the war for her bloodlusting prophecy. The throbbing and straining of every muscle in her body drove Venya berserk, moving in erratic but dangerous bursts of speed through the battlefield and leaving bodies in her wake. She wielded her giant sword with the ease of a dagger, even as she became coated in labored sweat. She skewered one woman to the sands while an elf lunged at her with an obsidian shortsword. She was aiming for Venya’s stomach as one of her few blatantly unarmored points, but the fertile woman’s reflexes were like a viper. She grabbed the wrist a few inches away from her protruding baby belly and twisted her gauntleted fingers until she heard a punishing, visceral crackling. The elf shrieked for a moment. Then Venya caught her by the hair and sharply pulled her in closer against her breast. The stooping elf’s face smashed into Venya’s studded top, splattering it with blood before falling limply to the sand. A stoutly built man went sprinting by but Venya caught him around the ankle, lifting and whipping him around like a human club before smashing his head against the sand and uprooting her sword.

Both armies were thinning quickly. They didn’t have impressive numbers to begin with and Venya was carving through both sides to make them even lesser. Many fled the scene. Some even shouted warning to the others when they realized what she was. “Genetrixa!” a panicking and gecko-like dragonkin shrieked as he fled as fast as he could move. The dragon-slaying clan dressed in dead dragons and on a hormonal pilgrimage of slaughter got along predictably poorly with their smaller scaly ancestors.

“AOHHHHH~!” Venya bellowed as her gauntlet returned to her stomach.

Arrows still flew through the air as the clan leaders urged their soldiers on. Venya stooped over, a few of the arrows deflecting off her hood and armor. She panted heavily before she looked up again. She was sweating buckets and her pussy had soaked through her battle gown as she locked her ferocious stare on a young human man with a sling at his hip, small but ill-fitting leather armor and a poorly-maintained sword in hand. His eyes widened and his light tan vanished as he went white with fear.

“Youuuuu…” Venya growled gutturally, feral drool falling from her lip.

“Nope. Fuck this. I am so out,” he stated plainly as he dropped the sword and turned around.

He had barely gotten two steps when Venya had caught up to him. She raised her sword and he shrieked like a girl, but her raised weapon only blocked a couple incoming arrows. The very pregnant amazon kept her gaze on him as she grabbed him by the shoulder with her gauntleted hand, whirling him back around to face her. The thin boy with long and scruffy blonde hair choked on a few final words, trying to get in good with the gods at the last second.

Venya, for once, did not run him through or tear him in half. She shoved his shoulder to put him on the ground, mounting him with her hot and heavy breathing blowing over him. Her dense muscle and even denser stomach pinned him with ease as she ripped away his leather loincloth. Her sweat and the blood of her enemies trickled down on him in a subtle, unsteady rain while heat radiated off her pussy.

“Nowwww,” she seethed as she lifted her skirts.

She wasn’t giving birth yet, but she was close. Savage urges kicked in while she was on the verge, driving her libido up the wall as she craved anything to stimulate her into completing her birthing process and fulfill her end of the prophecy. Given her two barbaric urges, the pinned young man decided that this was much more preferable than the alternative. His cock sprang to attention at the combination war goddess and fertility goddess mounted on top of him, poking at her meaty ass like a surrendering flag.

“Good boy,” she growled.

She lashed out with her sword a moment later, smashing an incoming brass spear into bits. Even as she ground against him, anyone or anything else dumb enough to get close to her was promptly destroyed. The young man Calen felt strangely relieved to be under her rather than in front of her. When she suddenly gutted an enemy soldier who thought he’d get the jump on them, the blonde boy quietly realized he’d be a lot more traumatized if this weren’t this hottest moment of his life.

Venya shifted further up Calen’s body. It planted her proudly cherished stomach on his, a clearly pinning orb of weight that kept him trapped in place. He drenched pussy slid over his erection and mounted it, fitting it smoothly inside her. He penetrated her with a damp squelching sound. While she was loose enough to get inside, the pressure of her stomach being packed to the brim with her young made the inside of her pussy tight. It clenched and spasmed around Calen’s cock as her body variously resisted and edged towards actually birthing her child.

Venya’s huge, heavy breasts bounced around in her armored top, already overflowing with flesh around the sides. They flopped around hard enough that one of her fat, hardened nipples spilled out of its cup. Her abundant breast milk splashed out over her impromptu lover as her powerful thighs and heavy hips made her rise and fall on his shaft. Her full lips parted for a heavy sigh.

“Mooore,” she groaned amidst the chaotic battle around them.

The scent of battle was one thing, but Calen’s cock poking at her loins was putting even more pressure on her lower body.  She wouldn’t last long enough to find another battle so she needed the birth to happen soon. This seemed like the perfect prompt as the incredibly pregnant woman leaned over him, pressing her full, drooling lips to the stunned human’s mouth. He gasped and tensed, which pumped his cock up into her again. Her low, hungry moan poured into his mouth as the horny mother-to-be rode him like she was trying to bury him in the sand with her hips alone. Her huge tits flopped off to either side of him, shielding him from the chaos around them like an actual mother might.

His cock throbbed inside her trembling pussy as if ready to help Venya make her child a sibling. Buried in her sweat, flesh, milk and the blood of her enemies, Calen’s body gave in. He shuddered as well as his balls surrendered his cum to the wild woman. He had barely came inside her, starting to coat and fill her hungrily grabbing insides when the tan woman let out a husky gasp of her own. The pinned recruit felt her muscular thighs squeezed around him, making his hips crack as she sat up and arched her back. With a feral scream of passion, she gave into the pleasure and pain and excitement as she orgasmed hard, spilling a drenching wave of her cum and other unclear fluids over Calen’s lap.

Venya reeled back from him with her pussy still trembling. She fell to a knee and panted heavily, the first real sign of weakness she had in the whole fight. Her garments fell back into place, veiling her pulsing loins and the miracle of birth from the battle itself. She hunched over herself, gasping and grunting as she finished the process her mating and travels had led her to. No one seemed foolish enough to interrupt her savagely noisy process, given the several bodies still slumped around her (several of which Calen hadn’t even noticed during their wild fucking).

Venya’s breathing grew wet and heavy as she finally seemed to calm down. Calen could hear a soft crying as she reached under her skirts, withdrawing the messy newborn boy still attached to his umbilical cord. The hooded berserker smiled, any malice vanishing from her face. Even as she raised her massive sword, it was done gently as she sliced through the cord to free him. The slightly deflated-looking warrior smiled as she fully removed one of the cups of her armored bikini, holding the newborn to her breast. His mindless bawling silenced as she let him latch onto her huge teat and was allowed to drink to his heart’s content. Calen stared at the blood-splattered warrior looking like an avatar of death with rockin’ tits, which were busty breastfeeding her child.

“Wow… uh, congratulations?” Calen ventured.

Venya gave him the briefest of glances. For all the lives she’d taken today alone, there was clearly only one that she cared about at the moment.

“He is destined for greatness. A living demigod in the making that shall be unstoppable in battle. However… if I ever feel he needs a sister, I will find you.”

With that, Venya left the battle as suddenly as she had entered and went home.

---

“So that’s my story. Wild, huh?”

Rev smiled casually at one of his customers. His light brown skin and dark curls painted a subtle contrast between each other, especially compared to the drying clay on his hands. He slid a lightly painted vase across the counter to the bewildered-looking gobbo woman and started wrapping it in thick cloth to pad it for the trip home. He inked the logo of his shop “Nice Jugs” across the material for some simple advertising.

“Really? You’re from Dunlukin? And you’re all the way out here…?”

“Running a pottery shop,” Rev finished, nodding with a pleasant smile like he’d answered the question a hundred times.

“But what about that part about the prophecies and dragon slaying?” the woman asked as she lifted the pot up to her ample chest.

“I was born on a battlefield. It’s cool and all, but it doesn’t mean I have to go out there being a badass nutjob. I couldn’t even walk and they think that’ll shape my destiny? Turns out I just really like working with clay.”

He smiled a little wider as he dusted off his hands. Without looking away from her, he pointed jovially towards a scruffy-looking human heading for the door.

“You’re gonna have to pay for those, my dude,” Rev said conversationally.

The thief had no idea how he had noticed the clay figures in his pouch, but he bolted for it anyway. He was out the door in a moment as the tan potter sighed.

“Always fuckin’ somethin’… ‘scuse me a sec.”

Rev leapt into action. In a flash, he grabbed at the leftover bits of clay from a botched experiment with figuring out how to make a combination lanturn and flower pot. He caught one of the shards, vaulted over the countertop and the gobbo all at once, and tumbled out into the streets. People were just starting to raise their voices in surprise from the fleeing man, giving him more than enough to spot him. Rev pivoted, aimed, and hurled the shattered piece of pottery with perfect accuracy to slice the man’s ankle open. He fell with a howl of pain and a growing pool of blood as Rev strolled over to catch up to him, casually fishing the figurines out of his bag as the guards started to gather.

“Man… got a little blood on this one. Can’t just let a motherfucker make his pots…” he tutted under his breath.