A particularly loud and shrill wail breaks the noon calm at the isolated farm, causing the farmhands to momentarily stop what they’re doing to throw quizzical or worried looks at the rustic farmhouse which stands in the middle of everything – but with curtains tightly closed and no immediate reason for the noise in sight, they soon return to their unhurried job of dealing with the grain arriving from the vast fields around them.
‘My dear corsair queen Feligris, I’ll remind you that to get paid for our surrogacy contract you do need to, quite literally, deliver what I ordered.’ an older wolf smirks at the side of a wide cast iron bed as he reaches out to markedly tap the highest point of Feligris’ enormously distended and visibly contracting midsection while the disheveled feline squirms with her tail lashing and her clawed legs kicking at the messy bedding.
‘I’m – RAAARGH – trying to! Might have – MROW – waited for too long, I don’t think I’m – OWW – dilating enough for this!’ she struggles to reply, squirming as she looks back at the wolf while acutely aware of her nudity and her excessively full heavy breasts which are making her breathing even more laboured.
‘Then I’d suggest you decide on a suitable course of action soon, before the – err – goods end up being damaged as you fight to get them out of your womb.’
‘Hnnng, if they won’t – GAAH – fit through my pelvis after all, then there’s only one –‘ she begins to reply but abruptly pauses with a gasp, licking her chops nervously.
The regal wolf nods and adjusts his worn plaid shirt, looming over labouring Feligris as he leans forward to gingerly draw a line along her imagined linea negra from near her chest up and over her enormous cub bump down towards her crotch before standing up again.
‘Good, it sounds as if we’re both on the same page as to what needs to be done – or what you need to do since our contract stipulates that you need to first deliver and then we’ll help with the cleanup.’
‘… I know, I – oof – know, have to cut my own womb open since I can’t birth them…’
‘I have already arranged for sterilized tools to be provided for that.’ he replies just as a servant wolfess comes through the door with steaming pot full of surgical implements and cloth bandages to staunch blood flow.
Virtually hyperventilating as she lies on the bed, pinned down by her oversized litter which keeps trying to escape her spasming belly, Feligris’ eyes grow wide when the wolf carefully plucks a wickedly sharp looking old-fashioned scalpel from the water to hand it over to her.
‘Once you’ve made an incision large enough for us to extract what I’ve paid for, we’ll take care of the rest – you merely need to manage it and we’re good.’
Snatching the hot scalpel from the wolf, Feligris growls in agony from yet another contraction with her ears turning backwards.
‘You’re – gah – enjoying this, aren’t you? Sadist.’
‘How melodramatic, but, of course I am. I knew the famed corsair queen wouldn’t be able to resist the money even if you knew birthing my kind could be tricky, and now I get to see how far you’re willing to go to make the payday.’ he answers and makes a shrugging motion with his tail wagging a tad.
Gritting her teeth in return, Feligris grasps the scalpel hard and places one hand on her distended belly as if to gauge where to start, tears of pain matting her cheek floof as she attempts to steady herself despite contractions and the agonizing throbbing which courses through her abdomen.
‘J-just me, the scalpel and my belly, right… I gu-guess I gotta do this!’
Soon, the farm hands outside interrupt their routine yet again as they’re startled by a loud piercing scream which dies down almost as quickly as it begun, only to be followed by what sounds akin to muffled sobbing and incomprehensible cursing – leaving all of them bewildered as to what exactly goes on behind the curtains at the farmhouse…