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Heir, Part 1 - Female Version
🕑 Added 2025-02-18 02:31:56 +0000 UTC$7/Bronze Directory
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Summary: Ivy is the last in line to the throne, and the only way to pass down her family’s magic is by producing an heir. Though she suffers from infertility, Ivy enlists several witch doctors and warlocks, but is still unable to sustain a pregnancy. As she goes on without an heir, domestic unrest grows, and the country is brought to the brink of a civil war. Ivy’s uncle enlists a unique warlock who utilizes both science and magic in his procedures, and Ivy soon finds herself more fertile than she had hoped or wanted. Contains: Female: pregnancy, breast expansion, and more.
Note: This is a female version of Heir.
This story is a work of fiction. As specified throughout the story, all characters featured in this work are 18 years of age or older.
-
It was terrifying. Mortifying. In short, her life had become hell.
"Another miscarriage," said the witch doctor mournfully.
Ivy felt absolutely wretched. She was drained physically and emotionally. Her body had failed her at the ripe age of twenty-six.
"I suppose we'll just have to try again," said the witch doctor.
Ivy tensed. "Again?" She was at the end of her rope. "I think this has been quite enough." She got down from the exam table and began to pull on her dress.
"But your line, princess—your family's magic—"
"This isn't working!" Ivy snapped, a surge of energy crackling through the air, causing the lamps to flicker. "I’m just not meant for this. It's impossible!" She stormed off.
She was done.
With the deaths of her parents a year earlier, Princess Ivy was the last of her family's bloodline. In addition to that, she could only inherit the mantle of Queen when she produced an heir of her own. The royal family had always been comprised of powerful mages. That was just how things had always been. And always would be.
Ivy was now the last mage, and her family’s magic could only be passed down from mother to child. Which was precisely Ivy's problem.
The monarchy was on the brink of collapse, and she was exhausted.
But perhaps it was time to just embrace it. She was tired of being experimented on. Unnerved every time she was told that she had actually been made pregnant. Everyone in the palace knew what she was. Infertile. A failure. She had one duty, and couldn’t even fulfill it.
It was over. Everyone knew it was over. The monarchy was crumbling. Civil unrest was surging. Soon the cities would descend to chaos and anarchy. Ivy thought she might as well enjoy her life here while she still could.
She hadn't been out in a while. Ivy had long been partying at the most exclusive clubs with the ultra-wealthy, all of whom couldn't be bothered to accost a royal. And Ivy had a full security detail if they did.
Admittedly, she had been banned from parties, drinking, and anything remotely entertaining, all while suffering a general malaise that inherently accompanied her fleeting condition.
Time to take a break from maternity, Ivy mused. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of herself actually being a mother. Perhaps her body was simply aligning with her heart. She didn’t want it.
She was glad it was over. It was a relief to surrender. Ivy pulled on some casual robes and headed out for a night of decadent indulgence.
-
Her head was pounding, but from drink and not fragile pregnancy. That in itself made the headache well worth it.
"What do you think you're doing?" a deep voice demanded. Boots clacked against the marble floors of Ivy's quarters. There was the sound of curtains being drawn, then the room became obscenely bright.
Ivy buried herself deeper under her blankets. "Uncle," she grumbled.
Though Ivy and Derrin were not biologically related, the two were practically family. Derrin's line had supported the monarchy for centuries, swearing loyalty and serving as their most trusted advisors.
"You refused the magical insemination?" said Derrin.
Ivy cringed at the word.
"I know things have been hard, but we have to keep trying. The country is at stake."
"Uncle, this whole enterprise is pointless," said Ivy, finally sitting up. She let the blankets drop around her waist and pulled some of her tousled hair out of her face. "Clearly I’m not meant to carry. It's time to accept the fact that it's never going to work."
Derrin frowned at her in pity. "But the Kingdom, Ivy. Everything your family has built—"
"Can we not speak of my family," Ivy cut him off. It was a sore subject. "I am all that is left, after all. Let's not dwell on the past."
Derrin sighed. Then he took a breath, appearing to steel himself. "I have consulted with a new doctor. He's different from the others."
Ivy hardly refrained from rolling her eyes.
"A warlock," Derrin continued. "He utilizes not only magic but the old sciences. I have heard that he's achieved incredible things."
"God, Derrin," said Ivy, her patience thin.
"Perhaps you can meet with him this evening—" and before Ivy could refuse, "—one final attempt. If this fails, I will never ask you to try it again."
Ivy drew a long, deep breath. Eventually she nodded. "Fine," she said quietly. "One final attempt."
-
Evening came rapidly, partly because Ivy spent most of the day sleeping off the drink. She arrived to the palace's small medical wing as arranged, only slightly late and gently rumpled. There, Ivy encountered a man who looked like anything but a warlock. Despite his hair and skin both being a pale gray color, he looked relatively young, perhaps a decade Ivy's senior.
"Hello," said Ivy. "Introduce yourself."
"Hello, my princess." The warlock gave a shallow bow. "They call me Turner."
"Right, then," said Ivy uneasily. "Shall I take a seat?"
"Please, princess."
Ivy got onto the medical bed.
"Your advisor has discussed your unique issue," said Turner. "I proposed a more practical approach. Dose you with high amounts of pregnancy hormones to make your womb more hospitable for offspring. We'll give it time to build up in your system and attempt the magical insemination once you've reached a suitable level."
Ivy sighed, all but eager. "Fine. What does all this entail?"
"An injection. You see, I will pierce your skin with a thin needle—"
"Barbaric!" Ivy interrupted. "You want to stab me?" She was aghast.
"It's the way of the old sciences," Turner responded apologetically. "It was quite common back in the day. The pain is brief and fleeting. There won't even be a visible wound."
Ivy still wasn't happy. After a moment of pained deliberation, she finally forced out, "Fine."
"Then shall we proceed?"
"Now?"
"The sooner we get started, the sooner all this will be over."
Perhaps the warlock noticed her lack of enthusiasm. "Very well," she said.
The warlock rummaged in his large medical bag, withdrawing the needle, which was attached to a plastic contraption of some sort that Turner characterized as a “syringe.” Just the sight of the needle's length made Ivy wince.
Turner pulled off the cap and had Ivy roll up her sleeve. Ivy grimaced as her skin was pierced. But it actually didn't turn out being very painful. And Turner was right. The discomfort went away as soon as the needle was withdrawn.
When the procedure was over, Ivy sucked in a long breath, only then realizing she had not breathed at all for the duration. Turner gave a vaguely amused look and Ivy felt embarrassed by her conduct. "What's next?" she said snappishly.
"That's all for now," said Turner. "I'd like to meet with you again in a week for a second dosage."
Ivy was relieved to have at least several days to not think about this.
She slid down from the bed and examined the tiny bandage on her shoulder. She rolled down her sleeve with a frown. "We should be ashamed, you know. Trying to manipulate what nature discourages."
"You'd hardly be the first person." Turner had discarded his tools and was now removing his gloves. "Besides, nature has always taken guidance. Everything goes hand in hand."
-
Over the next few days, Ivy suspected she was feeling some of the effects of the treatment. She felt flushed and warm, and at times it felt as though her body was tingling. She also found herself getting aroused with surprising frequency. By the end of the week when she was due for a second dosage, but she was too embarrassed to complain about it.
"How are you feeling?" Turner inquired.
"Let's get this over with," Ivy grumbled, rolling up her sleeve.
The hormones didn't seem to be harming her but the side-effects were increasing. By the end of the second week, Ivy could hardly fit into any of her underthings. She could no longer deny that she had gained an awkward amount of weight in her hips and posterior. It had accumulated so abruptly, it had startled her. Now she tried to cover it up with loose skirts and dresses, but she was truly bothered with what was going on.
"Yes, the treatment might cause some weight gain, in places," Turner said during their next meeting after Ivy inquired about it. "It's a good sign. Your body is building up the hormone. But yes, you might see some weight gain or redistribution."
This whole charade was maddening. Ivy almost refused to give over her arm for that day's injection, but then she remembered duty, legacy, the stability of the country, and all those other things that obliged her to at least give this a shot.
-
It was the fourth week, and Ivy's backside was only getting plumper. But there was another unpleasant change she was dealing with. Now weight was manifesting on her chest, her breasts growing fuller and fatter on her formerly lithe, athletic build.
This felt like a punishment, yet it was supposed to yield reward. She needed an heir to continue her bloodline and bring stability to the country. And for some reason those future prospects mattered when Ivy was in the present, suffering. She was young, healthy, and beautiful. She preferred to spend her time around friends, music, and drink, not buried under fancy dresses as her body grew progressively fatter.
She despised seeing herself unclothed now but it couldn't be avoided. In the mornings, she would sit up and groan at the sensation of her nipples dragging on her night dress. The nubs had not only swollen, but gotten darker, and were extremely tender as well. When she carefully pulled up her shirt, she could see how her breasts were continuing to grow plumper. People were starting to notice her changes, often throwing curious looks. Many knew what she was attempting and probably thought it foolish.
She had to agree.
One morning Ivy woke up and her chest wasn't just tender. Her nipples were aching and her shirt was...wet? At first she thought she was just sweating, but there was a pair of damp spots on her shirt, weirdly aligned with her nipples.
Her mind turned off. In a numb haze, she pulled up her shirt and witnessed in morbid fascination as white liquid materialized at the tips of her nipples, seemingly from nowhere, before accumulating and dropping free onto Ivy's thighs, one droplet after the next.
-
Ivy's self-consciousness surged. She wrapped her chest in bandages and found herself frequently hunching, as if prying eyes might see through her clothing. She had thought that the worst she'd have to deal with was a belly, but now she had milk leaking out of her B-cups breasts, and she didn’t even have a child, to boot.
Turner was all but concerned during their next meeting. "This is a good sign. I'd say you're ready for the procedure."
Ivy hadn't been expecting that.
"Your magic is by far stronger than mine or anyone else's, your highness. Perhaps you yourself can anchor the spell."
"I, well…sure, let me see it," said Ivy, trying to conceal her uneasiness. This all seemed queasily logical. It reeked of potential. Ivy accepted the scroll and read over the simple incantation. "When should I cast?"
"Directly following the insemination." Turner pulled out a syringe only there was no needle attached. It actually resembled a turkey baster. Ivy didn't like the look of it at all.
"Alright then," said Ivy with growing dread.
"Lie back."
And that marked the beginning.
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