Emma was thirty-five weeks and five days now, and her body had finally stopped pretending it was still just *her*. The low, heavy shelf of her belly had settled permanently between her thighs like it was claiming territory no one else could touch. It dragged across her knees when she walked, skin so taut and shiny it looked painted with silver and faint pink. Every breath made it shift, every kick made it tighten like a fist.
Her t**s hung even heavier, veiny ropes of milk already pooling in her bra cups, soaking through the fabric and sliding down her ribs in cool trails. The plugs thick black silicone, never to be removed unless the men decided sat buried deep, keeping the constant low leak of c*m and colostrum warm and heavy inside her. She could feel it every second, a secret ache tha
