Pregmaker

By Gregor Daniels

As part of corporate acquisition of the biotechnology group Maternigen, Cooper uncovers some unusual artifacts belonging to their missing CEO—namely a gun with the word PREGMAKER scribbled on it. After discharging the weapon on his assistant, he discovers the swelling power it holds. Even better, she doesn't notice anything wrong with her new eight-month-old bump! Thankfully it's reversible.

But why stop with just his assistant? Cooper tries it out on his boss, his coworkers, even random strangers. Every single person he sees now has the potential to be a smoking-hot pregnant babe, and no one objects!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gregor Daniels
• Release date: Jul 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005111489

Gregor Daniels

Gregor Daniels is an erotica author that specializes in gender swap and erotic transformation fetishes. New stories are typically released weekly and feature a variety of themes. Have you ever had fantasies to be a girl? Then look no further ...Contact the author directly on Twitter to discuss stories, share your favorite ideas and fantasies, scenes, and characters, or to just talk about nothing in particular.

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Contents

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Copyright © 2020 Gregor Daniels

All rights reserved.

Only ADULTS beyond this point.

All characters are consenting adults at least eighteen years old.

He who wields the Pregmaker becomes the Pregmeister.

Cooper’s wrist ached as he looped his last signature and finalized the acquisition of Maternigen Biotechnologies—only seventeen days behind schedule! What a goddamn fiasco. Somehow a laboratory in Miami with seven employees had controlling interest of four abortion clinics across south Florida, none of which had come up in the research. And their CEO was off in Africa evading charges for tax avoidance. It couldn’t have been more of a clusterfuck.

But it was done now. All the papers signed. Assets transferred.

The next time his boss walked through the door, Cooper was going to punch him in the face.

And when his office door opened, he readied his fist. Instead it was his assistant, Nikita, lugging a box under her arm. Unlike that twenty-two-year-old dipshit upstairs, her presence brightened his mood. She had been selected from the intern pool and put on the payroll six months ago. Cooper was half certain she’d been sending signals this past week that they should go out and have drinks, but the shit with Maternigen had him tired.

And—as he tried to drink from his mug only to realize it was empty and remembered that it had been that way for thirty minutes—prone to imagining things.

Nikita giggled and placed the box on his desk. Need a refill?

I need a vacation in the Bahamas with a sunset view, Cooper said, then yawned. He handed her the empty mug that said BOSS LADY on the side. It had allegedly belonged to his predecessor; he’d used it as a joke and never bothered getting himself a personalized one. What’s that stuff?

Maternigen leftovers, she explained. Downstairs couldn’t categorize it, and they wanted your opinion before sending it off to a warehouse somewhere.

Cooper consoled himself that the box was much too small to contain a dead body. That was a plus. He pulled it over and popped the lid open.

Nikita went away to see about his caffeine deficiency. He didn’t mean to perpetuate stereotypes in the office by having his female assistant fetch him a drink, but this particular female assistant happened to be wearing a hip-hugging pencil skirt that showcased her fantastic ass. He didn’t even mind that she caught him staring, and her smile suggested that his attention had been expected.

Cooper admired her optimism—even though they were the same age. Give it a year, he thought. Interns were happy to do anything for a salary. But then she’d realize that the long nights and mountains of paperwork were the norm. That the company had no history of any disgruntled employee shooting up the place was shocking.

Better not be a deed for a children’s hospital in here, Cooper mumbled as he peered into the mystery box. Or swamp land.

Thankfully, the size of the box wasn’t a preview for its contents; it was less than half full. Cooper rifled through a smattering of rewritable DVDs, a Western Digital hard drive, four log books, and something very peculiar down beneath the odds and ends.

It was a gun.

But not a pistol. No, like a futuristic toy gun, or like a prop phaser that might’ve been used on Star Trek. Or Star Wars? One of those. Its color was unpainted metal, and it weighed a couple pounds. It was also extremely unbalanced: the bulk of its mass was up top, in the frame. There was a knob on the left side, like a safety toggle on a pistol. But the settings on this phaser-thing were RECALL and EMIT, with it currently set on the latter.

There was also a name written on it in faded black marker: PREGMAKER 4.

Pregmaker? Cooper said, chuckling. What the hell is a Pregmaker?

He