Masters of Miraflores
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 11: Two Seeds
Historical Sex Story: Chapter 11: Two Seeds - 1880 Philippines. Mia, a merchant's daughter, marries into a brutal plantation dynasty. Alana, an Indio concubine, is given to her husband as property. Expected to be rivals, they choose alliance instead—then love. When violence destroys the patriarchs who owned them, these two women seize an empire through strategy, not rebellion. Pregnant and widowed, they negotiate a hostile takeover that leaves them controlling everything: the land, the shipping, the future. Lock, stock, and barrel
Caution: This Historical Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Reluctant Romantic Lesbian Heterosexual Historical Cheating Polygamy/Polyamory Oriental Female Hispanic Male Anal Sex First Oral Sex Petting AI Generated
The Realization
Mia woke to nausea.
Not the gentle queasiness of too much wine or rich food, but a deep, rolling sickness that started in her belly and rose in waves to her throat.
She barely made it to the chamber pot before retching—violent, helpless heaves that left her gasping and shaking.
When it finally passed, she sat back on her heels, trembling, tasting bile.
Oh no.
The thought came cold and certain.
No, no, no.
She’d missed her monthly bleeding. She’d noticed a week ago but told herself it was stress, or the heat, or any of a dozen other explanations her mind had conjured to avoid the obvious truth.
But combined with this—the morning sickness, the exhaustion she’d been fighting for days, the strange tenderness in her breasts—there was no more denying it.
She was pregnant.
A soft knock at the connecting door. “Mia?” Alana’s voice, muffled. “Are you all right? I heard—”
The door opened. Alana stood there in her nightgown, hair loose, face pale.
Their eyes met.
And Mia saw it immediately—the same pallor, the same shadows under her eyes, the same barely-controlled nausea in the set of her jaw.
“You too,” Mia whispered.
It wasn’t a question.
Alana nodded slowly, one hand pressed to her stomach. “I was sick this morning. And yesterday morning. And the morning before that.”
“How late are you?”
“Two weeks. You?”
“The same.”
They stared at each other across the room, the weight of understanding settling over them like a shroud.
“We were cycling together,” Alana said quietly. “For months. It makes sense we’d ovulate at the same time.”
“And he was with both of us that week,” Mia finished. The memory was there—vivid, unwelcome. Mateo coming to her bed one night, urgent and quick. Then two nights later, going to Alana. Both encounters perfunctory, dutiful, unremarkable.
Except for the consequences.
“Oh God,” Mia breathed. “Alana, I’m so sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing? You didn’t do this to me.”
“But I—” Mia couldn’t finish. The complexity of it choked her. She was pregnant with her husband’s child—her duty, her purpose, the reason she’d been married in the first place.
But Alana was pregnant with the same man’s child. And for her, this wasn’t duty fulfilled. This was danger. Vulnerability. An illegitimate child with no legal standing, no protection, no future except what scraps they could provide.
“Come here,” Alana said softly.
Mia crossed to her, and they sank down together on the edge of the bed, sitting side by side, both with hands pressed to their still-flat bellies.
“Are you certain?” Mia asked, though she already knew the answer.
“Yes. The midwife confirmed it yesterday. I didn’t tell you because I wanted to be sure. And because I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of this.” Alana gestured between them. “Of us being pregnant at the same time. Of what it means.”
“What does it mean?” Mia asked, though she knew that too.
“It means we’re tied to this house now. To him. Through our children.” Alana’s voice was flat, resigned. “It means we can’t leave. Can’t run. Can’t escape. We’re bound here for the next eighteen years at least.”
“We were already bound,” Mia said quietly. “The marriage contract bound me. Your debt bound you. This just—”
“Makes it permanent,” Alana finished. “Absolute.”
They sat in silence, the morning light filtering through the capiz shells, turning everything amber and unreal.
“I wish it was yours,” Alana finally whispered. “I wish we could have a child together. Just us. No him. No duty. Just love.”
Mia’s throat tightened. “So do I.”
“But we can’t. We’ll never be able to. The best we can hope for is—” Alana’s voice broke. “The best we can hope for is raising his children together and pretending they’re ours.”
“They will be ours,” Mia said fiercely. She turned, took both of Alana’s hands in hers. “Listen to me. I don’t care what the law says. I don’t care about legitimacy or inheritance or any of it. Your child and my child—they’re ours. Both of us. We’re going to raise them together. Love them together. Protect them together.”
“Your child will be legitimate. Mine won’t. The law—”
“The law can go to hell,” Mia interrupted. “Your son—and I know it’ll be a son, I can feel it—your son will have every advantage my son has. I’ll make sure of it. I swear it on my life, Alana.”
Alana’s eyes filled with tears. “You can’t promise that. The casta system—”
“I don’t care about the casta system. I care about you. And I care about the children we’re going to bring into this world.” Mia’s grip tightened. “They’re going to grow up knowing two mothers who love them. Who love each other. Who built a family in spite of everything trying to tear us apart.”
“Mateo—”
“Will be their father in biology only. We’re going to be their parents in every way that matters.”
Alana started crying in earnest now—not from sadness, but from overwhelming emotion. Relief and fear and love all tangled together.
Mia pulled her close, held her while she sobbed.
“We’re going to survive this,” Mia murmured into her hair. “Both of us. And our sons are going to survive it too. Together.”
“Promise?” Alana’s voice was small, childlike.
“I promise.”
They held each other as the morning brightened around them, two young women barely past childhood themselves, facing the reality of motherhood in a world designed to destroy them.
But they weren’t alone.
They had each other.
And maybe—just maybe—that would be enough.
The Strategy
Later that morning, after they’d both washed and dressed and composed themselves, they sat together in Mia’s sitting room planning how to tell Mateo.
“Together,” Mia said firmly. “We tell him together. United front.”
“He’ll be pleased about you,” Alana said. “Legitimate heir, duty fulfilled. But about me—”
“He’ll be thrilled about you too,” Mia predicted. “You know how he is. He’ll see it as proof of his virility. Two women pregnant at once.”
Alana made a face. “Super stud.”
“Exactly.” Mia allowed herself a small, bitter smile. “Let him have his moment of masculine pride. We know the truth—that this was biology and timing, not some great feat of manhood. But if it makes him happy, if it makes him easier to manage, then fine.”
“And your father? The Lian family?”
“They’ll be pleased. An heir secures the alliance. Makes the marriage worth the investment.” Mia’s voice was practical, matter-of-fact. “My father will probably send gifts. Money for the lying-in period. Maybe a wet nurse from Manila if I want one.”
“Will you? Want a wet nurse?”
“No.” Mia’s answer was immediate. “I’ll nurse my own child. And if you want, I’ll help nurse yours too. So will you with mine. We’ll feed them both. Raise them both. They’ll be brothers in truth, not just blood.”
Alana’s eyes shimmered. “You really mean that.”
“Every word.”
A knock at the door interrupted them. A servant’s voice: “Señora, the master is asking for you and Alana in his study.”
Mia and Alana exchanged a look.
“Now or never,” Mia said.
“Together,” Alana confirmed.
They rose, smoothed their dresses, and went to face him.
Scene 3: The Announcement
Mateo was at his desk reviewing correspondence when they entered. He looked up, surprised to see them both.
“Mia. Alana. Is something wrong?”
“No,” Mia said, moving to stand before his desk. Alana took position beside her—not behind, beside. Equal. “We have news. Good news.”
“Oh?” He set down his papers, giving them his full attention.
Mia took a breath. “I’m pregnant. About eight weeks along.”
For a moment, Mateo just stared. Then his face transformed—shock melting into wonder, wonder blazing into joy.
“Pregnant,” he repeated, as if testing the word. Then, louder: “Pregnant! Mia, that’s—that’s wonderful! Incredible!” He stood, moved around the desk, pulled her into an embrace. “A child! We’re going to have a child!”
“Yes,” Mia said, returning the embrace perfunctorily. “The midwife confirmed it yesterday.”
He held her at arm’s length, studying her face. “Are you well? Do you need anything? Should you be resting?”
“I’m fine. Just some morning sickness, but the midwife says that’s normal.”
“A child,” he said again, wonder in his voice. Then, as if remembering: “Father will be so pleased. The line continues. An heir for the Miraflores plantations. This is—”
Alana cleared her throat softly.
Mateo turned to her, still beaming. “Isn’t it wonderful, Alana? You’ll help Mia, won’t you? During the pregnancy, the birth, everything?”
“Of course, Master,” Alana said quietly. “But I have news of my own.”
“Oh?”
“I’m also pregnant. About the same time as the Señora.”
The room went absolutely still.
Mateo stared at her. “You’re ... what?”
“I’m carrying your child. Seven or eight weeks, like Mia.”
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. No sound came out.
Mia and Alana waited, watching him process.
And then—slowly, like dawn breaking—his face began to change.
Shock gave way to disbelief. Disbelief gave way to dawning realization. And realization exploded into something that could only be described as masculine triumph.
“Both of you?” His voice was barely a whisper.
They nodded.
“At the same time?”
“Yes,” Mia confirmed. “We’ve been cycling together for months. It makes sense we’d conceive during the same fertile window.”
“I—” He started laughing. Not cruel laughter, but genuine, disbelieving joy. “Both of you? Two children? In the same year?”
“Yes,” Alana said simply.
He sank back against his desk, one hand running through his hair. “This is—I can’t—” More laughter, almost giddy now. “Do you know what this means?”
“Enlighten us,” Mia said dryly.
“It means I’ve done it! Two women, two children, conceived practically simultaneously. Father always said I was too soft, too sentimental, but this—” He gestured between them. “This proves him wrong. This is vitality. Strength. I’ve—”
“Made two women pregnant,” Mia finished. “Yes, we’re aware. We’re the ones who are pregnant.”
But Mateo was too caught up in his own triumph to hear the edge in her voice. He was pacing now, energy radiating from him.
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