Chapter 03: The Farm - Arrival

Artume stopped the bus, and the rookies, led by Aritimi, left the vehicle.

They entered the air-conditioned hall of the building that, from the outside, looked like a farm building, but inside, it was a very modern, almost futuristic place.

“Damn it, it’s so hot in here,” Aritimi fanned herself with her hand, resting her other hand on her pregnant belly, ignoring the humming vents above.

She was completely naked, yet beads of sweltering moisture clung to her skin all over her body.

The pregnant rookies felt the same heat. Each of them began to sweat through their clothes.

“Welcome to the Farm, ladies,” a security guard said. “I’m Trevor.”

He was a mountain of a man, though his height was eclipsed by his sheer breadth. He looked like a man who had spent twenty years eating the best parts of every meal and another ten lounging in a comfortable chair. His belly was a great, rounded dome that strained against the buttons of a tactical polo shirt, the fabric pulling tight across a chest that had long ago surrendered to gravity. He wasn’t just heavy; he was expansive, occupying the space of two men with a relaxed, unbothered presence.

“Before you continue, we have to check you first. Go to the waiting rooms and undress.” He grinned. “You know, safety first.”

“What about leaving the clothes here and continuing this tour naked, rookies?” Aritimi offered.

Some of them let out a tired moan, but nobody said no. Trevor didn’t complain either.

Zara walked into one of the rooms and undressed. It felt good to get rid of the damp clothes.

Even without them, she still felt hot. Since her pregnancy, every day was either sweating hot or freezing cold for her, nothing in between.

The cold air of the waiting room felt like a physical slap against Zara’s skin, yet it did nothing to quell the internal furnace raging beneath her ribs. She stood still for a moment, her eyes tracking the slow, rhythmic pulse of her own abdomen.

“I hope you are ready, Miss Cromwell,” Trevor walked in. His eyes almost bulged out of his head as he took in the sight of Zara’s naked body.

“Let ... let’s start it,” he grinned.

“Hold your arms up,” Trevor commanded, though his voice lacked any real edge, replaced instead by a low, appreciative rumble. He stepped closer, his massive presence blotting out the fluorescent lights of the ceiling. He didn’t use a metal detector or a scanner; he used his hands, moving with a slow, methodical deliberation that felt more like a ritual than a security sweep. He started with her shoulders, his thick fingers grazing her skin with a surprising lightness, before sliding down her ribs to ensure no thin wafers of contraband were taped to her torso.

“Deep breath,” Trevor murmured, and the air he exhaled was warm, smelling faintly of old peppermint and expensive cigars. He shifted his weight, his massive frame casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the small room. With a practiced, slow motion, he slid his palms beneath the heavy curve of Zara’s breasts, lifting them slightly to inspect the skin of her chest. His calloused thumbs grazed the undersides of her breasts, lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary, ensuring no micro-films or hidden blades were tucked against the warmth of her ribcage.

“Hold still,” Trevor murmured, his voice dropping an octave. He didn’t pull away after checking her chest; instead, he let his hands slide further down, his large palms cupping the heavy, aching weight of her belly. He circled the mound of her pregnancy with a slow, possessive rhythm, his touch searching for the hard edge of a concealed weapon or the thin line of a smuggled data-chip. Zara felt the heat of him radiating through the small gap between their bodies, a furnace matching her own.

“Almost done,” Trevor murmured, his voice now a low, resonant hum that Zara could feel in her own marrow. He didn’t step back; instead, he pivoted, his massive frame shifting to guide her toward the cold surface of the examination table. “Need a better angle for the lower regions. Lean back for me.”

“The table is cold,” Trevor noted, though he didn’t move to help her with any particular urgency. He simply waited, his breathing heavy and rhythmic, his eyes tracing the slope of her hips.

“Cold is good,” Zara murmured, though her voice sounded breathy even to her own ears. She leaned back, the sudden shock of the chilled metal against her spine sending a shiver racing up her neck, contrasting sharply with the radiating warmth of Trevor’s presence. As she settled, her center of gravity shifted, her pregnant belly cresting like a smooth, heavy hill before her. She felt a strange, pulsing anticipation in her nerves. Her augmentation was malfunctioning, but it still made her horny, which was now enhanced by the raging hormones of her pregnancy.