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(The Following Story contains moral implications behind egg-laying, as well as an exploding Foxgirl. You’ve been warned.)
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In Demi-Human Culture, there’s a rather controversial subject that many of the humans partake in. It’s a question that’s plagued the world since the very first Demi-Human’s birth, and will continue to be one for years to come.

Is it appropriate to ‘farm’ Demi-Humans?

You’d be surprised how divided the world is on such a thing. After all, many Demi-Humans are more ‘Human’ than ‘Demi-’, and to most, that’s enough to draw the line. Sure, for those like Cowgirls or Horseboys, who actively take pride or pleasure in the action, it’s a bit different- and for certain, it’s not okay to farm Pig Demi-Humans, as that’s basically one step away from cannibalism. But what about those who need more attention? Sheep Demi-Humans, who require constant attention to their wool, or other such livestock?

For example… What about Chicken Demi-Humans?

Chicken Demi-Humans lay eggs. A LOT of eggs. Those eggs never need to be fertilised, because usually, they’re just made to be eaten, like most chicken eggs- but these eggs are not only bigger, they’re far more numerous, as the human-sized womb makes it FAR easier to cram the eggs inside without hassle.

For one such coop, who had 24 of these Chicken Demi-Humans on sight, eggs were coming out of the farm by the thousands every year. The girls acted exactly as standard humans did, but with the occasional pitstop to empty out every two months, providing the farmers that lived there with a healthy assortment of produce.

At least, that had been the case for a while. 

That was until the Foxgirl appeared for the first time. A red-headed bombshell of a woman, swishing a big fluffy tail and alerted ears, who hurried into the coop at the dead of night when the chickengirls were roosting and devoured as much stock as she possibly could. When the farmers woke up, ready to ship off that new stock, they came back to find a quarter of the baskets empty, and another quarter missing, stolen in the middle of the night by the thief in red fur who slept off her heist in a food coma, way up north in her cave.

For years, this continued. As the chickengirls grew more worried, the foxgirl grew more cunning, entering the coop at any hour they saw fit, their demand simple and obvious- if they were not provided with their fair share of the eggs, they’d eat one of the providers.

And every two months, the foxgirl would leave with a satisfied appetite and a full belly, and the farm was left with half of what it would’ve raked in otherwise.

Year by year, month by month, the cycle would repeat itself. As chickengirls began to retire, unable to produce any longer through age, the numbers dwindled, and the foxgirl grew more and more ravenous. The farmers could barely keep up- the ones they brought in to replace their older flock were inexperienced and only capable of producing a dozen, maybe even less, at a time. All the while, as the number of eggs produced declined, as did the produce they could sell.

On the opposite side, however, the foxgirl was only getting bigger. She’d gone from eating dozens to eating hundreds- her belly had pudged, her breasts enlarged, her rear and thighs thickened. Every time she returned, it was like she had eaten since the last month- it got to a point where she was threatening to eat the ones that came straight from the source, even as far as to threaten them with their lives.

… It was amongst the next batch of inexperienced chickengirls that came through, however, that set in motion the end of this tyranny. A woman by the name of Henrietta, who came flying out the gate on her first few months, producing more eggs than any of her cohorts. Some chickengirls are just genetically gifted in that way, constantly producing eggs even outside of the usual gestation period, and managed to begin restocking the bare shelves of her owner’s farm.

The first time the foxgirl came, when she had first been introduced, she’d left without so much as a snarky quip about the production line. But in one interaction, Henrietta had been given the identity of her arch-nemesis for what would be the months to come.

Unbeknownst to anyone else, Henrietta had been in a situation like this before. Back when she was but a chick, her mother had been caught in a similar scam, where a coyote had stolen eggs from the roost as a form of payment in exchange for not eating them- and she was not about to fall into the same trap as her.

So Henrietta got to work. She convinced the others- at this point, only being eleven in total- to start stashing eggs in the back closet, where the farmers usually kept their cleaning supplies. Half of what they lay would begin to go there, while the other half remained out in the open; unfortunately, this did mean far less product was getting sold, and the farmers were starting to get nervous. The foxgirl got aggressive after a few cycles of this, demanding that more eggs were to be produced so she ‘wouldn’t go hungry’ during the winter months.

And that’s exactly what they did.

Henrietta, moving on with her plan, got the other chickengirls to return to regular production while she continued the stashing. Just a few months longer until the next, and final, step- being the part that she knew they wouldn’t enjoy, as it was also a part she didn’t want any part of.

After the third-to-last visit they’d get from the foxgirl, Henrietta- after much deliberation- convinced the other 11 women to join in with it. They were going to hold their eggs for the next four months- so, one visit from the foxgirl, only releasing once it was time for the next. The fact of the matter was, Chickengirls are naturally prone to produce more eggs if they’ve not laid any in a while, which is why Henrietta was so good at producing them.

And so, they waited. Each day, their stomachs would grow and stretch with the false hope of life- each day, another egg would worm its way in, nestling amongst the growing number of eggshells. Each day, as the girls got bigger, and more exhausted, and more tense, their bodies growing to match their beleaguered state- none more than Henrietta, whose body did not take kindly to her meddlesome plans, expanding at a rapid pace to try and convince her to let it all out.

The two month deadline rolled around. The foxgirl arrived, hauling her ever-fattening ass into the farm, only to find nothing left for her- naturally, she was furious, blaming the other chickengirls for the lack of supper, though Henrietta assured her (through gritted teeth and sweating bullets) that she’d get all the eggs she’d ever need the next time she arrived.

And sure, the plan messed up a little- considering the foxgirl cut the next deadline in half, asking for only a month- but it kept her out of the farm while the chickengirls suffered for their success.

Bigger. Bigger. Bigger… the bellies of each woman grew bigger. Rounder. More cramped and crowded- two of them eventually tapped out, producing nearly three dozen. Another barely made it a week more, producing four dozen to match.

But Henrietta held strong, ever as her belly’s gigantic, bloated form cried out in pain. Even as the other chickengirls gave up and relieved themselves of their weighted burden, she continued to swell with eggs; even as her belly grew so heavy that she could no longer move, and the other women had to bring her feed, which she asked for much higher portions of to plump up and produce even more eggs.

7 days left. Henrietta was the only one who hadn’t laid, and it was clear by the size of her belly.

6 days left, and Henrietta was struggling hard- her belly kept making noises like she was in danger.

5 days left, and she was practically ready to burst.

4 days left, and her skin could no longer stretch, the eggs visibly pressing against the surface.

3 days left, and she was nearly screaming out in pain on every movement.

2 days left, and she had the others roll her up on top of her massive belly…

And on the day before the foxgirl’s arrival, she finally started to push them out. Waves upon waves of fist-sized eggs started pushing out of her, very quickly filling every basket, every platform they had. The relief was enough to make her orgasm several times, the added lubricant enough to make it far easier to slip them out.

Once Henrietta was back to her regular self, added flab to constitute the struggle she’d just been through, they had- no joke- over 2000 eggs to work with. That, combined with the amount still in the closet, brought them up past 5000.

They were ready.

Night fell. The foxgirl returned, and once again, found nothing laid out for her. Barging into the coop, however, this time the chickengirls were ready, two grabbing each limb as they used their combined strength to pull the foxgirl over to Henrietta, who stood ready with the two remaining freehanders to begin the plan’s conclusion.

After all… if the foxgirl was so hungry for eggs, then she could eat the whole lot!

And so began the process. While initially, the foxgirl didn’t seem all that worried- in fact, perhaps even smug- about what they were doing, she slowly began to lose that upper hand as she started to feel the weight. The foxgirl’s body was no longer the slim-fitted hunter she’d been before- over the years, she’d become a real plump fox, and that was shown by how wide her hips and chest had gotten. Each egg stuffed into her, however, started to add to the size, especially considering they were forcing her to eat them whole.

Ten minutes passed. The foxgirl finally began to show signs of worry.

Half an hour later, she was convincingly pregnant. Another 10, and she was due with twins. Each egg was just big enough that it was throttling her throat, meaning effort went into each swallow- when they weren’t just straight up pushing them in, that was.

An hour had passed. They no longer had to hold her legs- despite her previous experience, the foxgirl had never really eaten THIS much in one sitting, especially not whole. Most of the rest of it went to her cave, where she’d snack on one every so often, mostly scrambled or fried- this was intense. This was forceful, this was…

Beyond what she could handle.

Another ten minutes. Her belly was in triplet range; another ten after that, and she was starting to tear up, the strain the eggs were starting to push into her belly, making her yelp. Henrietta didn’t stop for a second, not giving her a chance to make room or recover between each, even as she started to hear them crack inside of her.

The speed was starting to pick up now. With every egg, the foxgirl’s belly distended just that little bit more each time- inching out, crawling at a snail’s pace, but ultimately getting larger and larger, the skin stretching around it tighter and tighter. A gentle pink hue started to build at the lower half of her gut, confirming that- regardless of how she tried to shake it off- the foxgirl was running out of room.

More. Now she was pregnant with octuplets, and they weighed her down so dramatically that she had to slightly lean on it.

More. Her chest rose and fell- plump, watermelon-sized breasts, the reward for her constant gluttony.

More. At some point, she seemed to have forgotten about trying to fight back, her hands merely pawing at Henrietta’s hands whenever they weren’t desperately rubbing on herself.

Henrietta saw an opportunity as the butt of the foxgirl raised into the air, now starting to use her own belly to relieve some of the pressure from her back. The other chickengirls had long since begun to help her stuff the foxgirl, but now some of them were doing so from the other end, cramming the eggs up her ass and vagina in an awkward attempt to jam her further full.

No words were shared between them. By that point, they knew what they had to do, and it was stuffing this foxgirl so full of eggs that she regretted ever trying to steal from them in the first place. For half of them, this was even cathartic, as it was their eggs that had been stolen at first to even kick off this massive quest.

Bigger. The foxgirl was crying now, her belly so big that it couldn’t be measured in standard sizes- she was bigger than a volleyball, and about twice as tight.

Bigger. Her belly had grown a dangerous shade, stretch marks driving up and around her belly’s giant frame as she had truly started to run out of room.

BIGGER. Her face pleaded with Henrietta for mercy that never came- her belly, grumbling like a volcano, did the same.

BIGGER.

… There was a small, yet violent sound as the stuffed cheeks (on both sides) of the foxgirl filled with a panicked scream. The other chickengirls backed away, deciding it was best to take cover- however, Henrietta did not. She knew how close they were now. By this point, she was being forced to stand on her toes, reaching up and putting the egg to the foxgirl’s lips, who held on for dear life against her strength.

But it wasn’t enough. One last egg went down the hatch…

And the grand finale followed.

A giant, swirling mass of sounds followed. Groaning, growling, general noises of an upset stomach- the building sound of something ripping as the belly swelled its last few inches, as though it knew what was about to follow. One final scream of pure agony from the foxgirl as her belly finally gave out.

And a giant SPLOOSH as everything inside spilt out, egg yolk or eggshell.

… it’d take a few weeks to clean up. The farmers didn’t know how to proceed, but it was covered up pretty quickly- they were questioned, sure, but none of the chickengirls were ever suspected of foul play. It really did seem, by some miracle, that the foxgirl had decided to gorge themselves to the point of exploding.

The farm, for the first time in years, was safe. Henrietta would go on to revitalise the productivity of it, showing over chickengirls the ropes over the coming years she was employed.

Though, it would be on her final year before retirement that trouble would stir again- another predator, this time a stoat girl, had tested her luck and gotten away with a haul of eggs, attempting to begin the cycle anew.

The poor thing had no idea what she was in for. And neither would any other predator moving forwards- after all, Henrietta had shown the new ones the ropes.

All they had to do… was hold it in.