"Do you feel that?" I ask, rubbing the growing swell of your belly. "They're kicking." I'm grinning, feeling the little thumps and pushes as they get stronger. You're getting really big, now. You can feel the increasing weight of my babies pulling on your body, making you heavier and more pregnant by the second. Your belly button is an obvious outie, jutting out far on the front of your overdue looking womb. ((hope you enjoy this!))
They always seem to move more when you touch me, I'm caught between groaning, at the pressure as they push against the already taut skin of my bloated belly and sighing, to relax further into your comforting touch.
Everything is tight and sore at this stage, my breasts have ballooned in size as they've filled with milk, as my hips grow wider and wider, desperately trying to grow fast enough to keep with the expansion of my truly massive womb. I'm straining from the scale of it all, so heavy and weighed down by your babies, that I can barely do anything but think about how huge I've become.
I try to shift, to find some position where I don't feel like I'm about to pop, but the movement merely causes them to start squirming again. "I'm so heavy" I cry staring woefully down at the great swell of my bump, wincing at the pressure from their kicks, my skin tight, shiny and covered in stretch marks from how fast and large I've swollen.
I'm growing rounder and rounder day by day helpless to stop to the growth.
I had promised myself that I wouldnât let this pregnancy change me. Not the strong, slim body Iâd worked so hard for and not my coveted schedule of hard work and interesting hobbies. I would find a way to maintain my life and my body, and I would not alter what makes me, me.
The first thing I let go were my clothes.
Shortly after Iâd decided to continue with my pregnancy, I started to lose the extra room in my tops. My tender chest began to bloat and then continue with growing over the first month. With the doubling of my cup size came the halving of my wardrobe choices.
This trickled down my body, my hips expanding outwards and my thighs thickening. It took maybe two months for me to give up my fight against the numbers on my scale, and give my body to the process of growing this child.
By the end of the first trimester I could no longer fit into my loosest pair of jeans, and my sweatpants were beginning to feel tight around my ass and thighs like leggings. Looking at myself in the mirror, I didnât look pregnant yet but the pregnancy was taking its toll. The smallest amount of fat was beginning to collect around my waist, but the majority was filling out my lower body in preparation for carrying this baby for the next 6 or so months.
The next few weeks saw the beginning of this growth. My little paunch began growing outwards, and each day I imagined that my hips had widened a little more. I was losing my slim and athletic silhouette inch by inch.
It felt like I had blinked and my belly had grown to fill both my hands. And again, two weeks later, beyond even that. At the doctor I found out why, that I had two babies growing in me, changing me into a better carrier. The twins grew rapidly, so that my belly edged into my lap before the third trimester even started.
The morning I got up and failed to stand at first was when I decided to halt my hobbies. How could I attend any kind of athletic event when even getting up was a challenge?
I had to rock myself forward and back a few times before I had the momentum to push myself up and out of bed. I fell back thoughtlessly into a stance with my belly tilted up, one hand supporting it from below and the other behind my back. I took a deep breath and knew that this was just a part of carrying a child, and I would not let this take away my pre-pregnancy life for any longer than was necessary.
My pregnant belly grew despite my tenuous grip on independence. As month eight approached it grew beyond âlargeâ and into the realm of âenormousâ. I tried to keep as active as possible, going on outings outside to keep up my cardiovascular fitness. I would hardly make it to the end of my driveway before I was breathing heavily, both arms propping up the giant mound of my belly.
Wearing my loosest fitting long sleeve shirt in the cool weather did very little to protect the skin of my mid-drift, as the fabric crept up to rest above my belly as I moved haltingly forwards. Each step became less of a stride and more of a stagger as a struggled to make my way around the block. I waddled to the best of my ability, one foot swinging with my large hips and enormous mass followed by another halting step.
Even with my legs spread wide by my bare stomach I could feel my thickened inner thighs rub against each other.
The harshness of each step as I waddled farther from my home emphasized the baby weight Iâd been gaining in my body. My ass jolted and shook with each ponderous step.
âHow pregnant I must look right nowâ I mused to myself, before my attention was drawn entirely to the strain in my back. I was struggling to get in enough air with the growing mass of my womb pressing up into my lungs. My arms, back, and legs ached with the fight to carry the weight jutting out in front of me and dragging me down. I had to turn back early from that walk.
The ninth month had me nearly on bed rest. My rocking back and forth to leave bed was no longer working as well, as my enormous belly rested entirely along the tops of my legs, out to my knees, and did not allow my upper body further forwards. I had to shimmy from side to side until I rested on the edge of my bed before pressing the weight of my heavy body up and off of the bed.
Waddling from there to the kitchen was another long task. I frequently had to rest with a hand thrown up against the wall, breathing hard, my other hand desperately trying to keep my full womb from dragging me down to the floor.
My hips and waist had outgrown my table armchairs, and so to eat I had to balance my breakfast plate on top of my big belly. One day, when I had made the mistake of grazing my ever-growing chest with the plate as I set it down, I quickly felt a wetness saturate the front of my shirt. I had begun lactating, and my milk was soaking through the fabric of my top.
I sat there feeling miserable, I was double what I weighed before and my body was enormously grown into a blimp. My hips had widened to accommodate the load and were more than ready to bear children. Thick fatty padding covered my ass, hips, and waist. My enormous chest was full to bursting with creamy milk, now dripping down my side.
And more than all that, my enormous belly dominated my body. It was laughably huge and seemed heavier than it should be. It edged out over my knees, having grown larger and longer than my thighs before bulging out to the sides, packed full with babies.
I felt like a pregnant cow, hardly fit to stand out in the field, just waiting to give birth. I certainly was producing milk like one. Thoughts like these were becoming more common with more situations like this. Each one sent a new electric feeling through me that I wasnât sure I liked.
âIâve blown up like a blimpâ
âI can hardly move with this huge bellyâ
âIâve been thoroughly bredâ
Each of these thoughts added to a heat in my center, and I could feel myself growing wetter.
âI canât see my lower bodyâ
âIâm growing these babies so wellâ
âI wonder if I will be bigger next timeâ
The last thought gave me pause. Next time? Enjoying this was one thing but planning to be bred again was not something that I thought I wanted. The unending growth and the loss of mobility were things I hated. The more I thought about it the more turned on I became.
To be like this, over and over again? To grow and grow without end, having as many babies as I could? My body expanding outwards even more, belly crowded with two, three, even four babies at a time?
I felt my hips involuntarily grind up against the weight of my huge belly.
Maybe that was a future I could get used to. It almost seemed inevitable now.
Wouldn't it be nice to be able to put aside all of your worries and cares in favor of spreading your legs to have that pretty, fertile hole of yours pumped full of cock? To just let your body become someone else's baby factory?
Something Iâve been thinking about lately is how much I crave the heaviness of pregnancy. Not only would you have filled me up so good that my belly arches forward in front of me, an enormous rounding curve of fully pregnant belly leading the way when I waddle, but it will feel so heavy.
Iâll arch my back, hand firmly placed on my lower spine, just to try and carry it but the weight of the huge belly youâve given me will just sink farther and farther down into my hips; the oblong shape of the belly will keep pulling me forward and down. I wonât be able to waddle anywhere without letting out desperate little grunts, each step forward a monumental effort to manage the huge load youâve given me to haul around.
My hands will restlessly shift from the top of the rounded curve to my back, as I shift my weight from side to side, and then desperately try to hold up some of the weight from the bottom of my belly. But nothing I do provides relief for long, especially as my belly hangs low on my hips the farther along I get in this pregnancy, overdue by daysâŚ.so I continue to restlessly moan as I try to move anywhere.
If you saw me like this when you came homeâŚpanting as I slowly waddled towards the kitchen, heavy belly torpedoed and arched in front of meâŚbreasts resting full and milky on the long shelf of my bellyâŚmy gait impossibly wide and hands roaming all over my body, desperately seeking reliefâŚ.what would your reaction be?
you should just go ahead and get pregnant, sweet thing <3 nineteen's maybe a little young, but you want it so bad, don't you? it's really only a matter of time before it happens on its own, i think you should lean into it. hook up with however many boys you want and leave them all guessing whose fault it is when you start getting round
i want to sooo bad :( im only 19 but i wanna carry someone's baby even if its from a stranger. i dont even wanna take a test i just wanna be clueless until i cant deny that my jeans dont fit as well as they used to. wanna have my tummy press up against my shirts, making it obvious whats happening to me. and i dont even know the dad!!! im just a stupid knocked up slut :(
When I knock a girl up - especially if it took some persuasion - I like to take her out to a sex club when she's just starting to show. With a gag in her mouth and a collar around her neck.
There's a real purity to it. I can show her off to a dozen strangers, and the only things that they'll know about her is that she's starting to change, and that it was my decision. The first time she's seen as a pregnant woman - when people let their eyes linger on her belly, and understand - they don't see her as a happy little mother-to-be: they see her as my bred bitch.
I won't let anyone else fuck her; I'm too possessive for that. But I'll let them run their hands over her bare belly, and tell them how far along she is. When I fuck her, afterwards - on her hands and knees, in front of all of them - I want them to be thinking about how much more she has to grow.
I want her to meet the eyes of people in the crowd as I use her, and see lust or envy or fear or disdain in them - and know that, no matter what they're feeling, they're all seeing the same thing: a tame little babymaker with her future set out for her.
It's the winter solstice today, which has me thinking... Wouldn't it be fun to totally deny a girl her sense of time?
Lock her in a basement somewhere, far from the sun. Keep her awake for days with stimulants, then knock her out with sleep meds. Give her meals from an automatic dispenser, but randomize the hours every day. Make sure she doesn't know the difference between day or night, winter or summer.
There is one problem with that, though: even captive and helpless girls have a built-in way to measure the months. But it's a problem I'd take great pleasure in fixing.
So many girls have had pregnancy scares where they've anxiously counted the days, but what could you do if you didn't even know when days were passing? If you just had to wonder constantly whether your period hadn't come - whether your fear had made hours seem like days, or you'd conceived for the man who raped you?
And once the truth became clear, it would be sweet to see her learn a new way of counting time - by the swell of her belly, growing towards an inevitable conclusion.
(The second time, I'd give her fertility pills, and make time fly.)
I want you to use your safeword when I'm close. Just so I can ignore it properly.
Maybe it's "play". Helping you with that desperation that comes over you when you're ovulating. A man you can trust, with his bare cock inside you when you're at your most vulnerable; someone who'll fuck you raw and then pull out, who'll give you everything you're craving except an unwanted pregnancy.
It'll be so sweet to see that look on your face, of fear surfacing through the bliss, as my cock starts to swell inside of you. To hear you gasp out the word that should stop everything, only for me to groan as I sink all the way into you and start to throb.
I want to smile at you, afterwards, and tell you that you just felt too good - while dread makes your stomach sink, and my sperm swim deeper into your womb.
Youâre constantly being asked if youâre due any day now. Every time you get asked I get a little turned on. Every time someoneâs in shock you have over two months to go, I get turned on knowing I got you so big. Seeing you put your hand on your stomach reflexively each time just does something. Hearing your breathy responses because I know youâre struggling to breath normally already. Seeing you waddle more slowly each day. Hearing people follow up with asking if youâre pregnant with twins. Fuck thatâs my favorite. Thatâs when I really mentally relish in it.
I donât know where the baby fever came from, it started off earnestly, telling me you wanted this and then just escalated to you teasing and tempting me every opportunity you got until I got you pregnant.
I constantly think about the night I got you pregnant. You had been asking me for a while if we could have a baby. Youâd whisper âwill you pretty please get me pregnant tonight?â In my ear whenever you wanted sex. Nibbling at my ear knowing itâs a weak spot. Youâd have me go down on you but start by having me kiss your flat stomach, pleading with me âimagine how much more youâd have to kiss if I had a bump.â When Iâd be pressed up behind you, kissing your neck and cupping and massaging you tits youâd moan âimagine how much bigger theyâll get.â
When weâd have sex youâd wrap your legs around me and moan loudly in my ears begging me to finish inside you. âPlease! Pretty please! Do anything you want to me. Just finish in me!â Youâd ride me and sit on me to make eye contact and I could see it in your eyes. You calculating on how to overwhelm me with pleasure so I lost any sense of self control.
And it became a cat and mouse game. Knowing Iâd lose sooner or later I wanted you to show me how bad you wanted this. And after a while you stopped begging me to get you pregnant and started talking about âwhen you got pregnant.â
âCan you imagine what itâs going to be like when a bump starts growing? Youâre going to have more of me to kissâ Youâd ask me as I was kissing your flat stomach. âWhen I get big enough that laying flat on my back canât hide it anymore?â âI canât wait to not be able to see you when you go down on me.â
Anytime weâd shower together âpicture me at __ months.â âPicture me at __ weeksâ âhow big do you think Iâll get?â âWill you still find me sexy even when Iâm naked and my belly hangs low?â âImagine how big my boobs will get- how big do you think you can make them?â
I finally gave in after a couple of weeks of you just walking around naked at home constantly describing your body now and which changes you were more excited for. Youâd caress your own tits and tell me you think youâll go up 4-5 sizes. Telling me how youâre imagining them being heavier, harder and seeing veins. Asking me if Iâd want to try any, or if I thought it was weird. Youâd caress the area under your belly button while lookin at yourself in the mirror and then look at me through the reflection of mirror. âCan you see it?â Youâd put your pants on before your tops and ask some variation of âHow quickly do you think Iâll outgrow these pants?â âHow long till I canât zip up my pants anymore because my belly is popping out and poking out right here?â I had to give it to you. You wanted it bad and I was getting weaker every day. I knew you could sense it.
When it finally happened you teased me all day. We were home all day. Bad weather. Just you and me. And you were all over me. Kissing me. Telling me how much you wanted my baby. Wearing an oversized shirt and telling me âthis is going to be the shirt I wear every week when I take a pictureâ pulling the shirt tightly against your body so we could see your âstarting point.â
And then you made it all about my pleasure. You didnât want anything in return except a positive pregnancy test. Going down on me in nothing but that oversized shirt until I was squirming and then looking up at me with the most devilish eyes that said one thing. âFinallyâ and then you hopped on top of me and started grinding hard. I put my hands on you hips and started thrusting hard into you. And you fucking begged me. Pretty please. Please please. Fuck me harder. Finish in me. Do it. Fucking finish inside me. I want you. I want you to do it. And it all happened so fast. All of the sudden you locked your legs around me and I finished in you.
âFinally.â
And now youâre 30 weeks pregnant. Measuring a few weeks ahead. And you donât fit into the shirt I got you pregnant in anymore. That shirt looks way too tight around the chest and you cant pull it down to your bellybutton. Weâll be laying in bed together, my hand on your huge belly and youâre already asking me sweetly âwhen should we go for the next one?â
just imagine: a freshly bred femme in a dazed, fucked-out state; too tired and well-loved to move, while their body works to put my cum to good use. their voice hoarse from their whimpering and moaning, from their begging to be bred.
a few months down the line, they'd have a gentle swell to their midsection. their tits, slowly spilling out of old bras, and then out of new bras. a slight change to their gait; a constant hand on their rounded belly, a point of pride.
a few more months down the line, and they'd be gravid. tits too big, too sore, to wear a bra anymore. their belly, stretched to the brim, testing the limits of old and new clothes alike. one hand on their belly, and one on their back, to support their ever-changing center of gravity. their gait now a leisurely waddle, encumbered from the all-too-clear consequences of their breeding, all those months ago.
you were born to be pregnant. kept swollen and bred.
waddling around, your once loose fitting clothes now riding up your swollen stomach exposing the underside of your belly, one hand rubbing your now bare sliver of belly and the other holding your back, now arched from the pressure of your huge belly pulling it inwards.
Getting them pregnant just to hear them struggle, hear the groans and moans. Grinning ear to ear, knowing that I did that to them and changed their body to something so uncomfortable.
âI wanted your baby inside meâ I repeat to myself as I struggle to stand up from the loveseat that Iâm in. Heaving myself up after rocking back and forth a few times to build up momentum. Groaning as the extra weight in gaining every day makes pushing myself up slower and harder than it should be.
âThis is what I was looking forward tooâ I remind myself when I feel self conscious that you have to get up and help pull me up because I struggle to get up by myself now. I try to talk myself out of my embarrassment with being so big I need you to pull me up. I love you pulling me up donât get me wrong. I feel desired each time. Youâre always happy to do it. You told me you like the feeling or being needed. I just have to work through my self consciousness.
âI love that you are feeling how big I am todayâ I swoon as weâre cuddled together with your hand on my belly. Weâre laying in bed and after tossing and turning (slowly, all my movements must be slow, intentional and calculated now) I finally found something comfy. Iâm turned on by you gently rubbing my belly in circles. I obsess when your hand is between my belly button and groin. The bottom of my belly continues to round out by the day. I keep focusing on it, hoping it d doesnât weird you out. But I also guide your hand up to my chest- My not so subtle way of telling you to have your way with me.
âThis is what I wantedâ I think to myself as I stare at myself in the mirror. I canât button my pants. My belly juts out over the open V of my zipper. Sucking it in isnât enough anymore. No matter how much I suck it in, my belly continues to protrude bigger than my pants will allow it. My tshirt is so tight on the top half of my body I wonder if I should just show off my belly entirely. When do I give up on shirts?
âI begged you to finish inside meâ i remind myself as I gently rub my belly to calm down the little one inside who wonât stop kicking. Kicking inside, kicking outside, making weird shapes and causing my to suddenly gasp for air.
âYou wanted thisâ I say to my naked reflection in the mirror. Almost unrecognizable. I stare head on and look at the shape of my stomach and how big my breasts have grown. I turn to the side and look at how low im hanging now. Taking note of how much i have to lean back in order to be able to stand. I have a long belly. It just pulls straight down. My reflection in the mirror feels unfamiliar to me. Yet, I can verify how huge the woman in the mirror is, Iâm struggling to breath. I have back pain from the weight. My belly is lopsided. I can see the kicks now. I spill out of my bras.
âHow are you feeling? Are we going to do this again?â You ask me occasionally in my ear when itâs just the two of us.
If it were just the hormones, it might be easier to handle. You've been needy before and it's certainly not the first time you've felt the aching emptiness that comes from being desperate for his cock. Especially after the first time you were bred, your body remembered it so clearly and was so desperate to get back to it, driving you into his arms and under his body when you were ovulating and at your most fertile.
If it were just the hormones, it might be easier to handle.
But these long six months have changed your body so much. Every new inch of it serves as a constant reminder of what he's done and where you stand in relation to him.
Every movement of your engorged breasts confirms just how big they've become and whispers in the most primal parts of your mind exactly what they're meant for. When your nipples, darkened and swollen, brush against your clothes, a jolt of pleasure arcs through you. You can't help thinking of his idle touch, tugging and kneading, waiting for him to praise you but knowing that his touch is just as much praise as it is anything else. You're useful. You're his toy. And he loves playing with his toy.
You feel it in your hips, too, how they've widened and softened, reading you for what's about to come. It's a part of motherhood that never fully leaves you, these child-bearing hips, and every sway reminds you that your body is meant to entice the man that owns you, the man that did this to you.
And your belly.
Your round, growing belly.
It's everything.
It's your purpose. It's your fate. It's your duty to be bred by him as he sees fit. It's primal and animal, round like generations of women that have come before you, stretching back into the eons as evolution, over countless generations, perfected your body for reproduction. It's heavy and full and you feel like you're on display as it sticks out in front of you. It's the symbol of livestock put to good use, presented for the world to appraise and to praise him for making you like this. It's a reminder of that night when he took you and claimed you and, once again, set you on a long, nine-month path that you were helpless to stop. It felt so good to feel him inside you, to cum around his cock, to be his.
It's proof of your submission. It is, in the same moment, proof of how good the pleasure he gives you can feel and a reminder of exactly why you can't have it until he gives it to you.
If it were just the hormones, being denied might be easier to handle. But like this... To be this pregnant, so desperate and so needy and with no relief in sight...
How can your body feel so full and so empty at the same time?
Welcome back â¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¤ď¸ Wow this is so beautiful and hot. Fuck⌠𼾠Send help. You nailed this ache so deeply.
