The phone in her pocket buzzed again, a reminder that Claire had gotten a message over 10 minutes ago and not yet looked at it. That’s because she’d become distracted, yet again, by the sight of her pregnant self in the mirror. One of her friends had joked that Claire’s new belly must have magnets in it because of the way at least one of her hands was always placed on it, and Claire had laughed and agreed because that was probably better than revealing the whole truth. When she was at home Claire could, and often did, lose whole chunks of time lost in the reverie of feeling and experiencing her radically altered form.
She’d told herself that buying a full-length mirror would be useful to have near their front door, although in reality she’d yet to even move it out of her bedroom. Claire wasn’t sure how many minutes a day she was now losing to time spent caressing and admiring her new curves, but it was clear that the number was going up at pretty much the exact same rate as the growth of her bump. And, unlike when she was out in public, Claire didn’t restrict herself to just lovingly cradling her midsection. Gazing into the mirror she would twist and turn her body in all sorts of dress and undress, marveling at just how notable the changes had become now that she was 7 months into her pregnancy.
For most of her adult life she’d been a slightly bottom heavy pear-shape, but pregnancy had rewarded Claire generously. Her hips and backside had of course widened more, and Claire could feel the extra muscle she’d gained under that soft layer of feminine padding. But now her formidable ass was complemented by breasts that had almost tripled in size, two dense, heavy teardrops that now wobbled gently as they filled with milk. Most women would have killed for this exaggerated hourglass shape, but on Claire they were joined by an extra curve, that of her vast bump. Even at 7 months she was carrying big, her last measurement (which she was now doing almost daily) clocking in at 44” on, and it was large enough to simultaneously hang low enough to brush her thighs when she walked while also serve as a shelf for her now generous boobs to rest. Even her face had responded to the extra weight, her cheeks softening slightly and her entire complexion taking on an unmistakable glow.
Many times Claire would be doing something normal in the bedroom—laundry, tidying, whatever—and the sight of herself in the mirror would cause her to stop and marvel and what she’d become. Sometimes she’d simply pause for a few minutes, both hands on her bump, and try to wrap her head around the still incredible fact that all of this was really her. Other times, she’d be inspired to try on different outfits to see what clothes best accentuated her new curves, and if that involved stripping down, or discovering that an old bikini or lingerie set was now ludicrously too small, it would be impossible to stop her from moving onto to a frenzied masturbation session in front of the mirror.
These days, Claire spent 50% of her time in a deeply contented maternal reverie and the other 50% ravenous for this new body of hers to be stroked, groped, and fucked. Maybe Claire had felt embarrassed the first time her husband had walked into to find her with one leg lifted onto the bed, fingers mashing her clit furiously while she used the mirror to see over her belly to navigate, but not anymore. It had now happened far too many times for her to feel badly about it, especially he seemed to be almost as into her upgraded tits, ass, and bump as she was, and usually he was happy to help replace those fingers in her cunt with something more substantial. For the first time in her life Claire felt like a goddess, and who was she to complain if the man who helped make her this way wanted to join in on the worship?
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