Kinky Ramblings

30M Bi. A place for me to write out some of my kinkiest, smuttiest thoughts. Requests open. 18+

[kinkyrelief]

An Intro and a Pinned Post

First and foremost, BOILERPLATE:

This is most definitely an 18+, NSFT blog! Do not interact if you are under the age of 18! I will not tolerate bigotry of any kind! This is pretty standard stuff!

More details below:

Hey y’all! I’m Michael, 30 M on Pacific Time (GMT -7). Gender and sexuality are a spectrum, but I identify as a cis male and somewhere between hetero- and bisexual. Like, a 1.5-2 on the Kinsey scale.

I originally started this blog thinking that I'd write about a wide variety of kinks, but someone turned me on to pregnancy and feedism more seriously than I had considered them before and that's kinda taken over the blog. I think I'll mostly keep to that for now.

You're gonna see stuff about pregnancy, about the changes that come with being so, about getting fat, and things like it. I'll do my best to tag things appropriately!

My ask box is open and I'm always interested in writing prompts or answering questions!

[widenmyhips]

Live Demonstration 2.2

After nearly a year, someone has finally requested the second and final part of Live Demonstration 2! So, Anon, here you are. I don’t do many commissions these days, but I’m still broke and horny, so if someone were interested in continuing these or writing something new, please DM me!

In the meantime, enjoy.

Live Demonstration 1 can be found here.

Live Demonstration 2.1 can be found here.

When she returned, Natalie was unsure how much time had passed; the audience was filing back in, and Loyola had a coffee, but time and pain had all begun to blur together.

“Between two to three minutes, Doctor, and dilation is at 6 centimeters,” the assistant told her.

“Wonderful,” Loyola responded. She put her coffee down and spoke to the crowd again. “If you’ll take your seats now, things are going to move very quickly. With the assistance of the chemistry department of our sister university, the University of–” Natalie missed the following words as another contraction came on, sooner than the last. She couldn’t hold back her scream, this time, as it suddenly overwhelmed her. They were getting closer. She gripped the metal table and wished she could have a pillow, a blanket, anything to hold onto besides the sterile platform, but Loyola had already told her it would obstruct viewing. The assistant checked between her legs again, then spoke to Loyola, but Natalie was too consumed with the pain to understand what was being said.

She understood, though, deep in her marrow, the same instinctive way she’d understood other things throughout her pregnancy. Soon. It would be soon.

More time passed, more of Loyola lecturing, more squeezing, screaming, and pain, before she realized Loyola was speaking directly to her. “Natalie, it’s almost time to push, okay?”

The doctor and her assistant had, at some point, donned masks and glasses. A microphone was attached to the doctor’s mask and the assistant was holding a camera in one gloved hand. Just like the first lecture she had been a part of, Natalie knew that the camera was projecting just above her head, in extra detail, what everyone had come to see. Natalie suspected that if she wasn’t in so much pain - sweaty, red, trying to bear down with all her might - she would be horrified.

But she was stuck. The babies were here, whether she liked it or not. All ten months had been leading to this. She was going to struggle, going to push, and going to give birth, all in front of a lecture hall of people to see.

Her mind was made up for her, as another contraction hit. “Push now,” Loyola said, and Natalie lost sight of her as the doctor disappeared behind her belly. Natalie did as she said, and holding her chin to her chest, pushed. Something shifted before Natalie stopped, panting, desperately trying to get air into her lungs. She’d barely done it before it started up again, and Loyola sternly demanded she push again. And again. And again. “There’s the head, ladies and gentlemen,” she heard Loyola announce, “as you can see, it parts the lips of the labia, emerging from the birth canal, but unfortunately, it’s not enough to draw the baby forth.” Natalie felt it slip back in again, and she cried out in frustration.

“Now it’s time to stop pushing, Natalie,” Loyola said, as if she was asking her to simply stop talking, instead of halting the natural flow of birth and the child being pushed out of her.

Neither Loyola nor the assistant offered any words of encouragement - they were too focused on making sure the audience could see and learn everything they could from the process. When the next time to push came, Natalie struggled through gritted teeth not to go with it. As tears flowed from Natalie’s eyes, Loyola just calmly explained how pushing in this stage could cause additional tearing, and it’s best for the parent to simply allow the baby’s head to naturally stretch the canal, as if Natalie’s entire body wasn’t screaming with the need to push. She wanted to ask for help, for meds, for anything, but she could barely mouth the words. And she knew Loyola wouldn’t allow it anyways. Nothing to modify the demonstration.

So she suffered through it without a complaint - except for the involuntary moans and screams that came from her - as Loyola just lectured on, occasionally chiding Natalie for the twinging of a muscle desperate to bear down.

Until, finally, something moved, and Loyola ducked down again. “There we go! The head is now free,” she said, “go ahead and push for me now, Natalie.” Natalie’s desperate sigh of relief was interrupted as she pushed with all she had, and the baby slipped free. Natalie’s head swam as the assistant cut the cord and prepared the baby, and Loyola lectured on. Until the doctor turned back to her, smiling again.

“Are we ready for round two?”

[kinkyrelief]

Do you ever think about it? When you stand in front of the mirror, when you see yourself and the person you've become, do you think about the person you used to be? Maybe it was twenty pounds ago, maybe it was fifty, maybe it was more.

Do you think about how easy it was for them? To find clothes that fit without an embarrassing strip of belly sticking out. To move through the world without jiggling and waddling, without feeling judgemental eyes warm their skin. To be able to feel full. You haven't felt full in so long and the deep, angry stretchmarks on your belly are the proof. No matter how much you eat, no matter how much junk you shovel into that greedy mouth, no matter how much fat clings to your body, it'll never be enough.

And do you think about what it'll be like in another twenty pounds, another fifty, another hundred or more? Do you think about your future inflated body and how hard it'll be to live like that? Your heart pounding just from crossing to the fridge. Your body folding over on itself like dripping candle wax as it struggles to find somewhere, anywhere to store all that fat. Parts of your body becoming unreachable to yourself, whether that's your feet or between your legs. It's frightening, in some ways. But you feel that aching emptiness inside you, that hunger, and you realize how badly you want it. You want to eat. You want to grow. You want to feel the weight bearing down on you. You want to look at yourself and know what's been done and know that there's no going back.

Do you ever look at yourself, fat as you are now, and think... Fuck... This is making me hungry...

[kinkyrelief]

When his strong hands grab at your doughy hips, jiggling them and kneading them, a wry and teasing chuckle on his lips. "Goodness, someone's been a greedy cow lately, haven't they? Won't be long before you're more of a pig than a cow!"

As if it's not his insistence on feeding you until you ache that's made you so plump in the first place.

As if it's not his child growing inside you, making you hungrier than you've ever been for things that you'd never have eaten before.

As if it's not his strength, his dominance that makes you want to be happy and docile, plump and domesticated. As if it's not his protection that makes you want to be soft.

As if it's not his firm, guiding hold on you that's reshaping you into the woman he wants you to be.

As if you're not owned, entirely, inside and out, by him.

[kinkyrelief]

Whatever your future looked like before, it changed the moment he came inside you. The moment his seed took root inside you, the entire trajectory of your life shifted, changing in countless ways and not all of them are tangible.

Some of the tangible ones are obvious. Your body changes, swelling outward into the picture of fertility of motherhood, not all of which will fade after you give birth. Your hips remain permanently widened, your breasts just a bit more swollen than they were before (perhaps more than a bit) and, though they may fade in color, the stretch marks will never fully disappear.

They're not just limited to your body, though. Your career, your plans, everything gets upturned. You have a baby now. You have someone reliant on you, dependent on you. Whatever money you had budgeted for vacations or going out with friends becomes a college fund, becomes a crib and diapers, eventually becomes school supplies. Your child, a part of you and the man who bred you made physical, will change your life in ways you couldn't even imagine, ripples spreading out over a pond.

But some of the changes can't be held, can't be touched. You've been bred. You surrendered your body to man, let him claim you in the way that men have claimed the mothers of their children for centuries, millennia, since the dawn of man, the dawn of life itself. His life is largely, maybe even entirely unchanged, but you took his seed, grew his child, let him take hold of your life and body and reshape them into something new.

And yet, when it happened, all you knew was that it felt so good, so right. Even if you could go back to that moment and warn yourself, you still would have wrapped your legs around him, instinct taking over to make sure that every last drop gets pushed as deep into you as possible. It was inevitable. Motherhood, for you, was inevitable.

[kinkyrelief]

The greatest irony is just how fucking horny you are even when you're already bred. You thought it was bad before, constantly wet and needy. If anything, you thought your body would calm down after finally getting what it wants. Your womb was empty for so long, begging to be filled. Now, when you look down at your rounded, domed belly, your bellybutton nearly gone, you can't deny that it's finally full.

But the pregnancy hormones.

Fucking hell.

The things they've done to your body are incredible and intense. Changed the shape of you into a symbol of fertility that you know will last long after you've given birth. Larger breasts, wider hips, the softness of someone able to provide for their children.

But it's nothing compared to the way pregnancy hormones have cranked your libido through the roof. You're feral, aching to be fucked, desperate to have a cock inside you. It comes on in waves and sometimes doesn't let you go for hours on end. Squirming. Rubbing your thick thighs together. Trying to be as subtle as possible as you brush your hands over your swollen tits. Even in public, glancing at the people around you and wondering how it'd feel to have them touch you, lick you, fuck you. And when you finally get home, you waste no time at all, grabbing a vibrator and using it until the battery finally sputters out on you, having lost track after the third orgasm.

If it feels this good to be pregnant, there's no way that you can stop at just one.

[kinkyrelief]

Despite the fact that you had months and months to grow accustomed to it, your body still struggles to cope. You can feel the weight pulling down on your spine, pressing into your hips. Shirts that you had bought with the thought that you could never possibly outgrow now struggle to stay over your rounded, domed belly. No matter how much you pull, how far you attempt to stretch the fabric, they still expose a strip of skin around your middle, a smoothed bellybutton, and the reddish stretchmarks that will never fully fade.

It sticks so far out in front of you; there are precious few directions that you can look where your rounded middle does not encroach on your view. Reaching for things on high shelves was never easy, but with this pregnant belly in the way, it becomes nigh impossible. Even just crossing the room comes with a signature waddle, one hand on the small of your back, making the short trip from the couch to the kitchen and back all the more embarrassing. The weight is constant, even when seated, actively pinning you down and threatening to keep you there permanently, rendering you helpless and immobile. Trying to rock yourself up onto your feet allows you to feel just how round it is.

And there are other changes, too. Your breasts have never been larger and their aching is near constant. You can feel them swelling, getting ready to feed the child growing inside you. You haven't yet begun to leak so, day by day, you feel the tightness grow, wondering how much pressure your tits can withstand before milk begins to drip from your nipples. Even those have changed, darkening, thickening, becoming more sensitive. The temptation, the morbid curiosity to suckle on them yourself or at least make an attempt, grows by the day as well.

Pregnancy cravings have also introduced a layer of fat to your entire body, thickening what was there before and making you look softer than you've ever been. You can feel the flab settle in your hips, already widened by the reshaping of your pelvis, as well as your ass. It covers your belly in a protective layer, encouraging further the growth of your breasts. It even finds its way to embarrassing places such as the underside of your chin or the growing pad just above the slit whose needs put you in this mess in the first place.

When you stand in front of the mirror, you don't recognize the person that looks back at you. That must be someone else. Someone whose skin is marred with the signs of growth, carrying the promises of more. Someone whose appetite has made them softer, rounder, heavier. Someone whose hormones have forced their hips to widen, their tits to grow and swell, their middle to bloat with child. It's always staggering when you look down at yourself, hand on your belly, and face the reality of what you've become. Your old body is never coming back. What, will you go to the gym with a newborn to take care of? Once you have someone to feed, the demand will only encourage more milk and require larger breasts to hold it all. Your hips have widened down to the bone. This is who you are now. At a glance, everyone will know: you are a mother.

And you still have eight weeks to get even bigger.

[kinkyrelief]

Don't forget!

Your womb knows best!

If the social media algorithms are serving you videos of babies and the pregnant mothers that bring them into the world and your womb starts aching with emptiness, it's trying to tell you something!

You're looking at those women with jealousy! You want to feel your breasts get heavy and full with milk, marked with veins and stretch marks and capped with widened and darkened areolas and nipples meant for feeding!

You want the widened hips, padded with the softness of motherhood and fueled by food cravings. You want to waddle like them, jiggle like them, exude motherhood like them.

But most of all, you want their bellies. You want that domed middle, rounded out, stretched so far that the skin seems to shine in the light. Bellybutton? What bellybutton? Nothing but smoothed out skin, a whole section to your body devoted to nurturing the new life inside you.

While twins or triplets would get you the size you hunger for, the kind of size that tells everyone around you that you're a good slut who surrendered their body to a load of cum, having a child inside you is the most important thing. Watching as they grow inside you and your body grows around it and you're completely helpless to stop it.

Listen to your instincts.

Listen to your womb.

Your womb knows best!

[kinkyrelief]

The goalposts keep moving.

You can't control yourself (though I'm partially to blame for that), so you try to put up safeguards. You tell yourself "This much and no more!" But the reality is that you have no idea how to actually stop yourself when those moments come up, so you blow right past that. To protect your ego (and keep from admitting that you secretly love watching yourself blow up out of control), you simply move the goalposts.

Some of them are numbers based, saying that you'll limit yourself to 30lbs. 40lbs, and not an ounce more. Okay, the buffet put you a few pounds past that, but you'll stop when you reach 250. 275. You tell yourself you'll join a gym at 300, even though you know it's never going to happen.

Some of them are size based. When you start having to buy XXXL shirts, you'll stop. When you break the button on your jeans from your swollen belly. When you feel your belly rest against your thighs when seated, your breasts resting heavy on top of your gut. When you notice your fingers getting chubbier or when you watch your jawline melt away.

I love to watch you stand in front of the mirror and poke and prod at your round belly, consoling yourself with thoughts of "At least it doesn't hang" which then turn into "At least I can see past it" which, in turn, become "At least I can still reach around it." Though it's only a matter of time before that last one isn't true any more either.

It's easy for you to blame me, with the way I tell you how beautiful you look, the way I pamper you and praise you over your newfound softness. The countless times I've encouraged you to get seconds or taking you our to dinner and ordering two meals if you can't decide between them. You look up at me with anger in your eyes, fresh with the embarrassment of realizing that your belly now hangs low enough to hide your underwear.

"You made me fat."

I smile and reach out to you, grabbing hold of your belly, slipping my thumb into your bellybutton which always makes you blush and squirm.

"I made you fat? No, baby. Not yet."

[kinkyrelief]

i should have reaaaaaliiized that wine drunk would be dangerous. i’ve missed you, of course, but this feels something like feral. lusty. wine drunk. hehehe.

makes my hips all rolly, my limbs loose. makes me wanna “trip” all over you, landing with my ass on your lap or my tits pressed against your chest.

fuck, baby. come home to me.

God, doesn't that seem like the perfect thing to come home to? My obedient puppy having made herself even more pliant and malleable. I didn't have to do a thing. I made you dinner before I left, a simple beef ragu, one of your favorites. I made sure you knew to eat every last bite before I returned. I just didn't think that you'd break out the red wine, entertaining yourself by draining nearly the entire bottle.

I could hear your drunken shuffling the moment I put my key into the lock. You knew I was home. You could hear it, almost smell it. Scrambling, practically on hands and knees, towards me. There's nothing I love more than knowing you're excited to see me and here you were truly excited for me. The simple hug you gave me was anything but, grinding against me, needy for me in ways that words could only begin to describe.

You were so good.

You waited for me.

Ate all the food I gave you.

Got nice and drunk for me.

So you've more than earned your reward.

My obedient puppy following me into the bedroom. Falling back onto the bed with drunken giggling. You try to remove your clothes yourself, but it only ends up with you twisted inside them. You need me, your man, your Dom, your owner, to free you from them. You're so vulnerable when you're naked, but you want to be vulnerable for me. Stripped down completely. All pretense removed. You're a woman. An animal with animal lusts and animal needs. You can't even find the words, just mewling as I descend onto you. My head finds its way between your thighs, looking up at you, getting a unique view of the curves and softness that drew me to you in the first place.

My lips against your lips. Your hips bucking up against my face. Your hands, messy and clumsy, grabbing at my hair, the only way you can communicate to me that you would do anything for me to keep going. Playing your body like an instrument. I did my homework. I learned, studied, worshipped this feminine and fertile body. And now I will compose a symphony of pleasure, the heavenly chorus of your moans proving you to be the goddess of womanhood that I've known you to be since we met.

[kinkyrelief]

You may insist otherwise. You may tell yourself that, in this modern day, motherhood doesn't define you. You're not going to be like your forebearers, barefoot and pregnant. You're modern, you're progressive. You'll be an independent person, able to do anything or go anywhere, unburdened and unhindered.

But, at the end of the day, you're still an animal. You're still a living organism and, no matter how you mask it or how deep you attempt to bury it, your innate desire to reproduce still boils away below the surface. Just as your ancestors did, going back to the dawn of humanity and even further beyond.

There is some part of you that demands to become pregnant. Your womb begs to be filled. It demands to grow a child inside it, to have seed planted in it to be grown and nurtured inside your body. And the more it aches to be filled, the more it controls your life. Intrusive thoughts that can't be shaken. Looking at pregnant women with envy. Looking at men and wondering how it would feel to have them inside you. And you've slowly trained your social media algorithm to show you babies and the swollen, gravid women who bring them into the world. You start making risky choices, knowing that the next time you bring a man home, there won't even be a mention of a condom.

You can try to deny it. You can try to separate yourself from it, pretend to be above it all. But it won't be long before your womb takes control and you'll be growing rounder by the day. Your womb took control and now your hips have widened, your body has softened, your breasts have become swollen and leak milk. Your belly has become round and stretched, drum tight, covered in angry scars. You're pregnant. And it was inevitable.

[mywidenedhips]

dear followers:

i’m getting fatter.

i looked at myself in the mirror today, and for the first time, i couldn’t deny it. it isn’t just water weight, or bloating, or the cut of my jeans. it’s fat.

when i signed on to this contract, to stay in the apartment for free, and possibly have my student loans paid off, i thought it was because my Master wanted a live in BDSM sub, something like Fifty Shades of Grey. the clause about controlling my food, i reasoned, was just so he could keep me in shape, order for me at restaurants.

looking at myself now, i still can’t believe the truth. that he’s keeping me as his pet to purposefully fatten me up.

oh god. he doesn’t have a private chef, never found the reason to need a stranger poking around in his kitchen, especially when he’s such a good cook himself. he asked me for all of my favorite dishes, just so i would finish them, even if the portion sizes were enormous. the snacks didn’t help either, when he sent me out to do the shopping, an extra $50 in my pocket just for me to buy whatever i wanted that wasn’t on the list. once he found out my weakness for soda, he refused to let me buy anything else to drink. besides alcohol, of course. the mini bar is kept well stocked, but he likes when i have beer.

and now…fuck, now i’m seeing why. my belly was soft before but now it has weight. it’s pushing out from my shirt, and i can even see the divot of my belly button. my thighs are chafed red, not used to rubbing together this much. and is that…oh god, my chin. my chins. god, fuck. i’m gonna cry. i gotta go.

hopefully i’m not heavier by the time i sign on again.

[kinkyrelief]

It was so cute, when we first met, in those first weeks, when she used to playfully call me a sadist. Usually it was because I'd edge her or tease her in public or make her eat until her stomach ached. But she said it with a wink, almost as if it were simply playing up the expectation of the agreement we had signed.

But now I think she sees that she was more right than she knew.

I can't help it. I can't help the thrill of seeing the recognition on her face. It's taken such a long time for her to realize what I've planned from the beginning and it's absolutely delectable. It's nourishing, life-giving. I could survive on nothing but the look of fear and apprehension on her face when she stands in front of the mirror and prods at her fat belly. The whimper she makes when she slips on an old shirt and sees the way her belly hangs out of it, how tight it is on her, how flabby arms bulge out of the sleeves, is enough to sustain me for weeks.

The change in attitude at meal times is palpable. She used to think it was pampering, the way I made her favorites. She used to think herself lucky that there was someone who cared enough to learn just how she liked it and skilled enough to make it that way every time. Now she looks at her plates with a knowing sense of dread. I can see the conflict behind her eyes and, fucking hell, nothing gets my heart racing quite like it. The temptation to eat, the hunger inside her, the way her mouth waters at the scent, all in conflict with the knowledge of why I'm making it for her and what will happen to her when she eats every last bite.

She can already feel it. Fat finding a home in every part of her body. Chubby cheeks melting into chins underneath, her jawline completely gone. Her hands, puffy and swollen with thick sausage fingers. Young tits turned into sagging breasts that hang heavy on the rounded mound of her belly. Padded hips and a doughy ass with thick thighs. It won't be long before her fat starts folding over on itself, making her whole body look like dripping candle wax or melted ice cream. A puddle of lard, growing bigger by the day.

The worst part for her is what she doesn't know. She doesn't know how long I intend to keep feeding her, how big I intend to make her. Will I stop at 20lbs? 50? 100?

But that's the best part for me. You know why?

Because I don't know, either.

[kinkyrelief]

The Emptiness

TW: Involuntary drugging

Madison didn't have an explanation for what was happening to her. She didn't know about the pills that had been crushed up and mixed into her drink night after night, only that her boyfriend seemed only too happy to make her milkshakes and cocktails and whatever else she desired. She didn't know about the injections, the hormones that had been pumped into her night after night, writing off the aching and the soreness as random.

But her body was changing underneath her. Every day she seemed to bring new changes with it. Her breasts had swollen, becoming round and firm. The D cups that she had been proud of now bulging over her bras, making them almost unwearable, nearly doubled in size. Blue veins snaked across her pale skin, her nipples darkening, thickening, making themselves known in everything she wore.

Her hips, too, had widened, giving her an hourglass shape. She struggled, now, to get her jeans on, the blue denim feeling painted on as it barely held back the extra padding that found its way to her hips and thighs and especially her ass. A hair band looped through the button hole kept them on, but for how much longer, Madison couldn't say. Every time she sat down, felt her ass squish against her chair, she was sure her jeans would finally give up.

But worst of all, worse than the growth and the changes and feeling so self-conscious about the shape of her body, was the emptiness.

The deep, clawing emptiness inside her.

God, she couldn't stand it. She often joked that her period was just her womb being angry at her for not getting pregnant, but now it was like she had turned feral. It tormented her every hour of the day. She couldn't look at a picture of a baby without feeling her womb clench with need. There were times when it was so bad that it made her whimper, holding her middle, feeling like her body was going to turn itself inside out. On nights when she slept alone, she rarely truly slept. An orgasm would only give her a few hours respite from the desperation, the instinctive need above all else to reproduce, to ensure that her DNA made it to a new generation.

Nights when her boyfriend was over, she didn't sleep at all until he had completely exhausted her. It was a wonderful that the bedframe didn't leave dents in the wall after the constant thrusting. She often had to pull a pillow over her face to stifle the moans and screams of pure, carnal pleasure. But it was never enough. The way he... he... teased her. Wearing a condom. Fucking her like that and denying her what she really wanted, deep down in the empty, aching core of her femininity. The scraps that remained of her rational mind fought against the idea of being fucked raw, not wanting to surrender her future to a child. She was just about to graduate college, after all. She couldn't walk across the stage with a baby belly. She couldn't undermine her career just when it's about to begin. But every part of her body needed it; more than air in her lungs or food in her belly, she needed to be bred.

Madison didn't know what to think when she found the vial at the bottom of her boyfriend's bag. Searching the name on her phone led her to a list of side effects that made her throat tighten: swelling of secondary sexual characteristics including breasts, hips, and rear; increased sexual appetite; increased fertility. A strange sense of relief washed over her. At least she knew why it was happening to her. She knew that she should be furious. She should throw him out, break up with him, maybe even call the police. But she didn't.

All she did was whimper when she saw her boyfriend standing in the doorway, pleased at what his hard work had wrought. Her throat is dry and it takes her a moment to find her voice.

"What... What did..."

Madison's boyfriend walks over to her, looming over where she kneels on the edge of the bed. His hand cups her chin, not forcefully, just enough to make sure she can't look away.

"I needed to make you into a mother, Maddy. So I made you need it as badly as I did. And, now that you know, we can begin in earnest. What do you think, baby? No condom tonight?"

Warm tears sting at the corners of Madison's eyes, not upset, but so very relieved. Finally, the emptiness would be filled.

Finally, Madison would be a mother.

Finally.

[kinkyrelief]

What Have You Done to Yourself?

CW: mentions of noncon

God, it consumed your every thought.

Night after night, the silhouette of your young, fertile body was projected on the far wall of your bedroom, colors dancing around you, scrolling endlessly on your laptop or your phone or whatever window you used to peer into the unsavory reaches of the internet. Your eyes glazed over as you took in their perfect forms. Full, heavy breasts capped with darkened, leaking nipples. Hips, widened, softened, altered down to the very bone underneath, gave these women shapes of motherhood and femininity. Their bodies were padded and plush, a byproduct of their natural inclination to feed the life growing inside them, a delightful, maternal plumpness that found its way to their cheeks, their chins (double or otherwise), their hips and thighs and rear and even the mounds between their legs. Most of all, however, your eyes were drawn to the image of their gravid, swollen middles. Your eyes naturally followed the curve down their torsos, out to the furthest extent of their shape. It didn’t matter how far along she was. If the women were barely showing, just a subtle dome that wouldn’t be out of place after a big meal, your eyes would still be drawn to the spot just below her navel, knowing the little life growing day by day inside it. Just as much, you enjoyed the sight of a woman on the verge of bursting, her skin almost reflective in its taut state, angry and red, covered in stretch marks as if she had been trying to claw at her own body for even an inch more space. In your eyes, in your heart, in the fiery core of your need, these women were perfect; they had the ideal figure; they were the epitome of everything that they had been designed by evolution to do.

It wasn’t merely an appreciation for their bodies, though.

You wanted it.

You wanted it for yourself.

You couldn’t stop thinking about yourself in her place. Whimpers rose out of you as you pictured yourself, swollen and heavy, struggling to lift yourself out of a chair like you had in countless videos. Arousal surged through your body as you imagined the aching fullness in your breasts, swollen several cup sizes beyond your current size, a tightness both inside from the swelling supply of milk and outside from the tightness of bras that show just how far your body has warped. You feared breaking the skin of your lip, biting so hard, as you pictured yourself from behind, womanly hips swaying with every step and an ass, doughy and round and soft, wobbling in time with the swishing of your hips. You wanted to watch yourself grow, experiencing, as so many so-called educational videos had described it, “the miracle of motherhood.” When you closed your eyes, you could see yourself standing in front of the mirror, watching as you move quickly through the stages, your body changing before your eyes. Nine months, forty weeks, passed in a matter of seconds, culminating in twin screams. One scream burned in your imagination, the first sign that you’re finally ready to bring your child into the world. The other scream echoed around your small, empty room, complimenting the spasm of a body wracked with orgasm, bucking and tensing your hips against nothing at all.

And as you laid back, breathing heavily, sweat matted to your forehead, a simple, familiar thought surfaced:

You wanted it. You needed it.

You needed to be bred.

It seemed so familiar and so obvious. You needed to be bred. You knew you’d love it. You knew it would feel like the epitome of everything you’ve ever done, every decision leading you to that moment. A constant and familiar thought, you assumed it would never change.

Until it did.

Until that night, when your friend was on top of you, thrusting into your needy cunt. His hands gripped your hips, holding them steady as he used your body. Animal. Primal. Lustful. Even if he didn’t know it, he needed it, too. Written into the very core of his existence, a singular and overwhelming desire to bring his progeny into the world and ensure the continuation of his species. No command could be so pure, no desire so honest. He didn’t have second thoughts. Hell, he didn’t have any thoughts, save for the repetition of the simple order to breed, breed, breed.

You, on the other hand, were no longer as sure as you once had been. As he filled you, as he touched parts of your body in ways that you had never experienced before, doubt crept in. Maybe it was just a kink. Maybe it was just a fetish, one to be enjoyed in abstract, something that happened to other women. Now that you were there, now that you were facing the reality of your entire life being upended over a single night of passion, that certainty was gone. You looked up into his eyes and found none of the friendly affection you knew, that led you to ask him for such a monumental favor. All you could see was a beast, rutting, claiming his mate. It was too much. You couldn’t take it anymore. You pushed on his shoulders, realizing for the first time just how much stronger he was than you. You tried to open your mouth to beg him to stop, but only moans would emerge, stifling your pleas in your throat. You stared into his eyes and hoped he could see the desperation behind them. In the end, all you could manage, was a hoarse, whispered “P-please…” Such hopes went unanswered as, a moment later, his whole body tensed. His fingers left bruises on your hips, the nails crescent marks. The muscles of his neck tightened. His jaw set. An ancient growl, echoing sounds made by ancestors tens of thousands of years hence, ripped from his throat.

A final thrust.

His cock thickened inside you.

And then

Your own body betrayed you.

The feeling of his cum filling you, pouring into your deepest crevices like molten desire, brought you to the edge yourself. In the dark room, bright spots burst in front of your eyes as your hips bucked up into him, delighted to finally do so against a warm body. Pleasure courses through your every nerve, muscles twisting and tensing. Nothing could have prepared for those feelings, your imagination utterly failing to do it any kind of real justice. Your head swam for a few minutes after, the room spinning around you, the only constants being the soft bed beneath you and a new feeling of fullness inside you.

The deed was done.

A test confirmed it a short while later, after days of agonizing unknowing.

His seed had taken root.

You had been bred. You were pregnant.

You would be a mother.

Now you stand in front of the mirror, watching as every day your body becomes a bit more foreign. You poke and prod at the softness slowly enveloping you. You watch as your clothes become tighter, so many of your shirts now leaving a band of stretched skin exposed, a bellybutton threatening to become smooth in just a matter of weeks. Your breasts ache in ways that no amount of massaging can ease. Every time you put on your favorite pair of jeans and feel how much closer they are to being painted on, you wonder if it’ll be the last time you wear them. Similar thoughts arise when you lift your swelling body out of a chair or out of a bed, wondering if the next time you go down will be your last before… before…

You swallow as you reach down and place a hand over belly button, wincing at the rawness of nearby stretch marks. The time for wondering whether you wanted it or not is over. You have it: a life growing and occasionally squirming inside you. Flashes of worry move through your mind. Will you be able to keep your job? Keep going to classes? Will your friends support you? Will your family? Will you have to move? How much are diapers and cribs and clothes and toys and-

The only way out of the spiral is to shut your eyes tight and simply will yourself not to think about it, deep breaths bringing you back to reality. You swallow, your eyes slowly opening, looking at ruined body before you. Even after giving birth, this will be your body. Swollen breasts, widened hips, stretch marks faded but still present. The body of a mother. Young and mature in the same stroke. Your thumb slips into your belly button and your fingers curl underneath, grabbing the swollen mound.

What have you done to yourself?

[kinkyrelief]

With and Without Words

@widenmyhips has been watching Outlander with me and we've been doing more than our fair share of Outlander-inspired roleplay. This writing is a result of that! 1800 words; contains affection, pregnancy, and bad approximations of a Scottish dialect.

"You're pregnant."

Flickering light from the campfire dances across your stunned expression. Your eyes search the face of the man opposite you, Killian Locard, the man who already knew what you were going to say before you said it. Like a fish gasping for air, your jaw opens and closes a few times, errant syllables in a soft, English dialect spilling out. As silly as it must seem to react in such a way, he still looks at you with intention and focus. The same firelight flickers on him, showing the rough skin and deep lines formed by years of fighting between Highland clans and upstart boys who would think themselves Laird. You had warmed to his features in the several months since you first began traveling together. Light falls into his rich, brown eyes, never to be seen again, and the dark copper streaks in his brown hair seem to be aflame themselves.

"H-how... How did you-"

"You are, aren't you?"

"...Yes."

Even though there's no shame or hint of reproach in his voice, you can't help feeling the warmth of embarrassment creeping up your spine, burning into your blushing cheeks. His bluntness has often been, since the day you met him, a source of such embarrassment, but never to this extent. Your gaze can barely meet his. How did he notice? Your body had barely begun changing. Your hips were a bit wider, sure, but under the layers of your dress, thick wool to keep out the chill of Scottish air, he couldn't have possibly noticed. It's the same with the slight bump of your belly, the way your breasts have felt full and tender over the last few weeks. Your dress revealed a bit more up top and, stirring a mixture of flattery and embarrassment inside you, you had caught him sparing a glance a few times and not just when emboldened by drink. But larger breasts do not solely a pregnancy make. Maybe it was the early morning nausea that had begun to set in or maybe it was something as subtle as a change in your scent or- As your mind spins, he asks another question.

"Is it mine?"

Where confusion had filled your mind a mere moment prior, rage rushes in to replace it, quickly rising to your feet. Everything about your body, from the tension in your muscles and the trembling fists at your sides, to the way your eyes widen and your pupils dilate, is steeped in unbridled fury. Your sputtering before had been from shock, your thoughts having been derailed by him. Now they're from having so much to say and but one mouth to say it with.

"How- What- Even if- Yes! Of course, it’s- Who else’s could it possibly be, Killian?! There hasn’t been anyone but you! It’s been, what, six weeks since you bedded me at that inn? You with your silvery tongue and honeyed words and your poetry and all of that ale you kept plying me with. When we’re not sharing a bed, you sleep five feet from me. When and how, exactly, could there have been anyone else? You daft bastard.” Words and thoughts, grievances of all stripes, come tumbling out of you, a dam of frustration having burst. "And! And! A-and, how dare you undermine my speech!"

"Speech, lass?"

In as mocking a tone as you possibly can, you imitate his lilting Scottish brogue, the latest in his string of insipid, two- or three-word comments only stoking your fury. "'Speech, lass?' Aye, ye sod-brained- Urgh! I had wanted to tell you since yesterday and I prepared a whole speech in my head, working out everything I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it and in two bleeding words, you derail the entire thing! Do you have any idea how hard I worked on that? How I agonized over it? Have you no consideration at all for anyone else? Has basic human sympathy escaped you here in the north, or is that you get along better with sheep and other wild animals out here in these barren wastelands you call-"

Once again, your speech is brought to a halt by the man whose child grows slowly inside you, but this time he does not do so with mere words. His rough, callused hands grip tightly to your wrists and hold them steady. You had been looking down at him, standing while he sat at the fire’s edge, but now he towers over you, holding you steady, seemingly exerting no effort at all to keep you still. When he speaks, it's as if the stony face of Ben Nevis itself, ancient and unyielding, has found the words to talk. The words are deep and rumbling, the earth moving beneath your feet. "That's quite enough of that." You find yourself floundering, your rage smothered and reduced to smoldering embers still clinging to heat.

"H-hey, don't you- Get off me, you.. you brute." You swallow, your resolve weaking under his firmness. "K-killian..." When your gaze meets his, suddenly everything stops. Looking up into his eyes breathes an air of calm into you, soothing you in ways you thought impossible. But you can't give up. Not when there are so many unanswered questions. "Killian, you... you still haven't told me-"

"You're late. On your, er, course."

You blink up at him. Of all the signs, of anything that could have given you away, that was not what you expected. Another fresh round of embarrassment sneaks in. "Killian! That's... Impertinent man, you- Of all the intimate- you were counting?"

He laughs, not the deep and raucous laughter you've heard while sipping whisky near the fire. This is gentle, comforting, familiar. "Elva, ye cannae travel wi' someone for so long as we have before you begin to notice pattern. Not to mention tha' it felt a wee bit more important to pay mind after our first night together. I had my first thought about it Wednesday last and your face, though fair, offered little to disguise the anguish inside you. A guess, still, but a good one."

You groan softly, only now realizing the depth of his care, the extent to which he pays attention to you and your needs. Not for pay, not for profit, but out of affection for you. You can barely bring yourself to look at him, looking instead to the shoulder where you long to rest your head and feel his embrace. In the silence, the crackling of the campfire seeming to echo around the both of you, a question lingers in the air. You’ve established what’s happened, what he’s done to you. The focus now shifts from the past to the future. "And... And you want this? With me? Even if it means giving up your life roaming the Highlands, unbound? Even if it tethers you to a hearth and home and a family? You can live with that?"

Without flinching, he drags one of your hands to his lips, pressing them against the palm, looking at you even if you can't look at him. "Aye, Elva. None have ever made me want such a life until I met you."

He seems sincere; you’ve heard him be insincere and this isn’t it. But can this sincerity be trusted? Before he was a hired man, he was a soldier for his clan in the lowlands. He told you so after a horn of whisky made his words a bit more honest. Besides, he’s been roaming the Scottish countryside for ages now, even before he met you. If he hadn’t been paid for your protection, he never would have given you a second glance. Uncertainty grips you and you try to pull away. You try to give him an out.

“You, er… you don’t have to. You don’t owe me anything. I could go back to England and raise the child alone and you could still have your f-freedom and I know there’s nothing holding you to me and, and, and-“

Warm tears sting at the corners of your eyes, your throat tightening as you begin to spiral out of control. You don’t want him to go. But you couldn’t be the one to make him stay. You like him too much for that. If you weren’t feeling so vulnerable in that moment, you might even admit that you love him. You can’t bring yourself to ruin the life of the man you’ve grown to care for, even it means a life of hardship and heartbreak for you. But he doesn’t leave time for you to dwell on it. He breathes out a long sigh, hushing you as he bows his head. A gentle kiss on each of your cheeks, just below your eyes, wicks away some of the tears that had begun to roll down. Still gripping your hand, he moves it down to your belly. You're barely showing, just a small mound, but you still gasp as he places your hand against it and covers your hand with his. "This is mine. You are mine. And, if you'll have me, I am yours."

Your eyes flick up to his, finding only softness and love behind them. The warmth of his compassion, of his love, has you melting in his arms. You murmur a simple request, too quiet, too slurred for him to make out. He leans in a bit, turning his ear just a bit towards you.

"Sorry, little’un, I cannae-"

Now it's your turn to take him by surprise. Lifting onto the balls of your feet, you close the gap between the two of you, pressing your lips against his. Both his hands and yours are still trapped between you, but the other one releases its grip on your wrist and moves to the back of your head. It cradles the base of your skull, right at the top of your spine, holding you steady while he savors the softness of your lips. After what feels like both half a second and an eternity, the kiss ends, both of you breathing out, consecrating a vow that neither of you knew you'd be making that day. You clear your throat. "Th-that. I wanted that."

You can see it, the familiar look in his eyes when he's about to say something that he thinks is awfully clever but, for the first time in the entire span you've known him, it passes. It flares and then disappears, leaving only sincerity behind. "Then you’ll have it, love. For as long as I am fit to give." He kisses you, and now, even more than that night at the inn where he turned you from woman to mother, his lips feel like home.

[kinkyrelief]

we’ve talked about what needing to be bred does to me - making me submissive beyond belief, breaking down a perfectly driven and independent woman into a needy pet, desperate to be filled.

but now that you’ve made me greedy…perhaps that’s worse.

making me desperate is one thing, but making me greedy is another. desperation is a latent thing, making me wait and moan and groan. but greed is an activity. a preoccupation that drives away my greater reasoning.

you’re busy, you have plenty to do, you can’t devote all your time to me. I know this. but sometimes I can’t seem to understand. when the greed starts to consume me, take me over, and I can’t seem to shake it. when suddenly everything is devoted to getting back what I most want: you.

it takes everything in me not to blow up your phone. not to send text after text reminding you the sweet little puppy or sexy minx you’ve left at home. not to go into the bathroom and take photos right now, the kind of photos I know would get you hard instantly. I have to flex all my might not to inform you of every fact, every detail, every fantasy that would get you on the soonest Uber home to me.

like I said, I’m driven. Ambitious. Determined. Whose to say I can’t devote all of that to getting what I most want? And what if what I most want is you? What lengths do you think I’d go? And do you think you’d be able to resist them?

So why haven't you? If what you want is me, and you so desperately desire the things that I can do to you, then what's stopping you? What's stopping you from slipping off to the bathroom to take a picture of the panties that you wore because you're a good girl and I told you to? You say you're driven. You say you're ambitious. You say you're determined.

Prove it.

I fucking dare you. Text me when you think of me, when you think of your cunt and how it's empty, vacant, and desperate to be filled. Send me pictures of your outfits, the ones you wore to be sexy for me. Send me pictures of your body, the one that you know turns me on like nothing else. Tell me all the fantasies that run through your head, even the ones that are embarrassingly saccharine and domestic. Don't just say how much you want me. Show me how much you want me.

We both know you want to. You want me to feel good and strong and powerful. You want to put your pretty head in the palm of my hands and feel the thoughts drip out between your legs. You want to feel safe and protected in my grip, free of judgement, free of shame, free to indulge in your darkest fantasies. I made you greedy for me. I did it on purpose, giving you everything you could ever want in just the right way to make you crave it all the more. I have no intention of stopping. Call me an enabler, feeding your addiction to me, to how good I make you feel. All you have to do is give yourself to me. Repeatedly. Constantly. In ways that cannot be revoked. In ways that cannot be hidden, that change the shape of your body. Permanently.

It isn't a question, love, of the lengths you'll go. The question is what lengths would you allow yourself to go. How can I prove my resistance to something you're too embarrassed to show me? I might be able to resist them; I might not. We'll never know if you don't do it. The only one stopping you from doing it is you. If you're going to get what you want, you have to devote your ambition and your drive to getting it 110%. Even if it's embarrassing. Especially if it's embarrassing. Don't hold anything back. I know you can do it. Because I know my clever pup. I know you'll make me proud.

[kinkyrelief]

Quick Surprises

The quiet “Hup!” nor the subtle sound of feet padding against the floor is enough to wake me; half-foots are notoriously light on their feet, after all. It’s the emptiness of the bed next to me, rolling over to find the warm body that I had just been cuddling with conspicuously absent, that was enough to get me to claw my way back to consciousness. A deep breath fills my lungs, my eyes still clamped shut to block out the light pouring in from the windows, as I raise my arms and stretch. It only lasts for a few seconds before the breath squeaks out of me, devolving into a low groan. The room is blurry through my sleep-filled eyes, taking a moment to adjust. Though, once the haze clears, the stark room isn’t much better to look at. Ah well, you get what you pay for with a handful of silver pieces and, to be honest, we hadn’t been doing a whole lot of looking at the room last night.

For a moment, I’m confused about where my sleeping companion might have gone to but, as my brain starts to work again, the open door leading to the bathroom as well as the sound of water in the washbasin gives me the context clues I need.

“You in the bathroom, Fler?”

A chuckle, the kind of slightly cackled laughter I’ve fallen in love with since she and I first set out on our journey together, floats in from the other room. “Yeah, I’m in here. What, didn’t think I’d run off without you, did I? You weren’t that bad last night.”

My lips curl into a smile. That’s my girl. “Oh, good. A glowing review. You didn’t seem to have any complaints last night when you were calling me ‘Daddy’ and begging me to fill you up, but it’s still good to know that my performance didn’t send you running for the hills.”

The head poking out from behind the door frame makes my heart skip a beat in the best possible way. It’s adorably low to the ground, not even four feet high. Her large ears stick out from a messy mop of black hair, messy in a way that no amount of combing or brushing can ever truly fix. Her bright, amber eyes look at me seriously. “Hey. I don’t abandon people, Eodag. That’s not my deal. Half-foots get a lot of shit for being shifty and untrustworthy but at least this one isn’t. When I mate, I mate for life. So I hope you don’t have any plans for the next thirty years or so.”

I give her a little wink as I lean back against the headboard, my hands behind my head. “My only plans are to spend them with you, hun.”

The seriousness fades from Fler’s eyes as she rolls her eyes at me, but I can still see the embarrassed blushing on her cheeks. “Good.” With that, she disappears back behind the corner to keep doing well, whatever it is that women do in the mornings after a night of being fucked. “That’s why I picked a Tall-man to fall in love with. Also the fact that Elves are too slender, too bony.”

My eyes flutter closed, feeling the blankets against my bare skin, taking in deep breaths. Images of what we did last night, flashing through my mind. My cock twitches beneath the blanket in a non-committal way, just clearly enjoying the memories. “Oh yeah? You got a lot of experiences with Elves?”

“Hah! I’m not a slut! I am a lady, thank you very much. Despite what you so eloquently referred to as my ‘slutty little body’ last night, I keep it chaste. Since I left home, I think you’re the only person that’s actually seen my tits.”

“So there’s someone back in Hillbrook that I’ve got to beat up, huh?”

Fler’s exasperated sigh fuels me, my excitement manifesting in a slight wiggling my hips beneath the blanket, a self-satisfied dance. “It was one time, it was a years ago, and I’ve done a fair bit of growing since then! My boobs were half this size.” She steps out from behind the door, holding her large breasts in her hands, her tits filling her palms and spilling over the sides.

As alluring as that sight is, my eyes are drawn elsewhere on Fler’s curvy body. All she can tell, however, is that I seem to be distracted by her body, giving her an ego boost and a rising warmth between her thighs. “Oh, ho, ho! Looks like someone’s a little distracted by my big, bouncy titties. You’ve always liked ‘em and that’s never been more clear than you made it last night.”

My throat is dry, the words coming out as a thin whisper. “Uh, F-fler?”

Letting out a half-faked moan, Fler sinks her fingers into her tits, flesh spilling out between them. “Mmm, oh, yes. Your lips did wonderful things to me. I haven’t been able to suck ‘em myself in a year or two, so it was nice to have a little bit of help with that.”

This kind of talk is exactly the kind of thing that would normally get me going for another round, but I can’t quite concentrate on that. “Fler.”

“Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to have you back there, sucking on my nipples the way you did last night. But if you bite them exactly the way I like it, I’m not responsible for what comes next.”

“Flertisel Noakes!”

The harshness of my voice finally snaps Fler out of her erotic fantasy, making her jump and making her breasts, still in her hand, wobble. “Green Children of Sheela, Eodag! What?!”

I swallow, my eyes unable to look away from Fler’s middle. “You’re… You’re pregnant!

Fler blinks for a moment, glancing down at her body. Down, past her large, ribcage-covering breasts, but above the hips that sit a handful of inches wider than her shoulder, Fler’s tummy is just barely beginning to show. Considering the rest of her curves, someone might be forgiven in thinking that it was just a little extra softness around the middle, curving out just an inch or two. But I had spent much of the preceding twelve hours getting intimately familiar with that soft body and that belly bump was not there last night. Fler parts her breasts in her hands, looking down the widened cleavage at her body. “Uh, yes? Correct. Good job. Well done. You’ve missed your calling as a detective.”

I can barely process her nonchalant attitude, blinking . “But… How?”

Fler chuckles, sending a ripple through her softness. “Really? I thought you had figured it out last night. Y’know, when you came inside me. Better late than never, I suppose. You see, Eodag, when a mommy and a daddy get really, really horny-“

“Fler. Seriously. What’s going on? You weren’t like this last night. I feel like I would have known. Is this… Was there someone else?”

“Eodag.”

“Hey, no judgement! We’re just an adventuring party, you know? You’re free to do whatever with whoever and-“

Fler saunters over to the side of the bed, giving it a firm smack to get my attention. “Are you going to throw a little pity party for yourself all day or will you let me fucking talk? It’s yours, dumbass. From last night.”

“But you’re already, uh, you know…”

Fler shakes her head and clambers up onto the bed next to me. I scoot over a few inches to give her room, watching with a touch of awe as she instinctively knows how to navigate around her swollen belly. With a sigh, she lays down next to me, grabbing my hand and laying it over her tummy. Compared to the rest of her, it looks so big but, with my hand over it, it feels remarkably small. A dormant protective instinct begins to make itself known in my mind. Her smaller hand lays on top of mine. “I assume you got the Tall-man Birds’n’Bees talk, but it’s a little different for Half-foots. We get fifty years, right? And that’s under the very best conditions. Most of us are lucky to make it to forty. Nine months? Who’s got time for that? We do everything quicker. Age. Breed.” She reaches out for my cheek, cupping it gently.

“…Falling in love?”

Fler gives my cheek a light smack, chuckling softly. “Yeah, you dork. That, too. Point being, that’s why I’m already starting, well, look like this. Half-foot babies come fast. And it’s not uncommon to have two or three at once.” Fler gets quiet for a moment, biting her lip before looking up at me with her big eyes. “Are you… Are you ready for it? You think?”

I give her a broad smile and lean down, kissing her tummy, delighting in the way it makes her squirm. A trail of kisses wind her way up her body, making her twitch and giggle when I take a pit stop to kiss each of her nipples, before finally kissing her right on the lips. “I’m ready for it. We’re an adventuring party, right? This’ll be our greatest adventure yet.”

Fler just looks at me for a moment, her lip trembling. Then she snickers. Then she giggles. It builds into a chuckle then outright laughter, kicking her little legs. “What the- Holy shit, that was the single cheesiest thing I think I’ve heard anyone say. What sappy romance novel did you steal that from? Fuck, if I didn’t have morning sickness before, I definitely do now. Good gods, I think my teeth are decaying, that was so sweet.”

Her laughter is infectious and I find myself chuckling along with her. I put my arms around Fler’s waist, dragging her closer to my body, giving the side of her neck a little kiss. “Don’t make me push you off the bed, ‘cause I will. Pregnant or not.”

Fler lets out a soft moan, squirming slightly in my arms. “Nah, you wouldn’t do that.”

“And why wouldn’t I?”

“Because if you do, then I won’t be able to do this.”

In an impressive feat of pregnant athleticism, Fler swings her leg up over my lap, her soft thighs and wide hips resting against me as she straddles me. Her hands grab at my cheeks and pull me closer, meeting in the middle for a kiss. It’s passionate, though a different kind of passion than what we had last night. Then, it was raw passion, almost animal-like, following the orders that our bodies gave us on a most primal level. Now, though, it’s different. It’s not just passion for the moment, but passion for each other. Through the kiss, I can feel Fler’s lips curl into a little smile, wiggling her hips on top of me, grinding her most intimate parts against the rapidly stiffening length underneath the sheets, as she taunts me in a sing-song voice. “Ooh, feels like someone is enjoying this.”

“Well, yeah. The mother of my children is straddling my hips. What’s not to love?”

I smile at Fler, thinking I’m being cheeky, but my smile flickers for a moment. Fler, for her part, gets a rather odd expression on her face. She’s suddenly breathing heavily, her eyes glossed over for a moment, her mouth open and her tongue threatening to hang out.

“Say it again.”

“…Say what-“

“What you just said. About who I am. Again. Please. Please.”

It takes a second for it to dawn on me. My hands move up to the upper curve of Fler’s hips, my thumbs reaching out and pressing down slightly on her bloated womb. “You, Fler, are the mother of my children. Of our chil-“

Whatever else I was going to say is cut off as Fler suddenly pushes forward, forcing her lips against mine. Now, when she grinds her hips, she does so with more intensity. She’s not doing it to tease me anymore; she’s doing it for her own enjoyment. Her hands roam over my head, sliding through the messy, still bedhead-riddle tangle of brown hair as she tries to hold me closer, make sure I can’t leave her, not now, not when she needs me so desperately. When the kiss ends, there’s still a string of saliva connecting our mouths, shaking with Fler’s heaving breaths. She rises up on her knees just far enough for her to slide the blankets out of the way, moaning as she comes to rest on her bare skin. “Eodag… Daddy… I need you to fuck me again… Fuck the mother of your children…”

Closing the distance between us, I kiss Fler this time, just a little peck on the lips. “Of course, Fler. I’ll make you feel good; I promise. You’ve got bigger things to worry about now.” I put my hand on her swollen belly, cradling the bump which, in an exceedingly subtle way, already seems bigger than it did a when I last had my hand on it a few moments ago. The sensation causes Fler’s head to shoot back, bellowing out a moan. As quickly as I can, I grab Fler by the waist, lifting her slightly off of me, before rolling over. Our positions are now reversed, with me on top of her. Her eyes look up at me, a tiny bit of fear in them. I must look huge in comparison to her. Slowly, I lower my hips down until my length is resting right at her entrance, where I was for the first time not twelve hours ago. I look at her for a moment, looking for her to give me the sign that she’s ready for me to go. A little nod from her and I’m tensing my hips, getting ready to-

“Wait! Wait. Stop, just… Say you’ll take care of me. Say it!”

“I will, Fler.”

“No, the whole thing. Please. Please, Eodag. I- I need to hear it.”

“I’ll take care of you, Fler. Of us. Of our children growing inside you.”

Something about hearing those words fills Fler with need, writhing on the bed underneath me. Her back arches up, her breasts spreading to the sides as gravity pulls them down. I bow my head, planting a kiss right on her sternum, right in the valley of her cleavage. Suddenly, her position shifts, her torso dropping down and her hips rising up. I don’t even need to move my hips and suddenly I’m buried in warmth and softness and wetness, her muscles contracting around me. I groan through gritted teeth as I pulls me in and drags me down with her, laying on top of her. She whimpers as I slide out of her, building into a moan as I thrust back into her, letting my hips move on their own. Both of our minds become swaddled in a haze of lust and desire, unable to think about anything save for the body of the person in front of us. It’s a little scary to relinquish thought and safety like that, but at least I don’t have to worry about accidentally getting her pregnant anymore.