I knew I was seeing him that day. I couldn’t wait. I wanted him so badly, I know it would be hard to hold back.
But it was dangerous. I was fertile…
The idea made me shiver. A baby… his baby… inside me. Growing… filling my womb…
But would he want it? I reached down, rubbed my flat, soft stomach. Thought how strange it would be to have it be round, firm… I decided not to tell him. I want it, even if he didn’t.
My lover came to the door. We talked. Laughed. Had dinner. Gazed longingly at each other. We both wanted what we knew would happen. Holding back, simply because the erotic tension was so delicious.
We sat on the couch next to each other. His hand found my thigh. He griped it… my whole body surged with lust. Need. I pulled him close. Kissed him deeply.
Our clothes came off, keeping a pretense of civility at first. My shirt, and his. My bra. He gazed with hunger at my breasts. Kissed the nipples, making them ache, needing more, forcing a lusty moan from me.
The man I cared for so much tried to get my pants unbuttoned, got frustrated. Tugged. The button broke, and I hissed, as my jeans were tugged off. My panties were left on, for now. I could feel my juices soaking into the fabric, my gender filling the room with an aroused, sexual musk. It drove us both to an even higher frenzy…
Should I tell him, of the danger? That this could lead to me straining, screaming, trying to bush our baby from my aching, dripping opening?
The thought only left me wanting more. NEEDING more. I pulled at his clothes, wrenching them down, kissing along his shaft. So potent, powerful, full of seed. It was already leaking… I shivered in anticipation. The sex. The impregnation. Gestating his baby, feeling it grow and move and kick… labor, birth… the whole thing, I needed it, wanted to relish every second.
I couldn’t hold back any longer. Stood, guided him to the floor. My lover gripped my underwear. I leaned back, let him pull harder, until a ripping sound filled the room. I gasped, purred, my panties a tattered shred of fabric, torn off. My feminine gash was leaking juices down my thighs, practically dripping. I’d never been this aroused in my life, I couldn’t have stopped if I wanted to.
I wanted to ride him. Impregnate myself, without him even knowing. Make this beautiful man cum in me, force him to create a child in my body. I wanted to be in control. I pushed on his chest, straddled him. Pressed his tip against my gender, let my sex run it’s juices over it, down my lover’s shaft, let him feel how hot and wet and ready I was.
I began to lower myself, shuddering, moaning, forcing myself to go slow, relish every tiny bit that entered me. Feeling him leak pre-cum into my tunnel, laying his swimmers inside me. Just knowing that, knowing that I had a ripe, fertile egg inside that they wanted, that they would find…
His tip mashed against my cervix. I came. Felt my womanhood clamping down, milking his wonderful sex, forcing more of his beautiful, powerful cum to squirt inside me. I leaned down after, kissed him. Told him not to hold back.
I began to slide him in and out. If I hadn’t already conceived, I knew it was only a matter of time. That knowledge made me even hotter, and I picked up my pace as he began to tense. He didn’t even know what I was really doing, and that made it even more delicious. I pressed my face into his neck, feeling myself quickly reach the verge again, and moaned “cum for me baby…” in the softest, most sultry voice I could.
My lover gripped me tight, as jet after ropy jet of his seed thudded against my cervix. I immediately climaxed once more, as I felt my tunnel, my belly, fill with hot, sticky cum.
We laid there after. Loving one another. I couldn’t stop rubbing my belly, smiling at the secret I’d made. Could almost feel the moment, as we laid nestled against one another, drifting to sleep, that faint fluttering inside. The egg, taking root.
The very thought made me wet all over again.
I liked my secret. Took a test after a month, and cried in joy when it came out positive. I’d done it… I was carrying our baby. I grinned, wanted to hide it from him as long as possible. He had things to do, we only saw each other every once in a while. Just holding him made me overwhelmed with lust. But he had to go on a trip for three months, just as I entered my second trimester.
I walked around naked all the time. Surrounded myself with mirrors. I loved every little change. My breasts, getting heavy, aching deliciously as I started getting milky. Our child slowly, inexorably grew inside, pressing my belly outward, the skin firm, tight, smooth.
I loved my secret, but I loved him more. Didn’t want him to feel like I was hiding it out of fear. So I made sure I took plenty of pictures every day, noting every little change. Giving him a sexy, fertile, beautiful timeline to easily follow. My middle became more gravid, I couldn’t keep my hands off myself. I was so excited, I’d sit naked for an entire weekend, enjoying the tight, round skin under my fingertips, imagining that I could feel myself growing oh so slowly.
Toward the start of my third trimester, I felt the first kick. God, I was so heavy, so full. My entire body screamed of fertility, motherhood. My back was bowed, chest bigger and fuller, my constantly-aroused womanhood puffy, like the pedals of a flower just about to open. I couldn’t wait for it to.
The doctors had been telling me it would be a nice, big, healthy baby. I was looking forward to meeting it, to going into labor, giving birth…
He came home. I was wearing heavy, baggy clothes. He sensed something was up. We started to play with each other, kissing, touching. Then, I started to slowly strip. And his eyes got wide. He began to smile, as I got the sweaters off, showing my massive, motherly swell. Began to bite his lip, get painfully erect as I didn’t stop taking clothes off.
It was the best sex we’d ever had. Tip mashing against my sealed cervix with every thrust. Suckling my breasts, relieving the ache, the weight. Rubbing my belly constantly. I’d never felt anything like it. Especially when the baby started to kick. The child we’d created.
Of course he was thrilled.
I could barely keep his hands off me. Not that I tried very hard. I’d tease him by pretending to go into labor. Go into the other room, start moaning, grunting, saying how heavy the head was, how much pressure I felt. He’d walk in, throbbing and stiff. I’d tell him I was about to crown, that I could feel my feminine lips bulging with his baby.
It was always amazing, always passionate.
Finally, it was time. I had been having contractions all day, feeling them get stronger, the pressure getting more powerful. But I wanted to keep this another secret. Wanted to help his fantasies come true. We were going to the mall, having a relaxing date. I laid out my clothes, and let him watch as I slowly, deliberately dressed. Sliding my panties up, covering my damp gender. Then my pants. Bra, and tee shirt. By the end, he was panting with lust, and he never even noticed the contractions, thought they were excited kicks. The t-shirt was from before I got pregnant, as were the pants. They barely fit, my gravid orb fully exposed.
By noon, I could feel the head pressing firmly against my cervix, the spasms gripping my body were impossible to ignore. He started to suspect. The pressure was rising to a crescendo…
I pulled him close. “Don’t panic, I love you…” I whispered. Kissed him, while cupping his hand over my crotch. Shuddered, and heard a very quiet pop from inside me. Moaned as I felt my waters break, gushing down my birth canal, into my underwear, my pants, all over his hand, soaking everything between my legs, drenching my thighs.
His eyes went wide. Stunned, surprised. I loved it. I kept my hand over his, loosely. “It’s time hon… I won’t tell if you don’t…” I whispered in the ear of the man I loved. His breathing picked up, and I knew I was bringing his wildest dreams to life. A quick nod. I nibbled his earlobe, and focused on the once-more climbing pressure inside.
My baby was ready to be born.
Another potent contraction coursed through me, and I could tell I was fully dilated. I buried my face in my lover’s neck, whimpered, clutched tight t him as I bore down, started to give birth to the baby we’d made nine months ago. His strong hands roamed my hot, sweaty body. I didn’t mind at all, was comforted my his touches. My cervix was being spread by the head, aching, straining, burning.
It was the worst pain I’d ever been in.
I had never felt anything so amazing, so good.
Once more I pushed, biting down on the father of my child’s shoulder, easing the relentless force in my womb, while making the pressure a million times worse within it’s barrier, my feminine tunnel. Filling me, penetrating me from the inside out. Every spasm that crushed my gravid mound came with the need to force my offspring out from between my legs, and I gave in without question.
It was torture. It was heaven. My body was being pushed to it’s limits, and yet some part of me knew this is what my body was for, the point of being female. Some primal aspect of me was roaring in triumph, that I was becoming a mother, right here, in front of all these people. That they could see how fertile I was, how strong my child would be as I birthed it.
I wanted to scream, as I bore down desperately, the head slipping down the most delicate, sensitive parts of my body.
I was on the verge of orgasm, as I felt my lips starting to push out, bulging with my soon-to-be-born baby.
“Love you!” I gasped, as my opening began to press out further, and I could feel my damp underwear dragging pleasantly over the sensitive, swollen flesh. My first child was starting to crown, making my damp, delicate folds light up, burning so deliciously. Every second the worst and best of my life at the same time, and I felt like I was starting to go mad, utterly overwhelmed by the raw sensations caused by my labor.
I opened wider as I pushed. And wider. And wider. It was coming so fast, searing my poor flesh so deliciously, I couldn’t stop, needed to feel the hot, wet rush of my baby gushing out in a spray of juices! But my panties, my pants, were fighting my efforts. I could feel my lover’s hand rubbing my thighs, along my bulging clothes, running his finger up and down the fabric, to my hot, straining skin with agonizing gentleness.
I stopped for a bit, caught my breath. “Hon… are you sure you want to do this? It could be risky for you and the baby, and I don’t want…” I put a trembling finger on his lips, shushed him, and then kissed him deeply, as another contraction took me, and I bore down once more, making the bulge between my legs more significant. As my lips opened, little streams of amniotic fluid trickled from me, I was sitting in a steadily growing puddle. the air around me beginning to smell of sex, arousal, and childbirth.
I was opening so wide, and I bit my lip, resting my head on his chin as I strained. The skin seemed to be stretching so far, making the most wonderfully torturous sensations radiate from between my legs. I could feel my womanhood starting to near it’s limit, feeling tight, the baby almost fully crowned. I whimpered as I pushed, and nothing happened.
My pants… panties… they were holding the baby in place, keeping it from going further… I looked my lover in the eye, let out a groan of effort. The fingers I loved so much fumbled with my jeans button. The zipper. He slid a hand down my pants and underwear, tugged at the clothes, guided them away from my laboring opening.
He knew I didn’t want him to take them off. Just to give me enough room.
A big push… and I couldn’t help it anymore. The head crowned fully, and then… it popped out of me! I screamed, the sudden surge of forward motion out of my body overwhelming my erotic desires. Everyone knew now. A brief examination exposed the smell, the puddle, the bulge, my lover’s hands down my pants, giving my room to deliver. Some gasped. Some watched in stunned silence. Some laughed.
But some, I could tell, were fascinated, aroused at this display of love, of the power of the female body. Those people, I wanted to watch. Wanted them to see how gloriously feminine I was right now. In the process of becoming a mother, bringing a life into this world from inside my body, out between my legs… nothing compared.
One more agonized, orgasmic scream. One more big push. One shoulder. The other. then, in a burning, hot, wet rush of movement, all the rest. Fluids pumped from between my legs, soaking everything down there once more, as the man I loved so very much withdrew our baby from my clothes, let me hold them for the first time.
It was a little girl. So beautiful. So perfect. She cried in shock, but quieted swiftly. Such a good little thing.
I was exhausted, thrilled. The ambulance showed up, and as they arrived, the need to push once more struck. I bore down carefully, and felt the placenta slipping down my body. Not nearly as large or firm as the amazing baby I held in my arms, drinking from my breast.
She was fine, the doctors told us. So was I. And this beautiful man. The three of us went home, after, and began to set about adapting to our new lives.
He proposed, that very night.
I told him only under one condition. He was never to let me have another period again.
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