21! I swear Iāll get around to writing an intro post soon š I follow from c*****c-p*******t AFAB (disclosing for kink purposes); I use all pronouns. Iām happily in a closed relationship, but my dms are open for non-personal/non-intimate conversation
"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 would really love to just be bouncing on a pile of tentacles rn. Feeling them slither deeper and deeper inside of me as I ride them, curious tentacles wrapping around my thighs and spreading my legs around, pushing me deeper and deeper down as I lose my mind to lust š
The ultrasound reveal of the number is always so hot to me, honestly goated post about it earlier
Yessss itās one of my absolute faves!! Thereās an addendum I love to that too which is the nutrition consult where they tell me I have to eat 7k+ calories a day and gain 150-200 pounds š¤¤ the shock and horror of learning youāre going to double (or more) in size is just peak.
āMountedā as a word gets me so šµāš«šµāš«,,, being mounted sounds so possessive, so encompassing, so primal,,,, hhhhh bunny brain likes the word a lot,, help. Getting āmountedā is right up there with getting ābredā I must confess whewf
Imagine the electricity coursing through your veins as I force myself inside you raw for the first time and your futile little attempts at fighting back donāt work and you realize all at once that thereās nothing you can do in the world to stop me from raping you. From breeding you. From keeping you as my sex slave forever.
hard animalistic sex that makes my tits jiggle as my face burns with embarrassment. watching a big man drool above me as my feminine body triggers every masculine urge in his
She's a cow, she wouldn't be carrying your babies if she wasn't, that's what livestock is there for.
She'll be much happier if you don't try and treat her like she's equal. She may not know it at first, but thinking for women, especially pregnant women, is always for the best.
Colleague that agrees to observe and take notes while you interact with an alien lifeform you've been studying. Colleague that watches on as you open the container and the thing's tentacles curl curiously around your fingers, your wrist. Colleague that does not react when it begins wrapping its tentacles around your middle, as you begin to express uncertainty--as several exploratory tentacles slip beneath your waistband.
Colleague that looks on impassively as the tentacles find your opening and curiously push their way in, making you gasp, making your hips twitch involuntarily.
"I-it's inside me!" you say. Your colleague nods. Notes something down.
The tentacles seem to register your body twitching and tensing when it touches certain spots, and two more exploratory tentacles shove their way into you, begin pressing and rubbing and thrusting as the tentacles seem to begin gathering data on you.
You slump down against the wall, knees spread wide as the mass of tentacles sitting atop your belly continues pushing and twisting its way into you, leaving you a panting, sweating mess.
Your colleague stands above you, clipboard still in hand.
"I-it's not stopping," you plead. "I--it's not --ah!"
You whimper as the tentacles thicken inside of you, throbbing, stretching you, as you catch sight of a line of spherical bulges inside the tentacles leading under your waistband, as you feel yourself beginning to be filled.
You look up helplessly at your colleague, so overwhelmed you can't form words as the thing begins thrusting into you once more, shoving you back against the wall with each one as more of those bulges travel downwards. Your belly is beginning to push against your waistband, and is your chest starting to feel a bit tender?
Your colleague simply nods, turning their attention to their clipboard as they continue making notes.
(ghost fucking, rapid pregnancy, breast expansion, lactation, body in vasion)
You're a new nurse and working your first grueling 20 hour shift at the hospital. You finally get a break, but find the cots designated for staff are already occupied-- so you sneak into the maternity ward where the beds for expecting moms are extra comfy. Surely you can sneak a quick nap before getting back to your rounds, right?
The ward is busy, and you almost lose hope of finding a room as you scan the patient roster for vacancies until you realize that there's a whole room number omitted-- Oh, you've heard about this. Some kind of nurse superstition. There's even a printed-out FOR STORAGE ONLY sign taped to the door when you arrive.
You're a person of science and don't believe in such nonsense, of course. The room is dark and musty-smelling when you enter, the silhouettes of extra machinery and supplies visible where they've been shoved unceremoniously against the walls, but, in the midst of it all, you find a glorious, unoccupied bed. It's even better that it's a storage room-- no one's going to interrupt you in here.
You swipe a few clean blankets from the supply alcove and curl up on the bed in the sweet, quiet darkness. Your body is heavy with exhaustion from your shift so far so you quickly find yourself drifting to sleep...
Until you feel fingers wrapping around your wrists.
You jolt awake, reflexively trying to pull away-- surely this is a nurse or custodian who doesn't know you also work there-- but your assailant doesn't speak, doesn't reprimand or demand answers. Just holds you down. Just grabs your knees as well-- there must be two of them--Just forces your legs open--
You cry out for help but find your mouth covered by an unseen hand, then there's a cool breath at your ear;
You will give them the life owed to them. The life stolen from them. The life they should have had...
The bed is abruptly adjusted to push you up into a sitting position, and through your scrubs, you feel something cool nudging between your legs. Your scream is muffled as you thrash, trying to get away from whatever it is before it---enters you, pushes itself inside you. More hands--how many people are there??--hold your hips down as the sensation advances, filling your belly with a strange, swelling chill that leaves you feeling strangely bloated, the elastic of your pants pressing into your skin.
Amidst your squirming, one hand travels between your legs, and begins stroking through the thin fabric of your scrubs, making small, almost soothing circles over your clit.
You gasp, trying to twist away from it until another cool pressure begins pushing its way into you. This one feels bigger, the sensation of being stretched accompanied by the stimulation of your clit making you whimper and weakening your resolve. It slides along your walls--are you getting wet?--joining the other strange coolness and you're able to lift your chin just enough to see your belly visibly rise beneath your top, putting you solidly in "ate too much" territory.
Another begins filling you. This time there's no moment to catch your breath between them because as soon as it's entirely in, another cool something presses its way inside of you. The hand is still working your clit in slow, practiced circles and you can feel a growing damp spot where the fabric is being pressed against you. The constant stimulation is beginning to cloud out the panic you felt moments ago, your mind unable to hold both simultaneously even as your belly swells once more like rising bread dough, leaving you looking like you have a half-basketball tucked under your top.
At this point you start feeling an ache in your chest and groan, back arching as if to attempt to alleviate the pain. A pair of hands finds each breast and begins massaging again in that slow, soothing way. In the low light you can see the indentations of fingers pressing into the fabric as you start feeling your bra beginning to tighten. You don't care-- it feels...so nice....
More sensation pushes its way into you. They're continuous now so you quickly lose track, your belly swelling larger and larger like a filling water balloon. You find your hips jerking involuntarily when a particularly large one shoves itself in, twisting and grinding against your g-spot, sending pleasure shooting up your spine. You moan behind the hand over your mouth, your belly pushing out to the size of a watermelon, full term.
And they're still coming.
Your breasts are visibly pulling your top tight, plump flesh beginning to spill over your bra cups. Despite your back pressed back against the mattress, you feel your bra become unhooked, feel your arms gently bent to pull the straps over them before it's tugged up and out of your collar and tossed to the mattress besides you. You get one brief look at your breasts-- now the size of grapefruits, much larger than you started, with swollen nipples poking through the fabric--before the massaging continues again.
You're doing great, says that voice in your ear.
The filling sensation keeps coming, a relentless stream of pressure that has your hips bucking underneath the growing weight of your belly as your clit is continuously stimulated. You're easily overdue with twins now, beach ball sized, your nipples throbbing and breasts swelling to the size of your head and--are those wet spots on your shirt?
Almost as soon as you have that thought, you feel mouths pressed over the outlines of fingertip-sized nipples through your shirt and begin to suck. You gasp, the sensitivity unexpected, and now you're purposefully rocking your hips in time with the ministrations of the hand at your clit, in time with the feeling of fullness still pushing its way into you and filling your belly, now too large to wrap your arms around if you weren't restrained, in time with the rhythmic sucking and lapping of the mouths over your nipples as your breasts, seemingly encouraged by the stimulation, balloon with milk.
"More," you moan behind the hand, "please, more..."
The sets of hands and mouths oblige you-- now there's hands squeezing and kneading your breasts as they're sucked and lapped at, now there's hands stroking and rubbing your filling belly and at your inner thighs, now there's a multitude of fingers trailing and stroking and rubbing your clit, your labia, all the while you're still being filled and filled and filled--
You shriek as the orgasm crashes into you, your walls gripping whatever is inside you in hard, clamping pulses. Milk gushes out of you and drenches the taut fabric of your top in a letdown.
The hands continue stroking and sucking and massaging you through an orgasm that feels like it lasts for ages, the filling sensation finally coming to a stop and you collapse back against the pillow, panting and sweating, ironically, as if you've just given birth.
Then the lights flick on, and with it the sensation of hands disappear. For a moment you think it was a dream and you've just been woken up-- but then you look down, and are able to see yourself clearly for the first time.
Breasts that must be larger than basketballs slump atop a stretchmark-laced belly the size of the labor-assisting yoga balls sitting in the corner of the room, your nipples, cork-sized now, throbbing through your strained top, dribbling thick cream onto the mattress around you. You can feel the fabric between your legs is soaked, your pussy twitching with the aftershocks of an orgasm.
Dazedly you look up and find a fellow nurse standing in the doorway, looking at you with a mix of shock and exasperation.
"The sign's there for a reason, honey," she deadpans.
"I--I was just--"
She puts her hands up as if in surrender. "I'm not dealing with this tonight," she says, reaching back for the light switch. "Have fun. You're in good hands."
"Wait--"
The lights go out, and the door closes.
And then the feeling of hands, so many hands, sliding and rubbing and massaging and--
You feel something cool begin pushing its way into you.
Any love for small baby bumps? Just a little swell that can easily be written off and hidden and ignored? The bulge is hard when you press on it, and the flutters and kicks are undeniable, but you can still pretend.
