I’m pinned under you, legs shoved wide, wrists trapped above my head. You’re so much bigger, so much stronger, and I’m thrashing, pleading with my whole body not to let you finish inside. I keep saying no, no, please pull out, I don’t want a baby, I can’t be a mom yet, Im 19, I’m too young, but you don’t listen. You just keep slamming in deeper until your hips lock against mine and I feel it. the hot, thick pulse of you cumming, flooding me, filling me up even while I’m crying and begging you to stop.
You stay buried inside after, cock still twitching, plugging every drop in so it has no choice but to take. I can feel it already, that heavy, warm weight settling low in my belly like it’s claiming me from the inside out. You finally pull out slow, and I watch thick white leak from my sore hole, but most of it stays trapped. I’m ruined already and it’s only the first time.
My tits hurt first. They were D cups, cute in tight tops with a push-up bra. Now they swell fast, ballooning several cup sizes bigger, growing impossibly full and round, skin taut and firm. They hang heavy on my chest, straining every bra and top I own until i can’t even get them on anymore. The weight pulls at me constantly, making them bounce and jiggle with every step. My nipples darken and thicken, spreading wide and prominent, stiff and sensitive. I cup them and they throb, sloshing with milk I didn’t ask for, so engorged they ache for relief. They’re massive now, obscene and impossible to ignore. I stare in the mirror and hate how they hang, how none of my shirts or bras fit, how everyone can tell just by looking that I’ve been bred.
My hips crack and widen next. I feel the bones shifting, spreading, making room for the baby you forced into me. My ass gets fatter, rounder, thighs thickening until my jeans won’t button anymore. I waddle a little already and I’m only a few weeks in. My center of gravity is fucked. I look like I was built to push your kid out.
My pussy is ruined. Your cock stretched it so wide it doesn’t snap back. The lips stay puffy and loose, gaping a little even when I’m empty. It’s always wet now, slick dripping down my inner thighs no matter what I do. I clench around nothing and it aches, throbs, remembers exactly how your cock split me open. I’m horny all the time, leaking, desperate, clit swollen and sensitive. I rub myself raw trying to make it quiet but it only gets worse.
Pregnancy brain hits hard. My thoughts feel slow like I’m underwater. I forget words mid-sentence, lose my keys five times a day, stare at nothing for minutes. All I can focus on is the ache between my legs and the weight in my tits. My mind keeps looping back to that night, replaying how full you made me, how good it felt even when I hated it. I get dumber every week, foggy and scatterbrained, a ditzy knocked up teen who can’t string thoughts together without thinking about cock.
I walk around town and people stare. They see the swollen belly starting to show, the heavy leaking tits, the way I press my thighs together to stop the constant leaking. All they see is a dumb knocked up slut who let some guy pump a baby into her. I can’t hide it. I’m just a milky, cock-hungry mess now, waddling and leaking and aching to be used again, and there’s nothing I can do to take it back.
I’m nowhere near done yet but I’m getting so, so heavy. I feel like an overripe fruit about to burst. I’m plumping up so fast I can’t contain my belly in any of my tight maternity dresses, let alone anything I used to wear before I got pregnant. I get winded to easily to do any work, my waddle slows me down so much that I’m better off staying off my feet entirely, which leaves me with no choice but to just keep swelling until I pop. Every morning I wake up thinking I can’t grow any rounder than I already am, only to wake up plumper and fuller the next morning. It doesn’t matter how heavy I feel or how much I want to move around or fit in my clothes, I have no choice but to keep growing.
I think the hottest part about pregnancy is how much of a mark it leaves on your body. Your hip bones literally widen to make it easier to push a baby through, you gain a pretty substantial ammount of weight all around your hips and thighs and ass. Your belly rounding out enough it is a struggle to even walk. You are optimized to just sit there & grow a child, Your breasts aching & swelling...
You don't even have to want it really. The female body is optimized for childbirth, and not for any of your actual wants/desires. A random mans sperm has more agency over your body then you do. Even if you hate every part there is nothing you can do to stop it after a certain point. You have to watch yourself swell up day by day. Watching as none of your pants button. How things start to strain around your chest. How everything keeps riding up and exposing your tummy. How your walk gradually turns to a waddle. Having to hold your hands on your back, moaning & panting W/ exertion at pretty simple tasks.
There is no way you come out of it W/o looking like a mother, once your body develops the extra ducts in your chest it becomes really simple to reactivate your ability to lactate after already being pregnant once. Your hips so much wider then before. The female body yearns for the cycle of being pregnant again and again
Ooooo talking about academia, I wish I would get knocked up while going to university, but not knowing about it as the months pass and I grow larger and heavier. I think it's bc of my stress eating habits and increased cravings, but soon enough I'll waddle from class to class with a low hanging, overdue belly covered in stretch marks, including a popped belly button and lots of active and intense squirming and shifting from within that are still clearly visible under my tight shirts and sweaters...
Godddd this scenario has me in a chokehold. The academia settings really do something for me, maybe its the publicness of being on a campus, or the idea of going into labor during a class lecture, or whoever got you pregnant being in your class watching you grow, but I love it so much. Especially being overdue 💕 I love the idea of trying to prepare for exams or an important presentation while being worried about when your water is finally going to break. ❤️❤️
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” I ask you with a smile as you desperately try to cover your exposed nakedness with the blanket. Unable to hide your vulnerable and monstrously huge belly. A little over a year ago we met online. The girl with the breeding fantasies, wanting a sexy secret. An older man to claim her and plant his seed. When you called me daddy the first time I knew what you were after. Just a little pretend time. Something as close to being bred but not the real thing. “I want to be huge with your babies, daddy” you whispered as I thrust into you. When I erupted inside your body you moaned in pleasure. “What do you want again, sweetheart?” I asked. “To be huge with babies daddy.” You replied, adding the giggle for emphasis. You had no idea what was coming your way as you sighed in content. My seed draining deep inside your cervix.
It wouldn’t be the last time you would feel my cum pool inside of you . The months that followed you watched helplessly as your breasts became soft and tender, growing achingly heavier everyday. Your once pink areolas turned deep brown and expanded. Your nipples were now constantly erect, painfully sensitive to every sensation. Your hips became a never ending source of discomfort as they continued to expand, desperately trying to accommodate the strain they were under. There were times were you had to stop yourself from crying over how large your ass and thighs had become, big, thick, and meaty. Your ankles were swollen and painful, your feet hurt if you even attempted to put shoes on, and nothing could ease your back as your poor frame tried it’s best to adjust. And all of this was nothing compared to the belly I had given you. For nine months you looked on in shock and then almost a sense of horror as it grew in size. Impossibly huge, it dominated you. By the last month you could barely get out of bed as your new gravid body weighed you down. My children kicking away at you, unable to find anymore room to grow. As if to add insult to injury you became a slave to your hormones and the dull ache between your legs. I would take you anytime I wanted. Never once giving thought about being gentle on the mother of my children. As you grew heavier I would fuck you with abandon like a hungry animal. Almost every night you would pass out drenched in sweet, slight trails of milk leaking from your breasts, a large wet stain of our cum drying under your ample body. And even then it wasn’t enough as every time I left you couldn’t stop your hands from going between your thighs. Your puffy and swollen vagina feeling almost alien to your touch. Even your lips felt thick and strangely heavy as you parted them, trying to pleasure yourself. You could smell your own arousal. Always. And the few times you could muster the strength to heave yourself off of the king sized bed you would leave a slick trail on the floor below you. You would do everything you could not to think about the sight of yourself. Of what you had become. Trying to deny the fact you would almost count down the minutes until my return so you could use what energy you had to grind against my rigid cock as I thrusted in and out.
By the ninth month you could barely reach your pussy anymore over the massive swell of your belly. There were days I would come back to find you in tears over how frustrated you were. How embarrassed you were. How badly you ached for more. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” I ask forcing your legs open . Setting to work on your engorged clit. “Didn’t you say you couldn’t wait to have babies?” You let out a small whine as I pry open your rounded thighs.
“ Not like this” you say weak and defeated .
“Not like what?” I ask before I casually lick my fingers.
“I’m so heavy..” You feel the tears starting to burn a little behind your eyes. “You made me so big and heavy…… “
“That’s too bad” I reply before I start gently rubbing your engorged bud. You let out a moan as your body betrays you again. Your slit already slick and wanting. “Because your going to be swollen with my babies as many times as I want. Your mine to breed. And there isn’t a god damn thing you can do to stop me. Now tell me, what is you really want?”
“ Please” You whimper.
“Please what?”
You look away trying to hide how ashamed you are of yourself and what you’ve been reduced to “ Please cum in me again….”
Thinking about first becoming pregnant, and greatly underestimating just how much my body will change. Perhaps I missed a day on the pill, or misjudged how fertile I was one night. Maybe something was even slipped into my food when I wasn't looking, priming my body to get knocked up.
Still after a few weeks of nausea, aching breasts, and an odd bloat in my stomach I take the test and it's positive. Aren't I showing early? I don't question it. I feel nervous, I'm not sure if I really want this. Imagining I was pregnant in bed always led to arousal, but do I really want to go through with it? I am convinced though and I try to quell my worries, I can't get that big from just one baby.
By the time I learn it's more than one it's already too late.
Almost 9 months later I'm miserably huge and regretting everything, trying in vain to find a comfortable position, where I don't feel like I'm about to burst. I'm stuffed full, disgustingly large and stretched, assaulted from the inside, by my squirming brood.
I've been completely taken over by pregnancy, my thighs have grown thick, my widened hips ache, my massive bump is streaked with bright red stretch marks, and my poor swollen breasts rest on my belly engorged with milk. A cute and small baby bump this is not, my entire body feels stretched in some way, and at this stage I feel more belly than person.
I lay on my side desperately trying to feel comfortable, crying out at the sudden pressure of a particularly harsh kick. I don't even recognize myself anymore, my trim and fit body replaced with extra curves and newly swollen features.
Every kick and roll within me feels overwhelming. My flesh will be permanently warped, my hips will stay flared out and widened, my body will never be as small and as tight as it once was. I desperately try to calm the squirming with a hand gingerly stroking my unbearably tight skin but it is a losing battle. I curl in on myself as much as my horribly bloated belly lets me, and try not to cry.
The biggest thing which always fascinated me about pregnancy is the unstoppable-ness of it. You *know* from the moment you find out that you *will* have to grow. You can’t diet, can’t exercise, can’t do anything to diminish the fact that your body is going to change, and you’re going to get bigger. I especially love when pregnancy is the reason you actually do fail your diet and become huge.
You have to totally submit to the inevitable or look dumb, trying to escape it.
I love the total lost of control! 🥰 You can’t even the limit how big exactly you grow 🥺
I want one of my professors (or a TA...someone in authority) to manhandle my huge tits and tell me that I was made for fucking.
After having their way with me, I want them to tell me how to dress; either in the tightest or most revealing clothes possible.
As the semester finishes, I want to be the only one called on, and be forced to get up and pass papers around as punishment for being a whore.
When the school year finishes, I want to be huge and have them pretend to mentor me so that they can be around. Force me to be in public so that everyone can see I'm growing multiples.
Once I give birth, I want them to take me again, so I'm known on campus as a cum-hungry slut who is so sloppy she gets pregnant.
oh my gosh- weight gain as an attempt to hide a pregnancy? a slut gets knocked up and figures if they gain enough weight, the baby bump won’t really be all that noticeable, and nobody has to know that they’re pregnant. but they don’t realize how pregnant they’re going to get. what seemed like a fun chance at indulging a bit more becomes a race to keep up with their growing, gravid belly. they look like they’re ready to pop so early on, and from the way they keep desperately stuffing themselves? everyone does just assume it’s a food baby at first.
but really, it’s that and more than a few real babies. the weight was going to come whether or not they tried, but now that they’re trying, the weight really doesn’t stop. they balloon so quick, getting wide enough to waddle, to fill up chairs, to fill out whatever clothes they try to buy. now they look like a slut and a glutton, shuffling about with a too-tight belly, short buttons undone and clothes showing off a little too much. thighs pressing together, huffing and puffing as their tits wobble in front of their face, shoving sweets in their mouth when they stop to catch their breath every few steps.
then they start to get too big. maybe they stop trying to keep up with their belly. but they’re not super in control of their hunger anymore. they start filling doorways, they stop finding shirts that fit. they look like an exaggerated fertility statue, belly wobbling, arms stuck at an angle because of all the fat of their tits and their hips, and their tits starting to leak like crazy with all the wobbling they do. the goal was to look less pregnant- now they look like the epitome of pregnancy, still with a few weeks to go.
Thinking of the Venus of Willendorf after reading this. Chef's kiss to that statue and this ask right here. Beautiful pieces of art ~ 💖👌
“I’ve cast a spell on you… the more turned on you get, the more pregnant you get.”
Immediately, my stomach flipped. Fear? Excitement? Or… was I already getting turned on at the mere idea? The witch, sidling up behind me with her hands at my waist, leaned in and pressed her body against mine, letting her hands slide over my lower belly. She bit my earlobe and whispered, giving me goosebumps: “I think I can feel it working… can’t you? You should probably lie down.”
I head toward the couch, but I have to pause to unbutton my jeans. They *are* feeling a little… snug… at the waist. I don’t know if her “spell” is working or not, but it definitely looks like I’m going to get lucky with this cute witch babe, so… I bend over, struggling more than usual to get out of these jeans. By the time I stand back up, I’m sporting a definite little potbelly, and it definitely wasn’t there a minute ago.
I turn to her, ready to say “what the fuck?”, but suddenly she’s kissing me on the mouth and the words don’t come. Her shirt’s already off; her bra is black lace. She bites my lower lip, and her hands caress my stomach– *no*, my *bump*. “My, my, my… looks like my little plaything is well and truly knocked up.” She’s smirking and it’s hot as fuck. My head is spinning.
She pushes me down to the couch, and climbs on top, straddling my hips. I feel so heavy all of a sudden. She unclasps her bra, holds it in place for a moment. “I don’t know if I should take this off… wouldn’t want you to get too worked up, right? Not in your delicate condition.” It makes little difference; I’ve been fantasizing about her breasts all night, and this little tease is a torment. I squirm underneath her, bucking my hips just slightly, but it’s hard to move– I feel sluggish and unwieldy. “Look at yourself,” she urges. “Look at how pregnant you’re getting for me.” She drops her bra to the floor, and I want to look at her perfect tits, but the big dome of my own belly catches my eye instead. *Is it growing while I watch?* “God, your tits are even bigger than mine, now,” she says, snapping me out of it. She’s not wrong. They flop down, resting on the full curve of my belly, their nipples broad and dark. My tits, like everything else about me now, are so very heavy.
She grinds into me a bit, leaning forward and down, her trim stomach pressed against my swollen orb. She’s pressing her breasts toward my face, and I turn to to put one in my mouth, sucking desperately. I don’t know what’s happening to me but I don’t care, such is my need. “Do you like this?” she asks, cupping one of my brand new fat fucking tits. It’s so sensitive, and I shudder, sucking harder on her nipple. “Blowing up like this for me, I mean. Like a big, pregnant hot air balloon?”
She adjusts her stance on top of me; I’m now too big for her to lean over my enormously round belly in quite the same way, and she sits up on my thighs, taking her perfect breasts away from my face. When I reach my hands up for them, my arms jostle my own swollen pregnant tits, pressing them together to form a surprisingly deep cleavage. I gasp at the sensation. When I look past my own cleavage, I see my belly surge forward again, even bigger. I feel impossibly huge. Now when she leans forward, she’s resting her breasts on the top of my massive pregnant belly. They look so small now, compared to my own.
For a moment, I watch her watching me, tracking the lust in her gaze as she surveys her handiwork. There’s ever-growing pressure in my womb and my tits, and I’m sinking deeper and deeper into the couch cushions under my own mounting weight, but the only sensation that matters to me is my red-hot carnal need. She reaches down between my thickening thighs, teasing me with the prospect of release, and my body expands again.
Thinking about how huge I am now, how fat my ass must be by this point, how heavy my belly will feel when I eventually have to stand up… my body expands again. Even merely growing is turning me on, and making me grow. I feel a warm wetness, and realize I’m leaking milk.
“Yes,” I respond at last. “I really, really like this.”
“What do you like about it?” she asks, smiling devilishly, and I start to think about any answer to her question but my belly interrupts. It’s growing again, tight and round and glorious. I’ve never seen a belly this big before in my life.
“Blowing up like this for you. Like a hot air balloon. A big, pregnant, leaking, desperate, absolutely enormous hot air balloon.”
love your blog! Last semester I kept having this thought about knocking someone up on the first day of class, and come finals season barely recognizing her after having grown not just a bump, but also having gained a lot of weight. Not sure where that idea fits but your blog was giving me similar ideas!
y’all got me writing dirty university drabbles in my university class? so naughty.
but lemme tell you….this one hits….
because, you know, I wasn’t a slut. Not before college, anyways. The first few days, however, when there’s no classes so everyone can move in and there’s parties every night and everyone just absolutely wired to be back on campus and free from their parents? That’s a bit of a different story.
On the morning of my first class, a tiny 8am seminar on some niche topic I’d chosen half-blindly, you were sitting right there in the back corner, just as tired and satiated as I was. It had only been hours, after all, since you’d sneaked out of my room, leaving me and the mess of cum leaking out of me behind. A buzz on my phone alerts me that I set a reminder to get the morning after pill, but class is starting. Academics first, I think, taking a seat. Though I do share a little smirk with you.
We don’t really talk after that - I’m less interested in one night hookups now that the trimester’s started, and besides, seeing you every day in class doesn’t need to be made more awkward by continuing to be fuck buddies. So, other than polite smiles and the occasionally forced class discussion, we don’t really interact.
Everybody noticed that day I nearly hurled into my bag, almost knocking over my chair in my haste to get to the trash can. And you weren’t the only one who noticed when I went braless that one day where it was like 95 degrees, and you could see every outline of my areolas and nipples, dark and clearly angry. It didn’t have anything to do with you, when I came into class crying, one of those stupid plastic bags of goodies from the health center in my hands.
Except it did.
You might have known that, had we had a class together second trimester. But you didn’t. So all you knew, seeing me walk - waddle - into class during the third trimester, is that I’d changed.
Even if it wasn’t so obvious, it would have clicked into place what happened - but it was that obvious, given the enormous appearance of my stomach, still attached to me and barely covered in tight fabric. It would have looked out of place on me in the first trimester, but now, you could see everywhere I’d grown, from my motherly hips (how much was bone and how much was fat? bone didn’t jiggle) my inflated tits (that wasn’t fat, that was milk. for your kid. though you could think of other people it should go to) to the layer of pudge everywhere on me, dimpled with cellulite and marred with stretch marks (what you would do to touch everyone of those.)
With the knowledge of what had happened to me, what was happening to me, was the knowledge that you did that. You’d impregnated me, knocked me up, put your kid (kids??) in me and then changed me, completely, all without your even being there. You could imagine me, measuring my growing bump in the mirror, sighing about the the weight of your child between my hips, shoveling bite after bite in my mouth though I desperately wanted to stop. You even imagined me in bed, going through the memories of our night together, a hand awkwardly posed behind my legs, knowing that I couldn’t touch myself as well as you did that night.
It filled you with pride, yes, but God, it filled you with lust. I might have seen it, poking from underneath your jeans, if you hadn’t shot to your feet, offering me your chair.
I sighed as I sat, my faces rounded with fertility and health as I smiled at you.
“So,” you asked, furrowing your brows, “what’s changed with you?”
You should feel full at all times. In the way that your growing curves hug at your clothing, forcing them to not fit quite so well week by week. The gentle swell of your bump expanding, stretching ever further in so many directions.
hello, loooong time reader first time writer here! i only actually write something like once a year but if i may still self promo my belly kink blog is @haha--lorge, where i often draw big bellies
Your boyfriend had broken your old couch last night, when he got pissed off by some video game. When he kicked its leg, the old wood gave in and snapped. His regret was immediate and so was your anger. You suppose it could be worse but you’re still mad. That couch had been with you for years, damn it! Luckily your boyfriend is eager to make it up to you. Because today, he’s taking you out to the local Ikea to get a new couch “and anything else you want babe, I’ll pay for everything I promise!”.
And so, after an overpriced breakfast of average quality from the café, you are ready to peruse some furniture and pick out a nice new couch. You don’t think you’ll get anything else but you feel like you might as well take your time going through the rooms anyways. Your boyfriend agrees, even though he wants to get this over with and quell his guilt. Having a nice day out together is an even better way to apologise.
Taking a quick glance at the layout plan, you see that you’ll be going through the bedrooms first, then work spaces, after that the kitchens, then living rooms and finally the kids rooms. This makes you raise an eyebrow. You’ve been to enough Ikeas in the past to know that this layout was a little different from the other ones but at the end of the day, who gives a shit. Certainly not your boyfriend as he takes your hand and gently yet urgently pulls you along towards the first showroom.
What neither of you know is that this was your one and only warning about the cursed nature of this store. You hardly notice the magic warmth flowing into your soon-to-be-former skinny body.
The bedrooms look nice and cosy enough. You wander through them, idly scratching your body as it feels weirdly itchy. A little sensitive even. Weird…
You stop when you spot a bed with an impossible to pronounce name and jab your boyfriend with your elbow lightly.
You giggle to yourself as you ask him: “Hang on, is that the same bed you impregnated me on?”
He stutters out an “Oh my god babe, not in public!” as you laugh some more until your thoughts suddenly grind to a halt.
Wait… impregnated?
That’s not right. You’re not pregnant. Sure, the two of you fucked from time to time but he’d use condoms and you’re on birth control… Right?
You look down at your 4 month belly and your thoughts conflict. That wasn’t there before. No it was. It’s your baby. You’re 10 weeks along. That doesn’t feel correct. And yet it also does. But…
You decide to ask your boyfriend to clear things up, to get you out of this horribly confusing loop of thoughts. But before you can speak up, you notice another man in the same room giving you a disapproving look. He clearly heard your lewd comment. Your mouth clamps shut and your chubby cheeks grow hot with shame. You avoid any further eye contact as you silently grab your boyfriend’s shoulder and quickly make your way out of the room.
As you walk you become painfully aware of the way your thicker thighs rub together and how your ass has begun to jiggle.
You still feel uncomfortable when you enter the work spaces. But you don’t let your boyfriend notice, instead letting him loose to check out some desks he seems interested in.
In the meantime, you look around as well but any thoughts on the furniture are disrupted by the cold air on your clothing’s gap.
You huff a little as you pull down your shirt for the umpteenth time. You probably should have gotten new clothes by now but you just weren’t expecting to be showing this much already. Even though they’re only half-way baked, your twins are intent making themselves known, whether you want them to or not. …Your what?
When did you get pregnant with twins? Six months ago, obviously. No, that’s not right. Wasn’t it a singleton just a moment ago? Wasn’t it NO child just an hour ago? And then what, you think you’re just magically blowing up in the middle of this store? Don’t be ridiculous it’s your normal twin pregnancy, six months along just as it was the day before. That wasn’t…
Suddenly, your boyfriend calls you over. He wants you to come look at a desk he’s judged to be top quality. You make your way over to him, stance widened just a little to account for your thick thighs (Since when have they been so thick? Since you’ve been gaining pregnancy weight of course!). There’s an office chair in the way but you expertly manoeuvrer around it… or so you thought. Your hips bumping into it say otherwise.
You stumble forwards a little but your boyfriend quickly catches you.
“Easy there,” he laughs “Don’t want you falling on the kids now.”
Now you’re just dumbfounded. You could have SWORN you had accounted for that chair and swerved around it. Did your baby weight really make your hips that wide already? What baby weight? Where did it come from? The babies, remember? No, you really don’t. Or… do you?
A much younger couple passes by the two of you and starts whispering to each other while glancing at you occasionally. You think you hear something about how stupid you looked running into that chair. Well, that’s something to overthink in bed tonight.
You’re hardly listening as your boyfriend rests a hand on your shoulder and rambles a little about this desk. If there’s actually something impressive about it, you’re missing out, because you’re far more occupied trying to remember when you got pregnant with twins and finding yourself increasingly frustrated when memories of it literally pop up in your mind. As if they’re forming on demand.
“I think solid white would be nice. The kids might draw all over it with markers but I think that’s gonna add to its charm, don’t you?” your boyfriend asks. It rings through the fog in your mind and pulls you back into reality. A large white area for the twins to draw on. Yes, that does sound cute, doesn’t it?
You smile and agree, that this desk would be lovely for that. As your boyfriend takes a photo of its numeric code, you idly pull up your pants, which are skin tight and riding down your ass cheeks. Your thoughts about whether they’ve always been that tight are quickly drowned out by imagining your children happily playing and decorating your home with their creativity. The dread inside you is slowly replaced by joyful anticipation for your twins.
After finishing up with the work spaces, the two of you enter the kitchens. Your boyfriend immediately mentions that your kitchen at home could do with a new style and suggests checking out some of the decorative articles. You agree and let him wander off to look at one kitchen while you decide to look through a different one.
It’s hard to get him off you these days. Your quadruplets certainly haven’t been making your final trimester easy but with such a sweet caring boyfriend doting on your every need, it becomes bearabl-
“EEK!”
You let out far too loud of a yelp and he’s at your side immediately.
“What’s wrong babe? Are you hurt? Is it the babies? What happened?” The cascade of concerned questions washes over you at a rapid pace, but you end up chuckling.
“Everything’s fine honey,” You assure him, “I just wasn’t careful and touched some cold tiles.” Indeed, the icy cold marble is digging into your hips and ass, which has all but escaped your pants. What were you thinking, wearing clothes this old to a public place? You usually save that for your sexual nights, when you and your darling get off to how fat you’ve gotten during your pregnancy. It’s bliss to be worshipped by him in bed, as he jiggles your fat ass and peppers your double chin in kisses, not to mention the care and love he gives your gargantuan belly while fucking you.
Careful, better not get so worked up in public. Even if you’re feeling full and heavy in the best way every day and your undersized clothes are digging into fat pad so perfectly right now. Your… fat pad. Something about that is gnawing at you. Like you didn’t have one until recently. But that’s ridiculous, you’ve been gaining weight almost from the moment you got pregnant. Six beautiful months ago. Right? …No that doesn’t feel right.
Before you can sink into another mental abyss you realize that again, people are staring at you. Well, of course. You just screamed loudly because of your exposed ass cheeks. You’re like a spectacle. Most of the stares are shocked, and some seem grossed out. It’s humiliating. And yet… something inside you twinges. But it could just be one of your babies kicking.
You shake off your inner turmoil as you assure your boyfriend once again that you’re fine, just got spooked, and that you can keep looking at the deco articles on your own. Ha, you wish. Every time you try to approach a trinket or cabinet or even just one of the isles, your belly or hips bump into it far sooner than you expect, and the cold material on your naked skin is a shock every time. You don’t scream like a little baby about it again but you keep finding yourself perplexed. It’s like you’re constantly underestimating your own size. But that’s crazy. Why wouldn’t you be used to being this fat and pregnant? You’ve been growing for close to six months now. Right?
While you’re resting your oversized belly on a kitchen isle and examining some salt and pepper shakers, a woman walks up to you and taps you on the shoulder.
Somewhat meekly she asks: “Excuse me, I really don’t mean to be rude but… well… Aren’t you a tad big to be walking around outside? I mean, I’m more impressed than anything, I just think someone at your size would be bedbound by now. It’s a bit uhm… concerning? You’re not overexerting yourself, are you? I just worry a bit you know?”
The woman rambles on for a bit and you can clearly tell this is as embarrassing for her as it is for you. And yet, a part of you is deeply turned on by this. Your size is awe inspiring. You’re so huge you take up the attention of everyone, no matter what room they’re in. You and your belly and your children are unignorable.
Do you finally get how wonderful it is to be so full of life?
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
Strange thought aside, you tell the woman that even if it’s hard walking around like this, you wouldn’t trade it for anything. Because you firmly believe you’re showing your children the world before they’re even in it, and that that’s beautiful. She smiles at that and leaves again since her curiosity has been satisfied.
Your boyfriend comes up to you again, having found a cute little knife holder that he wants to buy. He shows it to you by putting it on top of your belly and you both laugh a little. When you waddle out of the kitchens, you pull down the hem on your maternity shirt. Luckily the XXXL pants are still sitting snugly around your thick waist. You briefly wonder when you changed clothes but it’s quickly cut off by a baby kicking your belly, making the shirt ride up to your popped belly button again. You sigh and rub at your womb to soothe the little ones.
Unfortunately, this does not work. No matter how much your fatty fingers try to rub at your middle, the sextuplets just won’t quit squirming. Your back pain flares up and as your slow, heavy steps enter the living room area you are wishing for nothing more than a place to sit down.
You spot a large sturdy, couch and head straight for it. Chairs and tables are knocked over by your sore hips. But you are determined to reach your goal before you can feel any embarrassment about it. Your planet sized ass cheeks crash onto the couch and it creaks ominously beneath you, like it might snap in two at any moment.
You don’t care all that much though. You’re far more busy trying to breathe normally and get your little ones to stop bashing away at your insides. They’re so restless today. You realise it’s tight in there but surely they could calm down at least a little? Enough perhaps for you to keep going.
Your boyfriend approaches you and puts a hand on your belly. You shake your head at him though. While still breathing heavily from the exertion of your 7 foot sprint, you tell him to tend to your back instead. Well, you try to at least. Luckily he can interpret just the word “back” fluently by now.
As you manage the front of your body, he works on the back, gently massaging your aching spine. Or at least, he tries. It’s hard to reach the muscles with so much back fat in the way. But just the fact that he's trying means the world to you.
You’re so lucky. A caring and loving boyfriend, and six large babies on their way. It’s the perfect life, struggles be damned. And you’re so close to reaching the room you and him had been aiming for. Once you reach the children’s rooms, you can finally find what you came here for.
...Was that what you were here for? Somewhere in your mind you recall trying to look for a couch in here. But that part of your mind also recalls being a frail and skinny little thing so you assume it must have been at least a year ago by now. You had clearly gained at least triple the amount of weight you were in those memories since then. And that doesn’t just happen overnight. Then why does it feel so unexpected and sudden? You’re just having an off-day. Perfectly understandable after the way your boyfriend fucked your brains out last night.
Just on time one of the babies kicks at your birth canal in a way that makes your slick cunt spasm. And all of a sudden you’re a horny mess over your pregnancy again. You’re rocking your hips as best you can and panting whorishly. Fuck, it’s so hot to be so big.
Several strangers passing by either try to ignore you or unsubtly glare at you. So much vitriol just for taking up space. As if you could help it. No, you really couldn’t. Your babies had made you grow to ludicrous gavidity. But you’re the one being judged for it. And it turns you on every time.
This is why you love going out in public and showing off your stuffed womb. The maternity clothes you’re wearing are a few months old and already too small. That sliver of skin showing between your shirt and pants grows larger every day, and it’s so fucking hot.
Your hips are rocking at a sluggish yet feverish pace and your boyfriend sweetly suggests you could use that momentum to try and get up. As he walks around the couch and grabs your arms, you move your hips closer and closer to the edge of the couch. The friction does marvellous things to your hormonal state of mind.
When you’re miraculously standing and nearly knock over your beloved with your massive belly, you’re panting even more. Partially from exertion but also because you’re so turned on. You need to fuck your boyfriend somewhere quiet. But these restrooms would never be able to contain you, you know that from experience. Might as well go back to focusing on the actual objective then.
The couch- no, children's furniture. What were you thinking about couches for? Yours is perfectly fine, and got reinforced months ago to hold up your enormous weight.
You’re here for the children’s rooms. For the children you’re gestating.
And all nine of them seem to become aware of this because they miraculously calm down as soon as you enter the showrooms for children. It’s like they’re in awe, seeing all the fun looking furniture they may have one day. But first they need to get a proper crib. And you’ve already spotted one that looks beautiful.
Some part in the back of your mind you dimply wonders if Ikea even sold cribs, but the rest of your brain tells that nerd to shut it.
You waddle through the different show rooms, holding your boyfriend in your arms as he’s pushed against you and dwarfed by your size. He rests his head against your shoulder and from where you’re seeing it, you’re pretty sure your breasts are twice as big as his head by now. He puts a hand on one of your boobs and you can both feel them slosh heavily with milk.
Tonight, your wonderful boyfriend would get to drink his fill of your milk. You want to let him indulge as much as possible because you’re due any day now, and then all of your milk will be reserved for your babies. Your wonderful, wonderful babies.
As the two of you stand before a crib with a simple yet appealing design, you’re taking the time to just revel in the feeling of being so deliciously full. Your arms are usually stuck at an angle on your body, but when you use your willpower, you can bend them towards your yoga ball sized belly. Your pudgy fingers wander over the soft layer of flab protecting your womb and your precious cargo. You are so full of life. You are so full with milk. You have spent years filling yourself with food every day to achieve your gorgeous, fat body. And the cravings of your pregnancy really helped your weight skyrocket. Your asscheeks can fit into four chairs, provided you don’t break them with your weight. And your thighs are thicker than the torso of most people. The fact that your feet began swelling during your pregnancy was lost on you because they are already filled with fat. And when you take a moment to put a hand near your face, you can feel a third chin forming under your second. One could describe you as twice as wide as you are tall, and they wouldn’t even be far off. Nothing makes you feel sexy quite like this. You are a beacon of hedonism, plain and simple.
It’s getting you aroused again, and as your babies begin squirming in your womb, you moan loudly, eyes rolling back into your head.
Several passerbys stare at you. Most of them are disgusted and that turns you on. The people looking at you with barely concealed lust turn you on even more.
You want to rub the spot where your children are the most active, right at the front, towards your belly button. But the size of your belly, along with your massive breasts and fattened arms, won’t let you get anywhere close. But that’s what your boyfriend is for. Anywhere you can’t reach, he begins to rub. You’ve both formed a wordless understanding of when you’re the horniest, and he always provides. One of his hands starts rubbing your sensitive bellybutton, making you mewl in high tones. Another wanders down your oversized erogenous zone, towards your crotch.
Getting you to come is so easy for him. He just has to find your clit under your enormous fupa and just like that...
You come undone, moaning and panting as your pants become a wet mess. When you fall forward you catch yourself on the crib in front of you. It holds your weight without so much as a creak. That means it passes the test!
“Let’s… get this one…” You pant, flushed and exhausted but also happier than you’ve ever been in your life. Soon, your children will be resting in these quaint and lovely beds, and you will be able to take them in and out without worrying they might break under your weight.
Even so, you wish you could stay pregnant forever. To stay gravid and heavy and horny for the rest of your life. But that’d be unrealistic, wouldn’t it?
Your boyfriend nods and plants a kiss on your exposed belly, before taking another photo of a numerical code. In the meantime, you manage to stand up again and appreciate the strength your muscles have to carry you around. Your body is truly perfect. Exceeeept, it’s lacking something at the moment
“Honey, let’s move on quickly,” You say to your boyfriend. A loud and long grumble runs through your belly as you rub it. “I need to get some food and fast! After all I’m eating for ten over here.”
prisoners who are used educationally against their will and forced to take a pill that causes them to endure a rapid pregnancy and labor in front of medical students
