Jules of Nature
RMH
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Sade Olutola
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
oozey mess
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tumblr dot com
Janaina Medeiros
Misplaced Lens Cap
todays bird
🪼
Show & Tell
if i look back, i am lost
Noah Kahan
Origami Around
No title available
No title available
YOU ARE THE REASON
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@secrethornygirlthoughts
Making this now since I’m actually starting to use it
Hi! I’m a genderfucked boyfailure who Really wants to be knocked up like a girl!
I’m 23, MINORS PLS GO AWAY! And because unfortunately it’s already happened once (alt account) IF BY ACCIDENT I FOLLOWED YOU OR INTERACTED WITH YOU AT ALL AND YOU ARE NOT ABOVE THE AGE OF 18
PLEASE BLOCK THIS ACCOUNT!
If the thought of fucking raw gets you instantly wet/hard, reblog this.
I can’t be the only one addicted to the feeling.
its actually Crucial that you take that 6'0+ transgender woman and rest her head on your tits while she grinds against your lower thigh/knee. she has likely never gotten to feel small before and the sensation of her head only reaching your chest will be critical to the mission (which is, of course, to make her cum while whining pathetically)
I don't think there's anything hotter than rapid pregnancy. Your belly suddenly feels full, the skin stretching around the baby - or babies, if you're (un)lucky - as they grow inside of you. You feel little flutters that slowly turn into little pushes and nudges, getting stronger until the shape of little limbs are forcefully pressing out of your now heavy and distended belly. A growing pressure behind your belly button presses it flat and then out, the shape of it visible through your shirt as it slowly rides up until your little bump of a navel is fully exposed, adding to your obviously pregnant look along with the darkening line running down the center of your belly beneath it. Moments ago, your shirt fit perfectly, and now it clings uselessly to your swollen chest as your tits fill with milk for the babies you didn't know you were having, bunched up above your very pregnant belly, full of kicking babies.
You move in with this kinda scrawny, lanky tgirl, who's like a friend of a friend of a friend, but she needed a roommate and you needed someplace to stay, and everyone says she's good for rent and is pretty chill. She spends a lotta time in front of her computer working, but she's nice enough. Kinda cute, kinda awkward, but you hit it off.
After a while you become friends, then friends with benefits, and after a particularly lustful week, she drops the news that you got her pregnant.
You roll with it. You've been getting close enough that, shoot, maybe this can be a more serious thing?
And then you get to spend the next 40 weeks watching her go from a lean, skinny nerd girl into a plump and pregnant goddess. Her cravings hit her HARD, and you're more than happy to indulge them. She's elated as she gets more breast growth from the pregnancy than her more standard HRT. She lets her tummy hang out almost ALL the time as she's proud that SHE managed to get PREGNANT. Her nerdy little fits stop fitting, her buttons stop buttoning, shirts ride up and at some point she just switches to crop-tops entirely. Her hips widen and her pants, which were from her boy-days and got grandfathered into her wardrobe because admittedly pockets are nice and good clothes are expensive, don't even go up her thighs anymore. She becomes more pear-shaped, a lap filling belly jutting out her front, her boobs resting atop it, and despite how heavy and tired she is, she's still the happiest and most confident you've ever seen her.
And as she's packing her hospital bag, struggling to reach past her burgeoning belly, taking deeps breaths and regular breaks from the effort of standing, she turns to you, with that meek blush she had the night you knocked her up to begin with, and asks if you two can try for twins next time.
2000's fashion + pregnant belly. You agree. Reblog.
!!! The crop tops! The open tummies! Mom jeans! Body glitter???
Bandana shirts and bandage dresses!!! Denim on denim?? And yes. Of course. BODY GLITTER.
Oh how can I forget masc 2000's culture?? Layered long sleeve shirts + graphic T's, frosted tips, vests, jerseys, baggy pants. And pregnant mascs can have a little body glitter too if they want. As a treat
LOW CUT JEANS W/ NAVEL PIERCING 🤤🤤🤤
Y2K < YtumK
You’ve known about my pregnancy fetish forever. I was mortified when you told me you’d discovered it, but my mood quickly changed when you revealed that you shared it. Now we constantly role play- but that’s all it ever is. You know I’m too dedicated to my career to ever let myself fall pregnant, and you’ve always thought it funny how cautious I’ve always been, even after I started seeing you- how could another woman knock me up?
And then we found ourselves in quarantine together. I was a wreck- my arts job that I’d thrown myself into was suddenly gone, at least for the foreseeable future. I quickly started searching for something, and lucked out and found a boring office job that would let me work from home. You knew that I was unhappy, and with my career forced to a screeching halt, you saw your opportunity.
“What if we didn’t have to role play getting you pregnant?” You asked me one night, as I lay beneath you, naked and already moaning in pleasure. “You don’t have to worry about about your career now, at least for a while...now would be the perfect time for me to put a baby in you,” you whisper in my ear. “Please.... I want you to knock me up,” I whisper back. And then before I know it, you’re thrusting your strap into me. As I’m coming down from my orgasm I’m surprised to feel something leak onto my leg when you remove the strap. I give you a look of shock, and placing your hand on my belly you smile wickedly and tell me you can’t wait to see me swollen with your baby.
I brush off what you did, telling myself there’s no way whatever you put inside me could have knocked me up, and that even if it could have it likely wouldn’t have since I’m always so diligent about my birth control. Then my breasts start aching. Truthfully, I try to ignore it for a few weeks even though, deep down, I know that somehow you got me pregnant. I’ve always hidden how much I’ve wanted it, and finally allowing it to happen almost feels wrong. Soon after, I miss my time of the month. I’m still somewhat conflicted, despite the fact that I’ve already found myself staring at the mirror, completely naked imagining how big I’ll get. You’re there the first time I have a bout of morning sickness, and that evening you show up knowingly with a pregnancy test. I take it, even though we both already know what the result will be.
A few weeks later we’re getting ready to go to my first appointment. I’ve been nervous, because there’s already a slight swell to my belly- not enough that anyone else has noticed, especially when it’s covered by a shirt. But it’s enough to remind me that I’m most definitely pregnant. You can tell I’m nervous, I haven’t been able to stop anxiously bouncing my leg in the waiting room. Thankfully, you’re able to come back with me. Despite the changes to my body (my breasts have already been aching), the fact that I’m pregnant hasn’t felt real. It finally really hits me when I lay back on the exam table and pull my shirt up over my belly. “Are you sure you’re only about seven weeks?” the doctor asks as she squirts the cold gel on my tiny bump. I sheepishly nod as she places the ultrasound wand to my belly. I see her eyes narrow as she looks at the screen and I shoot you a look. “Is everything okay?” You ask the doctor. “Yes, congratulations are in order, you’re having multiples!” I feel my heart stop, I’m simultaneously elated and terrified. The doctor is focused on the screen again, the wand probing my belly. “Multiples? How many?” I ask. “Triplets,” the doctor answers pointing at the screen.
As soon as we walk in the front door you shove me up against the wall with a kiss. “You’re going to be so beautiful huge with my triplets,” you tell me “I’d hoped for twins, but messing with your birth control worked better than I imagined.” I shiver, I’d suspected that you had probably replaced my birth control with something else. Hearing it confirmed, knowing how deliberately you knocked me up really turns me on. You begin kissing down my neck, and I gasp as you squeeze one of my breasts. “How are we going to tell everyone?” I breathily ask. You pull my shirt up and place a hand on my belly. “I want you all to myself,” you say as you begin rubbing the small swell. “We’re not going to tell anyone until these babies come out of you...” “h-how would we get away with it?” I ask. You smile wickedly, “babe that’s going to be so easy with everything going on...”
By the time I’m about 9 weeks I undeniably have a bump. So far your plan has gone incredibly smoothly- it’s easy to hide my swelling midsection when people only see shoulders and above over a video call. When I do venture out in public, you make sure I wear a loose shirt- I’m still small enough that no one is likely to ask if I’m pregnant for fear of being rude. You typically run the errands, and today is no different. I’m relaxing on the couch, listening one of my favorite records, waiting on you to get home. I find myself rubbing my bump, I’m already so happy with what you’ve done to me. I’ve already been forced into leggings, none of my pants will button. I’m not wearing a bra, my boobs have started to overflow the cups. They’re still so sensitive, and my nipples have changed. They’ve started getting darker, and just about anything makes them erect. Right now they’re poking through the thin fabric of my top. “Hey babe,” I call out as I hear you come in the front door. You come into the room carrying a bag. “I don’t think you should get to have all the fun,” you say pulling something out of the bag. It’s a strap on- looking closer, I think it’s the one you used to knock me up. “Is that what I think it is?” I ask. You nod, pulling my shirt up over my bump. You begin placing soft kisses over the swell and I shiver. “I want this too,” you tell me. I smile wickedly at you, and a few minutes later you’re bent over the couch, my bump resting against the top of your ass as I get ready to put a baby in you.
I knew with triplets I’d get huge, but at 25 weeks I look ready to pop. I feel so full and wonderful despite the discomforts- it’s already gotten hard to find a comfortable sleeping position. You’ve just started showing. I successfully knocked you up, but the doctor has already confirmed it’s just one. Even with us both pregnant, you’re still waiting on me hand and foot. I have a video meeting for work today, and I know you’ll want to watch. You like to set up the camera for me, and you like to make sure that no one sees our not so little secret. It’s been hard, I’ve been bursting the share what’s happened with the world, but anytime I hear you say I’m all yours I melt. I want to tease you with my outfit today, so I pull out some of my pre-pregnancy clothes. Even though the pants are stretchy they won’t fit over my bump. The shirt barely covers my already popped belly button. You’re always so meticulous about setting up the camera so that only my head and shoulders are seen, so I decide to forego a bra. This will do nicely, I think. I waddle into the kitchen where you set up the computer. “Is that really what you’re wearing?” You ask, crossing to me. I nod, you grab my breasts and I can feel my nipples harden at your touch. “Perfect,” you say as you pull out the chair for me. Sitting down I can feel the babies start kicking. I hope they calm down, it can be so distracting and it makes it hard to keep a straight face. I test the camera, and sure enough all that can be seen is shoulders and up. The call starts, and unfortunately the babies are still kicking. You can see me rubbing my belly trying not to make a face and give myself away. You love knowing that no one can tell what a fertility goddess you’ve made me. Bursting out of my clothes, my swollen tits resting on top of my bump. You know I’m just going to get bigger, but you still won’t let me tell anyone- not until they’re out of me. Maybe the next time you knock me up it won’t be a secret.
Inspired by the lovely @mrsdykstra4241 💕
I always feel bad seeing someone pregnant being crammed into public transport, but also watching them heft their swollen belly up so they can close their legs, chefs kiss. It just pushes their already engorged tits further up and you can watch them start to struggle with breathing. Their belly heaving in their lap with each breath threatening to push their tits out of their top.
There is something I love so much about exhibitionism. I just want to be perceived as sooo pregnant by everyone.
i would give ANYTHING to have a heavy pregnant womb right now 😩 i wanna feel a baby low in my hips with every step i take 😩 i wanna have to sit with my thighs apart to make room for my belly 😩 i want to waddle around and feel my full womb swaying 😩 i need to be pregnaaanttt
God, I love my friends but their sense of humor honestly sucks so bad.
All of them give me so much shit for being slightly to the wrong side of vanilla and then this is the kind of gift I get for my birthday.
An 8 inch long, realistically colored, silicon imitation of a cock. More precisely a “better-than-fantasy Werewolf Dick to have you HOWLING at the moon” as I can clearly read along the side of the box.
This is a great sequence. :3
Bloat/inflation Checklist
THE BLOAT LIST (Here’s the different types of bloat I tried over the years, and there result) CHEMICAL REACTION: -Pop Rocks and Coke: One of my favorite. Same as the baking soda one, but tastes good and is not dangerous. I recommend. -Coke and Mentos: slightly crack the coating of the mentos, swallow it with a sip of water, and then chug the coke. The results are pretty good (more details at the end of the article) -Vanilla ice cream and root beer: like a root beer floater, it makes a lot of foam growing inside you. Really good and effective. -Spirite ans Banana: Pretty good, resulting in a big solid belly. Don’t go overboard, or you’ll vomit. Try 2 bananas and a can of sprite, and work your way up each time -Swallowing Alka-Seltzer with water: It bloat you good, but it’s an analgesic. I only do it when I have a headache. But it works. -Cook 4 packets of oatmeal, then chug 900mlof water: It expand in your stomach, but not very much -Baking Soda and Coke: It bloat you full of air quickly and strongly. It’s a little disgusting and not very good for your system, but it works -Baking Soda and Vinegar: it create a violent foam expanding in your stomach, but it’s disgusting (don’t mix with Coke, trust me) FOOD/LIQUID: -Water Inflation (drinking): Heavy bloat, free, and you can reach your capacity quickly. Use it as a stomach stretcher before a big meal. -Seltzer water: the carbonation will inflate your stomach without the sugar and caffeine of Coke -Diet Pepsi ans Chocolate Milk: A lot of calories, it really inflates you for a long time. My favorite. -Ramen stuffing: it expand in the stomach, but not enough to be an inflation method. -Mashed potato powder: a guy on a forum said it works for him, it was disgusting and impossible to swallow -A tube of raw cookie dough: I never thought I would say this, but it’s too sweet. Half a tube and I had more than enough. It doesn’t expand that much -Drink half solid bowl of Jell-o: it works, and will have more chance to stay in your stomach, even in large volume -Uncooked Pancake mix: I’ve tried it, but I don’t remember the results, I’ll have to do it again -Half-cooked rice: It makes you extremely gassy for a whole day… Be careful! -Eat a big watermelon: A big hard bloat, cheap and good for you! BLOAT BY GAS: (that one differ from one person to another, but try it out first): -Lentils -Dry beans -Milk and ice cream for those who are trouble digesting lactose (I need your suggestions to expand the list!) ENEMAS: -Water Inflation (enema): The best one to feel full to the max, but, a lot of trouble to setup up and you can’t keep it in for long -Air inflation (enema): Painful afterward, and dangerous if you go too far. You can try it, but other bloats on this lists are much more pleasant -Whipped Cream Enema STOMACH CAPACITY TRAINING: -Drink a large glass of water before, and after a big meal, it make each stuffing session much more intense -Eating a head of lettuce before a meal to expand the stomach: It’s not very fun to eat, but it works very well! I didn’t try yet: -A gallon of milk -Swallow a small yeast packet and a glass of cold water -Water through nasogastric tube TIPS: -For a big water bloat, use those large straw for shake or slosh. You’ll drink a large amount of liquid in no time! -Try once: buckle a belt tighty below your pec or in the middle of your stomach before a bloat, the inflation will be more intense, and your belly will push out even more! -How to suppress the need to burp after a bloat:Close your mouth and only breath through your nose. Wait a couple minutes, and your stomach will relax, expand and adapt to its fullness. It helps to make the best of coke and mentos bloats, where your stomach is full of air COKE AND MENTOS BLOAT PERFECTED (I think): -I do it in 3 steps with a 710 ml bottle (don’t put it in the fridge, it’s easier to chug when it’s not cold) -First, I crack the coating of two mentos and swallow them whole with a sip of water. I quickly open the bottle and push the third of its content while I swallow as fast as I can. At this point, I’m inflated from the carbonation, and I can push my belly out and hear it sloshing around. The urge to burp is beginning -Next, now that the bottle is not full, I can put a mentos in my mouth, and drink another third of the coke directly. It produce a geyser in your mouth that you are trying to swallow immediately. (If the bottle was full, the pressure would make you spit everything out instantly) At this point, I’m full of air and the urge to burp is really strong. I lie down and wait for it to pass a minute, and let my stomach relax. -Finally, I put a last mentos in my mouth, and I chug the geyser until there’s nothing left. At this point, I can’t even push my belly out: the air is pushing to hard. Nothing is sloshing around: I’m maxed out. -Next: Now that my belly is stretched out, time for a big meal! If you could keep all the air in, your intestines will be full of gas, making a food inflation even more impressive. Note that I’m skinny and I see the effect immediately. If you have a layer of fat, the effect might be less visible. You can also do the same thing with a 2 liter bottle if you have a greater capacity. SUGGESTION? PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT! :-) If you want to encourage me for doing more morphs, you can donate will PayPal at [email protected]
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.
For the pregnancy ask
How far along. 9 months and ready to pop~
How many babies. 3, and their mine~
How much weight do you gain. Hmmm 80 or more pounds~
How big is your bump. Massive and in the way~
How long are you in labor. Hmmm 24 >;3
How difficult is it. Medium
How big are your tits. Overflowing and leaky
Any other growth. Your ass and thighs become huge and fat.
Anything else. You start looking less like a person and more like a breeding cow~
Hehehe have fun cow~
It’s the 9th month of my pregnancy, and I felt ready to literally burst.
I huff and I pant as I lay on my back, propped up on pillows and blankets, my belly so heavy and big I couldn’t move easily. Even adjusting to get myself comfortable left me winded, taking full effort from most of my body to even wiggle a few inches to sit back up.
The babies, all three of them, seem to protest my movement with squirming and writhing. They kick and they push and they fidget underneath the skin of my poor belly, womb constantly under assault from them.
It gets to the point the only intelligible noise I’m making are deep needy groans that sound more like mooing. I whine and whimper, 80 Ibs of baby crushing me and forcing my breathing to become shallow and rapid.
I beg you to help me get them out, and you do if for no other reason than to put more back in me. You touch me, play with my big milk-filled boobs and fuck my poor tender puffy pussy until finally the water breaks.
We rush to a hospital, the contractions coming fast and intense. I’m whining and panting and mooing like a stupid animal the entire time, desperately rubbing my huge bloated baby-heavy belly. The labour takes the entire day, tight bands of pressure squeezing around my belly and forcing the babies 1 by 1 finally out of me.
As we go home, children in our arms, we finally get them settled. As we settle ourselves down in each other’s arms, you nibble on my ear and whisper-
“Let’s try for quadruples, Cow~”
And all I do is Moo~
Liquid indulgence
The glass is cool in her hand, beading with condensation like it’s trying to seduce her before she even tastes it. She lifts it to her lips, and the first swallow is molten cream and sugar, thick as velvet, rolling over her tongue with sinful weight. It clings there for a heartbeat, leaving her lips glistening before she swallows.
The drink is deceptively sweet—honey and vanilla at first, then something darker underneath, like caramel coaxed almost to burning. The richness presses down on her, but she doesn’t stop. She can feel it settling low in her stomach already, like a warm hand encouraging her to keep going.
Halfway through, her breaths are slower. The glass feels heavier, but so does she. Her body, already softened by quiet indulgence, feels as though it’s yielding even more with every mouthful—hips relaxing wider against the chair, her middle pressing just a little fuller against her dress.
By the last sip, it’s not just a drink. It’s a promise—thick, heady, and irresistible. The sort of magic that doesn’t fade with the night, but lingers in curves and softness long after the glass is empty.
She starts returning to that glass as if it’s calling her. Every evening, the same chilled weight in her hand, the same rich, silken flood spilling over her tongue. But what was once a single serving soon feels too brief—too much pleasure left untasted. So she pours more.
One glass becomes two. The second goes down easier than the first, like her body has already learned to make room. By the third night, there’s no pause between them—just the steady, heavy rhythm of swallowing, her throat working greedily while her eyes half-close in bliss.
By the end of the first week, the change is already visible, though she tells herself it’s only the richness of the drink sitting in her. After each glass—each heavy pour—her belly swells forward in a gentle arc, pressing against the inside of her clothes until seams whisper in protest. She leans back in her chair afterward, breathing slower, her hand idly cupping the warm, rounded curve as if to soothe it.
But the swelling doesn’t vanish as quickly as it once did. At first it’s just a slight pooch that lingers into the morning. Then it’s a small dome, soft and pliant but undeniably there, rounding her silhouette before she’s even touched her next glass.
Night after night, the ritual continues. Each gulp sends another slow, molten wave into her middle, pushing it outward by degrees. Her belly is no longer a gentle curve—it’s becoming the centerpiece of her body. It rises from her lap in a taut, rounded mound after a heavy evening, the skin stretched smooth under her palm.
By the third week, it has claimed space she didn’t know she had. Sitting, it presses firmly against her thighs, spreading outward as it rests there. Standing, it juts forward in front of her, announcing itself before the rest of her follows. Even the smallest movements cause a subtle sway—an inertia that wasn’t there before, a reminder of the weight she now carries.
When she drains her glass these days, she can feel the expansion in real time: the pressure growing beneath her ribs, the swell pushing against the waistband until she must ease it down under the dome. The drinks are still decadent, still irresistible—but now they leave her so distended she moves slowly, as if her body needs to adjust to its own roundness.
It’s no longer just a belly. It’s a claim.
The magic has gathered there, shaping her into something fuller, heavier… and still hungry.
She notices it most on a morning when she tries to dress as she once did.
The blouse hangs in her closet, crisp and neat, a relic from when her middle was only a polite curve. She slips her arms through the sleeves, but when she draws it around her, the fabric halts mid-belly, gaping wide. The dome beneath is firm from the night’s indulgence, rounded high enough to catch the bottom hem and push it upward.
She tries the buttons. The first few close easily enough over her chest, but by the time her fingers reach the swell below her ribs, the fabric is straining like a drumskin. The next button barely catches—her belly already bulging between the fastenings, soft flesh squeezing outward in pale crescents. By the one at her navel, it’s hopeless; the dome juts too far, its curve untamed.
She steps to the mirror and sees what the magic has made of her: a proud, heavy mound pushing forward, leading her body’s motion. It rounds out in every direction, not just front to back but from side to side, hips now framed by the low drape of its weight. When she shifts, the belly moves with her, swaying just slightly before settling back into place like it owns her stance.
Reaching for a skirt is no better. Once it would have slid over her hips in one smooth pull; now she has to wrestle it up past the widest point of her belly, the waistband catching and rolling as it tries to contain the soft, full curve. Even when it’s on, the fabric skims tight over the mound, leaving no doubt that it is the centerpiece of her figure.
She presses her hand into the swell, meaning to smooth it, but the flesh simply yields and then pushes back, taut from last night’s three-glass ritual. It’s not just size—it’s dominance. Her belly decides how she moves, how she dresses, how she stands.
And when she steps away from the mirror, she already feels the craving stirring, deep in her chest. The magic calls again, promising to push her even further out, to round her into something more decadent still.
That night, she doesn’t just pour her usual three glasses—she lines up six.
The first few vanish as always, slow and luxuriant, the cream coating her throat, the sweetness blooming on her tongue. But with the fourth, she begins to feel it—her belly, already softened and eager, pushing outward faster than she’s used to. Each gulp adds another slow surge of weight inside her, a spreading warmth that forces her to shift in her seat as her waistband tightens.
By the fifth glass, her middle is tight. Not the gentle, pliant swell she’s come to adore, but a firm, stretching dome that resists her palm when she presses it. She can feel it climbing higher under her ribs, rounding forward like it’s been inflated. The bottom curve presses so firmly into her thighs that her legs angle slightly apart, forced by the fullness.
The sixth glass is pure indulgence. She has to pause between swallows now, her breaths shallow as her belly strains for room. When she sets the empty glass down, her hands go instinctively to cradle the swell—taut, high, and impossibly round. It pushes far past where it was when she sat down, a glossy mound that forces her spine to arch just to balance it.
She tries to stand, but the fullness commands her to move slowly. The dome protrudes in front of her like a balloon, swaying with her steps. Her top has ridden up, baring the underside of her belly, where the skin feels warm and stretched. She catches sight of herself in the mirror and gasps—not in shock, but in awe.
The magic has claimed her tonight in a way it never has before. The swell is so pronounced, so forward-thrusting, that she can’t see her own toes. It dominates her reflection, a perfect, distended curve that announces exactly what she’s done.
And even through the ache of fullness, she wonders—what would happen if she tried eight?
Morning light spills across the room, but the first thing she notices isn’t the sun—it’s the heaviness.
She rolls onto her back and feels it instantly: the dome hasn’t gone down. Where once a night’s swelling would melt away to a softer, smaller curve, now her belly remains high and forward, a rounded hill rising above her hips. It feels dense under her hand, the skin stretched smooth from the double-ritual of the night before. When she sits up, it tilts outward, swaying just slightly before settling into her lap with full, assertive weight.
Standing is a slow process. The protrusion commands her balance, forcing her to plant her feet wider. Her nightshirt, loose just weeks ago, now clings to the swell’s forward slope, the hem riding high enough to leave the undercurve bare. She runs her palms over it, tracing the sheer distance it juts from her body. There’s no disguising it now—not from herself, and not from anyone else.
And that’s when she feels it—the craving, sharp and insistent, far too soon for her nightly indulgence. Her stomach isn’t hollow; it’s still full from last night. But it wants. It wants the thick sweetness, the molten creaminess sliding down her throat, the steady push of pressure as it fills her further.
She pads to the kitchen, the sway of her belly dictating her steps, and pours her first glass of the day. It’s almost surreal—morning light glinting off the creamy liquid as though it were just a harmless treat. She drinks it slower than usual, savoring it, feeling the already-prominent mound grow firmer beneath her touch. The pleasure is almost dizzying.
When she’s done, she doesn’t stop.
A second glass follows, then a third—her hands moving on instinct, the sound of the liquid filling the glass like a lullaby she can’t resist. By the time she leans against the counter, the dome is straining even higher, her nightshirt now a wrinkled band beneath her breasts. She rubs the sides of the swell, feeling the tautness, the undeniable claim the magic has over her.
Breakfast has a new meaning now. It’s not a meal—it’s an expansion, a start to the day she can no longer go without.
By midday, the morning’s indulgence has barely settled.
She moves through the house with a slow, deliberate gait, her belly leading every step like a proud, heavy prow. Even the smallest turns or bends force her to accommodate it—feet angling wider, back arching to balance the forward pull. She can feel the weight of it in her core muscles, a constant, solid presence pressing outward against the waistband of her softest skirt.
When lunchtime comes, she doesn’t even think of “food” in the old sense. She wants the drink. The mere thought of it makes her mouth warm, her hands almost fidget with anticipation. She sets out a tall pitcher instead of a single glass—why bother pretending she’ll have less?
The first pour is gone in a minute. The second takes longer, each swallow adding to the firm swell she’s carried since breakfast. She strokes the slope of it absentmindedly, feeling how high and forward it sits, the surface stretched enough to make her skin gleam. Her skirt waistband is already rolling under the bottom curve, the mound too assertive to be contained.
By the third glass, she’s leaning back in her chair, breathing deeper. The fullness is mounting again, that dense, tight ache that makes her belly feel like a drum. She can see it from where she sits—her breasts now resting lightly atop the high crest of it, her lap completely consumed by its curve. It domes upward in the center before flowing down to her sides, wide and heavy against her thighs.
The fourth is pure indulgence, a surrender she no longer questions. Each gulp sends a pulse through her middle, the pressure mounting until she feels stretched from rib to hip. She can’t even pull her skirt back up over it now; the belly owns the space, warm and gently throbbing with fullness.
When she finally pushes the empty glass away, she stays there for a long time, hands spread across the mound as if claiming it—or perhaps acknowledging that it has claimed her. The thought of waiting until evening to drink again seems unbearable. The magic isn’t a ritual anymore. It’s a constant hunger, and her swelling belly is the shrine it feeds.
Evening settles in, and by now the dome has never once emptied, never softened back to what it was before. The morning and lunch indulgences have stacked inside her, building layer upon layer of fullness so that when she lowers herself into her chair for dinner, her belly presses tight and proud against the table’s edge.
She should be satisfied—she is already heavy, already round, already brimming. But the thought of stopping now feels absurd. Tonight, she isn’t just going to drink until she’s full. She’s going to drink until she’s unmovable.
The first glass is ceremonial, warm and thick, a familiar greeting. The second and third come fast, building pressure in her middle until it feels like her skin is straining to contain her. The dome rises higher, pushing her breasts up and out, making her shift just to keep breathing steadily.
By the fourth, she has to lean back; her belly is so taut it presses unyieldingly into the waistband of her stretched skirt. She pushes the fabric down beneath it, freeing the curve so it can round fully forward, unencumbered. The swell is vast now, the surface tight and hot under her palms.
The fifth is slower. Each swallow sends a deep ache of expansion through her core, her body’s instinct to stop warring with the magic’s siren pull. She rubs her sides, feeling them bow outward as the mound claims more and more of her lap, forcing her knees apart.
And then she pours the sixth. She can’t lean forward without the dome colliding with the table, so she draws the pitcher to her, drinking directly from it in slow, heavy gulps. By the time it’s empty, her belly is a perfect globe—smooth and distended, so forward-thrusting she cannot see the table’s surface in front of her. The sides swell wide, pressing firmly into her chair arms, while the crest rides high enough to nestle under her ribs.
She tries to shift, but the size and weight root her in place. Each small movement makes the mound sway sluggishly, as if it takes a moment to catch up. Her hands cradle it from underneath, feeling the unyielding fullness, the immensity she’s built through the day.
And then comes the realization: she isn’t getting up. Not for a while. The drink has done exactly what she promised herself—it has made her belly so round, so distended, so utterly filled that she has become part of the chair itself, a decadent, immovable centerpiece.
💖✨GIFT A PREG✨💖
Ready to gift a pregnancy? Leave anonymous prompts in my ask, and I’ll write about my experience with the pregnancy you craft.
1. 🌸 How far along am I?
( 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Overdue)
2. 💖 How many babies am I carrying?
(1 | 2 | 3 | 5 | +)
3. 🐽 How much weight do I gain?
(10 lbs | 20 lbs | 40 lbs | 60+ lbs)
4. 💅 How big is my bump?
(Cute and round | Big, but manageable | Huge and in the way)
5. 💖 How long am I in labor?
(1 Hour | 6 hours | 12 hours | 24 hours | Delayed | +)
6. 🎀 How difficult is it?
(Easy | Medium | Difficult | +)
7. 🍼 How big are my tits?
(Normal | Full | Overflowing | +)
8. 💅 Any other growth?
(Hips | Ass | Thighs | +)
9. 👙Anything else?
Have you started wearing bra’s yet? If yes then have you done this in Public ? If yes, was the bra visible to anyone looking at you ? If yes, were you dressed in woman’s clothing ? If yes were you wearing makeup and lipstick ? If yes, were you in high heels ? If yes to all CONGRATULATULATIONS ! You are superior to most sissies
