#bunnyboywrites

[stupidlypregnant]

I don’t know how much longer I can carry them ...

I’m sprawled on our bed. My skin feels like it might split if I breathe too deep - so tight, so raw. I look unreal. Hugely, horribly full. My belly heavy enough that it drags everything - my posture, my breath, my thoughts - down with it. I can’t lie flat. Can’t sit upright. Can’t think. Every inch of me aches.

And he’s watching me.

He leans in the doorway like he’s admiring a sculpture, arms crossed, eyes trailing over every exaggerated curve. There’s something in his stare that makes my throat tighten.

“They're growing bigger again,” he says. There’s no concern in his voice, just fascination.

I try to speak, but my voice comes out weak and cracked. “I can’t … I need it to be over. Please ...”

He walks slowly to the bed, dragging his fingers lightly over the stretched dome of my belly. I flinch. My skin’s too sensitive- every touch sends a jolt through me. The babies squirm at the contact and I groan, overwhelmed.

“You say that every day”, he says, crouching beside me. “But you’re still here. Still carrying them.”

I shake my head. My hands press into the underside of my belly, as if I can hold up even a fraction of its weight. “I’m not strong enough. Please, something’s wrong. They should’ve come by now -”

He cuts me off with a laugh, low and cold. His hand splays across the widest curve of my belly. I feel trapped. His voice drops lower, softer - but not gentle. “You have no idea what it does to me, seeing you like this. So full. So helpless.”

Tears sting my eyes. “I’m not trying to be helpless,” I whisper.

“I know,” he says. “That’s what makes it even better.”

He climbs onto the bed beside me, slowly, like he’s trying not to jostle me, but his weight still shifts mine, and my back spasms in protest. I gasp, one hand flying to my side. The pressure never stops. The babies are rolling again. It’s too much. I’m too full. I can’t take another day, and he just … watches.

“You want them out?” He asks, voice soft, mockingly sympathetic. “You want it to end?”

I nod furiously, desperate. “Yes. Please.”

He leans in close, brushing his lips against my ear. “But you’re so much more… mine like this.”

I freeze. My heart thuds painfully under the pressure. He wraps an arm around me, fingers stroking the overfilled belly like it belongs to him. Maybe it does. Maybe I do, now.

“You’ll go into labor when you’re ready,” he whispers. “And I don’t think you are. Not yet.”

I want to argue, but the weight of everything is too much. My belly shifts again, unbearably tight. My whole body aches from the inside out. And he just holds me there, like this is exactly how he wants me: Pinned beneath the weight of life I can’t release, and too tired to fight anymore.

[stupidlypregnant]

The train lurches and I nearly lose my balance.

I catch myself against the pole with a sharp breath, both hands gripping the cold metal while my belly drags heavily forward beneath the thick pullover I'm wearing. The movement makes my babies shift all at once inside me. Dense rolling pressure under impossibly stretched skin, bodies pressing against bodies, nowhere left for them to go.

I grab the pole hard enough that my wrist aches.

My pullover has ridden up almost to the curve of my navel again.

I yank it down instantly, heart pounding, but the fabric only clings tighter across the enormous shape underneath. There's no disguising it anymore. The sweater outlines everything - the impossible roundness, the stretched-tight mass, even the uneven movements shifting beneath my skin.

I can feel people noticing.

I keep my head down.

Please don't look at me.

Another painful roll moves through my belly. One baby drags heavily across my side while another pushes low enough to make my breath catch. The pressure inside me is unbearable now, packed so tightly that every movement feels trapped beneath my skin.

My whole stomach visibly ripples.

I clamp a hand under my belly, rubbing the sensitive skin under my sweater like I can calm them, calm myself, calm the awful pressure dragging lower and lower inside me.

God, I'm so full.

Too full. Too swollen. Too obvious.

The train windows throw my reflection back at me in dark smears between station lights: flushed face, hunched shoulders, both hands cradling a belly so huge it dominates the rest of my body completely. I look indecent. Like something private exposed under fluorescent lights.

A contraction starts low in my back.

Fuck.

The tightness spreads through my abdomen with brutal force, pulling my stomach hard and high until it becomes almost perfectly round beneath the sweater. I gasp softly and lean into the pole before I can stop myself.

Please not now.

The babies react immediately.

They're squirming inside of me during the contraction, heavy movement trapped inside the rigid tightness of my body. One presses outward so sharply near my ribs that I actually see the bulge through the wool.

Someone nearby notices. I hear the sharp inhale.

Humiliation crashes through me so hard my eyes sting.

I rub my belly faster now, desperate circles beneath the strained underside, trying to ease the crushing downward pressure between my small hips. My legs are trembling. I can feel how low they are now - all that weight pressing into my pelvis with terrifying insistence.

I just need to make it home. I just need to hold them in.

Then suddenly there's a body behind me. A man.

Too close.

Before I can move, a big hand slides around my side and cups the underside of my pulsing belly.

I freeze in horror.

His palm spreads beneath the huge weight almost possessively, fingers pressing deep into the oversensitive underside where I've been rubbing myself raw for weeks trying to relieve the strain.

“Oh wow,” he says quietly behind me. “You're ready to pop, hm? ”

Heat floods my entire face.

I try to pull away instinctively, but another contraction hits at the exact same moment and my body folds helplessly instead, a broken sound escaping my throat.

His hand tightens.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “You're so ripe.”

My belly clenches rock hard beneath both our hands.

The babies shove violently during the contraction, trapped movement rolling visibly across the front of my stomach. My pullover lifts higher again as I arch involuntarily, exposing the full strained curve of my belly to everyone nearby.

I hear someone whisper.

I want to cry.

But the man behind me doesn't move away.

His other hand settles over the front of my aching stomach, broad palm spread over the tightest part like he's testing the firmness of it. Then he starts rubbing slowly downward over the curve while I stand there shaking against the pole, whimpering quietly.

“Easy,” he says near my ear. “Everyone's noticing. ”

I can barely breathe from shame.

His hands are everywhere now - under the belly, across the front, massaging the tight stretched skin while strangers pretend not to stare. My body betrays me completely by responding to the relief. The upward support eases the dragging agony in my back enough that my knees nearly buckle.

“Oh my God,” I whisper before I can stop myself.

He chuckles softly behind me.

“They're really lively.”

And they are.

The babies roll heavily beneath his hands as though reacting to the pressure. One pushes outward in a slow hard sweep across the front of my stomach, visibly distorting the sweater. Another drives down low enough to make me gasp and widen my legs for balance.

I feel overwhelmed. Animalistic. Insane.

The man keeps rubbing my belly like it belongs to him now.

“So round,” he murmurs. “Must be ready to burst.”

The words hit me like a slap.

Because that's exactly how I feel.

My stomach feels stretched beyond endurance, skin tight and aching over too much life packed inside me. Every contraction squeezes the babies downward harder, and every movement inside me feels lower now, heavier, unbearably urgent.

I'm breathing too fast.

The train rocks again and I clutch the pole desperately while his hands continue roaming over the massive curve of my belly in full view of everyone.

I can't hide it anymore.

[stupidlypregnant]

Another contraction starts before the last one fully leaves me.

I feel it building deep inside my body like a terrible inevitability.

My stomach tightens again beneath the man's hands, the round curve growing hard enough that it almost hurts to breathe. I bow forward against the pole with a helpless sound trapped in my throat while the babies push and roll inside the tightening pressure.

They feel frantic now.

One kicks hard beneath my ribs while another grinds downward with crushing weight low in my pelvis. The movement is so forceful I can actually see my belly shifting under the fabric.

The man notices everything.

“Oh, there you go”, he says almost teasingly behind me. “Can't even stand up straight anymore, huh?”

I squeeze my eyes shut.

The shame burns through me so badly I feel dizzy.

Please, leave me alone.

People are absolutely staring now. I can feel it. The overheated carriage has gone too quiet around me, the silence full of polite avoidance while this stranger openly holds my laboring stomach like I'm some spectacle unfolding in public.

Maybe I am.

I weakly try to pull his hand away.

He doesn't let me.

Instead his fingers tighten around the underside of my belly, supporting the heavy weight more firmly while his other hand slides slowly over the front of it.

“Careful,” he murmurs.

My face feels unbearably hot.

The worst part is that I need the support.

My body is failing under the sheer heaviness of the babies now. My lower back throbs violently. My hips feel pried apart from the inside. Every contraction drags the weight lower, and the pressure between my legs has become so urgent it frightens me.

I rub my belly again instinctively, desperate for relief, but his hand covers mine almost immediately.

“No, like this,” he says.

Then he massages harder.

His broad palm presses upward beneath my belly while the other moves slowly across the taut front, kneading at the tightness while I tremble against the pole. The pressure makes the babies shift restlessly beneath his touch.

He chuckles quietly under his breath.

“They're fighting for room in there.”

A whimper escapes me before I can stop it - half embarrassment, half pain.

I feel huge.

Overstimulated. Overwhelmed.

My belly sticks out so far now that I can barely see my own feet, a massive swollen weight stretched tight with moving life. The sweater can't conceal anything anymore. Every motion inside me shows. Every contraction turns my stomach into a hard aching globe beneath the fabric.

And his hands keep drawing attention to it.

“Look at you”, he says, almost admiringly, as another movement rolls across my abdomen beneath his palm. “You're so close.”

Please, stop talking.

Please, stop.

But another contraction crashes through me so hard my knees nearly give out.

“Oh God -”

The sound slips out loud enough that several people look over openly this time.

My entire stomach seizes tight beneath the sweater. The babies shove downward during the contraction with terrifying force, and suddenly the pressure low in my body becomes almost unbearable.

I gasp and spread my feet wider automatically.

The man feels it immediately.

“There it is”, he murmurs near my ear, voice lower now. “They really want out, hm?”

Tears sting my eyes from humiliation.

I'm trapped standing here panting against the pole while this stranger holds my throbbing belly in both hands, openly feeling the contractions, openly feeling the babies moving inside me while everyone around us pretends not to notice.

Another sharp movement presses visibly outward near the center of my stomach.

His hand follows it.

“They’re right there.”

I can barely think anymore through the pressure.

My whole body feels overtaken by it - the relentless fullness, the weight dragging downward, the constant movement inside me. It feels impossible that my skin can stretch any farther. Impossible that my body can still contain all this life straining to be born.

The train jolts again.

I let out a broken gasp as pain tightens through my lower abdomen.

And the man just pulls me back more firmly against him, one hand spread possessively across the front of my belly while the other supports its crushing weight underneath.

“Easy”, he says softly. “You're going to make a scene.”

[stupidlypregnant]

Daydreaming about being a cute, bred bunny boy, living in a small cage in my owner's bedroom.

I already had no space but since he filled my tummy with his litter I'm struggling so much more. I can’t stetch, can't change positions, nothing.

He only lets me out of it to play with me. To fuck me, use me. To rub my swollen belly where his baby buns are kicking wildly against his hands.

[stupidlypregnant]

I'm ripe, overripe. My belly's stretched to it's limit, my chest overflowing with milk, dripping constantly. My body's worn-out, sore, everything's aching.

But he won’t let me deliver his babies. I'm on labor suppressants, he's making sure I take them. He started giving me one pill per week by my 8th month, then daily as I reached the 9th. But now I need them every couple hours and they're only taking off the edge, making sure his babies stay inside me, nothing more.

My stomach's cramping all the time, my lower back and hips feel like they're breaking apart any second and the pressure between my legs is almost unbearable.

But he prefers me like this. Full and heavy with his offspring, marked as his for everyone to see. I'm dependant on him, on his mercy. He likes that I can't run away, I'm not even able to stand without feeling like his babies are gonna fall right out of me.

He gets off on my moans and whimpers whenever the life inside me becomes violently active. On the way he can feel the squirming and kicking underneath my sensitive skin.

I'm gonna keep you like this forever, he groans into my ear whenever he pushes himself inside me, his hand rubbing over my poor belly. And I'm afraid he'll succeed.

[stupidlypregnant]

I don't know how long it's been since he put me in this cage. It’s tiny. I can't stretch out my limbs, can't stand or lay down properly. But he lets me out once a day. To play with me, he says. To inspect my body, feel me up everywhere. I think he hurts me... I have new bruises blooming all over my body everytime he locks me up again. But it’s been too long, I don't care if a touch is good or bad anymore, as long as he touches me.

I don't know how long it's been but my once flat belly is now a bulging mass of life. It’s unbearably tight and heavy, overfilled and overstretched. When I touch it, it's too warm under my hands, the skin too sensitive, bringing tears to my eyes.

I don't know how long it's been but my belly is cramping so badly it makes me constantly lightheaded. I feel a pressure moving down so overwhelmingly, it makes me breathless. It makes me beg him to push, I feel like I need to push all the time. I can't stop the begging... and I never beg. He doesn’t like it. He just leaves me in my cage, with no relief. I don't know for how long.

[stupidlypregnant]

Hold onto my belly as you fuck me. Feel your babies thrash inside me as you use me the same way you did nine months ago. Feel how tight I am with the first baby already dropped so low.

Do you like it? Seeing me like this?

You did this to me. You fucked me full so now you have to pop me, fuck me in labor so you can cum to the sight of me giving birth.

[stupidlypregnant]

My body isn’t my own anymore. The skin over my belly is stretched so tight it feels like it could split with the next movement. Thin, glossy, veiny - it burns when I touch it, and worse when he does.

He drags his hands over every bulge, every trembling vein, as though mapping me. I can’t hide. Every shift inside me is visible, grotesque shapes pressing up beneath skin that can barely hold them. I look down and I don’t even recognize myself. Just a sphere of flesh, swollen past reason, veins pulsing like cords.

And he whispers that I am beautiful like this. His hands make me flinch, make the tightness sharper, more unbearable. But to him, every wince is proof that I’ve become exactly what he wants.