Obsessed with big bellies

Apparently I’ve been a good girl 😳🥰

The second part is something between funny and belonging😂❤️

I gained 50 pounds in 5 months, reached a new peak weight, and BROKE MY SCALE, all in one video!

ALL my videos are discounted on Onlyfans!

https://onlyfans.com/lisaloussbbw

https://www.clips4sale.com/studio/188719/32531879/50-pounds-in-5-months-lisalou-ssbbw

Theme(s): Pregnancy, slice of life, belly movement

The sun is setting as you move through the kitchen to prepare dinner, humming tunelessly under your breath. Eight months in, your belly strains the seams of your softest sweatshirt, fabric stretching almost indecently across the taut orb of your pregnancy. It's old, well-worn, and a little threadbare in a few places, but it's also more comfortable than anything else you own.

Tonight, you found yourself with enough energy and ambition to whip up a little sauce, something that's easy to spread into leftovers. Garlic and onions sizzle in the cast-iron skillet, the scent filling your nose and making you salivate. Thank god the baby isn't put off by the scent of your favorite foods, otherwise the two of you would have to have words.

These days, it feels like there's barely any room left in your torso with the baby jostling with your organs for extra space. Every breath seems like it'll leave your ribs on the verge of protesting, your lungs compressed by the tenant curled up just below. You exhale slowly, placing your hands at the top of your belly to encourage things to resettle. The baby heaves a small protest, sending a ripple across the skin beneath your navel that you can see even through the thick layer of your shirt.

You roll your eyes then, amused at how easily you've succumbed to becoming a vessel, your own needs and desires secondary to the thumps and complaints of the tiny person you're creating. "Easy," you mutter under your breath, like it's even possible to negotiate with them. "You've gotta cut me some slack if you want us to have dinner anytime soon."

There's an answering roll, a stretching pressure that distends your shirt, and for a moment the outline of a foot (or maybe an elbow, it's hard to say which) warps the pale fabric. You half-laugh, half-groan, cheeks hot with embarrassment even though no one is here to see you. "Cut it out, you little menace."

But your actions contradict your words. Turning to lean back against the edge of the counter, you slip your hands under the curve of your belly and give yourself over to the desire to simply feel. The sensation is impossible to describe to anyone who hasn't felt it. Like being kicked from the inside, but gentler and stranger, your skin stretching to its limit and then some. You stand there, breathing through every shift, every motion, watching as your belly twists and writhes with life.

There's just something about cradling your little one like this, so close and safe in the warmth of your own home, that you know you'll never be able to take for granted.

Theme(s): Pregnancy, slice of life, belly movement

The sun is setting as you move through the kitchen to prepare dinner, humming tunelessly under your breath. Eight months in, your belly strains the seams of your softest sweatshirt, fabric stretching almost indecently across the taut orb of your pregnancy. It's old, well-worn, and a little threadbare in a few places, but it's also more comfortable than anything else you own.

Tonight, you found yourself with enough energy and ambition to whip up a little sauce, something that's easy to spread into leftovers. Garlic and onions sizzle in the cast-iron skillet, the scent filling your nose and making you salivate. Thank god the baby isn't put off by the scent of your favorite foods, otherwise the two of you would have to have words.

These days, it feels like there's barely any room left in your torso with the baby jostling with your organs for extra space. Every breath seems like it'll leave your ribs on the verge of protesting, your lungs compressed by the tenant curled up just below. You exhale slowly, placing your hands at the top of your belly to encourage things to resettle. The baby heaves a small protest, sending a ripple across the skin beneath your navel that you can see even through the thick layer of your shirt.

You roll your eyes then, amused at how easily you've succumbed to becoming a vessel, your own needs and desires secondary to the thumps and complaints of the tiny person you're creating. "Easy," you mutter under your breath, like it's even possible to negotiate with them. "You've gotta cut me some slack if you want us to have dinner anytime soon."

There's an answering roll, a stretching pressure that distends your shirt, and for a moment the outline of a foot (or maybe an elbow, it's hard to say which) warps the pale fabric. You half-laugh, half-groan, cheeks hot with embarrassment even though no one is here to see you. "Cut it out, you little menace."

But your actions contradict your words. Turning to lean back against the edge of the counter, you slip your hands under the curve of your belly and give yourself over to the desire to simply feel. The sensation is impossible to describe to anyone who hasn't felt it. Like being kicked from the inside, but gentler and stranger, your skin stretching to its limit and then some. You stand there, breathing through every shift, every motion, watching as your belly twists and writhes with life.

There's just something about cradling your little one like this, so close and safe in the warmth of your own home, that you know you'll never be able to take for granted.

Theme(s): Pregnancy, belly movements, fluff

You’re lying on the sofa one night, one hand resting on the broad curve of your belly as the surface of it shifts fiercely beneath the fabric of your shirt.  Only days away from your due date, the little one in your womb has been eagerly making their presence known, as if in protest of the looming eviction notice.  

You watch a slow roll travel from one side of your abdomen to the other, followed by a sharper push that makes the skin rise for a moment before easing again. You can almost picture the tiny limbs responsible –stretching, turning, testing the boundaries of their small, fluid world– and the sight is as incredible as it is uncomfortable.  Some days you feel barely more than a flutter or two, but right now, the baby seems to be practicing some rather impressive dance moves that leave your belly squirming and writhing.  

Every motion is a reminder that you’re carrying a new life in the cradle of your body, someone with their own cadence, their own need for attention.  The sensation of their movements is strange and wonderful all at once: both deeply visceral and vividly visible, an undeniable reminder of what pulses just under your skin, seeking to greet you with every twist and shift. 

You trace a thumb over the spot where the last kick landed, smiling as the next one answers from someplace new.