I Like Bellies

Potter had been right – something was coming out of him, something so unexpected that at first Snape couldn't do anything but gasp. Potter groaned, a long mournful sound, like a wounded animal. Snape stared in shock.

Hanging out of Potter's fully dilated arsehole, the rim of the opening stretched paper-thin from the circumference of the object longed inside it, was the head of a second baby, its amniotic sac still completely intact. Snape felt light-headed. This was a new level of cluelessness, even for Potter's standards.

---

“What's the matter with you?” he said, feigning ignorance. “Are you ill?”

“It's my stomach,” complained Potter through gritted teeth. He was half-sitting, half-lying, his legs splayed to accomodate his enormous gut. The baby's head, Snape decided, was probably sitting too low for him to be able to sit normally. He wondered what he would see if he vanished Potter's trousers right that instant – wondered if the baby's head was bulging out of his arsehole yet.

“What's wrong with it?” asked Snape, slipping a hand under Potter's cloak to feel his rock-hard belly. “Does it hurt?”

--- 

“I can feel it,” says Thor, frustrated, and he grabs the back of his legs. “I just need to push a little harde… oh.”

To their complete astonishment, Thor’s latest bout of straining has finally produced a result. A very bizarre one. An impressive jet of a mostly clear liquid shot out of the naked god’s asshole, followed by a steady rivulet of the same weird substance. The mattress between his legs is soaked.

“I doubt I'll even be able to get near enough your hole to put it in,” grumbled Malfoy. “Not with this belly in the way.”

“Rest it over my back,” said Harry, bending a bit more. His stomach felt like there was a stone inside it, but at the moment he was far too turned out to even remotely care about the implications. All he knew was that he wanted to get fucked by Malfoy's big cock, and that he wanted it to happen while Malfoy – his asshole dilated to unbelievable proportions, his gut racked by cramps – was struggling to give birth to an enormous snake.

--- 

Potter was asleep on his side, the baby kicking up a storm inside his huge stomach. Snape rested his palm against his pupil's taut skin – the young man still had a couple of months left in his pregnancy, but it was becoming hard to imagine that his slender frame would be able to accomodate any further growth.

And then the birth, thought Snape, with a frisson of excitement. The onset of labour – the strenght of the contractions building up hour after hour. The confusion, the denial, the eventual realization. Potter's hole, barely able to accomodate a cock just a few months earlier, stretching hugely to let a child into the world – a very large child, too, judging by the size of his bump. Their child.

---

Potter was now six months along, huge, and still oblivious about the whole pregnancy thing.

“Hermione has been pestering me,” he said, scratching his impressively distended stomach on Snape's sofa. “She says that it's not normal to gain so much weight at once, and that I should talk with Professor Dumbledore.”

“What about?” said Snape, without looking up from the Defense Against the Dark Arts papers he was grading. “Does Granger fancy Dumbledore a great dietician?”

---

Potter moaned again. For all his earlier protests, he seemed to be greatly enjoying this particular activity. Snape intensified the pace of his stroking.

“Imagine you're pregnant, Potter,” he whispered, supporting Potter's swollen stomach with his free hand. “Imagine having to hide this huge thing from all your mates, day after day.”

“I wouldn't let you do that to me,” mumbled Potter, unconvincingly, pressing himself harder against Snape erection. “I wouldn't let you get me pregnant, sir.”

“I think you would, actually,” said Snape, bending slightly to kiss Potter's neck. “You'd let me fill you up with my babies, Potter, and you would love every minute of it.”

“Hhhng,” moans Potter, spurting all over Snape's hand and the bottom of his own belly. Snape holds him close to his chest, delighted by the look of bliss on the young man's handsome face.

Draco spends the rest of the evening trying to rid himself of Potter's spunk, with mixed results. The following morning, as much as he'd love to just stay in bed and nurse his faint bellyache, he has no choice but to disguise his still bloated stomach under his Quidditch robes and walk – not quite comfortably, on account of his sore arse – down to the pitch.

“Maybe lay off the Butterbeer, Malfoy,” says Urquhart, eyeing Draco's midsection reproachfully. “The way you've been flying today, we'd be better off with my Granny playing Seeker.”

Albus undid Tom's trousers, freeing his erection. With one hand still on his inflated stomach, he grabbed the young man by his cock and guided him to a mirror, so that he could admire the results of his ruse: Tom Riddle, trousers around his ankles, belly so full of air that he could barely function, begging to be brought to orgasm. His knees felt weak.

“You look incredible like this, Tom,” he said, meeting Tom's eyes in the mirror. “Do you know that?”

“I'm huge,” moaned Tom, rubbing his gigantic stomach. “You've made me huge.”

“It should go pretty much as normal,” explained Remus, showing Sirius an illustration of a bewildered wizard whose round stomach housed an equally bewildered baby. “You'll start feeling pains, your water will break, and eventually you'll be able to push out the baby.”

“I know it's a snake, Potter,” hissed Malfoy through gritted teeth. He was apparently in so much discomfort that the shock of Harry suddenly materializing by his side ranked pretty lowly on his scale of priorities. “That's what the ritual was for. I just never knew it was going to came out of my – aaah!”

almost there

“Where did you think it was going to came out of?”

“I've no idea, do I? Magic, I figured. It even tried my bloody mouth, but now I can feel–”