Ladies and gents, itās that time again! Iām currently building an archive of as many of @assexpansionās old things I can find! Formerly @postmodernbody , send me all the content of his you have! Once I have it, Iām going to make a google drive, Dropbox, Mega, Discord, AND Reddit so that EVERYONE can enjoy their content.
So please consider joining the effort! If you donāt feel like personally sending me every @postmodernbody caption you find, feel free to drop a link in the comments of my post. Thanks!
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Katherine had been a new hire at some blink-and-you'll-forget-it new age spiritualist shop, Magical Journeys. One dedicated to things like mystic herbs, potioncraft, and magic crystals; things that the bespectacled redhead didn't put any weight in. She was only there because it was simply the only place to respond to her application.
Most days, it was effectively dead, leaving Katherine time to rest by the register. Another day, another eight hours of boredom, the redhead mused as she lit a joint and took a long draft from it. "Who knew being a witch would be so boring!" She quietly grumbled to herself. "Certainly doesn't help that most people know magic isn't real." She said as she held a fistful of crystals in the palm of her hand.
As Katherine released the plume of weed smoke, the crystals in her hand instantly grew warm. Her eyes fluttered as her body felt like she was being bathed in sunlight while her mind felt fuzzy, like her very thoughts became TV static. When she had the strength to open her eyes, the rake-thin redhead saw how her body had changed. She had grown and ballooned outwards:
Her thighs had softened and thickened to nearly three times reducing her flowing skirt into a microskirt that barely covered her ass. Speaking of which, her asscheeks were bigger than basketballs, effortlessly swallowing and turning her lace panties into a thong. Her belly was soft and fat, spilling over her waistband, filling her lap, and giving her a set of plump lovehandles. Finally, her cute green top was stretched beyond all measure as her tiny B cups swelled to what had to, at least, be the size of a HH cup. HOLY SHIT!!! I'M LIKE, A TOTAL FUCKING BABE! Katherine mused as she squeezed her breasts together.
She stared at her reflection, tracing her tongue over her glossy, pink, plump cockpillows as tingling pleasure slowly faded from her mind. A part of Katherine knew she should tell someone to get help and transform back to her real self. But a bigger, louder, hornier part of her made her hold onto the gems in her hand and take another drag of the shop's unique and proprietary blend. If for no other reason than to see if she'd grow again.
Not like I was, like, y'know using my silly brain. Big boys totally, like, like slutty girls with a fat ass and juicy tits! Katie mused as she felt that same heat rush through her as her mind was pulled deeper into the fuzzy static than before.
Imagine a prim and proper office woman getting the bounce virus. I like to imagine that sheās able to resist the mental changes, but her booty still bounces and grows against her wishes.
So you basically have a woman who is actively trying to stop uncontrollably twerking and growing, and is entirely aware of whatās happening.
Sakura bit her plump bottom lip as she felt her ass quiver as she strained her eyes and gazed deeply into her laptop screen. Every tremble of her muscles was a reminder she should have spent more on her healthcare coverage package. Because if she had, she'd have been given the full vaccine, not just the partial shot.
A-at least... At least I still have my mind! Sakura thought as she felt her legs instinctively spread out to push her up and out of her chair. The soft echo of her ripe asscheeks and shallow panting breaths echoed out from her office as she tried to will her body obey her. All the while, she could feel pinpricks of heat and pleasure crackle throughout her body. Like a cheap tease, taunting and tempting Sakura to throw all her degrees, training, and hard work and become a hyper pornstar with the biggest tits and ass the world's ever seen.
"Hey, uuuhhh ahem," Mark, her superior, muttered as he pushed open her office door. "Just thought I'd swing by and ask bout those reports. Because Janice needs em by five, and you did promise to have em done by the close of day."
Sakura nodded as her body moved on its own, making her ass clap thunderously. Ecstasy surged through her as the buttons on her blazer popped off, her bra broke, and her spandexleggings ripped in a dozen places. "I-I'll get it done! J-just need to focus on s-s-stopping my ass from growing!!" She shouted as she accidentally whipped her hands across her butt as if to punish her disobedient, disproportionately fat ass. Only to cause it to practically double in size instantly, making her leggings split apart as she came standing upright. "M-Mark... I am so sorry a-about this." Sakura whimpered as her ass quaked with anticipation.
"Nah, I-it's okay. It's a difficult condition, n' all. Wife caught it a day ago and well..." Mark shrugged. "If she isn't focused on something, she's just constant masturbating and twerking. So... take your time."
"I'll get right on it." Sakura trembled as she inadvertently thought of Mark ploughing his wife as she came her brains away. "A-also make sure none of the guys come by my office. Their musky scent sends my body crazy.'
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So many things to be self conscious about while heavily pregnant in public. Getting so in your head about different things in different scenarios is so overwhelming
One of the things I focus on the most is how I feel when walking around with him. Whether heās next to me or holding my hand. I feel like a walking billboard that says āthis guy fucked me. He claimed me. Iām his. He did this to me, my body is changing because of him.ā
Depending on my mood Iāll revel in it or feel like I want to hide away. Sometimes I look at him and I just love him so much, Iām glad to be carrying his baby and we walk around holding hands and I feel so lucky to be with him. I feel loved and I feel confident. Other times I walk around and wish I could disappear from public view. I feel peopleās eyes on me see instead of reveling i want to make myself tiny. Sometimes I feel ridiculous in how big Iāve gotten. I feel huge, I am huge, Iām waddling, Iām hungry, Iām tired.
And yet I also wonder how many people look at me and wonder if I got pregnant on purpose or by accident. How many people look at me and wonder if this was a result of me being irresponsible. When my belly button pops out of my shirt and my whole underbelly is exposed i feel like thatās how people look at me. And when I donāt realize that my shirts slid up, I panic, and in that panic I wonder how many people saw me, belly just rolled out. I get so self conscious about it.
When my belly button popped out, oh my gosh it looked so aggressive. It felt like an assertion of how pregnant I am. Now that Iām even bigger itās flatted because my belly has stretched so big. I prefer it be so stretched out itās flattened. When it first popped out it felt like an extra billboard on my body.
Another neon sign that reminded everyone that I was pregnant. It was something that I really focused on, which was crazy. My tits weāre already spilling out of my bras like crazy, my stomach completely round. But the belly button popped out aggressively is what made me the most self conscious. I think itās because when my shirts rolled up it felt like something so intimate to expose about myself. I donāt know what other peopleās belly buttons look like. But suddenly my shirt rides up and everyone knows what mine looks like. And while it was popped out, it was a clear indicator of how high or low I was carrying. At one point my belly button was at the very bottom of my underbelly. As it started to drop my belly button started to climb higher and flattened out, and now Iām tear drop shaped.
None of my clothes fit at all. None of my shirts can cover me. The bottom of my stomach is always hanging out. I am always supporting it with at least one hand. And I love when you rub just the that part. The most round part now. I love your hands on me, feeling what youāve done to my body. Itās so intimate, when itās just me and you it feels so right. When Iām out in public the intimacy of it all feels so exposed.
This far along, this heavy, this low, this pregnant, I only want you to see me like this. This is because of you.
I had promised myself that I wouldnāt let this pregnancy change me. Not the strong, slim body Iād worked so hard for and not my coveted schedule of hard work and interesting hobbies. I would find a way to maintain my life and my body, and I would not alter what makes me, me.
The first thing I let go were my clothes.
Shortly after Iād decided to continue with my pregnancy, I started to lose the extra room in my tops. My tender chest began to bloat and then continue with growing over the first month. With the doubling of my cup size came the halving of my wardrobe choices.
This trickled down my body, my hips expanding outwards and my thighs thickening. It took maybe two months for me to give up my fight against the numbers on my scale, and give my body to the process of growing this child.
By the end of the first trimester I could no longer fit into my loosest pair of jeans, and my sweatpants were beginning to feel tight around my ass and thighs like leggings. Looking at myself in the mirror, I didnāt look pregnant yet but the pregnancy was taking its toll. The smallest amount of fat was beginning to collect around my waist, but the majority was filling out my lower body in preparation for carrying this baby for the next 6 or so months.
The next few weeks saw the beginning of this growth. My little paunch began growing outwards, and each day I imagined that my hips had widened a little more. I was losing my slim and athletic silhouette inch by inch.
It felt like I had blinked and my belly had grown to fill both my hands. And again, two weeks later, beyond even that. At the doctor I found out why, that I had two babies growing in me, changing me into a better carrier. The twins grew rapidly, so that my belly edged into my lap before the third trimester even started.
The morning I got up and failed to stand at first was when I decided to halt my hobbies. How could I attend any kind of athletic event when even getting up was a challenge?
I had to rock myself forward and back a few times before I had the momentum to push myself up and out of bed. I fell back thoughtlessly into a stance with my belly tilted up, one hand supporting it from below and the other behind my back. I took a deep breath and knew that this was just a part of carrying a child, and I would not let this take away my pre-pregnancy life for any longer than was necessary.
My pregnant belly grew despite my tenuous grip on independence. As month eight approached it grew beyond ālargeā and into the realm of āenormousā. I tried to keep as active as possible, going on outings outside to keep up my cardiovascular fitness. I would hardly make it to the end of my driveway before I was breathing heavily, both arms propping up the giant mound of my belly.
Wearing my loosest fitting long sleeve shirt in the cool weather did very little to protect the skin of my mid-drift, as the fabric crept up to rest above my belly as I moved haltingly forwards. Each step became less of a stride and more of a stagger as a struggled to make my way around the block. I waddled to the best of my ability, one foot swinging with my large hips and enormous mass followed by another halting step.
Even with my legs spread wide by my bare stomach I could feel my thickened inner thighs rub against each other.
The harshness of each step as I waddled farther from my home emphasized the baby weight Iād been gaining in my body. My ass jolted and shook with each ponderous step.
āHow pregnant I must look right nowā I mused to myself, before my attention was drawn entirely to the strain in my back. I was struggling to get in enough air with the growing mass of my womb pressing up into my lungs. My arms, back, and legs ached with the fight to carry the weight jutting out in front of me and dragging me down. I had to turn back early from that walk.
The ninth month had me nearly on bed rest. My rocking back and forth to leave bed was no longer working as well, as my enormous belly rested entirely along the tops of my legs, out to my knees, and did not allow my upper body further forwards. I had to shimmy from side to side until I rested on the edge of my bed before pressing the weight of my heavy body up and off of the bed.
Waddling from there to the kitchen was another long task. I frequently had to rest with a hand thrown up against the wall, breathing hard, my other hand desperately trying to keep my full womb from dragging me down to the floor.
My hips and waist had outgrown my table armchairs, and so to eat I had to balance my breakfast plate on top of my big belly. One day, when I had made the mistake of grazing my ever-growing chest with the plate as I set it down, I quickly felt a wetness saturate the front of my shirt. I had begun lactating, and my milk was soaking through the fabric of my top.
I sat there feeling miserable, I was double what I weighed before and my body was enormously grown into a blimp. My hips had widened to accommodate the load and were more than ready to bear children. Thick fatty padding covered my ass, hips, and waist. My enormous chest was full to bursting with creamy milk, now dripping down my side.
And more than all that, my enormous belly dominated my body. It was laughably huge and seemed heavier than it should be. It edged out over my knees, having grown larger and longer than my thighs before bulging out to the sides, packed full with babies.
I felt like a pregnant cow, hardly fit to stand out in the field, just waiting to give birth. I certainly was producing milk like one. Thoughts like these were becoming more common with more situations like this. Each one sent a new electric feeling through me that I wasnāt sure I liked.
āIāve blown up like a blimpā
āI can hardly move with this huge bellyā
āIāve been thoroughly bredā
Each of these thoughts added to a heat in my center, and I could feel myself growing wetter.
āI canāt see my lower bodyā
āIām growing these babies so wellā
āI wonder if I will be bigger next timeā
The last thought gave me pause. Next time? Enjoying this was one thing but planning to be bred again was not something that I thought I wanted. The unending growth and the loss of mobility were things I hated. The more I thought about it the more turned on I became.
To be like this, over and over again? To grow and grow without end, having as many babies as I could? My body expanding outwards even more, belly crowded with two, three, even four babies at a time?
I felt my hips involuntarily grind up against the weight of my huge belly.
Maybe that was a future I could get used to. It almost seemed inevitable now.
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gracieās ass is way too fucking big to be shopping in like, a basic white people grocery store.
she has no idea what sheās doing there. she donāt know what damn cheese to buy. she donāt know what things cost, or how to prepare food. what ate you doin in there hun?
How it must feel to be the one among a group of friends that is constantly harassed for being āthe biggestā. Whether at work or out at night, someone you know is bound to make a comment on tight your tops are or what parts of your day to day life you must struggle with due to your size. You know itās not your fault and they do too but it doesnāt prevent passive aggressive jabs wrapped up as good natured jabs.
You did your best to find oufits that flattered your shape without exploiting it. Youād spent over a year now in this goldilocks zone where you didnāt have to go out of your way to fill a sweater or bathing suit to capacity. Youād only recently reached a size that most women envied without crossing over into āthat poor girlā territory, a size that made even the most modest option a risk in certain environments.
This morning is different though; sure youād accidently shrunk your fair share of tops you figured you probably werenāt going to get that many more uses out of anyway but this previously comfortable and stretchy Ā¼ zip was way more of a struggle to pull on than you remember. Sure you joked to yourself about the day you couldnāt zip it all the way up anymore but also took comfort in how impossible that size would be too reach, even for you.
Your reflection was telling you a different story, however. A mix of theories, excuses and denials raced through your mind as you absorbed just how much cleavage was now packed together and piled up in the zippered opening. You could almost feel each cold, tiny tooth pressing into the overflow with each breath that pulled the knitting apart until the outline of a straining bra underneath was visible. That frenetic swirling of theories had now evaporated until only one was left but the past year, the goldilocks zone, you were already big enough, it was impossible but undeniable.
They grew.
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