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 didn’t 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 “large” and into the realm of “enormous”. 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 I’d been gaining in my body. My ass jolted and shook with each ponderous step.

‘How pregnant I must look right now’ 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 wasn’t sure I liked.

‘I’ve blown up like a blimp’

‘I can hardly move with this huge belly’

‘I’ve been thoroughly bred’

Each of these thoughts added to a heat in my center, and I could feel myself growing wetter.

‘I can’t see my lower body’

‘I’m growing these babies so well’

‘I wonder if I will be bigger next time’

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.