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I’m pinned under you, legs shoved wide, wrists trapped above my head. You’re so much bigger, so much stronger, and I’m thrashing, pleading with my whole body not to let you finish inside. I keep saying no, no, please pull out, I don’t want a baby, I can’t be a mom yet, Im 19, I’m too young, but you don’t listen. You just keep slamming in deeper until your hips lock against mine and I feel it. the hot, thick pulse of you cumming, flooding me, filling me up even while I’m crying and begging you to stop.

You stay buried inside after, cock still twitching, plugging every drop in so it has no choice but to take. I can feel it already, that heavy, warm weight settling low in my belly like it’s claiming me from the inside out. You finally pull out slow, and I watch thick white leak from my sore hole, but most of it stays trapped. I’m ruined already and it’s only the first time.

My tits hurt first. They were D cups, cute in tight tops with a push-up bra. Now they swell fast, ballooning several cup sizes bigger, growing impossibly full and round, skin taut and firm. They hang heavy on my chest, straining every bra and top I own until i can’t even get them on anymore. The weight pulls at me constantly, making them bounce and jiggle with every step. My nipples darken and thicken, spreading wide and prominent, stiff and sensitive. I cup them and they throb, sloshing with milk I didn’t ask for, so engorged they ache for relief. They’re massive now, obscene and impossible to ignore. I stare in the mirror and hate how they hang, how none of my shirts or bras fit, how everyone can tell just by looking that I’ve been bred.

My hips crack and widen next. I feel the bones shifting, spreading, making room for the baby you forced into me. My ass gets fatter, rounder, thighs thickening until my jeans won’t button anymore. I waddle a little already and I’m only a few weeks in. My center of gravity is fucked. I look like I was built to push your kid out.

My pussy is ruined. Your cock stretched it so wide it doesn’t snap back. The lips stay puffy and loose, gaping a little even when I’m empty. It’s always wet now, slick dripping down my inner thighs no matter what I do. I clench around nothing and it aches, throbs, remembers exactly how your cock split me open. I’m horny all the time, leaking, desperate, clit swollen and sensitive. I rub myself raw trying to make it quiet but it only gets worse.

Pregnancy brain hits hard. My thoughts feel slow like I’m underwater. I forget words mid-sentence, lose my keys five times a day, stare at nothing for minutes. All I can focus on is the ache between my legs and the weight in my tits. My mind keeps looping back to that night, replaying how full you made me, how good it felt even when I hated it. I get dumber every week, foggy and scatterbrained, a ditzy knocked up teen who can’t string thoughts together without thinking about cock.

You don't even have to want it really. The female body is optimized for childbirth, and not for any of your actual wants/desires. A random mans sperm has more agency over your body then you do. Even if you hate every part there is nothing you can do to stop it after a certain point. You have to watch yourself swell up day by day. Watching as none of your pants button. How things start to strain around your chest. How everything keeps riding up and exposing your tummy. How your walk gradually turns to a waddle. Having to hold your hands on your back, moaning & panting W/ exertion at pretty simple tasks.

walkable community, aka waddleable community

frat/sorority parties that get you knocked up

the sense of freedom no longer living with your parents, being a real adult, and immediately getting knocked up bc of it

classmates ogling you as your belly gets bigger and bigger

classmates seeing your example and also getting knocked up

tummy getting so big you can’t fit behind desks

professors who are sympathetic to your plight and go easy on you with grading

professors who don’t care how big and heavy and uncomfortable you’re getting and grade you just as harshly as everyone else

the ticking clock of your growing belly vs finals, which one will be over with first

finding classmates with pregnancy kinks

knowing the person who knocked you up is in class with you

not knowing who the person who knocked you up is but knowing they might be in class with you

carrying heavy backpack and heavy tummy

studying in a library is hot anyway but also add big belly to the mix

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” I ask you with a smile as you desperately try to cover your exposed nakedness with the blanket. Unable to hide your vulnerable and monstrously huge belly. A little over a year ago we met online. The girl with the breeding fantasies, wanting a sexy secret. An older man to claim her and plant his seed. When you called me daddy the first time I knew what you were after. Just a little pretend time. Something as close to being bred but not the real thing. “I want to be huge with your babies, daddy” you whispered as I thrust into you. When I erupted inside your body you moaned in pleasure. “What do you want again, sweetheart?” I asked. “To be huge with babies daddy.” You replied, adding the giggle for emphasis. You had no idea what was coming your way as you sighed in content. My seed draining deep inside your cervix.

It wouldn’t be the last time you would feel my cum pool inside of you . The months that followed you watched helplessly as your breasts became soft and tender, growing achingly heavier everyday. Your once pink areolas turned deep brown and expanded. Your nipples were now constantly erect, painfully sensitive to every sensation. Your hips became a never ending source of discomfort as they continued to expand, desperately trying to accommodate the strain they were under. There were times were you had to stop yourself from crying over how large your ass and thighs had become, big, thick, and meaty. Your ankles were swollen and painful, your feet hurt if you even attempted to put shoes on, and nothing could ease your back as your poor frame tried it’s best to adjust. And all of this was nothing compared to the belly I had given you. For nine months you looked on in shock and then almost a sense of horror as it grew in size. Impossibly huge, it dominated you. By the last month you could barely get out of bed as your new gravid body weighed you down. My children kicking away at you, unable to find anymore room to grow. As if to add insult to injury you became a slave to your hormones and the dull ache between your legs. I would take you anytime I wanted. Never once giving thought about being gentle on the mother of my children. As you grew heavier I would fuck you with abandon like a hungry animal. Almost every night you would pass out drenched in sweet, slight trails of milk leaking from your breasts, a large wet stain of our cum drying under your ample body. And even then it wasn’t enough as every time I left you couldn’t stop your hands from going between your thighs.  Your puffy and swollen vagina feeling almost alien to your touch. Even your lips felt thick and strangely heavy as you parted them, trying to pleasure yourself. You could smell your own arousal. Always. And the few times you could muster the strength to heave yourself off of the king sized bed you would leave a slick trail on the floor below you. You would do everything you could not to think about the sight of yourself. Of what you had become. Trying to deny the fact you would almost count down the minutes until my return so you could use what energy you had to grind against my rigid cock as I thrusted in and out.

By the ninth month you could barely reach your pussy anymore over the massive swell of your belly. There were days I would come back to find you in tears over how frustrated you were. How embarrassed you were. How badly you ached for more. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” I ask forcing your legs open . Setting to work on your engorged clit. “Didn’t you say you couldn’t wait to have babies?” You let out a small whine as I pry open your rounded thighs.  

“ Not like this” you say weak and defeated .

“Not like what?” I ask before I casually lick my fingers.

“I’m so heavy..” You feel the tears starting to burn a little behind your eyes. “You made me so big and heavy…… “

“That’s too bad” I reply before I start gently rubbing your engorged bud. You let out a moan as your body betrays you again. Your slit already slick and wanting. “Because your going to be swollen with my babies as many times as I want. Your mine to breed. And there isn’t a god damn thing you can do to stop me. Now tell me, what is you really want?”

“ Please” You whimper.

“Please what?”

Still after a few weeks of nausea, aching breasts, and an odd bloat in my stomach I take the test and it's positive. Aren't I showing early? I don't question it. I feel nervous, I'm not sure if I really want this. Imagining I was pregnant in bed always led to arousal, but do I really want to go through with it? I am convinced though and I try to quell my worries, I can't get that big from just one baby.

By the time I learn it's more than one it's already too late.

Almost 9 months later I'm miserably huge and regretting everything, trying in vain to find a comfortable position, where I don't feel like I'm about to burst. I'm stuffed full, disgustingly large and stretched, assaulted from the inside, by my squirming brood.

I've been completely taken over by pregnancy, my thighs have grown thick, my widened hips ache, my massive bump is streaked with bright red stretch marks, and my poor swollen breasts rest on my belly engorged with milk. A cute and small baby bump this is not, my entire body feels stretched in some way, and at this stage I feel more belly than person.

I lay on my side desperately trying to feel comfortable, crying out at the sudden pressure of a particularly harsh kick. I don't even recognize myself anymore, my trim and fit body replaced with extra curves and newly swollen features.

You have to totally submit to the inevitable or look dumb, trying to escape it.

After having their way with me, I want them to tell me how to dress; either in the tightest or most revealing clothes possible.

As the semester finishes, I want to be the only one called on, and be forced to get up and pass papers around as punishment for being a whore.

When the school year finishes, I want to be huge and have them pretend to mentor me so that they can be around. Force me to be in public so that everyone can see I'm growing multiples.

but really, it’s that and more than a few real babies. the weight was going to come whether or not they tried, but now that they’re trying, the weight really doesn’t stop. they balloon so quick, getting wide enough to waddle, to fill up chairs, to fill out whatever clothes they try to buy. now they look like a slut and a glutton, shuffling about with a too-tight belly, short buttons undone and clothes showing off a little too much. thighs pressing together, huffing and puffing as their tits wobble in front of their face, shoving sweets in their mouth when they stop to catch their breath every few steps.

then they start to get too big. maybe they stop trying to keep up with their belly. but they’re not super in control of their hunger anymore. they start filling doorways, they stop finding shirts that fit. they look like an exaggerated fertility statue, belly wobbling, arms stuck at an angle because of all the fat of their tits and their hips, and their tits starting to leak like crazy with all the wobbling they do. the goal was to look less pregnant- now they look like the epitome of pregnancy, still with a few weeks to go.

Immediately, my stomach flipped. Fear? Excitement? Or… was I already getting turned on at the mere idea? The witch, sidling up behind me with her hands at my waist, leaned in and pressed her body against mine, letting her hands slide over my lower belly. She bit my earlobe and whispered, giving me goosebumps: “I think I can feel it working… can’t you? You should probably lie down.”

I head toward the couch, but I have to pause to unbutton my jeans. They *are* feeling a little… snug… at the waist. I don’t know if her “spell” is working or not, but it definitely looks like I’m going to get lucky with this cute witch babe, so… I bend over, struggling more than usual to get out of these jeans. By the time I stand back up, I’m sporting a definite little potbelly, and it definitely wasn’t there a minute ago.

I turn to her, ready to say “what the fuck?”, but suddenly she’s kissing me on the mouth and the words don’t come. Her shirt’s already off; her bra is black lace. She bites my lower lip, and her hands caress my stomach– *no*, my *bump*. “My, my, my… looks like my little plaything is well and truly knocked up.” She’s smirking and it’s hot as fuck. My head is spinning.

She pushes me down to the couch, and climbs on top, straddling my hips. I feel so heavy all of a sudden. She unclasps her bra, holds it in place for a moment. “I don’t know if I should take this off… wouldn’t want you to get too worked up, right? Not in your delicate condition.” It makes little difference; I’ve been fantasizing about her breasts all night, and this little tease is a torment. I squirm underneath her, bucking my hips just slightly, but it’s hard to move– I feel sluggish and unwieldy. “Look at yourself,” she urges. “Look at how pregnant you’re getting for me.” She drops her bra to the floor, and I want to look at her perfect tits, but the big dome of my own belly catches my eye instead. *Is it growing while I watch?* “God, your tits are even bigger than mine, now,” she says, snapping me out of it. She’s not wrong. They flop down, resting on the full curve of my belly, their nipples broad and dark. My tits, like everything else about me now, are so very heavy.

She grinds into me a bit, leaning forward and down, her trim stomach pressed against my swollen orb. She’s pressing her breasts toward my face, and I turn to to put one in my mouth, sucking desperately. I don’t know what’s happening to me but I don’t care, such is my need. “Do you like this?” she asks, cupping one of my brand new fat fucking tits. It’s so sensitive, and I shudder, sucking harder on her nipple. “Blowing up like this for me, I mean. Like a big, pregnant hot air balloon?” 

She adjusts her stance on top of me; I’m now too big for her to lean over my enormously round belly in quite the same way, and she sits up on my thighs, taking her perfect breasts away from my face. When I reach my hands up for them, my arms jostle my own swollen pregnant tits, pressing them together to form a surprisingly deep cleavage. I gasp at the sensation. When I look past my own cleavage, I see my belly surge forward again, even bigger. I feel impossibly huge. Now when she leans forward, she’s resting her breasts on the top of my massive pregnant belly. They look so small now, compared to my own.

For a moment, I watch her watching me, tracking the lust in her gaze as she surveys her handiwork. There’s ever-growing pressure in my womb and my tits, and I’m sinking deeper and deeper into the couch cushions under my own mounting weight, but the only sensation that matters to me is my red-hot carnal need. She reaches down between my thickening thighs, teasing me with the prospect of release, and my body expands again. 

Thinking about how huge I am now, how fat my ass must be by this point, how heavy my belly will feel when I eventually have to stand up… my body expands again. Even merely growing is turning me on, and making me grow. I feel a warm wetness, and realize I’m leaking milk.

“Yes,” I respond at last. “I really, really like this.”

“What do you like about it?” she asks, smiling devilishly, and I start to think about any answer to her question but my belly interrupts. It’s growing again, tight and round and glorious. I’ve never seen a belly this big before in my life.

y’all got me writing dirty university drabbles in my university class? so naughty.

but lemme tell you….this one hits….

because, you know, I wasn’t a slut. Not before college, anyways. The first few days, however, when there’s no classes so everyone can move in and there’s parties every night and everyone just absolutely wired to be back on campus and free from their parents? That’s a bit of a different story.

On the morning of my first class, a tiny 8am seminar on some niche topic I’d chosen half-blindly, you were sitting right there in the back corner, just as tired and satiated as I was. It had only been hours, after all, since you’d sneaked out of my room, leaving me and the mess of cum leaking out of me behind. A buzz on my phone alerts me that I set a reminder to get the morning after pill, but class is starting. Academics first, I think, taking a seat. Though I do share a little smirk with you.

We don’t really talk after that - I’m less interested in one night hookups now that the trimester’s started, and besides, seeing you every day in class doesn’t need to be made more awkward by continuing to be fuck buddies. So, other than polite smiles and the occasionally forced class discussion, we don’t really interact.

Everybody noticed that day I nearly hurled into my bag, almost knocking over my chair in my haste to get to the trash can. And you weren’t the only one who noticed when I went braless that one day where it was like 95 degrees, and you could see every outline of my areolas and nipples, dark and clearly angry. It didn’t have anything to do with you, when I came into class crying, one of those stupid plastic bags of goodies from the health center in my hands.

Except it did.

You might have known that, had we had a class together second trimester. But you didn’t. So all you knew, seeing me walk - waddle - into class during the third trimester, is that I’d changed.

Even if it wasn’t so obvious, it would have clicked into place what happened - but it was that obvious, given the enormous appearance of my stomach, still attached to me and barely covered in tight fabric. It would have looked out of place on me in the first trimester, but now, you could see everywhere I’d grown, from my motherly hips (how much was bone and how much was fat? bone didn’t jiggle) my inflated tits (that wasn’t fat, that was milk. for your kid. though you could think of other people it should go to) to the layer of pudge everywhere on me, dimpled with cellulite and marred with stretch marks (what you would do to touch everyone of those.)

With the knowledge of what had happened to me, what was happening to me, was the knowledge that you did that. You’d impregnated me, knocked me up, put your kid (kids??) in me and then changed me, completely, all without your even being there. You could imagine me, measuring my growing bump in the mirror, sighing about the the weight of your child between my hips, shoveling bite after bite in my mouth though I desperately wanted to stop. You even imagined me in bed, going through the memories of our night together, a hand awkwardly posed behind my legs, knowing that I couldn’t touch myself as well as you did that night.

It filled you with pride, yes, but God, it filled you with lust. I might have seen it, poking from underneath your jeans, if you hadn’t shot to your feet, offering me your chair.

I sighed as I sat, my faces rounded with fertility and health as I smiled at you.

hello, loooong time reader first time writer here! i only actually write something like once a year but if i may still self promo my belly kink blog is @haha--lorge, where i often draw big bellies

Your boyfriend had broken your old couch last night, when he got pissed off by some video game. When he kicked its leg, the old wood gave in and snapped. His regret was immediate and so was your anger. You suppose it could be worse but you’re still mad. That couch had been with you for years, damn it! Luckily your boyfriend is eager to make it up to you. Because today, he’s taking you out to the local Ikea to get a new couch “and anything else you want babe, I’ll pay for everything I promise!”.

And so, after an overpriced breakfast of average quality from the café, you are ready to peruse some furniture and pick out a nice new couch. You don’t think you’ll get anything else but you feel like you might as well take your time going through the rooms anyways. Your boyfriend agrees, even though he wants to get this over with and quell his guilt. Having a nice day out together is an even better way to apologise.