my secret secret blog

I crave the stretch. That unbearable tightness of skin drawn taut across a womb doing the impossible—carrying four, five, maybe even more of your children. I want to feel them kick and squirm, tangled up inside me, claiming every inch of space. I want to waddle with the weight of your legacy, so round and so full that I can barely walk. Barely breathe. Barely think.

Imagine it: me struggling to bend, to rise from bed without your hand on my swollen back. My breasts swollen and leaking, my thighs rubbed raw from the effort of carrying all of them for you. Needing help to get dressed, to turn over at night, to make it through the day—because your babies are using up everything I have.

And I want more.

I want you to make me need it. To press me down, whisper how many babies I’ll be carrying this time, how I don’t get a say, how this is what I was made for. Your perfect, messy, dumb little hucow. Your heavy, full-bellied whore, trembling with need as I beg you to put more in me.

Please. I don’t care how. Breed me. Stuff me. Drug me. Pour your cum into me until I can’t take any more—and then do it again anyway. Make me yours in the most undeniable way. Let the whole world see it written in my body. Let them know that I belong to you.

Don’t wait. Don’t ask. Just take. Make me a monument to your momentary pleasure.

And now here she is. In her third trimester with his baby. Waves of awkwardness come over them occasionally. Their dynamic now permanently changed. She didn’t find out she was pregnant until it was already too late. And when she found out she was stunned. She couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t breath. She couldn’t get out of it. The moment she realized she was locked into this future she put her hand on her still flat stomach. It didn’t feel real yet. Maybe it wasn’t. When she told him were both shocked and had no idea what to do. They weren’t lovers. They weren’t hoping for any of this. He stared at her midsection. Almost not believing it. She looked normal. Maybe it was a prank. But no. The look in her face was real.

Then a couple weeks later. The proof popped out. It was overwhelming for them both. When she realized she had popped she stared at herself in the mirror for hours. She couldn’t believe he was the father of her child. She felt awkward and shy going to see him with an officially popped belly. The proof of what they had done was no longer possible to deny. When he saw her he froze. She really was pregnant. It was real. Her shirt fitting more snuggly on her. Her breasts were bigger too.

She asked him if he wanted to feel it, he cautiously put his hand on her body. It felt strange and yet he couldn’t help but get immediate flashbacks of the night that got them in this situation. The bump was small. Just a muffin top on her jeans. The area under her belly button had started to round out. He remembered aggressively kissing her here as he worked his way down, kissing her body until from her chest down her stomach until he started to eat her out. That was the last time he touched her here. And now he’s touching the preganant bump he gave her.

Fast forward to the third trimester. She’s big. She’s walking slowly. She’s bursting out of all of her clothes. She’s feeling awkward in the friend group. She’s constantly wearing his shirts. Unbuttoned and bare bellied. When she sits she just stares at the way it just juts out of her body. There’s no way to hide it anyways. She has gone up three cup sizes too. Her bellybutton had become a magnet for the eyes. The first thing people saw when she waddled over to them.

They were sleeping together again. They decided they might as well. They can’t get pregnant again. And he was discovering he loved the curves of a pregnant body. Sleeping together is easy. The quiet intimate moments are harder. They still haven’t overcome the feelings of uncertainty and awkwardness. But they don’t have time. Each day she’s a little bigger. A little heavier. Needing a little more help and support from him. He wants to be there he wants to do right by her. He just wishes he could do it more confidently. They don’t hold hands in public but he does pull her up and lift her belly when they are alone. When she was uncomfortable from the pregnancy he often apologized profusely to her. Doing what he could to alleviate the pain or discomfort.

She stares at herself in the mirror every day. Wearing his flannels that are too tight to be buttoned up. Her belly jutting forward between the two halves of his button up. He stares at her every day looking at what he did. Looking at his own shirts unable to be buttoned. She still can’t believe who she got knocked up by. But she also can’t believe how much of a tender person he can be either. Seeing this whole new side of him is strange but also touching. And alleviating. Sometimes she feels awkward and sometimes she wants to grab his hand to place it on her stomach.