Pregnant Paws
by ExplorEros

The alarm clock buzzer yanked me out of a dream I was having, and I hate that because then I can’t recall what the dream was about, save for a few fleeting glimpses of images, or feelings, or senses of taste, or smell. As it was, I believe I was running a combination house for single mothers and bed and breakfast somewhere in the Carolinas. Don’t ask. Anyhow, peering out from under the sheets with one bleary eye, I saw the clock read 6 am. Damn, I must have forgotten to turn it off yesterday, when Mary left for her flight. And man, my arm was dead, too...I must’ve laid on it wrong. It felt like lead. And I felt like going back to sleep. So I tried...I shut my eyes and rolled back over. I ended up sleeping for another 45 minutes.

Then I woke up with a start, and realized it was Friday, I had the day off work, and the place to myself. I let this little bit soak in for a few minutes...then I thought about that dream. And then, some pilot light ignited in one corner of my brain. I have the place all to myself. Well, all right. It looked like some ballooning was in store today. And this guy was going to suddenly be the most pregnant male out there...umm, of the many already out there, that is. You see, I’m an inflation addict, of a sort. A simulator. Well, truth be told, a pregnancy simulator. Yes, you heard right. My fetish is to be as pregnant, as quickly as I can, to the point of orgasm.

Now you may ask, where does this sort of thing come from? Heck if I know. I went through college, got my degree in Human Sexuality Psychology; even did some grad school time. I guess it’s true what they say, most shrink-types get into the field to understand their own motivations, then apply that self- awareness to others. Well, I’m still searching, and I think it’ll end up being a lifelong endeavor. Let’s see, where to start about my background? Well, I’m not gay, this I know. I’m also not a crossdresser or transvestite. Check and check. Somewhere along the way, when I was very young, my brain got hardwired to respond to pregnant, ballooning-belly stimuli. I remember an incident when I was maybe 8 or 9, at a local beach near my hometown. There weren’t very many people around that day, and I was happily sitting in the sand, playing near the waterline. I remembered seeing a pregnant woman earlier that day, and wondered what it would be like to feel and look like that. So I tentatively scooped a shovelful of wet sand into my bathing suit. Hmm, didn’t feel too bad...cool, actually. Kinda fun. Well, that led to another, then another. Pretty soon, I had quite the ‘belly’ going, as I imagined it. I’d look around from time to time to make sure I wasn’t being watched or noticed closely, and went back to my task at hand. Finally, after 15 minutes or so of this, I was pretty stuffed with sand. I patted my newly created pregnant belly, and loved the feeling of being so full. I tried to stand up, found I couldn’t, and tried to decide what to do next. I ended up sliding my way slowly into the surf, where I could let the water wash away my creation. Before that, I had one of the first stirrings that would later be recognized as an orgasm. I was on my way.

Other stories I could tell you...well, they’ll have to wait for another time, I suppose. I’ve got a million of ‘em, it seems at times. Then one day many years ago, I discovered the online world...and I was hooked. Why such a big deal? I guess because you always think you’re the only one out there like this. What’s funny is, I still think that about me. Let me explain. Online, both on the ‘Net and online services, you can find men that will admit in a heartbeat that they find big bellies attractive...sure, pregnant women too. And that’s great. I believe the empowerment of women in today’s society is fantastic. And one side of that is an appreciation for the wonders and beauty that each and every woman brings to the world. Many of these men (and some women) have a name for all this...Fat Appreciation, or FAs. But I’ll let them tell their story elsewhere. I find that my own fetish is a subcategory of all this. Yes, big beautiful women (or BBWs) are beautiful, for hundreds of reasons. But not many fall into my area, which are women who have fantasized since they were young and growing up, about being pregnant, or heavily so. I know, sounds different. It is. But bear with me here. Probably most women out there have played at being pregnant at some point growing up...sticking a pillow or something similar under their dress. For most, this passes as they get a few years older. Well...I am fascinated by those women for whom they never lose that feeling. As a matter of fact, they want a big belly...a real big one. And will grab every opportunity they have for play to get that feeling back. These women fascinate me. In my informal research, they tend to be BBWs themselves, and many in what could be termed high-stress jobs. Don’t think they’re out there? I know better. We’ve played together...online and off. But that’s another story...it was now 7:15am, and it was time to have my own fun. I rubbed my belly in anticipation. I always slept nude, and as I reached down to rub my belly, I could feel my cock begin to take notice. Always the same.

It was different, the house being empty and silent. These days didn’t come often; I was surely gonna make the most of it. I had a bowl of cereal or two, watched some of the morning show on CNN, and glanced over the morning paper’s headlines. Then I was ready for action. I cleaned everything up, and rooted around in the pantry until I found what I was looking for. It was the box of plastic yard bags. You know, the ones that you use to put leaves in when you’re doing yard work. Yah, those. Well, I grabbed the box and went down the hall to the bathroom. Quickly sticking my head in the bathroom door, I tossed the box on the counter. I went back to the bedroom to contemplate the wardrobe choice for playtime. I settled on my black athletic briefs (knee- length and lycra based, thank you), a very loose pair of sweatpants with a drawstring (the elastic all but gone thanks to previous playtimes), and a blue T-shirt...6X, and I usually wear a 4X. That done, I went back to the bed and sat on its edge. I put the briefs on over my feet, and pulled them up to knee level. Then came the prep of the bag. I took a bag out of the box, and unfolded it. I then bent back a little, and tucked the bottom portion down between my legs, and up towards my butt a little...that would help keep it anchored in place. Then, I pulled the briefs all the way up to my waist. I reached inside of them, and tucked the bag around, molding it to my inner legs, and cock. Then, I put the T-shirt on. I took the upper part of the plastic bag and pulled it out the neck of the shirt; I then tucked the shirt into the briefs. Finally, I put the sweatpants on, pulling them up to my waist and tying them off tight with the gray drawstring. My already large belly stuck out over my waist, meaning I had to reach under and up to tie off the string. Well, it would serve its purpose too. Now suited up like a bizarre knight of some sort, I was ready for the next stage. I headed to the bathroom.

The shower is one with a removable showerhead. You know, the kind that has the long hose, which then ends in the showerhead. This is the growth mechanism of choice. This is also a roll-in shower, which can be good and bad. Bad when a bunch of water decides to make a break for it, and wants to rush out the door because it can’t go down the drain fast enough. These days, I think I’d prefer the removable showerhead, and a tub. At least then, you get some containment. I situate myself on a strong, molded plastic showerseat. I pull a smaller one I use when traveling in front of me. I’ll need two. After getting comfortable, I take the showerhead off the wall hook, do a test run of water until I get it to the warmth I like most, then turn it back off and insert it in the top of the bag at the neck of my shirt. Then I snake it down the front of my chest, and let it rest in front of my navel, inside the bag. I check to make sure the drawstring is tight on the sweats, then take a deep breath.

At this point, the little pilot light that was lit in the back of my brain when I first felt this ‘mood’ coming over me this morning now bursts into a hot white pinpoint of sexual energy, and starts filling my brain. Psych folks know this as the Id, of the famous trio consisting of the Id, the Ego, and the Superego. Basically, the Id is the most primitive part of each of us, and survives and craves and desires on the most basic level. Love, food, sex. It now wanted an amalgamation of all three. It wanted a big belly...NOW. A really big, full to bursting belly. It wanted me to look as pregnant as possible. My hand reached out for the water control lever, and lifted it up. The response was instantaneous, and soothingly warm.

Those first few seconds are charged with thoughts about how I might have gotten into this predicament; was I a guinea pig in some experiment, attempting to create the first pregnant male? Or had I ingested some sort of belly hormone, like I had read in some stories online? Mmm, the thoughts were endless. And I watched, and listened. Listened as the water rushing out of the end of the hose made a smooth, rushing, hissing sound...like a tire pump, perhaps inflating a raft, or a beach ball...or me. The water now began to pool at the bottom of my belly, and stopped there, going no further. The size of my own belly pushing against the tight drawstring of the sweats made sure all the water stayed up top. I began filling my belly. I began pushing outward.

Well...it turns out that I got the hormonal injections after all...and they slipped it in my beer! And here, I had now been hooked up to this huge keg whose tap had been thrown open, and I was being forced to ingest it all. My belly continued to grow, and to push out. As it made its way, I tied off the top of the bag around the showerhose, taking the bag drawstrings and tying knots around the hose. I wanted my hands free now. I began rubbing the side of my burgeoning belly now, willing it to grow...and it did. I looked down, and I could see vaguely into the bag, as the material of the T-shirt stretched more and more. I could see the water line as it filled my belly. I imagined that to be my belly...that I could witness whatever was filling it by watching the level increase right through my skin. And still I grew.

I wondered then about some way I could do this better. Would a suit made out of vinyl or some stretchy waterproof rubber do the trick? Something I could just the hose into up top and have fill...that would be wonderful...plus, no thought of leaks or breakage. Mmmm, another time. I was growing quite the belly now...and I looked about 7 or so months along...maybe eight. Time for the rush...the big rush. All this water, all this belly, was trapped up top, straining against my shirt, but especially against that drawstring. It wanted down, and down now. The secondary showerstool I had placed in front of me was holding my expanding girth now. Gravity was at bay, for the moment. Then, the part I loved best. I strained forward and turned off the water flow. I leaned to one side, grabbing a side handrail with my left hand, and a front rail with my right. I then slowly heaved myself up into a standing position. My belly swayed and rolled from side to side...threatening to burst through. Then, I arched my back, leaned, and took in a deep breath at the same time. This allowed enough space to open behind the drawstring, and all my accumulated belly juice rushed into the new space, filling me out instantaneously between my legs, around my cock, and partway behind me. My athletic briefs groaned under the sudden pressure...I could hear them stretch to accommodate the flow. Meanwhile, my sweats filled, ballooning out rapidly. It was such a rush...suddenly like gaining 30 pounds, all underneath and between my legs. I emptied more and more, until all that was up top was now underneath. I once again pulled the drawstring tight, trapping everything now underneath my waist. I for fun tried moving a bit. My center of gravity had switched, and I teetered a bit. I was all preggo belly down below. I now tried to sit back down. This took some doing, as I was all water cushion down below, and it was like sitting on a water-filled balloon. I almost rolled right off the edge of the seat, but hung on at the last moment. The extra strain of me sitting again pushed my belly out to the front. I was just able to get it back on the stool in front of me. Sitting back to observe the fun, I looked ready to pop. Every seam down below was at its tightest. My upper thighs were filled to capacity like two overstuffed sausages. There was not a wrinkle in the material of the sweats; it had all been filled out, and was smooth. And yet, the fun wasn’t quite over.

As my cock strained against the bag and briefs down below, I leaned forward to the water lever again. My now-empty upper half needed refilling. As pregnant as I was, and felt, I wanted more. Bigger. Rounder. Heavier. I threw the lever up again. As I filled for the second time, my thoughts turned back to the raw, sexual part of me. I could feel my face flush as I grew once again. I could see myself being displayed as the human hourglass. The first male to deliver twins. Twins? Nahh, triplets...quads! The sky was the limit...this belly could take it. I was Violet in Willy Wonka. Templeton in Charlotte’s Web cartoon. Porky Pig in the cartoon where he is strapped to a conveyor belt, and force-fed all types of food, as he is helpless, only able to watch his waist balloon out before him. He exploded at the end...I was desperately trying to avoid that fate. My belly down below swayed and rolled...up top, I was almost as full. Top pushed against bottom...the bag strained...and soon, there was no more to be filled up top. I was at an equilibrium. But no, there was going to be another forcing down, another search for a few more inches of room to be filled in this gargantuan belly...

And then, almost like clockwork, it hit me. My Id, given free reign to wreak sexual havoc in its revelry, was slapped across the face for a moment by the Ego. I could feel then a part of mind rush to the forefront, and exclaim, "Look at yourself! Do you know how silly you look at this moment? Imagine if someone walked in right now...what would you say? What would you do?" I was momentarily stunned. Was that part right? Was this all a stupid, bad idea? I stopped then, poised on the edge of my frenzied sexual activity, and thought. Then, slowly but surely, my Id got back up off the canvas, struggled to his feet (under the weight of its new belly, no doubt) and sucker-punched that Ego back into submission. This was its time; there would be no denying it. This train would NOT be derailed. Slowly, surely, I felt the flush return to my face. My belly heaved...an air bubble rushed to the top. My cock was standing out like a rod of solid steel, enveloped in that bag, water pushing on it, stroking it from every angle at once. Slowly, my hand went for the lever again, and turned the water back off. Now, with great slowness and deliberation, I strained and pushed myself to a standing position again. This time, the water needed no coaxing...most of it rushed down to below the drawstring, inflating my belly and pushing out my legs to mythic proportions. I was almost down on my knees, squatting in the shower, half-cradling and half straddling this monstrosity, about ready to explode at any moment. The act of standing found every last crevice, filled out every last remaining corner of the bag. I could hear it stretching my sweats, and then a deliciously sweet ripppppp as the seam down one leg of my briefs popped, a stitch at a time. The bag rushed out of its confined space on that leg, and filled out a spot, held in check only by the sweats now. I yanked on the drawstring as much as I could, keeping as much water as possible down below. Over half of the bag up top was left now...I’d just make the best of it. I very gingerly sat back down now...and could not feel my butt on the chair. I was totally suspended on a cushion of water. My belly was everywhere...it defined me. I was a human waterbellied balloon. I struggled to maintain my balance on the chair. I had to kick the second smaller stool out of my way now...there was no room for my belly to reach up to it, as I was dragging bottom now. I was the anaconda after a meal of about 20 warthogs...I was the entire contents of the local buffet.

In my sexual ecstasy, I came over and over again, just from the sheer force of the constrained water against my body and cock. The odd thing, the wonderful thing, was that I COULD come again and again. Brief pauses of a minute or two between each round. But then, a welling feeling swelling from the core of me, blasting up into my cock, filling it to capacity, then blasting out of the top like a rocket...hitting the plastic of the bag, making it slippery with my own juices. This was my sexual self laid bare, at its most primitive. The synapses fired, the muscles twitched. The belly rocked and rolled, and threatened to explode. After six sessions, I took several deep breaths, and tried to calm my heart, which was pounding madly in my throat and ears. Aerobic activity is good for us, eh? I think I just did the equivalent of running 10 miles. I could feel that I was going to lose the flush soon...it was now or never. This belly, which was way past its limits, was ready to be emptied now, surely...wasn’t it? I still had some cream left inside me. That fire took over my reflexes again, I looked at my belly, at what I had become, and reached forward what little I could towards the lever. My belly got there way before I did, and compressed against the front wall as I scrabbled for the lever. I almost thought I wouldn’t reach it, but then, like the guinea pig given the proper drugs to quell the satience mechanism for hunger, I was merciless at the pellet switch. I had to have one more hit. I grabbed it with my fingertips, and threw it on, hitting it harder than I thought. The water rushed out of the hose. I could feel the air bubbles tickling my cock, filling me up. This was the end game, the biggest belly or bust. As I rushed towards ecstasy, I could feel the belly straining at the drawstring. Where it was tied off at my neck, the opening to the bag threatened more and more to come undone, but it held. The trapped air bubbles, searching for a way out, had congregated around the top of the bag, right in my breast area. A wonderful side benefit...I now had pregnant breasts to match! Air cushioned, ready to explode on their own. I imagined them filled more and more with milk, swollen to capacity. Then, I heard the sweats finally starting to give. The part of my belly dragging bottom on the floor had hit the front wall now, and with nowhere to go, had expanded out to the side. The material couldn’t hold. It started to go stitch by stitch too, going up one leg, heading for my thighs.

I didn’t have much time. My mind reeled with wanton sexual lust now, and I pictured every woman I had ever discussed swelling like this in depth now. They were all pregnant with me, in the same room, all swelling their biggest bellies ever. We were human bowling pins...human Weebles. We did our exercises, to maintain our trim figures. Whoops, too late...we had gorged too much, drank too much hormone. We were doomed...we had become our bellies. We furtively tried doing our leglifts, but all I could manage was barely a budge, the thighs screaming under the strain. The pressure finally got to me...I could feel the pressure inside me building up, then the warm explosions again and again against the bag, and my belly...pause, then a few more that were left...I then leaned my head to the side, feeling the coolness of the wall shower tiles against my head...and backed in the glow of being totally emptied within. About a minute later, the bag gave way too. A tear developed in the lower corner, now near my ankles, and gave way. Warm water gushed out (look, I thought.... my water broke!) and down the drain. And I drained forever, it seemed. About ten minutes later, I had urged the last of the water out of the bag, and extracted it from under my clothes. My cock was still slick and glistening from its workout, and was still solidly filled with blood, although it had no more to give. I believe it was in shock, from all the pressure put upon it, and all the pleasure it attained in such a wonderful orchestration of orgasms. I shed the rest of my clothes, now soaked and stretched out beyond all recognition, and cradled my cock in my right hand. Still slick with cream, I massaged and pushed and pulled until I achieved one last orgasm, just fluid this time. I finally started to settle down then. I turned the shower back into a shower this time, and luxuriated in a long, hot soak, thinking about my success in this latest round. Hmm, surpassing quint status wasn’t so bad this time. That McCaughey (McCoy? How did you spell that name anyhow?) woman didn’t have anything on me I mused, as I toweled off. I just couldn’t get dressed yet...and besides, I had a long, luxurious nap ahead of me. I left the bathroom, rolled up and tossed out the used bag, and stashed my box back in the pantry. The clothes I tossed in the washing machine. I’ll get those later. I was thirsty, and tired.

I went to grab a glass for some milk, then thought better of it, left the glass, and just grabbed the jug out of the fridge. Putting it to my lips, I drank long, and a lot. When I was finally satisfied, I put the container back in the fridge, and closed the door. I headed back to the bedroom, feeling my belly slosh back and forth, and bounce the entire way. I then nestled into the nice, warm covers, and stroked my full belly. I drifted off again, and this time I think I was asleep about 10 minutes before I woke up and, groping for the cord to the alarm clock, yanked it out of the wall. Then, I slipped back into sleep. I was on an African plain now, and I was a lion after the kill that my mate, my lioness, had brought back for us to share. After she was satisfied, she noticed the evil glint in my eye, and decoded it on the spot. She had me turn onto my back, belly up against a huge shady tree, and then stuffed me with the rest of the food. As we lay next to each other, me stroking the fur on her back, she tickling my under my white-furred chin, I felt ready to explode again. She grinned, said she loved my new look, and nuzzled into my belly. As a matter of fact, she offered...why don’t you say we try and see if you’d fit six?

My eyes rolled back in my head behind closed lids. I never slept so long, or so well.

-- The author may be contacted c/o SeahorsInk@aol.com. Please email the author concerning reprint permissions in any medium. © 1998, SeahorsInk, All Rights Reserved.