A Preggo's Day at the Spa

*Contains Mpreg elements and a bit of magic...*

A PREGGO'S DAY AT THE SPA

The "Mpreg Special" was advertised on the spa's flier, and I required no further convincing. I was huge, hairy, and in desperate need of some pampering. The proprietor was thrilled when I arrived, apparently the first pregnant man to take them up on the offer. I think they gave me an even bigger discount than they'd been planning, as it was absurdly cheap for a whole afternoon's worth of delights.

First, I spent some relaxing time in the steam room. It was co-ed, so I tied a towel just under my bump, which then drooped over the front of the towel by two or three inches. A pretty sexy look, if the locker room mirrors were to be believed. I was alone in the steam at first, but two ladies wrapped in chest-to-mid-thigh towels came in together after five minutes or so. Their eyes went instantly to my giant, hirsute belly, not that I'm complaining nor able to blame them in the least. "First pregnant man?" I asked after about a minute of unbroken stares from both of them. Not minding the attention, I preferred to just go ahead and break the ice, maybe start a nice conversation.

And a nice conversation we had! They were both moms; two kids for one, three for the other. They had questions for the first preggo man they'd encountered, and I loved talking about my pregnancy. We talked bodily changes extensively, their queries ranging from swollen ankles to extra-lustrous hair. I was bigger at 34 weeks into my first gestation than either of them had ever been, interestingly enough. Towards the end of our time together they finally broached the topic of getting a touch in; they were blown away by my hairy, beer belly-looking gut feeling so very firm to the touch. I loved getting my bump rubbed: this spa adventure was already going pretty well for me.

Next was a full body massage with plenty of pleasant-smelling oils. My sore feet, ankles, and hips practically sang with gratitude for the relieving attention they received. The bump, though, was the obvious star of the show. This felt natural given the whole "Mpreg Special" angle, but I pretty quickly picked up on my masseuse's especial interest in my belly. She didn't just cover every square inch, but did so three or four times over. She giggled when the baby kicked where her hands were, and seemed to delight in pushing in on various softer and firmer parts of me.

I could only receive so much sensual belly attention before my erection became conspicuous, despite the towel covering that area. Her hands brushed against it several times as she massaged my lower belly; her face reddened with the contact, but she did nothing to prevent it from happening repeatedly. "I've truly never done this before," she finally began, "but I'm loving your whole body, and...I'd love to give you a happy ending, if you're not uncomfortable with that."

I assured her that I'd welcome the relief, and she pulled my towel off and started her well-lubricated stroking. I only lasted two minutes or so, then requested she massage my bump just a bit more...with the lubricant I'd just provided. She was as into the idea as I was, and it was a lovely end to a lovely massage. The warm wet cloth she used to wipe the cum off my belly was just icing on the cake.

It was waxing time, a first for me about which I was a bit nervous. As much as I enjoyed my hirsute Mpreg form, I was pretty curious about getting a (temporarily) more feminine look; I was just nervous about the pain aspect, really. And it was pretty painful, though more physically transformative than I possibly could have guessed. The warm wax (not very painful on its own) and strips of paper were first applied to my chest and subsequently (and quite painfully) ripped off. Beyond the expected sting following the rip, my chest was surprisingly achy. Looking down, my nipples looked swollen and had turned a deeper red with the irritation. Also, there seemed to be some swelling that...gave me lady-style breasts?

I expected a more feminine look, but not straight-up breasts. For whatever reason, I didn't ask the waxer what was up, opting instead to just wait and see what would happen with my belly waxing. It hurt again, of course. Looking down to see the results, I was immediately struck by my new outie belly button, something I hadn't developed even a few minutes ago. Slightly troubling. More subtle but no less alarming were the changes to my belly's shape: it was rounder, more gracefully curved. Even putting aside the hair removal, it was undeniably more feminine-looking.

The waxer asked if I wanted the full Brazilian treatment. Again, I wouldn't have agreed to it normally, but it seemed I'd agree to just about anything during my current pampering. I should've been able to predict the results: the worst pain yet and further feminization. This bodily change was far and away the most alarming. I reached down to feel the hairlessness, and my dick was gone. My hand went down a bit further and found a full set of female genitalia.

The waxer must've seen the look of horror on my face, as she quickly informed me that the change was temporary; I'd be back to my male self before I left the spa. Immediately more comforted by this guarantee than was at all reasonable, I calmly followed the waxer to the afternoon's final location. It was a room with mirrors for walls and pillows for a floor. Basically, the perfect environment to explore and enjoy my new female form in comfort.

It was very interesting indeed. Staring at this body while playing with my highly-sensitized nipples yielded serious wetness in my vulva. Masturbating as a woman was novel and exciting, the lack of a significant refractory period an awesome bonus. I really focused on the clit, getting myself off five times in ten minutes. I was so exhausted I could barely move from my lavishly-cushioned position, but was yet to tire of staring at myself, doing so for another ten or fifteen minutes.

My newly feminine breasts were sore and achy, probably a combination of pregnancy hormones and my groping them as I masturbated in the mirror room. Luckily, the next stop in the spa tour was called "breast relief," which sounded like exactly what I needed even if I had no idea what exactly it would entail. The masseuse took me from the mirror room to a small room with a nicely-cushioned massage table, having me lay face-up. I was still completely nude, and she covered me with a white sheet from just below my breasts to midway down my ankles.

"Tell me if this gets too uncomfortable for you," she instructed me as she took my left tit firmly in both her hands. She proceeded to squeeze forcefully, always moving her hands towards my nipples. Milk sprayed out voluminously with each of her practiced squeezes, and I felt the soreness starting to leave the breast. She worked that tit for a minute or two before moving to the right, her methods and results similar there. This cycle repeated three times, and no soreness, achiness, or any other sort of discomfort remained in my chest. I just needed to be milked, I suppose.

The masseuse dropped me off with the manicurist/pedicurist. He tended to my hands and feet with a care they'd never been shown before. Softening lotions, relaxing massages at pressure points, warm soapy water baths: all were delightful experiences. Options were presented to me and I chose blue nail polish; he proceeded to paint both my fingernails and toenails. Looking at my whole self (nude, still, by the way) in the mirror afterwards, I was truly a beautiful woman, pregnancy and all. It was a self-confidence-boosting and somehow touching moment for me.

"Well," the hand and foot specialist began, "there's just the one more activity, but you should really feel free to skip it if you're at all unsure about it. How would you feel about having sex as a woman? Worth giving it a shot?" Without hesitation I nodded enthusiastically. He told me there was a well-endowed intern they employed in this situation, then brought me to a candle-lit bedroom and left me there. I waited on the maroon velour duvet for five minutes or so before the designated temporary-lady-fucker showed up in a luxurious navy blue robe.

"You can lay down and spread your legs as much as you can," he told me. He dropped the robe to reveal an already-rock-hard dick sticking out a very respectable 7" from his clean-shaven crotch. After getting me nice and wet with a bit of vulva play, he got in position to enter me. "I'm Ray, by the way," he whispered moments before penetration. Getting a dick slowly thrust into your pussy turned out to be a downright delightful sensation. I enjoyed the whole experience of being fucked as a lady very much, cumming intensely when I felt his cock pulsating as he shot his load inside my cunt. He left abruptly; I lingered, playing with his cum as it leaked out of me. I had been creampied, I realized to my delight.

My spa pampering concluded here, the feminine changes I'd experienced washing off unceremoniously in a special shower just off the bedroom. A pregnant man once again, it was time to take my leave. I could justifiably have had a bunch of questions about what the hell happened to me at the spa, but I'd rather maintain a bunch of great memories that'll keep me masturbating with ease for years to come. What an afternoon!