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Tear Drop gets to her knees and takes Sports Bra in her mouth. I get behind him, forcefully pressing my gut into his back so I can reach around to his tits and bump. He moans as I start squeezing and rubbing, respectively. I continue throughout the blowjob, and once his moans start screaming "imminent orgasm," I tap Tear Drop on the head, she disengages, and I step in and kneel down to finish him off with my vacuum of a fellatio technique, making sure to retain every drop of his seed in my mouth.
Wordlessly so as not to spill any semen from my lips, I manage to arrange both partners into positions laying on their backs on the bed. I go to Tear Drop first, beginning to lick her bump so that my slightly opened mouth slowly dribbled cum across her abdomen as I moved around it. She was watching my perversion and moaning quietly. Her entire belly was coated in slick saliva and cum in a minute or two, and it glistened beautifully.
I move to get my mouth on her right tit, betting based on the look of her rack that her milk had started to come in. I'm right, and I have a mouthful in seconds. I let it drip from my lips onto Sports Bra's bump from a foot above him, and he starts rubbing it in himself, massaging it down to his cock and beginning to stroke himself while squeezing my right tit. I start rubbing both wet bellies, each with one hand, frequently switching which hand is on which belly, and eventually adding my own bump to the rotation. Now, all of us are shining with a mix of my saliva, his cum, and her milk. I lay on my back next to them now and rub one out, fueled by the dirty-hot mess I've created.
MONTH 5
Halfway through this pregnancy, and measuring equal to a single fetus gestation at 42 weeks. I'm substantially bigger than I've ever been, and I'm still loving it. Horny as hell all the time, basking in my gravidness. The only thing stopping me from continually going full tilt on my cunt, Jarred's cock, and a hundred strangers' entire bodies is the fact that I get winded from standing up too quickly, never mind vigorous sexual activity. Libidinous activities trump the quotidian by a mile. I've sworn off the second floor of our house, imagining the energy I've saved staying off the stairs fueling my intense sessions of riding Jarred's dick.
I'm so quickly out of breath due to carrying this ridiculous amount of extra weight around with me at every moment of every day. 48 pounds gained as of yesterday. My belly's so heavy I'm carrying it around the house in both arms 80% of the time to keep the weight off my back and hold my constant lumbar and leg pain at bay. This leads to arm pain, of course, though my upper arm strength has increased substantially with all the belly lugging.
I'm complaining, yes, but I'm also getting myself wet. I've had no complications, and the doctor sees none on the horizon. Smooth sailing, my and the babies' safety-wise. So nothing to really worry about, just highly exaggerated pregnancy symptoms. Which were hot to me at their milder levels. There's more discomfort and unpleasantness with the triplets, sure, but more titillation in reveling in every hyperbolic aspect of the pregnant experience, too. I'm still loving it all, including complaining. I can just about complain myself to completion at this point.
Dr. Lucas told me a few weeks ago that I should start doing posture practice, getting used to keeping my back straight before my engorged belly bends my back irrevocably. I do the exercises every morning, but have felt no results. Maybe it'll pay off, though such a mild solution doesn't seem to be up to the damage this mammoth and still growing bump is sure to do to many parts of my body.
The doctor also mentioned yoga and swimming as helpful options, the former for flexibility and exercise, the latter for allowing you to escape feeling gravity's inexorable pull on your massive body every goddamn second of every goddamn day. I'll get to swimming eventually, I think, but I decide I should give yoga a shot before my body gets any more cumbersome.
I've probably waited too long and become too cumbersome already, honestly, but I'm going to give it a try anyway. Google finds me a listing for a prenatal yoga group at the nearby YMCA. I check it out the next Friday, and I consider it a success the moment I look into the room. There are already six pregnant women and three pregnant men in attendance, and every one is wearing stereotypical yoga attire: sports bra and leggings, basically. Nine bellies completely bare, a visual buffet. I'm wearing the same outfit as them, but I'm turning heads before I've even removed my loose sweatshirt. I'm colossal in comparison to my fellow preggos, dwarfing them all. The second biggest in the room is barely half my size.
I find a spot for my yoga mat and spread it on the ground. I proceed to remove my sweatshirt and guarantee every eye in the room is on my extensively stretch marked, nearly busting out of my skin pot belly. Based on my gigantism compared to the rest of these folks, I am here too late in my pregnancy. Guaranteed. Nonetheless, I'm staying and giving it a shot, if only to stay in the presence of all these bumps.
Two more women and another man have entered by the time the also pregnant instructor starts the class, bringing the total number of completely exposed bellies in the room to 13, not including my own. That's an environment one doesn't rush away from. I'll be here for the duration, if only for today, and I will strike up as many post-class conversations as are necessary to rub all 13 of the other bumps in the room.
[Side note: If you're having trouble picturing any of the yoga positions I'm about to describe, I'm sorry for my poor writing. There's an easy fix, though: do a quick Google image search for "prenatal yoga positions." Educate yourself, rub one out, whatever. They're good pictures, you should check them out. Or pictures of nude pregnant people, doing whatever. Especially sucking a nice dick. Christ, has this side note gotten away from me! Curse this pregnant brain. And curse the hormones turning every other thought I have into something sexual. To summarize, the pictures of prenatal yoga positions are easy to find, naked pregnant bodies are sexy as fuck, jerking off is a lot of fun. Sorry, I'll just continue with the story now. Forget this happened, please.]
The class begins, and we're all supposed to sit in the lotus position. Legs crossed, in other words. I have to lift my gravid belly with both hands (every eye on me again) in order to move my swollen legs close enough to me to cross them. I'm already winded. I lower my belly back down onto my legs and it spills gracelessly over them and onto the floor beyond. Next, the instructor demonstrates downward facing dog for us.
It seems too advanced for me, and it's just how they warm up here. It consists of making yourself into an equilateral triangle with your ass as the apex, basically. My belly didn't fit neatly into the apex's acute angle, catching itself on my knees before I can straighten into the pyramid every one of my classmates is successfully making. I plop down on my ass, in failure but still loving the many views on display. Failure never looked this good.
Cat pose has everyone on their hands and knees, bringing their head from tucked into their chest to lifted above their shoulders. I can actually do this one! My belly rests on the floor when I do, though, and occupies every bit of space between my arms and thighs. I don't see any other bellies even brush the ground, but this time this makes me proud of my more substantial bump, slightly pitying their manageable, cute but not as drop dead sexy as mine bellies. Fuck your modest forms: my massive physique can do cat pose, too, bitches.
Garland pose came next and was...deflating. It amounts to squatting with your ass nearly touching the floor, elbows against your knees, hands in a position of prayer in front of you. The other bellies sort of rested in the crotch area in precious little orbs, hardly pulled forward by gravity at all. Mine was not only pulled down my gravity, but it pulled my entire body down with it. I started to land right on my belly as I tipped forward, quickly pivoting to land on my side so the bump doesn't have too much of my weight put on it.
My display is enough for the instructor to ask if I'm okay, and if I needed help or anything else. I laughed it off and really was physically fine, but my ego was certainly bruised. My ungainliness and poor balance would've been arousing to me if I were on my own or with Jarred, but they inspired pity in these strangers, and I did not get off on pity. At all.
Participation-wise, I am done. I'm calling it right here. I sit down on my mat with my arms holding me up from behind, legs splayed out in front of me. My belly rests on the floor in between my legs, stretching to just shy of my knees. I won't be trying any more yoga positions today, but I will continue staring at the bare preggo bellies that surround me. They'll write off my sitting as a function of pregnant fatigue, not voyeurism. They wouldn't be wrong about the fatigue, though that makes me no less of a pervert and belly fiend.
I get sustained looks at every bump in turn, methodically moving from one preggo to the next. I make my observations, storing an assload of mental images in my brain's database of bumps, which I maintain mainly for masturbatory purposes in internet-bereft situations.
Two of the men have hairless bumps, two hirsute. Three of the 13 bellies have popped outie belly buttons, three have belly buttons flush with the rest of their bellies, the other seven still have innies. Five of the 13 pairs of breasts look as if their milk had started to come in. Only three of the 13 bumps had any visible stretch marks. I count three tear drops, four basketballs, two torpedos, four bellies too modest to be classifiable at this time. 13 of the 13 bumps are demanding jizz massages from me, but I will settle for some vanilla rubbing if I can make it happen.
The class wraps up after another half dozen poses. A few folks leave right away, but most stay and chat in small huddled groups. I approach one of these groups, awkwardly discovering that I have to stand facing away from them in order for my belly not to invade their personal space. The small groups aren't for me, considering the spatial relationship of my mega-gut to the other preggos around me. I approach the instructor, who isn't speaking with anyone at the moment. She admires my effort and lets me know she's never had a student as big as me. Could be taken as an insult, but I like having a record breaking bump, so I take it as a compliment.
Catching her repeated glances at my midsection, I ask if she'd like to "rub the biggest bump ever to grace [her] class." She laughs and massages it gently with both hands, one on either side. I'm easily able to get reciprocated belly access, and I rub her cute 6 month belly for a few moments, marveling at its utter lack of any blemish or roughness. I compliment her skin care routine, which she immediately proceeds to describe to me at length. As if looking at my belly could make her think there was any hope for my belly's skin whatsoever.
I talk up a guy standing on his own, too. His belly and personality are both unremarkable. I rub his bump only because I'd feel rude if I didn't after he's asked to rub mine. I'm feeling cranky and slightly misanthropic, so I decide to call it a day and head home. Entering the house, I strip down to nothing instantly, lugging my protuberant abdomen to the couch, the bump obscuring the entirety of my thighs from vision when I sit. I yell "Jarred! Come eat me out!" as loudly as I can.
His mouth is on my crotch 30 seconds later. I don't move a muscle, leaving him to spread my legs and lift my drooping belly up for pubic access. As he performed cunnilingus, the whole of my belly rested on his head. I wasn't about to hold it up out of his way. I don't know how he kept his neck straight, but he did so for long enough to get me off twice. I had put too much effort into stupid orgasm-free yoga, and I'd damn well earned a few lazy climaxes.
MONTH 6
There are no longer any measurements from singleton pregnancies to which I can compare my current size. No one's ever gotten this big with a single child, it would seem, and that gets me a little wet thinking about my current state and a little terrified thinking about what's to come in the entire trimester remaining. The bump's bigger and bigger in every possible measurement you can imagine. Everything. Sheer size. Density. Weight.
Everything is skyrocketing. Not just in the bump, either. Dr. Lucas told me at the beginning that a healthy triplet pregnancy for someone at my pre-pregnancy weight should involve gaining 37-54 pounds. I've already gained 62, and I'd have to say I'm looking fat. I don't mind it, or use the term derogatorily. I'm just fat. I'm still hot, and my body's still the most pronounced at its awesomest places. But, I am legitimately fat. It just fits. Rolls are popping up everywhere, and I'm just generally soft and jiggly.
Jarred is in absolute heaven. Pregnant BBWs are just about his favorite people in the world, and that's just from having jerked off to videos of them for most his life. Having a real life BBW preggo desperate for his cock 24/7 brings an absurd level of horniness for him. Outside of his many refractory periods, I haven't seen him sans erection for three days now. He's just walking around with boners, all of the time. Bottomless when he can, but frequently with his dick visibly pushing against his pants.
I let him get off using my body however he likes and as often as he likes, so long as he asks no effort of me whatsoever. He takes me up on this standing offer pretty much hourly. Still, constant erections, even when I'm not in the room to visually spur him on. Seriously, this is heaven for the skinny fucker.
My best friend Rachel is almost exactly as pregnant as i am, weeks-wise. She was 6 months along with a single baby, her third. She asks if she can come over for a visit, and when she arrives I feel like she's not even showing yet. She is a perfectly normal and healthy size for her situation, but my colossus of a gut makes for some pretty stark comparisons. We sit down and chat, prodding and massaging each other's bumps occasionally. She'd have to put in effort not to touch my absurdly space consuming belly, while I can just barely lean over far enough against my bump to touch hers. Eventually, she steers the conversation toward our respective sex lives, an arena we've pretty much never discussed, despite our closeness.
I sense a hidden agenda, and I wish to nurture it to completion. She dances around the issue. We talk about how she's more interested in her husband these days than he is in her. How Jarred actually quite likes me pregnant (I put it mildly). That we both enjoy our changing bodies and find the whole experience of pregnancy sort of magical. It doesn't seem like she's actually going to pull the trigger on her own, so I do it for her. "You want to fool around with me, don't you?"
Ten seconds of silence, Rachel's eyes averted and her face reddened. She finally looks up. "Sort of," she says quietly. "I don't know, I've been really horny, and I was thinking about the time you had me over to fuck Jarred when he was pregnant, and I knew you were pretty into it, and we had said it would be too weird if we did anything with each other...but now I really want to. We can say it's just a thing we do when we're simultaneously pregnant, and today can be the end of it if you want? But...yeah. I really was hoping somewhere in the back of my mind that we might get each other off today. And I brought something for us to play with, too, if you want."
She grabs her purse and pats it, indicating a toy's presence. I smile once she finishes her terrifically awkward spiel. "You're on," I purr, immediately undoing my own erotic tone by awkwardly pulling myself up to my feet and almost toppling forward from the momentum my heft produced. Rachel quickly stands up, grabbing my thighs to steady me. We laugh at my awkwardness, leveling the playing field some, it feels like. I take her hand and lead her to the bedroom, her purse ending up in the corner chair.
We sit on the bed, and I remove my t-shirt, keeping my sports bra and sweatpants on. "Now you," i whisper, and she removes her top to reveal a beautifully ornate lavender push up bra. She's come dressed to impress. Her cleavage is ample and milky white, her breasts partially lined with the faintest of stretch marks. She stares at my rack, too. I reach behind her and unclasp her bra, and her tits fall five inches, directly onto the top of her belly. Now I'm wet. I rip my sports bra off, my saggy breasts dropping a third of the way down the sides of my gargantuan bump. We play with each other's tits and bumps in giddy silence for a few minutes, until Rachel suddenly slides her hand down to my crotch.
Ante successfully upped, we are fully nude in seconds, and I've managed to get into position to eat her out. She's extremely well lubricated down there, and her clit is apparently on the sensitive side. I get her off three times in two minutes. I say "Let's switch it up!" playfully, and she suddenly looks nervous. "I've never..." She's never performed cunnilingus. Of course. She's generally very vanilla in her sex life, I'd almost forgotten. I believe she's made out with another woman before, but almost certainly nothing past second base.
I tell her to relax, take her time, and to do to me the things she liked me to do to her. She'd be mad at herself later if she didn't take me up on this unique opportunity, I inform her. I'm dripping wet and need the release. She finally does go down on me, and she fumbles around down there for a few minutes before I fake an orgasm. It takes an extraordinary lack of talent to not get me to cum when I'm already this turned on and you spend that long working for it.
I don't want her to feel bad, but i rub one out real quickly before she's off her knees. The pent up energy just needed to be released. Apparently not minding my quick solo jerk, she goes to her purse and takes out a harness and a dildo. Strap-on preggo-on-preggo sex!! I love it. She sees my happily widened eyes and doesn't bother asking if I'm interested or not, just starts to strap herself in and attach the dildo at her crotch.
She's hot as fuck; cutely pregnant, nude and sporting a 7" ink black cock. I take my position on my hands and knees on the bed, belly resting on the comforter below me. Her fucking technique is unsubtle but effective, and she gets me off twice with her hard, arhythmic pumping. We're both pregnant-fatigued after a few minutes, and we quietly re-dress ourselves.
Back on the couch in the living room, we discuss strollers and breastfeeding. The dildo fucking in the bedroom never comes up again.
MONTH 7
I'm now comparable in gut size to someone carrying twins at full-term. I think back to the hook-up with The Cock during my second pregnancy. He was at 8 months with twins, basically full-term. I could hardly comprehend the scope of his bump, but I believe I have now surpassed its immensity. Most triplet pregnancies end just a brief period from now, at about 32 weeks. Somehow, I know I'm not going to get off that easy. I'lll somehow manage to make it to 40 weeks, if only to get a glimpse of exactly how far my abdominal skin can stretch.
Anyway, the bag for the hospital is packed and ready just in case, and I've made some mental notes on how far apart my occasional contractions are. Nothing whatsoever to indicate an imminent labor. I'd take my bump dropping as a sign of things to shortly come, but I honestly can't tell whether I've dropped or gravity has just continued to drag my belly inexorably down, as it will certainly do.
