The Horny Sea Horse Pt. 05

The weight gain can only confuse the matter, adding additional and confounding shapes to my abdominal and pubic regions. I'm at a whopping 74 pounds of weight gain as of this morning. I'm getting sweaty as fuck with all the heft I'm carrying, and more winded than ever. I get hot flashes numerous times daily. Yes, Jarred still loves it entirely and without reservation. Should go without saying, he's not getting sick of my growth at all.

My second full-time job at the moment, in addition to getting myself off, is urinating. This symptom has gotten seriously irritating, and ceased to be hot to me when I noticed I'd gone three times in one hour. That was weeks ago. I might as well not leave the bathroom at this point. That thought and my constant sweating gave me a new idea that would take care of both issues.

I'd put out the kiddie pool in the backyard, fill it with cold water, and lay in it nude for hours, pissing where I lay whenever the urge hit. If I had to sit in some of my very diluted urine for a while, so be it. A shower would wash it right off. I set up the pool in the backyard, take off my shirt and skirt, and get in, carefully holding my bump as I lower myself in. I can't actually lay down, it turns out. I'm just too big in too many different directions.

I manage to sit cross-legged, surprising myself at the maneuver and filling half the pool with my bump resting on the bottom. My hands go to my crotch, my tits, my unavoidable belly, back to my crotch...repeat as desired. I pee whenever I get the urge, which becomes second nature almost instantly. I'm so much comfortable in the cool water, I couldn't care less about my urine mixing with it. I close my eyes, continuing to rub myself.

I enjoy the lack of visual stimuli for the duration of my belly rub, then open my eyes. Our neighbor, Greg, has his head sticking over the fence separating our yards, and he's gawking with jaw fully dropped. I freeze as our eyes connect. His head drops out of view. "Greg, get over here!" I yell. He sheepishly pops his head back up. "No, come around to this side," I command. He's seen what's to be seen, and he's going to have to pay a bit of a price for it.

Walking over, he's shaking his head in awe, staring unblinkingly at the mass of flab and drooping medicine-ball sized orb I had in the pool with me. "You're so big," he mutters. I tell him to sit down next to the pool. I take his right hand in mine, moving my belly out of our way with my left as I put his palm directly on my vulva. "Back and forth motions, come on," I growl, aggravated when he doesn't immediately start caressing.

He gets going, and he's not bad at it. He gets me off, and I throw my head back, eyes closed and dead to the world for a full minute. He tells me he's been watching me balloon up, catching glimpses of me in the window frequently, and frequently nude glimpses at that. Comparisons are made between this pregnancy and my last two. Apparently, he's been watching all these years. Probably watched Jarred's two pregnancies before mine, too. I feel violated, and start to get wet again just as Greg stands up.

He leaves, begging me not to tell his wife. What the fuck does his wife have to do with anything? A pregnant woman was in need, and he assisted her. True story.

MONTH 8

I've gained 89 pounds now and surpassed the average size for a full-term triplet gestation, and every aspect of every symptom and sign of this pregnancy has progressed extensively since last month. Things are hard and getting ever harder. Enough said on the matter.

My sweet, sweet Jarred managed to rig up a fancy walker for my usage. He positioned the flat surface (on which old people and the infirm usually sit to rest) to be at a height that allows me to rest my belly on it. It takes a solid 75% of the burden of my bump weight off me, and I'm ever so grateful. I cart my gut around the house, glad I don't have to contend with the stairs. I've even used it out in public a few times to snickers, laughs, and confused queries. I don't care what the responses are at this point, I desperately need the relief. It's not particularly sexy to me, but it does still turn Jarred on that I'm so cumbersome I need this sort of assistance to perambulate.

Feeling a bit more energetic a few days ago, I finally decided to check out the prenatal swimming group at the Y. It was meeting just a few hours after I looked it up, so I rushed to pack my extraordinarily stretchy 4X one-piece bathing suit and some other odds and ends, and I headed over. I pulled into the parking lot already 5 minutes late to the group. You have to pass through the locker room to get to the pool, and as soon as I smelled that classic locker room smell something clicked in my mind and I realized my blunder; I hadn't worn my bathing suit under my other clothes.

I would have to get fully nude, exposing my extravagant size for anyone to see, then squeeze my various parts into the one-piece with what was guaranteed to be a great deal of effort. Being late already stressed me out in regards to how long that process would take, but the fact that the rest of the class was probably already in the pool was a relief spectation-wise.

There was only one other woman in the locker room, though she did stare at me from the moment I disrobed to the moment I exited to the pool. I nodded to her and shrugged at one point, my awkward situation and her quiet complicity acknowledged. After getting naked, I wiggled myself into the swimsuit's leg holes centimeter by centimeter, then unceremoniously shoved my flabby torso into the center of the suit handful by fatty handful. I somehow tugged it up past my tits and managed to bend my arms in strange enough angles to get into the one-piece completely. What an incredible fabric I was dealing with! i could hardly believe it didn't burst once I finally exhaled.

My entrance to the pool area drew every eye, which I'm quite inured to at this point. There were an instructor and four pregnant women, all treading water and staring at me. I could see some decent cleavage above the surface, but I'd have to wait for the group to end to get some belly glimpses, really see what we were working with here. Dr. Lucas was absolutely right about swimming and pregnancy: it's a great combo, and I wish I had utilized it earlier. In this pregnancy, or even in my earlier, more modest pregnancies.

I feel a flood of gratitude for the buoyancy keeping my weight afloat as soon as I fully enter the water. It's an amazing feeling when you've been so quickly and thoroughly weighed down for 8 months. I stay towards the shallow end, not having the endurance to tread water for long and wanting some steady ground near my feet. I can still hear all the instructions for the different stretches and strokes we're meant to try, and I play along as best I can. Really, though, I'm just digging the buoyancy.

If it weren't for the bump-related opportunities I foresaw, I would have stayed in that pool for hours. Instead, I got out with the rest of the group when we were finished with the hour. There were four pregnant women headed into the locker room, and I just couldn't pass up whatever might happen if I threw myself into the mix with them. I wait for them to exit the pool before I do, sizing up their bumps.

One young blonde is hardly even showing, 5 months along. Not worth my time. A 40-ish brunette has a belly that's clearly seen a decent number of pregnancies, marked intensively with angry red stretch marks but only reading as 6 or 7 months into this pregnancy. Way too early for that many battle scars from this baby. The stretch marks put me off on this particular day, and I turn my eyes to the next preggo. She's a petite brunette well into her third trimester, dropped bump and all. It looks smooth and firm, the skin not quite taut just yet. I want to touch her very much. Finally, a 30-something redhead with a torpedo belly just starting to protrude, 6 months along if I had to guess. I'm not particularly taken with her.

My thoughts are of the petite brunette when I enter the locker room, and I'm relieved and excited to see that her locker is only five or six away from mine. We'll basically be changing next to each other. She's even the only one of the four in the area at the moment, as the other three had hit the showers prior to changing. So, no one's close enough to hear or clearly see what we're doing, a concern if I get particularly lucky/naughty.

She's fully nude by the time I start trying to take my suit off. Her tits are great, milk-filled and dark-nippled. Her pubic hair is very well tended for someone as far along as she is. I don't quite have the nerve to say anything to her as she's standing nude in front of me while I'm still clothed, let alone ask the burning question of whether I could touch her bump. I'm trying to get one arm out of the suit still, and absolutely nothing is budging. I finally have something to break the ice with the young lady next to me, and I really have no choice but to do so: I'm stuck in my bathing suit, and I require assistance.

She thinks I'm making a joke at first, laughing rather than offering help when I tell her I'm stuck in my swimsuit. She quickly sees the worry on my face, profusely apologizes and tells me to give her just a second to get dressed. I watch her dress, her rush distracting her from my intrusive eyes. Boobs are put in a bra, a bump has a shirt pulled down over it...it's all pretty nice to watch. I sit down on a bench as she pulls on her sandals and hustles to the front desk to ask for some scissors.

The plan is to cut me out, which makes me a little nervous given all my flabbiness and general body volume. When she returns and makes the careful, tiny initial cut into an edge of the fabric between my breasts. The swimsuit immediately crumbles around me, deflating like a popped balloon in an instant, the only fabric left on my person right around the leg holes. So, she instantaneously gets the full bump show, standing right in front of me and having it literally spill right onto her.

She laughs when my dropping and highly protruding belly hits her in the tits and pushes her whole body back six inches. "Whoa!" she exclaims, marveling openly at the mass of my torso. "You're belly is AMAZING," she half shouts. "Can I touch - I'm sorry, I should let you get dressed!" I shake my head. "At this point, why bother? In fact, can you get right in there and pull this thing off my legs?"

She giggles happily as she gets her head level to my hairy pubic mound and pulls the swimsuit the rest of the way off me, a task necessitating considerable force. She stands back up. "So it's okay for me to touch your belly?" I gesture to the entirety of my body, welcoming her to whatever she might choose to touch. "I'd love if I could get a rub in on your bump, too, if you don't mind." She nods, and gets back to my belly.

She takes as much as she can grip from the base of the bump in both hands and lifts up with about as much might as she has. She can lift it, but only three or four inches. "My goodness," she says, "I've never seen or heard of such a belly!" I explain the triplets situation, which makes her look horrified for a second, surely thinking of caring for three infants simultaneously. "It's a surrogacy, I won't have to deal with the kids," I explain, and she nods, impressed at my gig. Massively impressive bump, paid gig, no pursuant childcare. It is pretty sweet, I agree with her.

She gets her hands over every inch of my body between my tits and bush, even rubbing those more private areas a few times accidentally. A very polite woman, apparently: I never once catch her staring at my tits or cunt. She's in it for the belly, and it's refreshing. When she's finished, she hikes her tank top up to the bottom of her breasts and exposes the entirety of her gorgeous, wonderfully modest 8 month singleton bump. It's feels even firmer than it looks, and the smoothness verging on tautness is a serious turn-on. The shape is almost perfectly globular, a real basketball belly, though you definitely see some protrusion from her sides when you looked at the back of her. Clearly pregnant, front and back, at this point in her final trimester.

I thank her for letting me rub her, and for rubbing me so nicely. It was a nice, platonic encounter, with just enough sexiness to keep me slightly stirred. She asks if I'll be back to the group next week, and I tell her I don't think I'll fit in the damn pool by then.

MONTH 9

I am fucking done. I've just had it, pregnancy-wise. My mind is made up; a few months after I have these babies, Dr. Lucas will be removing my uterus. Done, done, done. This pregnancy seems like it's as far as my body can be pushed, so there's not a particular aim I'd have in going for another pregnancy. I enjoyed the goal and reality of getting bigger and bigger each pregnancy, but I've definitely exhausted it. And my body is beaten to hell from this thing. So many sore, swollen, misshapen, swollen, discolored, swollen body parts. It would probably take me three years to recover from this one.

I am no longer a young woman. I think I'd fall into a "mature preggo" porn search at this point. That's probably how I'd classify Jarred's and my sexy videos if I ever decided to share them on PornHub or wherever. More precisely, any of the videos we might post would probably come up with a "mature pregnant brunette BJ cum shot belly" search. We have a very particular set of moves we both find attractive on playback. Who knows, maybe someday we'll want to relive some of our pregnant heyday vicariously through anonymous viewers. It's sounding pretty hot to me at the moment, actually. I guess I'll talk to Jarred!

Enough about our homemade porn. I've gained 105 pounds as of my final weigh-in at Dr. Lucas' clinic, bringing my weight to a solid 248 pounds. The number embarrasses me, but my body no longer does. And Jarred's enthusiasm for every ounce of me helps my self-esteem immeasurably. The doc put me on bed rest three weeks ago, and Jarred's attention to my every need has been more than commendable. I'm still horny a few times a day, and he dutifully gets me off without my expending any of my preciously limited energy. We haven't fucked, penis-in-vagina, for close to a month. My form simply doesn't allow for it.

Jarred is an innovator when it comes to ways to access my cunt with his hands and mouth, though, and it's more than adequate. He moves my fat and bulges around with confident ease, ducking under my gut to eat me out, lifting it with one hand to wedge his hand into my crotch. Lots of great ideas from that guy, and so many selfless orgasms he's given me. It's sad having lost most of my libido again, but it was inevitable this run. I'm too big for almost every imaginable activity, and my body is doing a million terrible things at once. Not exactly Fuck City at this point in a triplet pregnancy.

And with that, I think I'll close this chapter of the journal, and this chapter of my procreational life. I'm 38 weeks tomorrow, and typing this has taken a great deal of exertion. I can't imagine I'll be able to write again prior to delivery. It's been great overall, even when it hasn't. Thanks for sticking with me once again!

EPILOGUE

I made it to 39 weeks and 1 day before delivering. The previous record for a triplet pregnancy was 36 weeks and 3 days. I'm a fucking world record holder now! Smashed that record by almost three weeks! Badass.

The birth went smoothly, vaginal as I had hoped and relatively quick, considering I had to deliver three separate babies. I had orgasmic labor without even touching myself! I came a lot in previous deliveries, too, but always between contractions and via rubbing my cunt. This time, hands were not on pussy; I came as a baby was crowning and I was surrounded by nurses and doctors.

I'm pretty sure the orgasm moaning mixed in with the pain moaning well enough to hide my climax from all but the most discerning ears. The pushing actually got easier with each baby, probably due to the serious stretching (and shredding...) of my pussy the previous baby had done. They're big like their parents, too, weighing 7 lbs. 9 oz., 7 lbs. 13 oz., and 8 lbs. even at birth. Their lovely parents, the Danburys, were present for the birth, of course. They're sticking around for a few weeks until they feel relatively comfortable taking a flight with a newborn.

That's it for me, folks, unless something else in my life comes around that's magical enough to inspire me to write another such journal. Kinda doubtful. I think my pregnancies are probably going to end up being the high points of my life, which is more than okay with me. I'll treasure the memories forever, and the photos and videos for even longer. I'm already booked for the uterus removal, but Jarred's is still in place with no immediate plans for its extraction. So who knows, maybe our family isn't done with pregnancy altogether. Jarred's one pregnancy-addicted motherfucker, too.

I lost close to 40 pounds in delivery, and am currently at 204 pounds. Definitely still BBW, and Jarred is still very happy about that, even without the pregnancy aspect. I wouldn't put another pregnancy past him for a moment, though. And if not, other bumps abound, and we can both always get a pregnancy fix in the men's section of Motherhood at noon on any given Wednesday. Wednesday's tomorrow. My pussy's not ready for business yet, of course. My mouth and hands, though...And all that cum...