The Society

I work in a bookkeeping office in Midtown Manhattan. I live on the Upper West Side with my wife, Rachel. We've been trying for a bit of time to have a baby but, to this point, haven't had any luck. I should add here that I have a rather strong fetish for pregnant women. This is something that is fun, if a bit inconvenient at times. Here's why:

I have a co-worker, Staci. She's a lovely woman, very pretty and perpetually pregnant. Not joking. She's basically been pregnant for about three years straight. She'll give birth and then about five or six months later she'll come in the office and I'll notice she's getting a little bulgy in her midsection. Within a few weeks time, it's too difficult to miss—pregnant again.

So Staci is roughly six months pregnant with her third baby and I've always wondered if she has the same kink I do, because she's not very shy about showing off her body when she's pregnant. It's usually tight bodycon dresses and the occasional maternity blouse and leggings. Always topped with a long cardigan sweater in a variety of bright colors. She catches a lot of eyes, and I get the impression that this is attention she enjoys. Often, I'll catch her sitting by the cubicle of another female co-worker of ours, the conversation usually punctuated by her offering up her growing belly to be felt.

So...I'm at least curious about this. I wouldn't dare ask, though. Workplace decorum and all. And besides, what business is it of mine, or, for that matter, of hers, what gets us off?

There's something else, though. Something that seems very...I don't know, secretive, about her. Mysterious. It began a few months ago, probably around the time her current pregnancy began.

We'd had some moving around at work, and in the shuffle of things, her desk and my desk wound up together in an office off the side of the main room. So I was seeing a lot more of her than normal. This is all well and good, but I noticed she was taking a number of phone calls that made her very cagey. Something about an apartment and a meeting being set up. I chalked it up to her and her family moving at first, but it continued on.

Some time after that, perhaps around the time she announced she was pregnant again, I caught her riding on the same subway as I one Friday evening. She didn't notice me, but I sure as hell noticed her! Gone was her work outfit, replaced by a skin-tight, sleeveless black dress with a plunging neckline. Yowza! A side of Staci I'd never before seen. She got off at 72nd Street and that was that. Though, I knew she lived in Brooklyn, so wherever she was going, she was in for a long schlep home.

Two weeks later, the same thing happened. I caught Staci heading uptown, this time wearing a cobalt blue number that left little to the imagination as to what hid underneath. This time, when I saw her walk down the platform towards the stairs, there were two other pregnant women, dressed in a similar fashion, intently following her. One, a tall, busty blonde, with legs for days that led up to a quite round belly. The other, not as tall, had very dark, very curly hair that seemed to fall in layers down her back. Her belly was still in its formative stage, but her dress was tight enough to let you know it was unmistakably there. One might think it a coincidence, but, no, there was a definite purpose as they both put on sunglasses as though they were synchronized. Something was definitely going on.

Another two weeks passed, and I caught her on the subway with me again. And again, she got off the train at 72nd. This time, the two other pregnant women met her on the platform. They shared cheek kisses, put on sunglasses and headed upstairs.

This was too much. My curiosity was going to get the better of me. What could Staci be doing? There's meeting up with friends, but in a manner that's so secretive?

The following Monday, I asked Staci if she did anything fun over the weekend.

"Nothing special," she replied. "Just took the kids out to the playground and ran a few errands."

My temptation to ask "So, what's the deal with you meeting up with all these super-stylish and really sexy pregnant women on the Upper West Side?" was squashed by better judgement. This was hardly the time or the place to start prying into the private dealings of my office-mate. And it was even less the place to profess any sort of attraction to her or her friends. No matter how pregnant she was getting, and no matter how fascinated I might be. This was probably something better left alone. Just...enjoy the view of your pregnant co-worker...and hope that someday your own wife will look like her as well.

***

I let it go for several weeks. Didn't see Staci make any odd journeys to the Upper West Side either. In fact, aside from Staci's belly growing larger and larger, and her coming to work dressed in tighter and tighter outfits, things were a bit boring for a while.

That brings us to now...when it happened again. I was on my way home from the office one Friday, and I saw Staci, sitting unassumingly on the other end of the subway car. She was wearing a dress that was about as low-cut as the law would allow, revealing copius amounts of her expanding bustline. And her belly, nearing seven months pregnant, stretched that dress to its limit. She never looked like this in the office, of course. And I was riveted. And, for whatever reason, I let that feeling get the better of me, because before I knew it, I was getting off the train at 72nd Street and following her up the stairs. I did my best to remain inconspicuous, but made sure not to lose sight of her as she turned down a sidestreet. I kept my distance, following her only from the other side of the street. She stopped in front of a brownstone and checked her watch. I hid behind a tree.

A shadowy figure emerged from the opposite side of the street, stepping into and out of streetlights that revealed the frame of another pregnant woman, about as far along as Staci. They met at a stoop. I watched as they kissed each other on each cheek. Staci touched the shadowy woman's belly. The shadowy woman touched hers.

Oh, to be a part of that discussion...

They each removed their sunglasses and put on black eye masks, before walking up the stoop and into the building. I ran over to another tree, still keeping cover, to try and see what the building was. A minute, perhaps two, passed and I saw a pale blue light come on in the window of the top floor.

Suddenly, two other pregnant woman emerged. They were the two women I'd seen before, that followed Staci out of the subway. The tall blonde, and the short, curly-haired brunette. Both of them sporting bumps much larger than I last remembered. They looked up, saw the blue light, put on eye masks and entered the building. I was astonished to see this scene repeat itself several times over the next ten minutes. Women, all varying degrees of pregnant, of different shapes and sizes approached the stoop. They gazed upward at the blue light, then put on a black eye mask and entered.

What the hell was this place? I waited until the coast was clear and walked over to the building. There seemed nothing special about it. 116 West 73rd Street. I approached the front door to see if there was a name or an intercom.

All it said was THE SOCIETY.

What the hell was this place? And why was it a meeting spot for pregnant women?

My mind wandered for a moment. I pictured a scene of a multitude of beautiful women, their bellies bulging out as they sat around a campfire, drinking tea, telling stories and rubbing each other's bellies. They'd all pull their tops off, hold hands and shuffle-dance in a big circle, the scene dissolving into a blur of baby bumps. Maybe they would let me join in. I'm unassuming enough, and I certainly appreciate the journey they are all going through. One woman might approach me, smiling. That gorgeous, blonde woman with the amazing legs...and breasts. She'd ask if I wanted to touch her belly. I'd gently brush my hand against her, let her roundness fill my palm, her soft, creamy skin stretched tight as I feel her baby moving around inside her...then another woman would tap me on the shoulder.

"Help you, sir?" she'd whisper in my ear.

I turn around, preparing to be greeted by another glorious, round belly.

"Help you, sir?" she says again, her voice deep, almost manly.

I see nothing but lips moving...

"Help you, sir?"

Suddenly, I snap out of it. It was an older gentleman, clearly someone who lived in the building, trying to get in. He held a key in his hand.

"Sorry," I said, stepping aside, slightly embarrassed. "Got the wrong building."

I step backwards down the stoop, look up once again at that blue light, and then disappear off into the dusky evening.

***

I have to be careful about this now. I felt a bit dirty snooping around, but at the same time, the desire to find out more about this..."Society"...I knew where, and how often they met...but how could someone like me become a part of it? Surely, with all these pregnant women, there had to be some men involved...shouldn't there?

But I need to get in first to find that out. I can't just show up, knock on the door and expect to be let in...certainly not if Staci is the one answering the door. That would be...unspeakably embarrassing.

If only I could get my hands on one of those masks. Maybe I could sneak in that way.

What I do know is that it will take the type of devious behavior I'm not used to.

***

Staci continues to go about her business as though The Society doesn't even exist. Who would know? She walks with a bit of a waddle now, coming into the office, her hips making this cute little sashay as she steps. She's often packed herself into dark leggings with a dress over it. Or a long tee and a cardigan draped over it. It's very...I don't know...alluring, watching her.

Half of me wishes I could feel it for myself. The other half wishes that my wife were the one looking like that.

Staci also futzes with her phone a lot. Always texting, and occasionally leaving to make a call. It is what it is. I'm guilty of the same sometimes. She also goes to the bathroom frequently, a side effect of her pregnancy. What I'm getting at here is that maybe, just maybe, I could snoop a bit and see if I can find one of those black masks everyone in The Society seems to wear.

I have my opportunity late in the week. She's left our office to go to meet a client on another floor. She's left her purse on her chair and her phone on her desk. Awful of me, I know, but I can't help but notice her phone light up multiple times with text messages. I sneak a peek.

Miranda P.

New candidate for initiation coming on Friday

Miranda P.

Juliana. 33 and her first. 4 months

Miranda P.

From the UES. She's a lawyer. Very sassy and spunky. You'll like her

Miranda P.

OUR BUMPS GROW PROUDLY IN THE NAME OF THE SOCIETY

Could Staci really be the ringleader of The Society? I know she's pregnant a lot, but what happens when she's not pregnant? No matter. I glance at her purse. It's lying open. I peer inside. Gum...More gum...I never see her chewing gum, but she sure loves it. Tums...her wallet... makeup...more makeup...She loves her makeup too...but no mask.

I slip one of her desk drawers open...jackpot. A stash of black eye masks. She must hide them here for safekeeping. Or whatever. I take one and slip it in my bag. I have my in. I think...

***

Friday arrives. I'm cagey in the office all day. Staci asks if I'm all right and I say I am, just something personal bothering me. She leaves it alone. She's wearing another long cardigan today, this one runs about halfway down her butt. Underneath, a long-sleeved white shirt that's stretched tight around her belly. You can see her belly button poking through. It's...nice eye candy.

Around 4:45, Staci packs up for the day. "Enjoy your weekend!" she says, as she smiles and rubs her bump.

"You as well," I reply.

It's chilly out as I leave, so it's not so out of character for me to be wearing a long, bulky overcoat. Nonetheless, I feel incredibly nervous. I could cover up that shaky feeling inside only so much. This is probably the strangest and certainly the most inappropriate thing I've ever done in my life. These are the kind of thoughts racing through my head as the subway races uptown. I get off at 72nd Street. I check my phone. Only a text from my wife.

Rachel

Meeting Claire and Geri for drinks now.

Rachel

Have fun with the guys

Rachel

Text you when I'm on my way home! 💋

I text her back to enjoy herself, say hi to her friends and a few emojis.

I don't want to show up too early, so I walk around the block once. I walk on the opposite side of the street from 116 West 73rd Street. The blue light is on. So someone is there. As I circle the block, I see two or three pregnant women come around the corner.

As I arrive back, there is the shadowy woman I saw kissing Staci last time I was here. She has her arm around another woman who is pregnant. Not very far along. And probably the "new candidate for initiation" Staci had been notified of. They turned and went into the building.

I wait about 15 minutes before I decide to make my move. I put on the eye mask, walk up the stoop and into the building. It's a fourth floor walkup. How could that have been a good idea for a meeting spot for a group of pregnant women? Nonetheless, my mouth is dry and I'm shivering as I walk slowly up the stairs, unsure of what awaits me.

I reach the top of the stairs. There's a door with a silhouette of a pregnant woman on it and underneath, it reads "ENTER." Nothing else. So...I turn the knob.

Nobody notices me come in. I enter into a hallway that is long and narrow, with rooms at either end, and some doors in the middle. There is the sound of some women speaking to my left, but I can't really make out what they are saying. On my right, there is the blue light that's so clearly visible out the window. I can at best describe it as soothing, a very soft, light blue that you might see on the walls of a baby's nursery. It seems, I suppose, to fit the mood.

There are some paintings on the wall. In the dim light of the hallway, it's hard to make them out, but they all seem to be paintings of pregnant women, modeled in different poses. One of them, leaning back in a chair, her shirt pulled up as she seductively rubs her belly. Another, two women smiling at each other, their hands on each other's bumps. A third, a woman in a bikini, smiling as she walks on the beach. They're so well done.

I come to the end of the hall, and peer into the room with the blue light. I go no further.

Sitting in a chair, in the middle of a circle, is the woman I saw come in earlier. Her hair is light brown, and she has a long, white gown on, something that looks like a nightgown, or a hospital gown. It's slit in the front, leaving her belly exposed.

Seated on the floor, holding hands in a circle, are seven pregnant women. All of them dressed in tank tops of differing colors, and black leggings. Their tank tops are all pulled up to expose their bellies. They all seem to be of varying degrees of pregnancy. One woman, perhaps a few weeks away from giving birth. Her belly is mesmerizingly round. Two others, seven months or so along. The others, progressing well. Seated in a chair, outside of the circle, is the woman who brought this new lady in. She has a very exotic look to her. Her hair long and dark, her breasts pendulous and packed tightly into a black bra, quite visible through her own white tank top. Her belly, massive, larger than any other woman in the room. Perhaps a multiple pregnancy, I think to myself.

Staci stands in front of the seated woman.

"Will you uphold the standards of The Society throughout your pregnancy?" I hear her say.

"I shall." says the woman in the chair.

"Repeat after me," Staci says.

The woman nods.

"I, Juliana M., pledge to grow my bump with pride throughout my pregnancy." Staci says.

"I, Juliana M., pledge to grow my bump with pride throughout my pregnancy." she replies.

"I will not allow myself to be ashamed of my body." Staci says.

"I will not allow myself to be ashamed of my body." she replies.

"I will always remember that I am beautiful." Staci says.

"I will always remember that I am beautiful." she replies.

"And I will own my journey in the name of The Society." Staci says.

"And I will own my journey in the name of The Society." she replies.

Staci smiles. "You are now part of The Society, Juliana," she says. "Please enjoy your time here, and enjoy all of us around you. Here, you are loved and respected."

Staci steps in front of Juliana.

"Please kiss my belly to seal your entry."

Juliana leans forward and puts her hand on Staci's belly, gently caressing it as she kisses her.

"Everyone, please welcome Juliana." Staci says, as she leans forward herself to kiss Juliana on the belly.

I step back, astonished by what I've witnessed.

One by one, the women help each other up, then walk to Juliana and kiss her on the belly. Two women take her hands and stand her up out of the chair. They all begin to hug each other, everyone's bellies pressing together over and over and over...

I step back into the dark hallway. My heart pounding and my cock about to burst out of my pants after what I've just witnessed.

I move towards the other end of the hall.

There, there are two massage tables. Standing over one of them is the tall, beautiful blonde woman that I've seen multiple times coming in. She is heavily pregnant in her own right; her belly rivaling the size of Staci's. Her bust, however, is out of control. She's dressed in a bikini, unabashedly showing off every inch of her curvaceous body. She speaks softly to another woman, with long, dark hair, a very tight belly and lips that look as though they could suck the chrome off a '57 Chevy.

"Does this feel good, Rose?" the blonde says as she works her hand down the other woman's chest.

"It's heavenly," the woman on the table replies.

"I'm going to cover the sides of your belly now. Would you like some oil?

"Yes, please."

The blonde puts a small amount of massage oil on her hands and begins to rub it on Rose's belly. Rose giggles for a second, then relaxes. The blonde begins working her hands around the lower edge of Rose's belly with her fingertips, then begins to rub with her palm. Rose sighs, contentedly.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. I start to turn my head when suddenly, I'm jerked backwards.

"What the...!" is all I can get out before I'm yanked into the hallway.

I'm now face-to-face with Staci. She yanks the mask off my head.

"Ryan!? What the hell are you doing here?" she says to me.

"I..." I stammer. I have no explanation. My cock is bulging and my face is beet red.

"You shouldn't be here," she says. "This is not for you. You need to get out of here and go home. NOW."

"I just..." I stammer. Words, at this point, have completely failed me.

"We'll not talk about this again. Go."

Without a word, I turn and run down the stairs, out the front door and off into the night. I'm mortified with shame over being caught. I knew I shouldn't have gone there. What a mess I've created.

I walk back home, still trying to calm myself down. I pour myself a glass of scotch and drink it in the silent darkness of my living room. Still trying to process what I saw...and what happened at the end. How could I face Staci in the office on Monday? Should I say something? Apologize? Leave it alone? I don't know.

My mind is a jumble when my wife walks in. She's also a bit tipsy. She strips off her clothes and lets her breasts bounce around freely. Hers have always been quite large and lovely, I do have to say. It distracts me from my own silent embarrassment enough to propose that we have sex. She happily agrees. And we do. It's a bit drunken and sloppy, but good, as I'm used to. As I'm comfortable with. I begin on top of her, and then we wind up seated on the edge of the bed, her legs wrapped around me. I bury my face in her breasts, then lick her nipples like the cherry off an ice cream sundae. She digs her nails into my back. We climax together, then I fall backward. She rolls off of me, onto the bed.