The Tale of Mpreg Pinocchio Pt. 01

I ditched work slightly earlier than I probably should have, called a Lyft and headed home. It was a Tuesday, the wife's night at school and my night alone. Five free hours, completely by myself in the apartment. There was only one thing to do.

Before my key had fully clicked into the lock, I'd begun stripping off my clothes. Shoes, socks, jacket, shirt, belt, pants, boxers. Now fully nude, I hustled into the bedroom and opened my closet. I brushed aside the few strategically-placed items of clothing resting on top, and there it was: my maternity prosthetic.

It weighed over 16 pounds, firm silicone perfectly molded into the gravid shape of a full-term pregnant belly. There was even a little outie belly button sticking out from the middle. The back was concave, contouring comfortably to my own round midsection; occasionally, in times when I'd used it more frequently, I would completely shave my stomach so that the silicone would adhere better to my flesh. With or without hair, though, I needed to use two or three tight maternity belly bands to keep the heavy prosthetic attached to myself. They'd go on me first, then I'd briefly fold them three-quarters of the way down to wedge the fake belly in between the bands and my real belly. (When I'd first gotten the belly, it had big velcro straps on the sides to keep itself in place; the circumference was too small to fit my large frame, though, and I soon had to remove the quickly-deteriorating straps.) Finally, I'd don a dress from my rather sizable collection of maternity-wear. My preferences were for form-fitting, sleeveless, short dresses - basically anything that showed off my silicone-enhanced curves and didn't make me overheat more than was absolutely necessary. I had half-a-dozen snug (but not quite testicle-suffocating) pairs of panties I'd sometimes put on, too. Or I'd go commando: that was at least as fun.

When I'd first started dressing, I purchased a few bras and two sets of fake silicone breasts (one C-cup, one DD), but I didn't end up using them all that often - they made me sweat more than I preferred, plus the more stark contrast between my lack of pronounced breasts and huge pregnant tummy turned me on substantially more than the augmented female-looking bust did. I also briefly flirted with clip-on earrings, bracelets, necklaces, perfume, stockings, even a (very pricey) pair of giant high heels to fit my men's-size-13 feet. None of these various feminizing accessories quite improved the experience enough for me to consistently put the time and effort into getting them on myself, though.

I'd rapidly become sort of a belly-purist. Of course and not-at-all-shockingly from a fetishistic perspective, it was far and away the thing I found most appealing about pregnancy. If I kept most of my appearance at my hairy masculine baseline, the friction between my natural mannishness and bloated maternal midsection was incredibly sexy to me. Though I still liked donning the maternity dresses I'd so eagerly gathered from several dozen awkward thrift store expeditions, more often I'd put on the belly and just wear it under an old t- or undershirt I didn't mind stretching out, truly looking the part of a pregnant man. It was fun to pretend I was an expectant mother sometimes, but I found it even hotter to imagine myself as a pregnant man. I had fewer gender-dysphoric leanings than I had raging fantasies about what it would be like to curvaceously expand with budding life, hormones out-of-control and fatigue matched only by an insatiable libido. If I could've become a woman in order to get pregnant, I absolutely would have; my ultimate fantasy, though, was to keep my other gender characteristics while somehow developing a real (and utterly massive) pregnant bump.

Once dressed, there was really no wrong way to go - so long as I stayed safely and privately within my home to avoid certain humiliation, of course. All activities felt great, one hand constantly glued to and always sensuously massaging my firm, round bump. Watching a movie was always more fun with a belly to focus my hands on; I'd consistently choose rubbing my huge stomach over fiddling with my phone. I enjoyed doing chores while I pretended to be pregnant, carefully getting to my knees to scrub the floor then having to hoist my gravid gut in one arm as I struggled back to my wobbling feet. There was a perverse barefoot-and-pregnant-housewife vibe I really liked to focus on. When I first started all this weird activity several years ago, I smoked both cigarettes and weed. To this day one of the things I most miss about smoking is doing so while I look and feel nine-months pregnant: it was a subversive-feeling, politically-incorrect thrill with each and every drag.

It could probably go without saying that masturbation was consistently on the table during my dressing sessions. Of course it was. It was not an easy process, though: the heavy, low-hanging belly made accessing my crotch a real hassle. I could reach my dick around it, but only with an amount of struggle that left me breathless much more rapidly than usual for a jerk-off session. I'd frequently tell myself when I got dressed that I was too tired, that it wasn't worth it. Invariably, though, rubbing my big preggo gut would produce a raging hard-on within minutes, the fact that I so frequently went commando not helping at all in my efforts to ignore my persistent erections. I'd carefully reach around the belly, stroking myself with one outstretched hand as the other vigorously rubbed the bump. I'd cum quickly and wildly, unable to contain the mess of my loads as well as I preferred in non-pregnant mode. The cum frequently ended up coating the bottom-most regions of the belly, luckily wiping away nice and cleanly with just a damp paper towel. Then I'd lay on my back for several minutes, sexually-spent and breathing loudly with the heavy belly resting on my midsection. Relaxed. Contentedly maternal.

On this fateful evening, I'd masturbated to completion within maybe 15 minutes of returning home from work. Belly still snugly strapped on, I proceeded to put a few videos on YouTube while I looked at my phone and rubbed my silicone bump. An hour passed. I had dinner, watched a few episodes of The Office. It was only 7:00pm, and my wife wouldn't return from class until 10:00 at the earliest. I wasn't exactly a young man anymore, but it seemed (based on the returned rigidity of my cock) enough time had passed that I could overcome my ever-lengthening refractory period; it felt like I could pretty easily go for round two of the evening. I hiked the dress up as I returned to lay on the bed, using the Chromecast to get a bit of preggo porn on the television and beginning to slowly stroke myself.

I went nicely and slowly, my remaining alone time luxuriously plentiful in front of me. My muscles kept tensing in anticipation of climax, so I kept taking purposeful pauses to breathe deeply and relax my body, never rushing the foregone messy conclusion. I went on for a solid 20 minutes, even staying on a video I didn't find particularly stimulating in order to prolong the event. Finally, I shot my load, modest compared to the first of the evening due to unavoidable biological facts, but more than large enough in terms of neurotransmitters and pleasant post-coital buzz. My cum slowly dripped down my knuckles for two or three minutes before I managed to muster the necessary energy to grab a few tissues and wipe it up. I tossed the sticky tissues onto my nightstand, too lazy to stand up and walk them over to the trashcan.

Eventually finding myself chilly wearing just silicone, belly bands, and a largely hiked-up maternity dress, I pulled my blankets up over my body. Both palms rested atop my bulging fake baby belly as I allowed my eyelids to slowly drift together. I didn't mean to, but I fell asleep on the spot. Not just casually dozing, either: I was out for the night. I always tried to stay up to welcome my wife home from class, but I guess I was just too tired and double-orgasm-spent this evening. While my wife didn't object to my maternity crossdressing, she also didn't love my doing it around her. So, my falling asleep while still fully knocked-up-looking wasn't the most respectful thing for me to do.

My wife coming to bed a bit after returning from class didn't wake me up. Neither did her leaving for work early the next morning. Having the day off myself, I hadn't set an alarm, glad to take this rare opportunity to sleep to my heart's content. By the time I sleepily opened my eyelids enough to read the alarm clock next to the bed it was already 9:45, extravagantly late for me.

Once I'd taken enough wakeful breaths to get a bit of my wits about me, I was struck with some panic at the fact that there was still a pregnant belly weighing down my midsection. Damn it, I'd fallen asleep cross-dressed! My wife must've seen me before she headed to work; I'd be getting a well-deserved earful later this afternoon, I wagered.

Groggy and not thrilled at the prospect of hauling my already-heavy ass plus nearly 20 extra pounds of silicone out of bed, I peeled up my maternity dress and peeled down the sweaty belly bands to take the belly off before sitting up. I couldn't immediately find the edges at which the silicone met my skin, though. Sides, below, above the bump - I was still too tired to figure out how to pry the silicone off my skin. I'd never slept in the thing before, and I'd probably become too sweaty keeping it on for so many hours: it might require a concerted effort to remove at this point. The prosthetic was warmer than usual, too, certainly another a function of my body temperature having heated the material for so much more time than usual. Dress and belly bands still off my midsection and not holding the silicone down, I thought the mere act of sitting up might dislodge the heavy item via simple gravity. No such luck.

Eyes still half-closed but mind starting to rev up a bit more, I ran my hand around the belly again to find those elusive edges. As I went from the left side to the right, my hand grazed over more of the center of the belly than it had before. It felt less smooth than I remembered, not just warmer as I'd noticed a minute before. It had more imperfections, as if maybe I'd unintentionally clawed at it in the night, nicking it slightly in various places. Possible. But...it was as hairy as my usual torso, too? Not so possible. I shook my head vigorously in an attempt to dislodge some of my remaining sleepiness, finally hauled my ass out of bed and walked the few steps over to the mirror hanging on the back of the bedroom door.

This didn't look right. At all. It wasn't the flawless, porcelain-looking silicone I'd been wearing before falling asleep. It had a number of stretch marks, thin but showing varying brightness of an angry red. It didn't have a perfect little outie belly button, but a familiarly deep-looking innie. It showed creases on the sides and bottom, rolls of fat caving in on themselves rather than the impossibly elegant curves of the smooth silicone. It was...hairy. Very hairy. Exactly as hairy as my natural male torso, come to think of it. Perfectly matched the hue of my brownish-red hair, too. And there, on the lower right side, was my unmistakable dark brown oval of a birthmark.

This was my belly. To my eyes, an obviously pregnant belly, even though I could see and feel it resting heavily against my very-much-still-there penis. It protruded a whole lot more than my already-substantial beer belly had yesterday, yes, but this was all me. Somehow. I lifted it up tenderly; it was heavy, a whole lot heavier than an equivalent volume of simple fat would be. Dense, I guess. Dense with...well, growing life, I guess would be the most logical supposition? That is, if any of this bizarre situation could be referred to as "logical" at this point in time. Heavy as I'd considered the prosthetic, this was a whole different ball game: this thing easily weighed 25 or 30 pounds. I slowly put both palms to the belly, gently pushing inward as I felt around. There were softer parts, almost jelly-like in consistency, and far firmer parts that felt very much like a near-full-term fetus might be floating just under the flesh. I kept both hands on one of these firmer parts for several moments of breathless anticipation. I waited. And waited...

Oh! There was movement inside me! I was immediately certain of it. Before I even had the chance to second-guess myself, it happened again. And a third time. Holy shit: what was happening here? The fluttering continued, my hands eagerly following the movements around my...uterus? Man, there were a lot of questions this was raising.

I pinched myself several times. Slapped my face twice. I wasn't able to wake up, so it didn't seem I was dreaming. I suddenly realized how badly I had to pee and rushed to the bathroom to do so for the first time in about 15 hours. I pulled off the rest of my clothes, blown away by how weird it felt to have a genuine maternal belly stick to my person sans any sort of supportive garment. Reaching under my unwieldy (pregnant?!) belly in front of the toilet, I could hold my dick but I couldn't see it. Not dissimilar to how this went when I tried urinating while wearing the prosthesic, but it still had a far more pronounced psychological effect on me. I peed, strong stream erupting from my unseen dick and looking like it flowed directly from my big, hirsute, shapely baby belly. Oh man, was every bit of this strange.

Still fully nude, I went and sat on the recliner. Naturally, my hands never left my new bump. And why would they? Presumably this outrageous fever dream would cease any moment: I figured I should enjoy it fully while I had the chance. I rubbed my firm globe of a belly constantly, enjoying the feminine curves as they interacted with my coarsely masculine body hair. My hands drifted down, passing my belly button and continuing down to the rolls of fat lining the bottom outskirts. Continuing further with my right hand as I cradled the bottom of the bump with my left, I began gently massaging my cock. I was hard in about half a moment. My hand unavoidably made contact with my big belly with every stroke, a constant and firm reminder of the bizarre and sexy predicament in which I found myself. If I angled my dick up slightly as I went, I could make direct penis-to-pregnant-belly contact. Once I learned this I didn't stop, head of dick sticking directly into my bump as I jerked harder and harder, too enthusiastic to do any slowing down or savoring as I rapidly approached climax.

As I came, the requisite body-wide muscle spasms created an unforeseen ripple through my newly-expectant physique. This novel feeling, I can't help but imagine, was a contraction. My whole belly tightened as I shot my load; that sounds pretty damn close to how I'd conceptualize a contraction, anyway. Luckily, my left hand was still firmly against the belly when it contracted, feeling every millisecond of the event. Pretty wild how very hard an already quite-firm baby bump can get during this eminently natural phenomenon. If I hadn't been cumming at that moment, I'm sure I would have fired a load spontaneously at the mind-blowing, fantasy-level sensation.

Post-orgasm, I let my sedated head bounce softty against the back of the recliner. Whatever newly-feminine hormones had been unleashed by my insta-pregnancy were positively singing in delight. I could feel my load slowly drip from the lower reaches of my belly onto which it was shot, back down into my pubic hair and against my still-cock-gripping knuckles. I breathed loudly and heavily as my gravid new torso heaved atop my body.

I heard a key turn in the door. Frantically, I glanced toward the clock: ten-past noon. My wife had stopped home for lunch. I lurched awkwardly out of the recliner, darting into the bathroom and slamming the door just as she entered the front of the apartment. I was barely able to make out the sounds of her movements over my loud struggle to regain my breath. Her footsteps slowed as they approached the other side of the bathroom door, then stopped fully. She softly knocked three times. "Honey, you in there? Doing okay?" I had no idea how to answer such a question at this moment.

To be continued...