Dreams of Maternity Pt. 19

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Oca 27, 2022 // By:admin // No Comment

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It’s Time for Maternity Leave

It was my last day of work before my maternity leave, and my whole body was screaming that it was well past time for this day to come. As office manager, I was all over the office and its attached warehouse all day, nonstop fulfilling different needs and requests for a variety of my coworkers. In fucking heels, even at 39 damn weeks pregnant!

I started the day at my desk, but almost immediately had to go to a meeting at the warehouse manager’s office, about as long a walk as was possible in this building. Halfway there I decided I didn’t care what my boss might say: my feet and ankles were too swollen and center of gravity too off-kilter to stay in my heels. I kicked them off and threw them in the nearest trash can, not giving it a second thought. Stocking feet would be fine for the day.

I’d bump-proofed my own office months ago, extending distances between pieces of furniture and clearing belly-level items from surfaces. No one else did this for their offices, though, nor could I reasonably expect them to. So, I knocked two stacks of paperwork and a fragile paperweight off the warehouse manager’s desk within about 30 seconds of entering his office. Awesome.

An hour into the day and I was already cursing pregnancy’s limiting of my caffeine intake. So, so tired. Always. I had to price new fax machines for the office, something to do in my office chair. I stretched the task out beyond what was reasonable, too exhausted to stand. Eventually my boss called, and I had to go to his tightly-furnished office to discuss some expense reports. He was kind enough to offer me his padded chair and take a harder one for himself. And he didn’t mention my lack of shoes. He was my hero of the moment.

Lunch came, and I ate like a pig. Not denigrating myself or my body: i truly didn’t give a shit at this point. Had I gained significantly more weight than the doctors recommend? Sure. Fuck it. I was about to push a whole new child out of my vagina. Wasn’t that concerned with pettier issues right then.

After lunch felt like the end of senior year of high school, a time to slack off and wait out the clock. I still did too much walking for my body’s liking, though, as I had about a dozen people I felt I should personally say goodbye to before I went on leave. They were located all over the building, of course. After the first few goodbyes, I started clearing spots on my coworkers’ desks on which I could rest my bump. I was just the right height for this move, and it had become necessary to maintaining my limited energy.

At three o’clock, they all threw me a party, complete with baby shower-style gifts. And, more importantly, a big cake and lots of other snacks. It was very sweet of them, though I found myself nearly falling asleep repeatedly: I hope I didn’t seem ungrateful.

Even sweeter than the party was my boss telling me I could take off at 4. I drove home sleepily, getting into bed the moment I got home. I barely had the energy to call my husband in to eat me out.

The Glow

She stood out in the crowd, reminding me most of a glow-in-the-dark toy. I stood on the second floor balcony of the hotel (or, something like a hotel, anyway), able to see people on the shoulder-to-shoulder crowded first floor mostly from the chest up. Even as she moved, I didn’t lose sight of her for a moment. Why was she glowing? I was intrigued, and felt the irresistible urge to follow her movements, hoping she’d come in my direction and I might get a closer look at her. She wound up entering an elevator after a few minutes of observation, and I figured I had a slight chance she’d get off on the second floor near where I was, though one of the other dozen or so floors was probably a more likely destination.

I got lucky, seeing her glow from across the balcony as she exited the elevator. She turned down kars escort the closest hallway to the elevator, and I felt compelled to follow her from a relatively respectful, not-quite-creepy distance. Once I got into the hallway she’d entered, I saw her at one of the first doors on the right, fumbling for her room key. Now visible in profile, I see that she’s quite pregnant. So it’s THAT glow: the one they always seem to talk about with pregnancy. I walked over and asked if she needed any help. She smiled and winked. “I’ve been glowing for 25 minutes, what the hell took you so long?” I was speechless as she opened her door and pulled me into her room (and out of the dream).

The Librarian

Granted, my friend and I were talking in the library a little louder than tends to be socially acceptable. Nothing outrageous, but potentially disruptive, sure. So, when the librarian came over to tell us to be quiet, I was far from shocked. I was a bit surprised, though, that she demanded I get up and go with her to her office. I thought I was in for a thorough dressing-down. It wasn’t quite that…

She wore a beige pants suit with a black shirt underneath, black glasses, and brunette hair up in a bun. Oh, and she was at least 8 months pregnant, if not full-term due any day. I love pregnancy (like, LOVE), and was looking forward to some alone time with her, even if disciplinary in nature.

We went into her office and she closed the door behind us, then lowered the shades over the windows. Was she about to beat me up or something? She removed her coat; i figured she was probably overheated, trying to get more comfortable. Then she took off her shirt, then pants, then panties. Now clad only in a black bra, I thought things might just be going in a different direction than I’d originally expected.

“You’ve been misbehaving. Strip,” she commanded, and I was completely nude in seconds. “I’m not putting my hair down or taking off my glasses or any of that trite shit, just so you know,” she told me, preemptively angry about librarian stereotypes. She was more than hot enough with hair up, glasses on…bump and crotch bared.

She pushed me onto the ground; my hard-on stuck straight up. She mounted it facing me and started to ride, hard, fast, and quiet. I let out a tiny moan and she put her index finger to her lips in an instant: “Shhhhhh!” Of course, it was still the library: this would be very quiet sex. We remained just about silent through her intense ride on my cock. I only knew when she came because she bit her lip until it was an angry red color.

I came quickly thereafter, we both redressed quickly, and she went back to her post as I rejoined my friend. Was I supposed to be quiet now, or invoke her wrath again and hope for round two? Oh, the contradictions of the sexy librarian!

The Ring

I was in a space devoid of color and detail, a sort of grey expanse of nothingness. Surrounding me, maybe four feet away in every direction, was a ring of around a dozen naked pregnant women. They were all pointing their nipples at me and squeezing milk out and onto me at alarming volumes. I was soaked in seconds, but they kept going. Also, all of their waters had apparently broken, and grandiosely: I was up to my shins in amniotic fluid. This fluids-of-gestation bath lasted about two minutes, then I woke up pretty confused. Was that sexy? I didn’t really have the time to even decide whether I enjoyed it or not.

The Model

This dream had me as a student in an art class. The nude model we were to sketch/draw/paint/sculpt that day was a heavily pregnant man, which (in this reality, apparently) was not something I found at all beautiful or aesthetically pleasing, never mind arousing. Part of what the teacher tried to drill into us was learning to appreciate the beauty in just about anything, and this seemed kars escort bayan like a particularly difficult challenge for my sensibilities. I just had to dive right in…

The aspect of him that I was most instantly put off by, and would thus have to get over, was his hairiness. This was a seriously hairy guy, Mediterranean of some sort of by the looks of him. He had a full, thick beard of near-black hair, and the rest of him wasn’t much less hairy than his face. It was difficult to find even a small patch of him that wasn’t pretty thoroughly covered.

I thought about the fact that smooth, hairless skin seems to be so much more aesthetically pleasing and traditionally considered beautiful in our society. Why is that? It feels like there’s an elegance and cleanliness to it, but those, again, may just be societal biases. I found plenty of furrier animals than this guy beautiful, so what was the problem? I looked at him more, thinking about masculinity, animal magnetism, the utility of hair. It was beautiful, indeed, I thought. And if I thought it was beautiful, mission accomplished.

Looking him over more, I noticed his hips and ass were both pleasantly plumped out and curvy, not unlike the way pregnant ladies tend to grow. This was an easy one: these traits were just straight-up sexy, extra curves for extra aesthetic pleasure. Next!

His breasts had definitely swelled with pregnancy, but were still a far cry from the size breasts of even a modestly-bosomed pregnant woman. Or most women in general, for that matter. They were kind of cute, though, especially considering the nipples hidden like fun secrets within the forest of his chest hair. More strikingly, the smaller breasts made his baby bump pop more, seem bigger in comparison. Pregnant ladies’ swollen-with-milk breasts could potentially distract from their impressive bellies, where this guy’s belly easily commanded the vast majority of the attention. I liked that.

And now for that belly. Men carry more fat in their abdomen, so there’s less chance of the sort of “all-belly” pregnancy look that seems to be sort of the ideal for those who appreciate pregnancy. His belly was a bit less spherical than a pregnant woman’s would’ve been, more filled out with fat around the edges. It was certainly distinct from a beer belly, though, as it protruded straight out significantly more, and was pretty obviously firm at its protruding extremities.

And even if it was sort of similar to a beer belly, what was inherently wrong with that? I couldn’t think of a reason why it was in and of itself unsexy; I could easily get to a place where I found it pleasing to the eye. I didn’t find much to dislike with the male baby bump, honestly. Also, this whole enterprise seemed to be getting easier, my appreciation coming more readily.

Finally, we had his penis. At the teacher’s request, he’d kept himself erect as constantly as he could, occasionally breaking his still pose to stroke a bit and get himself hard again. I’m not sure why this was the teacher’s preference, and I thought the erection might be a bit too overtly sexual for some people’s comfort. It wasn’t too much for me, though. His huge hanging gut was resting right on top of his penis, fat hanging down slightly to either side of it. I can appreciate a cock every now and again, and I found this one particularly intriguing. The close proximity of his sexuality-suggestive bump to the inherently sexual dick really did it for me. I even found myself a little turned-on, wanting to rub his belly right down to where it met that dick.

Did this kinda make me a convert to finding pregnant men sexy? Maybe it did. At the very least, they’re quite worthy of aesthetic exploration, and hold a great deal of beauty. Good lesson today!

Babymoon

There was a pristine white beach leading to the crystal clear escort kars aquamarine Caribbean Sea ten yards in front of me, but my eyes remained glued on my wife a foot to my left. She was nude and pleasantly pregnant, granted, but I still think it warrants mentioning that this resort’s greatest feature remained my partner. This was our “babymoon,” our last vacation alone before parenthood, taken in my wife’s 27th week (as late as was recommended for flying preggos).

We were both completely naked, which was in keeping with the resort’s policies. It was an all-adult establishment in order to permit just this sort of behavior. My wife had discovered she was something of an exhibitionist while pregnant, so this was a great fit for her. I wasn’t as comfortable myself, but showing my dick to strangers was a small price to pay for seeing those strangers’ eyes’ inability to leave my expectant partner’s nude physique; they probably didn’t even notice my modest endowment. I’m not sure how common pregnant ladies were here; she definitely stood out in the crowd. Not gravid by any means yet, but already at the start of her third trimester: conspicuously pregnant, to put it mildly.

My wife’s biggest struggle at this place thus far hadn’t been overcoming modesty, but resisting the urge to touch herself as people’s staring constantly got her wet. We rarely spent more than 45 minutes at the nude beach before she had to rush us back to our room to fuck. I noticed her shifting her body repeatedly, especially immediately following a stranger’s look. She was horny, struggling to keep her desires at bay so we could enjoy the beach for a bit longer. I could only watch her suffer for so long, finally tapping her on the shoulder: “Room?” She nodded vigorously, and we were alone (and still nude) in two minutes.

“Bathroom. Jacuzzi.” She didn’t need to use more than the two words to get me there. After turning the jets on to full power she got in behind me, her hand at my crotch the moment it was within reach. My hands went to her bump and crotch as we made out, our occasional moans drowned out by the constant roar of the jacuzzi. She could only keep herself from mounting me for a minute or two, and she was on my lap.

Her bump wasn’t too big yet to prevent us from fucking in these seated/straddling positions. The buoyancy made her bouncing up and down unusually slow: it felt like we were defying gravity. Her slower motion made me cum harder and faster, my intensely loud climax helping to get her off, too. “I’m not done,” she informed me, getting up to sit on the edge of the jacuzzi and spreading her legs wide. “Get in there, stud.” Even as she thoroughly tired my mouth out, I was as smitten as I’d been during our honeymoon. Life goals to be found within this dream, undeniably.

The Divorce

I found myself in a judge’s chambers, on the opposite side of the lengthy table from my wife, both of us next to what looked like lawyers: divorce proceedings, it would seem. She was massive, 37 weeks pregnant with twins. Our legal business apparently couldn’t wait the few weeks until she gave birth. The room was quiet as the judge pored over his file on us. “Looks like all your assets have been divided to everyone’s satisfaction,” he said, closing the manila folder. He stood, so we all stood. This took a great deal of effort for my soon-to-be-ex-wife, moaning as she struggled to her feet and placing both hands on her back once standing.

“As for custody, we have a uniquely convenient solution right in front of us,” he began his ruling. “It’s twins, so you each get one. Effective immediately.” His gavel hit the wood, and I nearly fell forward onto the table just as the ex- almost fell backward. I immediately noticed her bump had shrunk substantially, looking like a singleton gestation now. Suddenly understanding the magic the judge seemed capable of, I grabbed my midsection and looked down: my baby bump was just as big and round as hers was. One each indeed!

I awoke momentarily terrified, then quickly became jealous of what my unconscious had just conjured. Why must stupid old reality lag so far behind my dreams?

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