Dreams of Maternity Pt. 18

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I was a massive pregnant woman in my dream last night, probably the size of someone full-term with triplets. My dropped torpedo of a bump stuck out a good two feet and had expanded otherwise in just about every direction that my sleeping brain could conceive of. Nude in a cramped bathroom, I could barely turn around without my bare belly knocking into the toilet, the sink, the shower, everything. So, so cumbersome; so, so hot. My goal was to shave my unkempt pubic region in preparation for the imminent birth of however the hell many babies were in my tremendous midsection. This proved difficult, of course.

I had to utilize the mirror, as there was absolutely no chance of seeing my crotch without it. Attempting to position myself facing said mirror, I had to lift my bump up by at least a foot to clear the sink, then had pretty much no choice but to rest it on the sink. Naturally, I could not see through my bump, so directly facing the mirror in this fashion did not allow me any view of my pubic hair whatsoever. I managed to maneuver myself a foot or so to the right of the sink, where I still had to rest my bump on the side of the sink, but could just manage to see some of the right half of my pubic region.

My hands were free with my bump resting on the sink, so I applied some shaving cream and did what I could with what I could see. I thought I got most of that half of the area, at least from what I could manage to see. At the very least, it did not look untended anymore: maybe sloppily tended, but I’d pretty obviously worked on it to the best of my abilities. Copying what I’d done for the right, I moved to the left of the sink and repeated the process. Afterwards, I lifted my bump a bit (as much as I could) with one hand and felt around my crotch with the other. I’d managed to get most of the hair, but there were still some distinct tufts left over on both sides. Of course.

There was a toilet mere inches from my ass, the mere proximity to which made me have to piss intensely. “Fuck it.” I gave up on the shaving and relieved myself, my bump sticking out from the toilet just about to the door. This shit had gotten just plain ridiculous.

The Wedding

I was a bride at my wedding reception in a stretchy white maternity wedding dress, trying to will my contractions to slow down. They’d started just before the ceremony, become alarmingly close on the limo drive to the reception, and were now (three hours into the party) indicating imminent birth. My water had broken about 90 minutes ago. Now, it was embarrassing enough to be a conspicuously pregnant bride, never mind full-term and gravid for one’s own wedding. To not make it out of my most special day without the baby coming was unacceptable to me, regardless of how little time was elapsing between contractions. We only had the reception hall for another two and a half hours, and I was completely determined to keep this baby in me until after that.

I’d made it through the vows I’d written for my görükle escort now-husband without anyone noticing what was going on, despite the 2 contractions within it. I’d danced through about a dozen songs so far, despite 2-3 contractions per. My water had broken without anyone noticing: I’d dumped my tonic water all over my lap the moment I felt the amniotic fluid start flowing, and had successfully passed the whole mess off as a spilled drink. I’d hidden my ongoing labor from even my groom, telling him I was just “standard preggo exhausted” and needed to sit down for a while, undergoing contractions every 90 seconds all the while.

By sheer force of will, it felt like, I made it all the way to the end of the reception without giving birth. My new husband and I got in the limo to be taken to our hotel, and I could feel the baby just starting to crown before my ass touched the seat. Game over, I finally succumbed and gave birth in the limo, which promptly redirected to the nearest hospital. No wedding night consummation, which pissed me off. But we’d obviously fucked before, and we’d fuck again in a few weeks. Fun wedding day, overall.

The Oasis

I felt and looked like myself for the first time in a number of dreams. I was in the middle of a desert that looked like what I’d seen of Joshua Tree, hiking far from any visible road, vehicle, or person. All desert, all around me, as far as the eye could see: it was gorgeous.

An even more gorgeous sight awaited me once I reached the top of an especially high dune: an oasis! A tiny pond, maybe twice the size of a backyard pool, was surrounded by 7 or 8 palm trees and various succulents and desert grasses. On a large flat rock in the shade between two of the trees a woman was laying on her back…completely nude save for a pair of sunglasses, with no clothes even visible in her surroundings. Had she hiked here clad only in shades?

She was a beautiful sight within a beautiful locale, and the situation only improved as I got closer: she was pregnant and modestly showing, 5 months along I’d soon learn. Her black hair came halfway down her bosom, her nipples were a deep brown, breasts still perky, bump a blemish-free curve of elegance, and legs stunningly long and toned. A supermodel if I’ve ever dream-encountered one.

She hadn’t noticed me even when I got to the water, and I didn’t want to startle her too badly. “Hello there!” I called out; she immediately sat up and removed her sunglasses. “I never thought anyone else would find this place,” she said half-sadly, half-playfully. She looked down at her nudity, to which my eyes were inextricably glued. “Well, you’ve seen what I’ve got,” she said with a sigh. “Undress, we’ll take a dip.”

She didn’t have to tell me twice; I was as nude as she was in seconds, and we were treading water mere feet from each other’s naked bodies. “You’re beautiful,” i couldn’t seem to stop myself from uttering. “Thanks,” she said with a slight smile. “You don’t mind the big belly?” I shook bursa merkez escort my head vigorously.

“No, of course not! It’s incredibly sexy.” It was always so easy for me to own up to my fetish in these dreams, remarkably unembarrassed by it. She gestured behind her with her head: “Let’s go where it’s shallower, we can stand and have our hands free.” Again, she didn’t have to tell me twice. We were right next to each other, water up to our necks. Feet on the bottom of the pool and arms no longer actively swimming, she took both of my hands and placed them on her bump.

It was perfectly firm and curved delicately up to her breasts and down to her neatly-trimmed pubic hair. I’m usually a “bigger is better” bump guy, but I felt like a convert to The Worship of the Second Trimester Belly. My hands flowed up and down her belly, casually rubbing breasts and crotch as her curves led me effortlessly to them. She giggled. “Forward, are we? Here, come sit near the edge.” She led me by the hand to where the water was only about 18 inches deep and had me sit down.

I was rock hard; she had no trouble mounting me, even underwater. I’d never had submerged sex even in a dream: according to my unconscious mind, at least, it was pretty great. The buoyancy let her bounce slowly up and down on my cock, as if we were within the lesser gravity of the moon. These exaggerated, slow-motion movements drove me fucking wild.

I came in about 30 seconds, both in the dream and in my bed. I awoke with a huge smile on my face, proud of myself for lasting even that long.

Both Parts

I was sitting in my office chair, bare swollen breasts, smooth third trimester bump and hairless knees the only things visible when I looked down. My hand stroked down my tits and my firm belly on its way to my palpably wet pussy. Between the bump and pussy was a novel surprise, though: I had a cock and balls.

This was a novel development, sporting typically female and typically male genitalia simultaneously. My unconscious brain must have been working overtime on this dream. If I pressed down gently on my hanging testicles, I could stimulate my clitoris. What a world I’d conjured! I rubbed one out clit-wise while jerking it dick-wise.

I came hard and simultaneously with myself, delighting and waking myself. I’ll have to shoot for this wonderful anatomy again in the future!

Talk of the Town

It was a gala event, some sort of fancy museum opening or fundraiser or something like that. I wore a tux and my date wore a stunning, tight red midi dress. She was tall, blonde, and (you guessed it!) heavily pregnant. Her bump was a huge perfect sphere under her couture outfit, breasts matching smaller spheres above. Eight months along, sure, but she was still the obvious star of the party.

All eyes were magnetically drawn to her gravid form, and not in quite the same object-of-interest way most preggos were able to turn heads. There was apparently a deep, genuine bursa sınırsız escort appreciation for the pregnant form in this dream-reality, and it was a fantastic thing to be a part of. I basked proudly in the reflected glory.

We danced, my hand on her waist stretched around to keep some grip on her delightfully firm belly. Other men (and one woman) interrupted us for a dance with her five times in three songs: she was the envy of everyone at the gala, and I gladly ceded some of my time with her to let her bask in the attention she so richly deserved. I felt drunk by the end of our time together, though I’d abstained from alcohol in solidarity with my expectant date.

I finger-fucked her on the cab ride to her place: in addition to all the other virtues, she had a truly great pussy on her.


Two very pregnant women were 69ing on a bed about 6 feet from me. It was absurdly sexy. Unfortunately, I was wearing some sort of chastity belt, steel underwear with only a centimeter or two of separation between flesh and unyielding metal. So, the erection I couldn’t help but get was almost instantly stunted by the tight steel underwear. It was extremely painful, and only got more so when they disengaged from each other to come rub their bumps on either side of my face. Even without the space for a real erection or any hand access, I climaxed after a minute or two of the double-belly face rub.

Most painful orgasm ever.


I don’t really know why it happened when it happened, but during a dream-therapy appointment I suddenly revealed my biggest secrets to my therapist. Things I’d only ever shared with my real-life girlfriend, suddenly brought out due to the well-earned trust I had in my long-time therapist.

“I’ve been cross-dressing,” I blurted out during a brief lull in our conversation, starting the avalanche of unnecessary sharing. “Wearing maternity clothes with silicone fake breasts and belly. It’s kind of weird, but my girlfriend is super cool about it.”

My therapist nodded supportively, apparently as understanding about this as she was about just about everything I’d ever thrown at her. She was truly ready for anything, it seemed.

“I kind of have a thing for pregnancy,” I continued to spill my guts compulsively. “A fetish, I guess you’d have to call it. From back as far as I had any sexual fantasies at all, that’s what it’s always been about.”

She nodded and eased my anxieties. “It’s really not uncommon. It’s a pretty natural thing to be attracted to, those signs of fertility and all the extra curves. Years ago, when I was pregnant with my son, I had to transfer a client to another therapist: he was just so distracted by my belly. Fine in his case, fine in yours. Not weird or gross at all, truly.”

I still felt a bit of embarrassment at my revelations, but much more strongly and significantly felt validated and truly seen. I’d opened up about some things that made me feel a great deal of shame, and I’d been supported and understood. Not spurned at all, even by a woman who’d been pregnant and thus may have seemed like someone who’d be easily grossed out by my predilections.

No orgasm to be found here, but quite possibly the most relief I’ve ever felt after a lucid dream.

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