Addicted (4 Parts)

Note: This is a story-prompt for skyshield.

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1.

Initially, Emma had been frustrated to learn that she was pregnant. Between her and John’s busy work schedules, they barely had time for themselves, let alone a child. And the thought of her athletic body growing fat and rounded, admittedly, disgusted her a bit.

But she had to go through with it. John had always wanted children, and she just couldn’t bring herself to end the pregnancy when she had both the means and the support system to go through with it.

As Emma grew, strangely, she didn’t mind the sight of her belly swelling as much as she had thought that she would. The pressurized sensation that chronically occupied her was actually rather pleasant. She watched her breasts come to bulge out of her bras, and her belly grow to the size of a melon, until her painful—but intimate—birth. She insisted to John that she wanted another.

John was surprised, but happy to oblige. Within a month, she was again with child.

One evening, Emma paced the bedroom as she rocked her infant daughter in her arms. At three months, Emma was already beginning to show. She hadn’t told John that she had slipped a fertility pill out of her father’s drug safe during their last visit to the man’s estate. And that morning, her doctor had reported some exciting news—she was carrying triplets!

Emma was in a state of bliss. For some reason, she wanted to see herself get bigger. And month by month, her belly swelled, until she looked as though she had a basketball under her shirt. But she grew even more, feeling the three babies kick and squirm inside her. When she was finally at term, she had put on a good amount of weight. The babies were big, her beach ball-sized belly heaving with her heavy breaths. And yet Emma had no desire to relinquish the feeling. Her physician suggested induction, but Emma insisted on going into labor naturally. Soon Emma was two—three weeks overdue! She was constantly flushed, panting, and popping out of her clothes. Perched above her belly, her full breasts leaked regularly. Around the office, her coworkers would stare at her mass in shock.

The labor was long and painful, and she could barely get them out—but she managed. Soon she had three more healthy babies.

Overwhelmed by taking care of four infant children, John seemed definitive about not having anymore. He had even scheduled a vasectomy, to Emma’s horror. She only had a small window of time.

Still somewhat bloated from her last pregnancy, Emma went about her scheme. Over the weekend, she returned to her physician-father’s estate, and again raided his stock of pharmaceuticals. Then when John was at work one day, she took a needle, and punctured several tiny holes in each of his condoms.

In the hours before John’s return home, she gulped down a handful of fertility pills. She then poured a glass of wine, within which she dissolved a Viagra.

When John got home, she got him to drink the tainted glass of wine, and a second one for good measure. Knowing how poorly John held his liquor, Emma launched herself at him. At his feeble resistance, she offered him mumbled assurances that she was on birth control. She had been pointedly been taking a white pill every morning. What John didn’t know was that they were actually just more fertility drugs.

John succumbed to her pleas, so weak to her, that he even decided to forgo wearing one of his condoms (defected that they were!).

In only a month, Emma looked six months pregnant.

She was growing startling fast, and enjoying every minute of it. She could feel her body swelling more every day. By month two, she looked nine months along, and was waddling! By then, even Emma was getting overwhelmed! And often, she could feel John staring at her mound.

By the third month, Emma’s belly was round and throbbing. She was larger than she had been the day she had delivered the triplets!

She could barely waddle into her OBGYN appointment, her body straining to support her massive mass. Her small hands gripped at her belly, not that it helped. She had insisted on going to the appointment alone. John seemed petrified as it was.

Her doctor was stunned at seeing her. He was even more stunned when the sonogram revealed a record total of eleven embryos!

Emma was still panting, sweating, and red, just from the effort of getting onto the medical table. She rubbed her hands on her pulsing mound. “E-eleven?” she said.

The doctor insisted on selective removal of at least six embryos. He wanted to proceed with it immediately—that day.

Frowning, Emma told him that she would think on it, though she would not. Somehow, she heaved herself up, the doctor staring as she wobbled off.

Huffing and puffing, Emma caught a large cab back to her home. Her massive belly preceded her as she navigated it through her front door. Her round EE-cup breasts heaved up and down, bulging through the buttons of her custom-made blouse.

John came out from the kitchen, balancing a baby in each arm. He gulped and gazed down at her mound. “How many?” he asked shakily.

And Emma breathed, “Five.”

It might not have been logical to lie to her husband. He was bound to find out the truth soon enough.

But just watching him try to digest the concept of quintuplets seemed a lot for him. For the time being, Emma wanted to savor her fleeting months of bliss.

She managed to waddle her way to the couch, where she eased herself down. “Nrrghhh…” she grunted, holding her belly as it tightened, stretching her blouse farther as her belly button throbbed. She knew full well that she looked as though she was about to burst. And yet she loved every moment of it.

“Emma…” said John nervously.

“Honey, be a doll, bring me a few sandwiches.” She lightly patted her mass.

John gulped again, and bustled off.

2.

There was no moment that an infant wasn’t crying in her house. They had eleven newborns, three one year olds, and a two year old, who hardly understood why his father was so exhausted. John, of course, spent his days running around taking care of their litter of young children.

Emma’s last pregnancy had been rough. She had quickly become wheelchair bound, then later, bed bound, her belly sitting in her lap and resembling a bolder in its massiveness. It had been full of twitching movements, and she was left sprawled back against her mountain of pillows as John catered to her. Just the thought made her shiver. Emma had loved every moment of it.

Though she had given birth recently, Emma was still quite round. Her belly was so fat she looked eight months pregnant. She wore tight dresses around the house to show off her plump mound, her low necklines revealing the cleavage of her milk-bloated volleyball-sized breasts.

Emma tentatively approached her husband that afternoon. He had a baby on each arm, and was pushing a third with his foot in a rocking bassinette. Children wailed in the background, pretty much surrounding them. To Emma, it seemed impractical to try to get some of the babies to sleep when their siblings were crying, but what did she know?

“John I have news.” Emma help up a positive pregnancy test as she gave him a winning smile.

“Oh god,” said John in horror. “The vasectomy failed!?”

Little did John know, the vasectomy had never actually happened. Emma had paid off the doctor to claim he’d done the procedure when in actuality he had just sedated John, then given him a surgical cut and placed stitches in his groin for absolutely no reason.

Emma responded with a shrug and another smile. “When life gives you lemons…” she chimed

“Oh god,” John repeated. He looked like he wanted to bawl. Emma turned and grinned to herself as she left to get a snack.

Within a month, her fat mound had firmed a good deal, and even swelled slightly, as expected. Emma had utilized her heaviest dose of fertility drugs yet, and was expecting a good litter. She was almost afraid to see her OBGYN, but resolved to do so.

Her appointment was after she hit the second month mark. By then she looked as though she was nine months pregnant, and was happily waddling.

“Oh my goodness,” said her doctor following the scan. “Emma, you are quite pregnant. In fact, there are too many embryos to count. Proceeding with this is unquestionably inadvisable.”

Emma brushed the comments off. “Please. I’m a pro at this by now.” She winked.

The doctor looked terribly uneasy. “I cannot in good faith recommend—in fact, I would strongly disadvise you from—”

“Got it doc,” Emma cut the physician off as she pushed herself to her feet. She waddled off, arching her back, both to balance the mound and show off how large she was.

Emma looked the way she had when she was due with triplets by the third month. The mound was heavy, and her waddle more awkward than ever. By the fourth, her back was straining, and she looked as though she had a beach ball attached to her torso. She panted heavily, and poured sweat, drenching her clothing to tight transparency. She spent most of her time perched on ass, munching away, as her belly heaved in her lap, tight and pressurized.

By the fifth month, Emma was still spending a lot of time on the couch, hot and flushed. John had to help her stand, and walk for that matter. Her belly looked overinflated, and was approaching the size of a bolder. John got her an extra-wide walker, and adjusted it so that her mound could perch on the seat, and she could thus roll herself around. It was still exhausting.

By the sixth month, Emma was upgraded to an extra wide wheelchair, but it soon became unbalanced, and nearly tipped over at times from the weight in her front. John put bricks at the shelf on the bottom, but it hardly helped. Her large breasts heaved and squirted as her belly pushed up beneath them.

When she was seven months along, Emma was bed bound, squashed beneath her massive mound, as it heaved and throbbed extraordinarily. She had a medical team to adjust her continually, her belly full of twitching movements, as it grew in pressurized heaves that left her grunting. She was slowly filling out the king-sized mattress. John slept in a cot beside the bed, when he wasn’t busy in the nursery.

By the eighth month, the bed creaked from the weight of her body, her breasts were jammed beneath her chin, and she was full to butsting. Her doctor came by daily and begged to induce, but in a strained voice, Emma refused.

Nine months pregnant, Emma’s mound was jerking, heaving, stretching, pushing, continually pushing, having outspanned her arms and legs by then. She could barely manage to peek her head over her swollen form.

Her water broke violently, causing Emma to scream. It was so forceful, a baby immediately jammed its ways between her pelvis and crowned, practically popping out of her. Her body jerked and spasmed with violent contractions. And despite the pain and discomfort, Emma was in absolute bliss.

3.

The phone rang. Emma’s hand fumbled slightly as she reached for her cell on the night table. “Oh hi Jean,” she said breathlessly into the receiver. “Oh yes, we’re all…ngghhh…doing fine today.”

Jean was Emma’s first client at her new job.

Emma had taken employment as a mass surrogate, guaranteed to produce a litter of large, healthy babies—or so her advertisement had said. The gig was absolutely perfect for her. She couldn’t believe people would actually pay her for this. (She was entirely willing to do it for free!).

“Ohh…” Emma groaned as her gut clenched. She was sprawled back in bed against a mountain of pillows. It was, in fact, a new bed, double the size of the previous one, and much sturdier. “Yes…mmghh…everything’s fine,” Emma assured Jean.

Carrying other people’s children was kind of nice. Emma always felt well attended-to, and was often showered with rich foods and gifts.

Her husband found the career choice to be very odd, but he was mostly just relieved that the new children weren’t theirs. Sometimes he would give her a queer look, and Emma would wonder if he was starting to realize how utterly addicted she was to being pregnant.

Just as Emma ended the call, her stomach gave a roll and tensed, causing her to grunt out, face flushing.

Her groin was plump and puffy, bulging slightly in her strained panties. Her belly was a heaving mountain towering above her. During insemination, they had attempted for fifteen children, but she somehow ended up pregnant with twenty. Jean and her husband were overwhelmed but thrilled. Emma had just offered a strained smile, and as the months passed, her body stretched and strained as well. She was more fertile than she had anticipated, moreso than should have even been possible. More fertile than her body could handle, and yet she pushed on.

This pregnancy was lasting longer than the others, and she didn’t know why. It didn’t make sense. She had sailed passed the nine months mark, and was already four weeks overdue, with no end in sight. Her loins throbbed, clit bulging between her swollen lips, as though her birth canal would give at any moment. Her belly regularly tightened and tensed, sometimes visibly pushing outwards, as she reddened and squirmed beneath it.

She was pinned beneath the great mound, which was larger than she was, and seemed at risk of actually crushing her. Her legs were spread painfully wide to make room for it between them, the mound sinking heavily against the mattress though still pressing heavily into her torso. Sometimes she would try to entertain herself with a crossword puzzle, but that proved itself another dilemma as she struggled to maneuver the newspaper against the basketball-sized breasts perched on her mound, that rose with growth every day, pressing into her chin and rising toward her face. 

She had become a blimp of a woman, a baby-mound with a few feeble limbs attached. “Ohhh…” Emma groaned, as a baby jabbed at her, a protrusion rising on her massive expanse. She reached out, attempted to rub at the irritation, but her hand didn’t even come close. She sighed and slumped back.

She still couldn’t believe how good this felt, to be so completely full. She was practically bursting with offspring. She wondered if Jean would let her be a surrogate for her again. But then, it didn’t matter. She could always get other clients.

With a weary smile, Emma rubbed her hands up and down what she could reach of her bulging flanks. She would stay pregnant indefinitely if she could. Heh. She wondered what John would think of that.

4.

John had taken the kids and left a year or two (or three) ago. Emma wasn’t sure what she thought about that. It was hard to think, at all, when she lived in such a chronic state of bodily completion.

Her belly was taking up all of the room by then, beginning to press into the living room wall. She would have to get that removed. Her swollen body was no longer accommodated by a king sized-bed (or the two that John had shoved together in the days before he realized he was through with her). Instead a bed had been made for her on the floor, comprised of blankets, pillows, and soft, fluffy animal beds.

Emma couldn’t say how many pregnancies she had undergone, or whose offspring she was carrying anymore. Things had begun to overlap at some point, and she was actually able to get herself re-impregnated, resulting in babies with all different gestational ages.

The pleasure of growth was ceaseless, but the numerous litters confused her body to no end. In result, she had missed her last several due dates. In fact, Jean was still waiting for her children. Emma had to be years overdue.

Emma wasn’t certain that she even could give birth anymore, and yet she continued to take on jobs. A hopeful couple here, a desperate woman there—none were rejected. She allowed herself to be inseminated again and again, and in consequence, surged with the growth of each litter of babies. There were some clients who didn’t even seem interested in children. Women who stared at her with amorous eyes, as though they couldn’t believe she was real. Men who offered their contribution to her mass while explicitly stating that they had no interest in any offspring that came of it. Emma took them on as well.

She was certain that she would have to take down all the walls in the house in only another few months. Soon she probably wouldn’t even be able to fit inside the house anymore.

Emma’s belly was as high as it was wide, brushing into the ceiling by then. She squirmed feebly on the floor near its bottom, spread wide, and attached to it, hugging it continuously as it throbbed constantly and suffered frequent surges of growth prickling her skin with inches of expansion. It happened a few times every hour, and left her groaning in pleasure, her loins seeping.

It happened then. Emma arched and moaned as her belly heaved with tension that didn’t loosen, instead rising up, as though it was being pumped with air or fluid. She knew it was baby flesh, the infants packed, squirming within her. She could hardly believe how big they were getting. She couldn’t believe how big she was.

Her two breasts were massive globes of flesh, each the circumference of a car tire by then, while being nearly perfectly spherical. Her ass was perched on the floor behind her, two massive mounds of fat even larger than her tits, throbbing, growing, pushing out behind her.

Her groin was huge and plump, fatly engorged, as though in constant preparation for birthing, but that never seemed to occur.

Her legs widened and quavered as she experienced another electrifying surge of belly-growth. It felt so good she feared she would pass out.

The sound of the doorbell ringing brought her down from her pleasure, leaving her flushed and sweaty, faint but conscious. “Ngghh…” Her eyelids fluttered, but she managed to lift them. Thinking that one of her home care aides had come by, she gasped out, “Come in!”

The front door opened the closed, after which two people came to stand in her bedroom doorway, but they weren’t the aides.

It’s was Emma’s agent, Pam, and she had brought a ruggedly handsome man who was staring at Emma intently, his look of shock giving way to pure arousal. He bit his lip and his nostrils flare.

“I brought you a potential new client,” said Pam in a self-satisfied way. She threw Emma a grin and a wink.

Emma stared back at the man, her heart pounding. She unconsciously licked her lips. “Let’s talk numbers.”