The Church
Finding myself sitting in a church pew was far from the most thrilling way for a lucid dream to start, and paying attention to what the preacher was spouting was far from my first instinct. With little else going on around me, though, I gave in and listened to the sermon:
“…and God wants more and more people in his army, more people following him into battle. We’ve been given the gift of procreation. We’re able to make more soldiers for God, all in His glorious image. It’s a gift, my friends. A gift from God. His directive in Genesis for us to ‘be fruitful and multiply’ is the most important thing God wants from us all. We need to find partners in Christ, start families, grow those families, and grow THIS family, our extended family under God. I’ll leave y’all with this, especially those of you inside your childbearing years: God needs you to have babies. You’re already fertile ground, now find your partners, plant those fruits, and multiply for Christ!”
The crowd clapped loudly and emitted countless hearty “Amen”s. About 20 people in my vicinity were eager to shake my hand and introduce themselves: this was my first time here, I guessed. I couldn’t help but notice that of the 10 or so women I met, 8 were visibly pregnant (the other 2 were clearly beyond that time in their lives). The pregnant congregants seemed to range from about 19 to 45, truly covering the childbearing-age gamut. This place really seemed to take its gospel of procreation seriously: I noticed the Sunday School students seemed to outnumber the adults by about 3:1.
The people I met all felt like dedicated apostles for their pastor’s message. Each and every one of these wholesome Christian expectant mothers insisted I touch their bumps, all of which were bared to me with no self-consciousness whatsoever.
A just-starting-to-show 11 weeks pregnant young first-timer pressed my hand directly into her newly-firmed uterus, awkwardly close to her crotch to my mind but innocently exciting to her. A middle-aged woman’s low-hanging bump was her 7th; she insisted I lift her pendulous, extensively stretch-marked belly to see how amazingly heavy a belly could get after so many gestations. A woman around 30 was absolutely ecstatic to be carrying triplets, her shiningly taut bump protruding so far that I witnessed it knock into at least 5 people.
The men largely held back and let the women do the proselytizing: my mind’s creation knew damn well that I’m most likely to take pregnant women seriously over any other people. If ever there was going to be a religious angle that might ensnare me, it was certainly the prospect of breeding as much as humanly possible, all the while celebrating the pregnant form. It didn’t work and wasn’t real, of course, but it was as close to wanting to be religious that I’ve ever been.
Texts
“I want your cock in my mouth.” That was a text from my wife, one of many I received görükle escort during my meeting with the partners of the law firm. It was difficult, to say the least, to keep my attention focused on the meeting. “I need you inside me…Pick a hole and fill it.” Jesus Christ. They were talking about some kind of contract with a client, probably? That was about the level of detail with which I could understand the proceedings in the room.
“My cunt is dripping wet for you and I need your cum to moisturize my bump. CUM HOME!” This wasn’t getting easier. Someone asked me a question, and I was extremely lucky to have over-prepared for this meeting, just having to read a prewritten paragraph aloud. The room’s attention was off me quickly, and the wife had moved away from words and into pics.
She sent me a picture of her tits, milk visibly dripping from her nipples. She knew damn well how wild that would drive me. The partner running the meeting was giving a long speech that palpably commanded all the attention in the room. Except for mine, because I’d just received a picture of my wife’s round baby bump and wet pussy, the latter spread open with two of her fingers. I was very lucky to be sitting where I could discreetly look at these things, or I probably would’ve just walked out of the important gathering.
I hadn’t been replying, though, so the wife kept escalating things. The meeting had been opened up for questions and new ideas: it was a moment at which I had the opportunity to make a real impression on the higher-ups with an incisive comment or query. Instead, I watched a video of my wife pretending to jerk off a big flesh colored dildo onto her gravid belly, shooting lotion onto herself at the climactic moment to simulate cum.
I said I had to deal with a family emergency and left to fuck her pregnant brains out, waking up pretty damn worked up.
Fruits the instant I touched the melon I felt an intense abdominal pain.
My bump had expanded, instantly taking on the size of a watermelon rather than an eggplant. I’d gone from 25 to 40+ weeks in a split second. The extra weight of it majorly threw off my balance, nearly causing me to topple forward. Pain having subsided after a minute or so, I marveled at my full-term size, roundness, and firmness. This was insanity, and I felt like I had to test the magic further.
I grabbed a plum and shrunk down to week 12 size, just barely starting to show. It wasn’t nearly as painful to shrink as it was to grow, but I couldn’t really go smaller than the plum, so I’d just have to grin and bear it. A cabbage took me to 30 weeks, a mango to 19, a head of romaine lettuce to 36.
It was a wild and sometimes painful ride. Are all these pregnant ladies in social media posts holding fetus-comparable produce to demonstrate the similarity, or is the produce creating the similarity? I was confused. And excited that I could so easily and rapidly manipulate bursa merkez escort my size, because that was fucking awesome and super hot.
Abstinence
My computer screen displayed what my camera was capturing: two inches above my head down to two inches above the start of my cleavage. I couldn’t allow the camera angle to display my swelling breasts, and I certainly couldn’t let it see my 33 week baby bump. Those aspects of me were not in keeping with the ideals of my YouTube channel. Lower than my belly, I certainly couldn’t reveal that I was gently masturbating to thoughts of my own hypocrisy.
“As Christians and just as generally responsible adults, we all have the willpower to keep our virginity. It’s not as hard as it sounds, folks! I look at saving myself for marriage as a sort of personal challenge to myself with what is sure to be a very fun and spiritual type of joy as its successful end. I want to be in love with the man with whom I lose my virginity, and I want to marry such a man I’d love that much. It’s pretty simple, honestly. Thanks for watching, y’all! Make sure you like and subscribe, and I’ll see you in a day or two!”
I got off just after stopping the recording, which was lucky because I came hard and loud. I post-climactically wondered who’d gotten me pregnant. Probably one of the glory hole guys.
Breaking
I was fucking a seriously pregnant woman and her moans suddenly changed from pleasure-indicating to audibly nervous. My cock had broken her water, and the amniotic fluid was pouring out of her as if from a fire hose. It quickly soaked the entirety of my legs and started pooling halfway to my ankles. Alarmed, I woke up frantically making sure I was dry.
I’d love to help induce labor through sex for someone someday, but I’m going to have to do some research just to make sure there isn’t anywhere near that much water to be broken.
Swim Class
Treading water amidst a sea of pregnant women in bathing suits, I noticed that I too was a woman in the family way. My hands went right for my bump, which was taut and very round, at least mid-third trimester but not yet dropped. Sneaking a grab of my tits on my hands’ way back, I learned my milk had most certainly come in. I was wearing a one-piece bathing suit, as were we all save for the two preggos in bikinis (God bless’em!). The prenatal class’s instructor kept things very light, mostly stretches (feet on the bottom of the pool) and some treading water.
Once everyone got out of the pool when the class ended, it was clear why it had been so low-impact: the least far along of the 11 of us looked to be a solid 6 months in. Preggos this advanced could hardly be pressed much further than 5 minutes of cardio.
After exiting the pool, we all headed to the locker room. I noticed 3 of my fellow students just toweled off, changed into pedestrian clothing, and took off. When bursa sınırsız escort I say I “noticed,” I mean that I stared intently at their nudity, mentally memorizing every square inch of their gravid bumps, hanging tits, and unkempt pubic regions. Anyway, the other 8 of us took off our suits, draped ourselves in towels, and hit the showers.
It being my own lucid dream, it seemed I was able to will my fellow preggos not to notice or care about my constant staring at their nude bodies. Which was good, because I really couldn’t help it. Way too many fantastic wet pregnant physiques surrounded me. There was a perfect tear drop on display, two bumps that had precipitously dropped, two major torpedos. A real cornucopia was on display just for me. Tits ranged from miraculously still perky to hanging down to either side of bumps. Everyone had pubic hair, a few of us clearly having had trimming assistance a lot more recently than the rest. Great butts and hips abounded: curvy flesh was everywhere, and I was glad I wasn’t a man, as my arousal was far easier to hide as a woman (especially with moisture dripping all over the lot o us…).
It was just a real feast for a pregnancy fetishist, every great aspect of pregnancy on view in all their varieties. Great fucking dream.
Fertility God
I was 15 fucking feet tall. I had a bump the size of one of those inflatable hamster-type balls that are made for human use, which is to say a full-grown adult could’ve comfortably hung out in there. I didn’t have any idea how many babies I was carrying, but I couldn’t imagine it was less than a dozen (and even then they’d all have to be pretty huge). I had tits commensurate to my bump, like two sagging milk-filled medicine balls. I had a cock 18 inches flaccid, a solid 3 feet erect. I was as hirsute as Bigfoot, dark hair fully obscuring more modest pregnancy features like darkened nipples and a popped navel.
I was a goddamned fertility god, seated naked in a golden throne befitting my status.
I was in a clearing deep in the jungle, surrounded by worshipful attendants, all of whom were heavily pregnant and naked, both female and male. There was a scaffolding system up the side of my throne to allow my servants access to the whole of my massive physique. Buckets of warm oils were poured onto my belly, half a dozen people required to rub it all in. My milk was near-constantly collected, my breasts providing the entirety of the sustenance needed to support this little society.
Two or three people at a time worked my cock, breaks only happening during my superhumanly short refractory periods; my voluminous cum was used in many of their rituals, rubbed liberally all over their bumps and genitals. Most of their rituals involved their bumps, chanting, my bump, and a great deal of fluids. There was a fully-developed religion based solely on my permanently pregnant form.
If I’ve learned anything about or gained any skills related to lucid dreaming over all this time, going forward I will be spending as many nights as I possibly can on my throne, sporting a bump, cock, and tits of unimaginable power. I have found my own personal heaven.
* * * * *
The End.