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I devour everything I can find on the pregnancy fetish forums, searching for aspects of this kink of mine I haven’t yet put to the lucid dreaming test. There are many, many facets yet to be explored, and I intend to immerse myself in the literature and porn involving any and all of them I find even potentially arousing. How else could I find out what exactly I’m really into?
I played around within the ever-popular labor aspect of pregnancy fetishism in my dream last night. I was already in the middle of fucking the imminent mother-to-be on her delivery bed when the dream started, her legs spread wide via the birth stirrups her feet rested in. This handy position provided easy penis-to-pussy access, as well as great placement of the full-term bump so that I could grip it comfortably with both hands as I humped away.
The setting was…odd. No staff were present, not a doctor, nurse or orderly appearing during our dalliance. There was still that wonderful tension, though, that comes from fucking in a public place where you could be discovered at any moment. Anyway, the only objects in the room were the bed my partner was on, a stethoscope tossed on the floor, and a wooden stool with a “Winter Grass” Yankee candle burning atop it. The walls were completely covered by an extraordinarily detailed mural of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Classic maternity ward decor, to put it concisely.
Fucking this mid-labor preggo was a highly arousing experience, and I’m now totally sold on this aspect of the fetish. The (pretty damned hot, to be frank) pregnancy symptoms of physical discomfort, loss of bodily control, and general cumbersomeness are at their absolute peaks during labor, a fitting climax to 9 months of steadily increasing (but never quite unmanageable) corporeal distress. The mid-sex contractions were the obvious high point of the show. Her belly got abruptly compact and absurdly hard, and the pressure her pussy was applying to my dick quadrupled as her vaginal muscles tightened. What phenomenal sensations!
Probably 5 or 6 minutes (which included 4 glorious contractions) into the pounding I gave her, she yelled “The baby’s coming! I’m cumming!” Not necessarily the hottest statements to have her make in direct succession, but I still think overall the dialogue in these dreams is improving in coherence, and I did appreciate the information she’d delivered. She came and I came immediately after as her pussy tightened around my dick once more.
Still moaning from her climax, her water broke while I was still inside her. A pretty absurd amount of clear, musky-scented liquid rushed out of her vagina and over my dick, pooling on the floor with my rather impressive load floating right in the center of the fluid. I pulled out amidst the flow of her water, which was unfortunate because she had another contraction just afterwards that I really would’ve liked to have been in there for. It was, apparently, an especially painful contraction, and the scream she let out jolted me out of the dream.
I got to experience a lot of aspects of labor, but not the actual birth. I’m okay with that, I think, as I really can’t find an erotic angle to that ultimate result of the process. Overall, an interesting and fun time. Exciting enough to become yet another wet dream!
I had a nightmare last night, which felt like something of a setback escort bursa given my recent hot streak of fantastic lucid escapades. My subconscious certainly knows of my predilection for dramatically low-hanging dropped bumps, and apparently decided that a preggo woman carrying dramatically high would be of similar interest to me. In the dream, I was that preggo woman. My belly was so far up my torso that it pushed my (not even particularly large!) breasts directly and forcefully into my throat, resulting in my choking.
I did not have nearly enough lucid control over the dream to prevent the resultant oxygen deprivation. I woke up pretty quickly, as dreaming of asphyxiating is liable to give you a bit of a fright. Unpleasant, but an interesting turn from my subconscious. That thing is just full of surprises.
I don’t know where the hell last night’s dream came from, but I found it pretty funny, so I’m not complaining. I was sitting in a plain-looking exam room, wearing a hospital-issue johnny gown and awaiting a doctor’s entrance. The 65-or-so-year-old doctor entered after a minute or two, shaking his head and displaying a very serious looking facial expression. “I simply don’t understand, Mr. Robinson,” he began. Not my last name, but I rolled with it. “Is it serious?” I asked. He nodded somberly. “I don’t know how, son, but…well…you’re pregnant.”
I smiled involuntarily. “What? Did you say I’m…pregnant?” I did a little exaggerated acting, had a bit of extra fun with this amusing situation. “That’s what all the tests say, and I ran the blood, urine, and fecal [?!?!?!] samples three times each, just to make sure of their findings. They were all in agreement. I don’t know how a man can get pregnant, I’ve never heard of such a thing never mind encountering it in a patient of my own, but…yes, it seems you are pregnant, Mr. Davis.” Again, not my actual name, but fine. “I’ll leave you to consider your options,” he said somberly (and mysteriously) as he exited the exam room. I was alone again and my dream abruptly ended.
Maybe this was my brain grappling with some of the gender identity issues that inevitably come with fantasies and dreams of male pregnancy? Was it trying to reconcile my mpreg sexual experiences with medical science in some way? I couldn’t tell you, but I sure did enjoy performing in this little two-man play. The doctor was so very concerned! Poor guy.
I’d been focusing on mpreg content for several days, and last night I finally had a lucid dream in which I was the pregnant man. Though out in public, I was rather inexplicably nude. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say I was 7 or 8 months into my pregnancy with a full round bump, also sporting tits that were clearly already filled-to-bursting with milk and fat deposits everywhere you’d expect on a filled-out pregnant body. The well-lit, pristinely clean bathroom I found myself in gave away the dream state, as did the fact that the line for the glory hole was military-straight and completely silent, all perverts politely awaiting their turns.
So, yeah, the glory hole. No one occupied what we might refer to as the “giving” side; there was just the line of guys waiting to receive services. I entered the empty giver’s stall and closed the door behind me, a nice hard cock poking through the hole the moment I latched the door behind me. It was officially time to görükle escort discover how I’d feel about male genitalia as a pregnant man, and it didn’t take any research beyond the first dick presented to me to solidify my understanding of my desires.
I was into cocks, simple as that. Sucking and stroking enthusiastically, I got the first guy off in just a few minutes, making sure to get every drop of his cum onto my hairy belly. Just before I started to rub it into my bump for that glorious semen-white sheen, I decided I could elicit another load or two (or three, four…) before I started rubbing the loads into myself. Could be pretty hot to let it build up before massaging myself with the cum of a bunch of dudes all at once.
I continued to suck and stroke, ending up with seven loads of translucent white pearls on my belly by the time I’d exhausted the line of deviants. There was too much cum on me for my skin to absorb it all, and it dripped down onto my legs and onto the floor as I attempted to get as much rubbed into me as my bump could handle. My opalescent glory was completely belly-encompassing by the time I was through, and I was too horny not to jerk myself off with my cum-covered hands before I stood up from my spot on the floor of the stall. I woke up upon my dream orgasm by shooting cum into my real-world underwear, naturally.
I’ve been using Tinder a decent amount lately to try to find some waking life hook-ups: ideally single pregnant ladies, though I’m not kidding myself into thinking I’ll easily find that particular type of unicorn. My usage of the app seeped into my dream life, as last night’s lucid dream took place entirely on my phone.
I consistently swiped right through a series of increasingly impressive pregnant specimens, immediately aware that this ridiculous fantasy was occurring solely in my subconscious. Nonetheless, the fantastical thought of these thirsty preggos waiting for random hook-ups to sate their raging hormonal libidos turned me on immensely, and I had an enthusiastic masturbation session the moment I woke up. Interesting, if rather minor, dream.
After immersing myself in the sub-fetish of lactation for over a week, I finally had a dream in which I got to experience the phenomenon for myself. This one was a doozy, truly over-the-top and almost fully detached from reality. The topless pregnant woman I found in my (roofless, for whatever opaque dream-reason) apartment had the largest breasts I’d ever seen by a very, very wide margin. She had a huge, full-term, maybe even full-term twinner bump, too, but each breast hanging to each side of the belly was bigger than the belly. Realism be damned, each breast dwarfed what could easily have been a ready-to-pop twinner bump. My subconscious is a madman, it would seem.
I stood motionless, eyes wide and completely unsure of what to do with this absurd physique. She came to me, heaving her right breast up with both hands and holding it so the nipple brushed against my lips. Up close, the areola was mind-blowingly wide, a solid foot in diameter. I hesitantly took the inch-long erect nipple into my mouth, and she started to squeeze the breast. A torrent of milk immediately filled my mouth, pouring down my throat and leaking liberally out of my lips. My dick hardened to a painful degree in moments, the breast milk apparently bursa escort bayan acting as a powerful aphrodisiac within this particular dream.
Deciding there was something more tantalizing than servicing my hard-on at the moment, I put off any directly orgasm-inducing moves for the time being and took her left breast in both my arms, trembling slightly as I just managed to lift it up by 3 or 4 inches. I’m not great at estimating weights, but I can’t imagine this single breast weighed less than 50 or 60 pounds. Ridiculous. I could only hold it up those few inches for a few seconds before I had to let it plop back down.
The other breast continued to shoot milk all over the general area of my mouth, and I noticed it was visibly shrinking as it was relieved of such a great volume of milk. It would’ve been physically impossible in the real world, but my throat just kept letting the thick stream of milk flow into my stomach without resistance or any sort of discomfort. The entire front of my body was soaked with the milk that wasn’t able to be contained by my mouth, a white puddle rapidly growing around my feet.
Shooting out such a volume of milk for this protracted period of time, the breast eventually withered like a deflated balloon, becoming almost flat and falling lifelessly over the front of her belly as the other breast remained bump-dwarfing and hung next to the bump. It was a strange sight, a pair of such mismatched titties. She was done shooting milk into me and I was done using a breast for weight training, and we both just kind of stood there awkwardly for a minute, my eyes glued to her ridiculous breasts and hers looking blankly into the distance.
Finally, I woke up, my dick still a raging hard-on. I’d completely forgotten to even try to take care of myself orgasmically within the dream! The boobs were just that distracting.
I had a dream of domestic bliss last night, and it made me yearn for the beautiful life I was so briefly shown as I slept. I don’t think I’d call it a lucid dream, really, as I felt like a passive, unseen observer throughout. And rather than experiencing one discrete scene, I witnessed a series of visions of a pretty young brunette lady, whom I knew instantly was my wife, engaging in various household activities while wearing an attractive variety of outfits.
Chores more than activities, in all honesty. It was one of the more sexist dreams I’ve conjured up, I’m a bit embarrassed to say. Definitely had that classic “barefoot and pregnant” vibe to it, a fantasy of a woman doing everything for you domestically while also carrying your damn child inside her body. Nonetheless, it packed an emotional wallop in how deeply I felt I want this life.
First, she was standing in the kitchen, smiling at me as she mixed cookie dough in a dish cradled in her right arm. She wore an apron around her waist and a white tank top, the majority of her pregnant belly visible between the two articles of clothing. Next, she ironed in pastel-striped shorts and a white t-shirt that showed a generous amount of underbelly cleavage. Then she leaned over to fill the washing machine, big belly hanging bare between a white bra and gray exercise shorts. Finally, she wore nothing but a pair of yellow gloves, lovely pregnant form facing me as she rested against the kitchen counter in front of the dishes she’d just cleaned.
Was that a vision of what I’m ultimately looking for in my life? It wasn’t ideal in terms of gender politics, I will readily grant you, but I wanted it to be real more than I’ve wanted anything in a very long time. Life goals revealed, I suppose…
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