Male, 30s, reposts, captions as inspiration strikes me. Into pregnant women and women getting pregnant and pretty much every part of the process, some wincest, too. None of the pictures belong to me, unless watermarked as such.
Open to pregnancy and breeding related chat. Session Id: 05eb4ac898b3c91fbbba0a2dbc80ff8c2c372f35403239d450bc0be7d3abebb03b
The next morning I put in for a transfer to the most remote branch our company had. I wanted to go someplace far away where no one would know or recognize us. The age gap would always draw comment however, but there was no helping that. The transfer was approved and we moved within the month.
I found an old house outside of town. It would need some work but it had plenty of room to grow and most importantly no neighbors. Days were busy with renovations and work, but the nights were tender and passionate as their bellies grew. The girls got more excited as our children grew within them, boasting about who had the bigger belly or which one was going to have daddy’s baby first. I’d likely gotten them pregnant within days of each other or even at the same time, on that first night where I’d seeded them both.
They’d shared with me, once their bellies were large and the pregnancy impossible to hide, that they’d actually stopped taking their birth control weeks before that fateful night, so it could have happened any of the times I’d ended up spilling sperm into them, which was plenty. They’d told me that this was their plan: to lie, cheat, steal or otherwise become pregnant by me and then force the divorce so I’d be all theirs and have to take care of them. They’d certainly succeeded.
When we were settled in we went to the doctor’s office to take care of the pre-natal care. The girls were non-committal about who the father was, just saying “some guy they’d met,” or a “sperm donor.” The nurse asked me if I was THE father at one point. All I said was that I was THEIR father. Odd looks again, but the nurse shrugged, checked a box, and moved on to other work.
For the births themselves, we opted to do home births with a midwife attending. We gave them the usual platitudes about wanting to be relaxed and comfortable, but it was really just to avoid more prying and questions.
We found someone to teach them the birthing classes. I’d already been through it before with their mother and knew that the preparation was all academic. I’m sure bouncing on the ball helped, but when it came time, they’d be facing the ring of fire on their own. I’d be there to support them, but the pain and glory of birth would be theirs to suffer through alone.
The moment finally came when the consequences came due. The girls were in the kitchen when the youngest one, let out a groan, her hand darting to her belly as her muscles tightened up. She started taking deep breaths, until the contraction relented. She’d been having them off and on for the last week or so. She leaned against the counter to catch her breath when another contraction began. Her womb was finished with its work and it was time to deliver. At the end of the next contraction, her water finally broke. They’d worn loose dresses since most of their clothes stopped fitting and they’d stopped wearing underwear the day they moved in with me, so it splashed down on the kitchen floor with a wet slop.
Her sister got her dried up and cleaned up the mess on the floor while I called the midwife to let her know that it was beginning. At this point, it could go fast or slow, so I got the birthing pool inflated and began filling it with warm water. We got her settled and into the pool as things began to take their course. The contractions were regular and strong. The mid-wife took an hour to get to the house, remote as we were.
By the time she arrived I could see the top of the baby’s head, just peeking through the slit between my little girl’s legs. I reached out my fingers and brushed them over the folds as another contraction caused her to cry out. Each contraction pushed the child into position and gradually, millimeter by millimeter through her birth canal. If the midwife thought anything of me having my hands between my daughter’s legs, she kept her thoughts to herself.
My daughter’s crotch slowly began to bulge outward as the head started to push out and stretch her folds tight like a balloon. The warm water is supposed to help, but I’m not sure if it did. She was wailing at this point, the contractions unrelenting as her anatomy was being rearranged to birth my seed. I held her hand and kissed her forehead and gave the usual platitudes and “encouragement.” She was doing well. She was almost there. Take deep breaths. Your body knows what to do, don’t force it.
I found my gaze drawn to her breasts, formerly ivory white, high and firm, now, shot through with blue veins and starting to sag ever so slightly with the weight of nutritious milk it was producing. Her nipples had been a shade of light brown when I had started suckling on them at the beginning of all this, when their bellies were still flat and their wombs were still empty, but now they were dark, her areola had expanded from the size of a 50-cent piece to larger than a silver dollar, the clean edges now splotchy and sensitive to the touch. They’d gained enough heft that they noticeably shifted around her chest as she moved and strained, trying to push out her baby.
When it happened, it happened quickly. With a long, drawn out wail and a gasping sob, the head popped out and the rest of the baby slid through. The water of the pool darkened with spots of blood and birthing fluids. The midwife whisked the baby out of the pool, gave it a quick toweling down and placed it at the new mother’s breast. The ropy grey umbilical cord draped over her still distended belly and led up into her now empty, gaping, birth canal. It would recover, I knew from experience, but it would never quite be as tight anymore.
The main event was over, the delivery of the placenta and the cutting of the cord felt anticlimactic after the events of the day. The new mother in the room was happy and relieved to be finished. The expectant mother suddenly seemed less enthusiastic.
Tired, we just tossed the pool outside to deal with later. We got the new mother and baby settled in the bedroom, my older daughter and I sat on the couch downstairs to give her some peace and quiet after the long day. I looked to the older daughter, quiet and subdued, pondering what was coming for her, sure as the dawn. I put my hand on her belly and we sat there quietly.
The female body was a wonderful thing. A beautiful moment of pleasure could cause a chemical cascade, causing her anatomy to alter and shift. With predictable steps, begin to produce a new life, and when the chemical clock ticked down, her body would expel that new life and begin to reset to do it again.
The other daughter went into labor later the next week and the birth also went well. I paid the midwife generously as a way to gently suggest that she not ask any questions and as a promise of future business. My daughter’s enthusiasm for heedless breeding was somewhat tempered, but my own libido wouldn’t be denied, their plan worked perfectly. It's now almost a year later and their fertile bellies are again growing large and round while the two little ones crawl around underfoot.
The Plan - Phase 11
The End and the Beginning
The next morning I put in for a transfer to the most remote branch our company had. I wanted to go someplace far away where no one would know or recognize us. The age gap would always draw comment however, but there was no helping that. The transfer was approved and we moved within the month.
I found an old house outside of town. It would need some work but it had plenty of room to grow and most importantly no neighbors. Days were busy with renovations and work, but the nights were tender and passionate as their bellies grew. The girls got more excited as our children grew within them, boasting about who had the bigger belly or which one was going to have daddy’s baby first. I’d likely gotten them pregnant within days of each other or even at the same time, on that first night where I’d seeded them both.
They’d shared with me, once their bellies were large and the pregnancy impossible to hide, that they’d actually stopped taking their birth control weeks before that fateful night, so it could have happened any of the times I’d ended up spilling sperm into them, which was plenty. They’d told me that this was their plan: to lie, cheat, steal or otherwise become pregnant by me and then force the divorce so I’d be all theirs and have to take care of them. They’d certainly succeeded.
When we were settled in we went to the doctor’s office to take care of the pre-natal care. The girls were non-committal about who the father was, just saying “some guy they’d met,” or a “sperm donor.” The nurse asked me if I was THE father at one point. All I said was that I was THEIR father. Odd looks again, but the nurse shrugged, checked a box, and moved on to other work.
For the births themselves, we opted to do home births with a midwife attending. We gave them the usual platitudes about wanting to be relaxed and comfortable, but it was really just to avoid more prying and questions.
We found someone to teach them the birthing classes. I’d already been through it before with their mother and knew that the preparation was all academic. I’m sure bouncing on the ball helped, but when it came time, they’d be facing the ring of fire on their own. I’d be there to support them, but the pain and glory of birth would be theirs to suffer through alone.
The moment finally came when the consequences came due. The girls were in the kitchen when the youngest one, let out a groan, her hand darting to her belly as her muscles tightened up. She started taking deep breaths, until the contraction relented. She’d been having them off and on for the last week or so. She leaned against the counter to catch her breath when another contraction began. Her womb was finished with its work and it was time to deliver. At the end of the next contraction, her water finally broke. They’d worn loose dresses since most of their clothes stopped fitting and they’d stopped wearing underwear the day they moved in with me, so it splashed down on the kitchen floor with a wet slop.
Her sister got her dried up and cleaned up the mess on the floor while I called the midwife to let her know that it was beginning. At this point, it could go fast or slow, so I got the birthing pool inflated and began filling it with warm water. We got her settled and into the pool as things began to take their course. The contractions were regular and strong. The mid-wife took an hour to get to the house, remote as we were.
By the time she arrived I could see the top of the baby’s head, just peeking through the slit between my little girl’s legs. I reached out my fingers and brushed them over the folds as another contraction caused her to cry out. Each contraction pushed the child into position and gradually, millimeter by millimeter through her birth canal. If the midwife thought anything of me having my hands between my daughter’s legs, she kept her thoughts to herself.
My daughter’s crotch slowly began to bulge outward as the head started to push out and stretch her folds tight like a balloon. The warm water is supposed to help, but I’m not sure if it did. She was wailing at this point, the contractions unrelenting as her anatomy was being rearranged to birth my seed. I held her hand and kissed her forehead and gave the usual platitudes and “encouragement.” She was doing well. She was almost there. Take deep breaths. Your body knows what to do, don’t force it.
I found my gaze drawn to her breasts, formerly ivory white, high and firm, now, shot through with blue veins and starting to sag ever so slightly with the weight of nutritious milk it was producing. Her nipples had been a shade of light brown when I had started suckling on them at the beginning of all this, when their bellies were still flat and their wombs were still empty, but now they were dark, her areola had expanded from the size of a 50-cent piece to larger than a silver dollar, the clean edges now splotchy and sensitive to the touch. They’d gained enough heft that they noticeably shifted around her chest as she moved and strained, trying to push out her baby.
When it happened, it happened quickly. With a long, drawn out wail and a gasping sob, the head popped out and the rest of the baby slid through. The water of the pool darkened with spots of blood and birthing fluids. The midwife whisked the baby out of the pool, gave it a quick toweling down and placed it at the new mother’s breast. The ropy grey umbilical cord draped over her still distended belly and led up into her now empty, gaping, birth canal. It would recover, I knew from experience, but it would never quite be as tight anymore.
The main event was over, the delivery of the placenta and the cutting of the cord felt anticlimactic after the events of the day. The new mother in the room was happy and relieved to be finished. The expectant mother suddenly seemed less enthusiastic.
Tired, we just tossed the pool outside to deal with later. We got the new mother and baby settled in the bedroom, my older daughter and I sat on the couch downstairs to give her some peace and quiet after the long day. I looked to the older daughter, quiet and subdued, pondering what was coming for her, sure as the dawn. I put my hand on her belly and we sat there quietly.
The female body was a wonderful thing. A beautiful moment of pleasure could cause a chemical cascade, causing her anatomy to alter and shift. With predictable steps, begin to produce a new life, and when the chemical clock ticked down, her body would expel that new life and begin to reset to do it again.
The other daughter went into labor later the next week and the birth also went well. I paid the midwife generously as a way to gently suggest that she not ask any questions and as a promise of future business. My daughter’s enthusiasm for heedless breeding was somewhat tempered, but my own libido wouldn’t be denied, their plan worked perfectly. It's now almost a year later and their fertile bellies are again growing large and round while the two little ones crawl around underfoot.
The house has many rooms left to fill.
Fin.
Previous Part: https://ultrabastardjones.bdsmlr.com/post/291630989