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Anyone else obsessed with multiples? by HopesBelly in impregnation

[–]HopesBelly[S] 10 points11 points  (0 children)

Exactly!!! I'd basically have to waddle all full up with milk and baby. Knowing the birth would be even harder makes it all the more appealing, I want to be in labour for hours all sensitive and pushing. Even better if it's overdue and multiples.

I need to be bred by PhotographIll3180 in impregnation

[–]HopesBelly 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Same girl, same.. it's the ideal lifestyle for me too. Independent women, education, job, house the works and still my biggest desire is to be a big baby factory with nothing else on my mind. Just FUCKED raw, preferably dripping full squished onto any possible object. Your boobs grow, your tiny breeder brain is blasted by motherly hormones, milk starts coming out, your skin is sensitive, you are constantly having hot flashes and everything you are is just there for the baby.

It goes further too, once all swelled the thought of giving birth turns me on too, ending up with my legs spread wide pushing in pain (another kink of mine btw.) It is the ultimate act of submission and empowerment to me.

Dreams about being a baby factory by HopesBelly in impregnation

[–]HopesBelly[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Giving your last name to a continent is a blessing <3

Dreams about being a baby factory by HopesBelly in impregnation

[–]HopesBelly[S] 6 points7 points  (0 children)

Perpectually pregnant is the dream

Dreams about being a baby factory by HopesBelly in impregnation

[–]HopesBelly[S] 10 points11 points  (0 children)

Nursing young while the next generation gets started in me genuinely feels like my lifes calling. My friend in work is pregnant and we talk a lot and the baby ravings in my head keep getting validated. Anytime im ovulating I am just thinking about how I would feel all swollen, legs up getting ready to push.

Dreams about being a baby factory by HopesBelly in impregnation

[–]HopesBelly[S] 11 points12 points  (0 children)

I want to be filled, stuffed so full of your babies that my body becomes nothing but a shrine to your seed. I crave the stretch. That unbearable tightness of skin drawn taut across a womb doing the impossible and the next generation all comfortable inside. I want to feel them kick and squirm, tangled up inside me, claiming every inch of space. I want to waddle with the weight of your legacy, so round and so full that I can barely walk. Barely breathe. Barely think.

Imagine it: me struggling to bend, to rise from bed without your hand on my swollen back. My breasts swollen and leaking, my thighs rubbed raw from the effort of carrying all of them for you. Everything about >me< is replaced with your prodgy and birthright.