#mpregstory

[mpregtales]

Cuddles

With my belly so large and heavy, I can feel every ounce of its weight as I lay down, but the moment his arms wrap around me, all that tension seems to melt away. His hand rests on the curve of my belly, and I can feel the gentle pressure as he cradles the life growing inside me. There’s a sense of security in the way he holds me—like he’s not just supporting my body, but everything we’ve built together. Feeling his chest against my back, his warmth surrounding me, it’s like we’re sharing the experience of this pregnancy together. It’s intimate, grounding, and a reminder of the love that’s brought us to this moment. Every time he pulls me close, I feel safe, loved, and deeply connected to both him and the babies.

[fearfulfertility]

CONFIDENTIAL LOGISTICS REPORT

DRC, Planning & Evaluation Office, Logistics & Infrastructure Division

Date: [REDACTED]

To: Director [REDACTED]

From: Administrator [REDACTED], Logistics & Infrastructure Division

Subject: Facility Expansion: New Paternity Compound Construction

Executive Summary

This report outlines the ongoing expansion of DRC-operated paternity compounds across several strategic locations nationwide. In response to increasing insemination rates and projected surrogacy demands, we have begun constructing new high-capacity compounds to accommodate more surrogates. These expansions will enable the DRC to streamline the conscription process, optimize surrogacy cycles, and ensure our ability to meet the population sustainability targets outlined for the next fiscal period.

The new compounds focus on enhanced security, specialized medical equipment, and increased surrogacy capacity.

I. Facility Expansion Overview

Strategic Locations and Site Selection

To ensure regional coverage and minimize travel time to detain and inseminated surrogates, the DRC has approved the construction of [REDACTED] new paternity compounds in FEMA Zones 4, 6, 7, and 8. These facilities will be situated in [REDACTED] areas, selected for their proximity to population centers, existing transport infrastructure, and relative isolation, ensuring operational security.

Zone 4: Atlanta, GA

Zone 6: Houston, TX

Zone 7: Omaha, NE

Zone 8: Denver, CO

Each compound is designed to accommodate [REDACTED] surrogates at any given time, with the ability to scale up to [REDACTED] in emergencies. Construction is scheduled for completion within the next [REDACTED] months, with the first inspections set to begin by [REDACTED] this year.

Paternity Compound Design Features:

High-Capacity Paternity Wards: Each compound contains specialized wards designed to manage surrogates carrying up to sedecatuplets (16), with private rooms for those at risk of premature labor.

Enhanced Monitoring Systems: Advanced surveillance and biometric monitoring ensure constant oversight and swift response to emergencies.

Security Enhancements: Reinforced containment protocols, secure access points, and patrol routes have been established to prevent unauthorized access and ensure surrogate compliance.

II. Specialized Equipment and Medical Support

Given the unique demands and expectations placed on surrogates, each paternity compound will be equipped with advanced medical infrastructure to ensure the safety and effective management of extreme weight gain, reduced mobility, and increased risks of organ stress.

Key Equipment and Infrastructure:

Reinforced Support Beds: Traditional hospital beds have proven insufficient for surrogates carrying high multiples, whose pregnancies can lead to total weight gains exceeding 200 lbs. Each ward will feature reinforced, adjustable support beds capable of accommodating extreme weights. These beds will be equipped with pressure-relief systems to minimize discomfort and reduce the risk of bedsores for near-immobile surrogates.

“I hate that I’m here! But… all I have is this bed! I can’t move, I can’t breathe half the time, but at least I have a fucking memory foam mattress!” - Surrogate S118-176-J, 27 days pregnant with decatuplets (10)

Automated Feeding & Hydration Systems: Automated systems will ensure continuous nutrition and hydration to support surrogates with reduced mobility. Given the caloric intake requirements for such pregnancies, these systems will monitor and adjust fluid and nutrient delivery, reducing the need for frequent staff intervention.

“I’m basically just a machine now, aren’t I? They hook me up, pump me full of these stupid protein shakes, and keep me breathing so I can keep carrying these bowling ball-sized kids. It’s disgusting!” - Surrogate S117-138-N, 18 days pregnant with quattuordecatuplets (14)

Custom Mobility Aids: Custom-designed lift systems and mobility aids will be integrated into each ward to facilitate the movement of surrogates. These devices will allow for safe repositioning, transfers to specialized birthing chairs, and support during transport.

“I don’t know how they expect us to move with this much weight on us. Even standing feels like my legs are going to snap. Those lifts? They’re humiliating... but without them, I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed at all.” - Surrogate S120-494-P, 30 days into a sedecatuplets (16) pregnancy

Advanced Fetal Monitoring: Each compound will have real-time ultrasound and biometric monitoring stations to track fetal development. Given the accelerated gestational period, these systems will continuously update fetal positioning, size, and viability, enabling rapid response to complications.

"It’s terrifying. Knowing how big they are, how many there are… they’re not coming out normal. When I finally pop them all out, they’ll get better care than I ever did!" - Surrogate S119-667-N, 22 days pregnant with hendecatuplets (14)

Dedicated Obstetrics & Neonatal Care Units: Immediate neonatal care is essential, and each compound will include state-of-the-art neonatal intensive care units (NICUs) to support newborns. Advanced incubators and respiratory support systems will ensure the survival of even the most premature babies.

"They always tell me how important it is to ensure the babies survive, even if I don’t. I get it, I do… but knowing there’s a whole team of people ready to take over the second I’m gone? It’s like they’ve already decided how this ends." - Surrogate S117-856-M, 8 days pregnant with tridecatuplets (13)

Pain Management and Sedation Systems: Surrogates will experience extreme discomfort and physical strain. Each paternity ward will be equipped with integrated IV pain management systems, allowing for both localized and systemic pain relief. Sedation protocols can be initiated remotely if a surrogate's distress becomes vocal, ensuring they can not incite civil disorder.

“I’m so big I can’t even see my dick, which is now buried under all these babies and fat. I’d be lying if I said the meds didn't help to blitz me out of my mind... a caring them I'm a gigantic incubator now.” - Surrogate S119-461-L, 11 days pregnant with dodecatuplets (12)

Future Equipment Developments: Research teams are exploring next-generation mobility aids, including exoskeleton support harnesses, to provide mobility assistance for late-term surrogates. These innovations aim to improve surrogate survival to deliver full-term pregnancies. Once available, prototypes will be tested in select compounds.

III. Expansion Strategy: Future Projections and Scaling

Projected Surrogacy Demand: With the increase in insemination rates, each compound is expected to handle up to [REDACTED] inseminations per month once fully operational. This translates to a need for approximately [REDACTED] newborns annually to meet population sustainability targets. Our current projections indicate that these numbers are achievable.

IV. Conclusion and Recommendations

The successful construction and operation of these new paternity compounds are critical to effectively maintaining the DRC’s ability to enforce surrogacy mandates. Our specialized equipment and infrastructure improvements will ensure we meet demands while preserving control over our surrogate.

Report submitted by: Administrator [REDACTED], Logistics & Infrastructure Division

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To: Administrator [REDACTED], Logistics & Infrastructure Division

From: Director [REDACTED], DRC

Subject: RE: Facility Expansion: New Paternity Compound Construction

Dear Mr. [REDACTED],

I’ve reviewed the latest progress report on the new Paternity Compounds, and I must commend your team on the impressive strides made thus far, even with the ambitious timeline we’ve set.

I have been particularly interested in the improvements to our birthing suites. As you are well aware, managing multiple pregnancies presents unique challenges.

We are entering a critical phase. I want to emphasize that these upcoming births will set a precedent for all future operations. The successful use of these new facilities will allow us to demonstrate that our methods ensure the next generation's survival and that we can handle the demands without sacrificing efficiency or outcomes.

I look forward to seeing the first results when the initial surrogates reach full term and the birthing suites are fully operational.

Keep up the excellent work, and do not hesitate to reach out if additional resources or support are needed to ensure success.

Regards, Director [REDACTED]

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Click Here to return to DRC Report Archives

[weiner-does-preg]

step on an endangered species egg and get curse of repopulating it

Oops! At least he can journal his new findings…

[pupboy666]

Look at how big and round you made my belly Master. It’s so round and tight you can see your cubs moving around inside. It won’t be long before I’m giving birth to your litter.

[michaelmanley]

True Accounts of a Pregnant Man: Shopping (Story)

A bell tinkles faintly above the doorframe as I step into the cozy little boutique. My cheeks are rosy red and numb from the faint autumnal chill in the air outside, so the warmth of the shop causes them to tingle slightly. My nose twitches, and I inhale deeply through my nostrils, noting the faintest hint of vanilla mingling with pine wafting through the air.

“Coming!” a woman’s voice calls from somewhere in the back. Waiting for her to re-emerge, I wipe my boots awkwardly on the thatched doormat, drying off the dampness on their soles from the cold November rain. Beginning to unwind my scarf, I cast my gaze around the quaint little boutique, taking in the scenery noting the evergreen boughs and festive garland already adorning the eaves. Not even Thanksgiving, and this place had already broken out the Christmas decorations. I roll my eyes. Well, that explained the smell, at least.

The sound of labored, sluggish footfalls approaching snaps me out of my reprieve. The shopkeeper must have found whatever she was looking for in the back. I suck in a nervous breath, trying to prepare myself for the horrifically awkward social interaction that is assuredly about to transpire.

Stepping through the stockroom door with a cardboard box tucked under her arm, the ruddy-faced shopkeeper gives me a tiny smile through pursed lips. Given the nature of this specialty boutique and the thing it specializes in, she’s younger than I thought she would be. Early thirties, by the looks of things, but I’ve never been any good at guessing age. Her sandy-blonde curls are done up in a messy bun, the frames of her readers slipping down the bridge of her nose. She’s wearing a stretchy pair of black leggings, and for warmth, a gray cashmere cardigan bundled up tightly over the rather significant protrusion of her expectant midriff. A shorter woman (I stood at only five foot eight, and her head came up to about my shoulder), she was all belly, and carried her bump in the shape of an uncomfortably engorged pregnant orb of pure baby sitting heavily in her stomach.

“Sorry about the wait, sir,” the shopkeep says, and I note the shallowness of her breathing, a symptom of her overwhelming fullness. She opens the box and pulls out a series of identical cream-colored sweaters in various baggy sizes, preparing to restock the shelves while she talks. “Hard for me to get around these days!”

“It’s alright,” I say. “Trust me, I understand.”

“So, what can I do for you?” she asks brightly as she waddles over to one of the plastic belly-sporting mannequins and adorns it with a comfortable looking cable-knit. “Shopping for a special someone this holiday season?”

I grimace, steeling myself internally. “No,” I say. “I’m shopping for myself.”

The shopkeeper freezes, and slowly turns to look at me with incredulity. Wearily, I shrug off my baggy winter coat, revealing the form that had been concealed within its folds before. There is no mistaking the subtle but unflinchingly firm distention of my abdomen, the way my stomach bows outward obviously. My favorite turtleneck can no longer stretch far enough to cover my belly, and every time I try to tug it back over the hump of my baby bump, it simply slides back up, so I’ve simply given up on fighting it. A tantalizing sliver of pale pregnant tummy is clearly visible in the seam between my sweater and a too-snug pair of jeans which I’ve similarly given up on buttoning.

The shopkeeper can’t help it— she gasps, loudly, then claps a hand over her mouth in shame. She takes a half-step backwards, circling around me slowly as she sizes up my fertile form, unable to make sense of what her eyes are seeing.

“Take a picture,” I say, sarcastically. “It’ll last longer.”

I delicately lift the hem of my turtleneck a few inches further, giving her an uninterrupted view of my pregnant belly. The shopkeep, initially having stumbled away in shock, is overcome by curiosity, and magnetized by the sight of bare boy belly, creeps closer to where I stand.

“Can I feel it?” she says, but her trembling palms are already pressed to the subtle swell of my bump. I can feel them poking and prodding curiously, sweeping over the smooth, rounded curve of my belly, insatiable in their desire to know more, to feel the miracle for herself firsthand.

“Go ahead,” I say. “At least you asked for permission after you touched it. Most women don’t ask for permission at all.”

“I’m so sorry,” she says, and her hands withdraw as she barks out a laugh in disbelief. “I always complain about strangers touching my belly without consent, and well— here I go, giving my gender a bad name. At least I’m not the first woman to make a hypocrite of herself, though, I take it?”

“You are not,” I confirm, my voice twinged with irony. “I don’t get a whole lot of strange men feeling me up without warning, at least. They’re mostly repulsed by me on sight. But women can’t keep their hands off me now. I guess there’s something about this belly they find irresistible.”

“Well, that doesn’t seem like such a bad deal for a strapping, handsome young man like you!” the shopkeep teases. “Come on, you must be at least a little flattered by all that attention!”

“Not really,” I sigh. “Are you flattered when strangers touch your tummy without warning? I guess getting pregnant means I’m public property now.”

The shopkeep’s mouth opens then closes again, sympathy and understanding dawning in her eyes. The mystery and romance of my miraculous maternity has slowly faded as she realizes that the reality of my life as a pregnant man is much akin to her own, our struggles and objectification mirrored (except obviously, the discrimination I faced was more severe by several orders of magnitude).. “Ah. Say no more. Trust me… I know the feeling.”

“Thank you,” I say with a weary smile. “I’m glad you understand.”

“My name’s Brittany,” the shopkeep offers, extending her hand for a cordial shake by way of apology. “Thirty-one weeks today.”

“Michael,” I reply. “But only my mom calls me that. You can just call me Mike. I’m eighteen weeks along.”

“Only eighteen?” Brittany gapes. “But you’re so… big! Are you carrying twins?”

I give her another stare, and she laughs, remembering herself. “Oh. Right. There I go again, saying something I’d hate to hear myself in this state now that the shoe’s on the other foot. How sexist of me. This must happen to you a lot, huh?”

“It does indeed,” I confirm. “And it’s just the one. My family has a history of carrying big.”

“So,” Brittany says, trying to plow forward in the conversation and push past any awkwardness, “Mike. You… need a new wardrobe, I assume?”

“Yes please,” I affirm eagerly.

“Nothing fits anymore, huh?” she teases, gesturing to her own stomach. “We’ve all been there.”

“It’s not just my gut,” I explain. “The entire shape of my body is changing, too. My jeans still fit me fine length-wise, but they’re starting to get snug in the waist as my hips widen. And my chest… it….”

“Relax,” Brittany says with a smile. “Let’s just take it one step at a time. Here, why don’t we step into one of the changing rooms, and I’ll take your measurements first, okay?”

“Okay,” I agree, fidgeting with my scarf anxiously. Brittany waddles towards the back of her maternity boutique, and I waddle after her. My nose twitches again as I sniff the air. Now that we’ve moved away from the faux trees in the window display, the scent of artificial pine is ebbing, and another aroma has taken its place.

“Do you have a candle lit or something?” I ask. “I thought I smelled it before, but that vanilla odor is pretty thick over here.”

“You really are pregnant,” she breathes in awe. “I wanted something gentle but fairly festive that wouldn’t bother my pregnant patrons or me. Your sense of smell might be unusually sensitive, though. Do you want me to put it out?”

“No,” I say. “It’s fine.”

“With a nose like that, morning sickness must have been a bitch for you, huh?” Brittany says, clicking her tongue sympathetically.

I shudder, recoiling with revulsion at the unpleasant memories from the not-too-distant past, and say nothing more.

Fishing around in the pockets of her cardigan, Brittany pulls out a brass key, and unlocks one of the dressing rooms. Grabbing a stool and a tape measure, she waddles in after me and shuts the door behind her.

“Alright!” Brittany says. “If you just pop those clothes off, we can get started with your sizing!”

“Um,” I mumble, rubbing my arm sheepishly. “Do I really need to?”

“Well, with your clothes in the way, I won’t be able to get any accurate measurements,” Brittany explains. “Why? Is that a problem? If you’re uncomfortable— wait.”

Brittany’s brow furrows, as if mulling something over. I can already tell where this is headed.

“Are you—“ she starts.

“I’m not trans, no,” I explain, wincing apologetically. “I’m a cis man. If that makes taking my measurements uncomfortable for you at all, I can—”

“No, no, not at all!” Brittany assures me with a cheeky grin. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. How do you think I wound up like this, hmm?”

I let out the breath I had been holding, silently grateful that the shopkeeper hadn’t thought to ask how I myself wound up in my current state, in light of this new information.

“Come to think of it… how did YOU wind up like this?” Brittany presses.

I facepalm. She does, too.

“Oh my God,” Brittany groans. “Today is not my day. Blame it on the pregnancy brain. I am so sorry, sir.”

“It’s fine,” I groan back, the shopkeeper’s constant apologizing for her verbal sexual harassment beginning to wear thin. “Like I said, I’m used to it.”

“You don’t have to tell me, by the way, if you don’t want to,” Brittany offers, but her face is burning bright red with curiosity, so I decide to indulge her.

“Medical experiment,” I say, by way of explanation. “Fertility trial. They’re running it over at the university. I’m carrying some donor’s eggs in an artificial womb conjoined to my prostate. They tell me the data I’ve given them has the potential to progress our understanding of gender-affirming care and human biology by entire centuries. It’s being kept tightly under wraps until they confirm both fetal viability and my capacity to carry to term.”

“That’s so noble of you. I could never do what you’re doing, Mike,” Brittany says. “You have it so much harder than me. No woman has any right to complain to you about pregnancy ever again. Or childbirth, for that matter.”

“Yes, well,” I quip dryly, “knowing that makes it all worthwhile.”

Emboldened by the knowledge that this conversation could not get any more awkward or uncomfortable than it currently is, I wiggle out of my turtleneck, having psyched myself up to begin the measuring process. The air on my fully exposed and highly sensitive nipples causes them to stiffen and stand on end, and I try not to think about how puffy my pecs are, how their faintly sagging shape is beginning to appear more and more breast-like.

“You’re so smooth,” Brittany marvels, taking in the sight of my totally taut and silky smooth stomach as I stumble my way out of my jeans, grunting as I peel them off my hips..

“I had to shave all my chest hair,” I blurt defensively. “The ultrasounds couldn’t get a good reading with it in the way of the signal.”

“Not just there,” Brittany says, her eyes flicking up and down as she methodically unwinds her measuring tape. “Everywhere.”

I nod. My legs and arms are shaved clean, too, which was certainly unusual for a man, but certainly the lest unusual thing about me. “Well, it felt weird being hairless only on my tummy. And besides, I was never crazy about it, all the hair on my arms and legs. This feels… less weird to me. It sounds crazy, but it makes me feel more pregnant in a way. Before, with all that hair covering my body, I could pretend I was just bloated or putting on weight, but with no fuzz covering my curves, it’s harder to deny.”

“I see. Still, all that hedge-trimming must take you forever,” Brittany muses sympathetically. “I hope you’re not getting too accustomed to having nice smooth legs right now. Once your bump gets big enough to start getting in the way of everything, you’ll give up on that part of your routine pretty quickly.”

“I still don’t know how I’m supposed to shave my happy trail for the doctors once this gut sticks out too far for me to see the underside of my bump,” I complain. “Just thinking about trying something that scary with a razor fully blind…”

“I can’t imagine,” the saleswoman gasps. “I’d be so terrified I would have nicked the baby somehow if I scraped my belly with the blade too hard! Don’t you ever worry about that?”

“All the time,” I confess. “I know it’s silly, and that my womb is very well protected in there, but this isn’t a normal pregnant person problem. It takes me forever to shower and shave.”

“You poor thing,” Brittany sighs. “Like I said, I could never deal with everything you’re going through.”

“Well, I’m lucky I have such a good support system,” I say. “And once I get to that size, I’m sure my mom will help me shave my stomach.”

“You live with your mom?” Brittany asks, and I nod.

“I moved back home once I found out the procedure took. I was previously enrolled in the university, but I’m taking an impromptu gap year now for obvious reasons.”

“Well, that’s good!” Brittany offers. “She’s been through this before with you, after all. I’m sure she takes excellent care of you.”

“She could certainly do better,” I grouse. “When I told her I was beginning to outgrow my old wardrobe, she insisted I try on all her old maternity clothes from when she was pregnant with me. That’s why I wound up coming here.”

“Oh, that sounds like a priceless memory!” Brittany crows. “Did she take any pictures for the photo album?”

“Several,” I grumble. “Of all the women who need to learn boundaries when it comes to my body, she’s by far the worst offender.”

“Well, she might tease you now, but I’m sure she’ll do the right thing and spoil you rotten when the going gets tough,” Brittany reassures me.

“She’d better,” I huff. “I deserve nothing less. After all, it’s not like this is just a walk in the park for me and baby. I’m doing a lot of hard work here, you know. There was a slim chance the procedure would even work at all, and now that I’m actually pregnant, the risks have decreased significantly, but it’s still super dangerous…”

An unsettling quiet descends upon the changing room, leaving much unsaid.

“Do you think it’s silly?” I ask, after a beat. “That I worry about stuff like that.”

“Not at all!” Brittany readily assures me. “That’s just your paternal instincts kicking in. I’m sure you’re going to be a great daddy.”

I smile faintly, feeling a fluttering in my chest. Moments later, I realize the feeling isn’t just metaphorical, and that the surface of my stomach has begun to shift slightly.

“Oh!” I whimper. “She’s moving…”

Brittany’s eyes shimmer with excitement as she tentatively touches her fingertips to the side of my gravid gut, smiling in awe as she feels the faint stirring.

“She?” Brittany asks to clarify, and I nod excitedly, head bobbing up and down.

“That’s my girl,” I say, and Brittany giggles.

“I figured as much” she replies sagely. “Even if it wasn’t obvious from the way you’re carrying her, you give off huge girldad vibes. Call it mother’s intuition.”

“Do you think I’ll develop any of that?” I tease, and she snickers as she starts to wrap her tape measure snugly around the width of my waist.

“Oh, I’m sure you will, Mike. Will you… get to keep her?”

“I’m going to keep her,” I say, firmly. “I don’t care what the university lab says about it.”

“That’s sweet,” Brittany hums, jotting down a few numbers on a little notepad. “I’m sure you and your husband will make a wonderful family.”

“Oh, I don’t have a partner. And my sexuality is none of your business, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't pry,” I clarify, but she just sort of nods absentmindedly and pays me no mind while she tugs on the yellow cloth tape. I know she has tuned me out. Even in spite of my sexuality, women seem to find me completely non-threatening in this state. It is as if I am just one of the girls to them now, my pregnancy having disqualified me as a man in their eyes. Maybe that’s why they’re all so touchy-feely, despite how many times I try to tell them the intense discomfort I feel from their prolonged and persistent physical contact.

“Mhm,” Brittany says absentmindedly as she pokes my hips, admiring the way her finger sinks in slightly. “Thirty-six men’s in the waist. I wonder if I have anything that translates to that size…”

“I was a thirty-two eighteen weeks ago,” I say quietly. “And please do stop touching me like that. It’s demeaning.”

“Well, you’d be lucky if you stay in the forties, at that rate,” Brittany jokes, ignoring me. “Word to the wise, Mike. Stretchy pants are your new best friend. Ooh, and look at this! Your man-boobs are almost big enough to fit into a B-cup! I guess you’ll probably want to order a bra, too, right?”

“What would be wrong with that?” I say, crossing my arms protectively over my budding breasts. “I’m going to need the extra support due to all the growing and changing my body is doing. A bra isn’t just worn to be ogled, you know.”

“Yeah, but come on,” Brittany teases, her finger darting out to flick my nipple. “Don’t you think that’s a little girly?”

“Brittany,” I say bluntly. “Stop touching my tits.”

Brittany squeaks and stumbles backwards, bumping up against the dressing room door. I roll my eyes, beginning to grow frustrated with her constant sexism. Perhaps my hormones had me running a bit hot, but there was only so much a man could take.

“In the future,” I remind her, “it might be wise to check your privilege. Pregnant men are much more likely to be ogled and sexually harassed by the female population based on their state of dress, as you yourself just clearly demonstrated. Additionally, I find your tone towards me to be patronizing— pregnant men also deal with a greater degree of mammary growth than their female counterparts, due to their need to develop the tissue from scratch, so the fact that you believe such articles of clothing are coded solely to your gender is deeply misandrist. After I went out of my way to try and show you some grace since this was clearly your first time meeting a pregnant man, the fact that you willfully violated my own boundaries in turn is deeply disappointing to me.”

“Of course,” Brittany meekly ekes out. “Right. Any objectification I face as a woman is nothing compared to the discrimination and hardship you face as a pregnant man. I wasn’t thinking. I apologize.”

“That’s quite alright,” I say to the shopkeeper. “I’d like a little privacy now, please. Why don’t you fetch me something to try on, ma’am? I’m sure your options are limited given my unique proportions, but I’ll gladly take anything you’ve got that fits while you special order something in for me.”

“Of course, sir,” Brittany says, her demeanor reverting to professional rather than personable as she bows her head in shame. “I’ll try to find something that suits your style and needs.”

“Thank you,” I say politely but curtly. “That will be all.”

The shopkeeper takes her leave, and I shut the door behind me. Exhaling sharply in frustration, I give my pregnant tummy a little pat, feeling my unborn daughter squirm slightly from my touch, as if pleased by her daddy’s protectiveness. Turning towards the dressing room mirror, I pause as I drink in the sight of my fully exposed body, still somewhat foreign to me.

My frame is undeniably fertile, from the prominent protrusion of my gravid gut and the engorged state of my steadily-forming tits to the width of my hips and the arch of my back. Every inch of me looks soft, curvaceous, and plush, a far cry from the limber, lithe, and skinny-framed man I was before. But these are far from the only changes. My face seems fuller, my skin seems dewier, my cheeks rosier, exuding that ephemeral pregnancy glow. My long, curly strands of brunette hair, which were already thick and luxuriant, have become even healthier and heartier, framing my face in a flattering fashion. Usually, I kept it at a medium length, but with its tendency to grow faster and faster of late, I had simply given up, and now it neatly reached down to frame my face flatteringly. And though my sharp, angular jawline and Adam’s apple were undeniably masculine, with a little makeup and a shift in presentation, I could effortlessly pass as feminine. It’s not hard to see why my burgeoning bump and body are subject to so much attention.

I must admit, I look quite good.

A knock sounds at the door, followed by the sound of someone nervously clearing their throat.

“If you have clothes for me, please kindly place them over top of the changing room door,” I say to Brittany, having had quite enough of my body being visually violated for one day.

“Of course,” Brittany says apologetically. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, sir. I tried my hardest to find something that matched your personal style and specifications to the letter, since I knew it would be terribly inconvenient for you to have to change your look just on account of this pregnancy. I was able to find something that should hopefully have enough stretch to accommodate your bump, but as far as pants go… none of the maternity jeans or yoga pants I currently have in stock are wide enough for you. Not that that’s a bad thing! Don’t worry, though, I’ve already placed an order for a new shipment. In the meantime, this is the best I can do.”

Brittany passes me the bundle of clothes over top of the changing room door. Unfurling it, I find a stretchy charcoal gray turtleneck dress, made with a soft but sufficiently hardy material to withstand the winter winds while still allowing enough give for my body to continue growing. Paired with it are some semi-translucent black tights, along with a very practical beige bra for my blossoming bust. A new pair of more fashionable black boots and a long black overcoat with a women’s waist cut complete the look.

“No pants in my size?” I say wryly. “Your boutique could stand to be more accessible and welcoming to all body types.”

“I’m really very sorry, Mike,” Brittany says.

I sigh. “It will have to do. Now then, Brittany, if I open this door, will you promise to behave?”

“I promise,” Brittany agrees readily.

“Good,” I say. “I am going to open the door now. I will expect your assistance in adorning my bra. You are not to touch me in any other capacity than is strictly necessary in the course of your duties. Have I articulated my boundaries clearly to you?”

“Yes,” Brittany says, sufficiently cowed.

I unlock the dressing room door, ordering her to enter as soon as my back is turned. She approaches hesitantly, and wraps her hands around me from behind, slipping both of my boobs into the B-cups of my bra as I wriggle my arms into the thin little straps. Once everything is in place, she latches the hooks fast.

“Is everything alright?” Brittany asks. “Can you breathe okay? How does it fit?”

I inspect myself in the mirror, cupping my sagging breasts with both my hands as I admire the faintest hints of cleavage beginning to form between them. The tension in my upper back has lessened slightly, too, at least one source of stress on my spine having been alleviated.

“Yes, I feel quite well supported. Thank you, Brittany,” I say with a smile, and I can tell she has visibly relaxed with relief. “Does this bra come as part of a matching set, by any chance?”

“It does,” Brittany says. “I didn’t think you’d want the panties when you already have your briefs.”

“I might as well,” I say, shrugging. “I’d like it if you could get them for me, please. And I’ll be putting them on myself.”

Brittany departs, and returns moments later with a silky beige slip. I shut the door on her once more and sit down on the bench in the dressing room as I wiggle out of my old briefs and slide the snug-fitting panties up my shapely legs. Tucking my member snugly inside my new well-fitting underwear as they securely cradle the package, I admire how they cling to my hips, flatteringly highlighting the pleasant plumpness of my posterior. Next are the tights, which I struggle fiercely to tug over the humps of my hips. Shrugging on my new turtleneck dress and sliding into my new overcoat, I slide my elegant gray and black patterned scarf over my shoulders, the only remnant of my previous outfit that still fits. I give myself one last once-over in the mirror, rubbing my pregnant belly in satisfaction with my appearance.

When I open the door, Brittany is standing there with an empty brown paper bag.

“For your old clothes,” she says helpfully. “You can wear your new ones out of the store.”

“That’s good,” I say. “How does it look?”

“You look stunning,” Brittany breathes. “It definitely suits you.”

“And how much do I owe for this?” I inquire. “I’m ready to be rung up, please.”

“Oh, no,” Brittany says. “I feel bad that I didn’t have anything in your size… and for everything else. Please, it’s on me. I would feel just awful if your poor experience today soured your opinion of my boutique, and I want to make this a more inclusive space for you.”

I smile, having already mentally noted that the price for this luxury dress, coat, and boots would have been well over a hundred dollars. “I see. Well, I suppose that unlearning your sexist attitudes and practices towards men takes time, and I do appreciate the gesture.”

“You’re so right,” Brittany says eagerly, bobbing her head. “And I have so much to learn, especially from you. Please accept my formal apology for my inappropriate conduct, Mike. I had no idea how difficult it was to be a pregnant man.”

“I acknowledge your apology,” I say. “But I don’t accept it just yet. In the future, I hope to see that you’ve learned your lesson.”

“That’s totally valid,” Brittany says. “You don’t have to accept my apology yet, but I’d like it very much if you could someday.”

“Well, Brittany,” I say. “That depends entirely on you.”

“I’m willing to do whatever it takes,” Brittany adds quickly. “I’d really like to make it up to you, Mike. In fact, I’m part of a group of pregnant women—“

“Pregnant people,” I remind her. “You need to use more inclusive phrasing that’s less hurtful and exclusionary towards pregnant men like myself.”

“Pregnant people, right, sorry,” Brittany says hurriedly. “I’m part of a group of pregnant people who attend a maternity aerobics and prenatal exercise class. I know I’m a bigot and you have no reason to trust me after my disgusting and reprehensible behavior towards you, but I’d really like it if you could come to a session with us. I think we could all learn a lot from your bravery and strength.”

Brittany hands me a yellowed flyer advertising a water aerobics class being held at a local gym. I crease it once down the center and fold it into the pockets of my new overcoat.

“I’m sorry,” I say politely. “But I’m afraid I wouldn’t have a thing to wear.”

“I can order you a swimsuit!” the shopkeeper reassures me. “That would be on me, too.”

“Why thank you, Brittany,” I reply. “I’ll certainly consider your offer.”

Brittany beams at me bashfully. “No, thank you! I appreciate you giving me a second chance, and I hope you’ll continue to correct me and check my privilege so I can become a better person.”

“Well, Brittany,” I state, “I can certainly tell you’re sincere in your intentions, so let me tell you this. The first lesson to unlearning your privilege is to be silent and listen when an oppressed group is speaking.”

Brittany opens her mouth, then closes it, nodding as she pulls the pen and pad she used for sizing notations out of her cardigan to jot down my words.

“For instance, it is highly rude to complain about your problems or your pregnancy in the presence of a pregnant man, since pregnancy is many orders of magnitude more difficult for me than it is for you,” I continue. “It is also basic etiquette to defer to a pregnant man in matters of common courtesy. In order to best serve the oppressed, you must be of service to them. Do you understand?”

“I see!” Brittany says. “I’ll do my best to learn my place and speak when spoken to, and I really do appreciate you educating me about the microaggressions coded into my behavior. I hope I can be of service to you in the future. Would you like me to hold the door open for you on your way out?”

“Very good!” I say politely as I waddle out the door, giving Brittany a reassuring style. “You’re learning quickly. I’m sure you’ll see the error of your ways in no time.”

“Come back any time, Mike!” Brittany calls after me. “If there’s ever anything I can do for you, let me know!”

I cheerfully wave her goodbye, bundling my overcoat around my bump more tightly as I approach a parked car positioned next to the curb. Waiting outside is a striking woman in her mid-to-late thirties with curly brunette hair, standing at about five foot eleven and holding an umbrella to shield herself and her slim-fitting teal medical scrubs and crisp white lab coat from the downpour of sleet. As I draw closer, she opens the passenger side door and gingerly helps me inside.

“Thanks for waiting, Mom,” I say as I ease myself into the passenger seat.

“Nonsense,” Mom says with a smile. “There’s no need to thank me. I remember how uncomfortable it was, trying to squeeze behind the wheel when I was pregnant with you, bump pressing straight down on my bladder. I wouldn’t want my pregnant son to go through all that!“

“Well, even if you’re only doing what’s expected of you, you’re still a halfway decent chauffeur,” I say, complimenting her.

“Thank you, Michael! I’m just happy to help,” Mom says as we pull away from the quaint outdoor mall where Brittany’s maternity boutique is located. She hands me a golden bag, which I recognize instantly as bearing the insignia of my favorite confectionary shop from across the street— a little present to sate my cravings. “Anything I can do to make your condition more comfortable. Look, I even got you those sweets you were gushing about!”

“That’s wonderful!” I say with a smile. “I’m glad you’re being more considerate of my cravings, and I appreciate the effort. Stuffing myself with something sweet will help to take my mind off things.”

“That must have been very scary for you, in there,” Mom says sympathetically.

“It was mortifying,” I sigh, opening the bag to find a ribbon-adorned box of white chocolate candies. “There’s just so much intolerance in this world. It’s a very scary time to be an expecting father, what with all this vitriol and bigotry. You have no idea how difficult my life is like this.”

“Well, I’m proud of you for standing up to prejudice,” Mom says as I pop a couple handfuls of candies at a time into my mouth, moaning faintly. “It’s unfair that society treats you so poorly as a pregnant man.”

I feel my unborn daughter stirring slightly in my womb as I munch on a mouthful of molten chocolate, licking my fingers clean.

“My daughter will grow up knowing exactly how much her daddy struggled and suffered to bring her into this world,” I sniff sadly. “And she’ll never once doubt how loved she is because of it. After all, no one has it worse than a pregnant man like me!”

[greenapplespider]

People in discord were insistent that this is what cartoon me was thinking about- now it was mpreg about a man named Todd but not Todd Howard 😔

Todd the Wraith from Stargate Atlantis- I just think he should have to lay an egg 🥺

Might write a fic about it- might make some art, see where the road takes me

[mpregstory]

ANNOUNCMENT

My inbox is open again for questions and story requests!

- mpregstory

[sporadicmind13]

Thinking about a fantasy mpreg:

-Runaway Prince meets Outcast. -They start to fall for one another. -Have tiny little Prince/Outcast babies.

The end. :)

[mpregtales]

[fearfulfertility]

CONFIDENTIAL INTERNAL MEMO

DRC, Facility Operations Command, Supply & Procurement Unit

Date: [REDACTED]

From: Administrator [REDACTED], Supply & Procurement Unit

To: Director [REDACTED]

Subject: Surrogate Clothing Policy Review

Objective

The matter of clothing surrogates during their conscription and gestation periods has been a persistent challenge within DRC paternity compounds. As pregnancy progression leads to rapid and extreme physical growth, the feasibility of maintaining suitable attire diminishes exponentially. 

While the dignity of surrogates is to be considered, the logistical and financial realities of clothing surrogates in the later stages of high-multiparity pregnancies render the task borderline comedic—albeit with profound implications for resource efficiency.

I. Fabric Failure Timeline

Phase 1: Early Gestation (Days 1–12)

At the outset of their conscription, surrogates are issued standard-issue elastic garments designed to accommodate the initial stages of gestation. These garments typically include loose-fitting t-shirts and “pajama pants” with elastic waistbands. At this stage, clothing is meant to give the surrogates a sense their dignity is being maintained during the initial intake process. 

Even the largest or stretchable garments begin to falter within the first week. Surrogates who have been inseminated with high-yield pregnancies (+10 fetuses) find that even the most generous clothing gives up the fight during routine activities such as bending over, eating, or sleeping.

By days 7-10, the garments often devolve into little more than fabric relics clinging to bodies that have far outgrown them. Meal times, in particular, become prime opportunities for “wardrobe malfunctions,” as surrogates’ bellies swell rapidly due to their high-calorie intakes, causing already-strained seams to split dramatically.

“They gave me these stretchy pants and said they’d ‘grow with me.’ By day 8, they were so tight I thought I’d lose circulation. When I bent down to grab my tray, the waistband snapped like a rubber band! Then, they refused to replace them. Now I'm just laying in my underwear and they'll probably be split open by tomorrow!” - Surrogate S110-391-L

Phase 2: Mid-Gestation (Days 13–21)

By mid-gestation, the struggle to maintain full clothing coverage shifts from a practical challenge to a near-comedic farce. Most surrogates have long since outgrown their standard-issue attire. Garments leave more of the surrogates’ burgeoning midsections exposed than concealed, and the illusion of modesty is gone.

Some compounds (in more conservative areas of the country) have experimented with adaptive solutions to this widespread wardrobe malfunction. One such attempt is the introduction of “belly bands”—elastic fabric panels intended to stretch indefinitely over the surrogates’ growing girth. 

Despite these creative adaptations, the reality of mid-gestation growth often leaves surrogates in a state of partial or, in many cases, near-total undress. More liberal compound administrators frequently abandon the notion of full-body clothing altogether, opting for what is euphemistically termed “strategic coverage.” This often translates to simple cloth wraps positioned to cover just enough to preserve a hint of dignity while accepting that the bulk of the body, almost always the belly, remains bare. Staff members focus instead on ensuring that surrogates are comfortable and leave the notion of modesty as a casualty of practicality.

“They called it ‘strategic coverage.’ I call it an XXXL jock strap! I looked like a parade float in a handkerchief. And it didn't even last a whole day. Halfway to the bathroom, it snapped off completely. I waddled back, belly swaying, pretending I didn’t care.” - Surrogate S121-188-R

Phase 3: Late Gestation (Days 22–35)

During late gestation, clothing becomes pure futility. The surrogates’ bodies, now stretched to astonishing proportions, have outgrown even the most generously designed custom garments. At this point, the idea of “dressing” a surrogate is akin to wrapping a skyscraper with a handkerchief: an exercise in wishful thinking.

As a last resort, many surrogates abandon conventional garments entirely and instead rely on oversized blankets or loose sheets for modesty. While providing temporary relief from exposure, these coverings are inadequate for long-term wear. The sheer girth of their bodies causes blankets to slip off constantly, unable to maintain their position on a surface that is more curved than plane. Mobility challenges further complicate things; even a minor adjustment or shift in position can send a carefully arranged blanket sliding to the floor, again exposing the surrogate. 

Ultimately, most surrogates resign themselves to their condition, accepting that complete coverage is a battle they cannot win. Staff have grown accustomed to the sight of surrogates in full undress.

“I tried to laugh when the nurse handed me a blanket for modesty. Then I realized she was serious. A blanket? I’m carrying sexdecuplets here! My belly is the size of a beanbag chair. Every time I tried to move, it slid off like butter on a hot pan.” — Surrogate S137-410-P

II. Operational Costs

The financial and logistical burden of maintaining surrogate clothing throughout gestation is untenable. 

Initial Garment Issuance: [REDACTED]

Garment Replacements: [REDACTED]

Fabric & Material Losses: [REDACTED]

Tailoring & Repairs: [REDACTED]

Administrative Costs: [REDACTED]

The data supports transitioning to the “Bare Necessity Protocol”: issuing clothing only during intake and early gestation but providing no specialty clothing once they outgrow the linens.

This change could reduce clothing expenditures by up to 80% per year, reallocating resources more efficiently while acknowledging the practical limits of fabric in the face of extreme growth.

III. Morale Implications & Solutions

Transitioning to the Bare Necessity Protocol—eliminating clothing beyond early gestation—poses clear challenges to surrogate morale. The rapid loss of modesty and the unavoidable exposure associated with high-multiparity pregnancies can lead to feelings of humiliation, vulnerability, and resentment. Surrogates often arrive at compounds already apprehensive about their conscription, and the progressive erosion of their dignity through clothing failures can exacerbate stress, anxiety, and resistance. 

However, compounds can mitigate these psychological and emotional impacts through strategic dietary adjustments. By incorporating appetite enhancers, sedatives, and aphrodisiacs into daily meal plans, surrogates can be effectively distracted from their physical state. 

Enhanced hunger drives ensure surrogates remain preoccupied with consuming high-calorie meals, creating constant and ravenous appetites. In addition, the inclusion of aphrodisiacs harnesses prenatal nymphomania by redirecting surrogate attention toward physical pleasure rather than personal discomfort or embarrassment. Sedatives complement this approach by promoting longer sleep cycles and maintaining docility during waking hours. 

Surrogates under this regimen experience reduced awareness of their exposed state and are less likely to engage in disruptive behavior. 

IV. Conclusion

The fabric is consistently losing in the battle of fabric versus fetal growth. While the dignity of surrogates remains important, realistic expectations must be set. Sometimes, the most practical—and perhaps the kindest—option is to acknowledge the limits of cloth and simply let surrogates grow, unencumbered and gloriously uncovered.

Report submitted by: Administrator [REDACTED], Supply & Procurement Unit

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From: Director [REDACTED]

To: Administrator [REDACTED], Supply & Procurement Unit

Subject: Surrogate Clothing Policy Review

After reviewing the comprehensive analysis of surrogate clothing policies, it is clear that continuing efforts to maintain full clothing coverage are impractical and financially wasteful.

I hereby approve the Bare Necessity Protocol for immediate implementation across all compounds. In conjunction with this policy shift, I also approve the proposed strategic dietary adjustments.

To assess the real-world effectiveness of these protocols, I will be scheduling a personal visit to Paternity Compound 134 on [REDACTED]. Given that this facility currently hosts a higher number of late-term surrogates, it presents an ideal environment to observe the implementation of the Bare Necessity Protocol and dietary adjustments firsthand.

I expect full cooperation from compound staff and a detailed itinerary for my visit to be prepared within the week.

Let us ensure that every decision reflects our commitment to efficiency, compliance, and the ongoing success of our population sustainability initiatives.

Click Here to return to DRC Report Archives

Director [REDACTED]

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[weiner-does-preg]

Making the gods angry

[mpreg-adventures]

Foodbaby:  A corn pregnancy pandemic

(early part of a new stories series. a first exclusive on tumblr, will be added later to DA. Hope you enjoy)

Foodbaby:  A corn pregnancy pandemic A Mpeg-Adventures/ Anzacfarmer1997 production and creation

A pandemic that caused healthy young men from the ages of 22 to 29 to develop a baby bump and pregnant-like symptoms each, but these 'infected' men weren't  actually pregnant. 'Golden Fortune' sweet corn (known as 'Milho Verde' [Green Corn]) was a recent new hybrid corn recently trialed and it passed its trials and was allowed to be grown specially as a 'corn on the cob' variety for human consumption.

The dangers of the new sweet corn variety weren't known yet and will only be finally accepted once it has claimed some victims. 'Golden Fortune' had a sweet sugary like taste and was best fresh and it was a star performer across the globe, it had a 70 day maturity making it a early cropping sweet corn and one of the fastest performers on the sweet corn market.

It was one man Henry George Fernandez a Brazilian Australia who actually caused the entire pandemic, he was patient zero.

Sunday 19th September 2022.... Henry Fernandez purchased a package of the new sweet corn from the local supermarket, once he returned home he barbequed the cobs up and smeared butter on them and dinned in on them, his six-pack abdomen began swelling as he was halfway eating the first cob, and then as he finished the first cob his abdomen started violently moving as if he was pregnant. He poked at his swollen six-pack abdomen and it was firm and not squishy but the load of the new sweet corn kernels inside his belly returned a reply by 'kicking and fluttering' about as if he was pregnant with a fetus.

Henry was taken to the local hospital and had examinations and ultrasounds and the ultrasound came be with imaging of a mass kicking around inside his abdomen.....

[michaelmanley]

Thank you all!

Woke up to two surprises, one welcome and one unwelcome. Unwelcome surprise: baby girl pressing on daddy's bladder, again. Welcome surprise: you all seemed to enjoy hearing about my little trip into town! Wasn't expecting anyone to have any interest in the exploits of a pregnant man like myself, but it seems that the denizens of Tumblr are more open-minded and accepting than the rest of the world. It's good to see there are actual safe spaces that welcome society's most vulnerable and oppressed group (pregnant men, obviously). Since I've actually got a few watchers now, I suppose I'd better let you know what you've signed up for. I'll be keeping all of you up to date on the true accounts of my life with regular postings. If there's anything specific you'd like to know about, though, be it about me or my pregnancy, I think I've turned on asks here, so feel free to give me a shout! I promise I don't bite. Looking forward to getting to know all of you, and sharing more and more about my unusual journey to fatherhood!

[broodybelly]

That moment when a guy goes to put on his pants but they are feeling tight around the hips. He tries buttoning the pants up but he can't seem to get the button to the hole. He thinks "these must have shrunk." Except he tries all the pants in his wardrobe but all that will fit around his slightly bigger belly are a pair of sweatpants. He looks at himself in the mirror, maybe... no! Was his belly sticking out a little bit more than before? When did that happen?

He keeps telling himself it's just water weight. He's slightly bloated. But slowly his belly keeps getting bigger and bigger no matter how many exercises he does the beer gut stays.

He has to admit to himself maybe this isn't water weight.

#mpreg #mpregstory #gainerfiction #mpregfiction #gainer #gainerstory #bellyinflation

[ilitiaforever]

someone reposted your art mpregstory. tumblr. com/ post /655539035615428608/

Thank you very much for informing me, and I will send a message to whoever published it, to put my nickname, thank you for supporting and protecting my work. 

[moiracolleenodell]

Honestly, I follow one blog with an mpreg storyline and reblog from it because it’s Good Omens and Aziraphale has been expecting twins for the last nine months (they were born last week), and Tumblr thinks that means I want to follow mpregstorys and andrewsmpreg and god knows what else. I don’t even reblog from it much. Just a few scattered posts tagged “mpreg” and Tumblr recommendations thinks I have a fetish.