The Pregnancy Olympics Pt. 01

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MARIA

Sarah and I have been best friends since fifth grade. We were the strongest readers in our class, and bonded over our love of books. Our teacher made a contest out of everyone’s reading; here began the ultra-competitive dynamic of our relationship, continuing to this day. Then, it was all about earning bookmarks and the occasional pizza party. As we continued through middle and high school together, the competition spread to soccer, clarinet, and rollerblading. After high school, it turned to boys.

SARAH

The only reason our competition hadn’t turned to boys until after high school was that I hit puberty a lot later than Maria. She was getting all kinds of attention in middle and high school, but she was too kind and too good a friend to rub it in my face. So she waited…which I bet she regrets now.

MARIA

Yeah, that was stupid of me; no fucking way I’d be nice to Sarah like that these days. Anyway, however we ended up there, we became competitive over boys after high school. There was a boy we both had a crush on, who ended up asking to dance with me at a freshman orientation mixer, while Sarah happened to be in the bathroom. We’d agreed to both keep our distance to avoid drama, but I gave in to temptation in her absence. She walked back into the room to see us making out in front of everyone. Things turned a little less friendly from there.

SARAH

I’d been a little self-conscious in comparison to Maria, and this early little incident did not help. I’m of Scandinavian descent: tall, thin, pale, blonde. In decades past, this may have been the American ideal for a young woman. In our day, though, Maria’s physical type proved much more desirable to the opposite sex: Latina, short, curvy. The boys ate that shit up.

MARIA

Good to be thick these days.

SARAH.

I’m sure. So, Maria naturally drew more eyes than I did. I quickly countered with being looser than she was willing to be. She kissed a boy first, but I was felt up first. And did hand stuff. And mouth stuff.

MARIA

I caught up soon enough, but she’d developed a reputation. The boys knew where to go, and I’d fallen behind.

SARAH

The poor thing. Once we were both regularly romantically involved, things kinda settled down. We moved through a decent chunk of our class between sophomore and junior years of college, then both settled down with our college boyfriends. Our creativity within the competition had sort of run out once we’d largely exhausted the local inventory. Where could a girl possibly go from there?

MARIA

Even with the rampant promiscuity, we were pretty good kids through graduation. It wasn’t until we were past college together that we realized the creative boost substance abuse could provide was the missing spark we needed. Not sure why this hadn’t been a collegiate development, but whatever. Our inhibitions, limited though we imagined they’d been, truly disappeared when fucked up. We realized we hadn’t even been talking about which positions we’d been screwing in. Had the competition really dried up as soon as we’d both been fucked in missionary? How very pedestrian of us.

SARAH

It’s embarrassing, frankly. That first time we drank together, the first weekend after classes ended, we stayed up the whole night telling each other things we’d never thought to divulge. Never thought we’d been holding things back, exactly, but the lack of boundaries we felt once inebriated provided its own type of intoxication and a new level of openness. Before the night was over, we knew our challenges had to resume: as soon as we possibly could, we needed to start fucking in a wider variety of positions.

MARIA

And that, of course, was just the start of the post-collegiate round. Orifices were explored. Numbers of folks involved and the nature of those folks. Settings. If we could think of a variable, we’d create a challenge based on it, seeing who could complete it first, quickest, most extremely: there were at least as many metrics as there were competitions.

SARAH

Two years later, both nursing moderate alcohol problems and horrible social reputations, we seemed to be just about out of ideas once again. We came up with a final dream list, grosser and more out-there than we’d gone in the past, and really went for it as we started contemplating adult-style settling down. Even that list, though, only took five or six weeks. A month after that, we found ourselves at Planned Parenthood: it was Maria’s fifth abortion, putting her ahead of my four.

MARIA

With all the substances we’d sampled, something about this particular instance of coming out of the procedure’s mild sedation hit me a certain way, delivered unto me a conclusion I’d somehow failed to reach in all my previous visits to this clinic: why hadn’t we seen through any of these pregnancies our escapades had created?

SARAH

It was a crazy thought, but the timing did feel right. As we looked toward adulthood, we had that always-horrifying sensation of peering into what the rest of our lives might hold, the sameness in front of us for the escort bursa next 6-8 decades. So fucking intimidating. The prospect of extending our childish sexual games, then, while also embarking on a journey that would result in the oh-so-adult situation of parenthood? Oddly perfect.

MARIA

Even fucked-up from the meds I was shocked Sarah thought my suggestion was anything short of insane. She had to convince me of my own idea all over again later, once I’d sobered up. It kept confusing me because the conversation happened directly following an abortion, but was about letting a pregnancy go to term. Later, in my right mind and once Sarah had explained for the 10th time how different sex might be once we were swollen all over (not to mention flooded with crazy hormones), I was fully onboard. We’d gotten pregnant so many times before, it didn’t seem hard to do it and mean it for once.

SARAH

And it wasn’t. The OB/GYN at Planned Parenthood, in their little spiel we both had just about memorized, made it abundantly clear that you must abstain for sex for a few weeks post-abortion, and it wasn’t a good idea to get pregnant for bare minimum two menstrual cycles after that. Not sure how accurate that was, but that’s what they liked to say. So, we waited one cycle and started bareback fucking with abandon. Though we set this up as a contest, as we did everything in our relationship, we happened to reach a tie in the impregnation race. Conception happened for both of us within that cycle; we even ended up with the same due date. We had to consciously remind ourselves not to head straight to the abortion clinic once we found ourselves in the family way: habits, once so thoroughly developed, can be difficult to break.

MARIA

As obnoxious as it had been having our cycles perfectly synced for years and enduring all the emotional fallout that entails, it was nice to be so matched up that getting knocked-up in the same time period meant sharing a due date. It was a nice affirmation of our enduring closeness. Once dual-impregnation was achieved, though, the competition was back fucking on.

SARAH

The first trimester, prior to substantial expansion and very much in the middle of morning sickness, was not the most enjoyable portion of this experience. All the puking and exhaustion didn’t leave a ton of space for sexual conquest, creating some anxiety about pregnancy’s potential limitations for the sort of contest we’d envisioned.

MARIA

And the single toilet shared by two nauseous preggos raised some anxiety about our modest apartment’s limitations as a living space. We persevered, though, knowing things were supposed to get a bit more pleasant around the three-month mark. Around 8 weeks, we even mustered the energy for our first round of competition: who could fuck more quickly after puking? It was gross, but far from the grossest thing we’d done. Leveraging men’s desperation was old hat for us, a way we could reliably alleviate our own guilt over our misdeeds. The men were being grosser, so we were fine, right?

SARAH

My strategy here was to take advantage of a drunk guy. Easiest thing in the world. I figured I’d have to find him once I was already rather nauseous and he was already rather drunk (at a bar, naturally), lure him back to our place, ply him with beers and flirtation until I was ready to excuse myself to puke, then right away go back to the bed I’d left him waiting on and mount him for a quick screw. I decided I would not kiss, an aspect we’d decided to keep optional, as that would just make me feel too disgusting post-vomit and I didn’t care enough to waste 20 seconds brushing my teeth. We’d decided about 200 challenges previous that for “who could ____ more quickly”-style challenges, the issue was official only upon climax, should orgasm be the presumptive result of the act. So, here, my fucking of this guy could only be said to have occurred once he came.

MARIA

And that is why her drunkard strategy is so fatally flawed. She’s gonna fuck a trashed guy till he cums? Really, Sarah?? It’s as if the girl is too inexperienced to have ever heard of “whiskey dick.” Though she was taking advantage of men’s inherently pathetic desire to fuck at all costs with her plan, she didn’t go cynically far enough with it. They do not need to be inebriated for a woman to take advantage of their pathetic base level of desperation. You don’t need even the flimsiest layer of pretext. An example conversation, approximating how I coordinated my dalliance for this challenge:

Me: Come to my apartment now. I will vomit soon, then you will fuck me until you cum. Then you’ll leave.

Whichever Guy: Okay.

No follow-up questions. He doesn’t need a condom, and I don’t need foreplay; I don’t need to tell him either fact, though, as a lady needs to specify the need for either only if/when she wants them. There are no gentlemen out there, friends: take fucking advantage.

SARAH

So, yeah, Maria obviously won. By sort of a lot.

MARIA

He did cum in you, though?

SARAH

Yeah, but bursa otele gelen escort it took 15 minutes of piss-poor humping, and it took 5 for him to focus up enough to get it in me in the first place. And yours…?

MARIA

Shot in me 4 minutes after my puke hit the toilet bowl.

SARAH

Jesus. Well played.

MARIA

Thank you. A few days later, when we both hit 9 weeks, we had our first trimester ultrasounds, the firsts of the pregnancies. We booked adjacent appointments with our OB/GYN and accompanied each other. Sarah went first: everything looked fine, all textbook and encouraging, healthy mother and fetus. My turn came. I took a deep breath, mustered some courage, and made my confession to Sarah: when we were trying to get pregnant, I’d been juicing.

SARAH

I still can’t believe I didn’t think of this. It’s a high level move.

MARIA

Yeah, I wasn’t fucking around. Just after we made the decision to pursue pregnancy, I hopped on the dark web and ordered some black market fertility drugs. I knew little about the medications and took them recklessly right up until I got my positive test. I couldn’t be sure they’d been effective prior to my first ultrasound, of course, but I felt I should reveal the increased possibility of multiples to Sarah before the scan did it for me. Maybe as a kindness, maybe as an added bit of drama: hard to say with me.

SARAH

In retrospect, the fact that you were already pretty clearly showing at 9 weeks and I had no belly whatsoever was a bit of a giveaway. Everyone carries differently, though, so I didn’t immediately jump to you having more than one in there.

MARIA

Yeah, the early appearance of the belly didn’t make me that confident myself, even knowing I’d been juicing. We have pretty different body types, there’s lots of variability between women, all that jazz. It made me a bit more hopeful that it may have been a successful gambit, sure, but I didn’t really get my hopes up. I watched the tech’s face closely as she moved the ultrasound wand inside me, my stomach filling with butterflies as I saw her eyes go comically wide. My stomach was also filled with three babies, she excitedly informed me. I laughed out loud, my evil plan’s success delighting me. Sarah, I believe, said “fuck.”

SARAH

I said “fuck,” yes. I couldn’t blame you for having come up with the better strategy, but I was pretty pissed anyway. We hadn’t discussed a ton of pregnancy-specific challenges we’d be engaging in, but one of the most obvious that had come up was a size competition: biggest belly diameter, most weight gained, et cetera. Right there with a little dark web juicing, Maria seemed to have run away with this entire category.

MARIA

The category turned out to be less fully in the bag than it initially seemed, though. As I’m sure we’ll get to.

SARAH

Oh, we’ll get to it, yeah. We’ll stick more or less to the chronology for now though, apparently with the occasional cryptic hint when Maria decides to make her little comments.

MARIA

My bad.

SARAH

I did pretty quickly realize, though, that there were some alternate advantages to my singleton pregnancy in comparison to Maria’s triplets: more acts and positions would be possible with my more modest size, for example, or I might be able to accommodate additional partners in a group sex scenario. I’d take my advantages where I could find them; her soon-to-be-gigantically-fat ass was not going to be able to be as physically creative as I was.

MARIA

Granted. So, about four weeks after that initial ultrasound, just as we were finishing up our first trimester, the morning sickness finally subsided for me. Not for Sarah, though, which was surprising: those sorts of unpleasant pregnancy symptoms are generally supposed to be more severe for a multiple gestation. Just goes to show, again, how individualized each gestational experience is. I could’ve started fucking like a madwoman in that week-and-a-half I had the jump on Sarah, but boosting my expectant body count that way seemed slightly unethical given the triplet advantage. I stood down, though it was not without its challenges to do so: the hormones had shifted from making me constantly puke to making me constantly wet.

SARAH

Hearing you masturbate repeatedly/furiously in your room as I was still hunched over the toilet was oddly encouraging, even arousing. I was very excited that I might have that level of horniness to look forward to. Before I could visibly do anything about it, my mind started getting pumped about what was to come. So much of my own swelling, other people’s genitalia, fluids from all over. It was an exciting prospect. I’d linger on the bathroom floor, tentatively rubbing my own just-starting-to-engorge pussy as I heard Maria insatiably going to town. I could not wait to begin things in earnest.

MARIA

With all the waiting to bring the intensely building sexual energy somewhere outside my bedroom’s toy collection, I started fantasizing about bursa merkez escort what our first real challenge might be. So much horniness had developed, and at the start of our second trimesters we were likely at peak pregnancy energy and physical flexibility: this all called for group sex.

SARAH

I was thrilled when Maria made this suggestion. It sounded like a great way to begin, an all-out way to really get things started. At 16 weeks (with Maria looking about 25 weeks if hers had been a singleton pregnancy), we headed to our usual fetish club, The Sex Cauldron, to get things going. At this moment a fetish club seemed particularly relevant as our conditions currently put us squarely in the interest zone of a specific fetish. Throughout our post-collegiate sexual career, though, The Cauldron had functioned more as an all-purpose sexual resource, a place you could drop in to find folks up for basically anything. We’d settled on using the club after realizing the internet’s infinite possibilities for coordinating sexual escapades could become practical limitations: you could keep planning indefinitely, finding freakier and freakier perverts willing to travel further and further for acts more and more esoteric. Instead, you could drop by the fetish club on a hopping weekend night, propose what you had in mind to a handful of folks, let word spread for 45 minutes, and leave with more willing and able folks than you’d anticipated within the hour. Or stay and play in one of the relevant rooms, if that happened to be the goal of the evening. It was simple and effective, allowing for a truly debauched act to occur within a very reasonable amount of time.

MARIA

We showed up on a Friday night in short pre-maternity bodycon dresses, unmistakably pregnant. We both kept a hand sensuously rubbing our respective bumps as we strutted into the place, doing our best to leave our horny intentions unambiguous. An aspect of The Cauldron we’d always found extremely useful was that it was separated into a downstairs and upstairs, with each having their own regulars. Years ago, we’d heard, the intention had been a distinction between gentler (upstairs) and rougher (downstairs) play. That dichotomy really didn’t hold true by the time we started patronizing The Sex Cauldron, but each floor having a distinct clientele had, for whatever reason, carried over. So, each of us had adopted a floor a few years ago. We could easily organize a challenge here, one of us taking upstairs and one down-, both of us having developed relationships over time with some of the regulars we’d repeatedly encountered. It almost felt like the place was created for a couple oddly competitive perverts like us.

SARAH

I ran into a handful of my old chums upstairs, reliable on a hopping night. They were happy to see me for the first time in a while, thrilled to see me knocked-up and looking to fuck. A preggo was a rare commodity in such a place, but a frequent item on folks’ sexual bucket lists. As such, it would not be difficult to marshal forces here. Maria and I had settled ahead of time on utilizing the club’s accommodations for our dalliances: our bedrooms and mattresses were modest in size, plus there was no need to try transporting a load of more-than-likely-inebriated perverts to our home. Initially, the central metric of this challenge was to be number of partners in the gang bang. We quickly came to the conclusion, though, that the number of people we could get to participate in this would be limited only by the number of folks allowed in the building by the fire code. In a sex club and with the possibilities provided by the internet, the number of people available to fuck is practically limitless. I suggested we count how many people we were concurrently engaged with on the bed at one time…

MARIA

…and I countered that that would be less a sexual feat than one of balance and coordination. We discussed measuring how many people we were touching at the same moment, but that felt similarly meaningless when a great many people could, for example, touch a contestant with a single finger at the same time. Ultimately, we settled on two criteria to measure these orgies: A) Number of distinct genitalia with which a contestant made purposeful (defined by being in clear pursuit of the goal of orgasm) and substantial (defined by having lasted no less than three [3] minutes) contact within any period of one [1] hour; and B) Peak number of genitalia either ensconcing or ensconced by a contestant at a given moment — “ensconcing” (or “ensconced by”) to be defined as encompassing (or encompassed by) no less than seventy-five percent [75%] of the individual in question’s genitals, anus, mouth, or an entire hand or foot.

SARAH

In other words, as far the second sub-challenge was concerned, how many parts of other folks could you fit in yourself while simultaneously fitting parts of yourself in other folks? And for the first, it was more or less a test of how many parts of yourself you could use for actions that judges would agree would eventually lead to a climax. Speaking of which, we were thrilled to find that both of our usual judges were in attendance at The Cauldron that night. These two enjoyed (to a sexual degree) observing and making decisions about miniscule details, making them ideal candidates for the job. We’d employed them in this way many times before, and they always seemed to appreciate being of such service.

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