Up & Down - Part 9

We had been counting the days, even joking about how ready he was to pop. But when his due date came on May 27th, with no signs of labor, Spencer’s mood darkened. He was officially overdue with eight huge babies, and every hour past that day stretched him even further—physically, emotionally, and hormonally. His body was a spectacle of creation. He had started the pregnancy as a 6’7”, 350-pound wall of muscle—a true titan even before the babies, but now he was a living colossus.

His muscles hadn’t faded with the pregnancy; they’d expanded. His arms were massively thick, and his shoulders were so broad that I had no idea how he walked through doors. His pecs were unbelievably heavy and swollen with milk, constantly leaking from his engorged nipples. His ass had been big and muscular before, but now it had grown impossibly large and round, the kind of size that made sitting, standing, and walking a challenge. His thighs brushed together with every step, but even despite the thick layer of softness covering them, I could still see the ripples of powerful muscles beneath. He was a perfect combination of immense musculature and a cute softness. A true sight to behold.

His swollen balls were oversensitive and constantly aching for release, overshadowed by the dome of his middle. They had been big and full before, but now that Spencer was overdue, they expanded even more. I couldn’t even hold one of his balls in my hand. It was like trying to grip a big, squishy melon that wouldn’t fit in my palm, and I could literally hear the cum slowing inside. And his permanently hardened cock made the sight even more impressive.

However, among so much mass, his belly stole the show. It was impossibly round, high, and massive, jutting far in front of him with a glossy sheen, veined and trembling with the force of eight restless babies. It hung over his lap when he sat and rose like a great dome when he lay back, stretched past all logical limits. Every movement sent ripples across the vast surface. He looked like something taken out of myths—and he felt it in every joint and every breath.

The octuplets were restless all the time. Every night, they squirmed and rolled in waves so strong I could see Spencer’s skin ripple like water. I’d wake up at 3 AM to him groaning softly, rubbing his belly while whispering to it like he was trying to calm a stampede. Sometimes he’d sit upright in bed, spread his legs as wide as they’d go, and clutch the underside of his belly, trying to lift and shift the weight to get some relief.

Other times, I found him pacing slowly down the hallway, with one hand braced against the wall and the other pressed to the side of his heaving middle. Even sitting on the toilet had become an ordeal; I had to help lower and lift him from the seat while he huffed and moaned from the weight pressing on every organ. We tried ice packs, heating pads, belly slings, anything to give his body a break. But nothing calmed it. Not the food, not the back rubs, not the belly massages. We tried everything, but everything just got more intense.

He was constantly starving. I’d watch him inhale plate after plate, desperate to keep up with what his body demanded. He could finish two entire rotisserie chickens on his own and still look for dessert five minutes later. If I took too long making meals, he’d whine and huff from the couch, clutching his belly and proclaiming he was starving to death. I knew it was partly the hormones messing with his mind, but at the same time, I understood that his body required such enormous amounts of food only to keep supporting so much life all at once.

Also, his milk production was out of control. His pecs were so full that he leaked if a baby even cooed. He soaked through fabric faster than we could wash it. He would sigh, rolling his eyes as he padded his pecs with folded towels, talking about how he was becoming a walking dairy machine. I laughed and told him that he was already a walking dairy machine and that he was only expanding production because the demand would soon rise. We laughed, and I always kissed him and rubbed his tits to calm him down, leading us to something else.

The hormones made him impossibly horny, even when he was too miserable to do anything about it. He’d bite his knuckle in frustration from the pressure of his belly against the couch, shifting uncomfortably because even the simple contact between his taut abdomen and the cushions made him squirm.

The constant rubbing of his cock and balls against his belly made things worse. He moaned constantly even while sitting down. Sometimes he’d glare at me when I was passing by like it was somehow my fault he was trapped in a whirlwind of hunger, heat, and hormones. But despite the discomfort, he demanded a hard fuck whenever he felt like it—and it was several times a day.

All these changes continued for 5 days after his due date, until Spencer finally reached a bursting point on June 1st. He weighed 564 pounds that morning, stretched tighter and more monumental than I could’ve ever imagined. I woke up first to pick up the twins that were stirring in their bassinets. Spencer was still asleep, or pretending to be, curled onto his side with difficulty, and his belly stretched in all directions like a hill under the blanket.

I moved slowly, not wanting to wake him because I knew he was exhausted. But he groaned anyway, and his mood was especially sour. 

“I’m still pregnant,” he said, without even opening his eyes, but his hands moved over the immense curve of his belly.

I smiled gently, leaning over to kiss his shoulder. “You are. And you look beautiful.”

“I hope you’re happy. This is your fault,” Spencer said, now looking down at his abdomen as the babies rolled and turned. “I’m gonna die pregnant.”

“No, you are not,” I responded, moving my hand over his middle.

“Look at me,” he said, struggling to shift. “I’ll burst before these babies decide to come out. Ugh… Help me up.”

It took both of my arms wrapped around his shoulders and lower back to get him upright. He grunted with the effort, panting slightly as I helped swing his massive legs over the edge of the bed. Even sitting up was a task. His belly pressed into his thighs, crushing his cock and balls beneath, and spilled well over them. He pressed his hands against the sides of his belly like he needed the contact to keep balanced. It was overwhelming, but I couldn’t help but smile.

“I’m starving,” Spencer said as I helped him get on his feet.

I stayed back with the twins while he waddled slowly into the kitchen. I couldn’t help but stare as his hips swung, his ass bounced, his belly swayed, and his tits jostled beautifully. He was so big that the floor creaked slightly beneath his steps, but the sight made me fall in love even more. I couldn’t believe I was married to such a perfect man.

I changed Henry and Harry into fresh onesies before heading out to join Spencer and cook breakfast for us. But I found him hunched at the counter, tears in his eyes, scooping handfuls of cold leftover mac and cheese from a plastic container. He hadn’t even reheated it. He was crying and eating at the same time, milk dripping from both nipples, and his belly twitched violently from the kicks.

“Spencer…” I said softly.

He shook his head. “Don’t. Just let me eat. I can’t—I can’t do this anymore.”

I set the twins in their playpen and came to him, taking the container from his hands and pulling him into a slow embrace, cradling the massive belly between us.

“Hey, you’re allowed to feel like this,” I whispered.

He cried openly, trying to lean forward to hug me, but he was too round and heavy to do so. “I just want them out. I can’t get any bigger. I can’t.”

I guided him to the couch, which groaned as he sat with his legs spread wide and his belly filling the space between his thighs. It was almost too small for him now, but I managed to sneak in with him. I held him tight and called in sick. There was no way I was leaving him alone the whole day. We spent the morning feeding the twins, sharing snacks, and massaging his belly until he groaned with relief. His mood was still unsteady, but I knew he was doing better.

He tried to nap, but the babies kicked too hard, and he sat up growling. “They’re trying to claw their way out now,” he said, and I knelt to talk to his belly, telling the babies how awesome their daddy was and asking them to give him a break. Surprisingly, they stopped moving, and Spencer felt at peace amid the immense discomfort.

*

By midafternoon, things finally changed. Spencer had the twins cradled on his pecs, feeding both of them at once while I cooked in the kitchen. He made a soft sound, then suddenly gasped, and a pained whimper escaped his lips.

“Owen!” Spencer shouted.

I dropped the spatula and rushed to him. He was stiff and wide-eyed. “What is it?”

“Something’s different,” he whispered. “That wasn’t a kick,” he said, and then came the sharp cramp. He doubled forward with a moan. “Oh fuck… oh fuck! Something’s… Ughh…” Water exploded beneath him, soaking the couch and dripping to the floor. It was like a tidal wave, and Spencer’s body trembled violently.

I paled, frozen and speechless, but the twins shrieked, breaking me out of the trance. “Okay, okay. Spencer, calm down. Let me take them to their cribs,” I said, scooping the babies up and running them to the nursery, placing them in their cribs before sprinting back.

Spencer was shaking and panting as his belly still pulsed with kicks. “They know,” he cried. “They know they’re coming!” Spencer screamed, and I almost fainted.

My heart raced as I grabbed towels, blankets, and the birthing kit we’d ordered. I helped him shift sideways, bracing his back with pillows. He spread his legs wide, and every muscle in his thighs strained as another contraction hit, making him groan through gritted teeth. I soaked washcloths in warm water and laid blankets beneath him. Spencer had made it clear from the start: no strangers, no doctors, no midwife. He didn’t want anyone else to see him in this condition. It was just us.

“It hurts,” Spencer whimpered.

I grabbed his hand. “I’m here. You’ve got this. One at a time, Spencer. Just breathe.”

Tears ran down his face. His belly heaved with another kick, and he let out a sob. I knew the labor would be hard, but it suddenly felt like everything in the world had dropped away—every worry, every plan, every fear. All I saw was the love of my life, wild-eyed and shining with sweat, about to bring eight lives into this world to join the two kids we had.

He was already naked because nothing fit him anyway. His skin was flushed and glistening, his nipples dripped milk, and his belly heaved and trembled under each cramp. At 564 pounds, he was more massive than I ever thought possible, and in this position, the immense size of his body was outstanding. His belly rose in the air like a flesh-colored dome, shaking with every movement from the babies inside. His pecs jostled with his heavy breathing, pushing tight against his chin. And between his legs, his cock throbbed hard, and his balls churned.

“Okay, okay, Spencer, I need you to stay quiet,” I said softly, grabbing a rolled-up towel and handing it to him. “Bite down,” I whispered. “We don’t want to alert the neighbors.”

He nodded weakly and shoved it between his teeth in time for the next contraction to tear through him. He screamed, biting hard, as his fingers clamped around my hand. He couldn’t speak, but I saw it in his eyes, a pleading look that begged me to stay right there.

“I’m right here,” I said, with tears springing to my eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Every contraction hit like a wave. Spencer’s body arched, slightly raising his belly in the air, straining his back while I cradled it with one arm and used the other to rub gentle circles along his shoulder. His whole body quaked as the labor progressed. We had watched birth videos together, but going through the real thing was a whole different story. Spencer was acting out of instinct, and I only tried my best to remain calm and strong for him.

“I think—I think one’s coming,” Spencer gasped. “I can feel it. Owen, it’s moving down. It’s happening. And it hurts so much.”

He bore down as much as he could as the strain rippled through every inch of him. I positioned myself between his legs and saw it—dark hair, crowning.

“That’s it, Spencer. You’re doing it. You’re doing it,” I said, barely containing my tears.

With a guttural, animalistic groan, Spencer pushed hard, and his entire body convulsed from the effort. His fists clenched around the cushions, and the rolled towel in his mouth muffled a raw moan that vibrated through his chest. I watched in awe as the taut surface of his belly trembled violently, the skin contracted and shifted with each powerful contraction. Another wave hit him, and he arched his back, pressing his broad shoulders hard into the pillows as his legs shook. He gave a throaty, desperate growl, and the head slowly emerged.

“Spencer! I see the head! Come on! Keep going!” I cheered, marveling at the scene.

He groaned through gritted teeth. “Oh fuck, it burns—it burns, Owen—I can’t!”

“Yes, you can,” I said, reaching for his hand and gripping it tighter. “You’re so close. Just breathe and push.” My other hand was between his legs, waiting for our baby.

He roared again, somewhere between a sob and a shout, as his thighs trembled with exertion. Then, the baby’s head finally crowned, slick with vernix and dark hair. Spencer whimpered since the pressure was clearly agonizing. He bellowed, and his entire body arched forward. His arms flexed through the tension, and his cock throbbed hard against his belly. His whole body reacted to the intense pressure as the baby’s head emerged.

He kept pushing, and with one last, guttural cry, the shoulders slipped free, and the rest of the baby followed in a heavy, gushing slide into my waiting hands. I couldn’t help but cry, holding a thick, strong boy in my arms.

“It’s a boy,” I gasped, the lump in my throat choking my voice. “Spencer, you did it! You did it. He’s so perfect. Our big baby boy.”

He broke into sobs, laughing and crying at once. “One down... One down, eight to go.”

The second baby came quickly. Another contraction rolled in hard, and he was already pushing again. Within minutes, a second boy slipped into my hands—huge, red-faced, and crying loudly to announce his lungs were strong.

“Another one,” I whispered, wrapping them in soft blankets.

Spencer groaned. “I need a second. I need to breathe.”

But the contractions didn’t wait. They came one after another. Spencer moaned through clenched teeth, arching, gasping, and begging me not to let go. I rubbed his belly and his back, kissed his lips, and whispered every bit of love I could. And he quickly gave birth to babies number three and four. However, as Spencer held baby number four in his arms, the twins in the room began to cry.

“I’ve got them,” I said quickly, running to calm them, bouncing each gently and singing under my breath until they settled again. I laughed at the ridiculous situation. We had a pair of 2-month-old babies to care for while Spencer was halfway through the birth of eight more. It was wild, but I couldn’t be happier. I loved the twins, loved the four babies in Spencer’s arms, and loved the four he still had in his belly.

I sprinted back into the living room, wiping sweat from my forehead, only to find Spencer sobbing again and dealing with the fifth wave of contractions.

“You’ve got this,” I said, kneeling beside him, helping him bear down, catching baby after baby with shaking hands and a racing heart.

Then, we reached seven, and his body gave out. “I can’t,” Spencer gasped. “I can’t do another one. Owen, please. Make it stop.”

I leaned forward and kissed his lips. “Spencer, if there’s one man in this world who can do this, it’s you. I married the strongest, most incredible man. Just one more, and then I promise you’ll get to relax. You’ve got this.”

He nodded, with tears flowing freely now. He pushed and pushed and screamed for what felt like an eternity. The final baby fought like none of the others. Spencer let out an almost feral scream that shook the walls, not caring if he scared the neighbors. His entire body locked up with the contraction, and his mostly deflated belly trembled. He panted between moans, and tears streamed down his flushed cheeks.

“It’s stuck—it’s not moving, Owen! It hurts so bad. Please, please help me!” He cried.

I couldn’t do much, but I rubbed his thick thigh and leaned in to kiss his belly. “Come on, big boy. You’ve got this. You can do it. Push.”

He grunted, deep and guttural. Veins bulged along his neck and arms. His chest rose in trembling heaves as the contraction peaked. Then he bore down with a desperate roar that left his lips trembling, eyes wild with agony.

I could see the crown, and it was clear this baby was coming out at an angle. “You’re doing amazing. Just a little more.”

Spencer sobbed through clenched teeth. “It’s too much—I can’t—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” I said, softly caressing the area around his overstretched hole. “You’ve made it this far. You’re almost there.”

Another contraction ripped through him like a tidal wave. He threw his head back and howled. Then he leaned forward instinctively, pushing with everything he had. His whole body shook, and he groaned before the head finally emerged.

He whimpered as his chest heaved, his nipples still dripped milk, and sweat poured down his flushed face. “Get it out, Owen, please—I can’t—”

With one last scream that tore from his very soul, Spencer pushed harder than he ever had, lifting his hips off the couch as I caught the wide shoulders, and then the baby slipped free with a great gush of fluid, wailing loudly in my arms.

“He’s here,” I whispered, almost in disbelief. “The last one. You did.”

Spencer collapsed back, gasping. I was already wrapping the eighth and final baby in a blanket, with my own eyes misting over and my hands trembling as I handed the squirming bundle to Spencer’s waiting arms. The room was a disaster, the couch was soaked, and the floor was littered with towels, bowls, and wipes. But the only thing that mattered was the eight babies softly resting around Spencer’s sweaty body.

He looked at the babies, barely able to speak, as I brought the twins in to introduce them to their little brothers. We knew they were too young to comprehend what was happening, but I saw their brows scrunching like they were trying to understand. Harry let out a squeaky coo while Henry kicked gently in my arm. I knew they felt our happiness.

Spencer lifted his trembling arms. “Bring them here.”

I knelt beside the couch, laying the twins down on either side of him. Spencer leaned over carefully, wrapping his big, shaking arms around them. The twins nestled against the familiar scent of their daddy’s body. One of the twins reached out, brushing his little fingers against the soft blanket swaddling one of the newborns.

Spencer let out a broken laugh-sob. “They’re touching... they know. They know they’re brothers. We have ten perfect babies, Owen. Can you believe it?”

I wrapped one arm around Spencer’s trembling shoulders, carefully caressing all the babies nestling around and atop their huge daddy. The scene was perfect. Spencer’s body was broad enough for our babies to rest on top of him. It was beautiful. But more importantly, the sight of our ten babies so peacefully curled against us was a perfect definition of happiness.

“I can barely believe it’s real,” I whispered. “Ten. Ten babies, Spencer. And every single one of them is perfect. You did that.”

He leaned his head against mine, completely wrecked—but glowing. “We did that,” he said. “Now we’re a whole nursery.”

We sat like that for a long time—wrapped in towels and blankets and surrounded by the soft hum of infant sounds. And I held Spencer close.

“You’re my hero. You always were. Through the ups and downs, you made me fall more in love with you than I could’ve ever expected,” I said, kissing his lips.

“I love you, Owen. I’d do anything for you,” he responded. “Except for one thing.”

I frowned. “What? What is it?”

“Getting pregnant again,” he said, smiling. “You’re never fucking me again without protection. Ten babies are more than enough anyway.” We laughed and kissed passionately.

“You’re right. But I can’t promise anything,” I whispered against his lips, moving my hands to his softened belly, and he only smiled and continued kissing me back.

...

********

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