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Ozzy's Game Days 1
🕑 Added 2025-09-06 02:00:13 +0000 UTCSupport Tier-exclusive
Kids shouted across the green soccer field as parents cheered. Ozzy, one of the loudest dads, sat among the rows of benches that lined the sidelines. He wore an athletic blue V‑neck, stretched taut across his front, pulled over a belly so large and round it commanded attention. As impossible as it sounded, Ozzy was six months pregnant. His body showed the unmistakable size of big triplet boys growing in his womb, and the weight of his middle left him adjusting and shifting every few minutes. He threw one hand in the air in excitement, while the other clutched a burger meant to satisfy his never-ending hunger.
Ozzy cheered with every ounce of energy he had. His voice boomed across the field, alongside sharp whistles, loud shouts, and clapping hands. “That’s it, Oliver! Take it up the sideline—yes, Owen, stay on him!” He said, cheering for his two boys, 10-year-old Oliver and 9-year-old Owen.
His words spilled out between ravenous bites of the burger as grease spotted the corners of his lips. He ate with the desperation of someone whose hunger never ended. The triplets demanded constant fuel, and the burger didn’t even last halfway through the first half of the match before he was licking salt from his fingers, and his belly groaned for more.
He shifted back on the bench, groaning softly as his lower back throbbed. The babies inside him were restless. A sudden roll rippled across his belly, followed by the sharp kick of a foot pressing insistently against his side. He broke off from cheering, moving his hand to the rounded middle and rubbing in wide circles to calm the babies down as his voice softened into a rumble meant only for them.
“Alright, easy in there, boys… Your brothers are the ones playing soccer, not you.” The movement settled for a moment, then another tumble shifted under his hand, almost playful. Ozzy chuckled and rubbed the spot. “Cheering, huh? Just like me. Okay, but go easy on me.”
The parents around him noticed, and some sneaked glances at the size of his middle. A few eyes lingered too long, and Ozzy, used to this by now, only smiled and waved a hand in their direction. Some blushed, embarrassed to be caught staring, but he let them off easy with a grin. He was past shame; this was his reality now, as impossible as it could be, and the world would have to adjust to seeing a man so heavily pregnant cheering from the sidelines.
He loved coming to his boys’ games to support them, but sitting too long made his hips burn. He grunted, pressing one hand into the bench to steady himself as he levered his body upward. It was a slow effort that made him spread his legs wider than before, his other hand bracing firmly against the small of his back as he rocked forward. His round belly pushed out in front of him, and for a moment, he looked every inch the classic picture of pregnancy, except undeniably male.
Once on his feet, standing at his 5’11” height, he stretched carefully, arching his back until a groan of relief escaped him. The triplets shifted again, and the mound jutted out further as he rubbed it. Then, he started pacing the sidelines. His gait had softened into a natural waddle, but his voice never faltered. “Come on, Ollie! Push, push—yes, that’s it!”
When the referee’s whistle blew for halftime, a few minutes later, his two boys sprinted toward him. Oliver and Owen collided with his sides, wrapping their arms around his middle as they buried their faces against his belly. Their laughter shook against his stretched shirt.
Ozzy’s arms came around them, holding them close even as he chuckled. “You guys are incredible out there. And hey, the babies?” He rubbed the belly meaningfully. “They’ve been cheering as hard as your dad. They’re proud of their big brothers.”
The boys burst into giggles, lifting their heads to glance at Ozzy’s face. “They were kicking?” Owen asked.
“Nonstop,” Ozzy answered with a smirk. “I think they want to play too.” He ruffled their hair, and the boys rested their heads on his belly again. “Now, go grab some water with your mom. I’ve got to hit the restroom before these little guys use my bladder for another game.”
His sons erupted into laughter again and bounded off toward their mother, who waved warmly from another bench. Ozzy gave her a wink, earning a soft smile in return. He couldn’t help but remember how life used to be when they were married, but after about 4 years of divorce, it was almost impossible for things to work between them again. The pregnancy made things even harder because even though his ex-wife was supportive of the boys spending time with their pregnant dad, it didn’t mean she was happy with the fact that Ozzy had let another man knock him up so well. Still, Ozzy smiled and waddled away from the crowd.
The restroom sat beyond the bleachers, a squat brick building he knew too well. It was the place where six months ago, in a reckless moment with another father, everything had begun. Ozzy entered, moving with the careful steps of a man carrying too much weight, and made his way to the stalls. Relieving himself was a chore since angling around the size of his belly took patience, but when the stream finally came, he groaned aloud in relief.
“Oh, man… I needed this,” Ozzy said, arching his back and tilting his head back.
As he adjusted his clothes after emptying his bladder, he heard the door open behind him. He turned, and his breath caught. He saw Baxter, the man who had pumped the three big babies into Ozzy’s womb six months ago. He was taller than Ozzy by a good half‑foot, and his frame was lean but cut with strength. Baxter’s presence was captivating, to say the least. His dark hair was swept back neatly, and his jawline was sharp enough to draw eyes without effort. His eyes made people gasp everywhere. There was something magnetic in how he moved. He was the kind of man who left silence trailing in his wake as people turned to look.
Baxter’s eyes flicked down to Ozzy’s belly immediately, softening with a smile. “Still growing, huh?” He stepped inside, closed the door, and turned the lock with a quiet click.
Ozzy’s heart thudded. He managed a crooked grin as his hands instinctively moved to his middle. “Yeah. They don’t exactly leave me much choice; they’re getting big… like you.”
Baxter crossed the small space, reaching out with one hand and brushing his fingers under the hem of Ozzy’s shirt to expose the curve of skin stretched tight. His hand pressed gently against the swell, and almost on cue, a sharp kick tapped back. Baxter chuckled. “Feisty. Just like their dad.”
Ozzy shivered under the touch, and his breath quickened as warmth spread through him. Hormones roared to the surface as his body leaned into Baxter’s hand. “They don’t calm down unless you’re around,” he admitted quietly.
Baxter tilted his head, his smile widening and eyes glittering with a confidence that made Ozzy weak in the knees. He leaned in, close enough for Ozzy to feel his breath, and tenderly kissed the shaky lips. Ozzy surrendered to it instantly as the tension in his shoulders eased. The relief was palpable—this was the touch his body craved, but he still needed more.
“Been managing?” Baxter asked softly against his lips.
Ozzy let out a laugh that was partly tired and needy. “Trying. But I’ve been needing you.” His voice dropped lower, vulnerable in a way he never showed anyone else.
Baxter’s hand stroked across the curve of the belly, tracing the line of taut skin. “Then I’ll take care of you,” he whispered, smirking and making Ozzy shiver.
Baxter guided Ozzy gently toward the counter, steadying him with firm hands at his back and under the curve of his belly so he could lean forward. Then, he carefully tugged at the waistband of Ozzy’s shorts, lowering them enough to reveal Ozzy’s rounded ass in all its glory. Baxter’s eyes lingered openly on how Ozzy’s frame had softened and filled out.
Baxter gave a quiet laugh, moving his hands over the plump cheeks, kneading the mass and making Ozzy moan. “Fuck, you look incredible… You’ve never been more beautiful,” he said as his hands pressed against the hips, squeezing gently as he marveled.
Ozzy’s breath grew shaky at the praise as his cheeks flushed, and he let out a soft sound as the words washed over him. The heat of Baxter’s nearness and the way he admired every part of him left Ozzy trembling with relief and need. “Please, I need you,” he said, breathlessly and almost shaking with need.
Baxter slipped out of his pants, and his cock immediately thickened and hardened to an impressive foot in length. He grinned and brushed the huge shaft against Ozzy’s butt, making him tremble even more. “The day I got you pregnant here… it was good, but now? Now it’s even better, because you need this. You need me,” he said, slowly pushing his cock between Ozzy’s cheeks. The room seemed to disappear around them as Ozzy’s body demanded to be filled.
Baxter smirked and pushed his hips forward, drawing a loud moan from Ozzy’s mouth. They didn’t lose time, and Baxter started pounding hard and fast against a senseless Ozzy without a break. The pregnant man could only moan and shake as he felt the foot-long shaft stretching him over and over again, like the day they had conceived the babies and the several times they had repeated it during games.
Ozzy’s hands moved to caress his belly as Baxter pounded harder. The moment was too intense to focus on anything but the huge cock rearranging his guts with each powerful thrust. He could feel Baxter’s pre-cum leaking into him, making him feel bloated already, but he already knew the real show was a lot better. Ozzy’s eyes rolled in his head as the stimulation made his own cock throb against his lower belly, but when he felt the warm tsunami of Baxter’s cum entering him, it was enough to make his own cock shoot without being touched.
*
When they finally stepped out again, Ozzy’s face was flushed and his t-shirt rumpled from where Baxter’s hands had lingered. His belly felt impossibly tight and full beneath the fabric, slightly fuller with Baxter’s impressive cum load. He cradled it openly now, his hand pressing into the side as though to steady himself. His eyes sought Baxter’s instinctively, and when the taller man caught his gaze, he smirked and winked. Heat rushed to Ozzy’s cheeks.
Back at the bench, the second half of the game began. Ozzy lowered himself slowly onto the seat, rubbing broad circles across his middle as the triplets rolled inside. His cheers came softer now, punctuated by absentminded groans as he adjusted against the aches in his hips. The world outside buzzed with energy—the laughter of children, the chants of parents—but Ozzy’s thoughts lingered on the man who had just pumped him full of cum again. His sons sprinted across the field, and for a fleeting moment, Ozzy imagined a future where his brood, a product of his constant encounters with Baxter, would fill an entire soccer team. It sounded like a perfect idea as he caressed his belly.
...
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PN: AI Generated image only meant to illustrate the scene.
