The Knocked-Up Stripper

Bdsm

I didn’t usually go to strip clubs, but I was sick of fighting with my friends about it and gave in on one of the exceedingly rare occasions on which I decided I was willing to watch the spectacle of sad naked strangers dancing for sadder perverted strangers. Or so I told myself before trying to shut up my sanctimonious inner critic for long enough to enjoy the objectively appealing sight of some neon-lit fake titties jiggling to the rhythm of shitty 80s arena rock.

Sorry, still being overly judgmental about the whole thing. Point is, I wound up at a strip club with my friends, and I wasn’t about to divert my gaze or anything. I’d enjoy the sights and sounds, I knew, regardless of how much of a hypocrite that might make me feel like. Maybe all of this is just about my discomfort with the situation, somehow shielding myself from being judged for actually, deep-down enjoying gyrating, strange nude women.

I’m rambling. It was me (Mickey, nice to make your acquaintance), Seth, Jamie, and Erik that Friday night. It had been Jamie’s birthday the previous Tuesday, not that this crew needed an excuse to hit the strip club. They were thrilled when I agreed to go with them, their preferred club’s proximity to my apartment allowing us an easy walk to and from, and as inebriated as we desired to boot. I knew the drill after a few trips to this establishment with these friends: I would unavoidably look uncomfortable, they would try to buy me lap dances and I’d have to quite forcefully ask them to stop doing so.

After our first visit during which they’d sprung the lap dance on me as a true surprise (she just started dancing on my fucking lap out of nowhere!), I’d made my displeasure more than clear. Now, it was more about teasing me with threats of lap dances: they didn’t want to end our friendship or anything by forcing the issue. Nonetheless, they seemed to derive a significant percentage of their enjoyment when attending the club with me via incessant threats and pestering. Fun stuff. So, once we’d claimed our spot near the center pole (the main stage, if you will), it was only about a song and a half before Jamie pointed a few twenties in my direction, saying “Lap dance, Mick?” Surprising it took even that long for one of them to get around to this classic joke.

We drank and ogled. Thongs and high heels were all any of the dancers wore. Fake tits jiggle noticeably less than naturals do, I noted a few dancers in. Girls danced two songs on the showcased central pole, then moved to one of the two poles on either side for two more songs. After their four song rotation, they’d move on to try working the crowd for a few minutes, get in a few lap dances and maybe a trip to the champagne room if they were lucky. I couldn’t help but notice all this shit, my discomfort with constantly staring at their curvy parts forcing my gaze away periodically, keeping me analyzing the situation rather than being particularly swept up or aroused by it.

Five or six dancers in, Natalie made her remarkable entrance and thoroughly changed my evening. When she appeared my eyes went straight down past her lovely breasts to an even more striking feature: a very substantial pregnant belly. The baby bump was perfectly round, smooth, and sporting a very becoming outie navel. I’d never thought about a pregnant belly in a sexual way before, but then again I don’t believe I’d ever seen one with a hefty pair of natural bare tits resting on top of it. It turned out that was a surefire way to sexualize this marvelous spherical feature. The gradual curves out from between her breasts to a point of maximum protrusion near the navel and back down to her thong-clad pubic area were graceful and beautiful, just about the most feminine thing I could imagine. And again: so, so very sexy.

She used the stripper pole’s support for gyrating and grinding, her bump unavoidably making frequent contact with the steel rod. Her belly stuck so far out that she couldn’t seem to rub her tits or crotch against the pole without the bump reaching the metal first. Sometimes she’d move up and down the pole using her ass, usually resulting in her bump being shoved way out in front of her in an exaggerated and exhilarating fashion. I was hypnotized. Something unexpected had awakened inside me, and I loved it. I’d never even considered them sexually before, but apparently it turned out I was kinda into pregnant women.

Jamie had assumed I’d be too uncomfortable to take up his offer of a lap dance, as I usually was. Once I was done gawking unblinkingly at Natalie’s four-song rotation of pole dancing, though, I knew I needed her closer to me. I wasn’t even embarrassed about it. “Jamie!” I yelled over the blaring music as she got off the stage. “Hand me those twenties, I’m getting a lap dance from her.” I pointed to Natalie and all my friends’ heads turned to her in unison, then turned back to me with dropped jaws. I didn’t give a shit what they thought: I was deeply attracted to this pregnant woman and needed çankaya escort to further explore my feelings.

“Her? Really? Are you joking?” Jamie inquired. I wordlessly stuck out my hand for the money; he handed it to me with a deeply quizzical look on his face. As she approached our area, I motioned exaggeratedly in Natalie’s direction so as to be sure to get her attention. No one else seemed to be vying for her attention, and she soon approached. The money exchanged hands just as the next song, Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me,” began.

She started the lap dance standing in front of my chair facing me, huge bump directly in front of my eyes. It was even more impressive in such close proximity, rounder and smoother and more gracefully contoured than ever. It hung lower than I’d realized, too, practically eclipsing the front of her tiny thong. I could also see more clearly how heavy her swollen breasts were, resting weightily just on top of her protruding belly. When she moved to my side to make some physical contact around my shoulder, her breasts forcefully shoving into me did far less for me than her belly happening to barely graze my chest and abdomen. I hoped for more belly contact, but it seemed she was much more focused on presenting her breasts. Maybe most guys don’t specifically want her lap dance for the proximity to the belly, as I did.

I pretty much abandoned my hope for belly-focus when, probably halfway through the song, she turned away from me and half-sat her ass right onto my thighs and crotch. Her rhythmic gyrating on my lap would take up the rest of this appropriately-named lap dance. Despite my disappointment at not getting the full belly treatment, she had me rock hard by the end, a result of a very nice ass and my continued thoughts and glimpses of her bare bump.

The song ended and she started to move on. I suddenly remembered the $200 in my wallet and the existence of the champagne room, an amenity of which I’d never availed myself previously. I didn’t quite know the rules for this more private space, but I was pretty sure I could straightforwardly request a focus on her belly and compensate her fairly. I stood up, rearranging my jeans to hide my erection. “It’s Natalie, right?” I confirmed as I approached her; she nodded and smiled at me. “Can we go to…a more private room?” I lowered my voice. “The champagne room, if that’s what you call it?”

“Sure, sweetie, follow me.” It was easier to initiate than I’d expected, details apparently to be ironed out once we were alone. Even without looking back at them, I’m quite sure I’d just made my friends’ jaws drop even further. I followed as Natalie weaved swiftly between tables, eventually through a nondescript door behind the main stage. We were in a narrow, undecorated hallway with lots of doors on either side of us; we went into the third one on the left. It seemed this establishment’s “champagne room” was actually a number of small, private rooms: ours was maybe 12′ by 12′ and contained a faux-leather arm chair, Scotchgard-protected sofa, and little else.

“I’m sorry, I’m new at this; I don’t really know exactly what to do,” I told her awkwardly once she’d closed the door behind us.

She put a kind hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t you take a seat, sweetie. We’ll talk for a minute.” I sat in the chair, she sat a foot or two away from me on the near side of the sofa and put a hand on my knee. In the brighter light and closer proximity of this room, I couldn’t help but notice just how hard her nipples were. I imagined that was or would probably become painful; I would’ve encouraged her to put on some manner of top had there been one in sight. “Why don’t you tell me what you’d like to do, and hopefully we can make it happen. No sex, of course. Best if we both keep our underwear on, probably…”

I nodded. “Well, I chose you because…well…your belly. I’m really…into it. I don’t have experience with pregnant women or anything, I was just really struck by it the moment you came out. I guess I want you…to rub it on me? And I’d like to rub it with my hands, too, if that’s okay?”

She smiled and leaned back on the sofa, moving her hips forward to push her bump out even further. “All right, baby. Start rubbing!” I leaned forward and put both hands on the belly right off the bat. Her skin was smooth, obviously well-moisturized. The bump was soft to the touch, but depressing the flesh by even a centimeter betrayed its impressive inner firmness. It seemed as if a thin layer of fat encased an entirely solid sphere of baby and other hard gestational materials about which I was completely ignorant and consequently mystified. Exploring its gracefully rounded curves, its myriad levels of firmness, and its delicate translucent hair was a fascinating and arousing pleasure; I must’ve explored every square inch twice, both with eyes and hands.

That probably took up close to 10 minutes of Natalie’s time. Finally, she nodded toward my cebeci escort obvious erection and asked if I’d like to lay down on the sofa. She stood up and I got onto my back in her place. Bending her knees substantially, she was able to use both hands to solidly push her bump right into my clothed hard-on. The pressure of her weight provided the friction; her back-and-forth movement of her belly across my shaft simulated thrusting. I held out as long as I could, but she got me off with her taut bump in about two minutes. It was incredibly hot, an experience good enough that I didn’t mind I’d shot my load while clothed and publicly stained my jeans midway down my right thigh.

I gave Natalie all the money I had on me, exceedingly grateful for our time together. She looked more than happy with the amount. Still somewhat confused about my apparently brand new attraction to a pregnant belly, I felt the need to engage Natalie in further conversation. She certainly didn’t have the time to talk while she was working, though, so I took a risk while we were still in the private room together. “Say, Natalie: when do you get off work tonight?” Looking surprised but not necessarily displeased by my question, she told me she had about 90 minutes left in her shift. “Could I treat you to a trip to the diner once you’re off? I’d really just like to talk, if you’re open to it.”

Natalie hesitated for what felt like forever, but finally smiled faintly and shrugged. “Yeah, what the hell, you seem nice enough. The one right down the street?” I nodded. “I’ll meet you there in two hours, okay? I’m pregnant and hungry, so you better refill that wallet of yours.” She chuckled, I laughed nervously in response. I was rather shocked she’d agreed, but very grateful. If anyone could help me make sense of my newfound kink, it was the pregnant stripper that had inspired it.

I went back out to my friends, grateful for the darkness of the club’s main room and its ability to hide my jeans’ cum stain. “What’d you do back there, Mick?” Jamie asked as I took my seat next to him. “Happy ending or what?” I nodded, not wanting to go into it in too much detail. He laughed. “So Mickey likes ’em knocked-up. Very interesting!” The rest of the guys laughed, but I didn’t care. I’d undergone something of a sexual awakening, and it was exciting despite the societal disapproval that came along with my apparent fetish. It was no problem to kill the time before my appointment with Natalie, as my friends tended to stay at the strip club until closing. I’d excuse myself when necessary and walk the mile or so to the diner.

The time passed pretty quickly, naked ladies and bourbon providing ample distraction. I was glad I hadn’t driven there, as I was definitely above the legal limit by the time I started my walk to the diner. Natalie beat me there; I found her sitting alone at a table near the back of the deserted establishment. Booths were probably out of the question with the current size of her belly. I pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. “Hello!” I said a bit too loudly, still tipsy despite my rather sobering walk through the chilly night air.

“Hi,” she replied quietly, maybe a bit nervously. “I didn’t get your name at the club…”

“Mickey. And you’re Natalie, unless my memory has failed me?”

She smiled and nodded. “Nice to meet you, Mickey. I haven’t ordered anything yet: let’s get our waitress over here, get us both some water to start.” Our server came over with a wave from Natalie, we ordered and got our glasses of water a minute later. I drank half of mine in one long sip, decreasing my inebriation in seconds. “Feel better?” Natalie asked after I exhaled loudly following my gulping.

I took a beat and nodded. “Yes, thank you. The water was a good idea. Sorry, I didn’t mean to come here drunk. I may have overindulged at the club after…our private meeting. So…” I very carefully lowered my voice. “…you’re pregnant, and you’re a stripper. I may lack experience, but this is a novel situation for me. How did it come about, if I may ask?” Our server returned; Natalie ordered a tuna melt, I ordered a cheeseburger and fries.

Natalie answered once we were alone again. “Well, there’s no big story or anything. I’ve been stripping for about 3 years now. I got pregnant 8 months ago, and I still have bills to pay. I’m single, no one to support me or the baby that’ll be arriving soon. So, I keep stripping. It’s good money, and my belly brings me at least as much business as it loses. It’s all practicalities and less-than-ideal situations. Nothing too special about any of it, just a girl hustling to get by.”

I nodded. “Well, I think it’s brave…and admirable. And there is something special about it to me, because I felt something tonight that I’ve never felt in my life.” I got quieter still. “Apparently, I am sexually attracted to pregnancy. Well, definitely your pregnancy. I guess I haven’t tested whether it’s universal to all çubuk escort pregnancies yet. Pretty safe to assume it is, though, I bet. Do you get a lot of guys at the club that are into it?”

“Maybe not a lot, but enough. A pregnant stripper is something of a rarity, you’re not wrong. What with internet fetish communities and word of mouth, it really gets out there when one of us pops up. People come from far away and are usually prepared to drop a substantial amount of money, way more than I ever got dancing pre-pregnancy. It’s a unique experience not everyone is willing to provide, and the compensation reflects that. With some careful savings, I’ve developed a pretty respectable nest egg at this point.”

I nodded and smiled, feeling a bit less awkward about things now that I knew I wasn’t her first customer obsessed with her belly and willing to overpay for her services. “That’s awesome, good for you. I’m glad to hear I’m not the only one interested in your pregnancy. I felt…abnormal, I guess, about it. I’ve never known of a pregnant fetish or seen any porn or anything. Never thought about it in this context until you came on stage tonight. I mean, I could’ve guessed it was a thing for some people: everything is, basically. But I’ve never been struck by something like this. It made me…” The server returned, placing our food in front of us. We thanked her and I waited until she was out of earshot again. “It made me a little bit uncomfortable, even though I felt compelled to act on it in the champagne room with you. I’m really glad I did, no regrets. I just couldn’t really explain my actions to myself. You didn’t think I was a freak or anything?”

She laughed. “Man, with the shit I’ve seen over the years? No, you’re not even close to being a freak. I’ve had dozens of people visit specifically for my pregnancy, probably hundreds before my pregnancy that made far weirder requests than just focusing on my belly. I get the belly thing, too: it’s sexy, extra curves, really feminine, rare in this particular context. The people I’d consider ‘freaks’ ask me to do things I truly do not understand. I’ll do them if I don’t see any harm in them, but it won’t be sexual to me in the least. With this bump, though, I can get into it a little right alongside you and do my job better, I think. I like to be included in the arousal a little, when possible. It’s a perk.”

I hadn’t thought of strippers as enjoying their work as much as Natalie was (at least sometimes) able to; it made me happy to think they weren’t always miserable, not necessarily just going through the motions. We ate quietly for a minute or two, then I had a question I thought someone in a sex-adjacent field might be able to help me with. “What do I do now? I mean, now that I know I’m into pregnancy. You said pregnant strippers are rare; and a whole lot of pregnant women are obviously in serious relationships, off the market. Do I wait until I find someone I want to marry and get her pregnant, enjoy that time with her? What else is there?”

Natalie laughed; I blushed. She reached over and squeezed my arm as she made eye contact. “I’m sorry, Mickey, I didn’t mean to laugh at you. It’s just kind of innocent and cute, the way you talk about your newfound fetish.” I relaxed and she continued. “So, first and foremost, there’s porn. Like, a whole mess of porn. It’s not that uncommon a fetish, really, and even much rarer fetishes have more porn than a person could consume in a lifetime. You’ll never run out, trust me. In the very short-term, I’ll be dancing here five nights a week for another three weeks or so. You can certainly enjoy that, being lucky enough to live close to an active pregnant stripper. After I’m done, you could do some research and see if there’s anyone else within a reasonable distance.”

I nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I don’t know why I couldn’t guess porn existed for this just because I’d never come across it before. Something you probably have to search for specifically, but obviously it’s gonna be out there. And I’ll be a regular at the club as long as you’re still up there, that’s for sure. It seems like finding another stripper in a similar condition is kind of a long shot…”

She shrugged. “Yeah, it is a long shot. You’d probably have to travel, spend a whole lot of money before you even start paying that special girl at the club. Not the best solution, of course. Dating sites, especially hook-up focused apps, can occasionally present you with an opportunity. You’ve gotta be very patient and very lucky for that to work, though, from what I’ve heard. Flirting with pregnant women you run into out in public is risky, what with the high probability that they have a husband just around the corner. Or that they’ll think you’re a creep. Honestly,” her voiced got quieter, “I think the best solution to keeping a fetish satisfied is to just pay for it. Not to denigrate or disrespect myself at all, but what we did is not all that significantly different from visiting a prostitute. Have you ever paid for sex before?”

I shook my head. “No, I’ve had semi-decent luck with the ladies and never felt particularly desperate during dry spells. I don’t have anything in particular against it, though. I don’t think it’s inherently wrong, nothing like that.”

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