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"Curves of Love: A Pregnancy Romance"

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A heartwarming romance story of two pregnant characters, beautifully embracing their changing bodies and curves with love and laughter.
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I remember the moment it all started—lazily sprawled across my favorite beanbag, the thick tuft of my tawny tail curled around my thigh. The late afternoon sun filtered through our apartment’s window, painting warm golden arcs on the living room carpet. Next to me, Jessa shifted, her snowy fur bristling as she laughed at a joke I’d told. I watched her, her hearty wolfish chuckle making her belly jiggle beneath her oversized hoodie. She placed a hand on her burgeoning midsection, grinning as she caught me looking.

Pregnancy had been an adventure for us, a road we’d started walking almost at the same time—fate, or perhaps just impeccable timing. Both of us, carrying twins, ballooned faster than we’d ever imagined. The mirror became both a source of awe and amusement as our bodies changed.

My once athletic frame had softened and blossomed. My thighs… Oh, those had become masterpieces in their own right: plush, round, golden-furred pillars that squished together even when I sat, the fur glinting in the sunlight. Each step made my hips sway with exaggerated grandeur, wide enough now that I sometimes brushed doorframes if I wasn’t careful—something Jessa found endlessly amusing.

Jessa’s curves rivaled mine, though she was taller and her hips had become almost cartoonishly wide, giving her an inviting, hourglass silhouette. Her thighs, too, had grown thick and strong beneath her gray fur, the muscles plush now with new softness. When we sat together on the couch, our thighs overlapped, spilling out and pressing together warmly, making us both giggle about needing a bigger sofa.

Of course, above all the rest, our bellies stole the show. Mine was round and prominent, the fur stretching smoothly over tight skin, only broken by my broad hands cradling the sides. Jessa’s belly was oval-shaped, so hefty she’d started making jokes about needing a wheelbarrow before month seven. At night, we would lie together, our heads on each other's enormous chests—two mountains of soft, sensitive flesh, fuller and heavier than ever. Our bras hardly stayed put anymore; cups meant to be supportive just surrendered to the cascading size, straps digging deep into our shoulders.

Our breasts, now vast, moved with every breath. Just shifting on the bed set them to swaying gently—heavy, pendulous, capped with sensitive tips that had grown darker and larger. Sometimes, I’d rest my chin atop Jessa’s bosom, marveling at its sheer size and the way it rose and fell as she breathed, her giggles making me bounce. We’d compare notes—whose nipples had gotten bigger, which of us had the most impressive cleavage. Laughter was constant.

Pregnancy had made us wide in ways I never expected. Our hips, once firm, now spread generously against any seat, our movements slower, more deliberate. Jessa joked that we could never sneak up on anyone again—our thighs announced every step. Sometimes I’d catch my reflection, tracing my wide, plush hips with a stunned smile, marveling at how much I’d changed.

Even simple things had become little adventures. Getting dressed involved negotiating fabrics over our exaggerated curves—pulling stretchy leggings up over my thick, golden-furred thighs, the fabric struggling to contain them. Jessa, always the practical one, switched to flowy dresses, but the sight of her broad, pale thighs was just as eye-catching beneath all that fold of fabric, the soft fur stark against her clothes.

Through it all, we shared private, gleeful moments—sharing baths as our bellies floated, making up stories about wobbling into the hospital together, our combined curves taking over the waiting room. We grumbled about swollen ankles, then burst into laughter when neither of us could actually reach to paint our own toenails.

But mostly, there was love—gentle hands on each other’s bellies, whispered encouragements, and lingering touches on plush hips and full breasts. And as our families grew inside us, so did our affection for each new beautiful curve that blossomed.

Who knew that growing together could feel so right—and so wonderful?

This story was generated by user kade with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.

Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.

AI Prompts

Prompt: Write me a story about a thick anthropomorphic female lioness furry and her female wolf furry friend who have large curves getting pregnant with twins each and them both getting massive thighs and massive boobs and wide hips and big bellies from the lioness pov with lots of descriptions of their body shape especially their thighs and massive boobs

Response: I remember the moment it all started—lazily sprawled across my favorite beanbag, the thick tuft of my tawny tail curled around my thigh. The late afternoon sun filtered through our apartment’s window, painting warm golden arcs on the living room carpet. Next to me, Jessa shifted, her snowy fur bristling as she laughed at a joke I’d told. I watched her, her hearty wolfish chuckle making her belly jiggle beneath her oversized hoodie. She placed a hand on her burgeoning midsection, grinning as she caught me looking. Pregnancy had been an adventure for us, a road we’d started walking almost at the same time—fate, or perhaps just impeccable timing. Both of us, carrying twins, ballooned faster than we’d ever imagined. The mirror became both a source of awe and amusement as our bodies changed. My once athletic frame had softened and blossomed. My thighs… Oh, those had become masterpieces in their own right: plush, round, golden-furred pillars that squished together even when I sat, the fur glinting in the sunlight. Each step made my hips sway with exaggerated grandeur, wide enough now that I sometimes brushed doorframes if I wasn’t careful—something Jessa found endlessly amusing. Jessa’s curves rivaled mine, though she was taller and her hips had become almost cartoonishly wide, giving her an inviting, hourglass silhouette. Her thighs, too, had grown thick and strong beneath her gray fur, the muscles plush now with new softness. When we sat together on the couch, our thighs overlapped, spilling out and pressing together warmly, making us both giggle about needing a bigger sofa. Of course, above all the rest, our bellies stole the show. Mine was round and prominent, the fur stretching smoothly over tight skin, only broken by my broad hands cradling the sides. Jessa’s belly was oval-shaped, so hefty she’d started making jokes about needing a wheelbarrow before month seven. At night, we would lie together, our heads on each other's enormous chests—two mountains of soft, sensitive flesh, fuller and heavier than ever. Our bras hardly stayed put anymore; cups meant to be supportive just surrendered to the cascading size, straps digging deep into our shoulders. Our breasts, now vast, moved with every breath. Just shifting on the bed set them to swaying gently—heavy, pendulous, capped with sensitive tips that had grown darker and larger. Sometimes, I’d rest my chin atop Jessa’s bosom, marveling at its sheer size and the way it rose and fell as she breathed, her giggles making me bounce. We’d compare notes—whose nipples had gotten bigger, which of us had the most impressive cleavage. Laughter was constant. Pregnancy had made us wide in ways I never expected. Our hips, once firm, now spread generously against any seat, our movements slower, more deliberate. Jessa joked that we could never sneak up on anyone again—our thighs announced every step. Sometimes I’d catch my reflection, tracing my wide, plush hips with a stunned smile, marveling at how much I’d changed. Even simple things had become little adventures. Getting dressed involved negotiating fabrics over our exaggerated curves—pulling stretchy leggings up over my thick, golden-furred thighs, the fabric struggling to contain them. Jessa, always the practical one, switched to flowy dresses, but the sight of her broad, pale thighs was just as eye-catching beneath all that fold of fabric, the soft fur stark against her clothes. Through it all, we shared private, gleeful moments—sharing baths as our bellies floated, making up stories about wobbling into the hospital together, our combined curves taking over the waiting room. We grumbled about swollen ankles, then burst into laughter when neither of us could actually reach to paint our own toenails. But mostly, there was love—gentle hands on each other’s bellies, whispered encouragements, and lingering touches on plush hips and full breasts. And as our families grew inside us, so did our affection for each new beautiful curve that blossomed. Who knew that growing together could feel so right—and so wonderful?

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