For the Babies
by Miss Mouse
“Marceline, this is ridiculous,” said Bonnie, her hands folded atop the mountain of her belly as she sat in her chair. She had been relaxing in her study, minding her own business, when Marceline tracked her down. “I’m fine.”
“Are you? Because I was by your side all evening and you didn’t take one bite of food.”
“I was busy with the party and all the guests coming by give gifts and congratulate us. You know how these things are, they’re a lot of work!”
“You shouldn’t be working in your condition!” Marceline pleaded, taking Bonnie’s hands in her own. “Think of the babies.”
“I’m fine, Marcy. We’re fine.” She pressed Marceline’s hand against her belly. It seemed the babies were almost always moving these days, turning over, looking for space in their increasingly-cramped womb.
The birth was imminent. She’d been having irregular contractions for almost a week, but that was normal at this stage. Actual labor had yet to begin, and Bonnibel was constantly reassuring her anxious and overprotective lover that she didn’t need to be on bedrest or in the hospital yet.
“I don’t have any more meetings, conferences, or public appearances before the birth; you can take care of me as much as you want until then, alright?”
“Are you going to complain?” Marceline asked, her hand still feeling the princess’ belly through her gown.
“No,” Bonnie smiled. She could take a couple of days to indulge her love’s wishes, try to ease her anxieties before the stress of birth. Honestly, she thought the whole thing would be harder on Marceline than on herself.
Princess Bubblegum sighed, defeated, before raising her hand to vow. “I promise.”
“Good, then my first act of taking care of you is to get some food in you and the babies.”
“Marceline, I’m not hungry.”
The vampire ignored her, turning to the covered platter she had left on the table when she came in. It was one of the ones from the party that she had hidden away before the ballroom was cleaned out. She presented it to Bonnibel, removing the silver cover with a flourish to reveal a small mountain of fluffy cream puffs.
They both heard Bonnie’s stomach growl hungrily at the sight.
“I’m not hungry,” she repeated, but neither believed it, and Marceline didn’t hesitate as she set the platter nearby and picked up one of the pastries. Each was about the size of her fist, soft and sweet, and there were a dozen or so in the pile.
“Come on, you promised.” She handed over the cream puff, admiring how Bonnibel held it in her dainty hands.
The princess looked down at it and couldn’t deny her hunger. It was true, she hadn’t eaten since lunch, and as uncomfortable as she felt, she did need to eat. So, she brought the pastry to her lips, biting into it, feeling is softness yield to her teeth, the sweet cream squeezing out onto her tongue.
It was delicious—all the food in the Candy Kingdom was delicious—and it took only a few moments for her to devour the whole thing. Before she realized it, she was licking the cream from her fingertips. She stopped, horribly embarrassed, wiping her hands on a napkin Marceline had brought.
“Yes please…” the princess responded meekly.
Bonnibel continued to eat, her zeal waning more and more with each pastry she consumed. They were delicious and she was hungry, but she was also very, very full, her babies having taken up all the spare room inside of her, it seemed.
“Oof,” Bonnie leaned back in her chair, her hands gently holding the sides of her huge belly. “I’m done, Marcy,” she moaned. “You’re going to need to carry me to bed, I don’t think I can get up.”
“Not yet, I’m not,” said Marceline, picking up another pastry. There were three left of the initial dozen. “You haven’t finished your dinner.”
“But I’m full,” she protested.
“Uh-uh, you’re not getting out of your promise that easily.” Marceline picked a dollop of cream off of Bonnie’s cheek with one finger, gently pushing it between the princess’ lips.
Bonnibel’s tongue licked this off slowly, sliding over Marcy’s fingertip, savoring the sweet taste, the smooth texture, before she swallowed. She released the finger with a pop of suction, breathing a little heavily.
“See?” said Marceline with a smile, “You’re not full yet.”
She poked the next creme puff into Bonnie’s mouth whole, making the woman’s eyes go wide with shock. The princess gave a few muffled cries, her cheeks ballooning out as she struggled to chew the pastry, before at last breaking it down and swallowing it with a gulp. She sighed with the effort, then hiccupped.
Bonnie groaned, shifting uncomfortably in her chair, too focused on what was going on inside of her to be angry with Marceline. She felt ready to burst, the mass inside of her winning out against the strength of her body. Her breaths came short and shallow, her lungs unable to fully expand due to the pressure.
With each hiccup, she tensed painfully, and these spasms only served to agitate her occupants. The babies kicked and stretched, or tried to—she could feel the tension of her skin restraining their movements. They were pressing against a drum, unable to dent its overtaxed surface.
“Two more,” said Marceline, toying with the next pastry. “Almost there.”
Bonnie couldn’t say anything, just shook her head and hiccupped. A small belch escaped her lips, followed by another groan.
“You’ve still got some room left, it looks like.” Marcy pressed the cream puff against Bonnie’s lips, slowly pushing it further and further in as the princess struggled to eat it. “These things are mostly air, anyway.”
She didn’t stop pushing until her finger was almost in Bonnie’s throat, the poor girl’s eyes watering with the strain of taking in another pastry. Her face was flushed, her breath hot, panting. She stared up into Marceline’s eyes with a pleading, reliant look. It begged Marcy to let her go, but there was a gleam of desire in it, one that didn’t want this to stop.
The hiccups cut off, maybe unable to force the strain any longer. Airy or not, the cream puffs were big, and she’d eaten eleven of them, already feeling uncomfortably full with the burden of her pregnancy. Now, she felt at her absolute limit, her poor skin stretch dangerously tight over her womb. She half-imagined creaking sounds, like a balloon about to pop.
“Here,” said Marceline, kneeling down in front of her.
Bonnie really did look full, her usual royal bearing lost as she laid back in her chair, panting, her back arched, ribs forced upwards by the pressure below. Her hard nipples poked out through her bra and the fabric of her gown, small wet spots forming as milk began to leak from them. Lower down, at the furthest point of her round and straining belly, was another bump, almost like another nipple. Her belly button had popped out months ago, but now it seemed even more noticeable, forced to full prominence by the extreme pressure beneath it.
Marceline carefully took the hem of Bonnibel’s gown, pulling it upwards, revealing her shapely legs, seemingly too delicate for the task of supporting her pregnant form. She bundled the front of the dress on top of the princess’ belly, revealing the bare size of her pregnancy.
Bonnie’s stomach was a huge, pink ball that more than filled her lap, rounding out to the sides as it fought for space. Its pink expanse had achieved a glossy sheen as it tightened, adding to its sense of roundness, of fullness. As she watched, it quivered, shaking a little as the babies moved and shifted inside of it, trying to find room where there was none.
Her eyes went went to Bonnie’s navel, amazed by its rigidity. She touched it, finding it surprisingly firm, unable to really be pushed in or pulled out, already being so tightly pressed. Marcy toyed with it curiously before moving elsewhere, her hands feeling the smooth surface of the belly. It was rock-hard, yet she could feel the movement inside, threatening to push the princess’ body beyond its limit. She tried to press in, but she found it unyielding.
Bonnibel whimpered and moaned as Marceline explored her body, now so delicately poised at its extreme. She was sore and uncomfortable, almost sick with the sensation of being filled, but some part of her still wanted to know if this really was her limit, if she really couldn’t take any more. Some part of her had to know.
Marceline stood again, taking the last cream puff in her hand. She hesitated a little, but when she looked at her lover’s face, some unspoken thoughts passed between them. She extended her arm, holding the pastry out in front of Bonnie’s face. She watched in amazement as the woman struggled forward, unable to bend at all, barely able to scoot, and began to eat—bite-by-bite—until there was nothing left.
Bonnie fell back in her chair, her enormous belly swelling out from her otherwise thin frame like a bubble about to pop. It shuddered, trying to change shape, the babies inside kicking wildly. Perhaps it was the sugar, perhaps it was the nearness of their imminent birth, but her children stretched and squirmed, pressing against her with a dangerous excitement.
“P-please,” she stammered breathlessly. She was going to burst. She could feel it coming, each kick bringing her closer to that end. “Sh-sh-shhh,” she rubbed what she could reach of her belly, trying to soothe the restless lives within her. “You can’t be so rough inside your mother! You’re—oof—you’re too big for me!”
Marceline wanted to help, reaching out to place one hand on Bonnie’s stomach, but she hesitated, afraid that that little bit of pressure might be all it took. Her fingertips brushed the rock-hard skin tentatively, then slowly the rest of her hand followed, not pressing at all but rubbing, hoping to reach out to her babies.
Meanwhile, Bonnie felt a pinching in her lower back, the slowly-building tension that heralded one of the early contractions which had lately plagued her. It began to mount and she took Marceline’s hands in her own, holding on tightly as her muscles tensed, constricting around her overstuffed belly. She squeezed as the pressure came over her, overwhelmed her, releasing as a great, prolonged belch, which issued forth from her lips.
It passed and Bonnibel collapsed backwards in relief, her breath panting, her hands resting on her belly just beneath her breasts. She still felt stuffed to the gills, but it was now only a pleasant thing, a comfortable limit.
Marceline watched this in amazement, marveling at her lover’s body, watching the now-gentler kicks press out against the surface of her belly. She placed one hand on it, and Bonnie placed one of hers on top of it, her pink face glowing.
“Come on,” said Marcy, slowly moving to take Bonnibel into her arms. “Let’s get you to bed.”