The Society

At least for this moment, I've forgotten my shame.

***

I was more than just a little bit anxious to show up at work on Monday. How would Staci react, now knowing that I'd found out about The Society—and even moreso that I tried to sneak into it. This had all the potential of a terribly embarrassing and awkward situation.

I got in to work a bit earlier than usual that day. I figured if I beat Staci into the office, maybe I'd sidestep a shitshow when I walked in the door. I was maybe 30 minutes early, and things were still cranking up for the day. So I sat behind my desk, buried my face in my computer, sipped my coffee and got to work.

I could tell when Staci came in. She had these shoes—not heels, but not flats, that always made a bit of a tapping noise whenever she would step. I looked up for a moment and, yes, there she was. She was wearing a green top today, which showed off her belly quite prominently, curving gently around the underside of her bump. Black leggings and a very colorful cardigan sweater on top. She came in the office and slung her purse down on her desk.

I gulped, expecting the worst.

"Good morning, Ryan! Did you have a nice weekend?" she said, happily.

That...was not what I thought she'd do.

"Oh, yes, pretty quiet," I said to her. "And you?"

"Mine was delightful. I took the kids to the Museum of Natural History on Saturday, and on Sunday, my husband took the kids out and gave me a little bit of time to myself. So I took a nice, long nap. I'm feeling very refreshed today!"

Mild chit-chat ensued before we both got to work. So, was I off the hook? Was she just not going to acknowledge what happened?

It was maybe an hour or so later when the following email appeared in my inbox:

From: Rodgers, Staci

To: Williams, Ryan

Re: Friday Evening...

...Never happened. We will not discuss it.

--

I look up at her. Her head is locked in on her screen, working away. As though no response or reaction was expected. Or necessary.

That was actually kind of a relaxing feeling. I didn't have to worry about any sort of humiliation. I guess it made sense. For as much as I intruded on something I should not have intruded upon, Staci, I'm sure, probably wants to keep The Society a secret herself. After all, it did appear to be something quite exclusive.

I figure it best to not push my luck. I'm not going to dig any deeper.

***

Staci and I come to work daily, have our usual pleasantries and then get on with our day. She gets larger and larger in her pregnancy, and more frequently, there are, shall we say, "encounters" in the office. She's reached that size where everyone begins to ask when she's due. This is the sort of stuff that went on during her previous pregnancies. Often, people want to touch her belly. She's pretty open about this, at least if she's not carrying a load of papers. Or her lunch. But it's a pretty regular occurrence for someone to approach her in the break room or in the common room, ask how she's doing, and then ask if they can feel her bump. Sometimes, she offers a feel outright.

But not to me. And I don't ask. I'm not even opening my mouth. It's happened once or twice that someone has come into the office, gotten into a discussion with Staci about her pregnancy, and even rubbed up her belly right in front of me. But I keep my mouth shut. Maybe a dopey grin. And usually, that person will leave the room, and Staci will shoot me a look, as if to silently tell me to shut up. Or, at least, that's how it appears to me.

I wish I could feel her belly—it looks like it's quite nice to touch, very tight and firm, and she's always rubbing it herself. Sometimes, she'll make a kind of a short gasp, and a couple of times I've looked up at her. I'd imagine it's her baby kicking. The bigger she gets, the more this seems to happen. Her first two pregnancies, this happened quite a bit, and I'd ask if she was all right, and she said she was getting kicked. Now...I can't bring myself to say anything. But...I can tell.

***

A couple of weeks have passed. The Society would have met the previous Friday. I stayed far, far away from West 73rd Street. Didn't even notice if Staci was on my subway train that evening. Instead, I went out with my wife. A movie, then dinner. A few drinks. More drunken, sloppy sex. She doesn't share my kink for pregnant chicks, but she does like to tease me about it. I've mentioned Staci and her assorted pregnancies to her a few times. The response I usually get is something like, "Yeah, I bet you're distracted," or "How's your Work Girlfriend doing?" I have not, however, mentioned The Society. Nor do I plan to.

When we were out, though, I couldn't help but notice that about ten minutes after we went in the restaurant and sat down, a pregnant woman came in. She was slim, with a big, round belly that seemed very out-of-place on her short frame. It made her bump seem more pronounced, as though she were 12 months pregnant. She was with who I assume was her husband. Of course, she wound up sitting directly in my eyesight, to the immediate left of my wife. I couldn't look away.

Later, on our walk home, we passed a frozen yogurt stand. Coming out the door--and nearly crashing into my wife—was another pregnant woman, of similar girth to the one we saw in the restaurant. The ready-to-pop variety, holding a heaping cup of what I assume was chocolate frozen yogurt, locked in and ready to wolf it down. So locked in that she didn't see my wife passing in front of her as she came out of the store. Her belly, which stuck out quite obviously, brushed against my wife's arm. She giggled and said something like "Oh, I'm so sorry. Constantly bumping into things with this belly," and she and my wife both had a nice laugh over it.

This morning, on the way to the office, a couple of similar sightings. Waiting for the subway downtown, there was a pregnant woman on the platform. Wearing a tight, black top and elegant maternity slacks that seemed to perfectly hug her bump, topped by a long, grey overcoat. There was something...I don't know...familiar, about her? Could I have seen her before? In the neighborhood? I'd remember a bump like that, though. I let her on the train ahead of me and she sat in the middle of the car. I stood. It was crowded, as it usually is in the morning.

The next stop, 72nd. That 72nd. I'd positioned myself to be well within eyeshot of this beauty. I couldn't bear to look away, but I dare not allow myself to get caught with my pants down--or, worse, my cock hard—again. But at 72nd, more people got on, pushing me towards the middle of the car. It was at that point that I was pushed from behind, hard, in the middle of the back. I craned my neck around to see who was shoving me, only to find that it was another pregnant woman. She'd in fact gotten pushed into me by the rush hour crowd. She was shorter than the first woman, a cutie with dark-framed glasses and long, straight blonde hair. She was wearing a long-sleeved white shirt that was stretched tightly around her ballooning belly. The belly that had stuck me in the back mere seconds ago.

"Great." I thought to myself. "I'm surrounded."

It was a moment or two before some benevolent soul stood up and let this woman sit down. For as much as I did like the feeling of a pregnant belly shoved up against me...it wasn't the kind of thing I wanted in my head on the way to work. Especially since I had the ringleader of The Society of Pregnant Women awaiting me in the office.

Neither of these women got off the train at 42nd. Next was 34th. My stop. Both these women got up and somehow I found myself behind both of them as they shuffled along the platform toward the exit.

I go to stop for coffee before heading up to my office. Standing on line in front of me, yup, you guessed it. Another pregnant woman. This one had super curly dark hair, wearing a black dress that she appeared ready to burst right out of, that's how big her belly was. I'd guess she was due in a week or two at most. She had her hands on her back as she rocked her hips back and forth...back and forth...back and forth...

...Snap out of it, Ryan! Get your coffee and get to work, and get your mind off of pregnant women.

Easier said than done. I walk into my office, and sitting at her desk, munching on a bagel was Staci. She smiled and waved to me while chewing.

"Hey Ryan!" she said once she swallowed her bite. "How's your morning going?"

She had a grin on her face that seemed a bit devilish.

"Have a nice weekend?"

Could she be behind this proliferation of pregnant woman sightings?

***

The sightings continue over the next several days. If I'm not seeing one on the subway in the morning, I'm seeing one in the evening. In the elevator at work. At the deli I went to for lunch the other day. Two in the supermarket when I go to pick up some odd things for dinner. I'd mention it to my wife. "You always notice pregnant women," she says. "I couldn't tell you if there's more of them around—that's your domain."

It comes to a head that Friday evening. I am going to see a show with my wife. She's running late. She's always running late. I'm standing out on the street in the middle of the Theater District waiting for her. Just idly waiting. A couple stops in front of me, arguing over directions to a restaurant. She's quite pregnant, of course. Seems like every woman is pregnant nowadays. She wears a jaw-dropping strapless purple dress that her ample, freckled cleavage seems to be near spilling out of. Dark, amber hair that falls halfway down her back. And a belly that looks to be no less than 8 months along, that she kept rubbing as she and her husband debate over where, exactly, they're going.

No sooner do they leave, than a family passes by. They appear to be tourists. Maybe. The husband wheels a twin-seat stroller with two very young babies in it. The wife looks about ready to pop with another set of twins. Or just a very large baby. Whatever it is, she's wearing a cobalt blue tee shirt that does not completely cover her belly. That strip of flesh is there for all the world to see. As is her belly button, popped and sticking out. She moves slowly, and her husband, slightly ahead of her, also keeps a leisurely pace so as not to get too far ahead. So they're in my line of sight for a bit of time.

I have no idea that the coup de grace is about to follow. No sooner do the growing family of four fade into the distance, then two more pregnant women pass by. One of them, a tall, busty blonde, looks as though she could be the masseuse I saw at The Society meeting. In fact...is it? She's definitely pregnant enough; her belly bulging out of a tight, white tee shirt and she's wearing a pair of jeans with that baby bump flap in the front. Gosh, she's so sexy. And she's licking an ice cream cone and talking to her friend...who is also pregnant. They're both 7 months, I'd guess. Her friend, a curly-haired brunette, wears glasses and is substantially shorter. But she's also quite busty in her own right, with an amazing pair of breasts that rest atop a broad belly that's stretching the ribs out of a rib-knit top. And she's also licking an ice cream cone. If this isn't some sort of masturbatory fantasy...I don't know what is.

They stop almost directly in front of me, engaged in some discussion.

"...I mean my first was 9 pounds 14, and at my last appointment she was measuring even bigger than that. My husband's fault. His family was full of giant babies. So I'm not going to be surprised when she comes out and they tell me she's over 10 pounds," the blonde says.

"You poor gal," the brunette replies with a bit of a giggle, touching the blonde's arm. "I know neither of these boys are going to be that big, but I'd bet I wind up carrying about 14 pounds of baby inside me before I pop!"

"Oh, yeah, I can't imagine how big I'd get if I had twins!" the blonde says. "You'd have to push me down the street in a wheelbarrow. I mean, you're huge now and you're, what, 25 weeks? You'll tip over by time you hit 9 months!"

"I'm not looking forward to that," the brunette replies. "Swear I nearly fainted when they told me it was twins. Nobody ever really plans for that."

"Aw, well, you'll do great, you'll be a wonderful mom," the blonde says, patting the brunette's belly. "Just so long as your boys cooperate!"

At this point I tune out what their saying as the blonde holds her hand on the brunette's twin belly. Their conversation becomes white noise to me. It's a few minutes of being lost in fetishland before my wife shows up and I snap out of it.

The show is kind of a blur. My head is toast after that series of encounters anyway. My wife and I go home and I'm so gassed up, I toss her down on the bed and yank her dress off before I make love to her. She's turned on by my forcefulness. "Feel free to push me around like that more often!" she says as she buries her head in my chest.

Much later, I grab my phone and check my email. I see the following in my work inbox.

From: Rodgers, Staci

To: Williams, Ryan

Re:

Have you had enough temptation yet?

--

***

I don't respond to Staci's e-mail. I don't even know how to respond. Was this her way of saying she'd been sending members of The Society—all these pregnant women—after me as some kind of a sick joke? Is this a test?

These are the thoughts in my head as I go into the office the following Monday. After another couple of days of sighting a multitude of pregnant women. Including being literally surrounded by two of them while getting my coffee.

Staci, as usual, has beaten me in to the office. She's leaning back in her chair, eating a scone and rubbing her belly, which now sticks halfway down her thighs. She's wearing a button-down shirt that kind of puffs out around her bump. "Hey you!" she says, loudly, "Have fun this weekend?"

"Um...yes..." I stammer.

"Good!" she says, matter-of-factly. "I'm glad. You should have some fun, Ryan."

WTF is going on here! I don't even know anymore.

That afternoon, another e-mail:

From: Rodgers, Staci

To: Williams, Ryan

Re:

Well?

--

I, again, have no idea how to respond. But if I don't, this vicious cycle of torment at the hands of The Society could go on...forever? These women do have to give birth at some point. But for every woman who gives birth, there's always another woman who's newly pregnant. So...what do I do?

From: Williams, Ryan

To: Rodgers, Staci

Re:

Relent, please! I apologize for attempting to invade The Society.

--

I get no response.

***

The pregnancy sightings do not subside over the next couple of days. It's Wednesday, and this morning, I find myself pressed right up against a pregnant woman the entire subway ride to work. She's about 8 months and her belly is giant...but she refuses seats whenever she's offered one. She insists she's OK. So she stands. Her belly pushed right up against my left side. Hnnnnnnngh!!!

To make matters worse, my wife has been sick as hell the last couple of days. She was OK on Monday, but by the end of the day, she'd started complaining she was real nauseous. Tuesday and this morning, she's been running to the bathroom constantly and vomiting. She insists that whatever it is, it'll pass. I brought her some orange juice last night which she guzzled down. As if I didn't have enough to worry about.

Staci, meanwhile, seems to delight in whatever problems she's causing me. She's begun to wink at me when she says good night at the end of the day. And she's been wearing tighter and tighter clothes. It may be because her belly just keeps getting bigger, but she's showing off her largeness much more than she did in her previous pregnancies.

Pushing 8 months, Staci's been running to the bathroom a bit more often. One such instance, she leaves her phone out on her desk as she bolts out to the restroom. I see it light up multiple times. Temptation has gotten the better of me once again, so I go over to her side of the office and peek down at her phone...

Miranda P.

I have Monica and Lisa prepared for tonight's plant. Has he cracked yet?

Jenna M.

Staci, are our Friday plans still a go?

Jenna M.

I will prep the members while you go pick up our special guest

Jenna M.

And I get Mrs. in the afternoon?

"Tonight's Plant?" "Special guest?" "Get Mrs.?" This was all getting stranger and stranger. Staci got back from the bathroom and picked up her phone. She sighed and spent several minutes typing something, what I can only assume was a response for Jenna. This seemed a bit sinister. Still, I minded my own business. She finished typing and tossed her phone down. Then, she gripped her stomach and hiccuped a few times. "Excuse me!" she mumbled, before bolting out of her chair and off to the bathroom again. Her phone lit up a second time.

Jenna M.

Gotcha. Just tell me his address and I'll take care of the rest!

***

Friday arrived. I knew The Society would be holding their bi-weekly meeting that evening. I also knew that they'd been sending members out to follow me around. To prove what, I'm not quite sure. But it was getting out of control. There is, of course, only so much temptation a man can take. I couldn't even have sex with my wife, she'd been so sick all week. I found myself reduced to masturbating in the bathroom in the morning as my wife slept.

The day itself was a bit of a blur. I was in the office with Staci. We exchanged our usual pleasantries but not much else. She did call one of our co-workers into our office to feel her belly in front of me. Otherwise, that was about it.

She got up to leave at around 4:45. She winked at me once again. "Have fun this weekend, Ryan," she said, as though she were taunting me.

I waved goodbye.

I left to head home not much later. I didn't have plans for the evening; with my wife being as sick as she was, I figured it best to just stay home and let her rest. But when I arrived back at our apartment, I found...she wasn't there. The bed was made. She'd clearly gotten dressed. There was no sign of anything.

I looked around the apartment to see if there was a sign of anything, like if someone had broken in, or if she'd had an accident and left in a hurry, but there wasn't anything to be found. I went in the kitchen. There was a note on the counter.

"Had to run out. This will make sense later.

Hearts, -R"

As soon as I pick it up, the doorbell rings.

I go to answer it. I open the door and freeze.

It's Staci. She's wearing a demi-length grey dress with spaghetti straps over her shoulders and a deep, plunging neckline. Her belly looks astonishingly large.

"Hello, Ryan." she said. "Come with me. You'll have all your answers shortly."

***

She grabs my hand and pulls me with her, downstairs and out of my building. There is a car waiting outside, and she pulls me into that, and we drive off.

"Can you tell me what the hell is going on?" I ask. "Staci, this has been getting ridiculous. You and your society have been tormenting me, sending all your members around to distract me. I told you, I'm sorry I snuck in. If I'd known this would happen, I would have left you alone."

"Shh!" she said, putting her finger over her lips. "Ryan, I told you, you'll get your answers."

"What answers?"

"About The Society. Why we exist. Why we're so protective of each other. And why we're testing you. That's what this has been all about these past two weeks. I...we have been testing you."

"What are you talking about?" This was getting more and more confusing, the more Staci was explaining things to me.

Staci sighs and leans back. She rubs her belly.

"Before I can tell you about the test, you need to know more about The Society," she says. "It is more than simply a bunch of pregnant women hanging out. See, The Society has always been there. It started long before you or I were even alive."