Haxen, 30s. just here reblogging my spank bank. mostly niche kink shit and the like, cause it's exactly what it says on the tin: nudie mags in a shoebox under someone's bed. if you find yourself in a post here and don't want to be, no worries. just shoot me a message and it'll be deleted.
I wrote about a manipulative aggressive feeder that does not care about their feedist’s limits. Be careful if this is a triggering topic.
I have been thinking about just how cruel a feeder could get in their effort to fatten up a feedist. I love talking about sneaking butter and oil into every meal to stack calories. Replacing water with every unhealthy sweat substitute imaginable, and there is making sure they don’t have any reasons to leave bed unless it is to clean out the fridge. However, I want to talk about someone who can’t say no. A feeder that is obsessed with seeing a feedist grow past unhealthy proportions.
I am thinking about the kind of feeder that would force a funnel down your throat and keep you tied to the bed while you sleep. Above you are a thick, sickeningly sweet, and salty mixture of a bag of sugar and a tub of weight gain powder mixed with a pot of brown butter and a water tank filled with water. They wouldn’t think twice about your painful groaning as the mixture forces its way into your belly. Your tears as you feel like your gut is going to explode from the inhuman amount of semiliquid stretching you like an overflowing garbage bag would just make them add more to your funnel. They wouldn’t care about how many pounds you are, or how many meals you ate that day. They just love seeing you get food drunk off the pain and pleasure of being their toy they play with till you break.
Daily feedings are the norm, and an important requirement to satisfy your feeder every day. You would be surrendering your life to them. Every second of your life is devoted to eating. Their milestones aren’t 300 pounds or immobility, they are watching your belly button be forced out from a ravenous feast. It’s seeing how many pounds of meat they can shovel into you before you pass out. If the button on your pants doesn’t burst, they have no problem feelings you past any feeling of pain or nausea. You don’t get breaks. Not to use the bathroom, and not to sleep. Your body is forced to adapt to your new lifestyle of being painfully full. Your stomach is ridiculously stretched out, and you make people worry when they see every inch is just deep dark stretch marks. For your feeder, they are never enough. Even when you end up puking for being pushed past your limits as a human, that is just their excuse to double your meal till your body unlearns the ability to waste food.
You are only allowed to see your family at get-togethers surrounding food. Even when you finally do get to be in a car, the front seat is a distant memory. There is never a question about what’s the next meal because there is always something in the house that inevitably ends up dragging your belly lower. This is the type of feeder that would ruin your life if it meant you couldn’t do anything but lay on your ass and eat. They do not care about you; they care about getting off to your wheezing blob of a face pushed covered in crumbs and grease stains.
u should write a hyperpreg birth with focus on like the pressure the poor dude is under.. i feel like u could write that rlly well in ur style
He had grown so fast.
He would never have thought that one time of unprotected sex would lead to this. He was so ashamed he hadn’t even gone to the doctor.
Now he was lying on his side on the bed, the frame creaking in protest to his weight. He was still lanky, maybe even bonier than before, but the sheer mass that had become of his belly was the problem.
It was difficult to understand that the thing was actually a part of him. It was so absurdly large. If he didn’t touch it and id the babies didn’t squirm inside, he could almost imagine it wasn’t his.
If it wasn’t for the pressure. It had started already in the the beginning of the second trimester. Right after the three month mark his womb had ballooned. In a single night multiple pale stretch marks had appeared around his navel and on the sides of his growing bump. He had already looked like he could deliver a perfectly healthy baby.
The pressure had only increased every day. The weight, the stretch of his skin. In the third trimester it had expanded to his chest. His usually flat and bony chest had begun to swell slowly, filling with milk. Now his new tits were so achy and sensitive that he had to constantly rub and fondle them to release the milk and that way ease the pressure.
Now as he lay there, on his 37th week, he was huge. He had known from the beginning that there had to be more than one. Now he was sure there had to be more than three. His belly was just so big. The stretch marks had grown into disgusting purple wounds that covered every inch of his belly. They hurt and were so itchy. But he was too tired to moisturize his skin.
His hand pressed on his belly where the babies were the most active and he knew that he should have been hospitalized ages ago. But still he was home. Living on food and grocery deliveries. He just couldn’t bring himself to go.
As if at the thought of food the babies activated once again. His skin was attached by multiple bulges being forced on the surface from withing.
”Aaaahhh stop it please…” he moaned as he closed his eyes tight. The pressure had been exponentially building for days now and having the babies move made him feel like he would burst. ”Stop…” he begged as he held onto his massive growth with both of his hands.
He had to turn around.
Heaving his belly from one side to the other was painful each time. He took a strong hold of the dome and used his arms to lift it up as he shuffled to his back.
Instantly the pressure weighing down on his lungs and organs almost suffocated him. It hurt so bad. As fast as he could muster, he toppled his belly over to the other side and moaned pathetically in pain as it slammed on the bed as he turned around.
The movement seemed to only aggravate the babies more.
They began kicking. Kicking at his spine, at his belvis, at his skin. Tears welled in his eyes and he wept. The pressure was so bad. He needed to go to a hospital. He would surely die.
His lower back was on fire, the pressure already there as well. His hips felt like they would break any second. His skin would surely tear right open.
”Help…” he whispered through his tears. ”Help!” The moan tore from his throat quieter than he thought it would. He couldn’t breathe.
He had to get up. He had to get help.
He had never in his life made such a sound as he did when pushing himself to the edge of the bed. The scream tore from his throat like and explosion. It didn’t sound human. Nothing about him was human anymore.
His belly settled on top of his thighs, forming almost into a perfect sphere. It rounded out just underneath his leaky new tits, and continued its perfect curve all the way to his groin. It bulged out to the sides as well, almost in the same curve.
He had to have his legs open to allow the heaviest mass at the very bottom on his belly to hang between them and only the bottom sides were pushed against his thighs. Even that made the pressure tenfold in his belly.
He didn’t know wether to support the mass stretching his skin or the absurd pressure in his lower back as he stood.
”Ouh, ough… aughhhhh!” He groaned as he forced his ripe body to its legs. Hands roaming the expanse between his lower belly and lower back, trying to support anything.
Oh the pressure.
The pressure suddenly increased so much. It moved lower, his back screaming as it was attacked from the inside. His pelvis creaked and on instinct his legs opened to make way for the pressure. His knees bent as he screamed in agony.
”Help me!” He wailed his throat raw, but alone in his house nobody heard him.
The pressure inscreaded and increased until suddenly it was too much. He could feel as his womb finally gave up. It felt almost like a rupture, as the amniotic sac around the babies burst and the waters filled his birth canal and flowed out of him. It soaked his legs, the bed and the floor. And it didn’t stop for a long time.
Lying on his side, he wheezes for breath, head resting in your lap as you gingerly rub his swollen belly. A rumbling gurgle emits ominously from deep inside him and he moans weakly, body writhing in discomfort. The surface of his belly writhes with him, the skin rippling in waves like a boiling pot of water as the creature inside him expands several inches outwards. His tummy stretches further as it pushes out, forcing more pressure underneath his bulging navel. Its movement is sickening, and he gags and retches desperately, but his stomach has been empty for days, its contents forced up by the sheer size of his womb. It settles briefly once the growth spurt ends, and you can hear him weep softly into your thighs. His broken voice begs for mercy while his hands grasp onto you for support, “h-hurts…. i-it hurts so much,” his pleas so weak they’re barely audible, “please, it’s t-too big…… please make it stop…. my tummy, m-my tummy, t-too much…” He only has moments to breathe before another growth hits him, signalled by another cacophony of deep violent gurgling. His hands fly to his belly as it swells, helplessly clawing at the red, splitting skin in agony, unable to stop the horrible tearing pain of being stretched beyond what should be humanly possible. He thrashes wildly and all you can do is hold his small, writhing body as you wait for the growth to slow, watching in horror as his belly creaks and groans from the immense pressure within. You can only wonder how much longer his body can last. Judging from the deepening stretch marks lacing his thin pale skin, you fear the creature will be making its exit soon, one way or another…
The first backhand marks his cheek. The second splits his lip. His eyes are already stinging with tears when the third strike, poorly judged and poorly timed, lays knuckles across the bridge of his nose. Blood erupts, erotic in it's immediacy. He cries out briefly, quick to stifle himself into quiet whimpers of pain and need. I place an aching finger on his swollen lips to shush him further. A gentle quiver or two possesses his chin as he looks pleadingly up at me. That pathetic look in his eye rekindles my wrath and sqashes my mercy. I snatch my hand away, ignore my throbbing knuckles, and wind up for another blow
A PhD student obsessed with pregnancy studies ancient fertility rituals, and decides to test them out on the middle-aged archaeology professor he works for as an assistant, all without his knowledge. The professor is a burly, hairy man with a bit of a beer gut and a graying black beard, often a bit disheveled from spending long nights caught up in his work. In the night, his belly begins to bloat, and when he wakes, he struggles to fit into his clothes. He decides he must be gaining weight from all that time spent sitting at his desk. He ends up needing to use a rubber band to keep his pants closed, a trick he's needed in the past, and finds the shirt he never wears because it was a size too big. Now, it fits him perfectly.
At the office, the student is ready and waiting for him, and is all too eager to pick up meals for the professor all day. His shirt feels tighter and tighter, not too surprising given how he's gorging himself, but he's still startled on his fourth meal when his buttons begin popping off, leaving his tight, swollen gut exposed.
While the professor is confused, grunting and groaning and holding his big belly, the student approaches and places a hand on it, rubbing the taut skin and feeling where his belly button has begun to stick out. It's then that he decides to tell him exactly what's happening to him, that he decided to to fill him with babies, to make his waistline expand uncontrollably as babies rapidly developed inside his womb. The professor is shocked and horrified, even with a small part of him fascinated that such a thing is even possible.
Despite his unwillingness and terror, he keeps eating, with the student more than happy to keep feeding him. Meal after meal disappears into his burgeoning daddy belly, each bite fueling the babies growth and slowly adding on the pounds. The rubber band holding his pants closed snaps at the same time as the buttons covering his tits, now swollen into a pair of milky udders. The student pushes his shirt aside to expose them, engorged and leaking. As humiliating as it is, the professor is desperate to have them drained, and lifts one for the student to latch onto.
"Look what you've done to me," he groans as he slides his hands over the tight, shiny, hairy skin of his overstuffed baby belly, the surface shifting with constant movement.
Another follow up to my last two stories. A few months after getting Streja pregnant with her babies, Svanhildre gives Storik the gift of a womb and a vagina. After taking it for a test run, he ends up growing rapidly and massively pregnant in his sleep, waking up with a huge, squirming belly full of growing babies. After a while, a pregnant Streja delivers his babies while he breastfeeds Vrognir and Svanhildre. A few of the babies are incredibly large, making for a couple of difficult births, followed by several shockingly easy ones. Written by @nightshadedumplings.
Using her potions and spells, Svanhildre managed to get Streja pregnant with her own children, without any help from any men. Just as she'd promised, this time she was allowing the pregnancy to take its natural course. It was titillating for everyone to watch as she slowly swelled up, especially given that she didn't drop any of the weight she'd put on from the first pregnancy. Despite occuring at natural speeds, she was still much larger than a typical mother would be at now six months along, looking more like she should have gone into labor with triplets weeks ago. The rate of growth may have been that of a typical pregnancy, but Svanhildre had ensured Streja would end up carrying more than just one or two of her babies.
Storik could hardly keep his hands off either of them, taking every chance he was offered to nurse from their melon sized, milk-filled tits. All Svanhildre had to do was pull down the top of her dress, and Storik would latch eagerly on to her fat, dark nipple. As much milk as she was constantly producing, he always managed to drain her, eventually. Even after gorging himself on her milk, he always found room to drain Streja immediately after.
Naturally, all of this high-calorie, fatty breast milk was forcing him to put on extra weight, filling out his once sculpted-muscle form. He didn't cease any of his regular physical activities, and managed to keep all of his muscle, but it was beginning to be softened by a thick layer of fat, particularly in his middle. His tits were beginning to swell up to the point the change was obvious, and his ass had become notably rounder. Most significantly was his belly, becoming heavy and round, almost mistakable for being five months pregnant. It was perfectly round, and had a firmness from the thick muscle underneath the fat.
Not only could he not hide how big and round his belly had become, but he couldn't hide how embarrassed it made him, and neither of them would let up in their teasing. This only seemed to turn him on even more.
It was evening, and Svanhildre was laying on her back on the bed, legs spread with Storik's cock buried in her cunt while his fingers rubbed her clit, while Vrognir took him from behind. Streja was seated just above Svanhildre's head, taking a moment to catch her breath while pumping milk from her breasts, which Storik couldn't take his eyes off of.
"You like watching her milk herself, hm? Oh, but you wish you could drink it, don't you? You're never too full for more milk, are you? Look how fat you've gotten off of our tits." Svanhildre panted as he fucked her, moaning and blushing as she teased him and Vrognir screwed him.
"Do you want Vrognir to put a baby in you, my lovely? Mm, you think your belly is big now, just think how big his huge babies will make you. Don't you want to be fat with his babies?" Vrognir began fucking Storik faster and harder, pounding his ass as Svanhildre talked about his filling him with his babies, the both of them moaning as they fucked one another.
"Tell us, do you want to have his babies? Oh...! Tell us, darling...!" Storik thought he might cum right then, barely holding himself back from shooting his seed into her womb right then.
"Yes, yes, fuck, yes, I want to carry his babies...!" Storik moaned, Vrognir holding his fat ass and groaning loudly as he drove his cock into him hard a few times more, cumming deep in his asshole. Storik came immediately after, shooting his load directly into Svanhildre's pussy. He continued rubbing her clit even after he had to stop thrusting, and her own orgasm followed shortly after, her cunt tightening around his softening dick and her heavy hanging tits spraying milk all over his hairy chest. It was hardly a moment later before he was pulling out, grabbing her breast and suckling.
---
None of them ever really knew much about what Svanhildre was working on. Sometimes she would tell them, but often only very limited information, and sometimes she told them the least when she experimented on them. They weren't fully confident that she wouldn't kill them someday, accidentally or intentionally, but nothing had happened thus far.
This time, she came to Storik with something unusual, something that excited him very, very much. She wanted to give him a pussy. His cock would remain as the clitoris, and he would lose his testicles. It would all be temporary, she assured him, and she could just as easily switch everything back the way it was. He agreed.
The process involved some potions and some spellwork from Svanhildre, when usually something like this seemed to only involve one or the other. The cool air on his new pussy was exciting, and naturally everyone was eager to give it a test run.
Svanhildre fucked him with her strap-on for a long while, and he was amazed at how good it felt to get fucked in his new cunt. Streja took a turn sucking him off while fingering him, swallowing his load when he came, soaking her fingers in his pussy juices.
Finally, Vrognir took him from behind while he breastfed from Streja, who was seated on Svanhildre's cock, her unattended breast leaking and dripping all down her giant belly, kicks clearly visible all across the round, domed surface.
Once Vrognir spilled his seed in Storik's pussy, he was exhausted, hardly having moved to lay down properly before falling asleep a minute later. This forced him to miss the little surprise Svanhildre had prepared for him, the purpose of those potions she'd been giving him. They were the same potions she'd given to Streja those months ago, when preparing to fill her up with rapidly growing babies, and the ones she'd later given her to ensure she'd conceive and give birth to multiples.
As he slept, Storik's belly slowly started to swell, taking a bit more time to show with how fat and round his hairy belly already was. Vrognir watched in amazement as his babies grew inside of Storik's round belly, filling him up and distending his belly even more. He was growing quickly, and already looking about seven months along, partly because of how he already almost looked pregnant even before his belly starting filling up with babies, with how fat and round his belly was. Vrognir's hands wandered over his belly, rubbing circles on over and over again, feeling his babies growing inside.
Storik's already fat tits got even fatter, growing to prepare to fill with milk to feed however many babies he was going to be having, which, if their record was anything to go by, would probably end up being a few. His nipple puffed up, areolas widening on his swelling tits. His entire body was swelling, though not at the rate of his belly and tits, the layer of fat over his muscles growing thicker.
Svanhildre joined Vrognir in feeling Storik's growing pregnant belly, loving how big and full they'd made him already. He moaned a little in his sleep, and they wondered if he had felt the first kicks, still unable to feel them for themselves. Streja struggled to haul her heavy, pregnant body over to his side, breathing deeply as she knelt beside him, heavy belly resting between her knees while she placed a hand on top of his own growing baby bump.
"He's getting so big...!" she marveled, rubbing both his and her own belly, his babies now getting just big enough to be felt moving from the outside. "I felt them kick!" she said excitedly, continuing to feel all over for more kicks.
Storik's belly button had slowly become flat against the surface of his belly, and was now gradually beginning to protrude, just a little at the top at first, before bulging out a little further, and further, until the pressure of his full womb forced it the rest of the way out, a round bump jutting out from the surface of his otherwise perfectly round baby belly. A dark line was becoming visible through his hair just beneath it, running all the way down the center of his swelling belly.
Little moans escaped his lips as he slept, grunting as the kicks in his belly kept getting stronger and more frequent. His teats had swollen considerably, and his nipples thickened, perfect for nursing. His belly looked like it was nearing full term, but the growth didn't stop or even slow down. It was getting so heavy on top of him, impossible to ignore, and his tits were starting to get sore. The babies' kicks grew stronger and stronger with each passing moment, and the discomfort was finally making him stir. The three of them watched intently, eager for his reaction to having suddenly grown heavily pregnant.
His eyelids fluttered open, drooping a bit as he blinked awake. He groaned, all of the discomfort of pregnancy hitting him at once. Disoriented and confused, he looked around, first seeing Streja to his side, before his eyes shot to his enormous belly, stuffed full of babies and still growing.
"Gods...! What... what have you done to me...?!" he panted, both hands flying to hold the sides of his swelling gut. His face flushed a deep crimson, his cock grew stiff, and his pussy was absolutely soaked.
"Only what you wanted, my love. You said you wanted to deliver Vrognir's babies, remember? Don't you love being stretched from the inside by his huge babies growing in your belly?" Svanhildre teased, rubbing her hand around his popped out belly button, then circling it with her fingers a couple of times before rubbing it gently. Storik moaned, his face completely red from the humiliation and arousal of everything. Vrognir's touch seemed the least mocking, stroking his belly gently with one hand while the other ran across the top of his head, as if to comfort him. "Well? Do you like it or not?" Svanhildre asked, pressing his belly button in before releasing it to pop right back out.
"Ohh...! Fuck...! Yes, yeah, I like it...!" he moaned, writhing from the stimulation on his sensitive belly button.
"What do you like?" she asked, pushing it back in again, rubbing it as she pressed it flat against his swollen belly.
"Ohh, gods, fuck me...! I like, augh... being filled up with Vrognir's babies. I like how huge he's made me, how big and pregnant he's gotten me...!" They all thought Storik might cum just from being made to talk about how much he liked being suddenly so massive and full of babies, and how Svanhildre ceaselessly teased his belly button. She finally released it, and it immediately popped back out.
Storik couldn't take his eyes or his hands off of his belly, hands planted on either side of its wide expanse, watching and feeling as his growing brood of babies rolled and wriggled inside of his body. He just couldn't believe he really had babies growing in his womb, filling him up and stretching him so immensely. He looked beyond overdue by now, looking almost as big as Streja and ready to pop with a set of twins at any moment, but he wasn't close to being finished growing.
"You're going to be bigger than me soon." Streja said with a distinct air of eroticism, hoisting herself up onto her knees with some difficulty, with Svanhildre placing a hand to the small of her back and under her swollen mommy belly to assist her. Streja pressed her own belly into Storik's, moaning as their babies kicked against one another, feeling as his grew and his belly slowly swelled to the same size as hers, only to outgrow it within moments. He couldn't resist rubbing her belly, arching his back and pressing his own back into hers, moaning as their babies kicked from the added pressure.
"Mm, look how big you've gotten. I think you're going to be pushing out some very big babies." she said, breathing heavily as she rubbed their bellies together. Streja looked so heavily overdue with triplets, as if any movement at all would send her into labor, yet she still had several months left of growing to do.
"Does it make your pussy wet, thinking about pushing his babies out of you?" Svanhildre asked, gently touching his exposed, sopping wet pussy, his hard cock pressed up against the underside of his swollen belly. Storik moaned, overwhelmed with sensation. This was humiliating, and nothing had ever turned him on more.
"Yes... yes, I want to give birth to his babies." he moaned, holding his active belly in his hands. The babies were moving so much, and getting so big. His hands moved up to his chest, cupping his tits, which now filled his large hands. They felt so heavy, and pressure was growing in them. The discomfort in his breasts and belly was immense, and yet it turned him on so much, he could hardly stand it.
His belly wouldn't stop growing, swelling to the point he looked like he should have been squeezing out a set of quads days ago.
Vrognir signed to Storik, asking if he could go down on him, and he was so aroused, he could only nod. Vrognir found his way between his legs, fingers feeling around his brand new pussy, which seeped juices all over his fingers. He grunted excitedly, licking up the shaft of his cock before gently sucking the tip and slipping two fingers into his cunt. Storik nearly came, but Vrognir used his other hand to gently squeeze the base of his cock to stop him.
"Ohh gods, fuck, it's too big...!" Storik moaned, his massive belly now making Streja's look almost small by comparison, even as big as she was, now reaching almost double her size.
"Look how small my belly looks next to yours." Streja giggled, pressing the front of her heavy belly into the side of Storik's. Kicks pressed out from her belly and into his, making his own babies kick back against them. "Oh, your babies are kicking so much...! I think they want out." Storik's belly began swelling faster, having reached the equivalent of his third trimester, and Vrognir had to stop sucking his cock for a moment to stop him from cumming. He firmly held his cock instead, gently rubbing it and slightly squeezing the tip. It was getting difficult to suck him off with how big he was getting, Vrognir having to tilt his head to get his cock back down his throat.
"I feel like... like I'm gonna... I'm gonna pop...!" Storik groaned, unable to take his hands off of his overactive belly. "I think... something's happening. Ohhh..." he moaned, cramps and pain beginning to grip his belly.
"You look like you're going to pop." Svanhildre laughed, pressing on his belly to make his babies kick even more than they already were. "You still have some more growing to do, but it won't be long, now."
His tits were huge now, too, and the pressure in them was becoming intensely uncomfortable, bulging with the amount of milk they were filling with. Suddenly, milk sprayed from his nipples, earning a gasp from him. The embarrassment alone nearly made him cum in Vrognir's mouth. "It must nearly be time." Svanhildre teased, moving closer and laying next to him as she cupped his milky teat, giving it a squeeze, milk shooting out of his puffy nipple, before taking it into her mouth and suckling. His other nipple continued to drip milk, and he began pumping his tit to milk himself, unable to stand the pressure any longer. It helped with the contractions he was feeling, though despite how uncomfortable they were, he was unbelievably aroused at being so close to labor.
Streja wanted to join Svanhildre in breastfeeding from him, but her belly was so big and so was his, it was difficult to maneuver around them. Instead, she helplessly milked her own teats, spraying milk all over Storik and his overfull baby belly. His belly kept getting bigger, his babies growing huge, and finally, as he breastfed Svanhildre and milked himself, he cried out, cumming in Vrognir's mouth as his water finally broke, bursting from his pussy in a torrent and absolutely soaking his face in amniotic fluid.
"It's time!" Streja announced excitedly, Vrognir pulling his fingers out of Storik's dripping cunt. He rubbed the underside of his belly as he watched his laboring form, moaning as a powerful contraction gripped his massive belly and forced him to push. There was something incredibly erotic about Storik being suddenly absurdly pregnant and in labor with his babies. Unable to see his face, he moved to his side, Streja taking his place between his legs.
Storik's face was completely flushed, both with the strain of being in labor and the humiliation of being so massively pregnant and giving birth in front of all of them, all while Svanhildre drank his milk directly from his huge tit. Vrognir took the place on his other side, grabbing his breast and taking the nipple into his mouth, quickly drawing huge mouthfuls of milk from his engorged tit. Storik moaned at being in labor and breastfeeding two of his lovers, his nipples incredibly sensitive, and finding the entire act utterly humiliating.
His legs were already spread wide, and the contractions gave him the irresistible urge to push.
"Good, you're already pushing! Keep going. You've got a long way to go." Streja guided him, only just barely able to reach his contracting belly with her own massive baby bump in the way. Her babies kicked hard, all moving at once, as if they knew Storik was in labor with the others, and they were impatient for their own turn. "Oof... ah... oh, they're kicking so much..." she moaned, rubbing her belly to try and calm them. "I'm sort of jealous... I wish I could give birth now."
All Storik could see was Svanhildre and Vrognir latched firmly onto his swollen, lactating tits, and then his gigantic baby-filled belly towering up into the air, kicks and squirms riddling the smooth surface. It was impossible to see Streja or what was happening between his spread legs. Another contraction came on, and he shouted as he bore down, feeling the baby's head move through his brand new birth canal.
"There you go, here it comes! That's the head...! Push, keep pushing!" Streja urged him on as his pussy slowly bulged with the baby's huge head. "Gods, that's a big baby." she murmured as the slight bulge receded as soon as he stopped pushing, the baby's head wedged into his pelvis.
"Oh, fuck, gods, it's too big...!" he cried out, the head stretching him impossibly wide.
"You're going to have to keep pushing. Don't stop until the head is out. Breathe, and then push. Hoo, hoo, hoo." She stroked his big belly as she instructed him, feeling all of his other babies thrash about, impatient to be born.
"Hoooohhh... hoohoohoohhrrghhh...!" His breathing turned to shouting as a contraction constricted his belly, forcing him to push. The head bulged his pussy again, and he pushed as long as he could stand to, his baby's head stretching his pussy obscenely wide. Storik gasped and panted as he stopped pushing, frantically breathing as he felt the head sink back into him once more.
"Breathe, it's alright, don't push this time. Catch your breath. Hoo, hoo, hoo, like that." Streja continued rubbing his belly, feeling it contract as Storik shouted from the discomfort, hardly able to resist the urge to push. "Good, good, now breathe. Push with the next one."
"Hoo hoo hoo...!" he panted, the next contraction coming quickly. His groans turned into shouts as he struggled and pushed, the huge head bulging out of his pussy once again.
"Push, push, push! Keep pushing! It's almost out! Push!" Streja pressed on his belly to help squeeze out the massive baby, the head stretching him impossibly wide before finally bursting free. "There! You did it, the head is out!" Streja's praise would have made him blush if his face weren't already so red from embarrassment and the effort of pushing that enormous baby's head out of his body. Vrognir and Svanhildre's only reaction to his birthing was to keep nursing, and rubbing his huge, active, laboring belly.
Storik gasped and panted, in disbelief that he just pushed a baby's head out of his pussy, even with it sticking out between his legs at that very moment. The rest of his brood continued to kick and squirm inside of him, distorting the surface of his huge, round, pregnant mass. It felt like they were shoving and kicking each other aside, fighting their way to his cervix so they could have their turn to be birthed next.
There was just barely enough time for him to catch his breath before another strong contraction overtook him and he felt an incredible urge to push. His groans grew louder until he was shouting, the baby's wide shoulders bulging out until they were wedged in his canal, hardly budging even as he pushed. "It's... too... big!" he grunted, just as the contraction eased.
"It's alright, you can do it. You're just going to have to push long and hard, just as before. It's just a very big baby. Breathe, now, breathe, you're going to have to push in a moment." Streja comforted him gently, her hands tenderly massaging circles on the wide surface of the underside of his massive baby belly. Vrognir moaned with Storik's fat, lactating tit in his mouth, softly stroking his belly. Storik couldn't be sure if he was feeling sympathetic, or aroused at how he'd stuffed him so full of so many of his huge babies. He hardly had time to ponder it, breathing heavily before the next powerful contraction constricted his belly.
Once again, he pushed hard with the contraction, feeling the baby's shoulders straining against his bulging pussy as he desperately tried to push them out. Just as Streja was beginning to consider another option for getting the baby out, they finally popped free with a splash of amniotic fluid, one after the other. Storik groaned and sighed with relief, laying back for a moment to recover as his first baby hung halfway out of his stretched pussy. "Good! It's almost all the way out. Gods, but Vrognir put some huge babies in you, didn't he? It's alright, the rest should be a bit easier. Breathe, and get ready to push. Breathe, that's it, now push!" Streja continued to assist with his labor, and from the sound of her voice, it was more for her than for him.
"Ohhh gods...!" he groaned loudly as he began pushing once more, feeling the huge baby wedged in his pussy as it slowly but surely slid further out. He had hoped that might be the final push, but this wasn't the case, the baby hanging out of him just above its hips.
"It's coming! It's almost here, keep pushing!" Streja said delightedly, continuing to rub his huge, contracting belly. The rest of his big, heavy litter continued to kick and move, little heads and limbs jutting out all over and pressing against the several hands roaming the taut, stretched surface of his overstuffed belly.
He pushed hard, feeling where the little body narrowed as he finally birthed the hips and then the legs, shortly thereafter hearing the first cries of the first of his babies to be born. Svanhildre, Streja, and Storik's breasts all surged with milk at the sound of his mewling newborn, his filling the hungry mouths firmly clamped to each of his huge, milky tits, and Streja's spraying over his boulder-sized belly. Her hands lifted and cupped them, gently pumping out milk almost unconsciously.
"What a big baby! I wonder if the rest will be this big?" Streja wondered aloud, filling Storik with dread and arousal at the thought of having to push out several more babies of that size, until it almost became easy for him as his canal was stretched over and over again. His pussy gushed with fluids and his cock dripped precum at the thought of it. "Oh, you want to give birth to more huge babies, don't you? My, how naughty. You like being used to pump out baby after baby, hm?" Streja teased, seeing how turned on it all was making him. All Storik could do was moan in response, another baby already working its way against his cervix, pressing into it hard as his belly contracted and forced him to push.
He could already feel that this baby was about as big as its sibling, his groans from laboring becoming sensuous as he struggled to birth the next huge baby. Vrognir and Svanhildre never let up with their drinking, gorging themselves on his copious amounts of breast milk, their lips staying tightly latched to his engorged teats. It was particularly humiliating when Vrognir would make eye contact with him, looking into his eyes as he pumped more of his milk into his mouth, all while Storik continued to struggle with pushing out the babies he'd planted in his belly.
As Storik bore down, he felt the baby working its way into a crown, his pussy bulging obscenely with the size of it. "You're crowning, I see the head! This one should be a bit easier. Keep pushing!" Streja urged him on.
"Hoohoohoohoo...!" he panted as the contraction let up, his pussy stretched wide around the baby's large head. He shouted and pushed some more, the head slowly easing into a full crown until he finally pushed it out with considerably more ease than the last one.
"There you go, I knew it would get easier. Soon you'll be pushing out baby after baby as if it's nothing. You're doing so well. I think we should keep you like this, heavy and pregnant and birthing over and over. Do you think so?" Streja's words made him moan, and he could hardly have responded even if he wanted to, another contraction forcing him to push, leaving him struggling again to birth the shoulders. His cock throbbed at the thought of being stuck like this indefinitely, being kept full of big, active babies in his womb as he labored on forever, used for nothing more than pumping out babies and producing milk for anyone who wanted it. His groans and shouts as he pushed out the shoulders were obviously erotic by now, his three lovers all very aware of just how much he was enjoying this.
"Ohhhfuck, it's coming...! Gods, it's almost out...!" he shouted both in ecstasy and effort as he was pushing again, the rest of the baby slowly sliding out, a huge gush of fluids coming along with it as Storik came and gave birth to his second baby all at once.
"Oh, look at that... you're cumming and birthing at the same time. What a good job you're doing. I know, it hurts, but you like it, don't you? Gods, you've already given birth to twins, and your belly... it's still just so big. How many do you think you're having?" Streja wouldn't stop teasing him, her soft hands gliding over the taut surface of his gravid, burgeoning belly, unbelievably heavy with babies. They wouldn't stop kicking, his belly bulging out all over from the constant movement. Storik laid his head back, groaning softly from the discomfort of the multiple overactive babies he was carrying in his womb, as if they were insistent that he get no reprieve while he was in labor.
Svanhildre and Vrognir each held a teat, squeezing and massaging floods of his milk into their mouths as they greedily nursed from his engorged tits. Svanhildre's other hand roamed the near endless expanse of his pregnant belly, cruelly pressing on various spots to encourage his babies to kick. It was difficult to decide which was worse, that, or the regular eye contact from Vrognir, who thankfully only gently rubbed and stroked his overburdened belly. However, Storik was certain he had no regrets nor guilt for stuffing him full of so many of his huge babies from the way he looked at him as he vigorously suckled the milk from his fat teat.
The next contraction came on quickly and with great intensity, with Storik unable to resist the urge to push hard, feeling the large round head weighing heavily in his pelvis and pressed hard against his cervix. His weak groaning grew in volume and strength as he pushed, the huge head of his next baby stretching him impossibly wide as it slowly inched through his birth canal.
"Here it comes! That's good, keep going, that's it. Push, push, push - oh! You're starting to crown... yes, I see the head! Keep pushing!" Streja's guidance and encouragement was helpful in the most humiliating way, and it had him unbelievably turned on, considering he just came while birthing his last baby.
This one felt more difficult than the last, despite what he'd expected with how the size of the last two must have stretched him. After he stopped pushing, he could feel that he hadn't yet come close to a full crown. "This one may be a bit bigger than the others. It's alright, you can do it, just breathe for now. there, just like that. You're going to push as hard as you can for as long as you can in just a moment, just like earlier, alright? Here it comes, now push! Push, keep pushing, push as long as you can." Streja pressed both hands against Storik's enormous baby bump, doing her best to help get this huge baby out of him.
He pushed and pushed, long and hard, just as she told him, feeling the head gradually bulge his stretched pussy. It felt massive, and he could only imagine just how big it actually was from how it felt coming out of him. He continued to push for just as long as he could stand it, screaming as he felt the gargantuan baby pulling him apart from the inside. The moment he stopped, panting hard from the exertion, he could feel the giant head retracting back inside, his pussy just partially bulging out now.
"Don't worry, you can do it. Just as before, don't push this time. Breathe for me, that's it. You're doing perfectly." Streja didn't tell him just how big this baby seemed to be, figuring that might make things harder, but it had to be the biggest baby she'd ever seen, just based on the size of its head, and he hadn't quite gotten it to a full crown.
"Hoohoohoohoohhhh...! Hooooohhhoohoohoo...!" Storik struggled to just breathe through the next contraction, hardly able to keep himself from pushing.
"You've got it, keep breathing, it's nearly over. There, you did perfectly. Keep breathing, you're going to push this time. Push hard and don't stop until the head is out. Get ready, it's almost time to push. Alright, push!" As Storik contracted again and began pushing as hard as he could, Streja pressed his belly with one hand, the other touching his pussy lips. As he slowly started to crown again, she stretched him even more, helping him work the monstrously huge baby into a crown. "Almost there, push, push, push!" The head was so big, Storik felt he was going to be ripped in half as he struggled and pushed as hard as he could. He was crowning, the top of the head just sticking out of his overworked pussy. As he stopped pushing, unable to keep going any longer, it stuck there.
"Good, good, you're almost there. It's alright, you'll get it out this time. Gods, that head is huge." Streja couldn't resist saying it, and luckily her comment only aroused Storik, rather than frightening him at all. He panted, having only moments before another contraction seized him and he was forced again to struggle with birthing the massive head sticking partway out of his stretched pussy.
His eyes were screwed shut as he shouted, pushing with all his might to squeeze Vrognir's absurdly huge baby out of himself. The head hardly budged at first, and then steadily inched out, slowly but surely as he continued to push. Finally, with a gush of fluids, the head popped free, and Streja could see it was so big, it looked like this baby should have been born months ago.
"It's out, the head is out! That's good, just breathe, darling. You're doing so well, I can hardly believe it." Streja kept her hand on his belly, prepared to help him push out the rest of the monstrously large baby he was laboring with.
Storik strained as his belly contracted, pushing hard and struggling to birth the shoulders, which were even wider than the massive head he'd just birthed. "Ohhhgods, it's... stuck...! It's too big! Pull it... out! Get it out of meeeee!" Despite his cries and the difficulty with birthing this baby, Storik's cock was fully erect once more, and his cunt was completely soaked.
Even after pushing, the shoulders seemed stuck, wedged tight in his canal. The baby was so large and so strong, he could feel it moving in there, seeming to be trying to get itself out. "Oh, gods, fuck! It... it wants out...! Here it comes, it's... it's coming...!" Storik screamed as he pushed, the huge shoulders bulging him impossibly wide, just before one finally popped free, following shortly by the other. Panting with relief, he leaned his head back to rest for the few moments he had before he would have to push again.
His remaining brood were just as eager to be born, seemingly disturbed by all of his contractions squeezing them inside of his overburdened womb. Svanhildre and Vrognir continued to feel his big belly and breastfeed from his heavy mommy milkers, the difficult birth not seeming to concern either of them too much to stop. Though, Vrognir seemed sympathetic in the way he looked at Storik, gently stroking his huge baby bump as if to help ease his discomfort.
There was little time to rest before Storik couldn't help but push again, the arms making it incredibly difficult to squeeze out the torso. It hardly moved, the baby stuck halfway hanging out of him. "Grab it...! Pull it out...! It's too big! Get... it... ouuuut!" He shouted and pleaded with Streja as he pushed, who only pressed on his belly and helped to stretch his cunt around the toddler sized infant. It looked closer to six months old than a newborn.
"Try and relax. You can do it. Just breathe, it's almost out."
Three contractions had barely moved it, Storik huffing and puffing in between, feeling daunted at the seemingly impossible task of not only birthing this monster of a baby, but at how massively pregnant and full of babies he still was, unable to be certain of just how big the rest of them would be. Were there six more average sized babies in his belly? What if there were only four huge babies squirming around inside of him? Or even just two, each the size of two year olds?
He couldn't dwell on it for long, his body forcing him to push again. Straining to force the baby out, he pushed with all of his strength, feeling it slowly slide out, until finally, the fat arms flopped out, shortly followed by its thick hips and legs. Its cries were even louder than the other two, demonstrating its powerful set of lungs.
Streja couldn't help but be impressed by Storik giving birth to such a big baby, unsure of how such a thing could even come out of a person, even after having watched the whole thing. "Gods, that baby looks about six months overdue. Look!" It took her a moment to even lift the thing up high enough to show him, it was so heavy. Storik couldn't believe something so huge came out of him, even after laboring with it for so long.
"No more... oh, gods, I can't give birth again...!" Despite his pleas, Storik pushed again, another baby already working its way out of him. This time, he felt it slide straight through his canal, bulging his pussy in a matter of seconds, and just moments before the head popped right out. He panted both with exertion and relief, realizing he may not have to be stuck birthing any more gigantic babies for hours.
On the next push, the shoulders only bulged briefly before the rest of the baby slid right out of him. It wasn't small, still incredibly large for a newborn, but the sheer size of the last one had stretched Storik so much that he squeezed it out almost with ease.
"Gods, that one popped right out, didn't it? I think you'll be done very soon." Streja's eyes were wide, a little shocked at just how easily he gave birth to his fourth baby.
"Ooh... hoo... ohhh, another one's... coming!" Storik groaned, rubbing his belly all over as he bore down, the fifth baby steadily working its way out of him. Again, it crowned immediately and briefly, the head bursting from his pussy, all in one push. After a few moments of panting, he pushed again, birthing the rest of it within moments.
By now, and especially after the birth of his third baby, Storik's belly had visibly shrunk. Amazingly, he was still enormous, and it was impossible to tell if it was due to the number or size of the babies, or even from how fat he'd gotten before and during his sudden pregnancy.
His shouts were sounding even more erotic as he pushed, the head popping out, followed shortly by the shoulders, then the rest of the body, pushing out his sixth baby all in one push. Even more impressive was that in that same push, the next baby began to crown.
"Hoohoohoohoohoo...!" Despite how easily they seemed to come, it was still a struggle to give birth, though Storik was clearly enjoying it all the same. Baby number seven popped out just as quickly as number six, joining the rest of its siblings in crying on the bed between his spread legs.
"You must be nearly done, now. There's maybe... two? Three more, by the looks of you?" Streja felt his belly, attempting to figure out how many could still be inside. His huge belly shifted, and she realized it was one more massive baby. "Alright, it's coming, almost there. Push!" She decided not to tell him, feeling it was better left a surprise.
Storik pushed, gritting his teeth as this baby didn't come nearly as easily as the last few. Still, it worked its way through his cervix, slowly sliding down and beginning to bulge out of him. "Oh, gods...! It's... big...! Fuck, it's... gods, it's... it's coming! Ohhh!" he shouted as he pushed again, feeling that this was another extra large baby. Thankfully, it was coming much more easily, though it was more of a struggle than he'd expected. He crowned, pushing hard and continuously until the big head was out.
"There's the head! Last one, keep pushing!" Streja pressed on his belly as it contracted, Storik shouting as he pushed out the wide shoulders. He panted, rubbing his lower belly where he could feel his last baby kicking as he birthed it. Bearing down, he pushed and pushed until the rest of the large body slid free with a flood of fluids as Storik came just as he finished birthing his litter.
Finally able to truly rest, he leaned his head against the pillow, breathing heavily and holding his still large belly, though it now felt incredibly empty. Svanhildre stopped nursing from him for the first time since he'd gone into labor, smiling at him as she still pumped milk from his breast with her hand.
"So? Would you like me to change your pussy back?" she asked.
Still catching his breath, Storik grunted a bit, taking a moment before finally answering, "I think I'd... I'd like to use it a little more."
But also what if the just didn’t stop, he pushes and pushes but it’s completely lodged inside of him, the other growing bigger now matter how hard he tries to get them out
His stomach getting tighter and tighter as he fails to give birth. It’s only a matter of time before his stomach bursts.
Ohhhh my god this is my favorite thing, I love thinking about eggs (or whatever else) still growing as someone tries to push them out. I wish there where more fics out there like this, there's literally nothing better than a boy terrified and in pain, panicking as he feels his tummy swell while he desperately tries to dislodge the stuck egg in his opening. It's getting bigger and bigger by the second and he can't stop screaming and thrashing as the pressure threatens to shatter his hips. His legs flail and kick while he bucks his hips wildly, but its too late, the egg is too big and nothing he can do will force it out. The only way his clutch is coming out now is by bursting through his pale stretched skin, and he can already feel the pressure beneath his bulging navel become unbearable...
(this is the one fic I know of that's like this, its one of my faves <3)
The room is warm in that particular way only a December gathering manages—radiators working overtime, too many bodies packed together, the air scented with pine, cinnamon, and roasting meat. Laughter keeps cresting and breaking around you like waves. Someone’s turned the music up just loud enough that you have to lean closer to hear anyone speak.
You do, because that’s what’s expected of you.
A plate has found its way into your hands without you remembering when. It’s heavy—ceramic, white with a gold rim—and crowded with things you told yourself you’d only take a little of. A spoonful of potatoes slick with butter. A slice of ham glazed and steaming. Something sweet you didn’t recognize but didn’t want to refuse. Every portion is small on its own, harmless, but together they pile up, edge to edge, leaving no white space.
You eat because everyone else is eating. Because someone smiles at you when you do. Because you are tired of being noticed for what you don’t do.
The first few bites are fine. Warmth spreads through your chest and into your limbs, the way it always does when food finally hits an empty stomach. There’s relief in it—subtle, almost pleasant. The muscles along your spine loosen a fraction. Your shoulders drop.
Then, quietly, something changes.
It starts as pressure. Not pain yet. Just the sensation that there’s less room than there should be. Your stomach feels… tight, like fabric stretched too far across a frame. Each swallow carries more than taste; it comes with weight, with the unmistakable awareness of things settling where they’re not used to settling in such numbers.
You slow without meaning to. Chew longer. Set your fork down between bites. But the room is still loud, still bright, and someone is telling a story you’ve heard three times already. You nod in the right places. You lift the fork again.
By the time your plate is empty, your belt feels different against your body. Not tighter exactly—just present. You’re aware of it in a way you weren’t before, the leather pressing into skin that feels faintly tender, faintly swollen. You draw a breath and feel resistance low in your abdomen, like trying to inhale against a weight.
Air keeps sneaking in with your food, with your laughter, with the polite murmurs you offer in response to questions you barely process. Each swallow seems to trap more of it inside you, stacking invisibly, inflating you from the inside out.
The pressure builds.
It’s not dramatic. No sharp edge, no sudden alarm. Just a steady, insistent fullness that creeps upward, filling you until there’s no ignoring it. Your stomach feels round, unfamiliar. When you shift your weight from one foot to the other, you feel it move—heavy, sloshing slightly, the skin pulled taut over it all.
Heat pools in your face. You tell yourself it’s just the room.
Someone offers dessert. You shake your head too quickly, the motion making your insides feel like they lurch. That’s when you realize you need a moment. Just a moment. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere with a door.
The bathroom is mercifully empty. The light is too bright, the mirror too honest. You lock the door behind you and lean forward, bracing your hands on the edge of the sink as the silence rushes in around your ears.
Your stomach protrudes. There’s no polite way to think about it—it’s there, unmistakable, rounded and firm beneath your shirt, pushing forward against your belt like it’s trying to escape it. The sight hits you harder than the sensation did. You straighten abruptly, then regret it as the movement compresses everything inside you, sending a dull ache rippling outward.
Your breath comes shallow for a moment. Not panic—just surprise. Disbelief. This doesn’t feel like you. This body, like this, feels wrong, foreign, overfilled.
You lift your shirt a fraction, just enough to see better. The skin looks stretched, faintly flushed. You press a tentative hand to it and feel resistance immediately. It’s firm beneath your palm, tight with trapped air and food, sensitive in a way that makes you suck in a breath through your teeth.
The pressure isn’t just outward. It’s upward too, crowding your ribs, making it harder to breathe deeply. You roll your shoulders, trying to make space, but your body doesn’t oblige.
A small, involuntary sound escapes you—half sigh, half whine—and you clamp your mouth shut, glancing at the door as if someone might hear. No one does.
You remember, distantly, something that’s helped before. Privacy gives you the courage to try it. You spread your fingers and press more firmly into your upper belly, just below your sternum. The touch is uncomfortable at first—too much sensation all at once—but you breathe through it, slow and controlled.
The response is almost immediate.
A bubble shifts. Then another. There’s a gurgle, deep and resonant, and before you can stop it, a belch forces its way up and out of you, loud in the quiet room. The sound startles you. So does the relief.
You freeze, listening. Still silence.
You try again, pressing and releasing, coaxing rather than forcing. Each push sends air upward, your throat opening reflexively as your body takes the hint. Another belch escapes, then another, each one peeling away a layer of pressure, deflating you bit by bit. The relief is tangible—space returning where there was none, your stomach softening under your hand.
You sag slightly against the counter, breath coming easier now. The ache dulls, receding to something manageable. There’s still fullness, but it’s different—less threatening, less sharp.
And yet.
As the pressure eases, something else lingers. A strange echo of sensation. Your stomach is still heavy, still warm, still undeniably full, even with the worst of the air gone. There’s a residual awareness there that you can’t quite shake, a hum under your skin.
You look at yourself again. The distension has gone down a little, but not entirely. There’s still roundness there, still evidence of having eaten more than usual. Instead of horror, a different feeling flickers—confusion, curiosity.
Your body feels grounded in a way it rarely does. Weighted. Anchored.
You press your hand to your belly again, gentler this time, and feel the solidity beneath it. The fullness isn’t just pressure now; it’s presence. It fills you, demands attention, makes you aware of yourself in every breath, every shift of muscle.
Your pulse seems louder in your ears.
You swallow, throat suddenly dry, and let your hand linger. The discomfort hasn’t vanished entirely—there’s still sensitivity, still a warning there—but it’s tangled now with something else. A pull. A quiet, insistent urge that doesn’t have words yet.
You step back into the room with the faintest hitch in your gait, like your body hasn’t quite agreed with itself yet. The noise folds around you immediately—voices overlapping, glasses clinking, the low, constant hum of warmth and celebration. No one looks twice at you. Whatever passed across your face in the mirror stays there, locked behind your teeth.
Someone presses a flute into your hand before you can refuse it.
The bubbles race upward, bright and insistent. You take a sip out of politeness, then another because it’s already there, cold and sharp against your tongue. The carbonation blooms in your chest and drops, fizzing, into a stomach that’s still tender from before. The sensation makes you wince internally—then, strangely, relax.
You tell yourself it’s already done.
That thought loosens something in you. If you’ve already crossed whatever line there was, there’s no point hovering at its edge. You finish the drink. The bubbles stack on top of what’s already inside you, expanding, pushing outward, making your belt feel suddenly unforgiving again.
Another plate appears. Smaller this time, but fuller. Someone insists—you barely hear the words. You nod, smile, accept. The first bite lands heavily, the weight of it immediately apparent, settling into a space that feels increasingly theoretical. Your stomach responds with a low, aching pressure, a tightness that radiates outward toward your sides.
You eat anyway.
Each swallow feels deliberate now, marked by resistance. Food doesn’t slide down so much as press its way in, compressing everything beneath it. Your abdomen swells gradually but unmistakably, fabric pulling tighter with every few bites. The waistband of your trousers cuts in when you sit, so you don’t. You stand, shifting your weight, one hand curling unconsciously at your side as if to brace yourself.
The alcohol starts to blur the edges of things. The room softens, colors bleeding into one another, voices losing their sharpness. Your thoughts slow, then smear. The constant awareness of your body doesn’t fade—it intensifies, every sensation louder for the lack of anything else competing with it.
Another drink. Sparkling again. Sweet this time.
The liquid sloshes audibly when it hits your stomach, joining everything already there. You feel it move when you breathe, a heavy, unstable fullness that makes your ribs ache when you try to draw in too much air. Your sides pull tight, skin stretched, muscles protesting with a dull, persistent burn.
You laugh at something someone says and feel air rush in with it, swelling you further. The pressure spikes suddenly, sharp enough to make you freeze mid-smile. A small burp forces its way up, soft but unmistakable. You clamp your lips shut, heat flooding your face.
No one seems to notice. Or if they do, they don’t comment.
That feels like permission.
You keep eating. Keep drinking. Each serving stacks on top of the last, your stomach expanding past comfort into something bordering on unreal. It presses forward now, unmistakable beneath your clothes, rounded and hard, tugging painfully against your belt. You feel like you’re being filled from the inside with wet cement—heavy, unyielding.
Your brain goes pleasantly, dangerously fuzzy. The warning signals blur. The ache becomes background noise, replaced by a vague, overwhelming sense of being too much—too full, too warm, too aware of yourself. Your movements grow clumsier. You bump a chair with your hip and feel the jolt reverberate through your abdomen, sending a sharp stab of pain up your sides that makes you gasp.
Another burp claws its way up your throat, louder this time. Then another, following close behind, your body expelling air on its own, beyond your control. You excuse yourself hastily, words tumbling out half-formed, and make for the bathroom again with a hand pressed firmly to your middle.
Walking is harder now. Every step makes your stomach shift, the contents inside you pulling downward, dragging painfully against your insides. Your sides feel stretched to their limit, like overfilled seams threatening to give. You feel, absurdly, like you might split open if you misstep.
You lock yourself in the bathroom and lean back against the door, the solid wood pressing into your shoulders as if it’s the only thing keeping you upright. The room smells faintly of soap and citrus cleaner, sharp enough to cut through the haze in your head for half a second. Your stomach gurgles loudly in response, a wet, unsettled sound that makes you hiss through your teeth.
You don’t even bother pretending anymore.
Both hands come to your belly, palms spread wide over fabric stretched nearly to its limit. The heat of you bleeds through your shirt; your abdomen is tight, swollen, unyielding. When you rub slow circles into it, you feel resistance immediately, like pressing into an overinflated bladder. The sensation sends a shudder through you—half discomfort, half relief at finally acknowledging how bad it’s gotten.
Your body takes that as permission.
A burp tears its way up your throat, deep and guttural, ripping out of you before you can think to stop it. It echoes slightly in the small room. You sag as the pressure eases a fraction, the relief sharp enough to make your knees go weak. Another follows close behind, longer, rougher, dragging air up from somewhere deep and compressed.
You gasp afterward, chest rising easier now that there’s a little more room. Your stomach visibly softens under your hands, just a touch, going from rock-hard to something with the faintest give. You knead at it gently, coaxing, and more air answers—burps bubbling up in uneven intervals, each one stealing pressure away piece by piece.
Your head lolls back against the door. The alcohol hums warmly through your veins, blurring the edge of discomfort into something distant and manageable. Your thoughts feel syrupy, slow. You’re aware, dimly, that this should embarrass you.
It doesn’t.
You’re halfway through another long, rumbling belch when the door handle rattles.
You freeze.
Footsteps approach. The door unlocks. Someone pushes it open just enough to slip inside, nodding vaguely at you as they head for the urinal. The sudden intrusion makes your stomach clench, trapping a bubble painfully beneath your ribs. You straighten abruptly, hands flying away from your belly as if caught doing something obscene.
The pressure spikes instantly.
Your throat tightens as another burp claws its way up, urgent and insistent. You swallow hard, jaw clenched, forcing it back down. The effort makes your sides scream, sharp pain lancing along your ribs as the trapped air slams back into your already overfilled stomach.
You focus on breathing—small, shallow breaths through your nose. Your abdomen feels like it’s going to burst, stretched so tight it borders on burning. You can feel every swallow, every minute movement inside you, magnified unbearably in the forced silence.
The man finishes, washes his hands. The sound of running water feels impossibly loud. You keep your eyes fixed on the opposite wall, willing your body to behave.
Finally, the door closes again.
The moment the lock clicks, your body rebels.
A massive burp explodes out of you, raw and unfiltered, followed by another and another, each one dragging air and pressure up and out in violent waves. You brace yourself on the sink as your stomach churns and deflates slightly beneath your shirt, relief crashing over you so hard it makes you dizzy.
Your sides still ache, deep and sore, but there’s space again—just enough to breathe.
You stay there a while longer, rubbing your belly absently, coaxing out the last stubborn pockets of air as they surface. The sounds that leave you are low and animal, your body speaking for itself without waiting for your permission. By the time the pressure finally settles into a dull, manageable fullness, your shirt feels loose in a way it absolutely did not before.
You smooth it down, take one last look in the mirror, and head back out.
The party hasn’t slowed. If anything, it’s louder now. Someone laughs too hard. Someone refills your glass without asking. You accept it with a sloppy grin, inhibitions eroded down to nothing by the alcohol buzzing through your skull.
You eat again. Drink again.
This time it’s sweets—thick, cloying things that sit heavy the moment they hit your stomach. Cakes soaked in syrup. Chocolates that melt and then congeal unpleasantly inside you. Each bite adds weight, dragging your already distended belly further outward, stretching skin and fabric until you can feel your shirt tug with every breath.
You retreat to a quiet corner, half hidden by coats and furniture, shoveling sugary mouthfuls in without ceremony. The room swims gently around you. Your head feels cotton-stuffed, thoughts dissolving as quickly as they form. The discomfort is still there—your sides throb with it, a constant reminder that you’re well past full—but the alcohol dulls the alarm, turns it into background noise.
You glance down.
The buttons of your shirt are straining visibly now, tiny gaps forming between them where fabric pulls apart over the curve of your stomach. One of them creaks faintly when you shift, the thread stretched so tight it looks ready to snap. The sight sends a strange jolt through you—part amusement, part alarm.
You press a finger lightly against the fabric and feel how unyielding your belly is beneath it. Hard. Overfull. You’re acutely aware that one wrong move could make something give.
A laugh bubbles up in your throat, loose and unfocused.
Privacy sounds like a very good idea.
You push yourself upright with some effort, your stomach protesting the movement with a sharp pull along your sides. You grab one last sweet on impulse, stuffing it into your pocket like a secret, and weave unsteadily through the crowd toward the stairs.
Each step makes your abdomen shift, heavy and sloshing, reminding you just how much you’ve taken in. By the time you reach your room, you’re breathing shallow again, one hand braced firmly over your middle as if to keep yourself from coming apart.
You close the door behind you and lean your weight into it, the latch clicking home with a sound that feels final. The room is dim, quiet in a way the party never was—only the low hum of the building settling around you. Your stomach rolls heavily as you breathe, still swollen, still tight, the pressure shifting every time you move.
You don’t bother turning on the overhead light. You know this room by feel.
The joint is already rolled, tucked away like a contingency plan. You light it with a practiced flick, the flame flaring briefly before you draw in. The smoke hits your lungs warm and sharp, and you cough once, shallow, careful not to jostle your middle too much. You exhale slowly, watching the haze curl and cling to the ceiling.
Then the vodka.
It’s cheap enough that you grimace at the smell, but you take a pull anyway, swallowing around the burn. The alcohol spreads fast, heat radiating outward, settling into your chest and limbs. It layers over the weed, softening the edges of the ache in your abdomen, dulling the sharp warnings your body’s been screaming at you all night.
You sink onto the edge of the bed, one hand braced against your stomach. The pain recedes—not gone, but muted, like it’s been wrapped in cotton. In its place comes something else.
Hunger.
It makes no sense. You’re painfully, undeniably full—your belly distended, skin stretched tight beneath your shirt, muscles trembling faintly with the effort of holding everything in. And yet the urge blooms anyway, sudden and insistent, a hollow craving that cuts through the fog in your head.
You laugh softly, a sound without much humor, and reach beneath the bed.
The stash is exactly where you left it. Crinkling bags, cardboard boxes, foil-wrapped things you don’t bother identifying. You tear into them with clumsy fingers, shoveling handfuls into your mouth without thinking. The flavors blur together—salt, sugar, grease—each bite landing heavy, stacking mercilessly on top of everything already inside you.
Your stomach protests immediately.
The pressure ramps up fast, brutal now, your abdomen swelling further until it feels impossibly tight, stretched beyond what should be possible. The fabric of your shirt pulls hard across it, buttons straining audibly with each shallow breath. Your sides ache fiercely, a deep, burning soreness that makes you hiss under your breath.
You keep eating.
The haze makes it easy to ignore the warning signs, to push past them. You barely register the moment one of the buttons gives way with a sharp pop, skittering across the floor. Cold air hits your exposed skin as your stomach spills forward, round and uncontained, throbbing under your palm when you instinctively press it there.
You feel it then—food backing up, the unmistakable sensation of having nowhere left to put it. Each swallow becomes a struggle, your throat tight, your body resisting as much as it can. The pressure climbs higher, crowding your chest, your ribs, pushing relentlessly upward.
You gag, sudden and violent, the urge overtaking you before you can process it. You barely have time to register what’s happening before your body makes the decision for you. Everything lurches forward in a painful wave, and you’re bent over, choking, as your stomach empties itself in messy, uncontrolled spasms.
When it’s over, you’re shaking.
Your head swims, ears ringing faintly. Your throat burns, your stomach still churning, cramped and sore, like it doesn’t know whether it’s supposed to be empty or full anymore. You sit there for a moment, breathing hard, staring at the mess with unfocused eyes.
Eventually, you clean yourself up. It’s mechanical, detached—rinsing your mouth, wiping your skin, changing clothes with movements that feel distant, unreal. The relief is incomplete. Even after everything, your stomach remains unsettled, rolling queasily beneath your hands, tender and raw.
You crawl into bed without turning the light on.
Curling onto your side is uncomfortable; lying on your back pulls unpleasantly at your middle. You settle somewhere in between, one arm wrapped protectively over your abdomen as it churns and gurgles, refusing to calm.
AN: Hello, it's voxel again (formerly voxlette). Was doing some clean-up in my files and found this WIP from 2014 I wrote with the intention to post on an mpreg forum (never wound up doing it because I never finished). I think it's about ready to be finished now.
The beast circled, listening to the frustrated screams of the prey that had been ensnared by the living, creeping vines outside its lair. They were a good security measure, those vines. They had trapped many a meal. The beast’s long, sharp teeth dripped venom, and its long, sharp claws dug into the earth with each footfall as, slowly and leisurely, it made its way to the front of the cave. There, at the cavernous maw, sick-looking daylight trickled into dark depths deeper than any for miles around.
The beast salivated, rearing to walk on its two hind legs. That always frightened its prey, and the beast loved it when they screamed. Those shrill exclamations of mortal terror. After all, beasts weren't supposed to know how to walk like a man.
There...
The beast saw for the first time, the struggling prey. A young man, freshly in his twenties by the look of him, was thrashing against the slick, living vines that held his limbs. There was another man, a little older but not by too much, who held his spears end to the younger one, trying to save him from his peril.
"Not today," the beast breathed, stepping out of the shadows of the cave. The faces of both men ran white with terror, and with ease the beast flicked away the man who remained walking free, rooted to the spot with fear and some misplaced sense of bravery as he was. The older one tumbled away, flying through the air and over the ground, landing with a hard, muffled ‘thud’ some fifteen yards away.
"A snack for later," the beast said, turning its attentions now on the younger one.
The younger one had stilled and quieted in the face of his imminent demise, and the beast walked closer. He was a little disappointed. He so loved it when they screamed.
Wait. The best sniffed the air. Something was...different. The beast sniffed the man. Was it him? It was!
The beast chuckled, low and loud. To think this human had been delivered to his lair, of all places. The man had the right smell about him, one the beast knew instinctively. He was a good age, and he looked strong and healthy. Yes, this man was meant for the beast, just as that woman had been meant for the beast's father before him.
With merely a whim, the beast began to change. Long, dripping fangs turned to something smaller and much more mundane. Scythe-like claws were blunted and shortened until they were naught but five pink fingers, and dank fur retracted until the only notable patches of hair present were those covering his head and his cock. The beast had turned into a human.
He looked at the man in front of him, and he looked slightly younger than from above, but still a man full grown. The beast strode forward, the man's terror palpable in the air.
With a wave of his hand, the beast manipulated the vines. They tightened around the victim, pulling his arms up above his head and parting his legs wide like a whore prepping for the largest man she'd ever taken. The man's cock, clean shaven, was shriveled with fear. His anus was tightly clenched, but nothing he did could stop what was about to happen to him.
"Ulrich!" the trapped man called hysterically. "Ulrich!"
The beast reasoned that must be the name of the man that had been so easily thrown aside. A quick glance told him that Ulrich was still alive, if currently battered beyond ability to provide immediate aid. Good. In order for this to work, the beast needed someone to ensure the safety of his victim once he was done.
The beast settled down between the man's legs, laying his huge, pulsing, hairy cock against the victims shriveled, shaven one. The man beneath him looked about to scream or choke out a few terrified words, but the beast lay a large hand over his mouth, pressing hard so that no sound would escape. Not yet.
"Hello, young sweet," the beast’s voice was gravelly and demonic in this form.
And then he shoved inside his victim. The beast and the vines held the man's legs wide open, gripping him under the ass so the beast could drive himself deeper. It was hard at first, as the beast had no mind to pay for simple comforts such as preparation. The victim’s eyes widened as the pain became apparent, the beast’s massive cock pistoning in and out of his entrance in hard, long strokes. The beast could feel the man’s hot breath hitch against his palm with each thrust. Tears ran from the victim’s wide, glassy grey eyes.
“…Samuel…,” the call was faint, but even in human form the beast’s unnaturally canny hearing picked it up. A quick glance at Ulrich told him the man was still unable to anything but helplessly watch the ravaging.
He looked into the eyes of the victim, “Samuel,” he growled, watching as the man’s pupils narrowed into pinpricks, the last bit of remaining color draining from his cheeks.
“Yesssss,” the beast punctuated with a thrust, “I know your name…”
“Samuel…,” came Ulrich’s quiet, tried voice, “Samuel, it’s okay…Samuel…I can’t get to you…”
Something deadened in Samuel’s eyes, and this fueled the beast. The beast could feel his own arousal coming to a peak. But he wouldn’t let it go, not yet. Samuel needed to be worked on just a little bit longer.
Samuel’s body had relaxed almost as soon as the light went out of his eyes, the fight. His fingers had opened, his legs took on a relaxed splay, but his breath was still hot and quick against the beast’s hand. Giving himself over to his attacker seemed to give his cock a mind of its own, and despite his trauma, the cock was no longer shriveled. It was extended to its full length, and not a bad one at that, pre-cum oozing from the flushed, uncircumcised tip. The beast gave one particularly rough thrust, and Samuel came with little fanfare. His chest heaved as he gave a sob.
The beast stilled momentarily to run his fingers through the pearly mess, wiping it from Samuel’s stomach and feeling it between his fingers as one might a fine fabric.
“Look,” the beast growled, holding the white slick up to Samuel’s eyes so he could see.
“Your own body has betrayed you. You were meant for me, meant for this.”
Another thrust.
“This…is your fate.”
Thrust.
“I’m going to make you huge.”
Thrust.
“You’re perfect.”
Thrust.
“I’m going to give you something.”
Thrust.
“You’re going to keep it for me.”
Thrust.
“And when it’s ready…”
With one final thrust and a groan the beast came, spurt after spurt of cum coating Samuel’s insides, slightly bloating his abdomen, like a gentle slope in a plain, the excess splutting and splurting out of his anus, blocked from exiting by the beast’s cock. The beast leaned over Samuel’s torso, one hand gently caressing the small mound he’d made. The beast’s rank breath filled the man’s ear.
“…I’m going to come for it.”
The beast withdrew his cock, righting himself. He looked down on the man beneath him, removing his now increasingly beastly hand from the human’s mouth.
“Now…scream.”
Five Months Later
Samuel woke with a scream, thrashing in his sheets. The dream, the memory, was fresh in his mind and his body. One hand went to his ass on habit, fingers probing and prodding at his now healed anus. He half expected to feel a phantom cock on his anus, the dream had been so vivid. Vivid as it always was, that dream, an experience he once endured nightly now occurred twice a month, if even.
He was wearing a loose nightshirt, one that came down to cover his ass. It was soaked through with the sweat generated by his night terrors. Gradually, he got his breath back, the adrenaline and terror fading into a dull presence blanketing the back of his consciousness. It was harder for him to expand his lungs to their full capacity, which was a shame, because this time of the year was when the air was the sweetest.
The night was crisp and clear, and he could see the moon through the open window. It was a Witch’s Harvest moon, full and faintly tinged a peculiar shade of purple. Magic, it was, the world and all it’s strange and willful ways projected into the sky. Or so it was told.
Willful ways…
Samuel looked at the empty spot in the bed beside him, the spot that, five months ago, Ulrich had inhabited. He’d left for a number of reasons. One was Samuel wouldn’t have the man in his bed; the other, he thought, was that Ulrich was ashamed of himself. He couldn’t look Samuel in the eye anymore. Now instead of sleeping next to his lover, Ulrich slept three doors down the hall, alone. Two other rooms with other sleepers between Samuel and him.
The distance was painful.
But after Samuel got out of the infirmary all those months ago, he hadn’t been able to bear the touch of any other human being. He wanted nothing but solitude, and he spent much of his time shirking potential missions and was remiss in his duties as a Beast Hunter. No one could draw him out of his room.
No one could know what was happening to him. If they did, he would surely die. The only one who knew was Ulrich. He explained away his growing belly with lack of exercise and overeating. He certainly fit the description of his excuses, at any rate.
Samuel felt a great draw towards the other man then, an internal pull he hadn’t felt for so long he’d almost forgotten what it was.
Carefully, he got out of bed. He wasn’t going to bother with his boots, it was only a couple yards. He eased open the wooden door with care so the old, iron hinges wouldn’t squeak, and with an even quieter snikt of the lock, he was free. Samuel crept down the hall, arms crossed, feeling the worn wood under his bare heels. He stopped in front of Ulrich’s door, but he couldn’t get himself to open the door.
He doesn’t want to see me…
And why would he? Samuel was the one who broke off what they had.
Dejected, he turned to leave. He would have gone all the way back to his room were it not for the sudden and unexpected appearance of Ulrich himself. From the looks of it he was coming back from a late night washroom visit.
“Samuel?”
He turned, and there stood Ulrich, rumpled from sleep, his brownish-blond hair in a messy half-tail.
“Sam, what are you doing here? Are you okay?”
Samuel blinked away his surprise and forced himself into action.
“Uh…yeah, um, yes. I-I just wanted to see you was…all…,” he trailed off, and he could see the pity in Ulrich’s eyes. Samuel knew he was no longer the fiery, strong-willed Beast Hunter Ulrich had fallen in love with. That had been taken from him. From both of them.
Ulrich nodded, “Come in.”
Samuel followed his ex-lover into the room lit by moonlight.
“Sit, sit,” Ulrich gestured to the bed before taking a seat on it himself.
“No, I’d rather stand…”
“Alright.”
Samuel blinked once more, not knowing where to go from there. He could feel the other man’s eyes on him, steady and kind as they always were. There was only one way to see if Ulrich still wanted what Samuel had to give.
He didn’t speak a word, didn’t even look at Ulrich. Samuel looked at his feet, silently but assuredly unbuttoning his billowing nightshirt. Once the button securing the collar firmly around his neck was undone, he let the oversized garment slide down his shoulders to catch on his elbows. He basked in the natural light of the window, hearing Ulrich’s sharp intake of breath.
His belly was huge, now. Though it still had a ways to go, yet. It seemed to be growing at the rate of a normal human baby. But Ulrich hadn’t seen Samuel naked in months, and when one carried a spawn of any sort for that long there were bound to be big changes. Samuel could read the astonishment in the other man’s eyes.
His belly button had not yet popped, but it was as if someone had forced him to down a couple pitchers of ale all in one sitting. The dark blue veins of his abdomen interlaced with the stretch marks, most of which were localized on his sides. The pregnancy had sapped away his strength, his physique, so all he had left was some faint musculature on his arms and legs. He had little extra meat on his bones, the creature inside stealing most of the sustenance gained for itself. The belly jutted out from Samuel’s skeletal hips like a growth, unnatural, the peculiar shape of it on the masculine form highlighted by the moon shining through the window. His cock looked miniscule compared to the rest of him, though in reality it was decently sized.
Samuel waited. And waited. Finally, he resigned himself to his failure, his mistakes.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
He turned to go, but was stopped by a warm hand on his shoulder. Soon, another joined it. Ulrich slid one hand across Samuel’s shoulder blade, down his arm, and rested it right at the apex of his convex abdomen. Ulrich splayed his fingers, digging them gently into the firm flesh they found there. Samuel could feel Ulrich’s stiffening cock against the back of his ass.
“Please,” Ulrich said, appealingly. “Stay with me.”
Tears of happiness pricked at the corners of his eyes, but Samuel wiped them away.
“Alright.”
They lay down together on the bed, Samuel on his back, Ulrich elevated on one elbow beside him. Ulrich placed a hand on Samuel’s knee, and began working his way to his crotch. It wasn’t long before both of them were hard, and Samuel was prepared to take the other man.
Ulrich settled gently between his legs, and pushed into him with even more care. Samuel groaned happily, feeling truly complete for the first time in what had seemed like ages. The room was filled with the sound of slapping flesh, timely and familiar. Small noises of pleasure emanated from both of them. Until, they didn’t.
Ulrich eventually came inside of him, and that’s when Samuel felt the change. Ulrich withdrew carefully, settling into the sheets beside him, not noticing his partner’s distress.
“That was amazing,” he said, heaving a happy sigh, then, “Sam? What’s wrong?”
Samuel was staring at his stomach, wide-eyed, terror-stricken, his hands cupping either side of the swell. He hadn’t heard him, and that’s when Ulrich noticed.
The whole of Samuel’s belly was seizing and shifting, up, down, left, right, outward and downward. The movements were slow, but very drastic and noticeable. They were violent movements. The surface of his gut undulated like a bead of mercury in a shaken vial. There were vague outlines of limbs scraping against the thin membrane of Samuel’s womb. How many limbs? Impossible to say. Not only that, but whatever was inside Samuel…it was growing.
His skin stretched, emphasizing his stretch marks and breaking a few veins in his abdomen under the strain. Bruises formed quickly. With an audible noise, his belly button popped out, as big as a clementine. The apex of his abdomen quickly doubled, then tripled in size, until Samuel was crying and clutching at something that looked as unnatural as it did grotesque. Ulrich could see sweeping movement inside of the other man. The sweeping, ungraceful movements of an unborn monster.
In the course of the growth, Samuel had pissed himself out a toxic mixture of fright and physical duress. The thing inside of him was now sitting directly on his bladder, all of its heavy force bearing down on his most essential functional organs.
“What am I going to do now?” Samuel sobbed. “What am I going to tell people? It’s going to come for me soon, I can feel it.”
He turned to look at Ulrich.
“I don’t want it to take me, I don’t want to go,” tears streamed down his face.
Ulrich was clueless as to what they were going to do, but he knew that wasn’t what Samuel needed.
“We’ll figure it out, Sam,” he said, “We’ll figure it out somehow.”
Samuel didn’t know what to do. Ulrich eventually went back to sleep. He was practically detached from the whole thing, Ulrich was. It was not his unnatural womb in which demon-spawn resided, it was not his body which had undergone tremendous abuse and change at the behest of the faceless, nameless creature inside of him. It was Samuel’s, and the very sensation of the thing moving inside of his gut was terrifying.
There was no way he would sleep.
He could still remember those aching, horrid days when he hadn't known what was wrong with him. When he started with the morning sickness about a month in, he thought he had contracted, briefly, something as mundane as cholera. As his pants got tighter, he thought he was growing a tumor.
It didn't completely dawn on Samuel - the gravity of his situation that is - until the day before he finally went to see a healing mage. He had been practicing his self-imposed exclusion, sitting on his bed, when the thing inside of him moved for the first time.
It had been a jarring, painful thing, pressing out indignantly on his navel. Samuel's hands had flown to the area, lifting up his frock, and he watched in horror and agony as the monstrous fetus awoke, pressing and shifting every conceivable place inside of him. Samuel ended up spending that night writhing with pain on his bed, as the beast's spawn pressed the piss from his bladder, the food from his stomach, and the shit from his bowels.
And suddenly, the beast's words had terrifying meaning, and when Ulrich returned from a hunt the next morning, weary and travel-worn, Samuel told him he couldn't stay.
"But, but...Why?" Ulrich had been hurt, and Samuel couldn't lie. He knew Ulrich would not hurt him; he was too soft to possess the iron resolve most of their brothers and sisters did. It was something Samuel had found endearing in the older man, back when Samuel himself had possessed such a conviction, such a doggedness of hatred for monsters. Which, recomspect, was why he was in this mess in the first place.
And so, he told him.
"Because I-I'm...I'm pregnant," the word was strange and clumsy in his mouth, for he could not think of a better term. Somehow that beast had planted its seed in him as one would a woman, and it was far too late for any natural recourse.
He could not poison it, for this particular breed of beasts was composed of such things. He could not go to someone to abort it; a man, getting an abortion? They would figure out what had happened, undoubtedly report him, and he and the monster roiling in his belly would be executed. He lacked the knowledge to do it himself, and would probably end up killing himself, which he did not want. Even then, at his darkest hour, he lacked the fortitude for suicide.
He'd tried starving it, but the beastly fetus had punished him. It kept him awake all hours, pushing and pulling and scratching violently at the membrane that kept it from the outside world. Sometimes the pain was so great, Samuel swore it was eating him, bit by bit, from the inside out. Thus ended his attempts on its life.
Which brought Samuel to the now, with a vastly bigger creature inside of him, shifting and rolling constantly. His skin was a nothing but an abused leather bag, strained, bruised, and weakening. The growth spurt had exaggerated his stretch marks, which were now wide bands of skin that looked like scar tissue. They radiated for his still-shaven groin, weaving around his sides, and curling around his now popped belly button. The belly button was puffy, purple, the size of his fist.
A dark purple line started at the base of his cock's shaft and worked upwards, fading as it reached the notable fixture of his navel until it looked like naught but a bruise.
Actual bruises were everywhere, for his body had not been expecting such a violent expansion so suddenly. Purple, blue, and green splotches littered great swathes of his swollen abdomen, which now appeared to be practically at term.
His belly had been the only thing which had changed about him. His breasts remained masculine and dry, which confused Samuel, for did not every infantile creature, beast or otherwise, need sustenance after leaving the womb?
He remained there until early morning, when he knew he could use the latrine and the baths with no interruption from prying eyes. He had once been the best beast hunter, and his self-seclusion had made his legendary status all the more curious.
It had been easier to refrain from arousing suspicion when his belly was smaller. Now, however...
Samuel stood quietly, but was taken aback at the weight which now hung from his abdomen. As he stood the fetus protested a little, but it soon settled into a new position, one which put a lot of pressure on his pelvis. It made walking awkward and uncomfortable, so Samuel was forced to waddle as he dug through Ulrich's things, looking for something big enough to hide him as he made his way to the bathhouse.
A cloak he found would do, and after wrapping it protectively around himself, putting one hand under his abdomen in an attempt to make the load lighter, he set off.
The baths were set inside a building which was within the courtyard of main headquarters, where most Beast Hunters - Samuel and Ulrich included - took lodging. They were nice baths, stone tubs built into the floor, always filled, and heated by fires stoked by the stewards in a room below.
Samuel tried to pick up the pace as he waddled through the halls of main headquarters, but didn't go much faster. He could see the sky pinkening through the window and knew he was running out of time.
As he came into the courtyard, he saw he was not alone. Luckily for him, though, it was just a group of trainees gathered around their instructor for an early morning summoning and repelling drill. It appeared it was their first time in main headquarters, judging by the grand looks some of the teens were throwing about the place. They stood patiently in formation, too in awe of their surroundings to pay Samuel any mind.
Samuel entered the baths, enjoying the steamy air. He did a quick glance around to make sure he was alone, and shucked off the cloak. He was now laid bare, massive belly hanging in the open for all to see. It jutted from his hips almost proudly, defiantly, and Samuel put a hand underneath its massive girth to steady himself as he lowered his body into the water.
The water, when he sat on the built in bench, just barely came up to his now pert and erect nipples. The water lapped at them, and under the water he could see a slightly distorted version of his gut. The thing inside of him rolled gently from side to side, prompting Samuel to put his hands on his belly below his navel, fingers angled towards his groin. He rubbed his aching skin in gentle, ever widening circles.
"You like this, don't you," he said out loud to the empty room, voice echoing off the surrounding stone.
The fetus seemed to give another roll in reply, the skin rippling with movement under Samuel's fingers. The circular motions his hands were doing soon became roaming rubbings as he explored his body. He traced the fading purple line on his abdomen up and down while at the same time toying with his belly button. He inspected the area where his girth curved away from his breastbone, following its path to where it disappeared into his groin.
He could hear the trainees disperse outside as they were given instructions. He remembered what they would be doing from his own training. Right about now, they'd be paired up and gearing to exercise their nominal magical Beast Hunting skills. Samuel frowned, absentmindedly rubbing his navel. If he hadn't been so cocky, so careless, he wouldn't have this thing inside of him right now. If only he'd spent more time on his repelling skills...
I wouldn't be in this mess.
"Well, look," a familiar, snide voice cut through the steam, and Samuel's head whipped around to face its owner. Narus, an old enemy from his days as a trainee, advanced towards him. He was naked, obviously here to bathe, and his lanky but muscular form looked powerful in the torch light. A huge cock, rippled with veins, bigger than either Samuel's or Ulrich's, hung heavily between his tanned thighs.
"If it isn't princess Samuel, come down from his tower to mingle with the rest of the commonfolk," Narus sneered, stopping at the lip of the bath opposite Samuel's.
Samuel tried, desperately, to lower himself inconspicuously in the water, crossing his arms over his chest.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, trying to muster up some of the fire he'd always thrown into his conversations with Narus. But he hadn't encountered his nemesis since before he was impregnated, and the fiery part of himself was long dead.
"I'm here to bathe, obviously," Narus scoffed as he fixed Samuel in a stare with his black eyes, slipping into the water as he did so. "You don't mind sharing, do you?"
Samuel was trapped. He couldn't leave, Narus would see his hanging gut and come to the only plausible conclusion. He couldn't let Narus get too close, either. Samuel was terrified.
"You know," Narus's head lolled lazily to the side. “I used to be so envious of you."
"Really," Samuel replied dryly.
"You always got top marks in everything you did. Everyone loved you, and you just basked in it all, happy to keep from sharing the glory."
Narus's dark eyes found him once more. "I wonder what they'd all think of you now."
Samuel's throat tightened. He braced himself, preparing to flee.
Play it cool. Play it safe.
"I wanted time to myself. I was studying advanced spells and techniques. Bettering myself. Which is more than I can say of you."
Narus smirked. "Yes, I suppose I'll always be second best...but once people find out about that thing inside of you, well...there's only one thing that can happen."
Samuel had already been struggling to get out of the tub the moment Narus had said 'thing', but he was too slow. He had only been half out, arms snapping at the elbow to lever out his legs, when Narus slipped over to his side of the tub. Long, spindly fingers wrapped around Samuel's hips, pulling him helplessly back into the water.
"Did you think you had me fooled?" Narus's smirk had evolved into a full-blown grin. “I was watching you since you walked in here, you imbecile. If you want privacy, make sure the baths are empty first.”
Samuel continued to struggle in his grasp, but it was no use. Narus was bigger than he, though Samuel himself was of a fairly typical size. Narus, though, was not weakened and weighted by a fecund mass of a gut.
"I'll call for help," he hissed.
"No, you won't," Narus's grip tightened. "You took such obvious pains to keep people from seeing you like this, I don't think you'll want more witnessing the...monstrosity."
Narus's hand caressed Samuel's abdomen at this last word, and then he knew that the events of five months past were about to repeat themselves in some form or fashion. His limbs deadened, giving up on him, and once more his heart began to race. It was one of his nightmares, come to life.
"I had suspicions," his nemesis continued, "But never in my wildest dreams would I have guessed this. I didn't even know until you took off that cloak."
Narus's fingers continued to roam under the water as he spoke.
"Let's have a look, shall we?"
With surprising ease, he lifted Samuel out of the water, positioning him so he was lying parallel to the edge of the bath. Samuel's body was a prison, unresponsive to even his own commands.
Narus positioned himself on the built in bench, his entire torso rising over the lip of the tub. He leaned over his prone subject, arms extended almost like one of the beasts they had both taken oaths to destroy.
"Exquisite," he said, lightly laying his finger tips on Samuel's heaving side. "Simply exquisite."
The spindle-fingered man continued his ministrations, feeling and prodding.
“My colleagues in the Examination division will find this very intriguing,” he said, then laughed. “I’m talking about your corpse, of course, I don’t expect the high council to actually let you live very long.”
“Fuck you,” Samuel spat, but it was a weak comeback to the very real threat of death, and he knew it.
Narus didn’t even register the insult. He was too busy exploring Samuel’s swollen girth, muttering things under his breath to himself as he did so.
“Quite the peculiar linea nigra,” he traced the faded purple line, stopping halfway to Samuel’s unresponsive groin. “And the navel…how strange. It seems to have distended in a manner similar to the rest of the abdominal cavity.”
Narus dug a finger into his belly button then, digging and pinching at the aching skin. Samuel yelped his discomfort.
“Oh, that doesn’t feel good?” Narus raised his dark eyebrows in mock sympathy. “Here, let me make it better.”
He ground his palms against Samuel’s mountainous form, pushing his belly to the right.
“There are no discernable human traits,” Narus continued to narrate his groping adventure. “I cannot feel a human-sized head,” he was cupping and poking around the stretch of swell that constituted Samuel’s pelvis.
His attention turned to Samuel’s other body parts. “The cock does not seem enlarged or diminished. The anus is peculiarly dark, though the elasticity I would expect from it at this point in the pregnancy is not present,” Narus had two fingers three knuckles deep in Samuel’s ass, and it burned.
Narus gave a nipple an inquisitive tweak, rolling it between his fingertips and pinching at it with his long nails
“The nipples are wide and dark, but the breasts themselves are not engorged with milk as they typically are in pregnant creatures. Stimulation produces no fluid. How interesting.”
Samuel tried not to listen. He focused on the noises from the courtyard, the trainees laughing and shouting with their friends as their spells fizzled and failed. Narus heard them too.
He stopped his examination, sidling over to loom over Samuel’s head.
“Do you hear that?” he asked, his stringy dark locks hanging around his unshaved face. “Do you…feel that?”
Samuel’s eyes widened.
“No?” Narus continued. “Yes, I’d expect their powers are much too weak to really do anything. The whole lot of them together couldn’t repel a pyxie spryte. But what about someone more advanced?”
With a sudden movement, Narus grabbed Samuel by the hips and spun him, scraping his back against the stone floor. Samuel’s feet now faced the water, but were spread wide like a woman preparing for labor.
Narus settled between his legs, reaching for the dome of his belly. He lay two long hands on either side. That’s when Samuel knew things were about to go from bad worse.
(Monster preg, rapid preg, burst teasing but no bursting, monster birth)
“Hello, we are the- Oh, wow, what happened to you?”
The client groans in response.
“Don’t give me that attitude. You’re the one who called us to report a monster. I assume this is the result of that?”
“Well I was hoping you guys could get it out. It’s still in there!”
“I’ll see what we can do, but first we need more information. Mind telling us how this happened now?”
“Let me explain.” *The client panted, taking a deep breath to launch into their story.*
-
It was the middle of the night when I suddenly awoke. I was still in half asleep, wearing no pants, unsure what was so wrong as the fog cleared from my head. Something felt weird, some kind of weird sensation somewhere down… Around my crotch. I jolted awake, fully feeling something clearly entering my pussy. Squirming and squeezing its way deeper, sending shocks of unwanted pleasure up my spine. I grabbed and kicked at my blankets to throw them off, blindly grabbing in the darkness at whatever might have been there. But I didn’t grasp anything. Whatever it was, it was real damn small. Not much of it left outside of me. I did my best to calm down despite my panicked and overwhelmed state, trying to use my fingers to pinch the thing and pull it out. But it was already slick, slipping from my grip with relative ease.
Just then, I felt another jolt deeper inside. I barely had time to comprehend that it was pushing against the entrance of my womb before it actually broke through, forcing a scream from me. Though it was more of shock than pain. I struggled to focus on the shape of the thing inside as it moved, and it finally sank in that it was something alive. It had a head, body, and legs, moving with purpose. I tried one more time to pinch it, but it had gone too deep inside. I clenched my teeth, no choice but to bear it as it squeezed through into my womb. Once it finally popped inside, I let out a heavy exhale of relief.
But I couldn’t relax yet, sitting up knowing that there was something alive inside me and I didn’t even know what it was. To make matters worse, it started moving even more crazily. Like it was rubbing and flailing against the inside of my womb. “What the hell!? Cut that out!” I hissed as if it would obey me. But I felt completely helpless against this thing that was probably small enough for me to squish if I stepped on it. I was almost scared to move, paralyzed unsure what to do about it. But part of me was also pissed that something so tiny was seemingly doing whatever it pleased inside me. Eventually, the movements stopped.
When a few moments passed without moving again, I started to contemplate my options so I could figure out what I was going to do about this. I started to move, but then realized it felt heavier inside my womb somehow. I froze for a second, thinking I might have felt wrong. But as I moved again, it felt even heavier. Fuller. My womb felt like it had been filled up even though the monster definitely wasn’t big enough to do that when it went in.
Then it moved.
There was clearly more mass inside me. My hands shot down to my belly, and I could feel a very clear outward curve that hadn’t been there before. And to make matters worse, it was very clearly growing. Panic set in again, and I wildly glanced around the dark room and set my eyes on my laptop. My belly continued to swell more as I rushed to open it, stressfully waiting as I could feel the movements inside me growing stronger with the creature’s size. I bounced my knee impatiently as I watched the laptop load and start up.
When it was finally ready, I immediately opened a browser to erratically retype my search over and over. Creature inside. Creature got inside me. Creature growing in womb. Monster growing in womb. As I hit search, I felt a much stronger, sharper jab inside that made me grunt. I looked down at my belly again, eyes widening as I found it significantly bigger than it was before. I somehow nearly looked pregnant to term, my knees pushed apart by the mass. Suddenly, the creature inside me went wild. Thrashing, kicking, practically fighting inside me. I wailed in overwhelmed pain, leaning back in my chair. I tried to take deep breaths to bear the riot in my gut. But it only got worse as it grew even larger.
I felt so strained, and through the glow of the laptop screen, I could see my stomach warp and bulge like it could hardly contain the creatures inside. The sight was horrifying, making me feel sick. The bigger I grew, the more I had to lean back in the chair and move my legs apart to give it room. Panting and grunting between pained gasps and groans. Far too big to look like I was pregnant with any human babies, even if there weren’t huge shapes pushing out. My belly hung off the front of the chair, and I braced my hands against it as if I would be able to push it away. It had stretched so unbelievably huge, it almost didn’t look like it was part of me.
The chair began to creak and groan, and I realized it wouldn’t hold me for long. Not while I had these things inside of me. I grabbed the desk with one hand and held the underside of my belly with the other. With a few deep breaths and a sharp inhale, I heaved myself to my feet to give my chair a break. Just standing up was a massive effort. I was heavy. So heavy. The gigantic swell pulled off my center of balance, and the increasingly painful sensation of the creature’s thrashing made me delirious and unfocused. I only managed to waddle a few steps before I lost my balance. My legs buckled underneath me and I crashed to the ground hard.
I landed on my back, my enormous belly on top of me. It pinned me to the floor, continuing to grow and grow. I could hardly do anything but cry out, helplessly pressing my hands against my overtaxed flesh. My voice was almost completely drowned out by the sounds coming from inside me. Wet squelching echoing the room as my belly loudly gurgled and groaned. Stretched so unbelievably huge it was larger than the entire rest of my body.
“Stop… Stop!” I pleaded in vain, my head leaned back as I stared wide-eyed at the wall. It continued to grow, but I wasn’t sure how much more my belly would withstand. “Hurts… It hurts…! I’m gonna burst!” My voice was weak and strained, completely overwhelmed. I racked my brain as best as I could for a solution, terror setting in. My belly was so heavy I wasn’t sure if it would explode before the weight could crush me. By now, I could clearly see the outlines of the creatures through my belly. So many of them. Climbing, crawling, squirming over each other. Pushing and scraping against my belly
“No! Stop moving! You’re gonna rip me!” I protested between gasps, helplessly flailing underneath the creatures. Grasping at my belly as if that would hold it together. In the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but think why there were so many more now. The thought that I was pregnant crossed my mind. That all these things were planted inside me by the thing that entered me in the first place. “No…”
A much sharper shock of pain rippled through my body. My wailing this time was barely audible, and I thought for sure they had finally ruptured me, and would spill out of my broken body. But I felt a different sensation, something huge slamming into my pussy from the inside. I couldn’t find the strength to scream or even push. But it didn’t seem like I had to, as the monster violently thrashed its way out. I could hear growls as my entrance was opened up, then a screech as it thrusted its head into the world. Claws scraped against the ground as it dragged itself forward. I couldn’t see it past the giant mount of its siblings, but I knew it was way bigger than a human newborn as it stretched me wide and wriggled against my inner thighs. Before it had even fully exited me, another one was already forcing its way out. The ones still inside felt as though they were all trying to move down, swarming my birth canal. My belly jerked and wobbled as they seemed to fight each other, eager to be the next one out.
It felt like one constant ordeal, without a single break between each monster emerging. I couldn’t do anything but lay back and let them come fighting their way out. I felt incredibly relief as my belly shrank, feeling less and less like it would explode. But now my birth canal was on fire instead, feeling like they would tear that apart as impatiently shoved their massive bodies through into the world. Finally, I looked as though I were overdue with triplets. Only one creature left inside. It squirmed and rolled in my womb, shoving itself against my entrance trying to get out. With one final burst of strength, I clenched my teeth and pushed hard. Slowly helping to squeeze this weakest one out. Once it could reach its front legs out, it clawed at the floor to escape faster.
With a weak groan, I fell limp again. Watching the tail of the last monster disappear through my window. No choice but to rest as I closed my eyes, heavily relieved. I had gotten them all out of me, and I was still alive. But my respite didn’t last forever. Eventually, I felt movements in my abused womb again. Something small. Something like the creature that had invaded me originally. I sat upright fast, realizing quickly that my whole ordeal was going to happen again. I forced myself off the floor as best as I could. There was a trail of fluids leading from me to my window.
As I looked at my laptop screen, the unread search on the internet was still there.
-
“Wow, so you saw our website and gave us a chance! Would you mind taking a customer satisfaction survey?”
“Help me!” *The client demanded. Exhausted, drenched in sweat, and hugely swollen.*
“Oh, yeah. We probably should deal with this first. Anyways, this does look like one of the monsters we already have on record. Unfortunately, we can’t extract the litter you’re currently pregnant with.”
“What!?” *The client gasped.* “No- Please- Get them out!! My stomach’s gonna explode!”
“No no, they don’t kill their hosts. Just birth these ones first, then we should have the opportunity to extract the parent. It’s probably a runt if it’s small enough to get up in there. Are you okay with us taking it and a few of its young for study?”
“I don’t care, just get it out!”
“Alright alright. We’ll get extraction prepared. Just lay still during the procedure and we might be able to get it out before you get pregnant again.”
*The client didn’t answer, just let out a groan that grew into a quiet cry, seizing up as their monstrous belly lurched.*
“Oh shit, here they come. Get ready, guys!”
-
Inspired by this post here
I kinda wrote this whole thing in one sitting so there might be mistakes or typos or something here or there but whatever lol
The test chapter seemed to do alright and I had some motivation for another one so I just went for it, and based it off one of my best performing ideas. Hopefully you guys like it
If anyone has read this far, is there any other things I post that you’d want to see me write a story out of?
been thinking abt smth specific for a while I figured you might like... someone pregnant with something that might grow too big to birth, so they're carefully planning to induce at just the right time, the cusp btwn when it will be safe and when it will be too big.
but then, someone else, maybe the one who knocked them up, decides that, against all advice, they should keep the baby in longer, incubate them safely so they can be healthier coming out... but this delay, however small, makes them too big.
and the person giving birth is whining and groaning that their pelvis isnt big enough, please help, it's getting bigger, and the person who thought they knew better is just staring and watching as the poor pregnant miserable one is visibly trying to widen their hips and cries about feeling like their pelvis may just break if this goes on, laboring fruitlessly for hours... and every time their pelvis does creak and stretch open a lil further under the weight, its only bc the thing has grown even slightly bigger, too fast for them to keep up without the medical assistance they've been denied...
~ 🍒
straining to try to push it out as fast as possible and begging their partner to pull so that it doesn't just grow bigger inside!
Tboy in a happy relationship with his boyfriend and they eventually tie the knot. He expected a romantic, thrilling honeymoon only for his now husband to reveal his half-werewolf form and smash his cervix until he passes out from the pain. By the time he wakes up, he can feel just how full of cum he is.
10 months later, the relationship between them is hostile with an unbalanced power dynamic. By now, he feels more like a captive than a beloved husband.
And he's currently on his side in a cold, dark basement with his wolf husband pressing the side of his face into the concrete floor with one hand and holding his leg at an unholy angle to fuck deeper in his birthing pussy.
He doesn't know when he stopped screaming or when he started pushing. His mind and body were so numb the only way he knew he was pushing was when his husband groaned for him to push harder on his dick. Tears streamed down his face and wet the floor beneath him but his eyes were wide and fixed on a picture his husband cruelly left in plain view of them looking so happy on their wedding day.
Now he's here, despondent and in hard labor with the big man on top fucking him as if it were his last chance to do so, soaked in sweat from the sweltering heat of the basement and the waters of his busted sac. The only sounds coming from the basement being his occasional whimper, his husband's moans from the contractions and pressure, and the loud clapping of wet skin.
He doesn't give birth until the next day after he'd passed out multiple times from the pain and exhaustion of labor and fucking. And of course his husband was all too happy when he realised his favorite little birthing toy was too tired to push and his pups were too big to pass through his hips without extra force. Force he was all too happy to apply to his husband's malformed belly to start popping his pups out.
With each one that came, he grew more impatient, applying more force onto his poor belly, ignoring the weak pleas for him to stop. The sooner he was done with this litter, the sooner he'd be able to stuff him full with another, and the sooner he'd be feeling his contractions consume his cock once more.
By the time it was all done, his little breeder was a zombified mess on the ground with a whole litter of massive pups scattered around him. He smiled down at his handiwork as his husband looked up at him with fear and agony in his gaze.
He could only think of one thing as he stared him down: 'I chose the right one.'
this is so romantic. i want to live out this dream with somebody
I'm stuffed full (almost) and all I can think about is being bigger, rounder, so big my skin is stretched translucent, taut and burning over the impossible fullness of my gravid womb, my full stomach, my packed guts, and my full bladder.
I'd start my evening so hugely pregnant that I can already barely walk.
I'd be so hungry, my spawn demanding all the energy I can provide. I'd order a massive amount of food, way too much for one person, and so much soda the delivery driver is sure I'm having a pizza party.
He'd be so confused to pull up to a dark house, ring the bell, and find himself faced with an obscenely pregnant man.
My belly couldn't be covered fully by anything I owned, so it would hang out of my shirt (actually a maternity dress, now stretched tight across my massive form), showing off the pale surface spiderwebbed with veins and stretch marks.
I'd ask him to please, bring it inside. I'd do it myself, but... Well. He can see why I can't. I'd have him put it on the dinner table, tip him generously, and send him on his way.
It would take many trips to bring my bounty into the bedroom, slowly lumbering back and forth across the house, clutching my aching belly with one hand and the other carried box after box, bottle after bottle.
Finally set up, I'd slowly, carefully heft myself onto the bed, and begin to eat.
One pizza, two, bread sticks, wings, pasta, chugging soda in between bites, desperate to feed my brood.
I'd eat until I had to lay back to make room, and eat some more.
My belly would bulge out and out, then wider and wider.
I'd finish my last 2 liter and pant, finally satisfied.
Then I'd realize just how much I'd drank, and decode to get up to pee.
But I couldn't get up. I'd have eaten too much, my belly too full, pressing out against my organs, my skin, my very bones. I couldn't get up.
I'd squirm, trying to get off the edge, but it would be no use. I'd be trapped, full of baby and food and soda. The pregnancy would have been wreaking havoc on my digestive system, too, so I'd be constipated so badly it was probably bloating me up already, not that you could tell with my full womb.
I'd writhe, aching from my binge and the tightness of my belly and the fullness of my guts and bladder.
I would refuse to piss myself. I'd be too proud. So I'd have to wait until some food digested to get myself up and go.
Except, with my guts packed full, it could be a while before they worked through enough food to make that possible...
Who knows how long I'd be trapped there, immobile, in pain, and so full my body would feel on the very edge of bursting....
