p&b

21 y/o, preg and birth kink blog

[fatfemmebear]

The contraction was a force that could not be bargained with, so much pressure distilled into such a small space that suddenly nothing was left within him but a blind, instinctive need to push. He reared back to grab the counter lip with his other hand, dropped his chin to his chest, and finally, finally did what his body had been screaming at him to do: he pushed.

Read the rest of Dave’s twin birth story here!

Gonna try to add the uncensored version in the reblogs 👁️

[fatfemmebear]

>:3

[voreyeurism]

down bad ass non-canon crack follow up to this post where Xero fills Zeta’s guts with tentacles on top of the 70kg of raw flesh he’s got in his stomach 💀

[ramslops]

when you get your succubus gym bro pregnant and he has the audacity to go into labor when youre 2 hours in line to buy a new game :/ Rex by @voreyeurism !

[distended-domes]

For the outfit ideas… maybe one of those fake mermaid tails that hold your legs together 😈

I love this prompt. One of my first posts was a drabble about this

[distended-domes]

You walked in on him in a little predicament. What do you do?

[fatwithchild]

[nancypreggo]

🫃(ftm)3️⃣🩺💧🦶(just one)

tags/kinks: mpreg, ftm!pregnancy, multiple pregnancy, water birth, birth center, breech birth

He checked into the birth center, his doula having driven him. He’d been experiencing on-and-off contractions for almost the past two days and his water had finally broken earlier that morning. 

“Yes, I spoke to someone about coming in today? I called this morning,” he greeted with a heavy exhale, a hand massaging at his lower back. The doula standing beside him placed her hand on his back and rubbed as well, trying her best to ease the tension there.

The woman behind the front desk smiled and nodded, locating the correct patient file before getting up. “Yes, we have your room all prepared for you-- right this way.”

He let out another breath but this time one of relief as a pinching nerve was rubbed into temporary submission. He was glad he wasn’t going to have to go through all of this alone; he didn’t know if he could do this without his doula. Being led through a door and down a hallway, they were directed into his birthing suite. It looked like something between a hotel room or a guest bedroom except there was a large, circular bathtub just feet away from the bed. This was where he was going to deliver his babies.

“Woo, it’s starting to settle in that this is really happening,” he expressed, sounding a little nervous as he rubbed the sides of his large dome. He breathed through another strong contraction and his doula helped him to settle on the bed for the time being. 

It only took a few moments for his midwife nurse to join them in the birthing suite, revealing a hidden ultrasound machine in the room to do a quick check. By then he had changed out of civilian clothes and she had full access to his body.

As she pressed the ultrasound wand to his distended belly, she hummed softly at the images it displayed on the screen. “Looks like babies are in the right position-- well, at least two of them. We’ll see if we can’t get baby number three turned around before it’s time but if not, it’ll be okay,” she spoke with a peppy and optimistic voice.

“That’s right-- breech births aren’t all that uncommon,” his doula reminded him.

He grit his teeth and let out a heavy breath as another contraction went all through him. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that his doula was checking her watch, no doubt timing his contractions.

The midwife placed a gloved hand against his sex before inserting her fingers into his entrance, checking his progress. “I think we’re gonna go ahead and get that tub going-- you’re moving along pretty quickly,” she stated, her voice even and gentle.

Even as it seemed birth was right around the corner, he never once felt anxious because of the staff at the birthing center or because of his doula.

When he stepped into the nearly full birthing pool, the water immediately made him buoyant. It had been so long since he wasn’t carrying around so many babies that he’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to be light. The cool water was refreshing against the feverish skin of his fully naked form and it was a nice relief for his back since he’d been experiencing a pinching pain right at the base of his spine. He let out a moan and he gripped the rim of the tub as his strongest contraction yet went through him. 

He could feel his first baby shifting inside, lowering itself in his birth canal. His doula knelt behind him and dabbed his sweaty forehead with a cloth while his midwife checked between his legs again.

“When you feel the need to push, you can push,” she told him.

This was it. After nearly nine months of carrying and growing three heavy babies in his belly, he was finally going to get to meet them. The water sloshed around him as he tried his best to get comfortable in the tub, spreading his legs as far apart as they would go. “I… I feel it-- b-between my--” His sentence was suddenly caught off by his own low moan as another contraction hit him and he beared down with everything that he had. Beneath the water he could feel his midwife cupping his stretching sex, trying to ease the skin from being pushed past its limits. Even in the midst of the excruciating pain he knew he could do this-- his body was made for this.

“F-fuck… god, this baby is big..!” he exclaimed once the contraction was over. He was huffing and puffing, trying his best to catch his breath because he knew he only had a limited amount of time before his next contraction would hit.

The midwife nodded and cupped his bulging sex again with her hand. “You’re stretching really well; I can see the baby starting to come out,” she informed him. Sure enough, the lips of his cunt were spreading around the emerging mass, a tuft of dark hair in the shape of a teardrop protruding from inside of him.

“T-touch my tummy, please,” he requested and both the midwife and doula placed their hands on his rounded form, rubbing soothing circles into the angry, contracting flesh. Almost immediately the man let his head lull back and he let out a soft moan.

The baby was weighing heavily within him and with his next contraction he let out a primal roar and pushed with everything that he had. Almost without thinking he placed his hand on the most top part of his belly and pushed down, the added pressure helping to get the baby out even faster. When his contraction tapered off, he reached down between his legs and could feel the bulbous flesh coming out of him. The baby’s head was almost fully out.

The need to push was increasing even as his contraction ended and with one more strong push, the first baby’s head stretched him so wide until it finally burst free, followed quickly after by its wide shoulders.

As the midwife moved quickly to retrieve the baby and clean it-- her-- up, the man was trembling from the aftershocks of his first birth and whimpered. His sex was throbbing and the doula’s quiet words of encouragement and praise in his ear went mostly unanswered.

“Oh, she’s beautiful! You did such a wonderful job getting her here, daddy,” the doula complimented, looking over to where the midwife had just cleaned the squalling infant’s airways and had cut the umbilical cord.

Just as he blinked the blurriness out of his eyes, the baby was suddenly being hoisted onto his thick chest and his hands automatically came up to cradle his crying newborn against him. Father and daughter shared each other’s warmth and he brought a hand up to gently stroke the top of her head. “She’s perfect…” he said with a wet laugh.

He was grateful for this little intimate moment with his brand-new daughter because soon her younger siblings would be splitting his attention. 

Speaking of splitting, his contractions were beginning to start up again and he felt another baby get into position, forcing his legs apart again. He handed his daughter off to one of the staff members to be properly taken care of while he could focus on birthing his other two babies. As he braced the edge of the tub and pushed with his contraction, he let out a frustrated groan. It felt like the baby was stretching his cunt wide open but very little progress had been made.

Although the water had done its job to abate the pain in his back and his sex, it did little to help with actually pushing his large babies out. His belly floated above the surface as he let out a heavy exhale.

“This is the breech baby,” his midwife informed him as she checked between his legs again. “You’ll need to push extra hard to get this one out. You can do it..!”

With an exasperated sigh, he requested to lean forward against the rim of the tub, his knees braced against the floor of the tub. He was so gravid that the widest part of his belly pressed up against the tub as he got into position and began pushing again. The sensation of the baby’s turgid body filling up his birth canal was almost too much to bear and the stretch was like a searing pain.

Soon enough, he felt the tiniest bit of progress as he felt steady hands pushing at the flesh of his bulging sex to ease the baby out little by little. With another strong push and a high-pitched yell, he felt something shift between his legs and the midwife was soon announcing that the baby’s bottom half had been delivered.

He breathed through his next contraction, trying his best to restore the mountains of energy he’d just spent trying to push his next baby into the world. With the help of his midwife and a few more small pushes, all that was left to birth his second baby was to push the head. As he cried, he felt a coaxing hand on the small of his back and he immediately recognized the touch that belonged to his doula. She was massaging him and trying her best to alleviate the excruciating pain he was experiencing.

When he pushed with his next contraction, there was no progress.

“Nothing’s happening-- you need to push harder,” the midwife urged him.

He could still feel her prodding fingers, attempting to push at his already stretched folds to get the baby all the way out. Desperate to get his baby out, when his next contraction hit him, he pushed with all of his might and also physically pushed his large belly against the wall of the birthing tub. His high-pitched moans echoed against the walls of the suite and when the baby’s large head finally broke free, he let out an elated sob of relief.

“Another girl!” The midwife announced, having given the newborn a quick check before placing her on her father’s chest once he was back in a seated position where he could hold her. Just like her older sister, she let out a loud shriek, wholly upset with the new world she’d been suddenly thrust into. “You can hold her for a bit but we should get you out to deliver the last baby,” she suggested. Sure enough, the water within the birthing tub was cloudy from all of the birth fluids that had come out of him and visibility was especially limited.

His second daughter was indeed large, evidenced not only by how strongly she flailed in his arms but by the fact that she had just been born moments ago and left him feeling stretched between his legs, that his final baby very easily moved into position. He was allowed very little time to bond with his newest or to really even catch his breath when he felt the full weight of his final baby grinding down against the swollen and stretched lips of his flesh.

“O-oh, g-ghh…” he grunted as a new contraction practically knocked the wind out of him. Both the midwife and the doula had reached down and tried to help him get up so he could move out of the tub to deliver his final baby but he wasn’t budging. He could feel the baby’s head already coming to a full crown, a searing pain spreading from between his legs. “Th-the..!”

The reassuring words from his doula and midwife went completely unheard as the blinding pain nearly overcame him. With a tremendous and forceful push, he felt the large mass that was his baby force itself through his sex, its head and shoulders coming through almost all at once. He let out a high-pitched scream and his body went completely boneless once he was truly empty.

He'd done it. When he regained enough strength to finally see straight after he was placed into his plush, dry bed, he got the chance to hold all three of his crying newborns.

[wizardpregnant]

someone asked for my old 2021-ish freemind preg art so i went back and typeset it all and heres the full story!!!

[babybirthlover]

WARNING: Mom screams INSANELY loud in this one! To the point she has to be reminded to relax and push when she feels the need/urge.

[playingpreggobby]

Love a screamy birth 😵‍💫🤤

[ilitiaforever]

Commission delivered, mpreg explicit LEVI X ERWIN * YES, I WROTE IT WELL * I hope you enjoy it a lot, let’s see this beautiful couple in a change of their usual roles. 

[birthanon]

🤰🏠3️⃣🪑🩲🫴🖐️

+Our lovely mama is trapped in her basement, theres barely anything usefull

Hello thanks for the great ask! And to everyone else, thank you for all your asks. I have seen them, but there are also like twenty of them, so It will take me a while to work through them. For now, here is this story.

Contains: fpreg, triplet birth, intense birth denial, pushing baby back in, self-birth denial, clothing birth.

Aspen clung to the railing of the rickety wooden staircase carefully navigating down to the unfinished basement of her new home. Her massive triplet belly ballooned out before her, covered in loose blue nightgown, making it impossible to see the steps she was navigating. As she reached the bottom, a contraction struck her, and she leaned up against the wall, shaking her hips as she breathed through it. These practice contractions were getting more and more frequent, but her husband was out of town until tomorrow morning, and she still had baby beds to bring upstairs and put together.

Walking past the few empty boxes and the old chair the last residents had left down there, Aspen found the box that held the last crib, and hoisted it. It was heavy and awkward. Her body ached, especially since she’d already lugged two other cribs up those stairs today. But she persisted, dragging it over the unfinished cement floor and to the wooden stairs.

As for those, she dragged the box up and over each stair individually, sweating with the effort. She was only three steps up before another contraction hit. She panted her way through it, concerned with how close the last two contractions had come. The pressure was definitely increasing, which wasn’t good. She wanted her husband with her for this birth, which definitely needed to be in a hospital, because there was no way she was going through three births without an epidural. 

Well, she decided, she’d get this set up, then she’d rest to slow down her labor until her husband got home.

The contraction ended, and she began the slow, thump, thump, thump of dragging the heavy crib up one stair at a time. She was about half way up, when a rumbling started. A distant roar at first, like a passing plane or a rumbling lawn mower, then suddenly, it was all around her. The house shook. The stairs swayed—and then she was falling.

She barely had time to process that the stair railing must have given way, sending her toppling face first toward the ground. She threw out her arms to catch herself instinctively just as she smashed into the ground belly first.

There was a massive increase in pain-pressure. Her belly seized. She cried out.

Then the rumbling was over. She checked herself. Her hands stung from the impact with the cement, her stomach ached, but she was otherwise fine. Slowly, cautiously, she sat up, groaning a bit as she did. Her heart was pounding, but she was fine. Except, she realized, there was something sticky between her legs.

She reached down under her dress, shocked at the slick feeling between her legs, and her soaked panties. Had the pressure and fear of her fall caused her to pee? Then she pulled her hand away, and noticed the slight reddish tint, and the musky scent. No, this wasn’t pee. Her waters had broken.

Well, time to get to the hospital. She stood up carefully, then groaned as another contraction wrapped around her stomach. It was so much worse without the softening impact of her waters. She groaned, wrapping around herself, feeling for the first time, the instinctive desire to push.

Aspen ignored it off course, it was far too early and she wasn’t at the hospital. She breathed carefully until the pain eased. Then forced herself to straighten, bracing her low hanging stomach with one hand. 

That was when she saw the stairs—or rather the lack there-of. The whole rickety wooden contraption had collapsed, leaving the door to get out of the basement far out of reach. Wel, fuck.

That was fine, she’d just call 911 and have them get her out of there. She reached into her pockets—because of course she wouldn’t be caught in a pocketless dress. But, no phone. Eyes wide, she started scanning the wreckage of the staircase and her immediate surroundings. It took several minutes and another, even more demanding contraction, before she found the phone, several feet from where she’d landed, screen down on the floor.

She leaned down to get it awkwardly, spreading her legs so she could get lower, her large stomach hanging low, brushing the ground as she reached, until finally, she got her hands around it. Cradling it gently, she began slowly straightening, using her free hand to brace her back. She was halfway up, legs spread wide, when the next contraction struck. Strong, vise-like. Bent as she was, with plenty of space between her legs, instinct screamed push! and she obeyed, tucking her head in and pushing with all her strength.

To her horror, that moment caused movement, the stretching of something deep inside. She screamed with a mixture of pain, effort, and fear, and immediately stopped pushing, but the damage was done. 

Cautiously, while she was still down, she reached a hand up, nudging aside her soaked panties and sticking two fingers up inside her. Instead of feeling her cervix, she found the head, wet and hard. She gasped, and instinctively pulled back as her touch jostled the head and shot agony through her stretching cervix. 

She straightened slowly, though she couldn’t quite get her legs all the way together. Everything down low felt strange, stretched, like a cantaloupe was trying to emerge from her butt. Frantically, she turned to her phone, only to find the screen completely shattered. She pushed a couple buttons, but it was completely unresponsive.

She was trapped. She had no way to call for help. And her triplets were coming.

Her heart started pounding harder, but she tried to breathe through the panic even as her vision blended with tears. She staggered over to the old chair and collapsed into it, legs spread. And cried, tears running down her cheek, lacing her tongue with salt.

Just as they were beginning to dry up, another contraction hit. Rhythmic seizing that started at her back and reached across her massive womb, a stabbing pain, like she was being wrapped up in a burning lasso. She moaned through the agony, feeling her cervix stretch, feeling the baby move down. 

The pain lessened, and she kept crying. Hopeless and scared, as more and more contractions came and went. It wasn’t until she pushed and felt burning as her lips stretched that she was snapped out of her fear-induced funk. 

She instantly stopped pushing. As soon as the pain stopped, she reached down, and felt the bulge of her lips. The first head had yet to emerge, but it was right there. And she would not be giving birth alone in an unfinished basement on a rickety old chair. She needed a plan.

She glanced around the basement, evaluating what she had—an old washer and dryer, the chair she was sitting on, the crib unassembled and buried under some stair rubble, and a stack of empty boxes, most of which had been collapsed. There was the door she couldn’t reach, and a single narrow window which told her it was already dark out—how long had she sat there crying? An hour at least she figured.

Climbing out the window was probably a stretch, but perhaps if she could get up there, she could yell for help. Satisfied with the plan, Aspen stood, legs spread wide, baby just behind her lips, and began waddling awkwardly toward the window, dragging the chair behind her. 

As she awkwardly propped one foot on the chair, ready to clamber up, the next contraction caught her. She groaned, curling forward, legs spread, and the head began to stretch her lips, setting her labia ablaze with pain. She shot her hand down, expecting to find the baby practically out, but though the bulge was definitely larger, the babe was still safely ensconced in her vaginal, all save for a tiny, quarter-sized patch of hair, which vanished as her contraction ended.

All for the better, she thought as she gathered herself, clung to the window ledge, and hauled herself up the rest of the way onto the chair. It wobbled under her weight,  and her large torpedo stomach, pressed against the wall from where she stood. But from here, she could reach the window latch.

She undid it, then began to pull on the window to try and get it open. The intense effort caused another contraction. Her body screamed at her to spread her legs, but the chair was small. They were pressed awkwardly together, close enough she could feel the bulge between her legs increase and touch her thighs. The contraction gave way—the window did not. 

It took about fifteen minutes and three more contractions, her baby getting lower and lower, before finally, the window gave way and slid open. Aspen panted, leaning against the wall, congratulating herself for her success. Then she propped herself up on the window sill and stuck her head out, her stomach pressed between the wall. 

No one was in sight. She called for help, over and over. When the next contraction came, she let herself scream with pain. 

But no one came. She persisted, calling and screaming for help, as contractions seized her, and her lips began to burn more and more, demanding she spread her legs and get the baby out. 

Well, if calling for help wouldn’t work, she’d try crawling through the window. She thought she remembered hearing somewhere that humans could get through anywhere their shoulders could get through, and she thought her shoulders would fit.

First, she reached down between her legs, feeling the head through her panties. It was definitely in the process of crowning, despite her legs being pressed together on this chair. That wouldn’t work for climbing through a window. So, taking a deep breath, she braced her hand against her baby, and pushed it tentatively back in.

She’d thought she was already at a ten on the pain scale—this, this was so much worse. She screamed, but kept pushing through her whole body revolted, until her lips were no longer bulging. She’d need her legs together to get through the window.

Then, whole body shaking from the effort, pain, and shock, Aspen thrust her hands through the window,  and began pulling herself up and through it. Her head made it through all right, her shoulders scrapped a bit at the side, but made it. 

She kicked off the chair, hearing it clatter to the ground as she pulled herself through on her shaking arms. Her large chest made it through, her night dress falling open and letting her see her sweaty boobs when she looked down—lovely. 

Grunting she dragged herself further forward, then she felt her stomach hit the window sill, and her progress stopped. No. She had to get out. 

She waited for the next contraction, when her whole stomach shrunk with the effort of pushing her baby out, then tried again with all her might. And her plan worked! She moved, just a few inches, before her arms gave out and she had to focus on not pushing while her legs and most of her stomach hung on the other side of the window, and her lips began to burn once again.

It was hard to breathe like this, and her back burned with the weight of her stomach dangling freely, pressed against the wall and the window sill. She focused on regaining her breath as she waited for the next contraction, then pulled herself forward a few more inches until her arms gave out once again. 

God, but the pain of the contraction was so much worse when her massive stomach was being actively compressed by the window. She wasn’t even pushing, but even still, she could feel her lips parting once more. 

The next contraction, she tried to pull herself forward more, but made no progress no matter how she pulled. The next contraction she tried again, same result, except the burning down there was really starting up again. The baby was starting to come out.

This wasn’t going to work, Aspen realized. And began trying to back pedal, forcing herself back inside. But she made no progress that way either. She was stuck.

Time stretched. Contractions raged, twice as agony inducing as before. She cried and screamed, and tried not to push as her baby stretched her open more and more, forced forward by the pressure on her stomach and its siblings. From where she lay, she could see the moon through her tear-filled eyes, and watch it rise. Sirens sounded in the city, one passed right by her street, and she thought, perhaps, she’d been rescued, and then it drove on. Leaving Aspen alone, fully feeling her baby’s nose slowly slide out of her as she hung half-in, half-out of the window. Completely stuck.

Then with a particularly hard contraction, her baby’s head shot forward. Aspen screamed as her baby’s head shot out of her, bagging out her panties, touching her thighs, water splattering below.

If she didn’t get out soon, the baby would fall from her to its death. She couldn’t let that happen. With a renewed burst of energy, adrenaline high, Aspen braced herself against the ground, with her hands, brought her feet up awkwardly against the wall, baby head hanging out of her, and pushed.

And then she was moving, falling back, out of the window. She just managed to catch at the ledge with her hands, drawing her fall to a stop. Her stomach slammed against the wall again, leaving her breathless. 

She hung through one more contraction, then dropped to the ground, legs spread, baby jolting painfully in her pussy. 

Panting and exhausted, she leaned against the wall. She had to make a decision before the next contraction: to birth or not to birth. The baby was practically already out, she could get the rest of it out and then keep trying to escape except—she had nowhere to put the baby and no way to cut the umbilical cord. Once the first baby was out, she would be stuck.

So, bracing herself for the worst pain in her life, she cupped her hand around the baby’s head, and shoved. She screamed. Her vision whitened. Her baby kicked in protest. She fell to her knees, and vomited. But, when she’d recovered herself, the baby was safely back inside.

Using the wall, she dragged her exhausted sore body to her feet once more. If she dragged the washer below the door, then put the chair on top of that, maybe she could reach the door and get out that way.

She shuddered at the thought of trying to move that old, heavy machine with her exhausted, trembling body and a baby actively crowning, but it was the only way.

So she waddled over, braced herself, and shoved. Braced herself and shoved. When a contraction came, she stopped, pressed her hand against her soggy, stretched panties, and pressed against her stretched lips, holding the baby in place. As soon as it was over she resumed pushing of a different sort. 

If she was offered a million dollars, she couldn’t have told anyone how long it took her to move the washing machine across the basement. It felt like days, but by the time she’d succeeded it was still dark outside. 

She fell to her knees, sobbing in relief when she looked up and saw the door just above her. Then on her hands and knees, she started clearing away the wood so she could get the machine in just the right place. It felt so good to not be standing. She was so tired. Five contractions later, still holding the head back despite her body’s protest and the increasingly painful contractions, the stairs were cleared away. Two more contractions and the machine was in the right spot. 

She waddled awkwardly, slowly back across the room to the chair, braced against it for a contraction, then dragged it back across the floor with her. She was halfway through getting the chair on top of the washing machine when the next contraction came. Her muscles were engaged, her hands were full, she couldn’t hold the head back, so it lurched forward again, stretching her wide, after she’d been so close to giving birth for so long. Aspen gasped, spreading her legs instinctively. 

Once the chair was in place, she reached down to touch the bulge in her undies. She intended to push it back in, but remembering the horrific agony of doing it last time, she pulled her shaking hand away. She couldn’t go through that again. She’d just have to manage with the head as it was.

So, with the baby’s head fully crowning in her panties, her lips stretched wide, fire roaring through her body, she began to try and clamber on top of the washing machine. But she couldn’t quite get her legs up far enough. At the next contraction, she gave up, holding her baby’s head in her at a full crown, panting in exhaustion. 

When it was done, she lumbered over, legs spread wide, to the box that held the crib. She didn’t have the strength to lift it up, so she bent down, legs spread, stretched pussy in the air, and dragged the box the few feet to the washing machine. Another contraction—then with the crib box as a footstool, she managed to clamber up onto the washing machine, then onto the chair perched wobbly on top.

She reached up, and her hand could touch the door, but she was still several feet from the door knob. There was no ledge for her to stand on, or pull herself further up.

Perhaps, she could drag the dryer over, but there was no way she’d get it on top of the washer in her condition.

She wasn’t getting out.

In one last desperate attempt, she jumped toward the door handle. Her fingers just brushed the base of it. Then she fell back down. She landed on the chair awkwardly as a contraction hit, and her baby shot through the rest of the way, bagging out of her panties. 

She gasped— climbed slowly off the chair, then sat on it, legs spread, stomach low, filling the space between her legs. As she considered her next move, another contraction came, and she pushed. The shoulders began to spread her—and god she thought she’d been spread before. But she was too tired to scream at the new, burning pain. 

Exhausted, robotic, she pushed aside her panties, and gave another final push, there was a gush, and then her baby was in her hands, crying lustily. Smiling, teary-eyed, Aspen pulled it to her. Her dress was dirty, ripped, and drenched with sweat. The baby’s umbilical cord stretched from its stomach to under her dress, warm and wet against her thigh.

She looked down from the chair, which was still perched atop the washing machine. 

So, she was doing it here. She needed to at least not give birth to the other two while on top of the washing machine. So slowly, awkwardly, holding her baby close to her chest, she clambered down the washing machine. Then she pulled the chair down with her. Sitting had been nice, for her birth. 

It was awkward to shift the baby from one arm to another to get her dress off. She set it across the splintered wooden chair, then sat down and shimmied out of her underwear. Finally, she allowed herself to collapse back, guiding the baby to her leaking breast to drink.

The next contractions came nearly immediately, moving her next baby down. She pushed freely with it, for the first time in her birthing process, and it came fast. Two pushes and she was bulging. Another, and the dreaded, familiar burn began again. 

She leaned further back in her chair, so she could spread her legs wider, off the side of the chair. She needed to focus, needed to push. But she had a baby in her hands, and she didn’t want to hurt it. 

The crib was the solution.

Groaning, she fell to her knees, then placed her baby on the dress covered chair. Her legs were spread still, giving the baby space to crown as she worked to open the crib. Contraction. Push, The baby eased forward. Then it was done, and she was back to wrestling with the crib. She’d already put together two that day, or at this point, yesterday, so she could work efficiently. It was a race. She was pushing, but her body was flagging, the progress was slow, but consistent. She had to move around some, clambering around on her spread knees, fully spread around her baby’s head. Then, the head was out with another gush, right after she’d finished putting together the frame. Grabbing the thin pad, she pulled herself to her feet, lay down the pad, then a contraction was coming and she pushed. Her hands shot down, and she pulled the baby from her, panting with relief. 

The baby cried, and she held it to her, crying as well, with relief. Two down. One to go. 

It was awkward, maneuvering the babies into the bed while they were still attached to her. She had to pull the chair close to the crib so she could sit down as the next contraction came. She moaned and pushed as the sun began to cast light in through her window.

She crowned as the sunlight spread across the floor. Her third baby’s head shot from her as she heard the door open upstairs, and heard her husband call her name. And, as the shoulders spread her open, the door to the basement opened, and her husband appeared, just as the final baby passed from her, crying out its welcome to the world.

[lowhangingbelly]

Imagine a maid has been getting used by the son of the mansion owners. When her belly begins to grow firm, the son accuses her of forcing herself on to him so she could bare his rich bastard.

From then on the maid is treated as trash. Forced to do hard labor and fed spoiled foods in hopes that such strain would lead to a loss. But that never came to pass. Her belly growing enormously and pointed out like an enlarged bullet. Just taunting the son and his family with how defiantly fertile she is.

When her labors begin, the son forces a chastity belt onto her. Refusing to let her drop his bastard during an important dinner. The maid struggles to even walk with the hard stone of the baby's head dropping into her canal. Keeping her hand steady as she poured drinks through intensifying contractions. Fighting the urge to hold her oversized bump as it drooped lower. Carrying trays of food to the table with her pussy beginning to crown against the belt. Hours and hours of trying not to push or squat down end with the dinner. The son finds her, removes the belt, and then he pushes his bastard back into her womb only to leave her a disheveled mess on the floor. The maid is left to labor a second time.

It was hours before she reached the place she was before. Barely being able to scream or breathe the big bodied baby out of her pussy out of fear she'd wake her employers. She bites her lip as the head and shoulders nearly tear her as the babe slowly slides out. For a few seconds after making sure the bastard was alive, she felt relief.

But then she feels her womb jerk a second time and her cervix open once again.

AMAZING.

I love the idea of her being a massive twinner without even knowing it. I'd like to think her labor was induced by the son fucking her deep and rough the night before. He takes her against the wall repeatedly while the weight of two large babies make her back curve dramatically as they swung with each thrust. She just starts to feel twinges in her back and lower belly when he comes hard on her cervix as her pussy squeezes his cock during a contraction. The rough handling tears her sack, causing water to leak when he pulls out but they both mistake the clear liquid for her orgasm.

The whole night is spent pacing in her quarters alone to move the child along. She knows what will happen at that party and wants the baby to come now so she won't be hauling that extra weight around the next day. Hell, they might even let her rest instead of serving people.

But the child stays put. The pressure only gets worse and worse as the hours tick by and the sensation in her hips is threatening to drive her insane come morning time. When the son finds her, it's obvious from the way she walks and cradles her belly that childbirth is near. She's in transition when the belt is locked tight around her pelvis and it's all downhill from there.

She's limping by the time the dinner starts, trying to remain stoic and unbothered while the party eats. When she is called to the table, she must answer immediately. No excuses.

A few guests asked the head of the house, the father, questions about the maid who was very obviously ready to drop and struggling with the workload. A couple were concerned for the safety of the mother and child working so hard when she was due and carrying so large. The father diminished all their concerns, and they were dropped when he told them the made up truth about her forcing herself on his son in order to have a claim to the throne.

She wanted to scream the truth at all of them, but she remembered her place. All she could do was stand still and listen to the slander while her baby dropped lower.

Hours passed and a strange new pressure grew in her hips. She could feel her bag of waters leak and bulge in her pussy, fit to burst. A contraction rears up and she loses her composure. Thinking nobody would notice, she leaned heavily with one hand on a decorative table while the other lifts the bottom of her swell.

It's here. The baby is here. She thinks. My water is gonna... OH GOD.

"Hey, bitch, who said you could use that? I need a refill!" The father shouted and all eyes were suddenly on the struggling mother.

She opened her mouth to apologize but a gasp escaped her when her water popped and gushed around the belt. Everyone listened to the the little stream that trickled out after the burst as she stood there, legs spread wide while she waited for her bag to drain.

The urge to lay down and push was torture without her waters. The baby moved past her canal as she continued to work. She wanted nothing more than to hide in a closet and vocalise her discomfort as the large child came, but she was required to be silent. The dinner was disrupted enough by her presence as a laboring woman. She knew a punishment was coming after the dinner and would rather not make it worse.

Dinner ended. The head was crowning between her legs. She almost collapsed with the need to deliver when the last guest exited the room, but the belt kept the baby from progressing past the eyebrows. A hand clutched her bulging pussy while the other gripped the table to keep her from falling over as she pushed in vain. The child was going nowhere.

The son and father of the baby stood in the doorway of the dining hall, eyes fixed on her heaving womb.

"Father wants me to punish you for interrupting his dinner."

Having to birth this gargantuan baby was punishment enough. Not to mention the humiliation of being called out and having her water audibly break in front of so many. Whatever the punishment was, she hoped it was something light for the sake of her and the child.

He slowly walked up and lifted her dress to see the emerging head of his baby. He cupped the crown and smiled at the way it filled his hand.

"My family always did make big babies." He cooed in her ear as she held her middle protectively in both hands while slightly hunched over. "I was an eleven pounder. My father was twelve and a half. You might be able to work that head out on your own but you'll be pushing on those shoulders for hours."

He pulled the key to the belt from his pocket and dangled it in front of her face. She could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

"Beg for it."

Internally, she rolled her eyes, but did as she was told.

"Please. I need to give birth. I gotta have this baby. Let me give birth to your big baby, please. I've been so desperate all day."

He nodded, pleased with her pleading. "Alright, mama. I'll take it off."

She sobbed in relief when the pressure from the belt was released and she put everything she had into the next push. But she was stopped with a hand on the baby's head, pressing against it just as the belt did.

"And now for your real punishment."

She saw stars as the head was pushed back in. With no where to go, she tried to escape the white hot pain with a death grip on the man's forearm. She began begging him in earnest to stop and let her deliver. Her hips bucked involuntarily at the unnatural sensation. He worked the baby up until his hand was engulfed by her spasming pussy before yanking it out.

"Now, clean up this mess and go back to your room. I'll collect the child in the morning. You better stay quiet down there too. Father has an important meeting tomorrow and needs all the rest he can get."

And with that, she was left alone with a violently contracting belly and a huge puddle beneath her feet. She cleaned the mess as instructed before hobbling to her room to birth. With the added exhaustion, the head was harder to pass this time around. It took two hours for her to get it to a crown and another hours for it to pop out with a gush of fluid.

And then came the shoulders. Those broad shoulders the father of the child had warned her about. She couldn't stay silent as they ripped through her. She made a makeshift gag out of a pair of socks. They muffled her screams perfectly as she was ripped open by the rest of the huge baby. By the time it passed, she was delirious and barely able to process the fact that she had just given birth.

The child was born silent, and her instincts kicked in after realising no cries came from the babe. She prayed the events of today weren't too much for the little bundle she just screamed into the world, and quickly got to work on rubbing its butt. "Come on, baby. Come on. Please."

A cough then a cry filled the room. She sobbed in relief and brought the child up to her chest with one hand while the other held the belly that still felt full. More contractions came as she nursed her first born, a son. She patiently waited for the afterbirth to pass but felt something bigger. A strong, visceral urge to push hit her like a truck and she groaned as she felt something large slam down on her pussy, forcing it to bulge once more. There was another torrent of fluid and that's when the realization hit.

She was pregnant with twins the whole time.

She pushed with what little strength she had left with the socks back in her mouth. Something felt off about this one. The pressure and pain was the same as before but she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something wrong. She pushed and grunted until she felt something pop out of her pussy, but it wasn't a head.

With one violently trembling hand, she reached down and, much to her horror, felt a leg.

Tonight was going to be longer than she'd thought.

[birthanon]

Exam in, Baby out

Answering this ask that came through my messages from @yaiofanficbombon2022: 

"The class president is in labour (Mpreg). He had a sexual encounter with the popular boy of the school and as a result of this encounter he is pregnant.

His water breaks at home at night, he wants to miss school, but he can't, so he goes to class anyway.

The contractions are intense and constant, and the baby tries to come out, but he refuses to push until the exam is over.

He ends up giving birth in the school bathroom."

I’ve aged them up to a very high school like college because even 18 yo high school students feel too young to me. Hopefully you don’t mind.

This fic contains: mpreg, birth denial, pushing baby back in, clothing birth

“Hey, pres, you all right?” Jason asked, coming to sit next to Max. 

Max grunted, forcing a smile for the man who was rather popular with the other people at their very small church owned college they both attended, and also the father of the child that was currently trying to expel itself from Max’s womb. They’d had a secret encounter in Jason’s dorm room after a particularly intense study session—and well, they hadn’t repeated said occurrences since then, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be friendly. “Fine,” Max managed as the contraction that had been wrapping its way around his belly finally eased off. “Just worried about this exam.”

Specifically, he was worried about passing the final exam of his health class while also managing to keep the kid in him, you know, in him. Particularly since his water had broken last night, and he hadn’t gotten a whole bunch of sleep between the increasingly intense contractions. This was his last final of the semester, though, he just had to pass this test, or at least make it through it, and he was home free. So he’d hobbled his way to class from his dorms. It wouldn’t do for the student president to just not show up to an exam.

“You’re the smart one,” Jason said with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Only it doesn’t look like you slept at all.”

“Stayed up all night studying.”

“For health?” Jason asked. “Look man, I know you’re a perfectionist and all that, but no one cares what grade you get in this class. All you gotta do is pass. It’s not worth killing yourself over.”

Max tried to formulate a nonchalant shrug. “Gotta keep that scholarshi—mmmhg.” Another contraction cut him off. He wrapped his fingers around the bottom of the desk and forced all his pain and the screaming desire to push into them instead of downward. Still the contractions were getting insistent. The force of his body pressed the baby’s head against his lips, which began to spread and sting. As soon as the contraction ended, the head slipped back inside, the stinging easing. Still, that wasn’t a good sign. The two hour exam hadn’t even started and the baby was already sitting right behind his lips. 

Jason stared. “Man, you sure you’re good?”

“I’ll survive,” Max said, trying to sound sardonic, though his breathlessness gave him away. Jason didn’t know Max was pregnant. No one did. He’d carried small, and Max was good at hiding his body in shapewear and too big hoodies. If anyone did find out, he’d definitely lose his scholarship, and probably get kicked right out of the school. It had very strict rules about sex outside of marriage, and babies don’t just happen.

Max was saved from further questions from Jason by the professor entering the room and beginning to pass out a massive pile of paper that was the final exam. “You will have one and half hours to do the question and answer portion of the exam,” the professor explained. “Then I will show a video of a live birth. As the university wants you to know how to give birth at home, with prayer and without medical intervention as God intended. You all must know how to give birth. After watching the birth video, you will be required to write a paper discussing what they did correctly and what they could have done better. Understood?”

The class nodded.

“All right then, you may begin. You have an hour and a half.”

Max reached out for the packet, grabbing his pencil and his scantron, eager to go as quickly as possible and get this over with. Two questions in, and his stomach was seizing again. Freed from Jason’s questioning gaze, Max wrapped his hand around his stomach to try and soothe it, feeling it shrink underneath the shapewear he wore. He tried not to push, focusing on breathing deeply and slowly through the pain, but the searing stretch of his nethers continued throughout the contraction nonetheless. 

According to his studies, contractions lasted about 60-90 seconds, so Max counted out the seconds in his head, one hand wrapped tight around his stomach, the other clutching his fragile wooden pencil dangerously tightly.

As soon as the contraction began to ease and the stinging stopped as the baby returned to its place just outside his lips, Max continued with the test. His contractions were coming every two minutes, lasting about a minute. Which means while the rest of his class had an hour and a half to complete the test, he only had an hour. 

The words swum in front of him and he leaned forward to get a better view of the words, curling around his stomach and triggering another contraction. Sitting forward as he was, the hard plastic chair pressed against his lips. Which gave him an idea. Experimentally, he pushed with the urge instead of trying to hold back, grunting softly as he did. The head spread him open, shooting through his stretching lips, and then stopped moving as it struck the chair. Max whined, softly, tapping out of the push early. Except this time, the head didn’t go all the way back in, it stayed at that partial crown, stretching his lips. 

Stealthily, he reached down under his desk and explored the area between his spread legs. A massive bulge of straining jeans was wedged between them, pressed up against the chair.

Max let out a shuddering breath. All right, he thought, as long as I can stay sitting down, we can keep the baby in. And thus the test stretched on, in increments of three minutes, two of answering questions, one of pushing fruitlessly into the hard plastic chair, his wet jeans bagging out with the emerging head. 

Some of the questions were about health, but a lot were about sexual health and reproduction. Labeling the different parts of the birther’s anatomy felt particularly ironic when Max could feel the stretch of so many of them, the diagram a visual reminder of how small everything had been before a baby had been shoved through it.

Another question asked which sex position was most likely to result in successful reproduction, which had him flashback to his room, with Jason leaning over him, his warm chest on Max’s. It brought a blush to his cheeks which led Max to lift his head and glance over at Jason.

Jason had been looking back, his brows wrinkled in concern, but when he caught Max looking, the face changed to a forced smile and a hidden lewd hand symbol. Maybe the test was bringing up memories for him too.

Their moment was broken by another contraction. Max forced his head down, as though he was working on his test, leaning as far forward as he could, his stomach pressing against the bottom of the desk, his crotch against the seat to keep the baby in as his whole body pushed down.

The pain was just letting up when the teacher called for their attention, and put on the birthing video. A woman moaning, crouching, her husband supporting her from behind, praying. Her stomach visibly contracted as Max’s own pain returned. Their contractions had synced up, but while she was naked and pushing freely, he was covered in clothes, unable to push or make progress. Her grunts of effort and cries of pain masked his own moans.

The voice of the camera-person ordered the woman, “Push! Push!”

And having sat at a partial crown for an hour and half, Max couldn’t help but obey, pushing in sync with the woman on screen. He leaned back instinctively, lost in the grasp of instinct. He and the woman pushed, and pushed. The babys’ heads emerged slowly, fighting to stretch out the body and, in Max’s case, force the jeans out of the way.

The woman screamed as her head reached a full crown, losing her crouch and falling backwards, caught by her husband. Max’s own softer exhalation, as his own crown, freed from the confines of the chair, reached its own crown.

The next few pushes were unfruitful. The baby’s head bobbed in the woman’s crotch as Max’s own baby fought against his tight jean crotch and lost. He wasn’t trying to hold back anymore, wasn’t thinking consciously, only knew he needed to push.

Then the head on screen gushed out, followed by the rest of the body in rapid succession, but Max’s was still stuck, no matter how he pushed and grunted. The screen went black. 

“You have twenty minutes to write your essays.”

Max panted, realizing his situation. His hand explored downward, gasping at how large the bulge was, his legs spread apart, his lips screaming in pain, stretched to their fullest, his whole body soaked in sweat.

He could not write, could not focus on writing, but he had to. So, ever so slowly he leaned forward. The head of the baby caught on the chair, then began to be shoved up inside him once more. Max shoved his pencil in his mouth, biting down hard to hold back the scream that threatened to bubble in his throat at the pure agony. 

Another, harsher contraction came, but he weathered it, biting his pencil and pressing himself down against the chair. It faded, and he tried to write. The next contraction was just as bad. His weakened pencil snapped his hand. He whimpered as the head began to emerge once more, stretching him little by little. 

It didn’t seem like he had two minutes of leeway anymore, no matter what their professor had taught. The contractions didn’t seem to end. It hurt so much. He was so sweaty, so confined. The baby was coming out again. He didn’t have the energy to push it against the chair. It was stretching his lips, so wide.

“Time!” The professor called. “Pencils down.”

Max’s pencil was in pieces before him, his essay a mess, his multiple choice portion, not quite complete. But he didn’t care. He had to give birth. He had to get out of there.

The old professor toddled around, collecting tests as Max tried to look normal after having been in active labor for fourteen hours and actively crowning for two. 

He’d had a plan, take the test, go home, give birth in his empty apartment. But as the baby reached a full crown once more, Max knew that wasn’t happening. He would at least make it to the bathroom. It was on the first floor. Max planned his route as the professor said his final goodbyes, and then, finally, finally, fifteen minutes after the test ended, released them. 

Max stayed where he was, unsure how to stand as the rest of the students burst out of the room. Another student stayed and talked to Jason, pulling his attention away from Max.

Now, Max thought. He awkwardly turned in his seat, and removed his hoodie. It revealed his very low belly, curved and sweat-soaked, but he used it to tie around his waist, hiding the massive bulge in his crotch. Then, oh so gently, he leveraged himself to his feet.

Gravity shifted, his jeans loosened a bit, and the baby dropped down just a bit further, the head stretching him wider than he thought possible. Max gasped and swayed, catching himself on his desk. Jason glanced over, clearly concerned, but his conversation partners drew him back in.

Free. Max began to waddle, slowly, awkwardly, out of the classroom. Each step was agony, his jeans jostling the fully crowned head in his pants in and out just a smidge. His exhausted legs trembled, and he kept one hand on the wall to keep himself upright. The stairs were right next to the classroom, the elevator was on the other side of the building. He could either walk the entirety twice (to reach the elevator and then walk all the way back to the bathroom at the base of the stairs), or go down the stairs. He chose the stairs.

He went down two before he realized it was an awful idea. He clung to the railing, his legs forcefully spread around the head, which brushed his thighs each time he maneuvered himself awkwardly down the stairs like a new-born deer.

Finally, red faced, panting, exhausted, he reached the bottom of the stairs and practically fell into the door of the men’s bathroom. A guy at the urinal gave him a look.

“Really gotta. . . go,”  Max panted, then stumbled into the stall and locked the door. He reached immediately for his jeans. His shaking hands fumbled with the belt. As the contraction struck, he crouched naturally, spreading his legs wider, but that only forced the jeans up tighter against his opening, forcing the head further in. 

Finally, the belt gave way, and he began forcing the jeans down. They got caught on his hips. He needed to move his legs together, but another contraction hit, and the baby descended further, its nose stretching him and popping out. The head was touching his thighs. He couldn’t spread his legs further to give it more room with his jeans, he couldn’t get rid of the jeans because of the head.

He was stuck.

Mind frozen with fear and exhaustion, he weathered out several contractions, pushing as hard as he could. But the baby didn’t move. It was stuck. The jeans had to go, but that meant. . . 

He heard speaking over the roar of his ears, but couldn’t make out the words. It was definitely Jason.

But Max could spare him no thought. The baby had to come out. Quivering, Max placed his hand on his baby’s head, feeling its wet hair. He took one deep breath, trying to get oxygen in his panic, then began to push the baby up and back it. 

It was agony. He screamed in pain. The baby kicked in protest. His stomach contracted. In the chaos, he lost his balance, falling to his knees, striking his elbow on the side of the tiny stall. 

Jason was pounding on the stall door. 

Max couldn’t talk to him, couldn’t do anything but give birth. He shucked off his jeans and boxers, spread his legs, and pushed.

The much denied baby shot out, to its ears and Max cried out again. The contraction faded, and he could hear Jason now, asking if Max was okay.

“I’ve cleared the bathroom and put a sign out saying its closed. Tell me what's going on, or I’ll call 911.”

Well, Max would need help getting out of here. And it was just as much Jason’s secret as it was his. With a shaking hand, he reached up and undid the latch, just in time for the next contraction to hit. He pushed, and the baby’s head shot out of him just as Jason flung open the door.

“Holy crap!”

Max gasped, leaning against the toilet, spreading his legs just a bit further. The dirty bathroom tile was cold. It felt good. The baby was turning inside him.

“Is that mine?” Jason asked. That health class did something for him after all.

Max could only nod. 

“Shit. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Max didn’t have the breath for explanations. “Wanted you safe,” he gasped. “If I was. . . if they did. . .”

Another contraction. He pushed, weakly. The head bobbed forward, but didn’t move. God, he was exhausted.

Jason knelt down beside Max, his health class training coming into play. “How long have you been in labor?”

“Water broke—nngghh—last night.” The head still didn’t move. He was so tired.

“Last night!”

“Head crowned. . . just. . . just before the—” Another contraction. Max pushed with the pain as hard as he could, but the head wasn’t moving.

“Shit, man.”

Another contraction. No progress. Something was catching on his narrow hips. His body wasn’t made for birthing the way a woman’s was. “I think, I think it’s stuck.”

“I got you, give me a moment.” Then Jason left, leaving Max alone, spread wide and bare, a baby head between his legs, on a dirty bathroom floor. He flopped his head back, resting it on the toilet seat. Gross, yeah, but he didn’t have the energy to care any more.

Another fruitless contraction.

Then Jason was back. He crouched down by Max. “this is going to hurt,” he warned. Then he shoved his hand into Max’s crotch alongside the baby’s neck. Max opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. He was too tired. The pain was awful, the stretch terrible. Then Jason was fumbling around in there with his whole-ass hand, pulling and tugging. Max’s hips strained. 

Another contraction began, tensing Max’s stomach which was peeking up through his shirt, which had ridden up. 

With the hand that wasn’t currently inside Max, Jason pressed down on Max’s stomach. “Push!” he ordered.

Max pushed. Jason pushed with one hand and pulled with the other. The tension, the pressure built, and built. Max was being torn apart. He was going to die. He was—

Something gave. With a gush, the crying baby shot out into Jason’s waiting hands.

The three of them sat, panting, staring at each other. “I want to raise this baby with you, if you’ll let me,” said Jason. “Only reason I haven’t been with you more is, well, I didn’t want to get us both kicked out. But I think you’re amazing and—”

Max smiled. “You’re pretty good too. Let’s do this.”

[rayitoxd2]

wait… there are more???

[monsterexer]

Another commission for an anonymous client!

Posted using PostyBirb

[lightsoutbabw]

You were sent into space not knowing you were pregnant. By the time you find out it’s too late to send you back, you’re ultimately stuck until the baby is born. Your suit barely can take your growing stomach; bloated and hard as you try to keep doing your duties to upkeep your ship. Eventually you have to give birth, trying to bare down properly in zero gravity, baby barely budging, screaming to no one and nothing.

[lightsoutbabw]

Alternatively, an alien finds you when you’re birthing, eager for something soft and warm to lay its eggs in. Squeezing your stomach to force the child out of you, and when that doesn’t work, pushes it into your stomach and begins to fill you with its eggs anyway. Screaming and sobbing and begging for it to stop :3

[lightsoutbabw]

Two soldiers left in the trench, both unexpectedly giving birth. Nothing but a little bit of belly that ends up birthing a big baby. One’s knee is between the other’s legs as they deny each other from giving birth in an exhausted slurry haze of denial and disbelief.

[lightsoutbabw]

Soldier A is feeling the urge to push, but his buddy is rolling around in a pain filled frenzy so he tucks his legs together and helps his partner first. Soldier B is begging not to give birth, pressing up against his partner and straddling his thigh to press his bulging hole down to stop the progress, whimpering with tears in his eyes and his tummy hurts. This pushes soldier A’s legs apart to reveal the head crowning in his pants, he pulls soldier B closer to nudge his knee against the head and hold it there, every time B squirms pushing on it.