don't let the aesthetics fool you, this is an nfsw blog

22 🍊 dyke 🍊 yes i'm spelling clementine with a k so it matches kinky, what about it?

[kinky-klementine]

i'll make a proper pinned post after a nap lmao all you need to know is that this will be, primarily, a birth fetish blog <33

minors, maps, and terfs dni

i'm a lesbian but anyone of any orientation can interact <3

tw for sadomasochism and whatever the fuck goes on during birth, blood and tearing and shit included

this isn't my main so i can't follow you back, just a heads up for that kahsjdhdkljshdjhkl

[dilfpregcentral]

I’ve been haunted (positive) by the idea of a US college football player knocked up by his coach… The coach finds out one of his players is trans and needs to try boypussy for himself, establishing a ritual where the night before a game he has the player suck him off and then cums in his tight little cunt. He’s not trying to knock the kid up, exactly, but when he sees the fabric of the state uniform stretching over that belly, he’s filled with pride.

It takes the player far longer to realize what’s going on. He falsely believes T is birth control, and he’s been trying to bulk up, so he just believes he’s finally putting on some much-needed weight and doesn’t think much about it. By the time he realizes his coach put a baby in him, he’s already too far along to do anything about it.

Humiliated and scared of jeopardizing his sports scholarship, he goes to great lengths to hide it, eventually starting to bind his belly. It’s excruciatingly painful and hard on his joints to force his growing baby deep into his body like that, especially on the field. He’s getting so sloppy and slow and tired that he hopes Coach will just bench him, but Coach takes too much perverse joy in watching him struggle through each game.

And of course the player will end up going into labor on the day of a playoff game. He tries to tell Coach he isn’t feeling well, but with a thrill, Coach tells him to muscle through.

But he can’t deny nature, and ends up falling to his knees in the middle of a play. Timeout is called, and by the time the medics arrive, he’s collapsed onto his back with his legs splayed wide. He’s making desperate animal sounds and clawing ineffectually at his belly, leading one of the medics to discover his belly binder and start to undo it. Finally his belly heaves free of its confines, a veiny, bulbous growth that looks grotesque jutting off the frame of a slim college boy.

Even the cheap seats can see the curve of his pregnant gut tense into a hard, sharp shape, and if that left any doubt as to what was happening, the Jumbotron displays a high definition feed of the sopping wet spandex between his legs beginning to bulge.

His teeth clench and his face scrunches as he digs his fingers into the backs of his thighs and pulls his knees as far back as he can, a grunt grinding in his throat. The stunned medics watch the seam of his uniform bottoms stretch as he pushes harder, making no move to assist. It’s only his strained wheeze of Getthemoff! the prompts one of them to shove their hand under him and pull his waistband down his ass and over the bend of his thighs, revealing the straps of his jock framing his puffy, domed pussy.

His rock-hard belly softens, and the tension trembling through his body gives way to gasps as he releases the push. He tosses his head weakly and moans, “Is it out? Is it out yet?!” and falls into agonized groans when the medics tell him that they haven’t even seen the head yet.

By now the team is crowded around him, including the coach, who casually rests his clipboard over his lap, concealing that he’s the hardest he’s ever been in his life.

The medics try to move the player onto the stretcher, but he screams, “Don’t touch me!” when they try, so they have no choice but to sit back and watch him labor unassisted. His slow halting progress fills the Jumbotron, showing his bulging perineum and flared asshole, the lips of his cunt beginning to peek open at the height of every push. He keeps sobbing that it hurts, it’s too big, he’s gonna tear. But it only gets worse, the contractions getting closer and the dome between his legs growing bigger and bigger.

His tight cunt lips stay snug around the head of his bastard, his fat boyclit jutting up as everything between his legs is displaced. But finally, with a push that turns his face purple, the head moves enough that even when it inches back inside him at the end of the contraction, there’s still a perfect teardrop of hair visible.

His eyes snap wide, chest heaving as he struggles for breath to wail, “My pussy, my pussy, my pussy!” Coach’s cock twitches as he commits every detail to memory, from that pretty birthing cunt to the sweet rasp of the player’s voice.

The contractions come faster now, scarcely a minute between them, and the player only grows more hysterical between each one. “No, no, it’s too big!” he screams, with his lips only opened to reveal a small disc of the head.

The next several times he tries to push, he ends up flinching and trying to close his legs, though squeezing his thighs together only shifts more of the pressure towards his asshole, making it bulge and pulse dangerously. The medics end up grabbing his legs and pinning his knees back against his shoulders, and he shrieks as the shift eases the head forward, his taint and cunt lips stretched several inches away from his body as they struggle to open wide enough for the head, his jock almost cutting into his skin as the straps stretch around his birth.

“I can’t,” he sobs, “I can’t,” but it isn’t his choice. The next contraction comes, and he can’t help but push, body curling and thighs shaking, nothing but a high wheeze audible in his throat.

Finally, he crowns. He immediately stops pushing with a shriek, fruitlessly fighting to close his pried-open legs. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuck! Get it out!!! Get it OUUUUT!” He tries to keep pushing, but he’s too weak to budge it without the help of his body, only succeeding in inching the crown just far enough forward to stretch his boyclit nearly flat.

“My clit!” he screams. “My clit! My clit! I’m tearing!!! Get it ouuuuuUUUUUUUUUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

A contraction hits in the middle of his cry, and his shrieking breaks off with a sharp peak of his voice as the huge head of the coach’s bastard bursts out of his abused boypussy in a gush of fluid. He falls limp with a cry, his whole body shaking. As his head lolls, he happens to catch a glimpse of the Jumbotron, and cold washes over him as he sees the massive high-definition image of a baby’s head hanging out of his cunt.

He doesn’t even quite process that it’s him until he feels the urge to push, and winces at the shoulders twisting inside him as he watches the head rotate on the screen. “That’s coming out of me,” he rasps. “Oh my god. Oh my god, it’s coming out of my pussy. It’s coming out of m—hhhhng!”

The urge to push overtakes him, and with a thin grunt, he shoves out both shoulders. He winces as he feels the rest of the slimy body tugged out of him, then numbly raises his hands to take the strange purple being when the medics hand it to him. He looks down at it, and the only thought he can hold in his head is a bewildered, That came out of me.

And for many nights to come, Coach will cum to the thought, I put that in him.

[stirrups-with-straps]

When the head’s almost too big and it’s way too late for an epidural, just remember, there’s only one way to end the pain: keep your legs spread wide around your belly and push as hard as you can every contraction, no matter how bad it hurts. Eventually, you will struggle that overdue head out. Of course, that does mean those broad shoulders are about to ram right into your very sore perineum, but that’s a later problem for you.

[speculumslut]

a doctor using medical tape to hold a vibrator inside you. that is all

[shockspectrum]

Is this anything?

The novice nun went from catholic school straight to the convent without any sex education. Luckily the priest saw that she would be perfectly suited to pregnancy, and decided it was only fair that she be given the chance to unlock her full potential. She had no idea that the fun time she had bouncing on his lap in the confessional would come to this...

Nine months later, she's mostly managed to hide her growing bump inside her habit, but had to bind her breasts down as they grew thick with milk in anticipation of the baby that she's tried VERY HARD not to think about. But her body isn't going to let her off the hook.

It's shortly after bedtime on Saturday when she realises something is happening. She's been ignoring the cramps all day but she can definitely feel it sitting lower in her hips now. And she keeps getting this urge to push...

She pushes through the night, alone in her dark cell, being as quiet as possible not to alert any other nuns to her plight. She alternates between lying with her legs pulled up as high as they'll go, and crouching by her bed straining, a blanket between her clenched teeth to muffle the groans, in a perverse kind of reversal of her regular nightly prayer pose.

With horror she realises that the dawn is arriving, and the bell is soon going to ring for the nuns all to go to the chapel. In the silent break between contractions, she can hear the nun in the next cell rummaging around getting ready for the day.

Desperately she reaches down between her legs to feel the head which has been stuck at an almost-crown for hours now. She pushes harder and harder as quietly as she can, in perfect agony.

The bells begin to ring. There's nothing she can do, she can't go down to prayers like this. So she stays where she is and labours, missing the Sunday service, the important one.

The head is finally, blessedly, nearly out when the door opens. She looks to see the mother superior standing in the doorway, in some shock at the sight of the novice nun flat on her bed, one leg braced on the wall and the other pulled up to her chest, with a baby's head nearly hanging out of her.

Red-faced, she looks at the mother superior, panting with the effort. Mother superior says nothing, but closes the door behind her and folds her arms, settling back to watch the show.

The novice has no choice but to keep pushing, now knowing there are eyes watching every movement, every puff and groan and push and strain. And she has no idea where she'll stand at the end of it, whether she'll be allowed to continue novice training, or get thrown out onto the street. But she can't think about that right now, with this head splitting her in two.

She keeps pushing.

this is so hot thank you anon

[dilfpregcentral]

🫃, ❔(horse), 1️⃣, 🚜, 🩲💬,🪑, 🐢

(Birth Denial Ask Game)

A horse boy working on a huge ranch gets called into the boss’s office one day. He already knows what it’s going to be about; he’s been falling behind on his duties. A head shorter and probably a hundred pounds lighter than the stallion guys who work the ranch, he can’t hope to keep up with the workload. Where they’re all glistening muscles and endless stamina, he’s twiggy and tires easily, still as ungainly as a foal.

So, he enters the boss’s office with his ears back and his tail twitching in anxiety, expecting to be fired. What he doesn’t expect is for her to have his employee file open and start asking questions about his pedigree papers. His face warms as he confirms that, yes, he comes from a breeding family. He tries to tactfully cut off any ideas she has about him having some massive stud cock, but she waves him off, saying that yes, yes, she knows about his “situation.” He doesn’t know if he’s ever heard his pussy called a “situation” before, and he doesn’t know why it makes him squirm in his seat.

Finally, she offers him a transfer to working in husbandry. Grateful to still have a job, he signs the new contract without asking questions—a choice he regrets when he reports for his first shift in husbandry and the boss tells him to pull his pants down. He’s thankful that the breeding bench she straps him into faces away from her, keeping her from seeing his welling tears. He has to bite his lips to keep from sobbing in humiliation when she presses a high-powered vibe to his pussy.

She wrings four orgasms out of him in minutes, leaving him trembling and overstimulated by the time she forces the tip of the insemination gun into his cervix. He screams and jerks, the velcro restraints creaking as he instinctively tries to escape his fate. But he’s already signed his womb away, and he must endure the discomfort and nausea as it fills with so much semen that his slim belly bloats a little. With a jovial pat on the ass, the boss unstraps him and tells him to “keep his rump up” for ten minutes, then clean up and meet her in the stables.

As he lies there, catching his breath through his sniffles and waiting for some stranger’s cum to impregnate him, he has to reflect on how much sense it all makes. After all, if he can’t be a useful workhorse, he might as well make one, right? He wonders if the sample might have come from one of his coworkers, and his tender pussy clenches. Trying to forget the violation of the insemination gun, he imagines what it would have been like to be bred by the handsome Percheron who used to help him when he’d fall behind, whose jeans always strained so tantalizingly over what must be a gorgeous stallion cock.

But a cramp flaring in his cervix brings him back to reality. This isn’t some paperback breeding fantasy. This is his job. It’s not going to be sexy. In fact, it’s probably going to suck.

The morning sickness proves him right by hitting hard and fast, leaving him feeble and gray-faced for the first few weeks of his new position. Because he’s not just a breeder, no—he also actually has to work husbandry with the animal horses. Luckily the husbandry supervisor takes one look at him and relegates him to foal watch, which consists entirely of sitting with full-term mares and radioing someone more qualified when they’re ready to foal. It’s excruciatingly boring, but considering that he’s exhausted just sitting there, he’s grateful that he doesn’t have to do any real work while this pregnancy takes so much out of him.

In no time at all, his clothes grow tight against the swelling curve of his belly. He spends most of his days shyly tugging down his shirt when it rides up, but soon everyone expects to see a strip of stretch-marked tummy peeking over his jeans. The ranch provides big, branded sweat sets with nice, roomy elastic, but even those end up riding apart within a few more weeks. Despite keeping his head down when he walks around the ranch, he can feel everyone’s eyes on his exposed tummy.

At only 6 months, he looks ready to pop, having to walk with his hips swayed forward and his shoulders thrown back to account for the massive bump hanging off his slim frame. The child is heavy—and strong, too. It kicks so hard that people can see from across the room as the whole shape of his belly distorts around its powerful limbs. He can often be seen groaning and rubbing at the mottled flesh, wincing as his hands pass over the purple patches where his unsightly varicose veins have broken from the commotion inside.

In the coming weeks, he wakes up bigger every morning. He’s sure he can’t possibly be growing as fast as it seems, but the increasing pressure in his pelvis and the strain on his joints confirm it. His legs shake under him when he walks, hips forced so wide that he constantly fears they’ll pop from their sockets. His ankles are so swollen that it looks like he’s wearing leg warmers beneath his sweatpants. He doesn’t waddle so much as shuffle, unable to decide if he needs a hand to support his back, or if both of them need to be under his belly. His silhouette reminds him of a photo he once saw of a woman carrying triplets, bump jutting like an oblong watermelon out from under her shirt. He might be even bigger than that.

His boss doesn’t tell him much about his own pregnancy, and by his 30-week checkup, he’s started to worry that she didn’t bother to inform him that he’s having high-order multiples. Nervously, he asks how many foals he’s carrying. She happily confirms it’s only one, and his stomach drops, such as it can, realizing only now that multiples would be preferable with a belly like this. He asks how that can be possible when he’s so big, and she tells him that’s what a belly looks like when it’s got a 25lb foal in it!

While his jaw hangs open, she prattles on, saying how proud she is of him for doubling the foal’s size in the last six weeks. She informs him the growth will continue at a similar rate, at which point he finds enough worlds to tell her in a panic that he can barely get out of bed now! He’s going to be practically immobile if he gets any bigger!

That’s how he gets moved from his room to the breeding stables. When he first hears of the change, he legitimately thinks they’re going to put him in a stall with the animal horses for a moment, so he’s actually relieved when he finds out they’re going to convert the medical room where he’s been getting his checkups into a bedroom for him. His boss moves some new equipment in, and it ends up being relatively livable, though not homely. He doesn’t like sleeping in a hospital bed, but as his womb grows heavier and heavier, he concedes that he wouldn’t be able to get up without the power-adjusting and the bars on the sides.

He’s relieved when they provide him with a walker, though when he realizes the modified shelf on it is for his belly to rest on, he’s too embarrassed to use it for a few days. When he finally gives in, though, the relief is too great to really care. It may make him a spectacle, an otherwise-small boy with the unsightly, misshapen growth of his gut plopped proudly on a pedestal in front of him, but it takes almost 30lbs of weight off of his lower back, so he lives with it. There is still a faint embarrassment to entering a room like this, his stretched-flat navel and the dark shock of a linea nigra bulging through the door before the rest of him waddles after, but it’s gotten to the point that he blushes under the attention.

And he really gets attention when the baby moves. Especially when his belly is resting on his walker, it distorts his bump so much that it’s hardly even round anymore, just skin stretched over constantly-shifting angles. It’s hurt more and more as the baby has grown, and now it’s almost unbearable, flurries of movement dealt with by clutching his sides and groaning, begging the child to stop moving.

He’s halfway through his 32nd week when the pain begins in his pelvic floor. Not the continuous ache he’s felt since he began to show, or even the seizing cramps that have grown more common as his ligaments are forced to stretch too fast, but something crueler, sharper. Something that digs into him from inside, making him yelp and grab at his pussy reflexively. He forgets the mare he’s been watching and radios his boss, telling her the baby is coming.

She meets him at the stables with a wheelchair and wheels him back to his room. Every bump feels like a knife in his cervix, little ah! ah! ah!s slipping out of him with each rock they roll over.

In his room, his boss gets him into his bed and deploys stirrups from the end. No stranger to them by now, he laboriously lifts his legs, groaning as he holds his belly up to keep it from falling between his thighs, and rests his heels in the stirrups. After a few minutes of prodding painfully at his pussy and cervix, the boss declares that it’s just a case of lightning crotch, and he shouldn’t expect labor until 40, maybe even 42 or 42 weeks. He blanches and cries that he can’t do this for another two months, let alone 10 more weeks! Really, they should have done the C-section a month before now, it’s simply absurd to be pregnant with a 40lb baby! What breed was the father, even? A Clydesdale? He knows Clydes-men can sire babies the size of toddlers, but this is insane! Is she sure it’s not twins?

The boss takes in his feverish dismay with a calm, almost amused look. Then she tells him she’s going to give him an IV for the pain. He’s in too much agony to think better of it.

Only a few minutes after she sets up the IV, he swims out of reality.

Consciousness comes in hints and slips. He feels sensations deep in his body, pressure and pain, and movement, so much movement, like he’s under the ocean and there’s more ocean inside of him, not quite deep enough for whatever’s trying to swim inside his body.

He hears voices, sees changing light, feels cold hands on his belly. Only once or twice does he gain enough consciousness to feel afraid or confused; mostly, it’s peaceful and quiet.

When he finally wakes up, the first thing he feels is the heaviness. It’s like nothing he’s experienced, a bone-creaking, organ-crushing pressure, a not-enough-room, like whatever is inside his body is so big that it’s going to push him out. His breaths come thin and small, the effort of each gasp driving him towards panic and causing more pain to spike deeper inside him. It feels like a tent peg is being hammered deep into his pelvis.

Finally, he notices that he’s sitting in a wheelchair, and there’s someone sitting in his lap. No—wait, fuck, it’s just him. He’s huge. No, he’s beyond huge, he’s—he can’t think of another word. His head is still swimming. His belly is so large now that it pins his legs to the sides of the chair and forces his rib cage back, so that he feels like it’s the thing sitting in the chair, and he just happens to be under it.

Then it shifts. A faded cry rises from his atrophied throat, and he shakes his head instinctively as he watches what looks like a goddamn 8 year old moving inside his belly. His chest—heavy and tender—jumps as he fights for air, whimpers eking out with every alien shift of his womb. Then it kicks, and he screams as he thinks for a moment that the foot will tear through his tummy. But it only ignites a sting of varicose veins and a burn of itching, over-stretched flesh.

The sharp agony flares deep inside him again- his cervix, he realizes- and he didn’t think anything could hurt this bad.

Then it gets worse.

Even in his disorientation, he knows it’s a contraction. Hard to think it’s anything else as he watches his bare belly tense, lifting ever so slightly and shrinking away from his thighs, tightening around an inscruitable shape inside of him. He groans wretchedly and tries to reach for his belly, only to find that his hands are velcroed to the chair. He just clings to the arm rests, and futilely tries to breathe through the tightness of the pain, the pressure, the screwing of something thick and serrated into his cervix.

When the contraction ends, he starts to cry softly, though it only makes the stabbing sensation deep inside feel worse.

Through the tears, he sees that he’s in some kind of husbandry stable, similar to the one at his job but clearly elsewhere. He’s so used to the scents of hay and manure that it didn’t even occur to him that those aren’t the kinds of things a person should be able to smell when they’re in labor.

Four contractions later, the door opens, and his boss appears.

“What the fuck did you do to me,” he sobs, in a broken, pathetic voice that can’t carry an ounce of his anger.

She tuts and checks a her phone. “I saved you from the ten most uncomfortable weeks of your life. And you got paid for them! You should be thankful.”

“You drugged me, and— augh!” His belly shifts massively, and he doesn’t get enough oxygen for a moment, panting. “What is this?! What’s happening?!”

She hums at something on the screen. “You’re in labor. We’ve got a buyer for your foal, but he has to see it come out of you.”

“Wh-what?! Why?!”

“Because that’s the whole point. Folk-carried thoroughbreds go for a pretty penny. You’re going to earn $300k today.”

“Wh- no, I don’t—“ he shakes his head, then makes a high, ragged sound at another jab against his cervix. “Fuck, it hurts so bad, something’s wrong!”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

He clenches his teeth. “It’s all wrong! Why the fuck is it so big?! How—“ He wheezes for air and tries not to sob. “How am I gonna get it out!?”

Finally, she looks up at him and actually focuses her attention, giving him an odd look. “Did you expect it to be smaller because you’re folk?”

“I- I expected it to be normal! It’s almost as big as me!”

“Oh, you’re exaggerating. She’s only 90 pounds.”

He feels sick. “Wh- what?!”

“That’s on the small side, honestly. The last foal from this sire was over a hundred. Though, that was from Missy.”

His ears start to ring. Missy. One of the mares he sat on watch with. A regular, four-legged horse. An animal.

A kick stretches his belly. He stares at it, the sharp shape suddenly clear to him. A hoof.

“No… no, no, no, I can’t, I— AUGH!”

His cervix screams and the sharp pain lances right into his lower spine. It’s starting to come out of his womb. Not a head, but—

“The hooves,” he whimpers, “fuck, the hooves are coming!”

“Oh, shoot. Where is he?” She looks impatiently at her watch. “Shit.” Then she turns and rushes out of the stable.

He pants, incredulous. He’s nothing but a broodmare to her. His womb the same as the animals they work with. Tears run down his face as he groans through the brutal contraction, through the terrible press of sharp keratin through his dilating cervix.

His seized-up belly softens, and though the awful sensation of the hooves pushing into his tailbone remains, it’s not as bad without the cramping. He sits there, trying not to sob, feeling so, so stupid. How did he not realize? He knew it was possible, he just…

Spending his time wishing he never signed that contract, he doesn’t expect the next contraction to come so soon. His eyes fly wide, and he groans with the sudden urge to push. A small noise of effort rises in his throat as his face screws up, his over-stretched abs struggling to tighten.

His noise grows louder as he feels a shift, the painful spread of his cervix, hooves digging into him like they might come out of his asshole instead. Whimpering in pain, he struggles to shove his hips forward, fighting the 90lbs of foal weighing down his lap. It’s impossible to get out from under his enormous breeder belly, but he does manage to at least scoot his butt forward, making more room to spread his thighs and creating a space for something to actually come out.

For the foal to come out.

The next contraction comes fast, and he finds that with his posture sunken like this it’s even harder to breathe. His head spins and the world darkens as he pushes. The sensation is so foreign yet shockingly clear as he feels himself steadily pushing the hooves out of his cervix, their angles stretching his pussy. He stops to gasp for air, then ducks his head and grunts as he keeps pushing. Oh, fuck, they’re starting to stretch his cunt. He clenches his teeth and spreads his legs, and manages to push them right to his entrance before the contraction ends. With the next one, the stretch sharpens and he keens high in the back of his throat as he feels like he might tear—

Then he births the hooves, only to feel them butt up against something. His eyes fly wide, and he starts to panic as he realizes he’s wearing some kind of bottoms. He didn’t even think about it, can’t see any of his body beyond his foal-filled belly.

“Shit,” he whimpers. He spends the whole time waiting for the next contraction trying to wriggle around, looking for some way to- to fix this, or— there. The resistance is suddenly gone, like the hooves are free of whatever they caught on. He has no idea how that worked, but he’ll take it. It isn’t until he’s pushing again that he realizes he managed to direct the hooves down one pant leg. He only has a moment to feel vaguely amused by the idea before pain ignites in his cervix again.

Fuck.

Over the next several minutes, in fits and starts, he pushes as much as he can. It’s massive, the pain driving his head to loll around listlessly, his hands to ache gripping the arm rests. His cunt still strains around the foal’s legs, the knobby ankles resting against his thigh, as he struggles to push on the head and knees. It’s a brutal combination, and he hears the grunts and groans he makes as if from far away.

Suddenly, the door opens again, and his boss cries, “Shoot! Stop pushing, wait!”

He shakes his head. His pussy stretches. It’s getting close to his entrance. “Need it… out…!”

“If you push, you’re in breach of contract! You won’t get a dime!”

He stops with an agonized wheeze.

“Good!”

He shakes his head, eyes clenched shut. “No… no, the head’s in my pussy, it’s almost out, it hurts! Let me push it out!”

“Soon, soon, just be patient.”

There is no such thing as patience with his body forced wide from cunt to womb. He can see the image so vividly in his mind’s eye, the knees and head bulging inside his vagina, legs hanging out of him. Fuck, he’s really foaling…

He contracts, and can do nothing but sit there and groan, a long, mournful sound of a broodmare needing to push.

“Please,” he groans. “Please let me foal…”

“Not yet.”

His voice dissolves into a pathetic whine.

Even without pushing, his pussy burns more and more as the spindly legs widen and the nose descends. He can feel them behind his cunt lips, and would kick his own legs in frustration if they weren’t asleep from the weight of his belly.

“Ohhh fuck, please! Please let me… need to push… need to push so bad, need it out…!”

She ignores him, and his womb ignores her, steadily wringing the foal out of him bit by bit, even without his pushing. He starts to whimper as his labia is pried wider and wider.

“It’s coming! It’s coming out!”

“Stop pushing!”

“I’m not! It’s just- hnnng, fuck, it’s just coming out of me!”

She growls in frustration and stomps to the door, throwing it open and yelling, “Get in here! He’s about to foal into his pants!”

Gasping, he claws at the arm rests. “The head! The head! It’s coming out! And the knees, oh god, oh god, it’s crowning! It’s crowning all at once! Fuck! I’m foaling! FUUUCK!”

His cunt opens wider than it was ever meant to, spread around two bulbous knees and the broadening muzzle of the foal. Even as he clenches his jaw and screams in his effort not to push, his contracting body urges the head even further until the true crown wedges his pussy wide around the boxy width of the creature’s head and legs.

The buyer enters the room to the sight of a hugely pregnant boy shrieking as he births the head of a foal into one of his pant legs. The buyer has the boy’s handler lift up his grotesque belly, then pulls off the disgusting, drenched sweatpants himself and releases a hushed gasp at the pretty view of a cunt straining to give birth.

He whistles lowly. “Look at that. Hanging out of him like that… you’ve got a good broodmare, here. Go on, finish foaling for us, boy.”

With nothing left but the desperation to have this horse out of his body, the boy immediately tenses up and grunts deeply. The shoulders bulge his birthing hole, and he trembles for a moment before making a tiny, garbled sound deep in his chest and shoving them out.

The amniotic sac breaks, water splashing everywhere as the foal begins to shift and twitch. The boy groans as its back hooves kick inside his belly. But he manages to lift his legs, grab at his knees, and make a primal, guttural groan as he keeps pushing. For a moment, the foal just dangles half-inside him. Then the barrel torso bursts out of him, tearing a scream of pain from his throat. His handler deftly drags the rest of the horse out, and the buyer watches in bright-eyed fascination as the haunches stretch the boy’s hole one last time before the gangly legs slip out.

The boy looks, bewildered, at what just came out of him, his gaping red pussy pouring fluids.

“I foaled,” he mumbles vacantly, and his cunt clenches like it enjoys the thought.

“Not bad,” says the buyer. He observes his new horse and hums thoughtfully. “A little on the small side, huh?” He pats the still-bulbous belly of the breeder, who whimpers. “Have him make me a Clydesdale next time.”

“Agreed,” says the handler. The breeder’s pussy flutters weakly, and he starts to cry.

“Cheer up, kid,” the buyer laughs. “You’re gonna be rich.”

———

The newly hired horse boy walks uncomfortably into the stable, holding his nauseous belly. He can still feel the bulge and slosh of semen inside, and winces at the memory of being artificially impregnated. He still can’t believe this has happened to him…

But he can’t change it, so he tries to focus on his job. They said stall 8, right? Seeing the hand-painted 8 midway down the stable, he opens that gate and steps in.

He stops in his tracks, limbs going cold at the sight of a naked horse boy on his hands and knees with a a blue and purple belly so large that it presses heavily into the straw-covered ground. He rocks in place, and lets out a low, concentrated grunt, his ears flicking back against his head.

There’s a foal coming out of him. The boy stares in horror at the inflamed ring of his pussy, displacing his hips and his asshole and his clit, making his bound-up tail arch up almost impossibly, room for nothing but giving birth.

Groaning, the boy keeps pushing, slowly birthing the head of a massive, sturdy foal. He stops every once in a while to pant, and doesn’t even scream until the hulking shoulders are splitting his pussy lips.

Suddenly he moans sharply, and it isn’t until he speaks that the watching boy realizes he didn’t expect him to be able to.

“Oh, I’m gonna foal!” he whines, hips squirming, head falling back. “I’m about to foal! I’m foaling! Augh—!” He starts to shudder, his pussy spasming, and his lips fall open.

With an arch of his spine and a full-body heave, the boy cums as he foals out the biggest newborn horse the observing boy has ever seen. It’s easily over a hundred, maybe as much as a hundred and twenty pounds. It’s almost as big as the birthing boy, himself, probably was before that belly grew on him.

Still standing in the door of the stable, the newly-bred boy stares numbly.

“That’s- that’s not what’s inside of me, is it?!” he finally squeaks.

The breeder, half-collapsed next to his foal, looks up with cloudy eyes. He smiles vacantly, glancing down to the small swell stretching his new coworker’s shirt.

“Don’t worry,” he sighs, then moans gently as an aftershock clearly flutters through him. “You’ll be okay. Our bodies were made for foaling.” His jaw falls, and his hips jerk, thighs weakly drawing together as just the thought seems to make him cum again. “Ah! Mmh… You’ll love being a broodmare.”

[shockspectrum]

Love the idea of a birth hospital where most people don’t even make it out of the lobby. Imagine a dozen people, all about to crown in a waiting room. Some of them are hanging on, trying to keep the baby in until they can get help. Others have given up hope and pulled their pants down to birth right where they’re standing—because of course there’s not enough chairs for everyone.

Or maybe there’s some available staff that will come push the head back in, insisting that the birthers wait until a room is ready (never).

once you finally are brought back to a room, during the moving process you see that tons of rooms are empty and tons of nurses are sitting around doing nothing. it's not that the birth hospital doesn't have the resources to treat everyone; it's that they just choose not to. <3

[foxphantom]

Consecutive birth experiences that are wildly different from the other.

Your first birth is orgasmic. You're so excited for the second, but then it ends up being the longest and most painful experience of your life.

Or the opposite. You're so scared for your second birth, more than you were for your first, because now that you've done it once, you know how hard it can be. But then the day comes and it's the best experience you've ever had.

A first birth that's calm, serene. Not easy, but intimate, you're in control of it. Maybe a home birth with your partner. And then the second birth ends up happening in public, completely not what you've planned.

The first birth was just one baby. This one is three. It lasts so much longer. You had no idea it would take so much out of you, each hour it goes on draining you more than you think possible.

[bulgingpushh]

Heavy agree that we do not need ai in this kink community like dawg just pick up a pencil draw it on your own !! IDC if it's bad looking I would gladly see a new artist making art for this kink a million times over any ai

HELL ID RATHER SEE SOMEOEN TRACE OVER IRL PHOTOS FR LIKE !!!

-A high Dogboy who's been a silent follower hehe

thank you!!!!! create something!!!!! even if its bad!!!!!! ESPECIALLY IF ITS BAD!!!!!! BE HUMAN AND MAKE STUFF PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

[mothercrowning11]

Hold that push right there, I wouldn’t want you to tear

[nosoc0mial]

The doctor says I need a serious proceedure to retain my mental and physical wellbeing. I arrive in the hospital, and am asked to remove my clothes and put on a gown. The preparation seems intensive. The nurses shave me, monitor me, put me on an IV, and give me an enema while I'm in my hospital room. The doctor arrives after a number of hours. He explains little, but presses upon the urgent nature of my need for exploratory eexamination and treatment. Next, he asks me a number of questions about my sex life, preferences, identity, and my habits regarding masturbation. I answer honestly, shamefully, and the doctor only replies with the fact that what I've told him proves his feelings of urgency right. I need correction. Psychosexual adjustment. I'll be ceasing any unapproved activity, but first, they must examine the extent of the damage. I feel ashamed as I do terrified as the doctor has me transferred into a gurney and shuttled down the hallway. I shoot up in fear as soon as we reach the hallway, but the team of doctors and nurses in the room subdue me. I am stripped of my gown and restrained at the wrist. My legs are lifted into stirrups and strapped down as I feel a needle pierce my skin once again. The drug they'd chosen was only the half of it. More straps go over my body as they fit a mask over my head. If feel horribly exposed in front of these people, and worse, terrified. My mind swims through the haze of sedation as they begin to place drapes over me. My legs, body, and face all partitioned and covered. The only skin of mine showing lies directly between my legs. I try move as the doctor inspects me. They take photos and measurements, sometimes I can feel several fingers on me, making sure to inspect every inch of the outside of my vagina, my clit, and my folds. The occasional prod at my already uncomfortable anus is worse. Im only able to produce a faint groan beneath the mask strapped onto my face as I feel the doctor insert his fingers. They inspect me for what feels like hours, stimulating me, documenting me, and forcing me to orgasm on their gloved hands. They use an ultrasound, probing me, and speculums with a stretch my body can't resist because of the gas forced into my lungs. I groan in pain as I feel them press a steel rod into my cervix, fingers on my clitoris to ease the pain of the procedure. They force me to orgasm with the sound inside, behind my sheet, I weep in pain and humiliation and arousal. I cannot escape this place. Trapped here underneath the bright lights of my undoing. I can only endure it.

[66blood]

ur creepy doctor who loves inspecting ur cunt at every visit😵‍💫 their cold gloves circling and poking yr clit until ur wet…putting fingers cold metal objects in ur cunt while u try not to cum frm ur doctor just “doing their job”

[sweetndpatient]

the thing is if you’re shy it’s much easier to be embarrassed, especially if you know the doctor’s being very patient with you while you make it hard for them to do their job. changing into the hospital gown, tying it in the front, but keeping on your underwear. hoping maybe this time will be different. laying down on the table and shaking with nerves. doctor squeezing your hand as they pull open the gown, pressing down on your stomach gently. touching up near your chest, and then slowly moving down towards your belly button, until they have to slide two fingers under the band of your underwear. they tell you they’re very sorry, and it’ll just take a second, but your stomach is doing flips as they feel over your bladder, folding the cloth down to assess the skin there. “relax, it’s not going to hurt”, but your stomach’s just so tense they tell you they’re a little worried about your pelvic floor, so they’re just going to feel a little lower. their hands are gentle, almost cautious, as they slide under the fabric of your underwear. they softly press at your skin, feeling out the shape of your inner labia. just checking for tension. finally they touch you where you’ve gotten so wet from the embarrassment. they ask you if this discharge is normal for you, and blushing, you shake your head no. their hands come out & they slowly pull your underwear the rest of the way down. it looks like you’ll need an internal exam.

[sweetndpatient]

when i first started t sometimes i would jerk off so many times in one day that my clit would get too sore to touch for a couple days. thinking about going to the doctor for that… not telling what you did, hoping they won’t be able to tell. but of course they say they’ll need to see, and they step out so you can pull off your boxers and jeans, holding a flimsy paper sheet over your thighs. when the doctor comes back in, it’s been just long enough for you to start leaking onto the table below you.

they ask you to lie down and spread your legs. you’re so shy your thighs are trembling. you feel the cold air hit you where you’re wet when they pull the sheet away. they touch around your clit so gently you can feel yourself getting hard again, but you can’t help but flinch when they get a little too close. they apologize each time, asking you to rate the pain on a scale of 1 to 10. you can feel yourself getting more and more aroused, embarrassed because you know they can tell.

they start to touch around your hole, asking if testosterone has been affecting your libido, and you know you’ve been caught. you try to close your legs, but they hold them open, asking you to describe how you masturbate as they keep examining you. you’re blushing so hard as they listen intently, asking follow up questions that get more and more intrusive while they stroke you softly. finally, they tell you it’s just not safe for you to masturbate that way, and it’s probably best you start asking them for help from now on. come in after hours a couple times a week, and they’ll help you orgasm safely. would you like to start now?

[sweetndpatient]

stirrups have always been so hot to me, especially the ones with braces for your knees. nothing more vulnerable than being held wide open. the overhead lamp illuminating you, warm on your skin. maybe the doctor wants to measure your flexibility too, or they’re just very particular. so they align your legs for you, pulling your knees up and apart one at a time. gloved hands feeling the stretch of your inner thigh as your legs are spread into place. adjusting the angle of the stirrups after, slowly pulling you wider and wider. hospital gown gently pushed to your stomach, doing nothing to cover you. their hands are gentle on your skin. they take their time to look at you. when they move away for a moment to grab the next tool, you’re left with your legs open, just waiting to be touched.

[bellyvirtues]

We’ve all heard of Lamaze classes- how bout birthing classes where pregnant people go into labour and give birth together while staff watch & help them along?

This is sooo hot anon

Imagining that none of them have ever been to a regular lamaze class before, so this really is their first concept of what birth is actually supposed to be like

A whole class of thirty or so people all freaking out as they feel their babies coming down, stretching them wide. The staff members calling out supportively to them, cheering them on but rarely stepping in to help. After all they have a "you can do it!" attitude here. Giving them all the platitudes and praises of good instructors while all the students cry and yell through their births.

[bellyvirtues]

Newly hired nurse getting a tour of the maternity ward they're about to work at. They're not technically allowed to work yet, so they're just being shown around.

And as they get pulled along they realize that the person giving them the tour is the only doctor in the building right now... The two of them walk past dozens of open doors. Inside are heavily pregnant people in labour, all trapped in their beds, legs spread apart and locked into stirrups. Some of them are even pushing, but they have big chastity belts wrapped around their bulging holes. Some have been screaming the whole time, others call out desperately when they see the pair walk past their door. All sorts of different people, stuck for who-knows-how-long labouring without the assistance they were promised.

When the new employee tries to bring this up to the doctor, they're brushed off with some quick statements of, "it's hospital policy" and "I'm busy giving you a tour, they can wait". The doctor doesn't seem to be in a hurry, slowly going through and making sure the newbie knows the ins and outs of the whole building.