Hi, call me Puppy. I'm really into birth and pregnancy, I like everything from breeding up to labor and delivery. I'm down to rp but I won't guarantee quick and frequent responses. I'm on the aroace spectrum and my arousal comes and goes. I love world building tho, so I'll be down to do deep stories, but if you just want to get off I might not always be in the mood. Also I prefer male/male (trans anatomy is especially) but I'll be down for anything else.
Chat you need to imagine giving birth to a baby cow right now. You need to imagine how huge it is, way bigger and heavier and denser than any human baby could be. You need to imagine rhe impossibly huge force bulldozing through your hips as you labour. You need to imagine the feeling of the huge hooves passing through your hole after hours of preparing and pushing. You need to imagine how slow it is to keep bearing down until the calf's head is starting to stretch you even more than the front hooves did. You need to imagine the unbearable pain of being constantly stretched so wide it burns, the instincts in your body screaming that you're crowning and almost done with this, but its barely 10% of the way out. You need to imagine how it keeps going to the point you're screaming and begging whoever will listen. You need to imagine it getting worse and worse as you work so hard just to get the calf to crown.
Reblog if you have a breeding/pregnancy kink but don't have and never want kids. Bonus points if you post monster/horror stuff and/or things outside the standard fpreg
We sit together in our bed, just the two of us in the quiet of the early morning. You trace circles over my skin, your fingers connecting with the muffled, constricted movements of your baby in my belly.
I'm swollen and round, my big belly sitting low. Though my womb is warm and safe, it's growing much too cramped, and it's about time for our baby to come into the world.
The contractions hit fast and hard, and with each blinding ache I bury myself in your warm chest for comfort. You kiss my hair, hold my hand and reassure me the whole way through.
"Oh, god.." I moan. I can feel every stretched muscle constricting down, and I can feel just how low the head is sitting already, the way it settles above the bowl of my pelvis. The sensation is more intense than ever, and I toss and turn in distress.
"I know, I know. It's alright, you're doing so good." You attempt to reassure me. "It won't be long now and then the hard part will be over."
The contraction channels downwards and i suddenly feel a sense of urgency accompanying the pressure. "Ahhhnnggh, fuck, I feel like I have to push!"
"Okay, wait wait wait!" You jump up to reposition yourself between my legs, never letting go of my hand. "Let me check-"
"It's too late, I'm fucking puushhhingg!!"
It hits like a freight train, and by the time you've reached inside to check my dilation, I'm already bearing down. You don't find my cervix, anyway; the slick, bulging forebag of my unbroken waters dams the way through.
"It's coming. Ngggh.. It's fucking coming, I can feel the head entering my birth canal. Oh god, help!"
"It's ok, it's ok! You got this! Just take a deep breath and push!"
I push silently, my eyes shut tight and brow furrowing. I gasp and let got, and then push again.
You move down between my legs to watch, stroking my big belly comfortingly.
"Thats it, good boy. Keep going, while you have a contraction!"
I take a deep breath and the next contraction starts. I tremble and brace through it.
"Good boy.. here, open your legs up for the baby to come."
You gently spread my thighs wider and even without pushing, I feel my hips being opened up from the inside by the pressure of the contraction. I whimper and shake, crying out in pain.
"I feel something.." I reach down and touch the veil of membranes beginning to protrude from my slit. "Oh my god, is that him?"
You slip your fingers in underneath to see how far back the head is. "No, that's just your waters, but that means he's moving!"
I sigh and take a deep breath. As the next contraction comes I start pushing slowly. I pause and breathe, and with each push, the sac emerges from my opening lips.
"Alright, I need you to give me a big one here, alright? Okay, on three. 1.. 2.. 3.. PUSH! Yeah! Big push!!"
I brace and bear down hard with your instruction. "Push push push!"
You watch as the sac becomes more and more taut as it reaches its limit, the membrane stretching thin around the milky fluid within. Just as you think it ought to break any moment, it bursts from just below my clit. I moan at the sudden release of pressure as the water gushes out of my birth canal, surging out through my slit and pooling onto the towels beneath my hips with a splash.
Now you reach inside again and finally feel the head for the first time.
"Good job, there he is! I can feel him!"
I on the other hand am very, very aware of the position of the head inside me. The release of pressure doesn't last, and the tide lurches the head forward to sit firmly inside the narrow of my pelvis. The pain and intensity is immense, I can't even speak through it.
"Hey. Hey." You take my hand. "You need to breathe, long and slow okay? Take a good slow breath for the baby."
I nod and oblige, but it's not long before the contraction returns in force, and with it, the unbearable urge to push. "Nnnghh.. I need him out of my belly.."
"Alright, here we go again." You say, gently running a hand over the bottom of my belly. I'm already pushing, but you continue to reinforce me. "Come on, push push push!"
"Holy fuck! Unfhhhhh- Aaaaghh! Fuck, I have to give birth!"
"You're doing great, i can see hair! I can see the head!"
I grip at my belly as I push. The baby feels so fucking big, stretching me to the bone, unfolding me so agonizingly in its inescapable fate to be born.
"Push! Push!"
My muscles strain, I shake with the effort. Deep in the throes of labour I push, push, bearing down through the pain. The head comes into view but momentarily, and then retreats back inside the moment I stop pushing.
"Keep those legs spread, babe. You can do it. He's coming!"
It's so constant I can't stop. There's nothing but pressure and pushing, through the feeling of that excruciating stretch. I make progress with every push, my pussy opening slowly but surely.
"Nhhhh.. nnnggghhhh.. gaaaaaaahhhh...!" I moan through the pain.
The head begins to crown bit by bit between my legs with each desperate push.
"Keep pushing! Keep pushing! He's almost here!"
The head slowly approaches the crown, having been pushed all the way through my hips and now bulging out my slick, swollen entrance.
"There you go, you're pushing so good! Your baby's crowning, and you're stretching so well.
There's no stopping it now. I gasp and pant, eyes gaping as I'm blinded by the pain. My pussy stretches to its limit around the huge head, and with one more big push, the nose and chin slip out as the head is born into your waiting hands. You promptly check for the cord, which thankfully isn't around the baby's neck.
My whole birth canal is stretched from the inside out around the rest of the body and I feel the shoulders rotate inside me.
I pant and pant for a moment, and it isn't long before the next desperate contraction. Now is the final stretch.
I push and push, the head wobbles between my legs but doesn't budge. The pain and pressure are immense. The stretching feeling is different, deeper, but what I feel is fullness - so much fullness as the baby's entire body transits my body through my pussy.
"Aghhh, fuck, I can't! It's too much! Get him out of me!"
"No, you have to do it. You can do it! You're doing great!"
"I- can't.."
"Take a deep breath. Deep breaths. Now PUSH. PUSH! You have to push your baby out!
"AAAARRRRRGGGHHHHHHH!!"
You push back my thighs with each hand as I bear down, trying to open my pelvis and free the shoulders. Again the head wobbles from the strain but makes no progress towards being born.
"It's stuck, it's stuck!! I can't get him out! Help me, help me I need to birth him!"
You feel around the head and slip your fingers in under my clit and deeper inside. I moan as you finger my poor, swollen, birthing pussy. You don't find the shoulders, like you expected, but manage to hook your finger around an arm.
"Okay, I've got it! Push! Push for me!"
"Nnnnnghh- AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!" I scream in pain as my hole opens wider as I push. This gives you the perfect opportunity to pull the arm free, sweeping it down over the baby's face.
"That's it! He's coming! Come on, big push! One more big push! PUSH!"
I throw back my head and roar, pushing as hard as I can. You pull and pull, and the rest of the baby begins to slide free of my pussy. With a sudden gush the other arm pops free, born up to the waist. I feel the relief wash over me.
I stop for a moment and breathe, the baby halfway out between my legs beginning to sputter and cry. "You did it!" you cheer. "There's our baby, he's finally here!"
I roll my hips and give one more little shove, and the baby comes slithering the rest of the way out. I collapse with exhaustion for the moment, and you gather your crying baby in your arms for the first time.
There’s no better feeling than the squirming of pups inside my taut, stretch-marked belly while my pussy begins to stretch as the first head squeezes past my cervix. The weight of my litter inside me sinking further and further down into my pelvis as my first pup comes closer to being born.
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.”
oh to be laboring for hours in a dark, cozy den filled with blankets and pillows. you're next to me, massaging my contracting belly and soothing me when the pain gets too intense.
you kneel between my spread legs and encourage me as i bear down, the first of seven puppies making its way along my birth canal. your fingers part the lips of my puppy cunt as the head of the pup begins to bulge and crown.
you have to force my legs apart as i cry out in pain and try to close them to escape the sensation, eventually giving up the fight and collapsing onto my side as the next contraction hits and forces me to push. you lift my leg up and rub my thigh soothingly, moving to place your hand on the crowning pup. you tell me to push. with a loud whine, i deliver the head into your hand and squirm uncomfortably as the shoulders rotate, panting and whimpering. with one more hard push, the rest of the pup slid out onto the towels. i whined tiredly, groaning as the pups shifted in my belly.
I should be full of your puppies right now whelping the squirming litter out into your lap presenting my contracting hole as I push and push and push just one after the other until I’m empty and gaping—perfect and waiting to be bred again
you've been pregnant with my puppies for months. your body has grown to accommodate them. you've got a rotund swell to your belly, and rows of nipples developed along your tummy. there's a sway to your gait that, even viewing you from behind, you are so undeniably pregnant. the ultrasound revealed three pups. today, we finally meet them.
here you are, on all fours. belly brushing against the bedroom floor- crouched over a plastic tarp laid over carpet to prevent stains. this is the room where life itself was conceived, and where life will be birthed. you've been laboring for hours, moaning under your breath, swearing as your cervix dilates. Labor, as it turns out, is a laborious process. your face blushes red. sweat beads on your forehead. as your mate, i pace around you worriedly for hours. i dutifully care for your ever need, bringing you water, providing you comfort and care.
you feel a shift in your lower abdomen. one of the puppies has lodged its head past your cervix. a particularly powerful groan overtakes you as it slides down your canal. you scream. fuck, you've never been stretched like this before. you yell at the top of your lungs with every contraction, gasping for breath between each pause. the pup begins to crown. the top of its head peeks out from your wet, whelping hole.
i urge you on. push, push, push.
with a grand effort, you focus all your muscles to birth our pup. you're stretched over the widest part of the head. sweat beads on your forehead. the pup's head slides past. a gush of amniotic fluid bursts and splatters over the tarp. im quick to attend to the pup. gently catching it and licking it clean. i excitedly show you our newborn. i know you want to hold it, but there's more work for you to do. i lay our pup in the nursery by our bed.
your tummy is still so full. another pup is getting kicky. you feel a movement, followed by an added heft in your cervix. this one's so much bigger than the last. you push, but there's no budge. you whimper feeling the pain of your cervix widening and failing to move the large pup down. you try to relax your body. taking a deep breath, and exhaling slowly. it's difficult. it hurts. the puppy wriggles inside you, and makes it past your relaxed cervix. it's entered your birth canal, descending downward. it's absolutely huge. you feel its crown force your insides wide. you're not sure your body can handle a pup of this size. but you have to. you must birth our pup. your whelping hole bulges. you scream. you push. you strain. it's not coming out. and, oh god, does it burn. you rock your body forward and back, doing anything to relieve the pressure. the pup is almost out. i take my hand to carefully pry you open further. my fingers feel hot on you. c'mon. you can do it. birth our pup. you let out a guttural groan as you bear down. the oversized pup escapes out and into my hands, kicking and screaming into the world. a stream of fluid follows and soaks your inner thighs. your hole reels from the stretch, slightly agape from birthing, contracting and flexing rhythmically.
i carefully tend to the pup and leave it at the nursery. you're panting hard to recover from the strain of birthing our enormous pup. your belly rises and falls with each shallow breath, gradually getting deeper until your breathing stabilizes. i pet you along your back. you're doing a wonderful job giving birth to our puppies. there's one more to go. you feel a mass slip easily past your cervix. in fact, it's barely perceptible. this one's real small. it must be the runt of the litter. it glides down your canal easily. you feel your muscles expand, but it's nothing compared to the last birth. in fact, it's somewhat pleasant. or... even orgasmic. your whelping hole flutters. you're cumming. you shiver as your orgasm takes over your whole body. you squeak, because with almost no effort at all, the little pup is ejected into my hands. together, we look over our three puppies to make sure they're nice and healthy.
good job, good job. what a great dog you are. what a wonderful mate you make. you went through all that effort to gestate and birth our pups. i cant wait to fill you up with another even bigger litter as soon as i can.
"Good boy, that's it just push. It's alright." I say holding your legs apart, you grunt and cry feeling the head slowly spread your pussy open, your little tcock going hard thanks to the pain. You don't know why, it isn't at all pleasurable for you and yet you're hard. "Don't be embarrassed my sweet boy, that happens to many people. Theeeeeere we go, it's crowning. You're doing fine, don't worry. Breathe and relax when you can, don't push yourself to much. It'll come out but you need to rest when you can."
i sob with every push, literally screaming your child out, my hole gripping the massive head. the skin drags along, gripping the scalp as i struggle to progress.
i grip the insides of my thighs until my knuckles turn white, the head just pulsing inside my slit that is being held oh so wide. all i can do is push and scream, lost in the throes of childbirth.
i need a gravid boy spread over my lap. straddling my thighs facing me, his huge stomach pressing into mine and obstructing the view of his cunt desperately trying to crown the massive baby i fucked into him. i’d feel his stomach tensing, turning rock hard against mine paired with his desperate whining and grunting as he beared down into my lap.
i’d touch him sparingly and let him do most of the work. i’d reach around and touch his ass, feel it bulge and part as the rotund head of our child would fill his pelvis so completely it wouldn’t spare bulging his perineum or asshole. his thighs would shake against mine as he pushed, but it would take him hours to even get our child to crown.
i’d grab his hips to help straighten them as he’d try to force the head down and out. his back would arch and flex as he would heave and heave. he’d gasp out after every violent push and cry for me to help him.
Just cupping his pussy and feeling his T-dick against my hand. The head slowly, slowly bulging his pussy as he buried his face in my chest and clung tight to me for comfort. Whining that he can't do this, that it hurts.
Just kissing his forehead. Telling him he's such a good boy, such a strong man. Trying to ignore how turned on I am as he lets out a grunt of pain and effort, bearing down again, saying he feels it moving.
It would feel so good knowing it's all my fault he's in this state. That he's trapped doing something utterly maternal whether he ever wanted to or not, all to bring our baby into the world. To reward me for deciding that, even though he's a man, he should have to experience childbirth.
Encouraging him with every contraction. Rubbing his back as I feel his pushes through it. The head bulging, spreading him more and more. Crowning into my hand where I can stroke his hard, prominent T-dick, his shopping wet lips, the dripping head as it emerged from inside. Finally gushing into my lap as he sags against me, so exhausted but just a little more to go.
Having a pregnancy and breeding kink can be interesting sometimes lol
Cuz I've had a few of the sexy dreams, being pregnant and giving birth and all that good stuff, all fantasy and nowhere near realistic
But I've also had the complete opposite. Nightmares of getting pregnant in real life, and immediately aborting that shit
Cuz in real life. I hate kids, like HATE them. I want nothing to do with them, I will never have any of my own, I will never enter a relationship with someone that would possibly want them in the future. I won't even look after my family's kids
And the idea of getting pregnant in real life is horrifying. Outside of fantasy, I would hate being pregnant. And if I wasn't asexual for one, and haven't already yeeted my uterus, if by some act of god I got pregnant. The abortion clinic here I come
So all in all, I am 100% pro choice in every possible way. No one should ever be forced into pregnancy. Kinky fantasies aside, health care of any kind should never be illegal, and if you are pro life or any of that bullshit. Get out of my blog, and never interact with this community ever again. This is fantasy, and only fantasy
Prompt: person tries to hold it in for as long as possible, but when they realize they can’t for even a second longer, ✨forced denial✨. I’m picturing bad position like pinned to their car seat by the seatbelt or another person but I’m sure anything would be phenomenal.
- Sol ✨
“I-I don't think I can hold it back any longer,” I grunt, blowing out a string of short, sharp pants as I fight against my body's natural urge to push.
“Are you feeling like you want to push?”
I sit perched up on our bed, leaning back against your chest as your legs bracket my body on either side. As my contraction builds, I inhale deeply and try to keep my mind focused on my breathing and not on the massive waves of pressure that wash over me. “It… ohhh, it's really coming. Oh God, I feel it.” My thighs tremble with effort as I squeeze them together, drawing a small, disapproving 'tsk' out of you.
I'm fighting a (rapidly) losing battle, and we both know it.
"Now, now, love. No cheating."
Your hands pry my knees apart, and I snarl and thrash in protest. The head has cleared my cervix and is sitting so low in my pelvis. Too low.
Pushing is no longer a want, but a necessity.
"Holy shit," I gasp. I understand the 'bowling ball' comparisons now– the sheer width of the head, so heavy and solid, that's beginning to grind down through my birth canal takes my breath away, and a sort of animalistic noise is all I can manage as I'm finally sucked under. The baby isn't waiting any longer. I bear down, gritting my teeth as I squeeze my eyes closed and curl over my heaving belly. "ffffuck."
"That's it," you coo into my ear. "Very good, baby. So good. You're really bulging, hm?" I nod frantically as I continue to push, my toes curling against the rumpled duvet as I try to scramble into a better position. The head is sitting right behind my furled slit, and a part of me is almost shocked that it doesn't shoot right out.
"Oh, my poor love," you continue in that soft, sweet tone, reaching down between my legs to ghost the tips of your fingers over my red-hot lips and throbbing clit. "I wish that I could do something for you. But you know that you didn't ask."
My eyes snap open, gaze frantic and wild as I watch you cup your palm over my bulging cunt. "Let it out!" I shriek, beads of cold sweat welling up on my flushed skin. "P-Please, baby. I didn't mean to!" Unable to hold back, I push again, shoving uselessly against the force of your hand. The baby squirms as the crown of the head meets your palm and lingers for a moment before it retreats back into my canal, ripping a distressed wail from my throat. "It's coming! I need it to come! Oh my God, just let it outttt. Pleasepleaseplease–."
You shush me. "Don't beg, baby," you admonish. "The rules were that you ask for permission to push, or you face the consequences. I'm afraid that these are the consequences."
Another contraction slams into me, my body desperate to expel the weight in my pelvis, and I howl as I try to get free. "Hnnnng!" A small sliver of slimy wet hair is surging forward, peaking out from behind my spread lips. "Fuck, it's right there! It's burninggg!"
"I'm sure it is, sweet thing. I can feel how open you are. Your pussy is gaping for me, all nice and slick. I bet the head would slide right out, wouldn't it?"
"Mmmph, mhmmm," I sob. "D-Dont you want that?" My hand trembles violently as I claw at the sheets. "You said you... fuck! You wanted, hoooo, to be the o-one to deliver it."
"Very true." Your voice is stern. Matter-of-fact. "But in order for that to happen, you need to be good and do what you're told."
As the vice grip of the contraction begins to release, I suck in a cleansing breath, nostrils flaring as I inhale the primal scent of sex and sweat and birth. My knees fall open a little wider, and then wider again when I hear your approving hum. "I-I need to push, baby." In comparison to yours, my voice is small and thin. "Please let me push. God, fuck, baby. Please! Please, I'm sorry."
My cunt burns, and I whine pathetically as I struggle to push the head out. No matter how hard I shove and push and struggle, the head doesn't emerge any further, making it clear that the birth (whenever it may occur) is entirely in your charge.
"Pleaseee. It burns so bad, baby! It's going to rip me apartttt!" I continue to babble, head thrashing from side to side as my desperation grows. "It's comingggg! Fuckfuckfuck, gotta push again!"
Your response consists of little more than a kiss on the top of the head. "And what do we say?"
"Holy fucking- PLEASE! Can I please push?!"
"You know," you say, staring down at my gaping cunt as it opens into more of an 'O' shape and gives a glimpse of the mass of the head slipping free from my lips, "I think we're finally starting to get somewhere."
Pregnant femboy model forced to walk the catwalk over and over for a big show while he’s deep in labor, water broken long ago, every single step, every jostle, every accidental push lowers the enormous pup that’s so very low in his birth canal. Soon he starts bulging hard, quickly coming to a crown during one of the outfits. Finally, his last outfit is a bikini, and he isn’t crowning *too* hard, so someone holds a hand gently but firmly over his crowning hole, letting him fruitlessly push into their hands while they dress him in his faggy little bikini. His tits are beginning to leak milk through the bikini top, and in order to walk, he has to spread his legs soooo very wide, barely able to waddle down the catwalk while the bulge in his bikini *quickly* grows bigger and bigger while he tries his hardest to get down the catwalk. Finally he reaches the end, poses for pictures, and turns around, but his instincts take over completely, dropping him down to all fours, crowning in full view of the audience, photographers snapping pictures constantly as he whelps 8 massive pups for everyone who decided to show up that day.
i am so eager to be so adorable pregnant with the roundest baby bump ever- with my breeder standing behind me with their big hands wrapped around my waist protectively :3
Want to be stuffed with tentacles that pump, in and out, pushing past my cervix and fucking countless eggs into my womb, then fertilizing them with lots and lots of hot, intoxicating cum. Want to be high and delirious off it, my brain turned off, only aware of the eggs growing, writhing inside me, my skin pulling taut and then further still as the eggs expand over… hours? Days? Who knows. Want to feel my tits grow heavy and painful, feel my nipples become swollen and puffy. And then eventually, after what feels like an eternity of eggs and heat and neediness pooling within, I want to feel the rush of pain and pressure, and the intense, almost orgasmic release that comes when my water breaks, more liquid than has ever poured out of me before. I want to feel every inch of every egg as my body pushes them down, towards their entrances into the world. Want to feel the pressure mounting between my hips, then pressing into my cervix, opening and opening and coming down until it’s bulging out of me behind the lips of my cunt. Want to feel my legs shake as my lips finally start to part, burning as I realize just how much my tight hole is going to have to stretch. But the pain is pleasure, my moans with each contraction laced with eroticism, fueled by the eggs themselves, their membranes seeped in whatever sedative the creature’s sperm contained. Want to feel my legs spreading on their own as the massive egg widens my hole, my toes curling, my tits starting to leak simply from the force of each of my desperate pushes. Want to feel the pressure grinding against my clit from the inside, only intensifying as the egg approaches a crown. Gasping, breathing shakily as the widest part of the egg begins to breach my opening. Taking a moment to bask in the pleasure of the burn and the stretch. And then when the next contraction begins, pushing with all my might. Want to feel the first egg finally wrest free of me with a loud pop! And a long moan of pleasure on my lips, the release causing an orgasm to ripple through my entire body. Over and over and over again until the end, exhausted and with only a few eggs left to birth. Want to be sucked of effort to give, the sedation wearing off as there’s less and less of the eggs and their membranes to intoxicate me. Feeling the burn worsen each time a pulsing egg shoots out of my raw cunt. Until I don’t have anything left, so my body has to take over, pushing in short bursts as I fade in and out of consciousness. Falling asleep while my cunt stretches around the rim of an egg, where the widest part sits just inside me. Waking with a scream as a more intense contraction begins, my body pushing involuntarily, eyes opening as the final egg shoots out of me. Want to be panting, finally empty, drunk on my body’s hormones, when I feel the familiar touch of a tentacle, working its way back into my ruined cunt. Want to feel it push past my cervix again, still not yet closed after the days-long birth. Want to feel eggs, smaller this time (for now), but more numerous, deposited back into my newly-emptied womb, and want to feel myself fading into sleep again as the tentacle pulls out of me with a wet squelch, satisfied with having bred me again.
