🍑 Peach 🍑 @ready-to-pop - Tumblr Blog

Hey, you can call me Peach!

This is an 18+ blog, DNI if you are a minor! I will check bios before interacting and if you are under 18 you will get blocked.

I'm mostly here to create an easily accessible collection of kinky stuff I like. I might do a little bit of writing too, at some point, if I ever get around to it.

#intro #birth kink #pregnancy kink

roundedcomet

I get off a lot to the idea of werewolf preg.

The breeding is so good. You can be taken in such a feral manner as your screaming out moans and clawing at the grass as something keeps stretching your hole and abusing your cervix. Eventually you cum so hard you almost pass out when it knots you and all that cum bloats your womb. You practically look 9 months pregnant with a hefty baby.

Of course, you get a litter. Why only have one when it was going to have siblings in its little pack anyway? There's a good amount in there, and from how you look at just 4 months, along with already feeling quite a bit of wriggling, you can barely count. Six? Seven?

Full moons are insane. The babies turn into pups for that night, and are active. All you can do is lie in bed and moan out as you feel your belly stretch and quake as it gets taut and heavier. There's so many thumps and shifts inside your overtaxed tummy that it's almost rolling from side to side as you rub it in pathetic attempts to calm them down.

Your chest turns into full blown teats, swelling almost obscenely with just the amount of milk the litter is going to need. You felt this since early in the pregnancy, your tits becoming so sensitive a brush of their permanently hard nipples making you almost cum. Same with feeling your tits slosh with milk.

Hormones wrecking you until you're whining for that knots again, legs opened wide before you're moaning and sobbing in relief, groaning with each thrash and tumble of the excited litter within from the bouncing.

Labor taking so long. There's so much baby. They've been low and heavy for so long, but there's so many in there that you're just pushing out baby after baby and your belly still gets thumps from within. Eventually the pain just turns into pleasure as you keen with each crown or, if it's during the full moon, with each little snout that pops out of your hole.

When you're done, you're surrounded by fur as the werewolf curls around you and the seven pups. And growls about next time, they want ten.

tillystummy

🌸🪻A little bounce 🪻🌸

#belly #preg #gif #art #🥵

sapphicbump

Hucow OC for Tyrzu1!

#preg #belly #art #🥵

udderly-moo

Me with my huge baby belly next year 💕

#preg #big belly #belly rub #gif #🥵

phayze

My belly has been aching so much. Can anyone guess why?🤰🏻😖💢

#preg #belly #gif #🥵

davenikykic

#belly #preg #big belly #video #🥵

kingintheattic

#preg #big belly #photo #🥵

preggoappreciation1

#belly #preg #video #🥵

dilfpregcentral

im peanut brittle guy uhhhh. um. I love medieval times trans guys hehe.... maybe orgasmic birth denial? :3 -👽🛸

(A request for anon that donated to my short-lived ko-fi. Thank you king 🙏)

This got me thinking of a classic medieval knight… When he’s inducted into the royal guard, his agreeable personality and keen sparring instinct make him an instant favorite among the other knights. So, it’s no surprise when one of them invites him to his bunk to blow off some steam after a long day patrolling; without much time for romancing maidens, it’s not unusual for the knights to find release with their fellows.

What is unusual is the tight, wet pussy between the new knight’s legs, and the perky little tits that bounce so cutely on his chest when he arches his back and groans to be fucked harder. Word spreads quickly through the barracks, and soon all of the guardsmen are flocking to him, aching to try him.

Our knight ends up heavy-eyed and sleepy during his long patrols, but the others cover for him—after all, they know it’s their fault he’s so poorly rested, since he spends most of his off-duty time pressed between the firm, sweaty bodies of multiple men. Especially after a battle, they often spear him open on two cocks at once, his head bouncing limply on one of their strong shoulders while he whimpers and jerks with the latest in a countless number of orgasms.

His fellow knights are gentlemen, of course, and always pull out, even washing him clean after they stripe his belly and thighs with their seed. But with so many needy, dripping cocks fucking so deep into him, it’s only a matter of time before a slight swell appears just above his hipbones, and he shyly confirms to his questioning lovers that his blood has ceased coming.

The barracks buzz with excitement, musings about who sired the child going quickly by the wayside as each one finds himself caring for the pregnant knight as if he were their husband, and his womb ripening with their own seed. Even those that are at first skeptical of a man bearing a child come around when they lay their hands on the tiny curve of his belly for themselves. As far as anyone is concerned, the child belongs to all of them.

At first, the evidence of the knight’s pregnancy is nothing but a palm-sized bump, detectable only by his most intimate partners. But soon, his growing womb fills out the tunic that was once loose on him, not yet eye-catching, but certainly visible to those who care to look. His chest, too, begins to prepare for the child, tiny tits rounding into tender breasts that must be squeezed into the confines of his chain mail. When his fellows help him out of his armor at the end of a watch, several helpers always stand by, ready to massage his aching breasts, or knead his burdened back, or press their face into his swollen pussy until his tense joints hang pleasure-limp.

His armor seems to grow heavier at the same rate as his womb, his joints straining beneath the combined weight. He struggles, too, to fulfill his duties while so much of his vigor goes straight to forming the babe in his belly. When one day he finally succumbs to his delicate condition and collapses near the end of his watch, the captain of the guard—who has gone to bed with him as often if not more than most of the other guardsman—has him moved to guard the throne room.

Standing on his swollen feet all day still exhausts him, but outside of the occasional uncomfortable shifting as his body aches and his child moves, he draws no attention to himself there. His armor manages to conceal his pregnancy even as his time grows closer—though he imagines the blacksmith who fashioned his cuirass chose its barrel shape to provide empty space for absorbing the impact of enemy swords, not as a vessel to be packed tight with a pregnant belly and milk-swollen breasts. It’s a tight fit, forcing his gut high enough that the child shifts backwards, a strain on his lower spine. They don’t take well to the limited space, protesting with sharp kicks that pinch the wall of his belly against the armor. He longs to rub soothing hands over his bump, but he wouldn’t dare do such a thing while on watch, even if he could reach his belly through the metal.

As the weeks pass, he keeps distending, his child a foreboding point of pressure deep in his pelvis. His belly begins to droop low, and he can’t keep his hands off the raw, stretched skin, scratching at fresh stretch marks and wincing at the growing web of tender veins. The other knights handle him lovingly, often appearing behind him to hold up his belly for a few minutes. In bed, their affections grow gentle, and the pregnant knight becomes accustomed to strong hands caressing his aching breasts while someone’s hard cock grinds ever so gently between his legs, not quite inside him, but giving his clit more than enough friction to have him cumming with a mewling cry.

Finally, he wakes one morning to a great pain in his gut. He screws his eyes shut and clutches the tense surface of his belly, trying to breathe through it without waking his bedmate. When it passes, he rouses the other knight, who helps dress him for his watch. When it comes time to lift his belly as high as he can and compress it against his body so that he can get his armor on, he clenches his jaw and pants through his teeth. His lover, waiting with the cuirass at the ready, asks if he’s okay. He says he will be once he’s dressed.

But that isn’t the case at all. His belly barely fits in the armor anymore, forcing the baby in and down until a terrible pain envelops his pelvic cradle, far worse than his daily aches in these last months. The head of his child feels so, so low.

He prays that the babe will wait to come until his watch ends. In response, another contraction lances through his belly and into his lower back. He barely swallows back his whimper.

But he must fulfill his duty.

#mpreg #preg #birth kink #labor denial #clothing birth #orgasmic birth #story #fave #🥵

fond-of-round

leeeaaaan back

#art #preg #big belly

stupidlypregnant

The train lurches and I nearly lose my balance.

I catch myself against the pole with a sharp breath, both hands gripping the cold metal while my belly drags heavily forward beneath the thick pullover I'm wearing. The movement makes my babies shift all at once inside me. Dense rolling pressure under impossibly stretched skin, bodies pressing against bodies, nowhere left for them to go.

I grab the pole hard enough that my wrist aches.

My pullover has ridden up almost to the curve of my navel again.

I yank it down instantly, heart pounding, but the fabric only clings tighter across the enormous shape underneath. There's no disguising it anymore. The sweater outlines everything - the impossible roundness, the stretched-tight mass, even the uneven movements shifting beneath my skin.

I can feel people noticing.

I keep my head down.

Please don't look at me.

Another painful roll moves through my belly. One baby drags heavily across my side while another pushes low enough to make my breath catch. The pressure inside me is unbearable now, packed so tightly that every movement feels trapped beneath my skin.

My whole stomach visibly ripples.

I clamp a hand under my belly, rubbing the sensitive skin under my sweater like I can calm them, calm myself, calm the awful pressure dragging lower and lower inside me.

God, I'm so full.

Too full. Too swollen. Too obvious.

The train windows throw my reflection back at me in dark smears between station lights: flushed face, hunched shoulders, both hands cradling a belly so huge it dominates the rest of my body completely. I look indecent. Like something private exposed under fluorescent lights.

A contraction starts low in my back.

Fuck.

The tightness spreads through my abdomen with brutal force, pulling my stomach hard and high until it becomes almost perfectly round beneath the sweater. I gasp softly and lean into the pole before I can stop myself.

Please not now.

The babies react immediately.

They're squirming inside of me during the contraction, heavy movement trapped inside the rigid tightness of my body. One presses outward so sharply near my ribs that I actually see the bulge through the wool.

Someone nearby notices. I hear the sharp inhale.

Humiliation crashes through me so hard my eyes sting.

I rub my belly faster now, desperate circles beneath the strained underside, trying to ease the crushing downward pressure between my small hips. My legs are trembling. I can feel how low they are now - all that weight pressing into my pelvis with terrifying insistence.

I just need to make it home. I just need to hold them in.

Then suddenly there's a body behind me. A man.

Too close.

Before I can move, a big hand slides around my side and cups the underside of my pulsing belly.

I freeze in horror.

His palm spreads beneath the huge weight almost possessively, fingers pressing deep into the oversensitive underside where I've been rubbing myself raw for weeks trying to relieve the strain.

“Oh wow,” he says quietly behind me. “You're ready to pop, hm? ”

Heat floods my entire face.

I try to pull away instinctively, but another contraction hits at the exact same moment and my body folds helplessly instead, a broken sound escaping my throat.

His hand tightens.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “You're so ripe.”

My belly clenches rock hard beneath both our hands.

The babies shove violently during the contraction, trapped movement rolling visibly across the front of my stomach. My pullover lifts higher again as I arch involuntarily, exposing the full strained curve of my belly to everyone nearby.

I hear someone whisper.

I want to cry.

But the man behind me doesn't move away.

His other hand settles over the front of my aching stomach, broad palm spread over the tightest part like he's testing the firmness of it. Then he starts rubbing slowly downward over the curve while I stand there shaking against the pole, whimpering quietly.

“Easy,” he says near my ear. “Everyone's noticing. ”

I can barely breathe from shame.

His hands are everywhere now - under the belly, across the front, massaging the tight stretched skin while strangers pretend not to stare. My body betrays me completely by responding to the relief. The upward support eases the dragging agony in my back enough that my knees nearly buckle.

“Oh my God,” I whisper before I can stop myself.

He chuckles softly behind me.

“They're really lively.”

And they are.

The babies roll heavily beneath his hands as though reacting to the pressure. One pushes outward in a slow hard sweep across the front of my stomach, visibly distorting the sweater. Another drives down low enough to make me gasp and widen my legs for balance.

I feel overwhelmed. Animalistic. Insane.

The man keeps rubbing my belly like it belongs to him now.

“So round,” he murmurs. “Must be ready to burst.”

The words hit me like a slap.

Because that's exactly how I feel.

My stomach feels stretched beyond endurance, skin tight and aching over too much life packed inside me. Every contraction squeezes the babies downward harder, and every movement inside me feels lower now, heavier, unbearably urgent.

I'm breathing too fast.

The train rocks again and I clutch the pole desperately while his hands continue roaming over the massive curve of my belly in full view of everyone.

I can't hide it anymore.

#story #preg #labor denial #multiples #fave #🥵#public birth #clothing birth