You're the expectant spouse of a powerful, egotistical king, but you didn't realize the depths of his self-absorption until today.
Today, your kingdom welcomes delegates from all across the continent to an important trade summit. Your spouse has spared no expense in preparing the most lavish, eye-popping display of power and wealth for all his guests-- including you.
You've been dressed in the finest silks and bejeweled clothing to showcase your delicate looks and the massive swell of your pregnant belly for all to see. It doesn't matter to your husband that you've been struggling with contractions since the evening before, nor that you can barely keep upright due to how hard and fast they're now coming. You're meant to be another piece of his display, and that means you'll be at his side, no exceptions. At least until he grows bored of your presence and lets you slip away.
"You're not going to give birth in front of all of those people," he says in response to your increasingly frantic requests to be excused from the preparations, his voice cold. "You can't give birth here either, because I still have need of you. So calm your ridiculous hysterics and act like the aristocrat you're supposed to be."
You plead for mercy, your massive belly visibly quaking beneath the fabric of your fine clothing. But he's never once shown you a scrap of compassion, and he's not about to start now. Sliding his frigid gaze down your quivering form, he finally snaps his fingers to summon a servant. They share a few whispers while you clutch at your laboring belly, instinctively knowing that the growing pressure in your pelvis can't bode well.
When the servant returns, he's carrying a box. Panic rises in your throat as the king orders you to turn around and bend over, knowing that you won't like his 'solution'. You choke back tears as strange hands slide over your body and a thick, chilly plug is shoved unceremoniously inside of you, lubricated but cold as it seals off your birth canal.
"There. That ought to keep that baby in there," the servant says without a hint of concern about what he'd just done. "Anything else, my Lord?"
"You're dismissed," says the king, watching as the other servants haul you upright and start tugging your clothing back into place. Once you're presentable again, he holds out his arm for you to take. "Now, put a smile on your face and stop looking so miserable; you'll be able to whelp my heir when the timing is more convenient. Right now, your place is at my side."
Another contraction shudders through your belly, but with no place for the baby to go, all you can do is waddle after your husband and pray you can make it through the next few hours.
What do you think of goblin known for having large litters, getting knocked up by an Orc whose children are always large. The resulting pair leaving the goblin absolutely massive and having to be fucked into labor
You're bent over a bedroll in all of your naked, emerald-skinned glory. Your normally small, goblin stature is dwarfed by an obscenely distended belly, pillowed beneath you and holding you aloft while your lover pounds into you from behind.
Overdue and miserable, you'd begged them to fuck you in hopes of jumpstarting your labor. Thankfully, they rarely need an excuse to get between your legs.
Your orc's hands are on your hips, their claws digging into your flesh. They're so much bigger than you thanks to their orcish blood, and the combination of your genetics means that your belly has grown much larger than any other pregnant goblin you'd ever seen. Your womb was never meant to be stretched so far or by so many babies, and hints of their large forms are visible along the surface of your stomach.
You're going to have one hell of a time giving birth to your hybrid whelps.
Every thrust makes your heavy breasts bounce and sway beneath you. They're so sensitive and tender, engorged and filled with milk. They've been like that for months now, and the need to be suckled has only gotten worse as your pregnancy has progressed. Your engorged nipples rub against the fabric of the bedroll, leaving a wet trail wherever you go.
A particularly rough thrust sends you skidding forward across the ground, your sensitive nipples dragging against the fabric of the blanket. A moan slips past your lips, and you clench around your lover's cock.
"Hells," they hiss. "I can't hold out much longer, and you're still not close to popping."
"Just… just keep going," you beg, your voice a gravelly wheeze through wickedly sharp teeth. "Please!"
They comply, and you're quickly reduced to a moaning, shuddering mess beneath them. Your green breasts and swollen belly pound against the ground every time they push into you, and you can sense the pressure building inside.
"I think… I think it's working," you gasp. "Fuck, don't stop!"
You cry out as your body tenses up, and you can feel their gnarled cock throbbing deep inside of you. It's too much. You can't handle it anymore.
You come with a loud wail, something popping and giving way inside of you at the same time your lover's hot, sticky release floods your channel.
It doesn't take long for you to realize what just happened. Your lover broke your water, and now the floodgates are open. Their cock is still buried deep inside of you, but there's no stopping it.
Your labor has finally begun.
Now, you can only hope that you'll be able to push your huge litter free.
I watch the harbor every night from my bedroom window. A better partner would be familiar with the look of his boyfriend’s ship by now, but I’m more of a fucktoy than a partner. It’s no surprise that after years of playful sex- often over alcohol- my belly started to swell. The only problem is that my boyfriend is rarely around. His captain only brings the crew to my town once every couple months. At least, that’s how it’s supposed to be.
I haven’t seen him since he knocked me up.
Maybe that’s intentional. Maybe he knew he slipped, and he chose not to come back, afraid of facing his perceived mistake. Perhaps he figured I wouldn’t find him if he did come back, since I can’t even recognize his ship.
Or maybe he hasn’t been able to come back. I worry endlessly that something happened to him, or to his captain, and he may never show up in town again. My hope is that he will.
But I don’t have time to wait around for him anymore. I don’t have time to stare at the harbor from a distant hill and wonder if any figure in the crowd is him. His baby is coming now.
Wordcount: 911
Themes: Birth, unassisted birth
You can see the lights from the town below as you watch the docks in vain. You hear the faint sounds of a bustling city at night and the wind whipping across the water to rattle the windows of your tiny apartment. The old tenement isn't much, but it is cheap, and at least your linens are clean.
And nobody pays any mind to the young person with their illegitimate pregnancy here.
Another cramp ripples through your belly, large, tight, and round beneath your tunic. You groan and clutch at the windowsill as you try to breathe through the pain. Your legs feel weak, and your water is dripping down the insides of your thighs, already bare since you had the forethought to lose your trousers early on.
"Gods," you sigh, and try to walk yourself to the bed.
Your contractions are getting closer together. They're stronger, too, and each one leaves you gasping for breath. It won't be long now.
You've almost reached the foot of your bed when another one hits. It's so sudden and so intense that your knees give out, sending you crumpling to the floor. You land on all fours, barely preventing your belly from being crushed under your weight.
Your head feels light. You pant heavily and try to focus on something other than the pain. You smell the salty breeze and hear the waves crashing in the distance. The floorboards beneath your knees are old and rough. Candlelight flickers wildly over the paneled walls, casting deep, dark shadows in the corners of the room.
When the next contraction comes, you cry out. You can't hold it back. You're too overwhelmed. It feels like your whole body is contracting, like there's an iron fist squeezing around your abdomen.
"Gods, gods," you chant, "please, please..."
You have no idea what you're asking for. You want to be strong enough to bear it, you suppose. You want your labor to end.
You can't get back up. All you can do is brace yourself against the bed and wait for the next contraction. You try to count the minutes between them, but your head is getting foggier and you're having trouble remembering the number you've counted up to.
The next wave is worse than the others. It rips a scream from you, and another gush of fluid spills from between your legs. It makes a puddle beneath you and runs down the backs of your legs.
"Oh," you groan, "oh hells..."
You can feel the baby now. You can feel it moving lower in your body, the pressure in your pelvis building.
"Gods," you whimper. You can't think. All you can do is feel the sensations of the baby making its way down, your body forcing it from the only home it's ever known since the night your lover planted it within you.
"It's coming," you whimper to the empty room, "it's coming now."
Where was your lover? Why did you have to endure this alone?
You reach between your legs and feel the opening where the head has begun to spread you open, stretching you wider than you've ever been stretched before.
"Ow, ow, ow," you moan, "please...!"
You don't know who you're begging. The gods? Your lover? The baby?
"Please," you beg, "please, let me have it..."
The head moves further down, aching and burning as your body strains to let it pass. It's almost too much to bear, but you keep breathing through it even after the contraction is over.
Another gush of fluid runs down your legs. You reach behind you, between your thighs, and feel the baby's hair.
"It's coming," you sob, "it's coming, it's coming, oh, gods..."
You're shaking and sweating. Your belly trembles, still pressed against the floor.
"It's coming," you wail.
There's no way your neighbors don't hear you right now, but your labor isn't their concern. You're on your own.
The baby's head is crowning. The skin around your entrance pulls tight as the baby stretches you further, until you feel as though you're going to split in two. You push, and you can feel the head beginning to emerge.
You're almost there. It's stretching you so wide. You can't believe it's going to fit.
"Come on, come on, come on," you chant, like a desperate spell. It's got to keep going. It just has to.
The baby's head slides free. It rests in the space between your legs, and the shoulders begin to follow.
"Almost there," you whimper, spreading your knees wider in an attempt to open your pelvis, "almost there..."
You grit your teeth and bear down as hard as you can.
The shoulders pop free. The rest of the baby slides out with a wet squelch, and you reach back just in time to catch it as it tumbles free of your body.
"Oh, gods," you breathe, tears welling in your eyes.
It's a boy. He's bloody and slimy, but he's alive, and he's crying.
You did it.
"It's okay," you soothe him, "you're okay."
You hold him close, cradling him against your chest as you finally turn and slump against the floor. His heartbeat is fast and strong.
"It's okay," you promise him, "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
The baby's cries subside. His tiny fingers curl into fists.
"You're perfect," you tell him, "you're so beautiful."
Your son.
Your little boy.
He looks just like his missing father, and you can't help but weep.
Imagine being on a camping trip with a group of your guy friends. You planned the trip months ago, and you've been looking forward to it for ages. Unfortunately for you, you managed to get yourself knocked up by one of the other guys during a drunken one-night stand, but you have no idea that you're pregnant. You've always been very fit, so you didn't develop a huge belly to give away the fact that you're carrying a baby. If anything, it's just a stubborn little beer paunch that you haven't been able to shake.
Flash forward to your camping trip. You're having a blast, so when you first notice the cramps, you pass them off as a little stomach trouble brought on by your buddy's bad cooking. There's some back pain too, but considering that you've been hauling around huge backpacks for hours and hours, it's not that surprising.
You hike all day and end up finding a nice spot on the bank of the river to set up camp by the time night begins to fall. Not wanting to be seen as a slacker, you push yourself to help get the tents pitched and a campfire going in spite of your growing discomfort. Your buddies ask once or twice why you've grown quiet, but you just laugh and tell them that all their bullshit wore you out.
They've got no idea what's about to happen any more than you do.
It gets late and you all turn in. The cramps are starting to get pretty brutal, but you're determined to soldier through so you won't ruin the trip. You've taken a couple of trips to the bathroom in hopes of getting things moving, but other than some unexpected wetness, you don't manage to pass anything. And you don't want to keep slipping off to do that and start worrying the guys.
So you try to stay in your tent instead. Curled up in your sleeping bag, panting and sweating, you clutch your belly and curse yourself for forcing yourself to eat that half-burnt hot dog earlier. You can feel your belly clenching under your hands, strangely rhythmic in its machinations, but you stubbornly insist on waiting it out.
You can do this. It's just a stomachache.
It's nearly 3 AM when a sudden sense of pressure fills your pelvis and you panic, sure that you're about to embarrass yourself right there on top of your bedding. You only manage to pull yourself to your hands and knees when a really wicked cramp hits and you instinctively drop into a squat. Cursing under your breath, you try desperately to hold in the contents of your bowels so you can find a more private spot in the woods, but your body isn't having it.
Whatever it is, it's coming.
Biting back a pained groan, you give in to your belly's demands and bear down, only the explosion you expect doesn't come. Instead it's a burning, painful stretch as whatever-it-is inside of you forces you open much wider than you've ever been spread before. Eyes wide, you briefly contemplate calling out for help before another cramp hits. And another. All you can do is ride them out, panting and grunting and pushing hard, hoping that somehow this'll pass and you'll make it through.
At the next cramp, something lurches out of you with a gush of fluid. Bracing yourself on one hand, you shakily reach under yourself and find… a head.
A head.
There's a head straining against your shorts. A baby's head.
Fuck, you are giving birth.
Panic sets in, but you've got no time to do anything about it before another earth-shaking contraction tears through you and you bear down with all your might, right there in your boxers in the middle of your tent. The other guys are sleeping like logs, and their lumberjack snores somehow manage to drown out the whimpers and groans you can no longer hold back. You rock your hips, trying to get this baby out of you all on your own, and nearly scream when the shoulders slide free.
You're doing this. You're giving birth.
Dragging at the hem of your boxers, you manage to pull them down just far enough to give the baby room to emerge, the sensation of that tiny body finally slithering free almost making you cry out in relief.
Collapsing to your forearms, you're left panting against your sleeping bag as the newborn cradled in your boxer shorts squirms and starts to mewl.
It's okay. You're okay.
You just gave birth.
How the hell are you going to explain this to the guys?
This blog needs more enby pregnancy I think, so here's something that's been on my mind lately:
Being in the very early stages of labor for a multiples pregnancy, triplets maybe, and being in the stage where you're supposed to rest and save your strength for the impending birth. So I'm resting on a comfy bed at the birthing center with my partner (or partners, I'm polyamorous and I've always thought that I'd prefer to parent as a group of more than just two). I've already stripped down to just a shirt and boxers to make things easier later and everything is already uncomfortable, tiny breasts sensitive and leaking with what milk I'm able to produce, hugely gravid belly strained with the movement of my brood and the occasional contraction, and the somewhat shameful arousal between my legs. I can't help it though, the fact that I'll soon be a parent is a turn on and my little meta dick is painfully hard and my cunt slick. It's okay though, because my partner is there to hold me and sooth my discomfort and coax me through a gentle orgasm to help with the arousal and offset the labor pain and reassure that we'll be good parents, that the birth will go smoothly and they'll be there to support me throughout everything.
Just overall very soft pre birth things. I wanna be that full and uncomfortable and have someone take care of me, it sounds nice
I'll never say no to soft enby pregnancy. ❤️
Your pregnancy hasn't been the easiest, but when you've been hauling around three new lives in your belly, it's kind of understandable why.
But despite the challenges, despite the scares and aches and just plain discomfort, you can't really complain-- because you've had your partners at your side every step of the way.
Especially now, at the birth center and in the early stages of your labor. It's been a few hours since the contractions started, and the two of them have been coddling you even more than they have over the past few months. There's always a hand on you somewhere, lovingly rubbing your restless body, and soft words and softer lips constantly caress you.
Your shirt is damp with milk and sticking to your chest, while your boxers are scrunched low beneath the massive swell of your pregnant abdomen. Your belly is constantly moving, whether from the tight clench of a contraction or from the agitated movements of your babies-- they know that something's about to change, but they don't yet know what. They don't understand that your body is moving them into position for the upcoming birth.
You, however, are incredibly aware.
Every sound, every movement, every sensation is a reminder that you're about to become a parent, and fuck if that doesn't have you painfully turned on. The slickness between your thighs has nothing to do with your broken water, and you're sure that you'd be able to see your meta dick straining through your boxers if your belly wasn't in the way. You never expected to be so uncomfortable yet so unbelievably horny at the same time.
But your partners know. They know, and they're helping you through it just like they've helped you with everything else. One of them is behind you in the bed, cradling your laboring body against theirs, while the other is at your side with a gentle hand between your legs.
"It's okay," they whisper, and you can't help but believe them as their fingers stroke. "You've got this. The birth is gonna go nice and smooth, and once it's over, we are gonna make the best parents. All three of us."
Already struggling to bite back your sounds of pleasure, all you can do is nod.
"And we'll be here to help you with everything," your other partner says as they splay their fingers over your tight middle. "Just like we always have."
The love and the comfort and your partner's clever touch are finally enough to coax you through a soft orgasm. It's not earth-shattering by any means, but it's enough to take the edge off of your frustration and the labor pain.
So many scenarios of us being your wife or husband or they/them partner, but what about something more spur-of-the-moment? Imagine bumping into me on a train, only to see I’m enormously pregnant and very clearly in the later stages of labor. Maybe the crotch of my pants are soaked with birth fluid, hell, maybe there’s a bulge forming as my baby peeks out. Either way, despite the fact you’re a complete stranger, I’d give you a pleading look as I barely hold a whimper back, my belly visibly tightening under my tiny shirt. What do you do?
Well, there are a variety of directions that something like this could go in, depending on your preferences. 😉 But I'll keep this one simple.
TW: Birth
Train travel is usually calm and quiet, especially on a route like this with long stretches of time between stops. I manage the on-board service employees and usually encounter folks of all sorts during my shifts, but you… well, you managed to make one hell of an impression.
I love the peace of the overnight shift, rarely ever encountering passengers in the corridors while I make my rounds. But I came up behind you in one of the passenger cars that night, leaning against the wall and not moving. I immediately noticed that the fabric of your pants was dark between your thighs as though you'd wet yourself; maybe you were drunk and didn't quite make it to the bathroom. It seemed only prudent that I stop to see if you needed any help and save myself from having a worse mess to clean up later.
You needed help, all right. But not exactly the type I'd been expecting.
It wasn't apparent from behind, but as soon as I came around your side I could see that you were massively pregnant. You clutched at a belly barely covered by a tiny overstretched shirt, panting and biting at your lip, and I was shocked at the way your abdomen tightened and almost seemed to rise in what could only be a contraction.
Well, fuck.
It took you a moment to realize I was there, but your eyes were full of pain and shame as you realized that you had an audience. You whimpered, shifting your stance a little wider.
"Do you want me to help you?" I asked, though the answer seemed pretty clear. So I wasn't surprised when you nodded.
We got you back to your room a few doors down, your pregnant waddle almost comically exaggerated. I didn't realize exactly why until a closer look revealed the prominent bulge between your legs that could only be from the baby's emerging head. I felt a faint surge of panic as I realized that your labor was a lot further along than I'd known; my initial plan to get you settled and find you some medical assistance was obviously not going to work.
So that's how I'd ended up stripping down a complete stranger in the middle of the night on a train, but not for the reasons I'd normally expect. Instead of sliding between your outstretched legs to pleasure you, I peeled the soaked fabric from your thighs. Instead of hearing you cry out in ecstasy, you cried out in pain as the next contraction left you instinctively bearing down. And instead of watching my cum drip from your well-fucked hole, I watched it gape wider and wider around your emerging child.
You grunted, you pushed, you shrieked into a pillow, and you spread your legs wide as more and more of the infant came free, until it finally slithered from your channel in a rush of fluids and into my waiting hands.
I wrapped your little one in one of the train's monogrammed towels before helping you to clean and cover yourself. Come morning, we'd make sure to get the two of you to a hospital to get checked out, but for now, there wasn't much more to do than rest.
Helping you give birth wasn't exactly how I'd expected to spend my shift, but I can't say that I regretted it.
