Their breath hitched as they rocked their hips back and forth on the chair, head leaning back with their mouth agape. They could feel it building up inside of them like a tidal wave. Just a bit more and they could take a break, hopefully.
When the rocking wasn't enough, they whimpered and decided to get more aggressive with it. Their hips lifted and crashed down on the toy they suctioned onto their wooden seat, causing an electric rush in their core as they took the entirety of its length. The warm silicone, ribbed and firm, massaged their insides thoroughly.
Soon, it all came to a climax, their insides pulsing as they moaned between each wave. They left a mess on their chair and the floor, mind going blank and uncaring as the rush of their orgasm overwhelmed them. As the initial reaction ebbed from their system, they slumped back and panted deeply, still full with their toy as their thighs quivered.
One eye opened as they looked out into the field that was their property. Acres of wheat were spread out in the distance as the sun set beautifully on the horizon, the colors much sharper after their orgasmic bliss heightened their senses. Those same senses also caught another look at the reason for their rush of libido.
Their new farmhand they hired, tall, broad, handsome as hell. He was dependable and soft-spoken, making him a fine addition to assist in harvesting their crops. But he was also hard to resist, making the farmer have to pull these escapes in order to relieve some tension. It only got worse as time went on, unfortunately.
Even looking at him now, the poor farmer started to feel their need rise once more. Along with another unusual sensation. Their stomach began to tighten, making them grunt softly from the sudden cramping sensation. They put a hand on their middle, feeling just how firm it was now, rock hard and steady in its constriction.
They tried to get up to take something for the pain, but they werecstill wobbly on their knees as they gave it a go. That's when they felt a sudden shift downward inside them. A solid mass suddenly was pressing on their entrance, making them gasp and moan with a confused panic as they ended up seated on their dildo again. Every neuron was firing in their brain as they gripped their trembling thighs firmly.
Whatever was in there wanted out. They had to push. Now.
So they did. They pushed and grunted, teeth gritting with effort as sweat began to bead from their forehead. They kept at it again and again, whimpering and panting meekly as they felt no progress made. They realized that whatever was coming out was blocked by the toy in their hole, but with how weak their legs were, they couldn't get it out of the way.
This was bad. The pain was constant. They'd never felt so full in all their life. They scratched up their thighs in frustration, leaving red, angry marks along their skin as they did.
Before they could cry for help, that new farmhand barged in and saw them in their shameful state. Bare-skinned, legs spread, slick with sweat and fluids. But he didn't seem to care about that. Instead, he stepped forward and held the farmer's hands gently, nodding in understanding. "It's okay. I'm here now. Get up on your feet."
The farmer nodded weakly, using their assistant's support to get upright slowly. Inch by inch, the toy slid out from their wet hole, letting out a satisfying pop once it was fully dislodged. At the same time, the object inside of them began sliding downward until it reached the exit, making them bulge out ever so slightly.
Their legs quivered as they watched the farmhand unsuction the toy, tossing it aside before sitting back down the farmer. He helped them lean back into a comfortable position before rubbing their tummy gently. It seemed to help them calm down as their breathing evened out. With a nod and smile, the farmhand's voice spoke in that smooth, gentle tone.
"Good. Now push."
And so they obeyed. Pushing this thing out bit by bit. It burned as their hole stretched wide around this orb, whatever it was, but they were freshly determined to get it free from their body. Push after push, grunt after grunt, they made progress until...
A wet plop hit their ears as the thing fully dislodged, their body flinching as it did. They looked into the farmhand's hands to see him cupping what looked like some kind of amphibian egg. Something like a frog or toad's tadpole offspring wriggled inside the translucent shell, big enough to be the size of the farmhand's head. He looked at it with pride, then turned to the farmer with a soft, loving gaze. "I knew I chose a good host. Thank you."
Host? Eggs? What the hell was going on. Before they could ask, they felt their stomach tense up once more as another object descended their hole. Their lower entrance bulged and burned again, making them growl and whine like a wild animal. The farmhand's eyes went wide with surprise... then turned solid green as his excitement grew, clearly not human.
"You're more fertile than I thought! I definitely picked a good host. Now, gimme a big push..."
Egg so big that when its time to lay it, it is completely stuck behind your pelvis, no matter how hard you push. After days of struggle, your body gives up, your contractions fading away. You are completely exhausted and defeated, fully believing you’ll be stuck with this egg inside you forever now. Days turn into weeks, and you try to keep on going, eating for two still. The odd contractions come and go, but labor never begins again.
Weeks later, one night, you go to sleep, you stomach cramping particular hard tonight, but you had long lost hope it could be actual contractions… And you wake up violently to a harsh, familiar tightening all across your tummy, as it misshapens in bursts that sink and stretch the skin in ways you never had seen before, but throw you into a world of agony completely unlike your first failed birth. You try to push, but you realize something heavy and monstrous is rolling inside you.
Something that is hatching, having been incubated in the warm refuge of your worm all this weeks, as if it had been laid, and isn’t all that pleased about its new, small home.
You are realizing too late. Even the signs of labor your ignored- but there is no time now, as your womb tightens and demands you to push, and you grit your teeth, sinking your hands into your aching belly and do just that. Squeezed by your overtaxed womb, the creature is guided downwards, and as it realizes finally where its path to freedom lies, its shoves its head into your pelvis with such force you feel your bones creak, and birthing fluids soak your sheets. Strangely, you don’t feel its shell, perhaps its soft, but you have no time to worry about that right now.
Another contraction envelopes you, and combined with the creature’s efforts, it begins to breach your birth canal, your pelvis creaking ominously. You scream, sweating, toes curling with effort, but you refuse to stop pushing until your body lets go off you. The babe squirms impatiently, what you guess is its tail, thick and heavy, slapping your lungs, cutting off your breath, but as another contraction takes over, you push just as hard as before, if not harder.
You’ve been given a second opportunity, and your hips might have been too small to pass the giant egg, but you WILL give birth to this creature. Even if it breaks you.
Fascinated with monster preg where just the snout of some lupine monster is crowning and the rest is stuck. Kicking their legs and screaming and writhing trying to make any further headway
Pregnant proxy via Slenderman who can’t give birth on a mission because every contraction is met with a blurry static overlay of your vision and feeling in your body. Every urge to push is cancelled, but the baby is increasingly low in your hips in between lapse of consciousness. Only when you finish the kill does the contraction grip your womb and seize. The head dilated completely in the time it took. Kneeling over your victim being forced to push it out here or could you survive denying it long enough back to the forest. Begging him to take away the pain again.
You look wide eyed at the notification on your med watch. You've been picked. You are pregnant. It was insanely lucky that you'd nearly managed to go a few years after graduation without getting chosen. One of your old high school friends got raffled the day after and raffled again the following month. Now it is your turn.
-1st Phase-
History books said that, at one relatively small time, the raffle was met with fury. Each month was a new protest filled with the rapidly impregnated. Now everyone begrudgingly accepted it as a part of life in the chrome future everyone's great great grandparents fantasized about. You press a finger below your navel. It was already firm to the touch and your nipples itched against the fabric of your sleep shirt.
You were automatically cleared from work for the day so there was no need to rush out and do anything. Your objective today was to relax and do your singular task.
You decide to get a shower–a simple anti-bacteria spray down and think about the most important part of this day. The birth. A younger person, without someone to advise them correctly, would think that going to one of the city hospitals would be the safest and best option. But you knew better. There were stories of ambulance c-sections with minimal anesthesia and hospitals practically restraining birthers in unrelenting binds and stirrups. Even in facilities they gave very little time to actually push before they enforced an extraction protocol. Medical staff were trained to be fully optimized toward a healthy delivery for the child. The only good choice was deciding to go it alone.
Upon finishing your shower, you stopped in front of your mirror. A pouch of a belly, big enough to cup beneath your palm has grown on you. You can’t imagine it taking weeks of time just to get a little bump like this. Some books say pregnancy used to take an entire 40 weeks. Thank goodness for optimization.
If you were going to do this in your apartment, you'd need supplies. You put on some sweatpants, a loose T-shirt and head out of your apartment.
The Mag-lev train, one of the best benefits of this present, is packed full with people. The vibe is different than normal. A young couple looking naively excited. A woman with a baby barely a year old idly massaged the base of her belly with an exhausted look in her eyes. This was raffle day.
You procure over the counter grade stim packs only good for minor cuts, antibacterial salves, bandages, a basket big enough to be a bassinet, meal kits to ease your cravings. Hopefully that would be enough, because that is all you can afford. You spend a bit too much time trying to navigate the sparsely stocked and overcrowded baby area and only make it out with a few items of need.
The attendant looks to your midsection. “Won the raffle, huh? Good luck, I heard they've been making some rough ones.”
They send you on your way, but that comment and obvious stare make you look down to your bump.
You see that your shirt has noticeably pushed forward in the hour of shopping. The bump looks bigger than any of the average diagrams you looked at in the past. The band of your sweat pants were already starting to dip below your waist. Time was ticking towards the inevitable.
-2nd phase-
By the time you return to your apartment your belly has become obvious. The shirt is tight against your skin, your sweats require constant adjustment. You look undeniably pregnant.
You rush to get everything you purchased set and ready. Medical supplies in the bathroom, bassinet close by, clean cloth laid and ready. Each passing moment you feel your shirt get a little tighter around your growing breasts and begin to ride a little higher over the large belly you are growing.
If you lingered for too long you could feel it, you could see it. The stretching of your skin, the movements of your baby becoming subtly stronger. You can see a line slowly darkening across your middle and through your ever swallowing belly button.
One moment amidst your preparation you pass a glance at the mirror. The waistband of your sweats has fully dipped below your waistline, cradling the underbelly of your bump. Movement slides beneath your barely visible belly button as you stare wide-eyed at your mirrored image. You look full term and you still have an entire phase left to go.
-3rd Phase-
Walking is impossible. The sheer mass of your belly weighing on your hips has thrown your center of gravity off so much you can barely take a step without needing to brace against a wall. All you can do is lay down and watch your massive belly somehow exceed its limit and read up on the dozens of things that could go wrong. You count yourself lucky that you got everything you needed ready before you got this massive.
A throbbing pain goes through your chest as you watch an archived birth video. Your breasts have become engorged to the point a shirt couldn't contain them and now were just a touch away from leaking. You twist slowly off your bed and arduously waddle to your bathroom using the little furniture you have as handholds to keep balance, the weight of the massive baby sitting in your hips and lean over the sink. With barely a touch your tits start expressing.
Relief happens before you're awed by your own body. Your belly is pointed out into a cone shape with your darkened belly button as its point. The skin of your belly is a map of veins and from your underbelly to your hips you have deep stretchmarks. Before your eyes, you see the weight of your belly shifted down, your ease of breathing returns but in that same instant a large, solid object jams its way into the bowl of your hips.
You moan softly, then it turns into a pained groan. The muscles in your abdomen and back tense. Your knees hinge and one hand springs to the taut surface of your bump.
The first of many contractions takes your body. Not long now.
-The Final Moments-
Your heavy belly heaves as you breathe through a contraction. Your voice is a bellow of pain and fear. The contraction you felt earlier was merely a braxton hicks and your pregnancy was not yet done with you. Another half hour of growing made your belly elongate and droop further beneath your hip line. Your bump looks like it didn't even exist as a part of your body anymore.
The labor pains were as rapid as the pregnancy. The contractions come with such frequency that you can't catch your bearings long enough to check yourself and forcing your fingers into your contracting canal makes you see stars.
Head buried into the crook of your arm, you moan, curse and rock on your knees on the bathroom floor. The pressure mounts deep behind your cervix and you feel a mass pass through its rapidly dilating flesh. A pop of fluid hits your thighs and underbelly. Relief from that pressure is fleeting; the giant baby surges against your cervix without pause.
The next contraction, you bear down. Desperation to get it out already controls your actions. Your belly turns into a different abnormal shape with every push and contraction.
The process was too slow and yet too fast. The contractions start to outpace the time you need to recover from pushing out a baby that barely moved past your cervix. Each one felt like a hand was reaching through you and pulling the baby forcefully from your womb. You sputter and gasp as a contraction forces the massive stone of a head against your cervix. It opens wider and wider, but it's only barely able to compensate for the speed of the labor and size of the baby.
The time between spasms shortens again and again until you feel your canal full and the distinct pressure of your labia beginning to bulge. Between heaving breaths, you reach a hand to your crotch.
The teardrop transformed into a massive “O” shape against your palm within seconds.
Your body doesn't care if it breaks, it only wants the baby out. You keep your palm against the wide crown, head thrown back, hips straining and rotating in an attempt to escape the burn and pressure, the sides of your belly compress into a hot, hardened mass of skin.
A primal moan rumbles from deep within. The skin of your labia opens wide and forward, clinging to the head. You pray you don't tear, you beg your body to be more resilient. You begin to understand why people would beg for the scalpel and a quick end.You rock back into the pressure with a screech as the constant contraction rises to its peak and forces the head out of the grip of your flesh. The shoulders and torso slide out of your now shaking body and into your singular wait palm.
Loud gasps and cries echo from your and your baby. You crawl to the wall of your bathroom, baby in hand, and sit up steady. Your crotch is burning sore and throbbing from the abuse it was put through. The baby wept in your hands as it lay against your chest and swollen belly.
Now all you need to do is wait for the placenta. That is what you think. The next contraction isn't subtle or a firm pressure– it doubles you over.
You cry out, clutching your still rounded bump. A trill of movement shifts against the taut skin below your belly button. A second baby pressed on your cervix. Your body doesn't give you the chance to panic before another contraction hits you and you're brought back to the same cycle. Twins weren't supposed to happen with this system. The government assured it wouldn't happen. The facts don't matter now, this is happening. The invisible grasp that pulled on your first shoved into you to start its efforts again. But this time you feel none of the rapid progress.
You push. Nothing moves. You push again. Nothing. The veins and muscles in your neck strain as you scream. Only the feeling of the bowl of your pelvis opening as wide as it could and letting nothing through follows. Your breath hitches, panic rising in your chest. It should be well into your canal by now, but you can still feel the large child in you. You move a hand to the base of your belly and press. Your eyes go wide and the bathroom echoes with your voice whimpering “no”.
“I heard they've been making some rough ones.” the voice of the clerk rings in your ear.
The baby was sideways across your pelvis. Breech. No matter how hard you pushed or how long you labored, the twin wouldn't move.
You remember one thing from the research you did, one thing doctors used to do a long time ago. You lay your first born down in the heap of towels. With a trembling hand you grasp your belly and baby and force it to turn. Your mouth goes wide, eyes distant and bulging, a contraction flaring against the forceful movement. The muscles in your arms fight against the ones making you give birth. The need to push hasn't waned–it got worse. The small shifts in the baby's position you feel aren't enough to reduce the agony or your exhaustion.
The glint of your medwatch catches your eye. A notification was recommending that you alert the EMS. One hand grips the mass of the twin as you stare at the alert. Sweat and tears burn your eyes as you consider it, as you ponder what brutality the city EMS would do to you. You ignore the notification and get back to your efforts. You resist your most primal urge, muscles strain to fight against the force of your hands; but the baby shifts regardless.
Eventually, you feel a hardness drop against your cervix.
And a bolt of pain goes through your spine. Your body jerks into an arch and your hand shoots to the base of your back. You writhe and spasm at the sudden press against your nerves. The baby rushes so quickly you don't have the chance to stop it like you did before. In the brief moment your fear of tearing enters your mind, you feel the twin open you in more ways than one.
An inhuman scream rips its way out of your throat as you feel the baby's head suddenly feel too easy to pass. Bolts of pain shoot through your crotch just as fast as the baby slides out onto the floor. Your breathy moans are joined quickly by the surprise between your legs.
Your belly looked deflated. It had to be over now.
With what strength you have left, you spray the medkit mending onto your wounded crotch. You can barely muster the energy to pick up the twin you just birthed. The desire to just lay there, breathe a few breaths not strangled by the pain of labor or the weight of two babies against your lungs and hope fervently you wouldn't win the raffle next month.
Faveorite tropes: Hiding a pregancy x womb movement x alien pregnancy
Womb movement has such a special place in my heart especially if its alien because like the thrashing, like that not a human baby!!!! that thing wants out now. It's the body invasion of it all.
Then on top of that you having to hide it. Either one, because it's an alien. Your def getting experimented on. Or two, alternatively, its giving mpreg being non existent in this universe. Then boom, suddenly you having to isolate yourself from the people you know wating for this creature to pop out of you.
The extraterrestrial encounter he only faintly recalls the morning after, unsure if the abduction was real, or just some sort of wikedly wet dream.
But all the doubts are cleared when not even a few hours later he feels movement within him, push and pulls kneeding the surface of his belly like a dough from the inside out.
Deny as he might want to, he really can't, not when the alien effects are so visible. The pudgy shape his abdomen formed into, soft, maluable, constantly stretching just a few inches more by the apparently creature that now occupies his womb. Not that he had a womb before, but he must have one now to withstand all that is happening.
For as much as he wants to enjoy this, the heavyness, the constant caressing from within, the spectacle of shapes on his belly, the dread of reality holds him hard.
What if anybody sees him like that? What if anybody ask questions? Doubtful they'd believe the truth... most likely he'd end up reported to authorities, his belly turned someone's scientific obsession. What about his family? His friends? His job? His life in general?
When he finally camled down enough to be back to his sences, his stomach has already changed once again. Softly tender dome stood in the middle of his body, faintly gleaming with each action that reshapes his womb in all of the ways that break the rules of human physiology.
If there even was a time when he able to hide it, hes way past that. His body visibly burst out of the clothes that just fit him moments ago making any public appearances out of the question.
But the situation is not all gloom. The fast pace of his otherworldly gravidness implying the soon arriving end of this predicament. Thought, though copious in nature, enough to soothe his paranoia just enough to finally feel the pleasure of his state. Each twist and twirl, each gleam and glow, the strangely pleasurable shiftion of mounds and waves around his inconsistantly shaped gut.
Although man's life won't just stop because he's pregnant, he might at least slow it down enough to wait till it comes to pass, and while he's at it, while not enjoy it a bit. Who knows if such a chance ever comes again?
Thinking of getting into bed & falling asleep on my stomach as I normally do. This night, I’m a little bloated but it’s easily explained by the party I went to early—the food they had was just divine. Yet as I’m pressed against the mattress, my stomach is all I can think about. It’s firm and provides a gentle pressure with each breath.
I take a deep breath and as the air fills my lungs, I can feel something shift and the pressure increase. When I exhale, I don’t deflate. I do this again to the same result. Now, I sense that my knees are carrying most of my weight. I didn’t eat that much, right? I try to move my hips forward, get my stomach flat again, but the movement has a moan slip from my lips. My stomach is entirely firm and rounded out. The more breaths I take, the more I find myself moving the weight to my knees. I press a hand to the mattress and lift myself to my hands and knees.
Like a switch flipped, my stomach balloons out, just barely touching the mattress. I feel full, whatever is occupying my womb fitting comfortably, perfectly inside. My tits have started to ache at this point, swelling as they begin to produce milk. Nothing has ever felt better than this…
My breaths are short as it begins taking more effort to hold myself up, my stomach tender as it presses farther into the mattress. I’m forced to sit upright, knees spread apart as they make way for my middle. It’s almost like this action gave me permission to grow outwards. I have to keep adjusting my knees to comfortably fit myself. Really, all I can think about is how my body aches to be touched. I press a hand to my stomach, but it’s not enough. I move my hand to my tits and knead them, gently so the milk drips onto my fingers. It’s exquisite, but not nearly enough… Pathetically, I rock my hips into the bed. It squeaks and protests at my newfound weight. I go until I’m winded.
The growing subsides shortly, and where I once could fit another person beside me laying down, two if I was being generous, I can feel my stomach peeking over the edge of the bed, my back pressed against the wall. How much longer will I be like this?
I guess its time for me to talk about my absolute favorite - semi-rapid pregnancy.
The not-so accidental guest within his knocked up womb progresses quickly, reaching it's maximum size within days, few weeks at most.
His belly grows slowly, methodically, but still noticeably. Tempo so perfect he almost exists in mutually exclussive states of "Im not big enough to buy bigger clothes" and "I'm growing so fast I'll outgrow any new clothes" simultaneously.
And yet, it is just the beginning. Even though his stomach reached its overdue look, even though the occupant within already moving, and even though his body is ready to be due, not even first trimester has passed.
For as ready to be done he looks, months to come of it are ahead. His belly getting in the way of every action, every work done. Always getting attention and envious looks and touches caused by his tummy peeking between the clothes he never bothered replacing.
Just like that, every day, every hour, him ever big, his belly ever round, his womb ever active... at least until all those months finally pass and the day comes for his struggle to be over.
But as s his womb is finally free, his body back to it's former self, he misses what has been and no longer is. So used to the size, the weight, the belly, the attention, soon he once again is back to his gravid self.
The not-so accidental guest within his knocked up womb progresses quickly, reaching it's maximum size within days, few weeks at most...
Yeah yeah yeah, summer rapid pregnancy is fun and all, seeing a pregnancy belly slowly forming through a bikini or one piece in plain view, or a pregnancy belly not noticeable until suddenly it's peaking over your swim trunks, but winter rapid pregnancy is just as good. A baggy sweater and a jacket that you don't even notice you're growing in until it's too tight, or people start telling you that the winter is a good time to be pregnant, or asking when you're due. Waddling around with a jacket that pops open suddenly and realizing the due date is sooner than you thought because the jacket hid most of the bulk ugh
rapid preg but its eggs. when theyre first deposited they're like peas, just tiny little eggs that barely even show.
the growth comes in bursts. you're going about your morning when it surges out, enough to push out your stomach and make you very aware of the weight now growing inside you.
another a few days later. your stomach gurgles and then you're noticeably rounder, noticeably heavier. whatever is growing inside the eggs squirms and you've started to feel them shift.
with the next burst, one that happened in your sleep and left you soaked and so heavy it makes getting up a struggle, you're starting to worry.
you dont know how heavy they're going to get, how round and stretched, and you certainly dont know how long you're going to be carrying them for
Idea that I’ve only ever seen a few times in the past: Tentacles breeding inside someone, only leaving their body to enter someone else’s
Imagine you get caught and restrained by someone in a secluded place. They look heavily pregnant and overdue, out of breath, and you’re not sure what they want from you. The person groans, holding their belly which starts to warp and gurgle from the movements of something inhuman inside. They lean back and spread their legs, just in time for a thick, slimy tentacle to push out of their hole. You barely get time to react before the tentacle shoves itself into your hole. Moving deeper, and deeper, and deeper. No signs of stopping even as it bulges your belly. The person who caught you is moaning and panting as the tentacle drags its way out of them, you do the same as it forces itself in. You might beg and plead the person to stop it, but they won’t listen to you. Your belly is stretched wider, the tentacle squirming within as it takes up more and more space. Finally the end of the tentacle exits them with a wet pop, leaving them sighing in relief as their belly is much smaller than it was before. While they hobble away leaving you to your fate, you still have longer to go. The remainder of the tentacle thrashes and wiggles, pulling itself inside of you. Once everything is fully packed inside, it finally calms down. You’re free to return to normal life, if only with a bigger belly
But you gradually keep growing as the days and weeks pass by. It doesn’t take long to realize there’s more tentacles than there were before. And they don’t seem to stop growing. Your stomach expands, reaching the size of the person when you first saw them, and getting even bigger. You realize now why that person did what they did. But as strained as you feel, you can’t just do this to someone else. So you try to bear it, keeping the tentacles inside yourself, no matter how big they grow.
But then you see through a window that there’s someone alone in their house. It would be irresponsible. But you’re just so full, it’s like you’re gonna burst if you move wrong. You just need one less tentacle inside you. Just one, right?
“Doctor, what are we doing here?” The assistant questioned, uncomfortable from the several minutes spent crawling through bushes.
“Shhhhh.” The doctor whispered, pressing a finger against the assistant’s mouth. “We’re in monster territory. If you attract one of them, I’m using you as bait so I can escape.”
“What?? Why do we have a bodyguard, then?” The assistant questioned, lowering their volume to match.
The doctor looked at the silent and stoic bodyguard next to them, then back at the assistant. “The bodyguard is for humans who try to mess with us. And manual labor. Not for fighting monsters. Since when has SPF ever been about fighting monsters?”
“Since the last ten times you punched a monster and yelled at the bodyguard to kick its ass before it breeds us.”
“Oh yeah. Well we’re still a research team first and foremost. Stop questioning me.”
“Yes, doctor.” The assistant sighed as the trio ventured further into the bushes. By now, they could hear something odd up ahead. The rhythmic movement of something wet, and the sound of a person’s pained and pleasured moans. It wasn’t long before they reached a vantage point where they could look over a clearing where the source of the sound was.
There, sat against a tree, was the monster that the doctor had been looking for. It was huge bidepal creature, at least 8 feet tall. Its powerful muscles flexed with every movement, one limb containing vastly more strength than a human had in their entire body.
And in the monster’s hand, it held a human by the waist, impaled on its cock as it roughly moved them up and down like a glorified sex toy to stroke itself off. The size of the monster’s cock was hard to estimate, constantly buried inside its prey, but the human’s abdomen bulged out from the mass of the thing inside them. The sloppy wet noises of the human’s ravaged hole echoed around the clearing, almost as loud as their desperate and overwhelmed cries and moans. They weren’t struggling, weren’t calling for help, already more than exhausted by now and unable to do anything other than take it. Besides the hole torn in their pants, their clothes were mostly intact. Hiking boots, a tight shirt that did very little to obscure their bulging abdomen, and a belt that was straining against said bulge.
“Seems like this one didn’t waste any time getting to the main event.” The doctor commented, producing a notepad and pen to hand to the assistant. “This could be the monster’s natural behavior, or it may have been particularly pent up.”
“Doctor, shouldn’t we help them?” The assistant asked.
“Nope. We’re here to observe and dip.”
“Seriously??”
“You wanna go down there and help? Be my guest.”
They looked down into the clearing again. The caught human was completely limp with their eyes half closed, their mouth hanging open as completely uncontrolled moans spilled out. It wasn’t clear just how long the monster had been using them. The assistant wrote down the previous comment.
“Good! You’re still smart enough to be my assistant. Anyways.” The doctor continued to prattle off various notes and details about the monster, all of which the assistant diligently copied down. But it was a struggle to pay attention to the doctor’s words. The sound of the caught human’s hole being ravaged sent shivers up the assistant’s spine, and the doctor never spoke as loud as those defeated moans. Still, the assistant kept up with all of the doctor’s voiced thoughts, never falling behind.
Meanwhile, the doctor kept their eyes glued to the scene. Mostly at the bulge that grossly distorted the human’s abdomen. They had the fit, athletic body expected of a hiker, which only made the bulge all the more obtrusive. The monster’s cock hammered in fast and hard, stretching them out with every thrust like a cocksleeve only made for the monster’s pleasure. And it somehow began to move even faster. The monster’s snarls and growls grew louder and louder, rivaling the human’s own moans.
“Oh look, watch this. I think it’s almost there.” The doctor encouraged, patting the assistant’s shoulder then lifting their chin. Just in time to watch as the monster violently slammed their cock inside all the way to the base. The human’s scream was drowned out by the monster’s deafening roar, balls squeezing and cock visibly pulsing through the human’s abdomen as it pumped out giant loads of seed. The bulge quickly disappeared behind the human’s rapidly swelling belly, not meant to hold so much at once. Their scream became a series of strangled cries, voice straining out every time their belly bulged larger and larger with each pump. The belt creaked and strained, until it finally gave with a loud snap as the buckle was launched away. The shirt was quick to ride up after, bunching up on the human’s chest. Very soon, they looked like they were on the verge of giving birth, yet still stuffed fuller and fuller as the monster showed no signs of stopping just yet.
Parts of each pump would spill out. Making a mess on the ground, the monster’s balls and legs, and the human’s legs and expanding underbelly. But for every bit of seed that escaped, much more would be packed inside the human. Their belly reddened from the pressure, their eyes rolling back as drool dripped from their mouth, body seizing and shaking. Every time it seemed like they couldn’t possibly fit anymore, another load swelled them up again. But eventually, the flood did slow down, and finally stop. The human went limp again, their head hanging. They looked much more than pregnant now. Their cum stuffed belly was about as big as their body, the bottom of it resting on the forest floor.
The human’s respite didn’t last long. It only took a short while before they were groaning again, barely shifting in the monster’s grip. The pressure in their stuffed insides kept them from being able to relax. Any drop of seed that hadn’t escaped earlier was now trapped inside, the monster’s cock acting like a plug. Suddenly the human started letting out strained, weak cries, almost in a timed pattern, panting in between.
“The monster must be throbbing like crazy in there.” The doctor commented. “All that and it still isn’t finished.”
“They’ll explode if this keeps up! Look at their stomach, there’s no way they can handle twice that.” The assistant protested.
“I doubt it. Humans have gotten filled bigger than that.”
And just as the doctor said, the monster started again. It was slow at first, moving its cock around in the human’s ruined hole despite their protesting cries, but it picked up the pace quick enough. The human was practically being squished, monster from behind fucking them against their own belly. Rocking it back and forth, the gallons of cum inside them loudly sloshing and gurgling alongside the sound of the human’s moans and their hole being ravaged again.
The research team continued to observe the scene from the safety of the bushes. It was going to be a long observation.
-
Once again, I wrote all this in one sitting while tired. Excuse me for any mistakes or bad sentence structure. Someday I’ll put my full effort into good writing for this blog
As you can see from this chapter, I’m starting to lean into identifying the research team as characters instead of just a device to start the story. This was my plan from the beginning before I spat out the first test chapter, and I already had them fully characterized in my head since then.
But as you can also see, I really held back on actually showing that characterization outside of their roles (the doctor, the assistant, and the bodyguard) and displaying hints of personality. That’s cause I’m once again testing the waters to see if anyone likes the direction I’m going in.
I do want to lean further into the research team being actual characters. Most of my concept posts are left intentionally vague to appeal to a wider audience that can fill in the blanks to suit them. (For example, I try not to identify genders in concept posts. Interpret it as mpreg if you want, and don’t let the monster’s 12 inch dick stop you from picturing it as female)
But ironically, the wider appeal vagueness does limit me in some ways. It’s a lot harder for me to play around with personalities, relationship dynamics, backgrounds, and other stuff like that without characterization. The SPF research team is my way of eventually stepping into kink stories that require actual characters. Now, I’m not putting an end to my wider appeal concept posts of course. I will be concept posting every time I have a concept to be posted, and that will always be the vast majority of my blog. I’d just like to do more
I’ll probably go ahead with the in depth research team whether I get feedback on it or not, but I’d like to hear if anyone is interested by this. Anyways if you read this far, thank you for listening to my author rambles and I hope my insomnia writing is still good enough to enjoy
what’s your biggest breeding fantasy? (I’m ready, please make be pregnant I’m so empty)
It obviously changes on the daily, but I think the most prominent one from the first days of my kink realization would be needles, specifically inserted under the belly button, holding some devious looking colored liquid that immediately triggers a response in the womb.
Now my biggest memory as a kid is of these two specific videos on YouTube. One was called t1, and the other is the accelerated pregnancy scenes from the fringe TV show. I remember those scenes by heart. And they turn me on to these days.
So anything that includes a mad scientist or more intense... someone the carrier trusts, suddenly injecting them in the abdomen and causing some inhuman pregnancy to rapidly occure. Especially aliens... fuck that's just my dream.
Now what fun would that be? I'm gonna catch you off guard. Make you wait endlessly for your womb to feel full. And you'll regret asking by the time I'm done with you...
The rain came first. Not the gentle kind that kisses the canopy and moves on, but a hard, vengeful wall of water that turned the jungle floor to brown paste within minutes. Marcy had been laboring for nineteen hours by then, her thirty four year old body swaying between the woven poles of the healer's hut, fingertips brushing the mossy bark for balance. The other women had lit torches against the sudden dark, their faces gleaming with sweat and something close to fear. Not for the baby. The baby was low, head down, perfect. But for the storm.
Marcy had been the caretaker for so long. She knew every woman in the village by the map of her stretch marks, the particular geography of her cellulite, the soft shelf of a muffin top where a sarong tied too tight. She had held hands through stillbirths and miscarriages, had pressed cool leaves to infected tears, had whispered lies about pain ending while her own womb stayed empty cycle after cycle. Infertility had carved her hollow and then refilled her with something harder, something that looked like peace but felt like a held breath.
Then the pregnancy came. A shock. A green shoot through cracked earth. She had not allowed herself joy until the baby kicked hard enough to leave a bruise on her ribs. Now, in the storm, that same baby pressed down into her pelvis with a force that made her knees buckle.
The healer's hut began to leak. Then to groan. Then to lean.
"We have to move," said Liana, the eldest midwife, her voice flat and certain. "The temple ruins. The old stones will hold."
Marcy was squatting through a contraction when the order came. Her thighs burned. Her low back felt fractured. She looked up with the wild eyes of an animal caught in fire. "I can't walk."
Liana knelt and took Marcy's face in both hands. "You will walk. Or you will birth in mud and lightning. Choose."
Marcy chose.
The walk was a nightmare measured in steps. The healer's hut sat at the jungle's edge, but the temple ruins lay a quarter mile deeper, up a slope that had become a waterfall of red mud and loose rock. Marcy stood first, her belly a hard drum under her soaked tunic. A contraction hit immediately, and she braced against a tree trunk, her knuckles white, her mouth open in a silent scream. She felt the baby drop another inch. The pressure in her rectum was volcanic.
She walked two steps. Stopped. Bent over at the waist. Another contraction rolled through her like a serpent swallowing its own tail.
They brought her a staff. She leaned on it with both hands, her body folding into a deep kneeling position in the mud. Rain plastered her hair to her face. Lightning cracked somewhere behind the canopy, and the thunder was less a sound than a physical blow to the chest. She stayed kneeling through two contractions, her forehead pressed to the muddy ground, her hips rocking. The baby's head ground against her cervix like a stone in a sling.
Liana pulled her up. "Standing is faster. You cannot kneel your way to the temple."
So Marcy stood. And walked. And stopped. And stood again.
She tried squatting when the pain peaked, dropping her weight low, letting her heels press into the mud. The position opened her pelvis and she groaned with something between relief and agony. But the staff slipped in the wet ground, and she nearly pitched sideways into a thorn bush. She caught herself on a low branch and hung there for a full minute, panting, while the rain drilled into her back.
They reached the temple ruins after forty five minutes that felt like forty five years.
The stone was gray and slick, carved with old faces that had been weeping for centuries. The main chamber still had a roof, a dome of fitted basalt that had outlived the gods who built it. Torches guttered to life along the walls. Someone spread a pile of woven mats in the center, but Marcy could not sit. She could not even think of sitting. She walked in a tight circle, her hands on her lower belly, her breath coming in short, punched out huffs.
The midwives checked her. Seven centimeters. Then eight. Then nine. The baby was still head down, still facing the right way, still patient. But Marcy began to complain of something new.
"Burning," she gasped. "Stinging. Like fire ants in my vagina."
Liana examined her again, frowning. "The bag of waters is still intact. It should have broken by now. It's stretched tight as a drum across the baby's head. That's your burning. The membrane is pulled thin and taut, and every time the head moves, it drags across your flesh like a hot wire."
Marcy wept. Not from fear, but from the sheer exhausting unfairness of it. She had done everything right. She had carried this baby through the long, slow, peaceful early labor, swaying in the healer's hut, humming the old songs, letting the women feed her broth and rub her feet. The first twelve hours had been almost lovely. The next seven had been hard but manageable. But this stretch of bone and membrane and unrelenting fire was something else entirely.
The storm peaked outside. Wind screamed through the gaps in the stone. Marcy could not hear her own screams, which was perhaps a mercy.
She labored through the transition in a kneeling position, facing the stone altar, her forehead pressed to the cool rock. Her knees ached. Her shins ached. Her hands were raw from gripping the altar's edge. Behind her, the midwives debated.
"The bag won't break," Liana said. "It's too tough. Too fibrous. She'll have to birth the baby through it."
"Through the intact bag?" another woman asked.
"Stretching around it. The water will cushion the head, but it means the baby will come out still inside the sac. Like a second skin. And it means the burning will not stop until the head is all the way out."
Marcy heard this and did not have the strength to be afraid. She only pushed.
The urge came like a possession. Her body bore down without her permission, a primal reflex that turned her inside out. She stood up from her kneel because standing felt right, felt necessary, felt like the only position where gravity could help her survive this. She spread her feet wide on the wet stone. She gripped a lintel above her head, hanging her weight from her arms, and she pushed.
The bag of waters bulged between her legs. She could feel it now, a hot, slippery, unbroken balloon the size of a grapefruit. Every push stretched it further, and every stretch sent a line of pure fire from her perineum to her clitoris. She screamed through clenched teeth. The sound was not human. It was the sound of a woman being unmade and remade.
The baby's head began to crown inside the bag. Marcy looked down between her legs and saw a translucent sphere pushing out of her body, and inside that sphere was a dark swirl of hair. Her child. Wrapped in water. Trapped in a membrane that refused to give.
She pushed again. Standing. Swaying. Her thighs trembled so violently she thought the bones might snap. The head stretched the bag further, and the bag stretched Marcy further, and the burning became a roaring furnace that consumed everything else. She could not feel the storm anymore. Could not feel the stone beneath her feet. Could only feel the ring of fire and the impossible pressure of a skull moving through a canal made of knives.
The head emerged slowly. Not in a rush, but in a grinding, merciless advance. The bag stretched around it like a caul, and Marcy watched in disbelief as her daughter's face appeared inside the unbroken membrane. Tiny sealed eyes. A mouth pressed shut. The cord pulsed visibly behind the head, still safe in its fluid prison.
"Keep pushing," Liana said. "The shoulders are next. The bag will hold."
Marcy sobbed. She pushed. She had no choice. Her body was a thing that happened to her now, a machine of bone and muscle and fire. She dropped into a slight squat, her knees bending, her weight sinking, and the baby's shoulders turned and slipped through the bag and out of her body in a rush of warm fluid that did not break the membrane until the very end. Only when the baby was completely born, when Marcy caught her own child between her thighs and lowered slowly to her knees on the wet stone, only then did the bag of waters tear. A gush of ancient fluid pulsed across the floor. The baby took her first breath and screamed.
Marcy held her. A daughter. Slick and purple and perfect. The storm began to fade outside, or perhaps Marcy simply stopped hearing it. The midwives wrapped them both in dry cloth. Someone pressed a cup of warm broth to her lips. Someone else began to sing.
Later, after the placenta slid out in a single dark wave, after the baby latched for the first time and Marcy felt the strange tug of her own body feeding another, the village women came forward. They brought food. They brought flowers. They brought woven blankets and carved beads and a small knife for cutting the cord once it stopped pulsing. They brought gifts for the woman who had spent years giving and had finally received something in return.
Liana knelt before Marcy and placed a necklace of jaguar teeth around her neck. "You have served us for a decade," she said. "You have held every mother in this village. Now we hold you."
Marcy looked down at her own body. The stretch marks across her belly were deeper now, purple and silver rivers. The cellulite on her thighs was the same as it had always been. The muffin top spilled over the waist of her wet skirt. None of it mattered. She had built a child in that imperfect flesh. She had pushed that child out through fire and stone and a bag of waters that refused to break. She had stood in a storm and caught a soul between her legs.
She touched the jaguar teeth and smiled. Outside, the rain softened to a whisper. The temple stones held.
You don’t know how or when it happened, but you’re pregnant. And you aren’t sure who or even what the parent is, considering how huge your pregnancy is. So huge that you’re now basically lying on top of a giant, hulking ball of flesh. This ball is supposed to be your stomach, which is hard to wrap your head around at this point. But the evidence is clear. You can feel the ground against the bottom, the weight of your body on it, and your hands wherever you touch or rub. You can’t move away, connected at your midsection so you can’t get up. This thing is attached to you- Or rather, you’re attached to it. You don’t know what creatures are in you that have made you this big you this big, but you’re helpless to do anything other than wait around as they grow.
But then they start to move. Shifts and squirms here and there that scrape against your insides and cause you to moan. And as it happens, you come to a realization. Every shape that moves inside you is connected, all part of one much bigger shape. You aren’t pregnant with multiples, there’s just one gigantic baby in there. Your singular baby that’s several times larger than you already. Makes you wonder what the hell is growing that big, and how much bigger it’s going to get. And it already seems way too big for your body to be able to get it out, when you’re not even close to ready to give birth. So what now?
idk something something you go on a tour of some ancient ruins with a guide and an entire tour group, and someone touches the wrong thing and suddenly you're all trapped and rapid egg-preg'd somehow, except everyone but you is horrified, some are trying to play it cool but some are screaming and crying, and you're forced to hide the fact that the bigger you get, the more turned on you get.
How hard would it be to hide even as the entire tour group went into labor? You'd be laying your own eggs but also watching a large group of people all simultaneously lay eggs too.
Now imagine you're stuck for days, and you all get used to it, you all birth eggs once every four hours or so, stomach growing large between each batch, and some people have gotten so relaxed about it that they're just squatting to lay eggs mid sentence.
I don't know about you, but that'd turn me on even more.
Imagine even after you're rescued, the condition persists, eggs every four hours, slowing to every 8 when you leave the ancient place, but still, eggs every 8 hours on the hour maybe forever. Imagine how you'd have to eventually lay eggs just about everywhere. Hell, maybe you'd get use to laying in random places.
