A trans boi's kinks

Ash. 28. Trans masc pangender he/they. a place for me to put my kinks. sub. pillow princess. kink list pinned. 18+ minors DNI. roleplay: DM for details

[transboifantasys]

Kinks:

-praise/reassurance

-bondage

-submission

-masochism

-breeding

-wax play

-impact play

-bring breed

-pregnacy

-birth

-ovipostion & egg laying

Note: definitely many others I can't think of or haven't found yet.

Limits:

-degradation

-punishment

-feeder stuff

-scat & watersports

-vore

-abuse

-misgendering & detransition

- non-con

incest, pedophilia, necrophili or beasitailty are not allowed on this log and are major no gos

[pumpkinbirth]

Say what you will about being a phone sex operator, but you definitely can’t call it boring.

All manner of voices find their way to you; some shy and unsure, while others can be abrasive and demanding. Hell, half of the time you barely have to do or say a damn thing while harsh panting emanates from your headphones as the person on the other end clearly only needs to know you’re listening in order to get off. There are times, though, when you find yourself engaging in specific fantasies of your callers, and those are often the most unique ones of all.

For example, tonight’s caller.

“Ooh, that one sounded like it hurt,” you purr, listening intently as the woman on the other end pants and breathes in a specifically measured way. She had called in ten minutes ago, her voice hushed and thick with anticipation, and you’d listened attentively as she explained the premise of her call: she was in labor. It isn’t the strangest thing you’ve had to play along with by far, and as the minutes tick by and her ‘contractions’ grow stronger, you inwardly find yourself much more aroused by this than you would’ve thought.

“Mnhh, they’re getting so much stronger now…” she breathes in confirmation, which earns a sound from you that is both sympathetic and teasing.

“Tell me how it feels,” you prompt, reclining back in your chair. Your fingertips trace lazily at your waistline as you do so, silently debating whether to slip further downward. Not yet, you decide. “I want to know everything, sweetheart.” There’s a faint click on the other end, perhaps the sound of your caller’s throat as she swallows hard.

“The pressure is…i-it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before,” the woman murmurs, her voice slightly strained as she fights to speak through what you assume is another one. “I can f-feel the baby moving downwards, little by little…my body’s been opening up for it all day, so it won’t be long until—!” Her sentence abruptly halts, and your eyes widen slightly as you hear what sounds like a faint splashing sound, liquid hitting another surface, the floor perhaps?

Whoever this caller is, she’s really committed to this fantasy, and you’re all too happy to be along for the ride, however odd it may be.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you croon once you’ve gathered yourself again, immersing yourself into her strange roleplay. “Did your water just break?” It takes a second for her to answer you, and for the briefest moment you wonder if the call has dropped. Her voice returns a second later, though, accompanied by that same anticipatory tremor she had when the call first began.

“There’s…fuck, there’s so much of it,” she whispers, grunting softly as she makes herself comfortable, or so you assume. “I-it just keeps coming…the bottom half of my dress is soaked through.”

“Well that won’t do,” you tsk, idly slipping a hand down the front of your pants as you tend to the budding arousal your caller has stoked in you. “It sounds like you’d better take it off, right…?” You draw out the last word seductively, and the effect is instantaneous. She whimpers into your ear before you hear the rustle of fabric, and you imagine what must be happening; her hands shaking slightly as she grasps the hem of her dress, pulling the drenched garment up and off of herself. You shiver slightly as you envision what her pregnant body might look like, before reminding yourself that this is purely roleplay, and you should keep it moving along. “Good girl. Now the rest of it, unless…?”

“T-there isn’t anything else,” she murmurs, almost coyly, and this elicits a pleased sound from you. Your hand works steadily between your legs as you listen to her heavy breaths, no doubt another of her ‘contractions’, and you’re surprised at how much this is actually turning you on. This job certainly has been a journey of self discovery, if nothing else.

“O-ohh—!” This time her voice is laced with urgency, and part of you wonders if she’s actually in pain. But that’s ridiculous, you reason to yourself; if this woman was actually in active labor, there’s no way she would be still on the line with you. No, you tell yourself as you listen to her moaning and panting, she’s just very good at this.

“Sounds like there isn’t much time left,” you purr, and the moan this earns makes a pleased smirk spread across your face. “Am I right, sweetheart? Is it time for my good girl to start pushing?”

“M-mngh, yes…!” she whimpers, and you hear more rustling as she repositions herself. Your mind conjures images of what your caller might look like, sitting naked against the headboard of her bed, legs spread to make room for her swollen belly. You swear under your breath as the image urges your fingers to move faster, but if she hears you she says nothing of it.

“C’mon then, pretty girl,” you urge, curious to see how far she wants to take her fantasy. “Push for me, let me hear it…”

Her response isn’t verbal, but it’s very much audible. A deep, almost primal grunting as she seems to bear down, straining until eventually letting up with a gasp for air. “Coming, it’s c-coming…” she pants, and you absently lick your lips before responding.

“Mm, what a productive push that must’ve been…give me another,” you order, your pulse racing as you hear her obey almost too eagerly. “Again,” you urge when she lets up, reveling in how much she’s become utterly lost in her fantasy. “Again…”

You have no idea how long this call has gone on for, but that doesn’t bother you in the slightest. All you know is that she’s enjoying herself just as much as you are; moans seamlessly intertwining with her cries of mock pain. Until at last, her voice rings out again, seeming to reverberate through your headphones.

“O-ohhhfuck it’s right there—“

“Keep pushing, you’re close, I know you’re close…”

“F-fuck…mnnhhgh!!”

The sounds she makes are unlike anything you’ve heard before, and as you feel yourself reaching your own peak you make a note to thank her for this strange new kink she’s helped you to unlock. Her last moan is a desperate, guttural scream, and there’s a soft muffled sound that must be her slumping back against the headboard. Before you can say a word, though, you hear something else on the other end, something peeking through your caller’s exhausted, labored breaths.

Something that sounds an awful lot like wailing.

“H-haahhh…thank you…for all of your help,” the woman pants hotly, and you can faintly hear her cooing softly to something before the line disconnects, leaving you equal parts aroused and confused. You wonder, faintly, if this means you can technically add ‘midwife’ onto your strange, extensive resume.

[screamingandwhelping]

What if: Werewolf pinning down a potential mate and whelping on them as a show of dominance?

My alpha pins me down in the sun-dappled leaves with his front paws, snarling, his fangs snapping dangerously close to my ear. His body trembles and I know he’s in pain, but all he shows outwardly is anger. He lowers his knees to the ground on either side of my hips, and he hovers his naked pelvis over me. His eyes bore into mine.

“Fuck you,” he hisses, teeth clenched.

“Do you need to push?” I ask. I know his tell-tale signs of resistance. He holds off as long as he can but some things are inevitable.

He snaps so close to my eye that I feel his hot breath. Birthing fluid drips out of his pussy onto my bare cock, and I begin hardening.

“You won’t do this to me again,” he growls.

“I won’t,” I agree, and reach down to cradle his oversized belly in my paws. He tries to pull away, but he’s too deep in his labor pains—if he shifts and loses his concentration, his body will start pushing for him.

“You need to push out my pups,” I say.

“They are my pups!” he roars, and bites down on my shoulder.

I yelp. It hurts, but he’s barely piercing my skin. He’s in far more pain than me—and I inflicted it on him. He deserves to inflict a little on me.

His hairy belly goes taut beneath my paws. He whines around a mouthful of my shoulder. I reach up and clasp one paw against the back of his neck, pulling him close to me.

“Push,” I whisper. “Your litter needs to be whelped.”

He pulls in a wheezing breath, then another, then a third, and then he closes his eyes, teeth clamped in me, and pushes.

“Hurts,” he slurs, voice muffled.

“Push again.”

“No.”

“Push again.”

He yanks his mouth out of me and snarls in my face with bloodied teeth. “No!” But then his expression crumples and he tucks in his chin as his body forces him to push.

“I-I’m crowning,” he stammers. “Oh gods—oh my gods.” He squeezes his eyes shut, his entire frame shuddering with the effort.

This is the part I live for. Well, I live for all of it—the breeding, the knotting, every night while we try for another litter. The positive pregnancy test and the wild, hormonal pregnancy sex that follows soon after. His increasingly gravid belly, growing every day while we wonder how many pups I put in him this time—and how big. The first twinge of labor, the pacing and the panting. The stripping when he gets too hot. The water breaking. Then his rage, boiling over as the pain proves too much for him; but he’s too proud to admit it, so instead he attacks. The chase. The grapple. The short fall to the woodland floor. But this moment, the moment of crowning, when the pain is unbearable and he can’t conceal it any longer—the moment the mask slips and he loses control and I see his vulnerability, more naked than even his body.

“Oh my gods!” he shrieks, and he lowers his pelvis down until it almost touches my cock and whelps out the first pup onto my lower belly. I slide the pup up my body and cradle it to my chest, clearing birthing fluids from its mouth and nose while it squirms.

“Good boy, good boy,” I murmur.

“Don’t call me that,” he says, teeth bared.

“I’m talking to your pup,” I say, and set the pup down in the leaves beside us. It’s a girl pup, but he can’t tell from his angle. I rub his hip encouragingly. “Do you need to push again?”

“I don’t know,” he moans. “I can’t—I can’t tell.” Then his belly ripples. He throws back his head and unleashes an agonized howl.

“Push, baby,” I say.

He sits back on his haunches, gripping his belly with both paws, howling desperately. I can see his pussy bulging out with the second pup. It’s not crowning yet, but the bulge is already huge.

“Do you need help?” I ask, rising up on my elbows.

His eyes fly open and he slams me back into the ground.

“You fucker!” he spits. “You think I can’t do this on my own?” And then his eyes roll back and he pushes, hard. I don’t know if he’s purposefully trying to prove himself or if he just can’t resist the inevitable urge.

His pussy keeps bulging, then finally I can see the top of a teardrop shape opening up.

“You’re crowning, baby,” I say. “Keep going.”

A long, sustained whine spools from between his gritted teeth, eventually morphing into a weak howl. I feel fluids on my belly and look down.

“The head is out.” I touch his arm. “One more big push for me.”

He lowers his head onto my bloody shoulder and wraps both hairy arms around my neck, tangling his paws in the leaves in the process. He lowers his pelvis and pushes. The big pup hits my belly and the fluids it was holding back sluice over it and me. It’s heavy.

“Is it out?” he whispers, so faintly I can barely hear him even though his mouth is a hairsbreadth from my ear.

“It’s out, baby. That was a big pup.” I pick up the pup by blind feel alone. It lets out a whimper, so I know it’s breathing. I set it on the leaves around where I think I placed the first pup, but I can’t quite see with my alpha’s arms enveloping my face.

“Oh gods,” he moans. “I need to push again.” He bites into my sore shoulder, but it’s a lighter touch this time. He lets out a muffled scream as he pushes and whelps the third pup into my waiting paws.

“That was easy,” I say, hoping he can hear the grin in my voice.

He probably can, but he growls at the joke. I carefully reach up and touch his gaping pussy. He twitches but doesn’t pull away. I use my other paw to feel his belly.

“You’re still pretty big,” I say. “I think you have over half the litter left.”

He slumps against me, still elevated slightly on his knees so he doesn’t crush the pups waiting in his womb. His breath washes over my ear in short pants.

“I can’t,” he whispers. “I can’t do it.” But his belly hardens under my paw and I feel his pussy begin to bulge into my other paw.

“Good boy,” I whisper. “Just like that.”

He doesn’t admonish me for using the pet name.

He spends several minutes weakly pushing on the fourth pup, but he’s making progress. His pussy buds further and further into my paw until finally blooming into a crown.

“You’re crowning,” I say, and he clasps my neck tighter. I feel him take a deep breath, hold it, and give a big push. I catch the pup as he births it out. I barely have time to set the pup to the side when he whelps again onto my belly. He moans piteously and suddenly whelps the sixth on top of it.

“Are they out?” he asks. “Are they all out?” He lifts his head, finally, to look at the litter laid out beside us.

“Not yet, baby,” I say. “The last two were so small—feel your belly.”

He reaches down to touch his belly, much smaller but still gravid.

I pet his cheek. “You’re still pregnant.”

He bares his teeth at me, but it’s half-hearted. He sits back on his haunches again and I reach up to hold his belly for him. He sighs as the pressure eases and raises his face to the trees above.

“Sunset,” he says. “When did we get here?”

“This afternoon.”

“When did I go into labor?”

“Yesterday morning.”

“Fuck,” he says. “This gets fucking harder every time. And the litters are bigger than they used to be.”

“The first three litters were four each,” I say. “I almost started to think we’d always have four.”

He chuckles, then stiffens and closes his eyes. I can feel his muscles strain, and my eyes drift to his pussy. He’s bulging. Neither of us make a sound as his pussy begins to open to crown the seventh pup. He strains, strains, and then releases and opens his eyes as he whelps onto my belly. I pull the pup against my chest and clear its face before setting it aside. By the time I’m done he’s crowning again, and the head comes out. But then he stops.

“Help me,” he whimpers.

My heart squeezes. He’s never let me help him. “You want me to pull it out?”

He doesn’t look down at me or even open his eyes. He’s just trembling. “Yes.”

I place my paws on either side of the pup’s head and begin gently moving it side to side, pulling with a firm pressure as I do. He begins to moan, but he doesn’t tell me to stop, so I don’t. He tips back his head and howls, long and slow, barely helping me by pushing as I pull. He’s exhausted. The pup finally falls out of him and he collapses on his side in the leaves next to me, opposite the side with the newborn pups.

“Oh my gods,” he whines. “It just hurts. It hurts so bad.” He wraps an arm around his belly. “I still feel another pup moving inside me,” he says. He raises his leg weakly before it falls back down. “Help me…”

I sit up and prop his leg against my shoulder. “Push, baby,” I say. “It’s almost over. We never have to do this again.” But there’s a pang inside me at my own suggestion.

He glares up at me. “I didn’t say that.”

He had, but a grin spread across my face. “Okay, baby. Whatever you say.”

“You’ll do it tonight,” he growls, his eyes boring into me. “I’m pushing this last pup out and then you’re pushing your knot into me.”

I flash my teeth at him in a cheeky grin. “Whatever you say, baby.”

He tucks in his chin and presses his foot into my shoulder and pushes. He paused as the contraction ends, panting, then as the next contraction crests he pushes again. He bulges on the third contraction, crowns on the fourth, and whelps on the fifth. Nine pups.

“You almost beat our record for biggest litter,” I say.

“Shut the fuck up and breed me,” he says, panting and sweating in the leaves.

So I do, as the sunset fades and the purple cloak of night envelopes us. I breed him hard, feeling his birth canal contracting around my cock while his body makes sure he’s finished whelping. He cums, and in a few more strokes I cum and push against him as my knot swells to almost fill him. My knot always feels small right after he gives birth.

If all goes well, we’ll be back out here in six months while he pins me down and whelps on top of me, swearing that he’ll never let me do it to him again.

But he will let me. Some things are inevitable.

[universxall]

not her saying she was 😭

[transboifantasys]

He does in the devil memnoch and its been on my fantasy list since

[ophioemmi]

Pondering on a species of plant humanoid that, in response to elevated stress, rapidly gestates large seeds in the hopes that their young keeps on the lineage. This would have been useful back in the age of living in the wilderness, but in modern civilization it promotes quite a few challenges.

Luckily, the seed isn't fertile unless you've already had an encounter with a pollen producing individual, though the urge to plant and protect your seeds once they're birthed can be quite derailing.

Individuals of these species have an especially hard time in college, when the safety and routine of home is interchanged with a new life, new stressors, and a whole new environment to navigate through.

Early on, stress pregnancies would be kept more on the down low, as new students grow round in the comfort of their new dorms, with few friends and obligations to coax them out as their bellies betray how much the change has impacted them. Anyone with a basic knowledge on the species and culture, however, knows what that cute new freshman is going through.

Typically, it's exams that cause a spike in pregnancies. It's not uncommon to see the floral students walking around or sunbathing with bare, rounded midsections during midterms or finals. Rarely, you'll watch one begin to groan, clutching their belly during a test as their seeds begin to make an entrance into the world. Rarely, the extra stress of having to gestate and birth causes a chain pregnancy to begin, as their womb responds to the adrenaline of an unplanned birth and produces seed after seed long after exams have ended.

[fawnpalmer]

quarterly reminder that if i reblog something ai-generated it is 110% and always an accident and for the love of god please tell me so i can delete it from my blog

[fatfemmebear]

(they/he)

(audio only)

Pregnant transmasc struggles not to push while driving home

[fan-forever-deactivated20250724]

Visit Original Link

@professordiaz90 bred me well. <3

[screamingandwhelping]

Deertaurs are pregnant for seven months. Draft centaurs are pregnant for a year.

I was only supposed to be pregnant for seven months. It’s been 11 months and 23 days, and I’ve been screaming through labor for two of those days. I’ve been pushing for five hours, trying to foal my fawn-foal twins. They’re each over half my weight.

It hurts.

“The front hooves are staying outside of you now,” my partner says, his hands on my haunches. “They’re cloven, you know. Just like yours.” I feel him pat me. “But they have my white socks.”

“And your hoof size,” I gasp.

“Well…yes.”

I know he feels guilty. He’s the one who knocked me up and put me in this much pain. But I’m the one who didn’t want to abort, even at the fifth month when we could plainly see on the ultrasounds that they weren’t even halfway ready. Seven previous pregnancies, six by another deertaur, one by a satyr, easy pregnancies, easy deliveries. I was bored. This birth was my chance to feel an unimaginable stretch, even though I knew it would also come with unimaginable pain.

“Can—can you get to the ankles yet?” I stammer. My legs are quaking, but this standing position has been the only one that helped move this first foal.

“Yes, I think so.”

I feel his hands in my pussy, trying to get a grip around our foal’s legs. I moan at the sensation—pain, stimulation—and I take a step back into his hands chasing the feeling.

My partner growls, “I’m busy. You can’t possibly want that now.”

“It might help,” I protest. “It helped me foal in the past. I came most of them out.”

“Later,” he says. “When you’re crowning.” His hands still and I feel an experimental tug. “I’ve got it. Tell me when you have a contraction.”

I take a deep, steadying breath and look back over my shoulder at my partner. He’s bent low at his waist just to reach my pussy. We lock eyes and he nods.

I turn and grip the knotted sheet we have thrown over one of the rafters in the living room, bracing myself. A few moments more and a contraction begins to mount, bringing with it a desperate instinct. My triangular white tail raises high and I bear down.

“I’m pushing!” I cry.

My partner digs in his hooves and pulls.

Agony sears throw my belly and hips. I throw back my head, and a sound comes from my throat that I never knew I was capable of. A bleating scream, filled with panic and pain.

My partner lets up immediately. “Oh my god—baby?”

“It hurts so bad!” I shriek. Even though he’s let up the tension, I still feel a stretch like I’ve never felt before—the stretch I’d always wanted. “Oh god! Oh god! It’s working! I’m crowning!”

“No baby,” he says, his voice high with stress. “It’s still the legs. I can’t see the head.”

“No!” I wail, and my legs buckle. My partner drops the foal’s feet and they slam into my backside, pulling me towards the ground. My partner barely catches me. His arms wrap around my torso and pull me into his abdomen—about as high as my head reaches on him.

The legs dangle out of me as I grip my partner’s midsection, breathing heavily. I hear a noise, feel a vibration in my feet as the foal’s legs sway behind me.

“Oh god—oh god! Are the hooves touching the floor?” I try to twist around to look, but it’s an impossible view behind my oversized belly barreling out around me.

“Yes,” my husband says, barely above a whisper.

“And the head isn’t showing?!”

“Barely,” he says. “I saw hair.”

I bury my face in my partner’s belly and allow myself one little sob. Then I pull away and grab onto the hanging sheet with renewed determination.

“If the legs are mostly out,” I say. “Then it’s working.” I look up at him with what I hope is a fiery spark in my eye. “Go back there and pull, and don’t stop until my contraction lets up. No matter how much I’m screaming.”

“Baby…” he says.

“It has to come out,” I say. “They both have to come out. There’s no ending this until they’re out.”

He still hesitated.

“Go!” I say, and point urgently.

He trots around behind me again, and I feel the legs change position as he picks them back up.

“I’m ready. Tell me when.”

I wait for the next one, breathing evenly. A little tingle of fear crawls up the back of my spine, anticipating the return of the most intense birthing pain I’ve ever experienced. I’m wet. I’m wet with birthing fluids and somehow, in spite of it all, wet with arousal. A contraction begins to seep through my body. I raise my tail.

“Now—now!” I shout, and lean heavily on the birthing sheet, and push.

He pulls.

I hope I can feel movement, but I don’t know. My brain is graying out with pain and pressure.

“Oh god—oh god! AaaaaAAUGHHHHH. I’M BURNING! Oh god! Oh god! I’m crowninggggg.”

He stops abruptly.

“No!” I scream. “I’m still contracting!”

“I have to,” he says. “You’re about to reach the widest point. You have to stretch!”

I push fruitlessly—there’s nothing I can do without his help. “No…no…” I moan. I roll my hips. “Please, I need you. I can cum out the head on the next contraction. Please! You promised!”

He snorts. “I can’t believe it—you’re hard. This head is as big as yours and you’re hard.”

I look over my shoulder. “Please…”

He shifts the foal’s legs to one hand and reaches for me. I shiver as his thumbnail zings down the length of my tdick.

“Yes,” I moan.

He circles the base of my tdick with his thumb and I press back into it, with the rest of my pussy stretched taut in a crown. I wonder if he’s right. I wonder if my foal’s head is as big as mine. But the thought fades into a haze of pleasure and pain as he works on me. I tug hard on the hanging sheet as my tail twitches and I get closer to orgasm.

A contraction pulls at me and I cry out and push.

“It’s happening!” I say. “Don’t stop—I’m pushing! Don’t stop! I’m gonna crown!”

I can’t see and can barely imagine how he manages, but he begins pulling on the legs with one hand while his other hand strokes me.

“Push, baby. Push!”

“It hurts!”

“I know, but push!”

I tuck in my chin and haul on the sheet and push. Blood rushes in my ears and I know I’m fading, the only thing keeping me grounded is my partner’s touch, inching me closer to—

I scream and cum.

The pressure in my pussy vanishes—or, at least it suddenly lessens. My hips buck as I ride my orgasm, and my partner keeps stroking me through the shocks until they fade and I’m left shaking and twitching.

“The head is out,” my partner says.

“I crowned,” I whimper. “I crowned.”

“There’s a lot of hair,” he says, and I can hear his smile. I laugh breathlessly.

“How big is the head?” I ask.

He pats my haunches. “Big.”

“Come here,” I say, and I can feel myself swaying.

He comes around and I let go of the sheet and wrap my arms as far around his middle as they’ll go.

“Let me push out the rest on my own,” I say. “The worst is over. Just hold me—let me foal in your arms.”

He holds me tight.

I push on the next contraction. Not much happens, but the first set of shoulders doesn’t feel stuck—just big. I push through the next several contractions. A few times I whimper softy, “It hurts.” He rubs my back each time, gazing over me at my upright tail while I push on his foal.

Finally I sense a shift. “The first shoulders are coming,” I gasp, and push. One shoulder pops out and I moan. “Almost!” I push again and the second shoulder jerks out of me.

“I see it,” my partner says. “Push and get the upper body out.”

I push and feel the torso slide steadily out of me until it stops at the second shoulders.

“Good,” he says. “It’s half out.”

“I’m half done with the first twin,” I say, a perhaps sardonic tone in my voice. I feel his arms tighten around me.

“Yes,” he says.

Ah, there’s his guilt again. He’d better get over it before the end of my next pregnancy by him. I could never go back to normal-sized deertaur fawns after this.

“Pushing,” I groan. The second shoulders, the foal-fawn hybrid shoulders, begin to stretch me out again. “Ow…” I shift my hooves. “I need to lay down. I’m so tired.”

He helps me lay my massive deer belly down on my side and kneels beside me, supporting my torso upright in his arms. At this angle I can finally see the fawn coming out of me. Hair, so much hair on that head. Cloven hooves, his white socks on the front legs. It stirs slightly in the puddle of birth fluids that have accumulated on the floor. Good—it will be strong. But it’s so big. As I take in the size of my fawn, my foal, I can barely believe that I squeezed any of it out of my body—but it’s still half in me. That’s my proof. Proof that I’m really giving birth to this massive taur.

“It’s coming out of me,” I say. I think I’m a little stunned.

My partner takes my hands and squeezes them. “Push when you’re ready.”

I nod and lean my head back against his chest. “I need to push,” I say after a moment. “I need to push—I’m pushing!”

As much as I want to squeeze my eyes shut against the pain, I also want to see this. I push. I strain against this fawn, grunting and moaning at the back of my throat. My grip on my partner’s hands must be painful, but he bears it. I definitely have it worse right now.

The second set of shoulders erupts out of me, and I yelp with the release of pressure. Fluids gush around the lower body, but it’s still partially in me.

“Do you want me to pull it out?” my partner asks.

“No,” I moan. “I can do it. Let me foal like this.” I squeeze his hands and push.

The rest of the body spills out of me, and with an instinctual kick of its back legs that makes me groan, I fully foal onto the floor of our living room.

I sag in my partner’s arms. “Oh my god,” I pant. “I did it. I foaled. It’s out! Oh my god, it came out of me, I got it out!”

My partner kisses me with a fierce tenderness.

“You pushed out my foal,” he says, his voice ragged. “I’ve been so scared you wouldn’t get it out.”

“Get the fawn,” I say. He gathers pillows and cushions from the couch in a single hand and props me up, and retrieves the foal in his big arms. Honestly, it doesn’t look so big when he’s holding it.

“I see the next set of hooves,” he says while he’s around by my tail. “They’re cloven too. Push, baby.”

“I’m so tired,” I say, my upper body quaking against the pile of pillows.

“I know, baby,” he says. “I didn’t mean to put two in you. It’s almost over, you just have to get this one out.”

I push half-heartedly, but I’m surprised when I feel the hooves begin to emerge. “It’s coming already,” I gasp.

“You’re very stretched out,” my partner admits.

I push harder and see the tips of the cloven hooves between my legs. “Oh! It’s coming!” I reach for my partner. “Hold me! Hold me! I need to foal again!”

He shuffles back up to me, juggling our newborn fawn in one arm while he wraps the other around my shoulders and holds my hand. I grip his wrist with my other hand and squeeze hard.

“It’s coming—it’s! It’s..! Oh god!” I give in to the overwhelming urge to push, and my second foal’s legs slide out of me. And out of me. And continue stretching out between my legs, growing thicker as the head and shoulders approach. “Ohhhh it hurts. It hurts! Hold me! Oh god!”

I bear down, my half-empty belly tight and hard. My pussy begins to bulge, and open, and I see hair. I didn’t get to see myself crown the first time.

“It’s huge!” I scream. “Oh god—I have to crown! I…I…I’m crowning! Hold me! I’m crowningggggg.”

My pussy opens and stretches tight over the head, growing wider and wider as I push. The ring of fire burns through me as I watch.

“Push!” my partner says. “Push hard!”

“Oh god! It’s coming out! Aaaughhhhhhh—“ The head reaches its full crown, stretching me obscenely. I hold the pressure, moaning through the agony. Almost, almost…

The head pops free and I scream at the release.

“Oh! Ohhhh that hurt so bad!” I cry, my back legs shaking. I’m glad I’m already lying down. The head between my legs is equally as big as the first foal.

“Can you get the first shoulders? Or do you want me to pull?”

“I can do it,” I whimper. “Don’t help me.” The next contraction washes over me and I push, eyes fixed on my oncoming foal. I stretch around the shoulders, and it’s painful, but the head was worse. One shoulder. Two shoulders. I fall back against my partner, panting. I pant through the next contraction and am rewarded when the foal begins inching forward on its own. So I pant. My partner holds me tight and I pant his foal’s upper torso out slowly over the next twenty minutes. I pant a little longer, but I know what I have to do.

“I need to push.”

“Second shoulders?”

I nod wordlessly and shift slightly, trying to get comfortable. But that’s impossible with a foal half-born out of my body. I finally collapse back against my partner’s chest and just push.

“Oh…ohhhh,” I moan. “This is it. I’m about to foal. It’s coming, it’s coming! Oh my god, it hurts so bad! OhhhhhHHHHHHHHH!”

The second shoulders lurch out of me, and with a rush of fluids the rest of my fawn is born on the floor where its twin just came out.

“Yes!” I shriek. “Oh, fuck! I did it! Oh my god—they’re out!”

My partner cleans the foals and helps me into the shower, where I labor on the placenta. It’s painful—I’m raw, and the placenta is nearly the size of any given fawn from my previous pregnancies. My partner holds my hand tight during my final moments of pushing and screaming until I give birth to it.

As my contractions fade away, I begin to scheme about how soon I can get my partner to breed me again. I want to be pushing out a new foal when these two are barely yearlings.

Foaling is now my annual tradition.

[lightsoutbabw]

Happy Halloween :)

Perpetually pregnant vampire who thought their pregnancy paused with their turning suddenly giving birth during a hunt, or in their coffin, or with a hunter pushing a stake toward their throat.

Werewolf struggling between its instincts and their human sentience to be able to give birth to their transformed litter. Transforming back halfway through with a werepup between their legs.

A Frankenstein’s monster with three or more grafted wombs, their belly layered upon themself as they have several stages of pregnancy in each womb. Crowning with two or more heads at once.

Headless horseman trying to find a place to rest as the first of his pumpkin’s pressing deep threatening to crown between his legs. Leaning back on his horse trying to relieve the pressure and his bulging slit pushing open a little wider.

A ghost in a hotel who can invade people’s wombs. Putting a poor guest through a never ending labor as they push at nothing in a strange bed amidst a storm.

Bat cryptid that didn’t know they were in labor until they turned upright and the babies sunk immediately to their hips. Being unable to fly back up with their center of gravity off and the overwhelming urge to push.

Skeleton pushing a crystal ball through their hip bones to get off too. Imagining the creak of their bones and the orb that would never be able to fit through.

Witch making a spell to stop her labor but already crowning. The spell stops it all but leaves the baby where it is, causing her to either push it in or push it out with her own brute force and no contractions.

[shhhsecretsideblog]

"And in other news, it looks like it might be a white Christmas after all this year, Kay has more with the weather," "Back live in 45 seconds!" a voice chimes in the background. I throw my fake notes to the side and reach out under the desk to grab your knee. "How are you doing? Are you ok?!" I whisper. "hoooo, y..yeah.. yeah.. no," you reply with sweat visibly beading up across your brow, gritted teeth and a cast iron grip on your cue cards. "ughhhh, the pressure.. oh my god. It's building fast.." "Oh my god, I can't believe you talked me into this. We have three more segments live at the desk and then we're cutting live to the PM to finish the show. We have to call this off, our baby can't arrive on Live TV.." "nhuuuuuuurghhhhh, n—NO! Not yet, close out the show, then we go to the hospital.. it's not far..." "Oh my god, this is crazy, we're back in.. 20 seconds! Right, fine. It's too late now anyway, lets get through these 8 minutes and then DASH across the road."

"Yeah, easy hoooo, nothing too it, just 8 more minutes to hold....Oooooon! Ughhhhhh NO NO NOPE. IMPOSSIBLE. I Can't. I can't do it, this baby is coming right NOW!" "EIGHT!" "SEVEN!" "SIX!" "No no no. Too late, we're going live right now," I whisper, watching your panicked grimace strain into a a professional newsreader smile. "we're committed now, stay calm, stay professional, and do.not.push!" The floor manager holds up four fingers next to the camera. Then three, then two, then one.

“W-Welcome back. T-thanks K-Kay for the weather report.” I stuttered. The contraction still held me in its vice, my bump now a solid rock beneath the table. It took all my willpower to keep my breathing steady and words even, my smiling expression forced for the camera. I gripped the table, knuckles white as the wave peaked and I couldn’t help but part my knees a little more under the desk.

The next segment was a lifestyle one, some new kitchen aid gadget had been released and one of our regular tv personality’s had brought it in for a demonstration. Mercifully it wasn’t scripted and you took the lead in asking all the questions. It was a good thing too because the contractions were now almost on top of one another.

As the guest was running through a full demonstration to both us and the camera I felt another surge of pressure. My legs shot apart beneath the desk, my knee colliding with yours and you gave me a look. Don’t push your eyes screamed.

I leant forward on my stupidly high bar stool where we were hosting, resting on elbow on the desk while my other hand clutched my contracting womb. My face ached from the forced feigned smile of interest at the fancy new appliance. I wasn’t listening, I couldn’t. I was panting under my breath hoping to god it wasn’t being picked up on my the microphones.

Four minutes… five minutes… this segment felt like it was lasting an eternity. The pressure was relentless; no break, no gaps between, just a steady urgency gathering speed with every squeeze of my muscles.

The producer whispered in my ear “Are you okay?” Having noticed my silence all segment. I gave the smallest of nods, but I was far from alright.

The thought of pushing had rapidly transformed from a desire to a primal need. It was unwavering and absolute. You were speaking with the guest presenter when I gave that first testing push - only a small one, no real strength behind it, but I couldn’t NOT push anymore. The boulder of our baby’s head was so low, grinding and pressing against my cervix, my muscles clenched automatically around it and I beared down steadily.

God it felt good to push. Holding back had become excruciating and the relief of actually bearing down was almost euphoric.

With the next two contractions I was pushing. Legs wide under the table, fingers clawing at the edge of the desk, I pushed hard towards the cushion of my seat. You didn’t notice at first. I was beside you, sweating but still smiling professionally in front of the camera. No one knowing that with my clenched teeth I was actively pushing. But when the segment was over and we had to return to the autocue script, that was when you noticed.

“N-Next up… ughhhh… we have an—oh god— exclusive interview w-with one of the w-winners at last night’s L-Logie Awards—nnnghhh…”

My words were obviously strained, my breathing heavy as I tried to stop my body pushing but by the end of the sentence I was bearing down automatically. I gripped your hand, squeezing tight, a silent plea for you not to announce what was happening while we were live on air.

Producers were shouting in my earpiece, camera operators were peering around the lenses with questioning and concerned looks. Another grunting push happened before I could stop it and I didn’t hear you announce the unplanned commercial break.

“We’re taking you to hospital babe, now.” You said standing from the stool and wrapping an arm around me.

“N-No… I’m f-fine… I can h-hold it…” I tried to say but the guttural pushing sound coming from deep in my chest begged to differ.

“For fucks sake. Darling you’re pushing, we need to get you out of here now.”

You guided me off of the chair and the second my high heels met the floor the change in gravity shifted inside my womb and the dam suddenly broke. Fluid pooled on the hardwood floor with a splash and I gasped at the sudden release of pressure.

“M-my waters…”

“Yes… baby is coming. Now let’s go.”

But the release of amniotic fluid allowed the baby to drop further and I bent over gripping the tall desk. “Ohhhhh god… it’s coming… I can’t m-move… I need… I need to push….” I cried out.

My stance widened as far as my pencil skirt allowed and leaning against the table I gave an almighty guttural push. Immediately I felt the head breach my cervix and slide low into the birth canal, pressing dangerously close to the outside world.

“Shit…. I think I can feel the head?…”

[transboifantasys]

Im not replacing anyone.

Can't sleep does anyone wanna rp?

I was thinking of something around human x werewolf boyfriend

I want to play the carrier

I rp with characters. I do set up in 3rd person then switch to 1st/2nd person.

DM to discuss further details

[crowningqueenie]

Love a good view😌

Big girl

[pushbellypush]

Does anyone have the original / higher resolution version of this video?

[birthing-videos]

I wanna birth while someone plays with my nipples too

[screamingandwhelping]

You should write about a centaur birth, I think that would be interesting especially with how you describe things, feeling the hooves and panicking on where the head is, only to realize it’s hands and you’ve still got basically a whole horse to go… I’d be very interested to see/read that!

I need to foal so bad. I’ve been in labor for days, slowly opening my cervix to accommodate a set of hooves wrapped around a huge baby’s head and shoulders, and then a second set of shoulders leading to the foal’s lower body.

The front hooves have been dangling out of my hole all day but there’s no urge to push so I know I’m not ready yet. It just hurts. Every contraction pulls my belly tight around a womb big enough to carry human quints, but it’s only one centaur foal. I can’t see the front hooves around my belly, but from touching them I know they’re huge. Foaling is going to be agony.

I’ve been pacing my favorite hiking trail all day with my stud. Naked. It’s remote and heavily forested—it’s only us.

Another contraction rips through me. “Ohhh,” I moan. “We should not have done this.”

“You begged for this,” my stud says, again.

I did beg for this. Twelve months ago I watched one of his centaur stallions give birth to my stud’s foal, and I lined up next to be bred. We weren’t even sure it would work. A human and a centaur? But it did. As my belly swelled I helped deliver foals for my stud from his other gravid stallions. I just helped a stallion foal last night, him screaming and braying with his contractions, me gasping and doubling over with mine. But he gave birth successfully at dawn and I didn’t. I’m not even pushing.

“I want it out.”

“You’ll get it out,” he says. “But it will hurt.”

That’s what I want.

It’s all I’ve thought about for a year. Begging to be bred over and over, then once I was pregnant, begging to be fucked every day until I couldn’t think. It’s much too late for second thoughts, but I am having them, and I’m also having a centaur foal.

I double over again and clutch my stud’s hairy arm. It hurts so bad that I can’t even make a sound. A tremendous pressure builds inside me but I’m locked in place. I don’t know what to do.

“I need to push,” I finally gasp. “I need to push really, really bad.”

My stud lays a hand on my shoulder and gives me a little shake. “Then do it! Push, boy!”

I dig my fingers into his arm and push. It’s indescribable. The foal’s bony front legs are being pressed into the sides of my sensitive birth canal by a head bigger than a bowling ball. Oh god. It will never get through my pelvis. My body forces me to push again before I can panic. I think the hooves are inching further out—I can’t tell. But it hurts. Oh god, it hurts. Every cell in my body below the chest is ripping apart in agony as I strain.

“No,” I wheeze, under my breath. “No, no, no, no—“

My stud lies belly-down beside me and leans me against his broad back. I drop my hands into his coat, and I’m at just the right height to half-sit there in a partial squat.

“Good boy,” my stud tells me. His upper body is turned at an angle so he can hold onto my shoulder. “Foal for me, just like that.”

“It hurts,” I whimper. “It hurts so bad. Oh—oh! Ohhhhh!” And I push. In this half-squat the head finally begins to make progress and I feel it squeezing through me. The front legs emerge a little further, and one of them gives a little kick. I give a half-scream, half-laugh.

“What was that?”

“You’re birthing a strong foal,” my stud says proudly. “I’m glad I bred you. You were built for this.”

I take a deep breath, tuck my chin to my chest, and push. The head begins to peek at my opening, I can feel the stretch continuing the job where the massive hooves left off. It starts to burn, hot and growing hotter.

“Ow ow ow owww, it huuurtsss!” I screech.

My stud squeezes my shoulder. “Good boy, you’re starting to crown.”

“It hurts! I don’t want this anymore! Oh my god, oh my god, make it stop!”

My stud shakes me roughly by the shoulder and bends me painfully over my belly. “Push, boy!”

I cry, and push. And I keep pushing. After every contraction my stud lets me sit up to take a breath, but when the contraction returns he bends me over again to put pressure on my womb. I don’t know if it’s helping. I don’t know if anything is helping.

“It’s too much,” I wail. “I’m going to die! We should not have done this!”

“Be quiet, boy, and push,” my stud grunts. “You’re at the widest part of the crown.”

That snaps me back into focus. “I am?” I ask shakily. It’s almost over!

“Yes. Push.”

I slide off of my stud’s back and squat deeply on the forest floor, pushing hard. Nothing. I push again. Nothing.

“No, no,” I start saying again. “It’s stuck—it’s stuck!”

I break out into sobs, and my stud catches me before I can collapse. He stands up with me, my legs bowed out around the bulge of the head, my feet well above the ground.

“You’ll give birth with gravity,” he says. He pushes his muscled front against my back and pries open my legs until I’m sitting wide on nothing—the air. The crown of the head and front legs.

“The foal,” I sob. “Don’t let the foal fall!”

“You’re nowhere near pushing it out,” he says, almost exasperated.

In a haze, I remember some of his stallions have foaled standing up, and the hardy foals hit the ground in the birthing pen without injury. I start pushing again, praying gravity will ally with me.

It does. Moment by moment, I feel the head coming. I take a deep breath and heave hard, and finally crown out the head with a spurt of fluids.

“Yes!” I scream as it happens, and the pressure release instantly arouses me. “Oh my god,” I gasp. “I need to cum.”

“Good boy,” my stud says. “Push on the shoulders, you’ll cum soon.”

“The baby hasn’t turned,” I say. But my arousal begs me to push at his behest.

“It’s not a baby,” he says. “It’s a foal. You don’t have the space for it to turn with its second body still curled in your womb.”

I’m incredulous. “No…no! It’s gonna hurt so bad! That’s like—that’s like crowning again!”

“Do you want me to pull it out?”

I didn’t. I’d had to pull only one foal from its struggling stallion, but his screams were unforgettable. His centaur cunt had much more room to stretch and maneuver and even for him the pain I inflicted while helping him was excruciating. So I shook my head.

“Okay. Then be a good boy and push. Push on my foal.”

I shiver, half from arousal and half from the fear of pain. Then I put both hands on top of my belly and press down, and push.

It’s worse than crowning the head. But the harder I push, the closer I feel to cumming. I lean into that feeling and try to let the pain drop away. It doesn’t, it still hurts, but my orgasm is building.

“Oh…ohhhh,” I moan.

“Good boy,” my stud whispers in my ear. “You’re a good boy, pushing on such a big foal. I know it hurts but it’s almost over. The upper body is almost out.”

I focus on his voice, and the stretch. “It’s coming,” I whimper. “It’s coming…ohhhh…ohhhhh. OHH. OHHHHH—AH!”

One shoulder lurches out of me. I don’t cum. I need to cum so bad—I need to foal so bad. I bear down again and cry out as the other shoulder pops out.

“Ow! Oh fuck!” I say. “Fuck—fuck, it’s coming out! OHHHHH.” I push hard and the body slides out of me to the waist. “It’s almost out, it’s almost out!”

“Not yet,” my stud says. “You still have to foal the lower body. Crown the second shoulders now.”

Fuck. “Fuck!” I scream. “I can’t! I can’t do this anymore! I need to cum, I need it to come out!” A painful contraction takes hold of me and I push against my will. The shoulders, the horse shoulders, press hard against the inside of my lips. I’m going to split open. The pressure of my foal and my blocked orgasm is painful, I’m overstimulated and I need release.

“Make it stop! We shouldn’t have done this—oh god, oh god, I need to puuuuuush.”

My stud holds me tightly as I bear down on his foal, half out of me already. The second shoulders burn in the ring of fire, worse than the head, worse than the first shoulders. I can’t stop pushing. I can’t, I can’t—

The second shoulders pop out of me and I cum, and birth out our foal onto the forest floor. I spasm with aftershocks as I stare past my now-deflated belly at the massive centaur foal shifting in the leaves below me.

“It’s out! Oh my god—it’s out!”

My stud lays me down carefully and picks up the foal to clean it. I’ve seen him with his other foals, and maybe I’m biased, but I think he’s regarding my foal with even more pride than his others. I just lay there catching my breath until I can finally say,

“We should do that again.”

[screamingandwhelping]

I think you should elaborate on birthing those minotaur babies. Imagine how long and painful the crowning would be, especially with their big horns and long, wide snout. There's probably only two or three of them, but they're all so big and would take so long for you to push out. Your minotaur husband likes having you on display for him, loves watching you struggle with his babies. Maybe he refuses to intervene because minotaurs see a difficult labor as a test of strength, and he wants you to prove yourself a worthy carrier of his children.

The calving pen is always full of moans and screams. Men laboring, men pushing, men calving.

Every few months I’m one of them. I’m one of them right now.

A young man shrieks not far from me, obviously calving for the first time. He’s pushing too hard, too long, even after his contractions end—desperate to escape the stretch. He’s going to wear himself out before he calves even once, and his belly is huge—he’ll need to find the strength to calve again multiple times.

A fellow veteran grunts beside me, bearing down on his third calf of the evening. He’s sweating, but he has paced himself well. He only screams during crowning.

I push again, the first calf of this pregnancy stretching me painfully. My husband leans against the outside of the fence, staring intently at me. Not at my face, more at my heaving belly, with glances at my teardrop-shaped cunt. His leather trousers are tented with his erection and he breathes deeply through his bull’s nostrils.

The contraction fades and I moan as the calf slips back behind my lips. My husband’s left ear flicks dismissively, and a flash of anger burns me. As if it’s so easy for a human to calve for a minotaur!

A new contraction builds and I push. My lips part again. I groan—I’m already feeling the ring of fire and it’s only the beginning. I hold my breath and hold the pressure, letting myself stretch. The first one is always the worst. When the contraction leaves me, the calf’s head doesn’t retreat again. A small victory.

When I push again, agony blossoms between my legs. I lay my head back and scream, and push.

When I stop pushing, the stretch is so bad that I keep screaming. The young man near me screams louder, though, and I look and see that he’s at the widest part of the head of his firstborn. Push, baby, push, I think doggedly to myself—but I can’t say it out loud. To help him or even encourage him would make him lesser in the eyes of whichever bull here knocked him up.

I feel my belly contracting again and I push, but my eyes are on the emerging head of the young man’s calf. His cunt is stretched beyond its limits. Push, baby. Push hard. The first calf is always the worst. The others will come out easier after one calving. I know it hurts, baby, it’s a big calf. Push.

And he does push, and the head comes rocketing out of him. At the same moment I push hard and my calf’s head comes out, and I moan as I cum hard, bucking my hips and squirting. Fuck. He has collapsed on his side, panting and sobbing. But there’s no relief. I see the calf begin to turn until the broad shoulders are pressed up tight against the inside of his lips, and his body bears down against his will.

“No! No!” he screams. “No—ghnnnnNNNNRAAAAA.”

The primal sound come with the emergence of one shoulder. Push, baby. You’re almost there. I know it hurts, push.

“I’m calving!” he shrieks. “Oh god, I’m calving! It’s coming, it’s coming, oh god, oh god, OH GOOOODNGHHHHHHHH!”

The second shoulder lurches out of him and he calves his firstborn completely and cums, curling over his belly as he squirts and screams, his ruined hole pulsing. Good boy. My calf turns inside me and I bear down, working through the pressure on the first push, delivering a shoulder on the second push, and finally turning my gaze back to my husband as I bear down a third time. Our eyes lock as I push, and with a heady release of pressure I birth out his calf into the world.

He nods.

It’s all the approval he’s allowed to give me. It’s all the approval I need. It’s also the only approval I have time for, as the second calf rushes to take its place in my birth canal.

I keep my husband’s gaze and push, teeth gritted, panting harshly through my nose. He’s the one to break the staring contest—so that he can look at my cunt as his second calf begins to open me up.

The young man is moaning again, still lying on his side. He’s giving half-hearted pushes on his next calf.

The pressure and burn of my next crowning takes my attention. I give a long, hard push, grunting through the pain. I can feel myself building, so I reach around my huge belly to touch my tdick. I stroke myself between contractions, and as the new contraction builds I push again, and cum my entire second calf out of me with an animalistic sound. The third is right behind it, and I calve again in the orgasmic aftershocks.

Next to me, the young man is still crowning his second calf, whimpering with each push. He’s too tired.

I struggle to my feet, my cunt leaking birth fluids and cum, and I wobble to the fence nearest the young man. He looks up at me, his forehead gleaming with sweat and his eyes hollow. I nod to him and grip the fence, then drop into a low squat to push. My fourth calf emerges to a full crown while he watches.

I hear my husband snort behind me on the other side of the birthing pen. He knows what I’m doing, but I haven’t spoken to or touched the young man. In the public pen, newcomers learn by watching the birth techniques of more experienced men. I haven’t done anything wrong.

The young man pulls himself onto his hands and knees with a little sob, his eyes fixed on my bulging hole. He grips the fence with a shaking hand and rises up on unsteady legs. I stand up beside him, legs spread, and then squat in unison with him.

“Oh god,” he moans. “It hurts so bad…nghhhh—“

Our bulls aren’t close by, and the cries of other laboring men will drown out a quiet voice.

“Push, baby,” I finally whisper aloud. “Push for me.”

He tucks his chin down and obeys me, straining on his second ever calf. What did that feel like for me, that first calving season? The three huge calfs I squeezed out of me? It took me hours of pushing.

“Good boy,” I murmur soothingly. “The first calf is the worst. It’ll always be easier now.”

“It hurts,” he says, and his voice isn’t so quiet, but he’s been screaming this entire time so I know nobody will take any notice.

I groan as my body pushes for me. “Ah! Ah—“ I deliver the calf’s head, and the shoulders press up against the inside of my lips. “Nghh…take a deep breath and push, ten seconds. Don’t stop.”

He pulls in a breath and squats, his belly pulled taut. I squat beside him. Nine, eight, seven—I calve and cum, gentle this time. I roll my hips slowly to ride out my orgasm. The young man reaches his ten seconds and gasps for air.

“Fuck! Fuck!”

“Feel between your legs, baby,” I whisper. “That’s your calf. You’re at the widest part of the crown, you’re about to calve. Ten seconds, push.”

He squats and bears down, but he can only hold his breath for half the time before he opens his mouth in a scream. His calf inches out of him, and with a sudden release he fully crowns the head and the rest of the calf comes out all at once. His belly heaves and he cums, hips bucking wildly, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

“Fuck! Fuck!”

“Good boy,” I say while he screams, hiding a smile. Then I moan and drop down low to push. I’m not done yet.

Neither is he, and his body is pushing on its own while he basks in the haze of his orgasm. His twitching cunt is already bulging with the next calf.

I push out two more calfs before he’s calved his third, and my belly is still huge. So is his. Two more for each of us, probably.

But both of us realize at about the same moment that we’re on our final calfs, and they’re both huge.

“Oh god,” he cries. “It’s too big. I can’t do it!”

My calf is squeezing slowly through my cervix while I pant. It burns, still deep inside me, not even beginning to make an appearance at my entrance.

“Oh, honey,” I whisper. “It’s huge. They’re both huge.”

“Does it hurt?” he whimpers.

“Yes,” I say, inhaling sharply through my teeth. “Push with me.”

We squat side by side, gripping the fence like it’s our last tether to life. I think he gets to the point where the shoulders are making their way through his cervix inside him when he starts wailing.

“It hurts! Oh god! It huuuuuurts—“

The burn is rising inside me, and I can’t stay quiet any longer. I dip my head between my shoulders and groan, loud and long, sounding for all the world like a calving minotaur instead of a laboring man. Blood is rushing in my ears, and I can hear the young man’s screams as if from a great distance. I can’t help him or encourage him anymore. We’re both alone, straining to deliver enormous calfs for our bulls.

A ring of agony grows between my legs. It’s beginning to crown. I press into the pain, there’s no other way—the pressure mounts and I can’t remember ever delivering a calf this huge. My cunt keeps stretching around it, and every second I know I’m at the widest part of the head only to realize that the stretch is still mounting. I’m not breathing, I think. I may be screaming, or holding my breath, but I’m not breathing in. I’m only pushing into the crown.

Suddenly I’m past the widest point. Unlike my other calfs today, this one’s head doesn’t come fully out all at once. I just know the pressure is easing, and I keep pushing as the head slowly slides out. I reach between my legs and let out a startled cry. The head is bigger than any newborn calf, I could almost guess this was a three month old coming out of me.

Suddenly my husband is in front of me, on the other side of the fence. He’s crouched low, looking into my eyes. With the head of his calf dangling out of me, the long crowning over, I have the wherewithal to realize there’s a spark of concern in my husband’s brown eyes. At his side is a young bull, crouched too, and holding the young man’s hands through the fence. The young man isn’t screaming anymore, his face is just a twisted, silent mask of pain as he pushes.

“It’s big,” my husband whispers. “They’re both big.”

“We can do this,” I moan, my tongue thick, my voice barely coherent. “We can do this.”

My husband nods and doesn’t touch me, but he doesn’t get up from his crouch, either.

I carefully let go of the fence and shuffle behind the young man. His opening is bulging obscenely as he struggles to crown a calf at least as big as the one hanging out of me—maybe bigger. I moan as I settle into a kneeling position.

“Okay, baby,” I say, and rub the young man’s lower back. “Your bull put a big calf in you. Let’s get it out.”

I press two fingers at the base of his stretched opening and he lets out a strangled cry.

“I’m not gonna let you tear,” I say. My breath hiccups as a contraction ripples through me and I give an instinctive push. But I stop—the shoulders haven’t rotated yet. It won’t come out. I have to let this happen. “Oooof. Okay, baby, push where you feel my fingers. On my mark, take a deep breath, push for 10 seconds. Okay, deep breath—and go.”

The young man inhales and tenses his entire body. Everything he has is being used to crown his calf. Ten, nine, eight. His calf is moving, slowly. He’s stretching wider. Five, four, three, two—

He gasps for air. “It hurts! Get it out! Get it out of me!”

“You’re getting it out,” I say, rubbing his back with my free hand. “You’re doing it. Deep breath, push.”

He tamps down a scream and does what I say. While he’s pushing, I feel my calf begin to turn. The new stretch of the shoulders is burning at my opening, and my eyes water. Fuck…

“Get it out! I can’t do it!”

“Good boy,” I whisper, trying not to push. “Good boy,” I say louder. “You’re almost there. Deep breath and push!”

He sucks air into his lungs and bears down, but a deep low rumbles through his chest. I realize with sudden clarity that if he can get through this, he will be highly prized, even with my help and the tender touch of his young bull through the fence. He’s perfect for this.

“Push, baby,” I murmur, eyes fixed on the head of his calf. Its size is unbelievable as it slowly emerges. “Don’t stop, take another deep breath and push.”

He does it, every muscle in his body taut and glistening. The head is slowly crowning, crowning…

“Aughhhh!” he wails, and the head is out.

I gasp. Both our bulls gasp. I hear other gasps too, and glance around. Others are watching, even the veteran from earlier who was calving on my other side. He’s done, I realize—his afterbirth is on the ground at his feet—but he hasn’t left the pen. He’s staring along with the rest of us at the massive head the young man has just birthed out.

“Fuck! It’s out!” the young man says. He turns to look at his calf on the ground, but as he shifts he feels the head between his legs. “What?”

“That was just the head,” I say, shakily. The urge to push is strong but I’m focused on him right now.

“What?” he whimpers, and I see tears forming in his eyes. “No…no! I can’t push it out! It’s too big, the head nearly killed me! I can’t! I can’t!”

I look at my husband. “Hold him.”

My husband loops a strong arm under the young man’s armpit and gestures to the young bull to do the same. Together they pin him to the fence in a half-squat, facing me.

“No!” he screams. “No, it hurts! I can’t!”

His belly tightens with another contraction, and I place my hands carefully but firmly around his calf’s neck.

“Be a good boy,” I say. “Push hard.”

“No! No! Aughhhh—“ But he can’t stop the inevitable. He pushes, and I begin to pry and pull on his calf while he screams. And while I pull, my body does the inevitable too, and pushes.

The shoulders hurt so fucking bad. I realize I’m screaming, delivering and helping to deliver. We push and scream, and I pull.

I jerk back as the young man calves into my arms, and as I fall back with his calf, my body spasms and my calf drops out of me.

Our two bulls swarm into the birthing pen, no longer heeding any semblance of the rules. My husband props me up to get a look at me, and the young man’s bull pulls him into his arms and holds him while he delivers the afterbirth. I push out my afterbirth a few moments later.

As I catch my breath, I meet the young man’s gaze. His eyes are glassy and his mouth gapes open while he pants, but he’s conscious. I give him a nod. He swallows hard, and exhales sharply through his nose, and nods back.

[transboifantasys]

Not replacing anyone.

Im looking for a soft slice of life kind of roleplay.

Im fine with fantasy/sci fi elements

I play carrier.

Dm if invested and we can hash out details limits and all that

[transboifantasys]

Im not replacing anyone.

Does anyone wanna rp?

I do character based rp (orginal or fan is fine) I dont care about length. I do set up in 3rd person then/switch to a 1st/2nd person pov.

I play carrier or characters that have capacity for both.

Dm in interested and we can discuss limits, story ideas, character ideas etc.