Distended Dome’s

is giving birth in a library anything chat...

A poor sub going into labor with a baby much too large for their little frame in the back corner of a dead silent library, trying to muffle their noises as the baby comes barreling through their cervix and into their birth canal.

Maybe their dom left to go get food or just dropped them off, but whatever the case, they're on their own trying to give birth in the corner of a library until they come back for them.

Only for the librarian to pick up on the noise and be pissed someone is breaking the rules and being noisy in THEIR library! So they storm over there right as the baby is crowning in the poor subs pants, stretching their entrance out so much that their skin has gone pale and translucent, only for the librarian to grab the skull of it and begin shoving it back inside the sub.

The sub goes to scream but is quickly met with a hand to their mouth, "Shut up-" The librarian would hiss, "You're already being a nuisance."

As soon as the baby is back inside their battered canal, they're dragging the sub to their feet and into a back room, tugging off their pants and underwear and stuffing the birth fluid soaked underwear in the subs pants. "Now maybe you'll be a little quieter. Stop being such an inconvenience."

Maybe even the librarian ties the sub up so they can't move, then leaves them to give birth alone, unable to change position or do anything other than push and push until their dom gets there and rescues them.

(and if you'd like another suggestion; 🫃/🍼/2️⃣/🏠/ 💊+🖐️/any position, complication, and bonus you think fits!)

if its alright with you, I'll start signing my asks with an emoji :D

-🫃

LINK TO BUILD A BIRTH!! PLEASE SEND ME MORE!!!!!

What was ordered: Trans ftm + human twins, home birth, medication + forcing the baby back in Added bonuses: prolonged + overdue, macro

I'm so glad you enjoyed it!!! I had a lot of fun writing it :D I think Damien is gonna become a reoccuring character for my trans protag fics!

And you absolutely can start signing your asks with an emoji!! I'm totally cool with that! I am giggling at calling you mpreg anon tho LOL!!

This was absolutely not proofread and took me a while to write because life got insane and my family couldn't stay out of the hospital!! So I'm sorry this took so long and if anything is weird!

I also had an idea and ran with it.. I apologize if this is not anyones cup of tea but its mine <3

Word Count: 2.3k //

A contraction rippled through Damiens body, forcing a sharp cry out of him as he clutched his gravid stomach. He was home alone, of course he was, Grace having left an hour ago to go to the grocery store. It had been odd- she'd decided to go immediately when she saw he was starting to feel contractions, the throes of labor imminent.

Now, he was being forced to push out their incredibly large children- he was overdue by almost a month now, having been carrying them almost 45 weeks at that point. The babies were huge, and sat low and heavy in his stomach, making him shudder as he waddled around the house, trying to speed things along a little.

The second he felt the urge to push, he did. Grace wasn't there to instruct him, so he just followed his own instincts, baring down with all his strength despite the pain that flared through his cervix and abdomen. Birth fluids dripped down his thighs as he clung to the kitchen table, leaving a wet trail throughout their house as he slowly hobbled back to their bedroom.

"Holy fuck, you two are huge-" He groaned. The head felt like a damn bowling ball trying to force its way out of his cervix, stretching him to the very brink. "FUCK!"

Ohh I love this concept, I'm so curious where are we? Because that would certainly change things -

At a sleepover perhaps? Even as overdue as we are, both of us are in denial, it feels like our pregnancies will never end, we joke about how comfortable our babies must be. Besides the concept of birth seems far away from our minds, that happens to other pregnant people, We've seen plenty of videos, some people screaming and sobbing, the subconscious terror at the thought of submitting to our bodies like that. Well, that simply won't happen to us. Ignorance is bliss after all.

So we order in all of our favourite foods, pizza, tubs of ice cream, even the weird pregnancy cravings. Rent out a bunch of our favourite movies, a mix of cheesy rom coms and b-budget and upscale horror films. We do skincare, although it's less painting nails and facemasks. We take turns rubbing on the others' belly. It's easy at first to ignore how tense they get, the way the soft stretched skin suddenly turns rock hard. "Yeah, baby doesn't like watching someone get skinned alive either! Gore doesn't always make a great horror movie - Eugh! Godd that's just gross!".

You gasp, groaning, a frown makes it's way between your eyebrows. It's easy to play off contractions. You lift up your shirt and rub at your achy stomach with your hands.

"Oh it's not that bad.. Oh, where did her head go!? I'm not sure if I remember right, I'm changing the movie!", I exclaimed in protest, of course no one disagrees with me. It takes me a while, heavy as I am to get off the bed. Just one more excuse to get up and stand, or look for the remote I 'dropped', kneeling under the bed. It's been harder to sit lately, the pressure building inside of my body is crazy, the persistent ache in my hips, my back, and ultimately my cunt. Like everything is straining within me, singing from the same hymn sheet. Downwards.

Whether I like it or not, admit it or not. Something, or rather someone is about to come out of me.

I make it as far as the floor, one hand on the wooden dresser as I lean over to press the 'eject' button on the dvd player. "Oh God - oh fuck! - Oh noo!", I cry out, white knuckling the dresser, flinching in animal-like instinct as my water breaks almost comically. Soaking and dampening my jeans, turning them into a water logged blue colour.

"It's too soon!", I hiss out between gritted teeth. But the fact is, it's not too soon at all, it's right on time. The train pulled into the station, only a couple of weeks late. But it is here all the same. The weight of the head rams itself against my cervix, before I can even register what I'm saying, I yell out, "It's riight there! Oh God, I gotta - I don't want too!", my body instinctively pushes by itself, I've been holding out for too long, its unbearable to ignore now.

"Oh God, it's gonna come in my jeans! I don't want to birth into my jeans!",

Spurred into action, you waddle over, your belly as equally low and heavy as mine. Slowly but surely, after pleading with me to breathe, to pant, to stop fuckin' pushing, you manage to get my jeans off of me and quickly discard them onto the floor. We manage along for some time, even if my pushing feels fruitless, finally, you erupt into a cheer as a sliver of the head could be seen.

You're forced to swallow your own fears, "I can see the head! Slightly uh-", you pause, huffing and puffing. You had denied yourself for so long. Now, the reality of what you had ignored made your blood run cold. How long had you praised me, cheered me on, how many "I promise, just one more push!", had you said? Only to be faced with your friend's bulging cunt and a head that refused to come.

"I can see it!", your cheer turns into a low growl as you could no longer fight against your own body. Your baby wanted out. "I can feeel it! Fuck it's gonna, it's just so big!", you grunt, the pressure reliving momentarily as your water breaks over your clothes and onto the carpet.

Fuck, what are we going to do now?

I'll try to use my fingers to stretch your cunt a little further, perhaps enough for the head to at least start emerging so your desperate panting and pushing finally pays off while I frantically squeeze my thighs together, hoping my baby can wait (the labour is only progressing more slowly cause it's posterior) 😵‍💫

My eyes squeezed shut on reflex, but when they open, I get a clear view of how your thighs press together, the desperation etched in your face as you fight internally within yourself.

“That’s how we got into this mess! You have to stop fighting it, it will feel so much better if you just give in!”,

The advice sounds totally hypocritical coming from me but it seems to reach you as you steady yourself, reaching for my hand. “Just…push with me, okay?”.

Our contractions are overwelming, practically on top of each other. When one stops moaning, the other one starts. Your hand squeezes mine, hard, “Get out, get out, get outt”, you chant as you push.

I’m panting as the head finally inches closer, a teardrop shape forming around my cunt. I probe slowly with my hand, “Ah~ Ah Ahaa, it’s got hair! I think”, I inhale deeply, practically gulping it down. “Ooooh okay, we just gotta keep going, okay? Nearly there, baby’s nearly there”.

“Ohhh ohhh owww! Argh fuck!”.

Your pained cries distract me from my own ramblings, I watched as you uncertainly reach around and feel your own cunt. Your hand shaking, eyes wide as your whole body seemed to visably bear down with the pain. Your stomach rock hard. “I-I don’t think that’s the head!”.

Your boyfriend is a loser. What had once been cute in a 'geeky' way back in high school, became shockingly different as an adult. It was up to you to go to work and pay the bills. He remained home, gaming on his absurdly expensive computer, fuelled by energy drinks and cold leftover pizza, shouting insults down his headset microphone.

He barley washed his face with anything more than soap. He had to be nagged to shower regularly, pressured into remembering deodorant. Your mother always said he was a loser and she had been right.

The sex was good. Only because he was so pliant and submissive. Content for you to chase your own orgasm without much input for him. At times you were more of a live in caretaker than a real partner. You had tried having countless talks with him.

"I'm going to shape up this time, babe, I promise!" "I wouldn't be able to live without you, you're my world".

Of course he never changed. But he was so pliant, content to ghost around on the very edge of life, it didn't seem to bother him at all. One night, sexually frustrated and a little more fed up of the status quo, you came onto him. He didn't care that you hadn't gotten out his strap on (of course you were the one who put the harness on him too). He didn't care that you were staring directly at his cunt.

His eyes remained glued to the handheld console, he held upwards in front of his face. You weren't a monster. You used lube, even paid attention to his clit to ensure he was properly wet for you. Despite the soft sounds that left his mouth, he only complained. "Babe! You made me miss my shot!".

His concentration weirdly improved when you penetrated him. You were a gracious lover, ensuring he came first. "There's only three of left now - fuck, two. I'm gonna win, babe! I'm gonna win, I'm gonna-", his mantra ended as he came, high pitched wails as you slammed yourself balls deep into him. Pumping him full of come at the same time.

It went without saying he never tracked his periods either. Luckily, you were all over that. He didn't notice when he missed one but you certainly did. He noticed the sickness however, the way his favourite pizza and monster made him gag, the time his aim wavered as he felt a wave of dizziness. The bloating in his lower stomach was put down to the crap food he ate, he certainly didn't get enough fibre to ensure he was regular. It was easy enough to shrug off.

He took prenatal vitamins on the belief it was some sort of concentration pill from the gas store. Some kind of backwards, probably illegal, caffeine pill. With his carb laden diet making him feel sick, you took the opportunity to pump him full of fresh fruit and veggies. When his baggy shirts started to cling to his lower stomach as he moved, he put it off due to weight gain. His life style had a lot to answer for after all.

When you finally told him the truth, after he had rage quit one of his matches - "I swear to God - something just moved inside me! Fuck, is it my appendix?". You explained patiently that he was carrying a lil gamer buddy inside him, maybe a future gamer girl or boy (Neither of you knew, doctor's appointments were certainly out of the window). Just as you expected, he reacted as pliantly as he always had. Once again trusting you to take care of the situation.

Take care of him you did. As he grew bigger, you couldn't keep your hands off of him. Most days you sat on his gamer chair, letting him warm your cock as he gamed for hours. When he won, you'd let him come, there was nothing more that made the two of you come harder than knowing his beloved gamer mates could hear him - no doubt some were hard, some were wet at his crude sounds. He only expressed his concern as his due date came but you had taken care of that too. You had tracked his periods, ovulation, his gaming matches. His online E-game tournament was the only thing he cared about, the baby would come before then. He needn't to worry. But then his due date came and went. He lost sleep to how big and uncomfortable he was. Not even his chair, which had practically moulded itself around his body, was comfy.

His aiming was off, instead of one hand on his mouse, the one on WASD. His hands were wrapped around his contracting bump. They were only Braxton hicks, but they left him nervous and shamefully. Not due to the pain, or due to the fact he was trans. But due to the fact he could be throwing his reputation online down the drain if he lost.

The tournament came. Like all competitions, it was a marathon, not a sprint. You watched in admiration as he excelled through the first round. Only for it turn to concern as the second half started. He had already pushed himself too hard at the start and it was clear he found it hard to concentrate. He inhaled as he took a shot, exhaling as he blew some guy's head off. He winced and rubbed feverishly on his stomach during loaded screens. Wet patches appeared on his shirt as his chest leaked, heavy with milk.

But he persevered, making it into the third round. You knew better than to interrupt him, lest you blew his concentration but it seemed clear to you, that gaming or not, winning or not. Your child didn't care. He was audible groaning now, "Oh! Ohh Ohhh - Ow! Fuck!". Clearly he was far past caring if his mic was on. He heaved and huffed, clutching at his stomach, trying to rotate his hips. Sitting up slightly, leaning on his desk when he had time.

You had tried and failed to change him. Now, you were reaping the rewards of his stubborn personality as he fought hard against the demands of his labouring body. Determined to keep your child inside of him. He had never been more handsome.

He took turns shifting one leg over the other. His thighs tensing. Every so often, when he could afford it, he slipped one hand down his baggy jog bottoms and into his pants. Although you didn't have a clear view, you didn't have to imagine how his cunt must feel. You could hear the slick sounds he made as he probed himself with his fingers. "We have time, we have time, we have - Goddd, fuuck", he groaned, a contraction disrupting his mantra. He breathed in, he breathed out, his stomach tense even through his t shirt.

"I'm going to win, I'm gonna win, gonna win -". He consoled himself as he panted, he winced and curled forward as he battled another pain. But it was not his belly he reached for, but for his mouse and keyboard. He gave a high keening sound like a wounded animal as he shot his opponent down dead.

He had made it to the final round.

If the second and third rounds had been difficult to get through. The final round seemed almost impossible. His reaction time was far slower now. All he could do was pant in agony as the oncoming wave of pain blended into the next and into the next one. "Ah ha haaa", he took a deep breath in. This time you had to remind him to exhale.

"It's okay baby, just breathe. You can do this. You've been training for this for years! There's no way you can back down now", you soothed from your place on the bed, watching with enrapt eyes. But the child within him wasn't backing down.

He managed for about ten minutes in the final round before it almost overwhelmed him entirely. His foot bounced shakily on the floor, he was beyond merely nervous. He shifted and wiggled in his seat. His legs shook, he didn't know what to do with them. To brace them against his desk or to spread them? His breathing came in harsh ragged gasps. "I don't want to! I don't waant to! Fuckin' - gonna come ouuut of me! Have to push, I have too!"

No sooner had he announced it, he flinched animalistically as his waters broke. Fluid soaked through his clothed bottom half and onto the floor. If the urge before had been bad, now it was intolerable. "Ohh it's coming out! It's coming - can't stop, I can't".

You watched as he groaned, chin to his chest as he pushed. It was his pleading that finally reached through to your arousal ridden brain. "Baby, pleaase! Oh I can't, Oh God, I caan't do this!".

You moved quickly and got under his desk. Pulling off his grey jogging bottoms, leaving him only in his dark blue pants. You hesitated in taking them off as he panted harshly. He desperately spread his legs wider. "Need to take cover... need to-", he panted out as his in game character threw a grenade and quickly got behind a wall. You cupped his clothed crotch as he yelped, sick desire compelled you too before withdrawing your hand and removing them.

He was right. The baby wanted out. The baby's head made his cunt bulge outwards, but they were still safely lodged inside of him. He cried out as he gave into another experimental push. "I'm gonna looose!"

It took you a moment to find your voice as you took in the erotica sight before you. Here, he was at his most vulnerable. He could do nothing but let his cunt bulge and spread outwards - all because of you. "I'm gonna take care of it! Don't I always? Just breathe. It is coming out, just let it happen. Mommy will take care of you. Just focus on winning".

Slowly he devolved into animal esq grunts, growling as he pushed. His thighs shook, his toes curled. He strained to keep his eyes open, to keep his focus onto the game. Slowly, inch by inch, the baby spread his lips apart. He was almost at a full crown when he yelped and tried to pull away from your hands as you applied steady pressure onto his pussy. Not just to protect him from tearing, you had a selfish, more personal reason. You were enjoying it far too much.

"No baby, just pant. Just keep panting for me, don't push"

"Ohh but it's right there! I can feel it! It's gotta come ouut".

"How many people are left?", you asked interupting his paied cries. It took a while for him to be able to reply to you. "T-Twenty - just please let me Mommy", he trailed off as he pushed again but the head remained firmly in place.

"I'm not letting that baby out, until you win. You can do this! You've trained so hard, so long, don't let it be in vain!"

You had cared for him up all for this moment to happen. All those years of working two jobs, paying for his gaming subscriptions. No way were you going to see him lose now. Besides, what was the harm in letting him struggle on a little longer?

He was grim-faced and pale. Gunshot sounds emanated from his computer.

Three down, 17 to go.

Would love to have you go into labor while we’re out shopping, maybe right before a holiday and so we have to go to every store all over town a whole day event.

Watch you already huge waddling around the stores after me trying to catch your breath as contractions get closer and closer. But I’m too busy to notice brushing them off as Braxton hicks since your due dates not until after the holidays.

Your water breaking in the food court and I tsk sending you to the bathroom to clean yourself up and change. The back to business.

Have you pushing until your pants while I browse through cramped clothing racks- half sitting on a seat where you try on shoes the bulge in your pants keeping your hips raised while you gasp and breath the head crowning you wide all while still being hidden.

And we still have 2 more stores to go….

I'd have to keep visiting the bathroom to keep cleaning up the amniotic fluid and blood trickling down my thighs, it'd just keep coming out and keeping everything slick with each involuntary push. 😵‍💫

Maybe on some occasions you could even come along with me because "I'm not doing it right" and "I'm not pushing the baby back far enough" we'd have to pile into a stall, barely able to fit because of my huge hardened belly. And I'd have to keep quiet while you'd push the baby back way further than I ever would, you'd probably be wrist deep in my battered boycunt, still trying to push it further back up.

Maybe in one of the stores you'd get me some underwear three sizes too small and tell me to go to the bathroom again and change into them because with the fabric digging into my hips and the crotch of the pants practically sticking to my pussy would maybe help me wait to give birth.

Mm the visual of crowding in the stall your pants around your ankles hand braced on the tight walls holding yourself up as you gasp and cry other fist in your mouth to keep the noises down while my hand goes further into you? So so smart. Pull your pants back up for you while you’re still reeling and pat your covered boycunt like it was that simple before I’m out again to the next store.

I’d already have you in something tight- thick denim pants so they have no give even if the head makes it to crown. Bonus if your shirts just as tight so everybody can see your huge belly.

I’d defiantly make you wait until we got home, leaving the last store cooing at you for holding out so long- you’d assume I would let you birth after the long walk to the car but once get in your seat reaching for your waistband I click my tongue.

You were being so good for me don’t mess up now, want you to have our baby in our bed at home? You’ll look so nice on the new sheets I just bought don’t you think? So just keep your hand right there not push ok?

Agony as you feel the head pressing at the seam of your pants the whole ride back and even when we get home we still have to unload the massive pile of things and get them put away- can’t have a messy house when the baby arrives.

My shirt would be sosososo tight! Everyone would see my popped out bellybutton and the large baby impatiently shifting around in my gravid womb. Imagine how many worried stares we'd get!

Your belly would be too big for you to get them off. I'd force you to waddle around next to me at the mall, belly squeezing desperately, the head barely able to come from your canal but everyone can see the bulge ever so slightly against the too tight garments

Oh fuck that’d be amazing 🤤

Getting my pregnant, swollen cunt worked over and over again, probably throwing me into labor with a massive splash as I cum for the last time (that you make me at least) and my water breaks. You take it as a perfect moment to have me slip on the tight clothes in between the slowly growing contractions, the fabric clinging so tightly to my crotch, even more so with how much fluid coated my legs.

Even the drive there is intense, fighting the urge to start to bear down as my cervix ripens while I’m trapped behind the seatbelt. You just rest your hand on my belly knowingly, feeling the contractions with me. Knowing it’ll only get harder from here.

When we’re walking (or while you’re walking and I’m waddling so slowly and painfully, fighting the urge to push) around the mall I can feel the swollen lips of my pussy drag over my panties and jeans ever so slightly as the tear drop shape that they make grows bigger and bigger against the wet fabric. I’m fighting everything to not squat down right there and push, knowing it’ll do nothing, but the pressure from all three of your babies wanting out of my overdue womb is making it so hard.

(Birth Denial Request Game)

A farmer is struggling to get the last of his crops harvested before a cold front. He’s managed this small farm by himself for years, but as he’s gotten a little older, he’s struggled to keep up with the demands of the job. This year especially, the work has really been taking it out of him.

He feels like he never quite recovered from the flu he had back in the spring, exhausted and slow all the time, and he’s developed a lingering pain in his hips and back. He suspects some of it is due to the weight he’s gained, his once-pudgy tummy now an unsightly ball gut that juts off his frame, so massive it tugs on his spine. He mentioned it to his neighbor the other day, a woman doctor who rumor has it was once a nun, and she had almost smiled for a moment before telling him he should drink less beer. When he told her he stopped 6 months ago when his belly first started ballooning, her mouth tightened with concern. Her eyes dropped to the peaked point of his navel stretching his shirt, and she told him he should come to her clinic as soon as he’s able, as he could have a serious illness. But he’d waved her off and weaseled out of the discussion— he’d avoided revealing his secret to anyone for twenty-one years and he wasn’t about to break the streak just because some nice doctor asked.

Anyway. The point is, he doesn’t know what’s wrong.

Today, the pain is bad. His back, especially, keeps seizing up, his groans echoing in the empty field. It’s so severe that he’s tempted to abandon the rest of his harvest, but he can’t justify the financial hit he would take. He’s a man, he’ll press through.

Every time he has to squat down, the pain in his pelvis deepens, the pressure becoming more unbearable by the minute. He remembers a relative speaking of kidney stones and hopes he hasn’t caught them. That’s the last thing he needs.

He’s on his hands and knees bundling up rows of produce when he starts to feel like an elephant is stomping his lower spine down into his pelvis. His jaw drops, and a long, plaintive groan tumbles out of him. Instinctively he rocks on his hands and knees, feeling his big fat gut tug on his lumbar region as he arches and twists his back, desperately trying to find relief. When his muscles finally unclench, he wants to just collapse where he is, but he has to keep going. The doctor will be there tomorrow, but these crops sure won’t. There’s still so much more to go…

Though he owns no animals, a lowing like livestock echoes across his property. He hears the noises as if they come from somewhere far away, and not his own heaving chest. Maybe he should be ashamed, or frightened, but it makes a certain kind of sense that he should sound like a beast of burden as he labors on his hands and knees in the field.

Then comes the burn. He drops the handful of produce he was holding, hand instinctively flying to his crotch, where the fire grows angrier by the moment. It must be a kidney stone. What else could—?

He goes completely still. His crotch is hot, hot as the inside of a body, and slowly, slowly swelling under his fingers. Swallowing thickly, he withdraws his hand and slips off one strap of his overalls. Then he wriggles his hand into the waistband. It can’t be…

But there it is. He feels it, plain and solid as the nose on his face, just beneath his cunt lips. They still stretch stubbornly over it, holding it inside of him. But he can feel it on its way. Soon, his body will part. It will part, and—

He flattens his hand against the bulge and shoves. He cries out, but for all the pain, it barely budges. But he can’t let it come out. Trembling, he spreads his legs and twists the palm of his hand, and finally, he feels something give. He pants and squirms from the indescribable discomfort as his aching insides spasm, fighting him as he denies the course of nature. But finally he forces it far enough back that his crotch feels flat beneath his hand.

He tries not to think about it.

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.

(Pregnant man goes into labor while on a plane, thinking he still had time. He tries taking labor suppressants but when those wear off he hopes his tight pants will be enough to keep the baby in, and then he palms the head bobbing in his crotch, trying to keep the baby in until the plane lands and he can get to a hospital. He doesn’t want alert the other passengers after all. Labor progresses really quickly though, and it’s a long flight, can he hold his baby (secretly babies) in for that long?

- @distended-domes

The plane flew through the night, a metal tube filled with sleeping, oblivious people. The cabin lights were dimmed, creating a false sense of privacy. Julian was trapped, sitting in his seat, his baby's head pressing firmly against the fabric of his crotch, while the other baby stirred restlessly inside him, waiting for his turn.

The work was progressing very quickly. Each contraction was a step closer to disaster. He could feel the stretching, the burning, the flesh giving way. His jeans, already damp from his water breaking, were stretched to the point of bursting. The quality denim fabric, designed for durability, was now the only thing standing between its secret and exposure.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the captain informs you that we are experiencing some turbulence and will be activating the seatbelts. Please return to your seats."

Turbulence. The universe was mocking him. Each jolt of the plane was a new form of torture, a constant threat of his secret being exposed. One particularly strong jolt threw him forward, and the baby in his groin pressed with a new and painful force. He felt a tear, not in his body, but in the seam of his pants. A broken thread. A weak point.

He laid like that, for what seemed like an eternity, his hand pressed against the baby's head, praying the plane would land. But the flight was long, and his babies were impatient. He could feel the second baby descending, a double pressure that made him feel like he was going to burst from the inside.

Denial was no longer an option. Reality was here, pressing against his hand, about to be born on a plane at 30,000 feet. And Julian, alone and terrified, had to make a choice: continue fighting the inevitable or surrender to the miracle and the nightmare of giving birth, in secret, in the middle of nowhere.

Another contraction, stronger than any before, doubled him in half. He leaned his forehead against the folding table, his hand still on the baby's head. The pressure was immense, an intense burning sensation consumed him. He felt his vagina stretch beyond what he thought possible, a sharp, definitive burn. His body tore, fighting against the barrier of the fabric. He heard the snap of the elastic, a wet, desperate whisper, followed by the scraping of the inner seam of his pants.

The baby's head slid forward, and the seam of his crotch gave way completely. A long, wet tear echoed in the silence of his mind. The baby's head, covered in damp hair, poked through the opening, pressing against his hand and the cold air of the cabin. The relief was immediate and terrifying.

But it wasn't over. The baby's shoulders were stuck, a shoulder dystocia caused not by biology, but by the torn denim that now acted as a fabric trap. The baby couldn't get out. He was stuck halfway, a head being born on a plane, with the body still trapped inside.

Panic was blinding. He braced his hand against the seat in front of him and pushed with all his might, an instinctive movement to free his child. With each push, the fabric takes a little more, but not enough. The baby cried, a muffled, weak sound only he could hear.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our descent to San Francisco. Please ensure your tray tables are stowed and your seatbacks are upright."

The descent. The end was in sight. But the first baby hadn't been born. And the second baby was already on the way. The pressure was immense, a force he couldn't stop. He leaned back against the seat, his first baby's head peeking out from between his legs, his other hand pressing against his violently contracting abdomen.

The plane descended, and the pressure shifted. He felt his body tighten, the babies moving in response. Another contraction hit him, and this time he couldn't hold back the push. The first baby slid out, landing on his thigh with a soft, wet thud, finally free from the fabric prison.

But there was no time to breathe. The second baby was already descending, pressing against his vagina, the place where his brother had just passed. Julian sat there, with one newborn in his lap and the other about to be born, as the plane touched down on the runway. The drone of the engines transformed into a high-pitched whistle, followed by the screech of the brakes. The plane came to a stop and the cabin lights came on.

The Mita Line train hurtled like a metallic projectile through the bowels of the megalopolis during the morning rush hour. The rhythmic clatter of the tracks and the deafening roar of the subway locomotives merged into a cacophony that drowned out any individual sound, the perfect soundtrack for the intimate torture Haku was enduring. Immobilized in the center of that compact mass of bodies, Haku stood, clinging with both hands to one of the leather and metal rings hanging from the ceiling. His robust torso leaned forward from the inescapable force of the crowd, his knuckles white with the desperation of his grip. He was a young man of strong build, with firm thighs and wide hips, who at that precise moment was under unbearable and destructive biological pressure. Haku was giving birth to his first child, a prolonged gestation of forty-two weeks that had reached its absolute limit in the worst imaginable scenario of the modern world.

"Huuu… haaa… Hold on, damn it, hold on…" Haku managed to articulate in an almost inaudible whisper, swallowing a groan that threatened to escape his throat. "Just three more stops… please…"

The public environment and the extreme social rigidity of Japan forced him to maintain a voluntary denial so strict it bordered on madness. Haku knew perfectly well that causing a scene, letting out a loud moan, or interrupting the impeccable flow of Tokyo's public transportation was an unforgivable public disgrace, so he refused with all his might to make a scene or allow the stiff passengers around him to discover the anatomical carnage hidden beneath his clothes. However, the control he tried to exert wasn't just a mental exercise, but a self-inflicted physical torture through destructive garments. To hide the immense volume of his lower abdomen and the obvious swelling of his groin, he had forced himself to wear high-compression Lycra underwear and extremely tight dark jeans. The denim, stiff and completely lacking in elasticity, acted like an iron tourniquet, crushing her hard, round stomach, cutting off her breath, and violently halting the baby's natural descent. Beneath the spandex, the internal containment was even more drastic, as Haku wore a medical-grade silicone plug, a device she had inserted out of sheer desperation to seal her body. With each massive contraction, the baby's head dropped sharply and slammed directly against the base of the plug, using it like a blind piston that stretched her internal tissues with searing pain that made her see stars, keeping the birth canal completely blocked.

The train braked sharply as it approached Otemachi Station, causing the tightly packed mass of passengers to lurch forward as a single unit. The impact forced Haku to buckle at the knees, leaving her practically suspended from the ring as her pelvis absorbed the shock. That violent change in gravity was the final trigger for her uterus to contract with seismic force. Haku raised her head to the ceiling, her mouth opening in a silent gasp, her eyes rolling slightly back. In that second of contained agony, a thick, hot jet of residual amniotic fluid broke through the first internal barrier, completely soaking the Lycra of her underwear and creating a dark, wet stain that began to spread with alarming speed up the crotch of her tight jeans. Cold sweat trickled down her temples, soaking the collar of her shirt as the rumble of the subway vibrated directly into her dilated pelvis. Below, the pressure of the child's enormous skull was so devastating that the silicone plug began to push outward, distorting the stiff fabric of her pants into a taut, oval bulge. Her cunt, fat, swollen, hairy, and flushed from hours of hidden standing labor, ripped open behind the metal zipper, becoming a giant, congested tear that clung desperately to the locking device. The baby's thick, dark hair, matted with vernix caseosa, was already rubbing against the base of the plug, causing an ultra-sensitive and agonizing tickling that ran through his labia minora and perineum with every slight vibration of the car.

—Not here, damn it, not here… —he wheezed through his teeth, feeling his legs go weak as he locked his eyes onto the digital map of the train car.

Pressed by absolute panic at the thought of being discovered, Haku was forced to act in a direct and painful way. As the train started moving again, he disguised the weakness in his trembling legs by pressing his back against the metal side panel. With a clumsy, clandestine movement, he slipped a sweat-drenched hand beneath his jacket, shoving it shamelessly into the gap yielded by the waistband of his jeans. With stiff, numb fingers, he began to push the baby back inside, exerting a blind, crushing force against the silicone plug and the child's crown to force them back into the pelvic bone canal every time the uterus initiated a new wave of contractions. It was a biological, self-destructive battle that threatened to split his anatomy into two: his body, aided by his upright standing posture, was pushing downward toward the floor with colossal power, while his own right hand pushed upward, trying to hold back life to save the shred of dignity he had left. The muffled whimpers and hoarse groans born in his throat were completely drowned out by the screeching of the brakes and the automated announcements. Haku remained there, suspended from the ring, the cheeks of his ass clenched to the maximum and unnaturally parted by the spherical mass claiming the outside with relentless ferocity. His mind had narrowed to a constant mental plea, a prayer directed at his own body to hold out for the three stations he had left.

The train plunged into the deep darkness of a long tunnel, and the lighting inside the car dimmed to the intermittent flickering of fluorescent tubes, casting elongated shadows over the expressionless faces of the passengers. It was precisely in these moments of twilight that Haku's physical pain became sharpest. Another massive contraction, a true muscular earthquake that originated at the base of his spine and rippled like a searing shockwave through his entire pelvis, forced him to arch his back against the metal panel. His hand, still hidden inside the denim, felt the medical plug being driven outward with a mechanical force that his fingers no longer had the capacity to contain. His phalanges slipped due to the biological lubrication, and the plug slid a full centimeter outward, opening a space through which thick amniotic fluid and hot blood began to leak without restraint, completely drenching the palm of his hand, his wrists, and the entire inner fabric of his jeans. Panic was now a bitter, metallic taste filling his mouth, forcing him to bite his lower lip until it bled just to keep from letting out a scream. He pressed harder against the metal wall, using the dead weight of his torso to try to halt the inevitable through compression, but the gravity of standing and the relentless force of human biology formed a destructive combination he could not defeat.

"Ahg… mmh…" a choked lament escaped him, which he immediately covered up by faking a smoker's cough, sharply clearing his throat. "Don't give in… stay inside…"

The baby's head, partially freed from the medical plug, began to force its way through the birth canal with renewed ferocity. Haku felt the walls of his anus stretch to a critical point of imminent rupture, a volcanic burning that completely blurred his vision. The Lycra of his underwear, already at the limit of its resistance, began to give way with a dull tear beneath his clothing. Haku could hear with terror the subtle snap of the elastic fibers breaking one by one, a wet, harsh whisper lost in the roar of the train. The silicone plug, now completely free, was expelled from inside, sliding down the inside of his pant leg until it hit the floor of the carriage with a dull thud that went entirely unnoticed. With the plug no longer blocking its path, the baby's enormous head made a decisive advance and poked itself through the torn hole in the Lycra, beginning to press directly and brutally against the stiff, rough denim of his jeans. The bulge in his crotch was now an undeniable deformity, a giant spherical protuberance that stretched the zipper and completely distorted the line of his pants, forcing him to hunch over to try to hide the bulge with the backpack he held against his chest. Tears of humiliation mixed freely with the sweat that soaked his eyelashes as the train began to slow down, announcing its entry into Shimbashi station. Haku knew that his body was on the verge of total collapse.

—Please, please… —he whispered, feeling his heart pounding directly in his ears—. Just one more station… just one…

With a desperate and painful movement, he twisted his hip toward the corner of the panel, using his backpack and the bulk of his jacket to block the view of the passengers. The automatic doors slid open with a pneumatic hiss, and the human tide began to move in a dense, violent flow that shoved him against the train's frame. A student rushing out tripped and accidentally struck him with her bag directly in the lower part of his belly, and that impact was the final blow. The stiff denim of his jeans, already weakened by the immense internal pressure and moisture, ripped completely open with a raspy, wet, violent sound that stretched from the base of the zipper all the way to his perineum. The imme

nse head of the baby, covered in a thick layer of dark hair, peeked through the tear in the denim, exposed to the cold, stale air of the station. Haku froze completely, his hands gripping the ring and his knees shaking, feeling his child's skull crowning massively in the middle of the busiest station, surrounded by thousands of people walking around him without looking back.

The visual carnage was absolute beneath the line of his jacket, but the strict social norm of detachment created an unreal vacuum around him; Passengers passed centimeters away from their torn crotch, looking at their own watches, completely oblivious to the human head pressing against the broken fabric. His cunt, turned into a giant, hairy tear of pink and purple hues from the exertion, stretched to levels that defied physics, keeping the baby's crown firmly wedged in the exit like a burning plug of flesh and bone. The unbearable tickle of the child's dark strands brushing against his inflamed labia minora triggered involuntary spasms in his thigh muscles. The dark amniotic fluid kept gushing in constant threads, sliding down the inner skin of his legs and staining the floor of the train car in a biological trail that Elio tried to cover up by dragging the soles of his shoes. The pain of the vertical crowning was a white, destructive fire that wiped out all thought, but the fear of public humiliation was an even more powerful force that forced him to contain his screams, turning them into trembling sighs and a silent cry that soaked his face.

—D-don't… move… p-please, step away from the door… —he articulated in a choked sob that the tide of people completely ignored—. Stay back…

The warning chime began to emit its electronic melody, indicating that the doors were about to close. Elio, feeling the baby's body pressing colossally to complete the expulsion, clamped his legs together with all the strength he could muster in his adductors, trapping the child's head between his thick thighs to keep it from falling to the floor. His uterus tightened like a rock again, but Elio continued to exert a superhuman resistance through voluntary denial, holding back the urges to push with short breaths as the train closed its doors with a pneumatic thud and resumed its march into the darkness of the tunnel. The baby's head remained there, permanently stuck in the enormous tear of his crotch, suspended at a point of no return where birth was imminent but the bearer refused to give in out of pure social modesty. No one in the car turned around to help him, no one noticed the trail of fluid or the hairy protrusion; The massive indifference of the rush hour remained his sole and relentless salvation as the train plunged into the depths of the subway, leaving him alone with the silent torture of a birth that refused to culminate in the sight of the world.

—I have to hold on… —he repeated to himself over and over, squeezing his eyes shut as the car jolted in the blackness—. The baby is not being born here… I won't let him out…

The train plunged into the dimness of another long tunnel, and the rhythmic rattling seemed to sync with the contractions that were now unceasing, an endless chain of seismic spasms shaking his pelvis. The baby's head, trapped between his thighs, pressed with a renewed ferocity against the rip in his pants. With each jolt of the car, he felt the fabric of his crotch tear a little more, the raspy sound of the denim giving way to a symphony of terror that only he could hear. The tickling of the baby's hair had turned into a searing irritation, and every slight vibration of the train sent electric shocks of pain up his spine. The amniotic fluid was no longer dripping, but running in hot rivulets down his thighs, mixing with sweat and blood, creating a sticky, viscous breeding ground that stained the car floor. The smell, a metallic blend of blood, the sweetness of fluids, and the sourness of sweat, began to permeate the air around him, a scent of disaster that the other passengers chalked up to the enclosed subway air. Haku clenched his teeth tighter. Voluntary denial was now a physical battle against his own biology, a silent war waged in the intimate space of his crotch, in plain sight of everyone and without anyone noticing.

The train emerged from the tunnel and the artificial light of the next station, Tamachi, flooded the car. The doors opened again, and another flow of people poured in and out. Haku felt icy panic rush through his body. He couldn't hold on much longer. His legs were shaking uncontrollably, and his hands, still gripped to the ring, were numb from the effort. The baby's head, driven down by gravity and the unceasing contractions, began to slide downward, despite his desperate attempt to hold it back with his thigh muscles. The tear in his pants widened, and the baby's head, now completely crowned, peeked out entirely, covered in blood and fluids, its dark hair plastered against the pale skin. Haku felt the cold ai The train car's impact on the raw flesh of his torn cunt was a sensation as brutal as the pain itself.

"No… no, please, not now…" he sobbed, tears streaming freely down his face.

(Pregnant man goes into labor while on a plane, thinking he still had time. He tries taking labor suppressants but when those wear off he hopes his tight pants will be enough to keep the baby in, and then he palms the head bobbing in his crotch, trying to keep the baby in until the plane lands and he can get to a hospital. He doesn’t want alert the other passengers after all. Labor progresses really quickly though, and it’s a long flight, can he hold his baby (secretly babies) in for that long?

- @distended-domes

The plane flew through the night, a metal tube filled with sleeping, oblivious people. The cabin lights were dimmed, creating a false sense of privacy. Julian was trapped, sitting in his seat, his baby's head pressing firmly against the fabric of his crotch, while the other baby stirred restlessly inside him, waiting its turn.

The labor was progressing very quickly. Each contraction was a step closer to disaster. He could feel the stretching, the burning, the flesh giving way. His jeans, already damp from his water breaking, were stretched to the point of bursting. The quality denim fabric, designed for durability, was now the only thing standing between his secret and exposure.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the captain informs you that we are experiencing some turbulence and will be activating the seatbelts. Please return to your seats."

Turbulence. The universe was mocking him. Each jolt of the plane was a new form of torture, a constant threat of his secret being exposed. One particularly strong jolt threw him forward, and the baby in his groin pressed with a new and painful force. He felt a tear, not in his body, but in the seam of his pants. A broken thread. A weak point.

He lay like that, for what seemed like an eternity, his hand pressed against the baby's head, praying the plane would land. But the flight was long, and his babies were impatient. He could feel the second baby descending, a double pressure that made him feel like he was going to burst from the inside.

Denial was no longer an option. Reality was here, pressing against his hand, about to be born on a plane at 30,000 feet. And Julian, alone and terrified, had to make a choice: continue fighting the inevitable or surrender to the miracle and the nightmare of giving birth, in secret, in the middle of nowhere.

Otra contracción, más fuerte que todas las anteriores, lo dobló por la mitad. Apoyó la frente contra la mesa plegable, con la mano aún sobre la cabeza del bebé. La presión era inmensa, un ardor intenso lo consumía. Sintió cómo su coño se estiraba más allá de lo que creía posible, una quemadura aguda y definitiva. Su cuerpo se desgarraba, luchando contra la barrera de la tela. Escuchó el chasquido del elástico, un susurro húmedo y desesperado, seguido del rasguño de la costura interior de sus pantalones.

The baby's head slid forward, and the seam of his crotch gave way completely. A long, wet tear echoed in the silence of his mind. The baby's head, covered in damp hair, poked through the hole, pressing against his hand and the cold air of the cabin. The relief was immediate and terrifying.

But it wasn't over. The baby's shoulders were stuck, a shoulder dystocia caused not by biology, but by the torn denim that now acted as a fabric trap. The baby couldn't get out. He was stuck halfway, a head being born on a plane, with the body still trapped inside.

Panic was blinding. He braced his hand against the seat in front of him and pushed with all his might, an instinctive movement to free his child. With each push, the fabric tore a little more, but not enough. The baby cried, a muffled, weak sound only he could hear.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our descent to San Francisco. Please ensure your tray tables are stowed and your seatbacks are upright."

The descent. The end was in sight. But the first baby hadn't been born. And the second baby was already on the way. The pressure was immense, a force he couldn't stop. He leaned back against the seat, his first baby's head peeking out from between his legs, his other hand pressing against his violently contracting abdomen.

The plane descended, and the pressure shifted. He felt his body tighten, the babies moving in response. Another contraction hit him, and this time he couldn't hold back the push. The first baby slid out, landing on his thigh with a soft, wet thud, finally free from the fabric prison.

Pero no había tiempo para respirar. El segundo bebé ya descendía, presionando contra su coño, el lugar donde su hermano acababa de pasar. Julian permanecía sentado allí, con un recién nacido en su regazo y el otro a punto de nacer, mientras el avión aterrizaba en la pista. El zumbido de los motores se transformó en un silbido agudo, seguido del chirrido de los frenos. El avión se detuvo y las luces de la cabina se encendieron.

you aren’t aware of the concept of pregnancy at all, somehow, and the scientists told you it was normal and healthy for your belly to grow as big as it was. it was normal to feel something shift around inside of you every few hours. you didn’t question the day when they put that strange syringe full of white stuff inside of you, telling you it was medicine to keep you healthy. when you began to get big enough, they put a strange device on you, locked around your pussy, they told you it was to keep you safe. one day, liquid began to pour down between your legs. it wasn’t long before you needed to push, and, with terror and confusion, you followed your body’s natural instincts. something massive was moving down inside of you, and it hurt. it hurt so bad. it reached your opening after an hour or so, but was stopped by the device they had locked around you. you pushed and pushed and pushed, your body begging you to expel this thing, but it was to no avail. you called out for help, and eventually the a scientist came to your aid.

they carefully took the device off of you, warning you this would hurt, but it was for your own safety. this just happens sometimes, and the scientists would come fix it. they put a hand on the hard dome of whatever was coming out of you, and slowly, with excruciating pain, pushed it back into your womb. you felt where the head (although you didn’t know it was a ‘head’, exactly) catch on your cervix, a bit too big to go in as easily as the rest of it. the scientist gave a momentous push of their hand and it popped back inside, curling up comfortably where it had been growing, unbeknownst to you, for all of these months. you didn’t question it, though, even as you screamed in pain. this was for your own safety. you were given some medicine to close your cervix, and left alone.

every few weeks, this would happen again. you became accustomed to the feeling, learning to call out for help as soon as you felt the urges to push start. sometimes no one was around, though, the researchers were out of office, and you’d push on it uselessly for a while until someone came to your aid.

The air conditioning on the 47th floor hummed with a monotonous and cold murmur, the perfect soundtrack for a Tuesday afternoon in the office. Alex was sitting in his ergonomic chair, the cursor blinking harmlessly on a spreadsheet. His white shirt, ironed that same morning, was now unusually tight over his abdomen. It wasn't a beer belly; it was something more solid, rounder, a protrusion he attributed to recent weight gain and water retention. Nobody noticed it. Why would they? Alex was known for being thin, a bit of a belly was the most natural thing in the world.

A wave of deep cramps forced him to shift his weight. He adjusted his belt, which suddenly felt like a corset, and focused again on the screen. Denial was his shield. "Just gas," he told himself. "I ate something that didn't sit well."

Megan, his cubicle partner, approached with a cup of coffee. "Are you going to the 3 o'clock meeting? I heard they're announcing the budget cuts."

Alex nodded, forcing a smile as the pressure in his lower abdomen intensified. "Wouldn't miss it." The idea of getting up and walking to the conference room was overwhelming. He stayed still, breathing slowly and deeply, as he had learned in a meditation app he never used.

The meeting was a hell of fluorescent lights and corporate jargon. Alex sat, rigid as a board, as the manager talked about "synergy" and "resource optimization." Another wave, this time stronger, forced him to place his hands on his thighs, under the table. He clenched his jaw, his knuckles white. The shirt, already tight, seemed about to explode. He felt as if something inside him was stretching, a deep and visceral pull.

"Alex, do you agree with the fourth quarter projection?"

The manager's voice pulled him out of his fog of pain. He looked up, his mind blank. "Yes. Totally agree. It's... solid," he managed to say, his voice a little higher than usual. Nobody seemed to notice. They were too busy looking at their own notes.

He returned to his desk, trembling. The pain was no longer a cramp. It was labor. His brain knew it, but his consciousness refused to accept it. "It can't be," he thought, panic beginning to bubble under his skin. "Men don't... it's not possible." He leaned back in his chair, eyes closed. The shirt felt like a prison, the buttons about to pop. He unbuttoned the bottom one, feeling instant relief.

That's when he felt it. A warm wetness, a slow, stealthy slide. He remained completely still, his heart in his throat. He looked down. A dark puddle was forming on the fabric of his gray dress pants, slowly spreading onto the black fabric chair.

His water broke.

The panic was cold and sharp. He looked around frantically. Everyone was absorbed in their monitors, in their phone calls, in their own lives. Megan had headphones on, nodding her head to music he couldn't hear. No one was looking at him. No one knew.

The taxi driver makes smalltalk. He asks what plans he has later today.

"Oh, not much," he lies through a contraction.

The taxi driver nods and makes more smalltalk. "I don't have much else to do either."

He can feel the head deep in his pelvis. He tries to suck it in, somehow, keep it from falling out of his body and onto the taxi seat.

Now, apparently, it's also a matter of hiding the embarrassing fact that he's in active labor to the taxi driver.

"Yeah, me neither," he says with a chuckle that hopefully didn't sound too nervous.

The taxi driver makes more smalltalk. "The weather's nice. Might go on a walk later."

Was it just his increasing terror, or was the taxi going way too slowly?

"Yeah! Nice weather we're having!" Surely he wasn't actually doing this. Surely, he wasn't actually talking about the literal fucking weather with a taxi driver on the way to the hospital so he can give birth somewhere else than this backseat.

He was trying so fucking hard not to start pushing and giving birth to this goddamn baby in the backseat of a taxi through his clothes.

The taxi driver makes more smalltalk. "Sometimes, I like to go on walks just before sunset. Really take in the sights."

He's really starting to sweat now. He feels the pressure of the head threatening to spread his legs and split him open. He can't keep this up. He can't. He can't stop himself from pushing. He can't keep this act up. He should have just called for an ambulance. He can't stop himself from pushing and giving birth. He can't. He can't. He can't. He can't.

He stops staring at the taxi driver's head and turns to look out the window.

They are, in fact, going much slower than everyone else on the road. He's not even sure if they're still going to the hospital.