Distended Dome’s

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he must fulfill his duty.

Reupload of one of the first commissions I ever made, for @monkasss. Mpreg birth story, what's more important, push your baby out or try to not lose the videogame you're playing?

If anyone would have even tried to tell Mark that he would spend his first year of college massively pregnant, he would have laughed his ass off. Bending over and clutching at his stomach while crying type of laugh.

But here he was, pregnant. 

He did his parents a favor, after all, there was no better way to show how grateful he was for everything his parents have done for him than being their carrier, right?

He wasn’t too sure at first. He was young and had a bright future in front of him, but his parents gave him a solution for all the possible problems: as long as he were pregnant, he could stay at home and he would be treated like a king. He could try some sort of hybrid college modality, alternating between on-campus and virtuality, if the pregnancy was too much to just show up to class.

And, most important for Mark, he could be pregnant without having to take on the responsibilities that came with it after the fun part was done. 

Because for Mark, the fun part was everything he ever wanted: he wanted to feel his belly swell, tight and packed with life, watch himself grow and go through all the changes that pregnancy meant. He went from having that athletic frame, the trademark of a hot college boy, to having a huge belly resting in front of him, a chest now full of milk, heavy and sore, and everything that he already had, pregnancy made it better. 

When he found out he was carrying a single baby, he was disappointed. He hoped that his fun could be duplicated or even triplicated, having multiples sounded like the apex of pleasure to him.

Double the price, double the fun.

As his body changed and his belly started to swell, gravid and full, he was, indeed, treated like a king at his own home. But the treatment he got from his parents was the least part he cared about, Mark was infatuated with his pregnancy. 

Everything felt amazing. 

Morning sickness? He only had to bear with it for a few days. 

Pregnancy made him glow and it seemed like every little sensation was intensified now. Every part of his body was sensitive, from head to toe, and he knew how to make the most out  of it. 

The skin stretched and tight over his belly, how sensitive his chest was, how sensitive everything was. He got a whole new vision of how good belly rubs could be... and some of the best sex of his life.

Mark fell in love with not only everything that was happening on the outside, but also on the inside, feeling the baby move and kick inside him. Even if sometimes it would only mean kicking at his bladder or killing him with lower back pain. 

So he just sat down and grew, enjoying himself more every day until he finally had a nice, firm and swollen belly resting between his open thighs. The moment Mark would look down and face a huge mound of flesh, the moment he was unable to close his legs without it being so uncomfortable for his belly, the moment almost all of his clothes stopped fitting, that was when he was sure that it was all worth it.

If anyone would have even tried to tell Mark that he would spend his first year of college massively pregnant, huge and bloated, with the weight of a baby on his hips and almost constantly pressing against his prostate, it wouldn't have surprised him.

If anyone would have told Mark that he would be giving birth on Thanksgiving eve, laying on the floor of his bedroom with a videogame on pause on his TV, now that would have surprised him.

Mark lifted his hips, swinging them in the air trying to relieve some pressure. Under him, his belly pressed and rubbed against the carpet of the floor, sending shivers through his spine every time his belly button touched the fabric. 

It was all happening so fast, contraction after contraction striking his body as Mark felt the head of the baby starting to make its way down his birth canal, pressing against his prostate.

His parents had left early in the morning, and Mark assured his parents that the cramps he had been feeling were just Braxton hicks, nothing to worry about; he was right there on his due date, but it was nothing to worry about.

When the occasional cramps became more intense, each wave coming faster and stronger than the one before, Mark still thought he had time. 

Five minutes more of playing and he would consider calling his mom. 

And then five minutes became ten and ten turned into fifteen, Mark squirming on his seat and huffing under his breath, trying to get comfortable with the weight that was getting lower and lower on his hips. 

It was too late when his water broke all over the chair, leaving him sitting on his soaked trousers and with a baby coming now.

A whimper escaped Mark's lips when he felt the head starting to stretch his hole, his ass throbbing painfully as he pushed. The head was applying pressure right to his prostate, every push he gave sent a wave of painful pleasure through his body. 

His eyes squeezed shut and groaned as another contraction hit, his fingers brushing all over the skin of his contracting belly to try to ease some discomfort, but failing miserably. 

The baby was slowly beginning to move, pushing, and Mark was pushing back. His body was telling him to push, but as much as he was doing so, Mark didn't feel the baby move at all.

"God, fuck!" Mark whimpered through another contraction. "C'mon, baby...!"

With a groan, he lifted himself from the floor, his belly hanging naked and so low in front of him now that he couldn't see his knees. With one last heaving effort, Mark pushed through to get himself to a squat. 

His hands reached to grip the armrest of the chair, and Mark pressed his chin hard against his chest as he pushed, his face turning red with effort.

One, two, three times, Mark gritted his teeth as he pushed. The head moved a bit, bringing a burning sensation to his hole as it started to stretch around the head.

"Fuck...fuck...fuck..." he muttered, his fists clenched around the armrest as Mark let out another cry.

His forehead was damp with sweat as he tilted his head back, looking up to the ceiling above him. The baby was right there, about to get to a full crown.

His fingers curled tighter around the armrest as he let out a loud moan, whimpering as he felt the baby's head push against his prostate, and then he pushed again. A gush of amniotic fluid came out of him when the head began making its way to his anus; Mark was completely unprepared. 

He grunted and tensed as he tried to keep his balance, the head pushing out of him, sliding down and stretching his opening with every push. 

Soon, it only took a few more pushes until the whole head was out. Mark threw himself forward to fall on his knees, shaking legs buckling underneath him as he pushed out the rest of the body. 

There was an instant of bliss as Mark closed his eyes for a second, breathing heavily and letting the relief sink in his body.

He lay on his back panting for a moment, the crying baby resting against his agitated chest. 

some of your last couple posts have been stuck in my head, specifical the ones wear grian is scar's mate but carries the eggs, pups or anything else of another person.

specifically hotguy having cuteguy carry preemie babies to term and not letting him push them out until the end of their patrol. people have probably gotten used to cuteguy waddling around during patrols as you mentioned hotguy also using his womb the store gear, and maybe it's given some villain's a few new jabs they can throw out while fighting. or maybe Cuteguy was carrying more babies than normal and his water broke pretty early on during the patrol, but towards the end there's a bit fight with a villain that's going to drag out beyond the end of the patrol, and they'll have to stay even longer after the fight to make sure any damage to the surroundings didn't hurt anyone, and say hello to all the fans that are just desperate to get a photo, signature or glimpse of their hero's

OOOO

Lowkey, I forgot I wrote that

In my defense, I write at midnight, and I was half awake

Anygays- Yesss omg all of this!!!

Cuteguy is also super hero, it makes sense that the rest of his body has aspects that are a little super natural. Cuteguy loves helping citizens, and Hotguy loves to tell him how cute he looks waddling around during patrol.

He can still remember the first time Hotguy had done it to him. They were visiting the hospital, and a doctor told them about their very unfortunate situation of a preemie baby. Hotguy immediately offers up Cuteguy. The avian is surprised and tries to explain that maybe that's not a good idea and it's not safe. But Hotguy is already pulling down his pants and knocking his legs open. The hero scoops up the tiny baby and pushes it up into Cuteguy's womb. Just as Hotguy suspected, Cuteguy's body is quickly treating the baby like he had grown this child inside him for 9 months. There's a bump, and the baby squirms around in his belly. Cutguy whimpers at the new foreign feeling, but at least he's helping.

It becomes a habit after that. They visit hospitals together, and Cuteguy lays down for the babies to be placed inside his womb. Hotguy loves to admire Cuteguy's pregnant belly. Whenever they're having a sneaky fuck during patrols he likes to tell Cuteguy he's going to knock him up for real one day. Cuteguy always cums at the thought. He just wants to be the perfect hero and sidekick. It always made him so happy to know he was doing well.

Now for his water breaking and it post poning the birth. Cuteguy will definitely panic, but only mildly. He ducks down while the villain attacks Hotguy and reaches between his legs to feel a soaked patch. He can also feel the growing desire to push. But he doesn't. He forces himself to his feet to keep fighting. He feels a head slide down, pressing at his pussy lips and he quickly shuffles his legs closer together. When he next has time to hide, he can feel the baby's head slide out further, so he takes the head and pushes it back inside him. It's hard to fight when contractions are so painful and his legs shake so much. Hotguy wants to get Cuteguy out of harms way because these babies still have homes to go to after all.

Once the fight ends, Hotguy checks on his partner, making sure Cuteguy is ok. He watches Cuteguy try not to cry, squirming in place. He makes his thighs part and watches as a baby's head makes the crotch of his hero suit bulge. He places his hand between Cuteguy's legs and pushes the baby back up into the womb. Cuteguy gasps and cries, begging Hotguy to take him to the hospital. Instead, he's made to talk with fans and oress as contractions tear through him, and sweat rolls down his face. The babies kick up a storm in his belly, and he watches the camera keep moving to film all the movement his very pregnant belly. It's so hard to stand. He wants to push the babies out so badly, but Hotguy just hugs him and places his hand under his crotch so that he'll hold them in a bit longer.

When he finally gets to the hospital, Hotguy caresses his belly and pushes his pussy lips apart with his fingers. He watches the first head crown, pushing on Cuteguy's belly to help get the baby out. Grian gasps and cries, trying to make the pain stop. Hotguy wants to help his poor sidekick, of course, so he strokes Cuteguy's clit to help with the pain. Cuteguy passes out from the dual sensation of pain and pleasure.

When Cuteguy wakes up, he finds Hotguy already getting ready for patrols again. He slaps Cuteguy's pussy then starts to put gear up inside him. Cuteguy's belly bump quickly comes back as more gear is placed inside him, making him cum a few times.

he starts off about an hour from home. he wears a belly binder under layers of baggy clothes to hide his belly, and it works well. no one but the android knows. he’s very serious and dominating over the android, always calling the shots and always determined to do things his way, even as he leads them through the winding maze of concrete with a cervix dilated to eight centimeters. the android follows obediently, scanning his progress constantly (which he has no idea about). eventually, when he’s starting to truly flag, the android suggests a shortcut.

they lead him down into the maintenance alleys and around in circles until he can’t help but duck behind a dumpster and push, the android looming over him, and he finally begins to understand that he’s no longer in control here. he’s lost now, after following the android, so he can’t just leave them. he’s too rigid to even take his pants off in front of the android, and has to feel his vulva bulging to its limits in his pants as he squats on the dirty ground. the android is endlessly fascinated by the bodily urges of an organic being, and how even sentients who create these great cities can be reduced to a sweating, heaving, grunting, desperate mess like this. the android watches him push frantically for a while before hauling him to his feet and forcing him onward.

they take him to the monorail, saying they’ve had their fun now and this will get them home. he has to force his legs closed as he stands on the platform and waits, the android behind him, snaking their arms around him and up and down as they please, knowing he can do nothing to stop them in his state. they lead him onto a packed car once it finally arrives at the station. there’s only one seat left. the android takes it.

he has only two options. he can stand and try to keep his grip on the hand holds, or he can take the android’s hint. they pat their lap, offering it up as a seat. the monorail ride is always rough. he’ll take his chances with the droid.

he only has time to straddle their thighs and sit facing toward them as the monorail lurches into motion. his body weight presses his swelling pussy into the firm synthetic thigh of the android, and he almost gags. the baby is pushed back in and then held in place, his subsequent desperate pushes pointless. the android grinds their thigh into his crotch, reducing him to overstimulated tears. despite his thick, throaty grunts and clear distress, no one around them pays much attention to the duo. no one but the android can really hear him over the clack and screech against the rails.

poor thing, the android coos. you must be feeling so much pressure. they place their hands on either side of his belly, pressing gently, driving him mad. the baby has nowhere to go, with his pants still on and his weight resting on his crotch, at the top of the baby’s head, against the android’s thigh. all be can do is clench his knees together and spread them apart in alternating moments of desperation. luckily, the android knows just what to do to give him some relief.

their hands reach up under his layers and his eyes widen as they grip the clasps for the belly binder, releasing the tight garment. his belly surges forward, the swell of his twin pregnancy undeniable now as it strains against his oversized layers. he lets out a choked off cry of surprise, but it quickly turns into another grunt as his body begs him to push his baby out again. he’s helpless to resist his urges, trying to lean forward and angle himself better so that less of his weight presses his crotch into the android’s thigh and he can make some progress.

an announcement calls out over the monorail car. their stop is coming up. the man feels a wave of relief washing over him — he’s almost home, to his safe place, where he can finally give birth in peace. then, he remembers the dozen levels of stairs between him and his apartment. his heart sinks and panic squeezes him. the android gives him a sadistic smile, knowing what he’s finally remembered.

don’t worry, they tell him, i’ll help you get up those stairs. wouldn’t want you to fall and hurt your babies, right? i’ll wait for you while you stop to drop into a squat and push every few steps we climb. i’ll make sure you get home safe.

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.