•.* Fawn Bottom *.•

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

“And your hoof size,” I gasp.

“Well…yes.”

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

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

“Yes, I think so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m pushing!” I cry.

My partner digs in his hooves and pulls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And the head isn’t showing?!”

“Barely,” he says. “I saw hair.”

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

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

“Baby…” he says.

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

He still hesitated.

“Go!” I say, and point urgently.

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

“I’m ready. Tell me when.”

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

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

He pulls.

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

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

He stops abruptly.

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

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

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

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

I look over my shoulder. “Please…”

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

“Yes,” I moan.

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

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

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

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

“Push, baby. Push!”

“It hurts!”

“I know, but push!”

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

I scream and cum.

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

“The head is out,” my partner says.

“I crowned,” I whimper. “I crowned.”

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

“How big is the head?” I ask.

He pats my haunches. “Big.”

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

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

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

He holds me tight.

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

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

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

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

“Good,” he says. “It’s half out.”

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

“Yes,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My partner kisses me with a fierce tenderness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Push!” my partner says. “Push hard!”

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

The head pops free and I scream at the release.

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

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

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

“I need to push.”

“Second shoulders?”

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

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

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

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

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

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