He takes his place in the throne room, grateful that his helm conceals the winces and twists of his features as he struggles to endure labor in silence. But it becomes so hot beneath the metal, heady and claustrophobic. He longs to turn and bend over, to hang onto the knight behind him as he rocks his hips. He wants to pace, and groan with his whole chest, and rub his tensing belly.

Hours pass. Vaguely, the knight is aware that if there were an emergency, he would be no help to the king, at this point. All he wants is to be back in his chambers, on his hands and knees, with a midwife comforting him.

When the urge to push overwhelms him, he knows it won’t be much longer. He tries not to, but his body needs it, tugging on the muscles in his belly, tempting his reflexes. He can only resist for so long before finally he indulges in a small push. His mouth falls open as he feels the head of his child lodge suddenly deeper within him, surely passing from his womb into his pussy.

The progress is intoxicating, and he forgets himself after that, pushing as hard as he’s able without moving too much. It’s easier than he thought to stay quiet, the effort stealing his sound from his throat. When a particularly forceful push makes him feel like the head is coming out of him, he finally lets a sound slip, the softest of grunts.

“Is it the child?”

The whisper comes from behind him, a knight much older than him who likes to press extra fingers into his cunt and thumb at his clit when he rides on top.

“Yes,” he breathes, loud as he dares. “It’s- coming out. I think it’s coming out of me.”

Suddenly there’s a hand between his legs. He barely swallows his yelp, a sudden warmth coursing through his body as the large hand feels his cunt through the his trousers. He finds himself very grateful that his tabard hides this impertinence from the court.

“Nothing is coming out,” the knight assures him calmly.

How could that be? “Then soon. I— hng!” He must bite his tongue to keep his cry at bay as the vice closes around him once again, urging the child ever-lower. More heat bubbles up within him as the head fills his pussy and creates pressure behind his clit.

“Oh.” Awe softens the gruff whisper behind him. “I feel it. It’s stretching you.”

“It’s big,” he whispers, struggling not to squirm where he stands. He didn’t expect it to feel like this. It hurts, yes, so much he can hardly bear it, but- this pressure on his most sensitive place… he chews his lip.

With his next push, something gives inside him, a sensation he can’t quite place. Then his thighs begin to grow warm, and he understands. There’s a slight flinch from the hand between his legs, but it steadies again, his fellow knight clearly understanding what’s happened. The babe feels even lower, though there’s less pressure now, somewhat relieving that strange feeling he’s had.

It feels as if barely a minute passes before he contracts again, and he lets his chin fall ever so slightly with the effort of his push. He knows that he shouldn’t do this, that if a babe drops from between his legs before the whole royal court, he’ll be found out and imprisoned, or at the very least stripped of his knighthood. But he can’t help it. He must push, as vital as his breath.

And what a push it is, heaving the head low and making his mouth fall open as the awful stretching pain ignites into the worst agony he’s ever experienced. The pressure, too, increases somehow, right against that special place. His clit, already rendered to a sharp point of pain, begins to twitch and swell all the more.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes against his visor. Ever so slightly, he rocks his spreading hips and his baby-filled cunt back against his fellow’s hand. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“I feel it. It’s huge. I can’t believe that’s coming out of you.”

Neither can he. Desperately, he wishes to scream, or drop into a squat, or lay back on the floor and pull his legs as far apart as he can get them. He’s almost relieved when the next contraction comes.

He pushes so hard that his thighs tremble, and wheezes through his teeth as he crowns into his lover’s hand, cunt burning, pressure growing. God, it really feels like he needs to…

No, this isn’t the time. He puts everything he has into breathing without making too much sound, the air thick and thin at once in the confines of his visor.

The next one comes, and the sensation in his clit winds sharper, making him instinctively squeeze his legs together. For a moment he feels like the head is about to burst out behind his thighs, but the knight’s hand stays firm, and the head simply bobs where it is, an instant of relief before it returns to a full crown.

“Hah- aah—“ He feels drool tickle one corner of his mouth. His lover holds the head just-so, keeping his cunt stretched to its absolute limit, burning all the way back towards his arse, and that pressure…!

“Okay,” the other knight whispers behind him, “let me try…”

He begins to push the head back in. The birthing knight flinches, his deepest instincts railing against the sensation, but before he can fully register what’s happening, the widest point of the skull digs into that special spot inside him.

Despite clenching his mouth shut, a high moan buzzes in his throat. His baby-heavy hips roll into his lover’s hand, and jolts of pain shock through his paper-thin pussy lips and the stretched flesh inside of his hole, his clit throbbing so strongly that he would have screamed in any other place.

He cums and cums and cums, until tears wet his cheeks and birthing fluid bursts in spurts from his pussy.

The knight behind him simply whispers, “Fuck,” and lets up, allowing the stimulation to ease, though the returning crown chases all of the pleasure with fiery pain.

The birthing knight is left trembling. He doesn’t even have the strength to push when he contracts again, but his body still manages to nudge the baby forward, and his lover responds again by easing the head back in. Lust and fear flood his chest, unsure if he can handle cumming like that again, but it washes over him all the same.

It goes on like that for the rest of the watch. He doesn’t cum with every contraction, but he feels like he will, sometimes teased for several minutes before the next one hits him. Soon there is no thought in his head but the blinding, white-hot pleasure-pain between his legs, and the ecstasy that keeps flooding his body, even as it shivers with pain.

He doesn’t even notice being dismissed by the change of guard, just starts walking blindly when his companion urges him to move, still holding the baby in. The clatter of so much armor drowns out his groans as his wobbling legs struggle to carry him, his ongoing birth feeling like a boiling welt even as he shudders through the aftershocks of his most recent orgasm.

Knowing they won’t make it back to the barracks, the other knight pulls him into the first empty room they pass and pulls the door shut. As he lays his back against the wall, the birthing knight thinks the babe will simply drop out of him the moment it’s no longer held in, but when the other knight starts using both hands to unfasten the cuisses from his thighs, his battered cunt somehow hangs onto the child’s head.

The left cuisse clatters to the floor, then the right, and the other knight reaches for the laces of his trousers. But his body has already tightened again, and he’s already bending at the knees and finally releasing the gravelly, animal groan that’s been building within him as he pushes. For a moment, he fears the head won’t even fit after all of that, but with one last snap of pain that makes him break into a small yelp, the head is born. It stretches his dripping trousers, a sight that leaves his helper speechless for a moment.

He feels the child turning within him, and cringing at the strange sensation, keeps pushing. A shoulder or an elbow digs into that place that makes his clit jump, and with one last gush of fluid, he cums the shoulders out. The child tumbles into his trousers while his pussy spasms and twitches.

While handing him the child, his companion eyes the tender-red place between his legs, dripping with birthing fluid and arousal. “Next time, we need to make sure everyone sees this. They’re not gonna believe me when I tell them how much our boy likes pushing bastards out of his cunt.”

His teeth clench and his face scrunches as he digs his fingers into the backs of his thighs and pulls his knees as far back as he can, a grunt grinding in his throat. The stunned medics watch the seam of his uniform bottoms stretch as he pushes harder, making no move to assist. It’s only his strained wheeze of Getthemoff! the prompts one of them to shove their hand under him and pull his waistband down his ass and over the bend of his thighs, revealing the straps of his jock framing his puffy, domed pussy.

His rock-hard belly softens, and the tension trembling through his body gives way to gasps as he releases the push. He tosses his head weakly and moans, “Is it out? Is it out yet?!” and falls into agonized groans when the medics tell him that they haven’t even seen the head yet.

By now the team is crowded around him, including the coach, who casually rests his clipboard over his lap, concealing that he’s the hardest he’s ever been in his life.

The medics try to move the player onto the stretcher, but he screams, “Don’t touch me!” when they try, so they have no choice but to sit back and watch him labor unassisted. His slow halting progress fills the Jumbotron, showing his bulging perineum and flared asshole, the lips of his cunt beginning to peek open at the height of every push. He keeps sobbing that it hurts, it’s too big, he’s gonna tear. But it only gets worse, the contractions getting closer and the dome between his legs growing bigger and bigger.

His tight cunt lips stay snug around the head of his bastard, his fat boyclit jutting up as everything between his legs is displaced. But finally, with a push that turns his face purple, the head moves enough that even when it inches back inside him at the end of the contraction, there’s still a perfect teardrop of hair visible.

His eyes snap wide, chest heaving as he struggles for breath to wail, “My pussy, my pussy, my pussy!” Coach’s cock twitches as he commits every detail to memory, from that pretty birthing cunt to the sweet rasp of the player’s voice.

The contractions come faster now, scarcely a minute between them, and the player only grows more hysterical between each one. “No, no, it’s too big!” he screams, with his lips only opened to reveal a small disc of the head.

The next several times he tries to push, he ends up flinching and trying to close his legs, though squeezing his thighs together only shifts more of the pressure towards his asshole, making it bulge and pulse dangerously. The medics end up grabbing his legs and pinning his knees back against his shoulders, and he shrieks as the shift eases the head forward, his taint and cunt lips stretched several inches away from his body as they struggle to open wide enough for the head, his jock almost cutting into his skin as the straps stretch around his birth.

“I can’t,” he sobs, “I can’t,” but it isn’t his choice. The next contraction comes, and he can’t help but push, body curling and thighs shaking, nothing but a high wheeze audible in his throat.

Finally, he crowns. He immediately stops pushing with a shriek, fruitlessly fighting to close his pried-open legs. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuck! Get it out!!! Get it OUUUUT!” He tries to keep pushing, but he’s too weak to budge it without the help of his body, only succeeding in inching the crown just far enough forward to stretch his boyclit nearly flat.

“My clit!” he screams. “My clit! My clit! I’m tearing!!! Get it ouuuuuUUUUUUUUUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

A contraction hits in the middle of his cry, and his shrieking breaks off with a sharp peak of his voice as the huge head of the coach’s bastard bursts out of his abused boypussy in a gush of fluid. He falls limp with a cry, his whole body shaking. As his head lolls, he happens to catch a glimpse of the Jumbotron, and cold washes over him as he sees the massive high-definition image of a baby’s head hanging out of his cunt.

He doesn’t even quite process that it’s him until he feels the urge to push, and winces at the shoulders twisting inside him as he watches the head rotate on the screen. “That’s coming out of me,” he rasps. “Oh my god. Oh my god, it’s coming out of my pussy. It’s coming out of m—hhhhng!”

The urge to push overtakes him, and with a thin grunt, he shoves out both shoulders. He winces as he feels the rest of the slimy body tugged out of him, then numbly raises his hands to take the strange purple being when the medics hand it to him. He looks down at it, and the only thought he can hold in his head is a bewildered, That came out of me.

While his jaw hangs open, she prattles on, saying how proud she is of him for doubling the foal’s size in the last six weeks. She informs him the growth will continue at a similar rate, at which point he finds enough worlds to tell her in a panic that he can barely get out of bed now! He’s going to be practically immobile if he gets any bigger!

That’s how he gets moved from his room to the breeding stables. When he first hears of the change, he legitimately thinks they’re going to put him in a stall with the animal horses for a moment, so he’s actually relieved when he finds out they’re going to convert the medical room where he’s been getting his checkups into a bedroom for him. His boss moves some new equipment in, and it ends up being relatively livable, though not homely. He doesn’t like sleeping in a hospital bed, but as his womb grows heavier and heavier, he concedes that he wouldn’t be able to get up without the power-adjusting and the bars on the sides.

He’s relieved when they provide him with a walker, though when he realizes the modified shelf on it is for his belly to rest on, he’s too embarrassed to use it for a few days. When he finally gives in, though, the relief is too great to really care. It may make him a spectacle, an otherwise-small boy with the unsightly, misshapen growth of his gut plopped proudly on a pedestal in front of him, but it takes almost 30lbs of weight off of his lower back, so he lives with it. There is still a faint embarrassment to entering a room like this, his stretched-flat navel and the dark shock of a linea nigra bulging through the door before the rest of him waddles after, but it’s gotten to the point that he blushes under the attention.

And he really gets attention when the baby moves. Especially when his belly is resting on his walker, it distorts his bump so much that it’s hardly even round anymore, just skin stretched over constantly-shifting angles. It’s hurt more and more as the baby has grown, and now it’s almost unbearable, flurries of movement dealt with by clutching his sides and groaning, begging the child to stop moving.

He’s halfway through his 32nd week when the pain begins in his pelvic floor. Not the continuous ache he’s felt since he began to show, or even the seizing cramps that have grown more common as his ligaments are forced to stretch too fast, but something crueler, sharper. Something that digs into him from inside, making him yelp and grab at his pussy reflexively. He forgets the mare he’s been watching and radios his boss, telling her the baby is coming.

She meets him at the stables with a wheelchair and wheels him back to his room. Every bump feels like a knife in his cervix, little ah! ah! ah!s slipping out of him with each rock they roll over.

In his room, his boss gets him into his bed and deploys stirrups from the end. No stranger to them by now, he laboriously lifts his legs, groaning as he holds his belly up to keep it from falling between his thighs, and rests his heels in the stirrups. After a few minutes of prodding painfully at his pussy and cervix, the boss declares that it’s just a case of lightning crotch, and he shouldn’t expect labor until 40, maybe even 42 or 42 weeks. He blanches and cries that he can’t do this for another two months, let alone 10 more weeks! Really, they should have done the C-section a month before now, it’s simply absurd to be pregnant with a 40lb baby! What breed was the father, even? A Clydesdale? He knows Clydes-men can sire babies the size of toddlers, but this is insane! Is she sure it’s not twins?

The boss takes in his feverish dismay with a calm, almost amused look. Then she tells him she’s going to give him an IV for the pain. He’s in too much agony to think better of it.

Only a few minutes after she sets up the IV, he swims out of reality.

Consciousness comes in hints and slips. He feels sensations deep in his body, pressure and pain, and movement, so much movement, like he’s under the ocean and there’s more ocean inside of him, not quite deep enough for whatever’s trying to swim inside his body.

He hears voices, sees changing light, feels cold hands on his belly. Only once or twice does he gain enough consciousness to feel afraid or confused; mostly, it’s peaceful and quiet.

When he finally wakes up, the first thing he feels is the heaviness. It’s like nothing he’s experienced, a bone-creaking, organ-crushing pressure, a not-enough-room, like whatever is inside his body is so big that it’s going to push him out. His breaths come thin and small, the effort of each gasp driving him towards panic and causing more pain to spike deeper inside him. It feels like a tent peg is being hammered deep into his pelvis.

Finally, he notices that he’s sitting in a wheelchair, and there’s someone sitting in his lap. No—wait, fuck, it’s just him. He’s huge. No, he’s beyond huge, he’s—he can’t think of another word. His head is still swimming. His belly is so large now that it pins his legs to the sides of the chair and forces his rib cage back, so that he feels like it’s the thing sitting in the chair, and he just happens to be under it.

Then it shifts. A faded cry rises from his atrophied throat, and he shakes his head instinctively as he watches what looks like a goddamn 8 year old moving inside his belly. His chest—heavy and tender—jumps as he fights for air, whimpers eking out with every alien shift of his womb. Then it kicks, and he screams as he thinks for a moment that the foot will tear through his tummy. But it only ignites a sting of varicose veins and a burn of itching, over-stretched flesh.

The sharp agony flares deep inside him again- his cervix, he realizes- and he didn’t think anything could hurt this bad.

Then it gets worse.

Even in his disorientation, he knows it’s a contraction. Hard to think it’s anything else as he watches his bare belly tense, lifting ever so slightly and shrinking away from his thighs, tightening around an inscruitable shape inside of him. He groans wretchedly and tries to reach for his belly, only to find that his hands are velcroed to the chair. He just clings to the arm rests, and futilely tries to breathe through the tightness of the pain, the pressure, the screwing of something thick and serrated into his cervix.

When the contraction ends, he starts to cry softly, though it only makes the stabbing sensation deep inside feel worse.

Through the tears, he sees that he’s in some kind of husbandry stable, similar to the one at his job but clearly elsewhere. He’s so used to the scents of hay and manure that it didn’t even occur to him that those aren’t the kinds of things a person should be able to smell when they’re in labor.

Four contractions later, the door opens, and his boss appears.

“What the fuck did you do to me,” he sobs, in a broken, pathetic voice that can’t carry an ounce of his anger.

She tuts and checks a her phone. “I saved you from the ten most uncomfortable weeks of your life. And you got paid for them! You should be thankful.”

“You drugged me, and— augh!” His belly shifts massively, and he doesn’t get enough oxygen for a moment, panting. “What is this?! What’s happening?!”

She hums at something on the screen. “You’re in labor. We’ve got a buyer for your foal, but he has to see it come out of you.”

“Wh-what?! Why?!”

“Because that’s the whole point. Folk-carried thoroughbreds go for a pretty penny. You’re going to earn $300k today.”

“Wh- no, I don’t—“ he shakes his head, then makes a high, ragged sound at another jab against his cervix. “Fuck, it hurts so bad, something’s wrong!”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

He clenches his teeth. “It’s all wrong! Why the fuck is it so big?! How—“ He wheezes for air and tries not to sob. “How am I gonna get it out!?”

Finally, she looks up at him and actually focuses her attention, giving him an odd look. “Did you expect it to be smaller because you’re folk?”

“I- I expected it to be normal! It’s almost as big as me!”

“Oh, you’re exaggerating. She’s only 90 pounds.”

He feels sick. “Wh- what?!”

“That’s on the small side, honestly. The last foal from this sire was over a hundred. Though, that was from Missy.”

His ears start to ring. Missy. One of the mares he sat on watch with. A regular, four-legged horse. An animal.

A kick stretches his belly. He stares at it, the sharp shape suddenly clear to him. A hoof.

“No… no, no, no, I can’t, I— AUGH!”

His cervix screams and the sharp pain lances right into his lower spine. It’s starting to come out of his womb. Not a head, but—

“The hooves,” he whimpers, “fuck, the hooves are coming!”

“Oh, shoot. Where is he?” She looks impatiently at her watch. “Shit.” Then she turns and rushes out of the stable.

He pants, incredulous. He’s nothing but a broodmare to her. His womb the same as the animals they work with. Tears run down his face as he groans through the brutal contraction, through the terrible press of sharp keratin through his dilating cervix.

His seized-up belly softens, and though the awful sensation of the hooves pushing into his tailbone remains, it’s not as bad without the cramping. He sits there, trying not to sob, feeling so, so stupid. How did he not realize? He knew it was possible, he just…

Spending his time wishing he never signed that contract, he doesn’t expect the next contraction to come so soon. His eyes fly wide, and he groans with the sudden urge to push. A small noise of effort rises in his throat as his face screws up, his over-stretched abs struggling to tighten.

His noise grows louder as he feels a shift, the painful spread of his cervix, hooves digging into him like they might come out of his asshole instead. Whimpering in pain, he struggles to shove his hips forward, fighting the 90lbs of foal weighing down his lap. It’s impossible to get out from under his enormous breeder belly, but he does manage to at least scoot his butt forward, making more room to spread his thighs and creating a space for something to actually come out.

For the foal to come out.

The next contraction comes fast, and he finds that with his posture sunken like this it’s even harder to breathe. His head spins and the world darkens as he pushes. The sensation is so foreign yet shockingly clear as he feels himself steadily pushing the hooves out of his cervix, their angles stretching his pussy. He stops to gasp for air, then ducks his head and grunts as he keeps pushing. Oh, fuck, they’re starting to stretch his cunt. He clenches his teeth and spreads his legs, and manages to push them right to his entrance before the contraction ends. With the next one, the stretch sharpens and he keens high in the back of his throat as he feels like he might tear—

Then he births the hooves, only to feel them butt up against something. His eyes fly wide, and he starts to panic as he realizes he’s wearing some kind of bottoms. He didn’t even think about it, can’t see any of his body beyond his foal-filled belly.

“Shit,” he whimpers. He spends the whole time waiting for the next contraction trying to wriggle around, looking for some way to- to fix this, or— there. The resistance is suddenly gone, like the hooves are free of whatever they caught on. He has no idea how that worked, but he’ll take it. It isn’t until he’s pushing again that he realizes he managed to direct the hooves down one pant leg. He only has a moment to feel vaguely amused by the idea before pain ignites in his cervix again.

Fuck.

Over the next several minutes, in fits and starts, he pushes as much as he can. It’s massive, the pain driving his head to loll around listlessly, his hands to ache gripping the arm rests. His cunt still strains around the foal’s legs, the knobby ankles resting against his thigh, as he struggles to push on the head and knees. It’s a brutal combination, and he hears the grunts and groans he makes as if from far away.

Suddenly, the door opens again, and his boss cries, “Shoot! Stop pushing, wait!”

He shakes his head. His pussy stretches. It’s getting close to his entrance. “Need it… out…!”

“If you push, you’re in breach of contract! You won’t get a dime!”

He stops with an agonized wheeze.

“Good!”

He shakes his head, eyes clenched shut. “No… no, the head’s in my pussy, it’s almost out, it hurts! Let me push it out!”

“Soon, soon, just be patient.”

There is no such thing as patience with his body forced wide from cunt to womb. He can see the image so vividly in his mind’s eye, the knees and head bulging inside his vagina, legs hanging out of him. Fuck, he’s really foaling…

He contracts, and can do nothing but sit there and groan, a long, mournful sound of a broodmare needing to push.

“Please,” he groans. “Please let me foal…”

“Not yet.”

His voice dissolves into a pathetic whine.

Even without pushing, his pussy burns more and more as the spindly legs widen and the nose descends. He can feel them behind his cunt lips, and would kick his own legs in frustration if they weren’t asleep from the weight of his belly.

“Ohhh fuck, please! Please let me… need to push… need to push so bad, need it out…!”

She ignores him, and his womb ignores her, steadily wringing the foal out of him bit by bit, even without his pushing. He starts to whimper as his labia is pried wider and wider.

“It’s coming! It’s coming out!”

“Stop pushing!”

“I’m not! It’s just- hnnng, fuck, it’s just coming out of me!”

She growls in frustration and stomps to the door, throwing it open and yelling, “Get in here! He’s about to foal into his pants!”

Gasping, he claws at the arm rests. “The head! The head! It’s coming out! And the knees, oh god, oh god, it’s crowning! It’s crowning all at once! Fuck! I’m foaling! FUUUCK!”

His cunt opens wider than it was ever meant to, spread around two bulbous knees and the broadening muzzle of the foal. Even as he clenches his jaw and screams in his effort not to push, his contracting body urges the head even further until the true crown wedges his pussy wide around the boxy width of the creature’s head and legs.

The buyer enters the room to the sight of a hugely pregnant boy shrieking as he births the head of a foal into one of his pant legs. The buyer has the boy’s handler lift up his grotesque belly, then pulls off the disgusting, drenched sweatpants himself and releases a hushed gasp at the pretty view of a cunt straining to give birth.

He whistles lowly. “Look at that. Hanging out of him like that… you’ve got a good broodmare, here. Go on, finish foaling for us, boy.”

With nothing left but the desperation to have this horse out of his body, the boy immediately tenses up and grunts deeply. The shoulders bulge his birthing hole, and he trembles for a moment before making a tiny, garbled sound deep in his chest and shoving them out.

The amniotic sac breaks, water splashing everywhere as the foal begins to shift and twitch. The boy groans as its back hooves kick inside his belly. But he manages to lift his legs, grab at his knees, and make a primal, guttural groan as he keeps pushing. For a moment, the foal just dangles half-inside him. Then the barrel torso bursts out of him, tearing a scream of pain from his throat. His handler deftly drags the rest of the horse out, and the buyer watches in bright-eyed fascination as the haunches stretch the boy’s hole one last time before the gangly legs slip out.

The boy looks, bewildered, at what just came out of him, his gaping red pussy pouring fluids.

“I foaled,” he mumbles vacantly, and his cunt clenches like it enjoys the thought.

“Not bad,” says the buyer. He observes his new horse and hums thoughtfully. “A little on the small side, huh?” He pats the still-bulbous belly of the breeder, who whimpers. “Have him make me a Clydesdale next time.”

“Agreed,” says the handler. The breeder’s pussy flutters weakly, and he starts to cry.

“Cheer up, kid,” the buyer laughs. “You’re gonna be rich.”

———

The newly hired horse boy walks uncomfortably into the stable, holding his nauseous belly. He can still feel the bulge and slosh of semen inside, and winces at the memory of being artificially impregnated. He still can’t believe this has happened to him…

But he can’t change it, so he tries to focus on his job. They said stall 8, right? Seeing the hand-painted 8 midway down the stable, he opens that gate and steps in.

He stops in his tracks, limbs going cold at the sight of a naked horse boy on his hands and knees with a a blue and purple belly so large that it presses heavily into the straw-covered ground. He rocks in place, and lets out a low, concentrated grunt, his ears flicking back against his head.

There’s a foal coming out of him. The boy stares in horror at the inflamed ring of his pussy, displacing his hips and his asshole and his clit, making his bound-up tail arch up almost impossibly, room for nothing but giving birth.

Groaning, the boy keeps pushing, slowly birthing the head of a massive, sturdy foal. He stops every once in a while to pant, and doesn’t even scream until the hulking shoulders are splitting his pussy lips.

Suddenly he moans sharply, and it isn’t until he speaks that the watching boy realizes he didn’t expect him to be able to.

“Oh, I’m gonna foal!” he whines, hips squirming, head falling back. “I’m about to foal! I’m foaling! Augh—!” He starts to shudder, his pussy spasming, and his lips fall open.

With an arch of his spine and a full-body heave, the boy cums as he foals out the biggest newborn horse the observing boy has ever seen. It’s easily over a hundred, maybe as much as a hundred and twenty pounds. It’s almost as big as the birthing boy, himself, probably was before that belly grew on him.

Still standing in the door of the stable, the newly-bred boy stares numbly.

“That’s- that’s not what’s inside of me, is it?!” he finally squeaks.

The breeder, half-collapsed next to his foal, looks up with cloudy eyes. He smiles vacantly, glancing down to the small swell stretching his new coworker’s shirt.