Mpreg Belly Notes #438 Bound to Deliver
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The water had already broken when the door opened.
A wide puddle of clear fluid spread across the floor. In the middle of it the pregnant man lay on his side, wrists bound behind his back, ankles tied. His belly was huge and low, shiny with sweat, resting heavily against the boards. Another contraction hit him just as his captor stepped inside, forcing a raw, broken sound from his throat.
The captor stood over him for a moment, looking down. Then he crouched and began cutting ropes — only the ones that kept his captive on the floor. The second his legs were free enough to move, the pregnant man tried to push himself up, voice cracking.
“It’s started. The water’s gone. I can feel it dropping—”
Strong hands closed around his arms and dragged him up. The red plastic chair was already waiting in the center of the room. The captor forced him down onto the seat hard enough that the plastic creaked. Before the pregnant man could try to stand, his ankles were pulled wide apart and tied tightly to the legs of the chair, locking his thighs open.
“No— wait—” he gasped. “It’s too late, it’s already coming, you can’t—”
The captor pulled his arms behind the back of the chair and bound the wrists together. Then he reached down between the open legs. A thick cord was looped around both the cock and the balls at once, drawing them forward and upward, squeezing them into one tight, swollen bundle. The pregnant man jerked hard at the sudden pressure and cried out.
A wide strip of cloth was shoved between his teeth and pulled tight behind his head. The rest of his protest turned into muffled, furious noise. Only then did the captor step back.
The pregnant man sat there breathing hard through his nose, eyes wide, belly hanging low and heavy between his forced-open thighs. The tight band around his cock and balls made everything throb with his pulse. Another contraction seized him. His whole body tensed. The massive stomach hardened and pushed downward with visible force. A long, desperate sound vibrated against the gag.
The captor watched in silence for a few seconds. Then he spoke, voice calm.
“You don’t get to labor on the floor.”
The pregnant man shook his head hard, making urgent noises behind the gag. He tried to force words around the cloth.
“Nngh— head’s already— it’s in the canal—”
“I know.” The captor stepped closer and placed one heavy hand on top of the taut belly, feeling it clench under his palm. “I can see it.”
A fresh wave of pressure rolled through the laboring man. His eyes squeezed shut. He could feel it with terrible clarity now — the hard, round shape of the baby’s head moving lower inside his rectal canal, stretching him open with every contraction. And with his ass pressed firmly against the hard plastic seat, there was nowhere for that head to go except straight down into the unyielding surface.
The realization hit him cold.
He started struggling harder. The chair legs scraped against the floor as he tried to lift his hips, tried to create even a little space between his body and the seat. The ropes held. The plastic stayed exactly where it was. Another contraction forced the head lower still, and for the first time he felt real resistance — the baby pushing against something that would not give way.
A panicked, muffled shout tore out of him.
The captor only exhaled slowly and wrapped his hand around his own cock, stroking once, eyes fixed on the way the belly surged and dropped.
“You’re going to push it out right here,” he said quietly. “Against the chair. I want to watch the head meet the plastic.”
The pregnant man’s breathing turned sharp and frantic. He could already feel the burn starting deeper inside as the next contraction built. The head was so low now that every downward force pressed it closer to the seat. Soon it would begin to stretch him open against the hard surface. Soon there would be no more room left at all.
He shook his head again, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, making broken, pleading sounds behind the gag. The man standing over him only kept stroking himself slowly, patient, completely in control.
Another contraction seized the heavy belly.
The laboring man arched as much as the ropes allowed. A long, raw noise vibrated in his throat. Deep inside, the baby’s head pushed harder, meeting the resistance of the plastic seat with growing, focused pressure.
There was no way off the chair. No way to close his legs. No way to stop what was already happening.
And his captor intended to stand there and watch...
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