18+ Please

His breath hisses sharply though his teeth and his belly tenses even harder as he does just that, abs struggling to maintain any grip after being stretched so thin by two huge pregnancies.

But, finally, the most beautiful moment comes. The unrelenting pressurized ache between his legs tightens into a burn, and the crotch of his jeans rounds subtly as the head drops through his cervix and fills his pussy completely. He squirms and grits his teeth, panting.

“Fuuuck, baby, it burns, it already burns.” Trembling beneath the weight of his rock-hard belly, he manages to scoot back and spread his legs even wider. “My pussy’s so full! It barely fits! Aaaauuuuugh-!” His head falls back, body lurching and belly rocking as he puts his whole spine into a push. He keeps stretching, a growing swell where his thighs meet, a sting worsening every second as the poor lips of his cunt grind between the descending head and the shrinkwrap jeans.

Then the progress stops. He keeps pushing, even between contractions, indulging in loud, effort-filled moans, but the oppressive weight of the head remains closed behind his stretched labia.

“I can’t get it out!” His head rolls back, chest heaving in overwhelm. “It won’t come out no matter how hard I push!”

Finally, he’s getting closer to the place he’s imagined being, the place he’s been dreaming of returning to for 11 months. Laboring fiercely, he struggles to lift himself up, and must sit with his legs splayed and his contracting pussy forward before he manages to stand. With the slow, rocking gait of a man with a head splitting his hips, he staggers towards the camera and turns it.

For a moment, the shot is vague and unfocused, just a brown smudge with the agonized sounds of labor in the background. Then his groaning fades, and the image rattles around before actualizing into a dresser. He practically falls into the frame, his hands slapping the surface of the dresser as his belly hangs with incredible weight beneath him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mumbles, and begins to circle his hips in wide, deliberate motions. “Mmhg… your baby’s so big… can you see? Can you see it coming out?”

Later, he’ll be pleased to find that he managed to catch his body in complete profile, including the lump jutting from the back of his jeans.

Now, he lifts a trembling hand from the dresser top and stretches to cup the tender curve of his bulging perineum. His jaw falls open as he traces two delicate fingers down the seam of his jeans, pressing it ever-so-slightly between his pussy lips.

This causes the tiniest bit of tension on his stretched t-clit, and he yelps like a puppy, feebly bucking his hips. “Augh!” He hangs his head, and the light catches tears welling between his lashes. “Ohhhh my god,” he groans, “it’s too… it’s too…!”

Suddenly his eyes fly open, and a helpless squeak ekes from his throat, only for him to spread his lips in a silent wail as he cums. The tense and pulse of his orgasm triggers something in him, and he slams his hand down and starts pushing frantically, bucking his full pussy backwards like he can just wrench it out.

“It’s too much!” he screams. “I need- I need—!”

With trembling hands, he tries to unbutton the jeans. Tight as they are, he struggles, whimpering desperately every time he must stop to push.

“Ohh, pleasepleaseple—“ The moment he drags his jeans down his thighs, the glistening, dark red dome between his legs swells even further, and finally splits open. He shrieks, cumming again at the first hint of the head peeking out, and the orgasm makes the little slip of dark hair bob, easing further out and sinking back in with each urgent clench of his shiny, cumming pussy.

He wails, agonized, even as two of his fingers fly to jam against his tightening clit.

When it finally passes, he sags for a moment, the heavy shape of his belly tightening and relaxing as he gasps for air. “Ooooh, it’s right there,” he mumbles. “Fuuuuuck. Fuck it’s so good. It’s so— mnnnn…” He winces even as a pleased shiver unfurls across his limbs.

Shakily, he shoves the jeans further down his legs, revealing that he still has one last piece of clothing: a skintight pair of transparent vinyl briefs. Every inch of his birthing hole is visible, reflected light clinging to the dips and curves of his body.

Glancing at the camera, he manages a sweaty, self-satisfied smirk. “You like this? I wanted you to see just how big your baby stretches me.”

Saying so, he turns, still bent at the waist, so that the camera gets his plastic-coated cunt in perfect detail. Then, groaning, he pushes, and the material tightens as the slit between his raw lips begins to round towards his asshole. For a moment, it’s the resistance of his own slowly-opening body that prevents the head from coming out, but as he pushes and pushes, the vinyl stretches less and less, until finally—

“Ah- ah-! It won’t move!”

Wrapped as delicately as a present, his crowning cunt trembles and his asshole throbs on the end of a desperate push. “Ohh GOD!” he wails, hanging his head. “My clit! Fuck, my clit, my clit—“

The sweet little thing barely makes a bump against the plastic, the purple head eye-catching amid all the stretched-pale flesh. Between the skull of the crowning child and the uncaring chafe of the vinyl, his t-clit is pressed thin as a flower between pages, and he starts to heave sobs of overstimulation. His toes curl, and he shakes his head, drool beginning to gather over his lip with wet mumblings.

“I can’t! Get it out! Get it out, get it OUT!!”

Instinctively, he drops into a deep squat, and screams as the tremendous weight of his pregnant mass tries to thrust the head from his pussy. Still, the vinyl cradles it, and it remains at a perfect crown between his quivering lips. He shrieks and bounces restlessly on his heels, hands fluttering down feverishly between his legs to feel the bowling-ball weight now hanging beneath him.

His begging to get it out loops into incomprehensible babble as he pushes and pushes. “It’s too big, your baby’s too big for my pussy!” he moans. “My clit’s gonna tear! I can’t anymore!”

Yet he does, never removing the briefs, because he has a plan: he’s not going to take them off. Not until he gives birth.

When his thighs begin to shake, he slumps forward and ends up on his side, clutching his belly in one hand and the back of his knee in the other, prying himself wide. He lays on his side, heaving like livestock, and groans helplessly as he pushes without end. Birthing fluid gathers in the vinyl briefs and drips down his legs, the drops released with each push accumulating over the seemingly unending effort.

Eventually, when he can’t force the head out that way, he clambers onto his hands and knees and crawls, his entire body shaking, back to the bed. He reaches into a box sitting on the floor and produces a powerful massage wand. Then, sinking down on one elbow, he presents his crowning cunt to the camera and pushes the powerfully vibrating wand between his upper thighs, wedging it to the splayed-wide nub that used to be his t-clit.

At first he screams, but his voice gives quickly, and he lays there with his cheek pressed to the floor and his ass up, contracting and cumming in helpless perpetuity. Occasionally, soft whimpers of, “Need it out, lemme push it out, lemme birth it…” are caught by the microphone.

Three and a half hours after he first crowns, he finally finds the strength to make that final push. With an ugly, heaving grunt, the vinyl fills with the huge head of his baby. He takes his time peeling off the briefs, and lifts himself upright, shuffling his knees under himself and facing the camera again. Kneeling there, he holds the wand directly on his aching purple clit, and births the massive shoulders with a single push and the whimper of a ruined orgasm.

This is the first video file his stud receives, labeled 13lbs.mov.

But there is also a second.

This one began recording at 2 AM, in the moody light of a bedside table lamp. In it, sweat renders the breeder’s heaving body in a thin glitter, and his belly still looks huge in the half-dark, especially as it draws tight with a contraction.

“The- the afterbirth was taking forever,” he says in a scratchy voice, absent of the sultry pageantry of the first video. “Now- ooooh, hah, fuck.” He pants, instinctively lifting a foot onto the bed to open his hips. “Hah, hah, I need to push, I gotta push agai—!” His face scrunches up, and slowly reddens as he struggles with all his might.

After, it takes him several gasping moments to speak again. His chest jumps with shallow breaths, words thin.

“There’s another head. A second head. Fuck, holy fuck.” He laughs almost deliriously. The lamplight catches his raw pussy squeezing gently in anticipation. “I’m having another one. A twin. Fuck, you put twins in me!” He reaches down and gives an indulgent rub to his incredibly swollen clit before shoving his fingers up his cunt.

Then he jolts, and his eyes fly wide. “Oh, god, I feel it! The head! It’s right there, it’s coming so fast, what the— ohhhhh—”

His belly locks into a tight, twisted shape, and he releases only a faint wheeze, like the wind has been knocked out of him, as he pushes with it. The plastic covering the bed crinkles in his fists.

Unlike its slow, impeded stretch before, his heavily-used pussy unfurls suddenly around the budding head. He yelps in shock. Then both of his hands fly to it, and he moans as the rest of his push is absorbed into the counter-force of his palms and the head moves no further.

“Stop!” he screams. “It’s too big! I can’t, I can’t, I…”

Delicately, a tendon leaping in his neck as he pants for breath, he starts to push the crown back inside. “Fuck!” His head drops backwards, and he shakes it at the ceiling as if defying himself. “Fuck, fuck, it’s going back in! It doesn’t fit, it’s too much, fuck! My- ah! My fucking cervix, fuck, hnnnn-“

Voice breaking, he whimpers desperately even as he slowly closes his legs around his wrist, hand still covering his puffy pussy. “M’so full. Fuuuuck. Fuck, I can’t believe I get to do this again, pussy’s made for struggling on big babies, fuuuuck…”

His wrist writhes into the meeting of his thighs, hips rolling forward as he humps the heel of his hand. “Ohhh I feel so heavy. So fucking.” Then a wince, teeth clenching, as his belly contracts. “M’not ready,” he mumbles, then groans loud enough to wake the dead as he pushes uselessly. His elbow jerks as he works his hand against his clit, and suddenly his hips leap from the bed and his eyes flutter as he cums, birthing fluid spraying between his fingers.

“Shit!” His next gasp rattles, voice fraying again with his volume. “Need this, need this, need this so bad, need your huge fuckin’ twins stuck in my cunt every night—!”

He whips his hand away and opens his legs, and makes a frail bleating sound with the rhythm of his stretching pussy as the head lurches out in steady spasms. He lets it keep coming until it triggers a scream just before crowning, then shoves it up his greedy cunt again. His spine arches off the bed, a wounded, dying groan filling the room.

“Fuuuuuuuck, baby, it hurts, it hurts, it’s too much, it’s too much, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I—“

With only needy instinct guiding him, he denies himself the birth of the twin for hours, lost in a heady haze of pressure and pain and pleasure. His body fights to push it out, writhing on the sheets, and he forces it back inside, his orgasmic groans indistinguishable from his moans of absolute agony.

Near dawn, he scrambles upright, legs wavering dangerously beneath him, and shudders with the force required to shove the head back in as gravity enters the picture.

“Need to- need it out,” he pants, eyes shiny and pleading. “Can’t do it anymore, my pussy, my poor fucking pussy hurts so bad, I need to birth it, I need to birth it, please let me—!”

His knees give, and when his hands lurch to his thighs to steady himself, the baby finally crowns. He shrieks, then starts to shake his head, wailing, “Too big! It’s too big!” His already-splayed knees wobble further apart, feet shifting on the floor, and his body squats almost without his permission, bulging the head forward.

With ragged, helpless breaths and a heaving belly, he reaches clumsily for the camera. Shadows fly around the room and his hands clack noisily on the plastic, then finally he’s filming his pussy straight-on.

“L-look at that head…”

It’s so big that it looks unreal, his trembling thighs flush against the ears and his lips so stretched they’ll clearly never be the same. It’s hard to even imagine how his pelvis got so wide. He gasps a sob distantly. “So big…!”

Slowly, slowly, it begins to come out. He makes a breathless grunting sound, then squeaks in pain as the fat cheeks begin to stretch his hole even further, and cups it again with his hand. By his full-body tremble, it’s clear there’s no pushing it back in now, but he holds it all the same, desperate to deny it just a little longer.

“Fuck, fuck… ahhhh- hah… hmmmmng, too full, too big, it burns, it burns so bad, I can’t…”

But he does. A contraction begins to ease the head forward again, and he yelps as it bursts out of him. To the camera, it looks nearly the size of a grown man’s head, though the warped perspective is mostly to blame.

A thin whimper, and he clenches his jaw into another push. After everything, it still takes all he has left to grunt the shoulders free of his pussy, flicking his clit all the while.

This second video file, he names 18lbs.mov.

With the two files, he includes the message: Meet in 4 weeks? I already miss being full ❤️

His breath hisses sharply though his teeth and his belly tenses even harder as he does just that, abs struggling to maintain any grip after being stretched so thin by two huge pregnancies.

But, finally, the most beautiful moment comes. The unrelenting pressurized ache between his legs tightens into a burn, and the crotch of his jeans rounds subtly as the head drops through his cervix and fills his pussy completely. He squirms and grits his teeth, panting.

“Fuuuck, baby, it burns, it already burns.” Trembling beneath the weight of his rock-hard belly, he manages to scoot back and spread his legs even wider. “My pussy’s so full! It barely fits! Aaaauuuuugh-!” His head falls back, body lurching and belly rocking as he puts his whole spine into a push. He keeps stretching, a growing swell where his thighs meet, a sting worsening every second as the poor lips of his cunt grind between the descending head and the shrinkwrap jeans.

Then the progress stops. He keeps pushing, even between contractions, indulging in loud, effort-filled moans, but the oppressive weight of the head remains closed behind his stretched labia.

“I can’t get it out!” His head rolls back, chest heaving in overwhelm. “It won’t come out no matter how hard I push!”

Finally, he’s getting closer to the place he’s imagined being, the place he’s been dreaming of returning to for 11 months. Laboring fiercely, he struggles to lift himself up, and must sit with his legs splayed and his contracting pussy forward before he manages to stand. With the slow, rocking gait of a man with a head splitting his hips, he staggers towards the camera and turns it.

For a moment, the shot is vague and unfocused, just a brown smudge with the agonized sounds of labor in the background. Then his groaning fades, and the image rattles around before actualizing into a dresser. He practically falls into the frame, his hands slapping the surface of the dresser as his belly hangs with incredible weight beneath him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mumbles, and begins to circle his hips in wide, deliberate motions. “Mmhg… your baby’s so big… can you see? Can you see it coming out?”

Later, he’ll be pleased to find that he managed to catch his body in complete profile, including the lump jutting from the back of his jeans.

Now, he lifts a trembling hand from the dresser top and stretches to cup the tender curve of his bulging perineum. His jaw falls open as he traces two delicate fingers down the seam of his jeans, pressing it ever-so-slightly between his pussy lips.

This causes the tiniest bit of tension on his stretched t-clit, and he yelps like a puppy, feebly bucking his hips. “Augh!” He hangs his head, and the light catches tears welling between his lashes. “Ohhhh my god,” he groans, “it’s too… it’s too…!”

Suddenly his eyes fly open, and a helpless squeak ekes from his throat, only for him to spread his lips in a silent wail as he cums. The tense and pulse of his orgasm triggers something in him, and he slams his hand down and starts pushing frantically, bucking his full pussy backwards like he can just wrench it out.

“It’s too much!” he screams. “I need- I need—!”

With trembling hands, he tries to unbutton the jeans. Tight as they are, he struggles, whimpering desperately every time he must stop to push.

“Ohh, pleasepleaseple—“ The moment he drags his jeans down his thighs, the glistening, dark red dome between his legs swells even further, and finally splits open. He shrieks, cumming again at the first hint of the head peeking out, and the orgasm makes the little slip of dark hair bob, easing further out and sinking back in with each urgent clench of his shiny, cumming pussy.

He wails, agonized, even as two of his fingers fly to jam against his tightening clit.

When it finally passes, he sags for a moment, the heavy shape of his belly tightening and relaxing as he gasps for air. “Ooooh, it’s right there,” he mumbles. “Fuuuuuck. Fuck it’s so good. It’s so— mnnnn…” He winces even as a pleased shiver unfurls across his limbs.

Shakily, he shoves the jeans further down his legs, revealing that he still has one last piece of clothing: a skintight pair of transparent vinyl briefs. Every inch of his birthing hole is visible, reflected light clinging to the dips and curves of his body.

Glancing at the camera, he manages a sweaty, self-satisfied smirk. “You like this? I wanted you to see just how big your baby stretches me.”

Saying so, he turns, still bent at the waist, so that the camera gets his plastic-coated cunt in perfect detail. Then, groaning, he pushes, and the material tightens as the slit between his raw lips begins to round towards his asshole. For a moment, it’s the resistance of his own slowly-opening body that prevents the head from coming out, but as he pushes and pushes, the vinyl stretches less and less, until finally—

“Ah- ah-! It won’t move!”

Wrapped as delicately as a present, his crowning cunt trembles and his asshole throbs on the end of a desperate push. “Ohh GOD!” he wails, hanging his head. “My clit! Fuck, my clit, my clit—“

The sweet little thing barely makes a bump against the plastic, the purple head eye-catching amid all the stretched-pale flesh. Between the skull of the crowning child and the uncaring chafe of the vinyl, his t-clit is pressed thin as a flower between pages, and he starts to heave sobs of overstimulation. His toes curl, and he shakes his head, drool beginning to gather over his lip with wet mumblings.

“I can’t! Get it out! Get it out, get it OUT!!”

Instinctively, he drops into a deep squat, and screams as the tremendous weight of his pregnant mass tries to thrust the head from his pussy. Still, the vinyl cradles it, and it remains at a perfect crown between his quivering lips. He shrieks and bounces restlessly on his heels, hands fluttering down feverishly between his legs to feel the bowling-ball weight now hanging beneath him.

His begging to get it out loops into incomprehensible babble as he pushes and pushes. “It’s too big, your baby’s too big for my pussy!” he moans. “My clit’s gonna tear! I can’t anymore!”

Yet he does, never removing the briefs, because he has a plan: he’s not going to take them off. Not until he gives birth.

When his thighs begin to shake, he slumps forward and ends up on his side, clutching his belly in one hand and the back of his knee in the other, prying himself wide. He lays on his side, heaving like livestock, and groans helplessly as he pushes without end. Birthing fluid gathers in the vinyl briefs and drips down his legs, the drops released with each push accumulating over the seemingly unending effort.

Eventually, when he can’t force the head out that way, he clambers onto his hands and knees and crawls, his entire body shaking, back to the bed. He reaches into a box sitting on the floor and produces a powerful massage wand. Then, sinking down on one elbow, he presents his crowning cunt to the camera and pushes the powerfully vibrating wand between his upper thighs, wedging it to the splayed-wide nub that used to be his t-clit.

At first he screams, but his voice gives quickly, and he lays there with his cheek pressed to the floor and his ass up, contracting and cumming in helpless perpetuity. Occasionally, soft whimpers of, “Need it out, lemme push it out, lemme birth it…” are caught by the microphone.

Three and a half hours after he first crowns, he finally finds the strength to make that final push. With an ugly, heaving grunt, the vinyl fills with the huge head of his baby. He takes his time peeling off the briefs, and lifts himself upright, shuffling his knees under himself and facing the camera again. Kneeling there, he holds the wand directly on his aching purple clit, and births the massive shoulders with a single push and the whimper of a ruined orgasm.

This is the first video file his stud receives, labeled 13lbs.mov.

But there is also a second.

This one began recording at 2 AM, in the moody light of a bedside table lamp. In it, sweat renders the breeder’s heaving body in a thin glitter, and his belly still looks huge in the half-dark, especially as it draws tight with a contraction.

“The- the afterbirth was taking forever,” he says in a scratchy voice, absent of the sultry pageantry of the first video. “Now- ooooh, hah, fuck.” He pants, instinctively lifting a foot onto the bed to open his hips. “Hah, hah, I need to push, I gotta push agai—!” His face scrunches up, and slowly reddens as he struggles with all his might.

After, it takes him several gasping moments to speak again. His chest jumps with shallow breaths, words thin.

“There’s another head. A second head. Fuck, holy fuck.” He laughs almost deliriously. The lamplight catches his raw pussy squeezing gently in anticipation. “I’m having another one. A twin. Fuck, you put twins in me!” He reaches down and gives an indulgent rub to his incredibly swollen clit before shoving his fingers up his cunt.

Then he jolts, and his eyes fly wide. “Oh, god, I feel it! The head! It’s right there, it’s coming so fast, what the— ohhhhh—”

His belly locks into a tight, twisted shape, and he releases only a faint wheeze, like the wind has been knocked out of him, as he pushes with it. The plastic covering the bed crinkles in his fists.

Unlike its slow, impeded stretch before, his heavily-used pussy unfurls suddenly around the budding head. He yelps in shock. Then both of his hands fly to it, and he moans as the rest of his push is absorbed into the counter-force of his palms and the head moves no further.

“Stop!” he screams. “It’s too big! I can’t, I can’t, I…”

Delicately, a tendon leaping in his neck as he pants for breath, he starts to push the crown back inside. “Fuck!” His head drops backwards, and he shakes it at the ceiling as if defying himself. “Fuck, fuck, it’s going back in! It doesn’t fit, it’s too much, fuck! My- ah! My fucking cervix, fuck, hnnnn-“

Voice breaking, he whimpers desperately even as he slowly closes his legs around his wrist, hand still covering his puffy pussy. “M’so full. Fuuuuck. Fuck, I can’t believe I get to do this again, pussy’s made for struggling on big babies, fuuuuck…”

His wrist writhes into the meeting of his thighs, hips rolling forward as he humps the heel of his hand. “Ohhh I feel so heavy. So fucking.” Then a wince, teeth clenching, as his belly contracts. “M’not ready,” he mumbles, then groans loud enough to wake the dead as he pushes uselessly. His elbow jerks as he works his hand against his clit, and suddenly his hips leap from the bed and his eyes flutter as he cums, birthing fluid spraying between his fingers.

“Shit!” His next gasp rattles, voice fraying again with his volume. “Need this, need this, need this so bad, need your huge fuckin’ twins stuck in my cunt every night—!”

He whips his hand away and opens his legs, and makes a frail bleating sound with the rhythm of his stretching pussy as the head lurches out in steady spasms. He lets it keep coming until it triggers a scream just before crowning, then shoves it up his greedy cunt again. His spine arches off the bed, a wounded, dying groan filling the room.

“Fuuuuuuuck, baby, it hurts, it hurts, it’s too much, it’s too much, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I—“

With only needy instinct guiding him, he denies himself the birth of the twin for hours, lost in a heady haze of pressure and pain and pleasure. His body fights to push it out, writhing on the sheets, and he forces it back inside, his orgasmic groans indistinguishable from his moans of absolute agony.

Near dawn, he scrambles upright, legs wavering dangerously beneath him, and shudders with the force required to shove the head back in as gravity enters the picture.

“Need to- need it out,” he pants, eyes shiny and pleading. “Can’t do it anymore, my pussy, my poor fucking pussy hurts so bad, I need to birth it, I need to birth it, please let me—!”

His knees give, and when his hands lurch to his thighs to steady himself, the baby finally crowns. He shrieks, then starts to shake his head, wailing, “Too big! It’s too big!” His already-splayed knees wobble further apart, feet shifting on the floor, and his body squats almost without his permission, bulging the head forward.

With ragged, helpless breaths and a heaving belly, he reaches clumsily for the camera. Shadows fly around the room and his hands clack noisily on the plastic, then finally he’s filming his pussy straight-on.

“L-look at that head…”

It’s so big that it looks unreal, his trembling thighs flush against the ears and his lips so stretched they’ll clearly never be the same. It’s hard to even imagine how his pelvis got so wide. He gasps a sob distantly. “So big…!”

Slowly, slowly, it begins to come out. He makes a breathless grunting sound, then squeaks in pain as the fat cheeks begin to stretch his hole even further, and cups it again with his hand. By his full-body tremble, it’s clear there’s no pushing it back in now, but he holds it all the same, desperate to deny it just a little longer.

“Fuck, fuck… ahhhh- hah… hmmmmng, too full, too big, it burns, it burns so bad, I can’t…”

But he does. A contraction begins to ease the head forward again, and he yelps as it bursts out of him. To the camera, it looks nearly the size of a grown man’s head, though the warped perspective is mostly to blame.

A thin whimper, and he clenches his jaw into another push. After everything, it still takes all he has left to grunt the shoulders free of his pussy, flicking his clit all the while.

This second video file, he names 18lbs.mov.

With the two files, he includes the message: Meet in 4 weeks? I already miss being full ❤️

“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.

Their body is designed to lay quickly. Half a day of laboring, an hour of pushing and you've got a clutch. But with their eggs three or four times bigger than they should be that timeline is simply impossible. They dread those first contractions. Once they start they are trapped in a horrible storm as their body shoves the first egg down brutally hard and fast. The pressure in their hips increases ten fold. They squawk and cry, paralyzed by the intensity and trying desperately to find a position that will ease some of the pressure.

It's not long before the tip of the first egg begins to press down through their cloaca. This is when the real trouble starts. They are gripped with the urge to push. The first push begins to stretch their hole, the heavy egg bulging out the skin between their legs, the very tip visible just inside. But there is not enough space. Two, maybe three pushes should be enough for a regular egg. But their egg is so, so big. It gets stuck almost immediately. A few desperate pushes might bring it down just a bit more, enough than the stretch of their cloaca really starts to sting. But then it lodges itself and won't budge no matter how much they push.

No matter how many times they're forced to do this they are always gripped with horrible panic when they realize the egg won't move. The pain of contractions, the spasming of their stretched hole, the mind numbing pressure, all make it impossible to think. They'll thrash and scream, crying that it's stuck! It's stuck! Oh god please, it won't come! By now they know to have a healer on hand. But during their first lay they cried alone for hours, sure they were going to die.

There isn't actually much the healer can do. The bird-folk must now go through a horrible process of slow stretching. The healer takes some oil and rubs it around the rim of their hole, gently stretching the already taught skin, trying to work them open. They moan as their tortured hole is stretched. The burn is constant and terrible and they feel like they could rip open at any second. The healer stretches them and then they are forced to stand on shaking legs and hobble back and forth, bowlegged around their crowning egg. They shift their hips as best they can, trying to work the egg down. They are still beset by contractions and every few the urge to push becomes too great and they have to squat down and push. On every fourth or fifth push the egg will inch out the slightest bit more.

The progress is glacial and agonizing. They are trapped in a desperate cycle. Once they collapse from exhaustion the healer applies more oil, wedging their finger in alongside the egg and making them stretch. Then after a fruitless push or two they are dragged back to their feet. They rock and sway and squat intermittently, pushing and crying, until their legs give out once again and they slump to the ground in an exhausted heap. Then the healer approaches with more oil.

This goes on for hour after miserable hour. Slowly the egg crowns out of their tortured cloaca. The liberal application of oil and constant stretching protects them from tearing but the burn is indescribable. They are stretched so tight around something much bigger than it should be. At a certain point they go numb, their nerves unable to keep up with the stretch.

It's usually at that point that they break down completely, going limp and weeping, saying the egg will never come out, just leave them, they're too tired to push anymore. Every time they're sure this is it, it's over. They just want the pressure and the pain to end but their will is completely broken. The healer lets them cry and writhe through several contractions then hauls them up on their hands and knees, forces some water down their throat, and tells them to get pushing. It's hard but they've done it every year and this won't be the year they die on the healer's watch. Still crying and hiccuping miserably they bear down and push again.

By the next day they are usually close to the widest part of the egg. The end is in sight but still so far away. The cycles of oil, stretching, and pushing have gotten shorter and shorter. They are no longer able to stand, the egg forcing their legs too wide. It looks obscene sticking out of their hole, taking up the entire space between their legs. They alternate between squatting and rocking back and forth on their hands and knees. By now they are in a kind of trance-like state. Their world shrunk down to just the giant egg holding them brutally open. They emit a constant quiet lowing, their broken voice peaking in distress with every push.

Finally after one push they feel it, on instinct they know that one more push will get them past the widest point. They suck in a breath and push with every desperate ounce of strength left in their exhausted body. The egg moves. The pressure gives. In an almost orgasmic gush the egg bursts through and slides out of their spasming hole. They slump to the ground and sob in relief.

They get maybe an hour of rest. Then the pains return and their body starts working the next giant egg down to their hole. They're stretched now so this one will not take quite as long but they still have hours more of pushing ahead. And after that two more eggs lie in wait.