#mpreg fic

I've always been a bit of a slut.

When spring comes, people begin to notice the protruding roundness of his belly, his physician recommending him more exercise and his tailor having to let out his royal garb every few weeks.

Still, the king attempts to plant his heir in the queen’s womb every night, though now he must rest his belly on her back to complete their union.

Nine months since he appealed to the gods, murmurs of concern follow the king wherever he goes. His gait has slowed and widened, a ponderous, rocking movement as his great belly hefts side to side. His physician looks more and more disturbed every time he examines the tight ball growing beneath the king’s gently swollen chest, warning him that he must have an imbalance of humors that have led to a massive tumor. The movement the king has felt, and the physician now feels and even sees from outside, must be the cankerous wolf, the physician surmises grimly, a malady that eats the flesh of the afflicted. Most often found in the breasts of women, it could nevertheless affect any part of the body, and the king should be prepared for a painful illness and untimely death.

But something else happens, instead. The king’s cock begins to swell. At first it’s barely enough to notice, but after a few weeks, it’s so thick and bloated that he can barely stand to touch it. He shudders at the slightest brushes against the tender, stretched flesh, and just the most tentative touch of the queen’s lips makes him cry out and dribble seed.

The physician warns him that the wolf might be on the move throughout his body, that this is likely a tumor that could destroy his member, but the king has another thought. He remembers pleading with the gods, and believes that they must have finally answered his prayers, and this large and sensitive cock is a sign of fertility.

The overstimulation is excruciating, but he barely manages to squeeze his massively swollen cock into the queen. She gasps and squirms and trembles, feeling split open by him. Tears cover his face by the time he reaches his climax. Both of them cry out as a sudden torrent of fluid erupts from him, believing this outpouring to be seed given to him by the gods. Once the servants change their linens, they go to sleep convinced that their heir will come soon.

They’re right—it will just be much sooner than they think.

My hormones are surging now, and without thinking, my hand goes down my pants and starts rubbing my clit for pleasure and pain relief while my puss is already beginning to bulge outwards. Now my legs are opening, partially from the ecstasy and heat between my shaking legs, and partially from my uncontrollable instincts forcing me to birth in this humiliating situation. My puss bulges even more now, obvious through my leggings that something is going on down there, and the head of my baby barely peaking out, only a spec able to be seen if I were naked. As I continue touching myself, losing myself more and more to the pleasure, my hand moves downward ever so slightly and I realize just how close I am to giving birth. “Fuck, I’m already bulging!” I whisper, just a little too loud. Bro looks over at me, confused, not making sense of what he just heard. I know I have to get out of here. I need to. I can’t give birth in front of my whole class, that would be… far too humiliating. I get up, and walk towards the bathroom, but I’ve unfortunately sat in the front of an auditorium style classroom, meaning I have to walk up the stairs to get out the doors in the back, and I can’t even close my legs. The pressure is so fucking low, so heavy. I slowly make towards the back of the room, struggling with every step. When the urge to push comes, I try as hard as I can to resist, but IMMEDIATELY fail. All I can do is stay silent and hope nobody looks at me. I hold my heaving, contracting belly with one hand and the railing for support with the other, bending over and pushing as hard as I possibly can against my will. In spite of my hoping against hope, some of the people in my class have started looking over at me. It’s extremely obvious at this point that I’m pregnant with a litter of babies, but they don’t realize I’m birthing. Except for some of the boys, that is. While some of their eyes drift down towards my ass (the feature that got these babies in my belly) they a bulge. A GROWING bulge. It’s suspiciously round… almost like… like a huge head crowning out of my puss, bulging my leggings outward more and more and MORE. Because of how tight they are though, the massive head slips back in as my contractions stop and the urge dies down. I try hard to hurry out of the classroom before another contraction comes, but they’re so close together now, and I’m so heavy and so slow. I make it near the back, where all the students who hate this class sit, ignoring the professor while scrolling on their phones. The contraction hits. This one is even stronger. I helplessly drop down to my hands and knees, painfully close to privacy, to solitude… at least for a little bit. Long enough to birth at least one of my babies. But it’s no use. Instead, I shove my hand into my panties once again and furiously rub my clit while my puss bulges obscenely into my soaked, straining leggings. The guys in the back row who notice me crowning massively into my leggings and liking it are taking pictures and videos now. I’m too busy giving birth to this huge baby some stranger put in me to even notice. Little do I know, my wish for privacy has just gone out the window. Soon, the whole school, everyone I know, and millions of strangers will have seen the viral video of me cumming while I crown into my ruined leggings, legs shaking wildly, back arched, head thrown back in pleasure. Finally, my body relents, but I’m stuck at a truly MASSIVE full crown, waddling slowly and awkwardly to the exit, finally.

I strip my clothes off. All my clothes, without thinking. I’m not thinking anymore, I’m just birthing. I can’t stop. My instincts are in control and they want me naked. I’m on all fours, completely naked, right outside the door of our classroom, and FINALLY, I can push without my leggings getting in the way. I spread my legs as wide as the can go and rub my clit some more. Instantly, with a loud, pleasurable moan, I birth the head. I move my hand further down and cup my baby’s head while they turn. “They’re so BIG!” I say to myself. But before I can think anything else, I’m pushing the even bigger shoulders out. I moan and whine, desperate to birth this baby, knowing full well that I have 2 more to go. At last, with a huge push, I finally birth the whole baby. But my next baby doesn’t want me to have any relief. Within minutes, I’m bulging massively around another head. I cup my bulging pussy, wanting to feel myself crown this time. I haven’t even opened yet and it’s already so… big. I find myself, to my shame, wishing someone would catch me now. This is private, intimate, personal… and yet… I can’t help feeling incredibly sexy. It would be so much nicer to birth for someone.

I’m going slower this time. I’m opening so very slowly around this head. My aching, bulging puss has be forced into a teardrop by now. I can’t stop tracing its shape. I’m birthing on my knees this time, so that I can use the other hand to keep rubbing. Not only does it help a ton, but it feels so damn good… All of a sudden, I hear the door swing open, and then someone’s breath hitch in their throat. Their breathing becomes fast, and heavy. I feel THEIR hand cupping my crowning puss gently as well. I let them. I move my hand and put it on top of his, letting him know I want this. I look back at him while in between pushes. A gorgeous skater boy, wearing vans, a metal band tshirt, and has long hair. He’s obviously into it. He whispers what a good boy I’m being. Tells my what an amazing job I’m doing. How perfect I look. I’m deeply embarrassed, but also… even more aroused. I let him enjoy the view as I bulge harder into his waiting hands. He gasps, ever so gently rubbing my crowning puss with one hand after noticing I was doing it while continuing to cup me. I can’t help but feel warmer, safer with his hands on me. I’m so embarrassed by it, I don’t wanna like it… but I love it. I want more. I hear him gasping and whispering in awe as I stretch and crown, just for him. He tells me what a pretty boy I am. How incredible I am. How he wants to treat me right. I can’t help myself liking it, falling for it more and more. How sweet he’s being, but at the same time, how HOT he thinks I am right now. He won’t take his hands off my most intimate parts, and I don’t want him to.

I come to a full crown in Gavin’s waiting hands. He tells me how big my baby is. How stretched out I am. How he wishes the babies were his. I can’t help myself any longer, a big urge to push comes and I quickly birth the whole baby right then. I turn around and pin him down, making out with him sloppily until I need to birth the last baby. My hands are exploring him. His hands are exploring me. His tongue is down my throat. My breath is racing. My belly is still big, and he rubs every inch of it while helping to support me so I don’t fall over. He moves his lips down to my nipple to suck it, and to both our surprises, I squirt a thick stream of milk down its throat. His eyes glass over, and he drinks even drop he can get.

His hands rested on the curve of his belly, the heavy weight of it pressing into his lower back, a constant reminder of the life growing inside him. He had been sitting there, in the cool moonlight, savoring the quiet peace that came with being so far along in a pregnancy—until he felt it.

A sharp, sudden sensation, like a deep, heavy shift, that drew his attention. His breath caught as a wave of discomfort radiated through his abdomen. His belly, once high and rounded, seemed to lower in that moment, a subtle but undeniable feeling of descent. The baby had dropped.

His eyes widened, and he instinctively placed his hands on the lower part of his belly, feeling the shift, the pressure as the baby moved lower. His stomach tightened, a rush of discomfort filling him as the weight shifted downwards. It was a strange, almost painful sensation. A deep, pulling heaviness in his pelvis as if the baby were suddenly closer to his hips.

"Oh God..." His voice was low and shaky, the words feeling strained, a mix of awe and discomfort. He could feel the baby moving, pressing downward, stretching his body in ways that weren’t as comfortable anymore. The pressure was almost too much, making his back ache, his hips feel like they were being pulled apart. It was as if the very act of the baby shifting had turned his entire body into a tight, sensitive knot.

"Ohh, you're getting deeper..." His voice was shaky, a soft, breathless laugh escaping his lips despite the discomfort. He shifted his weight slightly, trying to find some relief, but it was impossible. The pressure in his pelvis was overwhelming, as though the baby had settled in a way that left him feeling like he couldn’t catch his breath. It wasn’t painful in the way of sharp, acute pain, but it was uncomfortable in a deep, aching, almost suffocating way.

He ran his hands over the swollen curve of his belly, trying to soothe the tightness, but every time the baby moved, it only intensified the sensation. He could feel the baby pressing against his lower abdomen, the heaviness of it too much at times, making him gasp softly.

"You’re so big..." he murmured softly to the baby, his voice a mixture of awe and a little strain. "You’re so low...I can feel you."

Another shift. Another deep pressure. He winced, his hands gripping the sides of his belly as he leaned forward slightly, trying to alleviate some of the discomfort. The baby's movements, now feeling heavier, seemed to cause a sharp tug within him, pulling on his muscles, on his very core. It was almost like the weight of the child inside was too much, too overwhelming, like a gravitational pull he couldn’t escape.

His breath was quickening, the discomfort making it hard to focus. The low ache in his hips grew with each passing second, and as the baby moved again, it sent a jolt of sharp pressure down through his pelvis, his whole body trembling with the intensity of it.

Despite the discomfort, he couldn't help but feel aroused by the movements. The heaviness, the constant reminder of how hugely pregnant he truly was with his lover's baby—it was intimate, even if it wasn’t always pleasant. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could bear the pressure, but still, he loved it. He loved how full it made him feel, how complete his body had become.

"Oh wow. Oh wow. You’re so close. It's time. Oh god, you're coming now" he murmured, chaotically running his fingers over his big tight belly again, feeling the weight of the baby pushing down. "Oooo, you're almost there. Ooohhh, You have to get lower."

After that night, Alex knew he was fucked—in the best possible way. The sex had been feral: hours of raw, sweat-drenched pounding where his partner had filled him deep and often, both of them lost in the kind of orgasm that left him shaking and leaking. Two weeks later the test confirmed it. Quadruplets. Four. His body, still recovering from the triplets, was about to be pushed to limits he’d only fantasized about.

It hit harder and faster this time. By week six his stomach was already rounding out, the four embryos claiming space with aggressive hunger. His once-carved abs softened and pushed forward into a firm, tight dome that made his tanks ride up. Hormones slammed him like a freight train—his cock stayed half-hard constantly, nipples turned hypersensitive and puffy, and his ass felt plush and needy.

Cravings struck at 3 a.m. Alex would stagger to the kitchen, shirtless, his thickening belly already brushing the fridge door. He’d stand there in nothing but boxers, stuffing his face: cold pizza, peanut butter straight from the jar, entire cartons of ice cream shoveled in while his free hand rubbed slow circles over the growing swell. Each bite made him moan softly. The fullness in his gut mirrored the growing ache in his balls. He’d get so worked up he’d fuck himself on the kitchen counter right there, belly pressed against the cool granite, jerking his throbbing cock until he painted the cabinets. “Fuck… already so full and it’s only the beginning,” he’d growl, cum still dripping as he reached for more food.

His belly surged. What used to be rock-solid muscle was now a heavy, rounded paunch that forced his pants low under the shelf of his gut. By month four it was unmistakably massive—quads meant faster, bigger growth. His obliques vanished under smooth, stretched skin. Pec muscles swelled into full, milky tits that leaked when he flexed too hard.

Gym sessions became obscene rituals. Every squat made the heavy belly rest on his thickening thighs, the weight of four babies pressing down on his prostate and turning pain into white-hot pleasure. He’d waddle between sets, shirt lifted, openly admiring how his once-chiseled midsection had become this greedy, protruding orb. Cravings turned him into an animal: midnight fridge raids where he’d stand barefoot, belly hanging out, devouring leftovers and takeout with both hands while his cock strained and leaked against the cold metal door. The act of stuffing himself made him desperately horny. More than once he came untouched just from the pressure of an overstuffed stomach combined with the kicks starting inside.

Now the real distortion began. His belly exploded outward and downward, a vast, heavy dome that measured over 55 inches around and hung low enough to rest on his cock when he sat. Stretch marks raced across the taut skin like battle scars. His navel popped early and thick. Shoulders and arms stayed impressively muscular, but everything was framed by this obscene gut that swayed and sloshed with every step. His ass had ballooned—thick, juicy cheeks that jiggled when he walked.

He lived in a constant state of arousal. Morning workouts left him drenched and leaking milk from his swollen pecs. Evenings were dedicated to bingeing: standing at the open fridge in the dark, belly pressed against the shelves, cramming in calories while moaning. The more he ate, the hornier he got. He’d rub the underside of his massive gut, feeling the four strong babies tumble and kick, then drop to his knees right there on the kitchen floor to stroke his thick, pregnant cock until he roared through shattering orgasms. Sex was nonstop. His partner couldn’t keep up with how badly Alex needed to be fucked and filled while his belly rested between them like a living monument.

At eight months Alex was a walking fertility freak show. The quadruplet belly was monstrous—nearly 70 inches of tight, veined, overstretched skin, hanging so low it forced his legs permanently apart. It dwarfed every other muscle. His powerful chest and arms looked almost small next to the sheer scale of his gut. Deep cravings hit like cravings for air; he’d wake up ravenous, waddle straight to the fridge, and gorge until his already enormous belly was drum-tight and shiny. The pressure felt orgasmic.

Training was slower but intensely erotic. Every rep made the massive gut bounce and sway, grinding against his cock. He’d finish sessions by oiling the entire surface in the mirror, worshipping the way it moved, then jerking off while cradling its weight. “Look what you did to me,” he’d whisper to his reflection, voice thick with lust. “Turned my abs into this… this fucking huge breeding gut.” He leaked milk and pre-cum constantly. The kicks were so strong they visibly distorted the surface, often pushing him over the edge into hands-free climaxes.

He stepped on stage anyway. Nine months pregnant with quadruplets, belly so enormous it entered the room before he did. Custom posing trunks disappeared under the overhang of his gut. His muscles—still impressive, still shredded where they could be seen—were completely overpowered by the colossal, stretched sphere dominating his frame. It hung heavily, skin glossy under the lights, constantly shifting with four active lives inside.

He hit every pose with raw power and raw sexuality: most muscular making the belly jut even further, side chest with his milky pecs resting on the upper curve, rear lat spread showing his thick ass and the impossible hang of his pregnant gut between his legs. The crowd lost their minds. Backstage he barely made it to a private area before the pressure and arousal combined into the most intense orgasm of his life, belly pressed against the wall, moaning loud enough for security to check on him.

The quadruplets arrived healthy a week later. Alex was already planning the next one before he even left the hospital—bigger, heavier, more extreme.