My name’s Pen, and I present to you my pathetic attempt at an ‘About Me’ post! Or whatever it’s called here…
I write!
I like birth. A lot. Sometimes I write about it, and that’s the main focus of this blog. Ideas bouncing around in my empty skull sometimes find their way into the physical realm in the form of words. So I figured I’d do something with them, and with the magic of Tumblr, you can read them!
I really like non-human pregnancies and darker stories, but I’ll write whatever kinky idea pops i to my head or shows up in my ask box. I’m still learning and trying things out, so ideas and tips are greatly appreciated! If you have one, don’t hold back from dropping them in my asks! Or wherever. I still don’t know how this silly site works.
So, kinks?
Obviously, if I’m gonna write something, I need something to write about. So here’s a quick tier list of things I like cause I’m too lazy to write it all out!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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Okay, that sounds weird out of context, but hear me out.
Picture a trim, flat midriff. Maybe it has abs or is just flat in a smooth and satisfying plane. Now imagine someone taking a deep breath with their gut. It swells briefly, looking much less trim than before in so short a time. Then, all at once, it returns to its less rotund shape. Over and over, back and forth, it gives way to changing shape in order to fuel one with oxygen and stretch their skin beautifully. Perhaps their breathing is labored from exercise or excitement, a sheen of sweat adding a healthy glow to their body to further enhance that show of belabored inhalations.
A chubby, fat tummy works for this as well! Overstuffed with treats to the point that breathing hurts. What else can one do but help their gut stretch by doing belly breathing, likely with a little massage to aid their aching middle. The glorious rolls of adipose addressed with each rise and fall of their strained belly. It makes just wanna cuddle and pamper the poor thing to listen to their restricted breaths and tend to that turgid swell.
And, of course, pregnancy. When someone's far along with child(ren), their womb presses into their ribcage whilst carrying high. It's difficult to get a full breath, though when they do, that round mass of fertility just rolls with effort. Perhaps they're so full of spawn that even one breath makes their shirt or dress ride unceremoniously to reveal each glorious inch of taut skin. And when their belly drops and they can finally take a decent breath, that extra room is mainly used to aid during labor. Each contraction seeks to shrink their bump as their muscles squeeze down, but their deep breaths counter it by having it surge forth magnificently. Especially if they lean back or lie down, letting that mountainous bump rhythmically move with each respiration unrestricted against gravity's pull.
Friendly reminder that allowing underage littles/pets/daddies/mommies/etc your blog if you post NSFW or kink material can get you up to 10 years in prison and can get you on the sex offenders registry for the rest of your life.
It’s called “corruption of a minor” and “pandering obscenities to a minor” and it’s a third degree felony in the US.
This is exactly why I don’t want any minors following me. Please, I don’t care if you’re 17, 17 and ¾, or anything less then 18. Stay off my blog, don’t follow, and don’t browse my page.
Fascinated with monster preg where just the snout of some lupine monster is crowning and the rest is stuck. Kicking their legs and screaming and writhing trying to make any further headway
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
You look wide eyed at the notification on your med watch. You've been picked. You are pregnant. It was insanely lucky that you'd nearly managed to go a few years after graduation without getting chosen. One of your old high school friends got raffled the day after and raffled again the following month. Now it is your turn.
-1st Phase-
History books said that, at one relatively small time, the raffle was met with fury. Each month was a new protest filled with the rapidly impregnated. Now everyone begrudgingly accepted it as a part of life in the chrome future everyone's great great grandparents fantasized about. You press a finger below your navel. It was already firm to the touch and your nipples itched against the fabric of your sleep shirt.
You were automatically cleared from work for the day so there was no need to rush out and do anything. Your objective today was to relax and do your singular task.
You decide to get a shower–a simple anti-bacteria spray down and think about the most important part of this day. The birth. A younger person, without someone to advise them correctly, would think that going to one of the city hospitals would be the safest and best option. But you knew better. There were stories of ambulance c-sections with minimal anesthesia and hospitals practically restraining birthers in unrelenting binds and stirrups. Even in facilities they gave very little time to actually push before they enforced an extraction protocol. Medical staff were trained to be fully optimized toward a healthy delivery for the child. The only good choice was deciding to go it alone.
Upon finishing your shower, you stopped in front of your mirror. A pouch of a belly, big enough to cup beneath your palm has grown on you. You can’t imagine it taking weeks of time just to get a little bump like this. Some books say pregnancy used to take an entire 40 weeks. Thank goodness for optimization.
If you were going to do this in your apartment, you'd need supplies. You put on some sweatpants, a loose T-shirt and head out of your apartment.
The Mag-lev train, one of the best benefits of this present, is packed full with people. The vibe is different than normal. A young couple looking naively excited. A woman with a baby barely a year old idly massaged the base of her belly with an exhausted look in her eyes. This was raffle day.
You procure over the counter grade stim packs only good for minor cuts, antibacterial salves, bandages, a basket big enough to be a bassinet, meal kits to ease your cravings. Hopefully that would be enough, because that is all you can afford. You spend a bit too much time trying to navigate the sparsely stocked and overcrowded baby area and only make it out with a few items of need.
The attendant looks to your midsection. “Won the raffle, huh? Good luck, I heard they've been making some rough ones.”
They send you on your way, but that comment and obvious stare make you look down to your bump.
You see that your shirt has noticeably pushed forward in the hour of shopping. The bump looks bigger than any of the average diagrams you looked at in the past. The band of your sweat pants were already starting to dip below your waist. Time was ticking towards the inevitable.
-2nd phase-
By the time you return to your apartment your belly has become obvious. The shirt is tight against your skin, your sweats require constant adjustment. You look undeniably pregnant.
You rush to get everything you purchased set and ready. Medical supplies in the bathroom, bassinet close by, clean cloth laid and ready. Each passing moment you feel your shirt get a little tighter around your growing breasts and begin to ride a little higher over the large belly you are growing.
If you lingered for too long you could feel it, you could see it. The stretching of your skin, the movements of your baby becoming subtly stronger. You can see a line slowly darkening across your middle and through your ever swallowing belly button.
One moment amidst your preparation you pass a glance at the mirror. The waistband of your sweats has fully dipped below your waistline, cradling the underbelly of your bump. Movement slides beneath your barely visible belly button as you stare wide-eyed at your mirrored image. You look full term and you still have an entire phase left to go.
-3rd Phase-
Walking is impossible. The sheer mass of your belly weighing on your hips has thrown your center of gravity off so much you can barely take a step without needing to brace against a wall. All you can do is lay down and watch your massive belly somehow exceed its limit and read up on the dozens of things that could go wrong. You count yourself lucky that you got everything you needed ready before you got this massive.
A throbbing pain goes through your chest as you watch an archived birth video. Your breasts have become engorged to the point a shirt couldn't contain them and now were just a touch away from leaking. You twist slowly off your bed and arduously waddle to your bathroom using the little furniture you have as handholds to keep balance, the weight of the massive baby sitting in your hips and lean over the sink. With barely a touch your tits start expressing.
Relief happens before you're awed by your own body. Your belly is pointed out into a cone shape with your darkened belly button as its point. The skin of your belly is a map of veins and from your underbelly to your hips you have deep stretchmarks. Before your eyes, you see the weight of your belly shifted down, your ease of breathing returns but in that same instant a large, solid object jams its way into the bowl of your hips.
You moan softly, then it turns into a pained groan. The muscles in your abdomen and back tense. Your knees hinge and one hand springs to the taut surface of your bump.
The first of many contractions takes your body. Not long now.
-The Final Moments-
Your heavy belly heaves as you breathe through a contraction. Your voice is a bellow of pain and fear. The contraction you felt earlier was merely a braxton hicks and your pregnancy was not yet done with you. Another half hour of growing made your belly elongate and droop further beneath your hip line. Your bump looks like it didn't even exist as a part of your body anymore.
The labor pains were as rapid as the pregnancy. The contractions come with such frequency that you can't catch your bearings long enough to check yourself and forcing your fingers into your contracting canal makes you see stars.
Head buried into the crook of your arm, you moan, curse and rock on your knees on the bathroom floor. The pressure mounts deep behind your cervix and you feel a mass pass through its rapidly dilating flesh. A pop of fluid hits your thighs and underbelly. Relief from that pressure is fleeting; the giant baby surges against your cervix without pause.
The next contraction, you bear down. Desperation to get it out already controls your actions. Your belly turns into a different abnormal shape with every push and contraction.
The process was too slow and yet too fast. The contractions start to outpace the time you need to recover from pushing out a baby that barely moved past your cervix. Each one felt like a hand was reaching through you and pulling the baby forcefully from your womb. You sputter and gasp as a contraction forces the massive stone of a head against your cervix. It opens wider and wider, but it's only barely able to compensate for the speed of the labor and size of the baby.
The time between spasms shortens again and again until you feel your canal full and the distinct pressure of your labia beginning to bulge. Between heaving breaths, you reach a hand to your crotch.
The teardrop transformed into a massive “O” shape against your palm within seconds.
Your body doesn't care if it breaks, it only wants the baby out. You keep your palm against the wide crown, head thrown back, hips straining and rotating in an attempt to escape the burn and pressure, the sides of your belly compress into a hot, hardened mass of skin.
A primal moan rumbles from deep within. The skin of your labia opens wide and forward, clinging to the head. You pray you don't tear, you beg your body to be more resilient. You begin to understand why people would beg for the scalpel and a quick end.You rock back into the pressure with a screech as the constant contraction rises to its peak and forces the head out of the grip of your flesh. The shoulders and torso slide out of your now shaking body and into your singular wait palm.
Loud gasps and cries echo from your and your baby. You crawl to the wall of your bathroom, baby in hand, and sit up steady. Your crotch is burning sore and throbbing from the abuse it was put through. The baby wept in your hands as it lay against your chest and swollen belly.
Now all you need to do is wait for the placenta. That is what you think. The next contraction isn't subtle or a firm pressure– it doubles you over.
You cry out, clutching your still rounded bump. A trill of movement shifts against the taut skin below your belly button. A second baby pressed on your cervix. Your body doesn't give you the chance to panic before another contraction hits you and you're brought back to the same cycle. Twins weren't supposed to happen with this system. The government assured it wouldn't happen. The facts don't matter now, this is happening. The invisible grasp that pulled on your first shoved into you to start its efforts again. But this time you feel none of the rapid progress.
You push. Nothing moves. You push again. Nothing. The veins and muscles in your neck strain as you scream. Only the feeling of the bowl of your pelvis opening as wide as it could and letting nothing through follows. Your breath hitches, panic rising in your chest. It should be well into your canal by now, but you can still feel the large child in you. You move a hand to the base of your belly and press. Your eyes go wide and the bathroom echoes with your voice whimpering “no”.
“I heard they've been making some rough ones.” the voice of the clerk rings in your ear.
The baby was sideways across your pelvis. Breech. No matter how hard you pushed or how long you labored, the twin wouldn't move.
You remember one thing from the research you did, one thing doctors used to do a long time ago. You lay your first born down in the heap of towels. With a trembling hand you grasp your belly and baby and force it to turn. Your mouth goes wide, eyes distant and bulging, a contraction flaring against the forceful movement. The muscles in your arms fight against the ones making you give birth. The need to push hasn't waned–it got worse. The small shifts in the baby's position you feel aren't enough to reduce the agony or your exhaustion.
The glint of your medwatch catches your eye. A notification was recommending that you alert the EMS. One hand grips the mass of the twin as you stare at the alert. Sweat and tears burn your eyes as you consider it, as you ponder what brutality the city EMS would do to you. You ignore the notification and get back to your efforts. You resist your most primal urge, muscles strain to fight against the force of your hands; but the baby shifts regardless.
Eventually, you feel a hardness drop against your cervix.
And a bolt of pain goes through your spine. Your body jerks into an arch and your hand shoots to the base of your back. You writhe and spasm at the sudden press against your nerves. The baby rushes so quickly you don't have the chance to stop it like you did before. In the brief moment your fear of tearing enters your mind, you feel the twin open you in more ways than one.
An inhuman scream rips its way out of your throat as you feel the baby's head suddenly feel too easy to pass. Bolts of pain shoot through your crotch just as fast as the baby slides out onto the floor. Your breathy moans are joined quickly by the surprise between your legs.
Your belly looked deflated. It had to be over now.
With what strength you have left, you spray the medkit mending onto your wounded crotch. You can barely muster the energy to pick up the twin you just birthed. The desire to just lay there, breathe a few breaths not strangled by the pain of labor or the weight of two babies against your lungs and hope fervently you wouldn't win the raffle next month.
You look wide eyed at the notification on your med watch. You've been picked. You are pregnant. It was insanely lucky that you'd nearly managed to go a few years after graduation without getting chosen. One of your old high school friends got raffled the day after and raffled again the following month. Now it is your turn.
-1st Phase-
History books said that, at one relatively small time, the raffle was met with fury. Each month was a new protest filled with the rapidly impregnated. Now everyone begrudgingly accepted it as a part of life in the chrome future everyone's great great grandparents fantasized about. You press a finger below your navel. It was already firm to the touch and your nipples itched against the fabric of your sleep shirt.
You were automatically cleared from work for the day so there was no need to rush out and do anything. Your objective today was to relax and do your singular task.
You decide to get a shower–a simple anti-bacteria spray down and think about the most important part of this day. The birth. A younger person, without someone to advise them correctly, would think that going to one of the city hospitals would be the safest and best option. But you knew better. There were stories of ambulance c-sections with minimal anesthesia and hospitals practically restraining birthers in unrelenting binds and stirrups. Even in facilities they gave very little time to actually push before they enforced an extraction protocol. Medical staff were trained to be fully optimized toward a healthy delivery for the child. The only good choice was deciding to go it alone.
Upon finishing your shower, you stopped in front of your mirror. A pouch of a belly, big enough to cup beneath your palm has grown on you. You can’t imagine it taking weeks of time just to get a little bump like this. Some books say pregnancy used to take an entire 40 weeks. Thank goodness for optimization.
If you were going to do this in your apartment, you'd need supplies. You put on some sweatpants, a loose T-shirt and head out of your apartment.
The Mag-lev train, one of the best benefits of this present, is packed full with people. The vibe is different than normal. A young couple looking naively excited. A woman with a baby barely a year old idly massaged the base of her belly with an exhausted look in her eyes. This was raffle day.
You procure over the counter grade stim packs only good for minor cuts, antibacterial salves, bandages, a basket big enough to be a bassinet, meal kits to ease your cravings. Hopefully that would be enough, because that is all you can afford. You spend a bit too much time trying to navigate the sparsely stocked and overcrowded baby area and only make it out with a few items of need.
The attendant looks to your midsection. “Won the raffle, huh? Good luck, I heard they've been making some rough ones.”
They send you on your way, but that comment and obvious stare make you look down to your bump.
You see that your shirt has noticeably pushed forward in the hour of shopping. The bump looks bigger than any of the average diagrams you looked at in the past. The band of your sweat pants were already starting to dip below your waist. Time was ticking towards the inevitable.
-2nd phase-
By the time you return to your apartment your belly has become obvious. The shirt is tight against your skin, your sweats require constant adjustment. You look undeniably pregnant.
You rush to get everything you purchased set and ready. Medical supplies in the bathroom, bassinet close by, clean cloth laid and ready. Each passing moment you feel your shirt get a little tighter around your growing breasts and begin to ride a little higher over the large belly you are growing.
If you lingered for too long you could feel it, you could see it. The stretching of your skin, the movements of your baby becoming subtly stronger. You can see a line slowly darkening across your middle and through your ever swallowing belly button.
One moment amidst your preparation you pass a glance at the mirror. The waistband of your sweats has fully dipped below your waistline, cradling the underbelly of your bump. Movement slides beneath your barely visible belly button as you stare wide-eyed at your mirrored image. You look full term and you still have an entire phase left to go.
-3rd Phase-
Walking is impossible. The sheer mass of your belly weighing on your hips has thrown your center of gravity off so much you can barely take a step without needing to brace against a wall. All you can do is lay down and watch your massive belly somehow exceed its limit and read up on the dozens of things that could go wrong. You count yourself lucky that you got everything you needed ready before you got this massive.
A throbbing pain goes through your chest as you watch an archived birth video. Your breasts have become engorged to the point a shirt couldn't contain them and now were just a touch away from leaking. You twist slowly off your bed and arduously waddle to your bathroom using the little furniture you have as handholds to keep balance, the weight of the massive baby sitting in your hips and lean over the sink. With barely a touch your tits start expressing.
Relief happens before you're awed by your own body. Your belly is pointed out into a cone shape with your darkened belly button as its point. The skin of your belly is a map of veins and from your underbelly to your hips you have deep stretchmarks. Before your eyes, you see the weight of your belly shifted down, your ease of breathing returns but in that same instant a large, solid object jams its way into the bowl of your hips.
You moan softly, then it turns into a pained groan. The muscles in your abdomen and back tense. Your knees hinge and one hand springs to the taut surface of your bump.
The first of many contractions takes your body. Not long now.
-The Final Moments-
Your heavy belly heaves as you breathe through a contraction. Your voice is a bellow of pain and fear. The contraction you felt earlier was merely a braxton hicks and your pregnancy was not yet done with you. Another half hour of growing made your belly elongate and droop further beneath your hip line. Your bump looks like it didn't even exist as a part of your body anymore.
The labor pains were as rapid as the pregnancy. The contractions come with such frequency that you can't catch your bearings long enough to check yourself and forcing your fingers into your contracting canal makes you see stars.
Head buried into the crook of your arm, you moan, curse and rock on your knees on the bathroom floor. The pressure mounts deep behind your cervix and you feel a mass pass through its rapidly dilating flesh. A pop of fluid hits your thighs and underbelly. Relief from that pressure is fleeting; the giant baby surges against your cervix without pause.
The next contraction, you bear down. Desperation to get it out already controls your actions. Your belly turns into a different abnormal shape with every push and contraction.
The process was too slow and yet too fast. The contractions start to outpace the time you need to recover from pushing out a baby that barely moved past your cervix. Each one felt like a hand was reaching through you and pulling the baby forcefully from your womb. You sputter and gasp as a contraction forces the massive stone of a head against your cervix. It opens wider and wider, but it's only barely able to compensate for the speed of the labor and size of the baby.
The time between spasms shortens again and again until you feel your canal full and the distinct pressure of your labia beginning to bulge. Between heaving breaths, you reach a hand to your crotch.
The teardrop transformed into a massive “O” shape against your palm within seconds.
Your body doesn't care if it breaks, it only wants the baby out. You keep your palm against the wide crown, head thrown back, hips straining and rotating in an attempt to escape the burn and pressure, the sides of your belly compress into a hot, hardened mass of skin.
A primal moan rumbles from deep within. The skin of your labia opens wide and forward, clinging to the head. You pray you don't tear, you beg your body to be more resilient. You begin to understand why people would beg for the scalpel and a quick end.You rock back into the pressure with a screech as the constant contraction rises to its peak and forces the head out of the grip of your flesh. The shoulders and torso slide out of your now shaking body and into your singular wait palm.
Loud gasps and cries echo from your and your baby. You crawl to the wall of your bathroom, baby in hand, and sit up steady. Your crotch is burning sore and throbbing from the abuse it was put through. The baby wept in your hands as it lay against your chest and swollen belly.
Now all you need to do is wait for the placenta. That is what you think. The next contraction isn't subtle or a firm pressure– it doubles you over.
You cry out, clutching your still rounded bump. A trill of movement shifts against the taut skin below your belly button. A second baby pressed on your cervix. Your body doesn't give you the chance to panic before another contraction hits you and you're brought back to the same cycle. Twins weren't supposed to happen with this system. The government assured it wouldn't happen. The facts don't matter now, this is happening. The invisible grasp that pulled on your first shoved into you to start its efforts again. But this time you feel none of the rapid progress.
You push. Nothing moves. You push again. Nothing. The veins and muscles in your neck strain as you scream. Only the feeling of the bowl of your pelvis opening as wide as it could and letting nothing through follows. Your breath hitches, panic rising in your chest. It should be well into your canal by now, but you can still feel the large child in you. You move a hand to the base of your belly and press. Your eyes go wide and the bathroom echoes with your voice whimpering “no”.
“I heard they've been making some rough ones.” the voice of the clerk rings in your ear.
The baby was sideways across your pelvis. Breech. No matter how hard you pushed or how long you labored, the twin wouldn't move.
You remember one thing from the research you did, one thing doctors used to do a long time ago. You lay your first born down in the heap of towels. With a trembling hand you grasp your belly and baby and force it to turn. Your mouth goes wide, eyes distant and bulging, a contraction flaring against the forceful movement. The muscles in your arms fight against the ones making you give birth. The need to push hasn't waned–it got worse. The small shifts in the baby's position you feel aren't enough to reduce the agony or your exhaustion.
The glint of your medwatch catches your eye. A notification was recommending that you alert the EMS. One hand grips the mass of the twin as you stare at the alert. Sweat and tears burn your eyes as you consider it, as you ponder what brutality the city EMS would do to you. You ignore the notification and get back to your efforts. You resist your most primal urge, muscles strain to fight against the force of your hands; but the baby shifts regardless.
Eventually, you feel a hardness drop against your cervix.
And a bolt of pain goes through your spine. Your body jerks into an arch and your hand shoots to the base of your back. You writhe and spasm at the sudden press against your nerves. The baby rushes so quickly you don't have the chance to stop it like you did before. In the brief moment your fear of tearing enters your mind, you feel the twin open you in more ways than one.
An inhuman scream rips its way out of your throat as you feel the baby's head suddenly feel too easy to pass. Bolts of pain shoot through your crotch just as fast as the baby slides out onto the floor. Your breathy moans are joined quickly by the surprise between your legs.
Your belly looked deflated. It had to be over now.
With what strength you have left, you spray the medkit mending onto your wounded crotch. You can barely muster the energy to pick up the twin you just birthed. The desire to just lay there, breathe a few breaths not strangled by the pain of labor or the weight of two babies against your lungs and hope fervently you wouldn't win the raffle next month.
i’m a big fan of rapid pregnancy that isn’t too rapid, yknow? it happens over the course of a week, maybe. you think you’re just bloated at first. then, damn, i really need to cut back on the carbs. then it gets worrying. then you’re so big, and you keep feeling something massive shift around inside you, and it becomes unmistakable. but before that doctor’s appointment can come, your water is breaking and you’re pushing something out a week after you first had symptoms.
Really looking forward to Alien Isolation 2 creating more teratophiliacs and inspiring more people to make xenomorph smut. Preferably depicting alien ovipositors and egg implantation please.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
what’s your biggest breeding fantasy? (I’m ready, please make be pregnant I’m so empty)
It obviously changes on the daily, but I think the most prominent one from the first days of my kink realization would be needles, specifically inserted under the belly button, holding some devious looking colored liquid that immediately triggers a response in the womb.
Now my biggest memory as a kid is of these two specific videos on YouTube. One was called t1, and the other is the accelerated pregnancy scenes from the fringe TV show. I remember those scenes by heart. And they turn me on to these days.
So anything that includes a mad scientist or more intense... someone the carrier trusts, suddenly injecting them in the abdomen and causing some inhuman pregnancy to rapidly occure. Especially aliens... fuck that's just my dream.
Now what fun would that be? I'm gonna catch you off guard. Make you wait endlessly for your womb to feel full. And you'll regret asking by the time I'm done with you...
She was squatting in a janitors closet at school, hovering over a bucket. Her belly clamped down hard, and the poor thing couldn't help but give in to the deep, overwhelming, primal need to get this thing out of her body.
She could feel it moving. Spreading her inside, the sensation something she never could have prepared for. She didn't want this, never asked for this, never wanted to experience this nightmare. After watching her mom give birth, the student had sworn to herself that she would never, ever get pregnant, would never even risk it.
Then she found out she didn't have a choice. The only reason that wasn't the worst day of her life was because today had easily beaten it. She couldn't get on birth control before she was violated by her gym teacher. Couldn't safely get an abortion once she knew it was inside her. Didn't have any choice but to let it happen. Let the result of that assault continue to violate her more and more, day by day, as it only got harder to hide.
But today. Today it was finally over. Or it would be, soon. Just a bit more, and this nightmare would just be a memory.
An ugly, guttural grunt forced its way up from her chest, barely held back and rumbling in her throat. Her crotch started to bulge, she felt the burn of her lips spreading. It was so much worse than she could have imagined, the feeling of her body succumbing to that horrible man's genetics. The reward her body had grown against her will for violating her emerging from her most intimate, most sensitive place. Like this piece of him was taking advantage of her, using her all over again, like it had never fully stopped.
Her fingers gripped her thighs hard enough to cut through skin. It was just so much, her thoughts blurred, narrowed, until only the need to push, to get this bastard OUT was all that was left.
Every time she gave in opened her vagina wider. She didn't want this. It wasn't fair! She didn't want this little parasite! It burned more, spreading her, she could feel her fluids dribbling out of her, hear them trickling into the bucket as the massive head inched down with each contraction.
She'd begged him to pull out. Told him she wasn't on birth control, it only seemed to excite him more. She still saw him learning at her every time she waddled passed him in the hall. She had realized her parents might force her to marry him if they found out. That was when she'd decided nobody could know.
It hurt. It was so bad, she had prayed every night, since she made the promise to herself, that she never had to experience this hell, never had to feel a new life emerging from inside her. But it meant nothing. Everything she wanted, feared, strived for, meant nothing. Not in this moment.
All there was now was the need to push. To birth. To get this little brat out. She couldn't stifle the moan of relief as the head gushed out, tears running down her face. Her instincts told her to touch it, to cradle the head. She refused. Focused on herself, her body, her plans and needs and wants. She wouldn't let this monstrous man shackle her to this permanent combination of the two of them.
The need came once more. Stomach churning as the baby rotated. Then...
God. The rush. The wet, slick heat of the whole baby just... Falling out of her. Slimy cord brushing her thighs, making her shudder. That wet little cry.
Just a bit more. The placenta was out not long after. Finally, finally that connection between them broken. This parasite wouldn't feed off her anymore, even as her swollen breasts steadily leaked into her uniform. She had a spare in her gym locker, she would go there and change, hopefully nobody saw her.
Her legs were shaky as she left the little closet. All she wanted to do was go to sleep, but she still had at least two more classes to attend, even though her crotch was throbbing, making a mess in the period panties she'd grabbed when she left home.
The cries were muffled once the door was closed. It was someone else's problem.
Reminder that the last few eggs are the most difficult to get out! If you notice she's been pushing and not producing anything, try and alternate between rubbing her tummy and milking her ovipositor with both hands for a few minutes until she spits the last few out.
Boss Battle where the boss starts out very pregnant, and she's an outlier in the game because each phase of her fight makes her easier to defeat.
You take her health down enough and reach phase two, which starts after she suddenly stops and grunts through birthing a baby.
She needs to protect her baby from you, so she now stays in one spot - very easy to deal ranged damage, or get in quick for a flurry and then back away.
Third phase starts when you make her birth another one. She tips over onto her back after being protectively hunched over, furiously pushes out her second baby - she can still do a sweeping attack, but more often than not it arcs up instead of across the field where the player might be.
Fourth phase is almost laughable, and it can end one of two ways: you can do "damage" to the babies and their mother (easy, their models are basically on top of each other) and obliterate the rest of her health, or you can wait for the target spot to appear on her.
The first option results in killing all of them without letting her birth the final one, and you can harvest some pretty good, rare materials and maybe like a key to her vault. The second option takes you through a scene where you watch her desperately squeeze out the third baby, during which you can help, and if you do you can't loot her or the vault, but you do get an achievement [Achievement: You Owe Me] and you unlock a new path for how to take out one of the end game bosses (extrenely helpful).
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🌲 forest
🏖️ beach
🏠 home
🚜 farm
🏢 office building
🏥 hospital
🛒 store
🚃 train/subway
🚗 car
🚌 bus
⛵ boat
✈️ plane
🧭 other (requestor specify)
MANNER OF DENIAL
🩲 tight clothing
🫴 holding head
🖐️ pushing baby back in
🔒 chastity belt
🪢 legs tied together
🤸 bad positions
💬 being told not to push
🛑 refusing to push
💊 medication
🔌 plug/other toy
🚩 forced denial
🏳️ willing denial
🃏 other (requestor specify)
POSITIONS
🧍 standing
🪑 sitting
🧎 kneeling
🙇 all fours
🛌 laying down
🦵 squatting
💧 water birth
🧘 other (requestor specify)
