Time to Push

(Birth Denial Ask Game)

A horse boy working on a huge ranch gets called into the boss’s office one day. He already knows what it’s going to be about; he’s been falling behind on his duties. A head shorter and probably a hundred pounds lighter than the stallion guys who work the ranch, he can’t hope to keep up with the workload. Where they’re all glistening muscles and endless stamina, he’s twiggy and tires easily, still as ungainly as a foal.

So, he enters the boss’s office with his ears back and his tail twitching in anxiety, expecting to be fired. What he doesn’t expect is for her to have his employee file open and start asking questions about his pedigree papers. His face warms as he confirms that, yes, he comes from a breeding family. He tries to tactfully cut off any ideas she has about him having some massive stud cock, but she waves him off, saying that yes, yes, she knows about his “situation.” He doesn’t know if he’s ever heard his pussy called a “situation” before, and he doesn’t know why it makes him squirm in his seat.

Finally, she offers him a transfer to working in husbandry. Grateful to still have a job, he signs the new contract without asking questions—a choice he regrets when he reports for his first shift in husbandry and the boss tells him to pull his pants down. He’s thankful that the breeding bench she straps him into faces away from her, keeping her from seeing his welling tears. He has to bite his lips to keep from sobbing in humiliation when she presses a high-powered vibe to his pussy.

She wrings four orgasms out of him in minutes, leaving him trembling and overstimulated by the time she forces the tip of the insemination gun into his cervix. He screams and jerks, the velcro restraints creaking as he instinctively tries to escape his fate. But he’s already signed his womb away, and he must endure the discomfort and nausea as it fills with so much semen that his slim belly bloats a little. With a jovial pat on the ass, the boss unstraps him and tells him to “keep his rump up” for ten minutes, then clean up and meet her in the stables.

As he lies there, catching his breath through his sniffles and waiting for some stranger’s cum to impregnate him, he has to reflect on how much sense it all makes. After all, if he can’t be a useful workhorse, he might as well make one, right? He wonders if the sample might have come from one of his coworkers, and his tender pussy clenches. Trying to forget the violation of the insemination gun, he imagines what it would have been like to be bred by the handsome Percheron who used to help him when he’d fall behind, whose jeans always strained so tantalizingly over what must be a gorgeous stallion cock.

But a cramp flaring in his cervix brings him back to reality. This isn’t some paperback breeding fantasy. This is his job. It’s not going to be sexy. In fact, it’s probably going to suck.

The morning sickness proves him right by hitting hard and fast, leaving him feeble and gray-faced for the first few weeks of his new position. Because he’s not just a breeder, no—he also actually has to work husbandry with the animal horses. Luckily the husbandry supervisor takes one look at him and relegates him to foal watch, which consists entirely of sitting with full-term mares and radioing someone more qualified when they’re ready to foal. It’s excruciatingly boring, but considering that he’s exhausted just sitting there, he’s grateful that he doesn’t have to do any real work while this pregnancy takes so much out of him.

In no time at all, his clothes grow tight against the swelling curve of his belly. He spends most of his days shyly tugging down his shirt when it rides up, but soon everyone expects to see a strip of stretch-marked tummy peeking over his jeans. The ranch provides big, branded sweat sets with nice, roomy elastic, but even those end up riding apart within a few more weeks. Despite keeping his head down when he walks around the ranch, he can feel everyone’s eyes on his exposed tummy.

At only 6 months, he looks ready to pop, having to walk with his hips swayed forward and his shoulders thrown back to account for the massive bump hanging off his slim frame. The child is heavy—and strong, too. It kicks so hard that people can see from across the room as the whole shape of his belly distorts around its powerful limbs. He can often be seen groaning and rubbing at the mottled flesh, wincing as his hands pass over the purple patches where his unsightly varicose veins have broken from the commotion inside.

In the coming weeks, he wakes up bigger every morning. He’s sure he can’t possibly be growing as fast as it seems, but the increasing pressure in his pelvis and the strain on his joints confirm it. His legs shake under him when he walks, hips forced so wide that he constantly fears they’ll pop from their sockets. His ankles are so swollen that it looks like he’s wearing leg warmers beneath his sweatpants. He doesn’t waddle so much as shuffle, unable to decide if he needs a hand to support his back, or if both of them need to be under his belly. His silhouette reminds him of a photo he once saw of a woman carrying triplets, bump jutting like an oblong watermelon out from under her shirt. He might be even bigger than that.

His boss doesn’t tell him much about his own pregnancy, and by his 30-week checkup, he’s started to worry that she didn’t bother to inform him that he’s having high-order multiples. Nervously, he asks how many foals he’s carrying. She happily confirms it’s only one, and his stomach drops, such as it can, realizing only now that multiples would be preferable with a belly like this. He asks how that can be possible when he’s so big, and she tells him that’s what a belly looks like when it’s got a 25lb foal in it!

poor thing, so full. uncomfortable, heavy, aching, and cramping. his belly is so big and round that he can't fight back or resist. he's pinned down under the weight of it all, along with the pressure i'm applying on it.

But still on the vines tho (because obviously they grow bigger and better when incubated inside a fertile boy) and all of them are miserably watching there bellies grow all different shapes and sizes until its time to harvest and birth the melons and watching their bellies tense up and contract around these prize winning fruits that the farmer just absolutely dotes over and they have to push but not push out like a normal birth since theyre still on the vine they have to push away or even up from the vine to make progress and the farmer taking such good care of his crop holds the boy up into a squat like those partners that hold the birther up into those gravity birth positions

Anywho i totally agree that there isnt a lot of watermelon writing or art, so thank you, its very…refreshing 🤣🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉

ohhh I can imagine them bound to those garden arches people use for vines, strung up with their bellies dangling heavily below them...

They could be held up in a net, or if you're not so nice, you tie them up with no support for their massive, swelling tummies, letting them feel the full weight of the giant melon growing inside them. When the melons are ripe and its time to give birth, they have to fight gravity and push the melons upwards to get them out.

Their bodies are positioned in a way where their huge bellies press up towards their chest and the vine connecting them pulls their back end higher, making it near impossible to push out such a heavy object. They thrash and scream for the farmer to cut them down, bellies swaying back and forth as they push uselessly against gravity, but without the farmers help, none of them can make any progress.

They're at the complete mercy of their farmer, waiting for hours as they labor in hopes he will decide their bellies are ripe enough to pick. Eventually each one is harvested, cut from the arch and left on the ground to writhe and scream and push the huge 15 pound fruit out of their straining tummy.

priest who has a 100% success rate on all exorcism he performs, though his methods are foolproof, they are often the church's last resort because of how unconventional they are, the afflicted are often as terrorized by the exorcism as are during the possession

the method that guarantees the priest success is manifesting the afflicted possessions as demons, forcing the individuals to birth their demons to rid of them, the demons take different forms as they manifest, some are physical monsters, some as incorporeal black smoke, others as toxic slime, but all demons are unable to survive on earth and immediately died once born, their bodies evaporating minutes after they hit the air

The disorientation is the most overwhelming thing you’ve ever felt in your life.

Your center of gravity rapidly changes as your once flat belly begins to swell outward, progressing through what should be nine months of progress in less than nine minutes, and you have to lean against the nearest wall in order to keep from losing your balance. Deliriously you press your palms against your midsection, as though the pressure of your hands have any chance of stopping the way you’re rounding out.

It only occurs to you halfway through that you’ve forgotten to breathe entirely, and by the time you’ve gone from zero to full term you’re panting, gasping for air, your hands cradling whatever has grown so quickly inside of you. There’s no time to wonder what it might be, though, because the air is once again knocked from your lungs as you feel a deep, strange pop from within you, followed by a hot torrent of water bursting from between your legs.

He stares up at the full moon as they milk his cock over and over and draw runes on his skin with a fragrant herb-filled paste.

The next day, the warrior feels wrung-out, a little tired but otherwise no different. The mages assure him he'll feel the effects soon.

Nine months later, the warrior is lying in the stone circle again, panting through another contraction as the mages attend to his massive, perfectly round, absurdly active gravid belly.

A little intimidated, looking at the huge gut that's been growing heavier and kicking harder for months now, the warrior realises that he doesn't fear birth half so much as being empty again.

He remembers his shock at being told he was pregnant half a year ago, and looking down at his firmed up fat belly in fear. Now he finds himself praying that next time leaves him even bigger.

Weeks later, one night, you go to sleep, you stomach cramping particular hard tonight, but you had long lost hope it could be actual contractions… And you wake up violently to a harsh, familiar tightening all across your tummy, as it misshapens in bursts that sink and stretch the skin in ways you never had seen before, but throw you into a world of agony completely unlike your first failed birth. You try to push, but you realize something heavy and monstrous is rolling inside you.

Something that is hatching, having been incubated in the warm refuge of your worm all this weeks, as if it had been laid, and isn’t all that pleased about its new, small home.

You are realizing too late. Even the signs of labor your ignored- but there is no time now, as your womb tightens and demands you to push, and you grit your teeth, sinking your hands into your aching belly and do just that. Squeezed by your overtaxed womb, the creature is guided downwards, and as it realizes finally where its path to freedom lies, its shoves its head into your pelvis with such force you feel your bones creak, and birthing fluids soak your sheets. Strangely, you don’t feel its shell, perhaps its soft, but you have no time to worry about that right now.

Another contraction envelopes you, and combined with the creature’s efforts, it begins to breach your birth canal, your pelvis creaking ominously. You scream, sweating, toes curling with effort, but you refuse to stop pushing until your body lets go off you. The babe squirms impatiently, what you guess is its tail, thick and heavy, slapping your lungs, cutting off your breath, but as another contraction takes over, you push just as hard as before, if not harder.

Not very polished, but I felt like doodling my character Morgen preggo and pushing

All manner of voices find their way to you; some shy and unsure, while others can be abrasive and demanding. Hell, half of the time you barely have to do or say a damn thing while harsh panting emanates from your headphones as the person on the other end clearly only needs to know you’re listening in order to get off. There are times, though, when you find yourself engaging in specific fantasies of your callers, and those are often the most unique ones of all.

For example, tonight’s caller.

“Ooh, that one sounded like it hurt,” you purr, listening intently as the woman on the other end pants and breathes in a specifically measured way. She had called in ten minutes ago, her voice hushed and thick with anticipation, and you’d listened attentively as she explained the premise of her call: she was in labor. It isn’t the strangest thing you’ve had to play along with by far, and as the minutes tick by and her ‘contractions’ grow stronger, you inwardly find yourself much more aroused by this than you would’ve thought.

“Mnhh, they’re getting so much stronger now…” she breathes in confirmation, which earns a sound from you that is both sympathetic and teasing.

“Tell me how it feels,” you prompt, reclining back in your chair. Your fingertips trace lazily at your waistline as you do so, silently debating whether to slip further downward. Not yet, you decide. “I want to know everything, sweetheart.” There’s a faint click on the other end, perhaps the sound of your caller’s throat as she swallows hard.

“The pressure is…i-it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before,” the woman murmurs, her voice slightly strained as she fights to speak through what you assume is another one. “I can f-feel the baby moving downwards, little by little…my body’s been opening up for it all day, so it won’t be long until—!” Her sentence abruptly halts, and your eyes widen slightly as you hear what sounds like a faint splashing sound, liquid hitting another surface, the floor perhaps?

Whoever this caller is, she’s really committed to this fantasy, and you’re all too happy to be along for the ride, however odd it may be.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you croon once you’ve gathered yourself again, immersing yourself into her strange roleplay. “Did your water just break?” It takes a second for her to answer you, and for the briefest moment you wonder if the call has dropped. Her voice returns a second later, though, accompanied by that same anticipatory tremor she had when the call first began.

“There’s…fuck, there’s so much of it,” she whispers, grunting softly as she makes herself comfortable, or so you assume. “I-it just keeps coming…the bottom half of my dress is soaked through.”

“Well that won’t do,” you tsk, idly slipping a hand down the front of your pants as you tend to the budding arousal your caller has stoked in you. “It sounds like you’d better take it off, right…?” You draw out the last word seductively, and the effect is instantaneous. She whimpers into your ear before you hear the rustle of fabric, and you imagine what must be happening; her hands shaking slightly as she grasps the hem of her dress, pulling the drenched garment up and off of herself. You shiver slightly as you envision what her pregnant body might look like, before reminding yourself that this is purely roleplay, and you should keep it moving along. “Good girl. Now the rest of it, unless…?”

“T-there isn’t anything else,” she murmurs, almost coyly, and this elicits a pleased sound from you. Your hand works steadily between your legs as you listen to her heavy breaths, no doubt another of her ‘contractions’, and you’re surprised at how much this is actually turning you on. This job certainly has been a journey of self discovery, if nothing else.

“O-ohh—!” This time her voice is laced with urgency, and part of you wonders if she’s actually in pain. But that’s ridiculous, you reason to yourself; if this woman was actually in active labor, there’s no way she would be still on the line with you. No, you tell yourself as you listen to her moaning and panting, she’s just very good at this.

“Sounds like there isn’t much time left,” you purr, and the moan this earns makes a pleased smirk spread across your face. “Am I right, sweetheart? Is it time for my good girl to start pushing?”

“M-mngh, yes…!” she whimpers, and you hear more rustling as she repositions herself. Your mind conjures images of what your caller might look like, sitting naked against the headboard of her bed, legs spread to make room for her swollen belly. You swear under your breath as the image urges your fingers to move faster, but if she hears you she says nothing of it.

“C’mon then, pretty girl,” you urge, curious to see how far she wants to take her fantasy. “Push for me, let me hear it…”

Her response isn’t verbal, but it’s very much audible. A deep, almost primal grunting as she seems to bear down, straining until eventually letting up with a gasp for air. “Coming, it’s c-coming…” she pants, and you absently lick your lips before responding.

“Mm, what a productive push that must’ve been…give me another,” you order, your pulse racing as you hear her obey almost too eagerly. “Again,” you urge when she lets up, reveling in how much she’s become utterly lost in her fantasy. “Again…”

You have no idea how long this call has gone on for, but that doesn’t bother you in the slightest. All you know is that she’s enjoying herself just as much as you are; moans seamlessly intertwining with her cries of mock pain. Until at last, her voice rings out again, seeming to reverberate through your headphones.

“O-ohhhfuck it’s right there—“

“Keep pushing, you’re close, I know you’re close…”

“F-fuck…mnnhhgh!!”

The sounds she makes are unlike anything you’ve heard before, and as you feel yourself reaching your own peak you make a note to thank her for this strange new kink she’s helped you to unlock. Her last moan is a desperate, guttural scream, and there’s a soft muffled sound that must be her slumping back against the headboard. Before you can say a word, though, you hear something else on the other end, something peeking through your caller’s exhausted, labored breaths.

Something that sounds an awful lot like wailing.

Your boyfriend is a loser. What had once been cute in a 'geeky' way back in high school, became shockingly different as an adult. It was up to you to go to work and pay the bills. He remained home, gaming on his absurdly expensive computer, fuelled by energy drinks and cold leftover pizza, shouting insults down his headset microphone.

He barley washed his face with anything more than soap. He had to be nagged to shower regularly, pressured into remembering deodorant. Your mother always said he was a loser and she had been right.

The sex was good. Only because he was so pliant and submissive. Content for you to chase your own orgasm without much input for him. At times you were more of a live in caretaker than a real partner. You had tried having countless talks with him.

"I'm going to shape up this time, babe, I promise!" "I wouldn't be able to live without you, you're my world".

Of course he never changed. But he was so pliant, content to ghost around on the very edge of life, it didn't seem to bother him at all. One night, sexually frustrated and a little more fed up of the status quo, you came onto him. He didn't care that you hadn't gotten out his strap on (of course you were the one who put the harness on him too). He didn't care that you were staring directly at his cunt.

His eyes remained glued to the handheld console, he held upwards in front of his face. You weren't a monster. You used lube, even paid attention to his clit to ensure he was properly wet for you. Despite the soft sounds that left his mouth, he only complained. "Babe! You made me miss my shot!".

His concentration weirdly improved when you penetrated him. You were a gracious lover, ensuring he came first. "There's only three of left now - fuck, two. I'm gonna win, babe! I'm gonna win, I'm gonna-", his mantra ended as he came, high pitched wails as you slammed yourself balls deep into him. Pumping him full of come at the same time.

It went without saying he never tracked his periods either. Luckily, you were all over that. He didn't notice when he missed one but you certainly did. He noticed the sickness however, the way his favourite pizza and monster made him gag, the time his aim wavered as he felt a wave of dizziness. The bloating in his lower stomach was put down to the crap food he ate, he certainly didn't get enough fibre to ensure he was regular. It was easy enough to shrug off.

He took prenatal vitamins on the belief it was some sort of concentration pill from the gas store. Some kind of backwards, probably illegal, caffeine pill. With his carb laden diet making him feel sick, you took the opportunity to pump him full of fresh fruit and veggies. When his baggy shirts started to cling to his lower stomach as he moved, he put it off due to weight gain. His life style had a lot to answer for after all.

When you finally told him the truth, after he had rage quit one of his matches - "I swear to God - something just moved inside me! Fuck, is it my appendix?". You explained patiently that he was carrying a lil gamer buddy inside him, maybe a future gamer girl or boy (Neither of you knew, doctor's appointments were certainly out of the window). Just as you expected, he reacted as pliantly as he always had. Once again trusting you to take care of the situation.

Take care of him you did. As he grew bigger, you couldn't keep your hands off of him. Most days you sat on his gamer chair, letting him warm your cock as he gamed for hours. When he won, you'd let him come, there was nothing more that made the two of you come harder than knowing his beloved gamer mates could hear him - no doubt some were hard, some were wet at his crude sounds. He only expressed his concern as his due date came but you had taken care of that too. You had tracked his periods, ovulation, his gaming matches. His online E-game tournament was the only thing he cared about, the baby would come before then. He needn't to worry. But then his due date came and went. He lost sleep to how big and uncomfortable he was. Not even his chair, which had practically moulded itself around his body, was comfy.

His aiming was off, instead of one hand on his mouse, the one on WASD. His hands were wrapped around his contracting bump. They were only Braxton hicks, but they left him nervous and shamefully. Not due to the pain, or due to the fact he was trans. But due to the fact he could be throwing his reputation online down the drain if he lost.

The tournament came. Like all competitions, it was a marathon, not a sprint. You watched in admiration as he excelled through the first round. Only for it turn to concern as the second half started. He had already pushed himself too hard at the start and it was clear he found it hard to concentrate. He inhaled as he took a shot, exhaling as he blew some guy's head off. He winced and rubbed feverishly on his stomach during loaded screens. Wet patches appeared on his shirt as his chest leaked, heavy with milk.

But he persevered, making it into the third round. You knew better than to interrupt him, lest you blew his concentration but it seemed clear to you, that gaming or not, winning or not. Your child didn't care. He was audible groaning now, "Oh! Ohh Ohhh - Ow! Fuck!". Clearly he was far past caring if his mic was on. He heaved and huffed, clutching at his stomach, trying to rotate his hips. Sitting up slightly, leaning on his desk when he had time.

You had tried and failed to change him. Now, you were reaping the rewards of his stubborn personality as he fought hard against the demands of his labouring body. Determined to keep your child inside of him. He had never been more handsome.

He took turns shifting one leg over the other. His thighs tensing. Every so often, when he could afford it, he slipped one hand down his baggy jog bottoms and into his pants. Although you didn't have a clear view, you didn't have to imagine how his cunt must feel. You could hear the slick sounds he made as he probed himself with his fingers. "We have time, we have time, we have - Goddd, fuuck", he groaned, a contraction disrupting his mantra. He breathed in, he breathed out, his stomach tense even through his t shirt.

"I'm going to win, I'm gonna win, gonna win -". He consoled himself as he panted, he winced and curled forward as he battled another pain. But it was not his belly he reached for, but for his mouse and keyboard. He gave a high keening sound like a wounded animal as he shot his opponent down dead.

He had made it to the final round.

If the second and third rounds had been difficult to get through. The final round seemed almost impossible. His reaction time was far slower now. All he could do was pant in agony as the oncoming wave of pain blended into the next and into the next one. "Ah ha haaa", he took a deep breath in. This time you had to remind him to exhale.

"It's okay baby, just breathe. You can do this. You've been training for this for years! There's no way you can back down now", you soothed from your place on the bed, watching with enrapt eyes. But the child within him wasn't backing down.

He managed for about ten minutes in the final round before it almost overwhelmed him entirely. His foot bounced shakily on the floor, he was beyond merely nervous. He shifted and wiggled in his seat. His legs shook, he didn't know what to do with them. To brace them against his desk or to spread them? His breathing came in harsh ragged gasps. "I don't want to! I don't waant to! Fuckin' - gonna come ouuut of me! Have to push, I have too!"

No sooner had he announced it, he flinched animalistically as his waters broke. Fluid soaked through his clothed bottom half and onto the floor. If the urge before had been bad, now it was intolerable. "Ohh it's coming out! It's coming - can't stop, I can't".

You watched as he groaned, chin to his chest as he pushed. It was his pleading that finally reached through to your arousal ridden brain. "Baby, pleaase! Oh I can't, Oh God, I caan't do this!".

You moved quickly and got under his desk. Pulling off his grey jogging bottoms, leaving him only in his dark blue pants. You hesitated in taking them off as he panted harshly. He desperately spread his legs wider. "Need to take cover... need to-", he panted out as his in game character threw a grenade and quickly got behind a wall. You cupped his clothed crotch as he yelped, sick desire compelled you too before withdrawing your hand and removing them.

He was right. The baby wanted out. The baby's head made his cunt bulge outwards, but they were still safely lodged inside of him. He cried out as he gave into another experimental push. "I'm gonna looose!"

It took you a moment to find your voice as you took in the erotica sight before you. Here, he was at his most vulnerable. He could do nothing but let his cunt bulge and spread outwards - all because of you. "I'm gonna take care of it! Don't I always? Just breathe. It is coming out, just let it happen. Mommy will take care of you. Just focus on winning".

Slowly he devolved into animal esq grunts, growling as he pushed. His thighs shook, his toes curled. He strained to keep his eyes open, to keep his focus onto the game. Slowly, inch by inch, the baby spread his lips apart. He was almost at a full crown when he yelped and tried to pull away from your hands as you applied steady pressure onto his pussy. Not just to protect him from tearing, you had a selfish, more personal reason. You were enjoying it far too much.

"No baby, just pant. Just keep panting for me, don't push"

"Ohh but it's right there! I can feel it! It's gotta come ouut".

"How many people are left?", you asked interupting his paied cries. It took a while for him to be able to reply to you. "T-Twenty - just please let me Mommy", he trailed off as he pushed again but the head remained firmly in place.

"I'm not letting that baby out, until you win. You can do this! You've trained so hard, so long, don't let it be in vain!"

You had cared for him up all for this moment to happen. All those years of working two jobs, paying for his gaming subscriptions. No way were you going to see him lose now. Besides, what was the harm in letting him struggle on a little longer?

He was grim-faced and pale. Gunshot sounds emanated from his computer.

Three down, 17 to go.

- @distended-domes

Traffic was slow and silent that day. Stan and Elijah sat bumper to bumper as they had been since Stan’s water broke on their driveway. A sharp inhale brought Elijah’s hand to the top of Stan’s belly.

“Fuck they’re getting worse, how-ugh-how far is the hospital?” He shook with every word, feeling every muscle in his abdomen tighten more and more.

“30 minutes… but the gps tacked an hour onto that so we’ll see.”

“Uh ahhh fuckkkk I can’t do this, it hurts so bad.” Elijah stroked his cheek, waiting for the contraction to give way.

“It hasn’t been that long, I’m sure you still have time.” But it lasted even longer than the last one, and he had even less time until the next one.

“I can’t do this… I can’t do this… I-I think I need to push.” But Stan knew he needed to push. He’d managed to ignore it for a while but it only got worse.

“No. No! We need to get to the hospital I mean look at you! You’re massive and overdue, what if you need a c-section?” Stan cried out, gripping onto the car door and Elijah’s shoulder. He couldn’t think about the worst case scenarios and he couldn’t think about c-sections, all he could think about was pushing.

“It’s coming! I’m pushing! I-I-I can’t stop!” Stan bore down long and hard. He couldn’t hear Elijah telling him to try and hold back, he didn’t see his pussy already bulging in his tight boxer briefs trying to make room for the first kid, and he didn’t notice Elijah pulling over.

“Baby… this can’t happen in the car.” Elijah looked at him fearfully. He knew what he had to do, and he knew it was going to suck.

“I can’t stop… the pressure is so much, and I can’t deny this urge.” Stan threw his head back, knowing it wouldn’t be long before the feeling returned.

“Listen… there are some things we can do to stop it from happening-“

“Yes. Whatever it is just… yes. I can’t have this baby in the car, it hurts so bad and I’m so big.” Stan had pondered whether or not twins would be easier than delivering the belly he perceived as one giant kid, but he’d convinced himself it was just one baby, big enough to break him

Elijah reached into the back and pulled out a bag. In it, some toys. Stan knew what had to happen.

“Ok, your boxers are very, very tight. I think… if you can’t stop yourself from pushing they should stop it. If not…” Elijah pulled out a smooth, squishy plug and a chastity belt.

Stan gritted his teeth and scrunched his face up. “Please… drive.” He did his best to stop himself from pushing. It was agony, and every minute; every contraction, the pressure was more and more and more. He was already miserable by the time Elijah managed to get back on the road, but he was fully immersed in his own determination not to push by the time the car made it two feet. “I can’t do it… I’m so sorry baby.” Stan groaned and gave in, but Elijah wasn’t mad. He was terrified, but he wasn’t mad. After Stan finally released the push he looked down. His pussy was still bulging like crazy, but now the slit was solid.

“Ok love he’s teardropping. Do you think you can try and hold back again?” Stan closed his eyes tight and tried, but he felt the baby beginning to crown. He shook his head aggressively. “Ok hon… don’t be mad.” Stan looked at him teary eyed and watched his hand find the scalp. His fingers spread around his stretched lips and bulging head and slowly began to apply pressure.

“Ahhhhhh! It hurts! D-don’t stop!” Stan couldn’t even make any noise to deliver the feeling of his own progress being ruined. Every millimeter made him want to push exponentially more, but he knew he couldn’t. Slowly and strenuously he brought his hands to his waistband and tried to peel the soaked underwear off. Elijah stopped for only a moment to bring them to his knees and Stan was forced to hold the descending head in place. Before he knew it, there was a plug in his fluttering hole.

“I’m sorry baby we just-“

“No. I can’t have this baby in a car. You’re helping.” Stan’s words descended into a whine, and he felt his body trying to get it out. Elijah could see him shaking, and he saw his cunt trying to expel the plug. He put a hand on it and kissed his lover. They locked eyes and Stan cried out. “It wants out! I’m trying to so hard!” Stan began to cry and Elijah wiped the tears away.

“We can try the belt… it would let it move down a bit.” Stan swallowed hard and nodded. He gritted his teeth and held onto Elijah’s shoulder hard as he moved his hand away. With a pop the plug came out and you could see the head attempting to barrel down. Elijah managed to get the front of the belt on, and Stan sobbed as he sat up for the latch in the back

Stan began to giggle slightly through his sobs. “I think… I’m more upset about not being able to see it than I am about not being able to push.” Elijah burst out laughing and put his arm around him, planting a loving kiss on his cheek.

“We’re going to spend lots of time with this little one don’t you worry. You can stare at the top of its head for as long as you’d like.” Stan still felt miserable, sore, and desperate to push, but things weren’t so bad when he had Elijah with him.

“Oh fuck. Ohhh hmmmm… I’m not… gonna…” Stan closed his eyes and batted at Elijah for a hand to squeeze. He gave it, happily, and encouraged his husband.

“Don’t talk. Just focus. You can do this.” Stan’s chest heaved as the contraction ended after a few minutes.

“I can’t do it… it’s too low… it burns so fucking much Eli.” Stan whined as the next one followed almost immediately. “It’s trying to get out, I can’t do it! Please… please just let me.”

Elijah stopped for a second and pondered before regaining his consciousness. “Stan, baby, the hospital will be so much safer. I just… need you to be ok.”

“Aggghh… Elijah that’s very sweet, but - Ugh FUCK - I will be ok once I get it out.” Stan threw his hands up and gripped his headrest with all his might. “Fuck why did it happen so fast? I thought - aaaahhhhgg noooo - I thought it was supposed to take days the first time! OW SHIT!” The only two thoughts in Stan’s head were ‘don’t push’ and ‘holy fuck let me push’.

“But, b-but…”

“I’ve had my exposed pussy on this seat the whole time, except for when I had sex toys in or on it! Pull ovaaahahaahhhh.” Elijah did as he was told. “Hurry up and get this off me!!” Stan shook as he lifted himself so he could be freed, and the second the two saw the head stretching Stan’s lips he bore down. Almost immediately the head was out.

“Oh my god you’re doing it! Keep pushing.” Elijah unbuckled and kneeled on his seat to ensure that he had a good angle.

“Fuck! Oh my god it hurts so bad but I’m so glad I’m pushing!” Elijah kissed the top of Stan’s head as he bore down. Even though he whole head was free it was still big enough that the skin of Stan’s delicate cunt was white. It bobbed back and forth, the shoulders inching out ever so slowly but never being allowed their full width.

“Take a break love, you’re gonna hurt yourself. Let your hole adjust.” Stan stopped but sobbed loudly.

“I can’t do it! I just… can’t! Why won’t it get out!” Stan writhed in his seat, holding the head and daring himself to pull it out. Elijah put a hand on top of his.

“It’s ok. There is no one in this world who I trust to have a baby in a car more than you. You’re strong, and handsome, and smart, and…” Stan stopped listening and started pushing, he was desperate, “and I know you didn’t want to be pregnant, and I know that you were more sick about growing a person than you were morning sick, and I know that no one has ever tried harder to have a baby than you have, and I know I’ve never been prouder of anyone.” By the time Elijah was done with his speech Stan sat up and lifted the baby up from his seat, both of them crying loudly.

“Thank you… thank you Eli… fuck my pussy hurts so bad.” Stan laughed half heartedly and wiped his face off. He could still feel his contractions ebbing and flowing gently, but he ignored them, certain that they would fade. “I should probably try to push out the afterbirth, right?” Stan was still huffing quietly, but he bore down calmly without disturbing his own stillness.

“Gently my love.” Elijah watched as he did; the seat was fully soaked in birth fluids, and the severed umbilical cord lay limp between Stan’s legs.

“Ugh. Fuck this is heavy.” Stan tried once more and sucked in through his teeth. A strong pain gripped him again. “No. No no no no no no, nooooooowwwwww. T-take him…”

“Why? What’s wrong? It’s not… oh babe.” Stan sobbed once more as he realized what was happening. He pushed and felt movement deep inside of him.

“Hopefully this one will be as fast… I feel so stupid. How did they miss this?” He held onto his armrests as his body forced him to push more. He could feel it sliding into his birth canal.

“I guess it happens sometimes… well now we know why you got so big.” Stan yelped as the contractions peaked right as he had given himself some respite from forcing his second child out.

“I can’t do it again! Aahhhh, nooo get outttt.” Sweat poured down his skin as he pushed and pushed, his husband watching lovingly as he did his best to encourage him.

“You can do it. This is just… two for the price of one!”

“AHHHH FUCK! No! This cost is exponentially worse! I’m so tired.” Stan looked over at Elijah, the only thing giving him strength in that moment.

“It’s ok you’re doing so good. I think I’m starting to see something.” Stan’s pussy has started to bulge, but he was exhausted. His pushes had shortened to only a few mere seconds, and he could barely even feel his body screaming to bear down.

“Fuck I need it out. I think… you might AHHHHHH NOO!” Tears rolled down his cheeks and he pushed down once more, holding his belly and squeezing tight. Elijah looked at him curiously, waiting for his response. “Fuck you might need to help this time.” Stan feel back in his seat defeated. He couldn’t see past his belly still, but he could feel the openness of his cunt.

Elijah watched as Stan pushed frantically in short bursts. It wasn’t until the head sat comfortably in his ruined cunt that he answered. “You want me… to pull?”

Stan nodded as he hit the door flailing during a push. “Y-yes. I can’t do it. It hurts so fucking bad.” Elijah didn’t. He really didn’t, but he was going to. For Stan.

Stan continued to push, grunting, yelling, shaking, and sobbing until the head popped out. “FUCK ELIJAH.” Within seconds Elijah had managed to push his fingers past the stretched and ruined skinned of his husbands hole to hold his fingers under the shoulders. “FUCK FUCK NO STOP STOP STOP!” Elijah didn’t listen and managed to pull out their second child in the midst of Stan’s screams.