Birthbitchii - Birth Bitch

Write of someone trapped and struggling underneath their huge, squirming belly~

When the seed takes, he doesn't notice. He doesn't realize why his belly is getting bigger, or why his chest is tender and swollen. His partner knows exactly what's happening, how his sperm fertilized his eggs and they're now growing into babies inside his womb.

Every day, his partner feeds him, and he thinks he's just gaining weight. While he is packing on the pounds, there's something much bigger going on, right inside of his body, and he has no idea. He's getting fed more and more each day, filled with calories to grow the babies he doesn't know that he's carrying, his already burly, hairy body fattening day by day. In the third trimester, he almost grows visibly each day, his belly huge, heavy, and round, with a bulbous, red belly button sticking out. A dark line obscured by the hair on his belly confirms that that huge gut is packed full of kicking babies.

Soon, he gets so fat and pregnant, he's trapped in bed, hopelessly immobilized by his own gravid, fertile womb. His partner still feeds him thousands of calories every day, making sure that he keeps blowing up, keeps getting huge with his babies. His tits are round and swollen, becoming more and more painfully engorged with each passing day.

His partner rubs his belly, encouraging their babies to move and strain the already tightly stretched skin of his massive girth. The first baby is low in his pelvis, but he doesn't know what that heavy object wedged in his hips is. "Won't be long now," his partner says, squeezing his breasts so that milk sprays out in impressive streams. He's shocked, and doesn't know what those words mean until his belly seizes painfully, and a torrential burst of fluid floods out from between his spread legs.

She sat in church, smiling, listening to the pastor talk about the value of purity and the spiritual power of saving yourself for marriage. "I could never break that vow." She told herself, almost tearing up, overcome with love for God.

She didn't know about the "prank" her little brother had pulled when they all got together for the holiday. A syringe of sperm inserted between her legs while she was asleep after some pills were put in her drink. He'd just wanted to know what would happen,he'd just learned that it could cause something really special,but nobody told him what. He was careful, her hymen was still intact and everything.

Now her inbred abomination was swelling her belly round, though she told herself it was just being careless with her diet. No big deal. She had no idea she was growing a deeply sinful fruit inside her, one that no priest would ever excuse or forgive her for creating.

She would remain joyously oblivious until she laid in her bedroom in the middle of the night months later, the head of this horrific burden taking her virginity, making this profane birth even more obscene and sinful. Praying to God to take this misery and pain and fear from her, to show her mercy. But if he heard, he didn't care. And, push by push, her own cousin slid out of her. She only realized she'd been pregnant when the newborn began to cry...

How many months are you?

I’m already so big but have so much more growing to do! I can feel them all fighting for the little space they have 🥵

Don’t mind me, just fantasizing about feeling my baby getting painfully low into my pelvis during a road trip. Shifting uncomfortably coasting down the highway. Aches getting stronger and persistent, shifting from back to hips to middle. Subconsciously splaying my legs open, rubbing my belly to calm an impatient little one. Nervously biting my lip when I feel warm fluid gush between my thighs, dampening my bottoms and car seat. Squeezing those same thighs together to keep to keep the head from fully crowning once I feel it. After all there’s still several hours of driving to do.

Video idea: tummy alien xD

Yknow... i had this weird dream where i got these lil alien suckers on my mouth. Got pumped full of eggies... glad it was just a dream!...it was a dream right...?

I’m curious if you are going to write any more about births???

If you are I have a few ideas in mind for what you could use for prompts.

yes I do give your consent to use my prompts for your work.

Here is one of them

hidden pregnancy and the person is in a very serious meeting and they are having contractions they have to hide their pregnancy because the boss has a certain image and will fire them if they don’t comply with the guidelines.

P.s. if you do see this post I would love for the character to be male or ftm but it’s up to you 

Hi! Thanks so much for my first ask! I am definitely going to be writing more births. It's how I'm dealing with *gestures at America*. Thanks for this prompt! It kind of took on a life of its own, but I hope you like this little story.

Contains: trans mpreg, birth, extreme birth denial, clothing birth, public laboring, pushing the baby back in (multiple times). All my favorite stuff. Hopefully some of your favorite stuff too! (Story after cut)

Xander groaned, doubling over and clutching his stomach as yet another contraction struck. He’d lost his mucus plug the night before, and had been having contractions come and go throughout the night. Really, he knew the last thing he should be doing was going to work. But there was a very important meeting for a client today, and his boss had assigned him as the lead contact.

The elevator dinged to its destination, and Xander forced himself to straighten. He was already a fairly large man, so his baby bump passed as a beer belly. No one at the office, besides his boss, knew he was trans; and he was pretty sure no one at all knew he was pregnant.

Xander reached his desk and sat down with relief, stretching out his aching back. Just as he logged into his computer, someone tapped at the wall of his cubicle.

“Hello Xander,” his boss said, leaning against the wall. He was dressed immaculately; wavy brown hair, nicely tailored suit, shiny wing-tip shoes, classy golden watch. The man screamed wealth, and knew how to wear it. CEO of a successful tech company at a young age, John Wilson was practically a living embodiment of class. “ Are you ready for your presentation today?”

“I am,” Xander said, forcing a smile. “You can count on me, sir.”

John smiled. “Well then, stand up, give me a twirl.”

This was a normal action—Xander had been hired on as John’s assistant while he was still newly transitioned. One look at Xander’s scruffy facial hair and thrifted suit, and John had made Xander’s fashion choices his personal project. Still, it was harder today to get out of his chair and give the obligatory turn.

“You’ve gained some weight,” John observed. “You might need to make another trip to the tailors. And your packer’s in the wrong place. You look hard. Can’t have you hard in front of our client today. Here, put this on.” He tossed something to Xander, who caught it easily enough.

Xander glanced down at the fabric, and realized after some puzzling, that it was a pack strap. But it was strange. Instead of going around the thighs or sitting just around the waist it looked like some sort of very tight underwear with a hole for his packer. 

Obediently, Xander pocketed the strap and headed to the bathroom. Another strong contraction hit him while he was there, and he breathed hard through the building pressure. Something splattered into the toilet that wasn’t pee—or at least not only pee, and Xander groaned. Of course the baby would chose now of all times to decide to come, instead of last weekend when it was due.

Once the contraction was over, he cleaned up and put on the pack strap. It was very tight around his hips, and pressed firmly against his sensitive parts, but it did indeed manage to hold his packer at a more realistic angle. As he pulled on his boxers and pants and glanced down, he admired how natural it looked. No more bunching up, with this new strap.

Then Xander gasped as another contraction struck. Without the cushioning of his waters, the pain was much more acute. He was left panting as it passed. Not good. But it was his first baby, and a large one. Surely he could get through one more day of work. He didn’t have any more sick days available, not after how hard the morning sickness had got him earlier that year.

He came out of the bathroom, and spent about an hour going over his presentation, breathing through each contraction, feeling the baby slowly stretch him open inside. 

Then the alarm on his phone went off—time for the big meeting.

With a groan Xander got to his feet, bracing his back and shifting his weight carefully. While he’d been sitting and working, things had shifted. It felt almost as though the baby would fall right out of him if he moved wrong. Grabbing his things, he shuffled awkwardly to the meeting room on the next floor.

John was already on the elevator, and held the door open as Xander approached, breathing hard, face slightly red.

“Thanks,” Xander wheezed as he reached the elevator.

“Can’t have you late for the meeting,” John said with a smile. Some amount of alien tenderness came to his eyes. “Are you all right? You are looking a bit peckish.”

Xander’s chest fluttered—partly in fear that his secret would be discovered, partly from the tenderness of the attention. John wasn’t a tender man, not often. He ran a tight ship and expected perfection from his employees, and especially from Xander. But there had been once, about forty-two weeks ago, when they’d gone on a business trip together. John had gotten bad news, and they’d both drunk a lot. Xander had woken up the next morning in bed with a fast asleep John, completely naked, and sore between the legs. Panicked, Xander had quickly left the room and pretended it hadn’t happened. John had seemed too drunk to remember anything the night before and—well that’s why it was so crucial John didn’t find out. Xander had slept with no one else.

“Fine,” Xander replied once he’d gotten his breath back. “Just a bit nervous.”

To combat his assertion, the pain of another contraction wrapped around his belly. As he looked down, trying to breath away the pain, he swore he could see his stomach change shape with the strength of its force. Don’t push, don’t push, don’t push, Xander repeated to himself, pressing his legs close together as John watched.

Luckily, his boss didn’t seem to notice. He just patted Xander on the back, perhaps a bit harder than necessary. “You’ll do fine,” he said, then handed Xander a hanky. “But wipe your face off before you get up there. No need to look nervous. You are one of the most competent employees I have.”

Then the elevator had arrived, and the contraction was still going. Despite Xander’s reluctance to move or spread his feet apart, he had to get out before the elevator closed again. Under John’s careful eye, he took a shaky step out of the elevator. As soon as his legs spread, he could feel his baby’s head shift further down his canal. Forcing his face to casualness, he continued to walk forward as the contraction weakened and his stomach returned to its usual shape.

The client they were meeting with was rich, powerful, and—most importantly—a woman. John had picked Xander because of this last fact, citing Xander’s ability to interact with women without being sexist as a unique skill amongst the men in his business. This seemed a pathetic excuse to Xander, but wasn’t going to complain about the opportunity it gave him. If he succeeded in this, he was almost certainly due for a promotion. Which he needed—babies were expensive.

Stepping forward with a forced smile, Xander introduced himself to the client and to John, as well as a few other people there, and was in turn introduced to the client's team. With great relief, he took his seat as the meeting began. 

He did his best to focus, but his contractions had begun ramping up. It was harder and harder to disobey his body’s command to push, and the baby slipped deeper and deeper down his birth canal. He wrapped his shaking fingers tightly around the underside of the table to stabilize himself, crossed his legs hard enough he crushed his silicon dick between them, and did his best to ignore his body.

His tactics worked well for the first hour of the meeting, but then it was his turn to give a presentation. John and the client looked at him expectantly just as the strongest contraction yet seized his stomach. Xander forced himself to uncross his legs, which had practically glued themselves together with sweat, then slowly he stood. As he did, his core muscles engaged, and that was enough. The baby shot forward, down his canal, and his hole lit on fire.

He bit his lip in order to prevent a whimper of distress, disguising the whole thing by bending over and gathering his stuff until the contraction waned. As he took a step to the lectern, his hips ached, and his legs were forced awkwardly far apart, the bowling ball of a head lodged between them. 

Thus began his presentation, him standing behind the lectern, talking, legs spreading further and further apart as the baby spread his hole apart a bit more with each contraction. When he felt the pain coming, he’d pause his presentation to ask questions of his audience, ask them to talk amongst themselves. It was a bit like school, but it was interactive and kept them awake. Plus it gave him time to work through each contraction without it showing in his voice. For even the fluctuation of pain in his voice would have been a sign of failure in John’s eyes.

Finally, his part of the presentation wrapped up. He gathered his stuff, then waddled back to his chair. As he eased himself into it, he felt the baby’s crowning head press against the cushion, and then get shoved back inside of him. His eyes widened in pain, and he let out a little huff. He stifled it as soon as he noticed, then glanced around.

No one was looking at him, engaged in the next part of the meeting already. Xander sunk carefully back into his seat, his legs spread wide, his belly, much lower now, resting between them. 

As the others talked, he lost himself in the sensation of each contraction coming and going, of his baby stretching his hole little by little. The baby was large, and he couldn’t push much without drawing attention to himself, but still the fire was steadily, gradually increasing.

“Isn’t that right, Xander?”

Xander glanced up from his clasped hands, looking at his boss who’d addressed him. “Of course, sir,” he agreed instinctively, unsure of the context.

“Will the software development team be able to add the AI search feature before launch?” the client asked, likely a second time.

“They certainly could,” Xander replied. “We’ve got a great team, and they really know how to hit deadlines. It wouldn’t be a problem.”

Apparently satisfied, the client turned back to her team, as another contraction increased the fire in his crotch ten-fold.  He was just thinking he was going to have to excuse himself to go to the bathroom, when she reached out her hand. He took hers, and they shook. 

“We look forward to doing business.”

Relief shot through Xander, first because he had succeeded, and second because this hellish meeting was over and he could go back to his cubicle and at least groan through the contractions. There were still two hours left of the work day to get through.

Though he yearned to stay sitting right where he was, manners dictated he stand when she did and escort her from the room. As soon as he stood, gravity yanked the baby down further, and he couldn’t help but gasp at the sudden movement after hours of progress a millimeter at the time.

Luckily, John was talking to the client and she didn’t seem to notice as he hobbled awkwardly after them. They got on the elevator, and Xander waddled bow-legged to the bathroom. As soon as he was there, he stripped his pants, dropped everything, and sat on the toilet seat. A contraction came, and for the first time he pushed. He reached down, feeling the head grow into his palm until the crown filled nearly the whole thing. 

It felt so good to push after so long, to obey the desire of his screaming body. Then the contraction stopped, and horror filled him. He couldn’t give birth, not in the middle of the work day. He’d be fired. So very fired. John would never stand the scandal. 

With shaking hands, he pressed against the baby’s head and began to gently push it back up into his canal. It felt wrong. White hot pain shot through him, and he couldn’t help but cry out. But slowly, surely, his hole closed back around the baby’s head. He’d bought himself a bit more time. 

The new pack strap pressed painfully against his sore, stretched lips. It was stained with blood and birthing fluids, but not enough to soak through to his pants. Exhausted, but steeled for another two hours of work, he washed up, checked himself in the mirror, then headed back down.

John met him as he came out of the elevator, clapping him on the back. “You did very well. Just as I said you would. And I’ve got you a reward. Come with me.”

Xander didn’t want a reward, he wanted to go back to his desk, sit on his comfy chair, and to not give birth in peace. But John wasn’t one who could be denied. So he followed John, who led Xander to a small office. The walls were completely made of glass, giving him a million dollar view of the city below, but also giving John, whose office was next door, a perfectly good view of everything Xander did.

“Thank you, sir,” Xander managed. “I don’t know what—” he trailed off as he noticed the desk’s height. There was no seat in sight. His new desk was a walking desk.

“I noticed your weight gain,” John said. “Thought you might enjoy the exercise while you work. Great job again!” Then he patted Xander on his shoulder, his hand lingering for just a second too long, then he was gone.

Xander stared at the desk, glanced back through the glass walls to see John watching him from his own desk, then back at the desk. His things were already there, on top, waiting. He had no excuse to go back. With a groan, Xander went to his desk, pressing his legs together to keep the baby in, and powered on the computer. Immediately, the wide treadmill began to move, forcing Xander to spread his legs and walk.

His hips ached, and the baby shifted painfully in his hips with each step. His hole burned as it began to emerge once again. Contractions came and went, and God he needed to push, but he couldn’t stop walking or he’d get yanked away from his computer and end up sprawled awkwardly on the floor in front of his hot boss. Just keep walking, Just keep walking, he chanted as the baby moved further and further down.

He tried to work, but he got nothing productive done. Focused only on walking and the burning of his privates, increasing more and more with each step. At the next contraction, the burning increased past what it had before. This is it, Xander thought as he walked, the baby’s going to come out in my pants, right in front of my boss.

But it didn’t. The movement stopped, and as the contraction ended, something forced the baby back to where it had been before the latest contraction. Xander whimpered at the painful, wrong sensation.

The process repeated over and over with each of the following contractions. The packer holder, Xander realized. It was tight enough it was holding the baby in place. 

The two hours passed torturously. The baby sat in a permanent crown between his legs as he waddled awkwardly on the treadmill, unable to stop and push, unable to make any progress. Alone in his office, he at least could whimper and groan as necessary, but he couldn’t get off the treadmill, couldn’t stop and push, without John seeing. And John was always looking.

Finally, five pm rolled around. Xander had been in active labor for seven hours. He was exhausted. Blurry minded, sore everywhere. But he had done it. He would call a cab, go to the hospital, and give birth to his child. 

Not even bothering to gather his stuff he staggered, shaky-legged, out the door. Only to practically run into John. 

“Seems like that exercise did you good,” he noted. 

Xander panted, another contraction striking him. Finally standing still, he couldn’t help but spread his legs slightly, and push. “Just. . .  not. . . used to . .  it,” he panted.

“You did very well today. I’d like to take you out to dinner, to celebrate our new client.”

No, please, Xander thought, eyes widening. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t keep up this charade. The baby had been literally spreading him at his fullest for hours. He couldn’t do a dinner. But one didn’t say no to a dinner with John, not if they valued their job. So Xander nodded, and found himself waddling after John.

“I’ll drive you there, we can come back and pick up your car after,” John said. Xander considered protesting, but John, as the boss, had prime parking, and his own car was parked an intimidating distance away. Plus, he didn’t trust himself to drive in this state. So he agreed. With numb, shaking legs, he staggered after John, collapsing in the car.

It wasn’t until his butt hit the seat and the baby’s head was shoved back inside, causing Xander to cry out, that he remembered sitting would be a bad idea.

“Are you all right?” John asked.

“Fine,” Xander replied once he got his breath back. “Just. . . hit my head. . . on the frame.”

John talked as they drove, and Xander tried to pay attention, but he was lost in exhaustion, the now familiar mantra of don’t push filling his mind. He couldn’t keep his legs together anymore. They were spread wide, but with each contraction, Xander forced his crotch firmly against the nice car seat, keeping the head in place just behind his lips. After so long of the agonizing stretch of a crowning head, having it deeper inside him was a strange relief.

Dinner was agony. Xander ate little, though the food was worth his entire paycheck, he was too nauseous, too exhausted. But John talked with a gusto, drinking glass after glass of wine. As the night wore on, John became clearly drunk. The casual touches on Xander’s shoulders and arms and hands began to linger. His cheeks glowed, his eyes gleamed in the candle light of the table.

The contractions were increasing, nearly constant now, frustrated at their lack of progress. Xander couldn’t take it any more. He needed to give birth. “I’m sorry sir,” he gasped, his hand pressing against the bulge in his pants. “Its been a great night, but I have to go.”

John reached across the table, grabbing Xander’s free hand. “You don’t have to call me sir, we’re off duty,” he said, catching Xander’s eyes. Then he paused, his eyes going down to where he held Xander’s hand, and he withdrew, coughing a bit. “You can, of course, head home as you need. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask that you take me home, since you are sober.”

Xander groaned, another contraction peaking. Tears of pain and frustration leaked down his face. But he agreed. John got up, swaying. And Xander stood slowly, awkwardly, his baby crowned in his pants, pressing against his worn packer-holder. The bulge bigger, the stretch far more painful than it had been during work. The fabric was wearing, allowing the head further and further out.

Together, the two men stumbled out of the restaurant and back to the car. John at least, didn’t seem sober enough to notice Xander very obviously pushing each time they hit a red light. He couldn’t help but push any longer. The baby had to come out. He needed to give birth.

The boss didn’t live far. Xander pulled up, red faced and relieved. He stood from the car, noticing the way the seat gleamed with wetness. He was leaking. 

A contraction came, and he grabbed the hood of the car and crouched, giving in to the push. The baby’s head inched further out, fighting his clothes’ restraining tension and winning. He groaned in pain and relief.

Then, “What are you doing?” John had come around the car.

Xander straightened immediately, but he could feel his baby’s fully crowned head pressing against his thighs. He couldn’t give in now, not after everything. He was so close. He just had to get John inside, then he could strip and birth, there on the sidewalk if he needed to. It wouldn’t take long now. The baby’s head was practically out.

“Just stretching,” Xander lied. “A bit sore, from. . .” Another contraction peaked, cutting him off. He stretched somehow, more, as his baby’s nose passed through his hole. He wanted to scream, wanted to collapse, wanted to strip. Instead he managed to just whimper.

“You seem beat,” John said. “Come on in, I’ll call you a cab.”

Trapped, Xander, was forced to step forward, away from the car, his baby’s head brushing his wide-spread legs with each step. Inside, Xander didn’t dare sit down, He stood in the corner legs obviously spread. He didn’t care anymore, he couldn’t have closed them if his life depended on it.

John stepped out, supposedly to make a call, and Xander crouched and pushed and moaned. Time passed. John came back in, a bottle of wine and a deck of card in hand. “Want to play a game while you wait?” he asked.

Xander couldn’t say no to John, so he nodded, forcing himself somewhat upright. Surely, John knew. Surely, he could see the massive bulge in Xander’s pants, the baby out to its ears. No one could be this oblivious? Xander wasn’t even acting anymore, actively moaning with each contraction, his legs spread like a baby deer’s.

“We’ll play strip poker. Your cab will get here before we get too far, I’m sure.”

Xander sat carefully on the couch, keeping his legs spread, hips tilted so the baby wouldn't be forced in again. The contractions continued, the pain immense as John sat across from him, and dealt.

Xander couldn’t focus, and so began to strip, gratefully out of his tie, then out of his suit jacket, then slipped off his shoes and socks. The cab still didn’t come. Xander forced himself to focus and won the next two hands, John choosing to take off first his suit, then his collared shirt, slipping it off while keeping his tie on.

Staring at John’s perfectly sculpted body, his tie hanging between his pecs, pointing a line at his abs and the trail of dark hair that led to his boxers, Xander suddenly knew that John had not called a cab.

He lost the next hand, and still trying to forestall the inevitable, removed his shirt. His stomach was bright red beneath his hair, riddled with stretch marks and bruises. Without a shirt on, it was very clearly a pregnant belly. John and Xander watched together as it visibly contracted.

John licked his lips.

Locked in the inevitableness, they played another hand. Xander lost.

“I can’t take off more,” he admitted. He could not remove his pants, not without pushing the head back in. And he hadn’t the will to do that to himself, not again.

“Let me help you,” John said. He came around the table, pushed Xander back on the plush couch, oh so gently. His warm fingers slid over Xander’s swollen belly, and Xander couldn’t help but moan in relief at the contact. The fingers continued downward, cradling the massive bulge in Xander’s pants. 

Another contraction came, and Xander pushed, face turning red. The baby’s head strained against the seam of his pants, massive. Then the contraction ended, and the head slid just a bit further in. “Please,” Xander begged, voice tight with pain and exhaustion. “Get them off.”

With his verbal consent, John nodded. He leaned forward, his bare stomach brushing Xander’s, until his face was a mere inch away. One hand cupped Xander’s cheek, the other the massive bulge in Xander’s pants. Then he closed the distance, pressing his mouth against Xander’s in an earnest kiss as he shoved the baby all the way back in. 

Shocked, Xander tried to scream, choking instead on John’s tongue. It was heaven and hell, all bundled into one, and Xander didn’t know how to process it. 

John pulled away, leaving Xander in a fugue. Vaguely, he was aware of John quickly working to remove his pants, his boxers, and his strap, leaving Xander completely nude before his billionaire boss. Xander spread his legs wide, not caring any longer, revealing folds glistening with birthing fluid, red and swollen from the stress of his delayed birth. 

John reached out, caressing Xander’s cheek. “You’ve done so well, Xander. So well today. This was a test, to see if you had what it took to be my spouse and the co-owner of my company. And you passed with flying colors. So, if you’ll have me, I will be yours, on one condition.”

Xander stared, heart pounding. John’s shirt was off. His pants too, were gone, though Xander didn’t remember him removing them. His member stood rigid in his boxers as he sat between Xander’s spread legs, meeting his eyes. He was the father of Xander’s child, everything he’d wanted, despite this torture he’d put Xander through. Xander had let him do it, because he’d wanted it. Wanted him. “Yes,” Xander said. “Anything.”

“Let me watch you birth our child.”

John knew. He'd known the whole time. But Xander wasn’t surprised anymore. This whole thing seemed inevitable. Perfectly planned. John, seeming no longer drunk at all. 

A contraction came, and Xander pushed. For the first time, he was free. He pressed his head to his chest, curled around his stomach, spread his legs wide and pushed with all his might. The head crept forward, dark curly hair spreading him wide. Xander screamed with effort. Took a deep breath, then pushed again, his contractions coming at a frantic pace.

The head stretched him wide, growing with each push. John’s hand came out, cupping the head as it emerged, massaging Xander’s lips. He cooed with each push. Whispered, “You are doing so well, Xander, so well. Look at this head we have created together. Look, there are its little eyebrows, its little nose, it’s little mouth.”

Then with one last push, the head was out. Long-held fluids gushed with it, spraying both John and his very expensive couch. But John was unphased. He smiled, one hand holding the baby’s head, the other reached out, rubbing Xander’s stomach. “Almost done now. Breathe. Let the baby turn.”

But Xander was done breathing. He couldn’t control himself anymore, lost the glorious pain of pushing. He pushed and pushed, screaming with the effort. With each contraction, the head bulged forward, then went back. No progress. He wasn’t making progress anymore! Tears of panic leaked. “I can’t do it,” he sobbed, frantic. “It’s stuck! It’s stuck!”

John’s hand left his belly, slipping into his hole alongside his baby’s neck, sending a burning pain through Xander’s nethers. He screamed, and John hushed him, hand far inside, alongside the baby’s neck.

Something dislodged in Xander’s hip. John ordered him to push. Xander complied, and he was stretched again, impossibly wide, by first one shoulder, then finally then next.

Panting, he opened his eyes, to find John cradling the crying baby. 

“It’s a boy,” John announced, then paused, smiling. “Well at least at the moment. Stellar job, Xander. Doing all this. I’m so very proud.”

Panting, Xander just smiled. 

“Stay here,” John ordered. “I’ll get the baby cleaned up, then I’ll help you. I’ve got a nursery all set up, and I have told the office we won’t be in for at least a month. Once we get you cleaned up, you can rest as much as you like. I’ll take care of feeding the baby. Then we’ll raise him and our company together. As partners.”

🤰🍼1️⃣🚌>🏠🫴 🖐️🛑🏳️🧍🧎🐢 ⌛🎚️

Story: A woman is a perfectionist with a planned homebirth, but her water breaks at the bus stop, forcing her to get home in labor which is moving faster than she wants. What’s worse, she hasn’t set anything up at home, so she starts setting up everything as fast as she can, even with the head beginning to descend. Each time it gets too close, she moves it back. At one point, she has to hide her labor from a poorly timed delivery man. It doesn’t matter if it’s small, she refuses to give birth until everything is her preferred way. She could be 1 push away from delivering, but remember something she forgot and move it back to fix it then do it all over again.

(Thoughts?)

My thoughts are that this would be lots of fun! So following in my, post nothing all week, then post twice in one day, here you go!

The following story contains: extreme self birth denial and lots of pushing the baby back in. Fpreg.

Lindsey had a plan—she’d have a home birth, in front of a mirror so she could see what she was doing, with a camera recording for posterity, squating, candles, incense, relaxing music. It was going to be perfect. 

But a perfect birth took a lot of prep, and she’d been running around all week trying to just buy everything she needed for a baby. Sure there had been cramping for the last few days, and sure, the baby was already a week overdue, but she figured she had time to make everything perfect.

Right up until she was waiting at the bus stop, bags full of candles, when a particularly vicious cramp overtook her. She groaned, but couldn’t smooth away with her hands full of groceries. The intensity continued to dial up, the contraction didn’t seem to stop. So much pressure— pop. 

The pressure released as her waters broke all down her jeans. Lindsey gasped, eyes wide, and glanced around. But the bus stop was empty. Quickly, she set down her groceries, shimmied out of her jacket, and tied it around her waist, like she used to do in school when her period came on unexpectedly and she had no pads.

The baby was coming, and nothing was set up at home! She wasn’t ready. Urgency rushed through her, a need to be home, to be moving and preparing, but she could do nothing but stand and wait for the bus. The next contraction hit, far stronger without her waters, and she gasped, surprised at her intensity. Her hands wrapped around her round stomach, pushing back her t-shirt so she could touch her warm, stretched skin and soothe it more directly. She shifted her hips, back and forth, trying to wiggle away the pain. The baby was low, she could feel it, could feel the pressure of it moving down inside her. 

The next contraction was even worse, and with it came a demand; push. But she couldn’t. Would not. This birth had to be perfect. So she pressed her legs close together, and forced herself to breathe, in and out, in and out. It took five contractions for the bus to finally arrive, at which point she was so lost to the feeling of the baby slowly stretching her cervix and slipping down she nearly missed it.

Coming to a sudden realization, she frantically bent down to grab her bags, and awkwardly staggered onto the bus, still mid-contraction. 

In contrast to the empty bus stop, the bus was full. Still, a nice woman gave up her seat for Lindsey, who collapsed into it gratefully, already tired and sweaty. She tried to keep her legs together while sitting, but her stomach was large and low, and demanded that she spread her legs so there was room for both it and her lungs. As the next contraction struck, Lindsey wrapped her hands tight around the handles of her grocery bag, her nails digging into her palms. The smaller, sharper pain helped draw her focus from the overwhelming, sickening pressure that was taking over her womb.

Her house was forty minutes away by bus. By the time it pulled into her stop, she barely managed to stand. When she walked, there was a distinct waddle, and the baby, oh, it was so low. 

She waddled from the bus, clutching her groceries, made it to the bus stop sign, and had to stop as a particularly vicious contraction struck. Don’t push, don’t push, she repeated to herself, breathing as her stomach seized around her baby, forcing it downward despite her best efforts. And god she could feel it, just there, between her legs. Coming ever closer, and she still had so much to do.

Walking was hard, her legs spread far apart, her back aching, her hands full, and the baby’s head shifting a smidge lower with each step. It felt like it might fall right out of her. Three contractions later, she reached her door. Shaking hands shoved the keys in, and then she was inside. She dropped her bags immediately, leaned against the door, and pushed. The burn was immediate. She gasped, as the pain was enough to shock her out of her need to birth.

She couldn’t, not yet anyway. Things had to be perfect.

First, she needed to finish setting up the baby’s room. Bending, she picked back up her stuff, then began to shuffle awkwardly toward the stairs, dragging herself up them one at a time, hips aching with the movement. 

The baby’s room was a mess of boxes and bags. She’d thought she would have more time. Well, she’d make more time.

Gathering herself, she started to work, kneeling down, legs spread wide, to accommodate how low the head was. Then she dumped out the pieces, found the instructions, and got to work.

Except the instructions weren’t translated, and they made little sense. With growing frustration and urgency, Lindsey worked on the crib, as, with each contraction, the baby spread her open just a tiny bit more before sinking back in, once the contraction was over. 

Finally she threw aside the instructions in frustration, having made no progress. It was too hot, she couldn’t think. Using a nearby rocking chair, she pulled herself to her feet, groaning as it made everything shift, and began stepping out of her stiff, wet pants. She didn’t replace them, she was planning on having a naked birth. And in fact, tossed her shirt aside as well.

Another contraction hit and she stared down, shocked as she watched her stomach literally sink into her body. It hurt, of course, but it was beautiful, even as she felt the pain of her baby’s head spreading her open despite her refusal to push. Yet this time as she stood, with her legs naturally spread, the baby’s head didn’t go back in. It stayed, the burning stayed.

The baby was coming, and it had nowhere to sleep! Reinvigorated, Lindsey knelt back down and began working on the crib. As the next contraction hit, her hand shot to her naked pussy, found the head, and held it there, keeping it from coming out any further. As soon as it was over, hand damp with birthing juices, she continued working on the crib.

Finally, thirty minutes of agony later, the crib was done. She stood with a groan, bracing her back to stretch, then looked about the rest of the room. Still a mess. So she began organizing. Bending down to pick up a bag, she groaned as the position forced the baby just a bit further out, then she stood with the item, waddled to where it belonged, put it away, then squatted again to retrieve the next item. With each squat, the baby moved out just a bit further, walking became just a bit harder. When contractions came, Lindsey would hold her hand against the baby’s head, holding it in place, but she couldn’t hold it in place while picking something up. 

By the time the room was tidied, her baby’s head was at a full crown and she could barely walk. Holding the baby in, she looked around the room. The baby blue clock on the wall declared she’d been home for two hours, in active labor for four and a half, and the room was finally ready for her baby.

Now, to prepare for her birth. But she wouldn’t get anywhere with her baby’s head at a full crown. So, taking a deep, steadying breath, she brushed her hand against her baby’s wet curls, and began to push it back in.

The pain was awful. She opened her mouth to scream, but couldn’t make a sound. Still, she kept with it, pushing it up and in until her lips closed around it once more. It was still there, so low, so ready to come, but she could walk easier, now.

So, on shaking legs, she waddled to the bathroom, found her mirror, and carried it to her bedroom, stopping once on the way for a contraction which began to push the baby out once more. 

The mirror in place, Lindsey stepped back, examining the room, trying to think what else she needed. Right, the puppy pads to absorb the mess. Those were in the downstairs bathroom. 

She had to cling to the railing to make it down the stairs, her baby’s head slipping out each time she spread her legs to go down the next step. By the time she reached the bottom, her waddle had gotten quite a bit wider, the head spreading her wide once more. 

When she bent to get under the sink at the bathroom, the baby slipped out once more, and she gasped, catching the baby’s head with her hand, finding it at a full crown. Her legs trembled as she crouched there, one hand steadying herself on the counter, the other holding her fully crowned baby’s head in. 

With a deep breath, she began to push the head back in again, pressing her eyes closed, her head against the counter to fight off the pain. This birth had to be perfect, and that was not giving birth on the bathroom floor. 

Gathering the puppy pads, she leveraged herself back up and began the arduous climb back up the stairs this time, she kept one hand to her pussy the whole time, keeping the head in despite two contractions. 

Sweating and exhausted, she reached her room once more, knelt down, and began spreading the puppy pads. That done, she stood, held the baby in against a contraction, then went to gather the camera which was in the garage—which meant traversing the stairs once more, one hand glued to her pussy, the other holding the railing, or on the way up, the camera. 

The birth stuff was in her bathroom, thankfully. With the camera set up, she waddled into her room, found the towels, the clean scissors for the cord, the bowl for water, etc. etc. In favor of going faster, she pulled her hand away from her emerging baby to carry things with both hands. 

The next contraction came as she was carrying them to her birthing spot. She groaned, tried to force her legs together, since her hands were full, but still, the burning returned as her body pushed frantically, and her already stretched lips gave way to the force. The rest of the walk across the room was rather awkward but she made it, crouching to set things down and immediately catching her baby’s head to keep it from coming out any further. Not quite at a full crown, breathed through the next contraction as she looked around and tried to figure out what was left.

Candles. Music. Start the recording. Not much left, she could do this. She could.

Her candles were in the night stand drawer. Feeling too tired to stand, she crawled over there, stomach swaying with each motion, her baby’s head still at a partial crown spreading her apart. Gathering her candles and lighter in her hand, she began her crawl back. She set them up, lit them, breathed through a contraction, then forced herself to stand.

She turned on her music, set it to stream to her tv, then looked around. Everything was beautiful. All was well. It was time.

Gratefully, she stripped out of her sweat-soaked bra, and went to stand on the puppy pads. Calm meditative music filled the air, candles flickered and the incense burned sweet in the air.

As the next contraction came, spread her legs and pushed. The first real push of her birth, and the head shot forward, stretching her further than she’d been stretched yet. Looking at the mirror, she could just make out the baby’s head bulging from beneath her stomach. 

Her hand caught her baby’s head, no longer restraining it, but supporting it as it spread her past a full crown. With the next push, the nose slipped out, a moment of pain and intense stretching. Then, with another great push, the head popped out. 

She glanced at the clock, to confirm the time, and found to her horror, six hours had passed since her water broke at the bus station. It had taken a while, but this truly had been— she turned toward the camera and realized the light wasn’t on.

She hadn’t turned on the camera. It hadn’t caught any of this! 

With shaking hands, she took the fully emerged head, which dangled between her legs, and began to shove the baby back up inside her. Before it had hurt when she was just getting rid of the crown, this one the whole baby was already out, this was far worse. She screamed, she wobbled, just managing to catch herself on the wall, as her baby kicked in protest at being shoved all the way back inside.

Once her lips closed around it and her vision steadied, she wobbled on shaky legs back to the camera and turned it on. Then she returned to her mat. She didn’t think she could stand up any more, so she knelt down.

The next contraction came with a vengeance. And Lindsey was ready for it. She spread her legs a bit more, tucked her chin into her chest and pushed with all her might. The head shot forward, reaching a partial crown in one push. 

Another push, and oh, the stretching, as the head came out further and further until, once again, the head was out. She reached down, felt around for the cord, and found it wasn’t anywhere dangerous. She breathed as the shoulders began to shift, enjoying the candles’ dance, and the piney-scent of the incense. 

She pushed again, her stomach sinking into her with the force of the contraction as the shoulder began to emerge, stretching her so much more. She grunted with effort, trying to stretch her knees even further apart, standing up further on her knees to give her baby more room. Just one more push, and the baby would be out just one more—

The doorbell rang below. 

The delivery, for the expensive baby monitor, Lindsey realized in a haze. She had to go and get it. He wouldn’t just leave it at the door. She’d already gotten messages that he’d tried to leave twice before.

A little tiny bit of her died inside as she shoved her baby, shoulders and all, right back inside of her, until all her progress was gone. It took her a moment to get to her feet, her whole body trembling in shock.

Clothes. She needed clothes. And she needed to go fast, or he’d leave. She found her night gown on the bed and threw it on over her, then stumbled toward the stairs. A vengeful contraction caught her by the door, but she had to get to the door, so she pressed her hand to her swollen, purpled pussy and forced herself to keep walking through the agony.

She stumbled down the stairs, and threw open the door, only to find no one there. Her gaze flew to the road, where the delivery driver was just reaching his door. “Wait!” she cried, voice strangled with pain and exhaustion. “Wait! I’m here! Please!”

The man came back slowly, walking back around to the back where he’d stored the package. Another contraction came, and she couldn’t just grope herself while standing in the door, so she had to just stand there as her baby began stretching her open once again. 

Finally, he reached her, handed her the package in slow motion. He looked at her, asked, “You okay?”

“Yes,” she replied, strangled with pain as another contraction struck her, and her baby’s head began to crown once again. “Was just sleeping.”

“I need you to sign—-” the delivery man trailed off, realizing he was now empty handed. “Left in the car. Give me a moment.”

Lindsey waited in agony, her baby creeping ever lower as the man ambled back to his card, then so, so, slowly, back to her door. She signed it, then turned around, slammed the door shut, and leaned back. Her hand shot to her lips, and she caught her baby’s head right before it came out completely once more.

She went back up the stairs with the head like that, brushing against her thighs with each step. In her room, a candle had gone out. She sobbed a bit as she bent down, felt the shoulders shift inside her, grating against her bones. The candle  lit, she straightened, threw her dress on the bed, shoved the head in again, with a cry of pain, then staggered over to the camera, and resumed recording.

She stood there, observed the scene. Perfect. A perfect birth. So she went back to her pads, in the middle of the circle, and finally, with just a few pushes, brought her perfect little child into the world. It took seven hours of preparation, but it was worth every one of them.

i love being a simple farmer with a coop full of henboys who lay me fresh eggs every day. bellies always big and swollen because they're full of eggs growing in different sizes, but every morning each boy lays me a couple fresh eggs to take to market. they all are a little different, but all great hens.

one henboy is my best layer. every morning he pushes out a dozen or so fresh eggs and looks flat, but he always puffs back out with a big belly by the next dawn.

one henboy is my broodiest. he hates laying his eggs and will keep them in as long as he can, holding out until his belly looks like it's going to burst, then stubbornly will lay as little as it takes to get some relief from the pressure.

one henboy lays the biggest eggs. he has such a small frame, but his eggs are bigger than everyone else's, and it takes him so long to push them out. often times i have to help by pushing on his belly while pulling the egg with my fingers, but it's slippery so sometimes i accidentally push it in instead. it's okay, he always gets them out.

all my henboys are unique and special, and i make sure to take care of all of them with the freshest food for the freshest eggs, and to help them when they need.

it's always a sad sight when one of them gets eggbound and just grows bigger and bigger, crying and complaining of how big and uncomfortable and stuck they feel. eggs on eggs just piling up in their bellies, stuffing them so full and heavy you can feel the shells through their overstretched skin. they always get scared when i have to bring out the medicine that makes their bellies contract and hurt so badly for hours and hours on end and the scary tools to pull the stuck eggs out.

but hey, that's the life of a simple farmer.

Free eggs AND I get to have a coop full of chicken boys with big swollen tummies???

Imagine one gets eggbound, maybe one of the smaller breeds who's eggs happened to grow a little bigger than usual and get stuck, but he's so scared of the unbinding treatment that he escapes the coop and hides in fear. He's had to suffer through it several times before and is so afraid to go through it again, he doesn't think about the consequences of not taking the treatment. He runs off into the nearby woods and roosts as high as his eggbound belly will let him to avoid the farmer from finding him and giving him that horrible medicine.

Several days later and he quickly realizes what horrible mistake he's made. His body doesn't stop producing eggs even if he's already full. and now there's nearly a dozen giant eggs backed up in his poor eggbound tummy. He's tried so hard to lay them, but the biggest one is blocking the rest from coming out, and it's too large for him to get out by himself.

He's so big now he can barely move under the weight of all those eggs. No matter how hard he pushes or how hard he tries to squeeze his lumpy overfilled belly, the eggs wont budge. If he doesn't go back to the coop and look for the farmers help, his tummy will keep filling with eggs, but now that he's so painfully full, the unbinding treatment will be ten times as agonizing as usual.

He's torn on what to do, but if he doesn't decide quickly, his tummy will become so full and heavy he'll be stuck out in the woods alone, and who knows what other creatures might do if they him, completely helpless beneath his big swollen belly...

I- ughhhh- I need to get these babies OUT before I explode 😩😩😩

You don’t want to believe you’re in labor already, so soon? You have three weeks before your due date but you’re already feeling contractions.

You start to breathe deep breaths, trying to contain your nervousness. You know it maybe time, but you’re doing everything you can to prolong the inevitable. Spreading your legs surely wouldn’t rush this process, now would it?

You start to grind against the fabric that you’re sitting on, panties getting soaked in either your own wetness or your water about to break, but your eyes shut and you’re basking in the pleasant feeling.

“Oooh.” You moan out as you grind faster, your pregnant bump hitting the fabric. Your panties are now completely soaked from the thought of riding some cock. “Oh, God.” Your head tilts back as the feeling of grinding on something tough just instantly makes you orgasm.

You fall over for a moment in pure bliss, but the moment your hand reaches down to touch your panties, you can feel something between your legs. Maybe if you press down, it will shove the head back in? And you do so, ever so slowly you toy with the crowning head between your legs.