This Outbreak Is Not Sparing Anyone! If You Are A Breeder And Feel A Suddenly Swelling Or Mass Under

Kind of random but I am a huge fan of alien impregnation and I have really been thinking about making the pregnancy role play alien related.

For example, maybe the pregnancy is the result of a random hookup at a club. It should be impossible due to me being on birth control but I end up pregnant. I eventually decide to go through with the pregnancy but as it progresses, I start to feel that this pregnancy is not as normal as I once thought.

Luna Gets the Biggest

You're stuck in bed full-time now, and you're not even pregnant... yet. It's been a year since you gave birth to a record-shattering set of vigintuplets that caused you to be put on bed rest by your doctor only a month in and get up to 1300 lbs. just before you gave birth, completely immobilized by your staggering pregnancy, your pregnant stomach pressing so hard into the ceiling that you were worried you might break through it. You had thought that you'd get above half a ton when you got pregnant this time, but you smashed that barrier with a combination of twenty whole fetuses spurring you on to eat yourself into a massive boulder of matronly maternal flesh and having virtually no significant movement during your pregnancy, stuck in bed, pinned down by your heaving belly, a turtle stranded on her back. An enormously fat and pregnant turtle, for sure. 400 lbs. of baby and amniotic fluid came out of you that day, slightly under a third of your total body weight.

The damage had definitely been done to your body, though. Being 900 lbs. postpartum left you stranded in bed, unable to get up without assistance, probably for the rest of your life. You lost a significant chunk of that, though, "slimming" down, if you could even call it that at this point, to 800 lbs. simply because you could not maintain that weight. Though even your non-pregnancy appetite was the stuff of legend now and your metabolism had slowed down significantly from what it was before your first pregnancy, there was simply no way you could eat enough to keep yourself that heavy. It wasn't even a question of breastfeeding, that alone wouldn't've been able to put a dent in your poundage, you just simply could not eat enough to keep yourself that fat without a clutch of babies in your guts.

Since you now have forty children, your house had now become too small for your absurdly large family and you had to move to a much larger one, having the walls of your room broken down to get your fat ass out of your old one. It was much more comfortable for you, your husband, and your teeming flock to be in such a large house, your children having enough room to play both inside and out, including with you. You couldn't do much. You couldn't even get up on you own power to see them, but your kiddos went over to you and loved their how soft their big cuddly mama was, and most importantly, they loved you. Of course, your new bedroom was much larger than what you were in at your old house, able to accommodate your mass as it was... and if you got bigger.

You and your husband weren't dumb, despite how overloaded your brain gets during pregnancy. You both knew that you were going to get pregnant again, and soon. Even though you're so fat you can't walk, your husband putting another ridiculous number of babies in your belly without incident would be inevitable, and you two chose your new house with this in mind. More room in your bedroom for you to grow and more bedrooms for your ever-increasing number of children. Your house was a mansion, which thankfully your husband was able to afford. How he was able to afford what only very few people on Earth would be able to buy was anyone's guess, but you decided to keep yourself ignorant of that fact in case it was something less than savory. You had more important things to think about, like getting your guts stuffed full of food, children, and dick. The one thing you missed about your old house was the creaky floorboards, but that wasn't really your concern then since you weren't able to walk anymore, anyway.

That did not keep you from thinking about how much of a dumb, bloated, fattened breeding sow you were and were going to become soon again, your entire existence dedicated to nothing but feasting, gestating, and fucking with absolutely nothing else on your mind during your pregnancies, a goddess of fertility in human form. A veritable human termite queen. That was when you were the happiest, and you were going to be that happy again. Both you and your husband were ready for you to grow even larger than even the behemoth you have become now. You're a greedy girl, your size alone made that obvious. You wanted some babies in your guts and you wanted them NOW!

Your husband, solely devoted to you, your children, and creating more of them, was rearing to get at you just as much as you were at him, even though you were a complete whale at this point. He had to do all the work, making you quiver underneath him. He got his jollies out of this, too, your soft body a waterbed of flesh bouncing around with each of his thrusts, you two waiting for his seed to turn your belly hard once again as it swelled with a new brood. Both of you were screaming in ecstasy. though thankfully (or perhaps it was something you missed) your moans and yelps during the throes of passion didn't cause as much of a commotion like they used to, with both your room and your house so big that those screams woke neither your children nor your neighbors, of which you had so much land attached to your house that you basically had no neighbors who'd be able to hear the freight train of fucking going on and make noise complaints like last time (something I forgot to mention).

"Get me pregnant, get me fucking pregnant!" you shouted, thinking of nothing else but your husband and the absolutely gargantuan cow he was going to turn you into with this new batch of children you were so eager for him to put inside you. "Make me massive! Get me all the way to a ton! Make me break down the walls of this room! I'm nothing but a baby factory designed to swell with children, and it's all for you!" the latter an uncharacteristically unselfish statement of you to make while in the middle of the horizontal mambo. You were greedy, and you liked being greedy. Your burning desire to swell enormous with child was driving you to this, but you did it for your husband, too. "Fill me with your seed and your children! FILL ME UP! FILL ME UP!!!" you screamed, about to know pleasure like you had never experienced before. The two of you, like all those other times before, did this for at least a week, keeping yourselves quite busy, waiting for the inevitable outcome.

And that moment was realized. A month after those marathon sessions with your husband, you found out you were pregnant again, because of course you were. You simply could not keep yourself from getting pregnant and turning into an enormous breeding sow. The cravings your new brood gave you had you eat yourself up to 900 lbs. again, your voracious maternity-induced appetite showing itself on your body once more. Your doctor, who had to keep himself from screaming at you for getting pregnant again, just wanted to make sure you were healthy at this point. And of course, the moment of truth you and your husband were waiting for had come. Waiting for the announcement of just how pregnant you were going to be and how massive you were going to get drove you insane, your mind pregnant (heh) with anticipation. Your doctor struggled to get a clear reading on the ultrasound through all of the fat on your stomach, but he got it. Forty embryos had been detected. You were having quadragintuplets. That thought sent you into orbit, having a set of consecutive orgasms on cue, your eyes rolling deep back into your head. You screamed at your husband that you'd get past a ton during the first of those steamy fucks that got you in this state, but now you think you were going to surpass even that. Thank God you got that new house, eh?

At the end of the first trimester, you were the size you were when you gave birth the last time, growing exponentially with each pregnancy. You were 1300 lbs., your belly more than three times the size of your body with forty fetuses inside of it, spurring you on to grow fatter and heavier with each orgy of food your husband helped you push past your lips. Your mind was truly mush at this point, both pregnancy brain and arousal driving you mad and unable to think about anything else other than getting food in your stomach, growing your babies, and lying back with your husband inside you making you scream wildly every few hours. The two of you simply could not be stopped from going at each other, or really your husband since you were powerless to stop him, but holy Hell, did you not want to stop him.

"God, I'm getting massive for you!" you screamed during one of the steamier fucks you had then. "I do nothing but have my face, womb, and pussy stuffed! I'm gorging myself all day long and getting fatter & heavier with your babies! They're making me so hungry I just can't stop! MMMM!!!"

"Are you going to get to a ton and burst the walls of your room like you said you were?" your husband replied, wanting to drive you as mad with lust as possible.

"YES! YES! I'M GOING TO BLOW UP AND MAKE THIS ROOM EXPLODE! KEEP FEEDING ME! KEEP STUFFING ME! KEEP FATTENING ME! KEEP ME PREGNANT! KEEP DOING THIS TO ME OVER AND OVER! MY BELLY WILL NEVER BE EMPTY AGAIN! AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!"

The two of you made a serious mess of your bed, coming down from a high that was simply indescribable. You HAD to keep doing this. You just had to.

The end of the second trimester was even better. Your stomach was now twenty feet above your head, and you still didn't come anywhere close to filling the confines of your room, making sure to make that room as large as possible to accommodate your ludicrous pregnancies. This was not normal, but you were used to things not being normal ever since you first got knocked up with decuplets and ate yourself into an elephantine food balloon. You were truly a hippo. A heifer. Fattened up at the irresistible insistence of that legion of babies kicking at you to keep on gorging. Your husband made good on his promise, keeping you filled up both with comestibles and himself. You obviously couldn't reach around to pleasure yourself anymore. You had that happen before when you got so heavily pregnant you couldn't reach around your stomach, but that became permanent since your got pregnant the third time, with you already so fat and so pregnant that that would never become a possibility for you again. You were burning with a need that only your husband could fulfill because you couldn't do so yourself, and boy did he do his best to satisfy you. Even you two were shocked at how you were able to go at it so many times in one day, let alone at all. Your husband practically never left your side except to order all of your chefs around or bring the children of yours not currently gestating within to you when you wanted to see them or they wanted to see you, marveling at the mountain of a woman your husband had turned you into, knowing that there would be twice as many of them as there are now. Your pleasure was completely at the mercy of your husband, something that actually got you turned on more than you thought it would. You needed him, and he needed you.

Time went both slow and fast for you. Slow enough for you to savor being trapped underneath a boulder of a belly and an avalanche of fat, but it was still too fast for you, knowing that it would all be over in just a few months. You wanted to be this pregnant forever, not wanting to shrink back down ever again. You just wanted to keep a gaggle of children inside of you forever, growing ever larger for all eternity, but you knew that wasn't possible. That thought kept you going during the rare instances when your husband wasn't waiting on you sexually, which you needed constantly. It's a nice fantasy, but it couldn't be made into reality. Or could it?

That thought would have to be set aside for now, though. You had finally arrived at your due date, and just like the last three times, nary a contraction had graced your uterus. Your stomach, hard as a rock even with all that fat on it, surged thirty feet above your head. You were truly nothing but a machine designed for glutting on fattening food and making babies. A complete lack of self control when it came to food and sex got you here, and there was nothing that could be done to stop it, nor did you want to. You were in horny delirium at all waking hours, your babies growing fat in your womb making you wonder how much more food you could stuff into yourself, the hormones they controlled making you salivate at the thought of wiping an all-you-can-eat buffet bare, a one-woman swarm of locusts. And this was all your husband's doing, your mind being manipulated to this extent to crave both food and sex at all hours of the day, and all because he stuck his dick inside you & fertilized you with his seed. Forget about a human termite queen, you were way past that at this point. Your gargantuan body filled with babies took up almost a third of your room now, but still you wanted to get even larger, consequences be damned! A ton came and went. You were more than 2,000 lbs. of breeding sow filled with babies making your bed groan under your weight whenever you moved slightly or even whenever one of your children kicked inside of you. The loss of not hearing the floorboards creek underneath your girth whenever you waddled around more pregnant than ever was more than made up for by this. And it was only going to get better.

The time for your customary induction two weeks after your due date had arrived, and you were somehow even more massive than before. You grew more quickly in that time than you ever had before, your belly rounding out to a total of thirty-three feet thrusting above your head and gorging yourself up to a long ton. You were physically ready to give birth, but not mentally. Not that you weren't mentally prepared for the struggle of giving birth, that wasn't it. Unlike the last three times, you weren't mentally prepared to stop being pregnant. You didn't want to know of anything else but pregnancy, constantly growing until the end of time. You had to figure out how to make that happen, Lord knows you've already accomplished the impossible with a quadragintuplet pregnancy and reaching a weight never once held by a human being before. But right now, your body had to get those kids out of you, and you brought forty new wonderful lives into the world.

Lying there, exhausted from the ordeal of childbirth and just there no being not exhausted from being so fat, you were already thinking about how you were going to get knocked up again, and this time permanently.

Fin

I have reached my ultimate form as a 1 ton baby factory🥵🥵🥵

Showgirl

I was always obsessed with the idea of being a showgirl, a performer, a spectacle for people to watch and admire. Now, as a surrogate birther for hire, I get to live out that dream — albeit for an extraordinarily painful and difficult price.

Despite the outrageous prices I charge to bear through this ordeal, women still come to me regularly to impregnate me with their babies and book a time and a date for the show.

Slowly over time, I would grow in size, round out in shape, and prepare myself for a date filled with dread on the calendar. But then, that's the side of show business that no one ever sees. Away from the glamour and the spotlight, no one ever looks for the callouses jeweled across a dancer's feet, or the pulled muscles and broken tendons on a stripper's body. No one ever paid much attention to the stretch marks, extra wrinkles, or marks of motherhood etched into mine either.

Though for my troubles, for all the wretched agony and herculean efforts that I racked onto my body time after time, I had never actually become a mother. Only a surrogate.

When Mom's day finally came, they would build up to their party as the most incredible day of their lives. For most, it was a bachelorette party amped up to 11 and then jacked up with an event that most only got to experience a handful of times at most. Alcohol was free-flowing and party games were in full swing while loud music and drunken revelers would pour from the house and into the street. What they were all here for though was the main event. Me.

Heavily pregnant, barely able to waddle into the home, and dreading this night since we signed the damn contract. Even without being in established labor, I'd have no choice but to perform, to deliver in front of a harem of girls, and leave mom with the baby she'd paid for.

That's the other nobody mentions about being a showgirl. You still have to perform even when you don't feel very much like dancing.

Waiting outside in the car for my allotted time, I'd try to prepare, to center myself for what's likely to come. Then, with a heavy shot of Pitocin stabbed into my thigh, it would be time to take center stage.

When I ring the bell even I have to listen especially carefully to hear it. The loud thump, thump, thump of this party's bass drowns out everything and I wonder how the neighbors can even stomach the noise. Then, I realize, they're probably here. The entire street is bouncing with activity. I gently chap at the door once again and open it gingerly, walking inside to the deafening beat.

At first I'm entirely unnoticed, a pleasant surprise in my current condition. Then, making my way into the main room I'm greeted with a terrifying chorus of whoops and hollers. My stomach sinks.

"Oh my god! She's here! She's really here" several women cry out.

"oh oh OHH, is it that time already?!" the new Mom says.

"Come on girls let's get it started," someone shouts into the room.

Someone turns down the music. Women grab their seats quickly. The couch is filled first, then seats are pulled around to line the walls until it's standing room only at the back. More and more women pour in from the kitchen, the landing, the patio, and even outside to see the main attraction.

I guess it's showtime.

The maid of honor pulls up a chair and places it in the center of the room before guiding Mom to take center stage. I drop my bag full of props in the only available corner in case they're called for later and wait for further instruction. This is her show, not mine.

Now, the Pitocin is taking hold. I try not to show it, but a series of contractions have been gripping hold of my stomach and contorting my belly. During the most recent of these pains, my face must have screwed a little too hard because the new mother diverts her attention and gestures me over.

"Hey, don't waste those over there, get over here where I can see you," she says.

The crowd cheers and hollers. Most of the women here have been drinking heavily and the party has just begun to hit its stride. Most are young, few looked like they were old enough to be mothers themselves. From their faces and their excitement, I guessed that few had a chance to see a delivery themselves before.

Dutifully, I waddled over to the young mom-to-be and stood in front of her makeshift plastic throne. She wasted no time and immediately began to undress me in the middle of the room. My wool knit cardigan, scarf, and even shoes were thrown to the side. Underneath, I had on just a pale blue night dress that reached down to my knees, a dark lace bra, and nothing else. I felt the intensity of the crowd watching me from every angle. I was embarrassed, vulnerable, and in a rapidly growing amount of pain — but that's what I was paid for.

Another contraction hit hard and I immediately flinched in front of Mom. They were coming fast.

She reached up and placed one hand on either side of my belly and squeezed tight to feel the contraction climb through my body. She could feel it shift, grip, and twist around my belly through the very tips of her fingers as I felt it stab and pull from the inside. Just as it reached its peak she announced to the room "They're really strong, I don't think baby is hanging around!"

I heard a round of cheers go around the room as glasses clinked together but I was too focused on the agony still crushing me inside to join in the merriment.

Finally, when that one began to fade from its peak, the new mom pulled me in close and sat me on her knees legs astride so that my oversized belly sat between us.

"There, there," she said quietly as she stroked my hair in long, flowing sweeps. "It'll all be over soon, take some nice deep, steady breaths for me, rest up between contractions,"

I did as she asked, even a faux level of care and affection was more than I could reasonably ask for under the conditions of our contract.

Soon more contractions followed, crashing into my body with an intensity and urgency that still somehow surprised me even after so many births. Mom guided me through each helping me focus and rest softly on her lap. Through every one she would hold on to my belly as if she was soothing her own put her hands on my hips and coached me to breathe in a rhythm that matched my body.

Despite the crowd watching around us, cheering the peak of every pain, and heckling my laboring cries, it was still reasonably soothing in comparison to other performances.

Somewhere during the melee she had pulled my night dress up and over my head until I was laboring on her lap in just my bra. The crowd cheered this development.

Even knowing that she wasn't my ally in this, it was all I could do to hold on to her, to grip her back and squeeze her tight while a wretched pain fought with me from the inside. Before long, that pain turned into a wretched pressure too as it became more and more apparent that it was time to push.

Delivery

I gave her a nod and somehow she immediately knew what I meant. She met my eyes and nodded back, "ok, let me check. Get on to the floor,"

She gestured at the wooden floor beneath us and I dutifully got on my hands and knees in front of her facing the door. In truth, I wasn't sure if she wanted me on my back or my front but before I could make another move I felt her hands on me and two fingers slip inside. Her entire hand quickly followed until her entire fist was pushed deep into my pelvis and I cried out again in a fierce guttural groan. This pleased the crowd immensely.

Now, the maid of honor came around and grabbed hold of my hand with Mom being currently preoccupied. She soothed my cries and gave me a hand to squeeze as the guest of honor shifted and stretched, pushing deep inside towards my cervix.

"Is it? Is it? is it?" the guests around the room asked over each other.

I assumed they were asking the soon-to-be mom if it was time for me to push. From past experience and the immense bomb of pressure bearing down on my stomach, I already knew for a fact that it was.

Already aching to push, Mom's fist buried deep within me added an intensity and agonizing sense of being filled that drove my urge to push even harder. In long labored breaths I began to coach myself not to.

I wanted nothing more than to bear down on this head, to push and strain and eject Mom's hand from my body with force if I had to. I was, however, here to put on a show. This was her performance, I was merely the talent. If she wanted to hold her fist deep inside me while I waited patiently to bear down on to it then that's what we were going to do.

"I can feel it! I can feel the head!" she announced to the room.

"The head?!" I thought, she had her fist buried so deep I'm surprised she wasn't feeling my tonsils. I said nothing, however, instead opting to squeeze my guardian angel's hand.

"Is it, Kevin's" one of the women gathered around finally blurted out.

"What the hell?"" I remember thinking first. Kevin was the husband of the mom currently pushed up to the elbow inside my birth canal. Of course it was Kevin's and what the hell kind of way would this be to find out if it wasn't anyway?! I must have shot the maid a confused look because she seemed to take pity on me.

Of all the care and attention I'd received since I'd arrived here hers was the only kind that didn't seem forced or fake. She genuinely seemed to care, about the mom, and about me. I shot a look across to her name tag to learn the name of my guardian angel, it was Cara.

With some amount of pity and regret, Cara leaned in close and whispered.

"Kevin's family have a history of having extremely huge heads when they're born," she said. "It's fine, you're going to be ok though, it always works out fine… in the end, I mean,"

That lying fucking bitch had just voided our contract, was my first thought. There's an explicit damn paragraph for exactly this condition and she hadn't disclosed it. A second or two later I realised there was exactly nothing I could do about it now. What was I going to do, walk out and cite our exit clause? Not likely.

"UUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAARGHHHHHHHhhh," I cried out, partly in frustration but mostly because the head was now barrelling down through the edge of my cervix and it was indeed huge.

Mom's hand was still buried wrist deep inside my pussy as the contraction peaked. Now, I knew should feel every spasm and twitch from inside my walls and it pleased me, just slightly, to feel the intense squeeze that crushed down onto her fist inside my body.

Just her tiny yelp of pain was enough to keep me going, to almost break into a smile at the thought. "Yeah, try taking it on from this side, bitch!" I wanted to say. But I didn't, as a professional.

But she too must have felt the head barrelling down into my cervix at the tips of her fingers because, when someone asked again, she confirmed that it was in fact in the family line.

Cheers and whoops erupted from seemingly every woman in the room except Cara. They were ecstatic and rowdy in celebrating what I could only surmise from here, was some apparent freak of nature.

The noise continued as I huffed and panted through gritted teeth on the party room floor. Angry, frustrated, and terrified, there was nothing I could do with those feelings now. The best I could hope for would be to redirect them, use them, and focus them to bring this baby down. My only ally, it seemed, was the maid of honor, Cara, who at least pity on me with kind, consoling eyes that said, "Yeah, this is why she choose a surrogate. Sorry, you've been scammed…"

"Hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnghhhhhhhhuaaarghhhhhh!" I bore down with everything I had. An epic, giant push that made my face flush red and my ears ring under pressure. This was it, this was why I was here, nothing more, nothing less. Just another birth show.

The pressure had clearly got too much to bear for Mom as I felt her pull her fist from my body in a single thrust. Good for me, I now had a hollow empty feeling that I could imagine bearing the head into to fill. Bad for me was that now everyone else in the party felt empowered to join in.

Throughout the rests between each push the harem of girls surrounding me on the floor would do their best to goad me back into action.

"C'mon, make her push again!" someone would say to the mom.

"Make her really go for it this time, bigger than the last," another would suggest. "I bet she's going to push for HOURS,"

For her part, mom had made it her role to take charge of the birth by attending closely to every twitch, bulge, and convulsion my pussy would make as the head descended through it. During contractions she would slip two fingers inside and press hard against my perineum, giving me something to push against and aim for.

Between contractions she would coax her hand in and out, gingerly alternating between stretching, toying, and caressing my lips with long sweeping swipes of her fingers. Honestly, it was torturous heaven.

My legs and my abdomen began to spasm involuntarily as she toyed me to distraction. The way her fingers and hands made me feel between pains let my mind leave the room and float off to a decidedly more magical plain.

Every time she glanced over my clit I was reminded how unbearably sensitive it became as I pushed sending jolts of lighting down every extremity and letting my eyes roll back in my head. The crowd adored the tease.

And then, "OWWWuuaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargghhhhhhhhh," I heard some poor woman scream close by before realizing that those sounds were coming from my body as I was propelled back into it again. They accompanied an intense pressure that felt like I was somehow halting the progress of a cannonball descending through my abdomen while trying to heave behind it up a great hill. The head was not going to budge.

Clara, perhaps the only friend I had in this place, pivoted around to kneel in front of me until my head was resting just practically in her lap. Now, she had slid her hands into the cups of my bra and rolled my nipples between her thumb and forefinger again and again.

If it was some kind of sexual play designed to arouse and delight the audience then there would be nothing I could have done about it. But it wasn't. She knew what she was doing. The stimulation helped smooth and strengthen every contraction to be more productive, faster, and more powerful than before.

Things were getting more painful than before, but for the first time I could finally feel a sense of progress moving within me. Frankly, I needed the help.

"HUuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhnnnn," I strained down into my tightening belly. Now, there was just the slightest sense of movement that gave me some hope. A giant weight, something akin to an oblong bowling ball was being forced down into my birth canal with seismic shifts and starts.

"Owwwwhhuaaarh, HOOooo, hoooo, hooo," I panted and gasped for breath between contractions before heaving down again into Momma's waiting hands.

"HNNNNNNnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnuearghhhh!" Another momentous push, another millimeter of progress.

By now the women around us were screaming full-throated and aggressively to push harder, to really go for it, and get this baby moving. As if I somehow adored having this baby stuck descending halfway into my vagina. Idiots. I did everything I could to feed on that anger, to harness it and direct it into my next push.

Soon, the aggression in the audience turned sour.

"Come on, bitch, push that baby out already!" one woman shouted directly in my ear.

"What are you doing?! I could have had triplets out in this time," another said.

"Be my fucking guest," I wanted to reply.

Another giant heave and I could begin to grasp a sense of fullness emerging from the inside. The head was filling the birth canal to capacity, and then some. All I had to do now was push it through to the other side. Then, a dreaded instruction came from Mom.

"Turn around, change position, I want this baby sunny side up, into my hands."

"Fuck," I may have even said out loud.

My energy was all but sapped, I barely had enough left to kneel, never mind to turn around and push this mutant out looking straight at this stupid fucking woman's stupid fucking eyes.

Any protest, however, would all be for naught. This was her show, her birth, and her baby. I was merely the performer. The surrogate, if I was feeling especially self-important.

So, I did as she said, rolling my outsized belly around until it was facing up into the sky instead of drooping down near the floor. Cara helped, pulling me back onto her knees so that I could prop myself against her body, letting her arms fall around my belly to hold me in place. spread my knees out around Mom so that she was primed for delivery.

Then, all I had left to do was push. Great big hulking efforts that strained every muscle, tendon, and synapse to their very breaking point. The pressure and the pain were immense. Soon that sense of fullness became a sense of stretching agony as I pushed and heaved beyond what I ever thought possible.

"HMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmnrghhhhahhhhh!" I groaned. I wanted to scream out. I wanted to announce that I can't, I was stuck, I couldn't move it another fraction. Fuck the show, there was no room.

Regardless of what I could do, pulling on my thighs, stretching my legs wide, bucking my hips into my birthing partner's knees, I couldn't take another fraction.

Instead, I slowed. Changing my frantic desperate push into a slower, more controlled, and more powerful effort. The pain intensified tenfold as my insides burned with an iron-smelting fire and my body stretched and reshaped around this monstrous head bulging out from between my lips.

I opened my eyes for just a few seconds to see women crowding around, staring, gawping at my naked form. Now, they weren't jeering or mocking — they were in awe, shocked, and terrified at what I was doing, of what could be done, of what they might one day have to do

"Slow down!" Mom instructed, but for the first time I shook my head. No.

"It's COM—, I NEED TO, BNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGHHuuuuuuuuuuuaghhh!"

I balance on my maid's knees, as the head emerges and I grip Cara's hands from behind me. My head snaps back and my lungs are void of air when a rockslide blinding pressure batters into my body as the head is expelled in a whomp and a gush into the waiting mother's arms.

Whimpering, trembling, and convulsing, Cara holds me in place until I'm ready to speak, move, and even think coherently once again.

As the rest of the party busy themselves cooing and fussing over the new arrival, I get up and gather my discarded clothes and belongings from slowly from every corner of the room. I sneak into the corner to dress, shameful and embarrassed around the party guests. Time now, simply to go home and recover before embarking on the next one, I think.

I thank the maid for her help because god knows what I would have done here without her. Before I could leave,however she showed me one more kindness.

"WELL, THANKS FOR EVERYTHING, SEE YOU NEXT TIME, I GUESS," she says at a loud volume with a wink.

Most of the women there rush from the new mom to see me out at the door in a faux casual run.

"Oh, you're leaving?" the first asks. "Could I have your card, you know, just in case there's another event…later?"

"Sure, I smile," handing out one from my pocket.

"And me?" another asks.

"Of course," I smile, removing a stack.

Quickly another hand shoots out then another, then another. In very short order I hand out every business card in my collection until I'm writing my number on napkins and pamphlets.

As the door closes behind me I hear an argument start inside about who's up next.

"Guess it was a fine show," I note to myself, walking down the drive.

Wishing I was abducted and forced to carry a huge litter of alien babies that grow rapidly in my poor, massive belly, making me in constant discomfort as they squirm and fight for room.

TW for dubcon and eggpreg

It would be so hot to carry a clutch and not even realise until you start feeling yourself out.

Perhaps you got too drunk, perhaps that was a job of some aphrodisiac, but you know you had a blurry one night stand with no protection. You barely remember what happened before or who was the one taking advantage of your drunken state. All you know is that it felt unique, so different from all the other sexual expiriaces you had. Maybe it was intoxication, maybe the fact it was raw. No matter what, you did your damage control by popping a morning after pill. You think you'll just forget about it all soon.

But just a day later you start noticing some changes, your breasts feel sore, your belly looks a little bloated, and you feel a bit nauseous. You chuck it up to side effects of the pill. You try eating a bit better as to not upset your stomach. As you go about your day the nausea starts to pass, but your belly seems to grow, ever so slightly.

At night you are woken up by the feeling of your skin stretching around your belly, it was feeling so tight against the rapid growth. You get up, starting to notice your center of mass has shifted, you feel yourself out, it's no longer just a little bloat, you look around five months along.

You take a pregnancy test, as you wait for the results you start to track down every single time you had sex in those months. You think the most recent encounter was way too early, thinking the one who must have knocked you up is your ex. You panic a little over the thought until you noticed the test results. Oh ...

It's... negative? No no way it can be, you look pregnant, you are growing. You rub your bundle of mystery that's your stomach, it is full, but there's no movement inside, it feels slightly irregular. You take another test, thinking the last one was faulty, also comes out a negative.

You get back to bed, cradling your aching belly, already having plans to book a doctor's visit. But as soon as morning comes, you notice something unusual about your bump. You can feel out round things slightly bulging out of it, they're around the size of your hand. You attempt to poke one through your skin, they're hard, they don't move.

Wait are those... eggs? You play with your sensitive body a bit more feeling them shift inside you as you try to feel out how much you're carrying. You start feeling on the border of horny and afraid, there must be at least half a dozen, but it feels so good to have them inside.

You change your plans, actively avoiding going to the doctor. There's no one out there who would know what to do with your predicament. You start being glad you work a remote job, knowing you can spend a whole day not afraid of people looking at your gravid form.

Every day you develop a bit of a routine, oiling your growing body, making more food to sustain yourself, checking in on the size of the life growing inside you. You try to subtly find the stranger who got you in that state, you knew it was that one night stand that got you here.

By the end of the week you look overdue, and can barely move around your house. The eggs inside seem to have grown bigger than a head of a baby. You're almost bound to your house, walking around naked because you can't reach down to wear any sort of pants. You can't wait to get the eggs out of you. But at the same time there's no sign of this being the end of your journey.

Your dad is a doctor and we're bored, fucking around with his stuff. You use the tongue depressors as you try to suppress your gag reflexes, then look to see if he has any of the good drugs.

Playing around, I grab the stethoscope and press it to your chest, using the excuse to cup your breast, stroking your unusually sensitive nipple. We laugh, as I run it down along your body.

I pause at your stomach. I frown. Heartbeats

Plural.

"What is it?" You sit up.

I listen again and laugh, weaker. It's ridiculous.

"It almost sounds like . . . You're pregnant." I say.

You grab the stethoscope and listen. It can't be true. You lost your virginity to a one night stand three days ago but now you hear one . . .

Two . . .

Three . . .

Four . . .

Five . . .

Get It Out

(Contains: major discomfort, overdue, big baby, supportive but horny husband)

I'm in my final days of growing the life you put in me 43 weeks ago. By now, there was no such thing as comfort. Everything hurt. My hips, my belly, my back, all of it. Each day I'm praying to god for consistent labor pains to take hold but they always taper off into nothing, and I'd cry every time I felt the contractions slipping away. The thought of being pregnant for one more day was pure torture. I couldn't take the constant pain and the pressure...

Oh the pressure. It drove me insane every day. The babe and my waters so deep that everything felt like it was in my ass, like I was a clogged pipe ready to burst from the pressure of the water flowing behind the big obstruction.

And I was so beyond pregnant that going out in public wasn't an option anymore what with the stares and whispers from strangers that you hated because you knew how self conscious I was about the size of my belly. Last time we went out was a week ago and I felt like an exotic animal on display. Many asked when our twins were due and their eyes went wide when we told them it was a single baby. You batted away weirdos who asked to feel my bulging stomach and caught one taking a video of me with his phone. You screamed and scared him into deleting the video before smashing his phone on the ground.

By now, I'm certain that if we went outside people would call an ambulance without even asking if I was in labor. On our last outing, we were asked multiple times if we needed a ride to the hospital, which I declined with growing annoyance each time. I just couldn't do it anymore. And even if I wanted to, the pelvic pain was too much for me to walk more than fifteen feet.

In fact, there were many things that your cumbersome load made severely uncomfortable. I couldn't sit, couldn't stand, couldn't lay down, couldn't do anything with the head of your fat baby nested deep down on my screaming cervix. It was so low, I'd reach down every now and again expecting to feel the bulge of the head as it sat there and felt nothing but my sensitive pussy. One time, I asked for your help to get out the tub and gasped shakily as I felt the head fall with gravity and the pressure went from 0 to 10 as the water was no longer keeping the full weight of the child off my hips. I screamed that it was coming out and when you reached down in panic, you didn't feel anything at all even though I felt like the head was close to dangling between my legs.

My waters were the verge of bursting. The leakage started a week ago. What was once tiny droplets here and there evolved into small trickles that filled pads and wet my pants. Your cock would weep at the sight of those dark blotches on the sweatpants I'd stolen from you, as mine were now too small and uncomfortable to wear. I had a towel with me and set it down wherever I decided to settle in order to soak up any fluid that spilled from my opening. My sack was fighting –and losing– tooth and nail to hold together.

You wanted to see just how big I could get knowing this is the largest I'll ever be with a single babe, so sex was limited to me jerking and sucking you off so I wouldn't pop on your huge dick. I'd reached a rare stage of post-term pregnancy, and you devoured every second of it. Seeing the way you burdened me to the point of constant pain and discomfort turned you on. You'd develop a tent in your pants every time I'd cry and shout when lightning bolts of pain shot from my weakening cervix through the rest of my belly. Sometimes it would be followed by a contraction that made the mound go square. They were the worst and increased in frequency day after day. I'd stop whatever I was doing, clutch my belly, and breathe deep. There were times when the pain would peak and it was so intense that I couldn't help but grunt and holler. If anyone else heard me they'd probably think I was laboring hard. You'd jerk yourself off while I waited for the pain to pass with wet, exhausted eyes begging you to DO something.

Today, you could tell it was time. While I wasn't in full blown labor, I was past my limit and far too pregnant to move at all. It felt as if my pelvis would snap in half if I did. The head was so low and pressing so hard on my cervix that I'd feel a spontaneous urge to push with the Braxton Hicks that took hold. I knew I shouldn't push outside of labor but it felt so good when I did. Too good. Those tiny pushes were the only source of relief I could currently find, as you rubbing my back and belly did nothing to ease the pains now.

I'd only slept for a few hours in the past three days and couldn't keep anything down besides water and juice. Any food I ate came back up when a contraction hit. I looked like a zombie and you knew I needed to drop soon or I wouldn't have the strength to push the baby out. Letting me go any further felt cruel even though you were confident that I'd have the baby on my own if not tonight then definitely in the morning. Then again, you thought the same every day since I hit 41 weeks. Every day you'd see my plight and think 'this is it' but labor never came.

And here I was in our bed with a big absorbent mat under my ass that was slightly damp with the waters that were fit to gush out of me at any given moment. I sobbed hard as I had been struggling so bad with the baby since this morning. I only wore one of your giant t-shirts. My pussy was fully exposed as I pulled my leg up with a hand behind my knee.

This had to be the hardest you'd ever been. You made contact with my exhausted, pained eyes as I sobbed, unable to go any further. I didn't need to beg for you to know exactly what I was asking you to do but I did anyway.

"Get it out." My voice shook and cracked as you walked slowly to my side of the bed, taking in the sight of me, thinking about how this was the most beautiful you'd seen me since our wedding day.

"I need it out. Please." I cried as you dropped your pants and crawled over to me. Your cock was heavy and hot as you watched a small gush of fluid escape my opening. While it wasn't extremely obvious, you noticed the way my pussy bulged out around what you assumed was the head. Anybody else probably wouldn't notice, but you'd seen me enough times to know it looked a bit bigger than usual.

Yeah. It's time. You thought as you lined yourself up with my opening. I didn't want this. I was in enough pain without you rocking my body and slamming into my hips, but I needed it. I needed you inside me now more than ever before and you were beyond happy to help. And I needed to feel something other than the struggle your baby was putting me through. I was so lost in my own despair that I didn't realise you were on top of me until you began to kiss and suck my neck.

"Oh, baby boy," you whispered in that heavy southern drawl that made me weak in the knees and was part of the reason why I was so painfully knocked up, "You wanna give birth for me?"

A large, warm thumb pressed against my enlarged, swollen clit and rubbed in slow circles. I gasped loud as a shockwave of pleasure ran through my entire body while you continued to whisper in my ear between kisses. "You gonna push for me, papa?"

Your cock was now putting pressure against my opening and you could see how hungry I was for it. Even though I was positive I'd pop with clit stimulation alone, I craved the feeling of you filling my hole and stretching me with your girth. You chuckled as I tried to shift myself down but the baby was too fat and low for me to do much. You pushed inside my opening that was slick with birth fluids and my own arousal. To your surprise, I reached behind your neck and yanked you down for the most passionate kiss we'd had since the baby was made.

A contraction was what broke it. I threw my head back on my pillow and moaned as you breathed away the urge to pound me fast and hard as my pussy clenched tight around your thick cock. You started with slow thrusts and grunted with each one as you got a rhythm going. Your thumb pressed harder on my clit and I stared at you with more love and admiration than you'd ever seen before. You smiled and leaned in for one more kiss before sitting up again.

"Let's get that baby out."

Poor little bird-folk who has a condition that makes their eggs grow unusually large. It means they almost always get egg bound and spend days laying a clutch when all their friends do it in an afternoon. It doesn't help that they're small and slight with narrow hips that strain against every huge egg.

As they get closer to laying their stomach swells up immensely, looking ridiculous on their small frame. Everyone else they know gets a regular, manageable bump in the weeks before they lay. Usually only restricting their movements in the last few days. But their stomach is huge and obvious and horribly sore for weeks. They spend almost a month too heavy to fly and by the last week they can barely walk. You would think that going through this every year would mean they're used to it, but every time they are caught off guard by how heavy and sore and uncomfortable their giant eggs make them. Their fragile pelvis wasn't made to carry so much weight. Their skin stretches so far that they start to lose feathers on their belly and red, angry stretch marks are visible on the exposed skin. It's miserable but they know the worst is still yet to come.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When all of the eggs are finally out they sleep for days, completely drained. The relief of finally being empty is always tainted by the knowledge that they will have to do it all again next year.

W-whoah… what’s happening to me???? I don’t understand my belly hurts so bad and it’s stretching so much 🥺 I think you might’ve filled me up to full😖