I Fucking Love Fetish Sexuality. I Love People With Totally Bizarre, Highly Conceptual, Abstract Fetishes.

The airplane shakes as we descend onto the air strip. One of your hands is gripping the armrest and the other digging into my hands in a death grip. Your head was leant back into the chair, your chest rising and falling every second and your stomach constantly looked hard as a rock.

The plane bounces and rumbles when rubber meets road. The plane shakes as it rolls over the strip and slows to a stop. The rough landing making you yelp and hiss.

The plane ride is over. Now we just need to get off of it.

I wait for the other passengers to gather their things before I move to get a hold of a steward.

"Can I please get a wheelchair, my wife is feeling nauseous; I don't want her walking," I ask the stewards as the plane clears out of the rest of the guests.

They leave me to take care of you. I lift you up, but you resist and maintain your grip on the armrest.

"No more moving- it hurts. Burning, so much burning," you struggled to keep a whisper.

I pick you up anyway. Your legs quiver, your face twists as the full weight of our baby sits on your fully stretched opening. The seam of your jeans is soaked through and bowed out into the shape of the head. It's not moving through your jeans, but your composure won't last. Your breathe sharply as I sit you in the chair.

"Oooh, God, I need them out," you whimper.

"Soon, babe, soon."

I drape our carry-on bags on my shoulders and push you through the aisle and the terminal. The hospital isn't far from the airport, maybe an extra thirty or forty minutes is doable as long as we keep your shorts on.

The end of the gate reaches my view and I smile earnestly for the first time in hours.

"We're off the plane babe! Now we just-"

As soon as we exit the terminal, your voice rises to a scream you'd been holding back for hours.

"Get these pants off of me! I need to push!"

Part I Part II Part III

The wait for the entire plane to disembark was nothing short of torturous, hundreds of people packing their stuff and filing slowly out of one door. The guy in our row gave us a stern and annoyed glare as he strutted down the aisle.

I was grateful you’d gotten a wheelchair - there was no way in hell I’d have been able to walk anywhere with a baby stuck crowning between my legs. But as I sat in the well-worn leather of the wheelchair as you pushed me off the plane and out the gate, I felt just as trapped as I’d done in the aeroplane seat. My legs were as wide as I could get them in the wheelchair, my feet trembling on the foot rests, my arms gripping the handles either side. My body tried to push again and again and felt the resistance of my clothing, keeping any progress from being made. While the plane was landing that was a good thing but now, back on solid ground, I couldn’t take it any more.

As the last to leave the plane the long corridors were empty as you wheeled me towards arrivals. The baby was stretching me, the burning ring of fire consuming every part of my being, and alone in the corridor I released the hours of agony in the form of a guttural wail.

“Stop!!! Get-me-out-get-me-out!!!” I cried as my feet tried to find the floor.

The second you halted the wheels I shifted towards the end of the seat and almost threw myself out the chair and onto all fours in the middle of the corridor. I groaned and mooed, deep and primal, and then growled “Shorts-off-now!!!!! Need-to-pushhhh mnghhhhh can’t-hold-it-baby-coming!”

I tried to claw at my denim shorts but I needed both hands on the floor to balance. I heard you swear under your breath before kneeling beside me and trying to pull the maternity shorts across my large bump and over my hips.

“Lean on me babe, I need you more upright if I’m gonna pull these down.” You instructed.

I pushed myself up on to my knees and gripped each of your shoulders in a vice-like squeeze. I couldn’t speak, barely able to breathe, the only thought was the primal instinct to birth this baby. Right here. Right now.

I wailed again in your ear as the shorts slipped past my thighs and I immediately started pushing. Clinging on to you for dear life, I roared and grunted the baby’s bulging head further and further out. Your hands between my trembling thighs ready to catch our baby.

Not gonna lie, getting an ultrasound and the tech gets more and more confused for any reason is *peak*

Getting an ultrasound and the tech getting more and more confused because it doesn't make sense because that's not a baby in there that's an egg. That's multiple eggs, clustering in your belly, their shells showing on the scan, and he doesn't know what to say or do because it's not possible especially with your normal husband smiling widely at the screen and how does he explain that what you're seeing is not normal? At all?

And afterwards you laugh and hold the picture tight as your husband loosens his human disguise and kisses you with sharp teeth and a tongue that can slide all the way down your throat --

"It doesn't feel right! It's not right! Something feels wrong! You're not listening to me!"

Shout-out if you want that to be you. Dm me.

Thinking about an insatiable partner seizing me by my swollen, gravid curves and vowing to get me "even more pregnant." It makes for a hot fuck, I play along, talking about how I couldn't possibly get even bigger, about how could you even want me even heavier and riper, about how would I even function since I'm already too big, all the hot things I imagine, and want my lover to imagine. Breeding their already-bred plaything. Knocking me up all over again. Weighing me down even heavier, blowing me up even grander. Oh, babe, if I'm not big enough for you yet, fill me up again, I promise I'll swell and grow and ache and leak for you, if you do.... It's hot roleplay, a fun thing to pretend. Harmless fun.

Except, what if over the next couple of weeks, I notice... certain changes in my progression. My belly is getting bigger than doctors projected. My weight, once steadily growing, now spikes as my cravings have me ballooning like wild. I stretch my most forgiving maternity clothes to the limit, chest bloating up, spilling out of my tops, elastic waistbands suddenly not elastic enough for my new broader belly, my new vaster ass. What would this mean for my pregnancy? Would I be worried, or... turned on?

What if I went to meet my lover, stuffed into the sexiest dress I can still manage, biggest clothes too small. What if I confessed what has been happening to me, my body growing out of control, too fast, too large. What if I pulled them close and whispered what I thought had caused it, and felt their fingers dig into my plush hips, a wicked look in their eye as they push me gently back onto the bed, too weighed-down to resist and too swept-up to try, and they put their hands, reverent, on my massive belly, and smiled with an irresistible hunger....

What then?

Dragonborn are hot as hell though like damn they're all so huge and scaled and wonderful and god fuck just imagine you're riding her thick knotted cock every day, she loves to touch you and hold you close and rub your soft human skin oh so gently because you're breakable, feeling her claws and fangs on you when you kiss or she gets excited and bites your shoulders

and you're not using protection because, well, dragonborn can't get humans pregnant, so you can just enjoy how it feels whenever she cums raw in you and fills you and that knot makes sure none of it comes loose and it always feels so good...

so when your belly starts swelling she doesn't think much at first, until one night she's laying there with you dozing on her knot and frowns as her thumb rubs over your soft belly, and she presses down and feels something hard, but that's definitely not possible. Only now she's noticed it's obvious how rapidly it's growing

and next month you can't deny that it's there, a solid heavy weight, and a dragonborn doula confirms that - somehow - unbelievably - you have two dragonborn eggs growing inside your womb. You never thought it would happens, but you're both unbelievably happy...

oaugh

🤰🍼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.

Birth Ordinance

The following story contains: explicit birth, birth denial, twin birth, and enough information about Mormon temples they'd be upset with me. But hey, it was my experience too and I have every right to it. Some creative liberties were taken with the temple stuff. It's my first attempt at sharing something like this. So I'm happy to get feedback.

Story behind cut:

Mariah groaned, reaching down and wrapping around her large stomach as the car went over a bump and into the Mormon Temple’s parking lot. Her husband, Mathew, glanced over. 

“Almost there, honey,” he said. “Just keep breathing, and soon God will bless us with a pair of new children.”

The latest contraction eased, and Mariah eased back into her seat, breathing hard as her stomach visibly relaxed under her hand. The new prophet, President Oaks, had revealed that there was a new covenant and ritual that women had to participate in during the birth of their children. It was still new enough Mariah didn’t know anyone who had participated in it, but the prophet spoke for god so she and her family would obey. Surely a birth (or two) in God’s house surrounded by holy men would be far more blessed than a birth in a hospital surrounded by doctors who had been corrupted by fake-science like vaccines, gender ideology, dinosaurs, and other such satanic lies.

The car came to a stop, and Mathew got out, dressed in his nice suit. Then he came around and opened the door for Mariah. As she stood, another contraction seized her. She clutched the door handle and moaned through the pain, curling in on her stomach instinctively. 

“Come on, hon,” Mathew said, grabbing her hand. “We’re gonna be late.” Then he pulled, dragging her up out of the car with zero warning.

Mariah stumbled, still mid-contraction. Her back screamed as it took on the weight of her twins. Mathew managed to catch her, as her legs gave out, keeping her from face planting in the temple parking lot. 

“Woah careful there,” Mathew said, smiling, completely oblivious. He did however stay long enough for the contraction to end and for Mariah to get her footing back. The shoes she wore had a slight heel to them. She thought it wouldn’t matter too much, and she didn’t have anything completely flat that was nice enough for the temple, but the way her hips ached, she already fiercely regretted her choice. Even more so when she looked up and saw just how far away the temple was. Her husband had parked in the furthest parking stall from the main doors. 

“Go ahead and start walking,” Mathew said, “I’ll grab our temple bags.”

With a sigh, Mariah began the trek, pressing one hand to her back to counteract the growing pain there. Everything felt strange down below, both open and tight at once, her hips oddly shaky, which led to a distinct waddle in her walk. It took almost no time at all for Mathew to catch up to her, both temple bags slung over his shoulder. 

They made it to the temple doors without further issue, the massive white building standing out starkly against the blue sky, stain glass windows gleaming. A patron exiting opened the door for them, smiling and greeting them. Then their eyes strayed to Mariah’s belly. “Congratulations,” the man said. “Are you excited about the new revelation from our prophet?”

“We are so lucky to be some of the first to experience it,” Mathew replied, proudly resting his hand on Mariah’s belly. 

Mariah didn’t say anything, anxiety twisting in her chest. She just wished she knew what she was getting into. Neither man noticed her silence however, and exchange a few more quick pleasantries before they continued inside. 

Once inside, both Mathew and Mariah produced their temple recommends from their wallets, then Mariah produced her special recommend for a live ordinance, given to her after extensive interviews with both her bishop and her stake president to prove she was worthy. Another contraction came as they checked over her paperwork. She grabbed onto the desk, circling her hips and breathing hard, feeling the pressure increase.

“Has your water broken yet?” the man at the desk asked.

Mariah shook her head, unable to say much else in the midst of the contraction.

Mathew answered for her. “She’s been having regular contractions for the past two hours, one minute on, four minutes off. We’ve come as instructed. And we called ahead.”

“Yes, yes,” the desk worker said, then he handed her a little piece of paper and a pin. “We’ve got your guide waiting for you. Just put this on and head into the main room. She’ll meet you inside.”

Gratefully, Mariah took the paper and pinned it onto her dress with shaking hands, then she and Mathew headed past the white wall of the reception area and into the main temple area. Green plants and pastel green and gold couches lined the walls and filled the center space of the area. A woman and man saw her name tag and came over, shaking both Mathew and Mariah’s hand, and introducing themselves as Sister and Brother Wallace. 

Mathew handed Mariah her temple bag, and then was swept away to the men’s changing room by Brother Wallace, leaving Mariah with Sister Wallace, who led her to the other side of the foyer where the sister’s dressing room was. 

“We’ve already set aside one of the larger dressing rooms for you,” Sister Wallace said. “There will be a white jumpsuit in there. Put it on, just like if you were getting ready for a baptism for the dead. Then I’ll take you into an instructional room for a short video.”

Mariah nodded, and entered into her dressing room. Though it was definitely larger than the normal stalls, it was still small, barely enough room for her to move around with her massive stomach. She had just enough to to place her bag on a small wooden bench that protruded from the metal doors before another  contraction hit. She hissed and groaned, working through it. Once it was through, she awkwardly reached down grabbed the hem of her dress which was significantly closer to her fingers than it would have been pre pregnancy, and dragged it up over her massive belly. It was a bit of a struggle, but soon it was off. Next went her wired bra and her white pregnancy garments, which were soaked with sweat. 

Not caring much, she threw the clothes and her old shoes in a locker, then began the momentous task of putting on the silky zip-up garments which barely fit over her massive belly, the tiny sports bra that did very little to contain her leaking breasts, and a large zip up jumper than definitely was not made for a pregnant woman. She barely got the zipper up half her chest, leaving the white undergarments visible. As she sat down to put on the grippy socks, breathing heavily from the effort of changing clothes, another contraction took her she groaned, practically collapsing the rest of the way onto the little wooden bench. The unyielding solidness pressed against her privates which felt much more exposed in the tight white jumpsuit, zipper straining. 

Sister Wallace knocked midway through the contraction, asking if she needed any help. Once the contraction released her, Mariah leaned over awkwardly and undid the latch. No way she was getting on those stupid socks without help, not in her condition. Wallace helped her easily enough, getting the soaks on her swollen feet, then helped her up. 

The instruction room wasn’t far, and she was sat down in a cushy chair, Wallace at her side, and a video of the prophet showed up. “In order to ensure our families our celestial, God has revealed a plan for his children. As the child is being birthed, the mother will go through each of the ordinances on the path to the celestial kingdom, doing them in proxy for their child. That way, no matter what path the child takes in life, they will already have their work done for them. It is like baptisms for the dead, but for those who have not yet come into this world.”

Mariah stared as yet another contraction hit, the pressure building. The heavy ball of her first child’s head sitting in her hips. All the ordinances? But the baby was coming soon, and that would take hours!

“Best get a move on then, right?” the sister said.

The elevator was broken, so they had to take the stairs down to the font. Midway down another contraction hit, and Mariah was caught with legs on separate stairs, clinging to the bronze railing for dear life as the pressure mounted, and mounted and mounted. She needed to push, she realized suddenly. But no, that couldn’t be right. Her water hadn’t broken yet. And she had to get through these ordinances so her children would make it to heaven with her!

Mariah gasped in relief as the wave of pain eased away. Already her white suit was near-see through with sweat in some areas. But Wallace didn’t seem to mind, she just grabbed Mariah’s arm and helped her hobble awkwardly down the rest of the stairs, her legs forced just a bit further apart than they had been earlier.

Teens waiting to be baptized stared openly as Mariah hobbled down the hall, one hand on her back, the other trying to support her massive twin stomach. They walked into the main font, a white pool on top of twelve golden oxen, the air heavy with the scent of chlorine, then waited for the teen who was currently being dunked to finish their set of baptisms. Mathew was already waiting on the other side, dressed in a similar white jumpsuit. He smiled and waved, his escort at his side as well. Once the teen finished, him and his adult baptizer exited the font and were handed fluffy white towels, then Mariah and Mathew entered. 

The water was warm, a welcome relief to her straining body, and Mariah couldn’t help but groan in relief as Mathew walked her to the center of the pool. He took her wrist in his hand, holding her hand up by her face, then held his right hand to a square behind her. “Sister Johnson,” he prayed. “Having been commissioned by Jesus Christ, I baptize you for and behalf of, Nephi Johnson, who is not yet born, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen.”

In the midst of his prayer, another contraction wrapped its way around her belly. As he put his hand to her back and pressed her down into the water, the pain and pressure mounted. She tried to scream with the pain, but water flooded into her mouth. Down, down, deeper into the water, as her husband tried to get her whole massive body completely submerged. Then she was up again, spitting up water, ears ringing, barely aware her husband was saying the prayer again, until she was plunged unsuspectingly back into the water. 

As her knees bent, something popped inside her, and the pressure was gone. She came back up spluttering, wiped away the stinging chlorine from her eyes and stared down at the red tendrils spread from her into the holy water. 

She blushed, but Mathew didn’t seem to notice. He pulled her to him instead, then helped her back out of the font. The stairs were slippery. A towel was wrapped around her as the cool air made her tremble in her wet clothes. 

Then she found herself in a shower, her legs spread, panting, struggling to get her white jumpsuit off while the shower spread the chlorine off of her. She managed to get the zipper undone with shaking hands, but she couldn’t get the fabric off her hips without closing her legs, and that just didn’t seem possible. Groaning with the effort, she put her legs together despite her body screaming at her, and pushed the suit down. Then came the too small bra, which clung to her chest, and then the zip up garments, which present similar problems. Once they were down around her feet, she eased down, groaning as her necked butt rested on the plastic shower seat, to try and kick her clothes off the rest of the way. 

As she curled forward to try and get them off, another contraction struck. She groaned panting, trying to spread her legs to give the baby’s massive head room, but couldn’t. Her feet were caught by the restrictive material bound around them. She panicked, reaching blindly downward, kicking frantically, trying to get a leg free, because she needed her legs free. 

Finally a leg slipped free, and she eagerly spread her legs, pushing hard as the contraction ebbed, thankful for the warmth of the shower water dripping over her. Perhaps I should just stay and birth in here, she thought as the water cleansed her sweat. But no, she had to follow through. Had to make sure her children were saved.

Heaving herself to her feet she grabbed her towel from her hook, did her best to dry herself off, then tried to wrap it around her. It was made for teenagers, so it wasn’t the best modesty shield for a full grown, very pregnant woman, but she got the important parts covered. Barely. 

Sister Wallace met her outside the shower, all smiles, and handed her a white poncho. “This is a shield,” she said. “We’ve brought it back for innititories, go ahead and put it on.”

On the plus side, it was just a giant rectangle with a hole in the head, incredibly easy to put on compared to the earlier clothes, on the other hand, Mariah was left nearly completely exposed, the fabric hanging down only to mid-thigh in the front because of her massive belly, and left completely open on the sides. 

Those attired, with shaking legs, she was led into a room and told to sit down in a chair. Mathew and Brother Wallace awaited her, they placed their hands on her head as another contraction began and began the confirmation prayer. Mariah tried not to moan as her legs spread apart, her massive belly sinking between them, covering her parts as her clothes seemed to do very little of that. She couldn’t help but push, and felt the massive baby within move further down. The contraction let up, then another came, and she pushed with it again, trying to stay quite so she wouldn’t disrupt the prayer. 

Gosh, the baby was right there, right between her legs. It needed to be born. But she’d been grabbed by the arm and yanked to her feet before she could fully process the change. “Hurry now,” Sister Wallace said.

Practically naked, she was led through the temple, and back to the stairs. “No,” she moaned, leaning forward as another contraction started and she felt her nethers begin to sting. Her hand shot to her pussy, although she wasn’t sure if her intention was to support the baby or hold it in. 

The contraction ended before she had to make up her mind, the stinging easing as the baby slipped back inside. 

“It’s coming,” Mariah moaned.

Sister Wallace frowned. “Hold it in, or it will never be able to be in the celestial kingdom with you.”

Nodding, Mariah steeled herself, staring up at the spiral staircase. She’d do this.

Up and up she went, one stair at a time. Each time her leg went up and separated to reach the next step, she could feel the sting of the baby settling against her holds, then she’d bring her feet together and the stinging would ease. One contraction stopped her midway up, and she breathed hard. Do not push, do not push, she chanted to herself, as she pressed her hand against the head, supporting it, keeping it inside.

The top of the stairs opened to the women’s locker room, and inside that the initiatory. Another sister met her inside a curtain and told her to sit in the small waiting chair. Wish shaking legs, she sat, purposely tilting her pelvis so the chair put counter pressure on her baby, keeping it inside. Her hand when she finally pulled it away, was wet.

“Sister, having authority, I wash you preparatory to receiving your anointings for and behalf of Nephi Johnson, who is yet to be born, that youmay become clean from the sins of this generation,” the sister in this room said. Then with wet hands she placed her hand on Mariah’s head, blessing it, then her ears, then her eyes, then her nose, then her lips. A strange game of reverse head, shoulders knees and toes, each body part its own blessing. 

“Your neck, that it may bear up your head properly,” the woman said, then she reached down inside the shield, resting her cold wet hands on Mariah’s shoulders. “Your shoulders that they may bear up the burdens that shall be placed thereon.” Then the hands moved further down, onto her back, then they slipped and rested on Mariah’s ample, aching breast, blessed to be a receptacle of pure and virtuous principles. 

A contraction came as the hands rested on her stomach, and she zoned out, focusing on putting her weight against the head of the baby, keeping it inside as she tried and failed to not push. The hands were back on her contracting stomach, blessing her loins that “they may be fruitful and multiply and replenish the earth, that you might have joy in your posterity.” It was all so much. She needed to give birth, she needed them to stop touching her.

She tilted her hips, lifting them up from the chair, and pushed. The crown grew. Her lips stung. Then another set of hands rested on her head and shoved her down. The growing crown hit the chair and was shoved back into her. She screamed as the second officiant sealed the blessings of the washing upon her.

Her ears rang through the next prayer, her body lost in the need to push. But then the touching started up again, though this time instead of cold water, it was slick oil. The anointing, preparatory to becoming a king and a high priest unto God. 

Slick oil open her head, nose, her eyes, her neck, her breast, her back, her stomach, her loins, her feet. The hands lingered on her massive belly, caressing it, slathering it in slick oil. 

Her body, frustrated with the denial, initiated another contraction. It seemed stronger than the others, desperate. And Mariah didn’t even try to stop it this time. As the hands rested on her head to seal the anointing upon her, she pushed. But she couldn’t get off the chair, couldn’t get it to move, the hands held her steady, pushing her down into the chair. A whine escaped her as the contraction ended and the baby remained just there. 

Instructions were given, about the garments to wear, and then a new name was placed upon Nephi, though he hadn’t even officially received his first name. 

It was over, finally. She could move on to the next step. Except—

It started over again, with the blessing. With the wet touching. Twins. She was having twins. She had to do everything twice. She gave in to the touching, groaning as the hands caressed her breasts and belly with both water and oil a second time. The touch turning from foreign to comforting as she searched for anything grounding, anything positive to help her through this.

Three contractions later, the babies still safely within, the initiatory was over. Mariah stood from the chair, legs spread wide to accommodate the head which lurched forward as soon as she stood. She barely wobbled out of the room, catching Sister Wallace’s shoulders to stead herself and instantly crouching and barring down.

The head eased forward, the stinging increased. The head was massive. Twins were supposed to be small. How was she supposed to get this out?

Then the contraction eased and the head went back inside, leaving her panting and sweaty, but with no progress to show for her efforts.

“Oh dear,” Sister Wallace said. “You seem quite far along. Don’t worry. I’ll help you get dressed for the next step. I’ll be with you each step of the way.”

Then Mariah was forced to walk the short way to the dressing room, gasping for breath, feeling the weight of the head between her thighs, her hips protesting the constant movement while being spread so far apart.

“We have special garments to help in situations like this,” Sister Wallace said. “Step in.”

Blind with pain, Mariah managed to get a foot up, then the next one as Sister Wallace pulled on some sort of white undergarment. It was a bit of a wrestle, but finally it was on, tight as can be and pure white, nestled just under her belly. Mariah paid very little attention as Sister Wallace put on her white temple dress, her long white socks, and white shoes, focusing on not passing out or throwing up from the pain. 

“You’ve just got the endowment left,” Sister Wallace said, patting her on the shoulder. 

If the endowment ceremony wasn’t two hours long, if she didn’t have to do it twice, that would have been more reassuring.

At least she didn’t have to climb another stairs, as she was led into the endowment room, women on one side, men on the other, the seats full except the one at the front nearest the white alter that sat in the front of the room, a man standing behind it, ready to officiate.

Mathew sat in the seat closest to the alter on the men’s side of the aisle.

They were to be the representative couple. No. That meant standing up and kneeling and. . . gosh, how was this possible? Why would god ask this of her? No. Obedience. It was a test of obedience. To prove she and her family deserved the blessings. She would do it. She would prove she was strong enough.

With Sister Wallace's help, she waddled down the aisle, legs spread, crotch stinging, and settled into the front seat. Instructions sounded on the speaker, then the movie began. It was a movie she’d seen hundreds of times, about the creation of the world and Adam and Eve, so she quickly lost herself in the pain of the contractions. As each one came, she tried not to push, breathing through it as the head pushed through her tender folds, then eased back in as the contraction ended, too big to get all the way through or stay out without her help.

She was jerked from her pained breathing and the rhythm of the heading coming in and out, by a tap on her shoulder. Sister Wallace sat beside her, pointing toward the altar where Mathew waited, the rest of the audience waiting impatiently, staring at her.

With a groan she eased herself to her feet, stumbled the few steps to the altar, and kneeled beside her husband. There she promised the officiant, who was standing in for God, that she would obey Adam (Mathew)’s law so long as he obeyed the Father’s.

Kneeling hurt her knees, and her huge stomach pressed into the altar. She had a skirt of fig leaves on under her belly, but she didn’t remember putting it on. Sister Wallace must have done it earlier. A contraction came as she kneeled, and with legs forced apart and with gravity helping, the baby came down. She couldn’t help but push, and gasped as the head shot out further than it had yet. Agony tore through her pussy and she couldn’t help but let out a gasp, barely muffling the full scream of pain that surged from her throat. 

As soon as the contraction ended, however, the massive head began going back inside. The baby kicked, the feeling was wrong. Revulsion and agony surged through her body, and she tried to catch it, engaging her core muscles, stopping the baby in its tracks. There was pressure, something pushing back against the baby. As she slowly stood from the alter and headed back to her seat, the baby’s head brushing the inside of her thighs, she lost the push. The baby eased back inside her all the way. Tears filled her eyes. 

She would have sunk to the floor right there in pain and despair, but Sister Wallace caught her and brought her back to her seat. “Don’t worry,” she whispered in Mariah’s ears. “Those special garments will keep that baby in, no matter how hard you push. It will be saved.”

The next contraction brought the baby to a full crown, then the garments immediately began pushing it back in once the pressure released. Desperately, Mariah kept pushing, trying to keep the head there so she wouldn’t have to experience the agony of it returning. But eventually, she had to breathe, giving up the fight. Nausea filling her chest and throat.

She had to stand again, to put on a hat and robe and other holy emblems. Then again to kneel at the altar. Then the altar again. The third time, as she knelt the baby’s head completely popped out, slipping off to one leg of the garment. As she stood, her cheeks red with embarrassment and exhaustion, the head pressed against her leg. She felt it as she walked, bowlegged back to her seat, but before she could sit down, Sister Wallace caught her arm.

Right. It was time to go up the stairs to the terrestrial room. Each step was agony, the shoulders shifting in her hip, her legs spread awkwardly around the head, which touched her thighs. A line of people waited behind her awkward shuffling, impatient. When a contraction hit, Sister Wallace kept pulling her up the stairs, not giving her time to push. 

Her legs shook, each step torture, then they were at the top, and she was being pushed into a seat again. Sister Wallace frowned at her, and reached subtly under her dress as the rest of the people found their seats. Her hand slipped to the baby’s head that had somehow escaped the restrictive garment. 

In a horrible flash, Mariah knew what was coming. “Please, don’t” she whispered. “Please.”

“We have to save your baby,” Sister Wallace responded, then her hand pressed on the babies head, forcing it inside.

Mariah opened her mouth to scream, but Sister Wallace’s other hand grabbed her jaw and forced her mouth closed. “This is a holy place,” she reminded Mariah. “You must be quiet.”

More standing and kneeling and contractions. Endless pain. Torture of another kind. She needed to push. Needed to give birth. How could she play Mother Even for this long, making covenants for her, and yet not be allowed to give birth? 

The prayer circle finally came, the last bit until the end. Mathew grabbed her arm, and hauled her to her feet. Her legs trembled, the world swirled. “I can’t,” she whispered.

“This is for our babies,” Mathew said. “Please?”

Before she could say no, but how could she when she’d just promised God she’d obey him?, she was dragged to the front of the circle. The officiant said a prayer, she repeated what she said with the others in the circle, her legs spread awkwardly, the baby’s full crown bulging against the worn garments. Agony.

Then she was standing against the veil, making the tokens, with Sister Wallace whispering the right answers in her ears. She normally had these memorized, but she had no more brain power, no awareness except for the bulge in her pants and the desperate need to birth. Finally, it was over, she was through the veil.

“Very good,” Sister Wallace said, “just one more time through the endowment.”

“No,” Mariah begged, falling to her knees. “Please, I need to give birth. Please. To one of them. At least.”

Sister Wallace hesitated, then nodded. She reached out and pulled Mariah to her feet, in through the celestial room with its giant mirrors and massive crystal chandelier, then off to a small room to the side. It was all white, a single altar in the center. 

Sister Wallace knelt down, under Mariah’s skirt, fumbling with the tight garment bottom. “You must push your legs together to get this off,” she said.

But the baby’s head was there, fully crowned. Her legs weren’t going anywhere. “I can’t,” Mariah whined.

“I’ll help.” Then once again, the worst feeling of her life, the baby’s head being shoved back in. Mariah did vomit then, falling to her knees, vision blanking. She woke up sprawled over the altar, her baby’s head in her pussy, the garment bottom’s finally, blissfully off.

“Push,” Sister Wallace ordered. “Quickly, the next endowment session is starting soon. Your husband is waiting.”

Exhausted, but relieved, she pushed. The head shot out, and she screamed at the sudden shift despite herself. Gasping for breath, she clung to the side of the altar, her fingers digging into the cushions to keep herself upright on her trembling legs. An agonizing few minutes of breathing as the shoulders turned, then more pushing, the first shoulder popped out, stretching her even more.

Big, so big. Mariah shifted, awkwardly on her knees forcing them further apart to make room for the second shoulder, then with a final massive push and gush of fluids, the baby fell from her, into the waiting hands of Sister Wallace.

Or no, another Sister in white had entered at some point. She came in, cut the cord, washed up the baby, while Sister Wallace was doing something down there. Mariah didn’t quite care what. She watched her baby, Nephi, as he cried, wrapped in a blanket, still smeared with unmentionables, but beautiful anyway. Perfect. And promised to her forever, no matter what he did.

Another contraction distracted Mariah from that holy moment. She groaned, feeling the next baby pressing down on her worn insides, already pushing through her dilated cervix.

Then something snapped shut around her waist and her eyes shot open. Mariah stared in betrayal at Sister Wallace as she stood back up and held a dainty hand to Mariah. The restrictive, birthing-proof garments were back on. “Come on then, you must save the other one still.”

“No, please. I can’t.” Mariah didn’t even think she could stand. Even kneeling was too much. 

“You must, for your child. Come, you won’t be the witness couple this time. You can just sit through it.”

She had to drag Mariah to her feet. Mariah leaned on Sister Wallace heavily as they walked back down the halls, back to the first endowment room, the telestial room, painted with mountains and animals a plenty. Mathew waved at Mariah from where he sat, giving her a thumbs up.

The story of creation and Adam and Even droned on as the second baby dropped. It was moving much slower than before, the cramps having shifted to Mariah’s back more than her front. She leaned against the seat back, desperately seeking counter pressure as she pushed with each contraction. But it was getting harder and harder to do so.

Her body ached. Her head spun. She was so tired.  Robotically, she obeyed the instructions from Sister Wallace to get through the session. By the time they needed to switch rooms, the second baby, the daughter presumably, was low again. This birth felt different somehow. Worse, slower. Maybe everything was harder because she was exhausted? Mariah wondered.

But as she stood and pressed her hand subtly to her bulging nethers, she felt something that was definitely not a head. Still it spread her apart plenty.

She was only two steps up to the next room when the next contraction hit. It was too much. Despite Sister Wallace’s support arm, Mariah’s legs gave out and she went down. She was too tired to scream, so she could only moan as something stretched her lips apart, only to be slowly shoved back in by the restrictive garments.

“Help,” she moaned. “Let me birth it, please.”

It took both Mathew and Sister Wallace to drag her limp, stumbling, exhausted body up the stairs and plop her in the seat for the next section. The contractions came and went, her body’s frantic, last push to get the baby out. The pressure and pain was awful, but the baby was stuck fast, spreading her lips wide apart, far wider than the son’s head. The garments were too worn by this time to push the baby back, it only held it, at the butt equivalent of a full crown, as the contractions continued on and on.

She zoned out in the pain, lost, distant. Until, at last she was pulled to her feet once more. The baby’s body brushed against her inner thighs as she was dragged to the front of the veil, muttered through the secrets, and was finally let inside. She didn’t have the energy to kneel, so she was laid across the altar.

Mathew was there this time, as Sister Wallace took off the garment bottoms, throwing Mariah’s skirts up, over her belly and out of the way.

Completely exposed, Mariah tried to look down to see what was happening, her legs propped up on either side of the altar on stools to keep them separate. She couldn’t have held them up, someone was doing it for her. Despite her efforts she couldn’t see over her misshapen belly.

“You are doing so good, I can see it,” Mathew assured her, from where he held one leg. “Push!”

The contraction came, and Mariah tried. The baby’s butt scooted forward a bit, then resumed its place, comfortable where it had been stuck for the last hour.

“Can’t,” she gasped out, head falling limply, once the contraction ended.

Then Mathew’s hand pressed down on her stomach, pushing hard. The increase in pain, the suddenly movement of the baby startled Mariah, she let out a squeak, and stopped pushing.

Mathew’s hand rested on her stomach. He leaned down, grabbed her chin, and forced her to look up at him. Then he forced his mouth on her, kissing her. She gasped at the contact, kissing back instinctively, unsure if it was too much or just the reassurance she needed. Then he pulled back. The next contraction came, contorting her stomach. She whimpered and tried to push, but she was too weak, too exhausted. The baby wasn’t moving!

“Keep pushing!” he commanded as he pushed.

Slowly, the baby’s butt slipped out of her straining, purpled lips. After three contractions, where she tapped out early, exhausted, heading spinning and he kept pushing on her stomach, the legs finally flopped out. She was too exhausted to even scream at that point. 

Her world narrowed to pushing, to the sensation of her lips dragging across the stomach and arms of her baby. Until finally, it popped out, accompanied by another flash of fluids. 

Done. No. The head. She still had the head. 

Someone had grabbed the baby and was tugging at it from the other end, sending fire shooting all through her worn body. Her lips spread again, more and more. The lips, the nose, oozing slowly out of her. And then with a pop, and a final gush of fluids she was done. The baby was crying. Mathew was holding it, cooing. “Oh she’s perfect,” he whispered, holding the baby out to Mariah.

Mariah smiled. She’d done it. They were a family of four. Together. Forever.

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.

I regret to inform every breeder reading this that there is a worldwide outbreak of rapid pregnancy. Stop what you are doing! Get inside as soon as possible! The longer you stay exposed the more you are at risk! Please share with others!

pregnant huge Belly teacher contractions