"It Doesn't Feel Right! It's Not Right! Something Feels Wrong! You're Not Listening To Me!"

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.

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?

They had been trying for a baby for a while, when finally she was looking at a positive test. Unfortunately, there was only one time it could have happened. A bit too much to drink, a few confessions that she'd sometimes thought about her husbands best friend in some of her more intimate fantasies, and just like that his little secret had taken root in her belly.

She was excited to be a mom, but can't bring herself to tell her husband she's expecting. Hiding her bump as best she can, not letting herself be intimate with him in case he noticed her beautiful changing body, how firm and heavy her belly had gotten. She has a plan. Give birth in secret where he won't find out, and then claim someone left the baby there. "Probably some teenager or something, can't imagine how she could raise it." Of course, since they're struggling to have one of their own, it's all but a sign. Of course they should take it in.

A perfect little plan for the eager mom to get out of her bad choice concequence free.

At least, it would be, if her waters hadn't broken in the shower, and the contractions were starting to get worse and worse, no matter how she tried to pretend otherwise and act like nothing was happening...

Extramarital Consequences

AN: I just wanted to write a short little rp drabble, but instead it comes out as a full scale 3k word fic. Thanks for the prompt MuchBirth, it was a great concept. Hope you like it. [fpreg, tw: vomit, tw: cheating]

“Are you alright in there, babe?” My husband's voice sounded through the bathroom door and I tried to swallow the groan that was sitting in my throat.

Why now, why today?! I had done so well concealing this pregnancy from everyone, thanks to the cold winter and the abundance of thick oversized jumpers and coats. And for the fact I was carrying a rather modest, if heavy, bump. Said bump had dropped in recent days and I had hoped the baby was merely getting prepared and wouldn’t be coming for another week when Daniel would be away on business. The baby, it seemed, had other ideas.

The contractions had started in the early hours and I laid beside my husband quietly breathing through each pain and praying it was just braxton hicks. But they just kept on coming. Every 40 minutes… every 30 minutes… and when they got down to 20 minutes apart I knew I had to move.

Hiding downstairs in the dark, I paced around our living room and kitchen as the contractions got closer together and more and more intense. Why couldn’t it have been a work day?! Daniel would leave the house early and I could labour and birth this baby in secret just as I’d planned. But it was Saturday and we were scheduled to go to a family event that afternoon. The heavy weight of the baby sitting low in my pelvis confirmed there was little-to-no chance of me making it to that party.

I paced around the downstairs of our town house until the early morning with its first glimpse of a rising sun filtering through the windows. Bracing myself against walls, tables, all manner of furniture, I spent hours swaying my hips through each agonising contraction that struck, praying they would eventually stop but they never did. I heard Daniel get out of bed and jump in the shower and I busied myself doing the dishes when he came downstairs. He looked at me curiously, seeing my sweaty and flushed face and asked if I was coming down with something. I assured him I was fine as he made his morning coffee, but soon had to twist back around to face the sink to hide the grimace on my face as another strong contraction barrelled its way through my womb. My hands gripped the counter in a white knuckle grip and it took everything I had not to whimper from the pain.

After assuring Daniel that I was alright, I disappeared quickly back upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom. I turned on the shower, the tiled room echoing the loud noise of the powerful jets, and allowed myself to groan deeply through the next contraction. They were less than 15 minutes apart and had the ability to steal my breath away. Gripping the sink and panting heavily, my mind began to spiral and panic. How the fuck was I going to keep this from Daniel?! We were struggling to conceive, if his discovered this pregnancy there would be no way I could pass this baby off as his. He would find out I slept with his best friend and my dream of a suburban family life would be destroyed. The baby sank lower in my hips and my knees dipped into a semi-squat from the increase in pressure. We were supposed to go to a party later, with family and friends, and Daniel would be by my side all day. But this baby was coming, soon if the pressure between my legs was any indication.

I stepped into the shower, attempting to ease the pain knifing at my lower back. Cupping my protruding belly I whispered a plea to the baby to stay put a while longer. I loved my pregnant body and was sad not to have shared this experience, to marvel at the incredible changes of pregnancy, with my partner. But there was an alluring excitement in keeping the baby secret - something just known by them and me. I couldn’t wait to meet the life I had been growing.

My thoughts tempted fate and the next contraction was soon upon me and I doubled over in the shower bracing my knees. The pressure between my thighs was building, the steaming hot water doing very little to ease the pain as it crested, my belly turning to stone and pushing everything downward. “Mnghhhhhhh!!” I grunted, involuntary, and almost dropped into a squat as the urgency built. No… baby, not now.

The water at my feet turned a pinkish murky colour and I knew from the release of pressure that my waters had just broken. Fuck.

When the contraction faded and my legs stopped shaking I carefully stepped out of the shower. Okay… my water’s broken but that doesn’t mean I’ve run out of time. I just need to think of a way of getting Daniel out of the house. I could feel the baby shift and kick within my womb, protesting the situation as much as I was, its head pressing eagerly against my cervix. “Hoooo… it’ll be okay little one. I promise— mnnnnhhhh…” Every breath, every word, that slipped past my lips now laced with a pained groan.

“Are you alright in there, babe?” Daniel asked from the other side of our bathroom door. I clamped my mouth shut and swallowed the involuntary noises from escaping.

“Nng— yeah— fine.” I somehow gritted. The weight and pressure pushing down in my pelvis was quickly making me nauseous.

“Are you sure? You weren’t looking too great downstairs.”

Damn him and his caring nature, just move away from the door before I scream! A contraction struck mere minutes after the last and I couldn’t stop the gasp as my belly visibly hardened and contorted inwards. The pressure was mounting, expanding like a balloon about to burst, my pelvis being shoved apart to make space for the large head that was pressing atop my cervix. I couldn’t breathe, the sensations overwhelming my senses, my stomach rolled and my throat gagged. I was going to be sick.

Dropping to my knees, naked on the floor, I hunched over the toilet bowl and promptly vomited the remnants of last night's dinner into the porcelain. My whole torso contracted in on itself in more ways than one and I completely lost all semblance of control. My taut belly, hardened by labour pains, convulsed and I heaved and coughed loudly. The force of throwing up also resulted in my womb squeezing against the bowling ball in my pelvis, bearing down on the already low head and pushing it into the birth canal.

“Oh sweetheart, are you sick?” Daniel asked through the door. “Let me in honey.”

“No, just— give me a minute…” I gruffed, laying my head in the crook of my elbow.

“We don’t have to go today if you’re not well. I can stay here and look after you.”

Hell no, that is the last thing I need. I asked him to get me some water from the kitchen, to buy me some precious time to gather myself. When the sickness passed I hesitantly put a hand between my legs… the baby so low it felt like it was about to fall out at any minute. I had pushed. I didn’t mean to, it was automatic. But still my body had pushed the baby lower towards its exit. Thankfully it was not as low as it felt as I couldn’t feel a head, but I knew it wouldn’t be long. Wrapping myself in a fluffy dressing gown and schooling as neutral a face as I could, I unlocked the door and greeted my husband as he brought me the requested water.

“I don’t think I’m going to go today, I feel like shit.” I said honestly, taking a sip and slowly walking towards our bed, careful not to waddle from the massive head lodged in my pelvis.

“It’s okay babes, we can cancel. I’ll call your parents.” Daniel offered, helping me to sit.

“No—” I said a little too quickly. “You- you can still go. I’ll just take it easy and s-sleep it off…” He looked at me curiously, trying to ascertain just how unwell I was and if I could be left alone. “Really,” I pleaded, “I’ll be fine. Go, have fun.”

“Well, if you’re sure.”

“I am. Really—mmhh…” My hands clenched tight as another contraction was beginning to appear, my fingernails burrowing deep into my palms. “W-why don’t you go e-early… see if they need h-help setting up.” My stomach tensed beneath my fluffy dressing gown and I shifted subtly on the bed as an immeasurable pressure returned with the pain. This baby was not waiting until the afternoon for Daniel to leave for the party, I desperately needed him to go now.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Daniel joked, tucking a frazzled lock of hair behind my ear. “I want to stay and look after you darling, make sure you’re okay.”

“Mnnn… I just need to lie down…” I huffed, trying to keep the strain from my voice. My body was itching to move, to sway and move my hips, to open up for the emerging baby as the contractions worked hard to deliver the child. But I had to fight against the instincts, ignore all the cues in the recess of my brain. Slumping sideways down on the bed, I curled over my contracting belly and arduously moved to lie under the covers. My skin was radiating heat but I couldn’t remove my dressing gown, couldn’t risk exposing a glimpse of my pregnant body. Had to stay covered, had to hide this baby, had to stay sweating beneath the fluffy gown and duvet covers.

Daniel stroked my hair as I curled up and I couldn’t help but scrunch my eyes through the pain barrelling between my hips. Oh baby, wait a bit more… please.

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright hun?” Daniel questioned once more and I managed to gruff out an assurance, stating that I’d be fine and just needed to be alone.

Thankfully I felt the bed shift, my husband getting up and leaving the room saying something about calling the family and giving me space to rest. I sighed in relief at the sound of the bedroom door closing.

Lying on my side helped the constant stabbing pain in my lower back but it was doing nothing to prevent the baby from making its way further down. I could feel it pressing against every nerve from the inside, pushing its way through the narrow space. I tried to squeeze my thighs, to clench everything I could to stop its movements but nothing worked. The pressure was constant, sitting heavily and urgently at the apex of my thighs. Rolling forward I buried my face deep in the pillow to muffle the rattled groan that came from the pit of my stomach. The baby was right there, its imminent arrival clear by the agonising pressure consuming me. I tried to fight it, meeting every wave with defiance, but my attempts were failing. I needed to push.

Before I was even aware of what was happening my whole body tensed and bore down with the peak of the contraction. It felt…satisfying, to give in to the urge and push alongside the tensing muscles, to work with my body instead of against it. Gasping a ragged breath, I pushed again, more forcefully this time. It was moving, inching closer towards my folds. Without thinking I grabbed my leg, still wrapped under the layers of clothing and duvet, and I pulled it towards me so my thigh was beside my contracting belly. I had to make more room, I needed to open myself up for the emerging babe. The back of my knee was damp from sweat and I gripped it tight, opening my hip beneath the covers, and gritting my teeth I pushed again.

It was coming, I could feel it! The contraction soon ended and I let my leg fall back against the other, curled up sideways on the bed and panting frantic breaths. A knock on the bedroom door brought me out of my birthing bubble, suddenly remembering Daniel was still in the house. Oh fuck, what if he heard me pushing?!

“Honey..? Can I come in?” His tentative voice asked and opened the door a crack. I groaned, neither an acceptance or refusal, but it was all I could manage.

Daniel stepped in our bedroom softly. “I’ve spoken with your parents and I’m going to head over there early and help them set up. I know you like to be alone when you’re unwell.” I nearly cried with relief.

“But I’ll come back to check on you before the party starts, okay?” Daniel perched on the edge of the bed and brushed his fingers through my sweaty hair. I nodded and exhaled heavily, hoping it looked like I was just fighting nausea and nothing more. “I’ll get you a bucket, just in case.” Daniel said sweetly and disappeared into our en-suite bathroom.

The contractions were right on top of each other now, the baby was sitting right between my legs desperate to get out. The next wave hit when Daniel was out of sight and I panted as quietly as I could. Don’t push… don’t push… don’t push… I thought over and over again. Curled up on my side my legs drifted apart, one leg bent at the knee, the other straight down the length of the bed. The pressure was slowly killing me; the strain of holding everything in, the baby slipping lower, pressing gently against my labia despite my efforts. Fuck I needed to push, but I daren’t. Daniel was still here…. Breathe… don’t push… breathe… don’t push… Even with the mantra my body did not adhere to the instructions. At the end of each measured breath I could feel my muscles bearing down and pushing the baby, its head starting to part my sensitive lips.

Daniel came back into the room and placed a bucket beside the bed, right next to the pillow where my face was half buried. “How you holding up?” He asked affectionately. I couldn’t speak, could barely breathe, every ounce of strength going into not actively pushing. Instead I closed my eyes and tilted my face further into the pillow.

In the faint background of my personal hell I could hear my husband slowly pottering around our bedroom as he got himself dressed and ready to leave for the party. Every minute dragged on for hours, as he found his trousers and shirt, muttering to himself, all the while I wanted to scream and howl and push! The baby was parting my folds, its head surely poking out between my thighs. Tears dampened the pillow and I was trembling, trying desperately hard not to push. But even without my participation, the baby was slowly making its way into the world. I nervously lowered one of my hands beneath the heavy covers, feeling between my legs. Oh my gosh… that’s my baby I thought as I felt the slimy surface of the partial sliver of its head. It was moving down, every contraction squeezing it further out of my body. My palm clamped hard over the emerging head… don’t… don’t pushhhhhh… a weak groan rumbled my throat as my body uncontrollably pushed, hard.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Daniel asked.

I was far from okay, I was pushing his best friend's baby into my own palm for fucks sake. In between pushes, I gulped a breath and offered a short and snappy “uh-huh” before my body was forced to bear down once more. My hand remained steadfast in its position between my legs and thankfully the baby didn’t slip out any further. Once the contraction eased I panted a relieved sigh.

“I’m heading out now babes.” Daniel stated aloud. “I’ll be back to check on you later. I love you.”

“Ngghh— love you too—” my rasped voice came from under the covers. I was in too much pain to notice the guilt that twisted in my chest.

I remained frozen in the bed, my ears listening desperately for the sound of the front door to close and his car to start. The roar of the engine, the glorious sound, slipped through the vents in the bedroom window and I sobbed with relief. He was gone!!

Immediately I threw the covers off my sweaty skin and tore myself out the tangled mess of my dressing gown. The baby was partially crowning and my gods I needed to push. Everything hurt, everything ached, I needed to move but there was no strength left in my body to get up. Hooking a leg over the edge of the mattress I rolled off the bed and slipped down to my knees on the luscious carpet.

With my elbows on the mattress and my face buried against the sheets, my knees widened on the floor and my hips sank downwards as I pushed with everything that I had. Burning fiery pressure erupted between my thighs and I growled through the excruciating pain, pushing and pushing and pushing. I couldn’t take it anymore, this baby had to get out. My entire body trembled as the baby stretched me open, but I kept going push after push and with a primal grunt the head finally slipped out. Relief flooded through me as the pressure eased. Panting, desperate for air, I was barely aware of any of my other senses; of the now-damp carpet under my knees, or the sound of the engine returning to our driveway, or the creek of the bedroom door being opened.

“Honey?… I errr… I forgot my phone and then I heard you scream. What’s… what’s going on?” Daniel asked, frozen in shock at the door.

“…um… I erm…” I stuttered, speechless and naked beside the bed, an illegitimate baby hanging between my legs. “I umm…I— I— ohhhh… oh I need to push….!!!” Before I could think of an explanation my body was bearing down once more, birthing my husband’s best friend’s baby right beside our marital bed.

“OH!! OH GOD!!! I’M GIVING BIRTH!! ”

Your belly keeps stretching onwards and upwards, the child kicking with inhuman strength.

They're too big, theirs no way you could possibly give birth to this thing. You don't know what it is but it's clear that what ever it is, its not human.

No human pregnancy lasts a year, no human child could make a parent rival their couch in length.

when they're so close to going into labor they're constantly rocking their hips bc the baby is so low in their pelvis it feels like they're just gonna fall out. siiiiighhhhhhhhhhhhh

One more of the near-infinite variety and quantity of ways I'd have you give birth for me is in the post-apocalypse.

You didn't realize you were pregnant when the dead rose. A few months later, you're nearing your due date in a world gone to hell.

I have stashes of food, guns, and various other supplies; when we ran into each other a while ago, you decided you'd be better off staying with me. You like the safety and security I can provide, and I like having you around for… other reasons. Not that you don't enjoy it too, of course.

We're holed up in the basement of a house, and you're deep in labor. We've barricaded ourselves in, and I've done my best to soundproof the place, but it'll still be better if you keep quiet.

Your moans fill the basement as I help you work through the contractions, letting you ride my thigh as you labor, rocking your hips back and forth and rubbing your damp slit against me. You feel so much pressure inside, it's maddening. You beg me to check you and I do, sliding two fingers inside as you angle your hips.

"You're at nine and a half," I pull my fingers out of you, "not quite yet."

"Fuck- So much pressure-"

"That's okay, I've got you. Can you give me little pushes? Just short, little grunts to help you open up the last bit."

You're already panting desperately as you try to hold back. You know that if you give in even a little, you'll be bearing down full force almost instantly. You shake your head, "No, I can't, please, I-"

"Shhh, it's okay, it's okay. Just keep breathing for me, then. It's just a little longer, and then you'll be able to push, okay?"

"No, I can't do this! I'm not ready!"

"Yes you can, you've got this. You're nearly there now. Hang on a little longer for me and then you'll be ready." I grip your hips and gently guide you backwards and forwards, encouraging you to keep rubbing on me to help relieve some of that pressure and distract you from your current situation.

Outwardly, I do my best to sound encouraging, but inwardly I'm a little worried about the noise you might make. I've done my best to soundproof things, but it'll still be safer if you stay quiet. There is a back door we can escape through, but I'd rather not have to use it under these circumstances.

I help hold your belly, encouraging you to keep breathing as you wait out the last of your labor. You beg me, again, to check you, and when I do I find that you're fully dilated. "Push, now. Let your baby come. I've got you."

You're scared. Scared of the pain that's to come. Scared of making too much noise. Scared of what taking care of a baby in this godforsaken world might be like. You can't fight your body, though, and you bear down hard, leaning forward and grunting with the effort.

I feel the head move down inside you, pressing against my fingers as you push. When you take a brief rest, I help you reposition to a squat to make sure the head will have room to come out.

You push again, and I put my hand over your slit, tight and small. "Come on now, bring your baby down." You push again, and I feel the head start to bulge your opening. "That's it, keep going."

You feel a sudden surge of pressure inside you. You have no choice but to roll with it, bearing down forcefully and suddenly. I feel the head lurch forward, filling my hand too suddenly to react. This sudden movement takes your slit from a slight discomfort, as the head starts to make you bulge, to a searing, burning agony in less than a second.

You cry out at the sudden pain, "AAAAAAH FUCK-" before you clamp your hands over your mouth. Your eyes water from the sudden stretch, but you keep your pain to yourself. Neither of us make a sound, listening intently to see if you have attracted any attention. The silence stretches on and on. You're far too scared to keep pushing, so you pant, as quietly as you can, feeling the head slowly slip back inside you. We're both about to let our guard down again when we hear it. A bang, a thud, another, then a few more. We're not alone anymore.

You feel your heart leap into your throat. They're here, and they're coming in, and it's because YOU couldn't keep quiet. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you cry quietly, "I tried to hold back, really, but now they're gonna get in and they're gonna eat-"

"Hey, hey, no. No they're not. We knew this might happen, right? That's what backup plans are for, in case exactly this happened. We'll be okay, but we have to get moving."

The backup plan could be broadly summarized as "get the hell out of here and go somewhere safe." While this sounds simple enough, it meant that we would have to cross through some rather dangerous territory, crawling with those things to get to any of our other safehouses. This would be a daunting prospect at the best of times, nevermind when one of us is in active labor, with a head already crowning.

We would have just a few minutes before we'd need to leave. I gather some essential supplies and help you get dressed: shoes, pants, a jacket - there isn't time for anything more as a loud crash signals our time to depart.

You do your best to try to move normally despite the overwhelming fullness between your legs. You feel like you should be waddling, or, better yet, squatting down right where you are and pushing your baby out, but you carry on regardless. When the contractions come, you breathe through them. Every part of you screams to stop moving and deliver right now, but the occasional sight of the dead wandering the streets and my insistent tugging at your arm both help keep you moving. You cup one hand over your the bulging head and press upwards whenever you can, shoving your baby back inside you. It's agonizing, and it always makes you stumble, but I'm there to help catch you and keep you moving.

This doesn't last forever, though. The more you're on your feet, the more intense and frequent your contractions get, and the stronger your body's urge to push becomes. You start leaning on me more and more for support with each contraction, and I do my best to pull you forward while you try to hold your baby in, pressing your hands upward against the head and panting away as much of the pressure as you can.

You're slowing down, but it shouldn't matter too much, we're nearly at our destination. We peek around the final corner, only to be confronted with the backs of a sea of the living dead. The distant sound of gunshots should've been our clue. Some idiots had broken into our safehouse and started shooting from the windows. They have sealed their own fate - there isn't nearly enough ammunition in there to kill that whole crowd - and possibly ours as well. There's another safehouse not that much farther away we can head to, but-

"I'm not sure I can make it," you groan. The pressure in your hips is just too much. You're leaning up against the wall, pushing as gently as you can, but you can still feel your baby starting to slide out of you despite your efforts. I can just barely get my hand over the head in time before you're bearing down fully, a hand over your mouth to muffle your moaning.

I keep my hand over the head, pressing firmly upward to counter the force of your pushing. "No," I glance around nervously, "not here, not now. Something could come around the corner at any second - we have to keep moving." You groan in protest as you continue to push, but when the contraction ends you understand that you really can't deliver here.

We set off again, but that last push seems to have opened the floodgates. The pressure in your hips gets stronger and stronger over time, and it's not too long before you're bearing down at least a little bit with each contraction. Sometimes it's so bad that you have to stop completely, panting desperately as I help you hold the head in as much as I can. Between contractions, you can feel your baby slipping just a little farther downwards with each step you can take. It's all you can do to slow the head down with your hand as it slides out of you, to try to make sure we don't have to stop too often.

As you start to slow down more and more, it becomes increasingly clear that we're just not going to make it to our destination, that we need to find somewhere closer for you to give birth. There's a small, two-story office building nearby - it should be relatively empty and have at least two exits - and we head for that.

The windows to the ground floor are all smashed, but after a little trouble getting you up the stairs, the second floor looks reasonably empty. We both want to take a minute to catch our breath, but your baby won't wait. Very soon you're squatting on the break-room floor with your pants around one ankle.

"Okay, I know you really have to push right now, but we're not really safe here. Let's try to keep this slow and quiet. Can you give me some light pushes for now?"

You shake your head as you bear down. Your body is not going to tolerate any more delays, it wants this baby out yesterday.

"Alright then." I cup my hand against your bulging slit, pressing against the head to give you more time to get used to the stretch. "Can you stay quiet like this?"

"Mm-hm." You bear down again, hard and silent, not letting even a groan escape. You feel your hole start to burn as the head stretches you open again and when your contraction ends you pant rapidly, breathing through the stretch.

"Good, good. You're opening up so well. Keep going just like that, slow and quiet. With the next contraction, I'm going to let the head out a little more. Let me know when it starts to stretch you too much, okay?"

"Okay."

You push again, and I let the head out slowly, watching your face. At first, you're calm and collected, but as the head starts to stretch you more and more I see you first wince and then throw your head back in pain. The head only makes it a little farther out before-

"Hold it."

I keep the head there while you finish your push, and for the next contraction as well, before you're ready for me to let it stretch you out a little more. We settle into a routine like that, easing the head out a little more with every other contraction, making no more than soft grunts and whispers in the process. Eventually, though, you can't keep up this rate of stretch anymore as the head continues to open you wider and wider.

"Owwwwwwwww," you moan softly after I try to let the head out before you're ready for it.

"Hey, baby, I don't think this is working anymore. I'm going to try touching your clit, to see if that'll help open you up."

I put my fingers on you, gently at first, and you gasp a little at the stimulation. Your clit is stretched out and oversensitive, and it doesn't take much before you start to moan softly. I shush you a little, but keep my fingers on you as you push again. You struggle and squirm, but you do manage to keep breathing quietly as the head moves out a little farther. I keep the head there until my fingers on your clit help you accommodate the new stretch, and you're ready for me to move my hand again.

The head slides out of you, stretching you bit by bit, achingly slowly. You're stretched so wide, your slit feels like it's on fire. You struggle to keep quiet, to keep your noises restricted to heavy breathing and soft moans, but the extremely slow way you've been stretching and the "help" I've been giving your clit has barely been enough to allow you to stay quiet.

"Haaaaaa- It burns so baaaad-" you whisper to me.

"I know, just keep breathing through it, okay? I'll help you take it nice and slow."

You still struggle, though, with the last little bit of the head. For all your breathing and clit stimulation, there's a point you just can't stretch past without making more noise than either of us is willing to risk. We stay like that for a long time, you squatting on the floor, breathing deeply to try to accommodate the stretch of the head, me with my hand between your legs, toying with your clit and pressing back against the head. It seems like we're stuck there, unable to just slide the last part of the head out and unwilling to force it.

Eventually, though, you start to feel something building up inside you. Despite all your pain, despite all your fear, my steady effort on your clit is starting to have an effect. I increase the pressure a little and you feel an orgasm start to build up.

"Okay, I need you to push when you cum. Whether you have a contraction or not, just bear down and get the head out, okay? That might be out best shot at getting the wide part out without making too much noise."

You agree to the plan before going back to breathing through the stretching of your slit. I increase the pressure on your clit again, and it's not very long at all before, between two contractions-

"Nnn- Cumming- Hnnn-" You push hard as orgasm washes over you. This time, I don't hold the head back and you feel it stretch you wider, wider, WIDER- OH GOD IT HURTS PLEASE- you jerk as the head pops out of you into my waiting hands, but don't let out more than a small grunt of surprise.

You're ready to push out the shoulders, but I stop you before you push again. "Wait, hang on a second. Let me-"

You pant heavily, feeling like the shoulders are about to slide out of you no matter whether you push or not, but you hold off for a minute, regardless. I decide to sacrifice my shirt to catch the baby with, to make sure they're not born onto the floor.

"Okay, push now."

You don't really push so much as just let the shoulders slip out of you, into my waiting hands. I help to pull a little, and the hips and legs slide out of you in short order. I wrap them - her as it turns out - up and hand her to you.

"Okay, let's get out of here."

Requested by and written for @bulgingpush Hope you enjoy - Me

Fun eldritch pregnancy idea I just had where whatever creatures are inside you are incredibly active, constantly making your heavy belly sway too and fro; frequent "kicks", too large and heavy and of the wrong shape to belong to any human infant, jut out and stretch your skin to its limits. When they're really disturbed several limbs will push out from multiple opposite directions; far too many than seems possible, even taking into account how large you've grown.

Yet, when you finally (finally) start giving birth, bearing down with all your might, you feel whatever's coming out of you is large and hard. It takes almost an hour of struggling until you finally push out what somehow appears to be an egg. Strangely colored, hard and heavy yet smooth to the touch, it could easily be mistaken for some sort of rock. Completely still and stagnant, you can't fathom how this is what you ended up giving birth to.

You don't have much time to inspect it further before another travels down and starts stretching you open, demanding all of your attention and effort; then another, each one feeling bigger than the last.

Yet your womb hasn't settled at all; it thrashes like never before, the kicks so frequent and tenting so hard that you worry what's in there is trying to burst out.

Still, nothing comes out of you but eggs, slow and steady, the increased activity in your womb doing nothing to help force them out; you have to do all the work yourself, bearing down hard, each egg obstinate about coming out of you. Your belly finally starts to deflate, though you can barely tell over the frenzied activity inside of you, though perhaps there are fewer kicks now? Given how long the labor's already been, there's no telling when the end will be in sight...

breeding you full and not telling you a single thing about it.

all you know is that, one day, you’re sick, and i’m holding your hair out of the way (if it’s long) and cooing to you and rubbing your back, and making sure you stay well fed and hydrated.

then, one day, you’re trying to put on a cute little outfit, and it’s… difficult. your tummy is poking out a bit, your hips are a bit wider, your chest has filled out. i have been keeping you well fed since you got sick, that’s probably it. you frustratedly tug on the outfit, shrug, and leave it on. it’s still cute, after all.

in bed, you notice how enamored i am with your midriff, and giggle. i’m so silly about these things, saying stuff that doesn’t make sense. your belly is just your belly. but if i insist on whispering to it conspiratorially and giving it rubs, well, those rubs have been feeling pretty good lately…

one day, you take a moment to study yourself in the mirror. you’re getting REALLY round, and you don’t know why. it’s kinda cute, and i certainly seem to like it, but none of your tops fit right, and i don’t seem interested in taking you shopping for more. you’re a bit worried something might be wrong with your belly. it’s been feeling so heavy lately, and it almost feels like something’s moving in there.

so, i take you to the doctor (vet). i chat with them quietly while you poke curiously at your bulging abdomen, oblivious to what we’re saying. the doc looks you over, then has you lay down and starts squirting a weird gel on your bare stomach, which makes you shudder and giggle. the doc uses a tool to rub along the surface of your belly, staring intently at a screen while i stare over their shoulder, occasionally glancing at you and giving you a smile. we seem to be counting something, and the doctor’s eyes are getting wider and wider. i seem giddy, walking around to you and showering your face with kisses and saying something about “how good you’re doing,” and picking you up off the bed, laughing out a joke to the doctor about carrying you “while i still can.” utterly confused but happy to be in my arms, you snuggle against me as i walk you back out of the clinic.

one day, you’re wishing i would carry you more often. walking around is getting hard on your own, but when you try to get in my arms, i keep you solidly on the floor, saying “no baby, you’re too heavy now.” as if you don’t know that, as if that isn’t why you want me to carry you. you can’t understand why your belly won’t stop growing, why i won’t help you. did you do something wrong? is this some kind of punishment?

but, then again, you start whining and getting mopey, and i hold you against me, and i reach under your belly, and i make you feel good again. in this moment, something about being so big just feels… right. it feels really, really, really good.

one day, you try to roll out of bed. you try again. you huff and strain and moan, trying to shift your massive belly. you can’t. you whine to get my attention, and i come around and lever my hands beneath you, helping you sit up, then take your hands to get you to your feet. your knees buckle, and i barely manage to maneuver you back to the bed rather than risking you dropping straight to the floor. you sink into the mattress with a gasping huff, clutching at the great swell that’s weighing you down so much, almost crying in exasperation, but i kiss you and caress you and rub your stretched belly (almost making it worse, that strange sensation of bulging movement gets stronger when i touch you like that).

all you can do is lay in bed, eat the meals i bring you, and silently plead with your belly to stop getting bigger. it doesn’t listen.

I keep on trying to answer this but my brain turns into mush every time I read it so ummm… I’ll reblog with person thoughts evenfuallg