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The King's Wrath

Got this on my other account, so here you go!

Contains: Childbirth, birth denial, monster pregnancy, sadism, pushingbabybackin, mpreg, tmpreg, about 4.6k words

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The king was livid. As Armand was escorted from the prison, he felt the head of his first child pressing against his cervix. After a long wait, it was finally time, but he wasn't excited.

His swollen belly sunk between his knees, curving his back inwards painfully. His wide load was too large to be just human children, and he knew it. He just didn't want to believe it. After a couple nights spent between his king and a dragonborn vagabond, he fell pregnant. The witch doctor had exposed his affair, and no one knew who the father of his children was.

As he was bathed in the sunlight of the throne room, he laid eyes upon his majesty. King Leon Albaine the third was no dragon born. Standing at 5 feet and two inches, the gnome had long, flowing brown hair, clever green eyes, under brows that nearly covered them in anger, and a long and full beard.

Despite his stature, Leon was a rock of a man. He could win nearly any battle…

…Except this one. 

He looked down upon Armand with dark eyes. 

“Leon I-”

“Silence.” The gnome said coldly. “Have you thought about what you’ve done?” 

Armand nodded, his eyes filling with tears.

“I doubt that. Your whoring has ruined me. My kingdom thinks that I am weak, that I allow my consorts to float about. I must show them that is not the case.” He said. 

Armand looked up at him, wondering how he would do that. He had already thrown him in prison and denounced him. What more could he do?

“Essence!”

The dreaded witch instantly appeared by his side, her silver hair floating on a non existent breeze. 

“The book, please.” He said.

With a sly smirk, she handed it to him. He took his glasses from his cape and turned the pages quickly.

“By Aryulan customs, and unfaithful consort with be punished on display in front of the kingdom. On the throne, she will birth her children, chained to the crest of the Albaine crown.” 

Armand’s eyes dropped open. He looked up at Leon in complete shock. “What?”

Leon closed the book. “It is a tradition held by my bloodline since my great, great grandmother Leonna and her “wife”. It is as it says.”

He turned and pointed to the large crest on the wall above his throne. It gleamed with the pride of generations. 

“When your water breaks, you will sit on this throne and birth your bastards. My subjects will watch and cheer at your pain as you did mine.” He continued.

“Leon-”

“Spit my name from your mouth. The privilege to call me that expired after you broke my heart!” He shouted.

Armand sniffed. “But your majesty. What will this solve? You said that you loved me. How could you hurt someone that you love?”

The gnome king squinted and turned his back on him. “I could ask you the same question.” He replied. 

~~~

Armand sat up in his cell panting through contractions. He hoped that if he didn't do anything, his water wouldn't break. Maybe then, Leon would have time to get over this tantrum; and he could give birth normally.

But he was exhausted, two days in and he felt as if his baby would burst out of him like a rocket. Why couldn't he have felt like this the month before? Before Leon knew that he had cheated. 

It was all Essence’s fault. That damn witch. She ruined everything. If it weren't for her gossiping tongue, he wouldn't be in this situation. His heart raced in anger, just from the thought of her and her smug face. 

Why did she have to-

His thought was suddenly interrupted by a cramp that drew his huge belly in. He gasped in surprise and pain. His baby's head slammed into his cervix, bringing tears to his eyes.

“Oh Gods!” He whispered.

The one time that he needed this baby to stay in, it wanted to come out. Kids never listen!

Slowly, he scooted up the wall, recovering from his contraction. As he did, he felt something burst, and all of a sudden, he was soaked. 

“Curses!” He whispered

He didn't have much time left. He knew that the guards stood in the hallway, periodically checking on him and his stubborn womb. If he was going to do this, he had to make it as quick and quiet as possible. 

His robes were heavy and full, surely they could conceal him. Feeling another cramp begin, he scooted back and leaned against the wall to support his back. If he spread his legs it would be too obvious that something was going on, so he sat in a butterfly position. 

His belly hung low between his legs, just barely touching the ground that he sat on. Quickly, he swiveled his head and listened for the guards. He didn't see or hear any, so they were probably just outside.

He took the hem of his robe, stepped on one side and pulled as hard as he could, ripping it. He stuck the makeshift rag in his mouth, hoping to muffle any sounds that came from his pain. 

He already felt bruised on the inside, the head pressed hard against him, starting to poke its way through before he had even begun to push. 

He sat back on his butt, lifting his pussy as it started to bloom. He sighed into the rag, leaning back on his hands to support himself. Under his robes, a gush of fluid burst from him as he first began to push. 

He bit down on the rag, but kept his eyes open, watching and listening for any guards. His face heated with effort and his ears rang as he bore down. He could just barely see his large burden shrink with contraction under his dress. He just hoped that no one else would notice from afar that he was giving birth. 

The head was wide and long. Each soft scale brushed against his cervix as it entered his birth canal. He could feel thick mucus dribble out of his pussy and into his slick panties.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed again; eyes wide open in case someone came in. With his hips angled downwards, the head parted his pussy quickly and quietly.

“Mhm!” He grunted into the rag as the head reached his opening. He stopped pushing and panted through his nose. His big belly rose and fell with each breath. Just drawing air spread him farther. In just moments, he was overwhelmed with a searing pain. 

Quickly, he clapped his hand over his mouth, choking back a guttural scream. Moaning into his palm he threw his head back and rocked his hips. If he pushed now, he was sure to cry out and blow his cover. 

He felt his baby’s head move within him every time that he took a breath. The urge to push was overwhelming, but he knew that he couldn't. This was the birth of his baby that was in jeopardy, who knows what Leon would do to him if he was caught.

“Hmph-” He grunted, angling his hips downwards. The head spread him open and the scales scraped his bruising hole. He bit down on his lip to keep from crying out.

Why had he done this? He was no dragon! These scales felt like hot iron inside of him, tearing his birth canal. 

He moaned into the rag as he felt his baby move down again. There was so much pressure that he could hardly take it. His belly warped with movement and contractions, as if whatever was inside of him would burst from his womb. 

Slick with fluids, the head slowly slid down, pushing his pussy outwards. He gritted his teeth into the rag and took in the deepest breath that he could. Armand wrenched his eyes shut and bore down. 

Hot tears slipped from his tightened eyes and cascaded onto his full breasts, weighed down by milk. His belly nearly flattened against him as he pushed. Fluid spurted into his robes and the first half of the head popped out with a soaking squelch. 

He gasped through his nose, shocked by the sudden sensation. His pussy and hips were spread to their limit. The stretched, bulging skin of his opening burned, trembling over the baby's head. The pain was unbearable and the heat radiated throughout his body. 

His robes kept all of his pain and sweat close, choking him with fever. He threw his head back against the wall, his heart racing in his chest. 

He tried to push, but the pain was too great. The head only bulged his pussy. He felt as if he was going to split apart from the sheer size. This baby was going to tear him to shreds. 

Suddenly, he heard the sound of  voices at his door. He jumped, nearly forgetting the agony that he was in. He clenched for just one second and cried into the rag. That one moment of surprise caused part of the head to slip back into him, scraping his pussy along the way. 

He gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut as his belly contracted once more, slipping the head back out again. He was fully stretched and he knew that he couldn't take much more.

Still, the voices grew closer. They were approaching him. Quickly, he spit the rag from his mouth and hid it between his falling breasts. His robes were colored with dark red, purple, and crimson dyes; the wetness of his labor was concealed by them. 

He forced himself from the wall, but stayed in position, keeping his legs open for the baby. As the voices drew near, his heart sank as a familiar cadence entered his ears. 

Leon.

What would the gnome king say when he saw him? Had he come to taunt and scorn him once more? Had the storm passed? Could Armand beg for his forgiveness?

As the lock to his prison turned, he knew that his questions would soon be answered. 

“Has anything changed?” He asked. 

“Nothing yet, your majesty. The prisoner has been quiet.” The guard said. 

He could feel the look of annoyance in Leon’s voice. “And you didn't bother to check what that meant? He could be in labor!” He exclaimed. 

“My apologies. I was under the impression that you didn't care, sire.” The guard spluttered. 

“Of course I care. I made a vow to my kingdom. I cannot allow him to escape his fate.” He hissed. 

Armand's heart dropped. There was no way that Leon would let him birth his child here if he was discovered. On the inside, his child kicked and he instinctively reached for his gravid belly. He had to keep them safe somehow. 

The door finally opened and Leon entered the chamber. His face was stuck in a permanent, pensive frown. He barged into the prison, knowing that in some way, he owned Armand. For the first time since they had last laid together, Leon looked down on him. 

The two stared at each other in silence, watching through the bars. 

“M-my…my king.” Armand whimpered, his lower lip quivering. 

Leon only looked down in silence. The only sounds that Armand could hear were the desperate beats of his heart in his ears, and his own, labored breaths. 

“Why have you come to see me?” He asked. 

Without a word, Leon unlocked the door to the cell and walked in. He stood over Armand, red in the face with rage. 

“Stand.” He commanded.

Armand blinked rapidly. His baby’s head hung between his legs, still stretching him. 

“What?” He asked. 

Leon sneered. “You dare question your king? I told you to stand!”

Armand swallowed back tears and looked up at his king. His legs shook even as he sat, his hips were wide open and his body was weak. There was no way that he could do that. 

“I… I can't.” He whispered. 

Leon frowned. “What?” 

“I can't!” He exclaimed.

Leon’s breath hitched. “Why not?” He asked. 

He reached to touch his aching roundness, tears spilling from his eyes. 

“My baby is coming.” He wept. 

“What?”

“I am in the throes of labor, my king. I am in great pain.” He continued.

Leon's eye twitched. Before he could say anything more, his robes were pulled up. In his panties was a large, bloody bulge, writhing with every breath that he took. 

“Please, Leon. I just want to have my baby.” Armand cried. 

The King's face warped. His face and ugly mix of disgust and anger, but Armand could also see fear in his eyes. Under  the blood and fluids were crimson scales under thin brown hair, markings of a dragon born.

“I knew it.” Leon whispered. 

“Leon-”

“Guards!” He shouted. 

As footsteps rang through the dungeon, Armand loomed back to Leon with watery eyes. 

“Please, my king. Have mercy!” He cried. 

Leon stuck out his chin and flared his nostrils with a deep frown. “No.” Was all that he said. 

In an instant, he reached for Armand's nethers and palmed the baby’s head. 

“What are you do-AAAUGH!”

In one said motion, he shoved the head back inside of his birth canal, entering him and far as he could. 

Without thinking, Armand kicked him in the shoulder, throwing him back. Leon's eyes gleamed with rage.

“Stop it!” Armand cried. 

Another contraction ripped through him, blinding him with pain. His head was overcome by heat. Guards rushed in, one kneeled by Leon’s side.

They grabbed under his arms and forced him to his feet. He screeched in agony and his baby slipped down inside of him, scraping his insides. Liquid ran down his leg as a guard pushed his back.

“Walk.” He commanded. 

This time, Armand didn't argue. Shakily, he stepped forward, letting the guards rush him to the throne room. 

~~~

With a deep gasp, he awoke. He leaned forward, but found himself stuck. First, he looked down. His belly was still full with his spawn, rippling with contractions. Blood ran down the golden throne to his bare feet. 

His breasts weeped milk onto his roundness, and a tight, leather garment bound his pussy. 

He pressed forward, but was stopped by the chains around his wrist. The cuffs were tight and pulled his arms upwards towards the crest that hung high above the royal throne. 

“Ungh!” He pushed, but it was no use. The leather held him tight, keeping his baby inside. 

Tears filled his eyes as they left his own body. The throne room was filled with spectators, men and women, drinking, betting, laughing. They all watched as the king entered the stage, his eyes on Armand.

“You're awake.” He muttered. 

“Le- HAH!” He gasped. The baby's head pressed against the leather, filling him painfully. 

“Save your strength, my dear. You will need it to birth your little monsters.” He crooned, stroking his cheek. 

Quickly, Armand turned his head and bit down, but he only caught the air. 

Leon grinned. “Calm down now, I’m only trying to make this easier for you.” He said. 

Armand panted. “How is any of this easy?” He demanded. 

Leon shrugged. “At least after this, that first dragonette is bound to come shooting out of you.”

Turning around, he lifted his leg and pressed his foot against his crotch. Armand's vision swam as the pain raced through his body. His belly flattened against him, trying with no avail to get the baby out.

Still, he looked up at the king with contempt. “You never said you would do this to me.” He hissed.

“That was before you tried to escape the consequences of your actions.” Leon replied. 

He looked out into the crowd. “Do you see them?” He asked, referring to his subjects. “They're betting on how many babies you'll release from your lying lips and what they will be.”

He turned back to Armand with a sly smile. “I bet you don't even know what's living inside of you.” He teased. He placed a palm on his writhing belly and Armand could do nothing about it. 

“You are sick!” Armand hissed. 

Leon's eyebrows bounced on his forehead. “Watch what you say. I could have you laboring even longer if I do please.” He said. “You're lucky that I only decided to delay your birth by a day as punishment for your tricks.” 

Armand's breath hitched, but in his quest for words, he came up with nothing. 

“Maybe this will give you some time to think about what you've done.” Leon replied. 

After that, he turned on his heel and started to walk away. Armand pulled on the chains, fruitlessly trying to catch up to him. 

“You can't do this!” He cried. “You have to let me give birth! It hurts! Please!”

His only answer was Leon walking off of the stage and sitting in the crowd. A sadistic smile spread across his face as he watched Armand writhe in pain.

~~~

The sun rose and set and Armand labored all the while. After so much time, he didn't care that he was naked and on display for the whole kingdom to see. He had to push. 

He spread his legs as wide as they could go and angled his hips off of the throne. The leather made his efforts fruitless, pressing against him tightly, pushing his baby back inside his battered pussy. 

He had no strength left to cry or scream, all that he could do was wait. The crowd watched him with hungry eyes, betting on his life, the life of his babies. 

Through the stained glass windows of the throne room, the sun beat down on him, freckling and tanning his brown skin. He was covered in cold sweat and birthing fluids that ran down the throne, covering the stairs. 

He whimpered and closed his eyes, waiting for the pain to end. Through the deafening agony, he heard footsteps and just barely opened his eyes. 

Leon approached him, dressed in all of his royal garb. His crown resting on top of his head. His face was hardened, but he still glowed with sadism. 

“How are you doing, darling?” He asked, lifting Armand's chin. 

Armand winced and shivered. “I’m. Fine.” He whispered shortly.  

Leon tilted his head and smiled. “Aw, look at you, putting on a brave face. You really are a gem.” He said. 

“It's too bad that you just couldn't be satisfied with me, we could have had great times together.” He crooned. 

Armand sniffed. “I want nothing to do with you.” He growled. 

“That's too bad.” He paused and pressed a hand down on Armand's tight belly. The laboring man cried out in pain and fluids spurted from his pussy. Blood flowed down the stairs, decorating them in gore. 

“Maybe I’ll have you go another day. The crowd seems to like you. Did you know that you're the first to do this in seventy nine years?” He taunted. 

Armand couldn't answer, still crying from the torture.  He couldn't even move to soothe himself. He was completely vulnerable and stuck. His baby writhed inside of him, pressing against the leather garment. 

“You can either denounce yourself for your children or… well, leave it up to fate.” Leon teased. 

Armand gasped. “Just let me give birth to my babies.” 

Leon shrugged. “It's your choice.”

With a pensive pause, Armand turned towards the crowd. He hung his head, looking down at his bloodied crotch. 

“I, Armand of Belfdale, renounce my place as consort. Due to my unfaithfulness, I have brought this upon myself. I would be honored for his majesty to let me release my bastards against his throne.” He said. 

Almost instantly, the crowd began to boo him. Throwing their food and drinks towards the throne. The uproar burned his ears and tears fell from his eyes.

Leon turned back to him, but he didn't bother to look into his cold green eyes again. 

“Well, they seem excited.” He said. 

Armand stayed silent. 

“Surely, you can wait until they calm down.”

~~~

Night fell and Armand's consciousness was weak. He rose and fainted multiple times during dinner. He knew that this couldn't continue for much longer. 

This time, a guard stepped up to the plate. He couldn't see his face through his helmet, but he seemed nervous. 

“The king is graciously allowing you to give birth.” He said. 

Armand panted heavily, watching the rise and fall of his own belly.

Without another word, the young guard undid the leather straps and slowly pulled them down and off of his ankles. Armand spread his legs. His contractions had weakened over time, but he still needed to push. He was going to deliver these babies. 

He angled his hips off of the throne and whimpered as his baby's scaley head reentered his ruined hole. He wrenched his eyes shut and turned away from the crowd as they jeered. 

He wished that he could rub his belly, feel the head and tell his little baby that everything would be okay, but he was chained, terrified and in grave pain. He had to do this quickly. 

He pressed his chin to his chest and pushed, barely even having a voice left. A high pitched whine slipped between his teeth as he was once again, stretched to his limit. 

Even when the weak contraction stopped, he kept pushing,forcing his baby lower. Suddenly, the head popped out of him and a gush of fluids that he didn't know he had in him vacated his body. 

He gasped and leaned forward, pulling on the chains. His baby’s scales had hardened inside of him and scraped against his vagina. Still, he pressed on. 

Bearing down again, the baby's neck and shoulders slowly slipped out. They sank heavily into his pussy, pulling the rest of the body out. Before he could react, his first baby fell onto the stage.

Armand gasped and leaned forward as much as he could. The little girl squirmed, opened her mouth and finally cried. Despite the pain that he was in, Armand felt relieved. 

“It's okay, I'm here. It's okay.” He whispered to her. 

As she cried, another, stronger contraction rushed through him. His belly tightened and he felt his pussy stretch, but he didn't even realize that he was pushing until his second baby fell onto the ground next to her sister.

He and the crowd gasped in unanimous surprise. This girl had no scales and a full head of curly brown hair. Her birth had been so fast that Armand barely had time to react. Neither did his body. 

After he saw her, his pussy throbbed with horrible pain. He winced and spread his legs as he lost more blood. At this point, he was so swollen that he was becoming numb. 

Despite birthing two babies, his belly hadn't gone down by much. He still felt full and restless. Inside him, another baby writhed and kicked impatiently. Now that their siblings were free, they were next.

The head pressed against his loose cervix, his hips popped, and he felt as if he was going to break apart. His belly lurched with another contraction. 

The crowd cheered wildly, excited for another, longer birth. He wasn't concerned about them though, their shouts were dulled by the pain that he was in.

Armand could hear his heartbeat in his ears, rushing especially quickly as his babies cried from the floor. He had to get to them. 

All of a sudden, he felt something snap and searing hot agony permeated his hips. He shrieked, crying out. Something was wrong, this baby was pushing him past his limits. 

Despite how hard he was pushing, the baby wouldn't move any further. The scaly head pressed him open, forcing his legs as far apart as they could go.

“AUGHH!” He screamed. His voice shook and cracked from effort. He could feel the veins in his forehead popping. Still, he pushed fruitlessly. 

A wave of amniotic fluid flushed from him, soaking the stairs of the stage and the throne. There was nothing else, his hips were stuck open and he felt as if he was going to burst. He had to do something. Anything!

For the first time in hours he lifted his head, facing the crowd. Gasps and whispers followed his gaze as he planted his feet and slowly stood. His big belly poked out in front of him, full of the large baby he was carrying. 

His hips protested greatly, but he held himself up. Adrenaline rushed through his veins as he pushed once more. 

“HUAAAGH!”

Pink fluid spilled from him as he bore down. His pussy bulged out as the head finally entered his birth canal. He lunged and pushed again, feeling the baby's head press against the outside world.

This head was even harder than his oldest daughter's, and blood ran down his legs as the scales cut him. He put his chin to his chest and pulled on the chains. His baby was depending on him. 

As much as he could, he squatted. His belly constricted against him and he whimpered loudly. His large load sank as the baby's head finally popped out of his vagina, opening it completely. 

He pushed down, pulling on the chains. He spread his legs as wide as he could. The baby’s weight filled him and bulged him out. He felt as if his organs were going to fall from him. 

Briefly, he stopped pulling and gasped for air. He opened his eyes and looked up at Leon. The king stared down at him with hardened eyes, watching as his pussy slowly released this monster of a baby. 

Armand curled his lip, looked into his eyes and pushed again. The scales scraped him and opened his mouth and screamed, still looking into Leon’s eyes. He and his babies were going to make it, Leon wasn't his master, even if he was chained. 

With his momentum, he pulled against the restraints as his baby's shoulders left his body with a squelch. The child hung still inside of him and he tried to push, but he felt something poking him. 

The bony structure on his child’s back stuck into the scrapes that he already had. Tears filled his eyes as they slid down, ripping his pussy. 

Blood dropped at his feet, planted in front of the fruits of his labor. His head swam and his eyes twitched. He looked up at Leon, who looked down at him. He wasn't sure, but it looked like a smirk crossed his face.

Leon thought that he was weak. He’d show him.

He pulled on the chains as hard as he could and pushed. His baby tore into him as it came down. His baby spilled from him and the bony structures unfolded just below his vagina. 

Wings.

“AAAUGH!”

He pulled on the chains and gave one final push. As he did, a deafening bang rang from behind him. Quickly, he swiveled his head around as the Albaine crest was forced from the wall.

The sudden change sent Armand sprawling to the ground beside his babies, as his son fell from his wounded womb. The crest crushed the throne, kicking up hundreds of years of dust.

The crowd immediately ran for the doors. In the panic, the king's mobile throne was dropped. Armand watched in horror as he fell into the audience and was trampled.

With the subjects in terror and the knights trying to rescue the king, everyone has forgotten about Armand. He took that as his chance. In the chaos he ran to grab a tablecloth. Quickly, he grabbed his children and disappeared into the night. Never to be seen again. 

This, but make it a drag queen or a trans girl. I see all 7+ feet of her and can’t resist getting knocked up with her massive babies 🤤😮‍💨

the tall guys are always the cute, funny, and polite ones until they breed me and i end up pregnant with their baby that’s measuring in the 99th percentile … (,,>﹏<,,)

Dunk Tank

Pre-story notes:

I am still writing The Way Home, but a combination of writer's block on that story, plus a bit of pure Muse being injected into this one, I'll resume TWH next upload. That said...

This one is a little dark, with some intentional torment of the main character. Everything works out for her in the end, but it gets a bit dicey for a hot minute.

Also Katrina is 18! She is almost 19 years old in this story, but in order for the dynamics of this story to work, she is a young mother, still in high school, still living with her parents. If this isn't your cup of tea, please leave. Otherwise, enjoy!

Katrina scowled as she waddled through the church grounds. On the list of things she'd rather be doing included being hit with a car. Walking on hot coals. Eating gas-station sushi again. But no. Her mom had oh-so GRACIOUSLY volunteered her time to this church fundraiser. At 9 months pregnant, she'd rather be at home, resting, finish packing her hospital bag, trying to deal with these annoying as hell Braxton Hicks contractions…

Another one started wrapping around her belly as the thought came to her, and she rubbed at it as she approached the pastor, a man named Father Isaac, to find out what she was in for.

"Katrina! How are you… ah, WE, doing today?" Katrina did her best to internalize the eye roll. The politeness to her face was all too sickening. She had heard what he really thought of her. 'Teen mom. Her life is ruined. She'll have a hard time finding a husband with a kid on her hip.' "I'm doing fine," She replied, taking her hand off her belly, and placing it on her back, "Mom didn't say what I was in for today, so…" Katrina flapped her free arm in a sort of, 'So tell me what the fuck I'm doing here' gesture. Either Isaac was oblivious, or had a better poker face than she did, because he didn't so much as bat an eye. "Ah, well, my son said he'd set you up with a booth. And he did say that he found one where you won't have to be on your feet all day. Y'know. Cause your pregnant." Katrina smiled thinly, "Ah. I've noticed. Where is Adam?" Father Isaac smiled and pointed, "On the other side of the food tent by the games. He's got you running one of them." Katrina sighed and waddled off. Or started to. "It's real nice that you volunteered for this Katrina. It's so nice to see someone like you so invested in the church." She decided that that particular comment deserved a bit of venom in the reply. "Oh yeah. I mean, getting voluntold to do this or I get kicked out of my home. But I mean, it's not like my life isn't going to be hard enough as it is." With that, Katrina left, walking towards the games. As it was, she was sure her mom would be pissed about what she said to Father Isaac, but something about the man could get under her skin like a splinter. Not that the next person she was going to talk to was any better. Adam was her personal tormentor. She'd never liked him, nor he her, but he had gotten worse once the news that she was pregnant had flown around the school. Not that she could prove any of it, but the handwriting on the notes in her locker looked like his. That and the way that he and his buddies found it the peak of all comedy to swerve in the truck that Adam drove, and spray cold, filthy water on her whenever they passed her while she walked home. Of course, as a pastor's son, of course it wasn't him. The teachers all agreed that someone who was the son of such a community leader couldn't possibly be acting in such a way. So she'd gotten detentions and the like for her 'wild and baseless accusations' and life went on.

"Hi there Kate" Adam said as Katrina waddled up to him, one hand going to rub the mild cramp running along the front of her belly. "It's Katrina," Katrina corrected him, rolling her eyes, and brushing some of her hair out of her face. "Right, so Kate," Adam said, making Katrina grind her teeth, "So, you need a job where you don't need to stand, or be in the sun all day…" Katrina blinked. She had honestly expected that he would give her a job where he and his friends could leer over her swollen form all day, and mock her while sitting down, and drinking cold drinks while she stood and sweat until everyone left. "Oh. Uh, thank you." Adam's smile made the sudden flutter of hope that the day wouldn't be terrible vanish, "Oh, don't worry, you get to sit all day, well, most of the day, and it'll be nice and cool." Adam put a hand around Katrina's shoulders and led her around the back of the food tent. Under a large tree, basically hidden in a nook behind a bush and a sign for the day's activities, was a large transparent blue bucket, filled 6 feet deep with water, the top surrounded by a cage, and next to it, a big yellow board with a red and white bull's eye painted in the middle. A dunk tank. "You can't be serious." Adam smiled, "Well, your mom called an asked if there was something you could do for us at the fair today. This is all I can offer you…"

He said the last with a sort of sad mocking tone. Katrina glowered at him, and gestured at her belly. "I'm not getting into that thing while I'm 9 months pregnant!" "Well," Adam scratched at his chin. A gesture he'd picked up from his father, but Father Isaac had a beard to make the gesture worthwhile, Adam just looked like an asshole. "Well, I could let you loose then, but then I'd have to call your mother and tell her that you refused to help with the one thing we asked you to do today. By the way, what is rent like say… anywhere near where you know anyone?" Katrina's jaw dropped, her eyes pricking with tears, "That's… that's not fair." Adam smiled again, "It is A fair, and this is your job. So… step on in, or walk on out." Katrina took two steps away, before thinking it over. She could leave, and live in a box until she gave birth, finished school and got out of this town. Or she could get dunked a few times, and stay with her parents until then. Sighing, she turned around and walked back to the tank. "How does it work?"

Adam was all too helpful with getting Katrina up the ladder and onto the seat. The foam pad, which was probably once comfortable to sit on, was now so worn down, it might as well have been one of the pews from inside the church. She sat on it, the platform creaking slightly under her weight. She shifted uncomfortably, and snapped her head around when she heard a click. She saw Adam fixing a padlock to the gate, closing her off from the ladder and the way out of this. "Adam, what are-" "Just a precaution," Adam said, "Clearly you can't be trusted to not run off before the day's over, so I thought I'd make sure you're safely up there until your shift is done." With that, Adam left, stepping quickly away, back to the rest of the fair grounds. Katrina sighed again and idly kicked her now bare feet in the water, flinching at how cold it was. "Kinda wish it WAS in the sun," Katrina muttered, wincing again, but now at the slight twinge in her belly. It didn't take long for the fair to start. Katrina could hear church-goers and other people having a grand old time, winning cheap prizes at rigged games, the occasional shout of bingo from the far end of the food tent, and the warm-up of what counted for 'live entertainment' in the small town, a handful of young men playing country songs way too loudly for such a small event. As she began to rub at her belly again, she heard laughing getting closer, and looked up to see Adam leading the first customers over. Katrina smiled and waved at them, younger kids who threw, but none of them managed a hit. The line was never longer than 2 or 3 people, and there was never more than 10 minutes between customers.

As the day, and her Braxton Hicks contractions dragged on, Katrina began to feel a growing pressure. At first, she thought it was just that she had to pee, but it felt different. The feeling was further back in her pelvis, and bigger. Much bigger. As the live music blared, she gasped, rubbing at the underside of her belly and shifted her hips from side to side, trying to relieve the pressure. And there was so…much…pressure. It felt like a basketball was being inflated in her hips, and the sensation was perhaps the most awful feeling she'd ever experienced. She just wanted to squirm away from it. At her home, in her room, she'd bought an exercise ball, and lately, that was the only thing she could comfortably sit on. The nearly unyielding surface of the dunk-tank seat was nowhere near that level of comfort. Should couldn't rock back and forth, she couldn't move her hips side to side, she couldn't even lightly bounce to relieve this horribly pressure. She had taken to simply breathing deeply and rubbing her belly with her eyes closed when a loud laugh made her look up. Adam was standing, leaning against the tree, and chatting with his usual group of school friends. "What a fucking spectacle," One of them, Bryce, said. "Nah, she'd used to people looking at her," Adam said, "It's how she wound up like she is." "Fun," A third boy, Roger, said. Roger was bit for his age, standing a good 6 inches taller than the rest, and he wasn't gangly either. He smirked a bit and grabbed a baseball for the game and tossed it in the air. Adam mock bowed and stepped aside. "Go ahead, friends don't pay." Katrina had just enough time to feel nervous when Roger grunted and said "Fun" again, before hurling the ball so fast his arm vanished from view.

With a muffled CLANG, the seat underneath Katrina dropped, dunking her into the water. She thrashed in the water, having been dunked in so fast, she didn't even have time to take in a breath. Once she figured out with way was up, she burst from the surface, coughing and gagging, and beginning to shiver from how cold the water was. She pushed the seat back into it's up position and struggled to climb out, the weight of her belly and wet clothes making the climb almost impossible. She sprawled on the small platform, moaning and holding her belly, another Braxton hicks contraction feeling like it was twisting her like a wet towel being wrung to dry. There was so much water in her ears, she almost didn't hear the next muffled CLANG as the seat dumped her into the water again. She fell sideways into the water, the impact driving what little air she had managed to get into her lungs. The sudden, second shock of cold kickstarted another contraction, making her ball up underwater, until her desperation for air made her painfully straighten up and burst through the surface. She gasped and coughed more, and, once the seat was back up, she simply hung from it, not wasting the energy it took to climb back up. "No, you gotta go back on the platform," Adam taunted, "That's how the game works."

As she struggled to pull herself up, and lay gasping once more on the platform, she felt something odd. The cold wet feeling had changed slightly. Between her legs, it was a warm wet feeling. Great, she had peed herself. As another Braxton Hicks contraction made her curl up slightly, she realized two things. Firstly, that wasn't pee. Secondly, these weren't Braxton hicks. "Oh no, I need to-" Katrina was cut off as Adam's throw slammed home, sending her down into the water again. Something about the sudden shock of cold right after realizing that she was indeed in labor made her body go berserk. She twisted and writhed as the strongest Braxt-no, full on contraction felt like it was trying to both rip her belly off and crush it against her spine at the same time. She finally broke free from the water yet again, cough and gagging at the water she had inadvertently inhaled and swallowed. She pounded on the plastic side of the tank to scream at Adam to let her go, but he was turned away, laughing with his friends. She turned to try to climb up the platform without resetting it. Katrina knew that if she put it up and climbed back up, one of Adam's cronies or he himself would simply send her back into the water. She struggled and failed to make the climb without the ledge being set up, so she begrudgingly set the platform up and climbed up to yell over the top of the tank setup. Pulling herself up was more difficult with all the pressure and the borderline NEED to simply curl up.

She finally managed it by clenching her abdominal muscles as hard as she could to make the pull, but as she did, she felt something slip. The pressure shifted slightly down, and now it was so. Much. WORSE. She tried to call out to Adam, to beg to be let out, but as soon as she straightened up to say something, the CLANG went off again, and she was once again, sent into the water. She was standing this time, and on the way down, her hip hit the platform hard. She gasped reflexively, and began thrashing as she realized she had just inhaled a mouthful of water. When she finally got free and had managed to stop coughing, the realization of the shift in pressure made her go cold. She must have been in labor all day, because now, she could only make out one thing. She had only one goal in her mind, one desire, one instruction every cell in her body was screaming, was begging her to obey.

Push

"ADAM," Katrina shouted, her voice hoarse and weak from the multiple rounds of water going down the wrong way, "LET ME OUT!" She didn't know if anyone could hear her, and she was about to call again when she heard Adam call back. "Now now Katrina, you're supposed to do a whole shift." "I'm in labor, I have to puuuuush!" The last word strangled out and was pulled longer by the onset of another contraction as she bent over as far as she could while still standing in the water, pushing. "Nice try," One of the other friends, a shorter guy named… she actually didn't know his real name, but she knew everyone called him Plink, said, "But no way you're that far, even if you are in labor. I bet you just want to get ouuuuuuuuut." Plink drew out the last word, mocking the way Katrina had drawn her last word out.

Katrina didn't even have the energy to respond as she bore down. She wasn't sure if she was doing it right. From all of her reading online, pushing was supposed to relieve the pressure that had been building. Her attempts at pushing only made the pressure worse. Now she could barely stand, even with the water helping to support her weight. Her legs were bowed out, and it felt like the basketball had been replaced with a bowling ball. She just wanted to either sit or lay down, to take the burden off of her hips, but the water was too deep for that. She racked the platform back up, and tried to climb back up. The effort was too much. Her arms shook, and her lower half dangled uselessly as she tried. Once she got her belly above the surface of the water, her back cried out in protest, locking up in another brutal contraction, making her stop to push. It was too much. Too fast, too much pressure, too many people watching and jeering and mocking. Closing her eyes, she somehow found the strength to pull herself back onto the platform and she laid back, reveling in the feeling of no longer standing, even though the pressure seemed to worsen being on her back. She moaned through another contraction, and heard a shout from the boys. "Stop faking it," One of them, she didn't know who, shouted, and she heard the CLANG again, and went back in.

Katrina had managed to not swallow any water this time, but only because she had held her breath while pushing. When she opened her eyes under the water, she could see the boys still laughing, and could faintly hear them howling like hyenas. The bowling ball of pain and pressure seemed like it was moving slower than a snail, but it was moving. She came up again and angrily shoved the platform back up. For some reason, standing and pushing wasn't working, but it had felt slightly better for the few seconds she had been able to lie down. She climbed back up and called out to her tormentors. "Please, please give me a minute, I'm-" Her words were cut off by the next dunk. Despite the water, she landed quite hard, the knee under the hip she had bruised on the platform earlier giving out, sending her down into a sort of half crouch. She shuddered and writhed from the new feeling of the head rocketing down, the pressure both feeling better and worse at the same time. She tried to get back up, but could barely close her legs enough to get upright. Gritting her teeth, she managed it, but the mind numbing wrongness of the motion sent lances of pain into her hips and cervix. She shuddered again and desperately shoved the platform back up, hoping to send it home hard enough to jam it, and tried to climb back on. Halfway up the climb, she paused for another contraction.

"GAH! Nggghhhhhh!" She groaned her way through it, the grunting turning into a yelp as the platform dumped her into the water with another CLANG before she had even made it out of the water. Still being halfway up the mechanism, she held on as best as she could, but only managed to be swung with it before the sudden stop at the end of it's motion slammed her free, her legs impacting the back wall. THAT motion sent things into overdrive. The pressure in her hips surged like nothing Katrina had ever felt before. The sudden urge to lean into the pressure and push with everything she had was stronger than the urge to breathe. She curled up as she sank beneath the surface of the frigid water and pushed as hard as she could while sinking. It was like she was possessed. The desperate, maniacal, unyielding demand of her body overrode every other instinct she had.

Don't worry about getting out, push. Don't worry about the boys, push. Don't worry about the cold, Push. Don't worry about a hospital, Push! Don't worry, don't worry, don't worry, Push, Push, PUSH!

Bubbles ran up her face as she groaned through gritted teeth. The pressure had now given way to a burning, ripping pain in between her legs, the ring of fire. She reached down to feel, and her eyes snapped open in panic, her blood running colder than the water. Her shorts were still on. Her lungs burning from the lack of air, she paddle furiously for the water, gasping and coughing as she breeched the surface.

"I-My pants!" She gasped and called out, "It's coming outtt!" She held onto the platform with one hand and fought desperately to close her legs enough to strip off the tight jean shorts she had made the mistake of wearing on today of all days. The last few days, the counter pressure they had applied to her hips had been one of the few reliefs she could find outside of lying in a bath, but now, the overly tight fabric that hugged her hips and ass, the sensation even worse now for being soaked, seemed to actively fight her efforts in taking them off. As she fought, the fire from the attempted crowning in her pants receded as the wet denim undid all of her effort in the mammoth push she had done under the water. Even though that contraction had ended, the frenzied desperation of the urge hadn't.

She began to hyperventilate as she fumbled at the button and zipper of her shorts, her fingers numb with cold and fear. Unable to figure it out, she choked back a frustrated sob and began to pull herself, once again, onto the platform. Fortunately, it stayed up while she tried to rip her shorts down, the effort a difficult task even when she wasn't under such strain. As she wrestled with the clothing, she noticed the boys all standing and staring. "Help me!" Katrina called, her voice still not carrying far, both due to the water she had accidentally inhaled, and the live music from the other side of the fairgrounds. "Sure," Adam said, "I'll give you a minute. See, the boys and I have had a bet going for the last few weeks on who the baby daddy is. And seeing as you probably won't tell us, we're just gonna watch and see if we're right. Y'know, see who it looks like. I have 20 bucks on Jackson."

The others began listing their bets while Katrina listened in horror. Not only did they now know that she was in labor, but they were betting on the father? Which meant that they had no intention of helping her or setting her free. Her fear gave her enough willpower to stop fumbling with her shorts and try to go to the door, rattling it as she remembered, belatedly, that it was locked. "HEY!" Adam called, "Your shift isn't done yet!" CLANG The platform tipped, and Katrina cried out as the floor rotated away from the door, dropping Katrina, HARD, onto her belly as it dumped her into the water once again. The impact drove another contraction with the same desperation as the last one. Unfortunately, Katrina had to make a choice. Give into the furious demands and sensations, or straighten up to breathe.

The impact to her belly had also driven every molecule of air from her lungs, and the urge to inhale was as powerful as the urge to push. She straightened up, the motion feeling like nails were being driven into her spine as she did, and choked in a gasp, the sound somewhere between a gulp and a sob. She took another deep breath and bent over, working like a maniac to remove her shorts. With a desperate shove, they gave slightly, and her body noticed. Her legs began to spread as the baby's head began to descend rapidly once again. She fought to keep her mouth closed against the water and the scream as the ring of fire returned with a vengeance, her body thrashing at the pain of it. Spreading her legs under the pressure had an unfortunate side effect, as the material stretched back tightly over her crotch, pushing against the head.

She bucked her hips, going sideways under the water at how WRONG it felt, her body revolting at the backwards sensation. It knew that the baby was supposed to go out, not back in. Katrina tried to push her shorts down, but they were jammed by her spread open legs. She tried to close her legs enough to remove her shorts, but the head was preventing any such attempt. With some trepidation, she gingerly placed a hand between her legs, and attempted to make it so she could close them. She. Pushed. It. BACK The sensation was by far, the worst thing she had every felt in her life, her body lighting up with a billion messages, each one some variation of the word "STOP!"

Shaking, she managed to remove her hand and, mercifully, or not, close her legs. She righted herself and pushed off of the ground, gasping for air, and reached down to remove the shorts. With how wet they were, the sensation of denim sliding across her hips felt as if the fabric was made of fire, but eventually, she managed to get them to her knees, and then off entirely. Refusing to fight her body on it anymore, she took one more breath while standing up, and squatted down, giving into the bone deep demands of her body. She pushed. She PUSHED.

The head descended so fast the she had to clap a hand on her bulging pussy to keep it from burning too much or tearing. she shuddered a bit at the resistance, but at least it wasn't pushing the head back again. She shook as she eased the head out. Keeping her legs wide, she paddled once again for the surface, the effort becoming more and more draining with each time she made her way up. "I.. help meeeee" She begged, gasping in a breath and sinking below again. She bore down again as she sunk, but something felt wrong. A sharp pain in her pelvis, this time between her hips had digging in like a splinter, then like a knife. She pushed experimentally at the pain, but it exploded. She belted out a short scream under the water, and clamped a hand over her mouth instantly to keep her from drowning. Katrina attempted another, more timid push, but felt the same pain, the same resistance. She didn't know what was wrong, but her body seemed to. Despite the stabbing pain, at the next contraction, which was coming so close on the end of the last one that there was hardly a break between them, she lost control as her body began to push, hard at the stubborn blockage.

The pain in her pelvis grew worse and worse until she had to release one of her knees, barely aware that she had grabbed them in the first place, and pressed with a desperate force against the pain, just below the swell of her rock hard belly. The pressed harder and harder against it as she pushed, and with a grating, sliding sensation, the pain receded into her, and she writhed as the baby began to slide out. She lunged, trying to find her baby through the cloud of blood and lord knows what else to find it. Finding a squirming thing, she pulled it gently towards herself and stood up, clutching it close to her chest. Breaking free for what she knew later to be the last time, she blinked tears and water out of her face and looked, shivering at the small human in her arms. A girl! She'd had a girl! A girl who was very cold, and very still. Katrina cried out and began rubbing her daughter until she was rewarded by a weak, but clear cry. She sobbed in relief and held her child close, faintly aware of the second most beautiful sound she'd heard that day, or even in the last few seconds. The metal door to the top of the dunk tank opened and she heard the platform get locked back into place. "Katrina! Are you alright?" She looked up to see Father Isaac jumped down into the water beside her. She shook her head, holding her baby close, "N-n-n-no. Adam…"

She told Father Isaac what his son had done. Fortunately, he believed her, as he had caught the end of what had happened. Katrina looked past the paster to see all of the boys looking very ashamed. Father Isaac refused to press charges against his own son. When Katrina tried to, her mother nearly struck her for daring to try to "bring the law of man against a man of god!" In the end, Katrina went to Father Isaac and struck a deal with him. Katrina couldn't get child support from daughter's father, but she could from the person who had nearly killed her and Katrina both. One month later, after graduation, from which Adam and his friends were suspiciously absent, (Katrina had said a few things to a few people, and once a video had gotten out, they had been suspended pending investigation,) Katrina packed her things, and got the hell out of the crappy town and it's people who now judged her for not only having a child out of wedlock at her age, but also getting money from the church to support it. She didn't know if she ever wanted another baby, but she knew damn well that she didn't want another waterbirth.

I don't write much original work yet, but I have lots of plans

Please reblog if you’re still an active birth kink/fetish blog, wanting to follow more.

It’ll never fit, I think to myself as I hold my hand firmly over her straining hole. “Don't push, just pant, dear. You need to stretch a whooole lot more for this one. Just let it come soooo slow for me, okay?”

Literally every time. My PCOS gets so bad I’ll black out from the pain and have fever dreams of my belly being so huge I can’t see past it as it squeezes down around my litter of squirming babies, trying desperately to expel them through my unyielding cervix.

Anybody else cope with intense period cramps by imagining them as contractions instead?

“Oh you’re definitely bigger, Bunny. You’re carrying such a big litter for me it makes you grow bigger every day! It look so so cute on you, baby.” I hold your hands to keep you from struggling with your little shirt and place soft kisses on your squirmy kicky belly.

“Hey, Bunny baby. How are you doing today?” I ask sweetly as I return from work. I sit next to you on the couch and trace hearts and swirls across your pretty belly “you’re so soft and cute. I hate being away from you.”

this just made me blush so HARD. the tracing hearts and swirls on my belly ☹️

“doing okay …. but do you think my tummy has gotten bigger?” *pouts and attempts to pull my shirt over my tummy*

Exam in, Baby out

Answering this ask that came through my messages from @yaiofanficbombon2022: 

"The class president is in labour (Mpreg). He had a sexual encounter with the popular boy of the school and as a result of this encounter he is pregnant.

His water breaks at home at night, he wants to miss school, but he can't, so he goes to class anyway.

The contractions are intense and constant, and the baby tries to come out, but he refuses to push until the exam is over.

He ends up giving birth in the school bathroom."

I’ve aged them up to a very high school like college because even 18 yo high school students feel too young to me. Hopefully you don’t mind.

This fic contains: mpreg, birth denial, pushing baby back in, clothing birth

“Hey, pres, you all right?” Jason asked, coming to sit next to Max. 

Max grunted, forcing a smile for the man who was rather popular with the other people at their very small church owned college they both attended, and also the father of the child that was currently trying to expel itself from Max’s womb. They’d had a secret encounter in Jason’s dorm room after a particularly intense study session—and well, they hadn’t repeated said occurrences since then, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be friendly. “Fine,” Max managed as the contraction that had been wrapping its way around his belly finally eased off. “Just worried about this exam.”

Specifically, he was worried about passing the final exam of his health class while also managing to keep the kid in him, you know, in him. Particularly since his water had broken last night, and he hadn’t gotten a whole bunch of sleep between the increasingly intense contractions. This was his last final of the semester, though, he just had to pass this test, or at least make it through it, and he was home free. So he’d hobbled his way to class from his dorms. It wouldn’t do for the student president to just not show up to an exam.

“You’re the smart one,” Jason said with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Only it doesn’t look like you slept at all.”

“Stayed up all night studying.”

“For health?” Jason asked. “Look man, I know you’re a perfectionist and all that, but no one cares what grade you get in this class. All you gotta do is pass. It’s not worth killing yourself over.”

Max tried to formulate a nonchalant shrug. “Gotta keep that scholarshi—mmmhg.” Another contraction cut him off. He wrapped his fingers around the bottom of the desk and forced all his pain and the screaming desire to push into them instead of downward. Still the contractions were getting insistent. The force of his body pressed the baby’s head against his lips, which began to spread and sting. As soon as the contraction ended, the head slipped back inside, the stinging easing. Still, that wasn’t a good sign. The two hour exam hadn’t even started and the baby was already sitting right behind his lips. 

Jason stared. “Man, you sure you’re good?”

“I’ll survive,” Max said, trying to sound sardonic, though his breathlessness gave him away. Jason didn’t know Max was pregnant. No one did. He’d carried small, and Max was good at hiding his body in shapewear and too big hoodies. If anyone did find out, he’d definitely lose his scholarship, and probably get kicked right out of the school. It had very strict rules about sex outside of marriage, and babies don’t just happen.

Max was saved from further questions from Jason by the professor entering the room and beginning to pass out a massive pile of paper that was the final exam. “You will have one and half hours to do the question and answer portion of the exam,” the professor explained. “Then I will show a video of a live birth. As the university wants you to know how to give birth at home, with prayer and without medical intervention as God intended. You all must know how to give birth. After watching the birth video, you will be required to write a paper discussing what they did correctly and what they could have done better. Understood?”

The class nodded.

“All right then, you may begin. You have an hour and a half.”

Max reached out for the packet, grabbing his pencil and his scantron, eager to go as quickly as possible and get this over with. Two questions in, and his stomach was seizing again. Freed from Jason’s questioning gaze, Max wrapped his hand around his stomach to try and soothe it, feeling it shrink underneath the shapewear he wore. He tried not to push, focusing on breathing deeply and slowly through the pain, but the searing stretch of his nethers continued throughout the contraction nonetheless. 

According to his studies, contractions lasted about 60-90 seconds, so Max counted out the seconds in his head, one hand wrapped tight around his stomach, the other clutching his fragile wooden pencil dangerously tightly.

As soon as the contraction began to ease and the stinging stopped as the baby returned to its place just outside his lips, Max continued with the test. His contractions were coming every two minutes, lasting about a minute. Which means while the rest of his class had an hour and a half to complete the test, he only had an hour. 

The words swum in front of him and he leaned forward to get a better view of the words, curling around his stomach and triggering another contraction. Sitting forward as he was, the hard plastic chair pressed against his lips. Which gave him an idea. Experimentally, he pushed with the urge instead of trying to hold back, grunting softly as he did. The head spread him open, shooting through his stretching lips, and then stopped moving as it struck the chair. Max whined, softly, tapping out of the push early. Except this time, the head didn’t go all the way back in, it stayed at that partial crown, stretching his lips. 

Stealthily, he reached down under his desk and explored the area between his spread legs. A massive bulge of straining jeans was wedged between them, pressed up against the chair.

Max let out a shuddering breath. All right, he thought, as long as I can stay sitting down, we can keep the baby in. And thus the test stretched on, in increments of three minutes, two of answering questions, one of pushing fruitlessly into the hard plastic chair, his wet jeans bagging out with the emerging head. 

Some of the questions were about health, but a lot were about sexual health and reproduction. Labeling the different parts of the birther’s anatomy felt particularly ironic when Max could feel the stretch of so many of them, the diagram a visual reminder of how small everything had been before a baby had been shoved through it.

Another question asked which sex position was most likely to result in successful reproduction, which had him flashback to his room, with Jason leaning over him, his warm chest on Max’s. It brought a blush to his cheeks which led Max to lift his head and glance over at Jason.

Jason had been looking back, his brows wrinkled in concern, but when he caught Max looking, the face changed to a forced smile and a hidden lewd hand symbol. Maybe the test was bringing up memories for him too.

Their moment was broken by another contraction. Max forced his head down, as though he was working on his test, leaning as far forward as he could, his stomach pressing against the bottom of the desk, his crotch against the seat to keep the baby in as his whole body pushed down.

The pain was just letting up when the teacher called for their attention, and put on the birthing video. A woman moaning, crouching, her husband supporting her from behind, praying. Her stomach visibly contracted as Max’s own pain returned. Their contractions had synced up, but while she was naked and pushing freely, he was covered in clothes, unable to push or make progress. Her grunts of effort and cries of pain masked his own moans.

The voice of the camera-person ordered the woman, “Push! Push!”

And having sat at a partial crown for an hour and half, Max couldn’t help but obey, pushing in sync with the woman on screen. He leaned back instinctively, lost in the grasp of instinct. He and the woman pushed, and pushed. The babys’ heads emerged slowly, fighting to stretch out the body and, in Max’s case, force the jeans out of the way.

The woman screamed as her head reached a full crown, losing her crouch and falling backwards, caught by her husband. Max’s own softer exhalation, as his own crown, freed from the confines of the chair, reached its own crown.

The next few pushes were unfruitful. The baby’s head bobbed in the woman’s crotch as Max’s own baby fought against his tight jean crotch and lost. He wasn’t trying to hold back anymore, wasn’t thinking consciously, only knew he needed to push.

Then the head on screen gushed out, followed by the rest of the body in rapid succession, but Max’s was still stuck, no matter how he pushed and grunted. The screen went black. 

“You have twenty minutes to write your essays.”

Max panted, realizing his situation. His hand explored downward, gasping at how large the bulge was, his legs spread apart, his lips screaming in pain, stretched to their fullest, his whole body soaked in sweat.

He could not write, could not focus on writing, but he had to. So, ever so slowly he leaned forward. The head of the baby caught on the chair, then began to be shoved up inside him once more. Max shoved his pencil in his mouth, biting down hard to hold back the scream that threatened to bubble in his throat at the pure agony. 

Another, harsher contraction came, but he weathered it, biting his pencil and pressing himself down against the chair. It faded, and he tried to write. The next contraction was just as bad. His weakened pencil snapped his hand. He whimpered as the head began to emerge once more, stretching him little by little. 

It didn’t seem like he had two minutes of leeway anymore, no matter what their professor had taught. The contractions didn’t seem to end. It hurt so much. He was so sweaty, so confined. The baby was coming out again. He didn’t have the energy to push it against the chair. It was stretching his lips, so wide.

“Time!” The professor called. “Pencils down.”

Max’s pencil was in pieces before him, his essay a mess, his multiple choice portion, not quite complete. But he didn’t care. He had to give birth. He had to get out of there.

The old professor toddled around, collecting tests as Max tried to look normal after having been in active labor for fourteen hours and actively crowning for two. 

He’d had a plan, take the test, go home, give birth in his empty apartment. But as the baby reached a full crown once more, Max knew that wasn’t happening. He would at least make it to the bathroom. It was on the first floor. Max planned his route as the professor said his final goodbyes, and then, finally, finally, fifteen minutes after the test ended, released them. 

Max stayed where he was, unsure how to stand as the rest of the students burst out of the room. Another student stayed and talked to Jason, pulling his attention away from Max.

Now, Max thought. He awkwardly turned in his seat, and removed his hoodie. It revealed his very low belly, curved and sweat-soaked, but he used it to tie around his waist, hiding the massive bulge in his crotch. Then, oh so gently, he leveraged himself to his feet.

Gravity shifted, his jeans loosened a bit, and the baby dropped down just a bit further, the head stretching him wider than he thought possible. Max gasped and swayed, catching himself on his desk. Jason glanced over, clearly concerned, but his conversation partners drew him back in.

Free. Max began to waddle, slowly, awkwardly, out of the classroom. Each step was agony, his jeans jostling the fully crowned head in his pants in and out just a smidge. His exhausted legs trembled, and he kept one hand on the wall to keep himself upright. The stairs were right next to the classroom, the elevator was on the other side of the building. He could either walk the entirety twice (to reach the elevator and then walk all the way back to the bathroom at the base of the stairs), or go down the stairs. He chose the stairs.

He went down two before he realized it was an awful idea. He clung to the railing, his legs forcefully spread around the head, which brushed his thighs each time he maneuvered himself awkwardly down the stairs like a new-born deer.

Finally, red faced, panting, exhausted, he reached the bottom of the stairs and practically fell into the door of the men’s bathroom. A guy at the urinal gave him a look.

“Really gotta. . . go,”  Max panted, then stumbled into the stall and locked the door. He reached immediately for his jeans. His shaking hands fumbled with the belt. As the contraction struck, he crouched naturally, spreading his legs wider, but that only forced the jeans up tighter against his opening, forcing the head further in. 

Finally, the belt gave way, and he began forcing the jeans down. They got caught on his hips. He needed to move his legs together, but another contraction hit, and the baby descended further, its nose stretching him and popping out. The head was touching his thighs. He couldn’t spread his legs further to give it more room with his jeans, he couldn’t get rid of the jeans because of the head.

He was stuck.

Mind frozen with fear and exhaustion, he weathered out several contractions, pushing as hard as he could. But the baby didn’t move. It was stuck. The jeans had to go, but that meant. . . 

He heard speaking over the roar of his ears, but couldn’t make out the words. It was definitely Jason.

But Max could spare him no thought. The baby had to come out. Quivering, Max placed his hand on his baby’s head, feeling its wet hair. He took one deep breath, trying to get oxygen in his panic, then began to push the baby up and back it. 

It was agony. He screamed in pain. The baby kicked in protest. His stomach contracted. In the chaos, he lost his balance, falling to his knees, striking his elbow on the side of the tiny stall. 

Jason was pounding on the stall door. 

Max couldn’t talk to him, couldn’t do anything but give birth. He shucked off his jeans and boxers, spread his legs, and pushed.

The much denied baby shot out, to its ears and Max cried out again. The contraction faded, and he could hear Jason now, asking if Max was okay.

“I’ve cleared the bathroom and put a sign out saying its closed. Tell me what's going on, or I’ll call 911.”

Well, Max would need help getting out of here. And it was just as much Jason’s secret as it was his. With a shaking hand, he reached up and undid the latch, just in time for the next contraction to hit. He pushed, and the baby’s head shot out of him just as Jason flung open the door.

“Holy crap!”

Max gasped, leaning against the toilet, spreading his legs just a bit further. The dirty bathroom tile was cold. It felt good. The baby was turning inside him.

“Is that mine?” Jason asked. That health class did something for him after all.

Max could only nod. 

“Shit. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Max didn’t have the breath for explanations. “Wanted you safe,” he gasped. “If I was. . . if they did. . .”

Another contraction. He pushed, weakly. The head bobbed forward, but didn’t move. God, he was exhausted.

Jason knelt down beside Max, his health class training coming into play. “How long have you been in labor?”

“Water broke—nngghh—last night.” The head still didn’t move. He was so tired.

“Last night!”

“Head crowned. . . just. . . just before the—” Another contraction. Max pushed with the pain as hard as he could, but the head wasn’t moving.

“Shit, man.”

Another contraction. No progress. Something was catching on his narrow hips. His body wasn’t made for birthing the way a woman’s was. “I think, I think it’s stuck.”

“I got you, give me a moment.” Then Jason left, leaving Max alone, spread wide and bare, a baby head between his legs, on a dirty bathroom floor. He flopped his head back, resting it on the toilet seat. Gross, yeah, but he didn’t have the energy to care any more.

Another fruitless contraction.

Then Jason was back. He crouched down by Max. “this is going to hurt,” he warned. Then he shoved his hand into Max’s crotch alongside the baby’s neck. Max opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. He was too tired. The pain was awful, the stretch terrible. Then Jason was fumbling around in there with his whole-ass hand, pulling and tugging. Max’s hips strained. 

Another contraction began, tensing Max’s stomach which was peeking up through his shirt, which had ridden up. 

With the hand that wasn’t currently inside Max, Jason pressed down on Max’s stomach. “Push!” he ordered.

Max pushed. Jason pushed with one hand and pulled with the other. The tension, the pressure built, and built. Max was being torn apart. He was going to die. He was—

Something gave. With a gush, the crying baby shot out into Jason’s waiting hands.

The three of them sat, panting, staring at each other. “I want to raise this baby with you, if you’ll let me,” said Jason. “Only reason I haven’t been with you more is, well, I didn’t want to get us both kicked out. But I think you’re amazing and—”

Max smiled. “You’re pretty good too. Let’s do this.”

As a dommy with massive tits. I will be this for you.

Imagine you’re crowning and you just keep crying and whining, saying things like “I can’t do this”, “It’s not coming out”, “It’s too big”, “I’m gonna die” and then, to shut you up, a hot dommy mommy presses your face into her tits so you’re forced to stop complaining and just start pushing.

Obsessed with this rn.

This one is so good, y’all