pushyryss

[pushyryss]

Breech on the street

[pushyryss]

Sometimes you just can't hold back. Can't fight it anymore.

Sometimes the baby just comes at the worst place, at the worst time...

Bulging your crotch, your lips spreading, your panties and pants straining around a head you don't want to come out of you...

Embarrassed and scared... Helpless as a baby you may have never even wanted to have comes out of your most intimate, personal place...

Unable to stop yourself from giving birth... Just feeling an entire new person sliding out of you, violating its way out of you, changing your life forever as other people watch, other people indulge in your beautiful struggle...

[pushyryss]

A Halloween to remember

This is a story I was asked to write for @tara-b who asked me to write an account of the day her twin sons were born on Halloween 2023. Part detailed by her, part artistic licence I hope you enjoy the story.

Here we are again… 31st October, 2023. Halloween. Once again we’re putting the finishing pieces together for our party, which we have ran for family and friends since we got married 3 years ago.

However there’s a difference right now… I’m pregnant. Really pregnant in fact, due tomorrow and might be having contractions really pregnant. To make matters worse we’re expecting twins… and my belly certainly doesn’t hide the fact.

But I can’t just stop and give up on the party, we’ve confirmed to everyone we were still going ahead and the guests are starting to arrive.

I’m out in the back garden blowing up an inflatable spider…. To be honest a big breath in and a big breath out is really helping the pains I’m feeling. Just have to get through the next few hours, we can wave goodbye to the guests, fill up the birthing tub and relax into it, get the birth I’d dreamed of. Only a few hours.

In through your mouth… hold it a second… and breathe out. It’s not efficient to blow up a balloon, but it certainly helps.

I stand up and groan, one hand supporting my back as I realise I was stooping over. The other holds the spider. It looks like it’s done. Just need to set it down over…. Shit. That was a feeling of a gush. My panties are soaked… it’s running down my leg. My heart races… that must have been my waters. Must have been my waters… oh hell… babies are coming, babies are coming… it’s all so real now.

The spider just gets dropped where I stand and I figure I look like a deer caught in the headlights as my eyes shoot wide. I look around. No one saw me. Good… good. Hopefully we can stick with the plan. Can’t let the party be ruined.

I walked inside to find my husband and our neighbour chatting in the kitchen - they were plating up canapés ready to take in for the rest of the guests. We got on well with our neighbour… he was a nice guy. Both he and his wife had offered to babysit for us when the babies were born.

“You look like you’re ready to pop any minute now” he grinned as he saw me approaching. I don’t think he realises just how true that statement is.

I was dressed as cleopatra with my husband as Mark Anthony. My dress had a cut out for my belly - there was no way the standard costume could fit me in my current state. Our neighbour opened his arms wide to give me a hug - he quite liked giving hugs and if I’m going to be honest, he gives really good ones - and took the opportunity to rub my belly. I know some people may consider that a bit forward, but we’d already discussed this in the past and he actually had a way of making the babies calm down inside of me so I wasn’t going to complain!

“Little angels kicking up a storm today?” He enquired after a few seconds of contact.

“Yeah, something like that…” I didn’t go into too much detail but I was scared that he would feel a contraction. Pretty sure it would feel a lot more different to what a kick felt like from the outside.

My wince gave it away as I visibly saw my stomach tighten. I watched his eyes blink and he pulled his hand away. “Braxton Hicks” I grunted, a little winded. He nodded understanding. He and his wife had 2 children of their own and they had seen all this before - though not 2 at once !

“Look after yourself and don’t work too hard” he said as he grabbed 2 plates and went back to the main room leaving just my husband and I in the kitchen.

We kissed. “You sure you’re ok? You look a little flushed?” He asked. I smiled and gave the best effort I could under the circumstances.

“I’ll be ok” I said “just very pregnant if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh… I’ve noticed all right!” He was grinning as he kissed me, and for that fleeting moment everything was all right in the world. “We finish this party, get rid of the guests and I promise it’s just you and me together until the babies come.”

I grinned “I like that idea, I like it a lot.” I emphasised the belly by pressing my hands into the small of my back and sticking it out with a groan, masking the start of another contraction. Was I imagining it or were they getting faster… no… can’t be.

“Duty calls… let’s go meet our guests” my husband smiled as he grabbed the other plate and walked through leaving me alone.

As I stood in the kitchen, readying myself for the onslaught of people and well wishers, I rubbed my belly. “Just hold out a little longer… mammas got to do some things then you can have your grand entrance. Please little babies… please “

The first few hours were manageable. The constant moving from guest to guest took my mind off my predicament, and I began to wonder if it was just a false alarm after all. I had a few glasses of water and I’d learned during my midwife appointments that hydration levels could affect things later in pregnancy. I was certainly the definition of late pregnancy at this stage.

As the party goers got more and more drunk as the night wore on, the well wishers went from “you look glowing” to “let me touch your belly for good luck” like I was some sort of Buddha statue. I laughed along with it with good grace, but as the night wore on the contractions came back with full force and it took a lot of careful avoiding to make sure no one saw anything too obvious.

My husband was certainly getting into the party spirit. He had promised to have a drink but not have too much just in case we did need to leave the house in an emergency but after the 10th person asked him to “wet the babies head” with them… he started to misbehave as well.

There was a sudden crash as a bowl we had set out got knocked over and smashed. Instinct had me rush toward it to clean up the mess but my husband was quicker and shooed me away. “Can’t have you bending down in your condition. I’ll clean this up, can you go fetch another bowl from upstairs.” We had some spare cutlery and crockery stored in a cupboard out of the way.

It was when I turned around he tapped me on the shoulder causing me to flinch. “Darling… I think you may have had a little accident. You’ve a wet patch on your skirt”. I gasped at the revelation. I was almost certain it was my waters. Perhaps the initial gush wasn’t all of it and I’d continued to leak for hours… or perhaps it had always been there and people either hadn’t noticed or were too polite to say. Either way I went red with embarrassment and said I would get changed when I went for the bowls.

I made my escape without much fuss. Completely forgetting the bowl I scrambled into the en suite bathroom. My hands slipped under my skirt and pulled down my sodden panties which slapped to the floor with the added weight of the liquid they were doused in. I don’t know if my body saw this as a sign, but I suddenly had to push and I almost doubled over with the unexpected sensation.

I went with it, closing my eyes and widening my stance involuntarily by sidestepping, grunting as I strained with effort. I gasped and strained again. Finally the contraction ebbed away and I had to re-assess the situation.

I had left my phone downstairs and shouting down would cause a panic no doubt. I would do this myself and surely my husband will come to check on me soon. I used the time I had to get out of my dress and bra, turning on the shower to full force. I checked the temperature just as the next contraction started and I stumbled in, turning my back to the shower jet and spreading my arms and legs like a starfish to brace me.

Prior to the need to push coming over me, I’d wondered if there would be obvious sensations to tell me to push… all I can say is that given the option between pushing or walking (or basically any other activity that I could possibly do) at that time… I had no choice.

The roaring water encouraged me to let go, I roared with it. I yelled. Part of my brain presumed the whole house would come running at the commotion but there was nothing. Another push - keep going girl, this is all on me now - and I felt weak at the knees with the effort. I had to get down to the ground before I slipped or fell.

My brain was focused on the need to push, and before I realised I was on the floor with the shower water gushing over my head. I can’t actually remember climbing down but logically that’s what must have happened. My feet were flat on the floor but something came to me. Leverage. My legs swung up at my hips and braced against the wall of the shower. It gave me something to push against.

A side effect of the reposition was that the shower water - once blasting me on the back and top of my head, instead washed my belly and between my legs. Good for making sure there was no mess… I’d seen the blood and who knows what else coming out during birth videos I’d watched… but part of me was worried for the baby with the water streaming down my belly and between my legs - right into the path where they babies were going to come from.

I shook my head. Idiot. Babies are born underwater. These babies were going to be born under water. I guess I kind of get a water birth after all.

Logical thought left me again as the contraction ramped up and once more I was left with the entirety of my conscious thought being “PUSH!” I closed my eyes and yelled out with abandon, I could feel the movement of the baby passing through me. I realised I couldn’t see… couldn’t check how well I was doing, couldn’t judge how much of the baby I’d pushed out. I had to rely on the feelings and the power of touch.

My hand groped down between my legs and I was honestly expecting to feel the head there… I mean it was certainly painful enough to warrant the labour being progressed almost to completion… but as my hand groped down I felt closed lips. I slipped my finger between the folds and that’s when I felt it… my first baby. It was certainly an alien feeling compared to years and years of exploration I’d done with my fingers before getting pregnant.

Still… feeling something there certainly had me buoyant. I knew I was doing it. The first baby was coming. I was going to be a mother. The contractions came thick and fast, at least in my opinion, as they seemed to be on top of one another with hardly time to catch my breath before the next hit me… but I was getting rewarded for the effort. I proved once more with my fingers, and as the burning sensation between my legs was testament to… the baby was starting to emerge.

Push, push, push again. Rest whilst I can, push once more. I was lost in it. I lost count after 10 sessions of pushing, my mind was too focused on the thought of getting the baby out than keeping track.

My grunts, roars, and occasional screams still went unanswered by my husband or any of our guests. How long had I been gone for. Was it minutes… was it hours… no don’t think, just PUSH!

I felt the head with my hands as I realised just how wide I’d been stretched when I got the ring of fire. They call it that, it might as well be the crotch supernova. I was crying at this point, though the tears were unidentifiable among the shower water. I wanted to push but I recalled from a video about panting through this stage, trying to avoid a tear by going to fast. I opened my mouth wide and blew out. Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo… then a gasp as the head reached the tipping point and shot out of me.

When I felt the… what could only be described as a ‘twang’ of my stretched lips springing back to place as the widest part of the head passed through me, I made a sound which I can only describe as a banshee wail. It knocked me senseless, to the point of where I lay sprawled on the ground of the shower panting heavily wondering just what happened.

Then panic set in. I hadn’t thought this through. Someone needed to check the cord was free… and there was no one here. I yelled out my husbands name, and there was no answer. I didn’t know what to do… what if I hurt the baby. I reached forward but couldn’t tell what I was feeling. The only mirror in the room was mounted on the wall and there’s no way I can do the acrobatics needed to get a glimpse between my legs. I felt my heart beating faster and faster when suddenly I felt a gushing release and then the baby was out and on the floor of the shower. Whilst in my panicking state I hadn’t realised the baby had turned and after the contraction forced out the first shoulder the rest came easily.

That’s it. I’d done it. This squalling, wriggling thing between my legs was my baby. My first child. I was a mother. I’d done it. I’d survived.

I rolled and adjusted my body to get onto my knees and that in turn would let me pick up the baby. I was very careful not to step on or damage the umbilical cord. With the baby in my arms I crawled on my hands and knees over to the bathtub where I grabbed onto the side with my free hand and finally managed to get to my feet. Turning off the shower to avoid any more water spraying on the floor I stumble into the bedroom, in a complete daze.

I knew from watching the preparation videos that the placenta would come out soon and as I didn’t have any tools to cut the cord I just flopped down on my side on the bed and admired my baby with him still attached. That child had so many kisses in its first few minutes of life…

Until the contraction brought me back to reality. The realisation that I was having twins and I’d need to do it all over again. I’m not afraid to say that my spine turned to ice in that split second moment of realisation.

I checked the bedside clock. Only 30 minutes had passed since the bowl was smashed. To me it felt like it could have been hours. Hopefully only 30 minutes or maybe even less to go. I was already stretched, I hope the second baby follows the same path as his… I guess big brother.

The next contraction had me feeling like pushing again so I hefted up a leg and pulled it back whilst I was on my side. I’d seen that position on a video, but for whatever reason I just couldn’t get it to feel right. After a few false starts, I decided to go on my hands and knees, straddling the first baby. I don’t mind saying that I was a bit concerned about slipping and squashing the baby, but unless he has his cord detached there was nowhere else really that it would stretch to.

So that was me for the next contraction. Knees and elbows dug into the mattress, my fingers finding a pillow to grab and squeeze and the baby seeming to drift off to sleep underneath me. I suppose the poor dear has had a trying day.

Until of course I was forced to yell out. This startled the baby who in turn screamed at the top of his lungs at having his sleep disturbed. That’s when the bedroom door opened.

My head darted to the side to see my husband partially silhouetted against the door. He yelled out and dashed into the room when he saw what was happening.

“You didn’t tell me!” He yelled.

“I couldn’t… no phone, couldn’t move. Baby… baby coming.” You gasped out as I closed my eyes, scrunched my hands into the pillows and heaved an almighty push.

“What can I do” he asked. The situation certainly catching him off guard.

“Can you…” I couldn’t get my words out between the need to push. I focused on that and left the sentence unfinished. After gathering my breath once the contraction disappeared I quickly managed “cut the cord and get the first baby.”

He nodded and dashed out of the room to get the birth bag we had prepared. I looked down at the wriggling infant below me and couldn’t help but smile at what I’d managed, that perfect little baby that we had made. Soon the need to push was back again though, and I was back to focusing. I didn’t realise my husband had returned to the room brandishing a bad of surgical clamps and some scissors. He stopped dead in his tracks as he got behind me.

“Baby’s… baby’s head. It’s there. Baby’s head.” He was stuttering and stammering at the shock, or perhaps wonder of seeing my lips parting, bringing forth new life. I could only grunt in acknowledgement as the contraction still had me seized it’s its grip.

I could feel the burn starting. I knew the head was filling me and I couldn’t stop it progressing to its inevitable conclusion. I felt him behind me, my eyes clamped shut focusing on both the pain between my legs and the need to make sure I stay supported by my arms in case I collapse on the baby beneath me. There was a tug, another tug, and I sensed, more than heard a snip as the first umbilical cord was snipped.

“Get… the… baby.” I gasped, my hand waving to the child below me. My husband grabbed our son and held him to his chest.

“Can I help with this one?” He seemed eager. I quickly shook my head.

“Get that one somewhere safe he won’t roll off then come back… I’ve… got this” the last 2 words were strained as the need to push overcame me. As my husband stepped to swaddle the first baby and lay him down the head of our second child emerged more and more.

I was sure these were not identical. Sure this one’s head was bigger. Sure I was putting in more effort… but knew deep down that it was just because I was simply exhausted. Still, I knew what needed to be done, and set my mind to it, focusing on nothing else but the sensations of the stretch.

Suddenly cool hands were supporting the burning sensation between my legs. I gasped at the sudden sensation, not expecting it. A finger slipped around the circumference of the head, gently stretching my skin. Another big push. Another… I felt the hands pushing back my lips, and then with a yelp, the second head was free.

I couldn’t do anything else but cry. The tears were streaming down my face, the exhaustion, the overwhelming sensations, they were nearly at an end. I recall the time between the head and the rest of the body coming out earlier, the panic whilst I felt around for the cord. There was no delay this time - my body wanted this baby out. Another long, involuntary groan and the body of our second son slipped into my husbands waiting hands.

I managed to get back onto my haunches as the baby was passed between my legs into my arms. The tears were still streaming down my face as - when I looked up - I realised the same was true of my husband.

He wiped the baby down who burst into his own fit of crying… with the first baby going too. It was a bit of a cacophony in our usually quiet and serene bedroom.

To say the guests were shocked at the new arrivals would be a bit of an understatement.

[pushyryss]

Breech on the street

[pushyryss]

[pushyryss]

The best scene from the 1983 film Brandende Liefde. Enjoy!

[pushyryss]

Favorite birth fetish blogs

Here is a list of my favorite birth fetish blogs. Of course there are plenty more but I chose those that are most relevant to me because they include rather birth than pregnancy and also plenty of videos. Wanted to make a top 50 but ended up with top 60 as I couldn’t decide well. You are welcome to complete list if you reblog. I could only link 50 though so I’ll make another post for the other 10. @birthingdeeper @crownqueen79 @longhardtransition @mrs-nobody09 @themaskedspeculum @pushingem @preggobirthhot @onesmalllsecret @birthfetish @bfetphilia @dailydoseofbirth @stuckbabies @birthguy @birthingcouple @sultryceleste @birthlover101 @idreamofdoula @lovehelpmepush @givingbirth @pushhard1976 (including fiction) @pushing-gasms @aprilmonkey3 @onebigpush @radstudentduck @mysteriouslystripedlion (including fiction and other kinks) @motherly-birthing-screams @crowninggoddessfantasy (including fiction) @pushitout2012 @childbirthwoman @birthme44 (including other kinks) @sadisticobgyn @birthpusher1 (including other kinks) @claudimedspushingsite @pushing4u (including fiction) @homewaterbirthcontractions @rsawyer72 (including fiction and other kinks) @llynn77 (object birth ) @birth-dreams @lillysfet @crowningpush @crowningfordays @ilb2829 @helpmepush (including mpreg) @pregmoose (including fiction) @iloveu-push-itscrowning-thankyou @wannapush @birthnextdoor @loverofbirth @aquababe03 @musiclovefamilyforverandever12 (including fiction and other kinks)

[pushyryss]

[pushyryss]

[pushyryss]

Love videos like this! Anyone done something similar to this before

[pushyryss]

“OH!! OH GOD!!! I’M GIVING BIRTH!! ”

[pushyryss]

[pushyryss]

[pushyryss]

Just Another Pregnancy Pill One-Shot

(This story contains rapid fpreg, sex scenes, birth, and more. Reader discretion advised)

Words: ~5k

//////////

We'd agreed that I would take the pill after we made love this morning. It was an enhanced fertility pill, of dubious origin and high potency. Within six hours, I'd be having his baby.

Once we got out of bed, I was feeling immediately hungry. He was willing to cook for us, so I opted to make smoothies while he fried eggs and bacon. It took him a while, but I was fine taking our time.

As we ate, I started feeling the change in me, a warm and fluttering sensation in the pit of my belly. I was officially eating for two, which was probably why I felt so hungry.

Finished with our meals, he went to scrub dishes and I went back to the bedroom. I began to strip, ready to hop in the shower and start the day. I observed myself in the mirror- not much of a difference to see yet, but by rubbing a hand over my belly I could sense a new curve starting to develop.

I went to the bathroom and started the shower, sighing with relief as I stepped in and the warm water washed over me. It didn't take him long to find me- only a couple minutes went by before he entered the bathroom as well, wearing only a towel.

He looked a bit sheepish, so I smiled at him through the sliding glass. "Well, no need to wait...come in."

With a boost of confidence, he removed the towel and stepped into the shower with me. I let him approach from behind as I washed my face and chest. He pressed himself right up against my back, putting his arms around me. I felt his manhood poke against my backside, already getting hard. I relished it.

He took some soap in his hands and started to lather me up. His hands rubbed circles on my flanks, working their way up until he had my breasts in his hands. He kneaded at them sensually and methodically, the soapy water lubricating his palms.

"Mmmh..." I hummed, looking over my shoulder slightly. "Careful...they're feeling a bit sensitive." His dick twitched at that.

Once the soap had washed away, he brought his hands back down to my hips. I turned to face him, the water now hitting my back. We kissed, and he held me tightly, running his hands down my body.

He moved his head but continued to kiss, pecking his lips on my cheek, my neck, my shoulders. My breath grew shaky and my heart beat faster as he kissed lower and lower. His tongue met my breast, and he nibbled a bit, but didn't linger. It was a tease, but I knew what he wanted to focus on.

My belly was pooching noticeably now, a slight but definite bump. He squatted down so he was eye-level with it, gazing in wonder. He planted both palms on my stomach, looking up at me as I chuckled softly.

"Hmm, sorry...must be bloated from that big breakfast," I said, playing dumb. He smirked back at me and went back to looking at my middle.

I held his head and ran my fingers through his wet hair as he started to kiss my body again. He smooched all around my small belly, pressing in and feeling the slight give of my flesh with his lips. It tickled a bit but I loved it. The touch of his skin on mine heightened this feeling of warmth and fullness I was having, and I already knew he was going to love this baby.

His kisses kept getting lower still, until his face began to disappear between my thighs. He gripped my legs and I gasped a bit as I felt his tongue start to graze my folds. I leaned back onto the cool tile wall and spread my legs a bit to give him easier access.

Between the shower and our intimacy, I was already wet, and he lapped me up. I shivered and whimpered as he licked me, nibbled my clit, stuck his tongue inside me. All the while, he continued to gently rub my belly, and I put my hand over his. I swore I could feel the mass within growing, expanding outward, but surely it wasn't happening that fast.

Once satisfied, we washed up and finished our shower. He stepped out first and handed me a towel.

I dried off thoroughly, but only softly patted around my middle, unsure of how careful I should be. Seeing this, he reached out and cupped my little belly again, perhaps seeing if it felt different after drying off and swelling a bit more. He really couldn't keep his hands off me, enraptured by the miraculousness of my growing pregnancy.

Tenderly, I moved his hand away, smiling sweetly at him. "C'mon, let's get dressed. You can feel more later."

//////////

We talked as we got dressed. I was debating whether to wear my normal clothes or choose something a bit more loose.

"So, what do you want us doing today, honey?" He asked me.

"We're going to the theater," I told him, hoisting a pair of spandex shorts up around my hips. I liked how the stretchy material cradled my growing bump and complimented my backside. "We wanted to a see a new movie, right?

"A movie?" He said, looking me up and down. "Are you sure...?"

"Yes, don't worry," I reassured him. "I let you know if anything's up...and we'll be right next to each other the whole time."

He seemed okay with that. I smiled, standing up on my toes to kiss his cheek. We finished getting ready and headed out the door.

//////////

Our car was in the shop, so the bus was our only option to get there. It wasn't overly crowded, but most of the seats were taken. After we got on, I approached a man sitting and used my condition to my advantage.

"Ahem," I said, putting a hand on my middle and smoothing out my t-shirt to make the bump more obvious. "May I have this seat?"

"Oh, ah- yeah, of course," The man replied, a bit flustered. He stood up and hurried to a different spot.

I turned and winked at my partner before taking the seat, and he smirked back at me. He approached, standing over me protectively as we rode along. Throughout the whole trip, I noticed him frequently glancing at my belly, almost obsessively. It was cute.

Fifteen minutes later, we arrived outside the theater. He took my hand and helped me up from my seat. I made a small noise, unaccustomed to the new weight sitting on me. It had been over two and a half hours since I took the pill, so I was well into my "second trimester" now. My shirt was already starting to ride up a bit over the curve of my bump. He reached over and adjusted it before giving my belly a light pat. I wrapped my arm around him and pulled him in close as we walked over to the theater.

We got our tickets and headed over to the snack counter. He only ordered a small popcorn, then prompted me to order.

"I'll take a large popcorn, one candy bar and a slushy," I said. As the worker turned to grab my items, my partner turned and chuckled at me.

"You never order that much popcorn," he mused. "And I don't think I've ever seen you drink a slushy..."

"I guess the baby wants it," I told him, rubbing my belly in a wide circle. I let my hand cradle the underside of it as we waited for our order- yes, it had an underside now. I took pride in how quickly my body was growing to accommodate the new life.

The auditorium was a bit crowded, which was unfortunate, because I knew we both had been secretly hoping for a little alone time in the dark. We went and took our seats, and I was immediately grateful to be off my feet for a bit. I had to readjust my shirt again as we sat; my growing belly was filling it out more and more, and the fabric was even feeling tighter on my chest.

As the opening credits rolled, we sat and ate our popcorn. I was ravenous, which was to be expected. We both finished our bags at the same time, even though mine was two sizes larger.

We tried to keep our attention on the movie, but we were reasonably distracted. I could sense him still stealing glances at me ever so often, perhaps making sure I was doing all right, or to monitor my growth. Whatever change he was seeing, I was certainly feeling it. The more packed my womb became, filling my belly out into my lap, the more hints of movement I felt within. Little ripples of kicks that tickled my insides as the baby grew...it was an odd sensation, but I welcomed it. About halfway into the film, I raised my hand up to my stomach after a particularly strong kick, and I'm sure he noticed.

After glancing over again, he slyly reached his hand over into my seat, his fingers finding my bump. He rested his hand there, trying to see if he'd feel something. I smiled and quietly raised my shirt for him, allowing access to my bare skin. He rubbed softly, and I exhaled deeply, leaning back and trying my best to stifle any sounds of contentment. He was able to spread his fingers out more now, really measuring how big I'd grown in a short time. After a while, his hand drifted off my belly and onto my thigh. I tried once more to pull my shirt back down, except this time it couldn't stretch all the way.

By the end of the movie, I was feeling big and full. My gravid belly rested heavily on me, and my breasts had definitely plumped up a bit. The auditorium lights came on, and he stood up first so that he could help me. He got in front of me, and by the way he stared at me and licked his lips, I could tell he liked what he saw. As he grabbed my hands and pulled me up, I grunted a bit, not used to the change in my center of gravity. I leaned some of my weight on him, and he grasped my waist.

"Mmh...I've gotten a lot bigger," I told him softly, looking up into his eyes.

"You have," he said, voice low and heavy. "Our baby's really growing."

As we exited the theater, I noticed the first pangs of tension in my belly. It wasn't much yet, but I definitely felt it. Our six hours were almost up.

"Let's go home," I said to him, holding onto his hand. He nodded.

//////////

The bus on the ride home was much more crowded. People were packed in like sardines, and there was no way either of us would be able to get a seat. I held onto an handle overhead, and he stood right behind me, holding onto my hips- purely for balance, of course.

"How much time do you think we'll have when we get home?" He asked me, whispering into my ear so that the people around us wouldn't hear. The warmth of his breath on the back of my neck made me feel tingly.

"Hm...probably a little while," I said, stroking my belly thoughtfully. Though, I wasn't sure if that was the truth. As the bus rounded its next turn, I felt what was undeniably another contraction. It hit harder, now, but wasn't that painful- just tight. I wondered if he could feel my muscles tensing against him.

He slid his hands forward to cup my gravid swell, pushing my shirt up a bit more. I blushed, glancing around to see if anyone was watching. He gently lifted up on my belly, taking the weight into his hands, and I hummed with relief.

"That feels wonderful," I told him breathily.

"Figured you could use a break," he chuckled softly. He held it there for a minute before slowly releasing and returning his hands to my hips. "How are you feeling?"

"Mmh...you know, I think I like being pregnant..." I said. I felt him getting hard against me...obviously he enjoyed hearing that, so I embellished. I tilted my hips back and circled them against him, using what little room we had to tease his hard-on with my backside. "I feel so full and heavy, so...mmggh..."

I trailed off as another contraction gripped me. He leaned in and kissed my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

"Next stop's ours," he said. "Let's make our way to the exit."

//////////

I endured a couple more contractions by the time we got inside, but I didn't make it known, except maybe for a couple little grunts. I didn't want him to worry, and the cramps weren't horribly intense. Still, I knew my baby was ready. It was sitting low and heavy on me, settling down toward its exit.

We were barely in the door before he was on me, kissing and hugging. I welcomed it, knowing how romantic we were both feeling about the situation. I grabbed him and pulled him as close as I could while we made out, pressing my belly into his abdomen. He wrapped one arm around my back and squeezed my ass with the opposite hand.

"Mmph!" I chirped, jolting at the sensation of his fingers digging into my doughy flesh. "Mmh...you like the new body, huh?"

"I love it," He said immediately, breathing heavy as he placed kisses all over my face in rapid succession. "I can't believe...you're growing our baby so fast. You're like a goddess."

I bit at my lip and ran one of my hands through his hair. I adored the compliments, knowing this rapid pregnancy captivated him. As I kissed my man again, he guided us toward the couch, the nearest soft surface to lay on. The baby stirred in my belly, alerted by what was going on outside. The movement was followed by another contraction, and I dug my nails into my partner's back, but he just seemed to take it as a gesture of passion.

I pulled away reluctantly, stopping before he could bring me down onto the couch. I knew we didn't have much time.

"Let me use the bathroom quick," I told him. "Then meet me in the bedroom."

His eyes widened a bit as he nodded. He released me and headed toward our bedroom.

I waddled my way into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. Before sitting, I stopped to look in the mirror. It was the first time I was able to see my newly pregnant body in full.

"Wow..." I whispered to myself, taking in the changes. My belly was perfectly round, and sat low on widened hips. It was a good thing I'd chosen the spandex shorts. I turned back and forth, seeing how my ass had filled out, how my breasts strained against my top. I rubbed my hands all over my belly, feeling the weight, the warmth of it. I moved my palms up and cradled my breasts, noticing how they'd gotten heavier, filled with milk. Suddenly I was feeling quite hot and heavy.

The tightening of another contraction brought me out of the fixation. When the pressure subsided, I sat down to relieve myself, not wanting my partner to wait any longer. However, when I was done, I felt a sense of release that was unfamiliar. I looked down in the bowl, noticing a trickle of cloudy fluid.

My water had broken. The baby was coming fast.

I finished my business quickly and washed up. I could really feel the downward pressure now. The contractions were nearly overlapping, and I was sure the baby would soon drop into the birth canal, if it hadn't already. By normal accounts, I should've been in blistering pain...but this wasn't quite a normal pregnancy.

Clutching my belly, I went over into the bedroom, where my partner was laying a towel on the bed. He'd also half-closed the blinds and lit a candle.

"Hmm, quite the setup here..." I said to him, smiling.

He smirked back at me. "Figured it might help you relax."

I gestured to the plush chair that sat in the corner of the room. "Why don't you take a seat?"

He took the offer, sitting himself down smoothly, then looked up at me as I approached. I could see the desire in his eyes as they took me in. He licked his lips, trying to moisten them, though I'm sure his mouth was quite dry.

I came right over and slowly lowered myself onto his lap, straddling him. I gently grabbed his face, and he put his hands on my waist. "I love you," I said.

"I love you too," he replied, trying to pull me in a bit closer. He noticed me tense up and rubbed my sides. "You all right?"

"Yeah, just tight," I breathed, trying to stay casual through the contractions. "Let's have some fun before this baby comes."

We began to kiss, and I pulled his head up to mine as he pulled my torso down to his. It was deep, intimate, and thick with passion. We'd both been waiting so long for this.

He kept his arms wrapped around me, one hand on my back and the other down at my hips, squeezing my ass periodically as we made out. Every time I felt the vice of a contraction, I bit his lower lip and grinded my hips into him. My bulging belly was pressed against him, and I'm certain he could feel the muscles tightening.

"That pill is the best idea we've had," he panted between kisses. "I can't wait...to be parents."

"I know," I gasped. "It's...mggghh...gonna be amazing."

He removed his hand from my backside and brought it up to my breast. I leaned back a bit to let him squeeze, and he did. I moaned as I felt a surge of pleasure.

He flicked at the nipple through my shirt and grunted. "Mggh, babe...your milk's come in."

"Fuck," I blurted, insides tingling at the thought. I sat up and glanced down. Where his hand had squeezed me, there was a bit of a damp spot on my top. "Well, don't be shy...nggh- give it a taste."

He helped me straighten up, and immediately grabbed the lower hem of my t-shirt. I raised my arms so he could pull it over my head. Once he had, I yanked my arms out and tossed the garment on the floor. His eyes widened as he saw my engorged breasts, now out in the air, with small creamy droplets on the areola.

Before he could even react properly, I was basically thrusting my left tit toward his mouth. He grabbed hold of me to steady himself, then took my breast in his mouth and began to suck greedily.

"Ooooh," I moaned, quivering from the immediate shockwaves of pleasure. Being so full of life and laden with hormones, everything felt more intense, and so sensitive. I bit my lip and tucked my chin, resting it on the top of his head as he drank from me.

Another feeling was building through the pleasure, growing stronger with each contraction. The baby was moving down lower, and I wanted to start pushing. Well, my body wanted to. In my head I wanted to stay like this forever, but my baby was ready to come out. And in this position, legs spread and mounted on my partner, it was very hard not to resist.

As my man switched to suck on my other breast, I allowed myself to bear down a little bit at a time. Something I hadn't expected was that the relief of giving in to my instincts was very sexually satisfying.

"Oooh, fuck, fuck..." I groaned.

My partner unlatched. "Mmh- is that too much?"

"No, keep- keep going," I told him, fighting with my body through a contraction. "Ghh- r-rub my belly."

He did as he was told, putting both hands on the sides of my belly and rubbing in circles. The skin there was sensitive too, stretched so tight.

"Oooh, that feels good," I cooed. "I- mmhh- oooohhhh...!"

I was bearing down again. I could feel the baby inching down, the head right up against its exit now. My pussy was hot, wet, throbbing. I couldn't find the words to tell my man what was happening, my brain becoming fried from the mix of sensations.

"You're so hot like this," he breathed. "The belly is so sexy..."

"MmmmmhhhIloveyou," I moaned, collapsing forward and draping myself over him. I gripped the back of the chair and pushed some more- it felt too good not to. My lower lips were bulging out now, the head of my baby splitting them open.  I felt the fabric of my shorts and underwear grow tighter around my crotch.

I was too pressed against his chest for him to reach my belly now, so he wrapped his arms around and started rubbing my back instead. The naked skin there was becoming slick with sweat.

He pressed his head against mine, which was buried in his shoulder. "We should think of names," he whispered. "I was thinking...something like Jamie, or Julia for a girl..."

"Nggh," I uttered. I pressed my arms into the couch and sat myself up a bit, so I was face-to-face with him again. The crown between my legs was getting bigger, pressing into my clothes. "...Mhh- I like it, but...let's talk about that later. More kissing now."

I started to make out with him again, but I knew that he could tell something was off. My resolve was wearing thin, my breath getting shakier, my kisses weaker and sloppier. He could feel how much I was straining, so after only a few kisses, he pulled his head away.

"Honey...are you pushing?" he asked me.

I shut my eyes and pressed my forehead into his with a sigh. "A little..."

He took one hand off my back and moved it between my legs. I shuddered when his fingers grazed my inner thigh, then groaned in distress when they found the lump forming in my shorts.

"It's starting to come out," he said, trying to hold back the shock and wonder in his voice.

I simply nodded, our foreheads rubbing together. He felt me tense as my muscles contracted again.

"...Do you want me to...?" he started, unsure.

"P-push it back a little," I grunted. "I'm...not ready to have it yet."

Carefully, he pressed his palm against the bulge. The baby's head receded back inside me.

A gurgling sound escaped me, and I gritted my teeth. There was definitely pain now, and it was searing. My body screamed at me for allowing such a thing... but through the burn, it still felt...good. It was indescribable.

After some gentle pushing, the head was fully back in me, my labia closed around it. But surely this wouldn't last long. I sat up again, gasping for air and staring at my partner with expectant eyes.

"Let's get you over to the bed now," he suggested. I agreed with a nod.

Knowing I wouldn't want to try and stand, he hugged his arms around me and held tight. As he leaned forward, I did my best to wrap my legs around his waist so I could hold on. With some effort, he stood up, carrying me the few feet to the bed like a koala. I was a bit surprised at his strength, but perhaps it was adrenaline at work.

We clambered up onto the bed and he lay me down on my back, my lower half resting on the towel he'd put out. I groaned as I settled onto the mattress, gripping my heaving belly with both hands. There was so much pressure now, but I tried my best to stop pushing.

He placed himself beside me on the bed, lying on his side. He stroked the top of my head with one hand, wiping strands of hair from my grimacing face. "Just breathe...you're doing great."

I took a deep breath before looking over at him. "Hooooo...well, come on...mmh- where were we...?"

He seemed to hesitate briefly, out of concern, but we both knew what we wanted. He leaned over and kissed me, softly yet deeply. He used one hand to caress my bare belly, and I hummed in contentment.

"It feels nice...hooo- when you rub it," I breathed. A strong contraction hit, and my body clenched. His hand held firmly onto my belly, as if tensing along with me. Feeling the urge to bear down again, I pressed my thighs together, crossing my legs at the ankles. "Mmph! Ooohhh...."

As I strained, he moved his kisses down to my neck, then my collarbone. The touch of his lips caused my skin to prickle and my breath to quiver. All the while, he kept on rubbing my tight belly in big circles.

His mouth found its way down to my breast again and began to kiss and suckle. He nibbled on my teat, and spurts of milk sprang forth. My breath caught in my throat, my back arching slightly.

"F-fuck," I gasped. The sensations were all becoming too much. I was awash in pressure, pain, lust, ecstasy. I desperately needed to give in to my body's desire to birth this baby.

My partner began to climb more on top of me, and moved his kisses lower still. He put one knee between my legs, and I was forced to spread them apart again. He started planting kisses on my belly, as his hands moved up to continue stimulating my chest. He grabbed one breast in each hand and squeezed rhythmically while his lips grazed my gravid swell. It felt incredible.

As he continued this, he lifted his other leg and put it between mine. Now I had no choice- I spread my legs wide, and put my knees up. The urge to push quickly strengthened, until it was impossible to resist.

I moaned and arched again, thrusting my belly more into his face. "Nngguuhh...p-pushing...pushinggg!"

He removed his hands from my breasts, sensually stroking down the sides of my belly, as if to soothe me and the baby. His hands were slick with sweat and milk, gliding smoothly over my sensitive skin. He continued to kiss down the middle of my belly as I pushed.

"I can feel it moving down," he told me, as his face became hidden behind my pregnant mound. I wasn't sure if that was true, if he could actually feel the mass descending through me, but it turned me on either way.

With each passing moment, the pressure increased, and the baby came closer to being born. I felt it crowning again, my crotch burning. I gripped the bedsheets in my fists, huffing and puffing from the exertion. "Hooo...hooo...hooo..."

He just kept kissing me, feeling me up, like he was worshipping me. His lips danced around my belly button, making me squirm. It was all so sensitive!

I tucked my chin and curled my body a bit, my face scrunching as I gave my hardest push yet. The head between my legs was quickly nearing a full crown, tenting out my stretchy shorts profusely.

My partner kept kissing down past the curve of my belly, past my pelvis, crouching more between my legs. He saw the growing bulge of our baby's head under the strained and dampened spandex, and gently put his hand on it, caressing it with his thumb. After a moment, he leaned in and lightly kissed it, before looking back up at me.

"Are you ready now?" He asked softly.

I nodded feverishly, grunting and whimpering, already reaching down to grab the hem of my shorts. "Mmh- need it out!"

He sat himself up and helped me pull my shorts and underwear down. It took some effort, with us both being drenched in sweat. At last, he wrangled them past my knees. I gave in to another push as he yanked them off and cast them aside. The head came fully out, along with a spurt of fluid. I gasped and my thighs shook.

"There you go, nice and easy, babe." My partner said. He took one hand and cradled the head hanging out of me. Then, he took the other one and put it above, where his thumb quickly found my clit.

I breathed in sharply, my body spasming. The sensation was unlike anything I'd felt before, an electric, paralyzing pleasure. After so much stimulation, I was already worked up, and I felt like this would put me to the edge...

"Push, honey," my man coaxed.

I bore down as he continued to rub my clit, moaning as my baby's shoulders stretched me. "Fuck...oh, fuck!"

"That's it, it's coming!"

"I'm- I'm..." I sputtered. It was too much. The stimulation, my partner's voice, the baby stretching me. "...I'm c- cuh- MMGGGAAAHH!"

The baby pushed past its widest point as I came. In a flash, it slid out and into my man's awaiting hands. He quickly scooped it up, and I collapsed, completely spent.

I lay back, body shaking, as sweat evaporated off me and caused goosebumps to pop up across my body. I gasped for breath, chest heaving, tits leaking. My hair was matted, my jaw slack. Once the shock of the orgasm tapered off a bit, I looked up.

My partner was still between my legs, holding our newborn baby as it began to cry. "You did it...it's a girl," he said.

Tears of joy welled in my eyes. I reached my arms out and took my daughter into them, bringing her close to me.

Just like that, from one pill and less than a day, I'd brought a new life into the world.

//////////

The End

[pushyryss]

[pushyryss]

Survival of the Concubines (Commissioned!)

Hello Bunnies! 👋🏻🐰🥰 I am both scared and excited to share this commissioned story courtesy of my wonderful Vault member, Zen221. 

The concept is totally theirs, and I thought it was exciting. I am, however, encouraging you to read through the warnings before diving into the story itself, as it is more intense than what I normally write. 

And if you're wanting to have a story custom written for you, my commissions are open! Check out details on this page 😍 

Word Count: 11,743 words

Summary: Two concubines endure a brutal contest of heavy manual labor, racing to give birth and claim the crown as Queen.

Author’s Notes/Warnings: MDNI. 18+ only. Contains explicit adult content featuring heavily pregnant women undergoing forced labor and servitude as a brutal challenge, graphic and prolonged childbirth with detailed labor and birth trauma, sexual acts intertwined with childbirth and physical exertion, power dynamics involving dominance and worship of pregnant bodies, multiple births, and intense physical and emotional strain. Includes strong language, bodily fluids, and graphic medical descriptions. Not suitable for minors or sensitive readers. Reader discretion strongly advised.

The castle grounds groaned beneath the weight of winter's thaw, mud sucking at boots and wheelbarrows alike, but inside the stone walls, the air was thick with a different kind of tension. The King's concubines, Mila and Anselma, moved through the courtyard just after dawn, the swell of their eight-month bellies outlined beneath woolen cloaks. Their breath fogged the morning chill as they trudged toward the butcher's shed, escorted by two silent guards and a kitchen servant who offered no help beyond unlocking the heavy iron latch.

The deer had already been strung up by the hunting party, its carcass still steaming in the cold. A wild-eyed doe this time, probably pregnant herself, though the entrails had been cleared out to spare sensibilities. Mila stepped forward first, gripping the hilt of the curved flensing knife with both hands. Her fingers were stiff from the cold, her belly tightening subtly beneath her layered skirts. Anselma waited in silence, her own expression unreadable, save for the twitch of discomfort in her jaw each time she shifted her weight.

It was the King’s decree that they share the work equally. Not just the butchering, but the cooking, the cleaning, the hauling of firewood and buckets of cold well water up the winding stairs of the servants' wing. No tasks were to be delegated, not even the lifting of the iron pots or the lighting of the hearths. Two meals daily for over two hundred mouths, not counting their own. Every dawn, every dusk.

The challenge was unspoken in its cruelty. Neither woman had been trained for such labor. They had been chosen for their beauty, their wombs, their docility. But now, under the weight of royal grief and desperation, they were being tested not for grace or wit, but for endurance, and for the promise of a live heir.

Their bellies were low, heavy with the King's children. Rumors whispered through the corridors that Mila carried twins, that Anselma had already begun to leak milk, that the King watched them more closely now than he had even watched his late wife in her final days. That he wanted them to break, and that he wanted one of them to prevail.

By the time the sun crested above the tower, the courtyard stank of blood and woodsmoke. Mila leaned on the stone well, catching her breath between trips with the water buckets, her skirts soaked at the hem, her back arched against the pull of her womb. Anselma was splitting kindling near the kitchens, her face flushed, her hands raw beneath fingerless gloves. Neither spoke. They worked. The first to falter might still birth the King's child, but the Queen would be the one who didn’t fall first.

And neither intended to fall.

*** FLASHBACK ***

The chamber had smelled of crushed thyme and blood for nearly a day. Servants moved in silence, their heads low, their aprons soaked through from washing linens that never stayed clean. The Queen had been pushing since the night before, her voice gone to gravel by the time the sun rose.

"Push again, Your Grace," the head midwife murmured, kneeling between her trembling thighs.

"You must bear down now. He's almost there."

The Queen groaned, her breath hitching as she bore down with what little strength she had left.

"Haaah... hoo... hoo... ooooohhhh..."

"That's it, my lady," another midwife whispered, her hands trembling as she held fresh cloths near the Queen's hips. "Just like that."

The King stood at the foot of the bed now, not seated, his hands clasped behind his back. His face was a mask, unmoving as he watched his wife's sweat-slick body heave.

"It's been too long," one of the younger midwives murmured under her breath, too soft for the King to hear. "The babe is too large."

The Queen's belly was massive, her navel stretched flat, her chemise soaked through and clinging to every curve of her laboring body. She cried out again, her voice cracking. "I can't... oooooh gods, please..." she sobbed, tears streaking her flushed cheeks.

"You must," the head midwife urged, her voice tight. "He's right there. The crown is visible."

Another push. Another gush of thick fluid. The Queen screamed, the sound fading into a high-pitched moan. Her thighs trembled. "He's stuck... gods, he's stuck..."

The midwife pressed a hand firmly to her belly. "Breathe, Your Grace. Hoo... hoo... haaa... Now push."

The Queen bore down, her face twisted in pain. "Hnnnnngh!"

The baby's head inched forward again, wet and broad, straining the Queen's flesh beyond what seemed possible. One of the assistants sobbed silently in the corner. The King did not move.

"So close now," the head midwife said, her voice cracking. "One more, my lady. Push for me."

The Queen arched her back, her fingers clawing at the bedding. "Ooooh... aaaaah... hoo hoo hoooo..."

With a final, guttural scream, the massive head slid free. The Queen sagged back, panting heavily, her eyes fluttering.

"Shoulders next," said the midwife, lifting the heavy head with both hands. "Push again."

"I can't," the Queen whispered. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her lips were pale.

"You must," the King said, his voice low but clear.

Tears slipped from the Queen's lashes. She inhaled and bore down again, weakly. One shoulder emerged, then the next. The baby spilled out in a heavy rush of fluid, thick and silent.

He was enormous. Covered in vernix and tinged blue, his arms pressed tightly to his sides.

He did not cry.

The Queen turned her head, just slightly. Her gaze drifted to the ceiling. Her lips moved, but no sound came.

The midwife rubbed the baby's back, hard. He wheezed. A wet breath. Then another. No cry.

The Queen's eyes fluttered open. She saw nothing.

Her chest did not rise again.

The King stepped forward and looked down at her still face. Her eyes stared past him, wide and empty. He looked once at the baby, then turned without a word.

Within days, his advisors approached him and urged the selection of a new queen. They reminded him that the realm required stability and heirs, and suggested he choose between the concubines.

One carried wide, the other low. Both were strong in body, obedient in manner, and fertile. Either, they said, could give him a living child.

The King listened, but he did not decide in haste. He would not crown a woman merely for surviving him or pleasing the court. He needed to be sure, not only of her loyalty, but of her endurance, her strength, her ability to carry and deliver his heir.

So he devised a contest. Not of courtly games or beauty or refinement, but of labor. Of fortitude. Of suffering. Whichever woman worked hardest, endured longest, birthed first, and delivered a living child would be named Queen. If the child lived beyond its first night, her crown would be secure.

He would not name another Queen only to bury her.

*** END OF FLASHBACK ***

The sky over the eastern towers burned soft with early light, pink mist curling around the parapets as the castle stirred to life. The kitchens came alive with the thump of boots, the rasp of iron pots against stone, the low murmur of servants hauling sacks of barley and bundles of winter carrots into the warmth. Mila stood by the hearth, both hands gripping the handle of a cleaver, her wrists trembling from strain. The deer was nearly skinned, its belly split and ribs cracked. Her apron was dark with blood, the linen stretched tight across the fullness of her belly.

Behind her, Anselma moved quietly through the larder, arms full of cabbages and hard cheeses, her steps slower than they had been the day before. Her lower back ached with every movement. She could feel the heaviness deep in her hips now, the baby sinking lower each night. But there was no time to speak of it, no time to stop. Not while the fires needed stoking and the oat porridge needed stirring, not while the King’s staff waited for meat and bread and eggs and hot broth before the sun had fully risen.

By midmorning, they were hauling water. The well lay at the edge of the courtyard, too far from the kitchens, and the path was thick with frozen mud. The buckets were wide-bellied, iron-lipped, and even when filled only halfway, they pulled at their shoulders and spines like stones tied to rope. Mila leaned into her gait, her cloak thrown back, sweat trickling between her breasts despite the cold. Her belly swayed with each step, and with it came the pressure low in her pelvis, the muscles in her thighs twitching against the strain.

Anselma followed behind, her hands chapped red from the chill of the iron, her breath shallow. She paused halfway through the second trip, setting the bucket down to stretch her back. One hand rested on the underside of her belly. Her eyes closed. Just for a moment. A twinge low and tight, like a band cinching around her hips. It faded slowly. Then came again.

From the tower above, the King watched. He stood behind the high glass panes of the solar, his hands clasped loosely behind his back, his brow furrowed in stillness. The steward at his side shifted his weight once, cleared his throat, then said nothing. Below, the concubines moved like draft beasts, their steps careful, their faces set. The King’s eyes followed their movements with the same calculation he gave to military formations and crop tallies. He said nothing of the way Anselma now walked with her knees slightly bent, or how Mila braced one hand on her lower back with every turn.

“They have not faltered,” the steward said quietly. “Not yet.”

The King nodded. “But soon.”

In the kitchens, the firewood had run low. Mila returned with a bundle across her shoulders, her thighs slick with sweat beneath her petticoats. She knelt to stack the logs by the oven, but her knees buckled and she had to catch herself against the stones. She gritted her teeth and shifted slowly, lowering herself to the ground to unload the weight. When she stood again, she did so in silence, though her face had paled, and her shift clung to the swell of her stomach, damp from the strain.

Anselma entered moments later, her hands empty. Her sleeves were wet, and her boots caked in filth. She saw Mila by the fire, saw the slight tremble in her stance, and paused. For a moment, there was no noise but the hiss of the hearth and the bubbling of the broth.

“You’re pushing too hard,” Anselma said finally, her voice low.

“We both are,” Mila replied without looking at her. “That’s the point.”

Anselma exhaled slowly, resting her hand against the table. Her belly brushed the edge, firm and high. “Have you started to feel it?”

Mila nodded. “This morning. Backache. Pressure.”

“I started leaking last night,” Anselma murmured. “I didn’t sleep.”

There was a long silence between them. Outside, a bell rang to signal the noon meal. The castle stirred again.

“We can’t stop,” Mila said softly.

“I know.”

They moved again, side by side now, ladling broth into trencher bowls, slicing bread, checking the venison stew for salt. The heat of the kitchen pressed around them like a weight. Beneath their gowns, their bellies tightened again and again, slow waves rising without rhythm. Their breaths came heavier, though no one remarked on it. No one dared.

By nightfall, the hall had quieted. The staff fed and dismissed, the hearths banked, the corridors dimmed to candlelight. Mila sat on the stone bench near the well, her boots muddy, her cloak draped over her lap. She felt a rush of fluid between her thighs, barely noticeable at first, not enough to alarm but unmistakably real, enough to make her clench and draw her cloak tighter. She looked up at the stars.

Inside, Anselma leaned over the kitchen basin, her hands resting on either side. Her breasts ached. Her nipples had soaked through the linen, the dampness clinging cold against her chest. Her belly had dropped, the fullness hanging lower than it had in days. Each time she stepped forward, she felt the baby press hard into her pelvis.

The King still watched. From his chamber now, firelight flickering across the stone walls. He said nothing to the steward when he entered. He only poured another cup of wine and turned back toward the window.

Below, his concubines were still working. One of them would be Queen. The other would break.

And both of them knew it.

The morning came with a biting wind, cold enough to burn skin through wool, but both Mila and Anselma were already up before the bells, their bodies aching, bellies stretched to their limits, and breath visible in the frigid dawn.

"It’s colder than yesterday," Mila muttered as she wrapped her shawl tighter, glancing toward the well and the line of buckets waiting for them. Her voice was steady but edged with exhaustion.

Anselma, jaw clenched against the sharp pain in her hips, gave a terse nod. "My joints feel like iron, and this baby’s sitting so low now, it’s like grinding against my bones with every step."

The scent of boiled oats and marrowbones drifted faintly through the lower halls as the castle stirred awake, but outside, in the open stone courtyard, there was only silence and the thud of their boots. Their bellies had fully dropped in the night, taut and round, the kind of heavy that no longer just tugged at the back but pulled the whole frame downward, dragging hips wide and spines into a permanent curve. Each step became a trudge, their gaits broadened into swaying efforts, hands braced on aching lower backs.

They moved slowly toward the well, the buckets swinging low in their raw hands.

"Don’t spill it," Mila said through gritted teeth as she adjusted her grip. "My arms are shaking already."

"I’m not sure what’s leaking more," Anselma replied, breath catching. "The bucket or my thighs."

Mila glanced at her legs. "They’re soaked."

"I know. I think my waters are starting to go. Not breaking yet, but something’s seeping through."

By the second trip, fluid trickled openly down Anselma’s legs with every careful step. Her breathing grew sharper, moans escaping with each movement. She whispered to herself under her breath with every contraction, trying to keep rhythm in her pacing. "Just keep moving. Let it come. Bring it down."

In the kitchen, the warmth from the hearth was suffocating. Mila bent over the roasting spits, her belly pushing her body into a deeper curve as she tried to turn the meat.

"Ooooh... gods... the pressure—" she groaned, the jolt of pain cutting through her like a blade. She froze there, both hands braced against the brick.

Anselma stood behind her, arms full of cabbages. "You alright?"

"It’s pinching. Deep inside. It’s stretching already."

Sweat clung to the back of her neck. Her breasts, swollen and sore, had soaked her shift again. She moved stiffly, reaching for the bread pans, every breath short.

"It’s moving," Anselma said suddenly, dropping the bundle harder than she meant. "Something’s shifted."

"You sure?"

"It’s pressing low. Like I can feel it trying to slide down with every step."

"Same," Mila said, placing her palm across the underside of her belly. "Mine’s grinding lower every time I bend. We’ll see who the gods favor."

At midday, as the stew thickened on the hearth and the weight of heat pressed down across the kitchen like a second labor, the heavy door creaked open and the castle steward stepped inside. He walked with the poise of someone who had never lifted a pail or stirred a pot, and certainly never labored through pain that split the body from within. His eyes swept across the room with familiar detachment as Mila rose slowly from the hearth, her belly trembling with aftershocks of a contraction that had just begun to ease.

"His Majesty has made the terms clear," the steward began, his voice even and devoid of any emotion. "By sundown tomorrow, one of you will have given birth to a living child. That child must cry, must breathe, and must be shown to the King. You, the mother, must still be alive at sunrise. You must nurse the infant with your own milk, walk unaided into the solar, and stand before the throne without trembling. Only then will the crown be passed."

Anselma, still hunched over the chopping block, grunted as she straightened with effort. "And if we fall before the sun rises? If the child cries but we cannot?"

"Then the line is not secure," the steward said, and for the first time, there was the faintest edge of finality in his voice, as if he were reciting the end of a prayer he did not believe. "Then neither of you is worthy of the crown."

He didn’t wait for a reply. No gesture, no pause, no hint of sympathy. The scent of boiled meat and scorched fat clung to the folds of his cloak as he left, the heavy door dragging shut behind him with a dull, absolute thud that echoed between the stone walls.

Mila shifted where she stood, her back arched in pain, her lips tight with the pressure building in her pelvis. "He didn’t even look at us," she said, voice hoarse. "Like we’re livestock he’s wagering over."

Anselma's eyes didn’t lift from the chopping block. "We are." Anselma leaned over the chopping block. "He’s watching. From that damned window, I swear. Probably counting every time we grunt."

Mila let out a short, humorless laugh. "Let him count. He’ll get a good show."

By late afternoon, the toll was written across Anselma’s body. Her steps faltered. She stumbled hard, her knees catching against the stone as she collapsed beside the table.

"Hoooo... gods," she whimpered. "I can’t wait... it’s pushing... I feel it trying to come through!"

Mila moved quickly to her side. "Anselma, don’t push yet. You’re not ready. You’ll tear something."

"I don’t care!" Anselma shouted, her eyes wild with pain. "I need it out now. I can feel the head—it’s there!"

She gripped the edge of the table, screamed, and bore down with all her might. A gush of fluid spilled out around her boots.

"Ooooohhh... gods! Help me!"

Mila hesitated, watching as Anselma trembled, her back arching against the force of her contraction. She herself was panting, hands cradling her own belly as it knotted and twisted.

Anselma tried again, her voice raw. "It’s not moving... it’s stuck... nothing’s coming out!"

"Because you’re not dilated," Mila said through clenched teeth. "You’re forcing it. It’s too soon."

Anselma collapsed to her knees, her body folding with the weight of failure and frustration, her fingers clutching the stone floor, her sobs ragged and breathless. Mila turned to look at her, concern flickering across her face, but her own body seized before she could speak. She groaned low in her throat, bending at the waist, hands planted on her knees, her face twisting as the pressure surged through her belly.

"Uhhhhnngh... hooo... hoo hooo... it’s coming," Mila gritted out between clenched teeth, her voice raw. "Gods, I can feel it descending."

She straightened slowly and made her way stiffly to the hearth, every step wide and careful, each movement controlled against the tremble in her thighs. She leaned forward onto the edge of the hearth, her palms flat on the stone, her hips beginning to sway.

"Not yet," she murmured to herself through shallow breaths. "Not yet."

Another contraction rolled through her, long and punishing. She closed her eyes and parted her lips, her breath hissing out as her body bore down on its own, unbidden. The bulge at her core thickened and grew, the baby pressing downward, the weight immense and unrelenting.

"It’s massive," she gasped, her voice hoarse. "Gods, it’s so big... but I’m barely open. Just a slit. Just a teardrop’s width."

Behind her, Anselma whimpered softly, her body curled where it had crumpled, watching from the cold floor with wide, tear-streaked eyes.

"It’s right there," Mila continued, her voice sharper now, nearly a whisper but threaded with urgency.

"I can feel the roundness pressing into me. It’s going to tear me if I push too soon."

She widened her stance slowly, her knees straining. She felt her body soften just slightly, enough to start to part under the pressure.

"Hoo... hooo... let it come. Let it stretch me. Gently... gently now."

Another wave caught her mid-breath. She choked on it, her hands gripping the stone, her belly tightening so sharply she could feel it in her spine.

"One more... one more and maybe it’ll open enough," she panted, her voice shaking. "Just enough to

let it pass... gods... ahhhhhh!"

No footsteps echoed down the corridor, no sign of relief or presence from the outer halls. The doorway remained empty, untouched by servants or stewards. There was no midwife stepping through with clean cloths or firm hands, no gentle voice guiding her body through what it already knew how to do. The King had made no arrangements for comfort or support. He watched from the high window as though observing the turn of a game, not a birth.

Later that evening, the concubines were moved from the kitchens to their shared birthing chamber. The hearth in the corner burned high, casting golden light across the stone walls and warming the beds draped in thick linen. Servants moved quietly across the floor, boiling water, folding towels, arranging cloths and basins along the low tables. A midwife stood ready at the center of the room, flanked by a pair of female attendants with bloodied aprons and calm hands. A doctor leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

Anselma lay flat on her back on the nearest bed, her legs spread over the bolsters, her belly trembling with each breath. Her skin glistened with sweat and her face twisted with frustration.

"It’s there," she rasped, voice cracking. "It’s crowning... gods, it’s stuck."

The midwife crouched low, hands between Anselma’s legs. "Only halfway, my lady. The head’s firm but not through. You must breathe. Wait for the wave."

"No," Anselma snapped, lifting her hips. "I’m pushing now. I don’t care. I’m getting it out."

"Hnnnngh! Hoooo... haaa... gods!" She bore down hard, even as her body trembled from the effort. She kept pushing, even as the contraction faded, her back arching, her fists tangled in the sheets.

"Come on! Come out!"

Her lips parted in a gasp as she tried again. "Hnnnn... aaaaahh!"

The midwife’s voice stayed firm. "You’ll tire too soon. You’ll tear. Let the body lead."

But Anselma wasn’t listening. Her eyes were glazed, her breath shallow. Her thighs shook violently with each push, but the crown remained wedged at the edge of her entrance, bulging and unmoving.

Across the room, Mila paced barefoot on the warm stones. Her belly was low, full and pendulous, swaying with each step. Her breaths were shallow but rhythmic, her groans rising steadily.

"Hoooo... hoooo... gods, it’s coming... slowly... so slow..."

She paused at the far end of the room, bent over the back of a padded chair and rocked her hips in slow circles. "Haaah... hah... mmnghh... so heavy now. It’s stretching."

Her hands slipped beneath her gown, lifting it up to her thighs, then higher as she moved one hand to cup her breast, thumb and fingers finding her nipple and rolling it slowly, while the other hand slid lower, between her legs, slipping past her mound to press firm circles into her clit. Her eyes fluttered, lips parting with a soft gasp as she rocked her hips into her own touch, breath catching with every pulse of sensation.

The room stilled.

The midwife looked up. "My lady—"

Mila shushed her. "It helps. I need the pressure. I need to bring it down."

She kept rubbing. Her groans deepened. "Ahhh... that’s it... that’s it... come down, baby. I can feel you coming."

She pressed her fingers against her clit. Her hips jerked. "Gods... yes..."

From his chair near the fire, the King sat forward.

His voice was low. "You touch yourself so brazenly while you labor, Mila. Are you trying to tempt me?"

She looked over her shoulder at him, still circling her clit, breath hot and ragged. "I don’t care who watches. I need to feel it."

The King stood slowly, his eyes sweeping over the curve of Mila’s body, pausing on the taut swell of her belly, stretched and glistening in the firelight, so heavy and full it seemed to bow her spine. He watched the way it shifted with each breath, the weight of their child moving visibly inside her as she stroked herself, hand cupping her breast, fingers circling her clit with purpose. His gaze dropped to the slick shine between her thighs, then back to the arc of her back and the curve of her massive womb, mesmerized by the sheer fecundity of her. Her body was a shrine to his desire, swollen with his seed, teetering at the edge of release and birth, and every inch of her made him ache to possess her again.

He stepped forward.

"I should take you now," he murmured.

Mila’s hand stilled. "No. Not me. Not yet. Fuck Anselma. She needs it more. She’s stuck. Maybe if you take her, her body will loosen enough to open."

The King turned.

Anselma blinked up at him, dazed and panting. "Yes. Gods, yes. Use me. Make it come out. Please."

The midwife stepped back.

The King undressed calmly, cock already hard, heavy and flushed. He climbed onto the bed, took Anselma’s hips in both hands, and turned her over.

"Hands and knees," he said.

She obeyed slowly, moaning as she moved.

"Push for me. Feel it stretch."

He pressed the head of his cock against her puckered rim and pushed forward.

"Aaahh! Gods!"

"That’s it," he growled. "Let me in. Let your body give way."

He thrust hard into her ass, gripping her hips. Her moans turned wild, frantic. "Yes! Fuck me! Stretch me open!"

Mila continued touching herself, one hand firmly rubbing circles over her clit while the other cupped and squeezed her breast, rolling her nipple with fingers slick from sweat. Her thighs were slick with her own wetness, her cunt throbbing with need and pressure, her belly low and heavy between her legs as she moaned through the growing ache and heat inside her.

"Harder," Anselma gasped. "Deeper. Gods, I feel it moving!"

The King groaned, body slick with sweat. "You take me so well. You’re built to be fucked like this."

Anselma’s cries pitched higher, nearly breaking into sobs as her body shuddered beneath the King's relentless thrusts. Her belly quaked with each jolt, the taut skin trembling as the massive crown of her baby remained lodged at her entrance, gleaming with tension and unmoving. "Aaah! Gods! Yes! Keep going! I can feel it stretching!" she wailed, digging her fingers into the mattress, hips bucking back to meet his thrusts even as her limbs trembled. "Fuck me! Make it come out! I'm so full! So tight! Gods, it's stuck! Hnnnghh!"

Each cry bled into the next, raw and desperate. Her moans twisted into high-pitched gasps, her throat rasping with the effort. "It's right there! Gods, I can feel the ring burning! Don’t stop, don’t stop! Haaa—aaaah! Push with me—fuck—nnnghh, it’s too much!" Her back arched, the curve of her spine exaggerated by the weight of her laboring belly and the way his cock filled her, stretching her from behind while her baby held tight within her. Sweat streamed down her face as she gritted her teeth and screamed again, bearing down between thrusts. "Hnnnngghhh! Gods! I’m going to split open! Fuck me harder! I need it to move!"

The King thrust faster.

Mila cried out from across the room. "I’m coming! Gods, I’m—"

She shuddered violently, her orgasm ripping through her, clenching around nothing.

The King groaned low in his throat, the sound thick and primal as his cock pulsed inside Anselma’s ass, spilling deep, his body pressed tight against hers. He grunted with each final thrust, sharp breaths breaking through clenched teeth as his hips jerked forward, the slap of flesh echoing through the chamber.

"Fuck... yes... take it," he growled, the weight of his release flooding her. His breath came in heavy, unsteady waves, each exhale dragging a guttural rumble from his chest, his pelvis grinding against her backside even as he emptied himself fully. Even as his climax rippled through him, his cock remained firm, still buried deep, twitching against her stretched rim.

He withdrew slowly, dragging his slick length from her with a hiss of breath, savoring the wet heat around him, his shaft glistening, the shine of her body and his seed mixing down her thighs.

He turned toward Mila, his chest rising hard, voice thick with need. "You’re next. Stand for me."

"Your turn."

Mila didn’t answer. She walked to the wall and braced herself against it, hands flat, legs spread.

"Take me. Now."

He stepped behind her and guided his cock between her legs.

"You’re soaked," he groaned.

"I’ve been ready for hours. Just fuck me."

He thrust into her pussy in one smooth motion. Mila cried out, her belly pressed to the cold stone, the weight of her laboring womb trapped between her and the wall, taut and straining with each thrust as the motion pushed her deeper into the birth, the heat of her body radiating against the stone as she groaned under the pressure.

"The head’s moving," she gasped. "I can feel it slipping lower."

He fucked her harder, his hands braced at her hips.

"Your cunt’s milking me," he growled.

"“Fuck my ass. Finish in me. I want to feel it,” Mila gasped, her voice thick with strain and arousal as she leaned harder into the wall. The pressure inside her shifted suddenly, her belly tightening as the baby dropped lower, its head slipping into her pelvis with a startling weight that made her groan loud and raw.

“Oh gods... did you feel that?” she panted, cheek pressed to the stone, her hands splayed wide as her hips rolled involuntarily. “He’s moving... he dropped—he’s coming down. Pressing right into me.”

The King let out a low grunt, his cock twitching as her channel squeezed around him. His breath stuttered and he pressed harder against her, voice thick with lust. “I felt that. Your cunt just gripped me like it was pulling me in with him. He’s coming down right while I’m buried inside you. Gods, Mila, you’re so full... so fucking tight. You’re going to split with both of us inside you.”"

He pulled out and guided his cock up, pressing into her tight rim.

She moaned deep in her throat. "Yes... gods, yes..."

He fucked her harder, the sounds of skin and breath and groans thick in the chamber.

He kept thrusting, harder, rougher, his hands locked tight on her hips. Mila gasped for breath, her voice raw as the full weight of her belly pressed into the wall, every movement grinding the baby's head lower. The pressure shifted again—suddenly, deeply—as the baby dropped hard into her pelvis.

She cried out, her head falling forward. "Oh gods... I felt it... he's coming down... so low... pushing right through me."

The King groaned, his breath harsh in her ear. "I feel him. I feel your cunt stretching around him. Fuck, he's forcing me deeper."

He grunted with each stroke, the sounds raw and thick with strain. Mila moaned louder, her thighs trembling as her pussy clenched.

"Don't stop... gods, don't stop. You're pushing him down with every thrust... I need it... I want to feel him tear me open."

The crown began to stretch her wide. Her lips bloomed slowly around the pressure, her breath quickening with every inch. His cock pulsed deep inside her.

Then he came, finally, roaring against her neck as he emptied hot inside her, the force of it jolting her forward. Her belly slammed into the wall, and the baby surged again, the head shifting against her inner rim.

Mila sobbed. "He’s right there... gods, he’s stretching me open..."

The King moaned, his voice broken. "You’re splitting around us both. Let him come. I want to feel it." But Mila shook her head and tells him, “It’s alright, my King pull out…” He does as he is told. 

Their breath tangled, soaked in heat and sound, as the birth began in earnest.

Anselma was now flat on her back, her body trembling against the linen-draped mattress, her legs up and spread wide over the bolsters. Her belly rose and fell with each shallow breath, sweat pouring from her brow, her fingers gripping the sheets as she screamed through each wave.

"Hnnnghhh! Haa! Gods, he’s so huge! He’s right there! Aaaaah!" Her voice cracked and rose again, thick with effort and panic. She panted between pushes, gasping raggedly, then bore down again with a guttural cry. "Come out! Push through me! I’m opening! Hnnnnnnnggh!" The massive crown of her baby bulged at the edge of her straining pussy, the skin swollen and stretched, but still refusing to budge.

Mila, slick with sweat and breathless, steadied herself with one hand against the wall. Her belly hung low and heavy, pulling her forward with each step as she waddled slowly toward her bed, hips swaying, legs bowed wide. Her moans came in short bursts, soft and broken, each step pulling another contraction through her middle. She lowered herself onto the mattress with care, body shaking as she settled back.

"Go to her, Your Majesty, she needs more than just your cock right now," Mila panted, voice rough from groaning, her gaze locked on him through the haze of contractions. "Get your mouth on her tits. Rub that massive belly of hers. Talk to her while she pushes. She’s holding him in and she needs you to pull it out of her."

The King crossed the chamber and moved to Anselma’s bedside without hesitation. He knelt at her side, his hands sweeping over her belly in slow, possessive circles. "So round. So heavy. Look at you, so full of me," he murmured, voice thick with lust as he leaned down and latched onto her nipple, sucking hard, his tongue rolling around the swollen peak. Anselma cried out beneath him.

"Yes... gods... yes, suck them! They're so full... aaah!"

He groaned into her flesh, his free hand sliding down the slope of her belly again, palm broad and firm. He rubbed it slow and low, just above the curve where her pussy stretched wide around the baby’s head.

"You're so fucking ripe. Your body was made to birth for me. You feel him? He’s right there, just under my fingers. So close, but your sweet cunt’s gripping him too tight. You need to let go."

He trailed his fingers lower, dragging them through the thick wetness coating her lips. Her clit throbbed, swollen and red, and he began circling it slowly with his thumb as he sucked her nipple hard enough to make her back arch.

"Aaah—oh gods! I feel him moving! He’s pushing under it!"

"Push, Anselma. Let him stretch you. Show me how wide you can open for my heir."

Anselma’s eyes rolled back as she bore down again, her voice torn between a scream and a sob. "Hnnnnghh! He’s too big! Gods—he’s splitting me!"

Mila couldn’t wait anymore. She groaned and climbed onto her bed, the softness of the linen pressing against her back. Her belly surged up like a mountain, round and tight, and her legs spread automatically over the bolsters placed by the midwife earlier. Her hands gripped the sheets.

The contraction tore through her before she could fully settle. She screamed and pushed, her face contorted, sweat dripping into her open mouth.

"He’s coming," she gasped. "Oh gods, he’s coming now."

Her hands moved to the underside of her belly, cradling it as it tightened. The weight bore down like stone, and she bore down with it, her body curling around the effort.

"Uuuhhhhnnnghh! Haaa! Gods, he’s huge! I can feel his head!"

The King turned his gaze to Mila, his mouth still wet from Anselma’s breast, his fingers never stopping their slow circles over Anselma’s clit.

"Push for me, Mila. Let me see that sweet cunt stretch wide. I want both of you giving me sons at the same time."

Mila threw her head back and screamed as the crown began to force her open. "He’s so fat! Gods, he’s tearing me—nnnnghhh!"

Her thighs trembled violently. Her hands clawed at the sheets. Her belly heaved and tensed as another contraction began before the last had even ended. She gasped through it, voice shaking.

"They're slamming into each other—gods—one after the next! Haaaah! Hnnnnghhh! I can't breathe, can't stop—ahhh! Haaaaa!"

The head moved lower. Her lips began to part. Her pussy stretched wide, the skin taut and glistening. The pressure was overwhelming.

"He’s almost out! I can feel him pressing against everything!"

The King growled low beside Anselma, rubbing faster over her clit as her cries rose again.

"Yes, open for me, both of you. Let me see those fat crowns stretch you wide. Let them come for their king."

Anselma lifted her head and caught sight of Mila's legs spread wide, the fat crown of her baby glistening through parted folds, slipping lower with every breath. A surge of fury and determination lit her eyes. "No," she growled. "I'm not losing this."

She shoved herself up, legs trembling, and flipped onto her hands and knees, belly swinging beneath her. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she rocked back once, then again, moaning through the pressure. "Come to me again, Your Majesty," she demanded, her voice sharp and hoarse. "Put your weight on me. Make him move."

The King didn’t hesitate. He moved behind her, one hand sliding over the broad curve of her ass, the other gripping her hip as he guided his cock back into her tight, slick ass. He leaned over her, pressing his chest against her back, letting the full heat and pressure of his weight settle over her laboring frame.

Anselma screamed, her voice raw as the baby’s head shifted with the added force, pushing hard into the bed beneath her. "Gods—he’s tearing me! He’s tearing me open!"

"You’re taking both of us," the King growled, thrusting slowly, grinding his hips against her backside. "Your belly’s doing the work now. Feel it press down? That fat crown’s about to tear through your sweet cunt."

"Don’t stop," she sobbed, body jerking forward. "I can feel him. He’s moving. Oh gods, he’s coming!"

Her belly flattened slightly as it bore down against the mattress, her back arched, thighs trembling. The crown began to move. Blood streaked her folds. She wailed.

"He’s breaking me! Fuck—he’s coming!"

The King grunted, still rutting into her ass. "Let him. Let that fat head stretch you. Show me how wide you can split for him."

Anselma’s scream cracked through the chamber as the baby’s head slipped free, thick and glistening, followed by the curve of shoulders beginning to breach. Her body quaked as she sobbed, still rocking forward, still filled by the King.

Mila, panting beside them, could only gasp and bear down harder, the sound of Anselma’s birth spurring her own deeper.

One head born. One more still stretching wide.

Anselma screamed again, her voice breaking as the fat head finally slid free from her, the crown stretching her open so brutally that her thighs quaked and her hands clawed at the bedding.

Her massive, taut belly was pressed flat against the mattress, pinning her there as she arched and writhed, the weight of it holding her down even as she bore down hard, desperate to force the head through. “Haaaah, gods—oh, oh, oooh—” her breath choked out between cries, guttural groans rolling through her as the King’s hands stayed locked at her hips, the heat of his chest pressed against her trembling back, sweat running down between her shoulder blades, his cock still deep inside her ass as she bore down with everything left in her body. “Hnnngh—hooo—haaah—ahhh—oooh—gods—” She sobbed and rocked forward, her scream ripping from deep in her chest, the sound jagged and wild as the contraction peaked and the rest of the baby blasted out of her in a slippery rush of blood and fluid.

The force was so violent the child shot straight across the sheets like a cannonball, slick and heavy, a spray of fluid marking its wild passage. The midwife lunged, hands outstretched, catching the newborn just in time before it would have tumbled off the mattress and slammed into the stone wall. Her hands trembled as she cradled the fat, silent babe to her chest.

“Gods, look at you,” the King growled, still panting, his voice thick with the afterglow and the sight of Anselma’s cunt stretched and weeping, her belly still round and taut, as if the baby had not yet left her. “You split for me so perfectly, my sweet. You were made for this. Look at that mess—my heir sliding straight out of you like you were bred for nothing else.”

Anselma moaned through the haze, deep and breathless, her breath catching, her body still twitching with aftershocks, her thighs slick with sweat and the wet shine of her own birth. “Ahhh—oh, gods—” She tried to look behind her, voice cracking as she asked, “Where—let me see—did he cry? Is he—?”

The midwife worked furiously at the newborn, rough hands rubbing at the tiny chest, tilting the head, slapping at the soles of the blue feet, but the baby would not breathe. The chamber filled with the sharp, staccato patter of her efforts, but no sound, no gasp, not even a whimper came from the child. The midwife looked up at the King, her eyes wide with silent apology, and shook her head once, slow and final.

The King’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing. He drew out of Anselma, his cock dragging wetly free with a slick, sticky noise, and stood up to watch, his expression carved in stone, but his cock still half-hard, glistening with the mix of her and him. His own breath rasped, heavy, dragging heat into the chamber.

“Is he—did he—?” Anselma tried again, desperate, but another contraction seized her and her words broke off into a guttural groan, her head falling forward as her belly clenched tight beneath her. “Hoooo—haaaah—” The roundness had barely lessened, the fullness still impossibly present. “Oh gods, no, not again—there’s another, there’s more—”

The midwife glanced at her, eyes widening as she saw the shape distorting Anselma’s still-bloated middle, shifting low and hard, pressing feet first into her pelvis. “She’s breech,” the midwife called, voice sharp, urgency cutting through the chamber as she positioned herself again, hands at the ready.

The King prowled closer, eyes locked on the sight of Anselma’s ruined cunt, the fresh rush of fluid trailing from her body, and the way her belly kept rounding out, never losing its swollen weight. "There’s more coming, Anselma. You’re not done yet. Show me how you take it—let me see you open again, stretched wide, all for me. Give me another. Let me watch you birth every drop of me that’s left inside you."

Anselma sobbed, her hips jerking as the next wave crashed through her, her knees drawn wide, belly clenching, the shape of feet pressing at the edge. “It hurts, it’s burning—oooh gods—he’s coming, I can feel his toes poking through—stretch me, please, I need it, fuck, gods, help me, I’m not done—I need it to open, make it open, rub me, touch me, please—”

The King knelt beside her, one broad hand sliding over the slickness of her thigh, the other finding her swollen clit and rubbing hard circles, pressing his fingers deep into the folds still stretched and twitching from the last birth. “You’re so wide, so fucking wet, look at you—your body can’t get enough, can it? You’re greedy for it, greedy to be filled, greedy to be split, even now, with a second one trying to tear its way out. Give it to me, Anselma, push for me, push that fat little body out, show me how you take it.”

She wailed, bucking into his touch, her head thrown back, her mouth open wide as she bore down, “Ooooh—gods—ahhh—hnngh—hahhh—ohhhh—” Her body shuddered violently with the effort. “More, more, rub me harder, I can feel the feet, gods, I can feel the legs, it’s tearing me, it’s splitting me from the inside, gods, I need it, I need to cum, make me cum, make me open, let it all out—”

All the while, across the room, Mila gripped the headboard of her bed, her knees bent, her thighs spread wide, her feet flat on the mattress as she squatted low, her belly hanging like a heavy moon between her legs. Sweat dripped from her brow, her face flushed and lips parted, her breathing wild as she rocked her hips, coaxing the massive head lower, feeling the slow, relentless stretch at her entrance.

“Gods, it’s tearing me, I can feel every inch, he’s so big, he’s forcing me open, wider, wider, please, fuck, I want you to watch me, Your Majesty, look at your fat heir stretching me wide, look how my cunt swallows him, so fucking thick, so fucking huge, I can’t, I can’t, yes, yes, I can... Uuhhhnn—hahh—hooo—haaah—” Mila’s panting and moaning rose with each wave, the sounds thick and unrestrained, hips rolling, her thighs shaking as she worked through the pain.

The head crowned at last, glistening and broad, every push easing it further. Mila’s thighs shook, her voice quivering as she panted through another wave, breathless and needy. “Watch me, gods, watch my pussy take every inch of him, he’s so fat, so round, so heavy, you bred me for this, didn’t you? You wanted to see me ruined, you wanted to see me split, you want to see how wide your seed can tear me—come closer, let me see your cock, touch yourself while you watch me open your majesty—”

The King’s hand moved to his cock, stroking it slowly as he glanced between Mila’s gaping cunt and Anselma’s writhing form. “You both look perfect—my perfect, ruined breeders, stretched wide, dripping wet, you love it, you love how I fill you, you love being split for me, don’t you, Mila?”

Mila nodded, her eyes wild, one hand gripping the headboard, the other moving between her own legs to rub at her clit, hips rolling as she bore down again. “Yes, gods, I love it, I love being your broodmare, I love being filled, I love feeling him force me open, fuck, fuck, he’s coming, he’s slipping through—watch me, watch me, I’m yours—”

She screamed, a deep, guttural cry that seemed to shake the stones, “Aaaaah—ooooh—hnnnngh—hahhh—oooh—ahhh!” the head easing out at last, her pussy split wide, every inch glistening and raw. Mila sobbed with relief and pleasure, her hand moving faster over her clit as she arched her back and bore down, the baby’s head slipping lower, neck emerging, cheeks bulging, the weight of him holding her open.

At the foot of Anselma’s bed, the midwife braced herself, catching the slick, blue limbs as the breech babe forced its way through, the feet sliding free, ankles, calves, thighs, the small backside, then the bulging belly. “Push, Anselma, push now, hard—he’s nearly out, just the head, you need to open wider—”

The King’s voice was thick with hunger. “Push, my sweet, split yourself open for me, give me another, let me watch you break for your King.”

Anselma sobbed, her voice shattering. “Yes, gods, yes, I want it, I want to be split, I want to give you everything, I want to feel you stretch me, I want to feel them both tear through me, make me your Queen, please, please—”

“Hnnngh—haaah—oooh gods—” she screamed again, bearing down with everything she had, the head finally wedging free, the midwife catching the child in trembling hands, slick and blue, limp and silent beside its sibling.

Mila, watching from the other bed, felt the pressure of her own babe at the edge, her cunt stretched wider than she’d ever believed possible, the King’s gaze locked on her, his cock glistening in his hand. She panted, shaking, “Ahh—ahh—hahh—hooo—” then bore down again, feeling the final slide, the fat head pushing through at last, the body poised to follow, both women trembling in the firelight, both open and raw, both waiting for the verdict of life or death.

Anselma’s arms shook with exhaustion, her sweat-slicked hair tangled over her brow as she struggled to hold herself upright. Each ragged breath rattled through her chest, panting and gasping, desperate for air. Her belly, still massive and taut, flattened against the mattress, the pressure of the breech baby so immense it seemed to pin her down, locking her hips in place.

Every time she moved her hips or tried to bear down, guttural groans and animalistic moans ripped out of her, grunting hard with the effort, “Hnnngh—haaah—oohhh—gods—” Her thighs quivered and her hands clawed at the sheets, but her strength was draining fast, every breath growing thinner, her moans breaking into ragged whimpers, sweat beading on her upper lip as she shuddered and struggled to keep upright.

“Don’t let me fall, hold me down, press me—push me hard,” she barked at the servants, her voice shredded by pain and authority. The girls in the chamber scrambled to obey, two of them bracing her shoulders, another pressing both palms to her lower back, forcing her hips down to the bed. The midwife crouched near the end, eyes sharp and desperate, hands ready to catch whatever would finally tear free. Grunts and panting filled the air as the women wrestled Anselma into position, their own breaths labored with the effort, the scent of sweat and fear thickening the room.

“Bring it down, Anselma, grind your hips, let your belly do the work,” the midwife called, voice rough. “You’re so close, but you have to keep going.”

Anselma gritted her teeth, bearing down hard. She panted and gasped, then screamed, her cry tearing through the chamber as her belly rippled, “Haaah—oooh—hnnngh—pushing—gods—hurts—” She shoved herself against the mattress with every ounce left, sweat streaming down her back, the room echoing with groans, “Aaaah—uhhh—oohh—” Her body rocked forward, shaking, “Oh gods, it hurts, it burns, I can feel him splitting me, fuck, help me, make it come out, I need it, I need you all—”

The King’s eyes went cold, anxiety flashing in his gaze as he watched her begin to falter, her breath stuttering and gasping. “Help her, now. On her back—get her on her back, open her wide, let me see her take it.” He barked the order, striding to the bedside as the servants rushed to obey, their own breathing harsh, grunting with the effort as they lifted and rolled her. They turned Anselma over, her limbs limp and trembling, belly glistening, legs spread open and splayed across the mattress, her sex swollen and stretched with the feet and legs of her baby still straining from within, her breath now coming in shallow pants, “Haaa—hooo—uhhnn—”

“Push her down, all of you, push her belly, help her force it out,” the midwife commanded. The servants gathered at her sides, pressing hard from the top of Anselma’s belly, their weight grinding the baby lower, sweat streaking their faces, the midwife’s voice urgent. “Again—harder—don’t let up—she’s too weak, you have to do it for her.”

Anselma’s head lolled, her eyes fixed on the candlelit ceiling, breath shallow and fading, lips parted in soundless agony. Each exhale rattled, “Hnnngh—ahhh—haaah—oh gods—” Her legs twitched as they pressed her belly, the effort of the servants making her groan, her voice little more than a whisper, “I can’t—I can’t—he’s too big, gods, I’m splitting open, my body’s breaking for you, Your Majesty, do you see me, do you see how I’m ruined for you, I’m yours, I’ll take it, I’ll take all of it, fill me up, fuck, let me feel it, make me yours, make me your Queen, make me open for you—” Her words tangled under the sounds of labor, the grunts and moans and wet, relentless friction of flesh yielding to flesh.

At the other end of the chamber, Mila’s knuckles whitened as she clung to the headboard, her body wild with sweat and effort. She was panting, mouth open, cheeks flushed, her breaths sharp and hot. Her knee shot up to the mattress, her thighs spread even wider, her belly hanging low and hard between her legs. She grunted, rocking forward, her hand never leaving her swollen clit, hips rolling, “Hnnngh—fuck—aaaah—hooo—hahhh—”

Each time she moved, another deep groan tore out of her, “Gods, I’m splitting, I’m so open, he’s so fucking fat, fuck, it’s burning, oh, you want to see me rip for you, don’t you, you want to watch me gush, you want to see me ruin myself on your cock and your child, your seed stretching me, fuck, it’s so close—”

The King couldn’t take his eyes off her. He moved toward Mila, dropping to his knees, taking her leaking breast into his mouth. He suckled hungrily, tongue rolling over her nipple, his hand cupping the heavy swell while his other hand slid down and spread wide across the great curve of her belly, worshipping the taut, sweating flesh, rubbing slow, greedy circles over her stretched skin.

He pressed his palm to the roundest, lowest part, fingers splayed as if measuring the weight of his child inside her. Mila panted, arching her back, “Ohh—gods—yes—yes, suck them, touch my belly, gods, I’m leaking for you—”

“You taste perfect, so ripe, so ready, you’re dripping for me, your belly’s a shrine, so swollen, so perfect, I want to see you gush, I want to see my fat son split you apart. Keep pushing, keep fucking yourself, let me feel you, let me taste you, let me worship this belly, let me watch you fall apart for me.”

Mila’s moans rose, guttural and broken, hips grinding forward as the baby’s neck slipped free, her fingers trembling over her clit. “He’s coming, gods, he’s coming, I can feel him, he’s almost out, fuck, there’s a cord, gods, it’s tight, but I’m loosening it, I’m not letting go, I’m birthing him for you, I’m yours, I’ll give you everything, I’ll give you all of me, I want to feel him slide, I want to feel every inch, watch me, watch your perfect whore bring your heir into the world—aaaaaahhhhhh—hnnngh—uhh—”

The King groaned against her breast, his cock straining, his tongue laving at her nipple, his free hand slipping down to stroke himself as Mila panted, arched, and bore down, “Ahh—ooh—hnnngh—uhh—” The neck slid free, then the cord, then the massive torso, her cunt opening around him in slow, pulsing waves, every inch stretching, her cries wild and animal, voice thick with pleasure and pain, “Aaaaah—gods—he’s huge—fuuuck—”

On the bed behind him, Anselma’s body had gone still. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, her lips parted as though to scream, but no sound came. The servants were still pushing, their hands pressed deep into the top of her belly, desperate to expel the rest of the baby, but Anselma’s breath was barely there, her chest barely moving, the life draining from her with each passing moment.

Only half of the breech babe remained inside her, its lower body exposed to the cold, slick and blue, unmoving. The midwife’s hands trembled at the sight, voice choked as she called for more towels, but nothing could fill the silence that followed, the room thick with the scent of blood, sex, and something lost forever.

Mila’s body trembled as the massive baby’s head dangled between her trembling thighs, lips stretched wide and glistening, neck bulging just beyond the swollen ring of flesh. Her belly, still monumental and sweat-slick, heaved with every pant, the King’s hand never leaving her skin. He gripped her with reverence, his fingers splayed across the low roundness, thumb tracing the line where the hard dome met her pubic bone. The weight of her body arched into his worship, and his other hand slid up to fist himself, cock pulsing and leaking against the hot skin of her belly.

“Keep going, let me see you open for me, split for me, gods, you’re perfect, you’re so fucking perfect, look at this belly, look at my fat heir’s head hanging from you, you’re a miracle, you’re my favorite, my queen, I want you to take it, I want to see you break yourself for me, for us, give me every inch of him—”

Mila was wild with sensation, voice rising, body tense as she bore down hard, the pressure tearing a long, unbroken moan from her throat. “Fuuuck, gods, I’m splitting, he’s stuck, he’s huge, fuck, you love watching me, you love seeing how wide I can open, you want to see me ruined, you want me to gush, I want you to cum on me, cover my belly, mark me, gods, just watch, watch him come, watch him stretch me—”

The King stroked himself harder, his breath ragged as he watched the baby’s head stretching her open to the neck. His palm pressed into the swell, his fingers worshipping every trembling inch of her taut skin. He growled low, and with a sudden, guttural sound, spilled hot ropes across her belly, his seed streaking her skin, mixing with the sweat and the trembling motion of her laboring flesh. “Take it, take it all, let me mark you, let me crown you, you look like a goddess, you’re mine, you’re perfect, you’re everything I dreamed—”

Mila moaned, her hips rolling, the sensation of his release setting her nerves alight. “Gods, yes, I want it, I want all of it, I want to be your queen, your whore, I want to show you how much I can give, watch me, keep watching me, keep your hands on me, don’t stop touching me—”

The King’s body shuddered as he came down, but his hands never left her belly. He pressed his lips to the curve, breath warm and worshipful, “You’re carrying an empire, you’re my empire, you’re my world, I want every drop, every scream, every push, show me how you take it—”

He turned, hearing movement at Anselma’s bed. The midwife, face ashen, had managed to ease the rest of the breech babe from Anselma’s body, limp and blue in her arms. The King’s jaw tightened as he took in the stillness, the utter silence of the air around Anselma and both her children. He looked at the midwife, nodded once, his eyes cold with sorrow and resignation, “It’s the rule, then. She’s gone, and so are they. Take them out, all of them. We have an heir to birth.”

The servants moved silently, gathering Anselma’s body and her lost babes, their hands gentle, their faces pale. The midwife gave Mila one last look, then followed, leaving only the King, Mila, and the crackling of the hearth.

Mila’s breathing grew frantic, her hands clenching the headboard, her thighs trembling as the rest of the massive torso pressed into her. “Hnnnngh, gods, he’s so fat, so heavy, I can feel him stretching me wider, fuck, he’s almost out, please, I can’t, I can’t—no, I can, I want it, I want to give you all of it, let me feel you, touch me, gods, help me—”

The King knelt behind her, stroking her sides, his words hot against her ear, “Just a little more, you’re almost there, your body’s perfect, you’re born for this, look at you, look at this cunt, this belly, look at your power, you’re a goddess, give me everything, push, I want to see you empty, I want to see you flood the bed, bring him out, make him scream for his king—”

The midwife, now alone, crouched at Mila’s thighs, her eyes fixed on the bulging, twisting mass, hands poised. “You’re doing it, Mila, you’re doing beautifully, he’s healthy, he’s moving, let’s ease him out slow, you’re stretching so wide, just keep going, keep pushing—”

Mila sobbed, half-laughing, half-crying, her entire body wracked with effort, “Gods, he’s moving, he’s fighting, he’s so big, I can feel his arms, his chest, he’s tearing me, I love it, I love how it hurts, keep touching me, gods, keep touching me—”

The King wrapped his mouth around her leaking breast again, suckling hungrily, his hands never leaving her belly, rubbing and worshipping every inch of her trembling, sweat-drenched flesh, his palms pressing in rhythm with her pushes, voice muffled against her skin as he moaned his adoration, “Let me taste you, let me drink from you, let me worship every part of you, you’re everything, you’re a miracle—”

The torso finally slipped free, a gush of fluid and cries and laughter all tangled together. Mila’s hands dropped to her belly, rubbing the ruined, shaking skin. The midwife held up the baby, slick, fat, red-faced and shrieking.

But the moment the child was free, Mila gasped, her eyes wild, as another sharp pressure slammed through her, a new head already wedging into her opening, crowning almost immediately. “Gods, there’s another—he’s right there—he’s coming, he’s coming so fast, I can’t, I can’t—fuck, yes, yes, fill me, open me, I want to give you more, Your Majesty, make me yours, make me scream—”

The King was on his knees again, hands and mouth on her belly, his voice filthy and adoring, “Give me another, open for me again, you’re a fountain, you’re a miracle, your cunt’s insatiable, I want to see how many you can pour out for your King, keep going, I want to see you flood the world—”

Mila was beyond thought, her body rolling with the next wave. The midwife barely had time to adjust, hands bracing as the massive head forced her open again. “Let it come, Mila, let it all come, you’re so strong, you’re almost there—”

Mila’s cries rose higher, her body shaking as she bore down, the head stretching her even wider, the pain so sharp she nearly lost consciousness, but she gripped the headboard, her voice breaking with joy, “Aaaah, gods, yes, yes, open me, fill me, fuck, I want it all, give me everything, give me another, yes, yes—”

With one last, endless push, the second babe slid free, the midwife catching it and pressing the slippery newborn into Mila’s arms, the baby squalling as Mila kept squatting by the headboard, her knees wide, her arms cradling the child against her chest while she panted, unable to lie back, body trembling with the effort of holding herself up, sweat running down her flushed face.

She gasped for air, but the pressure wasn’t gone—her belly still round, still huge, and before the midwife could clear the second, another head crowned, this one so fast it forced her lips open with almost no effort.

“Gods, another, there’s another, he’s right there, he’s flying out, gods, help me, help me, open me, split me, fuck, yes, I’m yours, I’m your whore, I’m your queen, I’m your everything, I’ll give you everything—”

The third babe slid from her, the servants barely scrambling fast enough to catch him before he hit the sheets. Her moans echoed in the high rafters, raw and triumphant. The King’s hands were all over her, worshipping her battered belly, praising her with every filthy word he could find.

But even as the chamber calmed, as the cries of newborns and the laughter of servants filled the room, Mila’s body tensed again, her massive belly shuddering, still not empty, still straining against the skin. The midwife dropped to her knees, voice hoarse with awe, “There’s one more, my lady, this is the biggest yet, he’s right there, he’s coming, gods, you’re a marvel, you’re everything—”

Mila’s eyes rolled back, her body arching with the force, her voice rising, “Fill me, open me, I’ll take it, I want it all, I’ll give you everything you want, I’m yours, I’m yours forever, make me your legend, make me your goddess, let me birth your whole line—”

Mila gripped the headboard with white-knuckled hands, her thighs wide, knees shaking, sweat streaming down her flushed cheeks as her belly shuddered and contracted around the last, massive weight inside her. The midwife crouched between her legs, both hands poised, eyes wide at the impossible roundness still clinging to Mila’s frame, voice thick with awe and urgency, "This is it, my lady, this is the biggest yet, he's right there, I can see him stretching you, just breathe, just pant, just let your body do what it was made for."

The King knelt beside her, both hands gliding reverently over her massive belly, fingers tracing every trembling curve as if mapping his own triumph, his mouth devouring her leaking breast, sucking hard and groaning with need, his voice thick, low and possessive, "Look at you, look at this belly, you’re splitting wide for me, you’re so fucking full, so strong, I want to watch you swallow every bit of pain and turn it into glory, I want to see you break and make me a legend, give them something to remember, make them kneel to the mother of kings, show me how wide you can take me, how deep you can split for my line."

Mila's voice broke, guttural with need and agony, "He's so big, gods, I can feel him splitting me, he's tearing me wider than the rest, touch me, hold me, gods, help me, I want it, I want to feel every inch, I want to give you everything, make me yours, make me the mother of kings—" Her moans became panting, frantic cries, the bulge between her legs so obscene it glistened with every tremble. The midwife pressed warm, slick hands to Mila’s rim, guiding the crowning head with reverence, "You’re almost there, just a little more, he’s moving, he’s turning, you’re opening beautifully, gods, you’re magnificent—push, just let it come, let it all come, let me see you bring this one out."

The contraction hit like a wave. Mila arched, roaring as her whole body clenched and bore down, every muscle straining, the King's hands anchoring her hips, his mouth sucking hard at her nipple, voice shaking with hunger and worship, "That's it, that's it, show me, fuck, you're so open, you're so wide, you're everything I've ever wanted—"

The head crowned, so broad the flesh quivered and bloomed around it, the midwife's voice tight, "Hold, just hold, let it stretch, let it burn, gods, he’s so huge, just breathe, just feel him stretching you, let your body do the rest—" Mila's breath tore through the chamber, a wild crescendo of moans and broken pleas, every push sending a rush of fluid and heat down her thighs, the head forcing its way, splitting her wide enough the King had to hold her hips steady. "Oh gods, oh gods, I can feel him, I can feel him moving, don’t stop touching me, make me open, make me yours—" she cried, and the room was filled with the wet, desperate sound of the biggest birth of her life.

The King slid his hand between Mila’s trembling thighs, his fingers seeking her swollen, throbbing clit as he leaned in to suckle hungrily at her leaking breast. Mila’s breath was ragged, wild, sharp little gasps and heavy panting that shook her whole frame. She moaned deep and long, grunted as his thumb circled her clit, her hips rolling desperately against his hand, her cries rising higher each time she pushed.

"Haaa—fuck—oh gods—hnnngh—ahh—yes—" She panted between clenched teeth, sweat streaking down her face and chest. He rubbed her in deep, tight circles, tongue flicking and teasing her nipple, his breath ragged as he moaned against her skin, "Let me make you gush for me, let me feel you break for me, come for me, come while you birth my legend, let me feel you milk my son right from your body—" Mila screamed, her body shuddering as pleasure and pain crashed together, her orgasm tearing through her like a storm, every muscle locking down, her cunt gripping the massive head and shoulders, guttural cries and raw moans echoing through the chamber, "Aaaaah—fuck—gods—pushing—haaa—nnngh—" as the King kept rubbing and suckling, her release making her bear down with impossible strength.

The massive baby finally slid free in a torrent of heat and fluid, the midwife barely catching him as he spilled into the firelight, crying strong and wild to join his brothers, the whole room filled with the sounds of Mila’s panting, her triumphant moans, and the newborn heirs to a dynasty.

Mila had done it—she had won. When dawn came, she was strong and standing, every inch a queen, milk already pouring from her breasts as she cradled all four of her boys in her arms. The King crowned her before the court as his queen and mother of his sons, her beauty still radiant, her belly only just beginning to soften, her power undisputed. The castle rang with celebration, the staff whispering in awe of the feat they had witnessed, the four fat boys all healthy and wailing with life, their mother untouched by death, her strength a thing of legend.

Eight months passed. The kingdom was more prosperous than ever. Mila, now robed in royal crimson and gold, stood at the center of the great hall, her belly again stretched huge and high, rounding out her new dresses until she looked ready to burst. Courtiers watched and gossiped, eyes wide as they tried to count how many heirs she might be carrying this time, wondering if the queen would soon birth a whole new army for her king. Mila only smiled, hand splayed over her taut, rippling stomach, her body heavy with life, every step a promise of power and pleasure yet to come.

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Thank you all again—here’s to more stories, more milestones, and maybe… more babies? 😉

Much love, Drew