silverrabbitftm

[silverrabbitftm]

I stared blankly at the faded, worn-out wall of my new "home," my heart racing with a mix of dread and anger. My 44 year old husband, Richard, stood proudly beside me, his hand firmly planted on my shoulder, as the priest droned on about the sanctity of marriage and the duties of a wife. The irony was not lost on me, as I felt more like a prized broodmare than a partner. Richard's family, all stern-faced and judgmental, watched with cold, assessing gazes that made me feel like nothing more than a means to an end. And that's all I was.

The wedding night was a blur of pain and humiliation. Richard was merciless in his desire to breed me, his rough, calloused hands pawing at my still-developing body as he claimed his marital rights. His words echoed through the room, "You're going to give me strong, healthy sons," as he thrust into me without care or concern for my comfort. The discomfort was not only physical but mental, as I was forced to reconcile with the reality that I was now his property, a vessel for his legacy. Each grunt and groan that escaped him was a nail in the coffin of my freedom, my true identity buried deeper under layers of societal expectation and familial obligation.

In the following weeks, Richard's insatiable hunger for progeny became a grim routine. He'd come to me in the dead of night, his whiskey-soaked breath hot on my neck as he'd whisper, "It's time." The power dynamic was stark, his grip on my hips tightening as he pushed himself deeper, reminding me that my purpose was to bear his children. The act was mechanical, devoid of any love or affection, and I felt like a ragdoll in the hands of a man obsessed with control. My body was not my own, and the pain of his invasive dominance was a constant reminder of the prison I now found myself in.

One particularly grueling night, as he forced his way into me, I couldn't help but let out a whimper. His eyes darkened, and his hold grew even more punishing. "Don't cry," he growled, his teeth clenching as he thrust harder, his hands pushing my thighs apart. "Just take it." His words were like a knife twisting in my soul, a stark contrast to the gentle whispers of love and acceptance I had once dreamt of. The bed creaked beneath us, a symphony of despair, as he claimed me over and over again, his eyes never leaving my face, ensuring that I knew exactly who was in charge.

Days turned into weeks, and my body began to betray me with the first signs of pregnancy. My breasts grew tender, my stomach swollen and bloated, and I found myself retching into the porcelain bowl of the bathroom each morning. The fear grew in me like a cancer, festering with every passing moment. I knew what was happening, but I couldn't bring myself to voice it. I stole into the night, my hand shaking as I rummaged through Richard's study, finding a hidden stash of pregnancy tests. With trembling fingers, I peeled back the foil and took the test, the plastic stick a cold intrusion into my already violated body. The minutes ticked by, each one a torturous eternity as I waited for the results.

The first test was positive, the stark pink line mocking me from the small, plastic window. Panic set in, and I took another, and another, hoping against hope that they would all be wrong. But each one told the same story, confirming what I had feared: I was pregnant. My heart sank, and the walls closed in around me as I realized the gravity of my situation. I was trapped in this marriage, carrying the child of a man who saw me as nothing but a vessel for his desires, surrounded by a family who would never understand or accept me.

Telling Richard was a surreal experience. His eyes lit up with a greedy triumph as I choked out the words, his smile stretching wide and predatory. He took my hand, bringing it to his mouth to kiss my trembling fingers before pushing me onto the bed. He kissed my belly repeatedly, his eyes shining with a possessive glee that made my skin crawl. His hands roamed my body, his excitement palpable as he pulled my pants down and buried his face between my legs. His mouth found my clit, and he began to suck on it with an enthusiasm that was almost manic, as if he could taste the victory in my fear. I laid there, my body betraying me with involuntary twitches of pleasure, hating him for the power he wielded over my very existence.

The first doctor's appointment was a nightmare. Richard's grip on my hand was vice-like as we were led into the cold, sterile room. The ultrasound technician's eyes widened as she began the scan, and she called in the doctor with an urgent whisper. They exchanged a look that I couldn't decipher, and my heart dropped when I heard the words, "Congratulations, times 3!" Richard's ecstasy was palpable, his hand squeezing mine so tightly it hurt. He leaned over me, his breath hot in my ear. "You're such a good little carrier," he murmured, his voice thick with pride. I couldn't bring myself to look at the screen, the reality of my situation crashing down on me like a lead weight.

Triplets. The word echoed in my mind, bringing with it a tsunami of dread. I felt like a cow with a number stamped on its flank, bred to produce more than my fair share of offspring. Richard's family was elated, their sneers and snide comments turning into beaming smiles and backhanded compliments about my fertility. The room was filled with their congratulations and talk of baby showers, while I sat there, feeling like a specimen in a petri dish. The doctor's voice was a distant hum as they pointed out the three tiny hearts beating in unison, and Richard's hand slid down to my stomach, claiming ownership over the life growing inside me.

His two sisters, Margaret and Eleanor, and his aunt, Edna, were the worst of the bunch. They hovered around me at every opportunity, their eyes filled with a mix of disdain and fascination. They whispered behind my back, casting furtive glances at my swelling stomach and giggling like schoolgirls. When Richard was out of earshot, their words grew sharper, their voices dripping with venom. "You're getting big fast," Margaret sneered, her eyes narrowed. "Your body will never be the same after this," Eleanor chimed in, her voice a whip crack, "Are you sure 3 isn't too much to handle?" Aunt Edna's cruelty was more subtle, her "concern" about my health a thinly-veiled attempt to belittle my ability to handle the pregnancy. They treated me like a child playing with toys that were far too big for me, and the more I protested, the more they enjoyed watching me squirm.

As my belly grew, so did Richard's love for parading me around in public. He'd take me to family gatherings, his hand resting possessively on my swollen abdomen as he introduced me to distant relatives. "This is Jesse," he'd say, beaming, "and these are my babies." He'd say it with such pride. I felt like a trophy, displayed for all to see and admire, a living testament to his virility. The stares and whispers followed us like a dark cloud, and every pat on my stomach from a stranger felt like a violation, a reminder that my body was no longer my own.

The months dragged on, and my pregnancy became more and more visible. Richard reveled in showing me off, often insisting that I wear tight, form-fitting clothes that highlighted the bulge of my stomach. "You're carrying so well," he'd say with a smug smile, his hand tracing the outline of each baby. His family's eyes were glued to my midsection, their questions about the babies' progress never-ending. I felt like a zoo animal on exhibit, poked and prodded for their entertainment. The touch of their hands on my swollen belly made me want to scream, to push them all away and run.

One evening in my 8th month, Richard's hunger was stronger than ever. His eyes were dark with desire as he approached me, his hand sliding under my shirt to cup one of my sensitive breasts. "You're so perfect," he whispered, his voice thick with lust. "So ripe and full of my babies." He pushed me onto the bed, his hands roughly tugging at my pants. I could feel his erection pressing against me, demanding entry. Despite my protests, he didn't hesitate, pushing into me without care for the discomfort he was causing.

"You're made for this," he grunted, his eyes boring into mine as he began to thrust. "Your body was made to be filled with babies." His words were like a slap in the face, a reminder that no matter how much I had hoped for a different life, this was my reality. Each time he slammed into me, I felt the babies shift and protest, and I bit my lip to hold back a scream. His grip on my hips was bruising, his fingers digging into my flesh as he claimed his dominance over my pregnant form.

My eyes squeezed shut, I tried to focus on anything but the pain, but his grunts and the feel of his body against mine was inescapable. The bed frame rattled with each violent thrust, the sound a grim reminder of my captivity. He was rough, his movements almost punishing, as if he was trying to force the babies out early. My body felt stretched to the breaking point, my mind screaming for it to stop. But even as the pain grew unbearable, I felt my body betraying me, my traitorous hips bucking up to meet his, my legs wrapping around him despite my hatred for what he was doing to me.

Finally, I let go, moaning and grabbing his hands, placing them onto my swollen belly. His eyes widened with excitement, his strokes growing more erratic as he felt the babies moving beneath his palms. "That's it," he encouraged, his voice a low growl. "Show me how much you want this." It was a lie, a farce, but the words slipped out of my mouth as if by rote. "I do," I murmured, trying to convince myself as much as him. "I do." His hands moved down to grip my hips harder, his eyes locked on the sight of his fingers pressing into my skin as he continued to take me.

The orgasm that ripped through me was unlike any I had experienced before. It was a mix of pain and pleasure, fear and despair, a culmination of the months of emotional and physical torment. I clung to him, my nails digging into his back as waves of pleasure washed over me, my body shaking with the intensity of it all. And as I came down from the high, the tears began to fall. They were silent, slipping down my cheeks and onto the pillow, leaving a salty trail of grief behind.

The room was quiet except for the harsh sound of Richard's breathing. He pulled out, his eyes glazed with satisfaction, and rolled over, leaving me to deal with the aftermath of his lust. I laid there, my body trembling, the stark realization of what I had become settling in my bones. A breeding machine, a vessel for his legacy. The babies kicked, cementing my role in life as a mother.

As the weeks grew closer to my due date, my discomfort turned into agony. The weight of the triplets made it difficult to move, and every step felt like a battle. Richard's family hovered, their excitement overshadowing any concern for my well-being. They discussed names and nursery themes as if they were planning a party, not the birth of three lives that would be born into a world of misery.

My once-toned stomach was now a stretched canvas of purple and red stretch marks, a constant reminder of the presence within me. My breasts were heavy with milk, my chest swollen and tender. I waddled from room to room, my gait awkward and slow, the weight of the babies pulling me towards the ground. My back ached with the constant pressure, and my swollen feet were a prison in their own right. The only solace I found was in the gentle stroking of my belly, feeling the reassuring flutters and kicks of the babies inside me, a reminder that this was not entirely Richard's doing.

But even that small comfort was marred by the knowledge that my body was no longer my own. I needed Richard's help to get dressed, to climb into bed, to perform the most basic of tasks. His strong arms would lift me with an ease that was both terrifying and humiliating, his eyes never leaving my bulging stomach as if it were the only thing of value in the room. The swollen mound was a testament to his power over me, a symbol of his victory in the twisted game of life he had played.

The night before my due date, Richard was more insatiable than ever. His hand slid up my shirt, his calloused thumb brushing against my nipple, making it pebble and leak milk onto the fabric. I flinched, my body already so sensitive that even the lightest touch sent a bolt of pain through me. He chuckled, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "You're leaking, little boy," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. He pushed me back onto the bed, his hands sliding over my stomach to the waistband of my pants. I felt his erection against my thigh, a hard reminder of the fate that awaited me.

As he entered me, I bit my lip, trying not to cry out. The pain was sharp and intense, made worse by the stretching of my abdomen. His eyes were on my chest, watching the leaks with rapt fascination as they grew more pronounced with each thrust. His strokes grew deeper, his hands squeezing my breasts, forcing out more milk. The feeling of his hot skin against my tender flesh was almost too much to bear, but I knew better than to refuse him.

He leaned down, his mouth closing around one of my nipples, suckling greedily. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure that made me arch my back, pushing my breasts into his face. He groaned, his teeth grazing my sensitive flesh, his hands digging into my hips as he pounded into me. The babies sat low in my pelvis now, but the sound of my pained whimpers was lost in the cacophony of our ragged breathing and the slap of our bodies coming together.

With one final, desperate thrust, he emptied himself deep inside me, his seed flooding me. His cum filled me, a stark reminder of the biological bond that I was forced to share with him. His weight pressed down on me, his chest heaving with exertion, as he kissed my neck, his breath hot and heavy against my skin. I felt used, discarded, and utterly defeated.

The next morning, the contractions began. They started as a mild discomfort, a dull ache in my lower back that grew steadily more intense. I tried to ignore them, hoping they would pass, but they only grew stronger. I knew what was happening; I was in labor. Panic gripped me, my mind racing with thoughts of the impending birth and the life that awaited me as a mother in this hellish situation. I had to tell Richard, but fear held me back.

I waited until he left for work, the tension in the house palpable even in his absence. His family was already up, their anticipation of the grand event thick in the air. I could hear their murmured conversations, the clinking of dishes, and the occasional high-pitched laugh. They had no idea of the turmoil churning inside me, the desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, I could somehow escape this fate.

As the contractions grew stronger, I stumbled into the bathroom, the cool tiles offering a brief respite from the heat of my own body. I leaned against the sink, panting through the pain, my hand pressed against my stomach as if willing the babies to stay put. The first one had been a surprise, but now, with each wave that washed over me, I knew I couldn't hide it much longer.

Just as I was about to make my way back to the bedroom, a knock sounded on the door. "Jesse, dear," Aunt Edna's voice called out, "are you okay in there?" I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. "I'm fine," I called out, hoping my voice didn't betray the agony I felt. But she wasn't satisfied with my answer. The doorknob turned, and she barged in, her eyes widening when she saw my contorted face.

"What's wrong?" she demanded, her voice sharper than usual. I tried to stand straight, to hide the pain, but the contraction was too strong. I doubled over, gripping the edge of the sink. "It's...it's just...the babies," I managed to gasp out. Immediately, her expression shifted from concern to suspicion. She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she took in my state. "Let me see," she said, her voice firm, and before I could protest, she reached out and lifted my shirt up.

Her cold, bony fingers pressed into my belly, feeling the taut skin and the firmness of a contraction taking over. Her eyes searched my face for any sign of deception, her gaze piercing. "You're in labor," she stated, not a question but an accusation. "Why didn't you tell anyone?" Her words were a slap, a reminder that my pain and fear were inconsequential to them, that all that mattered was the continuation of their family line.

A fresh wave of pain hit me, making me cry out and clutch the sink even tighter. "I-I didn't know," I stuttered, the words torn from my throat. She scoffed, her hand dropping away from my stomach as if it had burned her. "Well, it's about time," she said, her voice dripping with annoyance. "We can't have you giving birth on the toilet, now can we?" She turned on her heel, leaving me to struggle through the contraction alone. "I'm calling Richard. He needs to be here."

The words echoed in the small bathroom, leaving me feeling more isolated than ever. As the contraction passed, I managed to pull my shirt down and wipe the sweat from my brow. I glanced at myself in the mirror, my eyes wide and fearful, my skin pale and stretched tight over my distended stomach. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be, I thought, my heart racing. This wasn't the life I had dreamt of. But as the next contraction hit, I knew there was no turning back.

I waddled out of the bathroom, my steps slow and deliberate. The house was a flurry of activity, the phone ringing in the background, the sound of feet rushing back and forth. I felt like a cow being led to slaughter, my fate sealed by the biological imperative to give birth. The contractions were coming closer now, each one more intense than the last. My breathing grew shallower, my teeth clenched in a silent scream.

Margaret and Eleanor flitted around me, their faces a mask of feigned concern. They whispered to each other, their eyes gleaming with something that looked suspiciously like glee. They had always resented me, the young man who had been thrust into the family and given the gift of fertility they had never been granted. Now, as I suffered, they reveled in it, seemingly eager to see me brought low by the very thing they had envied.

"You need to stay calm," Aunt Edna's voice was firm, her eyes assessing. "We're going to have a home birth, just like Richard wants. It's more... natural that way." The words sent a shiver down my spine. A home birth meant no doctors, no nurses, no escape from the prying eyes of his family. It meant no pain relief, no privacy, no protection from his twisted desires. I wanted the sterile safety of a hospital room, the beeping of machines and the comforting presence of medical staff. But Richard had been adamant, his voice brooking no argument.

"Home births are for animals," I had protested, my voice shaking with fear. "What if something goes wrong?" But he had just laughed, his eyes shining with a maniacal glint. "Women have been giving birth at home for centuries," he'd said, his hand rubbing circles on my stomach. "It's the way it's meant to be. You're strong, Jesse. You can handle it." His words were a knife to my soul, each syllable a twist of the blade.

Now, as the contractions grew stronger, I found myself wishing for the cold steel of a hospital bed, the sterile smell of antiseptic, and the kind but firm voice of a doctor telling me what to do. Instead, I was in this prison of a home, surrounded by his family, who saw me as nothing more than a vessel for their future generations.

Richard arrived home in a flurry, his eyes wide with excitement as he saw me leaning against the wall, panting through the pain. He took one look at me and his grin grew even wider. "Baby time," he said, his voice a mix of triumph and excitement. He didn't bother with pleasantries, just reached for the bottom of my shirt and began to pull it over my head.

"No," I protested weakly, my arms moving to cover my nakedness, but he was insistent. "You need to be naked," he said, his voice firm. "We talked about this. It's more natural that way." He grabbed the waistband of my pants and yanked them down, my underwear following. I stood there, exposed and vulnerable, my stomach contracting painfully with each new wave of labor. His eyes roamed over my body, his gaze lingering on my swollen breasts and bulging stomach.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his hand sliding over the curve of my belly, feeling the babies shift and protest beneath his touch. I couldn't help but flinch as his fingers grazed the sensitive skin, the contractions growing more and more intense. "This is what you were made for," he whispered, his voice a caress that made my skin crawl. His words were a slap in the face, a stark reminder that my body had been commandeered for his purposes alone.

He lifted my heavy belly up with his strong, calloused hands, offering my back a moment's relief from the crushing weight of the triplets inside. The gesture was almost tender, a stark contrast to the brutal reality of my situation. For a brief second, I allowed myself to lean into the comfort, to believe that maybe, just maybe, he saw me as more than a breeding machine. But the illusion shattered as he bent down, his mouth finding my clit, his tongue flicking and teasing. The pleasure was unwelcome, a betrayal from my own body that only served to fuel his lust.

My cries of pain and protest turned into moans of anguish as he worked his mouth over me, his grip on my hips unrelenting. I knew what he was doing, trying to distract me from the pain of labor with the pain of pleasure, to keep me compliant and willing. And as much as I hated him for it, my body responded, my legs involuntarily spreading wider to give him better access. The contractions grew stronger, the pressure in my belly building like a dam ready to burst.

My hands flew to Richard's shoulders, gripping him tightly as I shuddered and bucked against his mouth, my orgasm a silent scream of agony and despair. His tongue didn't falter, lapping at me until the last tremor subsided, his eyes never leaving my face. He pulled away, a smug smile playing on his lips as he stood, his own desire clear and evident.

"Let's get you to the bed," he said, his voice a gruff whisper. His sisters and aunt hovered in the background, their eyes gleaming with excitement as they helped me waddle to the bedroom. The bed had been prepared, the sheets freshly washed and laid out with military precision. The sight of the cradle in the corner, already filled with three tiny blankets, made my heart ache. This wasn't a place for joy, it was a stage for a performance I never wanted to give.

As I settled onto the bed, my stomach contracted with a ferocity that made me cry out. Richard's grip on my hand was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand, a silent promise that he was there, that he would be the only one to bring me relief. His family hovered around us, their faces a mix of excitement and anxiety.

Without warning, my water broke. The sudden gush was warm and shocking, soaking the bed beneath me. Richard's smile grew wider, his eyes never leaving mine as he whispered, "It's okay, you're doing great." His assurance was like a balm, soothing the raw edges of my fear, if only for a brief moment. His hand was warm and firm as he squeezed mine, his voice a steady presence in the chaos. It made me sick to my stomach that I found any comfort in him at all but I did.

The contractions grew closer together, each one more demanding than the last. My body was no longer my own, a battleground for the babies fighting to be born. Richard's family watched with rapt attention, their eyes glinting with something akin to excitement. Their cold stares made me feel like I was on display, a prize to be ogled and judged. I could feel their anticipation, the thrill of new life about to be brought into their world of control and manipulation.

"Get on your hands and knees," Aunt Edna instructed, her voice firm. "It'll be easier for you to push." I obeyed, the bed beneath me feeling like a rack of torture. My knees sank into the soft mattress as I leaned over the edge, my stomach bulging obscenely. The room grew quiet, the only sounds the heavy panting of my labored breaths and the occasional whisper of Richard's family members.

"Look at that," Margaret murmured, her voice thick with a mix of disgust and awe. "It's like watching a cow give birth." The first baby's head began to crown, the pain unlike anything I had ever felt. I gritted my teeth and pushed, the pressure so intense that it felt like my body was being ripped apart.

The baby's head emerged slowly, the tight ring of muscle stretching around the tiny skull with a sickening pop. Richard's eyes were glued to the sight, his excitement palpable as he whispered encouragements, his hand resting on the small of my back. The room was tense, the air heavy with anticipation. I could feel the head moving, the pressure shifting as the baby's body began to follow.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling the head at full crown. The pain was so intense, I thought I would pass out. "Take a break," Richard's voice was gentle, his hand stroking my back. "You're doing so well, just rest for a moment." I braced myself on the bed, panting and crying, the contraction's grip on my body loosening. His family hovered, their eyes never leaving the spectacle before them, their smirks and whispers a constant reminder of my lack of agency in this moment.

As the next contraction began to build, I couldn't hold back the scream that tore from my throat. The pressure was unbearable, the feeling of my body being torn in two an unrelenting agony. Richard's grip on my hand tightened, his eyes never leaving mine as he urged me to push. "Push for me, Jesse." His voice was a mix of encouragement and command, and I knew I had no choice but to obey. I bore down, pushing with everything I had, my body shaking with the effort.

The head was out. I could feel it, the tightness of the ring of muscle giving way to the slickness of the baby's skin. It was a strange, alien sensation, a mix of relief and horror. The room grew louder, Richard's family's whispers turning to shouts of excitement. Richard's face was a mask of concentration as he helped guide the baby's body out of me, his voice calm and steady. "Almost there," he said, his eyes never leaving the sight between my legs. The baby's head lolled back, the umbilical cord wrapped tightly around its neck.

With one final, agonizing push, the baby's body slipped free, and I collapsed onto the bed, sobbing. The room was a blur of movement as they cleared the baby's airway and clamped the cord, but all I could focus on was the pain, the overwhelming sense of violation that had just occurred. The sound of a newborn's cry filled the room, a wail that seemed to echo the despair in my soul. I didn't want to look, didn't want to see the fruit of this twisted union.

But then, they placed the baby in my arms. It was a girl, tiny and wrinkled and perfect in her imperfection. And as she squalled, my nipples began to leak, the instinctual response to her desperate hunger a stark reminder that I was now a mother. They had done this to me, had turned me into a creature whose sole purpose was to feed and care for these children that I had never asked for. But as I looked into her tiny, scrunched-up face, I felt something shift within me. It was a mix of love and resentment, a fiery determination to protect her from the same fate that had befallen me.

I took her to my chest, her cries growing softer as she latched on to my nipple. The suction was a strange, uncomfortable sensation, but the pain was nothing compared to the fierce love that surged through my body. I had never felt anything so primal, so overwhelming. And as she fed, I realized that despite everything, she was mine. Her life was a thread of hope in the tapestry of despair that had become my existence.

The respite was brief, as the next contraction began to build. My water broke once more, a warm rush that brought with it the stark reality that there were two more babies to come. Richard's grip on my arm tightened, his eyes filled with excitement. "Here comes the next," he said, his voice a low murmur. "You're almost there." His words were like a knife, a reminder that this was only the beginning.

Margaret stepped forward, her hand reaching for the baby girl still attached to me by the umbilical cord. "Let me take her," she said, her voice firm. "You need to focus on the next one." I wanted to cling to my child, to keep her close to me, but my body was no longer my own. With trembling hands, I handed her over, watching as she was whisked away to be cleaned and wrapped, her cries growing fainter with each step.

The room grew quiet again, the only sound my own harsh breathing as I braced for the next wave of pain. The contraction hit me like a freight train, and I gritted my teeth, pushing down with all my might. Richard's eyes never left my face, his thumb pressing into my hand, his encouragement a dark counterpoint to the agony. The second baby's head began to appear, and I screamed, the sound echoing through the room.

"Here it comes," Richard announced, his voice filled with excitement. He released my hand and placed his own hands on my swollen vagina, his fingers pushing the baby's head down gently to help guide it out. The sensation was alien and terrifying, his touch was a stark reminder of the power he held over my body. "You're doing it, Jesse," he murmured, his eyes never leaving my face. The pressure grew, the burning pain reaching a crescendo as the second baby's head began to emerge.

The room grew dim around me, the pain an all-consuming fire that threatened to swallow me whole. I felt a hand on my shoulder, but it didn't belong to Richard. It was one of his sisters, her grip tight and painful. "This one looks huge," she hissed in my ear, her voice filled with spite. "Spread wide." The words were like acid, searing through the fog of pain, fueling my anger and resentment. With a roar, I pushed, feeling the baby's head pop out with a wet, sloppy sound.

Richard's hands were there, catching the body as it slithered out of me. He held it up, his eyes gleaming with pride as he announced, "It's a boy!" But the victory was short-lived as the pain didn't recede. I knew there was one more to come, and the dread pooled in my stomach like a toxic stew. He held the baby up for me to see, but I couldn't focus, my eyes glazed with tears and sweat. His hands were slick with my blood and the baby's fluids, and for a moment, I felt like I was looking at a monster, not the man who had once promised to cherish me.

He laid the baby on my stomach, the tiny, wrinkled body still connected to me by the pulsing cord. The baby's legs kicked, and I felt a strange mix of revulsion and maternal instinct. It was like watching an alien creature, but one that I had created, one that was a part of me. The room was a flurry of activity as Margaret and Eleanor stepped forward to cut the cords and clean the babies. Their cold, efficient movements were a stark contrast to the primal screams that had filled the room just moments before.

The contractions grew more intense, signaling the final act of this horrific play. Water trickled from my opening once more, but I was too weak to react. Richard's hand found my face, his thumb wiping away a stray tear. "One more, Jesse," he said, his voice gentle. "You can do this." I wanted to spit in his face, to scream at him for the life he had forced upon me. But the pain was too much, the need to push too overwhelming. I bore down once more, feeling the last baby begin its descent into the world.

The crown was so slow. Each inch felt like an eternity, a never-ending torture. "Come on, come on," Margaret urged, her voice impatient. I could feel the baby's body moving, twisting and turning in a desperate bid for freedom. It was as if my body was fighting against its own creation, refusing to release the last shackle of my freedom. My legs trembled, my muscles screaming for relief as I pushed with every ounce of strength I had left. "Almost there," Richard murmured, his hand sliding down to cup the baby's head as it began to emerge.

With a primal roar, the baby slid into the world, a wet, bloody mess of limbs and life. Richard's grip was firm as he caught the tiny body, his face a mask of triumph. "It's another boy," he announced, his voice ringing with pride. I collapsed onto the bed, my body spent and my soul shattered. The room was a blur of activity, but all I could focus on was the pain that consumed me, the pain that had become my constant companion.

As they laid the final baby on my stomach, I felt the warmth of his skin against mine, his tiny hand curling around my finger. The connection was undeniable, a thread of love that pierced through the anger and despair. The room grew quiet, the only sounds the cries of my newborns and the harsh, ragged breaths that filled the air. Richard's family stepped back, their cold eyes assessing the fruit of their forced labor. They had won, they had what they wanted—a legacy of sons to carry on the family name.

[silverrabbitftm]

I was six months pregnant, my belly a proud and round declaration of the life growing inside me. The skin stretched taut, a canvas of blue veins and a hint of the baby's limbs moving beneath. Yet, amidst the anticipation of fatherhood, I was consumed by an unrelenting craving for cock, a hunger that only grew with each passing day. My body a blend of masculine and feminine, my soul unshackled by the confines of biology. Despite the swell of my belly and the fullness of my breasts, the need to feel a man's touch was as much a part of me as the child I carried.

One evening, the ache grew too intense to ignore. I found myself at a local bar, a place where the air had the scent of lust and desperation. The kind of place where men went to satisfy their baser instincts. My eyes scanned the room, searching for the one who would quench my thirst. They settled on a man, tall and broad-shouldered, his gaze a silent promise of the depravity I sought. His eyes traveled over my swollen frame, lingering on my bulging belly, the unmistakable evidence of my feminine anatomy.

He approached, his stride confident and predatory. "You're pregnant," he stated, his voice gruff with a hint of wonder. I nodded, my own hunger clear in my eyes. "And you still want this?" He gestured to the tent in his pants, his cock straining against the fabric. "More than ever," I replied, my voice a seductive purr.

He led me to a backroom, the air thick with the musk of sex. The walls were stained with the sweat and passion of countless trysts, a testament to the depravity that had occurred within. He pushed me against a wall, his hands roughly groping my breasts, kneading the sensitive flesh until I moaned with need. His thumbs brushed over my nipples, eliciting a jolt of pleasure that shot straight to my clit.

With a swift movement, he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, releasing his thick, erect cock. It bobbed before me, a beacon of carnality. He grabbed my face and brought it closer, the scent of his arousal making my mouth water. I took him in, feeling his length and girth fill my mouth as my tongue danced around his shaft. The taste of his pre-cum coated my tongue, sending waves of pleasure through my body.

I could feel his cock swell even further as I deep-throated him, my throat muscles working to accommodate his size. His hands tangled in my hair, guiding my movements, setting a rhythm that made my own t-dick throb with envy. My pregnant belly pressed into the wall, providing a delicious counterpoint to the pressure building in my mouth. The man's breath grew ragged, his hips bucking as he fucked my face.

With a grunt, he pulled away, leaving me gasping for air, strings of saliva connecting my mouth to his glistening tip. He bent down as he pulled his pants back up, his mouth claiming mine in a bruising kiss. The taste of him mingled with my own saliva, a heady mix that only served to inflame my desire. His hand slid down to my crotch, cupping my bulging stomach before slipping into my underwear. His fingers found my clit, already swollen and sensitive, and began to rub in tight circles.

I moaned into his mouth, my hips pushing against his hand. His touch was firm, demanding, as if he could feel the pulse of the baby within me and sought to synchronize it with the rhythm of his fingers. I reached down to stroke my clit, feeling the slickness of my own arousal coating my member. The sensation was foreign and exhilarating, a stark reminder of the duality of my body.

He pushed me onto a nearby table, the cold surface a stark contrast to the heat radiating from my skin. He spread my legs wide, his eyes feasting on the sight of my distended belly button and the plump folds of my cunt. He leaned in, his tongue tracing the outline of my labia before diving deep, tasting me with an eagerness that bordered on worship. I bucked against his mouth, the pleasure so intense it was almost painful.

His tongue flicked over my clit, teasing and taunting it until I was on the brink of climax. My hands gripped the edge of the table, my knuckles white with the effort to remain still. He knew just how to manipulate my body, pushing me to the edge before pulling back, only to start again. Each time, the need grew stronger, the tension coiling tighter in my core.

With a final, forceful flick, I came, my body shuddering with the intensity of the orgasm. He looked up at me, a smug grin playing on his lips. "Ready for more?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly. I nodded, unable to speak through the haze of pleasure that clouded my thoughts.

He stood and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a chiseled chest and a trail of hair that led down to his navel. His pants and underwear followed, and he stepped out of them, his erection bobbing with the movement. He was everything I craved, and I needed him inside me, claiming me, marking me as his.

He approached the table, his cock swaying with each step. He didn't bother with foreplay, didn't bother to ease in. Instead, he positioned himself at my entrance and thrust in hard. The sudden intrusion made me gasp, the feeling of being filled so completely almost too much. But I was wet, so wet for him, and my body stretched to accommodate his girth. His hips slammed into mine, the sound of our flesh colliding echoing through the room.

The man didn't hold back, pounding into me like a jackhammer. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through my body, making me arch off the table. The sensation of his cock sliding in and out of my tight cunt was exquisite, the friction against my swollen clit driving me wild. My belly bounced with each impact, the baby inside me a silent participant in our depraved dance.

I could feel the walls of my pussy stretch around him, the added pressure from my pregnancy making the sensation even more intense. His balls slapped against my ass, leaving a warm, wet trail as he fucked me mercilessly. My clit was rock-hard, bulging from between my thighs, dripping a mix of my juices and his precum onto the table beneath me.

My breasts, heavy with milk, bounced in time with his thrusts, the sensation of his chest hair brushing against my sensitive nipples sending waves of pleasure crashing over me. I reached to pinch them, rolling the tips between my fingers, the pain a delicious counterpoint to the pleasure. He took one in his mouth, sucking and biting as he continued to fuck me, his teeth grazing my sensitive flesh.

My moans grew louder, my body no longer my own, a mere vessel for the carnality that consumed me. His cock pistoned in and out, the friction of our bodies a symphony of raw, unbridled passion. His hands roamed my belly, feeling the baby's movements beneath his touch, the alien sensation only fueling his lust. He leaned in, his breath hot against my neck, and whispered, "You're so fucking tight. Do you like how I'm stretching you?"

I nodded, unable to form words through the delirium of pleasure. Each stroke inside me seemed to resonate with the life within, the baby's kicks synchronizing with the rhythm of his thrusts. The man groaned, his grip tightening as he quickened his pace. The sound of our flesh slapping together filled the room, a testament to the intensity of our union.

The man's cock felt like it was splitting me in two, reaching depths I never knew existed. His balls slapped against my ass cheeks, a stinging reminder of his virility. I could feel his shaft pulse, growing thicker as he approached climax. My own arousal mounted, my body desperate for release.

He grabbed my hips, pulling me closer, his strokes growing erratic. His eyes locked onto my belly, watching the bump's movements with a mix of fascination and hunger. I felt his cock swell, his breathing ragged as he reached the peak of his pleasure. With a roar, he emptied himself inside me, his cum mixing with the slickness already coating my walls.

The feeling of his hot seed filling me was almost too much. My orgasm crested, my cunt clenching around his shaft in spasms as wave after wave of pleasure washed over me. He didn't stop, instead riding out his own climax until he was spent, his cock still twitching within me. He leaned over, his weight pressing down on my swollen abdomen, his chest heaving with exertion.

For a moment, we stayed like that, our breath mingling in the stillness. Then, with a grin that was almost boyish in its wickedness, he pulled out, leaving me gaping and dripping with his cum. "Fuck, that was good," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. I could only nod, my body still trembling from the aftershocks of our coupling.

He reached for a bottle of water on the floor, offering it to me. I took it gratefully, my throat parched from the exertion. As I drank, he traced a finger through the cum that leaked from my pussy, watching it run down my thigh with a look of fascination. "You're so hot," he said, his voice filled with awe. "Your body... it's a fucking work of art."

I set the bottle down and looked up at him, my eyes smoldering with lust. "You want more?" I asked, my voice a whisper. He nodded, his eyes never leaving my cunt. "Always," he replied, his hand moving to stroke his semi-hard cock back to life.

My belly was a testament to the life I carried, and yet here I was, spread open and vulnerable before a stranger, my body used for his pleasure. But it wasn't just about the baby; it was about me, about the person I was before the pregnancy, the cravings that had been buried under layers of societal norms and expectations. I needed this, the raw, primal connection, the feeling of being desired in spite of, or perhaps because of, the changes in my body.

The man took a step back, admiring the mess he'd made of me. The head of his cock was still glistening with my juices, and the sight of it made me want to beg for more. But I remained silent, my eyes locked with his, challenging him to take me again. And he did. He didn't bother with foreplay, his cock sliding back into me with ease. I gasped as he filled me up, his thickness stretching my walls even further.

This time, he fucked me standing, his hands gripping my hips so tightly that I knew I'd have bruises tomorrow. Each thrust was punishing, pushing the air from my lungs and making me cry out. My belly was a constant reminder of the baby, jiggling with each pound of his hips. His cock hit my cervix, sending shockwaves of pain and pleasure through me. I held onto his forearms, my nails digging into his skin, as he fucked me like a wild animal in heat.

My cries grew louder, a mix of pain and pleasure, as his cock hammered into me. He didn't care if anyone heard us, didn't care if the whole bar knew what was happening in the backroom. All that mattered was his release, his claiming of my pregnant body. I could feel the baby moving, a strange dance in response to the rhythm of our fucking.

The man leaned in, his teeth grazing my neck as he whispered filthy things in my ear. "You're so tight, so fucking tight," he groaned. "You like it, don't you?" I nodded, unable to deny it. The pain was a heady aphrodisiac, heightening every sensation. His hands moved to my breasts, his fingers pinching my nipples until tears welled in my eyes. The pain was exquisite, a sharp contrast to the fullness of his cock inside me.

He picked up the pace, his movements more erratic now, his breathing ragged with lust. I could feel the beginnings of another orgasm building, my cunt clenching around him, begging for more. His hips slammed into my pelvis, the impact sending ripples of sensation through my swollen stomach. The baby kicked, a silent protest to the rough treatment, but the pleasure was too intense to stop.

The room was a blur, the only things in focus the man's cock and the pain it brought. He was relentless, his thrusts growing more violent with each passing moment. My legs began to shake, my knees threatening to buckle under the weight of his lust. But I held on, my body craving the brutal pleasure he gave me.

My orgasm hit like a freight train, tearing through me with a force that made me scream. The man's grip tightened on my hips, holding me in place as he fucked me through it. My cunt spasmed around him, the muscles milking his cock for every drop of cum he had. And when it came, it was a flood, filling me so completely that I thought I might burst.

He pulled out, his cum leaking from my overstretched pussy and down my thighs. He stumbled back, panting heavily, his cock still hard and dripping. "Fuck," he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of amazement and satisfaction. "That was..." He didn't finish the sentence, just shook his head, his eyes never leaving my cum-covered body.

I slid off the table, my legs shaking as I tried to stand. He handed me a towel, his eyes never leaving my stomach, which was now smeared with our combined fluids. I wiped myself down, the fabric rough against my sensitive skin. He zipped up his pants, tucking his still semi-hard cock away with a satisfied smile.

We didn't exchange names, didn't bother with the pleasantries of a normal encounter. This was about raw, primal need, and we'd both gotten what we wanted. I pulled on my own clothes, my pants sticky with cum and sweat, and adjusted my bra to accommodate my sore, milk-filled breasts.

As we left the backroom, the music from the bar seemed to swallow us whole. We parted ways without a word, our eyes meeting for a brief moment, a silent understanding passing between us. I was his pregnant slut for the night, and he'd given me exactly what I needed. The craving was sated, for now. But I knew it would return, as insatiable as ever.

The man disappeared into the crowd, and I made my way to the bathroom, the stickiness between my legs a reminder of what had just occurred. I cleaned up as best as I could, the damp towels doing little to soothe my aching cunt. My breasts felt heavy and full, the need to be touched and emptied almost unbearable. The sight of my reflection in the mirror was a jarring reminder of my pregnant state, my stomach protruding and my t-dick a sad, limp mess against my thigh.

I returned to the bar, the hunger for cock gnawing at me once again. It was as if each encounter only fed the beast, making it grow more ravenous. I approached the bar, the bartender eyeing me with a knowing smirk. He'd seen it all before, the pregnant men who frequented this place, searching for a temporary escape from their reality.

The night grew late, and the bar's patrons grew more desperate. A burly man caught my eye, his gaze lingering on my belly. He approached, his hands reaching out to touch my stomach without permission. His rough fingers traced the outline of the baby bump, sending a shiver down my spine.

"You want another round?" he asked, his voice gruff. I nodded, my eyes never leaving his. The air between us crackled with electricity, and I knew what he really wanted to ask. "How about we go somewhere more private?" His hand slid lower, cupping my ass, the pressure of his fingers making me gasp.

We stumbled into an empty booth, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that was more about possession than passion. His hand moved to my zipper, roughly pulling it down, exposing my swollen cock. He took it in his hand, stroking it with a fervor that left me breathless. His other hand found my breast, squeezing the milk-filled mound until I whimpered.

Without warning, he bent me over the table, the wood digging into my stomach. His cock slammed into me from behind, no pretense of gentle introduction. The pain was instant and intense, a stark contrast to the velvety warmth of his shaft. I reached down to hold onto the edge, my knuckles turning white with the effort to keep from screaming.

He didn't hold back, his hips pumping into me with a force that made me see stars. Each thrust sent a bolt of pain through my abdomen, making me aware of the baby's presence in the most primal way. Yet, the pain was a strange kind of ecstasy, a reminder that even in this moment of raw, animalistic need, I was still capable of carrying life.

The man's grunts grew louder, his breath hot against my neck. He reached around, his hand wrapping around my throat, squeezing just enough to make the world spin. The pressure was terrifying and exhilarating, a heady mix that had my cock straining against the fabric of my underwear. His other hand found my clit, his thumb pressing down hard.

My body began to shake, the orgasm ripping through me like a tornado. I could feel the baby's movements, a silent protest against the rough treatment, but the pleasure was too much to ignore. The man's grip on my throat tightened, cutting off my air supply, until everything went black.

When I came to, he was still fucking me, his pace unrelenting. I gasped for air, my vision swimming as the oxygen returned to my brain. The edge of the table was biting into my belly, but the pain only served to fuel my climax. He didn't stop, his hand moving to my hip to steady himself as he pounded into me.

My moans grew louder, my body no longer my own as he claimed me. His cock was a steel rod, his balls slapping against my ass with every thrust. I could feel my orgasm building again, the pressure in my cunt almost unbearable.

With a final, brutal thrust, he came, filling me with his hot cum. He pulled out, leaving me panting and trembling, my legs barely holding me upright. He wiped his cock on my thigh, a gesture that was both degrading and strangely satisfying.

He leaned in, whispering in my ear, "You're a good breeding bitch," before disappearing back into the shadows of the bar. The insult stung, but the truth of his words sent a shiver down my spine. My pregnant body was a playground for these men, and I reveled in it, craving the feeling of being used and desired.

Another night passed, and the cravings grew stronger. My belly was now a beacon of temptation, a round and ripe fruit yearning to be plucked. I found myself in the alley behind the bar, a man's rough hands pushing me against the brick wall. His breath reeked of cigarettes and cheap whiskey, but I didn't care. I needed his cock.

He pulled down my pants, exposing my swollen cunt to the cool night air. He groaned at the sight of it, his eyes glued to the glistening wetness that had leaked out during our encounter. "You're fucking soaking," he murmured, his voice a mix of disbelief and excitement. He didn't bother with foreplay, instead plunging two fingers inside me, stretching me open for what was to come.

His thumb circled my clit, the pressure building until I was bucking against his hand, begging for more. He chuckled, a dark and sinister sound that made my skin crawl with anticipation. "You want it, don't you?" he growled. I nodded, unable to form coherent words. He pulled his hand away, leaving me panting and desperate.

Without warning, he shoved his cock into me, his girth splitting me in two. The pain was intense, a knife slicing through me, but I pushed back, eager for the feeling of being filled. He grabbed my hips, his nails digging into my flesh as he fucked me with a ferocity that bordered on violence.

My belly pressed against the wall with each thrust, the sound of claps echoing through the alley. The stench of piss and trash mixed with the scent of sex, a potent aroma that only heightened my arousal. His cock hit my g-spot, making me see stars, my cunt clenching around him in a silent plea for more.

The man's grunts grew louder, his grip on my hips tightening until I knew I'd have bruises. But the pain only served to make me wetter, my body betraying my mind with its insatiable need. His cock grew slick with my juices, sliding in and out with ease. I could feel his balls slapping against my ass, the promise of his release imminent.

He reached around, his hand wrapping around my throat once again, squeezing until my vision blurred. I clawed at his arm, my lungs burning for air, my cunt pulsing around his shaft. He didn't let up, the pressure on my neck increasing until I was sure I'd pass out.

And then, with a roar that seemed to shake the very foundation of the alley, he came. His cum shot deep inside me, the force of his orgasm making me shiver with pleasure. He released my neck, his breathing ragged and his eyes wild with lust.

I slumped against the wall, my legs giving out beneath me. He zipped up his pants and left without a word, leaving me to wipe myself clean with a discarded napkin. The cum leaked out of me, a warm and sticky reminder of the encounter.

Days turned into weeks, and my belly grew larger, a testament to the life within me. Yet, the cravings didn't abate. If anything, they grew stronger. Each encounter was more depraved than the last, my body a canvas for their lust.

One night, I found myself in a hotel room, the walls papered with scenes of past conquests. The man who'd brought me here was older, his cock thick and veiny. He looked at my stomach with a hunger that made me feel like a piece of meat.

He pushed me onto the bed, his mouth moving to my breasts. He suckled at my nipples, drawing them out into hard peaks. The sensation was exquisite, the pain sending bolts of pleasure to my clit. His hand moved down to my stomach, his palm flat against the firmness of my abdomen.

"You're going to make a fine daddy," he murmured, his voice thick with lust, his hand caressing my swollen stomach with surprising tenderness. I moaned, the mix of pleasure and pain making my head swim. He was right; I was going to be a daddy, but for now, all I could focus on was the cock in front of me.

He climbed onto the bed, his knees straddling my thighs. His cock hovered above my gaping pussy, the tip glistening with precum. He reached down, his fingers sliding into my wetness, and I arched my back, begging for him to fill me. He took his time, teasing my entrance, my cunt clenching in anticipation.

With a groan, he pushed inside, his thickness stretching me further than I thought possible. The head of his cock nudged my cervix, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. He didn't stop, instead, he leaned forward, his weight pressing down on my belly as he began to fuck me in earnest. The bed creaked with the force of his thrusts, the headboard slamming into the wall.

My milk-filled breasts bounced with each pound of his hips, the pain in my nipples a delicious agony. I reached up, pinching them hard, the pain sending sparks of pleasure shooting down to my clit. He watched me, his eyes never leaving my face, his own need reflected in the depths of his gaze.

He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. "You like it when I fuck you hard, don't you, baby?" I could only nod, my voice lost in the symphony of our bodies. He chuckled, his hips picking up the pace. "That's what I thought."

The room grew hazy, the only things in focus his cock and the pain it brought. My orgasm built, a crescendo of sensation that washed over me like a tidal wave. I screamed, my cunt spasming around him as he continued to pound into me.

The man didn't let up, his strokes growing more erratic as he approached his own climax. His grip on my hips tightened, his knuckles white with effort. His cock grew thicker, his balls slapping against my ass with each thrust.

With a roar, he came, his cum flooding my cunt. The warmth of his seed spread through me, mixing with the slickness of my arousal. He collapsed onto me, his weight a comforting pressure against my swollen belly.

For a moment, we lay there, our bodies entwined, our breaths mingling in the stillness of the room. Then, he rolled off, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. He leaned over, his cock still hard, and kissed me softly. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice filled with something close to reverence.

I watched him dress, his eyes never leaving my body. "You're beautiful," he said, his voice filled with wonder. "So fucking beautiful." And with that, he was gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the sticky evidence of our encounter.

The weeks grew into a blur of men and cocks, each encounter more intense than the last. I didn't care about names or faces, only the feeling of being used, of being filled. My body was a temple to their desires, and I reveled in every moment of it.

My breasts grew larger, the skin tight and sensitive. I'd sit in the bar, my shirt open just enough to reveal the swollen mounds, watching as men's eyes would follow me, hungry. They knew what I offered, and I gave it willingly.

One night, a group approached me, their eyes gleaming with a hunger that was almost feral. They didn't bother with words, simply led me into the back, one hand on my belly, the other on my ass. They were rough, their touch almost cruel, but it was what I needed.

They took turns, one fucking me while the others watched, their cocks in their hands, stroking themselves to the sight of my distended stomach and the cunt that swallowed them whole. The pain was exquisite, each thrust sending me closer to the edge.

My orgasms came in waves, one after the other, my body no longer my own. They used me, their hands and mouths everywhere, their cocks a blur as they claimed me over and over. Each time one pulled out, another took his place, the rhythm never faltering. My cunt was a mess, stretched and swollen, leaking cum and juices onto the sticky floor.

Their grunts and groans filled my ears, a symphony of lust that drowned out any semblance of reality. The pain was a constant companion, a reminder that I was alive, that I was desired. Their fingers dug into my flesh, leaving bruises that would bloom like dark flowers on my skin. Yet, the pain was a siren's song, drawing me deeper into the abyss of pleasure.

My stomach was a battleground, each thrust pushing against the baby, sending it into a frenzied dance of protest. I could feel the pressure building, a crescendo of sensation that threatened to tear me apart. And still, they didn't stop, their hips pistoning into me with a fervor that bordered on obsession.

One man reached around, his fingers finding my clit. He pinched and rolled it, the sensation so intense it brought tears to my eyes. I was a ragdoll in their hands, my body moving as they willed it, my cunt clenching around their shafts like a vice. They talked to each other, their voices low and guttural, sharing my moans and whimpers as if they were a delicacy to be savored.

My climax was a thing of beauty, a supernova that exploded through me, leaving me a trembling mess on the floor. They continued, their cocks still hard, their eyes never leaving my bulging belly. The sight of my pregnancy seemed to drive them to greater heights of lust, their strokes growing more punishing as they approached their own releases.

When the last man finally came, his cum spurting inside me with a finality that left me feeling both satisfied and empty, they all stepped back, panting and sweating. They zipped up their pants, their gazes lingering on my naked form, their seed dripping from my body like a lewd necklace.

I lay there, spent and used, my legs splayed wide, my belly a testament to the life growing within me. They offered me money, a silent acknowledgment of the transaction that had just occurred. I took it, my hand trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure.

They left, and I was alone once again, the echoes of their grunts still ringing in my ears. I sat up, the sticky mess of cum and juices clinging to my skin. The taste of them was still in my mouth, a reminder of my depravity.

My belly was a constant presence, a reminder that I was different, that I was desired in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating. The cravings had become a part of me, a second heartbeat that I couldn't ignore.

In the dim light of the bar, I pulled on my clothes, the fabric clinging to my sticky skin. The bartender offered me a towel, his gaze knowing and compassionate. He'd seen it all before, the pregnant men and women who sought refuge here, their bodies a canvas for the desires of those who craved something more primal.

I cleaned up as best as I could, my movements mechanical. My stomach grumbled, a reminder that I needed food, that there was more to life than just sex. But as soon as the thought entered my mind, it was replaced by the insatiable hunger for more.

I stood, my legs wobbly, and made my way back to the bar. The night was still young, and my body craved the touch of another man, the feel of his cock filling me up, claiming me. The cravings were a monster, a beast that demanded to be fed, and I was its willing prey.

As the weeks turned into months, my belly grew larger, the baby inside me a silent witness to the debauchery that had become my life. Each encounter was more intense, each orgasm a step closer to the edge of sanity.

The men grew bolder, their hands and mouths more insistent, as if the very sight of my swollen stomach was a challenge they had to conquer. They took me in every position, every hole, their lust a mirror to the cravings that consumed me.

One night, a burly man with a beard that tickled my clit took me from behind, his hands splayed across my belly, feeling the baby move with every thrust. He was gentle, his strokes deep and slow, as if he were afraid to harm the life within me. Yet, the very act was a declaration of his dominance, his cock claiming me even as I grew larger with someone else's child.

I watched in the mirror as he fucked me, his eyes never leaving the reflection of my distended stomach. It was mesmerizing, the way his cock slid in and out, the way my belly rippled with each movement. The baby kicked, a silent protest to the intrusion, but I could feel its life force pulsing with the rhythm of our fucking.

Another night, a slender man with piercing eyes took his time, his cock sliding into me with an ease that made me moan. He was meticulous, his fingers tracing the veins in my throbbing clit as if he were playing a delicate instrument. His mouth moved to my breasts, his teeth grazing my nipples, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body.

He whispered sweet nothings, his breath hot against my skin, telling me how beautiful I was, how much he craved me. His words were a balm to my soul, a validation of my identity as a man even as my body bore the marks of my feminine past. His cock hit all the right spots, making me forget everything but the need for more.

My belly was a landscape unto itself, a map of desire that these men explored with reckless abandon. Each touch, each kiss, each bite of pain, brought me closer to the edge, the tension coiling in my core until I could take no more.

The first man was tall and lean, his cock long and thick. He took me from behind, his hands gripping my hips as he thrust into me, his hips slapping against my ass with a rhythm that was almost musical. The second man, shorter but equally well-endowed, knelt before me, his cock in my mouth. His taste was a heady mix of salt and musk, his girth stretching my jaw until I could feel the ache in my cheeks.

Their hands roamed my swollen body, caressing my breasts, my stomach, my thighs, as if they couldn't get enough of the softness that pregnancy had brought. The man behind me reached around, his fingers finding my clit, and I moaned around the cock in my mouth, my cunt clenching around his shaft.

Their cocks moved in sync, filling me in a way that was almost too much to bear. The sensation of being so completely claimed, so utterly consumed, was like nothing I'd ever experienced. Each stroke inside me sent waves of pleasure crashing through my body, the pressure building until I thought I'd shatter.

They switched places, the shorter man now behind me, his cock sliding into my wet cunt with a groan that vibrated through my bones. His movements were quick and erratic, his breath hot against my neck as he whispered obscenities into my ear. The tall man took his place before me, his cock now a delicious treat to feast on.

Their hands moved to my stomach, pressing down, their fingers sinking into the soft flesh as if trying to reach the life within. The baby kicked, a silent participant in this carnival of lust, and the men only grew more excited, their eyes never leaving the swell of my belly.

My moans grew louder, the sound echoing off the walls of the tiny room. They took turns fucking me, one after the other, their cum mixing with my juices, creating a sticky mess that coated my skin. My orgasms were a blur, one seamlessly blending into the next, each more intense than the last.

My breasts, heavy with milk, bounced with the force of their thrusts, the pain from the nipple clamps a constant reminder of the power dynamic at play. They took turns, one fucking my ass while the other pounded my cunt, the pressure from both sides making me feel like I'd split in two.

Their grunts and groans filled the air, a symphony of lust that seemed to crescendo with every beat of my racing heart. The bed was a sea of sweat and cum, our bodies slick and sticky with the evidence of our depravity.

The men didn't speak, their communication reduced to the primal sounds of sex, the slap of flesh against flesh, the wet sounds of penetration. Their eyes never left my stomach, their strokes growing more forceful as if trying to claim the baby growing within me.

As they fucked me, I could feel the baby move, a silent protest to the rough treatment. Yet the sensation only heightened my pleasure, the pain a delicious counterpoint to the ecstasy that washed over me.

Their cocks grew slick with our combined fluids, sliding in and out of me with an ease that was almost terrifying. The pressure was unbearable, and yet, I didn't want it to stop. I craved the feeling of being used, of being nothing more than a vessel for their pleasure.

My cunt was stretched to the brink, my ass still sore from the previous night's encounters. Yet, I took them both, my body begging for more, my mind lost to the haze of desire. They were rough, their movements almost violent, but it was what I needed, what I craved.

Their climaxes were explosive, their cum spurting into me, filling me up until I was sure I'd drown. The sensation was overwhelming, the warmth of their seed sending me spiraling into another orgasm, my cunt clenching around them like a fist.

When it was over, when the last man had pulled out and zipped up his pants, leaving me a trembling, sticky mess on the bed, I lay there, panting. My belly was a battleground, a testament to the men who had claimed me. The baby kicked, a reminder that this wasn't just about my own pleasure, but something far more primal.

My cunt throbbed, raw and swollen from the abuse, but the pain was a sweet agony that I welcomed. Each pulse was a reminder of the life inside me, of the power that surged through my veins. The men had left, their footsteps fading down the hall, but their essence lingered on my skin, a scent that was both intoxicating and repulsive.

I rolled over, my swollen breasts aching for attention. The milk was there, a constant presence that I both loved and hated. It was a reminder of my biological truth, a truth that seemed to fuel the men's desires even more. I cupped them in my hands, the flesh spilling over, the nipples tight and sensitive.

I played with them, my fingertips tracing the areola, the nubs growing harder with each pass. The pain was a delicious ache, a reminder that I was alive, that I was still a man, despite the changes my body had undergone. The cravings grew stronger with each passing day, the need for cock an insatiable hunger that I couldn't ignore.

I made my way to my bathroom, the residual stickiness of men's cum a constant reminder of my transgressions. The shower was a blast of cold water, a desperate attempt to wash away the evidence of my depravity. But no matter how hard I scrubbed, the scent of sex clung to me, a fragrant brand that seemed to attract more men.

My stomach was a tight, swollen globe, the skin stretched to the breaking point. I watched in fascination as my hand passed over it, the baby's movements a silent ballet beneath the surface. The sight of it, so vulnerable and yet so powerful, made me feel both invincible and utterly exposed.

The mirror reflected my swollen breasts, my nipples dark and erect, begging to be sucked and bitten. The rest of me was a mess, my stomach striped with bruises from eager hands, my thighs sticky with cum. Yet, there was a beauty in it, a raw, sexual power that was undeniable.

I stepped out of the shower, the towel a rough caress against my sensitive skin. My cunt was still open, the muscles stretched and tender. I sat on the edge of the bed, my hand moving to my clit, the need for release a constant throb.

As I touched myself, the memories of the night's encounters played out in my mind, a pornographic reel of grunts and sweat, of cocks and cum. Each stroke brought me closer to the edge, the tension coiling in my belly, a silent scream for more.

My hand moved to my t-dick It was a sad, lonely little thing, lost amidst the swell of my stomach, but it was mine, a part of me that hadn't changed despite everything else. I stroked it, feeling the familiar ache of desire, the need for release that seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment.

My orgasm was a quiet thing, a tremor that rolled through me like a wave. My cunt clenched, a silent echo of the men who had filled me, and I came with a whimper, my seed spattering onto the floor. It was a pitiful release, a mere shadow of the ecstasy that came from being claimed by another.

But it was enough for now, a temporary salve to the ravenous beast that lived within me. I dressed, my movements slow and deliberate, the fabric of my clothes sticking to my damp skin. The cravings were never truly sated, always lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for the next opportunity to strike.

The bar called to me, the neon lights a beacon in the night. It was my sanctuary, my playground, a place where I could be who I truly was without judgment or fear. The men would be there, their eyes hungry for the sight of my pregnant belly, their cocks eager to claim me.

And I would let them, eagerly, willingly. Because in the end, it wasn't just about the sex; it was about the power, the control, the raw, animalistic need to be claimed. It was about proving to the world, and to myself, that I was still a man, still desirable, still able to give and receive pleasure in the most primal of ways.

My belly had become a playground for the men who sought me out, a canvas for their lust. They'd touch it with reverence, their hands tracing the outline of the baby, their eyes glazed with desire. They'd whisper sweet nothings, telling me how much they wanted me, how my pregnancy only made me hotter. And I'd let them, because it was what I needed, what I craved.

The cravings had grown more intense, more demanding. I could feel the baby's movements, a constant reminder of the life within me. Yet, with each touch, each stroke of a cock, each mouthful of cum, I felt more alive than I had in months. My body was no longer my own, but a vessel for their pleasure, and I reveled in it.

One night, a man took me to the alley behind the bar, his eyes never leaving my stomach. He fucked me there, in the dirt and grime, his cock pounding into me with a brutality that was almost too much to bear. And yet, I begged for more, my cunt clenching around him, desperate to feel every inch.

He was rough, his hands leaving bruises on my swollen flesh, his teeth marks on my nipples a reminder of his claim. His cum spurted inside me, mixing with the baby's amniotic fluid, a strange and twisted communion that only served to heighten the intensity of the moment.

My orgasms grew more frequent, more powerful, my body a tightly wound coil of need. The men took notice, their lust for me growing with each passing day. They'd line up outside my door, their eyes hungry, their cocks hard. They knew what I had to offer, knew what I needed.

In the final weeks, my belly was a monstrous thing, a swollen mass that dominated every aspect of my existence. The pain was a constant companion, a reminder of the life I carried, the life that would soon be torn from me in a bloody, screaming mess.

Yet, even in the throes of pain, the cravings remained. I'd take them in every position imaginable, my body a ragdoll for their use. They'd fuck me until I couldn't walk, until I couldn't think, until all that was left was the pounding of their hips and the feel of their cocks inside me.

My breasts had grown even larger, the milk a constant torrent that spilled over with each squeeze. They'd suckle me, their teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, the pain only adding to the pleasure. And as they emptied me, I could feel the baby move, a silent protest to the men who used me so.

Practice contractions began, a slow, steady march toward the inevitable. I knew the time was near, the moment when my body would no longer be my own. Yet, even as the pain grew, the cravings didn't wane. I sought out one final encounter, my belly so large I could barely see my toes.

He was older, his cock thick and veiny, his eyes filled with a hunger that was almost frightening. He took me in the bar's stockroom, his hands gentle on my swollen flesh. He whispered sweet nothings, his touch tender, almost loving. And for a brief moment, I allowed myself to believe that this could be more than just a transaction.

He fucked me slowly, his strokes measured, as if he were afraid of breaking me. Yet, the pain was a welcome reprieve from the contractions that gripped me, the pleasure a balm to the fear that was slowly building. His cock hit my cervix, and I screamed, the pain and pleasure melding into one, unbearable sensation.

His cum filled me, a warm, sticky mess that only added to the discomfort. But as he pulled out, his seed leaked from my cunt, I felt a strange sense of satisfaction, a knowing that this was the end of an era.

My belly was tight and round, a symbol of the life I'd soon be bringing into the world. Yet, even in my final month, the cravings didn't relent. If anything, they'd grown more intense, my body demanding release with a fervor that bordered on madness.

I stumbled through the last weeks, my hips waddling with each step. The men who sought me out were more aggressive now, their hunger for my pregnant body a palpable force. They'd take me in the back of their cars, in alleys, anywhere they could get me alone.

One night, as the first real contractions began to squeeze my abdomen, I found myself in a grimy motel room with a man who was all too eager to indulge my needs. He took me on the bed, his cock thick and greedy, his eyes never leaving my stomach.

He whispered sweet nothings, his hands gentle on my swollen breasts, his mouth worshiping my stretched nipples. The pain was a delicious ache, the pressure from the contractions melding with the pleasure of his touch.

He slid into me, slow and easy, his eyes locked with mine. The head of his cock nudged against the baby, and I gasped, the sensation foreign and terrifying. Yet, my body responded, my cunt clenching around him, begging for more.

The contractions grew stronger, the pain stealing my breath. But he didn't stop, his thrusts growing more urgent, his eyes never leaving my stomach. With each push, he claimed me, owned me, marked me as his.

The room grew hazy, the pain a crescendo that seemed to consume me. My cunt was a vice around his cock, the baby moving in response to the pressure, a silent dance of life and lust.

He came with a roar, his seed flooding my womb, mingling with the baby's impending arrival. And as the final spasms of his orgasm rocked through him, my water broke, a gush of fluid that soaked the bed beneath us.

The contractions grew closer, the pain a living, breathing entity that consumed my thoughts. Yet, even as I writhed in agony, the cravings remained, a constant throb that demanded to be satisfied.

I begged him to fuck me harder, the pain a strange counterpoint to the contractions that ravaged my body. He obliged, his strokes growing more forceful, his teeth sinking into my shoulder as he claimed me once more.

The room spun, the pain a red haze that consumed everything. Yet, amidst the chaos, I felt a strange peace, a knowing that this was the culmination of my desires, the ultimate claiming of my pregnant body.

As the man pulled out, his cum spilling from my cunt, I knew that my time was almost up. The baby was coming soon, and with it, a new chapter in my life, one that would leave these nights behind.

But for now, all that mattered was the here and now, the feel of a cock inside me, the power of being desired, even as my body betrayed me. I reached down, my hand finding my clit, the need for release a siren's call that I couldn't ignore.

With each contraction, I masturbated, my body shaking with the effort. The pleasure grew, a crescendo that seemed to mirror the pain, until I was lost in a sea of sensation. My orgasm was a scream, a desperate, animalistic cry that seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth.

And as the waves of pleasure subsided, the pain grew more intense, the baby's head crowning, pushing against the walls of my cunt. The man looked on, his eyes wide with shock, his cock still hard, still eager for more.

But it was time, the moment of truth approaching, and I knew that this was the end. I pushed him away, the need for him gone, replaced by the primal urge to give birth.

The story of my pregnancy, of the men who claimed me, of the cravings that ruled me, was almost over. Yet, as the baby made its way into the world, I couldn't help but wonder if the hunger would ever truly be sated, if the cravings would ever truly leave me.

[silverrabbitftm]

I can’t wait to make a beautiful family with you.

To watch you walk our baby out of the hospital in their car seat, ready to go home and start this journey.

To get through the sleepless nights with you, when they won’t stop fussing and just need me or you to hold them in our warmth.

To introduce them to our families, watching the people we care about hold the most physical proof of our love for each other.

To read to them, sing to them, talk to them—because even though they can’t understand, it’s so important for their development to hear it.

To let you know how sexy being a dad makes you. It’s like you were made for this. How you instantly soothe our baby and would go to the ends of the earth to protect them—I would spoil you every chance I got.

To push our toddler in the cart while we’re shopping for groceries and see a tiny baby in a stroller, giving each other a look that says “Yeah, we need to make another one.”

To see our first baby on your lap, while you help them hold their brand new brother or sister. Seeing them instantly shift into older sibling mode, knowing they have a built-in best friend for life.

To know I want to repeat this cycle again, and again, and again—because we make the most perfect babies and I can’t wait for the rest of the road that life has in store for us.

[silverrabbitftm]

This is one of my favourite gifs. I like to think I'm one of them, in some sort of institution or class that got us into this situation. Some state-sanctioned pregnancy program for reluctant breeders. A place where we can be supported through our first pregnancies so we get over our fears and embrace our fertility.

[silverrabbitftm]

Stop thinking about the way your body might change.

Stop thinking about what your family might think.

Stop thinking about the future, your education, your career.

All you need to think about right now is how good I feel pumping in and out of your hole. How heavy I am against your back, how taut and full my balls are as they slap against you. How the sounds of my grunts and groans are shooting right to your core and sending your pleasure spiraling even higher. How close I am to finishing inside you.

Think about how you'll clench around my cock as you come, your body instinctively milking me dry and drawing my seed deep. Think about being marked and claimed. Give in to the primal desires of your body.

Feels good to let go of all that nonsense, doesn't it? Just let me fuck you. Let me breed you.

[silverrabbitftm]

[silverrabbitftm]

It was you. It was always you. I wanted a baby, and I specifically chose you to put one inside of me. I wanted to carry your baby. I wanted you to fill me up and make one with me. I wanted to make you a daddy alongside me, and now don’t you see how happy I am?

How swollen and stuffed with your offspring that’s writhing in me? How I’m gonna have your baby and only yours, again, and again, and again. Don’t worry, I want you to get me pregnant again. I want your babies, and only yours.

Look what you’ve done to me, aren’t you proud? You should be..I’m the one carrying them in my belly. I chose you for this.

And I’m not letting you go anytime soon.

[silverrabbitftm]

I just want to say to hell with all the consequences, I need to be pregnant. I need to feel my womb swell with child. I don’t care about the shame of being a pregnant man anymore, I just need my fertile cunt filled.

[silverrabbitftm]

[silverrabbitftm]

Imagine this, all day, all night.

[silverrabbitftm]

i desire this so badly😩

[silverrabbitftm]

[silverrabbitftm]

Look at what you’ve done to my body~ 💖

[silverrabbitftm]

Prepping her belly for labor 😍

[silverrabbitftm]

is there space in this kink for convincing perfectly breedable fence-sitters to become the daddies they know they want to be?

i’m talking about guys who say stuff like “it’s not the right time” or better yet, “i don’t know if i’m ready to be a dad.” all perfectly acceptable lies, but we both see them for what they are: a fear of admitting to yourself what you truly want. down deep at the core of your instincts, you want to be swollen full with child. you get bogged down in the details, the hows and the what ifs, but i’m going to solve all those problems for you. i’m here to show you that the only right time is when my seed takes, and you start to grow lovely and round. i’m here to tell you that you’ve been ready ever since you first felt the ache of an empty womb. all you have to do is let me. your body was made to create, to carry. you crave feeling heavy, full. so then what’s stopping you? let me give you exactly what you’ve been denying yourself for far too long.

or something like that 🥴 would anyone get off on that?

[silverrabbitftm]

He leans back when he walks. His center of gravity has shifted so much more forward on his body than he’s used to, one hand on the small of his back, the other supporting the weight of his round, bulging belly. I approach him from behind and wrap my arms around him and under the baby I put in him, and he sighs in pleasure from my touch. I feel the indents of the stretch marks on his tummy and his hips. He is glowing. Pregnancy looks so beautiful on him. I can’t imagine how good fatherhood will look on him.

[silverrabbitftm]

kinky stuff is nice sure but the intimacy of pregnancy turns me on so so much.

the way your partner's eyes widen at being told that you're pregnant. that their baby is currently occupying your womb. they tenderly care for you through the bad parts of the first trimester. they bring you water, rub your back as you vomit, fix you soup and teas for your stomach. even though there's no noticeable bump, they still rub your belly, which admittedly makes you feel better due to the stomach aches and bloating.

during the second trimester they get so excited seeing your bump finally come in. they insist on you wearing clothes that hug your belly. they cant keep your hands off of you, telling everyone that you're carrying their baby. they're constantly touching your belly or your widening hips. they join you in your frequent naps and even try your weird cravings.

during the third trimester it gets difficult again, this time due to being so big, but they support you so well. they bring you whatever you need so you dont have to get up. and if you do need to get up, they make sure to help you. when your belly feels too heavy, they hold it for you, lifting the weight off your poor back. they love feeling the baby through your skin. they often cuddle with you, rubbing your belly and occasionally poking your flesh to provoke the baby into kicking.

leading up to labor, they do everything to comfort you. they hold you and tell you how wonderful you are as you get false contractions, which only get worse leading up to the actual birth. during the actual birth, they focus on making you comfortable. they refill your water bottle as many times as you need and they bring you the occasional snack. they hold your hand and rub your hair as you contract. when you push, they're holding your hand and kissing your head, telling you that you're doing a perfect job and they love you so much. when they finally see the baby, they're over the moon. they cant decide whether to fawn over you or the baby. you did such a good job and they couldnt be more in love than they already are.