underscorezoo

[underscorezoo]

You should write about a centaur birth, I think that would be interesting especially with how you describe things, feeling the hooves and panicking on where the head is, only to realize it’s hands and you’ve still got basically a whole horse to go… I’d be very interested to see/read that!

I need to foal so bad. I’ve been in labor for days, slowly opening my cervix to accommodate a set of hooves wrapped around a huge baby’s head and shoulders, and then a second set of shoulders leading to the foal’s lower body.

The front hooves have been dangling out of my hole all day but there’s no urge to push so I know I’m not ready yet. It just hurts. Every contraction pulls my belly tight around a womb big enough to carry human quints, but it’s only one centaur foal. I can’t see the front hooves around my belly, but from touching them I know they’re huge. Foaling is going to be agony.

I’ve been pacing my favorite hiking trail all day with my stud. Naked. It’s remote and heavily forested—it’s only us.

Another contraction rips through me. “Ohhh,” I moan. “We should not have done this.”

“You begged for this,” my stud says, again.

I did beg for this. Twelve months ago I watched one of his centaur stallions give birth to my stud’s foal, and I lined up next to be bred. We weren’t even sure it would work. A human and a centaur? But it did. As my belly swelled I helped deliver foals for my stud from his other gravid stallions. I just helped a stallion foal last night, him screaming and braying with his contractions, me gasping and doubling over with mine. But he gave birth successfully at dawn and I didn’t. I’m not even pushing.

“I want it out.”

“You’ll get it out,” he says. “But it will hurt.”

That’s what I want.

It’s all I’ve thought about for a year. Begging to be bred over and over, then once I was pregnant, begging to be fucked every day until I couldn’t think. It’s much too late for second thoughts, but I am having them, and I’m also having a centaur foal.

I double over again and clutch my stud’s hairy arm. It hurts so bad that I can’t even make a sound. A tremendous pressure builds inside me but I’m locked in place. I don’t know what to do.

“I need to push,” I finally gasp. “I need to push really, really bad.”

My stud lays a hand on my shoulder and gives me a little shake. “Then do it! Push, boy!”

I dig my fingers into his arm and push. It’s indescribable. The foal’s bony front legs are being pressed into the sides of my sensitive birth canal by a head bigger than a bowling ball. Oh god. It will never get through my pelvis. My body forces me to push again before I can panic. I think the hooves are inching further out—I can’t tell. But it hurts. Oh god, it hurts. Every cell in my body below the chest is ripping apart in agony as I strain.

“No,” I wheeze, under my breath. “No, no, no, no—“

My stud lies belly-down beside me and leans me against his broad back. I drop my hands into his coat, and I’m at just the right height to half-sit there in a partial squat.

“Good boy,” my stud tells me. His upper body is turned at an angle so he can hold onto my shoulder. “Foal for me, just like that.”

“It hurts,” I whimper. “It hurts so bad. Oh—oh! Ohhhhh!” And I push. In this half-squat the head finally begins to make progress and I feel it squeezing through me. The front legs emerge a little further, and one of them gives a little kick. I give a half-scream, half-laugh.

“What was that?”

“You’re birthing a strong foal,” my stud says proudly. “I’m glad I bred you. You were built for this.”

I take a deep breath, tuck my chin to my chest, and push. The head begins to peek at my opening, I can feel the stretch continuing the job where the massive hooves left off. It starts to burn, hot and growing hotter.

“Ow ow ow owww, it huuurtsss!” I screech.

My stud squeezes my shoulder. “Good boy, you’re starting to crown.”

“It hurts! I don’t want this anymore! Oh my god, oh my god, make it stop!”

My stud shakes me roughly by the shoulder and bends me painfully over my belly. “Push, boy!”

I cry, and push. And I keep pushing. After every contraction my stud lets me sit up to take a breath, but when the contraction returns he bends me over again to put pressure on my womb. I don’t know if it’s helping. I don’t know if anything is helping.

“It’s too much,” I wail. “I’m going to die! We should not have done this!”

“Be quiet, boy, and push,” my stud grunts. “You’re at the widest part of the crown.”

That snaps me back into focus. “I am?” I ask shakily. It’s almost over!

“Yes. Push.”

I slide off of my stud’s back and squat deeply on the forest floor, pushing hard. Nothing. I push again. Nothing.

“No, no,” I start saying again. “It’s stuck—it’s stuck!”

I break out into sobs, and my stud catches me before I can collapse. He stands up with me, my legs bowed out around the bulge of the head, my feet well above the ground.

“You’ll give birth with gravity,” he says. He pushes his muscled front against my back and pries open my legs until I’m sitting wide on nothing—the air. The crown of the head and front legs.

“The foal,” I sob. “Don’t let the foal fall!”

“You’re nowhere near pushing it out,” he says, almost exasperated.

In a haze, I remember some of his stallions have foaled standing up, and the hardy foals hit the ground in the birthing pen without injury. I start pushing again, praying gravity will ally with me.

It does. Moment by moment, I feel the head coming. I take a deep breath and heave hard, and finally crown out the head with a spurt of fluids.

“Yes!” I scream as it happens, and the pressure release instantly arouses me. “Oh my god,” I gasp. “I need to cum.”

“Good boy,” my stud says. “Push on the shoulders, you’ll cum soon.”

“The baby hasn’t turned,” I say. But my arousal begs me to push at his behest.

“It’s not a baby,” he says. “It’s a foal. You don’t have the space for it to turn with its second body still curled in your womb.”

I’m incredulous. “No…no! It’s gonna hurt so bad! That’s like—that’s like crowning again!”

“Do you want me to pull it out?”

I didn’t. I’d had to pull only one foal from its struggling stallion, but his screams were unforgettable. His centaur cunt had much more room to stretch and maneuver and even for him the pain I inflicted while helping him was excruciating. So I shook my head.

“Okay. Then be a good boy and push. Push on my foal.”

I shiver, half from arousal and half from the fear of pain. Then I put both hands on top of my belly and press down, and push.

It’s worse than crowning the head. But the harder I push, the closer I feel to cumming. I lean into that feeling and try to let the pain drop away. It doesn’t, it still hurts, but my orgasm is building.

“Oh…ohhhh,” I moan.

“Good boy,” my stud whispers in my ear. “You’re a good boy, pushing on such a big foal. I know it hurts but it’s almost over. The upper body is almost out.”

I focus on his voice, and the stretch. “It’s coming,” I whimper. “It’s coming…ohhhh…ohhhhh. OHH. OHHHHH—AH!”

One shoulder lurches out of me. I don’t cum. I need to cum so bad—I need to foal so bad. I bear down again and cry out as the other shoulder pops out.

“Ow! Oh fuck!” I say. “Fuck—fuck, it’s coming out! OHHHHH.” I push hard and the body slides out of me to the waist. “It’s almost out, it’s almost out!”

“Not yet,” my stud says. “You still have to foal the lower body. Crown the second shoulders now.”

Fuck. “Fuck!” I scream. “I can’t! I can’t do this anymore! I need to cum, I need it to come out!” A painful contraction takes hold of me and I push against my will. The shoulders, the horse shoulders, press hard against the inside of my lips. I’m going to split open. The pressure of my foal and my blocked orgasm is painful, I’m overstimulated and I need release.

“Make it stop! We shouldn’t have done this—oh god, oh god, I need to puuuuuush.”

My stud holds me tightly as I bear down on his foal, half out of me already. The second shoulders burn in the ring of fire, worse than the head, worse than the first shoulders. I can’t stop pushing. I can’t, I can’t—

The second shoulders pop out of me and I cum, and birth out our foal onto the forest floor. I spasm with aftershocks as I stare past my now-deflated belly at the massive centaur foal shifting in the leaves below me.

“It’s out! Oh my god—it’s out!”

My stud lays me down carefully and picks up the foal to clean it. I’ve seen him with his other foals, and maybe I’m biased, but I think he’s regarding my foal with even more pride than his others. I just lay there catching my breath until I can finally say,

“We should do that again.”

[underscorezoo]

Winter Blessing

Mother Nature stood at the end of the bed watching Elsa struggling to breath through her latest contraction. She waited until Elsa was gasping and ready to bear down again before she bent forward between her quivering thighs.

"Remember what I told you? It will get really intense as the tip starts to crown. Well, we are there now! Deep breathing and when you feel the shooting pain erupt, push down HARD!"

Panting frantically, Elsa could only nod as the pressure climbed to its unbearable peak. Elsa clawed at the sheets as the pain become intolerable. Her folds throbbed with the intensity of the approaching contraction. Her lips trembled with the expanding tip, igniting the flame that spread through her entire nether region.

Suddenly one of Elsa's iced fingers gripped her midwife's shoulder as her ragged breathing grew more laborious. Panting heavier and deeper, the pain was rapidly taking charge over the labouring mother. Squeezing down hard, Elsa felt the worst pain explode at her throbbing folds. An anguish scream erupted from her throat as the need to escape her agony engulfed her. Elsa cried out, pushing down with all her might to relief the horrific torture.

"Good girl! Push all the horrible pain down! That's it, Elsa! Push it hard and out! Don't fight it. It will only hurt more if you don't follow your body's commands!"

Growling downwards, Elsa bore through the intensity, clutching onto Mother Nature with an iron grip. The tremendous flames spread rapidly around her swelling opening. The red hot fire completely engulfed her parting lips. Pushing harder, Elsa felt a greater torture as the tip slammed at full force against the fire storm. Yelling out, she pushed harder and louder, desperate to escape the horrific onslaught.

"I know! Its happening! You are crowning it! The shooting pain is the worst agony of birth. A thousand knives between your folds. I know! But you must push! Push it Elsa! Don't stop! Push hard!"

Straining down with all her strength, the tip began to bulge outwards, sending Elsa completely over the edge. Screaming at the top of her lungs, she bore down with the primal cries of wounded prey. Her entire core convulsed forward as her body grew damp with the strenuous efforts. The wild fire was totally out of control. Elsa was lost in the act of bringing her child into the world. The burden of carrying her offspring was speeding towards its agonising conclusion.

"Push it out! Push it out with all your womanly strength. Birth is meant to feel like this, Elsa. The brutality of crowning is sadly part of the torture of childbirth! Push it down! Let it go! Let it all go!"

Vibrating with the sheer force of the enormous head powering forward, Elsa howled out as her body exploded over and over again. The blooming of the tip grew wider and much bigger with each harrowing push downwards.

"Thats it! Its coming! Your work is almost done! Hold onto me! You need to surrender and give me the biggest push you can imagine! It will come and it will be followed by the child!"

Elsa couldn't stop pushing even if she wanted at this stage. Shoving down hard, shattering screams echoed around the frozen birthing chamber. With the biggest push evet, the head finally exploded through, sending Elsa into an whirlpool of release and relief. Moments later, the rest of the child erupted free. Mother Nature lifted the wailing infant to its mother for nursing. She smiled at the frozen princess, proud of her handwork but knew she would be returning to deliver more giant babies in her future!

[underscorezoo]

Folder Update

If you haven't already check out my folder it's been updated with some fun sexy stuff.

[underscorezoo]

Self Indulgence Sunday

(Just a little taste of a bigger piece I'm working on)

°••☆°•°●••◇°●○•°○🌙°•○○◇○°●○••☆°•◇●○°°

Jonah finds himself on his hands and knees, tongue hanging lazily from his mouth as he pants for breath.

"Here comes the second one!" He gasps, the familiar feeling of pressure and pleasure rolling through him.

His hands and knees press down into the soft moss below him, a blanket of nature shielding him and the baby from the sharp rocks and gnarled tree roots that carve into the forest floor where he'd stopped to give into his primal urges.

Sterling settles the first baby in a nest of soft grass just a bit away, unaware of the events taking place near him before making his way to Jonah's side and pressing skilled hands down into the muscles of his backside.

When the urge to push comes Jonah draws one leg up under himself for balance, dipping his hips low and throwing his head back as a drawn out groan creeps it's way out of his throat.

"Push, love," the older satyr murmurs, his hands adding pressure to the muscles above Jonah's flagging tail, "Push our baby out for me."

A gush of fluid escapes from between his legs, splashing onto the ground below him, and Jonah can feel himself yielding and opening to the head of their baby as it makes its way out of him.

His pussy is so incredibly full, even fuller than he was with the first baby, and somewhere in the back of his mind Jonah becomes a little concerned about the size of the kid making it's way out of him.

"This ones bigger." He grunts to Sterling, who hums back in agreement but doesn't stop the counter pressure on his hips. Theres only a few moments of reprieve before he's bearing down again.

Jonah shoves hard against the heavy weight and is rewarded with the stinging feeling of the gates metaphorically opening and his lips parting around the top of the head.

He lets out an ungodly sound, somewhere between a moan and squeal and cry as the bulge between his legs grows and grows.

Sterling leans back behind him, looking down and seeing the small melon sized mass that's stretching his husband's pussy in such a grotesque yet incredible manner.

'This baby is huge,' Sterling thinks to himself as Jonah's lips part around the baby making it's way out of his body.

Jonah, in turn, shifts his hips restlessly when the pain comes, whining and grunting as he's spread further and further and further without reprieve. His lips still have yet to part, the bulge there behind them just growing and growing in size as it drops further down the canal and makes it way toward the outside world.

He's stretched so tight, every single inch and feature of his baby pressing so hard against his canal as he bears down again, letting his legs both flop open and his hips dropping parallel with the ground.

This time when he pushes he feels the sharp burn of his lips giving way, his body yielding and opening for the baby to pass through.

"Stretching me- it's stretching my pussy!" He moans, bearing down and feeling another gush of fluid escape his gaping pussy, "I'm so full of your baby, Sterling!"

His husband doesn't answer for a few seconds, his counter pressure suddenly ceasing as he lets out a soft noise of concern.

"Wait, wait, hold on." He says suddenly, his hand going to Jonah's hip to still him.

"What?" Jonah grunts out, his hips rocking back and forth as he bends his knees more and leans his hips back.

"It's... it's breech..." Sterling says after a moment, his eyes opening wide in surprise as he brings his hand up to gently cup the coming rump of the huge kid leaving his husband's body.

[underscorezoo]

I may be a trans guy with a pussy but if we’re talking cis mpreg I WANT him to give birth through his penis.

My alpha wolf, ripe for birth. He’s sitting up holding his hairy belly, shaking, his first litter. Me, on the floor between his spread legs while his crotch bulges.

“You’re ready for the first crowning,” I say. “I’m gonna help you cum the pup into your cock.”

He shakes his head, his cock is engorged and overstimulated after the 10 hours spent in labor, opening up the base of his cock like a cervix. But it’s not a cervix—he isn’t anywhere near 10cm dilated, and he never will be. His body is pushing the pup down without his help, so even if he’d rather labor uselessly, trying to dilate further, he can’t. It’s time.

I take his quivering cock in my hand and massage the base, where the pup is straining to get out. He whimpers and pushes into my hand, aching for relief from the pressure and pain.

“Good boy,” I say, and slip two fingers of my other hand into the tip of his cock.

“No, no,” my wolf moans. “That hurts.”

“I know, baby,” I say. “But your tip doesn’t dilate as much as the base, I have to stretch you out myself. You know that. Lean on me.”

Just like we practiced, he puts his clawed hands on my shoulders and his forehead on my forehead. Our breath mixes. I push my fingers deeper in his cock and he tightens his grip on my shoulders. A whimper escapes his muzzle.

“Good boy, good boy,” I whisper, and start rhythmically rubbing the inside of his cock and the bulge at his crotch.

His pants progress from pained to aroused. His engorged cock hardens and rises, his knot ripening with cum. This is the biggest his hard cock will ever be in his life, the moments right before he crowns a pup’s head into his penis while cumming harder than he’s ever felt, and much longer than he ever could without whelping. This litter, his first litter, is small, almost not befitting of an alpha. He’ll get to repeat this first crowning and cumming only three more times before he’s finished whelping.

“Fuck,” he whimpers. “I don’t want to do this.”

My hands keep moving. “You have to, baby. You’re the alpha now.”

“It hurts.”

“Only for a few more seconds.”

“Hnghhh….I, I…fuck I need to cum.”

I pull my fingers out, shove my pussy onto his cock, and squeeze his knot.

He screams and cums, gripping my shoulders hard, and the pup crowns into his penis, stretching my pussy wrapped around it. Birth fluids and cum spurt into me. His hips buck as he cums a second time inside me. I give a quick, practiced push, whelping his cock and our pup still inside him, and I support his stretched penis while he cums again, bringing our pup to a full crown at the head of his penis. I can see fur, dark fur.

“Fuck, fuck, it’s in my cock, fuck, get it out! Get it OUT!”

I jostle him back into position, his hands on my my shoulders. He digs his claws in.

“Shh, baby, be a good boy. You have to pant for this part, slow, slow. We don’t want you to tear.”

He moans and quivers as he tries to slow his breathing. “It hurts…” he whimpers.

The next contraction grips his belly and he gasps. The pup’s head begins to inch out of his cock, wet and slick. My hands support both him and the pup from underneath.

“Good boy, you’re doing so well, good, good,” I murmur, entranced by this introduction to our first pup.

His belly contracts again and he groans, then—as the pup’s head slides out of his penis, he screams, “Fuck! Fuck that hurt. It’s out? Is it out? Did I whelp?”

“Almost, almost,” I say. “You whelped out the head. Reach down, baby.” I guided his hand down to the head of his penis to feel the fur.

“That’s it?” he whines. “That’s our pup? It’s almost out. Oh fuck, it’s almost out.”

I squeeze his hand. “Almost there. You feel the next contraction? Good boy, now PUSH.”

He takes a breath, curls over his belly, and pushes hard, whelping the pup out into my hands. As soon as he feels the release he unclenches and screams.

“Fuck, it hurt! It hurt so fucking bad, fuck, fuck, why am I still pushing?!”

His crotch is starting to bulge again. I set the pup down in some waiting blankets and start massaging his knot again, slipping three fingers into his cock this time.

“The next pup is about to whelp,” I say, gently stretching his opening with my fingers. “This one will be easier. The first pup is always hardest. You want to cum again?”

I stroke him until he hardens, and when he’s ready to cum I don’t put his cock inside me—this will happen fast. He cums, screaming, and the second pup shoots through his cock and is forcibly whelped into my arms. He doesn’t get a break. The third pup is ready to crown into his penis, and with just a few strokes he cums the pup out completely. He doesn’t even have time to breathe—the last pup enters his penis in an afterstock. As he rolls through more aftershocks, he gradually whelps out the last of the litter.

“I—I still need to push,” he whines.

“Good boy, it’s the placenta, it’s almost over. Let’s get your afterbirth out.”

I pull my alpha wolf into my lap and he curls into my chest. I gently, gently start stroking him off, and he cums weakly, with a little whimper. He’s so overstimulated. Over the next twenty minutes he slowly cums, each orgasm pushing the afterbirth out. He cries a little when the afterbirth enters his cock, but he helps me by pushing, and finally he whelps the placenta into my lap. He can’t even lift his head anymore. I lay him down and guide each of our four pups to his teats, where they drink eagerly.

“I want to do it again,” he whispers, our litter wriggling against his chest and stomach. “I need to whelp a big litter next time.”

I put my hand on my belly, knowing that I will quickly swell from when I forced him to cum up against my womb.

“Okay, we’ll do it. But you’ll have to help me in a few months first…”

[underscorezoo]

Birthing On Mars

Nicholas howled as he was rushed to the delivery room. His oversized baby was forcing its way through his birth canal at record speed. He cried out, clutching at the side bars as the automatic doors flew open to reveal a room full of ready medical personnel.

Nicholas shook wildly as the relentless pain pounded downwards. His swollen opening was stretched to its limit. The gigantic crown was squeezing constantly against his tight white hot entrance. He frantically begged staff that surrounded him to relieve him from his present agony. They seemed to annoy his words as their main focus was on the entrapped crown exposed to the entire birthing room. They were commenting on how large the head was firmly in place. They also commented on how long it would take to push such a humongous head out of his swollen opening.

"Oh please make it stop! It hurts! IT HURTS! THE PAIN! THE PRESSURE!"

Nicholas convulsed against the birthing table, struggling wildly with the rising torture of the crowning pain. He looked up at the hot lamps, heavily panting and sweating profusely.

"DO SOMETHING! I NEED TO PUSH IT OUT! NOW!"

Screaming out at the top of his lungs as the machines announced the next brutal cintraction, he bore down without permission, growling loudly.

"I can't take this pain! I HAVE TO GET IT OUT!"

"Nurse, prepare more Pitocin for the delivery. This is much larger than we anticipated. This baby has a super large crown. This will be a prolonged birth."

Nicholas tossed wildly as he pushed and strained with all his might. He couldn't understand why they were not trying to pull it out. The pain was breathtaking. The excruciating pressure was the worst torture he had endured. Squeezing down, Nicholas bore down until he couldn't do it anymore. He was yelling out with the endless intensity until he collapsed on the table.

"Oh please! End it now! Make it come out! Can't stand it! Oh please!"

Nicholas was reduced to an uncontrollable shaking wreck but the team continued their observations and procedures, fully focused on the birth process.

"Doctor, the next contraction is approaching fast. They are getting stronger, Doctor. The birthing contractions will be extremely intense."

Nicholas bellowed out as his body was shocked with the next round of immense surges. He howled and bore down, straining harder and longer. His labor was the most painful he had experienced. This baby was the biggest one ever with the largest head ever imaginable.

"NO NO NO NO NO! CANT TAKE IT! OOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWW! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! GET.....IT......OUT! OH NO! MORE PAIN! OOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWW! AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

[underscorezoo]

You should write about a centaur birth, I think that would be interesting especially with how you describe things, feeling the hooves and panicking on where the head is, only to realize it’s hands and you’ve still got basically a whole horse to go… I’d be very interested to see/read that!

I need to foal so bad. I’ve been in labor for days, slowly opening my cervix to accommodate a set of hooves wrapped around a huge baby’s head and shoulders, and then a second set of shoulders leading to the foal’s lower body.

The front hooves have been dangling out of my hole all day but there’s no urge to push so I know I’m not ready yet. It just hurts. Every contraction pulls my belly tight around a womb big enough to carry human quints, but it’s only one centaur foal. I can’t see the front hooves around my belly, but from touching them I know they’re huge. Foaling is going to be agony.

I’ve been pacing my favorite hiking trail all day with my stud. Naked. It’s remote and heavily forested—it’s only us.

Another contraction rips through me. “Ohhh,” I moan. “We should not have done this.”

“You begged for this,” my stud says, again.

I did beg for this. Twelve months ago I watched one of his centaur stallions give birth to my stud’s foal, and I lined up next to be bred. We weren’t even sure it would work. A human and a centaur? But it did. As my belly swelled I helped deliver foals for my stud from his other gravid stallions. I just helped a stallion foal last night, him screaming and braying with his contractions, me gasping and doubling over with mine. But he gave birth successfully at dawn and I didn’t. I’m not even pushing.

“I want it out.”

“You’ll get it out,” he says. “But it will hurt.”

That’s what I want.

It’s all I’ve thought about for a year. Begging to be bred over and over, then once I was pregnant, begging to be fucked every day until I couldn’t think. It’s much too late for second thoughts, but I am having them, and I’m also having a centaur foal.

I double over again and clutch my stud’s hairy arm. It hurts so bad that I can’t even make a sound. A tremendous pressure builds inside me but I’m locked in place. I don’t know what to do.

“I need to push,” I finally gasp. “I need to push really, really bad.”

My stud lays a hand on my shoulder and gives me a little shake. “Then do it! Push, boy!”

I dig my fingers into his arm and push. It’s indescribable. The foal’s bony front legs are being pressed into the sides of my sensitive birth canal by a head bigger than a bowling ball. Oh god. It will never get through my pelvis. My body forces me to push again before I can panic. I think the hooves are inching further out—I can’t tell. But it hurts. Oh god, it hurts. Every cell in my body below the chest is ripping apart in agony as I strain.

“No,” I wheeze, under my breath. “No, no, no, no—“

My stud lies belly-down beside me and leans me against his broad back. I drop my hands into his coat, and I’m at just the right height to half-sit there in a partial squat.

“Good boy,” my stud tells me. His upper body is turned at an angle so he can hold onto my shoulder. “Foal for me, just like that.”

“It hurts,” I whimper. “It hurts so bad. Oh—oh! Ohhhhh!” And I push. In this half-squat the head finally begins to make progress and I feel it squeezing through me. The front legs emerge a little further, and one of them gives a little kick. I give a half-scream, half-laugh.

“What was that?”

“You’re birthing a strong foal,” my stud says proudly. “I’m glad I bred you. You were built for this.”

I take a deep breath, tuck my chin to my chest, and push. The head begins to peek at my opening, I can feel the stretch continuing the job where the massive hooves left off. It starts to burn, hot and growing hotter.

“Ow ow ow owww, it huuurtsss!” I screech.

My stud squeezes my shoulder. “Good boy, you’re starting to crown.”

“It hurts! I don’t want this anymore! Oh my god, oh my god, make it stop!”

My stud shakes me roughly by the shoulder and bends me painfully over my belly. “Push, boy!”

I cry, and push. And I keep pushing. After every contraction my stud lets me sit up to take a breath, but when the contraction returns he bends me over again to put pressure on my womb. I don’t know if it’s helping. I don’t know if anything is helping.

“It’s too much,” I wail. “I’m going to die! We should not have done this!”

“Be quiet, boy, and push,” my stud grunts. “You’re at the widest part of the crown.”

That snaps me back into focus. “I am?” I ask shakily. It’s almost over!

“Yes. Push.”

I slide off of my stud’s back and squat deeply on the forest floor, pushing hard. Nothing. I push again. Nothing.

“No, no,” I start saying again. “It’s stuck—it’s stuck!”

I break out into sobs, and my stud catches me before I can collapse. He stands up with me, my legs bowed out around the bulge of the head, my feet well above the ground.

“You’ll give birth with gravity,” he says. He pushes his muscled front against my back and pries open my legs until I’m sitting wide on nothing—the air. The crown of the head and front legs.

“The foal,” I sob. “Don’t let the foal fall!”

“You’re nowhere near pushing it out,” he says, almost exasperated.

In a haze, I remember some of his stallions have foaled standing up, and the hardy foals hit the ground in the birthing pen without injury. I start pushing again, praying gravity will ally with me.

It does. Moment by moment, I feel the head coming. I take a deep breath and heave hard, and finally crown out the head with a spurt of fluids.

“Yes!” I scream as it happens, and the pressure release instantly arouses me. “Oh my god,” I gasp. “I need to cum.”

“Good boy,” my stud says. “Push on the shoulders, you’ll cum soon.”

“The baby hasn’t turned,” I say. But my arousal begs me to push at his behest.

“It’s not a baby,” he says. “It’s a foal. You don’t have the space for it to turn with its second body still curled in your womb.”

I’m incredulous. “No…no! It’s gonna hurt so bad! That’s like—that’s like crowning again!”

“Do you want me to pull it out?”

I didn’t. I’d had to pull only one foal from its struggling stallion, but his screams were unforgettable. His centaur cunt had much more room to stretch and maneuver and even for him the pain I inflicted while helping him was excruciating. So I shook my head.

“Okay. Then be a good boy and push. Push on my foal.”

I shiver, half from arousal and half from the fear of pain. Then I put both hands on top of my belly and press down, and push.

It’s worse than crowning the head. But the harder I push, the closer I feel to cumming. I lean into that feeling and try to let the pain drop away. It doesn’t, it still hurts, but my orgasm is building.

“Oh…ohhhh,” I moan.

“Good boy,” my stud whispers in my ear. “You’re a good boy, pushing on such a big foal. I know it hurts but it’s almost over. The upper body is almost out.”

I focus on his voice, and the stretch. “It’s coming,” I whimper. “It’s coming…ohhhh…ohhhhh. OHH. OHHHHH—AH!”

One shoulder lurches out of me. I don’t cum. I need to cum so bad—I need to foal so bad. I bear down again and cry out as the other shoulder pops out.

“Ow! Oh fuck!” I say. “Fuck—fuck, it’s coming out! OHHHHH.” I push hard and the body slides out of me to the waist. “It’s almost out, it’s almost out!”

“Not yet,” my stud says. “You still have to foal the lower body. Crown the second shoulders now.”

Fuck. “Fuck!” I scream. “I can’t! I can’t do this anymore! I need to cum, I need it to come out!” A painful contraction takes hold of me and I push against my will. The shoulders, the horse shoulders, press hard against the inside of my lips. I’m going to split open. The pressure of my foal and my blocked orgasm is painful, I’m overstimulated and I need release.

“Make it stop! We shouldn’t have done this—oh god, oh god, I need to puuuuuush.”

My stud holds me tightly as I bear down on his foal, half out of me already. The second shoulders burn in the ring of fire, worse than the head, worse than the first shoulders. I can’t stop pushing. I can’t, I can’t—

The second shoulders pop out of me and I cum, and birth out our foal onto the forest floor. I spasm with aftershocks as I stare past my now-deflated belly at the massive centaur foal shifting in the leaves below me.

“It’s out! Oh my god—it’s out!”

My stud lays me down carefully and picks up the foal to clean it. I’ve seen him with his other foals, and maybe I’m biased, but I think he’s regarding my foal with even more pride than his others. I just lay there catching my breath until I can finally say,

“We should do that again.”

[underscorezoo]

Maybe your married to a handsome Orc and you manage to pop out as many as his babies as he wants with absolutely ease but he wants to see you struggle and knocks up up with 4 massive 20 pound Orc quads just to hear you scream because your red pained screaming face looks amazing to him

“It’s huge! Oh gods!”

Gund squeezes my hand. “I know my love. I put some big babies in you this time. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“Yes,” but the word barely squeezes out. My eyes are closed, my entire face collapsing from all sides as I strain to push the first baby through my cervix.

“It hurts,” I whimper.

Something about the eager tone of my husband’s voice brings a question to the back of my mind, but it hurts too much to pursue the thought. “This will hurt very badly,” he says.

A contraction pulls me under and I lean into my squat. This pain, deep and low, is more than I’ve ever experienced. I’ve already given birth to four half-orc babies one at a time in the past year and a half, back to back, bred hard before I even pushed out the afterbirth, pregnant a week later. But I was disappointed. They were only 10 or 11 pounds, more human sized than orc. I’d screamed at Gund while delivering his fourth—it’s so fucking small, what are you even breeding me for? Honestly, how virile is an orc that makes singular 10 pound babies?

Now I’m pushing out the first of the four massive babies Gund fucked into me. It’s everything I want, agony, pressure, arousal. I wanted this for me, but when I open my eyes to take a deep breath, Gund is kneeling in front of me and staring at my face, his cheeks flushed with heat, and his thick green cock erect in his hands and already leaking.

“Are you fucking happy?” I hiss at him. “You like seeing me like this?”

His mouth twists into a razor sharp grin. “I do.”

“Then help me.”

He grabs me roughly and slams me down on his cock. I feel as the baby’s head is pushed back into my womb, and then Gund is pounding me. I throw my head back and scream from pain—maybe. More likely—ecstasy.

“I need to cum,” I moan. “Please baby—it’ll help me get it out. I need to cum.”

Gund turns me over so my chest is pushed painfully into the birth stool and my belly is up against it. He takes me from behind like I always prefer, his massive cock stretching me out as he goes.

Building, building. My belly hardens with a contraction and I feel the inside of me squeeze his cock. It pulses and he roars, his pace not letting up as he floods me with his seed. I’m not far behind him. My contraction reaches its peak and I cum—milking his cock of everything he has. He pulls me into his lap and snags a tusk against the back of my neck—still inside me.

“Good boy,” he grunts into my ear. “My good boy, taking my whole cock while you’re laboring.”

I can barely catch my breath before another contraction washes over me. “I need to push.”

“Are you sure? It will hurt.”

“I want to push,” I say. “Please let me push—please.”

“Good boy,” he says again.

He bounces me on his cock a few final times and then pulls out. Cum and fluids gush out of my needy cunt. He pulls me up against him, his cock, half-hard again, pressed up the length of my back. He puts his knees on either side of my hips.

“Give birth between my legs.”

I loop my legs over his knees and he leans forward to bend me over my belly.

“Push,” he commands.

I cry out from the pressure.

“Push,” he says again.

I take a deep breath and push.

The stretch. The burn. His baby’s head shoves past my cervix and I feel again just how fucking big it is. I moan and he jostles me.

“Push!”

I squeeze his legs in the bend of my knees. “I think I need to cum.”

“Good boy, cum for me.” And he reaches his huge hand down and runs one claw over my tdick.

I scream and cum instantly. The baby shoots forward.

“Fuck, fuck, it hurts!”

My husband loops one finger under my tdick and begins stroking me off with his thumb. My mind goes blank and I push into my arousal and into the pain. I think he makes me cum during every push, until the crown starts to build and I’m crying in his arms from overstimulation. He’s whispering something in my ear and moves my hand down to my cunt.

It’s bulging impossibly, our baby’s head filling me and straining at my lips. My heart goes cold.

“Fuck,” I say. “It’s too big—it’s too big! I can’t, I don’t know if I can do it—I can’t!”

“You will,” he says. “Four times. This is what you wanted. I’ve given you what you wanted—the babies you deserve to push out. Tonight, I’ll put six more in you.”

I’m so close to cumming at his words that I can’t think. I mindlessly push, seeking release—the birth, and an orgasm. All that’s in my mind is the knowledge that if I birth out four huge babies tonight, I can struggle with another six in just 19 weeks. Maybe 20, if I can hold them in and let them grow bigger.

Ceaseless pushing. The contractions give me no rest. Burning, burning, I’m being split apart—

The head crowns out and I cum hard, screaming from the agony and the release and the sheer excitement of knowing I just crowned a head heavier than most human babies’ full birth weights. Gund is whispering in my ear, “good boy, good boy,” maybe, but the rush of my orgasm and the pain of a new contraction have my full attention.

My husband leans forward to get a look over my belly. “Oh gods, it’s so big, my love.” His cock, still pressed into my back, has fully hardened sometime when I was crowning. “I put that in you, I did that. I put that huge baby in you. It must hurt so fucking bad.”

“Yes!” I screamed, shaking with my orgasm.

He groans. “Push it out, I want to cum it out with you. Push! Now! I need to cum!”

I raise my hips off the floor, the heavy head hanging out of my cunt, and push. One huge shoulder comes out, then the other.

“I’m birthing!” I scream. One final heave and I cum our massive baby out between both our legs.

Gund sinks his claws into my shoulders and cums against my back, his hips rolling and slamming into me. I look down at our baby and I cum again, then a third time. I can’t stop.

The half-orc newborn between my legs is at least twice as big as the ones from my first four pregnancies, and I get to push out three more.

[underscorezoo]

I think you should elaborate on birthing those minotaur babies. Imagine how long and painful the crowning would be, especially with their big horns and long, wide snout. There's probably only two or three of them, but they're all so big and would take so long for you to push out. Your minotaur husband likes having you on display for him, loves watching you struggle with his babies. Maybe he refuses to intervene because minotaurs see a difficult labor as a test of strength, and he wants you to prove yourself a worthy carrier of his children.

The calving pen is always full of moans and screams. Men laboring, men pushing, men calving.

Every few months I’m one of them. I’m one of them right now.

A young man shrieks not far from me, obviously calving for the first time. He’s pushing too hard, too long, even after his contractions end—desperate to escape the stretch. He’s going to wear himself out before he calves even once, and his belly is huge—he’ll need to find the strength to calve again multiple times.

A fellow veteran grunts beside me, bearing down on his third calf of the evening. He’s sweating, but he has paced himself well. He only screams during crowning.

I push again, the first calf of this pregnancy stretching me painfully. My husband leans against the outside of the fence, staring intently at me. Not at my face, more at my heaving belly, with glances at my teardrop-shaped cunt. His leather trousers are tented with his erection and he breathes deeply through his bull’s nostrils.

The contraction fades and I moan as the calf slips back behind my lips. My husband’s left ear flicks dismissively, and a flash of anger burns me. As if it’s so easy for a human to calve for a minotaur!

A new contraction builds and I push. My lips part again. I groan—I’m already feeling the ring of fire and it’s only the beginning. I hold my breath and hold the pressure, letting myself stretch. The first one is always the worst. When the contraction leaves me, the calf’s head doesn’t retreat again. A small victory.

When I push again, agony blossoms between my legs. I lay my head back and scream, and push.

When I stop pushing, the stretch is so bad that I keep screaming. The young man near me screams louder, though, and I look and see that he’s at the widest part of the head of his firstborn. Push, baby, push, I think doggedly to myself—but I can’t say it out loud. To help him or even encourage him would make him lesser in the eyes of whichever bull here knocked him up.

I feel my belly contracting again and I push, but my eyes are on the emerging head of the young man’s calf. His cunt is stretched beyond its limits. Push, baby. Push hard. The first calf is always the worst. The others will come out easier after one calving. I know it hurts, baby, it’s a big calf. Push.

And he does push, and the head comes rocketing out of him. At the same moment I push hard and my calf’s head comes out, and I moan as I cum hard, bucking my hips and squirting. Fuck. He has collapsed on his side, panting and sobbing. But there’s no relief. I see the calf begin to turn until the broad shoulders are pressed up tight against the inside of his lips, and his body bears down against his will.

“No! No!” he screams. “No—ghnnnnNNNNRAAAAA.”

The primal sound come with the emergence of one shoulder. Push, baby. You’re almost there. I know it hurts, push.

“I’m calving!” he shrieks. “Oh god, I’m calving! It’s coming, it’s coming, oh god, oh god, OH GOOOODNGHHHHHHHH!”

The second shoulder lurches out of him and he calves his firstborn completely and cums, curling over his belly as he squirts and screams, his ruined hole pulsing. Good boy. My calf turns inside me and I bear down, working through the pressure on the first push, delivering a shoulder on the second push, and finally turning my gaze back to my husband as I bear down a third time. Our eyes lock as I push, and with a heady release of pressure I birth out his calf into the world.

He nods.

It’s all the approval he’s allowed to give me. It’s all the approval I need. It’s also the only approval I have time for, as the second calf rushes to take its place in my birth canal.

I keep my husband’s gaze and push, teeth gritted, panting harshly through my nose. He’s the one to break the staring contest—so that he can look at my cunt as his second calf begins to open me up.

The young man is moaning again, still lying on his side. He’s giving half-hearted pushes on his next calf.

The pressure and burn of my next crowning takes my attention. I give a long, hard push, grunting through the pain. I can feel myself building, so I reach around my huge belly to touch my tdick. I stroke myself between contractions, and as the new contraction builds I push again, and cum my entire second calf out of me with an animalistic sound. The third is right behind it, and I calve again in the orgasmic aftershocks.

Next to me, the young man is still crowning his second calf, whimpering with each push. He’s too tired.

I struggle to my feet, my cunt leaking birth fluids and cum, and I wobble to the fence nearest the young man. He looks up at me, his forehead gleaming with sweat and his eyes hollow. I nod to him and grip the fence, then drop into a low squat to push. My fourth calf emerges to a full crown while he watches.

I hear my husband snort behind me on the other side of the birthing pen. He knows what I’m doing, but I haven’t spoken to or touched the young man. In the public pen, newcomers learn by watching the birth techniques of more experienced men. I haven’t done anything wrong.

The young man pulls himself onto his hands and knees with a little sob, his eyes fixed on my bulging hole. He grips the fence with a shaking hand and rises up on unsteady legs. I stand up beside him, legs spread, and then squat in unison with him.

“Oh god,” he moans. “It hurts so bad…nghhhh—“

Our bulls aren’t close by, and the cries of other laboring men will drown out a quiet voice.

“Push, baby,” I finally whisper aloud. “Push for me.”

He tucks his chin down and obeys me, straining on his second ever calf. What did that feel like for me, that first calving season? The three huge calfs I squeezed out of me? It took me hours of pushing.

“Good boy,” I murmur soothingly. “The first calf is the worst. It’ll always be easier now.”

“It hurts,” he says, and his voice isn’t so quiet, but he’s been screaming this entire time so I know nobody will take any notice.

I groan as my body pushes for me. “Ah! Ah—“ I deliver the calf’s head, and the shoulders press up against the inside of my lips. “Nghh…take a deep breath and push, ten seconds. Don’t stop.”

He pulls in a breath and squats, his belly pulled taut. I squat beside him. Nine, eight, seven—I calve and cum, gentle this time. I roll my hips slowly to ride out my orgasm. The young man reaches his ten seconds and gasps for air.

“Fuck! Fuck!”

“Feel between your legs, baby,” I whisper. “That’s your calf. You’re at the widest part of the crown, you’re about to calve. Ten seconds, push.”

He squats and bears down, but he can only hold his breath for half the time before he opens his mouth in a scream. His calf inches out of him, and with a sudden release he fully crowns the head and the rest of the calf comes out all at once. His belly heaves and he cums, hips bucking wildly, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

“Fuck! Fuck!”

“Good boy,” I say while he screams, hiding a smile. Then I moan and drop down low to push. I’m not done yet.

Neither is he, and his body is pushing on its own while he basks in the haze of his orgasm. His twitching cunt is already bulging with the next calf.

I push out two more calfs before he’s calved his third, and my belly is still huge. So is his. Two more for each of us, probably.

But both of us realize at about the same moment that we’re on our final calfs, and they’re both huge.

“Oh god,” he cries. “It’s too big. I can’t do it!”

My calf is squeezing slowly through my cervix while I pant. It burns, still deep inside me, not even beginning to make an appearance at my entrance.

“Oh, honey,” I whisper. “It’s huge. They’re both huge.”

“Does it hurt?” he whimpers.

“Yes,” I say, inhaling sharply through my teeth. “Push with me.”

We squat side by side, gripping the fence like it’s our last tether to life. I think he gets to the point where the shoulders are making their way through his cervix inside him when he starts wailing.

“It hurts! Oh god! It huuuuuurts—“

The burn is rising inside me, and I can’t stay quiet any longer. I dip my head between my shoulders and groan, loud and long, sounding for all the world like a calving minotaur instead of a laboring man. Blood is rushing in my ears, and I can hear the young man’s screams as if from a great distance. I can’t help him or encourage him anymore. We’re both alone, straining to deliver enormous calfs for our bulls.

A ring of agony grows between my legs. It’s beginning to crown. I press into the pain, there’s no other way—the pressure mounts and I can’t remember ever delivering a calf this huge. My cunt keeps stretching around it, and every second I know I’m at the widest part of the head only to realize that the stretch is still mounting. I’m not breathing, I think. I may be screaming, or holding my breath, but I’m not breathing in. I’m only pushing into the crown.

Suddenly I’m past the widest point. Unlike my other calfs today, this one’s head doesn’t come fully out all at once. I just know the pressure is easing, and I keep pushing as the head slowly slides out. I reach between my legs and let out a startled cry. The head is bigger than any newborn calf, I could almost guess this was a three month old coming out of me.

Suddenly my husband is in front of me, on the other side of the fence. He’s crouched low, looking into my eyes. With the head of his calf dangling out of me, the long crowning over, I have the wherewithal to realize there’s a spark of concern in my husband’s brown eyes. At his side is a young bull, crouched too, and holding the young man’s hands through the fence. The young man isn’t screaming anymore, his face is just a twisted, silent mask of pain as he pushes.

“It’s big,” my husband whispers. “They’re both big.”

“We can do this,” I moan, my tongue thick, my voice barely coherent. “We can do this.”

My husband nods and doesn’t touch me, but he doesn’t get up from his crouch, either.

I carefully let go of the fence and shuffle behind the young man. His opening is bulging obscenely as he struggles to crown a calf at least as big as the one hanging out of me—maybe bigger. I moan as I settle into a kneeling position.

“Okay, baby,” I say, and rub the young man’s lower back. “Your bull put a big calf in you. Let’s get it out.”

I press two fingers at the base of his stretched opening and he lets out a strangled cry.

“I’m not gonna let you tear,” I say. My breath hiccups as a contraction ripples through me and I give an instinctive push. But I stop—the shoulders haven’t rotated yet. It won’t come out. I have to let this happen. “Oooof. Okay, baby, push where you feel my fingers. On my mark, take a deep breath, push for 10 seconds. Okay, deep breath—and go.”

The young man inhales and tenses his entire body. Everything he has is being used to crown his calf. Ten, nine, eight. His calf is moving, slowly. He’s stretching wider. Five, four, three, two—

He gasps for air. “It hurts! Get it out! Get it out of me!”

“You’re getting it out,” I say, rubbing his back with my free hand. “You’re doing it. Deep breath, push.”

He tamps down a scream and does what I say. While he’s pushing, I feel my calf begin to turn. The new stretch of the shoulders is burning at my opening, and my eyes water. Fuck…

“Get it out! I can’t do it!”

“Good boy,” I whisper, trying not to push. “Good boy,” I say louder. “You’re almost there. Deep breath and push!”

He sucks air into his lungs and bears down, but a deep low rumbles through his chest. I realize with sudden clarity that if he can get through this, he will be highly prized, even with my help and the tender touch of his young bull through the fence. He’s perfect for this.

“Push, baby,” I murmur, eyes fixed on the head of his calf. Its size is unbelievable as it slowly emerges. “Don’t stop, take another deep breath and push.”

He does it, every muscle in his body taut and glistening. The head is slowly crowning, crowning…

“Aughhhh!” he wails, and the head is out.

I gasp. Both our bulls gasp. I hear other gasps too, and glance around. Others are watching, even the veteran from earlier who was calving on my other side. He’s done, I realize—his afterbirth is on the ground at his feet—but he hasn’t left the pen. He’s staring along with the rest of us at the massive head the young man has just birthed out.

“Fuck! It’s out!” the young man says. He turns to look at his calf on the ground, but as he shifts he feels the head between his legs. “What?”

“That was just the head,” I say, shakily. The urge to push is strong but I’m focused on him right now.

“What?” he whimpers, and I see tears forming in his eyes. “No…no! I can’t push it out! It’s too big, the head nearly killed me! I can’t! I can’t!”

I look at my husband. “Hold him.”

My husband loops a strong arm under the young man’s armpit and gestures to the young bull to do the same. Together they pin him to the fence in a half-squat, facing me.

“No!” he screams. “No, it hurts! I can’t!”

His belly tightens with another contraction, and I place my hands carefully but firmly around his calf’s neck.

“Be a good boy,” I say. “Push hard.”

“No! No! Aughhhh—“ But he can’t stop the inevitable. He pushes, and I begin to pry and pull on his calf while he screams. And while I pull, my body does the inevitable too, and pushes.

The shoulders hurt so fucking bad. I realize I’m screaming, delivering and helping to deliver. We push and scream, and I pull.

I jerk back as the young man calves into my arms, and as I fall back with his calf, my body spasms and my calf drops out of me.

Our two bulls swarm into the birthing pen, no longer heeding any semblance of the rules. My husband props me up to get a look at me, and the young man’s bull pulls him into his arms and holds him while he delivers the afterbirth. I push out my afterbirth a few moments later.

As I catch my breath, I meet the young man’s gaze. His eyes are glassy and his mouth gapes open while he pants, but he’s conscious. I give him a nod. He swallows hard, and exhales sharply through his nose, and nods back.

[underscorezoo]

Folder 4 is here and huge !!

50 + GB's of Birth videos for education and souvenir purposes !!!

FOLDER 4 https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1HoyInEHltqeUSlrJbDUDXBygCRrF3Ldb?usp=drive_link

Folder 3

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1WT4TraZLEVBhfhANpiSvlYRjuAEXqKFC?usp=drive_link

Folder 2

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/14cFr6aZjdaNJBY-MYjfrUObgoSyTpgEG?usp=drive_link

Folder 1

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1jy8YKV0fqSfKsvXq6_pZQ9sSHYOUmLlO?usp=drive_link

Please enjoy this mix of new , old ..hospital , home , C-Section , Forcep , Surgical Births and MORE . ( Repairs, episiotomies , clean ups , Full videos ect ) We have collected some current 2025 material as well as many hidden gems and rarities along the way !! THANKS to peopel uploading births , everyone that shared drives with matrial and YTube for still having a good collection , despite deleting a few awesome births through the years !! Thanks for sharing these links too .. i see you !!!!

[underscorezoo]

BIRTH VIDEOS FOLDER 3 is HERE !!!

FOLDER 3

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1WT4TraZLEVBhfhANpiSvlYRjuAEXqKFC?usp=drive_link

Folder 2

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/14cFr6aZjdaNJBY-MYjfrUObgoSyTpgEG?usp=drive_link

Folder 1

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1jy8YKV0fqSfKsvXq6_pZQ9sSHYOUmLlO?usp=drive_link

Folder 3 is 12.1 GB with 200+ videos!!! It has some awesome instrument births, pump births, C- sections , post birth repairs and more !! We will be expanding the drive for FOLDER 4 and Beyond !!! Look for future folders to be 30 to 50 + GB Each !! we do occasionally borrow some videos from other drives , but still have LOT'S of videos from our own collection and archiving through the years !!! Enjoy these for EDUCATONAL and SOUVINER purposes !! feel free to share them or even upload them into your own archives !! If you are looking for anything specific drop a comment!! We are always looking for new hospital births, removed videos or old hard to find videos !!! I'll start the questions with does anyone have or seen "Materidad de Maria" ???? i seen it on a birth site or "Yutube" years back and cannot find it .. i remember the nurse was pressing the belly during the after birth and it jolted out a huge gush of red fluids !! it splattered everywhere , while the Doctor was still tugging out the placenta from her , it was a gnarly video !! Thanks so much for sharing the first two folders!!! You're the best !!! Birth - On

[underscorezoo]

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.

--------

Hope you enjoyed reading this commissioned story!

If you love what you read and want even more, consider joining The Preggo Fantasy Vault! For just $5 a month, you get a brand-new, original birth story every Saturday, plus exclusive bonus stories every now and then, meaning you’re getting way more than four exclusive stories a month—stories you won’t find anywhere else. 

So, if you’ve been on the fence, now is the perfect time to join! Let’s make this space even bigger, better, and filled to the brim with the fantasies we love.

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

Much love, Drew

[underscorezoo]

New pinned for google drives

Since the original pinned post for my google drives disappeared, here is the new one.

birthvids part 1: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/0BwPfxpJEguTVcjJjWlZaMGFXNFk?resourcekey=0-V55Z1AElW3rqa57VhGycmQ&usp=drive_link birthvids part 2: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/0B6BSkF4KXZVKQUhRWTIxX1BTWGM?resourcekey=0-9oUCk-VLHvzzzVyBvhFR1w&usp=drive_link

from youtube or other video sites: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1C7Y3WNQdgkQcB8zhmaFE9fokhcMeu6Wl?usp=drive_link

other drives: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/15Z18Fps1DdRc2-BZcDtKBAHYfnSECtVt?usp=drive_link

3D anime birth pics made by me: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1PdkrrFGpc5epC-pWluuK1USo4F5K8teV?usp=drive_link

[underscorezoo]

Sex while (urethral) birthing?

A/N: It's an mpreg birth story, and it's messy. It got really messy and wild. Might be disturbing for some, I don't know what I was thinking.

As mentioned in the title, this is going to be a urethral/penis birth. Refrain from reading if you are not into it or it's too graphic for you. Characters, places, and stories are all imaginary.

word count: 4k+

Story:

Celon is heavily pregnant, ready to pop any day He has been having braxton hicks contraction for couple of days now. His husband, Mike, was working on his laptop. The baby was twisting a lot in Celon’s womb, so he can’t sleep peacefully.

It's 4 am in the morning, when Mike’s work is done. Celon was frequent to his bathroom trips and just lie down again in bed. Mike lies beside him. "The baby is moving a lot?”

Celon whimpers softly as the baby kicks again, his round belly tense and hard as a small foot presses against his ribcage. He rolls onto his side, facing Mike. "It's like it’s practicing karate in there.”

Mike wraps his arms around Celon’s swollen belly and pressing his face into Celon’s neck, "Mmm... that's because it's ready to come out." Mike’s hands start to roam over Celon’s belly, feeling the tightness and hardness. Mike kisses above his ear.

Celon clings to Mike, his nails digging gently into Mike’s arms as another strong kick makes him grunt. "It feels like it’s trying to break out," He whines softly, his voice muffled against Mike’s neck. His belly feels rock hard, like a bowling ball about to burst.

Mike slightly pulls back and watches Celon. He is heavily pregnant, his pregnant belly fully round, his breasts are full, he is completely naked under his nightie. "Baby..." Mike’s voice comes out rough "Are you trying to kill me? Wearing this... with nothing underneath?”

"Mhmm," Celon hums softly, knowing fully well how much his naked body and full breasts drives Mike crazy. He spreads his legs slightly on the bed, giving Mike an unobstructed view of his massive baby belly and his full, swollen breasts that leaked milk slowly. "Babe..”

"hmm?" Mike chuckles huskily, his large hands slipping underneath Celon’s thin nightie to caress his bare skin, " it's incredibly sexy, and it's making me want things.." Mike presses closer, letting Celon feel Mike’s arousal against his lower abdomen.

Celon moans softly, his body shivering as Mike’s hands caress his bare skin. He leans back against the pillows, arching his back slightly to push his belly and chest out more. "W-what kind of things?" He asks innocently, even though he knows exactly what Mike is thinking.

Mike groans softly, his hips pressing gently against Celon, "See what you do to me? I can't help it. You look so damn sexy like this." Mike leans down, kissing Celon’s neck, more insistently this time. One hand moves up to cup his breast through the dress. His thumb rubs over Celon’s hard nipples softly.

Celon gasps as Mike cups his breast, his hard nipples stiffening even more at his touch. "A-Ahhn... Babe, please..." He whimpers, his hands gripping Mike’s shoulders tightly. His belly tightens and hardens again as another contraction hits him, making him arch his back more.

Mike’s hands roam back to Celon’s belly, splaying out over his roundness possessively. Mike swallows hard, his mind wandering. One hand moves slowly down Celon’s belly, towards his pelvic area "Would you... be uncomfortable if I touched you there? Just to check?" His voice is a deep whisper against Celon’s ear.

Celon bites his lip, his breathing hitching as Mike’s hand moves lower. "N-no... it's fine." He spreads his legs a bit wider, giving Mike better access. "Just be gentle, okay?" His belly still hard from the contraction.

As soon as his legs spread, Mike’s fingers move to Celon’s dick. Mike swallows hard, his mind racing with hormones. He bites his lip, "Can I...?" Mike asks softly, his fingers moving to gently cup Celon’s dick possessively. "Just to see...?”

Celon nods quickly, his face flushed as he feels Mike’s gentle touch on his sensitive area. "Y-yes... just check if I'm leaking or something..." He whimpers softly, his hips shifting involuntarily as Mike touches him. His pregnant body is extremely sensitive right now.

Mike slides his finger gently between his dick folds. He maintains gentle pressure with his finger, feeling how Celon’s body throbs, both from desire and contractions. "Shit... your dick so fucking swollen..." Mike’s breathing becomes heavier as he imagines how Celon’s body is stretching and preparing for birth.

Celon gasps and moans softly as Mike touches his swollen dick, his body shuddering with pleasure and pain. Celon can feel his dick starting to leak a little, the pre-cum mixing with the contractions and making his area even more sensitive. "Ahhhn... b-babe...”

Mike loves how sensitive Celon is right now. "Can I be honest? Can I fuck you right now...?" Mike’s voice is low and husky as he imagines himself buried deep inside Celon, feeling his tight, sensitive anus contracting around his length. "Because you're so fucking wet and sensitive... I bet it would be so good.”

"Mmmph... yeah... it would be good..." Celon whimpers, his hole already clenching at the thought of Mike inside him. His voice is breathy.

Mike swallows hard, his mind filling with dirty thoughts. He spreads Celon’s thighs wider, pushing his nightie up to expose his baby bump. Mike gets hard quickly, his boxers tents up. He removes his hand from Celon’s dick and quickly pull out his boxers. His hard length springs free, already leaking pre-cum at the thought of being inside Celon. "Babe... I'm gonna be really gentle, okay?”

"Mhm... gentle is good... I'm really sensitive right now..." Celon bites his lip, his eyes widening at the sight of Mike’s hard dick. He nods eagerly, his legs spreading wider to accommodate Mike. His belly is so big and round now. "Come on, fuck me...”

Mike kneels between Celon’s widespread thighs, his dick throbbing as he lines himself up with Celon’s anus. Mark pushes forward, the thick head of his cock spreading Celon’s anus apart. Mike groans deeply.

"Ahhhn... it hurts..." Celon whimpers, his nails digging into the bedsheets as Mike slowly push inside him. He's so much bigger than usual, and Celon is so much tighter than usual due to his pregnancy. "You're too big...”

"Fuck... you're so tight, baby... and so wet..." Mike bottoms out inside him. His pelvis pressing against Celon’s sensitive anus. Mike stays still for a moment, letting Celon adjust to his size. Mike can feel Celon’s dick fluttering, the contractions growing stronger.

"God... your dick is hitting my womb..." Celon moans softly, his body shivering. His belly looks even rounder with Mike deep inside him. Celon’s dick is throbbing and leaking pre-cum non-stop now, the contractions making him horny and sensitive. "Baby... move slowly...”

Mike begins to slowly withdraw almost all the way before sliding back in. His pace is deliberate, matching the rhythm of Celon’s contractions. "Shit... this feels good." His cock throbs, leaking pre-cum inside Celon.

"Mmmph... yes..." Celon's hands move from the sheets to Mike’s chest, nails scraping lightly. His belly bobs slightly with each thrust, his whole body flushed and sensitive. The contractions have him clutching Mike tighter. "Right there... fuck...”

Mike completely lost in the moment, his primal instincts taking over as he fucks him. His hands grip Celon’s thighs tightly, spreading him wider as he pounds, hitting a spot that makes Celon moan loudly. Mike starts moving again, his thrusts a bit faster and harder now as he watches Celon’s belly expand and contract with each push and pull.

"Oh god, oh fuck!" Celon cries out, his voice high and desperate. His belly shakes with each thrust, his pregnant body jiggling in the most erotic way. He clutches Mike’s arms, his nails digging in as he pulls Mike deeper. "Right there! Right fucking there!”

Mike abruptly pulls out his dick and change Celon’s position. Celon’s face buried in the pillows, legs spread and ass up in the air. Celon’s overfilled belly hanging underneath him. Mike takes him from behind, grabbing Celon’s hips tightly as he pushes himself inside Celon.

Celon screams into the pillow, his body shuddering as Mike enters from behind. The new angle hits depths he didn't know existed, triggering intensely pleasurable spasms. His swollen belly hangs heavily, swaying with each powerful thrust. "Hnnngh fuck... so deep!”

He whimper, feeling impossibly full. The baby roll and squirm like crazy, his lower back is straining, he can barely hold himself up. He begs Mark to change positions, but Mark is busy pounding into him.

Celon’s voice is muffled by the pillow as he begs, "P-please... change positions... I can't hold myself up... ah! The baby's moving so much!" He whimpers as another powerful thrust makes his belly jiggle violently. "Too deep like this...”

Mike presses him down into the mattress, his belly crushed between him and the mattress. Celon try to lift himself up but he can't; Mike is pounding into him vigorously. His belly hurts so much it's blinding, tears run down his face, but he can't hold back the moans falling from his mouth.

Celon sobs uncontrollably, his body wracked with pleasure and pain. The intense pressure on his belly and the relentless pounding have him seeing stars. He bites the pillow to muffle his screams, his anus hole clenching tightly around Mike’s dick with each thrust. "Hnnngh...”

His heavy pregnant belly is getting crushed between him and the mattress. Celon’s face contorts in anguish as his swollen belly suffers cruel compression. Tears stream down his cheeks, but his body betrays him, shuddering with intense pleasure. He tries desperately to brace himself, hands scrabbling at the sheets, yet he remains pinned. "Ahhhn fuck...”

They don't know how long they continued, but when they stopped, it was already 8 am. They are both, panting, lying on the bed.

Calon lies sprawled on the bed, his body covered in sweat and love bites. His belly is red and sore from being crushed between Mike and the mattress. He's panting heavily, his hand instinctively rubbing his aching stomach. "Fuck... I can't move...”

After taking some rest Mike says in groggy voice, "fuck, I'm hungry..”

Celon chuckles softly. He carefully pushes himself up, his body aching from last night's rough treatment. He's naked, his belly heavy and round. "Hmm, one sec..." He padded barefoot to the kitchen, his big belly swaying with each step..

He starts preparing breakfast, his movements slow and deliberate due to his large baby bump. He groans occasionally to himself feeling contractions. After a while, he calls out to Mike. They finish their breakfasts.

Celon stands at the sink, his round belly sticking out as he washes the dishes. He's still naked, his pregnancy glow making his skin look soft and luminescent. He groans to himself as he cleans, his belly occasionally hitting the counter as he reaches for things.

Completely oblivious to the potential progress of labor, Celon continues with his tasks. His belly looks incredibly heavy now, stretching tight against his skin. Every now and then, he pauses, gently massaging his belly. "This little one's kicking so much today...”

He bends over slightly to put the clean plates away, his big belly sticking out even more. He moans softly as a sudden tightness spreads across his belly. He straightens up, laughing softly. "Damn, this baby better not start now. I still have laundry to do...”

Celon turns back to the sink, but as he does, another contraction hits him harder this time. He gasps, gripping the counter for support. He shakes his head, trying to brush it off. "Just a Braxton Hicks... probably," he mutters to himself, continuing with his chores.

Despite his attempt to ignore the growing intensity of the sensations, the next few minutes see a series of stronger and closer-together contractions. Celon finds himself stopping frequently to breathe through each wave, his face twisting with discomfort. He pauses, leaning heavily on the counter, his big belly tightening.

He laughs softly, trying to convince himself it's nothing. "Probably just... indigestion..." He rubs his belly protectively. "God, this baby better not start cooking right now..." He bends down again to pick up the laundry basket. As he straightens up, he freezes.

His eyes widen as an intense wave hits him, doubling him over. He drops the laundry basket with a thud, his hands flying to his belly. "No, no, no..." He pants, his face contorting with pain. He waddles to the couch, sitting down heavily.

Celon's face contorts as another wave of contractions hits him. His large pregnant belly tightens and rises, his body language indicating that the baby is in a hurry to come out.

Mike calls out from bedroom, "Babe, can you bring my files from the study room?”

Celon tries to push through the pain, to get up and fetch his files. He waddles to the study room, his big belly swaying heavily. He winces as another contraction hits, his belly tightening and dropping lower, pushing his expanded belly button out even more.

Mike came to the living room and saw Celon waddling towards him. They are still naked, "Babe..you look so full.." Mike sees Celon’s puffier dick, "When did it expanded so much.." Not to mention, it's making Mike hard again.

Celon bites his lip, trying to focus through the contractions, his puffy dick twitching slightly. "It's been getting bigger for a few days now..." He hands Mike the files, leaning against the counter for support.

After watching Celon for some moment, Mike continues with hitched voice, "I'm getting hard again babe. Shall we do again.. please..”

Celon looks at him, his eyes widening slightly as he sees Mike’s growing arousal. Celon shifts uncomfortably, another contraction making him gasp. "Baby, I don't know if that's a good idea right now," he says breathlessly. "I think the baby might be coming soon.”

Mike holds his hand and pulls Celon towards him. "Come on babe.. let's do it." Mike desperately says as he go behind Celon’s back. They are both standing naked in their living room.

Celon allows Mike to pull him into his embrace, his big belly sticking out. He inhales sharply as Mike positions himself behind him. Celon’s puffy expanded member twitching with arousal despite the contractions. "You sure about this?" he pants.

"yes.." Mike hisses. His hands hover over Celon’s round belly.

Celon moans softly as Mike’s hands gently touch his round, low belly. He leans back against Mike, his body trembling with both pain and arousal. "Okay... but go slow," he whispers, his voice strained as another contraction hits. His puffy dick throbs, leaking precum.

"You are already cumming.." Mike smirks as he put his dick inside Celon’s anus.

Celon cries out as Mike enters into him. Celon’s expanded dick throbbing and shooting out a stream of warm, thick, white sticky cum onto the floor. He grips Mike’s arms tightly as Mike starts to move inside him, his big belly bouncing with each thrust. "Ahh, fuck!”

They are fucking in standing position. Mike is holding Celon’s hips spreaded tightly. Celon slightly bending forward as Mike thrusting inside his anus. Celon’s pregnant belly hanging low.

His swollen cock continues to spit out ropes of cum on the floor as Mike pounds into his ass. Each thrust makes his heavy belly sway hypnotically. He throws his head back, his body trembling with pleasure mingled with the intense contractions of his impending birth.

As the baby suddenly drops, Celon's eyes roll back, and he lets out a guttural scream, “Gggaaaahhh…”. His dick swells even more, becoming painfully hard and engorged. The pressure inside him intensifies as the baby's head presses down.

Mike’s thrusts push the baby's head further down, making Celon's swollen dick throb and leak clear fluid mixed with semen. He cries out with each thrust, his belly tightening with strong contractions. "Baby... you're gonna make me...AH!" He screams loudly as his dick sprays again.

Celon's dick is now fully engorged and incredibly sensitive, the baby's head trapped inside and expanding it even further. He's sobbing from the intense pressure and pleasure, his body shaking violently as Mike continues to thrust. "I'm... I'm gonna pop!”

Celon’s belly is rock hard and incredibly tight under Mike’s hands as Mike use it to pull Celon onto his length. Celon screams, his swollen dick throbbing painfully as the baby's head gets further inside his urethra. "You're gonna tear me open! My belly...”

"Oohh babee.. " Mike thrusts him harder.

The sudden hard thrust makes Celon’s belly ripple and jerk violently, causing his dick to throb uncontrollably. The pressure inside him becomes unbearable as the baby's head starts to move deeper into his dick. "Fuck... fuck... fuck!" He screams loudly, his whole body convulsing.

Mike’s thrusts cause his swollen belly to bounce and tighten, which in turn makes his painfully hard dick jump and jiggle synchronously. The baby's head slides slightly deeper into his urethra with each thrust, making him leak clear fluid and whimper softly. "Baby...”

Mike falls on his back on the couch with Celon, his dick still inside. He falls onto Mike’s lap, his massive belly bouncing and jiggling as Mike lifts Celon’s hips up and down onto his dick to thrust deeper into him. Celon’s dick bounces wildly, the baby's head getting pushed further and further into his dick. "Ahhh... fuck... fuck... fuck...”

Celon’s body is a mess of pleasure and pain, his dick throbbing and leaking copiously as Mike thrusts deeper into him. His belly is now bouncing wildly with each movement, the baby's head pushing against the sensitive walls of his urethra. "I can't... I can't take it!”

"Let's go to bed babe." Mike hisses as he pulls out of Celon and drags him towards the bedroom.

Celon waddles behind Mike, his massive belly swinging from side to side. He winces in pain as the baby's head shifts inside him, making him leak more clear fluid. He whimpers, his voice hoarse from screaming. "My belly...”

Mike throws Celon on the bed. Celon lands on the bed with a loud thud, his belly bouncing and jiggling violently. He groans in pain, his hands instinctively going to his swollen dick. "Ahhh... fuck..." The baby's head shifts inside him, causing more clear fluid to leak out.

Mike finally nptices Celon’s swollen enlarged dick. Mike gasps, "How... When did it happen…?”

Celon looks down at his dick, his eyes widening in shock. It's massive and throbbing, the baby's head visible inside the swollen urethra. "I... I don't know... it just kept growing and growing..." He whimpers, his whole body shaking.

Mike took his throbbing dick and Celon’s dick and jerk them together. "Your's one is so thick…!”

Celon watches as Mike jerks his dick alongside his swollen one, his eyes rolling back in pleasure and pain. "It's... it's too thick... the baby's head is stretching me so much..." He moans, more clear fluid leaking out. "Your dick feels so small compared to mine...”

"Yeah.." Mike hisses.. "I want it inside me.. babe, put it inside my ass. " Mike says with hitched breath.

Celon’s eyes widen in shock and arousal at Mike’s request. He struggles to sit up, his massive belly making it difficult for him to move. He grabs his swollen dick with both hands, trying to position it at Mike’s entrance. "Baby... are you sure? It's so fucking thick...”

"Yes..! Yes..!" Mike positions himself in bed and spread his butt cheeks further with his hands.

Celon takes a deep breath, his hands shaking as he tries to guide his swollen dick towards Mark’s hole. The baby's head pushes against the sensitive tip, making him leak even more clear fluid. "Fuck... it hurts so much..."

As Celon starts pushing his massive, swollen cock against Mike’s ass, intense contractions suddenly seize him. His belly tightens and jerks, the baby inside kicking vigorously. "Ahhh fuck! Contrac- ahhh!" He cries out, his dick throbbing violently as another gush of fluid escapes him.

"It’s so wet… Hurry put it inside!” Mike hisses.

Celon’s face contorts with pain and effort as he tries to force his thick, swollen head past Mike’s tight ring. "It's too big! It's not fitting!" He cries out, his belly jerking again with another intense contraction. His eyes fill with tears of frustration and pain as he tries to push his impossibly thick, baby-filled dick into Mike’s ass. The contractions are getting stronger, his belly tightening like a drum. "It hurts... it hurts so much! I can't get it in!" He sobs.

"Squeeze it babe.. Squeeze your dick and put it inside..!" Mike continues.

With a grunt of determination, Celon squeezes his massive cock as hard as he can, his fingers barely able to encircle the swollen shaft. And with the squeezing, the baby slides back just enough to make the tip of the dick slightly thinner. Tears stream down his face from the effort and pain. "Ahhhh! Ahhh fuck!" He screams, slowly pushing the baby back inside with all his might. His dick still half filled with the baby, with an agonizing roar, Celon finally manages to wedge the throbbing head of his dick past Mike’s resisting asshole. Suddenly, his swollen shaft plunges deeper due to another intense contraction, forcing a third of his massive length inside. "OHHH FUCK!”

"Aaahh.. it's so thick!!!” Mike screams.

"I know! I know! It's too fucking thick!" Celon pants heavily, his belly convulsing with another contraction. "Oh god, it hurts so much to push it in...!" He groans, trying to push more of his swollen length into Mike’s ass. The baby starts sliding again inside Celon’s dick.

"Aaaah!! It's getting thicker inside my ass!!” Mike continues.

"It's the baby, it's making my dick swell up inside you!" Celon wails in pain and pleasure, his massive cock throbbing and expanding further within Mike’s tight asshole. "Fuck, I can't stop it! It's gonna get even thicker and stretch you even wider!”

"Aaaah! It's too much!!! Back up! Back up!!” Mike screams.

Celon, panting heavily and sweating profusely, tries to pull back slightly, but his swollen cock is so thick and sensitive that even the slightest movement sends jolts of pain through him. "Ahhh fuck! It's too sensitive! I can't pull out!”

"Noo! Aaah! It's too thick!! Pull it out!!” Mike keeps screaming.

Celon cries out desperately, his face screwed up in agony as he tries to withdraw his impossibly swollen shaft from Mark’s painfully stretched asshole. "I'm trying! Fuck!" He screams, pushing and tugging frantically.

Mike hold Celon’s swollen dick tightly and squeeze it hard in pain.

*"AHHH FUCK!!!" Celon howls in agony as Mike’s painful grip squeezes his super-sensitive cock. His eyes roll back, and his massive belly heaves with another contraction. "Stop squeezing! It's too sensitive!”

Mike squeezes too tightly, making the baby go back fully. Celon cries out in distress.

"AAAHHHHHH!! The baby's moving back up! It hurts so much! You're making the baby shift back inside!" Celon wails, his massive belly convulsing in pain as the baby slowly slides back towards his womb.

With a sudden, violent motion, Mike squeezes Celon's super-sensitive, swollen cock as hard as he can and abruptly pull it out of his painfully stretched asshole. The sudden release sends an intense, searing pain through Celon’s entire body, and he lets out an ear-splitting scream.

Mike collapses on the bed, legs spread wide, and wincing as he feels raw, burning pain in his asshole. He lifts his legs slightly and sees blood on his inner thighs. "Ow... shit... It rip me..." Mike mutters, not considering Celon’s state.

Celon had fallen on the floor. Curled up in a fetal position, his massive belly heaving with each painful breath. His swollen, purple manhood lies limply between his thighs, still leaking thick, sticky fluids. "Ahhhh...”

When Mike finally sees Celon, “Babe...!" he gasps.

Celon slowly looks up at Mike, his eyes glazed with pain. He bites his lip, trying to hold back another scream as a contraction ripples through his enormous belly. "Don't... touch... me," he gasps out, flinching away. "Everything hurts...”

The baby starts shifting inside Celon’s swollen member again, it happens much faster and more violently than before. His massive belly convulses and contracts, pushing the baby down his engorged length at an alarming speed. "AHHHH!!” His eyes roll back as another intense contraction hits, forcing the baby down his throbbing shaft even faster. "The... the baby's dropping again! But... but it's moving so quickly now! It hurts so much more!" He screams, his hands clutching his belly and dick.

Mike quickly lay down Celon’s back on the bed. Celon is panting heavily, his legs dangling off the bed edge as Mike position himself between them. Celon looks down at Mike with terrified eyes, feeling the baby plunging rapidly down his hypersensitive cock with each contraction. "I can't breathe! Ahhh! It's going to pop out!”

"It's going to be fine.. its ok.." Mike rubs Celon’s dick and pregnant belly.

Celon’s body is wracked with intense contractions, his belly convulsing violently as the baby speeds down his shaft. Mike’s gentle touches on his swollen member and pregnant belly provide some comfort, but the pain is overwhelming. "AHH! It's coming out! It's coming out NOW!”

"Breath.. relax.. let it come.." Mike licks and sucks Celon’s nipples while rubbing his dick with one hand. The dual stimulation - Mike’s fingers gently caressing Celon’s aching cock and his warm tongue on Celon’s sensitive nipples - makes Celon moan despite the pain. His belly trembles and pushes down hard as the baby's head begins to crown. "Nghhh... oh fuck... that feels... AHHHHH!”

Mike grabs around Celon’s wet dick folds and starts licking it, while still rubbing it.

Celon’s body arches as intense pleasure and pain intertwine. The baby's head is stretching his delicate dick hole to its limit. Mike’s fingers and tongue on his sensitive folds and wet, pulsing dick drive him wild. "AAAAH! IT'S PUSHING!”

"Yes babe.. you are doing great.." Mike hums licking Celon’s dick more.

Celon screams hysterically as the next intense contraction forces the baby's head crowning. Tears stream down his face from the overwhelming pain and pleasure. "AAAAAAH! The head! Fuck, FUCK!”

Mike pulls back and sees the head, coming out spreading Celon’s dick hole. He rubs around the hole. "Yes, let it come..." He goes back to Celon’s full breasts and starts sucking his nipples.

The baby's head stretches Celon’s distended hole further, causing him intense pleasure mixed with unbearable pressure. Mike’s fingers gently rubbing around his gaping hole and greedy mouth on his swollen nipples make his entire body convulse. "OH GOD! I'm losing my fucking mind!!!”

"Push it out babe... Push it.." Mike says then bites his nipples. His hand goes to Celon’s pregnant belly to rub it down.

Celon screams in agony and ecstasy as he pushes with all his might, his belly contracting violently. Mike’s bite on his nipples sends shockwaves of pleasure through him, and his hand pushing down on the pregnant belly helps guide the baby out. "AAAAH! I'm PUSHING!!!”

"Yes, push!" Mike says breathlessly as he sucks more while rubbing his pregnant belly with more force.

With a final, screaming push, the baby's head fully emerges, stretching Celon’s hole impossibly wide. "NNNNGGGGHFUCK!”

Mike pulls back and watch, "The head is completely out. The shoulders are next.."

Celon is completely out of his mind now, his massive belly heaving with each labored breath. The baby's shoulders are the hardest part, spreading his already gaping dick hole even wider. He feels like he's being torn in half. "NO MORE! IT'S TOO BIG!”

"You can do it.. You can do it babe" Mike rubs Celon’s dick with one hand and starts smooching his neck while other hand is pinching on his nipples.

Celon’s eyes rolls back as he feels Mike’s hands all over him. The overwhelming stimulation combined with the intense pressure of the baby's shoulders finally breaks him. "AAAAH!”

"Yes babe.." Mike starts sucking his full breasts more.

Celon’s body convulses as he pushes with renewed vigor, Mike’s mouth on his breasts driving him wild. The baby's shoulders finally slip out, leaving only the smallest part left to deliver. "OH FUCK! IT'S ALMOST OUT!”

Mike pulls back again. "Okay, baby.. it will be down soon.." Mike cups the baby body to catch it. Celon’s body trembles as he pushes with every last bit of strength, his face contorted in pain. With one final, earth-shattering push, Celon feels the baby's body start to slip out. His stretched hole burns and tears as the baby's waist emerges, his massive belly finally starting to deflate. "NNNNGGGGGHHH! .. it's almost... FUCK!" With one final push, the baby shoots out into Mike’s waiting hands, followed by a rush of fluids. Celon collapses back, completely spent, his massive belly already shrinking noticeably.

As Mike cradles the tiny baby in his hands, he carefully examines the baby boy, who's no bigger than a large doll. His tiny body is covered in blood and fluids, his cry weak but healthy. He looks up at Celon. His massive belly has halved in size already.

Putting the baby on Celon’s chest, Mark left to get scissors to cut the cord. He returns with a pair of sterilized scissors. He carefully cuts the umbilical cord. As he finish cutting the cord, Celon starts to feel strong afterbirth contractions, his massive belly tightening and relaxing as the remaining fluids and the afterbirth itself begin to emerge. He groans weakly, his hands automatically going to his belly to support it. "Ahh... fuck... the afterbirth is coming...”

Celon gently hands the baby back to Mike, his arms trembling with exhaustion. He focuses on pushing out the afterbirth, his body shaking with each contraction. Mike cradles the baby close, making sure he's warm and safe as he watches Celon deliver the placenta.

With a final, powerful push, Celon delivers the afterbirth, a large, bloody sac that plops onto the floor. He pants heavily, his massive belly finally starting to shrink rapidly as his dick contracts back to its pre-pregnancy size.