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Channing Tatum

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Antonio - part 1

How did I get here…?

Oh! This isn’t me. This is my husband Antonio. I meant how did I get in this situation of my husband carrying another man’s baby…

Antonio and I met young and have been together for 18 years now. Very much in love, he’s my big top that I love so much! He was always confident and looked after himself well.

I guess the same couldn’t be said for me. I mean I’m attractive, but Antonio was always a 10 out of 10!

It wasn’t till earlier this year that something changed…and I don’t know what of why but it did. I didn’t want to be that snooping guy, but one night he was asleep I looked through his phone and found a conversation with someone just called “Bull”. The chat and pics that followed well…

It seemed like harmless flirting…with explicit pics. All that was ever sent back of “Bull” was a cock, no face. But it seemed to be a gym situation, they talked about working out a lot.

Then…it escalated.

From someone that wouldn’t even let me rim him! To being fucked. I was kind blown but…someone else decided turned on. I came in seconds! As I did day after day, after day to the pics and convo.

It was clear this was happening often too, and then…something odd.

At first I thought it was a fake, just some fun from a friend at work or something. But at home we never showered to get anymore and he wore shorts all the time, to bed, for sex…he hid his body.

Something more was going on and it was clear he wasn’t telling me, it wasn’t in the messages and I was too scared to outright ask.

Even though we didn’t discuss it, it became clear that gym was just code now, he was still going, but he had put on weight.

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The rain poured down like music, and I couldn’t resist. Laughing, I ran out barefoot with my kids, my big, round, hairy belly bouncing with each step. They squealed with joy, splashing through puddles, spinning around me. I held their hands, twirling in the rain, my heart full. I may be heavy and breathless, but in that moment, I felt lighter than ever — just a dad, dancing with his little world.

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The rain poured down like music, and I couldn’t resist. Laughing, I ran out barefoot with my kids, my big, round, hairy belly bouncing with each step. They squealed with joy, splashing through puddles, spinning around me. I held their hands, twirling in the rain, my heart full. I may be heavy and breathless, but in that moment, I felt lighter than ever — just a dad, dancing with his little world.

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The rain poured down like music, and I couldn’t resist. Laughing, I ran out barefoot with my kids, my big, round, hairy belly bouncing with each step. They squealed with joy, splashing through puddles, spinning around me. I held their hands, twirling in the rain, my heart full. I may be heavy and breathless, but in that moment, I felt lighter than ever — just a dad, dancing with his little world.

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The rain poured down like music, and I couldn’t resist. Laughing, I ran out barefoot with my kids, my big, round, hairy belly bouncing with each step. They squealed with joy, splashing through puddles, spinning around me. I held their hands, twirling in the rain, my heart full. I may be heavy and breathless, but in that moment, I felt lighter than ever — just a dad, dancing with his little world.

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Attic Memories & Hidden Histories

When 19-year-old Evan offered to help clean out his grandparents' attic over the weekend, he expected dust, boxes, and maybe a few old board games — not a doorway into a part of his family's history no one ever really talked about.

Tucked behind faded holiday decorations and yellowing newspapers, Evan found a box labeled in his grandfather's handwriting: “Summer ‘94 – Waiting on You.” Curiosity piqued, he opened it and found dozens of old photographs and several VCR tapes. What he discovered inside left him stunned — and deeply moved.

The pictures showed his Granddad Leo in his early twenties, glowing and visibly pregnant, his large round belly cradled in nearly every shot. Some were candid: Leo laughing in a garden while balancing a bowl of fruit on his bump; others were posed, arms wrapped around his partner — Grandpa Michael, who looked just as young and proud. There were baby showers, nursery prep, hospital visits, even silly moments like Leo trying to tie his shoes or write a grocery list on top of his belly.

The VCR tapes brought those still images to life. Evan watched his grandparents preparing for the arrival of the son who would one day become Evan’s father — their joy, their nerves, their quiet love in between the jokes and awkward name debates. One clip even showed Leo talking to the camera, resting his hand on his bump and saying, “I hope he’s got Michael’s smile — but my stubbornness.”

Evan sat in the attic for hours, surrounded by dusty beams and warm sunlight, tears in his eyes and a growing smile on his face. The box hadn’t just given him a new appreciation for his grandparents — it had shown him that love, strength, and family have always been part of his story… even before he was born.

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Summer of ’67: Belly Full of Sun

🔞 NSFW content — this story contains nudity, erotic male pregnancy (mpreg), physical intimacy, and sensual themes between men.

📬 Uncensored version available via DM.

💖 Like, reblog, and show your support for queer vintage fantasies. Help keep this aesthetic alive.

That summer smelled of cut grass and the hot plastic of lawn chairs. Mike didn’t speak much — he didn’t have to. His belly said it all: full, firm, bronzed by the sun almost as deeply as his chest and shoulders. The baby moved more every day.

Tom spent most of his hours beside him — hand on the bump, lips close, or just watching. There was something sacred about it. The way the skin stretched. The way Mike breathed differently now — deeper, slower, heavier.

The lawn dipped beneath them like the world was making space for something forbidden, something impossible — and yet, it was happening.

"One more month," Mike whispered. Tom just nodded, kissing the curve just above his navel, feeling the ripple of life beneath his lips.

His skin was tight, stretched taut like oiled leather. The belly was huge now — obscenely round, pulsing softly with life inside. He couldn’t sit straight anymore. His back arched, legs slightly apart, cock heavy and lifted by the sheer pressure of what he carried. Tom’s fingers moved reverently, tracing the firm line from the underside of the bump down to the base of Mike’s shaft. It was resting awkwardly on the swell — glistening, flushed, thick from the constant hormonal waves that saturated his body. "You’re so full," Tom murmured, voice low, almost trembling. "I can see him move… right here," he whispered, pressing into a ripple near the side. The flesh shifted. Mike moaned softly, thighs parting instinctively. The weight, the pressure, the fullness — it was all too much and yet not enough. His body was swollen with life, but the heat between his legs hadn’t dimmed for a second. Tom leaned in again, this time lower. And the baby kicked.

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🌿 Porch Heat – Week 40, Afternoon Tension 🫄🔥

🔞 CONTENT WARNING: Nudity, intimate pregnancy themes. ❤️ Like + 🔁 Reblog to support! Uncensored version in DM. 💌

The porch creaked softly beneath their weight. Late summer air clung to their skin — warm, still, expectant.

He sat down slowly, breath catching as the fullness in his belly shifted downward. His husband slid in behind him, arms around his waist, lips brushing the back of his neck.

“You sure we’re not pushing it?” He just nodded, eyes half-closed. “I need this. I need you.”

They’d been through every week, every kick, every mood swing. Now, on the edge of delivery, it wasn’t just about waiting — it was about feeling. Feeling the weight. The love. The closeness. And the need that refused to fade, even when the due date had come and gone.

At this point, the fetus is fully descended, with the head engaged deep in the maternal pelvis. His belly is hard, high, and tense — Braxton-Hicks contractions now bordering on pre-labor. The weight of the uterus presses his spine into his partner’s chest. Prostaglandins in semen, oxytocin from arousal — everything his body needs is being quietly delivered in this intimate position. His thighs shake not from fear, but from effort and overstimulation. They both know it’s close — maybe hours. But for now, they hold. Rock. Breathe. And press, slowly, deeper. Pressure between his legs increases with every breath, every kiss to his neck. This isn’t just sex. It’s preparation. It’s soft ignition.

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🔥 Boiling Point

💦 Like if you can feel the heat. 🔁 Reblog to share the steam. 🔓 Uncensored versions available via DM — only if you're ready.

He came to the sauna alone — not to be seen, but to disappear in the quiet haze of steam and wood and sweat. His belly was heavy. Each breath deepened the pressure in his hips, spreading through his thighs like honey warmed over a fire.

Then, the voice.

"You look like you're about to burst."

He opened his eyes. Through the mist, a figure emerged — older, broader, eyes glinting like polished iron in the fog. No shame. No hesitation.

"Can I?"

A nod was all it took.

The bench groaned under their weight. His legs spread wide, and the heat between them became something alive. The stranger's hands roamed over the rounded swell of his abdomen, thumbs brushing slick nipples as his mouth moved lower. The pressure, the friction, the grind of it all made him moan — loud enough to echo in the cedar-lined silence.

And when the stranger entered him, slow and deep, it wasn’t just penetration — it was surrender. Their bodies rocked in unison, sweat mixing, steam rising, until he lost track of where he ended and the other man began.

“Don’t stop,” he gasped, voice low, guttural, desperate. “You feel so good inside me…”

His body was swollen with late pregnancy, skin stretched tight over a belly that looked ready to erupt. The heat of the sauna amplified everything — the rush of blood, the scent of sweat, the ache between his legs that never really faded anymore. In the third trimester, arousal came fast and heavy. Every inch of him was more sensitive, more desperate. Even the smallest touch made him shiver. The man behind him didn’t waste time. He knew what this body needed. A slow slide in — slick, deliberate, deep. The kind of penetration that made his breath hitch and his back arch off the wood. The baby inside him shifted. His own moan drowned out the creak of the bench. One hand gripped his belly, the other braced on his thigh. Each thrust jostled the weight he carried, made it bounce, made it burn. He was full. In every way. And still, he wanted more. Every movement sent another wave through his core. His hole clenched greedily around the intruder, the pressure addictive. He wasn’t just being fucked — he was being claimed, marked, worshipped. He didn’t want it to stop. He wanted it to last forever. And judging by the stranger’s ragged breathing behind him, so did he.

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🌧️🤰 Walking Through the Storm: Early Labor Begins “This is it… we’re really doing this.” 🌬️🫶

An intimate glimpse at the first stage of birth – when the body opens, breath deepens, and two hearts walk into the unknown together. 💗👣 Like, reblog, and DM for the full version (unedited). 💌

The birthing suite was quiet, filled only with the soft beeping of monitors and the occasional hush of passing nurses. Fluorescent lights cast a pale glow across the floor, but in the center of it all stood something far more human than sterile.

He moved slowly, one hand gripping the IV pole, the other clutching his partner’s fingers. His belly was swollen to fullness, the skin stretched tight and flushed pink. Each breath trembled. Each step felt heavier than the last.

His partner walked just behind him, arms around his waist, steadying him with every subtle shift of balance. Their movements were unhurried — swaying more than walking — as though they were in a dance choreographed by the body itself.

“Keep walking with me,” the laboring man whispered through gritted teeth.

“I’ve got you. Every step,” the reply came low, steady, close to his ear.

He winced as a new contraction swelled inside him, gripping low in his abdomen. It pulled at him from within — firm, grounding, real. He leaned forward into his partner’s hands, which were splayed protectively over the curve of his stomach.

“I can feel it changing… deeper now.”

“You’re safe. We’re okay. You’re not alone.”

They passed the hospital bed again, circling slowly. They hadn’t sat down in a while — moving helped. It wasn’t just pain management; it was instinct. Walking encouraged the body to keep opening, to let go. It was still early labor, but things were shifting.

In the brief calm between contractions, they stood still. Their foreheads touched. Bare skin against bare skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. A moment of softness in the middle of a powerful, unstoppable process.

“You’re doing so good,” his partner murmured, brushing damp hair back from his face.

“I’m ready,” came the reply, soft but certain. “I’m really ready.”

No one else was in the room now. It was theirs — a quiet, sacred space where one chapter was ending and a new one was preparing to begin. They didn’t need music or guidance. Just each other.

They had made this life. And now, together, they were about to meet it.

Inside early labor, the cervix is likely dilated to 3–4 cm, and contractions begin to follow a more regular rhythm. The pregnant man's belly is fully distended, and tension gathers low in the pelvis with each wave. Walking promotes fetal descent — each step adds gentle pressure on the cervix from within. The partner’s physical closeness supports both balance and emotional grounding, and skin-to-skin contact can stimulate oxytocin, deepening labor. Their nudity in this context isn’t erotic in a traditional sense, but it does reflect raw intimacy: sweat, breath, muscle, and touch moving in harmony. There’s a primal charge — not sexual, but deeply embodied — in the vulnerability of birth shared like this. Two men, on the threshold of parenthood, deeply connected through touch, trust, and transformation.

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🔥 Week 40: Built, Full, and Ready 🫄💦

🔞 WARNING: Intimate themes, nudity, and suggestive content. ❤️ Like + 🔁 Reblog to support. Uncensored version available via DM. 💌

He wasn’t supposed to be standing this long — not with a belly that looked overdue for days. But when his husband slid behind him, hands strong and familiar on his hips, all caution left his mind.

He arched slightly, wincing at the tightness. “You okay?” the voice behind him asked, more breath than words. “Just full,” he murmured. “So full I could scream.”

They’d waited nine months for this moment — not just for the birth, but the connection. The weight of it all — literal and emotional — bore down between them. One was swollen, ripe, and barely holding it together. The other, worshipping every inch of it.

In that quiet, private space, nothing else mattered. Not the calendar. Not the due date. Just pressure. Need. Intimacy.

At 40 weeks, intercourse isn’t just a craving — it’s part instinct, part defiance. His body is under maximum strain: uterus distended, baby fully engaged, cervix softened and slowly thinning. Sex at this stage is risky, but desired — his hormonal balance is flooded with oxytocin, prostaglandins, and a raw physical urgency. Every deep thrust presses the fetus further into his pelvis, increasing pressure on the pelvic floor and encouraging cervical dilation. He moans into the sensation, unsure if it’s pleasure, a contraction, or both. The fullness of his belly, the firmness of his nipples, the way his thighs tremble with each controlled movement — it’s not just arousal. It’s his body preparing. His partner moves with practiced care, but also hunger, drawn to the sheer extremity of his form. Every inch is tight, swollen, ready. And somewhere between lust and labor, something shifts — a gasp, a spasm, a pause. It might’ve started

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As I walk through the vibrant pride parade, wearing my rainbow-colored shirt stretched snug over my big, round, hairy belly, I feel nothing but pride and power. Every cheer, every flag, every smile tells me I belong. My body, my journey—it’s all out in the open, and I’m not hiding anymore. I’m pregnant, I’m strong, and I’m seen.

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As I walk through the vibrant pride parade, wearing my rainbow-colored shirt stretched snug over my big, round, hairy belly, I feel nothing but pride and power. Every cheer, every flag, every smile tells me I belong. My body, my journey—it’s all out in the open, and I’m not hiding anymore. I’m pregnant, I’m strong, and I’m seen.

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Rory

28 years old, 9 months pregnant, from Dublin, Ireland, expecting his first child — a baby boy

Rory has always been the kind of man who lights up a room — not just with his stunning ginger curls and freckles that dance across his muscular shoulders, but with a natural warmth and joy that’s impossible to fake. A swim instructor by trade and adventurer at heart, Rory spent years in the water, his sculpted torso and athletic frame a testament to countless hours spent guiding others and pushing his own limits. But nothing could prepare him for the transformation his body would undergo when he found out he was pregnant.

Now, at nine months pregnant and glowing, Rory’s body is a breathtaking testament to life and creation. His belly is massive — a firm, taut dome that juts out proudly, the skin stretched smooth and flawless over the baby boy he’s about to welcome into the world. He can hardly keep his hands off it, rubbing and cradling the life inside with both awe and delight. His freckled chest rises and falls with excitement as he feels the baby roll, kick, and stretch beneath his touch.

Though pregnancy wasn’t something Rory had planned for, it felt right from the moment it happened. The night he conceived was a whirlwind — a passionate, spontaneous connection with a fellow instructor named Aidan, whose easy smile and commanding presence matched Rory’s energy beat for beat. Their chemistry was instant, and when their bodies came together that night, it was as though the universe had aligned — all instinct, heat, and overwhelming release.

The news of the pregnancy came weeks later, and though it was a surprise, neither man hesitated. Rory embraced the journey with open arms, while Aidan — though often away training elite swimmers — has remained emotionally present, sending voice notes, video calls, and flying in for checkups and belly-rubbing sessions when he can.

Rory’s body has changed in ways even he couldn’t have predicted. His strong swimmer’s frame has softened, particularly in his hips and glutes. His once-flat stomach now curves into a perfect globe, and his cheeks have thickened into firm, smooth mounds that sway subtly with every step. The physicality of pregnancy hasn’t slowed him — he still moves with ease, exuding a masculine grace even as his center of gravity shifts forward. His signature blue briefs — once snug, now barely holding on — showcase both the size of his belly and the shape of the body that carried it there.

As the final days approach, Rory is filled with anticipation. His belly has dropped, the baby nestled low, and the pressure in his pelvis is constant. He feels his body gearing up — every stretch of skin, every flutter in his lower belly, every deep breath preparing him for the moment of birth. He’s ready to be on all fours, to push with everything he’s got, to bring his son into the world through the same body that made him possible.

Rory often catches his reflection and smiles — not just because he’s beautiful, which he is, but because he’s never felt more himself. He knows this journey has changed him forever. And if Aidan has his way, this won’t be the last time Rory finds himself round, radiant, and brimming with life.

From the Paternity Studios Collection

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Dylan

26 years old, 9 months pregnant, from Asheville, North Carolina, expecting his first child — a baby girl

Dylan had always taken pride in his body — a balance of strength and natural beauty that turned heads wherever he went. His warm smile, shaggy brown hair, and strong-yet-approachable energy made him the kind of guy everyone wanted to know. But what truly set him apart was the way he carried himself — confident, humble, and unafraid to embrace whatever life threw at him. And right now, life had thrown him something big. Really big.

At nine months pregnant and due any day, Dylan’s body is nothing short of astonishing. His belly is massive — stretched impossibly round and full as it cradles his daughter. He finds himself constantly rubbing it, amazed by how his body has risen to the task. His briefs barely contain the fullness of his figure, especially the cheeks that have grown rounder and more prominent with every passing month. The jiggle in his glutes when he walks is unmistakable — smooth, heavy, and hypnotic — drawing eyes wherever he goes, not that he minds.

Pregnancy has been a journey Dylan never expected to take. He’d always been curious about his body’s potential, but it wasn’t until he met Jonah — a traveling chef with a thick Southern drawl and arms like tree trunks — that something shifted. Their chemistry was instant, and Dylan quickly found himself swept up in the kind of passion that doesn’t come around often. One wild weekend getaway in the mountains, with roaring fireplaces and nowhere to be, led to a night of deep connection, desire… and the moment that changed everything.

When Dylan discovered he was pregnant weeks later, he was stunned but thrilled. It was like his body had been waiting for this — like every inch of him was built for it. As his belly grew, so did his sense of purpose. He embraced the cravings, the swelling, the emotions, and especially the way his body changed. His already plump cheeks became thicker, juicier, and more sensitive. He could feel the weight of his daughter in his hips and lower back — pressure that intensified as her due date neared.

Jonah has stayed by Dylan’s side, rubbing cream on his belly and glutes, whispering affirmations, and promising to be there through every push. Dylan is ready. His belly has dropped, and the pressure in his pelvis is growing by the day. He envisions himself on all fours, belly hanging low, hips arched high, pushing with every ounce of strength he has to bring his daughter into the world.

As Dylan rubs his belly and feels another strong kick, he smiles. He knows she’s ready. And so is he. He’s fallen in love with this journey — and already imagines what it would be like to do it again. Jonah agrees. After all, Dylan’s body was made for this.

From the Paternity Studios Collection