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The Exhibit

Your job as a museum docent seems boring on the outside, but you find it... fulfills you in ways you never imagined. 

A year ago, a new exhibit was brought in on a long-term loan, and since then, its been in the ews that your city has experienced something of a baby boom. There are always the hysterics, saying that there was no way for them to get pregnant, but they are a small percentage, and most people just assume their birth control failed in some way, or they had a last-hurrah of fertility. You know differently. 

The exhibit looks innocent enough, a series of artifacts brought from an uninhabited island, found entirely by accident. Small statues, beaded jewelry, beautiful medallions, and even a large slab of polished stone from an ancient civilization on the island. The words carved into the stone have been translated and displayed on the glass within easy view of the slab, and nearly every person that visits the exhibit pauses and reads the words posted in front of the stone. 

That's all it takes. 

They don't even have to read the outwardly unrelated words out loud. Just think the words, and the spell is invoked. if they only read it once, then the pregnancy follows a natural timeline and progression, as far as you've figured out. But you, as docent, stand in the room and guide people through the exhibit all day, every day. You might read the words a dozen times in one morning. 

It doesn't affect youths, the elderly, or anyone without a womb. But every womb that visits leaves with a small souvenir, if the words are read. 

Standing at the beginning of the exhibit, you gather a group of interested people, a modest bulge of a belly under your maternity blouse. "Are we ready? Let's start over here, with the statues first." 

You begin by explaining the island, its geography, and where these artifacts were found. You point out the differences in each piece, appearing to represent a woman's different stages of life; a lean young woman, the rounded figure of a heavily pregnant mother, and the stooped posture of a wizened crone. You move to the jewelry, the various symbols and charms, the strings of beads used a twenty-eight day calendar. 

At the end of an hour, you reach the slab, many people having asked many, many questions. They're all very invested, their interest piqued. Proud of yourself, you pause in front of the slab's case. "And here, we have what may have been an alterpiece. Our scholars have done their best to form a translation, printed across the top edge of the glass there." 

You watch eyes skim the line of text, and recite the words from memory without even looking. Low in your belly, warmth throbs. Resting your hand on the globe, you feel it subtly push out against your palm, your blouse forgiving enough that it won't be immediately obvious to your group. You do notice, though, that anyone presenting like they may have a womb sort of jolts, a few hands jumping to their middles. 

"They don't seem to make sense, do they?" You repeat the words again, relishing the throb, the flutters that begin under your hand. "That's our best guess at a translation, but without the context of its use, the real meaning has been lost to history. Any more questions?"

"You really memorized the passage?" someone asks, joking a little as they look behind them, like the translation will be written on the opposite wall. 

You smile brightly, and repeat the spell just because you can, smoothing a hand over your growing, fluttering belly. "I do see it all day, every day, sir. It's the least I can do. Anything else?"

Once the group has asked their fill and dispersed, you notice a vaguely familiar woman approach you. It might just be her bulky sweater, but you think she might be sporting her own baby bump as she takes just one step closer than good manners dictate. 

"I saw your tour here last week," she begins, resting a hand idly on the underside of her slight swell. "Funny, I could have sworn you were much further along!"

Smiling, you pluck at your blouse, finally placing her in your memory. "Oh, that's so interesting, I could have sworn the same thing about you. Do you come here often?"

"Almost every day," the woman admits, eyes flicking over the spell again. Because you're watching, you see her belly push out a little bit, filling out the heavy, oversized knit. Her eyes skim again, and her bump grows right in front of you. 

Squeezing your thighs together slightly, you turn and read the script too, weight sinking into your hips and your maternity pants giving way to your burgeoning belly as you read it through two, and then three times. You're a little breathless as you say, "You must find the exhibit very compelling."

"Extremely," she answers, smoothing circles on her belly that visibly heaves under her touch. 

You read the line of text one last time, relishing the growing weight sinking down inside you, small feet peddling at your belly, rippling under your blouse. "I'm sure I'll see you around, then. Please enjoy."

The pair of you share a small, secret smile as you turn toward your usual place by the gallery doors. Before you can move, though, you hear a wet splatter on your other side. Turning around again, you find a different lady standing transfixed to one side of the gallery, enormously pregnant, a puddle pooling at her feet as  she clutches her belly. Walking towards her, you see that she is still reading the text, over and over, her belly visibly dropping low on her hips and squeezing inwards on her frame. More fluids hit the floor, but she never looks away, still reading. 

"Just this way, dear," you say kindly, snagging her attention. 

"Oh, my goodness," she says, bewildered. "I'm so sorry-"

"It's all right," you say patiently as a strong contraction seizes her, making her knees bend and stance widen. "It happens more often than you'd think."

She refuses to move, eyes on the slab, and within a few minutes you get down on your knees to catch the red, squalling infant under her skirt. Her belly doesn't visibly shrink, only contracts again. 

Lifting your head, you flag down one of the male security guards who's taken his sweet time in ambling over. "Hey, Kevin, would you mind  calling an ambulance? We've got another situation. Yeah, another few minutes and we'll have another on our hands."

The media may say no one knows where the baby boom has come from, but you'd bet a lot of women know more than they're letting on. 

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Long ago, there was a cult...

Long ago, there was a cult where fathers and daughters were encouraged to breed. The logic was simple : Girls who had only fucked their fathers were still virgins, as they had not been penetrated by any other man than the one who had given them life, and thus were still pure.

For the first 18 years of their life, girls would be raised by older women. These women had become barren with time and were of no use to their father anymore, so they went on to raising the children. They had given their father a good 20, sometimes 30 years of fertility and so were often plump and soft, with wide bosoms, large hips and an inviting behind. It was considered common for these older women to get to know each other better and enjoy each other's company, and generous curves.

However it was rare that their breasts produced milk, seeming to become lesser and lesser the longest it had been since they had last carried for their father. So, to procure milk for the children, they had younger women. They were most commonly on their fifth pregnancy, as the law required girls remain at home for the five years following their first pregnancy and see no one other than their father. Women around the age of 23 all the way to their late 40s were thus milked every single day for several hours in a row, sometimes up to twelve. They would be pleasured constantly through the day, falling deeper and deeper into bliss as the machines suctioned away at their nipples while they tenderly rubbed their bellies.

But that was reserved for the girls who were growing their father's child in their womb, as their milk was the only one that was untainted by impurities. And so they had to have been impregnated first.

At the age of eighteen, the girl would be moved to her father's home, but having never actually met him. So it was for the first time that a father would lay eyes on his daughter. The first attempt at conception could happen anywhere from there on. Some girls got pregnant the first year, for others it took longer. Some never did at all. Often, an eldest daughter was joined by her sisters in the following years. Aside from this, it was impossible to tell what exactly happened, as fathers were sole authority in their own house and had no one else to answer to. But it was sometimes possible to see a glimpse of the inside through a window. Daughters with swollen bellies cooking meals for the family and cleaning the house, sometimes with a baby or two on their breast as they worked. Late at night, the masters bedroom lights would be turned on and from the streets one could catch a father enjoying his daughter's body; pouding into her pregnant pussy or sucking on her tits to stimulate lactation. Sometimes daddy wouldn't be home and girls had to pleasure themselves alone, with a toy in their cunt and suction cups for those late in their pregnancies or having just given birth.

Marriages would take place anytime after the impregnation and before the birth. Ideally, children had to be born after the marriage, but it wasn't rare that some fathers would wed their daughters as late in the pregnancy as possible, so they could delay the baby's birth as long as possible to enjoy the last drops of milk from their daughter's overflowing teats or see her struggle against a plug shoved into her pussy as the marriage ceremony took place.

For girls who were only having their first few pregnancies, birth was the only time they were allowed to leave their father's home, but they had to be accompanied. The girls would be brought to the hospital where they would give birth, assisted by midwives, who were old women that had long since birthed their last child. The girl's father was present, but only for the first part of the birth. His job was to stimulate her milk and massage her belly as the baby descended into the girl's birth canal. And when the head crowned, fathers left their daughters in the hands of the midwives who kept sucking on the girl's teats, caressing her belly and playing with her pussy until she finally brought her brood into the world. The baby would then be taken away and the father could return. He would take his daughter back home and the midwives would then see the same girl again nine months later, often with a belly bigger than the previous time.

Author's Note: Thinking this could lay the groundwork for more stories taking place in that setting. Would be glad to hear some feedback! You can follow me on my blog @breastsmilks

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Imagine you wake up from a coma pregnant

You’re a virgin who gets in a car crash. You go into a coma. You’re in a hospital, hooked up to all sorts of monitors, with no responses for nine whole months.

One day you finally wake up. At first you’re groggy, not really aware of where you are. All you know is you feel weak and your stomach is cramping. You struggle to open your eyes.

A few moments go by while you get your bearings. It takes a bit for your eyes to get adjusted to the harsh hospital lighting. You can’t really move at all, your muscles having atrophied. You’re stuck staring at the ceiling. You don’t really remember much of the crash, and what you do remember is a blur. You realize where you are, but have no idea for how long.

Another cramp in your stomach draws your attention down there. As tired as you feel, you can feel something isn’t right. You feel weighed down in your midsection. You finally manage to move your neck and look downward.

With a shock, you see your enormous belly rising up above you. You look massively pregnant. You’re horrified! You’ve never had sex, how did this happen?!

Once the initial shock passes, a terror hits you. You start screaming at the top of your lungs. Several nurses come in the room in a panic, finally realizing you’re awake. One tries to calm you down, while the others assess your vitals.

After a bit you wear yourself down and stop screaming. You don’t feel any better. Your heart is racing and a cold sweat grips you, but you’re too tired to carry on. The nurse who’s been trying to calm you down looks at you with a very reassuring smile.

“What happened to me?” You manage to croak out in a weak voice.

“You were in a very bad accident, and were asleep for a very long time. But you’re alright now.” She says in a gentle voice.

“I mean, what happened to my belly?”

“Don’t worry, your babies are nice and healthy.”

“Babies?” You cry with renewed terror. You make a feeble attempt to rise up from your bed, but your nurse holds you down with ease.

“Right, your twins. They were unharmed in the crash.” She continues.

“But, but, I wasn’t pregnant!” You insist. She gives you a knowing look.

“You must have been; you certainly didn’t get pregnant here.”

You try to protest, but are gripped by another contraction. You feebly manage to raise your left arm onto your massive stomach, and grimace with pain.

“Looks like we’ll be meeting them soon!” She exclaims cheerfully, still not keen to your horror.

The pain subsides and you relax a bit. “But I’m a virgin…” You try to protest, but she isn’t listening. She and the other nurses start preparing your room for the birth, only paying attention to your babies but not you.

In a bit a doctor comes in to examine you. You try to plead your case with him. “I can’t be pregnant, I’m a virgin…” You cry.

“Well, we know that isn’t true.” He says with a bit of humor, and lifts up your weakened legs so that he can examine you down there.

“You’re well dilated, shouldn’t be long now!” He proclaims happily, and heads off. You’re left crying and in pain, no one listening to you.

The contractions get worse and worse, and with it your mental state. You shout and moan and scream that you’re a virgin, this can’t be happening to you. A nurse blithely suggests you be sedated, but they’re worried about the effects on the babies.

Soon an anaesthetician comes to administer the epidural. You try to plead your case with him but he’s not listening. He has a nurse move you forward so he can get at your spine to inject, but he only pretends like he is administering the drug, and you don’t feel the needle actually go in. He looks over at you with a cold smile over his face mask. Renewed horror comes over you.

You don’t know how or why you know, but in that instant you know this is the man who did this to you. But you’re powerless to do anything about it, no one will believe you.

The next few hours are the worst of your whole life. No one will listen to a word you say, assuming you’re hysterical. The pain steadily increases, having been given nothing to combat it. You try to struggle against the doctors to run away somehow, but are too weak to do anything.

Finally the ob-gyn tells you to push. Everything in your body is screaming that you have to get them out of you as soon as possible, but you have no strength in you to do it. He keeps demanding you push, but you can’t.

“Get them out of me!” You scream, hoping they’ll put you under and cut them out of you. But they’re worried about performing surgery so soon after you coming out of your coma.

You struggle to try to push, making lame attempts that don’t do anything. All the while the anaesthetician stares at you from the back of the room. He never leaves, never says anything. But you can tell he’s enjoying seeing you powerless, in so much anguish.

The ob-gyn is getting frustrated, and yells at you to push. You can’t, you’re barely even able to stay conscious at this point. The baby is stuck in you, and you’re starting to think you will die like this.

Fed up, the ob-gyn orders a nurse to administer Pitocin to expedite labor. The medicine is administered through an I.V. drip. It takes a while for it to kick in, but once it does it only makes your already painful contractions worse.

You try to gather strength before your next contraction. It hits and you push as much as you are able. It’s an enormous strain, but the baby makes a tiny bit of progress down your birth canal. The effort saps what energy you have, and it takes you a while to recover.

Eventually, you screw up your strength to push again, and make a tiny bit more progress. The effort exhausts you and you have to rest further. This all repetes over and over for the next few hours. The ob-byn is getting more and more frustrated with you, yelling at you to push harder but you just can’t.

Your over-taxed, sore muscles do what they can, but they’ve atrophied so much labor takes much, much longer than in normal deliveries. After what feels like years you start to crown. Your lower lips puff out to accommodate your large baby. However, they are quickly stretched to their limit before you are fully crowned.

The ob-gyn is screaming at you to push. Your poor exhausted legs are up in stirrups, your lower half totally exposed to a roomful of uncaring and even malicious doctors. Contractions are crashing through you, your body desperately trying to give birth, despite being so heavily atrophied and weak. You’re screaming and crying, stretched so much and unable to fully crown. You’re senseless with pain.

The doctor finally determines your vaginal opening, so tight due to unuse, will not open wide enough for your full term baby. Without warning, or asking consent, he snips at it a bit with surgical scissors, opening you just a little. You howl in pain. You can’t imagine how this could get any worse.

You feel further violated, but the cut does allow the baby to pass through a bit easier. With another contraction you get to fully crowned. Your hole is stretched to its utter max, your lips burning.

The doctor yells at you to push again. You don’t know if you can. You’re exhausted, and in so much pain. This baby feels like it is tearing you in half. A contraction comes and goes without pushing, the baby stuck in your vaginal lips. All of the staff are beyond frustrated with you, telling you to push. Just a little bit more. Push, damnit.

“I can’t do it!” You scream. Your voice is hoarse from hours of yelling, and from nine months of disuse. The doctors, nurses, everyone but the silent anesthesiologist, yell at you you have to. The anesthesiologist just continues to watch intently from the corner.

Lastly, you screw up a tiny bit of strength, and as the next contraction hits you push just a bit. The head comes out, slightly, and along with it a spray of fluids. Another contraction comes and you push out just a bit more. Gradually, you get the whole head out.

However you get stuck on the shoulders. They’re so wide, and your bruised vagina can only handle so much. Realising you’re stuck, the ob-gyn reaches out and grabs the baby roughly. He pulls it out of you, bringing more fluid with it.

The nurses don’t let you see the baby before they take it away to be examined. Your body is still churning with contractions. The baby’s placenta starts to come out. It’s small and slippery, moving through you easily, but you’re too tired to push. The contractions do all the work. It comes it in more time than it should, but is nothing compared to the excruciating agony you just endured.

Then you are suddenly hit by a strong contraction again. You feel the need to bear down again. The return of the agony in your belly, complied with how distended and big it still is, remind you you were carrying twins. You’re only halfway done.

“I can’t…” You moan in a weak voice, utterly unable to further push. No amount of the staff screaming at you is able to get you to push. There’s just no energy left in your body.

After a while of the contractions and making no progress whatsoever, the ob-gyn finally makes the decision to perform a c-section. You’re relieved, knowing there is no way you can birth on your own.

You are wheeled into the surgical theater. The sinister anesthesiologist administers some drugs, as the surgeon comes in and begins to prep for the surgery.

You eagerly await the sedatives kicking in, desperate for some relief from this nightmare. Instead you stay awake. The anesthesiologist administered just enough to immobilize you, but you stay conscious. You’re not able to move, to see, to scream, to let anyone know you can still feel it as the surgeon makes his first incision.

You feel every step of the way, as you are cut open on the table. The surgeon has to move your intestines out of the way to get to your stomach. You can hear him talking about it with his assistants. They are all more concerned with what they will do after their shifts than paying attention to you. Maybe they should notice how high your blood pressure is, or any sign you’re not totally under.

You the surgeon remove your stomach intestines from of your body in order to access your womb. You should be relieved you are unable to see it, but instead you are screaming in your head. This is the worst pain and sensations you could possibly imagine. It’s like being vivisected alive. You wonder if you even really survived the car crash. Maybe you’re dead and this is hell.

The surgeon makes another incision, opening up your womb. Then he roughly yanks out your baby from inside. The pain is unimaginable. Then they leave you, cut wide open, intestines hanging out of your body. You don’t know what they are doing, why they aren’t stitching you back together again. It probably isn’t very long you’re left like this, but to you it feels like eternity.

Finally the surgeon returns to remove your placenta. Then he stitches up your uterus, and replaces all your intestines. Then he stitches up your stomach. It’s no more pleasant than it was when you were being cut open, but at least it should be over soon.

Then you are wheeled back into a room, and finally left alone. Groggy, exhausted, and still hurting, you eventually fall asleep.

When you wake up, you find out the anesthesiologist isn’t done with you…

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Crown’s Breeding Bitch / 219.5

A woman is strung up by a contraption with her legs spread in the middle of a market for anyone, men or women, to use. Nine months later, she’s knocked up and strung up in the same contraption to give birth for the crowd’s viewing pleasure.

             You were not surprised when the Queen’s knights came to your home to bring you to the castle. News of the King’s death had spread throughout the village and you knew it was only a matter of time before the Queen unleashed her wrath upon you.

             “Your grace,” you bowed your head upon seeing the Queen.

             “My lady,” she politely responded in turn but you could see the fire in her eyes. The room fell silent before the Queen continued as she walked over to you. “I have always been jealous of you.” She cupped your face. “For being able to provide my husband, the King, what I could not.”

             It was no secret you were the King’s mistress, who had provided the King with two heirs while the Queen had been unable to give him even one.

             “I had no choice.” The King had chosen you and you were forced to compile.

             “I know, but I can not let this slight go unpunished.”

             “Do what you will to me, but please don’t hurt my sons.”

             The Queen had a wicked smile on her face. “I intend to do just that – whatever I want with you. Your sons will be raised as my heirs since I cannot have children of my own. And as for you, I plan to show the village exactly what kind of breeding bitch you are.”

             You had prayed for a quick death, but it seemed that the Queen had other plans in store for you. Your face remained neutral. You would not give her the satisfaction of knowing how much her words rattled you.

             You were escorted to a room for the night before the real punishment began tomorrow.

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Request #294.1

Responding to Request #294.1!

(all cheerleaders, described in this story are seniors and are 18+, so are you)

   You’d been with your fair share of girls, as a star athlete with a handsome face, a nice body and a charming personality that lasted just long enough to get what you wanted. But the varsity cheerleaders were tough to convince. You’d been trying for a couple of months to get at least one of them into bed, and it would be a big notch on your belt.

   There was ten of them, all so perfect yet so uniquely hot. Unfortunately, they were surprisingly…prudish. You just couldn’t get even one of them to drop their panties for you. It was getting frustrating, you just wanted to fuck a varsity girl so bad. You knew it would be so satisfying to make them putty underneath you.

   One night you’d been aimlessly browsing the web, and you found something you hadn’t expected to. An add for a fertility pill. Supposedly it guaranteed pregnancy, with a high likelyhood of twins, even triplets. It was a weird thing to find advertised to yourself, a young man, but something about it intruiged you:the pictures of women with massively swollen bellies, hands on them in such a way it seemed like they ached from being so full.

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Angel’s Cage

323.7:  Princess becomes a war prize when the neighboring king conquers her kingdom. She is known to be the most beautiful woman in the land, and since he has yet to have an heir, he takes her against her will. Age gap would be appreciated (18+ of course)

Author: Birthedstars

It had been 1 month since Hayliel lost everything. 1 month since everything around her burned. 1 month since everything she loved was stomped out and taken. The war that no one remembered who started, came to a fiery and death saturated end. Hayliel was the last living member of the royal family of Foresong, one of only hundreds of her people left, and now she sat in her isolated tower room at the edge of her bed waiting for that cold king to come take something else.  

Hayliel was considered one of the most beautiful young women in all of the lands. Full figured in all of the right places and a face as stunning as precious gems, fitting to her namesake, “Angel of Forest “.  It was clear why the aged warrior king would claim her amongst several dozen women taken from Foresong’s now ashened land. The cold silence of the bedroom was broken by the door creaking open.  A large Man in an ornate breastplate and cape entered the room, King Farna. He absentmindedly scratched his thick salt and pepper beard, his eyes scanning the lightly dressed young girl.

“…are you prepared?” he asked tersely.

“Yes.” In truth, she wasn’t ever going to ‘prepared’ to have sex with the man who caused her so much pain, but it’s not like she had a choice anyway, might as well submit to it rather than struggle.

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Stubborn cowgirl’s troubles

Being a breeding bitch isn’t as easy as everybody thinks. It might be enjoyable up until you start the actual breeding process that is then things start to roughen up…

Take for example Lisa, a small, petite cowgirl with huge tits and an even bigger belly. She’s due any day now with 4 babies, each one about 15 lbs. Her huge tits are constantly leaking sweet white milk and she’s bound to her stable since the end of her second trimester. She’s pumped 10 hours per day and forced to walk and be stretched so will survive the birth of her enormous children. But since is so close to the delivery, she’s forced to wear a vaginal plug to keep her juices and her children till she’s ready.

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Command

By: Birthedstars

Mia rushed away from the Olson Student building and to her dorm. PR club ran later than usual, the sun had already set sometime ago and a dark silence settled onto the campus grounds. The only place open at this hour was the library for those who wanted to burn the midnight oil studying.

Mia hurried past the library, the study room lights shining from the windows creating a glowing patchwork. As she went past, a familiar presence sidled up next to her.

“Hey, I thought I told you not to be out so late.”

Mia turned to see her friend Isaac walking next to her. He had been one of her best friends in the beginning of college.

“Well, the club went just a bit late.” Mia smiled.

“I can see tha-"Isaac was suddenly cut off by a dark figure appearing before the two of them. Mia didn’t have a chance to scream before everything went dark.

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A Second Family

Lana had known Carol and Jim as long as she could remember. The couple had been close with her parents throughout her childhood, up until her parents had moved to rural Alaska in a bid for a fresh start after their retirement. Lana, nor Carol and Jim, seemed to hear much from them these days, but Lana still kept touch with the couple, even being allowed to move into their home after she graduated college. She felt guilty at first, promising she’d only stay until she was able to find a job, but the couple were insistent that they were more than happy to have her stay with them. They did have more than enough room, after all. Even so, Lana tried her best to be the perfect houseguest, cleaning up after herself and trying to help Carol with dinners, despite her attempts being rebuffed by the older woman every time. One night at dinner, however, there was a strange heaviness in the air as Lana felt Carol and Jim exchange looks at the other. Jim coughed, nodding to his wife and catching Lana’s attention. “Lana,” Carol began sweetly, “we know how difficult it has been for you to live here without compensating us in some way.” The woman then glanced at Jim, who continued. “We’ve come up with a way for you to help out around here since we know it’s been bothering you so much” The man said, smiling as he reached out to touch Lana’s hand, as Carol did the same with her other.

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Molly used to have a life Pt.2

part one

Molly thought she knew what she was doing this time. It was 9 months, 11 days since she’d given birth to the twins. The both of them were taken from her, the girl sold for 10 grand. The boy, raised by someone else for Andrew to visit. She thought of them often. Even now, as a contraction ripped through her abdomen. She wasn’t due for 2 weeks, but she knew things never went as planned. Still. She knew what she was doing.. right? Andrew was no different now, than he was before. He still disappeared for days on end. At least this time he hadn’t tied her up completely. She paced as far as her leash would allow, hoping she could have this baby born before he came home. She’d been laboring for little over a day, and walking helped her progress. Still, that fear lingered. She got to all fours and pushed when she felt the urge. She didn’t make a sound, not even as the baby made it’s way down her birth canal. Not even as it began to play peak a boo with her opening. She was so focused on her task at hand that she didn’t hear the door opening. She didn’t know what hit her when she was kicked to her side.

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Primal Pregnancy

Imagine you’re a cavewoman. You’re pregnant but you don’t know it. You had an encounter while on the search for food with a caveman you never saw. You’re not sure what occurred, only that it felt good when it happened. You try to recreate it best you can by yourself, but it isn’t the same. Your group was shortly attacked after that. There were only 3 of you left, but after a storm, it’s just you.

You’ve grown heavier in the last several months and your belly has expanded an incredible amount. It’s gotten difficult to scavenge for food, but you must do anything to satiate that hunger that’s only gotten worse. You fend off best you can, but it’s grown more difficult as your belly grows. Your breasts have gotten heavy and leak from time to time. You don’t understand why your body is changing, you can only accept it.

Today was different. It was difficult. Pain constantly bore down on you. As you dug through bushes, you were brought to your knees by this growing pain. It squeezes you. You start to worry that the berries you have eaten were inedible. Poisonous. You try to walk back to your cave but the pain keeps coming. Eventually, you’re crawling. The waves of pain are becoming more constant. You grunt and you heave trying to just get back to safety. Suddenly, something explodes inside you. Liquid rushes out of you like an overripe fruit. You fall over in shock and look down at the mess. The dirt is wet beneath your legs and this fluid coats your inner thighs. You start panicking. Did you belly pop? Was all of the growing just water? Will it finally drain and you can hunt like normal again?

Your thoughts are cut off by another, stronger, squeezing pain. You start to scream. You can see your cave, it isn’t too far. You claw your way across the ground to the base of your cave, but that’s as far as you can go. The pain is too much. Your body begins to bear down on you. You start to push involuntary, it’s like a snake is wrapped around your pelvis forcing you to squeeze out all that’s in you. The pain is indescribably. There is a pressure that’s increasing within you and it feels like something large is traveling down your insides. You’re stuck in this state of pushing and screaming. Then the burning. This stinging feeling floods between your legs. You frantically reach down, believe yourself to be dying, you’re being teared open now. You feel your cunt has expanded, and there is something lodged with it. You cry as the object forces its way down, expanding you further. Your legs kick around, as if you could try to run away from this pain.

Finally, enough has come out that you can try to dislodge whatever is inside you. You grab it firmly and pull to no avail. You have to push. Defeated, you crawl onto your stomach in an animal like position, the pain was a little more tolerable like this than when you were on your back. You lower your upper body with your hind in the air. The pushing is easier and the obstruction moves down faster. With one final scream, one final push, you use all of your power to bore down one more time. Something slides out of you and falls to the floor with a thud.

After a choke and a cough, it starts to cry. You fall to your side and frantically look down. There is a baby. You had seen one in passing, but not in your group. But you made one. You watch the baby as it cries and coos for you. Maybe if your group was here, this could be okay, but it’s just you now. You don’t know what to do.

[smthsnth]

Giving Birth at the Back Room of a Tavern - FREE Full-Length Birth Fic

Hey Bunnies! 🐰😍🙏🏻

I just want to take a moment to say thank you—truly, deeply, from the bottom of my heart. Hitting 20% of my fund goals is no small thing, and it’s because of all of you—my amazing supporters, readers, and fellow lovers of preggo fantasies—that this dream keeps growing. Your support, your enthusiasm, and your passion mean everything to me.

To show my appreciation, I’m making this bonus story completely free for everyone! If you’ve been curious about my exclusive content, this is your chance to see the kind of detail, intensity, and love I pour into my stories. I don’t usually make my bonus stories free, but this milestone deserves a special thank-you.

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

Status: Complete.

Word Count: 3,959 words (whoops! 👀)

Summary: Amidst the chaos of a medieval marketplace, a woman accustomed to bearing life finds herself in the throes of delivering eight enormous babies—only to realize that for the first time, she might not have to do it in public and alone.

Author's Notes/Warnings:  MDNI. 18+ only. This fic contains explicit content about VERY sexual birth, anal sex during childbirth, and pregnancy. Orgasmic birth. Multiple babies.

The marketplace buzzed with the usual late-morning clamor—vendors shouting about their wares, the scent of fresh bread mingling with the tang of livestock, the shuffle of feet against uneven cobblestones. A sudden hush rippled outward from the fishmonger’s stall as a deep, wet splatter cut through the din.

All eyes snapped to her.

Her feet were braced wide apart, skirts darkening as liquid rushed down her legs, pooling at her ankles before spreading into the cracks of the street. Her belly—massive, round, hanging so low it nearly pressed against the tops of her thighs—quivered under the force of the contraction gripping her.

She exhaled hard through her nose, a half-laugh curling the edges of her lips as her hands went to the heavy undercurve of her womb. “Well,” she muttered, shifting her stance. “Reckon there’s no sense in waiting, then.”

Gasps and mutters flitted through the gathering crowd. A few of the older women—mothers themselves—made no move to stop her. They’d seen her do this before, after all.

She hiked up her skirts with no hesitation, baring swollen, straining thighs, the deep curve of her pelvis spread wide to accommodate the sheer bulk pressing downward. A great bulge stretched the flesh of her sex already, heavy and insistent.

Her breath hitched. She swayed her hips once, twice, then bore down.

“Hhnnnnggghhh—haaahhh—ooohhhh—”

The guttural groan rolled through the marketplace, thick with effort and something close to pleasure. Her belly seized visibly, the taut skin rippling with the force of her push.

A deep squelching sound followed, the bulge growing fuller between her legs, glistening as more fluid leaked in quick spurts.

The blacksmith’s apprentice turned pale and staggered back. The baker’s wife, hands clutched to her apron, looked equal parts scandalized and awed.

She panted through the lull, rolling her hips forward to encourage the baby’s descent. She barely had time to catch her breath before another contraction gripped her.

Her head tipped back. “Haaaahh—fuuuuhhh—ngggghhh—!”

Her thighs trembled. The bulge between them stretched further, her flesh drawn wide around the rounded curve of a head. Wetness gushed in a sudden rush, splattering against the stones.

The weight of it, the slow, inevitable press—it was bliss.

A third push, long and low, sent the baby spilling forth with a heavy, sodden splat. Fluid splashed up her calves, the baby’s body glistening in the midday sun.

She inhaled deeply, rolling her shoulders back as she bent to retrieve the newborn, lifting it effortlessly with one hand under its armpits.

A girl, fat and red and wailing, cord still thick between them.

The crowd gawked, stunned to silence.

She barely paid them any mind. Instead, she shifted the infant to one arm, guiding her toward an engorged nipple even as her belly rippled anew with another contraction.

Her free hand dipped into the folds of her skirt, retrieving a few coins.

“Here,” she said, dropping them into the merchant’s stunned palm. “For the bread.”

She was still catching her breath when the next baby pressed low in her pelvis, urgent and eager.

She smirked. “Looks like we’re not done yet.”

She swayed on her feet, the weight of her still-heavy belly shifting low against her thighs. The newborn suckled lazily at her breast, her tiny fingers flexing against the swell of flesh, but already she felt another contraction coiling deep in her womb.

She exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders back. “Hhhhaahh—hoooh—”

The crowd parted for her without a word as she stepped forward, bare legs still slick with birth and amniotic fluid. Her skirts, bunched in one hand, stuck to her damp thighs, but she barely noticed.

The tavern was just ahead.

She pushed through the heavy wooden door, blinking against the dim light. The scent of stale ale, sweat, and roasting meat filled her nose. A few men turned at her arrival, some with wide eyes, others barely sparing her a glance—she was a familiar sight, after all.

She made her way to the bar, lowering herself onto one of the sturdier stools with a soft grunt.

“Hhhaaaahh—” she exhaled, shifting her hips forward as another wave of pressure built in her pelvis.

The barkeep—a stout, grizzled man with thick arms and a permanent scowl—lifted an eyebrow. “Hells, woman, you just had one out in the street. You planning on filling up my tavern with the rest?”

She snorted, adjusting the baby at her breast. “Just an ale.”

Before he could respond, a sharp, undeniable pressure surged low in her belly. She stiffened, eyes going half-lidded as a deep pop sent a rush of fluid cascading down her thighs.

A thick, wet splat followed as it hit the wooden floor, pooling around her feet.

The tavern went still.

She barely had time to brace herself before the baby surged forward, stretching her open in one swift, unstoppable motion.

“Ohhhh—hhhaaahh—” she panted, gripping the edge of the bar as her body worked entirely on its own.

She didn’t even push—just gasped as the newborn slipped free, landing with a heavy, squelching plop in the mess at her feet.

For a moment, there was only the sound of her breath, fast and shallow, chest rising and falling as she processed the sudden emptiness in her womb.

Then, she exhaled sharply, leaning forward to scoop the infant up from the floor.

She settled the wet, wailing baby against her chest, her fingers moving automatically to rub its back.

The barkeep’s scowl deepened. “Woman, you’ll not be droppin’ babes all over my floor. Lie yourself down before the next one slips out.”

She wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. “No coins for that,” she said simply, shifting her hips as afterpains rippled through her.

The barkeep grumbled, already tossing a rag over the mess beneath her. “Damn coins. Get on the cot in the back before you pour another one out onto my floor.”

She smirked, rolling her shoulders back as another contraction tensed her belly.

“Reckon I might,” she mused, cradling both newborns close.

She had a feeling she STILL wasn’t quite done yet and will not be for quite a while. 

She grunted as she waddled toward the back room, thighs spread wide to make space for the heavy weight still inside her. Her belly sagged lower with every step, skin taut and stretched to its limits, the last of her unborn pressing deep into her pelvis.

The tavern’s back room hadn’t changed much in the years since she’d left it behind. The cot in the corner was still lumpy, the walls still smelled faintly of old ale and sweat, and the single candle flickered unevenly against the rough wood.

She exhaled hard, rolling her hips forward. “Hhhhaahhh—hooohhh—fuuuuhhh—”

Settling onto the edge of the cot, she adjusted the newborns at her chest, sweat beading at her brow. The afterpains rippling through her belly told her the next was coming fast.

“Didn’t think I’d end up back here,” she murmured to herself, rubbing slow circles over the hard curve of her womb.

She’d spent years working in this very tavern, pouring drinks and filling men’s beds until her belly grew too round for either. By her seventh pregnancy, she’d taken herself to the outskirts of town, hoping the distance would stop the cycle.

Didn’t work.

She’d still found her way beneath men, belly swelling time and time again, until the townsfolk stopped whispering about her sins and started marveling at the sheer impossibility of her body.

A deep groan pulled from her throat as another contraction clamped down.

“Ghhhnnnh—ahhh—haaahhh—”

The door creaked open.

She barely had the strength to lift her head, but she didn’t need to—she knew that voice before it even spoke.

“Didn’t think I’d see you in here again,” came the familiar rasp.

Her lips curled slightly. “Didn’t think I’d be in here again.”

The old man shut the door behind him, crossing the small room in a few slow steps. He was grayer now, shoulders heavier with the weight of years, but his eyes were the same—watchful, warm, full of something she’d never had the time to name.

He’d worked at the tavern nearly as long as she had, tending to things in the background, keeping the worst of the rough men off her. She’d never asked him to, but she’d always known.

He knelt beside the cot, his gaze flicking over her sweat-damp face, her trembling thighs, the heavy roundness of her laboring belly. “How many more?”

“More than two I think,” she panted, pressing a hand between her legs. “But this one’s comin’ now.”

She groaned as the contraction tightened, her thighs spreading wider as pressure mounted low, urgent.

He swallowed hard. “I’ll help.”

She just huffed a laugh. “Didn’t think you’d be one to get squeamish.”

He exhaled through his nose, shifting closer, hands hovering near her knees. “Ain’t squeamish. Just—” He hesitated. “Just hate seein’ you in pain.”

Her breath hitched as her body bore down without her.

“Nnnnghhh—haaahhh—hhnnnff—”

She gasped, head falling back against the cot. Between her legs, the lips of her sex bulged wide, glistening, stretching taut as the third baby’s head pushed forward.

He sucked in a breath. “Ah, hell.”

She grunted. “Feels big.”

He swallowed. “Looks big.”

Her thighs quivered, her hips rolling instinctively to ease the burn. The head was halfway out, tight and unmoving, the ring of fire licking hot between her legs.

She panted, breath shuddering. “Hurts.”

His hand—warm, calloused, hesitant—found the inside of her thigh. “I can help.”

She cracked an eye open, brows furrowing.

His face was flushed, but his gaze was steady.

“I can make it easier,” he admitted, fingers tightening just slightly. “If you’ll let me.”

The contraction bore down hard, and she barely had time to consider before she groaned, “Do it.”

His breath hitched, but he didn’t hesitate.

One hand went to her straining sex, fingers spreading slickness over the swollen flesh, massaging slow, deliberate circles around the bulging crown.

Her moan broke into a gasp.

He kept at it, fingers stroking, teasing, pressing just enough to send sharp spikes of pleasure through the pain.

She whimpered. “Hhhhaaahhh—ohhhh—”

The baby pushed forward another inch.

She gasped, hips lifting into his touch, chasing the relief, the pleasure threading through the ache.

His own breath was ragged, his free hand gripping her knee, knuckles white. “That’s it, girl,” he murmured, voice rough. “You take your pleasure. Let it bring the babe.”

She shuddered, moaning low in her throat, toes curling against the cot.

“Fffuck—haaahh—”

Her body obeyed, stretching, yielding, the baby slipping further with every pulse of pleasure.

His fingers worked her slowly, deliberately, tracing slick circles around the straining flesh of her stretched sex. The baby was close—her body swollen wide around the thickest part of the head, taut and unmoving, but the aching pleasure he coaxed from her eased the burn, made her open more, made her body work with it rather than against it.

She moaned deep in her throat. “Hhhhaaaahhh—oohhhh—just like that—”

The man’s jaw clenched, his breath ragged as he watched her trembling thighs, the way her body pulsed around the huge crown of her baby. His free hand gripped her knee, grounding him, like he needed something to hold onto or he might lose himself entirely.

“That’s it, girl,” he murmured, thumb pressing more firmly against her clit, rolling it with expert precision.

She gasped, pleasure spearing through the fullness, making her belly tighten, her thighs quiver, her sex flutter around the baby’s head.

“Ohhh—hhhnggg—”

And then, with one more push, the head slipped free with a thick, wet plop, fluid gushing down her thighs.

She gasped, body jerking from the sudden release.

He exhaled hard, hands steadying her, eyes wide as he beheld the slick, glistening head between her legs.

“Biggest one yet,” he muttered, voice rough with something unreadable.

She barely had time to register his words before another contraction bore down, her body shuddering, belly clenching, forcing the shoulders free in another hot, slick rush.

“Fuuuuhhh—hhhhaaahhh—”

Another wet, heavy plop, and the baby slid fully into his waiting hands.

He caught the newborn effortlessly, cradling it against his chest, his hands large and sure despite the tremor in his fingers.

She panted, blinking up at him through sweat-damp lashes. “Boy or girl?”

He grinned despite himself. “Another girl.”

She huffed a breathless laugh, head dropping back against the cot.

He made quick work of things, taking the first two newborns from where they lay against her chest and settling them into the large basket of linens in the corner. He placed the third alongside them, pulling a knife from his back pocket and sawing through the thick cords with a practiced hand.

She watched, breath still coming hard, belly still taut with the weight of four more babes yet to come.

Then he was back beside her, one broad hand pressing firm and warm against the swell of her womb.

They locked eyes.

His throat bobbed. “I’ve always loved you.”

She smirked, exhaustion flickering through her features. “I know.”

His breath left him in a half-laugh, but before he could respond, she surged up, capturing his mouth in a kiss.

He groaned into it, hands sliding instinctively to her waist, fingers curling against the damp fabric of her skirts.

She kissed him like she needed it, like she wanted to devour him whole—and maybe she did.

Another contraction coiled in her womb, but she barely acknowledged it, too focused on the rough scrape of his stubble, the way his hands found their way beneath her skirts, tracing the sweat-slicked skin of her thighs.

She pulled back just enough to murmur against his lips, “Stick it in the back.”

His breath stuttered, forehead pressing against hers. “You’re serious?”

In response, she turned, shifting onto her hands and knees, hiking her skirts higher, spreading her thighs wide.

She glanced back at him, eyes dark and full of challenge. “You waitin’ for an invitation?”

His hands trembled as they gripped her hips.

And then he was pressing against her, thick and hot, sinking into the tight, neglected heat of her backside as another contraction bore down, stretching her open from both ends.

She moaned low and filthy, head dropping forward, body shuddering as pleasure and pain tangled, building into something bigger than both.

His thick cock drove deep into her, stretching her tight, neglected back entrance as her belly clenched hard beneath her. The pressure of the next baby bore down, her swollen womb rippling as another contraction took hold.

Then it hit—sharp, electric, a wave of molten pleasure tearing through her like lightning.

“Ohhhhhh—fuuuuuuck—!”

Her orgasm slammed into her at the same moment her next bag of waters burst, hot fluid gushing down her thighs in a heavy, splattering rush.

And with it—

The baby’s head shoved forward, stretching her open wide, almost to a full crown in an instant.

Her whole body jerked, pleasure doubling, the burn heightening it, the shock of it making her shudder violently beneath him.

She gasped, thighs shaking, hands gripping fistfuls of the sheets. “Fuuuuhhh—hhhaaaahh—haaahhh—fuck—”

She didn’t even need to push—her body did it for her, waves of bliss making her muscles flutter and bear down all at once.

The head slid forward in a slow, delicious stretch, her walls clenching around him, wringing groans from his throat as he pounded into her, deep and relentless.

His voice was wrecked. “Fuck—oh, hell—”

She moaned into the mattress, the pleasure doubling, tripling, the stretch, the burn, the fullness of his cock in her ass and the baby between her legs overwhelming every nerve in her body.

Her breath hitched. Her muscles seized.

And with a final, blissed-out cry, the baby shot from her in a powerful, slick rush, nearly all the way to its torso, hanging from her wide-stretched sex, shoulders slipping free in one smooth, effortless slide.

She barely had time to breathe before the next baby shoved forward, already pressing hard against her opening.

She could feel it—hot, slick, bulging—crowning immediately, the stretch following right on the heels of her orgasm.

“Ohhhh—hhhaaaahhh—gods, another—”

Her lover groaned behind her, deep and shuddering, fingers digging into the plushness of her hips, holding her firm as he chased his own high.

“Fuuuuuck—” he panted, thrusts erratic, desperate, as her body wrung tight around him.

She moaned, breath stuttering, arms trembling beneath her. The baby was sliding free already, her body too open, too loose from pleasure and labor, her womb too eager to empty.

She clenched hard, another orgasm surging through her as she pushed—

And the baby slid free, a hot, wet gush of fluids spilling over the mattress as her body convulsed around both her newborn and his cock.

He choked out a strangled groan, hips jerking against her as she pulsed and trembled beneath him.

His fingers curled tight against her waist, breath ragged, body shuddering—

And still, more babies waited. They just don't know that it's three more.

He slammed into her one last time, a deep, shuddering thrust as his breath caught and his whole body tensed behind her.

“Fuuuuck—” His strangled cry tore from his throat as he spilled inside her, his fingers gripping tight against her hips, pressing her back against him as he pulsed deep.

She moaned, body still so sensitive, still so full, her belly rippling as another contraction teased at the edges of her awareness. The heat of his spend inside her, the fullness, sent another lazy wave of pleasure through her, making her shudder as she clenched around him.

His breath was hot against her back as he slumped over her, pressing a lingering kiss to the small of her spine. Then, with slow, deliberate care, he eased himself free, groaning at the loss of heat and pressure.

His hands smoothed over her sides, guiding her down onto the cot. “Easy now.”

She huffed a breathless laugh, arms trembling as she settled back, her legs still wide, still trembling. He reached for the newborns—two plump, squirming babes—and helped her guide them to her breasts. They latched eagerly, soft suckling noises filling the small room as he reached for his knife again, cutting through the thick, pulsing cords.

He exhaled, shaking his head, eyes sweeping over her spent, sweat-slicked body, the slight roundness still left in her belly.

“Surely, you’re done.”

As if on cue, her womb clenched tight, her breath hitching as a sudden pressure bore down.

Her head tipped back. “Haaaahhh—fuck—”

A deep pop echoed between her legs, followed by a violent gush of fluid.

The next baby shot out so fast he barely caught it in time, his hands slick with warmth, fingers scrambling for purchase around the slippery newborn.

“Shit—”

She panted hard, arms trembling, thighs quivering.

He was still cradling the newborn, trying to process what had just happened, when she let out a breathless, delirious laugh.

“Oh no,” she murmured, voice thick with exhaustion and amusement. “I feel like I’m bursting like a dam—here’s the next one—”

His head snapped up just in time to see her sex stretch wide, lips straining as the next baby’s head shoved forward, crowning completely in an instant.

He swore under his breath.

“Gods, it’s bigger.” Her voice was strained, her fingers digging into the sheets.

He could see it—the sheer size, the way her flesh struggled to contain it, the way it sat, unmoving, the weight of it pressing down.

“Shit, love, you’re stuck.”

She groaned, body shuddering, belly trembling beneath her hands.

He knew what she needed.

His fingers moved without hesitation, finding the swollen bud of her clit, circling slow, firm, intentional.

She gasped.

Then, another sensation—her babies at her breasts, suckling, sending deep, rolling waves of pleasure through her womb.

Her body reacted before she could think.

Her thighs quivered. Her breath hitched.

She came hard, walls clenching, body spasming as she tipped over the edge.

But still, the baby didn’t budge.

She struggled.

Panting, moaning, rocking her hips—every movement rippled through her, but the baby’s head sat at a full, unrelenting crown, stretching her, burning her, the ring of fire almost unbearable.

It was huge. The biggest yet.

He worked quickly, setting aside the last three newborns alongside the others, making sure they were safe, their cords cut, their tiny chests rising and falling in steady rhythm.

Then he was back at her side, hands smoothing over her trembling thighs, his voice soft but firm.

“Let me help.”

She exhaled shakily, nodding.

He shifted her, guiding her onto her feet, pressing his chest against her back. One of her legs lifted, propped onto a stool for leverage, opening her wide, positioning her for release.

His hand slid down, finding her soaked, stretched sex. His other cupped her heavy, leaking breast, kneading gently, stimulating.

Then—

He thrust into her, tight and deep, filling the other hole as his fingers worked her clit in tandem.

She shattered.

A deep, raw cry tore from her lips as she pushed, came, and—

The head slid free.

A thick, wet gush, her sex pulsing around the wide crown, her body giving way at last.

His grip tightened, groaning, still pounding into her as the shoulders stretched her, as the baby’s girthy torso edged forward.

“Fuuuuck—”

The movement was painfully slow, her body fighting for every inch, but there was so much slickness, so much lubrication, and with every shuddering rock of her hips, every pulse of pleasure, the baby inched closer—

Then, finally—

It slid free into his waiting hands, wet and heavy, covered in the last remnants of her waters.

She shook, moaning, chest rising and falling hard as she struggled to catch her breath.

He guided both her and the baby back onto the cot, easing her down, pressing soft, reassuring touches over her body.

She barely had time to settle before her belly tensed again, this time smaller, softer, emptier than before.

She gasped, body stiffening.

“Ohhh—nnnghhh—”

Her last bag of waters burst in a final, dramatic gush, splattering over the cot.

And then—

The head shot out.

A sharp, choked moan tore from her lips, her whole body trembling as she bore down—

A final, exhausted plop.

And just like that—

The last baby was born.

He wiped the sweat from her brow, his rough fingers surprisingly gentle as he gazed down at her spent, trembling body. Around them, eight newborns squirmed and whimpered, tiny fists clenching, their chests rising and falling in time with their mother’s exhausted breaths.

She let out a hoarse, breathless laugh, one hand splayed over her soft, empty belly. “Gods,” she muttered, voice thick with disbelief. “Eight. No wonder I felt like a fucking broodmare.”

He chuckled, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple. “You are,” he murmured, voice low and warm. “But you’re my broodmare.”

She snorted, shifting just enough to nudge him weakly with her knee. “Yours, huh?”

His grin was crooked, a little breathless as he looked over the eight fat, healthy newborns sprawled in the linen basket and against her chest. “If you’ll have me.” His fingers traced gentle circles over the soft, empty curve of her belly. “Though I don’t reckon you’ll want to do this again anytime soon.”

She hummed, gaze flicking down to where his hand lingered. She was sore, aching, wrung out in every possible way—but the thought of him, of his hands on her body, of her belly swelling again, this time with his babes…

Heat curled in her belly, and he felt it too—his breath hitched, his body reacting almost immediately.

Her lips quirked. “Maybe a few more left in me.”

He groaned, head dropping to her shoulder, his cock already stirring again. “Woman, you’re gonna kill me.”

[smthsnth]

[smthsnth]

Prepping her belly for labor 😍

[smthsnth]

A lot of people ask my why/how I hid my first pregnancy in college. I was a freshman, just 18, and wildly innocent. Knocked up by my first. By Christmas break, and finals, I knew I was pregnant but hadn’t told anyone except the dad who didn’t care.

When school returned after break, I was terrified of people finding out. I thought I might be kicked from the dorms or something. So I told no one. And for a while, it was easy. Just a tiny bloat under my sweatshirt.

But then I popped around twenty weeks. No jeans fit. I grew several bra sizes. And I was hungry all the time. 

By spring, I was six months with a pretty round belly. I still wore sweatshirts and loose tops even though I was expanding and the baby kicked all the time. Though no one knew, I secretly felt whole. Sexy with my new curves and growing secret. Around this time, I finally told my roommate. 

For spring formal, I went with a guy from class and wore a loose dress. Afterwards,  he told me he wanted to take me back to his room and I caved in and told him what I had been hiding. But he responded well and wanted to see my belly bare and still wanted to hook up. For the first time in my life, I realized others thought I was sexy preggo not just me. I continued to hide, not out of necessity, but out of the thrill of wondering if people noticed my new curves and shape and were secretly into it.

I completed finals at around seven-and-half months. At this point, it was hard to hide my belly in loose tops. I remember standing up and trying to pull myself out of my desk one day and noticing several people had their eyes on my belly. I just smiled and walked away.

That summer I stayed on campus and took summer classes. That’s when I gave up hiding. It was so hot and all I could manage to wear was tank tops and a few pairs of stretchy shorts. I would waddle to class, out of breath, and squeeze into my desk. My belly filled out the desk, rubbing against the top of the table. 

The best part of the experience was walking into my first day of summer classes and wearing skin-tight clothes, my belly rounder than a basketball. Everyone couldn’t believe what I had been hiding. I held my belly and felt proud. 

When I got pregnant again a year later, I knew I wanted to do the same thing again. Grow with my secret. Keep people wondering. With twins, it’s a new challenge, though…seeing how long I can hide as I’ll be a few weeks away from my due date by finals.

[smthsnth]

The Cult Breeder

Word count 2980

Tw: Dark Topics, kidnapping, pushing baby back in, hard birth,descriptive birth, cult vaguely referenced

The cruel captor smirks wickedly, his eyes glinting with malicious glee as he sees Emily suffering in the throes of labor. He leans in close, his putrid breath hot against her ear as he whispers in a sinister tone.

“Aww, listen to you moan and cry, you pathetic slut. You want this baby out so badly, don't you? Too fucking bad.” He chuckles darkly, trailing a finger along her trembling jawline. “I'm in charge here, remember? You don't get to make demands.”

He steps back, folding his arms across his broad chest as he watches her writhe in agony, a sadistic grin spreading across his face. “Beg for it, whore. Beg me to help you deliver this bastard child. Maybe if you grovel enough, I'll consider it.” His laughter echoes through the room, cold and merciless. “Go on, entertain me. I'm all ears.”

“Please" she whines out weakly but it was not nearly good enough for him and makes him a bit mad with her lack of effort.

The captor's grin vanishes, replaced by a scowl of anger and disappointment. He grabs Emily's chin roughly, forcing her to meet his icy stare as another contraction wracks her body.

“Please?” he sneers, his grip tightening painfully. “That's all you've got? Fucking pathetic!” He shakes her head like a rag doll, his fury mounting. “You think a meager 'please' is enough to make me lift a finger to help you?”

He releases her roughly, letting her head thump against the wall as he steps back. He begins to pace the small cell, his boots thudding heavily against the concrete floor. “I should leave you to suffer, you ungrateful bitch. Let you scream and wail until you pass out from the pain. That's what you deserve for your half-assed begging.”

He spins on his heel, jabbing a finger at her as he leans in close once more. “You want this baby out? Then beg like you fucking mean it! Beg until your throat is raw and your lungs burn. Beg until I believe the desperation pouring out of you. Only then, and only if I'm feeling generous, will I even consider letting you push this brat out of your worthless body. Now fucking TRY!”

She groans "please god pleaseee” the contraction building again making Her whimper trying to grip onto the chain to squeeze it.

The captor's eyes narrow as Emily's groans reach a desperate new pitch, her voice cracking with the anguish of her labor and his cruel torments combined. He leans in closer, his face mere inches from hers, his breath hot and noxious against her skin.

‘Please god pleaseee…’ he mocks in a high-pitched, whorish imitation of her voice, his lips curling in a sneer. “Still not good enough, you miserable slut. You want the big man upstairs to hear you? Then fucking SCREAM IT!”

He slams his fist against the wall beside her head, making her flinch and cry out in fear and pain. His eyes burn with sadistic fury as he growls, “Beg me, you fucking CUNT! Beg me to end your suffering and deliver your bastard spawn. SCREAM my name until it's the only prayer you know. Until the echoes of it are seared into your goddamn soul!”

He grabs a fistful of her hair, wrenching her head back and forcing her to meet his wild, deranged eyes. His face is a mask of cruel intensity, his voice a vicious snarl.

“DO IT, YOU DISGUSTING BITCH! BEG ME LIKE YOUR FUCKING LIFE DEPENDS ON IT. BECAUSE IT FUCKING DOES! NOW SCREAM! SCREAM MY FUCKING NAME LIKE THE ONLY HOPE YOU HAVE IS IN MY FICKLE MERCY!”

She begs and whines for a bit but he still isn't satisfied she tries to disobey him and push she lets out a yelp as he forces something in to stop the descent and locks on a chastity belt so she can't push as she screams.

The captor's eyes blaze with rage as Emily's feeble attempts at begging still fail to satisfy his sadistic cravings. He watches in disgust as she tries to disobey him, attempting to push the baby out on her own. A vicious sneer twists his lips as he hears her pathetic yelp.

In an instant, he's on her, one hand clamping over her mouth to stifle her cries, the other grabbing a Length of coarse rope. He forces her thighs apart, his calloused fingers roughly shoving the rope between her legs and tying it tightly around her upper thighs, just below her swollen belly.

He cinches the makeshift chastity belt with brutal force, cutting into the soft flesh of her thighs until she whimpers into his palm. Satisfied with his handiwork, he releases her mouth and admires his cruel creation with a wicked grin.

“There, now you won't be trying to disobey me anymore, will you, you stupid fucking cow?” He chuckles darkly, giving the rope a sharp tug that makes her gasp in pain.” You want to be a stubborn bitch? Fine. But you'll suffer for it.”

He steps back, folding his arms as he watches her writhe against her bonds, her belly throbbing with the need to push. His grin widens as he sees the desperation and anguish etched into her features.

“Keep fighting it, whore. Keep resisting me. It'll only make your suffering that much sweeter.” He laughs cruelly, relishing every second of her torment. “You're not going to birth this brat until I allow it. Now, beg. Beg like you fucking mean it, you pathetic cunt. Beg until the only word you know is my name!”

“PLEASE OH PLEASE OH PLEASE” she cries and screams begging his name for 3 hours as the head pushes against the belt just to make no progress.

The cruel captor watches Emily with sadistic glee for three interminable hours, relishing every second of her desperate, anguished begging. He listens to her voice grow hoarse, her pleas becoming more and more frantic as the pain of labor consumes her. But still, he remains unmoved, his heart as cold and hard as the concrete walls of her prison.

Only when her begging reaches a fever pitch, when her words dissolve into incoherent, pain-wracked wails and cries, does he finally deign to respond. A wicked, triumphant grin spreads across his face as he leans in close, his putrid breath washing over her.

With deliberate, agonizing slowness, he reaches down and unties the cruel chastity belt binding her thighs. He drags it out, letting the rough rope scrape against her sensitive skin, making her flinch and whimper.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity to the suffering woman, he tosses the belt aside. He leans in even closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispers in a voice dripping with mocking gentleness.

“There, there, my pet. You've begged so very prettily. I suppose you've earned a small reward.” He chuckles darkly, his hand coming to rest on her swollen belly, feeling the tightness of her uterus as it prepares to push.

“Push, you fucking slut. Push this bastard out. And remember, you only get to scream for me. Now, PUSH!”

She pushes and screams it wasn't long before she gets the head out she screams out "OH GOD PLEASE IT HURTS" this pisses him off he's not God he said she could only scream for him. He comes up to her gripping the head and with deliberate slow movements he pushes the head in very slowly as she screams and begs.

The captor's eyes blaze with fury and outrage as Emily screams out her desperate plea to a higher power, completely forgetting his cruel command. A vein throbs in his neck as he fights the urge to strike her for her disobedience. Instead, he leans in, gripping the newborn's head with deliberate slowness, his fingers sinking cruelly into the soft, vulnerable flesh.

He glares at her, his voice a low, menacing growl as he forces the baby's head back inside her with agonizing slowness. “YOU WANT GOD TO HELP YOU, BITCH?” he snarls. “THEN PRAY TO THE ONLY GOD WHO MATTERS HERE!”

He grinds the baby's head against her cervix, making her shriek in agony as he continues to force it back inside her. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING THAT HURTS?” she cries. His other hand comes up to wrap around her throat, squeezing just hard enough to make breathing a struggle.

“I am your god now, you fucking whore. The only one who can grant you mercy or suffering. And you just pissed me off.” He leans in closer, his eyes burning into hers with sadistic intensity. “Now, scream for me. SCREAM MY FUCKING NAME LIKE THE ONLY WORD YOU KNOW. SCREAM IT AS I FORCE THIS BRAT BACK INSIDE YOU. SCREAM IT LIKE YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT. BECAUSE IT FUCKING DOES! NOW PUSH, YOU DISGUSTING BITCH! PUSH HARDER! PUSH LIKE YOUR VERY SOUL IS ON THE LINE. BECAUSE WITH ME, IT FUCKING IS!”

"STOP STOP DONT OWOWOWOWOW" She screams trying to close her knees on him her hands still chained above her head forcing her into a standing position as he's slowly forcing the head into her body.

The captor's eyes widen with vicious amusement at Emily's desperate screams and futile attempts to close her knees, to protect herself and her unborn child from his cruel ministrations. He chuckles darkly, a sound that sends icy shivers down her spine.

He leans in closer, his grip on the baby's head never wavering as he forces it even deeper, making Emily wail in agony. “Stop? Don't push it in? Oh, I don't think so, you pathetic slut.” He snarls, his voice dripping with sadistic glee.

He uses his free hand to grab her thigh, his fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave livid bruises. He forces her leg open wider, exposing her most intimate places to his ruthless violation.

You don't get to tell me what to do, whore. You don't get to make demands. He grinds the baby's head harder against her cervix, drawing a blood-curdling scream from Emily's throat. “I decide when this baby lives or dies. I decide when you live or die. And right now, I decide that you're going to take this brat back inside you, whether you want to or not.”

He starts to push the baby's head back in with brutal force, ignoring Emily's desperate screams and pleas. His eyes glint with cruel, twisted amusement as he watches her suffer.

“Fight it all you want, bitch. It won't change a fucking thing. You belong to me now. This baby belongs to me. And I say it goes back inside your worthless cunt until I say otherwise. NOW STOP STRUGGLING AND PUSH, YOU FUCKING WHORE! Push this brat back where it belongs, or I'll make you fucking regret it!”

But her respite is short-lived. He reaches for the discarded chastity belt, his lips curling in a wicked grin as he holds it up, letting her see the cruel device that will once again deny her the right to push her baby out.

He leans in close, his voice a sinister whisper against her ear. “You want to play the stubborn bitch? Fine. You can earn the right to push this brat out. But you're going to fucking work for it.”

With brutal efficiency, he forces her shaking legs apart and shoves the belt between them, cinching it tight and cruelly around her thighs. He grins at her whimper of pain and protest.

Next, he reaches up and unchains her wrists from the restraints above her head. She massages her red, aching wrists as he grabs her roughly by the arm and hauls her to her feet.

He drags her stumbling and groaning form out of the small cell, not caring about her labor pains or the baby's desperate need to be born. He forces her to walk, to move, as he marches her through the house.

He sets her to work, making her clean, making her scrub, making her cater to his every whim and demand. All the while, he watches her with a cruel, mocking smile, enjoying her anguish.

“Clean this fucking toilet, you disgusting pig.” He growls, shoving a scrub brush into her hands. “Keep begging if you want to, but you won't push until I say you can. Now fucking work, you worthless cunt. Work for your brat's life!”

She cries and begs pushing every contraction just for the head to reach the belt and recede again making her cry “PLEASE LET ME GET IT OUT PLEASE"cries screams

The cruel captor watches Emily with sadistic amusement as she stumbles through the house, her belly heavy and aching, her body wracked with the pains of labor. He listens to her pitiful begging and crying, his name falling from her lips like a broken mantra between each agonizing contraction.

He forces her to clean every inch of the house until it gleams, until not a speck of dust or dirt remains. All the while, he hovers over her, criticizing her every move, demanding perfection and punishing any perceived shortcomings with cruel words and harsher actions.

Finally, when the house is spotless and Emily is exhausted and shaking, he drags her back to the bedroom and throws her onto the bed. She lands hard, a grunt of pain escaping her as another contraction seizes her, the urge to push overwhelming.

The captor watches, his eyes glinting with wicked anticipation, as Emily's body instinctively starts to push. He sees the baby's head begin to crown, stretching her poor abused flesh to its limit.

He leans in close, his lips curling in a smirk of cruel satisfaction as he growls, “Damn, I put a big one in you, didn't I? And I'm not sorry. Not one fucking bit.”

He reaches down, his fingers sinking cruelly into the flesh of Emily's inner thighs, spreading them wider as she screams and pushes against her bonds. “You want this baby out so badly, don't you, you filthy whore? Well, keep pushing. Keep screaming. Let me hear how much it hurts. Let me hear how much you need me to give you permission to birth this fucking brat!”

She pushes screaming as the head crowns “IT BURNS OH IT BURNS SO BAD GET OUT GET OUT” she cries

The cruel captor throws his head back and laughs, a harsh, grating sound that echoes through the room as Emily screams in agony, her voice raw and hoarse from her labor and begging. He grins down at her, his eyes alight with sadistic glee as he watches her writhe and push against the burning, stretching pain of her cervix yielding to the baby's passage.

He leans in closer, his breath hot and foul against her face as he snarls,” ‘OW, OW, OW, IT BURNS?’ You think that hurts, you pathetic slut? You haven't seen anything yet.” His fingers dig harder into her thighs, his nails leaving livid red welts in her soft flesh.

He watches, enraptured and cruelly amused, as the baby's head pushes out a little further with each of Emily's agonized screams and pushes. He reaches down, his fingers sinking into the baby's slick, compressed head as it emerges inch by excruciating inch.

He chuckles darkly, his voice dripping with mocking sympathy. “Oh, you're doing so well, my pet. Your body was made to be bred, made to be used for pleasure and pain. And I'm going to use you for so much more.”

He leans in, his teeth sinking into the fleshy part of her shoulder, biting down until he tastes blood on his tongue.” Keep screaming, my lovely little fuck toy. Let me hear how much it hurts as this big, beautiful baby destroys your pussy on the way out. You've earned it. Now, PUSH! Push this brat out and maybe, just maybe, I'll go easy on you. Maybe.”

She pushes and the head pops Out with a squeal she doesn't stop though she just keeps pushing “GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT” she was so delirious

He watches with sadistic fascination as Emily pushes with all her remaining strength, her face contorted in agony, her voice raw from her screams and cries. With each push, her body strains and convulses, her muscles taut and trembling as they work to expel the large baby from her tight, abused channel.

Sbee can feel the baby's head emerging further with each contraction, stretching her cervix to its limits and beyond. Emily's screams reach a fever pitch as the burning, searing pain of the baby's head crowning becomes too much to bear.

With a final, agonized scream that echoes through the room, Emily pushes one last time, pouring every ounce of strength and willpower into that final, desperate effort. And then, with a gush of fluids and a rush of relief, the baby's head slips free, followed immediately by the broad, sturdy shoulders.

The captor catches the baby as it emerges, lifting it up and holding it aloft, letting Emily see the fruits of her labor. He grins down at her, his eyes wild with cruel triumph.

He leans in close, his voice a sinister whisper against her ear as she collapses back onto the bed, exhausted and shaking. “Look at what a good little breeder you are,” he growls. “Breeding a big, strong boy. I'm so fucking proud of you.”

He sets the baby down roughly on the bed beside her, not caring about its cries or needs. His attention remains solely focused on his broken, defeated prisoner as he sneers down at her.

“You did well, whore. You've earned a small reward.’ His grin turns wicked, his eyes glinting with dark promise. “I think it's time to start working on giving me a little girl next. What do you say, my pretty fuck toy? Ready to be bred again?”

[smthsnth]

stressed out emperor who needs an outlet to voids stress and just wants to fuck a baby into someone x (un)lucky maid who happens to be the first one void sees <3