How Far Along Am I?

So Painful

Crowded Street

               “Wow, you look like you’re ready to start pushing that thing out any second now!”

               The voice came from right next to me as I walked down the street, and somehow I knew that they were addressing me. I spun toward where I could swear it had come from, but found only the sea of faces that was the busy street on a weekend. I tried to find someone looking too smug, someone suspicious, but everything was just a press of color and noise.

               I shook my head, trying to dismiss the throwaway words that shouldn’t have been bothering me to this degree. I passed by a store window, and took a moment to examine myself. Nope, no pregnant belly here, just like it was this morning. Just a five-foot-five seventeen-year-old girl, a few months into my senior year, my midsection largely flat, though with just a bit of softness to it.

               I took a moment to appreciate my appearance, as I’d been feeling especially attractive since I got out of the shower this morning. My B cups breasts were especially perky, my skin a pleasant, warm shade of brown, my black hair still short as we entered fall. I was wearing a cute t shirt, skinny jeans, and a nice pair of shoes. All said I wasn’t exactly sexy, but I felt pretty darn cute. I didn’t normally pride myself of my appearance, but… today had felt special.

               Still… that quick phrase still wouldn’t leave my mind. I didn’t know why someone would say that, they must have just been trying to be jerks. I continued walking down the street, looking through windows and just enjoying the sounds of the bustling crowd around me.

               I just couldn’t shake this strange feeling, however, no matter how much I tried to distract myself. An odd tension deep inside at the core of my being, like something was being pulled at or stretched. As I kept up my wandering it steadily got stronger, until I couldn’t ignore it any longer. I walked into a store and found a quiet corner, then lifted my shirt, trying to make sure everything was ok.

               The dark skin of my formerly flat belly was protruding, just a teeny bit. It was barely noticeable, and I wasn’t sure if I wasn’t just letting my mind play tricks on me with how anxious I felt. Then, I gasped as a strange cramp tightened its grip on me. I actually could see my muscles tighten, my form pulling in on itself, toward my center.

               “Wh-what the hell was that?” I whispered to myself, after the squeezing pain faded. “It was like… No, that’s impossible. I’m obviously not pregnant, I’ve never even had sex. There’s no way I’m having contractions. That would be silly. It must just be a stomach ache or something.”

               Dismissing the mounting tightness I could feel faintly starting to build once more, I smoothed out my shirt over my strongly hard-feeling midriff and left, focusing on enjoying the rest of my shopping.

               Bit by bit, things kept getting stranger, and the words from that unseen person refused to leave my mind. I kept having cramps. They weren’t very close together or particularly strong, but they growing in strength, and the time between was shrinking with each one. They were still quite some time apart, and I could mostly just tough through them, but… I really wished the spasms would stop. I tried to figure out what I’d eaten that could have made my stomach so upset.

               That, and what was causing this much bloating. Even more subtly than the annoying cramps, the tiny bump in my midriff began to swell. I kept unconsciously reaching down and fiddling with the hem of my shirt as it began to be tugged up over my growing belly. The bulge was beneath my navel, just above my pubic mound, but it seemed to be growing up just as much as out. I could feel the… what had to be gas, taking up more space, stretching and tugging at my muscles, causing me to expand more as time went on.

               My shirt was tugged up over my increasingly impossible to ignore condition. At first my dark brown skin was barely peeking out from under the pastel colored cloth, but it wasn’t long before the sliver had grown until more of the alarming bulge was showing than not.

               The cramps were getting worse and more frequent as well. I began to feel a strange pressure inside me, something pushing down relentlessly. As the spasms got stronger, so too did that feeling of something just PUSHING, unendingly, trying to… I don’t know what.

               Over the course of hours, as I tried to deny and ignore that anything was abnormal, my navel was inched to the front of my impressively swollen midsection. From there, my bellybutton was gradually pulled flat, before being forced outward by whatever was filling me.

               Worse, the cramps were getting impossible to ignore. They were getting strong enough that I had to stop moving when they clamped down, forcing myself to control my breathing, holding my rock-hard orb and inhaling through my nose, out through my mouth.

               My chest had been swelling as well. I started to feel wetness, but decided not to investigate. Whatever was happening, it was secondary to this allergic reaction. Furthermore, between my legs was… well… sensitive. I could feel my panties against my feminine lips, and as I continued waddling through the busy streets, the feeling of my underwear dragging against my damp privates was increasingly difficult to ignore.

               Finally, I was huffing in forced breaths as another powerful spasm gripped me in an iron grasp, the feeling of something big pressing hard deep within me. I was overwhelmed, scared. I didn’t want to call the hospital, scared of what they would tell me. Scared of what they would do, or make me do.

               I couldn’t, I couldn’t be a mother, I was a virgin, had never even had a boyfriend. And worse, the local school system made you drop out if you got pregnant, something about increasing the quality of parents for the next generation or something dumb like that. It always seemed to backwards and ignorant, but it seemed easy to avoid dealing with. Just don’t get knocked up. But this… it felt like…

               No. It was impossible. This didn’t just HAPPEN, not just because someone said something weird to you on the street. This was a dream, or something unrelated, this couldn’t be…

               “I’ve been watching you all day. You’ve been doing so good, you’re so beautiful.” That same voice, coming from… damnit, why couldn’t I figure out where it was coming from, it was like it was in three opposite directions! “No point in fighting or denying it anymore hon, you know what’s about to happen, what you’re about to become. I’m sure you’ll do a marvelous job raising your newborn. Now just give in and let it happen. Let your baby be born.

               “Push mommy.”

               I opened my mouth to reply, to snarl out a denial or an insult, but all I managed to do was wail in fear and pain as a contraction ripped across my life-filled belly, and a quiet pop came from inside me. Seconds later, clear fluid poured from my over-sensitive girlhood, soaking my underwear, my tight jeans, dripping down my thighs and making a strong smelling puddle beneath me.

               I slowly dropped to my knees as people walked passed, giving me strange looks as I gulped in panicked breaths, feeling my cervix being forced wider by the head of the baby that shouldn’t be there. I was probably fully dilated, I’d been in labor ever since this thing had even started to grow inside me.

               I couldn’t believe it, this was impossible, this COULDN’T have happened, not to me, not like this! But once more, a powerful cramp rippled across my aching, drum tight womb, and I felt the primal need that most women experience in their life. The need to open my legs wide and push. The need to give birth.

               It was irresistible, undeniable, but I fought it a little longer. I reached down a trembling hand, tugging at the zipper of my jeans, the snap having popped open quite some time ago without me even realizing it. Gripping the edges of the fabric, I struggled to get my pants and panties down, to clear the way for my unasked for offspring.

               I tried to breathe through the next relentless spasm, but couldn’t help pushing slightly, feeling the head sliding into my birth canal as I moaned. Down, over my thighs, to my knees, I tugged my clothes down. I had intended to fully remove them, but just as I sat back and fumbled with my shoes it all became too much. Sitting back, being forced to open my legs wide as my soaked jeans and undies slipped down my skin, feeling the breeze on my naked, swollen, overheated gender, I only managed to get my shoes off before I had to give in utterly to my feminine nature.

               My socks still on my feet, pants and panties around my ankles, my dark skin glistening with sweat and birthing fluids, I began to push with the overwhelming pain, throwing my head back and screaming at both the horrible sensations and how helpless I had been made.

               Now people were staring. They took in my teenage body with appreciative murmurs or grumbling contempt, muttering about another idiot teen who couldn’t keep her legs closed putting on another slutty show, or groaning that this was so sexy, that they‘ve never seen a black girl push out a baby before, that they couldn’t wait.

               I knew nobody would call the hospital. That’s not how things were done here. I myself had watched classmates that I’d looked down on for their ignorance, screaming in pain and fear as they gave in to their need to push out their baby, or dropped into a deep squat and started laying a clutch of eggs. Had laughed and sneered along with every else, even sometimes found parts of it a bit hotter than I wanted to admit to myself.

               Now it was me trying to pull my ankles apart, thighs quivering as I struggled to deliver for the enjoyment of a judgmental crowd, exposed and ashamed and confused at how I ended up here like this. Tears of embarrassment ran down my face as I felt the head slipping down my tunnel, gasping as I felt it starting to strain against my hymen.

               I knew that by the time Monday rolled around, everyone at school will have watched me give birth in front of the maternity clothing store in the shopping district. All my friends and enemies will have watched my own unwanted baby take my virginity as it emerged, which it was doing right now.

               I shook my head as I fought my own body, the force of my labor putting even more strain of the fragile skin, a sharp ache radiating from within me. But at last it was too much, and I had to give in, shrieking in shame and pain as my maidenhead tore around the massive head of the thing inside me.

               The next big push made good progress as I grunted, fingers curling into tight fists as I tried to get this awful ordeal done and over with, knowing that every push brought me closer to motherhood, closer to being expelled, closer to my life being ruined forever. But I couldn’t even begin to resist, not anymore. As the contraction ended, I could feel the head resting just behind my slit, the skin straining.

               I could hear the voices again, whispering that I was bulging, that the head must be huge, that this was unbelievably sexy. I reached down, cupping my gender and feeling the hot, damp, oversensitive skin. I was stretched tight, on the very cusp of opening, it would just take one more big push.

               I didn’t want to be a mommy.

               I had no choice but to become a mommy.

               I had to push.

               My toes curled within my socks, and I cried out in agony and defeat as I began to feel a fiery ache burn over my feminine lips. My gender was opening, parting in a teardrop shape, my clit within its hood resting just over the thinnest part, the head becoming visible between my legs.

               I gulped in air as people reacted to this latest development, cameras flashing and rendering every exposed inch of my dark skin perfectly illuminated for all. Another terrible contraction, another helpless push, and the teardrop began to warp out of shape. My slit was spreading into a massive, agonizing circle as the ring of fire grew, my girlhood opening wide to try and pass the head.

               I sobbed, begging people not to look, or to help, or to do anything but watch eagerly as I fought to give birth. But nobody lifted a finger, only capturing every traumatic moment of my most vulnerable and helpless moment for everyone to see, making what was already an ordeal a million times worse.

               Crying out, I bore down once more, my ankles straining against the tough fabric as I tried to open my legs even wider, the head inching forward. I was crowning, my child was going to be born weather I wanted it or not. It was inevitable, it was now impossible for me to escape motherhood. All I could do was give in and push.

               I could feel my lips straining. I was going too fast, trying to get this over with as quickly as possible, not giving myself time to stretch. But it hurt so bad, I couldn’t hold back, couldn’t just wait while more all-powerful spasms held me, trying to fight my primal instinct to birth.

               I could hear people gasping as my unasked for offspring continued forward, my gender getting tighter as more of my baby crowned. I could feel a powerful throbbing ache at the base of my girlhood, and knew what was coming. The throbbing became stabs of pain as the skin struggled to compensate as I continued bearing down relentlessly, not resting, not trying to fight it.

               And then… I screamed in fear and agony as I felt myself tear. My poor virgin gender, starting to rip as the thing I’d been forced to gestate made its way from my body. From there, another push forced the wound to grow slightly. Then I gasped in some air before making it even worse when the need to push came back.

               I had so much further to go than I thought. I was being pulled so wide, I couldn’t bear it, the tear was inching down toward my anus, some people were asking if they should get me help, but others seemed to think this was even more exciting. I was sure this was it, there was no way I could do this, no way I could survive, the head would never be out, I would just push and push and never be done, never give birth…

               And then, at long last, the agonizing pressure of my feminine slit being held beyond its limits faded. With a gush of fluid, the head slipped forward. I had gotten the head out. It was almost over, finally.

               I laid back for a bit, recovering some energy, moaning in discomfort as the body rotated within me. Then, once more, it was time.

               The shoulders were even wider. One big push, and they were straining my opening, just behind my skin. Another, and I could feel I was right on the cusp of getting this thing out of me at long last. Then… I shrieked as my wound grew one last time, the shoulders slipping from my girlhood in a hot, wet surge of motion, the rest of the child following immediately after.

               Someone called “It’s a girl!” I’m not sure if that made it better or worse. If it was a boy, then it would be some monster that would hurt another girl just like I’d been hurt. But a little girl will someday go through this same thing. It was only a matter of time before someone forced her to become a mommy too, weather she wanted it or not.

               Sobbing, I realized I couldn’t bear the thought of someone hurting my little baby girl, even if I hadn’t wanted her, been raging at how she was ruining my life only a few moments ago. My maternal instincts were kicking in with unnatural strength, probably as part of whatever terrible magic had forced me to endure this in the first place. I tried to resist, but at last, I reached down, picking up my baby.

               She was… she was beautiful. I could tell she looked just like me. My eyes traced the cord protruding from the tiny things bellybutton, following it down in between my legs. She came from me… she was mine…

               My baby…

               I was a mommy…

               I tugged my shirt and bra off, sitting almost entirely exposed on the sidewalk now, my pants and panties around my ankles and my socks the closest thing I had to clothing still being on. My daughter latched onto my swollen, sensitive breast immediately, and feeling the child I’d gone through so much to deliver drink from me, knowing I was feeding her, nurturing her…

               I hated what the hormones were doing to me, hated what all of this meant. The world began to spin as I heard people at last calling the ambulance. I scooted to the wall and leaned against it, holding my newborn little girl to my breast as she continued suckling, and let myself fade away. I would likely wake up in the hospital, all stitched up and surrounded by angry, judgmental people. But for now… for now, I could rest.

)———-

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What if: space birth

Astronaut doesn’t realize she’s pregnant and has to give birth on the ISS. No gravity at all, no position to make it easier, hundreds of miles away from any help. Maybe she even tries to hide it so she won’t be demoted. Maybe it’s not even possible for her to give birth on her own in zero gravity and the other astronauts have to find increasingly more extreme or even nonsensical ways to help her. Maybe the baby is in a weird position since there is no up or down in space. Maybe she’s not even pregnant with a human baby, maybe I changed my mind and it’s a sci-fi setting now and she’s giving birth to some kind of alien, or aliens, and once aliens are involved, the sky’s the limit!

Space birth.

You love being a nun. You honor your vows of chastity so much you don’t even touch yourself. You hide your body under long robes and do penance every time your mind strays. 

You have dreams of shadowy caresses that leave you sticky and sweating, and you have to spend long hours in chapel to atone. You take to wearing a heavy chain around your waist and between your legs. 

Your belly starts swelling, and you will yourself not to notice. You pretend it isn’t happening for months. Your hips and back ache with the weight you refuse to acknowledge. Your breasts are full and tender. Your nipples rub against the rough fabric of your robes and it lights you on fire. 

You lay awake at night and feel the thing inside you moving. It kicks so hard your robes ripple. You cradle your belly and pray to God for answers. You pray for it to go away.

Eventually the shapeless black of your robes can’t save you anymore. The mother superior chastises you for being a whore. She places an iron collar around your throat to remind you of your sins. She tells you to do penance where everyone can see your punishment.

You weep and swear your virginity. You beg for help. She is unmoved. She tells you to swear on the Virgin Mother and maybe your innocence will be proved, but more likely you will be punished for claiming her holiness.

You kneel at a pew to do as you are told. Your knees are bare on the cold floor. Your hips burn as they spread under the weight of your bastard. Your belly hangs with nothing to support it. Pain rips through you as your womb tightens. She tells you that is punishment for your sins.

You pray through a haze of days. Your belly grows, and sags, and writhes. You spread your knees and rock your hips and sob. Your breasts are so tight they throb. Your robe strains against your girth. You keep your hands on the pew.

Water trickles down your legs. Your womb is nothing but agony, squeezing down on the monster inside you. It rips you open. Your bones creak. Instinct tells you to reach between your legs and ease its way. The mother superior seizes your wrists and binds them to the pew.

You scream and scream. You are a warning to the other harlots in the convent. Your whelp spreads you open. You push and strain, but there’s no one to help you or soothe you. You scream for God’s help and hear no answer. 

There is a night, and a day, and its head slips out in a gush of fluids that puddle around your knees. You sag with exhaustion, unable to keep going, pain leaving you incoherent.

Gravity does its job eventually. Inch by agonizing inch, your massive offspring squeezes out of you, changing your body forever. When you push a demon into the church, everyone will know you for the devil's bride.

Okay but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this silly scenario and I thought you’d enjoy!!! A guy in college who finally gets the freedom he needs away from his small town upbringing and its rules and he finds himself in a downtown bustling area his first year of college with a roommate in a small bunk bed dormitory. He couldn’t be happier, and he uses his newfound freedom to go out to clubs in clothes that are barely wider than belts and hook up with all the strangers he’s ever fantasized about.

And it doesn’t take long for it all to catch up with him. Within just a few weeks he’s got a very small curve to his stomach that’s just beginning to press against the top button of his jeans but he waves it off. Everyone gains the freshman 15, who cares?! And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t linger putting on his shirt in the morning just to feel his roommates eyes burning into his body, hungry and desperate. A few weeks later and he can’t deny that somethings wrong when he can’t even button his pants anymore, let alone even get the zip up.

It’s not a question of if he’s pregnant, no the shock comes when he finds out it’s quadruplets. And this seems to fuel him even more. Why be careful now that he’s already pregnant? It’s not like he can get knocked up again!!

Or so he thinks until he’s staring at an ultrasound monitor in shock seeing now six little blobs of varying sizes. Huh, looks like he can get more pregnant. His roommate thinks this’ll deter him from his late night club hookups but it doesn’t. If anything he goes from unintentionally to very intentionally getting more knocked up with every week. He wears tights and fish nets and crop tops and loves the feeling of strangers hands on the soft of his hips, the once-sharp jut of his hip bones now disappearing under a swollen, perfectly round baby bump still small enough to pass off as just a few months along with one. He loves walking home afterwards with his hand on the small underside of his belly thinking of if he’s just gotten a new baby in there. Some nights he comes home and collapses into bed after multiple hookups in one night and his roommate swears he looks slightly bigger than when he’d left that evening

Maybe he’ll start to regret it when he’s barely able to sit behind his desk in class, his belly irresponsibly spilling out and taking up his entire lap as it shifts and wobbles slightly on its own from the sheer amount of baby in there. He’s always got one hand on it just to feel the barely-there fluttering in his womb, trying to ignore the hungry stares of the football team behind him, knowing that the second class ends he may just get a few new additions to take home. And he’s still got months before the first one is out!

i wish i had more to add but you wrote this perfectly omg. the idea of a cute pregnant boy strutting down to the club, hand holding his big old bump… bet the roommate wants to have a turn and knock up the boy up himself, especially since he gets a front row seat to the boy growing.

now i don’t know if it’s better for it to be babies at different development or if the new babies catch up to their older siblings

either way omg anon this was so good and i will now be thinking about this while im out

She was in full denial.

Although she had felt the insemination, every moment of it, on the alien craft, she was in denial. The eggs, afterall, were small and soft and so when she awoke in a cold sweat, she didn't feel different. As she walked downstairs to eat breakfast, she had no way of knowing, the alien eggs were attaching to her uterus and growing.

She went to her classes, unaware that the eggs were not only implanting but growing. She went about her day without a single care, besides the odd twinge of pain that was easy to ignore, as the eggs grew.

She pulled on her dress to go out and only briefly ran her hands along the slight swell beneath her navel. There's nothing to worry about. She sucked in, and while it didn't disappear, it wasn't obvious.

She danced, they grew. She met a man. He bought her a drink. The eggs *ached* to be fertilized. She smiled and glowed, running a hand along his thigh. Her breasts felt fuller

In the bathroom now, he is pulling up her dress and down her panties. He enters her against the sink as she gasps. He is nothing special, but it feels so good, like ectasy, every thrust a mission. In minutes he climaxes, soaking the eggs, which each suck up multiple sperm.

She goes back to dancing, unaware.

The next morning, she wakes up to a pounding headache and an aching gut. She stumbles from bed to go for the advil but stops in front of the mirror. Her belly is hanging off of her like she's at least 6 months pregnant. Her mouth drops open. How is this possible? Is she dreaming?

She touches it slowly and it feels real. What on Earth . . . ? She lifts her heavy stomach and drops it. She has to laugh, as this is too insane.

She doesn't know what to do except put on a hoodie to hide her stomach and go to work. She might have been in shock, but it felt so unreal.

(Image link in description)

She just got on the bus and went to work. She ignored the feeling of foreign objects clacking and shifting inside her. She would have to alter how she stood at the deli counter as the eggs in her changed shape.

On break, people give her odd looks as she hunches over the table, sweating, rubbing her stomach. She feels like something is wrong, but she will just go to the doctor after work. It's been eight hours since she was fucked.

Her belly was now halfway exposed and there was no hiding it as she walked, slowly, from station to station.

"Are you okay, miss?" An older woman asked. She smiled and handed her the sliced ham and said she was just tired. The older woman looked at her belly with concern but said nothing.

The store closed, and she began to clean her section.

That was when the eggs began to hatch inside her.

She has never felt anything so intenae or weirdly violent. She gasps in the dimly lit store, doubling over the mop bucket as the first of many eggs crack inside her womb, the alien spawn slowly emerging. It was so painful she was struck mute for a moment.

Dropping the mop, she starts to walk as quickly as she can, her gait wide, to the front of the store. She feels something hard but sharp press into her birth canal. Another egg hatches inside her, CRACK, and she screams.

"Something is wrong!"

Her coworker was shocked as he found her, still swelling, her stomach moving unnaturally. The normal, gentle fetal movements were replaced with thumps and thrashes. She is collapsed to her knees and then her back.

"Help!!" She cried, her throat tight, her belly growing as more and more aliens emerge.

"I'll call 911!" Her coworker offered, but he just needed to get away from her. She rolled onto her side, her stomach churning, tossing, pressing, sharp egg shell mixing with inhuman limbs. Still growing.

"Come back and help me!" She screamed as her coworker ran out of the building. "Get them out of me!!" Slowly, getting to her knees, she started to crawl. "They're killing me!!"

Her belly hung low, swinging underneath her, as she tried to reach the phone. It slowly pressed out, the movements jerking in all directions. Before she could reach the counter, her stomach touched the ground, her bellybutton grazing it.

She reached for the phone, a moment away, stretching pressed the creatures down towards her hips, before a sharp contraction, her belly oressing out further, pushing her back down.

She rolled onto her back and felt pinned. This was it. She screamed as her body worked to try to expel the aliens, who continued to grow and hatch. In her last moments, deliriously, she tried to count how many bodies she felt inside her. She lost count.

She was the first. But not the last.

I’m curious if you are going to write any more about births???

If you are I have a few ideas in mind for what you could use for prompts.

yes I do give your consent to use my prompts for your work.

Here is one of them

hidden pregnancy and the person is in a very serious meeting and they are having contractions they have to hide their pregnancy because the boss has a certain image and will fire them if they don’t comply with the guidelines.

P.s. if you do see this post I would love for the character to be male or ftm but it’s up to you 

Hi! Thanks so much for my first ask! I am definitely going to be writing more births. It's how I'm dealing with *gestures at America*. Thanks for this prompt! It kind of took on a life of its own, but I hope you like this little story.

Contains: trans mpreg, birth, extreme birth denial, clothing birth, public laboring, pushing the baby back in (multiple times). All my favorite stuff. Hopefully some of your favorite stuff too! (Story after cut)

Xander groaned, doubling over and clutching his stomach as yet another contraction struck. He’d lost his mucus plug the night before, and had been having contractions come and go throughout the night. Really, he knew the last thing he should be doing was going to work. But there was a very important meeting for a client today, and his boss had assigned him as the lead contact.

The elevator dinged to its destination, and Xander forced himself to straighten. He was already a fairly large man, so his baby bump passed as a beer belly. No one at the office, besides his boss, knew he was trans; and he was pretty sure no one at all knew he was pregnant.

Xander reached his desk and sat down with relief, stretching out his aching back. Just as he logged into his computer, someone tapped at the wall of his cubicle.

“Hello Xander,” his boss said, leaning against the wall. He was dressed immaculately; wavy brown hair, nicely tailored suit, shiny wing-tip shoes, classy golden watch. The man screamed wealth, and knew how to wear it. CEO of a successful tech company at a young age, John Wilson was practically a living embodiment of class. “ Are you ready for your presentation today?”

“I am,” Xander said, forcing a smile. “You can count on me, sir.”

John smiled. “Well then, stand up, give me a twirl.”

This was a normal action—Xander had been hired on as John’s assistant while he was still newly transitioned. One look at Xander’s scruffy facial hair and thrifted suit, and John had made Xander’s fashion choices his personal project. Still, it was harder today to get out of his chair and give the obligatory turn.

“You’ve gained some weight,” John observed. “You might need to make another trip to the tailors. And your packer’s in the wrong place. You look hard. Can’t have you hard in front of our client today. Here, put this on.” He tossed something to Xander, who caught it easily enough.

Xander glanced down at the fabric, and realized after some puzzling, that it was a pack strap. But it was strange. Instead of going around the thighs or sitting just around the waist it looked like some sort of very tight underwear with a hole for his packer. 

Obediently, Xander pocketed the strap and headed to the bathroom. Another strong contraction hit him while he was there, and he breathed hard through the building pressure. Something splattered into the toilet that wasn’t pee—or at least not only pee, and Xander groaned. Of course the baby would chose now of all times to decide to come, instead of last weekend when it was due.

Once the contraction was over, he cleaned up and put on the pack strap. It was very tight around his hips, and pressed firmly against his sensitive parts, but it did indeed manage to hold his packer at a more realistic angle. As he pulled on his boxers and pants and glanced down, he admired how natural it looked. No more bunching up, with this new strap.

Then Xander gasped as another contraction struck. Without the cushioning of his waters, the pain was much more acute. He was left panting as it passed. Not good. But it was his first baby, and a large one. Surely he could get through one more day of work. He didn’t have any more sick days available, not after how hard the morning sickness had got him earlier that year.

He came out of the bathroom, and spent about an hour going over his presentation, breathing through each contraction, feeling the baby slowly stretch him open inside. 

Then the alarm on his phone went off—time for the big meeting.

With a groan Xander got to his feet, bracing his back and shifting his weight carefully. While he’d been sitting and working, things had shifted. It felt almost as though the baby would fall right out of him if he moved wrong. Grabbing his things, he shuffled awkwardly to the meeting room on the next floor.

John was already on the elevator, and held the door open as Xander approached, breathing hard, face slightly red.

“Thanks,” Xander wheezed as he reached the elevator.

“Can’t have you late for the meeting,” John said with a smile. Some amount of alien tenderness came to his eyes. “Are you all right? You are looking a bit peckish.”

Xander’s chest fluttered—partly in fear that his secret would be discovered, partly from the tenderness of the attention. John wasn’t a tender man, not often. He ran a tight ship and expected perfection from his employees, and especially from Xander. But there had been once, about forty-two weeks ago, when they’d gone on a business trip together. John had gotten bad news, and they’d both drunk a lot. Xander had woken up the next morning in bed with a fast asleep John, completely naked, and sore between the legs. Panicked, Xander had quickly left the room and pretended it hadn’t happened. John had seemed too drunk to remember anything the night before and—well that’s why it was so crucial John didn’t find out. Xander had slept with no one else.

“Fine,” Xander replied once he’d gotten his breath back. “Just a bit nervous.”

To combat his assertion, the pain of another contraction wrapped around his belly. As he looked down, trying to breath away the pain, he swore he could see his stomach change shape with the strength of its force. Don’t push, don’t push, don’t push, Xander repeated to himself, pressing his legs close together as John watched.

Luckily, his boss didn’t seem to notice. He just patted Xander on the back, perhaps a bit harder than necessary. “You’ll do fine,” he said, then handed Xander a hanky. “But wipe your face off before you get up there. No need to look nervous. You are one of the most competent employees I have.”

Then the elevator had arrived, and the contraction was still going. Despite Xander’s reluctance to move or spread his feet apart, he had to get out before the elevator closed again. Under John’s careful eye, he took a shaky step out of the elevator. As soon as his legs spread, he could feel his baby’s head shift further down his canal. Forcing his face to casualness, he continued to walk forward as the contraction weakened and his stomach returned to its usual shape.

The client they were meeting with was rich, powerful, and—most importantly—a woman. John had picked Xander because of this last fact, citing Xander’s ability to interact with women without being sexist as a unique skill amongst the men in his business. This seemed a pathetic excuse to Xander, but wasn’t going to complain about the opportunity it gave him. If he succeeded in this, he was almost certainly due for a promotion. Which he needed—babies were expensive.

Stepping forward with a forced smile, Xander introduced himself to the client and to John, as well as a few other people there, and was in turn introduced to the client's team. With great relief, he took his seat as the meeting began. 

He did his best to focus, but his contractions had begun ramping up. It was harder and harder to disobey his body’s command to push, and the baby slipped deeper and deeper down his birth canal. He wrapped his shaking fingers tightly around the underside of the table to stabilize himself, crossed his legs hard enough he crushed his silicon dick between them, and did his best to ignore his body.

His tactics worked well for the first hour of the meeting, but then it was his turn to give a presentation. John and the client looked at him expectantly just as the strongest contraction yet seized his stomach. Xander forced himself to uncross his legs, which had practically glued themselves together with sweat, then slowly he stood. As he did, his core muscles engaged, and that was enough. The baby shot forward, down his canal, and his hole lit on fire.

He bit his lip in order to prevent a whimper of distress, disguising the whole thing by bending over and gathering his stuff until the contraction waned. As he took a step to the lectern, his hips ached, and his legs were forced awkwardly far apart, the bowling ball of a head lodged between them. 

Thus began his presentation, him standing behind the lectern, talking, legs spreading further and further apart as the baby spread his hole apart a bit more with each contraction. When he felt the pain coming, he’d pause his presentation to ask questions of his audience, ask them to talk amongst themselves. It was a bit like school, but it was interactive and kept them awake. Plus it gave him time to work through each contraction without it showing in his voice. For even the fluctuation of pain in his voice would have been a sign of failure in John’s eyes.

Finally, his part of the presentation wrapped up. He gathered his stuff, then waddled back to his chair. As he eased himself into it, he felt the baby’s crowning head press against the cushion, and then get shoved back inside of him. His eyes widened in pain, and he let out a little huff. He stifled it as soon as he noticed, then glanced around.

No one was looking at him, engaged in the next part of the meeting already. Xander sunk carefully back into his seat, his legs spread wide, his belly, much lower now, resting between them. 

As the others talked, he lost himself in the sensation of each contraction coming and going, of his baby stretching his hole little by little. The baby was large, and he couldn’t push much without drawing attention to himself, but still the fire was steadily, gradually increasing.

“Isn’t that right, Xander?”

Xander glanced up from his clasped hands, looking at his boss who’d addressed him. “Of course, sir,” he agreed instinctively, unsure of the context.

“Will the software development team be able to add the AI search feature before launch?” the client asked, likely a second time.

“They certainly could,” Xander replied. “We’ve got a great team, and they really know how to hit deadlines. It wouldn’t be a problem.”

Apparently satisfied, the client turned back to her team, as another contraction increased the fire in his crotch ten-fold.  He was just thinking he was going to have to excuse himself to go to the bathroom, when she reached out her hand. He took hers, and they shook. 

“We look forward to doing business.”

Relief shot through Xander, first because he had succeeded, and second because this hellish meeting was over and he could go back to his cubicle and at least groan through the contractions. There were still two hours left of the work day to get through.

Though he yearned to stay sitting right where he was, manners dictated he stand when she did and escort her from the room. As soon as he stood, gravity yanked the baby down further, and he couldn’t help but gasp at the sudden movement after hours of progress a millimeter at the time.

Luckily, John was talking to the client and she didn’t seem to notice as he hobbled awkwardly after them. They got on the elevator, and Xander waddled bow-legged to the bathroom. As soon as he was there, he stripped his pants, dropped everything, and sat on the toilet seat. A contraction came, and for the first time he pushed. He reached down, feeling the head grow into his palm until the crown filled nearly the whole thing. 

It felt so good to push after so long, to obey the desire of his screaming body. Then the contraction stopped, and horror filled him. He couldn’t give birth, not in the middle of the work day. He’d be fired. So very fired. John would never stand the scandal. 

With shaking hands, he pressed against the baby’s head and began to gently push it back up into his canal. It felt wrong. White hot pain shot through him, and he couldn’t help but cry out. But slowly, surely, his hole closed back around the baby’s head. He’d bought himself a bit more time. 

The new pack strap pressed painfully against his sore, stretched lips. It was stained with blood and birthing fluids, but not enough to soak through to his pants. Exhausted, but steeled for another two hours of work, he washed up, checked himself in the mirror, then headed back down.

John met him as he came out of the elevator, clapping him on the back. “You did very well. Just as I said you would. And I’ve got you a reward. Come with me.”

Xander didn’t want a reward, he wanted to go back to his desk, sit on his comfy chair, and to not give birth in peace. But John wasn’t one who could be denied. So he followed John, who led Xander to a small office. The walls were completely made of glass, giving him a million dollar view of the city below, but also giving John, whose office was next door, a perfectly good view of everything Xander did.

“Thank you, sir,” Xander managed. “I don’t know what—” he trailed off as he noticed the desk’s height. There was no seat in sight. His new desk was a walking desk.

“I noticed your weight gain,” John said. “Thought you might enjoy the exercise while you work. Great job again!” Then he patted Xander on his shoulder, his hand lingering for just a second too long, then he was gone.

Xander stared at the desk, glanced back through the glass walls to see John watching him from his own desk, then back at the desk. His things were already there, on top, waiting. He had no excuse to go back. With a groan, Xander went to his desk, pressing his legs together to keep the baby in, and powered on the computer. Immediately, the wide treadmill began to move, forcing Xander to spread his legs and walk.

His hips ached, and the baby shifted painfully in his hips with each step. His hole burned as it began to emerge once again. Contractions came and went, and God he needed to push, but he couldn’t stop walking or he’d get yanked away from his computer and end up sprawled awkwardly on the floor in front of his hot boss. Just keep walking, Just keep walking, he chanted as the baby moved further and further down.

He tried to work, but he got nothing productive done. Focused only on walking and the burning of his privates, increasing more and more with each step. At the next contraction, the burning increased past what it had before. This is it, Xander thought as he walked, the baby’s going to come out in my pants, right in front of my boss.

But it didn’t. The movement stopped, and as the contraction ended, something forced the baby back to where it had been before the latest contraction. Xander whimpered at the painful, wrong sensation.

The process repeated over and over with each of the following contractions. The packer holder, Xander realized. It was tight enough it was holding the baby in place. 

The two hours passed torturously. The baby sat in a permanent crown between his legs as he waddled awkwardly on the treadmill, unable to stop and push, unable to make any progress. Alone in his office, he at least could whimper and groan as necessary, but he couldn’t get off the treadmill, couldn’t stop and push, without John seeing. And John was always looking.

Finally, five pm rolled around. Xander had been in active labor for seven hours. He was exhausted. Blurry minded, sore everywhere. But he had done it. He would call a cab, go to the hospital, and give birth to his child. 

Not even bothering to gather his stuff he staggered, shaky-legged, out the door. Only to practically run into John. 

“Seems like that exercise did you good,” he noted. 

Xander panted, another contraction striking him. Finally standing still, he couldn’t help but spread his legs slightly, and push. “Just. . .  not. . . used to . .  it,” he panted.

“You did very well today. I’d like to take you out to dinner, to celebrate our new client.”

No, please, Xander thought, eyes widening. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t keep up this charade. The baby had been literally spreading him at his fullest for hours. He couldn’t do a dinner. But one didn’t say no to a dinner with John, not if they valued their job. So Xander nodded, and found himself waddling after John.

“I’ll drive you there, we can come back and pick up your car after,” John said. Xander considered protesting, but John, as the boss, had prime parking, and his own car was parked an intimidating distance away. Plus, he didn’t trust himself to drive in this state. So he agreed. With numb, shaking legs, he staggered after John, collapsing in the car.

It wasn’t until his butt hit the seat and the baby’s head was shoved back inside, causing Xander to cry out, that he remembered sitting would be a bad idea.

“Are you all right?” John asked.

“Fine,” Xander replied once he got his breath back. “Just. . . hit my head. . . on the frame.”

John talked as they drove, and Xander tried to pay attention, but he was lost in exhaustion, the now familiar mantra of don’t push filling his mind. He couldn’t keep his legs together anymore. They were spread wide, but with each contraction, Xander forced his crotch firmly against the nice car seat, keeping the head in place just behind his lips. After so long of the agonizing stretch of a crowning head, having it deeper inside him was a strange relief.

Dinner was agony. Xander ate little, though the food was worth his entire paycheck, he was too nauseous, too exhausted. But John talked with a gusto, drinking glass after glass of wine. As the night wore on, John became clearly drunk. The casual touches on Xander’s shoulders and arms and hands began to linger. His cheeks glowed, his eyes gleamed in the candle light of the table.

The contractions were increasing, nearly constant now, frustrated at their lack of progress. Xander couldn’t take it any more. He needed to give birth. “I’m sorry sir,” he gasped, his hand pressing against the bulge in his pants. “Its been a great night, but I have to go.”

John reached across the table, grabbing Xander’s free hand. “You don’t have to call me sir, we’re off duty,” he said, catching Xander’s eyes. Then he paused, his eyes going down to where he held Xander’s hand, and he withdrew, coughing a bit. “You can, of course, head home as you need. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask that you take me home, since you are sober.”

Xander groaned, another contraction peaking. Tears of pain and frustration leaked down his face. But he agreed. John got up, swaying. And Xander stood slowly, awkwardly, his baby crowned in his pants, pressing against his worn packer-holder. The bulge bigger, the stretch far more painful than it had been during work. The fabric was wearing, allowing the head further and further out.

Together, the two men stumbled out of the restaurant and back to the car. John at least, didn’t seem sober enough to notice Xander very obviously pushing each time they hit a red light. He couldn’t help but push any longer. The baby had to come out. He needed to give birth.

The boss didn’t live far. Xander pulled up, red faced and relieved. He stood from the car, noticing the way the seat gleamed with wetness. He was leaking. 

A contraction came, and he grabbed the hood of the car and crouched, giving in to the push. The baby’s head inched further out, fighting his clothes’ restraining tension and winning. He groaned in pain and relief.

Then, “What are you doing?” John had come around the car.

Xander straightened immediately, but he could feel his baby’s fully crowned head pressing against his thighs. He couldn’t give in now, not after everything. He was so close. He just had to get John inside, then he could strip and birth, there on the sidewalk if he needed to. It wouldn’t take long now. The baby’s head was practically out.

“Just stretching,” Xander lied. “A bit sore, from. . .” Another contraction peaked, cutting him off. He stretched somehow, more, as his baby’s nose passed through his hole. He wanted to scream, wanted to collapse, wanted to strip. Instead he managed to just whimper.

“You seem beat,” John said. “Come on in, I’ll call you a cab.”

Trapped, Xander, was forced to step forward, away from the car, his baby’s head brushing his wide-spread legs with each step. Inside, Xander didn’t dare sit down, He stood in the corner legs obviously spread. He didn’t care anymore, he couldn’t have closed them if his life depended on it.

John stepped out, supposedly to make a call, and Xander crouched and pushed and moaned. Time passed. John came back in, a bottle of wine and a deck of card in hand. “Want to play a game while you wait?” he asked.

Xander couldn’t say no to John, so he nodded, forcing himself somewhat upright. Surely, John knew. Surely, he could see the massive bulge in Xander’s pants, the baby out to its ears. No one could be this oblivious? Xander wasn’t even acting anymore, actively moaning with each contraction, his legs spread like a baby deer’s.

“We’ll play strip poker. Your cab will get here before we get too far, I’m sure.”

Xander sat carefully on the couch, keeping his legs spread, hips tilted so the baby wouldn't be forced in again. The contractions continued, the pain immense as John sat across from him, and dealt.

Xander couldn’t focus, and so began to strip, gratefully out of his tie, then out of his suit jacket, then slipped off his shoes and socks. The cab still didn’t come. Xander forced himself to focus and won the next two hands, John choosing to take off first his suit, then his collared shirt, slipping it off while keeping his tie on.

Staring at John’s perfectly sculpted body, his tie hanging between his pecs, pointing a line at his abs and the trail of dark hair that led to his boxers, Xander suddenly knew that John had not called a cab.

He lost the next hand, and still trying to forestall the inevitable, removed his shirt. His stomach was bright red beneath his hair, riddled with stretch marks and bruises. Without a shirt on, it was very clearly a pregnant belly. John and Xander watched together as it visibly contracted.

John licked his lips.

Locked in the inevitableness, they played another hand. Xander lost.

“I can’t take off more,” he admitted. He could not remove his pants, not without pushing the head back in. And he hadn’t the will to do that to himself, not again.

“Let me help you,” John said. He came around the table, pushed Xander back on the plush couch, oh so gently. His warm fingers slid over Xander’s swollen belly, and Xander couldn’t help but moan in relief at the contact. The fingers continued downward, cradling the massive bulge in Xander’s pants. 

Another contraction came, and Xander pushed, face turning red. The baby’s head strained against the seam of his pants, massive. Then the contraction ended, and the head slid just a bit further in. “Please,” Xander begged, voice tight with pain and exhaustion. “Get them off.”

With his verbal consent, John nodded. He leaned forward, his bare stomach brushing Xander’s, until his face was a mere inch away. One hand cupped Xander’s cheek, the other the massive bulge in Xander’s pants. Then he closed the distance, pressing his mouth against Xander’s in an earnest kiss as he shoved the baby all the way back in. 

Shocked, Xander tried to scream, choking instead on John’s tongue. It was heaven and hell, all bundled into one, and Xander didn’t know how to process it. 

John pulled away, leaving Xander in a fugue. Vaguely, he was aware of John quickly working to remove his pants, his boxers, and his strap, leaving Xander completely nude before his billionaire boss. Xander spread his legs wide, not caring any longer, revealing folds glistening with birthing fluid, red and swollen from the stress of his delayed birth. 

John reached out, caressing Xander’s cheek. “You’ve done so well, Xander. So well today. This was a test, to see if you had what it took to be my spouse and the co-owner of my company. And you passed with flying colors. So, if you’ll have me, I will be yours, on one condition.”

Xander stared, heart pounding. John’s shirt was off. His pants too, were gone, though Xander didn’t remember him removing them. His member stood rigid in his boxers as he sat between Xander’s spread legs, meeting his eyes. He was the father of Xander’s child, everything he’d wanted, despite this torture he’d put Xander through. Xander had let him do it, because he’d wanted it. Wanted him. “Yes,” Xander said. “Anything.”

“Let me watch you birth our child.”

John knew. He'd known the whole time. But Xander wasn’t surprised anymore. This whole thing seemed inevitable. Perfectly planned. John, seeming no longer drunk at all. 

A contraction came, and Xander pushed. For the first time, he was free. He pressed his head to his chest, curled around his stomach, spread his legs wide and pushed with all his might. The head crept forward, dark curly hair spreading him wide. Xander screamed with effort. Took a deep breath, then pushed again, his contractions coming at a frantic pace.

The head stretched him wide, growing with each push. John’s hand came out, cupping the head as it emerged, massaging Xander’s lips. He cooed with each push. Whispered, “You are doing so well, Xander, so well. Look at this head we have created together. Look, there are its little eyebrows, its little nose, it’s little mouth.”

Then with one last push, the head was out. Long-held fluids gushed with it, spraying both John and his very expensive couch. But John was unphased. He smiled, one hand holding the baby’s head, the other reached out, rubbing Xander’s stomach. “Almost done now. Breathe. Let the baby turn.”

But Xander was done breathing. He couldn’t control himself anymore, lost the glorious pain of pushing. He pushed and pushed, screaming with the effort. With each contraction, the head bulged forward, then went back. No progress. He wasn’t making progress anymore! Tears of panic leaked. “I can’t do it,” he sobbed, frantic. “It’s stuck! It’s stuck!”

John’s hand left his belly, slipping into his hole alongside his baby’s neck, sending a burning pain through Xander’s nethers. He screamed, and John hushed him, hand far inside, alongside the baby’s neck.

Something dislodged in Xander’s hip. John ordered him to push. Xander complied, and he was stretched again, impossibly wide, by first one shoulder, then finally then next.

Panting, he opened his eyes, to find John cradling the crying baby. 

“It’s a boy,” John announced, then paused, smiling. “Well at least at the moment. Stellar job, Xander. Doing all this. I’m so very proud.”

Panting, Xander just smiled. 

“Stay here,” John ordered. “I’ll get the baby cleaned up, then I’ll help you. I’ve got a nursery all set up, and I have told the office we won’t be in for at least a month. Once we get you cleaned up, you can rest as much as you like. I’ll take care of feeding the baby. Then we’ll raise him and our company together. As partners.”

Fine

words: 275

content: birth denial, fpreg

“I’m fine,” she said to her family as she waddled down the stairs, swollen belly dropped so low it could be seen poking out of her oversized sleeping shirt. There was no hiding how winded she was, breathing heavily, face flushed.

When her belly seized up during breakfast, not for the first time, she winced and dropped her cereal spoon. The surface, taut, hot the the touch like a fever. Packed, brimming with babies.

“I’m fine,” she said, picking up her spoon.

She took a shower, hoping to soothe her aching back and contracting belly with warm jets of water, and instead she found herself doubled over, belly between her widespread knees, weighed by a deep, undeniable pressure. When she heard a concerned knock on the door, she managed a strained grunt:

“I’m fine.”

After she’d endured contractions throughout the entire day, the urge to push washing over her, belly reflexively clenching harder and harder, demanding she give in, she found herself sitting, legs open, in the recliner during family movie night. A blanket covered her lower half, hiding her misshapen belly, tight like a fist, and her soaked pink Hello Kitty pajama bottoms, beginning to bulge wetly outwards with a head. She was crowning. She had to push.

She bore down suddenly, letting loose a guttural groan that startled the entire family and set the dog barking excitedly. She pushed again, fluids spurting around the head, the deep, heavy weight moving down through her pussy. Her pajama bottoms strained. She stretched and then popped around the huge head.

She looked up, moaning, head lolling. Her family stared at her, open-mouthed.

“I’m fine,” she panted.

Y'all I'm being so fr rn but I need an alien to be occupying my womb like right now. Preferably something overly active and noisy that I can constantly feel and hear, but I'd even be fine with a heavy and hard egg. Ugh :(

Nobody never SAW this coming

Jenny woke up and tried to look around herself. She could not see, as she was in total darkness. She felt around her the best she could, and noted she was in a chair. Her stomach felt weird, but she couldn’t put her finger on why. Her vagina was definitely more sore than she’d ever felt in her life. She sat forward just a touch, and a tv lit up. The face of a man.. doll.. thing she’d seen on the news began to speak. “Jenny Clayton. You have proven you value the potential life of a clump of cells over that of a real living person- over the life of your own sister. You would rather your own flesh and blood die from preventable complications, than seek out medical attention. Today, your values will be put to the test. Once the clock starts ticking, you will be faced with a choice and only 24 hours to make that choice. Finish the task at hand in time, and you just might walk away from this.”

The room lit up enough to see she was in a grungy hospital setting, her legs spread apart in stirrups. Her stomach was still flat, but she did feel weird. Jenny moved one leg off the stirrup, then the other. As soon as her feet touched solid ground, and she stood up, a clock started ticking. From there she doubled over clutching her stomach. It hurt so bad she felt like she was going to throw up. It didn’t take long to realize it was beginning to inflate. “What the f— ooow!” Her stomach grew and grew, to the point of nearly collapsing. A trophy cabinet lit up in the corner. Inside was a long, sharp hook and a note. She slowly walked over to the cabinet- stopping during particularly painful growth spurts. The note only said, “it’s your choice.” “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” As her stomach began to slow in its growth, it became harder to breathe. She saw the timer still had 17 and a half hours on it. Plenty of time to deal with this. She rubbed her stomach, and felt it flutter beneath her hand. “Hello?? Hello!!!” She called out but she was utterly alone. Time dragged on and she found herself getting more scared. She only had 6 hours left when she felt contractions. “SOMEBODY HELP ME!” She screamed as they became stronger and more frequent. It didn’t take long to realize each contraction made her stomach grow more. “I can’t give birth! I’m not ready!” She cried. She eyed the hook but shook her head. She was better than that. Better than her slut sister. She whimpered in pain as she labored on. It wasn’t until there were 3 hours and 18 minutes left on the timer that she felt the need to push. She climbed back onto the table with the stirrups and began to push. She pushed and pushed slowly feeling her birth canal filling. The mass still grew as she pushed and just as her lips began to part, it became firmly lodged at her opening. No amount of pushing helped. The clock began to tick as it counted down, the last half hour. She screamed as the stretching got so bad she begin to tear. She shook her head and strained against it all, before she finally caved. She knew there was only one way to stop this. She slowly climbed back down from the table and began to waddle to the case with the hook. Time seemed to be moving faster but she was moving just that much slower. She had just managed to grab the hook and aim it towards her vagina when the timer buzzed. She had just enough time to look at the clock in horror before her stomach exploded. There was no baby. Instead there was a rubber ball like device inside her, filled with water designed to simulate pregnancy and labor. Had she simply “aborted” it, she’d have walked away with a valuable lesson and sympathy for her sisters decision.