Victim Of The Labyrinth

Thinking about casualy snuggling on the couch with a Transfem qt that's pregnant with my quints. She's 24 months along with a singleton, 16 months with a set of twins, and 10 months with another set of twins.

I'm just snuggled up with her all cozy, being her big spoon with my cock up her ass. Meanwhile she's laboring with the youngest set of 16 lbs twin runts that decided to come out together. Their 22 lbs older twin siblings are lined up to do the same right after, and the 50 lbs eldest is set to be the last one out. But first the youngest need to make their way through her birth canal, then squeeze through her prostate, and then they can RAM through her girlcock's urethra.

My poor transfem babymama is wracked with excruciating pain but the pressure on her prostate is forcing her to orgasm and ejaculate over and over and over and over and over and over, completely drenching the both of us. I don't mind it though, babymama can't help it. Meanwhile with my cock in her ass I can partially feel the babies moving down inside her.

Oh my god I missed these asks. This is so sweet, being so overdue with so many huge babies, the biggest one being last. The constant forced orgasms as I struggle in agony, and being held and snuggled the whole time, it’s beautiful. Thank you very much for the ask. Keep em coming if you can.

Such a good puppy

I can see how helplessly desperate you are to be bred and I’m happy to comply. I lay you down on your back and give you tummy rubs, then pat your sad empty tummy while rubbing your little clitty. “You poor little puppy. So neglected by those lazy boys. Don't worry, dear. Daddy Witch will fill you right up” I slide my magic wand between your folds. Warming it up by rubbing it against every sensitive inch of your flower before pushing it deep inside of you. I rut the wand in and out faster and faster until you’ve begged and panted sufficiently before ramming it into your cervix and releasing the magic. “I think I’ll start you off with a nice small litter. How does 6 sound?” I twist the wand speedily back and forth, like a boy scout trying to start a fire on a rock, to shake out the last of this round’s magic into your fertile womb before pulling out and giving your much happier tummy a few last pats. I rub your clitty some more for good luck and plug you up so no magic spills out. “Such a good Puppy”

I am so desperate- to have six puppies pumped into me would be amazing, I want to carry daddy's litter 🥺 plug me up and watch me grow hehe- keep me knocked up till I deliver and then do it all again sir <3

I’d love to rub her clit and nibble on her outie as I hold that tight crown in place for her as long as I can. I’d dip a finger in behind the head, too, and massage her perineum, starting slow, but picking up speed as my finger gains lubrication. My other hand would continue rubbing her clit with my thumb while the side of my hand rubs the crease between her belly and crotch and presses against the red-hot skin above her vulva.

Birth denial, but make it eggs. I’m obsessed with the idea of struggling for hours to force out the first of many eggs, but either my legs are tied shut by the being that laid them in me, or I can’t get my tight clothes off. I just love the idea of pushing through each contraction and feeling the first egg RIGHT THERE and feeling it bulge out slightly with each push, but it ends up sliding back in as soon as I let up because it can’t go any further.

when you get your succubus gym bro pregnant and he has the audacity to go into labor when youre 2 hours in line to buy a new game :/ Rex by @voreyeurism !

Exam in, Baby out

Answering this ask that came through my messages from @yaiofanficbombon2022: 

"The class president is in labour (Mpreg). He had a sexual encounter with the popular boy of the school and as a result of this encounter he is pregnant.

His water breaks at home at night, he wants to miss school, but he can't, so he goes to class anyway.

The contractions are intense and constant, and the baby tries to come out, but he refuses to push until the exam is over.

He ends up giving birth in the school bathroom."

I’ve aged them up to a very high school like college because even 18 yo high school students feel too young to me. Hopefully you don’t mind.

This fic contains: mpreg, birth denial, pushing baby back in, clothing birth

“Hey, pres, you all right?” Jason asked, coming to sit next to Max. 

Max grunted, forcing a smile for the man who was rather popular with the other people at their very small church owned college they both attended, and also the father of the child that was currently trying to expel itself from Max’s womb. They’d had a secret encounter in Jason’s dorm room after a particularly intense study session—and well, they hadn’t repeated said occurrences since then, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be friendly. “Fine,” Max managed as the contraction that had been wrapping its way around his belly finally eased off. “Just worried about this exam.”

Specifically, he was worried about passing the final exam of his health class while also managing to keep the kid in him, you know, in him. Particularly since his water had broken last night, and he hadn’t gotten a whole bunch of sleep between the increasingly intense contractions. This was his last final of the semester, though, he just had to pass this test, or at least make it through it, and he was home free. So he’d hobbled his way to class from his dorms. It wouldn’t do for the student president to just not show up to an exam.

“You’re the smart one,” Jason said with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Only it doesn’t look like you slept at all.”

“Stayed up all night studying.”

“For health?” Jason asked. “Look man, I know you’re a perfectionist and all that, but no one cares what grade you get in this class. All you gotta do is pass. It’s not worth killing yourself over.”

Max tried to formulate a nonchalant shrug. “Gotta keep that scholarshi—mmmhg.” Another contraction cut him off. He wrapped his fingers around the bottom of the desk and forced all his pain and the screaming desire to push into them instead of downward. Still the contractions were getting insistent. The force of his body pressed the baby’s head against his lips, which began to spread and sting. As soon as the contraction ended, the head slipped back inside, the stinging easing. Still, that wasn’t a good sign. The two hour exam hadn’t even started and the baby was already sitting right behind his lips. 

Jason stared. “Man, you sure you’re good?”

“I’ll survive,” Max said, trying to sound sardonic, though his breathlessness gave him away. Jason didn’t know Max was pregnant. No one did. He’d carried small, and Max was good at hiding his body in shapewear and too big hoodies. If anyone did find out, he’d definitely lose his scholarship, and probably get kicked right out of the school. It had very strict rules about sex outside of marriage, and babies don’t just happen.

Max was saved from further questions from Jason by the professor entering the room and beginning to pass out a massive pile of paper that was the final exam. “You will have one and half hours to do the question and answer portion of the exam,” the professor explained. “Then I will show a video of a live birth. As the university wants you to know how to give birth at home, with prayer and without medical intervention as God intended. You all must know how to give birth. After watching the birth video, you will be required to write a paper discussing what they did correctly and what they could have done better. Understood?”

The class nodded.

“All right then, you may begin. You have an hour and a half.”

Max reached out for the packet, grabbing his pencil and his scantron, eager to go as quickly as possible and get this over with. Two questions in, and his stomach was seizing again. Freed from Jason’s questioning gaze, Max wrapped his hand around his stomach to try and soothe it, feeling it shrink underneath the shapewear he wore. He tried not to push, focusing on breathing deeply and slowly through the pain, but the searing stretch of his nethers continued throughout the contraction nonetheless. 

According to his studies, contractions lasted about 60-90 seconds, so Max counted out the seconds in his head, one hand wrapped tight around his stomach, the other clutching his fragile wooden pencil dangerously tightly.

As soon as the contraction began to ease and the stinging stopped as the baby returned to its place just outside his lips, Max continued with the test. His contractions were coming every two minutes, lasting about a minute. Which means while the rest of his class had an hour and a half to complete the test, he only had an hour. 

The words swum in front of him and he leaned forward to get a better view of the words, curling around his stomach and triggering another contraction. Sitting forward as he was, the hard plastic chair pressed against his lips. Which gave him an idea. Experimentally, he pushed with the urge instead of trying to hold back, grunting softly as he did. The head spread him open, shooting through his stretching lips, and then stopped moving as it struck the chair. Max whined, softly, tapping out of the push early. Except this time, the head didn’t go all the way back in, it stayed at that partial crown, stretching his lips. 

Stealthily, he reached down under his desk and explored the area between his spread legs. A massive bulge of straining jeans was wedged between them, pressed up against the chair.

Max let out a shuddering breath. All right, he thought, as long as I can stay sitting down, we can keep the baby in. And thus the test stretched on, in increments of three minutes, two of answering questions, one of pushing fruitlessly into the hard plastic chair, his wet jeans bagging out with the emerging head. 

Some of the questions were about health, but a lot were about sexual health and reproduction. Labeling the different parts of the birther’s anatomy felt particularly ironic when Max could feel the stretch of so many of them, the diagram a visual reminder of how small everything had been before a baby had been shoved through it.

Another question asked which sex position was most likely to result in successful reproduction, which had him flashback to his room, with Jason leaning over him, his warm chest on Max’s. It brought a blush to his cheeks which led Max to lift his head and glance over at Jason.

Jason had been looking back, his brows wrinkled in concern, but when he caught Max looking, the face changed to a forced smile and a hidden lewd hand symbol. Maybe the test was bringing up memories for him too.

Their moment was broken by another contraction. Max forced his head down, as though he was working on his test, leaning as far forward as he could, his stomach pressing against the bottom of the desk, his crotch against the seat to keep the baby in as his whole body pushed down.

The pain was just letting up when the teacher called for their attention, and put on the birthing video. A woman moaning, crouching, her husband supporting her from behind, praying. Her stomach visibly contracted as Max’s own pain returned. Their contractions had synced up, but while she was naked and pushing freely, he was covered in clothes, unable to push or make progress. Her grunts of effort and cries of pain masked his own moans.

The voice of the camera-person ordered the woman, “Push! Push!”

And having sat at a partial crown for an hour and half, Max couldn’t help but obey, pushing in sync with the woman on screen. He leaned back instinctively, lost in the grasp of instinct. He and the woman pushed, and pushed. The babys’ heads emerged slowly, fighting to stretch out the body and, in Max’s case, force the jeans out of the way.

The woman screamed as her head reached a full crown, losing her crouch and falling backwards, caught by her husband. Max’s own softer exhalation, as his own crown, freed from the confines of the chair, reached its own crown.

The next few pushes were unfruitful. The baby’s head bobbed in the woman’s crotch as Max’s own baby fought against his tight jean crotch and lost. He wasn’t trying to hold back anymore, wasn’t thinking consciously, only knew he needed to push.

Then the head on screen gushed out, followed by the rest of the body in rapid succession, but Max’s was still stuck, no matter how he pushed and grunted. The screen went black. 

“You have twenty minutes to write your essays.”

Max panted, realizing his situation. His hand explored downward, gasping at how large the bulge was, his legs spread apart, his lips screaming in pain, stretched to their fullest, his whole body soaked in sweat.

He could not write, could not focus on writing, but he had to. So, ever so slowly he leaned forward. The head of the baby caught on the chair, then began to be shoved up inside him once more. Max shoved his pencil in his mouth, biting down hard to hold back the scream that threatened to bubble in his throat at the pure agony. 

Another, harsher contraction came, but he weathered it, biting his pencil and pressing himself down against the chair. It faded, and he tried to write. The next contraction was just as bad. His weakened pencil snapped his hand. He whimpered as the head began to emerge once more, stretching him little by little. 

It didn’t seem like he had two minutes of leeway anymore, no matter what their professor had taught. The contractions didn’t seem to end. It hurt so much. He was so sweaty, so confined. The baby was coming out again. He didn’t have the energy to push it against the chair. It was stretching his lips, so wide.

“Time!” The professor called. “Pencils down.”

Max’s pencil was in pieces before him, his essay a mess, his multiple choice portion, not quite complete. But he didn’t care. He had to give birth. He had to get out of there.

The old professor toddled around, collecting tests as Max tried to look normal after having been in active labor for fourteen hours and actively crowning for two. 

He’d had a plan, take the test, go home, give birth in his empty apartment. But as the baby reached a full crown once more, Max knew that wasn’t happening. He would at least make it to the bathroom. It was on the first floor. Max planned his route as the professor said his final goodbyes, and then, finally, finally, fifteen minutes after the test ended, released them. 

Max stayed where he was, unsure how to stand as the rest of the students burst out of the room. Another student stayed and talked to Jason, pulling his attention away from Max.

Now, Max thought. He awkwardly turned in his seat, and removed his hoodie. It revealed his very low belly, curved and sweat-soaked, but he used it to tie around his waist, hiding the massive bulge in his crotch. Then, oh so gently, he leveraged himself to his feet.

Gravity shifted, his jeans loosened a bit, and the baby dropped down just a bit further, the head stretching him wider than he thought possible. Max gasped and swayed, catching himself on his desk. Jason glanced over, clearly concerned, but his conversation partners drew him back in.

Free. Max began to waddle, slowly, awkwardly, out of the classroom. Each step was agony, his jeans jostling the fully crowned head in his pants in and out just a smidge. His exhausted legs trembled, and he kept one hand on the wall to keep himself upright. The stairs were right next to the classroom, the elevator was on the other side of the building. He could either walk the entirety twice (to reach the elevator and then walk all the way back to the bathroom at the base of the stairs), or go down the stairs. He chose the stairs.

He went down two before he realized it was an awful idea. He clung to the railing, his legs forcefully spread around the head, which brushed his thighs each time he maneuvered himself awkwardly down the stairs like a new-born deer.

Finally, red faced, panting, exhausted, he reached the bottom of the stairs and practically fell into the door of the men’s bathroom. A guy at the urinal gave him a look.

“Really gotta. . . go,”  Max panted, then stumbled into the stall and locked the door. He reached immediately for his jeans. His shaking hands fumbled with the belt. As the contraction struck, he crouched naturally, spreading his legs wider, but that only forced the jeans up tighter against his opening, forcing the head further in. 

Finally, the belt gave way, and he began forcing the jeans down. They got caught on his hips. He needed to move his legs together, but another contraction hit, and the baby descended further, its nose stretching him and popping out. The head was touching his thighs. He couldn’t spread his legs further to give it more room with his jeans, he couldn’t get rid of the jeans because of the head.

He was stuck.

Mind frozen with fear and exhaustion, he weathered out several contractions, pushing as hard as he could. But the baby didn’t move. It was stuck. The jeans had to go, but that meant. . . 

He heard speaking over the roar of his ears, but couldn’t make out the words. It was definitely Jason.

But Max could spare him no thought. The baby had to come out. Quivering, Max placed his hand on his baby’s head, feeling its wet hair. He took one deep breath, trying to get oxygen in his panic, then began to push the baby up and back it. 

It was agony. He screamed in pain. The baby kicked in protest. His stomach contracted. In the chaos, he lost his balance, falling to his knees, striking his elbow on the side of the tiny stall. 

Jason was pounding on the stall door. 

Max couldn’t talk to him, couldn’t do anything but give birth. He shucked off his jeans and boxers, spread his legs, and pushed.

The much denied baby shot out, to its ears and Max cried out again. The contraction faded, and he could hear Jason now, asking if Max was okay.

“I’ve cleared the bathroom and put a sign out saying its closed. Tell me what's going on, or I’ll call 911.”

Well, Max would need help getting out of here. And it was just as much Jason’s secret as it was his. With a shaking hand, he reached up and undid the latch, just in time for the next contraction to hit. He pushed, and the baby’s head shot out of him just as Jason flung open the door.

“Holy crap!”

Max gasped, leaning against the toilet, spreading his legs just a bit further. The dirty bathroom tile was cold. It felt good. The baby was turning inside him.

“Is that mine?” Jason asked. That health class did something for him after all.

Max could only nod. 

“Shit. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Max didn’t have the breath for explanations. “Wanted you safe,” he gasped. “If I was. . . if they did. . .”

Another contraction. He pushed, weakly. The head bobbed forward, but didn’t move. God, he was exhausted.

Jason knelt down beside Max, his health class training coming into play. “How long have you been in labor?”

“Water broke—nngghh—last night.” The head still didn’t move. He was so tired.

“Last night!”

“Head crowned. . . just. . . just before the—” Another contraction. Max pushed with the pain as hard as he could, but the head wasn’t moving.

“Shit, man.”

Another contraction. No progress. Something was catching on his narrow hips. His body wasn’t made for birthing the way a woman’s was. “I think, I think it’s stuck.”

“I got you, give me a moment.” Then Jason left, leaving Max alone, spread wide and bare, a baby head between his legs, on a dirty bathroom floor. He flopped his head back, resting it on the toilet seat. Gross, yeah, but he didn’t have the energy to care any more.

Another fruitless contraction.

Then Jason was back. He crouched down by Max. “this is going to hurt,” he warned. Then he shoved his hand into Max’s crotch alongside the baby’s neck. Max opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. He was too tired. The pain was awful, the stretch terrible. Then Jason was fumbling around in there with his whole-ass hand, pulling and tugging. Max’s hips strained. 

Another contraction began, tensing Max’s stomach which was peeking up through his shirt, which had ridden up. 

With the hand that wasn’t currently inside Max, Jason pressed down on Max’s stomach. “Push!” he ordered.

Max pushed. Jason pushed with one hand and pulled with the other. The tension, the pressure built, and built. Max was being torn apart. He was going to die. He was—

Something gave. With a gush, the crying baby shot out into Jason’s waiting hands.

The three of them sat, panting, staring at each other. “I want to raise this baby with you, if you’ll let me,” said Jason. “Only reason I haven’t been with you more is, well, I didn’t want to get us both kicked out. But I think you’re amazing and—”

Max smiled. “You’re pretty good too. Let’s do this.”

I’m in love with transfems

transfems who knock you up transfems who hold you down and take you transfems who beg to please be allowed to cum inside you transfems who are ruthless and powerful transfems who are sweet and gentle transfems who get knocked up transfems who beg to be bred transfems who order you to fuck them transfems who cry pretty transfems who handle pain well transfems who want you to hold their hand

Imagine this while crowning. That's all I want.

Holding someone down while you overstimulate them… feeling them squirm and writhe, desperately trying to escape your hold… sobbing from the painful overstimulation… knowing they can’t escape you, so they start to beg. Whimpering and whining that it’s too much… only for you to start going even faster to really hear them scream 🖤

tied up and plugged birth denial

in the mood to be tied up while super overdue with your baby, with my legs spread as far as they’ll go and my crotch bound with ropes, a large knot inserted and tied tight, plugging my soaked and laboring cunt. after hours of you pounding and teasing me in this position, my water breaks. the contractions begin to intensify, the child moving down by sheer force of my uterine muscles clenching and urging the head through my cervix, filling my canal. but with a pathetic whine i remember the knot and ropes are blocking my tight exit, stalling any further progress. the head is pressed fully against the knot plugging my opening, and no matter how hard i push now, nothing with budge as long as the ropes are intact. lustful tears fill my eyes as i finally get to experience what i’ve wanted to for so many years: pushing HARD against a very large, very stuck baby. the futility and pressure and intensity are enough to immediately drive me to orgasm, my squirt soaking through the ropes binding my cunt. i’ve never felt so stretched and open, my pelvis so fully stuffed it’s dizzying and overwhelming, yet so addictive and electric, i could feel the massive skull trying to slowly yet violently cram its way through my pelvis. i just want this moment to last forever, and it honestly could, lest i give you the safe word so i can finally drop my load. but i’m not quite ready for that yet, wanting to relish this feeling and cum a few more times around the head still so tightly encased within my pulsing walls.

(partner POV)

i’ve been watching you in awe for hours, marveling at the perfection of your birthing form, all spread out and tied up for my personal enjoyment. at this point you’ve squirted so much all the ropes binding you are soaked and cold, giving you goosebumps and making you tingle all over as you linger in a moment of orgasmic bliss. because the storm is coming. something that can’t be contained forever, a storm called birth. your moans and shrieks begin to change tones, your pleasure turning to overwhelming agony and the need to expel your child NOW or you would die or break in half trying. your contractions are nearly constant now, and you start to push again with a new sense of urgency. your screams catching your throat as you begin to go red in the face, holding your you push for all youre worth your burden against the knot, the head that is attempting to emerge pressing the knot further and further out of you, the plug slowly spreading you. i could see the massive knot i had plugged you up with earlier bulge and begin to crown, the force of your primal pushes of desperation causing your rotund stomach to contract so strongly its shape became more pointed, your contracting muscles going into overdrive at this pivotal moment of imminent crowning. in this moment, you, my lover, reduced to a twitching, animalistic ball of tension and pain, the travail is so clear in the furrowed browson your face, which has somehow has never looked more beautiful to me. you, despite all the agony and restraint, are still enjoying this on some level. you still haven’t said the safe word after all, which would mean you surrendering from the constricting torture of your ropes so you could finally drop your heavy load of overdue child. you look me in the eyes and we share a deep breath before you bear down once more, and with a small muffled pop and a moan of a sigh of relief, the knot plug rushes from your cunt, bulging against the ropes that still bound your legs and crotch.

between labored pants you say to me, somehow sounding so sexy through it all, “babe, the head is about to crown but has nowhere to go. could you help me out, my sunflower?” at the mention of the safe word, i immediately spring into action to untie the ropes binding your bulging cunt. i decide to hell with untying anything carefully, using the scissors from the birthing kit we already had nearby to cut a big enough opening to allow the head to pass. as i move to help you get in a good position for crowning, you start panting with and intensity like never before, sounding almost like your building up to a powerful orgasm, your entire being seeming to contract all around the child within you. you huff and puff it looks as though you may pass out from the strain of it all. then, in the blink of an eye, you could not longer resist the urge to push without any restraints, feeling like the pressure and fullness could literally drown you if you didn’t fight through it. at last, i see as you finally surrender to letting this birth happen, your body going slack before curling up around your swollen womb, pressing it down hard in a instinctive kind of fundal pressure as you feel your opening begin to burn, burn, BURN.

(first person pov)

at this point i’m seeing red, my entire being consumed by the ring of fire i finally came to know. oh, how i relished the ripping burn, feeling the crown so heavily tugging against my rim, threatening to snap it at any moment. it felt like i was slowly tearing in at least 3 areas, and i was almost tempted to reach down and slide a finger in alongside the crown to rip my own ruined perenium down the middle, tearing my two holes into one bloody gaping mess that could finally release my enormous child. but no, it was not to be. i needed to take this slow, as i resume my frantic panting, resisting everything in me that was telling me to just push so hard i rip myself in half and get the whole ordeal over with. but i was stubborn, instead adjusting to the burning crown and letting it slowly stretch me beyond my wildest imagination, trying my best to relax and open up as much as i possibly could. i wanted to feel it all, every detail of the skull and face as it emerged from me painstakingly slowly, which is exactly what i got. once i was getting dangerously close to a full crown, i beg you to apply some counterpressure, wanting to be held open at the absolute widest point on the head for as long as i could possibly bear.

“Oh you’re definitely bigger, Bunny. You’re carrying such a big litter for me it makes you grow bigger every day! It look so so cute on you, baby.” I hold your hands to keep you from struggling with your little shirt and place soft kisses on your squirmy kicky belly.

“Hey, Bunny baby. How are you doing today?” I ask sweetly as I return from work. I sit next to you on the couch and trace hearts and swirls across your pretty belly “you’re so soft and cute. I hate being away from you.”

this just made me blush so HARD. the tracing hearts and swirls on my belly ☹️

“doing okay …. but do you think my tummy has gotten bigger?” *pouts and attempts to pull my shirt over my tummy*