Having Slow-rapid Pregnancy Thoughts

Literally the most basic hand drawn sketch of a swollen belly is hotter than 100 AI renderings.

AI doesn't know how to add the horny.

why is the mpreg tag so clogged with ai… i thought it was a joke i thought we were actually making weird unconventional art again why are you generating this man instead of lovingly rendering him pregnant by HAND. this is ridiculous!!! i’ll have to fix this myself

ITS FINALLY DONE!

sorry it took so long lol but here’s the reward for the animation drive I had months ago! Thanks once again to everyone who donated <3

Imagine a pregnant boy getting possessed by while he’s in labor, something or someone taking control of his body and stopping him from pushing. Something else now controls his movement, but he can still feel everything that's happening to him. He’s screaming and crying, begging them to “please push!” and “please get them out of me!”, but the possessor doesn't move a muscle and just lets the contractions ripple through his belly. He has no idea how long he'll be possesed, forced to be stuck in labor for hours or days, completely helpless and at their mercy

Me and the guy in the aisle seat shift out of our places as you waddle down the cramped airplane walkway. Your T-shirt and shorts leave little to be imagined in your near-due state but it was much better than being hot.

It was our final vacation before baby hopefully comes next week. It was a great time on the beach but the plane ride is leaving a sour note.

Unfortunately, we couldn't get the asshole in the aisle seat to swap seats, a pair in front of us are constantly leaning back in their chairs, yhe air conditioning doesn't look to be functioning and it seems like every other minute we hit a bout of turbulence.

You slowly sit down in your window seat after making the man stifle an irritated groan. I lean back to go to sleep but I feel you grasp my thigh and lean up to my ear.

"Don't..." You breathe suddenly. "Don't freak out...I think my water broke in the bathroom."

It's hard not to not jump out of my seat. I look straight down at your bump sitting between your thighs. A vague shade of brown covered your inner thighs.

"We should tell some-"

"No! I can hold for the rest of the flight," you look down at your tensed bump. "I'll-I'll tell you if it becomes to much..."

"I can last...I think I can last," you whisper through tight lips, seemingly to yourself.

I can't argue with you, it's your body and you know best. I try to relax back in my seat but out of the corner of my eye I see a fresh trail of fluid trail out of your shorts and down your thigh. Anxiety management isn't one of my strong suits.

Just seven hours till we land.

(P.s. I'm glad you seem to be enjoying these)

I can make it. I can make it. I said to myself over and over. A mantra. A promise. A desperate and hopeful plea.

Earlier that day I hadn’t given any thought to the odd cramps that had tightened across my belly as we packed up our suitcase, or to the spasms shooting up my spine as we waited in line for security scans before entering departures. I’d thought the building pressure between my hips was just because of the change in altitude or the baby pressing on my bladder. Yes people warned us about going away so close to the due date, but neither of us really expected the baby to arrive early, and especially not on the plane. No, this baby was not going to be born on a plane! I was grateful my waters had broken in the bathroom at least, it gave me an opportunity to clean myself up before returning to my seat. Not that it made any difference, the constant leaking between my legs was already dampening the cushion.

Without my waters the contractions struck with more vigour and bite. After yet another wave of twisting pain rippling my belly, I pressed the button on the tv screen embedded in the seat in front bringing up the map of our journey and the estimated time of arrival - 5hrs 57mins. I exhaled heavily, so far so good. Every time a contraction struck I would simply breathe my way through it, my hand softly rubbing at the tightness squeezing my belly. I could feel your eyes on me, watching me like a hawk. I knew you liked to sleep on planes but there was no way that was happening now. Trying to stay calm and still I breathed slowly, deeply, steadily. I can make it.

~•~

I don’t know when you started holding my hand through each wave of pain but I clung onto it like a lifeline. My body temperature was rising and I was shifting awkwardly in my seat; the broken air conditioning and the cramped aeroplane seats were making me feel trapped.

“Babe… do we need to maybe tell the air stewards-”

“No!….. hooooo…. It’s fine it’s just-hooooo…. they’re getting a little bit stronger n-now that’s all. But I’m fine. Really…” I breathed heavily, trying to reassure us both right now.

“But they’re getting closer together.” You worried.

“I know that.” I snapped at you under my breath, but when the contraction released me my anger disappeared and I saw the look on your face. “I’m sorry darling. I know you’re only looking out for us. But I’m fine, we’re going to make it. Four and a half hours to go. Babies aren’t born that quickly. We’ll be fine.”

I could tell by your expression that you did not feel as confident, and to be honest, neither did I. But there was no use in both of us panicking. And what could they even do? We were above water for the majority of our flight, there was nowhere for the plane to land anyway. The next contraction struck and I hissed through my teeth. I twisted in my seat so I faced the window, one leg folded beneath my large and contracting belly, the other firmly on the floor. “C-can you rub my back p-please?” I grit over one shoulder towards you and place my palms against the cream plastic of the aeroplane interior.

Although the pressure of your hands on my back and hips felt wonderful, it barely touched the side of the roaring pain splitting my pelvis in two. I curled over my bump as much as I could in the tight space and breathed through it as much as I could. But the pressure, the pressure was killing me. My hips were open in this position, a move driven purely by instinct, and I could feel the baby’s head deep and low and pressing even further down. I clamped my mouth shut tight as my body rocked forward and backward slightly, your hands rubbing up and down my lower back and pressing into the back of my hips under the waistband of my shorts. I took a long, deep exhale as the pain peaked and when I released it I found my body bearing down at the end of the breath. My heart froze at the possibility this baby wasn’t going to wait til we landed. I breathed again, slowly, purposely, and tried to ignore any call from my body to push… but when I got to the end of the breath every muscle in my womb was squeezing forcefully downwards and I could feel the baby sink lower and lower.

“Oh babe…” I whispered. “I think I’m pushing?!”

“What?! No, you can’t be pushing. We still have 3 more hours to go!”

Dearest Anon, these are perfect! Thank you so much! All the different scenarios you’ve given me are just…. 👌 this one might be my fav, if you wanna continue it in the next ask… 👀

That first moment of movement when you’re carrying something unknown. Something unnatural. The fear of feeling the life twisting inside of you, knowing that when you reach full term you’ll be bringing it into the world.

Being held captive, having them touch and prod at your belly, run countless exams and ultrasounds just to watch it grow. Prasing you and saying how they can’t wait for you to get bigger….

Showgirl

I was always obsessed with the idea of being a showgirl, a performer, a spectacle for people to watch and admire. Now, as a surrogate birther for hire, I get to live out that dream — albeit for an extraordinarily painful and difficult price.

Despite the outrageous prices I charge to bear through this ordeal, women still come to me regularly to impregnate me with their babies and book a time and a date for the show.

Slowly over time, I would grow in size, round out in shape, and prepare myself for a date filled with dread on the calendar. But then, that's the side of show business that no one ever sees. Away from the glamour and the spotlight, no one ever looks for the callouses jeweled across a dancer's feet, or the pulled muscles and broken tendons on a stripper's body. No one ever paid much attention to the stretch marks, extra wrinkles, or marks of motherhood etched into mine either.

Though for my troubles, for all the wretched agony and herculean efforts that I racked onto my body time after time, I had never actually become a mother. Only a surrogate.

When Mom's day finally came, they would build up to their party as the most incredible day of their lives. For most, it was a bachelorette party amped up to 11 and then jacked up with an event that most only got to experience a handful of times at most. Alcohol was free-flowing and party games were in full swing while loud music and drunken revelers would pour from the house and into the street. What they were all here for though was the main event. Me.

Heavily pregnant, barely able to waddle into the home, and dreading this night since we signed the damn contract. Even without being in established labor, I'd have no choice but to perform, to deliver in front of a harem of girls, and leave mom with the baby she'd paid for.

That's the other nobody mentions about being a showgirl. You still have to perform even when you don't feel very much like dancing.

Waiting outside in the car for my allotted time, I'd try to prepare, to center myself for what's likely to come. Then, with a heavy shot of Pitocin stabbed into my thigh, it would be time to take center stage.

When I ring the bell even I have to listen especially carefully to hear it. The loud thump, thump, thump of this party's bass drowns out everything and I wonder how the neighbors can even stomach the noise. Then, I realize, they're probably here. The entire street is bouncing with activity. I gently chap at the door once again and open it gingerly, walking inside to the deafening beat.

At first I'm entirely unnoticed, a pleasant surprise in my current condition. Then, making my way into the main room I'm greeted with a terrifying chorus of whoops and hollers. My stomach sinks.

"Oh my god! She's here! She's really here" several women cry out.

"oh oh OHH, is it that time already?!" the new Mom says.

"Come on girls let's get it started," someone shouts into the room.

Someone turns down the music. Women grab their seats quickly. The couch is filled first, then seats are pulled around to line the walls until it's standing room only at the back. More and more women pour in from the kitchen, the landing, the patio, and even outside to see the main attraction.

I guess it's showtime.

The maid of honor pulls up a chair and places it in the center of the room before guiding Mom to take center stage. I drop my bag full of props in the only available corner in case they're called for later and wait for further instruction. This is her show, not mine.

Now, the Pitocin is taking hold. I try not to show it, but a series of contractions have been gripping hold of my stomach and contorting my belly. During the most recent of these pains, my face must have screwed a little too hard because the new mother diverts her attention and gestures me over.

"Hey, don't waste those over there, get over here where I can see you," she says.

The crowd cheers and hollers. Most of the women here have been drinking heavily and the party has just begun to hit its stride. Most are young, few looked like they were old enough to be mothers themselves. From their faces and their excitement, I guessed that few had a chance to see a delivery themselves before.

Dutifully, I waddled over to the young mom-to-be and stood in front of her makeshift plastic throne. She wasted no time and immediately began to undress me in the middle of the room. My wool knit cardigan, scarf, and even shoes were thrown to the side. Underneath, I had on just a pale blue night dress that reached down to my knees, a dark lace bra, and nothing else. I felt the intensity of the crowd watching me from every angle. I was embarrassed, vulnerable, and in a rapidly growing amount of pain — but that's what I was paid for.

Another contraction hit hard and I immediately flinched in front of Mom. They were coming fast.

She reached up and placed one hand on either side of my belly and squeezed tight to feel the contraction climb through my body. She could feel it shift, grip, and twist around my belly through the very tips of her fingers as I felt it stab and pull from the inside. Just as it reached its peak she announced to the room "They're really strong, I don't think baby is hanging around!"

I heard a round of cheers go around the room as glasses clinked together but I was too focused on the agony still crushing me inside to join in the merriment.

Finally, when that one began to fade from its peak, the new mom pulled me in close and sat me on her knees legs astride so that my oversized belly sat between us.

"There, there," she said quietly as she stroked my hair in long, flowing sweeps. "It'll all be over soon, take some nice deep, steady breaths for me, rest up between contractions,"

I did as she asked, even a faux level of care and affection was more than I could reasonably ask for under the conditions of our contract.

Soon more contractions followed, crashing into my body with an intensity and urgency that still somehow surprised me even after so many births. Mom guided me through each helping me focus and rest softly on her lap. Through every one she would hold on to my belly as if she was soothing her own put her hands on my hips and coached me to breathe in a rhythm that matched my body.

Despite the crowd watching around us, cheering the peak of every pain, and heckling my laboring cries, it was still reasonably soothing in comparison to other performances.

Somewhere during the melee she had pulled my night dress up and over my head until I was laboring on her lap in just my bra. The crowd cheered this development.

Even knowing that she wasn't my ally in this, it was all I could do to hold on to her, to grip her back and squeeze her tight while a wretched pain fought with me from the inside. Before long, that pain turned into a wretched pressure too as it became more and more apparent that it was time to push.

Delivery

I gave her a nod and somehow she immediately knew what I meant. She met my eyes and nodded back, "ok, let me check. Get on to the floor,"

She gestured at the wooden floor beneath us and I dutifully got on my hands and knees in front of her facing the door. In truth, I wasn't sure if she wanted me on my back or my front but before I could make another move I felt her hands on me and two fingers slip inside. Her entire hand quickly followed until her entire fist was pushed deep into my pelvis and I cried out again in a fierce guttural groan. This pleased the crowd immensely.

Now, the maid of honor came around and grabbed hold of my hand with Mom being currently preoccupied. She soothed my cries and gave me a hand to squeeze as the guest of honor shifted and stretched, pushing deep inside towards my cervix.

"Is it? Is it? is it?" the guests around the room asked over each other.

I assumed they were asking the soon-to-be mom if it was time for me to push. From past experience and the immense bomb of pressure bearing down on my stomach, I already knew for a fact that it was.

Already aching to push, Mom's fist buried deep within me added an intensity and agonizing sense of being filled that drove my urge to push even harder. In long labored breaths I began to coach myself not to.

I wanted nothing more than to bear down on this head, to push and strain and eject Mom's hand from my body with force if I had to. I was, however, here to put on a show. This was her performance, I was merely the talent. If she wanted to hold her fist deep inside me while I waited patiently to bear down on to it then that's what we were going to do.

"I can feel it! I can feel the head!" she announced to the room.

"The head?!" I thought, she had her fist buried so deep I'm surprised she wasn't feeling my tonsils. I said nothing, however, instead opting to squeeze my guardian angel's hand.

"Is it, Kevin's" one of the women gathered around finally blurted out.

"What the hell?"" I remember thinking first. Kevin was the husband of the mom currently pushed up to the elbow inside my birth canal. Of course it was Kevin's and what the hell kind of way would this be to find out if it wasn't anyway?! I must have shot the maid a confused look because she seemed to take pity on me.

Of all the care and attention I'd received since I'd arrived here hers was the only kind that didn't seem forced or fake. She genuinely seemed to care, about the mom, and about me. I shot a look across to her name tag to learn the name of my guardian angel, it was Cara.

With some amount of pity and regret, Cara leaned in close and whispered.

"Kevin's family have a history of having extremely huge heads when they're born," she said. "It's fine, you're going to be ok though, it always works out fine… in the end, I mean,"

That lying fucking bitch had just voided our contract, was my first thought. There's an explicit damn paragraph for exactly this condition and she hadn't disclosed it. A second or two later I realised there was exactly nothing I could do about it now. What was I going to do, walk out and cite our exit clause? Not likely.

"UUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAARGHHHHHHHhhh," I cried out, partly in frustration but mostly because the head was now barrelling down through the edge of my cervix and it was indeed huge.

Mom's hand was still buried wrist deep inside my pussy as the contraction peaked. Now, I knew should feel every spasm and twitch from inside my walls and it pleased me, just slightly, to feel the intense squeeze that crushed down onto her fist inside my body.

Just her tiny yelp of pain was enough to keep me going, to almost break into a smile at the thought. "Yeah, try taking it on from this side, bitch!" I wanted to say. But I didn't, as a professional.

But she too must have felt the head barrelling down into my cervix at the tips of her fingers because, when someone asked again, she confirmed that it was in fact in the family line.

Cheers and whoops erupted from seemingly every woman in the room except Cara. They were ecstatic and rowdy in celebrating what I could only surmise from here, was some apparent freak of nature.

The noise continued as I huffed and panted through gritted teeth on the party room floor. Angry, frustrated, and terrified, there was nothing I could do with those feelings now. The best I could hope for would be to redirect them, use them, and focus them to bring this baby down. My only ally, it seemed, was the maid of honor, Cara, who at least pity on me with kind, consoling eyes that said, "Yeah, this is why she choose a surrogate. Sorry, you've been scammed…"

"Hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnghhhhhhhhuaaarghhhhhh!" I bore down with everything I had. An epic, giant push that made my face flush red and my ears ring under pressure. This was it, this was why I was here, nothing more, nothing less. Just another birth show.

The pressure had clearly got too much to bear for Mom as I felt her pull her fist from my body in a single thrust. Good for me, I now had a hollow empty feeling that I could imagine bearing the head into to fill. Bad for me was that now everyone else in the party felt empowered to join in.

Throughout the rests between each push the harem of girls surrounding me on the floor would do their best to goad me back into action.

"C'mon, make her push again!" someone would say to the mom.

"Make her really go for it this time, bigger than the last," another would suggest. "I bet she's going to push for HOURS,"

For her part, mom had made it her role to take charge of the birth by attending closely to every twitch, bulge, and convulsion my pussy would make as the head descended through it. During contractions she would slip two fingers inside and press hard against my perineum, giving me something to push against and aim for.

Between contractions she would coax her hand in and out, gingerly alternating between stretching, toying, and caressing my lips with long sweeping swipes of her fingers. Honestly, it was torturous heaven.

My legs and my abdomen began to spasm involuntarily as she toyed me to distraction. The way her fingers and hands made me feel between pains let my mind leave the room and float off to a decidedly more magical plain.

Every time she glanced over my clit I was reminded how unbearably sensitive it became as I pushed sending jolts of lighting down every extremity and letting my eyes roll back in my head. The crowd adored the tease.

And then, "OWWWuuaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargghhhhhhhhh," I heard some poor woman scream close by before realizing that those sounds were coming from my body as I was propelled back into it again. They accompanied an intense pressure that felt like I was somehow halting the progress of a cannonball descending through my abdomen while trying to heave behind it up a great hill. The head was not going to budge.

Clara, perhaps the only friend I had in this place, pivoted around to kneel in front of me until my head was resting just practically in her lap. Now, she had slid her hands into the cups of my bra and rolled my nipples between her thumb and forefinger again and again.

If it was some kind of sexual play designed to arouse and delight the audience then there would be nothing I could have done about it. But it wasn't. She knew what she was doing. The stimulation helped smooth and strengthen every contraction to be more productive, faster, and more powerful than before.

Things were getting more painful than before, but for the first time I could finally feel a sense of progress moving within me. Frankly, I needed the help.

"HUuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhnnnn," I strained down into my tightening belly. Now, there was just the slightest sense of movement that gave me some hope. A giant weight, something akin to an oblong bowling ball was being forced down into my birth canal with seismic shifts and starts.

"Owwwwhhuaaarh, HOOooo, hoooo, hooo," I panted and gasped for breath between contractions before heaving down again into Momma's waiting hands.

"HNNNNNNnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnuearghhhh!" Another momentous push, another millimeter of progress.

By now the women around us were screaming full-throated and aggressively to push harder, to really go for it, and get this baby moving. As if I somehow adored having this baby stuck descending halfway into my vagina. Idiots. I did everything I could to feed on that anger, to harness it and direct it into my next push.

Soon, the aggression in the audience turned sour.

"Come on, bitch, push that baby out already!" one woman shouted directly in my ear.

"What are you doing?! I could have had triplets out in this time," another said.

"Be my fucking guest," I wanted to reply.

Another giant heave and I could begin to grasp a sense of fullness emerging from the inside. The head was filling the birth canal to capacity, and then some. All I had to do now was push it through to the other side. Then, a dreaded instruction came from Mom.

"Turn around, change position, I want this baby sunny side up, into my hands."

"Fuck," I may have even said out loud.

My energy was all but sapped, I barely had enough left to kneel, never mind to turn around and push this mutant out looking straight at this stupid fucking woman's stupid fucking eyes.

Any protest, however, would all be for naught. This was her show, her birth, and her baby. I was merely the performer. The surrogate, if I was feeling especially self-important.

So, I did as she said, rolling my outsized belly around until it was facing up into the sky instead of drooping down near the floor. Cara helped, pulling me back onto her knees so that I could prop myself against her body, letting her arms fall around my belly to hold me in place. spread my knees out around Mom so that she was primed for delivery.

Then, all I had left to do was push. Great big hulking efforts that strained every muscle, tendon, and synapse to their very breaking point. The pressure and the pain were immense. Soon that sense of fullness became a sense of stretching agony as I pushed and heaved beyond what I ever thought possible.

"HMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmnrghhhhahhhhh!" I groaned. I wanted to scream out. I wanted to announce that I can't, I was stuck, I couldn't move it another fraction. Fuck the show, there was no room.

Regardless of what I could do, pulling on my thighs, stretching my legs wide, bucking my hips into my birthing partner's knees, I couldn't take another fraction.

Instead, I slowed. Changing my frantic desperate push into a slower, more controlled, and more powerful effort. The pain intensified tenfold as my insides burned with an iron-smelting fire and my body stretched and reshaped around this monstrous head bulging out from between my lips.

I opened my eyes for just a few seconds to see women crowding around, staring, gawping at my naked form. Now, they weren't jeering or mocking — they were in awe, shocked, and terrified at what I was doing, of what could be done, of what they might one day have to do

"Slow down!" Mom instructed, but for the first time I shook my head. No.

"It's COM—, I NEED TO, BNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGHHuuuuuuuuuuuaghhh!"

I balance on my maid's knees, as the head emerges and I grip Cara's hands from behind me. My head snaps back and my lungs are void of air when a rockslide blinding pressure batters into my body as the head is expelled in a whomp and a gush into the waiting mother's arms.

Whimpering, trembling, and convulsing, Cara holds me in place until I'm ready to speak, move, and even think coherently once again.

As the rest of the party busy themselves cooing and fussing over the new arrival, I get up and gather my discarded clothes and belongings from slowly from every corner of the room. I sneak into the corner to dress, shameful and embarrassed around the party guests. Time now, simply to go home and recover before embarking on the next one, I think.

I thank the maid for her help because god knows what I would have done here without her. Before I could leave,however she showed me one more kindness.

"WELL, THANKS FOR EVERYTHING, SEE YOU NEXT TIME, I GUESS," she says at a loud volume with a wink.

Most of the women there rush from the new mom to see me out at the door in a faux casual run.

"Oh, you're leaving?" the first asks. "Could I have your card, you know, just in case there's another event…later?"

"Sure, I smile," handing out one from my pocket.

"And me?" another asks.

"Of course," I smile, removing a stack.

Quickly another hand shoots out then another, then another. In very short order I hand out every business card in my collection until I'm writing my number on napkins and pamphlets.

As the door closes behind me I hear an argument start inside about who's up next.

"Guess it was a fine show," I note to myself, walking down the drive.