A Tribute To Heavy Bellies.

Poor little bird-folk who has a condition that makes their eggs grow unusually large. It means they almost always get egg bound and spend days laying a clutch when all their friends do it in an afternoon. It doesn't help that they're small and slight with narrow hips that strain against every huge egg.

As they get closer to laying their stomach swells up immensely, looking ridiculous on their small frame. Everyone else they know gets a regular, manageable bump in the weeks before they lay. Usually only restricting their movements in the last few days. But their stomach is huge and obvious and horribly sore for weeks. They spend almost a month too heavy to fly and by the last week they can barely walk. You would think that going through this every year would mean they're used to it, but every time they are caught off guard by how heavy and sore and uncomfortable their giant eggs make them. Their fragile pelvis wasn't made to carry so much weight. Their skin stretches so far that they start to lose feathers on their belly and red, angry stretch marks are visible on the exposed skin. It's miserable but they know the worst is still yet to come.

Their body is designed to lay quickly. Half a day of laboring, an hour of pushing and you've got a clutch. But with their eggs three or four times bigger than they should be that timeline is simply impossible. They dread those first contractions. Once they start they are trapped in a horrible storm as their body shoves the first egg down brutally hard and fast. The pressure in their hips increases ten fold. They squawk and cry, paralyzed by the intensity and trying desperately to find a position that will ease some of the pressure.

It's not long before the tip of the first egg begins to press down through their cloaca. This is when the real trouble starts. They are gripped with the urge to push. The first push begins to stretch their hole, the heavy egg bulging out the skin between their legs, the very tip visible just inside. But there is not enough space. Two, maybe three pushes should be enough for a regular egg. But their egg is so, so big. It gets stuck almost immediately. A few desperate pushes might bring it down just a bit more, enough than the stretch of their cloaca really starts to sting. But then it lodges itself and won't budge no matter how much they push.

No matter how many times they're forced to do this they are always gripped with horrible panic when they realize the egg won't move. The pain of contractions, the spasming of their stretched hole, the mind numbing pressure, all make it impossible to think. They'll thrash and scream, crying that it's stuck! It's stuck! Oh god please, it won't come! By now they know to have a healer on hand. But during their first lay they cried alone for hours, sure they were going to die.

There isn't actually much the healer can do. The bird-folk must now go through a horrible process of slow stretching. The healer takes some oil and rubs it around the rim of their hole, gently stretching the already taught skin, trying to work them open. They moan as their tortured hole is stretched. The burn is constant and terrible and they feel like they could rip open at any second. The healer stretches them and then they are forced to stand on shaking legs and hobble back and forth, bowlegged around their crowning egg. They shift their hips as best they can, trying to work the egg down. They are still beset by contractions and every few the urge to push becomes too great and they have to squat down and push. On every fourth or fifth push the egg will inch out the slightest bit more.

The progress is glacial and agonizing. They are trapped in a desperate cycle. Once they collapse from exhaustion the healer applies more oil, wedging their finger in alongside the egg and making them stretch. Then after a fruitless push or two they are dragged back to their feet. They rock and sway and squat intermittently, pushing and crying, until their legs give out once again and they slump to the ground in an exhausted heap. Then the healer approaches with more oil.

This goes on for hour after miserable hour. Slowly the egg crowns out of their tortured cloaca. The liberal application of oil and constant stretching protects them from tearing but the burn is indescribable. They are stretched so tight around something much bigger than it should be. At a certain point they go numb, their nerves unable to keep up with the stretch.

It's usually at that point that they break down completely, going limp and weeping, saying the egg will never come out, just leave them, they're too tired to push anymore. Every time they're sure this is it, it's over. They just want the pressure and the pain to end but their will is completely broken. The healer lets them cry and writhe through several contractions then hauls them up on their hands and knees, forces some water down their throat, and tells them to get pushing. It's hard but they've done it every year and this won't be the year they die on the healer's watch. Still crying and hiccuping miserably they bear down and push again.

By the next day they are usually close to the widest part of the egg. The end is in sight but still so far away. The cycles of oil, stretching, and pushing have gotten shorter and shorter. They are no longer able to stand, the egg forcing their legs too wide. It looks obscene sticking out of their hole, taking up the entire space between their legs. They alternate between squatting and rocking back and forth on their hands and knees. By now they are in a kind of trance-like state. Their world shrunk down to just the giant egg holding them brutally open. They emit a constant quiet lowing, their broken voice peaking in distress with every push.

Finally after one push they feel it, on instinct they know that one more push will get them past the widest point. They suck in a breath and push with every desperate ounce of strength left in their exhausted body. The egg moves. The pressure gives. In an almost orgasmic gush the egg bursts through and slides out of their spasming hole. They slump to the ground and sob in relief.

They get maybe an hour of rest. Then the pains return and their body starts working the next giant egg down to their hole. They're stretched now so this one will not take quite as long but they still have hours more of pushing ahead. And after that two more eggs lie in wait.

When all of the eggs are finally out they sleep for days, completely drained. The relief of finally being empty is always tainted by the knowledge that they will have to do it all again next year.

god I love hearing the phrase "what's happening to me" a close second is "look what you've done to me"

you’ve been fucking me for so long by now that ive lost track of the time. I know it’s dark outside now, but that’s all ive got. that, and the growing number of rapidly gestating babies inside me.

“fuck, so good for me… such a good incubator, taking my babies so well… god, fuck, im gonna cum again, gonna knock you up again…”

I groan as you do just that, eyes rolling back in my head as I feel you spill inside me, your seed seeping into my womb and quickly finding another egg to fertilize. the babies already inside me squirm as another sibling joins them, growing to catch up, forcing them to make space.

my body rises as my belly grows beneath me. you had to move me off the bed a while ago to be able to reach my cunt comfortably, and my legs have long been left hanging in the air, supported by the curve of my lower belly. im starting to wonder if you’ll be unable to reach before you can sate your need.

im starting to wonder if you even can sate either of our needs before I get too big for it.

God~ it’s so biggg~! I think I’m gonna need some help pushing them out!!~ 🥵🥵🥵

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What is it about the idea of monsterously large pregnancies, that's so appealing.

Like... having to deal with belly growth that reaches such extremes that it steals your ability to move.

Imagine constant, rapid, unyielding growth. 8 feet! 35 feet! 60 feet! Your belly getting so big, it deforms under its own massive weight, seizing to be a perfect sphere.

Big enough to fill the entire meadows the swollen flesh pressing itself into the huge ancient trees and snapping them as if they were tiny sticks, crushing them into dust under your endless mass.

Just a huge round orb of flesh, so full of indescribable creatures. expanding forever more and more.

Kinda in love with the idea of giving birth while trying to maintain composure and doing something mundane..

Casually walking through a grocery store, slightly bent over your cart while feeling a fat head tease at your entrance.

Hiking on a low impact trail, quietly stepping off to take a quick squat at a nearby tree, pulling your pants down just enough to put your hand in and birth your baby’s head into your palm.

Sitting at your desk, taking down a customers information to give them a call back so you can give yourself enough time to push out the shoulders.

Not gonna lie, getting an ultrasound and the tech gets more and more confused for any reason is *peak*

Getting an ultrasound and the tech getting more and more confused because it doesn't make sense because that's not a baby in there that's an egg. That's multiple eggs, clustering in your belly, their shells showing on the scan, and he doesn't know what to say or do because it's not possible especially with your normal husband smiling widely at the screen and how does he explain that what you're seeing is not normal? At all?

And afterwards you laugh and hold the picture tight as your husband loosens his human disguise and kisses you with sharp teeth and a tongue that can slide all the way down your throat --