Gilda: Griffin the gut-buster

Several Months Later...

Gilda grumbled as she waddled her way around her home. She had to waddle as a matter of practicality. The taut and swollen curve of her belly was hardly conducive to regular walking. She was miserable, for so many, many reasons.

Pregnancy had never been on her list of potentials. She was usually really good at avoiding it. Having a kid meant that her hard-partying days were over. She was too cool for kids, and way too active and tough to be caught up having one. The identity of the father... mother... sperm-producer for her child was also bugging her. The circumstances of the event were moot, she had been topped fair and square. It was a fairly brilliant plan, more than she had ever expected out of air-between-the-ears Pinkie Pie.

Besides the social aspects, the pure physical aspects of pregnancy bothered her. The aching joints, the tired back, the nausea, the headaches, the inability to go for more than an hour without hitting the bathroom, the swollen ankles, all four of them. She had even lost the ability to fly with her usual speed and power. She lumbered around in the air like a bumblebee, as graceless as she was on the ground. In all, it was pretty miserable.

That annoying tool, Pinkie, didn't care. She was as chipper as ever, practically crowing about the 'success' of her Pinkie Punishment. She had also said babies made folks smile. It was all smile, smile, smile, from the dick, to the semen to the pregnancy. Gilda didn't feel much like smiling, least of all because the only reason she knew how Pinkie was acting was that the annoying pink mare was over to bother her all the time.

“Where's Pinkie Pie? Here she is!” Pinkie popped out of nowhere, as she usually did, and threw some confetti at Gilda's rounded belly.

“As usual. Are you at least going to help me do some dishes or some shit? You did this to me, you've gotta take care of this because I'm waddling like a princesses-damned penguin,” Gilda snarled, scowling at Pinkie.

Pinkie scowled right back, an odd look for the normally cheerful mare. “Well that's not very cheerful! This was supposed to be a way to make you smile. I did everything right! Ridiculously giant penis, really, really big load of pony goo, and even a baby! Did pornos and romantic comedies lie to me about what makes folks happy?” Pinkie considered the question then dismissed the idea with a wave. “Nah! Couldn't be. I just need to try harder.”

“How about trying vacuuming? This place is a sty-hole... kinda on purpose...” Gilda groused, waddling her way towards the kitchen.

“I already do your laundry, shop for food, cook the food, eat the food, make the beds, unmake the beds and mop up giant puddles of cream! I do everything around here!” Pinkie cried, exasperated.

“Damn right you do!” Gilda snapped, digging around in the refrigerator for something to satisfy her weird food cravings.

“Why are you so upset? This pregnancy is so good for you! Your backside used to be tiny and tight and hard like a rock. But now with all that weird craving for food and me practically pushing cookies and cakes in your mouth, it's all soft!” Pinkie cried.

“Yeah, thanks a heap for turning me into the kind of fatass I used to make fun of,” Gilda snarked. “Now I'm gonna get the same thing. 'Hey! Hen-hips! Put down the chocolate next time!' Fuck, karma's a bitch...”

“But this is great. Now your bottom is all big and spank-y like Iron Will said! He can see the future!” Pinkie pulled out a rather large wooden paddle with the word 'koulu' painted on it. She smacked it repeatedly against Gilda's backside, nodding approvingly each time her pregnancy-fattened asscheeks wobbled under the blows.

“Ow! Hey! Cut it out! That stopped being cool the fifth time. I can still take it but now I'm getting sick of having to,” Gilda grumped, pulling out a big bowl of pickle-filled yogurt. To highlight that she was the punchline to the universe's perverse jokes, it was Greek yogurt. There was a note attached to the container which set Gilda to scowling even more.

'Dear Koulu Griffin,

Thought you might like this. It's my favorite brand of yogurt. It's the one I endorse! Got my face on the label and everything. You really should appreciate it, it's imported. Kinda gotta get endorsements out of the country. But it still counts because I'm getting paid!

Thanks again for letting me completely annihilate your ass. Pinkie Pie tells me your butt actually has expanded just right. Wish I could see that but I've got a speaking tour. Maybe I'll see it later.

Glad I didn't pass on destroying that ass,

Iron Will'

Pinkie must have slipped the carton in there, note included in a perverted attempt to be 'cheerful and kind.' Despite the origin of the yogurt, she was still hungry. Before she could bury her beaked face into the mingled pickles and yogurt, however, she dropped the bowl with a screech and grabbed at her belly. “O-oh shit...”

“What? What is it? Did you eat some bad pickles? I never should have put those kumquats in the pickle barrel,” Pinkie looked on Gilda with concern, reaching out to help her up as the griffiness went down.

“It's not that... it's time. This thing wants out of me now!” Gilda shouted.

“But... but... you're early!” Pinkie cried, leading Gilda along to the living room.

“Why do you think that is? It's an egg, you dorkus! I get to keep it warm for a few months. But first this shelled fucker has to get out of me. And it's not going to be easy...” Gilda flopped onto the couch and spread her legs with a groan, exposing her wet and dilated sex, the inside flesh flushed.

“What are you doing? How can you possibly think about giant-penised sex right now? You're laying an egg!” Pinkie got a look of realization on her face and approached Gilda, tenderly stroking over her bang feathers. “Did you not know it would be occupied? Did no one ever tell you about the birds and the ponies? You see, when a mommy and daddy love each other very, very much, or when a mare with a giant set of stallion parts happy-punishes a slightly drunken griffiness...”

“I know how my fucking cooch works! I'm not begging for you to fuck me, you'd scramble this thing! I'm doing this because there's no way I can make it to a hospital, a clinic or a henhouse. I have to deliver it right here!” Gilda cried out, shuddering and letting out another groan as a contraction jolted through her body.

“Oh! Right, labor,” Pinkie said, leaping away and returning wearing a party hat, a pig snout and a pig tail, a bunch of balloons in one hoof. “Come on out, eggy! I've got a laying day party all worked up for you!”

“My egg doesn't want a party; it's an egg! Just keep out of the way! I'll squat this stupid thing out myself,” Gilda insisted, pushing herself up the back of the couch, planting her talons on the cushion between her wide-spread rear legs, which were tensed as she stood up on her toes. Her tail lashed about behind her in a most annoyed fashion, while her pregnancy-distended belly seemed to quiver with every contraction that moved her egg.

“You at least need some encouragement. That's what the futafather of the baby is for. That and making gender pronouns and descriptions weird,” Pinkie said, vanishing for a moment and returning in leg warmers, a miniskirt and a tank top, with pompoms attached to the ends of her hooves. “Go, Gilda, go! Go, Gilda, go! Push him out, shove him out, way out!”

“You're way out...” Gilda mumbled before a loud cry made her throw her head back. She threw her forelegs out and grabbed the back of the couch with her talons, leaving her, as she had said, squatting. It was a proper posture, according to her mother. Just squat and let gravity, nature and the screaming, agonized muscles of your vagina take care of things. Her mother had been very bitter about having nine children.

“Oooh! Oooh! I can see it! I can see it!” Pinkie cried, halting her cheerleading activities and dropping down, her face practically mashed against Gilda's crotch. Indeed, a small bit of white was just visible within the spread walls of muscle, which were twitching rather freely.

“And I can feel it! This should be you! If you're so into shoving out brats then you do it,” Gilda hissed, going through a rhythmic series of seethes and huffs. Her talons lacerated the back of the couch each time she pushed, while her whole body slumped during periods of preparing for the next push.

“Well how would that work? Sure, I still have the fun place but how would it look for me to get pregnant with this big sheath and these huge balls?! I'd end up accidentally teabagging our baby as it left the womb and that's just rude. Try to think things through,” Pinkie scolded, before she pulled a throw pillow from the other side of the couch and stuck it directly under Gilda's widening sex.

The white of the egg was showing through more clearly, its true size coming through. For a moment, Pinkie hoped she was delivering the wide end first because it wasn't a very small egg by any estimation. The wide, calcified expanse spread the passage wider and wider, pushing out to Gilda's labia and forcing them to stretch even more than they had the night the egg had been conceived, which was really saying something.

Gilda ground her beak in frustration. It was really happening. She was laying an egg. A mare-sired egg. Her life had just gone completely off the rails. She let out a shriek as the widest point of the egg passed her outer lips. That made the end of the process much faster. Her desperately-squeezing muscles shoved on the smooth, tapering upper portion of the egg, practically spitting it out onto the pillow below her.

As soon as the egg hit the pillow, Gilda hit the couch, collapsing to the side and just slightly curling up. She brought the warmth of her body against the smooth, moist shell, groaning loudly. Her ordeal was over. The thing was laid. She'd need to keep it warm, of course, take it around, keep it safe. And then, all the mom duties. What a pain.

In spite of all the negative thoughts, one talon slowly reached out to stroke along the surface of the egg. It was still warm from being in her, and she could practically feel the chick within. It would be a pain. It had already been a pain, conception, pregnancy and laying, but this was still her egg. “Awesome...” she said, with the tiniest smile pulling the corners of her beak.

Pinkie's lips pressed lightly against Gilda's forehead, and her hoof stroked softly over the griffiness' head. “Now that was a doozy. I told you I could make you smile. You should always trust your Auntie Pinkie Pie.”

“More like daddy Pinkie Pie. Believe me, you're paying support. I'm gonna own your bank account,” Gilda said, quietly, smiling much more broadly. "But yea, this egg... this egg is worth smiling about.”