"Come on, Anon, let's go home. My paws hurt," you say.
"Just a little longer, G; we'll get ice cream on the way home," Anon says as he rifles through the records on the shelf.
You open your mouth to retort, but think better of it. A few more minutes in the store was worth the chocolaty goodness of a Sugarcube Corner sundae. You've been wanting to eat three of those a day since you started getting cravings in your first trimester. You look down at the record you picked out: Talon Ripper - Changeling Slaughterhouse. Anon insisted on playing classical music for your baby, but you weren't gonna raise no pansy. It was hardcore thrash metal from the day your belly was big enough to put headphones on. It was getting really big now; you figured you didn't have much time left until the little skutch wanted out. That was probably gonna hurt... But for some reason, you didn't fear... Oh yeah, it was because you're awesome and tough!
"Alright, ready, Gilda?" Anon says, breaking you from your reverie. His hand was covering most of the album he was holding, but you could see Timberwolfgang Amatia Marezart on the cover. You cock an eyebrow at him.
"No, really, I tried to compromise this time!" he says sheepishly, taking his hand away to reveal Marezart holding a guitar, the headstock being licked by two scantily-clad griffon lesbians. You blink in surprise. "Something we can both enjoy," he chuckles.
Anon looks at you, somewhat shocked, somewhat impressed as you scarf down a large chocolate fudge sundae outside Sugarcube Corner. You shovel the ice cream into your beak, not really giving a shit about anyone who's looking. The few ponies who do look are past judgement; one glance at your bulging belly tells them all they need to know, and they generally smile and nod knowingly to Anon.
"Maybe you want to, you know... Slow down, and savor it...?" Anon suggest sheepishly, licking his swirly cone.
You look up from your ice cream, glaring at him. Your claw darts out to his hand, snatching the cone from him, and stuffing it in your beak in one bite, crunching it messily as the crumbs drop down into your sundae. You cock an eyebrow, as if to say "What're you gonna do about it?" Anon wisely says nothing.
You finish your ice cream, huge bowl of sticky residue in front of you. You lean back, rubbing your belly. You think it might have even grown a little from how much you stuffed in there. You didn't even think that was possible. You stretch out like a cat, your footpaws resting on top of Anon's sneakers as he looks at you lovingly. You watch him out of the corner of your eye; he's probably about to spout some lovey-dovey crap like he usually does.
"Let me stop you right there, dweeb," you say as he opens his mouth to speak. He slumps a little, and you feel a little bad, but you can't take his yammering all the time. "For both our sakes I hope our kid is cool like her mom."
You and Anon get back to your apartment, which is just a temporary, since you like living in your cloud house. But since flying has become more of a strain, and you can't carry Anon up and down anymore, you had to rent a place on the ground until you had your baby. Anon grabs a snack from the fridge, and you feel bad about before. "Sorry about the ice-cream, Nonny," you say sweetly, flopping on the couch, your womb pressing into your spine, forcing you to curl into a ball around your already-round tummy.
"Hey, it's no big deal; mood swings are a thing, right?" he chuckles.
"Damn right," you say darkly.
You reach into the record bag and pull out your new thrash album, setting it on the turntable and plugging in headphones. Anon hates this stuff, and besides, the new neighbors had filed some noise complaints back when your belly was small enough you could still play guitar without it getting in the way. They'd judged you pretty hard, too, saying it 'couldn't be good for the baby' to hear their mother shredding so loud. Anon had to hold you back from pounding them.
You scratch your belly thoughtfully as you hear the opening screams, the wicked guitar chunk-chunk-chunking out of time with the beat. "Fuck yeah," you say out loud, causing Anon to look up from his cereal. You nod approvingly hearing the anti-melodic death pouring from the headphones. You crank the volume high and put the phones to your belly, letting your baby listen. Immediately she starts kicking and squirming, fitfully moving around your insides.
"Yes!" you say triumphantly, licking your beak. "Thrash, my spawn!"
Anon sits down on the couch, waking you up from your ice-cream-induced coma. The record spins on the turntable, the needle long since having finished its journey around the record. Anon looks at you lovingly, putting a hand on your belly. The baby is quiet now, probably having moshed itself to sleep.
"You're so beautiful like this," Anon says. You're not quite sure how to respond, so you just let him continue. He lowers his face to your tummy, nuzzling it against his cheek. "Hey little girl, this is daddy... I want you to grow up and be just like Mommy, 'cuz she's the coolest person I know."
"That's... Really cool of you, Anon," you say, blushing at his sweetness. "You're pretty cool, too." Anon shakes his head and kisses your tummy.
"Nowhere near as cool as you. I'm lucky you even took me on a second date, let alone liked me enough to have a kid with me," he says, taking your sore paws into his hands to rub them. You bite a talon. You hadn't been planning on the kid, but it's not like you regret it, either.
"I think you're gonna be a good father, Anon," you say honestly.
"Really?"
"Yeah. You're a total dweeb, but... You're the type of dweeb who cares a lot," you say, not sure how to phrase your feelings.
You can feel Anon's hands starting to tremble as he rubs your pads, and he looks choked up.
"You're already a good mother, Gilda," he says, his voice quavering. Oh Celestia here come the tears...
After Anon spends 20 minutes hugging you and crying, making all sorts of promises to his unborn young, you agree to listen to the new album he got you just to shut him up. You hear a familiar classical piece, not sure what the draw is, but it soon gives way to shredding and chorus-backed wailing. You could get into it, if you wanted, but it was really more for the little demon in your belly. You put the phones to your tummy, letting her take a listen. Not much response; she's probably still tired from before.
Anon fell asleep in a weird position, he was cuddling your round belly, but as he started to doze off, he slid down the curve and ended up with his face in your warm crotch. You're not sure if you should wake him, or let him sleep there and let him wake up with a face full of pussy to remind him who's boss. You'd feel sort of bad, especially after he showed how much he cares, but then again, Rainbow Dash always called your cunt the "Breakfast of Champions."
You give Anon a little kick to wake him up, since you're hungry and pretty useless as a cook. Before he came around a good dinner for you consisted of some charred meat, noodles, and whiskey. Anon stirs, opening his eyes to see your swollen pussy in his face. He smiles, and gives it a kiss.
"I'm hungry, Anon," you say, crushing his hopes. He solemnly gets up, and ignores the little push you give him with your paw pads as he walks to the kitchen.
"Anything in particular?" he asks dutifully, rifling through the fridge.
"Something salty," you say, imagining yourself chowing down on a big pretzel or something. You're having one of those craving attacks; you're pretty sure you could eat rock salt right now.
"Well, we're all out of that stuff..." Anon perks an eyebrow. "But, I know something salty you can have..." he says, grinning impishly.
"Seriously, Anon? You want sex, right now?" you admonish. "Your pregnant girlfriend is here, starving, tired, and you don't have anything she wants, so your idea is to fuck her, ignoring the fact I might go into labor...?"
An idea strikes you. Anon mutters some apology or another, but you don't hear it.
"Anon, fuck me until I go into labor!" you blurt.
"W-what?" he stammers.
"Fuck me until I give birth! I don't want to deal with this shit anymore; cravings, sore paws, big belly; fuck it all! Screw me until my water breaks!" you say, figuring you might as well go out with a bang.
"Ummm, okay?" Anon says nervously. "Do you wanna eat first, or...?"
You get fed up with him, shambling over as best as your low-hanging belly will allow. You rear up and pounce on him, holding onto his shoulders as you tear his pants off with your footpaws.
"Shut up and fuck me, dweeb!" you growl, grinding your belly on his crotch. You feel him getting hard immediately, and you smile maliciously. This little shit is gonna be out of you in not time at this rate. You lower yourself onto Anon, feeling him enter you, and savoring the hot pressure in your nethers. You were almost always wet since you started showing, and it made it really easy to just hop into sex like this.
"G-Gilda, I don't think this will work..." Anon says, feebly pawing at your belly as you slam up and down on him, your tummy bouncing.
"Shut up and pound me until I give birth!" you growl, pulling him on top of you and letting him go to town. Being on top was tiring.
"O-Okay!" she says, taking your paws in his hands like stirrups and fucking you savagely. You feel that warm pressure start to feel orgasmic, and your whole body arches in pleasure. You squeal and moan in spite of yourself, not wanting to let Anon know how good he's making you feel.
You start to feel orgasm swell within you, and you cum, squirting all over Anon's crotch as your toes curl and your belly convulses. You're unable to string together a rational thought, but even during afterglow, you're not sure what's wrong.
"Why didn't I go into labor?" you ask him.
"Gilda, maybe it's-" he starts.
"No, no, shut up; we just need to try new positions!" you say. And so you do. Anon fucks you silly a few more times, each time trying to find the position that puts the most strain on your belly, but nothing is working.
"I don't get it!" you pant, falling back onto the couch. "We fucked like, 5 times! Is my uterus made of steel or something?"
Anon flops down beside you, grinning mischievously. "Honestly, G, it's a pretty simple explanation."
"What, then?" you say, grabbing him by the throat and shaking him.
"You're only seven months pregnant!" he chuckles. You let him drop, a cold feeling washing over you.
"I have two m-more months of this...?" you ask shakily.
"I mean, I guess I can fuck you hard like this until you eventually do give birth, but--" Anon begins, but you stuff your tail fluff in his mouth.
"Fuuuuucking helllllllll," you groan, lifting yourself off the couch with some effort. Anon makes to follow you, but you push him back down.
"Oh, please, get comfortable, dweeb," you say with mock sweetness. "That's where you're going to be sleeping until we move back to the cloud. Three months from now."
