Not Your Typical PrisonerThe gavel came down with a loud thud. "The defendant, Jonathan Randoll, is sentenced to a 16 year prison sentence without chance of parole." I looked at my feet thinking of the life that would be wasted. At only 18, I wouldn't get out until I was 34 years old. It all started when I was growing up in a tough neighborhood. Desperate for protection, I joined a gang and was forced to do some initiation crimes. Over time I had been caught stealing and this was the third strike, meaning that I was not going to be spared when it came to sentencing. I knew I had to keep my poker face, though, because some of the gang members were in the courtroom and I couldn't show my fear, my frustration with where my life had gone.
Arthur growled wordlessly and Gaius subsided. Merlin lay still, wasted in the wake of his latest pain and wondered for the first time if he really had the strength to do this. He’d been undernourished for months, at first unable to hold onto anything he ate and later unable to force much of anything down his throat. He’d always been skinny but he didn’t think he’d ever been this thin before. He’d observed plump, healthy women, glowing with vitality killed off by the process of childbirth. He was about as far from healthy he could get. This was only his third contraction and he could already feel himself succumbing to exhaustion. He didn’t try to fight it; it was just so much easier to give in to the tug of sleep. Merlin was barely aware of the bed dipping beside him and a rough hand grasping his own in a gentle grip before he was lost to the darkness of sleep.
When he woke, he was back in Arthur’s bed. He opened his eyes and glanced around. He wanted his son, the urge to hold him, to see him, was overwhelming. Before he could begin to panic though, his eyes fell on the cradle beside the bed, and he leaned over the side in order to get his first glimpse. All he could see was a tuft of golden hair and a wrinkled little face. He nearly fell off the bed trying to scramble out of it.

Emerging Secret (Mpreg) Ch. 1 Alternate Ending 1                      Jim placed his hand on his belly and his back against the shower wall. He balled his one hand into a fist as he pushed himself up from the ground, his knees buckling a bit as he wobbly stood up. With another swift waft of pain overcoming him he hunched forward, facing the floor. Jim bit his lower lip and as he waddled over to a cabinet, and grabbed a few towels.
“I know and I’m sorry for that. I’d never have hurt you, Merlin. I was…well, I was in shock. And yes, I was angry. You told me you hadn’t ever planned to tell me about the baby. You weren’t ever going to tell me I had a son. I mean, I was mad about the lies and the magic but it really hurt that you were planning to never tell me that you were having my baby.”
He couldn’t remember any more words after that. Just the pain and the struggle and the warm, strong bulk at his back. It held him up, rocking with him as he fought to push his baby out. The voice was there, he could remember hearing it but there were no more words, just the soothing tone of it. Merlin fought with all he had to stay awake, to strain, to push. Finally one last push and a scream of effort and it was done. He could hear his son crying and he sagged back against the warm, firm cradle of the body behind him and knew no more.
A loud cracking sound crackled through the air when they opened the door. Jared pulled Jensen back into the house and out of the rain as the tree in their front yard nearly split in two. It hurtled towards the ground, crashing into Jared’s pickup and instantly demolishing his vehicle in a violent squeal of metal against metal and shattering glass. Jensen’s car was in the garage, which Jared’s truck was blocking.
Niso held the baby's head lightly, looking up at Francis. "Keep pushing now!" Francis nodded and bore down hard. When the pain peaked, he struggled to keep his knees from buckling as the widest point of the baby's shoulders rammed into his hole. The taste of copper was heavy on his tongue. Bearing down again, Francis gasped as the shoulders rotated with the next contraction. Feeling the baby twisting itself free, he gritted his teeth and swung his fists blindly, striking the bed several times. He continued pushing and straining. "Gyaahhh..!" Francis exhaled and suddenly the pressure disappeared, the baby having slipped into Niso's waiting hands. His world was spinning and he swayed on his hands and knees. "N-Niso?"

Danny and Brie were an odd couple. For one thing, Brie was tough and serious, yet also sweet on the inside. Danny could be easily mistaken for a lesbian. He had a bowl-shaped boyish haircut and a very feminine face. He wasn’t muscular at all and had very narrow shoulders like a girl. But Brie had the most unusual attribute, for she was a witch, and had the power to switch one’s gender or sex role. That is, she could take the genitals of a boy and a girl and switch them. In this scenario, the girl would be on top during sex.
The sunlight shone into a deep green bedroom, from the floor to the bedspread and the walls around them.  Amidst them rose a high hill, shifting around slightly. But the sheets slid down, revealing the hill to be a very pregnant womb, stretched to the limits by four babies, healthy and ready to be born any day now according to the last appointment. In fact, the doctor was impressed Clare had been able to carry them so long, considering she was at the equivalent of a little over 9 months for quadruplets and she was warned to take it easy, and not do anything especially strenuous, which she reluctantly agreed to, usually a very active person. But this morning, she was filled with more energy than usual, hefting herself out of bed with a grunt and waddling as quickly as she could to pee, the babies pressing hard on her bladder as expected, taking up so much space in her as they did. Afterwards, she checked the clock, seeing that she still had a few hours before dinner and decide
It was the stench that woke her. The smell of musk and decay taking her from pleasant dreams. She looked unhappily about. The cell she was trapped in was cold and damp and the short chains bound to her wrist bit deep, letting scars heal from past self-inflicted injuries.  She could only guess at how long she had been kept a prisoner and it wasn't wasn't by etching each hopeless day upon her cell walls. She looked over her naked body with disgust, her eyes stuck upon her now swollen belly. She was in her third trimester her captives claimed. Thus she estimated she had been here a little over nine months. She bit back tears as memories flooded with renewed vigor. Though the days had long passed when the men would enter her cell and take her, ravaging her until their seed had planted, she dreaded this time the most.
Sherlock's heart lept into his throat. This wasn't supposed to happen. John's due due was still three weeks away and he had already from day one made perfectly clear that he didn't want to be anywhere near when 'it' decided to make its appearance. "I...I'll drive you to St. Bart's..." he stammered, unsuccessfully hiding the trace of fear in his voice.

My most recent fantasy involves twilight sleep, a horrible practice from the 1950’s and 60’s where women were given a mix of drugs during labor and delivery that made them forget the whole experience. It was said to relieve pain but, in fact, the women were suffering natural labor and delivery, just too drugged out of their minds up to make any sense out of the whole thing. 
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