Rooster in the Hen House

Awesome covert art by Bobert Ottah
He has two accounts over on FA if you’d like to see what else he does.

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This story and the artist’s account contain adult content.
18+ YEARS OLD ONLY PLEASE.

The way I see it, there’s a wealth of content to be mined from the notion of a pregnant rooster. There’s so little male-pregnancy content of this particular sort, so I set out to help fix that, at least in some small way. Maybe this will inspire others to write or draw more. As is so often the case with my stories, I had a rather simple idea in my mind, and it quickly grew more complex.

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Synopsis:

Sam was a popular guy on the farm, especially among the hens. After all, it wasn’t just any rooster that could get a job laying eggs with the ladies. And he was rather exceptional at it. Given that was his role, the other roosters didn’t seem all that threatened by his getting to spend so much time with the ladies. In fact, he was rather popular among the boys too, though only a handful actually wanted to go further than just friends.

That was fine by Sam. His heart had already been stolen by a gentle giant by the name of Levi, a bull that worked elsewhere on the farm. Levi was Sam’s secret weapon when it came to being able to produce so well when it came time to laying. But the poor bovine was just so terribly timid. Sam planned on helping him break out of that shell of his. What he had in mind would no doubt loosen him up quite a lot.

Content:

Rooster, Bull, Dog, Pregnancy, Male Pregnancy, Oviposition, Eggs, Homosexuality, Hyper, Anal, Cum Inflation, Messy, Vore (soft), Endosomatophilia, Belly Worship, Anal Vore

~ ~ ~ SAMPLE PREVIEW ~ ~ ~

“Alright everyone, bring it in.” Greg called out.

The room was full of those who were not able to move about quite as quickly as the average person. The feathered folk all shuffled about, trying to form a semi-circle around the canine in overalls. The shorter ladies were up front while the taller ones were in back. The plumage filling the crowd was a mix of whites, tans, browns, greys, and blacks, but one thing was consistent about the group. They were all very heavily pregnant. It was the norm for the hens to stay rather gravid at virtually all times. The farm had need of plenty of productive egg layers.

“Oh just let us get on with it already. We’re already half an hour late getting started. Some of the ladies are about to start dropping right where we stand!” Sally complained, though it wasn’t meant to be sincere.

A few chuckles spread through the hens as the tawny dog lifted a paw to quiet them down again.

“I won’t keep ya. I just wanted ta let everyone know that you’ve been doin’ such a good job, we’re actually ahead on our quota for the month. So after today, you can all take a breather.” Greg said.

“Right, take a breather!” called out another hen.

“I thought you knew how this worked!” clucked another lady, teasing the canine harmlessly.

“You know how it is,” Sally said, crossing her feathered arms over her impressive chest, “It ain’t exactly somethin’ we can turn off. Once we get goin’, we’re goin’. It don’t stop.”

“I know, I know. But you don’t have to push yourselves to produce nearly as hard for the next few days. In fact, you all get a weekend to yourselves!” Greg replied, lifting his arms in a triumphant pose.

That prompted a small applause, a few excited cheers, and a number of voices immediately discussing what they were going to do with the free time.

“Well, that is a nice surprise! Thank you Greggy!” Sally said, leaning in to gently press her beak against the side of the dog’s muzzle, giving him a chaste little peck of a kiss.

“Don’t thank me, you all pulled together as a team and made it happen. But if you really want one person to thank, you should be talkin’ to Sam.” the farmer said, lifting a paw to point at one bird in particular at the back of the group.

Sam stood out rather strongly from the rest. For one thing, no one else had the same brilliant brownish-red plumage. For another, Sam was taller than the average chicken, directing every head to turn to look at the back of the crowd. But the biggest reason it was easy to pick the best egg producer of the group out of the whole brood was because he was a rooster. He lifted a wing-hand and waved it dismissively, trying to put on an air of humility and modesty.

“Oh please, it’s not like I single handedly put us over the top. We’re all producing like crazy! It’s a team effort!” he said.

“Now, don’t play coy, Samuel,” Sally said, pushing her way through the crowd to approach him, “If it weren’t for you, we’d still be behind from six months back. That cute little booty of yours is a modern miracle of egg-laying wonder.”

The fluffy-white lady reached out and ran one of her own wing-hands over the rooster’s swollen stomach. His was the biggest of the group, giving him a more motherly shape than one tended to expect from a male chicken. When he first arrived at the start of the year, the other roosters were immediately jealous. They didn’t like the fact that he was permitted to spend so much time around the ladies while they had to go tend to chores around the farm. Within the first month, when his abdomen betrayed why he was in the ‘hen house’ so often, it calmed their fears. For many of the other roosters, it even gave the fiery bird a new sense of appeal.

“I lay regular eggs just like the rest of you. No golden goose here,” Sam replied, then permitted himself a little more self-congratulation, “Although, I can’t help but notice I’m the one lugging the biggest belly.”

The rooster grinned as the other ladies giggled and rolled their eyes. He had become a crowd favorite rather quickly. He could be catty, gossiping with the best of them. He could fend off the boys for them when they were too tired to put up with the regular advances–often by jokingly offering himself as a substitution. He could even keep Greg in line when he was getting a little too pushy with their production quotas. In no time at all, Sam had become the de facto ‘head of the hen house’. Though the term that got used more frequently was ‘cock of the walk’.

“Alright, alright! That’s all I had! Don’t lemme keep ya! Last round of laying for the week! I expect everyone to treat it like any other laying!” Greg shouted to the whole room, clapping his paws to urge everyone into position.

The ladies all shuffled about. Bellies gently bumped against one another as they each headed for their nests. The usual conversations passing about as they all got into position; who was seeing who, minor wagers about who would lay more, even what was cooking for dinner. Sam was right in the middle of it with them. He had an eye for some of the boys and made no attempt to hide that fact. It helped keep his own subtle advances towards the ladies from coming off quite so obnoxious.

“Let’s go, Sally! I don’t wanna step in a broken yoke ’cause you didn’t get to your nest fast enough!” Sam said, grinning broadly.

Sally yelped softly as she felt the rooster’s belly bump against her from behind, helping to nudge her further along so she could get to her bed of straw and get to work. She turned around glaring daggers at the crimson fellow, playing up her offense for humor’s sake.

“You know damn well I ain’t ever dropped a single egg in all my life! You best watch yourself or I’ll sic Frank on you!” she clucked loudly at him.

A few giggles rose up out of the nearby hens. Sam just smirked right back at the lady.

“Oh don’t you go threatening me with a good time!” he replied, “Besides, we both know you’d never let him pin me down. You’d be too jealous. Seriously, when are you gonna let me take you out for ice cream?”

Sally was defeated. She couldn’t continue to feign anger towards him, not when he was so quick witted. The laughter and coos of approval from the other ladies punctuated that he had indeed won their little war of words.

“Right after you teach the other boys how you do that little trick of yours. I think I could stand to see every single cock on the farm enjoying a belly the way you do. Might make’em a little more sensitive to how hard we work.” Sally said.

“That it sure would. I’ve been offering lessons, but no one’s taken me up on it yet. I think they’re all just a bunch’a chickens!” Sam cried as he hoisted himself up into his nest.

A peal of laughter filled the ‘hen house’, an affectionate name for what was a rather comfortably appointed workplace. It had the feel of a country barn, but with a host of furnishings that made it far more accommodating. The heating and cooling system was probably the nicest part. It helped suck away any errant, downy feathers that might escape and keep them from getting breathed in and choked on. The jocularity died down, especially as one or two of the hens yelped softly from the spontaneous commencing of their work. It was a very real danger, being too funny right before a laying. One good joke and there might be a few accidents needing mopped up.

Thankfully, everyone had gotten in place before the process started. The usual sounds began to fill the room as Greg took his leave. He had other things to tend to, and he felt awkward witnessing what was going on now. There was a certain aspect of the process that made it feel improper to sit in and watch. Sam never complained. He always joked about wanting an audience or even someone to ‘help him along’. Soft coos and cries of elation drifted through the ‘hen house’ as the ladies carefully deposited their eggs one by one. They were in no rush, interested in taking their time to enjoy their labors.

Sam meanwhile was a little more enthusiastic about his work. He leaned back against the large pillow propping him up. His legs were spread, talons planted firmly against the straw of his nest, and his length throbbing away powerfully. It mashed up against his stomach, on display for anyone with line of sight to enjoy a view. He huffed and sighed. There was a dreamy, dazed grin on his beak. His eyes glazed over. His wing-hands groped at his great, round belly. He was easily the most ‘gifted’ of all the roosters, which was another reason why they had all been so distrusting of him initially. It was also one strong reason why the ladies found him to be so alluring. 

The red rooster shuddered and let his voice rise to a noisy crow as his first egg began to slip out. The firm, shapely cheeks of his rump parted as the pucker hidden under his tail began to spread open. A smooth, brown ovoid began to slip from the warm, dark environs of his interior. With practiced effort, Sam let the egg glide smoothly out of him and land on the straw below. It was a little smaller than the size of his fist, suggesting he could probably handle something larger without much difficulty. His shaft throbbed harder and a few light spurts of clear ooze, flecked with streaks of white, erupted gently from him. The rooster sighed and reached over to collect a towel. He mopped himself dry, collected the egg he had just produced, polished it clean, then set it aside in the basket designated for his clutch.

It was only the first egg, and it looked like he was going to get close to the record again. With how impressive his waistline was, he had to have at least three dozen in him, perhaps more. It was going to be a very exciting day. At the very least, he was going to be left breathless. The question quickly became whether or not he would be able to beat the ladies to the end.