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I like the idea of writing a particularly difficult birth, so how about this?
2 / bed / 4 (extremely slow) / painful > Agonizing / No help / bath > bed / on side > squatting / Head first > posterior / Brutal > impossible / Second (you, female-minded)
Two for one
Word count: 1060
You woke up a few times during the night with cramping in your massive belly. Each time you tried to convince yourself it was just some Braxton hicks and went back to bed. That was until an unusually bad one had you gripping the sheets and crying out. When it was finally over, you made an attempt to sit up. It was quite the struggle with your massive belly and swollen breasts holding you down. With a bit of time you eventually managed to get yourself resting against the pillows.
Your contractions came and went through the day. Each one was getting more painful than the last and closer together. You found it harder to time when you could get up to use the bathroom or grab food. Each time you’d think you’d make it but a contraction would force you to lean against the wall in order to stay upright.
Now it was nearly dinner time. You’ve been laboring all day and are exhausted. At some point you managed to move from the bed to the bathroom. Where you’re now clinging to the tub and fully screaming through your current contraction.
The pain continued to grow and so did your voice. Finally, your screams turned to pants as the contraction started to die down. You shifted your weight between your knees and leaned over to start the bath. Your belly brushed the cold edge of the bathtub, sending a shiver through you. The water started to fill the tub as you shook off the robe you’ve been failing to keep closed.
You weren’t able to get into the tub before the pain started to creep up inside you. Your belly contorting in time with your next contraction. You were forced yet again to grab at the tub and scream through a contraction. The water lapped against your hand distracting you from the fading contraction. You quickly realized the faucet was still running and the tub was getting dangerously full.
You heaved yourself up, your legs shaking from the last of the contraction lingering.With just a bit of strain you managed to stop the water from flowing. The warm water was nice on your skin. You know the tub should be drained a bit before you get in but you were too exhausted to care. Water splashed on the floor from your massive body raising the waterline and causing it to spill.
You had just enough time to fully sit before the next contraction was starting. This time you started to feel the need to push. You leaned back and tried to just breathe. Your body had a different idea. It wasn’t long before you felt yourself push. Your body took over and wanted this baby out.
The baby filled your birth canal slowly and painfully. With each contraction you pushed with all your might. Only to move the baby barely an inch with each push. The water had long turned cold by the time the head was pressing against your lips. The next handful of contractions felt like the worst ones yet. It wasn’t the pain raging through your back and hips, it was the burning between your thighs. The head was stretching you far beyond what you would think possible.
Then with a scream, the head popped free. You reached down to check for a cord. When there wasn’t one, you began to push again. The shoulders pressed against your hole only for a moment before they too popped free. It was barely a push after that to get the rest of the baby out.
You lifted the new life from the water as it started to cry. You finally were able to relax. You held your new baby and started to drain the tub. Soon after it emptied you climbed out and wrapped yourself and the newborn in towels.
You waddled off down the hall. The pain in between your legs made your waddle even worse than when you were carrying both babies inside you. A contraction started halfway to the bedroom, signalling your next baby would be born soon. You managed to take deep breaths and walk through the pain.
It worked long enough to place your newborn in the bassinet. Then you collapsed to the floor. You arched your back and let out a deep moan as the pain took over. This baby felt bigger and you were already so tired from pushing out the first one. You didn't know how you were going to do it again.
The labor was more painful than your last, the baby weighed heavily on your abused pelvis and pressed against your tender insides. You couldn't help but writhe and scream when your body told you to push. The baby was bigger but something else felt wrong. The massive baby finally reached your abused opening. With a shaky hand you reached around your deflated stomach and felt for the head.
Instead, your blood ran cold as you felt the bottom of your baby. You almost let out a sob but was cut off by another painful contraction. You pushed hard. Then again. Then again. The baby barely moved each time. When you collapsed back after a contraction you decided it was time to move. Very shakily and gingerly you were able to pull yourself up into a squat. It was just the trick. The next contraction had you pushing hard. This time the baby stretched your lips open. You focused on keeping yourself from falling over as a distraction from the pain. The noises you made were purely animalistic at this point, grunts, moans, and screams all mixed together in an attempt to get the baby out.
The legs slipped free with the last push. Then the baby's body. The arms and head were still securely inside. You reached between your legs and tried to pull the arms free. Only to switch to plant them on the floor to help balance yourself as you push again. You didn't stop even when the contractions did. It was harder but the baby couldn't stay inside you much longer.
A blood curdling scream filled the room as you gave your last massive push your all. It worked and the baby popped free. You quickly gathered the baby and laid down on the floor as you held it close to your chest.
My first commission! 🥰 Anon requested a sequel to this birth denial story. Thank you Anon, I really enjoyed writing this! Click here for more info about my commissions!
He’s spent this pregnancy so wet that when his water breaks, it takes him a moment to notice. For weeks now, his swollen pussy has been a self-perpetuating point of hot, damp heat, and it’s only when that heat begins to creep down his inner thighs that he realizes it’s time. He’s been in labor for hours already, and these last forty minutes have seen him groaning and sweating through transition. But with his water broken, he can really kick things off.
It’s a struggle to get into his outfit, taking so long that he has to stop to brace himself against more than one contraction while trying to get everything situated. He almost wishes he was recording this part—it would have been easy, since he set up the camera when he was due a week ago—but the video will be long enough, already.
“It’s happening,” is how he ends up beginning the show, seated wide-legged at the foot of his plastic-covered bed with his body angled to keep the drooping bulge of his belly center-frame. A ring light catches the shiny-red surface, skipping across stretch marks that candy-stripe the uncomfortably large bump, making it appear impossibly taut.
His hands rise to caress the hard curve, and he whines gently. “Fuck… here comes the head—“ The whine tightens into a nearly silent groan, and he leans further back, thighs trembling as he pushes for the camera. Even in the skintight jeans straining to remain buttoned beneath his belly, no visible progress is yet made. After a full minute, he releases the push with a gasp and clings tightly to his belly.
“It’s in my cervix now.” A throaty, helpless kind of groan. “Ngh, you bred me so full, baby… it already hurts so bad.” He allows his hands to keep roaming the distention of his overdue womb, showing his stud what a good job he did.
It still makes his pussy throb to think of the man who did this to him. He truly was a stud, a powerful presence with a virile cock who met him once to bend him over and breed him. It was exactly what he was dreaming of as he browsed responses to his video. A few users stood out to him, but this man caught his eye by reposting the video over and over with increasingly lengthy manifestos under it, clearly obsessed with watching him push out a baby twice as large as average.
Exploring the man’s page further revealed a claim that he’d given his wife a fourteen-pounder that she labored with for over twenty-four hours. Though this could have easily been fabrication, it was corroborated with a video of a mountainous man supporting a hugely pregnant woman in a birthing tub, his bearlike hands squeezing her hips as she hysterically struggled to give birth, shrieking as her cunt made no progress around a massive crown. Once a Skype call confirmed the man in the video was the same one running the account, there was nothing to do but send the full, uncut version of the video that started it all.
In response, he received a clip of a powerful hand frantically jerking a thick, rock-hard cock, and the message, “Next time it’s gonna be mine.” His stud was inside him within the week.
After the positive pregnancy test, there had been a brief discussion of the stud being present for the birth, but between logistics and the fact that they both found it hotter for the breeder to give birth unassisted, it was decided that another video would do perfectly. Though, the breeder had to admit to himself, he had hoped to feel that cock fill him one more time.
“I keep thinking about your cock,” he admits to the camera between contractions. “How you got me all wet teasing me for how my pussy still looked like a birth canal… but then you were so big that you still stretched me.” He lifts a foot onto the bed, groaning as his hips open further and the head shifts. “Hoo- fuck, it’s getting low. Ohhh… oh, oh, I gotta— I’m pushing!”
His breath hisses sharply though his teeth and his belly tenses even harder as he does just that, abs struggling to maintain any grip after being stretched so thin by two huge pregnancies.
But, finally, the most beautiful moment comes. The unrelenting pressurized ache between his legs tightens into a burn, and the crotch of his jeans rounds subtly as the head drops through his cervix and fills his pussy completely. He squirms and grits his teeth, panting.
“Fuuuck, baby, it burns, it already burns.” Trembling beneath the weight of his rock-hard belly, he manages to scoot back and spread his legs even wider. “My pussy’s so full! It barely fits! Aaaauuuuugh-!” His head falls back, body lurching and belly rocking as he puts his whole spine into a push. He keeps stretching, a growing swell where his thighs meet, a sting worsening every second as the poor lips of his cunt grind between the descending head and the shrinkwrap jeans.
Then the progress stops. He keeps pushing, even between contractions, indulging in loud, effort-filled moans, but the oppressive weight of the head remains closed behind his stretched labia.
“I can’t get it out!” His head rolls back, chest heaving in overwhelm. “It won’t come out no matter how hard I push!”
Finally, he’s getting closer to the place he’s imagined being, the place he’s been dreaming of returning to for 11 months. Laboring fiercely, he struggles to lift himself up, and must sit with his legs splayed and his contracting pussy forward before he manages to stand. With the slow, rocking gait of a man with a head splitting his hips, he staggers towards the camera and turns it.
For a moment, the shot is vague and unfocused, just a brown smudge with the agonized sounds of labor in the background. Then his groaning fades, and the image rattles around before actualizing into a dresser. He practically falls into the frame, his hands slapping the surface of the dresser as his belly hangs with incredible weight beneath him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mumbles, and begins to circle his hips in wide, deliberate motions. “Mmhg… your baby’s so big… can you see? Can you see it coming out?”
Later, he’ll be pleased to find that he managed to catch his body in complete profile, including the lump jutting from the back of his jeans.
Now, he lifts a trembling hand from the dresser top and stretches to cup the tender curve of his bulging perineum. His jaw falls open as he traces two delicate fingers down the seam of his jeans, pressing it ever-so-slightly between his pussy lips.
This causes the tiniest bit of tension on his stretched t-clit, and he yelps like a puppy, feebly bucking his hips. “Augh!” He hangs his head, and the light catches tears welling between his lashes. “Ohhhh my god,” he groans, “it’s too… it’s too…!”
Suddenly his eyes fly open, and a helpless squeak ekes from his throat, only for him to spread his lips in a silent wail as he cums. The tense and pulse of his orgasm triggers something in him, and he slams his hand down and starts pushing frantically, bucking his full pussy backwards like he can just wrench it out.
“It’s too much!” he screams. “I need- I need—!”
With trembling hands, he tries to unbutton the jeans. Tight as they are, he struggles, whimpering desperately every time he must stop to push.
“Ohh, pleasepleaseple—“ The moment he drags his jeans down his thighs, the glistening, dark red dome between his legs swells even further, and finally splits open. He shrieks, cumming again at the first hint of the head peeking out, and the orgasm makes the little slip of dark hair bob, easing further out and sinking back in with each urgent clench of his shiny, cumming pussy.
He wails, agonized, even as two of his fingers fly to jam against his tightening clit.
When it finally passes, he sags for a moment, the heavy shape of his belly tightening and relaxing as he gasps for air. “Ooooh, it’s right there,” he mumbles. “Fuuuuuck. Fuck it’s so good. It’s so— mnnnn…” He winces even as a pleased shiver unfurls across his limbs.
Shakily, he shoves the jeans further down his legs, revealing that he still has one last piece of clothing: a skintight pair of transparent vinyl briefs. Every inch of his birthing hole is visible, reflected light clinging to the dips and curves of his body.
Glancing at the camera, he manages a sweaty, self-satisfied smirk. “You like this? I wanted you to see just how big your baby stretches me.”
Saying so, he turns, still bent at the waist, so that the camera gets his plastic-coated cunt in perfect detail. Then, groaning, he pushes, and the material tightens as the slit between his raw lips begins to round towards his asshole. For a moment, it’s the resistance of his own slowly-opening body that prevents the head from coming out, but as he pushes and pushes, the vinyl stretches less and less, until finally—
“Ah- ah-! It won’t move!”
Wrapped as delicately as a present, his crowning cunt trembles and his asshole throbs on the end of a desperate push. “Ohh GOD!” he wails, hanging his head. “My clit! Fuck, my clit, my clit—“
The sweet little thing barely makes a bump against the plastic, the purple head eye-catching amid all the stretched-pale flesh. Between the skull of the crowning child and the uncaring chafe of the vinyl, his t-clit is pressed thin as a flower between pages, and he starts to heave sobs of overstimulation. His toes curl, and he shakes his head, drool beginning to gather over his lip with wet mumblings.
“I can’t! Get it out! Get it out, get it OUT!!”
Instinctively, he drops into a deep squat, and screams as the tremendous weight of his pregnant mass tries to thrust the head from his pussy. Still, the vinyl cradles it, and it remains at a perfect crown between his quivering lips. He shrieks and bounces restlessly on his heels, hands fluttering down feverishly between his legs to feel the bowling-ball weight now hanging beneath him.
His begging to get it out loops into incomprehensible babble as he pushes and pushes. “It’s too big, your baby’s too big for my pussy!” he moans. “My clit’s gonna tear! I can’t anymore!”
Yet he does, never removing the briefs, because he has a plan: he’s not going to take them off. Not until he gives birth.
When his thighs begin to shake, he slumps forward and ends up on his side, clutching his belly in one hand and the back of his knee in the other, prying himself wide. He lays on his side, heaving like livestock, and groans helplessly as he pushes without end. Birthing fluid gathers in the vinyl briefs and drips down his legs, the drops released with each push accumulating over the seemingly unending effort.
Eventually, when he can’t force the head out that way, he clambers onto his hands and knees and crawls, his entire body shaking, back to the bed. He reaches into a box sitting on the floor and produces a powerful massage wand. Then, sinking down on one elbow, he presents his crowning cunt to the camera and pushes the powerfully vibrating wand between his upper thighs, wedging it to the splayed-wide nub that used to be his t-clit.
At first he screams, but his voice gives quickly, and he lays there with his cheek pressed to the floor and his ass up, contracting and cumming in helpless perpetuity. Occasionally, soft whimpers of, “Need it out, lemme push it out, lemme birth it…” are caught by the microphone.
Three and a half hours after he first crowns, he finally finds the strength to make that final push. With an ugly, heaving grunt, the vinyl fills with the huge head of his baby. He takes his time peeling off the briefs, and lifts himself upright, shuffling his knees under himself and facing the camera again. Kneeling there, he holds the wand directly on his aching purple clit, and births the massive shoulders with a single push and the whimper of a ruined orgasm.
This is the first video file his stud receives, labeled 13lbs.mov.
But there is also a second.
This one began recording at 2 AM, in the moody light of a bedside table lamp. In it, sweat renders the breeder’s heaving body in a thin glitter, and his belly still looks huge in the half-dark, especially as it draws tight with a contraction.
“The- the afterbirth was taking forever,” he says in a scratchy voice, absent of the sultry pageantry of the first video. “Now- ooooh, hah, fuck.” He pants, instinctively lifting a foot onto the bed to open his hips. “Hah, hah, I need to push, I gotta push agai—!” His face scrunches up, and slowly reddens as he struggles with all his might.
After, it takes him several gasping moments to speak again. His chest jumps with shallow breaths, words thin.
“There’s another head. A second head. Fuck, holy fuck.” He laughs almost deliriously. The lamplight catches his raw pussy squeezing gently in anticipation. “I’m having another one. A twin. Fuck, you put twins in me!” He reaches down and gives an indulgent rub to his incredibly swollen clit before shoving his fingers up his cunt.
Then he jolts, and his eyes fly wide. “Oh, god, I feel it! The head! It’s right there, it’s coming so fast, what the— ohhhhh—”
His belly locks into a tight, twisted shape, and he releases only a faint wheeze, like the wind has been knocked out of him, as he pushes with it. The plastic covering the bed crinkles in his fists.
Unlike its slow, impeded stretch before, his heavily-used pussy unfurls suddenly around the budding head. He yelps in shock. Then both of his hands fly to it, and he moans as the rest of his push is absorbed into the counter-force of his palms and the head moves no further.
“Stop!” he screams. “It’s too big! I can’t, I can’t, I…”
Delicately, a tendon leaping in his neck as he pants for breath, he starts to push the crown back inside. “Fuck!” His head drops backwards, and he shakes it at the ceiling as if defying himself. “Fuck, fuck, it’s going back in! It doesn’t fit, it’s too much, fuck! My- ah! My fucking cervix, fuck, hnnnn-“
Voice breaking, he whimpers desperately even as he slowly closes his legs around his wrist, hand still covering his puffy pussy. “M’so full. Fuuuuck. Fuck, I can’t believe I get to do this again, pussy’s made for struggling on big babies, fuuuuck…”
His wrist writhes into the meeting of his thighs, hips rolling forward as he humps the heel of his hand. “Ohhh I feel so heavy. So fucking.” Then a wince, teeth clenching, as his belly contracts. “M’not ready,” he mumbles, then groans loud enough to wake the dead as he pushes uselessly. His elbow jerks as he works his hand against his clit, and suddenly his hips leap from the bed and his eyes flutter as he cums, birthing fluid spraying between his fingers.
“Shit!” His next gasp rattles, voice fraying again with his volume. “Need this, need this, need this so bad, need your huge fuckin’ twins stuck in my cunt every night—!”
He whips his hand away and opens his legs, and makes a frail bleating sound with the rhythm of his stretching pussy as the head lurches out in steady spasms. He lets it keep coming until it triggers a scream just before crowning, then shoves it up his greedy cunt again. His spine arches off the bed, a wounded, dying groan filling the room.
“Fuuuuuuuck, baby, it hurts, it hurts, it’s too much, it’s too much, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I—“
With only needy instinct guiding him, he denies himself the birth of the twin for hours, lost in a heady haze of pressure and pain and pleasure. His body fights to push it out, writhing on the sheets, and he forces it back inside, his orgasmic groans indistinguishable from his moans of absolute agony.
Near dawn, he scrambles upright, legs wavering dangerously beneath him, and shudders with the force required to shove the head back in as gravity enters the picture.
“Need to- need it out,” he pants, eyes shiny and pleading. “Can’t do it anymore, my pussy, my poor fucking pussy hurts so bad, I need to birth it, I need to birth it, please let me—!”
His knees give, and when his hands lurch to his thighs to steady himself, the baby finally crowns. He shrieks, then starts to shake his head, wailing, “Too big! It’s too big!” His already-splayed knees wobble further apart, feet shifting on the floor, and his body squats almost without his permission, bulging the head forward.
With ragged, helpless breaths and a heaving belly, he reaches clumsily for the camera. Shadows fly around the room and his hands clack noisily on the plastic, then finally he’s filming his pussy straight-on.
“L-look at that head…”
It’s so big that it looks unreal, his trembling thighs flush against the ears and his lips so stretched they’ll clearly never be the same. It’s hard to even imagine how his pelvis got so wide. He gasps a sob distantly. “So big…!”
Slowly, slowly, it begins to come out. He makes a breathless grunting sound, then squeaks in pain as the fat cheeks begin to stretch his hole even further, and cups it again with his hand. By his full-body tremble, it’s clear there’s no pushing it back in now, but he holds it all the same, desperate to deny it just a little longer.
“Fuck, fuck… ahhhh- hah… hmmmmng, too full, too big, it burns, it burns so bad, I can’t…”
But he does. A contraction begins to ease the head forward again, and he yelps as it bursts out of him. To the camera, it looks nearly the size of a grown man’s head, though the warped perspective is mostly to blame.
A thin whimper, and he clenches his jaw into another push. After everything, it still takes all he has left to grunt the shoulders free of his pussy, flicking his clit all the while.
This second video file, he names 18lbs.mov.
With the two files, he includes the message: Meet in 4 weeks? I already miss being full ❤️
intimate and unassisted homebirth where the birthing person simply cannot get enough of their partner
they're overcome with sheer need, just desperate to be close as they labor, grinding down on their partner's lap and their fingers and their mouth until they physically can't anymore, whining about how full they are and how badly they need to push and that the baby is coming, its coming right now
they end up sitting right on their partner's lap, grabbing behind their knees to pull their legs up and open, bracing their feet on their partner's legs
"gonna start pushing," they groan as they curl around their heaving belly and force their hips up, giving their partner a clearer view of their bulging cunt as the crown of the head pushes outward and causes a prominent protrusion between their thighs, trembling with effort as they shriek that the head is going to come– that it hurts, that there's pressureee, that they can't. stop. pushing.
their partner begins to finger them, circling their throbbing clit and cooing softly into their ear as they talk them through it:
"good, baby. gooooood. push for me, that's it! you're really starting to open up down here. your pussy is so wet, baby, my god. this is really turning you on, huh? you're absolutely dripping. fucking soaked. fuck, such a good little breeding slut for me, aren't you? you're just so– oh, you're pushing again, hm? look at you go, pushing so fucking well for me– now push down hard. harder than that, baby, come on– you know you've got a big one in there. you know I wasn't going to leave you wanting, so you've got to really shove to get this baby out. the head is massive, but I don't need to tell you that. mmm, there you go, baby, there you go. that's right– cum on my fingers while you push them out. god, that's so good. bring your hand down, baby. feel how stretched you are. oh, its burning, hm? it seems like it. your lips are spread so wide. go on, baby, keep pushing– harder, harder. there you go, that's it, the head's out! you're so fucking sexy, baby. cannot wait to breed you again, but right now I need one last push. just oneee more."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I wrote a little story about a prince whose job is to make babies for other kingdoms but has an affair with a commoner on the side 💕
(I’m very new to posting in these sort of circles, please don’t eat me)
A bit of context: I’m not really a writer, and this is literally the first bit of erotica (is it called that?) I’ve ever written. That is to say, I don’t know if anyone who isn’t into the same brand of stuff I do could enjoy it, but if you do, great!
This was supposed to be just a short summary to share and let others make whatever fun with it they like, expand on it or throw most of it away and make something new (you can still 100% do that) but I got... carried away. ✌️
Kingmaker
(Generic medievalish setting)
A transgender prince of a highly prestigious royal line is in an unusual position because the laws and customs of the land dictate he can become neither a king or a queen.
However, while forming a political alliance by marrying him off to another court (as was expected before he came out) isn’t possible, a loophole of some sort allows a different kind of arrangement. Children he bears can still be considered legitimate, so instead of a marriage, he’ll be arranged to give birth to the heirs of other monarchs. And because of the extremely high status of his family there’s a lot of interest.
His first pregnancy is of very high importance and consequence, because the heir is crucial to keep a neighboring kingdom from ending up in a crisis, and maybe war, of succession.
In the beginning of his career of making monarchs, the prince isn’t thrilled, rather kind of a annoyed at the trouble he’ll have to go through in pregnancy. The prince turns out to be very fertile and is pregnant almost immediately to his delight, because he found the father of the heir to be tiring company and unimpressive in the bedroom.
As the pregnancy progresses, the prince’s libido reaches new highs and he’s desperate for satisfaction, something the baby’s father has proven to be unable to give. His thoughts are constantly drawn to one of the stablehands, a gentle but strong young man around his age. They had very subtly flirted before the arranged pregnancy, the stablehand clearly flustered but entirely enamored. Nothing had come of it because of the astronomical difference in status made it unthinkably improper. That is, until the prince gets so desperately horny he doesn’t care anymore. After trying to contain his urges for weeks, the prince gives in and sneaks off to the stablehand’s place at night.
The stablehand is startled but immediately eager to fulfil the prince’s needs and fucks him with a passion the baby’s father never showed. He admits watching the prince’s belly slowly swell with life has been driving him mad with lust and jealousy, and that he often fantasizes about the baby being his, of being the first to get to put a baby inside the prince. Nevertheless he worships the prince’s gravid form, hoping there will come a day when it’ll to the his baby filling the prince’s womb.
After the taboo of mixing wildly different social statuses is broken they can no longer resist the urge to meet as often as they can. The prince’s belly growing heavier and heavier does nothing to temper his sexual appetite, quite the opposite, and often he begs the stablehand to fill him with his cock multiple times a day, which his lover always gladly does.
The two try to be inconspicuous with their trysts, but their affair slowly becomes an open secret among much of the court’s staff. Each enjoys the knowing glances in their own way, the improperness of the relationship was exciting. Something the prince often thinks about while his lover pounds into him and uselessly pumps him full of cum, is how disgraceful it is that he, a member of one of the most esteemed royal houses in the continent, carrying inside him the heir of another prestigious family set to prevent a war, is letting, begging a mere commoner fuck him. And he loves it and revels in it.
Months pass and the prince’s gravid belly grows larger and larger and the stablehand spills untold amounts of his seed into him. Towards the end of the pregnancy the prince has forgotten about his earlier reluctance and has come to enjoy carrying new life inside of him. He loves the weight of his belly, the baby’s kicks and rolls, his lover’s obsession with his body, and the abundant attention he and his bump gets in the court. So, he doesn’t mind much that the baby is taking longer than the court physicians estimated. By the time he goes into labor his belly is so large the physicians are nearly certain they should be prepared to deliver twins.
The first twinge of labor pains hit the prince in the middle of an intimate rendezvous with his lover. The sight of him grasping at his tightening belly with a low groan instantly makes the stablehand lose his focus as he stops mid thrust and cums inside of him. Once the pain passes and the stablehand collects himself he finishes the prince by simultaneously rubbing his clit and restless belly. Afterwards he supports the prince through more contractions for as long as he can in early labor before he has to sneak out of the royal bedchamber, soothing his laboring lover as the realization the birth is imminent is setting in.
Labor progresses intensely yet swiftly, but the momentum is lost when the prince reaches the pushing stage. He isn’t a very tall man while the baby’s father is, and the baby must have put on an extra pound or two during the weeks it was overdue. It’s clear he has his work cut out birthing this child. It takes grueling hours of pushing in the dim room surrounded by people: midwives and physicians tending to the prince and court witnesses from the kingdom the baby will be an heir to. The prince does his best to stay stoic and controlled throughout, only cracking and crying out with the hardest push that frees the baby’s head and again later as the child finally bursts out of his birth canal with a gush of fluid. The new heir is a large, healthy boy and the neighboring kingdom's officials couldn't be happier. The next royal house looking for an heir is already lined up.
Despite the arduous birth and huge baby the prince recovers rather quickly. The exhaustion, crash of the hormones boosting his sex drive, and the worry of getting knocked up are just enough to keep him and the stablehand from giving in to their carnal desires before the next king in line has planted his seed inside the prince. Within a few months of giving birth the familiar sensation of morning sickness returns, soon followed by the first flutters of the next royal baby. And of course, the insatiable lust.
The cycle repeats twice more: the prince carries out his royal duties by gestating the babies of foreign kings while secretly fucking the stablehand any time it’s safe to do so. He swells beautifully, neither time quite as big as his first pregnancy, although he still shows a tendency to go overdue. The babies he bears are remarkably healthy and strong like his first one and prove to be very valuable in political terms. All throughout the stablehand adores his fertile lover more than anything, but still feels the same jealousy of watching his dear be filled transactionally by people who don’t feel anything for the prince, leave and return only to fetch their baby once it’s out. He would do better. He would make the prince swell with his love. He would be there for him. And he would love the child. But that kind of thinking is just fantasy.
After the prince’s third birth he and the stablehand slip up. They get impatient and figure he can’t conceive within just a month of giving birth and, for the first time, have sex without the prince being pregnant. They’re proven wrong when the usual nausea creeps up on the prince right as he’s meeting the next monarch supposed impregnate him. Some excuse about him not having recovered enough is given to the monarch with a reassurance that he’ll have his baby as soon as the prince is well again, which could “take a while.”
The prince’s father scrambles to keep the situation from turning into a scandal. He’s furious but also knows from previous conflicts there’s no changing his son’s stubborn nature. Once the prince has made up his mind, trying to change it will only make things worse, so the king’s best option is to try to work with his son. The stablehand won’t be punished and they still get to meet, still in secret but now with select court staff helping them stay inconspicuous. In return the prince agrees to stay out of the public until he’s given birth to this unplanned child, promises to never take risks like that again and to return to his duty of bearing children to the right people once this mess is sorted.
For the next several months the prince is confined to more private areas of the castle. In the beginning it feels cramped and restrictive, but as his womb quickly grows heavier he becomes less interested in waddling around long distances. With the king’s reluctant blessing of the affair the nature of their relationship shifts too: the sense of risk and impropriety is slightly diminished and gives way to more gentle and protective urges. The couple are able to spend more time together than ever before and take full advantage of it. The sex is the most passionate and abundant and their conversations the deepest, most vulnerable and trusting they’ve had.
For the first time both also properly bond with the baby the prince is carrying, knowing that this one won’t be taken to another kingdom mere weeks after birth like the others. The stablehand especially is beaming with pride for his child. Every day he caresses the prince’s expanding middle admiring his handiwork, satisfied that his dream of filling up his lover’s womb is finally real. When the physicians note that the prince’s belly is growing at a much faster rate than in his earlier pregnancies, suggesting multiples, the stablehand nearly passes out from joy.
So the prince’s belly grows and grows. Soon there’s no doubt he’s been impregnated with multiple babies as he quickly exceeds the size he was right before giving birth to his first and largest child. The babies rarely cease their kicks and rolls to give him a moment of peace and their weight strains his back nothing else before, but he doesn’t mind. He feels like he’s indeed heavy and bursting with the stablehand’s love.
When the prince’s labor starts he’s once again overdue by the physicians’ estimates. This being the fourth time he’s in labor he’s well experienced in how to manage it. He knows how to sway and rock his hips to ease the pain and help the baby’s descend, how to breathe through the contractions, and which laboring positions come to him most naturally. Still, this time feels distinctly different, but not just because he’s having multiples. He’s about to give birth to his babies. Not some stranger’s he’ll likely never see again.
A new nervous excitement fills him, each excruciating tightening of his womb bringing him a step closer to meeting his children. It’s a feeling he gets to share with his lover, who’s now able to stay with and support him longer into labor. Only once the prince is overcome by the urge to start pushing the midwives herd the stablehand and everyone else not helping with the delivery out of the bedchamber. The only things barely audible through the heavy door are the court physicians’ and midwives’ calm instructions and the prince’s strained groans with each push.
His body knows what to do by now without much input from him. All he has to do is give in to his instincts and bear down when it feels right. With each push the first of the prince’s babies inches lower inside him until he can reach down and feel the head parting his bulging lips. His breath trembles with excitement and a new surge of energy washes over him. He pushes with renewed vigor, impatient to get this baby out of him. At the top of the next contraction he bears down with a long guttural moan and the head pops free, quickly followed by the shoulders and the rest of the child. The prince cradles the crying newborn boy placed on his chest, his eyes welling up with tears of joy for the first time when giving birth. He admires his new son until his belly tightens again with a contraction, squeezing the next baby down towards the birth canal.
The second baby descends at a much faster pace than its brother and within just a few contractions the prince pushes it out in one swift motion. It’s another boy, but he only gets to coo at him for a few minutes before more movement in his womb tells him yet another baby is coming very soon. It’s already almost in his birth canal but he hopes it’ll wait just a moment longer while he catches his breath. As he’s trying to adjust his position more upright a strong contraction catches him off guard and he bears down instinctively and the third baby bursts out of him with a single mighty push. It’s a little girl and the last one of the babies. After the placentas come out they find that the boys are identical twins with each other in addition to being triplets with their sister.
Once the prince has rested for a moment the stablehand is brought in to meet his children. The new parents are over the moon, although they know a normal family life isn’t possible in their situation. The prince cares for the babies for several weeks while recovering, until his belly has returned close enough to its former size in order not to arouse too much suspicion. After that he returns to the public as he agreed with his father. The official story is that the triplets are not the prince’s, but some distant royal relative’s who asked the king to take her children shortly before passing in childbirth. They’re left at the care of wet nurses, but both their real parents use every opportunity they can afford to spend time with them.
The arrangement proves to work well enough for everyone: the parents see their children, no serious suspicions arise and the prince returns to his duty of bearing children for other royals. His womb is filled again and again, and he keeps his side of the agreement... for the most part. Every now and then the plans for an arranged pregnancy have to be postponed because the prince “needs extensive rest” after which a new baby or two from another unknown royal relative happens to show up in the wet nurse’s care.
I take a deep breath as a contraction rolls through my body. Creeping upwards from my dilating cervix to the top of my belly is a pain that feels like it radiates through my whole body. I focus everything on breathing through it as you gently massage my sides, slowly rubbing your hands over my side, my belly and my back. You can feel the pressure hardening my overfull womb, every muscle contracting over my distended belly. I sway my hips, feeling the worst parts of the pressure alleviate as I move. "Fuck," I mouth.
You trace your hands over the front of my belly, so big you can hardly wrap your arms around the widest part. The fine, dark hair trailing a path from my pubes to my chest is stretched thin over the bump.
Inside, the baby fidgets, cramped, impatient and overdue. It kicks, not a gentle fluttering, but a frustrated squirming, beating the top of my uterus with its heels. "I know, baby. I know." I sigh, meeting the kicks with firm pressure from my fingers, hoping it can feel me. "It's squeezing me too."
I lean into your warmth, smiling, and inspect my beautiful voluptuous belly with pride, feeling as one with the flourishing life growing inside my womb. Despite the ache I'm filled with so much bliss and love and life, embracing the feeling of fullness for the last time as our baby is about to be born.
-
I breathe through contraction after contraction, persevering through the labour. Slowly the intensity increases, the pain increases, and I become more and more frantic and feral as instinct consumes sense.
The pain is constant now. There's no rest or relief from the end of a contraction, just a cycle of agony. Hot, productive agony, or slow, exhaustive agony. I kneel on the ground, rocking back and forth.
"It hurts.. it hurts.. it's tearing me open.." i sob. I reach between my legs and slip my fingers inside, hoping to feel a head there, but it feels so far up still as I feel through the folds of my pussy.
I try to re-center and breathe, breathe through the contraction, but the focus fades and is replaced with desperation. "I want to push.. I have.. I have to puushh!"
I lean into the pressure as I make my maiden effort. I groan through it. I push again, and push, every effort offering the tiniest morsel of relief.
I catch my breath, and push again. I gasp, and push. and push..
I feel progress - I feel the head descend with every push, and with every inch closer to my pelvis I feel it intensify. The pain radiates from my back through my hips, wreathing my pelvis in an aching pressure almost like a growing orgasm.
"Aaaaaaaaarghhhh!" I roar in frustration as I push. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! AAAAH!"
The head fills the bowl of my pelvis, crushing my birth canal as it stretches around the width. Suddenly, the waters gush free from my womb, and I'm overwhelmed by animal instinct.
There is no reaching me now, all I can do is scream as I fall back, gripping my taut belly and bearing down. Fluid and viscera drip down through the lips. "My pussy!" I cry. "It's.. It's in my pussy!"
My labia begin to part in a teardrop around the head. As I stop and catch my breath it retreats again. Only time to catch my breath before I arch my back and heave, sprawling my legs open and screaming through the struggle.
For such a potent display of effort I make remarkably slow progress, but progress still. It begins to appear again, my woolly pussy bulging around the mass.
I toil and push, legs spread and pussy bared to the sky, as if pushing into the widest, most open space I can would somehow be easier to push out into.
The excruciating contraction rips through and crushes my belly like hands trying to pop a balloon by squeezing it. I thrash against the pain, bucking my hips rhythmically with each push as bit by bit the bulge splits open around the slick dark hairy mass. "FUUUUUCK!" My only hope at breathing is to scream. "AIIIIIIIYYYAAAAAAAAAAAUUGH!"
Sweat rolls down my skin, stinging my eyes and wetting down my hairy skin to a greasy sheen.
My face flushed red and belly gnarled and rolling, the scathing pressure continues to propel the baby downwards through my hips, the head slowly stretching me open, from a broad almond-shaped slit, ploddingly opening into a wide, round split.
The baby buffets my inside with amazing strength to its kicks, a strangely comforting motion of solidarity. The urge to push ceases momentarily as one contraction ends, and I lay sprawled, panting heavily.
I feel with my fingers over the unfolding arrival between my legs, and ever so briefly, smile and choke out a laugh between loud breaths. "There's our big baby.. being born..!"
Freed momentarily from the imprisoning intensity, I revel in the feeling of the baby filling my birth canal, my pelvis skewered around my child, grinding every pressure point within me. The slow grisly stretch of my pussy fills me with another kind of intensity, a kind of genuine, irreplaceable sensual ecstasy tingling through my abdomen.
The moment doesn't last long as I feel the next contraction, trying to steel myself but it hits as a tidal wave bludgeoning my senses.
"Aaaaurggh! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" I moan. It doesn't get better, only stronger and stronger. My body tenses and trembles, my face scrunching as my body pushes. Whether I want to or not, I'm pushing. The head gradually quakes outward through my aching cunt.
I open wider and wider around the head with every push, bucking my hips and baying like a hound. I make short reckless pushes, no room left in my delirium for careful technique. All I have is the overwhelming urgency to do whatever it takes to birth this baby. As the head ploughs further through my strained opening it becomes abundantly obvious that this baby is absolutely huge.
Every time it seems the head is crowning it opens me even more miraculously, until the unfurling lips of my vagina are deformed over capacity, almost pressing against the inside of my outstretched thighs. I'm left screaming in violent rapture.
Finally the head begins to crown in earnest. "The baby! Is coo-minggg- ouuuuuuut!"
I throw my head back, glassy-eyed, and heave through the contraction. The wide head eases out, face upwards combing my engorged and tortured clitoris. I buck my hips once and the head is born with a gush of fluid, a head so wide and oblong its fat bruisy cheeks appear almost wider than the span between my legs.
The contraction ends just then and feel a brief respite again, and try to regain my strength. As my breath heaves the baby squirms within, fortunately helping turn itself to wards my left thigh in the process.
There's a short peaceful moment of near-stillness, pierced only by the beating of my heart ringing through my head, the rise and fall of my chest.
The urge returns slowly at first, and I brace and push. My pussy bulges out again, the head hanging free, but returns to position as the push ends. I push again, persevering. It's agonizingly slow, and I fear the shoulder may be stuck, but I have no choice but to keep pushing until it comes out. For several excruciating minutes and two contractions i push frantically through the seething hot pain. My strength fades but my determination and adrenaline carries me through.
I steel myself for a final effort to birth the baby. I take a deep breath, hands on my still-pregnant belly, and curl inwards as I begin to push once more.
I bellow out long and loud, an ear-splitting expression of every ounce of pressure through my body. My mind, my body, my world, everything to me becomes that one push. push. Push. Push. Push. PUSH. PUSH. PUSH. PUSH! PUSH!!
It works; bit by bit the pressure works downwards, my whole groin bulging out with the pressure and suddenly the wide top shoulder shears forth beneath my clit, followed by the other shoulder, unfurling with it an awkwardly- folded arm which reaches out from my opening reflexively.
"AAAAAAGH- COME OUT!"
I give birth to the baby at last as it erupts free past the hips. I grip at my belly, feeling the contents of my womb spilling out onto the floor with an immensely pressurized gush of fluid.
I moan with the rush of relief and fall back, recuperating momentarily after the ordeal. From between my legs I hear a quiet gurgling and a gasp, and dart upwards to check on the baby.
At first I just stare - there's a baby. I just pushed it out of me. That's my baby!
I marvel at the sight - it's a girl! She's huge, probably 12lbs! I can't believe I was able to birth her at all with my small frame. As she begins to cry I ever so gently pick her up and take her to my breast.
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At first, surrogate bodies were used solely for scientific purposes. To test what extreme environmental conditions or experimental medications would do to a human without risking any real person’s health.
Soon after, though, the technology was adopted by the rich and famous for less noble reasons - usually just because they wanted the freedom and anonymity of a disposable body to walk around in, to have sex and do drugs and jump off cliffs in with absolutely no consequences.
Michael had purchased his for a very different reason - he wanted a child.
He was a bit of a recluse, and the idea of involving other people - adoption agencies, courts, even doctors - was far less appealing than simply living in a surrogate woman’s body for a few months and carrying and birthing the child himself.
It was odd at first, navigating a new and constantly changing body, but he actually enjoyed the wonder and empowerment that came from creating life. The soft curves that had been manufactured solely for the purposes of carrying a child made for an easy pregnancy and he started to wonder why women always seemed to make such a fuss about the whole process.
Having breezed through the last nine months, Michael was confident in his ability to have an unassisted home birth. He had researched meticulously and, after easily distracting himself with his favorite books for the first few hours of sporadic contractions, assumed this would be just as effortless as the rest of the pregnancy.
But then the pain in his back went from an uncomfortable ache to something sharp that spread and wrapped around his whole midsection and left him panting.
Michael frowned down at his stomach as if it had betrayed him. “I wonder if that means I’m almost ready to push.”
He didn’t feel the urge yet, but surely the pain couldn’t get much worse.
When he reached around his stomach to probe his now familiar body’s folds, he was surprised to discover how tight and closed he still was, how high up the baby’s head seemed to be.
“Maybe not,” he said, suddenly unsure of himself. “Maybe the tub; that’s supposed to help.”
The tub in his large house was more like a small swimming pool and took the span of many contractions to fill, during which time his water broke and the pressure in his hips skyrocketed.
“Mmm,” Michael hummed in pleasure as he waded into the warm water and relieved some the heaviness in his body.
The relief was short-lived, unable to do anything for the weight forcing its way further down into his pelvis, and soon his breaths turned into moans and then almost meditative vocalizations.
As the contractions got closer the water grew colder and Michael didn’t have enough presence of mind to maintain it.
His back immediately protested the full force of gravity, and he instinctually got down on his hands and knees. The position felt good enough for him to ride out the next few waves until something changed.
A tidal wave of pain and pressure washed over him quickly and relentlessly, crashing over him again and again with almost no time in between, no time to recover, no time to think or breathe. It made him nauseous and if his brain wasn’t in a fog of agony he would have recognized that he was in transition.
His baby was coming.
The pain no longer seemed contfined to his core - his legs cramped and his arms shook and his whole body was aflame - and by the time his contractions changed again he was surprised that, more than anything, he felt like he had to take a massive shit.
He scrambled up onto the toilet and pushed, hoping to take care of the matter before the baby came, but it was hard to concentrate on anything other than the bowling ball ramming its way through his hips.
“Come on, come on!” he strained, rocking back and curling forward in an attempt to release his bowels.
Progress slow and steady, accumulated little by little in halting grunts until he finally, finally felt something near his opening. It began to burn and he heard a couple satisfying plunks fall into the water.
He’d expected to feel some relief then, but the results of his efforts were unimpressive.
A thought occurred to him - an obvious one, in retrospect - and he reached between his legs, gasping at the bulging mound in his palm.
As a man, he’d anticipated a set of completely foreign sensations when giving birth, and because the urge to push had felt so familiar he’d misinterpreted its meaning.
Now that he knew what was really happening, Michael waddled out to the bedroom and settled himself into the birthing station he’d set up for himself - an adjustable bed, inclined so that he could comfortably sit up and fitted with a set of stirrups to hold his legs open, as well as a full size mirror so that he could monitor his own progress.
He barely had enough time to maneuver himself into the damn thing before another contraction forced him to bear down. It felt strange using those muscles outside of the bathroom, but he was fascinated with the way the skin between his flared legs bowed out and relaxed in time with his efforts.
His hips were designed for this and it wasn’t long before a teardrop opened up at the center of his slit. The head stayed there between pushes, sitting low and heavy and full just behind his tightly stretched pussy lips, and every push was a fight to reveal a tiny bit more of the head.
Between contractions, Michael reached down to trace his fingers around the circle of his modest crown, nudging experimentally at the taut skin and wincing at the sting. There was still so much more that needed to come out. He would have worried about tearing - he was well overdue, after all, and the baby was very large - but this was not his permanent body and he could leave it as soon as he finished giving birth.
Which would first require getting the head out.
Michael twisted his hips as he pushed, hoping to dislodge whatever was keeping his child’s head trapped inside him. His vagina continued to balloon outward, putting more pressure against his opening and widening it another fraction of an inch.
He paused to catch a few panting breaths before surging forward once again, grabbing the backs of his thighs and pulling against them for added leverage. His face reddened and his body shook as he poured everything he had into that push.
“GyaaaAAHHH!” he cried out as his flesh finally gave way and molded itself over the baby’s forehead, then its eyes, nose, and chin.
Michael collapsed back against the bed and gasped for air as he stared in disbelief at the huge head sticking out of him - his child’s head. He wanted to cry, but his body reminded him that he was not done yet.
He felt more than saw as the baby turned inside him so that the shoulders rammed insistently against his abused hole. But nothing happened when he pushed with the next contraction and he worried that he no longer had the strength to continue working against gravity.
Carefully, he extricated himself from the stirrups and shimmied up the back of the bed so that he was in a modified squat. This position put even more strain on his taxed vagina and he whimpered with each strained breath that pulled down on his heavy child.
“Come on, baby,” he pleaded at the start of a new contraction, “we can do this, you and me. Ffffuuuhhmmmm-“ he groaned, gripping the headboard behind his head and tucking his chin to his chest and bearing down, hard.
He put one knee down on the bed and opened the other leg wider as he curled forward. The added force got one shoulder free, followed quickly by the other. After a quick breath, he forced his aching muscles into one last push and reached between his legs as the rest of the body shot out of him in an impressive spray of fluids.
Hormones flooded his female body as he cradled the baby boy against his chest, feeling more than he thought a person capable of feeling.
He felt strong. Powerful. Like he could do anything, like no one could stop him.
It was a feeling he never wanted to let go of.
“I hope you like being part of a big family,” he cooed to his firstborn son.
This is a reworking of a roleplay I had recently with @allkindsofpreg
Hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed working on it :)
---
Our midwife was surprisingly agreeable. Which was a shock… first time, clueless parents being left to their own devices to bring forth a baby wasn’t exactly many couples idea of a good time, but for us, we were prepared and ready. We much preferred our own company as much as anyone else’s, and let’s be honest, we find we can be ourselves more when we don’t have a room of people watching us. So we booked the retreat our midwife recommended to us. 2 houses in an area of nothingness, one for us, one for her. We paid through the nose to book them for 2 weeks but we had to be sure so we booked 1 week either side of your due date. We’d spent a week here getting set up when early morning came on your due date accompanied by some mild, but noticeable cramping. A text to the midwife, and a reply saying she was on her way - but if we didn’t need her just let her know when the baby was born and she’d come and do the medical checks.
You swallowed a big gulp of fresh woodland air as you stood on the patio area, the weather thankfully warm enough to not need to wrap up. You were barefoot and wearing a light top and shorts set that you had been sleeping in - by rights should still be sleeping in - but the cramps were getting you excited - you’d waited 9 months for this moment.
You gathered up the hem of your top to rest on top of the impressive expanse of your stomach. The muscles there tightened again and, closing your eyes, leaning against the doorframe. The gentle breeze felt cool against your flushed skin. You pressed a hand to the spot you could feel our little one kicking out against.
“I know, it’s not comfortable for you either, is it?” Another kick in response confirmed it and you smiled. “Well it won’t be long now.” Hopefully, anyway.
You wandered back in the house to scour the kitchen for some light breakfast— you were going to need the energy later. You were just about to pour a glass of orange juice when you felt my arms slide around your pregnancy-expanded waist, my body moulding around your back. You leaned back into me and rested your head against my shoulder. “You should go back to bed,” you mumbled, but I made no move to let you go. “Might be a while before we get another chance.”
“I heard you correctly earlier, and I’ll be damned if you think I’m missing any of this” I say, kissing the back of your neck and sending a shiver down your spine. I release off you and fill the coffee machine and set it to brew “though I suspect I might need this” I say with a grin.
I walk to the door you were recently outside of and look out to the sunrise just starting to poke above the horizon.
“Looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day to watch a beautiful woman do something beautiful with our baby”
The smell of freshly brewed coffee brought with it a longing. Technically it was fine for you to have a cup, but the nerves were already starting to build and the whole point of coming out here was to keep everything calm and peaceful. Besides, the baby didn’t seem to like it and nauseous was the last thing you wanted to be right now. You just decided to stick with toast and juice.
By the time you had finished preparing your food, the coffee was finished also, so you poured some into a campfire mug and joined me on the patio.
“I’m glad we’re doing this here,” you said, handing over the cup and taking in the view with me. You placed down your plate, and hands now free, you placed them at your hips and arched backward, pulling your shoulder blades together and stretching your lower back. It made your belly stick out even more and caused your shirt to ride up about halfway, getting stuck there even when you straightened back up. I couldn’t help but chuckle. “What? You find this sexy?” you asked, rocking your hips and rolling your huge tummy around in a little mock seductive dance. “Enjoy it now, before it’s gone!”
I moved around in front of you, my hands clasping around the belly, warm to the touch. I can’t help but smile. “I’ll enjoy it as much as I can… then the next… then the next one after that” I punctuated each statement with a kiss. Suddenly I feel your belly tense and you betray the moment with a slight wince “was that a contraction?” I ask.
“Mmm,” you hummed in confirmation, leaning into my touch and letting out a slow breath, your hands finding purchase on my forearms. This one held on a bit longer, sharpening at its peak, and your grip tightened considerably— your anchor as the pain washed over you. Your stance widened, your knees bend as I supported you and coached you to sway in time with your breaths. Even when it passed you kept your hold on me, looking into the distance and laughing a little breathlessly.
“I guess they started last night,” you admitted, a little sheepishly. “But it was the same as I’d been feeling for weeks now and, I don’t know, I guess I thought labor would feel… different somehow. But they’re definitely closer together now. And stronger.” The aftershocks of that last cramp still twinged and tugged. “So I guess todays the day?”
“We can only hope” I say with a smile. My phone buzzes with a text, I pick it up and read it - it’s from the midwife. She’s texting to say she just arrived and she was going to get bedded down and for us to ring her in case she’s needed - she’d keep her phone on loud so it would wake her. I casually comment that she’s made good time but not really surprising considering the time of day it is.
We hold each other close looking out over the brightening morning.
“Want to go for a walk?” I enquire, “might help get things established? I’ll be nice and even help you get your shoes and socks on!”
Considering you hadn’t been able to reach your feet for some time now, you gladly accept my offer. Grabbing some stretchy leggings and a t-shirt from the dresser, your gaze lingers on the little stack of newborn onesies folded up on top - you give your tummy a little pat—it’s hard to believe that soon there’s going to be a whole new person in the world. You admit you’re going to miss this, the feeling of having someone growing inside me, but you suspect you won’t have to miss it for long. We want a big family.
We start out along the same path we’ve been walking every morning, but only barely make it past the tree line when another contraction hits. You try to walk through it at first, but of course I notice and suggest we take a rest and remind me that this is why we’re here—it’s not a race, we’re not trying to force anything, we’re just going to listen and respond and let it happen.
After an hour, your clothes are stuck moulded to your skin, your hips are aching, and we’re still only halfway through the loop. “This is a lot harder than it was yesterday,” you say, still slightly hunched and out of breath from the latest contraction.
I stop and rub your back, the feeling eliciting a groan of appreciation from you, I then say “come on let’s do the thing”
You smile knowing what I mean. You stretch out, straightening your back as I come in behind you. Reaching around and crossing my hands under your belly I pull up relieving the pressure on your back and hips immensely. Your sigh of relief was glorious. We stood there for a good minute just rocking side to side in the strange form of embrace until you reach down and grab at my hand. The next contraction was building, and I could feel everything in your belly between my fingers. You grunt as the feeling builds, gripping my forearm more and more. The feeling doesn’t last long, 30 seconds at most, but it had only been around 10 minutes since your last one - you were keeping track. They were definitely speeding up.
As your grip lessens on my arm signalling the end of the pain I lower your belly and gradually let go, accompanied by a ‘whump’ sound expelled from you as you took back over the weight.
Still behind you I wrap my arms in the gap between your breasts and the top of your belly hugging you close.
I whisper close to your ear, something about the early morning and complete quiet not wanting me to speak too loudly as I say “sorry baby, I had to… let it go”
Of course the last words were said in a song-song tone as you groaned - nothing to do with the contractions this time. I apologise with “so I started the dad jokes a little bit early.”
You feel a little roll and then a kick up somewhere near your rib cage. “See? Even the baby is protesting,” you whine, rubbing at the tender spot. Alright, maybe you’re a little cranky at having to bear the full weight of gravity again. But it gives you an idea. “Lake?” you suggest.
It’s another two contractions before we get to the clearing, but it’s so worth it. The lake is surrounded by mountains on one side, forest on the other, and the water is crystal clear and still quite cold. I give you a skeptical look, but you’re determined. “It’s warming up now that the sun’s up,” you reason. “Or maybe we’ll just have to huddle together for warmth,” you suggest with a waggle of your eyebrows, without hesitation you pull off your shirt and kick off the shoes you would not be able to put back on by yourself. The leggings are too clingy and stuck to bother trying to take off, so they’re all you’re wearing as you begin to wade into the fresh water.
You take a step in and all the air leaves my lungs in one whoosh. It. Is. Cold. But now here you are, topless, one foot in the water, back straining, and another contraction starting with no feasible form of relief in sight. Suddenly the pressure spikes and this baby feels so heavy pressing down inside you. You let out some noise of surprise or discomfort and I'm there in an instant.
I wade into the water throwing off my top and tossing it into the rough area where your pile of clothes are, my own trousers and shoes still on and soaked through.
“Babe!” you call, though I’m already there—a question, a plea.
I grab hold of your hand as you squeeze for all you’re worth, the pain of the contraction evident. You’re clearly having a difficult time as you let out a low pitched moan as your grip tightens and tightens against my hand. Suddenly you release, gasping a breath out.
“You OK?” I enquire. You nod, not able to speak. A few seconds later you manage “that was a rough one, hope there aren’t too many like that” with a weak smile.
I return the smile to you as your hands release mine and you rub them over my body. “My big strong hero diving into the water to save his damsel in distress”
I gulp, noticing the chilled water having an obvious effect on your nipples, they had already gotten big and dark with the onset of your milk coming in, and now they poked out almost as long as a finger to the first knuckle.
You follow my eyes and see where I have spotted.
“Nipple stimulation is good to bring on contractions you know” you purr at me.
I don’t need to be told twice my hands paw at your breasts, your voice betraying a giggle as I move to the nipples, water from the lake leaving them slippery as my fingers tug and squeeze them. Your hands move from my body to both sides of your belly as you groan - at first with the pleasure of my touch then finally with the effects of another contraction starting its journey on you.
“I guess it works,” you note before the full force of the contraction takes hold, grabbing onto my shoulders and resting your forehead against mine, breathing in and out slowly along with me as the pain crests. It still hurts, but at least the water is taking off some of the pressure and you’re able to stay present through the whole thing.
When it’s over, you slide your hands down my arms and position me hands back on your breasts. “I think we’re getting the hang of this whole ‘labour’ thing,” you say with a grin as I continue my previous ministrations. You initiate a kiss and push yourself deeper into my grasp and chuckle as you’re brought up short by the belly between us.
Your hands find their way to my chest, my hips, then dip down beneath the waistband of my pants. It’s not exactly an ideal temperature for this, but you still hear my grunts of pleasure as you stroke, massage and tug.
We pause for another contraction—your grip moving a safe distance away from anything particularly sensitive—and you bury your face into the crook of my neck with a groan. The vocalizations help, a long, sustained note that rises in volume, but breaks when the contraction becomes too much and you switch to releasing short puffs of air. When you’re finally able to take a full breath again, you lift your head and look into my eyes. “Maybe we should start heading back.”
“You’re the boss, princess” I grin as I follow you out of the water, watching it drain off down your hips and ass as you get closer and closer to the edge. You give a little wiggle as you feel my hand pressed against your soaked through bottoms making contact with your ass cheek and I’m reminded of the caress you gave me in the water, my own length stiffening at the thought once again. We finally reach the waters edge and find a tree stump for you to sit on as I dry off what I can of your feet using my top before sliding your shoes back on again. I give you a hand putting your own top on as I pull on my own - now wet and sticking to my body, as I give you a hand up and we start our slow, squelching walk back to the cabin.
“Right now I want a nice warm shower” I say, you nod as another contraction picks up. You’re now at the point where you’re coping by vocalising, you stop moving as the contraction is upon you. You groan something in between your moans about the head feeling so low and how much your hips hurt that I come in behind you and squeeze my hands tight against your hips, pressing to try and help.
The force of my hands adds a nice bit of respite for your overtaxed back and pelvis, but it does little to counter the powerful pressure barrelling down in your core. You can’t speak, can’t stand up
straight, can’t focus on anything besides the air moving in and out of your lungs, and even that is a struggle.
Between the increasingly frequent contractions and your slow walk turning into an even slower waddle, the trip back from the lake takes at least twice as long as it did to get there. Our destination is in sight when another contraction hits and you grab onto my forearms—it’s a routine by this point—and bend your knees, getting into a gentle squat in front of you. Everything feels swollen and tight and impossibly full as your womb compresses. You start to wonder if your water breaking would relieve some of that painful tension.
Finally, we make it back and the shower is big enough for a party, so there’s easily enough room for both of us and the birthing ball we’d brought. I start the water, help strip you out of your wet and sticky clothes, and get you situated on the ball before getting myself ready and joining you in there. The warmth—and my hands—soothe your tight muscles as you roll your hips in gentle circles on the ball. It’s almost as if you can feel the head moving down with the force of each contraction and as a result you keep your legs splayed wide. More than once you catch my eyes lingering on your feminine curves. With more than a little assistance, you get up and have me take your seat on the ball; then you sit on my lap facing me, your belly pressing into me, your legs wrapped around mine in invitation.
The slippery ball coupled with the slippery occupants take a lot of my concentration to stay stable as you climb onto my lap, but wrapping your arms around the back of my neck helps keep us upright.
Your belly presses tight against me as you continue to writhe and wriggle as you huff and pant in my ear, your forehead pressed against mine.
I find myself getting hard at the closeness of your body and you react to the feel of the bulge pressing against the underside of your belly by rocking back and forth teasing both it and me.
My hands grip behind your back as you writhe, as I manage to get what little purchase I can on your slippery skin.
The contraction snuck up on you, your mind elsewhere as the all too familiar tightening ramped up, causing you to lean back and grip hard on my shoulders. You suddenly squeal as you feel a release. Whilst the obvious splash was lost in the water running within the shower, your waters had broken, and the sudden realisation that the baby’s head is just right on the cusp of appearing at your lips has you start shaking with anxiety, knowing you’re getting closer to having to push.
“Oh!” Even though you’ve been expecting it, waiting for it, the sudden release still takes you by surprise. Without the cushion of the amniotic sac the head descends quickly and violently, locking into your canal like a dislocated joint popping back into place. “Ohhh,” the exclamation quickly turns into a groan—the new wave of pressure that comes with this contraction is intense and your hand automatically reaches between your legs. There’s nothing there to touch yet, but you swear it feels like the baby is about to fall right out of you.
You slide off my lap and settle into a deep squat. Your breaths are coming in short, frantic gasps and the water running down your face makes it difficult to take in air, so you pitch forward onto your knees, resting your crossed forearms on my thighs and burying your head between my knees. Any other time the gesture would be most salacious, but right now all you want is to get through this contraction without drowning. I do my best to pull your hair back and shield you from the shower head, you manage to pant and curse your way through the worst of it.
You say we need to get out of here, to dry off and get to wherever we want to be for the birth, but even when it’s over you can’t bring yourself to unfurl from your current position. I presume you must be comfortable, as we stay this way for several seemingly back-to-back contractions that leave you trembling, nauseous and a little bit lightheaded. The weight in your hips seems to keep you anchored to the ground.
You recall reading about what labour would be like, how difficult and painful and relentless the transition stage usually is, but some part of you thought that preparing for it would make you more equipped to handle it. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” you admit, though you’re not sure I can hear your muffled voice over the water spray. Not that you have any choice.
Maybe I did hear you, or maybe I just know you well enough to sense that you need to change positions, because before you realise, the water is shut off and you’re on your feet, wrapped in an oversized towel and my embrace.
I assist you out of the shower and we plod slowly and deliberately step by step into the main living room. Your walking stance still has a widespread gait, almost like you had stepped out of a long day in the saddle, but I know it’s just subconscious with you trying to relieve the pressure on your hips.
I lead you forward to the sofa, where I guide your hands to the armrests on one side. You grab hold and drop down into a partial squat, bouncing a little on your thighs. "Let me get something down here, don’t want to make too much of a mess" I grin, though I think the expression is lost on you, entirely focusing on the weight in your pelvis.
I stroke your back and give it a rub as I step away and grab a few more towels, placing them on the seat and around in front of it. I suspect both the wooden floor, and the faux leather seats would wipe up fine, but I didn’t want to take any chances.
I hear a groan coming from you and look up to see you swaying your hips in a figure eight pattern. You look up and lock eyes with me, you give me a quick smile as if to say that you're OK, and I return the grin with "It's all going as it should baby, you're doing really well. I love you and you're doing a wonderful job."
You suddenly squat down low, using the chair arm as support, roaring as you dip down. I scramble to the side to make sure that there's nothing obvious happening spying a long trail of mucus dripping onto the floor from your crotch. I lift the back of the towel up, exposing your ass as you manage a moment of strained speech "can you see anything?"
"Sorry baby, no." I don’t mention the long trail of slime which I wipe off with the towel. There's no obvious bulging around your lips however. You give a dejected sigh. "I think you were doing really well there when you were using gravity to help, so lets get back to what we were doing in the shower, but maybe a little more upright?"
You nod, and let me take hold of you as I lead you around to the seat. I sit down on it, still noticeably dripping water from the shower from me, and you stand in front of me as I lower myself down. You then drop down into a squat between my legs, your belly hanging low almost touching the ground you squat is that deep - you use my knees and thighs as support. My hands reach over to your shoulders and squeeze as you turn your head slightly and nuzzle into my left hand. The brief moment of calm is lost when the next contraction picks up though, and you're soon roaring out loud once more.
You want to push, but know the urge is coming more from your head than your body. You catch yourself wishing for this to just be over and take a moment to refocus on the present moment. As the next contraction builds, you close your eyes and let your body do what it wants, what it needs.
Your grip on my thighs tightens, concentrating the tension there to allow the rest of your body to relax. Your hips are still restless but keeping them open feels right, so you continue to sway in your deep squat, shifting your weight as your knees swing left, and right, left, and right. You focus the sounds leaving your mouth into one long, sustained hum, the tone increasing in volume and pitch as the pressure intensifies. The pain starts deep in your core and radiates outward, wrapping around your butt, thighs and creeping up your spine and up to your shoulders.
You throw your head back suddenly, arching your back and pulling up against gravity’s strong downward force. The noises in your throat shift to a series of primal whining moans – your whole body trembles as it attempts to deal with the shocks of pain centralized in your core. Just when you think you will surely be split in two, it dulls just enough for you to find my eyes, my focus, my excitement and then you remember… yes, you’re excited too.
I stand with you in the small breaks between contractions to give your knees a break, but the breaks get smaller and smaller and soon there’s not even enough time to change positions before another one is upon you. You don’t want to be stuck in that position, so instead you follow me to a seated spot on the couch. It’s deep enough so that you can settle between my legs and rest your back up against me. I pepper kisses along the line of your shoulder and up your neck as you twist your head so I can place one on your lips. My hands are molded to your generous swell, you placing yours over the top of them, interlocking our fingers as another relentless wave begins.
You pant, moan and writhe through another two contractions before the pressure in your ass and back becomes unbearable - your tailbone feeling like it’s going to snap. You know it must be the baby’s head moving down. Time must be passing, but you don’t know how long it is before the frenzied onslaught of contractions begins to slow and you feel like you can finally take a breath again.
You stand up and sit on my knee, pivoting in the position to swing one of your legs over my thigh, turning yourself sideways so that you can look up at me.
“Hi,” you say, and giggle as I give your bum an affectionate little squeeze. “I think it’s time to decide…” you pause, suddenly filled with nervous energy. I pull you in close, rub your tummy and wait for you to continue. The next contraction confirms it—the feeling, the urge that’s been building slowly until this moment when it now seems so obvious—you try to get the words out but you’re quickly tensed and grunting, trying your best not to be completely consumed by it.
“Need to decide—“ a quick huff, “where I’m going—“ a groan, “hnngh, to start pushing!” you finally yell, slamming backward into me and panting so quickly and heavily that it looks like you’re shaking. One of my hands grabs fiercely onto yours. The other disappears between your legs.
My mind recalls the bits of training and insight given to us by the midwife after we told her we wanted to go it alone. She was supportive, but of course insisted that she was nearby in case anything went wrong. She showed us a demonstration of dilation, and let me practice on a training dummy to see what the different stages felt like, so I was prepared. She explained it was often normal to feel like you need to push too early, so you were pushing against your own muscles rather than pushing into an open hole… it wasn't recommended.
My fingers entered into you, resulting in a small gasp. I immediately noticed how wet your passage was, presumably from the waters breaking, but thankfully I had no issue with snaking my fingers deeper and deeper. What shocked me first was how close to the entrance your cervix was - we had tested early in the pregnancy to see how deep I needed to feel back there, and to be blunt, it was painful pressing in that hard.
I felt the head at that point, my finger tracing around the circle of the entrance, a definite difference in texture between your muscles and the head of the baby. My face beamed. You looked at me quizzically. I replied "I can feel the baby, its right there, you're almost ready to push."
You managed a giggle and a strained sigh as you say "I know, I told you that, don't you doubt me young man when I tell you a need to find somewhere to push."
I look apologetic, but the mirth in your eyes gives away the fact you were just teasing me.
"Lets go outside…" I suggest, pausing a second, half expecting you to say no, that you were too vulnerable like this. You didn’t say anything. I continued. "I figure we wanted the natural air, the calming environment… and I don’t want to think I blew up the air mattress for nothing."
You giggled, but were cut short by another tensing pain. As we hold each other, you groan and howl, but start to wriggle off my lap. I question what the rush is, and you manage between panting breaths "don’t… know… how… long… I can wait."
I walk you over to the door, where you grab onto a chair back from the kitchen table sat by the large window overlooking the wilderness. I first grab hold of a pair of shorts - realising that if someone should walk past, it would be easier to avoid a public indecency charge for you than it would be for me - then pull open the door and rush back in to grab the air mattress I'd blown up the first day we got here.
As I dragged it and hefted it up to get it out the door, you pleaded at me to hurry. Your face showed genuine concern.
I took the mattress down the couple of stairs to a picnic area set outside the house. There was a cleared, grassy area next to it which didn’t have any significant amount of branches or any other sharp things which may burst the mattress, dashing back up for you, I led you down the few steps until you got to the mattress, lowering you down to your hands and knees.
You wasted no time at all, pushing back on your hands and thighs, you groaned, held your breath and gave your first push.
After so many hours of passive endurance, pushing with the contraction actually feels good. It almost seems to counter the internal pressure—almost—like finally being able to sneeze after your nose tickled all day. But it’s still your first time doing it and you’re not used to trying to focus and control those innermost muscles.
You rock back and you’re sure you look ridiculous with your ass high up in the air, but you feel my hands rubbing all along your thighs, coaxing you to relax and keep your hips open wide. For the first few contractions you try holding your breath and pushing as hard as you can for as long as you can. However, all that does is make you lightheaded and tired - and frustrated - that it seems to be fruitless.
I sense your growing impatience and ask if you want me to count for you and coach your pushes. You nod, and when you tense with the next contraction, I start at ten and work my way down to
one. You’re determined to keep going, but I tell me that it’s okay to let go and take a break for a second, that the baby is making its way down and it’s okay to breathe for a moment. You release a pained moan and try to pull in enough air to make it through another push. You’re trying to follow along with my instructions, but between being unable to see my face or feel your progress, having to balance on shaky arms on a shaky mattress… well, it’s just not working like that in this moment.
Carefully, you lower myself down so that you’re lying on your side, belly and head resting on some of the nest of pillows I’d brought out with us. Your knees are bent, one leg resting on the bed and the other flared out so you’re open like a clamshell. I sit toward the base of the mattress by your bent legs, my body angled toward yours so you can see me and your free leg can rest in my lap or over my shoulder. I also have a good line of sight as to what’s happening between your legs.
This puts a bit of unwelcome pressure on your hips, but for the most part this feels better—just as it was this morning, the breeze is fresh and cool against your skin allowing you to focus on my face and what your body is telling you. When another contraction starts, you hook my arm into the crook of my knee and pull it back toward your shoulder - as best as you can around your large stomach. Instead of holding your breath you release it slowly, squeezing your core and curling forward until you run out of air, then inhale just as slowly before repeating the process until the contraction begins to wane.
You lower your leg back down around my waist, put a hand on your belly, and look up at me with a smile. “That was good,” you say, finally feeling like you’re getting into the rhythm of this stage.
I plant a kiss on the top of your knee and join with you in feeling the firm swell that holds our child. “Just let me know if I can do anything” I offer with a little laugh.
Several contractions later you request that I begin holding your leg back—the urge to bear down is becoming overwhelming and you find yourself lost in it and unable to do anything else. The pressure is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, and every push feels like something is on the verge of cracking, bursting or tearing.
You’re holding your breath again, but only for a few seconds at a time—it’s all you can manage before the instinct to recoil from the pain takes over. It’s changing now—sharpening, burning—and you let out a sharp cry, your body jerking as your knees try to snap shut against my firm grip. I hold you in place, letting you squeeze me in a death grip even as I wrangle your legs to ensure your hips stay open. I try to rub a comforting hand along your stomach, thighs, and bum. You know you must be making progress when you feel me stretching and circling your vaginal opening, trying to prepare you for what’s to come. I give a few playful flicks to your clit, as if to make you forget how bad that last round of pushing felt. It works and you grind down on my hand, pushing it deeper into your folds.
“How- how close?” you ask, still panting despite the contraction being over.
“You’re doing really well” I say enthusiastically, “Each time you push, you bulge out… a few more and I might even start to see the head peeking out.”
You seem to visibly grow bolder at the news, renewing your stamina as you pull back your leg again, once more hooking it over my shoulder. I lean in with my hands, pressing lightly against the bulge forming in your vagina, the first outward signs of the head attempting to make its way, with your help, into the world.
Each push brings with it a groan of effort, and several huffing breaths as I keep count for you, trying to keep your focus on the task at hand rather than allowing your mind to wander and lose track of the progress rather than just concentrating on the pain in each rush of effort.
You push your crotch into my hands, wiggling a little as I stretch out my thumb in response and rub it slowly in circles around your clit. Your groans intensify to shouts, making me pause my actions, but you gasp in between breaths that its helping, and I shouldn’t stop. I leaned forward as best I could with your leg still up in the air on my shoulder and kissed the bottom of the bump, all the playful and affectionate touching resulting in your smile back at me as the contraction finally finished.
Another three, maybe four pushes later, and finally, the first outward signs of the baby appear at your lips, the teardrop shape stretching out over a tiny fraction of the head.
I almost jump with enthusiasm. “I can see it’s head baby… you’re doing so well… keep that effort up.” My gleeful sounds give you another burst of stamina, as you double up your efforts for the next push, straining hard.
“Easy baby… remember, it’s a marathon, not a sprint. You can’t force it. Take it nice and slow and you’ll get there sooner than you know.” You’re left panting by the exertion of the last attempt at pushing.
Of course, as much as there was some visibility of the head, it soon slipped back in again, your lips closing up around it as the push was let off, but between us, we both knew we had passed another milestone.
Your hand snakes down between your legs and feel around, realising that you couldn’t feel the head, and a little crestfallen, you start to take your hand away.
I grab your hand before you can remove it and put it back into place, using my fingers to separate your lips. Your fingers probe in and just inside, you feel it too, the slick, slightly spongy texture of the head of our baby.
“Keep it there on the next push” I say, as you nod, and once more the need to push is upon you. Feeling your finger being moved out as the head moves out, whilst only a fraction of an inch, gives you more motivation to carry on, and you’re suddenly beaming at me with your smiling face, the awe of the moment capturing you entirely.
“I feel it. I feel it!” Your finger traces a line up and down the slit between your folds—it’s still small and tight, but even your laughter causes the head to bob in and out of sight. “Hi, baby,” you coo, then look up at me and suddenly you’re overcome with emotion. “We’re about to be- parents,” you manage, biting back a happy sob.
I smile down at you, wiping away a stray tear and cupping your cheek tenderly before moving my hand down to the crest of your stomach. Another contraction starts but you’re still processing your feelings so I give the thigh you have tucked around my shoulder a little squeeze. “Don’t cry now, love, you’d only just got your breathing under control!”
You laugh, but I’m right— your body is demanding that you push and you’ve got to actually get the baby out before we can officially celebrate. You’re reminded of just how much work there is left to do when your next few pushes do little to reveal any more of the head. With my help, your knee is pulled back almost to your shoulder opening you up wide, you have one arm wrapped around the perimeter of your belly as I keep my palm pressed against your opening. The mound presses out and
recedes in time with your efforts, refusing to retain any progress despite giving everything you have to the pushes.
“You’re doing amazing,” I assure you, and you scoff in disagreement. “You are! You’re stretching, opening up nicely for our baby.”
You might have mumbled something about our baby inheriting an unnecessarily big head from me, but the truth is the baby is just big all over—at our last appointment, they estimated 9lbs+ if you made it to your due date… which is today. You groan and make another attempt at the seemingly impossible task, it always feels like you’re making progress until you stop pushing and it all disappears back into your tight folds.
You rest your leg back down at my side and reach your arms up to me. “I need to move again,” you decide. I pull you up to a seated position and help you swing my legs over the side so you’re perched at the edge of the mattress. It’s low enough to the ground that it’s almost a squat, and I kneel down in front of your spread knees. On the next contraction you curl forward, one hand on the underside of your belly and the other squeezing my shoulder. You let out a surprised yelp as the head lurches forward quickly, but just as quickly my hand is there providing support and counterpressure, tugging gently at the edges of your taut hole. The head jerks back inside when you take a breath, but then you lean back into it, pulling one leg back while keeping the other on the ground for stability. Another quick breath and then you’re back at it, letting out a high pitched cry when you feel yourself widen another fraction of an inch as the stretch starts to burn.
“Don’t let me tear!” you beg desperately between pushes—even though you’re just starting to crown, it feels like you can’t possibly open any more, and it’s almost a relief when the head sinks back inside this time.
You don’t make much progress during the next contraction, and I can tell it’s because of your hesitant pushes— you’re afraid of the pain that’s coming. When it’s over, I coax you down into a full squat in front of me. I don’t say anything, just pepper kisses all over your face and belly as my hands escalate their ministrations between your legs that have you squirming and breathless going into the next contraction. You push again in earnest, a mix of pain and pleasure, throwing your head back in a moan that turns into a shout and something in you gives way—the head making its way past my tailbone. This time when you stop pushing, the head stays right where it is, bowing out the skin of my vagina into a wide dome, a small round cap of hair at its peak.
“That’s it, we’re seeing real progress now baby, you’re doing so well.” My voice has a more muted tone than my yelling, enthusiastic outbursts from earlier, more intended to keep you calm and concentrating on the task at hand.
My fingers trace around the bulge between your legs now, feather light you squirm under my caress.
“That… that’s not fair” you manage to gasp, concentrating on the touch and not the cramping pains that have been your ever present companion for what seemed like hours now.
“You deserve a reward for all the hard work you have done, for all three of us” I say to you, my grin can only be described as devilish. My lips meet yours and we kiss in a passionate embrace - my hand curling around your shoulder in support as you brace yourself on my knee to stop you toppling over.
As we’re kissing, you pull back and groan, yet another contraction starting once more. My free hand which was down between your legs reaches up to caress the bump, then continuing further north it meets a breast and a nipple.
The sensitive area had already been a keen play area between us over the last few weeks, your nipples getting hyper sensitive as they were getting ready to express milk for the baby. My touch caused you to shiver as you recalled a recent play session, and you arch your back involuntarily pressing your chest out to give me more access.
My fingers lightly tug and squeeze the nipple, teasing it back and forth until you expressed a few drops of colostrum.
As I did so you pushed, eyes scrunched tight, panting out loud, all of your concentration on the pleasurable touches I was giving you rather than the pain you were feeling.
The nipple stimulation had an unexpected side effect, the contraction surged unexpectedly. You almost faltered and cried out but managed to maintain your composure, growling phrases such as “come on baby, come on out, mummy and daddy want to meet you” in between panting breaths.
You scream all of a sudden “so… much… pressure!” My hand drops down to between your legs and I feel the sheer amount of the head that’s starting to poke through. Unfortunately there’s still quite a way to go until you’re crowning, but my finger slips in between your lips and the baby’s head, stretching your skin a little.
It doesn’t go unnoticed by yourself, as I press my finger in and stretch you howl out in pain.
“I’m sorry baby but I need to help you stretch. There’s a long way to go and we need to take this nice, slow and easy”
You have moisture at the corners of your eyes as you say you know, acutely aware of how much work you have done, and beginning to realise just how much you still have to do.
“I’m with you” I blurt out, trying to get you back to a good place, your forehead slumping forward and meeting mine, as you pant, the contraction finally passing, my eyes look down between your legs and see the head sitting there, testament to the work you have done so far.
Some of the tension leaves you as you feel the skin stretch further - it’s still heavy and tight, but at least it doesn’t feel on the verge of causing damage anymore—and you sink forward into my embrace. You reach your hand down to feel what I’d just felt, barely recognising your own body. Your lips are hot, puffy and flared out monstrously wide so that they press out against your thighs. Your opening is kept taut and open in a perfectly round “O” and the skin feels so tightly moulded around the baby’s head even as its exit refuses to give way. You know women do this every day… but it just doesn’t seem physically possible in this moment.
“I need to stretch.” You’re telling yourself as much as me, but I nod anyway. “I need to relax long enough to let myself stretch.” You look at me almost pleadingly, and I know what you’re asking.
There’s little danger now of losing sight of the modest crown, so I lift you out of your squat and back up onto the mattress. You’re careful to keep your legs wide, knees falling open to the side as you lay fully on your back. I join you as soon as you’re situated, fitting myself between your hips, propping myself up on one side and hovering over your torso. We share a laugh as we try to find our balance, but soon you’re wincing with the start of another contraction.
“Breathe, baby,” I say gently, my free hand moving between your legs to continue its agonizing work. “Just breathe for now. Your body will do the work for you.”
“And you,” you manage before gritting your teeth and clutching at the pillows shoved in various supportive positions around you. I somehow manage to both stretch your hole and pleasure you at the same time, my thumb and index finger seemingly at odds in their objectives. You can’t help but push a little at the tail end and the burning is more bearable this time.
Between contractions you buck up your hips so both of my hands can work toward opening you up, a mix of massaging and stretching and teasing that has you pulling me on top of you. I kiss you deeply before my mouth moves down your neck and chest, settling over one of your darkened nipples as my tongue playfully flicks and envelops the sensitive tip. You’re so caught up in the sensations that the next contraction—made so much stronger so much faster by the stimulation—takes you completely by surprise and you scream, pulling hastily back on your legs and riding your body’s instinct to push.
“Easy now,” I caution you, pushing back against the growing dome between your legs and carefully supporting the suddenly overly stretched skin. “Breathe.”
“I can’t!” you yell, throwing your head back for a quick inhale before curling forward again.
“Then pant, pant! Hoo-hoo-hoo. Like you’re blowing out a birthday candle.”
You try to emulate releasing quick puffs of air but it turns into one long groan that escalates back into a howl as the pressure of the baby’s head combines with my tugging fingers. You have to press your hands into your trembling knees just to try and keep them open. Another push and you see me looking down between your legs, seeing what seems like the whole outline of the huge head pressing out against my skin still trapped behind my relatively small hole. You collapse backward in defeat.
“It’s too big,” you whine as the contraction begins to fade. You’re sure a lot of women feel that way and it turns out fine, but damn does it feel true right now. I look a little concerned, so you pull yourself up, repositioning so that ypu’re on your knees facing me. You take one of your hands and put it back between my legs and position the other over your breast. With a deep breath in then out again, you announce “Guess we better get to work.”
“Next time you need to push, just make ‘mmm’ sounds OK?”
You look skeptical but nod anyway, and soon you start. You pitch rises, and I tell you to keep it slow and steady, focus on the breathing rather than the pushing.
You nod, as my hands do their work. My hand that’s dipped down between your legs is rubbing and softening the skin between them, pressing back against the hard bulge of the head just agonisingly close.
Your head is tucked into my shoulder, one hand steadying yourself against me, the other rubbing slow circles on your breast and nipple knowing how well that was helping before.
A full minute of that contraction passes and I feel some useful movement between your legs.
“Go and do that again” I say as another one picks up. I can see it’s taking all your concentration not to push hard, your hand that is resting on me shaking and passing the vibrations through to me.
“Think you have another one in you?” I ask as that contraction passes, your response practically begs me “Fuck… no, I need to push”
There’s nothing you can do this time as the contraction begins to build, you reach to grab the hand that was playing with your nipple earlier and press it into the mattress with the force of your push.
My hand cupped under you feels success though, your skin seems to peel apart as the head makes its way out of you, the skin rolling back over the head as more and more of it made its way out from inside of you.
“Back at it, quick!” I say as the push ends, and you do so, more of the head seeing fresh air. My hand pressed against your lips slowly moulds the skin back.
You finally relent, the contraction over with, the head now well on its way to a crown. You look into my eyes and can see I almost have tears forming. “You did it babe, you got over this. Might have a full crown in the next contraction.”
You know in your heart you felt everything but need to feel down between your legs to know it was real. You hand scrabbles down and you trace the outline of your opened lips, smiling, clearly approaching exhaustion now.
No time to rest though as another contraction builds.
Your whole hand can fit over the large dome coming out between your legs now—the skin of your vagina stretched in a vertical mountain over the straining head. It sits heavily right at your opening, a slow burn ready to flame to life at the next push. You keep your hand there as the contraction begins to build, feeling how your body squeezes and compresses even before you add any conscious force. You let out a long, slow breath, waiting until the tension grows and intensifies and you absolutely cannot refrain from bearing down with it.
You groan as you finally give into the primal urge, tilting your hips forward and back in time with your pushes, keeping hold of the delicate ring of flesh, alternating between easing it back and releasing it millimeter by millimeter, push after push until a proper crown begins to form.
My hands rub a circular route from my belly to around the curve of your ass, up your thighs, then back again. Suddenly you hold completely still and I follow suit, my hands poised in front of you for whatever you may need. “Mmm,” You moan, the hum echoing through your whole body as you lean forward with your hands pressed into my thighs as you push down, hard. It burns and you let out a strangled whine, but keep pushing. You take a breath and shuffle your knees open wider and push some more. I’m saying something sweet and encouraging, but you’re too focused to really hear it.
“Come on, baby,” you plead again, slumping forward against me as the contraction ends. “Mummy needs you to work with me here.” I tell you to take your time, that there’s no rush, but that’s easy to say when you don’t have a cantaloupe forcing itself out of your body.
“Maybe next one,” I suggest, trying to keep my spirits up.
“Next one,” you agree. It certainly needs to come soon, you’re feeling weary and exhausted with the effort.
Your knees start to hurt again so I help you unfold your legs so that we’re sitting face to face, your spread legs on the outside of mine with me situated in between. I grab a towel and twist it up into a rope, holding one end while offering you to hold the other. “Lean back,” I tell you when the next contraction starts.
“Holy fuck!” you cry, pulling against the towel as your focused on a powerful push and finally feel the head give some more. Your knees instinctually rise so they’re on either side of your belly, and I have a wonderful view of everything that’s happening. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, it’s burning, it’s- babe, fuck!” you’re muttering explicit nonsense in between howls and wails as the intense searing stretch goes beyond whatever you thought possible. Nearly letting go of the towel and the push you suddenly hear me yelling out in my own exhuberant shout.
“It’s crowning!”
Your head snaps up at me, your expression a wonderful mix of joy, wonder, pain, fatigue and probably a dozen other emotions. Your eyes are wide and your mouth lets out a sudden yell - but it doesn’t sound pained as such, more victorious.
As the head reaches its peak, all the burning, searing pain you had been feeling finally relented, your nerves in your skin stretched to their limit and no longer functioning.
Time seemed to stop for you, your brain going a million miles a minute until your focus is back on me yelling at you
“Stop pushing, you’re at your widest, pant it out, please, you didn’t want to tear!”
You follow without thinking, letting out your breath in a slow, slow exhale. It seemed to take forever in that moment of slowed time between us, but suddenly there was a sound that could only be described as a ‘thwack’ as your tightly stretched vagina lips slid back at speed over the baby’s head.
The next moment seemed to take just as long to resolve in my mind.
Firstly jets of amniotic fluid came gushing out from around the head, shooting all the way across to me and coating my chest.
My view was suddenly focused on the back of a head lodged between your legs, said head being slightly cone shaped following its tight passage.
Pools of fluid were still draining out between your legs.
Miraculously you respond first. “Check for a cord” you manage in a croaky voice.
I nod and let go of the towel which you gather up and put to the side of you.
My hands reach down to the baby’s neck and slide down to the gap between it and your lips. I feel nothing caught.
“You’re good, let’s see, I think the head needs to turn now for the shoulders”
I now have a hand under the baby’s head supporting it as I feel you bounce left and right on your ass cheeks as if you’re shifting your weight to either side, the head rotates sideways and I finally get a good glance of the baby’s face.
I look up and once got tears in my eyes as I say to you “baby looks beautiful love.”
You wish you could see it for yourself too, but seeing the love shine through my eyes at our baby’s face is enough for now. You reach down and it’s still surprising that the whole head is outside of your body, that you can trace the outlines of it’s ears, nose, lips and chubby little cheeks. Your eyes well up to match me and I give your belly one last peck before it’s empty again. There’s nothing quite like this feeling, the power and strength of accomplishing such a feat at direct odds with the
softness and vulnerability that comes with being able to really see and touch your child for the first time.
The relief from delivering the head is short-lived as another contraction reminds me that your work is not yet done. The pressure in your stomach is slightly lessened with the release of so much amniotic fluid, but somehow seems to increase in your hips— seems this baby’s got broad shoulders too. You start panting and grip tightly to my forearm, not quite ready to give everything you have into another push just yet. You ride it out, giving low groans through the contraction until the insistent pressure returns and you feel the shoulders nudging at your opening.
“Are you ready?” I ask, alerted to the change in situation by your grip tightening on my arms.
The answer is an easy, “Yes.”
You move your hands to my shoulders to steady yourself and lean into the push. It’s harder than you thought it’d be for your already stretched skin to give way and as a result you let out a determined growl, then release your breath and dive back into another push. I assist with a little tug and that’s all it takes for the shoulders to pop over your tailbone and fill my opening all at once. You scream at the sudden burning stretch, but it only lasts a moment before the rest of the baby slides out quickly and easily on a river of amniotic fluid.
Your senses and emotions are immediately overwhelmed as this little red squalling beautiful thing is placed on your chest. You’re crying and shaking as you cradle it gingerly—it seems so small and vulnerable, and yet those little fists and feet are kicking out angrily at the uncomfortable eviction into this cold, loud, bright world.
“Hi, baby,” you coo wetly, gently patting its back and reaching for me to join us in the moment. I wrap us up in sun-warmed towels and kneel at your side, laughing through tears and peppering kisses all over your face and our baby’s head. You’re so caught up in the moment—the relief and awe and exhaustion and elation—that there’s one thing you missed. You shift the baby’s body a bit and peek under the towel, and the tears renew afresh. “A little boy!” You look back up at me in surprised joy, but I just chuckle—of course I’d already realised that as I lifted the baby up to your chest. “We have a son.” The realization settles over you as comfortably as me arms around your waist, and you have a feeling we’re both thinking the same thing.
We can’t wait to do this again.
After the brief moment of relief and satisfaction washed over us, I realised we had better call the midwife to make sure everything checked out right with the baby. I pulled out her phone and dialled her number to hear it go off just behind us in the house.
She walked out from the cabin we had rented with a broad smile on her face. I suddenly realised I’d handed her a spare key in case she needed to get in quickly and I couldn’t get away from you.
“You guys did really well. I figured things were hotting up when I heard the screams and moans from outside of my place… had to intervene with some hikers who were heading your way wondering what the commotion was all about. Here…”
She handed us both drinks, as I suddenly realised exactly how late it was. I mentally counted up - I’d been awake 6 hours with you, and no idea about how long you had been up during the night.
You handed off the baby to the midwife who clamped and cut the cord, and handed over the cup as you drank thirstily - all that heavy breathing and yelling had left you parched.
“So… I went to double check because I certainly wasn’t expecting you to be doing this out in the open where any old Tom, Dick or Harry could walk past…”
You grinned, feeling your strength return as you drank the liquid.
“It felt natural to do it in nature” you just said.
“Well… baby gets a good clean bill of health, and I dare say mum has come out all but unscathed too. Well done to both of you”
Another hour or so of paperwork, plenty more postnatal checks, and a complete placenta delivery later, we were laid in bed in the cabin, our small family of three, contemplating what we were going to do for the next week in our cabin.
The surrogates that paid for the child inside you spared no expense. They bought your food and vitamins and covered your medical expenses and now they had sprung for the best automated birthing suite money could buy.
The room was designed to give everyone the optimal contactless experience. You could decide how to labor and when to check your progress and where to deliver without ever actually having any interaction with the parents or doctors or even the baby.
They had, however, paid extra to have a drug free birth, so that was the one luxury you could not take advantage of.
This had been your room over the past few days, ever since you started having contractions, but the health monitor microchip embedded in your skin showed and increase in frequency, intensity, and duration over the last few hours, so you suppose you are making progress.
You’ve been sitting on the birth stool for about an hour, hoping to bring the head down while you were still able to breathe and hum through contractions. After a particularly harsh one, you press the button to check your dilation. You let your legs fall wider as the probe slowly entered your canal, expanding until it could adequately measure the size of your opening.
4 centimeters.
Perhaps sitting is not providing enough leverage. Walking is murder on your lower back, but you’re tired of being in labor. You hold onto the railing with one hand as you put one slow foot in front of the other, trying to hold up the weight of your enormous stomach with your other hand.
With each contraction, you feel the need to squat, getting low and deep and holding on to the railing as everything in your core presses downward. It is like walking around with a 20lb watermelon between your hips, but you manage to keep it up until your water breaks.
You sit down on the birth stool to get checked again and you are at 7 centimeters. The contractions are coming closer together and lasting longer, and you know that you need to decide where to deliver because soon you will not be able to do anything but react and endure.
You try out a couple positions, pretending to push with the contractions. Sitting on the stool gives you no leverage, lying on your back is awkward and uncomfortable. Rocking on all fours is nice, but tires you out quickly.
The tub is definitely the best option. You strip off your clothes and sink into the warm water, which immediately relieves some of the strain on your spine.
The next contraction hits differently and you don’t need the machine to tell you that you’re in transition. You are shaking despite the heat and nausea accompanies the constant pain. The temptation to push is also there, but you resist the urge - it’s not time yet.
It’s a good thing no one is there to hear you because your groans are bordering on shouts, punctuated by desperate pants and whimpers. There is no respite from this pain, but finally, after almost two hours, you are fully dilated.
It’s time for the birth.
A large pillar rises up from the water between your legs to prevent them from closing again. There is an opening that is meant to mold around your pussy and you dutifully lock it into place. An airtight seal is formed and all the water is sucked away. The air is cold, but the screen in front your flips on and the camera in the tube gives you a clear view of your progress.
There is not much to see for the first few pushes - just your hole sputtering open and closed around nothing - but you can feel the movement inside. The pain, the pressure, the burning.
When you pull your legs back during a push you can actually see the outline of the baby’s head bowing out the skin behind your opening.
The next sign of progress is a dime size portion of hair that appears at the base of the slit with a now massive bulge pulling at the skin around it. If you could touch yourself there, you probably would even be able to fit your palm around the bulge if was so huge.
You put everything you have into each push, and the head continues to press out further and further, but your opening doesn’t seem to want to do the same and every time you release your efforts the head is forced to retreat back within your tight folds.
There are handlebars in either side of the pillar, and you grab them as the next contraction begins to build. The added leverage multiplies your efforts and finally your hole begins to stretch.
You yell as an egg-sized portion of the head forces its way out - but there is a large grapefruit waiting behind it and you don’t know how it’s going to fit.
Another contraction and another push forces your tight pussy into a taught ‘O’ and you’re not sure which hurts worse - the fiery sting or the implosive pressure.
Definitely the sting, you decide as you grit your teeth and bear down until you are at a full crown. You switch back to hooking your fingers around the backs of your thighs and scream as your curl forward, able to see and feel as the nose, ears, mouth slip through your taxed hole until the whole head pops out with an impressive spray of fluid.
You feel a little lightheaded, both in relief and from the pushing, and gasp and pant to pull air into your lungs quickly.
The half-birthed baby shifts inside you, its shoulders ramming insistently against your now tightened opening. It’s harder than you thought it was going to be without someone pulling from the other end. The body is even wider than the head, and it takes several more contractions before the fiery burn starts again.
When the first shoulder comes, you’re already open grotesquely wide. But then the other emerges and you scream again. You are held open to your absolute limit for several infinite seconds, and then the rest of the baby slides out easily and disappears from the screen.
As you wait for the afterbirth, the following stats appear on the screen:
That’s it, let it stretch. Just breathe for a moment. Baby’s head’s right there. It’s burning, I know it’s burning, but you’re almost done, you’re almost there. Little pushes for me now. Nice and slow. Good pushing, here it comes! Just a little more - get ready to meet your baby!
Your baby’s got a big head, I’m going to need you to push harder. Bulging nicely, but still a ways to go to reach a full crown. Pull your legs back, just like that, open up those hips nice and wide. And—push! Give it everything you’ve got this time, let’s get this baby moving!
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The head is almost out. That’s it, yell it out if you need to. Hardest part’s almost over. You’re so close. Such a strong mama, working so hard for your baby. Come on, push, PUSH!
Give me your hand. Do you feel that? That’s your baby’s head. I know it hurts, and I know you’re tired, but you’re so close. So close to being able to meet your baby. Don’t be scared to push with this next contraction - come on, push hard! You can do this, harder, harder, harder!
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