Contents: Natural birth to triplets, lesbian fpreg, supportive and experienced birth partners, natural birth to large babies, intense, implied hyper belly
!!
It had just passed 5 in the morning, the orange sun barely shining through a small opening in the hut. Wyome was lying flat on the mattress, her stomach visible in her sight, a ball of light-blue, patterned fabric. She was making deep breaths, in and out, her girlfriend, Nascha, by her side, gently stroking her stomach. She’d been in labour since around half 3, but it wasn’t as bad as this, only a few occasional contractions.
“That’s right,” Nascha whispered calmly beside her, “take deep breaths, just like the midwife said, okay?” Wyome quickly nodded, closing her eyes as another intense wave of pain shot through her stomach, causing her breathing to rush. “I can’t believe there’s 3 babies in there~” Although Nascha’s voice was still comforting, Wyome found the reminder unpleasant, especially with how much pain she was in.
Wyome clutched the edges of the mattress, the pain becoming more intense somehow. She tried not to scream, not really wanting to bother anyone who was nearby; the hut was miles away from the village, but regardless any screaming could still be heard. She kept breathing few, whimpering a little as she waited for the pain to subside.
"That seemed tough," Nascha remarked.
"It was." Wyome's response was rather clear, she was able to speak due to the lesser pain. There was some rummaging at the front of the tent, causing Nascha to look over.
"I have some water," her midwife soothed, "ice cold, too." The bottles were in a bag that she placed next to Wyome, who despite being immobilised by her belly and the pain, was able to drink a little. "How was she?" She asked, turning to Nascha.
"She did so well. She used the breathing exercises you told her, even during a bad contraction."
"That's nice to hear." The midwife stroked Wyome's head, a thin hood covering her black hair. The pain was still there, still difficult to bear, but much less serious than earlier.
"This... it hurts so bad-" Wyome groaned, breathing out just after she did so. The breathing exercises weren't working really well, and the only thing the midwife could do was give her a sad look. It was about to get so much worse.
2 hours 10 minutes later
"hmmmNNNNNNGGGUUUHHHHHHHH!!" Wyome's groans were loud, caged barely by her gritted teeth. She held tightly onto Nascha's hand, as well as her mother's. Her mother had come around an hour ago, originally not intending to stay, but had felt an intense need to support her daughter.
"That's it," Nascha whispered, "big push, big big push."
Wyome pushed again, her face crunching up, the muscles in her neck bulging through the thick, blue fabric of the clothes she was wearing. "NNNNGHHNNNNN!!!" She held this for what seemed like ages, her pained grip practically crushing both women's hands. She'd lifted her head up as she pushed, in spite of the belly's weight. "aanNNNNNNGGNNNNNAAAAH!!!"
"You're doing really well, you know that? Making such big pushes for me..." Wyome opened her eyes, breathing out suddenly, just like she was doing before.
"Contraction.... contraction over..."
"That's okay, you did so well during that," Nascha reassured.
"How far along?" Wyome's mother asked, rather nervously.
"There's no sign of the head. She's rather dilated, though." The midwife spread Wyome's legs apart a little more, gently rubbing her thighs. Wyome breathed heavily, in and out, her cheeks puffing as she exhaled. Nascha gently rubbed her head, rubbing some of the sweat from her skin.
"It's okay, honey," her mother gently whispered, rubbing Wyome's arm as she shook.
"AAH!- NNNGGHHNNAAHHHFNNNFFF!!!!" This contraction was sudden, the pain exploding in her, her body pushing outside of her control. Nascha held onto her hand again, grasping tightly. "NNNGNNNNNNN!!!!"
Wyome's neck bulged, so much so that Nascha swore she could see a vein, despite the thick material of the fabric. She kept groaning as she pushed, more and more, even as she thought her body couldn't take the pressure anymore. She was shaking all over, sweat pooling and dampening the clothes, the belly bulging furiously. After 5 gruelling minutes of groaning, pushing, and encouragement that provided no comfort, the contraction was done.
"There's still no sign of the head," the midwife sighed a little, causing Wyome to make a desperate moan.
"Hurts... hurts too bad... it hurts..."
"I know, honey," her mother whispered, rubbing the belly softly, "I know."
"No... no, m-mom, you don't know..." Her mother didn't really want to giggle.
30 minutes later
"You're just at the forehead, okay?" The midwife exclaimed, her voice being drowned out by Wyome's pained groans. Wyome couldn't really register her words, nor could she make out the excited sounds from her mother and girlfriend. Her younger brother was here, too, having arrived around 10 minutes ago. His mood was a lot different; he simply stared, his eyes wide in horror.
"GKKA- GNNHHHNNNNNN!!!" Wyome's scream was primal, her head rested against the mattress as her body seemed to push for her, delivering a force that was almost impossible. Her mother excitedly stood up, rushing towards the midwife, her younger brother staring in sheer horror at the opening. The baby's forehead was there, with dark, olive skin just like Wyome's and Nascha's, and it was massive. So much so, her mother couldn't help but flinch at the size.
"Honey," her mother rushed back to her side, now realising the sheer size of the baby, "I've got you, honey, it's okay."
"That's it, push, push," Nascha whispered gently.
"GKK- I'mtryin- HNAANNNNNNNN!!!" Wyome's body pushed so hard, even if all she could feel was burning and stretching as the baby slowly, very slowly, came out. The midwife was gently pressing her sides, trying to get the large baby to come out. Light briefly entered the hut, caused by her younger brother fleeing in shock, before the hut was once again coated in a yellow darkness. "NMUUUUHHHH- AAANNNNNHHHH!!!!!!"
"They're coming out, they're coming out..." Nascha whispered quietly into Wyome's ear, who's eyes were squeezed shut as she was pushing so hard.
The midwife could only watch and gently aid as the baby was being pushed out by Wyome's sheer, primal power. It took 5 minutes for the first half of the head to come out. Even then, Wyome was not laying up. "You're doing good, Wyome," she yelled, over Wyome's desperate groans, "you're doing really good."
"HNNGNGNNNN- HNANAANNNN- FUCK!!!!" Wyome arched her neck backwards, briefly opening her eyes, revealing an angry, pained glare at whatever was behind her. She was still pushing, somehow, much to Nascha's glee. Nascha watched as her love's belly pulsed and quivered, her thick legs shivering as she pushed harder and harder, desperately breathing in and out...
After 3 minutes of desperate pushing, there was a sudden, wet pop. "The head's come out," the midwife exclaimed, "just a few more push-"
"AAANNNNHNNNNN!!!!!" Wyome screamed as she pushed further, getting the shoulders out within seconds.
"You're doing so well for us," Nascha excitedly whispered, "so, so well..." After about a minute of Wyome, screaming and pushing, there was a louder, wetter pop, followed by a loud, high screech. Wyome convulsed rapidly, her eyes closed but loose, breathing in and out just like she was at the start of her labour.
Nascha shot up, rushing towards their first baby. He was a boy, with a small head of black curls. "Oh wow..." Nascha wept happily, "can... can I show Wyome?"
"For now, it's best not too, whilst she's still delivering." The midwife responded, showing Wyome's mother the baby.
"Honey!" Her mother exclaimed. Wyome didn't acknowledge her, breathing slowly at the relieved, but noticeable pain, "He looks just like your little brother!"
10 minutes later
"Ghhhkk- NGGNNNNNNNN!!" Her skin was almost completely red as she pushed. Nascha had pulled down her hood and placed a wet cloth supplied by the midwife on her forehead, the most she could really do to help, gently running her fingers through the damp curls. She was just at the second baby's forehead, the head stretching her just as much as the first. Sweat had almost completely dampened the thick, azure fabric of her clothes. "HNNNNGHH- MNGGNNNNN!!- Fuck, getitout!! HNNNNNNNNN!!!!!"
"You're doing good, you're doing good..." the midwife exclaimed, not mentioning how the baby had suddenly stopped moving, despite 2 minutes of intense pushing. She didn't mention how even after 5 more minutes of pushing, aided by her gently pressing on the sides just like she'd done earlier, the baby still wasn't coming out.
"Can someone try and lift her back?" She asked both women next to Wyome. Her mother placed both hands under her lower back, lifting her the best she could.
"ARRGHHHH- NFFFNNNNN- Isit comingout.. NNGN-!"
"Yes, yes they're coming out," the midwife said; it was a half-lie, as the baby was moving, but very, very slowly.
"That's it, big pushes now," Nascha whispered. "Oh you're doing so well baby~"
"I'mtryin- NGNNNHH- AAANNAAHHNNN- OHHNNNNNN-"
"That's it..." the midwife smiled, seeing the baby move just a little quicker. "That's it, just like that..."
"ACK- JJHNNNNNN-!!!" Wyome pushed and pushed, even as her body felt closer to it's limit, a limit it seemed to reach hours ago. Her heart pounded, the sound drowning out the excited encouragements from her mother and girlfriend, until she felt a pop.
"Head's out, baby," she heard Nascha whisper in her ear, her girlfriend completely unable to contain the excitement in her voice. The village was about to be blessed with 3 huge babies. Another 3 minutes of pained, desperate pushing followed, before the second baby was out.
Immediately, Nascha and Wyome's mother rushed towards the baby. She was a girl! Just like her brother, she had dark, damp curls, and she screeched the moment she was delivered.
Nascha rushed back to Wyome. "One more now, baby," Nascha giggled, watching Wyome breathe wildly, "one more..."
25 minutes later
"ngh.... ghnnnnnnn.... NGhh-" Wyome groaned, her voice weakened by her excessive groaning as she'd pushed. Her mother and girlfriend were holding her up, due to the weight being lifted off of her by the belly. They thought it would make things easier. But instead, just like the previous baby, she was stuck at a crown, this time for the past 15 minutes.
"Try and bear down," the midwife whispered, pushing a little on her sides, trying not to tear. She was trying, so hard, but the head wouldn't budge.
"I... I can't... can't do it..." Her voice was hoarse. She couldn't push anymore, even though she really wanted to.
"Wyome," Nascha whispered desperately, brushing her hair. "I promise you can do this. You've already pushed 2 babies out, 2 babies! I promise, you can do this!"
It was that bit of encouragement that forced Wyome to push. She pushed with all her might, teeth baring as she held onto that push, and the midwife gasped as the baby slowly started to come out. Wyome couldn't even breathe, yet she was still pushing.
"The head's coming out!" Wyome didn't even hear the midwife through the ringing and pounding in her ears, but she felt herself stretching around the baby's large head, pushing for what seemed like millennia until finally, there was a pop.
Even then, she was still pushing. She moaned loudly through gritted teeth, not even registering her girlfriend and mother relentlessly encouraging her, pushing the shoulders out, then the rest of the baby's body.
Suddenly, there was the most extreme wave of relief she'd ever felt in her life.
"Wyome!" Nascha yelled, over the cries of the baby that had just come out. Wyome's head shot back against the floor, her eyes closing shut, smiling briefly at the sudden lack of sheer agony.
"Wyome, wake up! Your babies!" Nascha giggled innocently.
"Let her rest," the midwife instructed Nascha, who'd gone to look at their 3 babies.
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im peanut brittle guy uhhhh. um. I love medieval times trans guys hehe.... maybe orgasmic birth denial? :3 -👽🛸
(A request for anon that donated to my short-lived ko-fi. Thank you king 🙏)
This got me thinking of a classic medieval knight… When he’s inducted into the royal guard, his agreeable personality and keen sparring instinct make him an instant favorite among the other knights. So, it’s no surprise when one of them invites him to his bunk to blow off some steam after a long day patrolling; without much time for romancing maidens, it’s not unusual for the knights to find release with their fellows.
What is unusual is the tight, wet pussy between the new knight’s legs, and the perky little tits that bounce so cutely on his chest when he arches his back and groans to be fucked harder. Word spreads quickly through the barracks, and soon all of the guardsmen are flocking to him, aching to try him.
Our knight ends up heavy-eyed and sleepy during his long patrols, but the others cover for him—after all, they know it’s their fault he’s so poorly rested, since he spends most of his off-duty time pressed between the firm, sweaty bodies of multiple men. Especially after a battle, they often spear him open on two cocks at once, his head bouncing limply on one of their strong shoulders while he whimpers and jerks with the latest in a countless number of orgasms.
His fellow knights are gentlemen, of course, and always pull out, even washing him clean after they stripe his belly and thighs with their seed. But with so many needy, dripping cocks fucking so deep into him, it’s only a matter of time before a slight swell appears just above his hipbones, and he shyly confirms to his questioning lovers that his blood has ceased coming.
The barracks buzz with excitement, musings about who sired the child going quickly by the wayside as each one finds himself caring for the pregnant knight as if he were their husband, and his womb ripening with their own seed. Even those that are at first skeptical of a man bearing a child come around when they lay their hands on the tiny curve of his belly for themselves. As far as anyone is concerned, the child belongs to all of them.
At first, the evidence of the knight’s pregnancy is nothing but a palm-sized bump, detectable only by his most intimate partners. But soon, his growing womb fills out the tunic that was once loose on him, not yet eye-catching, but certainly visible to those who care to look. His chest, too, begins to prepare for the child, tiny tits rounding into tender breasts that must be squeezed into the confines of his chain mail. When his fellows help him out of his armor at the end of a watch, several helpers always stand by, ready to massage his aching breasts, or knead his burdened back, or press their face into his swollen pussy until his tense joints hang pleasure-limp.
His armor seems to grow heavier at the same rate as his womb, his joints straining beneath the combined weight. He struggles, too, to fulfill his duties while so much of his vigor goes straight to forming the babe in his belly. When one day he finally succumbs to his delicate condition and collapses near the end of his watch, the captain of the guard—who has gone to bed with him as often if not more than most of the other guardsman—has him moved to guard the throne room.
Standing on his swollen feet all day still exhausts him, but outside of the occasional uncomfortable shifting as his body aches and his child moves, he draws no attention to himself there. His armor manages to conceal his pregnancy even as his time grows closer—though he imagines the blacksmith who fashioned his cuirass chose its barrel shape to provide empty space for absorbing the impact of enemy swords, not as a vessel to be packed tight with a pregnant belly and milk-swollen breasts. It’s a tight fit, forcing his gut high enough that the child shifts backwards, a strain on his lower spine. They don’t take well to the limited space, protesting with sharp kicks that pinch the wall of his belly against the armor. He longs to rub soothing hands over his bump, but he wouldn’t dare do such a thing while on watch, even if he could reach his belly through the metal.
As the weeks pass, he keeps distending, his child a foreboding point of pressure deep in his pelvis. His belly begins to droop low, and he can’t keep his hands off the raw, stretched skin, scratching at fresh stretch marks and wincing at the growing web of tender veins. The other knights handle him lovingly, often appearing behind him to hold up his belly for a few minutes. In bed, their affections grow gentle, and the pregnant knight becomes accustomed to strong hands caressing his aching breasts while someone’s hard cock grinds ever so gently between his legs, not quite inside him, but giving his clit more than enough friction to have him cumming with a mewling cry.
Finally, he wakes one morning to a great pain in his gut. He screws his eyes shut and clutches the tense surface of his belly, trying to breathe through it without waking his bedmate. When it passes, he rouses the other knight, who helps dress him for his watch. When it comes time to lift his belly as high as he can and compress it against his body so that he can get his armor on, he clenches his jaw and pants through his teeth. His lover, waiting with the cuirass at the ready, asks if he’s okay. He says he will be once he’s dressed.
But that isn’t the case at all. His belly barely fits in the armor anymore, forcing the baby in and down until a terrible pain envelops his pelvic cradle, far worse than his daily aches in these last months. The head of his child feels so, so low.
He prays that the babe will wait to come until his watch ends. In response, another contraction lances through his belly and into his lower back. He barely swallows back his whimper.
But he must fulfill his duty.
He takes his place in the throne room, grateful that his helm conceals the winces and twists of his features as he struggles to endure labor in silence. But it becomes so hot beneath the metal, heady and claustrophobic. He longs to turn and bend over, to hang onto the knight behind him as he rocks his hips. He wants to pace, and groan with his whole chest, and rub his tensing belly.
Hours pass. Vaguely, the knight is aware that if there were an emergency, he would be no help to the king, at this point. All he wants is to be back in his chambers, on his hands and knees, with a midwife comforting him.
When the urge to push overwhelms him, he knows it won’t be much longer. He tries not to, but his body needs it, tugging on the muscles in his belly, tempting his reflexes. He can only resist for so long before finally he indulges in a small push. His mouth falls open as he feels the head of his child lodge suddenly deeper within him, surely passing from his womb into his pussy.
The progress is intoxicating, and he forgets himself after that, pushing as hard as he’s able without moving too much. It’s easier than he thought to stay quiet, the effort stealing his sound from his throat. When a particularly forceful push makes him feel like the head is coming out of him, he finally lets a sound slip, the softest of grunts.
“Is it the child?”
The whisper comes from behind him, a knight much older than him who likes to press extra fingers into his cunt and thumb at his clit when he rides on top.
“Yes,” he breathes, loud as he dares. “It’s- coming out. I think it’s coming out of me.”
Suddenly there’s a hand between his legs. He barely swallows his yelp, a sudden warmth coursing through his body as the large hand feels his cunt through the his trousers. He finds himself very grateful that his tabard hides this impertinence from the court.
“Nothing is coming out,” the knight assures him calmly.
How could that be? “Then soon. I— hng!” He must bite his tongue to keep his cry at bay as the vice closes around him once again, urging the child ever-lower. More heat bubbles up within him as the head fills his pussy and creates pressure behind his clit.
“Oh.” Awe softens the gruff whisper behind him. “I feel it. It’s stretching you.”
“It’s big,” he whispers, struggling not to squirm where he stands. He didn’t expect it to feel like this. It hurts, yes, so much he can hardly bear it, but- this pressure on his most sensitive place… he chews his lip.
With his next push, something gives inside him, a sensation he can’t quite place. Then his thighs begin to grow warm, and he understands. There’s a slight flinch from the hand between his legs, but it steadies again, his fellow knight clearly understanding what’s happened. The babe feels even lower, though there’s less pressure now, somewhat relieving that strange feeling he’s had.
It feels as if barely a minute passes before he contracts again, and he lets his chin fall ever so slightly with the effort of his push. He knows that he shouldn’t do this, that if a babe drops from between his legs before the whole royal court, he’ll be found out and imprisoned, or at the very least stripped of his knighthood. But he can’t help it. He must push, as vital as his breath.
And what a push it is, heaving the head low and making his mouth fall open as the awful stretching pain ignites into the worst agony he’s ever experienced. The pressure, too, increases somehow, right against that special place. His clit, already rendered to a sharp point of pain, begins to twitch and swell all the more.
“Oh, fuck,” he breathes against his visor. Ever so slightly, he rocks his spreading hips and his baby-filled cunt back against his fellow’s hand. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“I feel it. It’s huge. I can’t believe that’s coming out of you.”
Neither can he. Desperately, he wishes to scream, or drop into a squat, or lay back on the floor and pull his legs as far apart as he can get them. He’s almost relieved when the next contraction comes.
He pushes so hard that his thighs tremble, and wheezes through his teeth as he crowns into his lover’s hand, cunt burning, pressure growing. God, it really feels like he needs to…
No, this isn’t the time. He puts everything he has into breathing without making too much sound, the air thick and thin at once in the confines of his visor.
The next one comes, and the sensation in his clit winds sharper, making him instinctively squeeze his legs together. For a moment he feels like the head is about to burst out behind his thighs, but the knight’s hand stays firm, and the head simply bobs where it is, an instant of relief before it returns to a full crown.
“Hah- aah—“ He feels drool tickle one corner of his mouth. His lover holds the head just-so, keeping his cunt stretched to its absolute limit, burning all the way back towards his arse, and that pressure…!
“Okay,” the other knight whispers behind him, “let me try…”
He begins to push the head back in. The birthing knight flinches, his deepest instincts railing against the sensation, but before he can fully register what’s happening, the widest point of the skull digs into that special spot inside him.
Despite clenching his mouth shut, a high moan buzzes in his throat. His baby-heavy hips roll into his lover’s hand, and jolts of pain shock through his paper-thin pussy lips and the stretched flesh inside of his hole, his clit throbbing so strongly that he would have screamed in any other place.
He cums and cums and cums, until tears wet his cheeks and birthing fluid bursts in spurts from his pussy.
The knight behind him simply whispers, “Fuck,” and lets up, allowing the stimulation to ease, though the returning crown chases all of the pleasure with fiery pain.
The birthing knight is left trembling. He doesn’t even have the strength to push when he contracts again, but his body still manages to nudge the baby forward, and his lover responds again by easing the head back in. Lust and fear flood his chest, unsure if he can handle cumming like that again, but it washes over him all the same.
It goes on like that for the rest of the watch. He doesn’t cum with every contraction, but he feels like he will, sometimes teased for several minutes before the next one hits him. Soon there is no thought in his head but the blinding, white-hot pleasure-pain between his legs, and the ecstasy that keeps flooding his body, even as it shivers with pain.
He doesn’t even notice being dismissed by the change of guard, just starts walking blindly when his companion urges him to move, still holding the baby in. The clatter of so much armor drowns out his groans as his wobbling legs struggle to carry him, his ongoing birth feeling like a boiling welt even as he shudders through the aftershocks of his most recent orgasm.
Knowing they won’t make it back to the barracks, the other knight pulls him into the first empty room they pass and pulls the door shut. As he lays his back against the wall, the birthing knight thinks the babe will simply drop out of him the moment it’s no longer held in, but when the other knight starts using both hands to unfasten the cuisses from his thighs, his battered cunt somehow hangs onto the child’s head.
The left cuisse clatters to the floor, then the right, and the other knight reaches for the laces of his trousers. But his body has already tightened again, and he’s already bending at the knees and finally releasing the gravelly, animal groan that’s been building within him as he pushes. For a moment, he fears the head won’t even fit after all of that, but with one last snap of pain that makes him break into a small yelp, the head is born. It stretches his dripping trousers, a sight that leaves his helper speechless for a moment.
He feels the child turning within him, and cringing at the strange sensation, keeps pushing. A shoulder or an elbow digs into that place that makes his clit jump, and with one last gush of fluid, he cums the shoulders out. The child tumbles into his trousers while his pussy spasms and twitches.
While handing him the child, his companion eyes the tender-red place between his legs, dripping with birthing fluid and arousal. “Next time, we need to make sure everyone sees this. They’re not gonna believe me when I tell them how much our boy likes pushing bastards out of his cunt.”
That cunt tightens, and he squeezes his thighs together and whimpers, cumming to the promise of next time.
Leo and Jason, first son Luke 5, then Jamie 3, then twins Annie and Elise 1
You can read the other parts here and here :)
**
“You ok?”
Leo nods, shooing Jason away. “I’m fine, go coach.”
Jason huffs, but doesn’t leave until after placing a kiss on the top of Leo’s head and the other soccer moms watch in awe, envy, surprise…he doesn’t even want to know.
The brisk winter chill brushes past him and he shivers, wrapping his coat tighter around himself. He hadn’t realized soccer was a winter sport, not that he would have changed his mind if he
known. Jason had been so excited for sign ups. Surprisingly, Luke too.
He’s watching diligently as Jason and the other coach demonstrate kicking the ball back and forth with each other. It’s their first practice, and several of the kids are already playing in the grass, but Jason is so cute in his little coaches outfit that Leo doesn’t mind sitting here for an hour or so with the kids.
Luke comes up and Jason lightly kicks the ball to him. He somehow manages to kick the ball back, a huge grin on his face, minus his two front teeth. He lost those a week ago.
“Papa!”
Leo turns to look over his shoulder, Jamie’s voice high.
“Look!” He excitedly points to his own toy soccer ball, sitting in the tiny temporary soccer net. A goal.
“Great job baby! Keep working!”
Luke may have been the one most excited for soccer to start, but Jamie was the one with the real athletic skills. Leo almost feels a little bad that poor Luke got his athletic ability, but Jason assures him that he will grow out of it if he keeps practicing.
There’s a shuffle and a small whimper to his right and Leo sighs. He knew it was too good to be true. One of the twins is awake, meaning the other would soon follow suit.
He gets to his feet, peeking into the covered wagon, finding Annie rubbing her face, her hair a mess on her head.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.”
She sniffs and reaches for him and Leo lifts her into his arms, his heart melting a little when she drops her head onto his shoulder, snuggling close. She’s always the more cuddly one in the mornings.
He glances into the wagon and thankfully Elise is still sound asleep, so he settles back into his seat, tucking Annie into his chest, secretly hoping she’ll fall back asleep but knowing that won’t happen.
Jason happens to look over just as he sits back down, so Leo waves him off, letting him know he’s got it. Jason hesitates but eventually goes back to coaching the kids on how to pass the ball.
He’s truly one of the best people Leo has ever met. The jock nature and thicker build are an instant turn on for Leo, and though he’s way out of Jason’s league and always has been, Jason doesn’t seem to care. And for that, Leo will be forever grateful. Especially after looking at the family they’ve built together.
Luke, 5 years old now, is playing soccer. He’s incredibly outgoing, so smart, and just as handsome as his daddy. His hair is so curly, a beautiful dark brown, and his eyes sparkle bright and green.
Jamie takes a little more after Leo, except the athleticism of course. His curls are softer, more wavy on his head, and they’re lighter than Luke’s, though Leo’s mom seems to think they’ll darken as he gets older. Leo turns to check on him and finds him playing in the grass, dirt stains all over his khaki pants. He’s always been good at entertaining himself. He’s not quite as social as Luke, but Luke is good about including him in everything anyway.
And they both take such amazing care of their sisters. Annie and Elise’s personalities grow every single day. Somehow both of them got dirty blonde hair, brown eyes, and the cutest little chubby cheeks. Neither of them got the curls, but Leo thanks the Lord for that because getting Luke’s curls to lay down is hard enough.
Annie wiggles in his arms and sits up, an indent on her cheek from sleeping on it.
“You wanna go play with Jamie?”
She sniffles but nods, already climbing out of Leo’s lap. He sets her down, fixing her jacket before she waddles off towards Jamie. Leo watches her go, already so independent, and Jamie just grins at her, his eyes so bright.
He really made some beautiful children. With some help of course.
Jason’s voice echoes that it’s time to take a break and Leo watches hungrily as his husband comes running up to him, sweat shining on his throat. His cheeks are flushed but his eyes are bright. Happy. Leo can tell he’s missed being around sports.
“They’re taking a 10 minute break to get some water and snacks. You need anything?”
Leo shakes his head, tucking his hands back into his pockets.
“No, I’m ok. Though I think next time we should bring a heater or some handwarmers. For me. The kids are apparently fine.”
Jason smirks and kneels in front of him, pulling Leo’s hands into his larger ones.
“I can warm them up for you. Wouldn’t want you losing those beautiful fingers of yours.”
Leo rolls his eyes but he can’t deny that it does actually feel better now that Jason is sharing his warmth.
“How’s Luke doing?”
Jason smiles fondly, rubbing his hands over Leo’s.
“About as awkward as usual, but he’s enjoying it. He’s already made a friend,” Jason adds, pointing with his head towards Luke playing with another little boy with bright red hair.
“Good. Maybe then he’ll have some friends when he starts school next year.”
Jason nods, but his eyes grow a little distant.
Leo sighs and sits up, bumping his forehead against Jason’s.
“Stop that. We already talked about this.”
Jason blinks and the watery look disappears. Leo pretends not to notice.
“I know I know, but…I just can’t believe he’s already about to be in school. Our babies are getting so big.”
Leo has to stop himself from getting teary-eyed. He’s already cried enough about this as it is. He doesn’t want to cry in public. Thankfully, Elise starts stirring in the wagon and Jason sniffs, kissing Leo’s fingers before standing.
“Hi baby girl. Come on,” Jason says, lifting her out of the wagon with ease. She rubs her eyes, her cheeks rosy with the cold.
Jason bounces her a little, patting her back and she fights to stay awake.
“If she goes back to sleep for you I’m gonna be so pissed.”
Jason just smirks, winking down at Leo. It’s no secret the kids sleep better when Daddy puts them to bed, and truly Leo can’t complain, but it is frustrating. And he may be a little jealous.
Elise however, has already realized her sister and brother are playing without her, and she has a severe case of FOMO. So she scrambles out of Jason’s arms and he sighs, putting her down. They both watch her stumble her way over to her siblings.
Leo turns to Jason, Jason watches the kids, and once again he is struck by how lucky he is, to be so blessed with a husband this perfect.
**
Leo sits in bed, the covers pulled up over his lap, trying to read a book. The kids were all exhausted from soccer today and fell asleep fairly quickly. Leo had listened on the baby monitor as Luke talked about how much fun he had today, Jamie echoing him quietly.
Leo usually has the easy job of feeding Annie and Elise and settling them down in their cribs, so he gets done before Jason, leaving him to think over stuff by himself. Tonight is no different. He’s rereading the last sentence for the third time when the door creaks open, Jason stepping in.
His gray sweats hug his hips, and the loose tank top he wears shows off the pecs he works so hard to keep. All these years and yet Leo’s attraction has never faded.
Jason shuffles over to the bed and falls into Leo’s lap, smothering him in his warmth.
“Tired?”
Jason hums, his hands warm as they creep under Leo’s shirt. He nuzzles into Leo’s side, making himself comfortable.
Leo smiles softly, running his fingers through Jason’s hair. The book lays forgotten on the bedside table.
“I think we should have another kid.”
He feels Jason take a deep breath, his chest rising and falling before he looks up.
“What makes you think that?”
Leo shrugs, letting his hand fall from Jason’s hair to his shoulder.
“I don’t know. I just…watching the kids play today. Realizing they’re getting older. I miss my little babies.”
Jason sits up, shifting so he’s leaning across Leo’s legs, his head propped up on his hand.
“They’re still your little babies, even if they’ve grown some.”
Leo sighs, fidgeting with the edge of the comforter.
“I know that. But…I still want more. Don’t you miss it?”
“Of course I do. But, are you sure you’re up for that? Annie and Elise have already been a handful.”
Leo nods. He knows very well how much of a handful they’ve been.
“They’re getting better now and we have our routine figured out with everyone. So why not add one more?”
Jason doesn’t say anything but Leo can tell he’s thinking about it.
“And I miss carrying them. I want to be round with them again. To feel them inside me one more time.”
Leo puts a hand to his stomach for good measure. He really does miss the feeling of being pregnant.
“And what if that one more is actually two more. Again.”
Leo shrugs, picking at a loose thread on Jason’s shirt.
“Then we figure it out. Just like we always do.”
Jason drops his forehead to Leo’s stomach, his shoulders slumping.
“Okay. You got me. One more. Promise me this is it though,” he adds, looking up at Leo. “I don’t want you to overdo yourself.”
Leo smiles, putting a finger under Jason’s chin.
“I won’t promise that. There’s no telling how I’ll feel a year or two from now. But for right now? One more. Please.”
Jason groans but Leo knows he’s got him because Jason sits up more, kissing up Leo’s neck.
Leo’s whole body responds, incredibly interested in this. Jason is just as interested if the tent in his pants is anything to go by.
Jason pulls the covers away, wraps an arm around Leo’s waist and pulls him closer, laying him on his back.
“You’re very convincing, you know.”
Leo grins and wraps his arms around Jason’s shoulders, grinding up against Jason.
“I know.”
Jason wastes no time, and he makes such delicious, sinful love to Leo through the night, leaving them both exhausted and sated.
Leo falls asleep smothered in the warmth of his husband, and the father of his children.
**
A pregnancy test confirms what Leo already knows. He’s pregnant again. Happily so. Jason is at the park with the kids at the moment so he busies himself cleaning around the house, putting dinner in the oven, and then he waits for the sound of his kids racing each other down the driveway.
He opens the door just in time to find them all running as fast as their little legs will go, Jason chasing them and pretending to be slow. Luke is in the lead, Jamie right behind him, and Elise is surprisingly keeping up. Jason scoops Annie into his arms, blowing raspberries on her belly as she screams.
“Come on, hurry or the monster will get you!” Leo screams and the kids run faster, screaming with laughter, huge smiles on their faces. Luke stumbles over the stairs and crashes into Leo’s legs, followed by Jamie slamming into his other side. Elise goes slower, using her hands to get up onto the one porch step, and then Jason is there, face bright and happy.
“Hi my love.”
Leo grins, leaning into the offered kiss.
“Hello. Did you guys have fun?”
Luke nods, rushing into the house and going straight to the pantry.
“Ah, hey you can have a snack after dinner!”
Jason, breathing heavily, sets Annie down on the ground and she and Elise walk into the house together, racing to catch up with their brothers.
“I may or may not have promised they could have gummies when we got back.”
“Gummies before dinner?”
Jason shakes his head, wrapping his arms around Leo’s waist, pushing him into the house and closing the door behind him.
“No, I just said when we get back. But I didn’t think you’d have dinner ready so soon.”
Leo and Jason stumble into the kitchen, Jason unwilling to let go no matter how much Leo prods at him.
Luke is busy perusing the pantry for the family sized box of gummies they bought just last week, but Leo stops him from getting too far.
“Dinner first, then gummies. And then movie time. That new Kpop Demon Hunters movie is on Netflix.”
Luke hangs off the pantry door handle, groaning but he relents, heading to the living room.
“Did they do ok at the park?” Leo asks, turning in Jason’s arms to look up at him.
“About the same as usual. The girls discovered the slides and it turns out they love them.”
Leo chuckles, dragging Jason along as he checks the oven.
“Lasagna tonight. Should be done in 10 minutes.”
“Sounds good,” Jason grumbles, tucking his face into Leo’s neck. “Are you feeling better?”
Leo nods, running his fingers through Jason’s hair.
“Much. I have a surprise for you.”
Jason lifts his head at that, looking down at him. Leo grins, pulling the pregnancy test out of his pocket and shows it to him.
Jason’s eyes grow wide, and a smile creeps over his face.
“Already? I thought it would take just a few more times.”
Leo slaps his shoulder and he pretends to be hurt, but the smile creeps back over his lips as he sidles back up against Leo, pressing him against the counter.
“Can you blame me for wanting my husband so much?”
“No, I suppose I can’t.”
Jason kisses him and Leo’s knees go weak, and then a cacophony of laughing squeals sound behind them.
Leo laughs, laughing even harder when Jason kisses all over his face and shoulders, making the kids giggle louder.
“Congratulations, my love. We’re going to be parents again.”
Leo nods, wanting nothing less.
**
“Are you sure that’s such a good idea?” Leo’s mom asks, her voice quiet as she rocks Elise back and forth, bottle in hand.
Leo shrugs. He doesn’t really care if it is or not. He just wants another child.
“We can handle it. And we’re not ready to be done yet.”
His mom’s mouth puckers into a pinched expression, not upset but clearly worried about him.
“It’s fine Mom. We’ll be fine. Annie and Elise are already getting more and more independent.”
She looks down at him, at his position on the floor, the folded laundry in front of him. Jason has Luke and Jamie outside, and Annie is passed out in her crib. Elise isn’t too far behind.
“I’m not saying you should never have another baby. I’m just worried it might be too close together. They’re still so little…”
She trails off, the bottle falling from Elise’s lips, her little chubby cheeks pink.
Leo gets up off the floor, taking Elise from his mom and settling her into the crib, rocking her a little more until she settles down.
Seeing them both, asleep and happy and just so healthy and perfect, it only makes his desire for more kids worse.
“I don’t want to wait anymore. And even though you don’t really approve, I don’t think you’ll just stop helping us out.”
She scoffs, slipping out of the rocking chair and shaking her arms out.
“Of course not. I love my little grandbabies. But I also love my son, and I want him to be smart and healthy.”
Leo nods, smiling as he pulls her into a hug, her small form fitting easily into his arms.
“I will be ok, I promise. And hopefully we can have a real planned birth this time around.”
She laughs at that, shaking her head.
“You’ve had no luck with that in the past. I doubt this one will be any different.”
“You never know,” Leo jokes, turning on the nightlights and then closing the door behind the both of them.
He can see Jason on the ground in the yard, Luke on top of him, play wrestling. He looks just as filthy as the kids.
“Luke and Jamie absolutely adore their little sisters, and I doubt that will change with one more in the mix. Plus, doesn’t Jason just look perfect with kids?”
She rolls her eyes at that, heading towards the kitchen.
“If you start waxing poetic about your husband, I’m leaving.”
Leo puts on a playful pout, moving to lean on the countertop. “But you just got here!”
She shakes her head, throwing a rag at him, and he grins. He wants more of this.
**
Leo is only 6 months into his pregnancy when he realizes his mom might have been right.
“Not right now Jamie. Go play with your brother.”
“He’s playing legos and won’t let me play with him!”
Elise is screaming in his arms, Annie is latched onto his leg, Jamie won’t quit calling for him, and he’s about to lose it.
Tears start welling up in Jamie’s eyes and Leo wants to scream, just like all of his children apparently. At least until his savior finally walks through the front door and scoops Annie up off the floor.
And just like that, all of the built up tension and frustration he’d been feeling, it starts going away.
“Hi love. Why don’t you let me take over?” Jason asks, planting a kiss on Leo’s temple.
“Gladly.”
Jason shifts Annie to one arm and takes Elise into the other, drawing the kids away from him so he can figure his shit out before losing it on everyone.
He watches from the kitchen, from a safe distance, as Jason heads into the living room, sitting on the couch with the girls. Jason whispers something to Jamie, and then Jamie moves to talk to his brother, and then suddenly they’re both happily playing legos together. And then the girls quiet down, happily laying on their Daddy’s chest. Leo wants to scream and cry and throw a fit, but he doesn’t. It won’t help anything. And it’s not their fault he’s overstimulated.
He slips out of the kitchen, signaling to Jason he’s heading to the bedroom, and Jason nods, blowing him a kiss before turning back to the kids. Leo doesn’t deserve this, but by God is he glad he has it.
**
“Feeling better?”
Leo peeks up over the book he was reading, finding Jason in the doorway, grinning at him.
“Much. Thank you.”
Jason kicks his shoes off, still in his work clothes, and falls onto the bed, stretching over Leo’s legs.
“I shouldn’t have to go back to the office anymore this year. Sorry to leave you like that with everyone.”
Leo shakes his head, running his fingers through Jason’s hair, book forgotten.
“It’s okay. I just don’t think I realized how hard it is to have 4 children while also being 6 months pregnant.”
Jason lifts his head at that.
“And how is our newest member of the family doing?”
Leo huffs, putting a hand to the side of his swollen middle, pulling his shirt up over it to reveal the stretch marked skin.
“Better now. They were kicking up a storm earlier, probably annoyed with all the screaming.”
Jason nods, patting the swell softly.
“Why were the kids screaming so much?”
Leo rolls his eyes, resting his head back against the headboard.
“Annie fell and bruised her knee, so she freaked out. So I picked her up, and of course Elise can’t handle being left out, so she freaked out as well. And then, Luke wouldn’t let Jamie play with the legos. I was just trying to do the dishes and clean the kitchen, but they all decided that moment was the best time to have a freak out session.”
Jason chuckles, brushing his thumb over the side of Leo’s belly. His fingers are so warm and comforting.
“Your mom might have known what she was talking about, huh?”
Leo shakes his head, refusing to admit it out loud.
“She had one kid. How would she know?”
“Don’t you have like 12 cousins?”
“That’s not the point…”
Jason grins, that stupid shit-eating grin that Leo loves so very much.
“Of course not.”
Jason sits up, all of that warmth suddenly disappearing and Leo frowns.
“Pizza for dinner? Your mom left us a bunch of coupons last time she was here.”
Leo huffs, but nods. “I don’t feel like cooking. And we both know you’re useless in the kitchen. Pizza it is.”
Jason winks, planting a big wet kiss on Leo’s forehead, and then disappears back into the living room, getting the kids all riled up again about pizza.
Leo feels much, much better.
**
8 months in, Leo is relaxing in the rocking chair on the back porch, cup of tea in hand. It’s a very rare moment of silence with Luke and Jamie spending the weekend at their grandparents, and Annie and Elise down for their afternoon nap.
Jason slips out of the sliding door with a small tray of fruit and cheeses, a beautiful smile on his face.
“Snacks?”
Leo hums, snagging a strawberry.
Jason puts the tray down on the table and takes a spot in the rocking chair next to Leo. For a while, they both sit in silence, enjoying the rare moment, the baby monitor blissfully quiet.
“So, should we talk about it?” Jason asks, his attention turning to Leo.
Leo doesn’t want to. Not one bit. But…
“I guess we should.”
Jason shifts in his chair, reaching over to tangle his fingers with Leo’s.
“We already skipped the pre-K stage. And you promised we would try.”
Leo can already feel his eyes welling with tears.
“I know, I just…I’m not ready for my baby to go to school. What if he hates it? What if the kids are mean to him? What if—”
“What if he loves it?”
Leo looks over at Jason, his eyes watery too. It doesn’t help quell the emotions stirring in his chest.
“I’m scared of that too…”
Jason sniffs, wiping his face.
“Me too. But we have to try. At least one year. If he hates it, then we’ll do the homeschooling. I promise.”
Leo nods, turning to look back out at the yard, the cardinals bouncing around on the bird feeders, oblivious to Leo’s pain and fear. He hates them.
“I want him to be happy. And if going to school does that, then…then that’s fine.”
“We can still pick him up from school, and they let parents eat lunch with the kids once a month. And he is so social, I’m sure he’ll make lots and lots of friends. Including Aiden.”
Aiden, the red haired youngster Luke befriended during soccer season. They’ve had a few play dates since then, and Luke always blossoms in such social environments.
“We need to register him with the school.”
Jason nods, squeezing Leo’s hand in support.
“I’ll handle it.”
Leo looks over at him, smiling gratefully, so scared at the big changes happening, but excited to watch his baby grow.
**
Dropping Luke off at school is the hardest thing Leo has ever had to do. And he’s given birth to 4 kids unmedicated and unassisted…
The unborn little one is clearly just as upset about it, kicking and shifting inside Leo, his belly shifting with the weight of it.
Luke however, is completely oblivious to his parents’ pain. Aiden calls out to him in the dropoff line and Luke takes off to be with his best friend, not even looking back at Leo or Jason.
Leo has a death grip on Jason’s hand.
“It’s a short week. Just to see how the kids handle it.”
Jason is reassuring himself just as much as he’s reassuring Leo.
“He’ll be okay,” Leo says, but it hurts to watch his little baby go into the school, his spiderman backpack full of his lunchbox and jacket. A tear rolls down Leo’s cheek and then it’s time for them to move on. To go home. Without Luke.
The car ride home is quiet. Even Annie and Elise are feeling the melancholy mood in the car. Leo brushes a hand over his belly, feeling the kicks against his palm.
“Grandma and Grandpa are coming to the house this weekend,” he says, trying to lighten the mood.
“They’re going to watch you guys while we wait for your little sister or brother to arrive.”
“Papa? What about Luke? Does he get to see Grandma and Grandpa?”
Leo fights back tears.
“Yeah baby. He will be home in a few hours.”
“I miss him though.”
Jason’s hand tightens around his.
“Me too baby. Me too.”
**
Around midnight, Leo gets up to go to the bathroom, the pain in his lower back nearly unbearable. The cramps had been coming on and off, not often enough for him to sound the alarm, but enough for him to notice.
He grips the edge of the bathroom counter, lowering himself onto the toilet. He’s too heavy to even try to stand anymore, so he sits and relaxes until he’s done relieving himself. At least, he thinks he’s done until he feels something trickle out of him, slow at first, and then picking up speed.
“Shit…”
He waits it out, then pulls himself back up and shuffles back into the room, uncomfortable.
Jason doesn’t budge, and Leo doesn’t bother to wake him. The cramps aren’t frequent enough yet.
**
They’re in the back of the dropoff line, absolutely Leo’s fault, waiting for it to move. He’s uncomfortable, the seatbelt is pressing into his waist, his chest hurts, and he’s starting to think maybe he should’ve told Jason this morning about his water breaking.
The line inches forward and Leo hisses, a painful kick pressing against his ribs.
“You ok?”
Leo nods, rubbing the spot over where the foot just kicked him.
“Little one is being active.”
Jason raises a brow.
Leo sighs, shifting again.
“My water broke last night.”
Jason’s eyes nearly pop out of his head, and the only thing keeping him from yelling are the kids in the back of the car.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he hisses, not mad, but scared. Like he is every time this happens.
“Because it wasn’t anything special yet.”
Jason’s brow furrows and he glances at the kids before looking back at Leo.
“If you give me another repeat of Luke’s birth, I’m divorcing you.”
Leo laughs at that.
“Yeah right. You love me too much.”
Jason tries real hard to seem upset, but it doesn’t last. He huffs and reaches over, feeling the steady kicking against Leo’s side.
“How far apart?”
“8 minutes. The cramps started before bed last night.”
Jason nods, checking ahead of him and the rearview mirror. “Want me to pull out of line and head home? Luke can miss one day of school.”
Leo glances back at Luke, at the eager smile on his face, at the way he’s gripping his backpack with so much excitement, and shakes his head.
“No, let him go. It will be easier for my mom to keep the 3 younger ones.”
Jason clearly wants to argue but doesn’t, the line inching forward once again.
It takes nearly 45 minutes to drop Luke off, and by the time he’s waving goodbye, Leo is struggling. The seatbelt is as loose as it will go, his pants are too tight, and the cramps are getting closer together. Too close.
“Jason, we need to hurry.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s on the phone, calling Leo’s parents the second they pull out of the parking lot.
Jason does his best to keep the kids distracted, but it doesn’t take long for them to notice their Papa is in pain.
“Daddy, is Papa okay?”
Leo groans, fist clenched around the door handle.
“He’s okay. We just might get to meet your little sibling sooner than we thought.”
Leo flashes back to the first time this happened to him, stuck in a car with his first baby, having to give birth in the cramped space, and he really doesn’t want to do that again.
“Jason, how much further?” he asks, gasping at the end of a contraction.
“10 minutes. Just a little bit more.”
The kids keep asking questions, and thankfully Jason keeps them occupied enough for Leo to focus. The pressure is nearly unbearable, his back and hips aching something fierce. He spreads his legs as much as he can, but there’s just not enough room.
“Jason…I can’t, I need to push, ahhh,” he cries out. He keeps a death grip on the headrest, trying so hard to keep quiet so the kids don’t hear, but it hurts. More than usual.
“3 more minutes. Just keep holding on.”
Leo takes a few deep breaths, focusing as hard as he can on not pushing, on keeping the little one in just a bit longer. And then their house is in view, his parents already at the door.
“Thank god,” he groans.
Jason parks and immediately unbuckles, reaching over the console to help Leo out of his seatbelt. Jason curses.
“What? What’s wrong?”
The kids are too busy getting unbuckled and following Grandpa into the house, thankfully.
“I can see a bulge. We need to get your pants off.”
Jason gets out of the car, and Leo reaches between his legs. Just like Jason said, his baby is already slipping out.
“Fuuuuck,” he groans, relieved when Jason opens the door and his legs can shift.
“I’ve got you. Can you get out of the car?”
Leo nods, gripping Jason’s shoulder as he breathes through another contraction. His mom is there too, just behind Jason. He supposes this is the closest he’ll ever get to a birth plan actually working out.
“You weren’t kidding,” his mom gasps, no doubt seeing the too tight stretch of Leo’s pants around the head of his baby.
“Help me out.”
Jason nods and reaches into the car, helping Leo shift and then slide out of the seat, careful not to sit on the baby’s head, but there’s no way he’s making it inside.
“Can you get us some towels? I think this is the farthest he’s going to make it.”
Leo’s mom nods and disappears into the house.
“I hate when you do this to me,” Jason chastises. Leo huffs, leaning against the passenger seat, swaying his hips a bit.
“At least we’re not at Disney.”
“Ha, like I was ever going to let that happen again.”
Leo chuckles then groans, bending his knees at the sudden drop in pressure on his hips.
“Get my pants off.”
Jason does, careful not to disturb the baby, but then he’s cursing again and Leo wants to scream.
“What now?”
“The baby is breech. That’s not the head.” Suddenly all of the pain makes more sense.
“Fuck…”
Leo groans, putting his head on his arms, and he lets gravity work for a few minutes, his mom coming back with towels and water. She sees the predicament and curses, clearly just as concerned.
“We should call an ambulance. This could be dangerous.”
Leo shakes his head though, determined to not do that again either.
“No, I can do this. I just need some time.”
His mom and Jason share a look, but neither one of them go against Leo’s wishes.
“Jason, can you help with the legs? Don’t pull on them, but help them out,” Leo hisses, pushing with the contraction. It’s so much tighter, more lopsided. His hips are aching so bad too…
“Ah, fuck, that fucking hurts!”
Jason rubs his back, unable to do much else. Leo really does appreciate it, so very much. But he can’t form the words for that right now.
“I can see them moving when you push. Just go slow. Don’t try to rush it.”
Leo sobs but nods. He’s done this 4 times already. He can do it again. Even if he has to try a little harder.
With the next contraction, he squats down a little lower, widening his stance, and the shift helps push the pressure lower. Jason’s fingers press past his too tight rim, wiggling the legs, and Leo bites down on his shirt to keep himself from screaming. He feels like he’s ripping open.
There’s a shift in pressure, one of Jason’s fingers pushes further in, and then there’s a sudden release in pressure as the legs fall out of him. Half of his baby is dangling out of him and he’s butt ass naked in his driveway.
“Why do my babies keep trying to show off my junk to strangers?”
Jason chokes out a laugh, and even Leo’s mom cracks a smile, but then it’s time to push again and Leo struggles.
The pain is different, more intense and sharp, but the mechanics are almost the same. Leo pushes with the contractions, and tries his best to let gravity do most of the work.
Jason holds the little one, another little boy, and keeps him from getting hurt. The arms slip out with some help, and then the head is there, stretching him wide open.
“Go slow, I’ve got him. Don’t push too hard.”
Leo can’t muster the energy for words. He gives small, short pushes, the bowling ball between his cheeks spreading him slowly. It hurts so bad. His thighs are shaking, his knees barely strong enough to keep squatting, but then suddenly the baby is out.
There’s a second of silence, and then a squeal so loud it echoes.
“Oh my god,” Leo groans, falling to his knees in the driveway. His mom is suddenly there, pressing a towel to his hole. It’s so stretched he can barely feel it.
“He’s beautiful, Leo. Look.”
Leo’s chest is heaving but he looks up, seeing his husband holding their 5th child in his big hands. The sight is just so perfect.
“He really, really is.”
**
Leo ends up at the hospital anyway. He needs a checkup and so does Matthew, their newest little addition. He’s smaller than the other kids were when they were born, but the doctors dismissed him with a clean bill of health, much to Leo and Jason’s relief. They gave Leo some cream to help with the pain, made sure everything looked okay, and then they released him as well.
And then it was up to Leo and Jason to start all over again, finding a new routine that would work for everyone.
It’s hard. It always is. But despite it all, they make it work. And Jason, as always, is the perfect doting husband. Leo is lucky to have found him.
A farmer is struggling to get the last of his crops harvested before a cold front. He’s managed this small farm by himself for years, but as he’s gotten a little older, he’s struggled to keep up with the demands of the job. This year especially, the work has really been taking it out of him.
He feels like he never quite recovered from the flu he had back in the spring, exhausted and slow all the time, and he’s developed a lingering pain in his hips and back. He suspects some of it is due to the weight he’s gained, his once-pudgy tummy now an unsightly ball gut that juts off his frame, so massive it tugs on his spine. He mentioned it to his neighbor the other day, a woman doctor who rumor has it was once a nun, and she had almost smiled for a moment before telling him he should drink less beer. When he told her he stopped 6 months ago when his belly first started ballooning, her mouth tightened with concern. Her eyes dropped to the peaked point of his navel stretching his shirt, and she told him he should come to her clinic as soon as he’s able, as he could have a serious illness. But he’d waved her off and weaseled out of the discussion— he’d avoided revealing his secret to anyone for twenty-one years and he wasn’t about to break the streak just because some nice doctor asked.
Anyway. The point is, he doesn’t know what’s wrong.
Today, the pain is bad. His back, especially, keeps seizing up, his groans echoing in the empty field. It’s so severe that he’s tempted to abandon the rest of his harvest, but he can’t justify the financial hit he would take. He’s a man, he’ll press through.
Every time he has to squat down, the pain in his pelvis deepens, the pressure becoming more unbearable by the minute. He remembers a relative speaking of kidney stones and hopes he hasn’t caught them. That’s the last thing he needs.
He’s on his hands and knees bundling up rows of produce when he starts to feel like an elephant is stomping his lower spine down into his pelvis. His jaw drops, and a long, plaintive groan tumbles out of him. Instinctively he rocks on his hands and knees, feeling his big fat gut tug on his lumbar region as he arches and twists his back, desperately trying to find relief. When his muscles finally unclench, he wants to just collapse where he is, but he has to keep going. The doctor will be there tomorrow, but these crops sure won’t. There’s still so much more to go…
Though he owns no animals, a lowing like livestock echoes across his property. He hears the noises as if they come from somewhere far away, and not his own heaving chest. Maybe he should be ashamed, or frightened, but it makes a certain kind of sense that he should sound like a beast of burden as he labors on his hands and knees in the field.
Then comes the burn. He drops the handful of produce he was holding, hand instinctively flying to his crotch, where the fire grows angrier by the moment. It must be a kidney stone. What else could—?
He goes completely still. His crotch is hot, hot as the inside of a body, and slowly, slowly swelling under his fingers. Swallowing thickly, he withdraws his hand and slips off one strap of his overalls. Then he wriggles his hand into the waistband. It can’t be…
But there it is. He feels it, plain and solid as the nose on his face, just beneath his cunt lips. They still stretch stubbornly over it, holding it inside of him. But he can feel it on its way. Soon, his body will part. It will part, and—
He flattens his hand against the bulge and shoves. He cries out, but for all the pain, it barely budges. But he can’t let it come out. Trembling, he spreads his legs and twists the palm of his hand, and finally, he feels something give. He pants and squirms from the indescribable discomfort as his aching insides spasm, fighting him as he denies the course of nature. But finally he forces it far enough back that his crotch feels flat beneath his hand.
He tries not to think about it.
But the next time his belly squeezes tight, he feels it heavy and low inside him, searing him as it tries to escape. This time, he wrestles his arm around his tensed-hard belly and shoves his hand inside of his pussy. He finds it close, already about to come out again, and steels himself before pushing it up even further. He roars with pain, and his shoulder strains, and his lower back feels like it’s breaking. But it buys him a little more time.
He goes on like that for ages, stopping every few minutes to force this unwanted complication back inside, to fight the truth he is not ready to consider. It’s taking him forever to finish the harvest, but it would take even longer if he stopped to— no. Don’t think about that. Just push it back in and keep going.
Darkness has long-fallen and the chill has arrived on a biting wind by the time he finishes. Dragging the crates to storage is especially bad, the distraction between his legs burning him every time he bends over. But with a few solid shoves that make his whole body jerk, he crams it away. The sudden torrent of water down the thighs of his overalls, however, he can’t do much about.
Snowflakes catch on his sleeves as he rushes back to the house. His gait is wide and lilting, his crotch in so much pain that it leaves him panting, oxygen thin, head spinning. He makes it inside and tears off his clothes in a frenzy, the coat and shirt and the tight vest he wears beneath leaving a trail from the front door to the steady fire. He stands in front of it, trembling, and looks down at himself.
His chest has grown since he last let himself really look, areola now puffy and dark. His nipples are eager as cow teats and thick as his thumb, jutting from heavy, swollen breasts that sag to either side of his great bulging belly. He thinks of his poked-out navel, and the pressure in his hips, and the grumblings in his gut so strong that they frightened him, that he pretended they weren’t what he knew they were.
Now, he gazes down at himself, heavy with child, and starts to wheeze for breath.
When the next contraction comes, he sees his pregnant belly lift and tighten into an odd shape, though the sight falls away as his eyes clench shut in pain when it— when the child makes his cunt bulge again. In his panic, he cups it and forces it back in once more. Agony lances through what must be the entrance to his womb as the child lurches back in. He gags and tastes bile, eyesight blurring with tears.
But he’s bought a few minutes. He scrambles over to his phone and asks the operator for the doctor’s office. It’s closed, she tells him. He swallows thickly, then asks for her home instead.
“Oh, I guess you don’t want to walk over there in this storm,” the operator muses.
Though it’s more to do with the head splitting his pelvis apart, he agrees.
Finally, the line connects.
“Hel-“
“Doctor, doctor, help me, it’s comin’ outta me!”
“What? Who is this?”
He palms the sweat from his forehead and tries to get ahold of himself, though his voice shakes. “It’s farmer Bryce. You ‘member me, right?”
“Of course. What’s going on?”
“My belly. I know what’s wrong with it.” He gasps a hysterical, sobbing laugh, then groans as the squeeze of his abdominal muscles pushes the head further down. “Ohhhh Lord. Doctor, I—“ The worlds make him feel sick, but he spits them out anyway. “I’m havin’ a baby!”
For a moment, nothing but static. His racing heart somehow goes even faster, his head growing light. “Doctor, I— I wadn’t always a farmer, y’know. When I was young, I was a seamstress, but I— I changed my name and came here, n’that’s why I never let you gimme a physical, see, ‘cause…”
“…Because I would find out.”
He nods. “Please- p-please don’t tell anyone—“
“Don’t worry about that. Just tell me what’s happening. How much of the baby is still inside of you?”
“A-all of it. Keeps tryin’ to come out, but I- I been pushin’ it back in.”
“You—?! Good god. Do not do that again, you could severely injure yourself or the child.”
He swallows thickly. “S-sorry, ma’am.”
“Don’t— I just need you to be safe. How close is the head to coming out?”
“Feels real close.”
“Can you put your fingers in your vagina and tell me if you feel the head?”
“My…?”
“Your- uh— pussy.”
“Oh.”
He leans against a chair and stretches his hand down, following the now-familiar motions of feeling inside his private place. His fingertips find something slick and slimy.
“Yeah, real close. I think it’s— augh!” He doubles over, the labor pain crushing him without mercy, revenge for denying nature all of this time. “Ohh, it hurts! I don’t wanna push it out, I don’t wanna push it out!”
“That’s fine, you can’t push just yet. You need to boil some water, to sanitize some tools. You’ll need rags, your sharpest knife, and scissors.”
He groans. “Wh-what’s the knife for?”
“Just in case I need to make a small incision to help you get the baby out. I’m on my way over.”
“No!” He jerks upright, legs trembling under him, cunt beginning to burn again. “No, please stay on with me, it’s almost out, and- and I can’t- I don’t want you to see. Please.”
“What!?”
“Please, no one’s ever…” he swallows thickly, voice sounding as tight and heavy as his belly. “I don’t want anyone to see.”
“Pardon my frankness, Mr. Bryce, but at least one person must have seen, for you to be delivering a child.”
Though the contraction is finally passing, his weak laugh still makes everything hurt, especially his burning pussy. “N-no, I- I don’t let ‘em see.” He starts to hobble around his kitchen, wincing as he gets out a pot and begins to follow her instructions. “I always make sure to get ‘em plenty drunk, and when I put the lights out, they never notice. It’s just- this last one, I— I was a little drunk, too, and in the morning I did wonder… That is, he was s’posed to go in the, uh, well, he was s’posed to put his pecker someplace that can’t make a baby, but he must’ve… Damn it.” He heaves the pot onto the range and takes out the matches. “I don’t even know his name.” He lights the stove, then blows out the match. “You help a lot of harlots, Doctor?”
“Actually, yes, I have helped many women in that line of work. You wouldn’t have to defend your choices to me if you were one of them, and you don’t have to, now. I’m helping you either way. I’m coming over.”
“Wait! Doctor, please, it’s private, I don’t want…” He swallows back the urge to sob and rubs the heel of his hand against his forehead. “Please. Just, tell me what to do?”
She groans, then sighs heavily. “Fine. I’m only agreeing to this because you’ll probably deliver before I make it there through this storm, anyway.”
His heart races. “I’m that close?”
“Probably so. In fact, you should be having ano—“
“Ohhh Lord!” Instinctively, his knees bend and he drops into a heavy crouch right where he stands, sucking air through his teeth as his cunt burns. “God Almighty, the head’s comin’ out!”
“How much of the head? Feel for me.”
He snakes a shaking hand down and chokes out a humorless, incredulous laugh. “Barely any. Just- hah- a sliver. Oh, Lord, it hurts! Why does it hurt so bad already?”
“I know, it hurts a lot. Walking around will help, and it’ll open up your pelvis.”
“Haaaaagh…” He drags himself up to his feet. “Hoooh my lorrrrd,” he groans, clutching helplessly at his bulging pussy. The head feels so big and heavy, like a millstone- he doesn’t understand how it doesn’t just fall right out. He continues to moan as he starts his bow-legged pacing around the room.
“M’walking,” he grunts.
“Good. Keep walking. You’ll probably have the next contraction in about three minutes.”
His stomach twists. “How do you know?”
“I’ve delivered a lot of babies. Now, it’s probably going to take a few more contractions, but when your va- your, uh, pussy makes a big round shape around the head, I’ll tell you how much to push.”
He pants. “Feels like- I need to push now.”
“Not yet. You’ll wear yourself out if you push between contractions. But you can push with every contraction until you start to crown. You’ll want to slow down then, so that you don’t tear. Once the head is out, the baby will—“
“Wait, wait, don’t-“ He shakes his head. “S’too many steps. I’m all discombobulated right now, I won’t ‘member. One thing at a time? Please?”
“Uh- sure. We can do that. Focus on pacing. When the next contraction comes, try leaning on something or getting on your hands and knees.”
“Okay.”
About ten seconds of silence pass before he feels like he’s going to scream. “Uh- so- you helped a lot of babies be born?”
“Yes. Previously, I mostly worked as a midwife. In fact-“ She chuckles softly. “When you asked me the other day about your distended abdomen—your belly being so big, that is—my first thought was that you looked pregnant. I thought I must be letting my history get the better of me, and had to have a laugh at myself.”
The idea that he’s been walking around pregnant hits him upside the head, making him feel very strange. How many people looked at his belly and guessed the truth he’d been avoiding? He clutches at it, the fine hair that covers much of his body, and the bright stretch marks where his sides have swollen these last months.
Under his hand, he feels it begin to tighten. “Ohh, it’s happenin’ again…!”
“Two and a half minutes apart, now. You’re doing great, Mr. Bryce.”
He doesn’t feel like he’s doing great, but the doctor keeps on telling him so as he paces through the last of the contractions. By her timing, it only takes twenty minutes, but it feels like years as the head of his child slowly, slowly spreads his cunt wider.
A particularly intense contraction comes, and his pussy somehow hurts even worse. He collapses against the back of the couch, a shout scraping his throat, nearly a scream. His chest jumps with panting, breasts hanging heavy beneath him. “S’comin’ out! S’too big! Aaaaah- ah, lord, it hurts!”
“Okay, you’re probably about to crown. You need to stop pushing for a moment, okay? But get ready for the baby to come, it won’t be long, now.”
His head spins as he hobbles to where he’s laid out the sterilized tools next to folded blankets and lumbers down onto his hands and knees. Long and deep, he groans at the feeling of his backside bulging out between his legs.
“Can I push it out?!”
“Not yet. Next one, okay? Just a minute or two. Press your fingers around the edges, especially right behind, and it’ll help.”
He can barely hear her over his own wheezing and moaning, but he follows the doctor’s instructions, leaning the arm with the phone against a chair and stretching his other arm back to press his fingers to the screaming skin between his two holes. The fear that he might rip right down between them fades as he feels the pressure ease.
When his belly pulls tight, he’s ready. “Here it is, it’s comin’. I’m- mnnn—“
“Okay, give me a push, just a little one.”
It’s hard not to bear down with all his might. He’s never felt so urgent, not even in the fields, scrambling to save his livelihood from the storm.
He spreads his shaking fingers around the stinging flesh and sobs a shout as he feels the extent of his transformation, his cunt stretched farther than he ever guessed it could, a perfect dome hanging heavy between his legs. At the center, it opens in a broad circle around the head.
“Ohhh lord, it’s there. It’s right there, it’s comin’ outta my pussy, I need it out!”
“Not yet, okay? You don’t want to tear. Just a few more minutes.”
“Noooo,” he groans, shaking his head. “I can’t…”
“You can. You’re doing great.”
“M’not… Get it outta meeeee…” He lays his forehead on the chair. His hips try to rock, but even the slightest movement eases the head forward, spikes of pain making him freeze with a whimper. Delicately as he can, he ends up circling his hips, unable to stop picturing how far his cunt sticks out from his body, barely clinging to the head of the child.
His belly leaps, and everything tightens again. “It’s comin’! I need to push, lemme push!”
“Okay, keep that pressure on it, and push! Push it out!”
“I’m pushin’, I’m pushinnnn!”
His whole purpose narrows to that single point, body tapping into something ancient, opening for the fruit of his womb, just as bodies have for generations before him. It’s primal, desperate, making him feel like an animal trying to wrench itself free from the excruciating torment of stretching open, yes, but— something else. There’s a longing to push this babe into the world. To pull it from his body and see with his own eyes the creature he could barely think of an hour ago. To find out what grew within him, what his body has always been capable of, no matter how he dressed it.
The deep hum of effort in his throat rises and rises, a shout, then a roar, then—
“AAAUGH!”
He screams like he hasn’t since he was a babe, himself. But by the time he’s catching his breath, the excruciation has reduced to a quiet throb. Beneath his hand, he feels a strange, slimy texture, and soft papery flesh, and the undeniable curve of a little cheek.
Tears drip from his chin as he gasps for breath. “Oh. Oh lord. Oh, good god.”
“Is it out?”
“S’out. The head. It came outta me. A- a baby’s comin’ outta me.”
“Incredible. Quickly now, feel around the neck for the cord. You can’t push anymore until you’re sure the cord isn’t around the neck.”
He winces as he prods at the tender edge of his hole, still stretched, but nothing like it was at the crown. “N-no, I don’t think there’s a cord.”
“Okay. Amazing. You’re almost there.” Genuine joy shines through the crackling phone line. “Push just a little, and that’ll help the baby turn, so the shoulders can get through.”
“Okay.” He feels a little dubious about the idea of pushing out shoulders, but rests both arms on the chair in front of him and pushes until he feels the babe begin to turn inside him. “Ohhh. Mmmmmmmm. S’working.”
Static crowds out her voice. “You’re doing so well, y… trong. Bear down with the next con…n. You mi…”
His heart jumps into his throat. “Doctor?!”
“…storm’s getting… isten, you can p…cond shoulder out af…r you push out the first one, okay?”
“What?”
“Y… an pull out seco… oulder after you… one!”
“Doc, I can’t— hoooooh lord.” What must be the baby’s shoulder digs at his poor stinging taint. He grits his teeth and pushes, pushes— then yelps as it pops free. He reaches back to feel, finding one shoulder out. The doctor’s words suddenly click, and he shifts back onto his heels, dropping the phone to reach for the squirming purple shape between his legs with both hands. A tug, a final yelp of pain, and he pulls the infant out of his body.
He wilts where he kneels, legs trembling, wincing at the sensation of blood and water pouring from him, feeling the cord stretch over his belly. The babe makes odd, jerky movements against him, unused to stretching its limbs so far. He fumbles for the warm sterile rag and uses it to rub vigorously at the child, removing gunk and encouraging its blood to flow, until finally, a small, warbling cry bursts out.
His hands start to shake. It’s alive. A living thing just came out of him. He pushed it out, and here it is, his responsibility now. An ugly little thing, somehow already so precious to him that his ribs feel too small to contain his heart.
With shaky breaths, he reaches for the phone, hanging by its cord around a slat of the chair. It’s still connected, though he hears only a few stray syllables of voice between bouts of static.
“Doctor, I dunno if you can hear me, but— it came out. I- I had the baby. I guess you can hear the cryin’. But we’re both okay. He’s healthy. M-mighty strong lungs. Hah. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“…lad you’re s… good jo… e afterb… kay?”
“Uh… can you repeat—?”
Suddenly the static rises, and the line goes dead. The rising howl of wind outside leaves little question as to the culprit. He stares at the cold, dark world outside the small window, then back at the wrinkly little creature in his arms.
“Hello,” he breathes. “Sorry, everything’s a mess, buddy, I didn’t know…” He swallows thickly, trying not to think about how little idea he has of what to do.
But it isn’t so hard. When the babe’s little mouth begins to root across his skin, it only makes sense to bring it to his tingling nipple. He ties and cuts the cord while the babe drinks, and replaces the cooling rag with a warm blanket.
Though he has a vague idea that the afterbirth is supposed to come, he waits on the birthing mat for a long while, and nothing happens. He tries tugging at the end of the cord still coming out of him, and winces as it does nothing but strain his poor cunt. He does begin to have contractions again, and feels it shifting lower in his hips, far heavier than he would have guessed, but it’s certainly taking its sweet time. He winces and rubs at the still-bloated curve of his belly. He supposes it’ll come when it comes, and gets up.
He removes a drawer from his dresser and makes a tiny bed of it, and does his best to firmly swaddle the babe before resting it inside. Though he did not know it existed a mere few hours ago, he can’t stop looking at it, now, constantly checking to be sure it’s okay as he showers away the filth of childbirth. When he’s done, he squats over the drain and bears down, hoping to be rid of the afterbirth. Nothing comes out, but a contraction does grip him, so he figures it can’t be long.
Though he’s exhausted, he’s far too excitable to sleep, and he doesn’t want the afterbirth coming in his bed, anyway, so he stays up. He nurses the new babe, and groans softly as the contractions mount, leaving his muscles feeling limp and shaky.
Two hours after he pushed out the babe, he feels the need to push again. The oppressive weight inside of him makes him groan, squatting and rocking his hips at his bedside. He never knew the afterbirth was such an unpleasant ordeal. It hurts as badly as giving birth!
On a particularly hard push, he feels a release of pressure, and water gushes between his legs as the weight suddenly plunges low enough to sting his cunt. He gasps and moans like he’s touched a hot stove, instinctively shaking his head. God. God, it’s just like…
His eyes fly open. A sense of deja vu washes over him as he thinks no way, and reaches between his legs. He dips his fingers into his tender hole—
And there it is. The curve of a skull.
A twin.
“Good lord,” he whispers. “Lord, lord, this can’t be, it, it…”
A contraction wrings him out, the second baby beginning to strain his cunt lips. He shakes his head, desperate not to go through this again, but there’s nothing he can do. He tries to breathe, to stay steady, as his body births the second unexpected bastard of the day.
He thanks the lord for the doctor’s help, remembering her words when the crowning comes. This time he screams through it, screams until his voice gives out, his already-battered cunt forced to endure the stretch of another head so soon after the first. He survives the slow emergence, resisting his desperate need to push, and then finally, it’s time.
He bears down with all his might. But this time, the head doesn’t come. The contraction leaves him, and he hangs his head, wheezing. That’s okay. He’ll get it on the next one.
“C’mon, baby,” he mumbles, “I know it’s cold out here, but it’s not so bad. There’s blankets, daddy’s milk… c’mon…”
But he can’t push it out on the next contraction, either. “What- what, no—“ he pants, shaking his head as the contraction fades, the babe moved no further. “No, no, c’mon! Get out! Get outta me!”
But it doesn’t come. He pushes until his legs tremble under him, fingers cramping from gripping the sheets. Unsure how much longer he can keep himself upright, he shakily shifts back, minding the globe of stretched tissue and heavy head bulging between his legs, and lays down.
Pushing from this position is significantly harder, the child’s weight like an anvil on his lower spine, but he’s too weak to change positions again. He closes his eyes against the dripping sweat and gives everything he has, then more, until his whole body trembles. Pitifully he shakes his head and thrusts his hips, trying to force it out. He pushes, and pushes, and pushes, and he burns, and burns, and—
“Fuck!”
The head bursts out in a gush of fluids. He lies there panting. He can’t quite bring himself to feel the wonder he felt the first time. It’s just another person emerging from his pussy. At least it’s almost over.
He pushes on the shoulders, readying his hands to catch the child. The head eases forward, further, further, rising as the swell of the shoulder stretches him. But he has to stop for breath, and the babe sinks back in, chin smushed flat to his body, shoulders dragged back in. He groans in frustration and pain. Okay, okay, one more. Just one more.
But the shoulders don’t come on the next one. Or the next. In fact, he pushes again and again for the next several contractions, and nothing happens. Panic gives him his second wind, and he drags himself back to squatting beside the bed. He pushes that way, but nothing changes.
He tries on his knees, on his side, standing, even walking. But the head only ever bobs between his legs, no more of the babe to be seen.
Oh no.
“It’s stuck,” he gasps, feeling it bob between his thighs as he pants for air. “It’s stuck!”
He wants to pull on it, but what if he hurts it? Wants to stretch his pussy, but even when he tries, he can’t get his fingers in there. God, he needs a doctor, he needs—
The bottom drops out of his stomach. He realizes what he has to do.
He chooses thick, loose clothes. Heavy boots. Hisses through his teeth as he pulls on his long johns, dizzied by the shape poking between his thighs. Even after he adds his trousers and overalls, it’s still an absurd stretch between his legs, straining the fabric. It’s hard to think about anything other than the weight of it, an ongoing emergency that shifts with each gasp for air and slides just the barest bit out with each contraction before coming back in, so reluctant to leave him.
He bundles up his firstborn as tightly as he can, and binds them to his chest, hoping he struck the right balance between protecting them from the storm and leaving them room to breathe.
And he sets off into the storm.
He doesn’t walk so much as rock methodically from one foot to the next, feeling with every step how the body burdening him spreads his cervix and fills his pussy and hangs from cunt.
It’s a long journey, especially when contractions slow him every few minutes. He knows it does no good to push, but he can’t help himself, stopping to lean against trees or fence posts and roaring through his teeth as he bares down, trying to budge the child. But he never feels more than the head inching forward and sinking back. He grits his teeth and swallows back bitter tears, trying to hush the voices that ask how he can think himself a man when his body gapes around a child.
Finally, in the distance, he glimpses light through the storm. He drags himself a few paces forward to be sure his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him, and then screams with what’s left of his voice for help. He sounds garish, throat stripped by hours of labor.
Beneath the whistle of the storm, he hears a door slam. Then— yes, thank god, footsteps.
“Who’s there?” a voice calls, feminine, but harsher and accented differently than the doctor’s. He doesn’t even have any energy left for fear when the barrel of a shotgun precedes her in entering his lantern light.
“Please,” he croaks, knees shaking. “Need- th’doctor. My baby…”
She lowers the gun immediately, eyes wide. “It was—? Okay, right, come on.” She bounds over and wraps a broad arm around him. He whimpers and must reach down to grip the head of his half-born child as he stumbles forward, but he manages to keep her pace.
The woman leads him to the stoop of a humble house and opens the door, and there inside, with warm lamplight glowing through her curls, the good doctor waits for him. For a moment, her gently clasped hands and the shawl pouring over her arms make her look like she belongs in one of those windows in those fancy churches in town.
“Doc,” he whispers.
Then she rushes towards him, looking rumpled and half-dressed, like she woke only moments ago. “Farmer Bryce!?”
“His baby,” the other woman says, closing the door behind them. His ears ring with the sudden absence of the storm.
The doctor scoops his firstborn from the little sling, eyes sharp and intent as she looks the child over. “What’s happened? Did—?”
“Not that one.” Finally he lets his trembling knees win, and stumbles back against the door. He unclasps his overalls and grabs a handful of fabric around his waist, clumsily pulling it all down to reveal the head jutting from his swollen-red pussy.
“Jesus christ!” says the broad woman.
The doctor’s eyes go wide, but she wastes no time being startled, handing the swaddled babe off to her companion. “Bring clean linens, boiling water, and my instruments. I’ll call if I need a hand.”
“Right,” she the other womanfaintly, and tears her eyes away from the spectacle before vanishing into some direction that he doesn’t bother to look at, because he’s having another contraction.
“God…” He sounds like a dead man. Unable to deny instinct, he gives a feeble push, and his own head falls back against the door with a whimper as the child’s head bobs between his thighs. “S’stuck,” he murmurs. “Came out… b’fore midnight, and I been pushin’ since then. Hasn’t budged…”
The doctor comes close, looking very, very serious. A cold pit opens in his chest.
“You need to do exactly as I say.”
“O-okay.”
She bends and finishes pulling off his bottoms, leaving his bare legs trembling below the layers of shirts and coat up top. “Get on your back.”
She helps him fumble his way to the floor, tucking one of her hands under the baby’s head so he doesn’t have to worry about hurting them as he situates himself. Just as he’s almost flat, the other woman returns with one arm stacked full of supplies.
“Thanks, love,” the doc says, and takes the sheet first, spreading it under his hips. She tells him, “Now pull your legs back as far as you can,” and it says a lot about how dire the situation is that it only occurs to him to be humiliated now, as if everyone in the room hasn’t already seen that he’s a man with a baby hanging out of his pussy.
Still, the good doctor must catch the look on his face as he starts to pull his thighs back, because she grabs the rest of her supplies and hurries the other woman out of the room. She surveys his best efforts to follow her directions, then leans forward and pushes his knees even further back, wrenching a groan out of him as his heavy pussy is tilted up and his thighs press against the still-swollen sides of his belly.
“There we go,” she says. “We’re gonna wait for a contraction, then I’m gonna push on your belly to help you get the baby out. I believe one of their shoulders is stuck on your pubic bone.”
He nods, trying not to let his heavy eyes shut. “Will it hurt?”
“…Yes, but no more than what you’ve already experienced.”
One of his cheeks twitches as he tries to smile at that. Then his face falls.
“Ohhh, here it comes—“
“Push!”
“Hnnnnnnngh!”
He digs his fingers into the backs of his thighs, jams his chin to his chest, and pushes as hard as he can. The world goes quiet and his head feels light. Every muscle trembles. Then there’s a completely new type of pain. His clenched eyes flutter open just long to see the doc shoving both hands hard into his lower belly, denting the round surface, and he wails at the sensation of his cramping womb stretching around the child as she manipulates it inside him. Like a kick to the pelvis, or a dozen, and still he must push.
But suddenly the doc cries, “There!” and something lurches against his spine, then pressure jabs at his cunt. He breaks the push with a yelp of surprise, but the shoulder still comes barreling out of him. He screams at the stretch, head falling back, panting.
“Oh… good god…”
“Good! Good, now I’m gonna pull the baby out, okay?”
He barely has time to cringe before the second shoulder stretches him, and finally the oppressive weight inside him slips out. He feels absolutely empty, like a load-bearing piece has been removed and his skeleton will simply crumble. All he can do is lie there.
After a little bit of rustling and the sound of skin patting skin, the baby’s cries pierce the air.
His chest heaves, and tears spill over his cheeks. “Everything okay?” he croaks.
“Yeah. Well- he likely has a shoulder injury, but nothing serious. You did it, Mr. Bryce.”
He rolls his head back and forth on the floor, as close to shaking it as he can bother with right now. “Think… think we’re on a first name basis, doc.”
She huffs a deep, crackling laugh. “Right. Penelope. And you’re… Benjamin, right?”
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I may be a trans guy with a pussy but if we’re talking cis mpreg I WANT him to give birth through his penis.
My alpha wolf, ripe for birth. He’s sitting up holding his hairy belly, shaking, his first litter. Me, on the floor between his spread legs while his crotch bulges.
“You’re ready for the first crowning,” I say. “I’m gonna help you cum the pup into your cock.”
He shakes his head, his cock is engorged and overstimulated after the 10 hours spent in labor, opening up the base of his cock like a cervix. But it’s not a cervix—he isn’t anywhere near 10cm dilated, and he never will be. His body is pushing the pup down without his help, so even if he’d rather labor uselessly, trying to dilate further, he can’t. It’s time.
I take his quivering cock in my hand and massage the base, where the pup is straining to get out. He whimpers and pushes into my hand, aching for relief from the pressure and pain.
“Good boy,” I say, and slip two fingers of my other hand into the tip of his cock.
“No, no,” my wolf moans. “That hurts.”
“I know, baby,” I say. “But your tip doesn’t dilate as much as the base, I have to stretch you out myself. You know that. Lean on me.”
Just like we practiced, he puts his clawed hands on my shoulders and his forehead on my forehead. Our breath mixes. I push my fingers deeper in his cock and he tightens his grip on my shoulders. A whimper escapes his muzzle.
“Good boy, good boy,” I whisper, and start rhythmically rubbing the inside of his cock and the bulge at his crotch.
His pants progress from pained to aroused. His engorged cock hardens and rises, his knot ripening with cum. This is the biggest his hard cock will ever be in his life, the moments right before he crowns a pup’s head into his penis while cumming harder than he’s ever felt, and much longer than he ever could without whelping. This litter, his first litter, is small, almost not befitting of an alpha. He’ll get to repeat this first crowning and cumming only three more times before he’s finished whelping.
“Fuck,” he whimpers. “I don’t want to do this.”
My hands keep moving. “You have to, baby. You’re the alpha now.”
“It hurts.”
“Only for a few more seconds.”
“Hnghhh….I, I…fuck I need to cum.”
I pull my fingers out, shove my pussy onto his cock, and squeeze his knot.
He screams and cums, gripping my shoulders hard, and the pup crowns into his penis, stretching my pussy wrapped around it. Birth fluids and cum spurt into me. His hips buck as he cums a second time inside me. I give a quick, practiced push, whelping his cock and our pup still inside him, and I support his stretched penis while he cums again, bringing our pup to a full crown at the head of his penis. I can see fur, dark fur.
“Fuck, fuck, it’s in my cock, fuck, get it out! Get it OUT!”
I jostle him back into position, his hands on my my shoulders. He digs his claws in.
“Shh, baby, be a good boy. You have to pant for this part, slow, slow. We don’t want you to tear.”
He moans and quivers as he tries to slow his breathing. “It hurts…” he whimpers.
The next contraction grips his belly and he gasps. The pup’s head begins to inch out of his cock, wet and slick. My hands support both him and the pup from underneath.
“Good boy, you’re doing so well, good, good,” I murmur, entranced by this introduction to our first pup.
His belly contracts again and he groans, then—as the pup’s head slides out of his penis, he screams, “Fuck! Fuck that hurt. It’s out? Is it out? Did I whelp?”
“Almost, almost,” I say. “You whelped out the head. Reach down, baby.” I guided his hand down to the head of his penis to feel the fur.
“That’s it?” he whines. “That’s our pup? It’s almost out. Oh fuck, it’s almost out.”
I squeeze his hand. “Almost there. You feel the next contraction? Good boy, now PUSH.”
He takes a breath, curls over his belly, and pushes hard, whelping the pup out into my hands. As soon as he feels the release he unclenches and screams.
“Fuck, it hurt! It hurt so fucking bad, fuck, fuck, why am I still pushing?!”
His crotch is starting to bulge again. I set the pup down in some waiting blankets and start massaging his knot again, slipping three fingers into his cock this time.
“The next pup is about to whelp,” I say, gently stretching his opening with my fingers. “This one will be easier. The first pup is always hardest. You want to cum again?”
I stroke him until he hardens, and when he’s ready to cum I don’t put his cock inside me—this will happen fast. He cums, screaming, and the second pup shoots through his cock and is forcibly whelped into my arms. He doesn’t get a break. The third pup is ready to crown into his penis, and with just a few strokes he cums the pup out completely. He doesn’t even have time to breathe—the last pup enters his penis in an afterstock. As he rolls through more aftershocks, he gradually whelps out the last of the litter.
“I—I still need to push,” he whines.
“Good boy, it’s the placenta, it’s almost over. Let’s get your afterbirth out.”
I pull my alpha wolf into my lap and he curls into my chest. I gently, gently start stroking him off, and he cums weakly, with a little whimper. He’s so overstimulated. Over the next twenty minutes he slowly cums, each orgasm pushing the afterbirth out. He cries a little when the afterbirth enters his cock, but he helps me by pushing, and finally he whelps the placenta into my lap. He can’t even lift his head anymore. I lay him down and guide each of our four pups to his teats, where they drink eagerly.
“I want to do it again,” he whispers, our litter wriggling against his chest and stomach. “I need to whelp a big litter next time.”
I put my hand on my belly, knowing that I will quickly swell from when I forced him to cum up against my womb.
“Okay, we’ll do it. But you’ll have to help me in a few months first…”
Thinking about a king who’s yet to have any heirs begging the gods for fertility. When his queen’s blood continues to come for many months regardless of his pleas, he curses the gods for abandoning him; he has no reason yet to believe that his own growing gut is anything other than winter weight.
When spring comes, people begin to notice the protruding roundness of his belly, his physician recommending him more exercise and his tailor having to let out his royal garb every few weeks.
Still, the king attempts to plant his heir in the queen’s womb every night, though now he must rest his belly on her back to complete their union.
Nine months since he appealed to the gods, murmurs of concern follow the king wherever he goes. His gait has slowed and widened, a ponderous, rocking movement as his great belly hefts side to side. His physician looks more and more disturbed every time he examines the tight ball growing beneath the king’s gently swollen chest, warning him that he must have an imbalance of humors that have led to a massive tumor. The movement the king has felt, and the physician now feels and even sees from outside, must be the cankerous wolf, the physician surmises grimly, a malady that eats the flesh of the afflicted. Most often found in the breasts of women, it could nevertheless affect any part of the body, and the king should be prepared for a painful illness and untimely death.
But something else happens, instead. The king’s cock begins to swell. At first it’s barely enough to notice, but after a few weeks, it’s so thick and bloated that he can barely stand to touch it. He shudders at the slightest brushes against the tender, stretched flesh, and just the most tentative touch of the queen’s lips makes him cry out and dribble seed.
The physician warns him that the wolf might be on the move throughout his body, that this is likely a tumor that could destroy his member, but the king has another thought. He remembers pleading with the gods, and believes that they must have finally answered his prayers, and this large and sensitive cock is a sign of fertility.
The overstimulation is excruciating, but he barely manages to squeeze his massively swollen cock into the queen. She gasps and squirms and trembles, feeling split open by him. Tears cover his face by the time he reaches his climax. Both of them cry out as a sudden torrent of fluid erupts from him, believing this outpouring to be seed given to him by the gods. Once the servants change their linens, they go to sleep convinced that their heir will come soon.
They’re right—it will just be much sooner than they think.
The king wakes in agony at dawn. His belly cramps so tightly that he can do nothing but bend over it and groan. Assuming his illness must be consuming him, he remembers the physician informing him that there is no treatment or cure for the canker, and he resigns himself to his fate. His queen stays by his side as his body is wracked with fits of tension. She finds herself thinking that his agony reminds her of a laboring woman, especially the way the low-hanging bulge of his belly lifts and contracts with each wave of pain, but she fears such an observation would simply upset him, and keeps it to herself.
The king is lying on his side when the change comes. He groans, hair sticking to his sweat-drenched brow as he shakes his head against the soured sheets. He moans for the gods’ mercy, and instinctively lifts one leg, spreading his thighs wide. That’s when the queen sees how the flesh above his member, normally a relatively flat, triangular space, bulges as if around something hard and spherical. She stares as he thrashes and groans, watching as the tendons below his belly tighten and the shape sinks a little lower.
She figures it out, then. She stares at him, her jaw slowly loosening as she realizes what she’s witnessing. The heaving belly, contracting around a babe. And the head… the head descending towards his member.
She tells him she needs to get help, and he begs her to stay, but she leaves anyway. Terrified and in agony, the king feels something shifting deep within him, and is sure he must be dying. When the door bursts open and several people enter, he barely notices, eyes blurry with exhaustion and tears.
The physician and the midwife stare at the laboring man, stunned, but it’s the midwife who leaps into action first. She ducks between the king’s legs and begins to gently palpate around his bulging crotch, holding his thighs open when he screams and tries to close them. He demands to know the meaning of this, and she tells him. He’s giving birth. He tries to laugh at her, but a contraction steals his breath. His hands knot into the sheets and he groans long and low, while the midwife, physician, and queen all watch his crotch grow heavier and heavier with the head, until the base of his flushed cock begins to stretch with it. He hisses in pain, totally unaware of what’s coming.
He screams with the next contraction, eyes flashing wide with shocked terror as the base of his cock stretches a little more, trying to widen enough to accept the head. No, he begs. Not there. Please not there! The queen can do nothing but cradle his head in her lap. The midwife rubs his hip and tells him how well he’s doing. The physician, pale-faced, sits at the king’s desk taking notes and wondering if anyone will believe him.
Oh god, no, the king sobs as he feels another contraction coming. He cries for someone to stop it, but nothing can be done as his body squeezes, and the crown of the head peeks into the base of his cock. The king begins to thrash, and the midwife has to call the physician for help to hold down his legs. It gives both of them a prime view as, over the course of several contractions, the base of the king’s penis slowly wraps around the babe’s skull.
For many hours, he labors. The king screams for help, for mercy, for his mother, for death, as the hint of head inside his cock slowly eases forward. Finally it crowns into him, his base rendered nearly translucent around the widest part of the head, skin stretched pale and veins bulging blue with the tension. His chest rattles with tearful wheezing, his hands cramping from gripping the sheets.
The next milestone comes with a thrash of his whole body and a wail of, simply, Fuck! as the head pops into his shaft. His tip is beginning to stretch, now, an angry, weeping red, slit pulling open. He rests, then, such as a man can with a baby’s head deforming his cock, eyelids fluttering shut and chest heaving as he pants for breath. The queen dabs his forehead with a wet cloth and tells him how brave he is.
The midwife begins to gently stretch his hole, and he whimpers, but lets her, knowing she’s preparing him for—
Oh, nooooo, no, no, it won’t fit, it won’t fit! he sobs, but his cockhead splays all the same, pulled nearly flat as it comes flush to the crown. His crotch bulges again, too, as the shoulders push at it. Make it stop, just cut me open and take it out, I order you! Do it! he screams, but his three helpers exchange looks grimly, knowing that the flesh of his birthing member is much too thin to be cut without hurting the child, nevermind the risk of the king bleeding out. He must endure.
A litany of No, no, no no nonono no nooo noooooo! fills the room as his body pushes the child forward. The slight splay of his slit opens eye-like over slimy hair, his spongy cockhead reduced to something like a heart shape as it hugs the emerging head. His crotch stretches sharply, then the head eases back, his slit closing a little. He whimpers with relief.
But the midwife begins to rub around his base, trying to stretch him. She tells him he needs to push with the next contraction, or the child will never come out. He weeps bitterly.
Yet, he pushes. A high, wobbling agony gargles in his throat as he clenches his teeth and heaves air through the cracks. Veins stand out in his forehead and his shaft. His cockhead flares to the point it had reached before, and then a little further, a little less than a thumb’s length of the baby’s head visible through the slit. The shoulders don’t enter his cock, yet, but the base stays wide, ready to accept them when he does push them through.
He begs the midwife not to touch, sobs that it hurts, but she assures him gently that she’s keeping him from tearing, and keeps running her fingertip around the reddened edges of his birthing slit.
His belly lifts and tenses, and voices encourage him to push from every side. He’s only able to bear down for an instant before he loses the air in his lungs to a shriek as his slit-lips open wider. He whips his head in delirious denial, barely conscious.
This is when the midwife leans forward and pushes on the top of his belly. His eyes snap open and he screams like a dying animal as a shoulder bursts into his cock and the head surges against his tip. The bruise-purple tissue of what used to be his cockhead is indistinguishable as any part of a penis, more like a cunt now, if anything. This new cock-cunt twitches and pulses around the broad teardrop of crown now visible.
With the next contraction, he does his own pushing, fearing the pain in his belly again. He pushes until his face goes red and his whole body trembles, cock lopsided with the single shoulder and cunt lips peeling slowly down the dome of the head, until finally—
“AAAAAAAUUUUUURRRRGHHHHHHHH!!!!!”
The king’s agony echoes off the walls, his back arching and chest heaving as what was once his cock crowns around his child’s head. It holds him perfectly round and open, leaving him wheezing for breath with a high, tortured whimper threaded into his voice. He tries to keep pushing, but the midwife tells him to wait. He screams that he can’t. It’s too big! It’s gonna rip his cock off! But his attempts to push are futile, the head simply bobbing slightly, and he must endure the torment of the crown.
The next contraction should bring relief. But when it comes, his pushes only bring an awful pressure at the base of his cock, the drag of the shoulder inside his shaft, and the stinging tickle of his birthing slit struggling to release the babe’s skull. It’s stuck.
It’s stuck! It’s stuck! he shrieks.
The midwife tells him to keep his head on, and makes him roll from his side to his back and pull his legs up by his knees. He does as he’s told, though his hands tremble so badly that the queen must pull his legs back, leaning over him until his belly juts out between his upturned thighs, and his knees nearly touch his shoulders. His cock sticks up at an angle, though it wilts at the end with the weight of the babe’s head until the midwife supports it.
When pushing in that position does nothing, she continues to support his cock as she forces him to get on his hands and knees. His limbs tremble. He buries his pain-paled face in the queen’s breast and pants while he waits for a contraction. His hot breath and loose saliva seep into her dress as he pushes, but he finds no relief.
The midwife doesn’t warn him before she starts to physically tug his birthing slit down. He screams and tries to kick her, but the physician holds his legs still and the queen wraps her arms around his head to quell him. Her gown muffles his shrieks as the tip of his penis is dragged over the widest part of the skull, and he goes limp and wheezing when the head finally bursts free of his birthing slit. The gaping mouth of his cock crumples loosely around the neck, until the midwife keeps pushing it back to expose the shoulder.
When her fingers worm past the shoulder and dip inside of him, he lurches and gags. His wife is quick enough to let him loose, and he vomits over the side of the bed at the sensation of a foreign hand digging into his cervix. It leaves him tear-streaked and dry heaving, but finally, the midwife frees the second shoulder. He can do nothing but gargle in reaction.
Finally, a contraction comes, and he pushes with all he has left, his whole body trembling and his eyes rolling back. He bleats out a delirious whimper as both shoulders stretch his birthing slit at once, but they linger for only a moment before the midwife pulls the heir to the throne from his quivering body. His former penis falls limp, nothing but a gaping birth canal leaking blood and fluid.
He knows, in that moment, that the gods answered him. The first time he beseeched them, they gave him a womb with a miracle babe within… only for him to curse them, not knowing he already carried their blessing. This was his punishment.
At least it’s over.
Or, that’s what he thinks, until he consults his looking glass a few months later, and finds his sagging belly beginning to swell and harden once again.
Kevin's hand shot away from his hip and grabbed hold tight to the back of the couple's sofa. This was no time to worry about politeness, grace, or care. His body had work to do. All he could do was hold on, cry, scream, wail — anything he needed to get through the pain he was suffering as a passenger.
"you're doing so good", Sarah offered through the cacophony of moans and groans.
Finally, the consistently growing pain reached its peak and began to retreat back to the dark hole it emerged from. At least for now. Behind Sarah, Jane watched with a fierce intensity, her eyes locked on Kevin and her hands clamped over her ears.
This was a moment they had waited on for ears. They had hoped for it for so long, prayed that it would one day happen, and celebrated ferociously when it finally did. None of that made this event, this night, or this amazing gift any easier to bear in the moment, however.
The kind young midwife attending the birth came back to Kevin's side as the last of the contraction tailed off. Without a word, she hurriedly poked at his abdomen with a blunt plastic instrument and looked to the monitor attached to its cord. The room was filled again with another wave of noise, though this time it was the soothing and familiar thwump-thwump-thwump of the baby's heart rate as it waited to be delivered.
Jane dropped her hands away from her ears and fixed her eyes on Sarah again. "Soon," she mouthed silently to her. Sarah smiled in return.
"Baby's not far away now, I'd say next couple of contractions we're going to think about pushing," the Midwife told Kevin." Let's think about getting these shorts off and we'll make you a little more comfortable,"
Kevin agreed, hooking his thumbs into the waistband and sliding down his long baggy athletic shorts. Both Jane and Sarah turned away for the undressing. Neither were sure if they should turn back now, or wait a while longer. I mean, who's to say what's polite in a situation like this? They were both grateful to Kerry who broke the tension with further instructions.
"That's good, we'll just put these to the side for now," she began examining the evident drop in Kevin's belly. "Good, good. Now — are you happy for the parents to watch, or do you want me to tell them when the head is out?"
"Anything's fine, whatever they want" Kevin whispered with his eyes closed and his head hung low towards his stomach. Another contraction was bearing down on him fast, he was exhausted, and the agony never seemed to fully dispel between one set of pains and the next. Yet, here he was standing naked in the living room of two semi-strangers he barely even knew. He hardly felt in a position to make demands.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarghhhhh," he howled again, gripping hold of the sofa, opening his hips, urging the head to come down and get out, fast.
Sarah had turned around again but kept her gaze averted to the nearest wall. She knew she'd have to look as the head made its way out but it all felt so impersonal, and impolite. In contrast, Jane was transfixed.
She had always been fascinated by the process of pregnancy and birth. Especially birth. Something about that incredible transformation fascinated her. And the wretched agony of delivery that had to be endured. It was raw and primal, surreal and somehow so incredibly natural too.
She wanted to be there, even just for a second. She wanted to know what it was to be in such wretched agony, to put herself there by choice, and know that there's no other way out but through. She imagined knowing that the only way out was through a much greater agony and effort must have been such an unimaginable torture she had to know what it was like.
For years she had bemoaned the laws of nature that said she wouldn't ever be able to give birth herself. She would never feel that pain, make those incredible efforts, or gush in the unimaginable relief that it was all suddenly over.
She felt so incredibly fortunate that she was getting to be a part of the experience. For a long time, she had wondered if it was really going to come true. Now it was. She was witnessing the birth of their own baby boy.
Kevin broke her trance with a sudden gasp and a jolt as he lowered into a squatting position. Jane was alarmed, it looked so painful and so urgent that he struggled just to control his breath. She shot a look to the midwife, expecting to see her somehow jump into action but she was as relaxed as she'd ever seen her.
"Ahhh," Kevin gasped between loaded breaths. "I can feel him, he's right there, he's.right.there!"
"Yup, good! It won't be long," Kerry said with a despicably cheery tone.
For the first time, he could feel the weight of the head as it barrelled into his cervix and tried in vain to squeeze its way into the shaft of his cock. He was in transition. Having dreaded this moment for so many months it was finally here and now he felt unprepared. He didn't know whether to cry, push, or scream. He wanted all three.
In this crisis moment, Sarah went to his side with care and compassion. She placed his free hand around her shoulders and her own arm around his back where she rubbed long, gentle circles.
"You're doing good, so good!" she murmured into his chest. "You're amazing, you've got this,"
Kevin's eyes shot to the heavens again as another contraction bore down on him. Now, he could feel more than pain alone as it shifted and pressed on the baby inside of him and brought it further down toward his pelvis. It was agony. Yet, somehow worse than the agony he was enduring was the humiliation he was fighting to avoid.
With every ounce of pressure, another squeeze of power came bearing down against his prostate. While he knew that it was inevitable, occurring in more than 80% of deliveries according to his research, it didn't make it any easier when the time came.
Time after time the head rode down and crashed into this sensitive organ with an ever-building pressure that tormented and toyed with him. Standing in the middle of the room, holding on to Sarah for support, he cursed his body silently as his flaccid cock grew swollen and erect in front of the three women.
"urghhhh, arghhhhh," he groaned, looking down. "I'm... I'm sorry,"
"Nonsense," Kerry replied, waving her hand through the air.
"No, it's fine," Sarah whispered to him. "You're ok, It's natural,"
She smiled, resting her hand on his low-hanging belly. She could feel the embers of the last contraction continue to ripple and spasm, shifting one way and then another as it conspired to bring her baby down.
However, Kevin couldn't relax into these agonizing contractions in the way he had before. The pulsing pounding pressure that they railed onto his prostate was sending him careening down a path he didn't want to follow — even if he knew it was inevitable.
With every pulse and movement his cock throbbed harder and with more intensity than it had before before. It was agonizingly strong, yet, a welcome relief from the exhausting monotony of never-ending pain. For another second his eyes rolled back in his head as he relished the moment. He could live in this moment forever if only he was alone. Then, he snapped back out of it. He wasn't alone and he had no idea what he should do.
He thought about asking the couple to step outside the room. It would only be for a few seconds, minutes at most, just until the final phase of transition had passed. But to send someone out of the room in their own home? It felt so unbearably hostile. Besides, this was their birth as much as it was his.
Then again, when he had been asked to be a surrogate for a young lesbian couple, he could have hardly envisaged standing between them in their very own home fighting every bodily urge not to cum. Had they? He hoped they'd prepared, perhaps even researched at least as half as much as he had. But whether they had or they hadn't, he hoped they could ready themselves fast because he was quickly losing the fight.
"uhhhrhhh, ummmm , ahhhhhhhrhghh," Kevin groaned and moaned as Sarah held him firm. He gripped back just as hard as another round of contractions heaved through his body and a familiar wave of energy reared its beautiful head. This time, he knew there was no stopping it.
Kerry sprung into action with an instinct that bordered on a sixth sense — putting down mats and sheets that covered the surrounding area.
"Huuuuuhhhh, Huuuuuuh, Hoooooooaaaaaa," Kevin panted and groaned in a loud booming voice that filled the room. This time, Jane didn't cover her ears but instead watched transfixed as Kevin fought through sensations she wondered if she could handle.
Again his cock throbbed and shifted, this time in more exaggerated motions. "Huuuuh, hmmmmm, oh. my. god." he clenched his fists hard until his knuckles went tight, his toes scrunched under his feet and his breath stopped save for select labored gasps that escaped from his lips. "Ohmygod, I'm ah ahhh ahhh, I'M GOINGTO, YESSS, urghhhhhhhmmmmmmnggggggg,"
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(4.3k, triplets, (t)mpreg, graphic description of childbirth)
He knew the moment the pain climaxed—with just another push, the head would be out. And yet, when it came time to do that, the contraction ended.
All he could do as he realized he'd be stuck like this until the next contraction was breathe. Gabriel, however, grabbed his arm and repositioned them both so they could reach between Julius's legs. Before he knew what was happening, Julius was feeling the damp, hairy head of his baby.
My baby.
"You did that," Gabriel whispered to him, and then rubbed his belly. "You're so fertile and beautiful."
The position wasn't comfortable to hold, so Julius had to let go after a moment, but after that, he didn't mind the baby's head lodged at the widest point of his pelvis. It was painful, yes, but it was amazing.
The honeymoon had been a sun soaked blur of laughter and tangled sheets in a small coastal cottage. Fern, just twenty two years old with a frame so slight she could still shop in the girls' section, had never known happiness like those two weeks with her soldier husband, Caleb. He was broad shouldered and soft spoken, with hands that could strip a rifle blindfolded but held her like she was made of spun glass. They had married in a quiet courthouse ceremony, her white dress borrowed from her sister, his dress uniform crisp and smelling of starch. The baby was a honeymoon surprise, a fact that made Caleb grin like a boy every time he placed a palm on her growing belly.
Now, eight months later, that belly was a tight drum stretched over a baby who felt less like a blessing and more like a small planet determined to split her in two. The military hospital was a gray building with linoleum floors that smelled of bleach and antiseptic. Fern had been in active labor for fourteen hours when they finally admitted her, her contractions stacking on top of each other like freight trains crashing into a wall.
The nurses were not unkind. That was the thing Fern would later tell herself over and over. They were not unkind. But they were stern, their faces carved from years of seeing young wives cry and beg and break. They moved with economy, checking her dilation with brisk fingers, strapping monitors around her belly without asking permission, speaking to her in clipped sentences that began with "you need to" and ended with "for the baby."
Fern needed to breathe. Fern needed to stop making so much noise. Fern needed to understand that this was what birth felt like and no, she could not have an epidural yet because the anesthesiologist was in a C section.
Caleb held her hand through each wave, his palm sweaty but steady. "You're doing so good, baby. You're doing so good." His voice cracked on the second good. He had been up for twenty hours, had watched his wife vomit into a plastic basin and then apologize for it, had seen her face go gray with a contraction that lasted ninety seconds and left her shaking.
The lithotomy position was not Fern's choice. She had read the books, the ones with pictures of women on hands and knees or squatting in birth pools. But the military hospital had a protocol, and the protocol said flat on her back with her legs in cold metal stirrups, her knees splayed apart, her most vulnerable self exposed to the fluorescent lights overhead. The nurses positioned her like a specimen on a slide, adjusting the angle of the bed until her tailbone pressed hard into the thin mattress.
Transition arrived like a fist through a window.
Fern had been coping, or at least she had been surviving. She had breathed through contractions while kneeling on the floor, had let Caleb rub her lower back, had even managed a few weak jokes between the waves. But transition stripped away every coping mechanism she had. The contractions came one on top of another with no break, no breath, no mercy. Her cervix was ripping open from eight to ten centimeters, and her body responded with primal, animal terror.
She sobbed. Not cried or whimpered, but sobbed with her whole chest, tears streaming down her temples into her hair. "I can't," she gasped to no one and everyone. "I can't do this. Please. Please, I can't."
The nurse, a woman named Doris with steel gray hair and hands that had delivered hundreds of babies, pressed two fingers to Fern's inner thigh. "You are doing it," she said flatly. "You have no choice but to do it. The baby is coming."
Caleb's jaw tightened. He leaned over the bed rail, his face inches from the nurse's. "She's asking for help. Can you get the doctor? She's been asking to push for an hour."
"The doctor will come when she's fully dilated," Nurse Doris said without looking at him. "Pushing before that will swell her cervix and prolong labor."
Fern screamed. It was not a movie scream, high and dramatic. It was a raw, guttural howl that tore up from somewhere deep in her belly, the sound of a young woman being unmade by her own body. The contraction peaked and held, a vise around her middle, and she felt something shift low in her pelvis, a pressure so immense she thought her bones might snap.
"Something's happening," she choked out. "I feel like I need to push. I can't stop it."
Caleb pressed the call button again, then again when no one answered. He walked to the door of the small room and called down the hallway. "My wife needs the doctor now. She's been in transition for two hours. Someone get in here."
A different nurse appeared, younger, with kind eyes but a tired face. "The doctor is on his way. He's finishing a delivery down the hall. Tell her to blow through the contractions. Little puffs, like she's blowing out candles. No pushing until he says so."
Fern tried. She really tried. She blew and puffed and panted while her body rebelled against her, while her uterus clamped down with the force of a fist closing around her spine. But the urge to push became impossible to resist. It was not an urge so much as a command, a biological directive that bypassed her brain entirely. Her abdominal muscles seized of their own accord, bearing down, and she felt the baby drop lower, felt a burning stretch at her perineum that made her shriek.
"Stop pushing!" Nurse Doris was suddenly at the foot of the bed, her stern mask cracking into something sharper. "Do not push. You are going to tear."
"I can't stop," Fern wept. "I'm not doing it. My body is doing it."
Caleb grabbed the nurse's arm, not hard but firm. "Get the doctor. Right now. Or I will go find him myself."
The doctor arrived three minutes later, a man in his fifties with a salt and pepper beard and the weary efficiency of someone who had seen everything. He introduced himself as Dr. Harris, snapped on gloves, and sat on a rolling stool between Fern's legs. He checked her cervix with a quick, practiced motion, then nodded.
"Ten centimeters. Fully effaced. You can push on the next contraction."
Fern wanted to hit him. She wanted to scream that she had been ready to push for an eternity, that her body had been trying to expel this baby for what felt like hours, that his casual permission meant nothing when she had already been fighting her own flesh. But the next contraction was already building, a dark wave rising on the horizon of her consciousness, and she had no energy for anger.
"Push," Dr. Harris said.
She pushed. She gripped the handles on either side of the bed, curled her body around her belly, and bore down with everything she had left. The pressure in her pelvis became a scream caught in her throat. She felt the baby move, a slow descent through the birth canal, and for one wild moment she thought she understood what it felt like to be split open from the inside.
"Good push," the doctor said. "Again. Keep going."
She pushed again, and again, and again. The clock on the wall ticked through two hours of pushing. Two hours of sweat soaking through the hospital gown, of her legs trembling in the stirrups, of Caleb holding one hand and a nurse holding the other. Two hours of Dr. Harris saying "almost there" when she was clearly not almost there, of the baby crowning and retreating, crowning and retreating, like a stubborn animal unwilling to leave its den.
The problem was the head.
"His head is large," Dr. Harris said quietly to the nurse, but Fern heard him. She heard everything through the fog of exhaustion and pain. "Ninety fifth percentile, maybe higher. He's not descending properly because of the angle."
Caleb heard too. His face went pale. "What does that mean? Is the baby okay?"
"The baby is fine. His heart rate is strong." The doctor reached for a small instrument Fern did not recognize, a metal cup on a handle. "But we need to help him along. Fern, I'm going to use a vacuum extractor to assist with the delivery. You will feel pressure, but you need to keep pushing."
She did not have the strength to argue. She nodded, her chin trembling, and when the next contraction came, she pushed with a scream that bounced off the tile walls.
The vacuum cup attached to the baby's scalp with a soft pop. Dr. Harris pulled gently, steadily, in rhythm with her pushes. The burning in her perineum intensified until it was not burning but tearing, a hot rip of flesh that made her vision go white at the edges. She felt the head emerge in increments, a slow and agonizing crowning that took ten full minutes. The doctor worked the chin out, then the nose, then the forehead, each millimeter a fresh torture.
"The head is out," Dr. Harris announced. "One more push for the shoulders."
Fern gathered the last shred of her strength. She bore down with a roar, her face purple, her teeth bared, and felt the rest of the baby slide free in a rush of blood and fluid. The sudden emptiness was shocking, almost more painful than the pressure had been. She collapsed against the mattress, panting, her legs still trembling in the stirrups.
The baby did not cry at first. The silence stretched for three heartbeats, then four, and Fern's exhausted relief curdled into terror. "Why isn't he crying? Caleb, why isn't he crying?"
But then the baby's face screwed up, a tiny furious mask, and he let out a wail that filled the room. It was the most beautiful sound Fern had ever heard, high and indignant and absolutely alive.
A nurse took the baby to a warmer across the room, wiping him down, checking his reflexes. Fern watched through blurred eyes, her body still shaking, her hands reaching for something she could not yet hold. "Is he okay? Is his head okay?"
"He's perfect," Dr. Harris said, and for the first time, his weary face softened into something like a smile. "A big head, but a perfect big baby. Nine pounds, six ounces. Twenty one inches."
Caleb kissed her forehead, her cheek, her lips, his tears falling onto her face. "You did it. You did it, Fern. He's here. He's so beautiful."
The nurses finished their work, stitching the second degree tear with practiced efficiency, cleaning the blood from her thighs, helping her lower her legs from the stirrups. Her muscles screamed in protest, her tailbone aching, her perineum a raw wound. But then they placed the baby on her chest, his skin against hers, his dark hair matted and wet, his little mouth rooting for a breast he had not yet found.
Fern looked down at her son. At the soldier's son. At the honeymoon baby with the too big head and the furious cry. And something shifted in her chest, a door opening that she had not known was closed.
The military hospital was still gray. The linoleum still smelled of bleach. The nurses were still stern, still efficient, still not unkind. But when Nurse Doris brought her a cup of ice chips and a warm blanket, when she adjusted the baby's position with gentle hands and said "you did good, mama," Fern felt something she had not felt since leaving her own mother's house four years ago.
She felt at home.
It was not the home she had imagined, not the cozy cottage of her honeymoon or the quiet apartment she shared with Caleb. It was a different kind of home, one built not of walls and windows but of shared experience, of the silent understanding between women who had pushed life from their bodies in this very room. The nurses had seen her at her worst, had heard her sob and scream and beg, and they had not flinched. They had stayed. They had caught her son.
Caleb pulled a chair to the bedside and sat with his head bowed, one hand on the baby's back, one hand on Fern's. "I love you," he said, his voice raw. "I love you both so much."
Fern looked around the room. At the monitors that had tracked her son's heartbeat. At the stirrups that had held her legs. At the instruments laid out on a steel tray, still smeared with her blood. At the window where morning light was beginning to seep through the blinds, because somehow the sun had risen while she was being unmade and remade.
She pressed her lips to her son's forehead. He smelled of vernix and warmth and the infinite future.
content: fpreg, half-elf/half-orc offspring, hard labor, hard birth, praise
wc: 4145
When Eirian Estainfae had been told of her fate as the bride to feared Orc chieftain, Rhesh Kharr, she sat in shock for several days. At no point in her life had she considered her future husband would be anyone other than an Elf - let alone an Orc.
She had never imagined it would be Rhesh Kharr, even in her wildest dreams.
The night before her wedding to the Orc chieftain, Eirian’s mother came to her chambers, sending the servants away as soon as she entered. Myfiria was nearing her third millennium but still radiated grace and beauty. It was something Eirian always admired about her mother, something she always prayed she acquired from her.
With how she had been feeling lately, she doubted her own grace very much.
“My darling,” Myfiria cooed at her daughter, smoothing her hair away from her face. Eirian couldn’t help but feel tears burn her eyes once she looked up at her mother. “Oh, cry if you must, my dear. But cry here, in my arms, and not again from this night onward.” Her hand tucked a stray hair behind her daughter’s pointed ear, then slowly drew her fingers up under Eirian’s chin - keeping her eyes upwards, “do you hear me? Do not cry in front of them.”
Eirian sobbed, remaining in Myfiria’s arms until the sun rose. By then neither of them had any more tears to shed, simply comfort in silence.
After her mother left, Eirian sat in her bed to wait for her maids to come in to dress her, bare of all clothing, and her long black hair hanging down her back, loose and slightly tangled. She began to lose track of time after that, her chest aching and her mind moving too slow for her body. One moment she was in her childhood bed chambers, and the next she stood in an opulent war tent, listening as her…husband explained…something she hadn’t caught the start of.
“...-thers, they will not bother you either, so you are free to go about the camp as you wish.” Rhesh finished saying, using the common language. His back was turned towards her, and Eirian finally noticed that he had removed his tunic, the broad expanse of his back exposed her eyes.
After a beat, she cleared her throat slightly and stepped towards him, replying in the common tongue as a courtesy in return. “I appreciate that-” Eirian stumbled over her next word, at a loss of what to call him, before the silence grew a second too long, “husband.”
A muscle in his shoulder twitched and she rose her eyes from it before the motion captivated her again, as he turned to stare at her. Rhesh lingered in silence after that, his hard stare pinning her in place, but she didn’t look away. After a moment, Eirian noticed his brow quirk slightly, then his face returned to a blank mask.
“...You look troubled, wife.” Rhesh replied, his eyes roving over her form, not even attempting to hide his lingering gaze. He then turned towards her fully and Eirian felt her cheeks burn.
His cock pressed against the seam of his trousers and took no effort to hide it. Unabashed, he took two steps closer to her, and lifted up a hand to her cheek. His thumb brushed over her skin and Eirian stilled completely - except for her heart beating rapidly against her breast. His hardened, dark grey eyes searched over her face, looking for…something she couldn’t figure out.
“I won’t hurt you,” he finally said, dropping his hand and walking away from her, barely brushing against her as he did so. Rhesh left the tent without another word.
For the following week, he did as he promised. He didn’t hurt her. He spoke to her every day, common things. About how the food was, how comfortable her cot was, if anyone was bothering her. It was charming, and the start of a very tentative romance.
He gave her time, and she felt like she could never repay him for it. His kindness showed through, but only for her. Every interaction she saw Rhesh have with the others in his warband, he was rough and near-cruel and it never stopped making her stomach turn. But then he would sit across from her for dinner and ask her about what she studied.
As the days passed, Eirian began to speak more and more, opening up to her husband. Both emotionally and physically.
Rhesh expressed his worries about their need to please both of their people and the reality of now being split between two nations. She listened, inputting her opinion, the stress of the last few elven councils she had attended.
When Eirian began to speak about her sadness, Rhesh placed a large hand on her thigh, squeezing gently but not pushing beyond that. That was the moment Eirian realized that she began to fall for the massive Orc.
From there, their touches were casual occurrences. She would reach for his arm while walking near him through camp. He would slip a hand around her waist while guiding her through the entrance of their tent. It was innocent, it was gentle.
Surprising both of them, Eirian made the first move. She was in the bath, a tub set up in the middle of their tent while he was out on a patrol. Except Rhesh returned sooner than she expected, leading to him walking in on her, naked, wet, and flushed pink in the hot water. Her eyes caught his, and she swallowed her nerves, beckoning him to join her in the bath.
Rhesh raised a brow, silently asking if she was sure - to which, Eirian gave him a slight smile and nodded.
His armor was removed, something dropped from his body with every step towards the bathtub, but his eyes never left her form. When he stood at the side of the tub, he was fully nude and Eirian couldn’t pull her eyes away from his massive erection. There was no hiding it, and it made her belly twist in excitement at his unabashed nature regarding his attraction to her. Knowing he was turned on by her, and her alone, it made her crave him just the same.
The bath was tight with the two of them in it, but when Rhesh pulled Eirian onto his lap, straddling his hips, did they fit in it more comfortably. Eirian was a blushing mess, but she couldn’t help herself, and grinded her hips down against his throbbing member. His growl was encouraging and, if that wasn’t enough, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her down, his lips finding hers passionately.
Eirian wasn’t a virgin when she met Rhesh but the amount of time it took to adjust to him was far longer than either of them expected. By the time she was comfortable, Rhesh swiftly set a quick pace, bouncing her up and down on his thick cock as she dug her nails into his muscled shoulders. Neither of them were quiet, his grunts and her whines were heard through the camp, but no one would comment on it later.
When Rhesh pounded upwards, pulling her downwards at the same time, he rocked his hips against hers - then Eirian felt the warmth of his cum spill into her belly. She couldn’t help but whine, having sensed her own orgasm quickly approaching but when he stilled to cum in her, Eirian wiggled her hips needily.
He grumbled into a chuckle, releasing her hip and reaching down to her clit, flicking over her sex swollen nub only a few times before she finally orgasmed. Her cunt clenched around his softening member and he groaned in approval, rocking his hips up to urge her orgasm to linger.
From then on, their relationship shifted.
They were friends, and now lovers - the two of them falling into a working marriage as a bridge between their people.
However, the biggest bridge came when Eirian’s belly began to swell outward. Rhesh commented on it first, holding his hands over her lower abdomen and rubbing the slight pouch developing over her middle. As he did so, Eirian had the sudden realization, she had not bled in a while. No one ever confirmed the pregnancy, in fact, the two of them decided to keep their first child between them for as long as possible. A small act of rebellion against those that arranged their marriage without them.
The problem came when Eirian was reminded she was quickly swelling with a half-orc child, and hiding her growing belly was harder as months dragged on. Someone finally caught a glance of Eirian and Rhesh together by a river, the two of them lost in each other, and not realizing a servant now had spread the word of her pregnancy throughout camp. From his war camp, it was quickly spread back to their home countries, and from there - a mess of missives and letters making demands of their unborn child.
Pregnant and worried for her baby, Eirian cried one evening, the first time since the night before her wedding. Her hands were splayed over the expanse of her large middle, their child nearing full term now, at least with a normal Orc pregnancy. Elven pregnancies lasted longer, but considering the weight around Eirian’s hips, she realized this would not be like a normal Elven pregnancy.
Silently, Rhesh came to her side and brushed the tears from her eyes, gently lifting her into his lap. He cradled her and held a hand over her belly, his thumb rubbing over her popped out belly button over her dress. There were no words spoken between the two, just her quiet tears and his silent support.
The conversation about their first born needed to be addressed but for the night, the couple simply found solace in each other. From then on, it quickly became the two of them versus their own people to try and protect their future children.
Eirian’s belly continued to grow, albeit slower than a normal Orc pregnancy, but just as big. Rhesh became concerned as the days drew on, his eyes and hands never straying from her swollen form in one way or another. His worry became palpable, the entire camp felt the pressure under his harsh orders. Everything had to be right, and Eirian had to be protected.
Neither of them said it outloud, but they both knew that the Orc elders and the Elven council would be above subterfuge to identify the babe. Eirian knew that her uncle would pull no punches with this alliance, including swiping her first born if it meant he could manipulate the child of their union.
Rhesh kept his camp in one spot for several weeks, not wanting to be on the road when Eirian began to labor. He wanted his camp set up so their tent was deep in the middle, making sure his men and personal guard were between them and those that posed a threat to his wife and unborn child. It made his men nervous but he was quickly becoming steadfast in his care, ignoring their comments of disapproval.
After a long day, Rhesh finally came back to their tent. He had been out on a patrol, and after being waylaid by a group of river bandits, finally able to come back to Eirian’s side. She sat draped over their plush chair, specifically bought for her by her husband quickly after her pregnancy showed itself. Her legs were stretched out in front of her, her head tossed back over the chair, her dark hair messily thrown over one of the arms. Eirian rubbed her distended abdomen with both hands, a focused look upon her features.
Her eyes fluttered open and she gave him a lingering look, one that told him everything he needed to know.
“Our babe is ready?” Rhesh asked her, coming to her side immediately. He knelt beside the chair and took her small hand into his larger one. “Are you well, Eiri?”
Eirian released a long breath, continuously rubbing her stomach with her left hand. Rhesh squeezed her right, bringing it to his lips to gently press a kiss in her palm. She gave him a reassuring smile, “labor is taking a toll on me, I fear.” Her body tensed and she squeezed his hand tightly, attempting to control her breathing as she continued to speak through the pain, “it’s been…all day, I hadn’t expected…you…to be gone so long.”
The Orc held her hand, shaking his head, “I hadn’t either, forgive me. Do I-” he paused for a moment, letting her ride out the pain before continuing, “shall I get someone?”
“No, no, please no.” Eirian shook her head, teary eyes boring up at him. “Do not leave me again. I just want us.”
Rhesh nodded, brushing away hair that stuck to her sweaty forehead. She pressed her head into his hand, giving him a tired smile.
“The little one sits low, I think it’s almost time.” Eirian said, grunting and shifting in her seat. Her thighs were sitting wide apart, her massive belly jutted upward, the pressure on her hips intense and unable to be ignored. She groaned and tossed her head back, belly tensing as a contraction took over her again.
“Fuck!!” She cried, the pain lingering for longer than before. Wiggling her hips slightly, she gestured for him to help lift her dress up. Rhesh complied quickly, shoving the fabric up her legs and pushed it over her hips and massive belly. Her taut skin was splattered with stretch marks, the soft pink flesh between her legs was darker, and swollen. Eirian spread her legs apart farther, gasping in slight relief as she was able to shift into an open position, the head of their babe sitting deep in her body. Rhesh grabbed on her legs and placed her foot on his shoulder, allowing her to push against it as she needed.
Eirian gave him a grateful look, not pausing her focus as she felt another pain take over her lithe frame. On his shoulder, her foot trembled, her strength pressing against his and it was no match, even as she labored.
“Breathe, Eiri,” Rhesh murmured, reaching up and caressing her thigh, “listen to your body.”
She made a noise of acknowledgement, a soft huff as she tugged the dress she wore up and over the rest of her body. Fully nude now, Eirian tossed her head forward and looked at her husband, whispering her discomfort, “...there’s so much…pressure…”
Rhesh nodded, sensing the strain on her body as she heaved heavy breaths, thighs now fully spread open to reveal her slit to him. Her foot on his shoulder dug into him, Eirian grunting as the pressure shifted even lower into her core, the weight of it causing her to rock her hips forward slightly and groan out, “fuck..fucking…pressure!”
“Keep breathing,” he reminded her. In response, she gasped out a deep breath, eyes screwed shut in pain. “Good, good, again.”
Eirian continued to follow his instruction, even as a few minutes passed and several pains came and went. Her body began to arch with each pain, the tightness of her muscles around her middle making the movement nearly impossible to avoid. The foot not on Rhesh’s shoulder now draped over the arm of the chair, fully apart enough for her body to finally give her the urge to push with her next pain. The pressure between her thighs was too much to ignore and Eirian finally gave a grunt and pushed, her body wound tight and tense as her body began to strain.
“Good push, Eiri,” Rhesh cooed up at her, reaching up to rub her other thigh, his fingers trailing over to her swollen womanhood, feeling every tremble in her muscles along the trail. “Good girl, good push.”
In the chair, Eirian groaned and pushed with her body, the pains now never letting up and the child sitting so deep in her core that she felt if she moved forward it would push the child back into her womb. “Nughhhh…” She moaned, pushing down hard. “Ah!”
For several long minutes, Eirian continued to push, making little progress, but still progressing. Rhesh watched her pussy turn a darker red and began to bulge outward. But as the next half an hour passed, that was the most progress she was able to make. His fingers rubbed the bulging folds softly, urging her to push as the next pain came and went and again very little progress was made.
“It’s…it’s too big…fuck…” Eirian breathed, releasing her push with a whine.
She brought up a very valid concern Rhesh had remained silent about for most of her pregnancy. The genuine fear of her body not able to deliver his child, their different sizes painfully clear to notice. If she wasn’t able to do this, if his child was too big and this hurt her…killed her?
Before he could consider his word to express his worry, Eirian began to push again, her body naturally trying to urge the massive child from her womanhood.
She groaned and it quickly turned into a shout, crying out as she strained and pushed. Her pussy bulged out even more, and Rhesh cupped her lips, the head poking out just a sliver before sliding back in when she relaxed her body.
After her mind was able to register his words, Eirian was able to release a breathy laugh, and immediately moaned as another pain began to build. In his hand, her folds pushed against his palm, the skin parting as the head was brought to just visible. This time remaining closer to her opening, the sliver of the head just in sight now and staying there.
The babe came down into a wide, wide crown, very slowly. Eirian whimpered and cried out with every push and urging down her body strained to do, fluid dripping out of her swollen folds with each time. The foot on his shoulder, lifted off, her hand coming up to grip the back of her thigh and lift it up and apart from the other. As her cries and grunts elevated in volume, Rhesh rubbed her skin as gently as he could to ease the pain but it didn’t matter, her pussy was burning.
Eirian’s pushes lasted longer, and as the next pain began, she began to push down just barely and the head finally lurched free from her tight womanhood in a messy gush of her fluid. In surprise she cried out and reached a hand down over Rhesh’s, the both of them holding their baby’s head. Tears fell over her cheeks as she felt around the head and felt for the cord, remembering that small part of childbirth in the back of her head from her mother. No cord was present and she felt her body relax slightly, some of the worry and paranoia leaving her as she went through the action.
The rest should be easier. At least, Eirian prayed the rest of it would be easier.
With how far the babe had spread her entrance open, she knew the shoulders would be an issue if she couldn’t get them out with the help of her body. Waiting for the next pain, she felt the little one in her jolt, the sensation making her hips buck as she jutted them into both Rhesh and her hand. The babe nestled at her entrance even more at the action.
Between her legs, Rhesh smiled up at her with awe, the sight of his small, perfect, Elven wife in the middle of birth was just something he would cherish forever. She grunted and groaned and sweated and cried, but to him, right now - she was perfect.
Eirian looked at him with watery eyes and gave him the smallest smile she could, the pain making it the only thing she could focus on in the moment, but she still cherished him and his care.
Their baby, however, seemed more than a little eager, now that the head had been introduced to the world.
“Ah - oh, fuck!” Eirian cried, grunting and pushing down as she felt the baby shift in her body again, the shoulders rubbing against her entrance. Her noises got louder as she strained and bore down with all of her might. Her husband offered soft cheers of encouragement but she was far too lost in her own world.
As the more pushes she did, Eirian’s strength began to fade quickly. Her last push was almost half-hearted, the grunts turning into whines again, the pain and the pressure making everything that wasn’t the baby - hard to focus on.
Rhesh tried to ground her, and her body continued its natural urges to push, but Eirian sobbed and shook her head. “I c- I can’t…” She whimpered, eyes wide and directed at her husband, the look of fear crossing her features made him wish he could take this from her. “Rhesh,” she begged, “please…don’t make me…”
“You must.” Rhesh returned firmly, the hand next to hers near the babe’s head brushed their fingers together, just slightly in comfort. “You know you must, Eirian. The babe is almost here, feel…”
He guided her hand to fully cup the head of their child, it barely fit in the palm of her hand, the head huge and impossibly wide. Her breath caught in her throat, realizing that they were so close to meeting their child and that she had already pushed out something so massive. Their eyes met and she continued to cry, but nodded barely, once.
Grinning, he nodded back at her, pride bursting from his chest as she readied herself to push again. Eirian’s hand still rested on the baby’s head, supporting it as she leaned her body forward towards the edge of the chair to push with as much of her might she could still muster.
The first one was painful, Eirian screaming as she pushed. The only payoff being a slight gush of amniotic fluid dribbling around the head, spilling out of her straining womanhood, and around their fingers. As she took a breath and began to push again, her entire body shifted. Several things happened at once. Her body lurched as far forward in the chair it could, her knees coming up as close to her shoulders as she could bring them, and then one of the baby’s shoulders slipped free.
Rhesh cheered, urging her to push one last time, their child almost free of her body.
Eirian didn’t hear him, her entire focus now on her final push. Her cries went silent, her mouth just open and eyes screwed shut. Her pussy was pink, pulled tight around the huge half-orc baby that hung out of her. The weight of it put more pressure around her entrance as it pulled downward into Rhesh’s other hand. With her own hand, she felt the shoulder that popped out, and reached down to wrap her fingers under it’s armpit. As she began to lose steam at the end of her push, Eirian kept going, her hand now helping her as she pulled and pushed the huge child out of her.
A splatter of fluid gushed out of her as the babe came out, and Rhesh helped keep the child in their arms in the mess, guiding the child to rest on Eirian’s chest.
Instinctively, she rubbed the child’s back - a girl, Rhesh said - and cooed, tears spilling over her cheeks as she stared at the little one in her arms.
The cry that errupted from their daughter’s lungs was shrill and it made both of them laugh in relief and pride. Rhesh came up closer to the two of them now, rubbing the head of their little girl.
“She’s loud and looks healthy,” Rhesh mumbled without attempting to hide his proud tone, “mama did a wonderful job.”
Eirian still cried, but sniffed, unable to take her eyes off the babe, her fingers trailing over her daughter’s features. Every part of the girl was perfect to her already, the pale green skin, the wide doe-eyes, and the obvious Elven ears. A beautiful combination of both parents. She would be beautiful and strong.
A sudden stake of fear pierced her heart, coming back to the reality that their first born was a girl. Both of their people needed a male heir to secure the alliance for the foreseeable future, meaning she would have to go through this again. At least twice.
Eirian swallowed, glancing back down at her perfect daughter, Rhesh’s hands caressing both her and the child lovingly. The worry of the future still nagged at her but she smiled, reaching out to cup his cheek - fully intent on cherishing this moment as long as she could.
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I lay him down on his side in the nest of towels while he wails, laboring hard on his first litter. My own litter is straining to be born, and I’m sure I’m about to start pushing.
“Lift your leg, baby,” I tell him.
He just moans.
“You need to start pushing,” I say.
“I can’t,” he whimpers. “I don’t know if I can whelp. I can’t, I can’t…oh…oh! Oh god!” He curls around his taut belly and whines as his body forces him to push.
I sit down at his ass and lift his leg myself, and prop the crook of his knee across my own knee. I pull his tucked tail from between his slick thighs and reveal his throbbing cunt. Then I spread my other knee wide to open my pelvis. I’m ready. He’s ready.
His body heaves on its first-ever pup. “Ow, ow, owwww, it hurts! Is it coming out?”
Of course it isn’t. I rub his hip. “Not yet, baby. You’re going to have to work harder than that. Push.”
His tail stands to attention as he puts in the work of a long, hard push, his eyes squeezed closed.
“Good boy,” I say. “That’s a good boy. You’re a natural.”
His contraction must end, because he stops pushing and starts panting. “Are, are you pushing?” he asks.
“Not yet.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Every time.”
“I think I need to push…I, I need to push! Oh! Ohhhhh!”
His pussy begins to bulge, but his slit is still closed. When he lets up the pressure, the bulge recedes. He cranes his neck to try to see between his legs.
“It’s stuck! It’s not coming out!”
“It’s coming,” I say. “You’re making prog—“ I gasp as my first pup begins to squeeze through my cervix. “Oh!”
“Are you whelping?” he asks.
It hurts too badly for me to answer, other than to tuck in my chin and push.
“You’re pushing! You’re—ohhhh.” And he lays back down as a contraction takes over his body and he has to push. His cunt bulges out, and when he lets up, it only recedes partway.
With my first full push, my pup fills my birth canal and my pussy bulges.
“Can I watch you whelp?” he asks, his eyes large and curious.
I nod and shift onto my hands and knees in the blanket nest, my cunt facing him. In the new position I have to lift my tail high as the next contraction barrels through me. I moan and push. The burn begins.
“Oh, oh! Ohhhhhh!” I moan.
I can hear the eagerness in his voice. “You’re crowning! Oh my god, you’re crowning!”
The stretch continues—wider, wider. I stop pushing but keep a steady pressure on the pup while I pant. He whimpers, and I look over my shoulder to see him propped up on his elbows, his back against the edge of the towel nest, his knees spread wide and his eyes squeezed shut while he pushes. His slit begins to open.
“Good boy,” I gasp between pants. “Open your eyes, baby. I’m about to whelp.”
He opens his glassy eyes, agony written all over his face. I feel the head sliding out. I dip my hips low and give a heave and whelp my first pup onto the towels between his feet.
“You whelped,” he whispers. “I don’t know if I can do this…”
I turn around, my body quivering with effort, and hold out my hand. He grips it with a strength I did not know he possessed, and pushes.
His pussy bulges fully out and his slit opens. He lays his head back against the nest and howls. His firstborn pup begins to crown, his first crowning of many—both tonight and over the course of his budding life as a breeding wolf. His belly strains and his legs begin to shake.
I squeeze his hand. “Push, baby. I know it hurts, I know, he put some big pups in you.”
The pup parts his lips wider and wider until his pussy is stretched tight in a perfect O. It stays that way for a moment…several moments…his howls of pain continue. Then suddenly the head pops free and he curls over his belly. His howl fades to rough panting.
I squeeze his hand. “Good boy, the head is out.”
“It hurts,” he whimpers. “I don’t know if I can do it.”
“One more push,” I say. “You’re about to whelp.”
“My first pup…” he says. “Help me?”
I shake my head. “You should whelp your first pup on your own.”
He changes tactics. “Hold me?”
I move to sit down beside him, but halfway there I feel an urge and I pause to push. “Ow…ow, ow, ow!”
“You’re pushing?” he says. “Push! Push!”
“Oh baby,” I moan, to him and to the pup pulling me apart. “It hurts, it hurts!”
His eyes are fixed under my belly, between my legs. “It’s coming out—it’s coming! Push!”
“Ohhhhhhhhh,” I groan. “I’m crowning! Fuck!” The head bursts out of me and I exhale. “Fuck…”
I maneuver carefully, mindful of the head of my pup dangling from my hole, and sit down beside him in the nest. I put my arm around his shoulder. He leans into me and holds my other hand.
“I think I have to push,” he says. His voice is tight with anxiety.
“Don’t fight it,” I say. “Let’s whelp together.”
He nods, his eyes fixed on the top of his belly.
“Ready? Push.”
Both our bellies heave as we bear down, arms twined together. Three seconds of strained moans…five…ten. He gasps.
I hear his pup squelch out of him, followed by a rush of fluids. At the same moment my own pup drops out of me into the waiting towels. He clings to me, quivering.
“Oh my god. I whelped. I whelped! It came out!”
He sits up to look at his firstborn pup, but a moment later he’s back in my arms, pushing on his second. I’m pushing too; our laboring moans mingle together.
A few hours later our alpha finds us asleep in the nest, curled up around a double litter of pups. It’s hard to say whose is whose—but no matter. They’re half-siblings anyway.
421.1. A request: The Queen of a nation is about to give birth to the next heir to the throne. Naturally such an event can’t take place in her private chambers, instead she must give birth in a public space, for the court and commoners to see. Bonus points if she has to be restrained in some way.
A Crown for a Queen
A Valiantremnant original
Pre-Story notes: Oh did this prompt ever inspire me. I initially planned on doing a fun little short story, but as I went, I wound up expanding and expanding (lol) until I got to where the story is now. I might do more with this world, but who knows. Now, quick note, due to the nature of this story, it's not very dialogue heavy. I tried to break it up as best as I could, but if I put a ton of dialogue in it, the main character would mostly be talking to herself, and given the setup here, (some dehydration) that isn't really a good idea.
In Konur, tradition insisted on a public birth of every royal child. Every. One. It had started over one thousand years ago when a changeling had sought to overthrow the royal line by replacing a newborn heir. Or by supplanting the queen. The exact reasons have been lost to history. But to prevent such a thing from happening with his children, King Okdar had his wife, Queen Anya, give birth where all could see, and all could vow that the child was indeed born to them. The method passed on to their children, and their children. A proof becoming tradition, the site of Queen Anya's labors becoming a great amphitheater. And from then on, every queen, and every princess in line to become queen would give birth in the same place, bound and visible for all. For all to see that the child born was indeed born of the queen, and for all to see the strength of their queens, to see that they had the strength to be the shield of the people of Konur. When Queen Valaina's water had broken that morning, word had immediately gone out, alerting the nobles and visiting dignitaries who had travelled weeks ago for the royal birth. Valaina had married into the royal family, and while she knew of the birthing ritual, she had never seen it before, much less thought that she would be given the honor of going through it herself. The noble houses had similar traditions, but those were usually attended by close friends and family only, nothing like the affair of a royal birth. Once the word had gone out, the royal midwife had arrived, examining Valaina and letting her know that she was only about halfway dilated, and that there would be plenty of time to arrive at the amphitheater. Valaina knew that she should have gone to see it before today, but since the tragic death of her husband, King Helbrun, she had been too busy tending the affairs of state. But now as she entered the vaulted Queen's Entrance of the amphitheater, she wished she had visited at least once. She passed carved statues, each one of a woman. As she had contractions passing them, she paid them little mind, but the odd detail struck out at her as she passed. Some were carved in obsidian, most were done in marble. Some glittered with gemstones, others were plain. Some had objects in their hands, others were empty handed. "Oh gods! Ow!" She groaned, stopping by one of the statues and gripping the edge of the alcove that held it. The contraction that held her now was fierce and made her legs shake with the effort of her womb. "Come Valaina," Marne, Helbrun's aunt called, "You can't well give birth in here, can you?"
Marne was a stuff sort of woman, with very strict ideas of propriety. Ever since the deaths of Helbrun, and both of his parents, she had been appointed by the court to be Valaina's guide into the politics and traditions of the royal family. Politics that she thought she knew from her own family's proximity to the crown, but much of it was new and strange to her. Valaina's own family, the Karroks, had been mired in political scandal shortly after her own wedding to Helbrun, and since his death, Valaina could tell that she was something of a controversial figure. Commoners and nobility alike were torn on whether to side with her or against her. A civil war seemed unlikely, but political difficulty was the norm for her these days. "If... I...GAH! Have to..." Valaina panted. "Tsk tsk," None of that, come on," Marne said, coming to her side and helping her upright, making Valaina gasp in pain as she straightened. She leaned heavily on Marne was they walked to a small chamber at the end of a series of empty alcoves that awaited statues. "Now, that's fine in here, but once you go out there, you'll have to walk alone." "Alone? What?" Marne shook her head, "I suppose with everything else going on, you haven't managed to learn about this ritual, have you?" Valaina shook her head and Marne explained. "You are carrying the heir apparent to the throne, and the birth must be witnessed. You'll be stripped in here and then you'll ascend the plinth and give birth for all to see."
Giving birth for others to see wasn't unusual. She could remember the births of a few family friends, but those affairs had allowed the mothers to wear at the very least a shift to cover themselves. "What do you mean, 'stripped'?" Valaina asked, her voice rising an octave both in fear and in pain, "OW...." "Exactly what it sounds like," Marne said, positioning Valaina in front of the doors, "Now let me help you." Valaina sobbed quietly as Marne removed her robes until she was clad only in her light shift. Marne came around front and wiped the tears out of her eyes. "Now, listen. What I can tell you while we have time is this. As queen, you are the shield of the people, and they must see you endure. You can scream, you can roar, you can cry, but don't beg. Don't ask to be released until you've given birth." "What- released?" "And- you don't know?" Before Valaina could respond, she doubled over with another powerful contraction. They were practically back to back now, and she had almost no time to reset between them. A serving girl entered through a hidden door and murmured something to Marne, who nodded in return and moved to stand behind Valaina. "We're out of time. They're ready for you. Remember, if you are to remain queen after this is over, you must be the shield of the people. Do not beg." Marne lifted the shift off of Valaina, who made one pathetic attempt to hold onto it before letting it go. Marne looked her in the eye one last time. "When I've left, knock twice on the door and walk to the center of the amphitheater. They'll guide you from there." And with that, the only one left in the chamber was Valaina, scared, contracting and in pain. She knocked twice on the door after the contraction was gone, and the double doors swung outward, nearly blinding her with the sudden light.
When she could see again, the first thing she could see was a ramp leading up from the chamber she was in. As she hobbled up the ramp, having to stop for a moment to let a slightly more powerful contraction pass, she could hear what sounded like thousands of voices. With her heart in her throat, Valaina reached the top of the ramp to see the massive amphitheater filled to capacity. It was late summer, and the bright sun beat down into the stone arena with an almost angry heat. Ahead of her, Valaina could see a raised object. A marble podium of sorts. It might have once been pure white, but age and the elements had stained it. As she grew closer to it, almost drawn in by morbid curiosity, Valaina could tell that a long, streaking stain down the front had nothing to do with the weather marring it. "... Queen Valaina of house Dar!" Valaina couldn't tell what the beginning of the announcement was, but the crowd erupted into a deafening array of both cheering and jeering. Her mostly steady waddling hitched as she had another contraction, and she gasped in pain as she struggled to keep moving forward. She held one arm across her chest, hiding her bare breasts from the eyes of the crowd, the other wrapped around her belly, trying to hide her vagina, knowing now why a midwife had attended to her, waxing her clean before arriving at the amphitheater. The same midwife stood at the base of the stone monolith, which had grown startlingly near. Valaina stopped and the midwife leaned in. "How close are your contractions now?" "They barely give me time to breathe between them," Valaina admitted. The midwife nodded and gestured to a pair of ceremonial guards. They both took one of her arms and guided her to the stone's flat top. Once there, they pushed her down firmly, though not roughly. The action made her heart beat so quickly, it seemed almost painful. "Wait, what are-AUGH!"
As she broke off to deal with the contraction, the guards attached sturdy leather cuffs to her ankles, keeping them close together. Then they pushed her thighs back until the angle was almost painful, attaching thick straps to them as well, pinning her legs fast in place. Then a strap was fixed around her ribs, above her belly but below her breasts, not too tight to breathe in, but too tight to move more than an inch or so. Then, to top it all off, her wrists were strapped above her head. "Grab these," One of the guards said, guiding her hands to wooden handles fixed into the straps. Valaina didn't understand at first, but as soon as the guards stepped away, no longer supporting any of her weight, she understood. The stone was flat, but not level. It wasn't enough of a slope to be a slide, but without support, she would have been hard pressed to remain in place. As it was, the straps began to dig painfully into her chest and thighs until she flexed her arms, supporting her weight by the hand holds provided. As she struggled to find a comfortable place on the stone, she could feel slight wear in it's surface. Grooves dug into the surface, too slight to be see from a distance, but when touching it? She could feel where someone else's, another woman's shoulders had been bound here, where her feet had been braced, where her hips had sat. She had heard about parts of this birthing ritual. but until now, it hadn't seemed real.
As she struggled to move more than an inch, the midwife ascended and stood before her. "My queen. I will perform your last check." Before Valaina could respond to her words, she flinched and groaned as the old woman's hand deftly entered her birth canal. She tried to close her legs against the straps, her hips flexing and quivering as they fought against the unyielding bonds as the midwife reached her cervix and traced it. Nodding, she pulled her hand out and turned to the speaker, descending from the platform. The speaker nodded and turned to the audience of nobles and commoners alike. "The queen is now five centimeters dilated!" The crowd erupted in both cheers and groans. Valaina wondered what they were thinking. Were the cheers because she was well and truly in labor? Were the groans because she had so far left to go? She didn't know, and any thought of figuring it out vanished as she had another contraction. "AUGH! OW OW OWowowowowowOWWWWWWWWW!" Her head, the only free part of her body, thrashed, snapping from side to side, her hair fanning out and covering her face somewhat. She wanted to curl around her belly, to hold it with her hands, despite how little she knew it would do. But even though she knew it was pointless, her arms pulled against the bindings, straining to caress her contracting belly. She groaned and gasped in pain as a new sensation struck her. Not the pressure she knew was to come, but a deep stabbing ache in her pelvis, as if the stone itself were pressing against her. When the contraction was done, she puffed and blew her hair out of her face. The sun, still beating down made being trapped under a tent of her own hair stifling.
As Valaina laid back on the stone, her eyes wandered the crowd. The back, the highest seats in the amphitheater were filled with people who she took to be commoners, though at the distance they were at, it made it hard to tell. Closer in, she could see merchants knights. People of wealth and status. But closer still, in the valley between her legs she could see nobles. Lords and ladies alike, along with their honored guests. Valaina's eyes darted, with focus at first, then worry, then frenzied panic. Her mother. Her father. Where were they? House Karrok wasn't a small house, and given their seats at court, they should have been near the front. but right at the front was the prime minister, a man who Valaina despised. Even though she knew it was someone else, she couldn't help but feel that even if he hadn't been the one to orchestrate the deaths of her husband and the former king and queen, that he still stood to benefit. The only other potential heir to the throne was only a child, and if she had also died that day, he would now be ruling Konur. Her stomach roiled in discomfort from something other than a contraction. She knew she couldn't trust the man, even if he hadn't done anything wrong. Except... except that her parents should have been there. "Where... are... they?" Valaina whispered, making eye contact with the man before she broke into another full throated scream as another contraction wracked her body, "HUUUUUAAAAAAAAAGH!" The prime minister only tilted his head, his eyes flicking to a point behind her, and Valaina knew. He had ensured that her parents were sat behind her, and far away from the center. Nowhere they could be of even minimal comfort to her.
As the day drew on, comfort became a thing of the distant past. The sun rose, and with it, the temperature. What had started out as a warm morning was quickly becoming a hot midsummer day. "Oh gods..." Valaina said, her tongue feeling thick and dry in her mouth as she lolled her head to the side, seeking a tiny bit of respite from the blazing sun. If she looked down at herself, she could only see her breasts, the top of her belly and the tops of her thighs, but what she could see of herself was that her skin was turning red under the sun. She had spent most of her life sheltered, hiding her fair skin from the sun's rays, but she remembered one day as a younger woman, when her family had gone to the king's summer palace with him and she had spent too long in the sun, and what her skin had felt like then. It felt the same now, tight, hot and far too dry. Her lips cracked as she grimaced, bracing herself as best as she could for the next contraction. "AAAAUUUUUGH! OH GODS! OWWWWW!" She could see the crowd reacting to her as she writhed the few fractions of an inch that she could, some cheering as she screamed, others looking on coldly. She shifted uncomfortably, the strap around her chest digging painfully into the top of her belly. Valaina just could not find a remotely comfortable position, her spine pressed hard against the marble plinth, her hips aching from being pulled back so far, and her hands were growing numb from being suspended above her head for so long. But the worst part was the pressure that would surge every time she had a contraction. It seemed like every time she had one, and she would try to arch her back against it, it was trying to press her flat against the plinth, taking her breath with a sudden, savage strength. And it made her want to push.
She knew that it wasn't time yet. She'd never learned from a midwife properly, but she had been curious and helped when her aunt had given birth when she was nine, and remembered a few lessons. "Now, she will feel pressure and like she wants to push for quite some time, but it will pass with each contraction," The midwife had said, "That will usually mean that she isn't open enough for the baby to come." "But if it's hurting her, shouldn't she push it out?" "Oh dear, no. If she pushes too soon, it will hurt her even more, and maybe even hurt the baby. She must wait until all that pressure stays, even between the pains." On the plinth, Valaina could feel the pressure from each contraction fading away between them, and she knew it wasn't time. She squinted her eyes and looked up at the sun. It must be close to noon now. Based on the bells that had tolled just before she entered the amphitheater, she had been strapped down to the stone for nearly six hours now. What did the midwife say she was dilated? Five centimeters? How dilated was she now? "Am-" Valaina began before breaking off into a fit of dry coughing, "Am I close?" "We cannot touch you until the baby is out," The midwife said from the base of the podium, "But I would say it isn't long to go."
An hour passed. And another. And another. Valaina's skin was an angry red and her mouth was parched. The contractions were starting to slow down, and she could barely keep her eyes open anymore. "Huuuuuuuuuunnnnngggg," She groaned, the full throated screams of agony now too much effort to give voice to anymore. The crowd's mood had shifted too. Mostly everyone who was still present was talking to each other, the dull roar of conversation from around the amphitheater competing with the thudding of her heartbeat in her ears. If she had known how thirsty she would have gotten, she would have spent hours doing nothing but drinking water leading up to the ritual. "Gods, so thirsty," She panted, her tongue feeling sandy as it passed over her teeth, trying to sooth her cracked lips. Her lips were sunburned too, and moving her moth more than it took to pant caused tearing sensations that made her want to cry. She knew that if there was enough water in her body, she might have cried, not just from the sheer misery of what she was going through, but what she knew was to come. If the lips on her mouth felt this bad now with the dryness and sunburn, what would her other lips feel like when she was pushing?
The sun was starting to set when Valaina heard it. Something that always had soothed her, not matter how fiercely they would rage. And she opened her eyes to see if she had imagined the sound, or if it was real. She smiled, her lips cracking as she saw it. There it was, the billowing clouds that had produced the quiet peal of thunder in the distance. At least it would mean that she would be taken down from the plinth. While she loved a thunderstorm, she knew it was too dangerous to be out in one. But as it grew closer and the air grew mercifully cooler, no one moved to remove her restraints. What she did see were amphitheater attendants running around the stands, pulling on ropes and setting posts, erecting awnings and canvas shades to protect everyone who was watching. And she knew. She knew that the only way to get off of the plinth would be to give birth. Another clap of thunder sounded, louder this time, and Valaina didn't find any comfort in it.
The rain began about an hour after the first clap of thunder, fat drops that came in scattered bursts. Despite the stinging pains they caused Valaina's burned skin, she found relief in the chill they brought to her overheated body. And in the drops she opened her mouth to catch. She panted with her mouth open now, feeling drops fall and run into the corners of her mouth, swallowing the cool, crisp rain as it filled her mouth over and over again. She could feel water sloshing in her stomach, and groaned as her contractions, which began speeding back up as she drank, tightened her newly full belly. Now as she looked down at herself, her belly was still an angry red, but now it glistened with a wet sheen as water ran down the taut surface as it heaved and quivered with contractions. Contractions that brought the pressure back again and again, with it fading less and less each time.
"AAAAAAUUUUGH!" She screamed as another contraction clawed at her belly. She didn't know if anyone heard, as a massive peal of thunder echoed across the arena as she screamed. She wanted to move. She felt the pressure digging into her back, right where it met her pelvis, and knew that if she could just get up, even for a moment, she would give birth in minutes. Valaina wanted to ask. She was so close to asking to be let up, but she knew that as soon as she did, the crown was forfeit. Marne told her not to beg, and she wouldn't. She had to be strong. But no matter how strong she was, the contractions seemed to be stronger. Once she had been able to drink the rainwater that now ran into her eyes, and mouth when she didn't want it to, her contractions had gotten closer together than they had ever been. But that wasn't the worst of it. As the rain ran down her back, the smooth worn surface of the plinth had become so slick, she was struggling to stay in place. In the morning, her skin had stuck to it, her own weight being enough to hold her steady, but with the rain, she would slide down, the straps biting into her thighs, chest and wrists being the only things keeping her there. Her wrists cramped with how hard she held onto the handles on the wrist cuffs, but letting them go was a nightmare. She would only about an inch, but it was far enough that trying to find the handles was a nearly impossible task. And it only took a single contraction to learn that loosing her only anchor point, her only control over any of the situation was not something she could endure.
So she clung to the wooden dowels, despite the blisters forming on her hands, despite the contractions that made her want to release them and clutch at her belly, something that she couldn't do. "NooooooUUUUAAAAAAARRRRGH!" She screamed as another contraction tried to rip her apart and crush her all at once. The pressure kept vanishing, not staying like it was supposed to. She wanted to give in, to push with it, but she couldn't make herself. She couldn't force herself to push when a part of her knew it was too soon. It would hurt her. It would hurt the baby. So she panted, wanting desperately to writhe, and tried to lift her hips off of the stone, even a fraction of an inch. The strain onher muscles was making every part of her shake with effort and exhaustion, so she released the attempt, feeling her body slam the mere half inch back into place, jolting her and making her cry out again. But even that couldn't stop her from straining again and again against the restraints, trying to give herself a little bit more room. Just a little bit more...
She didn't know how many times, though how many contractions she strained and arched her body, doing everything she could from mantras to panting, from visualizing to just sheer force of will, everything she could think of doing to stop herself from pushing. But she was loosing. More than once, she caught herself giving in, tiny little pushes that made her belly swell and rise with the effort. She could barely hear anything over the patter of rain, but she could faintly hear excited murmuring in the prominent seating close to the plinth. Nobles and courtiers realizing how close she was to giving birth. If they only knew that she wasn't ready yet. "Make it stop," She begged, looking up at the sky, "Gods, make the pressure stop or let it come out!" There wasn't so much as a clap of thunder in response, only another brutal contraction that made her arch her body again. "AAAAAAAUUUUUGH!"
Eventually, she could hold back no longer. She didn't care that the pressure wasn't remaining, and some part of her didn't care how badly it could hurt her or the baby, her body had gone through enough. She had to push. When the next contraction came, she didn't arch away from it, she curled forward the tiny amount she was able to, and bore down. "HUUUUUNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGAAAAAAARRRRGH!" She bellowed out, the sound being swallowed by both the thunder of the storm and the thunder of the crowd as they all realized at once that she was fully pushing now. And she noticed something else too. Instead of fading away again, the pressure seemed to grow more intense, dropping below the spike of agony in her back and dropping between her hips, making her feel like she was sitting on a saddle. She squirmed, her body slipping on the wet marble as she tried to make the sensation more bearable, and whimpering in frustration as she found she couldn't. But the pressure wasn't fading anymore. Now she could push. She could push! "HuuuuUUUUNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAHHHH!" She screamed as she pushed with the next contraction. Her effort cut off abruptly as a sharp sting made her flinch. It had felt like a pebble had been hurled at her left breast with great speed. She looked and didn't see anything except for a small welt that grew red, even against the burn from the sun. Then she felt another sting, this one on her belly. And another on her arm. It wasn't until one hit her head that she realized. Hailstones. Small ones, only about the size of peas. More than enough to be unbearable.
"OWWWWWWWwwowowowowowowowWOWWWWWWWW HUUUAAAAAAAAGH! OH GODS!" She screamed as she pushed. The hail didn't show any signs of stopping, but at least the stones weren't growing larger as they sometimes did. She had partially expected to be released once the hail had started, but as with the rain, she was left exposed to the elements, rain and hail descending while thunder ripped the sky apart. Much like how the head in her was descending, contractions ripping her apart. One had hit quite near her eye, and she kept both of them shut now, her eyelids turning red with each bolt of lightning that shredded the sky, thunder bellowing in their wake. Between contraction, she shuddered with cold and pain as thousands of tine hailstone pelted her body. Shen she dared to open her eyes to squint at herself, she was covered in tiny welts that ranged from red to purple where she could see, her sunburned skin feeling like it was on fire, and still she pushed. She knew that as soon as the baby was out, she would be taken down, and ushered inside and away from the onslaught. bracing herself, she panted once, twice, and got ready to push once again. "HUUUU-AAAAAAAH!"
Once she was pushing, she thought it wouldn't take long for the baby to come out, but it seemed to crawl along at a leisurely pace down, every tiny movement sending zings of pain through her birth canal as it stretched around the baby. But those were nothing in comparison to the stretching she had feared. The head of the baby eventually made it down far enough that she could feel her lips parting around it. And as she feared, the sunburn that had seared every inch of her exposed to the sun felt a hundred times worse as the burned skin of her vagina began to stretch and spread around the head. It was agony, the legendary ring of fire taking on a whole new meaning as Valaina sobbed through the pain, trying to push hard enough to get the head out. But every time she stopped while waiting for the next contraction, the head began moving back in, hiding away from the chaos and noise of the world. "The... the head! Hail...' She panted, and the midwife called up, making her voice heard over the sounds of the storm. "When the head is out, I will shield it from the hail. Just get the baby out to us." Valaina nodded, her eyes still squeezed shut and she braced herself for another push, panting as she felt the contraction building. "OooooooOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAGH-"
Her efforts cut off and her head fell back as a shock of pain exploded in her calf. Her eyes snapped open and she screamed, her thigh spasming and she writhed, feeling the white hot feeling cut through her concentration. Over her own screaming, she was dimly aware of screams in the crowd, and she knew something was wrong. Time seemed to slow down as she watched a projectile dart across her belly, the head scoring a thin line over her as a crossbow bolt pinged off of the marble, leaving a small chip in the surface and bouncing off, missing her by millimeters. "SEIZE THEM!" A voice commanded, and Valaina tried to turn to look, seeing one of the assailants, crossbow in hand being cut down by men with swords, his weapon clattering the ground, along with several bolts. She heard the snapping twang of another crossbow, and heard someone shout in pain before another scream and clatter told her that another had just been cut down as well. She strained her neck, trying to look down, but the hail bouncing down on her and something new told her what she already suspected. A crossbow bolt as embedded in her calf, the hailstones hitting the shaft with the same speed as the rest of her body, making small shocks of pain radiate up her leg. All of this came to her and faded in a few heartbeats as the interrupted pushing effort seemed to aggravate the contraction, which redoubled it's efforts with savage force. Valaina rallied herself and pushed again, screaming so loudly her throat began to hurt. She had to finish now, there were assassins! She had to get the baby out so she could leave! "AAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH! COME ONNNNN!" She screamed, pushing so hard her head began to quiver with effort.
And with a sudden pop, Valaina let her head drop back with a sharp clack against the plinth as she felt he pressure snap back as the head came fully out, and she laid there panting as the crowd cheered wildly. She opened her eyes and looked down to see the midwife moving quickly, holding her hands out over where she assumed the head was. her belly was still too large to see anything below it, so Valaina had to hope she was protecting the head from the weather. The contraction didn't fully let up, easing for a moment, then pulsing back stronger than ever as Valaina pushed again, and felt the baby rippling and squirming as it was pushed out of her belly and into the world.
She was expecting cheering at the completion of the birth, but she still started at the sheer intensity of the crowd's expression of joy. She also didn't care bast the reflexive startle. As she heard the baby cry, she was completely taken in by the sweetness of the sound, the only other sound that mattered being the jingling of keys and chains as the straps were undone. "Oh fuck!" she yelped as she nearly slipped off and hit the ground, but the ceremonial guards caught her as she slipped, and guided her to her feet, the midwife handing her the baby, a girl. She wanted to melt, to just sink down with her baby, but the midwife held her upright. "The ritual is not complete yet. You must walk." Valaina felt her eyes go wide, shivering and barely able to stand, "Walk?" "You must exit as you entered, and then you can rest." Before Valaina could respond, she jerked and screamed in pain once again, her daughter flinching and crying at her expression of pain as the crossbow bolt was pulled from her leg. Valaina turned and looked at the path to the ramp, surprised to see it lit by torches, and dimly wondered what time it was. The path looked longer now than it had that morning. But she had to. For her daughter. For the kingdom. She braced herself, and straightened as much as she could, feeling the umbilical cord pulling at her lips as she did, and found she couldn't get past a half upright hunch. Each step was an eternity, her legs shaking so badly, she was surprised they held her weight, but eventually, she found herself at the top of the ramp and descending to the doors that had been opened once again. It was only a dozen more steps before she was out of the hail and inside the stone vaults of the amphitheater. Once the doors were closed, she felt her legs give out, and she was caught before she hit the floor.
She was bustled into what was called the After Chamber, a large space with a massive soft bed, a warm fire and numerous attendants who helped her deliver the afterbirth and dispose of it. Then, while the baby was being looked over, more attendants began lathering Valaina's body in a thick fluid squeezed from plants into her skin. Their efforts burned and stung, but afterwards, everywhere they rubbed began to feel soothed and relaxed once again. "Aloe," One of them explained, "It will help with the sun burn." Valaina didn't have the energy to reply, even to thank them, she just nodded tiredly, her vision fading in and out. "By what name are you calling your daughter?" The midwife asked as she examined the baby, and Valaina felt her eyes snap open. She hadn't really thought of one, but a name came to her now. Not her mother's name. As much as she loved her mother, she had told her nothing of the rigors of birth. She had no sisters. No aunts who's names she liked. But there was a name, the name of the midwife who Valaina had sit with as her aunt Kalunda had labored, and knew. "Her name is Ainara."
One Year Later
It had taken Valaina nearly two weeks before she was strong enough to leave the After Chamber. She quickly found that it had been built with that kind of time in mind, being fully stocked with supplies and materials to allow such a long recovery. When she did finally walk out of the vaulted entrance, she found a newfound respect waiting for her. Few queens had given birth in such a storm, and none had ever done so with a crossbow bolt in their leg. The bolt in question, along with the one that had narrowly missed her had been presented by the prime minister to her as a gift. It came with a sincere apology for regulating her parents to such distant seats in the arena. And while Valaina was still unable to forgive him for that, she took the bolts in the spirit they were intended, keeping them as a relic in the archive.
But the day Ainara turned one, she was standing in the square in front of the amphitheater, looking up at a shrouded statue. She didn't know who had commissioned it, but she felt it was Marne. With little ceremony beyond a short speech about the statue's commissioning, the veil was removed. Valaina gasped as she looked at it. She was depicted as a powerful figure, one hand held protectively over her belly, her other outstretched with a crossbow bolt held in her open palm. The statue's hair, her hair, as bound and pinned in place with the other crossbow bolt, and a lightning bolt crossing it. but what caught her breath were the hundreds of small gems dotting her form, and she knew that these represented the hailstone that pelted her through her birth, She felt a tear come to her eye as she looked at it, feeling the phantom pains of both the hail and the crossbow bolt sting her as the crowd applauded and cheered the statue commemorating their queen.
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