#pbrt

I can feel the tension wrap around my abdomen with each contraction, my eyes wide. "No, no, nonononoNNNNNH--" I wail, praying that my body listens and stops pushing, I'm not ready. I try to stick my fingers inside to check and cringe, my cervix already sensitive.

Hours later, I'm still in the throes of the first stage. I'm cold with old sweat and my face is soaked in tears and snot. My throat is hoarse from crying, and I haven't yet been fully able to peel off the clothes I foolishly tried to put on twenty minutes in. Like I was going to make it to the hospital.

Finally, I begin to feel the baby drop into my canal. "S--ss-sstretching me, oh, god," I whimper, voice half gone. "Full, full, too much, too much--" my voice cracks and I choke back a sob, dedicating my energy to pushing. The contraction fades and I go nearly limp for a moment before pushing out of turn, trying so desperately for this to all be over. "Stop it, stop it, please, please just get out of me," I plead with my little one, white-knuckling the counter as I bear down again. With each completed contraction, I feel the baby slide backwards, and this marathon birthing only drags on.

I saw the sun set before I had that potion. It's now midday and I'm not even bulging yet. My legs have gone numb with the tension as I try fruitlessly to push more. I don't dare try to press on my stomach with my hands--I don't want to hurt the baby, even as its progress is tearing me apart--but I feel like I'm losing this battle.

Finally, blissfully, I feel my vulva start to stretch as the baby's head flattens my G-spot. I buck my hips in exhausted bliss, happy for the stimulation, if only for a moment. It took long enough to get this baby past my pelvis, and now I have to get it out of my cunt. I bend over, grip the towel I somehow managed to grab yesterday, and push for everything I have. My labia part as the head becomes visible for a moment, then it slips back in. I wail and try again. There it is. And it's gone. And there it is. And it's gone. There it iIIIIIIS--

I scream again as the weight of the baby hits my reddened vulva and stretches it out obscenely, two, three, four, five, seven inches out from its resting place. I shiver and reach down to feel it. "H-hi," I breathe, before pushing again. Nothing. My labia is almost white, the force and the stretch pushing all the blood out of it. "Stop, stop, please, just get out, just--just get--" I sob and push fruitlessly, the burning sensation becoming almost all I can feel.

At this point, I'm starting to get worried for the baby's safety. It's two hours past sunset again, and my water hasn't even broken by this point. I reach down to feel the sac, my vulva still engorged with the crown, and resolve myself. I'm either going to get this baby out now or it's going to be all over.

So I squat on shaky, unforgiving legs, grip the counter, and push. I tense my whole body, from shoulders to chest to belly and try to squeeze this child, your child, this huge, massive, painful, beautiful creature out, it's coming out, it's comi

(CW: upcoming mention of prolapse. The baby and I are fine, if you want to stop here :>)

You find me passed out on the floor, clammy, exhausted beyond belief, with my cunt turned inside out and twitching slightly, an angry, painful red, with your precious baby suckling at my meager chest without a care in the world.