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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?”
"This fucking snow, man!" Claire shouted, carefully navigating the van through the snail speed highway traffic while hunched over the wheel.
"Just don't push, Zack, we'll be at the hospital soon," Gus encouraged, dabbing a sweat soaked cloth on Zacks forehead.
"C-coming out, its fucking coming out! FUCK IT BURNS" Zacks voice trembled, eyes wide as his body pushed his far overdue baby through his canal. He couldn't stop it, he couldn't breathe the growing crown away. His legs couldn't stay closed anymore with the bowling ball wedged in his hips.
They should have left the dorms earlier. He should have just have left when his waters broken instead of being forced in a cramped SUV with a sea of cars in front of them and a wall of snow painting the scenary white.
He was so cavalier, so fucking confident, about being pregnant and giving birth. It would was an easy task right? No need for doctors to poke and prod him right? Even for a college student? The way his belly dropped and angled downward as 40 weeks became 41 and 42 didn't deter him. The feeling of having a head wedged so deep in his hips it flared his gait. The back pain, the oversensitive and poked out belly button, the constant writhing of movement didn't break his belief he could do it in the dorms.
Then the overwhelming pain and reality of labor came. The growing feeling of dread as his thighs were coated with his waters. The pressure that drove so deep in his pelvis that it somehow made sitting still and moving maddening.
Now, Zacks legs were spread as wide he could take them in his clothes, belly low, bare and uneven between them. The crotch of his thick, cotton-lined jeans were soaked through and the skin of his pussy was brushing against the fabric as his baby pulled him wide. It has been hours in traffic and He was doing his best to listen to Gus but the pressure — the need was telling him otherwise.
"You can do it just breathe, just keeping breathing, we're almost the-"
"SHUT UP, IM FUCKING TRYING!" Zack snapped, his fingers digging into car seat and the taut skin of his belly.
The band around Zack's belly wrapped tighter, the ring of fire grew wider and hotter.
Zacks mouth opened wide to let out a choked cry as his overdue baby surged forward with just the force of his body. The crotch of his jeans bowled outward, muddy red fluid dripped through the fabric. The pressure mounted and mounted, building upon the prolonged state of his body's resistance. The desire to give in slammed at his psyche. His stomach compressed into a tight ball of muscle as it fought against his tight jeans to pull the lips of vagina to the widest it had ever been.
"I NEED TO FUCKING PUSHAAAAUUUGH," Zack screamed, back arching, giving into his body’s demands. His hands scrambled for the waistband of his jeans to pull them down.
"W-wait!" Gus tried to stop him.
Zack only managed to get them down to his thighs but that was enough for the tight stretch of the crown released with his first push. The head and shoulders slid out of him with a flush fluid. His body recoiled into the seat as his baby shot into his pants. His ears rang and his vision distant as Gus reached into Zacks sagging jeans and pulled out a huge baby.
"You did it, Zack! You fucking did it!" Gus praised.
Zack looked down at the mess he just made of Claire's floor and his baby. His still swollen, stretch mark riddled belly heaved with his breath. His baby squirmed in the hands of Gus as he put them on his chest. Never again, he never wanted to give birth naturally again.
Zack breathed a sigh of relief just at the feeling of being empty. The placenta would be out soon enough and then he'd finally be done with this ordeal. Slight contractions were still making his stomach seize and he could feel it coming forward.
The traffic was still going at a crawl but the hospital was in sight. Zack shifted uncomfortably in his seat — a stronger contraction pushed something firm into his canal. He ignored it...then another contraction rippled through him even stronger than the previous.
"Somethings wrong...it doesn't feel right," Zack's brow furrowed as he grasped his contracting belly. The placenta was hard; it hurt him more than the head that just burst out of him. His swollen belly twisted beneath his palm. "Fucking hurting — uuuuuGGGHH!"
"What...oh fuck me," Gus muttered to himself.
Then a familiar pain spread through out his cervix until it felt like it would snap. The contractions power hiked up in intensity sending Zack into another bout of crying.
"Why! Why is this fucking happening!" Zack gripped his stomach with his free hand. "Why couldn't this be easy?!"
Gus quickly took the baby from Zack as he fell into the depths of his pain. Claire pulled the SUV into the hospital lot.
"What the hell is going on now!" Claire shouted.
"I don't know, just pull into the ER lot!" Gus wrapped the baby in a spare blanket.
Zack was once again struggling not to push. But he was wide open without the will to close his legs forcefully, he realized hours ago that that just made the pain worse.
Claire skidded the car to a halt infront of the ER and ran out the SUV to get help. Gus was trying to calm Zack down with his words to no avail.
The intense drive to push appeared in his mind again. His body forced everything down until he felt his canal filled.
"Need to push...oh my fucking God I need to push! ITS A FUCKING TWIN!" Zack shrieked as the realization hit him.
"Just hold on until the nurses get here!" Gus' head flicked back and forth between his friend and the ER doors.
Zack writhed in his seat, face red as he tried to listen. Just like before, it didn't matter if he didn't want to push, his body was doing all of the work. His hips flared, body quivering, his canal filled to the brim once more.
"It's coming out! ITS COMING OUT!" Zack head sank into the headrest, the ring of fire returned.
The ER doors burst open, a nurse and Claire ran through the snow with a wheelchair. Gus wrapped his arm under Zacks and tried to pull him out of the car. The weight of the enormous head crashed downward as Zack got lifted sending bolts of pain flashing through pussy.
"S-stop! Can't hold it in like this!" Zack begged.
Gus ignored him and kept moving his friend out of the seat. The heavy belly Zack still carried was stung by the cold as were his fluid covered thighs. Each inch Gus pulled him he could feel burn intensify and grow along with a contraction.
"C'mon we're so close!" Gus encouraged.
"Too late, its too late!" Zacks eyes went wide.
The contraction took hold at full strength and Zacks belly turned into a stress reddened ball of muscle. Zacks foot hit the snow and his mouth drew open into a screech that echoed through the hospital campus. His hand gripped the door and the other clawed into Gus' shoulder as the head and shoulders of his overdue baby fell through his stretched canal and into his soaked pants.
Zacks head rolled back, fighting unconsciousness as the nurse covered him and his newborns from the cold and lowered him into the wheelchair. As he was carted into the hospital, he vowed to never let something like this happen to him again.
I need more of ur sona going into labor/giving birth, mostly just because he looks like he would be so whiny and nervous about it. Maybe with H either comforting him or giving birth too?
ouhhh i forgot about my sona and h,, thanks for the suggestion hehe
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The gravel road stretched like a silver scar through the pines. Ryan had been counting fence posts for forty seven miles. Their sundress, a thin yellow thing with tiny white flowers, stuck to the backs of their thighs. The truck's air conditioning had died somewhere around the old Beauchamp property, and the July heat pressed down like a wet wool blanket.
"You're doing it again," Max said. His hands were steady on the wheel. Ten o'clock and two o'clock. He always drove like he was taking a driving test.
"Doing what?"
"Touching your belly every time you breathe."
Ryan looked down. Their palm was indeed pressed flat against the hard curve of their bump. They snatched it away. "I'm not in labor."
"You said that three hours ago. When you were on your hands and knees in the kitchen."
"I was looking for the corkscrew."
"We don't own a corkscrew, Ry. We own a twist off."
Ryan adjusted the sundress, pulling the hem down over their thighs. Thirty nine weeks and three days. The baby had been posterior for weeks. Sunny side up. The midwife had said it might mean back labor. It might mean a longer haul. Ryan had nodded politely and then ignored everything she said.
"I just want to get to the feed store before it closes," Ryan said. "The chickens need layer pellets."
"You're not going to the feed store. You're going to have a baby."
"I am not." Ryan said this with such firm conviction that they almost believed it. Then another wave came. It started low, deep in their sacrum, a grinding ache like someone twisting a hot knife into the base of their spine. Their breath caught. Their fingers curled into the fabric of the sundress. They counted silently. Eight seconds up. Twelve seconds down. Then it was gone.
Max glanced over. "That was forty five seconds. I counted."
"You're a terrible backseat driver."
"You're not even driving."
The truck rattled over a cattle guard. The road narrowed to one lane. On either side, the forest pressed close, Douglas fir and madrone, shadows pooling under the canopy. They had not seen another car for twenty minutes. Cell service had died ten miles ago. Ryan had insisted on taking the back way. The scenic route. Now the scenic route was a tunnel of green and dust, and the sun was starting to tilt toward the ridgeline.
Ryan shifted in the seat. Their lower back was screaming. They tried semi reclined, tilting the seat back a few inches, but that made the pressure worse. They tried sitting upright, spine rigid, but the baby felt like a cannonball lodged in their pelvis. They ended up twisted sideways, one knee drawn up to their chest, their forehead pressed against the cool glass of the passenger window.
"What are you doing over there?" Max asked.
"Trying to get comfortable."
"You look like a pretzel."
"A delicious, non laboring pretzel."
Another contraction. This one was different. It didn't build. It arrived like a freight train, full force, and Ryan let out a sound they had never heard themselves make. A low, animal moan that came from somewhere below their ribs. Their thighs clenched. Their hands flew to the dashboard, bracing.
"We should pull over," Max said quietly.
"No. Keep driving."
"Ryan."
"Keep driving, Max. I just need to get to the feed store. I just need to think about chicken feed and not about what my uterus is doing."
Max kept driving. He pressed the gas a little harder. The truck bumped over a root, and Ryan gasped, one hand flying between their legs. Their eyes went wide. Their sundress was damp now, not just with sweat but with something else. A slow trickle of fluid ran down their inner thigh.
"My water just broke," Ryan said. Their voice was flat. Disbelieving.
Max looked at the wet spot spreading on the passenger seat. He looked at the road ahead. He looked at the rearview mirror, then back at Ryan. "We're forty miles from anything."
"Then drive faster."
"I can't drive faster. The road is dirt."
"Then drive exactly this speed but pretend it's faster."
Max drove. Ryan breathed through two more contractions, then three, then five. The intervals shrank from eight minutes to five to three. The back labor was relentless, a deep bruising pressure that made Ryan whimper with every exhale. They tried side lying, curling toward the center console with their knees drawn up. That helped for one contraction, maybe two. Then the urge to push arrived.
It was not a gradual thing. It did not build like the contractions had. It slammed into Ryan like a wave hitting a seawall, a primal, overwhelming pressure that made their whole body bear down without permission.
"Max," they said. Their voice was calm. That was the terrifying part. "Max, you need to pull over right now."
"Are you sure?"
"The baby is coming. Not in a few hours. Not in a few minutes. Right now."
Max pulled the truck to the shoulder. He killed the engine. The sudden silence was louder than the engine had been. Pine needles drifted down onto the windshield. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called twice and then went quiet.
"What do I do?" Max asked.
"You stay in the driver's seat. I stay in the passenger seat. We do this right here."
"In the truck?"
"In the truck."
Ryan pushed the seat back as far as it would go. They reclined it until they were nearly flat on their back, their head resting against the headrest, their spine pressed into the worn fabric. Their sundress was already around their ribs. They pulled it higher, bunching it under their armpits. They were completely exposed from the waist down, legs spread wide, feet braced against the dashboard.
"The dashboard?" Max said.
"Fake stirrups. Modern problems require modern solutions."
Ryan pushed. They bore down with a guttural roar that startled even themselves. The baby was posterior, sunny side up, which meant the widest part of the head was presenting first. The burning started immediately. That bright, electric ring of fire that the books always mentioned and that Ryan had always assumed was an exaggeration. It was not an exaggeration. It was an understatement.
"I see the head," Max said. His voice was high and wobbly. He had twisted sideways in the driver's seat, one knee on the center console, leaning over with his arms outstretched. "Oh my God. I see the head. Baby has so much hair."
"Is it coming out sunny side up?"
"It's looking at me, Ryan. The baby is looking at me."
"That's because it's posterior. Just tell me if the cord is around its neck."
Max leaned closer. His fingers, absurdly gentle for a man his size, touched the baby's scalp. "No cord. Lots of hair. Very angry expression."
"Babies don't have angry expressions."
"This one does. It definitely has opinions."
Ryan laughed. It was a broken, breathless sound, and it turned into another push. They pushed with their feet braced against the dashboard, their hands gripping the door handle and the center console, their whole body curled around the effort. The head emerged further. The stretching was biblical. Ryan screamed, a raw, throat shredding sound that echoed off the trees.
"You're almost there," Max said. "The head is almost out. One more push."
Ryan pushed. The head crowned fully, then turned. The baby's face, wrinkled and blue tinged, emerged into the dusty air of the truck cab. Max caught the head in his palms. His hands were shaking violently.
"Shoulders now," Ryan gasped. "You have to guide the shoulders."
"The shoulders are broad."
"Then pull gently. Not hard. Gentle."
Max hooked his fingers under the baby's armpits. Ryan pushed again, a final, bone deep effort that emptied their lungs and their soul. The shoulders slid free. The rest of the body came in a rush of fluid and vernix, landing in Max's lap before he could even close his hands.
A girl. Seven pounds even. Covered in blood and waxy white vernix. She did not cry immediately. She opened her mouth, took a gulp of hot July air, and then screamed with a fury that startled a flock of crows from the nearest pine tree.
Max held her. His hands were covered in birth. His jeans were ruined. Tears streamed down his face, cutting tracks through the dust on his cheeks. "She's so mad," he whispered. "She's so perfect and so mad."
"Give her to me," Ryan said.
Max passed the baby up. Ryan pulled the sundress down, and the baby latched immediately, rooting with a fierce, instinctual determination. The truck cab smelled of sweat and blood and birth. The sun was lower now, slanting through the trees, painting everything gold. Ryan's feet were still propped on the dashboard. Their bare soles left smudges on the plastic. They did not care.
Max leaned back in the driver's seat. His hands were still shaking. He looked at Ryan, at the baby, at the blood on the passenger seat, at the smear on the dashboard. Then he started laughing. A big, helpless, overwhelmed laugh that shook his whole body.
"The feed store closes at six," he said.
Ryan looked at the clock on the dashboard. Five forty three. "We're not making it."
"Definitely not."
"Max?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for not panicking."
"I panicked internally. You just couldn't see it."
Ryan smiled. Their body was sore, a deep, bruised ache from pelvis to ribs. Their vagina throbbed with the memory of being stretched beyond reason. But the baby was warm against their chest. The sundress was a mess. The truck was a mess. Everything was perfect.
Max started the engine. The truck rumbled to life. He did not turn around. He drove forward, slowly, carefully, avoiding every bump. The gravel road rolled on through the pines. The sun dipped lower. Ryan sat in the passenger seat, sundress hiked down, baby nursing, feet still on the dashboard. The dashboard was smeared with blood and vernix. It would never be the same. Neither would they.
When your partner arrives home you're squatting in the luke warm bath, draped over the rim of the tub as you ride out the contractions that are steadily bringing baby down.
You'd been in here for hours - far longer than you'd intended, actually.
The only reason you got into the tub in the first place was to alleviate some of your late pregnancy aches and pains. You hadn't expected to go into full blown labor so quickly, but the baby has slipped low in your hips while you rested in the warm water and when you went to get out you found it nigh impossible.
"What's the matter, baby?" Your partner hums softly in your ear, rubbing a hand down your tense back as your eyes roll back to look at him over your shoulder.
You take a second to answer, your voice a bit rough after hours of its only use being low grunts and groans as you'd labored.
"It's - ooh, it's time." You groan out, rocking back into your partner's hands as the familiar tightening in your core begins.
There's a soft startle in your partner's grip when the words come out of your mouth, a tremor against your back, but you're too wrapped up in the sudden sinking feeling in your hips to think about much else besides how it shoves downward and fills the space between your thighs.
The tightening of your belly is fierce, drawing up hard and tight and earning a long, low groan of urgency from you for its efforts.
You need to push.
You need to push right now.
You part your thighs even further, spreading them wide and shoving your hips back closer to your partner's hands. One hand comes up to clutch onto the wash cloth bar and the other slips into the water and clutches at your thigh.
"Oohhhhh~!" You moan out, feeling yourself stretch and widen to accommodate the changes inside your body, "It's - it's coming, I can feel it stre-stretching me!"
Your partner's hands move down from your hips to your thighs, feeling blindly under you until he successfully finds your entrance.
"Oh!" He gasps in surprise as he cups your sex, feeling the heavy weight that barrelling through you pressing outward.
"What?" You grunt out in shock, too lost in the need to give birth to actually stop your body from pushing into his hands.
"You're - you're starting to bulge-" He says, his fingers feeling gently around the mass.
It burns a bit, a sharp spark of pain that causes you to whine at the intrusion, but suddenly the pressure doubles down as something insides you shifts and all you manage out is a shaky warning to your partner before you start pushing again.
"Ughhhhh fuck, babe~" You pant out, you back arching as the immense pressure grows too much, the sudden thought of feeling like a bottle about to be uncorked flitting into your mind, "I can't stop... can't stop pushhhiinnggg~"
And it's true, a sudden urgency filling you, screaming at you to strain deeply and get this baby out of you.
"Oh yeah, you're starting to open," Your partner says behind you, his fingers tracing the spreading skin of your hole, "Keep pushing baby, keep pushing."
It feels so big inside of you, the weight of it filling you to the brim and any second now you're just going to burst like a balloon.
And then, because the universe is funny like this sometimes, something does burst inside of you.
There's a brief second where the pressure dissipates, your hips dropping down at the release and your hole fluttering now that it's not being spread open.
That lasts only long enough for you to suck in a few lungfuls of air before the much bigger, much less flexible head of your baby drops down into place. You can't help the startled yelp that you let out, soaking your partner in bath water as you suddenly turn to face him.
Your hand shoots out and grabs ahold of his shoulder as you start to part around the head. He looks shocked as you squat facing him, your legs spread wide as you cling to him with one hand and cup your bulging entrance with the other.
The head wastes no time sliding through you, the mass you are cupping filling your palm almost completely as you grunt gutterally and bear down with a massive effort. It slips forward easily, spreading you into a year drop shape that has your thighs quaking in effort when you let up on your push.
You come down a bit dizzy, your head swimming from lack of oxygen and your opening stinging and burning from the stretch.
"Oh fuck-" You pant out, feeling your belly starting to tense with another contraction so quickly after the last one had let up, "Oh fuck, it's coming..."
Your head slams backward as you start pushing again, your belly drawing up tight against your frame as you start to spread even further around the coming head.
"Theresababyohfucki'mhavingababyyyyy-" You cry out desperately, your words cutting into a sharp groan as you feel yourself open into a wide, tight circle around the head.
You feel your partner's hands coming down to take over holding the head and immediately move yours to cling to his other shoulder, squaring your stance and dipping your hips low as you let out a long, low moan of urgency.
"Yeah there is, you're doing so good, love." He says as he runs his fingers over your stretched skin.
" 'm gonna... gonna crown on the next one..." You pant out, giving your partner enough time to prepare as you start to bear down and centimeter by centimeter your pushed open wider, until finally you reach the widest point. "It's gonna... ooooOOOHHHHHH~"
Your head shoots straight up when you feel yourself stretched into a perfect circle around the head, how the weight settles and how tight you've stretched and suddenly you're standing upright on shaky legs, pushing yourself desperately into your partner's hands to ease the pain.
"It's crowning!" You cry out, as if the man holding said crown between your thighs isn't aware of this. But you're far too preoccupied to be worried about the semantics of your words.
You bend your knees out awkwardly, standing wide legged and bent over your heavy middle. Your hands rest on your knees as you gasp for breath wetly, your body fighting to make sense of what it's feeling.
All too quickly the need to push comes back, and you find yourself dropping into a squat again as you feel the head start to slip through again.
"That's it, baby, that's it!" Your partner cheers over your primal noises, his hand keeping steady pressure against the crown to keep it from coming to quickly, "Push, push, push!"
"I am pushing~" You grit out, pressing your chin to your chest and bearing down, "Uhhhhh godddd~"
It's out to it's brow, the bridge of its nose, and you suck in a quick breath before doubling down on the tail end of the contraction and grunt and groan the nose out.
For a second then urge to push fades and the head hangs heavily from your hole, stuck halfway out as you whimper and shake as you adjust to the stretch.
It's not long before the urgency comes back though, your head falling back and your hands clinging to your partner's shoulders as you let out a long moan. Your body bears down without you needing to do anything, the head bulging forward once, twice, and then on the third shove down the entire head is out.
You didn't even realize you'd sunk down into a half squat, holding tight to your partner's shoulders as he holds the head in place while you catch your breath.
"Holy shit-" You pant out, bringing one hand down to feel the head that's now in the outside world, "Oh fuck, I pushed the head out."
"Yeah, yeah you did." Your partner says, sounding completely awestruck as he applies gentle counter pressure through the light contractions that are quaking through you.
You need a second to adjust, to let the contractions get stronger and the head to rotate before you push the shoulders out, so you spend a few minutes just stroking the baby's hair and touching gently at its nose and ears.
It's not too terribly long, though, before you feel the familiar tension of an oncoming contraction, and you puff out a few breaths before giving a quick push. The head starts to turn, a strange feeling that leaves you rocking your hips slightly to alleviate the pressure.
Once it's nudged firmly in place, you bear down for real and in exchange feel the heavy weight and solid form of the shoulders pushing against your hole from the inside.
They feel huge, unmanageable, and for a brief second you fear you'll be torn in two if you try to push them out.
Your body, however, doesn't get the message, and the next contraction you have is one of the most intense ones yet. Your hands go back to your partner's shoulders, using them as leverage to keep your heavy form upright as one shoulder begins to push through the tight ring of muscle.
"Fuck!" You grunt out through gritted teeth as you spread wider and wider, "I'm birthing the head!"
Your hips rock wildly, your body unable to keep still as it tries desperately to escape the feeling, all the while you're still pushing on the shoulder that's exiting your body.
Your partner tries to help by hooking a finger in beside the shoulder, tugging gently at the stretching skin to get the baby out faster.
Your entire body feels like it's narrowed down to this sensation, the feeling of a vacuum pulling it your insides and a very visceral reaction that you might just be sick from how hard your straining.
"Almost there baby," He calls over your painted noises, "Come on, big push."
The shoulder slips free suddenly, leaving the weight in your pelvis disproportionate and your hole stretched so wide you don't think it could stretch anymore that it already has.
You gasp and grunt, bringing yourself down as much as you can until you're on your knees in the tub, curled over your huge belly as you bear down for the last time.
It's a massive effort, your legs spread as wide apart as they'll go and your partner leaning over the tub as the second shoulder starts to come out.
""It's coming ouuUTTTT!" You cry out, moving your hands from his shoulders to his wrists as they hover between your legs ready to catch the baby, "It's coming out of me!"
And then, as your belly draws back so you can see the outline of the muscles under the skin and accompanied by a full on bucket full of fluid, your baby is born into your partner's hands.
You take in as much air as possible, your chest heaving for breath as you hold the baby to your chest and look up at your partner.
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imagine a business man, head of his department, totally immaculate, perfect posture, super fastidious. wears clean, trim suits and keeps his hair slick. his office is always organized down to the last detail. his assistant respects and fears him, but is better at reading him than most.
one day he starts wearing a brass ring on his right hand, which is strange, considering his only adornments are his wristwatch and his wedding ring. not only that, but over the next few months, he picks up some strange habits. during his lunch breaks, his assistant catches him doing yoga in his office. he takes several handfuls of vitamins with his morning coffee, which has switched over to decaf. he’s taken to coming in right on time instead of his usual 30 minutes early. the assistant even caught him drinking a chocolate milkshake instead of a protein shake more than once. nevertheless, his physique remains perfect.
then, one day, he does the unthinkable and comes in five minutes late. the business man looks bedraggled, his hair hanging limp, and his tie crooked. his assistant is worried for him, and tells him if he’s sick, he should take the day off. the business man takes his assistant up on the offer, and says to walk him down to the lobby; they can discuss daily reports in the elevator.
in the elevator, the assistant notices the man sweating, and his face is flushed. before the assistant can ask whats wrong, though, the elevator stops and the emergency lights turn on. a voice on the PA comes on and says something went wrong during maintenance, and all the elevators will be down for at least half and hour, and the fire department is on its way. the business man’s discontented expression turns to despair, and to the assistant’s surprise, he lets out an anguished moan.
when asked whats wrong, the business man concedes to telling his assistant that he’s not sick– he’s pregnant. his husband, a warlock, made him a magic ring that would hide his pregnancy so he could keep working without scrutiny. he thought he could work right up until his due date, but as soon as he got to his office, he started having contractions.
the assistant watches as the business man takes off his suit jacket and undoes his shirt and pants. he takes off the brass ring, and his stomach instantly inflates to the size of a heavily pregnant belly, convulsing with contractions.
he sinks to the floor in pain, and to a horrified assistant, says that the baby’s not going to wait for the fire department.
A commission for @fleshkink who gave me the super fun prompt of a trans guy going through a rapid pregnancy and giving birth to triplets. This is also posted on AO3 and I'll have the link for that in my pinned post on my blog.
If anyone enjoys this and is able to, tips are hella appreciated since money is super tight right now or if you'd like to commission me go ahead and send a DM and we can work things out!
The Rule of Three
Word Count: 2.2k
Characters Used: Kieran (transmasc OC) & Max (cis-male OC)
WARNINGS: rapid pregnancy, triplet birth, trans character giving birth, orgasmic birth. Also - I do use AFAB terms to describe the characters' genitalia so please be aware of that.
If it weren't already obvious, this is a birth/labor fetish fic so if you are a minor or not into that then DO NOT INTERACT. You have been warned.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
"Um..." Kieran mumbled into the phone, all words suddenly out of reach as he scoured his brain to find a way to tell his husband what was happening. "So... you - uh - you know how I suggested trying a - um - a fertility spell?" he stammered, staring down at his steadily growing stomach as it continued to swell.
"Yeah, I remember," Max said, suspicion clear in his tone. "I also remember us agreeing that those were too unpredictable and not worth the risk," he added.
Kieran sucked in a sharp breath as a baby landed a kick right to his ribs before he was able to respond. "Mmhmm, well... Maybe I decided to try one," he replied timidly, rubbing his free hand over his swollen stomach in an attempt to calm down the rapidly growing baby inside.
"Kieran."
The way Max growled his name said everything and, honestly, Kieran couldn't blame his husband for being upset. They had agreed not to use magic to conceive which is exactly what Kieran did.
"Yeah, um, so I think we're going to be parents a lot sooner than we expected," Kieran mumbled, he already looked like he was overdue with a huge baby (or two) and he assumed it couldn't be long before labor started.
"What do you mean by 'a lot sooner'?" Max questioned, apprehension clear in his voice.
A small, involuntary whimper left Kieran's throat as his whole midsection tensed, the cramp wrapping around his back and thighs. "T-Today? Maybe?" he answered tightly, having no idea if the labor would progress just as quickly.
"Today?! Shit, Kieran, I - fucking hell - I've gotta go. Love you."
Click.
For a few long moments, Kieran just sat there on the couch trying to process everything that just happened. Honestly, the only thing keeping him from completely losing it being the quick 'love you' that Max added before hanging up.
"Ah!" Kieran gasped as a gush of fluid left him, soaking his underwear and the couch cushion underneath him. "Okay, okay, okay," he mumbled to himself, taking a couple of deep breaths in a feeble attempt to calm himself before he tried to get up.
It was difficult with the sudden heavy weight of his stomach and it took Kieran several tries before he finally managed to stand up.
He managed to take a few slow, unsteady steps before another contraction stopped him. Luckily, they weren't too bad yet so he was able to breathe through it before continuing to waddle to the bathroom to clean himself up - resolutely ignoring the pressure growing between his hips.
It was all going so fast and Kieran was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he was even pregnant already - let alone about to give birth.
And he had no idea what Max was doing - if he was going to come home early from work or not - but he had a feeling that calling him again wouldn't help things.
Kieran peeled his soaked briefs off of himself once he got to the bathroom before stripping off his T-shirt, which had rolled up a while ago to sit on top of his large, rounded stomach. Not even a minute after stripping down, Kieran found himself leaning against the sink counter as another - stronger - contraction started.
"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck," he muttered through gritted teeth, the pressure between his hips slowly working its way down until it felt like a bowling ball had wedged itself into his pelvis.
There was just enough time between contractions for Kieran to start up the shower and step into the tub, but that one - along with the general added weight of his stomach - sent him to his knees.
This time he couldn't help but bear down a little against the increasingly intense pressure, a strangled groan coming from him that was equal parts pain and relief just from being able to push back against the pressure.
Reaching down with a shaking hand once the contraction was over, Kieran managed to slip two fingers into his vagina, wanting to see if he could figure out how dilated he was. Just the slight stretch of his fingers sent arousal burning through his veins, his cunt still sensitive from the night before along with all the different hormones coursing through his body right now. "Oh," he moaned, hole twitching and clenching around his fingers as the tips of them found his cervix.
It had to be something with the spell because Kieran was sure his cervix usually wasn't that intensely sensitive but right now? Fuck, Kieran almost couldn't keep his mind on track as he slowly spread his fingers.
Honestly unsure how to actually measure cervical dilation, Kieran could only guess that he had to be close to 10cm with how far apart he was able to spread his fingertips and the fact that he was almost certain he had brushed against the baby's head at one point.
Apparently, the pregnancy wasn't the only thing that was going to happen rapidly.
Kieran hardly pulled his fingers out of himself when his abdomen tensed again. "Oh God," he groaned, leaning forward against the edge of the tub and instinctively rocking his hips as the contraction built.
Again, he couldn't help but bear down as it got more intense and he swore he could feel a hard, heavy mass pressing against his cervix and forcing it to stretch even further. It was equally uncomfortable as it was oddly pleasurable and Kieran's head swam with the conflicting sensations.
That continued for a while, Kieran choosing to stay in the tub and let the warm shower water flow over his aching back as he worked through contraction after contraction.
It was all he could do, bearing down with each one and trying his best to ignore the heat flooding through his veins and the way his big, swollen clit throbbed between his legs every time.
There was no telling how much time had passed before Kieran, in the middle of a contraction, realized the pressure was moving lower and his cunt felt like it was filled to its limits by the time the contraction was over. "Fuck, oh fuck - it's coming," he whimpered to himself as another contraction started almost immediately after.
As he pushed, panting and moaning and grunting, he could feel his labia bulge and start to part. Everything hyper-sensitive in both the best and worst ways, clit throbbing as the skin under and around it pulled taught.
"Oh, oh, ohhhh - Ah!" Kieran cried out as all the sensations became too much all at once and he was pushed over into what had to be the best orgasm he's ever had. "OhmyGod, o-oh, oh God, ahh, fuckfuckfuck," Kieran whined, hips moving in small circles as he panted and cursed because fuck the baby was at a full crown and it was the best thing he has ever felt in his life.
That had to be thanks to the spell but by now Kieran wasn't really complaining about being stuck in orgasmic bliss as he goes through what is usually one of the most painful things a person can.
The sound of the front door opening broke him partially out of it, realizing that Max must have come home.
"Max!" Kieran cried out, sitting up carefully on his heels and gasping as the baby's head slid out just a tiny bit more from the movement. "Ohhh," he moaned as his stomach tightened in a contraction. "Max!" he shouted again, words strangled as he had no choice but to push, "Max, it's coming! It - Ahh!"
Kieran nearly screamed as the rest of the head popped out all at once, a gush of fluid and immense release of pressure coming with it that sent Kieran into a second, even more intense, orgasm which left him writhing and shaking until Max came in.
"Holy fucking Hell, Kie," Max's gruff voice exclaimed as he quickly knelt to the floor in front of Kieran. "Shit - lean back, babe, I can't see anything like this."
Unable to reply, Kieran just carefully leaned back against the other side of the tub. The change of angle made it so Max could see everything going on between his spread thighs, the baby slowly turning in preparation for the shoulders to come out.
"Okay - okayokayokay - M-Max, catch - catch it," Kieran stammered out as he felt one last contraction start, gritting his teeth and pushing as hard as he could.
Max was saying something to hm but Kieran barely heard him as his clit twitched and throbbed hard in response to the first shoulder making its way through.
All Kieran could do after that was sob through the rest of the contraction as his whole body pulsed with pleasure. He barely even realized when the baby slid the rest of the way out into Max's hands with another gush of fluid.
Panting hard as he came down from it all, Kieran collapsed against the tub and worked on catching his breath.
Once he managed to open his eyes a few seconds later, he found Max holding the newborn as it started to squirm and cry.
"Hey there," Max mumbled to the baby before grey eyes flicked up to look at Kieran. "Here, you hold her and I'll round up some supplies to deal with the rest of this," he said as he leaned over to put the fussing baby in Kieran's arms.
That's when it fully hit Kieran that holy fuck - he just gave birth despite not having even been pregnant yesterday.
It was the most surreal, unbelievable thing Kieran has ever experienced and he knew he and Max would have some things to talk about but, in the moment, Kieran couldn't stop smiling as he gently cooed at the infant to calm her down.
By the time Max had come back, cut the umbilical cord, and helped clean off and bundle up the infant, Kieran was starting to feel some cramps starting up again.
He could only assume it was the afterbirth even though his stomach was still quite swollen.
"Oh," Kieran whined, rocking his hips a little as pressure started to build. "H-Hey, Max," he muttered, grunting softly as his body instinctually gave a small push and that pressure increased tenfold. "Fuck," Kieran gritted out, unable to help but bear down against it and feeling the undeniable sensation of something big moving slowly through his cervix.
"What's wrong, Kie?" Max asked, taking his eyes off of their daughter to look over at Kieran again.
Panting as the contraction ended, Kieran looked down at his stomach and back up at Max. "I-I think... there's another - um - baby," he stammered. "Can you look?"
"Are you serious? Fuck," Max swore, "Hold on. Let me figure out where to put the kid down."
"Kay," Kieran squeaked out as another contraction began and he was forced to push whether he wanted to or not.
It was such a strange sensation, too. His cunt unbelievably sore from the first baby but still so intensely sensitive. It felt just as good as it hurt when he pushed.
At least until his abused labia started to bulge out and Kieran lost his momentum with the sudden burn. "Ahh!" he cried out, a hand flying between his thighs to press against his lips and hole. "M-Max," he whimpered shakily, panting and grunting as he gave a series of smaller pushes to try to make the stretch more manageable. "O-Oh God, Max, i-it's coming," he sobbed, lips bulging out more and more with each little push.
"I know, Kie, just breathe, I-"
"N-No, it's - fuck - it's coming now," Kieran managed to stammer as another contraction started and he was bearing down again with no hope to stop.
And fuck it was both the worst and best thing Kieran's ever felt, the intense burn of the head crowning coupled with Kieran subconsciously rubbing the heel of his hand against his throbbing, swollen clit.
There was no stopping it now, either, everything happening in mere seconds as the baby's head popped out and Kieran screamed in a mix of pain and pleasure as another orgasm washed over him even as the contraction continued.
"Max!" Kieran cried out, feeling the baby's shoulders stretching him and knowing it would only be seconds before the rest was born.
And Max was just a little too slow, Kieran barely managing to catch the second baby as it came out with a gush of fluid.
The couple sat in shocked silence - save for the two newborns fussing - for a few long moments while they came to terms with the fact that they suddenly had not only one surprise baby but two.
Anyway, that had to be all there was. Kieran’s stomach was still a bit swollen even after delivering the placenta but, despite the pregnancy happening all in one day, it would probably take a little while for Kieran’s body to recover and that was completely fine.
Except…
Kieran had just enough time to clean himself up, get into some comfy clothes, and have Max help him into bed to rest when his abdomen tightened in a very familiar way.
Max was in the other room with their two newest additions, trying to figure out how to get what they’d need for their surprise twins without having to leave Kieran alone in case something went wrong.
It was a good thing Max stuck around, too, when Kieran suddenly yelled for him.
By the time Max got into the bedroom, he was greeted with the sight of Kieran laying on his side, pants halfway off, and one leg pulled up to make way for the third baby that was starting to crown.
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"And in other news, it looks like it might be a white Christmas after all this year, Kay has more with the weather,"
"Back live in 45 seconds!" a voice chimes in the background.
I throw my fake notes to the side and reach out under the desk to grab your knee.
"How are you doing? Are you ok?!" I whisper.
"hoooo, y..yeah.. yeah.. no," you reply with sweat visibly beading up across your brow, gritted teeth and a cast iron grip on your cue cards. "ughhhh, the pressure.. oh my god. It's building fast.."
"Oh my god, I can't believe you talked me into this. We have three more segments live at the desk and then we're cutting live to the PM to finish the show. We have to call this off, our baby can't arrive on Live TV.."
"nhuuuuuuurghhhhh, n—NO! Not yet, close out the show, then we go to the hospital.. it's not far..."
"Oh my god, this is crazy, we're back in.. 20 seconds! Right, fine. It's too late now anyway, lets get through these 8 minutes and then DASH across the road."
"Yeah, easy hoooo, nothing too it, just 8 more minutes to hold....Oooooon! Ughhhhhh NO NO NOPE. IMPOSSIBLE. I Can't. I can't do it, this baby is coming right NOW!"
"EIGHT!"
"SEVEN!"
"SIX!"
"No no no. Too late, we're going live right now," I whisper, watching your panicked grimace strain into a a professional newsreader smile. "we're committed now, stay calm, stay professional, and do.not.push!"
The floor manager holds up four fingers next to the camera. Then three, then two, then one.
“W-Welcome back. T-thanks K-Kay for the weather report.” I stuttered. The contraction still held me in its vice, my bump now a solid rock beneath the table. It took all my willpower to keep my breathing steady and words even, my smiling expression forced for the camera. I gripped the table, knuckles white as the wave peaked and I couldn’t help but part my knees a little more under the desk.
The next segment was a lifestyle one, some new kitchen aid gadget had been released and one of our regular tv personality’s had brought it in for a demonstration. Mercifully it wasn’t scripted and you took the lead in asking all the questions. It was a good thing too because the contractions were now almost on top of one another.
As the guest was running through a full demonstration to both us and the camera I felt another surge of pressure. My legs shot apart beneath the desk, my knee colliding with yours and you gave me a look. Don’t push your eyes screamed.
I leant forward on my stupidly high bar stool where we were hosting, resting on elbow on the desk while my other hand clutched my contracting womb. My face ached from the forced feigned smile of interest at the fancy new appliance. I wasn’t listening, I couldn’t. I was panting under my breath hoping to god it wasn’t being picked up on my the microphones.
Four minutes… five minutes… this segment felt like it was lasting an eternity. The pressure was relentless; no break, no gaps between, just a steady urgency gathering speed with every squeeze of my muscles.
The producer whispered in my ear “Are you okay?” Having noticed my silence all segment. I gave the smallest of nods, but I was far from alright.
The thought of pushing had rapidly transformed from a desire to a primal need. It was unwavering and absolute. You were speaking with the guest presenter when I gave that first testing push - only a small one, no real strength behind it, but I couldn’t NOT push anymore. The boulder of our baby’s head was so low, grinding and pressing against my cervix, my muscles clenched automatically around it and I beared down steadily.
God it felt good to push. Holding back had become excruciating and the relief of actually bearing down was almost euphoric.
With the next two contractions I was pushing. Legs wide under the table, fingers clawing at the edge of the desk, I pushed hard towards the cushion of my seat. You didn’t notice at first. I was beside you, sweating but still smiling professionally in front of the camera. No one knowing that with my clenched teeth I was actively pushing. But when the segment was over and we had to return to the autocue script, that was when you noticed.
“N-Next up… ughhhh… we have an—oh god— exclusive interview w-with one of the w-winners at last night’s L-Logie Awards—nnnghhh…”
My words were obviously strained, my breathing heavy as I tried to stop my body pushing but by the end of the sentence I was bearing down automatically. I gripped your hand, squeezing tight, a silent plea for you not to announce what was happening while we were live on air.
Producers were shouting in my earpiece, camera operators were peering around the lenses with questioning and concerned looks. Another grunting push happened before I could stop it and I didn’t hear you announce the unplanned commercial break.
“We’re taking you to hospital babe, now.” You said standing from the stool and wrapping an arm around me.
“N-No… I’m f-fine… I can h-hold it…” I tried to say but the guttural pushing sound coming from deep in my chest begged to differ.
“For fucks sake. Darling you’re pushing, we need to get you out of here now.”
You guided me off of the chair and the second my high heels met the floor the change in gravity shifted inside my womb and the dam suddenly broke. Fluid pooled on the hardwood floor with a splash and I gasped at the sudden release of pressure.
“M-my waters…”
“Yes… baby is coming. Now let’s go.”
But the release of amniotic fluid allowed the baby to drop further and I bent over gripping the tall desk. “Ohhhhh god… it’s coming… I can’t m-move… I need… I need to push….” I cried out.
My stance widened as far as my pencil skirt allowed and leaning against the table I gave an almighty guttural push. Immediately I felt the head breach my cervix and slide low into the birth canal, pressing dangerously close to the outside world.
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