rereading my own writing is just a constant fluctuation between "damn, girl, you wrote this? (affectionate)" and "damn, girl, you wrote this? (derogatory)"
Your heavy, full globe of a stomach practically touches the floor as you sway on your hands and knees. I brace my hands on your hips, stilling you for a moment so I can check your progress.
“Is the head out?” you repeat when I remain silent.
I want to tell you yes, the head is there, it’s almost over. But the truth is you’ve barely begun. There’s a small slit revealing just a hint of dark hair and you’re already wailing.
“Burning, it’s burning!” you cry as the teardrop widens into a small ‘o’ with the force of another contraction. “Please, I need it out!”
My hands move down your thighs to your knees; they are trembling, threatening to snap shut, and I force them open even wider. “Then push.”
Another story that I wrote alongside @allkindsofpreg - hope this one gets you all as hot and bothered as the previous ones!
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We were elated when we found out it was twins. 2 babies! Of course that meant that you had to give up your role as the ‘fitness gym girl’ on the breakfast tv show you’d been in for 5 years - as the management team couldn’t possibly show keep fit with a bump. So between us we started our own fitness studio. My income as a doctor supported us both thankfully as the business took its time to pick up, but you had amassed a steady following as you entered the 8th month, on your fourth set of leotards as the belly kept on growing and growing bigger and bigger. Today was your last class before you were handing over to your assistant to start your maternity leave and I’d popped in especially to see it.
As I pushed open the door I see 20 women in various stages of pregnancy watching you give a class on ‘stretches to prepare you for labour.’ I wave - you acknowledge me with a nod - and get a few glances over from the women in the class as I take my seat. You’re circling your hips on a birthing ball slowly rubbing your belly whilst explaining that this position and rotation helps open your hips and can relieve pain. Speaking of pain, you’d been having fairly frequent Braxton hicks contractions for over 3 weeks now but they had never been what you would call painful. When this morning started like any other - pains that cycled up and down every few minutes, it was just a morning like any other… surely full-blown labour must be noticeably different when it starts?
You make a move to get up, but I gesture for you to stay where you are— I don’t want to interrupt. You smile, feeling my eyes trace every curve on display through your tight workout gear. After finishing a warmup on the ball, you guide the class forward into a gentle squat, using the ball for support if needed. Practicing this move several times a day has kept you pretty open, and you easily plant your feet and lean forward, generous belly spilling out from your hips. It takes most of your concentration to stay upright with your constantly shifting centre of balance—the babies have grown so much over the last few weeks and you often have to back out of spaces instead of turning around—and you breathe through another minor contraction. You gently get to your knees and press forward onto your hands, demonstrating a spinal stretch that practically drags your belly on the floor. After a few more hip and back openers, you set everyone up at the various stations of the circuit and start the timer as you make your way over to me.
My hand immediately finds the lower curve of your stomach as I lean in for a quick kiss. “How are you feeling, love?”
You release a somewhat exasperated sigh. “Same as before. If this keeps up, I may have to keep working just to stay sane!” You check your watch and blow your whistle and everyone moves one station to their right. “Happy to see you, though.” You trail your hands down the seam of my button-down, hooking a finger into one of the openings and giving it a playful tug. “Maybe… help me get these contractions kickstarted.”
My eyes flick to the women at the back of the gym then back to you in a mix of desire and admonishment. “Later,” I promise, kissing the tip of your nose and spinning you around, giving your behind a little tap.
You twist your head to give me a little pout and silently mouth the word “later” in response.
I stay through the end of the class — mentally playing out in my mind all the things I am going to do to you… in the name of inducing labour, of course—but as you move into the final cooldown pose, things take a turn.
You’re on your knees leaning forward with your elbows on the stability ball, heavy belly reaching for the ground, when another contraction revs up. You start to breathe through it, but it’s difficult to stay loose and relaxed. You can feel one fist clench as the other instinctively wraps around your contracting stomach. You bury your face into the crook of your elbow and breathe harshly until the worst of it passes, then feel a large warm hand at your back. You look up to see my face, concerned but with a hint of excitement.
“Alright?”
You nod, sitting back on your heels and announcing, “Class is over!”
One of the ladies tutted “we still have 20 minutes…” however one of the more perceptive ones noticed your closed eyes and hand rubbing your distended belly and shushed her, realising what had happened.
“Ladies, I’m sorry” I jumped in. “You’re more than welcome to stay here and use the facilities but I think I need to take my wife out back to rest.”
“We understand” the general murmur echoed around the room though the discontented mother to be was still grumbling.
I brace myself as I help you lift up off the ground as you stumble forward into me as a result of a pain shooting through you. My arms hold you tight as you bury your head into my shoulders and grab hold of my upper arm, squeezing tight. My hand naturally falls to the swell of your belly and I feel how rock hard it is - a sure sign of a contraction half way through its action.
There was a gasp from the ladies in the room as they see you stumble and an even louder gasp where a few moments later there was a dark spot between your legs and visible liquid trickling down your legs.
“Shit” came the voice of Sarah, the perceptive lady from earlier.
The pressure in your pelvis skyrocketed and you followed your body’s instincts, bending your knees and leaning forward, bracing your hands on your thighs. A low humming sound filled the room and you were surprised to find it was coming from you. The pain crested and you grabbed onto an offered arm, the moans getting deeper and louder.
“That’s it, let it out,” Sarah soothed, giving the hand you had clenched around her forearm a little pat. When your grip loosened and your breathing evened out she asked, “How long have you been in labour?”
“M’not,” you said, shaking your head despite all the evidence to the contrary. “I don’t- or, I wasn’t?” You knew you weren’t making sense and you looked to me for help.
“She’s been having Braxton’s Hicks contractions on and off for weeks now,” I explained. “Guess this morning’s weren’t practice anymore.”
“Did my water break?” you asked, surprised by the feeling of wet skin and fabric. I chuckled and nodded, grabbing a clean towel from the bench and tossing it at your feet to soak up the liquid. “Then it’s really happening. The babies are really coming.”
I pulled you into my side and kissed the top of your head. “Yup. No turning back now.”
Another contraction slammed into you, taking you by surprise with its sudden intensity, and you dipped back into your semi-squat and let out a guttural groan.
“Oh I know that sound. Been through it six times already myself,” Sarah said, drumming her fingers on what was apparently her seventh bump. “Won’t be long now.”
You were shaking your head again. “Too fast. I haven’t- we’re not-“ You huffed between panted breaths. “It’s too fast.” You didn’t know whether she was right or not— You hadn’t done this six times— but you knew someone who would. “Babe, please.” You reached for me and found purchase in my arms. “You have to—mmm—check me.”
“What, here?” I glanced around the room, at all the prying eyes of the pregnant women who couldn’t look away. “Now?”
If the baby felt low before, you now felt as though you’d have to waddle around with your legs apart. “Yes. God, yes. Fuck!”
Another contraction started right on top of the last one and Sarah piped in with her assessment. “Ooh, double peak contractions? Yep, had that with baby number four. Came out sunny side up, that one.”
You knew she was trying to help, but you were going to put your money on the guy with the medical degree. “Please, babe. Just… do what you have to do.”
“Sorry ladies, perhaps you’ll consider this constitutes a medical emergency” I offer apologetically as I pull the shoulder straps down on your leotard. I briefly considered cutting the crotch area rather than peeling the full thing off your body, but I’d have to go back to the car to get scissors. You looked wide eyed, pleading at me as the stretchy fabric is pulled down over your shoulders, down to your breasts where the built in bra releases their heavy load and both milk loaded mammaries flop down onto your belly.
It takes a bit of work to tug the suit down over your belly, but you brace your arms onto my shoulders as I tug it down, finally feeling the stretchy material give, and peel down over your skin, the fabric more and more sticky and slick as it got closer and closer to your crotch.
Finally with a wet plop the soggy fabric sat at your feet. I help you step out and the fact you were as naked as the day you were born yourself soon hit you with a stark realisation, your cheeks and face turning redder than beet.
“Nothing none of us haven’t seen before when looking in the mirror love” came the voice of Sarah, snapping you out of it as the next contraction rose.
You rode it out against me, groaning low and holding tight to me. Another voice from the room piped up “keep it up girl, we’re rooting for you”. You had no idea who it came from, and frankly couldn’t care right now.
The feel of the baby grinding low in your pelvis had you thinking that you’d have a lot of witnesses pretty soon… but surely babies don’t come that quick ?
“Check me please…” you whimper as the contraction passes.
One of the ladies pushed over the exercise ball and between us we managed to get you down to your knees, bent over the ball exposing yourself inadvertently to the room.
I climb down to my hands and knees myself and apologising to the room with an announcement of “excuse me ladies” I plunge two fingers into you.
What the room likely wasn’t expecting was the pleasurable moan that escaped your mouth as my fingers plunged deeper and deeper. Whilst you were on autopilot you suddenly realised where you were and once more the red glow shone from your face.
It was a good thing you had your head buried into your arms—both out of embarrassment and because it muffled any further involuntary sounds you made at my touch. It stung a little as I probed around your cervix, but I made up for it with a quick circle around your clit before pulling my hand away.
“Seven, maybe eight centimetres, love,” I reported, causing you to whine and a few others to gasp. “You were right, Sarah; she’s close.” Then, to you, “Think you can get up?” The idea made your bones ache and you shook your head. “Probably wouldn’t make it to the hospital anyway.” Leaning down to whisper closer to your ear I said, “I think we’re going to have to do this here.”
The rational part of your brain knew I was right—the studio was a converted warehouse out in the middle of nowhere; it was out of the way but the rent was low and we decided we’d evaluate our options once the business took off and we had settled in with the babies for a while. But the irrational part hadn’t even accepted that you were actually in labour yet, much less that you were about to give birth at work, naked and with an audience.
The contractions were still roiling constantly, and you rolled your hips in small circles, the stability ball rolling with you. You continued to twist and rock until the pain intensified so much that any movement made you nauseous. Your stillness worried me, and I grabbed your hand once the panting and whimpering started.
“What’s wrong with her,” one of the younger new moms asked no one in particular, rubbing her early stages bump nervously.
“Transition?” someone guessed.
Sarah hummed in agreement. “That would be my guess.”
“Transitioning to what?”
As if in answer to her question, you threw your head back and cried out as pressure enveloped your midsection, pulling and condensing your muscles in a way that forced you to curl in on yourself. “I have to-hnghh-pushhh,” you groaned, squeezing my hand tightly as you turned your face to look at me. As a fitness professional, you were accustomed to having complete awareness and control over every muscle in your body, and I could see the fear and uncertainty in your eyes at losing it. “Can I? Can I push yet?”
I scrambled down to get into my knees in front of you, holding your hands as you look wide-eyed at me. You gasp again “I feel like I need to push, the head is right there.” I press my head against yours as I whisper “no pushing. Pant for me, you need to stretch.”
You give a nod and follow with the traditional “hoo-hoo” noises breathing your hot breath into my face.
“Good girl, just like that.” You grunt an acknowledgement as I feel your head wiggle from side to side.
Sarah comes with a cup of water from the dispenser, which I nod and thank her as I hold it out for you. Your hands are shaking but you manage to get hold of the cup and take a sip, taking big deep breaths between each pull on the cup.
It helps, you feel your focus returning and have 30 seconds of normality. Managing to lean back on your haunches you scan the room. “Didn’t think today would turn into a practical demonstration of how to stretch during labour… but don’t worry I won’t charge for the extra tutorial.” You manage a chuckle which was echoed around the room.
30 seconds is over all too soon though and you lean forward once more as the next contraction starts, forehead to forehead with me once more, your fingers digging into my palms as you vocalise loudly, all sense of decorum lost. It starts low as a moan and builds and builds louder and louder until you’re yelling out, but at its peak the noises are positive, yelling “yes, yes, come down baby.”
As quick as the earlier parts of labour had gone, this part seemed agonizingly slow. Everything felt simultaneously wide open and completely jammed—knees flared out and hips at a neutral downward angle, I imagined the shape of your taut skin shift as your uterus pressed in and forced the baby further and further down. And yet the pressure just kept building, compounding and never letting up until the fullness throbbed and stung and you couldn’t straighten out even if you wanted to.
“Mmm-it hurts,” you moaned against me, breathless and trembling as you attempted to keep some sense of composure. “Is it time yet? Can you- can you see anything?” you asked, almost desperately.
“Can’t really see much of anything like this,” I said, trailing my fingers down the arms you had flung around me and laughing softly.
“Right.” you didn’t really know where to go from there, seeing as how I was the only thing currently keeping you upright, but of course Sarah had it covered. She rolled the stability ball over, so that it was directly behind you. I loaned you a hand as you rolled over on your ass and sat against the ball. Your spine rested against the curve of the ball between Sarah’s legs, who had sat down on top of the ball to stop it pushing away, as you hooked your arms over her legs for stability.
You couldn’t hope to see over the vast expanse of your belly, but the nervous/excited whispers of the other pregnant women indicated that there was, in fact, something to see. I kneeled down again in front of you and some of the ladies shuffled around to maintain their view of the action. My eyes widened and you tried to reach down to feel, to have some sense of what was going on.
“What? What is it?”
“Baby’s definitely coming down,” I said, jogging over to the wall and coming back with one of the freestanding full length mirrors. I positioned it slightly off to the side and down so you could see but I’d still have access. Your stomach still casted a heavy shadow, and I turned on the flashlight on my phone and pointed it directly between your legs—it dinged, and you recognized it as the sound of a photo being taken. Now it was my turn to blush a little, but you just smiled and forced your knees apart a little wider.
When the next contraction started, and you frantically panted along with it, you watched as the skin surrounding your hole distend as something large and solid pressed against it from behind. Seeing the physical distortion almost made the pain worse and your jaw clenched even as your head lolled back and forth in a futile attempt to relax.
“Breathe, keep breathing,” I reminded you as you rocked and swayed. Then, once it was over and you had sagged back against the ball, I leaned in and inserted my fingers again. They didn’t get far. “Head’s right there. On the next contraction, if you’re ready, go ahead and try pushing.”
The time between your nod of understanding and the start of the next contraction seemed only like moments, your chin dropping to your chest and eyes closing as you focus on giving a push. I cheer you on “go on baby, push through it…” counting to 10 in my head. You focus on making grunting noises as you make the effort.
As we got close to the end of time I grab your hand. “Relax… breathe”. You gasp out your breath but the contraction is still there. “No… I need… I need…” you can’t get out the words as you’re back at it.
I place a hand on your knee - your hand grasping hold of it in response - as I clamber down between your legs.
My finger slipped in between the folds between your legs and followed the circle, stretching your skin. You howled in response. “Too tight, burning… babe… no… fire, fire, fire!”
I respond by squeezing your leg. “Pant. Let it stretch. Remember - marathon not a sprint.” I get a nod from you but the next contraction started all too soon.
Panting and pushing both hurt, and you alternated between which pain you preferred — when you panted, the pressure built up and your entire midsection seized like a charlie horse; when you pushed, the pressure eased but was replaced by a sharp burn that threatened to rip you open.
“Come on, baby, mummy needs you to come out now,” you whined as another contraction faded, clutching the sides of your belly.
“Not too quickly, though,” I added, eyes full of concern for the state of your gaping pussy.
“But not too slowly either.” you reached out and I took your offered hand. You gave it a gentle squeeze, assuring me that you were okay.
I noticed that you'd begun shifting restlessly and wincing with the movement even between contractions. “Need to change positions?” I guessed, and you nodded, grateful that I knew what you needed without you having to say anything. “Where would you be more comfortable, love?”
You wanted to say ‘in a hospital with an epidural’ but that had never been our plan anyway—although you could now see the appeal. “Maybe just… sitting?”
“You got it, girl,” Sarah said, moving you forward so your weight was off the ball before standing up off it herself.
I threw a towel over the ball and pulled you up enough to scoot your butt back onto the ball. The added support provided instant relief for your knees, and you twisted and rolled until finding a position that felt tolerable on your hips. You were bent forward slightly, legs straddling the ball and tummy spilling out over your lap as you rested your elbows on your thighs. Your hole was entirely obscured this way, pressed into the soft towel covering the stability ball, and as the next contraction started you instinctually rocked your hips, tilting them forward and back, causing the soft fabric to rub against your lips and clit, moaning deeply, though the sound certainly didn’t have a pained edge to it.
You didn’t even realize what you were doing until it was over and you noticed that most of the ladies were red-faced, some even averting their eyes. I saw the horrified look cross your face and knelt down, both blocking your view of them and giving my shoulder for you to bury your face into.
“It’s fine, love,” I soothed, running my fingertips down your back and nuzzling the top of your head. “A little pleasure takes the edge off the pain. Perfectly natural.”
Even if it was, you were too embarrassed to hump your way through another contraction and settled for just clinging to me. You pushed in short bursts, pausing and taking a breath when it got to be too much, and I praised you for how well you were listening to your body. It continued like this for several more contractions, until the latest push had you howling and you pulled away from me, leaning back as you threw your head back and giving me the first look between your legs in a while.
“That’s it, love, there’s our baby.” I scooted closer and placed my hands on either side of your bulging, straining lips. “You’re starting to crown.”
Your hand shot down round your belly and between your legs as you beamed up at me smiling when you felt the head of our first twin. My own hand joined yours, taking control around your lips once again as your hand rested atop of mine. You pulled up on your belly as the hand between your legs pinched into my fingers but ever so slowly you felt yourself opening. Time lost any meaning as you got into a cycle of contraction build up, roaring push, panting relaxation, roaring push again and finally the passing of the contraction.
The head bulged and slowly passed your lips. It was clearly agony for you as evidenced by your yelling and pinched face as you pushed, so I decided to help open up your hips a little.
I beckoned over two ladies, Sarah and another who she was talking to, and had them support your arms either side of you. Taking your weight between them I explained what I wanted to happen. There were general nods from the ladies and suddenly you were lifted, the exercise ball was rolled away and then you were lowered down so you ended up in a deep squat, the baby’s emerging head practically skimming the floor.
Your knees were level with your breasts which in turn opened your pelvis wide.
Sarah giggled “I'm sure it’s being this flexible got you in this predicament in the first place”
Neither you or I acknowledged her quip. We were both focusing on the head which was now fully crowned, at the peak of your stretch you just repeated “it burns, it burns” over and over again.
“Just a little more. This is the hardest part, honey,” Sarah said casually, as if we were just talking about getting in one last rep of a workout.
You weren’t ready to push when the next contraction came—your body was still adjusting to the girth of the head and you really didn’t want to tear, especially on the first delivery—and so you panted and whined and squeezed my offered hand as your body shook with the effort of holding back.
“Come on, girl, you gotta PUSH that baby out!” Sarah yelled, pulling you forward and putting even more pressure behind the emerging head.
You cried out and wrenched your arm from her grip and, losing your balance, fell backward onto your butt. I scrambled forward to keep you from completely bowling over and you clung to me, burying your face in my shoulder. “I wasn’t- I’m not… ready yet,” You managed quietly.
“That’s good, listen to your body.” I had one hand pressed into the middle of your back and the other moulded around the crown of the baby’s head, stroking my thumb gently around the edge of your stretched lips. “Take your time.”
One of the reasons we’d wanted a home birth in the first place was so that we wouldn’t have doctors and nurses orchestrating and constantly dictating your birth experience, and because it was now happening in a room full of people who either already have or are soon to have given birth, I really shouldn’t have been surprised that there would be… opinions interjected into the process. Still, I didn’t want that to ruin your focus—or worse, cause you injury—and I couldn’t help giving a withering glare the way of Sarah, who at which point threw up her hands, clearly backing off.
My attention turned back to you when your groan signalled the beginning of another contraction. “It’s okay, babe, do whatever you need to do,” I assured you again.
You nodded and gave a little experimental grunt of effort. It still hurt, but subsided quickly enough that you could handle it. You continued grunting in short bursts, vocalizing strained vowels with each one, and gradually you could feel the head slipping further out, your skin stretching agonizingly slowly over the baby’s brow, then nose, then lips and chin until finally I was cupping the entire head in my hand.
“Oh well done, mum,” I praised, turning to beam at you.
You gave me a tired smile and winced as the shoulder began to rotate and lock into place. “Need… up…” You pleaded when the next contraction started.
Somewhat reluctantly, I allowed Sarah to help you back to the balls of your feet. “Ow, ow, fuck, OW!” You yelled as the shoulders ballooned behind your opening. This time you were ready to just get the baby out, and you put your chin to your chest and bore down with as much strength as you had left. You gasped at the burning white-hot sting as the shoulders passed, and then the rest of the baby shot out quickly into my hands.
You fell forward onto your knees in the puddle of fluid you’d just expelled as I handed you our first baby. “A girl,” You whispered on a bit of a sob, tracing her little arm down to her little fist and little fingers. “You certainly didn’t feel this small coming out of me.”
The immediate aftermath was chaotic. The baby was screaming and wailing, its messy body pressed against your chest. The women from the class - all of them - surging forward and crowding around us.
You’re sitting there wide eyed and bewildered in the ‘what just happened’ moments of new motherhood and I’m trying my best to follow procedure and make sure everything looked normal following the birth - thankfully everything seemed ok in that regard aside from the slightly early birth caused because of the fact you were bringing forth two babies into the world.
I also realised I was on a bit of a timer, the second labour would start soon, and I needed to fetch my emergency tools from the car. I wrapped you up in a few towels - adrenaline kicking in meant you were shivering - and asked the ladies to keep an eye on you. Telling you I’d be back, I made sure you nodded understanding before I left, as you were in a complete daze.
I dashed out and grabbed my bag from the car, running full speed back into the room. I had to force my way through the crowd of gawking mothers-to-be, but settled back down next to you to be greeted by our first child happily nursing from you.
I took a moment to cut the baby’s cord and listened to her chest with a stethoscope along with a few other rudimentary checks when you grabbed my arm.
“It’s starting again.”
The pain did a little to ground you back to the present moment, but it all still felt so surreal. Our baby girl was warm and waxy and wrinkled and the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, and the light pull at your nipple reminded you that our journey together was just beginning. And you would have been content to stay here like this forever, just you and her, but her sibling had a thing or two to say to the contrary.
Your belly hardened with another contraction, but the intensity had lessened considerably and you were able to breathe through it with minimal disruption to the baby in your arms. You shifted slightly, opening your hips a bit to the building pressure, and released several slow, measured breaths, waiting for your body to adjust to yet another baby trying to make its way through.
You wanted me to check to see if I could feel where the baby was yet, but everything was so sore and the idea of any more physical sensation than necessary was unthinkable.
“You’ll know what to do,” I said, answering the unasked question in your eyes. “Just like the first time.”
You stayed in this kneeling position through several more contractions until our daughter was done nursing. “Maybe daddy would like to hold you for a little while,” you said passing her over to me, both so I could have some skin-to-skin contact time and so you could be free to move. The second twin still felt pretty high, even with the contractions ramping back up again, and you wanted to do what you could to help speed the process along before you got too exhausted.
With more than a few helping hands from the ladies surrounding us, you put your shaky legs under you and got to your feet. You leaned on them heavily for support as we paced slowly back and forth along the stretching mats, pausing every few minutes for you to bend into a slight squat and pant through another contraction. The baby in my arms occupied much of my attention, but you still caught my eye a few times and gave me a thumbs up that things were going okay from your side as well.
After another 20 minutes or so, it became too much and you had them settle you back down in front of me. You whispered a few tired thanks, both for the assistance and because someone had removed the soiled towels and placed fresh ones down for you, so when you knelt back down it was on warm, soft, dry fabric. You leaned forward on your hands and rocked back and forth through several more contractions, now moaning and vocalizing as the baby moved further and further down. It was familiar and yet also you’d already forgotten how badly this part hurt.
I noticed you’d started holding your breath before you did and asked, “Is it time?”
You nodded, but your head was hung low between your shoulders, forehead almost brushing the floor, so you gave verbal confirmation. “I think so.”
Now the question was whether the baby had come head down, or whether it was breech.
During all of our scans leading up to the birth, both babies had been head down but it wasn’t unknown that the second baby could shift when it was given the freedom of movement after its sibling had left the roost so to speak.
I got you to get into a position which to be blunt was almost lewd for what I wanted to do - face down, ass up - but it allowed you time to rest and recover before the need to push came on you again.
Your belly still touched the floor between your knees, even with half of its load being evacuated - testament to exactly how big you had been - which I will admit seemed slightly unusual to my experience, but I paid it no heed, and especially didn’t want to mention it out loud in case it got you concerned - given the circumstances it certainly wouldn’t help things.
You were huffing and puffing big gulps of breath as you couldn’t help but giggle at the absurdity of your position “can’t you at least get this one out before you want to put another one in, because frankly I’d prefer that”
This was my time to blush as the gaggle of hens in the room all burst into laughter. It didn’t last long though until your belly visibly tensed up and you groaned loudly once more.
I handed the first baby off to Sarah asking her to lend a hand as I got down onto my knees to get into position.
“Breathe in” I said as my fingers sunk into you. You tensed at the intrusion but knew it was needed. Being mid contraction and fully dilated I felt the baby immediately, deep past your cervix and confirmed that it was head first. Whilst a breech baby wouldn’t be unusual it did help matters.
I also felt a spongy texture for a split second before the second bag of waters ruptured which in turn covered me chest to knees in watery mess. It shot out of you like a hosepipe with the pressure of your push, and the amount of fluid passed was way in excess of the first baby. It seems we found out which of the two siblings had been hogging all the blankets in your womb.
As I did what I could to mop up the mess with towels and dry myself off as best I could to the sound of giggling women in the background, I noticed your belly, now noticeably smaller, hanging under your frame.
You craned your head to sneak a peek at me after the ladies started giggling and let out a breathless laugh yourself. “Sorry for the mess. Guess I owe you a new shirt.”
My eyes shifted to the baby nestled in Sarah’s arms and then back to your still labouring form. “I think we’re square.” You laughed again, but it turned into a groan and my focus returned. “You’re at ten, love; go ahead and push whenever you’re ready.”
You rocked back and forth a few times as the contraction built, then sunk down a bit to lean into a push. Everything was still loosened from the first baby, but this baby was definitely bigger than its twin—although maybe it just felt that way—and it was like the first time all over again. “Ooh, babe, it hurts. Why does it still hurt this much?”
“It’s normal,” I assured you. “Your body’s already been through quite a lot.”
“But it feels bigger,” You whined, resting back in child’s pose with your head buried in your forearms.
I hesitated, unsure if I should tell you that it probably WAS bigger. “It’s not uncommon for one twin to receive a disproportionately large amount of the nutrients,” I said vaguely.
“So it is bigger. Just say it’s bigger.”
I rubbed my hands sympathetically up and down your thighs. “It’s bigger.”
You drew in a deep breath and patted your somewhat deflated stomach. “You better be nice to your sister and your mummy forever,” you warned. It almost felt like a retort when the next contraction was like an ice pick to your lower back and you shot up onto your hands, twisting and wriggling to try and relieve the sudden stabbing pressure.
“Babe, my back!” you gasped, arching awkwardly and barely able to catch your breath.
I shuffled forward until my hips were flush with yours and wrapped my fingers around your hips, pressing against your sacrum with my thumbs. You whimpered a bit, sitting back against your heels even more and holding your belly with one hand, and I pressed harder.
The pain in your spine didn’t go away, but my hold on you provided enough firm counterpressure that it was at least tolerable. You spent the next few contractions pushing, hard, desperate to move the baby into a more favourable position. You shook and cried out with each effort, a chorus of encouragement around you, until finally something gave way and shifted and the baby’s head locked into a more natural position in your hips.
You sagged in relief, but it was short-lived. Now that the head was fully engaged, it was ready to come out. Right now.
The urge to push once the head was engaged was massively different to the one that was on you whilst moving the head down into its engaged position, your body compelled you to do nothing else but focus on the downward pressure. Our first daughter cried and cried as you joined her in your wailing sounds, her own noises seeming to spur you on.
Sarah and the other mothers to be desperately tried to shush her, rock her and coo to her, but you managed a gasping shout out to them to let her cry, it was motivating you.
Your breasts were also reacting to the cries of your child – streams of milk were now flowing down as you pushed, and whilst a little confusing at first – you soon got used to the added sensation, and paid no heed to it, other than the occasional rub and dab from me as I wiped off the liquid between pushes.
“That’s it, nice strong pushes. I know you’re tired now, second time doing this today, but with luck, the second one will be easier, now you know what to do.”
Your eyes looked up at me, not wanting to sound despondent, but there was something sneaking into your voice. “Its harder than last time… I don’t think… I don’t think I’m doing things any differently, but you said this baby was bigger. I thought they were twins… surely –“ you gasped as another strong push came over you until you could finish your sentence “- surely they’re the same size.”
I brushed your hair back as the effort you were putting in produced sweat which was now dripping down your face. “Let’s just focus on what your body naturally wants to do and get it done.” I kissed your forehead as you went back to pushing. “Though let’s not hope we have an Arnie and Danny in twins situation going on…”
You groan “You laugh but…” as you focus back on pushing.
I feel down between your legs to gauge your progress, and part of me feels a little touch of panic as I realise that the same amount of effort you had put in from the last delivery had not produced anywhere near as much movement as before. It may be a long, drawn-out process after all.
“Let's get you upright and back on your feet, maybe gravity might help my exhausted wife.”
If your mind was not so singularly focused on getting this baby out of you, you might have noticed the tinge of anxiety in my voice at the suggestion. As it was, your body was a bit on autopilot and it spared no thought to being brought to its feet. At least, not until the added weight increased the pressure exponentially and you immediately hunched over, a hand gripping the underside of your belly desperately, as if that could relieve some of the tension in your core.
When the next contraction started—before you had a chance to adjust to the new position—it knocked the wind out of you. You bore down with the pain, your pushes frenzied and reckless, but even then, you could not bring the head to appear. Contraction after contraction you pushed, and any meagre progress made immediately retracted as soon as you released your efforts.
“Stretching,” I promised. “You’re just stretching. It’s slow going, but you can do this.” You didn’t know whether I was trying to reassure you or myself.
You continued to throw all you had into every push, but the frustration was getting to you and the last round had you wailing—a wounded sound only made by dying animals and labouring women. “It’s not working! It’s not- I’m not- fuck!” You groaned your way through another round of pushing, but tears of discouragement were gathering in the corners of your eyes. I wrapped my arms around you, held your weight as you clung to me, swayed with you until you had calmed down.
“Alright?” I asked when you tilted your head up to me. You nodded and I leaned down to kiss the top of your head. “That’s my girl.”
“I have a suggestion,” Sarah said, and you were willing to try anything.
She led you over to the pull up bar and fitted it with the arm straps used for suspension ab exercises. You hooked your elbows into the slings as she lengthened them as far as they would go. With some assistance, you settled into a wide squat and gripped tight to the now taut straps, in much the same position birthing women have been taking up for centuries, though usually with silks and linens hanging from the ceiling.
Some ancient, primal strength awakened in you, and with the next contraction, all parts of your mind and body finally felt in sync, focused, determined. Your sounds, too, were deep and meditative and resonated throughout the room. Your forearms rippled and flexed with your grip as you pulled and pushed, pulled and pushed, pulled and pushed.
“That’s it. Push, baby, push!”
You finished out the contraction trembling with a final cry, and then slumped forward a bit, panting. You didn’t want to fall out of position, so I moved the mirror back in front of you. There, right at the bottom of your red, angry, stubbornly tight opening was a little dime sized tuft of dark hair.
I knelt down next to you, my wide smile reflecting your own as I asked, “Ready to have this baby?”
Despite your growing exhaustion you can’t help but grin, finally seeing progress. The next contraction hit you quickly but you pushed with it, your eyes focusing on the growing dark spot between your legs. As you’d already experienced earlier the head grew visible and retreated again as each contraction built and released, but what was different this time was that you were quite simply exhausted, each push sapping more and more of your energy.
Hanging suspended did give you some opportunity to rest between contractions, and you visibly sagged at the end of each one, panting deeply.
I took an opportunity to feed you water and to chew on some sweets between contractions - this helped boost your energy to the point where 30 minutes later the head was finally passed through enough that it didn’t retreat when releasing the push.
Your hands and arms shook as the adrenaline pumped through you, anticipating the stretch and burn once more. Your body did not disappoint, the burn between your legs building and building as the next push was forced onto you.
Your gasps turned to screams when suddenly there was a surge and the head hung there between your legs, your face looking up in shock - even though you’d experienced it only recently with the first baby, the sensation still felt completely alien to you.
Your hand reached down instinctively to feel, but it was caught up in the nylon cable. I quickly took up the reigns, kneeling in front of you to support the emerging head.
“That’s a big head,” I remarked with a somewhat amazed huff, but I didn’t have to tell you that. My thumbs circled around the neck, found the cord wrapped loosely there, and quickly and expertly slipped it over the baby’s head. It was already turning, its face now facing your right thigh as the shoulders lodged into position to pass through your hips. “Whenever you’re ready.”
You nodded, but wasn’t quite sure you were ready. You let one contraction pass, catching your breath and steeling your nerves as the insistent pressure once again mounted behind your opening. When the next contraction pulled at the weight already hanging half out of me, you pushed with it, releasing a guttural groan. Despite the looseness that came from already having fully delivered one baby, and now the head of another, the shoulders still felt impossible. You heaved, I tugged, but neither of our bodies gave way.
“What if it’s stuck!” you half panted, half screamed. Luckily, you had a literal doctor between your legs.
“Help me get her out of this thing,” I said to the ladies fluttering about, gently but urgently.
Together, we pulled you up out of the straps; your knees and hips and back were sore from staying in the awkward position for so long and you immediately hunched over as soon as you were upright. At least it gave you the opportunity to finally feel the head of our second twin. “Hi, baby. Oh you’re so big and strong, aren’t you? Don’t worry, mummy and daddy are going to get you out real soon, okay?” You looked to me for confirmation that this was true, and I nodded in agreement.
I guided you onto hands and knees again, then helped you pull one knee up and out, foot on the floor. You looked like you were about to take off in a track race, and the image almost made you giggle. But another contraction descended upon you and swallowed up any laughter that might have been.
“Alright, I need you to push, baby. Push as hard as you can.”
You gasped as you felt my fingers slip in around the baby’s neck, but then bore down as instructed, with everything you had left. You were vaguely aware of the subtle shift of the shoulders as I dislodged them from whatever they’d caught on, but more than that you felt the full sting of both the broad shoulders and my fingers still wrapped around them prying open your hole to unimaginable widths. You howled out a long pain-filled moan, the sudden blazing inferno taking you off guard. And then it was like your body spasmed, forcing the pressure inward on itself and propelling the arms, belly, butt, legs of the baby to splash out into my arms amidst yet another rain of fluids.
The cheers were loud and echoed around the sparse room as I passed our son to you between your legs.
“One of each,” you remarked, in awe with tears streaming down your face, and I nodded, equally amazed. Then, looking down at his perfect face that looked mischievous even now, “You’re gonna be a little troublemaker, aren’t you?”
Over the course of the next 20 minutes or so, both babies are swarmed and cooed over by the room full of hormonal women. Plenty of tears were shed, and I oversaw you deliver both placentas, thankfully everything was as it should be.
We took stock of the situation - I’d most certainly need to dash off home and bring something to transport the babies in - along with some pads to keep you tidy when going home.
You sit with a baby to each breast, our son noticeably larger than our daughter when next to each other, but each were giving it their all for their first proper feed.
Your eyes scan the scene around you, dirty and bloody towels littering the place pooling up various fluids. You shake your head as you finally announce “I think we’re going to need to pay the cleaner a bit more for this…”
This one could have possibly taken 9 months to write, thanks to stops/starts, holidays getting the way, writers block and all sorts, but we got there in the end. Special thanks once again to @allkindsofpreg for the help in writing this. Enjoy!
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Mickey and Skye were flustered, there’s no two ways about it. How they got into this predicament is a bit of a tale in itself. First we should delve into a bit of their history.
The two of them met at an apprenticeship intake for a local IT company. It was definitely an entry level data job but it helped give them a bit of spending money whilst they lived with their parents. At the age of 20 and 21 they suffered an unfortunate ‘oops’ moment as the condom broke and Skye found herself sporting her sizeable bump several months later. Their parents helped and in truth life was looking good for the young couple. They even got married, Skye wearing a dress which clung to her gravid belly, leaving no one in the congregation guessing about the nature of their marriage. However, they were young, in love, and things were working out.
As is the natural sequence of things Skye began to feel contractions around 10pm the night previous. After labouring at home for several hours, around 2am they were told to come to the hospital as the labour became more established. After getting admitted and assed, around 3am, the pair were completely exhausted but wanted to try and walk around the hospital corridors to move things on. Skye was 4cm dilated and was potentially looking at a long, drawn out labour.
Blindly they walked down empty corridors stopping for the occasional contraction until they reached a door. Pushing it open they were met with darkness. Thinking it was a quiet corridor and the motion sensors would turn on the lights as they walked down they trudged on, tiredness dulling their senses.
That was until they stepped inside, and the lights flickered on to show they were in a store cupboard. Mickey turned to find the handle was missing from the door. He pushed it - nothing. They were trapped.
As Skye was mid-contraction, the realization came upon Mickey first. He tried not to panic, because he was sure there would be a way out. Surely no reputable hospital would contain an inescapable room that two exhausted, unsuspecting parents-to-be could just wander haphazardly into.
He inspected the door more closely, the spike of adrenaline finally allowing his bleary eyes to focus, and he saw a metal plate over where the handle would be and a doorstop by his feet. Only then did he vaguely recall a paper sign taped to the other side of the door. He hadn’t read it, but he now guessed it said something like “Caution: do not close, door locks automatically.”
Still, this was a busy hospital; it couldn’t be that long before someone would need something from this supply closet, right?
When Skye’s contraction ended and her breathing normalized, she found her husband wide-eyed and stricken and any tiredness that had been clouding her mind vanished. “What? What is it?”
“Okay, don’t panic.” He held out his hands in an almost pleading gesture. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
His placating tone only made her fear ratchet up another notch. “What does that mean? What do you mean everything’s going to be okay?”
“Well,” he explained, wrapping an arm around her waist and letting her lean into him, “we seem to have found ourselves in a somewhat unconventional labour suite.”
Skye looked around, first confused, then slightly amused. “Oh. You’re right—no bed? no doctors? no epidural?? Yes, this is certainly no place to be having a baby.”
Mickey grimaced—she was right, but at the moment they had no other choice. “That’s the thing, yeah? The door is…” he trailed off, nodded toward the door, but she either couldn’t or wouldn’t put the pieces together. “It’s kind of one-way, love.” Still no hint of recognition. “And that way… is not out.” He shrugged and did his best to adopt a more light-hearted tone. “We’re stuck.”
Skye’s eyes danced frantically around the small room—the low ceiling, the dirty floor, the packed shelves lining the walls, and finally the door. The very solid-looking, heavy and more importantly, locked door.
Her breathing quickened, heart rate spiking, as the reality of their situation finally began to sink in. “Oh shit,” she whispered, a tremble in her voice.
“It’s going to be okay,” Mickey said again, as much to himself as to her.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” she continued muttering, her eyes turning up to the dimly lit ceiling in an attempt to stave off the tears that threatened to spill over. Her midsection tightened suddenly, quick and fierce, and she gasped, her litany of curses cut off as she attempted to hum through the pain.
Mickey immediately moved from emotional support position to physical support position. He guided Skye’s arms around his neck and wrapped his strong hands around her hips, giving them a gentle squeeze of counter pressure.
“Mick,” she whined into his chest, and he squeezed harder as her fingers dug into his shoulders. They swayed together as the contraction built, but paused at its peak, clinging to each other tightly. He swept the hair back over her neck and away from her face and whispered in her ear until her body finally slumped against him. “That one felt stronger,” she said, “And longer.”
Neither wanted to admit what that might mean, and since neither of them had a watch so they couldn’t be 100% sure. But after three more merciless contractions in relatively quick succession, it certainly seemed like the stress of the situation had finally kicked her labour into high gear.
“Ok let’s keep calm” came the reasoning voice of Mickey as he tried to assess the situation.
“Calm! Calm! I can’t even turn around in here without either my ass or belly touching one of the sides. This is no place for a pregn… gah!” Skye’s rant was cut short by her hand grasping the underside of her belly as she groaned through another contraction. It was certainly not 5 minutes between them that’s for sure.
Mickey resumed his supporting position, using one arm to cuddle his wife whilst the other brushed at her hair in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. He felt tears stream down her cheek.
He looked at the floor. In the dusty grime on there he at least saw footprints. He explained it to Skye and both were buoyed that at least they were somewhere that someone visits. Perhaps they need to wait until morning… even then 7am, that’s at least 3 hours away, maybe more. If the day staff don’t arrive until 9am that’s even longer. Skye might not last that long.
As Skye came down from her flustered bout of crying, and he was confident that she could stand unaided he banged on the door and asked her to be quiet. He concentrated in the silence listening out for any reply beyond the edge of the door. He tried again and shouted a yell at the same time ‘thump… thump…thump’ went the rhythmical banging. Once again they listened out to be greeted only with silence. They even held their breath.
Until Skye yelped. “My waters!”
Mikey looked down at the water running down Skye’s leg. “At least there’s a mop,” he joked, which only made Skye glare first at the dirty water bucket and then back at her husband. “Sorry, bad timing?”
Skye’s face settled into something more like anxious resignation as her eyes welled back up again. “What if they don’t find us before the baby comes? I don’t- how am I supposed to have a baby in here?”
Mickey pulled her in close again and stroked gentle fingertips up and down her back. “No need to worry about that just yet. We’ll take things as they come, yeah?”
She nodded—what other choice did they have?
“How’re you feeling? How’s the little one?”
Skye took a deep breath, forced down the spiralling worst case scenarios playing in her mind, and actually focused on how she felt in her body at this moment. “Mm, baby’s low,” she said, noting how her stance had unconsciously widened after her waters had gone. “More pressure. Definitely moving down.”
If she thought the pressure was intense just standing there, she had no words for its severity once the next contraction started. It would have brought her to her knees if Mickey hadn’t already been holding her.
“Skye?” he asked with concern when she moaned and dropped into as much of a squatting position as the cramped space would allow.
The stinging weight filling her from within was unfamiliar and sudden and her hand found its way between her legs. She half expected to feel a bulge there, but of course there was nothing yet—it was irrational to think that a single contraction would progress things along so quickly, but fear and pain weren’t exactly known for producing rational thoughts.
Weathering the contraction in this position made her quads and glutes ache and by the time it was over she was sweaty and overheated.
“I’ve got to get this gown off,” she muttered, tugging at the thin fabric as she clambered to an upright position.
“What was that?” Mickey asked, unsure what she wanted or how to help her.
“I’m fucking roasting in here.” Skye clawed at the gown but it clung to her damp skin and she couldn’t unfurl her arms or twist well enough with her giant belly in the way. “I can’t get this fucking thing off!” she cried out in frustration, one elbow stuck in the arm hole.
“Okay. Okay, it’s alright, you’re just—“ Mickey stilled her frantic flailing limbs and pinched the open flap of her hospital gown. “Just a bit twisted up here.” He peeled the fabric over her shoulder and down her arm, which freed it to assist in freeing the other. He caught it before it hit the filthy floor—they may need it later—and placed it on top of what looked like a relatively clean surface.
Skye spent a few moments bending and rotating and testing her newfound freedom of movement. Once her breathing levelled out and she appeared to relax a bit, Mickey didn’t exactly mind the sight of his wife’s full, curvy figure bouncing and shimmying in front of him.
“Better?” he asked as she finally stilled, fully upright with hands pressed into her lower back. He loved looking at her like this, and he mentally scolded himself for starting to get hard at a moment like this.
It was as if Skye just remembered her husband was here, but once her eyes found his she recognized the look in them and she looked down at her naked body. Well, as much of it as she could see. It could very well have been a closet just like this in which their child was conceived, and the irony had her giggling.
Mickey looked somewhat perplexed at the change of tone, but didn’t object when she pressed into him, guided his hands to her bare breasts and kissed him. His body responded automatically, teasing her nipples as his tongue danced with hers.
“Fuck!” Skye gasped and he began to pull away, but she shook her head, kept his hands anchored to her body. “Do it again.”
His fingers barely brushed her, but her whole body clenched with the onslaught of another contraction. “Already?”
“Mmhmm.” Skye closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of his hands on her body—so familiar, so comforting—and suddenly knew, no matter what, they could get through this. Together.
Skye’s response to the contractions had changed since she shed her gown. She no longer seemed to be focused on riding through them, but rather seemed to be actively working with them. Her hands were clamped around Mickey, pressing her body – at least the parts that were sticking out as a result of the pregnancy – tight against him. She breathed deep breaths in moments of relief between the pains, and made a lot of noise during the pain. The noises weren’t painful noises – shouts and screeches – more “ooh’s” and “ahh’s.”
It had the effect of causing her chest to heave up and down. Naked flesh pressed against Mikey’s clothing resulted in more friction, and in turn, her nipples were rock hard and being rubbed – not painfully though – quite the opposite. Mikey’s ears picked up a change in tone… almost erotic. He heard that noise a lot when they were in bed. It was almost a whimper. He risked a kiss to Skye’s forehead and she returned in kind, her head tilting up to allow her lips to meet his and they grabbed into an embrace.
Tongue met tongue as their natural instinct took over, though it was broken quickly by the onset of another contraction. This one took Skye a little by surprise and she wasn’t ready for it, her hands grasping Mickey’s hair and pulling tight as her voice let out the closest thing a yell of pain so far.
“You ok?” Mikey asked, concern in his voice as he felt Skye’s legs shuffle apart. She didn’t answer. “Babe?” he asked again. Still Skye pulled on his hair. It was getting painful now, but he knew he wasn’t exactly in any place to complain. He gritted his teeth and just rode it through with this wife.
Skye finally gasped, and much to Mikey’s relief, loosened her grip on his hair.
“What was that?” he asked, still a note of concern in his voice.
Skye blew out her breath, and took a moment to compose herself. “Just the joy of contractions I think. No two seem to be the same. Just hope I don’t have many more like that. That wasn’t fun.”
“Yeah,” came Mikey’s reply. “I didn’t like that, it hurt!”
The absurdity of the moment caused Skye to burst into laughter. “That hurt? Don’t be a baby. You should see what’s happening between my legs.”
Mikey took a gulp before continuing. “Lets not focus on the between the legs too quickly. I mean we need to get out of here first. Then I’ll gladly stare down the barrel of the gun and watch our baby come out, and I’ll not even complain when you squeeze my hand tight as you’re doing it.”
“Oh you charmer…” winced Skye, the next contraction building. This was starting to get exhausting, all she wanted to do was sit down and take her weight off her legs. There as nowhere to sit though unless she sank down onto the floor… and maybe then she might never get up. No… need to stay focused on getting out. Cross my legs, lean on Mikey. She had an inner monologue going through her head as she felt her midsection tighten, hold and release once more. Whilst it wasn’t exactly comfortable, she had gotten used to the pains happening again and again and found ways to cope. She just had to hope that they were released before it came to the main pushing phase. She really didn’t want to be caught on some CCTV pushing her baby out in a corridor, and she knew it was quite a walk back to the birthing suite based on how far they walked to get into the situation they were in right now.
They swayed, hummed, kissed and breathed through several more pains, but it was becoming harder to focus on anything but the steadily increasing contractions. The worst of the pain ebbed and flowed, but the pressure seemed constant now and she ached from her back all the way down to her ankles. She wasn’t able to catch her breath after one contraction before another one would begin and the discomfort became sharper—less a broad, dull ache and more concentrated, stabbing deep down through her core.
Skye wanted to ask Mickey to check her dilation, but firstly, she wasn’t sure either of them could contort themselves into a position that would make that possible at the moment, and secondly, she suspected it wouldn’t be all that accurate anyway. She just had to trust her instincts, and right now her instincts were telling her that things were about to get really intense.
“Mm, I need to—“ Skye shifted restlessly, wriggling her hips and pausing in several different positions before frowning. “I don’t know... something.” She bent over, leaning heavily into the shelf ledge as gravity shifted the pull on her gravid belly and a fraction of the tension in her lower back eased.
The next contraction was on her before she’d anticipated and her grip tightened. Natural reflexes took hold and she started to lower into a squat when Mickey’s panicked voice breached the fog of pain.
“Skye!” Mickey threw his body over his wife’s hunched form and several items from the higher shelves bounced off his back and onto the floor. With more force than intended, he ripped her hands away from the unstable shelving unit.
Skye didn’t resist, but cried out and collapsed onto her knees, which spread wide of their own accord. “Sorry, baby. Sorry,” she muttered as the objects rained down around her and she heard Mickey’s little “ow’s” and “oomph’s”. “Didn’t mean to. Didn’t—“ She couldn’t finish the thought. Her breathing was shallow and quick, Mickey’s heat overwhelmed her already flushed skin and she suddenly felt like she was going to be sick. “Sorry,” she finally said again, closing her eyes and willing the nausea to abate.
Mickey shushed her and gave her a little squeeze, which caused her to flinch. He pulled away and examined his wife more closely — curled in on herself tightly, both arms encircling her belly, and whiter than a wedding dress. He was sure if he could see her face it would be wearing a grimace.
How could he help her?
He tried pounding on the door again to no avail, and the added sensory input only made Skye wince even more. Looking around the room, he noticed that the mop bucket was actually two nested buckets, which meant the bottom one was empty and Skye could finally have somewhere to sit.
“I need you to stand for me, love,” Mickey pleaded, which earned him a pained groan. “I know, but only for a minute.” She started to get up, but then he realized that if she did then he wouldn’t be able to get past her to reach the bucket. Instead, he grabbed her hand and sort of ushered her between his legs as he stepped over her, which was awkward and hurt his shoulder, but he was glad he did when she nearly toppled over once he was on the other side of her. “Alright, up one more time for me. You can do it.”
Skye was shaky and a bit dazed and dizzy, but she allowed Mickey to help her to her feet and then leaned heavily against the door. Mickey bent down into the newly occupied space below her, but another contraction was building and she groaned loudly. “Mick, hurry.”
Mickey extricated the empty bucket and hastily flipped it over, but it was far from clean. He grabbed Skye’s discarded gown and draped it over the top, piling as much fabric as he could at the top. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable chair in the world, but it was better than nothing.
Skye’s legs were already splayed, so it didn’t take much effort to slide the makeshift stool between them. Wordlessly, and more like she could no longer hold herself up than that she’d realized what he’d done, she grabbed Mickey’s forearms and began sliding down the door.
“That’s it, there you go.” Mickey breathed a sigh of relief at the same time Skye’s laboured huffs picked up again. “Just relax and focus on the baby.”
Skye would have laughed at the idea of relaxing, but she had no air to spare—it was all going toward a meditative hum that was the only thing keeping her from screaming.
Things were moving quickly now. The contractions were long and brutal, right on top of each other and she blindly grabbed for Mickey’s hand. His grip was both strong and comforting and once again she reminded herself that she could do this as long as he was there by her side.
Her body was in transition—she could feel it, the descending, the opening, the hint of an urge beginning to build—and the hardest part was yet to come. If they were going to be found before the baby came… it would have to be pretty damn soon.
Mickey settled down into a squat between Skye’s legs as she hummed and groaned through one contraction after another. He held and squeezed her hand, rubbed her thigh and leaned forward kissing the belly. After about 20 minutes of what seemed like non stop pain he started feeling cramp himself in his legs and moved to a kneeling position, his jeans legs getting messy from the muck and liquid spilled on the floor. He looked around and tried to find something - anything that could mop up the mess. Best he could find was piles of toilet rolls.
“Better than nothing” he grumbled as he got up and pulled them off the shelf. He started unspooling the paper from the roll, dropping it in the floor and trying to mop things up with his foot. It looked comical. Not only was the paper disintegrating as it hit the wet floor, but the sticky mess was caked on his shoes within minutes.
He looks up to see Skye giggling.
“I know you’re trying to help but just give up will you?”
Mickey, flustered responded “I can’t have the floor this messy what if you do have the baby in here and you need to lay her down on the floor ?”
Skye still looked to have humour in her features, though she did seem to pant a little out of breath as she spoke.
“Firstly… I’m not having her here. Secondly… you see these?” She grabbed her breasts and jiggled them.
“Yeah, how could I not…” commented Mickey - his wife’s pregnancy enhanced bosom a constant source of pleasure for him since they got over the shock of the pregnancy.
“Well these will be where the baby will be, cradled in my arms even if it’s here, there or anywhere else in this building.”
Mickey sighed and reluctantly returned to his position on the floor supporting Skye. “Ok you’re right I’m just trying to find something to do.”
Skye had gone a little white as he said the last sentence. She announced “you might need to catch the baby… I think I need to push!”
Two equally powerful instincts warred within Skye—the desperate desire to give birth with the help of professionals in a big clean bed versus the absolute feral need to give in to her body’s need to push. As the next contraction built she clung to the former, panting and squirming and squeezing the hell out of Mickey’s hand. Anything that wasn’t bearing down with the impossible pressure.
She was able to weather another three or four contractions this way before the pain of holding back far surpassed the fear of giving in.
“Babe, I can’t- I have to—“ Skye whimpered, trailing off as the reality began to sink in.
It was Mickey’s turn to squeeze Skye’s hand, and she looked down into his determined gaze. “I know. I know, and it’s alright.” She nodded, but her face was pinched and tense and looked like she was trying not to cry. He put his free hand on the curve of her stomach and felt it clench and harden beneath his touch. “You want to try pushing?”
Skye hesitated, but then nodded again, breathing picking up as her midsection coiled and squeezed. There had started a small respite between contractions now, and it gave her precious time to renew her strength—both physical and mental. She released her hold on Mickey and closed her eyes to block out the less than ideal environment and instead focused inward.
The bucket seat was hard and awkward and caused an ache in her sacrum. She adjusted her position, scooting her ass forward and opening her knees as wide as they could go while leaning back and pressing into the unyielding door. Her palms and fingers dug into her thighs and everything tensed as she gave her first real push.
“Hhhah, hah, ah, fuck,” she huffed, kneading the muscles in her thigh before grabbing them and holding her breath and pushing again. She strained harder this time, tilting her hips up and shaking with the effort she was putting into it, but it was still like trying to roll a boulder up a hill.
When it was over she collapsed against the door and gasped in deep gulps of air, the sheen of sweat causing her heaving belly to glisten.
“Okay?” Mickey asked, coaxing her hands to release their death grip on her own legs. Her response was a disgruntled whine. “You’re doing great,” he assured her.
She “hmph”-ed again and opened her eyes to look at him. “It doesn’t feel like anything’s happening.”
Mickey chuckled. “It was one contraction. You’re good, but you’re not that good.”
Skye pouted and rubbed both hands over her impressive swell. “It all just hurts. Everywhere. I can’t tell where she is. I don’t- I don’t know how to do this.”
“Is that all?” She glared at him, but he just smirked in response. “I think I can help with that.”
Mickey pulled her forward on the makeshift stool even more, then his hands moved up her thighs to between her legs. She was wet with birthing fluids and his fingers easily slipped between her folds. Her muscles instinctively clamped around him, then relaxed enough for him to push deeper, then clenched again with the start of another contraction.
“Relax,” he instructed, teasing her just enough to release the tension there but not enough to pull her focus. “Can you feel me?” He wiggled his fingers and her mouth quirked up into a half smile. “Push. There. Push for me, love.”
The effort was still there, painted into her features and posture, but more concentrated now. He could see the muscles in her abdomen press in, push down; he could feel the soft flesh press gently but insistently against his fingertips.
“She’s not far,” Mickey announced, voice suddenly thick with emotion. “You’ll have her out in no time.”
Skye redoubled her efforts. She could feel Mickey’s hand on her, in her, with her. She wasn’t just pushing her baby out from her body, she was pushing it into his hands.
She stopped keeping track of how many contractions came and went—didn’t want to lose that tenuous connection that was holding the three of them together—but then something shifted. It stopped feeling like there was no progress being made and started feeling like it was being made far too quickly. Like every push was testing the limits of her flesh. The pressure just kept building, and building, with nowhere for it to go.
Skye was pressed back hard against the door, but no amount of length in her spine would alleviate the fullness in her hips. She wailed as that immense force narrowed and sharpened, concentrated at a single unyielding point.
Mickey’s heart rate spiked as the last push came with a distinctive bowing out of her skin, evicting his fingers completely. He was about to tell her has such when they were both jostled harshly as a crack of light appeared in the doorway and a frantic voice on the other side was calling their names.
They had finally been found… but Skye wasn’t going anywhere.
Skye was jostled forward as the door opened. It only opened a crack before her body stopped it moving but the voices behind were recognisable as the two midwives the couple had met on their arrival.
“Hello! Hello are you ok?” One of the concerned voices shouted beyond the door.
“We’re alive, if that’s what you mean” shouted Mickey in response. “Skye’s pushing, I can feel the head right there. She can’t move. We need help. “
“What do you mean she can’t move, is she injured?” Asked the midwife.
Skye was the next to answer “no, there’s a bowling ball between my legs, I can’t get up!” She was clearly stressed and yelling. “I need to push it out, I don’t know what to do!”
Skye closed her eyes and gripped onto Mickeys hands, a clear sign her contraction had started again. The midwives listened carefully as Skye yelled out a few moments later, all her effort into a push.
“Is she dilated?” Asked the midwife.
“How do I tell?” Asked Mickey in response.
“If you can get your fingers sanitised you should put them in your wife’s vagina, you might be able to feel around the head and take a guess at how wide her cervix is open?” A hand poked through the gap in the door “ if it’s open up as wide as needed your fingers should be this wide” the disembodied hand showed a gap between thumb and forefinger.
“Listen!” Yelled Mickey to make his voice heard over Skye’s own pained moans “the head is fucking right there, it’s bulging out. I can’t even fit my fingers in right now.”
“Ok” came the voice from the other side of the door “sounds like she’s doing what she needs to be doing. I really need you to help her to her feet and get her out of the way so we can get in.”
“Nooooo!” Wailed Skye. “Don’t ask me to stand. Don’t think my legs will hold my weight. Need to push, need to push!” She closed her eyes and let out a grunting sound.
Skye’s body stiffened as the urge built up inside her once again. She threw her head back, the tendons cording in her neck as her face reddened. Some wet, strangled sound escaped her throat as she took in a few ragged breaths and then redoubled her efforts. She pushed this way for several contractions and the effort nearly made her sick, coughing and sputtering as she came down from the last one.
“Remember to breathe, Skye,” came the unhelpful reminder from the other side of the door.
“Don’t force anything; the babe will come. Relax if you can,” the second midwife added.
“Relax?” Sky growled, incredulous. How the hell was she supposed to do that? She looked down at Mickey and his eyes were pleading—she was giving it everything she had and still wasn’t crowning and he was worried about her. “Help me. Please.”
“Anything.” Their space was limited, but Mickey managed to lean forward, one hand still cupped around Skye’s sex, and kiss up her thigh, her belly, her breasts. “You’re so beautiful like this. So strong.” She was about to protest but he bit down lightly on her neck and she gasped, releasing the vice like grip she’d had on her legs and instead curling around the muscles of his shoulders. “Working so hard to bring our baby into the world.” Just as his lips reached her jaw she tensed and began to arch away from him, but he anchored her in place and whispered in her ear, “Stay with me, love. Right here with me.” She nodded against his temple and he smiled. “Good girl. Gentle pushes for me now.”
It seemed counterintuitive to Skye, that putting in less effort would yield greater results, but the subtle burning release she felt between her legs as she hummed and grunted her way through the next few contractions hinted that it was working.
“How are things progressing in there?” the midwives asked.
Mickey pulled back and Skye whimpered, grabbed onto his wrist. “I’m just going to take a look,” he promised, sitting back on his heels. When he finally saw what was happening between his wife’s legs, tears began welling in his eyes. “I- I can see the head,” he called to the crack in the door. Then, to Skye, “The head is right there, baby, even when you’re not pushing. You are the most amazing woman who’s ever lived.”
Sky giggled at that. “Pretty sure there are at least a dozen other women right down the hall doing this exact same thing right now.”
Mickey shook his head. “Nope. None of them are as amazing as you.”
“None of them doing it in a broom closet, though, I can assure you of that!” one of the midwives added, only slightly exasperated.
“As if that’s something to brag about,” Skye muttered.
Mickey was going to say something back about it at least being a damn good story, but then Skye’s eyes screwed shut and her chest heaved with laboured breaths. Her body pushed of its own accord and she wailed as her opening widened another fraction of an inch.
The midwives’ chatter picked up at the change in her tone. “Yep, sounds like the beginning of a crown to me!”
Skye let out a groan which echoed around the confined space of the cupboard. Mickey got himself back in close, his hands kneading Skye’s shoulders and his lips exploring her face.
“Just like that…” he said, keeping his voice low and calm.
Skye continued her effort, grunting, sighing, moaning and holding her breath almost in a cycle as she felt her body do the work it needed to do.
The burning sensation between her legs grew and grew, as the head of their babe continued its unrelenting journey, but at the end of each panting contraction, there was noticeable movement between Skye’s legs.
She had stopped any sort of conversation at this point, only managing enough energy to keep going, and when the contraction subsided, she used the opportunity to pant and catch her breath.
Mickey on the other hand was chattering on incessantly.
“I can see the head, you’re doing great. She’s almost got the head out. What do I do to catch it. The heads coming. Baby I’m so proud of you. Keep going, do what you’re doing. “
“Shutup shutup shutup!” The exclamation from Skye was unexpected and Mickey was taken aback for a second.
“What’s up?” He asked.
“It burns… it really burns. Mickey help me…” Skye looked pleading
“Anything baby… what I can I do”
“Rub my clit…”
The announcement may as well have been shouted out using a loud speaker the fact that Mickey and the 2 midwives both went silent.
Mickey froze, shook his head, certain he’d heard incorrectly. “You- I—what?”
“Mickey, please. Please, baby,” she whined, the words just as breathless and desperate as they were in the bedroom, but now for entirely different reasons.
When his mind finally caught up with her words, a slight blush coloured his cheeks. “What, here? Now? Can I do that?” Then, because he was sure the women on the other side of the door had heard her request as well, “Am I allowed to do that?”
“Never argue with a pregnant person,” one replied.
The other hummed in agreement. “Do what you need to do, sweetie. Whatever makes the pain a little easier to take.”
Babe!” Skye gasped—a warning, an appeal. She whimpered and panted and shifted her hips, but there was no relief to be found there. “Please,” she said again, and this finally spurred Mickey into action.
He adjusted the hand that was supporting the emerging head, his thumb immediately going to work on her sensitive bud. The motion was habit, done without thinking in his usual strong vigorous rhythm, and she flinched away from him with a cry. He snatched his hand away and examined her with frantic eyes. “Oh my god, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you? The baby? I thought—”
Skye shook her head, reaching blindly for his hand. When it found her grasp, she guided it back between her legs. “Slow. Please. Gentle. Slow,” she managed punctuated guidance between panted breaths.
Tentatively this time, almost fearful, Mickey brushed his thumb featherlight across her clit and she shivered, exhaling a little more forcefully. Encouraged by her response, he pressed deeper into her folds, tracing the lines and edges in lazy circles.
“Mhmm, just like that,” Skye moaned, wincing as the pleasure mixed with the pain. The burn was intense now, stealing her breath just as quickly as Mickey’s ministrations allowed her to catch it. “Is the head, is it—hah, ah—is it almost—fuck—out?” Mickey’s pause was answer enough and Skye threw her head back against the door in frustration. “Fuck.”
“You’re stretching really good, babe.” Skye huffed. “No, really. So much is out already. There’s just… you’ve still got a little ways to go yet.”
Skye growled as another contraction wound its way around her midsection. “Just don’t stop.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mickey said, a smile in his voice, shaking out his hand and flexing his fingers before returning them to their post.
This time, just to give her own hands something to do, Skye drew them up the curve of her belly and moulded them around her full breasts, kneading the tender flesh and rolling her nipples under her thumbs, between her fingers. The action seemed to intensify the contraction and she curled forward instinctually, her upper body wrapping around her tight stomach and one arm dropping to hook under a knee and pull her leg up and back as she released a primal strangled cry.
Mickey had to abandon his duties between Skye’s legs in favour of making sure she didn’t fall over. He put a steadying hand on her waist as her roar intensified, the pain now in full force without the distraction of his intimate touch.
“That’s it, baby. Keep going, let it out.”
“Burning. It’s burning,” Skye panted in desperation, wrapping her free arm under his and digging her fingers into his back. She nestled her head into his neck and grunted, getting in a few more small pushes before slumping into him as the contraction waned. “Hurts.”
“I know.” Mickey kissed the top of her head and she released her hold on her leg. His hand drifted back down her inner thigh and he gasped excitedly. “Holy shit, the head’s almost out!”
“Really?” Mickey nodded. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?” Mickey’s lips found hers and he guided her hand to where his had just been. Her whole palm filled with something soft, wet, warm, and she stroked her thumb along the gentle curve. “Hi, baby,” she cooed, voice thick with emotion. “We can’t wait to meet you. I can’t believe you’re almost here.”
“Just another push or two ought to do it. You were so close on that last one.”
“Mm, you better be right about that.” Skye let out a few short quick breaths before pulling her leg back once more, leaning forward into another big push.
“Ehm, about those instruction on how to catch…?” Mickey called out to the hallway as Skye’s screams began anew.
“Just hold the head as it pops out, DON’T pull it” came the supportive voice from beyond the other side of the door - though the end of the statement was punctuated by the warning which he readily took in.
Mickey leaned back to get as good a look as he could under Skye’s belly and he let out an involuntary gasp. Where before her hole was red and swollen it was now white, stretched to the extreme, and the boulder shape of their baby - an object easily as wide as his hand - rested there almost at the tipping point.
Skye didn’t notice Mickey as she whimpered, the sensations taking all of her focus until she suddenly flinched completely in her seat and let out a yelp then suddenly, just like that, the head seemed to surge forward and it was suddenly… out.
The bottom half of the head slipped forward as Mickey darted his hand down instinctively only to get it covered by amniotic fluid but he held onto… something. It took a moment to realise that nestled in his palm were the features of their baby. He could feel the nose, the mouth. He was dumbstruck.
“Mickey!” shrieked Skye
“Baby!” shrieked Mickey
“What happened” came the voice from the other side of the door.
“The… the heads out.” stammered Mickey. He took in the scene. Skye was panting big heaving breaths, taking what time she could to rest, their baby’s head was nestled in his hands and he was squatted down like a baseball catcher. The puddle of water that just came out of Skye was spreading wider on the floor beneath him… and he realised his thighs ached like crazy.
“OK stay exactly as you are. Keep supporting the head. Check the neck, make sure there isn’t a cord wrapped around it” came the voice of guidance
“How?”
“Stick your finger in there and run it around the baby’s neck.”
Mickey tentatively extended a finger and probed it into his wife. She didn’t flinch or react, oblivious to this tiny additional movement, but compared to before… it was nothing.
“No, it’s not there.” Mickey sounded relieved that’s for certain.
“Ok so the head will want to rotate, then when baby is turned to the side it’s time for the shoulders.”
Skye grunted, shifted in her seat as Mickey felt the head rotate. He took a chance to adjust his position, knees going to the soggy ground as the baby’s head turned.
Looks like things were happening again.
It was a strange sensation, feeling the baby shift partially inside and partially outside her. The consuming burn had eased with the passing of the head but the pressure remained just as insistent. Once again it felt as if the baby would simply fall out of her—if only it would be that easy.
“That’s it, baby, keep pushing, just a few more pushes,” Mickey encouraged as Skye grunted and bore down with the next contraction.
“Mmm, no, not again,” Skye pleaded with no one in particular as her tender opening bulged and stretched with the press of the shoulders behind it. “I can’t do it again,” she whined, breaths become erratic, panicked, pained, “I’m not ready!”
Well, she was ready for this all to be over, to have her baby in her arms and an actual bed to lie in, but the pain was still so fresh and raw, her tissues fragile and strained.
“S’okay, Skye. Take a break, take a breath. Baby’ll still be waiting for you whenever you’re ready,” came a voice through the crack in the door.
Mickey was thankful for their guidance then, as he’d had no idea what to say to Skye in that moment. As she puffed out quick breaths of air, he squinted in the dim light, peering under her belly. Now that the baby had rotated, it was actually facing toward him. Waxy and wet and scrunched, Mickey had never seen anything more beautiful.
“Hi, baby,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over a chubby cheek. The baby’s mouth opened and closed, already responding to his touch. “Go easy on mommy, okay? She loves you very much, but you’ve got daddy’s big head and she’s a little sore at the moment.”
Skye smiled at that, eyes still closed in a rare moment of rest, and reached down to stroke the top of the baby’s head. “You listen to your father now,” she warned, breathing picking back up again.
“Ready?” Mickey asked. Skye paused a moment, then nodded. “Whenever you’re ready—let’s have a baby.”
Skye nodded again, this time to herself, gathering her wits about her. Her groan was guttural, deep, primal, an animal driven by instinct. Her whole body seemed to bow inward, concentrating all its forces into her core. One shoulder would peek out, only to slip back in as soon as Skye sucked in a quick breath. She’d shift her hips and then the other would make an appearance, but then the stretch would become unbearable and cause her to cry out, weakening her efforts just enough for it to disappear back between her folds. She pressed her palms into her thighs, digging into her flesh and forcing her knees outward as far apart as they would go.
When another contraction came and went like this, Skye heaved a sigh of exasperation. “I don’t,” she panted, “think I,” another breath, “can get the shoulders out like this.”
Mickey, their child’s head still cradled in his hands, bit his lips and directed his question toward the door, a tinge of worry creeping into his tone. “How do we do this? What- what can we do?”
“Just keep calm. The best thing to do is open up her pelvis. Either a nice deep squat, or we push her legs back to get the same thing.” The voice was reassuring, realising that Mickey was starting to panic.
“I’ll get down I’ll get down” voiced Skye as she lifted her butt up ready to push the bucket she had been resting on out of the way. She actually shuffled a step forward and overbalanced Mickey who tumbled to the floor, though he kept his hand fixed to the head of their child.
The commotion caught the attention of the team on the other side of the door who tried to make sense of the clattering and banging going on inside the closet.
Skye hunkered down and grunted, her deep squat resulted in Mickeys hand, holding the baby’s head, being pressed into the ground, in the muck and birth fluids that were pooling there.
A strong grunt, a whine and another grunt. Suddenly she yelled “help, it’s not moving”
From the other side of the door came the question “Mickey do you still have the head?”
“Yes…” came the response.
“Ok… let go, and pull Skye up.”
“You sure?”
“Trust us…”
Mickey wriggled his hand out from under Skye leaving the head exposed, grabbed her hands and heaved backwards so Skye was back on her feet.
“She’s up”
“Ok stand back, we’re coming in.”
There was a blur of activity. Finally the door opened wide, and Mickey and Skye were met with the sight of 2 midwives, someone wearing a pair of overalls presumably from the maintenance team and a cold blast of air as the air conditioned corridor opened wide.
One of the midwives rushed in and grabbed Skye by the arms as they led her backwards, wide legged and frog-walking out of the closet.
One kept close attention to the baby as Skye was turned around and lowered to the floor. Everything looked good as she was laid on her back, icy cold flooring sending shivers all over her body as her legs were pushed back and her hips were opened wide.
“Skye, give me the biggest push you can, right now!” the midwives commanded.
As the cold seeped into Skye’s bare flushed skin, she was suddenly very conscious of the fact that she was completely naked in the very non-private hallway, with her legs spread open as wide as they were capable of going.
The medical staff, at least, had the decency to mind their own business even as the passersby gaped and gawked. She wasn’t embarrassed, exactly, but it made her self conscious about her actions, her noises, her progress, and she couldn’t quite give herself over fully to the next contraction.
Skye whimpered, close to tears and feeling like a failure that she still wasn’t able to get her baby out. She grabbed for Mickey’s hand and he knelt on the far side of her, hunching himself over her body and blocking at least her upper half from view from all but the most curious onlookers.
“Too big,” she whined, looking into his eyes for comfort or encouragement or sympathy, she didn’t know.
“I know, baby, but you’re so close. Your body was made for this, just a few more pushes, you’ll get out baby out, I know you will,” he murmured in the space between contractions. Then, when Skye released a sharp breath and her belly visibly tensed, “Come on now, as hard as you can.”
Skye nodded at the same time the midwives forced her knees comically far back and down, lifting her butt off the floor so that her vagina was practically sticking straight up toward the ceiling. When she crunched up, folding over her belly, her head was almost between her knees and all the air was forced from her lungs.
She held the push as long as she could, the baby’s head pressing up and away from her hips, attempting to free itself from her tight hole. She fell back to the floor, gasped in a breath, and curled back up, the baby’s head bobbing up and down in time with her efforts.
Mickey was so focused on his wife’s face that he didn’t see when the midwife stuck half her hand around the emerging shoulder in Skye’s opening, but he saw the change in her expression, heard as her cries escalated into strangled, wild howls.
“What are you doing!” Mickey asked frantically, bordering on yelling.
“Just helping the other shoulder along; don’t want it getting bruised or stuck,” the midwife explained.
Mickey wanted to protest, but Skye was nodding, eyes still screwed shut with pain. Something must have given way because Skye gasped, surged forward into an almost unexpected push as the baby was finally shifted into a proper position. She screamed one last time as the shoulders emerged, stretching her even wider than the head, and then the rest of the baby slid out easily, along with an impressive spray of amniotic fluid, and immediately placed on Skye’s bare chest.
The scream brought a few people running and Skye ended up being the unfortunate recipient of yet more public scrutiny… but at that point she couldn’t care. She’d done it. The sound of her and Mickeys baby crying loud wails was music to her ears and nothing could take that fact away.
Tears flowed freely down her cheeks and the same was true of Mickey, the events of the day had reached a point where he was just so glad it was over.
He sensed a figure appear behind him then heard a cough. Turning he looked at the maintenance man in his overalls behind him, holding forward Skye’s gown she had discarded earlier.
He thanked him and grabbed it, looking to the midwives for guidance.
“I’ve called for a wheelchair for Skye, I want to get her back to maternity before she has to deliver the afterbirth.” Mickey nodded at what the midwife had said. He moved around to the back of Skye and pulled the gown over her, as one of the midwives took the baby temporarily and held it - finally getting a good chance too look at the gender and realising the couple had a girl - as Skye did the best she could on the floor to pull the gown over her thighs and get handed back the baby again.
“Besides… I think Skye may need a few stitches… that last few moments were quite… forceful I think it’s fair to say.”
As the chair arrived and between Mickey and one of the midwives they managed to get Skye to her feet the group left at a hurried pace back to the room assigned to them.
For Tom the janitor, he just looked at the mess in the cupboard and sighed. Best get to tidying that little patch of chaos up… and changing that door handle.
“the term mpreg is inherently transphobic because pregnancy is gender neutral” I hate to tell you this but in the pregnancy fetish fanfiction community they also use the term fpreg
I AM NOT A SCIENTIST, I AM A HUMANITIES BITCH. My math skills are limited, and I have no training on processing/presenting this sort of data. I am also one person with a shitty laptop, an unreliable internet connection, and a very busy personal life. Take all of this with an extremely large grain of salt.
Participants are self-reporting. They may not know for sure, they may be wrong, they may be lying. I took everyone here at their word. I tried not to extrapolate much from what they were saying, because I do not want to misrepresent what they said.
I will be covering why people thought they developed this fetish in a later post because this is already too long.
Gender of Participants
*According to a 2024 survey, 1.14% of American adults identify as transgender, while 1.52% do not identify as male, female, or trans (some of whom identified as Non-Binary.) That makes the presence of trans and non-binary participants VASTLY disproportional to the American average. I'm sure some of it can be explained by younger people being more likely to identify as not cis, and younger people using the internet far more than the older generations. I also read a paper once that suggested the internet was responsible for the development of more niche fetishes. It's also possible that trans people are more likely to be comfortable engaging with communities surrounding 'deviant' sexual interests because they've already been labeled 'abnormal' (BUT THESE ARE ALL JUST GUESSES). What I theorize is that, because pregnancy is inextricable from sex organs and gender rolls, trans people (ESPECIALLY AFAB trans/non-binary people) are more likely to have those early, strong emotional reactions to pregnancy that seem to develop into fetishes. I'll get into this more on my next post.
*cis women outnumbering cis men was not something I was expecting, but makes sense, since young girls often have to think about pregnancy much sooner than boys, and it threatens to have a much greater impact on their life.
*in retrospect, I wish I'd included a question on how the participants found the survey, since knowing might help explain the disparity between trans and cis people.
Sexuality of Participants
*most (but not all) of the people who chose "other" wrote in an ace-spec identity not included in the above choices (ace lesbian, demi-sexual, etc.,)
Content of Fetish Material Consumed
*the vast majority of participants selected multiple answers, the exception to this was straight cis men, who often only selected the 'Cis Female Pregnancy' option (a small percentage of this group also answered femboys). The minority of straight cis men who chose other options most often fantasized about becoming pregnant themselves.
When the Fetish was Developed
*One person wrote in that they didn't believe children could have fetishes. Their entry was shortly followed by one from someone who described frequently masturbating to fantasies surrounding pregnancy at the age of 5. This isn't important to the overall data, I just find it funny.
How Great a Role does the Participants' Fetish Play in their Achieving Arousal?
How Great a Role does Sex Play in the Participants' Fetish Related Fantasies?
Did the Participants' Pregnancy Fetish Play a Role in their First Time Experiencing Arousal?
*most of the "it's complicated" answers were people who couldn't remember their first time experiencing arousal.
...
That's the basics down, stay tuned for a breakdown of why people think they developed their fetish.
With one particularly harsh contraction, he doubled over, head pressing hard into Engineer's chest. "Oh, gh-!" The countdown started again, a choked cry barely left his lips. After a moment of gagging silence, he screamed like an animal as part of her finally slid out, and god did it hurt. He ignored the tail end of the counting, crying out and bearing down again.
"Mick, don't rush it right now. C'mon, let up."
A groan, but he listened, relented. Dell knew what to do, even if the idea of pausing right now made him want to explode. The searing pain stayed long after his last push, body tensed and eyes wide.
(Hoping I don't get nerfed for this, the second I wrote the scene I was like I NEED TO DRAW NAAAOOOWWW!!! read what this is from here!!)
I've been reading up on arousal and sexual fetishes in my free-time this summer, and would like to do a little research of my own (to satisfy my own curiosity). I have put together a pregnancy kink related survey HERE. It's completely anonymous and short (9 multiple choice questions, 1 write-in), and I'd be so eternally grateful to any who take the time to complete it and spread it around.
A birth story written in conjunction with @allkindsofpreg
---
“Are you 100% sure?” I asked, not hiding the concern in my voice.
You just smiled “I’ve made up my mind, I’m going.”
We had planned for the last few weeks to go to the local ren faire, where you were looking to get dressed up and enjoy the event, whilst taking what was likely to be the last chance to show off your pregnancy enhanced curves in public before the baby comes.
The problem was, the baby was coming… contractions had started this morning, and 3 hours on, they didn’t seem to want to stop.
So here you were, dressed up in your best pirate/wench outfit, pregnancy fuelled bosom looking magnificent, enhanced by the dress, cleavage spilling out of the top and leaving very little to the imagination, your bump – oddly smaller since your belly dropped a few days ago – still prominent behind the flowy fabric. A tie caught between the two, bright and causing the eye to immediately look at the area it highlights.
I’d always known you were a bit of an exhibitionist… hell, our baby was likely conceived when I was railing you on the balcony of a hotel with a crowd cheering you on from below – but I will admit, I kind of wanted you to myself when you gave birth.
But you wanted to make a spectacle of it. Have all those eyes looking at you. You know you could make it look like it was an accident – you could even make the news - “lady gives birth in public” has always been something that got your juices flowing. And here we are – contractions noticeable but not debilitating, and we’re about to walk out the house to walk half a mile down the road to the fair – and who knows what will happen from there.
“Are you ready, my lord?” you ask in a fake old world accent, pulling the skirt of your dress to the side with one hand and holding your stomach with the other, lowering into a polite curtsy. I take a moment to enjoy the birds eye view down your low lacy neckline before offering my arm and helping you to a standing position. In one fluid motion You’re upright and pressed against me, leaning down for a quick kiss.
“My god, you’re sexy,” I murmur against my lips, hands exploring your body beneath the elaborate folds of your gown.
“Mm, just wait ‘til you see me with a head crowning between my legs.” Even the thought makes you shudder with desire as you hike up the fabric to give me better access there.
I chuckle and slide my hand up your thigh, brushing over the fabric of your panties. “We may not make it to the fair if you keep this up,” I say, applying a bit more stimulation and causing you to gasp. “I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to stay.”
You know I’m wary about your intentions—and honestly, I make a compelling case—but you’re only going to have one first birthing experience and this is how you want to do it. “Don’t worry, baby, it’ll be fun.” I look doubtful as you display your best pout. “It’ll at least keep me distracted.” As if on cue, your stomach tightens, and in turn you make a point of keeping your stance and expression neutral, the only indication that anything’s happening a slight change in your breathing. “See? I can do this.”
“You can do anything,” I agree, removing my hand so that the hem of your dress falls back to the floor. “Guess we should get going then.”
You hook your arm around mine and, perhaps a bit too eagerly, glide out the door.
The walk to the event was a bit slow going, considering your size, but you make the most of it with seeing various turned heads, and the occasional honk and cheer from passing cars as they see your gravid form walking down the street. You had been doing curb walking for the last few weeks to try and get things moving, and automatically fell into that rhythm, up and down, up and down as one foot landed on the curb and another on the road next to it. The added jiggle factor of your breasts bouncing up and down helped with getting you noticed of course. Let’s just say that as we turned the corner into the site of the faire, you were very flustered – and it wasn’t just due to the exercise. We stopped twice on the way for a breather and to let a contraction build and pass, but thankfully we arrived without incident.
You feel another contraction build up while we’re waiting in line for tickets, but it’s easy to ignore amidst the hustle and bustle of the crowd. Everyone is in costume, many with even more on display than you, and, not to be outdone, You loosen your own tie a bit. I notice and cock an eyebrow at you as you give me a wink—perhaps later I’ll tie you up tighter or perhaps take it off altogether; the possibilities are endless and equally thrilling. We can’t keep our hands off each other and the booth attendant has to toss a piece of popcorn at us after a few gruff coughs to get our attention. She seems equal parts amused and irritated when you request two and a half tickets as I press my hands into the curves of my belly, showing it off.
Once inside, you make a beeline straight for the giant turkey legs, dashing off before I realise, surprisingly spritely for someone in your advanced state of pregnancy considering how much walking you had done already. I soon catch up to you as you join the back of the queue - the turkey legs being one of the most popular things in the area meaning the line was always big.
You were panting a little out of breath, but smiled back at me "You're too slow."
I circle my arms around you and pull you back into an embrace, kissing the top of your head as I feel your chest raising and falling in line with your heavy breathing. We both burst into a giggle as the line slowly starts to work its way down.
As we get to the front, the lady serving the food has a wide grin on her face as you approach.
"Hey there, what can I get you and the bump?"
Entirely straight faced, you respond "Bump? Oh this? I just REALLY like the turkey legs." You emphasised the size of your belly by rubbing your hands up and down it tracing the shape under your dress.
Her face was a picture, completely unsure what to do with herself. She was stammering and clueless what to do next, in worry that she was going to offend you, but the onset of another contraction soon put paid to your charade.
You couldn't do much else than wince and rub your belly, but used it as a convenient excuse to apologise to the lady behind the counter and explain that yes, you were indeed pregnant, and you would really like 2 turkey legs. And no… one was for me - you weren’t going to just pig out on them. The baby obviously didn't like you making fun of the poor lady and gave you a kick in punishment.
I was smirking through this entire exchange but we soon got our food serving, a couple of drinks and headed off to watch a band play. As we got to the showground area, one of the local attendants brought over a chair for you to sit down on, whilst I climbed onto the ground between your legs. We sat down and had a few minutes of relaxation until you started to huff and puff a little, hand rubbing your belly.
"Starting to get noticeable I presume?" I asked. You nodded, leaned forward as much as your belly would let you so you could speak in a whisper close to me and said that when we were in the queue for food it was the first contraction which had taken your breath away. You thought it was because you had just rushed to the queue, and the strenuous activity had been an influence… but right now you're sitting down, doing nothing… and yeah, it’s now very noticeable.
"We can always back out?" I asked… already knowing your answer.
"Not a chance. Did you see how much people are looking at me, looking at the bump? This is going to be EPIC!"
We stay listening to the band longer than expected—they’re quite good, and the baby seems to like it. There are little kicks and twists that seem to coincide with the beat and our amusement begins to attract attention. You’re more than happy to let the other people in the audience touch your belly to feel it too, and pretty soon we’ve got the whole crowd dancing along. With a firm grasp of your hand and waist, I twirl and dip you through several more contractions. Another one starts up just as a song ends and I pull you into me, managing to hide the grimace on your face.
Someone comes up when the upbeat tempo begins again and asks if the little one is still boogieing in there, and you turn to her with what you hope is a smile. Clearly something about your face is off, or maybe it’s my laboured breathing or the way you’re holding your stomach, but she asks if you’re okay as you wave her off.
“Just overdid it, I think. My back and feet are killing me!”
She hums in sympathy and recalls how difficult those last few weeks always are, how you just wish the baby would get here already.
You’re smiling in earnest as you say to her, “It definitely won’t be long now.”
We go to the sword fighting demonstration next, and the people in the front graciously offer us their seats when they see your bump hovering beside them at eye level. You give them a small curtsy that turns into a very ungraceful plop down onto the beach seat. “I’m just never going to get used to balancing with this thing,” you say by way of apology to the people on either side of you, pressing in the fabric of your dress around your stomach to emphasize its impressive size. “Won’t be a problem much longer, though,” you say, giving it an affectionate pat.
I’m chosen from the audience to participate—our entrance made a bit of a scene and did not go unnoticed by the actors—you whoop and holler as they pull me on the stage. They teach me a few moves and then “challenge” me for my affections, seeming to imply that the baby you’re carrying may or may not be mine, as you somehow wind up on the small platform right along with me. I do surprisingly well mimicking the moves showed to me earlier until finally I’m at a standoff. A contraction hits hard and fast and you double over with a surprised yelp and both of us on the stage turn to look at you—to cover up the slip, you make it part of the performance, like you had feigned a labour pain to fluster him, and shout, “Quick, my love, strike while he is distracted!” The actor takes the cue and allows me to land the final blow while the two of us share a passionate kiss (which earns us a fair few whistles and applause from the crowd) before taking a bow (admittedly, you didn’t bend too low) and running off before anyone can question whether you’re really that good of an actor.
The public escapades up until this point and - after that last contraction - knowing it won’t be long until the big finale has you all hot and bothered as you pull me into what you hope is a vacant tent. You wrap a leg around me waist, your hands toying with the ties of my costume. “Got time for a little more swordplay?”
As we slip into the tent we’re giddy, giggling happily, but after a few furtive glances around to make sure we’re alone, we’re quickly getting serious and down to business. Kissing across your cleavage and up your neck has you shuddering in delight as I take a moment to lift your top over your head and expose your underwear clad body to the world. My hands explore your body as I strip you of the bra you were wearing along with tugging down your panties and leaving them in a crumpled heap on the floor. You’re standing there naked in front of me, glorious in your bountiful pregnant form, as you pull me close and tug down my trousers, bunching them at my feet.
My “sword” is well and truly on display as you’re licking your lips in delight as you manage to find a position you can support your body whilst leaning back against a table, opening your legs in accommodation.
My first thrust was strong, and made you yelp with the unexpected force. One of my hands grasped your hair and pulled your head back exposing your neck further to my kisses as you moaned in delight with my thrusts now slowing to a much more relaxed tempo.
You couldn’t hold that position long with the weight of the baby positioned as it was so you eventually turned and braced yourself against the table with your hands, presenting your ass to me. My knees slid between your legs and pressed lightly to the side, parting your own legs, you bobbed down into a bit of a squat to give even more access.
We scrabbled around in this position for a few thrusts into your waiting pussy but because you were quite low down it was a strain for me to keep thrusting up whilst getting the angle I needed to.
With a quick slap on your behind - resulting in the most magical squeal I’d ever heard - I pulled up a chair and sat on it as you finally lowered yourself on me - giving me free reign to enjoy your breasts and belly as you bounced.
Our groans joined each other as your approaching climax caused you to speed up your actions, my own cum releasing deep into you in a flood as I couldn’t hold back any longer. The resulting sensations tipped you over the edge as your orgasm caused you to yell out with pleasure, lost in the moment of bliss.
The sound you made must have alerted someone passing by as we heard footsteps approaching rapidly. Jumping we both looked at each other as you scampered off with an amazing high speed waddle out of the back door of the tent, as naked as the day you were born - completely oblivious to if there was anyone waiting on the other side.
I grabbed your dress and bra, pulling up my trousers but not fastening them to at least allow me to walk without tripping up. I join you outside to see that thankfully there’s no one there so I hand you over your dress and bra whilst fastening my trousers.
“I’ll need my panties too” you say “you’re dripping out of me down my leg” and that’s when we both realised that in the rush to leave I’d left them in a crumpled heap on the floor.
You shrugged “oh well guess someone will have a nice surprise… and I’ve got to deal with the leak” as you pull the top over your head - not bothering with the bra either, stuffing it tight down and pushing it into my pocket - and glance around the side of the tent in order to get back to the main show area.
We walked around and found somewhere opposite the tent we were at to check on what was happening but no one came out. They’d either dashed out before we got dressed and we missed them, they hadn’t spotted the thing we had left, or were left enjoying them - either way you seemed to be getting a thrill out of what had happened.
The next contraction took you by surprise through as you grasped onto me. I turned my head to see you visibly biting your lip to avoid letting out a scream. Suddenly there was a splash and a puddle formed between your legs. We both knew what that puddle was.
Without the cushion of an amniotic sac, the baby suddenly felt much lower, the contractions much more insistent, and the need to push much more urgent. The groan that emerged from your throat was guttural, instinctual, and you crouched down where you stood, clutching onto my forearms for support.
“Are you pushing?” I asked, slightly whiplashed between the thrills of having sex, nearly getting caught, and now this. “Already?”
You just gave me a squeeze in response, putting all your focus into breathing and controlling you volume until the contraction was over. With my help you stood back up and wrapped your arms around me, both of us still a little shaken.
Even though it came rapidly you were a little more prepared for the next one, able to maintain your standing position while your body worked to bring the baby down. You buried your head into my chest as we swayed together through the worst of it. We were hidden away, tucked in the narrow alley between tents, and any passersby would mistake it for a tender embrace. But we’d have to come out of here eventually if we wanted an audience.
There was a major show going on at the moment—something with jousting and fire and circus performers—and we made our way toward the back of the crowd. The skirt of your dress was large enough that it obscured the worst of your awkward, bow-legged waddle, but it was still a slow process. Your hand never left your belly, as if supporting it from the base would somehow relieve some of the force of the pressure bearing down within it.
Most people’s attention was on the performers, but we did garner a few nervous glances as those closest to us saw your restless shifting form and heard your grunts.
“Are you alright?” asked one of them, who was wearing a ridiculous feathered cap and carrying some sort of wooden instrument, eventually whispered when you were bent over and gasping after a particularly brutal contraction.
You gave him a tight-lipped smile and a strained, “Fine.” They glanced to me for confirmation; I shrugged, but couldn’t quite hide my growing anxiety.
The concerned bard remained undecided, but kept an eye on you, and when you dropped to your knees a few contractions later, determined that it warranted a trip to the medical tent. The bard tried to help you back to your feet, but you had decided that you weren’t going anywhere. You screamed when they tried to lift you, loud enough to stop the production mid-charge, and all eyes in the large stadium turned to gape at you. “I’m- I’m having a baby!” you yell, for the sake of anyone not close enough to see what was happening.
The elaborate ties of your dress were already loosened and askew from our previous activities, so it was easy enough to subtly work the laces and slide the fabric from your upper body. It looked like an accident when the heavy textiles fell dramatically around your kneeling form, exposing your full, heavy breasts and huge belly. I knelt beside you, as if making moves to preserve your modesty, but you lurched forward suddenly onto your hands, the dress falling down your thighs and exposing the rest of you.
The restricting fabric prevented your knees from widening as they needed to, and you begged me to get it the rest of the way off you. I helped you crawl forward a step and as a result your legs were blissfully free, but this position hid the spectacle from your audience.
You grabbed for me and held as you got your feet under you, lowering into a deep squat with your breasts, belly, and pussy facing out toward the crowd. You moved my hands to your inner thighs, forcing them open wider and pulling open your dilated folds, and pushed.
The realisation of what just happened seemed to ripple through the crowd - the immediate people around us either recoiling in shock, or many grabbing their phones and hitting record.
As much as you were incredibly turned on by the attention you were getting, the force of the contraction making you to push out our baby was a significantly more pressing concern. You bellow out, completely uncaring who hears it “this hurts more than anything I’ve ever done… labouring all day… it’s just…” your voice was cut short as you simply howled in pain as your eyes closed and you bore down, desperate to move the blockage between your legs.
As the contraction began to fade and you started to regain your senses your head turned towards me, you had tears in your eyes. “Help me” you managed pitifully.
I managed to lean in close to you so my whispering voice could only be heard by you “how are you feeling? Is this just an act or does it hurt?”
“It fucking hurts…” your reply had tones of desperation in it. The next contraction was quick to pick up and you were soon pushing again, a bulge visible between your wide splayed legs suggesting the head was going to be very big.
“Here here now you poor baby, let’s see if we can help you” came a voice. I looked up, and you managed the same to see an older woman - 60s or older - pushing her way through the crowds and trying to force - unsuccessfully - to make those recording the spectacle on their phones stop and give you a little dignity.
She grunted with exertion as she kneeled down between your legs, her hands reaching down to the bulge, surprisingly chilly against your hot, distended skin. You shivered - I was trying to work out if it was through the ministrations of the lady who walked up touching your sensitive areas, or you had just orgasmed from the attention you were getting.
“I’ve pushed out 8 babies myself and caught 5 grand babies from my daughters” she offered “so these hands are good hands and know what to do.”
“What do I do?” you asked, echoing her words back to her.
She chuckled and gave me a wry smile. “In my experience—and from the looks of it, yours too—whatever your body tells you.”
“Oh god,” you groaned, the pressure bearing down between your hips insisting that you bear down with it. “I need to- I need—“
“Baby’s head’s right there, I think you’re safe to push whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m not ready! It wasn’t supposed to be like this; there’s so many—hnghhh, fuck—people!” Your words dissolved into moans as you yanked desperately against my flared knees, but all that did was pull taut your skin and emphasize just how small your opening was in comparison to the large head bulging behind it.
“That’s it, let it stretch,” the woman soothed, running her fingers along the edges of the modest crown. You pressed yourself into her touch and she hummed in recognition. “Nothing to be self-conscious of here, dear. Do whatever feels good for you; it’s all natural.”
You brought your fingers to your clit and rubbed a few quick circles before the stimulation became too much. You cradled your belly as you pushed, but your hands soon wandered to your breasts, your nipples, and the resulting whines were a mix of pleasure and pain.
“It’s too big!” You wailed between pushes, looking to me in desperation. “It hurts. It’s burning, please, do something.”
I looked to the woman and she shrugged. “She’s the boss.”
I looked warily around at the many pairs of eyes fixed on us, but they faded into the background as soon as I wrapped my body around yours. You took one of my hands in yours and guided the other one between your legs as another shot of pain jolted out from your stomach, up your spine and through your hips. I thumbed gently at your sensitive nub and explored the changes in the folds that I knew so well.
“Help me stretch.” came your plea.
I dipped a finger under your stretched skin, gently tracing the cap of our baby’s head. Another contraction started and you pushed, my fingertips spreading you open even wider than the head. I pulled away quickly at your pained yelp, but it had helped—the head was staying put now, even between pushes.
“It’s stuck, it’s- I’m going to tear!”
“Oh no you don’t,” the woman said, getting her hands in the way between us, taking back up their work with the emerging head. She placed her palm flat against the exposed crown, applying a fairly firm pressure to keep it from coming out even as I continued to stretch painfully around it—prolonging the torture. “Pant. Pant, now,” she instructed.
“Please, I need to push, let me push!” you whined, unable to resist your body’s urges. You bore down again, but she just pressed in harder as you cried out as the two impossible pressures clashed right at the peak of your pain.
I had managed to get myself out of her way and resulted in getting directly behind you. You shoved your hips back, desperate to retreat from her iron grip, and your ass rubbed against my hard cock. You hear me whisper a string of curses and ground harder against my hips—if you had to suffer on the precipice of release, so would I.
You shuddered and relaxed a bit as the contraction waned, and the woman likewise relaxed her grip against you. There were a few gasps as she pulled her hand away and the crowd got an unobstructed view of the massive crowning head.
The view of a couple of flashes from people’s cameras were ingrained in your mind as you sit there, panting, the few moments of respite between contractions giving you little time to pant through and get some energy back before you needed to push again.
You leaned back against me, rubbing my engorged cock between your body and the fabric of my jeans. I let out a little groan as I felt myself approach my own little precipice.
The next contraction ramped up though and more of the same happened again - the desperate need to do nothing else but push, and this random stranger lady pressing back against all your effort.
You lost it as the frustration toppled you, all focus on the pain radiating between your belly and your legs, and this woman who was actively trying to make it harder for you.
“Let me push!” You screamed between gasps of the contraction as she just tutted at you.
“Don’t be a baby dearie” she took it in her stride. “I’ll let you stretch nice and slow so you don’t tear. You have a big one here.”
“Please!” You gasped, “Please… I’ll tear, I just need it out and you’re stopping me.” The last word was a chilling wail.
Despite your obvious discomfort my own sordid desires were being tweaked simply by the amount of effort you were putting in. Your body pressed back into me as you undertook push after push, my cock getting rubbed more and more.
I felt myself release as you wailed out. My cock pulsing and throbbing as each squirt filled my underwear. I felt it run down my leg. I pulled you in close grabbing your hands and crossing them over your chest pulling you tight against me as I hoped that there was no evidence of the leak on my trousers with all the cameras trained on us right now.
My shiver wasn’t missed by you as you look up in my eyes, meeting me with a weary but loving grin, for a few moments you smiled until the smile was replaced by a scowl as once more it was time to push.
Your body twisted and trembled as the war against instinct continued. Your hands grasped at nothing as you sought an outlet for the pent up energy you couldn’t focus into your core—your fingers clawed at my hair, the grass, the fabric of your discarded dress, the tight skin of your stomach.
“Fuck this hurts,” you huffed, more for me than for the onlookers. Then, louder, “Another contraction, already?”
You reached a shaking, tentative hand between your legs, brushing the woman’s aside and winced as your fingers grazed the tender flesh. It bowed and flexed with the force of the contraction alone and you whimpered as your lips peeled slowly back around the widest part of the head.
“Alright, now we’ve got ‘em right where we want ‘em. Give it all you’ve got, honey!” I almost hissed the words trying to keep it quiet enough that only you could hear.
In your opinion, sweeter words had never been spoken and wasted no time putting your chin to your chest and giving a hard shove. In a cruel twist of fate, the baby now seemed content to stay right where it was. You tried again, pushing harder this time, and howled in frustration when it didn’t budge.
“Come on now, girl, push!” came the woman, I had echoed something similar.
“I’m trying, it’s- fuck, it’s really stuck!”
After another two contractions of stalled progress, she finally believed me. “How about we get you on your feet,” she suggested. “Come on now, help her up,” she prompted, but I froze, keeping you tight against me.
“My- I can’t,” I whispered frantically in your ear, and you nodded— you understood.
You waited for the next contraction, took a deep breath, and leaned forward putting everything into the push, making an effort to make sure that the lady’s hands wouldn’t get in the way of this push. Your hips lifted just enough so they were hovering on top of my crotch and you screamed, all the anxious and excited attention fuelling another mighty push as the head shot out the rest of the way with an impressive gush of fluids… which sprayed across the entire front of my trousers, concealing and blending with any other stains that might have been present.
“Fuck,” you gasped, both in surprise and relief, as you got the rest of the way to your feet. Then an agonized, “Fuck!” as the baby spun and the shoulders settled quickly and violently into place against your tortured hole. You bent my knees and braced your palms against your thighs as you started to push again.
The lady beckoned me forward and I dashed around from behind you to kneel in front, hands poised in place just under the dangling head of our baby.
Now at eye level with your pussy, I watched as the shoulders bulged and gravity threatened to pull the heavy child the rest of the way out. “What should I do?” I asked the old woman, though my eyes never left you.
“Catch!” she said with a laugh, and I raised your hands just in time for the baby to slide into my grasp.
Your yell of triumph was magical as the vernix-covered baby slid into my hands, the lady, unexpectedly diving forward to catch you under the arms as you sagged, threatening to collapse with the effort. You were gasping, panting for air, you were shell shocked, but one thing was clear – you had realised you had done it. My god you were grinning.
The lady helped lower you to the ground as I held on for dear life to our baby – a daughter – my eyes weirdly focused on the umbilical cord connecting the small bundle in my hands to your gaped opening.
“Shit” was all I could mutter.
“Shit, indeed” you echoed.
You realised a blanket was suddenly placed over your shoulders as paramedics arrived, covering you up from the gawping onlookers. You’d done it. You had your dream. You’d given birth in front of a crowd. No doubt Youtube and who knows what other sites will be flooded with footage of this tomorrow. At least we know we will have a record of our birth.
The baby was taken from me as her umbilical cord was cut, and she was checked over. I sat next to you in a daze as paramedics helped check you over.
You leaned in close to me as you kissed me and then got very close to my ear, whispering so no one else could hear. “We need to go one better next time. We live stream to the entire internet !”
Bump In The Night @allkindsofpreg - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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