I've been lurking for a while but have decided to start writing. I'm a 27 y/o trans man who is happily married. I've also had a birth kink for as long as I can remember and will be writing spicy stuff here. I don't roleplay but I'm happy to do asks.
I'm big into: birth, multiples, birth denial (of all types), mpreg, clothing birth, public birth, birth in distress, mutual birth. I'm also happy to do non-human and egg births.
I won't do: detrans, piss/scat, minors, erotic or orgasmic birth, feederism, teacher/student relationships. I'm not really interested in sex or sexual encounters. Just in birth.
Minors, transphobes, and people who don't support abortions DNI. This ain't for you.
I could be panicking and screaming with a foot dangling out of me and crushing contractions. I could be begging you to call for help as my body forces me to push out your breech baby.
"I'll be done with this game in just a minute," I say as I adjust my headphone volume. Just behind me, you're grasping at the bare skin of your massive belly as you writhe on our bed.
"Please, it hurts so bad– oooohhh, ooooooh I think I feel them coming dooown," You moan.
The game was in its final match in a best of 5 AND it's a rank up game. We should have a bit more time before you really needed any help. You're two weeks overdue with a big baby anyways, so its probably nowhere close to coming down like you think it is.
"Just a few more minutes, you're fine. Just breathe through the contractions like you've been doing." I lock back to my game.
Five minutes turns to ten, ten turns to fifteen. Without even knowing, the games been going on an hour. Under the sound of gun fire, Rapid paced music, and the yelling of my team mates your panicked breathing, erratic grunting and whimpered pleading seeps from your lips.
"I can't wait anymore its crowning— Oh no, no, no, no, its foot first! ITS FOOT FIRST!" You squeal over the volume of my match.
"Huh— woah! Hes flanking! Get him on the flank!" I almost turn to you but get pulled back into the game.
The flanker goes down. Your jeans hit the floor. A second gets outmanned. Your voice cries out again for help.
"FUCKING BURNS! AUUUGHHHH!"
Two more get eliminated and now only one remains. Something splatters on our bedroom floor as my finger jams into my mouse button, lighting up the last obstacle to my victory in a hail of virtual gun fire.
"ITS COMING OUT!" You shriek in tandem with the death cry of the final opponent.
"Let's fucking go, man!" I shout triumphantly as the win screen pops up and my rank shifts to the next.
I tell the team GG and turn my attention to you while pulling off my headphones.
"Hell yeah, did you see that clutch babe–"
Soaked through jeans on the floor, your thighs splayed out wide and our baby born to its torso with its legs hanging out of you greet me when I turn. Your chest rises and falls in rapid succession. Sweat soaked and reddened from contractions, your still massive belly trembles with the prelude of another contraction.
Unfortunately didn’t make it to the bed, baby was already coming out and I had no choice but to deliver. The damn leggings made it so much more difficult, forcing the head to retreat after each push, but I didn’t have time to take them off!
Perpetually pregnant vampire who thought their pregnancy paused with their turning suddenly giving birth during a hunt, or in their coffin, or with a hunter pushing a stake toward their throat.
Werewolf struggling between its instincts and their human sentience to be able to give birth to their transformed litter. Transforming back halfway through with a werepup between their legs.
A Frankenstein’s monster with three or more grafted wombs, their belly layered upon themself as they have several stages of pregnancy in each womb. Crowning with two or more heads at once.
Headless horseman trying to find a place to rest as the first of his pumpkin’s pressing deep threatening to crown between his legs. Leaning back on his horse trying to relieve the pressure and his bulging slit pushing open a little wider.
A ghost in a hotel who can invade people’s wombs. Putting a poor guest through a never ending labor as they push at nothing in a strange bed amidst a storm.
Bat cryptid that didn’t know they were in labor until they turned upright and the babies sunk immediately to their hips. Being unable to fly back up with their center of gravity off and the overwhelming urge to push.
Skeleton pushing a crystal ball through their hip bones to get off too. Imagining the creak of their bones and the orb that would never be able to fit through.
Witch making a spell to stop her labor but already crowning. The spell stops it all but leaves the baby where it is, causing her to either push it in or push it out with her own brute force and no contractions.
A Couples last minute need for fast food ends with more than they ordered
Another collab with @wootenbassett75. This was such a fun one to write! 12,402 words. FYI Slightly more nsfw/sexual than my usual content. Enjoy 😉
“Ooo— look honey, there’s a drive thru!” Stacey said sitting in the passenger seat of their car, legs wide, a towel beneath her, and her large overdue belly sitting prominently between her thighs.
She’d gone into labour earlier that morning, a fact she was more than grateful for. Being a week past her due date she was beyond ready for this baby to come out. Her husband, Carter, was driving them to the hospital, music on, with his hand resting affectionately on the curve of her bump. They already had three kids, so none of today’s events surprised the parents-to-be. Carter had been amazing as usual during early labour, dealing with the kids to let her rest, and later when things got a bit more intense helping her ride out each strengthening contraction - holding her, rubbing her back, squeezing her widening hips. They knew the drill and welcomed each contraction as it would bring them closer to meeting their fourth child.
Stacey’s waters had broken not long ago, so they were forced to leave the comfort of their home (leaving the kids with a grandparent) and head to the hospital. It was only a thirty minute drive, so they weren’t in any hurry. Contractions had stalled at 6 minutes apart.
When Stacey saw the Golden Arches of McDonalds on the interstate, her eyes lit up.
“Can we make a quick detour babe? I really fancy a BigMac.” She said pleadingly, with her best puppy dog eyes.
Carter just shook his head and laughed. It was impossible to say no to her, after years of happiness and bearing the most beautiful children in the world, he wasn’t one to turn down her desires. They should go straight to the hospital, but why not spoil her a bit?
“If we get you a BigMac does that mean no charcuterie board after the baby is here?” He asked. The look she gave him was enough to make him laugh even harder. As if to say ‘Why not both?’ “Ok ok, I know better than to keep you away.” He turned their off the interstate. As he’d done with every pregnancy, he drove one handed, the other hand possessively rubbing her swollen midriff. Stacey was one of those women who always looked good, especially while pregnant, and Carter wanted her to know.
The Golden Arches grew closer, and he turned into the large parking lot, weaving around the cars to find the drive thru lane.
“So is this Big Mac going to have an absurd number of pickles in it? Or are we going for mustard today?” He asked her, finally finding the line. It was long, but usually this location moved pretty fast.
“Mmm… pickles still sound good to me, even in labour. Oooohhh—” Stacey’s hum for the pickles seamlessly turned into a muted groan as the next contraction rolled in just as they entered the drive-thru line.
Pressing her hands into the seat underneath, lifting her hips up a fraction, she pressed her head back against the headrest and breathed long and slow breaths. Though the contractions had stalled at 6 minute intervals, they were still strong enough to knock the wind out of her and stop her from talking. A soft moan joined every exhale while her knees naturally moved in and out, in and out, trying to find some comfort through the steady pressure sitting in the bowl of her pelvis.
Stacey smiled when it was over, relaxing back into the seat, and her head rolled on the headrest to face her adoring husband.
“Big Mac… extra pickles, large fries… oh and don’t forget the nuggets as well.” The idea of food was the perfect distraction for her mind, her mouth salivating at the thought of the grease and sauce of the burger. Her husband laughed at her order, the same order she got during every pregnancy.
“Alright then honey.” He said. Her contraction hadn’t put him off at all, there was no panic, no concern. At this point they both knew her body so well that there wasn’t any doubt the baby would be here within the next few hours. Plenty of time.
The line moved at a glacial pace, Carter and Stacy just chatting away between contractions about anything and everything. From the outside they looked simply like a normal couple, out to get fast food on their way somewhere. His hand had shifted from her belly to her thigh, giving it a comforting squeeze that was actually the reason for this pregnancy. They’d tracked the conception to a particular session in their minivan after realizing they had some time to spare before picking up the kids from Stacey’s parents house.
“Wonder if the ice cream machine is broken or something.” Carter wondered aloud. “This line never moves this slow.” They still had six cars between them and where they ordered. Behind them the line stretched all the way to the street.
“Maybe… the machine in there is always so temperamental.” Stacey said distractedly, leaning forwards to adjust the angle of the A/C so it hit her neck and chest that was gathering sweat with each contraction.
“Fair point.” He conceded.
As the next contraction struck, her legs widened in the seat and her head went back against the headrest, humming low, long sounds towards the ceiling. Her hands shot sideways, one grabbing the handle of the door while the other found his forearm and squeezed tight.
“Mmmmmghh— oh fuck—” she huffed a complaint mid-way through the wave. The contraction was sharp and focused, forcing her to pant a little through its intensity.
Carter glanced at the watch on his left wrist, finding that the contractions still haven’t breached the six minute mark. How long would this go on? He wasn’t upset about it per se, but he and Stacey both had been so eager to meet their new baby that for the labor to stagnate like this was almost frustrating.
“Damn.” He grumbled. “They’re still pretty far apart, honey. That one was almost six and a half minutes between.” After so many kids, Carter was used to her vice grip, and could tell by the tightness that it wasn’t quite to the level she would be when actively evicting their baby. With the van in park he brought his hand over to rub her belly, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “You know the routine, just breathe, in, and out. Nose to mouth like always.” Carter didn’t need to explain, Stacey’s knowledge trumped his when it came to these things and he knew it. But it never hurt to distract and redirect.
Stacey returned the kiss, even while panting through the contraction, the pair syncing into a familiar comforting rhythm. Carter’s hand made large swirling circles around her belly, both possessive and affectionate in its movement. When it was over she relaxed back into her seat, slumping a little to the side to rest her head on his shoulder.
“Maybe it’s cos I’m a week overdue…? They seem to be taking their sweet time to come out.”
Stacey was wearing her maternity leggings that she had rolled down and the waistband disappeared beneath the swell of her full womb. Her shirt was bunched under her engorged breasts, belly on full gravid display. Even though the contraction had passed, her skin was still taut and firm and stretched to capacity. Carter’s hands were a comfort but also provided an enjoyable and pleasurable distraction.
Carter moved the van forward, keeping one hand on her belly, rolling them a car’s length closer to the ordering booth.
“They take after their mother.” He said, eyes remaining on the line as his fingers expertly explored her belly. It was not a secret that he loved her body. Whether she was pregnant or not, Carter took care whenever they were intimate to explore everything. After the first baby, he’d doted on Stacey during the weeks following birth, helping with massages as well as any after care she requested. That probably was the reason they had Irish twins with their first two babies.
Carter found her navel, its little popped out perfectly round blemish on her belly was his favorite this pregnancy. He glided over it with his thumb before migrating south, finding her tight underbelly and the subtle lines of stretch marks. Carter chuckled, the thoughts in his mind less than clean as he wondered how long till she was carrying baby five. He glanced at his wife, and the look she gave told him she knew exactly what he was thinking.
“Hmmm…. I know that look.” Stacey mused, shifting in her seat a little to sit straighter, to put more of her own body weight against the cushion of the chair, providing needed counter pressure against her crotch. “I swear you get more and more insatiable with every pregnancy. If I ever had twins I think you’d explode.”
The car filled with Stacey’s husky giggle, the look in Carter’s eyes said more than words ever could. Then Stacey went quiet, eyes closing and hips sliding to the edge of the seat, her breath coming in short sharp pants.
“Ohhh—ohhhhhh—” she moaned, low, barely a rumble with the noise of the engine running. But her change in position was clear, her hands hooking under her knees and pulling them apart instinctively. The pressure was astronomical, wrapping around her entire core and squeezing tight. Wider, she had to get wider.
Carter looked at her, really taking the time to give her a thorough examination. He knew his wife, some days he knew her better than she knew herself. They’d joked that he could smell when she was about to ovulate, but it was true, he couldn’t explain it but she was different around that time. Obviously that wasn’t happening currently, in fact it was quite the opposite. Beneath his hand her stomach tightened, and the way she shifted put him in mind of their second born. A realization came, and he sighed.
“Baby, I don’t think you’re gonna have much time to eat that Big Mac.” He said, shifting his hand from her belly to her thigh. With her legs slightly lifted, he ran the length with his hand, all the way from her knees to where her belly prevented access to their child’s exit. “You’re doing that leg thing you did with Mackenzie.”
“Ugh— what t-thing—?” Stacey grunted, then looked down and saw how far she’d pulled her knees apart and her trembling thighs. An unconscious action to make more space. Letting go of her knees before the contraction had fully ebbed away, she grimaced and pulled her legs together, well as much as she was able.
“M-no, I’m f-fine. Hoooo—” her words laced over her breathy exhales.
The baby was low. That fact was undeniable. But the contractions had stalled at 6 minutes apart for the last two hours, so there was no way that she actually needed to push. It was probably just the angle she was sitting, making it feel more urgent than it really was.
Looking up at the line of cars in front, two more before they could even order, Stacey swore under her breath. “I just want a Big Mac for fucks sake…”
“Next time we should just order on the phone. They bring food out to cars now.” Stacey was starting to sweat, her bare skin glistening. Carter removed his hand just long enough to turn the AC on to what he called its ‘arctic’ setting. She overheated too easily this late in pregnancy, so he hoped maybe the cold air would ease her into relaxing.
Another contraction came before the car in front moved to the order window. Carter took his wife’s hand, letting her have something to squeeze. It looked like she’d shifted her weight, her hips more towards the center of the seat rather than at the base of the back rest. Her belly hung too low for him to see between her legs, not that there was anything to see anyways. The damned contractions were taking a long time to speed up, but with the line that wasn’t a bad thing.
“Might be appropriate to name this kid ‘Patience’.” He said, absently reaching into the back seat for Stacey’s large water bottle he always ensured was full. He sat it between them, the quiet clinking of ice against metal inside the only sound besides Stacey’s irregular breathing. “Get a drink baby.”
“Hmmm…. Well they’re certainly testing mine.” Stacey said with a joking sternness of a pissed-off mother. She kept one hand on her taut belly as she grabbed the giant water bottle, taking a big gulp through the metal straw.
The weight in her pelvis was making itself known more with every passing contraction. Stacey found herself circling her hips, grinding against the cushioned passenger seat of their car. It felt heavy, round and huge, and very familiar. Even without a contraction the pressure brought a whimper from her lips.
“Mmgh— oh— baby’s definitely lower now babe….” Her words caught on the heaviness of her breathing, the end of her sentence punctuated with a husky exhale.
“Ok, ok we are almost there.” Carter squeezed her hand. What should have been a quick ten minute trip to get her a burger before heading to the hospital was now bordering on thirty, and they hadn’t even been able to order yet. “Do you want me to grab the blanket? We can roll it up and put it behind your back.”
Stacey shook her head, pushing her hands down into the seat, lifting her hips a fraction and moving them in wide circles. God— the pressure was only getting worse, nothing seemed to help.
“Mm—no, no blanket… don’t want anything touching my skin right now…” she mumbled, her eyes narrowing as she focused on the movement of her hips, not fully recognising what or why she was doing it, her body unconsciously helping to bring the head down a fraction more.
“I’d rather not be wearing anything at all… but the poor McDonald’s staff would get a f-fright when you wind down the w-w-windows…” Stacey laughed through a drawn out exhale, her breathing becoming deeper and more concentrated.
“Being naked in this van is how we got into this situation in the first place honey.” Carter said, fondly recalling that night. “And besides, tinted windows are a wonder. I’ll help you strip as soon as we have the order. At least get your shirt off so you can cool down.” He wasn’t looking at her, instead anticipating pulling forward. Carter muttered under his breath as they finally pulled forward. The minivan moved, his window rolling down as it did.
“Welcome to McDonalds what can I get for you today?” The employee asked, the sound loud and shrill through the speakers.
“Hey, can I get a Big Mac meal? Triple the pickles and add a sweet tea.”
While Carter started ordering through the intercom Stacey took his advice and grabbed the hem of her shirt, pulling it up over her head and throwing it over her shoulder into the backseat. It felt like her skin was on fire, every pore too hot, too sensitive. In just her comfy, well worn, maternity bra and leggings, she closed her eyes and rocked forward and back on the seat. Her focus moved inward, tuning out the conversation happening out the driver's side window.
“I’m sorry sir but we are out of tea.”
Carter sighed. “Of course you are.” The loudness making his ears ring. “What about a milkshake then? Strawberry.”
“Our ice cream machine is broken…”
As if waiting for him, Carter spotted a customer walking out of the McDonalds with an ice cream cone.
“There’s literally someone in the parking lot with an ice cream!”
“Don’t know what to tell you, you can't get ice cream.”
“Jesus fuckin… then a Diet Coke.”
Another contraction. Another spike of that tight unyielding pressure thundering down between her hips. She gasped for air. It was too strong, too forceful, never ending. Stacey’s legs parted and she bent forward, bracing against the dashboard, her full and firm womb hanging low between her spread thighs. She’d been so focused on her food, on those glorious damn pickles, and yet there was no denying this contraction meant business. Before her brain had time to recognise what she was feeling, her muscles were clamping down and squeezing around the large mass in her pelvis. Unconsciously and automatically pushing.
“Ok I have a Big Mac meal, no pickles, and a Diet Coke to drink. Is that all?”
“No, I said extra pickles.” Carter's frustration was palpable. “Miss, it isn’t that hard. Big Mac, extra pickles.”
“You can lose the attitude, mister.”
“Just tell me what I owe.” Carter fumed. He was so done with the bullshit.
“$17.85 at the second window.”
“Whatever.” He muttered, turning his attention back to the line in front of him.
Stacey’s hand suddenly gripped the door handle, the other pressing into the seat to angle her hips up. Gasping a deep ragged breath, her body bore down uncontrollably once more.
Carter started to pull forward, turning to his wife to go off about the terrible customer service when he saw Stacey’s face. The movements and breathing were so familiar to all the other births, and that didn’t bode well.
“Stace? Baby are you pushing?” He asked, his tone slowly shifting into panic. Her womb visibly shrunk, the outline of her uterus clear as day as the most intense contraction he’d seen yet came over her. “Nonono, Stacey are you pushing?!”
The grunt of effort echoed around the car, her knees wide and shaking. “Nnnnghh!!! Can’t— can’t help it— oh fuck—”
Stacey released the push, slumping back into her seat and pulling in lungfuls of air after her sudden bout of pushing.
“I… I couldn’t stop it…. Oh Carter…. I think this baby has finally decided it’s time…”
“What?!” Carter was clearly in a full on panic now. He laid on the horn to the minivan, its effect useless against the congested line of cars waiting for food. All it did was create more frustration among the other patrons. Car horns echoed, though not for the same reason as him. “Stacey I forbid you to give birth in the McDonalds drive-thru!” He twisted the steering wheel, as if he wasn’t boxed in by a building on one side and a cement wall on the other.
“You think I want to be doing this here?!?!” Stacey snapped back, both hands splayed across her belly as she glared at her husband. “Hooooo— I don’t want to g-give birth in a drive-thru either—”
Shouting could be heard beyond the car doors, patrons getting angry and irate over the queue they were all stuck in. Drivers hanging out windows and swearing at each other. Stacey meanwhile was panting, rocking forward and back instinctively, her maternity bra already failing to contain the milk leaking from her nipples.
“Mmmmgh… no… not another one…. Oh ohhhh I need to push a-again…”
“Shit, shit shit no you don’t. Stacey y-you don't need to push!” Carter looked over at her, eyes wide. Her legs were as spread as they could be, her knees pressing against the center console and the door. “We just have to get out of here, hospitals only ten minutes away.” Carter put a hand on her belly, feeling what could only be described as a flesh boulder from how hard it was. He could smell her amniotic fluid, the steady leak that came after her water had broken at home seeming to grow in its speed of expulsion.
Carter stuck his head out the window, five cars before they got to the window where they pay, and another three to the pickup. Behind them the cars were stacked all the way to the street and beyond. They were trapped.
The urge to bear down was all consuming, her body acting on its own familial instinct. With Carter’s hand on her bare belly, her own hand rose up and gripped around his bicep, pulling down and squeezing tight as her inner walls automatically pushed. Carter got yanked closer to her labouring body, awkwardly leaning over the centre console as she held onto him for dear life. Stacey tried to pant through the urges, resisting as much as possible, but the low rumbling grunts in his ear gave away each time her resolve broke.
“Uhhhh— I think I can feel the head—” she gasped, the contraction reaching its peak and rattling a strained moan from deep in her chest.
Two pushes… it had only taken two pushes and their overdue baby was already past her cervix and now stretching the birth canal wide. Every nerve ending in her body felt like pins and needles, the heavy impending weight of their child getting closer and closer towards her lower lips.
Stacey was not a weak woman, during the birth of their first child she’d broken two of Carter's fingers thanks to a failed epidural injection. The grip on his arm was tight, and gave him a direct reference to just how intense the contractions were. He was already frantic, unable to get them where they needed to be, but now it was even worse since the head was descending.
“Dammit.” The curse sourced from deep inside. “Stacey…” Already being forced to lean, he brought his other hand around to her. Her overhanging belly made it difficult to see, but there was a creeping dark spot between her legs. How close was she? He reached, afraid of what he’d find. Her leggings may have been soiled, but there was no baby. “Try holding your breath or something. We're so close!” A bald faced lie, it was going to be at least thirty minutes before they got out of there and he knew it. But he had to try.
She couldn’t help but scoff at the ridiculous suggestion, as if that would even remotely work. “C-Carter- if I hold my breath- I’ll end up pushing this baby out in seconds— hooooo— oh god there’s so much pressure—”
Stacey clenched her hands into tight fits, rapidly breathing as another wave of tightness rippled across her full belly. “How the fuck did this progress so fast?… ohhhhh— I blame you— four kids! Four kids!!”
It seemed that with each new addition to their family, the delivery of their child would take less and less time. The labours were still unpredictable, but when it came to transition and beyond, Stacey’s body knew all too well what was required. Their first she had been pushing for over three hours, but their third was born within 45 minutes of that first push. It was rapidly seeming like their fourth child wanted to beat that record.
A space appeared in front of the minivan, the cars moving up one space. Carter put the car in gear and inched along the tarmac and pulled to another stop, his eyes barely leaving her. Stacey groaned, long and low, feeling her body bearing down even when she was actively trying to hold back.
He was forced to adjust in his seat. Carter ignored how his wife’s moans made him feel. Today was not the day for them to get intimate during a birth. They’d done that with their second, enjoying a home birth with just the two of them while her mother watched their eldest. He loved his wife, loved her body no matter the shape, and she knew just how to work him up just as he did for her.
“It’s ok, it’s ok. Uhh…” Carter looked in the back seat, the hospital bag sat next to the car seat and a spare duffel. He reached in, taking one of the towels out. Carter was thinking they may be able to block the baby coming, delay the inevitable by just a bit. “Breathe through them so you don’t push, like opposite Lamaze.” It sounded more idiotic out loud than it did in his head. “We should have gone for overalls…”
It was like trying to breathe underwater, or to swim through quicksand - not pushing was impossible. “Ughhhhh— those overalls— stopped fitting me at 7 months—” Stacey grunted out, unable to stop the way her muscles clenched downwards around the baby in her pelvis. She owned a pair of grey overalls covered with a bright pattern of sunflowers. Carter always said she was glowing and blossoming whenever she wore it, but her large round baby bump managed to outgrow her husband’s favourite garment this time around. Even though it was maternity wear.
Stacey hissed through her teeth, pushing once more and her left knee twitched up in the air unconsciously trying to make space between her hips. She only noticed when Carter’s hand squeezed her leg and moved it back down, sending a jolt of pressure back up into her pelvis.
“No…. No… I need to…. Oh I wanna push….” The whine of desperation laced her words. His hands travelled up her thighs, guiding them closer together and she whimpered.
“D-distract m-me— please—” she whispered breathlessly.
That whine, oh God her voice was angelic even in desperation. Carter tried to think, there wasn’t anything here to use. Usually he’d hand her one of their other kids. They loved when their mommy told them about the new sibling that was coming. Without any options, he did the last thing he could think of. He shifted the car into park, the tinted windows up and preventing any wayward eyes from spotting what was happening. He moved his hand, pressing it between her shaking thighs as he leaned in close, whispering in her ear.
“I don’t have anything else I can do.” He said, his voice soft like a lovers. Carters lips met her cheek, silently praying that this would either distract her enough to stop pushing, or just give her a moments reprieve. “But maybe a little reenactment?” He whispered. “Of what led to this…” His fingers explored between her thighs while his other hand remained on her womb.
A soft shuddering moan left Stacey’s mouth, her hips bucking up to greet his palm. “Oh darling…. the baby’s right there…. so close…. I feel…. Ohhhh I feel so full…!”
The brush of his lips against her cheek, the stubble deliciously scratching her over sensitive skin. Something new was coiling inside of her, mixing with the pressure of their fourth baby nudging down towards her entrance. “I-I’m bulging, aren’t I?…” she whispered. Turning her head, her loose hair stuck to the sweat on her neck and face, turning to face her husband whose nose was almost touching her own. Her chest hitched, chin tilting up, and Stacey kissed him deeply. Focusing her mind on the feel of his body against hers.
“Not yet.” He breathed into her lips, his ring and middle fingers pressing a little harder into the fabric covering her womanhood. “But you will soon.” He felt his basketball shorts give under the pressure as his new method of distraction took effect on him. With a deftness to contradict the panicking man he was moments ago, he unbuckled his seatbelt, planting his knee on his seat as he half climbed to get better access. Memories of their session making love in the car flashed through his mind.
“I love that you keep giving us children.” His breathing hitched, and the temptation to lean her seat back grew exponentially.
“Oooohh—yes…. You k-keep making me… so big and round… fuck… so full of your children—” Stacey gasped, the urge to push returning and she started to pant heavily.
Though Carter’s actions were very successful in their distraction technique, it didn’t put a stop to the natural urges of her body. Stacey’s legs parted again, her crotch grinding against his firm palm as she grunted another push. There was less effort behind the push than before, the pleasure occupying at least part of her bodily functions.
The growl of desire that croaked from her husband matched the increase in pressure she was feeling inside of her vaginal walls, knowing there was now external signs of their impending child.
“Oh the things I’d do to you.” He purred, his voice strained from the desire he couldn’t release. “If you weren’t in labor.” His fingers and palm met a force, and he grinned. They are stuck, there’s no hope of the hospital, no chance for help. This birth was just them and he would make it work. “There’s something down there, Stace.” He said, his hips making a subtle gesture as if he really was trying to give her another child. “Are you pushing again?” The world was forgotten around them, Carter not even realizing that the car in front had moved.
The hand on her belly moved, coming up to cup her breast. The maternity bra may be absorbent, but even it had its limits. He squeezed, letting out a satisfied groan as her milk ran over his hand through the soaked fabric. He wanted her, more than anything. What started as him trying to help her was quickly shifting to a mutual need to get off. Carter lifted his leg, placing a foot between hers. His other knee remained on his seat, yet now he looked like he was ready to mount her. Carter didn’t though, instead continuing to rub his hand harder into her crotch, all the while feeling his own tighten beneath the elastic of his shorts.
Licking her dry lips Stacey nodded, further confirmation of her pushing was echoed by the low rumbling sound she made.
“…ooff… the urge to pppush…. is so s-strong…” she grunted, spreading her legs so wide in the passenger seat her knees hit the door. She gripped the door handle with one hand, her other reaching out to brace against his thigh above the knee that was pressed into his seat. Her eyes spotted the familiar tenting of his basketball shorts but she was too busy holding back her pushes to show her mischievous grin.
“Mmmmgh… so heavy… so b-big… can you feel anything— what can you feel babe—?”
She was practically squirming in their minivan, bare gravid belly on full display, tits leaking, while the pressure between her legs made her eyes roll and her head jolt back against the headrest.
“I can feel you stretching Stacey.” His voice was velvet smooth. “Our baby is coming faster now that you’re… excited.” The last word was a gasp, his arousal reaching its peak as he watched his wife press back into the seat. The opening was taken, and he leaned in, his hot breath on her neck as he planted kiss after kiss. Fingers continued their work, while the hand on her breast unlatched the flap to free it. Between his index finger and thumb, he teased her nipple, knowing from the past that stimulation alone would help.
“I think.” He said, the kissing now up to her jawline. Stacey’s sweat was intoxicating to her husband, each time his lips planted against her skin he felt like he needed to do it a dozen more times to be satisfied fully. “We need to go for number five.” He finished, an audible groan deep in his chest. Her opening put pressure against his hand again, and he grinned, their baby was trying to come again.
Stacey shuddered beneath him, spread wide and open on the passenger seat of their car, stuck in the drive-thru queue. The way Carter rolled her engorged nipples between his fingers had her trembling, her arousal skyrocketing to the same levels as the desire to birth. The baby was so low… heavy, overdue and oh so close. Beneath her leggings she could feel her body pulsing, the steady slow parting happening inside her underwear. She couldn’t move, helpless under her husband with his hand firm against her crotch and peppering her body with desperate kisses. She panted heavily, riding out the waves of the contractions and embracing the pleasure building inside her body.
“Ohhhh C-C-Carter— I wanna p-push—” she moaned. Stacey squeezed her thighs slightly around his hand, the act of closing her hips just a fraction increasing the strength of those ancient urges. Gasping, she almost revelled in the need to push without indulging.
Carter hummed, her thighs tightening around his grip an all too familiar scenario. His rubbing became more intentional, taking on a pattern as he traced her bulging opening. He couldn’t stop himself from removing a hand from her breast to adjust his shorts, the pressure of the tenting fabric intense to the point of discomfort. Just as quickly, that same hand came to her neck, his palm gently pulling her off the headrest so he could bury his face in her collar more easily.
“Push for me.” He said, his voice barely a whisper. “But… not too much.” As he spoke, his fingers slowed to make an agonizingly long stroke across her crotch, his own pleasure at teasing her making him moan into her skin. “Only a little push, enough to feel you opening up…”
Stacey nearly climaxed at his words alone.
Gasping for breath her hands found his shoulders, hooking over her long nails as her belly squeezed with such force it shrunk in towards her spine. Carter’s stubble scratched her neck, sending shivers up her spine, his palm firm against her swollen womanhood while his fingers teased through the damp fabric. Baring her teeth, she finally submitted to the urge, intentionally pushing down down down.
A strained groan rose up from her chest, quiet but full of effort. The baby moved, her body easily falling into the rhythm of childbirth. It had only taken two involuntary pushes for the babe to breach her cervix, but now, with its firm roundness pressing from the inside against her labia, she began to feel the true impact of being heavily overdue.
“That’s my girl.” He said, cupping her crotch in his palm. Carters desires momentarily took over, and he pulled down his shorts just enough to allow some freedom. Even if the windows didn’t have a tint, he didn’t care. This moment was too magical and he needed to be unrestricted. His hand shifted between her legs, contorting so it made as much contact as possible. He rubbed up, and down, all the while he pulled her in for another kiss. His body was close enough now that she could smell him easily, that scent he left in their room every time they went at it filling her nose.
Drawn in like a moth to a flame Stacey arched up, her mouth open and ravenous. Their tongues were soon dancing, passionate and feral, his hand on her bulging entrance while her nails clawed into his back. She could feel his arousal, throbbing and hard, pressing against the curve of her full and swollen womb.
The praise he’d gruffed into her ear when she had pushed on command was intoxicating. When her belly clamped up again with another contraction she tried to hold back, to wait, but the force was too strong and she found herself growling a grunt into his mouth when she pushed.
“Pushing again?” He asked, smiling on her lips. “And without, mm, permission?” Carter was lost to it, he let go of her breast, needing something to use to catch his release. The back seat still had the bag, but all those were clean clothes meant for Stacey to leave the hospital. He found the next best thing, her discarded shirt she’d thrown during his attempt at ordering her food. As much as he despised not being able to use both hands to attend to her, he had his own needs as well, letting his grip tighten as stroked his now shirt wrapped erection.
The hand that stayed between Stacey’s legs held firm, letting her push against it for just a fraction of a second before he allowed her to make progress. It was good that he kept himself in shape as his body leaned over hers, both hands doing all the work to give a mutual satisfaction.
Stacey moaned in satisfaction as Carter allowed for the tiniest amount of progress to be made from her push. It wasn’t much, but by god she would take it. The baby was coming so fast, she assumed he was keeping his palm firm over her crotch to ensure she didn’t tear. But then he grabbed her discarded shirt, bunching up the fabric and burying his dick inside. It seemed his steadfast palm had ulterior motives.
Under the layers of clothing and her husband's palm Stacey was sure the baby wasn’t even close to crowning yet. The head felt huge and still very much filling her vagina. Somehow she lifted her legs off the seat, bending her knees around either side of Carter’s leg that was in her footwell, and pressing her feet against the dashboard.
“Oooooohhh… ohhhhhhh… it’s so big Carter— why do you always give me— fuck— huge babies—?”
“Because I love, mmph, you.” His pace altered depending on the sounds and motions his wife made. He exhaled, ecstasy pouring forth as he fulfilled his needs while pleasing hers. They’d discussed the idea of this, once, in passing. Yet to have it truly coming to fruition was such a turn of events that he was lost in lust for his wife and loving it.
“N-next time…” Carter groaned and increased his speed. “I’m going to give you twins.”
Stacey couldn’t respond, barely able to moan, her body so tight and stretched and full! Her ass moved right to the edge of the seat, her bent knees up almost to her swollen midriff. A ragged sound of air being pulled into her lungs a split second before she went completely silent. The rouge of her cheeks, puffed out, showed her holding her breath - pushing hard.
Every fibre of her being was focused down, grinding and pushing against her husband’s large hand that stayed between her legs even after she moved. The pressure, that delicious overwhelming all consuming pressure. Wanting so desperately to push but making no progress was only adding fuel to the fire of her desire. The low straining sound gravelled inside the car as she released the push, gasping for air with a husky moan.
“Wha— what can you feel now C-Carter—?” She asked with a smirk as she tried to catch her breath.
“I-I feel… close.” He groaned, unable to hide the trembling in his voice. Holding her crotch as it pushed out made him unable to resist increasing the tempo. The baby’s head was large, his entire palm filled purely from how baby number four pressed against the inside of her lips. Carter released a moan. “They’re right there baby.” He said, planting another kiss, this one directly on her lips and filled with the same passion used to get her pregnant.
“You’re doing so good, s-so good.” As much as he wished he could hold her cheek as he encouraged her, he was far to occupied with both hands to do so.
“Yes….” Stacey moaned, arching her back so her head pressed into the seat and her crotch sank onto Carter’s hand. “…yes… so good… so fucking full…”
This was simultaneously the craziest but hottest births they had ever had. Stacey felt like she was on a cliff edge; the baby’s presence was irrefutable right behind her slightly stretched lips, while the feel of his hand between her legs, his cologne, his growling voice as he got closer to release - it made her inner muscles squeeze for different reasons. Her eyes flew open at the realisation she was close to orgasming.
“B-babe— we’re not— gonna make it out of this line— without a baby in my arms— you know that right?” Stacey panted, barely able to form words through the constant (and unproductive) pushes and the steadily increasing arousal pulsing through her veins.
“I know.” Carter may have been aroused beyond reason, but he was no stranger to this situation. The baby was coming, and they wouldn’t stop it. The only part of this under their control was whether or not they would enjoy this ordeal. Carter knew he would, as odd as it was. And he was prepared to make sure his wife enjoyed it too.
“But we won’t have them yet.” A wolf ish grin formed even as he strained to keep his climax delayed. “Not till you are satisfied.” As he spoke, his palm pressed just a little harder. Stacey’s hips were shifting, something he knew well from their bedroom activities. His wife had tells, a quiver of the lower lip, a slight flex of her fingers, a particular cooing sound when the cliff to unimaginable ecstasy was about to be plunged over. All of these he had memorized, and all of them he’d seen in the last few minutes.
“Do you want to push?” He groaned, his body getting closer to hers.
The squeak of Stacey’s voice disclosed just how close she was as Carter’s palm pressed a fraction towards her core. Her whole body tensed and shuddered, so close, so damn close.
“God, yes!” Stacey gasped. “Wanna push so badly…. N-n-need to push….”
She was being squeezed from all angles; her inner muscles working on an instinctual level to move the baby out of her body, while Carter’s hand pressed equally upwards against the ancient force. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, stuck on the edge of both climaxing and birthing. But they both knew if the crown got too far, beyond the point of no return, then any pleasure would be lost to delivering the child.
So her husband kept her where she needed to be.
“Good girl.” Carter held firm. “You can push again.” His husky voice brushed her skin. His hand remained, and as if to give her encouragement, he pressed just a little harder, the sound his wife made making him shudder. Outside their minivan he could hear people honking, that was an afterthought though as his body continued to sync with his wife’s pleasure. Carter kissed her neck, and breathed. “Push for me.”
Stacey’s hands clawed across Carter’s back, every breath she took was ragged and shaken. The second his lips brushed her neck her body responded, arching her spine and sinking down onto his palm giving an almighty push. Her teeth were bared and nails were sharp, lost to the satisfaction of pushing, of feeling that immense pressure shifting down.
“Ughh— ohhh god—” she moaned between husky grunts of effort. Pushing felt so good, so right, and with each millimetre of progress the baby’s head pressed perfectly against her partially parted opening.
She looked at her husband with wide, feral eyes, smirking before burying her face in his neck and inhaling deeply. Grunting again against his sweaty skin, his hand moving rapidly beside her bump, working himself further into a frenzy.
“I’m— I’m— getting c-c-close—” Stacey gasped, nearly sinking her teeth into his neck.
Hearing her say that always made him turn feral. Carter let his grip on her crotch falter, their baby finding its opportunity to escape. He knew exactly what he was doing, and by the breathing Stacey had just started, she knew too. The progress made was miniscule, yet its effect on both of them was monumental. Stacey’s body needed to push, even without the contractions to aid he felt his wife tensing involuntarily. Good. He wanted her effort to add to the bliss.
The head moved, her leggings soaked with fluids both amniotic and sexual bulging more and more. Just as Stacey’s effort reached its maximum, he replaced his hand, giving her a firm barrier to work against. Carter moaned aloud, already leaking from his own tip thanks to how unconventionally attractive his wife was right in that moment. He pressed a little harder, and in the process, reversed some progress.
That barrier, the pressure moving backwards, had Stacey’s eyes rolling. She let out a strained cry, of both pleasure and pain.
“Nnnghh—fuck Carter—!”
She could barely see, barely even knew where she was, consumed by the stretch happening under her knickers between her legs. Her body pushed, hungry for more progress, but was met only with restriction. Growling against the firm hand of her husband, Stacey’s nails curled over his shoulders into his skin, grunting as she bore down once more. She simply had to push, it was as vital as breathing right now. She needed to push, she needed to crown, she needed to come…
There was nothing more to be done. Carter felt his body begin to sieze, his control no longer able to stop what was needed. Stacey’s pushing, her groans and moans finally made him crest that edge. He let go of her crotch mid push, letting her finally release all that pressure in one monumental effort. Carters back arched, finishing into the shirt he’d been using to catch anything that leaked. He gasped into his wife’s neck. And his hand that had been on her up to this point wrapped around her shoulders to pull her closer.
The sound that came out of Stacey’s mouth was unlike any noise she’d made before. The feeling of being able to push freely without restriction combined with the pure pleasure of her husband's hands and scent resulted in a growling cry of painful ecstasy.
Along with giving an almighty push, Stacey had reached her peak and the orgasm carried the baby’s head the rest of the way until it was stretching her wide wide open. She knew she was fully crowning, the burning of her lower lips was familiar, but still riding the high of her orgasm it was more of a powerful burning tingling sensation. Gasping for breath against Carter’s sweating and shaking skin, Stacey licked her dry lips.
“It’s— it’s right there— right fucking there—” her voice barely a whisper, cracked with post orgasm exhaustion.
“They’re close.” He said, a throaty chuckle coming with his subsiding euphoric bliss. He managed to sit back in his seat after planting a kiss on Stacey’s lips. His body continued its release into the shirt, taking a minute to empty all he had. He quickly cleaned himself up, tucking his now softened member back into his shorts only to realize the way ahead was cleared. At least it almost was. Carter glanced over, the bulge in Stacey’s leggings more pronounced than ever.
“Good job baby.” He said, shifting into drive. They had only one customer in front of them now before the window where they paid. “Try to hold off a little longer. Just until I pay.” After what could only be described as the best few minutes of their sex life, Carter shifted easily back into the role of supportive husband and father. His hand felt around her exposed womb, then slid down. “Shit, the baby really is crowning.”
“Mmmhh… I know—I can feel it…. Hooooo… fuck it’s huge…. I— I can’t— ooof—” Stacey grunted, trying to push again, to deliver the head past its widest point, but without a contraction there was no progress to be made. Her body was coming down from its high, the orgasm fading and her muscles softening, and she slumped back exhausted into the cushion of the passenger seat.
She wanted to speak, to tell her husband how close the baby was to coming out, to explain how she couldn’t push so soon after that orgasm, but the fullness and stretch of her womanhood took away any ability to speak. Stacey could only pant, holding her legs wide apart around the fully crowning head, struggling through the burning intensity waiting for the next contraction.
The car in front was at the window to pay, its driver hanging out their arm to tap their contactless payment. Then brake lights appeared, the car in front moved on creating a clear space ahead, and Stacey looked towards her husband with half-lidded eyes. She didn’t want the staff to know, or to see, what was happening inside their car. Giving birth to their children was always an intimate affair and they didn’t want to widen that net to include the young staff at the McDonald’s drive-thru.
“You’re doing great honey, fucking amazing. But I need you to hold back a little for me now. Just while we’re at the next window. If anyone notices you giving birth, someone’s gonna call an ambulance and I wanna be the one to catch this one.” Carter smirked, putting the car into drive and gently stroking the side of Stacey’s cheek. “Can you do that for me?”
Stacey nodded, her hands splayed under her belly, legs wide apart around the fully crowning child between her thighs. Carter rubbed her belly before moving the van slowly to the first window.
Carter rolled to the window, pulling cash out of his wallet in the process.
“Big Mac meal, extra pickles on the side, and a sweet tea.” The cashier said, not even looking in their direction. “$17.85.”
Carter wanted to cuss out the obnoxious teen for somehow screwing up the order even more than before, but Stacey’s grip on his arm held him back. Not to mention his all too recent release of pent up pressure kept him far more relaxed. He handed the $20 bill to the worker, who scoffed under her breath.
“$1.15 is your change.” For the first time, the worker looked at them.
Stacey was beyond overwhelmed; her nerves were on fire, skin stretched thin around the large overdue baby trying to escape her womb. Luckily she was half out of eyesight from the teenager working at the Drive-Thru, though the fact she was wearing just a maternity bra and her gravid belly on show no doubt caused the raised eyebrows of the young girl.
She felt her belly contract, harshly and forcefully trying to move the baby further out. Carter’s hand had been keeping it at bay but now he was busy, collecting their change. She had to push, there was simply no holding it back. So she did the only thing she could, her hand disappeared between her thighs and cupped the head bulging into her leggings. Tilting forward a fraction, sitting on her hand, she grunted under her breath - not loud enough to be heard outside the car but the sound still evidence of the instinctual effort to give birth. Pushing over and over against her own palm, Stacey’s teeth were bared, hissing slightly, trying not to cause any alarm from anyone who could see through the open window.
Carter took the change without comment. The car shifted, and they rolled forward a bit.
”I know that sound hon.” He turned to his wife. The way she was leaning, the hand firmly pressing between her legs. “If you need to, it's ok to let yourself make a little progress.” Thanks to her position, he had access to her lower back. His hand found it, pressing hard into the position. “Just don’t push too much. One more window to go through.” Same as before, they couldn’t let the employees know that she was in labor, that beneath the fabric of her leggings a baby was actively trying to come. “How does it feel?”
“Mmmmmmgh!— if I p-progress any—anymore this head is gonna come shooting out…” Stacey hummed, rocking on her palm as her husband pressed into the very base of her spine. "It's already out so far… unhh… the whole c-crown of their h-head.”
Sitting forward was going against every natural instinct in her body, actively preventing her body from delivering the baby as it so desperately wanted. And yet that fullness, that stretch, after what she and Carter had just participated in… well, she wasn’t quite ready to give it up yet. If she could help it.
Her husband had put on the brake as soon as they’d rolled forward in the drive-thru line and mercifully there were no windows in the restaurant either side of their car. Allowing them some privacy. If only for a short while. There were still three cars between them and the collection window, the food it seemed was being prepared agonisingly slowly.
“Ooooh… Carter….” Stacey gravelled out, legs parting unconsciously wider on the passenger seat. “Baby is coming soon… one push… one push and their head will be outta me… what…. nnnghh… what do I do-?”
Carter thought for a moment, letting his hand continue its rubbing while the other moved to her womb. The baby certainly was coming, and there was no more delaying. If he was honest with himself, he could go again, like before, but Carter didn’t do those things unless he knew she got to enjoy them as well. Still, it didn’t prevent him from admiring yet again the miracle his wife was performing, the way her legs were spreading. Carter fought to keep his focus even as he thought more about her.
“Breathe.” He said, leaning in to give her a peck on the cheek. “The head needs to stay until we have your burger. Okay? Can you do that for me?”
Stacey’s free hand went to Carter’s cheek as he leant over, their cheeks pressed against each other, her nostrils flared as she inhaled the comforting aroma of her husband. “I’ll t-try…. Hooooo…” her words were heavy and laboured, barely able to hold it together through the overwhelming intensity of a fully crowning baby in her underwear.
Two contractions… Stacey only lasted two contractions during which she had resorted to grunting against both her hand and the passenger seat cushions trying desperately hard to contain the inevitable. But whether she wanted to or not, her body was pushing. She could feel how her inner muscles were clenching around the baby nestled in her birth canal, squeezing downwards in their attempts to expel their fourth child.
“I— I can’t do it C-Carter—” she growled, shifting back into the depths of the passenger seat and tilting her hips to face the windscreen. As she moved her hands let go of where they’d been clamped against her womanhood, one reaching behind to grab the headrest while the other clung to the doorhandle. “I- I have to push— I can’t take it anymore— baby wants outtttttt—nnnnnghhh!!” Stacey’s sentence ended with the lowing sound of pure primal effort as she gave an almighty push right then and there. It didn’t matter that there was still one car in front of them waiting on their food, it didn’t matter they would soon be approaching the next window. The agonisingly delicious stretch was making her shake head to toe, the head on the very cusp of being born there was only one option. To push.
Carter turned just in time to see his wife bury her chin into her sternum. In reality, he knew that she never was going to hold the baby in longer than she’d already done. Pride swelled within his chest, his wife, the love of his life, doing something he couldn’t ever dream of managing in her position. He embraced Stacey, and found himself also reaching between her legs. He’d just managed to touch his fingers to the barrier blocking their baby when his wife’s grunting evolved into a sudden gasp. The baby surged forward, her leggings’ elasticity permitting the head to eject fully. With it came more amniotic fluids, soaking Carter's hand.
“Good girl.” He said, his voice full of a pride he’d felt every time Stacey delivered one of their children. Each breath she took now only further shifted her womb, her chest heaved, the beads of sweat more like consistent streams after so much time. “You’re doing good.” Carter kissed her again, keeping his hand on the baby’s head between her forced apart thighs.
When the head burst free Stacey shuddered and released a perfectly beautiful gravelled moan of relief. The head was out. The stretch and burning and fullness gone in the blink of an eye and she slumped into her husband's embrace, panting to catch her breath back.
“S-sorry… I couldn’t hold it any longer…” she croaked against his neck. Carter’s hand was possessively and protectively between her spread thighs, cradling the head of their child through the sodden jersey fabric of her black leggings.
Stacey felt utterly spent already and she was only part of the way through giving birth. After a lengthy labour, their sexual escapades in the car, and fighting her body’s instincts to push for the last half hour or so while stuck in this drive-thru, Stacey could barely keep her eyes open. The relief of delivering the wide dome of their overdue baby pumping endorphins through her veins, nothing else mattered.
Then the shrill beeping of the car behind them snapped the parents from their trance. The space had opened up in front, there was no one left in the line, they were next to collect their food. Finally. But there was a baby half-born in her trousers. Turning to her husband, still breathing heavily, Stacey said “Be quick hun, I don't know how long we’ve got before the rest of this little rascal decides to come out…”
“Good.” Carter grinned. “We’ve been waiting for long enough to hold this one baby.” The minivan moved, Carter didn’t want to take his focus away from his wife, but he had to. If ever this woman deserved her hamburger, it was after this. His right hand remained touching her, gliding across her exposed flesh only to sink between her legs. Carter wanted to keep it there, to know his baby was safe.
The employee working the window was as young as the last, but this one was a teenage guy, and far more chipper.
“Hiya! It was a Big Mac meal right?” He asked. The teen proceeded to read off the receipt, making certain it was all correct. “Oh, shoot I forgot to make your drink. Don’t worry it’ll just take a minute.” He said, then walked off towards the drink dispenser.
As the employee disappeared from view to make the drink Stacey began to pant and hum. Her hands stayed in place, one behind her head gripping the headrest, the other was shaking as she squeezed the door handle with ghost-white knuckles. The contractions had returned, her reprieve short-lived.
“Mmmmmghhh…. Ooooohhhhhh… shoulders…..” was all Stacey could manage as she fought the urge to bear down. Each breath was desperate, each sound was low and ragged. The baby was so fucking close it was almost laughable. Stuck in a drive-thru, her husband cradling the baby’s head that was trapped behind the gusset of her panties. Every muscle in her womb squeezed aggressively and she had no strength left to fight it. Exposing her teeth Stacey hissed a breath and pushed without any semblance of control. Any fucks she had left to give were long gone, the baby wanted out and damn it she wanted to hold her child.
But as she pushed she felt Carter’s hand remain firm between her thighs. A gentle upwards pressure countering any efforts she made, keeping their baby’s shoulders pressed right up against her swollen sensitive opening. Stacey pushed again, more forcefully, grunting this time with effort and grateful the employee had vacated the vicinity of the open window.
“Patience sweetie.” Her husband purred, adjusting his hand discreetly but keeping that steady pressure up against her body. “We’re almost there.”
The desperation took over all thoughts and Stacey gulped a deep breath, pushing once more in the vein hope she could succeed. Carter countered this move with one of his own. Somehow his thumb moved over the roundness bulging her leggings and with perfect precision pressed against her clit. Stacey gasped, jolting as if electrocuted, and the sheer shock of the painfully exquisite contact had stopped her pushing.
“Good.” He whispered, pressing a little more into that sweet spot. “I knew that would get your attention.” Carters voice dropped into that gravelly tone he often adopted when they became intimate. As gentle a man as he was, when he wanted to be, he could take control of their pleasures. His palm felt the weight as their baby tried again to eject, but he didn’t let it budge. His thumb caressed her, using his thumbnail to flick just a little. He met her eyes, a wry smile on his face. “Be patient…”
“Alright! Sorry about that.” The worker had returned, missing what just transpired between the couple. “So got your drink here…” He handed it over to Carter, who took all the items without removing his grip between his wife’s thighs. All the while, he continued to tease, playing with her body in that way he knew she loved, and by the way he had to adjust his own seating, he was enjoying it too. Carter always was quick to recharge.
“Perfect, thank you.” He told the teen, smiling.
“Of course! Oh, and congratulations to you both as well.” He said, gesturing to Stacey’s belly, still cheerful and oblivious.
“We appreciate that.” As he said the words, just to add that extra little deviousness, he flicked his thumb back and forward to see if Stacey could manage to keep it hidden.
Clamping her mouth shut did nothing to hide the involuntary squeak Stacey made at Carter’s devilish movement. The whirlwind of overwhelming sensations made her eyes nearly roll into the back of her head. The pressure, the stretch, the fullness… and now pleasure. The poor woman was overloaded and barely keeping it together. The flicking of her clit made her inner muscles clench and before she knew it she was pushing once more with reckless abandon.
Carter had their brown paper bag of food on his lap as he put the car into drive and wound the window up, their mini-van slowly creeping along the narrow path out of the drive-thru lane. All the while his right hand stayed firm between her thighs.
Stacey whimpered, trying and failing to lift her legs to create more room but her hands were busy gripping the door and headrest to hold her heavy exhausted thighs in the air. “P-please babe… I wanna push…. I need to p-push….”
The path ahead was clear, they could go, he could drive to the hospital now that they’d gotten her burger. It was just a matter of making a left turn and going. But, he didn’t do that. Carter turned the wheel to the right, keeping that pressure consistent between her legs. The hospital wasn’t happening. This moment, it was theirs. Carter drove, the small shopping centers road leading to another parking lot next to the McDonalds. No one was here, the building standing in the center was in the middle of construction and far from being completed. They were alone, all alone. He ensured that nobody from the road or the restaurant could see. To them, it would seem like a couple looking for a private spot to eat.
“Hmm.” Carter hummed. He sat the bag on the dashboard, turning to face his wife. With a quick movement, the hand cupping her was switched, his thumb rapidly replaced to keep that stimulation constant. “I don’t know if you should push Stacey.” As he spoke, he leaned in close. “I think, you should hold off.”
“Wha—?” Stacey gasped, a croaked noise of tortured pleasure escaping her mouth.
As Carter’s thumb continued its gentle but purposeful circling, Stacey’s body reacted of its own accord, arching her spine right off the chair. The exquisite arousal came crashing to the surface joining her very desperate need to birth, both the sensations fighting for dominance through her body. The overdue baby was right there, the head between her legs while the body took all the space inside, filling her birth canal. Stacey moaned, low and desperate, shuddering as her body fought two primal urgent desires.
Her legs were spread as wide as they could go in the passenger seat, pressed against the door and centre console and still it wasn’t enough. Their child was huge. She needed more space, more room, she needed to push, she needed to come… she needed… she needed…
“C-Carter— ohhhhh god—” Stacey gasped, every cell in her body trembling on the precipice of something incredible.
“Yes dear?” Carter asked, already feeling himself grow aroused. He always was feral for his wife, hence why they were actively delivering baby number four. But here, something about today, the utter attraction he had for her in this state was another level of need. His assault on his wife’s clit slowed, not wanting her to fall too deeply into that bliss before he allowed it. Eyes wandered, looking at her milk filled breasts. The maternity bra wasn’t quite like the more flimsy lace bras she wore on their date nights, but he knew just how to work these clasps.
He slipped his hand behind her back, and with an expert flick of the wrist, her bra was now undone, and her chest free of its confines.
Stacey felt her breasts drop once her bra was released, sitting full and heavy on the very top curve of her overdue baby bump. The movement was enough to draw more colostrum from her nipples. “Oh god….” She purred, her back arched and head thrown against the headrest.
She was out at sea in the raging waves of both pleasure and pain, barely able to see let alone think straight. Her pelvis tilted and circled almost instinctually, lifting up off the seat against her husband’s exquisite hand. The labouring woman was left only in her maternity leggings which were stretched beyond recognition from both an overdue belly and the delivered head of their fourth child. There’d be no keeping these trousers for another pregnancy, despite them being her favourite since their second child.
Stacey was panting, gasping for air at the constant thrum of pressure between her legs, one hand gripping the door while the other pushed up into the velvety ceiling of the car. “Mmmmghh…. So full… Carter— I— ohhhhhhhh god I wanna ppppppp-push!” She begged, twitching her hips and grunting tiny pushes against her husband’s hand that was keeping the baby’s shoulders from escaping.
“You are.” Her husband kept a sturdy hold on the head between her thighs. As the contraction started to build, his thumb went back to work on her clit, but now, he was doing something else. Her chest was free, and Carter greedily leaned in, licking at her areolas. Before leaving home, he’d helped her with pumping. But, there was still some milk left in there. The teasing only lasted a moment before he took it in with his mouth, his tongue playing non stop. He moaned as his pants tightened, his intoxication for his laboring wife total and uncontrollable.
“Fuck— oh… yes… ohhh Carter…” Stacey moaned as her husband put as much of her engorged breast to his mouth. His tongue, his lips, and then his teeth on her nipples sent bolts of electricity through her veins right down to her core. Carter expertly moves in just the right way to encourage her pulsing arousal, making it build and build, its song drowning out the pain of the desperate contractions.
With a shaking hand she rolled the other nipple between her fingers, pinching it slightly to match the stimulation Carter was giving her other breast. The pressure of the baby between her legs was dimming and being replaced with pure lust and erotic need. Each hitch of Stacey’s chest was laboured and ragged, overwhelmed and over stimulated. A husky moan of both pleasure and pain came rattling from the depths of her chest as her breasts leaked into his mouth and all over her hand, at the same time her hips jerked up and her uterine muscles clamped around the baby, attempting to expel the child from her womb.
He wasn’t ever going to forget this. With teeth bared, he gently nibbled, just to spike that little bit of pleasure. His own was skyrocketing in his pelvis, but in his so much sexual desire he wouldn’t falter in his task of pleasing Stacey. Those moans, god those moans were divine. He suckled, and as he did he let her body make a little progress. Loving just how charged her needs were, Carter held firm as soon as he felt enough progress was made. She wasn’t done yet, he wasn’t going to let her be. Carter unlatched, gulping down the milk, a dribble falling down his chin as he grinned.
“How’s that feel baby?” He asked, his voice deeper than usual as he continued his dominant control of their child’s birth. What he wouldn’t give for another release of his own. “Does it feel, good?” As he asked, his thumb flicked again, hard, hitting her clit with pinpoint precision.
Stacey could barely keep her eyes open, lashes fluttering as her pupils rolled with overwhelming pleasure. That tiny bit of progress Carter had allowed resulted in the shoulders of their child slipping forward, stretching her sensitive skin so wide. The stinging burning was almost delicious when combined with the stimulation her husband was providing, both the suckling of her breast and sharp assault on her clit making her see stars.
“Mnngh— Cart— Carter I’m— I’m gonna—uhhhhhh!” Stacey moaned as her body reached breaking point. The orgasm crashed through her entire body, her very essence, with such ferocity she cried out with the clenching muscles of pleasure. Her high moan of ecstasy reverberated around the minivan.
With a gleeful grin of devilish intensity, Carter pressed his lips to hers, allowing their combined moans to be suppressed. Carter's desire only grew, and he knew just what to do to his wife next.
With the pleasurable shuddering of her inner muscles, Stacey’s body soon locked in another uncontrollable push. The shoulders staying wedged between her legs, the head straining the elasticated fabric of her leggings, and her sultry moans twisted into feral grunting as her body demanded to be in charge.
“Let it all out Stacey… let’s have this baby.” His eyes fluttered, lips finding every bit of beading sweat and plucking them off. Her skin glistened in the sunlight through the windshield, her body shaking with each shuddering breath. Her belly, god he would miss that, but if he knew his wife at all, she’d be growing again within a few months, baby five, well on their way. That prospect alone spurred his next action.
Carter, removed his hand.
The response was immediate; the second Carter’s hand slipped away from her bulging leggings Stacey’s feet lifted into the dashboard. The huge rock-solid bump now between her raised thighs, she grabbed the back of one leg while the other gripped onto Carter’s knee. “Nnnnnghhhh!!” The sound that escaped her was animalistic and powerful as Stacey gave her all into this one long, monumental push.
The black fabric of her leggings meant nothing would be seen, either by Carter and certainly not by Stacey with the bump in the way. But she could feel the baby’s shoulders as they popped out one by one. The relief almost made her orgasm again but her body had other ideas. Gulping down a fresh lung full of air, she bore down hard once more. Every muscle twitching and trembling with the effort, desperate to get their overdue baby earthside and free from the confines of her womb.
“Uhhhhh… C-Carter it’s coming out— it’s coming out right now—!” She spluttered through pushes, her knees parting and hips sliding down the chair to open her pelvis to its widest potential. “Oh god….”
Awe, pleasure, wonder, pride, all the emotions on Carters face were plain as day as he watched what his wife was doing. Her body, incredible and goddess-like, shifted as she pushed. For the last time this pregnancy, he admired the way her swollen stomach contorted and shrunk. More than ever before, it changed, as if realizing the baby within was on the final stretch. Her tenting leggings were pressing out at the seam in her crotch, but with that final effort, the baby slid into her right pant leg.
“You did it!” He cheered, planting a kiss on her fueled with passion that even newly weds couldn’t dream of meeting. “Oh God you did amazing…”
Stacey’s pant leg shifted, the baby, the baby was moving. And that was when the couple heard the sweetest melody, a newborn with perfect lungs crying. Carter was gentle, helping her to lift her butt just enough so he could slide the leggings down. All the while he whispered sweet nothings and words of encouragement and awe.
Instinct completely drove Stacey’s movements. Still catching her breath, still trembling, and yet the need to see and hold her child was absolute. Memories of these seconds would be blurry and forgotten, but when those leggings reached her knees and the new parents saw the perfect little bundle squalling between her thighs - that memory would last forever.
Stacey immediately brought the babe to her bare chest, shushing and cooing automatically as she rubbed the newborns back. “Hey…. Hey little guy…. It’s okay… mumma’s got you now.”
She felt complete; the skin to skin contact and the feel of the baby’s weight on her chest, perfectly molding around the curves of her maternal body. Looking down, Stacey was a little taken aback at just how big their newborn son was. “Wow…. He’s a chunky one eh…” Stacey said with a chuckle, still slightly breathy, recovering from delivering their largest child yet.
Carter didn’t speak, his eyes fixated on the sight before him. A shaking hand reached out, rubbing gently against their son's back, he smiled.
“He really is.” The new father said. “You did good, baby.” Carter said to Stacey as he leaned in to kiss her. “You did really good.” He knew it wasn’t over yet, the placenta still needed to come, but this moment, this magical image, this was everything to him. He reached into the back, digging into the hospital bag for a towel. Placing it across his wife’s chest, it left only their sons head exposed. Carter turned the key, it was time for the hospital. Before he left though, he looked at Stacey and smiled.
Imagine a maid has been getting used by the son of the mansion owners. When her belly begins to grow firm, the son accuses her of forcing herself on to him so she could bare his rich bastard.
From then on the maid is treated as trash. Forced to do hard labor and fed spoiled foods in hopes that such strain would lead to a loss. But that never came to pass. Her belly growing enormously and pointed out like an enlarged bullet. Just taunting the son and his family with how defiantly fertile she is.
When her labors begin, the son forces a chastity belt onto her. Refusing to let her drop his bastard during an important dinner. The maid struggles to even walk with the hard stone of the baby's head dropping into her canal. Keeping her hand steady as she poured drinks through intensifying contractions. Fighting the urge to hold her oversized bump as it drooped lower. Carrying trays of food to the table with her pussy beginning to crown against the belt. Hours and hours of trying not to push or squat down end with the dinner. The son finds her, removes the belt, and then he pushes his bastard back into her womb only to leave her a disheveled mess on the floor. The maid is left to labor a second time.
It was hours before she reached the place she was before. Barely being able to scream or breathe the big bodied baby out of her pussy out of fear she'd wake her employers. She bites her lip as the head and shoulders nearly tear her as the babe slowly slides out. For a few seconds after making sure the bastard was alive, she felt relief.
But then she feels her womb jerk a second time and her cervix open once again.
AMAZING.
I love the idea of her being a massive twinner without even knowing it. I'd like to think her labor was induced by the son fucking her deep and rough the night before. He takes her against the wall repeatedly while the weight of two large babies make her back curve dramatically as they swung with each thrust. She just starts to feel twinges in her back and lower belly when he comes hard on her cervix as her pussy squeezes his cock during a contraction. The rough handling tears her sack, causing water to leak when he pulls out but they both mistake the clear liquid for her orgasm.
The whole night is spent pacing in her quarters alone to move the child along. She knows what will happen at that party and wants the baby to come now so she won't be hauling that extra weight around the next day. Hell, they might even let her rest instead of serving people.
But the child stays put. The pressure only gets worse and worse as the hours tick by and the sensation in her hips is threatening to drive her insane come morning time. When the son finds her, it's obvious from the way she walks and cradles her belly that childbirth is near. She's in transition when the belt is locked tight around her pelvis and it's all downhill from there.
She's limping by the time the dinner starts, trying to remain stoic and unbothered while the party eats. When she is called to the table, she must answer immediately. No excuses.
A few guests asked the head of the house, the father, questions about the maid who was very obviously ready to drop and struggling with the workload. A couple were concerned for the safety of the mother and child working so hard when she was due and carrying so large. The father diminished all their concerns, and they were dropped when he told them the made up truth about her forcing herself on his son in order to have a claim to the throne.
She wanted to scream the truth at all of them, but she remembered her place. All she could do was stand still and listen to the slander while her baby dropped lower.
Hours passed and a strange new pressure grew in her hips. She could feel her bag of waters leak and bulge in her pussy, fit to burst. A contraction rears up and she loses her composure. Thinking nobody would notice, she leaned heavily with one hand on a decorative table while the other lifts the bottom of her swell.
It's here. The baby is here. She thinks. My water is gonna... OH GOD.
"Hey, bitch, who said you could use that? I need a refill!" The father shouted and all eyes were suddenly on the struggling mother.
She opened her mouth to apologize but a gasp escaped her when her water popped and gushed around the belt. Everyone listened to the the little stream that trickled out after the burst as she stood there, legs spread wide while she waited for her bag to drain.
The urge to lay down and push was torture without her waters. The baby moved past her canal as she continued to work. She wanted nothing more than to hide in a closet and vocalise her discomfort as the large child came, but she was required to be silent. The dinner was disrupted enough by her presence as a laboring woman. She knew a punishment was coming after the dinner and would rather not make it worse.
Dinner ended. The head was crowning between her legs. She almost collapsed with the need to deliver when the last guest exited the room, but the belt kept the baby from progressing past the eyebrows. A hand clutched her bulging pussy while the other gripped the table to keep her from falling over as she pushed in vain. The child was going nowhere.
The son and father of the baby stood in the doorway of the dining hall, eyes fixed on her heaving womb.
"Father wants me to punish you for interrupting his dinner."
Having to birth this gargantuan baby was punishment enough. Not to mention the humiliation of being called out and having her water audibly break in front of so many. Whatever the punishment was, she hoped it was something light for the sake of her and the child.
He slowly walked up and lifted her dress to see the emerging head of his baby. He cupped the crown and smiled at the way it filled his hand.
"My family always did make big babies." He cooed in her ear as she held her middle protectively in both hands while slightly hunched over. "I was an eleven pounder. My father was twelve and a half. You might be able to work that head out on your own but you'll be pushing on those shoulders for hours."
He pulled the key to the belt from his pocket and dangled it in front of her face. She could see the light at the end of the tunnel.
"Beg for it."
Internally, she rolled her eyes, but did as she was told.
"Please. I need to give birth. I gotta have this baby. Let me give birth to your big baby, please. I've been so desperate all day."
He nodded, pleased with her pleading. "Alright, mama. I'll take it off."
She sobbed in relief when the pressure from the belt was released and she put everything she had into the next push. But she was stopped with a hand on the baby's head, pressing against it just as the belt did.
"And now for your real punishment."
She saw stars as the head was pushed back in. With no where to go, she tried to escape the white hot pain with a death grip on the man's forearm. She began begging him in earnest to stop and let her deliver. Her hips bucked involuntarily at the unnatural sensation. He worked the baby up until his hand was engulfed by her spasming pussy before yanking it out.
"Now, clean up this mess and go back to your room. I'll collect the child in the morning. You better stay quiet down there too. Father has an important meeting tomorrow and needs all the rest he can get."
And with that, she was left alone with a violently contracting belly and a huge puddle beneath her feet. She cleaned the mess as instructed before hobbling to her room to birth. With the added exhaustion, the head was harder to pass this time around. It took two hours for her to get it to a crown and another hours for it to pop out with a gush of fluid.
And then came the shoulders. Those broad shoulders the father of the child had warned her about. She couldn't stay silent as they ripped through her. She made a makeshift gag out of a pair of socks. They muffled her screams perfectly as she was ripped open by the rest of the huge baby. By the time it passed, she was delirious and barely able to process the fact that she had just given birth.
The child was born silent, and her instincts kicked in after realising no cries came from the babe. She prayed the events of today weren't too much for the little bundle she just screamed into the world, and quickly got to work on rubbing its butt. "Come on, baby. Come on. Please."
A cough then a cry filled the room. She sobbed in relief and brought the child up to her chest with one hand while the other held the belly that still felt full. More contractions came as she nursed her first born, a son. She patiently waited for the afterbirth to pass but felt something bigger. A strong, visceral urge to push hit her like a truck and she groaned as she felt something large slam down on her pussy, forcing it to bulge once more. There was another torrent of fluid and that's when the realization hit.
She was pregnant with twins the whole time.
She pushed with what little strength she had left with the socks back in her mouth. Something felt off about this one. The pressure and pain was the same as before but she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something wrong. She pushed and grunted until she felt something pop out of her pussy, but it wasn't a head.
With one violently trembling hand, she reached down and, much to her horror, felt a leg.
Tonight was going to be longer than she'd thought.
A bodyguard and his charge are secretly dating and expecting their first child. But as Melissa approaches her due date, things take a dramatic turn at her father’s campaign rally….
Story co-written by the incredibly talented @wootenbassett75 and will be posted in parts to his DA account here
~•~
His suit was pressed, and his gun fastened to his hip beneath the jacket. Victor had been in the bodyguard game for nearly a decade now, yet none of his previous gigs compared to his current. For the past year, he had been on the personal detail for Senator George Matthews. Well, not his detail, but that of his daughter. At first he had regretted it, seeing this as a glorified babysitting duty for some spoiled politicians kid that had never been told no. Oh how wrong he’d been.
It all started ten months earlier, a Christmas party her father had been holding for his campaign supporters. Up to that point, he had mostly avoided conversation with Melissa, finding the fierce independence she had as a nuisance. She hadn’t wanted a bodyguard, and apparently only relented due to her fathers position making them all potential targets of groups that had less than savory intentions. At the party though, something happened. Victor didn’t know what, but one thing led to another and they spent the night together, then the next week, it happened again, and again, and again. Before long they were having their secret love affair whenever they could get away. All seemed well, till those two pink lines appeared.
She was pregnant, and Victor was the father. They couldn’t come out and say it, he’d never get to keep his job. So, she claimed it was a fling, a one night stand with a man she didn’t recall the name of. Her father had been furious, but eventually relented. Now months later here they were. He tried so hard to be with her at all times but it didn’t work. At the hotel he wasn’t able to sleep in her room due to the constant eyes of the press. He’d protested about her even coming, the baby was due soon, this party was the last place she should be. But he had a job to do, and there was no way he could convince her or her father otherwise.
Victor pulled out his copy of her room key, and entered. “Melissa?” He called out. “You awake? The party is already starting.”
“I’ll be out in a minute.” Melissa said from the en-suite of her hotel room, leaning against the sink and shifting her hips side to side.
After arriving at the hotel mid-afternoon Melissa had disappeared to her room to take a nap; being 39 weeks pregnant and carrying the weight of a bowling ball in her pelvis all day was exhausting, so she took the opportunity to rest before the event tonight. She only managed to get an hour or two rest before she was awoken by a dull ache cramping across her womb and the need to use the bathroom.
On pulling down her clothes and sitting on the toilet she soon discovered she had lost her mucus plug. Part of Melissa was excited at the sign that she was nearing the birth of her child. But the timing wasn’t great. Her father’s campaign was reaching its pivotal point and it felt like every other day she was required at some event or another, helping to create the perfect family image, to aid her fathers bid for Senate.
They were hoping she’d go overdue to when all the craziness of the campaign was over, so she and Victor could disappear for a few days and have their baby together. Melissa clung firmly on to that plan, determined to get through this final week.
After discarding her ruined underwear she quickly showered and freshened up, wrapping the fluffy white hotel towel around her swollen body. She felt another dull ache ripple through her middle and leant against the sink taking slow breaths. That's when she heard Victor enter her hotel room. After the practice contraction ended she waddled out of the en-suite, towel still wrapped around her, and saw him standing there in his suit for the party tonight.
“Don’t you look handsome this evening.” She said, smiling brightly.
Victor chuckled. “And you look like you’re glowing.” In the privacy of this room, he had no hesitation walking up to her, placing both hands on her towel wrapped bump, and planting a kiss on her lips. Beneath his hands he could feel that slight tightening, but having been unable to read any of the pregnancy books thanks to an overly nosey roommate, he thought that was just some kicks. “I see our girl is anxious about the party too.” He knelt, and gently opened the towel so he could see the soft flesh of her belly. “Behave in there lil Miss. Mommy has to give a speech tonight.” Victor kissed her navel and stood. “You did remember your speech right? You dads staff will have a heart attack if you wing it like you did in that last party.” A fond memory, watching her fathers upity speech writer lose his mind.
Victor walked to her bed, keeping one hand on the small of her back to guide. None of the dresses seemed like they would be comfortable in his mind, but he knew very little of women’s fashion. That being said, he’d never seen her more comfortable than in one of his tshirts and sweat pants with a tub of ice cream balanced on their daughters dwelling.
“Yes, yes, I remembered the speech. It’s in my handbag somewhere…. I think.” Melissa added with an uncertain giggle as she lowered herself onto the edge of the bed.
The second her weight transferred onto the mattress a small hiss slipped from her mouth and she immediately lifted and adjusted her seated position. “Oooof— she’s tucked so damn low it feels like I’m sitting on something.” She joked.
Melissa closed her eyes briefly, exhaling heavily, before opening her eyes and running her hand over her towel-clad belly. “I’m not sure any of the dresses I’ve brought for tonight are even going to fit. I’m huge. Could you get the black one from my bag please? I think that’s my best bet. You’re definitely going to have to help me get dressed.” A smirk flashed across her lips.
Victor returned the look, then shook his head. “Of course I’ll help you baby.” He said, moving to grab the dress. He removed it from the back, he’d seen her wear this one before, months ago, when she was far smaller. They were going to be lucky if they didn’t have to cut this off of her when the party was over. He saw some other items that he was unsure if she’d be planning to wear, so grabbed them too. When he returned he had the dress as well as panties, a bra, and pantyhose. “No funny business ma’am.” He winked. If Victor was honest with himself, she carried pregnancy so well that it somehow made her even more attractive. It’d led to some adventures beneath the sheets. “What first?”
Melissa winced a little as she adjusted her position on the side of the bed, the baby determined to stay nestled right between her hips making it impossible to find any sort of comfort.
“Underwear first please.” She said, pleasantly surprised Victor had managed to select a matching set that was also black to go with the dress. Throwing open her towel in a casual fashion, Melissa then tried and failed to stand up. Scoffing in annoyance she took the garments from Victor and proceeded to put her underwear on as much as she could while sitting.
From the corner of her eyes she could see the smirk of amusement as Victor watched her struggle around her belly that was weighing heavily over and between her thighs.
“Don’t you dare laugh.” She playfully warned.
“Not a word.” He said, holding his hands up. The smile remained though. “Miss Independent, how about you ask the father of your child for a hand huh?” It wasn’t the first time he’d helped her, and certainly wouldn’t be the last. Victor took her hands, waiting till she gave the go ahead to pull her to her feet.
That discomfort in her face made him desperately wish he could take it away, but knew that there was nothing to be done until their little bundle made her grand appearance. An idea did come to mind though, one that could give temporary relief. Victor put her hands on his shoulders, then knelt to help her raise her underwear. Dirty thoughts came and went. Later, they’d have some fun later. He managed to get her panties on, then went to work on the pantyhose.
“Ah shit…” He grumbled, realizing once they were to her knees that they were apparently inside out. They both got a good laugh out of the mistake. All in all, dressing took almost thirty minutes. “You look beautiful.” He told her as they worked the dress. “Now turn around.” It wasn’t a suggestion. Victor turned Melissa so she faced away from him, slowly, he placed his hands on the underside of her belly, and lifted up. Videos circulating on the internet told him this would relieve some of the aches and weight temporarily.
“A pre party gift.” He whispered in her ear, planting a kiss on her cheek.
The sound that left Melissa’s lips as Victor gently lifted her swollen belly was low and full of blissful relief.
“Oh wow—” Her head tilted back, melting into his embrace as she was granted a temporary respite from the weight she’d been carrying. “I need you to never stop doing this…” She said with a soft giggle of amusement knowing full well they couldn’t navigate the evening in this position. Especially as no one knew of their relationship. They’d be lucky to get away with meaningful looks and a few subtle points of contact with all the eyes watching.
Reluctantly after a few minutes Melissa gave Victor a silent signal it was okay to let go and she braced herself for the weight and pressure to return to her hips. She didn’t bank on another cramp hitting at the same time and she groaned a little hunching over slightly. Attempting to walk off the seized muscles she waddled over to the desk to get her clutch, remembering to include her speech. “We are definitely doing that again later, that felt incredible. How did you know to do that?” She asked in pleasant wonder, her hand absentmindedly rubbing under her belly already missing the support of her partner’s hands.
“One of those internet things. ‘What to do for your pregnant partner’.” Victor explained. “It also had ‘make her favorite meals’, and ‘get her a pregnancy pillow’. You kinda beat me to both of those so, this was the next best thing. After the party I’ll give you a foot massage. Read that they can help this late into pregnancy. Lord knows heels look uncomfortable even at the best of times, I can’t imagine how irritating it’ll be for you to wear them with lil Miss in there.” To ease the amount of walking, he grabbed her handbag for her.
Together they walked to the door, his hand on her the entire time. Before reaching for the handle, Victor gave Melissa one last passionate kiss before they would practically be separated for the entire night.
“I love you, and our girl. Once this nights over we will do anything you want, promise.” With his proclamation said, Victor opened the door. The night would be simple, easy, just a little speech and he could sneak her away to relax and get out of her restrictive clothing. What he hadn’t told her yet, was that he had a little box in his pocket, and a hotel room reserved one town over with flowers, chocolates, and candles all laid out. Along with a note, one asking the question he should’ve asked the day she showed him the test.
Inside the lift going down to the ground floor Melissa looked in the mirror, adjusting her soft curls that skimmed her shoulders, ignoring the way her belly felt like it was tightening again. These braxton hicks had an annoying habit of happening at the worst time and she just hoped it wouldn’t happen while she was giving her speech.
She stepped closer to Victor, seeing their reflections in the mirror and wondered what their daughter would look like. Would she have her red hair, or her fathers blue eyes…
“One more week. Then my fathers campaign will be over and we can welcome our daughter into this world together.” Her voice was soft and quiet, as if worried someone would hear through the doors.
The lift slowed, approaching the ground floor where the event was being held. Facing the doors they stepped apart but kept their fingers linked, giving each other a loving smile before separating as the doors opened and their facade began.
Victor understood politics about as well as an ancient Roman would understand the use of smart phones. He knew there was a vote coming, and that Melissa’s father was predicted to win in a landslide, but he had no clue what his policies even were. As it was from the beginning of their relationship, Victors facial expression was that of perpetual boredom when he was working. Eyes scanned the crowd, hands at his sides and kept open in case quick access was needed to his handgun. Not that he would. Besides himself, Victor knew Melissa’s father employed four other private security guards for his staff.
“Another boring party eh?” Asked one of the guards, an older man with gelled back hair.
“Quiet nights make our job easier don’t they Felix?”
“True.” Felix said, his own body set to spring into action. “How’s Dandelion?” He asked, pointedly looking at Melissa as she socialized.
“She was fine. Just moving slow today.” Victor worked to keep his tone level. Felix was ex-military, Military Police to be specific. The man could sniff a lie from miles out. “Rooster and Hen?” Victor asked, steering the conversation away.
“Hen stayed in the room, turns out that it was the flu, not a stomach bug. Rooster is talking to campaign investors at your two o’clock.” Victor looked, and saw the Senator. “Head on a swivel tonight. Rumor has it he pissed off quite a few people with some announcement.”
“Will do.” Victor said, and left the veteran guard to his duties, moving to where he could watch the woman carrying his child speak with others till speech time.
Melissa moved around the hall with the social ease of a butterfly; although she had not followed in her fathers political footsteps and despised half the people in this room, her upbringing meant these formal events were second nature. Effortlessly navigating conversations, speaking with the relevant people, singing her fathers praises - being the perfect reflection of the perfect candidate.
Her pregnancy had initially caused a little controversy for the campaign but the negative press soon died out and now, being quite visibly heavily pregnant, everyone was fawning over the impending new child. It was almost impossible to get through a single conversation without someone touching her bump without asking or making some comment about her looking ready to ‘pop’. Melissa smiled falsely through gritted teeth, both from annoyance but also the persistent cramps that continued to plague her evening.
The dress was too tight, making her belly heavier and firmer beneath the black form fitting fabric. Pressing a hand into her aching lower back, she turned to find a comforting face through the crowd watching her silently. She smiled, feeling instantly more relaxed at the sight of Victor's dimples as he returned the smile.
“Hey!” A voice as piercing as the last time Melissa had heard it echoed through the room. Quickly approaching was one of the only people who was actually closer to her age than her fathers. “Melissa girl, I thought you were going to be held up in some hospital somewhere, look at you!” Genevieve Wilkins, or Evie as she preferred to be called, was a friend of Melissa’s from college. Her short pixie cut brunette hair gave her a tomboy look that did nothing to suppress her femininity.
She wore a pants suit, her press badge proudly on display for all to see. While they had known one another for years, even Evie was unaware of the childs true father. That didn’t stop the reporter making her attempts at guessing.
“You are looking great! I’m surprised to see you out and about. If I were as pregnant as you my ass would be on the couch watching tv and eating my feelings.” She smiled. “I know I ask every time we see each other but… cmon… an exclusive story for your best friend? The name of your babies father?” Evie was only half joking, such a story would make her career as a reporter in the political scene.
Melissa laughed at the audacity of her friend; she was like a dog with a bone when she wanted something. “Well….since you’re my best friend and all…” She said in a hushed voice, looking around them before leaning in towards Evie, opening her mouth with the distinct impression she was about to share a secret.
“…I’m still not telling you.” Melissa whispered into her friend's ear before laughing loudly, holding the swell of her bump that seemed to jolt with the laughter. Evie playfully swotted her shoulder, scowling with annoyance.
“Seriously though, I’m just not ready for that yet. I’m sorry.” Melissa made a conscious effort not to look towards where she knew Victor was standing nearby and watching, not wanting to give her friend any sniff of a story. Changing the subject she asked “Is the dress alright? It was the only option that still fit, this little one just doesn't stop growing. I feel huge. But I couldn’t miss the party tonight, Dad’s got me giving yet another speech.” She rolled her eyes, unconsciously shifting her hips a little as her back flared up again in discomfort, the tension wrapping around her sides and up her spine.
“I just need to get through this week. Oooof— One more week, then the campaign will be finished and I can focus on my little girl.” Her affection for the baby shone through her bright smile, hands cradling the underside of her belly as she spoke, rubbing away the tension that had caused a little moan to slip past her lips.
“Ugh, another speech. Of course.” Evie sighed. “Not that you are a bad speaker, it’s just, having you do all these speeches is dumb. Let a soon to be mom relax why don’t you.” The reporter didn’t seem to notice the moan, that or she assumed it was just one of the many joys of pregnancy. Constant discomfort. “When the time comes, I expect to be your first call girl. I have duties as favorite Aunt that I can’t properly fulfill if I’m not at the hospital to meet her.” Evie smiled, placing a comforting hand on Melissa’s arm. “And yes, that dress looks great on you. Shows off your curves just enough.” She winked, that playful nature ever present.
Meanwhile across the room, Victor was watching with bated breath. Evie, he only interacted with the reporter a handful of times. ‘Nosey’ was an understatement with that woman. He shifted his gaze momentarily, spotting the Senator and some other partygoers pouring glasses of scotch. God, he would kill for some alcohol, but that was one thing he’d sworn off. ‘If you can’t drink, then neither will I.’ Victor should’ve just gotten Melissa a puppy.
“Excuse me?”
Victor was pulled from his thoughts, a man dressed like the wait staff stood before him with a platter.
“Yes?”
“The party is running out of food already and the Senator requested that catering be ordered. Do you have the gate code so the delivery can come in?”
“Oh, uh yeah. #9921856. Then you press the unlock button and the back door opens.” Victor said, only half paying attention.
“Thank you sir.” The waiter said. In his distraction, Victor missed that the staff member with whom he’d just interacted with had no name tag, unlike all the others present.
While Evie was regaling the story behind her latest article, Melissa found herself zoning out a little, distracted by the tightening and heaviness of her belly. It wasn’t anything unusual, she’d been experiencing cramps sporadically ever since she reached 36 weeks, but she was starting to notice the frequency in each pulse of discomfort.
Nodding habitually along with Evie’s animated story, her hand moved across her belly and she felt it harden beneath her fingers. A sharp inhale pulled through her nostrils as the tension peaked and the baby shifted.
“C-can you hold my drink hun?” She interrupted her best friend, practically shoving her glass of sparkling water into Evie’s hand. “I need to nip to the bathroom. Baby’s pressing right against my bladder.” With a forced smile and lighthearted joke Melissa was waddling away before Evie had a chance to respond.
Thankfully the ladies bathroom was empty and Melissa sighed in relief as she went straight up to the sink and braced her palms against the counter, letting go of a quiet moan. “Oooohhh…..” Everything felt so tight and heavy, her hips moving in natural circles around the baby’s low position between her hips.
“Mmm… no, no…. Please just be false labour…. You don’t want to come now baby….” Melissa looked down at her body, speaking to the bump packed tightly into her black dress. “Your dad and I have everything planned for next week…. Stay safe in there a little longer for me sweetie.”
Her body responded with another sharp contraction, forcing Melissa to grit her teeth to stop any sounds from echoing around the empty women’s bathroom.
There were too many people. How hard could it be to keep track of a heavily pregnant redhead? Victor, after a solid ten seconds of scanning the crowd, relented.
“Oh hello handsome.” Evie said as he approached. “I assure you I’m allowed to be here, look, press.”
“I know. Where did Mel, I mean, where did Ms Matthew’s go?” There wasn’t panic in his tone, not yet at least. There was however, concern. He knew next to nothing about pregnancy and as a result immediately thought the worst could have happened.
“Oh! Her little one was dancing on her bladder.”
Victor nodded, and wove through the bodies of rich people till he reached the bathroom. An instinct he didn’t understand told him to go in, but logic prevailed. Others would notice if he went into the women’s restroom. So, he gingerly knocked on the door.
“Ms Matthew’s? Is everything alright?”
On hearing the knock Melissa’s head whipped towards the door, worrying for a split second someone would come in and see her leaning heavily against the sink and swaying her hips. That voice…his voice sent her heart fluttering despite the current cramp she was still trying to ride out.
“Yes, e-everything’s fine.” She said with a forced lightness, catching her breath as the discomfort eased away. It was just a few cramps, nothing to worry about and certainly nothing to warrant telling Victor. He faced danger and high stakes situations for a living, a trait she was forever in awe of, but she had the distinct suspicion he wouldn’t take even the hint of a suggestion of being labour very well. They had to keep up appearances, especially tonight at the campaign event, and she wouldn’t risk his career over a false alarm.
It took her another minute or so to be ready; smoothing her hair back into place and pulling her dress down from where it had ridden up from her swaying, but with a final glance at her reflection she pulled open the door and left the privacy of the restroom.
“If I can’t hide, neither can you.” Victor whispered when he saw her. She seemed, tired, but not like she usually was. Pregnancy exhausted her and he was used to that. Maybe their night out after this would just turn into a relaxing night in. “Baby girl irritating you? I can give her a firm talking to tonight.” A group of her fathers supporters got a bit too close so Victors demeanor quickly altered to that of the bodyguard.
People were attracted to his girlfriend like bees to honey, and as per usual, he was the invisible protector. The night continued, and Victor's eyes lingered on the woman who’d stolen his heart. There still seemed to be something off about how she acted. Perhaps the anxiety was finally getting to her, making her constantly rub her belly and sweat.
Melissa found herself needing a seat more often than she usually did during these events; her hips felt like they were carrying the weight of the world and these damn cramps just weren’t going away. She wasn’t timing them, couldn’t bring herself to admit that she might need to, but they were roughly happening every 15-20 minutes.
Perching awkwardly at the side of the stage on one of the high bar stools she read through her speech, trying to stop herself from cradling and rubbing at her belly. Her father was currently on stage giving his usual confident spiel to his enthusiastic audience, which was mainly filled with wealthy older men who donated generously to his campaign. Plus the press of course. She smiled seeing Evie standing front and centre with her dictaphone and notepad.
Another cramp seized her womb and Melissa nearly bent over in response, instead gripping her speech and the chair as she took slow and subtle deep breaths through the wave. It was just practice contractions….only practice… then why did the baby feel so damn low-?
When it came to speeches, the entirety of the security team became one cohesive unit. The Senators body man was on stage with him, remaining a few paces behind and off to the side. Felix was stationed opposite Victor, taking the stage left corner of the raised platform while Victor had the right. He knew Melissa was behind him, and that she was far more fidgety than he’d ever seen before. Over the last hour, Victor watched her like a hawk. Nothing was wrong that he could tell, but it certainly wasn’t right.
“Foyer secure.” Came a crackle over his ear piece.
“Upper floor access secure.” Another said. Victor, out of the corner of his eye saw Felix lift his cuff to his lips to whisper.
“Crowd shows no threats, but keep your heads on a swivel.” He said.
“Possible code red.” A voice said, Victor didn’t know the man’s name, but was aware of his credentials. If he was calling a code red, there was a problem.
“Details.” Felix growled, tensing. Victor did the same, his hands falling to his side.
“Kitchen door wide open. Tape over lock. Building is not secure, repeat, building not…” He was cut off, as if the microphone ceased all existence.
“I’m en route. Felix keep an eye on Dandelion.” Victor said, turning to move for the kitchen. He passed Melissa on the way, and in a moment of instinct, reached to squeeze her hand. “I’ll be right back.” He whispered, and disappeared into the back of the hotel.
Her eyes followed him as he rushed off out of sight, she didn’t even have a chance to ask what was happening. Melissa looked to the remaining security presence, at Felix, but his face was unreadable. Victor didn’t often leave her side, especially since she reached full term, and she wondered what called him away.
No one seemed nervous or on edge; her father was making jokes to the audience, the sea of people hanging on his every word. Perhaps it was just a staffing issue, Victor had been closest to the kitchens. She had more pressing things to worry about—
“Mmmh…” a groan rattled the back of her throat as her belly tightened once again. This time she placed a casual hand under it, hoping the movement looked absentminded and affectionate, keeping her face smiling and watching the stage. They were really starting to take her breath away now, that dull pulsing ache twisting into sharper more focused pulling. As she breathed her way through it she noticed her father wrapping up his speech and beginning her introduction.
It took more effort than she cared to admit to move herself off of the bar stool and across the stage to the podium. Each step she became more and more aware of where the baby was nestled, low and deep in her pelvis, her waddle more pronounced than ever.
“Thanks Dad.” Melissa said in range of the microphone, smiling as he kissed her cheek and passed the stage to his daughter. Her hands very quickly found the podium, leaning into it slightly to steady herself, her balance feeling off. Taking a deep breath, she said a silent prayer to her little baby “hold on a bit longer sweetie” before beginning her pre-written speech.
The kitchens were quiet, and that was the first sign that something was wrong. In his training to become a bodyguard, the instructors always said not to draw your weapon unless your charge becomes endangered. However, Victor was military before he was a bodyguard. That part of his brain took over.
“Al?” He called, using the echoes of his voice to cover the subtle scratching that was his handgun clearing the leather holster. There was a shuffling off to his left, the direction of the back door. Instinct and training had his pistol raised with his off hand supporting it in less than a second. The further into the kitchen, the more unsettling it became.
The first body was one of his fellow guards, the bruising around his neck a clear indication of how his life had ended. Victors heart began to pound, blood rushing in his ears as adrenaline flooded his system. Two more bodies, one whom was shirtless, with a name tag tossed onto his chest. The second was a woman, one that Victor knew from the profiling of the staff. She was the head chef. Victor lifted his sleeve to his mouth to speak, and that was when all hell broke loose.
The sounds were muffled, but Victor knew gunshots when they happened. On the off chance it wasn’t his hearing that told him, then the new ventilation in the sleeve of his jacket would make a fine confirmation. Pain lanced through his body, emanating from the graze that hit his left bicep. Three more shots came, all of them intended to kill, but Victor was gone. The bodyguard dropped to the floor, rolling onto his back and pulling the trigger. He missed, spotting his target duck into cover at the last second.
“Tangos in the kitchen!” He yelled into his sleeve. “Secure the family!” Two more sources of suppressed gunfire came at him, Victor giving himself covering fire as he moved to a counter for protection. “Felix! Do you copy?!”
Felix, couldn’t answer.
Out in the lobby, eight men stood. Felix was gone before he could even reach Melissa, and she was all alone atop the stage. The men wore masks, all identifying markers removed. Three had on wait staff clothing, explaining how one had gotten close enough to stab Felix.
“Ladies and gentleman!” One called out over the cries of alarm. When they wouldn’t be silenced, a single nod came and automatic gunfire peppered the ceiling. “Ladies and gentleman! I hate to interrupt your party, but there is business to be conducted.”
Gunfire echoed from the kitchen, from where Victor was. This didn’t phase the masked man. His eyes, were set on the heavily pregnant Melissa.
In the blink of an eye she had gone from giving a speech to frozen in fear. The room was deathly silent, no one daring to move an inch as the men with guns spread out across the room. Felix’s body was sprawled across the stage, the blood pulsing from his body and pooling towards her shoes.
Her gaze moved across the room, still gripping the podium and keeping her head and torso perfectly still. Where had her father gone? He’d stepped off stage when Melissa began her speech but she couldn’t see him or his bodyguard. The eyes of the armed man who spoke locked onto her making her skin crawl at the darkness behind them. Even though he was wearing a mask, she could tell he was smirking behind the fabric as he stomped towards her.
One of her hands released the podium, placing itself protective over her swollen belly, and she gulped nervously. “W-what do you w-want?” Her voice stuttered, failing to sound as strong as she wanted.
“Where is your father darlin’?” The man’s voice was low and gravelled but somehow purred with malicious intent.
Melissa opened her mouth but words failed her. Her heart thundered in her chest, eyes flicking sharply between his eyes and the gun in his hand that was poised directly at her. It felt like her lungs had stopped working, she couldn’t breathe. Another contraction tore through her body and she whimpered, cradling her belly and gripping the podium with white knuckles.
“WHERE is George Matthews?!” The man yelled across the lobby, stepping right beside Melissa and putting the gun against the side of her waist.
This close, she could smell his aftershave, the stink of his breath pungent with every syllable pronounced. There was two more shots from the kitchen, a cry of pain, followed by silence. Less than a minute later, two men emerged.
“Rest of the security is dead boss.” One said, nursing his arm. “Bastard killed Milo and Jamie though.”
“Then that shouldn’t stop you from FINDING THE SENATOR!” The leader shouted, pressing the pistol a little tighter to Melissa. “Search the building!” He pointed at Evie with his handgun. “You! You’re a reporter right? Make sure the world knows this is what happens when cowards are allowed on Capitol Hill.” One of the masked men ran up to him.
“Cops are on the way. Silent alarm was tripped.”
The leader growled. “Fine.” He said after a moment. “Three minutes, then we go plan B.” He got close to Melissa, inhaling deeply. “Shame on your daddy for leaving a girl to take a man’s punishment.” He said. “Don’t worry, we won’t hurt you too bad.”
The man’s hand gripped her bare arm, pressing the small circular barrel of the gun against her side. Those three minutes were the longest of her life as the other armed men searched the lobby and surrounding rooms for her father. The boss meanwhile had gotten closer, his body almost pressed against her side as she stood frozen on stage.
“You’re a pretty one, aren’t you.” He sneered quietly into her ear, his hand releasing her arm to stroke the soft curls of her auburn hair. “The photos don’t do you justice.”
“P-please…. I’m pregnant, don’t hurt my baby.” Melissa croaked.
“Oh I’m well aware of your… condition.” His hand travelled from her hair down the length of her body until it landed on the full swell she was carrying. “So big, bursting with new life. It's a shame their grandfather is a double crossing bastard.”
Melissa’s breath hitched with another contraction, grimacing and gritting her teeth as everything tightened and squeezed and pulled downwards. The Boss just took her reaction as one of fear, laughing as his hand splayed across her belly while the other kept firm on the gun pressing into her side.
She was trembling, paralysed by fear. She always thought she would be good in a crisis, headstrong and fierce, and yet now when the cards were down she couldn’t move. Begging to protect the life of her child.
Another masked armed man jumped up onto the stage. “Boss - we gotta go. Cops are getting too close.”
“Times up sweetheart.” The leader sneered, letting go of her belly and grabbing her arm once more. He looked out from the stage, at the sea of people now all on their knees cowering. “This is a message for George Matthews - If you ever want to see your daughter and grandchild again, you will reverse your decision and meet our demands!!”
The leader yanked harshly against Melissa, tearing her away from the podium which she was still gripping for dear life. She stumbled, knees threatening to give way.
“No! Please— you can’t do this—” she yelled as she tried to break free from his grip only for the other man to grab her other bicep. Together they dragged her stumbling off stage.
Every instinct was screaming at her to fight, to kick and punch and claw her way out but the men were too strong. Pulling her towards the door she could barely stay standing, her knees wide and shaking. Another agonising unyielding pressure wrapped across her middle and her cries of protest turned into groans of pain.
“Unhhhh— no— please don’t do this… don’t take me. I’m— I’m having a baby—” The admission came from her mouth without even realising, desperation forcing her to admit aloud that she was in labour.
But the true meaning of her words were lost to her kidnappers, thinking she was just referring to her very obvious pregnancy. “Shut up!” One yelled, while the other yanked her harshly through the doors and out of the venue.
They didn’t slow for her. The men practically forced Melissa to skip steps as they descended to the parking lot where the unmarked blue van awaited them. Every shove, every yank, all contributed to her already advancing labor. No one was going to save her, they’d said as much. The men from the kitchen, where Victor had gone, their words hung in the air. The bodyguard was dead.
The Boss shoved her, hard, into the van. Others piled in behind. Distant sirens echoed through the forest, the police, safety was almost there.
“Get moving!” The boss yelled to the driver, and the van jerked to life, screeching tires leaving two dark rubber lines on the road. They were underway. The boss looked at Melissa, and smiled, removing his mask. “You ain’t leaving till your old man reverses the choices…” His eyes dropped to her belly. “But I wonder how much extra he’d pay to save a grandkid.”
“Don’t touch me—” Melissa shrivelled back from the leader, using her feet to push herself into the corner of the van in an attempt to stop his giant hand from touching her skin. Every pore was sensitive and sweating, her breathing heavy and laboured through the ever increasing tightness wrapping across her middle.
With his mask removed she could see the unkept beard that framed his jagged face. But those eyes… the way he looked at her, the way his gaze travelled down her body.
Another contraction had her arms wrapped around her bump, bending forward slightly in her awkward seated position on the floor of the van. “Oooohhh….” A low moan slipped freely from her mouth as she breathed deeply through the intense feeling of her womb contracting. Why were they so intense… her hips were screaming at her to move but the guns pointed in her direction kept her in place. There was no denying it anymore, these pains were happening too often, too intensely. She was in labour…in labour and kidnapped. She was in labour, kidnapped, and the father of her child had just been murdered. The tears rolled silently down her cheeks as she moaned through the contraction.
“Stop your whining! We’re not even touching you!” One of the men, who had kept on his mask, snarled and lifted his gun towards her face to make a point.
“Whoa… hang on a sec Clyde.” The leader interrupted, looking curiously at Melissa. His large hand moved to her rounded stomach, splaying wide across its surface over the fabric of her black dress, feeling the hardened muscles beneath. Melissa’s breathing was heavy, terrified and struggling to get through the contraction without moaning.
“Fuck—” the man cursed with a gravelled voice.
“What’s going on back there Boss?” The driver called, taking a turn with enough speed to force the others to grab hold of the grips.
“This got much more interesting boys.” Boss said, a smile that would curdle milk directed right at Melissa. “Looks like this girl is about to give us another hostage.”
“What? Wait, she’s having the kid?!”
“Oh yes. And trying her damndest not to show it.” He began to rub her belly, the gun still trained. “Ain’t that right girly?”
“The hell are we doing here? We can’t have her do that in the van! Boss! We need to pull over.”
“No! We are going to the hideout. She can hold it till then.” Boss looked at her, now kneeling so he could lean close. The other men averted their eyes as he planted a kiss on her cheek. “Be good.”
“Fuck this. We need to reassess.” Clyde said. “Pull over!”
Despite the fury in the Boss’s eyes, the van pulled into a gravel cutout and turned off. The men filed out, some arguing. Boss lingered a moment, keeping his eyes on her like a stalker finally close enough to touch his obsession.
Melissa opened her mouth to speak, to plead with him to let her go, but all that came out was a low strained moaning sound as her belly contracted harshly beneath the weight of the Boss’s hand. The relentless pressure in her hips had Melissa pushing her hands into the cold metal floor of the van trying to ease the discomfort any way she could.
“Yesss…. Oh darlin’ you’re really havin’ this baby soon aren’t ya?” The leader’s voice was thick, captivated by what was happening right in front of him.
“I need a h-hospital— ooooohhh— please let me-go-unnnngh—”
“I’m not letting you out my sight sweetheart.” He crooned, his hand moving around in large circles over her belly as if committing this moment to his memory, the way her skin was so firm and taut beneath his scabbed fingers. “You look like you’re about to drop this kid any second. So full and round. And to think… your father made you come to his ridiculous party when you were so close to giving birth.”
He leaned in closer, the smell of his stagnant breath on her cheek making her want to vomit, and he whispered into her ear “…and I’m so glad he did.”
He bit her ear, tugging it ever so slightly before pressing his hand harder onto her belly. “Maybe I should check that progress for you. Papers said you ain’t got a man for the kid… I’ll step in.”
Outside, the arguing between the men continued, till from nowhere the revving of an engine filled the air. Through the open side door, Melissa watched three men disappear. A flash of light had preceded it, a car, travelling at insane speeds plowed through the three men. Cries of pain and agony were drowned by the screeching of tires.
“Boss!” Clyde called, one of three who hadn’t been hit. “Boss it’s the bodyguard!”
Gunshots followed immediately, hitting Clyde in the neck, his blood spraying out to cover Melissa and the Boss. The last two living kidnappers opened fire as well, but over the fight, one word could be heard, a man screaming a name.
“Melissa! MELISSA!”
That sounded like— no, it couldn’t be— Melissa’s head craned towards the side of the van to look through the open door trying to see the owner of the voice calling her name. The leader, covered in blood, caught her movements and shoved her back into the corner of the van.
“Oh no you don’t! You’re not going anywhere!” He spat, kneeling up, blocking her view out the door and gripping her harshly in place.
Yelling and more gunshots roared from beyond the vehicle, someone was fighting against her kidnappers, someone was helping. Even if it wasn’t Victor, even if he wasn’t dead, there was a small glimpse of hope and Melissa grabbed onto it tightly and screamed loudly.
“HELP!!! Help me please!” The air tore from her lungs, desperation to get away from this man pumping adrenaline through her veins.
The man smacked her across the face and covered her mouth with his dirty hand. Melissa pushed against him, clawing and biting to get free, drawing on some primal unknown strength to get to safety…to get to whoever might be helping her. But another contraction twisted her insides, drawing her knees up towards her belly as she curled forwards and groaned into her attacker’s palm. It was too much; the pressure, the tightness, the pain coursing between her hips and shooting up her spine. It was overwhelming. Her vision blurred with unshed tears, the contraction reaching its peak, and she didn’t see the shadow now standing in the doorframe.
Victor appeared as a specter. In the hotels kitchen he’d been shot in the arm and had another bullet graze his head knocking him unconscious. Upon waking, he’d found and killed the kidnapper whom had been sent to find the Senator. From there it was all a blur, pain and excruciating fear for a life not his own drove him into the parking lot as the kidnappers had escaped. He barely recalled breaking into a car and stealing it, all he saw was red.
Now here he was, out of ammo, yet full of rage.
“Hey!” He growled, and with practiced ferocity, grabbed ahold of the Boss’ belt and collar, using his adrenaline to throw the man out of the van and into the road with his dead comrades. The boss’s gun went with him. Victor advanced, knowing he needed to check Melissa but too scared, too angry to let himself think in that way. He beat on the man, holding his shirt in one hand to lift his face into the punches. “I. Will. Fucking. Kill you!” Victor shouted. He dropped to his knees, straddling the man’s body. Again, Victor pulled him close, but this blow wasn’t from a fist, but an angry headbutt. The Boss was out, dead or unconscious Victor didn’t care. Melissa was what mattered.
“Mel…” He croaked, rising unsteadily. Victor limped back into her view, a shaking hand coming to touch her cheek. “I told you I’d be back…”
“V-Victor?” Melissa croaked, blinking in disbelief and crawling across the van floor to the door where he stood. “I- I thought you were dead… they… they said they killed all the security…”
She could hardly believe her eyes. The love of her life, the father of her child, standing right there covered in blood and surrounded by bodies. He took her hand and waist, helping her slowly out of the van. She was trembling.
“Wha— how are you here?” Words nearly failed her. But she threw her arms around him, clinging on to his clothing and breathing in his cologne, as if touching him would make this all real.
“What matters is I’m here sweetheart, and you’re ok.” Victor couldn’t bring himself to break the hug, even to check on her condition. “How is she?” Concern bleeding into the question. “Did they hurt either of you?” His hand moved down, rubbing her belly. The touch was from love and concern rather than the malicious intent that Boss had used. This was a man who wanted to protect. He felt that perpetual tightness, but his thoughts were too laser focused on injuries to realize that this wasn’t normal. “I’m so sorry, I’ll never leave your side again.”
She pulled back slightly looking up into his sparkling blue eyes, allowing his hand to cradle the swell of her belly that was wedged between them. “No….” She said quietly, shaking her head. “T-they didn’t hurt me or the baby… but… Vi—”
“Come on, let’s get you out of here.” Victor kissed her sweat-dampened forehead, moving his hand around her waist to support her weight and guiding Melissa away from the blood and bodies littered around the van.
The adrenaline still pumping through her body was the only thing keeping her legs from buckling as they moved slowly down the gravelled path back towards the main road. The smell of burning rubber ghosted her nostrils, a car abandoned nearby still smoking from the bonnet. She didn’t recognise the car but the blood smears on the open door aligned with the stains on Victor's suit.
“Are you hurt?” Melissa asked concerned, stopping to look him over, checking for signs of serious injuries. She knew he could survive anything, her strong protector, but the sight of what she was now discovering to be his own blood was turning her stomach.
“Nah.” He said, his lie obvious to anyone who heard it. “Just a little scratch, I’ve got band aids in the ho-.” In the blink of an eye, Victors gaze left hers, and stared off towards the van. His eyes widened, and grip tightening on her arm he spun his body to place himself between her, and the awakening Boss. A single shot rang, and Victor cried out in pain, and fell to a knee.
When Melissa turned, she saw the blood coming from Victors abdomen, and the Boss grinning.
“I told you I’d step up girlie.” He sneered. “That boy isn’t worth shit, have a real man.”
“Run…” Victor gasped. “Run!” A hand pressed to the hole in his stomach, Victor managed to get himself and Melissa moving before a second shot rang. There was no third, only a click followed by cursing. The bastard was out of ammo, but that didn’t mean he was harmless. The others had guns, a rifle and two shotguns.
“You can run girlie! But I ain’t no absentee dad!” A deranged cackle followed them into the woods.
“J-Just keep moving Mel.” Victor's voice was low, the blood loss already affecting him. “I’ll get you out…”
He swayed, unsteady, and Melissa found herself having to support him slightly as they ran into the thick dense forest. Her stomach turned as she looked down to his hand, clutched firm against his middle. There was so much blood. Dripping between his fingers and seeping into his already stained shirt.
“Victor… you're—you’ve been— oh my god….” The words barely audible through her heavy breathing as she pushed to move as fast as she could. With one hand supporting injured Victor the other cradled her full and heavy belly, each step was agony throughout her pelvis and spine.
With slow movements they somehow managed to make it deeper into the woods beyond the direct line of sight from the road. That man, that ‘Boss’… he wasn’t dead, he was still alive! The whites around his eyes as he had called after her were enough to prove his insanity and anger. Victor’s breath hitched beside her, clearly struggling as much as she to move at any sort of speed away from the vengeful kidnapper.
But then she stopped abruptly. Looking down with betrayal at her own belly as a sharp and twisting contraction came crashing over the horizon and swept her away with the pain. “Oooohhh…. No… not again—not now…”
Reaching forward her hands braced against a nearby tree as the full strength of active labour tore through her body and an instinctual moan slipped past gritted teeth. The weight of the baby felt so low it forced her legs apart, an urgent pressure growing between her hips. Victor was clutching his own stomach, stumbling back to where she’d stopped, looking pale and horrified.
Melissa opened her mouth to speak, to explain, Victor didn’t know she was in labour! But the contraction peaked, skyrocketing to higher levels than any of the others she’d felt. Instead of words a low rumbling sound came from deep in her throat, nearly grunting as her knees dipped and hips jutted back, feeling a distinct shift—
Something gave way. Something changed. The pressure went away in an instant. But it was followed by a warmth dribbling down her inner thighs and her eyes flashed wide in sheer panic.
At first, Victor had thought it was simply a break. He was ready to tell her that there was no time. But then she doubled over, not too dissimilar to all those times she’d tried to go jogging while pregnant and wound out gasping for breath. He almost laughed, delirium telling him that this was a moment to make light. The grunts were odd, his mind worked to put the pieces together. The logical answer was impossible. After all, she wasn’t due till next week.
“Melissa?” He questioned, only to see her dress soiled, and a small puddle below her. “Oh…” Victor's confusion was evident, then his eyes went wide as hers! “Oh! Shit, shit.” He hissed. “You’re in labor?!” He was panicking. Immediately, a hand went to her stomach, and another to her cheek. “How close?” He whispered.
“I…I don’t know…. too close…” she said breathlessly, still recovering from the intense contraction. Her bottom lip quivered as she looked at her partner, the faint smell of copper in the air as his bloodied hand cupped her cheek.
“I think I might have been in labour all day…” Every word was an effort, her body trying to draw all its focus inward onto the primal efforts of its task. But she couldn’t give birth out here… couldn’t have this baby now. The Boss was still alive, Victor had been shot, and they were stuck with no transport in the middle of nowhere.
“W-what are we going to do?” She panted, her fingers lacing with his on her full and low hanging belly.
It was dark in the woods, the only source of light coming from the full moon in the clear sky. But even in the low light she could see the paleness of Victor’s skin, the blood loss draining the colour from his cheeks. A stark comparison to her own flushed expression as each breath that filled her lungs was heavy and measured even between contractions. Melissa had no idea how far along she was in her labour, no clue how close their baby was to being born. But her waters breaking and the steady unyielding weight in her pelvis was not a good sign.
“What?! Like now? Is, is she…” Victor looked down at her, an image popping into his head of a baby dangling between Melissa’s legs. “Is she out? She coming now!? What do we do?” Victor asked. He thought there was going to be time, he thought he’d have a whole week to read the baby books? How long was labor supposed to even last? An hour? Two? The movies always implied it was fast and loud, a sure way of them both getting killed belt the kidnapper. Melissa’s body was ejecting their baby, and there wasn’t a way to stop it.
“Ok, ok.” He breathed, quickly looking back in the direction they’d come from. “C-can you just like… not have her yet? We can’t stop here.” Another glance down, panic evident. “Just hold her in like there’s a line in the bathroom, right?”
Nearby the cracking of branches announced the Boss stalking closer. He was still ranting.
“I ain’t got money for child support!” He was calling. “But I won’t raise no coward like that body man of yours!”
“H-hold her in—? Fucks sake Victor…. It doesn’t work like that….ooohhh….” Melissa snapped before humming behind closed lips. There wasn’t a contraction happening but that weight…. deep in her pelvis it felt like there was a bowling ball between her hips.
“She’s not coming out right now but… oh I don’t know, she feels so low. And the contractions are so strong already…. I don’t know how long we have…” she admitted, rubbing the underside of her belly as Victor looked nervously in the direction they had travelled. The thumping of her heart in her ears was so loud, she didn’t hear the rustling of the trees or snapping of the branches. But her blood went cold at the sound of her kidnappers' voice. Getting closer.
“Can you move?” Victor asked her, his eyes showing concern only for her even with a gunshot wound to the stomach.
Melissa nodded, still cradling her belly. With Herculean effort she moved away from the tree and they staggered deeper into the forest.
He wanted to carry her, anything to help her, but even moving was an effort on Victors part. The hole in his stomach was going to make this all much more stressful no doubt. They moved, the pace slow and sloppy. Even in the darkness, it was like following a bull in a china shop. Branches broke, bushes rustled, and Victor was silently cursing. At one point, Melissa had to stop, and he was forced to make her move even as a contraction wracked her body. With regret he took hold of her arms, and guided her.
“You can’t hide girlie!” The voice was further away. Had he actually lost them? Or was this simply a game to him? With the deranged sadistic mind chasing them, the latter was more likely.
“Keep moving.” Victor mumbled, his voice was getting quieter, and Melissa could tell it wasn’t because he was forcing it to. Victor was well and truly lost in the woods, his sense of direction evaporating. He had to protect her, that’s all he knew.
“Hooo…hoooo… ohhh Victor…” Melissa whimpered, her knees trembling and her gait wide as they staggered through the dark wood. “Mmmmhhh…. Oh god I can feel her… she’s so low—ughh-!”
She nearly doubled over as she clasped her rounded belly and pulled upwards, trying to relieve the building pressure. Another contraction had her curled into Victor's arms and gritting her teeth, trying desperately not to moan as her muscles contracted and her belly turned to stone against him.
“I— ohhhh— I need you to check me— she feels like she’s right there—” she gasped into his bloodied shoulder, nearly biting down as the pressure spiked. Barely able to speak Melissa prayed the baby wasn’t as close as it felt… she almost felt like she needed to—
The contraction finished and she gasped for air, pushing her intrusive thoughts away. They would make it to safety. They simply had to.
“Check?” Victor looked at her like she was insane. “H-how?”
The look Melissa gave him was a mix of exasperation and exhaustion.
“Right, right…” He had to do it fast, the kidnapper was on their trail. Victor helped her to the tree, seeing how her belly sat impossibly low. Cursing her overly tight dress, he managed to lift it just enough, and knelt. Well, there was no head between her legs, and for that he was thankful. “She’s not there.”
Melissa groaned. “Fingers. In.” Her voice came between breaths.
“Fingers… Melissa that…”
He couldn’t tell if the sound that came was a growl from her or simply more pain management from the baby coming, so he obliged.
Her hose were ruined, and panties soiled, but there was nothing to be done about that. Grabbing the hem, he tugged and moved till he had access to her. As gently as he could, he inserted two fingers. How deep was he even supposed to go? He didn’t feel a head or anything, was he supposed to? Maybe they had time after all.
“You’re good Mel.” He said, putting her clothes back rather than pulling them off. They had time for that later, he was sure. “Her head is nowhere I can reach.”
She nodded, swallowing a deep breath. “Okay…. Okay that’s a good thing. Unnngh… it certainly doesn’t feel like it but if you can’t feel anything…”
As Victor stood up from his knees, wincing and holding his stomach, she managed a smile. This man would move heaven and earth for her. “Thank you.” She kissed his lips lightly, holding on to his shoulders as her head tilted up to meet him.
“Are you alright Victor?” She asked, feeling his clammy skin against her cheek. The baby kicked, harsh and disgruntled. “We need to get moving again, I don’t think she’s going to wait for much longer. That last one was strong, I almost felt like I needed to…”
Her sentence trailed off, not wanting to say the word aloud. But her body knew, like an instinct somewhere in the recess of her mind. They were running out of time. There was something pressing down so deep inside, urgent and heavy, and somehow she knew the head of their daughter was right up against her cervix. Every move they made brought them closer to meeting their baby, but they couldn’t stop.
A cackling laugh suddenly echoed through the woods followed by a very loud gunshot.
The trunk not far from them exploded in a shower of bark. Pellets from a pump action shotgun did very little from a distance, but that didn’t stop a lucky shot from killing you. Victor was growling with effort, trying to get them both moving. The further and longer they ran, the slower they became. Melissa, to her credit, did keep a consistent pace. However each step appeared to force her stance wider and wider, like a saddle sore horseman. The perpetual leaning forward of her posture caused growing concern. Visually her belly looked the same as earlier, so that meant the baby was still up there right? When she got small then he would need to worry.
Another gunshot, another tree peppered with led pellets. The kidnapper was far from being in effective range, but he was catching up.
Another sound became prominent the further they moved. A roar, for lack of a better word. It took far too long for Victor to realize exactly what that sound was. Water, rushing water. Pulling Melissa behind a tree, he caught his own breath while letting her catch hers.
“Hear that?” He asked hoarsely. “That’s a river. That’s our ticket. We will never outrun him.” Victor removed his shirt, leaving only the blood stained undershirt as he tied a makeshift bandage around his stomach. A wince escaped his lips as he tightened it. “Nngh, jump in, let the rush carry you…” He said. Victors adrenaline was waning, and to Melissa’s eyes he’d appear on the cusp of passing out.
“My little baby here yet!” That cackling voice called. “I got so many lessons to teach! Including how to properly discipline a mother who don’t FUCKIN LISTEN!”
Victor took Melissa’s shaking hands. “I love you. I promise you will get out of here.”
“Me…? W-what about you?” Her eyes were wide, searching his, trying to understand what he was suggesting. As realisation dawned her mouth hung open. “You can’t leave me!…. I can’t do this without you….”
Victor seemed determined, military training having taken over with logical thinking. But he could barely walk as well, practically all the colour was gone from his face and his clothes were drenched with blood from the wound on his stomach.
“What are you gonna do Vic? You haven’t got any weapons. Hell, you can barely stand. You can’t fight him, he’ll kill you—ooooohhhh—”
Another contraction had Melissa grunting as her knees began to buckle. “Nnnnghh…. I can’t do this… ohhh… the baby is coming soon… don’t make me do this alone….”
Melissa whimpered, knees shaking as she gripped onto Victor for dear life, trying to get through the agonising wave forcing more and more pressure deep into her pelvis.
Victor sighed, he had to do this, he had to protect Melissa and their daughter.
“Mel…” He said, trying to find the strength to argue, he had none. The dress was so strained, her hair plastered to her face. The makeup long since wiped away from the combination of tears and sweat. Victor could only imagine how he looked to her. He pulled her close, arms wrapping around her body. Up close hugs had become a thing of the past after their daughter joined, her growth causing her parents to be unable to embrace like they once had. Victor knew there was no time, but he waited, waited for her grip to loosen, his only outward sign that the contraction was over.
“I’ll come. But, baby, I need you to promise me.” He forced her eyes to meet his, thumb and index fingers on her chin. She was so beautiful, so strong, fierce, loyal, independent. She was going to be one hell of a mother. “If you have the opportunity, to escape…” His breathing was uneven, something had to be wrong inside that he wasn’t letting on about. “You run. And you don’t stop till you find the cops.”
Far away, the eerie sound of a deranged man singing a lullaby reached through the woods.
“Promise Melissa. Protect her, before you worry about me.”
The couple remained silent, no exchange or words could soften the awful request he was making. Victor would remain as long as he could, but his time was limited, and he knew it.
They left the spot, moving at a glacial pace thanks to the constant contractions their daughter was causing. Each stop he saw the woman he loved descend further into pain, panic, and worry. The dress was torn in spots now, and her feet, he wanted to give her his shoes but had no time to stop, and they wouldn’t fit her anyways. He kept them both moving, following the growing sound of the river. It was their only hope.
They reached the riverbank, both out of breath as they looked across the ravine. The moonlight reflected off its surface, twinkling like stars on the dark depths of the water rushing down stream. Melissa was clutching her belly, panting even between contractions, trying to hold the baby inside of her anyway she could.
“I— I don’t know if I can get down there—” she said under her breath, looking hesitantly at their only option. The river was just so wide, so deep, a black abyss of uncertainty. Her legs were like jelly, wide and unsteady. The baby was so low it felt like she was seconds from dropping into a squat just to relieve the nauseating pressure.
The next contraction came before they could formulate a plan, and her body did exactly what she feared. Grabbing Victor's arm as her knees buckled, Melissa dropped into a squat and a low mooing sound came from the depths of her chest.
“Oh fuck— uhhhh— pressure—” her knuckles were white pulling Victor down as she sank further into the squat. “—nnngh— I think— I think I wanna push—?”
“Push? Nonono.” Victor practically fell beside her. “Melissa, don’t push.” He tried to touch her bump, finding it a malformed mass rather than its previously rounded state. “Breathe, j-just breathe. All we have to do is, ah!” He winced as she pulled him closer. For fear of her making too much noise, he pulled her into a hug, his free hand pressing her face into the crook of his shoulder. “Do whatever you have to do, but you can’t push Mel.” His eyes darted the treeline praying that their pursuer wouldn’t hear whatever noises she had to make to prevent pushing.
Melissa clung awkwardly to his body, her knees had spread wide in her squat but her face was somehow buried against his neck. Groaning deeply she worked through the intensity of the contraction, feeling every millimetre of progress her body had made now in this position. Her hips felt like they were being wedged apart, her lungs ached from each ragged breath. She resorted to panting, heavily and desperate as the pressure built quickly to its peak. Mercifully the contraction let her go and the sudden panicked urgency of birth faded away.
“Oh my god…. That was…. Oooohh….” Forming any sort of sentence was an effort but she slumped against him breathing slower and she hoped it would be taken as a sign the moment had passed.
Slowly she lifted her head, worrying filling her eyes as she looked desperately to Victor whose arms were still supporting her squatted position. “I think we’re running out of time…”
“You got that right darlin’…” A cold voice came from behind the trees.
Victor moved in the blink of an eye, yanking her up to her feet at the sound of a gun being loaded. “Jump!” He yelled, squeezing her hand tight. Obeying without question, survival instincts giving her the required strength, together they leapt off the riverbank.
The shock of ice cold water hitting them was akin to a freight train running down a car. For Victor, it spiked his adrenaline to the point that he forgot he’d even been shot. Heart pounding, he fought the current to reach the surface with speed. Was he still holding Melissa’s hand? Victor squeezed, finding that she was in fact still there. For Melissa, it only made things worse. Ice cold water forced all her muscles to contract involuntarily. In the dark depthless river, Victors hand was the only comfort.
He found her with his other hand, and kicked down hard, bringing them both back up to the air. Only seconds were spent submerged, yet it felt like an eternity since the pair had breathed air. Silence fell as the roaring returned. In the short time, the couple was already nearly a hundred yards downstream. Their pursuer was nowhere in sight, had he jumped too? Or simply given up? The latter was too good to be true. A rock hitting his leg pulled Victor from his thoughts, and he tightened his grip on Melissa, doing all he could to keep her above water.
“Hold on!” He shouted, and she could feel him not only holding her, but also wrapping around an arm to protect their baby in her womb.
The need for air triumphed over the pain and the ice cold water. She tried to move her legs, to swim so Victor didn’t have to keep all three of them afloat, but her lower half had stopped listening to her mind… legs spreading under water around the head constantly pressing against her cervix.
Water spluttered from her lips as she groaned, her body contracting, the baby moving down. The water was strong, plunging down stream with a frightening ferocity. Their heads kept getting pulled under, but Victor’s arm around her body kept bringing them to the surface.
Goosebumps covered her body, she had been so hot and sweaty trying to escape the wood in active labour but now every pore had clamped up against the frozen temperature and was screaming in protest. Her ripped dress was thankfully short enough to have ridden up her thighs but its fabric was tight across her skin, making her feel trapped in both the water and her own clothing.
They weren’t going to make it. This would be how it ends… drowning in the dark. Never meeting her daughter. Never marrying Victor. Never having that happy life she had pictured.
But then the water calmed, no longer pulling them under and almost lazily carrying them down stream.
“V-Victor— are you okay?” She gasped, still secure in his arms as he worked tirelessly to save them.
“I’ve. Been. Better.” He said between gulping breaths. He kept her tightly held to him, a hand against her contracting womb. Even submerged, he could feel how different her belly was. “Let’s not, do that again.” He forced a smile, it was weak, and the hair plastered to his face thanks to the water made it seem like a delusional joke.
For a few minutes, they just floated, the pair catching their collective breaths till Victor asked the question he’d been afraid to ask.
“How close?” No context was needed, for only one thing could make Victor, a man of action, bravery, and integrity soften his voice and fill it with such concern. His chest was to her back, an arm around her chest just beneath her breasts and above her belly, while the other remained on her stomach. Could that jump have hurt their girl? Could it all have caused her to be born in the water?
Melissa’s legs floated uselessly in the water, naturally wide apart, her dress gathered just under her hips. At Victor’s question she lowered a shivering hand around her belly and felt between her thighs. She winced at the touch of her own hand, sore and swollen behind the thin fabric of her black underwear.
“She’s not… coming out yet… but she’s definitely right there.” Melissa said with a cracked, rough voice. All the water and spluttering having scratched her throat raw.
“I— I can’t close my legs anymore, the head is that low…” Delirious from their near-drowning, a quiet laugh escaped Melissa’s lips. “But I think the jumping and ice cold swimming might have scared her from her arrival…”
As the sounds of the flowing water slowed, Melissa realised they had entered shallower waters and Victor was pulling them towards the bank. The edge was rocky, large boulders creating a bottleneck where the river quietened to a gentle stream. It was still deep and the water almost black in the dark midnight. Her bare feet found the bottom of the riverbed, her shoes for the evening's party long gone, and she tentatively stood upright in the water bracing against a boulder. Victor slumped exhausted against it beside her.
The movement of her legs and body prompted the sudden arrival of the next contraction. Her hands flew out against the rock as everything squeezed aggressively. “Unnnnghhh— fuck— Victor!”
Words failed her as the baby shifted, pressing urgently downwards and drawing a grunting sound from her throat. The instinct to squat… to open… returned with a vengeance and her knees trembled slowly bending. Dipping down into the icy water all she could manage to say was “—pressure—!”
“Mel, Mel we’re so close.” He said, lifting himself to try and discourage her from pushing. “Just keep her in a little bit longer, please.” He could only see her upper body, the woman whom he’d fallen in love with nearly a year ago. It felt odd, having a reflective moment here and now. This independent free spirit that had struck him as a nuisance on their first meeting, now actively laboring with their child. And here he was telling her not to.
With the stream being more of a gentle rush rather than its frantic roar, everything could be heard better, and much to his dismay, the groaning Melissa had been trying to suppress for so long echoed throughout the small gorge, flying in all directions to give them away. Hand on his stomach, he looked for something, anything that could help them. Reflected by the moon on the slow moving water, he spotted it. Decades of erosion ate away at the banks of the river, leaving spots sporadically where one might be able to hide outside of the forest's view.
“Ok j-just breathe.” Victor got behind her, pressing the heel of his hand into her lower back and massaging. It’d relieved some discomfort in the late months of her pregnancy, perhaps it could do some good here as well.
Automatically her hips jutted backwards against his firm hand, an instinctual shift to get counter pressure. With a shaky inhale Melissa focused on his words and his hands, releasing her breath as slow as she could manage.
“Hooooo— ohhhh I really want to push V-Vic—” her words a quiet whimper amongst her moaned breathing. It felt like the baby’s head was rammed against her bones, urgent and insistent. With wet palms slapping against the rock she growled through the peak and very nearly gave into her body’s instincts.
His hands stayed strong on her hips, squeezing and moving in tandem, as she shifted her weight side to side in the water. “I… don’t know if I can…hold back the urges much…longer…” Melissa admitted quietly. Not daring to let go from where she was braced against the rock.
“Ok.” He soothed. She was in pain, his only love was suffering. Victor took a look around again. There was no sign of the man, maybe they could rest, if only for a minute of two. “Melissa this is what I want you to do. Little pushes, j-just enough to ease the pressure.” Victor had no idea if that was how it worked or not, but he had to try. “I’ll help you walk, over there.” He nodded to the alcove.
They waited, five seconds, ten, thirty, when Melissa finally took a step it was unsteady, and Victor, despite his own pain, had to support her. Downstream the river was running crimson, his makeshift bandage had dislodged when they rushed down river. Victor didn’t care, his eyes were on Melissa. Her legs couldn’t get closer than shoulder width anymore. Was that the pain? Or was their daughter lodged so deep in her hips that it made it impossible? They stopped again, a little over halfway there.
“Do you need me to check again?” He asked, pressing a little harder into her lower back.
Melissa hummed her answer, nodding vehemently. Wading down the rivers edge would be difficult enough in this darkness even without a baby lodged between her hips. Every step felt like it could shift the baby that final inch right into position that would have her uncontrollably bearing down.
She grit her teeth, bending over slightly to brace her own thighs and would have bobbed under the surface if it weren’t for Victor’s arm around her waist keeping her upright. All logical thinking went out the window as the pressure thumped steadily downwards, contraction or not, it was always there reminding her of what needed to happen. Melissa barely registered the blood seeping more and more from Victor’s wounds, couldn’t think of anything bar the primal urges screaming through body.
“P-p-please check me— oh god— I really wanna push— I need to p—” Her legs twitched beneath the water, a growl of failed restraint echoing from her lungs, finally bearing down with the urge.
Victor acted fast, his arms going under hers to prevent Melissa from sinking deeper into a squat as her body finally got a little of what it wanted. Far too exposed in their current position, Victor practically forced Melissa’s legs to follow along with her body as he worked to guide her on. The fabric clinging to her belly shifted with each movement, and if it weren’t for the elements around them, he felt it would probably be a relief if he’d just tear all the restricting clothes off of her. However, that restriction was partially what was helping them delay their daughter's imminent arrival.
After her contraction ended, Melissa was paler than before. Resistance to her natural needs was taxing her to the point of what Victor thought was dangerous. Finally in the little nook, he leaned her against the vertical bank. Just as before, he knelt, wincing audibly as he tried to resist his own pain while simultaneously fighting her dress for access. The river water was murky and laced with grime, much of which was now caking the couple. Her thighs were dirty and scratched, and Victor found himself regretting making her jump.
“You’re doing so good.” He said, and Melissa had to take a moment to see that he was talking to both of them, mother, and daughter. With speed only mustered from panic and will, he pulled down her panty hose again as pushed her black panties off to the side. Just two fingers, he slid in. Barely past his second knuckle, he felt it. A tiny, solid mass, rounded with what he could only assume was a full head of hair.
“Shit…” He muttered. “Shit shit shit.” That was what? Three inches? Maybe four? The baby was so close to coming that renewed panic filled his mind. “She’s right there.” Victor said, rubbing Melissa’s thigh. “Only a few inches. Can, can you just, push her out real quick?” His cluelessness as to how birth worked remained his greatest shortfall. Not knowing that Melissa would have to fight with her body for every centimeter.
The laughter that came from her mouth was predominantly delirium. “I thought… we were trying to keep her in…?” Melissa said, leaning back against the riverbank and feeling the mud and roots on her spine.
The water levels had lessened significantly at this point in the river, but that meant gravity was pulling harder on all her muscles. Including the weight of the baby wedged in her pelvis and forcing her legs apart. “As— much as I want— to give birth— oooooh— I don’t think a crying baby is going to keep us hidden from that mad bastard.”
The reality of what Victor had said took a few moments to catch up with her brain. “What did you… did you say you could feel her? Our daughter?” The crack of emotion was clear in her voice just as much as it was mirrored in Victor’s eyes. Their daughter… she was almost here. “What are we gonna do?… I don’t think I can hold back from pushing anymore… I definitely pushed a little just now.”
The urgency of the situation got stronger with every contraction. The weight she carried, lower and lower in her hips was only going to end one way. Her hands were wet and muddied as she rubbed the swell of her belly, silently wishing her daughter to slow down. Melissa grimaced and shifted in the water, her tights pulling harsh around her thighs from where Victor had pulled them down.
“Ugh…. Just rip them off… they keep catching on everything and it feels like they are cutting me in half…” she asked with a frustrated huff, gesturing to the pantyhose littered with holes.
It was an easy enough request. Getting a good grip on one of the tears closest to her belly, he pulled apart. Fabric separated with the ease of paper. Within seconds, Melissa was left with her legs fully exposed to the elements, not that the tights had done much to deter them in the first place. Anger and anguish in equal measure bubbled as her bare legs and thighs were finally revealed. She was covered in bruises and little cuts. What he’d thought was mostly mud was in fact the woman he loved getting all sorts of scars.
“That better?” He asked, tossing the ruined tights into the river. Victor rose to his feet, one hand resting on the bank for support, the other pressing firmly into his side. “We can’t stay here long Mel.” He hissed. Victors eyes expressed the pain he was feeling yet refused to voice. “I need to get you somewhere that you can deliver, a road, a cave, fuck I’d take some hollowed out tree. So long as it’s warm and dry.” Both were pipe dreams, Victor was kidding himself about all of this. Every second out here, exposed and in the open, was a greater risk he’d lose the only two lives that he cared about. “But, you’re right. She can’t come yet, it’ll give us away and risk her even more. So, try to not push. Maybe one little one here and there, but we have to protect her. She’s safest inside you…” Forcing a smile, he got his weight under himself, taking away the supporting hand to put it in her bump.
Her heart melted as he touched her rounded belly so affectionately. So often Victor was forced to show little to no emotion or affection towards Melissa and their baby, in order to keep up pretences and keep their relationship a secret. Each time they were granted that intimacy and excitement of impending parenthood it took her breath away.
“To keep her safe.” She repeated, nodding gently. Her fingers laced with his, both pairs cut and scratched and dirty. Together the parents-to-be were determined to survive. For their daughter.
They continued down stream, following the bank until the ledge was low enough for the pair of them to get out. Victor continued to wince and hiss as he moved but never said a word. Too focused on protecting Melissa. Usually she would say something, force him to take care of himself, but the contractions were so close together now she barely had any energy to speak let alone worry about Victor. She needed him, had to trust him to get them all through this.
Before climbing out of the river, Victor checked the area as far as the moonlight allowed, fearing their kidnapper had somehow reached this far through the forest. Melissa rode out another contraction at the edge of the water, practically bent over a boulder and grunting tiny pushes. The pressure was too great to ignore the call of her body and pushing provided blissful seconds of relief. As if her instincts were celebrating she was doing what was needed. But she tried to keep them small, tried to clench her thighs as much as she could, not wanting her daughter to be born until it was safe.
In the short break between contractions Melissa somehow managed to crawl up the riverbank onto land, Victor helping her despite his injuries. She collapsed onto all fours on the grass, groaning with another contraction that happened less than a minute after the last.
“Mel? Mel!?” Victor was beside her in an instant. “Breathe, breathe. Little pushes.” Inwardly he was cursing. These damned contractions were too close, how in the Hell would they make any progress if she was forced to the ground every other minute? He thought about carrying her, it wouldn’t be much faster, but perhaps…
As if his own body was telling him that this was in fact not possible, he coughed, once, twice, a fit overtaking him. Hacking into the crook of his arm, the fit subsided and he managed a wheezing breath. This wasn’t good. Pulling away, he saw specks of crimson where he’d been coughing. Pushing aside his own welfare, he racked his brain for ideas. Carrying wasn’t going to happen. All they had was hope, hope that the bastard would give up, or never find them.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered into her hair, hugging her close. “I’m going to get you on your feet, then we need to get going.” Not too far ahead, the forest grew thick with undergrowth. Maybe a rest, somewhere hidden. He was so tired himself, and everything in him told him to lie down.
On all fours and panting heavily, Melissa nodded in understanding. The tight black dress she had chosen for the party was now soaked, ripped, and had ridden up to her hips. Her knees were cut and scratched, blood and mud smeared across her body. She shivered as the contraction ended, her damp skin prickling in the night air.
“She— feels closer—” Melissa said to the ground as she tried to catch her breath. “I— can’t stop— the pushing— I’m trying- to only do little ones but— oh Victor….”
The pressure between her thighs had mounted, the position of all fours opening up her pelvis fully, feeling like something had definitely shifted. Her hands clawed at the grass as she panted through the new sensation, soil gathering beneath her fingernails.
He removed his grip for a moment. Melissa’s belly was mere inches from the grass, and each contraction shrank it. The frame of reference let Victor see just how much her body was fighting her. Their daughter wanted out, and her body agreed. Impending danger to them all was the one and only reason he wasn’t stripping her clothing off to help deliver their little future. Victor watched in awe as Melissa shifted her weight back, the fabric of her dress coming up to reveal her panties waistline.
That, was when his heart dropped.
Between her thighs, under the black lace panties that only hours ago he’d helped her pick with the intention of taking them off later for both of their enjoyments, had a noticeable bulge. Her crotch pressed out, rounded, yet still her lips remained together. She was there, she was right there. How could he ask Melissa to move when their daughter was so close? Victor centered himself, taking in a painful breath before he spoke to her.
“Baby, we still have a little time.” It wasn’t a lie, but it was far from the truth. Victor had no clue how long it’d take for her to go from this to holding her baby. “She’s close, b-but she’s not showing yet.” He glanced again, seeing that she wasn’t receding, but more importantly she wasn’t actively progressing.
Melissa moaned with gratitude, hearing that the baby wasn’t showing yet. Every cell in her body, specifically between her legs, was telling her their baby was coming out. But Victor said they had time. They needed time.
“Okay— ooohh—okay that’s a g-good thing— we should— move before the next contraction hits…” she said heavily, sinking backwards to rest on the backs of her heels, rubbing her belly unconsciously.
It took more effort than expected - for both Melissa and Victor - to get back to their feet. Victor was ghostly pale and unsteady on his feet, struggling to aid Melissa to stand who couldn’t straighten fully and stayed hunched over and bow-legged. Gravity made everything feel so heavy, the impending weight pressing right against her labia inside her panties. Melissa’s hand shot between her legs, feeling like the baby was about to fall out of her body.
“Ohhhh… she’s right here, she’s really right there….” She gasped, feeling the change in her own anatomy from the impending baby. Panting heavily Melissa pushed upwards automatically, pressing against herself to give counter pressure against the urgency of childbirth. She kept her hand firmly on her crotch as they made the uncertain journey into the woods, hoping to find anywhere safe… anywhere they could rest while hiding from the armed grievous kidnapper.
Victor quickly became accustomed to the different sounds Melissa made. Winces and grunts, little cries of pain all from the different issues she was subjected to. The quick, abrupt hisses most often came when her bare feet found a sharp twig or jagged rock. The lower, almost guttural moans and grunts most assuredly were the result of their impatient daughter. Every minute, almost to the point he could perfectly time it, he watched Melissa tense her arm and press firmly into her crotch.
Trying to gain his bearings was hopeless at this point. Victors blood loss was so severe that he appeared as a specter in the woods rather than a man. Steps became dragging attempts of progression, and soon the effort to even hold his own side was too much. Vision blurring, he felt Melissa brush against him, whether in an attempt of comfort or simply because she was too distracted by her own pain, he didn’t know. He blinked, slow, lazily. Each time his eyelids grew heavier.
“Mel—“ He rasped, and suddenly he felt cold on his knees. Victor looked down, he was kneeling, he hadn’t done that on… Victor collapsed fully, eyes staring up into the moonlit sky.
“Oh my god—!” Melissa watched in horror as he hit the ground looking ghostly white, his eyes swirling unfocused. She dropped to her knees in an instant, both her hands flying to his chest. “No no no…. Victor…. Stay with me…”
Seeing the man she loved - her bodyguard, her protector, her soul mate - on the verge of unconsciousness and weak from blood loss made her heart stop. His chiselled perfect face was almost lifeless, blood staining his lips. The injuries he’d sustained must have been so much worse than he was letting on. She scrambled across his torso trying to locate the wound in a desperate attempt to try and stop the bleeding.
“P-please— please Victor— you have to get up— we have to keep g-going—” Melissa’s words were breathy and panicked, her palms pressing into the hole in his stomach against the tacky congealed blood on his shirt.
Victor looked right past her, his eyes unable to find exactly where the woman he loved was. He could hear her though, that sweet, gentle loving voice. For the first time in what felt like hours, he was numb, all the pain in his belly was gone, he felt oddly at peace. But, there was Melissa, and their baby girl. Weakly, Victor raised a hand to cup her cheek, using a thumb to wipe away the tears. Was this how it ended? Was Victor going to die unable to save her? Their daughter?
“Just, resting…” He said, the blood pumping in his ears preventing the bodyguard hearing what she said. “R-resting…” Another painfully slow blink, he tried to find their daughter, how old was she now? Three? No, four. He blinked again, finding that it wasn’t just Melissa kneeling beside him. A little redheaded girl, with brighter blue eyes and a smile to melt the world. “Hey kiddo…” He said, reaching out towards their girl.
In the realm of reality, Melissa had to watch as Victor reached for someone who wasn’t there, for, for their daughter? The daughter who, now that her mother was too distracted with her fathers condition, was taking her chance to escape.
Pushing! Without awareness or conscious thought, Melissa’s knees had spread across the muddy grass and suddenly she was pushing.
Her hands were still pressed into Victor’s abdomen while her womb squeezed and she grunted involuntarily. But Victor was dying. Pale and weak, hallucinating and barely conscious, the father of her child was prone on the forest floor.
The child surged downwards, desperate to be born. “Nnnnnghh—no no no—!!” The head was right against her lips, bulging obscenely behind her skin, and she growled at the overwhelming all consuming pressure. They weren’t going to make it… there was no way out of this. Victor was dying and this baby was coming. Any hope she had left disappeared faster than the river’s current and finally, she succumbed, giving herself fully to the inevitable.
Her bloodied hands slipped from his torso and grabbed his arm, a vice-like grip with nails clawing, and Melissa gave an almighty intentional push. Bearing down she felt every single millimetre as the head slowly began to part her folds, the sounds of her roaring effort echoing loudly through the forest.
Victor's hallucination changed. Their daughter looked at her mother. He did the same, but instead of seeing the vibrant and happy woman of his dreams, she was dirty, crying, her teeth clenched as she strained. A stinging in his arm forced his tired eyes down, her nails were digging into him, why? The forest, it was dark, their baby gone, and all that remained in its place was Melissa giving in to her body to release the primal cry as agony gripped her womb to expel their baby.
“M-Mel?” He sounded weak, yet coherent. Victor grabbed her arm with his free hand. “Breathe, breathe…” Even on deaths door, even with the reaper at his back looking to take him away, his concern was for her and their baby.
Unbeknownst to them both, only half a mile away, someone else heard Melissa’s cries, and started his trek to claim the woman and her soon to be born baby all for himself.
Victor with resounding pain and effort propped himself on an elbow to pull her close. “It’s ok, it’s ok.”
“Nnnnnghh-!!!! Pushing—Victor— I’m pushing—” Melissa grunted incoherently through her body’s primal action. It felt like there was no stopping it now; the contraction was drawing everything in and down, her belly tight and small while her legs were wide and spread.
The salty tears rolled down her face into her mouth that was baring her teeth with each strain of her body. The baby wanted to be born, starting to open Melissa’s body, eager to meet her parents. As Victor spoke and eventually moved to sit up slightly, her heart leapt with hope but she couldn’t speak while the contraction still held her hostage. Her nails dug crescent moons into his skin, clinging onto him any way she could through the uncontrollable pushes.
Then she slumped forward, panting heavily as the contraction waned and after a few gulps of air she could look up to his ashen face. “Oh Vic…. You’re hurt so badly…. I thought I was going to lose you…” She released her grip on his arm to gently cup the cool skin of his cheek. “We need to get you to a hospital… we both need a hospital.”
Melissa stated the obvious. But looking around they had no clue where they were or how to get to civilisation. “C-can you move-?” She dared to ask, uncertain if she could even move at this point, with the baby peeking between her sensitive folds inside her underwear. “We need to move… we have to go…somewhere….anywhere…safer than out in the open like this…”
Victor looked around, he felt so weak, and even the thought of movement seemed impossible. He put all his weight on his hands to push up, but all he received for his troubles was a flash of white and excruciating pain. His breathing was steady, wheezing with every inhale. Victor hated that he knew exactly what that noise was, and likely what it had came from . Just his luck, that the jump into the water was probably going to kill him faster that the hole in his stomach.
“Tree…” He said. With Melissa’s help, as much as she could at least, both of them got a few feet towards a tree trunk. Victor rested against it, eyes only focusing when he managed to look into Melissa’s. He smiled, that sad, knowing smile when he knew something she didn’t. “I don’t know if I’m going to get much further, baby.” He said. Slow, painful movements, and he lifted his shirt. The hole from the bullet was there, but up above it, his side was nearly black with bruising.
“I— only have— one working lung, I, think…” Tears fell down his cheeks. “She won’t— wait for her— d-dad to catch his breath.” He pressed his hand into the underside of her belly. “I d-don’t see— how we— all three get..” He coughed, blood and phlegm on his lips. “Out of here.”
On seeing the full extent of her partner’s injuries Melissa felt her stomach roll with nausea. The deathly black tinge to his ribs that faded into the smears of blood across his abdomen. She’d never seen someone so hurt, so battered and broken as Victor looked right now. The tears falling from his eyes was enough of a sign of how much pain he was in.
“Shhh… it’s okay… we’ll make it through this. We all will make it out of here.” Melissa softly whispered, running her fingers over the stubble on his cheeks. “I’m not doing this without you. Our daughter will just have to wait a little l-longer….”
A blind confidence washed over the labouring woman. In the absence of his usual unwavering strength Melissa became determined and tried to take charge for the both of them. “We will rest here for a bit… let you… oooohh.. catch your breath and then we can-uhhh— move again”
She knelt beside him, his chest rising and falling even faster than her own as he tried desperately to breath. But as her belly tensed again with a contraction she leant over his body, pressing a hand into the tree trunk behind him so she could brace against it as her body worked through the intense wave squeezing through her core. The intensity had her panting as she focused on Victor’s face right in front of her, determined not to push… to hold on for the father of this child. As she bit back a groan of resistance, they heard it—
“Come out, come out wherever you are!!” A chilling voice in the distance echoed through the trees and it turned her blood to ice.
That grating voice, and the look on Melissa’s face told him everything he needed to know. There was no way for him to get rest, not here, not now. The struggle was only exasperated for his laboring lover with the added stress of the man who had been hunting them for what felt like hours. An expression, he read it on Melissa before she could even warn him. A spike of adrenaline, born out of fear for her and their daughters lives, he moved.
It was excruciating, but he managed it. Victor flipped Melissa around so her back was on his chest, and her rear on his lap. Just as quickly, he put his hand over her mouth to staunch the oncoming noise he knew she wouldn’t be able to hold. Fearful that she’d give in, and that their frightened screams would also alert the kidnapper, he put his hand between her legs, cupping the baby’s head. Boots crunched close by, and his grip tightened.
“You know…” The man called, his voice only on the other side of the hedges they currently hid behind. “I think I knows what got ya try’n so hard t’ escape!” The couple listened to some fabric scratching. “Foun’ this here in your body boys jacket! Suuuure is a purdy ring! I’ll still let ya wear it, s’long as ya get on out here, AND STOP FUCKING HIDING FROM ME!” He fired the shotgun, and Victor tensed.
“Shhh.” He whispered into her ear.
For a brief second she panicked when Victor’s muddy palm went across her mouth, but she soon realised his intentions and she panted through her nostrils as her body continued its attack. Her legs were twisted awkwardly in the rapid movement onto his lap, partially bent, partially entwined with his. As the pressure of the head against her opening increased Melissa found her hips tilting backwards automatically.
It was urgent and insistent and she simply could not stop Mother Nature. The second Victor cupped her bulging crotch, providing blissful counter pressure, she bared her teeth behind his hand as she pushed uncontrollably. It didn’t matter that the sounds of twigs snapping or muttered ramblings were getting closer and closer, or the gunshot that rang through the empty forest, every cell in her body was focused downwards between her legs. Bearing down hard with the primal demands of nature, her body trembled with automatic effort. Mercifully Victor matched every push, keeping his palm secure over her underwear, preventing their daughter's progress and stopping any more of the head peeking through her sensitive labia.
A low grunting sound rumbled from deep in her chest and Melissa clamped her mouth shut trying to contain any sound from escaping past her mouth or Victor’s hand.
“Come on sweetheart…” the Boss’s smirking voice leered from behind a nearby tree. “You can’t hide from me forever. That bastard in your belly wants out any moment. Show me how close that nipper is to sliding out your—”
A thud followed by cursing told Victor and Melissa their assailant had tripped and stumbled in the low-lit woods.
This was their best chance, an opportunity to flee while he was distracted by his own clumsiness. But, Victor couldn’t get his legs to move, and Melissa was still tense, the contraction lasting an eternity. The baby was fighting both him and her mother, wanting release into the world, thirty-nine weeks of waiting to meet her parents. She definitely had her mothers patience.
“Don’t make a sound.” He breathed, so quiet even he could barely hear it. He released her crotch for but a moment, warmth coating his palm from the expelling amniotic fluid. Victor grabbed a rock, and with what strength he had left, he threw it off to their right. Luck was on their side, because they heard a crack as it landed on a branch, followed by a series of thuds as it rolled through the underbrush. Their pursuer heard it too, perhaps assuming they’d grown desperate enough to try and run.
“Got you now girly.” He growled, Melissa could perfectly visualize the predatory smile he would be wearing. “That lil bastards mine!” He shuffled off.
Even in his state, Victor made an important note in his head. Four shells have been fired, and the pump action he used only carried six. If he had no more ammo, they might have a chance after all. There was something else too, an odd hair in his run. He was limping, perhaps that trip had hurt him. The bodyguard was pulled from his observations by Melissa shaking, she was pushing again, and as much as he hated himself for it, he pressed his palm into her once again to halt process. The little luck they’d found couldn’t be ruined by their daughter's cries.
“It’s ok, it’s ok…”
Still awkwardly sitting on Victor’s lap, she grabbed the backs of her knees in desperation and pulled them up either side of her belly as she pushed hard. The brief moment he had let go to throw the stone had been all her body needed and the baby had slipped further… an oval shape bulging inside of her ruined underwear.
“Nnnnngh— she’s coming—out—” Melissa rasped her warning between the unstoppable rounds of pushing.
But Victor knew, he could feel the progress that had already been made when his hand clamped over her once more. The contraction was never ending… that insane overwhelming need to deliver this child was affecting her mind. The pressure and stretching around the head made her forget about the danger, not caring even. All that mattered was her primal desire to bear down and deliver this baby.
And so with every crest of the contraction Melissa pushed against his hand, over and over, but his palm never wavered, never granted any extra room. When the contraction finally gave up she slumped back against his bloodied and bruised chest, her own rising and falling dramatically as she tried to catch her breath.
“…have…to…give…birth…” she whispered, barely able to turn her face up to see his expression, his hand still firm between her legs while the other rubbed her swollen middle soothingly. “P-please… I have to get her out…”
“Melissa, listen to me.” His voice was calm, almost as if he was in too much pain to panic. “If you give birth here, now, your noise, and her cries, will get him here.” Victor made wide circles on her belly, praying that it could calm their daughter. “He will kill me, and I don’t want to think of what he would do to you and our girl.” Victor felt her womb sieze again, and this time instead of just holding the near crowning head in place, he pushed their daughter back in ever so slightly.
An idea came to mind, a horrible, painful one, but one that would at least buy the couple a little time.
“I still have my belt.” He told her. “Baby, we have to stop her from coming. It’s the only way. I can barely walk, and keeping my hand between your legs isn’t an option.” Logistics ran through his mind, and he debated how best to do what he planned. “It’s long enough to make a figure eight between your legs, and I’ll rest it above your hips.” Without realizing what he was doing, his thumb began to stroke their daughters head as if in apology. “It will only be till you’re safe. But you can’t give birth here or this family won’t exist.”
Melissa began to sob, writhing in his lap against his firm hand that was sending shooting pain up through her pelvis and spine. The logic was clear, but that part of her mind had long been shut off and only instinct prevailed.
“But— it h-hurts— so much—” her voice cracked through the hitch of her crying. “I— can’t stay like this— I have to push—”
Melissa’s silence confirmed that she was once more bearing down, her efforts moving the baby back down and undoing Victor’s attempt to give them more time. He let her push again, understanding she couldn’t stop it but kept his hand firm between her legs as she gave into the urge. When it was over and Melissa was resting between pushes, she heard the clink of metal behind her back and felt Victor moving her down his lap.
Exhaustion was sweeping over the labouring mother between contractions, her eyes barely focusing. She didn’t see him wrap the belt around her legs, barely felt the leather against her scratched and bruised thighs that felt numb in comparison to the burning at her crotch. It was only when Victor removed his hand and the counter pressure was replaced by something else that her eyes flew wide open.
“No… oh no Victor please…” the panic poured with each quiet word as her hands went to the contraption now entwined around her hips. But as she moved, the taut unforgiving belt held everything steady and in place… a perfect amount of pressure against her screaming hips, but most importantly against the sliver of the head now resting in the damp gusset of her panties. The baby would certainly not get out now, which meant they had more precious time.
“Shhh shhh shh… I promise, it’s only till we are safe. We can’t have a screaming baby here Mel. Not yet.” His hand now free, he stroked her hair in the way he had months ago when she’d broken down about the pregnancy. Nothing in his world was more important that the two women next to him, and if he had to cause her a little pain to protect them both, then he was willing to hate himself for it.
They didn’t wait long. During her next contraction and session of pushing, the belt proved to be more than enough to prevent any sort of progress. It’s only major downside in the meantime was forcing her legs closer and restricting that movement. He got up first, nursing his side all the while keeping an eye out for their pursuer. He was nowhere to be seen. Once vertical, Victor leant down, grabbing under Melissa’s arms.
“I’m going to lift. I need your help to get you up Mel.” The tears in her eyes broke his heart, and it hurt even more that he could do nothing for that right now. “We have to be utterly silent, baby.” Again, that spike of adrenaline from her being in danger was falling. He knew well enough that such a boost was impossible to have again, it was a miracle it had happened twice. If they didn’t get out before he crashed, they were all dead.
“One, two, three!” Victor pulled.
Rising to her feet a silent scream had her mouth wide open and eyes screwed shut. Her entire body was trembling and she clung to Victor like a lifeline, fingers hooked over his broad shoulders. The next contraction pulled her weight back towards the floor leaving her almost half-squatting, belly hanging between her parted thighs and her face pressed against his clavicle.
Melissa didn’t dare try and speak for fear of what sound would come out instead. Every muscle was squeezing and bearing down against the belt tight between her legs, her efforts moving the head only a fraction before it met the leather strap blocking the exit. The contractions were near constant and it was an effort to stand let alone move anywhere.
But deep down she knew they must. A lunatic was out there somewhere, armed and focused entirely on Melissa and her baby. That baby was safe while she stayed nestled inside her body. Their daughter couldn’t come out yet. With gritted teeth Melissa managed to get some semblance of control over her body and with shaking knees she straightened up. Nodding against her lover’s embrace, she silently told him she was okay to move.
Speed was an impossibility. Victor held onto Melissa, the pair breathing heavily. Even not knowing where they were, Victor knew where not to go, and that was the same direction as the kidnapper. Victor knew pain, he felt it now, but it was nothing compared to what he imagined Melissa was suffering through. Every minute or so, she’d slow, her belly shrinking and her legs naturally attempting to spread wider. It wouldn’t work, there was no way she could break that belt. At one point she’d nearly fallen, only held up by all the reserves of strength he had. The pressure within her body had to be intense, because with their daughters exit blocked, more amniotic fluid came instead.
Ten minutes, that was all either of them managed before Victor was too tired to keep her upright. It was forewarned by a single stumble, his hand planting on a tree. Eyes unfocused, he squinted off into the woods.
“What’s that…” He said, trying to get a better look.
Melissa was in the midst of a forceful contraction, bearing down fruitlessly with all the strength her body demanded in its hopeless attempt. Left gasping, she cradled her belly with soothing motions and followed the direction of Victor’s gaze.
The pain was blinding them both, but it looked like a man made shape; square, with a triangular top, hidden in the distance within a thinning patch of woodland.
“Is… is that a c-cabin-?” She whispered with laboured breaths, not trusting her own eyes. But when Victor squinted and nodded, the tiny dying ember of hope inside her glowed just a little.
With heavy cumbersome steps they moved through the forest keeping one eye on the large shadow of the cabin, afraid it would disappear like a mirage. But each step they took only brought more of the building into view. Wooden and very clearly abandoned from the decay and rot of the outside slats. There was a narrow porch along the front with two murky windows and an olive green door.
“It is…” Victor said, disbelief in his voice. Of all the things he’d expected to find out here, a hunting cabin, albeit an abandoned one, was a godsend. “Holy shit… it is.” He found himself smiling at her.
With renewed hope, the couple limped their way to the cabin, the support they provided one another blending into an inspiring urgency to reach their destination. The steps up were difficult, with Victor having to hold Melissa’s waist as her restricted movement caused issues. He followed, palm still pressed to his side. The wheezing of his breaths was far worse now, but that did nothing to dampen the hope in his eyes. Muttering a prayer, Victor reached for the handle. It was unlocked!
“Inside.” He said, gently guiding her in.
The moonlight cast shadows across the room, its dirty windows only allowing a fraction of the light to enter. The cabin was minimalist, as one would expect of a hunting abode. A cot laid in the corner, lot blankets that reeked of mildew crumbled at the foot. A wood stove in the opposite corner with a small smoke stack stretching to the ceiling. There was also a table with a seat, and some boxes strewn here and there. Victor couldn’t have cared less. This place was warm, and it was dry.
Melissa staggered on unsteady legs into the dark abandoned room and practically slapped her palms against the table as she bore down yet again. The black fabric of her dress was hitched and gathered at her hips and caught up in the belt that wrapped tight between her thighs. The movements of her body were completely involuntarily; hips jutting backwards and circling ever so slightly in a desperate attempt to move the baby out of its current position where it filled the birth canal completely. Primal sounds of effort echoed in the empty cabin as she struggled to give birth with the leather holding her hostage.
When the contraction let her go she slumped over the table, too nervous at the idea of sitting on the hard wooden chair and not wanting to go anywhere near the bed that smelt of damp and mildew. Bending at the waist Melissa folded her arms on the table, opening her hips as much as she was able, and rested her head exhaustedly into the crook of her elbow.
“V-Victor…. I can’t do this… much longer… I can’t cope….” Her words were thick with defeat and exhaustion and pain.
His body called this place safe, but his mind refused to believe that. Victor nearly hit the ground as he tried to sit, only catching himself on the table at the last second. Finding that he saw two separate chairs, he decided against it. In their current condition there was no way Melissa could get him up.
“Not, long.” He told her, trying and failing to be reassuring. Melissa needed the bed, but there was no telling what was growing on it. He needed bandaging for his stomach, the bleeding was slow, but only because he thoroughly believed he was running out. The rear wall was decorated with what appeared to be an old pelt. Not clean, but far from the disgusting green on the mattress. He moved, forcing himself to ignore Melissa’s noises. He couldn’t be distracted, not yet. Once the bed had a covering he would get her onto it, undo the belt, and they’d have a baby. It was so simple.
The pelt was huge, a bear by his best guess. He tore it down, the old rusted nails tearing through the old leather. Melissa watched him shuffle painfully to the bed, putting it over everything. It would have to do. Next, he started to rummage. The multiple boxes had an assortment of supplies, all of which were long past their expiration dates. One though, was a red metal tin. A first aid kit.
“Nnnnngh—Victor—get this off me—!” Melissa groaned, holding herself up on the table by one elbow while her hands scrambled at the leather between her legs trying to find the buckle. She couldn’t see in the dark, nor over her swollen belly that hung low and obscured her vision.
Every nerve in her body was trembling and desperate. As her hands brushed her cut and bruised inner thighs she grunted and pushed again, the head was right fucking there, so close and yet trapped behind the leather contraption.
Her sounds got louder the more desperate she became. “I— need to have this baby— get it out— get it outta of me—” Though they were inside a wooden cabin it would certainly not contain the noises of a birthing mother and Victor hobbled to her side to try and calm and quiet her down.
“Fuck. I know it hurts but Mel you have to be quiet.” He hissed. Injuries would wait. He had to help her first. He tried to rig her dress higher to reach the buckle. Where had he put it? It, it wasn’t… Victor violently shook his head to try and force his eyes to work. Too loud, she was too loud! Victor found the buckle, just beneath her left buttock. His fingers wouldn’t work, the blood loss causing motor function to fade. And there was no way she could reach it.
“Well…” A voice said from the doorway. “If I was an insecure man, I’d say you were trying to have your way with my woman…” Victor turned, only to see the kidnapper standing there, shotgun aimed squarely at his chest. “That’s my little bastard in there body boy. Not yours.”
He didn’t know why, but Victor tried to throw himself at the man. Was it a vain hope? Some poorly judged attempt at saving Melissa? It didn’t matter in the end. The stock hit Victor squarely in the temple, knocking him to the ground. He was out before he hit the wood.
“Now… my dear… how’s my bastard?” He moved closer to where Melissa was, sticking a hand between her thighs. When he found the belt, he frowned. “You naughty girl… that’s why they aren’t here.”
A fierce maternal instinct had Melissa shoving her elbows back hard, protecting herself and the baby against the vile man who had pressed up behind her bent position over the table.
In the brief moment the Boss stumbled backwards Melissa tried to make a run for it. With the belt around her thighs and a baby wedged deep in her pelvis she didn’t get far before the man had grabbed her and threw her down onto the pelt-covered bed.
Melissa cried out in pain as her backside and hips collided with the uneven mattress, sending shockwaves of agony from her pelvis all the way up her spine. “Wh—why are y-you doing t-this—?” She panted, tears and fear reflecting in her eyes, her hands wrapped around her large womb.
The man crawled over her body, ragged and wild, his hands sliding up her bruised and bloodied thighs with predatory slowness. “You ruined everything… you were supposed to be a good little hostage until your daddy gave in to our demands. Now my men are all dead… but this baby—” His rough hand cupped the bulge between her legs and made a sickening noise of enjoyment. “This baby that’s oh so desperate to come out…. Will be my consolation prize.”
With the glee of a hyena catching a baby antelope, he took a fistful of her dress and yanked, tearing it as part caught on Victors buckle. Delight filled those eyes, and he sat the shotgun down beside Melissa. To him, she was less than a threat, she was a source of entertainment. Take the baby, and then probably kill the mother. No doubt the senator would pay handsomely for that. Melissa thrashed as he placed his hand on her womb.
“Be a good girl.” He growled. “And maybe I’ll let you mother a second bastard.” Leaning in closer, he purred. “Go ahead, give in. Beg, and I’ll remove the belt.”
The hot stench of his breath on her face, combined with the white hot pain between her legs, nearly had Melissa vomiting. As his hand rested possessively on the bare patch of skin showing through the torn fabric of her black dress, her muscles contracted violently and she couldn’t stop herself from pushing.
His touch was like daggers on her skin, but she was in no condition to fight or push him away. Mother Nature was screaming at her and left her unable to do anything but push. The kidnapped groaned with pleasure as she pushed right in front of him, both his hands splayed across her belly in gleeful fascination as it contorted in on itself, muscles tight and squeezing the baby down.
“Yes….. ohhh look at you… so full and desperate to birth your bastard babe…” he sneered, almost grinding on her thighs as she beared down uncontrollably.
Melissa gagged and grunted and pushed, trapped beneath this deranged animal of a man, torn between wanting to birth her baby and keeping her safe in her womb. But the choice was not hers to make. She couldn’t move and there was a strong piece of leather strapped across her crotch, leaving her in a perpetual state of almost-crowning. Her eyes scrunched and tears rolled down her cheeks with each reluctant push, and with the man straddling her swollen body Melissa didn’t see the slow movement happening on the floor of the cabin beside the table.
Victors eyes opened. The kidnapper was so unhealthily obsessed with Melissa that he’d not even bothered to double check that Victor was dead. He watched Melissa pushing, and the great pleasure the man was receiving in return. He had to get him off of her.
Rage boiled from deep within, even more so when he saw the little box the kidnapper had removed from his pocket to dangle before her. The ring Victor was planning to propose with. With all his strength, he lunged.
While Victor was a bigger man in almost all respects, the kidnapper was nowhere near as exhausted as the couple was. It didn’t matter. This fucker was going to die for what he’d done. Victor's forearm wrapped around his neck, the other coming to lock it in place. The bodyguard flexed, his body screaming at him to stop. Caught by surprise, the kidnapper kicked his legs out, throwing them both back to the ground. This was the flaw in Victors improvisation. In a ground game, he was severely outmatched. With the loss of body functions and severe lack of breathing capability, he would run out of strength before he’d knock out the kidnapper.
“M-Mel!” He called, as if she could help, or maybe he wanted her to run? Melissa was stuck there, watching the father of her child dying all the while trying to kill the man who’d hurt them both. And in all the chaos, their baby girl wanted to come. “Sh-shoot!” His frantic eyes flicked to the gun that was still on the bed, and the one shell he was sure it still housed.
Following his gaze Melissa looked across the bed and saw the gun. But she couldn’t move— couldn’t stop pushing— and the gun lay just out of reach.
The cracking sound of bones colliding echoed through the cabin and Melissa looked up in time to see the kidnapper slam a punch at Victor’s face, blood spitting from his mouth as his head went back into the floor. Everything was happening so fast, Melissa didn’t know what to do… couldn’t form a single thought.
She clamped a hand between her thighs, pressing upwards against the emerging baby to allow her legs to close a fraction, to provide counter pressure that might just grant her a few seconds of cohesive thought. With her free hand she rolled onto her side with a groan and grabbed the gun.
Sitting wide legged on the edge of the bed, both hands now shaking and holding the weapon up, she took aim. In the darkness it was impossible to tell who was who, the men rolling and punching and kicking on the dirty wooden floor. One second Victor came into view, the next it was the madman— what if she got it wrong?! What if she shot the father of her child??
The baby kicked, a contraction starting up again, and her body was suddenly bearing down automatically. As the pressure in her groin jumped to astronomical levels her whole body tensed as it gave in to the push…. including her fingers that had been hovering over the trigger.
Since their first meeting, Victor had only taken her shooting once. Even with the proper technique, any attempt to use it was squashed when their daughter forced her mother to push.
There was a flash of light, followed by the sensation of being kicked in the shoulder by a mule. Such pain was an afterthought thanks to her body’s constant need to push. Her eyes had been shut, the force of the contraction too much for her to keep them open. The gun fell to the ground, and a thud followed soon after. A body, she’d hit someone, Victor? The kidnapper? The darkness made it impossible to tell. All she could hear was her heartbeat, her cries, and the straining of the leather still between her legs.
“V-Vi—“
She heard coughing. And fear swelled.
Backlit by moonlight, someone sat up. Whoever it was moved slowly, dragging themselves across the floor towards the noises she couldn’t stop herself making. It was the kidnapper, she hadn’t killed him, she’d killed Victor! A hand came, gripping hers tightly.
“I, thought. I’d taught you…” Victors voice was hoarse. “Don’t jerk, the trigger.”
Melissa burst into tears. All the fear and pain and exhaustion culminating into one outlet, sobbing with sheer utter relief. “I— I thought I’d— killed you—”
A cloud moved overhead allowing a beam of moonlight through the murky windows and she could now clearly see the man standing in front of her. This rugged handsome man that had entered her life a year ago; her lover, her partner, the father of her child.
She gripped his hands, squeezing tight as she croaked his name in disbelief. Her fingers were curled and trembling as they travelled up his bloodied arms like a ladder trying to reach his face. The need to touch him, to feel his heart beating… the need to make sure he was alright… the need to—
“Nnnnghhh—!” Push! Melissa groaned, her body acting of its own accord, but she didn’t have the strength to aid it anymore. Muscles tensed and contracted, attempting yet again to expel their child but even her body waned in its efforts. Too long had Mother Nature been denied. It was as if her body was giving up, admitting defeat.
He was there for her in an instant. Weak as they both were, renewed strength was found and harnessed by the hope that maybe, just maybe, they’d both survive. With the man dead, there wasn’t a single fathomable reason to stop their girl being born.
“Breathe! Breathe it’s ok I’m here, I’m here.” He tried to soothe her, but knew at this point it wouldn’t do much. She had to push, and he had to help her. Pulling one of his hands from her grip, he started to tug at the belt, trying to enforce his willpower on his fingers to comply. No matter how much he wanted to though, blood loss had rendered them near useless.
When the contraction ended, she was left in agony, their daughter in a nonstop fight with the leather. He could only think of one other way to get them off that was not as dangerous. Melissa would need to stand again.
“Baby, baby listen.” He said, forcing panic out and bringing that authority into his tone to get Melissa to listen through the pain. “Your legs are too wide, I can’t get the belt off.” Victor cupped her cheek, wiping away tears with his thumb. “I’m not going to risk cutting it, not with her so close. So I need you to stand up.”
“I— can’t—” Melissa’s chest heaved with unbridled sobbing. Her bare legs were spread wide over the pelt across the bed, the black fabric of her dress ripped and bunched at her hips, and her spine was barely holding her upright - the only reason she was still sitting was due to her fingers clawing at Victor’s clothing.
Carefully, he bent forward and hooked his hands under her arms and taking some of her weight he slowly moved her to standing. Both of them were beyond weak, trembling, clinging to each other in desperation to get through the final hurdle. When Melissa’s knees threatened to buckle Victor turned her around quickly and guided her over to brace against the bed. Allowing him access to the belt buckle that was just below her left cheek.
The instinct to open, to squat, to push was so hard to ignore and she almost yelled when Victor ushered her legs together. Gritting her teeth, Melissa panted as he tried to work at the bloodied fastening which was also covered with amniotic fluid and mud.
“H-hurry— unghhh—! I— can’t hold it— much longer—” Melissa croaked as the next contraction approached and she dreaded the thought of being stuck like this for a single second longer. And if that contraction struck before the belt came off she feared she’d not be able to withstand another blocked attempt at pushing.
He knew when a body decided to take over, the mind had no power to stop what nature demanded. Melissa’s knees were shaking as she fought, and it would only be precious moments before they were forced apart yet again in a vain attempt to push a baby through a leather strap. He worked as fast as he could, his heart racing and his breathing weakening to a wheeze. Bloodless fingers fumbled with the buckle, taking too long. Melissa’s legs were spreading.
“Fucker!” Victor growled, angry at his body for failing them both. Unable grab, Victor tried one last desperate gambit. Teeth bared, he bit the leather laced through the buckle, tugging at it. It worked, albeit a bit too well. Leather tightened before it loosened, pinching Melissa’s thigh to the point of bleeding. But that was an afterthought. The belt was undone, and their baby girl had no more restrictions.
“PUSH!”
The sound that came from Melissa was raw and desperate and primal. Legs spreading wide, fingers clawing at the bear pelt, she succumbed to her body’s demands. The baby had been stuck at a partial crown for so long her skin almost felt numb, a coping mechanism to the near-constant burn she’d felt for so long. But as she beared down fully, giving all her remaining strength down between her legs, the head moved and a white hot burning screeched through her senses.
“Nnnghhh!!— fuck—!” She wheezed between pushes, before her body returned urgently to its task. As if it was fearful the ability to push could be taken away at any minute.
Victor's hands were holding her hips, thumb affectionately squeezing in encouragement. Knowing he was alive, he was with her, delivering his daughter… It gave her hope and strength. A guttural roar of effort bounced off the dusty cabin walls as the head reached a full crown.
She was right there…
Medical knowledge notwithstanding, it wasn’t a leap of logic for Victor to discern that the little tuft of red hair caked in amniotic fluid was actually their baby girls head. He’d been right, a little victory that he loved came true. This baby was going to look just like her mom. He smiled widely, though he knew Melissa couldn’t see.
“She's right here baby! Got her momma's hair too!” He said, the excitement in his voice equal to the day she’d told him she was pregnant. “You held back long enough. Let’s get our girl.” Hands squeezed her hips, a silent affirmation. Victor was going nowhere. Nothing could describe how he felt when the baby’s head was crowning. Joy? Terror? Admiration? Perhaps a combination of all three and many many more. Melissa had always been the strongest person he knew in spirit. She proved that tenfold tonight.
“She— she’s got r-red h-hair-??” Melissa laughed through her crying. The juxtaposition of joy in this moment compared to what was happening only five minutes ago.
As her body tensed with an automatic push, she growled with effort as she felt the full size of her daughter's head stretch her open beyond words, beyond description. Pure determination and feminine strength had Melissa giving it her all, focusing all her energy on one thing - out! Every cell in her body trembled as the head finally breached its widest point and she wailed in pure relief as the head burst free with a spurt of more fluid.
“Ohhhh—god— was that… is the head out??” She gasped, croaking a ragged inhale, recovering from the strain.
It was the head. Hanging down between the thighs of the love of his life, a baby’s scrunched face greeted him. Victor was too amazed and in awe to speak, the words he wished to say dying in his throat. So, he reached out. Melissa felt him let go of her thigh, but before panic could set in that he might have collapsed or passed into unconsciousness, his hand was holding hers. Soaked in the very fluid that had been keeping their daughter suspended, he guided her down between her legs till fingers met flesh that was not her own.
“She’s right here Mel.” Victor said, finding his voice. She could hear the emotion weighted in it, and accurately assumed tears fell as well. “Our baby is almost here.” He looked back between her thighs, ready for the inevitable moment that she would push.
“Oh wow…. Hi baby….” Melissa’s fingers trembled as they touched the slimy surface of their daughter's head. Making first contact with the little life she had been growing for the last nine months. Beneath the pads of her fingertips was a face, a little nose, pouting lips. This moment would be forever ingrained in her memories.
Then the baby turned, the feeling was unlike anything she’d ever felt. In a brief moment of uncertainty Melissa let go of her daughters head and grabbed the edge of the bed once more, needing something stable to hold on to as her body began to prepare for the next hurdle.
“Ohhhh… oh this feels weird…. I think… uhhhh…fuck gotta push—again—” she blurted a warning before her hips went back and her knees went down, half squatting in a natural instinctive movement.
The squeezing of her muscles, the focusing of effort, it was all beyond consciousness. Melissa was simply moving as nature demanded while their daughters shoulders pressed against and then stretched her opening once more. “Nnnnnghh!— she’s coming— she’s coming out!!—” she cried out as a rumbling grunt echoed from deep in her chest.
Victor could do nothing but watch. Their girl rotated ninety degrees. Melissa’s body was done holding back. He didn’t know how fast this was supposed to go.
“Oh, oh! Oh!” First a shoulder, then the other, and less than a second later with a splash of her remaining amniotic fluid, a baby was in Victors waiting arms. His eyes were wide, not even hearing Melissa asking if the baby was ok. She was so tiny, so absolutely perfect. The baby was still connected to Melissa through the cord, yet something else that Victor wished he knew what to do about. The world stayed silent, until it broke and a shrill cry of a screaming baby filled the air.
“She’s here!” Victor said, finding his voice. “Mel she’s here!”
It felt like the world had stopped turning. That sound. That precious musical sound filled Melissa’s heart with more love and relief imaginable. Somehow she kept strength in her trembling legs, instead of buckling to the floor she tried to turn around. She wanted to see… she had to see her daughter. But something got caught - the cord.
Automatically Melissa lifted a leg, blood and fluids pouring down her inner thighs, as she tried to step over the cord. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see them; her partner with the delicate wailing infant in his arms, their daughter. Relying on one leg as she raised the other was evidently too much for Melissa’s poor exhausted body and before she could lift it high enough her legs buckled completely, collapsing down to her knees on the harsh wooden floor.
“Mel…” Victor said. She needed to hold their baby, he had to see it. “Baby. Try to roll.” The baby was still crying, sensing her parents fear, being scared, or just hungry, he had no clue. Victor leaned forward, letting the umbilical cord reach all the way to the floor. Just a few inches, that’s all. Just a few. A bright light flashed across the window, so fast that Victor was unsure if it was real. Melissa didn’t notice, or just didn’t acknowledge it.
Victor adjusted the baby, holding her in one tired arm, the other trying to lift Melissa’s leg up so she could sit. He felt himself fading, he needed to see it. He needed to see Melissa hold their daughter.
Melissa barely registered anything other than the cries of her baby. Her leg was in the air, was Victor holding it up?.. she didn’t know, didn’t care. Somehow she was sitting on the floor, on the edge of the pelt that draped off of the bed, her arms reaching out towards the tiny little life that was crying.
Tiny… she was just so tiny. Her fingers were both shaking and secure as she lifted her newborn daughter from Victor's arms and put her immediately to her chest. The tears flowed like rivers down her cheeks as she took her first proper look at the little redheaded baby girl.
“Shhhh… it’s okay little one… mumma’s here…” The automatic softness of her voice was instinctual as she moved her hands across every inch of the babe, every limb, every finger, every toe. She was perfect.
With a bright smile through tears of relief and happiness, Melissa looked up at the love of her life, father of her child, to celebrate the arrival of their daughter. But her smile faded when she saw how ghostly pale he looked, the way he swayed and his eyes rolled.
“Victor—?”
More lights flickered at the edge of Victors vision. All the willpower, all the duty of a bodyguard, a lover, and a father, could no longer keep him here. Melissa saw him smiling, even as his eyes lost focus. Victor tried, one last time to reach out, to hold her hand. So much was left unsaid, so many things he wanted for her, for them both. Thoughts fading into nothingness, he thought about the engagement band. Victor collapsed, the last of his life spent handing his baby girl to her mother.
Sounds filled the cabin, though he couldn’t tell what their source was. Shouting, crying, a baby, their baby. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.
At the thud of Victor’s body hitting the wooden floor of the cabin, his arm stretched out towards them both, Melissa’s heart shattered and she wailed. The gunshot wound, collapsed lung, the blood loss and the physical brawl with the kidnapper. Her bodyguard had kept her safe and delivered their child but at what cost…
Melissa didn’t notice the flashes of light from outside the cabin, didn’t hear the noises of trucks or shouts in the distance. She crawled over to Victor’s body, one arm wrapping their baby against her chest, the other desperately seeking his ribcage. To feel a heartbeat, to feel his lungs rising with a breath, anything.
She was sobbing hysterically over her partner when the doors burst open - a search party sent by her father. Suddenly there were people, so many people, so many voices. But none of them were Victor’s. They had to prise her away from Victor’s body, medic’s appearing from nowhere to examine both Melissa and the baby. She watched as another medical person in uniform knelt beside and worked on Victor.
“I’ve got a heartbeat!” They yelled.
Melissa swayed with sheer, utter relief and the medic examining her had to catch her before she slipped to the floor.
“Whoa… easy there Miss.” the young Medic said, holding her steady and guiding her towards a stretcher that someone had brought into the cabin. “He’s in the best hands. We’ll get you all to the hospital, don’t worry. You’re safe.”
~•~
Beeping. Incessant and rhythmic. The first sensation Victor felt was a dull, aching throb in his stomach. He went to sit up, but realized his body wouldn’t allow such a thing. With agonizing slowness, his eyes opened. A white room, one that smelled of disinfectant and the most heinous fake lavender air freshener he could imagine. He blinked again, eyes focusing a little more. Where the Hell was he? Was this a hospital? He tried to speak, finding that his throat was raw from disuse. Logic left as memories flooded. Mel, their daughter, where?! Panic set in, the bodyguards eyes frantically darting side to side, utterly unfocused.
He moved again, a groan coming from his throat, followed by a series of rasping coughs loud enough to wake the slumbering Melissa, who he hadn’t realized was occupying the bed beside him. Nor did he see the little girl dressed in a bright pink onesie in the crib between them.
Hearing a noise Melissa stirred, automatically shhhing as she pushed herself up in bed, assuming her daughter was hungry. “It’s okay little one… hi…. Mummy’s here…”
But as she blinked herself awake and stared at the sleeping baby, her eyes landed on Victor. Awake. His eyes were open.
“Oh my gosh… Victor…” She threw the blanket off her bed and ignoring the soreness of her body she slipped out of her bed immediately going to his side. “Victor… you’re awake… you’re okay.”
Her hands wrapped around one of his, the one without the IV drip, the one she frequently had held while he was unconscious and recovering from surgery. Bending forwards she brushed a kiss to the back of his hand.
“I’d…. I thought I’d lost you…” her words a fearful whisper against his skin.
Victor coughed again, trying to moisten his throat to speak. Melissa helped, giving him a small sip of water through a straw. It took a few moments, but he eventually was able to muster the strength.
“Not. That. Easy.” He said, smiling. If Victor was honest, he thought he was dead. The bloodloss, the injuries. Even now he felt his ribs grinding together. “W-where…” He looked around, spotting the little baby still asleep in her bed. She was ok, their baby girl was ok. Focus returned to Melissa, eyes scanning her up and down. Bruises and cuts covered most of her body, but that smile.
“How long?” He asked, gulping painfully.
“Nearly two days.” Melissa said with a painful smile, those two days had been torture. Not knowing if he was going to make it through the countless surgeries, how or even if, he would recover from his injuries.
“I’ve told my father about us. I kinda had to. I may have thrown a fit when the doctors suggested moving you elsewhere.” Melissa giggled, still keeping her hands on his torso, as if making sure this was all real. That he was really awake and alive. “They weren’t giving me any information about you, said it was “family only”. So now everyone knows… about us. About her.”
Melissa turned around, bending to pick up their newborn baby daughter wrapped in a pink cotton onesie with daisies printed all over. Her little hands balled into fists grabbing Melissa’s hospital gown as she placed her head into the crook of her arm and against her chest.
“She’s perfect Victor. You kept her safe. You kept us all safe.” Melissa couldn’t stop her eyes from welling up, holding her daughter in her arms and placing her gently against Victor’s side so he could get a better view.
“Look at that…” He said, utter disbelief in his voice. Victor reached out, brushing his fingers along their daughters cheek. She quietly fussed, and Victor instinctually recoiled, worried he’d hurt her. It took Melissa’s reassurance to convince him otherwise. “She looks just like her mom.” Victor continued to brush the baby's cheek, his eyes bouncing between her, Melissa, and the new ring that now sat upon her third finger.
“You got the ring. Sorry that it wasn’t as romantic as I’d planned.” Victor adjusted in the bed, wincing, but accepting the pain in order to get closer to his fiancé and their daughter. “If it’s been two days… Did you name her already?”
“The police found the ring and I erm… assumed.” Melissa smiled brightly, holding up the diamond proudly and catching it in the florescent hospital lights. “You saved my life, and delivered our baby, I’d say that was pretty romantic.”
She bent forward, carefully keeping the little girl secure between them as her lips brushed tenderly against Victor’s. Full of so much emotion, love, and gratitude. Pulling away slowly, the baby stirred and disturbed her parents' reconciliation.
“I haven’t named her yet, I wanted to wait for you to wake up, but I have thought of a name. After everything we went through to bring her into this world safely, I keep thinking about how we managed to escape… if it wasn’t for that river in the forest we never would have made it as far as we did.” Melissa looked down at the pink cheeks of her redhead daughter, nestled between her parents.
Story: A woman is a perfectionist with a planned homebirth, but her water breaks at the bus stop, forcing her to get home in labor which is moving faster than she wants. What’s worse, she hasn’t set anything up at home, so she starts setting up everything as fast as she can, even with the head beginning to descend. Each time it gets too close, she moves it back. At one point, she has to hide her labor from a poorly timed delivery man. It doesn’t matter if it’s small, she refuses to give birth until everything is her preferred way. She could be 1 push away from delivering, but remember something she forgot and move it back to fix it then do it all over again.
(Thoughts?)
My thoughts are that this would be lots of fun! So following in my, post nothing all week, then post twice in one day, here you go!
The following story contains: extreme self birth denial and lots of pushing the baby back in. Fpreg.
Lindsey had a plan—she’d have a home birth, in front of a mirror so she could see what she was doing, with a camera recording for posterity, squating, candles, incense, relaxing music. It was going to be perfect.
But a perfect birth took a lot of prep, and she’d been running around all week trying to just buy everything she needed for a baby. Sure there had been cramping for the last few days, and sure, the baby was already a week overdue, but she figured she had time to make everything perfect.
Right up until she was waiting at the bus stop, bags full of candles, when a particularly vicious cramp overtook her. She groaned, but couldn’t smooth away with her hands full of groceries. The intensity continued to dial up, the contraction didn’t seem to stop. So much pressure— pop.
The pressure released as her waters broke all down her jeans. Lindsey gasped, eyes wide, and glanced around. But the bus stop was empty. Quickly, she set down her groceries, shimmied out of her jacket, and tied it around her waist, like she used to do in school when her period came on unexpectedly and she had no pads.
The baby was coming, and nothing was set up at home! She wasn’t ready. Urgency rushed through her, a need to be home, to be moving and preparing, but she could do nothing but stand and wait for the bus. The next contraction hit, far stronger without her waters, and she gasped, surprised at her intensity. Her hands wrapped around her round stomach, pushing back her t-shirt so she could touch her warm, stretched skin and soothe it more directly. She shifted her hips, back and forth, trying to wiggle away the pain. The baby was low, she could feel it, could feel the pressure of it moving down inside her.
The next contraction was even worse, and with it came a demand; push. But she couldn’t. Would not. This birth had to be perfect. So she pressed her legs close together, and forced herself to breathe, in and out, in and out. It took five contractions for the bus to finally arrive, at which point she was so lost to the feeling of the baby slowly stretching her cervix and slipping down she nearly missed it.
Coming to a sudden realization, she frantically bent down to grab her bags, and awkwardly staggered onto the bus, still mid-contraction.
In contrast to the empty bus stop, the bus was full. Still, a nice woman gave up her seat for Lindsey, who collapsed into it gratefully, already tired and sweaty. She tried to keep her legs together while sitting, but her stomach was large and low, and demanded that she spread her legs so there was room for both it and her lungs. As the next contraction struck, Lindsey wrapped her hands tight around the handles of her grocery bag, her nails digging into her palms. The smaller, sharper pain helped draw her focus from the overwhelming, sickening pressure that was taking over her womb.
Her house was forty minutes away by bus. By the time it pulled into her stop, she barely managed to stand. When she walked, there was a distinct waddle, and the baby, oh, it was so low.
She waddled from the bus, clutching her groceries, made it to the bus stop sign, and had to stop as a particularly vicious contraction struck. Don’t push, don’t push, she repeated to herself, breathing as her stomach seized around her baby, forcing it downward despite her best efforts. And god she could feel it, just there, between her legs. Coming ever closer, and she still had so much to do.
Walking was hard, her legs spread far apart, her back aching, her hands full, and the baby’s head shifting a smidge lower with each step. It felt like it might fall right out of her. Three contractions later, she reached her door. Shaking hands shoved the keys in, and then she was inside. She dropped her bags immediately, leaned against the door, and pushed. The burn was immediate. She gasped, as the pain was enough to shock her out of her need to birth.
She couldn’t, not yet anyway. Things had to be perfect.
First, she needed to finish setting up the baby’s room. Bending, she picked back up her stuff, then began to shuffle awkwardly toward the stairs, dragging herself up them one at a time, hips aching with the movement.
The baby’s room was a mess of boxes and bags. She’d thought she would have more time. Well, she’d make more time.
Gathering herself, she started to work, kneeling down, legs spread wide, to accommodate how low the head was. Then she dumped out the pieces, found the instructions, and got to work.
Except the instructions weren’t translated, and they made little sense. With growing frustration and urgency, Lindsey worked on the crib, as, with each contraction, the baby spread her open just a tiny bit more before sinking back in, once the contraction was over.
Finally she threw aside the instructions in frustration, having made no progress. It was too hot, she couldn’t think. Using a nearby rocking chair, she pulled herself to her feet, groaning as it made everything shift, and began stepping out of her stiff, wet pants. She didn’t replace them, she was planning on having a naked birth. And in fact, tossed her shirt aside as well.
Another contraction hit and she stared down, shocked as she watched her stomach literally sink into her body. It hurt, of course, but it was beautiful, even as she felt the pain of her baby’s head spreading her open despite her refusal to push. Yet this time as she stood, with her legs naturally spread, the baby’s head didn’t go back in. It stayed, the burning stayed.
The baby was coming, and it had nowhere to sleep!
Reinvigorated, Lindsey knelt back down and began working on the crib. As the next contraction hit, her hand shot to her naked pussy, found the head, and held it there, keeping it from coming out any further. As soon as it was over, hand damp with birthing juices, she continued working on the crib.
Finally, thirty minutes of agony later, the crib was done. She stood with a groan, bracing her back to stretch, then looked about the rest of the room. Still a mess. So she began organizing. Bending down to pick up a bag, she groaned as the position forced the baby just a bit further out, then she stood with the item, waddled to where it belonged, put it away, then squatted again to retrieve the next item. With each squat, the baby moved out just a bit further, walking became just a bit harder. When contractions came, Lindsey would hold her hand against the baby’s head, holding it in place, but she couldn’t hold it in place while picking something up.
By the time the room was tidied, her baby’s head was at a full crown and she could barely walk. Holding the baby in, she looked around the room. The baby blue clock on the wall declared she’d been home for two hours, in active labor for four and a half, and the room was finally ready for her baby.
Now, to prepare for her birth. But she wouldn’t get anywhere with her baby’s head at a full crown. So, taking a deep, steadying breath, she brushed her hand against her baby’s wet curls, and began to push it back in.
The pain was awful. She opened her mouth to scream, but couldn’t make a sound. Still, she kept with it, pushing it up and in until her lips closed around it once more. It was still there, so low, so ready to come, but she could walk easier, now.
So, on shaking legs, she waddled to the bathroom, found her mirror, and carried it to her bedroom, stopping once on the way for a contraction which began to push the baby out once more.
The mirror in place, Lindsey stepped back, examining the room, trying to think what else she needed. Right, the puppy pads to absorb the mess. Those were in the downstairs bathroom.
She had to cling to the railing to make it down the stairs, her baby’s head slipping out each time she spread her legs to go down the next step. By the time she reached the bottom, her waddle had gotten quite a bit wider, the head spreading her wide once more.
When she bent to get under the sink at the bathroom, the baby slipped out once more, and she gasped, catching the baby’s head with her hand, finding it at a full crown. Her legs trembled as she crouched there, one hand steadying herself on the counter, the other holding her fully crowned baby’s head in.
With a deep breath, she began to push the head back in again, pressing her eyes closed, her head against the counter to fight off the pain. This birth had to be perfect, and that was not giving birth on the bathroom floor.
Gathering the puppy pads, she leveraged herself back up and began the arduous climb back up the stairs this time, she kept one hand to her pussy the whole time, keeping the head in despite two contractions.
Sweating and exhausted, she reached her room once more, knelt down, and began spreading the puppy pads. That done, she stood, held the baby in against a contraction, then went to gather the camera which was in the garage—which meant traversing the stairs once more, one hand glued to her pussy, the other holding the railing, or on the way up, the camera.
The birth stuff was in her bathroom, thankfully. With the camera set up, she waddled into her room, found the towels, the clean scissors for the cord, the bowl for water, etc. etc. In favor of going faster, she pulled her hand away from her emerging baby to carry things with both hands.
The next contraction came as she was carrying them to her birthing spot. She groaned, tried to force her legs together, since her hands were full, but still, the burning returned as her body pushed frantically, and her already stretched lips gave way to the force. The rest of the walk across the room was rather awkward but she made it, crouching to set things down and immediately catching her baby’s head to keep it from coming out any further. Not quite at a full crown, breathed through the next contraction as she looked around and tried to figure out what was left.
Candles. Music. Start the recording. Not much left, she could do this. She could.
Her candles were in the night stand drawer. Feeling too tired to stand, she crawled over there, stomach swaying with each motion, her baby’s head still at a partial crown spreading her apart. Gathering her candles and lighter in her hand, she began her crawl back. She set them up, lit them, breathed through a contraction, then forced herself to stand.
She turned on her music, set it to stream to her tv, then looked around. Everything was beautiful. All was well. It was time.
Gratefully, she stripped out of her sweat-soaked bra, and went to stand on the puppy pads. Calm meditative music filled the air, candles flickered and the incense burned sweet in the air.
As the next contraction came, spread her legs and pushed. The first real push of her birth, and the head shot forward, stretching her further than she’d been stretched yet. Looking at the mirror, she could just make out the baby’s head bulging from beneath her stomach.
Her hand caught her baby’s head, no longer restraining it, but supporting it as it spread her past a full crown. With the next push, the nose slipped out, a moment of pain and intense stretching. Then, with another great push, the head popped out.
She glanced at the clock, to confirm the time, and found to her horror, six hours had passed since her water broke at the bus station. It had taken a while, but this truly had been— she turned toward the camera and realized the light wasn’t on.
She hadn’t turned on the camera. It hadn’t caught any of this!
With shaking hands, she took the fully emerged head, which dangled between her legs, and began to shove the baby back up inside her. Before it had hurt when she was just getting rid of the crown, this one the whole baby was already out, this was far worse. She screamed, she wobbled, just managing to catch herself on the wall, as her baby kicked in protest at being shoved all the way back inside.
Once her lips closed around it and her vision steadied, she wobbled on shaky legs back to the camera and turned it on. Then she returned to her mat. She didn’t think she could stand up any more, so she knelt down.
The next contraction came with a vengeance. And Lindsey was ready for it. She spread her legs a bit more, tucked her chin into her chest and pushed with all her might. The head shot forward, reaching a partial crown in one push.
Another push, and oh, the stretching, as the head came out further and further until, once again, the head was out. She reached down, felt around for the cord, and found it wasn’t anywhere dangerous. She breathed as the shoulders began to shift, enjoying the candles’ dance, and the piney-scent of the incense.
She pushed again, her stomach sinking into her with the force of the contraction as the shoulder began to emerge, stretching her so much more. She grunted with effort, trying to stretch her knees even further apart, standing up further on her knees to give her baby more room. Just one more push, and the baby would be out just one more—
The doorbell rang below.
The delivery, for the expensive baby monitor, Lindsey realized in a haze. She had to go and get it. He wouldn’t just leave it at the door. She’d already gotten messages that he’d tried to leave twice before.
A little tiny bit of her died inside as she shoved her baby, shoulders and all, right back inside of her, until all her progress was gone. It took her a moment to get to her feet, her whole body trembling in shock.
Clothes. She needed clothes. And she needed to go fast, or he’d leave. She found her night gown on the bed and threw it on over her, then stumbled toward the stairs. A vengeful contraction caught her by the door, but she had to get to the door, so she pressed her hand to her swollen, purpled pussy and forced herself to keep walking through the agony.
She stumbled down the stairs, and threw open the door, only to find no one there. Her gaze flew to the road, where the delivery driver was just reaching his door. “Wait!” she cried, voice strangled with pain and exhaustion. “Wait! I’m here! Please!”
The man came back slowly, walking back around to the back where he’d stored the package. Another contraction came, and she couldn’t just grope herself while standing in the door, so she had to just stand there as her baby began stretching her open once again.
Finally, he reached her, handed her the package in slow motion. He looked at her, asked, “You okay?”
“Yes,” she replied, strangled with pain as another contraction struck her, and her baby’s head began to crown once again. “Was just sleeping.”
“I need you to sign—-” the delivery man trailed off, realizing he was now empty handed. “Left in the car. Give me a moment.”
Lindsey waited in agony, her baby creeping ever lower as the man ambled back to his card, then so, so, slowly, back to her door. She signed it, then turned around, slammed the door shut, and leaned back. Her hand shot to her lips, and she caught her baby’s head right before it came out completely once more.
She went back up the stairs with the head like that, brushing against her thighs with each step. In her room, a candle had gone out. She sobbed a bit as she bent down, felt the shoulders shift inside her, grating against her bones. The candle lit, she straightened, threw her dress on the bed, shoved the head in again, with a cry of pain, then staggered over to the camera, and resumed recording.
She stood there, observed the scene. Perfect. A perfect birth. So she went back to her pads, in the middle of the circle, and finally, with just a few pushes, brought her perfect little child into the world. It took seven hours of preparation, but it was worth every one of them.
+Our lovely mama is trapped in her basement, theres barely anything usefull
Hello thanks for the great ask! And to everyone else, thank you for all your asks. I have seen them, but there are also like twenty of them, so It will take me a while to work through them. For now, here is this story.
Contains: fpreg, triplet birth, intense birth denial, pushing baby back in, self-birth denial, clothing birth.
Aspen clung to the railing of the rickety wooden staircase carefully navigating down to the unfinished basement of her new home. Her massive triplet belly ballooned out before her, covered in loose blue nightgown, making it impossible to see the steps she was navigating. As she reached the bottom, a contraction struck her, and she leaned up against the wall, shaking her hips as she breathed through it. These practice contractions were getting more and more frequent, but her husband was out of town until tomorrow morning, and she still had baby beds to bring upstairs and put together.
Walking past the few empty boxes and the old chair the last residents had left down there, Aspen found the box that held the last crib, and hoisted it. It was heavy and awkward. Her body ached, especially since she’d already lugged two other cribs up those stairs today. But she persisted, dragging it over the unfinished cement floor and to the wooden stairs.
As for those, she dragged the box up and over each stair individually, sweating with the effort. She was only three steps up before another contraction hit. She panted her way through it, concerned with how close the last two contractions had come. The pressure was definitely increasing, which wasn’t good. She wanted her husband with her for this birth, which definitely needed to be in a hospital, because there was no way she was going through three births without an epidural.
Well, she decided, she’d get this set up, then she’d rest to slow down her labor until her husband got home.
The contraction ended, and she began the slow, thump, thump, thump of dragging the heavy crib up one stair at a time. She was about half way up, when a rumbling started. A distant roar at first, like a passing plane or a rumbling lawn mower, then suddenly, it was all around her. The house shook. The stairs swayed—and then she was falling.
She barely had time to process that the stair railing must have given way, sending her toppling face first toward the ground. She threw out her arms to catch herself instinctively just as she smashed into the ground belly first.
There was a massive increase in pain-pressure. Her belly seized. She cried out.
Then the rumbling was over. She checked herself. Her hands stung from the impact with the cement, her stomach ached, but she was otherwise fine. Slowly, cautiously, she sat up, groaning a bit as she did. Her heart was pounding, but she was fine. Except, she realized, there was something sticky between her legs.
She reached down under her dress, shocked at the slick feeling between her legs, and her soaked panties. Had the pressure and fear of her fall caused her to pee? Then she pulled her hand away, and noticed the slight reddish tint, and the musky scent. No, this wasn’t pee. Her waters had broken.
Well, time to get to the hospital. She stood up carefully, then groaned as another contraction wrapped around her stomach. It was so much worse without the softening impact of her waters. She groaned, wrapping around herself, feeling for the first time, the instinctive desire to push.
Aspen ignored it off course, it was far too early and she wasn’t at the hospital. She breathed carefully until the pain eased. Then forced herself to straighten, bracing her low hanging stomach with one hand.
That was when she saw the stairs—or rather the lack there-of. The whole rickety wooden contraption had collapsed, leaving the door to get out of the basement far out of reach. Wel, fuck.
That was fine, she’d just call 911 and have them get her out of there. She reached into her pockets—because of course she wouldn’t be caught in a pocketless dress. But, no phone. Eyes wide, she started scanning the wreckage of the staircase and her immediate surroundings. It took several minutes and another, even more demanding contraction, before she found the phone, several feet from where she’d landed, screen down on the floor.
She leaned down to get it awkwardly, spreading her legs so she could get lower, her large stomach hanging low, brushing the ground as she reached, until finally, she got her hands around it. Cradling it gently, she began slowly straightening, using her free hand to brace her back. She was halfway up, legs spread wide, when the next contraction struck. Strong, vise-like. Bent as she was, with plenty of space between her legs, instinct screamed push! and she obeyed, tucking her head in and pushing with all her strength.
To her horror, that moment caused movement, the stretching of something deep inside. She screamed with a mixture of pain, effort, and fear, and immediately stopped pushing, but the damage was done.
Cautiously, while she was still down, she reached a hand up, nudging aside her soaked panties and sticking two fingers up inside her. Instead of feeling her cervix, she found the head, wet and hard. She gasped, and instinctively pulled back as her touch jostled the head and shot agony through her stretching cervix.
She straightened slowly, though she couldn’t quite get her legs all the way together. Everything down low felt strange, stretched, like a cantaloupe was trying to emerge from her butt. Frantically, she turned to her phone, only to find the screen completely shattered. She pushed a couple buttons, but it was completely unresponsive.
She was trapped. She had no way to call for help. And her triplets were coming.
Her heart started pounding harder, but she tried to breathe through the panic even as her vision blended with tears. She staggered over to the old chair and collapsed into it, legs spread. And cried, tears running down her cheek, lacing her tongue with salt.
Just as they were beginning to dry up, another contraction hit. Rhythmic seizing that started at her back and reached across her massive womb, a stabbing pain, like she was being wrapped up in a burning lasso. She moaned through the agony, feeling her cervix stretch, feeling the baby move down.
The pain lessened, and she kept crying. Hopeless and scared, as more and more contractions came and went. It wasn’t until she pushed and felt burning as her lips stretched that she was snapped out of her fear-induced funk.
She instantly stopped pushing. As soon as the pain stopped, she reached down, and felt the bulge of her lips. The first head had yet to emerge, but it was right there. And she would not be giving birth alone in an unfinished basement on a rickety old chair. She needed a plan.
She glanced around the basement, evaluating what she had—an old washer and dryer, the chair she was sitting on, the crib unassembled and buried under some stair rubble, and a stack of empty boxes, most of which had been collapsed. There was the door she couldn’t reach, and a single narrow window which told her it was already dark out—how long had she sat there crying? An hour at least she figured.
Climbing out the window was probably a stretch, but perhaps if she could get up there, she could yell for help. Satisfied with the plan, Aspen stood, legs spread wide, baby just behind her lips, and began waddling awkwardly toward the window, dragging the chair behind her.
As she awkwardly propped one foot on the chair, ready to clamber up, the next contraction caught her. She groaned, curling forward, legs spread, and the head began to stretch her lips, setting her labia ablaze with pain. She shot her hand down, expecting to find the baby practically out, but though the bulge was definitely larger, the babe was still safely ensconced in her vaginal, all save for a tiny, quarter-sized patch of hair, which vanished as her contraction ended.
All for the better, she thought as she gathered herself, clung to the window ledge, and hauled herself up the rest of the way onto the chair. It wobbled under her weight, and her large torpedo stomach, pressed against the wall from where she stood. But from here, she could reach the window latch.
She undid it, then began to pull on the window to try and get it open. The intense effort caused another contraction. Her body screamed at her to spread her legs, but the chair was small. They were pressed awkwardly together, close enough she could feel the bulge between her legs increase and touch her thighs. The contraction gave way—the window did not.
It took about fifteen minutes and three more contractions, her baby getting lower and lower, before finally, the window gave way and slid open. Aspen panted, leaning against the wall, congratulating herself for her success. Then she propped herself up on the window sill and stuck her head out, her stomach pressed between the wall.
No one was in sight. She called for help, over and over. When the next contraction came, she let herself scream with pain.
But no one came. She persisted, calling and screaming for help, as contractions seized her, and her lips began to burn more and more, demanding she spread her legs and get the baby out.
Well, if calling for help wouldn’t work, she’d try crawling through the window. She thought she remembered hearing somewhere that humans could get through anywhere their shoulders could get through, and she thought her shoulders would fit.
First, she reached down between her legs, feeling the head through her panties. It was definitely in the process of crowning, despite her legs being pressed together on this chair. That wouldn’t work for climbing through a window. So, taking a deep breath, she braced her hand against her baby, and pushed it tentatively back in.
She’d thought she was already at a ten on the pain scale—this, this was so much worse. She screamed, but kept pushing through her whole body revolted, until her lips were no longer bulging. She’d need her legs together to get through the window.
Then, whole body shaking from the effort, pain, and shock, Aspen thrust her hands through the window, and began pulling herself up and through it. Her head made it through all right, her shoulders scrapped a bit at the side, but made it.
She kicked off the chair, hearing it clatter to the ground as she pulled herself through on her shaking arms. Her large chest made it through, her night dress falling open and letting her see her sweaty boobs when she looked down—lovely.
Grunting she dragged herself further forward, then she felt her stomach hit the window sill, and her progress stopped. No. She had to get out.
She waited for the next contraction, when her whole stomach shrunk with the effort of pushing her baby out, then tried again with all her might. And her plan worked! She moved, just a few inches, before her arms gave out and she had to focus on not pushing while her legs and most of her stomach hung on the other side of the window, and her lips began to burn once again.
It was hard to breathe like this, and her back burned with the weight of her stomach dangling freely, pressed against the wall and the window sill. She focused on regaining her breath as she waited for the next contraction, then pulled herself forward a few more inches until her arms gave out once again.
God, but the pain of the contraction was so much worse when her massive stomach was being actively compressed by the window. She wasn’t even pushing, but even still, she could feel her lips parting once more.
The next contraction, she tried to pull herself forward more, but made no progress no matter how she pulled. The next contraction she tried again, same result, except the burning down there was really starting up again. The baby was starting to come out.
This wasn’t going to work, Aspen realized. And began trying to back pedal, forcing herself back inside. But she made no progress that way either. She was stuck.
Time stretched. Contractions raged, twice as agony inducing as before. She cried and screamed, and tried not to push as her baby stretched her open more and more, forced forward by the pressure on her stomach and its siblings. From where she lay, she could see the moon through her tear-filled eyes, and watch it rise. Sirens sounded in the city, one passed right by her street, and she thought, perhaps, she’d been rescued, and then it drove on. Leaving Aspen alone, fully feeling her baby’s nose slowly slide out of her as she hung half-in, half-out of the window. Completely stuck.
Then with a particularly hard contraction, her baby’s head shot forward. Aspen screamed as her baby’s head shot out of her, bagging out her panties, touching her thighs, water splattering below.
If she didn’t get out soon, the baby would fall from her to its death. She couldn’t let that happen. With a renewed burst of energy, adrenaline high, Aspen braced herself against the ground, with her hands, brought her feet up awkwardly against the wall, baby head hanging out of her, and pushed.
And then she was moving, falling back, out of the window. She just managed to catch at the ledge with her hands, drawing her fall to a stop. Her stomach slammed against the wall again, leaving her breathless.
She hung through one more contraction, then dropped to the ground, legs spread, baby jolting painfully in her pussy.
Panting and exhausted, she leaned against the wall. She had to make a decision before the next contraction: to birth or not to birth. The baby was practically already out, she could get the rest of it out and then keep trying to escape except—she had nowhere to put the baby and no way to cut the umbilical cord. Once the first baby was out, she would be stuck.
So, bracing herself for the worst pain in her life, she cupped her hand around the baby’s head, and shoved. She screamed. Her vision whitened. Her baby kicked in protest. She fell to her knees, and vomited. But, when she’d recovered herself, the baby was safely back inside.
Using the wall, she dragged her exhausted sore body to her feet once more. If she dragged the washer below the door, then put the chair on top of that, maybe she could reach the door and get out that way.
She shuddered at the thought of trying to move that old, heavy machine with her exhausted, trembling body and a baby actively crowning, but it was the only way.
So she waddled over, braced herself, and shoved. Braced herself and shoved. When a contraction came, she stopped, pressed her hand against her soggy, stretched panties, and pressed against her stretched lips, holding the baby in place. As soon as it was over she resumed pushing of a different sort.
If she was offered a million dollars, she couldn’t have told anyone how long it took her to move the washing machine across the basement. It felt like days, but by the time she’d succeeded it was still dark outside.
She fell to her knees, sobbing in relief when she looked up and saw the door just above her. Then on her hands and knees, she started clearing away the wood so she could get the machine in just the right place. It felt so good to not be standing. She was so tired. Five contractions later, still holding the head back despite her body’s protest and the increasingly painful contractions, the stairs were cleared away. Two more contractions and the machine was in the right spot.
She waddled awkwardly, slowly back across the room to the chair, braced against it for a contraction, then dragged it back across the floor with her. She was halfway through getting the chair on top of the washing machine when the next contraction came. Her muscles were engaged, her hands were full, she couldn’t hold the head back, so it lurched forward again, stretching her wide, after she’d been so close to giving birth for so long. Aspen gasped, spreading her legs instinctively.
Once the chair was in place, she reached down to touch the bulge in her undies. She intended to push it back in, but remembering the horrific agony of doing it last time, she pulled her shaking hand away. She couldn’t go through that again. She’d just have to manage with the head as it was.
So, with the baby’s head fully crowning in her panties, her lips stretched wide, fire roaring through her body, she began to try and clamber on top of the washing machine. But she couldn’t quite get her legs up far enough. At the next contraction, she gave up, holding her baby’s head in her at a full crown, panting in exhaustion.
When it was done, she lumbered over, legs spread wide, to the box that held the crib. She didn’t have the strength to lift it up, so she bent down, legs spread, stretched pussy in the air, and dragged the box the few feet to the washing machine. Another contraction—then with the crib box as a footstool, she managed to clamber up onto the washing machine, then onto the chair perched wobbly on top.
She reached up, and her hand could touch the door, but she was still several feet from the door knob. There was no ledge for her to stand on, or pull herself further up.
Perhaps, she could drag the dryer over, but there was no way she’d get it on top of the washer in her condition.
She wasn’t getting out.
In one last desperate attempt, she jumped toward the door handle. Her fingers just brushed the base of it. Then she fell back down. She landed on the chair awkwardly as a contraction hit, and her baby shot through the rest of the way, bagging out of her panties.
She gasped— climbed slowly off the chair, then sat on it, legs spread, stomach low, filling the space between her legs. As she considered her next move, another contraction came, and she pushed. The shoulders began to spread her—and god she thought she’d been spread before. But she was too tired to scream at the new, burning pain.
Exhausted, robotic, she pushed aside her panties, and gave another final push, there was a gush, and then her baby was in her hands, crying lustily. Smiling, teary-eyed, Aspen pulled it to her. Her dress was dirty, ripped, and drenched with sweat. The baby’s umbilical cord stretched from its stomach to under her dress, warm and wet against her thigh.
She looked down from the chair, which was still perched atop the washing machine.
So, she was doing it here. She needed to at least not give birth to the other two while on top of the washing machine. So slowly, awkwardly, holding her baby close to her chest, she clambered down the washing machine. Then she pulled the chair down with her. Sitting had been nice, for her birth.
It was awkward to shift the baby from one arm to another to get her dress off. She set it across the splintered wooden chair, then sat down and shimmied out of her underwear. Finally, she allowed herself to collapse back, guiding the baby to her leaking breast to drink.
The next contractions came nearly immediately, moving her next baby down. She pushed freely with it, for the first time in her birthing process, and it came fast. Two pushes and she was bulging. Another, and the dreaded, familiar burn began again.
She leaned further back in her chair, so she could spread her legs wider, off the side of the chair. She needed to focus, needed to push. But she had a baby in her hands, and she didn’t want to hurt it.
The crib was the solution.
Groaning, she fell to her knees, then placed her baby on the dress covered chair. Her legs were spread still, giving the baby space to crown as she worked to open the crib. Contraction. Push, The baby eased forward. Then it was done, and she was back to wrestling with the crib. She’d already put together two that day, or at this point, yesterday, so she could work efficiently. It was a race. She was pushing, but her body was flagging, the progress was slow, but consistent. She had to move around some, clambering around on her spread knees, fully spread around her baby’s head. Then, the head was out with another gush, right after she’d finished putting together the frame. Grabbing the thin pad, she pulled herself to her feet, lay down the pad, then a contraction was coming and she pushed. Her hands shot down, and she pulled the baby from her, panting with relief.
The baby cried, and she held it to her, crying as well, with relief. Two down. One to go.
It was awkward, maneuvering the babies into the bed while they were still attached to her. She had to pull the chair close to the crib so she could sit down as the next contraction came. She moaned and pushed as the sun began to cast light in through her window.
She crowned as the sunlight spread across the floor. Her third baby’s head shot from her as she heard the door open upstairs, and heard her husband call her name. And, as the shoulders spread her open, the door to the basement opened, and her husband appeared, just as the final baby passed from her, crying out its welcome to the world.
Loved the story you wrote recently, huge fan of birth denial (as long as no actual harm is done, y’know y’know).
How about a story for a solo birth in nature? I’m a big fan of trying to hold the birth off with nothing but willpower; trying not to push, enjoying the crown. Maybe walking a hiking trail while she pushes.
Hi! I'm so glad you liked it, thanks for reaching out with a prompt! This is definitely a gentler prompt than I've done before, but I enjoyed the variety. Thanks for the opportunity to write this, I hope you enjoy as well!
Also, yee-haw, two birth fics in one day! Trying to get through all the asks people have sent in. I'm so excited to get to everyone's! It might take some time though, so be patient with me!
This fic contains: birth denial, solo birth, unassisted birth, nature birth, fpreg
Sharla had a birthing plan. There was an obscure hiking trail near her that was fairly easy, that ended in a beautiful meadow with a little lake. It was about two miles long, and no one really knew about it. She’d never seen anyone else there in the years she’d hiked the trail. So, as soon as her contractions started getting serious, she got in her car and began her drive. Her plan: hike up the mountain and birth in her favorite spot.
She’d prepared herself well, studying all she needed, practicing breathing techniques. She used them in the car ride up. Once she arrived, she waddled out of the car and headed to the little outhouse. As she used the bathroom, another contraction came. She pushed with it, a small tentative push as the pressure grew. Then, water splattered into the toilet. Water that definitely wasn’t pee.
Well, she thought, This baby’s coming fast. Better get hiking.
She used the toilet paper to wipe herself off, breathed through a contraction in the stall, shaking her hips to ease the pain which seemed far more intense without her waters cushioning everything, then began to head out.
She walked slowly, stopping with every contraction, keeping her legs together to try and help herself to hold off on pushing until she reached her destination. She wore a maternity sundress, so the only thing between her and the outside air was her panties. It was a crisp spring morning. Beautiful. The birds were singing, and she was out among it where she belonged.
As she walked, she cradled her round belly with both hands, trying to ease the weight of her sore back. And though she didn’t push, her own walking and the power of gravity was slowly pulling the baby down, stretching her little by little as she walked. It was a delicious feeling, painful, yes, but primal, normal. And so long as she didn’t hurry it, her body would be free to stretch as slowly as it needed to.
Things were going well. Sure the baby was moving faster than she’d intended. Sure, with each trail marker she was walking her waddle was becoming more and more distinct. But she was confident she’d make it.
By the time she reached the one mile marker, halfway through the hike, she was feeling less confident. The contractions were coming more and more frequently, and they were hurting more, becoming more insistent. Though she’d managed to not push, her body alone had managed to force the baby all the way through her canal and it was now resting just inside her lips.
She paused at the sign, leaning against it, fishing one of many water bottles from her pack and taking a heft swig. Her hand reached up her dress, feeling at her panties. There was a slight bulge there, but when she slipped her hand inside, she didn’t quite feel a head.
At least until another contraction hit. She groaned with it. She was bent over, and it made the contraction much worse. Her heavy belly weighing on her belt as it tightened inside her dress. She breathed through the growing demand to push, but still felt the sting of her lips as they began to part, just a tiny bit. Just enough that her finger slipped through and felt a smidge of wet head.
As soon as the contraction ended, she capped her water bottle, and continued walking. Not far down the path, another contraction. She breathed with it, commanding herself not to push, feeling the sting of her lips as they just began to part.
Three contractions later, and she was feeling rather hot. She stopped, leaning against a tree to weather a fourth contraction, then carefully removed her panties and shoved them in her dress pocket. It felt better, without a barrier there. Without the clothing rubbing up against her tender, stretched parts. She drank some more. Weathered yet another contraction, closing her eyes and moaning with it, her hand resting on her bulging lips, not constraining it, only supporting it.
As soon as it was done though, the baby slipped safely back inside, and she continued her hike. A hawk flew overhead. Bees buzzed in the air. Another contraction, more stretching. She panted. Her body demanded she push. It was getting harder and harder not to listen, but she knew, the second she gave in, her baby would shoot forward, and then she’d never reach the lake. So she breathed, she panted, she moaned, she stretched, but she continued on. Never pushing.
The next contraction was even harder. It stopped her in her tracks. She caught a tree trunk to keep her balance as her body naturally bent, trying to get in a better position to birth. The head eased forward, spreading her even further. She moaned with the pain, thinking, surely, the head must be nearly out. Yet, when she reached down to check, there was only about a square inch of head showing. Good, she thought, continuing her trek.
She focused on the green of the trees, on the fascinating rocks on the trail. Anything, but the growing demand to push. As she reached the marker for a mile and a half, though, she gave in. She stopped, her legs spread, she sunk into a crouch, flustered and sweaty, and pushed, moaning.
The baby shot forward, searing pain in her lips as they stretched around the sudden crown. She gasped as she noticed her mistake, and forced her legs closer together, nudging the head just a bit back in. I can’t do that again, she thought. I have to reach the lake.
She was almost there, but the near crown was making walking awfully difficult. The beautiful surroundings were calming, but her hips ached. She reached down, walking with one hand supporting the growing head, feeling it ease forward just a smidge more with each contraction.
The stretch hurt, but it felt primal, natural, here in the wild, where all things had given birth since the beginning of life. A tree caught her as she stumbled, reaching out its helpful branches, eager to assist the new life. A boulder stood stalwartly as she leaned against it, head spinning, against a particularly strong contraction. The head, ever lower, her legs, ever wider.
Then, finally, just as the head reached a full crown and she was sure she could take not a single more step, she reached the top.
A crystal blue lake, reflecting the perfect sky above, radiant with dazzling light, surrounded by a forest of aspen trees, whispering excitedly to each other in the breeze.
Gasping in relief, Sharla waddled her way to the edge of the lake. A boulder waited there, providing a perfect companion. She held onto it. As the growing pains of a contraction came, she crouched, pressed her chin to her chest, and, finally, blessedly, pushed.
The head surged forward. She gasped as it surpassed a full crown and shot right out of her, into her hand, water splattering the dirt beneath her.
Her legs were exhausted, trembling. She needed a new position. First, she checked the cord, making sure it wasn’t around the baby’s neck. No cord, but she enjoyed the tiny softness of the baby’s features.
Then, as the shoulders shifted, she moved. She pulled a tarp from her back pack, still crouched, her baby’s head hanging from her. She spread it by the lakeside, with a flick of her arms. Then, she collapsed back onto it.
Now leaning against the boulder, she pushed with her next contraction, curling forward, around her round, heaving stomach. Her legs were spread apart, making space for the shoulders, which inched out of her.
The contraction ended, leaving her heaving for breath. She looked up, watching a bird dive into the water for prey. She watched water twinkle as it fell from the bird’s talons in a cascade of fire-like droplets. Then she went back to pushing, and stretching, just a bit more. One shoulder out.
She leaned back against the boulder once more, grateful for its steady presence. Her baby was cradled in her hand, damp head, one shoulder. She pushed, one last time, curling in on herself, giving it her all, then the baby was out.
Crying in relief, she pulled it from her, and held it against its chest. It was beautiful, it was hers. And her crying turned to laughter, as she sat amongst nature, life’s newest gift safe in her hands.
Answering this ask that came through my messages from @yaiofanficbombon2022:
"The class president is in labour (Mpreg). He had a sexual encounter with the popular boy of the school and as a result of this encounter he is pregnant.
His water breaks at home at night, he wants to miss school, but he can't, so he goes to class anyway.
The contractions are intense and constant, and the baby tries to come out, but he refuses to push until the exam is over.
He ends up giving birth in the school bathroom."
I’ve aged them up to a very high school like college because even 18 yo high school students feel too young to me. Hopefully you don’t mind.
This fic contains: mpreg, birth denial, pushing baby back in, clothing birth
“Hey, pres, you all right?” Jason asked, coming to sit next to Max.
Max grunted, forcing a smile for the man who was rather popular with the other people at their very small church owned college they both attended, and also the father of the child that was currently trying to expel itself from Max’s womb. They’d had a secret encounter in Jason’s dorm room after a particularly intense study session—and well, they hadn’t repeated said occurrences since then, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be friendly. “Fine,” Max managed as the contraction that had been wrapping its way around his belly finally eased off. “Just worried about this exam.”
Specifically, he was worried about passing the final exam of his health class while also managing to keep the kid in him, you know, in him. Particularly since his water had broken last night, and he hadn’t gotten a whole bunch of sleep between the increasingly intense contractions. This was his last final of the semester, though, he just had to pass this test, or at least make it through it, and he was home free. So he’d hobbled his way to class from his dorms. It wouldn’t do for the student president to just not show up to an exam.
“You’re the smart one,” Jason said with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Only it doesn’t look like you slept at all.”
“Stayed up all night studying.”
“For health?” Jason asked. “Look man, I know you’re a perfectionist and all that, but no one cares what grade you get in this class. All you gotta do is pass. It’s not worth killing yourself over.”
Max tried to formulate a nonchalant shrug. “Gotta keep that scholarshi—mmmhg.” Another contraction cut him off. He wrapped his fingers around the bottom of the desk and forced all his pain and the screaming desire to push into them instead of downward. Still the contractions were getting insistent. The force of his body pressed the baby’s head against his lips, which began to spread and sting. As soon as the contraction ended, the head slipped back inside, the stinging easing. Still, that wasn’t a good sign. The two hour exam hadn’t even started and the baby was already sitting right behind his lips.
Jason stared. “Man, you sure you’re good?”
“I’ll survive,” Max said, trying to sound sardonic, though his breathlessness gave him away. Jason didn’t know Max was pregnant. No one did. He’d carried small, and Max was good at hiding his body in shapewear and too big hoodies. If anyone did find out, he’d definitely lose his scholarship, and probably get kicked right out of the school. It had very strict rules about sex outside of marriage, and babies don’t just happen.
Max was saved from further questions from Jason by the professor entering the room and beginning to pass out a massive pile of paper that was the final exam. “You will have one and half hours to do the question and answer portion of the exam,” the professor explained. “Then I will show a video of a live birth. As the university wants you to know how to give birth at home, with prayer and without medical intervention as God intended. You all must know how to give birth. After watching the birth video, you will be required to write a paper discussing what they did correctly and what they could have done better. Understood?”
The class nodded.
“All right then, you may begin. You have an hour and a half.”
Max reached out for the packet, grabbing his pencil and his scantron, eager to go as quickly as possible and get this over with. Two questions in, and his stomach was seizing again. Freed from Jason’s questioning gaze, Max wrapped his hand around his stomach to try and soothe it, feeling it shrink underneath the shapewear he wore. He tried not to push, focusing on breathing deeply and slowly through the pain, but the searing stretch of his nethers continued throughout the contraction nonetheless.
According to his studies, contractions lasted about 60-90 seconds, so Max counted out the seconds in his head, one hand wrapped tight around his stomach, the other clutching his fragile wooden pencil dangerously tightly.
As soon as the contraction began to ease and the stinging stopped as the baby returned to its place just outside his lips, Max continued with the test. His contractions were coming every two minutes, lasting about a minute. Which means while the rest of his class had an hour and a half to complete the test, he only had an hour.
The words swum in front of him and he leaned forward to get a better view of the words, curling around his stomach and triggering another contraction. Sitting forward as he was, the hard plastic chair pressed against his lips. Which gave him an idea. Experimentally, he pushed with the urge instead of trying to hold back, grunting softly as he did. The head spread him open, shooting through his stretching lips, and then stopped moving as it struck the chair. Max whined, softly, tapping out of the push early. Except this time, the head didn’t go all the way back in, it stayed at that partial crown, stretching his lips.
Stealthily, he reached down under his desk and explored the area between his spread legs. A massive bulge of straining jeans was wedged between them, pressed up against the chair.
Max let out a shuddering breath. All right, he thought, as long as I can stay sitting down, we can keep the baby in. And thus the test stretched on, in increments of three minutes, two of answering questions, one of pushing fruitlessly into the hard plastic chair, his wet jeans bagging out with the emerging head.
Some of the questions were about health, but a lot were about sexual health and reproduction. Labeling the different parts of the birther’s anatomy felt particularly ironic when Max could feel the stretch of so many of them, the diagram a visual reminder of how small everything had been before a baby had been shoved through it.
Another question asked which sex position was most likely to result in successful reproduction, which had him flashback to his room, with Jason leaning over him, his warm chest on Max’s. It brought a blush to his cheeks which led Max to lift his head and glance over at Jason.
Jason had been looking back, his brows wrinkled in concern, but when he caught Max looking, the face changed to a forced smile and a hidden lewd hand symbol. Maybe the test was bringing up memories for him too.
Their moment was broken by another contraction. Max forced his head down, as though he was working on his test, leaning as far forward as he could, his stomach pressing against the bottom of the desk, his crotch against the seat to keep the baby in as his whole body pushed down.
The pain was just letting up when the teacher called for their attention, and put on the birthing video. A woman moaning, crouching, her husband supporting her from behind, praying. Her stomach visibly contracted as Max’s own pain returned. Their contractions had synced up, but while she was naked and pushing freely, he was covered in clothes, unable to push or make progress. Her grunts of effort and cries of pain masked his own moans.
The voice of the camera-person ordered the woman, “Push! Push!”
And having sat at a partial crown for an hour and half, Max couldn’t help but obey, pushing in sync with the woman on screen. He leaned back instinctively, lost in the grasp of instinct. He and the woman pushed, and pushed. The babys’ heads emerged slowly, fighting to stretch out the body and, in Max’s case, force the jeans out of the way.
The woman screamed as her head reached a full crown, losing her crouch and falling backwards, caught by her husband. Max’s own softer exhalation, as his own crown, freed from the confines of the chair, reached its own crown.
The next few pushes were unfruitful. The baby’s head bobbed in the woman’s crotch as Max’s own baby fought against his tight jean crotch and lost. He wasn’t trying to hold back anymore, wasn’t thinking consciously, only knew he needed to push.
Then the head on screen gushed out, followed by the rest of the body in rapid succession, but Max’s was still stuck, no matter how he pushed and grunted. The screen went black.
“You have twenty minutes to write your essays.”
Max panted, realizing his situation. His hand explored downward, gasping at how large the bulge was, his legs spread apart, his lips screaming in pain, stretched to their fullest, his whole body soaked in sweat.
He could not write, could not focus on writing, but he had to. So, ever so slowly he leaned forward. The head of the baby caught on the chair, then began to be shoved up inside him once more. Max shoved his pencil in his mouth, biting down hard to hold back the scream that threatened to bubble in his throat at the pure agony.
Another, harsher contraction came, but he weathered it, biting his pencil and pressing himself down against the chair. It faded, and he tried to write. The next contraction was just as bad. His weakened pencil snapped his hand. He whimpered as the head began to emerge once more, stretching him little by little.
It didn’t seem like he had two minutes of leeway anymore, no matter what their professor had taught. The contractions didn’t seem to end. It hurt so much. He was so sweaty, so confined. The baby was coming out again. He didn’t have the energy to push it against the chair. It was stretching his lips, so wide.
“Time!” The professor called. “Pencils down.”
Max’s pencil was in pieces before him, his essay a mess, his multiple choice portion, not quite complete. But he didn’t care. He had to give birth. He had to get out of there.
The old professor toddled around, collecting tests as Max tried to look normal after having been in active labor for fourteen hours and actively crowning for two.
He’d had a plan, take the test, go home, give birth in his empty apartment. But as the baby reached a full crown once more, Max knew that wasn’t happening. He would at least make it to the bathroom. It was on the first floor. Max planned his route as the professor said his final goodbyes, and then, finally, finally, fifteen minutes after the test ended, released them.
Max stayed where he was, unsure how to stand as the rest of the students burst out of the room. Another student stayed and talked to Jason, pulling his attention away from Max.
Now, Max thought. He awkwardly turned in his seat, and removed his hoodie. It revealed his very low belly, curved and sweat-soaked, but he used it to tie around his waist, hiding the massive bulge in his crotch. Then, oh so gently, he leveraged himself to his feet.
Gravity shifted, his jeans loosened a bit, and the baby dropped down just a bit further, the head stretching him wider than he thought possible. Max gasped and swayed, catching himself on his desk. Jason glanced over, clearly concerned, but his conversation partners drew him back in.
Free. Max began to waddle, slowly, awkwardly, out of the classroom. Each step was agony, his jeans jostling the fully crowned head in his pants in and out just a smidge. His exhausted legs trembled, and he kept one hand on the wall to keep himself upright. The stairs were right next to the classroom, the elevator was on the other side of the building. He could either walk the entirety twice (to reach the elevator and then walk all the way back to the bathroom at the base of the stairs), or go down the stairs. He chose the stairs.
He went down two before he realized it was an awful idea. He clung to the railing, his legs forcefully spread around the head, which brushed his thighs each time he maneuvered himself awkwardly down the stairs like a new-born deer.
Finally, red faced, panting, exhausted, he reached the bottom of the stairs and practically fell into the door of the men’s bathroom. A guy at the urinal gave him a look.
“Really gotta. . . go,” Max panted, then stumbled into the stall and locked the door. He reached immediately for his jeans. His shaking hands fumbled with the belt. As the contraction struck, he crouched naturally, spreading his legs wider, but that only forced the jeans up tighter against his opening, forcing the head further in.
Finally, the belt gave way, and he began forcing the jeans down. They got caught on his hips. He needed to move his legs together, but another contraction hit, and the baby descended further, its nose stretching him and popping out. The head was touching his thighs. He couldn’t spread his legs further to give it more room with his jeans, he couldn’t get rid of the jeans because of the head.
He was stuck.
Mind frozen with fear and exhaustion, he weathered out several contractions, pushing as hard as he could. But the baby didn’t move. It was stuck. The jeans had to go, but that meant. . .
He heard speaking over the roar of his ears, but couldn’t make out the words. It was definitely Jason.
But Max could spare him no thought. The baby had to come out. Quivering, Max placed his hand on his baby’s head, feeling its wet hair. He took one deep breath, trying to get oxygen in his panic, then began to push the baby up and back it.
It was agony. He screamed in pain. The baby kicked in protest. His stomach contracted. In the chaos, he lost his balance, falling to his knees, striking his elbow on the side of the tiny stall.
Jason was pounding on the stall door.
Max couldn’t talk to him, couldn’t do anything but give birth. He shucked off his jeans and boxers, spread his legs, and pushed.
The much denied baby shot out, to its ears and Max cried out again. The contraction faded, and he could hear Jason now, asking if Max was okay.
“I’ve cleared the bathroom and put a sign out saying its closed. Tell me what's going on, or I’ll call 911.”
Well, Max would need help getting out of here. And it was just as much Jason’s secret as it was his. With a shaking hand, he reached up and undid the latch, just in time for the next contraction to hit. He pushed, and the baby’s head shot out of him just as Jason flung open the door.
“Holy crap!”
Max gasped, leaning against the toilet, spreading his legs just a bit further. The dirty bathroom tile was cold. It felt good. The baby was turning inside him.
“Is that mine?” Jason asked. That health class did something for him after all.
Max could only nod.
“Shit. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Max didn’t have the breath for explanations. “Wanted you safe,” he gasped. “If I was. . . if they did. . .”
Another contraction. He pushed, weakly. The head bobbed forward, but didn’t move. God, he was exhausted.
Jason knelt down beside Max, his health class training coming into play. “How long have you been in labor?”
“Water broke—nngghh—last night.” The head still didn’t move. He was so tired.
“Last night!”
“Head crowned. . . just. . . just before the—” Another contraction. Max pushed with the pain as hard as he could, but the head wasn’t moving.
“Shit, man.”
Another contraction. No progress. Something was catching on his narrow hips. His body wasn’t made for birthing the way a woman’s was. “I think, I think it’s stuck.”
“I got you, give me a moment.” Then Jason left, leaving Max alone, spread wide and bare, a baby head between his legs, on a dirty bathroom floor. He flopped his head back, resting it on the toilet seat. Gross, yeah, but he didn’t have the energy to care any more.
Another fruitless contraction.
Then Jason was back. He crouched down by Max. “this is going to hurt,” he warned. Then he shoved his hand into Max’s crotch alongside the baby’s neck. Max opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. He was too tired. The pain was awful, the stretch terrible. Then Jason was fumbling around in there with his whole-ass hand, pulling and tugging. Max’s hips strained.
Another contraction began, tensing Max’s stomach which was peeking up through his shirt, which had ridden up.
With the hand that wasn’t currently inside Max, Jason pressed down on Max’s stomach. “Push!” he ordered.
Max pushed. Jason pushed with one hand and pulled with the other. The tension, the pressure built, and built. Max was being torn apart. He was going to die. He was—
Something gave. With a gush, the crying baby shot out into Jason’s waiting hands.
The three of them sat, panting, staring at each other. “I want to raise this baby with you, if you’ll let me,” said Jason. “Only reason I haven’t been with you more is, well, I didn’t want to get us both kicked out. But I think you’re amazing and—”
Max smiled. “You’re pretty good too. Let’s do this.”
Yay my first emoji prompt! Thanks for this, I had fun with it. I don't really do orgasmic births as I said when I reposted this, but I did try to have at least one more pleasurable moment. I hope that fits your ask well enough.
Summary: to earn money for her twins, a woman and her husband stream the birth with a twist, every twenty minutes she has to switch to a different position decided beforehand by the viewers! Contains: fpreg, willing birth denial, pushing the baby back in, a straight couple, streamed birth.
Rebbecah gasped for breath as her latest contraction eased, then sat up slightly on her bed so she could get a better look at her husband, Drew, as he fiddled with camera equipment.
“You better be ready with that equipment,” she gasped. “‘Cause the baby’s coming.”
“Just a moment,” Drew said.
Another contraction struck, and Rebbecah moaned, pressing her legs together to try and forestall the massive head that was shifting deep inside her. Still it moved, the pressure on her cervix increasing just slightly.
“There we go.” Drew stepped away from the video camera, which was blinking red. The computer next to it showed what the camera was seeing, Rebbecah sitting on the edge of the bed—her long brown hair tied up in ponytail that had seen better days, her face red with exertion and covered in sweat, the tight red dress she wore, which clung to her enlarged chest and her massive torpedo stomach. The amount of live views was already up to nearly thirty people despite having just started, and was continuing to tick up.
“Hello everyone, welcome to our live birth stream. For those who are new, I’m Drew and this is Rebbecah, as she’s been in labor with our twins since last night. Her water broke an hour ago, and I’ve just confirmed she’s ten centimeters dilated and ready to push! We’ve asked for suggestions for birthing positions, and I’ve gone ahead and picked three per child. The way this is going to work is I’ll call out a birthing position and help Rebbecah get into it, she’ll then have to hold that position for twenty minutes. After which, she can get into any position she wants to finish birthing the child. Think you can do this, Rebbecah?”
It had seemed like a really good idea yesterday, now, already exhausted from hours of labor, Rebbecah was slightly less sure. But this was for her husband, for her fans, and more importantly, to raise money for her children. When they’d budgeted having a kid, they hadn’t planned on two after all. “Yes,” Rebbecah confirmed.
Drew grinned at her, a large, brilliant smile. “Good, good, and you remember our safe word?”
“Turtle.”
“That’s right. We want to have some fun, but we value your safety and the baby’s safety first. Use it if you need to.” Then Drew turned to the camera again. “As a reminder, all proceeds we get today will go into a college saving fund for the babies. Let’s start with our first position—lotus.”
Rebbecah slowly shifted her weight to the side of the bed and spread her legs, allowing her long, heavy stomach to sink between them. Then, slowly she rose. Gravity shifted, pulling the baby further down, and she gasped at the sheer weight of the baby’s massive head in her hips. She began to squat down, triggering a contraction, and she couldn’t help but push. The head moved, stretching her, creeping down. So full. She moaned. The contraction eased.
With Drew’s help, she carefully sat down on the ground. The hard tile floor of their playroom pressed harshly against her overly sensitive crotch as she sat. Then she shifted back so she could cross her legs, and it was a little better. On the plus side, her pussy was not touching the hard floor. Her stomach, low with birth, was, however, resting inside her lap. Everything felt scrunched up. She couldn’t lean back in this position, though her body demanded it.
“This is good,” Drew said. “Now rest your hands on your knees like you are meditating, and we’ll start the timer.”
That would require shifting her weight from her hands to her legs, moving everything forward even more. It seemed an awful idea, but this had originally been her idea, so she complied. Contractions lasted for about one minute, breaks lasted for about two. She only had to hold this position for about six contractions. She could do that.
The first contraction came, and she curled up around her stomach, her hands slipping from her knees to hold the firm, contracting orb. She pushed, and gravity helped. The head moved down, still, so deep in her. It eased. She returned to her position, breathing deeply, and making “om” sounds for her audience.
The next contraction struck, and she pushed through that one, curled around herself. By her third, she was soaked in sweat, her dress stuck to her, tugging at her. Everything felt tight. She needed to lean back, to spread her legs fully, to give herself more space. She needed to escape, claustrophobia making it hard to breathe.
“Please,” she gasped to Drew as the contraction died down. “The dress. Take it off.”
“All right,” Drew said. “We’re just under half way through our first position, and we’re going to pause real quick for a wardrobe change.”
He knelt by her, warm hands brushing her thighs as he helped shimmy the fabric out from underneath her butt. Then she held her hands over her head and he pulled it off. She felt instantly better. Then, under her direction, he removed her large, black lacy bra, leaving her completely naked. He resumed his station by the phone timer, and she placed her hands back on her knees.
She looked up at the computer facing her and grinned at what she saw. She sat cross legged, hands resting on her knees, her stomach filling her lap, her large breasts hanging down on top of her stomach. Though she was clearly exhausted, she seemed to glow, like some sort of fertility goddess, a mother buddha.
Then her fourth contraction struck, she watched her stomach visibly sink into herself with the force of her muscles, before she closed her eyes and gave in to her body’s demands, pushing.
She reached her sixth, gasping, sore and eager to move again, waiting eagerly for the timer to go off, but because of the pause to change clothes, a seven struck while she was still lotusing. She groaned, curling into herself. There was so much pressure, the help of gravity, but her legs weren’t spread enough, there wasn’t enough room.
“And that’s time,” Drew announced, and Rebbecah smiled, satisfied she finished the first twenty minutes and made progress. She spread her legs in relief, stretching them, and grinned as she caught sight of her bulging pussy on the computer, hinting at the size of the head waiting just inside her lips.
“Looks like she made good progress,” Drew commented. “Your next position is hands and knees.”
Rebbacah smiled in relief, and with Drews help, managed to get into the position, her forcefully spread legs making it rather difficult to move. She couldn’t see her progress, but she could see her stomach, hanging down beneath her, nearly touching the ground. This was a far better position, and she was eager to make progress in the next twenty minutes.
The first contraction came, and the difference was immediate, there was far more space, and the baby moved forward, stretching her lips for the first time. She gasped at the sting and stopped pushing for a moment, surprised. Then her body’s demand to push took over, and push she did. The stinging sensation grew. “It’s coming,” she gasped between pushes, “it’s coming!” Then the contraction eased, and the baby slid back. Rebbecah groaned, panting for breath.
The next twenty minutes passed relatively quickly, the head slipping out just a bit more with each push, stretching Rebbecah in ways she’d never been stretched before, and then sinking back into her when she stopped pushing. By the time Drew called time, the head had just begun to stay, a messy bit of dark hair peeking out between her pale, stretched lips.
“I think we’re just about reaching a full crown,” Drew announced. “Wonderful job my dear, are you ready for the third position?”
Her knees were sore, so Rebbecah nodded, distracted by the stretching that was happening down below. Balancing on one hand she reached out with the other, awkwardly around her large bump until she could cradle her child’s head. She whimpered when she accidentally bumped it, sending shooting pains through her body, but smiled as she cupped the emerging head gently in her hand. She was so distracted she didn’t quite process the next position Drew had announced. “Sorry?” she asked.
“Handstand,” Drew repeated. “In the interest of safety, I’ll help you up each time you have a contraction, then once it eases you can go back down into a resting position.”
Rebbecah paled. The baby was right there. “No,” she whispered. “I can’t.”
“Are you going to use your safe word?” Drew asked.
Rebbecah played with the hair on her emerging child’s head, then glanced at the viewer count and the amount raised. They needed more. “No,” she said. “Let’s do this.”
Drew tried to help her stand, but she only got about halfway up before her hips protested. She couldn’t do that. Instead, she crawled to the wall, her baby’s head sticking out of her pussy the whole way, rested her head on the pillow Drew had placed for her, and waited.
“Contraction,” she said as her stomach began to tense. Then she kicked, awkwardly, weakly, off the floor. Drew caught her legs, and pulled them all the way up.
Her legs got forced together in the process, the gravity shifting, and her baby sunk back into her despite the force of the contraction. Rebbecah screamed in pain as her baby kicked in protest. She wanted to reach up and caress her stomach, but she was using her hands to support herself. Her breasts had fallen in her face, dripping sweat and milk across her cheeks. The agony continued on, the blood rushing to her head, the weight of her over-stretched womb pressing on her lungs. Forget sixty seconds, or even two minutes, it seemed to go on forever. Then, finally, her stomach eased, and Drew helped her feet down, until she curled in a ball around her stomach, panting.
The pain in her crotch had eased. All the progress she’d made in the last twenty minutes erased during a single contraction. She could still feel her baby between her hips, right behind her lips, filling her. Five more, she told herself.
The baby eased back down between contractions, settling against her lips again. Then her stomach began tightening, shrinking away from her arms and thighs, and Rebbecah gathered herself and kicked off the ground once more. Drew, ever faithful, caught her legs and got her the rest of the way up.
She’d thought this one would be less bad, since she’d already lost her progress. She was wrong.
She could feel her baby sinking further back, into her birth canal despite her contraction. Groaning, she focused her core and tried to push against gravity. The baby stopped sinking back. She managed to keep it there, just behind her lips, pushing with all her might. As the contraction eased and she was gently brought back to the floor, she even managed to push it out a bit more, the sting of her lips spreading a welcome sensation after the lost process. She felt proud of that progress, right up until the next contraction when it sunk right back in her again..
She was barely aware of herself as he lowered her down after that contraction. As soon as she could think again, she reminded herself that she was half done, three more to go. And then the next struck. It was harder to get up. And she’d barely managed to catch her wits after it, when the next contraction hit. She lost count. Was she done? Did she have more? Her whole being yearned for the alarm.
Another contraction, surely that had been six already? She was dizzy, exhausted, pushing against gravity just to keep the baby at her lips, then, mid-push, the alarm went off, and Drew thankfully lowered her to the ground. She immediately kept pushing, and the long forestalled baby shot forward, returning to a partial crown in moments.
“That was a tough one, Rebbecah,” Drew said, “But you did it. Now how do you want to finish this birth out?”
Remembering how right it had felt to push while squatting, she chose that, and Drew came up behind her, his warm body pressed against her, supporting her as she fell into a squat, her hips wide, the baby coming out. By the time she’d managed her position, the contraction was upon her. She pushed, grunting in effort, watching herself in the computer as the head slowly, but surely emerged. The nose was just making its exit when the contraction stopped, leaving her gasping, spread at her widest point, her legs shaking with effort and pain.
“It’s coming, one more push, love,” Drew said.
So she pushed, and with a gush, the head popped free. Dizzy, with relief, She collapsed against Drew, staying only in her squat because he held her there, as the shoulders began to turn. She reached down, holding the head as her pains returned, and she began to slowly push out the shoulders. They were even wider, and took two contractions to get out despite her best pushing, but finally, the baby gushed out of her and began to cry.
“There’s baby number one!” Drew announced. He helped Rebbecah down until she was leaning against the bed, and went to fetch scissors and she held the baby close to her, soothing it. The two of them made the most of the refractory period, then then contractions began again.
“Time for baby number two,” Rebbecah announced, reluctantly handing her first child to Drew. She was exhausted, but the brief break and actually seeing the baby left her feeling revitalized. She could do this again. There wasn’t a position that could be worse than upside-down. “What’s my first position?”
“Tied to the wall,” Drew answered, setting the baby down in a waiting crib and gesturing to the chains which hung on their wall for their more spicy streaming sessions.
With shaking legs and Drew’s assistance, Rebbecah waddled over to the wall, where Drew attached the cuffs to her hands, then pulled the chains taunt, pulling her weight up, off her legs. Then he spread her legs apart and secured them to the wall as well in the leg cuffs. Her arms, tied together above her head, taking most of her weight and restricting her breathing, her legs forcibly spread apart.
It was uncomfortable, but doable, her contractions came, she pushed, and the baby moved slowly but surely down. Far easier than her first baby since she had already stretched, but she was exhausted, her pushes were less powerful, and so the two forces evened each other out. Being chained to the wall like this was familiar, one of her favorite games, and it allowed her to embrace the pain. She vocalized freely, moaning with each push, feeling the baby spread her wide open, completely lost in the sensation of giving birth.
Drew, meanwhile, was also distracted, answering questions in the chat, watching his baby, and of course his beautiful wife, tied to a wall, her stomach visibility sinking into her with each contraction. She was beautiful, and it made his length ache with desire. So caught up with the sight he was, that he didn’t realize he’d forgotten to set the timer.
It wasn’t until forty minutes later, when the baby’s head began to crown, that he realized his mistake. Quickly, he set his phone to a one second timer, so it would go off. At the sound, Rebbecah’s eyes opened. She smiled, panting. “Seemed to last forever, that one,” she joked. “Baby’s pretty much already born.”
Drew smiled, awkwardly. “You are doing great my love. But you can’t give birth just yet. Still have two positions to do.”
Rebbecah eyed Drew nervously as he drew closer. He reached for her chin, turning her toward him so she could see his smile. She smiled back at him, exhausted.
“I’m so very proud of you,” he said. “You’ve done so amazing.” He leaned in, and kissed her, and she kissed him back, passionately, feeling his hands caress her belly, and then reach down lower, until one cradled her baby’s head. He pressed his lips more insistently against her, his other hand moving up to fondle her leaking breasts. She moaned into his advances, heat pooling between her legs then, with a quick jerk, he shoved her baby’s head back inside her.
She cried out, breaking off the kiss as the agony coursed through her. Her baby kicked, she couldn’t breathe with pain, yet he chased her with his mouth, capturing her lips in another kiss. He stepped away reluctantly, hand dripping with birthing fluids.
“There now,” he gasped, pink-cheeked and clearly aroused. “You are all ready for your second position—sitting on my lap.”
He untied her, easing her back to the floor, when another contraction hit. Remembering the agony of having the baby shoved into her, Rebbecah tried not to push, and succeeded for only about ten seconds before she gave in, squating instinctively, spreading her legs, grunting with effort, feeling her baby begin to emerge once more.
Drew waited patiently for the contraction to end, then pulled her over to a soft chair before the camera. He sat down, then he eased her onto his lap, so she was facing him. Her naked, gravid stomach pressed up against his well toned abs. He’d removed his shirt at some point, though Rebbecah couldn’t remember when that happened.
Then Drew’s hands caught Rebbecah’s hips. One of her legs on either side of his thigh, he pulled her down until her cunt rested directly atop his thigh, naked except his navy blue boxers. She glanced down, noticing his very prominent bulge. “Glad you’re enjoying this,” she said.
Then a contraction hit. She instinctively used her feet for leverage to pull herself off him to give herself even an inch or so to give birth, but his hands around her waist held her still. After two contractions with zero progress, she gave up trying to escape, and instead leaned into it, grinding against his thigh, trying to chase the agony and exhaustion away with the growing warmth down there.
Each time she shifted back and forth, her stomach rubbed against Drew’s dick through his boxers. He groaned at the sensation, holding her closer and closer, as she pressed down on her thigh. The pain of the contractions was distracting, she couldn’t quite reach an orgasm before getting distracted, but the growing heat was doing something for the pain.
Drew, unfettered by contractions, leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. They were hot, moist, cloying. Enjoyable, and yet at the same time too much. But it was all too much, so Rebbecah leaned into it, pressing down harder searching for release, for something, for anything, to escape the pressing need to give birth.
The alarm went off, but Drew was caught in the moment and didn’t seem to notice, his breathing staggered.
Rebbecah pulled away, gasping. “Drew, the timer. Please. I need to give birth.”
But he chased her lost in his own ecstasy, forcing his lips on her once more. Another contraction hit, and Rebbecah could resist the urge to push no more—she did, feeling her baby press against Drew’s thigh as he finally reached his climax, his breath stuttered, and wetness bloomed across his boxers.
Her contraction was over by the time his breathing had steadied and he managed to stop the timer. Rebbecah took the opportunity to use his shoulders and stand, her legs spread over his. The baby, just behind her lips.
“The last position?” she asked desperately.
“Laying on your stomach.”
That seemed awful, but the pressure at least, would force the baby out faster. She agreed, and he helped her down to her hands and knees, then, carefully, gingerly, she lowered herself down. The force on her stomach ached, then came a contraction. She pushed and the baby jerked forward after being contained for so long. The sudden burning came as a surprise and her shaking arms gave way, dropping her down to the ground, adding to the pressure within her exponentially. With a sudden searing pain, the baby was at a full crown, and it was just the first contraction!
“That was fast,” Drew said. “We can’t have that.”
Quivering, legs spread, laying atop her massive stomach, she waited for the telltale touch of his hands on her. They brushed past her clit, playing there for a moment, then cupped her baby and shoved them in. She cried out, feeling her lips close once again over the child's head. Her vision grayed out a bit, and then she was pushing once more, and the stretching was happening, and the baby was coming out again, the pressure on her stomach was so much. Then his hands, were there again, about the push the baby back in and—
Immediately, Drew was there, helping her up, off her stomach, her baby still at a full crown stretching her wide. He helped her exhausted, shaking body back into the squat. A contraction came, she pushed, and the head inched forward. She whined. “Come out, baby, come out.”
“You are doing marvelously, love,” Drew whispered, running hand through her hair. “I am so proud. You are so strong.”
The next contraction came, she pushed again, for a full minute and a half, the baby’s head bobbed in her cunt, unmoving, her stretched, red lips glistening. Then finally, at the next contraction, something shifted, and the head shot out. Her legs gave out at the shock, and Drew eased her gently backwards so she was leaning against him as the shoulders twisted, and then, finally emerged, crying.
“We did it,” Rebbecah gasped, smiling, tears streaking her eyes. Then she looked up at the amount of money they’d made. “Wow,” she gasped. “We really did do it. I think we could even afford to have some more.”
Write about a a woman that liked so much being pregnant, that she decided to not let the baby come out of her. She tried to delay labor as long as she could but the inevitable happened and labor started. But she wont give up, she didn't want to lose the status of pregnant woman to be just a woman again. She went to a cabin in the woods where nobody could "help" her and force her to give birth. She managed to hold the baby in for 2 or 3 days by using means to physically block the baby from coming out and even ways to relieve the urge to push(without actually pushing the baby out). But eventually she makes a mistake that makes the baby go out to the "point of no return" and she end up giving birth.
Here we go! Thanks for the prompt!
The following story contains severe (and unrealistic) self-birth denial and clothing birth.
It’s the year 2028, and women have lost the right to vote, unless they are pregnant and they can certify that the fetus is a man. So, nine and a half months ago, Hannah had begun to date with the hope that she would have the ability to vote. Unfortunately, the dating worked a bit better than she’d expected, and so the pregnancy process started. . . prematurely.
When Hannah reached her ninth month mid-October and began experiencing practice contractions, she went to her doctor and asked for some nifediphine, expressing that she was worried her baby would be born too early, and that she wanted to give birth to a big strong boy. The doctor, with a gleam in his eye at those words, agreed and gave her the prescription, though warned her he could only give her so much.
Contractions came and went over the next couple of weeks, often in the least expected and most inopportune times. Hannah called in sick to work so she could remain more sedentary, in hopes of keeping the baby in her for as long as possible. Uncomfortable weeks of swollenness and nausea stretched on, but she convinced herself it would be worth it, to stay pregnant, so she could vote. The only women men cared about these days were the ones that were pregnant, and she had to make the most of it.
On November 3rd, two weeks and a half weeks after her due date, Hannah ran out of nifediphine, and despite laying on her left side and drinking plenty of water, her contractions began in earnest. No, no, no, Hannah thought, breathing hard, as the latest contraction eased. The last two contractions had been ten minutes apart. “Baby,” she gasped, cradling her hand around her large stomach, “You have to wait, just four more days. Elections are on the seventh, and we have to vote.”
The baby, however, didn’t seem to care and the contractions continued. Hannah’s body screamed at her to get up and move, to sway through the pain. But she couldn’t, not if she wanted to keep the baby in, so she lay still, breathing through each pain, keeping her legs pressed together and her hips up on a couple pillows to help keep the baby off of her cervix. In lew of moving, she moaned through each pain, vocalizing freely.
Three hours in, her contractions were five minutes apart, and there was a knock at her door. Hannah swallowed back her latest moan as another contraction struck. She currled around her stomach, miserable.
The knock sounded again urgent. “This is the paramedics. We’re here on a wellness check. A neighbor said they heard someone in distress. Please open up or we’ll break down the door.”
Shit, Hannah thought. She couldn’t get discovered, they’d force her to give birth. She’d have to stand up. First, she looked up some birth videos on her phone and cast them to her tv. By that time, her contraction had begun to ease a bit. She called an “I’m coming, just give me a minute,” to the door, and very, very slowly sat up and eased herself to her feet.
The moment she got up, she felt her baby slam down into her opening cervix. Her feet spread instinctively as another contraction seized her. She clung to her headboard gasping, eyes wide, shocked by the firefly pain of her cervix stretching around the baby’s head. The pressure increased dramatically, until she felt something pop within her, sending water gushing over her feet. Luckily, her moan was covered by the scream from her tv.
“Ma’am are you all right?” The paramedics called.
Groaning, Hanah forced herself to stand up straight, organized her clothes and walked carefully toward the door, trying to keep her legs as close together as possible.
The paramedics seemed relieved, when she answered, their eyes going straight to her enormous belly which strained against the nightgown she was wearing.
“Sorry,” she said, cradling her stomach. “It gets so hard to get around these days, with this passenger.”
“A neighbor heard sounds,” the paramedic said, eyes fixed on her stomach. “They were worried you needed assistance.”
“Not me, unfortunately,” Hannah said with a smile. “I was watching birth videos, to get ready for the day. I didn’t realize they were so loud. I’ll turn them down.”
The paramedic seemed unconcerned, so Hannah stepped carefully aside, waving him into her house. As long as he stayed out of her bedroom, currently covered in her waters, she would be safe.
She stayed by the door, legs pressed tightly together, though her body screamed at her to open her legs, while the paramedic walked into her living room and saw the birthing videos on her tv.
Another contraction struck, this one accompanied with the undeniable urge to push. Hannah bit her lip to avoid crying out, thankful that the paramedic’s back was turned as he sauntered through her house. The contraction hadn’t quite given in by the time he turned around however.
“It seems everything is in order,” he said. “You sure you are all right?”
Hannah forced a smile. “Just fine,” she assured him, as sweat itched its way down her back and water dripped down her leg.
“All right then,” and the paramedic left. Hanah let out a relieved sigh and leaned against the door as she closed it. If she wanted the chance to vote, she’d need to go elsewhere, somewhere no one would hear her scream.
Moving carefully, she waddled to her room and grabbed her hospital bag she’d prepared a few days ago. That had a lot of what she needed, but if she was going to keep the baby in for four more days, she’d need a bit more help. She grabbed towels, her clean kitchen scissors, and several bottles of water. Then she changed her clothes, forcing on a pair of tight exercise shorts, and some pre-pregnancy jeans. She could barely walk in them, and they clung uncomfortably to her hips and butt. The crotch of the pants dug into her sensitive, swollen lips, but it was a reassuring kind of pain. She would vote this year.
With her stuff gathered, she began to carefully walk to her car, one hand holding her bag, the other cradling her bump. She tried to keep her legs close together, but it was near impossible. Two agonizing contractions later (she could feel her baby moving down even though she stalwartly refused to push) she reached her car. Dropping her bag in the passenger seat, she pulled out her phone and looked up air-bnb’s. She found a cabin out in the middle of nowhere, about three hours away, and booked it for a month.
With the address in her phone, and a calming spotify playlist on her speakers, she began her drive there. It was unpleasant, to say the least. The evermore insistent contractions continued every five minutes, and with each contraction the command to push came over her. Each time she breathed through it, moaning as she felt her baby stretch her insides and move down, little by little, despite her best efforts. On the plus side, this was her first baby and it was massively overdue.
It took her five hours to reach the cabin, because she’d needed to drive carefully and avoid freeways given how all-consuming the contractions were becoming. She pulled up, stopped the car and collapsed back in her seat, legs splayed. She needed to pee. She needed her clothes off. She needed to push. The last she couldn’t do, but the first two, she could.
With a moan, she grabbed her bag and got up from the car. Standing was so much worse. Her legs were trembling from exhaustion. She managed about three steps before another contraction struck, her belly tightening beneath her hand. She screamed at the pain as her legs gave way and she fell to her knees on the driveway. No one was around for miles. So she allowed herself to freely vocalize until the contraction gave way.
Once it was done, she decided standing would be too much work, and so she began to crawl up the front door, her large stomach brushing on the stairs as she went up them. Using the door handle, she managed to leverage herself to her feet and type in the code.
Then she was in. She staggered gratefully into the cabin. It was small, a kitchen and sitting room with a couch and a tv, and a single bedroom with a master bathroom, and most importantly a very narrow tub.
Hannah dropped her stuff on her bed and went straight to the bathroom. Removing her tight clothes took several minutes, but finally she collapsed on the toilet and took care of business, working through several contractions on the toilet. Then she ran hot water in the tub. She found some plastic boxes under the sink and put them on either side of the tub, where her legs would be, to force them together. Then covered in sweat and birthing fluids, she gratefully got in.
She moaned as the warm water lapped around her. It eased the constant pain in her stomach. At the next contraction, her legs instinctively tried to spread, but they couldn't, held in place by the plastic boxes on either side. She screamed with the pain of her contraction, enjoying the ability to finally make as much noise as possible.
She stayed in the tub, laboring, until the water ran cold, then she ran the water again and again. When she finally felt too wrinkly, when her body screamed too much at her to move, she reluctantly clambered out of the tub. Instantly, another contraction hit, and her legs spread instinctively. She gave way and pushed, crying out as she felt the baby shoot several inches down her canal.
She yelped as she felt it move. Sitting now, just behind her lips, and it had only been a day. She still had three more days of this. There was no more time for error.
Without bothering to dry off, she put on the tight exercise shorts, then her too-tight jeans. Her body protested as it forced her legs together, but it didn’t matter. She had to keep this baby in. She needed to stay pregnant. She left her top bare. Just this much clothing felt too constrictive, but the pants were necessary. Then she made her way to the bed. She piled the water bottles by her nightstand, stacked pillows up to keep her hips elevated, and pulled out a couple belts, which she wrapped between her crotch and her hips, extra security in case the clothes failed.
All set, she collapsed on the bed. The next contraction that came, she pushed. She couldn’t not push. She had to trust her preparations so far. The baby moved down, beginning to spread her lips just a bit. It stung, as if her crotch had been lit on fire. She screamed again, and stopped pushing, surprised at just how painful the stretch was.
And thus that first night went on and on and on, with her pushing as she needed, with the head stretching her a tiny bit more each time, but never coming to a full crown, her clothes too tight. She lost herself in the rhythm. Breathe, push, scream, feel the pants push the baby back into her.
Sunlight came again, through the windows. She was nauseous and exhausted, but drank water and ate an energy bar between contractions. At one point she tried to get up, thinking maybe she’d try the bath again, but her legs couldn’t support her. She was too tired, and she needed to conserve her energy. She turned on a show, whatever Netflix suggested and let it autoplay, trying to distract herself from the pain, from the constant need to push, from the fire in her crotch.
It helped to vocalize when she needed to without fear of people trying to assist. It also helped that she could push as she needed, trusting in her clothes to keep the baby in. She lay in her bed, hips elevated with pillows, curled in a miserable ball around her massive stomach. Days passed in a blur of agony, her voice too hoarse to scream, her sheets soaked in sweat. Until finally, finally, the alarm on her phone sounded, cutting through the fog of exhaustion and agony that had overrun her.
It was voting day! She’d done it!
She carefully began to move, sitting up for the first time in days. As soon as she engaged her abs, the baby was forced down again. Cautiously, she put her feet out on the floor, spread wide to accommodate her massive, low belly. Then, using the bedpost she began to stand.
The urge to push came over her, renewed by the shift in gravity, and she obliged. Squating and moaning. Then to her surprise and shock, she felt the baby move, far more than it ever had. After days of strain, the seams on her overworked pants gave way to the efforts of this new push, and the baby’s head crowned completely for the first time. Hannah screamed, dropping to her knees in shock, her hand reaching for the massive bulge in her pants instinctively.
Between the crossing of her belts, she felt her wet pants, the massive hole in the seams, of both her jeans and her exercise shorts, and then, the head. Her fingers touched the curly hair, damp from birthing liquids.
No, no, no, she thought. This couldn’t be, not after all she’d done, not after she’d all she’d been through. She couldn’t give birth. Steadying herself, she pressed her hand up against the crowning head, and began to gently ease the baby in.
Whatever pain she was imagining, this was far worse she screamed at the attempt, and stopped. She knelt there, legs spread, hand between them, panting, stars before her eyes. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t push the baby back in.
She’d have to go like this. The nightstand helped her pull herself to her feet. She took a couple of steps toward the door. The baby’s massive head touched her thighs with each step, slipping out a tiny bit more. As she reached the kitchen, she felt the nose stretch her lips and slip out. Still, she kept waddling forward, determined. She grabbed her keys, reached the front door, and shut it. Three stairs and a walkway, then she’d be in her car and the seat would keep the baby in. She could do it.
She went down the first step, her legs spreading out of necessity. A contraction hit, seizing her body, her stomach tightening. Her hands clasped the guardrail to keep herself upright. She tried not to push, but it didn’t matter. Her legs were spread, for practically the first time in four days, gravity was on her side, and the baby’s head was halfway out. With just the slightest of instinctive pushes, the head shot the rest of the way out, shooting through the seams of her pants, catching only on the buckles around her crotch.
Hannah screamed at the sensation of the head emerging. She couldn’t move, couldn’t take another step as the next contraction struck. It had been too long. The baby had to come out, now. No matter her previous attempts. The shoulders began to emerge, stretching her further. Then the baby stopped, caught by the belts, unable to go further.
Falling back on the edge of the stairs, Hannah began frantically tearing off the belts. Another contraction hit, she pushed. No progress. She got one belt off by the next one, and was rewarded with even more of a spread. It took her two more, fruitless, desperate contractions to get the last belt off.
The baby shot out, ripping through the remains of Hannah’s pants, and into her waiting hands. The tiny thing began to cry, and Hannah cried as well, holding it close to her.
She wouldn’t vote this year, but she would ensure that this baby would be raised right. He’d never let anyone be put in her position, not if she could help it.
🌲 forest
🏖️ beach
🏠 home
🚜 farm
🏢 office building
🏥 hospital
🛒 store
🚃 train/subway
🚗 car
🚌 bus
⛵ boat
✈️ plane
🧭 other (requestor specify)
MANNER OF DENIAL
🩲 tight clothing
🫴 holding head
🖐️ pushing baby back in
🔒 chastity belt
🪢 legs tied together
🤸 bad positions
💬 being told not to push
🛑 refusing to push
💊 medication
🔌 plug/other toy
🚩 forced denial
🏳️ willing denial
🃏 other (requestor specify)
POSITIONS
🧍 standing
🪑 sitting
🧎 kneeling
🙇 all fours
🛌 laying down
🦵 squatting
💧 water birth
🧘 other (requestor specify)
Ooh I want to play too! I love all the birth denial options. (I won't do orgasmic birth but I'm down for anything else here). Also, I've got some writing time this weekend and if I don't get prompts I'll have to work on my actual novel.
Part one - Race to Queendom here: https://www.tumblr.com/writing-nico/747127885975928832/race-to-queendom?source=share
18+ fiction, no minors allowed.
Contains: Spells, fantasy setting, fantasy species, manipulative partner, mpreg, cis mpreg, transformation, forced pregnancy, magical pregnancy, unknown pregnancy, graphic descriptions of birth, birth complications, multiple births, difficult birth, birth denial, fetal macrosomia, half giant, fae, pushingbabybackin, clothing birth, vaginal birth, slight watersports if you squint, filming, about 7.6k words}
{After the competition to birth the king’s babies, Leonna waits two years to get Micah back. Since 4 babies came from the concubines, 4 babies will come from him.}
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There were plenty of spells that could make a man pregnant. Some could cast human babies, orcs, dragonettes, or even more. Despite the array she found, none of them had quite what she was looking for. Behind the king's back, Queen Leonna bided her time, researching in the library, consulting with magicians, experimenting with fusing spells, and raising her children.
Finally, she created what she was looking for.
The dining hall shimmered with riches and smelled of a feast, but Leonna’s eyes were completely focused on Micah.
“My king?” She asked.
Immediately, King Micah looked up from the giant turkey leg that he was devouring, his eyes ravenous.
“Yes, dear?” He asked.
“May I sleep in your chambers tonight? I have missed you.” She said, making doe eyes at him.
Micah smiled with turkey in between his teeth. “Of course! I would love to host you.” He replied obliviously.
Inside, Leonna beamed with pride, knowing that the first step to her plan was complete. Micah was so self centered that all she had to do was put on a little show. He was none the wiser that even after two years, she still resented him.
That night, she followed him to his chambers, laughing at everything he said and clinging to his arm. As he started to fall asleep, she whispered her curse in fae and stupidly, he smiled, thinking that he had her heart.
~~~
Micah pressed his palms against the small of his back and stretched. Leonna had said that his giant belly was the mark of a rich, well fed king, but he was just too big. He tried to lose the weight once he started to waddle, but no matter what he did, it wouldn't budge.
Angry red and purple stretch marks dug into his skin over his tight belly and hips, which had spread so wide that he could barely walk. He could barely breathe with his beast of an abdomen stretching up to his ribs. He was so large that he looked as if he were pregnant with octuplets, which was a feat in itself for a half giant, but that couldn't be possible. He was a man.
Right?
He shook his head, refusing to entertain that thought for more than a second. Of course he was a man! A bunch of stubborn fat couldn't change that. Slowly, he pulled himself out of his bed and looked in the mirror.
He was completely naked. Over time, his chest had begun to swell. Now, his nipples were hardened and long, his areolas were dark and wide, and he now had breasts that hung over either side of his belly. Being 9 foot 11, he was one of the biggest things around other than the Giants, but he had never been this big.
Leonna however seemed to love it. He caught her constantly eyeing him with a blissful expression. She would massage his belly and breasts and rub his dick for him now that he could no longer see it. He had never known his queen to be this affectionate with him, so he was rightfully confused.
What has he done to earn this? Did she just like bigger men?
He pulled his belly up momentarily, looking at his penis in the mirror. Maybe it was just him, but it seemed to be shrinking. Normally, he was a strong and proud eleven inches, but now, he seemed to only be six. There was no way that this was a coincidence.
He dropped his belly, immediately feeling the weight settle back into his wide hips. It was the most uncomfortable sensation that he had ever experienced. He sighed in malaise, struggling to breathe. All of a sudden, his belly cramped, forcing itself back into his body and knocking the breath out of him. He gasped, falling to his knees holding his wide load.
As soon as he hit the ground, he felt something hot spurt from his cock and soak into his tight robes.
‘Did I just piss myself?’ He thought.
As he tried to collect himself, he felt something press on his bladder. Quickly, he grabbed his dick through his robes, trying not to soak himself further.
“Hooh!” He shuddered.
He rocked back and forth on his knees, trying to hold it in long enough that the pinpricks of need would rest and he could run to the bathroom before it was too late. He pressed his other hand against the small of his back, trying to relieve himself of his belly's weight.
As he rocked he felt another twinge from deep inside of him, squeezing his belly into his lungs. He exhaled sharply, putting more pressure on his aching bladder. He could feel the urine approaching his twitching tip.
He hissed in discomfort, trying to hold himself together. Pressing his hand harder on his dick, he shut his eyes and shouted.
“Someone help me!”
The buildup of piss trying to escape his hole caused his eyes to water. The near constant pressure on his belly didn't help.
“Help me, please!” He cried.
He couldn't move, and every time he shouted, he felt his bladder squeeze under the pressure. Someone had to be looking for him. Surely his queen wanted to love on him. There had to be someone out there listening. Why wasn't anyone coming?
Finally, he heard footsteps approach the door and his queen burst into the room. At first he was relieved to see her face, maybe she could help him to the bathroom, but then he noticed something off; she wasn't panicked, she didn't even seem worried. Her face was blank until she laid eyes upon his soaked robes, then she frowned with contempt.
“What did you do?” She asked.
Micah's heart dropped. “What?”
“It's too early, the spell isn't finished.” She said, more to herself as she ignored his question.
“My queen?”
Leonna rolled her eyes. “Someone get a bedpan.”
Quickly, footsteps departed and then approached again. The queen took the bedpan from the servant's hands and took her time walking towards him. Every second that passed, Micah felt as if he were going to burst.
He whimpered as she placed the bedpan at his knees.
“I can't move, dear.” He said.
“Great.” Leonna groaned.
Before he could even think, Leonna ripped his robes upwards and placed his bright red cock over the bedpan. Finally, Micah could relieve himself. He sunk into his hips as he pissed, his eyes rolling back into his head.
“Thank you, love.” He groaned, almost aroused by solace.
Instead of answering, Leonna just looked down on him. As the last spurts of piss escaped his aching cock, she reached for his belly.
He tensed in surprise when she touched it, causing another ripple of pain to course through him.
“I knew it. You're contracting!” Leonna observed.
Micah frowned through the pain. “What?” He groaned.
“It's too early for you to give birth, the spell hasn't even taken full effect. Damned multiples.” She continued.
“Give birth? What are you talking about?”
Leonna didn't answer, keeping her hand on his belly, she chanted, releasing her magic inside of him.
“Leonna.”
Leonna didn't look up, and kept chanting.
“Answer your king!” He shouted.
Leonna curled her lip. “My king? You don't look like a king right now.” She replied.
Micah was taken aback. “You told me that I looked more kingly than ever…” He said quietly.
“To keep you from being suspicious, though I hardly needed to do that. You're so dimwitted, you can't even tell when someone has cast a spell on you.” She said.
“A spell?” Micah asked. “What spell?”
“One of my own creation, but I suppose that I didn't account for the strain the multiples would cause. Your water broke right at the seventh month mark. To think you still have five more months to go… You are much bigger than even Sol was.” Leonna continued, grinning at his pressing burden.
“What the hell are you talking about, Leonna?” Micah demanded.
Leonna grinned wider. “There's the man I know. The tyrant who made his concubines compete in childbirth for his own gratification. I told you that you would repay me. I'm disappointed that you forgot. Did you think that I was playing with you?” She ranted.
“So-” Micah reached down and touched his giant belly. “-I’m pregnant?” He asked.
“And in active labor, though, you wouldn't be able to give birth through your penis, so that will have to be fixed over the next few months. I would give you a quicker spell, but-”
She grinned and leaned closer to his face. “-I like seeing you suffer.”
“You rotten woman!” Micah growled. “I should have you beheaded!”
Leonna raised her eyebrow. “Would having to go to war with my kingdom be worth it though?” She questioned, tilting her head.
Micah's breath caught in his throat. He had almost forgotten about that. The whole reason for their marriage was to ally, if he had her executed, the Fae and maybe even some humans would revolt.
Quickly, he softened his face and smiled. “Leonna, my dear. I’ve learned my lesson. I will never even think of such things again, you have my word. Please take this spell off of me and we can get back to our life together.” He said sweetly.
Leonna shook her head. “That’s not possible.”
“Please. I'm begging you! I can't give birth. I'm scared. These babies will be huge! I don't think I can do it!” He cried.
The queen shrugged. “Well, look on the bright side. At least you’ll have more heirs. If you survive of course.”
~~~
Micah lay in his bed, clutching his ever growing bump, though at this point it was more like a mountain. It shot up towards the sky when he stumbled onto his back by accident. He had thought that the babies were low in his hips five months ago, but now, they constantly pressed against his opening.
Now, his dick was completely gone, replaced by a fat pussy that constantly wept birthing fluids. How had he ended up in this predicament? He was a king! How could he have been so blind.
The pain was overwhelmingly miserable. He writhed in bed constantly, unable to walk due to how heavy he was. Though, that would likely provide him no relief. With Leonna’s spell, there would only be pressure as he was forced to endure mind numbing contractions without the release of birth. A barrier had been placed just under his womb, pressing up against his first baby's head.
He was more terrified than he had ever been in his life. He had no idea what to do, or who to trust. Occasionally, Leonna would come to see him and feel his contracting belly. Clearly, she got a rise out of it. Micah felt small and weak under her touch, completely unable to defend himself.
Fireworks sounded off every second in the dark night. Cheers were heard around the castle. As the festival continued, Micah could only lay on his side and pant through the pain.
It was New Year's Eve. The five months had finally passed. Soon, he would be able to birth these monsters that his queen had infected him with.
He rubbed his aching burden as another contraction ripped him apart, worse than ever. He tried to scream, but his breath caught in his throat. He gripped his taut skin, leaving welts where his nails scratched the thin area.
After what felt like forever, it passed and Micah gasped desperately for air. Suddenly, he caught sight of a person through teary eyes.
“Leo-Leonna.” He grunted.
Leonna smiled. “Hello, love.” She replied.
“Please! I can no longer take this pain. I must give birth!” Micah begged.
“But it's only nine o’clock. It's still too early. We haven't even started the ceremony.” She said.
“Ce-cer-ceremo-mony?” Micah struggled to ask.
“Yes. Before the birth is broadcasted, you will have to take a lap around the town. Simple enough, right?” Leonna explained.
“Broadcasted?” He wanted to ask why, but he knew exactly what she was going to say. It was all payback for how he chose his queen.
Leonna smiled. “Now let's get you dressed. You cannot greet your kingdom naked.”
Micah had no words and only watched as his queen chanted a spell that released him from the barrier that forced his babies to stay within him.
Immediately, he curled on his side and started to push, but the baby didn't budge, completely stopping up his cervix. Taking a shallow breath, he gripped his ankle and tried to push again.
Tears welled in his tightly shut eyes and his head spun. His body shook as he tried to push, but the baby didn't move an inch.
Leonna stared down at his plight. “Don't push too hard, these babies are twice the size of the ones that we birthed. It’ll take a lot of patience to get them out.” She explained.
Micah gasped. “You bitch!” He spat.
Leonna shrugged. “It's your fault. You thought that my words were a jest.” She said
Two guards lifted Micah up by each arm. His belly splayed over his knees and his engorged breasts rested on his heavy load. He struggled to stand, his legs shaking as he waddled and swayed.
“Oohhh.” He sighed as another contraction ripped through his body, pressing his belly up against him. On instinct he spread his legs and squatted, opening his fat, wet pussy to try to push out his babies.
He felt his cervix stretch and push outwards with the baby's head, but as soon as he ran out of strength, the baby stopped coming down. He gasped, spluttered, and panted trying to catch his breath and stop the room from spinning.
Servants surrounded him and grabbed his ceremonial robes. A pair of high waisted panties that just barely spanned the underside of his belly were placed on him. His pussy felt suffocated with just that thin piece of cloth over it. He knew that the rest would be unbearable, but he had no choice. If he wanted to birth these babies, he had to follow the queen’s plan.
~~~
Micah tried to keep a straight face as his citizens greeted and bowed to him, but he couldn't hold back the pain. He was constantly hunching over to push, crying out, and gasping for air.
He had never felt so helpless or ashamed in his life. He was supposed to be the pillar of strength and now, he was reduced to this puffy, crying mess.
“We’re almost to Town square, dear. We're halfway through our little stroll.” Leonna announced.
“fu-fuc-fuck you.” Micah shuddered.
Leonna smirked. “You already had your chance.”
After ten minutes, they finally reached town square. Micah leaned heavily onto his guards that walked with him, trying to stay upright. Leonna watched with pleasure as he struggled, walking just ahead of them.
Micah’s hips felt as if they were going to rip apart. Despite being 9 foot 11 and wide, it seemed that he couldn't get wide enough. The baby pressed into his cervix with the help of gravity. As Leonna walked ahead, Micah’s legs slowly gave out. The guards let him collapse.
Leonna heard him drop and turned to see him down on one knee, shaking in place.
“Leonna. I'm sorry.” He whimpered.
Leonna started to answer with a typical quip, but before she could, a rush of fluids spilled from his pussy and at long last, the head was just behind his aching lips.
“Fuck!” He shouted.
Townspeople turned towards commotion, gasping and exclaiming as they watched their king being brought to his knees.
His soaked clit rubbed his panties, causing unbearable sensitivity. Micah gasped and pushed again, feeling his baby stretch his brand new pussy. The baby lodged itself into his lips and it burned like one thousand suns.
Micah tried to scream, but all that came out was a whimper as he came to a full crown in his robes and panties. His hands pushed down on his massive burden as he tried to give birth. The guards held tightly to him, looking towards their queen.
Slowly, Leonna stepped forward and knelt down in front of him. She lifted his robes and reached for his vagina, cupping her hand under their baby's head.
“Here, let me help you.” She whispered.
“No I need to-”
Instantly, he was cut off by searing pain. Fighting against Micah's body, Leonna pushed the baby's head upwards and back into his gaping hole.
Micah’s eyes rolled back into his head and his vision was splotched with blackening pain. His horrible screams felt disembodied. He had no idea that a humanoid could make such an awful sound.
“Do not worry, my subjects. It was only a false alarm. Our king is experiencing a very intense labor.” She explained.
With the baby's head just past Micah's cervix, Leonna was satisfied. She wiped her hand on her gown and stood over him.
“Come on. We still have to walk to the other side of town and back.”
~~~
The king was barely conscious when they reached the throne room. He wanted nothing more than to beg his queen to let him lie down and finally give birth, but after she shoved their baby back inside of him multiple times, he knew it wasn't worth it. He stayed silent as the guards sat him upon his throne, still fully clothed.
“You're tougher than I thought, Micah. Well done.” Leonna praised him.
The fireworks were louder and more frequent than ever, but so were his contractions. His body was about ready to shoot these babies out like cannon balls and it was all that he could focus on.
As Leonna set up the cameras to catch the birth from every angle, Micah slid his pussy off of the throne, readying himself to finally give birth.
With a smile of pride, Leonna took her seat in her throne, next to him. She laid her hand on his belly. Micah jumped and a gush of amniotic fluids spilled from his tense womb, but he could do nothing more than push.
“You're doing great.” Leonna whispered, rubbing circles over his robes.
Micah was burning up in his ceremonial garb, but he didn't care at this point. He couldn't get it off anyway. Without hesitation in front of the cameras, Micah spread his legs, took the deepest breath that he could manage, and pushed.
He could feel his child’s head rolling down his birth canal, stretching out his hole once more. He gripped the arm rests of his throne so much so that the gold dug into his tender, swollen fingers.
He gritted his teeth so intensely that he felt as if the tiny bones would snap from the pressure, same as his lower body. Sitting on his tailbone, he bore down, his knees as far apart as he could get them in his robes. Still, it wasn't wide enough. He felt so if his hips would rip apart, but he couldn't move much in the uncomfortable gear.
Leonna kept rubbing circles in his belly, but through the pain, he couldn't tell her to stop. At the same time, it felt good as he was riven from the inside.
“That's it darling. You're doing great.” Leonna whispered with a sinister grin across her cherub cheeks.
Finally, Micah felt the baby's head approach his lips for what felt like the fiftieth time this night. His pussy stretched to accommodate the head and though he had felt this pain so many times, it was never better.
His fat pussy lips were dragged out by the baby's head before it even reached them. He shook from the burning down below and wrenched his eyes shut, screaming and crying all the while.
As the baby rolled lower inside of him, his pussy lips became a wide ring that touched his panties, reminding him that they were there.
Micah's eyes shot open in fear. How was he supposed to get this damn thing out with a pair of panties in the way? He looked to his guards, then he looked to Leonna with watery eyes. All parties looked at him indifferently, waiting to see what would happen.
The king’s heart dropped. Had he really been so cruel two years ago? Did he really dese-
As he tried to think, another contraction burst through his belly, causing him to arch his back off of the throne. A gush of fluids rushed from him and the baby's head pressed against his inner labia, finally coming to a crown in his panties.
Thick, slimy mucus squeezed painfully past the baby's head as he pushed. With tears filling his eyes, he looked up towards the ceiling, as if to beg the heavens for mercy. The thought briefly crossed his mind to ask Leonna, but he knew that his pleas would fall on deaf ears. Only the God's could help him now.
He hoped.
Gripping the handles of his throne, he pushed himself off of the seat, trembling in pain. His enormous belly tried to flatten itself against him, but the mass of the other babies filled it. It only pressed the head of his first child further, finally bursting from his pussy with a loud squelch.
Shakily, Micah held himself up by the handles of his throne, wincing in pain as the head hung from him, filling his panties. The muscles in his legs tremored below him as he tried to keep himself upright.
Leonna kept a steady hand on his belly, feeling every contraction and quake. She smirked smugly, watching him squirm. By now, Micah wasn't focused on anything other than freeing himself from this curse. All of the fireworks, guards, lights, and touches had gone from his world, other than the panties that trapped his baby's head.
As he trembled, he gritted his teeth, gripped the handles of his throne until his fingers bruised and pushed once more. Without a sound, he felt the baby drop into his panties, dragging them to his knees. Muffled cries sounded from the cloth as Micah plonked onto his knees.
The guards and Leonna stood by silently as he dug through his robes and searched for his child. Quickly, he pulled off his outer robe and ripped his tunic in half, exposing his naked body on live television.
At that point, he didn't care, he just needed to get to the baby. He wasn't sure where the sudden urgency for the child was coming from, but he needed to know that they were okay.
Finally, he reached into his panties, and pulled out a blonde baby boy with light brown skin. The child whimpered in his arms, but seemed unharmed. The boy yawned and opened his eyes, squinting because of the new light. Though Micah was petrified, he found himself lost in his baby's little green eyes.
“Oh..” His voice tremored.
The boy was the average size for a half giant. He almost couldn't believe that his body had released such a thing. While he was huge, he was so small at the same time. Barely conscious as the world was thrust upon him.
Then, three guards approached. Micah glared at them as they interrupted the moment between him and his little boy, but they didn't seem to care. They only got closer. Tentatively, he brought the baby to his breast and stared back at the guards.
“What are you doing?” He asked.
The guards didn't answer, instead the one in the middle knelt down while the other two disarmed him. Micah’s heart raced in panic.
“What are you doing!” He demanded to know as the guard took his baby. Too weak to fight back, Micah could only struggle against the hold of his own traitorous guards.
“My baby! Give me back my baby!” He cried.
Leonna rolled her eyes. “Be still, my king. They are only making sure that he is healthy. They will return him to nurse shortly.” She said as-a-matter-of-factly.
Micah whipped his head towards her and growled deeply. Leonna just seemed unimpressed.
“It's only standard procedure.”
~~~
To Micah's surprise, Leonna kept her word. Just a few minutes later, a guard returned with the baby boy, who squinted under the chandeliers.
“He is healthy, my queen. 24 pounds and 8 ounces.” He said, cradling the child coldly.
Leonna beamed with pride. “How wonderful. He will grow up to be a strapping man-” She turned to her king, her smile darkening. “-don't you think so, dear?”
Micah avoided her gaze, covering himself up with his outer robe. His second baby rested surprisingly lightly on his cervix and the sac had not yet broken. Meanwhile, the placenta from his son was slowly exiting his opening.
Leonna looked back at the guard. “Give him the boy.” She said.
The guard nodded and walked over to Micah, his armored boots becoming covered in birthing fluids. As his body finally released the placenta, he was handed his baby boy. Micah cradled his head, as he had seen the guard do, his arms shaking. The room was silent and cold, as he and the baby looked into each other's eyes. Tears rolled down Micah's cheeks as he studied his son’s features.
His thin, sandy blonde curls had been cleaned, his bright green eyes squinted, his puffy eyelids straining. His skin was light brown and rosey, and he had a big red birthmark spanning the left side of his top lip to the side of his nostril. The baby stirred in his arms, but seemed otherwise calm. Carefully, Micah took him to his breast and after a couple of mishaps, the boy finally latched.
“He’s beautiful.” Leonna said, watching the two of them.
Micah kept his eyes on the child as he suckled loudly.
“What do you want to call him?” She asked.
“Elias.” Micah replied, barely speaking above a whisper.
“That's a nice name.” Leonna said.
Micah sniffed. “Why did you wait so long to exact your revenge?” He asked.
Leonna crossed her legs. “I couldn't have you being wary of me. Otherwise it never would have worked.” She answered. “Plus, I had to do a lot of research.”
Micah bit his lower lip. “I never forgot your words.” He said, starting to choke on his. “I simply underestimated them.”
“And that's your biggest mistake. You were expecting a petty act when I'm much more capable than that.” She said.
Micah sighed deeply as he felt another cramp building up. “I’ll never misjudge you again. I can promise you that.” He said coldly.
“Good.” Leonna said.
Soon after, baby Elias unlatched and started to snore. Maybe Micah would have expected such a sound if he had been present for his first round of children. Right now, he wasn't entirely sure.
He rubbed his belly, feeling a cramp from inside and out. It was less intense than he had been used to over the last five months, maybe it was because of the cushioning of the amniotic sac.
“Hooh…” He whispered, handing his baby boy to a guard with shaking arms. He hadn't wanted to let go of him, but he didn't feel that he could labor safely with him in his possession.
He crouched on his hands and knees, readying himself for another baby to exit him. The sac slowly poked it's way into his birth canal
He could feel each set of eyes watching him. Not the least bit anxious, but curious, as if this was entertainment for them. Wrenching his eyes shut, Micah sucked in a breath and began to bear down.
Immediately, he felt a sharp pain in his womb. He stopped with a short gasp and reached up to touch his belly, which touched the floor below him.
Briskly, he rubbed his roundness, trying to smooth out the issue. He hadn't even noticed that he still had tears in his eyes until a hot stream of water rolled down his cheek.
“Hooh…” He tremored, pulling his knees apart. He was starting to sink into his belly, and though it added an uncomfortable amount of pressure, he could barely hold himself up through the pain. Shortly after, he felt something slimy and hard slip past his cervix, falling lower into his birth canal.
He groaned in pain. This baby felt wider than the last one, the sac probably didn't help. Rubbing his belly to soothe himself, he gritted his teeth and pushed again. Despite the diameter of the baby, he felt a little more open than he had with the first. Maybe his son had stretched him out.
Behind him, his swollen pussy began to bloom, much to Leonna's delight. He heard gasps of excitement escape her lungs. Maybe if this had been his choice, he would have been excited as well. Slowly, he shook his head and took a deep breath. He couldn't think about that right now. At the moment, he had to focus on giving birth; after this, he still would have two more babies to go.
Rubbing his belly for support, Micah bore down, pushing his knees into the cold, hard floor, likely bruising them. The pain of giving birth was worse than a couple of bruises. This baby barely budged with each push, slowly slipping inside of him and the amniotic sac still hadn't broken.
Micah took in another shaky breath and pushed till his face turned purple. Finally, he heard a low pop, but there was still no fluid. He let go of the breath and felt his head swim. The baby was just behind his lips, still in the sac.
He rubbed circles over his belly, trying to gather the strength to push again. Before he could even think about it, another contraction rammed into him, greater than any that he had felt with this baby. His back arched upwards in surprise and pain as he felt the baby fall into his worn vagina.
“Oh wow.” Leonna gasped.
Micah’s eyes sprung open. Leonna sounded astonished, not excited. What was happening?
With his hand still on his aching orb of a belly, Micah looked up at the guards, who stared blankly ahead. He then looked behind him to see Leonna's eyes wide in surprise.
“What's going on? What's wrong with my baby?” Micah cried in a shrill voice.
“She’s breech.” Leonna replied.
Micah’s pussy stretched down over the baby like a pipe as he angled his hips downwards, trying to push her out. He curled his fingers, gritted his teeth and pushed as hard as he could. Still in the sac, he could feel the baby slipping out of him. Her heels dug into his birth canal.
“Guh!” He cried, letting go of the effort.
Carefully, he reached under his belly and found his hand on the baby's stomach. Touching what he was sure was her chest, he felt for a pulse, and found her heart beating away. He sighed in relief. That had to be a good sign, right?
As he took his hand from her, preparing to push again, he started to hear whispers from the guards. Quickly, he whipped his head around towards Leonna who frowned.
“What now?” He grunted, feeling another contraction starting to ram up.
“There's meconium in the sac, dear. If you want her to live, you're going to have to break it.” She said simply.
Micah’s breath hitched. He started to reach for his baby again, just as her legs dropped out of him. Leaving only her head inside. Gently, Micah made quick work of the amniotic sac, and felt no relief as it rushed open. Energetically the baby kicked her legs upwards, scratching his pussy with her tiny toenails.
Micah winced and with closed eyes, repositioned himself with his right elbow on the floor and his left arm holding up his body. He pushed once more and felt an awful amount of pressure release from him as half of the baby's head slipped out of him.
“Hughh…” He groaned, shuddering as he pushed again. His second baby popped out of his battered opening and fell into his ripped tunic. Silent.
Micah gasped for air and turned around. The child was in his arms before he could even blink. On instinct, he turned her over and popped her on the back. When he got no reaction, he did it again, and she spit up fluids, finally allowing her to take in a deep gasp and cry.
“Oh Gods!” Micah cried.
He turned her over again, coming face to face with a bald headed, brown skinned baby girl. Her eyes were wrenched shut as she screamed away.
He held her close, crying with her as the guards approached him. Angrily, he glared up at them, but didn't resist.
“You're going to take them from me every time?” He grunted.
Silently, the guards took the baby girl and Micah was left sitting alone again.
~~~
The baby girl, whom he called Elodie, was 26 pounds and 12 ounces, just slightly larger than her elder brother. She nursed hungrily, grabbing at Micah's breast, trying to pull it in further. He looked down at the girl tiredly, paying no mind to her antics, but looking into her beautiful hazel eyes.
“She will be the fairest in the land.” Leonna said proudly.
Micah cleared his throat and shifted his weight away from his swollen nethers. As the placenta started to come down, he felt his temperature rise and his heart race. He felt somewhat… annoyed. Was another contraction coming?
“Are you happy with this outcome?” He asked.
“Delighted. You make a good parent, Micah even with your shortcomings as a king.” She said.
Micah rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Leonna. Let me have peace before my next child tears me apart.” He said.
Leonna shrugged. “If you insist.” She replied with condescension.
Micah scoffed, but said nothing else as his daughter finished nursing. As he held her, he felt pressure increase in his hips.
“Ugh.” He groaned, handing the baby to another guard. Both babies were now in the room, being held by someone other than him. It brought pain to his pounding heart. Still, he gritted his teeth and began to push.
As soon as he did, he could feel the blood rush away from his head. His eyes swirled in his sockets and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He slammed his hands onto the cold floor to brace himself, but his elbows and wrists soon gave out. Micah collapsed onto them dizzily, laying on his side.
Leonna was silent, watching the screen focused on his nethers. The baby hadn't come yet.
“Micah?” She said.
Micah took a shaky breath in. His belly rose and then quickly fell as he whined in pain. Leonna looked up with genuine fear in her eyes.
“Guards!” She shouted.
Instantly, the unoccupied guards rushed to his side. Through his stupor, Micah could feel the grip of the blood pressure cuff on his upper arm.
“70 over 40.” He heard a guard say.
To be honest, Micah didn't really know what that meant, but from the way it was announced, it didn't sound good. His heartbeat pounded slowly in his ears, blocking most sound, his head swirled and from his hips below, he felt largely numb. Still, he could feel the pressure between them.
“Micah? Micah!” The queen called out to him. She shook his shoulders and he took a deep, raspy breath in.
“Micah, can you hear me? The baby's coming. I think the last placenta may have caused a greater wound than expected.” She said.
“Baby?” He garbled, breathing heavily.
“Yes. The baby.”
“Are they…” He swallowed thickly. “..okay? What's happening?”
Trembling, he brought his arms back under him, trying to sit up. Quickly, Leonna rested her hand in between his shoulder blades.
“No, no. Stay where you are.” She said.
“My baby?...” He croaked.
“The baby's head is crowning. I just need you to push a little bit more.” She said.
“I'm cold.” He shuddered.
“I know, but the baby needs to come out so that I can heal you a bit. All of the births are taking a toll on your body.” She replied, rubbing his back.
Her hand felt warm against his shaking body. He swallowed, feeling his world darkening. He started to reach down with the hand that wasn't pinned under him. Seeing this, Leonna took it in hers and guided it down to the head of their baby.
Micah’s eyes shot open in shock. His baby was covered in something thick and sort of oily. The shock brought back his senses, and while he didn't look down, he could smell iron in the air.
“Leonna…” He said.
“Just focus on the baby. Can you push for me?” She asked.
Weakly, Micah nodded.
“Yeah?” Leonna rasped.
Micah took in a deep breath and bore down. Leonna made a quick motion and a guard lifted his right leg up, making more room for their half-born baby.
His head was cold, and he could feel blood rushing out of him. Despite that, he wrenched his eyes shut and pushed again. He felt the baby's arms flip out of his body and he birthed her up to her hips.
“Just one more push, my king. Just one more.” Leonna encouraged him, squeezing his bloody hand in hers and rubbing his back.
For some reason, Micah felt validated in his suffering. Maybe because the person who caused it had tears falling onto his shoulder.
With the last of his strength, he bore down once more and finally, he felt the largest baby ever slip out of him. He barely heard her cries before he vomited and everything faded away.
As Leonna rushed to heal him, she caught a glimpse of her baby girl’s hands. Each contained a fistful of uterine lining. The horrid sight almost toppled her over. Especially as the guards told her that baby Amara was a whopping 30 pounds and 4 ounces.
~~~
Leonna sat at his bedside, bouncing her right leg anxiously. He was less pale and the warm tinge to his skin had returned, but despite her efforts, he still hadn't woken up yet. It had only been two hours, and he was showing good signs, but could something else be wrong? Should she be worried that his labor wasn't progressing with the fourth baby?
Why did she care anyway? This was the man that pressed down on her belly to save his progeny. The pain had been blinding. But, he was the reason that she had her oldest son and daughter, alive and well. When she couldn't push, he did it for her. Even though, the only reason he did it was probably so that he could have a queen and more heirs.
Frustrated and confused, she rushed to the door and pushed it open, running into the garden outside of his chambers. Once she got to the gazebo in the center, she collapsed onto her knees and started to cry.
She had gotten her revenge, he had suffered, so why didn't she feel any better? When she had first met him, he was a complete pig, commenting about her and the other concubine’s looks, constantly asking for sexual favors, drinking, lying. Everything about him was just wrong.
But, despite that, he looked at her with love in his eyes, thinking that he had her heart, while she had his soul. He had trusted her, and underestimated her, but she still did this to him.
“Leonna?”
Leonna turned to see Sol and Ayesha standing behind her, each with sad expressions.
“Is-”
“He's fine. We just came to see you.” Sol said.
“I just came here to support him.” Ayesha said, tilting her head towards Sol.
Leonna rolled her eyes at her human cousin, and started to wipe her tears.
“Are you alright?” Sol asked.
“No. I think that I made a mistake.” Leonna said.
“Meh, I would've done the same thing if I had powerful magic like yours.” Ayesha replied.
“But I didn't account for all of the strain a natural birth would put on him, even if he's strong and it was caused by magic. I just wanted him to understand how I felt, not die!” She cried.
Sol knelt beside her. “I get that. What he did was pretty fucked up, but I think you’ve come to care for him watching him carry your babies all this time. Things change. Maybe this is a lesson not to take vengeance and communicate your feelings properly.” He said.
“Would he have listened if I did?” She asked.
“Probably not, but it's better than taking out the father of our children. He's a good dad, even if he is a freak. I think we’d all miss him in some way or another.” Ayesha replied.
“Hey, but he’s not dead. I'm sure he'll get better. It's only been two hours.” Sol said.
Leonna nodded and wiped away more tears. “I’ll talk to him when I can. Maybe, if he doesn't want to banish me as soon as he gets better, we can fix this.” She agreed.
“I mean, you can try, but who knows how angry he’ll be.” Ayesha said.
Sol immediately glared at her with his sunny eyes.
“I'm just saying. You're gonna really have to explain yourself.” Ayesha added.
“I think he already knows, but it might be better if he hears it from you in a less sadistic manner.” Sol said.
“Yes. Hopefully.” She said.
“Your Majesty!”
The group turned to see a guard running out of the castle towards them, his helmet under his arm.
“The king wishes to see you.” She said.
~~~
Leonna could hear his groans and cries of pain as soon as she entered the castle. Quick on her feet, she hopped up the stairs to his chambers, bursting through the unlocked doors. Micah was seated in bed with pillows behind his back and a cold compress on his forehead. Tears streamed down his face as his deflated belly squeezed itself against him.
“Micah!” Leonna shouted.
Micah said nothing, instead, he roared through another contraction that had come in rapid succession.
Instantly, Leonna ran to him and collapsed at his bedside. “I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean for this to happen. I just wanted you to feel what I felt!” She cried.
Micah gritted his teeth, but turned to look at her with red eyes.
“I can't do this.” He whispered.
Leonna widened her eyes, stunned.
“I can't do this anymore! I'm so tired. PLEASE get it out of me!” He cried.
Just as the words left his mouth, another contraction screamed through his abdomen and he cried with it, his voice cracking and shaking. As his body pushed for him, Leonna heard the unmistakable squelch of the baby's head coming down and water exiting her king’s body.
Quickly, she took his hand and reached down, putting both of their palms across the child’s dome.
“This is it. This is the last one! Our child. You have been so strong through this whole process. You can do this one more time.” Leonna said, forcing his hand against the head.
Micah shook his head. “I can't. It hurts so baaHAAAD!”
The baby's head slipped further down, coming a fourth of the way through his lips.
“You can and you will. Your body's already doing it. You just need to engage. It’ll all be over soon, I promise.” She said.
Micah sniffled and turned to her with his watery eyes. “You promise?”
Leonna nodded affirmatively. “I'm sure if it. Do what your body tells you and you won't have to suffer anymore.”
Hesitantly, Micah nodded and rubbed the baby's head.
“Oh Gods.” He trembled, another cramp ramping up inside of him.
Leonna was stuck in his bone breaking grip as he held tightly to her to find the strength to give birth one last time. Soon after the first push, the baby's head popped out of him.
“That's it. They're almost here. Keep going!” Leonna cheered.
Micah folded his lips into his mouth and groaned through his nose, gripping the blanket that he had tossed to the side. With rushes of fluid, each shoulder ripped its way through, the force turned the baby and they hung out to their hips.
“I need to move.” Micah grunted.
“Now?” Leonna questioned.
“NOW.” Micah emphasized.
“Okay okay. Te-”
Without an answer, Micah let go of her hand and pressed his other hand against the baby. With his wet hand, he pressed down on her shoulder and rolled onto his hip, carefully keeping his legs open for the baby. With that, he got on his knees, still holding the child in one hand. With the other, he used Leonna as support.
On instinct, Leonna pressed one hand against the small of his back, and the other against his flushed cheek.
“Just one more big push, love. One more.” She urged him.
Micah inhaled sharply through his nose and brought his hips towards her. The baby's hips in his. He pressed his cheek into her hand, gritted his teeth and pushed again. His stomach flattened against his body, his breasts leaked desperately and finally, their last baby girl, Ophelia, fell onto the bed, and started to cry. She was their smallest baby, weighing 22 pounds and 8 ounces.
A model pushing the crowning baby back in and walking the run way refusing to push until the show is over. Bonus if they were put into really tight clothings which made the baby descend faster
Runway Struggle
Cynthia confidently strutted on the catwalk, gait perfectly, unnaturally, narrow for someone nearly 42 weeks into pregnancy. One foot in front of the other in heels that would make any other pregnant woman scream. Her expression, just a slight smile with her eyes slightly narrowed, projected an aura of superiority over the crowd and the other gravid models.
The cameras flashed, the crowd oohed and ahhed, the impressed looks of fashion designers, both maternity and regular circuit designers, looked upon her in awe. She was all belly, a model like figure with a huge, low hanging belly that looked dissonant from her normally lithe figure.
Before getting pregnant she was an unknown; a low budget model that would get hired for community college art programs rather than any big city artist or designer. She took to distracting herself in less than health ways. A few too many passionate one night stands later and she thought her dream would end with the positive pregnancy test.
Running into a model agent desperate to fill modeling slots for a small show two weeks ago reignited her hope. Though, she did have to lie about how advanced her pregnancy was.
Shr sauntered off the stage in a flowing summer dress that was bare around her bump. As she was exiting the limelight, a few audience members could have seen it change shape.
Cynthia's greatest skill wasn't her runway prowess. It was the mask of self-assured confidence she was able to put on for people. Her pace away from the public eye quickened to make it to her private dressing room.
She swung the door open and closed haphazardly and Cynthia's hands immediately went to her taut belly when she heard it slam shut behind her. Her stomach spasmed into a solid, misshapen sphere beneath her palm and her back locked up in kind.
“Ooooh~ fuuuuck noooo”
Baby wasn't just low in her hips, it was descending into her canal. She couldn't give in to push until she did her final outfit. Her waters broke just before the show was set to begin. She should've had more time and if she didn't do something about this she wouldn't get paid for the full show.
A desperate thought entered her mind. “I need to push it back in.”
Cynthia took a loose cloth from her table into her mouth, put a leg on the chair and stuck a free hand into her throbbing lips. She could hardly believe she was doing this, that it would take this much just to finish the show of her dreams.
She took a few deep breaths as she reached inside herself to feel the solid mass entering her canal. Then she pressed.
Cynthia growled into the fabric and her fingernails dug into her vanity table as she felt her baby slowly recede into her. Her body jerked and her belly contorted at the regression. It was wrong on all levels, but she needed to do this last walk. Even if it meant she was getting carted out of the dressing rooms screaming.
Cynthia held in the raw reaction she wanted to have as a contraction revolted against her own hand. The scream was held back to a muted moan with nothing but her determination and drive.
“Just hold on baby. I'll get you out soon,” She thought as she finally pushed the child snuggly in the confines of her womb.
“Hey, it's time for the last outfit, are you ready?” The agent called from beyond the door.
“Yes, as i'll ever be.”
~
Cynthia stood with the final line up of women for the showcase, stifling her labored breaths and pressing one hand into the underside of her stiff bump. Her last outfit was a scarlet and black maternity corset that was most certainly not designed to contain a dropped belly actively trying to expel a baby, baggy pants that wouldn't stop a crown if it came to it and high heels that caused her back more pain on top of the labor.
Her dresser, between nervous looks at her reddened belly and sweaty brow, had made the corset work with a bit of elbow grease. The corset had lifted her bump slightly off Cynthia's hips with the unfortunate side effect of squeezing her stomach tight. Her nose flared every few minutes during the wait to walk. The pressure was overwhelmingly low, telling her that her earlier resistance against the inevitable bought her little time.
She had to make the suffering worth it.
Cynthia wanted to crumble to the floor backstage every second she felt her worn cervix open around the head again. She wanted to spread her legs wide, to push, to scream. But this was her career on the line, she needed this more than anything.
Gravid model after model walked the stage in their stunning outfits, smiles gleaming, eyes bright, not a care in the world aside from the cameras and critics. Cynthia's composure degraded continually with the tight corset and her body working against her. Her body made her baby descend into her canal with a desperate haste that threatened to end Cynthia's night.
“Just a little longer. Just…need to do the walk,” Cynthia thought to herself.
Each step sent a rolling pain through her hips. She forced her gait narrow despite the baby pressing on her swollen lips and the firm fabric. Cynthia fought to keep her expression measured over the instinct to just gape and cry.
It was only at the end of the runway did she remember she'd have to pose. The first pose for the center audience made the head drop against her throbbing lips. The left of stage nearly saw her groan as the bulge started to expand. The right almost saw her pose dip as her contained belly seized against her. Facing forward for the final pose, the model knew her eyes at the very least dropped the mask of composure.
The baby's head was right there, parting the lips of her swollen crotch, hidden only by the baggy pants. When she turned to strut backstage, her hips no longer able to be drawn narrow, her gait was wide and her walk was awkward. Even her pace was hastened by the desperation of her own body.
“Hey, are you ok-”
“Fine!” Cynthia rushed past the lead stage hand and toward her dressing room. Worried looks from the designers and other models followed her widening waddle.
Not bothering to even close the door, Cynthia kicked off the heels and fell against her vanity for support. She dropped the pants and panties instantly and threw her head back to let out a beastial moan as she finally gave in. Cynthia's body jerked as the head popped out then seized when the shoulders spread her wide. She rose to the balls of her feet, fluid spurting onto the designer jeans with the force of her push.
Cynthia slowly dropped low to the floor as she continued to bear down until she finally felt the pressure give. Her baby fell into the heap of clothing and fluid emptied out in kind.
Cynthia breathed heavily with a tired smile on her face, her newborn screaming into her chest and her agent yelling over the small crowd. She didn't care about all the clamor right now, she was just happy she finished the show.
