Mpreg Birth Notes #306
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Tyler had been in labor for almost fourteen hours.
It started in the middle of the night in their unfinished apartment — the one they’d been slowly renovating for the past year. The walls were still bare concrete in places, the floor half-covered with old blankets and plastic sheets. The only light came from a single standing lamp and the string of warm bulbs they’d hung across the ceiling months ago.
At first the contractions were manageable. Tyler walked around the room, leaning against the wall when they hit, breathing through them while Marcus stayed close, one hand always resting on the small of his back or on his heavy belly. Every few hours Marcus would check him — two, then three, then four fingers sliding into his hole, feeling how much he had opened.
By morning Tyler was exhausted. The contractions were coming every three minutes and lasting almost a minute each. He was on all fours on the mattress they’d dragged into the middle of the room, forehead pressed to the floor, moaning low and guttural every time his body clamped down. Marcus knelt behind him, one hand between his legs, fingers buried deep inside him, feeling the baby’s head pressing lower with every contraction.
“Nine centimeters,” Marcus said quietly after one particularly long contraction. “You’re getting there.”
Tyler could only nod, too tired to speak.
By early afternoon he couldn’t stay on the mattress anymore. The pressure was too low, too heavy. Marcus helped him up and guided him to the old wooden stool they’d been using as a makeshift seat. Tyler sat on the very edge of it, legs spread wide, feet planted on the floor. His hole hung just past the edge of the wood, completely exposed. Marcus knelt in front of him on the plastic sheet they’d laid down, between his spread thighs.
The next contraction hit hard.
Marcus reached up and gently pressed two fingers against the opening, feeling how the head was sitting just behind the ring of muscle. He didn’t push it back in. He just held it there, letting Tyler feel the pressure.
Tyler grabbed the edges of the stool and bore down with a long, broken groan. Marcus watched closely as the head pressed down into his rectum, bulging the skin outward. For a few seconds the dark hair was visible — just a small patch — before the contraction eased and the head slipped back inside.
Marcus had two fingers inside him alongside the head, gently stretching the ring of muscle.
“Fuck— Marcus, it hurts—” Tyler gasped, voice hoarse. His hands were gripping the edges of the stool so hard his knuckles were white. “It’s too big— I can’t—”
“You can,” Marcus answered calmly, not pulling his fingers out. “Breathe through it. Don’t fight the stretch.”
Another contraction hit. Tyler threw his head back and screamed. The head pushed forward again, stretching him wider. Marcus could see the forehead now. He pressed his fingers more firmly against the sides, helping the tissue open.
Tyler was shaking violently. His cock was still hard, standing up against the underside of his huge, tight belly, leaking onto the floor. But the pain was overwhelming everything else.
“I can’t push anymore,” he choked out between sobs. “It’s burning— Marcus, please—”
“I know it burns,” Marcus said, voice low and steady. He kept his fingers where they were, slowly working them around the head. “That’s your body opening. Let it happen.”
Tyler tried to lift himself off the stool, but his legs wouldn’t cooperate. The pain in his pelvis and lower back was too much. He stayed exactly where he was — sitting on the very edge, hole hanging off the wood, completely exposed.
Marcus looked up at him.
“Don’t move. Stay right there.”
Tyler’s head dropped forward. Sweat dripped from his chin onto his belly. Every time he tried to shift or lift himself even a little, the pain in his back and pelvis made him cry out. He was stuck on the edge of that stool, hole stretched around his son’s head, unable to do anything but sit there and take it.
Marcus stayed patient. He kept working his fingers slowly around the head, easing the tissue, letting it stretch a little more with every contraction. Sometimes the head would slip forward another centimeter. Sometimes it would stay exactly where it was. Tyler’s moans had turned into low, continuous whimpers. His erection never went down.
It stayed like that for almost half an hour.
The head was visible the entire time — dark hair, wrinkled forehead, the top of the ears. Tyler’s hole was stretched so wide it looked obscene, the skin around it shiny and thin. Marcus kept talking to him in a low voice, telling him how good he was doing, how beautiful he looked like this, how close they were. Every now and then he would lean in and press a kiss to the inside of Tyler’s trembling thigh.
Marcus could feel how dangerously thin the skin had become around the head. Every time Tyler bore down, the ring stretched even further, turning almost white at the edges. He kept his fingers hooked inside alongside the head, gently but firmly holding the tissue in place.
“Easy,” he murmured against Tyler’s thigh. “If it starts to tear, I’m stopping it. I’ll hold the head with my hand if I have to. I’m not letting you rip just because it hurts.”
Tyler let out a broken, desperate whine, barely more than a breath.
“Please…” he whispered, voice shaking. “Just pull it out. I don’t care if it tears. I can’t take it like this anymore… please, Marcus, just get it out of me.”
Marcus gently pulled his fingers back for a second, then pushed them in again, alongside the head, forcing the ring to open a little more. Tyler screamed.
“Stop— please, I can’t take it—”
“You can,” Marcus said again, firmer this time. “I’m not letting you tear. Breathe.”
The next contraction came hard. Tyler pushed without meaning to, body taking over. The head slid forward another centimeter. Marcus could now see the baby’s eyes and the bridge of its nose.
“That’s it,” he said, voice low and steady. “Let it come.”
Tyler suddenly threw his head back and let out a raw, broken howl — a sound that tore straight from his chest. His whole body locked up as the head pushed further, stretching him brutally wide. For a moment it looked like it was finally going to come out completely… but then the contraction peaked and started to fade.
The head stopped.
It stayed there, wedged tightly in his hole — eyes and nose visible, forehead bulging obscenely, but the widest part still caught behind the ring of muscle. Tyler’s stretched skin was pulled so thin it looked like it might split at any second. He was shaking violently, panting through gritted teeth, tears streaming down his face.
“F-fuck— it’s stuck— Marcus—!” he sobbed, voice cracking. “It’s not moving— oh god, it hurts, it hurts so fucking much—”
Marcus kept his hand steady, fingers still hooked inside alongside the head, gently but firmly holding the pressure.
“Breathe,” he ordered, calm but sharp. “Don’t push right now. It’s wedged. If you keep forcing it like that you’re gonna tear.”
Tyler whined high in his throat, almost animalistic. His hands were white-knuckled on the edges of the stool, legs trembling so hard the whole thing creaked beneath him.
“I don’t care— just pull it— please, just fucking pull it out—” he begged, voice hoarse and desperate. “I can’t— I can’t stay like this— it’s splitting me open—”
Marcus leaned in closer, one hand still supporting the partially born head while the other pressed firmly against Tyler’s inner thigh.
“I’m not pulling it,” he said quietly but with no room for argument. “Not until it moves on its own or I can ease it out safely. I’m not letting you rip your ass apart just because it hurts right now.”
Tyler let out another broken, sobbing howl, his body twitching around the stuck head. His cock was still painfully hard, twitching against his belly with every desperate breath, but the pain was so overwhelming he could barely register anything else.
The next contraction came. Tyler pushed again, crying out. The head moved forward just a little more — now the full forehead and part of the face was visible — but as soon as the contraction began to fade, it slid back and got caught again in the same tight spot.
“F-fuck— no, no, no—” Tyler sobbed, voice breaking. “It went back in— Marcus, it went back— please, I can’t do this again—”
Marcus kept his fingers exactly where they were, not letting the head retreat fully.
“Shhh… I’ve got it,” he said quietly. “It’s wedged again. Don’t fight it. Just breathe.”
Tyler was crying openly now, tears and sweat dripping down his face and onto his belly. His legs were shaking so badly he could barely keep himself on the edge of the stool.
“It hurts so fucking much…” he whimpered. “Please… just pull it out… even if it rips… I don’t care anymore… just get it out of me, Marcus…”
Marcus looked up at him. His voice was calm, but firm.
“I’m not going to rip you open. If it gets too tight, I’ll hold the head with my hand and stop it from coming out until the next contraction. I’m not letting that happen to you.”
Tyler let out a weak, miserable sound — somewhere between a sob and a whine.
“I don’t fucking care if it rips…” he whispered, voice hoarse and broken. “Just pull it… please… I can’t stay like this…”
Marcus didn’t move his hand. He kept it steady, fingers inside, gently holding the head in place while Tyler shook and cried above him.
The head stayed there for several long, painful minutes — partially out, stretching Tyler wide, not moving forward or back. Every small shift of Tyler’s body made him whimper in pain. Marcus stayed between his legs the entire time, one hand supporting the head, the other slowly stroking his inner thigh, waiting.
When the next strong contraction finally came, Tyler pushed with whatever strength he had left. Marcus felt the head move under his fingers.
“That’s it— push—”
Tyler screamed as the head finally slipped free with a wet sound. It hung heavy between his legs, Marcus supporting it with one hand.
Tyler was sobbing, head hanging down, staring at the floor between his own spread feet.
Marcus didn’t let him rest.
“Up,” he ordered. “Just a little. Lift your hips off the stool.”
“I can’t—” Tyler gasped.
“You can. Do it.”
With a broken sound, Tyler somehow managed to push himself up just enough that his ass lifted off the edge of the wood. Marcus immediately reached between his legs with both hands now, guiding the shoulders as they started to rotate inside.
Tyler cried out again as the first shoulder slipped under.
Marcus caught the baby as it came forward, one hand under the head, the other supporting the body. The rest of the child slid out quickly, wet and bloody, and Marcus brought it up against Tyler’s body while the legs and lower half dropped down.
For a moment, everything was still except for Tyler’s ragged breathing.
He was still half-standing, bent over the edge of the stool, staring down between his own legs at the baby now being held against him by Marcus.
Marcus looked up at him, chest heaving.
“He’s here,” he said, “It’s over,” voice rough. “You did it, Tyler.”
Tyler couldn’t answer. He just kept staring down at the child between his spread feet, tears still running down his face, body shaking so hard he could barely stay upright.
