Okay but here me out, credits to @avillicit for their posts but: consider smuggling & rapid pregnancy.
You're the best of the best when it comes to getting something illegal across lines, your record is fantastic, youre making a ton of money off of every drop, and you're on the top of your game. Unfortunately though, you're also a massive fugitive almost anywhere you go. This is the toughest job youve ever had to do, and you're anxious. Your partners come up to you with a job proposal; you're going to be smuggling some sort of illegal monster eggs across the country. It sounds easy enough, but no dice. The eggs are temperamental, they're easily cracked, need to be somewhere damn, and at almost EXACTLY human body temperature, so yeah. At first its a giant fuck no to the job, but then one of your partners flashes you the amount you'll be making off of it, and lets just say- you'll never have to work again if you do this.
It was certainly not going to be an easy job, from start to finish. They were small, and blue almost like egg shaped marbles. Your partners took turns filling you up, you on your hands and knees on a hotel bed, huffing as they continued to shove at least sixty tiny eggs into your body. They didnt feel like much at first, but whenever you shifted, you could feel the whole lot clacking around inside of you, which led to a bit of unspoken horny embarrassment.
After what seemed like forever, you were the fullest youve ever been, and to top it all off by plugging you up so none of them would spill out on the drive there. You stood up, stifling a soft moan as you insisted on making your way to the car. It was barely noticable through your thick, roomy flannel shirt but you could certainly tell what was in you. Due to the plug and dedicated carefulness, you developed a slight waddle which your parents teased you about before you told them to shut up. Carefully, you lowered yourself into the back seat of the truck, holding your belly to make sure nothing got damaged.
The ride was fine at first, as you were used to traversing long distances with your line of work, but after the first hour or so, things began to feel... different. You could've sworn you felt more full than you did as you were leaving. You softly groaned, the discomfort growing as did your abdomen over the course of the ride, you could easily pass for someone nearing the middle of their second trimester. Worried, you brought it up to your partners, and they explained how the eggs had been preserved, and that the human body was the perfect environment for the eggs to rehydrate. After threatening a bit of violence, an apology from them and a stifled moan, you were reminded of the money, which calmed things down.
It had been hours now, at least three, and the growth wasn't stopping yet. Every ten minutes, or bump hit on the road illicited another groan or rub of your belly. At this point you looked almost full term with a single human child, which was starting to concern you. Your shirt was pulled taught against your massive abdomen, straining the buttons to their limit, small diamonds of flesh in between each clasp. You, albeit worried, kept your calm, rubbing your massive middle as you shifted around your plug, the slight stimulation doing wonders for the discomfort. What your partner failed to mention was the compounds in the eggs that would produce a mild aphrodisiac, there to keep the pregnant person placated while they carried. Usually the species carried five or ten, so sixty was doing things to your mind.
Five hours in, you all reached your first checkpoint. Getting pulled over and checked was never fun, and being this huge would make an escape damn near impossible. Luckily for you, the feds took one look at your massive form and just wanted to chat about when you were due, how many you were having, names, blah blah blah. You answered their dumb questions, eager to get away, but you had to play it cool. You thought one of them noticed thar you were getting bigger by the minute, but they chose not to comment on it. You bit your lip, horny, anxious, and impatient as one of your partners reached back to rub your tight belly, giving you momentary relief. Luckily you were all let go. You bounced on your plug, trying to at least work out the frustration that had built while you were being watched, god knows you couldn't reach around to touch yourself now with how massive you were getting.
The ride continued, and so did your growth. By now you were stretched out across the back seat, grunting and moaning whenever a wave of growth hit you, you didn't care about your partners hearing you, or seeing what was becoming of you now, you had half a mind to beg one of them to come back there and fuck you until you popped. But, you settled for humping your plug and rubbing your thumb over your popped navel. Your flannel was long since ruined, only buttoned over your chest to give you more room to grow. At this point you looked like you could pop out triplets or quads if you gave a miniscule push, but the eggs weren't ready yet, and you weren't where you needed to be, and sure as hell you weren't risking losing all of that money. So you sat, huffing and straining and growing, looking at the gps time getting closer to your arrival.
Things were fine for a bit, sure you looked like you were due with quints, but you were so concerned with how horny you were, you barely noticed. After a few pitstops you were almost there, and you couldn't be more ready to pop these things out. They were easily each the size of tennis balls by now, and you could feel them individually move when you bucked your hips ever so slightly. You moaned out, rubbing your sides as the ride continued, cursing and grunting as your sheer mass and the old road moved you on your plug. You were so close now, just a few more thrusts and you'd at least be able to cum. With a few deep breaths and slow movements, you thought you were going blind, until a sudden gush interrupted your thoughts. Fuck, your water broke. You shouted out to your partners, warning them, to which they told you that they could hear it happen from there. You were done. You were pushing, NOW. Bearing down, you held the sides of your enormous middle, pushing the eggs down, down into your canal, only to remember the plug. Gasping and groaning, you alnost sobbed. You were stuck. And there was no way you were getting them out, there was no way you'd be able to reach down there with as big and heavy as you were. Your partner in the passenger seat reached back, rubbing your belly and shushing you, trying to keep you calm. You closed your eyes and bit your lip, horny and contracting as your rubbed your pregnant swell.
im peanut brittle guy uhhhh. um. I love medieval times trans guys hehe.... maybe orgasmic birth denial? :3 -đ˝đ¸
(A request for anon that donated to my short-lived ko-fi. Thank you king đ)
This got me thinking of a classic medieval knight⌠When heâs inducted into the royal guard, his agreeable personality and keen sparring instinct make him an instant favorite among the other knights. So, itâs no surprise when one of them invites him to his bunk to blow off some steam after a long day patrolling; without much time for romancing maidens, itâs not unusual for the knights to find release with their fellows.
What is unusual is the tight, wet pussy between the new knightâs legs, and the perky little tits that bounce so cutely on his chest when he arches his back and groans to be fucked harder. Word spreads quickly through the barracks, and soon all of the guardsmen are flocking to him, aching to try him.
Our knight ends up heavy-eyed and sleepy during his long patrols, but the others cover for himâafter all, they know itâs their fault heâs so poorly rested, since he spends most of his off-duty time pressed between the firm, sweaty bodies of multiple men. Especially after a battle, they often spear him open on two cocks at once, his head bouncing limply on one of their strong shoulders while he whimpers and jerks with the latest in a countless number of orgasms.
His fellow knights are gentlemen, of course, and always pull out, even washing him clean after they stripe his belly and thighs with their seed. But with so many needy, dripping cocks fucking so deep into him, itâs only a matter of time before a slight swell appears just above his hipbones, and he shyly confirms to his questioning lovers that his blood has ceased coming.
The barracks buzz with excitement, musings about who sired the child going quickly by the wayside as each one finds himself caring for the pregnant knight as if he were their husband, and his womb ripening with their own seed. Even those that are at first skeptical of a man bearing a child come around when they lay their hands on the tiny curve of his belly for themselves. As far as anyone is concerned, the child belongs to all of them.
At first, the evidence of the knightâs pregnancy is nothing but a palm-sized bump, detectable only by his most intimate partners. But soon, his growing womb fills out the tunic that was once loose on him, not yet eye-catching, but certainly visible to those who care to look. His chest, too, begins to prepare for the child, tiny tits rounding into tender breasts that must be squeezed into the confines of his chain mail. When his fellows help him out of his armor at the end of a watch, several helpers always stand by, ready to massage his aching breasts, or knead his burdened back, or press their face into his swollen pussy until his tense joints hang pleasure-limp.
His armor seems to grow heavier at the same rate as his womb, his joints straining beneath the combined weight. He struggles, too, to fulfill his duties while so much of his vigor goes straight to forming the babe in his belly. When one day he finally succumbs to his delicate condition and collapses near the end of his watch, the captain of the guardâwho has gone to bed with him as often if not more than most of the other guardsmanâhas him moved to guard the throne room.
Standing on his swollen feet all day still exhausts him, but outside of the occasional uncomfortable shifting as his body aches and his child moves, he draws no attention to himself there. His armor manages to conceal his pregnancy even as his time grows closerâthough he imagines the blacksmith who fashioned his cuirass chose its barrel shape to provide empty space for absorbing the impact of enemy swords, not as a vessel to be packed tight with a pregnant belly and milk-swollen breasts. Itâs a tight fit, forcing his gut high enough that the child shifts backwards, a strain on his lower spine. They donât take well to the limited space, protesting with sharp kicks that pinch the wall of his belly against the armor. He longs to rub soothing hands over his bump, but he wouldnât dare do such a thing while on watch, even if he could reach his belly through the metal.
As the weeks pass, he keeps distending, his child a foreboding point of pressure deep in his pelvis. His belly begins to droop low, and he canât keep his hands off the raw, stretched skin, scratching at fresh stretch marks and wincing at the growing web of tender veins. The other knights handle him lovingly, often appearing behind him to hold up his belly for a few minutes. In bed, their affections grow gentle, and the pregnant knight becomes accustomed to strong hands caressing his aching breasts while someoneâs hard cock grinds ever so gently between his legs, not quite inside him, but giving his clit more than enough friction to have him cumming with a mewling cry.
Finally, he wakes one morning to a great pain in his gut. He screws his eyes shut and clutches the tense surface of his belly, trying to breathe through it without waking his bedmate. When it passes, he rouses the other knight, who helps dress him for his watch. When it comes time to lift his belly as high as he can and compress it against his body so that he can get his armor on, he clenches his jaw and pants through his teeth. His lover, waiting with the cuirass at the ready, asks if heâs okay. He says he will be once heâs dressed.
But that isnât the case at all. His belly barely fits in the armor anymore, forcing the baby in and down until a terrible pain envelops his pelvic cradle, far worse than his daily aches in these last months. The head of his child feels so, so low.
He prays that the babe will wait to come until his watch ends. In response, another contraction lances through his belly and into his lower back. He barely swallows back his whimper.
But he must fulfill his duty.
He takes his place in the throne room, grateful that his helm conceals the winces and twists of his features as he struggles to endure labor in silence. But it becomes so hot beneath the metal, heady and claustrophobic. He longs to turn and bend over, to hang onto the knight behind him as he rocks his hips. He wants to pace, and groan with his whole chest, and rub his tensing belly.
Hours pass. Vaguely, the knight is aware that if there were an emergency, he would be no help to the king, at this point. All he wants is to be back in his chambers, on his hands and knees, with a midwife comforting him.
When the urge to push overwhelms him, he knows it wonât be much longer. He tries not to, but his body needs it, tugging on the muscles in his belly, tempting his reflexes. He can only resist for so long before finally he indulges in a small push. His mouth falls open as he feels the head of his child lodge suddenly deeper within him, surely passing from his womb into his pussy.
The progress is intoxicating, and he forgets himself after that, pushing as hard as heâs able without moving too much. Itâs easier than he thought to stay quiet, the effort stealing his sound from his throat. When a particularly forceful push makes him feel like the head is coming out of him, he finally lets a sound slip, the softest of grunts.
âIs it the child?â
The whisper comes from behind him, a knight much older than him who likes to press extra fingers into his cunt and thumb at his clit when he rides on top.
âYes,â he breathes, loud as he dares. âItâs- coming out. I think itâs coming out of me.â
Suddenly thereâs a hand between his legs. He barely swallows his yelp, a sudden warmth coursing through his body as the large hand feels his cunt through the his trousers. He finds himself very grateful that his tabard hides this impertinence from the court.
âNothing is coming out,â the knight assures him calmly.
How could that be? âThen soon. Iâ hng!â He must bite his tongue to keep his cry at bay as the vice closes around him once again, urging the child ever-lower. More heat bubbles up within him as the head fills his pussy and creates pressure behind his clit.
âOh.â Awe softens the gruff whisper behind him. âI feel it. Itâs stretching you.â
âItâs big,â he whispers, struggling not to squirm where he stands. He didnât expect it to feel like this. It hurts, yes, so much he can hardly bear it, but- this pressure on his most sensitive place⌠he chews his lip.
With his next push, something gives inside him, a sensation he canât quite place. Then his thighs begin to grow warm, and he understands. Thereâs a slight flinch from the hand between his legs, but it steadies again, his fellow knight clearly understanding whatâs happened. The babe feels even lower, though thereâs less pressure now, somewhat relieving that strange feeling heâs had.
It feels as if barely a minute passes before he contracts again, and he lets his chin fall ever so slightly with the effort of his push. He knows that he shouldnât do this, that if a babe drops from between his legs before the whole royal court, heâll be found out and imprisoned, or at the very least stripped of his knighthood. But he canât help it. He must push, as vital as his breath.
And what a push it is, heaving the head low and making his mouth fall open as the awful stretching pain ignites into the worst agony heâs ever experienced. The pressure, too, increases somehow, right against that special place. His clit, already rendered to a sharp point of pain, begins to twitch and swell all the more.
âOh, fuck,â he breathes against his visor. Ever so slightly, he rocks his spreading hips and his baby-filled cunt back against his fellowâs hand. âFuck, fuck, fuck.â
âI feel it. Itâs huge. I canât believe thatâs coming out of you.â
Neither can he. Desperately, he wishes to scream, or drop into a squat, or lay back on the floor and pull his legs as far apart as he can get them. Heâs almost relieved when the next contraction comes.
He pushes so hard that his thighs tremble, and wheezes through his teeth as he crowns into his loverâs hand, cunt burning, pressure growing. God, it really feels like he needs toâŚ
No, this isnât the time. He puts everything he has into breathing without making too much sound, the air thick and thin at once in the confines of his visor.
The next one comes, and the sensation in his clit winds sharper, making him instinctively squeeze his legs together. For a moment he feels like the head is about to burst out behind his thighs, but the knightâs hand stays firm, and the head simply bobs where it is, an instant of relief before it returns to a full crown.
âHah- aahââ He feels drool tickle one corner of his mouth. His lover holds the head just-so, keeping his cunt stretched to its absolute limit, burning all the way back towards his arse, and that pressureâŚ!
âOkay,â the other knight whispers behind him, âlet me tryâŚâ
He begins to push the head back in. The birthing knight flinches, his deepest instincts railing against the sensation, but before he can fully register whatâs happening, the widest point of the skull digs into that special spot inside him.
Despite clenching his mouth shut, a high moan buzzes in his throat. His baby-heavy hips roll into his loverâs hand, and jolts of pain shock through his paper-thin pussy lips and the stretched flesh inside of his hole, his clit throbbing so strongly that he would have screamed in any other place.
He cums and cums and cums, until tears wet his cheeks and birthing fluid bursts in spurts from his pussy.
The knight behind him simply whispers, âFuck,â and lets up, allowing the stimulation to ease, though the returning crown chases all of the pleasure with fiery pain.
The birthing knight is left trembling. He doesnât even have the strength to push when he contracts again, but his body still manages to nudge the baby forward, and his lover responds again by easing the head back in. Lust and fear flood his chest, unsure if he can handle cumming like that again, but it washes over him all the same.
It goes on like that for the rest of the watch. He doesnât cum with every contraction, but he feels like he will, sometimes teased for several minutes before the next one hits him. Soon there is no thought in his head but the blinding, white-hot pleasure-pain between his legs, and the ecstasy that keeps flooding his body, even as it shivers with pain.
He doesnât even notice being dismissed by the change of guard, just starts walking blindly when his companion urges him to move, still holding the baby in. The clatter of so much armor drowns out his groans as his wobbling legs struggle to carry him, his ongoing birth feeling like a boiling welt even as he shudders through the aftershocks of his most recent orgasm.
Knowing they wonât make it back to the barracks, the other knight pulls him into the first empty room they pass and pulls the door shut. As he lays his back against the wall, the birthing knight thinks the babe will simply drop out of him the moment itâs no longer held in, but when the other knight starts using both hands to unfasten the cuisses from his thighs, his battered cunt somehow hangs onto the childâs head.
The left cuisse clatters to the floor, then the right, and the other knight reaches for the laces of his trousers. But his body has already tightened again, and heâs already bending at the knees and finally releasing the gravelly, animal groan thatâs been building within him as he pushes. For a moment, he fears the head wonât even fit after all of that, but with one last snap of pain that makes him break into a small yelp, the head is born. It stretches his dripping trousers, a sight that leaves his helper speechless for a moment.
He feels the child turning within him, and cringing at the strange sensation, keeps pushing. A shoulder or an elbow digs into that place that makes his clit jump, and with one last gush of fluid, he cums the shoulders out. The child tumbles into his trousers while his pussy spasms and twitches.
While handing him the child, his companion eyes the tender-red place between his legs, dripping with birthing fluid and arousal. âNext time, we need to make sure everyone sees this. Theyâre not gonna believe me when I tell them how much our boy likes pushing bastards out of his cunt.â
That cunt tightens, and he squeezes his thighs together and whimpers, cumming to the promise of next time.
i wish pregnancy pacts were like...magically binding contracts. I wish they forged permanent, life-long connections between your wombs.
you make the pact young, probably in middle school or high school, that's when most pregnancy pacts are forged. at a sleepover, you and your friends make a promise that when one of you gets pregnant, the rest will too. you're all young, you don't know any better, the only thing you're thinking about is how fun it would be to have babies at the same time as your friends. it seems like a great idea, none of you will ever have to go through pregnancy alone. you giggle about it a bit, fantasize about what it would be like, discuss baby names, but don't really put much stock in it. pretty soon, you've forgotten all about it.
years down the line, after you've all grown up and mostly gone your separate ways, and you see that one of them has made a pregnancy announcement on social media. you leave a comment congratulating her, and move on with your life. a few weeks later, another posts the same thing. funny coincidence, that two of your old friends ended up pregnant at the same time. you congratulate them and move on. not even a full week after that, two more have announced their own pregnancies, and it doesn't really feel like a coincidence anymore. come to think of it, you've been feeling pretty exhausted lately, your cycle is definitely more than a few weeks late, and that stubborn bloating at the base of your stomach just won't go down.
turns out it doesn't matter what kind of birth control you use, or how careful you are. it doesn't even matter if you never have sex. if one womb in the pact is seeded, the rest are too. it only takes one of you being careless, or selfish, or even unwillingly impregnated, and the rest of you are stuck growing round with child alongside them. There's no way to prevent it, no way to reverse the pact.
you reconnect with all of them and form a group chat to compare bump photos, cycles, and due dates. trying to make the most of a bad situation, you set up maternity photoshoots and schedule sleepovers and spa days. it takes a while to get everyone on board, but eventually you do, though with varying degrees of excitement. you're hoping you can all at least enjoy your pregnancies together like you originally planned when you made the pact at that sleepover all those years ago.
maybe you all go into labor at the same time too, at one of your many sleepovers. or maybe your labors are staggered but you'll always give birth at the same time, so one of you might be left laboring for days while the others nervously wait for their own contractions to hit. either way, you get to share the experience with all of your friends, just like you wanted all those years ago.
for a while, it's nice. fun, even.
but when you're several babies deep, each of you overworked and exhausted, that one friend who "doesn't believe in birth control" sends a photo of her most recent ultrasound to the group chat. your phone explodes with furious texts as everyone berates her for getting you all pregnant again, when you're still recovering from the last baby, but you can only stare in horror at the sight of three distinct shapes on the ultrasound.
Knocking up a cute innocent bunny sub but not letting them know whatâs happening to their body and why their tummy is getting so big- and then their tits get huge as well and start leaking, but you tell them thatâs just normal!
When they go into labor, they come to you whining and sobbing because their tummy hurts and they donât understand. You just shush them softly and sit them on the biggest dildo you have, telling them itâll help, keeping everything nice inside while stroking their cute, fluffy ears that twitch with every painful contraction that wrecks their sweet little cunt.
Only when theyâre crying in hysterics from the pain of their contractions will you let them off the toy and finally give birth to that âstomach acheâ theyâve had for months.
Only for you to repeat the cycle and get them pregnant with more babies this time <3
Kings will allow their only son to go out hunting with just their bodyguard as protection and then be surprised when said son comes back with zero kills acting all weird and embarrassed.
Kings will leave their only son behind when they go to the neighbouring country on a diplomatic mission because said son feels under the weather, trusting that his bodyguard will keep him safe, and be surprised when, upon his return, the son seems livelier but still flushed and sweaty.
Kings will send their only son and his bodyguard on a trip to the seaside so the son can regain his strength and be surprised when 'back in two weeks' turns into three months.
Kings will welcome their only son home, noticing that something is off about the boy and requesting to speak in private, only to be surprised by the son bursting into tears and asking forgiveness, suspiciously round belly shaking with sobs.
Kings will believe their son when he says he was seduced by a stranger months ago, call in his bodyguard to ask how this was allowed to happen, and then be suprised when the bodyguard looks relieved as soon as the rakish stranger is mentioned.
Kings will be worried about their son's healthâas adulthood hadn't made him any less weak and skinnyâand walk into his quarters without knocking, then be surprised to find their son on all fours, bodyguard cradling his heavy belly and rocking into him.
Kings will realise they've been made fools of, order the traitorous bodyguard to be put to death in the morning, and be surprised when neither the bodyguard nor the son can be found the next day.
Princes will defy their fathers and run off with their bodyguard while heavily pregnant, and be surprised when they go into labour hours later, moaning in pain and discomfort as their bodyguard tells them they can't stop now, and to hold on just a bit longer while pulling the prince against him to keep him on the horse, both hands cupping the violently contracting belly.
The contraction was a force that could not be bargained with, so much pressure distilled into such a small space that suddenly nothing was left within him but a blind, instinctive need to push. He reared back to grab the counter lip with his other hand, dropped his chin to his chest, and finally, finally did what his body had been screaming at him to do: he pushed.
Read the rest of Daveâs twin birth story here!
Gonna try to add the uncensored version in the reblogs đď¸
The Run-Away Prince and His Knight (original story)
*WARNING: This is fetish content! Read at your own discretion.*
Warning #2: VERY. LONG. 10 thousand words.
Also putting up some preemptive rules here:
You do not have my permission to re-post my writing (reblogging is welcome and encouraged, but not re-posting).
You do not, under any circumstances, have my permission to use this or any of my works for generative ai purposes.
With that out of the way,
The long awaited run-away prince x knight story is here! I tried to make this a long one but hopefully not to the point that itâs boring to read. Basic background is that a prince and his ftm trans knight run away from their kingdom which demands the prince be married and blah blah some medieval fantasy politics that the prince wants to avoid. The prince and his knight are in love with each other, though they donât quite know it yet. But theyâve already been sleeping together and⌠well⌠made an oops!
This story has:
Very intense and realistic depiction of birth
Stealth FTM knight
Mostly long pushing phase (again. seriously. this is 10k.)
A cranky old midwife who is probably a witch but we love her for it
Dadâs (the princeâs) pov
Sappy love confessions
Introducing these original characters I made for this story and now totally love: Bastian and Leo. And their baby, of course.
~~~~~~~~~~
Bastian knows heâs pacing. This is fine. Thereâs nothing wrong with pacing, especially when his nerves are absolutely on fire and he has no other outlet. And here, though heâs struggling to accept this, itâs okay for him to let his guard down, to be afraid. Here, he is not a prince. Here he is just Bastian, with no duties and no expectations.
They had to stop somewhere in the south of Spain, Bastian and his knight, who is the bravest of all indeed. Their decision to run away together and leave France far behind had been an impulsive one, but one that barely needed spoken agreement. Leo, his brave, beautiful, strong knight, sees him like no other. And it is the same the other way around.
In the kingdom, Bastian was the only person with whom Leo had shared his secrets. Perhaps this was because, since early adolescence, they had essentially grown up together. They were not bound by the rules and expectations that a prince and a knight would normally follow. They were different, always had been.
So, it was only Bastian who Leo came to, to share his secret. This was a secret not a single other living person knew, and a secret Bastian had intended to fight to keep to his grave:
Leo was a woman.
Well, he was a woman only in the sense that his body was female. In all other respects, he was Leo, who had always been a boy, now a knight. He had told this to Bastian many years ago, when they were still adolescents and the weight of the world and all its expectations had not yet come down on them.
It was fun, for a while, keeping the secret. Now, itâs dangerous. Now, only they two can know.
Bastian had stopped denying his love for Leo a long time ago. What would be the use to deny it, when it burned so fiercely? He only hoped that Leo shared these feelings, though he was afraid to ask. He was not the brave one of the two of themâŚ
They shared a certain carnality for each other that was undeniable. The first time they made love was when they were still within the kingdom, hiding who they were in the shadows, always keeping an eye on the door. They would meet in the stables and lay together there on the few nights a year that they had the chance.
Now free, unbound, they made love frequently and without guilt.
Of course, this came with its own consequences.
In the tavernâs cheapest, darkest, and most isolated room, Bastian continues to pace. He steals glances at Leo, afraid that if he stares too long he will break with guilt for what heâs done to his love.
Leo is also pacing, though much slower and waddly. As he waddles, his head drops forward then back, his long red hair shifting to cover his face. His expression is hard to make out in the dim candlelight, but Bastian can detect the hint of tightness between his brows, though Leoâs hair once again covers his face, and he can see it no longer.
Leo is still wearing his white linen tunic that he wears under his clothes, which once was long enough to go down to his knees. Now, itâs the mound of his belly that lifts it up and stretches the fabric taut, lifting the hem to the point of his hips. Leoâs hands are supporting the small of his back as he breathes very deeply and slowly with intention, closing his eyes to concentrate against the pain.
He has swelled very large in the last several months. For a time, the life within him went entirely unnoticed by both Leo and Bastian. Leo is not a small man, though he is not large either. He is slightly taller than average and very lean, with narrow hips. His muscles, of which there are plenty, are unique in that they hide so well beneath his skin, one would never know that he is a war-seasoned swordsman.
Perhaps it was his thinness or the tightness of his abdomen that made the mound invisible for so many months. Now, though, it has practically spilled out from the front of his body, round and low over his pelvis, with a popped-out bellybutton that is strangely sweet to behold.
Bastianâs eyes unwillingly take him to Leoâs belly and he canât help but stare. It tightens inward with each wave of pain, which it seems Leo is having now, and it is honestly fascinating to watch. It pains Bastian, though. Really, he feels useless.
Leo has been labouring well though, all things considered. That is, itâs his first time and the two of them don't know enough about childbirth.
How careless Bastian has been. It is his fault Leo suffers now.
His eyes on the floor, Bastian hears a slap and looks back up to Leo, who has just batted the old lady away from him as he moans and breathes.
They had picked up an old woman in this town, a few hours after the onset of Leoâs labour. Or rather, she picked them up. She had seen them in the townâs stables, Leo moaning and clutching his belly, though he tried to hide it beneath his thick winter clothes, and had known instantly what was going on. She asked no questions, just took them along with her and got them a room in this tavern.
She did everything with an odd indignance, as if chastising Bastian and Leo for being stupid children. Bastianâs first impression of her, if heâs being honest, was fear. In all aspects, she resembles a witch. A bent back, long knobby fingers like twigs and overgrown, scraggly white hair. She even has some sort of wart or mole on her chin. She is the picture of witches in the fairy tales Bastianâs servants read to him growing up.
But as far as he can tell, she is not a witch. She had told them that she could help, that she is a healer and midwife, and of course Bastian immediately accepted. They didnât know what they were doing, and certainly needed help.
Leo, on the other hand, had not been so welcoming to her. In the past, he often dealt with pain by putting it somewhere deep inside. Bastian, still, is the only person who has seen Leo vulnerable, the only person who could ever treat his wounds and who Leo felt safe around.
âOld witch,â Leo had privately called the old woman, with a twitch to his mouth, when she had gone to get water from the well and they were safe inside the room. Bastian had barked a laugh.
Then when she had returned, the old witch had put a wrinkled hand on the top of Leoâs belly. He had drawn back, his hands protective over their child, but the old witch had kindness in her eyes as she told him, âShe will be beautiful and fearsome.â
Leo and Bastian had both been in a state of shock. âShe?â Leo had asked in a quiet voice.
The old witch had only smiled with her eyes.
Bastian knows that Leo is still convinced it will be a boy. Bastian tries not to put thought into it, because thinking about it would then make it real. He tries to stay present in the moment, to make himself useful in any small way he can, though it is so hard to see Leo in pain.
The thing is, he has seen Leo in pain, many times. His knight is a valiant fighter and protector. Too many times, it was Bastian who would patch up Leoâs wounds or offer a damp cloth for his head when he was tired after battle or after protecting Bastian outside the kingdom.
Itâs all Bastian can think to do now, offering a cold cloth for Leoâs head.
He takes it, still waving the old midwife away. He puts the cloth over his face and inhales, and Bastian watches quietly as the midwife surprises him by backing off.
He only notices then that she has mostly honoured Leoâs wishes. It is clear that Leo does not want to be touched or spoken to, and that he will only let Bastian assist him. The midwife, though they all know that the time is coming for her to be more hands-on, stays back and simply busies herself by stoking the fire in the fireplace and hooking a pot of water over it.
Hours pass like this. The only way Bastian can tell the time is by the notches in the candles around the room. The midwife replaces the shorter ones too.
Hours crawl on until it is deep into the night, and Leoâs labour takes him all around the small room.
He is free to move as he pleases, though Bastian knows he is still keeping so much control by not making loud sounds. Thereâs no real reason why he should be quiet beyond the fact that Leo does not like to be seen in pain. That, and the owners of the tavern had not been notified that one of their lodgers is in labour.
And itâs real, now. Leo labours hard, pacing the room, leaning on the baseboard of the creaky bed, then finally kneeling on the floor, rocking forward and back as each pain causes him to moan and growl lower and deeper.
Bastian knows itâs coming soon, then. He kneels on the floor next to his knight, who is still working hard to get through this one pain.
Bastian makes himself useful by gathering Leoâs hair into a twist and moving it off his neck. Itâs so long and soft, so orange and beautiful. Bastian adores every part of him, even the deep grumble of his breath as he leans down into the floor, hands like claws on the boards.
Finally, Bastian finds his voice. âLeo,â he whispers, âyou are so strong. Iâm with you. Iâm right here with you.â
Leo surprises him by grabbing his wrist, pulling him down with him as he grunts a little bit tighter, pressing his bottom down into his heels, his head tucking down and all his long hair spilling loose.
Bastian scoots in front of him, both of them kneeling on the floor, so Leo can grab his arms. The sounds heâs making are different than before.
âIf you feel a lot of pressure,â the midwife says from across the room, âyou can push down with it.â
Leo slumps forward then with his first real grunt, tight and deep. It seems his body commands him to do it, as it just goes on and on and on and heâs unable to get a breath. All Bastian can do is clutch his arms and Leo clutches his, and bite down on his tongue as he steels himself for what is to come.
An eternity later, it ebbs away and Leo is able to gasp in a breath. He grabs at Bastianâs arms, his nails biting his skin.
âMy prince,â he gasps, ignoring the midwife, âI-I need to push. Itâs time. I have toâŚâ
Bastian looks quickly to the midwife for help, his heart jumping in his throat.
âTry it,â she says. âPush down with the pressure.â
But he doesnât, not consciously. His face is pinched in fear and strain, his cheeks pink, as his knightly instincts command him to look to Bastian for direction.
His body does it for him then, forcing him to squeeze down, groaning tight in his chest. Bastian holds him fiercely, sweating just watching.
âIcanâtâŚâ Leo garbles out as heâs bearing down, his teeth bared. Then the tightness releases him just enough to grunt out, âI have toâ UHH! Oh, GOD! My prince, I need to push!â
Bastian takes his hand this time, prying Leoâs rigid fingers from his tunic. âThen push, Leo,â he says. âOnly you can do this. Trust your body, and push.â
One heavy breath, then two, a fearful, brave moment of eye contact. Then wondrously, Leo doesnât resist it. He bites down, clenching his teeth and closing his mouth, and sends it all the way down into the floor, and then itâs happening. This battle into the unknown.
Bastian remembers Leo telling him once, that before he decided to become a soldier and eventually was knighted, he grew up on a small farm. He had assisted ewes in the births of lambs; he's no stranger to animal birth. At the very least, he knows the strength and determination that it will take to push.
Bastian, on the other hand, is in over his head. His only anchor is his knight, and so he puts all of his trust and love into Leo, simply following his will and his bodyâs urges. It is only Leo who will be able to bring this baby out.
Itâs coming now. Itâs coming.
After those first efforts and Bastianâs words, something in Leo visibly changes. He is emboldened, focused, ready to go headfirst into the pain like a bull.
He rips off his tunic, now damp and stained with his labouring sweat, and takes charge of the pain. There is no fear in him as he exposes himself fully naked with the midwife in the room, something he never would have done before this, and he lets the pain flow in and out.
Bastian knows how it is in Leoâs mind. Leo hardens himself with the same fortitude as he does before heading into battle.
Pushing does not take much adjustment. Leo simply follows the will of his body as it commands him to bear the child down and out. The sounds he makes go from powerful and guttural to almost mute as he concentrates.
Countless minutes are spent where Leo goes into a sort of up-down rhythm. He stands up, planting his feet firm and wide beneath him, and pushes quietly with his knees bent. Then he comes down and squats wide, his hands still on the tops of his knees, and continues to push that way.
He goes up or down according to his own will, holding each push for a while before it bursts airily out his lips. His efforts seem big to Bastian, though he expects Leo to be louder so he looks to the midwife for guidance.
She does not linger her gaze on Leo, knowing he doesnât like it, but every once in a while she looks over and nods, speaking soft words of encouragement. She is busy sanitizing linens in the pot of boiling water.
Leo is upright as another pain comes on, and he puts his hands on the tops of his thighs as he bends down and open like heâs sitting in the air. Then with a big breath in, he closes his mouth tight and visibly tightens as he bears down.
His skin is so pale, Bastian marvels at how quickly Leoâs face, neck, and chest turn red with his effort. He holds it for only a few seconds, his eyes squeezing shut, and Bastian wants to encourage him but cannot speak.
âBwuh,â The effort bursts out of Leo. That is when Bastian gets his bearings and sits in front of his love, offering his shoulder for support.
Leo takes it immediately as he locks in for another push, unable to speak, balling up Bastianâs tunic in a fist on his shoulder as he squeeeeezes down, opening his legs more.
Bastian gets a full view of his belly and crotch, the skin of his belly tightening and going in. It looks hard to the touch. Compelled by love and overwhelmed at the sight of Leo in such pain, Bastian puts his hands on Leoâs belly and feels the effort with him.
âBuhhâ Leo expels airily, then tries to breathe slowly. His belly drops back outwards, but Bastian had felt something shift within. The mound is still hard; Bastian knows Leo is not done with this one.
âBreathe,â he tells him anyway, and Leo does.
Then Leo bends forward and over Bastian, spreading his legs wide and bending his knees down, and Bastian puts his hands on Leoâs hips to support him. Bowing over and leaning his head on Bastianâs shoulder, Leo grips Bastianâs biceps and holds down hard. Bastian can feel the strength of it against his own forehead, which is pressed to Leoâs big hard belly.
Both of their eyes are closed, just feeling it together. Leo is so strong, doing so well, Bastian has to hold back his tears as he feels Leoâs belly tensing, tensing, tensing, and something tumbling beneath the surface.
That is them, their child. And Leo is working so hard to get them out⌠Bastian is terrified to think about it, but as he feels their little feet kick against his forehead, he finds himself leaning into it, making his touch known.
Then Leo has to let the pressure out with an airy, âDhuuhhhhh,â still against Bastianâs shoulder, and Bastian feels him gasp right away and bear down again. He squeezes Leoâs wide open hips, keeping him upright as he trembles and dips down just a little more and more.
Then something incredible happens. Thereâs an audible pop, then before Bastian can understand whatâs happening, a huge splash of warm water all over his lap.
Leo expels with a sudden and strained sound, his legs shaking. The midwife is coming closer, assessing the waters it seems. Bastian is beside himself, panting as if he were the one pushing. Leo leans back, and it seems his body is finally giving him a break. They look at each other, and thereâs fear there, but there is also bravery, determination, love.
Leo puts his hands on his belly and rubs down and up, both of them looking at their child. His eyes are so soft and glassy, the faintest dusting of pink on his cheeks as he pants, and heâs smiling.
Itâs then that Bastian knows Leo will fight with his life for their child, and the fight begins here. He loves him.
The skies spill hail while Leo regains his strength after this pain. It is loud against the roof and the window sill, though not as loud as Leoâs breath as he trains it to calmly come in and out, filling his entire body.
The midwife gives him water to drink, which he takes. The three of them know that this is where it begins: they are just at the threshold of the real hard work, and Leo needs every bit of strength he has.
When he needs to push again, he goes away from Bastian and retreats into himself, focusing. He stands, gripping the baseboard of the bed and spreading his legs wide as he bends down into it again.
âHHhhhhrrrrmmmmmmmmhhâŚâŚâŚ..â he grunts into it quietly, a rhythm, one push after the other. He is a warrior, barely stopping for breath, trying so hard to work with his body and the baby.
Bastianâs only view of him is from the back, his red hair already clinging to the tacky skin of his back in clumps and strands. He has already worked up a sweat, and when the candle flames flicker just right, Bastian can see beads of it roll down Leoâs thighs and ankles.
âIs he feverish?â Bastian asks the midwife, trying to keep his voice calm.
She has no reaction to his little slip-up. Itâs likely she has already heard Bastian refer to Leo as âheâ or âhimâ. Never once has she inquired or judged. Bastian feels that she already knows, and does not care.
âNo,â she tells him, âit is just effort. Birth is hard work.â
It certainly is. Bastian had no idea. He tries not to get stuck in his head feeling guilty for doing this to Leo, as he watches Leo labour and sweat.
Of his own accord, Leo lets go of the baseboard and resumes a squat on the floor. This time, though, he leans his back against the end of the bed and leans back on his bottom, pulling his shins wide open and back, causing his feet to lift off the floor.
He must be truly in the throes of it then, Bastian realizes, because heâs exposing himself completely to the room, to the midwife who stands near Bastian.
Nothing can be seen of the baby just yet. Leo grunts as he bears down, his belly hardening and pointing, but his opening remaining unchanged.
He grunts hard as he pushes now, very focused on some invisible spot in the room which he squints at, crunching up his face and baring his teeth. With every grunt, he pulls his shins open and points his crotch up to the ceiling, curling in.
Leoâs next grunt is louder and more guttural than the last, and Bastian has to take a step back. He looks at his knight, naked and red in the throes of labour, his legs crunched up on either side of his distended belly and his teeth bared in a horrible grimace, and he canât resist thinking anymore, I did that to him.
Bastian gets stuck thinking this, just standing there as Leo throws his head back and shoves his shoulders down with another push.
Itâs happening now, and there is nothing Bastian can do to stop it. Nothing he can do to ease the pain or help bring their child out. If he could just get a hand in there and pull the child out, he would. Hell, if he could push it out himself, he would suffer double the hours and pain of Leoâs labour if it meant Leo could just rest.
Leoâs next grunty release startles Bastian into action. He goes to his knight as Leo pants and pants, still holding his shins, his legs folded up so tightly his feet arenât touching the floor. He just pants, exhausted, as the midwife whispers calming words: âGood, you are using all your effort now.â
âLeo,â says Bastian. His own voice is shaky and foreign to his ears. âYou want to hold my hand?â
But Leo is already grunting down again, spreading his trembling legs just a bit wider as he manages a tight and grunty, âIcanhâŚâŚ.â He holds it, holds it, holds it, and Bastian looks down at his opening.
Heâs a bit shy, but still he looks. Leo is spread so open itâs almost lewd. But this is childbirth, Bastian supposes, the truth of childbirth. Past Leoâs wiry red pubic hair, it seems thereâs a bulge, like the head of their baby is knocking at the door. Heâs not opening much, not from what Bastian can see, but as he holds down the pressure harder and longer, the bulge presses outwards, beginning to stretch his swollen tissues.
Leo startles Bastian by releasing with a âGNUUHHH!!â and the bulge dips right back in. Leo pants hard.
Bastian manages to get his bearings. He brushes Leoâs stringy hair off his forehead and says, âBreathe, sweetness⌠Slow down and breathe.â
Panting, but trying to slow his breaths down, Leo slowly lets go of his legs. They stay open, but floppy, his feet now on the floor.
The midwife saves Bastian from feeling useless by instructing him to sit on the end of the bed behind Leo. This way, he can help hold Leo up as he pushes.
He does, and first puts his hands under Leoâs arms before he realizes this is uncomfortable for Leo who needs to use his arms. Instead, he puts his hands the other other place they can go, covering Leoâs breasts from the midwifeâs eye. His fingertips brush the hard top of Leoâs belly as he makes it to the end of another push, grunting tight and loud.
Heâs working hard now. The candlelight is dim, but Bastian can see the big slope of Leoâs belly, how it crunches in with each long and loud grunt, and Leoâs wide open legs, his curled toes which lift off the floor.
Bastian leans down over Leoâs shoulder, hugging him and cupping his breasts tight, and now he can see Leoâs opening from this angle. Heâs curled so tightly, heâs practically exposing himself to the ceiling while still tucking his chin down into his chest. There is not much to see yet, still, but Bastian swears as Leo grunts hard one more time that he can see his tissues beginning to bulge out.
â...ggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrRUHH!â Leo grunts out, and his tissues and belly relax. âFuck. Oh, noâŚâ he whispers, and Bastian realizes heâs trembling.
Bastian thinks Leo is done, but the midwife comes to sit in front of Leo and speak to him.
âDo not fear,â she says. âYou can go into it stronger than that, just let your body guide you.â
Leo gives one small push, but it does seem that heâs done.
Then a knock at the door startles Bastian and he looks over. Leo is so into it, so tired, he doesnât seem to react.
The midwife holds up a hand and groans as she gets to her feet. She only opens the door a crack, and there are whispers.
Bastian tries to lean in to see, but he cannot. The midwife is standing between the room and whoever is at the door, blocking anything from sight. If she were to open the door all the way, surely Leo would be seen. The bed is up against the wall at the head of the small room, the door on the side wall. The foot of the bed is practically in front of the door with how small the room is. No doubt they can hear Leo panting.
Thinking quickly, Bastian grabs the bed linen behind him and drapes it over Leoâs naked body. His legs are still parted, but heâs put his feet on the floor.
Bastian presses his lips to the salty skin of Leoâs temple, soothing him and whispering comforting words to him, rocking him a bit.
âDoing so well, just breathe now,â he whispers, and Leo does.
âWe heard a concerning noise and wanted to see that everything was alright,â one of the voices says at the door. Itâs then that Bastian recognizes it and the other voice along with it as the brother and sister who own the tavern.
âI have someone labouring in here, but everything is just fine,â the midwife explains.
Still rocking Leo, kissing his forehead and cheek, Bastian trains his ears and hears one of them gasp. He can imagine their fearful expressions. He leans down further, kissing and nuzzling Leoâs cheek, smelling him, and Leo brings a hand up to bury in Bastianâs dark wispy hair, leaning his cheek into Bastian, nuzzling him back.
âWe will get a doctor for you!â the brother says at the door.
Kindly, the midwife tells them to fuck off, which startles a laugh out of Bastian.
Then Leoâs breaths pick up, and Bastian can feel the top of his belly harden under his fingers. Feet planted and relaxed on the floor, Leo opens his legs more, holding his belly. He whispers, ââscomingâŚâ
And Bastian canât find it in him to care any longer about the people at the door and their muted discourse. He rubs the skin of Leoâs chest, presses his lips into his cheekbone as Leo grabs his shins and his belly points down as he bears down hard.
âStrong,â Bastian whispers into his ear. âPush as hard as you can, Leo, câmon.â
He grunts good and hard with it, tipping his face back this time so he can hear Bastianâs encouragement in his ear.
âGood, good, bring him out,â Bastian whispers.
The voices at the door insist on getting a doctor one more time, as the midwife tells them that the person labouring knows what to do, and that she herself has delivered hundreds of babies.
âGGGGGGHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRUUUUUHHHHâŚâŚâ Leo grunts deep and tight, his wide open legs trembling.
The midwife slams the door then and turns back into the room, giving Leo space.
Leo gives a few more hard pushes, each with a crackly and prolonged grunt. Every time he releases, all the tension drops out of his belly and legs, going a bit floppy, before he steels himself and shoves down again.
Itâs obvious Leo is getting tired. As Leo rests, Bastian covers his eyes with a cold damp linen and keeps his hand there, kissing his cheekbone.
Bastian looks at the midwife as she goes around the room lighting incense from somewhere in her pack, and he asks her if everything is alright.
âYes, everything is normal,â she assures him, her voice flat as if sheâs bored, or maybe that is just how she talks. âJust be patient. It takes a lot of strength and time to push a baby out.â
Bastian flushes at the prospect that she would think for even a moment that whatâs making him restless is impatience. He will hold Leo through every pain as long as it takes for him to get their child out. But he doesnât correct the midwife.
This goes on until one of the shorter candles burns out, Leo going from being curled up against Bastianâs legs to leaning over the floor on his hands and knees.
Eventually, he gets on the bed, and Bastian knows his role by then. He sits with him, always close to him, whispering to his brave and strong knight, his love, to keep working and push,
and push,
and pushâŚ
Every release is dizzyingly loud and hard, speaking to the immense effort Leo is exerting each and every time.
âUUHHRRR!â he grunts out, the sound high and strained at first and ending very deep and guttural. Then he just pants, gripping the tops of his thighs as he sits on his heels, facing the headboard of the bed.
Sitting behind him on the bed, Bastian can do nothing but rub his hand up and down the back of Leoâs shoulder, and he feels the tension under his skin as he breathes hard and fast like an animal.
It sounds like Leoâs body commands him to push, as the urge catches him in-between breaths and he tenses with a very tight and grunty, âHhuhââ
âWell done, Leo,â Bastian whispers, still holding his shoulder as he trembles severely, his skin reddening. Then, after at least twelve seconds, Leo releases with a very strained sound: â..........UHHH! PleaseâŚâ
âYou are amazing, Leo. Keep pushing if you have to.â
And Leo does, breathing into it and preparing himself at first. He brings his fingers down to feel, sighs out his air in an almost frustrated way, then readjusts by sitting up on his knees more, opening his legs as much as he can in that position.
Then, to Bastianâs surprise, he reaches back and flaps his hands until Bastian laces their fingers together. He sits up on his knees behind Leo, mimicking his pose, and Leo whispers the count of two to himself before he grips Bastianâs hands and shoves down with a hitch of breath.
Bastian can feel the effort in his own body as Leo leans his torso slightly forward and down, crunching down towards his belly but still kneeling upright and gripping Bastianâs hands with such force that Bastian winces.
He feels a bit stupid as all he can say is, âOh, Leo.â
Then the inevitable release: â.............................UUUURRRHH!â A huge inhale. Then he just grunts horribly the whole time he pushes. âUUUUUUUUUURRRHHHHH!!â Another. âUUUUUUUUURRRRRHHHNNG!!â Hard and deep and powerful, each time bearing down with his entire body, raising his shoulders as he gasps and sending them down hard and fast with each gigantic push.
Across the room, the midwife has been busy replacing the candles again. She seems so unbothered by Leoâs noises while Bastian doesnât know what to do with himself. He tries to absorb some of her calmness, tries to comfort Leo by kissing the backs of his shoulders. His skin is salty with sweat and so warm. His entire body is hard and shivering with the pain and effort.
Leoâs next release is a grunty scream, his hands clammy in Bastianâs. âGNAAOOOWWMYGODââ Then, already pushing hard, so strained, â............got..gâttagetitoutâŚâŚ..uururrrrRUUUUHHHHGOD!!â
âYou are strong enough,â the midwife says from across the room. âVisualise yourself opening for the head and push the babe down with all your effort.â
âNghâŚâ Leo grunts, â...ngIâmtryingâŚâ
âPush the babe down,â she says again, her words calm and slow. âOpen, open.â
Her words seem to work for Leo, because he gives hard and silent pushes one after the other, raising his face this time and Bastian can just about see his horrible grimace.
âThatâs good,â the midwife says, coming closer. âThatâs good, that means the head will soon come. Youâre pushing well.â
âI-I-I canât breathe,â Leo pants. âI need a minute. I needâŚâ
âTake a break,â the midwife permits. She comes with a damp cloth and leans over the side of the bed to wipe Leoâs face, petting away his stringy red hair as he pants and gasps loud and wild, his hands still intertwined with Bastianâs behind him.
âBreeeeeaaathe,â the midwife reminds him, then shows him how to inhale deeply through his nose.
Slowly, Leoâs body begins to relax, and he lets go of Bastianâs hands to lean forward on his elbows, moaning and swaying his hips side to side. Bastian gets a view of his bottom raised in the air, but he still canât see their childâs head yet. If any of it was poking out while Leo was pushing, it sucked back in.
Instinctually, Bastian begins massaging up and down the long length of Leoâs back as he keeps breathing and moaning and swaying, opening his pelvis. Leo is so lost in his own world, but it seems like it feels good.
The next time Leo gets a pain, thereâs no warning. It seems to catch him off guard too, as heâs still on his elbows with his head way down, his hands clasped on the sheets in front of his head. He just tenses his back, and Bastian can actually feel each individual muscle hidden beneath the skin as with a little hitched grunt, Leo bears down hard.
He leans his bottom back and down as he pushes, so Bastian canât see his opening. Leoâs bottom is touching Bastianâs legs, as Bastian still kneels upright behind him, and Bastian can feel him tremble. He can see the exertion, because Leoâs skin from the back of his neck to his middle is turning a violent red, his head down and beginning to tremble so hard.
Then Leo releases with a loud grunt, and he raises his head to gasp in as the midwife kneels down over the side of the bed and puts her hands over his, still above his head.
Just as she whispers, âHuge push,â Leo shoves back again, trembling even harder, his body somehow stiffer and his back absolutely shining in the candlelight, the sweat pooling in the long dip of his spine and the dimples at the small of his back.
He gives a few very big pushes for this one, almost screaming out at the end of each one. He thumps the mattress with a fist as he breathes too fast, complaining of a burning sensation once more.
Then for the next pain, he gets himself upright again, but shuffles towards the headboard this time so he can grab onto it. He moves according to his bodyâs will, and ultimately comes up in a deep squat, still facing away from Bastian with his hands gripping the headboard hard.
The midwife tells Bastian to press on Leoâs hips as he bears down, so he makes himself useful and does just that. He sits on his heels, pressing his palms firmly, and rests his cheek on Leoâs slick shoulder blade as the pain comes yet again. Leo does not have much of a break anymore.
ââUUUURRRRRITHURTSSOBAAAAAADâŚâŚâŚâŚ..â
Leaning over his sweaty, rigid shoulder, Bastian can see Leoâs big belly flex inwards between his wide open trembling thighs, his bellybutton poking out. Leo is incredible.
Bastian whispers into his shoulder and neck, feeling himself grit his teeth and wince too, âItâs there, beauty. Push hard.â
One after the other, Leo rocks down to push hard and long, with big loud gasps in-between, filling his lungs so his belly expands before tightening inwards.
All the while, Bastian encourages him into his shoulder, moving to mutter into his sweaty red-hot cheek, pressing his lips to his skin, âGoodgoodgoodgood Leo, you are strong. You are incredible.â
Leoâs head is loose on his neck, either going back over Bastianâs shoulder with a push or crunching forward. This time, as he gears up for a very big push, Leo crunches his chin practically into his breasts, gripping the headboard so hard it creaks as he roars.
âGood, push your baby,â the midwife says. Then she tells Leo that when this pain has passed, heâll have to move. âYou need to open. In this position, you will push your baby into the bed and that wonât be very helpful.â
Leo, who is definitely not in the mood for jokes, tells the old woman to shove it up her ass.
She takes this with grace, though Bastian blushes and looks at her apologetically. Then she reaches out and tells Bastian how to help her move Leo.
The midwife suggests he squat on the floor, but Leo follows his body and comes to stand next to the bed, leaning over the mattress and dipping down and up as he breathes evenly, opening his legs wide.
There is an air of intensity in the room as everything seems to have kicked up a notch. Itâs close, Bastian can sense it. Not much longer now. Soon, Leo will finally be able to rest. His beautiful, loyal, strong knightâŚ
Bastian looks at Leo, his knight, his love, labouring hard, and he feels his throat tighten. Leo is the picture of effort. Heâs bent down, his quivering legs spread open and his knees bent, his fists trembling with effort in the sheets. His teeth are bared, eyes squeezed shut into tight wrinkles as he grunts hard and high.
Bastian and the midwife, who is sitting on the floor behind Leo, both keep quiet as Leo works hard.
It bursts out of him with a deep, animal grunt. âMNGUUHHTHEHEADISâ SOBIGââ
âKeep going,â the midwife coaches. âIf it gets to be too much, just breathe it down.â
Thereâs no way to know if Leo hears her, because heâs still pushing. God, it looks so hard. His face is beet red and shiny with sweat, his hair plastered over his skin in knots. He has an expression on his face that reminds Bastian of constipation, and he guesses the sensation is really not too different.
âThatâs good, thatâs good, I see hair,â the midwife says. Then as Leo bursts his air out and seems to bear down even harder, twisting his fists in the sheet with that horrible expression worsening on his face, she says, âOh, lots of hair.â
Bastian is beside himself, his heart thumping out of his chest as he watches his love work harder than anyone.
The sounds and faces Leo makes would be embarrassing, but he is so beyond modesty, embarrassment, and privacy at this point. Nothing in the entire world matters more in this moment than pushing their baby out of him and into the world, and he puts every drop of effort he has into the task. Bastian wonders if heâs even aware of the expressions, sounds, and secretions his body is making. It wouldnât matter. All that matters is that the midwife sees hair!!
Bastian jumps back into action, putting his hands over Leoâs which are still tangled in the sheets.
âPush, sweetness, you are almost there. You are so strong, so brave. You are my pride, my knight. I know you can do this. Push.â
Leo had gotten at least two good pushes in as Bastian was talking to him, and it seems heâs done now, truly spent for breath. He puts his red cheek on the bed and his gasps for air sound more like exhausted shouts, as he flinches and a tear drops from his tightly closed eyes.
âWhere is heâŚâ Leo croaks out, truly spent, as Bastian brushes his hair out of his face. Bastian leans down to kiss his cheek and forehead as Leo still keeps his cheek on the bed, panting and heaving and animalistic.
âNot long now,â the midwife says softly.
Leo heaves out his air, then he suddenly raises his head and makes a quiet pained sound, almost like panic.
âHeâsâheâsâ ohh-h, why is it going back inâŚâ
Bastian puts his hand over Leoâs fist on the bed as the midwife explains, âThe babeâs head has to rock in and out to stretch you. Just let your tissues relax, let your bottom relax. Every time you push, you bring the head out little by little.â
âEvery time,â Leo repeats, like he doesnât believe it. Heâs exhausted, dazed, putting his head back on the bed with his eyes closed. He has the strength to hold Bastianâs hand, though, and that is enough.
âReach down and feel the head next time,â the midwife says. âFeel how it comes down when you push.â
Leo seems afraid to touch, possibly for the same reason as Bastian. Touching the head, feeling it, means itâs really coming.
But, brave as always, he does. He keeps his head on the bed and puts his hand down there, feels around for a moment, before his eyes snap open and he looks at Bastian.
âIs it there?â Bastian asks him, and only then realizes there are tears in his eyes.
Leo nods. âHeâs right there.â Then his face crumples in a grimace as he grits out, âIwantitoutâ.....â before he gasps, shouting. âHoh! Oh! OoohhhitBURNS! IsâtoobigIcanâtâŚâŚâ
The midwife tells him to wait for the urge to push, to not force it out. She tries to tell him itâs important for him to stretch, but Leo is in it. Itâs impossible for Bastian to tell now whether he has a pain or not. After feeling the head, heâs sure Leo is ready to keep pushing hard until the whole baby is out.
And so he dips into another vicious push, baring his teeth, his face turning completely red and the vein in his temple bulging out.
â---OH! Ouuhh..hohhâŚâ and his body commands him to bear down extremely hard again, of its own accord. âOuuhhhhhhhhâŚâŚ..hhhhhyesohyesohyesohyesouuuhhhhhhâŚâŚ..â Then he releases with a huge breath, panting hard and loud. Bastian can only put his hand over Leoâs which still grips the bed. Leoâs other hand is still between his legs, waiting and supporting as he pushes the babyâs big hard head into his own palm.
Chin on the edge of the bed, Leo begs, voice wrecked, âPullâmout! Aoh, God!â And as the midwife is saying, âWe canât it is all you!â Leo shoves back, almost in a squat now, as he grabs the edge of the bed with both hands and extends his arms, his knees touching the outsides of his elbows, and roars down, his head trembling severely from the effort.
âYeeeeesssssss, yesyesyes, exactly there!â the midwife cheers, the first big smile appearing on her face. In a strained voice, she coaches, âPUSH! PUUUUUSH!â
Leo garbles out a scream then, coming more upright and standing in a crouch over the bed, still gripping the sheets with so much force they rip. Heâs pushing his bottom back towards the midwife, who has her hands supporting his opening, though Bastian cannot see. He only sees Leoâs beet-red screaming face, the tendon jutting out of his throat, and his bare breasts dangling down as he pushes so hard he gags with it.
All Bastian can say is, âItâs coming, Leo, you are almost done!â
Then with barely a breath, Leo forces down with his entire body, clinging to the torn sheet on the very edge of the bed, going down into more of a squat so the midwife has to scoot back more to see, as he strains deep and hard and guttural, gritting his teeth up to the ceiling.
âYesss, good work, youâre stretching,â the midwife says to him at the tail end of the push. Then, âAlright, letâs get you on the bed now. You, open those shutters! He is burning up.â
Belatedly, Bastian realizes sheâs talking to him. His arms and legs are tingling and his head light as he leaps up from the bed and stumbles to the window across the room. Behind him, his love grunts again, so hard and tight and deep down in his core, and he hears the midwife telling him to just breathe, just breathe.
âIâmtryingIâmtryingheâscomiiinnnggggâŚ.â Leo grunts as Bastianâs shaking hands finally get the latch on the shutters open. He flings them out and they bang against the outer wall. The sky is beginning to lighten; itâs almost early morning.
Itâs a small window, but any window is large enough to let out all the sound in the room for the whole town to hear. He will worry about that later. Now, he needs to be with Leo.
Itâs as heâs having those thoughts that Leo, behind him, starts to push again. Itâs a hard and gritty sound, totally involuntary, and in the middle of it he says, âMnggrrrrrrrrmyprinceâ.....â
And Bastian snaps into action, turning back into the room to run to his love. âIâmcomingIâmcoming, Iâm here with you!â
He doesnât even see where heâs going, just runs with the only goal of getting to Leoâs side. But the midwife jabs him in the side and he blinks down.
âYou,â she says, âcome look! Look at your babyâs head!â
Bastian does.
Leo is lying horizontally at the foot of the bed now, his legs spread open so wide his thighs are flat. Heâs keeping them that way, gripping underneath his thighs. The midwife, in a gesture of kindness, has thrown the sheet over Leoâs breasts, though most of his belly is still exposed, a mountain of tight and sweat-slick skin. Between his thighs, nestled within his wiry red curls, is a wet dome.
The midwife had pulled a stool over the floor to her side, where she has a dish of butter balanced, some damp linens, and a holder with several candles. Itâs this light that allows Bastian to properly seeâŚ
Leoâs opening is stretched to an almost impossible degree, unrecognizable to Bastianâs eyes. His folds are pulled back, the skin taut, to make room for not a sliver, but a wide circle of curly, wet hair. Itâs a little wrinkly, and definitely not out to its full circumference, as Leoâs tissue is bulging out around it, proof that there is more within. But itâs there. A head! Thereâs a little indent in the shape of a circle at the tip of the scalp, from when Leo must have been stuck trying to push it past that stage.
Bastian feels a sob bubble up his throat as the midwife brings the candle closer and gently pulls on a little curl so he can see the colour.
Their baby has red hair.
My baby⌠Bastian thinks, awestruck and speechless. A whole person, half him and half Leo, the love of his lifeâŚ
âTell Leo what you see,â she says.
Bastian goes to Leo, kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed so he can lean over and brush Leoâs stringy hair off his forehead. âHe has red hair,â he says, his voice damp with tears.
Itâs after this moment that Leo goes quiet, drawing into himself and summoning the last bit of strength he needs. Bastian keeps quiet as Leo concentrates, breathing into the urge to push their baby to a crown. Itâs coming. So soon.
The pain takes a long time to come, and Leo touches the babyâs head to embolden himself. It hasnât gone back in this time. Bastian watches, and sees that itâs surprisingly squishy, likely mostly scalp and not skull. When heâs done feeling, the midwife takes a clump of butter and starts applying it to Leoâs tissue around the head. Then Leoâs belly hardens, and itâs finally time to push.
He means business right away. He hooks his elbows under his knees, lifts his torso off the bed to crunch in, and forces down with a hitched grunt.
Immediately, the head bulges forth, pushing at the tight barrier that is Leoâs tissue. It is not that heâs not strong enough; far from it, heâs pushing with every fibre of his being, turning completely red, veins poking out of his skin. Itâs that his tissue is tight, keeping the babyâs head in place in a ring.
Bastian whispers to him to encourage him, holding him up beneath his back. âPush⌠push⌠push, itâs coming out more!â
It is! The head pushes and pushes, jutting out and back in just a bit as Leoâs strength wears out, taking his tissue with it, and then Leo grunts out hard and falls back to the bed. The head goes back to where it was, but just a fraction of it is more visible.
It goes on like this, Leo pulling his legs back and pushing pushing pushing with every ounce of his strength, the babyâs head bulging out and taking his tissues with it, and Bastian expects Leo to tear clean open, the head bursting out. But that doesnât happen. Itâs a slow, burning stretch, and Leo uses all of his strength. No stopping now.
âA crown!â the midwife cheers as Leo drops his head back to the flat mattress, straining and grunting, his grip under his thighs slipping due to the sweat pouring off of him.
The midwife is trying to help him stretch, using small linens on either side of his opening, gently stretching the tissue back and open. She regularly reapplies the butter, which is beginning to clump in their childâs curls.
Leo is indeed burning up, staying so red and sweaty, so Bastian wrings out a cold cloth and puts it over his eyes. Leo is just a grimace then, blind under the cloth, as he crunches his chin into his neck and reaches down to grab the bottoms of his feet.
He doesnât put his feet together, but pulls them wide open and back, his arms extended out straight. His legs tremble so hard, his toes curling over his hands as he white-knuckles it, giving their baby a good long shove each time. The head stays at a crown, moulding around Leoâs tight tissue.
He doesnât even grunt out at the end of each push. Heâs too focused, pushing much too hard. Every release is a quick and quiet hiss of air through his teeth, âTihh,â before he takes in a huge gasp right away and goes again.
Bastian begins to fear that Leo cannot get past this stage. He finds himself retreating into his own mind against his will, the sight of his love in such pain and effort so overwhelming.
He cannot be sure, but he thinks he can pinpoint the time they made love that resulted in this child.
They had been on the run by then, in their shared tent in the night, well off the beaten path. The fireflies had lit up the grasses outside their tent and, awestruck, they had pulled the flap aside to see.
Bastian had been staring at Leo, which he had not noticed heâd been doing. There was something about the firefliesâ light that made the strands of his red hair glow, like embers.
Bastian had been touching his hair, tucking it behind his ear, and Leo had leaned in to accept a kiss. Then Leo had climbed on top and Bastian had slipped inside. They rocked together, humming and sighing in bliss and freedom.
Thatâs right; It was the night they ran away together.
Leoâs beautiful red hair fans out on the sheet around his head as he falls back against the bed, still managing to hold on for their child, his eyes still covered by the cloth, his skin red as a beet and his teeth bared like an animal, trying so hardâŚ
Heâs pushing more frequently but not as strong, and his pains are slowing down.
Finally, Leo releases the last of his effort with a breathy grunt, and he tips his head back, gasping and gasping, his chest heaving under the sheet. Sweat rolls off of him in the candlelight.
Heâs let go of his feet, but he leaves his legs to fan out wide open against the bed. His bottom is on the edge of the side of the bed. If he were to extend his legs, they would simply fall over the edge.
The midwife is telling Leo to breathe deeply, to get his strength back, that the head is almost out. She doesnât seem too worried.
Leo talks to him then, his voice a ragged croak. He says his name, and Bastian looks down at him as Leo removes the cloth from his face, blinking weakly up at Bastian.
âI canâtâŚâ he says, âI cannot do it⌠Iâm sorry, my prince⌠I tried.. so hardâŚâ He turns his head to the ceiling then, and a tear slides down his temple. âI am sorry for not having the strengthâŚâ
And Bastian has heard enough already. He gets close, finding Leoâs sweaty hand and gripping it fiercely.
âLeo,â he says, âof course you have the strength. He is right there, you said it yourself. Itâs just a little more effort and youâre done, I promise. I will never, ever let you hurt like this again.â
âI thought I could do itâŚâ Leo groans, looking away as another tear slides down. âI wanted to keep your baby safeââ
âOur baby,â Bastian corrects. Leo looks up at him silently, and he says it again. âOur baby.â
âLeo, listen,â he speaks quietly and intimately, his heart hammering out of his chest, âyou could never disappoint me. You could never fail me. We are free, now. I will ask just two things of you now, and then never demand anything again, and that is to pushâŚâ He gulps, fixing his grip on Leoâs hand. â...and that you let me stay by your side. I love you, more than anything in this world.â
And there it is, that bravery and light returning to Leoâs beautiful eyes. He assesses Bastianâs face, really drinks him in, and his breaths become laboured.
It is all the motivation he needs to hear in his life.
With a heave of a breath, Leo grabs under his knees, pulling his legs so wide open he could split in half, and he throws his head all the way back against the sheet, hitching his shoulders down, hitching his belly and his hips and every last drop of strength inside him, to puuushhh their babyâs big head out.
Bastian sobs at the sight, seeing Leoâs effort and the way their babyâs head juts out. âOh, push, my sweet love. Push with all of your strength. You have it.â
âSteady,â says the midwife, as she gently flexes the babyâs scalp as it comes forward. âSteadyâŚâ
Bastian is mute with awe. Leo pushes their babyâs head out so beautifully. Every second slows down to a hundred seconds. Their little redheadâs wrinkly scalp trembles out with Leoâs effort, and the midwife keeps pressure around Leoâs tissue which has the head in a vice lock. His skin is so red, stretched beyond belief, but he still has not torn.
Steady, steady, out comes a forehead, facing down to the mattress and slightly sideways. Bastian leans in to see, and it looks like a little old man with its wrinkles.
Leo is still keeping that same push going as then comes out the babyâs brow, then their little crunched eyes, and out pops a tiny nub of a nose. Bastian knows heâs crying loudly as, with massive effort, Leo pushes out the babyâs lips.
Here, Leo releases with a huge breathy grunt, unable to hold it any longer. Bastian is still watching their babyâs head, so he sees how it dips back in just slightly, not quite fully out yet. Leo must think heâs done because heâs panting.
âCome on, now,â the midwife says as she wipes some goo off the babyâs face, âone more push.â
Bastian steals a quick glance at Leoâs face as heâs gearing up for another push. Leo is in another world, his eyes closed and his head thrown back, exposing the long length of his throat. His skin is completely red and shining in the candlelight, his red hair thrown about the sheets around his head. Leo gasps in once, and Bastian looks back down at their babyâs head in time to see Leoâs hands on the undersides of his knees grip hard again, his nails white, and he makes a sound like, âHUPââ
âBig big big bigâŚâ the midwife mutters.
It takes little effort at all. Compared to the rest of the night, it is nothing. Leo holds down hard, his body and raised feet trembling and his pelvis slowly widening more, and their babyâs head trembles out, out, and out comes the chin with a squirt of blood and a huge burst of air from Leo.
Itâs out! The whole head! Bastian sobs, not knowing what to do with his hands. He kisses Leoâs forehead, but Leo is still in another world.
His battle is not over yet.
Bastian has seen Leo in battle. He has seen him swing a sword with the strength of several men. He has seen him stumble back from a battle with arrows piercing his armour, seen him pull a dagger from his own flesh, seen him ride into the fray on his horse, head high in bravery, and he has seen him keep that fortitude after so many unspeakable horrors.
All of that is nothing, nothing compared to the strength and effort he exerts to give birth to their child.
Every fibre of his being, every single muscle in his body is used for those long, long moments it takes Leo to push their baby's shoulders from his body. He hardly makes a sound, but for a barely audible, tight groan deep in his throat that just keeps going. Bastian frantically looks from Leoâs face to their babyâs slimy head as his love just keeps that gigantic push going.
It is incredible to watch. It is the most intense moment of his life. A look back at Leoâs face shows that he is deep red and puffy, veins absolutely popping from his neck and temples like roots, but his expression is completely calm. His mouth is closed and curved in such a way that itâs almost like heâs smiling. His head is tipped back all the way, almost upside-down, and his shoulders are lowered as he concentrates every morsel of strength in his body down.
Down and deep, incredibly long and hard without break. Bastian watches as the midwifeâs wrinkled hands donât even touch the baby. His little wet head turns, and there is his little purple face already grimacing. Bastian can feel himself pushing, helping his love grunt down, as their babyâs chubby shoulders begin to appear, and the pouty lips open with a wet gasp, and then the baby slides and trembles out.
Itâs not fast. Shoulders, then elbows, then belly and cord, and the baby is already crying and gasping wetly, then his little hips, and Leo is done, he can stop pushing now, but heâs still pushing. He still pushes harder and longer than he ever has and ever will in his life, his legs shaking horribly and his grunt getting louder behind his closed mouth, until the entire baby is out, little feet and all. Then a massive grunty burst of air rushes out of Leo and he lets go of all the tension in his body, and the baby hiccups and starts crying, and Bastian is sobbing.
Their baby is pink and slimy and wiggly and shrieking already as the midwife turns it over in her hands and puts it right on Leoâs deflated belly.
Leo uses the last of his strength to rip the loose sheet off his chest, still moaning and gasping loudly as water and blood pour out of him, his hands open to accept their child. It takes him long moments to come back into his body as he lays there gasping, his eyes half-open and darting around the ceiling, his legs still wide open.
Bastian canât speak, heâs crying so hard. The midwife is rubbing the baby with her bare hands, trying to get it to keep crying, and it does, gurgling and spitting up some mucus onto Leoâs blood-streaked breast.
Looking at their baby, Bastian realizes how small it is. Now on the outside, in the world, it does not seem so gigantic. It is chunky, for sure, with big chubby purple cheeks and fat rolls on the arms and legs. The baby is swollen and bruised from birth, but Bastian drinks in every detail of their little face. Their little nostrils, their impossibly tiny fingernails, the curve of their ears stuck against their big coned head, their wisps of long, wet red hair!
He is all at once overwhelmed by the bone-deep urge to wrap his body around his baby and protect them with his life.
âYou did it, you did it,â he hears himself sob as he brushes Leoâs hair back, kissing his damp forehead. âI love you so much, you did it. You can rest now, my darling.â
Finally, Leo looks down at the baby on his chest, hovering his hands over the elongated head and the little wrinkly back. In his euphoric state, he rubs the babyâs flesh, sighing and sobbing himself, and then he lifts their little chunky thigh.
His glassy eyes go wide, and he says, âOh!â
âOh?â Bastianâs throat tightens.
But Leo looks up at him in shock, and his bottom lip wiggles as he says, âA girl! We have a girl!â
Bastian sobs again, practically falling over his little family. Outside the door, he hears the voices of the tavern siblings cheering, and then some. He laughs.
âBastian,â Leo says in his ear, âI love you too.â
And Bastian hugs him tighter, careful not to crush their baby, dropping kisses to her little head and kisses all over Leoâs sweaty face as Leo laughs.
The midwife is congratulating them, telling Leo he did a very good job. Sheâs doing something with their girlâs cord, checking for a pulse, possibly.
Leo cranes his neck up to see her. âWhat is your name?â he asks her.
The midwife smiles a toothless smile at him. âYvette,â she says.
âYvette,â Leo repeats, dropping his head back to the mattress and gazing down at their baby girl. âYvetteâŚâ
And all at once, there she is. There they are, the three of them. Free.
Dave the handyman knows heâs in labor, but he thinks he has time for one last service call before he delivers his twins. He does not. â¤ď¸
content: unassisted birth, birth denial (trying not to push), clothing birth
It had been a long drive out, nearly an hour. Dave swore he could feel every minute burned between his legs, the incredible weight of his full-term twins forcing his thighs apart, leaving all the pressure to converge at his crotch. He had to adjust the seat all the way back to account for the forward protrusion of his belly, too, leaving his calves and already-swollen ankles aching from reaching for the pedals, and his back twinging with the effort of leaning just a few inches forward while burdened so heavily.
He groaned, pressing both hands to his overalls as his belly stirred beneath, the domed surface going lopsided around his shifting babies. They hadnât been moving as much this past week, cramped by the increasingly inadequate confines of his womb, but they could still make a ruckus if they really put their minds to it.
âNow, settle down, kids,â he murmured, rubbing soothing circles over the vast side of his belly. âPapaâs almost done for the day. Then we canâ augh.â The surface of his abdomen drew suddenly taut, a cramp wrapping around his torso and pushing into his lower back. He held onto the boulder his belly had become and tried to breathe through the pain, slow and deep, in the nose and out the mouth.
Finally his muscles untensed, and he fell back in his seat, winded. He glanced at the clientâs house and grimaced. It was just one last job, probably only replacing a part, if he had diagnosed the problem correctly. He could be in and out in twenty minutes, tops. What was twenty minutes, when heâd already been enduring these contractions for hours? Sure, theyâd been starting to get a bit more intense, but this was his first birth, so he probably still had hours of labor ahead of him. Heâd have plenty of time.
âAlright,â he sighed. He stroked his belly. âLetâs stay put, okay, kids? Keep Papa company just a little longer.â
Then he began the arduous process of getting out of his truck. It was undignified scooting until he got half of his ass off the seat, then he had to wedge a hand under his belly and hold it up while he turned, so that it didnât drop off the seat and pull his back. Finally, gripping the door frame with his other hand, he stepped down, and released a winded oof as his body protested keeping itself upright while so overburdened. His back bowed, and even his chest bounced a little with the impact, the bit of breast tissue left over after his top surgery now swollen with milk.
Though sitting for so long left him sore and cramping, getting on his feet made him acutely feel every change of his impending fatherhood. He swore he could sense his hips settling even further apart in real time, the bottom-most twin an imminent weight deep in his pelvis, her tiny head generating a disproportionate amount of pressure on all his tender parts.
He spent a minute or so stretching, but there wasnât much to be done when a body was this pregnant, so he pulled his tool kit from the back of his truck and began his waddle up to the house. Though, at this point, it was more of a trudge, the cuteness of his rocking posture diminished by how hard it was to get his work boots off the ground. By the time he reached the door, he was breathing heavy from just those few steps, a hand wedged to his aching back. He nudged the doorbell with the corner of his tool box.
A big guy answered the door, probably in his late 20s or early 30s, clean-cut, and didnât seem to notice anything out of the ordinary until they shook hands and his eyes fell to Daveâs huge belly below. He stared for a momentâeveryone always didâbefore clearing his throat.
âUh- yeah, uh, come on inâ Mister?â His eyes flicked between Daveâs belly and his upper lip, where a thick, well-groomed mustache grew. âUh, MisterâŚ?â
âDave,â he supplied, a little tired, but mostly used to this by now.
That was always the most awkward moment since he began to show: strangers grappling with the sight of a clearly pregnant man. After two decades of being stealth, it was a little difficult to know that anyone who looked at him would see his belly and know that he had a womb. And thenâthe men, especiallyâwould have the next logical thought, and realize there must be a pussy between his legs. He could only guess how frequently even the most unassuming man would think of his cunt. Some of them, he was pretty sure that was all they thought about when they looked at him.
This one was nice, at least, and even tried to offer him a cushion to kneel on for his work. Dave graciously declined, showing off the padded mat he had added to his toolkit about six months ago. The client still looked uneasy, and tried to help him kneel down, then got him a glass of water he didnât ask for, and finally asked outright if Dave was sure he was up to this.
Dave waved him off, saying aloud that he felt great, internally begging the client to leave before he had another contraction.
Finally the guy left him to it, saying that he needed to run an errand but heâd be back before Dave was done.
No sooner had the client left than Daveâs belly drew horribly tight. He gasped and clutched both it and the nearby counter, and made a strangled, bemused noise as he found his bump just as hard as the marble under his other hand. The pain grew and the pressure tightened until a whine began to build in his chest, ready to break through his teeth at any momentâ then suddenly his muscles let up, leaving him gasping and a little dizzy, a chill washing through his limbs.
âRight, okay,â he mumbled, rubbing his bump. He needed to hurry this up. He took a deep breath and exhaled very deliberately, then began to kneel. The process was arduous, his knees threatening to give between the mass of his belly and the breadth of his hips.
Every inch he got closer to the ground, the deeper the weight in his pelvis settled, until it felt like the baby would fall right out of him. Or shoot out, if he sneezed. He knew from experience that it was much more likely that he might have a little accident, but he didnât want to tempt fate with these contractions ramping up. So, he exhaled shakily and tried to keep his legs together. He just needed to do his job.
His job, as it turned out, was not nearly as simple as he expected. What he thought would be a single part change turned out to be an entire set of pipes that would need to be replaced, but the wood of the surrounding cabinets was so old that it would surely not survive that kind of work. The whole thing needed to be redone. That was a job for another person at another time, but he couldnât very well leave things in this state when a leak like this was costing his client dozens of dollars a day on the water bill. In this economy?! He had to do something. Maybe he couldâ
âHohââ He buckled forward, both hands clinging to the lip of the counter above as a contraction gripped him. A low, thin hum grew in his chest as he bore the vice, his fingers cramping. It left him panting when it passed. He dropped a hand to his belly, to the side that had gone wonky and pointy as his descending children protested being squeezed.
âSlow down, kids,â he whispered, chest heaving. âGive Papa a little more time.â
Once he caught his breath, he pulled a mask and spackling out of his bag. With his face protected from fumes and potential rot, he leaned forwardâgrunting as his belly pressed against the mat, as his twinsâ weight stung his spineâand got to patching up the worst of the leakage.
Speaking of leakage⌠leaning forward like this, his chest felt incredibly tight and heavy. He wouldnât be surprised if he took off his overalls after this and found sweet colostrum staining the inside of his undershirt. Good. He would be ready to feed his babies.
He got a good bit of spackling done before the next contraction. This one was the hardest yet. The air evacuated his lungs, forcing out a gravelly sound as his throat drew tight. On his hands and knees like this, the tension was the worst in his back, strung through his tailbone all the way to his anus.
When it had mostly passed, he unclenched his hands, and found his left trembling, with the shape of the spackling tool indented in his palm. He set it thoughtlessly aside and put both hands flat to the floor of the cabinet, needing leverage to follow his bodyâs instinct to rock back and forth on all fours. His lower back especially still felt horribly tight, and the pressure in his belly had only grown. But the rocking relieved some of the tension in his lumbar region and hips, though every shift backward made him feel like the baby might pop right out of him.
Releasing a trembling sigh, he picked his tool up and got back to work. The sooner he could finish, the sooner heâd be out of here.
He didnât know how long he worked. In the back of his mind was a voice screaming that he should be timing these contractions, that he needed to leave for the hospital now, given how far they were from civilization. But at the forefront of his mind was the task. He just had to finish this. Then he would get in his truck and drive to the hospital and it would all be fine. There was time. There had to be. Sweat dripped from his forehead and his belly strained like it carried solid lead and his hips felt like they might not survive standing up, but there would be time.
Finally, he finished the work. It wasnât his best, but it was pretty good considering how many times he had been interrupted by his other labor.
Dreading the ordeal of getting back on his feet, he crawled around gathering his things, belly dragging on the floor. He whimpered out a curse as another contraction took him, wringing out a deep, throaty moan.
âOhhhh, ho, hoh- no, oh no,â he panted, leaning back into it until his rock-hard belly rested on his thighs. The angle helped his hips but made him feel so tight from his perineum to his lower back, granting him a sickening insight into exactly where his childâs head was angled. It hurt so *bad*, he didnât even know if he could sit down like this, let alone drive.
By the time he realized he had broken the cardinal rule of laboringâkeep your breathing calmâhe was already panting. His head swam and he was starting to feel sick and the waves of panic left his limbs tingling. He didnât have time. He needed an ambulance.
He reached into his pocket for his phone⌠wait. Where was it? Oh god. He patted over his many pockets, but already he could envision his cell still docked above his radio, where heâd left it, back in the truck.
âNo, no, no, no,â he panted. How could he make a mistake like that?! âDave, you dummy, you- youâŚâ he couldnât even think of another word for how foolish he was, all he could think of was the pressure, the weight, the inevitable forcing his body wide open.
âCalm down,â he mumbled, swiping the sweat from his brow. There was nothing else to do, now; he just had to get the phone.
Wellâ first, he had to get up.
Trying to even his breathing, he reached for the counter again and got his arms situated against the marble edge. Then he counted one, two, three, and heaved himself up. Or, he tried to. He barely even unbent his legs before his struggling lower back and split-open abs failed, his anvil of a belly pulling him back into a squat. The sensation of the baby plummeting punched a wheeze out of him and made his stomach lurch, and for a moment he thought the head must have actually popped out before he realized he would definitely know if that had happened.
He muttered, âKeep your head on, Dave,â and shifted his boots further apart before trying again. With a colossal groan, trembling limbs, and a full ten seconds of effort, he finally made it back to his feet. He leaned against the counter while he caught his breath, clutching his heaving belly with one hand.
But he didnât stay upright for long. The next contraction came already, and he barely had time to eke out a noise of dismay before the pain bent him against the counter, the breath forced out of him as the tension pulled his chest towards his belly. His elbows caught him on the marble, but that jarring pain was a mere tickle compared to the sensation of every muscle in his lower body working to tear a hole inside of him. The sheer energy required for the contraction generated heat all through his crushed guts and pinched stomach, and he gagged, whimpering as he swallowed against the urge to vomit on his clientâs beautiful counter.
Finally, it ended. His whole body trembled, his sweat speckling the marble. He only lifted his weary head because that kept the bile from rushing up his throat.
Much like being on his knees, bending over the counter like this felt oddly natural, keeping his pelvic bones splayed wide. He wanted desperately to stay there, but the fear of doing the rest of this alone gave him the strength to push upright on shivering arms. So, a hand to his spasming back and one rubbing his belly, he waddle-trudged to the door.
Though heâd feared the trek to his vehicle, it was actually a bit of a relief. Apparently all of that about walking being good for labor was true; it stretched his muscles and made his loosened hips feel even more open. The sensation of his baby oscillating with each step wasnât necessarily good, but it was its own kind of relief, a bit of variety in the never-relenting pressure.
Finally, he made it to his truck. He leaned heavily on the trusty old girl as he rounded the hood towards the driverâs side. He opened the door and stared at the step up into the high cab before deciding he wasnât up to climbing. Instead he turned to his side, moving his belly out of the way, and reached over the seat for his phone.
Of course, that was when the next one hit.
The tension and the pain converged on him again, nearly as bad as last time. But there was another feeling, one that took him by surprise too much to resist: the need to push.
His hands fell to his thighs. Knees bending, lungs swelling, head ducking, he instinctively narrowed every muscle down towards his abdomen. The pressure heâd thought couldnât get any worse somehow did, made him feel like he was about to burst and implode all at once as it inched lower, reigniting the tension near his tailbone and shooting down to his asshole. A deep sound buzzed in his chest, his voice seeping out unchecked as the effort took him over. Deliriously, he thought about how proud heâd been when HRT first lowered his voice, and how he never would have imagined hearing his new baritone strain as he pushed a child into the world.
The contraction eased up, and he stopped pushing, light-headed, limbs tingling, gasping for breath. âHaaa⌠fu- huh⌠ohhhâŚâ
Wow, yeah, that definitely was a head in his vagina. The obstruction made him feel a bit delirious, made him want to fall against the truck and twist and wail and squirm and push until it was out. But he couldnât afford that kind of tantrum, and he knew enough not to push without a contraction, let alone standing over a gravel driveway in the middle of nowhere.
âAlright, Dave, stand up,â he mumbled.
He unbent his legs, but couldnât bring himself to straighten out his back and lose the relief of his tilted pelvis. That made it a bit of a reach up into the tall cab for the phone. He almost knocked it out of its dock with his unsteady hand, but he managed to curl his fingers around it. It took him a few tries to successfully pull up the keypad and dial. As it rang, he dropped his arms to the seat and rested his forehead on them, hips instinctively swaying, belly heaving gently as he struggled to keep his breathing in check.
A calm voice came over the speaker. â911, what is your emergency?â
He gasped in relief, head snapping up. âHey! Hey, hello, yes, Iâm in labor. Babyâs coming faster than I thought. I need an ambulance.â
âYour wife is in labor?â
His heart sank towards his stomach, a long plunging sensation for such a cramped amount of space. âNo, no, I am. Iâm having twins.â
âSir, are you aware it can be a class four felony to make a fraudulent 911 call?â
This far into his life as a transgender man, Dave wouldnât have thought this sort of thing could get to him anymore. But with a child forcing him apart, it made him gasp a helpless sob.
âNo, no, donât hang up, please, my name is Dave, Iâm transgender, as in I- I used to be a woman, but, I-Iâm a man now, I just still have a- you know, a uterus, and I- Iâm pregnant with my first - with twins, 36 weeks and- four days I think? I thought I had time, I thought - but the first baby is coming, I think I need to start pushing, andââ
âWhoa, whoa, okay, hey, itâs alright. Youâre alright, Iâm not hanging up. I apologize, sir. Iâm here to help you. Can you give me your address?â
âUh⌠shoot, Iâm- Iâm on a job, I have toâŚâ he pulled the phone away from his ear and fumbled through apps before he got the map back up. He read the address off.
âOkay. Iâm sending an ambulance to your location. Now, you said you feel like you need to push?â
âYeah,â he rasped. âI donât think itâll take much. She- the babyâs through my cervix, definitely, she feels low- really, really low.â
âHow long have you felt like you needed to push?â
âUh- well, not long, just one contraction so far. But it was- it was really intense. And Iâve been having, um, bad contractions for a while.â
âOkay. How far apart?â
âI havenât been timing them. Uh⌠maybe four or five minutes apart before, but now? Less than three. Maybe even two.â
âOkay. Is there anyone there who can assist you?â
He looked forlornly at the tree-lined road winding empty towards the horizon. âNobody for miles.â
âOkay, thatâs okay. Can you reach your vagina, sir?â
He looked down, and groaned a soft, wavering sound at the sheer mass filling his overalls. âI dunno. My belly is so bigâŚâ
âAlright. Can you try for me?â
âOh, jeez. Okay. UhâŚâ He set the phone down, then stretched an arm out and dug his nails around the leather piping on the opposite side of the carâs seat, anchoring himself. Then he shifted his feet back to deepen his bend, puffing his cheeks with a loud exhalation as he slid his other hand down his immense side.
It strained his shoulder and left him wheezing, but he finally managed the seemingly impossible task of getting his hand between his legs. With some wriggling and the help of a foot lifted onto the truckâs stair, he was able to reach the warm center of his crotch, where his vaginal opening hid beneath layers of canvas and cotton.
âOkayâ ah- sh- shoot- okay, I can reach.â He hissed through his teeth. âBarely.â
âAlright, when you insert your fingers, do you feel your babyâs head?â
âUh⌠I canât do that. Iâm in overalls.â
ââŚCan you get them off?â
âOh.â He withdrew the hand from between his legs. âLet me see if I canâŚâ He reached for the clasp of his overall strap. Teeth clenched, he struggled with the little thing and cursed himself for not choosing something easier to get in and out of. Heâd barely been able to get the damn things off and back on when he took his bathroom break before the drive, and now, with his underbelly distended all the way to his pelvis by his descending child, the fabric was pulled far too sharply to get any leverage for lifting the clasps.
It wasnât until he heard a concerned, âDonât strain yourself,â over the phone that he realized he was making a thin, forceful noise in his throat, and his forehead was actually quite hot with the built-up effort. He let go of the strap with a huff and found himself panting.
âShit,â he said, then, âsorry. Shoot.â
âWhat happened?â
âI think Iâm stuck in my overalls. My- my bellyâs changed shape since I put them on, and itâs made them too tight. I canât undo the clasps now. Heck,â he added, with one last vehement pull of the denim strap. âOkay, okay, Iâve got shears with me, so- maybe I can cut myself out of them?â
âThat sounds like a good plan, as long as youâre careful.â
âRight.â He looked to his trunk, where he kept his tool kit.
Where it currently was not, because he took it inside for the job.
âOh, no,â he mumbled.
âWhat?â
âTheyâre inside. My tools are.â
âThatâs okay. It might seem difficult, but itâs recommended to walk during labor.â
Dave grimaced, but he knew from experience that the operator was right. The operator⌠âHey- sorry, I didnât ask your name.â
âOh! Uh, Henry.â
âNice to meet you, Henry. Iâm Dave.â
âDave, right. Hi, Dave.â
âHi. Iâm gonna stick you in my pocket while I head inside, okay?
âOkay. Just watch your step, you donât want to fall right now.â
âOkay, Hen.â
He looked up towards the house, considering the length of the journey, while he reached for his phone. Eyes elsewhere, he didnât realize he missed his pocket until he heard the case knock against the stair of the truck and hit the gravel below.
All instinct and pregnancy-brained impulse, he squatted down to pick it up. By the time he realized what he was doing, it was too late to change tracks; the enormous weight of his belly was already dragging him down. A helpless groan punched out of him as his legs hit their deepest squat and the weight inside him lurched down, straining his crotch, so low he was sure it must be just behind his pussy lips.
âOh, jeez,â he panted, âoh god, oh jeez, oh jeezââ
âDave? Dave, are you there?â The gravel made the speakerphone sound tinny and distant, like Henry was actually a small man hiding in the pebbles. âCan you hear me?â
âY-yeah,â Dave rasped.
âWhat happened?â
âJust- dropped my phone like a dummy. Happens. Iâve gottaââ
Tension plunged through his pelvis. He yelped, dwindling to a thin rasp as he tipped forward. He managed to catch himself with one hand against the car, while the other clutched at his belly, lumpy now as his locked-tight muscles shrunk around the emerging baby, and the one still waiting in his womb.
Then the claws in his back and the pressure in his hips and the noose around his belly all tightened at once, defied by the massive disruption in his core. A single thought remained in his head:
âNeedtopush.â
Over the blood roaring in his ears, he barely heard Henry saying, âNo, not yet, not yet, you need to get the overalls off first. Hear me? Donât push, you canât push yet!â
When he had found out he would be delivering twins at the ripe age of forty, Dave had immediately worried he wouldnât have the stamina to make it through labor, the possible hours of pushing.
He never would have guessed how difficult it would be not to push.
His throat caught on a loud, humming kind of moan, desperate to listen to his body, but he channeled the urge to push elsewhere and shoved his hand against the metal siding of the car until it dented with a thump. Despite his valiant effort not to move things along, he acutely felt his womb squeezing the baby lower, slowly, agonizingly stretching him until he was sure his whole birth canal was full.
Finally the contraction passed. Dave dropped forward onto his knees and scattered gravel as he reached thoughtlessly for the phone.
âDave? Dave, you there?â
âI didnât push,â he panted. âBut- the baby feels so low. Oh. Ohhh, Iâm so full. Ohhhhh god. I think sheâs gonna come on the next one whether I push or not.â He made a forlorn little sound in the back of this throat. âSheâs coming, her headâs gotta be coming soon, itâs so big, I can feel itââ
âDave, hey, donât panic, alright? I need you to try to feel through your overalls. Does your pubic region feel domed outward?â
Clumsily, he managed to get his hand down there. The area was sensitive, and the pain persisted, but the touch of his fingers barely agitated it. It all felt swollen, but then, it had for a few months now. âI donât think so?â
âOkay, that means you're not delivering the head yet. Can you breathe with me?â
Right, he was panting again. He rubbed his belly in slow, easy loops, and tried to breathe with the rhythm Henry was demonstrating on the other line. When he felt a bit more stable, he mumbled, âSorry, normally I donât lose my head like this, I just thought I had more time, andââ
âYouâre doing great, Dave. Just try to get to those shears as quick as you can, but donât hurt yourself, okay?â
Dave wanted to mutter something a little mean-spirited about how that was easy for Henry to say, since he didnât have the first of two babies filling his vagina, but instead he just grunted as he gripped the seat edge above him and started to drag himself upright.
Then: a strange snapping sensation inside him, a sudden release of pressure, and the baby slipped lower with a distinct feeling of becoming lodged, no longer an amorphous mass but now a very clear physical shape, complete with angles and edges wedged between his bones. He groaned, only to gasp at the sudden gush of moisture between his thighs. For a moment he thought heâd wet himself, but as the inseam of his overalls grew warm with more and more liquid, he knew what had happened.
âHooooh. Okay. Okay, looks like my water broke.â
âOh! Okay, thatâs alright, Dave. Nothingâs changed. Just get those scissors, okay?â
âOkaâayyyye, ohh hoh hoh. Wow.â
Apparently the amniotic sac had been doing a lot of work keeping baby where she was; as he stood completely, he found her so low that he couldnât believe she wasnât falling into his overalls. Which, based on how his pussy was burning, really seemed on the table.
He bent to one side with a groan and managed to get his hand between his legs again. The fluid had left everything clinging, and this time he felt it all more distinctively: the hill of his pubic fat stretched by what was happening inside of him, his engorged t-dick, the puffy folds that had been swelling by the day as he neared the end of his pregnancy. But when he spread his fingers and traced the area, cupped it in his handâŚ
âOkay, shoot, okay, the baby- uh- dropped a little when my water broke, and now I can feel the head. Not- not coming out yet, but- but Iâm all- starting to bulge, like you saidââ
âOkay, weâre gonna hurry up and get those shears, then, right?â
âRight. Right, yeah.â
It was, in fact, much easier said than done. Dave was hardly even walking anymore, his legs absurdly bowed around the growing burn, each step a heavy rocking motion as he fought the momentum of his belly. It wanted to propel him forward, pull him down.
Unfortunately, moving like so much molasses, he had nothing to do but reflect on his situation, and the indescribable pressure behind his cunt, and how it felt like his hips were being displaced by his trusty Black Widow pearl-reactive 12-pounder with the Predator V1 Asymmetric core. Then he thought about getting back into bowling for a moment before an innocuous step made his pelvic bones feel like they were grinding together, and he decided it was probably a bad time to think about his hobbies, since he was about to have two babies on his hands.
âAlmost there,â he wheezed, as much to Henry as to himself.
âGood job, Dave, youâre doing great.â
No sooner had he put his hand on the door knob than he began to feel the tightening in his back and belly again. âHoh, oh no, oneâs coming, a big oneâ ohhhhhâŚâ
He lifted his elbows and fell against them on the door, folding his forearms to have something to rest his head against, and to dig his nails into his own elbows. The pressure in his belly only grew, spreading down, locking muscles he didnât even know he had, steel forcing the unyielding mass in his pelvis even lower.
âOhhh I wanna push, I need to puuuush!â he groaned, but he didnât. He made strange, almost melodic noises as he rode out the urge, eyes welling, throat dry. The baby kept sinking lower. The steady burn in his cunt sharpened, and the sting spread to his perineum. He whined, his legs instinctively trying to close to get away, but unable to shut with the baby where she was.
Finally it passed, and as the white noise died in his ears, he heard Henry babbling something at him.
âI didnât push,â he whimpered.
âGood, thatâsââ
âDoesnât matter, it doesnât matter, the head is coming. Ohh, it burns. It really burns, sheâs coming, Iâm having her now!â He groaned as he struggled to get a hand between his legs again. Then he gasped. âOh, jeez. Oh, Iâm so full, everythingâs all pushed out, itâs bulging. It burns, it fucking burns, sheâs coming now.â
âAlright, Dave, you need to get to those shears, then. Get those shears and you can have your baby, okay?â
With his next step, he suddenly remembered a diagram he saw of a mother pushing, how the baby stretched her open from her depths to her lips, her birth canal so wide it looked like her womb reached right to her cunt. He felt that now, his whole person transforming into nothing but a passage for his baby.
Every instinct told him to stop right where he was and drop into a squat, to work with his bodyâs painstaking rearrangement, help it fulfill its purpose, and push. But the baby could get hurt if he delivered her into these overalls and they stayed stuck. He took a trembling breath and finally opened the door.
The house looked dangerous and dirty in a way it hadnât before, now that he knew he was about to give birth here. There were several renovation projects going on at once, the living room wallpaper being replaced and some superficial columns half-broken down, an unmounted mirror resting at a possibly hazardous angle against the wall. Random pieces of debris and loose screws littered the floor.
Dave whimpered gently as he trudged towards the kitchen.
âDave?â
âItâs a mess in here. Ugh, I wanted to have my babies at the hospital.â His next breath shuddered, eyes blurring with tears. âGod, I should have just gone when the contractions started, Iâm already a bad fatherâŚâ
âDave, best thing you can do for your babies right now is focus on finding those shears. Remember, the ambulance is on its way, okay?â
âRight,â he gasped, and wiped a hand roughly over his eyes. âRight, yeah, Iâm almost there. Hereâs theâ oh, oh, no, no, noââ
He just managed to get his hands on the kitchen counter before the next contraction wrested control of his body. His knees swayed apart and his back arched as his pelvis lowered. He heard himself making a loud, long, âHaaaaaaa,â sound that was somehow helping him bear the pain, but nothing could keep his body from beginning to bear down. He shook his head and panted, trying so, so hard not to push. But still the baby moved lower, and the burn somehow got worse, and his voice went raw as he cried out.
âDave!?â
âHurts! It hurts so bad! She must have crowned,â he whimpered. âOh, it hurts, it hurtsâŚâ he trailed into repetitious mumbling, frozen exactly where he was, feeling unable to move except to rock back and forth fruitlessly seeking relief. It felt like every bit of tissue was stretched to its limit, like a single shift would rip him open.
âDave, you need to get the shears now!â
âHmmmnnnnn⌠nnno- no, I canât, I canât,â he groaned. âHeadâs too big, I canâtâŚâ
âYou can, Dave, you have to. Where are they?â
He managed to peel his eyelids apart, the world blurry and throbbing. For a moment, he didnât even know where he was, or remember what he could possibly be doing other than delivering this baby. Something about⌠shears?
He glanced back at his tool box. The shear handles should have protruded from the outer pocket where he kept them, but he didnât see them.
Then he took a shaky breath and smelled the spackling. It came back to himâheâd used the shears to clip off a bit of hardened spackle at the spout of the bottle.
âRight. I left them under the sink.â Knees bowed awkwardly apart, he turned and began to stagger that way. With the solid form of his child dominating his hips, and the still-massive obstacle of his belly, he didnât trust himself to bend on his own without falling.
So, finally, he answered his bodyâs plea and squatted. The baby still in his womb pressed up into his diaphragm as he did, forcing a wheeze, but he managed to get there. The stretch of his overalls across his throbbing gash of a cunt only increased the agonizing pressure, and he had the dizzying thought that the firm canvas had pushed the baby back inside.
âOkay,â he panted, âalmost there.â He braced an arm on the counter above his head and slowly began to lean forward. A low groan trickled out of him as the tilt of his pelvis shifted the weight inside, at once a relief and an alarm as the pressure somehow increased.
âHoooooh god,â he groaned.
âDave?â
âSheâs coming out,â he mumbled.
âDo you have the shears?â
âYeah, theyâre right here. I just gottaâ Oh. Oh, I gottaâ Haa- hah- ho, ho noââ
The contraction was a force that could not be bargained with, so much pressure distilled into such a small space that suddenly nothing was left within him but a blind, instinctive need to push. He reared back to grab the counter lip with his other hand, dropped his chin to his chest, and finally, finally did what his body had been screaming at him to do: he pushed.
Everything in his upper body transformed into counter-pressure against the wrecking-ball presence in his hips, even the air in his lungs, forced low towards his abdomen. He pushed, face growing hot, heartbeat pounding in his ears, a thin, gravelly noise grinding in the back of his throat.
And he felt it, now; before, heâd been so certain each time that the scalp must have reached his lips, but now, he knew the head was the only explanation for the agony licking from his cock to his asshole. The pain eclipsed anything heâd experienced so far, devastating everything between his legs as it all bulged and deformed around his arriving baby.
The shock of his ruined pussy caught up with his breathless lungs, and suddenly he could push no more, forced to rasp in ragged, desperate gasps.
âOh, oh, oh,â he heard himself wailing, an attempt to say oh god unrealized in the desperation of childbirth.
ââave, Dave, whatâs happening!?â
âThe head!â he cried. âThe headâs coming out, augh, hmmmn, god, it hurts! Hurts so bad. Haaaaah.â Trying to escape the pain, he started to rock his hips, but that only tightened the canvas of his overalls against the babyâs headâand this time, he really did feel the resistance nudge it back inside. He locked still with a yelp.
âFuck! No, no, sheâs going back in, no, no!â
âThatâs okay, thatâs okay, Youâre doing so good, Dave, youâre almost there, you just need to get out of those overalls and then you can meet your baby. Can you see the shears?â
He whined a thin, affirmative sound.
âOkay, good, you need to get them, okay?â
The two feet between Dave and the shears might as well have been ten miles with the massive belly still hanging from him, and all of the muscles in his pelvis displaced by an entire body.
He whimpered. âMmmokay. Okay. I can do it. I just gottaâŚâ
Dave was, in general, a slow and methodical man. But he had never done anything more slowly and methodically than beginning to spread his feet apart now, lowering his already-too-low center of gravity. As his legs spread, the blaze between his thighs brightened and grew, and his throat produced a strange, continuously-breaking wobble he didnât know he was capable of, the kind of noise heâd expect from someone being dragged across concrete.
âDave?â
âMâbending.â His voice went especially thin as he bent further and the second twin was pushed deep into his lungs. âOhhhh theyâre too big. Theyâre too bigâŚâ
âYouâll be alright, Dave, just keep going, okay? Youâre doing so great. Youâre almost there.â
He dropped one of his hands from the counter overhead and slapped it on the floor of the cabinet, trying to steady himself. Pressure mounted in his lower back. He began to groan, then whimper as it grew, and grewâ
âOhhhh it hurts, it hurts, it- huuuurrrggghhhâŚ!â
There was no choice now but to push. He went totally silent, not even breath escaping him, trembling from his scalp all the way to his knees. Between his womb-stretched abs and the violently compressed muscles of his birth canal, it was like trying to pluck an elevator cable, expecting something held tense by thousands of pounds to budge.
But his body was made to do this. He pushed, and somehow he forced his child through, and his pussy lips stretched wider around the head, and finally he reached the end of his effort with a delirious, undignified yelp as the crowning child stayed wedged in his cunt.
Henry was saying something on the phone and Dave was pretty sure he wanted to say something back, but all he could think was that he felt like he was about to tear from all sides, his cock a white-hot point of tension, his distended perineum threatening to rip right open. But, despite the strain, his body held miserably solid.
Without thinking, he reached down between his legs. It was a little easier with his belly having lost some volume, squished easily by his stretching arm.
âOh,â he rasped. âOh my god. Oh wow. Okay.â
The center seam of his overalls bulged out obscenely. Gently, gasping, tears welling, he cupped the fabric stretched across the distended hill of flesh that used to be his crotch, and stroked the massive wet lump protruding in the center. As it was, he was fairly sure the baby would be eased back into his canal as opposed to being harmed by the rigid canvas, but he didnât want to take any chances.
âOkay,â he said, now a bit soggy. âBabyâs- hoooo- babyâs crowning. Head- headâs almost out. Iâm gonna. Gonna cut the overalls.â
Maybe it was the fact that he could feel his babyâs head under his fingers, or just the ecstatic relief of the end being in sight, but he suddenly noticed how much feeling was in Henryâs voice.
âThank you,â he groaned. âOh. Hmmm, hoh, okay. Here I go.â Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away from his baby and finally reached for the shears. They werenât even especially far, leaving him a little embarrassed at how cloudy heâd let his head get in the pain, but it didnât matter. He had them now.
Carefully, carefully, he eased his upper body back out of the cabinet. A high squeak tore from him as the change in angle nudged the baby forward ever so slightly, just enough to somehow strain his cunt further.
âAlright, Dave, how we doing?â Yeah, that was worry in his voice, wasnât it? How sweet.
âMâokay,â he panted. âHere goes. Cutting now.â
It was then, taking one strap of his overalls in hand, that he realized he didnât even need the freaking shears. The fastenings were loose now, his belly no longer the absurd blimp it had been with two amniotic sacs inside. With just one, he had plenty of slack to unhook the clasps. The overalls fell limply from his chest, though they still clung around the broadest part of his belly. His plain undershirt was transparent with sweat, showing the damp whorls of his chest hair and the dark peaks of his areolae puffing proudly atop his barely-swelling chest. True to his prediction, little spots of yellow clung to his long, enlarged nipples, his body eager to provide the babyâs first meal.
He took all this in as he caught his breath. âOkay, almost ouâ Oh! Oh no- oh thatâs so fast, I gottaââ He set the scissors at his side and grabbed at the counter again, sweaty fingers slipping on the marble. At this point he really thought he was getting into a rhythm, mastering this whole pushing thing, butâ
âHmmmmmmaaaAAAAAAAAGH!â
He stretched, and stretched, pussy lips humbled to ribbons of agony, a pain so potent it shot up through his guts right to his sinuses. But still he bore down, kept pushing, he could do it, for his baby, he had toâ!
The head burst out. A strangled cry of relief punched from his chest, dissolving into exhausted laughter as he noticed the emerging child had tugged his overalls the rest of the way over the crest of his belly. It sloped out from under his too-small undershirt in an odd pear shape, all of the volume gone from the top, the second twin all but resting on his thighs.
Trembling, he reached down and felt the head through his freshly drenched pants.
âDave?â
âI did it. Headâs out.â He panted. âHere, let- let meâŚâ He shimmied his overalls down a little lower, unable to get them off his legs, but able to expose his undercarriage enough to push his briefs down. It was much easier to reach around, now, making it simple to dip his hand between his thighs and findâŚ
âOh, hi there,â he gasped. A sob hitched through him, his cheeks suddenly aching with the force of his smile. âHi, sweetie, Papaâs here. Iâve got you.â He cupped her head, thinking both how incredibly small she was and how he couldnât believe he shoved a head that big out of him. Belatedly, he remembered to feel down around her neck, a chill of relief flooding his limbs when he found no cord around the neck.
âHooo, okay, headâs out, I think sheâs all good, and- oh! Ah.â He sucked air through his teeth. âKicking me still. Ouch. Ow.â He chuckled weakly. âYeah, sweetie, hold on a minute, okay? Need another contraction and then youâll have all the room you need, I promise.â
âGood, amazing job, man, thatâs so incredible. Youâre incredible.â Henry sounded a little breathless. âGood work.â
âNot done yet,â Dave mumbled, as the telltale windup of muscles told him the next contraction was building. âHere it comes. HeeeerrreâŚ. Nnnnnngggh!â
With the end in sight, Dave forced strength he didnât even know he had into bearing down, taking the strange feeling of the baby twisting inside his cunt in stride, his hand near and steady when he passed the first shoulder. His yelp of pain and the deep breath to replenish his air happened at the same time, making a very weird sound that he didnât have time to care about in his determination. He dropped his other hand from the counter ledge and let his shoulder fall against the cabinet door as he reached between his legs, and the sliver of voice forced through with his effort rose to a roarâ
And he pushed the other shoulder through. His daughter slid into his waiting hands in another gush fo fluid.
He gasped for breath, a little dizzy, and even though his body felt ruined, he didnât really mind collapsing on his soiled overalls with his back on the hard cabinets. He drew the baby up to his chest and tugged his shirt out of the way so he could press her to his skin, nuzzled to his heartbeat and wiry chest hair, his face close enough to duck and kiss her, not particularly caring about the sort of gross cheesy white stuff smeared all over her, even though some got on his mustache.
âHi, baby,â he gasped. âThere you are. Oh wow. There you are.â
After a few insistent pats on her tiny back, she coughed and started to cry, and he nodded along, laughing. âYeah, understandable, sweetie. I know. That was hard. Iâm sorry.â
âOh, wow,â came the voice from his phone. Heâd almost forgotten there was someone listening.
He laughed. âGood lungs, right?â
âGreat. Wow. Whew.â Poor guy. He probably usually didnât have these kinds of calls, coaching a guy through childbirth.
âThank you. Thank you so much. Donât know what I wouldâve done without you.â
âDonât mention it. Iâm just glad everybodyâs okay.â
Dave smiled; he couldnât agree more.
Still, while the baby suckled at his chest, he couldnât help but be painfully aware of her umbilical cord spilling over his still-pregnant belly, where her twin turned and kicked inside.
Thenâ
âHey, uh, Hen, how farâs that ambulance?â
âUhhh⌠ah. Forty minutes.â
âOkay,â he said, voice tightening. âOkay. Well. Iâ aaaah. Mhh. Yeah. I think her brother might- ah- he might get here before that.â
gruff, big old knight, captain of the guard, sneaking out to the forest multiple days a week and returning with a womb full of werebear seed
gruff, big old knight, growing round with a litter of werebear cubs, but stoically continuing his duties
whole court speculating as his beer belly gets suspiciously round, but he doesn't let on to anything
no one wants to bring it up, least of all him, so everyone gets used to an obviously pregnant knight, belly bulging with active cubs, sitting at every banquet, council meeting and jousting tournament, as if he didn't just waddle to his seat
this goes on for longer than anyone expected, as he carries three cubs around in his fat belly for a full year
until he disappears one day, and returns a week later as if the last year hadn't happened
three months later, he wakes up nauseous and instantly knows he's pregnant again
the rest of the court finds out not long after, as five cubs show much faster than three
So I often (OFTEN) think about that text post scenario about a weird emo guy pushing out his stoner boyfriendâs baby in a gross concert bathroom⌠so uhhh been working on this for a few days. Too big to not share but also Going hide in hole
Daddyâs touch swelled my belly, my hands petite yet cradling our precious cargo. my breasts, heavy with milk and need, strain against my pink shirt. iâm your ripe, fertile little girl, daddy, burdened with your love, aching for your touch. iâm your pregnant little baby doll, daddy. your little girl is bursting with love and life, all because of you, daddy ~
rapid pregnancies are so so hot,,, thinking about the obliviousness that comes with the slight bloating. you brush it off, not suspecting a thing. then your pants dig into your waist and you start to suspect something is off. the realization as you unbutton your pants and you notice that your belly is swelling. with what? who knows. all you can focus on is the uncomfortable feeling of your womb stretching around whatever was inside you. the groaning and whining that comes with the growth. you can't help the sounds you make as your belly feels like it's stretching you to your limits, pulsing deep inside of your womb. the fear as you feel like you can't grow anymore, yet your belly continues to push out. the temporary relief when the growing slows, only for something to press down on your pelvis, preparing to exit your full womb. what comes out and how many is a mystery.
holy paladin with a cursed pregnancy. as their belly grows, they get weaker and sicker. soon, they're too weak to get out of bed, gaunt and grey-faced, except for their round, fertile belly that's teeming with life. the paladin whimpers whenever a strong movement ripples across their taut skin. they don't know what they're carrying, but it can't be human.
