A story request: a girl in her early 20s is desperate for money and agrees to be a surrogate for an older couple. During the birth, the pain is awful and she can’t bear it and the couple is there but they are just really excited and happy. They barely take notice of her pain. The baby is really big, much too big for her small pelvis and she struggles a lot when pushing. The couple ignores her screaming and crying and are focused on the excitement of their baby being born, even when she grabs at them and begs them to help. Even the doctor seems a little indifferent to her and is casually talking to the couple. The couple hold her legs back and just keep telling her she needs to get it together and push.
The doctor needs to use forceps to get the baby to crown and shes screaming a lot. The pain is way worse than she anticipated. When she baby is coming out it’s tearing her badly and she is begging for help. Finally the baby is out and the couple acts like she isn’t even in the room as they are focused on their baby. She lays in the bed shaking with the pain she just went through and then shes stitched up by a doctor without meds while she cries.
It started as understanding. Not feeling, but awareness. Jenny’s immaculate birthing room, white-walled and pristine, stopped existing as four walls and began existing as merciless physics, with Jenny’s small twenty-two-year-old body as the violated variable. The contract, the money – how much had she actually been paid? It had danced mockingly through her thoughts leading up to this day, a swirling mirage of escape. But now it was a demon-summoning ritual and these were the final fees. She knew, instinctively, that this baby was not supposed to be here. Not now. Not this way.
Agnes and Charles’s baby boy was too big. Jenny was tiny, herself barely a child, with hips and a pelvis as narrow as a model’s. Their son was pushing eleven pounds, roughly the weight of an average nine month old fetus. There was no way his crushing weight, his skull molded thick and elongated by the forces of their particular cruelty, was supposed to be passing through her body. In reality, he wasn’t. The farther down he got, the more stuck he became, suctioned into what should have been a perfect seal of skin and bone.
Agnes and Charles were stationed, handsome and patient, near the foot of the bed. Agnes wore a cream silk blouse that seemed to defy friction or stress. Charles had been considerate enough to charge his phone before the birth. They smiled at Jenny, those hawk eyes sliding off her sweaty sheen to rest on the Everest of her abdomen.
A contraction gripped her. It was indescribable. There was no tidal wave or ripping feeling – it was simply her body comprehending how tightly her newborn son had screwed her into the mattress. Jenny’s back cracked off the bed boards. Her silent scream echoed somewhere inside her rib cage. Her nails dug into the scratchy hospital blanket. Pressure released from her abdomen with agonizing sluggishness and she sobbed hysterically before her lungs could catch her airless breath. “He’s too big,” she choked out, salty and garbled. “He’s not moving. It doesn’t feel right. I can feel him breaking me.”
Agnes moved closer, wafting some kind of vanilla roses perfume over the hospital-grade sanitizer scent. “Every mother thinks that at some point during labor, dear. It’s called transition. Just means you’re almost there.” She ran a cool hand over Jenny’s fevered brow. The possessive touch crawled down Jenny’s body and settled ice picks into her soul. “Try to enjoy this beautiful gift you’re giving us.”
The urge to push was overwhelming. There was no gentle telling from her body to push against the burning sensation in her legs. It was totalitarian, hijacking her muscles and lungs and vocal cords and squeezing until she sobbed and strained and screamed obscenities into the air. She pushed and something burning, something clawingly white-hot and singularly focused, split open inside her. The unforgiving ring of her child’s head meeting hers felt like a grenade going off inside her genitals.
Charles triumphantly hoisting his phone into the air so he could capture the victory with its red recording light winking at her soul. “Look at her work ethic, Agnes!”
Jenny pushed until constellations exploded behind her eyes. Pushed until the blood vessels in her sclera ruptured and freckled her vision with cherry blossom rain. She pushed until she felt definitive pressure but no progress. She felt the head stop moving forward, suctioned like some macroscopic cork. Panic clawed its way through her pain into her bloodstream, icy and white-knuckled.
“HE’S STUCK!” Jenny yelled, horrified animal noises scraping past her throat. “I can’t feel him moving anymore! PLEASE!”
She twisted to her side, wild hand shooting out and grasping at Charles’s forearm. Her nails, bitten down to sharp crescents, dug through his expensive wool blazer. “Charles! Something’s wrong! He’s stuck, please help me!"
Charles pursed his lips at the crumpled sleeve of his blazer. He carefully removed his arm from Jenny’s grasp, his touch politely firm. “Listen to the doctor, Jenny. You’re doing great. We’re almost there. You’re fine.” His eyes did not meet Jenny’s distraught pupils. Instead they flitted between her open legs and the monstrous bulge of darkened flesh.
Dr. Evans strode into her existence like an appliance technician. He checked. “Looks like we’ve got complete arrest with poor descent,” he muttered at the ceiling tiles. “Heavy cephalopelvic disproportion with late decelerations. We need to get this baby out quickly.” His eyes finally flicked to Charles and Agnes. “There’s only one way to accomplish this now.”
“No! NO!” Jenny spit hysterically. The mere thought of surgical instruments made her queasy. Medieval, cathedral-esque torture devices sprang to mind at the mention of forceps. “Can’t you just…cut me? There’s gotta be another way to get him out!”
“I’m afraid you’re too far along for a C-section,” Dr. Evans replied, already holding out a gloved hand for the forceps nurse. “Baby boy is too far down. We need to get him out now.”
The sound of those forceps being assembled on the sterile tray was like fingernails on a chalkboard. Evil, shining torture devices masquerading as medical equipment. Dr. Evans pressed them inside of Jenny. She felt like she was being filled with frosty toothpicks.
He twisted. Adjusted them.
Slow, deliberate clunks drilled through Jenny’s already pulverized pelvis as Dr. Evans slowly locked the forceps into place around their son’s head.
He pulled.
Jenny let out a sound she didn’t know her body was capable of producing. The kind of protracted, ululating scream reserved for the nightmares of abattoirs. It felt like her vocal cords were being flayed alive. There was no coordination to it. The forceps only ripped. There was no relief. Only immense mechanical advantage levering her completely alone against her weakest points.
She felt her pubic symphysis crack. The joint at the front of her pelvis gave out with a bloody twang.
“AGHHHH! DON’T YOU TOUCH HIM! YOU’RE BREAKING ME IN HALF! ” Jenny thrashed against Charles and Dr. Evans, her body instinctually trying to reject the incomprehensible monster wrenched inside her.
“Please someone hold her down,” Dr. Evans said evenly, applying even more aggressive force with each passing second.
Agnes and Charles scrambled out from their dream positions on the sidelines. Gone were the gentle hands and soft smiles. Charles and Agnes became bookends pinning Jenny to the bed as their beautiful child inched his way to freedom. Agnes pressed her entire bodyweight up against Jenny’s right thigh, forcing her leg perilously close to her shoulder.
Jenny squeezed her eyes shut and envisioned ripping those stupid forceps off and throwing them across the room. The arching stretch across her hips as her son was wrenched free was a second wave of debilitating agony. She felt exposed. Splayed for the taking, revealing the most intimate parts of herself to strangers.
Jenny shook her head violently. Wet tears and sodden sweat plastering her eyebrows together. “Agnes… please… make him stop… please… he’s hurting…me… IT’S TEARING…”
Agnes stared directly at Jenny for less than a second before looking past her.
“Please Jenny,” Agnes snapped, white knuckles tightening around Jenny’s right calf. “Baby’s heart rate is decelerating. You have to push with the doctor. Quit screaming and PUSH!”
The sensation of her baby boy crowning was ripping organs from their sockets. Jenny may as well have been in Hell at that moment. Attempting to vocalize anything other than her son’s name was futile. She had nothing left to scream with.
She felt it slip past her lip, stretching her insides out like a child’s balloon animal. Stretch and snap. God that noise still haunted her.
The burning rip of her son sliding through her birth canal was the best way Jenny could describe it. It felt like she was being branded by his crude, unchecked passage.
One new, warm, ripping sensation later and Jenny fully understood what her son meant when he slid freely out from between her legs. It felt like every fabric of herself was tearing from her body. Muscle. Flesh. Soul. As Jenny clawed and screamed and begged for someone to save her, she heard the familiar plop of his umbilical cord being cut. She heard his vehement cry. Loud, healthy, infuriating.
She rolled her eyes towards the source of noise.
Charles and Agnes were facing the warming table, their son coated head-to-toe in vernix and blood, was settled gently on Agnes’s chest. They were mumbling to each other, kissing each other, kissing their baby’s crusty head. Both turned away from Jenny in one exorcised movement, forming a solid brick wall of betrayal separating mother from son.
“He’s… out?” Jenny croaked, battered mess that was once her voice. “Did…did he come out?”
They didn’t hear her over Charles’s shouts into his phone. Charles was already laughing, tears welling in his eyes as he stared directly between Jenny’s legs. “He’s here! He’s finally here! Nine pounds eleven ounces! A fighter!” Jenny couldn’t hear anymore.
Dr. Evans knelt down between Jenny’s swollen legs like a butcher inspecting a rib cage. “Well that was quite the little struggle.” He said to no one in particular except for his nurse, scribbling notes on a clipboard. “Fourth degree tear. We’ve got full thickness tears through the perineum, through her anal sphincter, and into her rectal mucosa. Good amount of debris as well.”
Jenny yelped as she felt another tug, another ruthless stitch between her legs. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Oh just repairing some minor damage Jenny.” Dr. Evans said distractedly, eyes still glued to the carnage that was her lady garden. “You did get local on that end there. You’ll feel some tug.”
Her local was a joke. Like throwing a bucket of water on a house fire. Each stitch seared through Jenny like shards of glass. Not only could she feel the needle prick through layers upon layers of vaginal mucosa, but she could feel the surgeon’s tug as he used Jenny’s ruined insides to re approximate her rectum and vaginal opening. It was pornographic. Private. Personal. Too much.
If being forceps delivered by some stranger wasn’t enough, Jenny was being personally mutilated by yet another complete stranger.
She writhed underneath Charles and Agnes’s wasted grips. Tears silently spilled onto the bed as she cursed herself internally for ever getting pregnant in the first place.
Forty-five minutes later, Jenny was sewn back together like a discarded butcher’s puppet. By then the physical sutures would have dissolved and Jenny could forget about the obscene permanence of them. They were irrelevant compared to the rip expanding across her heart as Charles and Agnes oohed and ahhhed over their new bundle of joy across the room.
They were laughing and snapping photos, their backs turned to Jenny as if she was contagious, as if cooing over their newborn son’s jaundiced skin wasn’t the only cause of her ruin.
Her ruin.
The doctor finished applying the last suture, clipped his scissors with a satisfying snap. Smiled at Jenny like he enjoyed his work. Or worse yet, like he didn’t eat women like her for breakfast on the regular.
A guy gets knocked up by some highly toxic alien species, but their able to control it so they don’t hurt him or make him sick. Unfortunately, the babies have absolutely zero control over their toxins and just endlessly pump it out. After only a couple weeks, his belly is swelling up like crazy, not just because of the baby, but also the fact that he’s basically having a belly-centric allergic reaction 24/7. His stomach is beet red, hot, and so tight and swollen that it’s hard to the touch. He feels like his insides are on fire, but his skin is so inflamed and tender that any attempts to relieve the pressure or the itching make him feel like his belly is going to split like an overripe melon. As the pregnancy progresses; the baby gets bigger, pumps out even more itchy, toxic goop, and makes him worse. His belly breaks out with agonizing, golf ball sized hives at least once a day. They’re so tight and swollen that they feel like they’d burst from the slightest touch, and it takes every fiber of will power to resist the urge to scratch them. He goes through dozens of bottles of antihistamines and creams to try and reduce the itching and inflammation, but it barely does anything. Finally, after 9 agonizing months, he goes into labor. The fluids in his womb are so saturated with the toxin that when his water breaks, his birth canal swells shut within minutes. Doctors try to dilate him, but any time he opens up even the tiniest amount, another gush of inflammatory, poisonous fluid pours out; leaving the doctors hands covered in hives, and him, once again swollen shut. Finally, after dozens of hours, they finally manage to keep him open long enough to get the baby out, and within a couple hours they’re happily babbling and flapping they’re hands; completely oblivious to the 9 months of hell they’d put their dad through.
THIS IS SO GOOD I LOVE THIS IDEAAAA like how baby snakes don't know how much venom to use when they bite but in the womb and a hundred times worse. Suffering horribly for 9 long months and then being unable to give birth for days because his birth canal swells shut and his doctors cant figure out a way to stop it. They end up having to force him open with forceps and insert a device that stretches him unnaturally wide, turning him into a sobbing wailing mess as they finally tell him to push and he desperately tries to bare down.
The built up pressure on top of the contractions crushing his swollen belly is torture, making his vision go white with pain when he pushes. He screams and begs the doctors to pull it out, but with the creature so close to being born, they have to keep their distance to avoid coming in contact with the toxin. Once his birth canal is pried open, he receives no more help in delivering, and all he can do is push and hope that he can give birth before his body succumbs to the overload of toxins
You want a home birth, but your anxious partner, for their own peace of mind, insisted you go to the hospital to deliver your breech baby; even though you know it'll be an easy birth.
After 6 hours of sitting in the waiting room and 2 hours in a crispy hospital bed, you reach transition - and you spend what feels like an eternity with a bitchy nurse insisting you're not allowed to push until the doctor arrives. She won't let you move, she won't let you push, all you can do is sob as you feel your baby trying to force its way out of you.
Suddenly the doctor arrives with a team - Without much more than a 'hi i'm so-and-so' they force you into stirrups and begin to prod at your aching vagina with gloved hands. Immedieately, they shove a wire up your birth canal and break your water. That's the final straw as your overstimulation peaks and you break into a full on panic attack.
They scream at you to relax, they tell you the baby's coming, they tell you to breathe. They shove an oxygen mask on your face and you think you're going to throw up or pass out. The pain is enormous. The baby is coming.
Your partner is beside you, gripping your hand and telling you it's going to be okay, but you don't want to do this. You don't want to give birth here. You can't bring yourself to push your baby out into the hands of this cruel doctor. He's going to hurt your baby.
All you can do is sob and cry as your birth canal is molested by unsympathetic fingers. "I need to move," you whimper. "I need to change positions! I can't give birth like this!"
The doctor ignores you. "Your baby is breech - if you don't start pushing, we're going to have to perform a caesarian section." he says.
"NOOO!" you wail. "STOP TOUCHING ME! LEAVE ME ALONE!"
"You have to push!" shouts the evil doctor.
Everything is wrong. You can't. You couldn't push if you tried. You want to flip onto all fours. If you could only flip over onto all fours, you're sure the baby would shoot right out. You can feel it.
"Listen to me- please-" you try to look the doctor directly in the eye, but you can't really see through the glare of hospital lights on the tears in your eyes.. "I need to flip over. I need to move. I can't push."
"You can't. That's not how it works. You have a needle in your back and you can't flip over. You have to push."
"But- I don't have an epidural?"
He seems to ignore you again. "You NEED to push."
you wish he'd shut up. You DO need to push. You could have fucking told him that. You try to take things into your own hands and flip over by yourself. Your huge swollen belly and the raging contractions wracking it make it challenging, but maybe you can-
Suddenly there's a nurse at each knee holding your legs back, restraining you so you can't move. "LET ME GOO! NNNGHH!"
Your partner looks so pathetic and sad as he stares at you. He's convinced himself this is right, this is how it works. That this is the necessary evil of childbirth. He's wrong, and he's traumatizing you for his own foolish comfort. Maybe he'll realize by the end of this.
You have no choice. You're as stuck, restrained and claustrophobic as the child still in your belly. You take a deep breath and lay backwards as you prepare to try to deliver.
The doctor positions himself between your tethered legs. He shoves his fingers deep inside your birth canal and nudges your legs open with his elbows.
"Okay, let's get some fundal pressure on here." he says to one of the assistants, as he reaches for a pair of forceps.
I didn't realize, really, what I'd agreed to when I signed the form for the forceps but at that point I wasn't really in any state to be making decisions at all.
I'd been in labor for 57 hours, 44 of them after the epidural I planned for -- and begged for -- failed to do anything at all. But I had the needle in my back so, by hospital policy, I was tethered to the bed for the whole labor anyway, unable to do much more than flip my aching, bloated frame from side to side and pray for it to be over.
Transition was worse than I could have ever possibly imagined. It was like a vice wrapped around my hips and lower belly, crushing the bones of my pelvis into dust every 90 seconds, lasting for over a minute, with mere seconds of rest between each onslaught. At the one hour mark of this agony I overheard, over the sound of my own screams, an OB nurse say she'd never seen a transition this tough go on this long.
So violent was my son's drop into my pelvic girdle and the sudden, overwhelming pressure to push that I screamed "he's breaking me, OH MY GOD, my MY HIPS, MY ASS, IT HURTS SO BAD!"
I wasn't one of those moms who felt empowered when I was told I could start pushing. On the contrary, I knew from the second I started bearing down and felt my tailbone creak that something was very wrong. I knew with every fiber of my being that my child was way, way too big to come out of me and me be left intact.
"Cut him out, oh dear God, please, please, I feel like I'm gonna die, I can feel my pelvis GRINDING, MY ASSHOLE OH GOD MY ASSHOLE, oh God please, I can't take it anymore, please GET HIM OUT!"
That's when they handed me the form for the forceps. I signed so fast they were putting me up in stirrups before the clipboard was even out of my hands.
All the sudden I felt a freezing cold liquid dousing my pussy lips and a gloved hand entering my hole. At first it was a rimming and then, without warning, it felt like I was being roughly fisted. I didn't even have a chance to object, though, before a contraction was gripping me and I could do nothing but screech as it forced my massive baby deeper into my overloaded birth canal.
I think they must have told me they had to cut me as part of the procedure but I never expected them to do it during a contraction or without numbing me. I felt the scalpel slicing through my tender tissues and, almost immediately, the unimaginable searing agony of a metal spatula being forced into my overstuffed birth tube.
I was shaking so hard in the stirrups that I had a nurse on either side, forcing my thighs into the cold metal. The second spatula going in, impossibly, was so much worse than the first. There was no room left and, to add insult to injury, I could feel my son, wedged firmly in my hips kicking hard, adding to my overall misery.
I was too out of it, in too much distress, to be extended the courtesy of knowing what was going on down there. They didn't even tell me when they were going to pull the head out so the utter destruction of my perineum, urethra, and asshole -- which felt like a grenade had gone off in my nethers -- was a complete and total surprise.
"I'M RIPPING, MY PEE HOLE, OH MY GOD, MY PEE HOLE TORE!"
The severity of my injuries immediately rippled through the room and I felt an oxygen mask being placed over my face. A nurse was trying to talk to me but my vision was tunneling. I'm ashamed to say I couldn't even think of my baby, all I could focus on was the unbelievable agony between my legs.
The shoulders, well, I was already ripped so bad you would think it couldn't get any worse but, it turned out, one piece of me had been spared. But, my premonition had been correct: this birth would destroy me down there forever. When he turned, the left shoulder almost entirely detached my clitoris.
My eyes rolled back in my head and I could feel myself start to vomit from the sheer agony of it all. They were turning my head to the side to keep me from aspirating as they pulled the rest of his body out.
The massive gush of fluids as he left my body was a new level of pain. My gruesome tears stung as it kept coming, coating my thighs and the floor.
My vision started to go black as I felt a gloved hand examining what used to be my genitals. I could only sob as I clenched down painfully on nothing, the continuous leak of birth fluids searing through my ripped skin. I could hear voices around me but I'd lost the ability to follow the plot.
"Her clitoris is hanging on by a thread."
"She's going to need a total urethra repair."
"Call plastic surgery. She's gonna need a lot more than that."
Before I lost consciousness, I heard someone say my son was fine and he'd weighed in at 19lbs.
My poor pussy clenched down on nothing again and I let out a pitiful wail. A nurse near my head stroked my hair and tried to reassure me I'd be under anesthesia soon. I was in so much pain I had no dignity left.
"Please, put something in my pussy, oh God, it hurts so bad. Please, it hurts when it clenches, OH GOD PUT ME OUT."
The last thing I felt before losing consciousness was a gloved first shoving through my tears and settling, as I'd asked, in my overstretched hole. I moaned pitifully, so badly injured that this one tiny mercy felt like a blissful relief.
The last thing I heard was a male voice, full of awe and a bit of mirth.
"You'd think she'd never want anything inside her again!"
Imagina un hombre delgado y embarazado con un bebé de 12 libras, el médico le exige que puje, pero el pequeño hombre solo puede gritar mientras dice que sus caderas se rompen, las enfermeras le ignoran y el médico pide que empujen su vientre, él solo grita y grita, rogando en su cabeza porque paren, mientras su conciencia va y viene, el parto se extiende durante dos horas hasta que el médico pide los fórceps, él pequeño hombre empieza a sacudirse en su agonía mientras observa a una enfermera trayendo tales instrumentos, las demás lo sostiene fuertemente a los estribos, sus cuerdas vocales se rompen cuando la primera pinza es insertada, su espalda se arquea y su enorme bulto sobresale, cuando la segunda pinza es insertada el hombre está en la inconsciencia y desea internamente por permanecer allí, hasta que siente sus caderas separarse y la espantosa quemadura cuando la cabeza comienza a coronar, su cuerpo tiembla sin parar y aún con su voz rota continua gritando, pensó que al fin todo acabaría cuando el médico le grito que la cabeza saldría, el hombre estuvo a punto de empujar por lograr liberarse del dolor hasta que lo sintió y por primera vez desde que comenzó el parto grito palabras coherentes “¡MI PENE SE ESTA ROMPIENDO, DETENTE, DETENTE POR FAVOR!” En medio de un momento negligente la rasgadura se había dirigido a sus bolas y aún así no fue suficiente “AHHHHHHHHHH” La cabeza salió junto con diferentes fluidos, entre esos la sangre por el desgarro, los hombros salieron junto con un horrible sonido y aún cuando el resto del bebé salió no sintió un verdadero alivio “Tendremos que coserlo inmediatamente” escucho a la vez que veía como alejaban a su bebé, mordió sus labios y estrujó las sábanas al sentir la aguja atravesar su maltratado culo.
English=
Imagine a thin, pregnant man with a 12-pound baby, the doctor asks him to push, but the little man can only scream as he says that his hips are broken, the nurses ignore him and the doctor asks them to push his belly, he just he screams and screams, praying in his head because they stop, while his conscience comes and goes, the labor lasts for two hours until the doctor asks for the forceps, the little man starts shaking in his agony while observing a nurse bringing such instruments , the others hold it tightly to the stirrups, its vocal cords break when the first clamp is inserted, its back arches and its huge bulge protrudes, when the second clamp is inserted the man is in unconsciousness and wishes internally to remain there , until he feels his hips separate and the terrible burn when the head begins to crown, his body trembles without stopping and still with his broken voice continues screaming, he thought that Finally, everything would end when the doctor shouted that the head would come out, the man was about to push for freedom from pain until he felt it and for the first time since the birth began, he shouted coherent words “MY PENIS IS BREAKING , STOP, STOP PLEASE! ” In the middle of a negligent moment the rip had been directed to his balls and still was not enough “AHHHHHHHHHH” The head came out together with different fluids, between those blood by the tear, the shoulders came out together with a horrible sound and even when the rest of the baby came out he did not feel a real relief “We will have to sew it immediately” I listen while watching his baby move away, he bit his lips and squeezed the sheets when he felt the needle pierce his battered ass.
I know there are mistakes, my English is very bad, I’m ashamed to use bad means for translations, but I hope you enjoy it as well, again, I’m sorry
Author's Note: This is 18+ kink content. This is fetish fiction about a very difficult hospital birth that results in injury to the birthing person.
Violet had made over half a million in sponsorship deals during the nine months of her pregnancy, hawking prenatal gummies and morning sickness remedies then baby clothes and hot nursery items to her followers right up until the first contractions started. She’d done it in her trademark raven braid and full face of designer makeup, modeling maternity outfits in between bump checks in increasingly tight Lululemon leggings.
She spent so much time, in fact, on her brand deals and remodeling the nursery – sponsored by Sherwin Williams – and pretaping content to fill the (surely short) recovery time after birth, that she hadn’t thought much of the actual birth at all. Sure, she’d made a video about her intent to birth naturally and to breastfeed but her mind had mostly been on the after, when she had to quickly get back in shape to maintain her follower counts while also taking care of a newborn.
Which is probably why, after only dilating 6 inches in 32 natural, epidural free hours, she was on the brink of losing her mind. Exhausted, in what felt like endless agony, she also felt like she’d tried every position to lessen the pain and the only conclusion she came to was that, no what position she was in, the pain was clearly going to last forever.
Her husband and fellow influencer, Jonathan Charles, spent the hours while his partner labored going live on TikTok, answering followers questions, while Violet whimpered pitifully in the background. But, almost to her surprise, he spent plenty of time with his phone put away in his chest pocket, he sat by her side and experienced labor with her. He even got the nurse to show him how to check how far dilated she was.
In the middle of the 34th hour, Violet’s contractions starting ramping up to a level of pain she previously hadn’t know possible. Her back was lanced through with a hot spike of agony every time a contraction peaked and they were lasting longer now, two minutes at one count. She got about 30 seconds of relief before another one rolled right on top of it and she was screaming again.
“Oh, God, it hurts, it hurts, God, help me please,” she moaned, curling her body on its side the best she could around her huge bump and her painfully swollen breasts. She’d kept a sports bra on until now, under her hospital gown. Up until hour 25 she’d been able to film short updates for her followers about the progress of her labor and wanted to keep it somewhat dignified.
Now, though, in the throes of transition, she didn’t give a shit what she looked like. Her makeup was smeared across her red, sweaty face, her hair in disarray. And suddenly, at the end of another blindingly long and painful contraction, she needed her bra off. She couldn’t take the feel of it for another second.
“Jonathan, get this bra off me now,” she bellowed, and he had to put his phone in his shirt pocket to come and carefully untie her hospital gown, slip it down her shoulders, and unclasp the fastener. Her breasts, a surgically inclined DD, spilled over on to her massive orb of a stomach, her huge areolas dark and rippling with the weight of the milk inside.
He couldn’t resist a quick feel of the left one, under the swell, a quick finger across her nipple. It was like he’d struck her the way her body bucked in his arms. She let out a weary, agonized moan as her hand flew to her belly.
She was soon screeching as she doubled over, suffering the most intense contraction yet. She sobbed as it lingered, begging for pain relief, for someone to pull the baby out of her, for merciful death.
As the pain ebbed slightly, her husband whispered a soft apology into her hair and she clutched the mattress with both hands, deep sobs wracking her body.
On the next contraction she felt an enormous shift as the baby abruptly dropped into her birth canal. She let out a cry when the sudden pressure settled violently in her bottom.
“I need to push, she declared, the impulse now so intense she couldn’t imagine anything else ever existed. Nurses scurried around her, putting her legs in stirrups, taking the table out from underneath, and preparing sheets and towels for the birth. “I’m gonna push now, OH MY GOD MY ASS!!”
Her experience pushing was a cruel one, lasting almost an hour against what was becoming clear was a baby that was too large for the passage. Every time she pushed it was like the bones in her pelvis creaked in warning. She was starting to drift in and out of consciousness as the pain assailed her, weak from laboring and then pushing for so long.
Finally, the doctor sat down near her head, got her attention, and told her she had two options: forceps or an emergency c-section. She was too out of it from pain and exhaustion to really understand her options but her husband weighed in, telling her it would be better for views if she was awake right after the birth rather than recovering from surgery.
So she signed the forms necessary for the intervention and zoned out in a haze of pain as her body was prepped for the procedure. Her pushes had become ineffective and it was agonizing to have to endure the contractions with no way to give in to the urge to push.
She was fully naked now, her huge breasts splayed across her chest as she was tilted backward so the stirrups could be adjusted higher. An oxygen mask was placed gently across her face as a nurse explained what would happen next: the numbing then the episiotomy, the way the doctor would place the forceps into her cervix around the baby’s head and pull as she pushed. She’d deliver the placenta, get a husband’s stitch, and be set to go before her 8pm scheduled live. Or so she planned out in her head.
The nurse held her hand as she whined when the needle went in the number her for the cut. She grimaced when the scalpel cut into her skin; she was numb but it still felt weird knowing he was slicing into her pussy.
The positioning of the first forcep was, perhaps, the most excruciating thing she’d experienced until now. Her hips and pelvis felt like they were going to snap and there was no room in her stuffed hole with the baby in there. She struggled against the pain, forcing the nurses to strap her into the stirrups and hold her arms down.
When the doctor was finally able to start pulling, Violet screamed more than she pushed as the doctor worked to free the huge baby. He was finally able to move it down just above her lips in a tug that led to her immediately being hit with the ring of fire. She bucked her body back against the sudden pain and popped the forceps free of her opening in the process.
She was a sobbing, agonized mess as the nurse explained she had to push the baby the rest of the way out. Jonathan was at her head, hand on her shoulders, whispering encouragement when the next contraction hit.
She tucked her chin to her chest and bore down into her bottom, screaming at the way it stretched her skin to the limit. It went on like that for 4 or 5 pushes before she turned her exhausted face up to Jonathan and pleaded with him to help her.
“I can’t do it, babe. He’s too big. I’m in so much pain, she moaned. “Please help me. I can’t do it.”
He patted her shoulder comfortingly as another contraction started building and she was taken by the surge of pain, wailing her effort. Her mighty push inched the baby through her opening, his face wedged suddenly, very painfully against her clitoris.
“Oh my God, my clitoris! Holy fuck my clitoris hurts so bad!” She flailed on the bed, trying to nudge the baby off the poor little nub. She wailed her partner’s name as another contraction took her and she started moaning once again.
At what looked like the peak of the pain, he reached out and tweaked her left nipple. Hard.
It had the same effect as it had earlier. The contraction doubled in intensity and Violet suddenly felt like she was breaking in half when the force of it propelled her baby’s head out of her pussy with an ominous cracking sound. She knew immediately the severity of what had just happened.
“MY PUSSY BROKE! OH MY GOD, I FELT MY PUSSY BREAK!”
The next few minutes were a blur of doctors and nurses rushing to get the baby out of Violet as quickly as possible. She was splayed in the middle of the hive of activity, eyes glassy and a large, bloody head hanging from her swollen, ravaged pussy. Her tits bounced listlessly as the doctors struggle to free the shoulders. The sound she makes when it’s finally pulled from her broken pelvis, through the deep tears through her and anus and clitoris that resulted from the effort it took to get the shoulders out, was like nothing the even the most veteran of medical staff in the room had ever heard.
Jonathan, relegated to the edge of the room, watched while the medical team assessed the wounds to his wife gaping sex and prepared to help her deliver the placenta. In his chest pocket, there were now 75,000 viewers who’d watched the whole ordeal live on his channel. The comments were full of people exclaiming how the moment the baby shot out of her was the hottest thing they’d ever seen.
He didn't know he was becoming even more of a legend as he kept the live going while Violet cried while the placenta was delivered and pleaded for someone to give her something for the pain in her pussy before they wheeled her up to surgery.
In the end, he would never be able to get the brand deals his wife did, the following he developed the day his first child was born too niche and taboo for advertisers to want to be seen trying to reach. But he’d ride on the fame on the internet for years as the man who livestreamed his wife's agonizing delivery and broke her pussy when he tweaked her tit while she was crowning.
421.1. A request: The Queen of a nation is about to give birth to the next heir to the throne. Naturally such an event can’t take place in her private chambers, instead she must give birth in a public space, for the court and commoners to see. Bonus points if she has to be restrained in some way.
A Crown for a Queen
A Valiantremnant original
Pre-Story notes: Oh did this prompt ever inspire me. I initially planned on doing a fun little short story, but as I went, I wound up expanding and expanding (lol) until I got to where the story is now. I might do more with this world, but who knows. Now, quick note, due to the nature of this story, it's not very dialogue heavy. I tried to break it up as best as I could, but if I put a ton of dialogue in it, the main character would mostly be talking to herself, and given the setup here, (some dehydration) that isn't really a good idea.
In Konur, tradition insisted on a public birth of every royal child. Every. One. It had started over one thousand years ago when a changeling had sought to overthrow the royal line by replacing a newborn heir. Or by supplanting the queen. The exact reasons have been lost to history. But to prevent such a thing from happening with his children, King Okdar had his wife, Queen Anya, give birth where all could see, and all could vow that the child was indeed born to them. The method passed on to their children, and their children. A proof becoming tradition, the site of Queen Anya's labors becoming a great amphitheater. And from then on, every queen, and every princess in line to become queen would give birth in the same place, bound and visible for all. For all to see that the child born was indeed born of the queen, and for all to see the strength of their queens, to see that they had the strength to be the shield of the people of Konur. When Queen Valaina's water had broken that morning, word had immediately gone out, alerting the nobles and visiting dignitaries who had travelled weeks ago for the royal birth. Valaina had married into the royal family, and while she knew of the birthing ritual, she had never seen it before, much less thought that she would be given the honor of going through it herself. The noble houses had similar traditions, but those were usually attended by close friends and family only, nothing like the affair of a royal birth. Once the word had gone out, the royal midwife had arrived, examining Valaina and letting her know that she was only about halfway dilated, and that there would be plenty of time to arrive at the amphitheater. Valaina knew that she should have gone to see it before today, but since the tragic death of her husband, King Helbrun, she had been too busy tending the affairs of state. But now as she entered the vaulted Queen's Entrance of the amphitheater, she wished she had visited at least once. She passed carved statues, each one of a woman. As she had contractions passing them, she paid them little mind, but the odd detail struck out at her as she passed. Some were carved in obsidian, most were done in marble. Some glittered with gemstones, others were plain. Some had objects in their hands, others were empty handed. "Oh gods! Ow!" She groaned, stopping by one of the statues and gripping the edge of the alcove that held it. The contraction that held her now was fierce and made her legs shake with the effort of her womb. "Come Valaina," Marne, Helbrun's aunt called, "You can't well give birth in here, can you?"
Marne was a stuff sort of woman, with very strict ideas of propriety. Ever since the deaths of Helbrun, and both of his parents, she had been appointed by the court to be Valaina's guide into the politics and traditions of the royal family. Politics that she thought she knew from her own family's proximity to the crown, but much of it was new and strange to her. Valaina's own family, the Karroks, had been mired in political scandal shortly after her own wedding to Helbrun, and since his death, Valaina could tell that she was something of a controversial figure. Commoners and nobility alike were torn on whether to side with her or against her. A civil war seemed unlikely, but political difficulty was the norm for her these days. "If... I...GAH! Have to..." Valaina panted. "Tsk tsk," None of that, come on," Marne said, coming to her side and helping her upright, making Valaina gasp in pain as she straightened. She leaned heavily on Marne was they walked to a small chamber at the end of a series of empty alcoves that awaited statues. "Now, that's fine in here, but once you go out there, you'll have to walk alone." "Alone? What?" Marne shook her head, "I suppose with everything else going on, you haven't managed to learn about this ritual, have you?" Valaina shook her head and Marne explained. "You are carrying the heir apparent to the throne, and the birth must be witnessed. You'll be stripped in here and then you'll ascend the plinth and give birth for all to see."
Giving birth for others to see wasn't unusual. She could remember the births of a few family friends, but those affairs had allowed the mothers to wear at the very least a shift to cover themselves. "What do you mean, 'stripped'?" Valaina asked, her voice rising an octave both in fear and in pain, "OW...." "Exactly what it sounds like," Marne said, positioning Valaina in front of the doors, "Now let me help you." Valaina sobbed quietly as Marne removed her robes until she was clad only in her light shift. Marne came around front and wiped the tears out of her eyes. "Now, listen. What I can tell you while we have time is this. As queen, you are the shield of the people, and they must see you endure. You can scream, you can roar, you can cry, but don't beg. Don't ask to be released until you've given birth." "What- released?" "And- you don't know?" Before Valaina could respond, she doubled over with another powerful contraction. They were practically back to back now, and she had almost no time to reset between them. A serving girl entered through a hidden door and murmured something to Marne, who nodded in return and moved to stand behind Valaina. "We're out of time. They're ready for you. Remember, if you are to remain queen after this is over, you must be the shield of the people. Do not beg." Marne lifted the shift off of Valaina, who made one pathetic attempt to hold onto it before letting it go. Marne looked her in the eye one last time. "When I've left, knock twice on the door and walk to the center of the amphitheater. They'll guide you from there." And with that, the only one left in the chamber was Valaina, scared, contracting and in pain. She knocked twice on the door after the contraction was gone, and the double doors swung outward, nearly blinding her with the sudden light.
When she could see again, the first thing she could see was a ramp leading up from the chamber she was in. As she hobbled up the ramp, having to stop for a moment to let a slightly more powerful contraction pass, she could hear what sounded like thousands of voices. With her heart in her throat, Valaina reached the top of the ramp to see the massive amphitheater filled to capacity. It was late summer, and the bright sun beat down into the stone arena with an almost angry heat. Ahead of her, Valaina could see a raised object. A marble podium of sorts. It might have once been pure white, but age and the elements had stained it. As she grew closer to it, almost drawn in by morbid curiosity, Valaina could tell that a long, streaking stain down the front had nothing to do with the weather marring it. "... Queen Valaina of house Dar!" Valaina couldn't tell what the beginning of the announcement was, but the crowd erupted into a deafening array of both cheering and jeering. Her mostly steady waddling hitched as she had another contraction, and she gasped in pain as she struggled to keep moving forward. She held one arm across her chest, hiding her bare breasts from the eyes of the crowd, the other wrapped around her belly, trying to hide her vagina, knowing now why a midwife had attended to her, waxing her clean before arriving at the amphitheater. The same midwife stood at the base of the stone monolith, which had grown startlingly near. Valaina stopped and the midwife leaned in. "How close are your contractions now?" "They barely give me time to breathe between them," Valaina admitted. The midwife nodded and gestured to a pair of ceremonial guards. They both took one of her arms and guided her to the stone's flat top. Once there, they pushed her down firmly, though not roughly. The action made her heart beat so quickly, it seemed almost painful. "Wait, what are-AUGH!"
As she broke off to deal with the contraction, the guards attached sturdy leather cuffs to her ankles, keeping them close together. Then they pushed her thighs back until the angle was almost painful, attaching thick straps to them as well, pinning her legs fast in place. Then a strap was fixed around her ribs, above her belly but below her breasts, not too tight to breathe in, but too tight to move more than an inch or so. Then, to top it all off, her wrists were strapped above her head. "Grab these," One of the guards said, guiding her hands to wooden handles fixed into the straps. Valaina didn't understand at first, but as soon as the guards stepped away, no longer supporting any of her weight, she understood. The stone was flat, but not level. It wasn't enough of a slope to be a slide, but without support, she would have been hard pressed to remain in place. As it was, the straps began to dig painfully into her chest and thighs until she flexed her arms, supporting her weight by the hand holds provided. As she struggled to find a comfortable place on the stone, she could feel slight wear in it's surface. Grooves dug into the surface, too slight to be see from a distance, but when touching it? She could feel where someone else's, another woman's shoulders had been bound here, where her feet had been braced, where her hips had sat. She had heard about parts of this birthing ritual. but until now, it hadn't seemed real.
As she struggled to move more than an inch, the midwife ascended and stood before her. "My queen. I will perform your last check." Before Valaina could respond to her words, she flinched and groaned as the old woman's hand deftly entered her birth canal. She tried to close her legs against the straps, her hips flexing and quivering as they fought against the unyielding bonds as the midwife reached her cervix and traced it. Nodding, she pulled her hand out and turned to the speaker, descending from the platform. The speaker nodded and turned to the audience of nobles and commoners alike. "The queen is now five centimeters dilated!" The crowd erupted in both cheers and groans. Valaina wondered what they were thinking. Were the cheers because she was well and truly in labor? Were the groans because she had so far left to go? She didn't know, and any thought of figuring it out vanished as she had another contraction. "AUGH! OW OW OWowowowowowOWWWWWWWWW!" Her head, the only free part of her body, thrashed, snapping from side to side, her hair fanning out and covering her face somewhat. She wanted to curl around her belly, to hold it with her hands, despite how little she knew it would do. But even though she knew it was pointless, her arms pulled against the bindings, straining to caress her contracting belly. She groaned and gasped in pain as a new sensation struck her. Not the pressure she knew was to come, but a deep stabbing ache in her pelvis, as if the stone itself were pressing against her. When the contraction was done, she puffed and blew her hair out of her face. The sun, still beating down made being trapped under a tent of her own hair stifling.
As Valaina laid back on the stone, her eyes wandered the crowd. The back, the highest seats in the amphitheater were filled with people who she took to be commoners, though at the distance they were at, it made it hard to tell. Closer in, she could see merchants knights. People of wealth and status. But closer still, in the valley between her legs she could see nobles. Lords and ladies alike, along with their honored guests. Valaina's eyes darted, with focus at first, then worry, then frenzied panic. Her mother. Her father. Where were they? House Karrok wasn't a small house, and given their seats at court, they should have been near the front. but right at the front was the prime minister, a man who Valaina despised. Even though she knew it was someone else, she couldn't help but feel that even if he hadn't been the one to orchestrate the deaths of her husband and the former king and queen, that he still stood to benefit. The only other potential heir to the throne was only a child, and if she had also died that day, he would now be ruling Konur. Her stomach roiled in discomfort from something other than a contraction. She knew she couldn't trust the man, even if he hadn't done anything wrong. Except... except that her parents should have been there. "Where... are... they?" Valaina whispered, making eye contact with the man before she broke into another full throated scream as another contraction wracked her body, "HUUUUUAAAAAAAAAGH!" The prime minister only tilted his head, his eyes flicking to a point behind her, and Valaina knew. He had ensured that her parents were sat behind her, and far away from the center. Nowhere they could be of even minimal comfort to her.
As the day drew on, comfort became a thing of the distant past. The sun rose, and with it, the temperature. What had started out as a warm morning was quickly becoming a hot midsummer day. "Oh gods..." Valaina said, her tongue feeling thick and dry in her mouth as she lolled her head to the side, seeking a tiny bit of respite from the blazing sun. If she looked down at herself, she could only see her breasts, the top of her belly and the tops of her thighs, but what she could see of herself was that her skin was turning red under the sun. She had spent most of her life sheltered, hiding her fair skin from the sun's rays, but she remembered one day as a younger woman, when her family had gone to the king's summer palace with him and she had spent too long in the sun, and what her skin had felt like then. It felt the same now, tight, hot and far too dry. Her lips cracked as she grimaced, bracing herself as best as she could for the next contraction. "AAAAUUUUUGH! OH GODS! OWWWWW!" She could see the crowd reacting to her as she writhed the few fractions of an inch that she could, some cheering as she screamed, others looking on coldly. She shifted uncomfortably, the strap around her chest digging painfully into the top of her belly. Valaina just could not find a remotely comfortable position, her spine pressed hard against the marble plinth, her hips aching from being pulled back so far, and her hands were growing numb from being suspended above her head for so long. But the worst part was the pressure that would surge every time she had a contraction. It seemed like every time she had one, and she would try to arch her back against it, it was trying to press her flat against the plinth, taking her breath with a sudden, savage strength. And it made her want to push.
She knew that it wasn't time yet. She'd never learned from a midwife properly, but she had been curious and helped when her aunt had given birth when she was nine, and remembered a few lessons. "Now, she will feel pressure and like she wants to push for quite some time, but it will pass with each contraction," The midwife had said, "That will usually mean that she isn't open enough for the baby to come." "But if it's hurting her, shouldn't she push it out?" "Oh dear, no. If she pushes too soon, it will hurt her even more, and maybe even hurt the baby. She must wait until all that pressure stays, even between the pains." On the plinth, Valaina could feel the pressure from each contraction fading away between them, and she knew it wasn't time. She squinted her eyes and looked up at the sun. It must be close to noon now. Based on the bells that had tolled just before she entered the amphitheater, she had been strapped down to the stone for nearly six hours now. What did the midwife say she was dilated? Five centimeters? How dilated was she now? "Am-" Valaina began before breaking off into a fit of dry coughing, "Am I close?" "We cannot touch you until the baby is out," The midwife said from the base of the podium, "But I would say it isn't long to go."
An hour passed. And another. And another. Valaina's skin was an angry red and her mouth was parched. The contractions were starting to slow down, and she could barely keep her eyes open anymore. "Huuuuuuuuuunnnnngggg," She groaned, the full throated screams of agony now too much effort to give voice to anymore. The crowd's mood had shifted too. Mostly everyone who was still present was talking to each other, the dull roar of conversation from around the amphitheater competing with the thudding of her heartbeat in her ears. If she had known how thirsty she would have gotten, she would have spent hours doing nothing but drinking water leading up to the ritual. "Gods, so thirsty," She panted, her tongue feeling sandy as it passed over her teeth, trying to sooth her cracked lips. Her lips were sunburned too, and moving her moth more than it took to pant caused tearing sensations that made her want to cry. She knew that if there was enough water in her body, she might have cried, not just from the sheer misery of what she was going through, but what she knew was to come. If the lips on her mouth felt this bad now with the dryness and sunburn, what would her other lips feel like when she was pushing?
The sun was starting to set when Valaina heard it. Something that always had soothed her, not matter how fiercely they would rage. And she opened her eyes to see if she had imagined the sound, or if it was real. She smiled, her lips cracking as she saw it. There it was, the billowing clouds that had produced the quiet peal of thunder in the distance. At least it would mean that she would be taken down from the plinth. While she loved a thunderstorm, she knew it was too dangerous to be out in one. But as it grew closer and the air grew mercifully cooler, no one moved to remove her restraints. What she did see were amphitheater attendants running around the stands, pulling on ropes and setting posts, erecting awnings and canvas shades to protect everyone who was watching. And she knew. She knew that the only way to get off of the plinth would be to give birth. Another clap of thunder sounded, louder this time, and Valaina didn't find any comfort in it.
The rain began about an hour after the first clap of thunder, fat drops that came in scattered bursts. Despite the stinging pains they caused Valaina's burned skin, she found relief in the chill they brought to her overheated body. And in the drops she opened her mouth to catch. She panted with her mouth open now, feeling drops fall and run into the corners of her mouth, swallowing the cool, crisp rain as it filled her mouth over and over again. She could feel water sloshing in her stomach, and groaned as her contractions, which began speeding back up as she drank, tightened her newly full belly. Now as she looked down at herself, her belly was still an angry red, but now it glistened with a wet sheen as water ran down the taut surface as it heaved and quivered with contractions. Contractions that brought the pressure back again and again, with it fading less and less each time.
"AAAAAAUUUUGH!" She screamed as another contraction clawed at her belly. She didn't know if anyone heard, as a massive peal of thunder echoed across the arena as she screamed. She wanted to move. She felt the pressure digging into her back, right where it met her pelvis, and knew that if she could just get up, even for a moment, she would give birth in minutes. Valaina wanted to ask. She was so close to asking to be let up, but she knew that as soon as she did, the crown was forfeit. Marne told her not to beg, and she wouldn't. She had to be strong. But no matter how strong she was, the contractions seemed to be stronger. Once she had been able to drink the rainwater that now ran into her eyes, and mouth when she didn't want it to, her contractions had gotten closer together than they had ever been. But that wasn't the worst of it. As the rain ran down her back, the smooth worn surface of the plinth had become so slick, she was struggling to stay in place. In the morning, her skin had stuck to it, her own weight being enough to hold her steady, but with the rain, she would slide down, the straps biting into her thighs, chest and wrists being the only things keeping her there. Her wrists cramped with how hard she held onto the handles on the wrist cuffs, but letting them go was a nightmare. She would only about an inch, but it was far enough that trying to find the handles was a nearly impossible task. And it only took a single contraction to learn that loosing her only anchor point, her only control over any of the situation was not something she could endure.
So she clung to the wooden dowels, despite the blisters forming on her hands, despite the contractions that made her want to release them and clutch at her belly, something that she couldn't do. "NooooooUUUUAAAAAAARRRRGH!" She screamed as another contraction tried to rip her apart and crush her all at once. The pressure kept vanishing, not staying like it was supposed to. She wanted to give in, to push with it, but she couldn't make herself. She couldn't force herself to push when a part of her knew it was too soon. It would hurt her. It would hurt the baby. So she panted, wanting desperately to writhe, and tried to lift her hips off of the stone, even a fraction of an inch. The strain onher muscles was making every part of her shake with effort and exhaustion, so she released the attempt, feeling her body slam the mere half inch back into place, jolting her and making her cry out again. But even that couldn't stop her from straining again and again against the restraints, trying to give herself a little bit more room. Just a little bit more...
She didn't know how many times, though how many contractions she strained and arched her body, doing everything she could from mantras to panting, from visualizing to just sheer force of will, everything she could think of doing to stop herself from pushing. But she was loosing. More than once, she caught herself giving in, tiny little pushes that made her belly swell and rise with the effort. She could barely hear anything over the patter of rain, but she could faintly hear excited murmuring in the prominent seating close to the plinth. Nobles and courtiers realizing how close she was to giving birth. If they only knew that she wasn't ready yet. "Make it stop," She begged, looking up at the sky, "Gods, make the pressure stop or let it come out!" There wasn't so much as a clap of thunder in response, only another brutal contraction that made her arch her body again. "AAAAAAAUUUUUGH!"
Eventually, she could hold back no longer. She didn't care that the pressure wasn't remaining, and some part of her didn't care how badly it could hurt her or the baby, her body had gone through enough. She had to push. When the next contraction came, she didn't arch away from it, she curled forward the tiny amount she was able to, and bore down. "HUUUUUNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGAAAAAAARRRRGH!" She bellowed out, the sound being swallowed by both the thunder of the storm and the thunder of the crowd as they all realized at once that she was fully pushing now. And she noticed something else too. Instead of fading away again, the pressure seemed to grow more intense, dropping below the spike of agony in her back and dropping between her hips, making her feel like she was sitting on a saddle. She squirmed, her body slipping on the wet marble as she tried to make the sensation more bearable, and whimpering in frustration as she found she couldn't. But the pressure wasn't fading anymore. Now she could push. She could push! "HuuuuUUUUNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAHHHH!" She screamed as she pushed with the next contraction. Her effort cut off abruptly as a sharp sting made her flinch. It had felt like a pebble had been hurled at her left breast with great speed. She looked and didn't see anything except for a small welt that grew red, even against the burn from the sun. Then she felt another sting, this one on her belly. And another on her arm. It wasn't until one hit her head that she realized. Hailstones. Small ones, only about the size of peas. More than enough to be unbearable.
"OWWWWWWWwwowowowowowowowWOWWWWWWWW HUUUAAAAAAAAGH! OH GODS!" She screamed as she pushed. The hail didn't show any signs of stopping, but at least the stones weren't growing larger as they sometimes did. She had partially expected to be released once the hail had started, but as with the rain, she was left exposed to the elements, rain and hail descending while thunder ripped the sky apart. Much like how the head in her was descending, contractions ripping her apart. One had hit quite near her eye, and she kept both of them shut now, her eyelids turning red with each bolt of lightning that shredded the sky, thunder bellowing in their wake. Between contraction, she shuddered with cold and pain as thousands of tine hailstone pelted her body. Shen she dared to open her eyes to squint at herself, she was covered in tiny welts that ranged from red to purple where she could see, her sunburned skin feeling like it was on fire, and still she pushed. She knew that as soon as the baby was out, she would be taken down, and ushered inside and away from the onslaught. bracing herself, she panted once, twice, and got ready to push once again. "HUUUU-AAAAAAAH!"
Once she was pushing, she thought it wouldn't take long for the baby to come out, but it seemed to crawl along at a leisurely pace down, every tiny movement sending zings of pain through her birth canal as it stretched around the baby. But those were nothing in comparison to the stretching she had feared. The head of the baby eventually made it down far enough that she could feel her lips parting around it. And as she feared, the sunburn that had seared every inch of her exposed to the sun felt a hundred times worse as the burned skin of her vagina began to stretch and spread around the head. It was agony, the legendary ring of fire taking on a whole new meaning as Valaina sobbed through the pain, trying to push hard enough to get the head out. But every time she stopped while waiting for the next contraction, the head began moving back in, hiding away from the chaos and noise of the world. "The... the head! Hail...' She panted, and the midwife called up, making her voice heard over the sounds of the storm. "When the head is out, I will shield it from the hail. Just get the baby out to us." Valaina nodded, her eyes still squeezed shut and she braced herself for another push, panting as she felt the contraction building. "OooooooOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAGH-"
Her efforts cut off and her head fell back as a shock of pain exploded in her calf. Her eyes snapped open and she screamed, her thigh spasming and she writhed, feeling the white hot feeling cut through her concentration. Over her own screaming, she was dimly aware of screams in the crowd, and she knew something was wrong. Time seemed to slow down as she watched a projectile dart across her belly, the head scoring a thin line over her as a crossbow bolt pinged off of the marble, leaving a small chip in the surface and bouncing off, missing her by millimeters. "SEIZE THEM!" A voice commanded, and Valaina tried to turn to look, seeing one of the assailants, crossbow in hand being cut down by men with swords, his weapon clattering the ground, along with several bolts. She heard the snapping twang of another crossbow, and heard someone shout in pain before another scream and clatter told her that another had just been cut down as well. She strained her neck, trying to look down, but the hail bouncing down on her and something new told her what she already suspected. A crossbow bolt as embedded in her calf, the hailstones hitting the shaft with the same speed as the rest of her body, making small shocks of pain radiate up her leg. All of this came to her and faded in a few heartbeats as the interrupted pushing effort seemed to aggravate the contraction, which redoubled it's efforts with savage force. Valaina rallied herself and pushed again, screaming so loudly her throat began to hurt. She had to finish now, there were assassins! She had to get the baby out so she could leave! "AAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH! COME ONNNNN!" She screamed, pushing so hard her head began to quiver with effort.
And with a sudden pop, Valaina let her head drop back with a sharp clack against the plinth as she felt he pressure snap back as the head came fully out, and she laid there panting as the crowd cheered wildly. She opened her eyes and looked down to see the midwife moving quickly, holding her hands out over where she assumed the head was. her belly was still too large to see anything below it, so Valaina had to hope she was protecting the head from the weather. The contraction didn't fully let up, easing for a moment, then pulsing back stronger than ever as Valaina pushed again, and felt the baby rippling and squirming as it was pushed out of her belly and into the world.
She was expecting cheering at the completion of the birth, but she still started at the sheer intensity of the crowd's expression of joy. She also didn't care bast the reflexive startle. As she heard the baby cry, she was completely taken in by the sweetness of the sound, the only other sound that mattered being the jingling of keys and chains as the straps were undone. "Oh fuck!" she yelped as she nearly slipped off and hit the ground, but the ceremonial guards caught her as she slipped, and guided her to her feet, the midwife handing her the baby, a girl. She wanted to melt, to just sink down with her baby, but the midwife held her upright. "The ritual is not complete yet. You must walk." Valaina felt her eyes go wide, shivering and barely able to stand, "Walk?" "You must exit as you entered, and then you can rest." Before Valaina could respond, she jerked and screamed in pain once again, her daughter flinching and crying at her expression of pain as the crossbow bolt was pulled from her leg. Valaina turned and looked at the path to the ramp, surprised to see it lit by torches, and dimly wondered what time it was. The path looked longer now than it had that morning. But she had to. For her daughter. For the kingdom. She braced herself, and straightened as much as she could, feeling the umbilical cord pulling at her lips as she did, and found she couldn't get past a half upright hunch. Each step was an eternity, her legs shaking so badly, she was surprised they held her weight, but eventually, she found herself at the top of the ramp and descending to the doors that had been opened once again. It was only a dozen more steps before she was out of the hail and inside the stone vaults of the amphitheater. Once the doors were closed, she felt her legs give out, and she was caught before she hit the floor.
She was bustled into what was called the After Chamber, a large space with a massive soft bed, a warm fire and numerous attendants who helped her deliver the afterbirth and dispose of it. Then, while the baby was being looked over, more attendants began lathering Valaina's body in a thick fluid squeezed from plants into her skin. Their efforts burned and stung, but afterwards, everywhere they rubbed began to feel soothed and relaxed once again. "Aloe," One of them explained, "It will help with the sun burn." Valaina didn't have the energy to reply, even to thank them, she just nodded tiredly, her vision fading in and out. "By what name are you calling your daughter?" The midwife asked as she examined the baby, and Valaina felt her eyes snap open. She hadn't really thought of one, but a name came to her now. Not her mother's name. As much as she loved her mother, she had told her nothing of the rigors of birth. She had no sisters. No aunts who's names she liked. But there was a name, the name of the midwife who Valaina had sit with as her aunt Kalunda had labored, and knew. "Her name is Ainara."
One Year Later
It had taken Valaina nearly two weeks before she was strong enough to leave the After Chamber. She quickly found that it had been built with that kind of time in mind, being fully stocked with supplies and materials to allow such a long recovery. When she did finally walk out of the vaulted entrance, she found a newfound respect waiting for her. Few queens had given birth in such a storm, and none had ever done so with a crossbow bolt in their leg. The bolt in question, along with the one that had narrowly missed her had been presented by the prime minister to her as a gift. It came with a sincere apology for regulating her parents to such distant seats in the arena. And while Valaina was still unable to forgive him for that, she took the bolts in the spirit they were intended, keeping them as a relic in the archive.
But the day Ainara turned one, she was standing in the square in front of the amphitheater, looking up at a shrouded statue. She didn't know who had commissioned it, but she felt it was Marne. With little ceremony beyond a short speech about the statue's commissioning, the veil was removed. Valaina gasped as she looked at it. She was depicted as a powerful figure, one hand held protectively over her belly, her other outstretched with a crossbow bolt held in her open palm. The statue's hair, her hair, as bound and pinned in place with the other crossbow bolt, and a lightning bolt crossing it. but what caught her breath were the hundreds of small gems dotting her form, and she knew that these represented the hailstone that pelted her through her birth, She felt a tear come to her eye as she looked at it, feeling the phantom pains of both the hail and the crossbow bolt sting her as the crowd applauded and cheered the statue commemorating their queen.
