i've always had a huge thing for birth/ovi etc, and brocon/sibcon is a vaguely recent (2 years?) new obsession that has become an extremely serious addiction for me, regarding both sex and also soft domestic love and kindness !!! but i was just never brave enough to make a personal main blog for any of this stuff, til now !!! already best decision of my life so uhhh hi !!!!!!!
important info:
• if you are NOT into incest, block the tags brocon, siscon, sibcon, fauxcest & incest to make my blog a safe space for you.
• if you are NOT into birth, pregnancy, etc, block the tags birth kink, labor kink, pregnancy kink, & oviposition to make my blog a safe space for you.
i very much enjoy having these kinks combined, but it is NEVER, EVER necessary. please feel free to explore my blog and interact with me in this way to ensure a fun, arousing, and comfortable space for yourself :} 🐾
kink YESes: brocon, siscon, sibcon, mommy dom stuff (not usually from a bio mom, just using the name), dubcon, hypothetical noncon, cnc, somno, ageplay (ask me first), overdue pregnancy (even extreme), multiples, difficult birth, birth denial, restraints during birth, painful birth, lots of hard pushing(!!!!!), long pushing phase, stuck birth (with safe ending), public birth and related humiliation, omorashi (if it's me and i'm pregnant), rapid preg/birth, failed epidural, extremely inconvenient birth, car birth, preg denial (denial by the carrier and/or partner), dumbification (me [the little sibling and/or carrier] not knowing how sex or reproduction works), cock birth (eggs or worse!!! i love it so much!!!), oviposition/egg transfer, egg/clutch birth (large eggs preferably), monster/fantasy preg (ask first for which kinds), sex during labor and birth, milking, intimacy during birth (kissing/praise/cunnilingus/nipple stim/etc), mixed/intersex genetalia (i love imagining i have a cock in place of my clit), mild tearing (only sometimes. please ask first), and probably lots more if i think harder! :3
kink NOs: scat, irl r@pe, telling me about nonconsensual irl incest, vore, feeder/feedee stuff, unbirth, bursting, insects/bugs/worms/etc, extreme hyper preg/expansion, extreme medical fetish content, serious injury to the carrier/offspring, snuff, detrans kink (if you're into that being done to you, that's completely okay and can be hot! i just don't want it to be done to me and i do not want to do that to anyone myself)
DM for clearer info on likes/dislikes in kink! i'm very open to rp but i need to know you a bit first <3
please ask me before sending pictures of yourself or starting any roleplay <3
anons, feel free to grab an emoji!! taken anons: 🥩, 🌸, 😩, 🥚
For the prompt "I know it hurts, but you have to push." Thinking about someone who takes a long time to crown because they cant push through the burning and keep screaming about how much it hurts to push.
They've been stuck at the point of almost crowning for about two hours now— the absolutely massive head sits wedged and unmoving in their birth canal, bulging out their perineum and the structure of their cunt with its obscene size. The lips of their labia are an angry shade of red, gaping and dribbling fluid down their thighs each time they attempt to push.
But as soon as their tissues begin to stretch around the width of the skull barreling down through their cervix, they lose control of the push, and the game of 'out-in-out-back in again' they're waging with the crown starts all over again.
"Oooooh, its coming," they grunt. They shove up onto their elbows, pressing their chin to their chest as they grit their teeth and bear down. "Aghhhhhh!" Their cunt continues to bulge as they push with all of their strength. "Hnnnng, it hurts! My pussy burns!"
"Come on!" you command harshly, peering between their legs. Their furled slit has opened just slightly, giving you a small, brief glimpse of a few wisps of wet, dark hair. "Don't give up. Keep pushing!"
They wail and thrash their head from side to side, thighs snapping closed as the head slips back up into their tortured canal. "I cant!" they sob, legs shaking with effort as they attempt to hold the baby inside of them. "It hurts so b-bad. It-mmmmmph, it burns!"
"I know it hurts," you assure them, running your hand over their flank as you lean in to press a kiss to their sweaty forehead. "But you're only making it harder on yourself, baby. You need to push." You reach down between their legs, gently shushing their cries of protests as you make space. Their lower belly spasms as the head surges forward once more, earning a frantic, shrill scream in response. "Save your energy," you tell them firmly. "Use all of that to get this baby out."
They scream again, a deep shrill roar that rises from their chest as they throw their head back. "Let me go!' they yell, overwhelmed as the head begins to push their labia into a yawning teardrop, clit pulsing above the emerging skull. "Fuck, its burning! I'm ripping! I'm gonna tear ap-pa-rrrrrt! Hrrrrrrg!"
They continue to thrash and scream as they strain, working equally as hard to shove the baby out of their battered hole as they are to try to keep it inside. "ohmygodmakeitstopppppp!"
"It needs to come out, baby!" You watch the head peak-a-boo, groaning in frustration as your partner once again wrenchs free and snaps their legs closes.
"Hurts," they whine, panting for breath as they fall back against the pillows. "I can't take the pain. I didnt... didn't think it would be like this. I—ohhhh, nooooo." Their breath catches, belly going taut as it squeezes down around their contracting womb. "Mmmm, its coming. Ooooh, fuck. Oooooh." Their feet scrabble at the damp sheets as instinct overwhelms them and they push, cunt bulging wide until it pushes their thighs apart. "Its in my pussy! Ooh, my poor pussy!"
Taking advantage of their distraction, you lean over them and take them into your arms, pulling them into a kneeling position. Between their legs, the head surges from just barely visible to fully crowning with the help of gravity, and they scream and sob hysterically. "Holyfuck, my cuntttt. Oh, my cunt. It burns! Its gonna tear me!" They continue to babble as you reach down to cup the emerging head, pressing your thumb against their clit.
"Push!" you bellow over them, shoving your knee in-between theirs to hold them open as they howl and screech, leaking blood and fluid as the large, extremely overdue head painstakingly inches its way out. "Here it comes! Get it out, baby!"
"Nnnnnuggghhhh!"
"It's past the crown!" The posterior head has finally begun to show itself. You continue to provide counter pressure to your partner's clit as they bear down, veins popping and skin turning bright red as they shriek about feeling their pussy tear. "Go, go, GO! Keeping fucking pushing!"
"MmmmmphGOD!" The stretched ring of their vagaina has gone shock white, bloodless and gaping around the overdue infant. Its brows. Its nose. Its chin. "Coming outtttnnnngh-holy fuckkkkk! I'm gonna split in half!"
Despite being nearly three weeks overdue, Danielle had prepared for a calm home birth, one where she would be sure to have agency and privacy with her husband, Vash. They deep cleaned their small apartment in the hopes that it would give Danielle peace in labour. She had planned to labour in the shower, in the tub, in their living room space where they set up a birth pool, and maybe on the bed as a last resort. Danielle was very adamant to not give birth on her back. This was her time, and her baby, and she would deliver on her own terms with only the support of her husband, one registered midwife, and her sister-in-law Srin–also a midwife in training.
Forty-two hours of labour later, and it did not turn out that way at all.
It’s three in the morning. The quiet of their neighborhood is brutally interrupted by the fact that they opened the balcony door a crack, to bring in some clean spring air for Danielle. The horrible sounds of her birthing effort can be heard all down the street, waking neighbors. The other tenants in the apartment complex had been notified about the home birth, and there’s a good chance they haven’t slept all night due to Danielle’s noise. But she can’t help it. By Srin’s visual estimate, the baby is massive and has wedged herself deep into Danielle’s pelvis.
When the idea of a water birth quickly fell through, they helped Danielle move to the bedroom where they could turn off the lights and help her concentrate on pushing.
Three hours later, and she’s currently standing at the side of the bed near the end, one leg high up on the mattress and one planted firmly on the floor, both hands gripping the bottom bed post like claws and nearly bending the wood straight out of the frame. Srin can see the back of her head, her mess of a high bun after hours and hours of hard labour, and her bare back and bottom. She’s been trying to push the baby’s head past a crown for at least fifteen minutes. The baby is just sitting there, stretching Danielle impossibly wide open, the head so large it looks like less of a dome and more like a big solid plug. Danielle’s tissue is red-hot and already ripping a little, nearly translucent where it’s stretched so thin around her daughter’s huge skull. Her anus is sitting right above her massively stretched tissue, puffed out with hemorrhoids and a dark dusky shade, all from pushing extremely hard for so long. As Srin stands by with the doppler, Danielle bears down again, roaring hard and strained through her teeth, her vocal chords raw and torn at this point, as she grips the bed post. Vash puts a hand over hers, his face tight and pinched with sympathetic pain as he watches his wife’s grimacing face as she tries with all her might to give birth to their daughter.
It’s terrifying to watch. Srin is still a midwife in training–this is the first time she’s attended a real birth this intense, and especially one so close to home. This is the birth of her first niece, after all.
Her brother looks terrified, intensely focused on his wife from his place standing at the foot of the bed, a supportive hand rubbing up and down Danielle’s sweat-slicked back while the other one gently covers Danielle’s hands gripping the post. She can just about hear Vash muttering through Danielle’s hard sounds of effort.
“Doing so well, baby, her head’s almost out.”
Hearing her husband’s promise, Danielle makes it to the end of that push and then inaudibly gasps in before bearing down again, hard, grunting and roaring with all of the strength in her body.
Srin watches the baby’s head struggle down, down, down through Danielle’s massive push. Heather, the experienced midwife and her teacher, is supporting Danielle’s stretched-to-the-limit tissue, rubbing a gentle finger along the translucent skin while Danielle pushes her daughter down hard.
Srin isn’t needed during this contraction, so she just stands there and watches, speechless, as again and again and again Danielle works incredibly hard, roaring and grunting with every push, bending her bottom down deeply, her one leg on the bed staying wide open. The baby’s head gradually nudges out on a slightly crooked angle, then bounces back to the stuck point, then with barely a second wasted, OUT again harder harder harder as Danielle roars, refusing to let go of the push. Her noises are intense, echoing in the small room and making Srin tremble.
Vash can barely be heard encouraging her: “Pushpushpushpushpush honey, so hard!”
In response to her husband, Danielle bears down with one more gargantuan, shuddering push, her vocal chords cracking and tearing, the sound of her roar going up and down as she slowly, agonizingly, pushes the baby’s head out to just above a wrinkly brow.
They all react to Danielle’s progress, finally, as Danielle screams, bouncing up a little to try and escape the sudden sharp pain. She tore a little more, Srin noticed, but no one will scare her by drawing attention to it. Srin has also noticed the baby’s head is on an uneven angle, and facing Danielle’s right thigh slightly. Heather, of course, noticed first. Srin knows they’re both very concerned now about the possibility of a shoulder dystocia.
Srin has to remember to breathe, or else she’ll pass out at the mere thought.
“Good job Danielle, take a big breath now,” Heather guides. “Just breathe.” Then she raises her voice. “Tones!”
Srin takes her cue and puts the doppler under Danielle’s belly, trying to get heart tones as Danielle gulps in gasps and cries, Vash helping her stay upright. Danielle grunts lightly with each breath and Heather has to guide her through every single inhale, trying to encourage her not to push right now.
Srin has a hard time getting the baby’s heart tones. She’s about to remove the doppler and signal to Heather to tell her it’s time to lock down, but just then she manages to get a slight sound: a steady heart beat, but much too slow for her liking. The baby is struggling, likely stressed from being squeezed so hard, if she’s as big as they both think.
When Heather hears the tones, she gets her hands back on stretching Danielle’s tissue, applying lube, and says, “OK Danielle, I want you to push very hard now. It’s no holds barred, just get her out.”
Danielle doesn’t need a second more of instruction. She gasps in hugely, then her entire body, sweat-drenched and naked, SHOVES down hard, opening wide, as she roars deep into her chest and her gut.
Srin watches the baby’s head coming out, coming out, trembling with Danielle’s effort as she tries so hard to push the gigantic skull past her tissue that refuses to stretch any more. With her fingers rubbing around Danielle’s translucent and red tissue, Heather says very loudly, “Sound in Danielle and big breath in!”
Danielle gasps hugely, Vash holding her shoulder and grimacing in sympathy, looking at her face.
“And PUSH HARD!” Heather orders, as Danielle’s entire body bends down, her leg still wide open and up on the bed. She barely makes a sound beyond some quiet, strangled strains as she pushes SO hard her entire body flushes red, her head shaking hard, her hands bending the bed post out of its wooden socket.
“All your might, baby, get her out,” Vash says tightly.
Srin can see the baby’s head slide out a little more, Danielle’s ripped and bleeding tissue peeling back over the swollen shut eyes, then the nubby nose, as her entire body trembles hard enough to shake the bed. Then she can’t hold her sound in any more, but keeps that massive push going.
From there on it’s one brutal push after another, as Danielle knows she needs to get her out now. Srin doesn’t count. She’s too lazer-focused on the baby’s face coming out, and the dusky purple shade of her skin. She keeps the doppler pressed under Danielle’s huge belly, trying to get heart tones, as Danielle just pushes like a demon. At least ten gigantic, earth-shattering pushes go by, Danielle’s throat completely raw and her voice animalistic by the tenth one, and she still hasn’t gotten the baby’s chin out. Baby’s head is on a sharper angle now, with one chubby cheek more out than the other, and each time Danielle lets go of a push, the head bounces back in as if something is holding her back.
Past Danielle’s horrible animal grunting and straining, Heather looks over her trembling, shining back to seriously tell Vash: “Call 911.”
Vash leaps up from his spot immediately to grab his phone from the dresser. Without him there, Danielle continues to labour hard, trying with every muscle in her body to birth their huge daughter. Srin isn’t even sure Danielle notices Vash is gone from her side. There’s no real way to know if she sees or hears any of them in her current state. That is until Heather, sticking her gloved fingers in around the baby’s huge purple head, tells Danielle to stop pushing.
Her gloved fingers are bloody as she places her wrist on Danielle’s tailbone, trying to calm her. “I need you to stop pushing Danielle, just try to blow! That’s it, good, blow blow blow! C’mon you can do this.”
Srin talks over to Vash, instructing him to tell the operator on the phone what’s happening. She can barely get the words out, knowing this is happening to her brother and her sister-in-law.
“Shoulder dystocia. Head is out.” She looks back at Heather, who has her fingers in again, trying to maneuver the shoulder out as Danielle screams shrilly. “Trying to get the anterior shoulder.”
Stuttering but sounding robotic as he goes into shock, Vash relays the exact words to the operator. He’s still looking at his wife, tears in his eyes now.
Srin helps Danielle get both legs on the floor as she and Heather both realize that she can’t hold it. Every push brings the baby harder against her pubic bone, lodging the shoulder and clavicle deeper, making it very difficult for Heather to release her. Srin knows Heather’s original in-the-moment plan was to prevent Danielle from pushing so she could reach in and release the anterior shoulder, which looks to be the one that’s severely stuck judging by the angle of the baby’s head. She’s worried about what else they might have to do… There’s a possibility that Heather will get Danielle on her back so she can physically push the baby back inside a little in order to release the stuck shoulder. But she’s not going to tell Vash or Danielle that.
With both of her feet on the floor, Srin helps Danielle bend and open her legs wide, the baby’s giant head dangling darkly between her legs, blood dripping down the baby’s thick hair. Heather’s hands shake as she manages to get her fingers all the way past her knuckles inside Danielle’s vagina on the front, pulling and wiggling hard as she tells Danielle to “PUSH now! Push hard, Mama!”
Through the balcony window, some lights come on in the apartments across the street as Danielle tucks her chin and roars gutturally, bending down deep so she’s sitting in the air, supported by Srin and the bed where she grips the sheet hard.
Srin keeps glancing at her glow in the dark watch as a few minutes of this go by, Danielle pushing and pushing and pushing with brutal force, roaring and screeching her baby deeper into her pelvis. There’s blood on the floor. Vash keeps speaking into the phone, telling the operator what’s happening, even as he runs over to turn on the light.
Heather manages to pull one of the baby’s arms out as the paramedics buzz up. Vash runs to the door to let them in, regrettably leaving his wife in agony, but Danielle is too busy to even notice. Fully naked and primal, she tucks her chin to her chest, tears the bedsheet with shaking fists, and bears down with all the force in her body again and again as Heather and Srin continue to encourage her.
“Keep pushing Mama, don’t stop! Heart tones?”
Srin shakes her head. She can’t get a good read, especially not with this intensity and with Danielle pushing so constantly. It’s up to her now.
“OK,” Heather breathes out, still pulling down hard on the baby with each of Danielle’s pushes. “GO mommy, GO! PUSH! PUSH! Get her out!”
Losing her mind to the pain of birth, Danielle grunts and screeches out her first words in what feels like ages.
Vash comes running back in with three paramedics in tow. He gets on the other side of the bed, facing Danielle, reaching for her hands. One of the paramedics drops his large bag on the floor and immediately starts getting gloves on as Srin tells him what’s going on.
“First baby, shoulder dystocia–we’ve tried to release the anterior shoulder. One arm is free, but the posterior shoulder is still wedged.”
Danielle’s grunts start to turn into ragged screams now, part pain and part terror, as the paramedic nods and quickly introduces himself to Danielle, speaking softly and professionally. He tries for the length of two huge hard pushes to wiggle the baby free, with Heather’s help, before he stands up and tells them to help him get Danielle on the bed.
Together, they quickly instruct Danielle to flip around and get flat on her back. McRoberts, Srin thinks, the panic making her think in singular terms. Danielle is shouting and gasping as they all take her legs and bend them way open and back. Srin focuses on the baby’s head, her arm out next to her chunky face, limp and floppy. Her head is massive, her big fat cheeks squished up against Danielle’s body, and her complexion is a very scary shade of dark purple. As Danielle pushes and grunts horribly, her head tossed back, the baby’s head lifts up just a bit, trembling and struggling with her effort, before falling back and sucking back in to its stuck spot.
Very quickly, they get Danielle’s legs as wide open as they can be and all the way up, her knees pressed into her shoulders, making her giant belly stick straight up, her large breasts cushioning her chin as he gasps. Vash is at her head, holding both of her hands above her head and switching his serious gaze from Danielle’s face to the baby’s.
Then they all work together at once. They tell Danielle to PUSH HARD, and her belly launches up with a push as Srin presses down as hard as she can on Danielle’s pubic bone, and Heather and the paramedic both pull the baby’s purple head and neck down dramatically far. Danielle makes the most horrible sound in the world, ragged and alien, as she brings her head up and digs her chin into her bare, sweaty breasts, mouth wide open and tongue sticking out as her grunt goes strangled and she looks at her baby’s humongous head being pulled upwards now as they all try to release the other shoulder.
This is the pivotal moment. The baby’s head has been fully out for several minutes, at least six. Danielle pushes and pushes and pushes and pushes and PUSHES, bringing her head up and whipping it back again and again, gripping her husband’s hands, arching her back and her bare feet, way up in the air, as she screams and grunts gutturally hard and brutal. Heather and the paramedic both need to hold the baby as the other shoulder releases with an audible crack of Danielle’s tailbone and she screeches raggedly, but keeps pushing SO hard. They both pull the baby up and side to side, wiggling her huge body out, as Danielle gets her out to her chest with one massive push, then another, and another, and another. SO many massively hard pushes to get her body out.
In the chaos, they all encourage her.
“PUSH BABY, PUSH! C’MON SHE’S COMING!” -Vash.
“Almost there Danielle, one more big push!” -Srin.
“PUSH HARD, Danielle, AGAIN! Big breath and PUSH!” -Heather.
While Danielle screams and grunts her baby out, hardly even human anymore, completely lost in the throes of hard labour.
Little by little her huge chunky body comes out, with the effort of Danielle and Heather and the paramedic, and then just like that: Past her hips, she flies out in a massive spray of water and blood with an audible ripping sound and Danielle’s ragged, animal scream. Fluids hit the floor loudly as Heather immediately puts the massive baby on Danielle’s deflating belly as she’s still screaming and gasping, and all professionals get the resus kit ready.
It takes only a minute, but the longest minute of their lives, for the baby to start crying so quietly and weakly, and then she’s shrieking with life and everyone in the room heaves a massive sigh of relief.
When she’s weighed at the hospital later, they learn she’s a whopping 12 pounds three ounces.
It’s the last birth before Srin gets her official certification, and the first intense one of many.
long/hard births where not only will the baby not come out, it won't go back in either. just sitting there with a baby stuck in your canal with no way to try to reposition so it'll come out this time - your only option is to push and hope it works this time.
I think my favorite kinds of fictional births are the ones where whoever it's happening to has waited so long that now it's just...happening.
No more time to decide where you want to have this baby, or what position you're going to be in, or literally anything, because it's coming NOW, you're already pushing even though you don't want to, doesn't matter where you are, who you're with, etc.
I like how inevitable it is. Unstoppable.
deep, guttural, animalistic grunts are so underrated in the birth kink community. moans and screaming really don’t interest me at all. i love the ones where you can tell it’s involuntary and strained, so throaty it almost makes them gag to let the sound out
Imagine being 5'0 and having a small frame and narrow hips and being overdue with your partner's massive baby– your partner's twice your size, 6'6, over 200 pounds, a tall brute. He insists you do not get an induction. All doctors advising a c-cection but your husband strictly refuses and takes you home again. You're going to push his baby out naturally or he'll divorce you. You listen of course, but when you're trying to crown around a 15 pound baby's head, you wish you didn't.
ooooh, what a thought.
your labor stretches on for nearly two days— you've tried clit stim and nip stim and every position under the sun (standing, squatting, kneeling on all fours, a birth stool, the tub), but the baby is simply too big for your pelvis. weeks have passed since your last consultation with a doctor; their last estimate had projected the weight at about 12 pounds, but it feels closer to 14 or 15 now. you must be roughly 43 weeks— your belly protrudes almost grotesquely from your small frame, hanging so low and heavy that it brushes along the tops of your thighs as you grab hold of the bed frame and sway your way through a contraction. you wear only a once oversized tee, which now clings to your belly and hips and barely even hits your thighs.
the slow grind of the head- big, you think frantically, too big, cant do this- passing through your hips is agonizing, and you scream your throat raw as the massive head begins to press down against the tight ring of your cervix. your partner watches you closely, resting his hand on your back as you sink down into a squat, grunting out a small push.
"that's it, baby. there you go." he trails a line of kisses down your sweaty neck, drawing a soft moan from your lips. "that's my good girl. you're working so hard for me, hm? I know, I know, I gave you no choice, but just look at you. you're better than I could have even imagined."
you push for almost 90 minutes before the head finally clears your cervix—it drops into your birth canal in a rush as your water finally breaks, sending blood streaked fluid gushing down your thighs. "fuck," you gasp, your hand flying down between your legs to cushion your bulging cunt. the sheer size of the massive protrusion there makes you feel faint, dizzy with panic at the idea of having to give birth to it. your body simply isn't built for it. "oh god, it's coming. its finally c-comingggg."
you fall to your knees as you bear down, clawing at the fabric of the shirt as you spread your thighs to expose your gaping sex. your partner groans approvingly, positioning himself behind you as you grunt and push. grunt and push. grunt and push. again and again, over and over.
"it's too big!" you howl, sobbing as you cling to the foot post of the bed, nails biting into the wood as you use it to brace your weight on. you've lost track of exactly how long you've been pushing—minutes, hours, days. "just fucking get it out of me!"
"it's coming, baby. it really is." he reaches down between your legs to stroke your folds—your battered pussy is bruised and swollen, and still only beginning to open. the top of the head is barely visible; just a tiny little tear drop shaped sliver that peeks out from behind your furled slit. "youre bulging so much now. you did such a good job growing my baby, sweetheart, and youre going to just as well when you push him out. are you ready to go again for me?"
"nooo," you moan, although you're already sinking back onto your heels as you grit your teeth and shove down hard. you can feel how useless your pushes are, and you cry out in frustration as the lips of your pussy sting and burn but only spread so far. "it's going to rip me a-aparrrrrt!"
"shhhh, baby. shhhh. don't scream- remember to save your energy. im not going to let anything happen to your sweet little pussy, okay? im going to make sure you're all nice and stretched out down here. you just keep breathing, okay? be a good girl and keep up those pushes. low and deep, yeah?"
"low and... deeeep-hnnnnng!"
your vagina gapes open, tissues stretched bloodless and at their absolute limit. now at the 2 hour mark- perhaps even longer; time had all begun to blur together- the baby only sits at a half crown, and you begin pleading for help. anything for relief. anything to stop the burn.
anything to get. it. out.
"okay, baby. okay. we're going to get you up, and we're going to walk. and when you're ready, when that head is nice and low, you're going to lay back, grab those thighs, and you're going to give me a show. I want to see every bit of that cunt. I want to see the moment you shove my child into the world."
he grins to himself as he leans in to lick the shell of your ear. "just imagine what it'll be like next time I pump you full. youll be twice as big. and that will for sure end in a challenge..."
(I’m gonna meet you halfway on the office part and do a job-themed one)
I’m thinking of a heavily pregnant Uber driver. Driving is so uncomfortable these days, the way his belly forces his legs to either side, pinning them to the door on one side and the console on the other. The steering wheel gets wedged against his belly, too, if he isn’t careful. After all, there are five people in the driver’s seat.
Today is especially difficult. He’s been having contractions on and off, and he misread an assignment and accidentally agreed to a four-hour drive. His client is about as happy about this as he is, grumbling in the back seat that he doesn’t care if there wasn’t another flight today, the company should have just postponed the conference instead of making him drive all this way. As if he’s the one driving, not just sitting in the back tapping his fingers while the actual driver tries not to groan out loud from the pressure of quadruplets pressing his hips to the seat.
An hour and a half in, the contractions start to get a little too regular. The driver knuckles sweat from his brow as he glances at the clock, noting the time since the last painful squeeze of his belly. Five minutes apart. Oh, dear.
He squirms and winces in his seat, letting out a gentle whine as the pressure grows in his lower back. From his first pregnancy, he knows that the concrete weight is the head engaging in his cervix. He really hopes there’s a hospital near the destination.
At hour two, the pain really starts.
He struggles not to clench his eyes shut as his insides tear apart. Knowing that transition won’t be forever doesn’t save him from the feeling that this pain has taken over his life, that there will never be anything but this, the cruel knot of agony deep inside him. It’s a miracle he hasn’t crashed the car. Not caring what his client thinks, he lets a sound rise from his gut and press through his teeth.
“Hoooouuuuuuggghhhhh…….”
The client makes a disapproving sound. A scoff? That bastard—
“Something you want to share with the class?”
The driver lets the moan fade with the contraction, and struggles to catch his breath.
“I’m sorry, sir, but- we’re gonna have to pull over. I- hoo- I’ll need to push, soon.”
“You’ll need to—?! Yuck, I don’t want to hear about that! Just do your damn job!”
The driver finds himself too shocked by the audacity to say anything. Though it turns out he doesn’t really have to; his body says it for him not three minutes later, his cervix giving way to the head, the red-hot clutch of his belly wringing it down with a deep pulling sensation that manifests as one clear need.
“Ohhhh god! It’s time, I need to push!”
“I don’t give a fuck. Do your job or I’ll get your goddamn license revoked!”
Through the haze of pain and panic, the threat sounds plausible. But he can’t ignore his body. Hundreds of thousands of years of evolution weigh on his womb, and he has no choice but to bear down with it and push.
For the next forty miles of highway, he pushes. Every time another noise of effort wheezes out of him, the client berates him for working in such a state, and for being disgusting, and for driving at such a pace that the other cars in the slow lane keep going around them. More than once, he hears the client on the phone reporting him to someone or another, but the contractions are two minutes apart now, so he never catches much before the strain of pushing blots out all other sounds.
Then, he feels a release of pressure, and the seat grows wet beneath him. The baby surges forward. The road blurs in front of him.
“Oh, god!” he cries. “The head! I feel the head, it’s coming, I gotta—“
He hits the brakes and wrenches the car off the road. A horn blares and fades as someone narrowly avoids them. He barely hears it over his own startled yelp as the seatbelt extender locks just under his belly, clotheslining his already-agonized pelvis. But the pain is nothing compared to the head straining his pussy.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
“It’s coming ouuuuuut!”
One of the doors opens and closes, but he pays it no mind, able to think of nothing but the building burn as his cunt stretches around the descending head. “Ohhhhh, my pussy, my pussy…” he groans, still white-knuckling the wheel.
Suddenly, his door opens. He jumps in surprise, then whimpers as he feels the head strain him.
“Get out,” the client huffs.
Finally. The driver spreads one leg carefully out of the car, slowly transfers his weight onto it, then clutches the door and the frame with trembling hands as he levers his baby-filled belly and pussy off of the seat.
“Ohhhhhh…” Immediately he staggers over to the hood of the car, ignoring the sting of hot metal on his palms as he falls against it. He bends there, belly hanging between his legs, feeling his drenched sweatpants clinging to his domed pussy. Vaguely he’s aware of the passing traffic, of everyone who drives by seeing the head of his baby tenting his crotch, but he doesn’t care as long as the child comes out safely.
“What are you doing?!” the client snaps. “Get back in!”
Blearily, he looks up to see the client pointing to the passenger’s side. Yes, it would make sense to push sitting down instead of over the asphalt, wouldn’t it? He staggers his bow-legged way around the nose of the car and carefully lowers himself in, practically laying back in the seat with his spread legs splayed outside of the car. He has just enough room to tug his waistband down as he starts to push again.
His heaving breaths come out as whines as the crown threatens. At this angle, he’s able to fit his arm around the jut of his belly and feel his crotch.
“Ohhh god, that’s the head, it’s coming out,” he whimpers, feeling a small patch of slimy hair between his taut pussy lips. The contraction ends, and he releases his push, feeling the head inch ever so slightly back inside. Only a few more pushes, now.
Behind him, the client has been muttering and grumbling. Taking the moment to twist around, the driver looks over his shoulder and sees that the client has pulled some casual clothes out of his suitcase and thrown them over the soaking driver’s seat, and is now cursing and wincing as he starts to sit.
“What- what are you doing?” the driver pants.
“What does it look like? Close the door and put your goddamn seatbelt on.”
He swallows dryly. “Are you taking me to a hospital?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He gestures flippantly with one hand. “So get on with it.”
Bewildered but grateful, the driver grips his legs behind the thighs and folds them into the car. A thin noise leaks out of him as his cunt strains, the change in position pushing the head forward.
“It’s so close, it’s almost out,” he groans.
The client doesn’t say anything to that, just pulls the car around and starts to accelerate. The driver focuses on his body, the weight in his womb and the searing pressure of his first baby peeking out between his legs. He feels his belly tightening and tucks his chin to his chest, grunting as he pushes with all his might. Beneath his shaking hand, he feels the his cunt lips stretch rounder and rounder, then finally begin to ease back, releasing more and more of the head.
He howls in pain but keeps pushing. He can feel it, the mounting pressure, the sensation of the head beginning to have its own gravity, it’s about to come out, it’s so close—
And suddenly it’s shoved back inside of him. A scream gargles in his throat, eyes snapping open to the sight of the client’s hand pushing flat on his crotch. He claws at the bastard’s arm futilely, too exhausted and disoriented to budge him.
Later, he’ll wish that he had the presence of mind to demand what’s going on, what the fuck is wrong with this monster, to say he’s going to press charges, to say this fucker should be ashamed of himself. But in the moment, all he can do is scream at the wrongness of it, the pain that’s somehow worse than crowning, and keep trying to push against it.
But finally he reaches the end of his ability, and can do nothing but fight for thin gasps of air. The client lifts his hand away with a confident huff.
“There’s enough screaming in this car already. I won’t want to hear your brats crying, too.”
“What- what the fuck!” he sobs. “You- you can’t—“
“I can, and I will. I better not see that thing coming out of you again.”
“I don’t have a choice!” His body chooses to illustrate a point with another contraction. He tries to close his legs to cut off the client’s access to the baby, but the asshole just shoves his hand under his thighs and finds the lump of the emerging head. The driver screams his pleas, but they fall on deaf ears, and his baby is forced back into his pussy again.
Through watery eyes, he sees that the GPS estimates they will arrive in 57 minutes.
“We’re- not even going to the hospital, are we?” he croaks.
“There’ll be an ambulance waiting at the conference center. Don’t be dramatic, you’ll be fine.”
He is very certainly not fine.
Everything in him rebels against the sensation of childbirth being violently reversed over and over. The contractions were already the worst pain he’s ever felt, but now they’re even tighter, even closer, forcing him to push. The head crowns, only to be swallowed by his unwilling pussy again and again.
38 minutes from their destination, a new pain drills into the driver’s spine. He groans, “No, no, stop! Not yet!” as he feels his cervix forced even wider. “Stop!” he screams, at the client now. “Another baby is coming! They’re gonna get stuck, please! It’s too much! It’s too much!”
“Then stop fucking pushing, dumbass,” the client hisses.
All the driver can do is tremble and weep as he feels a second baby beginning to slide down. The lower it gets, the worse it feels, until finally he vomits onto the floorboards. He follows that up with dry heaving every few minutes, the sensation of two bodies stretching him more than he can bear.
Eventually, when he pushes the head out again, it feels different, a sting to one side of his pussy.
The client scoffs. “Are those feet? What the fuck?”
The driver shudders with a dry sob, too dehydrated for tears. The second of his quadruplets is breach. Its feet must have slipped through his cervix in all this abuse.
It doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s all shoved back into him.
His world reduces to pain and nausea. He still pushes, but it’s feeble. He accepts that he’s going to die with two babies in his belly and two in his pussy. He bets the coroner will have never seen a man go like that, before.
Then the car slows, and the client says, “Finally. We’re here.”
The driver peels his eyes open. The only thing he can make sense of is the distant wail of a siren. At least there really will be an ambulance.
The client gets out of the car without so much as a “good luck.” But the moment he’s gone, the driver slams his feet up on the dashboard, digs his nails into the backs of his thighs, and pushes with all he’s got.
A head and a pair of legs burst out of him in a gush of fluid. He takes only a moment to catch his breath, then he feels a contraction building, and he pushes again, prying his legs open and gritting his teeth. Shoulders and knees come out of him. This is the part where the first baby should slip out of him, or at least be easily pulled free, but it’s stuck with the second baby in his birth canal.
A scream rises in his throat, and he keeps pushing. Two barrel-shaped torsos stretch him at once, nearly the width of the head and twice as long. He feels like he’s tearing open, but he keeps pushing. His pussy spasms as the shoulders pass and the legs of the first child fall free, finally a single moment of not being pried fully open.
He catches the first baby and drags it up to his chest, his head falling back against the seat, unable to look as he rubs and pats the tiny figure, even as he pushes on the head of his breech baby.
Finally the firstborn coughs and starts to cry, and the sob of relief that punches through his diaphragm is enough to crown the second. Beyond any squeamishness or care for pain, he rests the baby on his belly and reaches between his legs. He gently grips what he can of the head and simply pulls the child out, a sharp grunt of agony and a spray of blood.
His birth canal and pussy are so loose that he barely has to push before a third head stretches his lips. He pauses only to be sure baby two is alright, then scrunches his face tight and heaves out the third head in as many minutes. The shoulders follow with a few stubborn pushes, and he gathers the newest baby onto his wheezing chest.
Suddenly his door flies open, and he doesn’t even have the energy to be startled, eyes sliding numbly to the pair of EMTs standing there. They start to speak, but he groans, “Ohhhh it’s coming fast, catch it, catch it!”
The nearer EMT lunges forward and just barely catches the baby that comes barreling out of his gaping birthing hole.
And finally, the driver goes limp, surrounded by four wailing babies. With the last of his strength, he mumbles, “I bet that bastard’s gonna give me zero stars, too,” and lets his eyes fall shut.
thinking about going to work with a tiny bloat to my stomach. i notice it when i’m buttoning my jeans, it’s a little tight around the waistband but i just brush it off as having a heavy lunch and go about my day. as my shift goes by, i notice that same tightness returns but it grows more intense, my belly just not fitting into my jeans the right way and getting uncomfortable
it isn’t long before the denim is digging into my tummy and i throw on a hoodie so i can cover up the undone button at the top of my jeans, the pressure instantly lessened so i can move more. throughout the shift though, the bloat becomes more noticeable and i can feel my stomach growing heavier, adding pressure to my hips. i start to think about what i could’ve eaten to cause my belly to get so big
my coworker stops me in the break room, excitedly asking me how far along i am. her question shocks me because i know i had only looked slightly bloated before. i look down, trying to think of a good enough answer only to realize i can’t see my feet. my belly has gotten so big and round that it’s showing through the hoodie i’m wearing and settling low, as if i’m several months along
i can’t come up with a good enough excuse, but thankfully i get called away and use it as my means of escape. but as i go to walk out the door, i feel that familiar pressure in my hips only this time it’s more intense. i can feel myself waddling to get to the door. i’m so embarrassed but i can’t move any other way—my stomach won’t stop growing
i realize now that there’s no way to cover up this pregnancy belly that wasn’t there a few hours ago. i have no idea what lies will work and just as i’m spiraling for an excuse, i feel a sharp cramp and a grab onto my tummy. there’s telltale drips of liquid hitting the ground. and now i know i’m gonna be stuck laboring at my work, trying to hide it from everyone
hard sadistic dom/me who makes their birthing sub kneel gagged and blindfolded through their labor so all that they can focus on is the job of giving birth to make the process go faster but then denies their pleas to push and reminds them that they only get to deliver when their masters are ready and tells them that their legs are going to be tied together if they cant cooperate and follow instructions and the soft gentle dom/me in the dynamic being the one who finally steps in and gives permission for their sub to push, cooing softly in their ear about how good they are and how well they've done and how they just need to get up on the bed and spread their legs—wider, sweetheart- oh, wider than that- come on, you know you were made to do this, pull yourself open for us, show us what we've been waiting for, what you've been working so hard for— first undoing their gag so they can vocalize and then finally the blindfold so that they can watch their once tight pussy gape around the baby's crowning head
"No," I snarl, curling over my tight belly as I pull my knee up further towards my chest. The stretch of my hips helps to open my pelvis wider as the baby's head grinds its way down, pressing low and heavy against the burning tissue of my cervix. "I can... hnnnng, I can do this!"
You take a step away from the bed, hands slightly raised in a 'you're the boss' sort of way. "You're doing really well, baby," you murmur softly, your gaze fixed between my spread thighs. "You're absolutely right. You can do this. I'm right here, okay?"
I give you a frantic nod, taking a deep breath as I center myself and prepare to push again. "God, it burns," I groan, reaching down to slide two fingers into my puffy cunt. The head is just begging to slip through my cervix, and the pressure deep, deep in my belly is unrelenting. "Ohhhh, it's starting to come. I can feel it coming down!"
"Good, baby. Keep at it."
"fffffuckohmygod!" I turn to muffle a scream into the pillows as I bear down again, straining hard to pass the gigantic width of the skull through my cervix and into my birth canal. At two weeks overdue, I know just how big the baby I'm trying to deliver is, but any and all rational thought had escaped me when I'd reached transition.
I can't think about anything other than getting it out— I'm a mere slave to primal instinct, grunting and straining as I hold my legs open, sweat pouring down my face as I hold my chin to my chest. "It's there!" I gasp out, feeling the crown brush my fingers. "Mmmm, its coming."
I pull my fingers out and grip the pillow instead as I turn onto my side, panting sharply as I feel the head gradually moving down. "C-Can you see it yet?" I ask in a hoarse voice, letting out a frustrated groan when you shake your head at me.
"But it's moving, baby," you assure me. "There's a... bulge? You can definitely see something!"
I cup my hand over said bulge, growling through gritted teeth as I push again. The head sits just behind my furled slit, pushing my outer lips and my perineum outward. "Mmmm, burnING." Fluid trickles out from my cunt, and I know the head has made its first appearance when I hear your quiet gasp.
"There it is! Oh my God, baby. You're really fucking doing it!"
I choke out a small, wet laugh as I run my finger over the small, dime sized patch of slick wet hair. "Y-Yeah. I really... I'm doing it. I'm— ohhh, here it comes again. Gonna... gonna pushhhh."
"Slow, baby. You've gotta slow down." When I show no signs of doing that, completely lost to the pain of my yawning sex and my deserpate need to push through it, you hurry over to kneel in front of me. "Don't—."
"Can't help it!" I shriek, straining to get the head to emerge even a little bit further. It remains right where it is, stretching my red-hot lips as it slips out and back in, and then out and back in and again. "It burns so fucking baddd. I just want it out!"
You hurriedly place your hand over my own and I shriek again, thrashing my head to the side. "Slow," you stress. "You're going to tear, baby!"
"I don't careeee," I howl, too far lost to the throes of birth. "It's comingggg. I can't take the burning! Ohgodohgod, head's coming OUT."
“I’m sorry. You just feel so good. Fuck. My cock fits perfectly inside you. Oh, god- I can’t stop. I can’t stop. Fuck. I need to fill you up. I’m gonna fill you up. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m- ”
A second thought you might enjoy: woman deep in labor driving to the hospital through a blizzard with her husband. Car spins out and gets buried in snow. Husband goes to get help, she thinks she can wait, water breaks, okay maybe she can’t wait. But by the time she completely succumbs, she finds out the seatbelt got damaged and won’t budge. She’s stuck tightly pinned to her seat with a quickly progressing labor/birth. Does help come in time? Of course not ✨
hey there!! what a thought. here's what it inspired:
You learned rather late why everyone told you that it was better to be safe than sorry. Even when you thought that everyone else was slightly overreacting, that it couldn't possibly be that substantial to be a control freak over every single detail about the birth of your baby.
It was probably very, definitely necessary.
You learned that when you only found out that the weather was not gonna be on your side the moment you stepped out of the door. After your water had broken. After you had spent the last few hours with increasingly worse contractions rocking your body.
You probably should have listened to your mother and left for the hospital the moment you knew you were in labor.
Ideally, you thought you had time. But you realized late, as usual, when the snow started to fall, when you started to notice the nervousness growing in your partner's eyes with every glance they sent your way, every time they had to slow down just a bit more to avoid a fatality.
It really didn't help, because just like that, in the blink of an eye, it all went to shit. And the only thing you could think of as your heart slammed against your ribcage was the sharp pain shooting through the base of your stomach, and you weren't sure if that was a contraction or just the wrecking nerve of the situation.
Your partner said they were gonna get help. Assured you would be better off in the car. And of course, you believed it would be for the better, right? Even when you could feel the small trickling of amniotic liquid dripping from inside of you down your leg every time a contraction took over, even when you could feel the weight of your baby settled down in your pelvis, the heavy feeling pushing down with every minute that passed.
You thought you could wait. That you had time. That this baby was definitely not coming just right now.
You learned rather late why everyone told you that it was better to be safe than sorry. What the hell was that guy's name, the one you had just at the tip of your tongue, that said that everything that could go wrong would go wrong?
It didn't matter. That was not gonna help you the moment you felt the unnerving wave of pressure that made you grunt, groan, and squirm in place, your hands tightening around the door handle as you pushed it open. Your hips were grinding against the seat, damp with your own fluids, as you felt the girth of the baby's head moving down, starting to stretch you open. The cold air hit your red face, and when your hand moved to unclasp the seat belt, ready to let your body breathe—
The damned thing didn't budge. And it didn't budge. And as you breathed, chest heaving and body squirming against the now claustrophobic seat, in the ridiculously small space of this damned car—good God, had it always been this small, or were you just fucking huge now? — things trembling as you tried to fight against the sudden urge to spread your legs open wide, buck your hips forward, and fucking push.
Better safe than sorry, but there were some things in this life that no matter how much you planned them, they just did whatever the fuck they wanted. That you learned when the only sound that echoed in the cramped space was your labored breathing and the guttural, shameful screams escaping your throat when you felt the pressure of the baby's head pushing down and pressing you open. When you felt the fabric of your underwear straining against your crowning hole, when you felt the burning as you started to stretch open around the girth of the head that was slowly forcing its way out of you as your body pushed.
I mean, it was not like you could have planned for this. Neither you nor your partner nor the medical team came with them minutes later, only to find you there, with your swollen body trapped against the seat, legs spread wide to accommodate the gravid stomach that protruded from your body, winter jacket hastily spread open, pants barely down from a useless attempt at pulling them down, shirt lifting slightly at the base of your stomach to allow the view of barely a glimpse of red, furious, stretched skin, and beneath, the round, unmistakable bulge of the head of your baby as it crowned against your pants, ignoring your efforts of pushing because it didn't have anywhere else to go.
birth that makes you feel like a vulnerable, frightened animal just trying desperately to endure the agony. the contractions hit and all you want is to hide away and be alone right now in your most helpless state. your body feels like it's tearing itself apart and all you need to do is find somewhere quiet and safe and then push. You need to fucking push so badly.
Now for a completely different cock birth flavor. Mommy-to-be reclined in a birthing pool with relaxing music and candles everywhere, doing her slow Lamaze breathing while her wife murmurs words of encouragement in her ear… her belly poking out of the water, tensing hard every few minutes. And beneath it, rising to kiss her linea nigra as it’s drawn up with each contraction, swollen her girl cock pulses with preparations of its own. It’s huge, stretched over the course of weeks as fluid has built up inside, rendering it an angry purple that’s raw to the touch. Soon, her slit will spread and pour forth her broken water, leaving a narrow birth canal from her womb to her tip. It will take her hours, perhaps even days of pushing for it to stretch enough to admit her baby, but she’s ready.
Actually I am so enchanted by the thought of her cock preparing for birth in the final few weeks… starting out just being a little sensitive and then getting more and more swollen until it’s just as fluid-bloated and hard to the touch as her engorged breasts. It’s so full that it just hangs heavily, and she has to be sooo careful about it when she walks, lest she jar it too hard with her leg or pinch it between her thighs.
In public, people see the weighty bulge tucked gingerly into her pant leg and give her a knowing smile, with experienced mothers sometimes giving it a little stroke and guessing the number of days until she delivers based on its firmness.
At home, she lets it breathe without all that fabric on the painfully sensitive skin, and her wife sometimes gets cuteness aggression from how helpless and maternal it looks rocking slowly side to side with each waddle, in sync with her belly. Once she even tries to suck her off, though the poor pregnant mommy ends up in tears at just the sensation of her wife’s tongue laving at her bloated cockhead.
when u change ur mind halfway through and say you don’t want it anymore just to get put in a mating press immediately and told to be quiet until they’re done with you 🥰
