Hello! My name is Bonk and this is my spicy blog! I go by any pronouns but usually they/them for convenience. This is an 18+ blog, age in bio or I will block you, thank you.
I'm into oviposition, labor and birth, with a smaller focus on pregnancy as a whole- it's more the pain and effort that fascinates me. I'm not into rp but I'm totally down to receive requests if you enjoy my writing, though I reserve the right to refuse them. I'd love to see what horrible scenarios you all have kicking around in your brains >:)
Tiny shuttle quarters certainly weren't the place for a pregnancy. With only a few dozen square meters across the ship, and every square centimeter absolutely filled to capacity with equipment, there was barely any room to move around at a normal size, let alone with the girth of a full-term belly and hobbled by constant uncontrolled motion inside you. But she hadn't had any choice. There were only the six of them on the mission, and as the primary EVA specialist, it was her job to go out in the shuttle to fix anything that went wrong with their orbital equipment. Theoretically, nothing should have gone wrong with it, there were several layers of redundancy built in, but things didn't always go to plan, and an unforeseen impact with a small asteroid had damaged both the solar panels and maintenance systems on their weather monitoring craft, leaving it unable to fix itself as it usually wold have.
Of course, if her crew had known she was pregnant, they would have sent someone else. But she wasn't going to be the one to tell them when it should never have happened in the first place.
Long-term projects like the one they were working on had lots of rules about fraternization, but leave any group of people together for months or years on end with nobody else to talk to, and those rules got broken. And the rules meant that there weren't any other... measures to prevent something that would be bad for the mission from happening. Which of course meant that it had. She'd only slept with him a few times, desperate to relieve stress and feel the warmth of companionship after being stuck in deep space for so long on that tiny ship, but a few times was all it took if you didn't have any good ways to be careful.
It had taken her a long time to realize what had happened. A small issue with the engines had caused some turbulence for the first few months that had let her excuse her sickness as an issue with the motion combined with the unpalatability of shipboard food, even though she'd never had an issue with it before. The bloating was from the constant zero-g, and she never got big enough to be unable to hide under layers of shipboard clothing. Her period was had been spotty at best due to stress and microgravity at the best of times, so when it stopped altogether, she barely noticed. One less thing to worry about. The movement, though, that was what finally gave it away.
But by then, she was in too deep. They could have turned the ship around, but the time it would have taken to get back wouldn't have been enough. The risk of some sort of space-age coat hanger abortion would have been worse than the risks of going through with it. And her crew needed her. They all had their own duties, and everyone needed to pull their weight. They didn't need the extra stress of her situation jeopardizing the mission. So even after she knew, she kept quiet. And it all led to this.
Her, floating free in microgravity, on the way home from satellite maintenance, strapped into her space suit, having contractions. Increasingly frequent contractions.
She held the handles at the front windows of the shuttle, watching the larger station on Vesta come slowly into view below her as the asteroid turned. She would be back in mere hours, and forced to explain what had happened. This was the end of the line. Her grip tightened, causing the stiff fabric of her gloves to crumple softly in the relative quiet of the shuttle, a harsh noise against the soft, ever-present hum of the air recycler. Her innards pulsed and squeezed, and in the lack of gravity, the tensing of her muscles pulled her into a tight ball of pain on what she considered usually to be the ceiling. She'd done the maintenance and come back inside, but hadn't been able to get the suit off between contractions, the bulk of it inhibiting her movement.
As the contraction eased off, she slowly, carefully unfurled, breath heaving in the confines of her helmet, fogging the visor. She reached out for another handle and dragged herself back towards the rear of the shuttle, where the airlock and suit storage lockers were crammed together tightly. The area between them gave just barely enough room to exit and stow the suit. If she'd tried to bend over, she wouldn't have had enough space. Gingerly, she began to depressurize the suit, doffing her gloves first to expose her hands for the rest of the process.
As she reached up to remove her helmet, she felt another wave of pain start to wash over her. She reached for the latches, but before she could start to push them out of place, it sharpened and crashed into her. She struggled to curl around her tightening belly, but the small space wouldn't allow it. Desperate for relief, she reached out, grabbing at the locker handles and bracing her hands and feet against them. A small noise escaped with her breath as she floated there, helpless against the pain that coursed through her body.
It felt like minutes passed before it finally began to ease off and she regained control of herself. Shaking, she undid the latches on her helmet and stowed it in the locker with her gloves as quickly as possible. She reached around for her back fastenings and undid them too, grateful for the extensive practice that let her muscle memory take over. She had to brace again as she finished undoing them, another contraction hitting her before she could get out. Primally, she wished to crouch there in the corner and squat with her belly between her legs, but there was no gravity to let her, and no space either, so she let the tightness and desperate need to spread her legs pass over her without doing anything. It was torture. She breathed hard, moaning against the awful pain. When it was finally over, she drew herself out through the back opening of her suit, finally free in her jumpsuit underlayer again. She considered a moment, then took that off, too, and floated naked in the cramped body of the shuttle.
She paused there, pulling herself out of the locker space with the handles on the ceiling and into the main part of the space, where she had a little more room to move. She held the handles above her even after she'd moved, taking comfort in the stability of them. The pain felt worse without something to ground her, she'd discovered.
Sweat beaded her freshly-bared skin in the shuttle as she floated there, waiting for the next contraction to come upon her. It wouldn't be long with the time she'd taken getting herself undressed. She even took a moment to almost laugh at the absurdity of the situation, sweaty and naked in the middle of the shuttle. It was cut short when another contraction took her and she curled again toward the handles and the ceiling, rolling to press her knees against an open space on the ceiling. Without the suit in her way, she could move how she pleased.
As it faded, she found she didn't have the strength to move, and rode the next few contractions curled there against the wall. They were getting worse. She'd have stayed there longer, but a click and a beep announced communication from Vesta, newly restored as the station curved around to the same side of the asteroid that the shuttle was on.
"Rivera, come in. How'd the maintenance go?" Of course it would be Wright on comms, just her luck. She steadied her breath and pulled herself to the console.
"She's ship-shape. Should be getting data back any minute now. I don't think we should have any further issues with her," she said, holding the button on the console to transmit her voice. She hoped he couldn't hear her voice shaking.
"Good to hear. Your course looks good from here," he said, "you should be go for reentry in about 35 minutes." He hesitated. "We'll be happy to have you back." She heaved a breath. Things had been a little strained between them for a while. Since they'd stopped spending so much alone time together. He didn't understand why she'd stopped treating him the way she had been.
"Readings are the same up here. I'll be doing systems checks if you need anything else," she said, deliberately ignoring the sentimentality. She shut off the comms link and floated in front of the window for a moment, looking out at Vesta before a piercing pain grabbed at her stomach again and she cried out. This one was far worse than the others had been, twisting and snarling at her belly until suddenly she felt a release. A "pop". Dread peeled through her as she curled to reach down and look between her legs. The slight tightening of her core muscles that the movement required expelled a reddish liquid from her slit, which clung to her in the microgravity, wobbling like sheets of jelly on her legs and floating like horrible marbles in the air around her.
She spring into action, grabbing her old clothes and using them to daub at the liquid before it could get into any of her equipment. Her water had broken, and quicker than she could have expected, another contraction took hold of her. She moaned into it, the pain far worse even than the last one had been. Barely a minute passed after it let her go before another one was on her. They were fierce and constricting and she felt the squeezing pressing pushing something against her cervix.
But as soon as the contraction ended, it stopped. The pressure was gone. She panted slowly in the quiet shuttle, placing her hands against her sweaty, distended stomach as it rolled and shifted. From what she knew of childbirth, that pressure shouldn't have been going away. That pressure should have meant that the time for pushing was close at hand. It returned again with the next pain, pressing against her insides and pulling at her baby, but when the pain ended, it was gone again.
The gravity, she realized. Nobody had ever given birth in microgravity. Without gravity, the pressure of her own body was the only thing holding her baby against her cervix. The only thing pushing it into the birth canal. When the next contraction hit her, she rode through it again, the pressure deepening. Slowly, an urge began to rise deep in her body. The baby was coming. She needed to push. But as the contraction died down- they weren't completely going away any more- the urge mellowed alongside it.
A sense of dread began to build in her. If the lack of gravity wasn't going to let her give birth, then she was in trouble. Vesta's gravity was barely better than microgravity, if she couldn't get the baby out here, her chance there would be little better. As another contraction began to peak, she reached out and grabbed for it, gripping the handles in front of her and bracing her feet against the wall in a squat. She pushed as hard as she could, giving in to the urge her body was forcing on her.
Slowly, under immense duress, she felt it slide slowly into her birth canal, the force of her body pushing it through. But as the contraction faded and she lost her grip on the need to push, it slowly slid back up.
She tried again. Pain wrenched her belly and she pushed as forcefully as she could, but made no progress that wasn't undone. She was trapped for what felt like so many minute on end in a horrible purgatory of pushing and losing progress over and over again.
A voice cut through the haze of pain.
"Automatic landing system initiated, t-minus 1 minute to deceleration burn. Please remain in your seat until burn is complete." A robotic voice said loudly from the front panel.
"Fuck," she replied.
Forcing herself out of the position she'd been holding for what had apparently been nearly half an hour, she gingerly lowered herself into the seat at the front of the shuttle. bracing her legs against the console and her back against the chair, and riding out another contraction pushing as hard as she could, she slowly strapped herself down to her chair. There was no time to think about what her crewmates would think of her when they found her like this.
"T-minus thirty seconds," the voice continued. She panted in her seat. "Twenty seconds," it said. Another contraction was slowly beginning to build.
"Ten. Nine. Eight." Pain blossomed in her belly.
"Seven. Six." She watched as her stomach tightened and shrunk against her.
"Five. Four." Pain. Her body was wracked with it. She could barely breathe, barely think.
"Three." She needed to push.
"Two." She couldn't even hear the numbers as they came, every second felt like a millennium.
"One." Here it comes.
"Deceleration burn initiated." As the engines activated, the shuttle began to slow abruptly, approaching the asteroid Vesta, and along with the quick deceleration, came wonderful, blessed g-forces. Her eyes rolled back in her head and the sudden change. Her body tensed. She was flattened down into her seat by them and the pushed against her at strengths far exceeding Earth's gravity. All the pushing she'd done until now had been nothing but practice. She pushed, and felt her baby slide down into her birth canal. It's head rammed into her opening with incredible force, the g-forces pushing it down into her.
She lost the contraction, but not the pressure. As her baby's head pressed outwards with the force of the decelerating shuttle, it burned and bit and stung like nothing she'd ever experienced before. She might have cried out, screamed even with the intense pain and pressure, but the noise of the shuttle's engines drowned it out.
Mercifully, her body forced another contraction on her and she pushed again, her baby's head popping free of her like it was nothing, and its shoulders sliding out easily after. She drew her knees together to keep it from falling to the ground with the increased force, and they both lay there for a long moment before the pressure from the burn slowly started to ease off.
She found herself breathing hard, gasping for air as the shuttle docked. The baby, freed from the horror of its own birth, and returned to Vesta's minimal gravity, began to cry. The sounds of the airlocks in the docking bay hissed quietly behind her, and she heard the door open.
"Rivera, what happened? We didn't get confirmation from you before the decel-" Wright. Of course. He stopped short as he entered the shuttle, her crewmates behind him with emergency equipment.
She lay her head back in the chair. Well. The jig was up.
I think you should elaborate on birthing those minotaur babies. Imagine how long and painful the crowning would be, especially with their big horns and long, wide snout. There's probably only two or three of them, but they're all so big and would take so long for you to push out. Your minotaur husband likes having you on display for him, loves watching you struggle with his babies. Maybe he refuses to intervene because minotaurs see a difficult labor as a test of strength, and he wants you to prove yourself a worthy carrier of his children.
The calving pen is always full of moans and screams. Men laboring, men pushing, men calving.
Every few months I’m one of them. I’m one of them right now.
A young man shrieks not far from me, obviously calving for the first time. He’s pushing too hard, too long, even after his contractions end—desperate to escape the stretch. He’s going to wear himself out before he calves even once, and his belly is huge—he’ll need to find the strength to calve again multiple times.
A fellow veteran grunts beside me, bearing down on his third calf of the evening. He’s sweating, but he has paced himself well. He only screams during crowning.
I push again, the first calf of this pregnancy stretching me painfully. My husband leans against the outside of the fence, staring intently at me. Not at my face, more at my heaving belly, with glances at my teardrop-shaped cunt. His leather trousers are tented with his erection and he breathes deeply through his bull’s nostrils.
The contraction fades and I moan as the calf slips back behind my lips. My husband’s left ear flicks dismissively, and a flash of anger burns me. As if it’s so easy for a human to calve for a minotaur!
A new contraction builds and I push. My lips part again. I groan—I’m already feeling the ring of fire and it’s only the beginning. I hold my breath and hold the pressure, letting myself stretch. The first one is always the worst. When the contraction leaves me, the calf’s head doesn’t retreat again. A small victory.
When I push again, agony blossoms between my legs. I lay my head back and scream, and push.
When I stop pushing, the stretch is so bad that I keep screaming. The young man near me screams louder, though, and I look and see that he’s at the widest part of the head of his firstborn. Push, baby, push, I think doggedly to myself—but I can’t say it out loud. To help him or even encourage him would make him lesser in the eyes of whichever bull here knocked him up.
I feel my belly contracting again and I push, but my eyes are on the emerging head of the young man’s calf. His cunt is stretched beyond its limits. Push, baby. Push hard. The first calf is always the worst. The others will come out easier after one calving. I know it hurts, baby, it’s a big calf. Push.
And he does push, and the head comes rocketing out of him. At the same moment I push hard and my calf’s head comes out, and I moan as I cum hard, bucking my hips and squirting. Fuck. He has collapsed on his side, panting and sobbing. But there’s no relief. I see the calf begin to turn until the broad shoulders are pressed up tight against the inside of his lips, and his body bears down against his will.
“No! No!” he screams. “No—ghnnnnNNNNRAAAAA.”
The primal sound come with the emergence of one shoulder. Push, baby. You’re almost there. I know it hurts, push.
The second shoulder lurches out of him and he calves his firstborn completely and cums, curling over his belly as he squirts and screams, his ruined hole pulsing. Good boy. My calf turns inside me and I bear down, working through the pressure on the first push, delivering a shoulder on the second push, and finally turning my gaze back to my husband as I bear down a third time. Our eyes lock as I push, and with a heady release of pressure I birth out his calf into the world.
He nods.
It’s all the approval he’s allowed to give me. It’s all the approval I need. It’s also the only approval I have time for, as the second calf rushes to take its place in my birth canal.
I keep my husband’s gaze and push, teeth gritted, panting harshly through my nose. He’s the one to break the staring contest—so that he can look at my cunt as his second calf begins to open me up.
The young man is moaning again, still lying on his side. He’s giving half-hearted pushes on his next calf.
The pressure and burn of my next crowning takes my attention. I give a long, hard push, grunting through the pain. I can feel myself building, so I reach around my huge belly to touch my tdick. I stroke myself between contractions, and as the new contraction builds I push again, and cum my entire second calf out of me with an animalistic sound. The third is right behind it, and I calve again in the orgasmic aftershocks.
Next to me, the young man is still crowning his second calf, whimpering with each push. He’s too tired.
I struggle to my feet, my cunt leaking birth fluids and cum, and I wobble to the fence nearest the young man. He looks up at me, his forehead gleaming with sweat and his eyes hollow. I nod to him and grip the fence, then drop into a low squat to push. My fourth calf emerges to a full crown while he watches.
I hear my husband snort behind me on the other side of the birthing pen. He knows what I’m doing, but I haven’t spoken to or touched the young man. In the public pen, newcomers learn by watching the birth techniques of more experienced men. I haven’t done anything wrong.
The young man pulls himself onto his hands and knees with a little sob, his eyes fixed on my bulging hole. He grips the fence with a shaking hand and rises up on unsteady legs. I stand up beside him, legs spread, and then squat in unison with him.
“Oh god,” he moans. “It hurts so bad…nghhhh—“
Our bulls aren’t close by, and the cries of other laboring men will drown out a quiet voice.
“Push, baby,” I finally whisper aloud. “Push for me.”
He tucks his chin down and obeys me, straining on his second ever calf. What did that feel like for me, that first calving season? The three huge calfs I squeezed out of me? It took me hours of pushing.
“Good boy,” I murmur soothingly. “The first calf is the worst. It’ll always be easier now.”
“It hurts,” he says, and his voice isn’t so quiet, but he’s been screaming this entire time so I know nobody will take any notice.
I groan as my body pushes for me. “Ah! Ah—“ I deliver the calf’s head, and the shoulders press up against the inside of my lips. “Nghh…take a deep breath and push, ten seconds. Don’t stop.”
He pulls in a breath and squats, his belly pulled taut. I squat beside him. Nine, eight, seven—I calve and cum, gentle this time. I roll my hips slowly to ride out my orgasm. The young man reaches his ten seconds and gasps for air.
“Fuck! Fuck!”
“Feel between your legs, baby,” I whisper. “That’s your calf. You’re at the widest part of the crown, you’re about to calve. Ten seconds, push.”
He squats and bears down, but he can only hold his breath for half the time before he opens his mouth in a scream. His calf inches out of him, and with a sudden release he fully crowns the head and the rest of the calf comes out all at once. His belly heaves and he cums, hips bucking wildly, his head thrown back in ecstasy.
“Fuck! Fuck!”
“Good boy,” I say while he screams, hiding a smile. Then I moan and drop down low to push. I’m not done yet.
Neither is he, and his body is pushing on its own while he basks in the haze of his orgasm. His twitching cunt is already bulging with the next calf.
I push out two more calfs before he’s calved his third, and my belly is still huge. So is his. Two more for each of us, probably.
But both of us realize at about the same moment that we’re on our final calfs, and they’re both huge.
“Oh god,” he cries. “It’s too big. I can’t do it!”
My calf is squeezing slowly through my cervix while I pant. It burns, still deep inside me, not even beginning to make an appearance at my entrance.
“Oh, honey,” I whisper. “It’s huge. They’re both huge.”
“Does it hurt?” he whimpers.
“Yes,” I say, inhaling sharply through my teeth. “Push with me.”
We squat side by side, gripping the fence like it’s our last tether to life. I think he gets to the point where the shoulders are making their way through his cervix inside him when he starts wailing.
“It hurts! Oh god! It huuuuuurts—“
The burn is rising inside me, and I can’t stay quiet any longer. I dip my head between my shoulders and groan, loud and long, sounding for all the world like a calving minotaur instead of a laboring man. Blood is rushing in my ears, and I can hear the young man’s screams as if from a great distance. I can’t help him or encourage him anymore. We’re both alone, straining to deliver enormous calfs for our bulls.
A ring of agony grows between my legs. It’s beginning to crown. I press into the pain, there’s no other way—the pressure mounts and I can’t remember ever delivering a calf this huge. My cunt keeps stretching around it, and every second I know I’m at the widest part of the head only to realize that the stretch is still mounting. I’m not breathing, I think. I may be screaming, or holding my breath, but I’m not breathing in. I’m only pushing into the crown.
Suddenly I’m past the widest point. Unlike my other calfs today, this one’s head doesn’t come fully out all at once. I just know the pressure is easing, and I keep pushing as the head slowly slides out. I reach between my legs and let out a startled cry. The head is bigger than any newborn calf, I could almost guess this was a three month old coming out of me.
Suddenly my husband is in front of me, on the other side of the fence. He’s crouched low, looking into my eyes. With the head of his calf dangling out of me, the long crowning over, I have the wherewithal to realize there’s a spark of concern in my husband’s brown eyes. At his side is a young bull, crouched too, and holding the young man’s hands through the fence. The young man isn’t screaming anymore, his face is just a twisted, silent mask of pain as he pushes.
“It’s big,” my husband whispers. “They’re both big.”
“We can do this,” I moan, my tongue thick, my voice barely coherent. “We can do this.”
My husband nods and doesn’t touch me, but he doesn’t get up from his crouch, either.
I carefully let go of the fence and shuffle behind the young man. His opening is bulging obscenely as he struggles to crown a calf at least as big as the one hanging out of me—maybe bigger. I moan as I settle into a kneeling position.
“Okay, baby,” I say, and rub the young man’s lower back. “Your bull put a big calf in you. Let’s get it out.”
I press two fingers at the base of his stretched opening and he lets out a strangled cry.
“I’m not gonna let you tear,” I say. My breath hiccups as a contraction ripples through me and I give an instinctive push. But I stop—the shoulders haven’t rotated yet. It won’t come out. I have to let this happen. “Oooof. Okay, baby, push where you feel my fingers. On my mark, take a deep breath, push for 10 seconds. Okay, deep breath—and go.”
The young man inhales and tenses his entire body. Everything he has is being used to crown his calf. Ten, nine, eight. His calf is moving, slowly. He’s stretching wider. Five, four, three, two—
He gasps for air. “It hurts! Get it out! Get it out of me!”
“You’re getting it out,” I say, rubbing his back with my free hand. “You’re doing it. Deep breath, push.”
He tamps down a scream and does what I say. While he’s pushing, I feel my calf begin to turn. The new stretch of the shoulders is burning at my opening, and my eyes water. Fuck…
“Get it out! I can’t do it!”
“Good boy,” I whisper, trying not to push. “Good boy,” I say louder. “You’re almost there. Deep breath and push!”
He sucks air into his lungs and bears down, but a deep low rumbles through his chest. I realize with sudden clarity that if he can get through this, he will be highly prized, even with my help and the tender touch of his young bull through the fence. He’s perfect for this.
“Push, baby,” I murmur, eyes fixed on the head of his calf. Its size is unbelievable as it slowly emerges. “Don’t stop, take another deep breath and push.”
He does it, every muscle in his body taut and glistening. The head is slowly crowning, crowning…
“Aughhhh!” he wails, and the head is out.
I gasp. Both our bulls gasp. I hear other gasps too, and glance around. Others are watching, even the veteran from earlier who was calving on my other side. He’s done, I realize—his afterbirth is on the ground at his feet—but he hasn’t left the pen. He’s staring along with the rest of us at the massive head the young man has just birthed out.
“Fuck! It’s out!” the young man says. He turns to look at his calf on the ground, but as he shifts he feels the head between his legs. “What?”
“That was just the head,” I say, shakily. The urge to push is strong but I’m focused on him right now.
“What?” he whimpers, and I see tears forming in his eyes. “No…no! I can’t push it out! It’s too big, the head nearly killed me! I can’t! I can’t!”
I look at my husband. “Hold him.”
My husband loops a strong arm under the young man’s armpit and gestures to the young bull to do the same. Together they pin him to the fence in a half-squat, facing me.
“No!” he screams. “No, it hurts! I can’t!”
His belly tightens with another contraction, and I place my hands carefully but firmly around his calf’s neck.
“Be a good boy,” I say. “Push hard.”
“No! No! Aughhhh—“ But he can’t stop the inevitable. He pushes, and I begin to pry and pull on his calf while he screams. And while I pull, my body does the inevitable too, and pushes.
The shoulders hurt so fucking bad. I realize I’m screaming, delivering and helping to deliver. We push and scream, and I pull.
I jerk back as the young man calves into my arms, and as I fall back with his calf, my body spasms and my calf drops out of me.
Our two bulls swarm into the birthing pen, no longer heeding any semblance of the rules. My husband props me up to get a look at me, and the young man’s bull pulls him into his arms and holds him while he delivers the afterbirth. I push out my afterbirth a few moments later.
As I catch my breath, I meet the young man’s gaze. His eyes are glassy and his mouth gapes open while he pants, but he’s conscious. I give him a nod. He swallows hard, and exhales sharply through his nose, and nods back.
As the moon drew higher in the sky, a dark shape slunk gently down the grime-crusted sidewalk. The witching hour streets were lit only by orange-tinted streetlights, casting a harsh, fuzzy-edged warmth across town. At the soft edges of those shadows, the barest of shapes seemed to cut a hard line through the dulling light. The silent night let through soft sounds that might have otherwise gone unheard: a wet, rasping huff with an urgent rhythm, the uneven click of clawed steps against wet pavement, and the brush of scales as they dragged along the ground.
The creature kept to the darkened margins of the street, its sides brushing against the buildings as it kept out of the warm and watchful eyes of the streetlights. Though its movements were practiced and careful, its grace and elegance had left it, replaced by lumbering desperation. The rise of the full moon marked the time of its cycle where it would have to change its hunting targets.
It spent most of its time outside the city, trawling through the forests looking for prey and existing in the daylight, but every month, instinct forced it deeper and deeper into the hot stone, metal, and glass of the city where the sky was choked out by buildings too tall to ever feel real enough to stand on their own. It disliked how cramped they made it feel, how caged. But it was necessary. There was a hunt to finish.
As it considered how far it would choose to descend into the horrible clot of stone and garbage and stinking human beings, a scent caught in its throat, causing its belly to twinge and roil. It slowly dared to flare its receptors, the openings along its muzzle peeling apart to let the scent flow in, allowing it to locate its source and character. It was coming from a couple floors up a building a block to the west, through an open window, earthy and fleshy and full of hot salt.
As the fullness of the scent flooded in, the twinges in the creature's belly grew more fervent, bordering on painful, demanding. It stopped there a moment, closing its receptors and slowly crouching to the ground as the movement tore through its distended abdomen. As it dropped low, its belly touched the sidewalk, causing the twitches to suddenly worsen all at once, and it let out a gravelly, animalistic breath.
Waiting for the feeling to pass, it raised itself up once more and followed the muted scent that came in through its inadequate nose, muffled by the closed receptors. The building it led to was old, built of rugged stone bricks slowly weathering away in place, their surfaces rough enough that the creature is able to climb them with ease. It's a lucky night, the building has sills at every level of windows, and balconies that line its sides to allow for its inhabitants to enjoy the night air. It's easy enough for the creature to find the window it seeks and to pull its encumbered body up and into the small, fenced balcony. All together, it barely fits there, cramming itself into the tiny space between the fence and the small table and chairs that have been placed outside, and its engorged belly does nothing to assist besides brush against every other obstacle, quivering and pulsing each time.
It's almost enough to start the process, but with the creature's receptors sealed, it isn't quite enough on its own.
Balconies aren't an easy entry point for most people, so the door doesn't have a strong lock, it snaps apart with only a little of the creature's impressive strength, and it squeezes itself inside through the half-open sliding door, the tiny opening squeezing its belly and causing it to lurch into the living room, panting and stopping there for a moment. As it passes, the creature slowly begins to open its receptors once again, letting the newly intense scent guide it through the darkened rooms. Its eyes are no more equipped for the dark than a human's might be, but it has no need of them now. The scent pulls it bodily through the cramped human space, its clawed feet pulling at the low-pile carpet and its body beginning to drip gently in anticipation.
The scent pours out from the thin gap between the bottom of one door and the floor. The creature, having done this so many times its lost count, twists the knob deftly with its claws. In the old days it would have simply thrown its weight against the door, pent up and impatient, but it has since learned that subtlety is a fine path to easily caught prey.
The room it finds beyond is saturated in the scent, every corner dripping with it as though it's soaked into the very walls. It's a plain room, with only a little furniture and a few frames hung precisely on the wall. At the center of the far wall is a wide bed covered with a thin blue sheet, a pitiful ward against anything that might come to tarnish the shape beneath to which it loyally clings.
The rest of the creature's receptors open by instinct, tracing slits across its muzzle, into its mouth and even down further along its body. They drink the scent like wine, feeling the intoxicating effects like a buzz. It's too much to handle. Losing control, the creature clambers across the room, all its former dignity lost in the roiling, pressing, pained twitching of its abdomen and the crazed frenzy of its receptors.
It crawls atop the bed and in the barest moment, only milliseconds, a length of flesh curls out from the largest slit in its abdomen, surrounded by the smaller, more sensitive receptors. It reaches nearly 18 inches over a couple seconds, the tip terminating in a tiny, dangerous spike which reaches out with an uncontrolled precision for its prey. It pricks the shape beneath the sheets quickly, and with contact comes the sharp sound of awakening, cut off for now as the creature's victim slowly moves from panic to ecstasy to exhaustion to sleep. The deed done, the stinger pulls back, disappearing into the bulbous fleshy mass.
Only once it's fallen asleep does the creature finally allow itself to crawl out onto the bed. By now the proximity of its human victim has overcome it. Its receptors stand open, and as it slides over their body, its belly brushing against them, the process begins, all its criteria met.
A twisting unlike any other wraps around the creature's belly, pushing it closer back to the shape that it might have been in days previous, though there is much more there to accommodate than there had been. The pressure and crushing pain of it all cause the creature to whimper, a wolflike moan clawing its way from the creature's throat. As the pressure builds, it fantasizes that it can feel each egg stored in its abdominal sac rubbing against its fellows. He expects he will have upwards of two hundred this clutch, though very few will ever survive the whole process.
In the throes, it uses its weakened claws to pull the sheets from its victim, exposing them to the warm summer night air. The creature presses lower, fighting against the process as it hasn't made itself ready yet. It winces as its belly tenses again, new scent flowing in. The sudden change causes the length of flesh- its ovipositor- to jerk suddenly upwards. With almost a mind of its own, it curls under clothes and past underwear, seeking a place to push into. It finds one, slipping in with some effort.
The creature shakes, pains pulsing quickly in its belly and pleasure radiating out unstoppably from its ovipositor. It crouches there, caught between agony and ecstasy, and in that state, the pathways through its body start to run once again, as they do every month as the moon turns full. It twitches as its belly squeezes rhythmically, faster and faster now, crushing its organs and forcing the eggs inside its distended belly out through the barely-big-enough sphincter that separates its egg sac from its oviposition chamber. The eggs themselves are relatively small, only the size of a table tennis ball each, but with the restrictive opening, only a few can pass at a time.
The creature pants with pain as its body does the work for it, but the job won't be done for a while yet. It crouches there, belly pressed against its victim's soft back as it pulses with pain and progress. Slowly, over the course of an hour or so, the eggs move completely over from the sac where they've been created and grown to the antechamber of their birth. It's only once every egg has made the journey that the next stage is able to begin.
As the last egg slips through the opening, the creature's ovipositor begins to twitch. It squeezes and pulls, reaching slowly ever deeper into the victim until it reaches a place where it can go no further. It stops. It expands painfully, so that the track that runs along its center is wide enough to accommodate the eggs.
As it reaches its final size, there is a momentary pause, a breath in the process, where the creature opens its eyes and takes in the darkened room around it in clarity before being thrown back down as the lower part of its abdomen suddenly contracts. Egg after egg marches down its ovipositor, all in a horrible line. They come in bursting groups as the contractions force several down at once, and the creature pants heavily, its breathing interrupted every few seconds as its whole body seems to squeeze together. As the pain subsides and each new cluster of eggs slowly works its way into the creature's ovipositor, it gets a moment to stop and pant, drool and tears slopping from its wide open mouth. With each squeeze it pushes, gripping its claws into the soft mattress below, tearing at it, rending it. The wanton destruction helps, but not much.
Each contraction, each push brings with it more eggs, usually in groups of three or four, but sometimes, with a particularly bad pain or strong push in a desperate attempt to finish the process, six or even seven eggs exit the oviposition chamber and into the ovipositor itself. The relief the creature feels when these massive clumps finally pass, popping as a mass into the victim's waiting gaping insides is immeasurable. It stays this way for hours, twitching and squeezing and pushing and popping and panting and drooling and working so very hard.
But eventually, the last cluster exits its sac. It squeezes into the ovipositor and without the follow up, the creature experiences its whole journey, slowly sliding down the length of it as the creature pushes it along, desperate to be finished. With a pop, it is.
Agonizingly, without the creature's input, its ovipositor retract down the path it's carved through its red and overused victim. The creature returns to itself, looking down over its handiwork. Its victim has changed over the hours. Their hole is red and angry, stretched wider than it should be and dripping with fluid, some theirs, some from the process, mixed together so as to be almost impossible to tell apart. Their body is changed, too. They've turned in their drugged sleep to allow for the mass of their new belly to rest on the bed beside them rather than underneath. It extends out a great length, much further than the creature's had due to the discrepancy in size. They breathe softly, barely aware for now of what has taken place. They won't have long to enjoy their new form though. The eggs will hatch in a matter of days and the young will fight for dominance within, devouring each other until only one or two are left. Those that are strongest will be born into the world in less than a week, forced to fend for themselves out in the wilds, where the likeliest ending will be getting eaten by something else larger than themselves.
The creature feels no familial bond to the eggs now that they are laid. It is a strong example of its kind, it has done well and laid many clutches and it is a surety that some of its offspring now roam nearby, participating in the same ritual that it dances each full moon. For now, there's time to escape, and another month of hunting to live out before the moon becomes full once again.
I'm not usually the eggpreg guy but what if there was a creature who produced eggs but to lay them is an entire labor and delivery of its own and the eggs need to be kept inside a different living host so during the pushing phase, which can last minutes to hours they have to be buried deep into someone else's birth canal to move them into the womb.
Imagine your egg laying SO going into labor and beginning to push out her egg through her ovipositor but as she announced she has to push you have to straddle her laboring body and take in her shaft so the eggs safely transfer from her into your womb for the next part of the incubation cycle.
and of course by the end of Your cycle the eggs will have hatched and you will be delivering your live offspring
Outside the single window of your hab, the local star slowly sinks behind the planet for the third time this cycle, as it will five more times before the day's activities are finished, with the speed your station travels at as it orbits. But you haven't noticed. The common beauty of a sunset, even as it tints the planet's atmosphere a soft orange, is lost on you. Your focus is elsewhere.
The hab is laid out in similar style to the many others that line the halls of your station, though the decoration differs between each. The whole space is only large enough to accommodate a bed at one side and a small sitting area at the other, a few compact but comfortable chairs arranged around a plush purple rug. A large automatic door sits at the other end, a cramped entrance to a private bathroom beside it along the adjoining wall. The bed is the prized location, though, with thick quilted coverings and soft pillows that certainly don't come standard. It normally stands clean and made, though today the blankets have been unceremoniously shoved aside and the sheets dragged and pulled every which way. In the center is the reason for the disturbance.
You partner sits hunched and huffing at the center of the destroyed bed, their dark softly scaled flanks rising and falling erratically as their hands dig into the sheets. Their long head hangs uncontrolled against their chest, tongues lolling out of both sides of their mouth, with sweat and drool dripping from them in equal quantities. They've been like this for hours. You sit beside them, a hand on one side of their broad back, soothing them.
You'd been together for years already when they brought up the idea of having children. Having met and fallen in love on the station, you were both familiar with the ins-and-outs of protocol when it came to forming a relationship or starting a family. It was often encouraged, as it helped the station to feel more like a community, a home, than a cold research vessel. Even given that positive outlook though, there were few couples who made the time to actually go through with the process, and even fewer that were interspecies.
Your partner came from a type of species that could be uncharitably called parasitic, though in the modern day with all its interconnectedness, it was rarely viewed that way. While they needed another member of their own species to fertilize their eggs, they lacked the necessary organs to support them through the entirety of their growth. The eggs could be laid in open air if necessary, but it tended to cause weak growth, so throughout their history, your partner's species had used hosts to allow their eggs to grow more strongly and consistently. Brought into the intergalactic community, this process of hosting had taken on deep and intimate meaning, often practiced between lovers while the primary fertilization partner could either be an additional party in a larger relationship or simply a quick reproductive transaction. In your relationship, it had been the latter.
When you had decided to start a family, at your partner's repeated insistence and your flattered gladness, you had reached out to an acquaintance from a few systems over who had provided the extra genetic material your partner needed. That had been months ago, and the eggs that rested in your partner's sac which normally would have gone unfertilized and been easily passed, had instead swelled and softened until their stomach had begun to distend, the scales there softening and spreading to accommodate.
You had taken immense pleasure in the changes to your partner's body, feeling the hard keratinous ridges along their belly grow pliable and vulnerable under your delicate, receptive human fingers. It had all been leading up to this. When they'd woken you early this morning, breath hitching in their throat, you'd both known it was time. You'd called off of work for the day and settled in to allow them to nest in your shared bed.
It started slow. A few times an hour, the soft scales along their belly, separated by fleshy tissue to allow for the growth, had quickly contracted and reformed the tight, unbroken line of their previous form as their sac squeezed inside them, forcing the eggs out of the holding space where they had been growing and into the laying pouch lower in their torso. As the day passed by however, and the time grew closer, the pains sped up, until they were occurring every 10 minutes, then every 5, then every 2. As it stood now, your partner was near-constantly wracked with shuddering ripples as the muscles in their torso forced the process along.
The sputtered suddenly as one particularly bad pain struck them, then went suddenly silent, their primary eyes going wide.
"I- I think that the second phase is starting!" They choked out. "I feel the first one... moving." They shut their eyes suddenly, and as your eyes darted back down to their abdomen, you could see the bulge of the first egg outlined against their taut, scaled belly as it moved outwards towards the laying pouch. It wasn't quite there yet, though. Once it was, you would have to move quickly and decisively.
"Is it time?" You ask. Your partner looks up, exhaustion and desperation dripping from their face. It crinkles with pain once again, and in their throes, they nod vigorously.
"I- It's time now. We have to- AH!" They almost double over and you see the first egg suddenly slide forward and into position. "Oh spirits! Quickly!" On cue, their body begins to push through the ancestral motions it has been designed for. As the first egg reaches the laying pouch, a long curling appendage starts to emerge from the minuscule slit along the bottom half of their abdomen. They shudder as the slick ovipositor unfurls into the open air of the room, too sensitive to be comfortably exposed to the chill of the outside.
You move quickly, sliding off your underwear and helping your partner to mount you. Their ovipositor finds purchase quickly, instincts taking over, and you reach a confident hand up to your partner's face, cupping what could be called their cheek in your palm reassuringly. They open their eyes, briefly breaking free of the powerful instincts driving them to make eye contact with you. Deep in their dark eyes, you find love and joy, blanketed with the pain and hunger of the current situation.
You shiver as the ovipositor slithers into you, reaching as deeply as it can. Your partner drops onto you, bucking their hips against yours in a primal effort to force it deeper. Once they can go no further, they stop, and hold for just a moment, completely still. You take it to admire the bulge of the first soft egg that sits plainly there, barely under their skin. Lost in the wonder of the moment, you're startled when your partner makes another move. Dropping down over you, hands digging into the sheets beside your head, they let out a loud, strained sound as another pain strikes them, different this time.
"It's- AH! It's time! I need to push! Spirits, I need to push now!" They cry out. You move your hand from their face down onto their stomach, tracing the bulge of the egg. They whimper and as another pain strikes, you see their whole body twist with effort. The soft egg begins to move down, disappearing for a moment as it enters their ovipositor, then reappearing as it travels painstakingly slow down the thin organ, deforming in its softness to more easily travel through its constricted length. Just before it reaches you, your partner stops, the pain lost and progress halted. You can see the stretch of their ovipositor around the egg, the way that the skin and flesh have to strain to allow it through, and you can hear the hissing, pained breaths of your partner as they try to stand the burning of it all.
Blessedly, another pain comes quickly, causing them to whimper, and then redouble their efforts. The egg begins to move again, traveling steadily down until it comes up against your entrance. On the sudden resistance, your partner lets out a moaning, alien chittering, a low growling, whimpering sound that speaks of desperation. You see the muscles in their lower regions tense further, and suddenly, the egg has forced its way through, stretching its way into your body. You take a sharp breath, feeling it as it squishes and slides slowly along the length of the ovipositor inside you, savoring the feeling of your first child entering you, finding a place inside you where it will continue to grow for months yet.
All at once, the egg reaches the end, sliding out of the tip of the ovipositor and expanding ever so slightly as it emerges from the slightly-too-thin space it has been traveling through. You feel it settle inside you, warm and soft and thumping ever so slightly with life. As it leaves the ovipositor, your partner lets out a harsh, held breath which turns into a series of ragged, monstrous huffs.
"It's- It's out," they say, as if you aren't completely and deliriously aware. The ovipositor shifts inside of you and a quiver of pleasure runs through your body, causing your muscles to tighten ever so slightly around the egg now inside you, reminding you that it is there. It thumps back approvingly and you feel another wave of sweet pleasure run through you, tickling you from your stomach outwards. Your partner smiles down at you through heavy breaths. You both sit like that for a moment before you hear your partner's breath grow faster and harder again, the pains returning.
The second egg slides out more easily than the first into the laying pouch, its path cleared by its slightly larger first sibling, though not without effort. With the ovipositor already inside, the process moves on quickly without allowing your partner even a hint of a break. As soon as the egg has entered the laying pouch, another pain takes them and they let out an anguished moan as their body begins the process of pushing without them. In the haze of effort, their tongues slowly drop out of their open mouth between their bared teeth, dripping saliva down onto the bed and onto you in the effort of pushing. You raise a hand to wipe it off of your cheek, then move it down to touch the egg gently as it moves slowly down the ovipositor.
"AH- OH! Spirits preserve me!" They let out a sharp cry as you make contact, pain and pleasure rolling through their body and causing the egg to suddenly speed up in its passage. The wave of feeling passing through them all at once causes their muscles to tighten and squeeze and all of the sudden, the third and final egg pops forward all at once.
"AH!!" The sudden pain and surprise cause your partner to rock forwards all at once in a horrible lurch, and their head lands between their hand, still clutched in the sheets, and your head, their wet slavering mouth just beside your ear. The perfect place for you to hear the wet and ragged breaths catching continuously in their throat. Unable to find the strength, they can't pick up their face from the bed and so leave it there, their whole body pressed against yours, allowing you to feel every muscle twitching, every forceful push and every shifting scale.
The jolt causes the second egg still trapped in their ovipositor to twitch forward, passing into your all at once without warning. You let out a breath that turns more into a moan as it escapes as you feel it slide out into you to join its sibling. The third is quickly approaching, though, having followed the first two down their long and arduous path. Your partner moans with pain in your ear as they push and you feel even their shoulders tense on top of you as they lose control of their muscles in the effort.
Slowly, for this egg is bigger than the others, they make progress. Halting, breathy progress. For each push, the egg moves a few inches further until inevitably, it stops as it reaches your entrance. As the contractions come, your partner tenses and moans, pushing as hard as they can trying to rid themself of the final egg, but it won't budge. In their pain, they open their eyes, a pleading look boring into you.
You reach down between your bodies and find the exposed, bulging ovipositor with your fingers. Carefully, you wrap the entirety of your hand around it's throbbing width drawing it slowly back and forth, and causing your partner's eyes to roll back in their head and their whole body to pulse and shudder. With the force of the orgasm you tease out slowly, the egg rushes along the remaining length, parting you. You come alongside them as the egg settles alongside the others, deep in your belly.
You can feel them there, all three of them, pattering, pulsing, throbbing. And as your partner's ovipositor begins to slowly retract, its job finished, you can't help but think about how it will feel when they have to come out again.
Featured Characters: Male human and an alien of ambiguous sex/gender. Both are adults.
Description: Gaige is concerned when his workaholic friend and coworker Syren fails to show up for multiple days. He goes to their quarters to demand answers, discovering a needy alien with an unintentionally self-inflicted backup of eggs that they just can’t seem to release on their own. Luckily, Syren’s problem can be solved with a little hands-on lesson in Nynryll anatomy.
Gaige had not experienced true concern for a long time. In all of the years that he had worked at the repair station, Syren never missed a single shift. So it was strange enough that his work partner had failed to be there for three consecutive days.
Syren was good at their job, easily one of the best. An elite in that neck of the star system. If anyone at the station was dealing with a particularly troublesome craft, they would be the one to come along and know the exact course of action. It was almost scary sometimes. Annoying at others.
are you ever going to repost the stories that used to be on your first account?
I honestly hadn't thought about it, from a "i honestly didn't think a lot of people outside of my friend circle actually liked my stuff" standpoint
But if yall want it reposted i certainly can! I also have a link in my bio to a discord server with all my ocs and their stories/art, and I'll reblog this with a link to the google drive i keep all the documents!
Part one - Race to Queendom here: https://www.tumblr.com/writing-nico/747127885975928832/race-to-queendom?source=share
18+ fiction, no minors allowed.
Contains: Spells, fantasy setting, fantasy species, manipulative partner, mpreg, cis mpreg, transformation, forced pregnancy, magical pregnancy, unknown pregnancy, graphic descriptions of birth, birth complications, multiple births, difficult birth, birth denial, fetal macrosomia, half giant, fae, pushingbabybackin, clothing birth, vaginal birth, slight watersports if you squint, filming, about 7.6k words}
{After the competition to birth the king’s babies, Leonna waits two years to get Micah back. Since 4 babies came from the concubines, 4 babies will come from him.}
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There were plenty of spells that could make a man pregnant. Some could cast human babies, orcs, dragonettes, or even more. Despite the array she found, none of them had quite what she was looking for. Behind the king's back, Queen Leonna bided her time, researching in the library, consulting with magicians, experimenting with fusing spells, and raising her children.
Finally, she created what she was looking for.
The dining hall shimmered with riches and smelled of a feast, but Leonna’s eyes were completely focused on Micah.
“My king?” She asked.
Immediately, King Micah looked up from the giant turkey leg that he was devouring, his eyes ravenous.
“Yes, dear?” He asked.
“May I sleep in your chambers tonight? I have missed you.” She said, making doe eyes at him.
Micah smiled with turkey in between his teeth. “Of course! I would love to host you.” He replied obliviously.
Inside, Leonna beamed with pride, knowing that the first step to her plan was complete. Micah was so self centered that all she had to do was put on a little show. He was none the wiser that even after two years, she still resented him.
That night, she followed him to his chambers, laughing at everything he said and clinging to his arm. As he started to fall asleep, she whispered her curse in fae and stupidly, he smiled, thinking that he had her heart.
~~~
Micah pressed his palms against the small of his back and stretched. Leonna had said that his giant belly was the mark of a rich, well fed king, but he was just too big. He tried to lose the weight once he started to waddle, but no matter what he did, it wouldn't budge.
Angry red and purple stretch marks dug into his skin over his tight belly and hips, which had spread so wide that he could barely walk. He could barely breathe with his beast of an abdomen stretching up to his ribs. He was so large that he looked as if he were pregnant with octuplets, which was a feat in itself for a half giant, but that couldn't be possible. He was a man.
Right?
He shook his head, refusing to entertain that thought for more than a second. Of course he was a man! A bunch of stubborn fat couldn't change that. Slowly, he pulled himself out of his bed and looked in the mirror.
He was completely naked. Over time, his chest had begun to swell. Now, his nipples were hardened and long, his areolas were dark and wide, and he now had breasts that hung over either side of his belly. Being 9 foot 11, he was one of the biggest things around other than the Giants, but he had never been this big.
Leonna however seemed to love it. He caught her constantly eyeing him with a blissful expression. She would massage his belly and breasts and rub his dick for him now that he could no longer see it. He had never known his queen to be this affectionate with him, so he was rightfully confused.
What has he done to earn this? Did she just like bigger men?
He pulled his belly up momentarily, looking at his penis in the mirror. Maybe it was just him, but it seemed to be shrinking. Normally, he was a strong and proud eleven inches, but now, he seemed to only be six. There was no way that this was a coincidence.
He dropped his belly, immediately feeling the weight settle back into his wide hips. It was the most uncomfortable sensation that he had ever experienced. He sighed in malaise, struggling to breathe. All of a sudden, his belly cramped, forcing itself back into his body and knocking the breath out of him. He gasped, falling to his knees holding his wide load.
As soon as he hit the ground, he felt something hot spurt from his cock and soak into his tight robes.
‘Did I just piss myself?’ He thought.
As he tried to collect himself, he felt something press on his bladder. Quickly, he grabbed his dick through his robes, trying not to soak himself further.
“Hooh!” He shuddered.
He rocked back and forth on his knees, trying to hold it in long enough that the pinpricks of need would rest and he could run to the bathroom before it was too late. He pressed his other hand against the small of his back, trying to relieve himself of his belly's weight.
As he rocked he felt another twinge from deep inside of him, squeezing his belly into his lungs. He exhaled sharply, putting more pressure on his aching bladder. He could feel the urine approaching his twitching tip.
He hissed in discomfort, trying to hold himself together. Pressing his hand harder on his dick, he shut his eyes and shouted.
“Someone help me!”
The buildup of piss trying to escape his hole caused his eyes to water. The near constant pressure on his belly didn't help.
“Help me, please!” He cried.
He couldn't move, and every time he shouted, he felt his bladder squeeze under the pressure. Someone had to be looking for him. Surely his queen wanted to love on him. There had to be someone out there listening. Why wasn't anyone coming?
Finally, he heard footsteps approach the door and his queen burst into the room. At first he was relieved to see her face, maybe she could help him to the bathroom, but then he noticed something off; she wasn't panicked, she didn't even seem worried. Her face was blank until she laid eyes upon his soaked robes, then she frowned with contempt.
“What did you do?” She asked.
Micah's heart dropped. “What?”
“It's too early, the spell isn't finished.” She said, more to herself as she ignored his question.
“My queen?”
Leonna rolled her eyes. “Someone get a bedpan.”
Quickly, footsteps departed and then approached again. The queen took the bedpan from the servant's hands and took her time walking towards him. Every second that passed, Micah felt as if he were going to burst.
He whimpered as she placed the bedpan at his knees.
“I can't move, dear.” He said.
“Great.” Leonna groaned.
Before he could even think, Leonna ripped his robes upwards and placed his bright red cock over the bedpan. Finally, Micah could relieve himself. He sunk into his hips as he pissed, his eyes rolling back into his head.
“Thank you, love.” He groaned, almost aroused by solace.
Instead of answering, Leonna just looked down on him. As the last spurts of piss escaped his aching cock, she reached for his belly.
He tensed in surprise when she touched it, causing another ripple of pain to course through him.
“I knew it. You're contracting!” Leonna observed.
Micah frowned through the pain. “What?” He groaned.
“It's too early for you to give birth, the spell hasn't even taken full effect. Damned multiples.” She continued.
“Give birth? What are you talking about?”
Leonna didn't answer, keeping her hand on his belly, she chanted, releasing her magic inside of him.
“Leonna.”
Leonna didn't look up, and kept chanting.
“Answer your king!” He shouted.
Leonna curled her lip. “My king? You don't look like a king right now.” She replied.
Micah was taken aback. “You told me that I looked more kingly than ever…” He said quietly.
“To keep you from being suspicious, though I hardly needed to do that. You're so dimwitted, you can't even tell when someone has cast a spell on you.” She said.
“A spell?” Micah asked. “What spell?”
“One of my own creation, but I suppose that I didn't account for the strain the multiples would cause. Your water broke right at the seventh month mark. To think you still have five more months to go… You are much bigger than even Sol was.” Leonna continued, grinning at his pressing burden.
“What the hell are you talking about, Leonna?” Micah demanded.
Leonna grinned wider. “There's the man I know. The tyrant who made his concubines compete in childbirth for his own gratification. I told you that you would repay me. I'm disappointed that you forgot. Did you think that I was playing with you?” She ranted.
“So-” Micah reached down and touched his giant belly. “-I’m pregnant?” He asked.
“And in active labor, though, you wouldn't be able to give birth through your penis, so that will have to be fixed over the next few months. I would give you a quicker spell, but-”
She grinned and leaned closer to his face. “-I like seeing you suffer.”
“You rotten woman!” Micah growled. “I should have you beheaded!”
Leonna raised her eyebrow. “Would having to go to war with my kingdom be worth it though?” She questioned, tilting her head.
Micah's breath caught in his throat. He had almost forgotten about that. The whole reason for their marriage was to ally, if he had her executed, the Fae and maybe even some humans would revolt.
Quickly, he softened his face and smiled. “Leonna, my dear. I’ve learned my lesson. I will never even think of such things again, you have my word. Please take this spell off of me and we can get back to our life together.” He said sweetly.
Leonna shook her head. “That’s not possible.”
“Please. I'm begging you! I can't give birth. I'm scared. These babies will be huge! I don't think I can do it!” He cried.
The queen shrugged. “Well, look on the bright side. At least you’ll have more heirs. If you survive of course.”
~~~
Micah lay in his bed, clutching his ever growing bump, though at this point it was more like a mountain. It shot up towards the sky when he stumbled onto his back by accident. He had thought that the babies were low in his hips five months ago, but now, they constantly pressed against his opening.
Now, his dick was completely gone, replaced by a fat pussy that constantly wept birthing fluids. How had he ended up in this predicament? He was a king! How could he have been so blind.
The pain was overwhelmingly miserable. He writhed in bed constantly, unable to walk due to how heavy he was. Though, that would likely provide him no relief. With Leonna’s spell, there would only be pressure as he was forced to endure mind numbing contractions without the release of birth. A barrier had been placed just under his womb, pressing up against his first baby's head.
He was more terrified than he had ever been in his life. He had no idea what to do, or who to trust. Occasionally, Leonna would come to see him and feel his contracting belly. Clearly, she got a rise out of it. Micah felt small and weak under her touch, completely unable to defend himself.
Fireworks sounded off every second in the dark night. Cheers were heard around the castle. As the festival continued, Micah could only lay on his side and pant through the pain.
It was New Year's Eve. The five months had finally passed. Soon, he would be able to birth these monsters that his queen had infected him with.
He rubbed his aching burden as another contraction ripped him apart, worse than ever. He tried to scream, but his breath caught in his throat. He gripped his taut skin, leaving welts where his nails scratched the thin area.
After what felt like forever, it passed and Micah gasped desperately for air. Suddenly, he caught sight of a person through teary eyes.
“Leo-Leonna.” He grunted.
Leonna smiled. “Hello, love.” She replied.
“Please! I can no longer take this pain. I must give birth!” Micah begged.
“But it's only nine o’clock. It's still too early. We haven't even started the ceremony.” She said.
“Ce-cer-ceremo-mony?” Micah struggled to ask.
“Yes. Before the birth is broadcasted, you will have to take a lap around the town. Simple enough, right?” Leonna explained.
“Broadcasted?” He wanted to ask why, but he knew exactly what she was going to say. It was all payback for how he chose his queen.
Leonna smiled. “Now let's get you dressed. You cannot greet your kingdom naked.”
Micah had no words and only watched as his queen chanted a spell that released him from the barrier that forced his babies to stay within him.
Immediately, he curled on his side and started to push, but the baby didn't budge, completely stopping up his cervix. Taking a shallow breath, he gripped his ankle and tried to push again.
Tears welled in his tightly shut eyes and his head spun. His body shook as he tried to push, but the baby didn't move an inch.
Leonna stared down at his plight. “Don't push too hard, these babies are twice the size of the ones that we birthed. It’ll take a lot of patience to get them out.” She explained.
Micah gasped. “You bitch!” He spat.
Leonna shrugged. “It's your fault. You thought that my words were a jest.” She said
Two guards lifted Micah up by each arm. His belly splayed over his knees and his engorged breasts rested on his heavy load. He struggled to stand, his legs shaking as he waddled and swayed.
“Oohhh.” He sighed as another contraction ripped through his body, pressing his belly up against him. On instinct he spread his legs and squatted, opening his fat, wet pussy to try to push out his babies.
He felt his cervix stretch and push outwards with the baby's head, but as soon as he ran out of strength, the baby stopped coming down. He gasped, spluttered, and panted trying to catch his breath and stop the room from spinning.
Servants surrounded him and grabbed his ceremonial robes. A pair of high waisted panties that just barely spanned the underside of his belly were placed on him. His pussy felt suffocated with just that thin piece of cloth over it. He knew that the rest would be unbearable, but he had no choice. If he wanted to birth these babies, he had to follow the queen’s plan.
~~~
Micah tried to keep a straight face as his citizens greeted and bowed to him, but he couldn't hold back the pain. He was constantly hunching over to push, crying out, and gasping for air.
He had never felt so helpless or ashamed in his life. He was supposed to be the pillar of strength and now, he was reduced to this puffy, crying mess.
“We’re almost to Town square, dear. We're halfway through our little stroll.” Leonna announced.
“fu-fuc-fuck you.” Micah shuddered.
Leonna smirked. “You already had your chance.”
After ten minutes, they finally reached town square. Micah leaned heavily onto his guards that walked with him, trying to stay upright. Leonna watched with pleasure as he struggled, walking just ahead of them.
Micah’s hips felt as if they were going to rip apart. Despite being 9 foot 11 and wide, it seemed that he couldn't get wide enough. The baby pressed into his cervix with the help of gravity. As Leonna walked ahead, Micah’s legs slowly gave out. The guards let him collapse.
Leonna heard him drop and turned to see him down on one knee, shaking in place.
“Leonna. I'm sorry.” He whimpered.
Leonna started to answer with a typical quip, but before she could, a rush of fluids spilled from his pussy and at long last, the head was just behind his aching lips.
“Fuck!” He shouted.
Townspeople turned towards commotion, gasping and exclaiming as they watched their king being brought to his knees.
His soaked clit rubbed his panties, causing unbearable sensitivity. Micah gasped and pushed again, feeling his baby stretch his brand new pussy. The baby lodged itself into his lips and it burned like one thousand suns.
Micah tried to scream, but all that came out was a whimper as he came to a full crown in his robes and panties. His hands pushed down on his massive burden as he tried to give birth. The guards held tightly to him, looking towards their queen.
Slowly, Leonna stepped forward and knelt down in front of him. She lifted his robes and reached for his vagina, cupping her hand under their baby's head.
“Here, let me help you.” She whispered.
“No I need to-”
Instantly, he was cut off by searing pain. Fighting against Micah's body, Leonna pushed the baby's head upwards and back into his gaping hole.
Micah’s eyes rolled back into his head and his vision was splotched with blackening pain. His horrible screams felt disembodied. He had no idea that a humanoid could make such an awful sound.
“Do not worry, my subjects. It was only a false alarm. Our king is experiencing a very intense labor.” She explained.
With the baby's head just past Micah's cervix, Leonna was satisfied. She wiped her hand on her gown and stood over him.
“Come on. We still have to walk to the other side of town and back.”
~~~
The king was barely conscious when they reached the throne room. He wanted nothing more than to beg his queen to let him lie down and finally give birth, but after she shoved their baby back inside of him multiple times, he knew it wasn't worth it. He stayed silent as the guards sat him upon his throne, still fully clothed.
“You're tougher than I thought, Micah. Well done.” Leonna praised him.
The fireworks were louder and more frequent than ever, but so were his contractions. His body was about ready to shoot these babies out like cannon balls and it was all that he could focus on.
As Leonna set up the cameras to catch the birth from every angle, Micah slid his pussy off of the throne, readying himself to finally give birth.
With a smile of pride, Leonna took her seat in her throne, next to him. She laid her hand on his belly. Micah jumped and a gush of amniotic fluids spilled from his tense womb, but he could do nothing more than push.
“You're doing great.” Leonna whispered, rubbing circles over his robes.
Micah was burning up in his ceremonial garb, but he didn't care at this point. He couldn't get it off anyway. Without hesitation in front of the cameras, Micah spread his legs, took the deepest breath that he could manage, and pushed.
He could feel his child’s head rolling down his birth canal, stretching out his hole once more. He gripped the arm rests of his throne so much so that the gold dug into his tender, swollen fingers.
He gritted his teeth so intensely that he felt as if the tiny bones would snap from the pressure, same as his lower body. Sitting on his tailbone, he bore down, his knees as far apart as he could get them in his robes. Still, it wasn't wide enough. He felt so if his hips would rip apart, but he couldn't move much in the uncomfortable gear.
Leonna kept rubbing circles in his belly, but through the pain, he couldn't tell her to stop. At the same time, it felt good as he was riven from the inside.
“That's it darling. You're doing great.” Leonna whispered with a sinister grin across her cherub cheeks.
Finally, Micah felt the baby's head approach his lips for what felt like the fiftieth time this night. His pussy stretched to accommodate the head and though he had felt this pain so many times, it was never better.
His fat pussy lips were dragged out by the baby's head before it even reached them. He shook from the burning down below and wrenched his eyes shut, screaming and crying all the while.
As the baby rolled lower inside of him, his pussy lips became a wide ring that touched his panties, reminding him that they were there.
Micah's eyes shot open in fear. How was he supposed to get this damn thing out with a pair of panties in the way? He looked to his guards, then he looked to Leonna with watery eyes. All parties looked at him indifferently, waiting to see what would happen.
The king’s heart dropped. Had he really been so cruel two years ago? Did he really dese-
As he tried to think, another contraction burst through his belly, causing him to arch his back off of the throne. A gush of fluids rushed from him and the baby's head pressed against his inner labia, finally coming to a crown in his panties.
Thick, slimy mucus squeezed painfully past the baby's head as he pushed. With tears filling his eyes, he looked up towards the ceiling, as if to beg the heavens for mercy. The thought briefly crossed his mind to ask Leonna, but he knew that his pleas would fall on deaf ears. Only the God's could help him now.
He hoped.
Gripping the handles of his throne, he pushed himself off of the seat, trembling in pain. His enormous belly tried to flatten itself against him, but the mass of the other babies filled it. It only pressed the head of his first child further, finally bursting from his pussy with a loud squelch.
Shakily, Micah held himself up by the handles of his throne, wincing in pain as the head hung from him, filling his panties. The muscles in his legs tremored below him as he tried to keep himself upright.
Leonna kept a steady hand on his belly, feeling every contraction and quake. She smirked smugly, watching him squirm. By now, Micah wasn't focused on anything other than freeing himself from this curse. All of the fireworks, guards, lights, and touches had gone from his world, other than the panties that trapped his baby's head.
As he trembled, he gritted his teeth, gripped the handles of his throne until his fingers bruised and pushed once more. Without a sound, he felt the baby drop into his panties, dragging them to his knees. Muffled cries sounded from the cloth as Micah plonked onto his knees.
The guards and Leonna stood by silently as he dug through his robes and searched for his child. Quickly, he pulled off his outer robe and ripped his tunic in half, exposing his naked body on live television.
At that point, he didn't care, he just needed to get to the baby. He wasn't sure where the sudden urgency for the child was coming from, but he needed to know that they were okay.
Finally, he reached into his panties, and pulled out a blonde baby boy with light brown skin. The child whimpered in his arms, but seemed unharmed. The boy yawned and opened his eyes, squinting because of the new light. Though Micah was petrified, he found himself lost in his baby's little green eyes.
“Oh..” His voice tremored.
The boy was the average size for a half giant. He almost couldn't believe that his body had released such a thing. While he was huge, he was so small at the same time. Barely conscious as the world was thrust upon him.
Then, three guards approached. Micah glared at them as they interrupted the moment between him and his little boy, but they didn't seem to care. They only got closer. Tentatively, he brought the baby to his breast and stared back at the guards.
“What are you doing?” He asked.
The guards didn't answer, instead the one in the middle knelt down while the other two disarmed him. Micah’s heart raced in panic.
“What are you doing!” He demanded to know as the guard took his baby. Too weak to fight back, Micah could only struggle against the hold of his own traitorous guards.
“My baby! Give me back my baby!” He cried.
Leonna rolled her eyes. “Be still, my king. They are only making sure that he is healthy. They will return him to nurse shortly.” She said as-a-matter-of-factly.
Micah whipped his head towards her and growled deeply. Leonna just seemed unimpressed.
“It's only standard procedure.”
~~~
To Micah's surprise, Leonna kept her word. Just a few minutes later, a guard returned with the baby boy, who squinted under the chandeliers.
“He is healthy, my queen. 24 pounds and 8 ounces.” He said, cradling the child coldly.
Leonna beamed with pride. “How wonderful. He will grow up to be a strapping man-” She turned to her king, her smile darkening. “-don't you think so, dear?”
Micah avoided her gaze, covering himself up with his outer robe. His second baby rested surprisingly lightly on his cervix and the sac had not yet broken. Meanwhile, the placenta from his son was slowly exiting his opening.
Leonna looked back at the guard. “Give him the boy.” She said.
The guard nodded and walked over to Micah, his armored boots becoming covered in birthing fluids. As his body finally released the placenta, he was handed his baby boy. Micah cradled his head, as he had seen the guard do, his arms shaking. The room was silent and cold, as he and the baby looked into each other's eyes. Tears rolled down Micah's cheeks as he studied his son’s features.
His thin, sandy blonde curls had been cleaned, his bright green eyes squinted, his puffy eyelids straining. His skin was light brown and rosey, and he had a big red birthmark spanning the left side of his top lip to the side of his nostril. The baby stirred in his arms, but seemed otherwise calm. Carefully, Micah took him to his breast and after a couple of mishaps, the boy finally latched.
“He’s beautiful.” Leonna said, watching the two of them.
Micah kept his eyes on the child as he suckled loudly.
“What do you want to call him?” She asked.
“Elias.” Micah replied, barely speaking above a whisper.
“That's a nice name.” Leonna said.
Micah sniffed. “Why did you wait so long to exact your revenge?” He asked.
Leonna crossed her legs. “I couldn't have you being wary of me. Otherwise it never would have worked.” She answered. “Plus, I had to do a lot of research.”
Micah bit his lower lip. “I never forgot your words.” He said, starting to choke on his. “I simply underestimated them.”
“And that's your biggest mistake. You were expecting a petty act when I'm much more capable than that.” She said.
Micah sighed deeply as he felt another cramp building up. “I’ll never misjudge you again. I can promise you that.” He said coldly.
“Good.” Leonna said.
Soon after, baby Elias unlatched and started to snore. Maybe Micah would have expected such a sound if he had been present for his first round of children. Right now, he wasn't entirely sure.
He rubbed his belly, feeling a cramp from inside and out. It was less intense than he had been used to over the last five months, maybe it was because of the cushioning of the amniotic sac.
“Hooh…” He whispered, handing his baby boy to a guard with shaking arms. He hadn't wanted to let go of him, but he didn't feel that he could labor safely with him in his possession.
He crouched on his hands and knees, readying himself for another baby to exit him. The sac slowly poked it's way into his birth canal
He could feel each set of eyes watching him. Not the least bit anxious, but curious, as if this was entertainment for them. Wrenching his eyes shut, Micah sucked in a breath and began to bear down.
Immediately, he felt a sharp pain in his womb. He stopped with a short gasp and reached up to touch his belly, which touched the floor below him.
Briskly, he rubbed his roundness, trying to smooth out the issue. He hadn't even noticed that he still had tears in his eyes until a hot stream of water rolled down his cheek.
“Hooh…” He tremored, pulling his knees apart. He was starting to sink into his belly, and though it added an uncomfortable amount of pressure, he could barely hold himself up through the pain. Shortly after, he felt something slimy and hard slip past his cervix, falling lower into his birth canal.
He groaned in pain. This baby felt wider than the last one, the sac probably didn't help. Rubbing his belly to soothe himself, he gritted his teeth and pushed again. Despite the diameter of the baby, he felt a little more open than he had with the first. Maybe his son had stretched him out.
Behind him, his swollen pussy began to bloom, much to Leonna's delight. He heard gasps of excitement escape her lungs. Maybe if this had been his choice, he would have been excited as well. Slowly, he shook his head and took a deep breath. He couldn't think about that right now. At the moment, he had to focus on giving birth; after this, he still would have two more babies to go.
Rubbing his belly for support, Micah bore down, pushing his knees into the cold, hard floor, likely bruising them. The pain of giving birth was worse than a couple of bruises. This baby barely budged with each push, slowly slipping inside of him and the amniotic sac still hadn't broken.
Micah took in another shaky breath and pushed till his face turned purple. Finally, he heard a low pop, but there was still no fluid. He let go of the breath and felt his head swim. The baby was just behind his lips, still in the sac.
He rubbed circles over his belly, trying to gather the strength to push again. Before he could even think about it, another contraction rammed into him, greater than any that he had felt with this baby. His back arched upwards in surprise and pain as he felt the baby fall into his worn vagina.
“Oh wow.” Leonna gasped.
Micah’s eyes sprung open. Leonna sounded astonished, not excited. What was happening?
With his hand still on his aching orb of a belly, Micah looked up at the guards, who stared blankly ahead. He then looked behind him to see Leonna's eyes wide in surprise.
“What's going on? What's wrong with my baby?” Micah cried in a shrill voice.
“She’s breech.” Leonna replied.
Micah’s pussy stretched down over the baby like a pipe as he angled his hips downwards, trying to push her out. He curled his fingers, gritted his teeth and pushed as hard as he could. Still in the sac, he could feel the baby slipping out of him. Her heels dug into his birth canal.
“Guh!” He cried, letting go of the effort.
Carefully, he reached under his belly and found his hand on the baby's stomach. Touching what he was sure was her chest, he felt for a pulse, and found her heart beating away. He sighed in relief. That had to be a good sign, right?
As he took his hand from her, preparing to push again, he started to hear whispers from the guards. Quickly, he whipped his head around towards Leonna who frowned.
“What now?” He grunted, feeling another contraction starting to ram up.
“There's meconium in the sac, dear. If you want her to live, you're going to have to break it.” She said simply.
Micah’s breath hitched. He started to reach for his baby again, just as her legs dropped out of him. Leaving only her head inside. Gently, Micah made quick work of the amniotic sac, and felt no relief as it rushed open. Energetically the baby kicked her legs upwards, scratching his pussy with her tiny toenails.
Micah winced and with closed eyes, repositioned himself with his right elbow on the floor and his left arm holding up his body. He pushed once more and felt an awful amount of pressure release from him as half of the baby's head slipped out of him.
“Hughh…” He groaned, shuddering as he pushed again. His second baby popped out of his battered opening and fell into his ripped tunic. Silent.
Micah gasped for air and turned around. The child was in his arms before he could even blink. On instinct, he turned her over and popped her on the back. When he got no reaction, he did it again, and she spit up fluids, finally allowing her to take in a deep gasp and cry.
“Oh Gods!” Micah cried.
He turned her over again, coming face to face with a bald headed, brown skinned baby girl. Her eyes were wrenched shut as she screamed away.
He held her close, crying with her as the guards approached him. Angrily, he glared up at them, but didn't resist.
“You're going to take them from me every time?” He grunted.
Silently, the guards took the baby girl and Micah was left sitting alone again.
~~~
The baby girl, whom he called Elodie, was 26 pounds and 12 ounces, just slightly larger than her elder brother. She nursed hungrily, grabbing at Micah's breast, trying to pull it in further. He looked down at the girl tiredly, paying no mind to her antics, but looking into her beautiful hazel eyes.
“She will be the fairest in the land.” Leonna said proudly.
Micah cleared his throat and shifted his weight away from his swollen nethers. As the placenta started to come down, he felt his temperature rise and his heart race. He felt somewhat… annoyed. Was another contraction coming?
“Are you happy with this outcome?” He asked.
“Delighted. You make a good parent, Micah even with your shortcomings as a king.” She said.
Micah rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Leonna. Let me have peace before my next child tears me apart.” He said.
Leonna shrugged. “If you insist.” She replied with condescension.
Micah scoffed, but said nothing else as his daughter finished nursing. As he held her, he felt pressure increase in his hips.
“Ugh.” He groaned, handing the baby to another guard. Both babies were now in the room, being held by someone other than him. It brought pain to his pounding heart. Still, he gritted his teeth and began to push.
As soon as he did, he could feel the blood rush away from his head. His eyes swirled in his sockets and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He slammed his hands onto the cold floor to brace himself, but his elbows and wrists soon gave out. Micah collapsed onto them dizzily, laying on his side.
Leonna was silent, watching the screen focused on his nethers. The baby hadn't come yet.
“Micah?” She said.
Micah took a shaky breath in. His belly rose and then quickly fell as he whined in pain. Leonna looked up with genuine fear in her eyes.
“Guards!” She shouted.
Instantly, the unoccupied guards rushed to his side. Through his stupor, Micah could feel the grip of the blood pressure cuff on his upper arm.
“70 over 40.” He heard a guard say.
To be honest, Micah didn't really know what that meant, but from the way it was announced, it didn't sound good. His heartbeat pounded slowly in his ears, blocking most sound, his head swirled and from his hips below, he felt largely numb. Still, he could feel the pressure between them.
“Micah? Micah!” The queen called out to him. She shook his shoulders and he took a deep, raspy breath in.
“Micah, can you hear me? The baby's coming. I think the last placenta may have caused a greater wound than expected.” She said.
“Baby?” He garbled, breathing heavily.
“Yes. The baby.”
“Are they…” He swallowed thickly. “..okay? What's happening?”
Trembling, he brought his arms back under him, trying to sit up. Quickly, Leonna rested her hand in between his shoulder blades.
“No, no. Stay where you are.” She said.
“My baby?...” He croaked.
“The baby's head is crowning. I just need you to push a little bit more.” She said.
“I'm cold.” He shuddered.
“I know, but the baby needs to come out so that I can heal you a bit. All of the births are taking a toll on your body.” She replied, rubbing his back.
Her hand felt warm against his shaking body. He swallowed, feeling his world darkening. He started to reach down with the hand that wasn't pinned under him. Seeing this, Leonna took it in hers and guided it down to the head of their baby.
Micah’s eyes shot open in shock. His baby was covered in something thick and sort of oily. The shock brought back his senses, and while he didn't look down, he could smell iron in the air.
“Leonna…” He said.
“Just focus on the baby. Can you push for me?” She asked.
Weakly, Micah nodded.
“Yeah?” Leonna rasped.
Micah took in a deep breath and bore down. Leonna made a quick motion and a guard lifted his right leg up, making more room for their half-born baby.
His head was cold, and he could feel blood rushing out of him. Despite that, he wrenched his eyes shut and pushed again. He felt the baby's arms flip out of his body and he birthed her up to her hips.
“Just one more push, my king. Just one more.” Leonna encouraged him, squeezing his bloody hand in hers and rubbing his back.
For some reason, Micah felt validated in his suffering. Maybe because the person who caused it had tears falling onto his shoulder.
With the last of his strength, he bore down once more and finally, he felt the largest baby ever slip out of him. He barely heard her cries before he vomited and everything faded away.
As Leonna rushed to heal him, she caught a glimpse of her baby girl’s hands. Each contained a fistful of uterine lining. The horrid sight almost toppled her over. Especially as the guards told her that baby Amara was a whopping 30 pounds and 4 ounces.
~~~
Leonna sat at his bedside, bouncing her right leg anxiously. He was less pale and the warm tinge to his skin had returned, but despite her efforts, he still hadn't woken up yet. It had only been two hours, and he was showing good signs, but could something else be wrong? Should she be worried that his labor wasn't progressing with the fourth baby?
Why did she care anyway? This was the man that pressed down on her belly to save his progeny. The pain had been blinding. But, he was the reason that she had her oldest son and daughter, alive and well. When she couldn't push, he did it for her. Even though, the only reason he did it was probably so that he could have a queen and more heirs.
Frustrated and confused, she rushed to the door and pushed it open, running into the garden outside of his chambers. Once she got to the gazebo in the center, she collapsed onto her knees and started to cry.
She had gotten her revenge, he had suffered, so why didn't she feel any better? When she had first met him, he was a complete pig, commenting about her and the other concubine’s looks, constantly asking for sexual favors, drinking, lying. Everything about him was just wrong.
But, despite that, he looked at her with love in his eyes, thinking that he had her heart, while she had his soul. He had trusted her, and underestimated her, but she still did this to him.
“Leonna?”
Leonna turned to see Sol and Ayesha standing behind her, each with sad expressions.
“Is-”
“He's fine. We just came to see you.” Sol said.
“I just came here to support him.” Ayesha said, tilting her head towards Sol.
Leonna rolled her eyes at her human cousin, and started to wipe her tears.
“Are you alright?” Sol asked.
“No. I think that I made a mistake.” Leonna said.
“Meh, I would've done the same thing if I had powerful magic like yours.” Ayesha replied.
“But I didn't account for all of the strain a natural birth would put on him, even if he's strong and it was caused by magic. I just wanted him to understand how I felt, not die!” She cried.
Sol knelt beside her. “I get that. What he did was pretty fucked up, but I think you’ve come to care for him watching him carry your babies all this time. Things change. Maybe this is a lesson not to take vengeance and communicate your feelings properly.” He said.
“Would he have listened if I did?” She asked.
“Probably not, but it's better than taking out the father of our children. He's a good dad, even if he is a freak. I think we’d all miss him in some way or another.” Ayesha replied.
“Hey, but he’s not dead. I'm sure he'll get better. It's only been two hours.” Sol said.
Leonna nodded and wiped away more tears. “I’ll talk to him when I can. Maybe, if he doesn't want to banish me as soon as he gets better, we can fix this.” She agreed.
“I mean, you can try, but who knows how angry he’ll be.” Ayesha said.
Sol immediately glared at her with his sunny eyes.
“I'm just saying. You're gonna really have to explain yourself.” Ayesha added.
“I think he already knows, but it might be better if he hears it from you in a less sadistic manner.” Sol said.
“Yes. Hopefully.” She said.
“Your Majesty!”
The group turned to see a guard running out of the castle towards them, his helmet under his arm.
“The king wishes to see you.” She said.
~~~
Leonna could hear his groans and cries of pain as soon as she entered the castle. Quick on her feet, she hopped up the stairs to his chambers, bursting through the unlocked doors. Micah was seated in bed with pillows behind his back and a cold compress on his forehead. Tears streamed down his face as his deflated belly squeezed itself against him.
“Micah!” Leonna shouted.
Micah said nothing, instead, he roared through another contraction that had come in rapid succession.
Instantly, Leonna ran to him and collapsed at his bedside. “I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean for this to happen. I just wanted you to feel what I felt!” She cried.
Micah gritted his teeth, but turned to look at her with red eyes.
“I can't do this.” He whispered.
Leonna widened her eyes, stunned.
“I can't do this anymore! I'm so tired. PLEASE get it out of me!” He cried.
Just as the words left his mouth, another contraction screamed through his abdomen and he cried with it, his voice cracking and shaking. As his body pushed for him, Leonna heard the unmistakable squelch of the baby's head coming down and water exiting her king’s body.
Quickly, she took his hand and reached down, putting both of their palms across the child’s dome.
“This is it. This is the last one! Our child. You have been so strong through this whole process. You can do this one more time.” Leonna said, forcing his hand against the head.
Micah shook his head. “I can't. It hurts so baaHAAAD!”
The baby's head slipped further down, coming a fourth of the way through his lips.
“You can and you will. Your body's already doing it. You just need to engage. It’ll all be over soon, I promise.” She said.
Micah sniffled and turned to her with his watery eyes. “You promise?”
Leonna nodded affirmatively. “I'm sure if it. Do what your body tells you and you won't have to suffer anymore.”
Hesitantly, Micah nodded and rubbed the baby's head.
“Oh Gods.” He trembled, another cramp ramping up inside of him.
Leonna was stuck in his bone breaking grip as he held tightly to her to find the strength to give birth one last time. Soon after the first push, the baby's head popped out of him.
“That's it. They're almost here. Keep going!” Leonna cheered.
Micah folded his lips into his mouth and groaned through his nose, gripping the blanket that he had tossed to the side. With rushes of fluid, each shoulder ripped its way through, the force turned the baby and they hung out to their hips.
“I need to move.” Micah grunted.
“Now?” Leonna questioned.
“NOW.” Micah emphasized.
“Okay okay. Te-”
Without an answer, Micah let go of her hand and pressed his other hand against the baby. With his wet hand, he pressed down on her shoulder and rolled onto his hip, carefully keeping his legs open for the baby. With that, he got on his knees, still holding the child in one hand. With the other, he used Leonna as support.
On instinct, Leonna pressed one hand against the small of his back, and the other against his flushed cheek.
“Just one more big push, love. One more.” She urged him.
Micah inhaled sharply through his nose and brought his hips towards her. The baby's hips in his. He pressed his cheek into her hand, gritted his teeth and pushed again. His stomach flattened against his body, his breasts leaked desperately and finally, their last baby girl, Ophelia, fell onto the bed, and started to cry. She was their smallest baby, weighing 22 pounds and 8 ounces.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/59698855 Finally published a fic about Jin and Ubiquity (belongs to @mittysins, who also inspired and helped with the writing! Thank you!)
I was thinking about laying an egg into someone, right? (blame @drippyeggslut for this, I saw it on their blog and haven't been the same since.)
So you've been hauling this egg around for a while now. And you're bestie, they're curious. Alex knows you haven't been seeing anyone (no, babe, relax, I'd have told you), but they're also not blind and you are very, very, very pregnant. But every time Jordan asks you about it, you blow them off, telling them not to worry about it.
It's kinda starting to hurt their feelings, which is the absolute last thing you want to do. And so, after swearing Jordan to secrecy, you agree to tell them everything.
Only... in this situation telling kinda looks like showing.
Which is how you end up stark naked on the kitchen floor, bearing down and slowly, agonisingly, forcing the egg to slip down your channel and peak out of your cunt. You're shivering with pleasure, trying to hold back the orgasm you can practically taste while trying to explain to Jordan how this happened.
But even through your daze, you can tell that they're not listening to a word you've said. Eyes wide, lips parted, Jordan's gaze is transfixed on your cunt. And it isn't as though this is the first time they'd seen it; you'd gotten off together before, gotten each other off before.
Which is how you know that Jordan isn't disgusted or horrified.
No, they're turned on.
That knowledge makes you shudder, and your cunt spasms around the egg. A guttural sound tears itself from your throat, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you fight for control. When you're able to open them again, you see that Jordan is even closer now. Their bottom lip is swollen red from where their teeth have been worrying at it.
It doesn't taken much persuasion to get Jordan to undress. It takes even less to get them to join you on the kitchen floor and to part their legs on either side of your hips.
The position is familiar. Memories of all the times the two of you had done this floods through you. This time, you can't hold it back. You come, and your cunt greedily sucks the egg back inside you. You pant for breath, willing your arms not to give out under you, and that’s when you feel it…
Jordan has closed the distance between you two. The warmth of their cunt is mere millimetres away from yours and, fuck, you want to feel them grinding against you the way they have so many times before. Only this time, instead of sharing a dildo, the two of will share the egg. Almost as though they could read your mind, Jordan scoots forward that last little bit, and you can feel their wetness against yours.
“I wanna feel it,” they breathe. “Please. Push it into me.”
Your brain short-circuits. Whether or not such a thing is possible doesn’t even occur to you. Because you’ve never wanted anything more than to press your cunt to your best friend’s, and fuck the egg from your body into theirs.
And that’s exactly what you’ll do.
Jordan lines their hole up with yours, hands firm on your hips to hold you close. And then…
You push.
Animal little grunts escape your throat. Your cunt stretches as the egg splits you open inch by inch. It’s agony, it’s bliss, it's your life’s purpose. Jordan is chanting your name, encouraging you to keep pushing, moaning as their hips stutter against you. The sounds the two of you are making as you push are a beautiful accompaniment to the slurping sound of your cunt as it works desperately to reclaim every inch of the egg that you expel.
"Oh. Oh, fuck," they gasp. "I can—fuck, I can feel it." Their eyes meet yours, expression suddenly fierce. "Keep pushing, okay? Don't stop."
The order sends a shiver down your spine. You do as you're told, bearing down as hard as you can. And that's when Jordan begins humping the egg, the force of their thrusts a delicious counterpoint to the pressure of your pushing. For long moments, the egg is suspended between the two of you, effectively fucking you both.
"Uh uh uh uh."
"Fuck, that feels so good." Jordan is smearing their juices over the bit of shell that's emerged from your cunt, their clit sliding against yours as they keep rolling their hips against you. "Push it into me, push it into me, pushitintome."
You scream, their words and the impossible stretch sending you over the edge. The orgasm hits you like a freight train, vast and infinite and not nearly enough. It pulls the egg back in a few precious centimetres; Jordan mewls in protest.
And that's when you decide that this is absolutely going to happen. You're going to lay this precious, gorgeous egg into your best friend, and they are going to know the utter bliss of having their womb filled. With an enormous effort, you reach for their hips, gripping so hard that you're sure to leave bruises.
"We can do this," you tell them. "We can do this."
You grind down against them, even as you begin to push; Jordan keeps humping you and the egg, their greedy cunt trying to pull it into their body. Your moans and keens and grunts fill the room, the scent of your cunts filling every breath as you just...
... keep...
... pushing...
The egg has started to enter Jordan's cunt, and you think that this is it, that it surely can't go any further, it's impossible. You're prepared for the egg to slip out of your body and drop down between you.
That isn't what happens.
Somehow, the egg keeps sliding deeper into Jordan. The egg—precious miracle that it was—was stretching their cunt to accommodate it. Ecstasy such as you’d never felt before was wracking your body with every inch the egg slipped from your cunt. And Jordan was writhing, howling with pleasure, as their body accepts the slick, sticky burden.
Neither of you can speak, just grunting and moaning as the orgasms rip through you. Your inner thighs are coated in each other's sweat and juices, as is the tile beneath you. And finally...
You're empty. The egg that had once been nestled safely in your womb is inside Jordan now. A feeling of loss threatens to engulf you, beaten back by utter certainty.
The next time you and Jordan did this, they'd be laying the egg back into you.
So long story short, I used to have a Patreon, which I closed due to ongoing mental illnesses and changes to the platform I did not greatly favor. I’ve been reticent to share all the posts from it online given my insecurities revolving around who can then view my work. So I have decided to take to itch to release a digital PDF of all (and some extra) illustrations and sketches that previously were only accessed through Patreon!
If you would like to exclusive art of mine that is uncensored (mainly of birth art that I have drawn) then this will have it!
Come and check it out on itch.io!
Commission for @shhhsecretsideblog, hope you enjoy just as much as I enjoyed writing this!
Final signing of divorce papers. He’d cheated with his secretary on a business trip, she threw him out and filed for divorce. Not long after she realised her period was late and after doing a test she discovered she was pregnant. She tried to hide it from him for as long as she could, but he eventually found out. She made it clear that he would have nothing to do with this child.
The divorce negotiations were messy, lots of drawn out arguments and back and forth with solicitors. It had taken months. She wanted it concluded by now but he was dragging his heels. To what end she didn’t know. But eventually they reached a resolution and he agreed to sign the papers, which was happening this afternoon. The only problem was, she’d gone into labour during the night.
Celia wasn’t one to drag things out, neither in her corporate life or personal life, and certainly not in her romantic life. The divorce lawyer’s name was Mr. Einhardt, and he didn’t tolerate very much nonsense either. He was a sort of neutral party, tasked with settling legal matters amicably between the couple. Between this small thing they had in common, and the circumstances leading to Celia’s divorce with her husband Dave, Mr. Eindhart’s sympathies seemed to lie quite decisively with Celia. Cheating on her with his secretary, a young woman just barely out of college! So cliche it nearly bored Celia to tears. The problems had begun long before the discovery, but Celia had rehashed that story enough times by now.
Negotiations had been messy; fights, late-night arguments in the kitchen, pleading, door-slamming. Dave was acting like a child throughout the whole thing. Which was doubly unfortunate, as Celia had received a second shock after the cheating, staring at a test and two pink lines in the bathroom. She was pregnant. Nine months later, she was wedged in the office seat as Mr. Eindhart recounted estate laws with Dave.
Please, she had been praying for the last hour; please, just let it be over. Incessant questions from Dave. More often than not, about the baby. No, her baby. Celia would be damned if she let that cheating, childish scum get within a mile of her child.
Mr. Eindhart was speaking as patiently as possible, but at this point it had all become a soft drone for Celia. The last issue: she had gone into labor during the night. Regular contractions, tightening her midsection and flaring sharp in her lower back. Standing before the mirror in the light of the morning, she’d been able to see clearly just how much her bump had dropped, hanging low between her hips, stretched completely taut, a reddened torpedo, with not another inch of room for the baby. It had been enough of a chore to get dressed and ready and lug herself into Mr. Eindhart’s office every week. Laboring, it was a superhuman feat.
Her hips burned, jammed into the seat. They had widened over the course of her pregnancy, and now she barely fit into any chair available. This, combined with the massive belly sprawling in her lap whenever she sat down, made for even more discomfort.
“Ms. Greene?” Her maiden name. She saw Dave flinch slightly when Mr. Eindhart used it. “Are you alright? Pardon, but you look quite uncomfortable. Do you need some water?”
“No,” she sighed, brushing his concern away. “No, thank you. When you’re this pregnant, doing anything is uncomfortable.”
Dave was frowning at her. “You sure, hun?”
Celia scowled. She knew the feigned concern had only been prompted by Mr. Eindhart’s comment; nothing more than an excuse to use the word hun. “If you could cut it with the pet names, that would be nice.”
He rolled his eyes, tried to catch Mr. Eindhart’s eye: Women, right? A comment she’d heard frequently during her marriage, even more so with her so-called ‘pregnancy hormones,’ the ‘mood swings’ that were preventing her from thinking straight.
Today, they weren’t entirely unfounded. All she could think about was her belly, the sheet of muscle over her womb, rippling and contracting as she tried to cut Dave off from some long-winded procession of his victimhood. The baby inside, the head positioned right into her cervix, pressing with increasing urgency. She had to ignore her body for the time being. She had to remain calm and collected and—
“Listen,” Celia interrupted, leaning over her tight swell. “Could we please hurry things along?” —glaring at Dave— “We’ve been through these questions enough times, wouldn’t you say?”
“I just want to make sure we have all the information,” he protested, the slimeball. “To make the right choice.”
Celia was about to retort when she felt the familiar banding around her stomach, and clenched in on herself, riding out the waves of pain and pressure once again. She hoped that her gritted teeth and wrinkled brow could be attributed to her impatience.
Her baby squirmed, cramped in her full, brimming belly. She shifted again. Things were really ramping up. As the contraction receded, she thumbed through the pages of legal documents until she reached the last one, the blank line where their joint signatures would go, and stifled a huff of frustration. There were still at least forty pages?! This pressure was a bad sign, she knew. Soon, she’d barely be able to sit, the head felt dangerously low.
The minutes ticked by. Contraction after contraction. Her belly, hot like a furnace, wracked and misshapen with their clenching force.
“Jesus,” Celia muttered unconsciously under her breath. “The pressure….” Then she looked up to see Mr. Eindhart and Dave staring at her.
“Excuse me, my dear?” Mr. Eindhart said, head tilted politely.
Celia cleared her throat, straightened her back. “The pressure he’s been putting me through, lately. It’s, er, getting to be unbearable.”
Dave was shaking his head solemnly. “You can’t even imagine my feelings. You just can’t see the other side.”
“Oh, that’s rich!” Celia covered up her consternation with a sarcastic laugh.
Another fifteen minutes. Contractions about five minutes apart. Celia realized that she had to use the bathroom, and had to use it now. The pressure was beginning to force her legs apart, despite her efforts to keep them tightly pinched together. The weight, god, the heaviness. She felt fuller than ever, an all-encompassing fullness. It stood to reason, she thought, her bladder would be feeling the strain.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I need to use the restroom.” She painstakingly stood, unable to conceal a grunt at the weight of gravity on her sagged, bowed belly. Hoping they didn’t notice the slip of skin under her blouse that certainly hadn’t been there this morning, Celia waddled from the office and found the lady’s room.
On the toilet she suffered a contraction that had her hunched over her stomach, toes curling in her pantyhoes tights. Suddenly, eyes wide, mouth open, she felt a spike in the rising pressure. Then— a release. Liquid gushed from her crotch. Celia moaned loudly at the relief. Then she clamped her mouth shut. She wouldn’t have put it past Dave to wait for her outside the bathroom.
Panting, she rose shakily from the toilet and wiped her inner thighs and crotch. She knew her waters had broken, signaling the rapid advance of her labor.
“Please, little one,” Celia murmured. “Just a little longer. Just until it’s only you and me, no one else.”
Dave was looking at her suspiciously when she returned. Even with her effortful concealment, he’d spent enough time around her to know her more subtle forms of expression. She cleared her throat and smiled.
“Where were we?”
Mr. Eindhart smiled a bit absently as Celia dabbed at the sweat beading on her forehead. He shuffled his papers and continued. Soon another contraction was taking hold of Celia, and she stiffened, bracing herself. Still, she wasn’t quite prepared for the intensity, coming on even more severe without her bag of waters to cushion the skull. Her swollen mound flexed visibly beneath the desk. She set her jaw, her knuckles going pale as she gripped her seat. This time the pain was accompanied by the undeniable urge to push. She nearly gasped aloud. Fuck, she wanted to push. It was like nothing else she’d felt before, the deep, overwhelming desire to bear down as hard as she could against the pressure. She held her breath, counted, blinking quickly as she tried to distract herself from the urge. It only grew stronger, pounding through her body, washing over her like a compulsion.
Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t control her body entirely, and she could feel herself giving small pushes, each one shoving her baby further down through her birth canal. With some mercy the contraction began to ebb, and she floated back into the conversation at hand.
“....and, what if the kid had to list another parent as an emergency contact? That role would go to me, right?”
Celia tried to intercede as smoothly as she could, ignoring the tremble in her voice, the vicious wringing of her womb. “They’re going to have a godmother, and she’ll be listed as a secondary guardian.”
“That’s fine,” Mr. Eindhart said. “Spell her name for me, just in case?”
“Is it Shannon?” Dave asked. “It’s Shannon, isn’t it? I never liked her. A bitch, that’s what she was.”
“Mr. Gardner, I don’t tolerate that kind of language in my office. Another remark and you can go ahead and find a different representative.”
Celia flashed the elderly divorce lawyer a grateful smile before turning her attention back to the impatient baby now beginning to stretch her birth canal wide. She was giving birth at this desk and nobody knew except for her. She could do this.
A hard, clamping pain. She exhaled, suddenly breathless, though it seemed to her company that she was just huffing in annoyance at Dave’s theatrics. When the urge coursed through her, it was nearly impossible to deny.
Don’t push, she told herself. Belly gripping her midsection like a tight closed fist. Don’t push. Internal muscles squeezing around the baby. Don’t—
The need to push was dizzying. She couldn’t help it. Before she knew it, she was bearing down at the desk, thighs spread as far apart as they could manage in her seat. A flush spread to her cheeks. She pushed, and pushed, feeling the baby move downward toward her exit. She couldn’t stop, was barely even aware of her surroundings anymore. All that mattered was the baby coming out of her, the need to get it out, bear down on it with the single-mindedness of a birthing mother.
Her silent straining went unnoticed until she ended her push with a loud grunt. Suddenly there were two heads turned towards her.
“My dear, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Celia?” Dave furrowed his brow. “What kind of sound was that? Didn’t you just use the bathroom, like, thirty minutes ago.”
Exhausted, losing hope that she’d be able to hold this baby in until after the signing, Celia snapped at him. “They’ve been kicking up a damn storm this entire morning, and whose fault is that in the first place? You insist on dragging this out for as long as possible, with me ready to fucking pop” —no comment from Eindhart; he knew better than to lecture a heavily pregnant woman about her language— “so, please, can we just get this over with.”
The head was so big in her canal. The pressure was so bad. She was full to the brim, utterly stretched and gravid with the baby. She couldn’t think about anything else except the need to get it out.
“Yes, well—” blinking, Mr. Eindhart scrambled with the pages. “I suppose we can just skip over a couple of pages…. let’s see here, joint signature, page 87, please.”
“Hey!” Dave protested. “Now, wait a minute.”
Celia was picking up one of Mr. Eindhart’s elegant fountain pens…. Another contraction was coming on, she could feel it broiling in her belly…. every muscle tensing up at once, working with the singular effort to expel her baby…. raising her trembling hand to the page….
To Dave and their lawyer, it may have looked like she had gone stock-still. Really though, she was pushing. Her knuckles shone pale around the pen. She was biting her lip so hard she thought she might draw blood. The baby was moving between her legs, she could feel it. She could have sobbed. The massive head was sliding through her hips, down, down, down towards her exit. She was pushing it out.
Dave took her sudden pause as hesitation. “Oh, honey,” he said. “Look at you! Overcome with emotion, I knew it was just a charade. It’s okay. We don’t have to go through with this.”
The fullness was very low now. A new sensation. The baby was in her vagina! Her labia had begun to bulge grotesquely; the head, of course, was huge. With a laborious effort, Celia scrawled a hasty, spidery signature onto the page. The final step. Done.
She slumped in her chair, push releasing, and her belly sank as her womb muscles relaxed. Her crotch throbbed. The baby’s head was right there, sitting heavily at her entrance, and it felt as if she was perched atop a bowling ball, hips nearly splitting open with the pressure.
Dave looked at the signature with despair. Mr. Eindhart cleared his throat, eyeing him like he suspected Dave might just grab the papers and bolt with them. Instead, he reached for a pen and, even more slowly than Celia had in the throes of giving birth, signed his big, sloppy signature.
“All right,” Mr. Eindhart said, tucking the papers into a folder. “That should be the last of the proceedings!”
Before Celia could react, Dave had stormed from the room. The door swung violently on its hinges.
She knew that she should leave as soon as possible, but getting up from her seat was a monumental task. Still, she struggled valiantly to her feet, containing a scream behind sealed lips as gravity thrust the head further into her nether regions, a wet tent forming in her underwear. She thanked the heavens that she had worn a skirt today. The body, it seemed, was slipping between her hips now, forcing the head down even more. Her gait was less a waddle at this point and more a bowlegged half-squat. She bore the pain and pressure and looked Mr. Eindhart in the eye, smiling as she shook his hand.
“Thank, mm, you. For everything.”
“Please, dear. Get home, get some rest.”
She nodded, unable to speak anymore. The head, god. She was so close to crowning. It was about to come out, she could feel it. She shuffled indelicately from Mr. Eindhart’s office. ‘Getting home’ was not a feasible goal. Celia didn’t even know if she could make it to the lady’s room in time, but she had to try. She couldn’t possibly give birth in these dirty carpeted corridors! One hand following the wall, knees barely supporting herself. She was trailing birthing fluid, leaking through her panties.
Whenever a contraction struck (and they were coming on without pause or respite now) she was forced to stop and squat, grunting the baby further into her nether regions. With every push her lips bulged more and more into the fabric of her underwear, burning with the obscene stretch. Slowly, the head parted them open, and she tried to pant through a contraction, drawing from some intuition that she needed to go slow and let herself stretch, her vagina straining to accommodate the huge head. Instead she loosed a guttural groan, bearing down again until her lips had unfurled into a tight oval. She was limping now, one hand cupped between her thighs as she walked.
As she rounded the hall, the restroom came into view. Almost there, Celia told herself. Just a couple more steps. Dread poured over her as a contraction began to brew in her belly. Oh no— Celia braced herself, steadying her hands against the wall in preparation.
Just then, she heard a shout. “Celia!” Dave had been waiting at the end of the hall, and now he jogged to catch up to her. “Shit, Dave!” Celia hissed as her birth canal wrung her from the inside out. “Fu-u-uck, what could you possibly—urgh! want?!”
Dave caught her arm, too involved in his own self-pity to notice Celia’s wide half-squat, the pinching of her face, the dribbles of liquid from between her spread thighs.
“Just hear me out, okay?” He was upset. His bottom lip quivered like a petulant child’s. He seemed, absurdly, betrayed. “You love me. I know you love me, and that baby is mine. I’m its father, I have a right to meet it.”
Celia stared at him, flabbergasted, the baby crowning into her panties momentarily forgotten. Suddenly she squatted down and bellowed loudly. “OOOOOHHHH!!”
Dave backed away in fear.
“Listennn-mmmfgh!” Celia groaned as she bore down furiously. “Grrrruh! Ugh, ah! I have had it up to here with you. Fuuuuck, I’m only gonna say this one time.” Despite her deep squat, she suddenly seemed to tower over him, red-faced with fury and the exertion of birth.
“Get out of our lives.”
Dave glanced at her in consternation, then scurried down the hall and hopefully out of her life for good.
Celia’s legs finally gave out and she dropped to her knees, unable to withstand the searing pain and pressure spreading her wide open and filling her so completely, it was as if there was no room for anything else anymore; no Dave, no legal documents or income discussions, not even herself or her identity as anything but a mother. Everything was focused on the baby coming out of her, crowning her most sensitive, private region. She gripped her thighs and bore down. Then she pushed her hips back, opening them, and rested her heavy body on her hands and knees. An animalistic urgency coursed through her. This primal position felt good, felt right. This was what she needed to be doing. Pushing, without any other concerns.
Her skirt rode up, exposing the apex of her thighs, her sodden bulging underwear, soaked fabric revealing what was happening behind it. The head slipped further out. Her lips formed a burning circle. Celia’s groans tightened and rose in pitch and she strained, the head unmoving as a boulder for a nerve-wracking second. A full-body shudder. Celia’s eyes rolled back in her head as she pressed her chest to the floor and sloped her rear end into the air, pushing with all she had.
The head burst free, and fluids spattered the hallway wall behind her, soaking the carpet. Celia gasped and panted, but the ordeal wasn’t over yet.
“O-okay, okay, baby.” The shoulders were rotating, she could feel the body turning inside her. The entire head hung from her opening and sagged her panties. “Th-this is iiiittttt-ooooooh!” With one last giant push, the body slid out and a river of fluids gushed freely behind.
Celia sat up on her haunches, scrambling between her tights and underwear with the instinctual desperation of a mother, searching frantically, needing to hold her baby, needing the touch-contact. She brought it from under her skirt to her chest, and heard a gurgling cry. A beautiful girl! Nothing like her father, everything like her mother. Tears streamed from Celia’s eyes and dripped down her nose and cheeks.
“Oh, look at you! Look at you!” She held her to her warm heart. “It’s okay. It’s just us. Just you and me, and no one else.”
Also non of this is kink related thank you very much
She's fine😌
Honestly after the first baby bestie thought the second one would be a piece of cake.... She was so wrong 💀 Not only were they actually sick during the 1st trimester this time, their appendix decided to be a bitch and shit went very wrong on top of the expected complications (there were some the first time but nothing a little kiss on the forehead from Mori wouldn't fix)
Sincee each if thee gods have different healing powers they had to bring in Bethea (the winged one) to help... Oscard has beef with them because she had him stabbed once... Also the universe almost went bye bye because of there so you can imagine the vibe wasn't it💀💀
Dwari is okay and so is Yellen (the baby) but she had to rest a lot more than the first time because healing a fast spreading infection isn't easy on the body no matter how fast it's removed. Oscard takes very goid care if both of them while Dwari's mom helps with Ilga (their first kid she's like 4 at that point)
Co-written with the wonderful and endlessly imaginative @shhhsecretsideblog
First entry into the Spell-verse, a series of stories revolving around a town blanketed by a rapid pregnancy and birth spell.
The news already had coined a name for it. Go figure, Char thought, shaking her head at the display of pure pseudoscience on the screen before her.
“Yes, that’s right,” a reporter spoke. “Emergency services have taken a census and The Spell seems to have affected every person able to bear children in the town.”
“The Spell,” Char scoffed, shaking her head. “Call it a virus, a fluke of biology, whatever. Just don’t chalk it up to magic.”
Because if it was magic, that would mean her science would be ineffectual on the obvious life growing inside her belly, now looking full-term with a baby that she hadn’t been pregnant with this morning. It rippled, hanging low between the scientist’s thighs. She placed a palm on her stretched tummy. The evidence, she thought, speaks for itself.
“Shouting at the tele again Char?” Laura said as she waddled into their lab. Her long white coat hung open at her sides, her own newly formed bump making the coat too small to fit round her frame.
“Got you a coffee.” She passed the hot drink to her boss and went over to sit on the stool by her own workstation. It took a bit of navigating, still not used to this extra weight she now carried, but eventually she plumped herself on the high metal chair.
“I mean, they aren’t wrong calling it ‘The Spell.’ What’s happening here is unheard of. All these pregnancies are popping up very much like magic.” Laura rubbed the circumference of her large belly that now sat heavily atop her thighs. She could feel the baby moving inside, it was so strange. Pregnancy and birth was never something she thought she’d experience. She understood it, she knew all about the process, but it was something else entirely actually experiencing it. And going through it all within the space of a day was a bit of a rollercoaster.
They’d done scans and knew they were carrying human babies, it wasn’t anything supernatural or alien, but it was just the speed, it was unprecedented. The baby in her womb shifted and kicked her in the ribs “Oof!” She huffed. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.” Laura commented to her boss.
Char nodded, smothering the instinct to cup her own belly as devoted her attention back to her work.
“Hopefully, you won’t have to. We’ll find a way to reverse the process without delivery and things will—“ she paused, startled by a twinge in her stomach muscles and the subsequent squirming of the baby inside her. She cleared her throat. “Things will return to normal and we can take the time to research this phenomenon thoroughly.”
Secretly, Char’s urgency stemmed from another reason—already she’d struggled to adapt to the feeling of her body so unrecognizably changed, the idea of a passenger inside her, her body growing and stretching to accommodate it without any of her say in it. Even the tiniest signs of motherhood she steadfastly resisted, trying not to waddle or hold her heavy mound, wearing her usual lab wear instead of anything more comfortable. Yet—
She knew this was nothing compared to birth. She also knew that they were on a strict time limit. Shaking her head, she dispelled these thoughts. ‘We don’t have to worry about that. All we have to worry about is finding a cure,’ she thought.
“You really think we can find a cure before these babies are born?” Laura asked hesitantly. She knew how her boss was handling this sudden change in their bodies, and it wasn’t very well. Not that she’d admit it. She disappeared quickly into the work when it first started happening to people and completely ignored the signs this morning that it was happening to them both as well.
“I’ve heard that some people are already starting to give birth… we might not have the time. Not before these ones are born anyway.” Laura patted her bump affectionately. She wasn’t fighting this as much as her boss. Yes it was a shock, but Laura was leaning into the experience, it was fascinating.
She noticed her belly start to twinge, felt similar to period pains. Laura shifted in her chair, trying to ease the uncomfortable feeling, her legs widening on the stool to fit her rounded stomach in between. “Have you had any twinges or cramps or anything?” Laura asked.
Char glanced at Laura, absorbing the gravity of her condition, the way her midsection protruded from her open lab coat and her discomfort that so mirrored Char’s own. “Nope,” she lied easily, convincing herself that it was the weight she was now carrying, that the pressure in her hips and the aching of her back was all because of the new load in her belly.
“Well, I’m not exactly hasty to get these babies out the old-fashioned way,” Char said.
A part of her shared sentiments with Laura, though. Call it a scientific curiosity, but the process of birth was quite a marvel. Another cramp seized her belly and she stiffened slightly, bearing it without note. Her own belly hung low, having dropped without her realizing, but Laura’s taut, overhanging swell was immediately apparent to her.
How about you?” She asked while peering into a microscope.
“I’m not sure… I’m feeling something… oof—” Laura took a sharp breath as the ache peaked before easing off again. “It’s probably just my body adjusting to the quick pregnancy. I’m not in a hurry to give birth myself.”
She didn’t want to say it but the rate at which their stomachs had swelled, Laura didn’t think they would have long before the pangs of labor hit. It was difficult to ascertain how “far along” they were, given the speed in the growth, but judging by the bumps alone Laura guessed her and Char were developing at the same rate.
“We better work fast then, before either of us goes into labor.” Or both of us, Laura thought to herself.
Char pressed her lips together at the reminder, and without knowing she palmed the underside of her swollen stomach, attempting to soothe the tightened muscles.
“Yes, right. Could you come over here and we can analyze these lab reports together. Bring the files from the corner bench, please.”
Her back ached, yet she was too restless to sit and besides, she always worked while standing. She’d be damned if she let this baby inside of her intrude on her routine.
“Sure thing.” Laura said to Char’s instruction. Holding her taut stomach, Laura slipped off the stool onto her feet and waddled over to the corner bench to pick up the files.
Standing seemed to have jolted her baby, feeling the weight sink lower into her hips as it kicked. A sudden sharp tightening slashed across her belly causing her to gasp and grab on to the table. “Mnngh!” She groaned as the muscles pulled and squeezed, its intensity surprising.
“Char… hooo… I think I might be having a con-contraction…” Laura panted through the pain, hips instinctively swaying beneath the white lab coat.
Char snapped her head up from the microscope to see Laura doubled over, clutching the table. With her back flat, her weighty belly seemed to strain toward the ground, dragged downward by gravity. Char watched as Laura swayed her hips in an almost hypnotic pattern, as though instinct had taken over. Her panting, even, seemed instinctual, the sounds of an imminent mother.
“Laura? Hey—“ Char struggled to walk without a waddle, across the room to Laura. She was stopped by a squeezing in her tummy that took her breath away, the entire surface hardening painfully. She dismissed it before it even ended. ‘Braxton Hicks,’ she thought. ‘No big deal. I have time…. Laura, I’m not so sure.’
She placed a palm on Laura’s lower back and she breathed and swayed. “You’re okay,” she said, her usual brisk tone softening. “Just breathe.”
“Hoooo-hoooo…..” Laura forced herself to take measured breaths, in and out, breathing through the sudden pain. Her head dipped and her eyes scrunched, the weight and pressure suddenly peaking before gradually fading away. Slowly the assistant straightened back up and faced her friend (?) and boss.
“Jeeze, that was… intense.” She breathed, rubbing the underside of her belly. “I wasn’t expecting that to come on so fast. Guess I’m in labor. I’ll start running a log of all my symptoms so we can add to our research.” She picked up the earlier requested files and handed them to her boss, noticing a slight glistening of sweat on Char’s forehead. “You still doing okay?”
Char nodded, appearing uncharacteristically distracted. She made an effort to straighten her back, feeling the clamping around her womb subside for now.
“Fine,” she said. Then, appreciative of Laura’s dedication to their studies, “Good work, Laura. If it gets to be too much for you, let me know. Until then, we’ll work around the clock and develop a cure before you progress too far.”
And, before I do as well, Char added to herself.
Noting Laura’s significantly widened stance and the way she stroked and circled her dropped belly, Char felt a twinge of apprehensiveness.
As they worked, fighting the clock, Char listened to Laura’s pained breaths become sharper. Eventually she began to vocalize, softly at first, closing her eyes and rocking her body back and forth, making slight grunts and moaning under her breath.
Char wasn’t in a much better state. Her contractions had grown into strong, regular surges and every time her belly seized up she could only focus on it and the baby inside it preparing to be born. Born, she thought. Not if I can help it. Her familiarity with the process and inevitability of birth did nothing to halt this line of thinking. Yet with each contraction she felt like nothing else existed but her swollen, contracting belly. She released a breath after a particularly brutal one. There was so much pressure. She felt it deep in her hips, wanting so badly to open herself up all the way.
Laura let out a pained groan herself, and Char glanced up.
“H-how are you, mm, holding up?” She asked the other laboring woman.
“As w-well as can be expected… hoooo…” Laura held her heavy belly with one hand, the other leant on her workstation as she swayed through the pain. “They are really picking up now Char, oof, the pressure is a lot.”
The lab assistant had abandoned her chair a while ago, finding the most comfortable position was to stand at her desk as it allowed her to follow her body’s rhythm and its instinct to move. Plus the baby was sinking way too low to be sitting down on that ridiculous high stool. She had spent entire days on that chair working before The Spell, but that idea seemed downright ludicrous to Laura now.
Their research seemed to be slow moving, and it wasn’t entirely down to the fact she was in labor, the science just wasn’t providing them with answers, still proving to be a mystery. She’d been keeping track of her contractions, which were getting dangerously closer together and time was running out.
Whilst the waves of pain coursing through her body every five minutes were consuming, Laura wasn’t oblivious to the fact her boss was also struggling. Perhaps it was because of her own labor she could recognise the signs; the way Char kept moving around the lab and never stayed still, her heavy breathing and occasional moan, and the way her hips would shift and bounce when she thought Laura wasn’t looking. Yup, her boss was almost certainly in labor too. But Laura knew better than to ask her outright.
“Are you feeling okay Char? You’ve been on your feet for quite a w-while now..”
Char tried to imagine sitting and found she couldn’t, with the baby dropped so low, the head pressing heavily on her cervix. She knew from the strain in Laura’s voice and her repeated movements around the room that she was feeling the same pressure and slowly increasing urgency. She wanted to moan, openly sway and rotate her hips against the excruciating pressure, to release instinctual grunts with her contractions like Laura. But, not yet. She couldn’t be in active labor.
“Just frustrated,” Char growled. “We’ve barely made progress and this current batch of tests has yielded no results whatsoever…. mmgh!” She winced, closing her mouth so as not to cry out as a contraction clamped her midsection.
“Also,” she added. “I might—urgh, be experiencing some Braxton Hicks.”
“Oh… braxton hicks… okay.” Laura acknowledged calmly, knowing full well there was nothing false about the pains plaguing Char. “Just try and b-breathe through them. They’ll soon pass. You can move around you know, follow your body’s instincts if you need to, I’m sure it would help with the, errr—false labor pains.”
They continued working in relative silence, except from the unusual noises Laura found herself making through the pains. She thought she heard her boss whimper, and asked “Is there anything I can do to h-help?”
Not that she was capable of doing much, the pains were so strong now she could barely do anything other than catch her breath between waves. Laura stayed close to her work bench, not daring to move too far for fear she’d crumble to the floor. Her bump hung heavy and low off her hips, her baby was pressing hard against her cervix clearly marking its exit. A particularly forceful contract had Laura folded over against the bench, forearms on the white surface, hips jutting back, and her head buried in the crook of her elbow. Her groans had turned more primal, the pressure building to the point she almost mooed like a cow. Something was slipping down, she could feel it. With a grunt Laura felt something give and the immediate dampness that followed trailing down her leg.
“Ummm… Char? Hoooo… I think my water broke.” Laura whimpered into her arm, not daring to move.
Char turned when she heard Laura’s animalistic groans and grunts, undeniably the noises of a woman deep in labor. She saw Laura standing wide-legged, a wet patch forming on her lab trousers and puddling the floor beneath her. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion, and Char knew she was feeling the same pressure against her widening cervix as herself, increasingly overcome with the sensation of the head moving into position, the instinctive need to open herself up for the baby getting ready to come out of her.
“Laura—! Hooo um, okay,” Char faltered, taking large waddling steps to Laura and cursing the weight in her pelvis and the unwieldiness of her belly. .Normally in control of the situation, she felt lost at the sight of Laura’s waters puddled on the floor. This was an uncontrollable variable. No matter how much they wanted to keep their babies in, once their bodies decided it was time there was little they could do. But Char wasn’t ready to give in yet.
“I’ll, mmgh, find you some towels,” she promised Laura.
In the hallway she suffered another contraction, and found herself vocalizing freely without Laura around, lowing insistently and arching her back. Without knowing, her knees bent slightly, beginning to sink into a squat. She realized what she was doing and tried to hold herself upright against the hallway wall, but by then the contraction was upon her and she felt a sudden burst of fluid from between her legs.
“Oh…. shit,” she murmured, panting hard.
When she returned with the towels, she met Laura’s gaze and knew that they were both feeling the urgency of birth. They were almost out of time.
The contraction had waned when Char left the room and Laura slowly righted herself and breathed quietly, taking stock of the situation, letting her body adjust and working with the new sensations. The baby was definitely on its way, there was no doubt about that. The breaking of her waters had helped ease the excruciating pressure which had been building, but Laura became more keenly aware of the shape of the baby in her womb without its cushioning.
Taking deep and steady breaths, Laura tried to calm her mind and body. It was during this almost meditative state that she heard the unmissable sound of a woman in deep labor from the corridor. She knew exactly who it was.
Char was a very methodical woman, set in her ways, but she was strong and determined which was a necessity in this field of work. Laura respected her immensely. But it was no surprise to the assistant that her boss was fighting this and seemingly was fighting it to the very end. At some point Char would admit she was in labor, she would have to if she was going to birth her baby. Laura just hoped she would be able to help Char through it when the time comes, and not be consumed by her own birth.
When Char came back she was flushed and sweaty, but gritted a smile as she passed Laura a towel. Laura noticed her boss kept one for herself… strange.
Laura threw the towel on the floor and used her foot to wipe the liquid that was now puddled at her feet. Her trousers were wet but she didn’t want to take them off, she might have known Char for years but wasn’t quite ready to be walking around half naked in front of her boss.
“This baby is definitely coming, I can feel its head right down in my pelvis.” Laura announced, cupping the underside of her large swell almost trying to hold it up. “How are you holding up Char through your… practice contractions?”
Even without her announcing it, Char could tell how close Laura was to birthing her baby, her stance and dropped belly unmistakable as signs of her imminent birth. Laura, she knew, was dependable, and though Char would rarely admit it, she relied on Laura and her stability and her easier personality tended to balance Char’s own stubbornness. Her patience was beginning to wear Char down, and she almost admitted then. The head was huge against her dilated cervix, and she could feel it oriented, ready to descend. Everything was moving painfully downwards. She could no longer even pinch her knees together, so wide was her gait. It felt as if the baby would drop out of her if she spread too wide.
“I-I think I’m, I’m in—“ Char was cut off by another contraction, doubling over with an urgent grunt, so unlike her normally composed and cool attitude. “Ohhhh,” she moaned, closing her eyes. She gritted her teeth, eyes squeezed shut as the contraction began to peak and she clutched blindly at her rigid, taut belly.
“Oh Char…” Laura said, waddling over to her boss, keeping one hand on a bench for support. “I think you’re in labor, hun.”
Char was completely doubled over, clutching her large and heavy belly, and grunting wildly. There was no way she could keep denying her situation now surely. Laura put a hand on Char’s back and rubbed up and down her spine in support. “It’s okay, just breathe through the contraction. Slowly, don’t panic, in and o-outttt…”
Laura was cut off by a contraction of her own, and without her waters it was aggressive and forceful. She immediately spun around, grabbing the nearest bench, and groaned deeply as she fell into a slight squat. The baby was slamming against her cervix, squeezing its way into her birth canal, and Laura had no choice but to push with the force of the contraction.
She tried not to panic, to stay calm, but the head filling her canal was almost making her nauseous. She wanted to tell Char but couldn’t speak, not that her boss could do anything as she was dealing with a contraction of her own right now. The only option left was to ride the wave, and follow her instincts.
Over the din of her own uncontrollable noises Char could hear Laura’s straining groans as she bore down fiercely, primal with the urgency of a birthing mother. Char tried to change her posture but the feeling of the baby descending, pressing down forcefully against her cervix was too much for her to bear standing, and she clasped her hands on her thighs as she squatted, desperate for relief. The contraction peaked, and though she tried to control her breathing, sucking in air at first, by the ends of her breaths she found herself grunting slightly. She gave a gasp, realizing that she was pushing. No! No, no! She thought desperately. You’re a scientist. This is your lab, and you have control. Try as she might, it was impossible to assert control over her laboring body. Her baby was coming, and she was pushing. Still, she tried to resist the urge to push, panting and blowing as the pressure grew and her back flared with pain.
Laura’s contraction seemed to subside a little before Char’s, and Char saw her belly visibly heave as her uterine muscles relaxed. She let out a grunt as the contraction released her. They made eye contact as Char’s contraction began to fade as well. Char shifted her gaze.
“We…. w-we,” she panted, trying to regain her breath. “We have to find this cure. Right now.”
“Char…. Even if we do find a c-cure… what do you t-think is going to happen?” Laura said sternly as she heaved herself back to standing. “These babies,” she patted her bump and also Char’s for effect, “are coming and no cure is going to make them disappear.”
Laura had seen the way Char literally squatted to the ground and pushed, and her clothes were also damp on her bottom half. “I’m saying this as both your friend and colleague, you are in labor just as much as I, and we should prepare for their arrival.”
Laura waddled awkwardly, bowlegged, back to her desk and grabbed a drink of water. Still panting after the latest contraction, she picked up a pen and carried on making notes. “I’ll help you as much as I can, noting everything down about this rapid pregnancy, tracking my symptoms and experience, but we’re going to be giving birth soon. Both of us.”
Char glared weakly as Laura patted her belly. She’d known Laura to be one of her only lab partners to actually stand up to her or challenge her, but even then she was firmly gentle. This was no different except of course so steeped in labor herself Laura had a bit more edge to her, biting just a little. She knew how Laura was feeling. Their babies were so low, pushing heavily into their canals and forcing their bodies to deliver, and she wanted nothing more to stop what she was doing right now, squat down, and let it come. Magic or science, Char and Laura were experiencing their most natural, primal instincts.
But—she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. No, this was HER body. An intruding passenger wouldn’t change that, even as it inched its way through her birth canal and demanded she work hard and concentrate on nothing but pushing it out. Char made a laborious effort to straighten somewhat, though her stance wasn’t much narrower than Laura’s own bowlegged waddle.
“Not, urgh, yet,” Char said. “I’m not having this baby. Mmm…. hoo, I’m grateful to you, Laura, for holding it together for this long. But you n-need to deliver. Please, don’t burden yourself. I’ll finish this cure on my—hmnh, hm. My own.”
She painstakingly toddled to her research table, lifting the hefty weight of her belly as though it would keep the baby from dropping any further.
“Okay, do whatever you wanna do Char.” Laura resigned herself to losing this argument. Her boss was determined but this was next level, bordering on complete denial. Well if Char was feeling even half the sensations Laura was, she’d succumb to this birth soon enough.
Laura needed to prepare for the imminent birth, her recent pushing was a sure sign the baby was close. Slowly, and whilst always holding on to something, the assistant rummaged through the drawers and cupboards in the lab. “Do we have anything we could use for clamps to cut the cord?” She asked aloud, not really expecting an answer from her disgruntled colleague. “Ah, this could work.”
She collected the equipment she’d need to clamp and cut the chord on her desk, and moved the towel on the floor with her feet again mopping up the new liquid that she’d trailed across the floor, not realizing she was still leaking. “I’m gonna go get some more towels.” Laura again spoke aloud but knew her boss had disappeared into her own world.
Laura barely made it to the doorway when another contraction struck, and damn they were close together. Her fingers gripped the wooden frame as her body sank downwards again, the pressure building and building between her legs. “Mnnnghhhhhhhh!!!” Laura grunted, muscles contracting and squeezing the large head further through the birth canal, to the point she could feel herself start to open slightly. “Nghhhhhhh the head…. I can feel it…” Laura mewled as she squatted.
Char listened to Laura’s preparations in the background, doing her best to tune out both Laura’s words and the feeling of a massive head lodged in her birth canal, stretching her from within. Her legs trembled, nearly buckled even without a contraction. She resented herself for pushing but knew from her last contraction that she wouldn’t be able to help from bearing down again. The urge to push, the pressure, it was blurring her vision, and her head pounded dizzyingly. A mantra repeated in her head: ‘Hold it in. Just hold it in a little longer.’ Her stomach felt like a hard stone weighing on her middle even without a contraction. She tried to focus, pulling herself into a chemical analysis of her own birthing fluids she’d swabbed from the towel.
Suddenly, she heard Laura’s loud grunting and her attention was drawn to the doorway to see her assistant bent and squatted, pushing hard into her trousers. She felt a tug of concern.
“Laura? Hun, you okay—?”
The head, she thought. Oh god, she’s still wearing her work trousers.
Before she could even take a single step towards Laura, she felt another contraction grip her. “Oooof,” she grunted deeply. Her knees began to give out and she was forced into a squat even as she tried to remain standing. Gripping the table for dear life, she groaned and growled. Don’t push, she thought. Don’t—
“Ohhhh.” The head shifted down. Her powerful internal muscles shoved it through. “OH—I’m—I-I’m pushinggggg, mmmmgh!”
Laura was consumed by the sensations thrumming through her entire body, it was as if something primal was happening to her - new and unfamiliar, completely out of her control, and yet her body seemed to know what to do. Her knees widened and she sunk deeper into the squat, opening her hips as much as she could. Leaning into the contraction, using it, Laura pushed the heavy weight down. It felt… productive. She knew it was what she should be doing.
The location wasn’t ideal, and she hoped she still had time to collect more towels and set up a more comfortable birthing area. But whilst the contraction raged, Laura submitted to it, letting it work her baby down, slipping further and further towards its exit.
Somewhere in the distance she heard her name being called. After a long push Laura gulped a breath and turned her head to see Char squatting at her desk and crying out that she was pushing. She would laugh if her body hadn’t forced her into another push.
They needed to get set up and quick, Char looked like she was suffering just as much as Laura was. When the contraction waned just a bit, Laura stopped pushing and somehow managed to haul her body back to standing. Char looked okay, well as she could given the situation, riding out a contraction and holding on to the sturdy frame of her workbench.
“I’m getting more towels, hang on Char!” Laura shouted, hoping her boss would hear over the groans Char was making.
Waddling ever so slowly, the head sitting right behind her lips, Laura went off to the cupboard to find more towels. They’d soon need them.
Another contraction struck mere minutes after the last while Laura was in the cupboard but she was not as successful this time in staying on her feet. The force of the contracting muscles and slashing pain splitting her open brought her to her knees. She clung on to the shelf in front of her, her heavy belly squished between widened thighs, and she pushed hard wailing with the effort. The head was peaking through, pushing apart her folds in her underwear. But her body was driving this journey, Laura was just the passenger. After a solid minute the contraction let up and when she released the push with a gasp, the baby slipped back into the birth canal. With a trembling hand she felt the fabric between her legs, she was definitely bulging, but the head wasn’t crowning just yet. She breathed deeply, gathering her strength before getting back on her feet. She needed to get back with the extra towels, not just so she could birth her baby there but so she could help Char. She’d need a friend and the support right now, and so could Laura.
As Laura submitted, pushing freely and loudly as though nothing else mattered in the world except getting her baby out and getting it out now, Char resisted her baby’s inevitable birth. Panicked, she gulped in a breath, trying to ease up on her furious pushing as she felt the head filling her opening thoroughly. It was beginning to bulge her, though her lips remained shut. The pressure and incredible sensation of the head sitting low at her opening, almost ready to exit, was almost too much to bear. She mooed deeply, from the back of her throat. Her belly tightened even harder than before, squeezing her like a vice and she couldn’t help but push again. The baby strained against her opening, and she could feel her most delicate area distending obscenely.
“Oh god!” She cried, throwing her head back as her thighs spread and she pushed again and again uncontrollably. The urge was undeniable. She was subject to her body and right now, it was telling her to birth her baby. Here, now, into her trousers. She felt helpless. Out of control.
“It’s coming,” she moaned. “Ohhh, it’s coming!” She knew this deeply, intuitively, with an age-old maternal instinct. She was ready to birth her baby. But she felt alone and vulnerable.
“Laura,” she gasped, couldn’t say much more than that. “Laura, oh god, it’s coming and I’m pushing! I need to hold it in! Just a little longer!”
She could hear Char’s wailing from the corridor, becoming fast apparent the lead technician was losing her fight against the inevitable. With one arm carrying a load of towels, the other hand pressed against the wall as she waddled heavily back to the office. On walking into the room she saw her friend and colleague in a deep squat, white-knuckling the work bench, chin to chest and pushing. Loudly.
“Oh Char, it’s okay hun.” Laura shut the door behind her and dropped the towels beside her friend. “You have to breathe as well as push darling.” She said as she staggered to her own workbench and grabbed the medical supplies she’d collected. With the baby playing peek-a-boo into her underwear, Laura knew their time was almost up.
Cumbersomely, Laura got down to her knees beside her boss, putting the clamps and scissors on the pile of towels. “Shhhhh it’s okay Char, don’t fight it. Use that contraction and push with the pain.” Laura rubbed a hand up and down Char’s back, trying her best to support and encourage through this.
Unfortunately with their labors progressing in tandem, Laura’s role as carer was snatched away when the next contraction tore its way across her midsection. Instinctively, without intending to, her body was pushing with the pain and she could feel the baby start to leak through again and stretch apart her lips. She went to all fours and rocked, sinking backwards towards her heels whenever she had to bear down.
“Mnnnnghhhhhhh! Come on baby….” She groaned before gasping another breath and pushing hard again. She didn’t care that she was still in her work clothes, or that she was on the floor of a laboratory that was covered with two lots of amniotic fluid, she was simply following her instincts and soon the baby stopped slipping back in and stayed, keeping her lips in a perfect oval shape.
“Ohhhh god… I think it’s starting to c-crownnnn….” The assistant managed to huff when the contraction eventually dulled.
Char’s belly refused to fully relax at this point, now constantly flexing with forceful surging contractions, but there were brief moments of respite where she could pause in her pushing and some awareness returned to her. Laura, she realized, was beginning to tent her pants with pushing, on all fours with her back arched and her hips shoved forward, trying to make as much room for the large crowning head as possible. She was pushing the head into her clothes, Char realized, bulging them ridiculously, and between her spread thighs more fluids dripped and leaked. At the same time she processed this she realized that her own clothes had never been discarded, but she made no effort to remove them in her precious few moments before her body would force her baby further out of her. Instead she clung onto the naive hope that she’d miraculously stumble upon a cure while crowning into her pants, feeling the head beginning to press up against her underwear and part her lips slightly. Laura, she could tell, had offered less resistance to her body and had made more progress in her pushing, the head sitting permanently, she calculated from the bulge in Laura’s pants, at around a half-crown or more.
“Hey,” she croaked hoarsely, barely able to manage anything but grunts with her clenching belly. “You—you need to get your pants down, hun. Head’s coming out.”
Painstakingly, she began to squat down, moaning as the head was pressed back slightly into her sensitive lips by the tension of her underwear. It felt so low, so full, she needed to open up, she needed to push, relieve the immense pressure, yet her friend, yes friend, not just assistant, needed her. As she squatted low, she hooked her fingers around Laura’s waistline.
“I need, urgh, I need you to get your legs together. Mmmm, we gotta get your pants off, ‘kay?”
She was surprised to see Char moving in her peripheral vision, but Laura could pay no mind, for this baby wanted out and it wanted out now.
“Grhhhhh!!! It’s coming out… mnghh!” Laura cried into the next push, bearing down and feeling the head stretch her wider and wider. Her hips were so full, her pelvis felt like it could snap, the pressure of this baby’s head - this large and heavy mass - *needed* to come out.
Char’s attempt to remove her trousers was fruitless, though the black fabric was stretchy and comfortable with the expanding of her stomach, it was not elasticated enough to be pulled over the wide angle of her legs. The baby sat so low, right at her entrance, stretching her entrance wide with the emerging crown. There was no way in hell she would be able to put her legs closer together.
Instead, she widened them further. “Hmngh! Can’t… baby… coming…I have to pushhhh-mnghhhh!” Laura’s face sunk towards the floor, dropping to her elbows and opening up her hips to the skies. It was coming out, she could feel it sliding slowly out of her into her stretchy clothing. All she could do was push…. Pant and push again.
Char watched in utter fascination as Laura pushed with total abandonment, entirely consumed with the baby coming out of her, every last thought focused on the overwhelming, intense, undeniable urge to push. The bulge in Laura’s pants grew, stretched her thinly and Char could scarcely believe that such a huge head could come from her, pass through such a narrow opening with so much force. She removed her fingers from Laura’s waistline, realizing the impossibility of such a task at this stage in Laura’s labor. She was pushing it out into her pants, and there was nothing Char could do about that except cup the growing bulge as it emerged from Laura’s opening into the straining fabric.
It was terrifying, watching Laura push without regard for anything else. As she felt a powerful contraction wrack her own reddened, exhausted belly, she knew there was no stopping this. She was giving birth and was about to push a baby out into her pants exactly as Laura was doing now. She growled fiercely, deep in her squat—the perfect position. Her knees jackknifed and she opened her hips as wide as they could go. Against her opening the fabric of her underwear arched with the coming head as she bore down immensely. Her face turned bright red with her hardest push yet.
“Oh GODDDD!” She bellowed. “It’s COMING, I’m pushing it OOUUUTTTT!”
Her lips parted, wider and wider, trembling and convulsing around the head as it burned and stretched her. She jerked, trying to escape the ring of fire and yet she couldn’t stop pushing for a minute. She was in the final stages now, and the only way the burn would stop was when she had pushed her baby into the world. Instinct took over completely. This was what her body needed her to do. This was what SHE needed to do.
Even though they were consumed with their own births, Laura found comfort that at least they were together through this. Each laboring woman was not alone.
But the strength required to birth these babies, who didn’t even exist 24 hours ago, would be down to the mother. Gasping for air Laura pushed again with everything she had, through the pressure and pain and the burning ring of fire that had her mouth open in a silent scream. The baby’s head had to be almost out by now, surely!?
Despite being beside each other Char’s bellowing voice seemed so far away to Laura. Nothing else registered beside the baby being born into her pants. She growled with another push and suddenly yelped when the head slipped fully out.
“Oh my god oh my god…” Laura muttered over and over and pushed herself back up on her knees. She scrambled at the waistband of her elasticated trousers and pulled them down to her knees along with her underwear. Her baby, she had to get to her baby, the maternal instinct cried in her head. With a trembling hand she felt the newly born baby’s head that was now wedged between her thighs. “Hi…. baby… oh my gosh you’ve got hair!” Laura was in shock, but also in awe of what her body had just done.
It was only after the head was born that Laura properly heard the cries of her friend. “Char…” she muttered and saw the other woman squatting and huffing, red-faced, chin to chest, with an obscene bulge protruding from her clothes between her wide legs.
“Oh my god Char! Your baby is coming out!”
Had Char any piece of mind she might have answered with her customary sarcasm: oh really? I wouldn’t have guessed. Instead, the only sound that emerged from her mouth was a long lowing wail that only deepened and became more guttural as the head filled her bottom so thoroughly, and it felt as though her pelvis was creaking open to allow the massive head through. She opened slowly, barely pausing to take a breath as she bore down without repose. Dimly, she was aware of Laura’s own baby dangling between her thighs, having pushed the huge head out, and with renewed efforts Char grunted the head further and further out. Her lips tautened and thinned, red with the stretch. The head reached a full crown and for a moment Char pushed and it didn’t move, solid mass wedged tightly in her opening. She gasped, scared for a moment that it was too big, that there was no way she could push something of this size out of her body.
Then she heard Laura cooing to the head between her legs, and something stirred within her. She realized that the dread she’d been facing was being replaced with something like motherhood, her body responding naturally, automatically, to Laura’s awe and wonder. Char realized that she wanted to meet this thing she had carried inside her for a mere twenty-four hours.
“C’mon BABYYYYY!” She shouted, bearing down furiously. Her lips slipped around the head, and then—with a splash of fluids and a grunt of relief, Char freed the head into her pants.
Laura watched in fascination as Char grunted the head further and further into her clothing, it was huge. Char had been fighting this throughout the entire pregnancy and in that moment Laura understood why some women balked so much away from birth. It was hard work. But then she saw a change in her friend, the way her eyebrows furrowed with determination, the slight readjustment of her hips as she took a breath; she was no longer fighting against her body and was readying herself to meet her child.
“You can do it Char, push!” Laura called as Char bore down. She wished she could move to support her friend physically but she was still mid-way through her own rapid birth to risk moving.
Tears begun to well in her eyes at the thought of their babies, the exhaustion of labor and the stress of the last 24 hours hammering her emotions.
By the time Char had birthed the head of her baby into her pants Laura was already feeling the pangs of the next contraction and the baby’s head turned slightly in the palm of her hand. “Oohhhhh… mhhh okay okay… you ready little one?” She panted, pulling in air through her nose, widening her legs apart to steady her balance and preparing herself to push again. Both hands were between her legs when the contraction really got going and all too soon she was pushing once more and felt the shoulders stretch apart her already sore lips.
With trembling fingers, Char reached down between her legs, feeling the hard slick roundness of the head she’d just pushed out between her legs. She gasped. The aftershocks of her contraction clutched at her belly.
“Oh… oh, my—that’s a baby. I just gave birth.”
The evidence was conclusive. But she could scarcely believe that she’d pushed an entire baby through her birth canal and out into her pants. The experience she’d just been through, the effort, the haze of contractions and the hard pushes as she focused on nothing but expelling her baby, and the intense sensations throughout her body. It was all unbelievable. Inching down the waistband of her trousers, Char struggled them to her shins and sank to her knees. She panted in disbelief, feeling instinctually that this was *right,* that this was what she was meant to be doing. Her identity had irreconcilably changed to that of a mother and as she caressed the head between her legs, she felt a rush of contentment. Char was a scientist, an expert in her field, but now it all paled in comparison.
She glanced up at Laura, seeing her shock and awe mirrored in her eyes as she lifted her baby from between her legs and rested it against her chest. Laura smiled exhaustedly at her.
Char began to pant as another contraction took hold.
“Ooh—“ she exclaimed. “You’re ready…. c’mon, you’re ready to be—UGH! BORN!”
Her baby slipped between her lips with a spray of fluids and immediately she sank to the floor, sighing in immense relief.
Laura fell silent with her final pushes, holding her breath as she bore down, the head filling her palm as the shoulders squeezed their way through. She gasped another breath and pushed with everything she had, this was it, she could feel it. Come on baby…
Once the shoulders were freed Laura wasn’t expecting the speed of which the baby slipped out and the hush of fluid that came with it. Catching the slippery newborn Laura gasped, relieved and shocked, and immediately brought the babe to her chest.
“Hey…. Oh my- hey baby.” She cooed, eyes welling with tears as she looked upon this little miracle that had grown in the last 24 hours. When the baby started to cry she instinctively rocked and hushed the infant “it’s okay… you’re okay.” She said, wiping the blood and fluid off the newborn's face.
Laura had barely caught her breath back when Char started pulling down her trousers and panted heavily, a baby’s head hanging between her open legs. A second later Char was mirroring Laura’s actions and pulling her own baby to her chest and sobbing with relief.
“You did it.” Laura said softly to her friend. “We did it. I can’t believe they’re real, we just had babies.”
The Spell might currently be a scientific mystery, but as the two women sat exhausted on the floor cradling their newborns, the research could wait. For now, the scientists were in awe of the new lives they’d just birthed.
