pregnant bellies

a pregnancy/birth kink account run by a 30-something year old queer cutie | 18+ ONLY | let’s be friends 🤰🏻

[heavybellyprincess]

hi!! you can call me princess 👑 I’m in my 30s, NB (she/they) AFAB, pansexual, tend to be submissive, and polyamorous. I love all things pregnant belly, labor and birth!

Send me asks with pregnancy scenarios, birth scenarios, general questions, etc. :)

[bigpushes]

intimate and unassisted homebirth where the birthing person simply cannot get enough of their partner

they're overcome with sheer need, just desperate to be close as they labor, grinding down on their partner's lap and their fingers and their mouth until they physically can't anymore, whining about how full they are and how badly they need to push and that the baby is coming, its coming right now

they end up sitting right on their partner's lap, grabbing behind their knees to pull their legs up and open, bracing their feet on their partner's legs

"gonna start pushing," they groan as they curl around their heaving belly and force their hips up, giving their partner a clearer view of their bulging cunt as the crown of the head pushes outward and causes a prominent protrusion between their thighs, trembling with effort as they shriek that the head is going to come– that it hurts, that there's pressureee, that they can't. stop. pushing.

their partner begins to finger them, circling their throbbing clit and cooing softly into their ear as they talk them through it:

"good, baby. gooooood. push for me, that's it! you're really starting to open up down here. your pussy is so wet, baby, my god. this is really turning you on, huh? you're absolutely dripping. fucking soaked. fuck, such a good little breeding slut for me, aren't you? you're just so– oh, you're pushing again, hm? look at you go, pushing so fucking well for me– now push down hard. harder than that, baby, come on– you know you've got a big one in there. you know I wasn't going to leave you wanting, so you've got to really shove to get this baby out. the head is massive, but I don't need to tell you that. mmm, there you go, baby, there you go. that's right– cum on my fingers while you push them out. god, that's so good. bring your hand down, baby. feel how stretched you are. oh, its burning, hm? it seems like it. your lips are spread so wide. go on, baby, keep pushing– harder, harder. there you go, that's it, the head's out! you're so fucking sexy, baby. cannot wait to breed you again, but right now I need one last push. just oneee more."

[bigpushes]

Prompt: person tries to hold it in for as long as possible, but when they realize they can’t for even a second longer, ✨forced denial✨. I’m picturing bad position like pinned to their car seat by the seatbelt or another person but I’m sure anything would be phenomenal.

- Sol ✨

“I-I don't think I can hold it back any longer,” I grunt, blowing out a string of short, sharp pants as I fight against my body's natural urge to push.

“Are you feeling like you want to push?”

I sit perched up on our bed, leaning back against your chest as your legs bracket my body on either side. As my contraction builds, I inhale deeply and try to keep my mind focused on my breathing and not on the massive waves of pressure that wash over me. “It… ohhh, it's really coming. Oh God, I feel it.” My thighs tremble with effort as I squeeze them together, drawing a small, disapproving 'tsk' out of you.

I'm fighting a (rapidly) losing battle, and we both know it.

"Now, now, love. No cheating."

Your hands pry my knees apart, and I snarl and thrash in protest. The head has cleared my cervix and is sitting so low in my pelvis. Too low.

Pushing is no longer a want, but a necessity.

"Holy shit," I gasp. I understand the 'bowling ball' comparisons now– the sheer width of the head, so heavy and solid, that's beginning to grind down through my birth canal takes my breath away, and a sort of animalistic noise is all I can manage as I'm finally sucked under. The baby isn't waiting any longer. I bear down, gritting my teeth as I squeeze my eyes closed and curl over my heaving belly. "ffffuck."

"That's it," you coo into my ear. "Very good, baby. So good. You're really bulging, hm?" I nod frantically as I continue to push, my toes curling against the rumpled duvet as I try to scramble into a better position. The head is sitting right behind my furled slit, and a part of me is almost shocked that it doesn't shoot right out.

"Oh, my poor love," you continue in that soft, sweet tone, reaching down between my legs to ghost the tips of your fingers over my red-hot lips and throbbing clit. "I wish that I could do something for you. But you know that you didn't ask."

My eyes snap open, gaze frantic and wild as I watch you cup your palm over my bulging cunt. "Let it out!" I shriek, beads of cold sweat welling up on my flushed skin. "P-Please, baby. I didn't mean to!" Unable to hold back, I push again, shoving uselessly against the force of your hand. The baby squirms as the crown of the head meets your palm and lingers for a moment before it retreats back into my canal, ripping a distressed wail from my throat. "It's coming! I need it to come! Oh my God, just let it outttt. Pleasepleaseplease–."

You shush me. "Don't beg, baby," you admonish. "The rules were that you ask for permission to push, or you face the consequences. I'm afraid that these are the consequences."

Another contraction slams into me, my body desperate to expel the weight in my pelvis, and I howl as I try to get free. "Hnnnng!" A small sliver of slimy wet hair is surging forward, peaking out from behind my spread lips. "Fuck, it's right there! It's burninggg!"

"I'm sure it is, sweet thing. I can feel how open you are. Your pussy is gaping for me, all nice and slick. I bet the head would slide right out, wouldn't it?"

"Mmmph, mhmmm," I sob. "D-Dont you want that?" My hand trembles violently as I claw at the sheets. "You said you... fuck! You wanted, hoooo, to be the o-one to deliver it."

"Very true." Your voice is stern. Matter-of-fact. "But in order for that to happen, you need to be good and do what you're told."

As the vice grip of the contraction begins to release, I suck in a cleansing breath, nostrils flaring as I inhale the primal scent of sex and sweat and birth. My knees fall open a little wider, and then wider again when I hear your approving hum. "I-I need to push, baby." In comparison to yours, my voice is small and thin. "Please let me push. God, fuck, baby. Please! Please, I'm sorry."

My cunt burns, and I whine pathetically as I struggle to push the head out. No matter how hard I shove and push and struggle, the head doesn't emerge any further, making it clear that the birth (whenever it may occur) is entirely in your charge.

"Pleaseee. It burns so bad, baby! It's going to rip me apartttt!" I continue to babble, head thrashing from side to side as my desperation grows. "It's comingggg! Fuckfuckfuck, gotta push again!"

Your response consists of little more than a kiss on the top of the head. "And what do we say?"

"Holy fucking- PLEASE! Can I please push?!"

"You know," you say, staring down at my gaping cunt as it opens into more of an 'O' shape and gives a glimpse of the mass of the head slipping free from my lips, "I think we're finally starting to get somewhere."

send me a prompt/suggestion!

[bigpushes]

combination of two different prompts that i lost the asks for: ["I'm feeling a lot of pressure" and/or "I feel like it's about to fall out of me" featuring clit stim?] anon and ["I feel pressure!” + “My water broke!”] anon, this is for you guys 🖤

“Another?”

“Mmhmmmmph,” I groan, bracing myself on the rim of the tub as I bear down against the heavy mass shoving through the stretched tissue of my cervix. “God, it feels like it's right there.”

I recline on the bathroom floor, one hand wrapped around my knee to pull it up towards my chest as I lean against the cool porcelain of the tub. Riding out the tail end of a contraction, I curl over my taut, overdue belly, and grit my teeth as I strain, working to move the massive head into my birth canal. “fffffuck, there's so much pressureeee.” 

“You're doing so good, baby,” you assure me, leaning in to press a kiss to my sweaty forehead. “You're making so much progress.”

I simply moan, rolling my head to the side as I take several deep breaths. After nearly an hour of pushing, I'm halfway inclined to assume that the baby is simply never coming out, and equally as terrified by the notion that it will. That it is. The next contraction steadily begins to build, turning my belly into a white hot vice grip as it cramps down around my spasming womb. “It's comingggg!” I shriek, feeling my cervix finally stretch around the head.

“It is!” you exclaim, reaching between my spread thighs to cup your hands around my bulging sex. “Keep pushing, baby. You're really opening up.”

“The pressure!”

You gently shush me, quietly commanding me to look at you as you brush the pad of your index finger over the hard nub of my throbbing clit. “I've got you,” you coo. “Keep focusing on me. There you go. Thaaaaat's it.”

I pant the end of the push away before immediately bearing down into another one, staring up at you with widened eyes as my hips instinctively roll forward to meet your touch. “Ohhhhh. Oh, God.”

“Better?”

“Much,” I gasp. “But there's still—hnnng, still s-so much pressure. Ooooh.” 

"Use it, baby. Push for me. Let me worry about everything else.” You add a bit more pressure as you circle my clit, and my eyes flutter closed as I push down towards your touch, grinding my cunt against the palm of your hand. “You're getting so close.”

"Ohgodohgodoh—.” I cum with a choked off cry, and a significant portion of the pressure I'd been experiencing suddenly releases as my water breaks, fluid gushing out onto the floor between us. “Mmmm, there's the waters. It's coming! Holy fuck, its COMING.”

The lips of my slit begin to part, gaping open into a small ‘O’ as the head shoves its way down. My thighs shake and tremble violently as I push, throwing my head back with a shrill scream. “It's right thereeeee. Fuck, its gonna fall out of meee!”

“Breathe, baby,” you say sternly. “You need to slow down.”

I thrash my head from side to side in a steadfast, hard NO. “It BURNS.” My tissues are beginning to stretch, thin and red-hot to the touch. “Ohhh, get it out. Please get it out. The PRESSUREEEE.”

You press your fingertips into my clit, providing steady counter-pressure as the first glimpse of the baby's head begins to peak out from behind my slit. “I can see it,” you tell me, emotion shining in your voice. “You're doing such a good job, baby. Just keep using that pressure.”

My nails dig into the meat of my thigh as I pull it back, leaving crescent shaped marks embedded in the skin as I bear down hard. My other hand slips from the tub and flies down between my legs, guiding your fingers to a better spot on my clit as you hum approvingly. “Coming,” I mumble deliriously. “Coming. It's comin-oh, I'm gonna cum!”

And I do just that, pleasure washing over me from my head down to the tips of my toes. "Oh, God," I rasp, heaving to catch my breath. "It- ughhh- it's so low."

"I can see the top of the head." You beam as you press another kiss to my forehead, gently cradling my stretched out opening. "You're so close."

"But how close?" I ask, inhaling sharply as I gear up to push again.

You hesitate for a beat, eyeing the small, dime-sized patch of slimy wet hair visible between my parted lips and comparing it to the sheer mass of the head itself, bulging outwards from between my thighs. My outer labia are stretched from crease to crease, and my sex is swollen and inflamed. "Close," you finally say. "Ready to push again?"

I nod frantically as I bear down, a roar building up in my chest and throat. "Uuuuuurrrghhhhhh!" I push with every bit of my strength, skin burning bright red, and an unstoppable force (the pressure) meets a seemingly literal immovable object (the baby's head). "HHHHNNNNNGGGGGGG."

"Good! So good, baby."

"GET IT OUTTTT."

"It's coming out!"

"ffffFFFFUCKKKK!"

send me a prompt/suggestion!

[wolfgirltummy]

its simple but i love love LOVE the idea of carrying twins and looking full term just halfway through the pregnancy. something about the feeling of already being stretched so tight, but knowing there’s still much more to go just makes me crazy..

[shhhsecretsideblog]

‘Tis the Season

Christmas Themed birth story. Mary and Joseph are preparing to open a Christmas Village when a snow storm hits. As they try to protect their livestock and seasonal displays in the barn, Mary goes into labour.

Co-written with my fav - @wootenbassett75 💜 Content: unplanned birth, clothing birth, stimulation to aid labour, older parents, character names are satire and not even mentioned lol. 17.8k words.

Also on AO3 and DeviantArt

URGENT WEATHER FORECAST

“Attention all residents of the tri-country area, please be aware of a major snow storm inbound. We will go to Charlie for the latest, Charlie?”

The camera cut away from the finely dressed news anchor, panning to a blonde in front of a large screen showing the local area, along with nothing but snow and ice estimates.

“Thank you Dan. This storm is currently forecasted to be dropping over thirty six inches of snow over the next two days. Snowfall rates tonight and into tomorrow morning are estimated to reach over three inches an hour in some areas of the north counties.”

There was a pause in the Weathergirl’s speaking as she examined her notes. 

“Wind and dropping temperatures are going to make this blizzard among the worst we have seen in over twenty years. Wind gusts up to forty miles an hour with a wind chill dropping the temperature to negative ten degrees. Emergency services are warning that they won’t be able to respond to calls during the night due to the risks on the roads, so stay in, bundle up, and stay safe.”

It cut back to the male anchor, Dan.

“And it goes without saying, bring your pets inside, if you’re cold, good chance they are too. This has been Dan Stevens and Charlie Clearwater with your urgent weather update…”

—————

The ‘Christmas Village’ was more of a blizzard nightmare. The small attractions that the kids could sit on, the Christmas tree forest, even the ticket booth itself was so covered in snow that the village just disappeared. Joseph trudged through the snow, the wind already so fierce that he fought to stay vertical. The cold was in his bones now, and he quietly cursed himself for not believing the forecast. Weathermen always over exaggerated, it was his experience, his wife’s, his fathers, hell, everyone in this damned county knew not to believe the weather forecasts. So why in the name of all that is holy had this one time been correct? He was actively making his way to the barn. As soon as the storm rolled in, he and his wife started bringing the animals inside. 

Today was to be the opening day of the village, the reindeer all out and prepared for the sleigh rides they offered. It was Joseph's job to bring them all in, while Mary was to get some of the hay and the stables prepped for however long this would last. Of course he had tried to tell her their eldest son would help, after all, he just turned fifteen and was more than capable, but he wasn’t going to argue with her about it, especially in her current… condition. So he was left with his three younger siblings at the house while Mary and Joseph went to the Christmas Village just down the road from their home. Joseph finally reached the barn, mostly by luck, as he couldn’t actually see the door till he’d nearly ran into it. He furiously kicked at the snow, trying to unwedge the side door they used.

“Bastard.” He regretted speaking instantly, feeling the freezing air invade his lungs. Enough of the snow was kicked to permit him to open the door. The wind fought back of course, but a determination and desire for warmth overcame the blizzard. He was in, his dark brown winter coveralls coated in snow. “Honey?” He called, trying to pinpoint his wife.

“In here.” Mary shouted from the other side of the barn, her voice raised to be heard over the wind that had started howling. 

Her gloved hands gripped the wooden handle of the rake as she dragged it across the floor of one of the stables. trying to separate the clumps for the reindeer and horses. Whilst there was heating inside the barn, the temperature outside had dropped to such a level that she kept on most of the layers upon layers of clothing. Plus she didn’t have the motivation to attempt to remove any items by herself; dressing was a two-person job these days during the final weeks of pregnancy. Pausing her raking for a moment, Mary took a couple of deep breaths and arched her spine, placing a fist into the lower curve of her back where it was twinging from all the physical labour. She wasn’t regretting her decision to help out with the Christmas Village and make sure all their animals, props and decorations survived the storm; Lord knows if their teenage son was here instead he’d only be moping around and dragging his feet and doing a half-assed job. Which would only stress her out more than if she did it herself. 

“What’s it like out there darling?” She asked as the sound of Joseph’s giant winter shoes clomped nearer and he appeared at the doorframe of the stable, absolutely covered in snow. “Ha… you look like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.” Mary laughed, leaning slightly on the rake and cradling her bump. 

Joseph laughed. 

“Should I start chasing you through the corn maze then?” He asked, coming up to plant a kiss on her cheek. “I think I got an axe around here somewhere to complete the look.” 

The barns layout was simple in design. Where he and his wife stood, stables housed the horses and reindeer. Towards the rear they had the sleigh, while the corner in the far side housed the hay bales. He could see that Mary had already moved some to feed the animals, a task he’d planned to do as soon as he got here. Joseph gave his wife a disapproving look.

“What did I tell you about those hay bales? I don’t want you lifting them, the doc said it could strain you too much.” As he spoke, he took a small set of pliers, going into the stall with her to break the thin sheet of ice forming over the animals water buckets. 

“Yeah well…. I didn’t want to wait for you to get back. There’s a lot to do and I wanted to keep busy and keep warm.” She said dismissively. Resuming her two-handed grip on the rake Mary continued to pull at the mound of hay she’d left by the stall door to create an even layer on the ground for the animals. 

Standing wide legged not only for balance but from the baby nestled in her pelvis, she was grateful to be wearing her shorter length coat to allow for the more secure stance. With thermal leggings and a long-sleeve insulated maternity top, an oversized knitted jumper over that, knee high brown boots, a scarf and fur lined padded coat, the mother-to-be was wrapped up tighter than a burrito. 

The horses in the stall were more interested in the newly available water now Joseph has cracked the thin layer of ice, giving Mary some space to work. She lasted a half dozen strokes across the floor but but wasn’t long before she felt the returning tightening in her belly. Pausing her raking for a moment, she muttered quietly. “Plus that ship has sort of sailed…” she replied to Joseph’s earlier comment about being worried she’d strain herself. Planting the rake into the floor, Mary held firm to the wooden handle as she calmly breathed through another contraction, shifting her hips slightly side to side beneath her thick layers of clothing. 

“You know, they say marriage works better when partners listen.” Joseph chuckled. He came up behind her, rubbing her back through the layers. Joseph doubted it would be much more than an afterthought of pressure to her thanks to all the warm clothes. “If your back is hurting then sit down. We will be done here soon then we’re gonna get you home and off your feet. That isn’t a request or suggestion. Your stubborn streak is gonna give me more gray hairs than the kids.”

Joseph kissed her cheek again, then grabbed a rake of his own to pick up where she left off. The reindeer were getting cabin fever it seemed, tossing hay out of their stalls into the center of the barns walkway. The horses at least seemed content. He’d managed to clear a sleeping area for one stall and lay out fresh hay before glancing back at the horses.

“Think we should put the coats on the horses hon? Can’t imagine they’re feeling too warm right now.” 

“Sure.” Mary said, unzipping her warm coat and bracing her hands into her lower back as she waddled over to collect the first of the four coats for the horses. 

“Jeeze, these are heavy.” She complained, lifting it onto her forearm to carry it over to Joseph. “Or am I just too pregnant to do anything these days? Here.” 

Joseph was beside the horse, their chestnut brown pride and joy, settling the animal and getting them into position. As Mary lifted the thick insulated double-layered coat she felt the gentle twisting of her uterine muscles. A sharp inhale through her nose, the cold whipping into her pink-tinged nostrils, and she breathed her way through it quietly. She wasn’t surprised Joseph hadn’t picked up on her earlier comment, the ship having sailed i.e. there’s no point in worrying about me straining myself cos I’m already in labour darling. But the storm was the main focus, it had to be. They’ve invested all their money on this damn Christmas village in an attempt to make more income during the long winter months. They had to keep all the props and the sleigh and the decorations safe or it would be money down the drain. Plus of course their animals. The extension of their already large family. They needed to be warm, safe, and calm. And her husband would be none of those things for the animals if he knew she was in labour. It was their fourth child. Her body knew the drill and it would be hours yet. No need to worry or panic unnecessarily. 

While Joseph busied himself with securing the coat on the first horse, Mary waddled back to the rack to collect the next one. Her hand cradled her belly, as much as was possible through the layers of clothing, and allowed herself a brief grimace while facing away from her husband when the contraction peaked. 

The two stalls Joseph cleaned next were easy. The mares quite literally organized their excrement, only doing their ‘business’ in the corners opposite of where they slept. He scooped it all out, then threw down fresh hay for them as well as wood shavings as makeshift bedding. Joseph only spared a momentary glance at his wife over by the rack where they’d tie the horses for cleaning as well as stored many of the cleaning supplies. Catching her breath he assumed, as per usual. She really should have told their eldest to come here instead.

The horses now settled, Joseph walked towards Mary to get food for the reindeer. The feed was kept in a large plastic trash can, the intention being to prevent any rats from getting inside. Each reindeer would get four scoops to go with their hay.

“You know you are allowed to sit down for a second right? Baby girl’s the boss here I think.” Joseph said as he returned towards the stalls. “If she wants mama to sit down and relax you should listen. Seeing as you don’t wanna listen to your husband.” His teasing manner was exposed by the smile he couldn’t hide. 

Mary smiled, while her hand moved affectionately across her belly over the chunky knit of her oversized jumper. “She’s restless. As is her mother.” 

Mary took the scoop from Joseph’s hand. “I’ll feed the reindeer, can you start putting the plastic sheeting over the sleigh? If anything starts dripping through the roof I don’t want that to get any water damage.” 

It took some manoeuvring around her bump, but Mary successfully bent over to fill the large scoop with the feed for the reindeer and then waddled over to the first stall. She took a breather at the doorframe, pouring the contents into the metal trough while she breathed through yet another contraction. They had a little bite to them now, but it wasn’t unexpected or unfamiliar. Labouring was something her body handled well, she’d done it three times already and could do it again. They just had to get everything finished up in here first and then she could think about baby number four. 

She kept focused, pacing back and forth between the container of feed and each of the animal stalls that lined one side of the barn. One, two, three and four scoops. Then on to the next one. And the next. Moving seemed to help with the unease bubbling away inside, brought on by the storm she assumed. It never occurred to her that her restless energy was due to the advancement of her labour. Not until one particularly bad pain had her bracing the door to one of the stalls and dropping the empty plastic scoop to the floor. “Ohhh…..” the groan slipped out before she could stop it.

Joseph had just finished covering the sleigh with a tarp. Seeing as it was kept in a barn, it was always a little on the dirty side, but dryer sheets were stuffed into every nook and cranny to stave off rats from making nests. They’d need to make a note on their fridge to unravel it the night before opening so that he could properly clean it and polish the surface. He was about to double check some of the other decorations when Mary’s unintentional groan called to him. It wasn’t hard to spot her. 

“Mary?” He called. Her lack of an immediate response churned something in his stomach. The barn was crossed before he even realized he’d started to move. “Darlin you ok?” A hand rested on her back, a comfort he imparted even when she wasn’t carrying a child. “That wasn’t just a hard kick, was it?”

Mary shook her head, blowing out all the air in her lungs slowly through pursed lips. “Hooooo…. Nope…. I think this little one might have decided to join us for Christmas.” 

Still leaning against the stall door with her gloved hands flat against the wood, Mary turned her head towards her husband, a nervous smile brightening her face. “Typical timing eh? You said we’d be lucky to open the Christmas Village before baby comes.” 

Once the worst of the contraction had ebbed away, she straightened and pushed away from the door, instead curling towards her husband for a reassuring embrace. 

Flashbacks of the previous kids' births came to him. How long did it actually take? If his memory was right, their eldest was well over a twenty four hour labor. Their second and third born had taken slightly longer than that, but the couple had assumed it was simply because they were more attuned to knowing the signs. He’d missed it this time somehow, unless this truly was the beginning.

“She just wanted to be a helper is all.” He whispered as they embraced. Marys belly pressed against his stomach, bringing a smile to his face. Joseph’s awe towards his wife was biblical. Everything this woman accomplished was inspiring, especially when taking into account how she had raised three great children, and had been the one to tell Joseph they could go for a fourth.

“How close are they? Past the… shoot I can’t remember how many minutes we were tracking with the others.” As he stood there, the love of his life in his arms, he swayed with her, slow like a waltz.

Mary lifted her arms, looping them automatically around her husband’s neck as he began to sway. It was as if he knew exactly how to help her in this moment, before the thoughts could even formulate inside her own head. Moving helped, it always did when she was labouring. Though it had been quite a number of years since they last did this; they had a fifteen year old, a ten year old, and a seven year old. Medical advice was bound to have changed in that time, but the ancient act of childbirth was all too familiar to Mary and her body. 

“I’ve not been timing them.” She confessed, resting her head on the cushion of Joseph’s thick winter jacket. “Assumed they were just braxtons at first, but they’re definitely consistent, and stronger than practice ones.” 

Inhaling deeply, Mary let the familiar comforting scent of Joseph’s aftershave fill her lungs and bring a feeling of stability into her veins. “I want to keep busy though. There’s still so much to do out here and you know I’m not going to be able to relax into this birth until it’s all done and we’re sure we haven’t lost all our money with damaged decorations and sick animals.” 

“Fair enough hon.” He said. The couple stayed there for a moment longer, neither particularly wanting to break the contact. Mary was right though, they couldn’t delay what they were doing, and just sitting awaiting the baby to come wasn’t their way. Only a handful of tasks really remained, finishing feeding, double checking the decorations, making sure no snow was leaking in, and ensuring the roof was still stable with all the added weight. Forty-five minutes, maybe an hour tops. As soon as they were done Joseph would take Mary home, put the kids in front of the tv with some dinner, and get her comfortable.

The embrace finally broke, his arms moving to hold the underside of her belly. Even through the thick clothes he could tell their daughter was active. 

“No heavy lifting, deal? Only light busywork for you Miss.” His voice was stern, leaving little to no room for argument.

“Fine.” Mary scoffed, but couldn’t deny it was probably for the best. Not that she even could do any heavy lifting these days, but there was a small part of her that instantly balked when told she couldn’t do something. “I’ll carry on feeding the reindeer then.” 

With a grunt of effort Mary bent down to pick up the plastic scoop for the animal feed from where it had dropped to the floor and moved around the barn to continue the task at hand. She pulled the zip on her coat open a little, finding her body temperature warmer with the gentle moving and contractions. They didn’t have a clock in the barn, and she had left her phone in the house for the kids to play games. So she didn’t know how much time passed before the next contraction bubbled on the horizon. It wasn’t any worse than the previous one and at least now she didn’t have to hide her expressions, or her stopping mid-task in order to breathe through the discomfort.  

Joseph left to go up to the loft. After taking extra measures on the decorations he moved on to checking the roof for any signs of wear or weakness. He found none, and was silently thankful that Mary had insisted on them installing a new roof during the summer. He, admittedly, had gotten distracted after that.

Mary was walking, well, walking was the wrong word. Joseph leant on the railing of the loft, simply enjoying the sight of her. Four kids, the concept still boggled him. They both originally agreed to three, but when their youngest started school, well, things happened. Every few minutes he watched her stop, adjust, take a deep breath, and continue. He knew she was uncomfortable, hurting even, but he also knew her stubborn streak. More than once he contemplated going down, especially as her contractions made her become audible over the storm outside. But, she’d just say she was fine and to continue with his chores.

He gave her one last look, her hand either on her lower back, or cupping her belly, before going back to the loft to look around. There, he found his next distraction. An old collection of items they’d found after buying the barn and its surrounding area. It was obviously a very old nativity complete with a manger and wooden cutouts for all those involved. Joseph appreciated the craftsmanship and thought it would be a perfect addition to their Christmas Village. 

Downstairs, Mary continued her slow moving feeding of the reindeers. She would pause with each new contraction that arrived, welcoming the sensations that she knew were signs of steady progress. Their daughter was curled up in her pelvis, the solid feeling of the head had been a source of lightening crotch the last few days. But now with the contractions that pressure was becoming more irrefutable, her gait wider than ever, and each move felt like her body was loosening up and getting ready for an indescribable adventure. She rode out a few more contractions in a short space of time; in the next stall, by the plastic bucket of animal feed, then one happened mid-way between the two and she had to drop a scoop full of feed in order to hold onto the wooden support beam in the centre of the barn.

The crash of plastic on the floor followed by a groan of discomfort caught Joseph’s attention again.

“Hon?”

Mary’s inability to answer with anything other than a moan was all that spurred him to walk back to the edge. The central pillar was also the main support for the loft, and allowed him to look straight down at her. 

“How we feeling hon?” He asked. Even in this cold, he couldn’t help noticing the sheen to her skin. She was sweating? It had to be near zero outside, yet he was damn sure Mary was panting like it was a hundred degrees in the barn.

“Ughhhh… just—just dandy…. Hooooooo…” Mary hummed long and low, arms stretched out in front of her as she pressed her weight against the beam and stuck her ass out behind. 

This contraction was taking its sweet time in cresting, tighter and tighter her muscles clenched around the baby in her belly, moving all that weight and pressure downwards towards a singular point. She grunted, right as the wave peaked its worst, leaving her breathless. 

When she recovered she let go of the beam and tilted her head towards the rattling roof, the storm whipping snow and wind across the barn. Her husband’s expression was a perfect mix of concern and pride; his bushy eyebrows had furrowed but hips lips were half pulled into a grin. 

“Enjoying the view up there?” She jokingly snapped towards Joseph with a playful tone of a couple who’d been married many many years. 

“Quite a bit actually.” He retorted, smirking. “I do believe I might’ve spotted a few grey hairs on that pretty head of yours.” Joseph raised an eyebrow, partially squinting as if examining her. “Hmmm, yep I see two new ones.” 

The whistling wind outside gave their conversation a consistent background noise. Shifting panels added to it, an arrhythmic clanking of metal. Even now as they spoke to one another, Joseph noticed a small collection of snow gathering near the doors. Oh good, more gaps to fill. His gaze returned to his wife. That sheen was still apparent, and he couldn’t help wondering if those beads of sweat might freeze. After a healthy amount of staring at her face, his eyes drifted to her bump. The fur-lined padded coat was pulled tight over the orb of her belly making it difficult to clearly see its shape, but her stance and facial expressions told him all he needed to know. 

“Can I convince you to take a ten minute break? I think we still have those water bottles stored for the concession stand.” A gut feeling said they likely were frozen solid, but it could be worth a shot. If anything she might be able to use them to cool down a little.

“Um…. Yeah okay.” Mary said quietly. She wanted to stay on her feet, keep moving and keep busy, but that last contraction really knocked the wind out of her. All that huffing and puffing was making her mouth awfully dry, and she was becoming aware of just how damp the back of her neck had gotten. 

“Can you come down then and help me clean up this food?” Mary nodded towards the pellets now scattered over the concrete floor. “Damn… sorry I wasted so much. I don’t know what happened, one minute I was heading back to the stall and the next my hands were on that beam.” 

Mary stayed where she was, one hand still on the beam while the other pressed into the base of her spine, the gentle rocking of her hips was unconscious but necessary. The heaviness seemed to be focused right in the depths of her pelvis and the only relief she could get was by shifting and swaying. 

“Yeah yeah, you just want to see my ass as I bend over to get the food.” Creaking accompanied each step as he descended, one particularly loud crossmember gave far too much sway as he moved. With feet firmly planted on the floor, he walked to her. Joseph knew the food was important to clean and pick up, but the focus on his wife was more important. She seemed off still. There was no doubt that Mary was telling the truth of all she knew, but there must be something more.

Joseph took her face in his hands, and planted a kiss upon her forehead. 

“Don’t worry about that.” He told her. “Food can be replaced. Besides, I spotted the reindeer eating a can yesterday. Lil dirt from the floor isn’t gonna hurt them.” He supported his wife for a few moments longer before letting her go back to the column. Mary knew when she’d need to sit down, and he had no intentions of trying to force her. Joseph walked to the food storage, searching around for a dustpan. It was a simple tool, an aluminum pan with a wood handled bristle brush. It worked for all messes. Mary was still there when he came back, her sway slow and rhythmic. Her stance seemed wider, and while it was hard to tell with the thick clothing he swore her knees were bent ever so slightly.

Joseph shook the thoughts away, and got to cleaning the spilled food.

With her husband nearby Mary relaxed a little. Then came the next contraction. Before she’d even had a chance to get that bottle of water that had been offered. It was forceful, tight and unrelenting in its wringing of her uterus. She found herself returning to that earlier position; wrapping both hands around the support beam and bending over slightly, letting her bump hang towards the ground while her hips rocked side to side. 

“Ohhhhhh…. Hooooo….” The sounds were an automatic response to the sensations ravaging her body. Low, long humming sounds accompanied each strained exhale. 

The temperature in the barn was cool, even with the heating on, but despite the winter storm outside Mary was getting warmer by the minute. She felt caged and trapped in her layers of clothes. She wanted to rip off her coat during this latest contraction but daren’t move from her current position as the beam was providing too much support in her stance. “Ohhhh god….” She moaned, eyes scrunching with the peak of the wave that spiked to a level she wasn’t expecting. 

Before Mary knew, her husband was right there, hand firmly peddling into her lower back. The pressure eased, but Joseph realized it was because she was lowering herself instinctually. The floor had spots of water below her face, and Joseph quickly put together that she was really sweating now. 

“I’m gonna move you a bit honey.” He said, quietly. “Just wanna get your jacket off.” The fabric was stretched tight over her womb, but he managed to unzip it. Heat radiated from within as the last little clip separated and the layers beneath were exposed. Three or four more layers were beneath, but her fur lined winter coat was by far the heaviest. 

“Easy does it.” He took her hand off the pillar, sliding out that arm, and replaced it on the pillar. Then, the process was repeated with the other. He was just in time to stop her from losing balance as the next contraction built. Joseph tossed her jacket to the side, and held her hips, assisting the sway. “Breathe through it. I’ll get to work as soon as it passes…” And soon, it did.

When it finished Mary continued to waddle around the barn busying herself during what she assumed to be early labour, unimpeded by the constant worrying of her husband who stayed close by but not too close. Joseph was quick to finish feeding the reindeer, and even went as far as cleaning the fresher messes they’d just made. 

Chores went on, but every time a contraction came, Joseph paused, gazing at his wife. Beneath all those layers his body was tensed, ready to run to her at a moments notice. Maybe they could go home, get her laying down in bed. He’d return tomorrow to finish up and check the animals. Just from the sound outside he knew this storm was getting worse, and their trip home became more perilous by the second. That squat and bend she kept doing were getting deeper each time she moaned. And the noises she made grew as exponentially as her positions changed.

“Mary?” He said as he walked back over. “Don’t bite my head off honey but, these are getting real bad real quick.” He tucked his hand beneath a few layers at her neckline and felt the heat of her body. “You sure this isn’t actually further than you thought?”

“Mmmmghh….m’fine…” she mumbled and shook her head dismissively. Mary had ended up at one of the windows, insulation wadding in one hand while the other currently braced the windowsill as her hips rocked back and forth. “Have to keep busy… so much to d-do…” 

The windows were old, the surrounding wood slightly cracked in places, which wasn’t a problem during the warmer months but with the rapidly falling snow covering the lower half of the glass there was cool air whipping into the barn. Mary was doing her best to cover any gaps, wedging insulation in any place where air was getting through so as to protect the animals from the freezing temperatures outside. 

But the contraction was holding her hostage, keeping her from the task. Instead she squeezed the insulation in her hand and bent towards the window, her breathing rapidly requiring more and more of her focus. She opened her mouth to speak, to reassure her husband everything was fine, but she was struggling to speak through the harsh weight in the bowl of her pelvis. 

All that came from her mouth was a low rumbled sound as the contraction reached its crescendo and her knees trembled slightly. Not from the cold. From the sudden fullness in her hips. Which gave way just as promptly as it arrived. 

It wasn’t the hum, it wasn’t her movements. The small nuances of his wife’s labor he knew well, but as she’d been working through that contraction there was a sharp inhale. He didn’t hear it, but just looking at Mary’s back he knew. Her shoulders jerked, and her body jolted ever so slightly, like she’d touched a tea pot she hadn’t realized was still too hot to move. Joseph wrapped his arm around her, a hand gripping hers as the other took hold of the underside of her stomach.

Something was off, and he noticed it immediately.

Earlier that day, when the couple had gotten dressed to head to the barn, Mary filled out her winter clothing to the point she’d had to suck in her bump a bit to button them. The momentary discomfort was a necessary issue to stop her freezing to death. Now though, the clothes covering her belly were loose. Not by much, but Joseph’s intimate knowledge of his wife’s curves told him that she was now changed from mere minutes ago. 

“It’s ok baby, breathe.” The smallest hint of panic laced his words. Without telling her the reason, he gently moved his hand beneath the long knitted jumper she wore feeling her belly over the thermal maternity leggings. The bump was certainly smaller, and oblong in shape. The rock hard surface wasn’t what stopped him though. He reached lower, and found a damp, warm spot that from the outside was hidden. His heart froze faster than the blizzard outside could ever manage.

“Mary…” He said, wide eyed. “Mary you’re water broke.”

“Hmmm…. Yup…. Hoooo…. I guess this one might be more eager than her siblings to arrive.” Mary said softly now the contraction has passed, shifting her weight off the windowsill and back into her husband’s sturdy embrace. 

In truth she felt it the moment it happened, that sudden spike and release of pressure. There was an element of hopeful denial still present until the warmth appeared between her thighs. Now Joseph’s hand was beneath her jumper, initially cradling the lowest part of her bump but then moved south to the apex of her legs, now damp with amniotic fluid.  

“We’ve still got loads to sort out in here Joseph…. But I guess you’re not gonna be convinced to let us finish up before we go back to the house are you?” Mary said with an echo of a coy smile. Her head turned back to face him, her back still pressed against his chest as he held her supportively. It was one thing riding out early labour contractions and doing these chores, but with her waters now broken… they should probably start getting ready for baby’s arrival. 

“Not a chance in hell darlin.” He said, leaning in to press his lips against hers. “I’m going to go get the truck started. One step at a time, your pace.” Joseph’s soft voice barely surpassed the wind outside, but his words held all the love and affection nearly twenty years of marriage could manage.

They walked, slowly, his arm around her waist to encourage her forward, while the other still gripped her hand. Thankfully they only paused once. A contraction, fierce enough that Mary’s grip transferred some of the pain to her husband. 

“Breathe. It’s ok baby, you remember how it goes.” He took a deep breath in, and exhaled. They waited for it to pass, and Joseph mentally clocked how long it had been, and once over, started counting till the next. The side door to the barn was simple, the very same he’d walked in only an hour or two before. He made sure Mary was supported against the wall before trying the door. He pushed, and found it wouldn’t budge. Joseph frowned, putting his shoulder into the door. A fraction of an inch was all he got before it went back as it was.

“Dammit.” He hissed. “Cmon…” Joseph slammed into the door so hard snow came in from the momentary opening. He turned to Mary, apologetically. “I think the snow built up too much. I’ll try the other door.” He left her without another word, aiming to try the other small door. The barn had three in total, two small person sized entries, and the one large sliding door. He wasn’t going to bother with that one, knowing it was padlocked from the outside.

“Hmmmmm…. Ohhhh Joseph please don’t mess with me… I don’t think I can handle one of your jokes right now… uhhhh…” Mary groaned, planting her palms against the wall where her husband had left her and rotating her hips side to side. 

How was the next contraction already happening?! It felt like she’d only just had one. Mary closed her eyes, blocking out the sound of Joseph jogging from one door to the other, concentrating on her breathing. In-two-three-four— Out-two-three-four. Without the cushioning of her waters the sensation of their baby’s head grinding into the depths of her pelvis made her stomach churn and odd sounds to escape. She jutted her hips back as she lent forward against the wall, trying to remember how to listen to her body’s cues. It had been years since she last did this, she just hoped her body could make it through and recover easily. 

“God I wish I was joking darlin…” He said. The other door opposite where Mary stood was so wigged down with snow that even hitting it as hard as he could with his shoulder wouldn’t move it an inch. The snow by now had to be multiple feet high for that sort of weight to counter him. He knew that it wasn’t truly that much snow on the ground, but the infinite drifts coming along with the high winds. “Shit!” Joseph’s foot planted firmly in the door, one last defiant attempt before hope left him. They were trapped.

Mary’s moans echoed, the sheer volume now on par with the dying wind. At least that was one benefit, he told himself. If the barn got enough snow on it the sound of the wind would be muffled. He returned to his wife’s side, sole focus on her and the baby. He didn’t know what to do, not in this situation. Yes they had kids, but seven years was a long time, and his memory of their youngest birth was only of their drive to the hospital with an eight year old and a two year old in the back seat.

“Breathe baby.” He told her. “We will figure something out. I promise.”

“Uggghh…. What’s…what’s the problem?” Mary tried to keep talking through the contraction but found her words hitching on the gulps of air she was taking. Tight, twisting, aggressive pulses in her womb made her face scrunch and a whimper to ready itself in her throat. 

“Why…aren’t…we…leaving…?” She panted. “Ohhhh god-!” The contraction peaked, spiking to a new level, and her knees nearly buckled. Joseph quickly grabbed her hips, pressing up against her body from behind to keep her supported and upright in her forward-lean against the wall. The contraction was too strong, too powerful, after the breaking of her waters and Mary struggled to stay focused on anything except the slow building pressure in her pelvis. 

“Well, a minor inconvenience came up honey.” He kept her rocking side to side. Joseph felt her knees trying to bend, and his grip tightened to prevent a potential fall. “So uh, how about we just have her here? You know, in the barn?” A nervous chuckle that had no humor emerged with the statement. “I-I mean it’s warm, we have water, there’s… blankets…”

Mary groaned, a deep sound not related to Joseph’s statement. The contraction had finally let her go and she melted back against her husband. 

“D-don’t be ridiculous! I am not having our child in a barn!” Mary snapped, assuming Joseph was just trying to be funny. Her eyes had closed, her hands now off the wall and instead were making large circles around her bump that was full and stretched beneath the knit of her jumper dress. It served no purpose except to provide some level of comfort and possibly to sooth the baby inside. 

“Stop joking around and just get me out of here honey.” She said, lifting her head and trying to ready herself for the long walk from the barn to the truck. 

“That’s not happening.” Joseph said plainly. “Mary, I need you to stay calm… the snow is too high, and the doors are all blocked. We aren’t getting out of here, not for a while.” As an extra form of comfort for his laboring wife, he lifted the back of her knit sweater, digging beneath layers of fabric till he found bare skin. It was slick with sweat, and while normally he knew she didn’t like his cold hands after being outside, he hoped this time it might soothe her overly warm body.

“Oh! Bloody hell—” Mary gasped in surprise, Joseph’s icicle fingers suddenly on her back. But then she moaned in relief, head tilting back onto his shoulder. “Mmmmh… you’re damn lucky… ooooh.. I’m in labour and overheating. Otherwise I might have slapped you for that.” She almost purred as she relished the cool touch of her husband's hand that pressed into her lower back in just the right place. 

After a beat, the information sank in and Mary opened her eyes, turning in Joseph’s hold to face him. Her eyes wide and uncertain. 

“So…we’re…. we’re trapped in our barn, snowed in, and I’m in labour with our fourth kid who seems to be in a hurry… is that what you’re saying?” The words felt more akin to a soap opera than the life of a married couple living on a farm. 

“If you wanna put a label on it… yes.” He told her, trying to smile. “But we will be alright, like I said, there’s blankets, warmth… kinda, and plenty of space.” 

The look in his wife’s eyes told him that slap was still on the table. The turn Mary had made to face him inadvertently lifted her sweater and shirt, ending with his hands on either side of her misshapen womb. His thumbs caressed it, already matching her body’s heat thanks to the back rub. 

“We got this hon. I promise.”

Mary pulled her lips into a forced smile, trying to mirror her husband's confidence. “You sound pretty sure…. But I’m not… how can we do this? By ourselves? In a fucking barn!” 

The telltale sign of the next incoming contraction was given away when her last words went up an octave and her swollen chest hitched to gulp down oxygen. Her arms moved without thought to loop around Joseph’s neck, her face burying into the thick wool of his coat as a hiss slipped past her teeth. A firm ball of granite now rested in her husband's palm where her soft pliable bump once was - the contraction hitting her full force. 

The incredible weight of their daughter pressed down into her pelvis, forcing her knees to part and bend slightly. Mary hung from her husband's sturdy frame, moaning deeply and circling her hips around the growing pressure. 

“Ohhhhhhh…. Jos-seph…. Uhhhhh… this h-hurts so much more than—ooooof— I remember…." Mary whimpered slightly, clinging to her best friend and husband for dear life. The pressure may have been astronomical but they both knew it was just the beginning. And the sounds she made in childbirth weren’t entirely foreign, the husky sound of her moans echoing around the snow-covered barn. 

“I know hon.” Joseph’s words were soft with encouragement. “If we are stuck here…” He took a deep breath before spoke again, the gravity of his next sentence far too important to just say outright. “I want you to listen to your body. There’s no chance we keep her in till the snow is gone, so don’t hurt yourself. Moan, push, cry, bite, do whatever you must.” The contraction, still gripping his wife, allowed his palm on her skin to actually feel the outline of her womb. Joseph waited for her body to release its hold, all the while running fingers through her sweat matted hair.

“Breathe.” He soothed, letting Mary’s full weight hang on him. “Breathe through it Mary.” His wife knew him well enough to actually hear when he was smiling, an expression he wore now without remorse.

With a squeeze of her fingers on his broad shoulders, the contraction finally let go and Mary sighed with relief. She lifted her head, a smile ghosting across her face to match her husband. 

“This, is nuts. And so bloody typical.” The comforting touch of her husband and his confident reassurance was enough to pull the labouring woman from the edge of panic. “I mean every one of our other children took their sweet time. But this one? I can already tell she’s going to be a handful.” 

Reluctantly Mary pulled away from Joseph, needing to shift and move a little, a biological drive to keep her body in motion to help and aid in the mammoth task ahead. Her hand went to her lower back, arching back to stretch out the tightness lingering in her spine. The move jutted her bump forwards and her husband was quick to make possessive contact with the evidence of his impending offspring. 

“Hey now…. Don’t give me that look, it’s what got us here in the first place.” She playfully scolded. “I think I wanna move around a little, if we’re really stuck here I don’t want to stay in one spot. I already feel a little claustrophobic just knowing there’s too much snow blocking the doors.” 

“Actually, my love, I believe it was a bottle of wine and a back massage coupon I’d given you for your birthday.” Joseph retorted, his smile never ceasing. The couple began long, slow circuits around the interior of the barn. There wasn’t much in the way of unique routes, but Joseph steered Mary through the different areas. The bales first, then to the stalls, then over to the sleigh, to the brushing and storage area, to the center pillar, and back again.

Eyes examining her like a hawk, Joseph mentally catalogued her every breath, any and all movements of her body whether they were voluntary or not. On the second circuit, and three more contractions down, Joseph noticed her stance widen. It was marginal, barely an inch or two of difference, but to him it was a sign of things moving.

“She really is an impatient one.” He said, still rubbing Mary’s back. The back of her knit sweater and shirt was lifted, her skin exposed. With the excess body heat she radiated, Joseph could actually see steam coming off her skin. 

“Ooooh…. Can you hold and press my hips for this o-one…” Mary asked as she stopped with the first twinges in her womb, a contraction firmly on its way with very little warning anymore. They were on their third circuit and currently by the stalls that housed the horses and reindeer. 

With a fast shuffle Mary made a beeline to the nearest stall, its half-door bolted shut, and immediately planted her arms along its top edge. Folding her arms she buried her face in the crook of her elbow while her ass and hips stayed behind, jutting backwards with the strength of the contraction forcing her pelvis open. Her husband’s hands were quick to grip her, not painfully but strong enough to make a difference. She growled, a combination of pain and thankful relief. 

With her waters long gone, Mary could feel every centimetre of their child taking up room inside the narrowest point in her body. It forced her pant, the pressure creaking her hips apart, the weight that was getting more and more persuasive with every clench of her uterus. 

“Ughhhh….harder….put your full weight against m-me…J-Joseph-!” She managed as the contraction reached a peak she wasn’t ready for.

“Ok! Ok…” Joseph did as she asked. Mary was pressed against him, his grip on her becoming more vice like than before. Thumbs dug into the base of her spine, and in the back of his mind he knew she’d have bruises as a result. That however, was not the concern at the moment. Joseph widened his stance, a foot behind him so that as she pressed against him, they wouldn’t both lose balance. “You’re doing great love.”

The raging storm only grew louder, wind becoming a howl as the direction changed, and caused the roof to shudder. The window that not long before Mary had failed to fully insulate blew open, a torrent of snow coming in with malicious intent. All the heat left the barn before the contraction even ended, and Joseph knew they needed to close it. Mary couldn’t do this alone though, even if she thought she could, he wasn’t going to leave her side till their daughter was here. That only left two options, he makes her walk with him to try and close the window, or they suffer the cold as she labors. 

“Nnnghh—what-was-that-?” Mary groaned, hearing the bang of the window flying open. 

Joseph told her the wind had blown open a window and she knew they’d have to close it. She already felt the cold air whip around the inside of the barn even with her head buried into her folded forearms. As nice as the cool air was on her sweaty and overheated skin, the freezing temperature wasn’t good for the animals and certainly wouldn't be for a newborn. They had to close it. 

But the contraction still held her uterus in a vice, its strong clenching grip bringing low guttural sounds from her chest. So low! The baby felt so damn low! 

It may have been many many years since she last went through this, but even Mary knew things were progressing quickly. The pressure alone that was building in her pelvis was undeniable evidence of how close she was getting to giving birth. Her husband knew this too, from the way she moved and her desperate pleas for more counterpressure. 

When the contraction ended, Mary took a moment to catch her breath as she had started to pant rather heavily. Slowly lifting her head she released her grip from the stall door. 

“We… we need to close that window darling. B-before the wind and snow undoes all our h-hard work.” She went to move, her husband’s arm wrapping around her waist in preparation for the journey across the barn, but immediately faltered. 

“Ooooo… oh Joseph… baby feels low…. really low….” 

“I know Mary, it’s ok.” His arm held her a little tighter, they couldn't delay getting the window closed. “Focus on breathing, in, and out, just like before.” Whether it was the frigid cold, or her own pain, Mary was shaking in his arms. “Just a few more steps.” Each step was a fight, especially as her weight was placed on him more and more. 

Drifts were already building from the open window, and the torrent of snow trying to turn the interior of the barn into a winter wonderland. By the time they’d reached the halfway point from the stall to the window, a walk that took what felt like an hour but in reality couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, melted snow was beneath their feet. Leading up it was collecting, reaching over an inch in some areas despite the short span of exposure. 

Mary tensed, just as they were getting within arms reach of the window.

“Mary? What’re you doing?” Joseph asked. Beneath his hand he felt her stomach tense once more, and a sound he hadn’t heard in years came from her. “Mary!”

It happened without planning, or thought, or even self-awareness; Mary stopped and bent over, one arm draped around Joseph’s shoulder while the other braced her thigh, and with bent knees a low primal grunting sound roared from the depths of her chest. 

“Nnnnghh—!” 

All the air stayed inside her lungs as every muscle in her body clenched down, down, down. The act of pushing began so suddenly without warning, shocking the both of them, but she couldn’t help it. For a brief ten seconds, Mary lost control and nature took over 

“Hon!” Joseph couldn’t kneel before her for risk of Mary losing her balance, he was forced to stand. “Baby not now, not yet.” They hadn’t even made a makeshift bed for her.

The moment was gone as fast as it struck and on trembling legs Mary curled into her husband's arms to recover and catch her breath. 

“Hoooo…hoooo… oh Joseph…. I’m sorry… I think I just pushed a little bit…? I c-couldn’t stop it…. Oh god… this baby is coming f-fast…..” The quiet sob against her husband’s chest was barely audible over the sound of the wind howling through the open window, but he still heard it. He felt it. The way her back hitched a little with the spike of emotions crashing through his darling wife. 

“It’s ok.” It’s not. “It’s gonna be alright.” Doubtful. Joseph’s mind yelled at him at how bad this could be. All three of their previous children had taken so long, in the back of his thoughts Joseph had imagined that despite her water breaking so soon, Mary wouldn’t actually need to do anything till after the storm passed. But this baby really was coming, and they had no way to stop her.

Arms around his wife, Joseph simply held her close as her tears froze. Gently, he turned with her, making his back face the window to take the brunt of the cold. 

“I… I have to close the window.” He finally said. Frost had started to form on his wife’s hair, the sweat soaked locks becoming their own misshapen icicles on her head. Even as hot as she was feeling, a gut sensation told him that his wife and their new baby wouldn’t survive if the cold continued. “Step with me.” The command was soft, whispered into her ear with encouragement. “Nice and slow Mary…” The couple made it two steps, and Joseph couldn’t stop the shudder as he was blasted with a particularly gruesome gust of snow laced wind. An arm still supporting her, he turned, slamming the window shut, and grabbing a nearby trowel to wedge between the frame and the window itself.

Mary kept a firm grip on Joseph, as they moved and while he shut the window, not trusting her own legs that were quivering inside her thermal insulated leggings. While he worked to close the breach in their warm sanctuary Mary meanwhile focused on her breathing and tried ever so hard not to think about how her pelvis felt like it was being crushed from the inside. 

The immeasurable weight pressing down on her pelvis and cervix was almost nauseating. She could feel the baby moving, restless, probably just as uncomfortable as she was. They both had a tough task ahead of them. 

“Oooohhh… oh-it’s-happening-again—Josephhhhh….” Mary whined against her husband’s chest as the next crest of pressure rolled quickly towards her. “I need.. I need to m-m-mooooove—” 

Mary started to sink towards the snow-covered floor with the returning urge to bear down. But she was more prepared this time; eyes closed she began to pant instead through the colossal pressure sitting right in the depths of her hips, though her lowering squat wasn’t the most reassuring sign for her husband. 

“What?” He stopped her just in time before her squat lowered too far. Snow still littered the ground, and without a doubt if she got down into it, her clothing would be soaked. Hypothermia along with labor was a combo Joseph had zero interest in entertaining. “No you don’t…” Mary needed down, and he struggled to hold all her weight with the awkward grip he had.

“Not here darlin.” Eyes darting, Joseph searched for somewhere she could have support but not be on the floor. The sleigh? No, hard wood combined with a plethora of splinters thanks to a poor sanding. The loft? Plenty of old chairs, but getting her up the ladder was an impossible task. The stalls were too dangerous, the feed area still had snow…

“Walk with me.” He said, though he had little optimism that she could walk. Together, with Joseph keeping most of her weight, the couple moved to the corner of the barn. Despite a rough winter, they still had loads of hay, stacked taller than either of them at its peak. However, many spots were eye level, or even better, at sitting height.

The weight pressing down in her pelvis was relentless, keeping Mary’s legs wide in her ungainly move across the barn. She clung to her husband, huffing and humming through the contraction that kept drawing her instincts to the ground. 

“Ohhhh—ohhhhh- Joseph—! I can’t— baby feels too lowwwww…..” Mary’s voice was strained with the effort of trying to stay standing, not to squat down to relieve the monumental pressure forcing its way through her hips. 

They barely reached the quiet corner of the barn stacked with cubes of hay when the contraction reached its crescendo. Mary pushed herself out of her husband’s grip in a feral animalistic nature, staggering wide-legged with a hand between her thighs, and she collapsed down onto her knees right in front of a tied up bale of hay. Open, she needed her pelvis low and open. Mary’s arms shook as she flung her chest over the block of hay, keeping her knees wide and ass out behind, belly hanging towards the floor while her hands curled over the far edge of the bale of hay. She let out a low growl as she pulled backwards, feeling that pressure sink deeper into her hips, moving through her pelvis which was slowly opening with her rocking kneeling motion. 

“Nnnnghhhh… ohhhhh-god-no…..” she mooed out her words, low and primal, as the contraction peaked. 

“Exhale with the pain.” He ordered.

It was time. What delays might have been possible were now moot. Joseph watched in awe as Mary fought to control herself through the growing wave of the contraction. Helpless to do anything else, he knelt beside her, the ball of his hand firmly pressing into her spine. The hay was a solid support for her to lean on, and Joseph quietly was thankful that it was far too cold for snakes to be hiding in between the stacks.

“How you feeling?” The question was idiotic considering the circumstances, but Joseph was at a loss. How could he do more? Maybe if they were home he could have gotten her stripped and comfortable, but out here? Even in the relative warmth of the barn he was afraid that undressing her could be harmful, and while they did have blankets, they weren’t the warmest in existence.

“P-pressure—just-so-much-pressure…” Mary hummed into the bale of hay, the rough straw scratching her cheek as her face almost squashed against it, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t think beyond the weight in the bowl of her pelvis, a deep biological drive to keep her hips circling around it, as if she could drive it away or find a position that removed its urgency. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t contracting anymore, the steady thrum of nature continued to build. 

“It’s not—going away— the pressure is just there. C-can you h-hold my h-hips together p-please darling…. Feels like…they’re being p-pulled ap-apart….” Her request was quiet but the desperation in her plea was still loud and clear, and the reason for it was as undeniable as the storm outside; their baby was getting closer. 

He didn’t hesitate, rising again to his feet. Before moving to behind her, Joseph leaned in close to her cheek. Hay was in her hair, disheveled and sweating like she’d been working in the field all day, the look reminding him all too well of their first meeting so long ago. 

“We are gonna be ok.” He whispered into her ear. “I’m here, aint going anywhere.” Joseph kissed her cheek, and proceeded to take hold of her hips. Working for so long outside, Joseph had that ‘farmer strength’, applying so much pressure that he worried about hurting her. The effort was only reassured when he visibly saw Mary relax. The movement was barely more than a sigh, but he knew her body language so well that the smallest shift told him how she was doing. 

“Do you need to push?” He hoped she’d say no, but was damned sure that she was already close to that point. That little grunt earlier already told him she was there, but he needed her to say it, to admit openly that it was time. Denying would only lead to more pain for her. Of that, he was certain.

“Hoooooo…. I don’t…know…. Ah….” Mary whimpered beneath his touch, his hands feeling like they were the only thing holding her together right now. 

While her husband kept a steady pressure on each hip, squeezing deliciously together to counter the pressure splitting them apart, she continued to rock on her elbows and knees and Joseph beautifully followed along with her rhythm. 

“Oooooh… it’s just never ending… feels like… ohhhhh like a boulder is in there. Feels…fucking huge…. Ohhhh god…. Another one…” Mary spluttered, readjusting her arms along the depth of the hay bale and gripping the rope on the other side. The next contraction squeezed her uterus and she grunted low and long. 

“Yes—!! Yes I need to p-p-push—Joseph!!” She panicked, trying to hold on as long as she could. She wasn’t ready to have this baby now, hell the storm was still raging and her clothes were still on. The whimper that came from her mouth signaled how much she was holding back, but her body was twitching in dire need to bear down. 

“Mary.” His voice was level. In the past, his wife was always the more level headed, the solidity of the family. Now, she was panicked, frantic even. Joseph had to keep her calm, and guide her. “Mary, you need to push.” A hand left her hip, reaching beneath her clothes to rub at her lower back. “When it comes, you don’t hold back. Bring our baby girl to us.”

As she contemplated his words, Joseph subtly altered her stance. His foot cemented between her legs, gently nudging her knees a bit further apart. His hand also pressed against her, forcing her to lower her hips ever so slightly. He recalled exactly how she’d delivered their other children, the positions she was in. This one was the one she’d seemed to like most. He felt her shaking, and leaned in.

“Push…”

It was as if her body reacted to his words, his instruction. Immediately everything sank south and she was bearing down without intent. Her mouth dropped open, a low rumbling sound of effort spilling from the depths of her chest as she pushed, her cheek now fully planted against the block of hay. 

“Nnnnghhhhh-!!!” Mary grunted, a combination of blissful relief of actually pushing mixed with the undeniable pressure from the baby dropping lower. She gasped, sucking a mouthful of air before going again. Her thighs shook but she focused all her efforts into one singular act. Bearing down. 

Joseph hummed with encouragement. “Good girl, that’s it. Another big push for me darlin’.” 

Mary groaned, a primal lowing sound of effort as she pushed. The baby was shifting, she could feel her pelvis splitting open around the descending child, that pressure reaching and breaching her cervix. “Ohhhhhh…ughhhhh… oh fuck….” Mary groaned after a few more seconds of pushing, then slumping over the bale of hay she began panting to catch her breath back. 

“Oh Joseph…. I dunno… if it’s just been too long since I last did this, but… she feels massive. I barely moved her.” 

“It’s just cause it’s been so long baby.” He reassured her, keeping a hand on her back. "She's  just as big as the others accordin’ to the doc.” There was something wrong with this, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Somehow, this birth was different, aside from the blatant obviousness of her wanting out fast and choosing a barn of all places to be born. “Remember with the others? Our eldest? As soon as he was born you literally told me ‘that wasn’t so bad.’ You’ll make it through, and we will be laughing about this tomorrow.” 

There weren’t many other ways for her to open up, not from what Joseph could think of. His wife was low, her knees spread, back arched. This was all down to her.

“Do you need to change positions? I can rearrange the bales of hay.” He was just throwing ideas, and if he was honest there was zero expectation of a clear answer considering the pain coursing through Mary’s body.

She shifted her body, a gentle rocking motion forward and back, side to side, reflecting on how she felt and what would be best. Eventually Mary shook her head. 

“No. Wanna stay h-here….” Her words caught a little on the steady weight filling her pelvis more and more each second. Joseph was right - the doctor had said this baby was no different to their others in terms of size. It must just be her older years making this seem harder, but the baby felt bigger, more irrefutable somehow now she’d dropped. 

“Could you…help me relax a bit? Like we did for our second and third?” Mary asked before the next contraction could steal her request. For those births they were a bit more familiar with the process and doing home births each time allowed them to try more intimate ways of relaxing into labour and helping her to open up. Something instinctive told Mary she would need all the help she could get for this one. 

“Of course darlin’.”

Three previous kids, the first a panic of new experiences, the other two far more quiet and controlled. Joseph knew what his wife was asking, and let his hands do the work. Her curves became a canvas, and his fingers the brush he’d use to paint a calming sensation. He began, with lifting her sweater. Her exposed belly glistened with the sweat of exertion, and he took his time letting his fingers caress the stretched tight flesh he found there. 

“Relax baby.” He hummed. “I’ve got you.”

He kept rubbing her stomach, leaning in to press a kiss to her shoulder. Whispers kept coming, but his hand, it moved down. Joseph found her insulated leggings, and slipped beneath. Her undergarments remained wet thanks to her waters breaking, and the cold making it nigh on impossible for them to dry. Joseph started to make little circles between the fabric, all the while keeping his face close to hers. 

Mary’s whole body quivered under his touch. A shudder felt through her soul. 

“Good girl.” He cooed into her ear.

“S-S-Sensitive— ohhhh…” she gasped, Joseph’s ministrations making gentle circles right where she needed. Active labour had transformed every cell in her body into a beacon of sensitivity; the cold on her exposed skin, the heat of her flesh beneath the layers of clothes, the light breath of Joseph’s whispers on her cheek - every sensation was an overwhelming symphony. 

Moving her hips counterclockwise against her husband’s strokes, Mary rocked a little and focused her mind on only the good. Her body was doing something incredible, ancient and inspiring. With the help and support from her best friend, lover, father of her children, she was changing her mindset from seeing pain to productivity. 

“Oooohh… con-contraction’s—comin’—” she hummed. Lowering her head back down on the hay bale, she sunk her pelvis backwards against his hand, chasing that friction and pressure and slowly but surely she found herself pushing down to meet it. Grunting beautifully into the crook of her elbow. 

“That’s it…” He said, a smile on his lips. “You’re doing great.”

The stimulation continued, with Joseph’s movements only increasing in pressure and speed when Mary’s contraction started to grow. Whispers of encouragement came, and he took the time to apply counter pressure to her spine. As she labored, he studied her. When he was moving too slow, her hips increased in their pace. Too fast, and it was as if she was trying to match him in pace to ease the stimulation. He was a patient man though, and worked to find the sweet spot, no matter how long it took.

“Talk to me.” Joseph said. “You think the kids will be excited to see their sister wanted to spend Christmas with them?”

“H-hopefully— unnnghhh— though our y-youngest is annoyed she’s not g-gonna be the youngest anymore—oooohhhhh…!” 

With a sharp inhale, Mary stretched her arms over the bale and pushed hard with the current contraction. Teeth bared and her breath visible in the cold temperature of the barn, she focused all her energy downwards on that gigantic boulder between her hips. The sound from her chest was low and gravelled and thick with animalistic focus. But once it was over she whimpered with frustration. 

“Can you f-feel anything-?” Her words caught on desperation. “It doesn’t feel like anything is ha-happening… she’s still wedged there in my pelvis. It doesn’t feel like I’m doing anything.” 

Mary rolled her hips around while her elbows took most of her weight, her bump hanging parallel to the edge of the hay bale. “Ohhhh the pressure is driving me n-nuts— but when I push— it doesn’t go away.” Her eyes began to well a little in frustration, all her labouring and working to bring the baby down seeming to slow and almost stop. Right at the most intense and crucial stage. 

Joseph’s hand stopped its motions, his focus turning to figuring out whether or not the baby was making progress. Palm flat, he slid deeper into her pants, a frown creasing his features. All this time, all that effort, and he couldn’t even feel the smallest bump from the baby coming out. This wasn’t right, was it? Pushing should have at the very least made them able to feel the head starting to poke out.

“She’s not there babe.” He said, withdrawing from her leggings. Joseph rubbed her stomach for some added comfort as he tried to think. Suddenly, an idea came. “Here, up we go darlin…”

Husband and wife, working together despite him not telling her what he was doing, rose up. There was no way she would be able to stand, not with the levels of exhaustion he knew she felt. Joseph sat on the hay bale, keeping a steady grip on his wife, and slowly he guided her forward towards him. Her advanced labor meant her legs were naturally wide enough for his knees to slip between, and slowly he helped her sit on his lap. Mary groaned against his neck as she sank into a squat, her legs wide and hooked over each of his thighs, her pelvis low between his knees. She had no need to support her own weight or balance, her husband did that for her by wrapping his arms behind her lower back and letting her sling her arms over each of his shoulders. 

“This should help.” He whispered in her ear. “Try pushing when the contraction comes…” Joseph had every intention of helping her with some more, distractions, but wasn’t going to start till she truly needed it and it would be more effective.

Mary hummed, the change in position already making a difference. She felt wider, more open, the baby felt even lower and heavier than ever before. She moved her arm a little, looping one around her husband's neck and inhaling the comforting smell of his cologne. 

“Mmmmmh… better…. ooooohhhhhh…. She feels incredibly low darling.” She moaned against his chest, hips twitching a little unconsciously around the weight of their baby. 

When the next contraction arrived it struck with a laser focus Mary barely had time to inhale before her body demanded she push. Her thighs squeezed around her husband's legs as she bore down, her ass dropping low between his knees trying to open her pelvis even more. The growl of effort was muffled against Joseph’s thick winter coat, but her body trembled with the effort. One almighty push… two almighty pushes. By the third, she felt it. 

“It’s— unngghhhhh— working— can— feel— her— moving— oh-fuck!… down.” 

Progress was minuscule but to Mary, every millimetre was a sign of progress and gave her hope. 

“Good job darlin’.” Joseph’s voice remained a whisper. Her lower back and midriff remained exposed, and the focus of his hands. Calloused hands rubbed against her bare, sweat slick skin. Wide circles, working in conjunction with one another as he applied more pressure to the base of her spine on each pass. Every hitch in her breathing was felt against his own chest. 

Contractions were coming faster and harder, without a proper timer it was difficult to tell, but Joseph had a gut feeling that this contraction currently making his wife dig her nails into him was only a minute or two after the last. The previous distraction had worked wonders, though was unfeasable in their current position. So, Joseph decided to try a different approach. His left hand no longer made circles on her spine, instead gliding along glistening flesh to where her knit sweater was hiked up. 

Mary instantly made a whining sound when his hand left her lower back. “Mmmhh… no…. why… taken… hand away…?” 

“I’ve got you love…”

The oven that was the space between her sweater and skin was a far cry from the cold in the barn. Joseph found what he was looking for, the maternity bra held her breast in check after they’d swelled with milk in recent months. Of course, he had no complaints about it, and knew all too well how sensitive they were from their more intimate moments during the last trimester. Following the band around, he found the clasp holding it in place, and with a flick of the wrist, her bra was undone. He shifted again, finding the front and tugged, already knowing that a reaction was imminent. Her breasts were loose, and free to use as he felt necessary to ease her discomfort. And it all started, with his palm cupping, and giving a gentle squeeze.

“Ohhh god!” Mary’s head went back and she gasped. Her skin, her body, every cell was already hyper sensitive while in the deep throes of labour. The friction of her thick padded maternity bra being dragged over her nipples was enough to make her shudder, but then he squeezed. 

The moan that left her lips was not of pain but bountiful pleasure, her husband knowing exactly what he was doing right now. His index finger and thumb made gentle but focused work on her left breast, milk escaping from the ducts onto his calloused fingertips. The stimulation had another desired effect with the quick appearance of a strong contraction. 

Mary hummed, low and deep, her hands gripping his shoulders as she lifted slightly on his lap before sinking down between his knees with another guttural push. 

“Nnnnnghhh—ohhhhh— she’s— she’s right—there—ohhhhhh Joseph— I can feel the h-head coming—ugggghhh!!” 

“That’s my girl.” He kept his voice calm, squeezing a bit harder. “Keep on pushing, she’s gonna be here before you know it.” His forehead pressed against hers, their eyes shut as he listened to her breathing, the deep vibration in her throat as the primal need to give in took over. “Breathe…” As he gave the command, his palm offered her chest another gentle squeeze. The warmth of her milk poured over the gaps between his fingers. At least their daughter wouldn’t be hungry when she came.

Mary gulped down air, trying to gather her strength between contractions, to follow her husband’s guidance. Joseph was familiar with the sight of his labouring wife, recognised every subtle move or reaction, knowing when a contraction was coming or when the urge to push was too great. When Mary sighed with relief he told her to breathe, when her body stiffened on his lap - when her back became rigid and tense - he guided her through each push. 

“Ugggghh… she feels so… big!” Mary groaned after a huge forceful push that didn’t grant the progress she wanted. The weight of their child was low, imminent, pressing against the exit of her body. The familial stretching sensation began to burn beneath her underwear but she had no idea if she was even close to crowning. “C-can you check— me—please— mmmmmghh…..” 

“Course.” Joseph’s grip on her breast disappeared, the need for counter pressure on her back far more important than the distraction from the pain. “Try to rise, just a little.”

Mary, with Joseph’s help, managed to rise up by just a few inches. That was all he needed. Just as before, his fingers found the elastic band of her leggings and slipped in. Her panties remained soaked, and a nagging feeling told him that there was something else they should have already done, but, he was drawing a blank. Oh well, must not be that important. Joseph dug beneath her panties, finding Mary’s opening. Her skin was already pulled taut, and yet, her lips only seemed to barely be opened. He couldn’t even feel the head, just soft flesh surrounded by tight skin. 

“You’re openin’ darlin, but I don’t feel the baby.” 

Mary’s head lowered against Joseph’s shoulder and she huffed with frustrated disappointment. “Oooooh— how— that’s not right— there’s so much fucking pressure!” 

She was sure the baby was close, it felt damn well close with the weight pressing down and stinging her sensitive lower lips. Mary’s pelvis felt like it was being cracked open, the birth canal absolutely full with their fourth child. But Joseph couldn’t feel the baby… either something was wrong or her age was having more of an impact than they’d imagined. 

With her husband’s hand still beneath her layers of clothes, gently circling and cupping her crotch, Mary gave another push. Forceful and intentional, focusing all her efforts on bringing their baby down. Bearing down she was rewarded only with more pain, a spike in the white hot burning at the apex of her thighs. She jolted abruptly, ceasing her pushing, and whimpered like a wounded animal. 

“No…. Ohhhh… Joseph… it’s not right… something’s there… I’m sure of it!!” Mary croaked, her body twitching instinctively as if she could simply escape the spike in pressure and pain that was blinding her senses. 

Joseph’s frown wasn’t of frustration but of confusion. The others were blatantly obvious when they began to emerge from between her quaking thighs. Without a protest, he checked her again, this time shutting his eyes as he let his hand build a picture. She was open, the stretched flesh of her lips surrounding the softness that he still hadn’t placed. It couldn’t be the baby though, their heads were more firm. This was more like…

Joseph’s eyes opened, and there was a panic in them that surpassed all that came before.

“Mary…” He said, toughening his tone to keep the rising fear out. “Mary I don’t think that’s the head coming.” Joseph had to search for the word, so long since he’d read any of the books, this was baby four! Surely nothing would have been different. How wrong they were. “She’s comin’ out backwards hon, she’s breech.”

“Wh—What?! No!!!! She can’t be—nnnnnggghhhhhh!” Mary’s disbelief transformed into a low grunting sound of effort as her body forced her push once again. 

As she pushed against the giant irrefutable boulder in her pelvis, feeling its heaviness against her sensitive opening, bulging her body with its size, the penny finally dropped. That was why this was so difficult, why she was struggling to make progress. It wasn’t her age; their poor little girl was the wrong way up - she was coming out bum-first. 

“Oooohhh Joseph…. She can’t…. She can’t come out like this…. Something’s gonna go wrong… she’s going to get h-hurt… We need doctors… we need help….” Mary sobbed after the involuntary push. Her mind running a thousand miles a minute. A breech birth was so much more dangerous, and with Mary’s older years technically making this a ‘geriatric pregnancy’, it was even more risky. This was bad. This was so terribly bad. “What… what do we do—? Ohhhh god she’s right there! Nnnnnnghhh!!!” 

“Wait wait!” Joseph’s pleas fell of deaf ears. She needed to stop pushing right? At first it seemed like the birth could be simple, if a bit unorthodox. The baby being breech changed everything. Maybe it was worth trying to get her out to the truck again, to risk the drive to the hospital. Could they make it? Fat fuckin chance. Joseph’s thoughts ended with their daughters minute progress into his palm, stretching his wife impossibly wider. Between the child and Mary’s leggings, his hand was squeezed into place.

“Baby you can’t keep pushing, we, shit, is there anything we can do? I-I don’t think turning her around is an option.”

“No it certainly is—nnnnnghhhh!— not an option Joseph! She’s not a car— oooooh— she can’t reverse, turn around and come back again!” Mary snapped through gritted teeth, pushing automatically midway through her sentence. Her body was working to deliver this child whether they were ready or not, prepared or not, head-first or not. This baby was coming and she was coming now. 

The position of the baby made everything feel….more. More intense, more overwhelming, more painful, more burning. And yet Mary was entirely stuck in this position - straddling her husband with her ankles hooked around his calves, her backside hanging between his spread knees. Though the way it opened her pelvis so wide might be the only reason she was making any sort of progress right now. 

“If…. If she’s breech… is she… butt-first? Is that what’s coming out? You can’t feel a foot or anything can you?” Mary tried to think, to clear her mind. What did they need to do, how could they make sure their daughter arrived as safe as possible while trapped in this fucking barn. 

“Just her butt, no feet or anything.” His hand shifted, moving around the edge of her opening to see if there was anything different. All he could find was what he believed to be the baby’s hip, a little bone hidden beneath some baby fat. “She’s moving down though, there’s progress but it’s damn slow.” Not that she needed to be told that, the snippy comment was evidence enough of how overwhelming the situation was. “I don’t know what to do Mary.” He met his wife’s eyes, and any chance he had of hiding the newfound fear was gone. “Do I need to try and get you to the truck again?”

Mary shook her head, blowing a slow exhale through her pursed lips. “We’ll… never make it…. Plus… the doors are j-jammed shut, remember?” 

Between contractions Mary hummed, holding tight to her husband's shoulders as she gently circled her hips. The indescribable pressure sitting at the apex of her thighs was overbearing, their baby so close and yet so far. It felt like an impossible task, to deliver something that felt so huge. It was frightening and daunting and she couldn’t help but doubt if they would even survive this. But she couldn’t let that fear take hold. They had to do this. They just had to. 

“H-Help me… stretch and… relax…. She’s gotta come out Joseph, and soon…. Ooooohh-ugh— contractions-coming—”

Of course, he should have remembered that the doors weren’t able to open. Calm, he couldn’t help her stay calm unless he was calm. Joseph’s best option was to keep his hand in her leggings to help her relax. He leaned back so they could see one another, and despite the fear in his eyes, all he spoke was encouragement and love.

“We’ll make it.” He told her, all the while his middle and index finger began to trace around her lips, gently, slowly. Mary was supporting herself enough with her arms around his neck, so he went back to her chest, never breaking eye contact. “Relax darlin’, and just breathe.” Joseph cupped her breast, lifting her knit sweater so they too were exposed to the cold. “Focus on me, and soon we’ll have baby girl in our arms.”

The breath that left her lungs was audible and shaky. Mary closed her eyes, rocking gently, trying to focus on her husband’s ministrations. Trying desperately to shut down the fear and worries that stuck in her mind like molasses. “Mmmmh…. I… I hope so…..” she whispered. 

As the contraction ramped up her hands locked over Joseph’s shoulders, nails digging into the thick layers of his clothes. “Oooohhh… n-need… to-push…..” she warned with a husky groan, inhaling deeply before bearing down. 

Her muscles clamped down, her swollen belly lifting and shrinking around her womb. All her efforts were focused on that singular point, on the immense mass trying to make it through her narrow body. Joseph’s hands were soft and gentle, slick with amniotic fluid, helping her to relax and open for their child. To increase the oxytocin in her body, his other hand gently thumbed one of her large nipples. Circling and rolling it between his thumb and index and squeezing ever so delicately. The response was instant, her grunting pushes mixed with a throaty pleasurable moan. 

“That’s it darlin’.” He said, his voice soft as his touch. “Push. You worry about that, and I’ll take care of the rest.” He could tell from how her stomach altered in shape when the contraction reached its peak. At that moment, he pinched down on her areola, feeling milk drip along his fingertips. As he did that, a coordinated effort began in her leggings. He opened his hand, practically matching the shape of her opening with his thumb and index. Joseph pressed against her, feeling the baby make progress past his palm. “Good girl, keep pushing.” 

She mewled, almost a whimpering sound of her efforts and arousal. His hands on her skin, holding her, guiding her, made her feel comforted and safe. Even after all these years, the arguments and celebrations and children, this was where she felt safest - in his arms. 

Mary’s teeth bared, her eyes scrunched, pushing down with everything that she had. Sweat was gathering on her temple, running down the sides of her cheeks even with the freezing storm raging around the barn. Her body was a furnace, each cell alive and sensitive and tingling. The progress made between her legs was noticeable, both to her and to Joseph. More of the baby slipped forward, stretching her wider than she ever thought was possible, their baby’s backside filling her husband’s palm as she bore down. 

“Nnnnnghhh… she’s… she’s coming…. Uggghhhh… oh god!” She panted, gasping for air as she released the push, contraction fading. The baby stayed, heavy and ever-present, bulging into her husband’s hand. 

“She is.” Joseph confirmed. Albeit, probably not moving as fast as Mary would have liked. All things told, just by what little he felt in the confines of her clothing, he’d say she made about a centimeter or two of progress. Which, while not a lot, is made leagues better by the fact that the baby remained. She didn’t slip back in like when Mary had fought their eldests head. “Slowly but surely.” 

A fraction of a second before he thought to take her hand, Joseph paused. He knew how intimate and empowering it could be for her to feel her own progress, to feel that little body trying to emerge. But, he refrained. If his wife believed more progress was being made, the last thing he wished to do was discourage her with the truth. This baby was low, and moving slow. Instead, he continued his massage, not trying to overstimulate, but release the hormones within her body to get her to relax into the next contraction. This baby would only get wider as she reached where the legs were tucked.

Mary trembled, held in limbo, as she waited for the next contraction. Every breath was unsteady, every beat of her heart was pounding. “I… I just want her…ouuuut Joseph….” Her words barely even a whisper, struggling with the fullness stretching her body wide open. When she was pushing it felt productive, like she was working towards a goal, but in between contractions all she felt was pain. 

Somehow he knew what to do, to keep her from the precipice of panicking. Soft words of encouragement combined with more stimulation of her nipples, no doubt in the hopes it would bring on the next contraction quicker. She rocked and whimpered, straddling his lap, panting through the gap between the waves. And then it was back, the primal clenching of her muscles, and she was bearing down once again. This time her efforts were joined with a roar of desperation as she tried so hard to bring their breech baby into the world. 

The baby was already moving before Mary’s primal roar filled the barn. 

“Good! Push darlin’, keep pushing!” 

Their daughter was fighting to get out, his hand filling with her rear. Joseph’s hand went back to pressing her lips, offering that sweet counterpressure that he knew would help. Another few centimeters, and Joseph’s thumb found something.

“I…” He shifted his thumb, finding five little bumps. “Honey, I can feel one of her feet.” That had to mean she was close, right? A smile split his face, even as Mary came down from the pain of the last contraction. “You’re making progress.” 

“It… it doesn’t feel like it…” She sobbed, trying to catch her breath back. The baby felt lodged, trapped, splitting her body in half. All the labouring and pushing and the baby was still wedged in her pelvis, feeling like she was being torn open. Mary could hardly bear it. “I-I don’t think I can do this… J-Joseph it’s too much… h-hurts….” 

Mary slumped her head forward, hanging between her arms that were locked and gripped over her husband’s shoulders. Tears mixed with sweat that ran down her cheeks. She couldn’t get their daughter out, she was stuck and Mary would be forever tormented with the agonising pressure between her legs. Unable to think clearly Mary cried with desperation and frustration. 

“Shhshhshh…” Joseph quieted his voice, not letting his hand leave their baby. “Mary, you can do this.” It wasn’t like she had another choice in the matter. “Listen to me,” he began. “I want you to just relax in the next contraction, it’s going to hurt, but honey you need your strength for bigger pushes. When I say, I want you to push, but until then try to recover.” He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. “I love you, and I’m here. Let’s have our girl.”

Their foreheads rested together, Mary clinging on to any semblance of hope. “O-okay…. Okay….” Her words hitched on a sob. 

The next contraction soon reared its ugly head, tightening and squeezing Mary’s womb in a vice. “Ooohhh….ohhhhhh Joseph….” She began to rock and groan, the pressure building like a raging storm. “Mmnnghhh…. Wanna pppppush….” 

She clawed at Joseph’s shoulders, trying to withstand her body’s demands to bear down, instead panting heavily to reserve her strength. But it wasn’t working, the force of the contraction too powerful to stop the little grunting pushes that were happening without permission. 

“No you don’t Mary.” He spoke and simultaneously stimulated her nipple. “You look at me, look.” Joseph waited till her tear filled eyes met his. “Good girl. Focus on me, isolate the feelings.” Her most sensitive parts were the victim of his fingers. “Feel that? You don’t need to push, you are having your body recharge while you rest.” His eyes flicked down, spotting the outline her stomach made of her womb, just as quickly they rose to meet hers again. “This is just us, that same intimacy we’ve had for the past twenty years…” Joseph smiled at her, lifting his chin to kiss her forehead. It tasted of salt, the abundance of sweat coating her and adding to the smell of bodily fluids. “Have I ever let you down?” The smile turned mischievous. “And don’t you dare bring up the bathroom remodel, that wasn’t my fault.”

“W— we couldn’t— get the tub— through the bathroom—door….” Mary laughed through heavy breathing, trembling head to toe. 

The contraction was strong, but her husband’s fingers were more persuasive. Beneath her leggings he gently circled her stretched skin around the partly emerged babe before his thumb settled perfectly on her clit. Meanwhile his other hand kneaded and pinched her breasts, sending shivers down her spine with a combination of arousal and the relief of expressing some more milk from their too-full shape. 

The actions from her still-devilishly-handsome husband were the only thing keeping her from falling apart under the agonising pressure and desperate need for their baby to be born. After what felt like a lifetime, the contraction fully let go and it was easier to focus only on the pleasurable sensations. 

“Hmph, well maybe you should have listened when I said it was too big.” He said, grinning. The relief on his wife’s face told him all he needed to know. Fingers continued their work, even as he spotted the trail of milk flowing down her bump. “You remember the night we conceived?” He asked her, keeping the stimulation going. His thumb pressed a little harder into her clit, he knew they didn’t have long before the next contraction came. “We traced it back to that date night? Kids at your parents, we worked on the barn before going to the movies… the massage?”

“Hmmm… yes…. It was the first night alone we’d had in… years.” Mary hummed. Her chest hitched a little at Joseph’s increase in pressure between her legs, desire coiling beneath the surface, her body instinctively reacting to his actions. “If I remember rightly…. Hmmmm—oooooohhhhh— that was the night I said we could try for a— a— fourth baby.” 

The next contraction was looming on the horizon, she could feel it simmering, but as Joseph kept circling her clit and gently squeezing her nipples she was getting overwhelmed for entirely different reasons now. Mary’s jaw dropped, gasping for air as everything tightened and trembled. 

“And there I was darlin…” Joseph whispered, their intimate moment backdropped by the ever present storm outside. “I thought it was just the wine talking, but then you showed me that test a few weeks later.” The memory was among his fondest, the happiness of seeing his wife so excited, and seeing the kids' reactions to realizing there was another sibling coming. “I think the only time a smile left your face was when they said they hoped it was twins.” He chuckled, letting his tracing increase in speed. “Remember what you said to them after that?”

“Ha….y-yes…. I—Oooohhhh—unnnnghhh—” the contraction slammed into Mary, the balance between pain and pleasure catapulted firmly in the wrong direction. “Oh fuck— mmmmgh— I’ve gotta pushhhh Joseph—” 

Her whole body froze and tensed with the forceful contraction, nearly undoing all the work they’d just done to keep her relaxed. The muscles clamped and squeezed, forcing everything downwards, and Mary groaned as her hips dropped down further between Joseph’s wide knees. 

“Easy baby, easy.” He kept working, and despite knowing she wasn’t pushing, he felt their daughter make a little progress. “Breathe, holding your breaths is a bad idea, just breathe.” The next contraction, that’s when she should give it all. Joseph could tell that she was exhausted, fuck she’d said as much to him earlier, but if she could hold out for just this one contraction he was sure that on the next, a lot more progress would come. “You’re doing beautifully, almost through it, keep going…” 

“Oooohhhh… I can’t…. Ahhhh fuck…. I wanna ppppush… I need to pushhh….” Mary groaned. Gripping and clawing her nails in her husband's coat, she frantically panted, ragged and heavy. She could feel Joseph’s fingers beneath her clothes, pressing his thumb against her clit and holding her lips open around the half-born baby. But it wasn’t enough. Not even his caressing of her breasts could take the edge off this contraction. It was relentless and angry, forceful as a tornado, and Mary tilted her head to the ceiling taking a deep breath and preparing to give a guttural push. 

But then Joseph’s lips were on hers, his stubble deliciously course against her skin as he kissed her so deeply and passionately it took her breath away. A last ditch attempt to distract the labouring woman from the overwhelming pain and desperate need to push. And it worked. His tongue met and danced with hers in a familiar passionate pattern. It was nostalgic and comforting but also magical and still incredibly hot. Distracted from her intended push, Mary hummed with pained enjoyment into her husband's mouth. The baby made progress, slow but steady, her body stretched to its limits but thankfully not tearing. Eventually more and more of their child began slipping into his palm. 

Their kiss remained his focus until the baby stopped advancing. Without a visual he couldn’t tell for certain, but he was guessing that at least a third of the baby’s body was already out. The rest would need Mary to help.

“Good girl.” Joseph said as they parted. The contraction was done, and he couldn’t help enjoying the flushed cheeks Mary had at the moment. She was always so cute when she got flustered. “Now, the next contraction, I want you to push for me. Everything, all that you got. And don’t stop till you can’t take no more.” 

The next few moments seemed to last a lifetime, waiting for the next contraction, and whatever would happen after that. As desperate as she was to end this torment, the worries of delivering a breech baby simmered in the recess of her brain. They stayed in their positions, not daring to move, waiting. Just waiting. 

The first sign of the next contraction happened in the form of a whimper and Mary’s legs twitching slightly, her thighs still wide and hooked over Joseph’s. “Mmmm… s’coming…” Her eyes scrunched, grimacing as the first echoes of pain returned. 

He didn’t need to be told, all the telltale signs screamed to him now. He nodded to his wife, leaning in close so that all she could hear was his voice. Not the storm, not the animals, not even the fabric of her leggings stretching at the seams, only him.

“Let it build.” He told her, his fingers still doing their individual jobs. “You’ve done this three times already, delivering perfect babies. Now it's time to even out with baby four.” He could feel their daughter slipping out ever so slightly, and as she did, he kept speaking. “Ok, ok… now push.”

Silently acknowledging his words, Mary nodded and took a deep breath before bearing down. Hard. Her teeth were bared, her nails sank into her husband’s shoulders, and she was oddly silent. All that she was, everything she had to give, gathered into this moment with pure maternal fiery strength. No sound came from the labouring woman except for gasping gulps of air between pushes, every last ounce of energy was focused on this impossible task. As she concentrated on pushing the pain began to fade into background noise - the only thing that mattered was the progress being made, on the feeling of their daughter moving through her exhausted body. Millimetre by millimetre… inch by inch… the baby squeezed further and further out. Later, she would recall just how horrific this was, how utterly wide and stretched to breaking point she felt. But now, in this moment, she just wanted to meet her daughter and for their baby to be safe and healthy. 

Over and over, Mary strained and pushed and almost growled with her efforts. Using every last bit of the contraction while she could. And then suddenly, everything changed. A loud, strangled gasp from Mary, echoing round the barn. 

It happened so fast. One moment Joseph was propping up their daughters bum within Mary’s leggings, feeling only newborn skin in some alien shape that his imagination couldn’t form a picture of. Then suddenly, a gush of fluid, and the baby unfurled from her folded pose. Legs became free, pressing against her pants for but a moment before retracting into that newborn scrunch that all their children had for their first months of life. He felt hands, two perfect little hands with ten tiny fingers. She was too much for him to hold with only a single palm, so instead he was left with letting their baby cradle in Mary’s leggings. 

“The body’s out!” He exclaimed, kissing Mary on the lips in this moment of joy. Remembering the complications of their second born, he tucked his fingers in between the baby’s neck and the edge of her opening. Nothing, no cord wrapped around it. Mary and the baby were clear, well, as clear as they can with one dangling out of the other.

She couldn’t stop the tears of relief, slumping forwards with exhaustion and sobbing against Joseph’s chest. All the pain, the white hot burning, the stretching…. gone in an instant. Mary felt numb, like she was in a dream. But then something brushed against her inner thighs, not her husband’s hand but something new…soft…perfect. 

Slowly she lifted her tear-stained face. “She’s…. She’s out…? Is she okay?” Her quiet voice croaked. 

“Not out. She’s ok though from what I can tell.” Joseph said. His hand had left her breast, the excess milk wiped onto his pants before he cupped her cheek. “But the body is out, all the way to her neck. All that’s left is her head, and we will have our baby girl here.” He let his thumb brush against her tears. “You are doing great, just relax for a little before the next one comes…” He paused, still feeling the baby lying in her leggings. “Do you want to feel her?”

She nodded, speaking was something she wasn’t fully sure on right now. Mary tried to move but found her body was locked in position, her fingers like a vice on Joseph’s shoulders. And she was trembling. In shock, Mary was scared to let go of her husband, worried she’d fall. She was still straddling his lap while he sat on a hay bale, her backside hanging between his knees. His hands were busy between her thighs, pulling the elastic of her waistband and cradling their partially born daughter inside the stretched fabric. 

Feeling her hesitation, he freed one hand to help Mary to feel their baby. He guided her quivering hand, past her waistband and to the gusset of her leggings where there was—

“Our baby girl…. Oh my gosh…” more tears rolled down her cheeks as she made contact with their fourth child for the first time. Her skin was slippery with fluids but so soft. She had delivered their three precious children and each time felt their heads once born, but this was another experience entirely. Their daughter's torso was scrunched in the damp fabric of her leggings, but her little hands and feet were moving, as if they were pressing out against new surroundings. “Whoa… this is… this is nuts.” She couldn’t help the exhausted and shocked laugh that came out her mouth. Feeling their daughter’s body, already moving and strong, reassured Mary enough for exhaustion and delirium to prompt the nervous giggle. 

“Master of understatement honey.” Joseph said, joining in her laugh. His hand joined hers beneath her still swollen stomach, fingers interlacing. “Baby girl is so close, just a little more and it’ll all be over.” The moment felt like an eternity of magic. A thought occurred, one that he couldn’t stop thinking of. “Your leggings might be a lil ruined after this Mary.” He said. “Don’t think we are gonna be able to get you out of them just yet…”.” 

“Hmmm?” She was distracted, her fingers touching and tracing every inch of their daughter. “Oh… I hadn’t even… why the fuck am I still wearing these?” In the whirlwind of events - the storm, the snow blocking the doors, the unexpected advancement of labour - the thought hadn’t occurred to either of them to remove Mary’s lower-half clothing. She laughed, but the sound soon turned into a hiss of pain. 

“Ooooh…. contraction—!” Mary gasped, whipping her hand out of her leggings to brace herself against Joseph’s shoulders once again. As the tightness increased and the pressure against her labia returned, she soberingly remembered - she still had to deliver the head. Surely it would be easier after what she’d just done. “Unnnngh…. Oooooohh… it’s coming… ohhh shit….” She whimpered, breathing heavily, almost panting. 

Joseph's smile remained. Seeing his wife in good humor despite the circumstances was far more than he could ever have dreamed in the current situation. Their hands no longer held together, Joseph took a firm grip on Mary's thigh as she pushed yet again. Cradling the baby wasn’t something he could do, nor, in reality, was it necessary. Mary’s leggings acted as a swaddle as the baby waggled.

“Breathe Mary. The head should be a bit easier at this angle.” Joseph wasn’t exactly sure of it, but he had to believe it was true. Starting at the chin, before her head would exit fully. “You’re in the home stretch baby…”

Mary let go of a strangled moan of effort, her face reddening as she bore down. The elation of delivering their daughter's body had now vanished, leaving only pressure and desperation, of needing to give birth. 

“Nnnnnghh!!!!! Ohhhhh—god—come—on—” she growled, eyes scrunched and teeth gritted. 

Every inch of her body was sore and trembling and exhausted, the burning stretch happening beneath her leggings was no easier to withstand than before. And yet she continued. With strength she didn’t know she had left, Mary gave her all into this moment and with it she could feel the gradual emergence of the baby’s facial features. 

In a split second, with a guttural roar, the baby burst free from her body into the soft stretched gusset of her leggings and underwear. Mary jolted, as if electrocuted. With pure adrenaline and instinct she unhooked her legs from where they’d locked around Joseph’s, planting her feet back on the floor and rose to stand. Baby…. Get the baby…. It was the only thought running through her mind. 

At first, it was silent, and Joseph’s heart seized. He helped Mary to rise and immediately reached into her leggings, finding their daughter's little body. As if she’d been waiting for her father, sudden wails filled the barn. All worries melted, and a healthy pink skinned baby emerged. 

“Look at that…” Joseph said, feeling his eyes stinging with tears. “Hey there princess.” The baby was lifted to Mary, who quickly took her and placed her against her exposed bare skin. He got the two of them comfortable, sitting Mary down on the bale while he went to fetch blankets. His focus, until the storm passed, was warmth for the new life his loving bride had brought into the world.

Eight hours later, the couple emerged from the barn. Joseph supported Mary, her and the baby wrapped up in wool blankets that were part of the nativity. 

“Cmon… let’s get the kids their Christmas gift…”

[chickieblue]

When your partner arrives home you're squatting in the luke warm bath, draped over the rim of the tub as you ride out the contractions that are steadily bringing baby down.

He makes his way to the bathroom and find you in the bathtub, curled tight around your pregnant stomach with your forehead resting on the cold lip of the tub.

You'd been in here for hours - far longer than you'd intended, actually.

The only reason you got into the tub in the first place was to alleviate some of your late pregnancy aches and pains. You hadn't expected to go into full blown labor so quickly, but the baby has slipped low in your hips while you rested in the warm water and when you went to get out you found it nigh impossible.

"What's the matter, baby?" Your partner hums softly in your ear, rubbing a hand down your tense back as your eyes roll back to look at him over your shoulder.

You take a second to answer, your voice a bit rough after hours of its only use being low grunts and groans as you'd labored.

"It's - ooh, it's time." You groan out, rocking back into your partner's hands as the familiar tightening in your core begins.

There's a soft startle in your partner's grip when the words come out of your mouth, a tremor against your back, but you're too wrapped up in the sudden sinking feeling in your hips to think about much else besides how it shoves downward and fills the space between your thighs.

The tightening of your belly is fierce, drawing up hard and tight and earning a long, low groan of urgency from you for its efforts.

You need to push.

You need to push right now.

You part your thighs even further, spreading them wide and shoving your hips back closer to your partner's hands. One hand comes up to clutch onto the wash cloth bar and the other slips into the water and clutches at your thigh.

"Oohhhhh~!" You moan out, feeling yourself stretch and widen to accommodate the changes inside your body, "It's - it's coming, I can feel it stre-stretching me!"

Your partner's hands move down from your hips to your thighs, feeling blindly under you until he successfully finds your entrance.

"Oh!" He gasps in surprise as he cups your sex, feeling the heavy weight that barrelling through you pressing outward.

"What?" You grunt out in shock, too lost in the need to give birth to actually stop your body from pushing into his hands.

"You're - you're starting to bulge-" He says, his fingers feeling gently around the mass.

It burns a bit, a sharp spark of pain that causes you to whine at the intrusion, but suddenly the pressure doubles down as something insides you shifts and all you manage out is a shaky warning to your partner before you start pushing again.

"Ughhhhh fuck, babe~" You pant out, you back arching as the immense pressure grows too much, the sudden thought of feeling like a bottle about to be uncorked flitting into your mind, "I can't stop... can't stop pushhhiinnggg~"

And it's true, a sudden urgency filling you, screaming at you to strain deeply and get this baby out of you.

"Oh yeah, you're starting to open," Your partner says behind you, his fingers tracing the spreading skin of your hole, "Keep pushing baby, keep pushing."

It feels so big inside of you, the weight of it filling you to the brim and any second now you're just going to burst like a balloon.

And then, because the universe is funny like this sometimes, something does burst inside of you.

There's a brief second where the pressure dissipates, your hips dropping down at the release and your hole fluttering now that it's not being spread open.

That lasts only long enough for you to suck in a few lungfuls of air before the much bigger, much less flexible head of your baby drops down into place. You can't help the startled yelp that you let out, soaking your partner in bath water as you suddenly turn to face him.

Your hand shoots out and grabs ahold of his shoulder as you start to part around the head. He looks shocked as you squat facing him, your legs spread wide as you cling to him with one hand and cup your bulging entrance with the other.

The head wastes no time sliding through you, the mass you are cupping filling your palm almost completely as you grunt gutterally and bear down with a massive effort. It slips forward easily, spreading you into a year drop shape that has your thighs quaking in effort when you let up on your push.

You come down a bit dizzy, your head swimming from lack of oxygen and your opening stinging and burning from the stretch.

"Oh fuck-" You pant out, feeling your belly starting to tense with another contraction so quickly after the last one had let up, "Oh fuck, it's coming..."

Your head slams backward as you start pushing again, your belly drawing up tight against your frame as you start to spread even further around the coming head.

"It's coming ouuUTTTT!" You groan out desperately, your words cutting into a sharp cry as you feel yourself open into a wide, tight circle around the head.

You feel your partner's hands coming down to take over holding the head and immediately move yours to cling to his other shoulder, squaring your stance and dipping your hips low as you let out a long, low moan of urgency.

"Yeah it is, you're doing so good, love." He says as he runs his fingers over your stretched skin.

" 'm gonna... gonna crown on the next one..." You pant out, giving your partner enough time to prepare as you start to bear down and centimeter by centimeter your pushed open wider, until finally you reach the widest point. "It's gonna... ooooOOOHHHHHH~"

Your head shoots straight up when you feel yourself stretched into a perfect circle around the head, how the weight settles and how tight you've stretched and suddenly you're standing upright on shaky legs, pushing yourself desperately into your partner's hands to ease the pain.

"It's crowning!" You cry out, as if the man holding said crown between your thighs isn't aware of this. But you're far too preoccupied to be worried about the semantics of your words.

You bend your knees out awkwardly, standing wide legged and bent over your heavy middle. Your hands rest on your knees as you gasp for breath wetly, your body fighting to make sense of what it's feeling.

All too quickly the need to push comes back, and you find yourself dropping into a squat again as you feel the head start to slip through again.

"Theresababyohfucki'mhabingababyyyyy-" You grunt out through gritted teeth as you spread wider and wider.

It's out to it's brow, the bridge of its nose, and you suck in a quick breath before doubling down on the tail end of the contraction and grunt and groan the nose out.

"That's it, baby, that's it!" Your partner cheers over your primal noises, his hand keeping steady pressure against the crown to keep it from coming to quickly, "Push, push, push!"

"I am pushing~" You grit out, pressing your chin to your chest and bearing down, "

[hush-writes-preg]

I’ve had an idea for a “trans trucker guy” character. Either he’s pregnant and doesn’t even realize until he’s giving birth in his truck one late night… or he knows, and is comfortable with, even excited about the pregnancy, but keeps it lowkey in public. Even before he got pregnant, he preferred wearing baggy hoodies and sweatpants (gotta stay comfortable on the road!) but now he has another reason for his wardrobe…

Main character: Transmasculine carrier ("You") Theme(s): NSFW, explicit birth, cryptic pregnancy, unplanned pregnancy, unassisted birth, clothing birth, coarse language, transgender reader insert

Better late than never, right anon? 😅

It's 2:38 AM, and you're rolling eastbound on I-80 in your big rig. A few cellophane packages lie crumpled on the nearby dashboard, while the cab is heavy with the scent of diesel and a waning pine tree air freshener. Your phone lights up with another Tinder notification (looks like RestStopRanger69 is back in range), which looks much more interesting than the handful of messages you've gotten from your insomniac of a dispatcher who can't sleep and wants to share his opinions about shit you couldn't care less about.

You roll your eyes, thumb the phone to Do Not Disturb, and refocus on the glowing blur of passing mile markers.

You're not in the mood to be social right now. You're busy trying not to think about much of anything, in fact, but especially not about food, despite the ghosts of snacks past lying up there on the dash. The last real meal you remember was a triple-patty burger somewhere outside Des Moines, and it tasted like cheap, greasy heaven. The heartburn that cropped up after? Less so.

You pop another antacid, chase it with a swig of lukewarm Mountain Dew, and wipe the sweat from your brow with your navy blue handkerchief. You've been running hot all night, with something coiled tight and mean just below your diaphragm that just won't ease up.

You keep telling yourself that it's nothing more than bad food, too much caffeine, and not enough sleep. You're trying to ignore the agony in your gut, the way your insides twist every few minutes like they're trying to wring themselves clean. If you let yourself admit how much it hurts, you might have to park and walk it off, and that's not happening when you're this close to setting a new personal driving record for the Chicago to Salt Lake circuit.

Yeah, you're a stubborn bastard like that.

So you suck it up, resting a hand against your aching beer gut and rubbing against the familiar dome as you continue to drive. You're a thick kind of guy. Sturdy. It was easy to embrace your inner bear after T blessed you with the muscles and dense body hair you'd always wanted growing up, even if it came with an extra thick layer of padding around your middle. You lean into it even more these days, having mastered the art of cargo sweats and oversized hoodies. There's nothing about you that anybody would call pretty, but the right guys appreciate what you're packing.

Sometimes you let them buy you dinner, sometimes you let them fuck you in truck stop showers or in your sleeper cab, but you're always careful. Always. You've got the discreet sample pack of rubbers wedged behind your visor to prove it.

Another cramp (if that's even the word for it, you don't know, you're not a fucking nurse) sends shock waves through your core, and you grunt, slapping the steering wheel. "Son of a bitch," you mutter. "Come on, man."

You're not sick. You don't get sick. Your body has resentfully cultivated an iron gut after years spent eating on the road. Sure, you get hungover or over-caffeinated or occasionally catch a bug that you usually shake within a day or two, but this is next-level. There's a rumbling in your bowels like you swallowed some live critter, and every so often it feels like the critter wants out. You start picturing what would happen if you shit yourself in the middle of the I-80, in a cab that's basically your entire house, and you try to laugh, but all you manage is a wince.

So you keep driving.

Maybe it's appendicitis. Maybe it's one of those parasites that makes people famous on gross-out medical shows; you've eaten enough iffy grub in your life to know it's possible. You resolve to Google your symptoms once you hit the next rest area. For now, you push through.

Half an hour later, you're reaching your limit. You finally pull off at an unmanned truck stop in the middle of actual goddamn bumblefuck, the kind of place where even the lights over the diesel pumps flicker and buzz like they're ready to take off and never look back.

You kill the engine and haul yourself out of the driver's seat, legs cramping as soon as you try to stand. The pain ratchets tighter, like a vice squeezing your entire midsection. It's enough to make you double over, hands on your knees, and the next sound out of your mouth is less a swear and more of a whimper.

"Okay, okay, fuck," you hiss, and stagger to the back of the sleeper, yanking the privacy curtain closed behind you for nothing more than your pride.

The sweat won't stop. It rolls down your ribs and along the ancient scars under your pecs, dampening your chest hair, pooling in the folds between your love handles. You peel off the hoodie, then your t-shirt, irrationally pissed off by the way your belly sticks out further than it used to. You glare down at the bulge, blaming it for this whole mess, as if your body decided to betray you just for the hell of it.

The pain crests, recedes, then slams back double. You're hunched over now, elbows braced atop the tiny minifridge, breath coming in ragged, shallow bursts. You even try to let one rip, thinking that might relieve some of the pressure inside, but nothing. Not even a squeak.

Your pulse thunders through your chest like a stampeding herd of cattle. Impulsively, you touch your stomach, finding the surface as hard as a basketball, the skin flushed and warm.

Then your belly moves under your palm. You freeze.

You must be hallucinating. You poke again, harder. Something shifts under your hand, like—like there's something alive in there, something that's not you. You laugh, the sound high and frantic, because what the actual fuck.

You pull your phone from the pocket of your sweats, hands shaking so badly you nearly drop it. Maybe you should text someone. But who? Still, you drag your fingers over the screen, but the words all come out as gibberish.

Then, without warning, the pain you've been shrugging off sizzles from your groin all the way up your spine, like a red-hot bolt of lightning. You howl, the phone escaping your suddenly nerveless fingers to skitter across the sleeper and wedge itself behind a roll of paper towels.

Hospital. You've gotta get to a hospital. That's what people do in emergencies. But you're not going anywhere when you can't even stand up straight. Your legs have gone pins-and-needles, and your guts are coiling in a quivering knot. Another surge of pain hits, and you're screaming through gritted teeth, clawing at the edge of the fridge.

Something gives inside you. There's a pop –wet, low, a crude shift– and you're struck with the sudden, insane urge to bear down, like you're on the toilet and haven't shit in a week.

You push. It's instinct at this point; it's the only thing that makes sense. You bellow, sweat pouring off your forehead. You don't even know how long it goes on—minutes, hours, you lose track. All you know is that something's leaking down the inside of your legs, soaking the crotch of your sweats, and the pain just keeps coming. You can't breathe, can't see, can't even think.

You reach down inside your pants, more out of a desperate compulsion than anything else, and your palm hits something… weird. You recoil, bewildered, but the next cramp makes you do it again, and that's when you feel it: a round, slippery dome, stretching you open from the inside.

You almost pass out from the shock.

"Shit, shit, shit," you chant, your pulse climbing your throat right alongside the panic. You can't stop pushing. You can't not push. The pressure is insane, a red-hot ring right smack between your legs. You're pushing and pushing, and the next thing you know, you're catching the thing, the thing that shouldn't fucking be there, that slides out of you with a rush of blood and goo.

You collapse back on your ass in the cramped space of your cab, gasping. For a second, you think you're having a nightmare. Or maybe you've died and gone to hell.

Then you hear it—a tiny, indignant wail.

You look down and tug your sweats lower. Right there between your legs, slick and bloody and impossibly real, is a baby.

A fucking baby.

You just gave birth to a baby in your goddamned truck.

All you can do is stare at it, heart jackhammering, mouth hanging open. You're alone in the cab, shirtless, your favorite sweatpants ruined, thighs sticky with all kinds of fluids you don't wanna think about, and you're holding a newborn in your hands.

The kid wails again, louder. You wipe its face with your sleeve and cradle it close, the warmth of its pint-sized body against your sweaty chest strangely comforting. You glance at the baby, at your hands, at the mess, and you can't help but laugh. There's no other way to react. You're a grown-ass man who just birthed a kid in a big rig at an unmanned truck stop off of I-80.

If there's a punchline to this whole fiasco, it's this: you're a dad now, and you never even saw it coming.

Tip Jar ✨ Patreon ✨ My Pregnancy Writing ✨ Commissions

[hush-writes-preg]

Wouldn't it be nice to be able to put aside all of your worries and cares in favor of spreading your legs to have that pretty, fertile hole of yours pumped full of cock? To just let your body become someone else's baby factory?

[rotundforfun]

I love imagining what it would be like to start the “pregnant waddle”. The first few days where my hips shift further back, my belly is angled up, and my legs are forced to bow outwards. The pressure increase on my hips with every step. I imagine being paraded around by a partner, my hands both supporting my aching back with my full belly thrust forward for everyone to see. So obviously bred full of baby and unable to move around like I used to. People might even stare, trying to figure out how long it has been since my partner bred me, fucked a baby into me, knocked me up. What they don’t know is that I’m growing multiples, and have a long way to go before I’m done growing.

[theinternetdaddy-deactivated202]

daddy + princess + a breeding kink.

[lilly-aurora77]

The 68th Floor

The sixty-eighth floor of Mercer Consolidated held a silence that was both a reward and a taunt. Sloane Mercer stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, a sleek silhouette against the bruised purple and orange of a city sunset she hadn’t seen in weeks. Her custom suit jacket was off, draped over the back of her chair like a conquered flag. Her silk shell was plastered to her skin, not with the usual stress of a hostile takeover or a plummeting stock, but with a fine, relentless sheen of sweat.

She’d been feeling them since the first conference call at 7:14 AM. A low, deep thrumming in her lower back that coiled around to her abdomen like a fist. She’d timed them, of course. Sloane Mercer timed everything. By noon, they were six minutes apart. By the three o’clock board meeting, where she’d verbally dismantled a dissenting shareholder, they were four. She’d simply spoken through them, her jaw tightening, her knuckles white where they gripped the edge of the mahogany table, her voice never wavering.

She was forty-two weeks and three days overdue. The baby, her obstetrician had said with an incredulous shake of her head, was “a robust size.” Sloane had dismissed the term. She was a woman who dealt in precise data, not euphemisms. Now, the data was becoming insistent.

“Ms. Mercer?”

Sloane turned from the window. Her secretary, Lilliana, stood in the doorway of the executive suite, her purse already on her shoulder, her expression a careful blend of professional deference and barely concealed anxiety. Lilliana was in her late forties, a woman of quiet competence who had seen three other CEOs come and go. She was not easily flustered. But she had been watching her boss all day—the way she’d gripped the armrests during the merger review, the way she’d snapped at the caterer for a glass of ice water with such ferocity the poor boy had nearly dropped the tray.

“You’re still here,” Sloane said. It wasn’t a question.

“I was waiting for you to finish. You have the quarterly forecasts in your briefcase, and I wanted to make sure you had the hard copies before—” Lilliana paused, her eyes catching the way Sloane’s hand pressed, almost involuntarily, against her lower belly. The pregnant belly that seemed to have dropped even since that morning, sitting low and heavy against the straining fabric of her charcoal pencil skirt. “Before the weekend,” Lilliana finished, her voice softer.

Sloane straightened, “I’m fine. Just some Braxton Hicks.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it. This was not the mild tightening of false labor. This was a force of nature. The last contraction had bent her nearly double, forcing a guttural sound from her throat that she’d disguised as a cough. She could feel the baby’s head, a granite boulder, wedged so low in her pelvis that every step felt like she was straddling a knife’s edge.

“Let’s go,” Sloane commanded, grabbing her briefcase. She wouldn’t be wheeled out. She wouldn’t have an ambulance called to the lobby. She would walk out of her building, get into her car, drive to the hospital, and deliver this child with the same surgical precision she brought to a leveraged buyout. That was the plan.

They walked to the bank of executive elevators, Sloane’s pace measured and deliberate. The fluorescent lights of the hallway seemed to pulse in sync with the pressure building inside her. Lilliana walked a half-step behind, her hand hovering near Sloane’s elbow, not daring to touch but ready to catch.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft, luxurious chime. Sloane stepped inside, her back ramrod straight. Lilliana followed, pressing the button for the lobby. The doors closed. The car began its smooth descent.

Then, with a jarring lurch that threw them both off balance, it stopped. The lights flickered once, twice, and then went out, replaced by the sickly yellow glow of the emergency battery.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Sloane breathed, the profanity a sharp crack in the sudden silence.

Lilliana was already pressing the emergency call button, her face illuminated by the panel’s dim light. “No response,” she said after a long moment. She pulled out her phone. “No service. We’re between floors. The emergency line is probably rerouted after hours.” She looked at Sloane, her calm professional mask now showing a hairline fracture of genuine fear. “It’s just us.”

Sloane didn’t answer. Another contraction was building, not as a wave, but as a shift. She dropped her briefcase, the sound echoing in the small, steel-lined tomb. Her hands flew out, one slamming flat against the polished brass railing that ran along the wall, the other clutching the front of her skirt as if she could hold herself together. Her legs, in their expensive heels, began to tremble.

“Ms. Mercer?” Lilliana’s voice was sharper now.

“I said I’m fine,” Sloane gritted out, the words a lie forged in fire.

She turned, leaning her back against the railing, hoping the solid metal would brace her. It didn’t. Her body had its own agenda. A primal, undeniable instinct was overriding every command her highly trained, disciplined mind was giving. Her hips began to sway, then to rotate, her body seeking a position that was ancient, not corporate. Her knees started to bend, her thighs widening as her body began to sink.

With a sound of tearing fabric, the back seam of her pencil skirt gave way, the material scrunching up her thighs. Her legs moved apart, her feet sliding on the slick marble floor until she was in a deep, instinctual squat, her body braced against the railing. It was the position of a woman about to give birth, and her body had found it without her consent.

“No,” Sloane whispered, the first hint of real fear entering her voice. “No, not here.”

A surge of pressure, unlike anything she’d felt all day, detonated in her core. There was a sudden, gushing release of fluid, a warm cascade that splashed onto the elevator floor, running in rivulets between her heels and soaking the hem of Lilliana’s trousers. Her water had broken.

“Oh, God,” Lilliana said, her composure finally shattering. “Sloane, your water just broke. We have to get you sitting down, or lying down, we have to—”

“I said I’m FINE!” Sloane roared, the sound primal and raw.

But she wasn’t fine. The breaking of her waters had removed the last buffer. The pressure didn’t ease; it magnified into an overwhelming, inescapable need. It was a need to bear down. A need to push.

Her body took over. A guttural groan escaped her as her diaphragm locked and her abdominal muscles contracted with a force that felt like a car wreck. She pushed. Her face turned crimson, the veins in her neck standing out like cords. Her grip on the railing was so tight her knuckles were bloodless.

“Oh my God, you’re pushing!” Lilliana cried, rushing to her side. “You can’t push! The baby isn’t—”

But the baby was. Sloane felt it—a blinding, searing burn that ripped through her as a massive, unyielding presence descended. She looked down, her vision blurry with tears of pain and exertion. Through the soaked, delicate silk of her nude-colored panties, she could see it. A distortion. A bulge. A head.

Lilliana saw it too. Her face went pale. “I see the head. Sloane, I see the baby’s head.”

Another contraction seized Sloane, and she bore down with a scream that was torn from the very core of her being. It was a furious, animal sound that echoed off the metal walls. She felt herself stretch, a ring of fire that was a cruel understatement. This was a maelstrom of agony. The head descended further, crowning in the sodden fabric of her underwear. And then, as the contraction ebbed, it retreated, slipping back just a fraction, a torturous game of advance and withdrawal that was pure, unadulterated hell.

“It’s… it’s retracting,” Lilliana stammered, her hands hovering uselessly. “Sloane, the head is so big.”

It was monstrous. Sloane could feel every millimeter of it. This was not a delicate, demure birth. This was the passage of a massive, round object through a space that was not designed for it. She could feel her own flesh tearing, a deep, stinging burn that was secondary to the overwhelming pressure of that colossal head. It felt like her hips were splitting apart.

“It’s stuck,” Sloane hissed, the CEO’s composure replaced by a warrior’s grimace. “It’s stuck, Lilliana.”

Lilliana moved into action, her training as a mother of three overriding her panic. “I need to see. I need to get these off.” With shaking hands, she reached for the waistband of Sloane’s ruined panties, the delicate silk soaked with amniotic fluid and blood. She pulled them down Sloane’s straining thighs, letting them fall to pool around her heels. The sight that met her made her gasp.

The baby’s head was there. Not a glimpse, but the full, terrible glory of it. A massive, perfectly round skull, covered in a thick mat of dark hair, was emerging from her boss. It was the size of a small melon, stretching Sloane’s flesh to its absolute limit, the skin a taut, purplish membrane. The head was turned, one ear and a sliver of cheek visible, looking like something from a medical textbook come to horrifying life.

“It’s right there,” Lilliana said, her voice now steady with purpose. “On the next push, you have to give it everything, Sloane. Everything.”

Sloane could only nod, her jaw clenched so tight she thought her teeth might crack. The next wave of pressure began, not as a slow build, but as a sudden, catastrophic peak. She sucked in a ragged breath, then bore down with a force that obliterated everything else. The world narrowed to the burning ring of fire between her legs.

She screamed. It wasn’t a refined, controlled sound. It was the raw, primal cry of a woman being torn in two. She pushed, and pushed, her thighs trembling violently, her squat deepening until she was nearly sitting on her haunches. She could feel the head rotating, stretching her to a point she was certain would be her physical undoing.

“It’s crowning!” Lilliana shouted, her voice a beacon. “The head is crowning! One more! One more, Sloane!”

With a final, guttural roar that used the last dregs of her strength, Sloane Mercer pushed. She felt an explosion of agony, a crescendo of burning pressure, and then, a sudden, shocking release. The massive head was born.

It emerged in a gush of fluid, a perfect, round, impossibly large globe that Lilliana had to cup in her shaking hands to keep from dropping. For a moment, Sloane slumped against the railing, her body going limp. She was shaking uncontrollably, her legs threatening to buckle. The worst was over. The head was out. But the body… the body was still inside, and she had nothing left.

“Sloane! Sloane, the shoulders,” Lilliana urged, her eyes wide. “You have to push again. The shoulders are still inside!”

Sloane looked down. The baby’s head, slick with blood and vernix, was cradled in her secretary’s hands. Its eyes were closed, its face smeared. It was so close, yet so far. Her body was screaming, a quivering mass of exhausted flesh. She had no more screams left. She had no more pushes.

“I can’t,” she gasped, the words barely a whisper. “I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can,” Lilliana said, her voice fierce. She knelt in the puddle of fluid on the elevator floor, supporting the baby’s head. “Look at me, Sloane. You are the strongest person I have ever met. You built an empire. Now, you just have to push. One more time. For your baby.”

Sloane looked at Lilliana, then down at the head of her child, the life she had been carrying for so long. A new kind of fire ignited in her chest, not of agony, but of fierce, unyielding determination. She gripped the railing with renewed ferocity. She took a breath that shuddered through her entire frame. And she pushed.

It was a slow, agonizing push, born of pure will. Her thighs quaked, the muscles screaming in protest. She felt the anterior shoulder rotate, wedged beneath her pelvic bone, a final, excruciating barrier. She pushed again, a low, sustained groan that seemed to go on forever. And then, with a sudden, slippery rush, the rest of the body slithered out.

One shoulder, then the other. The torso, the hips, the legs. Lilliana guided the child, her movements sure and steady, as the entire baby emerged into her waiting hands, a long, perfect, wrinkled creature trailing a glistening cord.

The elevator was silent for a beat, filled only with the sound of Sloane’s ragged breathing and the soft, wet gasps of the newborn. Then, a thin, reedy cry cut through the air, quickly swelling into a robust, indignant wail.

Lilliana was crying, tears streaming down her face as she lifted the baby, checking the cord wrapped loosely around its neck—it wasn’t—and placing the squalling, perfect infant onto Sloane’s bare chest.

Sloane sank down, her back against the railing, her legs finally giving out. She slumped to the wet floor, her body a wreck, her hair plastered to her face. She looked down at the child, her child, a tiny, furious thing with a misshapen head that was already beginning to round out, a thick cap of dark hair, and a voice that was making its demands known to the world.

Her hands, still trembling, came up to cradle the slippery, warm weight. A laugh, half-sob, half-exultation, escaped her lips.

“Hello,” she whispered, her voice cracked and raw. “You have your father’s lungs.”

Lilliana was beside her, shrugging off her own cardigan to drape over the baby, her hands gently rubbing the infant’s back to help it breathe easier. She was laughing and crying at the same time.

It was another forty-five minutes before the emergency services, alerted by a building engineer, managed to pry open the elevator doors. They found the scene: a CEO, disheveled and exhausted, cradling a newborn against her chest, sitting in a pool of amniotic fluid on the floor of the executive elevator. Her skirt was torn, her silk shell ruined. And kneeling beside her, keeping them both warm, was her secretary, Lilliana.

As the paramedics rushed in with blankets, clamps, and oxygen, Sloane looked up at them, her eyes holding the dazed but triumphant look of a general who had just won a brutal, unexpected battle. She looked down at the now-quiet baby in her arms, then at Lilliana.

“Lilliana,” she said, her voice regaining a sliver of its usual command. “Remind me to give you a raise.”

Lilliana just laughed, the sound thick with relief. “Yes, Ms. Mercer.”

Sloane leaned her head back against the cool elevator wall, her legs still trembling, the deep, tearing ache in her body a testament to the ordeal. The massive, round head that had nearly undone her was now nestled peacefully against her skin. She had made it. They both had. And she had done it on her terms, in the last place anyone would have expected, stuck between floors, in the heart of her empire.

[heavybellyprincess]

Something I’ve been thinking about lately is how much I crave the heaviness of pregnancy. Not only would you have filled me up so good that my belly arches forward in front of me, an enormous rounding curve of fully pregnant belly leading the way when I waddle, but it will feel so heavy.

I’ll arch my back, hand firmly placed on my lower spine, just to try and carry it but the weight of the huge belly you’ve given me will just sink farther and farther down into my hips; the oblong shape of the belly will keep pulling me forward and down. I won’t be able to waddle anywhere without letting out desperate little grunts, each step forward a monumental effort to manage the huge load you’ve given me to haul around.

My hands will restlessly shift from the top of the rounded curve to my back, as I shift my weight from side to side, and then desperately try to hold up some of the weight from the bottom of my belly. But nothing I do provides relief for long, especially as my belly hangs low on my hips the farther along I get in this pregnancy, overdue by days….so I continue to restlessly moan as I try to move anywhere.

If you saw me like this when you came home…panting as I slowly waddled towards the kitchen, heavy belly torpedoed and arched in front of me…breasts resting full and milky on the long shelf of my belly…my gait impossibly wide and hands roaming all over my body, desperately seeking relief….what would your reaction be?

[imagineyourepregnant]

Requests #470

1. a 28 yr old mother of ten is pregnant again, but this baby isn’t her husband’s

After ten babies, I never bother to even count dates anymore. By the time the six weeks has passed, my husband is impatient to get on with things, and so far, he has yet to fail to put a babe in my belly. 

This year, though, he was away for a fortnight, travelling to buy a new type of seed for our farm, and someone else got to my empty belly before he did. At first, I wasn’t sure, but by now, it’s undeniable to me. Twenty-eight years old, mother of ten, with an eleventh on the way— I should know. 

My husband, Jack, isn’t a big man. He’s ten years or so older than me, chosen by my parents for his large, profitable farm. So large, that he must hire help to farm it, one man all year round with additional men in autumn for harvest. Jack works hard, expects supper on the table when he’s done for the day, and expects me to let him climb on top of me before going to sleep. 

Cal, the hired man, is my age, well over six-feet, and kind, above all else. He works, and then he eats the supper I put on the table with a soft thank you, and plays with the flock of children in the yard. The money we pay him, he saves for the purchase of his own plot of land one day. When Jack went away for the seed, Cal stayed behind to care for the livestock and keep the place up. A few cozy evenings by the stove after the children were put to bed turned into a series of secret trysts. Cal’s seed had taken root in me as eagerly as Jack’s had ever done. 

In the thick of spring planting, my middle was already softening, pushing out between my hipbones. The farm might have been profitable, but Jack never kept the best back for feeding his family, and I was run off my feet cooking and caring for the children. Where some woman might be soft and round after so many babies, I still reed-slim and angular. 

Sliding out of bed one morning, Jack reached over to where I lay on my back, covered only in my nightie. His broad, roughened hand cupped the rising bulge, firm against the pressure he applied. “Another mouth to feed, hm?”

I said nothing, watching him as he stroked the bump. He patted my belly once and then got up, washing and dressing and going down to feed the animals. I rose too, buttoned on my dress, and started the task of feeding everyone. 

At the breakfast table, it was the usual chaos, with children darting around and squabbling, the new baby at my breast as I served each plate. Jack ate first, and then Cal. The children I prodded into chairs and silenced with buttered toast. The oldest few had school in the village and needed to eat, dress, and leave. The two eldest were girls, Alice and Beatrice, and could wrangle their siblings tot he schoolhouse on time most days. 

I sat briefly, unlatching the baby to switch sides, tucking one breast away and pulling out the other. I was taller than Jack, and he never sired large babes on me, though his children were vigorous. After the two girls, we’d had only boys; Charlie, David, Evan, Finn, Gareth, Henry, Isaac, and James. At least their father would have all the help he wanted once they grew up a bit. Plus the babe growing in me, though Jack would never know it wasn’t his. 

Spring came, the planting was done, and I worked the kitchen gardens with an ever-expanding middle. Even with James at my breast, even eating the dredges of last year’s potatoes, dried beans, and jarred preserves, my middle continued to push outward. I’d never looked so pregnant, so early in a pregnancy. 

To help hide it, I started grinding chaste berry up into his food, and he rolled onto me at night less and less frequently, and was actually successful even less often. James started sleeping through the hot summer nights, just as I lost my ability to do so, rising to pee at least once, if not twice. 

If I had conceived the babe at the New Year, when Jack was away, then I was due in September, right in the middle of the harvest. Say I was pregnant again by the end of October, then next year’s babe would be born in July or August— 

I ran right into Cal, out in the yard on my way back from the privy to the house. He caught my elbows, steadying me. I tipped my head back to look up at him, the night balmy around us, alive with the sounds of insects, other night-dwellers. 

His enormous hand smoothed over the dome of my belly over my nightie, the rough callouses catching on the tissue-thin linen. “It’s not his, is it?”

I put my hand over his, guiding it to feel the length of the baby’s back, already head-down. “No. Never has one of his made me so big, so fast.” 

He pressed his hand harder, and the babe stirred, feet paddling under my ribs. I guided his hand to feel that, too. “Only your child could make me swell like this, Cal.”

Putting his other hand to my face, he bent and kissed me, deep but still sweet. Cherishing, fingers drifting over the dome between us. A babe made of love, not duty, and growing abundantly with it. 

I let him have me in the dewy grass, on hands and knees with my nightie flipped up over my back, belly hanging. Cal’s cock split me in half, nearly, so much bigger than Jack. His hand covered the lower half of my face, silencing any gasps or moans as he fucked me hard and thoroughly, wringing an earth-shaking orgasm from me. 

Inside, I washed his seed from between my thighs before I slid back into bed beside a still-sleeping Jack, glad I couldn’t be made more pregnant. 

~

Harvest came, and I was so uselessly huge, my unwed sister came to mind the children and help with the preserving. Jack didn’t trust Cal to get the best price for the grain in town and so took it himself, spending nights away while Cal worked to bring it in with the short-term crew sleeping in the barn. 

The day came when I could take a deep breath again, my belly low and sloped, the baby’s head sunk deep into my pelvis. Not long now, I thought, seated in a chair in the corner of the kitchen, shelling beans or slicing fruit for jarring. 

After ten births, my body was well practiced at giving birth. What it wasn’t used to, though, was the size of Cal’s child. Jack’s children came quickly, almost easily. Even Mary marveled at the size of me. “You’re certain there’s just one?”

“Yes,” I sighed, swaying through a contraction. They’d been coming irregularly for a day now, with Jack leaving only a few hours before with the latest load of grain to sell in town. “Just— large.”

“I’ll say,” she answered me. “Well, walking always help shift a babe. I’ll stay with the children if you want to pace on the porch or in the yard.” 

I paced on the porch, in my nightie again, my long braid loose down my back. Jack had sent the crew away at last, the grain nearly finished, and Cal left to work it. I paced the long porch as the evening came, and then the twilight. Mary put the kids to bed, and I laboured out in the fresh air, the pains coming faster and harder. 

Hanging onto the railing, swaying, sweating, I gasped at the distinct pop! within me, fluids splashing out onto the floorboards between my feet. With the next pain, I groaned, feeling the beginning of the urge to push. 

Mary rubbed my back, grinding her knuckles into the base of my spine. Footsteps on the stairs drew attention. “Oh, it isn’t decent, Cal, for you to see. Go on, go back to the bunkhouse—”

“It’s his,” I panted between pains. “That’s why… God in heaven, it’s huge.”

Mary paused, listened to me struggle through another pain. “I see.”

I had to push, and I struggled to change positions, trying to sink to my knees unsuccessfully. Cal was there in an instant, levering me into a better position without effort. Mary went for the stool. 

I sagged against him, exhausted, letting my head loll on his shoulder. He murmured gently to me, wiping my face with the wet cloth Mary offered him, and settling me in the birthing stool between pains. I reached down, checking my progress, and found the babe was just there, so close and yet the hardest part still lay between now and its birth. 

With Cal and Mary for support, it took an hour just to split my sex most of the way around the head. The child was simply bigger than any babe I had carried and birthed before, and my body struggled as if it was my first. 

Tucking my chin with the next pain, I let out a low, bestial growl as I pushed with everything I had, through the burning agony—

The head pushed past the tightest part of me, and Mary checked for the cord as I panted, letting Cal hold me up. So, so close. Just the shoulders, and then…

It took another hour to turn the shoulders, to push them one at a time out of my body. Usually by then, the babes just sort of dropped out, but I had to push the babe right to the hips before it fell into Mary’s waiting hands. 

“A boy!” she squeaked, toweling as the baby grizzled and cried already. She passed him up to me, easily over ten pounds, nearly as big as James had been at four months. He cried strongly, limbs flailing, skin pinking up with every breath. 

Cal circled his arms around me, helping me hold him in my trembling arms. “He’s stunning.”

I smile tiredly, peering down at the new life in my arms. “He is.” 

-Rambles

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[lilly-aurora77]

The Crown of Three

The late summer sun had turned the royal pool into a sheet of hammered gold, its warmth seeping into the marble tiles that surrounded it. Queen Isabella, her immense belly a taut, gleaming dome stretched to its absolute limit, floated on the surface like a magnificent, beached vessel. She was thirty-seven weeks pregnant with triplets, ten days overdue, and the only place she found any semblance of relief was in the buoyant embrace of the water.

King Axel swam a slow, powerful lap, his eyes constantly drawn to his wife. She was a vision of fecundity, her skin glowing, her dark hair fanned out in the chlorinated water. To him, she was a goddess, though a deeply uncomfortable one. He watched as she shifted, a frown momentarily creasing her brow before smoothing away.

"Another one?" he asked, treading water beside her.

Isabella let out a dismissive huff, a sound she had perfected over the last few weeks. "Just Braxton-Hicks. The royal physician said they would be persistent." She placed a hand on the top of her belly, feeling the hard knot of muscle slowly relax. She refused to acknowledge the low, unfamiliar ache that had settled in her sacrum an hour ago, an ache that was beginning to pulse with a faint, rhythmic regularity.

For the next hour, she denied it with the same fierce denial she had used to endure courtly intrigues. Each wave of pressure, she breathed through with a practiced nonchalance, adjusting her position, dipping her shoulders deeper under the water. Axel, ever respectful of his wife's strength, watched the subtle tightening of her jaw, the way her nostrils flared, but said nothing. If she said it was false labor, he would believe her. He knew better than to question his queen.

He swam over to her, sensing a shift. He began to massage her shoulders, his thumbs digging into the rock-hard muscles of her trapezius. As he did, she suddenly jerked, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. A torrent of warm fluid erupted from her, clouding the pristine water around them. Her water had broken.

Isabella's eyes flew wide, a flicker of panic quickly extinguished by sheer obstinacy. "It is just the pressure," she stammered, her voice higher than usual. "From the babies. It is nothing."

Axel's hands stilled on her shoulders. He looked at the milky cloud dissipating in the water, then back at her face. He saw the truth there, the primal fear and the iron will fighting for dominance. But he held his tongue, giving her the sovereignty she demanded.

Then, the nature of the pressure changed. It was no longer a wave that could be dismissed. It was a wall. An unyielding, crushing wall that seemed to originate from the very core of her being. Her body, tired of her denial, took over. A low, involuntary grunt rumbled in her chest as she felt her pelvic floor seize with an explosive, downward force. She was pushing.

"Isabella," Axel said, his voice low and urgent.

"It is fine," she gritted out, her knuckles white where she gripped the pool's edge. "I am fine."

She was squatting now, her body's instinct taking over, her feet finding purchase on the submerged steps. Another contraction seized her, and with it came an unstoppable, primal urge. She bore down, a guttural sound tearing from her throat that she tried desperately to morph into a moan of pleasure. Axel, his heart hammering against his ribs, swam in front of her. He saw the cords in her neck standing out, the sweat beading on her upper lip, the way her body trembled with a force no human will could suppress.

He moved behind her, his powerful hands finding the knotted muscles of her lower back, kneading them with a fierce, desperate pressure. He watched over her shoulder as the straining fabric of her black bikini bottom began to distort. A bulge, impossibly large, was forcing its way between her legs, stretching the delicate Lycra to its breaking point. She was crowning, right there in the pool, and she was still trying to hide it.

Isabella let out a strangled cry as the burning sensation of crowning ripped through her, a sensation she could no longer mask with a coquettish sigh. It was a raw, animalistic roar that echoed off the marble walls.

Axel's head snapped down. He saw it, the taut, glistening membrane of the amniotic sac still partially intact, but within it, the unmistakable dark swirl of hair, the crown of his child, pressing against the sodden black fabric. Panic, hot and sharp, lanced through him.

"Gods, Bella, you are crowning," he yelled, his composure finally shattering.

He reached around her, his fingers fumbling with the small tie at her hip. But the months of carrying triplets had widened her hips into a formidable, bony shelf. The wet knot had swollen, impossible to untie. He tried to pull the fabric down, but her thighs, spread wide in a powerful squat, held it captive.

"It will not. I cannot," he growled, his voice thick with frustration and fear.

Isabella let out another earth-shattering groan, her body pushing with a will of its own. The fabric was now a thin, black line digging into the soft flesh of her perineum, the baby's head straining against it like a battering ram against a gate.

Axel's head swiveled. "You," he barked at a frozen servant who had been discreetly refilling a pitcher of water by the pool's edge, his eyes wide as saucers. "Scissors. Now. Bring me scissors."

The servant bolted, his sandals slapping against the marble. In the agonizing seconds it took him to return, Isabella bore down again, a scream of pure agony and effort ripping from her lungs. Axel caught her as her legs threatened to buckle, his arm like a steel band across her chest, holding her in the squat. He could feel her entire body convulsing with the force of the birth.

The servant skidded back, holding out a pair of silver sewing scissors. Axel snatched them, and with a single, decisive slash, cut the side of the bikini bottom. The ruined fabric fell away just as Isabella gave one final, monumental push.

With a rush of blood-tinged fluid, the first baby emerged into the warm water. Axel, his arm still locked around his wife's chest, used his other hand to scoop the child up, bringing it to the surface. A boy, red-faced and furious, let out a wail that was the sweetest sound either of them had ever heard.

Isabella sagged against Axel, her legs trembling violently. He held them both, his wife and his son, the water around them swirling with the evidence of the brutal, beautiful ordeal. A surge of raw, primal power shot through Axel as he looked at his wife, her chest heaving, her face a mask of exhaustion and triumph. The sight of her, so fierce, so utterly primal, ignited something deep within him, a possessive, reverent arousal. He buried it instantly, pressing soft, desperate kisses into her damp, tangled hair, whispering, "You did it. My love, my queen, you did it."

But there was no rest. A fresh wave of pressure, deeper and more insistent than the last, seized Isabella. "The next one," she gasped, her body already beginning to bear down again. "There is no time."

They stayed in the water, Axel supporting her as she shifted from her squat to a half-standing, half-leaning position against the pool's edge. The second birth was a swift, furious torrent. Isabella gripped the marble coping, her knuckles bone-white, pushing with a roar that was more beast than woman. Within minutes, a second boy slid into Axel's waiting hands, his cries a perfect echo of his brother's.

They had a moment, one single moment, to breathe. The servants had discreetly wrapped the first two boys in warm, dry linens and placed them on cushioned loungers under the watchful eye of the royal midwife, who had arrived in the flurry of chaos. Axel helped Isabella out of the pool, her legs barely holding her, her body already shuddering with the next contraction.

He guided her to a cushioned chaise, where she dropped to her hands and knees, her body taking over once more. The final baby was positioned awkwardly, and the midwife coached her through it, her voice calm and steady. Isabella pushed with everything she had left, her face buried in Axel's thigh as he knelt before her, his hand a steady pressure on her back.

This one was slower, harder. The burning was immense, a tearing fire that made her scream until her voice was hoarse. With a final, guttural shriek that seemed to drain the very life from her, the third baby, a daughter smaller than her brothers but with a set of lungs to match, slipped into the midwife's waiting hands.

Silence descended, broken only by the cries of the newborn and the ragged, heaving breaths of her parents. Axel, streaked with blood and water, gathered Isabella into his arms, pulling her onto his lap. She was shaking uncontrollably, her skin slick with sweat and pool water. He held her as the midwife placed their daughter on Isabella's bare chest.

The three of them, the king, the queen, and their newborn daughter, lay there in a heap of exhausted limbs, the sounds of the two boys fussing in the background. The brutal, raw reality of the birth began to fade, replaced by a profound, bone-deep exhaustion and a love so fierce it was almost violent.

Axel looked down at his wife, her face streaked with tears and sweat, a look of utter, primal satisfaction in her eyes. He pressed a long, tender kiss to her forehead, then to her lips. He did not speak of the arousal that had pulsed through him, the awe that had nearly broken him. He simply held her, the weight of their three children in her arms, and knew he had never loved her more fiercely than in this moment, amidst the blood, the water, and the raw, undeniable truth of what she had just done.

[heavybellyprincess]

I know I’m more of a reblogger/lurker than someone who creates content, but I took some fake preg RP videos today and am considering posting them >.< I also have so many stories I’m dying to write but so nervous no one would like them….…..almost want that as much much as I’m dying to be knocked up and waddling around, my heavy belly so round and taut it’s impossible to ignore.

[femalegazeforpregnancy]

You calling me little mama 🤝 me having a early pregnancy bump

You calling me big mama 🤝 me waddling slowly with my hands supporting my lower back and a big heavy third trimester belly