This blog: birth fics, imagines, roleplays. FICTIONAL & FAKE CONTENT ONLY (i.e intended for kink purposes).
PSA: I will not interact with ageless/genderless/blank profiles. I will also block accounts who share/post/fetishise real-life births!
Tags: stories under #my writing. Master List under cut.
Links: AO3 DeviantArt
Likes:
Fpreg, focussing on labour & birth
Inconvenient births in unusual / non-conventional places
Hiding contractions/advance labour/pushing in public
Denial of being in labour
Resisting “urge” to push
Self inflicted / consensual birth denial
Attempting to delay the inevitable
Clothing birth
Squatting, standing, all fours to push
Primal sounds of pushing; grunting, groaning moaning
Surprise twin
Nothing sexual, vulgar, toilet related, incest, non-human, breeding, underage, forced, non-con. Asks/comments/DM’s of this nature will be deleted and you will be blocked.
If it’s not on the ‘likes’ list, it’s probably a No.
really in the mood to kiss caress and praise a beautiful partner as she grunts and shoves our baby down and out into the world like the strong, amazing, awe-inspiring, heroic mama bear she is
Your water breaking with a gush and ruining your favorite pair of pantyhose. Biting your lip to avoid moaning out loud, trying to hide your labor from your coworkers. The contractions coming faster and stronger, one behind the other as you squirm in that uncomfortable office chair.
John is giving an important presentation but you couldn't care less because this baby is coming right now.
Stifling a cry as your baby crowns under your skirt or as you can't push anymore because the head can't go any further, stuck against your new pair of nice pants. Are you pushing that baby out under your desk, or you're just too happy to see me, hun?
mutual birth with a domme who finds herself in labor at the same time as her sub and struggles to try to hide her contractions and then hide the fact that she's pushing while she guides her sub through their own birth— she's tied the wrists of her sub to the bedframe, leaving them flat on their back and curved over their belly while they push to give her the best possible view of what's happening between their legs; she kneels on the bed in front of them and keeps her thighs squeezed tightly together, sweat beading on her brow as she guides her sub through their pushing ("you're doing so well for me, pet" and "spread those legs just a little bit wider for me" and "im going to need you to push harder than that" and "there you go, thaaaaaats it" and "you look so perfect like this, that sweet little pussy bulging wide open for me, you're going to be crowning soon- can you feel that?") all the while fighting off the very same instincts— the head of her own baby is grinding down through her birth canal and past the tight ring of her cervix and just as her sub begins to show their first signs of crowning, the urge to push becomes too strong to ignore and she can't fight it anymore.
she falls back onto the bed and grabs hold of her thighs, pulling her legs back towards her chest as she frantically bears down, eager to get her birth over with as quickly as possible so that she can get back to the experience of watching her sub. "just... need to get it out." she grits her teeth and shoves, the naked swell of her belly pulled so low and taut that it blocks the sight of her bulging cunt.
"y-you've been pushing?" they cry, twisting against their restraints so that they can get a clearer view of her without the obstruction of their belly in the way. "don't- hnnnnngah-ah- don't rush it like that! you'll tear."
she shakes her head, rising up on her heels and bringing one hand down to cup her gaping vagina. her perineum bulges into her palm as she inhales and pushes again, and she grunts as she feels the lips of her pussy slowly start to part. "just let me do it. its- fuck, its coming anyway. cant stop it."
her sub stares at her with wide eyes, caught off guard by seeing her so uninhibited. so animalistic. she looks both frantic and determined, bearing down with gravity as the unrelenting urge to deliver the baby consumes her. "crowning," she announces through gritted teeth, skin flushed and dripping with sweat. "just... just breathe for me, 'kay? i'm almost- hoooo, almost d-doneeee."
they do take in a deep breath, momentarily distracted from the stinging pain between their own legs as they watch the sight happening between hers.
"one more," she mumbles to herself, head slipping just past a full crown. her hand trembles around it as she provides as much support as she can, body powered by pure adrenaline. "just one more- p-pushhhh."
the slide of the head's emergence is slow, and she feels every bit of the burn as the lips of her cunt stretch around the head. "get... out," she roars, throwing her head back as her hips jut forward—the head pops free in a burst of fluid, dangling between her thighs just for a moment before a final push sends it sliding onto the fluid soaked sheets beneath her.
"okay," she mutters, giving her wailing infant- a daughter, much larger in size than the rapid nature of her birth would have suggested- a quick once over. "okay, okay. I did it."
her attention immediately shifts back to her sub, currently panting their way through a contraction as the head of their own baby begins to peek through their furled slit. "now," she says, still somewhat breathless. "where were we, pet?"
What do you think about people who don't know that they are pregnant, ignoring their cramps, bad this month, suddenly feeling the urge to push, thinking they are taking the dump of their life until they are crowning hard. How do they comprehend the fullness in their birth canal?
Did their partner guess or are they both shooketh?
And when the hind brain takes over and all they can do is grunt and groan and push for their life, gripping their partner and squatting desperately trying to widen their legs.
Does their partner help hold them steady and kiss them through a surprise orgasm as the mystery slides through their cunt?
loveeee cryptic preg so much.
you're in a little bit of denial, admittedly— something is definitely off, but you couldn't be pregnant. it doesnt make sense. doesnt fit. there's only a small little bloat that juts out from between your hips, and its not even noticeable unless you're naked. it never grows, never moves, and there's never any other symptoms—feeling tired, feeling sick, feeling an odd flutter deep in your belly now and then; it's all explainable. it all goes away.
until it doesn't.
"what- jesus, baby, what the fuck is going on?"
your partner comes home to find you kneeling on the bathroom floor, your plans to sweat your way out of the cramps abandoned as soon as your water had broken, everything clicking into place as you'd watched the fluid gushing down your thighs. you'd been dressed in nothing but your underwear and one of your partner's t-shirts—the shirt is now rucked up underneath your breasts, and you've only managed to work your panties down as far as the tops of your thighs, creating a small sliver of space for the head that's emerging from your bulging cunt, stretching out the flimsy, sodden fabric.
"'fucks it look like," you grunt. one hand clings to the edge of the bathroom sink and the other to the rim of the tub, and your knuckles turn white around them both as you let your chin fall to your chest and push. you've spread your knees as far as you can, thighs quivering violently on either side of your gaping sex, labia and perineum protuding quite significantly as the head- god, you hope its the head, you hadnt even thought to check, but then again, you hadnt even realized you were giving birth until you had the hefty mass of an infant in your vagina- slowly grinds through your birth canal. "w-we can talk... nnngh, la-aaater. gotta pushhh."
"shit. shit!"
they frantically run a hand through their hair as they shed their jacket and scramble to kneel in front of you, placing one hand on each of your thighs. "can you spread a bit wider for me, baby? maybe get your panties down? you need to let me see what's going on."
"can't," you bite out. you bring one hand down to slide your panties to the side and press two fingers inside of you, letting out a small gasp as you brush against... something. the mass is hard, and a little more exploration confirms it is, in fact, the head. and fuck, it's even bigger than you thought. was it possible you were overdue? the sheer size of it made you feel as though you had to be. "t-the head is right here." the next contraction comes with no warning, and you let out a thin scream as you bear down, your fingers sliding out of your yawning pussy in another trickle of bloody fluid. the head sits just behind the enterance of your tightly furled slit, and you grit your teeth as you stuggle to clear it through your unrelenting lips. "pus-s-shinggg."
"okay. uh, that's good, baby! you're doing really well." your partner slides their hands up and down your thighs, massaging the shaking muscles as you scream and howl your way through each push, completely lost to your animal instincts. "i'm so proud of you, love. look at you. you know exactly what you're doing. you're- oh, good push, baby! that's it!"
something finally seems to give way, and you throw your head back and shriek as the head begins to crown. "burning! holy fuckkk." the tight tissue of your pussy stretches and stretches and stretches, burning white-hot as more and more of the head slides free. "its so fucking big."
your partner gentlely eases you back onto your heels, their eyes going almost comedically wide as they get a clear view of your battered sex, gaping around a half-born, posterior, and clearly very overdue head. the width of the skull alone is at least two inches across, and even the size of the brow is massive. "it is," they agree. "and they're sunny side up, baby. its facing the wrong way, but- no, no, dont panic! its coming. you're getting it out. one more big push for the rest of the head- can you do that for me?"
you nod your head in agreement, but your body has already begun bearing down. "mmmm, coming o-out," you grunt, squeezing your eyes shut as you pause for a second to take in another breath before you shove down hard. the head lingers for a moment as your pussy stretches around the nose and then the mouth before your tissues finally give way and slip over the chin, leaving you a sobbing wreck with a giant head dangling between your thighs, cushioned only by your panties.
"oh god, oh god, oh godddd. I can't stop pushing! I can't stoppp-hnnnnnng."
your instincts are screaming at you to slow down (it might not even be your instincts- it might just be your partner), trying to warn you that you're going to tear, but the weight in your birth canal and the squirming of the unexpected infant and the stretch and the burn as your pussy opens around it is all too much to bear.
"gotta. get it. outttt."
with one final push, the shoulders and body pop free, sliding out in a massive rush of fluid. for one single breadth of a second, the room is totally still and silent, and then a thin wail rises up from the bulging stretch of your underwear, joining your own relieved sobs.
your partner laughs, leaning in to kiss you as they untangle the baby from your panties and pass them up to you between your spread thighs. "well... that was quite a welcome home, I must say."
A second thought you might enjoy: woman deep in labor driving to the hospital through a blizzard with her husband. Car spins out and gets buried in snow. Husband goes to get help, she thinks she can wait, water breaks, okay maybe she can’t wait. But by the time she completely succumbs, she finds out the seatbelt got damaged and won’t budge. She’s stuck tightly pinned to her seat with a quickly progressing labor/birth. Does help come in time? Of course not ✨
hey there!! what a thought. here's what it inspired:
You learned rather late why everyone told you that it was better to be safe than sorry. Even when you thought that everyone else was slightly overreacting, that it couldn't possibly be that substantial to be a control freak over every single detail about the birth of your baby.
It was probably very, definitely necessary.
You learned that when you only found out that the weather was not gonna be on your side the moment you stepped out of the door. After your water had broken. After you had spent the last few hours with increasingly worse contractions rocking your body.
You probably should have listened to your mother and left for the hospital the moment you knew you were in labor.
Ideally, you thought you had time. But you realized late, as usual, when the snow started to fall, when you started to notice the nervousness growing in your partner's eyes with every glance they sent your way, every time they had to slow down just a bit more to avoid a fatality.
It really didn't help, because just like that, in the blink of an eye, it all went to shit. And the only thing you could think of as your heart slammed against your ribcage was the sharp pain shooting through the base of your stomach, and you weren't sure if that was a contraction or just the wrecking nerve of the situation.
Your partner said they were gonna get help. Assured you would be better off in the car. And of course, you believed it would be for the better, right? Even when you could feel the small trickling of amniotic liquid dripping from inside of you down your leg every time a contraction took over, even when you could feel the weight of your baby settled down in your pelvis, the heavy feeling pushing down with every minute that passed.
You thought you could wait. That you had time. That this baby was definitely not coming just right now.
You learned rather late why everyone told you that it was better to be safe than sorry. What the hell was that guy's name, the one you had just at the tip of your tongue, that said that everything that could go wrong would go wrong?
It didn't matter. That was not gonna help you the moment you felt the unnerving wave of pressure that made you grunt, groan, and squirm in place, your hands tightening around the door handle as you pushed it open. Your hips were grinding against the seat, damp with your own fluids, as you felt the girth of the baby's head moving down, starting to stretch you open. The cold air hit your red face, and when your hand moved to unclasp the seat belt, ready to let your body breathe—
The damned thing didn't budge. And it didn't budge. And as you breathed, chest heaving and body squirming against the now claustrophobic seat, in the ridiculously small space of this damned car—good God, had it always been this small, or were you just fucking huge now? — things trembling as you tried to fight against the sudden urge to spread your legs open wide, buck your hips forward, and fucking push.
Better safe than sorry, but there were some things in this life that no matter how much you planned them, they just did whatever the fuck they wanted. That you learned when the only sound that echoed in the cramped space was your labored breathing and the guttural, shameful screams escaping your throat when you felt the pressure of the baby's head pushing down and pressing you open. When you felt the fabric of your underwear straining against your crowning hole, when you felt the burning as you started to stretch open around the girth of the head that was slowly forcing its way out of you as your body pushed.
I mean, it was not like you could have planned for this. Neither you nor your partner nor the medical team came with them minutes later, only to find you there, with your swollen body trapped against the seat, legs spread wide to accommodate the gravid stomach that protruded from your body, winter jacket hastily spread open, pants barely down from a useless attempt at pulling them down, shirt lifting slightly at the base of your stomach to allow the view of barely a glimpse of red, furious, stretched skin, and beneath, the round, unmistakable bulge of the head of your baby as it crowned against your pants, ignoring your efforts of pushing because it didn't have anywhere else to go.
He calls for a taxi to take him to the hospital. He doesn't need an ambulance, right? He's not that close to giving birth.
The taxi driver makes smalltalk. He asks what plans he has later today.
"Oh, not much," he lies through a contraction.
The taxi driver nods and makes more smalltalk. "I don't have much else to do either."
He can feel the head deep in his pelvis. He tries to suck it in, somehow, keep it from falling out of his body and onto the taxi seat.
Now, apparently, it's also a matter of hiding the embarrassing fact that he's in active labor to the taxi driver.
"Yeah, me neither," he says with a chuckle that hopefully didn't sound too nervous.
The taxi driver makes more smalltalk. "The weather's nice. Might go on a walk later."
Was it just his increasing terror, or was the taxi going way too slowly?
"Yeah! Nice weather we're having!" Surely he wasn't actually doing this. Surely, he wasn't actually talking about the literal fucking weather with a taxi driver on the way to the hospital so he can give birth somewhere else than this backseat.
He was trying so fucking hard not to start pushing and giving birth to this goddamn baby in the backseat of a taxi through his clothes.
The taxi driver makes more smalltalk. "Sometimes, I like to go on walks just before sunset. Really take in the sights."
He's really starting to sweat now. He feels the pressure of the head threatening to spread his legs and split him open. He can't keep this up. He can't. He can't stop himself from pushing. He can't keep this act up. He should have just called for an ambulance. He can't stop himself from pushing and giving birth. He can't. He can't. He can't. He can't.
He stops staring at the taxi driver's head and turns to look out the window.
They are, in fact, going much slower than everyone else on the road. He's not even sure if they're still going to the hospital.
The taxi driver makes more smalltalk. "Yeah, it really is some nice weather we've been having lately."
Stella knew this trail like the back of her own hand. She'd hiked it hundreds of times since picking up the hobby in her teens. If someone asked her what her happy place was, all that would come to mind were the vistas and twisting game trails she knew so well.
When her waters had broken just as she'd started to waddle back toward the start of the path, she'd hoped that would be to her benefit, that the familiarity would keep her calm and steady long enough to get to a place with signal.
Now, as she finally dropped to her knees on a thick patch of moss and pushed, she'd never yearned for the comforts of the city more.
using contractions to get out of social situations so many times in a row (and to be fair, you're going, like, really overdue with multiples) that when you actually go into labor at a party, no one actually believes you
imagine getting pregnant, but because the other parent is some kind of otherworldly eldritch psychic monster who visited you in a dream and is trying to hide it's presence in your life, being cursed with a sort of mental block perception filter so you can't even percieve it. As the months progress you feel heavier, you can tell you've gained weight, but all the most obvious signs you just... can't notice or put the pieces together. Your mind just goes blank whenever you think about it too long. When people assume youre pregnant you laugh them off- you would never have a kid right now, are you kidding? Meanwhile they're looking at your heavy stretchmarked middle, shifting visibly with the huge spawn of your dream-lover and feeling like if they havent lost their mind, you have. When you go into labor, you still don't understand what's happening, your stomach cramps are just really bad today, you're sure. Your coworkers urge you to go to the hospital, but you just go home, confident that this will sort itself out with a little rest and some medicine. By the time you get in the elevator of your apartment building, the head is nearly in your hips, your stance becoming a wide waddle for comfort as a mysterious urge grows stronger and stronger. As you ride up to your floor, your waters break and you bear down on pure animal instinct, the huge head making your poor cunt bulge under your ruined work pants.
You manage to get to the hallway, and then fall to your knees just a few doors away from your apartment and the button on the front of your pants pops off, loosening them just enough that as you groan through another painful push, the head finally starts to emerge. You reach down to touch the thing coming out of you, and finally, finally, your mind is allowed to register what's really happening, just in time for you give birth to your firstborn. And your eldritch patron certainly isnt finished with you... you're too cute, knocked up and clueless...
oh anon your MIND
The idea of your patron erasing the experience from your mind afterwards (and presumably taking your strange progeny with them so there is no evidence of what occurred) so that they can keep you in a perpetual state of being cluelessly pregnant over and over again 10/10
In the grocery line behind a massive pregnant woman. She walks up with her legs spread shoulder width to the cashier, rubbing her belly and while her items are rung up and occasionally wincing. When the cashier finally reads out her total she freezes while reaching for her wallet and politely asks for a moment.
She lifts up her outstretched maternity dress with nothing on underneath and a wet head is completely out of her already. She reaches between her legs and bites down on her dress while bending her knees to bare down to a soft groan before she delivers her child into her arms while a puddle of her waters pools at her feet. Pulling herself up by the rails she's panting softly she asks if she could get a bag as if the newborn in her arms wasn't still attached to their umbilical cord.
Your traveling companions barely notice the many layers of clothing you insist on wearing.
Whenever anyone does bring it up, you explain it away easily enough; they’re for warmth during terribly cold nights, and they provide protection from any scratches or bites whenever you inevitably cross paths with the horde. These are both true, of course, you just conveniently leave out the part where they also hide the steady growth of your secret pregnancy as time goes on.
One of your companions is not convinced, though, and they corner you one night when they notice how you’ve been keeping to yourself all day. They demand to see your arms, your shoulders, and your eyes widen as you watch their hands move for the layered hems of your shirts, mere inches away from your concealed bump.
“I-I told you, I’m fine!” you protest, hoping that they don’t hear the slight strain in your voice as another wave of discomfort happens to hit at that exact moment. It’s been happening since this morning, and it’s taken everything you have not to make any suspicious sounds.
“Bullshit, you’ve been acting weird all day!” they retort, taking another step closer to you. “If you’re hiding a bite, you’d better fucking tell me.”
Oh, you’re hiding something, alright, but not for much longer.
“I already told you, I’m no-o-ohhh—“ Your futile protest is cut off by a deep, hitching pressure, and you don’t miss the way your companion’s eyes widen as they watch the dark, wet stain of your water breaking spread from the crotch of your pants and down the insides of your legs.
“Was…was that…?”
“…I t-told you it wasn’t a fucking bite.” you manage, before another contraction has you doubling over in barely suppressed agony.
Thinking about rapid pregnancy while dizzy and confused because of the same magical influence that's doing it to you, getting bigger and rounder and barely able to accurately percieve and process how your body's changing until your waters break and you snap out of the haze and are slammed with terror all at once as your body betrays you and forces you to push out a baby right then and there with no time to adjust or even get to a better place to give birth
The disorientation is the most overwhelming thing you’ve ever felt in your life.
Your center of gravity rapidly changes as your once flat belly begins to swell outward, progressing through what should be nine months of progress in less than nine minutes, and you have to lean against the nearest wall in order to keep from losing your balance. Deliriously you press your palms against your midsection, as though the pressure of your hands have any chance of stopping the way you’re rounding out.
It only occurs to you halfway through that you’ve forgotten to breathe entirely, and by the time you’ve gone from zero to full term you’re panting, gasping for air, your hands cradling whatever has grown so quickly inside of you. There’s no time to wonder what it might be, though, because the air is once again knocked from your lungs as you feel a deep, strange pop from within you, followed by a hot torrent of water bursting from between your legs.
You’re still reeling and hyperventilating from the breakneck speed of your pregnancy when it becomes clear that your labor is moving just as fast. There’s no time to think, barely any time to breathe, there’s only the deep insistent pressure of something trying to get out, and your mind is a mess of vertigo and terror as you give in and push…
Happy Sunday, bunnies! Hope y'all are having a lovely weekend so far. I just want to share a free-for-all story that hopefully y'all enjoy reading.
Status: Complete
Word count: 2,091 words
Summary: A woman gives birth in the back row of an economy cabin over international waters.
Warnings: MDNI. 18+ only. This fic contains explicit depictions of pregnancy, labor, and birth. Unassisted in-flight birth, graphic crowning and delivery, gushing fluids, concealed labor and birth in a public setting, a nursing infant, a husband who jerks off to his wife giving birth secretly in public. All characters and scenes are purely fictional. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
"Ma'am, can I get you anything? A pillow, some water?"
The flight attendant — young, neat ponytail, name tag that said Cara — was already reaching for the overhead compartment before Reggie could answer, and Reggie kept her face as composed as she could manage, which was getting harder by the minute.
"Water would be great, thank you," she said, and her voice only caught slightly on the last word because the contraction that had been building for the last thirty seconds chose that exact moment to crest, rolling through her lower back and down into her pelvis with a deep, grinding force that made her press her thighs together under the blanket.
Cara set the cup on the tray and moved on down the aisle without a second glance, and Reggie let out the breath she'd been holding in a long, controlled stream. "Hoo... hoo hoo... hhhh."
"How far apart now?" Dax asked from the aisle seat beside her, not looking up from his phone.
"A minute forty," she said through her teeth. "Maybe less."
He set the phone face-down on his thigh and turned to look at her then, and she knew that look. She'd known it for twenty years, had catalogued every version of it, and this particular version had nothing to do with worry.
His eyes moved from her face down to the enormous, low-hanging globe of her belly, round and gravid and pressing heavily into her lap even with her knees drawn up as far as the seat would allow, and something in his expression settled into that private, focused attention that made her want to hit him and also made her stomach flip despite everything.
"You're fine," he said.
"I know I'm fine," Reggie said. "I'm just telling you how close I am."
Three rows ahead of them, their older three were out cold in a heap of travel pillows, the eldest with her mouth open and her neck at an angle that was going to hurt later. Nobody back here was awake.
The nearest passengers were a row up on the opposite side, both wearing noise-canceling headphones, completely sealed off from the world. The back of the cabin was dim and close and, for the moment, theirs.
“I knew we shouldn’t have flown to see your mother.” Reggie said bitterly through another tightening.
Theo stirred against her side and she guided him back to her breast without thinking about it, and he latched and settled immediately, his fat fist curling against her with the total confidence of someone who had never once in his eleven months worried about anything.
"Get the leggings down," Dax said with a wry smile.
Reggie stared at him. "We are in economy, lest you forget."
"And you are about to have a baby in economy," he said so calmly, it’s getting into her nerves, "so get the leggings down and keep the blanket over your lap, and nobody is going to see anything."
She hated that he was right.
She hated it with a specific, well-worn bitterness that had been accumulating since the seventh month when he'd first floated this whole scenario as though it were perfectly reasonable, but hating it didn't change the fact that not only their fifth baby currently lodged in her pelvis had a non-negotiable opinion about its arrival but she also deep inside love this whole idea.
She worked the leggings and her underwear down her thighs in the cramped space, shifting her hips, and got them free of one ankle and bunched around the other before she pulled the blanket back over herself.
She pressed her palm between her thighs and felt the swollen, taut heat of herself, her labia already full, bulging and aching, the baby's head bearing down so far into the birth canal that even the light pressure of her own hand sent a sharp wave of sensation flooding up through her core.
"It's right there," she said, and her voice had gone very low. "Dax. The head is about to come…hoooo–hooo hooo hoooo–”
He reached over and lifted the edge of the blanket just long enough to look, and she watched his jaw tighten in a way that had nothing to do with alarm.
"Yeah," he said, and let the blanket fall back. "It is." He grabbed his own blanket and set it over his thighs, too, trying to cover is growing bulge there, too.
The next contraction didn't give her a warning.
It arrived hard and low, seizing her from the base of her spine and driving straight down with a force that shoved the baby’s fat head forward against her hand, and she crammed her face into Dax's upper arm and bit down on the sound that tore up her throat.
"MMMPHH — nnHH — oh god —hooooooooo–hooo hooo hoooo–" She ground her teeth into his sleeve, her fingers pressing desperately against her vulva, feeling the head surge against them with every pulse of the contraction. Her perineum burned, already stretching, the whole front wall of her vagina pushing outward. "HhhhNNGH — Dax, it's pushing through, I can feel it pushing —"
"Don't fight it," he said, low in her ear.
"I'm trying to slow it down, if I just —" She shifted her hips and immediately regretted it because the movement brought the baby down another fraction and the pressure from her movement and the toddler she was carrying went from enormous to total. "HHMMPHH — okay, okay —hoooo hoooo hooooooo—"
"Stop trying to slow it down, Reggie."
"There are people on this plane," she hissed, lifting her face just long enough to say it.
"Half of them are asleep and the other half have their headphones in," he said, perfectly level.
She pressed her face back into his arm and bore down because her body had already made that decision, and she felt her labia spread around the advancing head, felt the deep hot stretch of her perineum pulling taut as the baby worked through her cervix and down through the last of the birth canal with the focused, patient insistence of a fifth child who had done this before.
"HhhhNNNGGH — MMPHHH —" The sounds came out in bursts against his sleeve, each one half-swallowed, pressed into the warm bulk of his arm. Her free hand fisted into the blanket. "It's coming through, I feel it coming through —"
"I know you do," he said, and his hand came up to press against the back of her neck, heavy and unhurried. His breathing had changed, she could hear it, the way it had gone slightly uneven, and she knew exactly what that meant.
"You are such an ass," she breathed into his arm.
"Head down," he said.
She put her head down on his arm.
Her palm cupped against herself felt the shift — the teardrop shape of the head pressing outward between her folds, small and firm and wet, pushing against the stretched ring of her labia with a force that made her clitoris ache from the inside out. The skin of her perineum was pulling to its absolute limit, and amniotic fluid was already leaking steadily over her fingers and soaking into her leggings beneath her.
"HHhhNNGH — MMMPHHHH —" She pushed into the next contraction, long and grinding, and felt the head advance another fraction and hold, lodged at its widest point with her labia stretched in a burning, stinging ring around the crown. "Ohhhh — MMPHHH — it burns, it burns so much —"
"Breathe through it," Dax said.
"Hoo hoo hoo — hhh — hoo hoo —" She panted through the worst of the stretch, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes from the sheer searing heat of it, her fingers spread wide against her perineum to ease what pressure she could. Her vulva was swollen and flushed and stretched fully open around the baby's skull, the shape of the head clearly visible to her own touch, every ridge and curve of it pressing against the taut walls of her vagina as it inched forward.
Through it all, her toddler suckled and slept, milk-drunk, it seems, on her engorged breasts.
Down the aisle, Cara passed through again with a drinks trolley and Reggie felt her go past without looking up, face pressed into Dax's arm, the blanket pulled high, breathing in hard controlled bursts through her nose.
Cara paused.
"Is she alright?" she asked Dax, keeping her voice low.
"Migraine," Dax said, without missing a beat. "She gets them on long flights. She just needs to stay still and keep her eyes closed."
A brief pause, and then the trolley moved on.
Reggie would have laughed if there had been any breath left in her body to do it with, but another contraction rolled in on the heels of the last one and she pushed, hard, bearing down with everything she had left, and felt the head inch forward into a full crown — fully out, fully free, sitting heavy and wet and slick in her cupped hand with amniotic fluid running in a warm, gushing stream down her inner thighs and pooling in the leggings beneath her, catching on the hem of the blanket.
"HHNNNN — MMMPHHHH —" The sound tore out of her muffled and desperate, her whole body trembling, and she felt Dax's hand press harder against the back of her neck. "Haaaahh — haaaah — okay — okay, the head is out, Dax, the head is —"
"I know," he said. "Keep going." at this point, he looked around and brought a hand under his blanket to reach inside his sweatpants, giving his hard and leaking cock a few pumps.
She snorted at what he did but bit her lip and stroked her thumb over the wet hair plastered against the skull between her legs, feeling the baby shift and rotate under her fingers, the presenting shoulder turning into position.
She knew this feeling. She loved this feeling, even now, even here, pressed into the back row of an economy cabin thirty thousand feet over the Pacific with her husband's arm as the only thing keeping her from making a sound that would wake every sleeping passenger from here to the galley.
She genuinely, in her bones, loved this.
“Dax,” she whispered hoarsely, and he looked down on her, eyes glossed over, hand pumping himself as discreetly as he can.
“Yeah, babe?”
“Kiss me…”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned down and kissed his wife as he continued to pump himself, feeling his balls start to tighten a bit as they made out.
The next contraction built and she pushed into it, and the first shoulder eased through with a long, wet, squelching resistance that pulled a sharp, muffled cry from her throat.
"HHNN — MMPHHH — there — that's it —"
“Let me see, Reg.” He tells her and she sat back and slightly lifted the blanket just enough for him to see it.
“There you go—Mmmmpphhh—haaaaaah–hooo hooo hooo–”
One more push, shorter and decisive, and the second shoulder came free with a slick, gushing rush, and then the rest of the baby slid out into her waiting hands in a warm, wet flood of fluid and relief, trailing the last of the amniotic sac, and Reggie pulled her daughter up against her chest under the blanket and held her there, next to the nursing toddler.
Dax made a grunting sound as he came into the blanket draped over him.
“F–fuck yeah…”
Cara came back through with a stack of napkins six minutes later and stopped at their row again, looking at the blanket-covered situation with eyes that had gone rather wide.
"Oh my god," she said, keeping her voice very low. "Is that — did she just —"
"She did," Dax said, entirely unbothered.
Cara stood very still for a moment. Then she said, "I'm going to get the first aid kit and the senior attendant, and I'm going to need you to not move," and she was gone before Dax could answer.
Reggie looked at the babies on her, one toddler now milk-drunk and deeply asleep and the newborn just latching, her hair sticking to her forehead, her new daughter warm and breathing against her chest.
"You know she's going to file a report," Reggie said.
"Probably," Dax agreed.
Reggie looked down at the babies, then back up at her husband, and she laughed — short and exhausted and completely helpless, the sound muffled quickly against the top of her daughter's head.
"You are so lucky I actually love doing this," she said.
Dax's mouth curved, slow and satisfied. "I know," he said. “I can’t wait for us to do it again.”
-fin
------
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Another contraction starts before the last one fully leaves me.
I feel it building deep inside my body like a terrible inevitability.
My stomach tightens again beneath the man's hands, the round curve growing hard enough that it almost hurts to breathe. I bow forward against the pole with a helpless sound trapped in my throat while the babies push and roll inside the tightening pressure.
They feel frantic now.
One kicks hard beneath my ribs while another grinds downward with crushing weight low in my pelvis. The movement is so forceful I can actually see my belly shifting under the fabric.
The man notices everything.
“Oh, there you go”, he says almost teasingly behind me. “Can't even stand up straight anymore, huh?”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
The shame burns through me so badly I feel dizzy.
Please, leave me alone.
People are absolutely staring now. I can feel it. The overheated carriage has gone too quiet around me, the silence full of polite avoidance while this stranger openly holds my laboring stomach like I'm some spectacle unfolding in public.
Maybe I am.
I weakly try to pull his hand away.
He doesn't let me.
Instead his fingers tighten around the underside of my belly, supporting the heavy weight more firmly while his other hand slides slowly over the front of it.
“Careful,” he murmurs.
My face feels unbearably hot.
The worst part is that I need the support.
My body is failing under the sheer heaviness of the babies now. My lower back throbs violently. My hips feel pried apart from the inside. Every contraction drags the weight lower, and the pressure between my legs has become so urgent it frightens me.
I rub my belly again instinctively, desperate for relief, but his hand covers mine almost immediately.
“No, like this,” he says.
Then he massages harder.
His broad palm presses upward beneath my belly while the other moves slowly across the taut front, kneading at the tightness while I tremble against the pole. The pressure makes the babies shift restlessly beneath his touch.
He chuckles quietly under his breath.
“They're fighting for room in there.”
A whimper escapes me before I can stop it - half embarrassment, half pain.
I feel huge.
Overstimulated. Overwhelmed.
My belly sticks out so far now that I can barely see my own feet, a massive swollen weight stretched tight with moving life. The sweater can't conceal anything anymore. Every motion inside me shows. Every contraction turns my stomach into a hard aching globe beneath the fabric.
And his hands keep drawing attention to it.
“Look at you”, he says, almost admiringly, as another movement rolls across my abdomen beneath his palm. “You're so close.”
Please, stop talking.
Please, stop.
But another contraction crashes through me so hard my knees nearly give out.
“Oh God -”
The sound slips out loud enough that several people look over openly this time.
My entire stomach seizes tight beneath the sweater. The babies shove downward during the contraction with terrifying force, and suddenly the pressure low in my body becomes almost unbearable.
I gasp and spread my feet wider automatically.
The man feels it immediately.
“There it is”, he murmurs near my ear, voice lower now. “They really want out, hm?”
Tears sting my eyes from humiliation.
I'm trapped standing here panting against the pole while this stranger holds my throbbing belly in both hands, openly feeling the contractions, openly feeling the babies moving inside me while everyone around us pretends not to notice.
Another sharp movement presses visibly outward near the center of my stomach.
His hand follows it.
“They’re right there.”
I can barely think anymore through the pressure.
My whole body feels overtaken by it - the relentless fullness, the weight dragging downward, the constant movement inside me. It feels impossible that my skin can stretch any farther. Impossible that my body can still contain all this life straining to be born.
The train jolts again.
I let out a broken gasp as pain tightens through my lower abdomen.
And the man just pulls me back more firmly against him, one hand spread possessively across the front of my belly while the other supports its crushing weight underneath.
“Easy”, he says softly. “You're going to make a scene.”
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