for the birth asks, 5, 13, 14, if you haven't already answered them
5. Naked or clothed?
Clothed. A labor so urgent that all of our plans are abandoned. No laboring in the tub, no time to call for assistance.
Sinking into a squat right outside the bathroom door— clinging to the frame and groaning through gritted teeth as I give in to the urge to push, straining with all my might as my cunt starts to bulge between my thighs. Your frantic "are you pushing?!" gets lost in the haze of the primal need to bear down, and my roars of effort drown you out.
"Its coming," I grunt out, clawing desperately at my soaked leggings to try to get them off. They cling to my skin, absolutely unrelenting as the head begins to part my folds and push against the fabric of my underwear. "Holy fuck, its coming so fast!"
You scramble to kneel in front of me, letting me bear my weight on you as you work my leggings down to mid thigh. "Breathe, baby," you murmur, taking a deep breath and blowing it out in short pants. "Like this, remember?"
"Can't," I grunt, nails digging into your shoulder as I bear down against the pressure mounting in my pelvis. "Gotta... gotta pushhhh."
And I do just that, letting out a deep, primal scream as the lips of my cunt spread to allow the head to pass through. "Fuck, it burns!" My labia are on fire, stetched thin and bloodless as the mass of our overdue infant barrels down through my birth canal. "Mmmmph, fuckkkk." I gasp as I feel the head come to a full crown, desperately clutching at you as I struggle to catch my breath. "It's comingggg. Fuck, it's coming out!"
The head pops free in a gush of fluid and hangs between my thighs for a moment before a final push brings the baby into the world, spilling out into the gap of fabric between my cunt and my underwear.
13. Overdue or on time baby?
Overdue. 42 weeks, maybe even pushing 43. My belly hangs low between my thighs as I move, heavy and gravid and placing so much pressure on my cervix as I sway through my contractions, letting my lips fall open as I moan and vocalize.
You position me on the bed to birth—laid out on my side with one hand pulling my knee up towards my chest and the other clutching at the pillow behind my head, fingers scrambling for a hold as I push, screaming and wailing with effort as I tirelessly work to birth the massive infant. You tell me I'm doing well, that I'm opening up, that you're starting to see a bulge, but I know it's not true. I can feel the weight and the mass of the head grinding through my cervix, finally understanding the comparison of having a bowling ball wedged between my thighs.
Every estimation had placed this baby at 14 or even 15 pounds, and I feel every bit of it.
I pull my leg up even higher and curl around my belly, straining as hard as I can to pass the head through my cervix. To make any kind of progress at all.
"Fuck," I cry, nails digging into my skin. "Fuckkkk! It's too big!"
"Just push, baby," you tell me, your voice wavering a bit as you slide my fingers into my cunt, feeling around to check me. The head is still high up; your trepidation is written all over your face. "It... it's big, but you can do it."
I throw my head back and scream as I push again, knowing that we're in for a struggle.
"Too biggggg! Nnnnnnng, it's gonna tear me a-apart!"
14. What's your ideal birth scenario?
This has been asked a few times, and it's getting its own post soon!












