Birth Parlors are an extremely exclusive, and extremely underground business that have begun cropping up due to this advance in technology. There were little to no limits as to what could happen here…as long as you had the money. A patron could spend millions on customization in a single night on a single labor & birth experience or even a full package Impregnation experience. The amount of money this business made was unprecedented for such a taboo.
“The Duchy” was one of the most popular and untouchable Parlors in the business. As long as there were no bodies to bury, the doors stayed open and workers stayed employed.
Millie, A petite woman with pale skin and red hair, cries out in her room. She was a newer worker here and this was her first labor and birth. Her large belly quivers as her patron raises the intensity of the orgasm function on his remote.
"Oh God, I'm gonna cum!" She said as she felt the pressure build in the base of her belly.
The man stroked his cock at the sight of the woman riding a dildo. "Yeah, pop for me, cmon!"
He specifically ordered to see an orgasmic labor and popping. That much Millie knew. Afterwards, a quick birth that he'd paid extra for Millie not to know about. Her entire body shook as she came and her waters burst around the thick dildo. She grasped her bump as it contracted hard.
“I-is there anything else you need sir?” Millie asked.
“Nah, part two is already starting,” the man groaned as he rubbed his cock.
Millie was about to ask what he meant, but a severe contraction took hold of her body. Her baby shot through her cervix as fast as lightning. Millie cried out and desperately hopped off the dildo, falling onto the room's couch. Instinctively, the young mother began pushing down on her unexpectedly fast coming baby.
“What did you order!” Millie shrieked as the big head forced open her tight pussy. Her whole body shook as the heavy babe spread her wide to the point she'd feel like she was going to tear.
Her pussy lips were drawn tightly around the head. The man smiled and jerked his cock as her labia strained to stay together. This is exactly what he'd paid millions for.
Kelcie, a more experienced birther next door, was groaning under the strain of labor and the need to cum.
Her body wasn't her own at this moment. It was this woman's, who rubbed her tits and throbbing clit endlessly.
“Let me give birth already,” Kelcie moaned softly. Her birth had been stalled at full crown for nearly an hour. Her affluent patron had her strapped up in a harness, legs spread and arms overhead for at least double that.
The woman caressed Kelcie's bump and tits hungrily with one hand and her fingers twisting Kelcies clit with the other.
“We still have so much time left, I want to savor you more,” the woman whispered.
Kelcie just let her head roll back and bear the brunt of the pain burning her pussy. Fluid squirted onto the ground around the big head. This wasn't the first time she had a birth stall, but god did she wish they'd turn off the pressure and pain sensitivity because it was maddening to push with no progress.
In a few rooms over, a group of white collar business men were hazing their new underling.
“We do this with all of the newbies, just gotta pump her full and enjoy the show,” one of the older guys said.
The young man stepped toward Zora, with his cock tenting through the zipper of his pants. Tense, he slowly thrusted his dick into Zora. His face scrunched as he felt her tight canal around him.
Zora trembled as the young man thrusted into her. It had to have been his first time with how hard he was trying not to cum within his first few thrusts. But it was no use, he came in huge, clearly pent up bursts of cum.
Zora had been pregnant before working at “The Duchy”, but she’d never experienced what was about to happen as the young man's seed took.
Her stomach bubbled, then began to swell. Swiftly and suddenly she felt her flat stomach rapidly grow from a pouch just below the navel to a giant round belly with a poked out belly button.
Zora's nails dug into the bed as the weight crashed onto her barely prepared body that still leaked cum. She gasped as her tits strained and leaked against her lingerie. Her legs flared out as the babe dropped into her pelvis. She groaned as her bump subtly twinged and movement fluttered beneath her palm.
Then, she felt a familiar pressure in the base of her taut stomach. Her stomach seized against her and then her waters burst onto the linen. Before she could process it, a huge head drove through her cervix.
“Too fast, too fast!” Zora shrieked.
As she cried out in pain, pushing on her rapidly grown baby, the salarymen jacked their dicks off at the sight of her. She pulled her legs back as the young man's baby quickly spread her pussy to a full crown. The burn encompassed her entire lower half.
Her back arched, poking her huge belly in the air. Zora shrieked as the huge babe popped out of her pussy in a rush of fluid. She fell into a heap on the bed, panting. The afterbirth didn't even have a chance to come out before the men started laughing and chatting again.The men then pushed another newbie forward.
In the basement, a large scale birth show was occurring. Dozens of patrons filled the seats, cheering and hollering as their entertainment spread their pussy wide for them.
Alex grasped their hands around the pole with a fully crowned head between their legs. Their low hanging belly, still full with three more babies, swayed stiffly as they bore down and sensually rotated their hips. They moaned in a showy manner despite their body dripping with sweat.
The patrons whistled as the quadruplet carrier slid up and down the pole. They pleasured themselves as fluid squirted around the shoulders and Alex moaned over the crowds clamoring. Their belly twisted and released in repetition until their first baby fell out of them, onto the cushioned floor of the stage.
The crowd shouted in celebration.
Alex's hand shot straight to their bump as one of the The Duchy employees gathered the child. The second baby was ready to make its rapid descent.
“Oh god, the second baby is comiiing!” Alex moaned into their mic. They slid down the pole and got onto their hands and knees. Their huge belly grazed the ground as they shook their ass. Soon after their waters burst for the second time in the night, making the crowd go wild.
Riley, “The Duchy"s owner watched from the box booth above the amphitheater as she rubbed her own swelling twin belly. She could hardly bear watching her beautiful workers have all of the fun. This was how she made her money and she wouldn't have it any other way.
But, she definitely needed to add some more new hands to the roster. People were becoming insatiable for new content. Time for a recruitment rally.
WARNING: NSFW, there will be graphic childbirth and several discussions about sex and body parts. It's traditional FPREG.
Sarah, a sharp and engaging narrator, tells the story of how she became a surrogate for her best friends, while actively delivering their baby.
This is a traditional FPREG story with no magic, science, or impossible biology. It’s definitely NSFW, but also surprisingly wholesome and loving. I really enjoyed diving deep into the dialogue, the emotion, and the intensity.
I hope you enjoy!
-PreggoPushes
“Hi, my name is Sarah. I’m twenty-six, single, and honestly? I’m pretty cute. I’ve got the bouncy, curly-blonde thing going on, a top-tier ass, a great smile, and breasts that recently underwent an upgrade. I’ve always figured my perennially single status was due to my high expectations for men, or my “attitude problem,” if you ask my mother, rather than my actual looks. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Lately, though, it might be something else entirely.
Those growing breasts? A heavy C-cup now. They’re also leaky, milky, and ready-to-feed-a-human mom boobs, or as I’m now calling them, “moobs.” Because yeah, I’m nine months pregnant. “Full term,” according to my OBGYN. I’ve got the beachball belly, swollen ankles, and completely unhinged hormones to prove it.
My water broke last night, so right now, I’m mid-contraction in a hospital room, bantering with two men who are neither my husband nor my boyfriend. One of them, however, did provide the sperm for the baby currently trying to bulldoze his way out of my once-cute, once-tight, once-pretty little vajayjay. And even though I shaved my kitty two nights ago, knowing I’d be spreading my legs for strangers soon, I’m not exactly primo dating material at the moment.
I shift, trying to ease the deep, grinding cramp seizing my uterus, and lean over the back of a blue vinyl hospital chair. I’m laboring upright, resisting the urge to lie down and rest. My doula said gravity would help things progress, and at this point I’ll try anything to get this hell over with. Though honestly, my biggest grievance right now isn't my cervix trying to rip itself open, it’s this tragic hospital gown.
It’s a depressing pastel green with tiny umbrellas, and it does absolutely nothing for my complexion. I’m about to do the most powerful, feminine thing imaginable, and I look like a sad, pastel blimp. So much for my dream of the perfect, Insta-worthy delivery photos.
Another contraction comes, squeezing my midsection like a boa constrictor. I crush the paper cup in my left hand, ice chips scattering across the floor, while my right hand clamps down on Mark’s fingers like a vise.
Mark, my best friend, doesn’t even flinch. He just flexes his forearm and lets me try to break his fingers. Solid, steady, unshakable. Which is good, because his husband is spiraling.
“Breathe, Sarah! Like this: Hee-hee-hoo! Hee-hee-hoo!” Lucas flutters at my side. He’s in a designer sweater, tight jeans, and full panic mode. He’s swaying back and forth and fanning his face like he’s the one trying to push a watermelon out of an exit that, keeping with the food analogies, struggles to take a grocery store cucumber.
Don’t judge. Sometimes a girl has to be creative.
“Lucas,” I wheeze, glaring at him. “My uterus is evicting a nine-pound squatter, YOUR SQUATTER, and if you ‘hee-hee-hoo’ at me one more time, I am going to rip this itchy fetal monitor belt off my preggo belly and use it to throttle you.”
The monitor’s beeping finally slows, and the contraction eases, giving me a much-needed break. I straighten a little, blowing out a long breath, trying to look pretty in this terrible gown while swaying my hips like my doula taught me. The little dance is supposed to help me “open up,” which, trust me, feels exactly as horrible as it sounds.
Mark steps in, handing me a fresh cup of ice and shooting Lucas an exasperated but affectionate look. “He watched an unedited labor video last night,” Mark says, his voice calm and deep. “He’s having a full-blown crisis about female anatomy.”
“Excuse me, I have a right to be traumatized!” Lucas snaps, hand to his chest. “Look, I’m a professional bottom, and Mark is… well hung. So I thought I understood stretching. I thought I respected stretching. But whatever that was? That was something else entirely.”
Mark smirks, reaching up to rub the back of Lucas’s neck. “You do take me like a champ, baby. I just hope bringing our baby home doesn’t change things in our bedroom.”
A hot blush creeps up my neck, briefly distracting me from the ache in my pelvis. “Okay, gross. Stop. Boundaries. Also, jealousy. You’re probably having a hundred times more sex than me.”
Lucas grins, already loading his comeback.
“Oh, absolutely,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not a slut, Sarah.”
I give him a slow, deliberate nod. Honestly, I love the guy. Inappropriate banter is our love language.
"Takes one to know one, hun," I shoot back, unfazed.
Mark lightly punches his husband’s shoulder. "Be nice," he commands. "She’s our hero today. And every day."
“Fine,” Lucas sighs. “Sorry, Princess Sarah.”
"But I'm just saying," he expounds, eyes wide, "a whole human is going to come out of you…down there? It's going to be like a stargate opening to another dimension!"
I roll my eyes, but I’m grinning. “Wow. Thank you, Lucas. Truly. Thank you for comparing Mark stretching out your ass with his penis to me pushing an actual baby out of my vagina for you two.”
I gesture towards my big, round belly. “Can your stomach grow a human, Lucas? Can your man-ass deliver one? No? Then maybe you should bow down to the fairer sex, because, yeah…my damned vagina is a freakin’ stargate."
Lucas looks highly amused by my sass, his panic softening into something genuine. “If I could have Mark’s baby, I would in a heartbeat.”
“I know you would, Lucas,” I say, my voice softer now. “And since you can’t, I’m happy to do it for both of you.”
And then it hits.
A fresh wave of pressure clamps down on my belly, stealing the air from my lungs. I freeze, bracing hard against the chair, fingers digging into the vinyl.
“naaaaah… ah… fuck…”
The sound slips out before I can stop it. My body folds forward, hips rocking instinctively as the contraction tightens.
I try to breathe through it, fail, then force it out in shaky bursts.
“hh… hh… haah… hh… haah… oh—geez…”
My eyes squeeze shut. A low groan builds in my chest.
“naaaahhh…”
It finally starts to ease. I sag forward, breathless, damp hair sticking to my face.
“Thanks, Lucas,” I pant, letting out a weak, delirious laugh as I glance at Mark.
“Mmmm… hhoooooo… yeah, this is exactly the conversation every girl wants while her cervix is trying to dilate to the size of a cantaloupe. hh… hh… ahh.”
Looking at Mark now, it’s hard to reconcile the macho, slightly terrified expectant father with the goofy kid who used to play in the street outside my bedroom window.
He moved in next door when we were seven and I harbored a massive secret crush on him for years. He grew up tall and handsome, and I spent all of seventh grade charting our astrological compatibility in sparkly gel pen like it was a legal contract.
He was the very first boy I ever kissed. We were thirteen, behind his dad’s shed. It was awkward, toothy and so clumsy. That turned into two years of experimenting together, so when Lucas calls me a slut, yeah… I don’t exactly argue. I started early.
My dream romance came to a crashing end when we were fifteen. We were down in his basement watching a movie. I was hoping for a french-kiss. I had spent an hour picking the right lip gloss, thinking it would be the ticket to getting some tongue action.
Then a locker room scene came on. The lead actor’s bare ass hit the screen, and I glanced over.
The look on Mark’s face told me everything.
A month later, he came out to me and from that moment we were closer than ever. We picked colleges close to each other, moved to Charlotte after graduation, and built our lives side by side. He became a wildly overpaid finance bro, I joined an architecture firm. We’ve survived a lot together.
Which is how I ended up here. In a hospital room. In labor. Delivering his baby.
The bang of the door shatters my daydream, and a nurse with entirely too much energy strides in.
“Hey y’all, Sue just went off shift, so I’m your new L and D nurse. I’m Tina.” Her eyes flick between the monitors and my chart. “Looks like those contractions are picking up.”
“No kidding,” I mutter, my grip tightening on the chair as another wave starts to build.
It hits fast.
“nnnah… ah—ahh… shit.”
My fingers clamp down hard, knuckles whitening as the pressure surges through my abdomen.
“Oh yeah, that’s a big one,” Tina says, way too cheerfully.
“Okay, okay, you’ve got this,” Lucas says, stepping in closer, his voice softer now, steadier. “Just breathe.”
Mark is instantly at my side. “I’m right here, Sarah. You’re doin’ so good.”
I don't even have the breath to throw a sarcastic comment at either of them. There’s a perfect comeback somewhere in my brain, but I can’t reach it. The contraction is already overwhelming me.
I grit my teeth, fingers tightening around the chair as the pressure builds, low and heavy. It feels like everything inside me is shifting, forcing its way downward whether I’m ready or not.
“Mm… nnnah. Okay… hahhhhhh… okay…” I try, the words breaking apart as I exhale.
My knees wobble, and I have to lock them to stay upright. The sensation isn’t just pain anymore. It’s pressure. Huge, overwhelming, impossible to ignore.
I want to say something. Anything. A joke, a threat, something at Lucas. But all that comes out is a strained breath as my body takes over.
“Ahh… hh.”
My head tips forward, forehead nearly resting on the chair as I ride it out, completely focused now. No commentary. No sarcasm. Just getting through it.
Through the pain haze, I catch a glimpse of Mark’s face. His eyes are wide, glassy, completely locked on me as he watches me work to bring his child into the world."
The look on his face pulls me back to the night he first met Lucas.
I was Mark’s winggirl at the club. I knew immediately that Lucas was the one for Mark. He had the patience for Mark’s stubborn streak and just enough sass to keep him on his toes. Obviously, I took that as my cue to make his life a living hell for a few weeks. If he was going to get my best friend, he had to prove himself worthy and earn it.
It backfired, at least at first. Lucas was jealous, convinced I was some bitter straight girl trying to keep Mark all to herself. Which, okay, fair. I wasn’t exactly helping. The truth was simpler: We clashed because we’re basically the same person. Loud. Protective. A little vain. Total control freaks. Of course we were going to fight over the man we both loved.
It took a truly catastrophic boyfriend on my end to fix things.
Mark was out of town when it all blew up, and Lucas swooped in to help me escape the disaster. We ended up spending that entire night drinking way too much wine at his apartment. He gave me his bed and slept on the couch, and we've been a united front ever since.
When Mark and Lucas got married three years ago, I proudly stood at the altar in a sharply tailored navy pantsuit as the official "Best Woman." I delivered a flawless toast, too. Slightly drunk, completely perfect.
And now I’m delivering their baby.
The nurse steps back from the monitor and snaps on a fresh pair of gloves. “Alright, Sarah, I need to do a cervical check so we can see how you’re progressing.”
I nod, but a sudden wave of heat rolls over me, my skin prickling. Everything in me feels tight. Trapped. Overstimulated.
“I just…” I reach back, fumbling with the ties at my neck. “I need to be free.”
I yank the gown over my head in one clumsy motion and toss it aside. Cool air hits my skin, and I suck in a breath, relief washing through me.
I’m left in a tight sports bra that barely contains my heavy, milk-full breasts, my big belly jutting out, round and proud, and somewhere down there where I can’t see, I’m still wearing a pair of panties that came from the maternity section.
“Additionally,” I add, still catching my breath, “that umbrella print is a crime against fashion. Good riddance.”
Lucas immediately turns his head toward the wall, aggressively averting his eyes from my lack of modesty.
“Lucas, seriously?” I gesture vaguely at my chest. “They’re just boobs. And they’re contained. Relax. Plus, you're gay. Remember? It’s not like they do anything for you."
Mark chuckles, stepping up to play the peacemaker. “He’s just being a gentleman, Sar—”
Mark’s sentence dies in his throat as I hook my thumbs into the sides of my panties and slide them down my legs.
Mark clears his throat, his gaze shooting straight up to the ceiling like it might have answers.
The nurse gestures to the bed, and I lumber towards it, still catching my breath.
“Oh, come on,” I mutter, kicking the panties aside as I climb onto the bed. I try to be coordinated as I hoist my lush thighs into the stirrups. "You two are literally about to watch me push a whole human out of my pussy. We’re going way past modesty here, boys.”
Neither of them looks down. Instead, they lock onto the only safe place; my face, with intense, unblinking focus.
The nurse steps between my legs, brisk and professional, and applies a generous dollop of lubricant to her glove.
“Okay, quick check,” she says.
She enters me gently. It starts polite. First date polite.
And then she suddenly pushes deeper.
Hey…easy. I’m still a princess down here.
She’s deeper than I expect, her fingers pressing high against my cervix. The pressure makes my hips reflexively lift off the bed.
“HO. haaaaaa… heeeessss.” I hiss, gripping the rails as the intrusive pressure spikes.
"Sorry, honey," Tina says, wincing. "I know I've got the hands of a farmer. Just breathe for me, I'm almost done."
I suck in a breath through my teeth, trying to stay still.
I’ve only been fisted once in my life. I was twenty-two, wasted, of course, and in my very brief lesbian phase. Feeling the nurse’s entire hand up inside me is a stark reminder of exactly why that phase ended quickly after my "girlfriend" thought it would be sexy to surprise me by putting her whole hand inside my dainty little pussy.
Meanwhile, Mark and Lucas are still staring directly into my eyes like their lives depend on it.
"Honestly, guys," I pant, forcing a breathless laugh. "The intense eye contact with my two best friends is actually more awkward than getting fisted by a woman I only met ten minutes ago."
The nurse withdraws her hand and peels off the glove. “Well… um… you’re doing great,” she says, clearly trying to stay professional despite… all of this. “You’re at a solid seven centimeters.”
I exhale, long and shaky, my body finally easing as the pressure fades.
Seven. That’s real. That means this is happening. Soon.
And somehow, lying there waiting for the next contraction, my brain decides now is a great time to replay how I got here.”
Their wedding was amazing, sure, but it had nothing on the Sunday brunch we shared a year ago.
Mark sat there pushing his eggs benedict around his plate, a glossy, absurdly expensive surrogacy brochure sitting between our coffee mugs like a live grenade. Lucas was beside him, rubbing the bridge of his nose, already stressed.
“They said it could take two years just to find a match," Mark mumbled, looking utterly defeated, the macho facade completely stripped away. "And that’s before we even start the medical process."
I took a slow sip of my mimosa, peering at the two of them over the rim of my glass.
I narrowed my eyes, waiting to see if they would casually pivot and ask me if I would do them the ultimate favor.
But as the silence stretched, it became obvious that my uterus hadn't even crossed their minds. I was still just Sarah. Fun. Perpetually single. Prone to the occasional questionable decision. But not breeding material, apparently.
My gaze drifted back down to the glossy pamphlet on the table. The cover featured a gorgeous, serene-looking pregnant woman glowing in a sunlit field. I stared at her perfectly round belly, and an old, familiar ache bloomed in my chest.
I had wanted to be a mom ever since I was a little girl carrying baby dolls around Mark's driveway. Suddenly, a flutter rippled through my pelvis and my empty uterus practically jumped, begging to fulfill its biological purpose.
I set my mimosa down with a decisive clink.
"You guys are idiots," I announced.
They both blinked at me, startled.
"Look at me," I commanded, gesturing broadly to my own body. "I have a perfectly good, unoccupied uterus right here, with absolutely zero pending offers from anyone else wanting to use it.
Plus, look at me, I’m built for this. Look at these child-bearing hips! Look at these tits! I’m practically a fertility goddess. You can put your bun in my oven, boys. I’m serious."
The utter shock on their faces was comical. It took me an entire month of campaigning to finally convince them I was dead serious.
We went over everything. Risks, logistics, worst-case scenarios. We talked about what pregnancy would do to my body, my job, my already questionable dating life.
And, okay, yes, as I currently resemble an overinflated beach ball, some of those concerns were very valid.
Mark, bless his protective heart, must have asked me if I was sure at least four hundred times over the course of that month, right up until I was on the clinic table, legs in the cold stirrups, about to make it official.
The nurse steps back, snapping a crisp paper drape over my raised knees and letting it fall into place to cover me.
"Alright, boys," I wheeze out, waving a sweaty hand vaguely toward my lower half. "The birth canal is officially under wraps. You can drop the eye contact now."
Mark and Lucas both exhale in unison, their shoulders visibly dropping as they finally allow their gaze to wander around the room.
Tina, the cheery nurse, offers a sympathetic, tight-lipped smile. "We’re moving into the transition phase now," she warns gently, smoothing the edge of the drape. "It can be very difficult, Sarah. The contractions are going to change."
"I know," I say confidently, waving off her concern. "I've done my research. I expect it to be intense. I’ll be okay."
And then, as if my uterus heard me and decided to humble me on the spot, the first true transition contraction hits.
It doesn't build like the others. It slams into me like a damned freight train. My confident, witty surrogate act completely evaporates. I want to crawl out of my own skin. Run. Escape. But I’m trapped in this heavy, sweating preggo body, writhing on the bed. A relentless ache explodes in my lower back. I let out a sharp gasp as it feels like my pelvic muscles are tearing and the bones are prying apart to make room for their kid.
After more contractions than I can count, Dr. Evans, a tall, calm man with greying hair, strolls into the room. He nods pleasantly at Mark and Lucas and pulls the terrified men aside.
"Hi, dads. Let’s talk about some logistics," he murmurs, though the room is quiet enough that I can hear every word. "Mark, you’ll be cutting the cord, right?”
Mark nods proudly.
“Also, I usually ask,” Dr. Evans continues, his eyes flicking between the two of them. "Do either of you have a tendency to faint?"
Mark immediately snaps his head toward Lucas.
"I’ll be fine," Lucas hisses defensively.
"Well… if you start to feel lightheaded at any point, sit down immediately," Dr. Evans cautions. "Labor is hard enough to manage without unconscious men on the floor."
"And I just want to prepare you both, Sarah is going to get loud and primal. Delivering a baby is the hardest thing the human body can do. There will probably be screaming and swearing. It might sound scary, but don't worry. That's just the reality of a natural delivery."
I shoot a withering, deeply unamused glare at the back of the doctor's head, but I don’t have the breath to argue.
Dr. Evans steps up to my bedside, his hands warm as he presses firmly against the outside of my rock-hard, tight stretched belly, mapping the baby's position by touch.
"You're doing really well, Sarah," Dr. Evans says, his voice soothing. "We're in the thick of it now. I just want to confirm one last time before it's too late. No epidural, correct?"
"No epidural," I gasp, tossing my head back against the damp pillow.
I’ve been planning my first delivery since I was a girl. I saw a mom on Deliver Me push out a massive baby with zero medication, and I’ve been determined to do this like her. Like a real woman.
"Alright, you’re very brave," Dr. Evans murmurs, his hands still tracing the firm outline of the baby through my taut skin. "You're also very fit and quite well-built for labor and delivery. Just keep up the positive attitude and you’ll have this baby out soon,” he says before turning to leave.
I snap my eyes toward Mark and Lucas, shooting them a strained, triumphant look through the haze of pain. "Did you hear that?" I pant, a smirk fighting its way onto my sweaty face. "The OBGYN says I'm a fertility goddess. See? Remember, I told ya I was."
Then I cry out again as I’m slammed with another incredible surge. A raw, guttural sound tears out of me. “AArrggggaaaaa… Uuunnnnnnhhhhh.”
My belly seizes, tightening into an impossibly hard ball. I barely get a break between waves. They stack on top of each other, fast, heavy, and merciless.
Mark is at my right side, his large, warm hand holding mine. Lucas steps up on my left, his perfectly manicured fingers gripping mine so hard I think he might break my knuckles. I squeeze back with everything I have. Having them anchor me is exactly what I need right now. I close my eyes tight, drawing the pain out of my body and straight into their grips, deriving every single ounce of my strength from the two men who I’m about to make into fathers.
It’s not the first time we’ve been in this formation.
Nine months ago, I was reclined on a clinic table, legs spread, a crisp paper drape covering my lap while Mark and Lucas gripped my hands on either side.
A week before, we’d gotten absolutely plastered. We treated it like my last night of freedom, knowing it would be my final drop of alcohol for the next year. The boys swore a drunken oath to quit drinking in solidarity with me.
It was a beautiful gesture and it lasted maybe ten days. After that, I started finding empty bottles tucked under junk mail in their recycling bin. Lying there in the clinic, though, I wasn’t thinking about any of that.
I was embarrassingly turned on. Because as clinical and sterile as the room was, my biology knew exactly what was happening.
I was getting knocked up. My sluttiness apparently knew no bounds, because my body was, shall I say…responsive. Fine. I was wet and loose. I believe I gave that ultrasound technician the easiest embryo insertion of her entire career.
When she finally withdrew the catheter and snapped off her gloves, she shot me an amused, knowing little smirk over the top of my knees.
“Well, Sarah,” she murmured, her eyes bright, “your body was certainly… ready to receive.”
I couldn’t help but blush at the woman who had just knocked me up and called me loose.
Two weeks later, the three of us were crammed onto the edge of my bathtub for the moment of truth.
Lucas, in true form, had gone to three different pharmacies and bought literally every single brand of pregnancy test on the market. He made me pee on every last one of them.
We lined them up on the bathroom counter like a bizarre science experiment, clutching each other's hands as, one by one, they all showed positive.
The physical reality hit fast. I got off pretty easy with the morning sickness, but my body wasted zero time transforming. My lower tummy pooched out into a soft bump, and my breasts got heavy and tender.
But all the bloating, the hormones, and the lack of wine faded into the background at our first ultrasound. Lying on that exam table, looking at the tiny, flickering little bean on the screen, I felt an overwhelming, fierce surge of pride
I was doing it. I was actually growing their baby.
And when I looked over and saw Mark openly crying, Lucas pressed into his shoulder, both of them completely undone.
I knew.
Every uncomfortable, inconvenient, exhausting part of this was going to be worth it.
As magical as that ultrasound was, I did not expect today to feel this physically brutal.
Another wave crashes over me, and the pressure in my pelvis spikes straight to an eleven. I writhe on the bed, fingers clamping down on Mark and Lucas’s hands so hard I can feel their rings biting into my skin.
“I feel like I’m actually going to die,” I groan, throwing my head back against the sweat-soaked pillow. I groan, “Uuhhhh, hooooo–hooooooo. Oh! My back. Fuck, my lower back is killing me.”
Tina steps in at the foot of the bed, snapping on a fresh pair of gloves.
“I know it’s intense, Sarah,” she says calmly. “Let me do one more quick check, okay?”
“Fine,” I grit out, letting my knees fall open as the contraction finally starts to ebb.
This time, the sensation is completely different.
As she reaches inside, everything feels lower. Tighter. Like there’s no space left at all. The baby’s head is right there, heavy, pressing down with undeniable weight.
The check is quick. She pulls her hand back, eyes crinkling into a smile behind her mask.
“You’re at nine centimeters and fully effaced,” she says. “You’re almost there. Just a little longer. Try to breathe through it. You might start feeling like pushing, but not yet, alright?”
A collective, giddy exhale moves through the room.
Mark presses a kiss to my sweaty forehead. Lucas lets out a shaky, relieved laugh.
The nurse turns to prep the tray, her tone light again. “You’re handling this beautifully, Sarah. Do you think you’ll want one of your own someday?”
I let out a breathless, exhausted laugh.
“I’d like to,” I pant. “But Mr. Right would actually have to show up first.”
It’s the painful truth. I do want my own family someday, but the dating pool is a nightmare on a good day. Adding “human incubator for my two best friends” turns it into an extreme sport.
I tried to keep dating anyway. I updated my apps. Slapped my baby bump photo front and center. Described the surrogacy into my bio to weed out the weak ones.
It did not work.
One guy literally sprinted off when he saw my bump in person. It wasn’t even very big yet. I was around three months along, rocking more of an “I just crushed a massive burrito” vibe. But he looked at my stomach like it was a ticking time bomb and bailed before our appetizers arrived.
The worst were the ones who made it past the shock but failed basic anatomy.
One absolute trash fire asked me, dead serious, if my pussy would “go back to normal” after I delivered. I dumped him on the spot.
I was making out with another guy on my couch. He rested his hand on my belly. It was sweet, intimate, perfectly timed. I literally swooned. And right then, Mark and Lucas’ baby kicked him square in the palm. He jumped like there was an alien inside me. He said he needed a glass of water.… and I heard the front door slam as he beelined out.
The tragic finale was around six months. Fourth date, great guy. We made it all the way back to my bedroom, which felt like a miracle at that point. Everything was going great. He had me undressed, I’d sucked on his cock and he’d returned the favor on my very sensitive pregnancy clit. I was very ready for the main event.
And then he froze. “Wait,” he said, pulling back. “Am I… going to hurt the baby?” I blinked at him. “No. Your penis is not going to magically bypass my cervix and poke the baby. That’s not how female bodies work, man.”
I pointed between my legs. “Come on. Go ahead and put your penis in me and let’s have some fun, stud!”
But he did not look reassured. He nervously excused himself to use the bathroom…and he too ran out.
Nurse Tina shifts into efficiency mode, transforming the foot of the bed into a sterile staging area.
She gives me final coaching, calm and direct. When it’s time, I’m supposed to grab behind my knees, curl forward around my belly, tuck my chin, and push like hell. Short bursts. Hold it. Count to ten. Do it again.
Apparently, my body will just… know what to do.
We’ll see.
Mark gets assigned to counting duty at my head, tasked with counting me through every push.
I turn my head toward him. “Hey, finance bro,” I mutter, breathless. “You sure you can count that high? All the way to ten?”
Mark doesn’t take the bait. “I’ll manage,” he says, squeezing my hand. “Just focus on pushing.”
“Alright, let’s get you set up,” Tina says.
She consults my birth plan, then stows the cold metal stirrups completely out of the way.
“Good call skipping these,” she adds with an approving nod. “You’ll get way more power with us holding your legs.”
Great. Love that for me.
With a quick motion, she pulls the paper drape away.
Today’s main event, my very pregnant, very puffy vagina is fully exposed to the entire room.
Tina takes my left leg, lifting it under the thigh. Lucas, after a brief moment of visible internal panic, steps in on my right and mirrors her, helping pull my legs back and open
In the brief lull between contractions, while I’m catching my breath, I catch Lucas out of the corner of my eye. Curiosity gets him and his gaze drops, then it immediately snaps back up, but it’s too late. He saw everything.
His cheeks flush a bright, guilty pink as he realizes I caught him looking.
“I mean…” he stammers, visibly unraveling. “I think it’s a very nice vagina, Sarah.” Then, inexplicably, he adds, “And... it's very well-groomed."
I let out a loud, genuine bark of laughter. "Well, thank you, Lucas. I had to make sure things were neat and presentable for the grand finale."
The truth is, I’ve kept things well-groomed for the past three months.
You’ll never guess why. Well, actually, you might.
After all those dating disasters, I eventually broke. By month six, my hormones were in full overdrive. I didn't just need to get laid. I was having actual, feral cravings for semen. Which, for the record, is backed by science. It’s packed with prostaglandins that are good for the cervix…honestly, I was just being a good surrogate.
So I called my ex, Jake. Total desperation move. I was huge, exhausted, and felt like a walking duplex.
And the funny part? Guys will go along with just about anything when sex is guaranteed. I showed up looking like I had a beachball smuggled under my shirt, and Jake didn’t even blink.
The absolute best part? No birth control.
The first time he reached for a condom, I just patted my stomach and said, “Jake, honey. The inn is already booked. You can’t make me more pregnant.”
The logistics, though? Hilariously awkward. Like trying to parallel park a delivery truck.
I let him bend me over once or twice, but mostly I would build a comfy pillow fort, lie on my back and let him get to work, taking very good care of my extremely needy pussy.
Not glamorous, but honestly? It did the job. I got my orgasms and cream pies, satisfying both of my very feral hormonal demands
My scandalous daydream is violently cut off by a sudden, massive shift in my pelvis.
A fresh, blinding wave of pressure slams into me, dragging me straight to the brightly lit reality of the delivery room.
This is different. This isn’t just pain anymore. It’s pressure. Huge, overwhelming, completely primal. An undeniable, instinctive need to bear down.
My hands clamp onto the bedrails, knuckles whitening as my body tries to force me to bear down.
“I have to push!” I gasp, eyes wide. “I feel him, he’s right there…fuck…there’s so much pressure.
Urrgghhaa… urrgghhaa!! Urrgghh… Uuurrgghh!”
Tina massages my shoulder knowingly. “Okay, I know,” she says, firm but calm. “But you need to wait until Dr. Evans is back in the room. Don’t push yet. Short, quick breaths. Pant through it.”
“I’m trying to!” I snap, thrashing my head back as my body bears down anyway. “Tell him to hurry up!”
The contraction crests, then slowly starts to ebb.
I sag back against the bed, completely breathless, legs trembling in Tina and Lucas’s grip. “Hh-ohhh, hh-ohhh, hh-ohhh.”
Tina presses an ice chip to my lips. “You feeling nauseous at all, honey?”
“No,” I wheeze, shaking my head. “I’m a rock. Barely even had morning sickness.”
I lift a shaky hand and point at Mark. “He did, though.”
Even now, I can’t help it.
“I’m serious, ahhhaa-haaah—” I drag in a breath. “I had nothing. Meanwhile, this macho, gym-obsessed dude developed full-blown Couvade syndrome. A sympathy pregnancy.”
It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever witnessed. Mark completely fell apart. He was the one sprinting to the bathroom every morning to dry-heave. He was the one sending Lucas out at midnight for pickles and peanut butter. He was the one openly crying at commercials for senior dog food.
“It’s a documented medical phenomenon,” Mark mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face, trying to salvage his dignity.
I nudge him weakly with my elbow. “Honestly? Only fair you took some of the hit. It is your baby, after all.”
“Oh, I’m fascinated,” Tina says, eyes wide despite herself. “I’ve read about it, but I’ve never actually seen it firsthand.”
Mark exhales, done with this conversation. “Can we maybe focus on the part where you’re about to have a baby, please?”
Tina shifts smoothly, reaching between my legs. She gently parts my vaginal lips with practiced fingers. Normally, that kind of touch would be weird, but right now, it barely even registers.
“Oh… wow. Okay,” she says, a flicker of excitement breaking through her calm. “Baby’s right there. You’re ready, a full 10 centimeters. We’ll start pushing as soon as the doctor gets in.”
And then another contraction hits.
Hard.
The pressure surges—and with it, a sharp, blinding wave of panic.
Shit. I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. Why did I agree to this?
Tina sees it instantly.
“Hey…hey,” she says, grounding me. “You’re okay. Let’s do a practice push. Just to get the feel for it.”
They guide my legs back a little further.
I try to smile at them, tight and shaky. Being held like this, anchored on all sides by my friends, makes me feel… safe.
Another contraction builds, heavy and inevitable.
I look at Mark. He nods, steady and reassuring. I swallow hard.
Okay, I can do this. I’m doing it…
“Alright,” Tina coaches, voice firm. “Big breath in… and hold it. Chin down. That’s it, now bear down. Push into your bottom, Sarah.”
I inhale, curl forward, and push.
Mark jumps in immediately. “One… two… three…”
“Nnnnh… nnnnh—ahh—hah—”
The pressure is unreal. Not sharp pain, just this massive, immovable weight, like my entire lower body is trying to turn inside out.
“Keep going… keep going!” Tina urges.
“…four… five… six…” Mark counts, voice tight with focus.
My whole body strains.
“…seven… eight…”
I finally gasp, “haayyyyyy-hooooo,” and fall back against the bed. But the pressure doesn’t go away. It just… settles, Low. Heavy. Constant. Like a bowling ball wedged deep in my pelvis, waiting.
The door swings open. Dr. Evans strides in, tying his gown, calm as if he just walked into a normal Tuesday meeting. He glances up at me, composed, reassuring.
“Alright,” he says, settling onto the stool between my legs. “Let’s have a baby mom and dads!”
Another contraction hits.
Hard.
The pressure spikes, wiping everything else out.
I grab behind my thighs, curl forward, chin tucked tight, teeth bared as Mark starts counting again.
And then, something clicks.
Not magical. Not mystical.
Just… instinct.
My body knows what to do.
I bear down hard, pulling everything in and pushing it down, like I’m trying to drive the pressure through my pelvis.
“Good push Sarah!” Dr Evans says from between my knees.
“Neennnhhh… nyyynnnnh. Ahh, hah, hah.”
It’s only a fraction of an inch, but I feel it.
The head moved lower.
It’s still intense. Crushing and overwhelming, but it’s different now. Focused. Productive. I’m doing something.
“Good! Again!” Mark urges.
The memory of our very first OBGYN appointment flashes behind my eyes, the three of us huddled around a tiny monitor, holding our breath until that rapid, swooshing thump-thump-thump echoed from deep within my womb and filled the tiny room. That was the moment it became real. Not an abstract idea, not a favor for a friend, but a living, breathing little boy housed safely inside my body.
I suck in another breath, curl forward, and push.
It’s so much harder than I expected. My entire core lights up, shaking and burning like I’m deep into the last rep of a brutal workout, with no option to stop.
“Ahhh… nnnnhhh…hah, hah.”
We fall into a rhythm.
Mark counting. Lucas steadying me. Me pushing like my life depends on it.
Push.
Pressure. Stretching. That deep, splitting heaviness.
Then, something else. A flicker, low and subtle.
I blink, thrown by the feeling.
Push again. “MMMMMMaaaaa, yyyyehhhhh!"
Pressure. Burn. And underneath it…
That same flicker.
Warmer this time. Sharper.
“Okay… that’s…” I gasp, breath hitching.
Another push.
The sensation builds with it now. Not replacing the pressure, just tangled up in everything.
Weird. Really weird. But not bad.
My body reacts before my brain can catch up.
Push.
Pressure, then that pulse.
Push.
“Oh, hhhe, hhhe.” I choke out, fingers tightening around their hands.
I know what this is. I absolutely know what this is.
“No, no… no.” I pant, heat rushing up my neck.
Tina’s voice cuts in, low and steady, right by my ear.
“Hey, hey…listen to me.” she murmurs. “Don’t fight it, alright?.”
I freeze for half a second, eyes snapping toward her.
“If something’s building,” she continues calmly, “let your body use it. It’s okay. Push through it.”
Oh hell. She knows. Of course she knows.
I want to disappear, but the next contraction is already there.
“Big breath. Now push Sarah,” Tina coaches.
I do.
She rubs my inner thigh gently. It’s just enough to push me over the edge.
My back arches, a broken, helpless sound tearing out of me as everything inside me clenches, tightens, releases.
“Hehhhh… hhe, hhe. Ohhwwwww. Hehhhhh.”
“Hehhhh… hhe, hhe. Ohhwwwww. Hehhhhh.”
I freeze.
Stunned. Breathless. Face on fire.
Oh.
Oh, you have got to be kidding me.
I clamp my eyes shut, gripping Mark’s hand like nothing just happened. Like I didn’t just…
Yeah. No. We are never talking about that. Even I have limits. And apparently my birthgasm is one of them.
“You’re doing amazing, Sarah,” Dr. Evans says, apparently oblivious to what just happened. “Do you want the mirror so you can see your progress? Your birth plan said you wanted to watch”
Tina leans back in. “Say yes,” she tells me gently. “You’ll want to see this. It’s going to be beautiful.”
I hesitate for half a second, then nod. “Okay. Yeah.”
Dr Evans brings a mirror to the foot of the bed, angling it between my legs.
For a split second, my brain goes somewhere else.
Lucas was my fashion consultant the entire pregnancy. The second I started showing, he took it upon himself… personally offended, honestly… to make sure I didn’t look like a walking disaster. They paid for a full maternity wardrobe, and he spent hours in front of mirrors in fitting rooms, curating every single outfit.
“Posture, Sarah. Shoulders back. There, see? You’re a hot preggo, not an exhausted blob.”
His hands smoothing fabric over my bump, adjusting it until everything was perfect.
“Look at you. You’re glowing, Sarah. I’m serious, every guy in a ten-mile radius is going to be staring.”
I stare into the mirror, breath hitching. My body now looks… unreal, swollen, stretched, tight. And then I see it, a bulging, straining curve where there shouldn’t be one, my birth canal pulled thin around something solid pressing outward.
And at the center, a small part of me is opening, giving way.
"Oh my god," I pant, “hee, hee, hoooo, hoooo,” staring wide-eyed at the reflection of my crowning vagina. "It actually is a stargate."
Lucas lets out a wet, teary laugh. "Yeah Sarah, it is. You’re doing so great."
“Alright, here we go,” Tina says. “Big push coming.”
I grab behind my thighs, curl forward, and bear down.
The head presses forward, slow and relentless, stretching me wider, wider—until it feels like there’s no possible way my body can open any more.
The burn hits, sharp, hot, blinding.
“Oh…oh…” I choke, instinctively tensing.
“Don’t fight it,” Tina says quickly. "Let it stretch.”
I force myself to stay with it, breath shaking, eyes locked on the mirror.
Each push opens me wider. “Ahhhhh, heeee, heeeee, HAAAAA! Ohhhhhhhh.”
And wider. “Ahhhhh, heeee, heeeee, HAAAAA! Ohhhhhhhh.”
Until I’m fully crowned. “Ahhhhh, heeee, heeeee, HAAAAA! Ohhhhhhhh.”
There’s a literal baby, with a massive head lodged at the precipice of my vagina.
“Okay, okay—pant for me,” Dr. Evans says, steady but firm. “Short breaths. Don’t push right now.”
I switch to quick, shallow breaths, fighting the urge to bear down as the head holds right there.
“He. He He. HEEEEEEEEEE! He. HEEEEEEEEEE!”
The stretch is intense. Constant. Like everything is pulled as far as it can possibly go.
“The head’s right there,” Tina says calmly. “You’re doing perfect.”
Mark leans forward despite himself, eyes wide.
“Oh my god,” he breathes. “Lucas! His hair is dark, just like yours.”
Lucas shifts, stunned, staring. “He’s right there… Sarah, he’s right there. You’re doing it!”
Another contraction starts to rise.
“Okay,” Dr. Evans says. Easy, controlled push.”
I nod, teeth chattering.
The wave hits.
I bear down.
A deep, primal sound tears out of me as the pressure peaks—strong, focused, everything driving downward—
“AHHHHHHHH! OHHH! HUU-UUUUUU!!”
The stretch intensifies.
The sheer volume of the baby pressing through my birth canal is staggering, a heavy, raw stretching sensation that makes my spine arch.
“HIIIYYYYYYYAA!!”
Then suddenly...
Pop.
Release.
“The head is out,” Dr. Evans says calmly.
The pressure drops just enough to feel the difference. Still full, still stretched, but no longer that same crushing force.
"He’s almost there, Sar!" Mark’s voice breaks, pure awe.
“One more for the shoulders,” Dr. Evans instructs. “Nice and steady. Let your body do the work.”
With a final, exhausting heave, I push.
“HIIIYYYYYYYAA!! HUUUUUGGGGGG!!!!”
There’s a sudden, unmistakable shift, pressure stretching me to the absolute limit.
And then... release.
A slippery, sliding sensation as his body follows, fast and fluid, and just like that...
He’s out.
The crushing pressure that filled my pelvis vanishes instantly, leaving behind a strange, hollow emptiness that I can’t quite process.
For a split second, everything goes quiet.
And then the room fills with sound.
A sharp, outraged cry cuts through the air.
"He's here! He's here!" Lucas sobs, hands hovering, completely overwhelmed.
I collapse back against the bed, breathless, shaking, my entire body buzzing with adrenaline and disbelief.
Before I can even catch up, Tina is already moving.
She lifts him smoothly and brings him straight to me, placing his warm, slippery weight onto my chest.
A wave crashes over me -- relief, pride, something deeper I don’t even have a word for. I let out a broken, breathless laugh as I look down at him.
Mark and Lucas are immediately there, crowding in, both of them crying openly now, kissing my cheeks, my forehead, babbling over each other as they stare at their son like he hung the moon.
And for a second, it feels like we’re all one thing. One moment. One little family.
“We’re going to let the cord pulse for a bit,” Tina says softly, giving us space while still guiding everything. “Then you can cut it.”
Mark nods, barely able to speak. He looks at me, really looks at me, his face wrecked with emotion.
“Thank you, Sarah,” he chokes out, voice breaking. “Thank you.”
A few minutes later, he and Lucas wrap their hands together around the scissors.
They snip the cord together.
For a second, it’s just me and the baby. Nothing else exists. My body is still shaking, still trying to catch up, but he’s here, warm, solid, real against my chest.
I did this. I made this perfect little human.
A quiet thought slips in, unexpected. This is the only time he’ll ever be mine.
I run my hand over his back, memorizing the weight of him, the heat of him.
Then I lift my eyes to Mark and Lucas and I feel it click into place. I smile, soft and steady.
“Your turn, dads.” I say as I pass the beautiful child into Mark’s arms.
It is the most perfect moment of my life.
Right up until Dr. Evans ruins it.
“Hey Sarah, I need you to bear down and push again. It’s time for the placenta."
Ugh, really?
In the end, I got absolutely everything I wanted.
Mark and Lucas are disgustingly happy. Their son, little Sawyer – the closest they could get to naming a boy after me – is almost eighteen months old now. I get to be the wildly fun Auntie Sarah who buys the loudest toys, hypes him up on sugar, and hands him right back the second he poops.
I got my labor and delivery photos. They are absolutely… not glamorous. I look like a sweaty, exhausted, screaming tomato. But they’re raw, powerful, and honestly? That’s hot to me. So yes, I proudly posted every single one on Insta.
The boys also gave me the ultimate push present: a two-week, all-expenses-paid trip to Puerto Rico. Unlimited alcohol included. They knew exactly what I needed.
My body bounced back surprisingly fast after delivery, aside from a few stubborn stretch marks. And yes, before you ask, after some pelvic floor therapy, everything downstairs is not only back in business, it’s honestly better than ever.
And, I mean… you know me. It’s been busy.
The boys wanted a sibling for Sawyer, so as Britney would say: oops, I did it again. My uterus is officially rented out for round two.
And Jake? My former ex turned booty call has stuck around for almost two years now. He’s been enjoying the, um… perks… of my newly pregnant body, but he’s also shown up in ways that actually matter. Even though it’s not his kid, he comes to every OBGYN appointment, gives me nightly foot rubs, and applies my stretch-mark cream.
Honestly… I think we might be headed somewhere real this time.
In fact, a few days ago, while I was playing with Sawyer in the living room, I overheard Mark and Lucas corner him in the kitchen after our weekly dinner. They were both in full protective-dad mode. They grilled him about his intentions and his future plans.
So naturally, I’m on high proposal alert.
Which is perfectly fine by me, because once my current squatter vacates the premises and my uterus’s lease with the boys is officially up, I’m going to carry again.
I absolutely love the trope where a heavily pregnant person decides to do something they shouldn't so close to the due date and then they start giving birth in a hot air balloon or something
I eat that shit up every single time
Bonus points if everyone warner it was a bad idea but they decided to do it anyway
A woman is a perfectionist and wants everything to be perfect for her home birth by herself. She’s nowhere near prepared at home when she goes out while overdue. Her water breaks as she has to get home on the bus, walk home, prepare everything in time to deliver in her living room and deal with a poorly timed delivery boy from who she has to hide her labour while getting a package. The twist? For a good part of this story, she’s constantly having to push the head back inside herself to avoid giving birth. If even one thing in her plan is wrong, even if she’s one push away from giving birth, she’ll push it back and start over to fix it.
Ooh, good one I like it. I will make it as best as I can for you thank you so much for resending
Hey, I have been away for my own time, I've not been mentally healthy and I can't say I am better but I am back with a lot but i'll try.
The Perfection Effect
Tw: 18+, Minors DNI.
In the eyes of perfectionism, all must go their way and no other, this would be their greatest and most vunerable weakness as in the ways, actions of the real nothing goes your way and with this case it wouldn't end easily.
Vivian was a young woman, amidst her later twenties and still in great shape as part the pregnancy made her shape volumptious as naturally it would through her body's change trying to ready for newborn child.
On the contrary, she was very infuriated in amidst the result when she grew overdue a childish reaction over outcomes, so in three weeks over her due date she felt her bump tighten up to a overinflated basketball.
Impacting her back heavily, even on an jog towards the market the woman was waiting whenever her baby would be born at times growing restless and impatient, as much as people would a lot more exaggerated.
On her way to the market in a damp rain, holding up her umbrella wearing a sleeved turtleneck and a tight pencil skirt, as per progress of her widened hips and suppled breasts as the rain hardened and splashes entirely over her thighigh socks.
Lately she'd been intensely overrun with growing pains and cramping around her abdomen and inbetween her thighs and uncomfortably tight yet wide hips, she'd physically grown to waddle after a week.
Her stance resembled a model in a walk, presenting herself on a stage in a fashion competition though it made walking feel intensive on her lower back and her heel.
As she placed her palm under her bump, massaging the uneasing pressure with a relieving release, relieving the pressures unknowingly progressing her quiet labor.
Progressing the newborn further before purchasing her groceries list, she felt at comforting ease for it being an illusion.
(----------------------------------
After moments around she'd found what she needed and headed to the checkout counter, small line and handed her groceries paid the amount and headed out into the rain.
She sought after the bus stop within the rain and kept on a decent jog on towards the stop, exerting onto her bodies limit and exshauting herself in short notice and felt a heavy toll on her womb within, writhing in the exshaustion.
Bent over, she pressed her palm ontop the round bump as she grunted loudly with no witnesses around in the rain, she regained herself and trotted forward into the pour a distant bluish glow of light on the sidewalk.
Headed towards it as she reaches over the otherside of the road, crossing the road as cautiously she looked around before going towards the stop, sitting down once near.
Leaning into the bench as she felt a hurdle running down her canal burning enraged in pounding stings and stabbing, painful hard tightness around her back worsening more.
Withstanding the pain rushing over, fists clenched having a palm pressed into her hardened bumps side, tightening on it's squezzes onto her taut skin.
Her jaw tight and brows furrowed, a sigh exhaled through teeth with sweat rolling downward her face, a loud gasp of pain.
The bus came near and stopped by, it's passenger a near-laboring mother with orange-ish hair, contracting and with a extremely stanced and a weird waddle, waddling over to the backseat with six passengers in the rest of the bus.
As she sat down, the intense pressure consumed her canal and instinctually abandoning all concious thought had unconciously began to bear down and squeezing into her belly twisting in an all-consuming and lasting pain.
Engulfing in air with sharp breaths, an expanding mass growing larger in size inbetween her thighs, her head reversed backwards into the seat cushions, slowly slouching as the mass popped open into closed-fitted cloth and budged no further.
Since it restrained from going any further causing vile pains, she cupped above the massive crown and began bringing it back halfway through her canal though it began progressing with movement forward.
With her remaining might she held it back, strained back with an ever weakening self.
(------------------------------
In just the moment as the bus stopped near the road where she lives, she got to her feet and had her right hand on the underside of her belly with the mass pounding it's way out of her labia.
Once she waddled to the bus stop, she held her posture up and walked through the quieter road trying her best to get home quickly with the low hanging mass beginning to pop into her skirt.
The contraction slowed her walk down, she got near a mailbox and leaned by the support with her massaging her underside as she squats it down sublty before regaining her stature and going down the road afar into the corner.
Reaching her house at the edge of the town, she frantically reached for her keys with a rising pain as she opens the door and drops everything and gets onto her knees, she grunts while slamming the door shut keeping her out of view.
As the mass grew into her underwear, the arms burst out and stretch the fabric by it's seams an excruciating pain spread around her abdomen.
She needed just a bit more time to prepare, the birth needed to be the way she wanted it to be and thinking she had time headed to the room to her right with her thighs lightly constricting.
Once she reached the cabinets, grabbing the bowl, towel, scissors, clips and all important supplies her body crashes again to it's knees beginning to feel her baby nearing it's exit an immediate response to try and postpone it a little longer but she was too weak.
Her grunts were raging, throat strained her figure completely doused in sweat and fluid covering her thighs and legs as she screams with the baby rushing forth the nightmare finally ends, she's exshausted and falls over.
With her faint breaths, she apologizes to her newborn under her skirt and flooded with a small bout of sorrow, weary and breathless scurrying into her underwear and carried out her future into her arms before she faints.
Only hearing a loud wail before the darkness surrounds her eyes and blankets her over in deep sleep and dreams of the mistakes done.
This is the final cause of The Perfection Effect another normal accident then made extreme.
You swallow over your knuckles in your mouth, hissing with each breath. Your boyfriend holds you, shaking your shoulder with concern. “Why the fuck did you do that?”
“I-If I got hurt, it’d be ok because I can take it.” You give a shaky thumbs up, before pain grips you again with a groan. He holds onto you tight.
“Do I look like I know what to do?? What if you get hurt?”
You lean your head against his chest, whining. “I’d rather you be here.” He looks down with worry, gripping you tighter. Another cramp seizes you as your back arches. He slips your hand into yours, giving it a gentle squeeze.
In order to get close to the monster, to even hit him, you needed to get close. And as you did, with its appendages sliding over you forcefully you knew what it wanted. A thick one pushed back into your throat, pulsing gently as more moved across your hips and ass, trying to find its entrance. You just needed to get close enough, you had one shot to hit this thing. Dragging closer, Your clothes are peeled off your body. One the size of your fist ruts hard against your ass, pressing insistently. Something’s pumped down your throat. It makes your vision blur, the things rubbing harshly over your legs feeling vaguely pleasurable now. You feel like it’s trying to break your jaw as it forces deeper, the one at the back painfully breaching your ass. With a gagged cry it plunges deep, rubbing against your insides slickly. It rummages deeper, going farther than you thought possible. Thank fuck it wasn’t anyone else, this might not be survivable. Bright pain fills your stomach, and the thing grinds into you, thrumming and pushing. Your cock is limp against your leg, and something light and thin takes it, stroking over it. The contrasting pain and pleasure makes your vision almost white out, your dick getting hard against your wishes. You ball your hands into shaky fists, and the things stop for a second, observing you. You’re not close enough to do anything, you can’t move yet. You sob as the one deep inside you thrusts again, the pain sparking. The smaller one rubs lazy circles around your tip, feeling almost uncomfortable. It rubs over your slit, and your eyes flick down as more come in from the sides to restrain you. The tip slowly dips inside of you, and your hips and arms immediately move, rejecting it. The monster stills you, pressing deeper with a horrible stretching pain. You’ve had things in your ass, but never here. The pain is unfamiliar and your body screams in rejection as it slides so deep you feel like it must have met the other inside you. Sharp pain bites inside you again, and it starts to thrust, slowly. You cry out, trying to bite on the unyielding rubbery object in your mouth. Your stomach feels like it flips as the one in your ass moves impossibly deeper, snaking its way through. A thick warm huge lump the size of a watermelon rests at your ass, as you really start to freak out. You clench, trying to keep it at bay as it’s forced into you painfully, screaming. Your legs are spread, and it feels heavy and unyielding as it horribly spreads you, popping inside. It works its way deeper, an uncomfortable lump resting inside you, visible from your once flat stomach. As another meets your ass, a worse pain comes as something tries to come into your cock. You try moving your hips away desperately again, gagging as it presses hard into you. You feel it inch into your head, then through your shaft as another presses at the tip again. You hope this ends soon.
He gently rubs your back. “You’re so stupid. We could have done something, anything but this.” You take heavy breaths against him, shaking, the new pain too much to say anything. You’ve been filled, way too much than what should be possible, and your body’s trying to push everything out in rejection, even though it’s settled and grown inside of you. Another pain blooms up your back as your legs shake, hugging your boyfriend. “It needs to come out, honey.” You shake your head. Nobody should have to see this, he was supposed to deal with it alone. The objects in you feel like gravel against your insides. You’ve been alone for hours, your body can keep it in for just a few more until you’re alone. Another horrible pain hits you, you feel something shift painfully.
“n-no…” The monster was killed, your goal accomplished and nobody else hurt. He looks at you with a deep worry, propping you up against his chest.
“You need to, you’re in pain.” You know it’s going to hurt worse coming out than it did going in, the objects have only grown. He gently lifts up your legs despite your protests, and you feel something huge almost brush against your spine. You choke out a sob, and he squeezes your hand, kissing your forehead. “C’mon, please.” You bite your lip, another hard cramp hitting you as one of the objects shifts lower.
“I can’t... J-just let me wait until we get home-“ Another groan as a new pain hits, the object settling heavy against his hips. It rests uncomfortably against the bone, and your boyfriend gently presses into your ass with his fingers, opening you up gently. Pain radiates up your back. You hold onto him as you groan, his fingers meeting the smooth surface of the object. It’s an egg, hard and unyielding. You grip onto his arm as your body forces it lower against your will, your hips aching. It gets caught there, refusing to move lower for now. He can see the egg’s shell as you shake against him. He rubs your stomach.
“Push, honey. I can’t see you like this…” Another pain rolls through as your body forces you to bear down, as you hold your breath. The egg painfully comes to a crown, getting caught and scraping against bone.
“I-I want it b-back in… I can’t do this…” He kisses over your forehead as you breathe through your teeth.
“Keep going, honey.” He rubs against your lower stomach as another horrible pain hits, and you can do nothing but sob as the egg refuses to move.
“ Please…” Another sharp pain, and you push, your hips spreading impossibly far only for it to shift down a small centimeter. His hands press uncomfortably on your stomach, and he finds the fat end of the stuck egg. He gently pushes as you scream immediately, clenching hard. “n-no.. stop please…” He looks down at you pitifully.
“It needs to come out, I can’t watch you be in pain like that.” He squeezes your hand, pushing again. Your back arches as you try and hold it in, the egg grinding against your hips as your body and his hand work against you. With a sharp crack, pain fills your body.
“FUCK! S-STOP!” He jolts his hand away. Your fractured hips rub together painfully as your body continues to contract, the egg now pressing at your hole. A sharp, new pain hits. Your cock stirs impossibly, you should be in too much pain to be getting hard. Your boyfriend looks down at you as your eyes are glued shut, as something shifts in you. You cry out again, the egg causing your ass to wink as you feel pain like you’re about to split open. The fiery hot pain comes to rest as an egg sized lump against your crotch, behind your cock. You cry out, holding onto him as the urge to push rolls through you. “Something’s happening-!”
He holds you, unsure, as more pain and pressure builds at your crotch. “…Calm down, ok?” You groan, arching your back as it feels like the pain is squeezing through into the base of your cock, the round orb being visible.
“…oh god” He swallows thickly as you openly cry, your cock throbbing thickly against your stomach, refusing to let anything move further. Your hand moves down to your cock, and you desperately try to squeeze the egg back into you, the pain too much to deal with. It proves resistant, the second you inch it lower is accompanied by blinding pain. “stop doing that. You need to keep pushing.” You whine. Your body does it for you, another egg seeming to weave through you painfully, pushing the other into your cock.
“n-no!! stop it!” The egg is fully in, a bulge very visible as your cock stretches around it. A painful urge at your back tells you to push, your body insistent that both eggs leave. A weak push at your ass and immediately the one in your cock decides to move, with a scream. It rests painfully at your head. You thrust, crying out as the egg crowns and then keeps slipping back inside. It’s too big but the pain is too much to deal with. Another egg pushes into your cock impatiently as you sob. The urge to push again, harder as you bear down. The egg peeks out with all the effort you can muster, the tapered tip visible before you relax and it slips back inside with a cry. Another pain coming up from your stomach, another egg. There are three in your cock now, it’s incredibly painful and the first one is blocking their exit, the pressure building impossibly. Your head is stretched to the maximum, the soft yellow of the egg showing, but it refuses to stretch further, blocking its only exit. Another egg. It feels like you’re about to scream again as the fourth pushes in, there’s no room in your cock for four eggs. You see more of the egg slip through, but your head still refuses to stretch. You push, the egg slowly making its way through. “It’s n-not gonna fit!!” You say with a sob, pushing as hard as you can. With a sharp pain, an egg slips past another inside you, and you cry out, not stopping your pushing in desperation. The pressure is unbearable as more and more eggs line up behind it. You cry, pushing and pushing with little progress. Then another horrible urge hits you, the urge to cum. You jerk yourself off quickly, crying as you touch your cock, the bulges in it palpable. Your boyfriend watches you with concern, his hand slowly going to replace yours, jerking you off for you. He gently pumps you, and for a moment the pressure worsens painfully. You whine as he keeps pumping you, and with two more strokes you cum, the egg popping out while cum dribbles out of you. He kisses you, rubbing over your stomach as eggs slowly push out of you with the cum. The one at your ass sits there hard and heavy, your body clenching and pushing around it impatiently. He finds the end of it again, gently pushing. It makes a small crown, but can’t go any further without you pushing. It inches out, and something in him pops as he loses concentration. Something in his stomach moves and heaves.
“You need to. leave.” You say with a whine, the egg blocking the creature's exit.
“I’m not leaving you, honey.” You wail as it descends, resting at his aching hips.
“I need to push, please. Please I don’t want you hurt.” It presses hard against his hips, and he cries. “STOP!” The egg rests impatiently inside him, as this big creature places tons of pressure right on his hips. “It’s coming, please go. Oh my god please.” You clench around it, trying to slow it as it painfully pushes the egg out. It stretches, slowly coming to its widest point before sinking back inside. You cry out, bucking your hips. The egg’s really starting to become painful.
“I’m not leaving you.”
“n-no.. it’s coming please…” He kisses over you as the egg pushes out again, this time slowly popping out with a slick noise. He sees that the egg’s huge, and something even bigger is currently exiting. You get the urge to spread your legs as it barrels down lower, pushing as it quickly spreads you fully. It’s far too big to exit like this, and you cry as it continues to push even when you stop. A slick tendril pops out of you, pulling its way out as you cry, something tearing painfully before the mass slides out of you. He kicks it away.
“You did it honey. You’re so great, thank you.” He kisses you, holding you as you cry. “I love you so much.”
hey! Idk why the formatting is so weird but thank you :)
I am looking for a specific rp! I want to do a rp of lesbian lovers where you are at the end of pregnancy/in labor and I take care of you and pamper you. I want to rub your back and belly. Basically try to ease all your discomfort. Please pm if interested
A/N: Sooo 100% forgot to move this from Ao3. whoops! Anyway this was originallly written for @jurdannet‘s Jurdan week. Days 2: Pregnancy/labor.
"Breathe. Just breathe. Deep breaths. Everything is fine. It's fine. The baby is coming and-"
"CARDAN!" Jude shouted, hunched over the bed knuckles turning as pale as the moonlight gripping the spider silk sheets. She turned at him with a look of fear and agony on her mortal features, "Stop telling me to breathe!"
"I was talking to myself," he responded walking back and forth, a hand rummaging through his hair. His pace quickening with each step. Jude shot her husband a pointed look.
Suddenly she was there standing before him. How in Elfhame she moved so quickly in this state he couldn't say. Strands of her hair stuck to the sides of her face. Teeth bared and breathing ragged like some feral animal. By the rage in her amber eyes, he knew he said the wrong thing. Jude gripped his pristine night shirt, yanking him forward with a fierce tightness, he thought she would tear it off. If he was honest, Cardan wasn’t sure if he meant the shirt or his head.
“I meant us both, my sweet villain, my beautiful wife,” to no avail he tried to calm her and fix the situation.
"You" she hissed, "You did this to me. And you think-" She cried out in pain once more, practically collapsing in his arms.
Fighting off another contraction as the pain spread like wildfire and a hurricane merged inside her body. To her, it didn’t matter if the description made sense. It accurately portrayed her pain at the moment. Through the years, she had taken various poisons putting her in different stages of misery, sometimes making her feel as if she was close to death. The High Queen suffered cuts from swords and daggers again bringing her inches from death. None of it compared to now. This feeling of being torn in two from the inside. She wouldn’t have wished this on anyone, not even Balekin.
Her nails digging deep into Cardan's sleeve were more like sharpened claws. He was surprised she didn’t break through the fabric and draw blood. He held her up by her shoulders, quickly moving to where a hand laid at the swell of her back. Another on her hip as he guided Jude back to the bed. His tail gave away his thoughts, thrashing about nervously behind him. They had read books upon books about childbirth from faerie and the mortal realm. Taryn often gave her advice whether requested of the queen’s sister or not. Still with her contractions coming every four minutes all of that information seemed to leave his mind.
“Jude?” he questioned, concern laced in his tone, rubbing her back and settling her on the bed. He knelt before her reaching up and brushing sweaty strands from her face. Observing her with worry not knowing when the next contraction would hit.
Jude rested her head against his, “I want to drive a dagger into your heart. We’re never having sex again.”
Cardan placed a chaste kiss on her lips, “You know I would happily die by your hand,” he replied half teasing and half-serious. If anyone took him for this realm he hoped it would be her, “Jude, we’re in this situation because we hadn’t been intimate in four days. You pulled me in the small room next to our dais and had your way with me. This is-”
“Don’t finish that sentence!” she snapped, “Do you truly believe now is the time,” she winced, groaning in pain, “to correct me?” she paused biting down on her lip, reaching out, “I need to stand,” Jude wasted no second clutching onto him like Cardan was the only thing tethering her to this world. The soon to be parents were grateful this contraction was a fleeting pain of sharpness.
“I was only trying to make you laugh.”
Letting go, Cardan moved with urgency to the basin Tatterfell left of cool water, grabbing a cloth dipping it into the water. Pulling it out he twisted the cotton watching tirelessly as the droplets of water fell away. They’ve been at this for a few hours now. Both of them were exhausted beyond measure and neither knew how much more time was left. The High King and Queen only knew they would meet their bundle of joy soon. That made Cardan more nerve wreck than the labor itself.
Having a childhood as nonexistent as his own, he knew there were things he didn’t want for their child, and yet a fear consumed him that he would fall in step with his parent's behavior. He would try to evade it. For Jude and the prince or princess readying to meet them, he would try to be better than the Greenbriar's before him. Cardan turned briskly, stepping to Jude. Her arms now wrapped around the solid bronzed post of their bed. Gently he dabbed the sweat from her hairline then pressing the wet cloth to the nape of her neck. She hummed her thanks to him stretching her hand to his lone one. He slipped his fingers between hers squeezing gently.
“I know,” she said between breaths, “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve done nothing to be sorry for. You’re in labor,” pressing his lips to her knuckles. He noticed her far away stare, the glisten in her amber eyes, “Jude? Contraction?” she shook her head no, “What is it?”
“It’s nothing. I just-”
At that precise moment Tatterfell walked in a bucket of ice in her hands and The Bomb to her right. Her arms filled with towels, tools Cardan assumed aided birth, and sticks of honey. With a hard kick she shut the door behind them. For an elderly imp, Tatterfell moved about the room at a hasty pace. Grabbing the bassinet from the corner she pulled it closer to the bed. Another pain enduring moan came from Jude as she held onto Cardan. The Bomb laid the items next to the basin taking a honey stick with her. Tearing the top off with her teeth rushing to her friend’s side, offering her the stick. Jude took it sucking on the sweetness. It felt good to have something soothing her hoarse throat after screaming for hours. The Bomb and Cardan stroked Jude’s hair back. Tatterfell moved around them fluffing pillows for the queen.
“How far apart now and for how long?” She questioned pulling back the sheets, “lie her down.”
“Three minutes,” he replied, helping Jude to the bed as she sunk into the mattress below. The Bomb followed close behind with a new wet rag wiping it along Jude’s face.
“A missive has been sent to both of your sisters. No one else knows the Queen is in labor,” The Bomb finally spoke up, “Are you excited? Ready to meet the baby? I know better than to ask how you’re feeling.”
“Yes. I’ll be more excited when this part is over,” Jude smiled weakly. Her eyes met Cardan’s and the fearful look she gave him said no, I’m not ready. The expression almost broke him on the spot. Cardan offered a loving smile and a tender gaze as if he replied It’s okay. I’m here He had to be strong for once.
Tatterfell hopped up onto the bed, her long fingers reaching out pushing Jude’s nightgown back checking for any signs of the royal baby making its debut. She didn’t look up when she spoke up, “Your Majesty, I’m afraid now is the time I’ll have to request your leave. I’ll send for you when she’s ready.”
Cardan and Jude exchanged a look then glanced at the older imp, “I’m High King and that’s my wife. You will not pardon me from her while she’s in labor. I forbid it.”
Tatterfell waved at hand in his direction busying herself examining in between Jude’s thighs. He heard her huff out before responding, “If you have ears boy then you heard me say, your majesty. If you have eyes boy then clearly you know I tend to your wife daily. Have done so for years before you came along. King or no, it is a tradition of the land,” her coal eyes looked up at him. Though her gaze was strong and unrelenting, he could see the apology in her aged orbs, "Royalty blood matters not. Even before my time only the midwife, assistants, and the mother were allowed. If you're done with dramatics I have a baby to birth.”
Opening and closing his mouth several times looking between the three women. He wanted to stay by her side. To be with her every step of the way. Let her use his body to channel her pain. He wanted to tell off this bossy little imp. To say damn with traditions, they would start a new one here tonight. Cardan only needed a moment to gather his thoughts and tell this elder creature he was staying without breaking much attention from his darling wife. Until his beloved spoke up.
“Go,” Jude looked to the two women in their bedroom, “I’m in good hands," he looked at Jude in bewilderment.
Disbelieving she was encouraging this notion. She was a queen born from clay and mud. A mortal. Freed him from that cage of a serpent. Jude defied tradition at every turn. Yet here where it mattered most. His wife did not push. This was madness.
"Cardan, she will be fine. I promise," The bomb added. Resting a kind hand on his shoulder, sympathy displayed over her features
He was outnumbered and he hated it. He hated leaving her in this state. Knowing something was eating away at her made this situation worse. However, arguing with a pregnant woman in labor over a thousand-year-old tradition seemed unwise. For now he would begrudgingly bite his tongue and save the discussion for another day. Accepting defeat, the High King kissed his wife's temple.
"I'm there in the antechamber. Whatever you're worried about we will overcome it," Jude nodded, "I love you."
"And I love you."
He kissed once more on the temple, her lips, and down to her rather large, swollen belly. Moving away from the darkened silk sheets, he walked away from the room. Cardan turned to meet the gaze of his wife, a tired smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Briefly he watched Tatterfell and The Bomb busy about the room preparing it for delivering an heir.
No matter her agony, she couldn't shake the feeling of a mistake seeping into her bones. She was a stubborn woman. Often arguing or fighting, to get her away. In her current state, Jude lacked the ability to do so. Instead, watching helplessly from the bed as the one person she wanted in the room walked away, head lowered in defeat.
In the Antechamber, the pads of his feet walked over the lush violet rug at least a dozen times before falling into the velvet chaise behind him. Eyes flicking to the ceiling with intricate details of vines and florals painted throughout. He wondered why anyone would waste such time painting a place most hardly looked upon. Cardan switched between flexing his fingers and running his palms on his slacks. This wasn't right and it wasn't fair. The silence did nothing to quell his panic and anticipation.The High King sighed, folding his arms over his chest as the fear of what was happening settled into his mind.
A baby. They were having a baby. They would be responsible for a new life. Feeding, clothing, caring for it. Though Jude grew up in a rough childhood, she still had sisters who loved and cared for her. Orianna, who didn’t care for a mortal in her home still watched over her. Of course Madoc, in his way he truly and deeply cared for Jude like a daughter. No matter how twisted he was there. Cardan knew even now, with Madoc in the mortal realm her father’s heart held pride for Jude. There was more love and support in her life then he experienced. The King of Elfhame had no doubts his wife would be a wonderful mother to their child and any others if they were lucky. Him. He wasn’t sure. Now in this silence that fear ate away at him. Growing up with barely a glimmer of affection. He didn’t know if he could do this. To be a father and a good one at that. He knew he wanted to be better, but how to be? Cardan had no clue. And he was running out of time to figure it out.
The door opened with Taryn, The Ghost, and The Roach following close behind. Cardan couldn’t help but notice how close Taryn stood next to the Ghost. A bottle of open wine slammed down on the table before him, droplets in a vermillion hue splashed onto the green hand holding the neck.
“Drink,” was all The Roach said.
Cardan’s brows came up to his hairline, his coal eyes wide, “I’m having a baby,” he blinked thinking over his response, “I mean Jude is having a baby. I’m forced to be here. Apparently kings are not needed for the birth of their child. Regardless, Jude will have me dead if I drink that bottle.”
“Not the bottle. Just a drink. It will ease your nerves,” Roach grabbed a chair bringing it to the table, Ghost followed his actions, “I’m aware you can’t be in the room. It’s a tradition and you don’t want to break tradition. The Bomb told me you’d need a distraction. So here we are distracting.” reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a deck of cards, separating them into stacks as he started to shuffle.
Taryn’s hand rested on The Ghost’s shoulder. The half-fae turned up meeting her gaze. She held it for a beat before looking at Cardan, “I’m going in and checking on her. See if they need anything,” She turned away leaving the antechamber.
“Taryn gets to go and I, the High King cannot? Ah, mockery at its finest,” Cardan went to grab the bottle, before bringing it to his lips, he stared at the heavy glass. Thinking of Jude in the other room and their baby. Settling it back down to the Birchwood table, Cardan found he couldn’t bring himself to take a single drop.
*
Jude hated this. She hated everything about this situation. The unending pain. The potions gave to ease her, did little for her discomfort. It was as if she never took them. Tatterfell, The Bomb, and now Taryn practically groveling at her feet. She hated knowing that it was needed. For once in her life, Jude had to have all this support. Birthing a child wasn’t something she could do on her own, even the stubborn mortal queen knew that. Above all the thing she couldn’t stand was not having Cardan here. The antechamber felt like it was miles away from her bed. Jude tried to take comfort in his voice and his face that flooded in her mind every time she shut her eyes. She tried to imagine the feel of his warm hands and tender embrace. It didn’t help. Not this time. This time she wanted him, she needed him.
Her fingers twisted into the fabric, knuckles turning white as she screamed in agony. She couldn’t do this. There thousands of things in faerie the high queen could do. Birthing a child, being a mother were not such things Jude believed to be capable of. Fighting battles, settling conflicts, and politics she could do with her hands tied behind her back. Raising a baby, especially a royal heir felt impossible. She had a family growing up, more than what Cardan did. It wasn’t close to being a mother. Jude didn’t know how to be nurturing, her personal armor too strong for that level of tenderness. Taryn was a nurturer and a wonderful mother to her son. Vivi and even Oriana took loving care of Oak. Jude had no clue how to handle babies. Every time she visited Taryn, Jude tried her hardest to not hold her nephew. Terrified of holding him the wrong way, whenever he was shoved into her arms, he cried. No matter how much she rocked him, he cried and cried. It stung beyond any poison. Unlike Cardan
Cardan, she knew, would prevail in this endeavor of their life. With Taryn’s son, he always had him napping with ease, he could get him to coo for minutes at a time. When they ventured to the Mortal realm, Oak and Cardan did everything together. From Oak teaching video games to playgrounds, to playing with nerf guns. Jude would always jump in on the fun, but there was something so fatherly about her husband in those moments. He had that nurturing gift and she didn’t. Him not being here felt like a curse.
By the maker she missed him. None of this felt right without her king near. She didn’t care if he only stood in the room, or sat next to her. If he said ridiculous things or words of support. So long as he was there. Everytime Jude asked Tatterfell repeated the same thing, tradition. Taryn supported her claim as did The Bomb. For the time she let it go, too tired and focused to argue back. Now it was close, the arrival of their heir, all that suppressed guilt of Cardan not being here boiled into fury and rage. To hell with the tradition. As High King and Queen they have changed many outdated rulings. What’s one more.
“Tatterfell?”
The older imp standing next to The Bomb looked over to her. Both of the women were preparing warm bowls of water and new clothes for cleansing bloodied rags. She had said moments ago Jude was ready to push. The baby would be here soon. Taryn was busying herself with securing a strong fabric overhead, claiming it helps while pushing. Jude didn’t care about the fabrics, or the repetitive words from these women. She wanted her husband and she would have him in this room.
“My queen, what do you need?”
Jude swallowed thickly, fighting off a contraction, “I need my husband.”
“It’s not -" No. She wouldn't hear it. not again. The Fire inside turned her white hot.
“I DON’T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT TRADITION. GET MY HUSBAND IN HERE!” All three women looked to each other, “Now!” she seethed, “I am the mortal queen of faerie! I am as un tradition as it can be. If he isn’t here in the next minute. I will exile the three of you," her brows twisted in pure raging anger, teeth flashing as she stared them down.
Tatterfell went to open her mouth. Jude fixed on the tall figure behind her. Inky black unkempt hair, tired black eyes staring at her. The face of wrath that was displayed on Jude's features quickly dispersed. He was still in his sleep shirt and slacks. He looked to Jude the way he always did. Like her beauty was magic of its own. Even in her state of swollen belly, tangled hair and body drenched in sweat. Her eyes shined like the honey stick she had earlier. An exhausted smile tugged at the corner of lips as he approached her. Cardan sat next to her on the firm mattress, Jude immediately leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. He pressed a kiss atop her head.
“You're -” She moved away from him as a burst of scorching pain crashed into her. Like someone took a greatsword, piercing her in between her thighs. Cardan seemed to know exactly what she needed. Angling behind her, supporting Jude’s body with his own. Sliding his hands into hers, she squeezed them as tight as her strength would allow. Tatterfell kept shouting at her to push. Taryn stood by the bedside continually dabbing a cool cloth to Jude. The Bomb kept herself busy aiding Tatterfell's requests. The four in the room kept up this routine for what felt like hours. A constant circle of screams, words of encouragement, wiping sweat, and changing rags. Daylight had begun to seep through in the high windows. Jude felt heavy with exhaustion, agony, and worry.
“Jude,” Tatterfell spoke sternly, “One more push and that’s it. The next contraction push with that strength I know you have. You’ve got this.”
Jude shook her head as tears fell, she leaned into Cardan turning to face him. He saw it. The same expression she gave him hours ago, “I can’t do this,” her lips trembled, streaks of tears coated her splotchy face, “ I can’t be a mother. I’m. I’m scared that I will screw this up.”
He’d never seen her look so vulnerable, so utterly human in his arms. There was true doubt in her eyes. He couldn’t believe it. That she thought she would be a terrible mother. Jude Duarte, protector and Queen of Elfhame. A woman who put herself on a dangerous path to protect a child. Who stood up to bullies in her youth. Who loved, cared, and protected her friends and family wouldn’t be a good mother? Cardan could almost laugh at her absurdity. Humour wasn’t what she needed. It was reassurance, comfort. Her husband knew she needed him to be her rock right now. That it was his turn to be the strong one.
“My darling God, you can. Do you know why?” gingerly taking her face in his warm palms, pulling her forehead to his while running a thumb over her tears brushing them away, “ Because you’re brave, protective, caring. You love with your whole heart, and I know that you’d give our child the world. You would sacrifice everything for them if it meant their happiness,” He kissed away the new tears, “If I must admit. I, too, am scared. The thoughts you have, I have of myself,” he paused, “So long as we have each other. I think we will be fine. I am always in your corner Jude as I hope you are in mine.”
Jude went to speak when a treacherous wave of pain swirled through. She cried out reaching for the strong bands above her. Cardan helped angle her body forward as Jude fisted the heavy ivory fabric. Pulling her auburn hair back, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek, “You can do this. You’re my wife and the mortal Queen of Elfhame. You can do this Jude,” Gritting her teeth she summoned all of her remaining strength. With a warrior cry she gave one final push. The pressure in her core felt like the cork of a bottle being popped open. Letting go of the fabrics, Jude fell back into Cardan’s arms. Within seconds they both stilled hearing the powerful shrill cry of a newborn. Their hearts thundered nervously in tune with each other. Observing as Tatterfell severed the cord connecting mother to baby. She took a salve from The Bomb, rubbing the cream onto the screaming newborn.
“Hello there little one,” Tatterfell smiled at the small babe in her arms, Her old coal eyes flicked up to Jude and Cardan, “Would you like to meet your daughter? It would do her well for you to remove your shirt. Babes like the skin."
Cardan tugged his shirt off discarding it to the floor, Jude slipped her arms out of the thin straps of her nightgown. Taryn and The Bomb both hugged the new parents, before making their leave. Jude motioned to Tatterfell for her husband to take first hold. His heart thundered in his chest, hands shaking as Tatterfell slipped the baby into Cardan's waiting arms, she too excused herself. Giving the King and Queen time alone. Jude attempted to offer an apology, Tatterfell only waved her off. Citing that through the years there have been many things Jude could have apologized for. Shouting in labor wasn't one and that she too thought the tradition was absurd.
As soon as the tiny bundle moved into the crook of Cardan’s arms, her cries softened. Gently he moved back to the ornate headboard. His eyes roamed over the small child. Patches of curls the color of the richest chocolates sat atop her little head. Slowly she looked up at Cardan, wide honeyed eyes Iike her mother. A sharp nose like that of her father. The one thing she had indisputably been inherited from the King, was the small tail swishing about left to right. He stared at her in awe. Like she was the single most precious thing in the land.
Jude watched him with their daughter. The tenderness he used when moving her to his bare chest. His hand was wide as the babes back. The newborn girl extended a small hand to Cardan's face. Resting over his jaw. The tiny tail curled around his finger like a thin band. Her heart swelled, overcome with more affection than she thought possible. Jude bit back a sob looking over to her husband bonding with their minute old baby. She held no doubts he'd be a great father, it wasn't surprising to witness him falling in step with ease.
"Cardan," he looked over at his queen, it was her turn to build him up, " Look at you. We have been parents all, but five minutes. Already you fell into this role with affection and gentleness," a tired sigh fell from her lips, "You're not Dain, Balekin, or your father. You have a big heart and you care deeply. I have no doubts that you will be that girl's pillar. The way you are mine."
"As long as we have each other?" he questioned
"As long as we have each other," she confirmed. The Princess of Elfhame started to move on his chest, as if she was looking for something, "let me see her. She might be hungry."
Carefully Cardan placed the girl in Jude's cradled arms. Jude brought the baby to her breast, offering her nipple. She took it, sucking from her mother. With his encouraging words earlier and their daughter safely in arms, Jude's fears washed away. He watched in awe as Jude fell into her new role the same way she did as Seneschal, and Queen, naturally. Like she was born for this despite the worry still hidden in her loving gaze. His heart swelled with joy and pride as his wife caressed the baby's cheek and brought her lips to the nursing newborn. He pulled Jude flush to him. Cardan wrapped his arms around them, his hands overlapping Jude's. The baby's tail followed suit, resting atop her parent's hands. He thought about his wife. The things she had done in the past, and the last several hours. All the pain, the suffering she endured to bring life into this world. He didn't think it were possible to fall in love with Jude again, but he did. She gave him a gift so precious and rare. There were no words to describe how he felt.
Jude nuzzled into the crook of his neck the same time he pressed a kiss into her mussed up hair.
A two-part story about a manly man who's a surrogate carrying for his sister. I started this story around Halloween and I'm just now getting to publishing. Sorry for the delay!
WARNING: NSFW, there will be male pregnancy, MPREG, and males giving birth
Part 1 is here: Don't Eat the Pumpkin Seeds (Part 1 of 2) [MPREG]
Lena froze in the doorway. Ben skidded to a stop behind her, his eyes widening as he took in the sight: Marcus, his rugged, masculine brother-in-law, lying completely exposed, legs wide in the stirrups, with Dr. Reed's hand lodged deep inside his birth canal.
Ben's filter completely failed him and words tumbled out. "Oh! It looks like...like you have a vagina, Marcus!"
A collective silence descended. Dr. Reed paused, her hand frozen mid-exam. Lena gasped, her face switching from worry to pure fury in a fraction of a second.
Dr. Reed, however, was unfazed. Addressing Ben with calm professionalism, she stated, "You’re correct, sir. The birth canal of a male carrying a baby is appropriately referred to as the VAGINA."
Lena didn't say a word. She simply spun and delivered a sharp, open-handed slap to Ben’s chest hard enough to send him stumbling backward against the wall with a surprised gasp.
Marcus’s jaw clenched tighter. He was clearly ready to strangle Ben if it weren’t for his current condition. His focus was redirected as Dr. Reed announced, "You’re at four centimeters and your cervix is at least eighty percent effaced, Marcus.”
Dr. Reed removed her hand from Marcus’ vagina, discarding the gloves with a snap. She then pressed her palms firmly against the taut, immense dome of Marcus's belly. Her touch was reassuringly professional; her eyes focused on the man’s contracting uterus beneath her hands.
"Marcus, everything feels fantastic here," Dr. Reed commented, moving her hands lower to his pelvic bowl. "The baby is well positioned and you’re both making great progress. Your amniotic fluid volume is quite robust. I can feel a lot of cushion in here, which means we might have a big gush when your water finally breaks. Why don’t you try the tub again for a while to help things along?"
Marcus glared past Dr. Reed at his brother-in-law, his voice a low rasp. “Ben, turn around while I get my shorts back on. Rule number one was not to look at my, my…you know. And you already broke the rule. Just turn around, ok?”
With Ben’s back turned, Marcus slowly lowered his legs from the stirrups, groaning as his pregnant body protested his every movement.
With the help of Julia and Mia, Marcus carefully got back into his mesh trunks, then lowered himself into the warm, soothing water of the tub. He let out a long, ragged sigh as the warmth enveloped him.
The relief was short-lived. A fresh contraction gripped him, and Marcus bent forward in the water, his arms locked over the tub’s rim. "Hnnnngh! Oh, man," he gasped, the sound closer to a bellow than a breath.
"Okay, Marcus, breathe! I read about this!" Ben said excitedly, trying to sound helpful while keeping a safe distance. "It's, uh, hee-hoo-hee-hoo-hee-hoo! Like that!"
Marcus snapped his head up, eyes wild. "Ben, shut up! I really don’t need your help, I’ve been contracting for hours already, I know what I’m doing! Just shut up, ok?”
Lena approached the tub, her face pale with worry at seeing her big, strong brother in the throes of labor. She reached a hand into the water, gently stroking her laboring brother’s massive forearm. "Hey. Look at me, Marcus. You're doing incredible, bro, you’re so strong," she murmured. "Forget Ben. Just breathe slow and deep. In through your nose, out through your mouth. I'm here. I'm not leaving."
For the next fifteen minutes, the room was filled with the sounds of Marcus’s labor. His breathing was slow and controlled, but when the surges hit, his exhales turned into low bellows as his uterus worked to push the baby lower into his pelvis.
As the painful tension of a contraction receded, Marcus let out a shuddering sigh. Julia, still crouched near the tub, leaned in toward Lena.
"You're going to be an incredible mom, Lena," Julia said quietly with a smile. "Congratulations on your baby. And I gotta say, you're so very lucky to have Marcus for a brother. What an awesome guy to do this for you!"
Lena gave Julia a look of gratitude. "Ya, he truly is the best. He’s all heart, even with that tough exterior," she said, smiling brightly. "I just hope that one day he finds someone wonderful to have a family with.”
Julia nodded, her expression softening. "You can tell how deeply he cares for this baby just by watching him fight through these contractions now," she replied, her eyes briefly meeting Lena's. She continued, “You know, it also takes a lot of strength being the one waiting and watching. You’re just as brave, Lena."
They stayed like that for the next hour. The room was mostly silent except for gentle splashes of water and the soft humming of the machines. Marcus provided the rest of the noise with his quick staccato breaths during a surge, followed by his deep strained sounds as the contractions receded.
Eventually, the morning sun spilled through the hospital window, casting long shadows. A deep, blotchy flush had begun to spread across Marcus’s chest, rising up his neck to stain his cheeks a rose color. It was the undeniable labor flush, a biological marker of the intense hormonal storm raging inside the man. It made his rugged features look strangely soft and vulnerable.
Dr. Reed returned, checking her watch. "Well, it's been over an hour. I think it's time to check progress again, Marcus."
Marcus was visibly struggling to keep his composure. He looked defeated. "I don’t know if I can get back up,” he whispered.
"You can. We've got you," Julia promised with an upbeat voice. With the combined effort of Lena and the two nurses, they hauled the big man’s wet, heavy bulk from the tub. He stood for a moment, dripping and trembling, before collapsing back onto the delivery bed.
As the nurses started to peel off his wet shorts, Dr. Reed said, “Marcus, would you like us to affix a Male Modesty Cover?”
She held up a soft, gray pouch made of breathable material with adhesive strips. “It’s a secure pouch that we apply over your male anatomy. It keeps everything safely contained and out of the way for the delivery team. It also keeps everyone’s eyes off your male parts.”
Marcus, panting heavily, looked at the device, then at Ben, who was still trying to look anywhere but at his brother-in-law’s pelvic region. “Please. Yes. Absolutely.” He was obviously grateful for even a little modesty.
Dr. Reed smiled warmly. “Julia, Mia, if you two would assist, please?”
Marcus’s body was a striking juxtaposition of raw male power and maternal grace. His broad, muscular chest ended abruptly at the curve of his belly, a smooth globe that defied his rugged build. The pregnant belly created a stark clash against his powerful thighs and the fully exposed male anatomy waiting beneath the curve.
Ben, who had managed to find a fixed point on the wall, accidentally let his gaze drift down for a second. The unexpected length and girth of his brother-in-law's dick was so overwhelming that Ben let out a faint, choked noise, shocked at the magnitude of the pregnant man’s big member.
Marcus, lost in a new, mounting contraction, barely registered Ben's reaction. He could only focus on the pressure building in his pelvis. Julia and Mia, however, worked with gentleness, handling Marcus’s immense member with care as they aligned it and pressed the adhesive of the modesty cover against the skin surrounding his pubic region. Their expressions held a slight twinkle of amusement for the task at hand.
As they finished, Dr. Reed said, "I have a feeling things are moving faster than you realize. We’ll see in just a second, when I check you again.” Marcus braced himself for Dr. Reed’s intrusion of his body. "Just...just be gentle," he pleaded.
As Dr. Reed began the examination, Marcus let out a sharp, choked "Nngh!" of discomfort as his birth canal was stretched by the Doctor’s fingers. Then, a sudden surge of clear, amniotic fluid flowed out of him like a waterfall.
"Well, there you go! I told you we were carrying a big reservoir in there!" Dr. Reed said brightly, pulling her hand out of Marcus. "Julia, let's get the monitors back on. I want to see the baby's response.”
Julia and Mia quickly secured the external fetal heart rate and contraction monitors around Marcus’s taut, undulating abdomen. The rhythmic echo of the baby’s heartbeat was broadcast into the room, whoosh-whoosh, whoosh-whoosh, whoosh-whoosh.
"Okay, Mr. Marcus, you’re at 6 centimeters. Now that your water broke, the pressure of the baby's head is directly on your cervix. Things are going to speed up dramatically, I expect."
Marcus seemed not to register Dr. Reed’s update. He only registered the new, overwhelming sensation of the baby’s head spreading his birth canal like a battering ram. His breath hitched and he squeezed his eyes shut, hands gripping the sheet. "Gaaaaaah! Oh, the pressure! Oh, the pressure is intense!" he roared, his voice cracking. "It's like...like my hips are splitting open! “
“That pressure is the head descending. Just relax and let yourself open,” Dr. Reed said, her voice cutting through the haze of Marcus’s panic. She kept her eyes on the monitor where the contraction peaked like a jagged mountain.
“Now that your water broke, his head is applying direct force on your cervix. The baby is starting to descend faster. I know it hurts, but it’s bringing the baby closer to being born. Just relax and let yourself open.”
Marcus groaned as the contraction released, “Ha, Ha…Hooo…Hooooooo.” Then he said, rubbing his belly, “It feels exactly what I read other guys describe, I feel all the tissues inside me stretching. It’s like my canal is being forced wider than is possible. There’s so much pressure stretching everything. My birth canal…my vagina…”
Dr. Reed nodded calmly, her eyes fixed on the fetal monitor strip. "Focus on that feeling of opening, Marcus. That's helping you progress." She paused, then offered, "I know you wanted to go without, but do you want the anesthesiologist to come in for an epidural?"
"NO!" Marcus yelled forcefully, shaking his head violently against the pillow. "I said natural! No, I'm doing this naturally!"
As the words left his mouth, a new contraction seized him. It was far more violent than the last. It didn't roll in; it struck like a sledgehammer. Marcus’s back arched off the bed, his calves digging into the stirrups.
Dr. Reed leaned close, her voice dropping to a commanding whisper. "Marcus, look at me. You’re fighting this. You’re clenching against the pressure like a man bracing for a fight, but you cannot muscle your way through this."
Marcus groaned, his teeth gritted. "It feels...It feels like I'm tearing..."
"It’s not tearing, it’s stretching. There is a difference," Dr. Reed corrected firmly. "You have to do what women have done for millennia. You have to surrender to it. You have to soften your reaction and accept the opening, accept the pressure, Marcus. If you don't let yourself open up, you won’t be able to birth this baby.”
"Hnnnnggg! Hnnnnggg! GAAAAHHH!" he cried out, a raw, guttural roar that ripped through his throat. His massive hands clamped onto the bed rails, the muscles in his forearms bulging under the strain. He squeezed his eyes shut, his face twisting into a mask of pure agony.
"Stay with it, Marcus!" Dr. Reed commanded, her voice firm. "Don't fight the pressure. I know it feels like you’re splitting apart, but that is your body making room for the baby. Let the baby go lower, let your body accept the stretch.”
Marcus shook his head frantically, sweat flying from his brow. "I can't...it feels too...too big!" he gasped, panic edging into his voice. Instinctively, he tried to clamp his thighs together, fighting the pressure in his crotch.
"No, Marcus. Don’t clamp down, calm down and let your birth canal open," Dr. Reed instructed. "Don’t fight it, just let it happen, let yourself accept the baby’s head deeper into your pelvis.”
With a trembling, tortured groan, Marcus forced himself to surrender. He slowly let his thick legs open wider, more fully exposing his vulnerability to the room. He put his hands on top of his belly and panted raggedly, his chest heaving. "Ah-hoo…ah-hoo…ohhhhhhhh."
As the contraction receded, Marcus slumped sideways, pressing his sweaty face into Lena’s palm. He nuzzled against her hand like a child seeking comfort. When she stopped stroking his temple to check the monitor, he let out a high, needy whimper, “No...don't stop...please.”
"Hnnnnggg! Hnnnnggg! GAAAAHHH! GAAAAHHH!" he cried with another strong uterine contraction.
Down below, the physical toll of the labor was becoming visible. The tissues of Marcus’s vagina were beginning to engorge, the edges of his birth canal turning a deep violet as the pressure forced blood into the area. His opening looked swollen and puffy. It glistened under the medical lights, making a contrast to the skin of his inner thighs.
Another wave hit before he could recover. A low, animalistic grunt rumbled deep in his chest. "Uggghhhhh-huh!" His belly, hard as stone, distorted visibly as his womb torqued, thrusting the baby closer to his exit.
For the next twenty minutes, there was no respite. The contractions came one on top of another.
His massive legs began to shake violently in the stirrups, an uncontrollable rattling that vibrated the entire bed. “I can't stop shaking,” Marcus chattered, his teeth clicking together. “It's the hormones, Marcus,” Julia soothed, holding his knee firmly. “It’s totally normal. It means you're getting close, Marcus. You’re doing so well.”
"Heee-yaaaah!" Marcus yelped, a high-pitched, undignified squeak escaping him as a particularly sharp pain radiated into his lower back. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, had gone glassy and unfocused. He wasn't in the room anymore; he was deep inside his own body and entirely surrendered to the rhythm of his uterus.
He writhed on the bed, gripping the bedrails with white knuckles. He muttered, "It’s my hips, I think my hips are splitting open!”
Dr. Reed watched the monitor, then Marcus’s perineum. She could see the tissue bulging slightly with the peak of the contraction. "Let's see how much progress we’ve made," she announced, snapping on fresh gloves.
Marcus barely nodded, too exhausted to protest. Dr. Reed lubricated her fingers and inserted her hand into the man’s swollen, tight birth canal. Marcus hissed through his teeth, "Sssshhh-ahhh," his hips bucking slightly against the intrusion.
Dr. Reed didn’t need to press very deep. "Wow, Marcus! You are nine centimeters!" she announced, withdrawing her hand. But her tone wasn't purely celebratory. She looked at the nurse, then back at Marcus.
"The baby has hit a snag," she explained, her voice serious. "I can feel the head. It's tilted, asynclitic, and it's pressing hard against your pubic arch. This is a common challenge with male deliveries. Male pelvises are narrower and deeper than a female pelvis. Marcus, your male bone structure doesn’t flare out like a woman’s, so the baby has a much tighter squeeze to navigate."
She gestured with her hands to demonstrate. "She's trying to rotate, but she's catching on this bony ridge.
We need to use gravity to dislodge her," Dr. Reed commanded, stepping back to give them space. "I need him on his hands and knees."
Marcus looked at her through bleary, sweat-stung eyes. "I... I can't move," he wheezed, his chest heaving.
"We're going to help you. Come on, big guy," Julia said, unlocking the bed rails. "Ben, I need you on his left side, grab under his armpit. Lena, take the right hip. On three."
Ben stepped up, looking terrified but determined. He wedged his shoulder under Marcus’s massive, trembling arm. "I got you, Marcus. I got you."
"One, two, three…turn!"
Marcus groaned, a deep, rumbling sound of exertion, “HUUUUURGH," as he tried to coordinate his exhausted muscles. The bed frame creaked under the shifting mass of his six-foot-five frame.
"Watch the IV line!" Julia barked, untangling the tubing as Marcus rolled onto his side.
With a final, agonizing grunt, Marcus hauled himself up. He planted his elbows first, then pushed up to his hands, his head hanging low between his shoulders.
Gravity took over as he settled onto all fours. The curve of his belly dropped, becoming a heavy, swinging sac that pulled taut against his ribs. The tension turned the stretch marks along his hips into bright, silvery streaks. The position stripped him of his last defenses: viewed from behind, his anatomy was entirely rewritten. The swollen, violet opening of his vagina was now the focal point. It was exposed, pulsating and preparing to be levered wide open by the baby’s head.
"That’s it," Dr. Reed said, placing a hand on his lower back. "Let the belly hang. This pulls the pressure off your spine and encourages her to rotate."
"Marcus, listen to me closely," Dr. Reed said. "When you contract again, I DO NOT want you to push. It’s not quite time yet.”
Marcus gritted his teeth, sweat dripping from the tip of his nose. "Then... then…what... do I do?"
"Rock back," she instructed. "When you contract, I want you to rock back and widen your hips as much as you can. Open your birth canal as much as you can."
A low moan started in Marcus's throat. "Oh, oh…it’s... it’s starting. Hnnng!"
"Ok, Marcus, rock back! Push your hips back!" Julia coached, rubbing his shoulder.
Marcus squeezed his eyes shut and shoved his weight backward. His thighs trembled as he compressed his body. He widened his knees, forcing his pelvis open. He held the position, his breath coming in sharp, hissing gasps through his clenched teeth, “Tssss-tssss-tssss,” as he rode out the contraction.
As the pain ebbed, he lunged forward again, the heavy weight of his pregnant belly swinging beneath him.
As the big man labored, his sweat-soaked muscles rippling with every contraction, Julia and Mia couldn't help but exchange a look. "I mean, just look at the glutes on that man," Mia whispered, watching the massive, straining curve of his backside as he rocked back. "Unreal. Even in labor." Julia simply nodded, transfixed by the sheer, powerful, primal athleticism of his struggle.
"Good. Do it again," Dr. Reed ordered. "She's turning."
Another contraction seized him immediately. Marcus rocked back again, making his hips and birth canal go wider than ever.
"GAAAAH! OH, OH, IT HURTS!!" he cried out, his voice cracking into a high, startled yelp. "Something moved! It feels like a bowling ball right in my bum!"
"That's it!" Dr. Reed said. "She cleared the ridge!"
"Oh, it burns..." Marcus whimpered, burying his face in the mattress. "My vagina feels so tight."
"I know. That’s the head pressing on your perineum," Dr. Reed said. She reached for a bottle on the tray. "I’m going to use some warm oil to help you stretch. We need to make as much room as possible before you start pushing."
Marcus flinched as he felt Dr. Reed’s fingers rub the slippery, warm oil to his most sensitive area. Dr. Reed didn't hesitate; she began a firm, rhythmic massage on Marcus’s perineum stretching the lips of his opening outward with her fingers.
The intense sensation forced a sound out of him that he couldn't control. "Eeee-yiii! Ah-ah-eeee!" It was a sharp, high-pitched squeak, a desperate noise that sounded foreign coming from his bearded throat. He didn't sound like a man at all; he sounded like a woman in the final throes of labor.
"Breathe, Marcus," Dr. Reed said while continuing to apply steady pressure to stretch his opening. "This massage will help you not tear."
Just then, a massive transition contraction hit him. It was different than the others, uncontrollable and all encompassing. Marcus didn't just rock; his whole body convulsed.
"EEEEEEEE-YAAAAAAH!"
The scream tore out of him, high and keening, a piercing shriek that vibrated the bed frame. It wasn't a roar of strength anymore; it was the shrill, desperate wail of a body completely surrendered to the overwhelming power of childbirth.
As the wave subsided, leaving Marcus gasping and drooling on the sheets, Dr. Reed slid her hand fully inside him for a status check.
"Marcus," Dr. Reed said, her voice piercing the haze of his exhaustion. "You have a choice right now. Gravity is helping you here on your hands and knees, but some people feel more comfortable on their back. Do you want to deliver like this, or do you want to flip over?"
Marcus blinked, sweat dripping from his eyelashes onto the sheet. The words didn't seem to process at first. "Deliver?" he croaked, his voice cracking. "You mean... now? Like, right now?"
"Right now," Dr. Reed confirmed, stripping off her soiled gloves. "You are fully dilated. The baby is right there. It is time to push him out.”
Shock registered on Marcus’s flushed face. "Oh, Uhhh…I'm not ready," he stammered, his massive arms trembling under his weight. "I can't... I can't hold myself up anymore. My arms are so tired."
"Then let's get you on your back," Julia said, stepping in. "Come on, big guy. Last flip."
With a heavy flop, Marcus settled back against the inclined pillows. He let his legs fall open, his chest heaving, his massive, distended belly rising and falling from his immense exertion.
"Okay," Dr. Reed said, positioning herself at the foot of the bed. She looked almost excited. "Listen to me, Marcus. The hardest part is over. Now comes the fun part, pushing!"
Marcus stared at her, his eyes wide and bloodshot. He let out a breathless, incredulous laugh that turned into a groan. "Fun? You think... pushing a human out of my... out of there... is going to be fun?"
"It is productive pain," Dr. Reed corrected with a smile. "You’re in control now, you get to bring this baby into the world."
She placed a hand on his knee. "Listen. When the next contraction comes, I want you to grab your legs, back here on your hamstrings and pull them back. Tuck your chin to your chest. And I want you to focus every ounce of your strength right here." She tapped the top of his uterus.
She gripped his knee harder, locking eyes with him. "You have to let go of your ego. You have to let go of being tough. Strength won't get her out, surrender will. Let your body deliver this baby exactly like women have been doing since the beginning.” Marcus gripped the bed rails, his knuckles white. "I don't know if I can..."
"I know you can, Marcus. But you have to accept the stretching," Dr. Reed said firmly. "You have to surrender to the ring of fire. It is going to burn, but do not pull away. Lean into the burn and accept it like a woman. Surrender to the baby passing through your vagina, just like women have been doing since the beginning of time. Let your body do what it was made to do."
Marcus looked at Lena, then at Ben. He took a jagged breath, nodding slowly. "Okay," he whispered, closing his eyes. "Okay. I surrender."
"Good," Dr. Reed said, watching the monitor as the line began to spike. "Because here comes a wave. Grab your legs, Marcus. Let's meet this baby."
Marcus grabbed his thick hamstrings, hauling his heavy legs back. The movement tilted his pelvis, exposing his swollen birth canal even further to the bright clinical lights. As the peak of the contraction hit, he tucked his chin and pushed. A sharp, breathy keen escaped him. It was a surprisingly high, feminine sound that starkly contrasted with his bearded face and massive frame. "Eeeeaaaahhh!"
He fell back against the pillows, his chest heaving. "Did... did I do it right?" he gasped.
"You did, Marcus," Dr. Reed affirmed, her eyes focused intently between his legs. "But you need to hold that downward pressure for ten full seconds. Nurse Julia will count for you."
"I've got you, Marcus. Follow my lead," Julia said encouragingly while touching his thigh.
"Here comes another surge," Dr. Reed announced. "Push again, Marcus. Make this contraction work for you."
Marcus hauled his legs back, bearing down. "One... two... three..." Julia counted steadily. But before she could even reach six, Marcus threw his head back and screamed.
"GAAAAH! OH! OH! I feel it! I feel the head coming out!"
"You're making great progress, but you aren't crowning yet," Dr. Reed instructed calmly. "Be patient, Marcus. Keep pushing."
Marcus bore down again. His face instantly turned a dark crimson, and the thick veins on his massive neck stood out like taut ropes.
Without a break, another wave crashed over him. As he pushed, his immense pregnant tummy visibly distended, transforming into a hard, rigid mound of muscle and tension. When the contraction finally broke, the belly undulated strangely as his exhausted uterus relaxed.
Marcus was fading, able to manage only a fraction of a sentence at a time between gasps. "The pressure..." he panted, squeezing his eyes shut. "Oh... the pressure."
The respite was over in seconds. He hauled his legs back and pushed again. His vagina visibly bulged outward under the immense force. "It's too big!" Marcus screamed, pure panic threading through his deep voice. "It won't fit!"
"She’s fitting perfectly, Marcus," Dr. Reed assured him, her hands hovering near his perineum. "You’re making great progress. Keep going."
Lena and Ben exchanged a wide-eyed look, entirely overwhelmed as they watched the raw, visceral intensity of what was happening between Marcus’s legs.
Marcus collapsed against the pillows, recovering with harsh, ragged panting.
"You are doing incredible," Julia praised, stroking his knee. "Honestly, Marcus, you are one of the best pushers I've ever seen. A natural."
The praise was swallowed by another contraction. Marcus pushed again, and this time, the edges of his vagina faintly spread. "Ahhhh! My vagina is on fire! Ayyyyy!" he cried out.
"Oh my God, Marcus! I can see it! I can see the head! It's right there in your... your vagina!" Ben exclaimed, forgetting himself entirely as he leaned in for a closer look.
Marcus stared up at the ceiling, a man broken down entirely to instinct. He gripped Lena's hand so tightly his knuckles turned white. His entire six-foot-five frame was consumed by the effort of labor. His thick beard matted completely with sweat and tears.
"GAAAH! It feels like a bowling ball!" he cried, after holding a push for ten full seconds. He collapsed backward, gasping for air, and the baby's head visibly slipped back inside his body. The monumental effort made his thick thighs begin to tremble violently against the stirrups, the heavy muscles shaking like jelly under his skin.
The next contraction hit. He pushed, making the tissues of his perineum stretch, but as his breath ran out, the baby slipped back again.
"Again, Marcus, push now! Don't let her slip back!" Lena urged, her voice fierce with support.
Marcus bore down with everything he had left. His face turned dark purple as he unleashed a powerful bellow, "OHHH-OH-OHHH! Get this thing out of me! GET IT OUT!"
His opening stretched wider than before, the skin of his perineum turning stark white with the sheer strain. This time, when he finally released the push, the head kept his vagina open.
Another violent push, and his vagina opened visibly wider. Marcus just grunted, a deep, primal sound. Ben stood entirely astounded, his jaw slack.
As Marcus caught a brief break, his eyes went huge, staring wildly around the room.
"Marcus," Dr. Reed said softly. "Do you want to reach down and feel the head?"
He shook his head, then paused, changing his mind. Slowly, with a trembling hand, he reached over the massive slope of his bump, down between his thick thighs, and gently touched the wet, firm crown of the head poking from his vagina. His breath hitched.
"She's…she’s right there," he whispered, his voice cracking as tears welled in his exhausted eyes. As he looked up to Lena.
"OH! I'm... I'm about to contract again," he stammered.
Instantly, he pulled his massive legs even wider and pushed with a guttural roar. His body gaped unbelievably wide, the violet tissues stretching into a full, agonizing crown. He fell back, panting, his entire body shaking uncontrollably from the sheer exertion.
He got a short rest, his birth canal gaping open around the baby's head. He couldn't even speak.
"You are nearly there, Marcus," Dr. Reed told him. "Just one or two more pushes."
Lena gently wiped the pouring sweat from his brow. Ben seemed frozen in a stupor, entirely mesmerized by the miracle happening in front of him.
"You are so strong, Marcus. You're doing it," Julia praised him again.
Suddenly, his belly hardened, squeezing itself into an steel ball. Marcus closed his eyes shut and tried not to push, trying to breathe through the burn, but his body violently compelled him. He roared, bearing down with unstoppable force, and the baby's head finally started to slip free.
Marcus released a wild and hysterical cry, “heiiiiiyyyyyyiiiiii,” as the baby’s head surged free from his gaping birth canal. An explosive gush of residual amniotic fluid immediately followed as the slippery mass of the body exited. Marcus let out a massive sigh of relief, “ohhhhaaaa-haaaaaa.” followed by a second of silence, then the high-pitched Waaah! Waaah! Waaah! of the newborn crying in Dr. Reed’s arms.
"He's out…I mean, SHE’S out!" Dr. Reed corrected happily.
The room dissolved into a bedlam of relief and emotion. Lena immediately buried her face in Marcus’s shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. Ben sobbed, tears streaming down his face. “She’s here... oh, Marcus, she’s actually here.”
Marcus collapsed back onto the pillow, completely spent. His chest heaved like a bellows as he caught his breath, his thick arms trembling uncontrollably from the adrenaline crash. As his breathing slowed, he wearily opened his eyes and watched the baby he had just delivered take the first breaths of life.
His eyes still blurry, he smiled as Dr. Reed moved with practiced speed, wiping the infant down before placing the crying bundle, a girl, onto his bare torso.
A wave of emotion overtook him, and he forgot all the pain, the pressure, the splitting open that birthing this perfect child had required. He looked down in awe of the tiny, wrinkled, perfectly formed human lying on his deflated belly. He seemed to drink in the moment, the smell of the little one, the beautiful sound of her little voice crying, and the feel of her body against his skin.
Tears began streaming freely down his face, mixing with the sweat already covering his brow. He slowly looked from the baby to Lena, then to Ben. "She's perfect. She’s beautiful," Marcus whispered, his voice a wrecked croak.
Julia softly lifted the umbilical cord and watched the thick tube as it ceased pulsing. She placed two clamps onto the cord. She turned toward Marcus and asked gently, “Who’s cutting the cord?”
Marcus smiled towards Ben. He stumbled initially, but his voice regained its normal gentle authority. "B-Ben. Would you like to do the honors, Dad?"
Ben nodded, his lips pressed tight to hold back a sob. His hand shook as Dr. Reed handed him the surgical scissors. He gazed down at the thick, purplish-white cord connecting his daughter to the placenta still tucked inside Marcus’s uterus. He fumbled slightly, his soft hands shaking as he held the sharp scissors.
“That’s it, Ben,” Dr. Reed coached, pointing to the spot between the two clamps. “Just a firm, clean snip.”
Ben took a deep breath and looked at his daughter. He pressed the blades together and the cord severed with a tough, rubbery crunch. He placed the scissors down reverently, then he reached out and gently touched the baby’s cheek with a single, trembling finger.
Immediately after the cut, Dr. Reed turned her attention back to Marcus’s abdomen, which was now soft and squishy. “Marcus, we’re entering the third stage of labor. The placenta needs to come out now. Don't worry, it’s nothing compared to birthing the baby.”
She began to gently knead Marcus’s lower abdomen with firm, rhythmic pressure. She murmured softly, "This is a uterine massage; it helps your uterus contract down and encourages the placenta to detach.”
As Dr. Reed worked, Ben and Lena leaned closer to Marcus, their faces hovering over their daughter.
“We did it, Marcus,” Lena whispered, tears of joy running onto his chest. “Look at her, look at her little nose. She’s gorgeous.” Ben wiped his eyes. “She is… she is the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”
Marcus grunted softly from the uterine massage, but never stopped examining every centimeter of the warm, wriggling baby on his chest. He let out a sharper groan as a more powerful contraction pulsed through his uterus.
He looked up at Lena and asked lovingly, “Would you like to hold your daughter?” Lena nodded vigorously and reached out her arms. As she took the baby into her loving embrace, tears streamed down the new mom’s face.
Ben stood beside Lena and gazed into his daughter’s face. He said, “What do you think, Lena? Should we name her after your grandmother? Beatrice?”
Marcus waited for a pause, then interjected. "Oh, Beatrice. I like it. A strong name."
Lena shook her head, “No, no. Beatrice will be a fine middle name, but she’s going to be named after the man who carried her. This is Marcia Beatrice.”
Ben nodded, clearly happy with the decision. He looked at the tiny, red-faced girl. "Welcome to the world, Marcia Beatrice."
Marcus let out a soft grunt, “uhhh, huuuu-oooo,” as Dr. Reed gently tugged on the umbilical cord that was still buried in his vagina. “Give me a little push, ok Marcus?” Dr. Reed soothed.
Marcus gritted his teeth and gave a small push. As Dr. Reed pulled, Marcus’s vagina widened and the placenta slowly emerged from his birth canal. A heavy gush came from between his legs as the organ fell into a basin. Dr. Reed said, satisfied, “And there’s the afterbirth, perfect and complete. Great job, Marcus.”
Marcus exhaled heavily, sinking into the damp pillows. With the delivery of the placenta that had been Marcia Beatrice’s lifeline for the last nine months, his duty as a surrogate was finally, officially over. His battered body was his own again. His identity shifted as the placenta flopped into the basin: he was no longer the surrogate, the vessel. He was now free to be Uncle Marcus.
Julia stepped in and told Lena, “Let’s get this little lady weighed, ok?” Julia gently took the baby and started a newborn exam in a cradle against the wall. Lena squeezed her brother’s shoulder again and said, “Man, you were amazing Marcus. Thank you, thank you again brother.”
As Marcus accepted the thanks, Dr. Reed used a light to examine the tissues of Marcus’s vagina. She said, “Marcus, you handled delivery like a champion. You just have a minor first-degree tear. Nothing to worry about. I’ll stitch you up right now, just a few quick dissolvable sutures.”
Marcus flinched slightly as Dr. Reed administered the local anesthetic and began the repair. Ben patted Marcus’s forearm and said, “You were unbelievable man, that was insane. I knew you were strong, but what you just did was the mightiest thing I’ve ever seen someone do.”
Marcus nodded. Distracted by the conversation, the stitching in his vagina felt distant to Marcus.
As Dr. Reed placed the final stitch, Marcus looked at her between his legs. “Doctor,” Marcus asked, his voice low but steady, “Now that I know I can do this. Um…um, well…is there any biological reason I couldn’t carry again at some point?”
Dr. Reed smiled while trimming the suture. “Physiologically? No reason at all, Marcus. Your anatomy handled pregnancy, labor, and delivery beautifully. Your recovery will be fast and easy. We recommend eighteen months before you get pregnant again to minimize risks.”
Marcus looked at Lena and Ben. A slow, warm smile spread across his tired, bearded face.
“Lena, Ben,” Marcus said, looking from his sister to his brother-in-law, “Marcia Beatrice is going to need a sibling, you know?”
As their mouths dropped, Marcus continued. “I’ll do this again for you, ya know. If you’d like…”
“Oh, you would?” Lena sobbed. “You’re amazing.”
They all watched Marcia Beatrice’s examination. As Julia finished up, she told the parents, “She’s perfect. Eight pounds, two ounces.”
Ben beamed, carefully taking his newly swaddled daughter into his arms. With the baby safely with her father, Lena stepped away from the warming cradle and moved back to her brother's bedside. She looked suddenly shy, her hands hidden behind her back.
"Marcus," she started softly. "You know...it’s customary to give a push present to a mom after she delivers.” She glanced at Ben, then back to her brother. "Ben and I talked about it, and we decided that just because you're a guy doesn't mean you should miss out on the tradition. You did the work, so you get a gift."
She brought her hands forward, revealing an arrangement that looked like a bouquet. But instead of flowers, it was a thick cluster of colorful plastic gift cards taped to skewers.
Ben stepped up, grinning. "We hit all of them, man. We got Home Depot, Lowe's, Harbor Freight, and the local lumber yard."
Marcus’s tired eyes widened, a genuine, boyish thrill cutting through his exhaustion. He reached out, his large, calloused fingers brushing over the orange and blue logos. "Are you serious? This is... wow. You guys didn't have to do this." A slow grin spread into his beard. "I’ve been eyeing a twelve-inch sliding compound miter saw for months. This definitely covers it."
"That's great, Marcus," Ben said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. He looked down at his shoes, then met his brother-in-law's eyes with a newfound respect. "Actually... I was kind of hoping that maybe, once you're recovered and you buy the saw... you could show me how to use it? I’m useless with that stuff, but... I’d like to learn. Maybe we could build something for the baby together?"
"Yeah," Marcus rasped, his voice thick with emotion. "I’d like that, Ben. I’d like that a lot."
---
The text message came two days after Marcus got home from the hospital. Marcus was lying on his couch with an ice pack tucked between his legs against his sore vagina. His belly was still a soft, swollen pouch that jiggled when he laughed, but the discomfort was fading. He knew he was on the fast track to recovery. He picked up the phone.
Unknown Number: Hey Marcus! It’s Julia. I’m finally sending you the legendary selfie with the pumpkin. Hope the recovery is going smoothly and the baby is doing well. It was an honor to be part of your surrogacy journey!
Marcus smiled. He had received many congratulatory messages over the past few days, but this one was extra special. As he started typing a reply, another message came.
You can text me with any random recovery questions, or questions about the baby. The question I really want you to ask... is if I'll go out on a date with you 😉
Marcus let out a booming laugh, his deep baritone finally back to normal. But the sound was cut short by a sharp hiss. Marcus folded forward, his large hands flying down to cradle his sore, deflated belly as his battered core muscles and stitched vagina reminded him that he was only seventy-two hours out from pushing an eight-pound baby out of his body. He started typing.
Dear Julia, I would like to take you on a date. Do you like Thai food?
