My personal tumblr (See pinned for updated links!)
@thatdude159
20+ year old dude. This tumblr is intended for personal use so I can save stuff I find on tumblr. This means that I won't be regularly posting and the content will be biased towards my likings. But in the event I'm closing my tumblr for any reason, I'll try to give ample warning beforehand so you can save the stuff I have on here! I do not do RP
Despite being nearly three weeks overdue, Danielle had prepared for a calm home birth, one where she would be sure to have agency and privacy with her husband, Vash. They deep cleaned their small apartment in the hopes that it would give Danielle peace in labour. She had planned to labour in the shower, in the tub, in their living room space where they set up a birth pool, and maybe on the bed as a last resort. Danielle was very adamant to not give birth on her back. This was her time, and her baby, and she would deliver on her own terms with only the support of her husband, one registered midwife, and her sister-in-law Srin–also a midwife in training.
Forty-two hours of labour later, and it did not turn out that way at all.
It’s three in the morning. The quiet of their neighborhood is brutally interrupted by the fact that they opened the balcony door a crack, to bring in some clean spring air for Danielle. The horrible sounds of her birthing effort can be heard all down the street, waking neighbors. The other tenants in the apartment complex had been notified about the home birth, and there’s a good chance they haven’t slept all night due to Danielle’s noise. But she can’t help it. By Srin’s visual estimate, the baby is massive and has wedged herself deep into Danielle’s pelvis.
When the idea of a water birth quickly fell through, they helped Danielle move to the bedroom where they could turn off the lights and help her concentrate on pushing.
Three hours later, and she’s currently standing at the side of the bed near the end, one leg high up on the mattress and one planted firmly on the floor, both hands gripping the bottom bed post like claws and nearly bending the wood straight out of the frame. Srin can see the back of her head, her mess of a high bun after hours and hours of hard labour, and her bare back and bottom. She’s been trying to push the baby’s head past a crown for at least fifteen minutes. The baby is just sitting there, stretching Danielle impossibly wide open, the head so large it looks like less of a dome and more like a big solid plug. Danielle’s tissue is red-hot and already ripping a little, nearly translucent where it’s stretched so thin around her daughter’s huge skull. Her anus is sitting right above her massively stretched tissue, puffed out with hemorrhoids and a dark dusky shade, all from pushing extremely hard for so long. As Srin stands by with the doppler, Danielle bears down again, roaring hard and strained through her teeth, her vocal chords raw and torn at this point, as she grips the bed post. Vash puts a hand over hers, his face tight and pinched with sympathetic pain as he watches his wife’s grimacing face as she tries with all her might to give birth to their daughter.
It’s terrifying to watch. Srin is still a midwife in training–this is the first time she’s attended a real birth this intense, and especially one so close to home. This is the birth of her first niece, after all.
Her brother looks terrified, intensely focused on his wife from his place standing at the foot of the bed, a supportive hand rubbing up and down Danielle’s sweat-slicked back while the other one gently covers Danielle’s hands gripping the post. She can just about hear Vash muttering through Danielle’s hard sounds of effort.
“Doing so well, baby, her head’s almost out.”
Hearing her husband’s promise, Danielle makes it to the end of that push and then inaudibly gasps in before bearing down again, hard, grunting and roaring with all of the strength in her body.
Srin watches the baby’s head struggle down, down, down through Danielle’s massive push. Heather, the experienced midwife and her teacher, is supporting Danielle’s stretched-to-the-limit tissue, rubbing a gentle finger along the translucent skin while Danielle pushes her daughter down hard.
Srin isn’t needed during this contraction, so she just stands there and watches, speechless, as again and again and again Danielle works incredibly hard, roaring and grunting with every push, bending her bottom down deeply, her one leg on the bed staying wide open. The baby’s head gradually nudges out on a slightly crooked angle, then bounces back to the stuck point, then with barely a second wasted, OUT again harder harder harder as Danielle roars, refusing to let go of the push. Her noises are intense, echoing in the small room and making Srin tremble.
Vash can barely be heard encouraging her: “Pushpushpushpushpush honey, so hard!”
In response to her husband, Danielle bears down with one more gargantuan, shuddering push, her vocal chords cracking and tearing, the sound of her roar going up and down as she slowly, agonizingly, pushes the baby’s head out to just above a wrinkly brow.
They all react to Danielle’s progress, finally, as Danielle screams, bouncing up a little to try and escape the sudden sharp pain. She tore a little more, Srin noticed, but no one will scare her by drawing attention to it. Srin has also noticed the baby’s head is on an uneven angle, and facing Danielle’s right thigh slightly. Heather, of course, noticed first. Srin knows they’re both very concerned now about the possibility of a shoulder dystocia.
Srin has to remember to breathe, or else she’ll pass out at the mere thought.
“Good job Danielle, take a big breath now,” Heather guides. “Just breathe.” Then she raises her voice. “Tones!”
Srin takes her cue and puts the doppler under Danielle’s belly, trying to get heart tones as Danielle gulps in gasps and cries, Vash helping her stay upright. Danielle grunts lightly with each breath and Heather has to guide her through every single inhale, trying to encourage her not to push right now.
Srin has a hard time getting the baby’s heart tones. She’s about to remove the doppler and signal to Heather to tell her it’s time to lock down, but just then she manages to get a slight sound: a steady heart beat, but much too slow for her liking. The baby is struggling, likely stressed from being squeezed so hard, if she’s as big as they both think.
When Heather hears the tones, she gets her hands back on stretching Danielle’s tissue, applying lube, and says, “OK Danielle, I want you to push very hard now. It’s no holds barred, just get her out.”
Danielle doesn’t need a second more of instruction. She gasps in hugely, then her entire body, sweat-drenched and naked, SHOVES down hard, opening wide, as she roars deep into her chest and her gut.
Srin watches the baby’s head coming out, coming out, trembling with Danielle’s effort as she tries so hard to push the gigantic skull past her tissue that refuses to stretch any more. With her fingers rubbing around Danielle’s translucent and red tissue, Heather says very loudly, “Sound in Danielle and big breath in!”
Danielle gasps hugely, Vash holding her shoulder and grimacing in sympathy, looking at her face.
“And PUSH HARD!” Heather orders, as Danielle’s entire body bends down, her leg still wide open and up on the bed. She barely makes a sound beyond some quiet, strangled strains as she pushes SO hard her entire body flushes red, her head shaking hard, her hands bending the bed post out of its wooden socket.
“All your might, baby, get her out,” Vash says tightly.
Srin can see the baby’s head slide out a little more, Danielle’s ripped and bleeding tissue peeling back over the swollen shut eyes, then the nubby nose, as her entire body trembles hard enough to shake the bed. Then she can’t hold her sound in any more, but keeps that massive push going.
From there on it’s one brutal push after another, as Danielle knows she needs to get her out now. Srin doesn’t count. She’s too lazer-focused on the baby’s face coming out, and the dusky purple shade of her skin. She keeps the doppler pressed under Danielle’s huge belly, trying to get heart tones, as Danielle just pushes like a demon. At least ten gigantic, earth-shattering pushes go by, Danielle’s throat completely raw and her voice animalistic by the tenth one, and she still hasn’t gotten the baby’s chin out. Baby’s head is on a sharper angle now, with one chubby cheek more out than the other, and each time Danielle lets go of a push, the head bounces back in as if something is holding her back.
Past Danielle’s horrible animal grunting and straining, Heather looks over her trembling, shining back to seriously tell Vash: “Call 911.”
Vash leaps up from his spot immediately to grab his phone from the dresser. Without him there, Danielle continues to labour hard, trying with every muscle in her body to birth their huge daughter. Srin isn’t even sure Danielle notices Vash is gone from her side. There’s no real way to know if she sees or hears any of them in her current state. That is until Heather, sticking her gloved fingers in around the baby’s huge purple head, tells Danielle to stop pushing.
Her gloved fingers are bloody as she places her wrist on Danielle’s tailbone, trying to calm her. “I need you to stop pushing Danielle, just try to blow! That’s it, good, blow blow blow! C’mon you can do this.”
Srin talks over to Vash, instructing him to tell the operator on the phone what’s happening. She can barely get the words out, knowing this is happening to her brother and her sister-in-law.
“Shoulder dystocia. Head is out.” She looks back at Heather, who has her fingers in again, trying to maneuver the shoulder out as Danielle screams shrilly. “Trying to get the anterior shoulder.”
Stuttering but sounding robotic as he goes into shock, Vash relays the exact words to the operator. He’s still looking at his wife, tears in his eyes now.
Srin helps Danielle get both legs on the floor as she and Heather both realize that she can’t hold it. Every push brings the baby harder against her pubic bone, lodging the shoulder and clavicle deeper, making it very difficult for Heather to release her. Srin knows Heather’s original in-the-moment plan was to prevent Danielle from pushing so she could reach in and release the anterior shoulder, which looks to be the one that’s severely stuck judging by the angle of the baby’s head. She’s worried about what else they might have to do… There’s a possibility that Heather will get Danielle on her back so she can physically push the baby back inside a little in order to release the stuck shoulder. But she’s not going to tell Vash or Danielle that.
With both of her feet on the floor, Srin helps Danielle bend and open her legs wide, the baby’s giant head dangling darkly between her legs, blood dripping down the baby’s thick hair. Heather’s hands shake as she manages to get her fingers all the way past her knuckles inside Danielle’s vagina on the front, pulling and wiggling hard as she tells Danielle to “PUSH now! Push hard, Mama!”
Through the balcony window, some lights come on in the apartments across the street as Danielle tucks her chin and roars gutturally, bending down deep so she’s sitting in the air, supported by Srin and the bed where she grips the sheet hard.
Srin keeps glancing at her glow in the dark watch as a few minutes of this go by, Danielle pushing and pushing and pushing with brutal force, roaring and screeching her baby deeper into her pelvis. There’s blood on the floor. Vash keeps speaking into the phone, telling the operator what’s happening, even as he runs over to turn on the light.
Heather manages to pull one of the baby’s arms out as the paramedics buzz up. Vash runs to the door to let them in, regrettably leaving his wife in agony, but Danielle is too busy to even notice. Fully naked and primal, she tucks her chin to her chest, tears the bedsheet with shaking fists, and bears down with all the force in her body again and again as Heather and Srin continue to encourage her.
“Keep pushing Mama, don’t stop! Heart tones?”
Srin shakes her head. She can’t get a good read, especially not with this intensity and with Danielle pushing so constantly. It’s up to her now.
“OK,” Heather breathes out, still pulling down hard on the baby with each of Danielle’s pushes. “GO mommy, GO! PUSH! PUSH! Get her out!”
Losing her mind to the pain of birth, Danielle grunts and screeches out her first words in what feels like ages.
Vash comes running back in with three paramedics in tow. He gets on the other side of the bed, facing Danielle, reaching for her hands. One of the paramedics drops his large bag on the floor and immediately starts getting gloves on as Srin tells him what’s going on.
“First baby, shoulder dystocia–we’ve tried to release the anterior shoulder. One arm is free, but the posterior shoulder is still wedged.”
Danielle’s grunts start to turn into ragged screams now, part pain and part terror, as the paramedic nods and quickly introduces himself to Danielle, speaking softly and professionally. He tries for the length of two huge hard pushes to wiggle the baby free, with Heather’s help, before he stands up and tells them to help him get Danielle on the bed.
Together, they quickly instruct Danielle to flip around and get flat on her back. McRoberts, Srin thinks, the panic making her think in singular terms. Danielle is shouting and gasping as they all take her legs and bend them way open and back. Srin focuses on the baby’s head, her arm out next to her chunky face, limp and floppy. Her head is massive, her big fat cheeks squished up against Danielle’s body, and her complexion is a very scary shade of dark purple. As Danielle pushes and grunts horribly, her head tossed back, the baby’s head lifts up just a bit, trembling and struggling with her effort, before falling back and sucking back in to its stuck spot.
Very quickly, they get Danielle’s legs as wide open as they can be and all the way up, her knees pressed into her shoulders, making her giant belly stick straight up, her large breasts cushioning her chin as he gasps. Vash is at her head, holding both of her hands above her head and switching his serious gaze from Danielle’s face to the baby’s.
Then they all work together at once. They tell Danielle to PUSH HARD, and her belly launches up with a push as Srin presses down as hard as she can on Danielle’s pubic bone, and Heather and the paramedic both pull the baby’s purple head and neck down dramatically far. Danielle makes the most horrible sound in the world, ragged and alien, as she brings her head up and digs her chin into her bare, sweaty breasts, mouth wide open and tongue sticking out as her grunt goes strangled and she looks at her baby’s humongous head being pulled upwards now as they all try to release the other shoulder.
This is the pivotal moment. The baby’s head has been fully out for several minutes, at least six. Danielle pushes and pushes and pushes and pushes and PUSHES, bringing her head up and whipping it back again and again, gripping her husband’s hands, arching her back and her bare feet, way up in the air, as she screams and grunts gutturally hard and brutal. Heather and the paramedic both need to hold the baby as the other shoulder releases with an audible crack of Danielle’s tailbone and she screeches raggedly, but keeps pushing SO hard. They both pull the baby up and side to side, wiggling her huge body out, as Danielle gets her out to her chest with one massive push, then another, and another, and another. SO many massively hard pushes to get her body out.
In the chaos, they all encourage her.
“PUSH BABY, PUSH! C’MON SHE’S COMING!” -Vash.
“Almost there Danielle, one more big push!” -Srin.
“PUSH HARD, Danielle, AGAIN! Big breath and PUSH!” -Heather.
While Danielle screams and grunts her baby out, hardly even human anymore, completely lost in the throes of hard labour.
Little by little her huge chunky body comes out, with the effort of Danielle and Heather and the paramedic, and then just like that: Past her hips, she flies out in a massive spray of water and blood with an audible ripping sound and Danielle’s ragged, animal scream. Fluids hit the floor loudly as Heather immediately puts the massive baby on Danielle’s deflating belly as she’s still screaming and gasping, and all professionals get the resus kit ready.
It takes only a minute, but the longest minute of their lives, for the baby to start crying so quietly and weakly, and then she’s shrieking with life and everyone in the room heaves a massive sigh of relief.
When she’s weighed at the hospital later, they learn she’s a whopping 12 pounds three ounces.
It’s the last birth before Srin gets her official certification, and the first intense one of many.
The air was fetid with the odors of antiseptic, sweat, fear and anxiety. Her world had contracted to the white ceiling tiles, the vicious, knife-like pain in her back, and the inexorable, tightening, crushing vise that closed around her abdomen every ninety seconds. Her knuckles were chalky white against the starched hospital sheet. Her nightgown clung to her clammy skin, soaked through with sweat and urine.
“Easy, Lucy. Not like that. Breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. You’re hyperventilating.”
The voice, when it broke through her mind’s obsessive, keening mantra of The baby! He’s coming! Stop it, you fool! hurt like a blow to the head. So calm, so reasonable, so surgical. Dr. Jason Smith was at the foot of the tall, steel bed frame, his very presence an absolute command in his pristine white coat. Lucy was his wife. He was not her husband in this room, but her doctor. The most senior obstetrician in the county.
“Jason, please… I can’t… I can’t lie here. I need to move. I need to get up,” she sobbed, hot, heavy tears carving clean tracks down her sweaty temples. A new contraction began, slow at first, but then building like a tidal wave, inexorable, immense, pushing her out of her own body with a howling, guttural cry.
“You will. As soon as you like. The dorsal lithotomy position is not medically optimal.” There was no room for discussion in his voice. He didn’t even glance up from what he was doing as he yanked a lamp from the wall, dragging the heavy wire until the hot, bare bulb loomed like a spotlight unblinkingly between her spread thighs. “Nurse, the mirror. Angle it so Mrs. Smith can see her perineum. Visual feedback as to the progress being made is an excellent motivational tool.”
A wheeled mirror was swung into position, and with the blessed pause that followed a contraction, Lucy twisted her head and stared, in disbelief, in horror, at the obscene sight that confronted her. The swollen, purpling pinnacle of her own flesh stretched grotesquely around the black circle of pubic hair and the telltale, dark, bulbous circle of… her child. The crown of her son’s head, and a look of mute, wordless horror in her own.
“Look, Lucy. Look at your work. See how far you are? Excellent. On the next contraction, when I tell you, you are going to take a deep breath, tuck your chin, and push right into your fundament. Right into your backside. Do not push with your face. It’s purple and far too delicate for my work.”
The door opened and a line of three young men in white coats filed into the room, all of them bearing an expression of avid interest and chalky pallor in equal measure. “Ah, students. Thank you for coming. Perfect. You stand over there, out of the way. Observe. Note the formation of the caput. This is a classic example of a primiparous labour, though admittedly slightly protracted.”
Lucy gaped at him. “Jason… no… not with them…”
“Silence, my dear,” he crooned, in a low, rich voice so at odds with the tableau it was almost obscene. He moved to the side of the bed, sliding his cool, dry hand under her chin to tilt her head up, her hair sluicing away in thick black rivulets from her brow. In his other hand, he wrapped long, strong fingers around her lower thigh, hooking it behind her knee and yanking it further apart, opening her up to the room. “The students must learn. And you must be brave for me. Very brave. Now push.”
She began to cry again, the sobbing breaths and a deep trembling from muscle and bone exhausted from hours of near-constant agony. The contraction came and with it, another scream, tearing from her innards like her insides were being torn out. Another push, until she thought her insides would surely give way.
“I said push into your bottom! Not with your face! You’re doing it wrong. You’re being wasteful! Do it again! Push! Harder!”
He continued to gently stroke her hair, his hand still dry and cool despite the rivulets of sweat, urine, and blood running down her body. His voice, however, was insistent, and cutting. The contrast nearly unhinged her. She sobbed into her hands and tried to stop shaking.
It lasted hours, somehow. Hours of this, though the mirror gave pitifully little indication of the progress being made. The baby’s head, slick with blood and amniotic fluid, would crown with a grunt, a thick, wet circle, and then slip back, defeated when she drew breath to scream. The contractions were as unrelenting as they were intense.
“The perineum is taut. Likelihood of a third-degree or even fourth-degree tear is high,” Jason announced clinically, as if he were merely commenting on the weather. “Prepare for a midline episiotomy.”
“No! Jason, please. Please, don’t cut me,” Lucy pleaded, her voice a ragged whisper of itself.
“Darling, you must have faith in me. If we don’t do this, you will tear right up to your rectum. This is much cleaner. Much less likely to scar badly.” He held her eyes with his own, thumb still caressing her cheek. “Be a good girl for me. Do what I say.”
He took the long, curved blade the nurse proffered. She saw it, gleaming in the harsh lights, and for a moment considered screaming. There was no anesthesia. The contraction came and over the top of it, as she screamed her soul out, she felt not the rending ring of fire she’d been told to expect, but a precise, acute, clean slice. Painful, but it had a specific location and sensation, one she could focus on. The hot flood of blood that followed was brighter than the urine and other fluids she’d lost, painting the drape a nasty shade of scarlet. The release of pressure was instantaneous and monumental, as the child’s head was thrust forward into the new cavity.
“Very good. Head is now fully-crowned but arrested. We will help her. The vacuum.” A greasy, steel cup was produced, already connected to some kind of pneumatic pump. Jason labored it over the baby’s scalp, the suction creating a perfect dome of swollen, bruised flesh. He held the cup steady and, as Lucy pushed her very soul out of her body, gave a steady, firm tug.
Lucy experienced a ripping, splitting white-hot nothingness in the head. She felt as if she was being torn in half, every bone and sinew within her was giving way to the monstrous force inside her. With a tearing, sucking pop, the head was free. There was no cry, however. Instead, the child’s head lolled and silent on the sheet, a swollen, bruised, bluish-purple visage aimed awkwardly in an unnatural direction. The neck, she noticed with horror, appeared to be partially twisted.
“Shoulder dystocia,” Jason said with a modicum of tension, for the first time in her contact with him, as the nurses scurried to her. “McRoberts maneuver. Now.”
The nurses were on her like rabid dogs, pulling her knees back and up to her ears, leaving her in a position far more frog-like than any woman should be expected to be in her birthing position. Jason’s hands, now gloved in long surgical gloves slick with blood, urine, and vernix, disappeared inside her. She felt grinding, scraping agony as he pushed and twisted, his forehead creased in concentration. The baby’s head, silent and misshapen, stared dully from the mirror.
“It’s not working. Forceps.”
“Jason… the baby… the baby… is it—” She gasped, her voice choking.
“Be quiet, Lucy. I can’t concentrate if you keep talking.” The voice, all of the rich, endearments were gone. This was serious.
She knew them from the diagrams and photos she’d seen before the procedure. Forceps were the mechanical answer to shoulder dystocia, but in form they were horrific: two great, shining, curved steel spoons that interlocked. They were inserted with cold, metallic purpose, sending Lucy into a fresh round of bile-churning vomiting over her own chest. Jason clamped them onto the baby’s head, now joined with the vacuum cup still suctioned to his scalp. He braced his foot on the edge of the bed for purchase.
“Push now, Lucy! With everything you have! As if your life depends on it! As if your life depends on it!” His voice was a command from hell. “Or we will lose him!”
She made an unholy, dying sound from somewhere deep in her belly and pushed. Jason pulled on the handles, his whole body taut with effort. There was a sound like old timber snapping and she was suddenly in agony, the baby’s body wrenching free, and a sudden collapse of muscle as the boy slid out in a tsunami of blood and other fluids.
The room fell silent. The baby was a boy, blue and still, draped in the sheets, the forceps and vacuum cup still jammed to his grotesque, misshapen head. The neck, she noticed with horror, was bent at an unnatural angle. Jason was working furiously, yanking on the instruments, suctioning the mouth, then flicking him hard across the back. The child remained limp and silent.
One of the students turned and quietly vomited into the corner sink.
After a minute of frenzied rubbing and oxygen, the boy whimpered feebly, a sound that was more of broken damage than of healthy new life. He was gingerly placed on top of Lucy’s heaving, broken chest. She did not move to take him. She was far beyond taking him. She saw only the deep crescent bruises from the forceps blades around his temples, the elongated swelling where the vacuum cup had been, the way his head was too loose on his shoulders.
Jason was already back inside her, hands firmly back up in her body and working like mad to deliver the placenta. “Vaginal and cervical lacerations, both extensive. Hemorrhage, significant. Sutures. Now.” He did not look at his son, now whimpering feebly in the arms of a nurse, or at his wife, whose eyes were milky and distant with shock.
Lucy gasped and heaved as a nurse injected something into her IV, bringing on a cold, woozy detachment. Jason looked up at last. He removed the now blood-soaked gloves and moved back to her side, taking her limp hand in his and stroking it.
“You see, my dear?” He murmured, his voice gentle again as he stroked her hair and the intern between her legs began the long, slow, grisly process of sewing up her ravaged body, layer by viscera-coated layer. “You did so very well. You did exactly as I asked. You were so good for me. We have our son.”
Lucy turned away from the mirror, from the students, from the ruined bloody mess between her legs, and from the bruised, strange creature in her arms. She looked only at the white ceiling tiles, retreating into their cold, sterile nothingness as her husband, her doctor, the man who had broken her body, heart, and soul with possessive pride, kissed her forehead.
It’s nice to see girls with a breeding kink getting used to having their legs forced apart such that her knees are up by her shoulders. After all, if you like playing with fire, you have to accept you might get burnt.
If anyone in the audience hadn’t noticed you before, they certainly did now. You hadn’t even really realised the sound that came out of your mouth until you felt every eye turn in your direction. The logical thing to do would have been to explain that you were in labor and did not, in fact, actually have any objections to their nuptials.
But this was her damn wedding day, and you refused to make it all about you.
You forced some levity into your shout and started clapping. I was confused, but joined in out of moral support. It died down quickly, though, and everyone was still looking to you for an explanation for the interruption.
“Oh, I thought- is it not over? I thought he said they were bound in matrimony. Kind of… hard to hear back here,” you continued, trailing off when people started to lose interest in your flimsy excuse. “Please, continue,” you added, unnecessarily, as they’d already moved on.
They finished up quickly after that, and you got more than a few pointed stares once it was actually over and everyone stood up to clap.
While everyone’s attention was up at the front, you and I managed to slip into the aisle and to the back door unnoticed.
“Baby feels like it’s going to fall out of me,” you huffed, waddling down the hall with your legs comically far apart. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you peeked under this circus tent and found yourself staring at a head.”
“Somehow I don’t think it’s going to be that easy.” It didn’t need to be said, but the babies had been measuring large at our last appointment and even though you had generous hips for your small frame, there was still no doubt it was going to be an uphill battle. “But I can go under if you want—there’s probably enough room under there for me to hide without anyone else even being able to tell I was under there.”
You swatted my arm at the playful jab about the dress and then grabbed on tightly as you stopped in your tracks. You didn’t need to tell me what was happening, but I wrapped my arms around you so you could bury your head into my chest and hopefully muffle some of the sounds coming from your mouth. It only partially worked, and we got a couple curious looks from passersby.
“Just breathe. Breathe through it, let it go.” I ran my thumb over the back of your hand where it gripped me and didn’t stop whispering until you finally relaxed your hold. “Bad?” I asked when you looked up into my eyes.
You nodded. “I could really use a soak in that tub right about now.”
“Ok let’s get to the room and we can get you submerged” I whisper to you as you moan into my chest.
“I. Can’t. Move.” You hiss out.
“Wait it out. We aren’t in any rush” I reassure you. We stood there for around 30 seconds more, and finally the crippling pain started to ebb away.
“Ok I can move” you huff out, releasing your grip on me. I nod and we continue on to the room. Thankfully we avoided anyone else in the wedding party - everyone moving on to the reception and meal.
“Shit” I realised. “We’re going to be missed at the meal.”
“Right now, I couldn’t give a flying fuck” you cursed - seeing the bedroom door approach. You leaned against the frame whilst I swiped the card and swung the door open.
We bundled ourselves into the room and locked the door behind us. After a step or two into the corridor, you had lifted the dress above your head and dropped it to the floor. Once again you were naked and headed to the jacuzzi tub in the side of the room.
You scrambled down to your knees and leaned over to turn the taps, your hands gripping the side as a contraction picked up once more. You bounced on your haunches trying to relieve the pain as a thought passed through your head.
“Check me” you said. “I don’t even know if there’s anything visible down there”
Your ass poked in the air and I looked down. I couldn’t see anything. I had no doubt it might feel like things are right there and you were pushing a head out… but I guess the work had only just begun.
“Do you—can you see the head?” you prompted when I didn’t answer.
“Sorry, love, there’s nothing.” You muttered a string of curses and I put my hand on the small of your back. “Want me to check inside? See if I can feel anything?” At your weak nod, my hand slid down to between your folds and I stuck two fingers inside. “You’re so open, babe,” I commented, shocked at just how easily you accommodated the intrusion.
“Yeah, but am I—ngh—dilated?”
I wasn’t a doctor, but could definitely feel that your cervix was thinning and widening. “Definitely dilating, but it’s hard for me to say how much. Seven, maybe eight centimeters?”
You growled, dissatisfied with that answer. “I want them out. They have to come out!” My stomach clenched with another contraction and you rocked back involuntarily. My hand was still inside you and I let out a little noise of surprise. “What?” You asked.
“I think- well, maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear I can feel the baby’s head moving down.”
You groaned and moved your hips back further so that you were practically sitting on my hand. “Not your imagination.” The pressure had been building with each contraction, not just around the babies but also in your birth canal as a head forced its way through your cervix and toward its exit.
“That’s it, keep those vocalisations coming.” I kept my fingers inside you, providing a gentle stretching massage to your opening as you hummed and moaned. “Keep listening to your body.”
“My body’s being a bitch right now,” you grumbled, panting against the urge to hold your breath and clench up against the pain. The contractions have been almost nonstop since you inadvertently interrupted the ceremony and your body was starting to shake. “I feel like I’m gonna be sick.”
I pulled the small trashcan over, but you didn’t want to move or even open your eyes. You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, on your knees with your forearms folded across the lip of the tub and your head buried in the crook of your elbow. You heard my voice, whispering, encouraging, but you were too busy ‘listening to my body’ that you couldn’t make out most of it.
“So. Much. Pressure,” you groaned, curling an arm around your belly as it hung heavily toward the floor.
“How about we try out that tub now?”
I had to give you a hand up off the floor, but after a 3 stage process (one knee, hands, lift, then wobble) I managed to get you ready to step into the jacuzzi.
The water wasn’t deliberately too warm - I’d read that hot water made you sleepy and could slow things down - perhaps dangerous at this late stage - you still sank into the deep water with an appreciative moan.
I looked as even with the tub half full, your belly stuck well above the water line - your upper body rested against the back of the tub keeping your face above water.
“Jets?” I asked
“Of course” you sounded dreamy even now, as if the pain had lessened substantially.
I pressed the button and the motors whirred into life and gently massaged all around your body. One of the underside jets caught you in a position between your legs which caused you to give a very appreciative gasp.
After a few minutes of me being beside you brushing your hair and making small talk you said you needed me in before the next contraction.
I confirmed I’ll get in, and as I took off my clothes to stand naked in front of you, you heaved yourself up to make room behind yourself. I stepped over and slid my legs in through the gap in your arms so you were now sitting up and resting between my legs.
You tilted your hips for ‘that’ jet as the contraction built up.
“Good?” I asked when your hum turned from pained into something a little closer to the sounds I was familiar with.
“Very.” You settled back against me, rocking your hips against both the pressure of the jet and my quickly hardening cock. “I guess you’re enjoying them too?” You asked innocently.
I adjusted myself and tucked my arms under yours, my hands spreading warm water over the crest of your belly as they moved back and forth over its peak. “I’m enjoying you, like this.”
“Enjoy it while you can—won’t be able to for much longer.” You blew out a long, slow breath and centred yourself so that the jet was applying constant stimulation. The water was helping, but a steady ache was still building in what felt like your ass, which was probably the baby’s head moving down. “I think the baby’s moving into position,” you managed between breaths.
“Okay. Well, that’s good. It’s good, right?”
You moved my hands up to cover your breasts. “It’s good,” you confirmed, “but I feel so full.”
“Like you need to push?” I asked as my hands started to knead, squeeze, stroke and pinch.
You arched further into my touch as the contraction intensified and hummed noncommittally— you didn’t know how to answer that, as you’d never quite been in this position before.
“Maybe we should call an ambulance now…”
I started to move, to pull away, but you grabbed onto my arm. “I want- can we… do this here?” You asked tentatively.
“That’s not going to stop this from happening, love,” I said, not unsympathetically.
“I know, I just—“ This was something you’d been thinking about for a while now, ever since you started having contractions last night. “I want to be able to do this however we decide, between the two of us,” you started once the contraction had released its hold on me. “I don’t want to have to think about the sounds I’m making or where you’re touching me or what position I’m in. If we go to a hospital, they’ll be checking me all the time and insisting on pain medication or a C-section and I’ll be hooked up to a bunch of machines and they’ll want me to push on my back with my feet in stirrups whenever they say, and I just—I’d rather it be the two of us. Well, soon the four of us.”
You felt my hands slide down your waist to your hips, then over your thighs and around your massive belly to stroke gently between your folds.
“Is that a—“ you paused, gasped when my thumb found your clit, “—a yes?”
“That’s a… you’re the boss” I say, my thumb drifting lazily around the nub that rested at the top of you folds.
“Hold that thought” you moaned as your hands found their way to my thighs and you gripped onto them, looking for an anchor point. The contraction had its hold of you and you were temporarily lost to it for now, eyes closed and moaning loudly.
My fingers flexed out, trying to do something to stop the immediate pain of your own long nails digging into my flesh and managed to find their way into your folds. You didn’t flinch or give any sort of negative response to my exploration so I stretched my arm to try and get my fingers in deeper…. And that’s where I felt it.
Just a brush, but something was there, just out of reach. I think I had just felt out baby’s head.
I didn’t say anything whilst you were focused on the push, but once your grip slackened off from my legs I took hold of your hands - mainly trying to prevent you doing that again, as I don’t know how well my legs would perform if they were perforated, but I leaned in close and whispered behind your ear.
“I have a surprise… if you can reach in nice and deep.”
I guide one of your hands down between your legs and your fingers slip in. A half a second later I hear you exclaim “oooh” as you realise what you brushed against.
“I think it’s probably safe to start pushing,” I said with a chuckle. “If you need to.”
“Not—mmm—not yet.” With your fingers still inside, you could feel the head press into them with just the force of the building contraction. “M’gonna save my strength..”
We both knew you were going to need it. The babies in my family were heavy and had massive heads — I think I was somewhere around the 98th percentile for head circumference — and you had to push out two of them. For now, your body was doing its job of moving the baby down, and I was doing the job of keeping you relaxed and gently stretching your opening.
When the pressure got too much, you started to reach back for me again, but I winced and repositioned your hands to grip your own legs instead. “Sorry,” you panted after my little yelp of pain.
“Nothing compared to what you’re going through,” I said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You want to pull back your knees? Open up those hips a bit more?” You nodded, but made no move to do so. “You want help?” You nodded again.
You repositioned your hands so that they were under your thighs while I placed mine just below the outside of your knees so they would stay bent as we pulled back. It was a slow pull that compressed the sides of your belly so that it looked even more comically round. Maybe you were pushing a little bit, almost involuntarily, because the pressure turned sharp, almost burning. You frantically felt between your legs, almost expecting a crown to be forming, but there was nothing, not even a bulge yet.
“Too much, it’s too much — hooo — pressure,” you whined, releasing the hold on your legs as you did the same. “I need to — nghhah!” Your body lurched forward and you grabbed onto the edge of the tub. “Not. Yet,” you groaned out, as if your body would heed your command. You forced air rapidly in and out in quick puffs. Somehow you managed to get your feet under you and leaned forward in a deep squat. “Shit. I can’t- I can’t- I have to —“ My body betrayed your will again and you let out a deep guttural groan.
“That’s it, just let it happen.” I was still sat behind you and had my hand pressed against your sacrum. “Bring that baby down.”
It continued like this for several contractions until you suddenly leaned back against me, your knees going up and back as they had been before. This time you were the one to hold them there, and since I couldn’t very well see what was happening, I snaked my arm around to check your progress. I barely had to press in my finger to feel the soft bulb of hair, and when you pushed your whole pussy bowed out, filling my palm.
“Head’s right there,” I assured you when you collapsed against me. “I bet I could’ve seen it on that last push if I was on your other end.”
Now you just had to get it to stay there. “This feels impossible. How can something so huge possibly come out of a hole so small?”
I leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Because your body was made for this.” You let out a little gasp, both at my words and at the onslaught of another relentless contraction. “Now, push.”
I felt, more than saw your effort. With one hand cupping your bulging crotch, and the other one draped over your left shoulder I snaked that around to grab a handful of your right breast. I felt the cords in your neck bulge as you puffed out your cheeks and pushed. My right hand, down between your legs felt a twitch of movement, as a result my finger tips proved around the edges of your lips feeling for signs of the baby starting to show.
It was a strange sensation. I’d seen hundreds of babies being born over the years, all via videos where the camera was trained on the mother’s lower half, and you get to see things happening. Not having the visual input sent my mind reeling making mental images.
I pinched and squeezed your nipple on your breast and was awarded with your groans turning into moans - they sounded much more appreciative, though still coping with the pain.
I was a little wary - nipple stimulation was supposed to enhance contractions - I was hoping I wasn’t giving you too much too soon.
“How are you coping?” I asked, trying to get some measure from you. You nodded but didn’t give me any verbal response other than continuing to make pushing noises.
As the contraction faded and you released your legs from your grip, they flopped over the side of the tub in a makeshift stirrup fashion.
Your head tilted back and, alongside your deep breathing as you recovered from the exertion you commented on how it felt as the nipples were played with - it was like a surge going through you, like getting doused with water. It felt good but for half a second it was overwhelming - until you got it under control.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing then?” I asked.
You thought about it for a moment. “Well, if it gets the babies here faster, or easier, then good. Definitely good.” You guided my other hand up to give your other breast some attention. “Just start slow, please.”
At first it was light touches and gentle massage. Then my thumbs lazily stroked across your nipples, and when they peaked I traced circles around their perimeter, brushing over them occasionally just enough to make you shiver.
“More?” I enquired.
You moaned in response and I laughed. I gave an experimental squeeze with just my fingertips, but let up when you gasped.
“Fine, it’s fine,” you assured, but still I hesitated. You wrapped your hands around mine and demonstrated the rhythm and pressure you wanted, needed. More colostrum leaked out onto your chest which left you moaning at this tiny release of pressure when it was building everywhere else. “It’s coming. Another one—“
The suddenness and intensity of the contraction took you off guard and you let out a little scream causing me to be startled enough to release my hold on your breasts. Your legs were held open the width of the tub with your knees folded over the edges, which was good because you probably would have instinctually snapped them shut as soon as you began the next push.
“Fuck, it’s burning! It’s burning!” You released the push and panted, unable to bear the insane stretch. “Can you—hahh—can you look?” You needed to know just how much worse this was going to get, but couldn’t very well assess that with neither of us being able to see what was happening.
“If I move you might slip under.” I explained, trying to mentally work out how one of us could change positions with how we were placed in the tub.
“Damnit,” you huffed. It was the first time today you resented the enormity of this tub. But, the water was starting to get cold and your legs and hips were starting to complain about being in the same position for too long. So once the contraction was over, you swung your legs back into the water and looked up at me. “I need to move anyway.”
I apologised as I shoved myself back by pushing my legs against your back as you held onto the tub - I struggled to think of any other way to get me up out of the tub without you getting up first… and we both agreed you needed a hand up more than me.
Stepping out the tub, puddles forming under me in the process, I brace one hand against the tub side, grabbed your hand with the other - and you pulled yourself up my arm and grabbed my shoulder as you got upright and standing in the bath.
The sheer effort left you a little out of breath, but you stood there for a few moments, the water streaming down your body.
I glanced around the room and figured the large armchair could be a good place to position you.
Grabbing all the towels in the room, I covered the chair as best I could, and helped you step out the bath.
You flopped down onto the chair, as I positioned your legs over the arms - you gaped wide - but time wasn’t on our side, the contraction snuck up on us.
With your legs wide as they were, your lips were spread and I got an eye full. I could tell there and then you were close - my fingers separated the skin a little to get a clear view of the top of the baby’s scalp.
“Shit baby… the first ones right there. It’s like one good push and I’ll have it in my hands… though I doubt it’s going to be that easy”
“I guess we’ll see,” you tried to say in a somewhat normal voice, but it ended up coming out as a sort of strangled cry as the pressure built up with the contraction.
Even though your legs were already wide open, you grabbed onto your thighs for something to pull against. You gave one heaving push and the burning sensation returned in full force, causing you to recoil from the pain instinctively, letting out your breath in a huff.
“I can see the head when you push,” I informed you, as a form of encouragement. I took one of your hands and guided it to your opening. “It’s right there if you push.”
You managed to curl forward in a more steady, controlled push and your body responded in kind. The burn was still awful, but more manageable, and you focused on the tiny sliver of slimy, beautiful hair that pressed against your fingertips. But you could also feel how round and distended you were down there — an indication of just how much more of the head had to pass through me.
As you pushed, and pushed, and pushed, the head seemed to press further out from beneath your skin without ever actually coming any closer to a crown. And every time you released your efforts, it would slip back in between your tight folds like no progress had been made at all. Your throat was turning raw from all the grunting, moaning and whining you were doing and I squeezed your thigh in sympathy.
“You’re doing really well, love,” I assured you even though progress had been minimal. “You just need time to stretch.”
“I don’t know- how much- more stretching- I can take,” you panted, flopping back after another fruitless round of pushing. Your chest was glistening and heaving and it made your breasts and stomach bounce and jiggle in response. You noticed me noticing and adjusted your legs even further back, wider apart.
I got up from my kneeling position on the floor and stood over you. My hands started near your ass and then moved up the backs of your thighs until they got to the back of your knees. “Maybe you just need a little help opening up,” I said, a slight husk in my voice.
My cock was straining at attention and you briefly wondered how long I’d been like this. “Maybe I do.”
My hands pressed down, opening your hips up impossibly wide, and the bulge of the baby’s head behind your lips became obscene. There was no space for me to be inside you, so I settled for the friction I could get on the outside, pumping my hips to slide my cock against your clit.
You gasped, both from the sensation and the sudden force of another contraction. Your hands replaced mine behind your knees as you pushed, and mine moved to the bowed skin between your legs. “Push, push, push,” I chanted in time with my own thrusts.
We both threw our heads back and cried out at the same time, I had achieved my release and you because you were finally making progress. And it fucking burned.
I lost track of things for a moment. I was lost to my animalistic desires as I pumped and rubbed against you - your hairy mound giving surprisingly good friction to get me to release.
As I finally had my own contraction - admittedly entirely based around my balls and cock, and of course providing me a jolt of pleasure rather than pain - I looked down to see the spurt of creamy ejaculate that shot up the underside of your belly and the rest that matted into the same hairy area I’d only a few moments before been pleasuring myself against.
And just below it, the dark, teardrop shape of the first of our children beginning to make itself known on its slow journey to meet us.
I was suddenly back in reality and listening to your loud moan as you were mid contraction, hauling back on your legs and pushing for all you could.
“Fuck… shit… the baby. I see it.” I blabber. Your eyes shoot wide open at the revelation and you lose whatever focus you had, the head slipping back into your folds.
“Can I feel it?” You asked, hopeful that the head was well out when I sounded so enthusiastic. Your hand slid down to meet the mess around your pubes and you slathered it around your lips. Feeling around you couldn’t feel anything different. You were exasperated “where is it?” You sounded dismayed.
“Next push… keep your hand there. It’ll be back.” I sounded so genuinely in awe that you had a moment of hope, so you sighed and flopped back to wait.
You didn’t have to wait long. I helped push your thigh back and like some complicated game of twister you reached down. You roared as you pushed, you finally felt the baby, you smiled and beamed… and lost the push in the process and the baby slipped back in.
You didn’t care right now, you knew you were making progress. That’s all that mattered.
Every contraction was an uphill battle that seemed insurmountable. Even with letting your legs relax between them, your hips ached at being held open so wide for so long. In addition to the pain in your joints, every push brought forth a fresh wave of burning fire at your entrance, all with nothing to show for it.
“I need to close my legs,” you whined, writhing against the constraints of the arms of the chair.
“But you’ll lose progress.”
You huffed out a laugh. “What progress? That head is not going anywhere anytime soon.”
“Ookay,” I said, sounding skeptical. “How do you want to do this?”
With a little assistance, we gingerly got your feet back on the floor and you reached out your hands for me to help you up. It took several attempts, but eventually you gained enough momentum to get upright.
“Mm, maybe this was a bad idea,” you moaned as the weight between my legs settled with the full pull of gravity. “The pressure — ngh, it’s coming, another contraction —“
I had just enough time to grab a little handheld mirror from the bathroom and lay it face up on the floor between your feet before you were reaching for me. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”
You looped your arms around my neck, your belly briefly brushing against mine as you leaned forward and down, your knees bending slightly out of instinct even as you tried to remain upright.
“Hooo. Unghh! Oh this is bad. This is gonna be a bad one. Hnghaah!” You kept mumbling even between bursts of effort, pulling down against my steady support in waves as your body heaved in guttural grunts and groans.
“That’s it, push,” I said, answering your complaints with encouragement. “Doing so good bringing that head down. Spreading so nicely.”
You glanced down and, with a little creative manoeuvring, was able to watch as your pussy sputtered and bulged. You wiggled your hips forward and back, around in circles as you pushed, trying to get the baby’s head past your pubic bone so that it would actually stay in sight, but your opening was still too tight, too resistant. You had to be patient.
We spent several contractions here, just trying to let gravity and the contractions do their thing, but your knees and ankles were starting to tire of holding up your currently massive frame.
When the next contraction started, you widened your stance and slipped into a deeper squat. You pulled desperately at your thighs and roared, determined to make some progress, and was rewarded with a little popping shift. The mirror revealed a very distinct and tight ‘O’ shape that remained even as you gasped and shook, adrenaline coursing through your body.
“Chair! I need—“ you grabbed my arm desperately and I knew what you needed.
I helped you waddle the few steps back to the chair, careful to position your ass right at the edge of the seat, and bend your legs back over the arms. They didn’t stay there long, though. The pressure behind your opening was intense, and building momentum, so you pulled your knees back practically to your ears.
“Mirror!” You said frantically as the contraction tore through you. “I want to see,” you managed, before your words turned into a scream.
I put my hand on your shoulder to help balance you as I squat down on my knees, stretching my arm back to grab at the mirror on the floor. Its slightly out of reach so my hand flails about a little while until I get a finger on the edge of it, and pressing down, remain thankful for the carpet on the floor not being so rough that the friction stopped the mirror moving.
Dragging it half an inch further forward, I finally get enough of a finger grip on it, that I can grab hold and pick it up, so I swing my head back around - and get an eye full of stretched lips around the head right at my eye level with me being squatted so low to the ground.
I stay for a moment, entranced by the scene in front of my eyes. I'm wide eyed, slack jawed, and simply enjoying the moment when I register the howl of pain you're suddenly shrieking out.
Getting back mentally into the moment, I press you back into the chair through the act of me standing up, hand with the mirror pressing into the carpeted floor to help me up. You're now leaning back, gaped open lips pointing into the air, madly pulling back your legs.
"Fuck... that's the complete opposite way I want to go, don't want to pushing against gravity" you moan through clenched teeth.
I realise what happened, and get around your side, helping lift you back upright. The contraction finally abates, and you let go of your legs, they drop to the floor as you struggle to keep your balance with me juggling you around so much.
You give me an evil side eye, in response to which I give you a wide eyed apology, but you don't have much time to contemplate it... the next contraction came on thick and fast.
You grab your thighs again and lean your weight into me by your side. I hold the mirror out as far as it will go, and look over your shoulder. I get a good approximation of your eye level, and whisper to you "baby, look down."
The next gasp I hear from your mouth is likely nothing to do with the contraction pain, but more the first time you see the black, teardrop shaped mass between your legs, your vulva and perineum bulged out obscenely around the head which is tantalisingly close to being born.
“Our baby, that’s our baby!” You half whimpered half sobbed, as if that wasn’t obvious.
“It is. You’re doing so good. Such strong pushes, trying to birth our baby.” I gave some encouraging affirmations.
Your fingers snaked around to feel what your eyes were seeing, and it was such a strange sensation for such a familiar part of you to feel so foreign. You swirled your fingertips through the small patch of visible hair, wincing as they brushed up against your straining hole, then moved them to press gently against your clit as the contraction peaked and you pushed. Hard.
For a moment it was like a volcano threatening to erupt, the enormous mound between your thighs pressing further and further out with the pressure mounting behind. When it seemed like it could stretch no further, the teardrop peeled back into a taut ‘o’ that never seemed to widen no matter how much effort you put behind it.
“Come on, push, push, you got this,” I encouraged beside you.
“Help me,” you begged, looking up into my eyes pleadingly. “Please, the head, it’s- I need your hands on me.”
I didn’t know whether you meant that in an assistive or pleasurable way, but either way I needed to adjust my position. “I don’t think I can keep holding the mirror if I—“
“Just do it!” You cried, throwing yourself into another push.
I shuffled around so that I was back kneeling in front of you, back to my front row seat to your bulging pussy, and probed lightly with my fingertips. Even this small movement caused you to squeal and squirm, and I added a brush of my thumb across your sensitive nub to my motions.
“More! I need it—hngghh—out!” You squealed with exasperation.
You grunted in little bursts rather than holding sustained pushes at this point, and it was making it difficult for me to help you stretch. “I need you to hold your breath, love. Hold your breath and push to the count of ten.”
It was the last thing you wanted to do, but this painful state of limbo was maddening. When I started counting, you put your chin to your chest, your face scrunching in concentration and effort. You only made it half way before the intense burning made you gasp and release the effort.
“Uh uh, to ten,” you reminded me, which caused you to groan, but then throw yourself back into the push. “Good girl,” I praised, back to working on easing the skin back over the emerging head.
It went this way for several more contractions, and you were beginning to tire when suddenly the pressure behind your lips peaked and the head slid violently forward, opening you up to a full crown after so many minutes of tiny hardly noticeable progress.
Your howl of pain and surprise joined my triumphant shout, and with just a few more determined pushes, the largest part of the head inched its way out and the rest of the head slid easily into my waiting palms.
I don't know who made the most noise in that moment. Your shriek as the head passed through its widest point, or my yell of success as all of a sudden, my hands were full of the slippery, nobbly features of our first baby’s head.
I couldn't get down to look at it properly, so just had a view of the back of its slightly elongated, hairy, mess covered head, but my fingers told me a different story. They explored the shape in my hands. Feeling the baby’s nose, its mouth, 2 eyes. I couldn't believe it. I know for a few moments, I couldn't speak.
The room was silent except for your deep, rapid breaths as you did your best to recover from your ordeal. You were the first to speak - it felt like hours, but I'm sure it was only a few seconds later.
"The cord?" you managed to get out, after sucking in a deep breath and composing yourself.
"Shit" I replied, annoyed I didn't even think of that. My brain was mush. "Let me check."
My fingers probed at the base of the baby’s skull around its neck. I found the slimy cord, and tugged, gently balancing the head in one hand. It didn't seem to be tight in any way, so I could only presume that was a good thing. My fingers pressed your lips apart in the search for their target, and you winced.
"Still sore down there" you groaned. I apologised. It was clear that no amount of preparation watching videos and things could prepare you for the real deal - emotions ran a little too highly.
"Fuck" you announced. "It's starting again." as your hand reached down to your belly. I nod, getting both hands on the head ready for the next stage of the delivery. You don't show any outward signs of pushing - scrunching your eyes, or puffing out your cheeks, just let out an open mouthed moan as I felt the head in my hands try and rotate. I let it happen, loosening my grip and suddenly, I looked to the side of the mass between your legs, and I get to see our first baby’s face.
"Hi there little one" I grin as you shake your head.
"I'll say hi when he is safely resting on my belly" you groan "rather than being half way out." In a show of surprising dexterity, you get your hands under your ass, reach out your fingers to your lips, and using your first 2 fingers, pull them apart gently as our hands touch under the baby. "Come on shoulders" you moan out as the need to push picks up, and you focus on it once more.
I’d thought the shoulders would come easy, but I was so very wrong. The barely stretched tissues had bounced back into place around the baby’s neck and any attempt at pushing, at widening my opening again, caused me to hiss in pain.
“I need- a break,” you panted when you could not bring yourself to truly give into the last round of pushing, releasing your fingers from your lips that you’d so dextrously managed to grasp moments before.
“It’s not going to get any easier,” I said, still supporting the head between your legs. “And you’re gonna have to do it all again after that.”
You groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
“I still think it would be better to try and get this one out sooner rather than later. In case the cord is compressed or something.”
You knew I was right, of course. But that didn’t make your mind any more willing to welcome the pain that was coming. But there was one thing that could help make the decision for you.
“I need gravity.” Whether you were ready or not, the weight of the head combined with the force of the contractions would move things along even if you did nothing to help.
Gingerly, slowly, I helped you scoot forward. You were no longer sitting, but rather in a deep full squat, your elbows resting on the chair behind you and keeping you steady even as your knees flared out and your giant belly threatened to topple you forward.
You moaned—this position forced the shoulders to press out behind you still raw pussy even without a contraction.
“I feel it. The shoulders, they’re- hooo,” you breathed as your stomach tightened. Your knees rocked slightly as your hips swayed and you could feel the shoulders trying to work their way into a navigable position as the pressure built up behind them. “Gotta push, gotta—“
You threw your head back and jutted your pelvis forward, practically on your tiptoes as you groaned and bore down against the immense weight. You screamed a little at the first bit of stretching and you felt my hand squeeze your knee in sympathy and reassurance.
“Almost there, just a little more,” I said, ducked down and focused out of view.
“This is worse than the head,” you screeched as the pain reached impossible new heights and didn’t seem to let up.
“You’ve almost got it, babe. It’s coming.”
The overwhelming pain began to turn to panic. Your legs scrambled, trying to flee from it, but between me and the chair, you were held firmly in place. “Pull it out, pull it out!” You begged.
“You’re getting it out. You’re gonna get it out, you just need to focus all of that energy into pushing.”
“I can’t, I can’t, oh shit, I—“ As predicted, your body couldn’t help but push, and you yowled as your opening stretched to a size that had to have been even wider than the head.
My stubborn refusal to let go of supporting the baby’s head, in some excuse that ‘I’ve got to protect it from hitting the floor’ had me contorting to a completely unnatural angle as you squatted down in front of the chair.
I took the opportunity as you pushed to reposition myself so I was lying on the floor, arms outstretched like a catcher sliding along the ground in a game of baseball, they were also bowed around your belly which was angled off you in such a way that it almost touched the floor itself due to its size.
The side effect of all this is that my face ended up smooshed against the globe of your belly and I couldn’t really see things happening between your legs.
However, my fingers felt the most wonderful, and slightly unnatural process I’ve ever been witness to play out around them.
As your moaning and roaring reached a crescendo, I felt your lips part. They bulged out around the shoulder as I felt the first one come free and suddenly I could touch it with my fingertips.
“It’s out pull it out” you wailed.
“I can’t. There’s only one shoulder you need to push!” I retorted.
“Pull it owwwwww.” Your wailing protest was cut short as your body took over I felt a pop as the second shoulder was born.
“There now pull you fucker!” You were not taking no for an answer.
“I can’t get my hands in” I was exasperated myself - you were pleading desperately for help but from where I was at I couldn’t get much more than a fingertip grip.
“Fuck you!” You screamed as your hands arched around and crossed under your belly to lift it up. I saw your heels stomp down to connect to the ground to balance you as you moved your arms away from the chair which had been stopping you from toppling over moments earlier. I was thankful that the chair was weighty or else it might have shot backwards and caused a world of problems as a result.
I finally got a good view of the baby. Your next moan brought the baby out shooting like a cork, bloody, messy water flowing freely behind it as it slid it out from under you.
You sagged down, sitting in the wet patch that was left as I lifted the baby up between your belly and leg. I swung my own legs around and under me to give me some support and managed to get to my knees without dropping the baby.
The room was silent except for the sounds of your heavy breathing, and my grunt as I repositioned myself.
We collectively held out breaths, until finally, a piercing cry ended the silence. The baby was giving it everything it could to express its annoyance with leaving its once warm confines.
Your mind went completely blank for several moments, unable to quite process what had just happened. You’d had a baby. You just had a BABY. It was painful and intense and sometimes a bit terrifying, but we had done this, just you and I, together.
And now there was a new life wriggling and wailing in my arms.
“We have a baby,” I said, sounding just as shocked and awestruck as you felt.
“What is it?” You asked, making grabby hands for our newborn.
I checked between the legs before handing it off to you. “Boy. Definitely have a son.”
“My baby boy,” you cooed as I placed him on your still very round stomach. He quieted a bit as you spoke to him and nuzzled into the familiar scent of my skin. “Oh, are you hungry already?” You asked in mild surprise as his mouth rooted around my breast. “Can you—?” You began to ask, but I was way ahead of you.
Settling myself beside you, I helped move the baby into a more natural position, palmed your breast, and guided your nipple into his mouth. It took a minute, and a bit of gentle squeezing from me, but eventually he began to lightly suckle. It was strange, beautiful, and magical - the hormones flooding your body made it nearly impossible not to shed a few tears.
You were still contracting lightly—a reminder that you weren’t done yet—but it was easy to ignore when all of our focus was on our newborn son.
“He felt so much bigger coming out of me,” you mused, brushing back the still wet baby hairs clinging to his forehead. “And look at that cone. Your journey out to meet us must have felt pretty narrow to you too, huh?”
The suckling slowed and eventually his eyes drifted shut. You could have done the same, you were certainly tired enough, but it was still too uncomfortable for you to truly rest.
Now that your body wasn’t working overtime, You realised that you were naked, cold, sitting in a wet spot and covered in any number of bodily fluids.
“I want to get cleaned up.” You announced. Then, looking down at our waxy, red, goopy newborn, “And maybe him too. Do we have anything to cut the cord?”
“Guess it’s lucky I used to be a Boy Scout” I grin, somewhat delirious at the turn of events.
I pull my shoelaces out of my shoes, and rummage in my bag that I brought my change of clothes in, smiling as I pull out the penknife from it.
I quickly look up online about how to cut the cord, and noticing that it had enough time to stop pulsing, I tied 2 points with my shoelaces and slit open the fleshy cord, finally detaching the baby.
With the baby finally free, you ask for a hand to stand up, and we get you unsteadily to your feet. You still have a natural bow to your legs but, I think to myself - you have just stretched out incredibly wide, and the cord dangling between your legs lends a slight comic relief to the moment as you sway back and forward, watching it drift and shake.
After a shake of your legs, I let you go, making sure you could support your own weight, and fetch a tee shirt from my bag, which we wrap around the baby in a makeshift swaddle.
I then lead you into the bathroom where we put you into the shower to wash off as I hold the baby. As the shower blasts you with its hot water, I mop up what I can of the mess from the floor - one handed of course, the second hand holding the baby - but curse inwardly at hoping the hotel are understanding about the additional cleaning that will be needed, given the circumstances.
I’m startled as you groan “fuck there’s something coming” as I dash into the bathroom to find you pressing your hands against the shower glass and squatting. As you moan out loud I see a shape slide out from between your legs and splat on the shower floor with a dull thud.
“Was that the placenta?” You ask.
“I certainly hope so!” I gasp, eyes drawn to the mass on the floor with blood seeping off and down into the shower drain, being washed away. I fetch a plastic bag and reach into the shower, scooping it out in case it’s needed.
“Was a lot less effort than pushing him out” you grin, your hands moving to your belly, knowing fine well that his brother will come along sooner than later.
We’re suddenly startled by a knock on the door. You step out of the shower and grab the baby, dripping water on the floor as I go into the main room. I pull trousers on, but whilst still shirtless, I open the door to see the bride and groom both standing there.
When you don’t hear any speech, you step out past the door to see what was happening, completely oblivious to your nakedness.
I don’t know who was more shocked - us, seeing them standing there, or them - seeing you, naked, baby in your arms and me half naked in front of them.
You always wanted a baby, and now you're going to have one. You don't exactly have a partner right now, but that isn't too hard to work around - find a few matches online on just the right days, beg them to cum inside you, and soon you'll have a pregnancy test with two lines on it.
You've made plans for a solo homebirth. It isn't what's usually recommended, especially for first babies, but you want to feel in control as much as you can during the birth, with no doctors interfering or nurses yelling in your ear. Besides, the people online said it wouldn't be that hard, so you should be fine, right? You've had this planned for months, carefully rehearsing to make sure you'll be able to do this without medical assistance, and eagerly awaiting the day you'll finally bring your baby into the world.
You let out a moan as you lean over the bed, feeling your belly tighten once again as you sway your hips. You've been busy most of the day gathering everything you'll need, getting your room set up just right. Most notably, you have a large standing mirror at the foot of the bed, so you can see every bit of your progress, and a camera tripod next to it, to record the footage for "later reference" (and, for all your internet friends who begged to see it). All the preparations have been a nice distraction, kept you busy while contractions came again and again, while you slowly dilated more and more.
The next contraction peaks, and you feel a sudden pressure deep in your hips. It comes on strong and sudden, much worse than you expected, and you want nothing more than to just give in as you settle into a deep squat, but you pant hard as you struggle to hold back. "Am- Nhhhh- Am I dilated?" It's almost more than you can handle, but you just about manage to hold back long enough to press two fingers inside yourself, to feel for your cervix and see that it's all the way open.
It's agony to wait, but you pull your fingers out of yourself, get a good grip on the side of the bed, and make sure you have a firm stance on the floor before you finally start to bear down. You let out a grunt of effort, sagging just a little at the relief as you let yourself give in to the pressure. The head moves down a little with that contraction, a little more with the next, and a little more with the one after that. It's not fast progress, by any means, but it is steady, aided by gravity and your long, hard pushing. You know you need to push hard, to make sure this baby comes down fast, and the huge pressure of the head filling your hips does nothing to discourage you as you bear down again and again.
You stop short, mid-contraction, as you feel burning between your legs. "Haaaa- Up on the bed- Nnnnh- So I can see-" You struggle through the rest of the contraction, panting hard and waiting for your belly to release its grip so you can climb up. You let your legs fall wide open as you lay yourself back, giving you a perfect view of the mirror reflecting just a sliver of hair between your folds. You reach between your legs, and spread your lips in fascination. That's your baby! Right there! You have to push just a little more!
You pull your legs back with the next contraction, gritting your teeth through the burn as your lips stretch more and more the longer you hold the push. You keep your eyes fixed on the image in the mirror, willing your baby to come more, to come through that burning and meet you. The head recedes back inside you when the contraction ends, but you're not worried. You'll get to see your baby again the next time you push, bring them just a little bit closer to the world. For all that it'll hurt, you wait eagerly to feel that pressure, and pull your legs wide again when it finally comes. You feel the burn coming more and more as the head stretches your lips into a wide oval, but you don't let up. You can see your baby right there! You need to hold them- need it more than anything else. You bear down again as soon as the next contraction starts, forcing your labia to stretch wider and wider, almost desperately eager to see more of the head you're spent the last nine months creating inside you. You scream with the next contraction, even more with the one after that, but you don't let up with either of them. You push again and again and every bit of the burning, every bit of the terrible fire between your legs means you can see just that much more of your baby.
It hurts - it hurts so fucking much - you just want this head out of you, but you know you need to wait. "Slow, now. Take it slow now. Let it stretch a little." You cup a hand over the wide circle of head between your legs, brushing your fingers through the sparse hair. "Hi, baby. You're gonna need to stay there just a little longer, okay?" You do your best to be gentle with the next contraction, to push just enough to ease the head out a little more, but you know it's not going to last. Soon, you're pushing just a little harder than that, pressing back with your hand to help the head come slowly.
Soon after that, the dam breaks, and you're desperately trying to slow the head down as you feel fire catching between your legs. You push back on the head as much as you dare, but you can't stop yourself from bearing down with everything you have, forcing your baby down more and more as you stretch wider and wider. You can't take your eyes away from it, watching the head coming bit by bit no matter how much you scream, how much you cry out in pain, no matter how much you try to take it slow. Part of you is terrified at the sudden loss of control, at the unstoppable pain as the head forces you to stretch so wide so fast, but another part is ecstatic at seeing your baby come closer to being born, whatever it takes. You manage to regain a little bit of control with the next contraction, and a little more with the one after that, enough to slowly guide the head out of you, no matter how much your body begs you to just scream this head out right now.
"Okay- Take it real slow with the crown. Nice and careful-" You're so close. You give short little pushes between the contractions, guiding the head with both hands as you start to ease it forwards just a little more. "Okay- Okay- OH FUCK- FUCK-" You push, soft and short, and feel the head come forward just a little into your hands. Another, your lips part just a little more, fire on top of fire. A grunt of effort- More stretching, burning- The head comes so, so slowly into your hands- You feel yourself open- More- More- "HAAAAAAA- CROWN! THAT'S A CROWN! OHHHHHHH GODDDDDDDD-
You keep both your hands cupped over the head, struggling desperately to just pant your way through the terrible burning between your legs, to let the head just sit there while you breathe your way through all the pain. "Don't- AHHHH- Don't Push. FUCK- Just let it- GHHH- Just let it stretch you." You give everything you have to just pant through the pressure as you feel the huge head sitting between your lips, stretching you out more than you thought was possible. You throw back your head as you feel your body begging you to just bear down and get your baby out, feel your every instinct screaming at you to do whatever it takes to end the agony between your legs, but you just gasp, pant, struggle through the pressure, gritting your teeth as you fight your body's urges to give yourself time to stretch. Your breathing comes in ragged gasps as you keep your hands over the head, pressing against it as much as you can stand as you struggle to keep your baby in just a little longer. You barely manage to breathe your way through the endless pressure, feeling every bit of the ring of fire as the head pulls your lips so agonizingly tight, holding on for what feels like an eternity before you finally feel the contraction abate.
The pressure between your hips isn't exactly gone, but it is just about bearable as you lift up your head to look in the mirror. You let out an audible gasp as you finally get a good look between your legs. It hurts, hurts like nothing you've ever felt, but you can't stop your fascination from building as you catch sight of what you've fantasized about for literal years. You explore with shaky fingers, every part of you stretched, burning, pulled tight to the limit around your baby's enormous crown. You probe gingerly at your clit, stretched out so far to make room for the head, and groan in pleasure-pain as you feel the searing burn right where you're most sensitive. You trace your fingers around the head, feel your lips stretched, hot, tight as you grunt slightly at every bit of the unwanted touch. You suck in a breath as you start to work your finger beneath the stretched-tight skin to try to help yourself open up even more, but a fresh spasm of pain puts an end to that idea. You stare with fascination between your legs, delighting at the thought of the camera capturing every moment of this for posterity, and completely lose track of time in the fulfillment of your deepest, most fervent desire.
The pressure in your hips catches you by surprise. "Nnnn- Fuck- Not- Not with the contraction-" You start to pant again as you feel your belly gripping you tightly, as you fight to hold back the urge to bear down. It grows and grows, making you cry out at the growing pressure, cupping your hands over the head, making you cry out again as you put insitent force on the crown bulging out of you, fighting your every instinct to hold it in place against your body's overwhelming, desperate urges. You can feel your body pushing for you, but you keep your hands firmly in place, gritting your teeth as you fight your way through the endless burning, the unbearable pressure, as you give everything you have to keep your baby inside just a little longer. It's far, far too much - every cell in your body is screaming at you to pull your hands away and just let your baby out - but you hold back. It's unbearable, holding your baby in like this, but it's also something you've gotten off to more times than you can count. Slick fingers late at night, working desperately at your clit, the thought of a huge head crowning between your legs, held fast while you push and beg and struggle, while you're stuck stretched open at your widest point, screaming your way through the endless, terrible burning with no end in sight. Feeling it happen for real is so much more than you can handle, but it also fuels a part of you that wants to stay stuck like this for hours on end, that helps you hold on through the worst parts of your labor, that gives you the strength to hold your hands over the head, screaming your way through everything your body can throw at you until the pressure in your hips finally fades once again.
"Okay- Oh god- Oh my god-" You pull your hands away, and take one more look at the crown between your legs. The thought flashes through your mind to let the head stay just like this, to hold it in through the next contraction, and the next, to just keep going as long as you can stand it, but you know you're not going to be able to hold back through more pressure like that. "Okay- Nnnnh- Little pushes- Ahhh- Ease that head out-" You give short, soft grunts between the contractions, feeling the head inching its way out of you just a little bit at a time into your cupped hands. "AHHH- Okay, okay- Little more- NHHHHH-" You give one final effort, and jump slightly as you feel the last of the head slide out of you.
"Hi! Hi, baby!" You can't think of any words beyond that as you cup the head in your hand. That's your baby, right there between your legs! It didn't feel real before, but it certainly does now. You feel around the neck for the umbilical cord, groaning just a little at the pressure of your fingers against your sore lips. It hurts, of course, but it's heaven compared to the burning pain of the full crown. "Okay- Nnnnh- Here we go-" You feel your baby starting to rotate inside you as the next contraction builds.
The pressure grows as you wait just a little longer, letting your baby rotate all the way before you give in one last time. You spread your legs as wide as they'll go, curling around your belly as you cup the head in both hands. You bear down with everything you have, silent and fierce as you will your baby to come to you, for the shoulders to stretch you just a little more so your baby can come out. You don't feel any movement but you don't let that stop you, pushing as hard as you can into the burning between your legs. The shoulders feel impossibly wide, stuck fast inside you, but you don't give up. You lean into that pressure, bear down with everything you have, scream out your effort for the world to hear, then scream again as you feel something shift, feel the head move down, the top shoulder stretching you more and more, then the same with the bottom as your baby pulls you so, so wide. One more push for the hips, one more cry at the sudden, burning pain between your legs and you pull your baby out of you, up onto your chest. You hear a full-throated cry, and, suddenly, nothing else matters.
-
It's not very long at all before you're busy reviewing the footage you took. You can feel you're still sore from giving birth, but this is just too hot to let that stop you. Your fingers found your clit long ago, working feverishly to the sights and sounds of you pushing and struggling and stretching so, so wide. You feel your body seize up, and you let out a cry of pleasure at the sight of your hand holding the baby inside. You gasp as you come down from your orgasm. "Next time- Hold it even longer." You can already feel the plans forming for your next birth.
This started out as a request fill, but got away from me to the point that it does not answer the request anymore. Here it is anyways.
There may be a part 2 to this if it gets sufficient audience attention.
Link to my 1st mega which has the majority of Lusty's stuff, some other birth hentai and also some sex hentai. [https://mega.nz/folder/bEdwCQjT#jYd-L4\_W2LnJhfL8QcJCdA](https://mega.nz/folder/bEdwCQjT#jYd-L4_W2LnJhfL8QcJCdA)
Link to my 2nd mega which is mostly real birth and prego stuff and also has some more of Lusty's videos and other stuff I couldn't fit into the 1st account. [https://mega.nz/folder/PmxSFALS#BGWT0JZ3KkagJCvcrKXGeg](https://mega.nz/folder/PmxSFALS#BGWT0JZ3KkagJCvcrKXGeg)
Hi everyone! I hate to do this but i’m under a great deal of financial stress as my car has broken down and needs a repair! I’m opening emergency art and writing fic commissions!
I love the idea of shoulder dystocia. Your baby's head is finally out, the hardest part of your birth over. You are so close to having this child that you grew for 9+ months in your arms instead of wedged inside you. And then you feel it. Something is deeply wrong. Maybe monitors start going off. Or your midwife calls for help. The next thing you know your body is being forced into extreme positions. Voices are yelling at you to push. To push harder. Don't wait for a contraction, push now. The head dangling between your legs is pulled and jostled, earning nothing but more pain for you. Now hands are on your still filled belly, pressing hard, trying to expel your baby for you. Push. You still have to push. Baby needs out NOW. You're giving it everything you've got. Pushing with all of the strength that you have. Maybe your vision starts to go dark...
Hi everyone! I hate to do this but i’m under a great deal of financial stress as my car has broken down and needs a repair! I’m opening emergency art and writing fic commissions!
sooooo my most recent delivery my episiotomy was performed via pressure (no local anesthetic) because i have adverse reactions to a lot of anesthetics/lidocaine relatives.
basically how it works is they had me push for as long as I could and get her head to start crowning, so then the doctor could use his fingers to pull back on my perineum and cut quickly while i was pushing.
honestly? it was rough but not as awful as i had expected given the last time. when he put his fingers in there was so much general pressure/burning from the head and the extra stretch that it was hard to distinguish episiotomy from ring of fire while i was pushing.
459.2. request: A man stuck at home during quarantine, is using a telescope to spy on people in a neighboring apartment building. Looking in one window he sees a beautiful woman clearly in labor. Growing more and more aroused, he watches her labor, then struggle to birth her large baby all by herself. Picturing himself getting her pregnant with more babies, helping her birth them.
A Original valiantremnant story
Pre-story notes: This is a bit out of my wheelhouse, but I decided to give it a go from the perspective of someone other than the pregnant woman. That said, I do not condone the behavior of the main character in this story.
Through the Spy Glass
Quarantine does odd things to someone who's bored. Aaron had rearranged his small apartment already. Twice. He was pretty sure if he did it again, his downstairs neighbor might actually put a broom through their ceiling and his floor with how hard they would pound it in protest to the noise. When it had first started, he was alright with the idea, a couple of weeks off, no biggie. But as a couple of weeks turned into a few, which turned into some, which turned into a bunch... Aaron had played every game on his 'to-play' list until his thumbs cramped at the idea of picking up a controller. He'd scoured the internet until he felt like he'd hit the bottom. So, he'd looked up.
His uncle had died shortly before the pandemic had shut the world down, and he'd left Aaron something they had shared, a large, brass telescope. As a child, Aaron had loved watching the stars, but had sadly fallen out of taking time to simply wonder at the heavens and celestial bodies that revealed themselves at night. With a shrug, Aaron brought out the box that held the old device and set it up, pointing it at the sky... only to sigh with disgust. Light pollution. He'd have to drive for hours to get clear of enough of the wash to see much of anything. Sighing, he aimed it down at the sidewalk.
"Heh. Nature reclaims us all, doesn't it?"
Nature in this case, was a fat pigeon waddling and pecking at a bagel that had been set on top of a garbage can rather than in it. Panning the device around, he found a multipurpose building and smiled, pulling out his cellphone and calling a number on it. On the second ring, his friend picked up.
"Hey man, what's up?"
"Rick, you said you worked in that glass building across from mine, right?"
"Uhhh, yeah, sure, why?"
"Stand up, I wanna see where you are."
"What the fuck?"
"Look, remember my uncle died and left me that telescope?"
"What does... oohhh, neat. Ok, hold on."
As Aaron watched, a figure stood up and waved it's arms.
"Hey, I see you."
"Cool. Look, just be careful man. I don't want other people in the building to call the cops about a peeping tom."
"Well, can you even see me from where you are?"
"I guess not."
"So there's no problem then."
"I guess..." Rick trailed off, then swore, "Shit, boss is coming, uh, see you at some point. Y'know, if this ever ends."
Rick hung up, leaving Aaron alone. Aaron sighed too and sat back, looking up at the ceiling. He fell asleep like that after a while, staring at nothing....
With a start, Aaron woke up, and groaned at the lancing pain in his neck from sleeping like that. He rolled his head, cracking the stressed joints and sighed in relief as they popped one by one. Shaking his head, he looked at the time. When he had called his friend, it had been about 7:00 in the evening, now it was 10:00, and much, much darker. He stood up and cracked his back, and was about to head to bed when he noticed that in Rick's building, there was a single light on. Smiling, he took the telescope and swung it until he was aimed right at it. If nothing else, he could peep at what other people were watching.
The building was multi purpose. The bottom ten floors were rented out to various businesses, and the upper ones were fancy apartments with large glass walls that offered sweeping views of the city. The light was on in one of these apartments. He peered around, but didn't see a tv that was on or anything. Just a woman sitting. A very pretty woman. From where he was, through the scope, he could see that she was blonde, had long legs, and was probably tall, but that was hard to gauge given the distance and the fact that she was sitting angled slightly away from him. The other thing he noticed that made him flush, was that she was only wearing a bra as far as he could tell. He was about to step away when he saw her double over. Tilting his head, he wondered what was up.
"Are you alright?" He wondered aloud, and adjusted the telescope, zooming in and adjusting the focus slightly. With a better view, he could see that her face, though pretty, was screwed up in intense pain. She stayed like that for a while, but eventually, and slowly, she straightened back up and stood up, rubbing... "Holy shit... Whoa!" The woman was pregnant. Hugely so. She was rubbing her massively swollen belly as she waddled back and forth in the luxury apartment. Eventually, he was able to break his gaze from her and shake his head clear. It was one thing he had never told anyone. He absolutely loved pregnancy. Every aspect. Every soft, filled out curve filled his dreams. But the one thing that drove him mad more than anything was birth. His watch history was filled with birth vlogs and the like, and some days he found it impossible to finish without hearing and watching a pregnant woman writhing and screaming as her own body fought itself.
He knew this was too good to be true, a hallucination. Aaron walked to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water, and splashed his face. His face still damp, he returned to the chair and put his eye back to the scope, and there she was, in all her real, pregnant, and, hopefully, laboring glory. "Oh, you're definitely in labor." Aaron muttered to himself as she leaned over the back of her couch , her hips swaying. He obviously couldn't hear her, but if her locked open jaw and the redness of her face was anything to judge by, she was screaming in agony.
"Now, be a good girl and stay there for me?" He mused, hoping that she would remain in her apartment for this birth. With the world essentially on lockdown, he knew that many women were choosing to have homebirths. Hopefully, this woman was one of them. He watched her sway in place, leaning over the couch for a handful of contractions before she moved on from that position. She sat back in the chair, much to Aaron's disappointment. He couldn't see her when she was sitting there. He couldn't see what she was doing, but her arm was flexing and moving as if she was... "Oh, no way, no WAY!" He clamped his mouth shut. Aaron lived alone, but he figured that it being the middle of the night, he should be quiet. But what he had seen was one of the best things he could have hoped for. Was this unknown laboring woman, masturbating? Was she touching herself to relieve the pain of birth? He looked back through the lens and watched as she kept up her wriggling and shaking before she pulled her hand back up. He was only mildly disappointed that she was already done with that, but then realized she hadn't been masturbating at all! She held up her still dripping hand and held it up to examine. She was checking to see how dilated she was!
"Ooh, okay, now how far are you? Dang, it's hard to tell at this distance." Aaron fantasized about being in the room with the woman, holding her, rubbing her belly, listening to her moans and screams, smelling the thick scents of labor... But, here he was, a full block away, just watching. Her fingers were spread pretty far apart though, so there was a good chance she was pretty far dilated, if not all the way. But probably not as the woman flopped her head back, looking exhausted and exasperated. Aaron shook his head. "Oh come on, you can do it, women do this every day."
It was as if she heard him. She stood up and began pacing again, leaning back over the couch, but now, she did something else too. She would, with one hand supporting her by holding the couch, and the other hand pressed under her belly, she would lower herself into a deep squat, and she would slowly, clearly with a lot of effort, raise herself up again. Aaron watched her move and wait out her cervix for the next hour. Over the course of that hour, he had seen no one come or go from the apartment, not a partner, not a midwife, not even a pet. She was, as far as he could tell , completely alone while she labored. Surely she should have called for someone by now? If she wasn't fully dilated, she had to be close? Was she going to give birth alone? Mostly unseen? She stopped her moving and squatting and returned to the chair, checking herself again. This time, she seemed more relieved by the results, and moved to the floor.
The floor, Aaron could see, had been covered by a plastic sheet that shone in the lights of the city, which had towels strewn on top of it. They might have been laid out neatly earlier, but they had been mussed up by her pacing and squatting. She squatted again now, both hands rubbing her belly as she closed her eyes in preparation. After a minute, her belly tensed, and Aaron could see her gritting her teeth in effort, her face turning red and shaking from the effort. "Ooh, purple pushing, nice," Aaron said watching her. He was no doctor, but the amount of birth vlogs and labor stories he had watched had given him quite a wealth of knowledge to draw upon for this... private show. He knew that pushing the way she was wasn't going to be very effective. She was holding all the tension in her face, clenching too hard, and probably holding her breath. Smiling, he knew he was in for a long pushing phase.
Or rather, she was. It only took five contractions before her squatting position proved to be too tiring for her. She was semi-reclined now, still red faced and now she seemed to be constantly panting as she waited for contractions. "Oh, you're not doing yourself any favors, are you," Aaron muttered, enjoying the show. She seemed frustrated, possibly crying between contractions. Panting, she tensed up and curled around herself to push, but Aaron could see that it wasn't going to be any more successful from her last few attempts. Her legs were too close together, she was still holding the tension in her face, and he knew that while it might be more restful to be reclined like that, pushing on your back was actually a hinderance to birth. One more contraction on her back, and the woman seemed to realize this too, as she began the lumbering process of turning onto her side and getting her hands and knees under herself. Her ass and pussy pointed straight at Aaron, he watched as she rocked back and forth, back and forth, back and forth...
From behind, Aaron could only tell when the woman was having a contraction because she would either stop rocking, or at the very least slow down. His telescope was focused well enough that he could see fluid dripping from her vagina, but that was the only thing that did. It wasn't even bulging yet. He looked over his shoulder at the clock on the back of his stove. It was already 2:30, meaning that she had been pushing for about three hours now, with nothing to show for it. "Man, you are really bad at this," He said to himself, somewhat maliciously. This was shaping up to be much like his favorite birth vlogs, minus the sound of course. The mothers in those videos would push and push so hard, so desperately, only for little to no progress to be made. The vlogs where the time spent pushing was measured not by individual contractions or even by minutes, but by hours and hours. Given the complete lack of progress he could see, he assumed and hoped that she would have many more hours of pushing ahead of her.
He could well imagine it, her desperate panting, moaning, screaming and crying, the soft music she was probably playing, and the musty smell of her sweat and birthing fluids. The time was now 3:00 A.M. and he was still watching her, a handful of empty energy drink cans next to his chair. Meanwhile, the woman had eaten nothing, and had only had a few sips of water form a bottle near her. "Don't worry, I'll stay until you're done," Aaron muttered, shifting in his chair. The woman had changed positions twice in the last thirty minutes, rocking back to on her knees and then rolling onto her side, holding one leg up. He could see her belly tense up with every contraction, every push, each as beautifully helpless and useless as the last. "It's like you're not even trying, do you want to give birth or just stay like this forever?" The casual sadism in the comment sent a thrill down his spine as he watched. Aaron could only imagine what a blow to her confidence and energy such a comment would have if she could hear it.
3:30 rolled past. 4:00. 5:00. By 6:00, Aaron could finally see what the woman had possibly been feeling for a while. A small, dark sliver of head was just barely beginning to peep out of her red, swollen vagina. "There we are, just after... six and a half hours? Damn, you are really bad at this, and it's not even out yet." Aaron had hardly moved from his position since he had found the laboring woman. She on the other hand had been changing positions constantly, she had squatted again, stood up, laid back, knelt over the chair, and many more besides, but now, she was back to hands and knees. As she stopped pushing, the dark sliver of the end receded back into her vagina. He watched one of her hands flap behind her to desperately feel around her opening, but she slammed it back to the ground in front of her as she began to push again. He watch a swell of pressure seemingly roll down her tailbone as the head began it's emergence once again, the dark sliver appearing again, but again retreating once she stopped pushing.
Aaron found himself torn between rooting for her or hoping it would take longer as the war to get the baby's head out raged in the apartment. For nearly an additional thirty minutes she fought like a mad thing to get the head out, having now stood up and was leaning over the back of the chair, reach under and around her heaving belly to pull at her lips to try to make more room before the head started to stay down between pushes. The contractions must have been nearly constant now, as the head was going up and down, up and down without pause for most of that time. Her legs were stuck wide open by now, the head preventing her from moving them closed as she tried to move around, possibly to squat, or anything, but she seemed stuck, her back heaving with unheard sobs. He began to wish he was in the apartment, rubbing her back, holding her belly, possibly even helping her move to a more comfortable position while she birthed this baby.
But, he could only watch as her sobs paused while the next inevitable contraction forced her to push, her legs training to keep her upright as the head bulged out more and more... "That has to be full crown now, that's massive!" Aaron gasped to himself as he beheld the strain of her pussy. The head was huge, covered in hair and stretching the woman out considerably. The fact that she hadn't torn was incredible, and probably due to how long it had been taking her to get this far. But now it was just sitting there. Based on how the woman's belly was shaking and how the head was wiggling, she was probably sobbing from the pain. Aaron watched as she reached around to press a few fingers to her clit as she pushed again, but with no progress resulting from her effort. "This is no time to be quitting now, come on..." Aaron commented as he watched, Aware of light beginning to return to the sky.
"Well, that's not ideal." Aaron was only able to afford this apartment because the glare from the very building he was watching would reflect directly into every unit on this side of apartment complex. It was an inconvenience until about mid-morning, but it made it affordable. But today, it was more than inconvenient. It would completely prevent Aaron from watching further until damn near 11:00.
"Come on, come on, come on, come on..." Aaron urged, "You gotta finish in the next... 30 minutes." The woman, who obviously couldn't hear Aaron, did nothing to speed things up, just holding a hand to her clit and giving, in Aaron's opinion, fairly pathetic, little grunts of pushes rather than the full bore effort that would be needed to pop the head free. She gave another push, her head flopping back after as she sobbed inaudibly from a block away. Pressing her hand a bit more firmly to her clit, she rallied herself and pushed again, this time putting a little more effort into it. The head moved slightly, but not much.
Finally, as the glare was beginning to cut the show short, the head burst free with a gush of fluid, and the woman widened her stance, seemingly finally able to move her legs again, and she lumbered her way back down to the floor, getting to her knees, then rolling to her back, her spread legs exposing herself perfectly to Aaron. She reached around her body to hook her hands under her knees and hauled them back, curling up over her still heaving belly and pushing, one last time...
And with a release that Aaron felt in his own pants, the baby burst out with a second spray of fluid onto the floor of the woman's apartment. Aaron shut his curtain as he bent over himself, the post nut bliss temporarily wiping his mind blank. Groaning, he slowly stood up, wincing as his joints popped with the effort. "Well... I guess that was the greatest thing I'll ever see in my life."
This story is set in the palace of Versailles, under the reign of Louis XIV, and is about the pregnant story of one of her mistresses: Madame de Montespan. It doesn't pretend to be historically accurate at any point.
If you like this scenario, I recommend you check out the Dropster story At the King's Pleasure. The 2015 series Versailles also played an important role in etching these courtly pregnancies into many of our minds.
Feel free to write any related or follow-up story with vanilla pregnancies. I’ll sure enjoy them.
------------------------------
At the great palace of Versailles, a twenty-seven year-old Madame de Montespan walks alone through a corridor. It’s past midnight, and this part of the palace does not have any candles to provide light. Only the moonlight that goes in through all the regularly spaced windows makes it possible for her to know where she is going. She is walking quite slowly, trying not to make any sound to get to her chambers without being noticed. She is coming from his majesty’s royal chambers, where she has been in a pleasurable sex encounter with the king. The night dress she is wearing under a dark coat is still wet in her lower part because the king made her come and squirt a couple of times.
Suddenly, she stops and makes a short gasp of surprise. She moves both her hands to her belly, to her pregnant belly, and for the first time she feels the baby moving in her.
“Oh, you’re awake, little one.” She thinks. “Sure, your mommy’s moves had woken you up.”
The fact is that Madame de Montespan is, as far as she knows, the favorite mistress of Louis XIV, the King of France. After all the times they had sex, she is unsurprisingly carrying his bastard. This is not really a secret within the court at Versailles, a king is supposed to have mistresses and Madame de Montespan became a widow a year ago, when her husband died during a battle. So, when she started to show clear signs of pregnancy, everybody assumed she was carrying a Bourbon bastard. Following the king’s orders, she never confirmed it, but it was clear for everybody that the king had a preference for her.
She is not worried at all about the other aristocrats judging her reputation for having extramarital relations. This is not her first pregnancy, she has two sons, and when her husband died, she thought that the best she could do was to get close to the royal family and try to be well-connected with the most powerful people of the country. That, she thought, would give her the opportunity to get really good positions for both her sons in the court.
This romance with the king was not planned at all but, of course, she did nothing to stop it. She knew that a widow like her is likely to end up married to some ugly and odious old man, so she prefers to be in this sinful relationship. The king, a handsome man that is about her same age, is such a great lover. He made her have her first orgasm and is able to drive her crazy in the bed each time they meet.
Even though the gossiping about her pregnancy doesn’t worry her at all, there is one thing that sure does. The king seems to have a kink for pregnant women and, what’s more alarming, for pregnant women giving birth. She discovered it about a month after her arrival at Versailles. It was time for her majesty the queen to give birth to her second child. As tradition rules, royal births must be public, for everybody to be sure that a legitimate heir is brought to the world. Madame de Montespan had been flirting with the king for a week and, when the time came for witnessing the birth, she was at the king's side. They were alerted by a guard that the queen was close to start pushing the baby out. On their way to the chamber, she could hear other guards saying out loud that the royal birth was ready for anyone interested in witnessing it.
Once in place, the king and his guests were placed just in front of the birthing bed, the queen was laying on her back and with her legs spread in some wooden stirrups. The room was quite dark, but the laboring figure was lit with some candles near the bed. Everybody was in silence and the only sound was the heavy breaths of the queen. Not long after they arrived, the queen started pushing. She was screaming during each long push. It seemed she was having some troubles in bringing the baby out, and it took her about an hour of painful pushes to make the head appear in a teardrop shape in her pussy. Madame de Montespan remembered her two births on a birthing chair. They were hard to endure, especially the first one when she was just twenty-one years old but, compared to what she was seeing, they seemed almost easy.
She understood that the queen was kept in such an uncomfortable position for the king to be able to better watch the baby coming out. The fact is that the king was enjoying each push and each scream her wife made, and everybody around could notice it because he had a boner during all the pushing state. Madame de Montespan was even more horrified when she saw how the queen had to push the baby’s head upwards, against gravity. When the queen finally pushed the whole baby out, releasing its shoulders in a final primal scream, the doctor immediately announced to the king that he had an heir.
The king was happy, but also so turned on. He had been with a boner for almost three hours, the time that it took the queen to push the baby out. He needed some relief, so he took Madame de Montespan with him to the nearest chamber. A small one with only a chest of drawers and a bed. She immediately knew what was about to happen and was not against it at all. When the king closed the door behind her, she bent towards the chest of drawers and lifted her clothes, exposing her butt. The king quickly took her hard dick out and put it in her. The king’s hard thrusts made her impact repeatedly into the piece of furniture as she screamed of pleasure. She quickly forgot the shocking experience she had just witnessed, as she was experiencing an unknown pleasure, better than what her husband had ever given her.
“YES… YES… OH… OH… OH SIRE… YEEESSS…” She begged with each of the king’s thrusts. “OH LORD… OOHH… OOOOOOOOOHHH…” She reached an orgasm and her legs began to shake. The king, noticing that she couldn’t stand herself up, guided her to the bed. She instinctively opened her legs widespread. The king got over her and continued fucking her roughly. He managed to unbutton her dress and reveal her breasts, which he began to grope. “AH… AH… OH… AH…” Her groans and her neck covered with sweat made the king imagine how she would look while birthing a baby. When that thought crossed his mind, he came in her.
Since that day, Madame de Montespan visited the king’s chamber three or four times a week. A month later, she found out she was pregnant. She was not sure how the king would react to this news, so she decided to postpone the announcement for a month. During that period, she carefully tried to get some signs of the king’s feelings about a possible pregnancy.
One evening, when she ended riding the king’s dick until they both reached an orgasm, she laid to rest at his side. Fully naked, sweating and with cum coming out her pussy, she said: “Sire, don’t you think we are taking too much risk getting me filled with your seed every time we meet? What would the court say if I end up pregnant?”
“Oh Athénaïs.” He called her by her name, as he usually does when they are alone. “Getting you pregnant is my only aim each time I fuck you.” He puts one hand on her flat belly. “I thought you already knew that. And just don’t care what the rest of the court will say. I know it will be hard for you, an unmarried woman, to stand all the gossipers making guesses about who the father of your future bastard would be, but remember that I’ll always be secretly by your side.”
“And what will happen to the child, Sire? What kind of life will he have as a bastard?”
“Don’t you worry about that. Our child won’t be like the many other illegitimate sons, born from cheap whores, whose fathers agreed in giving their surname. Our son will be the fruit of our romance, and I’ll make sure he will be a Bourbon. Of course, he won’t be in the line of succession to the throne, but being a Bourbon will help him.”
Madame de Montespan got fully sure that there wouldn’t be any problem in revealing her pregnancy after this conversation with the king. She decided that she would tell the king she was pregnant after two weeks, so as not to look suspicious. All she could think then was that she had done it. She had reached a position in which she and her sons would get a future full of wealths, and she had done it through a romance and a pregnancy with the king. What better way could exist?
About a month after being sure she was pregnant, she announced it to the king. He reacted euphorically, kissing her and kissing her belly. Their relationship became even more passionate since the king knew about her pregnancy. She noticed how her growing bump made the king get more and more excited as the weeks went by.
Now, back to the present, Madame de Montespan arrives at her chamber and lays naked on the bed rubbing her 25-weeks pregnant belly. Her belly is still small, but it grew enough for her to have to change almost all her wardrobe. In fact, now that she is laying down, her belly looks as tall as her breasts. She rubs it unconsciously because her mind is thinking about the last post-sex conversation she just had with the king. The king, enjoying her belly size and her grown breasts, confessed how he would enjoy being present at her birth.
She, trying not to look shocked, assured him that it would be a pleasure for her to give birth in her presence. However, the image of the queen screaming wildly with her legs forced open and a head coming out her pussy and pointing to the roof made her become a bit scared.
“What were you thinking, Athénaïs?” She starts thinking. “Oh, fuck! What will I do? He will order some doctor to tide me up in that horrendous thing! I will have to push a baby out of me in such an uncomfortable place! I can’t! I won’t!” As it was late, her thoughts began getting mixed with dreams in which she had a head hanging from her pussy as she tried to push the rest of the baby in the most unexpected positions.
Of course, by the following morning she feels tired, but she starts planning a way to evade the king's desires. She knows that one of her servants is the daughter of the gardener in charge of the north part of the palace. When she finds herself alone with her, she starts:
“Jacqueline, would you mind accompanying me for a walk? Today’s a wonderful day to be out of these walls.”
“Sure Madame. Do you want me to prepare some breakfast?”
“Oh, that would be great. Maybe something we can take with us.”
Half an hour later, both of them were crossing the north gate towards the garden.
“Look how beautiful these flowers are! Will you tell your father he’s doing a wonderful job?”
“I will Madame. I’m sure he will be glad.”
Madame de Montespan looked around to be sure they were alone.
“Let’s get a bit into the forest.” They get past the first trees and they stop walking. “Look, Jacqueline, I was wondering whether you could help me. Do you know any hidden shelter in this forest? Maybe some place your father uses to keep his tools or to eat and rest when it starts raining.”
“Hmm…” She realizes that this walk in the garden had a secret aim from the beginning. However, she can’t lose anything helping a rich woman so she answers: “Yes, there’s a place… A small cabin, my father uses it to take some rest. It’s in this same forest.” Fully decided to help, she adds. “Do you want to see it, Madame?”
“Sure, I’d like to take a look at it.”
They keep walking through the forest for about fifteen minutes until they can see a clearing in which stands a little wooden cabin. They keep their path until they reach the only door of the cabin.
“Can we take a look inside?”
“Yes Madame. It’s always open, and you don’t really have to ask me, it doesn’t belong to my father, although he is the only one using it by now.”
Madame de Montespan goes in first. The room is as tiny as she had judged from the outside. There is a table with a couple of bottles of wine at the right and a tiny fireplace, a repaired old chair in front of it and a small dirty bed opposite to the door. In the wall on the left, as well as hanging from the roof, there are plenty of the gardener’s tools.
“Madame, I know that whatever you have in mind must not be of my interest but, if you tell me, I could help you.”
“Well Jacqueline…” She considers having at least one accomplice by her side. “In about four months, I will need this place to be cleaned, as I will secretly give birth to my child here.”
Jacqueline takes some time to respond. She is shocked by this revelation, but she quickly realizes that Madame de Montespan is carrying a child without having a husband. So, she has a reason to bring it to the world in private, far from the crowded palace.
“Alright, Madame. Sure, I can help with that.” She takes a look at the dirty room. “I’ll clean it up and make it a bit more comfortable.”
“I’m glad you want to help me. Jacqueline, if everything goes as planned, I’ll make sure you get a better job and a better pay. But it’s important to keep it a secret. Just the two of us must know what I’m planning to do.”
“I understand it, Madame. The only person I can think of that might make some questions is my father. I’ll tell him not to come around here for some time because some aristocrat needs this place to spend some time with her lover. It won’t be the first time, he’ll understand. But, Madame, are you really planning to give birth alone? Have you done it before?”
“Not really. At the birth of my two sons, I was assisted by a doctor and a midwife. However, there were no complications, so I felt they were there just to encourage me. I’m confident of doing it alone. Also, my second child felt easier than the first. Hopefully this one will be too.”
“Well, I’m the eldest of seven brothers, so I had to assist my mother in her last births. If you want me to, I could be with you when the time comes.”
“Jacqueline, that would be perfect.”
The two women return to the palace. In the following weeks and months, they don’t talk about the hidden cabin in the palace’s forests at all. Jacqueline goes there from time to time to make it a comfortable space, but she doesn’t give any news about that process to Madame de Montespan. They had agreed that any conversation inside the palace is likely to be heard by someone else, so the best way to keep it secret is by not talking about it.
As weeks went by, Madame de Montespan noticed her pregnant belly grew. She could feel how some of her first pregnancy dresses got tighter and tighter around her bump until becoming useless. She even found uncomfortable with some of her more loose night dresses she had since before pregnancy. The child's weight increased more and more as weeks passed, so her moves turned less agile. Even after a short walk in the gardens, she feels exhausted and needs to take a rest.
Even though the other woman in the court talked about her size and how her fun with the king will bring her pain and suffering, Madame de Montespan stayed calm. Her husband was a really big man, so in her previous pregnancies she grew a bit more than in this one.
Her relation with the king improved. Now that her belly is round and tight, she spends most part of the evenings they share laying on the bed, letting the king rub and kiss her bump. Let’s remind ourselves that the king thinks she is pregnant for about four weeks less than she really is. So now she is in her thirty-ninth week, the king is excited about her size, believing she is just starting her ninth month.
Tonight she’s been asked by the king to visit his chamber. Although she is worried that her labor could start while being with the king, leaving her with no other option than giving birth for him, she knows she can’t refuse the invitation.
She goes to her chambers, where she gets ready for meeting the king. She uses a bit of perfume and styles her hair, just for the king to be able to put it in a mess. Not only that, but she also changes her clothes, going out, as usual, with just an almost transparent white dress under a coat. She knows that is the way to get the king excited, making him see her naked body as fast as possible. That is something impossible to do wearing a usual dress, they are heavy and make it difficult to get undressed sensually. With her current outfit, all she has to do is take off the coat and the king can immediately see her pregnant body’s shape. Especially when she does it in front of the fire, because her figure gets lightened from behind, making the dress appear almost transparent.
The king sees all her curves. He knows that not only her belly has changed. Her breasts are bigger and with darker areolas and her hips are wider, ready for the birth. He moves towards her and when he is close enough she takes his hands and places them on her belly.
“Oh, look what we’ve got here.” He says rubbing her navel, now pointing out. He presses it softly as she makes an excited moan. With one hand making its way to her pussy, they both start walking close together towards the bed, placed at the other side of the room. She helps the king pull her dress up until he is able to start rubbing her pussy. Suddenly she stops walking, her moans becoming louder, feeling the king pleasuring her. The king makes her keep moving until they reach the bed. She lies on it, spreading her legs and the king crawls to meet her pussy with his mouth.
“Ooooh… Oh yes… Oooh yess… Ooh Sire…” She rubs her breasts as she gets more and more excited. Her belly makes it impossible for her to see what the king is doing, but she sure can feel it. “OOHH YES… OOHH… OOOOHH… OOAAAAAAHHH…” She screams, reaching an orgasm.
The king stops pleasuring her and gives her time to get fully naked. He reaches one of the near tables to get a bottle full of oil. As Madame de Montespan lays down again, he opens it and pours some of the oil on her belly. She knows what to do now, let the king watch while she extends the oil over her naked body.
She begins rubbing her belly, which immediately turns brighter, reflecting the light of the candles. She then passes both her hands between her breasts, moving them up and down a couple of times before rubbing her whole breasts. Now that her torso is covered with oil, she starts pleasuring herself, with one hand on her pussy and the other stimulating her nipples.
“Look Sire… Aahh… Look what you’ve done… Ohh… You made me look like Venus… Oohh… I’m your goddess… Aaahh… Your pregnant goddess… Oohh… OOHH… I’m yours… AAAHH… Take me… Take… AAAAAHHHH…” Her legs shake uncontrollably as she squirts, her arms grab her belly, and she lets her head fall back to the bed. Some of the liquid has gone far enough to reach the king, exciting him even more. When she recovers herself, she looks at the king while sensually biting one of her fingers.
The king has had enough of the show and now wants to act. He starts moving towards her, slowly climbing all over her body. When he reaches her breasts, he gently bites one of them, just for a moment, before meeting Madame de Montespan’s lips. They kiss passionately for a while, until the king decides to stop. He goes off the bed and gives a hand to her to help her stand up. Then she bends over the bed, offering her pussy to the king. The king, having her dick already erect, puts two fingers up her thighs. Feeling how wet she is, he takes no time to wait before going in. She has her head between her elbows, resting on the bed, and she moans in pleasure feeling the king going in and out in the initial gentle thrusts. The king bends over her to grab her whole belly as he increases the speed. She starts to feel an orgasm building up so takes one hand to her clit to get more pleasure. When the king's thrusts turn more rough she comes, screaming wildly as she feels her legs get wet from her own squirt. The king keeps his fast rhythm, making her scream for over a minute until he comes in her, feeling her with his seed.
Madame de Montespan goes up the bed and rests side-lying, still making some groans. The king lies behind her and kisses her neck while rubbing her belly. He feels it tighter and lower than before the sex.
“Athénaïs, If you keep orgasming this crazy, this child will be born in no time. Do you feel how tight your belly is?” The king says while rubbing her belly.
“Sure Sire, any day now you are gonna pop this baby out of me.” She tries to keep a sensual voice, but she knows that the king is right. While she was standing by the bed, being fucked hard and orgasming more than ever before, she felt her belly get tight and, as the king kept fucking her, she felt the baby fall deeper in her pelvis. She is really worried because she knows that since the belly drops, the birth could occur in a matter of hours.
It began as a deep ache in her lower belly, slow and pulsing, almost easy to ignore. Then another wave came, stronger, enough to make her stop mid-step and grab the edge of the counter. Amara stood in the kitchen barefoot, cradling her overdue stomach with both hands, trying to breathe through it. The air in the house was heavy with the pressure of the storm outside. Something in her body had shifted. She knew before the next pain came—this wasn’t a drill, this wasn’t practice. This was it.
She had been planning to go to the hospital. She wanted to. But the storm had knocked out power and cell service hours earlier. Her phone showed “No Signal” in the corner and hadn’t budged since morning. She tried over and over again, pacing the room, gripping her belly, breath shortening with each attempt. Nothing. No bars, no backup Wi-Fi, not even enough to send a single text. The roads were flooded, the farmhouse stranded. Her only choice was to wait and hope the contractions didn’t turn into anything more.
But when the next one hit, twisting her spine and ripping through her belly with raw force, she dropped to the ground gasping.
She gathered towels, blankets, anything remotely clean. She threw every pillow onto the wooden floor and sank down onto them. The contractions were coming faster now, sharper, giving her no time to think. Her hands shook. Her hair clung to her damp forehead. Then came the gush, hot and unmistakable, soaking her pants and forming a puddle beneath her. Her water had broken.
She was in labor.
Alone.
She stripped off her soaked clothes, breath hitching as another contraction crashed through her. Her vision blurred with pain. She lowered herself onto the makeshift bedding, flat on her back, legs spread, body trembling. Her fingers curled into the blankets beneath her as the waves kept coming. Her cries filled the room, raw and broken. She braced her feet, legs falling open wider with every push her body demanded.
Hours passed. She didn’t know how many. The storm outside never stopped. The wind lashed the walls and windows while her body waged its own internal war. Her swollen belly pulsed and tightened. Her thighs quivered. Her voice was hoarse from moaning through every bolt of pain that surged deep and low. Sweat pooled under her. Her skin was slick. Her hips bucked with the force of each contraction. She was exhausted. Fading.
Then something shifted.
The baby was moving down.
She felt it in her spine first, then deep within, a pressure that was crushing. Her body locked up with intensity that stole the breath from her lungs. Her hands gripped the backs of her thighs and she pulled, dragging her knees toward her chest as her back arched from the floor. Her mouth dropped open in a scream that vibrated in her ribs.
She pushed, crying out, digging her heels into the floor. Her belly tightened and her body obeyed, bearing down harder than she thought possible. It didn’t matter what she wanted anymore, it was happening.
The head didn’t come easily. She pushed and it moved forward, then slipped back, again and again. Each time the pressure built worse than before. The burning started as a whisper, then exploded into something cruel and raw. She shook her head, gasping, not ready for what came next.
Oh my god, it’s burning.
Her voice cracked and she reached down. Her fingers touched the swollen ring of her own skin, stretched wide around the baby’s head. It was real, it was happening, and it hurt worse than anything she’d imagined. Her lips parted in a sob. The pressure was constant now, unrelenting, and she couldn’t stop pushing. Her thighs shook uncontrollably as her pelvis spread wider than it ever had.
Then a new pain, sharp and tearing, ripped through her. She screamed louder as her body gave way. Her skin tore. Blood slicked the floor beneath her. But the baby still wasn’t out.
She pushed again, arching her back, and the head edged forward more. Her body trembled. The burning stayed. The pain throbbed. Her voice cracked into a cry that dissolved into shaking breaths. Her hands clutched her legs. Her whole body shook.
It felt like forever. Every inch the baby moved was bought with more screaming, more pressure, more tearing. She was soaked in sweat, muscles locking up, vision fading at the edges. But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.
Finally the head slipped free in a rush of warmth and release. She collapsed, gasping for air, chest heaving. Her tears came instantly. But something was still wrong. The pressure hadn’t gone.
She tried to push again. Nothing.
The baby was stuck.
The shoulders weren’t coming.
She grabbed her thighs again and pulled hard, bearing down until her face turned red and her lungs ached. Nothing changed. Panic swelled in her throat. She reached between her legs, fingers slippery, and gently turned the baby’s head, adjusting the angle.
She screamed again and pushed with everything she had. Her torn body throbbed beneath her. She was dizzy from the pain. But then, something shifted.
There was a pop, deep and subtle.
She pushed one last time, a scream tearing from her lungs, and the baby slid out into her hands.
The room was quiet for a moment, then the baby cried, and so did she. She pulled the newborn to her chest, trembling all over, arms locking around the tiny body. She was soaked in blood and fluid. Her legs were still shaking. Her muscles were twitching with exhaustion. But she held her baby, held him against her skin.
She cried harder than she ever had. Her body broken, her voice gone, her soul cracked wide open. She curled around the baby, burying him in her arms, whispering into the stillness.
“I did it,” she said, over and over again. “I did it.”
My personal tumblr (See pinned for updated links!) @thatdude159 - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
