trying on a metaphor
oozey mess
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
dirt enthusiast
we're not kids anymore.
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
DEAR READER
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Kiana Khansmith
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Misplaced Lens Cap
Origami Around
Jules of Nature
roma★
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Peter Solarz
Andulka
Xuebing Du
art blog(derogatory)
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@watershipdownporn
Something wildly hot about restricted bellies and bellies pressed against the floor/wall/wherever. The reminder of the size of their burden. The discomfort and pain as it can only compress so far. Struggling to reach things because of how fucking huge and unwieldy their bump is. Even better when it's unwanted and they can't ignore even a single inch of their belly.
heavily pregnant person getting on their hands and knees to scrub the floor and their belly touching the floor DROOLS
Movie theater date with your very pregnant girlfriend. During the previews she grips your hand hard every few minutes. When the movie starts she's too distracted to pay attention and slowly starts moving your hand between her legs, silently begging you to finger her.
When your hands slip behind her panties her entrance is completely blocked by a wet crown buldging the crotch of her jeans. Those pants are going to have to come off soon, and there's a lot of movie left to go. You're starting to understand why she insisted on a middle seat in a packed theater as she leans back and softly groans that head out against your hand.
this week on killian’s space adventures: he fucked up the math for the gestation period for this round of eggs and now pants are a problem
Soooo overdue you feel like your water could break with a sneeze, or break when you hit that pothole the city hasn't fixed, or when you eat a little too much, or when you stand in the morning.......
Never before had you looked so perfect.
The soft lighting of the gallery hall draws attention to each and every contour of your exposed flesh; emphasizing the flushed patches of skin atop your shoulders, across your face and chest. Sweat glistens at your hairline, your temples, a droplet trailing along the column of your throat and following the downward curve of your craned neck. Your arms are drawn taut and bound behind you, elbows and wrists touching each other, and the sturdy chain links clink softly as you absently test the strength of the anchor point.
You stand with your legs wide apart, your plush thighs trembling slightly as the cool air of the room clashes with the heat emanating from your skin. In a bid for a little more comfort, you attempt to adjust your stance, but the spreader bar attached to both of your ankles make this an impossible task. In every sense of the word, you are well and truly bound, and with the choice of movement having been stripped from you, there is only one thing left for you to focus on.
One thing left for everyone to see.
With your head bowed it is difficult for you to tell whenever someone approaches you, but they make their presence known well enough; after all, you are an interactive piece. Hands roam over your sweat-slickened flesh, some tracing the line of your backbone, while others follow the curve of your heavy belly, cradling the hanging swell as if they are the one responsible for it. Voices surround you, some murmuring amongst themselves as they observe from afar, some rumbling close to you as they praise and admire your artfully bound and swollen form. There are coos of awe when they watch and feel your taut belly tense with contractions, coupled with dark chuckles of arousal as disembodied fingers trace between your legs, collecting and spreading the slickness they find there.
It is only when your water breaks with a thick gush that the hands remove themselves from you, your admirers stepping back and taking their place amongst the crowd that has gathered around you. The rules are clear from this point; they cannot touch, and they cannot help. You can’t see your audience in your current position, but you can feel their eyes roaming over you; watching as more amniotic fluid trickles freely from between your spread legs, syrupy droplets spattering onto the floor and accumulating in a messy puddle beneath you. Again your legs tremble as you cry out, another contraction rippling through your body, and your eyes squeeze shut as you brace yourself as best you can.
The restraints binding your arms shift and clink as you pitch further forward, curling in on yourself as much as you can as you bear down and give your first, true push. It feels so primal this way; your body bare and your belly swaying beneath you as you obey the whims of your instincts, pushing and panting in a way that borders on animal. Leather and metal creak as you move in what little ways you can, writhing and whimpering as each push brings you closer to the peak of your performance. Faintly you register the voices of the crowd, encouragement and objectification swirling and blurring and surrounding you entirely.
A keening cry erupts from your throat when you finally, finally feel it, the deliciously burning stretch of the head fully crowning. More fluid spurts out of you, and at this point there isn’t an inch of you that isn’t glistening with either sweat or birthing fluid. Your slick thighs tremble, your knees too, and you vaguely realize that you’re only being kept upright by your arm restraints. There isn’t time to dwell on this, though, not when you’re so close—
Your broken voice echoes throughout the exhibition hall, reverberating in a way that seems to qualify as art all on its own. With one last valiant push, you feel the shoulders ease out of you one by one, followed by the rest of the baby in a searing rush of the last of your waters. One of the gallery attendants swiftly moves forward to catch it, and the wailing of the newborn is soon eclipsed by the enraptured voices of your audience, commending both your performance and the gallery itself for hosting such an experience.
I really want...
I really want to find a guy that won’t take me to the hospital when I go into labor. He’ll tell me that my contractions are too far apart when I beg him to take me and then before I know it I have to push and he delivers our baby at home.
Or he puts me in the car when I feel the urge to push, almost guaranteeing that I have to deliver our baby in the car while he drives the 90 minutes to the hospital.
Say what you will about being a phone sex operator, but you definitely can’t call it boring.
All manner of voices find their way to you; some shy and unsure, while others can be abrasive and demanding. Hell, half of the time you barely have to do or say a damn thing while harsh panting emanates from your headphones as the person on the other end clearly only needs to know you’re listening in order to get off. There are times, though, when you find yourself engaging in specific fantasies of your callers, and those are often the most unique ones of all.
For example, tonight’s caller.
“Ooh, that one sounded like it hurt,” you purr, listening intently as the woman on the other end pants and breathes in a specifically measured way. She had called in ten minutes ago, her voice hushed and thick with anticipation, and you’d listened attentively as she explained the premise of her call: she was in labor. It isn’t the strangest thing you’ve had to play along with by far, and as the minutes tick by and her ‘contractions’ grow stronger, you inwardly find yourself much more aroused by this than you would’ve thought.
“Mnhh, they’re getting so much stronger now…” she breathes in confirmation, which earns a sound from you that is both sympathetic and teasing.
“Tell me how it feels,” you prompt, reclining back in your chair. Your fingertips trace lazily at your waistline as you do so, silently debating whether to slip further downward. Not yet, you decide. “I want to know everything, sweetheart.” There’s a faint click on the other end, perhaps the sound of your caller’s throat as she swallows hard.
“The pressure is…i-it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before,” the woman murmurs, her voice slightly strained as she fights to speak through what you assume is another one. “I can f-feel the baby moving downwards, little by little…my body’s been opening up for it all day, so it won’t be long until—!” Her sentence abruptly halts, and your eyes widen slightly as you hear what sounds like a faint splashing sound, liquid hitting another surface, the floor perhaps?
Whoever this caller is, she’s really committed to this fantasy, and you’re all too happy to be along for the ride, however odd it may be.
“Oh, sweetheart,” you croon once you’ve gathered yourself again, immersing yourself into her strange roleplay. “Did your water just break?” It takes a second for her to answer you, and for the briefest moment you wonder if the call has dropped. Her voice returns a second later, though, accompanied by that same anticipatory tremor she had when the call first began.
“There’s…fuck, there’s so much of it,” she whispers, grunting softly as she makes herself comfortable, or so you assume. “I-it just keeps coming…the bottom half of my dress is soaked through.”
“Well that won’t do,” you tsk, idly slipping a hand down the front of your pants as you tend to the budding arousal your caller has stoked in you. “It sounds like you’d better take it off, right…?” You draw out the last word seductively, and the effect is instantaneous. She whimpers into your ear before you hear the rustle of fabric, and you imagine what must be happening; her hands shaking slightly as she grasps the hem of her dress, pulling the drenched garment up and off of herself. You shiver slightly as you envision what her pregnant body might look like, before reminding yourself that this is purely roleplay, and you should keep it moving along. “Good girl. Now the rest of it, unless…?”
“T-there isn’t anything else,” she murmurs, almost coyly, and this elicits a pleased sound from you. Your hand works steadily between your legs as you listen to her heavy breaths, no doubt another of her ‘contractions’, and you’re surprised at how much this is actually turning you on. This job certainly has been a journey of self discovery, if nothing else.
“O-ohh—!” This time her voice is laced with urgency, and part of you wonders if she’s actually in pain. But that’s ridiculous, you reason to yourself; if this woman was actually in active labor, there’s no way she would be still on the line with you. No, you tell yourself as you listen to her moaning and panting, she’s just very good at this.
“Sounds like there isn’t much time left,” you purr, and the moan this earns makes a pleased smirk spread across your face. “Am I right, sweetheart? Is it time for my good girl to start pushing?”
“M-mngh, yes…!” she whimpers, and you hear more rustling as she repositions herself. Your mind conjures images of what your caller might look like, sitting naked against the headboard of her bed, legs spread to make room for her swollen belly. You swear under your breath as the image urges your fingers to move faster, but if she hears you she says nothing of it.
“C’mon then, pretty girl,” you urge, curious to see how far she wants to take her fantasy. “Push for me, let me hear it…”
Her response isn’t verbal, but it’s very much audible. A deep, almost primal grunting as she seems to bear down, straining until eventually letting up with a gasp for air. “Coming, it’s c-coming…” she pants, and you absently lick your lips before responding.
“Mm, what a productive push that must’ve been…give me another,” you order, your pulse racing as you hear her obey almost too eagerly. “Again,” you urge when she lets up, reveling in how much she’s become utterly lost in her fantasy. “Again…”
You have no idea how long this call has gone on for, but that doesn’t bother you in the slightest. All you know is that she’s enjoying herself just as much as you are; moans seamlessly intertwining with her cries of mock pain. Until at last, her voice rings out again, seeming to reverberate through your headphones.
“O-ohhhfuck it’s right there—“
“Keep pushing, you’re close, I know you’re close…”
“F-fuck…mnnhhgh!!”
The sounds she makes are unlike anything you’ve heard before, and as you feel yourself reaching your own peak you make a note to thank her for this strange new kink she’s helped you to unlock. Her last moan is a desperate, guttural scream, and there’s a soft muffled sound that must be her slumping back against the headboard. Before you can say a word, though, you hear something else on the other end, something peeking through your caller’s exhausted, labored breaths.
Something that sounds an awful lot like wailing.
“H-haahhh…thank you…for all of your help,” the woman pants hotly, and you can faintly hear her cooing softly to something before the line disconnects, leaving you equal parts aroused and confused. You wonder, faintly, if this means you can technically add ‘midwife’ onto your strange, extensive resume.
Prompt: “The baby’s in my pants!”
"Talk to me, baby. Tell me what's going on."
"Pressure," I pant, clutching your hand tightly for support as we slowly make our way down the stairs. "I... arghhh, I don't think I can do this. I-It's so low."
The plan was to get to the car. The plan was to get to the hospital. The plan was to have a midwife.
The plan was no longer happening.
When we reach the bottom step, I grunt and sink into a deep squat, thighs trembling to support the weight of my heaving belly. "I have to push," I tell you, staring up at you with wild, frightful eyes. "I–ohhh, god. It's cominggg!"
Instinctually, I rock my hips back and forth just slightly, working with gravity to help the baby as it grinds its way through my cervix and into my birth canal. My perineum and the outer lips of my cunt bulge outward as I push down against the vice grip in my belly, a primal howl ripping free my my throat as my pussy begins to burn.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I hear you exclaim, tossing the hospital bag to the floor as you rush to kneel down in front of me. "You've got to stop pushing, baby! You're going to tear!"
"Don't careeeee," I shriek thinly. "I can't stop it!" My cunt is stretched to the limit as the head surges to a full crown, the baby straining against the fabric of my underwear. "It's crowning-nnnng! Holy fuck, it's coming. It's coming outttt!"
It I let go of your hand in favor of grabbing hold of the railing of the staircase, throwing my head back with a howl as the head pops out in a gush of fluid. There's an unmistakable tent in the crotch of my leggings, the obscene width of the baby's head stretching the fabric thinly as it fights against it to be born. "Head is out," I gasp. "Gonna push again. Have to push."
My pussy is gaping around the baby's neck, inner walls spasming as the first shoulder begins to work itself free. Nothing is going to hold it back.
"Baby, don't–."
"PUSHINGGG." I wail and bear down for a final time. "It's almost out! Its coming, here it comes. The baby is outttt. The baby's in my pants!" And then it is. The baby's shoulders and body slide out effortlessly, falling into my ruined underwear.
send me a prompt/suggestion!
Prompt: "It's coming *right now*. Either help me or get out of my way."
"Listen to me, baby. Listen. I know it hurts, but you cannot push right now. Do. Not. Push."
"Too late," I groan, half delirious with pain. "She's comingggg. I feel it coming out!" The head of our child was barreling through my birth canal, and I shriek as it slides past the tight and inflamed ring of my cervix. "ohmygod, its right there!"
"DON'T push–" you start to say, but your words are quickly drowned out by my frantic scream.
"Mmmhnnnng! Pushing!" I roar as I grab behind my knees, pulling my legs up as I bear down hard against the pressure in my pelvis. My knee knocks against the passenger side door of the car as my thighs fall open, trembling violently with the effort of my straining and the force of our daughter's head edging it's way out through my bulging sex. "Just fucking pull over!"
The baby was coming. The baby was coming right. fucking. now, location be damned. I claw at my leggings, pulling them down just enough to slide my hand under the waistband and settle my palm over my cunt. My lips shove outwards as I push with the steady crest of my contractions, a trickle of fluid oozing out from my slit.
I slide my fingers into my sex and find the membrane of the amniotic sac. It pops with a gush, and the baby's head finally descends fully into the space behind my gaping hole.
"We're almost there, baby. Just hold on. Hold it back!"
I grit my teeth and snarl as I thrash in my seat. "She's coming NOW," I howl. My pussy lips are throbbing, stretching with white-hot intensity as the first brush of our daughter's sticky wet hair pushes against my probing finger tips. "You don't have to help me, but you're not... holyfuckkk, you're not going to stop me!" I throw my head back and scream until my throat is raw, bearing down around the crown of the head as it peak-a-boos between my lips.
"I can't stopppp," I gasp frantically, completely sweapt up in the frenzy of my pushing. "She's coming, ooooh, here she comessss. Coming OUTTTT!"
send me a prompt!
Prompt: “I can’t move. I have to push.”
All these prompts and stories are ending me, so so GOOD! Love your work, big fan already! ~ @shhhsecretsideblog 💜
"Baby? We can't stop here. We have to keep moving."
Your coaxing is soft and gentle, but the sense of urgency in your tone is unmistakable. I know that that you're concerned– that your thoughts are focused solely on the well being of your partner and child– but I'm too far gone for that now. You had done your job– you had labored with me in the comfort of our home without so much as considering leaving my side, and you had gotten us to the hospital safely when I'd determined it was the right time, keeping a steady compure as I'd wailed from the passenger seat that my labor was progressing too quickly, that there was pressure, that I needed to push– but the rest needed to happen on my terms.
Was happening on my terms.
(Sort of.)
"N-No," I groan, pulling myself free from your grasp. I brace myself with my palms flat on the trunk of our car when my body starts to tremble violently, overcome with the sudden urge to bear down. "No, no, no, nooooohmygod." I grit my teeth and strain, feeling the head of our child grinding its way out into the world. "Fuck!"
"Was that a push?" Your eyes are wide as you stare with me your mouth agape, looking very much the part of the proverbial deer in headlights. "You cannot push! We need to get inside."
"No!" I repeat with a forceful shake of my head. "It's coming." I pant out short little breaths, little pushes, as I follow the instinctual, overwhelming urges that are washing over me and bend my knees, sinking into a deep squat. "Mmmph, its coming out."
There's a promient bulge between my thighs, keeping them spread open as all the pressure I'm feeling barrels down through my womb and my birth canal, pushing at the burning lips of my sex.
"Can you get up? Can you get into the car at least?"
I grit my teeth again, face screwed up tightly with effort as my belly clamps down around my spasming womb. "For fuck's sake, NO!" I can't move. I need to push."
And I do, roaring out a ragged scream as I fall onto my knees, still holding onto the car for leverage. "I'm pushingggg." My shaky fingers claw at my leggings, desperate to get them off as the head makes its way out. "Oh, it burnsss. It hurts so fucking bad, holy shit!"
The head, still cushioned within the amniotic sac, surges forward, spreading my labia open as it crowns, fluid-soaked hair appearing in a tear- drop shape behind my tight slit. "Coming out," I grunt. "A-Almost crowned."
I manage to work my leggings down to mid-thigh, giving you a small peak at my bulging cunt as I rock forward on my knees. "I see it!" you exclaim, settling your hand on my lower back as you kneel behind me. "Oh my god, there it is!"
"I told youuu- hnnnng, gotta push again!"
My water breaks as I bear down, and the head shoots out of me in a gush of the fluid that puddles underneath me on the gravel parking lot. "Mmm, pressure. Ohhh, it's coming." I breathe deeply, in and out and then in again, thighs trembling as I wait in anticipation for the head to complete it's rotation. "Burning again. Hnnng, it hurts!"
"Use it, baby," you coach, all of your plans very clearly abandoned as I work to deliver our baby in the middle of the hospital parking lot. "Use all that pressure and push!"
"Okay," I grit out. "Okay, here it comes. Ohhhh, it's coming! Coming out!" My noises– groans and grunts and choked off cries– all crescendo into a scream, and the first shoulder begins to emerge slowly.
Everything seems to come to a brief half for a a split second as the baby flexes and wiggles, and then finally, with one last tiny heave, I push it out into your waiting hands.
send me a prompt/suggestion!
“Just breathe, okay? Deep breaths and just listen to your body.”
"Just breathe, okay?" I do, inhaling deeply through my nose. "Deep breaths and just listen to your body."
A deep groan echoes in my throat as my trembling thighs fall open, giving you a clearer view of my bulging cunt. "I am," I grit out, exhaling forcefully as I bend my knees, lowering myself into a squatting position. "Ohhh, it's comingggg. It's so close!"
My instincts had led me to the bathroom when my labor began seeking out the comfort of a hot shower, but the rapid speed at which my contractions had intensified had made the effort futile.
Not even 30 minutes after my first contraction and I was about to give birth. Was bearing down, down, down against the heavy weight sitting low in my gravid, overdue belly.
I brace myself with one arm on the bathroom sink and my other hand resting on your shoulder, pressing my weight against you as I shove down around the head of our child. I can feel the ridges of it's skull, still cushioned in the amniotic sac.
"Mmm, really bulging now," I announce as another contraction takes over me and I shove, moving all that pressure down into my pussy. "Godddd, its coming!"
I shriek as the lips of my cunt begin to spread open, struggling to fight the urge to snap my legs shut around the head that's barreling out of me. Anything to stop the ring of fire. Anything to abate the sting of the sac poking out from between my tightly stretched labia. "I can't stopppp. Hngggg, fuck! Oh God, it's coming. Its coming outttt!"
I throw my head back and strain hard, screaming the head out in a gush of fluid.
send me a prompt!
Prompt: "I can feel the head!"
"I can feel the head!"
Who I was talking to was beyond me, since I was home alone, but the need to narrate what was going on helped me not panic.
Too much.
The shower was warm, water pulsing on my back as it washed the last of the amniotic fluid down the drain. Stepping into the shower had been a split second decision, one that came right before my water had broken, which was a perk, since now I wouldn't have to clean that up.
Labor hadn't been long, which was exactly what had me panicking a little to begin with, but I couldn't care about that right now.
Right now I had a baby coming out of me.
I held tight to the shower grab bar as I crouched low, maintaining my balance carefully as I bore down with a grunt. Fuck.
"FUCK, that burns, it burns, ohhhh gods, it's coming OUT!" My other hand reached down between my thighs, cupping over my sex as it started to split around the head, feeling the damp hair of the baby.
A long, whiny grunt as I bore down again, my thighs shaking with effort. "C'mon, baby, come on out," I plead, before I bear down again, fingers exploring over my opening slit as it stretched more and more. I watched a trickle of blood get washed down the drain and once again mentally congratulated myself on keeping the mess contained by delivering in the shower.
"I can feel it, I can feel the head!" I repeated as it stretched me out a little more. "Oh, it's so big, ooh, fuck, it's so big, it's stretching me so wide!"
Send me a prompt!
Prompt: “We’re not going to make it. Baby’s coming now.”
"We're not gonna make it, she's coming now." My hand cradled under my belly, as if to try to heave my daughter back up into my womb.
"What?!" I winced, Tavi's voice pitching high in her disbelief.
"Now," I reiterated, knees bowing out.
"The car, at least?" I shook my head, my legs quivering under the weight and effort as I bore down without warning, gripping Tavi's hand tight. I could feel the head of my daughter barreling through my hips, already starting to push my cunt out, bulging into my jeans.
"We're in the middle of campus," Tavi protested weakly, knowing that there was no way she could get me to hold off any longer, not when she could already see the head pushing my jeans away from my body.
"She's coming out," I reply back anyway, bracing my other hand against my knee, bringing myself to a sort-of crouch. "Oh, gods above, she's coming out, it burns, I need her OUUUUUUT!!"
I shrieked. There was no other way to describe the noise I made as the head pushed through my labia, stretching my hole wide into my jeans.
"I can't, I can't, I can't, she's too big, I can't do it, she's not gonna fit, I CAAAAAAAAN'T!" My jeans were starting to push back, unhappy with the current situation, not that I was any happier about it. But they were holding her in, holding me wide open. But it was too late to try to get them off. I bore down anyway, desperate to get the head out, to stop the burning between my legs, to just give birth.
Send me a prompt!
youre doing so good prompt
"That's it, love. Keep going!"
My legs tremble as I shift my position on the bed, continuing my pattern of breathing with small little grunts. I rest on my hands and knees with my back arched and my ass in the air, rocking my hips back and forth as I try to use the momentum to shove the oversized head of my overdue child down past the burning pressure that's engulfed my cervix.
As that circle of muscle tissue spasms at the height of my birth canal, eager and ready to do it's work, I find that everything else responds in much the same way. My belly contracts, sucking inward against my womb, and I groan as I open my hips even wider, bent almost completely in half as I grit my teeth and follow the 'chin to your chest' rule with my next push. My knuckles are turning white with force from the strength I'm using to both push and to hold myself up, but the action of bearing down breaks my water, spraying a gush of fluid down my legs.
"C-Can you see her?" I ask my partner in a strained, cracked voice. There's no hiding my pain or exhaustion anymore. Hours of labor and nearly 90 minutes pushing has taken it's toll. "Is she coming?"
The sac had been the main obstacle holding the head back and now that it's gone, I feel that I finally know what the true "urge" to push really feels like. The tight cramping of my belly has completely changed, and I moan low and deep as the head grinds down through the neck of my womb and passes through the last lip of cervix to settle behind my furrowed labia.
"Hang on, baby," they tell me, pressing a kiss to my sweaty cheek. Placing their hands on my thighs, they carefully and gently pull my legs apart, exposing my bulging cunt to the cool air. "You're really starting to open!"
I find the excitement in their voice endearing, but 'starting to open' was not what I was hoping to hear. I reach around my belly to stroke my fingertips through my puffy, protruding labia, trying to gauge a sense of how far back the head is. From what I can tell? A few more pushes should bring it to a crown. It couldn't be more than just a knuckle's width behind my furrowed pussy lips. "Mmmm..."
"That's it, love." My partner settles behind me (real, my brain screams on repeat, its real and its happening and its happening now) and puts their hand over mine for counter pressure. "God, she's come so far down. Look at what you've done."
I grunt. "H-Havent done anything yet." A familiar tug starts to build in my overtaxed womb, and I let out a cry of frustration as I bear down with the pain. "Ohhhh, I need her OUT." I'm pushing with my entire strength now, and my body trembles with exhaustion. I'm desperate to squeeze my thighs together to dull the sting that comes with the spreading of my labia, and I lean into my partner's hands supporting me as I try to roar the head out. "She's coming!"
"I know, baby, I know." Their voice is thick with emotion. "I can feel her. I can see her head when you push." I shriek deliriously with pain, but they silence me with a firm "shh" as their fingers slide across my vulva. The use the pads of their fingertips to ghost along my labia and my clit, rubbing in a gentle circular motion until I'm panting softly, my breathing far steadier and much more calm. "That's it. Thats perfect. You're doing so well."
I'm able to push in a more controlled manner with the next contraction, but I still cant help the high pitch whine that slips out as the baby comes to a full crown and actually stays. The lips of my cunt are stretched as far as they'll go, and the stinging pain brings tears to my eyes. "Mmm, it burns," I sob. "I can't do this!"
"You are doing this," my partner tells me, their voice steady and firm. "You're doing so good, sweetheart. Better than I could ask for." They chuckle wetly and lean over my rocking hips to press a kiss to the back of my neck. "I have my hand right here, okay? You're going to give me a push, and her head will be out. You can do this, baby. Tell me you can do this."
Sucking in a deep breath, I force myself to nod. "I-I can do this."
"Again."
"I can do this." My eyes fall closed as I focus on those words, repeating them over and over to myself as I feel my next contraction building. My voice gets increasingly higher in pitch as the pain climbs, and my partner whispers quiet affirmations as we wait. "I can do this- ahhhhhhhohmygodfuck!"
"That's it!" they exclaim. "Oh, baby. You're so, so good."
send me a prompt!
The train lurches and I nearly lose my balance.
I catch myself against the pole with a sharp breath, both hands gripping the cold metal while my belly drags heavily forward beneath the thick pullover I'm wearing. The movement makes my babies shift all at once inside me. Dense rolling pressure under impossibly stretched skin, bodies pressing against bodies, nowhere left for them to go.
I grab the pole hard enough that my wrist aches.
My pullover has ridden up almost to the curve of my navel again.
I yank it down instantly, heart pounding, but the fabric only clings tighter across the enormous shape underneath. There's no disguising it anymore. The sweater outlines everything - the impossible roundness, the stretched-tight mass, even the uneven movements shifting beneath my skin.
I can feel people noticing.
I keep my head down.
Please don't look at me.
Another painful roll moves through my belly. One baby drags heavily across my side while another pushes low enough to make my breath catch. The pressure inside me is unbearable now, packed so tightly that every movement feels trapped beneath my skin.
My whole stomach visibly ripples.
I clamp a hand under my belly, rubbing the sensitive skin under my sweater like I can calm them, calm myself, calm the awful pressure dragging lower and lower inside me.
God, I'm so full.
Too full. Too swollen. Too obvious.
The train windows throw my reflection back at me in dark smears between station lights: flushed face, hunched shoulders, both hands cradling a belly so huge it dominates the rest of my body completely. I look indecent. Like something private exposed under fluorescent lights.
A contraction starts low in my back.
Fuck.
The tightness spreads through my abdomen with brutal force, pulling my stomach hard and high until it becomes almost perfectly round beneath the sweater. I gasp softly and lean into the pole before I can stop myself.
Please not now.
The babies react immediately.
They're squirming inside of me during the contraction, heavy movement trapped inside the rigid tightness of my body. One presses outward so sharply near my ribs that I actually see the bulge through the wool.
Someone nearby notices. I hear the sharp inhale.
Humiliation crashes through me so hard my eyes sting.
I rub my belly faster now, desperate circles beneath the strained underside, trying to ease the crushing downward pressure between my small hips. My legs are trembling. I can feel how low they are now - all that weight pressing into my pelvis with terrifying insistence.
I just need to make it home. I just need to hold them in.
Then suddenly there's a body behind me. A man.
Too close.
Before I can move, a big hand slides around my side and cups the underside of my pulsing belly.
I freeze in horror.
His palm spreads beneath the huge weight almost possessively, fingers pressing deep into the oversensitive underside where I've been rubbing myself raw for weeks trying to relieve the strain.
“Oh wow,” he says quietly behind me. “You're ready to pop, hm? ”
Heat floods my entire face.
I try to pull away instinctively, but another contraction hits at the exact same moment and my body folds helplessly instead, a broken sound escaping my throat.
His hand tightens.
“There you go,” he murmurs. “You're so ripe.”
My belly clenches rock hard beneath both our hands.
The babies shove violently during the contraction, trapped movement rolling visibly across the front of my stomach. My pullover lifts higher again as I arch involuntarily, exposing the full strained curve of my belly to everyone nearby.
I hear someone whisper.
I want to cry.
But the man behind me doesn't move away.
His other hand settles over the front of my aching stomach, broad palm spread over the tightest part like he's testing the firmness of it. Then he starts rubbing slowly downward over the curve while I stand there shaking against the pole, whimpering quietly.
“Easy,” he says near my ear. “Everyone's noticing. ”
I can barely breathe from shame.
His hands are everywhere now - under the belly, across the front, massaging the tight stretched skin while strangers pretend not to stare. My body betrays me completely by responding to the relief. The upward support eases the dragging agony in my back enough that my knees nearly buckle.
“Oh my God,” I whisper before I can stop myself.
He chuckles softly behind me.
“They're really lively.”
And they are.
The babies roll heavily beneath his hands as though reacting to the pressure. One pushes outward in a slow hard sweep across the front of my stomach, visibly distorting the sweater. Another drives down low enough to make me gasp and widen my legs for balance.
I feel overwhelmed. Animalistic. Insane.
The man keeps rubbing my belly like it belongs to him now.
“So round,” he murmurs. “Must be ready to burst.”
The words hit me like a slap.
Because that's exactly how I feel.
My stomach feels stretched beyond endurance, skin tight and aching over too much life packed inside me. Every contraction squeezes the babies downward harder, and every movement inside me feels lower now, heavier, unbearably urgent.
I'm breathing too fast.
The train rocks again and I clutch the pole desperately while his hands continue roaming over the massive curve of my belly in full view of everyone.
I can't hide it anymore.
Prompt: "It's burns... Noooo... NnoooNooo don't touch! Don't... nghhh... touch the head."
"Baby, you have to let me help you—.”
"No," I snarl, curling over my tight belly as I pull my knee up further towards my chest. The stretch of my hips helps to open my pelvis wider as the baby's head grinds its way down, pressing low and heavy against the burning tissue of my cervix. "I can... hnnnng, I can do this!"
You take a step away from the bed, hands slightly raised in a 'you're the boss' sort of way. "You're doing really well, baby," you murmur softly, your gaze fixed between my spread thighs. "You're absolutely right. You can do this. I'm right here, okay?"
I give you a frantic nod, taking a deep breath as I center myself and prepare to push again. "God, it burns," I groan, reaching down to slide two fingers into my puffy cunt. The head is just begging to slip through my cervix, and the pressure deep, deep in my belly is unrelenting. "Ohhhh, it's starting to come. I can feel it coming down!"
"Good, baby. Keep at it."
"fffffuckohmygod!" I turn to muffle a scream into the pillows as I bear down again, straining hard to pass the gigantic width of the skull through my cervix and into my birth canal. At two weeks overdue, I know just how big the baby I'm trying to deliver is, but any and all rational thought had escaped me when I'd reached transition.
I can't think about anything other than getting it out— I'm a mere slave to primal instinct, grunting and straining as I hold my legs open, sweat pouring down my face as I hold my chin to my chest. "It's there!" I gasp out, feeling the crown brush my fingers. "Mmmm, its coming."
I pull my fingers out and grip the pillow instead as I turn onto my side, panting sharply as I feel the head gradually moving down. "C-Can you see it yet?" I ask in a hoarse voice, letting out a frustrated groan when you shake your head at me.
"But it's moving, baby," you assure me. "There's a... bulge? You can definitely see something!"
I cup my hand over said bulge, growling through gritted teeth as I push again. The head sits just behind my furled slit, pushing my outer lips and my perineum outward. "Mmmm, burnING." Fluid trickles out from my cunt, and I know the head has made its first appearance when I hear your quiet gasp.
"There it is! Oh my God, baby. You're really fucking doing it!"
I choke out a small, wet laugh as I run my finger over the small, dime sized patch of slick wet hair. "Y-Yeah. I really... I'm doing it. I'm— ohhh, here it comes again. Gonna... gonna pushhhh."
"Slow, baby. You've gotta slow down." When I show no signs of doing that, completely lost to the pain of my yawning sex and my deserpate need to push through it, you hurry over to kneel in front of me. "Don't—."
"Can't help it!" I shriek, straining to get the head to emerge even a little bit further. It remains right where it is, stretching my red-hot lips as it slips out and back in, and then out and back in and again. "It burns so fucking baddd. I just want it out!"
You hurriedly place your hand over my own and I shriek again, thrashing my head to the side. "Slow," you stress. "You're going to tear, baby!"
"I don't careeee," I howl, too far lost to the throes of birth. "It's comingggg. I can't take the burning! Ohgodohgod, head's coming OUT."
send me a prompt/suggestion!
Prompt: person tries to hold it in for as long as possible, but when they realize they can’t for even a second longer, ✨forced denial✨. I’m picturing bad position like pinned to their car seat by the seatbelt or another person but I’m sure anything would be phenomenal.
- Sol ✨
“I-I don't think I can hold it back any longer,” I grunt, blowing out a string of short, sharp pants as I fight against my body's natural urge to push.
“Are you feeling like you want to push?”
I sit perched up on our bed, leaning back against your chest as your legs bracket my body on either side. As my contraction builds, I inhale deeply and try to keep my mind focused on my breathing and not on the massive waves of pressure that wash over me. “It… ohhh, it's really coming. Oh God, I feel it.” My thighs tremble with effort as I squeeze them together, drawing a small, disapproving 'tsk' out of you.
I'm fighting a (rapidly) losing battle, and we both know it.
"Now, now, love. No cheating."
Your hands pry my knees apart, and I snarl and thrash in protest. The head has cleared my cervix and is sitting so low in my pelvis. Too low.
Pushing is no longer a want, but a necessity.
"Holy shit," I gasp. I understand the 'bowling ball' comparisons now– the sheer width of the head, so heavy and solid, that's beginning to grind down through my birth canal takes my breath away, and a sort of animalistic noise is all I can manage as I'm finally sucked under. The baby isn't waiting any longer. I bear down, gritting my teeth as I squeeze my eyes closed and curl over my heaving belly. "ffffuck."
"That's it," you coo into my ear. "Very good, baby. So good. You're really bulging, hm?" I nod frantically as I continue to push, my toes curling against the rumpled duvet as I try to scramble into a better position. The head is sitting right behind my furled slit, and a part of me is almost shocked that it doesn't shoot right out.
"Oh, my poor love," you continue in that soft, sweet tone, reaching down between my legs to ghost the tips of your fingers over my red-hot lips and throbbing clit. "I wish that I could do something for you. But you know that you didn't ask."
My eyes snap open, gaze frantic and wild as I watch you cup your palm over my bulging cunt. "Let it out!" I shriek, beads of cold sweat welling up on my flushed skin. "P-Please, baby. I didn't mean to!" Unable to hold back, I push again, shoving uselessly against the force of your hand. The baby squirms as the crown of the head meets your palm and lingers for a moment before it retreats back into my canal, ripping a distressed wail from my throat. "It's coming! I need it to come! Oh my God, just let it outttt. Pleasepleaseplease–."
You shush me. "Don't beg, baby," you admonish. "The rules were that you ask for permission to push, or you face the consequences. I'm afraid that these are the consequences."
Another contraction slams into me, my body desperate to expel the weight in my pelvis, and I howl as I try to get free. "Hnnnng!" A small sliver of slimy wet hair is surging forward, peaking out from behind my spread lips. "Fuck, it's right there! It's burninggg!"
"I'm sure it is, sweet thing. I can feel how open you are. Your pussy is gaping for me, all nice and slick. I bet the head would slide right out, wouldn't it?"
"Mmmph, mhmmm," I sob. "D-Dont you want that?" My hand trembles violently as I claw at the sheets. "You said you... fuck! You wanted, hoooo, to be the o-one to deliver it."
"Very true." Your voice is stern. Matter-of-fact. "But in order for that to happen, you need to be good and do what you're told."
As the vice grip of the contraction begins to release, I suck in a cleansing breath, nostrils flaring as I inhale the primal scent of sex and sweat and birth. My knees fall open a little wider, and then wider again when I hear your approving hum. "I-I need to push, baby." In comparison to yours, my voice is small and thin. "Please let me push. God, fuck, baby. Please! Please, I'm sorry."
My cunt burns, and I whine pathetically as I struggle to push the head out. No matter how hard I shove and push and struggle, the head doesn't emerge any further, making it clear that the birth (whenever it may occur) is entirely in your charge.
"Pleaseee. It burns so bad, baby! It's going to rip me apartttt!" I continue to babble, head thrashing from side to side as my desperation grows. "It's comingggg! Fuckfuckfuck, gotta push again!"
Your response consists of little more than a kiss on the top of the head. "And what do we say?"
"Holy fucking- PLEASE! Can I please push?!"
"You know," you say, staring down at my gaping cunt as it opens into more of an 'O' shape and gives a glimpse of the mass of the head slipping free from my lips, "I think we're finally starting to get somewhere."
send me a prompt/suggestion!
