The Water Park Day
With the summer (and blisteringly hot days even over here in the UK) well and truly apon us, heres a little something that we thought up to titlate your kinky little tastebuds. As usual many thanks to @allkindsofpreg for the co-authorship, and @highlyrelevantnumber for editing and tweaking to get it readable as a coherent story.
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The record-high summer heat had been brutal for everyone, but especially for you and your large, overdue belly. Our non-airconditioned house was almost as stifling, and in lieu of continuing to run up the water bill with cold showers, I suggested a trip to the amusement park. It was a little ridiculous to take someone so pregnant to a place where most of the attractions were off-limits, but they had a sizeable water park, and that was enough incentive for you.
You pawed through the dresser drawer of rarely used clothing items to find a swimsuit that would fit. A bikini would have been the most likely to accommodate the bump comfortably, but you hadn’t bought any new ones and your old ones would never contain your newly enlarged breasts and hips. After some more digging past old Halloween costumes—including the sexy maid outfit that had gotten you into this predicament in the first place—you found a one-piece that looked like it just might cover everything.
It was easy enough to remove the loose shift dress that had constituted most of your wardrobe over the last couple months, but getting the suit on was a different beast. The material was designed to stretch, but it looked so small compared to your curves, and your body was in a persistent state being of slightly damp at all times.
You laid the swimsuit on the floor and stepped into the leg holes… and that’s as far as you could get. You tried shuffling over to sit on the bed and roll the fabric up your legs, but that turned out to be both unsuccessful and uncomfortable. And that’s how I found you—sitting naked on the edge of the bed, belly spilling over your lap and a wad of bathing suit on the floor.
“Need a little help?” I asked, failing to completely hide the amusement in my tone.
“It is the least you can do, considering this is entirely your doing.” You lifted your leg and I slid the suit on one side, then the other.
“Is it now?” I helped heave you upright so I could pull it up your thighs, pausing at the waist. “I seem to recall you being the one wanting the double thrill of having sex without protection and possibly getting caught at the party.”
My hands lingered at the lower curve of your belly, and you leaned forward to give me a kiss. “That was a good night,” you recalled with a hum of satisfaction.
“You sure this is going to fit?” I asked as I tried to tug the fabric up and out toward the crest of your stomach.
“You promised me a day of cool, weightless water. We will make it fit.”
It took about twenty minutes—including two five-minute rest breaks—but we did finally get the straps over your shoulders. The bold colors and pattern did little to negate the overly stretched balloon look.
“It looks like I’m trying to smuggle in a beach ball,” you giggled, examining yourself in the mirror.
My hands pressed into the firm sides of your stomach. “Pretty solid beach ball.”
“You don’t have to tell me.” you arched your back in a stretch, and something deep in your core twinged. You winced and let out a little ‘oomph’ of surprise.
Of course I noticed and came up to wrap myself behind you. “Everything alright?”
You waved off my concern. “Same old, same old—big baby, small wife.” You grabbed your sun hat from the counter and caught my eye in the mirror. “So, pool?”
"Just a moment" I grinned, as I dropped my jeans to the floor, your 'humph' of frustration at the ease of me dropping my clothes soon replaced by a licking of your lips at the anticipation of me dropping my underwear soon after.
I didn't disappoint. Your swimsuit was practically see-through as it was stretched so much - and it was evidence by the bulge in front of your eyes.
A quick bend at the knees, my fingers tugging down my underwear, and as I stood up, you noticed the pole sticking out at 90 degrees from the rest of me.
"My my…" you were lost at the sight of it. "No… I just spent 20 minutes getting into this thing, no way I'm getting out until I feel 20 degrees cooler at least…"
I could only chuckle as I pulled up my swimming shorts which I had fished out of the drawers. I had to reach in to twist my cock a little to get it to sit down the side of my inner thigh and get caught on the netting, otherwise it could get a bit embarrassing.
Pulling my jeans over the top, and sticking my underwear back in my pocket for later after I was dried, I helped you up off the bed, and we headed for the car.
Thankfully, the water park offered towels as part of the entry price, so that was one less thing to bring with us, but I was polite and carried the bag as you heaved your body down the stairs behind me and squeezed into the passenger seat of the car.
Getting to the amusement park only took thirty minutes, but with you in your gravid state, that was thirty minutes too long to be bent double in a car. To say you were pleased to stretch your legs was an understatement. The idea of getting out of the airconditioned car to go back into the heat outside wasn't exactly your idea of a good time, though.
What shocked me was the fact that you didn't want to go to the toilet soon after we got out of the car. You shook your head. "I can't get this bloody suit off me. Not without help. I'll cross my legs… or make the pool water a little bit warmer if need be."
I gave a tutting noise and giggled, but as we travelled, hand in hand to the front gates of the amusement park, swiped my credit card, and walked through the doors, we caught sight of the crowd.
It was a warm summer day, of course the place was going to be crazy packed. The queue board was saying thirty minutes wait for everything, some as long as two hours. Don't think we would get any opportunity to get onto any rides, but turning right at the entrance and under a covered walkway took us to the water park.
It was as busy as the main park had been, but we found two loungers with access to the main pool, and, after dropping my trousers and pulling off my top, I dashed over (again to grumbles at my agility) to pull a few towels out of the store.
Finally, helping you back up onto your feet, your coverup discarded, we stepped into the cooling waters, now suddenly waist deep as we made our way down the steps.
The baby had been sitting lower and lower in your pelvis for weeks now, making walking or sitting or even sleeping uncomfortable. But once your belly was submerged, you must have made some very inappropriate sounds of pleasure, judging from the sideways glances you were getting as well as the somewhat conspicuous readjusting of my swim trunks.
The water was warmer than you would have liked, overly heated by the burning sun and the number of bodies in it, but it would still be difficult to coax you out at some point.
If your suit had been slightly see-through before, it was practically obscene now that it was wet. Absolutely no curve or crevice or texture was left to the imagination. But you were fine with that—as long as you stayed in the water, no one would notice, and you had no intention of getting out anytime soon.
You still weren’t quite as agile as me in the water; you couldn’t really flip or dive or freestyle swim, but at least you could walk without needing to sit down every few minutes to give your back a break. This all proved a little too tempting for me, though, as I pulled you into a kind of water dance and whispered dirty things into your ear.
“God, you look so sexy right now.”
You would have argued that that was impossible, but you could feel the evidence of it pressed against your skin through my suit. “Yeah? Think you can fuck me into labor later?”
I groaned. “Later is too long from now.” My hands traveled lower, below the curve of your stomach, and I rubbed my knuckles firmly against your clit through the fabric. “Want to risk some more indecent exposure charges?”
“You might have to cut this swimsuit off of me in order to do that,” you warned, gripping onto my shoulders and trying not to make any sounds or facial expressions that might draw attention.
My finger slipped beneath the tight hem between my thighs and stroked once, teasingly, before pulling back out again. “Don’t tempt me with a good time.”
Honestly, all the edges of this tight suit were painfully digging into your skin, and you would have been happy to see the thing torn to shreds… but you also hadn’t brought any other clothes to change into and needed something to wear home.
Another twinge tugged at your insides, and you leaned into my shoulder. “I don’t think the baby is too fond of this thing either,” you grumbled, and I rubbed at a spot where it felt like there might have been a foot jutting out against your skin. “Can’t we get our own pool built?”
I laughed. “Where? On the balcony?”
“A small one would fit.”
“I’m not even sure we could get an inflatable one set up before the baby comes.” Then, when you continued to pout, “We can look into it when we get home.”
Eventually, it was our hunger that drove us out of the pool. Despite the plea of a miserable pregnant woman, they would not allow food to be eaten whilst in the water.
“Ugh, why is this humidity even worse than it was a few hours ago?” you groaned as you heaved yourself from the water, one hand on the handrail and the other in my tight grasp.
“Because now you’re all wet,” I said, wrapping an assistive arm around your waist once you got to the top step. “Not that I think that suit will hold much water, stretched as it is right now.”
We barely made it over to the lounge chairs before you collapsed onto the one that had our towels slung over the back of it. You must have snoozed for a bit while I stood in line to order our lunch, because when you opened your eyes next there was a tray of food and a pair of virgin daiquiris on the table.
It took you another second before you realized what had awakened you—yet another tightening sensation in your stomach. Leave it to Braxton Hicks to ruin a good pool day.
I sat down sideways on the lounger facing you, as you tried to lift up into a sitting position to grab your food.
You failed. Twice. You gave me big puppy dog eyes and finally asked for a hand up as I jumped up and offered to help you sit upright.
“You make that look too easy” I heard you mumble under your breath. I couldn’t help but grin.
As I leaned in to kiss you, I whispered: “And you make growing our baby easy, my dear.”
You coughed and grinned, reaching out for the frozen drink. After taking a long drag on the straw you finally looked up and smiled “don’t you forget it when it comes to changing that little baby. Dad gets a turn at that, too.”
We both giggled as your free hand reached down to your belly again, rubbing at the taught skin (and even tighter swimsuit covering it).
“Little kiddywinks wants to make it clear she knows we are talking about her?” I asked. We didn’t actually know the sex of the baby, but you had your hunch, and I was just rolling with it. Said baby would be dressed in yellow and green for its first set of baby grows either way.
“That, or my body doesn’t like being so constrained. Folding me in half with nowhere for the bump to stretch to isn’t exactly comfy.”
“But… “ I interrupted. “It feels good in the water.”
You nodded, “so good” taking another big mouthful of the drink.
We moved onto our food - burgers - typical theme park fare, but aside from the twenty dollar price tag, they were quite tasty.
Another bite, another sip of drink and you looked a little worried.
“I need to stand up” you groaned. I looked at you with concern in my eyes. “Heartburn. Being folded over REALLY doesn’t agree with me.”
A nod from me and I got up, helping you up in turn. You let out an appreciative groan as you arched your back to stretch it - I got a face full of Lycra fabric stretching and struggling to keep its stitching in the process as you walked back to the pool.
You had taken on the pregnancy waddle - both hands pressed behind your back above your hips, your belly pressed out. Yeah I had to bite my lip and hope it wasn’t apparent to the onlookers what was going through my mind by the shape of my shorts.
As you walked down to the water, submerged waist deep once more, your hands were cupped under your belly and you were pulling up, as if to try and lift the baby off something that was causing you pain.
It wasn’t unusual for you to only be able to take a couple bites of food before the limited space your stomach could occupy was full, but it seemed like the baby was particularly offended by this choice of meal. The dull ache in your back now wrapped around all the way to the front, squeezing and sharpening. The water helped, but not as much as you’d hoped.
You took a couple more trips in and out of the pool—with my assistance—to grab more nibbles of food, but it ended up costing more energy than was gained and eventually you gave up and let me finish off the plates.
Although it didn’t seem possible, the meal left you even bigger and tighter in your swimsuit than before. Everything pinched, pulled and squeezed, and your discomfort must have been apparent because I quickly came up behind you, wrapping my arms around your waist and underneath the belly.
“Little one still causing you trouble?” I asked, thumbs stroking across the dangerously stretched fabric over your stomach.
“Somehow her feet are in my lungs and her head is between my legs.”
“Didn’t think there would be any danger of that in this suit, I figured she would be hugged in tight” I said, hands once again wandering lower.
You turned so that you were facing me, pulling as close as you could with your huge globe of a stomach in the way. Admittedly, we were not very close, so I pivoted you to the side so that you were kind of sitting on my lap—a feat you only attempted because the water made it so I wouldn’t be totally crushed. From this angle, it was easy enough for me to reach your lips, your breasts, between your legs.
If anyone was looking too closely they might have noticed, but most of the naughtier play was happening beneath the surface of the water. We still split apart like teenagers about to get caught making out in a parked car whenever the lifeguard walked by, but that just made us giggle more.
The Braxton Hicks pains still came and went regularly, some intense enough that I began to suggest making our way back to the car, but the thought of getting out and letting the full weight of gravity add to the pain in your back made you pout, and I couldn’t deny you anything. Especially not in this state.
Still, you saw me glancing at the clock every time I noticed your face scrunch up in discomfort, timing the space between the pains.
“Are you sure these are just practice contractions?” I finally asked when they were coming only a few minutes apart.
“I… don’t know,” you admitted.
“Maybe we should try getting out?”
You breathed your way through another tightening sensation and nodded hesitantly. I kissed your temple and guided you over to hang on the edge of the pool while I gathered our things. When I came back for you, I held out my hand, beckoning, but you shook your head.
“I don’t think I can,” you huffed, an arm wrapped around your stomach.
I waded into the water to retrieve you, curling an arm around your waist and taxiing you over to the stairs. As soon as your belly breached the water, you gasped and crumpled forward. You hadn’t realized just how much pressure the water had taken off your aching body, and the full force of it slammed into you and took your breath away.
“It’s okay,” I said, arm tightening around you. “Breathe, I’ve got you.”
“I need to sit,” you said, your ass already rocketing toward the top step. This allowed some partial support by the water, but the internal pressure was like a valve threatening to blow.
“Talk to me,” I pleaded when you finally released my hand from your death grip.
“I don’t think this is false labor. I think- I think maybe I’ve been in labor since this morning. Or maybe even last night. It’s hard to tell when everything hurts all the time,” you explained in response to my stricken expression.
“We need to get you out of here,” I said with renewed urgency, but another contraction hit you out of nowhere and I sat next to you to wait through it with you.
“Feels like—mmph—something’s gonna—“ you clutched at my stomach, almost clawing at the top tight fabric.
There was a small release, an almost imperceptible shift in the tightness of your suit and a spot of warmth blooming between your thighs. You looked down and there were a few light pink tendrils that quickly dissipated in the large body of water.
You looked up at me, your anxiety suddenly matching my own. “I think my water just broke.”
“Shit” I exclaimed, my face blanching white at the realisation.
“Shit indeed” was all you could echo, your eyes wide with something between concern and panic.
Whatever your body had been leading up to right there hit you like a tonne of bricks. You didn’t yell out, at least managed to keep some composure, but both hands pressed tightly into the bump and your eyes scrunched tight like you were trying to change the course of things by sheer will alone.
“Breathe baby. We won’t get anywhere with you collapsing” I gave you a scolding tone, hoping it would get through to you. Truth is you hadn’t even realised you were holding your breath.
“What do we do?” you grimaced. This had thrown you for a loop and you needed some sort of anchor.
“First off… breathe” I said. I watched you intently until I saw you take in a big lungful of air and blow it out slowly though your mouth.
“Good girl.” Your eyes shot up at me. I grinned. I knew your triggers… how much you enjoyed hearing me say that.
“Not appropriate” you grunted. Your eyes closed again. It was happening again. It was quick. You grabbed onto me, hoping your fingers digging into my skin would somehow stop the roiling sensations within you. Of course, that was not going to do anything, but you did admire the bright red welts you left on my skin, shining brightly out from under the water. Another contraction had passed before you realised, and we hadn’t even made an attempt to move.
“I can’t get home with these pains as frequent as they are” you whispered to me. “We might need to call an ambulance.”
I nodded as I scanned for a lifeguard. I couldn’t flag him over so said I’d have to go fetch him. You panicked. Told me I can’t move, you have to hold onto me, you might drown.
I felt your fingers grip me once more. Again… so soon. This was quick. I remembered from the birth classes contractions would be noticeable at ten minutes apart, and would be important to move to where you wanted to give birth at five minutes apart…at two… does that mean we wouldn’t even have a chance to get out of the park?
“I think we need to get you out of that swimsuit” I said. Don’t know if it registered what I had said. “I think the tightness is causing things to be amplified.”
You shook your head. Don’t know if that meant there was no way you were going naked in public, or if you didn’t think it would do anything to help the contractions.
You were in a strange state of calm urgency. Logically you knew that the baby was coming. That we had to get help. That the swimsuit would have to come off. But after the initial shock of realization, it was like your body clicked into focus mode.
You didn’t want to move. The water was just taking enough of the edge off to keep you from being overwhelmed. Now that your waters had gone, it felt like the baby’s head had dropped even lower, which you hadn’t thought possible.
“Feels like she’s right there,” you breathed, reaching a hand around the massive bump to palm between your legs. Of course nothing was there yet—you were sure there would be much burning and stretching before anything started bulging—but you could almost imagine that if you slipped a finger in, that just inside you’d be able to feel it.
You couldn’t quite test that theory, though. It was as if your whole belly had dropped even lower—maybe it had, with the baby locking into the birth canal—but the bottom of your suit was stretched even further, so tight against your skin that you couldn’t even get under the hem.
“Babe, the suit?” I prompted, now worried enough for the both of us.
You nodded but held up a finger to wait a minute, your face tightening into a grimace. I went into focus mode as well whenever you were having a contraction, one hand in yours, the other on the crest of your stomach.
With the tightness of the fabric, I could see every change—how it condensed and hardened and pressed down, down and out, as if trying to forcefully expel the child within.
“That… looked painful,” I finally said when your grip loosened on me.
You nodded, all you could manage as you came down from the contraction.
“Let’s see about that suit now, yeah?”
You nodded again, but getting up and out of the water felt monumental. Your body screamed in protest at the added weight and you groaned, even without the addition of a contraction.
The internal pressure spiked as you got your feet on the concrete; without the cushion of the amniotic sac there was nothing to prevent or soften the baby’s descent. If you were waddling before, it was like you were straddling a horse now, and I had to stifle a laugh as I tried to lead you to the changing rooms. The rooms were near the lockers and towel exchange, and we slipped into the disabled stall. It was bigger, but still only contained a hard wooden bench to sit on. I deposited you there while I went to the desk to see if you could buy an extra large towel, assuming that you would soon need some coverage to get out of the park.
Any movement expended energy that you needed to focus on not making a scene, so you waited until I came back to try and get the suit off. Three more contractions came and went while I was gone, and you were breathing through a fourth when the thin privacy curtain was thrown aside and I knelt in front of you.
“No big towels,” I said apologetically when you finally opened your eyes again. “But I got like five regular towels—maybe we can Frankenstein something together.”
Maybe it wouldn’t matter, though, if we couldn’t get this stupid swimsuit off. The wet fabric clang to your skin like it was glued there, and no manner of tugging could free you from it. The quick pace of contractions certainly didn’t help things.
“We may have to wait until it’s dry,” I concluded, mostly to myself, as you were so focused inwardly that you weren’t really paying attention.
“My ass hurts,” you whined, shifting uncomfortably on the wooden seat.
Happy to have something I could actually do something about, I folded up some of the extra towels and put them on the hard ground, guiding you as you slipped off the bench and onto your knees, kneeling on the towels as you used the bench to rest your elbows on.
I wrapped another towel around you, hoping to get you dry quicker, as you leaned forward, resting your forehead on your clasped hands. The contractions felt like they were on top of each other now, the pain a constant rolling and squeezing and sharpening sensation, and you shivered despite the heat.
You don’t know how long this lasted, maybe ten minutes or maybe an hour, but your suit was almost dry when you looked back up. I smiled encouragingly, but it faded when I saw your look of worry.
“I need to push.”
I didn’t have much time to react before you were doing what can only be described as yoga, on your knees, bending forward, stretching your back… cat pose? This was accompanied with a deep, low moan which should things have been different would have had me rushing to check my trousers in case of protrusions.
But right now, I was worried. You needing to push had come on so fast.
“Are you pushing right now?” I almost stumbled on my words. You didn’t reply, your head was between your arms, slowly rotating right and left as you let out your continued low noises.
“Baby?” I tried again. No response. I got down on my knees and ran a hand up and down your back. That seemed to snap you out of whatever trance you were in as your eyes gained focus on me.
“Sorry… just focusing on the pain.” You looked a little worried… definitely uncertain.
“Don’t worry baby, I’m worried too” I said as I stroked your back. “Are you actually pushing when you do that?”
Your head shook. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. This is all so… alien.” You leaned back into my hand and pushed yourself up with your hands on your thighs.
“It feels so big. So much like a boulder. It feels like one wrong grunt and I’ll split apart. I don’t think I’m doing it involuntarily, but I’m trying to buy us some time… breathe through them. I think that’s what they said in the preparation classes.”
I stepped back a few seconds. “Buying time for what?” You looked confused. I continued with “it’s just you and me baby. You need to think about standing up, getting in the car, we go to the hospital and we have our baby.”
“I’m buying time for you to figure out what the hell I can do about this costume…” that’s when I realised you had tears in your eyes “I’m trapped. How can I push out a baby when my pussy is contained in fabric that I can’t even get a finger between it and my skin?”
You grimaced, and I noticed you hold your breath. A slight look of strain on your features. Whatever you were trying it was a losing battle.
The urge to push was like a papercut—it didn’t bother you until you noticed it, and then it hurt like hell. You had been focusing on breathing, on keeping your body loose and relaxed… but that was damn near impossible with this corset-like suit making everything tighter. At least it didn’t restrict your movement; your hips and shoulders were free enough to bend and open at will, even if it did cause the hemmed edges to bite into your skin.
“Here, let me try,” I said, sure that you must be exaggerating about the tightness.
You shifted your weight again, leaning forward on your elbows and sticking your ass into the air. I was on my knees behind you, and the pause did not go unnoticed. “You’re thinking about the suit getting in the way of more than just the head crowning, aren’t you?” you teased.
The idea of the baby’s head pushing out between your legs caused you to grunt, your own discomfort growing (though of unreleased pleasure rather than pain). I adjusted myself, then probed gently around the fabric hugging the creases above your thighs. My fingers trailed along the cut of your hips, finding no weaknesses in the fabric there. I tugged gently at the flat expanses, but it only had a little give and I ended up pinching your skin more than the fabric.
I laid my palm flat against your blanketed pussy, and you shivered in mild pleasure as I stroked you gently through the fabric.
“Another one,” you warned, but I kept my hand where it was, curling my finger so that my knuckle dragged along the length of your opening and then pressed into your clit.
Any semblance of concentration you had before was gone with that touch, and something in your body released, as if a switch had flipped, and insistence turned to instinct, need.
You groaned, long and low, and pressed back into my touch. The contraction and the suit and your muscles all worked together to push down and out on the large baby making its way toward a currently blocked exit. There was so much pressure, like a balloon slowly expanding in your core from between your hips, deeper and lower as it moved closer toward your opening.
“Hmmm. Hoooo. Ohhh, oh fuck this hurts,” you moaned, shuffling your knees so that they could push even further apart. Your belly now scraped across the ground as you rocked forward and backward.
“That’s it. Breathe, baby. Breathe it down. Breathe down the head.”
It wasn’t like you had a choice. The baby was coming whether either of us were ready for it or not.
“I can feel it moving,” you said, partially in awe and partially in despair. “So big. So full.” It was my turn to groan again and you smiled to yourself. “You know, I’m a little busy here, but if you wanted to fuck as much of me as you can access, we can probably pass it off as amniotic fluid.”
“What?” I sounded bewildered, but also maybe a little excited. “I don’t- I mean, do you really think now is a good time for that?”
You shrugged, another contraction already beginning. “At least one of us should be enjoying ourselves.”
It was your growing moan that finally pushed me over the edge. You pushed your hips back, and I grabbed them, one hand on each side. You must have slipped my trunks just low enough to allow my cock to spring free, because you felt it slide along the taut fabric that might as well have been a chastity belt.
I bent forward over you, my hands furiously cupping the curves of your belly, your breasts, your neck, then back to your ass. I stroked myself against you a couple times and then paused. I waited until the contraction was over and then cupped my hands around your stomach.
“Wanna feel you. You look so sexy like this.”
You were getting uncomfortable like this anyway, so let me pull you up. Space was limited, so you simply stood, legs wide and leaning forward with your palms pressed into the bench. My hands stayed glued to your belly as I pressed up against you, and this time my hips were free to tilt and pump.
My rhythm and pace quickened as you hummed and whined through another contraction. My hand snaked between your legs as it built, and at its peak your knees bent of their own accord, and you sank down, a small cry escaping your lips at the same time I exclaimed, “Holy shit, is that- I can feel you bulging!”
And you were still trapped in this damn suit.
I stood for a few moments in confusion, my pants basically around my legs, my hard cock digging into your ass (and getting stopped from going anywhere by your swimsuit) - and perhaps more importantly considering our current situation - my hand cupping your pussy which was noticeably more rounded than what it had been this morning.
You were whimpering. In fact it was worse, you were shaking.
You reached your hand back to find my cock. It was slick with juices, my body almost ready for release moments earlier. I felt it grab and pull, your hand making slick sounds as it moved up and down.
Finally you spoke. “Have you cum. I want you to cum… fuck… cum. Fuck… Fuck…” You pressed your ass into me as I heard you grunt. You were pushing again. I couldn’t respond. I was bewildered by the moment.
“I… I…” I stammered, confused by the obvious nature of how far your labour had progressed, and your apparent lack of awareness of the same issue.
“Here, I’ll help.” You spoke, it was breathy, like you had been heavily exerting yourself. You reached back with a hand “help me balance”
I held onto your hand as you stood and rotated so you were facing me. You grabbed onto my shoulders and lowered yourself down into a squat, groaning non-stop as you lowered.
I looked down at your wide open legs and yes… it was there in front of my eyes. The area between your legs was bulged out. Almost as if a head was just behind the skin wanting out. The swimsuit clearly showed the edges of your lips… I guess camel toe if we were going to be crude about it… so I breathed a sigh of relief… it’s not that your lips had parted and the head was visible as we had seen so many times in the videos we had watched during our preparation for birth.
But suddenly my entire nervous system felt like it was hit by a bolt of lightning as your hands grabbed my ass cheeks for balance and your mouth enveloped my cock, suction applied to my engorged shaft.
I couldn’t do anything but moan myself as your head moved back and forth, my view downward now your damp hair, and swimming costume clad breasts and belly taking up the rest of my visible life right now.
Thirty seconds, maybe a minute of wet and sloppy noises came from you as I lost awareness of the immediate problem and fell into the wave of pleasure that coursed through me until finally my cock flinched, bounced in your mouth and discharged its warm load.
You let my flow of cum dribble out your mouth and chin as it dropped onto your swimsuit as you felt my cock once more convulse and finally start to recede, slipping out of your mouth.
I breathed a sigh of relief at my release. The feel good hormones coursing through me as a result of the orgasm leaving me momentarily clueless, until that half moment later, as you gripped hard to my ass cheeks, causing pain as your fingers dug in, another contraction rapidly peaking. Your open leg stance and gravity-aided position making you feel the contraction effects so much worse than being on your knees as you were earlier.
So many conflicting feelings roiled within you at once. There was pain, obviously, but also some pleasure. A squeezing pressure, but also an opening, a stretching. And of course a torturous mix of movement and inertia.
Your body was acting of its own accord, the sounds and movements and straining grunts that forced the baby lower and lower. You whined as you rocked back and forth between your heels and the balls of your feet, belly hanging low between your knees as you gripped me tightly.
“Babe. Babe, baby,” I repeated, breath catching every time your fingers dug in and eventually just prying your hands from my hips to prevent any permanent damage. “I know how fond you are of my ass; it would be a pity if you tore it to shreds.”
“Fuck, sorry. Sorry,” you mumbled as I pulled my trunks back up, keeping one hand in mine so you didn’t fall over. “Tight. Hurts.”
I knelt down so I was at eye level with you. “I know, baby. But you’re so close. It’s almost over.”
“W-what?” you asked, finally processing what I’d just said once the contraction was over. “What do you mean?” you looked down at your still very round and full and heavy belly, the impossibly tight fabric still clinging to the most essential parts of you, and then back up at me.
I guided your hand between your legs, and you gasped. You hadn’t been able to spend much time there the last few months—that duty had fallen to me once the belly had gotten too big—but you still knew it well enough to tell how drastically different it felt now. More of your skin had been forced out of the sides of the suit, pushed out wide and slightly outward, the force of the baby’s head already spreading you open.
“Is it- do you think it’s hurting the baby?” you asked in somewhat of a panic as you tugged fruitlessly at the hem of the suit again. “I don’t want there to be a crease down the center of her skull when she’s born.”
I kissed the side of your head. “I don’t think you have to worry about that just yet. You’re not even close to crowning yet.”
You pouted a little at that. “How do you know? We can’t see anything with this stupid suit in the way!”
I didn’t have time to answer before you were pushing again, and oh how you wished I could return the favour and get you off right now. You could feel the press and retreat of the bulge against your hand in time with your efforts, but it never seemed to get any further. Couldn’t get any further.
It went like this for another fifteen minutes or so, and it was getting harder and harder to keep the situation between just the two of us. Your noises, along with our lengthy occupation of the stall, had resulted in several questions about our status. You had been adamant about keeping this between just the two of us, but I had made no more progress on freeing you and you had made no more progress on crowning.
You were sitting on top of several towels on the ground, leaning up against the wall with your knees up, the thin strip of fabric between your legs bowing out and snapping back into place as you huffed and grunted. We locked eyes, and I placed a hand on your heaving belly as we both came to the same conclusion—we needed help.
“I think it’s time we called in some reinforcements,” I said gently, perhaps expecting you to still protest.
You simply nodded, tired of all your efforts being in vain and ready to meet our baby. “Just make sure they have a pair of damn scissors.”
I threw the curtain back and was greeted by two faces peering back.
“Everything OK?” came the voice of a man. He was joined by a lady. Both were wearing swimsuits… neither appeared to be representatives of the water park.
“My wife… she’s in labour. She’s pushing… need to get her suit off. No… scratch that. Need to cut her suit off. Can you get someone to get me a pair of scissors and can you get someone to ring an ambulance?”
The man went off to find a lifeguard, and the woman dashed to the gift shop. I didn’t even have an opportunity to ask their names.
I turned back to you and you stared at me wide-eyed. “They’re going to get help…”
You nodded as you groaned, hands grabbing your inner thighs and pulling apart your legs. You made no attempt to stop it now, you pushed hard, wanting desperately to expel the force that was building but… completely unable to move it.
I stared focusing between your legs. The swimsuit was no better than a second skin and I could now see your lips had opened, the baby’s head would be visible as its teardrop shape signifying you were progressing towards crowning, had there been nothing in the way.
You gulped in a breath of air and screamed at the top of your lungs. Frustration and pain finally got the better of you.
As you let off the push, I saw the receding of your lips. The tight fabric twanging back as tight as a guitar string.
Another push a few moments later and I stuck my head out of the changing room looking for the salvation of the people who had ran for help - no sign of them.
You had a moment to rest as the contraction faded, but it was short-lived… baby wanted out, and your body wanted to play along with that plan…
I finally heard footsteps… several footsteps. Your scream had them barrelling down on us. There was a hand on my shoulder and a pair of scissors pushed in front of my vision.
I didn’t even say thanks. I grabbed them and shoved the icy cold blades against your skin. You shrieked. For half a moment I thought I had cut you, but then the blades came together, there was a sound somewhere close to a ‘thwap’ and your split apart swimsuit simultaneously rolled half way up your belly and over your ass, leaving you exposed to everyone in front of you.
You glanced up. There was the man and woman, someone wearing a suit, and a lifeguard carrying a first aid kit. And right there between your legs was the first sight of our child’s hair.
Your breasts were still partially covered by the tattered remains of the swimsuit, and you lifted your arms and looked at me pleadingly. It was easier to cut away at the straps instead of trying to pull it over your head, and you breathed a sigh of relief once you were finally free. Some part of you considered modesty—we still had a couple clean towels left—but the idea of any fabric touching your body after having been trapped for so long made you squirm.
“Better?” I asked, stroking your exposed skin and feeling it contort and harden as another contraction began. “Push now. Let’s get this baby out of you.”
“Uh, the ambulance should be here in about 20 minutes, but they’ll have to make their way through the park to get back here,” the lifeguard said.
You looked over at him, still standing awkwardly by the stall entrance holding the inadequate first aid kit. He was young, probably a college kid trying to make some extra money over the summer, and trying to look everywhere but between your legs.
“Hate to burst your bubble, kid, but I think we’re a little late for that.” This came from the woman, who was the only other person who had dared to venture into the room. “You’re doing great, mama, just keep listening to your body.”
She was a calm, grounding presence as your stress and emotions were going haywire. “I need to push!” you yelled to no one in particular.
With no barrier holding the baby’s head in place, it surged forward, and you screamed.
“Slow, slow,” I reminded you, using my hand now to keep the head from coming too quickly. “You still need to stretch.”
You wanted to smack my hand away and throw everything into another push, but with the paramedics still so far out and the meagre experience with childbirth in this room, you didn’t want to risk injuring either yourself or the baby.
“I want it out,” you whined between panted breaths, mimicking the pattern I coached for you. “Everything hurts. I’m so uncomfortable.” That was the understatement of the century—the bowling ball between your legs kept them spread open painfully wide, and sitting on the ground, even with the towels, was hell on your spine and tailbone.
“What can I do? How can I help?” I asked, but you couldn’t answer.
You shook your head, your fingers wrapping around my forearms and squeezing at the same time your breathing picked up. The instinct to bear down was overwhelming, and you ended up clenching everything except your core. Your panting breaths were practically obscene, your full breasts and belly heaving with each one.
“Maybe she wants to change positions?” the woman suggested, correctly reading your body language as you shifted and twisted.
You nodded furiously in confirmation, and I turned back toward the crowd. Whatever position you ended up in, someone would need to help you balance while someone else managed the baby. We were going to need a helper.
“Alright,” I said. “Who wants to hold, and who wants to catch?”
No one jumped forward to volunteer, though, after a few moments, the silence must have been too cloying, as the man put his hand up.
“Happy to help… but feel a bit self conscious. You know, nakedness and all that. I mean we have only just met,” he finished with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.
You reached a hand out, flexing your hand to get my attention. I grabbed it and pullled you up to your feet. You took the opportunity to wrap your arms around my neck, pressing your body into me as you swayed, moaned and gave the occasional yell.
“Could I…” the suited man looked embarrassed but continued after a moment. “Could I get you a hand towel? Something to perhaps bite down on… to muffle some of the more… emotive sounds?”
He was of course worried that word of mouth would get out. They had roped off the changing area we were in with maintenance signs to keep other members of the public out… but the sound carried.
“Seriously…” I growled. “Have a bit of fucking empathy, my guy.”
The suited guy scowled at me, feeling a little put out “if you hadn’t come here trying to give birth on site… trying to get the press’ attention”
I nearly lost it. Grabbed his shirt lapels and was almost ready to give him a punch when you put a hand on my shoulder.
“Please…” your eyes were wide and I could see you needed support. “I need to push!”
You buried your head back into my chest and yelled… my chest muffling the noise which would no doubt appease the suit.
I looked over and the three other people here, even the lifeguard who no doubt worked for the guy in the suit, were all giving death stares.
You stepped your left foot one step to the side and then again with your right to open your legs, and bending at the knees, you pushed again.
The woman got down on her knees and smiled up at her husband and me. “Heads coming along nicely. Nice and slow. No need to do yourself an injury.”
It was harder like this, in some ways—the same gravity that was tugging at the baby and bringing it steadily down was also wreaking havoc on your spine, your knees, your feet—and you were clinging to me with perhaps more force than I was expecting, as I was having a hard time keeping you upright.
“My back, I can’t—!” Your words were cut off with an involuntary moan as you dipped lower into your mini squat. The pressure bordered on painful, both nowhere and everywhere all at once deep in your hips, and you felt like you couldn’t close your legs again now that they had spread. You thought surely the head must be nearly out by now, and you slipped your hand between your legs. But all you felt was your own skin—hot and stretched and distended, yes, but still not crowning. There weren’t many folds left to pull aside and it only took a little prodding to find a sliver of the head.
“Try leaning over, dear,” the woman said, gently guiding you to turn to face the back of the stall and lean down to brace your hands against the bench. “Then you press here,” she said, placing my hands flat against your lower back.
You whimpered, your fingers wrapping tightly around the edge of the seat as your dipped lower again. “Mm. Nghh!” you experimented with smaller grunts and pushes. “Hooo. Oh. Oh god, I can’t- I- nghahh!”
“That’s my girl,” I praised, kneading into your skin as you gasped and trembled.
“Wanna… I wanna see…” you managed between panted breaths.
“See what?” one of the men by the entrance asked, and you felt me tense in barely contained frustration.
“We didn’t bring a mirror, baby,” I said apologetically, ignoring them. But then I had an idea. “We’ve got the tablet, though?”
When you nodded, I pulled away for a moment to rummage through our bags. We had brought the tablet so I could read while you took up permanent residence in the pool; I would have been concerned about the potential of bodily fluids, but we had it in a waterproof case because, well, we were taking it to a water park.
I placed it between your spread legs and turned on the camera, flipping the view so that we could all watch the progress and subtly pressing the record button so that we could rewatch it later—you were too deep into primal instinct to truly appreciate and enjoy it now. After some adjusting for your movements and pushing position, I managed to position it so that everyone could see.
Just in time for another contraction.
You grunted whilst looking down, over your belly as best you could to glimpse the screen below. You saw the petals of your lips spread wide… no… bloom, as you applied downward pressure.
You huffed, moaned and repeatedly gasped for breath between pushes, but there was movement.
“That’s my baby, that’s my baby” you shrieked with joy as you caught a good glimpse of the head as it - finally - didn’t retreat as you let up the pressure.
Your body let you take a moment to rest, deep panting breaths heaving your belly and chest as you realised just how strenuous this really was.
“You’re doing great, baby” I said, my hand rubbing your back. “A few more like that and we might have the baby’s head.”
“Shall we have a race?” You panted. Huffing out a breath you added: “Do I get the head out before the paramedics get here?”
The suited man looked shell shocked. He had visions of you splitting apart, blood and gore splattering the changing room floor as you pushed harder than your body could manage.
“Please…” he stammered. “The professionals are near. I understand if you pant and don’t push, you can slow things down, keep everything calm and relaxed until help arrives.”
“No can do, boss man” you grimaced, the respite between contractions over once more as you grabbed me, squeezing, your grip echoing the downward force you were experiencing. “Baby wants out, and I can’t stop it…”
Your sweaty forehead, the signs of exertion evident in your matted hair, pressed against me and you screamed loudly. You were stretched now, the head keeping your lips parted. So close to a full crown and the birth of the head, and the relief you hoped would follow.
You knew things would get worse before they got better, but holy fuck you were not prepared for just how much worse. Getting the head down this far had been exhausting as the pressure grew and shifted with it, but now that it was finally at your opening it refused to budge.
At least it felt that way. I assured you that there was progress with every push, and you felt the burning sting as your skin stretched with every effort, but every peek at the camera seemed to show the same image.
After several contractions passed with little perceivable progress, you began to whine against me. “Too big. It’s too big.”
I stroked my hair and rubbed your belly—it was still taut, but had shifted and dropped significantly with the mass inside. “We knew it was gonna be big,” I reminded you.
“And I’m uncomfortable.” you shifted and swayed on your feet, bending and stretching your knees and back to the limited extent your current position would allow. “I want our home. I want our bed.”
I looked back at the suit, and he at least had the good sense to be a little contrite about accusing us of intentionally getting into this mess. “I know, baby. But it’s almost over. You’re so close. And then we’ll have our baby, and we can go home. Our whole little family.”
You were only partially listening, but nodded anyway—just hearing my voice was grounding, calming—and redoubled your focus on pushing. Your legs were shaking and even your elbows and wrists protested as you braced against the bench. You wanted to sink lower, to really open up and center all your strength into your core, but you couldn’t. Not like this.
“Need to move,” you gasped as another contraction waned.
“How? Where?”
My hands fluttered about aimlessly until you tugged me over to the bench, then pushed down on my shoulders until I was sat in front of you. You managed to turn around, slowly, and settled yourself between my legs. With my hands supporting you as you lowered down, you hooked your arms over my thighs and was able to go low enough that your ass practically touched the ground.
The woman readjusted the tablet so that you and I could still see—everyone else hovering at the entrance now had a front row view—and you tested out the new position as the pressure began to build yet again.
“Another one. Coming, it’s coming.” Your deep breaths turned into rapid, desperate pants as the head pressed insistently behind your stretched lips. “Burning!” you cried at the same time the camera showed your opening held in a perfectly round ‘o’ shape, the bulge of the head pressing out behind it. You were almost afraid to push, afraid of tearing, but also just afraid of the added pain. “I can’t- can’t take anymore.”
“It’s okay, you’re stretching nicely. Take a minute to breathe here if you need to,” the woman still monitoring your progress said.
I kissed your temple and my hands found their way to your breasts, giving them a light massage and effectively distracting you. You rested your head back against my chest, trying to focus on the sensations I was producing as the raging inferno between your legs threatened to overwhelm you.
The circle widened even as you breathed, the pressure of the contractions and gravity and your wide open stance enough to force the head further and further toward its inevitable exit. Your noises condensed into high-pitched squeals and you tensed against me, your jaw clenching and your body becoming rigid as you attempted to hold back your scream, now at a full, pronounced, obscenely stretched crown.
The contraction ended as you were held open at the widest point, and you let out a noise something like a choked sob.
“Relax, baby. Head’s almost out,” I soothed. “Just let it come.”
“It’s coming quick… it’s coming quick” you squealed, unable to control the sensations coursing between your legs.
“Listen to me… pant… huff huff huff” I regretted not being able to look you in the eyes as I tried to get you to focus on me and not your own body. I knew I needed to stop you actively pushing - I was scared you were going to tear. “Focus on me, baby… on me.”
Your focus drifted towards me and I saw you breathe in, then let out little huffing pants. All the while the head moved tiny bit by tiny bit as more and more of it became visible.
The slightly deformed shape - oval and not round like an adult head - peeked further and further out as you continued to pant over and over again, rapid shallow breaths echoing the ones I was doing in front of you.
Then all of a sudden, as the head slipped past half way… the baby’s nose slipping past your lips, you tensed up, gasping. Your body went rigid, and whilst it lasted just a moment, I knew exactly what was happening. I heard a noise that I could only describe as a ‘slap’ as your lips, stretched tight up until a moment earlier slipped back to the baby’s neck, a gush of fluid splashed out and sloshed on the floor, and the room went suddenly silent except for your heaving, panting breathing… everyone who was observing in front of you shocked into momentary silence as finally our baby’s head had been born.
Your hand reached down almost instinctively and felt around the protruding shape, simultaneously the most natural thing in the world… yet at that time felt so out of place it was surreal.
The woman was the first to move, her hands gently pushing yours out of the way as she tugged at the umbilical cord, slipping it back and over the baby’s head, removing the risk of it getting tied around the baby’s neck.
You blinked. You knew you were only half way done, you knew there were shoulders and a body to be born… but you relished the moment of intimate connection between yourself and our first born child, first instance of mother and baby skin to skin contact as your hand dropped back down to cup the head once more.
“That’s our baby!” you exclaimed, your hand cupping the soft, wet mass that was simultaneously both huge and very tiny. “It felt so much bigger coming out of me,” you giggled breathlessly. You looked at the image in the tablet camera, which gave a different viewing angle. “It’s so pointy.”
The woman between your legs nodded. “That’s what happens with most natural births. Especially with a babe this size in a mum your size.”
Something shifted in your hips, and you winced as the head in your hands twisted and turned to the side, a familiar pressure building as another contraction started. “Guess it’s time for the shoulders.”
Everything was still so sore and though your belly had deflated somewhat with the release of fluids, there was still plenty of pressure and fullness insistently pressing behind your loosened hole.
You pushed, hard, ready to get this over with and finally meet our baby properly, but nothing happened. You shifted on the balls of your feet, circling your hips in an attempt to dislodge whatever was holding up this last bit of effort, but the contraction ended with no additional progress.
“You’ll have it on the next one,” the woman said, though she sounded more unsure.
You looked back at me, and I gave you a worried smile. “Next one.”
You redoubled your efforts when the next contraction came, but the baby was still stuck half in and half out.
“Keep pushing!” the woman encouraged, but you shook your head.
“I don’t want to hurt the baby,” you hiccuped, practically in tears—this was supposed to be the easy part. “The paramedics should be here soon, right?” Surely it had been long enough now that they would have almost made their way back here.
The guy in the suit withdrew from the entrance so he could look around. He didn’t see anyone right away, so took out his phone to call and locate them—apparently, they had gotten waylaid by another emergency on the way to the back of the park, but they would arrive any minute now.
Another contraction was starting up and, god, not pushing felt so much worse. The instinct to bear down was so strong and your panting breaths so fast that you were a little concerned that you might hyperventilate and pass out.
“Slow, deep breaths,” I coached, letting you squeeze my hand as hard as you could.
“I can’t- I have to—“
“Breathe. Let go. Do it for our baby.”
Your face contorted in pain as you whined, long and loud, but you managed to keep pace and mimic my measured breaths. Your body may have been pushing some on its own, and your hands found their way back to the baby’s head as you focused all your efforts on not giving in to the desperate and all-consuming need.
“Just hold on, baby,” you said in a strangled whisper. “Help is coming.”
“Good job, baby,” I praised as you relaxed, slumping against me. “Just like that.”
“I don’t know if I can do that again,” you confessed, looking back at me worriedly.
A new commotion sounded just outside the door as two uniformed medics pushed their way through the small crowd.
“Looks like you won’t have to,” I said, equally relieved.
“Good,” you said, breaths picking back up. “Because another contraction is—ngghh!”
The paramedics arrived at the scene without any real fanfare - the suited man ducking out of the room to guide them towards us.
A man and a woman made up the paramedics team. Slinging their bag to the ground the lady knelt down between your legs and took charge of the situation.
She saw you were pushing, actively in the middle of working through a contraction, straining cords at your neck and your hands gripping into mine, looking desperately for some way to move things on between your legs.
You finally started panting, and took focus of the two new attendees to the room.
"You're doing great, mama" came the voice from the female paramedic. "Call me Sally, and this here is Nick. Looks like you've done most of the hard work already, so we're here to get you through that last little step. You okay with that?"
You nodded your understanding, exhausted breaths getting sucked in and out of your lungs, limiting what you said verbally in response.
"How long has the head been like that?" came the voice of the male paramedic, Nick.
I answered. "Three pushes. She thinks our baby is stuck. Can't get the shoulders out."
Nick nodded. "That's OK, sometimes babies can be stubborn. We'll pop that cork right outta ya!"
Sally rubbed your leg and heaved herself back up. She smiled at you as you'd recovered enough to stop sucking in big gulps of air. "I've been in your situation" she grinned. "My first baby didn't want to come out. Had two more since then. If it at all helps… next one should be easier."
You chuckled. These two certainly helped lighten the mood, give an air of calm to things. But all things come to an end, and yours was signalled by the onset of another contraction. You scrunched your eyes closed and moaned loudly as you started to push again.
"That's it, big strong push!" that was Sally. A gloved finger slipped inside of you around the babys neck and felt around. "Ahh… there we are. I can feel where things are stuck."
Your composure failed. "Get it out! Get it out!" was all you could wail. You finished your push with a wailing, pleading cry.
"Up on your feet, please, mama" came the voice from Sally. You groaned as you had to move once more; I stood with you. "Okay, daddy… I guess you are the daddy, yeah?" she looked at me. I nodded in confirmation. "I want you to hook your hands together under her arm pits, and cross them under her chin." I did as I was asked, and Sally nodded. "Good… now Mama. You squat down low. Deep as you can get. I want those hips to open nice and wide."
You went limp in my hands and sunk to the ground. I was taken aback by the sudden dead weight in my arms and had to react quickly just to hold your weight up. Sally got down on the floor and once more sunk her fingers in behind the baby's neck. She tugged on your skin, which resulted in you giving a howling screech of unexpected pain, but you felt the baby physically move inside of you, and suddenly there was a pop, and the first shoulder, second shoulder and baby's torso all slid out in quick succession, right into Sally’s hands.
A moment later, after a small tug to free the legs, and and our baby - our daughter - was born. The cries of the baby were echoed by the cheers and claps of the small group that had mustered around us. It didn't take the paramedics long to cut the cord and hand the baby up to you. I kissed and embraced you as I settled you on the ground to bond with the baby.
The paramedics carried out their paperwork and helped you deliver the placenta as they started to get us ready to transfer to the hospital for a check up. Nick took a look around at the shredded swimsuit, and seeing no other clothes he looked inquisitively at us. "Do you have anything to get changed into?"
You went red with embarrassment. "Didn't think I'd be needing to get cut out of the suit" you mumbled.
"Not to worry, hang here for 5, do new mummy stuff, and I'll go fetch you a blanket to cover your modesty. The hospital will have the height of fashion available to you, paper gowns, as daddy here goes home to fetch you something more suitable for leaving the hospital with a newborn baby in tow" He chuckled as he left the room and trudged back to the ambulance.
