Sssshhh!

30-shh 🤫 guilty pleasures. 

[gentlebreeding-deactivated20250]

😫

[crownandpush]

Pushing out my new toy, this one hurt

[pushh-4-me-deactivated20250917]

Amazing!! Wow.

[dontpush320]

🤤🤤🤤🍆💦💦💦

[pushpushpuuuush]

My heavily pregnant boss texted me late at night to come over and drop off some paperwork. It was so weird because it was 1 a.m. I get there around 1:30ish. She left her door unlocked for me so I walk in. I hear odd sounds coming from up stairs. I follow it. She lived alone. I get to her room and to my surprise she’s sitting on the edge of her bed with her knees to her chest, in a night gown, her eyes closed and concentrated. I hear her grunting. I watch her for 10 more minutes. She moans and pushes, screams and grunts. “Come out pleeeease” she says. She looks up and sees me. “I texted you so you can help me with this” she says while panting. “It’s so big, oooo toooo big” she says. I’m still quiet. “Come over here and stand in front of me” she tells me. I do what she says. “Push my legs back and help me push” she says”. I do it. She bears down “AAAAHHHHHHHHHH” she screams. I can see she’s struggling.

[dilfpregcentral]

🫃🍼2️⃣🚜🖐️🦵💪⁉️

(Birth Denial Request Game)

A farmer is struggling to get the last of his crops harvested before a cold front. He’s managed this small farm by himself for years, but as he’s gotten a little older, he’s struggled to keep up with the demands of the job. This year especially, the work has really been taking it out of him.

He feels like he never quite recovered from the flu he had back in the spring, exhausted and slow all the time, and he’s developed a lingering pain in his hips and back. He suspects some of it is due to the weight he’s gained, his once-pudgy tummy now an unsightly ball gut that juts off his frame, so massive it tugs on his spine. He mentioned it to his neighbor the other day, a woman doctor who rumor has it was once a nun, and she had almost smiled for a moment before telling him he should drink less beer. When he told her he stopped 6 months ago when his belly first started ballooning, her mouth tightened with concern. Her eyes dropped to the peaked point of his navel stretching his shirt, and she told him he should come to her clinic as soon as he’s able, as he could have a serious illness. But he’d waved her off and weaseled out of the discussion— he’d avoided revealing his secret to anyone for twenty-one years and he wasn’t about to break the streak just because some nice doctor asked.

Anyway. The point is, he doesn’t know what’s wrong.

Today, the pain is bad. His back, especially, keeps seizing up, his groans echoing in the empty field. It’s so severe that he’s tempted to abandon the rest of his harvest, but he can’t justify the financial hit he would take. He’s a man, he’ll press through.

Every time he has to squat down, the pain in his pelvis deepens, the pressure becoming more unbearable by the minute. He remembers a relative speaking of kidney stones and hopes he hasn’t caught them. That’s the last thing he needs.

He’s on his hands and knees bundling up rows of produce when he starts to feel like an elephant is stomping his lower spine down into his pelvis. His jaw drops, and a long, plaintive groan tumbles out of him. Instinctively he rocks on his hands and knees, feeling his big fat gut tug on his lumbar region as he arches and twists his back, desperately trying to find relief. When his muscles finally unclench, he wants to just collapse where he is, but he has to keep going. The doctor will be there tomorrow, but these crops sure won’t. There’s still so much more to go…

Though he owns no animals, a lowing like livestock echoes across his property. He hears the noises as if they come from somewhere far away, and not his own heaving chest. Maybe he should be ashamed, or frightened, but it makes a certain kind of sense that he should sound like a beast of burden as he labors on his hands and knees in the field.

Then comes the burn. He drops the handful of produce he was holding, hand instinctively flying to his crotch, where the fire grows angrier by the moment. It must be a kidney stone. What else could—?

He goes completely still. His crotch is hot, hot as the inside of a body, and slowly, slowly swelling under his fingers. Swallowing thickly, he withdraws his hand and slips off one strap of his overalls. Then he wriggles his hand into the waistband. It can’t be…

But there it is. He feels it, plain and solid as the nose on his face, just beneath his cunt lips. They still stretch stubbornly over it, holding it inside of him. But he can feel it on its way. Soon, his body will part. It will part, and—

He flattens his hand against the bulge and shoves. He cries out, but for all the pain, it barely budges. But he can’t let it come out. Trembling, he spreads his legs and twists the palm of his hand, and finally, he feels something give. He pants and squirms from the indescribable discomfort as his aching insides spasm, fighting him as he denies the course of nature. But finally he forces it far enough back that his crotch feels flat beneath his hand.

He tries not to think about it.

But the next time his belly squeezes tight, he feels it heavy and low inside him, searing him as it tries to escape. This time, he wrestles his arm around his tensed-hard belly and shoves his hand inside of his pussy. He finds it close, already about to come out again, and steels himself before pushing it up even further. He roars with pain, and his shoulder strains, and his lower back feels like it’s breaking. But it buys him a little more time.

He goes on like that for ages, stopping every few minutes to force this unwanted complication back inside, to fight the truth he is not ready to consider. It’s taking him forever to finish the harvest, but it would take even longer if he stopped to— no. Don’t think about that. Just push it back in and keep going.

Darkness has long-fallen and the chill has arrived on a biting wind by the time he finishes. Dragging the crates to storage is especially bad, the distraction between his legs burning him every time he bends over. But with a few solid shoves that make his whole body jerk, he crams it away. The sudden torrent of water down the thighs of his overalls, however, he can’t do much about.

Snowflakes catch on his sleeves as he rushes back to the house. His gait is wide and lilting, his crotch in so much pain that it leaves him panting, oxygen thin, head spinning. He makes it inside and tears off his clothes in a frenzy, the coat and shirt and the tight vest he wears beneath leaving a trail from the front door to the steady fire. He stands in front of it, trembling, and looks down at himself.

His chest has grown since he last let himself really look, areola now puffy and dark. His nipples are eager as cow teats and thick as his thumb, jutting from heavy, swollen breasts that sag to either side of his great bulging belly. He thinks of his poked-out navel, and the pressure in his hips, and the grumblings in his gut so strong that they frightened him, that he pretended they weren’t what he knew they were.

Now, he gazes down at himself, heavy with child, and starts to wheeze for breath.

When the next contraction comes, he sees his pregnant belly lift and tighten into an odd shape, though the sight falls away as his eyes clench shut in pain when it— when the child makes his cunt bulge again. In his panic, he cups it and forces it back in once more. Agony lances through what must be the entrance to his womb as the child lurches back in. He gags and tastes bile, eyesight blurring with tears.

But he’s bought a few minutes. He scrambles over to his phone and asks the operator for the doctor’s office. It’s closed, she tells him. He swallows thickly, then asks for her home instead.

“Oh, I guess you don’t want to walk over there in this storm,” the operator muses.

Though it’s more to do with the head splitting his pelvis apart, he agrees.

Finally, the line connects.

“Hel-“

“Doctor, doctor, help me, it’s comin’ outta me!”

“What? Who is this?”

He palms the sweat from his forehead and tries to get ahold of himself, though his voice shakes. “It’s farmer Bryce. You ‘member me, right?”

“Of course. What’s going on?”

“My belly. I know what’s wrong with it.” He gasps a hysterical, sobbing laugh, then groans as the squeeze of his abdominal muscles pushes the head further down. “Ohhhh Lord. Doctor, I—“ The worlds make him feel sick, but he spits them out anyway. “I’m havin’ a baby!”

For a moment, nothing but static. His racing heart somehow goes even faster, his head growing light. “Doctor, I— I wadn’t always a farmer, y’know. When I was young, I was a seamstress, but I— I changed my name and came here, n’that’s why I never let you gimme a physical, see, ‘cause…”

“…Because I would find out.”

He nods. “Please- p-please don’t tell anyone—“

“Don’t worry about that. Just tell me what’s happening. How much of the baby is still inside of you?”

“A-all of it. Keeps tryin’ to come out, but I- I been pushin’ it back in.”

“You—?! Good god. Do not do that again, you could severely injure yourself or the child.”

He swallows thickly. “S-sorry, ma’am.”

“Don’t— I just need you to be safe. How close is the head to coming out?”

“Feels real close.”

“Can you put your fingers in your vagina and tell me if you feel the head?”

“My…?”

“Your- uh— pussy.”

“Oh.”

He leans against a chair and stretches his hand down, following the now-familiar motions of feeling inside his private place. His fingertips find something slick and slimy.

“Yeah, real close. I think it’s— augh!” He doubles over, the labor pain crushing him without mercy, revenge for denying nature all of this time. “Ohh, it hurts! I don’t wanna push it out, I don’t wanna push it out!”

“That’s fine, you can’t push just yet. You need to boil some water, to sanitize some tools. You’ll need rags, your sharpest knife, and scissors.”

He groans. “Wh-what’s the knife for?”

“Just in case I need to make a small incision to help you get the baby out. I’m on my way over.”

“No!” He jerks upright, legs trembling under him, cunt beginning to burn again. “No, please stay on with me, it’s almost out, and- and I can’t- I don’t want you to see. Please.”

“What!?”

“Please, no one’s ever…” he swallows thickly, voice sounding as tight and heavy as his belly. “I don’t want anyone to see.”

“Pardon my frankness, Mr. Bryce, but at least one person must have seen, for you to be delivering a child.”

Though the contraction is finally passing, his weak laugh still makes everything hurt, especially his burning pussy. “N-no, I- I don’t let ‘em see.” He starts to hobble around his kitchen, wincing as he gets out a pot and begins to follow her instructions. “I always make sure to get ‘em plenty drunk, and when I put the lights out, they never notice. It’s just- this last one, I— I was a little drunk, too, and in the morning I did wonder… That is, he was s’posed to go in the, uh, well, he was s’posed to put his pecker someplace that can’t make a baby, but he must’ve… Damn it.” He heaves the pot onto the range and takes out the matches. “I don’t even know his name.” He lights the stove, then blows out the match. “You help a lot of harlots, Doctor?”

“Actually, yes, I have helped many women in that line of work. You wouldn’t have to defend your choices to me if you were one of them, and you don’t have to, now. I’m helping you either way. I’m coming over.”

“Wait! Doctor, please, it’s private, I don’t want…” He swallows back the urge to sob and rubs the heel of his hand against his forehead. “Please. Just, tell me what to do?”

She groans, then sighs heavily. “Fine. I’m only agreeing to this because you’ll probably deliver before I make it there through this storm, anyway.”

His heart races. “I’m that close?”

“Probably so. In fact, you should be having ano—“

“Ohhh Lord!” Instinctively, his knees bend and he drops into a heavy crouch right where he stands, sucking air through his teeth as his cunt burns. “God Almighty, the head’s comin’ out!”

“How much of the head? Feel for me.”

He snakes a shaking hand down and chokes out a humorless, incredulous laugh. “Barely any. Just- hah- a sliver. Oh, Lord, it hurts! Why does it hurt so bad already?”

“I know, it hurts a lot. Walking around will help, and it’ll open up your pelvis.”

“Haaaaagh…” He drags himself up to his feet. “Hoooh my lorrrrd,” he groans, clutching helplessly at his bulging pussy. The head feels so big and heavy, like a millstone- he doesn’t understand how it doesn’t just fall right out. He continues to moan as he starts his bow-legged pacing around the room.

“M’walking,” he grunts.

“Good. Keep walking. You’ll probably have the next contraction in about three minutes.”

His stomach twists. “How do you know?”

“I’ve delivered a lot of babies. Now, it’s probably going to take a few more contractions, but when your va- your, uh, pussy makes a big round shape around the head, I’ll tell you how much to push.”

He pants. “Feels like- I need to push now.”

“Not yet. You’ll wear yourself out if you push between contractions. But you can push with every contraction until you start to crown. You’ll want to slow down then, so that you don’t tear. Once the head is out, the baby will—“

“Wait, wait, don’t-“ He shakes his head. “S’too many steps. I’m all discombobulated right now, I won’t ‘member. One thing at a time? Please?”

“Uh- sure. We can do that. Focus on pacing. When the next contraction comes, try leaning on something or getting on your hands and knees.”

“Okay.”

About ten seconds of silence pass before he feels like he’s going to scream. “Uh- so- you helped a lot of babies be born?”

“Yes. Previously, I mostly worked as a midwife. In fact-“ She chuckles softly. “When you asked me the other day about your distended abdomen—your belly being so big, that is—my first thought was that you looked pregnant. I thought I must be letting my history get the better of me, and had to have a laugh at myself.”

The idea that he’s been walking around pregnant hits him upside the head, making him feel very strange. How many people looked at his belly and guessed the truth he’d been avoiding? He clutches at it, the fine hair that covers much of his body, and the bright stretch marks where his sides have swollen these last months.

Under his hand, he feels it begin to tighten. “Ohh, it’s happenin’ again…!”

“Two and a half minutes apart, now. You’re doing great, Mr. Bryce.”

He doesn’t feel like he’s doing great, but the doctor keeps on telling him so as he paces through the last of the contractions. By her timing, it only takes twenty minutes, but it feels like years as the head of his child slowly, slowly spreads his cunt wider.

A particularly intense contraction comes, and his pussy somehow hurts even worse. He collapses against the back of the couch, a shout scraping his throat, nearly a scream. His chest jumps with panting, breasts hanging heavy beneath him. “S’comin’ out! S’too big! Aaaaah- ah, lord, it hurts!”

“Okay, you’re probably about to crown. You need to stop pushing for a moment, okay? But get ready for the baby to come, it won’t be long, now.”

His head spins as he hobbles to where he’s laid out the sterilized tools next to folded blankets and lumbers down onto his hands and knees. Long and deep, he groans at the feeling of his backside bulging out between his legs.

“Can I push it out?!”

“Not yet. Next one, okay? Just a minute or two. Press your fingers around the edges, especially right behind, and it’ll help.”

He can barely hear her over his own wheezing and moaning, but he follows the doctor’s instructions, leaning the arm with the phone against a chair and stretching his other arm back to press his fingers to the screaming skin between his two holes. The fear that he might rip right down between them fades as he feels the pressure ease.

When his belly pulls tight, he’s ready. “Here it is, it’s comin’. I’m- mnnn—“

“Okay, give me a push, just a little one.”

It’s hard not to bear down with all his might. He’s never felt so urgent, not even in the fields, scrambling to save his livelihood from the storm.

He spreads his shaking fingers around the stinging flesh and sobs a shout as he feels the extent of his transformation, his cunt stretched farther than he ever guessed it could, a perfect dome hanging heavy between his legs. At the center, it opens in a broad circle around the head.

“Ohhh lord, it’s there. It’s right there, it’s comin’ outta my pussy, I need it out!”

“Not yet, okay? You don’t want to tear. Just a few more minutes.”

“Noooo,” he groans, shaking his head. “I can’t…”

“You can. You’re doing great.”

“M’not… Get it outta meeeee…” He lays his forehead on the chair. His hips try to rock, but even the slightest movement eases the head forward, spikes of pain making him freeze with a whimper. Delicately as he can, he ends up circling his hips, unable to stop picturing how far his cunt sticks out from his body, barely clinging to the head of the child.

His belly leaps, and everything tightens again. “It’s comin’! I need to push, lemme push!”

“Okay, keep that pressure on it, and push! Push it out!”

“I’m pushin’, I’m pushinnnn!”

His whole purpose narrows to that single point, body tapping into something ancient, opening for the fruit of his womb, just as bodies have for generations before him. It’s primal, desperate, making him feel like an animal trying to wrench itself free from the excruciating torment of stretching open, yes, but— something else. There’s a longing to push this babe into the world. To pull it from his body and see with his own eyes the creature he could barely think of an hour ago. To find out what grew within him, what his body has always been capable of, no matter how he dressed it.

The deep hum of effort in his throat rises and rises, a shout, then a roar, then—

“AAAUGH!”

He screams like he hasn’t since he was a babe, himself. But by the time he’s catching his breath, the excruciation has reduced to a quiet throb. Beneath his hand, he feels a strange, slimy texture, and soft papery flesh, and the undeniable curve of a little cheek.

Tears drip from his chin as he gasps for breath. “Oh. Oh lord. Oh, good god.”

“Is it out?”

“S’out. The head. It came outta me. A- a baby’s comin’ outta me.”

“Incredible. Quickly now, feel around the neck for the cord. You can’t push anymore until you’re sure the cord isn’t around the neck.”

He winces as he prods at the tender edge of his hole, still stretched, but nothing like it was at the crown. “N-no, I don’t think there’s a cord.”

“Okay. Amazing. You’re almost there.” Genuine joy shines through the crackling phone line. “Push just a little, and that’ll help the baby turn, so the shoulders can get through.”

“Okay.” He feels a little dubious about the idea of pushing out shoulders, but rests both arms on the chair in front of him and pushes until he feels the babe begin to turn inside him. “Ohhh. Mmmmmmmm. S’working.”

Static crowds out her voice. “You’re doing so well, y… trong. Bear down with the next con…n. You mi…”

His heart jumps into his throat. “Doctor?!”

“…storm’s getting… isten, you can p…cond shoulder out af…r you push out the first one, okay?”

“What?”

“Y… an pull out seco… oulder after you… one!”

“Doc, I can’t— hoooooh lord.” What must be the baby’s shoulder digs at his poor stinging taint. He grits his teeth and pushes, pushes— then yelps as it pops free. He reaches back to feel, finding one shoulder out. The doctor’s words suddenly click, and he shifts back onto his heels, dropping the phone to reach for the squirming purple shape between his legs with both hands. A tug, a final yelp of pain, and he pulls the infant out of his body.

He wilts where he kneels, legs trembling, wincing at the sensation of blood and water pouring from him, feeling the cord stretch over his belly. The babe makes odd, jerky movements against him, unused to stretching its limbs so far. He fumbles for the warm sterile rag and uses it to rub vigorously at the child, removing gunk and encouraging its blood to flow, until finally, a small, warbling cry bursts out.

His hands start to shake. It’s alive. A living thing just came out of him. He pushed it out, and here it is, his responsibility now. An ugly little thing, somehow already so precious to him that his ribs feel too small to contain his heart.

With shaky breaths, he reaches for the phone, hanging by its cord around a slat of the chair. It’s still connected, though he hears only a few stray syllables of voice between bouts of static.

“Doctor, I dunno if you can hear me, but— it came out. I- I had the baby. I guess you can hear the cryin’. But we’re both okay. He’s healthy. M-mighty strong lungs. Hah. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“…lad you’re s… good jo… e afterb… kay?”

“Uh… can you repeat—?”

Suddenly the static rises, and the line goes dead. The rising howl of wind outside leaves little question as to the culprit. He stares at the cold, dark world outside the small window, then back at the wrinkly little creature in his arms.

“Hello,” he breathes. “Sorry, everything’s a mess, buddy, I didn’t know…” He swallows thickly, trying not to think about how little idea he has of what to do.

But it isn’t so hard. When the babe’s little mouth begins to root across his skin, it only makes sense to bring it to his tingling nipple. He ties and cuts the cord while the babe drinks, and replaces the cooling rag with a warm blanket.

Though he has a vague idea that the afterbirth is supposed to come, he waits on the birthing mat for a long while, and nothing happens. He tries tugging at the end of the cord still coming out of him, and winces as it does nothing but strain his poor cunt. He does begin to have contractions again, and feels it shifting lower in his hips, far heavier than he would have guessed, but it’s certainly taking its sweet time. He winces and rubs at the still-bloated curve of his belly. He supposes it’ll come when it comes, and gets up.

He removes a drawer from his dresser and makes a tiny bed of it, and does his best to firmly swaddle the babe before resting it inside. Though he did not know it existed a mere few hours ago, he can’t stop looking at it, now, constantly checking to be sure it’s okay as he showers away the filth of childbirth. When he’s done, he squats over the drain and bears down, hoping to be rid of the afterbirth. Nothing comes out, but a contraction does grip him, so he figures it can’t be long.

Though he’s exhausted, he’s far too excitable to sleep, and he doesn’t want the afterbirth coming in his bed, anyway, so he stays up. He nurses the new babe, and groans softly as the contractions mount, leaving his muscles feeling limp and shaky.

Two hours after he pushed out the babe, he feels the need to push again. The oppressive weight inside of him makes him groan, squatting and rocking his hips at his bedside. He never knew the afterbirth was such an unpleasant ordeal. It hurts as badly as giving birth!

On a particularly hard push, he feels a release of pressure, and water gushes between his legs as the weight suddenly plunges low enough to sting his cunt. He gasps and moans like he’s touched a hot stove, instinctively shaking his head. God. God, it’s just like…

His eyes fly open. A sense of deja vu washes over him as he thinks no way, and reaches between his legs. He dips his fingers into his tender hole—

And there it is. The curve of a skull.

A twin.

“Good lord,” he whispers. “Lord, lord, this can’t be, it, it…”

A contraction wrings him out, the second baby beginning to strain his cunt lips. He shakes his head, desperate not to go through this again, but there’s nothing he can do. He tries to breathe, to stay steady, as his body births the second unexpected bastard of the day.

He thanks the lord for the doctor’s help, remembering her words when the crowning comes. This time he screams through it, screams until his voice gives out, his already-battered cunt forced to endure the stretch of another head so soon after the first. He survives the slow emergence, resisting his desperate need to push, and then finally, it’s time.

He bears down with all his might. But this time, the head doesn’t come. The contraction leaves him, and he hangs his head, wheezing. That’s okay. He’ll get it on the next one.

“C’mon, baby,” he mumbles, “I know it’s cold out here, but it’s not so bad. There’s blankets, daddy’s milk… c’mon…”

But he can’t push it out on the next contraction, either. “What- what, no—“ he pants, shaking his head as the contraction fades, the babe moved no further. “No, no, c’mon! Get out! Get outta me!”

But it doesn’t come. He pushes until his legs tremble under him, fingers cramping from gripping the sheets. Unsure how much longer he can keep himself upright, he shakily shifts back, minding the globe of stretched tissue and heavy head bulging between his legs, and lays down.

Pushing from this position is significantly harder, the child’s weight like an anvil on his lower spine, but he’s too weak to change positions again. He closes his eyes against the dripping sweat and gives everything he has, then more, until his whole body trembles. Pitifully he shakes his head and thrusts his hips, trying to force it out. He pushes, and pushes, and pushes, and he burns, and burns, and—

“Fuck!”

The head bursts out in a gush of fluids. He lies there panting. He can’t quite bring himself to feel the wonder he felt the first time. It’s just another person emerging from his pussy. At least it’s almost over.

He pushes on the shoulders, readying his hands to catch the child. The head eases forward, further, further, rising as the swell of the shoulder stretches him. But he has to stop for breath, and the babe sinks back in, chin smushed flat to his body, shoulders dragged back in. He groans in frustration and pain. Okay, okay, one more. Just one more.

But the shoulders don’t come on the next one. Or the next. In fact, he pushes again and again for the next several contractions, and nothing happens. Panic gives him his second wind, and he drags himself back to squatting beside the bed. He pushes that way, but nothing changes.

He tries on his knees, on his side, standing, even walking. But the head only ever bobs between his legs, no more of the babe to be seen.

Oh no.

“It’s stuck,” he gasps, feeling it bob between his thighs as he pants for air. “It’s stuck!”

He wants to pull on it, but what if he hurts it? Wants to stretch his pussy, but even when he tries, he can’t get his fingers in there. God, he needs a doctor, he needs—

The bottom drops out of his stomach. He realizes what he has to do.

He chooses thick, loose clothes. Heavy boots. Hisses through his teeth as he pulls on his long johns, dizzied by the shape poking between his thighs. Even after he adds his trousers and overalls, it’s still an absurd stretch between his legs, straining the fabric. It’s hard to think about anything other than the weight of it, an ongoing emergency that shifts with each gasp for air and slides just the barest bit out with each contraction before coming back in, so reluctant to leave him.

He bundles up his firstborn as tightly as he can, and binds them to his chest, hoping he struck the right balance between protecting them from the storm and leaving them room to breathe.

And he sets off into the storm.

He doesn’t walk so much as rock methodically from one foot to the next, feeling with every step how the body burdening him spreads his cervix and fills his pussy and hangs from cunt.

It’s a long journey, especially when contractions slow him every few minutes. He knows it does no good to push, but he can’t help himself, stopping to lean against trees or fence posts and roaring through his teeth as he bares down, trying to budge the child. But he never feels more than the head inching forward and sinking back. He grits his teeth and swallows back bitter tears, trying to hush the voices that ask how he can think himself a man when his body gapes around a child.

Finally, in the distance, he glimpses light through the storm. He drags himself a few paces forward to be sure his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him, and then screams with what’s left of his voice for help. He sounds garish, throat stripped by hours of labor.

Beneath the whistle of the storm, he hears a door slam. Then— yes, thank god, footsteps.

“Who’s there?” a voice calls, feminine, but harsher and accented differently than the doctor’s. He doesn’t even have any energy left for fear when the barrel of a shotgun precedes her in entering his lantern light.

“Please,” he croaks, knees shaking. “Need- th’doctor. My baby…”

She lowers the gun immediately, eyes wide. “It was—? Okay, right, come on.” She bounds over and wraps a broad arm around him. He whimpers and must reach down to grip the head of his half-born child as he stumbles forward, but he manages to keep her pace.

The woman leads him to the stoop of a humble house and opens the door, and there inside, with warm lamplight glowing through her curls, the good doctor waits for him. For a moment, her gently clasped hands and the shawl pouring over her arms make her look like she belongs in one of those windows in those fancy churches in town.

“Doc,” he whispers.

Then she rushes towards him, looking rumpled and half-dressed, like she woke only moments ago. “Farmer Bryce!?”

“His baby,” the other woman says, closing the door behind them. His ears ring with the sudden absence of the storm.

The doctor scoops his firstborn from the little sling, eyes sharp and intent as she looks the child over. “What’s happened? Did—?”

“Not that one.” Finally he lets his trembling knees win, and stumbles back against the door. He unclasps his overalls and grabs a handful of fabric around his waist, clumsily pulling it all down to reveal the head jutting from his swollen-red pussy.

“Jesus christ!” says the broad woman.

The doctor’s eyes go wide, but she wastes no time being startled, handing the swaddled babe off to her companion. “Bring clean linens, boiling water, and my instruments. I’ll call if I need a hand.”

“Right,” she the other womanfaintly, and tears her eyes away from the spectacle before vanishing into some direction that he doesn’t bother to look at, because he’s having another contraction.

“God…” He sounds like a dead man. Unable to deny instinct, he gives a feeble push, and his own head falls back against the door with a whimper as the child’s head bobs between his thighs. “S’stuck,” he murmurs. “Came out… b’fore midnight, and I been pushin’ since then. Hasn’t budged…”

The doctor comes close, looking very, very serious. A cold pit opens in his chest.

“You need to do exactly as I say.”

“O-okay.”

She bends and finishes pulling off his bottoms, leaving his bare legs trembling below the layers of shirts and coat up top. “Get on your back.”

She helps him fumble his way to the floor, tucking one of her hands under the baby’s head so he doesn’t have to worry about hurting them as he situates himself. Just as he’s almost flat, the other woman returns with one arm stacked full of supplies.

“Thanks, love,” the doc says, and takes the sheet first, spreading it under his hips. She tells him, “Now pull your legs back as far as you can,” and it says a lot about how dire the situation is that it only occurs to him to be humiliated now, as if everyone in the room hasn’t already seen that he’s a man with a baby hanging out of his pussy.

Still, the good doctor must catch the look on his face as he starts to pull his thighs back, because she grabs the rest of her supplies and hurries the other woman out of the room. She surveys his best efforts to follow her directions, then leans forward and pushes his knees even further back, wrenching a groan out of him as his heavy pussy is tilted up and his thighs press against the still-swollen sides of his belly.

“There we go,” she says. “We’re gonna wait for a contraction, then I’m gonna push on your belly to help you get the baby out. I believe one of their shoulders is stuck on your pubic bone.”

He nods, trying not to let his heavy eyes shut. “Will it hurt?”

“…Yes, but no more than what you’ve already experienced.”

One of his cheeks twitches as he tries to smile at that. Then his face falls.

“Ohhh, here it comes—“

“Push!”

“Hnnnnnnngh!”

He digs his fingers into the backs of his thighs, jams his chin to his chest, and pushes as hard as he can. The world goes quiet and his head feels light. Every muscle trembles. Then there’s a completely new type of pain. His clenched eyes flutter open just long to see the doc shoving both hands hard into his lower belly, denting the round surface, and he wails at the sensation of his cramping womb stretching around the child as she manipulates it inside him. Like a kick to the pelvis, or a dozen, and still he must push.

But suddenly the doc cries, “There!” and something lurches against his spine, then pressure jabs at his cunt. He breaks the push with a yelp of surprise, but the shoulder still comes barreling out of him. He screams at the stretch, head falling back, panting.

“Oh… good god…”

“Good! Good, now I’m gonna pull the baby out, okay?”

He barely has time to cringe before the second shoulder stretches him, and finally the oppressive weight inside him slips out. He feels absolutely empty, like a load-bearing piece has been removed and his skeleton will simply crumble. All he can do is lie there.

After a little bit of rustling and the sound of skin patting skin, the baby’s cries pierce the air.

His chest heaves, and tears spill over his cheeks. “Everything okay?” he croaks.

“Yeah. Well- he likely has a shoulder injury, but nothing serious. You did it, Mr. Bryce.”

He rolls his head back and forth on the floor, as close to shaking it as he can bother with right now. “Think… think we’re on a first name basis, doc.”

She huffs a deep, crackling laugh. “Right. Penelope. And you’re… Benjamin, right?”

“Benny.”

“Right. You did it, Benny. You’re a daddy.”

[crookedsuits]

A King's Labor

(re-brand of a king should labor effortlessly)

Chapter 6. The Squatting

Words 1478 | mpreg, birth, elven customs, public masturbation, giving birth in public, giving birth in clothes

He had done as the healer had instructed, turning the screw in the machination every hour. His passage was screaming for something to fill it. The emptiness of the open ring was horrid.

It was late morning already when Aldoran forced his tired and pained body out of the bed. His belly hung so low, but it was rigid with a contraction, and Aldoran fought against pushing. He rubbed his belly and dressed into a simple robe. He had to eat.

Walking was a shameful thing in his condition. His belly was so heavy that the king had to carry it with his hands, and now the metal ring spreading his anus open, forcing him to waddle even wider than before. He could feel fluid dripping from his gaping hole with every contraction. He couldn’t keep from pushing as he walked, but he kept them short and gentle. 

Breakfast was served for him as he arrived in the dining hall. He looked at the food, leaning on the table for support while approaching his seat. 

”Ouhh!” Aldoran moaned as he sat down heavily, the contraption in his ass feeling unnatural in every possible way. ”Ahhh…” his hips bucked, hard cock searching for some friction. Oh, what he wouldn’t have done to have something fill his opening. Preferably his baby. 

Breakfast was slow to progress. He was struggling to eat as his belly contracted. He had to hurry, as he was to meet a lord soon after, and he still had to change his clothes.

His servant had picked out a robe for him. It was a glorious golden shade with metal ornaments along the whole front. Lacing in the back made it all the more beautiful. Struggling to fit into his robe while his anus was constantly stretched open was torturous. Once the robe was on him, a servant took up the task of lacing the back tightly. Aldoran moaned as pressure increased in his belly each time the servant tightened the laces. The metal detailing in the front of the robe didn’t allow room for any expansion. 

He had asked the servant not to tie it up so tight, and still, once the robe was on him, his belly was tighter than a drum against the fabric and its detailing. 

The elegantly dressed lord of his kingdom was waiting for him at the meeting table when Aldoran finally made it to the chamber. He tried to stand with his head held high, but the compression of his clothes on his contracting belly made him want to curl forward. 

”King Aldoran, thank you for meeting me”, the lord said as he stood up upon seeing his king. He bowed his head, but Aldoran saw the scrutinous look that he gave at his midsection. 

”Please”, Aldoran said and motioned him to sit back down, ”how may I help you. Is everything alright?” He tried to hide how difficult walking was for him. One foot in front of the other, he made his way to the opposite side of the meeting table. His belly was so tight, his ass so stretched as he sighed and sat down. He wanted to moan, but did not. 

As he sat, he could feel the pressure inside him growing as the fabric and metal detailing of his robe bunched up and pulled downwards. 

”Yes, my king, everything is fine. I was sent here by the council of the lords and ladies to check on you. To our understanding, your labor so far has not progressed quite as expected.”

Aldoran’s eyebrows shot up. They’d noticed. 

”No, no no, everything is perfectly fine and progressing as should. Maybe ever so slightly slow to our liking, but progressing nevertheless.” Aldoran responded, waiving his hand in dismissal. He steeled his face against the agony his tight robes caused him, paired with the contraction that now squeezed his womb as well. His anus twitched around the stretching mechanism, and the king’s hand went to hold his belly.

”Oh? Would you mind describing your progression, my king? The council will be happy to hear of it!” 

Aldoran smiled even as his teeth were grinding against each other as his body forced him to push. He could feel the mass inside his passage move lower by the second. The pressure of his tight robe pressed down on the huge mound of flesh and kept moving it lower and lower. 

”Of course!” The king chimed. He breathed deeply as he pushed again, gripping the table. ”Or even better, I can show you. Have the council fetched here and you just might see the birth tonight. The head is about to come out!” 

The face of the council member lit up as he stood and bowed, scurrying towards the door. 

”Oughhhhh…” Aldoran moaned now that he was alone, and immediately regretted inviting the council to watch. He would have to stay elegant, stay effortless. The king’s hands flew to palpate his belly. It was so tight against the embroidered tunic that he wasn’t able to make even the slightest dent in the dome. And it was so low. The huge mass inside his pelvis made it impossible to close his legs. 

If he could just birth the child before the council arrived. 

Aldoran moaned as he hurriedly stood up, the momentum causing an uncomfortable churn inside him. He heaved against the table, belly hanging heavy from his middle. Back arched, he pushed with the next contraction. A sharp grunt forced itself from the king’s throat as the stretching device clattered to the floor.

He didn’t bother to quiet down his moans as he felt the head of the baby closing in on his entrance. He brought his hand underneath the hem of the tunic and found his leaking anus. Oh gods, how his flesh was swollen and bulged out. The head felt huge, almost impossibly so. But he could feel the hot skin of his child inside, and as he pushed, it came closer. 

”Hoooo!” He heaved, grasping the table white-knuckled, knees bending to make more space in his hips. He was practically squatting in the meeting hall, hand feeling his anus, cock hard and dripping against his belly, as his asshole slowly but surely opened up to accommodate the emerging child.

”Oh I can feel it!” King Aldoran moaned at the feeling, ass twitching and trembling. 

”It’s coming outtttt!” He groaned low in his throat as the burning stretch assaulted his senses. ”Ooooh…. Ah…” moaning openly, lewd and wanton as his hips bucked to rub his cock against the hot skin of his belly, Aldoran pushed to birth his baby. The stretching was horrible, his rim burning. His lips were drawn into a grimace as he hissed through the pain. 

The door to the hall opened and the council, consisting of highly esteemed lords and ladies of the kingdom, as well as some friends and advisors, pooled in. Aldoran bit his lip as he stifled a scream from tearing from his throat as his anus opened around the babe’s head. The council watched in silence as the backside of the king's tight tunic began to bulge. It was slight at first, but as the king pushed, more and more started to show. 

It was clear there was progress now.

The council was suddenly surrounding the king, watching without blinking as his hands gripped the edge of the table and he squatted low. His large belly was protruding like a torpedo between his bent knees. It was mesmerizing. They had never witnessed a birth so difficult. The babe had to be large and strong to make their king struggle so. 

The king pushed, face reddening with effort. 

Then suddenly he screamed, his hips bucking one final time, and he collapsed to the ground, on his hands and knees. The backside of his tunic was straining with a bulge so big that it was obvious to everyone what had happened. The front of the fabric was stained with a wet splotch where the king had ejaculated while birthing the head. 

“It’s out… it’s out”, the king panted, exhausted. He reached for the tunic’s hem and struggled to pull it over his arse. 

Everyone in the room gasped as the babe’s head was revealed, for it was not a head. 

From inside the king’s obscenely stretched anus, parting his smooth ass cheeks, was a pair of legs and the bottom half of a torso. 

“It’s the wrong way!” Someone yelled in horror. One of the ladies was already halfway to the door, her mission to tell the entire kingdom what was going on inside the castle. 

“What?” Aldoran moaned as his belly tightened again in a contraction. His hand flew to touch between his legs and indeed found… legs. 

He collapsed onto the floor on top of his contracting belly as his world went dark.

[nightshadedumplings]

A massively pregnant man carrying ridiculously overdue and obese multiples, constantly on the verge of giving birth. He's panting and groaning on the couch, rubbing his bare, hairy belly because his shirt doesn't even begin to cover it and is instead stretched tightly over his engorged, leaking daddy tits.

"Gonna pop..." he's been moaning for months, feeling a head the size and weight of a bowling ball low in his hips, ready to fall right out from between his thick thighs. "Ohhhh, fuck, need to birth... t-too big... gonna burst...!"

His partner laughs as he passes by, rubbing the round, heavy daddy's belly, apparently just a bit too hard. His water breaks, flooding out of him and soaking the floor and couch, and he screams, contracting and pushing all in that one moment. That melon sized head barrels out of him, bulging his sweatpants which are already too tight for his pregnancy-fattened body. Yet, it pops right out, followed by the shoulders, until the thirty-five pound baby squelches out and into his pants.

[fireflyschiikawa]

husband!satoru : he has a nightmare

A cold draft blows through the window.

You shiver awoken from your sleep, disturbed, silently cussing yourself for not closing the window shut before going to bed.

You intend to move but before you can, you hear it.

A soft sob.

You look over at the tuft of white hair next to you.

Satorus’ hair glistens in the moonlight.

Slowly, you pull down the blanket covering his face.

Oh.

The sight you reveal makes your heart clench.

Eyebrows scrunched and nose slightly red, wet tears stream down your husband’s face.

His beauty unmatched yet his pain so silently devastating.

You watch, frozen as he mutters something under his breath. Your name.

After a year of marriage, and more of being his lover, you are familiar with his habit of sleep talking.

Usually it’s silly things, a curse he may be ridiculing, or a new sweet treat he tries out in his dreams.

But this, this is a first.

He looks so…..sad.

You gently bring your hand up to his face, wiping away a stray tear as you cup his cheek.

“Satoru” you say softly.

Prompted, his eyeballs move behind shut eyelids trying to escape whatever it is that troubles him.

You say his name 3 times, each attempt louder than the one before until finally he opens his eyes.

A storm-worn blue.

He awakens with a gasp eyes filled with terror, instantly locking onto yours.

Your heart swells.

“It’s okay, it was just a dream” you caress his face with your thumb, trying your best to soothe him.

He opens his mouth about to say something but stops, eyes raking over your face.

As if he couldn’t believe you were real.

His hand comes up and cups your hand that was soothing his face, his larger one engulfing your own.

He whispers your name, again-with such ache.

Nodding, your eyes follow a few more tears that slip out of his eye.

He inhales, ready to speak this time.

“You’re my best friend” his voice cracks.

His hand clutches yours tighter.

“I know” you affirm.

You lean forward placing small kisses onto his chin, his nose, both his cheeks and eyelids, lastly his forehead.

Satorus’ eyes flutter shut.

Exhausted, he starts to drift back to sleep.

One hand holding yours and the other on your back pulling you in tighter, closer to him.

You pull your blanket over the both of you, returning back to your slumber.

You knew then, what it was.

He is, in love.

firefly; part two where roles switch and reader has a nightmare? hmm decisions decisions.. (inspo from this song)

masterlist

[writing-nico]

Dirty Little Secrets

18+ Fiction, no minors allowed

Contains: Labor, childbirth, mention of past miscarriages, tmpreg, vaginal birth, slight birth denial, pregnancy denial, clothing birth, difficult birth, post apocalyptic setting, t4t, multiple births. About 9.4k words.

{A king, traumatized by multiple losses, has been in denial his entire pregnancy. Everything comes crumbling down when he gets word of his wife's impending return.}

To say that Iliad felt as if he had swallowed a stone would be an understatement. Every day he woke up expecting sharp pains, blood running down his legs, and the sting of grief over what might have been. Despite his anxiety, those sensations never came. He wore loose clothes, but as king, he didn't dress himself. Due to that factor, word spread through the palace about 25 weeks in. No one said anything directly to him, but the maids had quietly set up a nursery within his side of the palace for the seemingly impending arrival. 

Iliad couldn't bring himself to believe it. There had been seven before this. Three times he had gotten his hopes up, twice that he had been terrified, and twice that he had just cried in his wife's arms at the news. They all ended the same, and even though he had come to expect it more each time, it didn't hurt any less. To avoid that feeling, he opted to be silent about it. He hadn't told anyone, not even Edith. 

It was ridiculous that it had gone on this long, but what was he to do now? His wife, the queen, had begun her diplomatic journey through the broken remains of what used to be the one large country the day after he found out. He’d thought to tell her, but seeing how stressed she was to appease their allies and adversaries, Iliad clammed up. He couldn't put anything else on her then, especially when it was unlikely to come to fruition, so he kept it to himself. He had watched her leave and simply hoped that the family he did have would return. He moved on, or so he thought, maintaining Reuben and the palace; waiting for this too, to pass. 

All Iliad wanted was to be in the forge, continuing a project, but every time he arrived, he was promptly (though politely) shooed out. Instead, he had settled for fixing up a nearly eighty year old 3D printer. Finding parts had been difficult and storing enough electricity himself to power it for longer than a few minutes was also a challenge, but that gave him something to do other than wait. 

As the months passed by it was getting more and more difficult to sit for long periods of time to work and today was no exception. Being forty weeks and two days pregnant meant that everything hurt, he was constantly exhausted, and he could barely breathe. At least until a week ago, when he started getting cramps. He was relieved at first, it was finally over. Soon he could go back to his normal life of tinkering and get over the inevitable grief. Then, his belly dropped and it threw him for a loop. Being physically able to breathe again was the strangest sensation after so long, but mentally, he was more panicked than ever before. He had no idea what he was doing, he hadn't prepared for a baby, and he hadn't even admitted to himself that he was pregnant. 

Instead of figuring any of that out, he opted to keep tinkering, completely in denial. It was fine for the time being, but the way that these cramps had been hitting him today, he knew deep down that he wouldn't be able to keep it up much longer. That was the thought he kept shoving away as a knock came to the door of his workshop. 

“May I come in?” 

He recognized the voice of Kallan, his ever growing shadow, immediately. He didn't even look up or stop fiddling with his screwdriver to answer. 

“Go ahead.” He replied.

The door opened and the young man entered the room, taking a look around. At the silence, Iliad finally stopped to look at him and scratched his beard. 

“What is it, Kallan?” He asked tiredly. 

Kallan’s jaw clenched and he swallowed thickly. Nervously, he pulled on the collar of his shirt. 

“I was told to let you know that the queen is on her way, she should be returning tomorrow morning.” He said. 

On the outside, Iliad kept his face even, but he was sure that he felt his heart stop and then resume. Hearing every beat in his ears, he gave Kallan a curt nod and returned to his work. 

“Thank you, Kallan. Have the palace begin preparation for her arrival. You know her favorites by now, I hope?” He said. 

Through the corner of his eye, he saw Kallan shift on his feet and confusion flash over his face before he remembered who he was speaking to. “Of course, my king.” He said. He paused, it seemed like he wanted to say something and Iliad already knew what it was about. He wasn't going to give him the chance. 

“You are dismissed, Kallan.” He said, trying to ignore his goggles fogging up on his face. 

“Alright. I will let you know how the preparations go. Have a good rest of your day, sir.” He said. 

Finally, he politely shut the door behind him, leaving Iliad alone with his thoughts. He tried to keep tinkering, even as his heart raced, tears pricked his eyes, and his breaths grew shallow. Eventually, he dropped the screwdriver and ripped off his goggles, feeling hot all of a sudden. He moved to push his elbows into his thighs, but was stopped by his massive burden. He cried out and pressed them into the table instead, resting his head in his hands. Tears ran down his arms as he cried silently. Even though everyone knew, he still didn't want to be heard. The curve of his belly jumped as he sobbed, making the weight of his situation even more apparent. What the hell was he going to do now? How was he supposed to continue? Would any of the palace staff tell Edith? Did he have to keep doing this alone? He didn't think he could take much more, and as more cramps spread through him, he was sure that his body felt the same. 

Iliad didn't sleep much that night, mostly due to worry, but also because the pain would interrupt his weariness. He still didn't know what to think. What was he going to say to his wife when she saw him? He had always been stocky, and his large breasts masked the growth of his belly a bit, but he’d never been this heavy. Even if Edith didn't immediately suspect that he was pregnant, surely she’d notice the changes. Maybe he’d tell her that he’d wanted it to be a surprise? Lie and say that he’d sent letters but she’d just never gotten them? Maybe he could tell her the truth, that he was afraid of losing this one too. That he hadn't expected to get this far. 

He found himself resting his hand on the crest of his abdomen, his silver wedding ring gleaming in the moonlight. Even if he had gotten this far, there was no guarantee that this child would live. There was still time, he could cope with another loss. It could still be ripped from him, and he wanted to be prepared for when it was. As he thought, he felt movement under his hand and pulled away as if he had been burned. He wanted to roll over and turn his back on the moon, forcing his eyes shut, but he was currently pinned on that side. Too heavy to move. 

His shabby alarm clock pulled him out of his light sleep the next morning. Tiredly, he pressed his old project to make it stop and lifted his head to read the hands. It was five in the morning. Four hours of sleep simply wasn't enough. Iliad felt worse than when he’d gotten into a bottle of twenty year old melatonin as a kid. Despite that feeling, it wouldn't be like him not to show up to meet his wife. 

Pulling himself out of bed had proved to be a chore. The burden attached to him tried to drag him back into the sheets, along with his sleepiness. Eventually, he sat on the edge of the mattress with the comforter kicked off to the side. He sighed and brushed his curls out of his face, letting his hazel eyes meet the morning sun. His belly rested firmly on his knees, pressing his feet into the floor. 

“Sir?” Kallan called through the door. 

Iliad huffed in annoyance and turned towards it. 

“Yes?” He asked. 

“The queen is supposed to be arriving within the next hour. Should I call the housekeepers to dress you?” Kallan asked. 

Iliad sucked a weary breath in through his nose. “Of course. Thank you, Kallan.” He said. 

A curt hum came from the other side. “My pleasure, sir.” He said. 

After a moment, Kallan's footsteps departed, leaving Iliad alone again. Preparing for his servants to arrive, he rolled his neck and pressed his hands into the bed, trying to stand. As soon the remainder of his core muscles tightened, a flash of pain rushed through him. He winced and plopped back down, hearing the bed springs squeak.

His left hand flew to his belly before he pulled it away again. He didn't want to acknowledge the pain, but it was intense. His womb hardened as he gritted his teeth, waiting for it to pass. This couldn't be happening. He wasn't ready. He was afraid. 

After a few moments of holding his breath, the ache subsided. He let out a long wheeze and rubbed his hand down his face, a light layer of perspiration was left on his hand. Without even knowing, he had spread his legs, letting his belly fall between them. As soon as he realized, he closed them and felt something cold and wet in his undergarments. He frowned and tried to look down, before remembering that he wouldn't be able to see anyway. As he tried to figure out what to do next, someone knocked on his door. 

“Sir?” Another voice asked. 

It was the other servants, he had to do something before they came in. Almost losing his balance, he pushed himself off of the bed and began to rush to the adjoining bathroom. 

“Just a second!” He called back. 

As soon as he shut the door, he pulled his pants down and sat on the toilet, finding a clump of mucus in his underwear. He could feel all of the blood rushing away from his face. Iliad had lost mucus plugs before, but never all at once or one that seemed so…healthy? He wasn't really sure what that meant, but it wasn't mostly blood like before. He huffed and rested his head in his hands again. 

This was real. This baby could come any day now and he had no idea what he was doing. Had he really just spent over ten months ignoring it and hoping that it would go away like the others? What the fuck? As he started to wonder what his next move would be, another ache, which he just barely acknowledged was a contraction crept up on him, tightening him up. The way things were going, this baby was probably coming sooner rather than later. 

His wife was coming back, he wasn't prepared for anything, and he still wanted to believe that this was some dream that he would just wake up from. Hell, he was forty, what was he doing having a baby? Would they be healthy? Did they have a cord wrapped around them? Had he eaten enough? He started to pace, until he remembered that his underwear was ruined. Still out of it, he cleaned them and changed. Hopefully, he hadn't taken too long. 

After a tiring waddle to his bedroom door, he opened it, letting the servants inside. Soren, head of his team, was the first to greet him with a slightly anxious smile. 

“Good morning, sir. How are you feeling?” He asked, others trailed behind him with clothes for him to choose from. 

Iliad shifted his eyes in thought. 

‘Like a death row inmate on his way to the electric chair.’

“I'm well, thank you. How far out is Edith?” He asked as he was surrounded by servants, who ushered him to the seat of his and his wife’s shared vanity. 

“About half an hour sir, so we must make haste. Do you have any suggestions for us today?” Soren asked.

Iliad did his best not to move as his hair and beard were trimmed. “Surprise me.” He said. At this point, he didn't care, he was just trying to prepare for Edith’s wrath. 

Soren blinked curiously. “Alright then.” He replied. 

Iliad noticed that his employees tried to keep him seated as much as possible and while he hated so many people knowing, he appreciated the effort. His feet and ankles were far too swollen to be standing for long periods of time. Not to mention the cramps that would come every now and then. He worked to keep his face even, especially as they worked on his hair and make up, but it was proving difficult, especially since he had just acknowledged that he was even pregnant. He could feel the baby pressing low, pushing against his cervix like a hydraulic press. For the first time, he allowed himself to rest a hand over his aches, hoping to soothe them. It didn't do much. 

Through the corner of his eye, he noticed a maid reach for his binding tape. He shifted his eyes towards her, feeling a bit of panic rising in his chest. If he was bound, it would only make his belly more apparent, and his breasts were already tender. 

“Not today, Lily.” He told her. 

Lily nodded and moved on to another task. Iliad sighed inwardly as he was dressed. Eventually, he donned a white silk shirt, a black suit with silver detailing, the coat was a bit big on him and the color was slimming, so he was concealed as much as he could be while being heavily pregnant. White lace gloves encased his hands, he wore a silver necklace in the shape of a collared lizard, black dress shoes that would have been too big for him months ago, and a long white cloak with a hood and a silver clasp to further hide his form. 

Soren helped him to his feet and he stood in front of the mirror, suddenly very aware of what he looked like. His cheeks had filled out, his nose and lips were swollen, his freckles were blotchy, his jawline was barely there, and his belly looked as if he were on the verge of liver failure. He clicked his tongue and shook his head at himself. He was so fucked.

“Is something wrong, sir?” Soren asked. 

“I can't go see her like this.” He said. 

He hadn't even meant to say such a thing, an admission, but it just rolled off of his tongue before he could think. This was insane. Who did he think he was fooling?

“I'm sorry, we must have gotten the wrong measurements for the shirt. I can send for another o-”

Iliad cut Soren off with a bitter smile. “Thank you, but that won't be necessary. There's nothing more I can do to hide this.” He said. 

“I'm sure the queen won't mind, in fact she’ll be overjoyed. I know how long you have wanted children.” Soren replied, trying to reassure him. 

“She would be, if she knew.” Iliad said. 

The room froze. He wasn't really looking at them but he caught the eyes of several servants lock onto each other in shock. Soren blinked, confused. 

“Pardon me?” He asked. 

“She doesn't know. I never told her.” Iliad clarified. 

“Oh, that's… quite the revelation.” Soren said quietly.

Iliad huffed and made a blank face. “What did you think I was doing all this time?” He asked. 

Soren hesitated. 

“Just say something. I'm not going to persecute you.” Iliad grumbled. 

The servant looked at his eyes through the mirror rather than directly at him. “I suppose I assumed that you simply didn't want to talk about it. It makes sense considering….” He trailed off, letting the heavy silence of implication fall between them. 

“Alright, I suppose that's fair, but I actually just couldn't believe it. I didn't want to.” He admitted, trying to keep calm so that he wouldn't ruin his make up. 

“My king, if I may?” Despite asking, Soren didn't wait for his reply. “After everything you've been through, I don't blame you for reacting that way, but the queen is your wife. You’ll have to tell her at some point. Hopefully before you have a newborn on your hands.” 

Iliad nodded. “I know, but she's going to be upset with me.” He said. 

“Probably, but there's really nothing you can do about that now. You will just have to take accountability. We’ll be here no matter what happens.” Soren replied.

Iliad let out a deep sigh, blinking back tears. “You're right.” He said.

As the conversation died, another knock came to the door. Trying not to let his voice crack, he ushered the newcomers in. Two knights from the royal guard entered the room and bowed to him. 

“My liege, the queen has arrived.” One said. 

Iliad bit the inside of his cheek and hid his arms under the cloak. He had thought to force a smile, but decided not to, just wishing that he could fast forward through his doom. 

“Rise. Take me to her, please.” He replied. 

The knights rose and escorted him from his chambers, leaving the servants in shock. 

Iliad’s hips and back aches with every step. Noticing this, the guards slowed down to match his pace, stopping when he started to become short of breath. While he was grateful to have attentive staff, he couldn't help but feel embarrassed. The staff had been silently accommodating him all this time and he had said nothing to thank them. He hadn't even acknowledged the baby growing inside of him. 

After another pause to rest, Iliad took in a deep breath and sighed. 

“Thank you.” 

The guards nodded curly and waited for him to start walking again. Iliad was in disbelief about how big the palace was. Every stair, hallway, and corridor winded him. He was always a bigger man, but being pregnant had nothing on that. He gritted his teeth at the thought. The word, pregnant, stuck with him after so long in denial. It was a sickening feeling. 

Finally, after another half an hour, he reached the great hall, greeted by the beautiful sight of his wife. As soon as she heard his footsteps, she whipped around to look at him. When he looked at her face, his breath was taken away again. It had been seven months since he’d seen her and she had only become more enchanting. 

Edith’s presence commanded any room that she was in. Having been the crown prince in her youth and brave enough to become a queen, she knew her power. She was six foot three and made of lean muscle. Her long, dark red coils graced her shoulder blades, her smooth, dark brown skin had a healthy glow, and her deep brown eyes absorbed the sun like quartz crystals. 

Then, there was her smile. Her raw happiness and love bled through the gap in her teeth and stretched her repaired cleft lip to its limits. Her dimples seemed ready to poke through her cheeks. She was precious. How could he have hidden so much from the woman that he loved? 

Iliad froze as Edith giggled and ran up to him, her suit of silver armor sending echoes through the palaces. She opened her arms and before he could even think, she was lifting him off the ground to hug and kiss him. 

“My king! It's been an eternity!” She breathed blissfully. 

Iliad stiffened, accidentally pressing his belly into himself, causing his womb to cramp. He winced in pain. Edith immediately, but gently set him back on his feet, her eyes filled with worry. 

“I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you. Are you okay?” She asked, dusting off his shoulders. 

As the contraction faded, Iliad sighed and smiled softly, momentarily forgetting about the predicament that he was in. 

“I'm fine, Edie. I was just a little surprised.” He said. 

His heart instantly sank at the lie, as he was brought back to reality. Forty weeks and two days pregnant. How was he supposed to admit that to her now? 

Nodding, Edith rested her hand on the small of his back and began to walk with him down the hallway. 

“I have so much to tell you about my journey to the east coast! And I brought you gifts! We can catch up before the banquet.” She said excitedly. 

Seven months of catching up to do. If they were getting ready to do that, now was a good opportunity. He could get it out of the way quickly, before things got worse. 

“That's exciting, dear. I have something to tell you too.” He said, trying to keep up with her pace. 

Edith's eyes felt like lasers staring into his soul when she turned to him, her loving smile stretching larger. 

“Oh!? What is it? I’d love to hear what you’ve been getting up to, Iliad.” She said excitedly. 

It took everything in him not to avoid her eyes. He swallowed thickly as he tried to think of what to say next. 

‘I’m heavily pregnant and I’ve been hiding it from you for over half a year!’

‘I’m in early labor and yes, it's yours.’

‘Surprise! We’re probably having a baby today!’

Despite a couple moments of sarcastic thoughts, he drew a blank. How was he supposed to tell her such a big secret now? What would she think of him afterwards? She would never trust him again! 

“Oh, it's nothing important. I’d love to hear your stories first.” He relented, his voice trembling with both anxiety and shortness of breath. 

Edith's brows furrowed so briefly that if Iliad had blinked, he would have missed it. 

“Are you sure? It's only seven in the morning. We have until five in the evening to talk. I would be a lousy wife if I didn't want to listen to the love of my life.” She asked, her smile waning. 

‘She’s giving you a chance. Just come out and say it!’

Still, her slightly fallen face terrified him. He couldn't imagine how upset she would be when he told her after all this time. They rarely fought, and even then, she rarely was angry at him, but disappointment and lost trust was worse. He couldn't be on the receiving end of that. 

“No!” He blurted out. 

Edith jumped back a bit. Seeing that, Iliad cleared his throat and tried to compose himself. 

“I mean, no. It's fine. I can wait. Really.” He said. 

Edith nodded with a low hum. Iliad recognized it well. It meant that she was only conceding for now. 

“Okay then, I have a lot to tell you. Have you ever tried a Philly cheese steak?” She asked. 

The couple spent blissful hours talking over tea and overseeing the banquet preparations. Edith came home with a few new scars that he fussed over, points of view, and experiences. Despite the pit in his stomach, Iliad laughed more than once with her. He even told her a few things that had happened at the palace while she was away, dancing around his pregnancy nervously. 

While she listened, he noticed many curious looks on her face and he would change the subject to let her talk when he got too close to admitting the truth. All the while, he could feel the baby kicking and getting lower. He tried to ignore it, some people labored for days, it might not happen any time soon. He just needed more time to figure out how he was going to tell her. 

 Before long, it was three in the afternoon and time to get dressed for the celebration of the Queen's return. Edith gave him a kiss goodbye as she went with her lady’s maids to get out of her travel clothes, leaving Iliad feeling alone. As she left, he stared in her direction until she wasn't even there anymore. 

“Sir?” Kallan asked, snapping him out of his trance. 

He whipped his body around, or at least attempted to. He was so heavy that it nearly knocked him off balance, not to mention that tightening his core to move only added pressure. He winced and immediately raised his right hand to his roundness, feeling his womb constrict under his skin and muscles. It was the strangest thing that he had ever experienced. 

“Are you alright?” The young man asked, reaching out to him, just barely stopping before he made contact. 

Iliad waved him off and nodded, gritting his teeth until the pain stopped. When it did, he gasped loudly and deeply as his muscles finally relaxed. As he came out of it panting, he noticed that he had hunched over, letting his belly hang between his knees. His left hand had a white knuckled grip on his necklace. The lizard's collar left prints on his palm. 

“Sir. Have you been timing your…” Kallan hesitated for a moment before speaking. “...pains?” He asked gently.

Iliad shook his head. “This is the first one that's really taken me out like that.” He admitted. 

“I'm not the most educated on the matter, but you might be in active labor. Do you want me to summon the queen and doctors?” Soren asked. 

At the mention of his wife, Iliad’s breath hitched. He responded without thinking. 

“No. I'm fine. The ba- it might not happen today and I want Edith to enjoy her first day home without stress.” He responded gravelly. 

Kallan looked absolutely mortified. “My king, are you sure? This is serious. You're in pain. You need to be resting to prepare for- for the ordeal.” He urged. 

Iliad shook his head. “I can't.” He whimpered. 

“But si-”

“Just help me to my chambers. That's an order, Kallan.” He grumbled. 

Kallan shut his lips tight and nodded. Gently, he helped the king stand and let him lean on his shoulder as they walked. Now, instead of stopping because he was short of breath, they stopped to let him groan out the pain every five to seven minutes. 

Iliad was silent as the servants dressed him for the banquet, looking upon him with worry as they wiped sweat off of his face every so often. He could see how uneasy everyone was, especially Soren and Kallan. They clearly wanted to advise him to get help, but being that he was their king and he was barely acknowledging the fact that he was pregnant, let alone in labor, there wasn't much that they could do. 

His outfit was similar to what he had worn earlier that morning. After working with his contractions, he donned a black damask shirt, it was heavy against his hot skin, but it masked his parous belly enough. A deep blue cotton suit covered more and a grey, velvet cloak graced his shoulders and back. 

After they were done, he tried to stand, but was weighed down by his belly and lingering pain. He let out a long huff and silently raised his hand. Soren took it and lifted him to his feet. Just from that, Iliad was exhausted and leaning on the other man for support as he caught his breath. 

“Thank you.” He whispered with effort.

Soren nodded quietly and waited for the king to let go. Slowly this time, he turned to the hodgepodge alarm clock by his bedside, finding that it was already 5:03 in the evening. He swallowed hard as his heart picked up speed. With the way this baby was battering his body, he was going to be incredibly late for the banquet. What would Edith say? What would their guests think? The delay could probably confuse everyone. 

Should he concede to the contractions and call the night off? He pressed his hand to his belly as he tried to think. Any reasonable person would give in. Hell, a reasonable person would have never been in this situation in the first place. He had to get out of this. Damn the thoughts of everyone else, this was an emergency. He was going to give birth, and soon. 

A sudden knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts and he looked up. He turned to Soren, who started for the entrance. He took one second to look at the peephole before turning around. 

“It's the queen, sir.” He said, barely hiding his own anxiety. 

Iliad's temperature and heart rate were at an all time high now. His queen, his love, was on the other side of that door, probably wondering what was taking him so long. All of his resolve washed away at the thought of her face. 

“Let her in.” He said sternly, straightening himself up. 

Soren looked upon him with disbelief, his jaw dropped and trembled as he started to protest. 

“But si-”

“Please, Soren.” Iliad said, his voice crumbling. 

Soren bit his lip and nodded bitterly, opening the door for Edith. Calmly, with knights at her side, his angel on earth entered the room. She wore a deep blue, floor length, off the shoulder trumpet gown that glittered silver. Every curve of hers was gently hugged. Her hair was styled in hundreds of voluminous mini twists adorned with gems that shone just like her eyes. 

She seemed concerned at first, but when she laid eyes on him, her expression shifted into a soft smile. Love flowed from her big brown eyes. 

“Oh, there you are. Are you ready?” She asked. 

‘Not at all.’ He thought. 

Instead, he forced a smile and nodded, carefully walking towards her to take her hand in his. 

Most of the banquet was a blur for Iliad from the start of the walk to the first dance. He did his best to sit through the event, smile and make conversation, but as the hours passed, it was getting harder and harder. 

He nibbled on small portions and faked sipping the wine. Labor was making his stomach queasy and even if it wasn't, he’d be in too much pain to concentrate on eating a full meal. The sounds and smells were making his head hurt. His hips, womb and cervix were sore and he’d had to excuse himself to use the bathroom multiple times so that he wouldn't soil his clothes. 

As this was happening, he began timing his contractions on his watch, growing more and more anxious as they went from lasting thirty to eighty seconds and started to come within three minutes of each other as the night wore on. By 9:30, he could feel his body starting to attempt to force himself to push, and the baby’s head steadily pressing against his cervix, starting to shove its way through at times. 

He gripped the table and curled his swollen toes as the conversation and music droned on in the background of his agony. Little by little, he could feel his resolve breaking, it wouldn’t be long before he couldn't delay this anymore. He'd have to give birth at some point. He just hoped that he could hold off until eleven, when the banquet would end. It was wishful and ridiculous thinking, but he had put himself in this situation. After eleven, he could retire to his chambers, summon medical personnel and give birth on his own while his queen rested in hers. At least he could hold off having to tell her until morning then. 

As his new plan formed, it was quickly dashed when he felt a thick gush soak through his clothes. After that, it felt like everything below opened up. Without the cushioning of the amniotic sac, the baby's head bashed against his cervix so brutally that he jumped. He started to cry out, but just barely managed to turn it into a high pitched squeak. Multiple nobles turned to look at him with expressions in between concern and annoyance. 

Quickly, Iliad waved them off as he gathered the energy to speak. 

“Sor- I’m sorry, just chills.” He stuttered. 

With a few shrugs, they all went back to talking. Without even noticing, Iliad began to spread his legs and lean forward. His hand was pressed against his belly as his womb shrank inside of him. As he panted as quietly as he could, trying not to push, a hand on his shoulder interrupted his storm of thoughts. He flinched and turned to his wife, who looked upon him lovingly. 

“I'm not sure what's going on right now, but you don't look well. If something is wrong, please tell me. I want to help you, baby.” She said just loud enough for him to hear. 

While his fears were still trying to spill from his throat, eyes, and gushing manhood, his wife's words broke his resolve. 

“I- *umph* I ne-need to go. It's-it’s too much.” He grunted. 

“Go where darling?” She asked gently. 

“Mmmm-my cham-chambers. Make it stop.” He panted. 

Edith nodded and immediately took action. “Okay. I’ll tell the staff to get the guests to leave. I’ll be right back, just hang on.” She said, starting to stand. 

Iliad instinctively grabbed her arm and gripped it like a vice. He wasn't trying to hurt her, but the pain he was in made it impossible for him to be gentler. 

“No!” He nearly shouted. 

Eyes turned towards him again and while he didn't look back, he did force himself to be quieter. 

“You have to stay. Help me!” He pleaded. 

Seeing his expression, Edith frowned in concern, nodded and quickly summoned a guard. When she came up to her, she whispered in her ear and she left with a curt bow. 

As Edith helped him to stand, he just barely heard the announcer bring an end to the ball. The guests clamored in confusion, but he was too focused on trying to get to his chambers to care. With his arm around her shoulders, he felt her look back, but neither of them said anything. 

They ducked through the servant passageways to get around quicker. Despite the anguish, he was relieved that she didn't try to take them the normal way. He didn't think he would have made it. He was barely walking himself as it was. Edith held him up, her strong arms supporting him. The more they walked, the more pressure that he felt. It seemed as if he was going to burst at the seams if he didn't start to push soon. This baby was not waiting and that was made clear when he felt a thick pop when they stepped out of the passageway. His child had rammed past his cervix. While it was only a matter of time before he’d have to give in to what his body was telling him it needed to do, at least it wasn't happening in front of all the nobles. He just needed to get to his room before it was too late. 

“Iliad. What's going on?” Edith asked as they entered his side of the palace. “Are you sick?”

He shook his head, feeling salty tears run down his face. “No.” He whimpered. 

She frowned deeply, but not in anger. “Then what's happening? I saw something on your chair.” She said 

Iliad white knuckled his shirt as another contraction geared up to run him through. 

“I can't. I'm scared!” He cried. 

“Can't what, Iliad? Who do I need to call to fix this?” She demanded, her voice cracking with fearful tears of her own. 

Iliad shook his head and started to respond when the worst contraction that he had ever felt hit him. Even with Edith supporting him, his legs went limp and all of his weight was shifted onto his wife. Realizing that his body was giving out, she set him on his knees as gently as possible and kneeled down at his side. 

“Iliad!” She cried. 

Instinctively, Iliad got on his hands and knees, letting his big belly hang down. His nails scraped the smooth floors as he finally pushed. He howled in pain as the baby stretched him out, forcing its way down. Edith pulled his shirt up, exposing the tremendous swell of his belly. It was so large at this point that his popped out belly button just managed to touch the floor. Angry blue and red veins strained across the taut paunch. Red and purple stretch marks raced along with them. 

In shock, Edith looked between his face and belly. 

“How?” She whispered, watching his belly shrink against him as he pushed. 

“UUUUUUUUAAAAAHHHH!” He screamed, split flying from his mouth as the pain completely took over.

At this, his wife leapt into action. She tore his cloak off of him, exposing a giant wet spot on the bottom of his pants, growing as fluid dripped from his vagina to the flawless floor. 

“Oh shit!” She gasped. 

“HHHUUUUUUUUGGGHHHHH!” Iliad bellowed as the baby's head began to part his opening. 

He spread his knees apart and pressed himself lower to the ground, pressing his heavy burden into the floor. 

“Wait stop, the baby's crowning!” Edith urged. 

Iliad gasped deeply. “I can't! It hurts so BAAAAAAAD AAAAAHH!” 

He effectively screamed the baby into a crown, feeling the head pressing against his underwear. His labia and opening spread impossibly around the wide head, only making him scream harder. 

“IT BURNS! IT BURNS! GET IT OUTTA MEEEEEEEEEEE!”

“Ohshitohshitohshitoshit!” Edith cried in panic. 

She reached to pull down his pants by the waist band, but it was tight around his laboring hips. She tried to pull them down by the pant leg at the thigh, but his body was too tense and clammy for the fabric to budge even an inch. As the baby slowly turned inside of him, Iliad cried until his voice broke. Seeing no other way, Edith quickly ripped open the seat of his pants, revealing the bulge of the head in his underwear. 

The shock of realizing once again that her husband was giving birth nearly froze her, but she fought through it, tearing open his underwear as well. Feeling the cold air on his backside, Iliad went down on his elbows, arching his back, adding more pressure to his womb. 

The baby's head only seemed to stretch wider as he pushed. He gurgled as the effort took all of the air in his lungs.

“Iliad!” Edith shouted. 

He didn't listen, he could only think of pushing this baby out. He needed it to be over. It was so painful. 

“Honey!” She tried again. 

Iliad gasped for air and kept pushing, spreading his legs wider to make more room for the baby. As the head began to come to its widest point, Iliad was suddenly pulled up and into Edith's lap, changing his center of gravity. His belly jumped up at the sudden movement, causing fluid to spurt painfully past the baby's head. 

“You have to rest in between contractions, Iliad! You're going to hurt yourself.” Edith said, holding him just above his massive load.

Despite her cries, he didn't stop, he pulled his left leg back and planted his foot into the ground, trying to force the baby out faster. 

“Iliad!” She shouted. 

“I CAN'T! IT HURTS! IT HURTS!” He screamed. 

“You have to! We’ve already lost so much on the way to this moment, I can't lose you too!” She urged. 

Finally, she reached him. As the contraction ended, he relaxed his leg and stopped pushing. His baby's head hung out of him at the widest point, dripping with amniotic fluid and blood. He was painfully spread, but if he had kept pushing he would have surely torn. Trembling in his wife's arms, he panted through the pain as best he could. Letting himself stretch more carefully. 

“That's it baby. Slow deep breaths for me.” She rasped tearfully. 

She rubbed gentle circles at the pinnacle of his belly with her warm hand as she whispered words of encouragement in his ear, kissing his neck and jaw. Comforted by her embrace, his breaths slowed as he waited for the next contraction. 

Slowly, she reached for his hand and guided it below. 

“Don't you want to feel our baby?” She asked. 

Silently, but firmly, Iliad nodded and let his wife gingerly place their hands on the baby's head. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. For the first time, a baby was coming out alive. Their warmth struck him straight in the heart. He couldn't believe that he had denied them for so long. 

“I wan- I want to see.” He whimpered past hiccups, tears of relief filling his eyes this time. 

“I can see it in the reflection on the floor. Believe me, it's beautiful, baby.” Edith said softly. 

Iliad tried to follow her gaze, but his belly blocked his view. He was disappointed, but he didn't get to wallow in it for long. Following the tender moment, he was sent into the throes of another contraction. While the pain was still unbearable, he was more focused and less forceful. This time he breathed through pushing, keeping his hand on the baby's head as he did. 

“That's it, Iliad. You're doing great.” Edith whispered. 

“Hooooh.” Iliad blew, his voice trembling from the pain and the ordeal in general. 

Finally, the baby's head burst free with a loud squelch, spilling more fluids from him as the contraction waned. 

“Ohhhh.” He groaned in a mix of relief and pain. 

“Good job, baby.” Edith said, kissing his jaw. 

Iliad swallowed thickly and began to trace his baby's face. Feeling a tiny nose and lips. 

“I bet they look like you.” He said with a breathless laugh. 

He could hear Edith's smile in her voice. “We’ll just have to see.” She said, patting the hand that rested on their baby. 

Iliad took a deep breath as he felt the next one coming and planted his feet again. Letting out a deep sigh, he pushed and the baby's left shoulder escaped him. 

“Keep going, darling.” Edith said. 

With another deep breath, he pushed out the right shoulder. Immediately after, his body loosened up and the baby fell into their parent's waiting hands. Pulling them up into his arms, he laid eyes on them for the first time. A brown skinned baby girl with a flash of red curls. As he focused on her face, she opened her mouth and started to cry. 

Tears dribbled from his eyes and he smiled at her. “I knew it. She does look like you.” He said. 

Edith huffed a laugh. 

“I guess that's what I get, huh?” He said. He brought her to his chest and held her close. 

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, baby girl.” He whispered as he kissed her. 

Edith nuzzled him as they watched their little girl kick and cry. 

“What should we even call her?” She asked. 

Iliad shook his head. “I have absolutely no idea.” He replied. 

Soon after, the medical team and servants swooped in to take care of Iliad and the baby. As he heard Edith fussing at them for taking so long in the background, he watched them like a hawk as they brought him and the baby to his chambers separately. After taking about fifteen minutes to clean them up and make sure the baby was healthy, they handed her back to him. 

By this point, Iliad was laying in his bed in only a pajama shirt with a blanket covering his lower half and his legs propped up as they waited for the placenta to evacuate. Edith sat beside him, running her fingers through his hair. 

“The newborn princess of Reuben. Congratulations, my king and queen.” The doctor said as she gently placed the swaddled baby into Iliad's arms. 

Edith kissed his cheek as they looked upon their little girl. After fifteen years of marriage and seven losses, they finally had a baby girl to call their own. 

“I can't believe it.” Edith breathed, letting her daughter grip her pinky finger in her tiny hand. 

“Neither can I.” Iliad agreed. 

Edith's expression shifted. “When did you find out?” She asked. 

“The day before you left.” He replied. 

“Why didn't you tell me?” She asked.

While he could tell that she was upset, her tone wasn't accusatory. 

For a moment, he turned to look into her big brown eyes. “I was scared, Edith. I was sure that I’d lose her like all the others, so I tried to wait it out. It wasn't until yesterday that it hit me.” He paused, but Edith let him continue. 

“I couldn't bring myself to think that it was real until I started having contractions. I'm sorry, my love.” He said, turning away in shame. 

Edith thought for a moment. “I wish you would have told me so that I could be there for you, Iliad. Even if a pregnancy ends badly, you're still my husband. I love you and I want to see you healthy.” She replied. 

Iliad sniffled as a tear left his eye. “Thank you.” He said. 

In response, Edith turned his head so that he faced her and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips. “We made vows to each other, my dear. As long as they aren't broken, I’ll be here.” She said. 

“You should be more angry.” He said. 

“I'm upset, but I understand why you did what you did. We’ll just have to navigate this later.” She replied. 

Iliad nodded in agreement. “Okay.” He said softly. 

As soon as the conversation died and they started to marvel at the baby again, Iliad winced at a sudden, familiar pain. He had still been hurting since he had just given birth, but they were mostly dull aches. This was sharper. 

He groaned in annoyance. “Just one more thing.” He muttered. 

Noticing this, the doctor came back and began to look between his legs again. 

Edith smiled sympathetically. “And after this you can rest.” She said. 

“I'm never doing this again.” He said. 

“Alright sir, just one more big push when you need to and the hard work is over.” She said, pulling on her gloves. 

“Thank God.” He said, sitting up a bit. 

It didn't take long for another contraction to come and Iliad was ready for it. Immediately, he bore down, breathing through his efforts. He felt his cervix stretch once more, but when he let go, nothing had gotten past it. 

“It's alright. It might not be fully detached yet. Just push again when you're ready.” She said. 

Iliad sighed and waited again. This time, a sharper, more intense contraction took him by surprise. He jumped, sitting up fully when he felt a deep burn inside of him. 

“Oooh.” He groaned, wrenching his eyes shut. 

Calmly, Edith took the baby from him and turned to the doctor. 

“What's going on?” She asked. 

“I don't know. Hold on. This is going to be uncomfortable, but I'm going to have to feel what's happening up there, sir.” The doctor replied. 

Iliad's eyes opened so wide that they looked like they might fall out. 

“What?” 

“I know. I'm sorry, but I need to make sure that everything’s okay.” She replied. 

Iliad sighed in exasperation, but stopped as another contraction came over him.

“Umph!” He grunted. 

Edith took his hand. “It's gonna be okay, Iliad.” She said. 

“Okay.” He rasped. 

The doctor spread a generous amount of lube on her hands and some on his swollen opening. He squeezed Edith's hand and curled his toes to get through the stinging sensation. 

“I'm sorry, I’ll be as quick as I can.” She said as she inserted her hand. 

Iliad had had exams before, but feeling something enter his vagina so soon after giving birth made him see stars. He yelped and started to kick the doctor, trying to get her to stop. Quickly, Edith handed the baby off to a servant and helped another to gently hold his legs back. While he knew it was for everyone’s safety, it didn't frustrate him any less. 

The doctor’s arm stilled and while her expression remained neutral, she blinked rapidly. 

“What is it?” Edith asked. 

Gently, she pulled out her hand and changed her gloves. 

“That's not the placenta. It's another head.” She replied. 

The entire room went cold and silent. 

Despite the pain, Iliad released a trembling laugh. 

“You- you're joking. Right?” He said. 

She shook her head. “I'm not. You're having twins, your majesty.” She replied. 

Edith turned to him in surprise. “Did you-”

“Edith, I barely acknowledged one until yesterday. No, I didn't know there were TWO!” He shouted. 

Immediately after, his womb contracted painfully. He was starting to feel similarly to when his first was born. Edith backed down and turned to the doctor. 

“Dr. Ingram, the first baby took a lot out of him. Is there anything we can do to try to make it easier?” She asked. 

“He probably won't be able to move much, so we could move him to a tub of warm water to help.” She said. 

“Okay. Let's do that.” Edith replied intently.

“I’ll draw a bath.” Kallan said, running to the bathroom. 

Iliad rubbed his belly as another contraction ravaged him. “Can- can I see this ti- time?” He asked, rocking back and forth. 

Edith ran her fingers through his hair. “Yeah. Of course, darling.” She assured him. 

He wanted to respond, but his voice wouldn't come out, so he nodded instead, holding his belly as it pressed against him. 

While they waited for Kallan to prepare the bath, Iliad got on his hands and knees, spreading his legs again as he labored. He rocked his hips side to side as Edith rubbed his back. 

“It's okay. You’ve got this.” She said. 

“I just want it to be over.” He whimpered. 

“I know, baby. I know.” She said softly. 

Despite the pain he continued to push as they waited. He could already feel his pussy opening up again. The cool air on his lips did feel nice all things considered. He dropped his belly lower and arched his back, leaning back into his heavy hips. Colostrum dropped from his nipples as he moaned and groaned through the pain. 

Iliad listened to the sounds of the bed springs squeaking as he rocked back and forth, trying to keep himself as calm as possible. He let his face sink into his crossed arms and moaned into them as another contraction spread through him. 

This one hit harder than the previous ones. He whimpered as he angled his hips down and pushed again. After so long, his water broke again, this time in a safe, comfortable space where he was free to feel every sensation. Hardly any chatter, no one to impress, just himself, his family, and the staff supporting him. Feeling the sac finally pop was an incredible relief. He moaned as the contraction waned. He could feel the second baby's head pressing against his cervix now, lying in wait. 

Before long, Iliad was stripped naked and laying in the tub. The water was already becoming cloudy from the fluids coming out of him. He panted through the pain, gripping the side of the tub and his wife’s hand. With her other hand, she caressed his curls as his belly rose above and fell below the water with every breath, hitch, and contraction. 

He had delayed the birth of his first for so long that he just wanted to get the second over with as quickly as he could. The water soothed his joints and his red hot opening. He let himself close his eyes and relax as much as he could before the baby really started coming. 

“How are you feeling?” Edith asked. 

“It still hurts.” He sighed. “But I think I’m okay.” 

“It’ll be over soon, Iliad. You're doing great.” She said softly. 

On the other side of the tub, Doctor Ingram and her team waited patiently. One held a mirror so that he’d be able to see his child emerge when the time came. After some rest, Iliad carefully pulled himself into a lazy sitting position at the edge of the tub and lifted his knees out of the water. Edith squeezed his hand tighter and the team focused. 

When the next contraction came, he was ready. As soon as he felt it, he brought his chin down to his chest and bore down as much as he could. The baby rushed to his cervix and pressed against it hard. His breath trembled from the pain, but he pushed until the contraction waned. When he was done, the baby was still pressed against his cervix, so close to coming down. 

“You're crushing it.” Edith said softly. 

Iliad relaxed until the next contraction and got back into position. A few seconds after he started pushing, he felt a low pop within him and the baby quickly began to descend. He was beyond relieved that this seemed to be going by more quickly than the first birth. It wasn't long before he could see a teardrop shape forming between his swollen labia. He teared up at his second born. 

“There they are.” Edith whispered in awe. 

Iliad chuckled with bliss and dizziness, rubbing his belly and hoping that this one would be the last. 

The ring of fire burned worse than before with his vagina being raw, but he was too tired to scream in agony this time. All his energy was focused on getting the baby out. He panted through it as he reached down to feel his baby for the first time. 

“You're doing so good.” Edith said, squeezing his hand. 

To calm himself, Iliad gently stroked his baby's hair as the head came to its widest point and leveled out. The baby pulled back a bit when he stopped pushing in between contractions. He groaned in discomfort as the baby's head pressed against his most sensitive, ravaged areas. 

“It's going to be over soon, and then we'll have two beautiful children.” Edith encouraged him, kissing his sweaty forehead. 

“Mmm.” He hummed tiredly as he felt the next contraction coming. 

At first both shoulders pressed up against his opening, causing him to jump and yelp in pain. Doctor Ingram acted quickly and coaxed the right shoulder out first, giving Iliad some relief. After a moment to pant through the searing pain, he pushed again and the second shoulder emerged. At least, his baby was halfway out. Soon, he could meet them and rest. As soon as the next contraction came, he gave one last big push and heard the baby splash below him. 

Immediately, Edith reached into the water and placed the baby girl on his chest. She was a little smaller and lighter than her sister, but she also looked just like Edith. 

“I couldn't get one?” He joked raspily as he rubbed her back to encourage her to cry. 

Edith grinned. “I don't think your genes even tried.” She replied. 

As their baby started to cry and squirm, Iliad held her closer. They stayed in the water for a little longer before they were lifted out, cleaned up and placed in bed again. Once Doctor Ingram confirmed that the king was no longer pregnant, he finally relaxed and admired both of his baby girls. 

The oldest had deep red hair like her mother, honey brown eyes, and red tinted brown skin. She was ten pounds and two ounces. Her sister had bright red hair, green eyes, and gold tinted skin. She was slightly smaller at eight pounds and nine ounces. Edith and Iliad were in awe of both. 

“I can't believe I actually did that.” Iliad rasped. 

“Eighteen pounds combined is a lot.” Edith agreed. 

“It's your fault. You're too tall.” Iliad replied jokingly. 

Edith grinned mischievously. “You never cared when you wanted me to-”

Iliad cut her off with a joking “Shhh! Not in front of kids.” 

With sweet giggles, Edith conceded and held her husband and daughters close. Their subjects were sure to be surprised when they announced this. Imagine that, Princesses Osyth and Noctis of Reuben.

[nolongerhereeeeeeee]

Hi! So… do you have any videos where the baby’s shoulders get stuck for quite some times? Thanks.

Here are a few to start you off, I’ll add some later

Free Birth Society - Through the Veil 5.mp4

Free Birth Society - Through the Veil 5.mp4

https://youtu.be/JtU-zbT6hkQ

[nolongerhereeeeeeee]

Another one where the midwife has to put her entire hand inside the mother to pull the baby out

[42069justforfun]

Omg another one of my old posts!!!!!! I rarely get to see them!!! Glad to know this one has been doing so well! Anyone have another link to the last video? I can’t get it to work anymore :(

[tbmunson]

Little Harrington Masterlist

Steve x Pregnant!Reader/Mom!Reader series

Moodboard by @ashes-writing

Little Harrington

Telling The Group

The Baby's Gender

Cravings

Kicks

So Not Labor?

Mood Swings

Morning Sickness

I'm Scared

Insecure

Dreams

Lay Down

Water Birth

Natural Birth

C Section Birth

[imagineyourepregnant]

Imagine you're one of the most feared pirates in the world but you've been hiding your pregnancy for a long, long voyage only to go into labor during an attack or a terrible storm.

[shockspectrum]

The puppy boy you kidnapped after his college graduation hides his birth pains from you all day until your friends arrive for a housewarming party. Hours into the party, he's hiding under your bed with his legs spread wide as the first pup is so big he has to gag his mouth to muffle his screams.

You get the idea to show your prize off to your now blackout drunk friends and hunt him down. The smell of birth hits you when you enter the main bedroom and you look under the bed to see him crowning with a heavy pup. Now you're pissed that he tried to give birth in secret and drag him out by his tail, ignoring how he snaps and begs to be left alone.

You keep dragging him by his tail all the way to the living room where you decide to scruff and hold him up like the trophy he is, all while your friends gawk and make comments about how painfully overdue he must be.

The torture begins now that you have an audience. For his first punishment, you push the pup all the way through his tight pussy as he dangles in your grip, still being held up by the extra skin around his neck. He trembles and kicks and begs and wails as your friends laugh and encourage you to do something else.

When you drop him on the floor, you see how aggressively he begins to push and decide to occupy the space between his legs with your dick. He screams and tries to pull away from your powerful thrusts but he's too weak from the birth and abuse. He's completely overpowered with no option other than to take it and push.

You tell your friends how good it feels when he squeezes down and ask if they'd like a turn. Soon enough, he's being passed around to every drunken breeder in the house then back to you as you want to be the last person to fill his canal before allowing him to give birth.

By the time it's all done, he's not even pushing. His body is doing all of the work and the contractions have his pups falling out one by one as he lays broken and despondent on the floor.

You tell your friends you'll stuff him with another litter within the next few weeks. A couple of them say they'll consider knocking their toys up at the same time and force them into labor all at once to host a real birth party next year.

this is SO hot. god i need a pet dog sub

[bendover0602]

crowning

i feel the walls of my vagina stretching even further. little by little, the 12lb baby is barreling down my tight birthing hole. my legs are pinned apart by nurses tightly pulling my knees up to my ears. my big belly contracts and twitches with every agonizing push. my vagina lips are pushed apart, threads of my perineum being held together by sheer luck, a tear beggining to form. all eyes are in between my legs feeling nervous anticipation as i scream how badly it burns. my pussy throbs from the attention its getting from everyone in the room. i try grabbing my vagina in pain, a quarter of the baby's head is peeking out. i am encouraged to hold my breath and push this big baby out. dont scream, just keeping pushing!

get this baby out of me!

[embarazados-pregg1]

Get dressed, otherwise I'll have to fuc# you again.

The photographer got angry. He had asked for a young model who was nine months pregnant, eight at the most. Omar is 38 years old and in his fifth month of pregnancy. Omar got uncomfortable, and the photographer said,

F: Excuse me (and began to massage the sides of his belly vigorously. Omar gulped)

Omar: Excuse me, what are you doing?

F: I need a bigger belly. I'm trying to wake the baby up. If it changes position, you might look bigger.

Omar: Ah, your hands are cold.

F: Your belly is warm. Look, it's moving there…

Omar: No, now he's going to kick me all afternoon.

F: What did you say your name was?

Omar: I'm Omar.

F: Omar, I'm going to ask you to jump hard, please.

Omar: What? You're crazy, it's going to hurt me. I'm not 20 years old and 5 months pregnant isn't a short time. I could lose my baby.

F: If I don't get you to look a little fatter in the picture, you won't get paid. Omar: There has to be another way. The photographer approached from behind, stroked Omar's groin with the palm of his hand, reaching the base of his belly, and whispered in his ear: "I know a way, but your boyfriend won't like it." Omar felt a fire inside him and said in a seductive tone: "HOW?" The photographer sat on a staircase. Omar thought he should suck his penis, but no. The photographer explained that rough sex and cumming inside a pregnant man caused temporary swelling. So he pulled out his already rock-hard penis and made Omar ride it. Omar's belly wasn't moving much at first, but when the sexy photographer finished inside, he felt abdominal pain. It was because of all the bouncing and the semen INSIDE that his belly had shifted forward about 2 centimeters or an inch. The photographer put his boxers back on and spanked him as he grabbed the camera again: "Go on, handsome, put your boxers on so I can get a picture. If you wait too long, I'll have to fuck you again."

P.S. They had sex for the remaining four months of his pregnancy honestly, three months, because after so much sex, his belly couldn't hold any more. After that, the photographer impregnated him with twins.

[crown-fire]

Word count: 2,766

Tags: nbpreg, unplanned pregnancy, cryptic pregnancy, character doesn’t know what’s happening at first, inconvenient birth, supportive partner

CW for miscarriage (no actual miscarriage but character thinks they’re having one)

:.:.:.:.:.:

You only found out you were pregnant, like, a month ago. You have no idea when you actually got pregnant, because your periods have always been kind of whack and you and Ben are probably definitely not as careful as you should be. Usually it’s fine—you’re on birth control, you’re not that stupid. This time it’s not.

You took probably a dozen pregnancy tests in the following three days and when pretty much all of them were positive you decided it wasn’t likely every single one of them was wrong. You told Ben the day after that. You know he loves kids, and he knows you’d rather adopt.

He asks you what you’re going to do and you tell him you don’t know.

That was two weeks ago. You know you need to stop dragging your feet and at least get a doctor’s appointment, but you’re still not sure what you want. You keep telling yourself you have to think about it first.

But then you start feeling cramps. They’re not horrible at first, they’re mundane enough that you kind of ignore them. And then they don’t go away overnight, and then suddenly they’re bad enough you’re forced to call out of work, and you think shit, maybe you’re having a miscarriage.

You should really go to the doctor, you think, lying curled up on your shared bed in your shared apartment and breathing through the pain and building pressure.

But Ben’s a med student and he’s coming home soon and that’s basically the same, right? You’ll just wait for him to come home so you can figure out what the hell to do.

It’s just so long before his last class gets out and everything is so uncomfortable. When you can’t stand lying in bed anymore, you get up and walk around, hoping that’ll help. You take a hot shower. You try to breathe as the cramps get worse.

You start googling what to do if you think you’re having a miscarriage and enough of the answers are things like “seek medical attention” or “risk of serious injury” that you just stop and put your phone down, trying shove down the rising feeling of panic.

You last for two more hours until the waves of pain are so intense that you’re sweating and shaking and you feel like you’re going to throw up. They’re less waves now and more of a tide coming in—unavoidable and so close together that they’re basically just swallowing you.

It’s somewhere in there that you start feeling like something’s finally happening. Like something might be about to come out. You can feel it moving down, trying to push out of you.

Between cramps, you manage to crawl over to the toilet, kicking off your sweatpants and underwear so that you can lower yourself onto the seat. Tentatively, you slip your hand between your legs and feel around. There’s nothing there which is both a relief and also insane, since it feels like you’re about to shit a bowling ball.

It’s at this point you decide to text Ben because you waited too long and you’re definitely not going to be able to get to a doctor alone, and also if you die here on the toilet before he gets back you at least want to warn him about what he might be walking into.

You’re not sure if your message is coherent, but it doesn’t matter because he calls you within minutes to ask what’s wrong.

It’s hard for you to answer. It’s hard for you to talk or even think. You think you might have told him to come home and you think he might have said he was on his way. You’re not sure if he hangs up or not but that’s the least of your concerns right now. You’re panting, clinging to the vanity with white knuckled fingers, pushing your toes into the laminate floor to try to counteract some of the fucking pressure. You feel like you’re going to shit your organs into the toilet bowl, and you wonder if anyone’s ever shit their whole uterus out while having a miscarriage cause that’s sure as fuck happening to you right now. You can’t stop it. It needs to come out. You need to push.

So you do.

The first push floods you with relief. The pressure or pain really don’t ease much, but it feels like you’re doing something, so you push again, longer and harder. Then again. You lose yourself to that for god knows how long, feeling the fetus or baby or whatever it is now inching down until eventually the progress slows, then stops.

You try to keep pushing. You squirm on the seat, attempting to jostle it into progress again by changing position. You sit through several more cramps, cursing silently to yourself. Eventually, you reach down to feel around again. Nothing.

The pressure becomes unbearable. You grunt loudly through contractions that tighten your belly in a vise grip and clench your teeth, wanting to crawl out of your skin. Then suddenly you feel a pop and warm liquid gushes from you into the toilet. You part your legs and look down in mild panic, but it’s not blood. The fluid is clear, and still leaking from you.

And thank fuck, some of the pressure is gone.

You’re only given a few seconds of relief before cramps start again and the insane pressure comes roaring back and you’re bent over pushing before you can stop yourself or think. You let out a long, low groan of effort as your entire belly tightens, forcing you to help it expel its failure.

This is what Ben comes back to. You don’t actually even notice when he comes in, he’s just suddenly there, crouching in front of you, warm hands on your shaking knees, face and voice filled with concern. You’re too relieved to be embarrassed.

“Why didn’t you call sooner?” He says, squeezing your wrists reassuringly as you gulp in air after pushing for so long your vision spotted. His worry is so palpable you can almost taste it.

“Didn’t know it would be this bad,” you manage to spit out. “Can you see…?”

He helps you spread your legs apart, but another surge overtakes you before he can really look. Your hands find his shoulders and grip him like a lifeline as you bear down again, a growl of effort scraping out of your throat. He waits, rubbing a thumb over your leg. It’s almost overstimulating but the reminder he’s there makes it worth it.

His brow is furrowed in uncertainty when you’re done. “How long has this been going on?” He asks, one hand on your thigh. He’s gentle as he slips his fingers inside you.

“Cramps started yesterday,” you say, then at his look, you amend, “but they didn’t get really bad until earlier.”

He doesn’t answer right away. He’s concentrating, eyes out of focus. “What is…?” he murmurs. Then his eyes go wide.

“Holy shit.”

The urge to push again hits you like a truck and you groan again, trying to resist the urge to bear down.

“What?” You grit out.

Ben looks up at you, face pale. “You’re not having a miscarriage. I think you’re having the baby.”

“What?!”

He pulls his fingers out. “You said contractions started yesterday and got worse today. Did your water break? Did you feel like you pissed yourself?”

You think about that pop and gush earlier. “Yeah, but—it can’t… that’s not—”

Ben looks down again at whatever he can see under the soft swell of your belly. “I felt hair.”

“Of course you felt fucking hair!”

“No, not… your hair. Inside. I felt a head.”

There’s no way. There’s no fucking way. “It’s only been two weeks! There can’t be—uhh!” You break off with a groan as another cramp started.

“I’m not lying to you, M.” How calm his voice sounds is pissing you off.

“I know, I just—ah…fuck!” You grit your teeth, trying to resist the almost unbearable urge to push. However much it hurts, the idea that an actual full-sized baby is coming out of you right now is worse.

You wait for the pain to pass, the force of it leaving you shaking. “Are you sure?” You rasp, hating the fear in your voice.

Ben meets your eyes and you see your fear matched, which makes you realize he’s just pretending to be calm for your sake, which does actually make you feel a little bit better. “Yes,” he says in a voice barely above a whisper.

You close your eyes, chest heaving. “Fuck.”

You felt the warmth of Ben’s calloused hand come to rest over your knuckles. “Are you okay?” he asks, and you hear his worry.

You keep your eyes closed and force out a bitter laugh. “No, I’m not fucking okay.”

Your belly starts to tighten again—to contract—and as the blinding pressure mounts again, something that sounds pathetically like a whimper escapes before you can choke it back. You grip the sides of the toilet seat until you hear it creak, trying to breathe through it.

You distantly feel Ben’s thumb stroking over the back of your hand; hear his voice, but his words are lost. You feel like you’re detaching from reality. This is insane.

The contraction slowly lets up and you realize Ben is saying your name. You let your eyes flicker open, unfocused. Your breathing is ragged, and you have no idea if it’s from panic or from literally fucking giving birth.

“Morgan, you have to push,” Ben is saying.

Anger flashes through you, followed by despair. This is really happening. You are going to fully give birth to a baby on the toilet of your fucking apartment bathroom. “I know,” you snap, unconvincingly.

Ben’s hand moves to brush the sweaty hair from your face. “Hey,” he says shakily. “You can do this.”

No you can’t. You feel like you’re going to die.

“Hey,” Ben repeats, and his voice is steadier. His hand slips down to your cheek, cupping it gently, making you look at him.

You meet his gaze, viscerally aware of the way your eyes are watering. Ben doesn’t waver. “You can do this,” he says firmly. “I know you can.”

He’s right. You can. And you really have no choice.

You force yourself to breathe in, to straighten, to attune to your body just as sharp pain runs across your stomach again. You can feel the baby’s head so low and heavy that you feel like it might just fall out of you if you sneeze.

If only it were that easy.

“You good?” Ben asks.

This time, you nod. Your breath quickens as the contraction intensifies. “Gonna push.”

The words are barely out of your mouth before currents of pain wash over you and you double over, bearing down until stars dance in your vision. Your focus tunnels until you’re not aware of anything but the insane pressure and the blur of Ben crouched on the tile floor between your knees. You can feel yourself stretching, the head finally moving down as you give your body the help it had been begging for. You don’t let up until the contraction eases.

Ben strokes your forehead, brushing your hair back again until the next contraction takes hold. The baby is so low, it feels like it’s curled up inside your pelvis for a nap.

At least, it does until the head moves low enough that your lips begin to spread to accommodate it, and as it starts to emerge, it burns like fire.

You choke back the sound that tries to escape you and instead breathe in and push again. Rest. Repeat.

After a dozen pushes, the cry of frustration you’ve been holding back slips out. It feels like you’re getting nowhere. The baby’s head keeps emerging when you push, only to slide back in once you stop.

“Can you see it?” Your voice holds an edge of desperation.

“I can see it when you push. The head’s peeking out.”

You slump back onto the toilet tank, gulping in air. “The head…. that’s it?”

Ben looks hesitant. “It’s supposed to be slow. So your, uh. So you don’t tear. You just need to keep pushing.”

You let your head flop back and squeeze your eyes shut, wincing as another contraction starts and your body demands you to push. “This fucking… ungh! Fucking…. suuuuuuuucks!”

Your words turn into a guttural cry as you bear down hard again and you suddenly feel yourself scrambling forward off the toilet seat and into Ben’s arms, leaning heavily into him as the baby shifts and moves down and finally crowns, and you stretch further than you have before. “Aaggghhhh…fuck! Fuck!”

It’s coming out now. It is definitely coming out. It’s like it heard you and out of spite, it’s pushing its way into the world and you couldn’t stop it if you wanted to. You hear yourself scream again, and you bury your face into Ben’s shirt as your legs buckle beneath you and you drop into a squat on the floor, pushing with the contraction that’s giving you no other choice.

You can feel everything as it happens—the slow, agonizing appearance of the baby’s forehead, its ears, its nose, its little chin.

“Come on, M,” you hear Ben murmuring to you as he holds you, solid and supportive. “Keep going. You’re doing it.”

You hang on to the sound of his voice and push.

Suddenly, relief. You hear fluid splash onto the laminate beneath and sag into Ben, panting.

“I think the head’s out.”

“Oh my god. Holy shit.”

You know he can’t see anything, not with the way you’re holding him in a vise grip, but he doesn’t seem to need proof. You can feel the baby hanging out of you, but no contraction. You realize your legs ache.

“Need to sit back,” you mumble into his shirt. He responds immediately, helping you lean back and lower your bare ass carefully onto the floor so you can let your body wilt against the cabinets.

You feel weak and tired and stupid, but none of this seems to bother him, or maybe it’s the shock of seeing his baby’s head bulging out of your vagina as you let your legs fall all the way open while you try to catch your breath.

He’s staring, transfixed in wonder. “Holy shit.”

You don’t have the ability to respond. Everything hurts. You reach down between your legs and feel the hair he’d been talking about. It’s thicker than you expected, and feels like it might be curly. Like his. Your breath hitches a little because fuck.

That’s a goddamn baby. That’s your goddamn baby. That’s a real fucking baby that the two of you made together.

Fuck.

The movement inside you takes you by surprise, and you grunt and shift in discomfort. It feels like the baby is wiggling and turning inside you, and it feels weird.

“What’s happening?” You hiss, moving your hands so you can brace yourself on the floor.

Ben shakes himself out of his daze and looks down more critically, then up at you. “They have to turn so their shoulders are facing the right way,” he says, then pauses. “Do you feel like you have to push?”

You shake your head. He nods, then leans forward, kissing your forehead. “You’re fucking amazing, you know that?”

“Ugh,” you gripe back, but he ignores that and strokes your cheek gently until the pressure begins to ramp up again and you squirm, trying to find a position that feels right.

Then the contraction hits and you’re pushing again, toes curling into the bathroom floor, back arching, vocalizing your pain into long, strained groan. You can feel how close you are to the end. It’s almost out. It’s almost over.

You breathe in and push as hard as you can. For a moment, your effort gets you nowhere, but then the baby’s shoulders suddenly spring free and the rest of their body follows in a rush of blood and fluid, landing in Ben’s waiting hands with a soft smack.

You slump against the cabinets as Ben cradles the baby who hiccups and then begins to cry, and that’s when you see his face is wet too. He moves to sit next to you against the cabinet, looking away from your child just long enough to kiss your cheek.

“It’s a girl,” he says. “We have a daughter.”

[chickieblue]

Happy Labor Day!!

Just sitting here thinking about a werewolf going into labour with a large litter while his partner is away for work and giving into his animalistic instincts to get through the birth.

--

He wakes up uncomfortable, a nagging ache in his body that didn't seem like it planned on going anywhere. His brain is a bit hazy, like it tended to do when the moon was drawing closer.

But the moon was almost a full two weeks away, and he couldn't possibly be going into heat, the huge swell of his stomach held testament to that. Which only left one other reason for the rising sense of urgency and need that was taking control of his brain.

The pups were coming.

Sawyer had warned him about this, that when the time came, the wolf would take over and aid the delivery process. He was carrying three pups, a large litter considering this was his first litter, and he was in for a daunting time during delivery. He needed all the help he could get, and as his human brain began letting go of the control it had over him, he was grateful for it.

The wolf slipped into control just as a contraction took hold of him, causing his body to stiffen in shock at the feeling.

Graham groaned as his stomach tightened and drew back, his back involuntarily bending under the pressure that suddenly seems all to overwhelming to have just began.

He must have been labouring for hours overnight, he realized suddenly. He'd slept through most of his labour and now was suddenly thrust into what seemed like the last leg of the journey.

As the contraction faded slowly Graham only had one thought in his head.

Pups coming.

He needed to prepare.

He needed a nest.

He needed his mate - where was his mate??

The bed beside him is terribly cold and empty, and there's a sudden cold shock of fear that shoots through him as he realizes that Sawyer isn't here. He's on a business trip, probably getting off his flight right now.

He's an hour away at best, and at worst, his flight home had been delayed and he was still in the air. Stupid, stupid bastard; why the fuck had Sawyer decided that this was the best three days to go on a business trip?

Because Graham had told him to go. Had said, and I quote, "Don't worry. I've got a week left, theres no way they're coming before you get back."

Okay, well, the semantics aren't important right now. What is important now is that another contraction is starting, just barely three minutes after the last, and he needed a nest- like now.

He'd build a nest quickly, and then try to call Sawyer and atleast give him a heads up that he had been wrong and that the pups were indeed coming.

But first he has to get through this contraction, which feels more painful and effective than the last. He's on his back, legs suddenly opening and spreading as he feels something beginning to drop inside of him. It's not quite down far enough that he thinks he's just cut out the middle man and is going straight to the birthing stage, but it's enough that he realizes that he's probably in transition right now, and that he needed to get to work asap.

He pants through pursed lips as his belly tightens, an unfamiliar sensation settling against his pelvis. These pups are coming fast, and as soon as he manages to get his breath back and his body relaxes as much as it can when it's on the precipice of such a monumental task, he pushes himself up onto his elbows and uses one hand to cup the underside of his bump and the other to push himself upright.

Graham swings his legs over the side of the bed and forces himself upright, and is suddenly very much aware of just how much of his labor he'd slept through. The pups head had descended far enough that, with the added benefit of gravity, it was now sitting between his hips. There's an urgent pressure that the wolf noticed, letting out a quiet whine as he staggered forward a few steps.

Need nest, now.

"I know -" He groaned to himself, his body fighting the odd sensation of pain and pressure mixing with a surge of hormones and more animalistic nature as the wolf took over.

Soft. Need soft.

Soft, right.

Graham stumbles toward the chest at the foot of the bed where they kept their spare sheets and blankets. On top is one of Sawyer's sleep shirts, a well loved band tee that Graham is certain the other man wore to bed last night.

Another contraction comes at he picks up the shirt, a more intense kind of pressure sweeping through him as he bites back on a groan as the wolf flares up inside of him.

There's a familiar scent lingering in the room, one that's bringing just the slightest edge of comfort to him during the pain, and the source of the scent becomes evident in his human and his wolf brain at the same moment he shoves his nose into the shirt.

Mate

Mate

matematematemate

He breathes in Sawyer's familiar earthy scent; pine and bramble and maybe a little blackberry under it all. The wolf melts, guiding his breathing carefully through the fierce tightening of the contraction. Once it releases he sets the shirt aside, deciding very quickly that it would be joining the rest of the items in his nest.

He gathers an arm full of linens and then just... stops.

Where is he making the nest?

Dark.

Quiet.

Comfortable.

He glances around the room, wondering if he should just make it in the bed, when his eyes catch on the doorway of their walk in closet.

It's dark, and, quiet, and it's not huge but it's not small; it's comfortable.

He quickly gathers the shirt and adds it to the pile, then makes a pit stop to grab his phone off the nightstand so he can text Sawyer.

Graham quickly unlocks the phone, and then glances at the time. His heart stutters in his chest when he realizes that he's only been awake for roughly twelve minutes.

He'd had three contractions in twelve minutes, and was starting to feel thy taletell tightening of a fourth. The contacting were three minutes apart, and steadily growing in frequency and intensity. He waddles as fast as his legs will allow into the closet, tossing all the linens into the ground before doubling over in pain as the contraction sinks it's teeth into him.

Graham clutches at his ribs belly, feeling it shift as it tightened. His knees begin to bend, bringing him from his hunched position into a half squat in the doorway.

There's a building pressure that seems much more urgent now, the wolf letting his tongue slip, and a low, throaty moan of oohhhh escaped his throat. Not the urge to push, not yet, but something that felt like it needed to happen.

Something is dropping lower and lower, a sickening tug downward that the wolf wanted to escape from. He grunted and groaned, panting rapidly as the contraction released. Graham quickly unlocked his phone again, shooting off a quick text to Sawyer.

Pups are coming.

Then, he sets the phone aside and quickly begins sorting the blankets into something resembling a padding. A heavy winter quilt first, and then he shook out a few flat sheets on top in hopes of not ruining the good blankets under him when his waters went.

He's just about to clamber in when he realizes that he doesn't have towels, or scissors, or anything to assist in between and after the births.

The human part of his brain is screaming at him that he can't give birth to three babies by himself, but the wolf side of him licks at his metaphorical wounds.

You are safe here.

You were made for this.

You carried three pups, and you will birth them with or without help.

And it doesn't make sense, but it comforts him. He is made for this. He is safe here. He's got the wolf, he isn't really alone.

So Graham scrambles to rush to the bathroom, gathering up all the supplies he thinks he may need, and then rushing back to his nest.

The pressure inside of him is mounting with each jostle of his hips, an urgency filling his wolf side with a desperate plea to do something, and as he crosses the threshold back into the closet another contraction comes.

Graham drops all the supplies he's holding and then drops into a deep squat, clinging to the doorway with his nails digging into the paint.

He groans, tossing his head back and howling as the pressure builds and his thighs tremble, stars dancing in his vision.

"Oh gods - oh gods, somethings... happening!"

There's an immense pressure down low inside of him, something growing and growing until he thinks he may just burst from it.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

The wolf is trying to guide him, reassure him, but Graham can't breathe. He's too busy focusing on the heavy pressure that's filling out his pussy from the inside.

He's going to break, and any second now he's going to burst like a balloon. And then, right as everything comes to a peak, something inside him does burst.

Hot fluid splashes onto the ground beneath him, pooling across the hardwood and into his line of vision over his stomach. It's clear, and there's no odor of urine (or blood, he thinks quickly), and as the contraction starts to release, Graham begins coming back to his senses.

"My water broke." He pants out to no one, having lost his phone somewhere when he threw everything to the floor.

There's still fluid coming out, splashing onto the ground and spraying back up onto his thighs as he tries to catch his breath. There's very little reprieve between the contractions though, and as soon as he's started to get his bearings, another pain is mounting.

Without the cushions of his waters, Graham is now very much aware of just how low the pup is inside of him. That heavy pressure that's filling him now wasn't from his waters, but instead the descending head dropping through his fully open cervix.

He's still squatting, the medical kit and towels strewn about, but suddenly the wolf is at the forefront again, trying to force his body up to his feet.

Nest.

"No-" He groans, curling in on himself as he begins to feel that desperate urge down inside himself.

Pup coming. Nest now.

But Graham is not going anywhere.

He can't possibly move, not when the head is so heavy inside his hole.

Not when he realizes that this pup is about to come out.

Now.

"I can't move, have to- have to- Ughhhhh!"

Graham arches his back, tossing his head back as a long, loud groan rumbles it's way out of him, the contraction peaking and right along with it, a greedy, all consuming need to whelp his pups out now.

He has to do it, has to birth them right here, right now. There's no stopping the primal urge to aid his body along, his stomach contracting as his legs shaking as his body pushes for him, dropping the baby down his cunt and rounding out the space behind them.

"Fuck, fuck, it's coming down, oh, it's coming down!"

He doesn't know why he's narrating everything that's happening. There's no one else here to hear him. But for some reason Graham needs to vocalize what's happening to him.

The all consuming pressure ebbs through him, stealing his breath and straining and stretching at skin that had never been stretched like this before, and even the wolf is whining and whimpering inside him as the pup's head begins to stretch him for a split second.

Big pup.

And indeed, when Graham brings a shaking hand down to feel between his legs, and is shocked by the size of the bulge he finds.

Its round and heavy, almost the size of his hand spread around it, and there's a little flicker of fear inside him that even his instincts can't stomp out.

This pup feels huge, and he's not even opening around it yet, and there are two more after this one to deliver. He's got no way of knowing if this first pup is the largest, or if the next one is, or the one after that.

There's also a very real possibility that Sawyer will not be home for the birth of at least the first pup, which leaves Graham to handle this on his own.

The contraction begins to fade just as soon as Graham has a taste of that burning stretch that's to come, but its enough to force the wolf to take over while his human side prepares for the worst.

His wolf decides very quickly that the first order of action is to move. He lowers himself down onto his hands and knees, his huge, pregnant belly brushing the ground as Graham shudders at the feeling of shifting inside of him.

Everything moves along with him, including the heavy pressure of the bulging head that's sitting right behind his hole, and the way his belly is pressing into the hard floor is creating a shaken bottle effect. More fluid spills from him as he lets out a low moan, trying to adjust to all these feelings.

And then as he begins to crawl forward towards the nest, another contraction comes.

"Hooohhhh-" He pants, trying to get as much air into his lungs before he feels his body beginning to bear down again, "Its right there, it's... I have to push!"

And push he does, aiding and abetting his body in its desperate need to whelp. He can't stop himself, even when his mind is screaming at him that the nest isn't that far, that if he just keeps going he'll feel safer, the birth will be easier, he just can't move.

Graham pushes, grunting and groaning, his tight womb drawing back so far that it's no longer touching the floor. His lips begin to part around the head, the fierce burn returning as promised.

Its unlike anything hes ever felt before, a white hot poker in his pussy that he can't escape, no matter how he twists and turns his body to get away from the pain.

He's panicking.

He can't do this.

Its too big.

It won't fit.

But then the wolf silences him, dropping his upper half onto his arms, forehead on the cool floor and ass raised comically high in the air as he shifts his legs apart even further, and bears down.

He's rewarded with more burning, more stretching, and more of the pup's head out. Not quite crowning, but a decent sized teardrop shape remains when he stops to breathe for a moment and then picks it up again.

His legs shake, back arching and flexing as he rocks and pushes and moans, tongue hanging out as he pants for air around the incredible stretch.

Surely its crowning?

Surely he's almost done.

But when the contraction releases and he reaches back to feel his hard work, Graham is distraught to feel the baby begin to draw back inside of him. He pushes desperately, urgently trying to get the head back to where it was before, but without the pressure from the contraction to help the pup stays steadfast where it is, no movement at all.

The wolf tries its best to comfort him, to remind him that this part will take time, but Graham can't help but begin to panic.

Maybe the pup was too big to get out.

Maybe he shouldn't have told Sawyer to go on that trip.

Maybe he shouldn't have taken those fertility drugs.

The next pain comes all too soon, and Graham scrambles back upright, leaning heavily on his palms as he drops his hips low to the ground, determined to get this pup out of him as soon as possible.

"Oh- Ohhhhhh-" He gasps, feeling the head begin to press forward again, "Oh gods, it's coming out, it's coming out, its coming-"

The head pushes heavily against his hole, tugging at the skin and forcing it to yield to the heavy weight. His pussy aches and smarts, the pressure and burn beginning to make him feel as if he may vomit at any moment.

He's given up on trying to breathe, instead just bearing down wildly with all his strength to get through the ferocious stretch. His vision is getting staticy, darkness beginning to creep in at the edges as he feels the head slowly sink back to where it had previously occupied, and then just a little more past that.

Pup is coming out.

Keep pushing.

So he does.

He pushes and grunts and cries out when his body blooms around the head, his voice becoming strained and ragged as he lets the wolf take the brunt of the mental load.

Graham feels the distinct shift when the head passes where it had previously been, his body open so wide he thinks it may split right down the middle.

"Crowning!" He cries out, throwing his hand back to cup the emerging pup, feeling its hair under his hand, "Its crowning- oh gods, it's so big-"

Dizzyingly big, the crown of the pups head fills his entire palm. Graham probes a little further, his fingers touching the stretched skin of his hole as it pulls tight around the crown.

It doesn't sink back in, thank the gods. No, the pups head just sits there, filling the space between his legs to the absolute brim with it.

The wolf once again urges him to move, to get to his nest while he still can, and this time, Grhaam doesn't fight it.

He heaves himself up onto his knees first, and then manages to get into an awkward crouch. The crown presses forward as its jostled, straining the skin around it even more and causing Graham to moan as he draws himself up onto his feet.

Graham sways for a moment, feeling the heaviness of the pup inside him now that he's upright again and wills anyone whose listening to give him the respite to complete this impossible task.

And someone above must have been listening because Graham manages to waddle his way across the closet to his nest and heave himself into it before another contraction comes.

He moans and let's himself drop onto his knees in the soft nest, falling heavily onto his side as the contraction fully takes hold. The wolf likes this position, and it feels so good to be off his knees for the moment.

As the contraction rises, Graham begins to feel an odd buzzing sensation at his back. It comes in short, sporadic waves, and for a moment Graham thinks something may be wrong.

But then it abruptly stops as he begins pushing again, and he's forced to push the thought to the back of his mind. He draws his leg up, gripping it behind the knee to keep it held open, and bears down on the crown exiting his body.

As he lets go of the push and gears up for another one, he feels the odd vibration in his back again, and a sudden realization hits him.

That's his phone.

Someone is calling him.

The second the contraction let's up, Graham lets go of his leg, doing his best to keep them open around the head that doesn't seem to have moved at all during the last push. He reaches blindly behind himself, gasping at the way his muscles pull as he feels for his phone.

Its stopped vibrating, but he finally feels his fingers brush up against the screen as another contraction begins to creep up on him, and it begins again as he gets ahold of it and flips back over onto his side.

Incoming Call: Sawyer

He answers, holding his phone with shaky hands as the contraction starts to ramp up.

"Graham, what-"

"How far away are you?" He interrupts, fighting the urge to push so he can hear Sawyer.

"I'm about fifteen minutes away from the house - I've been calling you for the last twenty minutes! What's happening?"

"The pups are coming, Sawyer! They're coming now - ughhhhhnnnn-"

As soon as he gets confirmation that Sawyer is indeed on the way, he stops fighting his body's desperate urge to birth this pup.

"Now? Like- like now now?"

Graham is too busy pushing their pup out to answer him despite being so desperate to narrate the event earlier.

He drops the phone, hands clawing at the sheets under him as he lifts his leg up and pushes on the crown that's stretching him open so wide.

A gutteral, desperate sound winds its way out of him, drowning out Sawyer's voice as he keeps trying to speak to his laboring partner.

The wolf has taken over again now that he's calmed down a bit, causing him to huff and strain deeply like he would if he was birthing this litter during a moon.

"Prop the phone up so I can see, baby," Sawyer murmurs, his eyes wide as Graham grabs the phone and props it up against the side of the nest so that Sawyer can see what's happening between his legs.

He can feel another contraction starting to form, a low whimper slipping out as he adjusts the camera until Sawyer is able to see his face and the birth with ease. As soon as he gets it set up, he drops his head back down into the nest, a grimace striking his features as the contraction begins in earnest.

"Oh my god," Sawyer breathed, watching as Graham writhed with labour on the screen before him, "Its crowning."

"I know-" Graham groaned, his voice cutting off into a desperate grunt as he finally starts to feel the slightest bit of give of his cunt, "I know, I have to get it out, Sawyer, I have to push it out of me!"

The desperate, greedy need to drop this litter right where he is fills him as much as the huge head that's holding his pussy open. The wolf is clawing at the edges of his brain, trying to guide him through the confusing sensations inside of him.

"Okay, okay baby," Sawyer tries to soothe him, his voice soft as he keeps his eyes glued on the phone screen, "Do what you need to do, I'm almost home."

Graham feels wrenched open, held so wide for so long the skin is starting to feel numb between his thighs. His body is struggling with itself, the want to strain deeply and get the huge head out on the next push gnashing its teeth.

But he has to let it come as it will, no matter how much he wants to just whelp it out right now.

"Ah- ah- ah- ooohhhhh!" Graham strains deeply, his leg pulling wider and wider open as the head bulges forward, the forehead coming free with a sickening rush, "Oh gods, oh gods, Sawyer, I'm whelping!"

He'd always hated that term- whelping.

Like a bitch laying amongst bloody towels in someone's house, heavy and panting with his huge belly on display, his nipples full as he whimpered and whined his way through the birth.

It was one of the reasons he was glad he hadn't gone into labour during the last full moon; the idea of birthing in his wolf form seemed so inhumane and grotesque he couldn't stand it.

But now, laying on his side in his birthing nest, trying to navigate what his wolf side wanted, his chest leaking milk and his cunt spread wide around the first of his litter, he understood.

It was more than just him giving life to his pups.

It was a carnal, instinctual thing that he couldn't escape, even if he wanted.

"Yes, you are," Sawyer hummed over the phone, "You're doing such a good job, pushing out our pup all by yourself."

Graham whined, his hand dropping down between his legs to cup the emerging head as the tips of the ears started to spread him even further. His leg was still drawn up high, his thighs shaking in effort as he grunted and groaned, pushing the head out into his own hand.

"Oh!" Sawyer gasped, watching intently, "Oh, that's it! Keep pushing, Graham, keep pushing!"

His legs shake and kick out as the nose starts to come, his upper half lifting off the floor of the nest as the pressure mounts and mounts. He looks over at Sawyer on the phone with heavily lidded eyes, panting for breath as he gears up to push again.

It felt better now, having Sawyer on the phone. It would feel even better if he was actually here, but the idea that any moment Sawyer would be pulling up outside and rushing in to help him deliver the pup keeps him going as he tries to escape the burning stretch.

The wolf stays there in the forefront of his mind, reminding him to breathe and push and move if he needed, that his body was made to birth these pups and he could do it.

And for the first time since this all began, he believed the wolf.

"I need to push!" He screams out, despite the fact that he's already pushing wildly, the head inching out further and further with soft sprays of fluid dripping out around the mass, "I have to push, I have to give birth right now!"

And then, with an incredible amount of strength, Graham flipped himself around so that his head was pressed into the corner of the nest, his pussy and ass pointed directly at the camera for his partner to watch as the head popped out.

"Ooohhhhh!" Graham cries out at the sudden release of pressure, the head so big it tugged at his pussy as fluid spilled out around it, "Oh gods, the head! The head is outttt-"

There's an odd energy in his body, the need to keep moving despite the fact that nothing is happening right this second. Graham twists and rocks his hips, thrusting down as he brings a shaky hand down and pulls his leg up behind the knee.

Sawyer is watching, completely awestruck, at the sight before him.

Graham is panting open mouth, and tongue hanging lazily from his mouth as his hips rock. His leg is pulled up, opening him wide around the head of their pup that hes just delivered. There's a puddle of his waters drenching the nest beneath his ass, and his belly is heaving and quaking with little contractions.

"Good job, love." Sawyer said, taking his eyes off the screen and saying something that Graham can't quite make out, "Good job. You're doing so well, almost done."

"I want you here - want you to catch our pup." He groans, rocking his hips into his hand.

Sawyer sighs, looking away from the phone did.

"I'm almost home. Do you need to push?"

Graham takes inventory of his body for a moment, trying to get a feel for what's happening inside him. Theres a few light surges rolling through him, but nothing that feels consequential. The head feels so heavy in his hand, but it hasn't turned yet, so there's still time to wait.

He shakes his head slowly.

"Okay. Just hold on, baby. We're five minutes away."

Graham nods slowly, shifting his body this way and that as it tries to adjust to the sudden absence of stretch.

Of course hes still stretched open around the neck, and the shoulders feel so heavy and wide inside of him, but theres no real pressure to help aide in the delivery of them.

Every second that passes, however, seems to be bringing the contractions back, and Graham feels very unsure if he can lay here with the head hanging out of him for much longer without needing to push.

"It looks like you." Sawyer murmers, eyes glued to the head.

"Yeah?" Graham pants, feeling the tell tale tightening of the first real contraction coming on since he had birthed the head.

"Yep. And its got a whole head of hair."

Graham smiles, letting his hand slip across the pups features and feeling that the pup did indeed have a headful of hair.

A few more minutes tick by, and Sawyer is saying something about passing the Wallgreens that's only two minutes from their house when Graham feels the mounting pressure returning.

"Fuck-" He gasps out, feeling his belly tightening with a strong contraction, "Oh fuck, Sawyer, I dont think I can make it another two minutes."

Sawyer pales at this.

"I'm almost there baby, just pant, just pant and try to wait for me, okay?"

And Graham tries, he really does.

He cups the head and rubs his stomach. Closes his legs and eyes and tries to blow roughly through the mounting contraction that seems hellbent on pushing the pup right out of him.

Suddenly he throws his leg open again, the head rotating and dragging agaisnt his closed thighs as he feels that desperate, primal urge to strain and push and whelp his pup.

He tucks his chin to his chest when his body pushes for him, bearing down with no effort on his part at all.

"Oh, Sawyer!" He groans raggedly, trying to stop his body from birthing this pup without his lover here, "Oh, I'm pushing! I'm pushing out the shoulders- they're right there."

"I'm right down the street, baby, dont push!" Sawyer cries.

But its all Graham can do now, working desperately to push out the wide shoulders as his lover's cab pulls up out front of their townhouse.

"I can't stop, I can't stop- I have to push, have to birth it right now!" Graham babbles, giving light pushes to try to ease the shoulders out, "Ohhhhh the pup is coming out of me! I'm gonna- gonna whelp it right now!"

Sawyer throws a handful of bills into the front of the cab and rushes up the stairs to their home as Graham manages to get one shoulder out, his belly heaving and his leg shaking in the air as he props himself up on one elbow.

"I'm here!" Sawyer yells as he bursts through, sprinting through the house.

He follows the guttenal grunts and groans filling the air, careening into their bedroom and rushing to their huge walk in closet.

He reaches it just in time to watch as Graham pulls his leg up as far as it will go, his belly drawing tight with the force of the push hes giving on the pup that's spreading his cunt open wide between his thighs.

One shoulder has already popped out, the other battering against Grahams pussy as he throws his head back and grunts once, twice, and then curls up once more over his belly and bears down with everything in him.

"Ohhhhh- Oh I'm giving birth! I'm giving birth- right now, oh gods its coming out, its coming out, its coming!"

The shoulder bulges against his hole desperately, Sawyer frozen in spot as he watches Grahams sides heave, his leg kicking out when the shoulder finally slips free and the pup slips out up to its torso.

He's so close. Just one more, just one more push and he'll whelp the first of his litter all on his own.

The wolf is howling in his mind, primal urges filling him and an influx of hormones just waiting for the second the pup is out of him.

Push

Birth your pup

You're so close, just push it out

Graham drags his upper half up one more time, propping himself on one elbow and keeping his leg pulled up and out of the way as he looks down over the huge swell of his belly and takes in the image of his pup nearly birthed and stretching him so wide.

He did that.

He had pushed it out this far without anyone else.

His body was made to do this, was made to push out litter after litter of his lover's pups.

He's still watching when the final contraction starts, watching in awe as his huge globe of a stomach pulls tight to his frame, and a gush of fluid soaks out of him. The pup slips forward, first out to its chest, then its belly button, and then Graham tosses a hand down to feel between his legs and tosses his head back, baring his teeth and bearing down for the last time.

"Oh gods, its so big-" Hd grunts out, unaware and uncaring of his lover standing in the doorway watching him give into his most primal urges, "Oh, I'm birthing such a big baby- oh! Oh! Oh its comingggggg!"

And then, in a burst of fluid and starlight and warmth, the pup is out. Sawyer gasps audibly as Graham collapses backward onto his elbows, the aftershocks still rushing through his body.

Graham looks up with half lidded eyes, catching sight of his husband.

"Sawyer -" He grunts out, looking down over the contracting swell of his stomach, so round and heavy despite the size of the pup that's now out, "I pushed it out."

Sawyer swallows roughly, taking a few shaky steps towards the nest as his partner lay panting, still curled on his side with his leg held high, the pup between his thighs taking its first hiccupy breaths outside of its parent.

"Yes, you did." Sawyer whispers, kneeling at Graham's side as he reaches down and collects their pup, "Oh, you did wonderfully."

Graham smiles at the praise, exhaustion overtaking his features as he rolls onto his back and sits up gingerly. Sawyer crowds into him, allowing Graham to rest his side against his front.

The other man puts his full weight on Sawyer, sagging gratefully against him as he cradles the baby close and begins to inspect it.

Just as stated, the pup did look decidedly like him. It had thin, whispy blonde curls that were drying to an almost identical match for Grahams. Its nose was button like, pointed just at the very tip, and its ears held the same, almost blonde color to the points that his own did.

"He's rather large." Sawyer said as Graham continued to take in his new pup, "Do you think he's the biggest?"

"I dont know, its possible- Oh!" Graham gasps suddenly, leaning forward a bit to look between his legs for a second, "I think we'll be finding out soon enough."

Sawyer goes to ask him what he means, but suddenly finds himself preoccupied when his husband thrusts the pup into his arms and lays back with a wavering groan.

He spreads his legs, drawing them up to frame his huge belly, and throws his head back with a moan as what could only be described as a bucket full of fluid bursts from his cunt.

His belly heaves as he starts to pant, the space between his thighs rounding out suddenly as something begins to drop into his birth canal and bows out his pussy.

"Oh gods," He gasps, pushing himself up onto his elbows and looking up at Sawyer, "Here comes the next one!"

--

Part Two?

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Twins At The Wedding - Part 2

If anyone in the audience hadn’t noticed you before, they certainly did now. You hadn’t even really realised the sound that came out of your mouth until you felt every eye turn in your direction. The logical thing to do would have been to explain that you were in labor and did not, in fact, actually have any objections to their nuptials.

But this was her damn wedding day, and you refused to make it all about you.

You forced some levity into your shout and started clapping. I was confused, but joined in out of moral support. It died down quickly, though, and everyone was still looking to you for an explanation for the interruption.

“Oh, I thought- is it not over? I thought he said they were bound in matrimony. Kind of… hard to hear back here,” you continued, trailing off when people started to lose interest in your flimsy excuse. “Please, continue,” you added, unnecessarily, as they’d already moved on.

They finished up quickly after that, and you got more than a few pointed stares once it was actually over and everyone stood up to clap.

While everyone’s attention was up at the front, you and I managed to slip into the aisle and to the back door unnoticed.

“Baby feels like it’s going to fall out of me,” you huffed, waddling down the hall with your legs comically far apart. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you peeked under this circus tent and found yourself staring at a head.”

“Somehow I don’t think it’s going to be that easy.” It didn’t need to be said, but the babies had been measuring large at our last appointment and even though you had generous hips for your small frame, there was still no doubt it was going to be an uphill battle. “But I can go under if you want—there’s probably enough room under there for me to hide without anyone else even being able to tell I was under there.”

You swatted my arm at the playful jab about the dress and then grabbed on tightly as you stopped in your tracks. You didn’t need to tell me what was happening, but I wrapped my arms around you so you could bury your head into my chest and hopefully muffle some of the sounds coming from your mouth. It only partially worked, and we got a couple curious looks from passersby.

“Just breathe. Breathe through it, let it go.” I ran my thumb over the back of your hand where it gripped me and didn’t stop whispering until you finally relaxed your hold. “Bad?” I asked when you looked up into my eyes.

You nodded. “I could really use a soak in that tub right about now.”

“Ok let’s get to the room and we can get you submerged” I whisper to you as you moan into my chest.

“I. Can’t. Move.” You hiss out.

“Wait it out. We aren’t in any rush” I reassure you. We stood there for around 30 seconds more, and finally the crippling pain started to ebb away.

“Ok I can move” you huff out, releasing your grip on me. I nod and we continue on to the room. Thankfully we avoided anyone else in the wedding party - everyone moving on to the reception and meal.

“Shit” I realised. “We’re going to be missed at the meal.”

“Right now, I couldn’t give a flying fuck” you cursed - seeing the bedroom door approach. You leaned against the frame whilst I swiped the card and swung the door open.

We bundled ourselves into the room and locked the door behind us. After a step or two into the corridor, you had lifted the dress above your head and dropped it to the floor. Once again you were naked and headed to the jacuzzi tub in the side of the room.

You scrambled down to your knees and leaned over to turn the taps, your hands gripping the side as a contraction picked up once more. You bounced on your haunches trying to relieve the pain as a thought passed through your head.

“Check me” you said. “I don’t even know if there’s anything visible down there”

Your ass poked in the air and I looked down. I couldn’t see anything. I had no doubt it might feel like things are right there and you were pushing a head out… but I guess the work had only just begun.

“Do you—can you see the head?” you prompted when I didn’t answer.

“Sorry, love, there’s nothing.” You muttered a string of curses and I put my hand on the small of your back. “Want me to check inside? See if I can feel anything?” At your weak nod, my hand slid down to between your folds and I stuck two fingers inside. “You’re so open, babe,” I commented, shocked at just how easily you accommodated the intrusion.

“Yeah, but am I—ngh—dilated?”

I wasn’t a doctor, but could definitely feel that your cervix was thinning and widening. “Definitely dilating, but it’s hard for me to say how much. Seven, maybe eight centimeters?”

You growled, dissatisfied with that answer. “I want them out. They have to come out!” My stomach clenched with another contraction and you rocked back involuntarily. My hand was still inside you and I let out a little noise of surprise. “What?” You asked.

“I think- well, maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear I can feel the baby’s head moving down.”

You groaned and moved your hips back further so that you were practically sitting on my hand. “Not your imagination.” The pressure had been building with each contraction, not just around the babies but also in your birth canal as a head forced its way through your cervix and toward its exit.

“That’s it, keep those vocalisations coming.” I kept my fingers inside you, providing a gentle stretching massage to your opening as you hummed and moaned. “Keep listening to your body.”

“My body’s being a bitch right now,” you grumbled, panting against the urge to hold your breath and clench up against the pain. The contractions have been almost nonstop since you inadvertently interrupted the ceremony and your body was starting to shake. “I feel like I’m gonna be sick.”

I pulled the small trashcan over, but you didn’t want to move or even open your eyes. You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, on your knees with your forearms folded across the lip of the tub and your head buried in the crook of your elbow. You heard my voice, whispering, encouraging, but you were too busy ‘listening to my body’ that you couldn’t make out most of it.

“So. Much. Pressure,” you groaned, curling an arm around your belly as it hung heavily toward the floor.

“How about we try out that tub now?”

I had to give you a hand up off the floor, but after a 3 stage process (one knee, hands, lift, then wobble) I managed to get you ready to step into the jacuzzi.

The water wasn’t deliberately too warm - I’d read that hot water made you sleepy and could slow things down - perhaps dangerous at this late stage - you still sank into the deep water with an appreciative moan.

I looked as even with the tub half full, your belly stuck well above the water line - your upper body rested against the back of the tub keeping your face above water.

“Jets?” I asked

“Of course” you sounded dreamy even now, as if the pain had lessened substantially.

I pressed the button and the motors whirred into life and gently massaged all around your body. One of the underside jets caught you in a position between your legs which caused you to give a very appreciative gasp.

After a few minutes of me being beside you brushing your hair and making small talk you said you needed me in before the next contraction.

I confirmed I’ll get in, and as I took off my clothes to stand naked in front of you, you heaved yourself up to make room behind yourself. I stepped over and slid my legs in through the gap in your arms so you were now sitting up and resting between my legs.

You tilted your hips for ‘that’ jet as the contraction built up.

“Good?” I asked when your hum turned from pained into something a little closer to the sounds I was familiar with.

“Very.” You settled back against me, rocking your hips against both the pressure of the jet and my quickly hardening cock. “I guess you’re enjoying them too?” You asked innocently.

I adjusted myself and tucked my arms under yours, my hands spreading warm water over the crest of your belly as they moved back and forth over its peak. “I’m enjoying you, like this.”

“Enjoy it while you can—won’t be able to for much longer.” You blew out a long, slow breath and centred yourself so that the jet was applying constant stimulation. The water was helping, but a steady ache was still building in what felt like your ass, which was probably the baby’s head moving down. “I think the baby’s moving into position,” you managed between breaths.

“Okay. Well, that’s good. It’s good, right?”

You moved my hands up to cover your breasts. “It’s good,” you confirmed, “but I feel so full.”

“Like you need to push?” I asked as my hands started to knead, squeeze, stroke and pinch.

You arched further into my touch as the contraction intensified and hummed noncommittally— you didn’t know how to answer that, as you’d never quite been in this position before.

“Maybe we should call an ambulance now…”

I started to move, to pull away, but you grabbed onto my arm. “I want- can we… do this here?” You asked tentatively.

“That’s not going to stop this from happening, love,” I said, not unsympathetically.

“I know, I just—“ This was something you’d been thinking about for a while now, ever since you started having contractions last night. “I want to be able to do this however we decide, between the two of us,” you started once the contraction had released its hold on me. “I don’t want to have to think about the sounds I’m making or where you’re touching me or what position I’m in. If we go to a hospital, they’ll be checking me all the time and insisting on pain medication or a C-section and I’ll be hooked up to a bunch of machines and they’ll want me to push on my back with my feet in stirrups whenever they say, and I just—I’d rather it be the two of us. Well, soon the four of us.”

You felt my hands slide down your waist to your hips, then over your thighs and around your massive belly to stroke gently between your folds.

“Is that a—“ you paused, gasped when my thumb found your clit, “—a yes?”

“That’s a… you’re the boss” I say, my thumb drifting lazily around the nub that rested at the top of you folds.

“Hold that thought” you moaned as your hands found their way to my thighs and you gripped onto them, looking for an anchor point. The contraction had its hold of you and you were temporarily lost to it for now, eyes closed and moaning loudly.

My fingers flexed out, trying to do something to stop the immediate pain of your own long nails digging into my flesh and managed to find their way into your folds. You didn’t flinch or give any sort of negative response to my exploration so I stretched my arm to try and get my fingers in deeper…. And that’s where I felt it.

Just a brush, but something was there, just out of reach. I think I had just felt out baby’s head.

I didn’t say anything whilst you were focused on the push, but once your grip slackened off from my legs I took hold of your hands - mainly trying to prevent you doing that again, as I don’t know how well my legs would perform if they were perforated, but I leaned in close and whispered behind your ear.

“I have a surprise… if you can reach in nice and deep.”

I guide one of your hands down between your legs and your fingers slip in. A half a second later I hear you exclaim “oooh” as you realise what you brushed against.

“I think it’s probably safe to start pushing,” I said with a chuckle. “If you need to.”

“Not—mmm—not yet.” With your fingers still inside, you could feel the head press into them with just the force of the building contraction. “M’gonna save my strength..”

We both knew you were going to need it. The babies in my family were heavy and had massive heads — I think I was somewhere around the 98th percentile for head circumference — and you had to push out two of them. For now, your body was doing its job of moving the baby down, and I was doing the job of keeping you relaxed and gently stretching your opening.

When the pressure got too much, you started to reach back for me again, but I winced and repositioned your hands to grip your own legs instead. “Sorry,” you panted after my little yelp of pain.

“Nothing compared to what you’re going through,” I said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You want to pull back your knees? Open up those hips a bit more?” You nodded, but made no move to do so. “You want help?” You nodded again.

You repositioned your hands so that they were under your thighs while I placed mine just below the outside of your knees so they would stay bent as we pulled back. It was a slow pull that compressed the sides of your belly so that it looked even more comically round. Maybe you were pushing a little bit, almost involuntarily, because the pressure turned sharp, almost burning. You frantically felt between your legs, almost expecting a crown to be forming, but there was nothing, not even a bulge yet.

“Too much, it’s too much — hooo — pressure,” you whined, releasing the hold on your legs as you did the same. “I need to — nghhah!” Your body lurched forward and you grabbed onto the edge of the tub. “Not. Yet,” you groaned out, as if your body would heed your command. You forced air rapidly in and out in quick puffs. Somehow you managed to get your feet under you and leaned forward in a deep squat. “Shit. I can’t- I can’t- I have to —“ My body betrayed your will again and you let out a deep guttural groan.

“That’s it, just let it happen.” I was still sat behind you and had my hand pressed against your sacrum. “Bring that baby down.”

It continued like this for several contractions until you suddenly leaned back against me, your knees going up and back as they had been before. This time you were the one to hold them there, and since I couldn’t very well see what was happening, I snaked my arm around to check your progress. I barely had to press in my finger to feel the soft bulb of hair, and when you pushed your whole pussy bowed out, filling my palm.

“Head’s right there,” I assured you when you collapsed against me. “I bet I could’ve seen it on that last push if I was on your other end.”

Now you just had to get it to stay there. “This feels impossible. How can something so huge possibly come out of a hole so small?”

I leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Because your body was made for this.” You let out a little gasp, both at my words and at the onslaught of another relentless contraction. “Now, push.”

I felt, more than saw your effort. With one hand cupping your bulging crotch, and the other one draped over your left shoulder I snaked that around to grab a handful of your right breast. I felt the cords in your neck bulge as you puffed out your cheeks and pushed. My right hand, down between your legs felt a twitch of movement, as a result my finger tips proved around the edges of your lips feeling for signs of the baby starting to show.

It was a strange sensation. I’d seen hundreds of babies being born over the years, all via videos where the camera was trained on the mother’s lower half, and you get to see things happening. Not having the visual input sent my mind reeling making mental images.

I pinched and squeezed your nipple on your breast and was awarded with your groans turning into moans - they sounded much more appreciative, though still coping with the pain.

I was a little wary - nipple stimulation was supposed to enhance contractions - I was hoping I wasn’t giving you too much too soon.

“How are you coping?” I asked, trying to get some measure from you. You nodded but didn’t give me any verbal response other than continuing to make pushing noises.

As the contraction faded and you released your legs from your grip, they flopped over the side of the tub in a makeshift stirrup fashion.

Your head tilted back and, alongside your deep breathing as you recovered from the exertion you commented on how it felt as the nipples were played with - it was like a surge going through you, like getting doused with water. It felt good but for half a second it was overwhelming - until you got it under control.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing then?” I asked.

You thought about it for a moment. “Well, if it gets the babies here faster, or easier, then good. Definitely good.” You guided my other hand up to give your other breast some attention. “Just start slow, please.”

At first it was light touches and gentle massage. Then my thumbs lazily stroked across your nipples, and when they peaked I traced circles around their perimeter, brushing over them occasionally just enough to make you shiver.

“More?” I enquired.

You moaned in response and I laughed. I gave an experimental squeeze with just my fingertips, but let up when you gasped.

“Fine, it’s fine,” you assured, but still I hesitated. You wrapped your hands around mine and demonstrated the rhythm and pressure you wanted, needed. More colostrum leaked out onto your chest which left you moaning at this tiny release of pressure when it was building everywhere else. “It’s coming. Another one—“

The suddenness and intensity of the contraction took you off guard and you let out a little scream causing me to be startled enough to release my hold on your breasts. Your legs were held open the width of the tub with your knees folded over the edges, which was good because you probably would have instinctually snapped them shut as soon as you began the next push.

“Fuck, it’s burning! It’s burning!” You released the push and panted, unable to bear the insane stretch. “Can you—hahh—can you look?” You needed to know just how much worse this was going to get, but couldn’t very well assess that with neither of us being able to see what was happening.

“If I move you might slip under.” I explained, trying to mentally work out how one of us could change positions with how we were placed in the tub.

“Damnit,” you huffed. It was the first time today you resented the enormity of this tub. But, the water was starting to get cold and your legs and hips were starting to complain about being in the same position for too long. So once the contraction was over, you swung your legs back into the water and looked up at me. “I need to move anyway.”

I apologised as I shoved myself back by pushing my legs against your back as you held onto the tub - I struggled to think of any other way to get me up out of the tub without you getting up first… and we both agreed you needed a hand up more than me.

Stepping out the tub, puddles forming under me in the process, I brace one hand against the tub side, grabbed your hand with the other - and you pulled yourself up my arm and grabbed my shoulder as you got upright and standing in the bath.

The sheer effort left you a little out of breath, but you stood there for a few moments, the water streaming down your body.

I glanced around the room and figured the large armchair could be a good place to position you.

Grabbing all the towels in the room, I covered the chair as best I could, and helped you step out the bath.

You flopped down onto the chair, as I positioned your legs over the arms - you gaped wide - but time wasn’t on our side, the contraction snuck up on us.

With your legs wide as they were, your lips were spread and I got an eye full. I could tell there and then you were close - my fingers separated the skin a little to get a clear view of the top of the baby’s scalp.

“Shit baby… the first ones right there. It’s like one good push and I’ll have it in my hands… though I doubt it’s going to be that easy”

“I guess we’ll see,” you tried to say in a somewhat normal voice, but it ended up coming out as a sort of strangled cry as the pressure built up with the contraction.

Even though your legs were already wide open, you grabbed onto your thighs for something to pull against. You gave one heaving push and the burning sensation returned in full force, causing you to recoil from the pain instinctively, letting out your breath in a huff.

“I can see the head when you push,” I informed you, as a form of encouragement. I took one of your hands and guided it to your opening. “It’s right there if you push.”

You managed to curl forward in a more steady, controlled push and your body responded in kind. The burn was still awful, but more manageable, and you focused on the tiny sliver of slimy, beautiful hair that pressed against your fingertips. But you could also feel how round and distended you were down there — an indication of just how much more of the head had to pass through me.

As you pushed, and pushed, and pushed, the head seemed to press further out from beneath your skin without ever actually coming any closer to a crown. And every time you released your efforts, it would slip back in between your tight folds like no progress had been made at all. Your throat was turning raw from all the grunting, moaning and whining you were doing and I squeezed your thigh in sympathy.

“You’re doing really well, love,” I assured you even though progress had been minimal. “You just need time to stretch.”

“I don’t know- how much- more stretching- I can take,” you panted, flopping back after another fruitless round of pushing. Your chest was glistening and heaving and it made your breasts and stomach bounce and jiggle in response. You noticed me noticing and adjusted your legs even further back, wider apart.

I got up from my kneeling position on the floor and stood over you. My hands started near your ass and then moved up the backs of your thighs until they got to the back of your knees. “Maybe you just need a little help opening up,” I said, a slight husk in my voice.

My cock was straining at attention and you briefly wondered how long I’d been like this. “Maybe I do.”

My hands pressed down, opening your hips up impossibly wide, and the bulge of the baby’s head behind your lips became obscene. There was no space for me to be inside you, so I settled for the friction I could get on the outside, pumping my hips to slide my cock against your clit.

You gasped, both from the sensation and the sudden force of another contraction. Your hands replaced mine behind your knees as you pushed, and mine moved to the bowed skin between your legs. “Push, push, push,” I chanted in time with my own thrusts.

We both threw our heads back and cried out at the same time, I had achieved my release and you because you were finally making progress. And it fucking burned.

I lost track of things for a moment. I was lost to my animalistic desires as I pumped and rubbed against you - your hairy mound giving surprisingly good friction to get me to release.

As I finally had my own contraction - admittedly entirely based around my balls and cock, and of course providing me a jolt of pleasure rather than pain - I looked down to see the spurt of creamy ejaculate that shot up the underside of your belly and the rest that matted into the same hairy area I’d only a few moments before been pleasuring myself against.

And just below it, the dark, teardrop shape of the first of our children beginning to make itself known on its slow journey to meet us.

I was suddenly back in reality and listening to your loud moan as you were mid contraction, hauling back on your legs and pushing for all you could.

“Fuck… shit… the baby. I see it.” I blabber. Your eyes shoot wide open at the revelation and you lose whatever focus you had, the head slipping back into your folds.

“Can I feel it?” You asked, hopeful that the head was well out when I sounded so enthusiastic. Your hand slid down to meet the mess around your pubes and you slathered it around your lips. Feeling around you couldn’t feel anything different. You were exasperated “where is it?” You sounded dismayed.

“Next push… keep your hand there. It’ll be back.” I sounded so genuinely in awe that you had a moment of hope, so you sighed and flopped back to wait.

You didn’t have to wait long. I helped push your thigh back and like some complicated game of twister you reached down. You roared as you pushed, you finally felt the baby, you smiled and beamed… and lost the push in the process and the baby slipped back in.

You didn’t care right now, you knew you were making progress. That’s all that mattered.

Every contraction was an uphill battle that seemed insurmountable. Even with letting your legs relax between them, your hips ached at being held open so wide for so long. In addition to the pain in your joints, every push brought forth a fresh wave of burning fire at your entrance, all with nothing to show for it.

“I need to close my legs,” you whined, writhing against the constraints of the arms of the chair.

“But you’ll lose progress.”

You huffed out a laugh. “What progress? That head is not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Ookay,” I said, sounding skeptical. “How do you want to do this?”

With a little assistance, we gingerly got your feet back on the floor and you reached out your hands for me to help you up. It took several attempts, but eventually you gained enough momentum to get upright.

“Mm, maybe this was a bad idea,” you moaned as the weight between my legs settled with the full pull of gravity. “The pressure — ngh, it’s coming, another contraction —“

I had just enough time to grab a little handheld mirror from the bathroom and lay it face up on the floor between your feet before you were reaching for me. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

You looped your arms around my neck, your belly briefly brushing against mine as you leaned forward and down, your knees bending slightly out of instinct even as you tried to remain upright.

“Hooo. Unghh! Oh this is bad. This is gonna be a bad one. Hnghaah!” You kept mumbling even between bursts of effort, pulling down against my steady support in waves as your body heaved in guttural grunts and groans.

“That’s it, push,” I said, answering your complaints with encouragement. “Doing so good bringing that head down. Spreading so nicely.”

You glanced down and, with a little creative manoeuvring, was able to watch as your pussy sputtered and bulged. You wiggled your hips forward and back, around in circles as you pushed, trying to get the baby’s head past your pubic bone so that it would actually stay in sight, but your opening was still too tight, too resistant. You had to be patient.

We spent several contractions here, just trying to let gravity and the contractions do their thing, but your knees and ankles were starting to tire of holding up your currently massive frame.

When the next contraction started, you widened your stance and slipped into a deeper squat. You pulled desperately at your thighs and roared, determined to make some progress, and was rewarded with a little popping shift. The mirror revealed a very distinct and tight ‘O’ shape that remained even as you gasped and shook, adrenaline coursing through your body.

“Chair! I need—“ you grabbed my arm desperately and I knew what you needed.

I helped you waddle the few steps back to the chair, careful to position your ass right at the edge of the seat, and bend your legs back over the arms. They didn’t stay there long, though. The pressure behind your opening was intense, and building momentum, so you pulled your knees back practically to your ears.

“Mirror!” You said frantically as the contraction tore through you. “I want to see,” you managed, before your words turned into a scream.

I put my hand on your shoulder to help balance you as I squat down on my knees, stretching my arm back to grab at the mirror on the floor. Its slightly out of reach so my hand flails about a little while until I get a finger on the edge of it, and pressing down, remain thankful for the carpet on the floor not being so rough that the friction stopped the mirror moving.

Dragging it half an inch further forward, I finally get enough of a finger grip on it, that I can grab hold and pick it up, so I swing my head back around - and get an eye full of stretched lips around the head right at my eye level with me being squatted so low to the ground.

I stay for a moment, entranced by the scene in front of my eyes. I'm wide eyed, slack jawed, and simply enjoying the moment when I register the howl of pain you're suddenly shrieking out.

Getting back mentally into the moment, I press you back into the chair through the act of me standing up, hand with the mirror pressing into the carpeted floor to help me up. You're now leaning back, gaped open lips pointing into the air, madly pulling back your legs.

"Fuck... that's the complete opposite way I want to go, don't want to pushing against gravity" you moan through clenched teeth.

I realise what happened, and get around your side, helping lift you back upright. The contraction finally abates, and you let go of your legs, they drop to the floor as you struggle to keep your balance with me juggling you around so much.

You give me an evil side eye, in response to which I give you a wide eyed apology, but you don't have much time to contemplate it... the next contraction came on thick and fast.

You grab your thighs again and lean your weight into me by your side. I hold the mirror out as far as it will go, and look over your shoulder. I get a good approximation of your eye level, and whisper to you "baby, look down."

The next gasp I hear from your mouth is likely nothing to do with the contraction pain, but more the first time you see the black, teardrop shaped mass between your legs, your vulva and perineum bulged out obscenely around the head which is tantalisingly close to being born.

“Our baby, that’s our baby!” You half whimpered half sobbed, as if that wasn’t obvious.

“It is. You’re doing so good. Such strong pushes, trying to birth our baby.” I gave some encouraging affirmations.

Your fingers snaked around to feel what your eyes were seeing, and it was such a strange sensation for such a familiar part of you to feel so foreign. You swirled your fingertips through the small patch of visible hair, wincing as they brushed up against your straining hole, then moved them to press gently against your clit as the contraction peaked and you pushed. Hard.

For a moment it was like a volcano threatening to erupt, the enormous mound between your thighs pressing further and further out with the pressure mounting behind. When it seemed like it could stretch no further, the teardrop peeled back into a taut ‘o’ that never seemed to widen no matter how much effort you put behind it.

“Come on, push, push, you got this,” I encouraged beside you.

“Help me,” you begged, looking up into my eyes pleadingly. “Please, the head, it’s- I need your hands on me.”

I didn’t know whether you meant that in an assistive or pleasurable way, but either way I needed to adjust my position. “I don’t think I can keep holding the mirror if I—“

“Just do it!” You cried, throwing yourself into another push.

I shuffled around so that I was back kneeling in front of you, back to my front row seat to your bulging pussy, and probed lightly with my fingertips. Even this small movement caused you to squeal and squirm, and I added a brush of my thumb across your sensitive nub to my motions.

“More! I need it—hngghh—out!” You squealed with exasperation.

You grunted in little bursts rather than holding sustained pushes at this point, and it was making it difficult for me to help you stretch. “I need you to hold your breath, love. Hold your breath and push to the count of ten.”

It was the last thing you wanted to do, but this painful state of limbo was maddening. When I started counting, you put your chin to your chest, your face scrunching in concentration and effort. You only made it half way before the intense burning made you gasp and release the effort.

“Uh uh, to ten,” you reminded me, which caused you to groan, but then throw yourself back into the push. “Good girl,” I praised, back to working on easing the skin back over the emerging head.

It went this way for several more contractions, and you were beginning to tire when suddenly the pressure behind your lips peaked and the head slid violently forward, opening you up to a full crown after so many minutes of tiny hardly noticeable progress.

Your howl of pain and surprise joined my triumphant shout, and with just a few more determined pushes, the largest part of the head inched its way out and the rest of the head slid easily into my waiting palms.

I don't know who made the most noise in that moment. Your shriek as the head passed through its widest point, or my yell of success as all of a sudden, my hands were full of the slippery, nobbly features of our first baby’s head.

I couldn't get down to look at it properly, so just had a view of the back of its slightly elongated, hairy, mess covered head, but my fingers told me a different story. They explored the shape in my hands. Feeling the baby’s nose, its mouth, 2 eyes. I couldn't believe it. I know for a few moments, I couldn't speak.

The room was silent except for your deep, rapid breaths as you did your best to recover from your ordeal. You were the first to speak - it felt like hours, but I'm sure it was only a few seconds later.

"The cord?" you managed to get out, after sucking in a deep breath and composing yourself.

"Shit" I replied, annoyed I didn't even think of that. My brain was mush. "Let me check."

My fingers probed at the base of the baby’s skull around its neck. I found the slimy cord, and tugged, gently balancing the head in one hand. It didn't seem to be tight in any way, so I could only presume that was a good thing. My fingers pressed your lips apart in the search for their target, and you winced.

"Still sore down there" you groaned. I apologised. It was clear that no amount of preparation watching videos and things could prepare you for the real deal - emotions ran a little too highly.

"Fuck" you announced. "It's starting again." as your hand reached down to your belly. I nod, getting both hands on the head ready for the next stage of the delivery. You don't show any outward signs of pushing - scrunching your eyes, or puffing out your cheeks, just let out an open mouthed moan as I felt the head in my hands try and rotate. I let it happen, loosening my grip and suddenly, I looked to the side of the mass between your legs, and I get to see our first baby’s face.

"Hi there little one" I grin as you shake your head.

"I'll say hi when he is safely resting on my belly" you groan "rather than being half way out." In a show of surprising dexterity, you get your hands under your ass, reach out your fingers to your lips, and using your first 2 fingers, pull them apart gently as our hands touch under the baby. "Come on shoulders" you moan out as the need to push picks up, and you focus on it once more.

I’d thought the shoulders would come easy, but I was so very wrong. The barely stretched tissues had bounced back into place around the baby’s neck and any attempt at pushing, at widening my opening again, caused me to hiss in pain.

“I need- a break,” you panted when you could not bring yourself to truly give into the last round of pushing, releasing your fingers from your lips that you’d so dextrously managed to grasp moments before.

“It’s not going to get any easier,” I said, still supporting the head between your legs. “And you’re gonna have to do it all again after that.”

You groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“I still think it would be better to try and get this one out sooner rather than later. In case the cord is compressed or something.”

You knew I was right, of course. But that didn’t make your mind any more willing to welcome the pain that was coming. But there was one thing that could help make the decision for you.

“I need gravity.” Whether you were ready or not, the weight of the head combined with the force of the contractions would move things along even if you did nothing to help.

Gingerly, slowly, I helped you scoot forward. You were no longer sitting, but rather in a deep full squat, your elbows resting on the chair behind you and keeping you steady even as your knees flared out and your giant belly threatened to topple you forward.

You moaned—this position forced the shoulders to press out behind you still raw pussy even without a contraction.

“I feel it. The shoulders, they’re- hooo,” you breathed as your stomach tightened. Your knees rocked slightly as your hips swayed and you could feel the shoulders trying to work their way into a navigable position as the pressure built up behind them. “Gotta push, gotta—“

You threw your head back and jutted your pelvis forward, practically on your tiptoes as you groaned and bore down against the immense weight. You screamed a little at the first bit of stretching and you felt my hand squeeze your knee in sympathy and reassurance.

“Almost there, just a little more,” I said, ducked down and focused out of view.

“This is worse than the head,” you screeched as the pain reached impossible new heights and didn’t seem to let up.

“You’ve almost got it, babe. It’s coming.”

The overwhelming pain began to turn to panic. Your legs scrambled, trying to flee from it, but between me and the chair, you were held firmly in place. “Pull it out, pull it out!” You begged.

“You’re getting it out. You’re gonna get it out, you just need to focus all of that energy into pushing.”

“I can’t, I can’t, oh shit, I—“ As predicted, your body couldn’t help but push, and you yowled as your opening stretched to a size that had to have been even wider than the head.

My stubborn refusal to let go of supporting the baby’s head, in some excuse that ‘I’ve got to protect it from hitting the floor’ had me contorting to a completely unnatural angle as you squatted down in front of the chair.

I took the opportunity as you pushed to reposition myself so I was lying on the floor, arms outstretched like a catcher sliding along the ground in a game of baseball, they were also bowed around your belly which was angled off you in such a way that it almost touched the floor itself due to its size.

The side effect of all this is that my face ended up smooshed against the globe of your belly and I couldn’t really see things happening between your legs.

However, my fingers felt the most wonderful, and slightly unnatural process I’ve ever been witness to play out around them.

As your moaning and roaring reached a crescendo, I felt your lips part. They bulged out around the shoulder as I felt the first one come free and suddenly I could touch it with my fingertips.

“It’s out pull it out” you wailed.

“I can’t. There’s only one shoulder you need to push!” I retorted.

“Pull it owwwwww.” Your wailing protest was cut short as your body took over I felt a pop as the second shoulder was born.

“There now pull you fucker!” You were not taking no for an answer.

“I can’t get my hands in” I was exasperated myself - you were pleading desperately for help but from where I was at I couldn’t get much more than a fingertip grip.

“Fuck you!” You screamed as your hands arched around and crossed under your belly to lift it up. I saw your heels stomp down to connect to the ground to balance you as you moved your arms away from the chair which had been stopping you from toppling over moments earlier. I was thankful that the chair was weighty or else it might have shot backwards and caused a world of problems as a result.

I finally got a good view of the baby. Your next moan brought the baby out shooting like a cork, bloody, messy water flowing freely behind it as it slid it out from under you.

You sagged down, sitting in the wet patch that was left as I lifted the baby up between your belly and leg. I swung my own legs around and under me to give me some support and managed to get to my knees without dropping the baby.

The room was silent except for the sounds of your heavy breathing, and my grunt as I repositioned myself.

We collectively held out breaths, until finally, a piercing cry ended the silence. The baby was giving it everything it could to express its annoyance with leaving its once warm confines.

Your mind went completely blank for several moments, unable to quite process what had just happened. You’d had a baby. You just had a BABY. It was painful and intense and sometimes a bit terrifying, but we had done this, just you and I, together.

And now there was a new life wriggling and wailing in my arms.

“We have a baby,” I said, sounding just as shocked and awestruck as you felt.

“What is it?” You asked, making grabby hands for our newborn.

I checked between the legs before handing it off to you. “Boy. Definitely have a son.”

“My baby boy,” you cooed as I placed him on your still very round stomach. He quieted a bit as you spoke to him and nuzzled into the familiar scent of my skin. “Oh, are you hungry already?” You asked in mild surprise as his mouth rooted around my breast. “Can you—?” You began to ask, but I was way ahead of you.

Settling myself beside you, I helped move the baby into a more natural position, palmed your breast, and guided your nipple into his mouth. It took a minute, and a bit of gentle squeezing from me, but eventually he began to lightly suckle. It was strange, beautiful, and magical - the hormones flooding your body made it nearly impossible not to shed a few tears.

You were still contracting lightly—a reminder that you weren’t done yet—but it was easy to ignore when all of our focus was on our newborn son.

“He felt so much bigger coming out of me,” you mused, brushing back the still wet baby hairs clinging to his forehead. “And look at that cone. Your journey out to meet us must have felt pretty narrow to you too, huh?”

The suckling slowed and eventually his eyes drifted shut. You could have done the same, you were certainly tired enough, but it was still too uncomfortable for you to truly rest.

Now that your body wasn’t working overtime, You realised that you were naked, cold, sitting in a wet spot and covered in any number of bodily fluids.

“I want to get cleaned up.” You announced. Then, looking down at our waxy, red, goopy newborn, “And maybe him too. Do we have anything to cut the cord?”

“Guess it’s lucky I used to be a Boy Scout” I grin, somewhat delirious at the turn of events.

I pull my shoelaces out of my shoes, and rummage in my bag that I brought my change of clothes in, smiling as I pull out the penknife from it.

I quickly look up online about how to cut the cord, and noticing that it had enough time to stop pulsing, I tied 2 points with my shoelaces and slit open the fleshy cord, finally detaching the baby.

With the baby finally free, you ask for a hand to stand up, and we get you unsteadily to your feet. You still have a natural bow to your legs but, I think to myself - you have just stretched out incredibly wide, and the cord dangling between your legs lends a slight comic relief to the moment as you sway back and forward, watching it drift and shake.

After a shake of your legs, I let you go, making sure you could support your own weight, and fetch a tee shirt from my bag, which we wrap around the baby in a makeshift swaddle.

I then lead you into the bathroom where we put you into the shower to wash off as I hold the baby. As the shower blasts you with its hot water, I mop up what I can of the mess from the floor - one handed of course, the second hand holding the baby - but curse inwardly at hoping the hotel are understanding about the additional cleaning that will be needed, given the circumstances.

I’m startled as you groan “fuck there’s something coming” as I dash into the bathroom to find you pressing your hands against the shower glass and squatting. As you moan out loud I see a shape slide out from between your legs and splat on the shower floor with a dull thud.

“Was that the placenta?” You ask.

“I certainly hope so!” I gasp, eyes drawn to the mass on the floor with blood seeping off and down into the shower drain, being washed away. I fetch a plastic bag and reach into the shower, scooping it out in case it’s needed.

“Was a lot less effort than pushing him out” you grin, your hands moving to your belly, knowing fine well that his brother will come along sooner than later.

We’re suddenly startled by a knock on the door. You step out of the shower and grab the baby, dripping water on the floor as I go into the main room. I pull trousers on, but whilst still shirtless, I open the door to see the bride and groom both standing there.

When you don’t hear any speech, you step out past the door to see what was happening, completely oblivious to your nakedness.

I don’t know who was more shocked - us, seeing them standing there, or them - seeing you, naked, baby in your arms and me half naked in front of them.