Me And The Guy In The Aisle Seat Shift Out Of Our Places As You Waddle Down The Cramped Airplane Walkway.

student who goes into labor during class and manages to hide the pain all the way until they get home and finally ripping their clothes off, collapsing onto the bed, and screaming as the baby crowns

I love this person

imagine you're in a breeding program and your only job is to get pregnant and give birth. you've been here nearly ten months and you're due soon but the client gets tired of waiting and just straps you down onto the bed. you cry and sob uselessly as they shove a camera probe into your pussy because they don't believe in ultrasounds. you beg them to stop but they thrust against your cervix over and over battering it black and blue trying to ram the probe into your womb with force alone. Finally they drive the probe up your birth canal and plunge it into the depths of your womb. as soon as they see the baby, they yank the probe out of you even as it catches on your cervix once more threatening to turn your womb out. They take a long thick needle and shove that up your cunt too and you can't help but clench your pussy around the doctors wrist. The needle tears your baby's amniotic sac open and sends fluid gushing out of you like a fountain. Your wailing falls on deaf ears. the doctor wrenches their hand out of your greedy cunt and pats the base of your belly. they tell you your cunt will be full soon. they mean full and heavy with the baby that gets stuck while you try birth it, the baby resting in safety sheathed in your bulging pussy while the doctors try to yank it out of your unwilling cunt. Because the doctors don't bother to wait for your labour to begin. they don't care. all you are is a broodmare, your body's preparation is immaterial. Once again you are having something shoved into your cunt. you try to resist but your thrashing is pointless, you are so thoroughly restrained, you can just barely breathe, only your arms are free to stroke and clutch at your belly. your full belly that once domed upwards has shrunk slightly after ejecting the cushioning fluid from your womb. the dinner plate they shoved up your cunt now sits between your hips cupping your bowed out cervix. the support would be welcome if it didn't mean having something lodged in your pelvis. Then the dinner plate whirs to life and you are screaming at the top of your lungs clutching your pregnant belly as the dinner plate reveals itself to be a suction plate ready to wrench your babies right out of your womb and yank them from the safety of your cunt kicking and screaming. and oh there is so much kicking and screaming. you aren't allowed the luxury of having your babies slip through your cervix or slide through your canal to be welcomed into the world, no, they are sucked and pulled out of you using an industry grade vacuum. because you're not a mother, no, you're a birthing machine, you are here to give birth over and over and over again until you can't anymore.

kofi

The Blessings of the Brotherhood

For request 465.13

13. an order of monks where, sometimes, they get pregnant. no one knows why. the robes hide it well enough, and they're not supposed to speak on it. when a brother gives birth, he is meant to do it alone, and leave the child at the alter when no one sees him. no one knows what happens to the infants...until one brother rebels.

As the newest monk in the order, you never have the good work, or the easy tasks. You spend most of your working hours laboring away outside in the fields, chopping firewood, or otherwise doing something back-breaking. It keeps you lean and fit, as all the young second-order monks are. You and your peers keep the abbey heated, fed, clean, and in good repair while the first order actually performs the service to your god- acquisition and safekeeping of knowledge. 

Every twelve hours, a service is held in the temple, the elder monks seat on low benches before the abbot, and the second order kneeling in rows behind them. You pray every day for your god to use you as his vessel, to make you an instrument of the faith, and to grant you the patience and wisdom to recognize his blessing when it comes. When you lift your head and survey your brothers in faith, you notice Brother Aspen is missing from his spot near the first order's benches. He'd been a little off for a few weeks now, and you ponder if he had had an injury or illness. 

Rising from the morning service, you take your usual task for the day from the elder monk who oversees the second order and go to the wood shed. Wagons of wood have been dumped to one side, and you will split and stack as much as you can for the day before evening service. It's one of the few tasks that permit you to remove your robes, leaving you in a thin linen shirt and plain trousers. 

You chop wood all morning and afternoon, pausing only for water and brief rests to catch your breath. You're unsure as to what your brothers do during their menial labors, but you recite the prayers you learned in the abbey's school down the hill, preparing to enter as a monk. It means you pray for hours and hours every day and have since your induction into the second order several months prior. You wonder if it makes you a good monk, or merely one who doesn't understand the calling of your god. 

By the evening service, you are physically exhausted, but you take your spot at the back and watch as the rest of your brothers file in, robes perfectly ordered and faces lowered. The abbot begins the first prayer, voice smooth and even and ringing in the temple chamber, echoed by the brothers. You notice the abbot's robes aren't falling quite right for once, but know better than to remark upon it at dinner. No one ever remarks upon why. 

When you recite the last prayer, entreating your god to use you as an instrument for the faith, as a vessel for his will, to bless you as he sees fit, you feel a warm sort of squeeze low in your belly. Thinking nothing of it, you rise at the end and go to the refectory for your dinner. Your days pass in a very similar fashion, right down to the warm squeeze in your pelvis at the end of every service. By the end of the week, you've begun to anticipate that squeeze. You've also noticed the abbot looking distinctly blessed, as it were. Sooner or later, he will miss a service and then all will be as it was. Indeed, he misses the evening service a week after those warm sensations began, and at the end of the final prayer, you feel a distinct pop! instead of the usual pulse. You eat dinner as usual, speaking amongst your friends, and go to bed with a final prayer before blowing out the candle. 

In the morning, when you dress, you notice your trousers are fitting rather snug. Usually comfortable and easy to move in, they're tight across the front of your hips and lower belly. There are no mirrors in the abbey, but you think maybe your middle feels a little less flat than it normally does- that, or the monks in the laundry boiled the clothes too long again. You carry on with your day, eating breakfast, attending the morning service, and then taking this week's assignment. The abbot lets his eye linger over you for a moment before sending you to the kitchens. Surprised, you report to the cook-monk and begin washing the endless supply of dishes. As you work, you recite your prayers over and over and over. When everyone departs for the evening service, your trousers are pinching terribly, and you know. 

Instead of praying for the god's blessing, you recite the prayers of thanks and gratitude. He chose you to carry his next offering, to use you as his vessel. You indeed had patience to wait to be sure, and wisdom enough to recognize the earliest signs. You've been in the abbey less than a year, and already carrying an offering inside you!

At dinner, you're quieter but immensely pleased, and eat your meal quickly to retire to your room. Shedding your robes, you notice the way your once-flat middle pushes out between your hip bones, straining the waist of your trousers. Releasing the buttons, you know immediately that you won't be able to do them back up in the morning, the bulge pushing out as the pressure is released. Stripping down to your undergarment, you smooth your hands over the firm bulge, your callouses scraping the smooth skin. Out of habit, you recite a prayer in your head, and feel a gentle pressure against your palms. Did your belly... grow?

Kneeling down beside your cot, you rest your hands on the modest bulge and bow your head. One after another, you recite every prayer that you could possibly apply to your situation. The more you mean them, the more your gut begins to strain out and away from your body. And with every bit of growth, the gratitude becomes more and more sincere. 

When the curfew bell rings, you jolt out of a sort of trace, and admire the taut globe under your hands. Deep inside you, something swishes and flutters. Your blessing! Deeply satisfied, you clamor quickly into bed, eager for the morning and yet more to offer your god. 

Dressing for the day, you can fit into only your robes, your stomach having swollen further through the night. Eating quickly, you are one of the first into the temple for the service, second only to the abbot. He watches you cross to your spot near the back, undeniably blessed, and there is surprise in his features. Kneeling down and lowering your head, you begin to pray again. During the service, you hardly notice any growth at all, but once you're back washing dishes, everything accelerates again. Twelve hours at a sink leave you with lots of time for worship, and your burgeoning belly swells outward, eventually impeding your ability to reach into the deepest sink. The flutters turned to swoops and rolls and then undeniable hands and feet under your skin and robes. Leaving the back corner of the kitchen, the cook-monk does a double-take when he sees your altered gait. You pray fervently in the service, pulling your navel another inch away from your spine, weight sinking deeply into your pelvis. Soon, so soon, you will have committed your first offering to your god!

The moment your door closes behind you, you strip naked again and stroke the prodigious belly hanging off of your frame. Kneeling beside your bed again, you get through the first line of the first prayer of gratitude when something gives way inside you, and fluid gushes from your hole to splatter on the floor. Again, you sink into the trance as you pray, meaning every word with every fibre of yourself. Your enormous belly visibly tightens in a regular pattern, the weight sinking further into your pelvis, pleasure rolling in waves through you. You stroke your erect cock with one hand as a spasm rolls through you, tipping your head back in pleasure. 

Just as the curfew bell rings, you feel the undeniable urge to bear down. Pressure and pleasure mix as you tuck your chin, pushing and praying in equal measure. Something begins to spread your hole, and you reach back to feel the muscular ring sitting open about an inch. The next spasm seizes you, and you mentally scream your prayers to your god as your body clenches down in ecstasy. Your hole softens and spreads more, leaving your hand there to feel your progress. The next spasm never relents, spreading your body as you stroke your cock with one hand and cup your blessing as it emerges from your body with the other. Stuck in the unrelenting spasm, you silently scream through a few orgasms as the blessing is pushed out into the world. 

Slumped against the edge of the bed, it takes a few minutes for you to come around enough to reach down and touch the babe between your thighs. There's no cord, no afterbirth, just aftershocks as your belly returns to its sleek, lean state right before your eyes. Scooping the babe up, you wrap him in a towel from your washstand. Absolute perfection. Your god planted a seed of his power in your body, and your devoutness brought forth the blessing in a matter of days, instead of the two or more weeks most monks take- only the abbot could do it a single week. 

Laying down on the bed with your perfect bundle, you drift off without meaning to, and wake late the following morning. No one would bother you unless you called for aid- some brothers took days to be delivered of their blessings. The child rooted at your chest, and you didn't protest when he latched onto your nipple, though you hadn't developed breasts. The babe was nourished anyway, a hot prickle announcing the let down of milk. Amazed, you fed him from the other side before drifting off again. 

You next awoke in the middle of the night, though a candle burned on your bedtable. Sitting on the foot of the bed was a glorious, naked man. Impossible to describe visually but radiating heat, and with the cleverest golden eyes. 

"You didn't bring your offering to my alter," the god said mildly, studying the way you cradled the babe against you. 

You lower your head, ashamed. "I have failed you, my lord."

The god shook his head. "I will overlook the disobedience this time, but next time, the offering must be given over to the alter, to me. Do you understand?"

You nod sadly, offering the babe to him. He takes pity on you briefly, speaking as he accepts the child. 

"This is the price the founders of this abbey agreed to pay in exchange for the ability to find and preserve the knowledge of this world," the god said, tucking the babe into the crook of his elbow. "The brothers will bear my offerings, but not raise them. Instead, these babes are raised throughout the kingdom- to return to join the order and continue to seek the knowledge of this place, and bring forth the next brothers. Only when all of history and learning is safe within these walls will the price be considered paid." 

You marvel up at your god. "But that's... we can never achieve that. Not when this kingdom, when civilization continues to expand, to make progress!"

"I know," the god said, smirking as he rose with the babe. "Enjoy your blessing."

Deep in your belly, you felt that distinct pop! again. Without hesitating, you began to recite your prayers again, a bulge pushing outward between your hipbones again. 

It's Rambles again! Bit of a long one this time, but here you go!

The adventurer was exploring a cave when he was captured by a drider, and speared on her ovipositor. She left an egg sac inside him, stretching his belly to a heaving full term mound in minutes. He endured the pain and the humiliation as best he could; eventually he could lay the eggs and forget this ever happened.

But that was months ago, and his hard, heavy belly is starting to move. The eggs are hatching inside him. His belly already hurts so much supporting the weight of the eggs, and now he’s getting bigger, and his skin hurts so much. He still doesn’t know how to get his clutch out of him.

i’m thinking about horror preg now aaarrrgghh… timid virgin boy realizing he’s pregnant and being so scared and confused because he has no idea how it happened and then it starts growing soooo fast, full-term within a month, and he’s scared and crying all the time and ashamed because he’s so turned on by it… his belly distended and deformed with something huge and active that he doesn’t want, so afraid it’s gonna tear through his poor tummy… he’s so fixated on the fear of bursting that he’s completely caught off guard and unprepared when the contractions start ❤️❤️❤️

They had been trying for a baby for a while, when finally she was looking at a positive test. Unfortunately, there was only one time it could have happened. A bit too much to drink, a few confessions that she'd sometimes thought about her husbands best friend in some of her more intimate fantasies, and just like that his little secret had taken root in her belly.

She was excited to be a mom, but can't bring herself to tell her husband she's expecting. Hiding her bump as best she can, not letting herself be intimate with him in case he noticed her beautiful changing body, how firm and heavy her belly had gotten. She has a plan. Give birth in secret where he won't find out, and then claim someone left the baby there. "Probably some teenager or something, can't imagine how she could raise it." Of course, since they're struggling to have one of their own, it's all but a sign. Of course they should take it in.

A perfect little plan for the eager mom to get out of her bad choice concequence free.

At least, it would be, if her waters hadn't broken in the shower, and the contractions were starting to get worse and worse, no matter how she tried to pretend otherwise and act like nothing was happening...

Extramarital Consequences

AN: I just wanted to write a short little rp drabble, but instead it comes out as a full scale 3k word fic. Thanks for the prompt MuchBirth, it was a great concept. Hope you like it. [fpreg, tw: vomit, tw: cheating]

“Are you alright in there, babe?” My husband's voice sounded through the bathroom door and I tried to swallow the groan that was sitting in my throat.

Why now, why today?! I had done so well concealing this pregnancy from everyone, thanks to the cold winter and the abundance of thick oversized jumpers and coats. And for the fact I was carrying a rather modest, if heavy, bump. Said bump had dropped in recent days and I had hoped the baby was merely getting prepared and wouldn’t be coming for another week when Daniel would be away on business. The baby, it seemed, had other ideas.

The contractions had started in the early hours and I laid beside my husband quietly breathing through each pain and praying it was just braxton hicks. But they just kept on coming. Every 40 minutes… every 30 minutes… and when they got down to 20 minutes apart I knew I had to move.

Hiding downstairs in the dark, I paced around our living room and kitchen as the contractions got closer together and more and more intense. Why couldn’t it have been a work day?! Daniel would leave the house early and I could labour and birth this baby in secret just as I’d planned. But it was Saturday and we were scheduled to go to a family event that afternoon. The heavy weight of the baby sitting low in my pelvis confirmed there was little-to-no chance of me making it to that party.

I paced around the downstairs of our town house until the early morning with its first glimpse of a rising sun filtering through the windows. Bracing myself against walls, tables, all manner of furniture, I spent hours swaying my hips through each agonising contraction that struck, praying they would eventually stop but they never did. I heard Daniel get out of bed and jump in the shower and I busied myself doing the dishes when he came downstairs. He looked at me curiously, seeing my sweaty and flushed face and asked if I was coming down with something. I assured him I was fine as he made his morning coffee, but soon had to twist back around to face the sink to hide the grimace on my face as another strong contraction barrelled its way through my womb. My hands gripped the counter in a white knuckle grip and it took everything I had not to whimper from the pain.

After assuring Daniel that I was alright, I disappeared quickly back upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom. I turned on the shower, the tiled room echoing the loud noise of the powerful jets, and allowed myself to groan deeply through the next contraction. They were less than 15 minutes apart and had the ability to steal my breath away. Gripping the sink and panting heavily, my mind began to spiral and panic. How the fuck was I going to keep this from Daniel?! We were struggling to conceive, if his discovered this pregnancy there would be no way I could pass this baby off as his. He would find out I slept with his best friend and my dream of a suburban family life would be destroyed. The baby sank lower in my hips and my knees dipped into a semi-squat from the increase in pressure. We were supposed to go to a party later, with family and friends, and Daniel would be by my side all day. But this baby was coming, soon if the pressure between my legs was any indication.

I stepped into the shower, attempting to ease the pain knifing at my lower back. Cupping my protruding belly I whispered a plea to the baby to stay put a while longer. I loved my pregnant body and was sad not to have shared this experience, to marvel at the incredible changes of pregnancy, with my partner. But there was an alluring excitement in keeping the baby secret - something just known by them and me. I couldn’t wait to meet the life I had been growing.

My thoughts tempted fate and the next contraction was soon upon me and I doubled over in the shower bracing my knees. The pressure between my thighs was building, the steaming hot water doing very little to ease the pain as it crested, my belly turning to stone and pushing everything downward. “Mnghhhhhhh!!” I grunted, involuntary, and almost dropped into a squat as the urgency built. No… baby, not now.

The water at my feet turned a pinkish murky colour and I knew from the release of pressure that my waters had just broken. Fuck.

When the contraction faded and my legs stopped shaking I carefully stepped out of the shower. Okay… my water’s broken but that doesn’t mean I’ve run out of time. I just need to think of a way of getting Daniel out of the house. I could feel the baby shift and kick within my womb, protesting the situation as much as I was, its head pressing eagerly against my cervix. “Hoooo… it’ll be okay little one. I promise— mnnnnhhhh…” Every breath, every word, that slipped past my lips now laced with a pained groan.

“Are you alright in there, babe?” Daniel asked from the other side of our bathroom door. I clamped my mouth shut and swallowed the involuntary noises from escaping.

“Nng— yeah— fine.” I somehow gritted. The weight and pressure pushing down in my pelvis was quickly making me nauseous.

“Are you sure? You weren’t looking too great downstairs.”

Damn him and his caring nature, just move away from the door before I scream! A contraction struck mere minutes after the last and I couldn’t stop the gasp as my belly visibly hardened and contorted inwards. The pressure was mounting, expanding like a balloon about to burst, my pelvis being shoved apart to make space for the large head that was pressing atop my cervix. I couldn’t breathe, the sensations overwhelming my senses, my stomach rolled and my throat gagged. I was going to be sick.

Dropping to my knees, naked on the floor, I hunched over the toilet bowl and promptly vomited the remnants of last night's dinner into the porcelain. My whole torso contracted in on itself in more ways than one and I completely lost all semblance of control. My taut belly, hardened by labour pains, convulsed and I heaved and coughed loudly. The force of throwing up also resulted in my womb squeezing against the bowling ball in my pelvis, bearing down on the already low head and pushing it into the birth canal.

“Oh sweetheart, are you sick?” Daniel asked through the door. “Let me in honey.”

“No, just— give me a minute…” I gruffed, laying my head in the crook of my elbow.

“We don’t have to go today if you’re not well. I can stay here and look after you.”

Hell no, that is the last thing I need. I asked him to get me some water from the kitchen, to buy me some precious time to gather myself. When the sickness passed I hesitantly put a hand between my legs… the baby so low it felt like it was about to fall out at any minute. I had pushed. I didn’t mean to, it was automatic. But still my body had pushed the baby lower towards its exit. Thankfully it was not as low as it felt as I couldn’t feel a head, but I knew it wouldn’t be long. Wrapping myself in a fluffy dressing gown and schooling as neutral a face as I could, I unlocked the door and greeted my husband as he brought me the requested water.

“I don’t think I’m going to go today, I feel like shit.” I said honestly, taking a sip and slowly walking towards our bed, careful not to waddle from the massive head lodged in my pelvis.

“It’s okay babes, we can cancel. I’ll call your parents.” Daniel offered, helping me to sit.

“No—” I said a little too quickly. “You- you can still go. I’ll just take it easy and s-sleep it off…” He looked at me curiously, trying to ascertain just how unwell I was and if I could be left alone. “Really,” I pleaded, “I’ll be fine. Go, have fun.”

“Well, if you’re sure.”

“I am. Really—mmhh…” My hands clenched tight as another contraction was beginning to appear, my fingernails burrowing deep into my palms. “W-why don’t you go e-early… see if they need h-help setting up.” My stomach tensed beneath my fluffy dressing gown and I shifted subtly on the bed as an immeasurable pressure returned with the pain. This baby was not waiting until the afternoon for Daniel to leave for the party, I desperately needed him to go now.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Daniel joked, tucking a frazzled lock of hair behind my ear. “I want to stay and look after you darling, make sure you’re okay.”

“Mnnn… I just need to lie down…” I huffed, trying to keep the strain from my voice. My body was itching to move, to sway and move my hips, to open up for the emerging baby as the contractions worked hard to deliver the child. But I had to fight against the instincts, ignore all the cues in the recess of my brain. Slumping sideways down on the bed, I curled over my contracting belly and arduously moved to lie under the covers. My skin was radiating heat but I couldn’t remove my dressing gown, couldn’t risk exposing a glimpse of my pregnant body. Had to stay covered, had to hide this baby, had to stay sweating beneath the fluffy gown and duvet covers.

Daniel stroked my hair as I curled up and I couldn’t help but scrunch my eyes through the pain barrelling between my hips. Oh baby, wait a bit more… please.

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright hun?” Daniel questioned once more and I managed to gruff out an assurance, stating that I’d be fine and just needed to be alone.

Thankfully I felt the bed shift, my husband getting up and leaving the room saying something about calling the family and giving me space to rest. I sighed in relief at the sound of the bedroom door closing.

Lying on my side helped the constant stabbing pain in my lower back but it was doing nothing to prevent the baby from making its way further down. I could feel it pressing against every nerve from the inside, pushing its way through the narrow space. I tried to squeeze my thighs, to clench everything I could to stop its movements but nothing worked. The pressure was constant, sitting heavily and urgently at the apex of my thighs. Rolling forward I buried my face deep in the pillow to muffle the rattled groan that came from the pit of my stomach. The baby was right there, its imminent arrival clear by the agonising pressure consuming me. I tried to fight it, meeting every wave with defiance, but my attempts were failing. I needed to push.

Before I was even aware of what was happening my whole body tensed and bore down with the peak of the contraction. It felt…satisfying, to give in to the urge and push alongside the tensing muscles, to work with my body instead of against it. Gasping a ragged breath, I pushed again, more forcefully this time. It was moving, inching closer towards my folds. Without thinking I grabbed my leg, still wrapped under the layers of clothing and duvet, and I pulled it towards me so my thigh was beside my contracting belly. I had to make more room, I needed to open myself up for the emerging babe. The back of my knee was damp from sweat and I gripped it tight, opening my hip beneath the covers, and gritting my teeth I pushed again.

It was coming, I could feel it! The contraction soon ended and I let my leg fall back against the other, curled up sideways on the bed and panting frantic breaths. A knock on the bedroom door brought me out of my birthing bubble, suddenly remembering Daniel was still in the house. Oh fuck, what if he heard me pushing?!

“Honey..? Can I come in?” His tentative voice asked and opened the door a crack. I groaned, neither an acceptance or refusal, but it was all I could manage.

Daniel stepped in our bedroom softly. “I’ve spoken with your parents and I’m going to head over there early and help them set up. I know you like to be alone when you’re unwell.” I nearly cried with relief.

“But I’ll come back to check on you before the party starts, okay?” Daniel perched on the edge of the bed and brushed his fingers through my sweaty hair. I nodded and exhaled heavily, hoping it looked like I was just fighting nausea and nothing more. “I’ll get you a bucket, just in case.” Daniel said sweetly and disappeared into our en-suite bathroom.

The contractions were right on top of each other now, the baby was sitting right between my legs desperate to get out. The next wave hit when Daniel was out of sight and I panted as quietly as I could. Don’t push… don’t push… don’t push… I thought over and over again. Curled up on my side my legs drifted apart, one leg bent at the knee, the other straight down the length of the bed. The pressure was slowly killing me; the strain of holding everything in, the baby slipping lower, pressing gently against my labia despite my efforts. Fuck I needed to push, but I daren’t. Daniel was still here…. Breathe… don’t push… breathe… don’t push… Even with the mantra my body did not adhere to the instructions. At the end of each measured breath I could feel my muscles bearing down and pushing the baby, its head starting to part my sensitive lips.

Daniel came back into the room and placed a bucket beside the bed, right next to the pillow where my face was half buried. “How you holding up?” He asked affectionately. I couldn’t speak, could barely breathe, every ounce of strength going into not actively pushing. Instead I closed my eyes and tilted my face further into the pillow.

In the faint background of my personal hell I could hear my husband slowly pottering around our bedroom as he got himself dressed and ready to leave for the party. Every minute dragged on for hours, as he found his trousers and shirt, muttering to himself, all the while I wanted to scream and howl and push! The baby was parting my folds, its head surely poking out between my thighs. Tears dampened the pillow and I was trembling, trying desperately hard not to push. But even without my participation, the baby was slowly making its way into the world. I nervously lowered one of my hands beneath the heavy covers, feeling between my legs. Oh my gosh… that’s my baby I thought as I felt the slimy surface of the partial sliver of its head. It was moving down, every contraction squeezing it further out of my body. My palm clamped hard over the emerging head… don’t… don’t pushhhhhh… a weak groan rumbled my throat as my body uncontrollably pushed, hard.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Daniel asked.

I was far from okay, I was pushing his best friend's baby into my own palm for fucks sake. In between pushes, I gulped a breath and offered a short and snappy “uh-huh” before my body was forced to bear down once more. My hand remained steadfast in its position between my legs and thankfully the baby didn’t slip out any further. Once the contraction eased I panted a relieved sigh.

“I’m heading out now babes.” Daniel stated aloud. “I’ll be back to check on you later. I love you.”

“Ngghh— love you too—” my rasped voice came from under the covers. I was in too much pain to notice the guilt that twisted in my chest.

I remained frozen in the bed, my ears listening desperately for the sound of the front door to close and his car to start. The roar of the engine, the glorious sound, slipped through the vents in the bedroom window and I sobbed with relief. He was gone!!

Immediately I threw the covers off my sweaty skin and tore myself out the tangled mess of my dressing gown. The baby was partially crowning and my gods I needed to push. Everything hurt, everything ached, I needed to move but there was no strength left in my body to get up. Hooking a leg over the edge of the mattress I rolled off the bed and slipped down to my knees on the luscious carpet.

With my elbows on the mattress and my face buried against the sheets, my knees widened on the floor and my hips sank downwards as I pushed with everything that I had. Burning fiery pressure erupted between my thighs and I growled through the excruciating pain, pushing and pushing and pushing. I couldn’t take it anymore, this baby had to get out. My entire body trembled as the baby stretched me open, but I kept going push after push and with a primal grunt the head finally slipped out. Relief flooded through me as the pressure eased. Panting, desperate for air, I was barely aware of any of my other senses; of the now-damp carpet under my knees, or the sound of the engine returning to our driveway, or the creek of the bedroom door being opened.

“Honey?… I errr… I forgot my phone and then I heard you scream. What’s… what’s going on?” Daniel asked, frozen in shock at the door.

“…um… I erm…” I stuttered, speechless and naked beside the bed, an illegitimate baby hanging between my legs. “I umm…I— I— ohhhh… oh I need to push….!!!” Before I could think of an explanation my body was bearing down once more, birthing my husband’s best friend’s baby right beside our marital bed.

🤰🍼1️⃣🚌>🏠🫴 🖐️🛑🏳️🧍🧎🐢 ⌛🎚️

Story: A woman is a perfectionist with a planned homebirth, but her water breaks at the bus stop, forcing her to get home in labor which is moving faster than she wants. What’s worse, she hasn’t set anything up at home, so she starts setting up everything as fast as she can, even with the head beginning to descend. Each time it gets too close, she moves it back. At one point, she has to hide her labor from a poorly timed delivery man. It doesn’t matter if it’s small, she refuses to give birth until everything is her preferred way. She could be 1 push away from delivering, but remember something she forgot and move it back to fix it then do it all over again.

(Thoughts?)

My thoughts are that this would be lots of fun! So following in my, post nothing all week, then post twice in one day, here you go!

The following story contains: extreme self birth denial and lots of pushing the baby back in. Fpreg.

Lindsey had a plan—she’d have a home birth, in front of a mirror so she could see what she was doing, with a camera recording for posterity, squating, candles, incense, relaxing music. It was going to be perfect. 

But a perfect birth took a lot of prep, and she’d been running around all week trying to just buy everything she needed for a baby. Sure there had been cramping for the last few days, and sure, the baby was already a week overdue, but she figured she had time to make everything perfect.

Right up until she was waiting at the bus stop, bags full of candles, when a particularly vicious cramp overtook her. She groaned, but couldn’t smooth away with her hands full of groceries. The intensity continued to dial up, the contraction didn’t seem to stop. So much pressure— pop. 

The pressure released as her waters broke all down her jeans. Lindsey gasped, eyes wide, and glanced around. But the bus stop was empty. Quickly, she set down her groceries, shimmied out of her jacket, and tied it around her waist, like she used to do in school when her period came on unexpectedly and she had no pads.

The baby was coming, and nothing was set up at home! She wasn’t ready. Urgency rushed through her, a need to be home, to be moving and preparing, but she could do nothing but stand and wait for the bus. The next contraction hit, far stronger without her waters, and she gasped, surprised at her intensity. Her hands wrapped around her round stomach, pushing back her t-shirt so she could touch her warm, stretched skin and soothe it more directly. She shifted her hips, back and forth, trying to wiggle away the pain. The baby was low, she could feel it, could feel the pressure of it moving down inside her. 

The next contraction was even worse, and with it came a demand; push. But she couldn’t. Would not. This birth had to be perfect. So she pressed her legs close together, and forced herself to breathe, in and out, in and out. It took five contractions for the bus to finally arrive, at which point she was so lost to the feeling of the baby slowly stretching her cervix and slipping down she nearly missed it.

Coming to a sudden realization, she frantically bent down to grab her bags, and awkwardly staggered onto the bus, still mid-contraction. 

In contrast to the empty bus stop, the bus was full. Still, a nice woman gave up her seat for Lindsey, who collapsed into it gratefully, already tired and sweaty. She tried to keep her legs together while sitting, but her stomach was large and low, and demanded that she spread her legs so there was room for both it and her lungs. As the next contraction struck, Lindsey wrapped her hands tight around the handles of her grocery bag, her nails digging into her palms. The smaller, sharper pain helped draw her focus from the overwhelming, sickening pressure that was taking over her womb.

Her house was forty minutes away by bus. By the time it pulled into her stop, she barely managed to stand. When she walked, there was a distinct waddle, and the baby, oh, it was so low. 

She waddled from the bus, clutching her groceries, made it to the bus stop sign, and had to stop as a particularly vicious contraction struck. Don’t push, don’t push, she repeated to herself, breathing as her stomach seized around her baby, forcing it downward despite her best efforts. And god she could feel it, just there, between her legs. Coming ever closer, and she still had so much to do.

Walking was hard, her legs spread far apart, her back aching, her hands full, and the baby’s head shifting a smidge lower with each step. It felt like it might fall right out of her. Three contractions later, she reached her door. Shaking hands shoved the keys in, and then she was inside. She dropped her bags immediately, leaned against the door, and pushed. The burn was immediate. She gasped, as the pain was enough to shock her out of her need to birth.

She couldn’t, not yet anyway. Things had to be perfect.

First, she needed to finish setting up the baby’s room. Bending, she picked back up her stuff, then began to shuffle awkwardly toward the stairs, dragging herself up them one at a time, hips aching with the movement. 

The baby’s room was a mess of boxes and bags. She’d thought she would have more time. Well, she’d make more time.

Gathering herself, she started to work, kneeling down, legs spread wide, to accommodate how low the head was. Then she dumped out the pieces, found the instructions, and got to work.

Except the instructions weren’t translated, and they made little sense. With growing frustration and urgency, Lindsey worked on the crib, as, with each contraction, the baby spread her open just a tiny bit more before sinking back in, once the contraction was over. 

Finally she threw aside the instructions in frustration, having made no progress. It was too hot, she couldn’t think. Using a nearby rocking chair, she pulled herself to her feet, groaning as it made everything shift, and began stepping out of her stiff, wet pants. She didn’t replace them, she was planning on having a naked birth. And in fact, tossed her shirt aside as well.

Another contraction hit and she stared down, shocked as she watched her stomach literally sink into her body. It hurt, of course, but it was beautiful, even as she felt the pain of her baby’s head spreading her open despite her refusal to push. Yet this time as she stood, with her legs naturally spread, the baby’s head didn’t go back in. It stayed, the burning stayed.

The baby was coming, and it had nowhere to sleep! Reinvigorated, Lindsey knelt back down and began working on the crib. As the next contraction hit, her hand shot to her naked pussy, found the head, and held it there, keeping it from coming out any further. As soon as it was over, hand damp with birthing juices, she continued working on the crib.

Finally, thirty minutes of agony later, the crib was done. She stood with a groan, bracing her back to stretch, then looked about the rest of the room. Still a mess. So she began organizing. Bending down to pick up a bag, she groaned as the position forced the baby just a bit further out, then she stood with the item, waddled to where it belonged, put it away, then squatted again to retrieve the next item. With each squat, the baby moved out just a bit further, walking became just a bit harder. When contractions came, Lindsey would hold her hand against the baby’s head, holding it in place, but she couldn’t hold it in place while picking something up. 

By the time the room was tidied, her baby’s head was at a full crown and she could barely walk. Holding the baby in, she looked around the room. The baby blue clock on the wall declared she’d been home for two hours, in active labor for four and a half, and the room was finally ready for her baby.

Now, to prepare for her birth. But she wouldn’t get anywhere with her baby’s head at a full crown. So, taking a deep, steadying breath, she brushed her hand against her baby’s wet curls, and began to push it back in.

The pain was awful. She opened her mouth to scream, but couldn’t make a sound. Still, she kept with it, pushing it up and in until her lips closed around it once more. It was still there, so low, so ready to come, but she could walk easier, now.

So, on shaking legs, she waddled to the bathroom, found her mirror, and carried it to her bedroom, stopping once on the way for a contraction which began to push the baby out once more. 

The mirror in place, Lindsey stepped back, examining the room, trying to think what else she needed. Right, the puppy pads to absorb the mess. Those were in the downstairs bathroom. 

She had to cling to the railing to make it down the stairs, her baby’s head slipping out each time she spread her legs to go down the next step. By the time she reached the bottom, her waddle had gotten quite a bit wider, the head spreading her wide once more. 

When she bent to get under the sink at the bathroom, the baby slipped out once more, and she gasped, catching the baby’s head with her hand, finding it at a full crown. Her legs trembled as she crouched there, one hand steadying herself on the counter, the other holding her fully crowned baby’s head in. 

With a deep breath, she began to push the head back in again, pressing her eyes closed, her head against the counter to fight off the pain. This birth had to be perfect, and that was not giving birth on the bathroom floor. 

Gathering the puppy pads, she leveraged herself back up and began the arduous climb back up the stairs this time, she kept one hand to her pussy the whole time, keeping the head in despite two contractions. 

Sweating and exhausted, she reached her room once more, knelt down, and began spreading the puppy pads. That done, she stood, held the baby in against a contraction, then went to gather the camera which was in the garage—which meant traversing the stairs once more, one hand glued to her pussy, the other holding the railing, or on the way up, the camera. 

The birth stuff was in her bathroom, thankfully. With the camera set up, she waddled into her room, found the towels, the clean scissors for the cord, the bowl for water, etc. etc. In favor of going faster, she pulled her hand away from her emerging baby to carry things with both hands. 

The next contraction came as she was carrying them to her birthing spot. She groaned, tried to force her legs together, since her hands were full, but still, the burning returned as her body pushed frantically, and her already stretched lips gave way to the force. The rest of the walk across the room was rather awkward but she made it, crouching to set things down and immediately catching her baby’s head to keep it from coming out any further. Not quite at a full crown, breathed through the next contraction as she looked around and tried to figure out what was left.

Candles. Music. Start the recording. Not much left, she could do this. She could.

Her candles were in the night stand drawer. Feeling too tired to stand, she crawled over there, stomach swaying with each motion, her baby’s head still at a partial crown spreading her apart. Gathering her candles and lighter in her hand, she began her crawl back. She set them up, lit them, breathed through a contraction, then forced herself to stand.

She turned on her music, set it to stream to her tv, then looked around. Everything was beautiful. All was well. It was time.

Gratefully, she stripped out of her sweat-soaked bra, and went to stand on the puppy pads. Calm meditative music filled the air, candles flickered and the incense burned sweet in the air.

As the next contraction came, spread her legs and pushed. The first real push of her birth, and the head shot forward, stretching her further than she’d been stretched yet. Looking at the mirror, she could just make out the baby’s head bulging from beneath her stomach. 

Her hand caught her baby’s head, no longer restraining it, but supporting it as it spread her past a full crown. With the next push, the nose slipped out, a moment of pain and intense stretching. Then, with another great push, the head popped out. 

She glanced at the clock, to confirm the time, and found to her horror, six hours had passed since her water broke at the bus station. It had taken a while, but this truly had been— she turned toward the camera and realized the light wasn’t on.

She hadn’t turned on the camera. It hadn’t caught any of this! 

With shaking hands, she took the fully emerged head, which dangled between her legs, and began to shove the baby back up inside her. Before it had hurt when she was just getting rid of the crown, this one the whole baby was already out, this was far worse. She screamed, she wobbled, just managing to catch herself on the wall, as her baby kicked in protest at being shoved all the way back inside.

Once her lips closed around it and her vision steadied, she wobbled on shaky legs back to the camera and turned it on. Then she returned to her mat. She didn’t think she could stand up any more, so she knelt down.

The next contraction came with a vengeance. And Lindsey was ready for it. She spread her legs a bit more, tucked her chin into her chest and pushed with all her might. The head shot forward, reaching a partial crown in one push. 

Another push, and oh, the stretching, as the head came out further and further until, once again, the head was out. She reached down, felt around for the cord, and found it wasn’t anywhere dangerous. She breathed as the shoulders began to shift, enjoying the candles’ dance, and the piney-scent of the incense. 

She pushed again, her stomach sinking into her with the force of the contraction as the shoulder began to emerge, stretching her so much more. She grunted with effort, trying to stretch her knees even further apart, standing up further on her knees to give her baby more room. Just one more push, and the baby would be out just one more—

The doorbell rang below. 

The delivery, for the expensive baby monitor, Lindsey realized in a haze. She had to go and get it. He wouldn’t just leave it at the door. She’d already gotten messages that he’d tried to leave twice before.

A little tiny bit of her died inside as she shoved her baby, shoulders and all, right back inside of her, until all her progress was gone. It took her a moment to get to her feet, her whole body trembling in shock.

Clothes. She needed clothes. And she needed to go fast, or he’d leave. She found her night gown on the bed and threw it on over her, then stumbled toward the stairs. A vengeful contraction caught her by the door, but she had to get to the door, so she pressed her hand to her swollen, purpled pussy and forced herself to keep walking through the agony.

She stumbled down the stairs, and threw open the door, only to find no one there. Her gaze flew to the road, where the delivery driver was just reaching his door. “Wait!” she cried, voice strangled with pain and exhaustion. “Wait! I’m here! Please!”

The man came back slowly, walking back around to the back where he’d stored the package. Another contraction came, and she couldn’t just grope herself while standing in the door, so she had to just stand there as her baby began stretching her open once again. 

Finally, he reached her, handed her the package in slow motion. He looked at her, asked, “You okay?”

“Yes,” she replied, strangled with pain as another contraction struck her, and her baby’s head began to crown once again. “Was just sleeping.”

“I need you to sign—-” the delivery man trailed off, realizing he was now empty handed. “Left in the car. Give me a moment.”

Lindsey waited in agony, her baby creeping ever lower as the man ambled back to his card, then so, so, slowly, back to her door. She signed it, then turned around, slammed the door shut, and leaned back. Her hand shot to her lips, and she caught her baby’s head right before it came out completely once more.

She went back up the stairs with the head like that, brushing against her thighs with each step. In her room, a candle had gone out. She sobbed a bit as she bent down, felt the shoulders shift inside her, grating against her bones. The candle  lit, she straightened, threw her dress on the bed, shoved the head in again, with a cry of pain, then staggered over to the camera, and resumed recording.

She stood there, observed the scene. Perfect. A perfect birth. So she went back to her pads, in the middle of the circle, and finally, with just a few pushes, brought her perfect little child into the world. It took seven hours of preparation, but it was worth every one of them.

imagine knocking someone up and they don't realize. but you do. you don't try to convince them they're not pregnant, but you definitely don't let them know either. they're just oblivious, and they assume they're gaining weight. so, 9 months later, when they call you screaming and sobbing that something's gone wrong, you know exactly what you did to them.