#BirthAnonAnswers

[birthanon]

🤰2️⃣🏠🖐️🏳️🦵🐢💦

+bad positions (i don’t have the emoji)

For the build a birth game/prompt

Yay my first emoji prompt! Thanks for this, I had fun with it. I don't really do orgasmic births as I said when I reposted this, but I did try to have at least one more pleasurable moment. I hope that fits your ask well enough.

Summary: to earn money for her twins, a woman and her husband stream the birth with a twist, every twenty minutes she has to switch to a different position decided beforehand by the viewers! Contains: fpreg, willing birth denial, pushing the baby back in, a straight couple, streamed birth.

Rebbecah gasped for breath as her latest contraction eased, then sat up slightly on her bed so she could get a better look at her husband, Drew, as he fiddled with camera equipment. 

“You better be ready with that equipment,” she gasped. “‘Cause the baby’s coming.”

“Just a moment,” Drew said. 

Another contraction struck, and Rebbecah moaned, pressing her legs together to try and forestall the massive head that was shifting deep inside her. Still it moved, the pressure on her cervix increasing just slightly.

“There we go.” Drew stepped away from the video camera, which was blinking red. The computer next to it showed what the camera was seeing, Rebbecah sitting on the edge of the bed—her long brown hair tied up in ponytail that had seen better days, her face red with exertion and covered in sweat, the tight red dress she wore, which clung to her enlarged chest and her massive torpedo stomach. The amount of live views was already up to nearly thirty people despite having just started, and was continuing to tick up.

“Hello everyone, welcome to our live birth stream. For those who are new, I’m Drew and this is Rebbecah, as she’s been in labor with our twins since last night. Her water broke an hour ago, and I’ve just confirmed she’s ten centimeters dilated and ready to push! We’ve asked for suggestions for birthing positions, and I’ve gone ahead and picked three per child. The way this is going to work is I’ll call out a birthing position and help Rebbecah get into it, she’ll then have to hold that position for twenty minutes. After which, she can get into any position she wants to finish birthing the child. Think you can do this, Rebbecah?”

It had seemed like a really good idea yesterday, now, already exhausted from hours of labor, Rebbecah was slightly less sure. But this was for her husband, for her fans, and more importantly, to raise money for her children. When they’d budgeted having a kid, they hadn’t planned on two after all.  “Yes,” Rebbecah confirmed.

Drew grinned at her, a large, brilliant smile. “Good, good, and you remember our safe word?”

“Turtle.”

“That’s right. We want to have some fun, but we value your safety and the baby’s safety first. Use it if you need to.” Then Drew turned to the camera again. “As a reminder, all proceeds we get today will go into a college saving fund for the babies. Let’s start with our first position—lotus.”

Rebbecah slowly shifted her weight to the side of the bed and spread her legs, allowing her long, heavy stomach to sink between them.  Then, slowly she rose. Gravity shifted, pulling the baby further down, and she gasped at the sheer weight of the baby’s massive head in her hips. She began to squat down, triggering a contraction, and she couldn’t help but push. The head moved, stretching her, creeping down. So full. She moaned. The contraction eased. 

With Drew’s help, she carefully sat down on the ground. The hard tile floor of their playroom pressed harshly against her overly sensitive crotch as she sat. Then she shifted back so she could cross her legs, and it was a little better. On the plus side, her pussy was not touching the hard floor. Her stomach, low with birth, was, however, resting inside her lap. Everything felt scrunched up. She couldn’t lean back in this position, though her body demanded it. 

“This is good,” Drew said. “Now rest your hands on your knees like you are meditating, and we’ll start the timer.”

That would require shifting her weight from her hands to her legs, moving everything forward even more. It seemed an awful idea, but this had originally been her idea, so she complied. Contractions lasted for about one minute, breaks lasted for about two. She only had to hold this position for about six contractions. She could do that. 

The first contraction came, and she curled up around her stomach, her hands slipping from her knees to hold the firm, contracting orb. She pushed, and gravity helped. The head moved down, still, so deep in her. It eased. She returned to her position, breathing deeply, and making “om” sounds for her audience. 

The next contraction struck, and she pushed through that one, curled around herself. By her third, she was soaked in sweat, her dress stuck to her, tugging at her. Everything felt tight. She needed to lean back, to spread her legs fully, to give herself more space. She needed to escape, claustrophobia making it hard to breathe.

“Please,” she gasped to Drew as the contraction died down. “The dress. Take it off.” 

“All right,” Drew said. “We’re just under half way through our first position, and we’re going to pause real quick for a wardrobe change.”

He knelt by her, warm hands brushing her thighs as he helped shimmy the fabric out from underneath her butt. Then she held her hands over her head and he pulled it off. She felt instantly better. Then, under her direction, he removed her large, black lacy bra, leaving her completely naked. He resumed his station by the phone timer, and she placed her hands back on her knees.

She looked up at the computer facing her and grinned at what she saw. She sat cross legged, hands resting on her knees, her stomach filling her lap, her large breasts hanging down on top of her stomach. Though she was clearly exhausted, she seemed to glow, like some sort of fertility goddess, a mother buddha. 

Then her fourth contraction struck, she watched her stomach visibly sink into herself with the force of her muscles, before she closed her eyes and gave in to her body’s demands, pushing. 

She reached her sixth, gasping, sore and eager to move again, waiting eagerly for the timer to go off, but because of the pause to change clothes, a seven struck while she was still lotusing. She groaned, curling into herself. There was so much pressure, the help of gravity, but her legs weren’t spread enough, there wasn’t enough room.

“And that’s time,” Drew announced, and Rebbecah smiled, satisfied she finished the first twenty minutes and made progress. She spread her legs in relief, stretching them, and grinned as she caught sight of her bulging pussy on the computer, hinting at the size of the head waiting just inside her lips.

“Looks like she made good progress,” Drew commented. “Your next position is hands and knees.”

Rebbacah smiled in relief, and with Drews help, managed to get into the position, her forcefully spread legs making it rather difficult to move. She couldn’t see her progress, but she could see her stomach, hanging down beneath her, nearly touching the ground. This was a far better position, and she was eager to make progress in the next twenty minutes.

The first contraction came, and the difference was immediate, there was far more space, and the baby moved forward, stretching her lips for the first time. She gasped at the sting and stopped pushing for a moment, surprised. Then her body’s demand to push took over, and push she did. The stinging sensation grew. “It’s coming,” she gasped between pushes, “it’s coming!” Then the contraction eased, and the baby slid back. Rebbecah groaned, panting for breath.

The next twenty minutes passed relatively quickly, the head slipping out just a bit more with each push, stretching Rebbecah in ways she’d never been stretched before, and then sinking back into her when she stopped pushing. By the time Drew called time, the head had just begun to stay, a messy bit of dark hair peeking out between her pale, stretched lips.

“I think we’re just about reaching a full crown,” Drew announced. “Wonderful job my dear, are you ready for the third position?”

Her knees were sore, so Rebbecah nodded, distracted by the stretching that was happening down below. Balancing on one hand she reached out with the other, awkwardly around her large bump until she could cradle her child’s head. She whimpered when she accidentally bumped it, sending shooting pains through her body, but smiled as she cupped the emerging head gently in her hand. She was so distracted she didn’t quite process the next position Drew had announced. “Sorry?” she asked.

“Handstand,” Drew repeated. “In the interest of safety, I’ll help you up each time you have a contraction, then once it eases you can go back down into a resting position.”

Rebbecah paled. The baby was right there. “No,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

“Are you going to use your safe word?” Drew asked.

Rebbecah played with the hair on her emerging child’s head, then glanced at the viewer count and the amount raised. They needed more. “No,” she said. “Let’s do this.”

Drew tried to help her stand, but she only got about halfway up before her hips protested. She couldn’t do that. Instead, she crawled to the wall, her baby’s head sticking out of her pussy the whole way, rested her head on the pillow Drew had placed for her, and waited.

“Contraction,” she said as her stomach began to tense. Then she kicked, awkwardly, weakly, off the floor. Drew caught her legs,  and pulled them all the way up.

Her legs got forced together in the process, the gravity shifting, and her baby sunk back into her despite the force of the contraction. Rebbecah screamed in pain as her baby kicked in protest. She wanted to reach up and caress her stomach, but she was using her hands to support herself. Her breasts had fallen in her face, dripping sweat and milk across her cheeks.  The agony continued on, the blood rushing to her head, the weight of her over-stretched womb pressing on her lungs. Forget sixty seconds, or even two minutes, it seemed to go on forever. Then, finally, her stomach eased, and Drew helped her feet down, until she curled in a ball around her stomach, panting.

The pain in her crotch had eased. All the progress she’d made in the last twenty minutes erased during a single contraction. She could still feel her baby between her hips, right behind her lips, filling her. Five more, she told herself. 

The baby eased back down between contractions, settling against her lips again. Then her stomach began tightening, shrinking away from her arms and thighs, and Rebbecah gathered herself and kicked off the ground once more. Drew, ever faithful, caught her legs and got her the rest of the way up.

She’d thought this one would be less bad, since she’d already lost her progress. She was wrong. 

She could feel her baby sinking further back, into her birth canal despite her contraction. Groaning, she focused her core and tried to push against gravity. The baby stopped sinking back. She managed to keep it there, just behind her lips, pushing with all her might. As the contraction eased and she was gently brought back to the floor, she even managed to push it out a bit more, the sting of her lips spreading a welcome sensation after the lost process. She felt proud of that progress, right up until the next contraction when it sunk right back in her again..

She was barely aware of herself as he lowered her down after that contraction. As soon as she could think again, she reminded herself that she was half done, three more to go. And then the next struck. It was harder to get up. And she’d barely managed to catch her wits after it, when the next contraction hit. She lost count. Was she done? Did she have more? Her whole being yearned for the alarm. 

Another contraction, surely that had been six already? She was dizzy, exhausted, pushing against gravity just to keep the baby at her lips, then, mid-push, the alarm went off, and Drew thankfully lowered her to the ground. She immediately kept pushing, and the long forestalled baby shot forward, returning to a partial crown in moments.

“That was a tough one, Rebbecah,” Drew said, “But you did it. Now how do you want to finish this birth out?”

Remembering how right it had felt to push while squatting, she chose that, and Drew came up behind her, his warm body pressed against her, supporting her as she fell into a squat, her hips wide, the baby coming out. By the time she’d managed her position, the contraction was upon her. She pushed, grunting in effort, watching herself in the computer as the head slowly, but surely emerged. The nose was just making its exit when the contraction stopped, leaving her gasping, spread at her widest point, her legs shaking with effort and pain.

“It’s coming, one more push, love,” Drew said. 

So she pushed, and with a gush, the head popped free. Dizzy, with relief, She collapsed against Drew, staying only in her squat because he held her there, as the shoulders began to turn. She reached down, holding the head as her pains returned, and she began to slowly push out the shoulders. They were even wider, and took two contractions to get out despite her best pushing, but finally, the baby gushed out of her and began to cry.

��There’s baby number one!” Drew announced. He helped Rebbecah down until she was leaning against the bed, and went to fetch scissors and she held the baby close to her, soothing it. The two of them made the most of the refractory period, then then contractions began again.

“Time for baby number two,” Rebbecah announced, reluctantly handing her first child to Drew. She was exhausted, but the brief break and actually seeing the baby left her feeling revitalized. She could do this again. There wasn’t a position that could be worse than upside-down. “What’s my first position?”

“Tied to the wall,” Drew answered, setting the baby down in a waiting crib and gesturing to the chains which hung on their wall for their more spicy streaming sessions.

With shaking legs and Drew’s assistance, Rebbecah waddled over to the wall, where Drew attached the cuffs to her hands, then pulled the chains taunt, pulling her weight up, off her legs. Then he spread her legs apart and secured them to the wall as well in the leg cuffs. Her arms, tied together above her head, taking most of her weight and restricting her breathing, her legs forcibly spread apart. 

It was uncomfortable, but doable, her contractions came, she pushed, and the baby moved slowly but surely down. Far easier than her first baby since she had already stretched, but she was exhausted, her pushes were less powerful, and so the two forces evened each other out. Being chained to the wall like this was familiar, one of her favorite games, and it allowed her to embrace the pain. She vocalized freely, moaning with each push, feeling the baby spread her wide open, completely lost in the sensation of giving birth.

Drew, meanwhile, was also distracted, answering questions in the chat, watching his baby, and of course his beautiful wife, tied to a wall, her stomach visibility sinking into her with each contraction. She was beautiful, and it made his length ache with desire. So caught up with the sight he was, that he didn’t realize he’d forgotten to set the timer.

It wasn’t until forty minutes later, when the baby’s head began to crown, that he realized his mistake. Quickly, he set his phone to a one second timer, so it would go off. At the sound, Rebbecah’s eyes opened. She smiled, panting. “Seemed to last forever, that one,” she joked. “Baby’s pretty much already born.”

Drew smiled, awkwardly. “You are doing great my love. But you can’t give birth just yet. Still have two positions to do.”

Rebbecah eyed Drew nervously as he drew closer. He reached for her chin, turning her toward him so she could see his smile. She smiled back at him, exhausted.

“I’m so very proud of you,” he said. “You’ve done so amazing.” He leaned in, and kissed her, and she kissed him back, passionately, feeling his hands caress her belly, and then reach down lower, until one cradled her baby’s head. He pressed his lips more insistently against her, his other hand moving up to fondle her leaking breasts. She moaned into his advances, heat pooling between her legs then, with a quick jerk, he shoved her baby’s head back inside her.

She cried out, breaking off the kiss as the agony coursed through her. Her baby kicked, she couldn’t breathe with pain, yet he chased her with his mouth, capturing her lips in another kiss. He stepped away reluctantly, hand dripping with birthing fluids. 

“There now,” he gasped, pink-cheeked and clearly aroused. “You are all ready for your second position—sitting on my lap.”

He untied her, easing her back to the floor, when another contraction hit. Remembering the agony of having the baby shoved into her, Rebbecah tried not to push, and succeeded for only about ten seconds before she gave in, squating instinctively, spreading her legs, grunting with effort, feeling her baby begin to emerge once more.

Drew waited patiently for the contraction to end, then pulled her over to a soft chair before the camera. He sat down, then he eased her onto his lap, so she was facing him. Her naked, gravid stomach pressed up against his well toned abs. He’d removed his shirt at some point, though Rebbecah couldn’t remember when that happened. Then Drew’s hands caught Rebbecah’s hips. One of her legs on either side of his thigh, he pulled her down until her cunt rested directly atop his thigh, naked except his navy blue boxers. She glanced down, noticing his very prominent bulge. “Glad you’re enjoying this,” she said. 

Then a contraction hit. She instinctively used her feet for leverage to pull herself off him to give herself even an inch or so to give birth, but his hands around her waist held her still. After two contractions with zero progress, she gave up trying to escape, and instead leaned into it, grinding against his thigh, trying to chase the agony and exhaustion away with the growing warmth down there.

Each time she shifted back and forth, her stomach rubbed against Drew’s dick through his boxers. He groaned at the sensation, holding her closer and closer, as she pressed down on her thigh. The pain of the contractions was distracting, she couldn’t quite reach an orgasm before getting distracted, but the growing heat was doing something for the pain.

Drew, unfettered by contractions, leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. They were hot, moist, cloying. Enjoyable, and yet at the same time too much. But it was all too much, so Rebbecah leaned into it, pressing down harder searching for release, for something, for anything, to escape the pressing need to give birth.

The alarm went off, but Drew was caught in the moment and didn’t seem to notice, his breathing staggered.

Rebbecah pulled away, gasping. “Drew, the timer. Please. I need to give birth.”

But he chased her lost in his own ecstasy, forcing his lips on her once more. Another contraction hit, and Rebbecah could resist the urge to push no more—she did, feeling her baby press against Drew’s thigh as he finally reached his climax, his breath stuttered, and wetness bloomed across his boxers.

Her contraction was over by the time his breathing had steadied and he managed to stop the timer. Rebbecah took the opportunity to use his shoulders and stand, her legs spread over his. The baby, just behind her lips.

“The last position?” she asked desperately.

“Laying on your stomach.”

That seemed awful, but the pressure at least, would force the baby out faster. She agreed, and he helped her down to her hands and knees, then, carefully, gingerly, she lowered herself down. The force on her stomach ached, then came a contraction. She pushed and the baby jerked forward after being contained for so long. The sudden burning came as a surprise and her shaking arms gave way, dropping her down to the ground, adding to the pressure within her exponentially. With a sudden searing pain, the baby was at a full crown, and it was just the first contraction!

“That was fast,” Drew said. “We can’t have that.”

Quivering, legs spread, laying atop her massive stomach, she waited for the telltale touch of his hands on her. They brushed past her clit, playing there for a moment, then cupped her baby and shoved them in. She cried out, feeling her lips close once again over the child's head. Her vision grayed out a bit, and then she was pushing once more, and the stretching was happening, and the baby was coming out again, the pressure on her stomach was so much. Then his hands, were there again, about the push the baby back in and—

“Turtle!” Rebbecah cried. “Turtle, please. Please don’t.”

Immediately, Drew was there, helping her up, off her stomach, her baby still at a full crown stretching her wide. He helped her exhausted, shaking body back into the squat. A contraction came, she pushed, and the head inched forward. She whined. “Come out, baby, come out.”

“You are doing marvelously, love,” Drew whispered, running hand through her hair. “I am so proud. You are so strong.”

The next contraction came, she pushed again, for a full minute and a half, the baby’s head bobbed in her cunt, unmoving, her stretched, red lips glistening. Then finally, at the next contraction, something shifted, and the head shot out. Her legs gave out at the shock, and Drew eased her gently backwards so she was leaning against him as the shoulders twisted, and then, finally emerged, crying. “We did it,” Rebbecah gasped, smiling, tears streaking her eyes. Then she looked up at the amount of money they’d made. “Wow,” she gasped. “We really did do it. I think we could even afford to have some more.”

[birthanon]

🤰🏠3️⃣🪑🩲🫴🖐️

+Our lovely mama is trapped in her basement, theres barely anything usefull

Hello thanks for the great ask! And to everyone else, thank you for all your asks. I have seen them, but there are also like twenty of them, so It will take me a while to work through them. For now, here is this story.

Contains: fpreg, triplet birth, intense birth denial, pushing baby back in, self-birth denial, clothing birth.

Aspen clung to the railing of the rickety wooden staircase carefully navigating down to the unfinished basement of her new home. Her massive triplet belly ballooned out before her, covered in loose blue nightgown, making it impossible to see the steps she was navigating. As she reached the bottom, a contraction struck her, and she leaned up against the wall, shaking her hips as she breathed through it. These practice contractions were getting more and more frequent, but her husband was out of town until tomorrow morning, and she still had baby beds to bring upstairs and put together.

Walking past the few empty boxes and the old chair the last residents had left down there, Aspen found the box that held the last crib, and hoisted it. It was heavy and awkward. Her body ached, especially since she’d already lugged two other cribs up those stairs today. But she persisted, dragging it over the unfinished cement floor and to the wooden stairs.

As for those, she dragged the box up and over each stair individually, sweating with the effort. She was only three steps up before another contraction hit. She panted her way through it, concerned with how close the last two contractions had come. The pressure was definitely increasing, which wasn’t good. She wanted her husband with her for this birth, which definitely needed to be in a hospital, because there was no way she was going through three births without an epidural. 

Well, she decided, she’d get this set up, then she’d rest to slow down her labor until her husband got home.

The contraction ended, and she began the slow, thump, thump, thump of dragging the heavy crib up one stair at a time. She was about half way up, when a rumbling started. A distant roar at first, like a passing plane or a rumbling lawn mower, then suddenly, it was all around her. The house shook. The stairs swayed—and then she was falling.

She barely had time to process that the stair railing must have given way, sending her toppling face first toward the ground. She threw out her arms to catch herself instinctively just as she smashed into the ground belly first.

There was a massive increase in pain-pressure. Her belly seized. She cried out.

Then the rumbling was over. She checked herself. Her hands stung from the impact with the cement, her stomach ached, but she was otherwise fine. Slowly, cautiously, she sat up, groaning a bit as she did. Her heart was pounding, but she was fine. Except, she realized, there was something sticky between her legs.

She reached down under her dress, shocked at the slick feeling between her legs, and her soaked panties. Had the pressure and fear of her fall caused her to pee? Then she pulled her hand away, and noticed the slight reddish tint, and the musky scent. No, this wasn’t pee. Her waters had broken.

Well, time to get to the hospital. She stood up carefully, then groaned as another contraction wrapped around her stomach. It was so much worse without the softening impact of her waters. She groaned, wrapping around herself, feeling for the first time, the instinctive desire to push.

Aspen ignored it off course, it was far too early and she wasn’t at the hospital. She breathed carefully until the pain eased. Then forced herself to straighten, bracing her low hanging stomach with one hand. 

That was when she saw the stairs—or rather the lack there-of. The whole rickety wooden contraption had collapsed, leaving the door to get out of the basement far out of reach. Wel, fuck.

That was fine, she’d just call 911 and have them get her out of there. She reached into her pockets—because of course she wouldn’t be caught in a pocketless dress. But, no phone. Eyes wide, she started scanning the wreckage of the staircase and her immediate surroundings. It took several minutes and another, even more demanding contraction, before she found the phone, several feet from where she’d landed, screen down on the floor.

She leaned down to get it awkwardly, spreading her legs so she could get lower, her large stomach hanging low, brushing the ground as she reached, until finally, she got her hands around it. Cradling it gently, she began slowly straightening, using her free hand to brace her back. She was halfway up, legs spread wide, when the next contraction struck. Strong, vise-like. Bent as she was, with plenty of space between her legs, instinct screamed push! and she obeyed, tucking her head in and pushing with all her strength.

To her horror, that moment caused movement, the stretching of something deep inside. She screamed with a mixture of pain, effort, and fear, and immediately stopped pushing, but the damage was done. 

Cautiously, while she was still down, she reached a hand up, nudging aside her soaked panties and sticking two fingers up inside her. Instead of feeling her cervix, she found the head, wet and hard. She gasped, and instinctively pulled back as her touch jostled the head and shot agony through her stretching cervix. 

She straightened slowly, though she couldn’t quite get her legs all the way together. Everything down low felt strange, stretched, like a cantaloupe was trying to emerge from her butt. Frantically, she turned to her phone, only to find the screen completely shattered. She pushed a couple buttons, but it was completely unresponsive.

She was trapped. She had no way to call for help. And her triplets were coming.

Her heart started pounding harder, but she tried to breathe through the panic even as her vision blended with tears. She staggered over to the old chair and collapsed into it, legs spread. And cried, tears running down her cheek, lacing her tongue with salt.

Just as they were beginning to dry up, another contraction hit. Rhythmic seizing that started at her back and reached across her massive womb, a stabbing pain, like she was being wrapped up in a burning lasso. She moaned through the agony, feeling her cervix stretch, feeling the baby move down. 

The pain lessened, and she kept crying. Hopeless and scared, as more and more contractions came and went. It wasn’t until she pushed and felt burning as her lips stretched that she was snapped out of her fear-induced funk. 

She instantly stopped pushing. As soon as the pain stopped, she reached down, and felt the bulge of her lips. The first head had yet to emerge, but it was right there. And she would not be giving birth alone in an unfinished basement on a rickety old chair. She needed a plan.

She glanced around the basement, evaluating what she had—an old washer and dryer, the chair she was sitting on, the crib unassembled and buried under some stair rubble, and a stack of empty boxes, most of which had been collapsed. There was the door she couldn’t reach, and a single narrow window which told her it was already dark out—how long had she sat there crying? An hour at least she figured.

Climbing out the window was probably a stretch, but perhaps if she could get up there, she could yell for help. Satisfied with the plan, Aspen stood, legs spread wide, baby just behind her lips, and began waddling awkwardly toward the window, dragging the chair behind her. 

As she awkwardly propped one foot on the chair, ready to clamber up, the next contraction caught her. She groaned, curling forward, legs spread, and the head began to stretch her lips, setting her labia ablaze with pain. She shot her hand down, expecting to find the baby practically out, but though the bulge was definitely larger, the babe was still safely ensconced in her vaginal, all save for a tiny, quarter-sized patch of hair, which vanished as her contraction ended.

All for the better, she thought as she gathered herself, clung to the window ledge, and hauled herself up the rest of the way onto the chair. It wobbled under her weight,  and her large torpedo stomach, pressed against the wall from where she stood. But from here, she could reach the window latch.

She undid it, then began to pull on the window to try and get it open. The intense effort caused another contraction. Her body screamed at her to spread her legs, but the chair was small. They were pressed awkwardly together, close enough she could feel the bulge between her legs increase and touch her thighs. The contraction gave way—the window did not. 

It took about fifteen minutes and three more contractions, her baby getting lower and lower, before finally, the window gave way and slid open. Aspen panted, leaning against the wall, congratulating herself for her success. Then she propped herself up on the window sill and stuck her head out, her stomach pressed between the wall. 

No one was in sight. She called for help, over and over. When the next contraction came, she let herself scream with pain. 

But no one came. She persisted, calling and screaming for help, as contractions seized her, and her lips began to burn more and more, demanding she spread her legs and get the baby out. 

Well, if calling for help wouldn’t work, she’d try crawling through the window. She thought she remembered hearing somewhere that humans could get through anywhere their shoulders could get through, and she thought her shoulders would fit.

First, she reached down between her legs, feeling the head through her panties. It was definitely in the process of crowning, despite her legs being pressed together on this chair. That wouldn’t work for climbing through a window. So, taking a deep breath, she braced her hand against her baby, and pushed it tentatively back in.

She’d thought she was already at a ten on the pain scale—this, this was so much worse. She screamed, but kept pushing through her whole body revolted, until her lips were no longer bulging. She’d need her legs together to get through the window.

Then, whole body shaking from the effort, pain, and shock, Aspen thrust her hands through the window,  and began pulling herself up and through it. Her head made it through all right, her shoulders scrapped a bit at the side, but made it. 

She kicked off the chair, hearing it clatter to the ground as she pulled herself through on her shaking arms. Her large chest made it through, her night dress falling open and letting her see her sweaty boobs when she looked down—lovely. 

Grunting she dragged herself further forward, then she felt her stomach hit the window sill, and her progress stopped. No. She had to get out. 

She waited for the next contraction, when her whole stomach shrunk with the effort of pushing her baby out, then tried again with all her might. And her plan worked! She moved, just a few inches, before her arms gave out and she had to focus on not pushing while her legs and most of her stomach hung on the other side of the window, and her lips began to burn once again.

It was hard to breathe like this, and her back burned with the weight of her stomach dangling freely, pressed against the wall and the window sill. She focused on regaining her breath as she waited for the next contraction, then pulled herself forward a few more inches until her arms gave out once again. 

God, but the pain of the contraction was so much worse when her massive stomach was being actively compressed by the window. She wasn’t even pushing, but even still, she could feel her lips parting once more. 

The next contraction, she tried to pull herself forward more, but made no progress no matter how she pulled. The next contraction she tried again, same result, except the burning down there was really starting up again. The baby was starting to come out.

This wasn’t going to work, Aspen realized. And began trying to back pedal, forcing herself back inside. But she made no progress that way either. She was stuck.

Time stretched. Contractions raged, twice as agony inducing as before. She cried and screamed, and tried not to push as her baby stretched her open more and more, forced forward by the pressure on her stomach and its siblings. From where she lay, she could see the moon through her tear-filled eyes, and watch it rise. Sirens sounded in the city, one passed right by her street, and she thought, perhaps, she’d been rescued, and then it drove on. Leaving Aspen alone, fully feeling her baby’s nose slowly slide out of her as she hung half-in, half-out of the window. Completely stuck.

Then with a particularly hard contraction, her baby’s head shot forward. Aspen screamed as her baby’s head shot out of her, bagging out her panties, touching her thighs, water splattering below.

If she didn’t get out soon, the baby would fall from her to its death. She couldn’t let that happen. With a renewed burst of energy, adrenaline high, Aspen braced herself against the ground, with her hands, brought her feet up awkwardly against the wall, baby head hanging out of her, and pushed.

And then she was moving, falling back, out of the window. She just managed to catch at the ledge with her hands, drawing her fall to a stop. Her stomach slammed against the wall again, leaving her breathless. 

She hung through one more contraction, then dropped to the ground, legs spread, baby jolting painfully in her pussy. 

Panting and exhausted, she leaned against the wall. She had to make a decision before the next contraction: to birth or not to birth. The baby was practically already out, she could get the rest of it out and then keep trying to escape except—she had nowhere to put the baby and no way to cut the umbilical cord. Once the first baby was out, she would be stuck.

So, bracing herself for the worst pain in her life, she cupped her hand around the baby’s head, and shoved. She screamed. Her vision whitened. Her baby kicked in protest. She fell to her knees, and vomited. But, when she’d recovered herself, the baby was safely back inside.

Using the wall, she dragged her exhausted sore body to her feet once more. If she dragged the washer below the door, then put the chair on top of that, maybe she could reach the door and get out that way.

She shuddered at the thought of trying to move that old, heavy machine with her exhausted, trembling body and a baby actively crowning, but it was the only way.

So she waddled over, braced herself, and shoved. Braced herself and shoved. When a contraction came, she stopped, pressed her hand against her soggy, stretched panties, and pressed against her stretched lips, holding the baby in place. As soon as it was over she resumed pushing of a different sort. 

If she was offered a million dollars, she couldn’t have told anyone how long it took her to move the washing machine across the basement. It felt like days, but by the time she’d succeeded it was still dark outside. 

She fell to her knees, sobbing in relief when she looked up and saw the door just above her. Then on her hands and knees, she started clearing away the wood so she could get the machine in just the right place. It felt so good to not be standing. She was so tired. Five contractions later, still holding the head back despite her body’s protest and the increasingly painful contractions, the stairs were cleared away. Two more contractions and the machine was in the right spot. 

She waddled awkwardly, slowly back across the room to the chair, braced against it for a contraction, then dragged it back across the floor with her. She was halfway through getting the chair on top of the washing machine when the next contraction came. Her muscles were engaged, her hands were full, she couldn’t hold the head back, so it lurched forward again, stretching her wide, after she’d been so close to giving birth for so long. Aspen gasped, spreading her legs instinctively. 

Once the chair was in place, she reached down to touch the bulge in her undies. She intended to push it back in, but remembering the horrific agony of doing it last time, she pulled her shaking hand away. She couldn’t go through that again. She’d just have to manage with the head as it was.

So, with the baby’s head fully crowning in her panties, her lips stretched wide, fire roaring through her body, she began to try and clamber on top of the washing machine. But she couldn’t quite get her legs up far enough. At the next contraction, she gave up, holding her baby’s head in her at a full crown, panting in exhaustion. 

When it was done, she lumbered over, legs spread wide, to the box that held the crib. She didn’t have the strength to lift it up, so she bent down, legs spread, stretched pussy in the air, and dragged the box the few feet to the washing machine. Another contraction—then with the crib box as a footstool, she managed to clamber up onto the washing machine, then onto the chair perched wobbly on top.

She reached up, and her hand could touch the door, but she was still several feet from the door knob. There was no ledge for her to stand on, or pull herself further up.

Perhaps, she could drag the dryer over, but there was no way she’d get it on top of the washer in her condition.

She wasn’t getting out.

In one last desperate attempt, she jumped toward the door handle. Her fingers just brushed the base of it. Then she fell back down. She landed on the chair awkwardly as a contraction hit, and her baby shot through the rest of the way, bagging out of her panties. 

She gasped— climbed slowly off the chair, then sat on it, legs spread, stomach low, filling the space between her legs. As she considered her next move, another contraction came, and she pushed. The shoulders began to spread her—and god she thought she’d been spread before. But she was too tired to scream at the new, burning pain. 

Exhausted, robotic, she pushed aside her panties, and gave another final push, there was a gush, and then her baby was in her hands, crying lustily. Smiling, teary-eyed, Aspen pulled it to her. Her dress was dirty, ripped, and drenched with sweat. The baby’s umbilical cord stretched from its stomach to under her dress, warm and wet against her thigh.

She looked down from the chair, which was still perched atop the washing machine. 

So, she was doing it here. She needed to at least not give birth to the other two while on top of the washing machine. So slowly, awkwardly, holding her baby close to her chest, she clambered down the washing machine. Then she pulled the chair down with her. Sitting had been nice, for her birth. 

It was awkward to shift the baby from one arm to another to get her dress off. She set it across the splintered wooden chair, then sat down and shimmied out of her underwear. Finally, she allowed herself to collapse back, guiding the baby to her leaking breast to drink.

The next contractions came nearly immediately, moving her next baby down. She pushed freely with it, for the first time in her birthing process, and it came fast. Two pushes and she was bulging. Another, and the dreaded, familiar burn began again. 

She leaned further back in her chair, so she could spread her legs wider, off the side of the chair. She needed to focus, needed to push. But she had a baby in her hands, and she didn’t want to hurt it. 

The crib was the solution.

Groaning, she fell to her knees, then placed her baby on the dress covered chair. Her legs were spread still, giving the baby space to crown as she worked to open the crib. Contraction. Push, The baby eased forward. Then it was done, and she was back to wrestling with the crib. She’d already put together two that day, or at this point, yesterday, so she could work efficiently. It was a race. She was pushing, but her body was flagging, the progress was slow, but consistent. She had to move around some, clambering around on her spread knees, fully spread around her baby’s head. Then, the head was out with another gush, right after she’d finished putting together the frame. Grabbing the thin pad, she pulled herself to her feet, lay down the pad, then a contraction was coming and she pushed. Her hands shot down, and she pulled the baby from her, panting with relief. 

The baby cried, and she held it to her, crying as well, with relief. Two down. One to go. 

It was awkward, maneuvering the babies into the bed while they were still attached to her. She had to pull the chair close to the crib so she could sit down as the next contraction came. She moaned and pushed as the sun began to cast light in through her window.

She crowned as the sunlight spread across the floor. Her third baby’s head shot from her as she heard the door open upstairs, and heard her husband call her name. And, as the shoulders spread her open, the door to the basement opened, and her husband appeared, just as the final baby passed from her, crying out its welcome to the world.

[birthanon]

🤰🍼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.

[birthanon]

Hey BA!

Loved the story you wrote recently, huge fan of birth denial (as long as no actual harm is done, y’know y’know).

How about a story for a solo birth in nature? I’m a big fan of trying to hold the birth off with nothing but willpower; trying not to push, enjoying the crown. Maybe walking a hiking trail while she pushes.

Hi! I'm so glad you liked it, thanks for reaching out with a prompt! This is definitely a gentler prompt than I've done before, but I enjoyed the variety. Thanks for the opportunity to write this, I hope you enjoy as well!

Also, yee-haw, two birth fics in one day! Trying to get through all the asks people have sent in. I'm so excited to get to everyone's! It might take some time though, so be patient with me!

This fic contains: birth denial, solo birth, unassisted birth, nature birth, fpreg

Sharla had a birthing plan. There was an obscure hiking trail near her that was fairly easy, that ended in a beautiful meadow with a little lake. It was about two miles long, and no one really knew about it. She’d never seen anyone else there in the years she’d hiked the trail. So, as soon as her contractions started getting serious, she got in her car and began her drive. Her plan: hike up the mountain and birth in her favorite spot.

She’d prepared herself well, studying all she needed, practicing breathing techniques. She used them in the car ride up. Once she arrived, she waddled out of the car and headed to the little outhouse. As she used the bathroom, another contraction came. She pushed with it, a small tentative push as the pressure grew. Then, water splattered into the toilet. Water that definitely wasn’t pee.

Well, she thought, This baby’s coming fast. Better get hiking.

She used the toilet paper to wipe herself off, breathed through a contraction in the stall, shaking her hips to ease the pain which seemed far more intense without her waters cushioning everything, then began to head out.

She walked slowly, stopping with every contraction, keeping her legs together to try and help herself to hold off on pushing until she reached her destination. She wore a maternity sundress, so the only thing between her and the outside air was her panties.  It was a crisp spring morning. Beautiful. The birds were singing, and she was out among it where she belonged.

As she walked, she cradled her round belly with both hands, trying to ease the weight of her sore back. And though she didn’t push, her own walking and the power of gravity was slowly pulling the baby down, stretching her little by little as she walked. It was a delicious feeling, painful, yes, but primal, normal. And so long as she didn’t hurry it, her body would be free to stretch as slowly as it needed to.

Things were going well. Sure the baby was moving faster than she’d intended. Sure, with each trail marker she was walking her waddle was becoming more and more distinct. But she was confident she’d make it.

By the time she reached the one mile marker, halfway through the hike, she was feeling less confident. The contractions were coming more and more frequently, and they were hurting more, becoming more insistent. Though she’d managed to not push, her body alone had managed to force the baby all the way through her canal and it was now resting just inside her lips.

She paused at the sign, leaning against it, fishing one of many water bottles from her pack and taking a heft swig. Her hand reached up her dress, feeling at her panties. There was a slight bulge there, but when she slipped her hand inside, she didn’t quite feel a head. 

At least until another contraction hit. She groaned with it. She was bent over, and it made the contraction much worse. Her heavy belly weighing on her belt as it tightened inside her dress. She breathed through the growing demand to push, but still felt the sting of her lips as they began to part, just a tiny bit. Just enough that her finger slipped through and felt a smidge of wet head.

As soon as the contraction ended, she capped her water bottle, and continued walking. Not far down the path, another contraction. She breathed with it, commanding herself not to push, feeling the sting of her lips as they just began to part.

Three contractions later, and she was feeling rather hot. She stopped, leaning against a tree to weather a fourth contraction, then carefully removed her panties and shoved them in her dress pocket. It felt better, without a barrier there. Without the clothing rubbing up against her tender, stretched parts.  She drank some more. Weathered yet another contraction, closing her eyes and moaning with it, her hand resting on her bulging lips, not constraining it, only supporting it.

As soon as it was done though, the baby slipped safely back inside, and she continued her hike. A hawk flew overhead. Bees buzzed in the air. Another contraction, more stretching. She panted. Her body demanded she push. It was getting harder and harder not to listen, but she knew, the second she gave in, her baby would shoot forward, and then she’d never reach the lake. So she breathed, she panted, she moaned, she stretched, but she continued on. Never pushing.

The next contraction was even harder. It stopped her in her tracks. She caught a tree trunk to keep her balance as her body naturally bent, trying to get in a better position to birth. The head eased forward, spreading her even further. She moaned with the pain, thinking, surely, the head must be nearly out. Yet, when she reached down to check, there was only about a square inch of head showing. Good, she thought, continuing her trek.

She focused on the green of the trees, on the fascinating rocks on the trail. Anything, but the growing demand to push. As she reached the marker for a mile and a half, though, she gave in. She stopped, her legs spread, she sunk into a crouch, flustered and sweaty, and pushed, moaning. 

The baby shot forward, searing pain in her lips as they stretched around the sudden crown. She gasped as she noticed her mistake, and forced her legs closer together, nudging the head just a bit back in.  I can’t do that again, she thought. I have to reach the lake.

She was almost there, but the near crown was making walking awfully difficult. The beautiful surroundings were calming, but her hips ached. She reached down, walking with one hand supporting the growing head, feeling it ease forward just a smidge more with each contraction. 

The stretch hurt, but it felt primal, natural, here in the wild, where all things had given birth since the beginning of life. A tree caught her as she stumbled, reaching out its helpful branches, eager to assist the new life. A boulder stood stalwartly as she leaned against it, head spinning, against a particularly strong contraction. The head, ever lower, her legs, ever wider.

Then, finally, just as the head reached a full crown and she was sure she could take not a single more step, she reached the top.

A crystal blue lake, reflecting the perfect sky above, radiant with dazzling light, surrounded by a forest of aspen trees, whispering excitedly to each other in the breeze. 

Gasping in relief, Sharla waddled her way to the edge of the lake. A boulder waited there, providing a perfect companion. She held onto it. As the growing pains of a contraction came, she crouched, pressed her chin to her chest, and, finally, blessedly, pushed.

The head surged forward. She gasped as it surpassed a full crown and shot right out of her, into her hand, water splattering the dirt beneath her. 

Her legs were exhausted, trembling. She needed a new position. First, she checked the cord, making sure it wasn’t around the baby’s neck. No cord, but she enjoyed the tiny softness of the baby’s features.

Then, as the shoulders shifted, she moved. She pulled a tarp from her back pack, still crouched, her baby’s head hanging from her. She spread it by the lakeside, with a flick of her arms. Then, she collapsed back onto it. 

Now leaning against the boulder, she pushed with her next contraction, curling forward, around her round, heaving stomach. Her legs were spread apart, making space for the shoulders, which inched out of her. 

The contraction ended, leaving her heaving for breath. She looked up, watching a bird dive into the water for prey. She watched water twinkle as it fell from the bird’s talons in a cascade of fire-like droplets. Then she went back to pushing, and stretching, just a bit more. One shoulder out.

She leaned back against the boulder once more, grateful for its steady presence. Her baby was cradled in her hand, damp head, one shoulder. She pushed, one last time, curling in on herself, giving it her all, then the baby was out.

Crying in relief, she pulled it from her, and held it against its chest. It was beautiful, it was hers. And her crying turned to laughter, as she sat amongst nature, life’s newest gift safe in her hands.