rosbar6678 - Tumblr blog

rosbar6678 · 2 years

Note

About that birth fetish writing thingy. Could you do 14, twins, overdue, with a friend or partner please? 👉👈

During an important exam, twins, overdue, with a friend.

~ I kept having to shift my hips on the hard plastic chair, the top of the desk pressing uncomfortably into the tender area of my ribs where my belly once firmly sat before it dropped, now hanging nearly over my whole lap in a lopsided torpedo. I was so exhausted. I got almost no sleep yesterday between cramming as much as I could for the exam I was currently suffering through, and breathing through the braxton hicks and back twinges and bladder punches the twins put me through the whole evening and into the night. This was my midterm for the last gen ed class I had to take before graduating next semester, and the consequence for failing the class is either summer school or not graduating, neither of which were viable options, so I had to focus on the Intro to Philosophy and Logic test in front of me. I groaned softly under my breath and then began to quietly pant as another cramp gripped my lower back and wrapped around my belly, setting my pencil down to rub my hand firmly across the broad side of my bump. These practice contractions are starting to get extremely annoying. And they had to be that, the baby book said that braxton hicks are relieved by walking around, and I spent hours last night pacing my tiny dorm as the cramps came over me in waves, not quite consistent in time enough to worry me any more than any other labor scare has in the past week I’ve been overdue. They had to be practice contractions that just happened to be getting closer and closer together... Just like the pressure over my hips and my pelvis had to be from the babies shifting around and not from my body slowly working them down. And like the very full feeling just above my cunt that had me clenching my muscles was obviously the need for a bathroom break. And also the spotting and light leaking that had me wearing a pad was normal spotting and not me losing my mucus plug during class earlier today. None of this had to do with the fact that these babies should have come a week ago, and my belly was dropped so low it rested between my knees. I breathed out as the cramp released me, not noticing how much time had passed, and hurried to continue working on the essay portion of the exam in front of me. Thankfully the professor didn’t seem to notice anything either, her eyes firmly fixed on the enormous pile of research papers that sat in front of her, in the process of being read and graded. She also didn’t notice as a tiny, balled up shred of paper hit the back of my neck, forcing me to turn and look at my best friend in my track, who was suffering through this final gen ed with me. He raised an eyebrow at me and crudely mimicked the act of spreading his legs and motioning to something shooting out from between them, accompanied by a questioning thumbs up and thumbs down. I rolled my eyes at him and turned back around to continue working, my essay about a fourth of the way through with a cool 45 minutes left to complete it. I had to focus, and I couldn’t let my friend or the damn babies distract me from doing well in this class. I can hear him sigh behind me, and can feel his gaze boring a hole in the back of my head, but elect to ignore him. I see my phone light up where it sits on top of my backpack, and a notification pops up on the lockscreen under his name. | Dude, you can’t just ignore that you’re extremely overdue and literally actively about to pop out those babies, holy shit. | A moment passes. | I’m timing them, disphit. | I grumbled, shaking my head and returning to furiously writing about Pythagoras and universal ratios.

After a while of scribbling, though not as long as I would have liked, I could feel my back muscles start to tighten up, and I try to squeeze my thighs shut on instinct. It’s an action that does more harm than good, as I squeeze my already contracting belly between my legs, and press it up against the hard surface of the desk’s bottom, the vice grip of my muscles tightening further in reaction to the external force. I let out a soft hiss and hunch over my drum tight belly, both hands frantically rubbing at my bloated flanks to try and soothe the pain, but it doesn’t help. The cramp lingers, and I’m forced to ride it out by breathing heavily through my nose. I’m bouncing lightly in my seat, my already sore and achy pussy twinging every time it grinds down into the plastic, but my hips feel so tight that I need to move them. I can feel one of the babies’ heads shift down to rest right over the base of my pelvis, head pressing down right between my hips, and it feels like if I move wrong it’ll just fall out of me. The other is still up higher, but I can tell its head is facing downward because it gives several firm kicks to my ribs, unhappy with the pressure squeezing around it and forcing it down. There’s a light on my periphery. | THAT WAS SIX MINUTES. HOSPITAL. NOW. | I once more ignore his text, not even waiting for the contraction to end before I’m back to writing my essay, now at least half way done. I’ve always been a quick writer, and we were given a set of potential prompts beforehand, so I had an idea of what I wanted to write anyways. I could do this. I could finish this and then I could go to the hospital and have my babies.

I quietly groaned my way through another four contractions before I got to the conclusion of the essay, pausing every still-six-minutes-somehow to let out a steady stream of air in my nose and the back of my throat. The bouncing was consistent, except for when I had to stop to either swivel my hips, or slide a hand between my trembling thighs to apply pressure to where I could feel my lips starting to bulge a little. Fuck, the head was right there. I could feel it. I had been fighting the growing urge to push for the last three contractions, knowing that I probably was almost totally dilated, if not at 10 centimeters already. My phone had been blinking with light as well, my friend urging me to finish the exam later, telling me we needed to go now, asking if I was insane. I continued to ignore it, focusing on the last few lines I needed to fill out the end of my essay. I’d done it. The exam was over.

I put my pencil down, and let out a breath of release, my whole body naturally relaxing as the weight of academic failure was brushed off my shoulders. But that was a big mistake. As if sensing the permission it was being given, immediately my belly was caught in a vicious contraction that had me clinging to my desktop, with one hand clutching my bump in alarm as it was gripped in a cramp so strong that the outline of my uterus was visible, and the torpedo droop of it stood straight forward. I let out a hiss of pain through my teeth, tears immediately springing to my eyes as I felt the bulge in my pussy press further. I couldn’t help it as my legs shifted ever so slightly apart, and I let out a soft grunt. *POP* *Splash!* The sound of my water breaking seemed gargantuan in the silence of the classroom, and immediately all eyes were on me, panting softly and holding my belly in both hands as a wet spot spread across the crotch of my pants and the carpet beneath me. I was flushed as I quickly gathered my backpack and handed in my exam, gesturing with my head for my best friend to follow. He scrambled after me, muttering apologies to the professor and assurances that he’d make up the exam later as he quickly moved to support me. As soon as I got out of the lecture hall and into the hallway, I let myself moan. My massively overdue waddle was pronounced, legs bowed and gait heavy as I dripped a trail of amniotic fluid behind me, shuffling toward the exit as fast as I could. “Holy shit, are you fucking nuts? I’m calling a fucking ambulance, your water broke, and we’re at least twenty minutes from the nearest hospital and I don’t think you have that long, idiot!” My friend grabbed my backpack from me, and I let him as I stopped right before we got to the exit, pausing our escape by putting a hand on his arm. “What?” He asked, finger stilling over the call button. I swallowed heavily, suddenly feeling like I might throw up. “I definitely don’t have that long. The head’s coming out.” My voice was a mournful groan as I felt another contraction pull every muscle in my back and belly taut. I bent my knees and held a hand to my lower back, frantically squeezing at the tight muscles there as my other hand reached down into my sweatpants to cup my pussy where I could feel it starting to spread through my pad and underwear. Fuck, I was pushing. I didn’t mean to be, but it’s like I didn’t have a choice. There was so much pressure, and the baby was coming now. I whimpered a bit, squeezing my eyes shut to push once more before the contraction relented enough that I could start hobbling in the direction of the men’s room. My friend quickly rushed after me, holding me by the elbow and one hip and ushering me along as his phone’s dial tone rang and rang and rang on speakerphone. As soon as I got to the restroom, my knees hit the tile. I ignored everything else around me. I grabbed my thighs, digging my nails into them as my back muscles screamed and my gravid stomach tightened so hard that I could see the shape of it change under my shirt, shifting up and under my ribs instead of hanging down low into my lap. I grunted with the effort as my body started to once more push against my will, eyes scrunching up as I finally gave in and let out a strangled moan. One hand quickly moved from my thigh to my crotch as I felt the bulge in my panties grow. I was going to crown, and my pants were still on. I couldn’t speak while the contraction still gripped my body, reduced to grunts and groans and half-screams as I tried to work the first baby out of me, but I was able to pull down the waistband of my sweats enough that my friend realized what was going on. He quickly set down the phone, the first responder on the other line audible but incomprehensible to me as I panted between hellish contractions. All of a sudden, my friend's hands were there, gently yanking down my sweats and starting to roll my maternity panties down my thighs. My fingers found their way back to my pussy, where I could feel the baby’s head was almost at a full

crown, and I moaned at the feeling of being stretched in that way. “Oh god, it’s almost out. Oh fuck, oh fuck, I’ve gotta- I’ve gotta… Hhh? HhhhHHHNNNNNG.” My knees slid as far apart as they could with my sweatpants still around them, and immediately my whole body was on fire. “HHHHHNNNNNNNNG oh god, burning, burning, the head-” I groaned, and leaned forward my belly drum tight but still massive enough to brush the cool tile. My hand was trapped between my bump and the floor, fingers trying to help spread myself open as the head inched forward and backwards through my stretching cunt. I let out another frantic grunt and suddenly the tile under me was slick with the gush of fluid that accompanied my baby’s head. My friend’s warm palm gently rubbed my lower back where my muscles were cramping with the residual shock of my last contraction, and I could hear him whispering words of encouragement to me. “Ohhhhhhh, it’s out, it’s almost out, please, god, my belly, please!” He seemed to understand what I meant, and his arm around me to rub firm circles into my flank as I panted and rested, waiting for another contraction to help me shove the rest of my baby out. For a fleeting moment, it was just him holding me while I breathed. And then I felt my body tense once more and knew this was it. My spine hunched and belly jumped as I let out a series of short, sharp grunts, slowly forcing my baby out of me inch by inch until… “UGH UGH UGH UGH UNGH HHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” The head shoved my hand out, and soon the body spilled after, the shoulders twisting as they pushed past my burning, aching pussy. My friend let go of me, quickly catching the baby before it could hit the cold tile floor, and instantly the sound of crying echoed through the bathroom. Tears streamed down my face as a wave of relief rushed over me, and I fell backwards onto my ass so I could reach out for my baby, cord still connected. My friend quickly handed him over, and I swiped my finger around his mouth and nose, clearing his airways, before I suddenly remembered. My baby, a little boy, rested atop my still-occupied belly. I moaned, suddenly aware of how sore I was down there, and dread crept up my spine. “I can’t… I can’t do this again. I can’t.” My friend looked at me with such sadness and pity in his eyes. “The ambulance should be here in about five, if you can hold off that long.” I paused, taking assessment of my body. I still felt like I needed to push, but it wasn’t quite as urgent. The second head was still right there behind my lips, and I could feel the heavy bulge in my pelvis. I nodded, and he let out a breath of relief, kneeling down to put an arm around my shoulders to help support me while I held my son to my chest. Five minutes doesn’t seem like much time at all, in the grand scheme of things. I could make it five minutes. Of course I could. I could ignore the tell-tale tightening of my lower back, my whole body tensing in response. I could ignore the need to shift my hips that left me wiggling my bare ass against the slick bathroom tiles. I could ignore the subtle spread of my legs as the pressure, the insane amount of pressure, quickly ratcheted up. I clearly wasn’t doing a good job hiding my discomfort, because immediately my friend’s hand went to my bump and rubbed it as if he could convince it to relax. “Nononononono! No, you cannot have another baby in this bathroom! One bathroom baby is enough! You gotta hold it.” By this point I was panting, trying so hard not to give in and start pushing. I shifted my baby to one arm, my free hand coming to join his in rubbing my contracting belly as I let out a moan of despair and frustration. “ I can’t! Pressure! The pressure-! I’ve gotta push! It’s right there, the head is right there, I gotta… gotta… oooooooooh… ooooOOOOOOHHHHHHH FFFFFFFFFUUUU-” In an instant, my legs were as far open as I could spread them, and I felt the tell tale sting of a baby’s head starting to inch its way past my lips, bulging out my pussy as I pushed with all my might. I screamed as the

contraction didn’t let up, keeping my muscles locked tight in one long push that seemed to last forever, until I heard the now-familiar sound of fluid hitting the bathroom floor. The head was out. In one push, the head was out. I groaned as it spread me open, keeping my thighs apart as my weight rested pretty much entirely on my friend, who whispered a faint ‘holy shit’ behind me as I panted and shifted my hips. It was almost over. A few more good pushes and it would all be done. And it didn’t take long. Before I even had a chance to catch my breath, a vice-grip caught my worn out muscles, and there was nothing I could do to resist my body’s animalistic pull to grunt and scream and cry and push with every last ounce of strength I had. I could feel the stretch and pull of my pussy as I forcibly shoved with all my might, my teeth gritted and legs butterflied out as my baby’s body hung out between them, shoulders free. “GET OUT GET OUT GET OUUUUUUUT!” I screeched. And just like that, it was over. My baby slid out onto the tile between my blood and fluid covered thighs, which trembled with exhaustion as my body finally relaxed. And then there was crying. My second baby boy. The EMTs arrived another five minutes after that (a time I now know I never could have waited), and traveled me, my children, and their newly appointed godfather to the hospital to make sure the three of us were healthy. Thankfully there were no complications. A month later, I received my graded essay. It was a B+ with an added note. Bonus points raising it to an A. Perfectly comprehensive points. Perhaps next time, try not to have your baby in my class? - Prof. Roberts.

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rosbar6678 · 2 years

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Unexpected Mall Birth

You thought you had more time.

Sure, you knew full well you were cutting it close, but you thought you had at least another week left. That was how you’d reasoned yourself into going out today; you were starting to get a little stir-crazy anyway and you figured a walk around the mall might do you some good. Not to mention it was early on a Monday, which meant there would hardly be anybody there, so you could be as leisurely as you pleased.

It also meant there weren’t too many people around when you winced and rubbed your swollen belly, caught off guard by a faint twinge of pain. You were quick to reason this away too; it wasn’t your first bout of braxton-hicks and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. But as you kept walking, they kept coming, and eventually you couldn’t distract yourself any longer.

“Mnh…just gotta sit for a little bit, it’s fine…” you murmured to yourself, your hand still cradling your belly as you sought out a bench not too far away. A loud sigh of relief left you when you finally sat, and you hummed softly as both your hands ran over your bump, the soft fabric of your sundress stretched tightly over it. Feeling better already, you chuckled quietly at how you’d almost panicked over nothing–

“N-nnh…!”

Or what was quickly proving to not be nothing.

That one had hurt, many levels above the slight discomfort you’d experienced before, and your heart raced as it settled in. You were really in labor. You’d parked clear on the other side of the mall, and while initially you thought you might make it back, another contraction gripped you as soon as you stood from the bench.

So that option was out. Ask for help, maybe? You were out of luck on that front too; the mall was pretty much dead, just how you’d anticipated. Now you were really panicking, although you did your best not to show it. What were you going to do?

As you scanned your surroundings, your eyes settled on a bathroom a little ways off. There was a small sign on the front saying it was closed, something about it currently being renovated and if you could please use another of their available bathrooms.

“Fuck tha-aah!-t…” you groaned, clenching your teeth through this contraction. You walked as fast as you could, something in you felt you were rapidly running short on time, and you quickly looked over your shoulder before entering the bathroom, which had blessedly been left unlocked. The door had barely clicked shut when you cried out, they were coming faster and faster now. Your belly felt lower, your hands trembling slightly as you rubbed and attempted to soothe yourself, trying to remember how you should be breathing.

Your train of thought was soon interrupted by a contraction, but this one felt different. Something shifted in you, and you barely managed to stifle a cry as your water finally broke. It just kept coming, a low moan escaping you as you felt the liquid gush down your shaking legs.

“Shit, it’s r-really coming…!” you whimpered, chest heaving with every breath.

It took a moment for you to gather yourself enough to move, carefully sidestepping the puddle of amniotic fluid while it kept trickling out of you, and you finally made it into the handicap stall, not bothering to close it. With your back to the wall you inched your way down until you were seated on the floor, the cool tile a welcome relief against your heated flesh. Once another contraction came and went, you hurriedly shifted your ruined panties down, struggling to finally get them off before your hand moved to your cunt. You whined softly, slipping two fingers into yourself to check how far you were, even though you honestly had no clue what ten centimeters would even feel like. Your cervix certainly felt open enough, and even if it wasn’t you were sure you wouldn’t be able to wait any longer.

You braced yourself against the wall, your hands hooked under your knees to keep your legs as spread as they could go, and when the next contraction came you finally gave in, bearing down with your first push. Despite your best efforts to stay quiet you were quickly losing that battle, and when you pushed again a guttural moan escaped your throat.

“M-mmnnngh, please, c’mon baby, please…” Your hands were on your belly again, pressing down with every push as you tried to hasten things along. After a bit you felt yourself again, your pussy bulging as your baby was on the verge of crowning. In an attempt to feel something besides the searing pain your fingertips brushed over your clit, swollen and throbbing with all your efforts. The pleasure mixed oddly yet perfectly with the pain, and you kept going just like that; one hand rubbing at your tight belly, the other rubbing furious circles at your clit. It wasn’t long before you could feel it coming, and you moaned with loud abandon as several things happened at once; you came, gushing a mix of squirt and birthing fluid, and your hips bucked forward as your baby’s head finally crowned, stretching you impossibly wide.

“Ffffuck!! Oh fuck, a-almost there…!!” Panting heavily, you took this opportunity of clarity to shift positions, gradually propping yourself up to a squat. Your baby felt so heavy between your legs, and you hoped being like this would help it along. You didn’t have to wait long to find out, and with this next contraction you bore down, sweaty hands gripping your thighs. Your laboring cunt stretched wider still, making way for one shoulder, then another, and you moaned loudly as finally, finally the rest of your baby slid out of you. You caught it with shaking hands, blood and birthing fluids dripping from you, and you slid exhausted back onto the bathroom floor.

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rosbar6678 · 2 years

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Imagine You’re the Pregnant CFO of a Successful Company

Hello! You can call me Ros B. First time posting a story here! Feel free to follow me over at @rosbar6678 if you'd like. Hope you enjoy my fic!

You shift in your chair, fighting the urge to let out a sigh. You're 41 weeks pregnant, almost 42, and extremely uncomfortable. Your back has been hurting all day, your massive stomach feels rigid and tight, and there's a strange growing pressure in your hips that makes it really difficult to sit comfortably at all.

You're in a board meeting at your company, and your husband, the CEO, is currently presenting on the last quarter's product line. What had started as an illicit affair between two executives just over a year ago had unexpectedly resulted in you pregnant and married. You still couldn't totally believe it. It was just supposed to be a bit of fun between you two, something to help blow off steam at the end of a hard day at work (almost quite literally – there was a non-zero chance that your baby was conceived in this very meeting room), but you somehow managed to fall for each other.

You almost roll your eyes at how sappy and cliche it was, thinking about it now. Both you and your husband are very practical and logical people, it's part of the reason why you both have had such successful careers, but being with him threw all that practically and logic out the window. While he was stern and stoic at work, he was actually a very sweet and thoughtful man outside of it. And when you discovered you were pregnant, you two didn't even hesitate to go straight to the courthouse to make everything official. You both knew this was jeopardizing your jobs, but neither of you cared. And while you got sternly reprimanded by the board, they ultimately decided to keep you both on. The company had become hugely successful since you both started working there, after all.

And now, your husband was presenting on exactly how successful the company had become, particularly in this last quarter, and you were to be presenting next.

You adjust yourself in the chair again, trying to ease any of the discomfort in your body, but it's pretty futile. Your husband's eyes dart over to you for a moment, narrowing imperceptibly as he spoke. He has been trying to get you to go on maternity leave for weeks now, but you've refused. Even this morning, as the two of you got ready for work, he tried to convince you to stay home.

"It's not going to happen, love," you said loudly as you hefted your now much larger breasts into a bra, pulling the straps on to your shoulders and hooking it around your back.

You heard your husband grumble from the walk-in closet.

"You're overdue by almost two weeks," he called out into the bedroom. "The baby can come basically any second. And I swear your stomach has dropped since yesterday. You really should stay home."

You've managed to don a pair of sheer black pantyhose, pulling them up your legs and over your belly, before shimmying into a dark gray pencil skirt.

You certainly couldn't deny anything your husband has said. All of what he said was true, and then some. For the past few days, it’s felt like more and more weight had descended into the bowl of your pelvis, and your belly definitely hung lower and lower. Despite it’s size, it had always been a fairly “perky” stomach, but that had changed significantly in the last few days. Plus, you had been dealing with your fair share of Braxton Hicks contractions lately, too.

But you wouldn't be caught dead telling him that.

"I tell you what, my dear husband," you replied, as you zipped up the back of the skirt, drawing it tight under your belly and around your hips. You turn to look in the mirror, admiring how it hugged your curves. 9 months pregnant and you still got it.

"I will go on maternity leave when you go on paternity leave.

More grumbling from the closet.

"I'm sorry, my love, what was that?"

"I said," he shouted, clearly annoyed, "that I don't want to go on it yet."

"Well, neither do I."

He stepped out of the closet, wearing a sharp navy blue suit and a gray tie with gold diagonal stripes.

"Oh, darling, now, really?" he demanded.

"What?"

"That skirt? Those stockings?"

You rounded on him as you finished buttoning up your white collar maternity shirt. "What's wrong with my skirt and stockings?"

"Can't you wear sweatpants like a normal pregnant woman?"

You felt anger flare in your chest. "I don't want to wear sweatpants," you snapped. "Why are you suddenly so hung up on my clothes?"

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I just…want you to be comfortable," he muttered, dropping his hand and looking away from you.

You softened a little at his admission, and approached him.

"You're always so uncomfortable and I just wish…there was something we could do to help with that…"

Once you were close enough, you wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him as close to you as your baby bump would allow.

He still wasn't looking at you. You could see the tension in his jaw and shoulders.

"You know I could never be comfortable in sweatpants, love, especially at work," you said as you reached up to adjust his tie.

He sighed again, closing his eyes and tilting his head down to rest against the top of yours. "I know, darling," he said, resigned, his hands coming up to cradle your stomach. Your baby gave a solid kick against his palm.

"Look,” you began, smoothing his tie back against his shirt, “I promise I'll go on maternity leave tomorrow."

He pulled away a little in surprise, and you looked up at him, smiling.

"Really?" he asked, relief on his face.

"Yes." You leaned up and gave him a quick peck on the lips. "I just really want to present at the board meeting today. I worked so hard to leave the company in a good place before we left! Let me just have this victory lap."

"I know, I know." He kissed you again, running his hands from your stomach to your hips and back again. "And you deserve a victory lap."

"You're goddamn right I do," you said, grinning, pulling away from him. "I mean, who successfully negotiated the merger with Equiva?"

"You did."

"And who saved the company almost 20 million dollars in the last three months?" you asked, pulling on a suit jacket to match your skirt.

"You did."

This conversation continued in much the same way as the two of you gathered your things to leave for work…at least until, much to your husband's chagrin, you put on your 3 inch stiletto heels.

That was several hours ago, but it felt even longer than that. Your husband has been watching you like a hawk all day and even in the middle of his presentation, his attention wasn't totally diverted from you. You try to keep your face neutral, idly tapping your pen against your cheek.

He finally looks away from you, and you let out a small exhale of relief. You would not put it past him to stop this entire meeting in a heartbeat if he thought something was wrong.

The minutes tick past. You try to not squirm and shift around so much, but you can't help it. You're so uncomfortable. The pain in your back is getting worse, and so is that incredible pressure in your hips. Your stomach has been cramping and tightening over and over again, intensifying that pressure. You attempt to spread your legs to ease some of the discomfort in your pelvis, but that pencil skirt you insisted on wearing doesn't allow for much of that. Are these more Braxton Hicks contractions? Or are these…real–?

You quickly push that question out of your mind, huffing.

You try to pay attention to the meeting, but you can't help it, your focus is turning more and more inward, the more and more your body tenses and twists against your will. Even your baby seems to be against you, kicking up a storm against your ribs. You try to keep your breathing steady and even, and you cup your hands underneath your belly and press up, weakly attempting to lift some of the weight off your straining back and hips.

Maybe your husband was right…maybe you should have stayed home…

You don't know how much time has passed when you suddenly hear your husband say your name, startling you out of your thoughts.

"...our amazing CFO, who will now report on last quarter's record earnings."

Everyone applauds as you stand up and your husband heads over to his seat opposite yours, never taking his eyes off you. You just barely manage to suppress a groan as you haul yourself up on unsteady feet, a hand still cupping your heavy stomach.

You force a smile as you approach the front of the meeting room. It almost feels like your baby's head is already wedged in between your legs, and you vainly try to not walk so bowlegged. You stand behind the podium, looking out at the two dozen other executives and board members, and begin your presentation.

You're incredibly thankful that you practiced it so much that you could basically present it in your sleep. Standing has made your back pain even worse, and it feels like gravity is slowly pulling your baby deeper into your hips. You keep trying to spread your legs, but again, that damn pencil skirt keeps your thighs much closer together than you'd like.

You can feel sweat break out along your hairline, and you keep compulsively running your hands through your hair to try and subtly wipe it off. Your stomach feels like it's permanently seized up, gone completely rock hard, and it seems to hang lower than even this morning.

You can see your husband out of the corner of your eye. He's leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed, his lips a hard line. You know that face. That's the face he makes when he's trying to figure out if something is wrong.

You swallow hard. You get a little flustered and you stumble over your words a bit, but you keep going. You are going to finish this presentation, dammit.

You shift your legs again, trying to find some measure of relief. God, the pressure is getting so bad, it's making the whole lower half of your body shake, and now you're cursing your stiletto heels along with your skirt. You have one hand holding the remote to flip through the slides, but the other is gripping the edge of the podium so hard that you wouldn't be surprised if you crushed the cheap wood in your grasp.

A terrible spasm shoots through you, making your voice catch for just a moment. It sends pain radiating up your back, down your thighs, and makes your vaginal muscles clench involuntarily. You almost groan at the sensation, as it felt like they were clenching down on…something…

You're now flipping quickly through the last of your slides, just going over the very basic points for each one, and another sharp pain rockets through you. Your voice wavers as you resist the urge to moan. It takes all of your willpower to not just tear off your skirt right there and drop down into a squat behind the podium, to push your knees as far apart as they can go, to try to make some space within your pelvis to ease some of this maddening pressure.

Fuck, this is all getting to be so much that you almost feel like you need to push…

You can't help but notice that your husband is shifting around in his seat almost as much as you were. He knows this presentation almost as well as you, and he knows you're rushing through the end of it. He looks like he's about to jump out of his chair right when you shoot him a pleading look. Please. I'm almost done. Just give me a few more minutes. Please.

Your legs are pressing so hard against the sides of your skirt, you're surprised the seams haven't ripped. You're so hot that you're simultaneously both frustrated that you left your suit jacket on and grateful you did, otherwise everyone would be able to see you sweating straight through your white blouse. Your stomach has never felt heavier, and it’s hanging so low that the underside of it is peeking out from under said blouse, and you are confident it was definitely not doing that when you got dressed this morning…

"In conclusion," you say, your voice straining slightly.

The pressure inside you is climbing, climbing…your muscles are spasming and it feels like your baby’s head is so deep inside you it's already trying to force your legs apart. You clear your throat, and take a breath.

"In conclusion, I –"

The pressure reaches it's apex. You almost cry out from the pain. But instead, you feel something break inside you, and to your horror, fluid gushes out from between your legs to splatter audibly on the floor.

There's a moment of shocked silence. You're visibly shaking as you look down at the puddle beneath you.

"I – I think my water just broke," you say softly.

There's a moment of commotion from your colleagues, but then your husband is on his feet.

"Out!" he shouts. "Everyone, out!"

The small crowd of people quickly head towards the door as your husband rushes straight at you, looking furious.

"You're in labor, aren't you?" he demands. "God dammit, I told you that you should've stayed home!"

As soon as he's close enough, you reach for him, barely paying attention to what he's saying. You pull him close and press your head to his chest, gasping and moaning. The pressure is now the worst it's ever been, becoming completely unbearable, and without hesitating, you grit your teeth, grab fistfuls of your husband's jacket, and push.

That heavy weighty feeling deep inside you slides even lower, and you let out a guttural groan, almost of relief, as you finally give in to your body's demands. You can barely hear your husband speaking to you over the blood rushing through your ears and the desperate noises you're making (he's saying something about getting to the hospital), but then realization seems to strike him and he demands, "Are you pushing?"

You can only nod in response as you stop for a moment to catch your breath, before wincing and taking in sharp inhales of air between clenched teeth as your stomach somehow tightens even more.

"Don't! Don't push!" he yells, panicking.

"I can't!" you grit out. There is so much pain and pressure and weight inside of you, wedged tightly inside your pelvis, and you need to get it out now!

"I can't, hnngh, god, I can't, oh god, oh, oh!"

You gasp, feeling something new... You let go of your husband's jacket to reach under your skirt, and you cry out in shock as your fingers brush against your completely soaked stockings. Your labia is bulging out from you – the baby's head is right there!

"Help –!" you cry breathlessly, releasing your husband to reach behind yourself, fumbling with the zipper of your skirt. "Help me get this off!"

Your husband starts to object, but another contraction grips you, making you wail, cutting him off.

"There's no time!" You grab his hand and force it underneath your skirt, between your barely parted legs. Your husband curses in surprise, his fingers pressing against your opening as it distends outwards from your child's encroaching head. "The baby is coming now!"

He quickly reaches around to try to unzip the skirt. You fall back against the podium, still desperately trying to separate your legs to make room for your baby. He's yanking on the zipper, but it doesn't move.

"Fuck, it's jammed," he mutters, but before you can say anything, he slides his hands quickly up your thighs, rucking the skirt up your hips and underneath your enormous belly, allowing you to finally spread your legs. That action alone makes it feel like your baby drops several inches, almost like it was about to fall right out of you, but was caught at the last minute by your seizing vaginal muscles, the sensation making you yelp in surprise.

You're leaning back against the podium now, gripping the edge of it, in as wide a stance as you can manage in your heels, bending your knees slightly. You're panting and whimpering, and all your muscles start to tighten and clench again in another contraction. You throw your head back with a groan, feeling your body heave against the hefty mass of your baby as it slid forward a bit more, and you quickly join in with a desperate push of your own.

You groan even louder as you feel yourself start to spread wide, your parting lips brushing against the fabric of your underwear as your baby's head starts to crown.

"Oh god, it's coming, it's coming!"

You suddenly realize that you still have your panties and stockings on, but your husband is way ahead of you, already trying to tug your leggings down.

"Shit shit shit," he mutters. The stockings aren't budging – you hiked them up over your stomach when you were getting dressed earlier this morning, but your pencil skirt is cinched tightly around your hips, preventing them from easily sliding off your legs.

"Oh, get them off, please!" you beg, voice straining from your efforts. They're so tight against you that they almost feel like they're pressing the baby back in at the same time you're trying to push it out.

Your husband lets out a noise of frustration, before dropping to his knees and bunching the stocking in the inside of your left thigh in both hands.

You stop pushing for just a moment, just to take a breath, but your pantyhose immediately drives the baby back into you, and you wail in anguish.

“Get them off, get them off!”

Your husband seems to be trying to rip them open, his nails digging into the fabric, but they’re sliding in his grasp from their sheerness and from being doused in fluids.

Another contraction takes you, hard and fast, and you can barely gasp in a bit of air before you’re pushing again, struggling to force the top of your baby to stretch out your skintight nylons.

“Please get them off!”

"I told you you shouldn't have worn these!" he shouts, before finally ripping them apart, tearing a hole up towards the crotch. You jump when you feel him hook his fingers into your panties and tugs them to the side, the cloth once again brushing against your most sensitive parts.

"Holy shit," he breathes. All the anger in his voice disappears instantly, replaced with shock. He stammers out your name, looking up at you. "I – I can see the head!"

You try to respond, but all you can do is nod. You can definitely feel the head, hard and unforgiving, causing a terrible pressurized burn between your trembling thighs as you try to maintain the push, shrieking and crying out in agony.

The contraction mercifully ends, but you whimper in despair when you feel the baby slide a little back inside you, even without the stockings. You pant, your eyes sliding shut, trying to catch your breath in preparation for your next push.

God, everything hurts. Your stomach hurts from the intensity of your contractions, your back hurts from the straining weight of your belly, your hips hurts from your baby filling the space between them with it's seemingly massive body, your legs hurt from having to keep them so far apart, your feet hurt from those stupid high heels, even your throat is starting to hurt from all the noises you're making.

You suddenly feel your husband's hand gently rubbing the outside of your leg, startling you. You look down, and he's gazing back up at you, eyes wide, his other hand still between your legs. Your normally calm, stoic husband looks uncharacteristically scared and excited at the same time.

"The baby's almost here," he says. "It's almost here. You're doing so great, darling."

You can't help but give him a shaky smile, but that quickly turns to a grimace as your uterus tightens painfully inside of you. You gasp as you feel the baby slip out of you a little more, even without you pushing, and you take a deep breath and bear down.

You almost immediately throw your head back, biting back a cry of pain. You're being spread and stretched and pulled apart, and god, god, it burns so much. You want to stop, you want all of this to stop, but your body bears down anyway, indifferent to your suffering, forcing your huge baby through an opening far too small for it.

"Push! Push, darling!" your husband shouts.

"I can't! Oh, god, I can't!"

"Yes, you can! Push!"

You grit your teeth and do as he says, because what other choice do you have? Shutting your eyes tightly, you push with everything you've got, the burning sensation magnifying with every centimeter of ground your baby makes.

"Nnngh! Gah! F-fuck, oh god, it hurts!"

"Keep going, love!"

You take a deep breath and heave against your baby as hard as you can, when the burning spikes suddenly and horribly, and an anguished scream is torn from your throat.

"The baby's crowning!" your husband yells.

You barely register what he's saying as another sharp spasm immediately shoots through you, triggering you into another involuntary push. You almost instantly regret it, as your baby lurches down and a sudden lancing pain, the worst pain you've felt so far, jolts up from between your legs, feeling as if you were being cut open with fire.

"The head's halfway out!"

You scream in sheer agony, arching your back, tossing your head, and standing up on your tiptoes in your heels. The contraction fades, but to your horror, the searing, stinging pain from your baby's skull remains, splitting you so impossibly wide that you're sure that at any moment, your sensitive flesh was going to tear right open. You can vaguely hear your husband yelling at you to breathe, but you can only let out another ear piercing scream and push, desperate to get the head out and end the agony.

Your inner muscles clench and spasm around your child's enormous head, trying to find purchase, as you struggle to expel it from your tortured body without the aid of a contraction. You're howling mindlessly from the pain, almost bucking your hips as if to shake the baby free, and for one terrifying moment you think it might be stuck. But then there's a sudden popping sensation, like a cork from a bottle of champagne, making you gasp. Fluid sprays your inner thighs, and a sudden merciful release of tension and pain floods your system.

You slump back a little against the podium, releasing the edges to catch yourself on your elbows. Your legs are shaking wildly now, and it's a small miracle you're still standing up.

"The head's out! It's out!"

You try to lean forward to see, panting and gasping, but your stomach is in the way. Your husband has both hands between your legs and you can feel the backs of them brushing against your skin. Something heavy dangles uncomfortably from your body. You're trembling from exhaustion and effort, you're drenched in sweat, and your vaginal walls throb painfully against your baby.

"Check –" you manage to stammer out, remembering something from one of the many books you read in preparation for the birth. "Ch-check for the c-cord."

Your husband grunts in acknowledgement, and you inhale sharply as he slides his fingers between your battered, sensitive lips and the baby's head. You adjust your stance a little and feel your thigh brush against it, sticky and hot.

"Shit –" he mutters.

You gasp, feeling a contraction start.

"Shit, god dammit –" He says your name sharply, immediately grabbing your attention.

"What?

"Don't push."

Panic grips you, almost as hard as the contraction.

"D-don't?"

"I think the cord is around the baby's neck, don't push!"

You feel your husband's fingers fumble around, and the pressure inside you starts to grow.

"Ah!" You pant, rocking your hips back and forth, but your husband stops you with one firm grip on your upper thigh.

"Hold still."

You freeze, your inner walls pulsating and tightening around your baby's heavy, squirming body as it rotates within you. The sensation is overwhelming, and you tilt your head back, mouth hanging open as you pant desperately.

"Hurry," you manage to gasp out between breaths.

You're fighting, fighting against that growing wave of unbearable pressure, with everything you have, but it's not enough. Your muscles seize up, almost violently, and push against your will, and with the aid of gravity, you feel your labia start to spread apart again.

"Don't push!"

"I'm not, I'm not!" you cry breathlessly. "I swear I'm not – I – oh! Oh, god!"

Your body crushes down on the baby again, inching it out of you.

"Oh no, god, please –"

"Hold on –"

"Please, I need to –"

"Ok –"

"I need to push!"

"OK, push!"

And with a great guttural yell, you bear down once again, thrusting your hips forward. Mercifully, your baby starts to slide out of you, one shoulder popping out –

"Oh!"

– and then the other –

"OOH!”

You shudder, your baby hanging halfway out of you, your body still gripping onto it stubbornly.

"You're so close, darling, just one more –"

You push your knees apart, drop your hips into a slight squat, and give one final desperate push. There's an incredible rushing sensation, startling you and making you shriek, followed by a torrent of liquids gushing out from between your legs, and suddenly, all of that pain and pressure is gone.

You're still somehow standing upright, gripping the podium behind you for dear life. Your head is still tossed back, looking up at the ceiling, mouth hanging half open as you catch your breath. Your vaginal muscles are still weakly clamping and twitching around nothing, sending small shudders through your aching body.

Suddenly, you hear a cry.

Your head snaps down to look, and you see over your still enormous belly, your husband, kneeling on the floor in a puddle of milky pink fluids, the whole front of him completely soaked.

But there, in his arms, is a baby.

It's bright pink and wailing, kicking it's little legs and flailing it's little arms. Your husband looks up at you, looking completely shocked, and says, in a shaking voice,

"It's a girl."

You blink, the words slowly filtering into your mind.

"A – a girl?" you stammer, breathless.

He nods, holding the baby – your daughter – up to you, and as if on instinct, you quickly unbutton your blouse. Once it falls open, you gather your baby in your arms and cradle her against your skin, as she continues to cry in protest.

Your husband falls back onto his butt, resting his arms on his raised knees, his head hanging down. His shoulders are shaking, and you don't know if he's laughing or crying. As you watch him, dazed, you vainly attempt to comprehend the magnitude of what just happened. You just gave birth during a meeting at your job, and your husband delivered the baby. You're standing in 3 inch pumps, your stockings are torn open, your skirt is bunched up around your hips, and your breasts are completely out on display (although still in their bra). Your baby is wriggling against you, wailing loudly, still covered in blood and amniotic fluid and who knows what else, the umbilical cord dangling between you. You're completely out of breath, your head is spinning from exertion and shock, and you suddenly say out loud to your husband, without even really realizing it,

"I ruined your suit."

Your husband snaps his head up to look at you, looking absolutely incredulous.

"What?"

"I – I ruined your suit –" you say again.

He bursts out laughing.

"I really liked that suit –" you add, weakly.

He scrambles to his feet, still laughing, and as if in emphasis, wipes his hands on the back of his sleek wool pants, before bringing them to rest on your hips as he leans down to kiss you.

"I love you so much," he says.

You start to respond, when suddenly the doors to the meeting room burst open and a group of EMTs rush in. Someone must've called 911. They all descend upon you and the baby, helping you onto a stretcher, examining the baby, and interrogating you with a myriad of questions (including one EMT, a woman, demanding in shock, "You gave birth in those shoes?!")

You lose your husband in the chaos for a moment as you lay down on the stretcher with your daughter still resting on your chest. Panic grips you, and you call out his name. He's suddenly there by your side, your hand in his, looking at you as if you're the only person in the room.

"Don't leave me," you say, feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable.

He kisses the back of your hand fiercely. "Never."

"Hey, hey, Mr. Midwife!" one of the male EMTs says jovially, holding out a pair of scissors to your husband. "You did so well delivering the baby, we thought you might like to cut the cord!"

Your husband smiles brilliantly as he takes the scissors with his free hand. The EMT directs him to cut the cord between two clamps, just an inch or so from her belly button, and with a few quick snips, your daughter's body is separated from your own.

They drape a blanket over you and your baby and wheel you out of the meeting room, past all your shocked colleagues and coworkers, into the elevator and then outside to the ambulance, your husband staying by your side the whole time. Your baby is still mewling and crying, and that same female EMT from earlier suggests that maybe she's hungry.

Once in the ambulance, you shrug off your shirt and undo your bra, freeing your breasts, and you bring your daughter up to one dark nipple. She instantly latches on and begins nursing, and you gasp in surprise and joy.

You look up at your husband excitedly, who laughs and kisses the side of your head. Now that the shock has started to wear off, an overwhelming sense of love and protection for your daughter has replaced it. You can barely take your eyes off her, you count her fingers and toes over and over again as she nurses. You smooth her little wisps of hair back, the same color as her father's, as she blinks up at you with eyes that match yours. Your husband traces the curves of her little cheek with his finger, before pushing that same finger against one of her palms, and her tiny hand closes around it.

He kisses you again, his hand stroking through your hair, as he says softly to you, "You were amazing, darling. You were so amazing. I love you so, so much."

You turn to kiss him on the lips. "I love you, too." You tilt your head forward to press against his, closing your eyes. "You were pretty amazing yourself. I can't believe you delivered our baby."

"Hey, I just caught her. You were the one who did all the work."

At the hospital, your daughter is quickly whisked away for tests as you deliver the placenta. The lovely staff were kind enough to lend your husband a set of clean, dry, hospital green scrubs. When your daughter is returned to you, she's all swaddled up, and given a clean bill of health, coming in at 9lbs, 13oz.

"Nine pounds?!" you exclaim as your husband takes her from the nurse.

"And 13 ounces!" the nurse adds, cheerfully. "22 inches long and a head 15 inches around."

"Oh my god," you say quietly, completely stunned. "No wonder that hurt so much…"

"You can say that again! Can't believe you delivered her with no pain medication!"

Your husband sits down in the rocking chair next to your bed, cradling your daughter close as he starts speaking to her, not paying attention to your exchange with the nurse.

"Hey, sweetheart," he says in a sing-song voice. "Hey, you gave us quite a scare today, showing up when you did."

The nurse checks a few things before leaving you with your new family, insisting you get some sleep.

You lean back against the pillows as you close your eyes, your hands resting on your slightly deflated stomach, listening to your husband speak softly to your daughter. You're exhausted. There are muscles in your body that you didn't even know exist that are already starting to ache. You want to stay awake, to watch your husband interact with his first born child, but you can already feel yourself drifting off. Bits and pieces of their "conversation" filter in as you start to doze, but it's his comment of, "...now that you're here, Mommy is finally gonna take some time off and relax…" that grabs your attention.

You rouse yourself from sleep as best you can. "Not yet," you say, your words slurring together.

"Hmm? What was that, darling?"

It takes you a moment to respond as you drift in and out of consciousness.

"'m not taking maternity leave yet."

You hear your husband laugh.

"...didn' finish…my quarterly reportsssss…"

"You're kidding, right?"

"...need to finish 'em tomorrow…"

He laughs again, but he sounds much more uncertain this time.

"You're…you're kidding," he says. When you don't respond, he repeats more insistently, "Darling, you're kidding, right?"

But you don't reply, finally falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

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rosbar6678 · 2 years

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Imagine You’re the Pregnant CFO of a Successful Company...

First time posting a story like this. Hope you enjoy it!