Birthbitchii - Birth Bitch

Looking for someone who wants to RP a shade darker, where you are the unwilling subject of my insidious impregnation. Whether I am a passive tech whiz, alien race, summoned demon, maybe a PETA person trying to save the whales (or Bigfoot), I would love to experiment on you and make you swell with creatures, eggs, babies, demons, somethings beyond your understanding without any empathy.

Please PM me if you would like to be ruthlessly filled.

Kate could feel it coming, the familiar pressure in her pelvis, the tightening of her overfilled womb, any moment now her water would break. Warm amniotic fluid would fish out of her like a geyser as her body tried once more to deliver her long overdue baby. It would happen just as it had nearly twice per week for just over three years. Once more, Kate would fight against her body and instincts. She would plug her pussy and grind on the arm of the couch, letting the pleasure and pain mix as she waited for her body to once again give her just a few more days of pregnancy.

It wasn't unheard of for women to have long pregnancies, sometimes even making them permanent, but they used drugs and medical procedures to do it. Kate was determined to set the record for the world's longest pregnancy, and she wanted to do it all natural.

The first year had been easy, her due date had come and gone, and her baby seemed content to let her carry it for a long time to come. Then, just as kate came to her thirteenth month, she had finally gone into labor. Her water had broken in her sleep, and her baby was crowning almost before she realized what was happening. She had used her bare hands to hold back the slick, crowning head desperately fighting her body as she pressed it inch by inch back into the embrace of her womb. By morning, her labor had ended.

Now, three years later, she had had a few close calls, but she had managed to keep her baby inside. She was so close to her goal of being pregnant for five years, but at the same time, she didn't want her pregnancy to end. Maybe she would try and make it to ten years. That way, she could be sure no one would ever beat her record. She rubbed the massive dome of her gravid belly and let out a sigh. Then again, what if she tried again, this time with twins or even triplets.

A huge shoutout and thank you to @darkdaisy1984 for letting me use her picture and giving her input on this story.

From this past Friday, March 14th

Especially if the thing that they're incubating is far too strong for them to contain and leaves them bruised with every kick.

It can't just be unusually big. It needs to be incongruent, impossibly large. Almost several times their size.

As it wasn't content with stealing their mobility, it threatens to take their life with every movement.

Now imagine all of this but against all reason, there already capable of the breeding with others. They're just a fetus that's impossible and yet something penetrating your tubes.

Firing volley after volley of seed deep within you, insuring that they'll have many, many siblings before this is over.

I decided to walk around a bit and, oh godd.. I feel such a strong urge to push 😖

I don't think I've dilated though, a-and my waters still haven't broken... o-oh goddd... hnnnn...

🤰🍼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.

Your belly keeps stretching onwards and upwards, the child kicking with inhuman strength.

They're too big, theirs no way you could possibly give birth to this thing. You don't know what it is but it's clear that what ever it is, its not human.

No human pregnancy lasts a year, no human child could make a parent rival their couch in length.

Showgirl

I was always obsessed with the idea of being a showgirl, a performer, a spectacle for people to watch and admire. Now, as a surrogate birther for hire, I get to live out that dream — albeit for an extraordinarily painful and difficult price.

Despite the outrageous prices I charge to bear through this ordeal, women still come to me regularly to impregnate me with their babies and book a time and a date for the show.

Slowly over time, I would grow in size, round out in shape, and prepare myself for a date filled with dread on the calendar. But then, that's the side of show business that no one ever sees. Away from the glamour and the spotlight, no one ever looks for the callouses jeweled across a dancer's feet, or the pulled muscles and broken tendons on a stripper's body. No one ever paid much attention to the stretch marks, extra wrinkles, or marks of motherhood etched into mine either.

Though for my troubles, for all the wretched agony and herculean efforts that I racked onto my body time after time, I had never actually become a mother. Only a surrogate.

When Mom's day finally came, they would build up to their party as the most incredible day of their lives. For most, it was a bachelorette party amped up to 11 and then jacked up with an event that most only got to experience a handful of times at most. Alcohol was free-flowing and party games were in full swing while loud music and drunken revelers would pour from the house and into the street. What they were all here for though was the main event. Me.

Heavily pregnant, barely able to waddle into the home, and dreading this night since we signed the damn contract. Even without being in established labor, I'd have no choice but to perform, to deliver in front of a harem of girls, and leave mom with the baby she'd paid for.

That's the other nobody mentions about being a showgirl. You still have to perform even when you don't feel very much like dancing.

Waiting outside in the car for my allotted time, I'd try to prepare, to center myself for what's likely to come. Then, with a heavy shot of Pitocin stabbed into my thigh, it would be time to take center stage.

When I ring the bell even I have to listen especially carefully to hear it. The loud thump, thump, thump of this party's bass drowns out everything and I wonder how the neighbors can even stomach the noise. Then, I realize, they're probably here. The entire street is bouncing with activity. I gently chap at the door once again and open it gingerly, walking inside to the deafening beat.

At first I'm entirely unnoticed, a pleasant surprise in my current condition. Then, making my way into the main room I'm greeted with a terrifying chorus of whoops and hollers. My stomach sinks.

"Oh my god! She's here! She's really here" several women cry out.

"oh oh OHH, is it that time already?!" the new Mom says.

"Come on girls let's get it started," someone shouts into the room.

Someone turns down the music. Women grab their seats quickly. The couch is filled first, then seats are pulled around to line the walls until it's standing room only at the back. More and more women pour in from the kitchen, the landing, the patio, and even outside to see the main attraction.

I guess it's showtime.

The maid of honor pulls up a chair and places it in the center of the room before guiding Mom to take center stage. I drop my bag full of props in the only available corner in case they're called for later and wait for further instruction. This is her show, not mine.

Now, the Pitocin is taking hold. I try not to show it, but a series of contractions have been gripping hold of my stomach and contorting my belly. During the most recent of these pains, my face must have screwed a little too hard because the new mother diverts her attention and gestures me over.

"Hey, don't waste those over there, get over here where I can see you," she says.

The crowd cheers and hollers. Most of the women here have been drinking heavily and the party has just begun to hit its stride. Most are young, few looked like they were old enough to be mothers themselves. From their faces and their excitement, I guessed that few had a chance to see a delivery themselves before.

Dutifully, I waddled over to the young mom-to-be and stood in front of her makeshift plastic throne. She wasted no time and immediately began to undress me in the middle of the room. My wool knit cardigan, scarf, and even shoes were thrown to the side. Underneath, I had on just a pale blue night dress that reached down to my knees, a dark lace bra, and nothing else. I felt the intensity of the crowd watching me from every angle. I was embarrassed, vulnerable, and in a rapidly growing amount of pain — but that's what I was paid for.

Another contraction hit hard and I immediately flinched in front of Mom. They were coming fast.

She reached up and placed one hand on either side of my belly and squeezed tight to feel the contraction climb through my body. She could feel it shift, grip, and twist around my belly through the very tips of her fingers as I felt it stab and pull from the inside. Just as it reached its peak she announced to the room "They're really strong, I don't think baby is hanging around!"

I heard a round of cheers go around the room as glasses clinked together but I was too focused on the agony still crushing me inside to join in the merriment.

Finally, when that one began to fade from its peak, the new mom pulled me in close and sat me on her knees legs astride so that my oversized belly sat between us.

"There, there," she said quietly as she stroked my hair in long, flowing sweeps. "It'll all be over soon, take some nice deep, steady breaths for me, rest up between contractions,"

I did as she asked, even a faux level of care and affection was more than I could reasonably ask for under the conditions of our contract.

Soon more contractions followed, crashing into my body with an intensity and urgency that still somehow surprised me even after so many births. Mom guided me through each helping me focus and rest softly on her lap. Through every one she would hold on to my belly as if she was soothing her own put her hands on my hips and coached me to breathe in a rhythm that matched my body.

Despite the crowd watching around us, cheering the peak of every pain, and heckling my laboring cries, it was still reasonably soothing in comparison to other performances.

Somewhere during the melee she had pulled my night dress up and over my head until I was laboring on her lap in just my bra. The crowd cheered this development.

Even knowing that she wasn't my ally in this, it was all I could do to hold on to her, to grip her back and squeeze her tight while a wretched pain fought with me from the inside. Before long, that pain turned into a wretched pressure too as it became more and more apparent that it was time to push.

Delivery

I gave her a nod and somehow she immediately knew what I meant. She met my eyes and nodded back, "ok, let me check. Get on to the floor,"

She gestured at the wooden floor beneath us and I dutifully got on my hands and knees in front of her facing the door. In truth, I wasn't sure if she wanted me on my back or my front but before I could make another move I felt her hands on me and two fingers slip inside. Her entire hand quickly followed until her entire fist was pushed deep into my pelvis and I cried out again in a fierce guttural groan. This pleased the crowd immensely.

Now, the maid of honor came around and grabbed hold of my hand with Mom being currently preoccupied. She soothed my cries and gave me a hand to squeeze as the guest of honor shifted and stretched, pushing deep inside towards my cervix.

"Is it? Is it? is it?" the guests around the room asked over each other.

I assumed they were asking the soon-to-be mom if it was time for me to push. From past experience and the immense bomb of pressure bearing down on my stomach, I already knew for a fact that it was.

Already aching to push, Mom's fist buried deep within me added an intensity and agonizing sense of being filled that drove my urge to push even harder. In long labored breaths I began to coach myself not to.

I wanted nothing more than to bear down on this head, to push and strain and eject Mom's hand from my body with force if I had to. I was, however, here to put on a show. This was her performance, I was merely the talent. If she wanted to hold her fist deep inside me while I waited patiently to bear down on to it then that's what we were going to do.

"I can feel it! I can feel the head!" she announced to the room.

"The head?!" I thought, she had her fist buried so deep I'm surprised she wasn't feeling my tonsils. I said nothing, however, instead opting to squeeze my guardian angel's hand.

"Is it, Kevin's" one of the women gathered around finally blurted out.

"What the hell?"" I remember thinking first. Kevin was the husband of the mom currently pushed up to the elbow inside my birth canal. Of course it was Kevin's and what the hell kind of way would this be to find out if it wasn't anyway?! I must have shot the maid a confused look because she seemed to take pity on me.

Of all the care and attention I'd received since I'd arrived here hers was the only kind that didn't seem forced or fake. She genuinely seemed to care, about the mom, and about me. I shot a look across to her name tag to learn the name of my guardian angel, it was Cara.

With some amount of pity and regret, Cara leaned in close and whispered.

"Kevin's family have a history of having extremely huge heads when they're born," she said. "It's fine, you're going to be ok though, it always works out fine… in the end, I mean,"

That lying fucking bitch had just voided our contract, was my first thought. There's an explicit damn paragraph for exactly this condition and she hadn't disclosed it. A second or two later I realised there was exactly nothing I could do about it now. What was I going to do, walk out and cite our exit clause? Not likely.

"UUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAARGHHHHHHHhhh," I cried out, partly in frustration but mostly because the head was now barrelling down through the edge of my cervix and it was indeed huge.

Mom's hand was still buried wrist deep inside my pussy as the contraction peaked. Now, I knew should feel every spasm and twitch from inside my walls and it pleased me, just slightly, to feel the intense squeeze that crushed down onto her fist inside my body.

Just her tiny yelp of pain was enough to keep me going, to almost break into a smile at the thought. "Yeah, try taking it on from this side, bitch!" I wanted to say. But I didn't, as a professional.

But she too must have felt the head barrelling down into my cervix at the tips of her fingers because, when someone asked again, she confirmed that it was in fact in the family line.

Cheers and whoops erupted from seemingly every woman in the room except Cara. They were ecstatic and rowdy in celebrating what I could only surmise from here, was some apparent freak of nature.

The noise continued as I huffed and panted through gritted teeth on the party room floor. Angry, frustrated, and terrified, there was nothing I could do with those feelings now. The best I could hope for would be to redirect them, use them, and focus them to bring this baby down. My only ally, it seemed, was the maid of honor, Cara, who at least pity on me with kind, consoling eyes that said, "Yeah, this is why she choose a surrogate. Sorry, you've been scammed…"

"Hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnghhhhhhhhuaaarghhhhhh!" I bore down with everything I had. An epic, giant push that made my face flush red and my ears ring under pressure. This was it, this was why I was here, nothing more, nothing less. Just another birth show.

The pressure had clearly got too much to bear for Mom as I felt her pull her fist from my body in a single thrust. Good for me, I now had a hollow empty feeling that I could imagine bearing the head into to fill. Bad for me was that now everyone else in the party felt empowered to join in.

Throughout the rests between each push the harem of girls surrounding me on the floor would do their best to goad me back into action.

"C'mon, make her push again!" someone would say to the mom.

"Make her really go for it this time, bigger than the last," another would suggest. "I bet she's going to push for HOURS,"

For her part, mom had made it her role to take charge of the birth by attending closely to every twitch, bulge, and convulsion my pussy would make as the head descended through it. During contractions she would slip two fingers inside and press hard against my perineum, giving me something to push against and aim for.

Between contractions she would coax her hand in and out, gingerly alternating between stretching, toying, and caressing my lips with long sweeping swipes of her fingers. Honestly, it was torturous heaven.

My legs and my abdomen began to spasm involuntarily as she toyed me to distraction. The way her fingers and hands made me feel between pains let my mind leave the room and float off to a decidedly more magical plain.

Every time she glanced over my clit I was reminded how unbearably sensitive it became as I pushed sending jolts of lighting down every extremity and letting my eyes roll back in my head. The crowd adored the tease.

And then, "OWWWuuaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargghhhhhhhhh," I heard some poor woman scream close by before realizing that those sounds were coming from my body as I was propelled back into it again. They accompanied an intense pressure that felt like I was somehow halting the progress of a cannonball descending through my abdomen while trying to heave behind it up a great hill. The head was not going to budge.

Clara, perhaps the only friend I had in this place, pivoted around to kneel in front of me until my head was resting just practically in her lap. Now, she had slid her hands into the cups of my bra and rolled my nipples between her thumb and forefinger again and again.

If it was some kind of sexual play designed to arouse and delight the audience then there would be nothing I could have done about it. But it wasn't. She knew what she was doing. The stimulation helped smooth and strengthen every contraction to be more productive, faster, and more powerful than before.

Things were getting more painful than before, but for the first time I could finally feel a sense of progress moving within me. Frankly, I needed the help.

"HUuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhnnnn," I strained down into my tightening belly. Now, there was just the slightest sense of movement that gave me some hope. A giant weight, something akin to an oblong bowling ball was being forced down into my birth canal with seismic shifts and starts.

"Owwwwhhuaaarh, HOOooo, hoooo, hooo," I panted and gasped for breath between contractions before heaving down again into Momma's waiting hands.

"HNNNNNNnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnuearghhhh!" Another momentous push, another millimeter of progress.

By now the women around us were screaming full-throated and aggressively to push harder, to really go for it, and get this baby moving. As if I somehow adored having this baby stuck descending halfway into my vagina. Idiots. I did everything I could to feed on that anger, to harness it and direct it into my next push.

Soon, the aggression in the audience turned sour.

"Come on, bitch, push that baby out already!" one woman shouted directly in my ear.

"What are you doing?! I could have had triplets out in this time," another said.

"Be my fucking guest," I wanted to reply.

Another giant heave and I could begin to grasp a sense of fullness emerging from the inside. The head was filling the birth canal to capacity, and then some. All I had to do now was push it through to the other side. Then, a dreaded instruction came from Mom.

"Turn around, change position, I want this baby sunny side up, into my hands."

"Fuck," I may have even said out loud.

My energy was all but sapped, I barely had enough left to kneel, never mind to turn around and push this mutant out looking straight at this stupid fucking woman's stupid fucking eyes.

Any protest, however, would all be for naught. This was her show, her birth, and her baby. I was merely the performer. The surrogate, if I was feeling especially self-important.

So, I did as she said, rolling my outsized belly around until it was facing up into the sky instead of drooping down near the floor. Cara helped, pulling me back onto her knees so that I could prop myself against her body, letting her arms fall around my belly to hold me in place. spread my knees out around Mom so that she was primed for delivery.

Then, all I had left to do was push. Great big hulking efforts that strained every muscle, tendon, and synapse to their very breaking point. The pressure and the pain were immense. Soon that sense of fullness became a sense of stretching agony as I pushed and heaved beyond what I ever thought possible.

"HMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmnrghhhhahhhhh!" I groaned. I wanted to scream out. I wanted to announce that I can't, I was stuck, I couldn't move it another fraction. Fuck the show, there was no room.

Regardless of what I could do, pulling on my thighs, stretching my legs wide, bucking my hips into my birthing partner's knees, I couldn't take another fraction.

Instead, I slowed. Changing my frantic desperate push into a slower, more controlled, and more powerful effort. The pain intensified tenfold as my insides burned with an iron-smelting fire and my body stretched and reshaped around this monstrous head bulging out from between my lips.

I opened my eyes for just a few seconds to see women crowding around, staring, gawping at my naked form. Now, they weren't jeering or mocking — they were in awe, shocked, and terrified at what I was doing, of what could be done, of what they might one day have to do

"Slow down!" Mom instructed, but for the first time I shook my head. No.

"It's COM—, I NEED TO, BNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGHHuuuuuuuuuuuaghhh!"

I balance on my maid's knees, as the head emerges and I grip Cara's hands from behind me. My head snaps back and my lungs are void of air when a rockslide blinding pressure batters into my body as the head is expelled in a whomp and a gush into the waiting mother's arms.

Whimpering, trembling, and convulsing, Cara holds me in place until I'm ready to speak, move, and even think coherently once again.

As the rest of the party busy themselves cooing and fussing over the new arrival, I get up and gather my discarded clothes and belongings from slowly from every corner of the room. I sneak into the corner to dress, shameful and embarrassed around the party guests. Time now, simply to go home and recover before embarking on the next one, I think.

I thank the maid for her help because god knows what I would have done here without her. Before I could leave,however she showed me one more kindness.

"WELL, THANKS FOR EVERYTHING, SEE YOU NEXT TIME, I GUESS," she says at a loud volume with a wink.

Most of the women there rush from the new mom to see me out at the door in a faux casual run.

"Oh, you're leaving?" the first asks. "Could I have your card, you know, just in case there's another event…later?"

"Sure, I smile," handing out one from my pocket.

"And me?" another asks.

"Of course," I smile, removing a stack.

Quickly another hand shoots out then another, then another. In very short order I hand out every business card in my collection until I'm writing my number on napkins and pamphlets.

As the door closes behind me I hear an argument start inside about who's up next.

"Guess it was a fine show," I note to myself, walking down the drive.

So Painful