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longhardtransitionreturns · 2 months

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Author's note: This is birth and medical fiction. It's all fake, just a fantasy. Of course I don't want this to happen to me or anyone in real life.

I'd like to have a high risk twin pregnancy. The type where I have to fight my obstetrician to let me try to give birth vaginally and then they try to insist I have an epidural so they can cut into me without delay if something goes wrong. I'll finally get them to agree to let me try it natural if I am invasively monitored throughout and I understand I'm going under general anesthesia the second things go south.

When the day comes for me to be induced, I change into a hospital gown & follow nurses instructions as they put IV ports in both of my wrists. I'm catheterized -- a situation that isn't made any more pleasant by the twinges already squeezing my middle -- and by the time I'm being strapped into the stirrups for the doctor to swipe my membranes, I'm so trussed up I can barely move.

It's my first pregnancy & I didn't expect it to hurt so much just to be pregnant. My hips have been sore practically the whole nine months, in part because of how heavy and low I am carrying the twins. Baby A practically lodged himself between my hips last week and the pressure has been slowly increasing. My breasts are cumbersome and it's painful to even feel the hospital gown brush against my areolas. By the time the doctor is settling between my legs to start my labor, I'm eager to face whatever delivery holds for me to make this pregnancy end.

I'm singing a whole different tune 16 hours later. Or rather, screaming one at the top of my lungs. I am in the throes of transition and suffering the pinnacle of a truly agonizing labor. Baby A is posterior and the pain in my back has me at the edge of my sanity, especially now that the contractions are lasting for 90 seconds, with barely a minute in between.

I'm incoherent at this point. I'm in so much pain I'm only able to think about surviving the second I am living. I'm minimally aware when the nurses move my aching body back into the stirrups so I can push my son into the world. I bear down at their direction and it feels like my ass is gonna bust when his head plunges down.

What actually happens is his precious posterior facial features lodge against my clit as a desperate push shoves him just past crowning and my poor little nub starts to sting. It feels like it's being ripped off and I'm humiliated to find I'm begging my doctor to save my clitoris while I'm straining a massive baby out of me.

I don't know how long I howl a about the pain in my clitoris but the next thing I know the doctor is roughly pulling the shoulders and then the body out of my hole, tearing me more in the process.

I'm aware that my aching canal is empty for the moment. I don't realize I am gaped so badly my asshole is almost inverted. It stings something fierce as birth fluids continue to pour out of my loose, sopping cunt. I start to cry when I realize I am still going to have to push Baby B through my ruined pussy.

I drift in and out of consciousness, occasionally aware of the sharp stab of a contraction. I wake fully to a nurse tapping my cheek to see if I've passed out. When I force my eyes open, she informs me Baby B isn't face down anymore and the doctor is about to perform an internal version. She tells me to brace myself because it will be uncomfortable.

I didn't fully realize the medical actuality of an internal version was for a grown man to stick his entire grown man hand through my cervix and into my uterus. I'm in such utter agony I barely register that the nurses are holding me down by my arms and where my thighs are not strapped to the stirrups. I am experiencing the most pain I have experienced up to this point in my life and it seems to last forever.

I never stop screaming, even when they put a mask pumping gas over my face to try to give me some relief, but the tenor of my yell changes when something shifts and then I feel something rip deep inside of me.

Suddenly all the pain that has come before pales in comparison to what I am suddenly feeling in my abdomen. It is indescribable burning combined with a sudden sense of dread that takes over my body. I am 100% certain that my reproductive organs just gave way with my daughter trapped inside me and I am going to die if something isn't done very, very soon.

It must only be minutes, maybe not even that long, that I lay there while the medical team catches up to the realization that me and my baby are in mortal danger. Time slows down and I feel the rip in my uterus expanding as the contractions, one on top of another now, injure me more by the second. Despite no medical knowledge, I know instinctively that the renewed flood out of my pussy is blood and I am hemorrhaging, possibly to death.

I am utterly helpless now. Strapped down in stirrups, paralyzed by pain, my strength seeping from me as fast as the blood flowing between my legs. I faintly register the monitors start to alarm as I lose the battle with consciousness and my world goes dark.

*******

I wake up groggy and disoriented on a stretcher being wheeled somewhere. I immediately start to panic because there is a tube down my throat and I am really, brutally aware of a long, deep vertical incision that extends from above my belly button down to my public bone. I swear I can feel the layers upon layers they sliced through to deliver my baby. I won't know until later about the battle the surgeons waged, first to save my life and then to save my fertility.

Right now I am only aware of how much it hurts to be jostled on a stretcher with a massive cut down my middle. When the two male nurses move me into the bed, I plead for unconsciousness as my body is roughly transferred to a bed. My tailbone hits the mattress and reverberates in the form of a sharp pain through my pussy. I've still got a catheter and I feel like every inch down there has been stitched up.

I hope one of these nurses will realize I am aware and therefore in indescribable pain but it seems like the paralytic they gave me before intubating me is the only drug of the cocktail still in effect. I suffer as they lift my hips and put a pillow under my butt. Then they start taking off my hospital gown completely.

My confusion quickly turns to fear as one gloved hand on each side grabs one of my fat titties and starts tugging. Breast pumps are whipped out and the men make quick work of shoving as much of my massive milkers in to each before turning them on simultaneously.

My uterus, even after the brutal surgical repair, still tries to respond to my milk suddenly dropping. The pain of contracting after uterine repair and a cesarean combined with the sudden gush of warm pressure on my aching tits brings tears to my eyes. I must be a strange sight: intubated and naked, massive breasts attached to pumps, with my deflated belly sporting a huge incision hanging above a pussy so bruised and stitched it looks entirely purple.

The elder nurse pats my naked thigh just before he makes to leave. It jostles everything and our eyes meet as I wince at the pain it causes me. A chill runs through my body as I realize he knows I am awake and feeling way more than I should be.

He looks at me the entire time he lubes his gloved fist, a sinister smile on his face. He settles between my legs and pauses to look up at me again.

"I bet you wish you'd had that epidural, huh, dear?"

My vision goes white as I feel his whole fist plunge into my pussy with a force absolutely intended to cause me a fatal amount of pain. My vision goes white and I feel pressure building in my chest as the stitches holding my cervix together start ripping. The last thought I have before I go into cardiac arrest is how I don't want to my last memory to be of being brutally fisted in my obliterated, post-birth pussy while my heart explodes in my chest.

#birth kink #labor and delivery #maesiophilia #preggo kink #painful birth #giving birth #birth #hospital birth #medfet #pregnant #surgical fet #surgery #dark cardiophilia #dark medfet

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therrerium-valkryonia · 2 months

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Birth prompt by anonymous

19. In a hospital

long labor

on a bed/stirrups

– with a doctor

+ triplets

+ big babies

ø overdue

ø forced

# baby is breech

# shoulders get stuck

# pushing baby back in

Much screaming, crying, painful birth. Tearing or episiotomy. Fundal pressure, instruments like vacuum or forceps. No c-section or epidural.

Heartless Scorn

Tw: 18+ is not for minors, contains sexual topics.

Months ago, she was artificially inseminated in an attempt to create a perfect human and it has been as afar going smoothly, the surprise was in the ultrasound and seeing triplets.

Humans genetically modified to be used as the next pioneer in science, perfectly modified and will be used in any case as workers, Ceo's and a lot of other things military included.

In present times, she paced through the cell in uneven patterns with her babies growing large and bulky, she experienced so much strain also tiredness at many points in time.

A group of people entered her cell, they locked her into a metal bed as it slants forward and is rolled across the halls with many other subjects.

There was a bright light, it was a hospital area with no one but this group of six people as an expert began to tap the syringe while she's in the middle of the room as the serum is injected.

Her stomach immediately clamps down, she screams loudly with her pulled back the fluid streams down and her bump tightens visibly.

A huge head comes crashing through her canals, it was fast at first with her legs up besides her head as the head crowned it progressed no further, her entrance was tightening around the head to much.

She cried and screamed with each contraction, trying to get it out but it would only inch barely forward as the minutes pass, forty to forty-five the head had finally reached it's peak crown.

The doctors were impatient, they had no time so they're handed forceps as they squeeze it inside and clamp down gently, she squeals loudly and bore down with the adjustment the whole head came spilling out, they grab the head and pulled out the rest of the baby, she shouted in pain.

Each contraction was getting worse, the siblings were both slowly moving down the doctors had their hands pressing down on the top of her full round bump, helping along as thirty minutes go.

They see the head spew out, though they tried to tug it as they to help it out but it wouldn't give way or move, so they pressed down on her much harder, she began to tremble and whine.

She felt each shoulder pop, tearing her open as she spills out with the legs of the third born was swiftly squeezing out, they react and push it all the way back in and rotated the full fetus.

A loud shriek filled the room, she kept bearing down and it forced the crown to spread but with all her strength sapped they used a vaccuum.

Pulling out the head she began to pathetically groan then the final child fell out of her, she'd begin to pass out and fade into the deepest coma, awoken few months later in permanent disabled condition and broken bones.

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crowningmom · 15 days

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How did you know you were ready to push? And what did it feel like?

Could you feel the baby as you were pushing?

Just a crazy intense amount of pressure, when you need to push you know about it. In my case my body just takes over and starts pushing for me

Yes - you can definitely feel the baby coming out. There’s a lot of stretching and then at the widest point of crowning it burns so bad, genuinely feels like you’re on fire down there lol. However pushing is my favourite part of the birth process

#birth kink #birth questions #childbirth #home birth #pushing #giving birth #crowning #hospital birth #child birth #pregnancykink #pregnancy

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redvelvetd1cks · 10 months

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Bringing their son into the world was the most magical moment in Aleah's life - Marcus was there every step of the way. Seeing his first son being born was the greatest thing Marcus had ever experienced. His love for Aleah grew 5 x more that day. Their son Malik Flex was healthy & perfect in every way.

#sims4 #simblr #newbie #Aleah Calloway #Marcus Flex #PC Gaming #birth #water breaking #labor #hospital birth #contractions

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b-m-s-c · 10 months

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crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington · 2 months

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based off that matpat photo

#ethan winters #mia winters #mithan #chris redfield #rose winters #rosemary winters #resident evil #resident evil fanart #rebhfun #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #re8 #t4t mithan #chris finding out ethan is trans by visiting them in the hospital #and seeing ethan in the bed #and chris is like #'cmon man ur wife jsust gave birth she should be the one resting'#and mia and ethan are like 'omg we didnt tell him? 😭'#chris seeing mia walk around all fine and thinking 'wow what a strong and independent woman...'

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bluerosefox · 25 days

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Drake Siblings

Have I read this prompt somewhere or was this a fever dream from my bored mind.

What if, now hear me out.

What if we bring up Dana Winters-Drake (whose confirmed to at least be alive in the DC verse but no one knows where she actually is)

What if instead of when she had a mental breakdown and getting committed to an Bludhaven clinc she wandered away before anyone noticed and by the time Tim or anyone did notice a lot of stuff started happening at once in both Gotham and Bludhaven (Steph dying, The Bludhaven crisis, etc etc)

Tim still tries to find her though but even with best resources it was like she just disappeared into the wilderness and the stress of trying to handle more and more problems get worse.

So when out of the blue, a couple of years later, he gets a call from an unknown number. On his private, only for friends and family, phone and when he answers he meet with a young girls voice on the other end.

A very young, maybe six or seven, girl who informs him about his apparently half-brother Danny Drake-Fenton. And how she loves Danny so, so, so much but knows her home is dangerous for him to be in.

Tim is stunned and before he could question her, she says Danny is Dana and Jack's baby and that her parents had adopted him years ago and put Dana's stuff that the hospital had away for him to look at when he was older but she just had to fight off their lunch from eating her brother and she knows he needs a better place to live and so she snooped around and found Dana's diary and that she had to unscramble the nonsense Dana wrote and found Tim's number with the words 'tell him about his brother Danny' hidden in it. And-

But before she could keep rambling she hears Danny screaming "JAZZY THE MILK WENT BAD AGAIN AND HISSED AT ME!"

Tim is left with silence after hearing Jazz yell to Danny to lock the fridge and step out of the kitchen as she gets the bat.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #crossover #dp x dc #blue rambles #danny phantom dc #writing ideas #random idea #dpxdc #jazz fenton #tim drake #danny and tim are half brothers #dana Winters-Drake was pregnant when she disappeared #she was out of her mind until she found out and tried her best to regain control but it was hard #she had in and out episodes #she wanted to contact Tim but knew he was still in Gotham and she just coulnt due to episodes of her mental health failing #she was found months later in labor and rushed to a hospital and Danny somehow came out healthy #small but healthy #Dana however lasted a few more hours before passing away from the birth #weeks laters Danny is adopted or fostered out #Dana wrote in diary but scramble and scribbled during her episodes #Jazz finds it and being the smarty she is starts figuring it out #it also set her on her path to understand the human mind #Tim gets to be a big brother #not just for Danny though #hes gonna take Jazz in too after he finds out about how bad the home life is #will Danny still become Phantom though?#maybe #maybe Tim gets there and Jack and Maddie finished the portal way earlier than canon and Danny being curious goes to see #and comes down the stairs to see his baby brother die and then come back

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informed-empowered-birth · 2 years

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Allow me to reintroduce myself!

Hi, my name is Lindsey and I haven't had professional photos taken in awhile. So, here's one from my wedding reception.

I'm a Mom of one, former birth Doula, labor and delivery nurse, Lactation Consultant, and Evidence Based Birth® Instructor.

I'm also an avid knitter, gardener, and mini homesteader.

I decided to get certified as an Evidence Based Birth® Instructor because I LOVE this organization. They break the current research about pregnancy, birth, postpartum, and newborns down into digestible, applicable information for expectant parents!Side note: Did you know that the care you get prenatally and in the hospital often isn't based on the most current research? Or any research at all? I didn't when I first became a labor and delivery nurse either.

When I first started in this career I saw a lot of births that didn't go as planned and I thought... Why? How is it possible that ONE THIRD of babies in the U.S. are born by c-section for "safety"? Some more of them are born by operative vaginal delivery? And close to 50% of birthing people have posttraumatic stress symptoms after having a baby? That didn't seem right. So, what are we doing wrong?

I've learned so much since then. I became a lactation consultant and witnessed how the parents' birth experience, the mode of birth, and other circumstances during pregnancy affect breastfeeding. I started running support groups for postpartum mood disorders and breastfeeding (separately!). I had my own baby, my own pregnancy complications, and my own lived experience of birth and breastfeeding.

Now I'm here to say- I think the most important thing I can do for pregnant people is help them feel prepared, informed, and supported in the many decisions they have to make from conception through the postpartum period.

Whether you're a fellow birthworker, parent, or other birth nerd, it's awful nice to have you here! Thanks for advocating for yourselves and others.

#evidencebasedbirth #evidencebasedmedicine #birth #giving birth #childbirth #pregnancy #pregnant #second trimester #third trimester #baby bump #baby #hospital birth #home birth #homebirth #birth center #in labor #labor and delivery #lactation consultant

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coochiequeens · 10 months

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Doctors and nurses who are not willing to listen to their patients should be replaced

BY VICTORIA SMITH

The third time I went into labour, I was determined to avoid getting told off. With both of my previous births, I had somehow managed to get things wrong. My errors the first time: going to hospital too early, then, when I returned three hours later, “leaving it so late”. The second time: ignoring assurances that I didn’t need to come in yet, then giving birth in the car park — an event I later discovered was being used in antenatal classes as an example of women “not planning ahead”.

“My previous births have been fast,” I said, when I went into labour with my third, “so I’d like to come in now.” I was speaking to the woman at the midwife-led unit that is the only option where I live. (If you need a caesarean section, you have to be transferred to next town.) “Third babies are notoriously difficult,” was her response.

What an odd thing to say to a woman already in labour. The “notoriously” suggested it wasn’t based on any actual evidence, but rather a kind of folk wisdom. It felt as though I was being warned not to tempt fate, not to assume that this baby would just pop out. I saw myself being categorised as one of those arrogant women who presumes to know her own body, only to be taught a harsh yet much-deserved lesson. “Third babies are notoriously difficult” sounded not unlike “third-time mothers shouldn’t get above themselves”.

In fact, I have never been particularly cocky about childbirth. When I was pregnant with my first child, back in the days when the Right-wing press were still obsessed with famous women being “too posh to push”, I wondered if I might be able to get an elective caesarean myself. I did not particularly care about childbirth being a wonderful experience, or about “doing it well”. I didn’t care if the Daily Mail thought I was a joke.

What I cared about was not having a child who would face the same difficulties as my brother, who was starved of oxygen at birth. This has had serious consequences for him, and for the rest of my family. Just how serious is hard to gauge. He was born traumatised; there has never been a before to compare the after with. What there has been instead is the hazy outline of an alternative life, one that runs parallel to the one he has now. It’s a life that began with the problem being identified sooner, with him being delivered quickly, perhaps by emergency caesarean. The difference between this and his actual life comes down to something small: mere moments, mere breaths.

I was born three years after my brother, in a larger hospital, where my mother was induced and monitored carefully. There is something very strange about being the sibling who had the safe birth. It feels as though I stole it. There is a constant sense of guilt, as if my life — my independence, my choices — constitutes a form of gloating. “This is what you could have had.” Everything I do feels like something owed to my brother (do it, because he can’t) but also something taken from him (you shouldn’t have done that, because he should have done it first).

Still, my family were fortunate, insofar as my brother didn’t die. Current reports on the Nottingham maternity scandal reference 1,700 cases, with an estimated 201 mothers and babies who might have survived had they received better care. What strikes me, reading them, is the enormous gulf between the cost of a disastrous birth and the trivial, opportunistic way in which childbirth is so often politicised — with mothers themselves viewed as morally, if not practically, to blame if anything goes wrong.

As a feminist who concerns herself with how the female body is demonised, my interest in debates about birthing choices is more than personal. I have read books railing against the over-medicalisation of childbirth, aligning it with a patriarchal need to appropriate female reproductive power. I have also read books protesting the fetishisation of “natural” birth, suggesting that it infantilises women, that it implies women deserve pain. To be honest, I find both arguments persuasive and dismaying. Both are right about the way in which misogyny and professional arrogance can shift the focus away from meeting the needs of women and babies. I feel a kind of rage that we are told to pick a side.

Representations of the labouring woman are so often negative: the naïve idealist, the “birthzilla“, the birth-plan obsessive, the woman who is “too posh to push”. This latter stereotype has gone hand-in-hand with a veneration of vaginal births, and stigmatisation of caesareans, that has had sometimes disastrous consequences. Midwives at the centre of the Furness General Hospital scandal were reported to have “pursued natural birth ‘at any cost’”, referring to one another as “the musketeers”; at least 11 babies and one mother died. But their approach was sanctioned by their employer: the 2006 NHS document “Pathways to Success: a self-improvement toolkit” explicitly suggested that “maternity units applying best practice to the management of pregnancy, labour and birth will achieve a [caesarean section] rate consistently below 20% and will have aspirations to reduce that rate to 15%”. Proposed benefits to this included “a sense of pride in units”.

Responses to maternity scandals now express horror that such an anti-intervention culture ever arose — responses in the same press that denigrated women such as Victoria Beckham and Kate Winslet for not giving birth vaginally. Instead, newspapers now stoke outrage over “natural” treatments during NHS births, such as burning herbs. Women have been shamed for having caesareans, but they have also been shamed for wanting births with minimum intervention — as though they are selfish and spoilt for seeking control over such an extreme situation.

In his memoir This Is Going To Hurt, former doctor Adam Kay writes disparagingly of women who arrive at the delivery suite with birth plans:

“‘Having a birth plan’ always strikes me as akin to having a ‘what I want the weather to be’ plan or a ‘winning the lottery’ plan. Two centuries of obstetricians have found no way of predicting the course of a labour, but a certain denomination of floaty-dressed mother seems to think she can manage it easily.”

Wanting to have some control over your experience of labour — which will hurt you and could kill you or your baby — is not akin to some messianic aspiration to control the weather. And in his mockery of the woman who wants whale song and aromatherapy oils, ironically, Kay deploys the same silencing techniques that might intimidate a woman out of seeking the very interventions he so prizes. What he and others do not seem to grasp is that their arrogance is a problem, regardless of which course of action they champion. It makes women feel they can’t speak, for fear of inviting hostility at their most vulnerable moments. It’s true that none of us knows our body well enough to know how we will give birth. But, looking back, I find it utterly insane, not least given my own family history, that one of my biggest worries during labour was “please don’t let anyone get cross with me”. Then again, I don’t think that fear is unrelated to the desire to remain safe.

Birth is not a joke. It is not a place for professional dick-swinging or political one-upmanship. I cannot describe — and, as I am not my mother, cannot fully understand — the shame of feeling that you “let down” your child before they drew their first breath, that they will forever suffer because of it. You watch an entire life unfolding and that feeling is there, every single day. This is the fear of the women in labour who are characterised as either idiots mesmerised by fantasy homebirths or cold-hearted posh ladies who can’t take the pain. If things go wrong, they are the ones who will bear the consequences, reflecting every day on what might have been, if they’d only done more.

When people discuss their siblings, my mind does wander to the one I don’t have, the one who was born safely. Perhaps he would have a job he loved, or one he hated, but in any case a job. Perhaps he would have a partner. Perhaps he would have children, and I would be their aunt. Perhaps we wouldn’t get on, wouldn’t even speak, but he’d have a life of his own. I know he thinks about this too. I wonder if the professionals who presided over his birth have thought about him since.

My third labour was not, by the way, “notoriously difficult”. My third son arrived into the world safe and well. No one can say why him or me, and not my brother. Mothers may long for control over birth, for which we are mocked; but we do not have it, for which we are blamed. Politics still takes precedence over our needs, and the needs of our babies.

#Traumatic births #Doctors not listening to women #There's no such thing as a birthzilla #Women aren't too posh to push #Doctors are so posh they schedule cesareans to accommodate their schedules not the mothers #Furness General Hospital Scandal #This is going to hurt #Keep Adam Kay away from women #Women wanting a say in their births are not acting like they want to control the weather #Nottingham maternity scandal #If the baby suffers during a traumatic birth it's the mother who will providing the care after they come home from the hospital

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longhardtransitionreturns · 4 months

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An Accidentally Viral Birth

Author's Note: This is 18+ kink content. This is fetish fiction about a very difficult hospital birth that results in injury to the birthing person.

Violet had made over half a million in sponsorship deals during the nine months of her pregnancy, hawking prenatal gummies and morning sickness remedies then baby clothes and hot nursery items to her followers right up until the first contractions started. She’d done it in her trademark raven braid and full face of designer makeup, modeling maternity outfits in between bump checks in increasingly tight Lululemon leggings.

She spent so much time, in fact, on her brand deals and remodeling the nursery – sponsored by Sherwin Williams – and pretaping content to fill the (surely short) recovery time after birth, that she hadn’t thought much of the actual birth at all. Sure, she’d made a video about her intent to birth naturally and to breastfeed but her mind had mostly been on the after, when she had to quickly get back in shape to maintain her follower counts while also taking care of a newborn.

Which is probably why, after only dilating 6 inches in 32 natural, epidural free hours, she was on the brink of losing her mind. Exhausted, in what felt like endless agony, she also felt like she’d tried every position to lessen the pain and the only conclusion she came to was that, no what position she was in, the pain was clearly going to last forever.

Her husband and fellow influencer, Jonathan Charles, spent the hours while his partner labored going live on TikTok, answering followers questions, while Violet whimpered pitifully in the background. But, almost to her surprise, he spent plenty of time with his phone put away in his chest pocket, he sat by her side and experienced labor with her. He even got the nurse to show him how to check how far dilated she was.

In the middle of the 34th hour, Violet’s contractions starting ramping up to a level of pain she previously hadn’t know possible. Her back was lanced through with a hot spike of agony every time a contraction peaked and they were lasting longer now, two minutes at one count. She got about 30 seconds of relief before another one rolled right on top of it and she was screaming again.

“Oh, God, it hurts, it hurts, God, help me please,” she moaned, curling her body on its side the best she could around her huge bump and her painfully swollen breasts. She’d kept a sports bra on until now, under her hospital gown. Up until hour 25 she’d been able to film short updates for her followers about the progress of her labor and wanted to keep it somewhat dignified.

Now, though, in the throes of transition, she didn’t give a shit what she looked like. Her makeup was smeared across her red, sweaty face, her hair in disarray. And suddenly, at the end of another blindingly long and painful contraction, she needed her bra off. She couldn’t take the feel of it for another second.

“Jonathan, get this bra off me now,” she bellowed, and he had to put his phone in his shirt pocket to come and carefully untie her hospital gown, slip it down her shoulders, and unclasp the fastener. Her breasts, a surgically inclined DD, spilled over on to her massive orb of a stomach, her huge areolas dark and rippling with the weight of the milk inside.

He couldn’t resist a quick feel of the left one, under the swell, a quick finger across her nipple. It was like he’d struck her the way her body bucked in his arms. She let out a weary, agonized moan as her hand flew to her belly.

She was soon screeching as she doubled over, suffering the most intense contraction yet. She sobbed as it lingered, begging for pain relief, for someone to pull the baby out of her, for merciful death.

As the pain ebbed slightly, her husband whispered a soft apology into her hair and she clutched the mattress with both hands, deep sobs wracking her body.

On the next contraction she felt an enormous shift as the baby abruptly dropped into her birth canal. She let out a cry when the sudden pressure settled violently in her bottom.

“I need to push, she declared, the impulse now so intense she couldn’t imagine anything else ever existed. Nurses scurried around her, putting her legs in stirrups, taking the table out from underneath, and preparing sheets and towels for the birth. “I’m gonna push now, OH MY GOD MY ASS!!”

Her experience pushing was a cruel one, lasting almost an hour against what was becoming clear was a baby that was too large for the passage. Every time she pushed it was like the bones in her pelvis creaked in warning. She was starting to drift in and out of consciousness as the pain assailed her, weak from laboring and then pushing for so long.

Finally, the doctor sat down near her head, got her attention, and told her she had two options: forceps or an emergency c-section. She was too out of it from pain and exhaustion to really understand her options but her husband weighed in, telling her it would be better for views if she was awake right after the birth rather than recovering from surgery.

So she signed the forms necessary for the intervention and zoned out in a haze of pain as her body was prepped for the procedure. Her pushes had become ineffective and it was agonizing to have to endure the contractions with no way to give in to the urge to push.

She was fully naked now, her huge breasts splayed across her chest as she was tilted backward so the stirrups could be adjusted higher. An oxygen mask was placed gently across her face as a nurse explained what would happen next: the numbing then the episiotomy, the way the doctor would place the forceps into her cervix around the baby’s head and pull as she pushed. She’d deliver the placenta, get a husband’s stitch, and be set to go before her 8pm scheduled live. Or so she planned out in her head.

The nurse held her hand as she whined when the needle went in the number her for the cut. She grimaced when the scalpel cut into her skin; she was numb but it still felt weird knowing he was slicing into her pussy.

The positioning of the first forcep was, perhaps, the most excruciating thing she’d experienced until now. Her hips and pelvis felt like they were going to snap and there was no room in her stuffed hole with the baby in there. She struggled against the pain, forcing the nurses to strap her into the stirrups and hold her arms down.

When the doctor was finally able to start pulling, Violet screamed more than she pushed as the doctor worked to free the huge baby. He was finally able to move it down just above her lips in a tug that led to her immediately being hit with the ring of fire. She bucked her body back against the sudden pain and popped the forceps free of her opening in the process.

She was a sobbing, agonized mess as the nurse explained she had to push the baby the rest of the way out. Jonathan was at her head, hand on her shoulders, whispering encouragement when the next contraction hit.

She tucked her chin to her chest and bore down into her bottom, screaming at the way it stretched her skin to the limit. It went on like that for 4 or 5 pushes before she turned her exhausted face up to Jonathan and pleaded with him to help her.

“I can’t do it, babe. He’s too big. I’m in so much pain, she moaned. “Please help me. I can’t do it.”

He patted her shoulder comfortingly as another contraction started building and she was taken by the surge of pain, wailing her effort. Her mighty push inched the baby through her opening, his face wedged suddenly, very painfully against her clitoris.

“Oh my God, my clitoris! Holy fuck my clitoris hurts so bad!” She flailed on the bed, trying to nudge the baby off the poor little nub. She wailed her partner’s name as another contraction took her and she started moaning once again.

At what looked like the peak of the pain, he reached out and tweaked her left nipple. Hard.

It had the same effect as it had earlier. The contraction doubled in intensity and Violet suddenly felt like she was breaking in half when the force of it propelled her baby’s head out of her pussy with an ominous cracking sound. She knew immediately the severity of what had just happened.

“MY PUSSY BROKE! OH MY GOD, I FELT MY PUSSY BREAK!”

The next few minutes were a blur of doctors and nurses rushing to get the baby out of Violet as quickly as possible. She was splayed in the middle of the hive of activity, eyes glassy and a large, bloody head hanging from her swollen, ravaged pussy. Her tits bounced listlessly as the doctors struggle to free the shoulders. The sound she makes when it’s finally pulled from her broken pelvis, through the deep tears through her and anus and clitoris that resulted from the effort it took to get the shoulders out, was like nothing the even the most veteran of medical staff in the room had ever heard.

Jonathan, relegated to the edge of the room, watched while the medical team assessed the wounds to his wife gaping sex and prepared to help her deliver the placenta. In his chest pocket, there were now 75,000 viewers who’d watched the whole ordeal live on his channel. The comments were full of people exclaiming how the moment the baby shot out of her was the hottest thing they’d ever seen.

He didn't know he was becoming even more of a legend as he kept the live going while Violet cried while the placenta was delivered and pleaded for someone to give her something for the pain in her pussy before they wheeled her up to surgery.

In the end, he would never be able to get the brand deals his wife did, the following he developed the day his first child was born too niche and taboo for advertisers to want to be seen trying to reach. But he’d ride on the fame on the internet for years as the man who livestreamed his wife's agonizing delivery and broke her pussy when he tweaked her tit while she was crowning.

#preggo kink #maesiophilia #birth kink #giving birth #labor and delivery #painful birth #forceps #Hospital birth

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therrerium-valkryonia · 1 year

Text

The Runes Of Sparta

In a war far north a land of freezing cold and dead bodies, Midgard had come to known an extreme imbalance in undead spirits, reavers, hel walkers and revenants had risen and began to rid the land of it's beauty, and because a strong force has entered the lands, a legend.

She had black hair and amber eyes a red mark streaked across her body, as she had pale skin as white as snow but she was known for one thing, the very destruction of Olympus.

Her name was Croneya, the Ghost of Sparta and the destroyer of Greece but she had left her very homeland and had gotten pregnant ever since then, even after her last family's ashes got onto her skin permanenetly for eternity.

Armored with her leather pauldron, and gloves adorned with her now dead wife's shield. Her belt was tight below her waist and had been causing discomfort recently. The daughter of Zeus and Mortal personification of the River Styx was expriencing extreme discomfort.

Her belly was big and distended making fighting with all the undead, reavers, raiders, hel walkers and animals a bit difficult with all the cramps and contractions as she wandered the cold, snowy ground trampling dead plants along the way ahead, then she eyes down a camp.

It was destroyed and burnt down, and all the huts we're covered ashes and bodies. No one was there it was abandoned but a small group of reavers passed by and she hid behind a hut as the fire's light got closer, gripping her axe forged with the magic of an Ice giant.

The axe head covered in ice and swung down the reaver, and released a shockwave of extreme power blasting the men afar with a loud bang slamming down to the ground and breaking bones on impact, many died and barely lived.

They got up and made a small group and so she she changed her weapon, and gripped the hilt of her blades, as they burned with the very fires of chaos, chains wrapped onto her arm beneath her leather gauntlets as the chain build with magic and she runs out and swung the blades to the reavers, and slashed, thrashed, and burned them fatally but the pain struck her abruptly!

Off focused and vulberable a reaver ran and had rammed her with his shield, and she moved far back as a heavy shock of pain kept her occupied another reaver with a club swung at her and hit her belly, and she stepped back hand holding her belly and a steady gush of fluid flowing down her thighs, dripping onto the snow.

The pain fogged her mind but she kept a good eye, she opened the shield and parried a reaver's sword strike and countered him sending him afar and killing him and two others, that got hit by the flying body but by then she had felt pain.

The baby began it's descent down and filled her entire canal, and burned her thoroughly and she put her arm close to her belly gritting her teeth.

The two mace-wielding reavers imbued their weapons in poison, and they closed in and with great force swung the mace and she dodged out the way, running off as the smoke of poison had begun fading and taking the opportunity.

With the faded poison, she gripped the hilt of the blades and stabbed them both into the ground causing a eruption of powerful, and many bursts of explosions burning and ending the two reaver grunts to valhalla.

As their screams faded into nothing, she slowly stabbed the cave wall with both blades and gripped both tightly, as the pain grew so did her screams of agony and she pushed with might and leant against the rocky cave wall.

All her mind had was pain, and she could barely withstand the intensity of such pain and let out a scream of pure intense suffering, when the pain grew unbearable still barely standing with her mind still fragmented in terror and unease.

Yet, after the sun fell down and as the pain had burned her out, a surge of pain struck her to extreme measures and she pushed with all her strength and the child had completely tore through her garments, and she felt relieved.

She gently carried the small child and slowly chuckled in sore happiness, her smile grew.

It left her speechless and tired and so she rested hidden in the empty reaver camp, and once she recovered she took the road home with blood.

And honor as the very last Spartan Warrior.

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