Are there any stories that depict multiple pregnant women give birth at the same time, other than Doubles Tennis and The Thorneycroft Inheritance?

What is The Thorneycroft Inheritance? Tried googling it but there was just a bunch of medical sites explaining inheritance...

The Thorneycroft Inheritance by Dropster

Virginia Thorneycroft stood by the graveside willing the vicar to cut his remarks short. Her hand strayed again to her abdomen, straining hard and full beneath her impeccably cut black maternity suit. At the age of 35 the ambitious and successful merchant banker was expecting her first child, expecting very imminently in fact, as was clearly evident in the huge round projection of her tightly packed womb and the prominent stalk of her out-popped navel poking through her layers of clothing. At this stage of her surprise pregnancy every fidget of her fretful child dealt painful blows to her tummy walls and internal organs and standing for a prolonged period was acutely uncomfortable.

As the vicar droned on, Victoria was not alone in those sentiments for, quite apart from the usual boredom with a ceremony intended to honour an aged grandfather who none of the family could honestly say they had liked, Victoria was not the only mourner heavily swollen with child.

The Rev David Potter surveyed the graveside scene assessingly. He too found the parish vicar rather tiresome, although in fact the man was perhaps the only one present who genuinely mourned the passing of old Harold Thorneycroft. But David, like the others, was putting a respectful face on proceedings because at least he, like the three granddaughters, had the prospect of a spectacular inheritance.

It had been a devious and intricate plot, and David felt justly proud of its working out to date. That old Harold had ailed more quickly than he had hoped could not be helped, and even now David hoped that the death which had come, on the face of things, a few weeks too early might yet serve the purpose.

Having gained the old man’s confidence in the previous year, it had proven no great difficulty to persuade him to make the St Agatha Society of Fallen Angels his residual beneficiary, the problem was that the residual was after the very substantial bequests to his granddaughters. It was, however, a natural progression from the supposed subjects of his Charity, mothers of illegitimate children, to suggest to the old puritan that his granddaughters should be subject to a test of moral worthiness in order to inherit, and that test had boiled down to each of them not having a child out of wedlock.

Now none of the three, David was certain, would have contemplated doing any such thing. Virginia, the eldest, was a successful career woman believed to have no steady relationship; Cassandra was a noted sportswoman who was living with her female lover and Rebecca the youngest, artistic and shy, had been a virgin when the plan had been put afoot. Fortunately he was, as a man, provided with the necessary equipment to change matters to his advantage. He smiled at the exquisite irony, remembering the weekend nine months ago when the three granddaughters had been invited to Thorneycroft Hall to hear the new terms of their grandfather’s will. For on the very occasion they learnt the potentially expensive consequences of breeding, they were being pumped full of the Rev David’s fertile seed.

A small dose of a popular date rape drug in their evening night-caps on successive nights had made the task of mating with the sisters simple. A few bewildered headaches in the mornings soon wore off and none of them had the slightest suspicion as to their safety in the ancestral hall, particularly at the hands of the meek and self-effacing spiritual advisor to their grandfather.

Fortunately that one weekend had been enough, a clean sweep, as all three discovered themselves to be in an unwelcome condition over the next few months. David smiled evilly as he imagined the successful banking executive desperately hiding her growing belly beneath cunningly cut blouses and pants with rubber bands inserted in the button holes to accommodate her swollen waist. Or the sportswoman wondering at the fluid retention around her midriff and the soreness of her breasts, bouncing unusually heavily within her suddenly extra-tight sports bras. Or the unbelieving young virgin staring at the reflection in the mirror of her thick, darkened nipples and puffy, rounded tummy.

He had certainly been able to view his handiwork with satisfaction over recent months as the sisters had paid their obligatory monthly visits to their grandfather, their increasingly loose and flowing clothes disguising as much as possible the healthy growth of the fetuses each carried.

Why had they not resorted to termination of such untimely pregnancies? David could not know for sure, but he had hoped that the completely unexpected nature of their conditions would carry them past the point of no return before awareness set in. But then perhaps none would wish to destroy their own child, however unfathomably conceived.

Nine months then, nine months for the old man to live before his granddaughters disqualified themselves from their inheritances. As he surveyed the graveside David could only conclude that it was still a damn close run thing. Victoria stood a little uncomfortably, the fall of her black suit jacket only emphasising from side-on the enormous protrusion of her abdomen, the black skivvy beneath drawn tight over full, maternal breasts and great, round belly under which the edge could be seen of the fully stretched elastic gusset of her maternity trousers. Her hand strayed constantly to her distended abdomen as if to soothe the unbearable tightness within.

At the foot of the grave stood Rebecca, not yet nineteen, her once elfin features fleshed out and womanly, her long blond hair falling to the immense swelling of her tummy which stood out starkly on her otherwise slender form and so heavy now that her back was curved back to balance the burden, her hands clasped beneath her uterus as if to support the weight.

But it was Cassandra who looked nearest to the brink of her labour. The tall, muscular 25 year old was wearing hip hugging black jeans riding very low beneath her fully ripened, low hanging belly, a loose untucked shirt and a long black coat which, although generously cut, could be fastened only at its topmost buttons, leaving it to bulge open across her straining mound. Her hands worked constantly at her taut flesh and at intervals she was seen to wince and shift her weight as if trying to relieve a gathering pressure within. Her companion, a pretty curvaceous girl a half head shorter, had a protective arm around her and David recalled how anxious she had seemed as Cassandra made her way in an awkward waddle, so unlike her accustomed confident stride, to the grave.

Three women close to their inheritance, but not quite there yet, the Rev Potter reminded himself. Three women at full term, he knew perhaps even better than they well just how full their terms, and much could happen in a day. It was said that night was a popular time for babies to push themselves from their mothers’ bodies.

Some time later, as dusk began to settle about the grey stone manor house Cassandra was bending awkwardly at the knees struggling to push her tight black jeans over the fullness of her bottom, grown a little plumper in recent weeks. That accomplished, with a gasp she straightened and pressed her knuckles into her sore, laden back.

Anna looked up with concern etched in her pretty features. Her lover was very changed from the vigorous athletic beauty she had been first seduced by. Her strong bones and lean muscle were now softened by a layer of feminine plumpness, the sweet shapely breasts were now full and prominent with long, thick, tender teats but, more fundamentally, the swift forceful movement was gone, absorbed into the constant effort of bearing the burden of her hugely stretched uterus. Anna knew that if they were to have a child it should have been she, with her lush childbearing curves, to have borne it; Cassandra to be the strength to support her through the ordeal. As it was, Cassandra had fought against the very idea of her pregnancy from the first; refusing even to take the test until her lovely hard abs were quite visibly distending outwards from the growth of her fetus. It was Anna who had read voraciously about the changes of pregnancy and it was Anna who had noted the recent subtle drop in her love’s straining abdomen and the sudden awkwardness in her movements that she knew to be presages of the coming trauma.

“How are you feeling, Cass?” she asked anxiously. “Should you lie down for a bit do you think?”

“Don’t know,” grunted Cassandra. “It’s so heavy ... I feel better standing at the moment.”

“Any pains ...”

“Just cramps from that damn ceremony going on so long ... OOOoohhhh!!”

Cassandra suddenly grimaced and her eyes went wide. She bent a little at the waist, one hand grabbing convulsively at the underside of her belly, the other reaching out for support.

In a moment Anna was by her side, slipping under the groping arm and helping her groaning and staggering friend towards the bed.

“What is it! ...l Cassie ...!” she cried in panic.

“OOOooohhh ... ” moaned the stricken girl again. Her knees were hobbled by the jeans still pooled around them but she made no move to sit on the bed as Anna had thought, instead turning and clinging to her friend, supporting herself as she bent a little at the waist, hunched over her huge, tight belly.

“OOOoohhhh!! ... “ she repeated, “OOOoohhhh!! ... Anna!! ... HHHooooo!!”

Anna clung desperately to her love, the great mound pressed against her feeling hard and stressed. Through Cassandra’s silken shirt she could feel strong ripples moving around it.

As she registered the flexing of the sheet of muscle stretched over her lover’s baby, however, that flexing seemed to subside and Cassandra, breathing hard, plumped heavily down on the bed, her face white and drawn.

In her own quiet room Virginia stood before the full length dressing mirror frowning at the heavily fecund image before her. She had always been careful of her appearance, the image of attractive but formal businesswoman was important to her career. Her hair was efficiently and expensively cut, falling around her face to just above the shoulders in a fashionable shade of brown, her face was rounder and more womanly but still capable and intelligent. But below, her boobs, always large enough to comfortably fill out the bodices of her business-wear, were now fattened and heavy, overfilling even her enlarged maternity brassiere, forcing the expensive lacy cups to sag under the weight and exposing creamy flesh suffused with thick blue veins in a deep cleavage.

She rolled the soft clinging gusset of her maternity panties down and examined the damage done to her once trim figure. At the end of her term her abdomen was no longer smooth and spherical but slightly lumpish from the tightly packed form of the fetus within. Her ageing muscles had been unable to cope with the extremity of stretching needed to accommodate her full term uterus and a livid red stretch mark ran vertically down the centre of her outstretched belly. Virginia knew that at her age her body was unlikely to ever fully recover from the stretching it was now receiving.

She had been increasingly sidelined from the biggest decisions at the bank as her body had swollen ever more obviously and she had been forced into belly revealing maternity clothes. She knew that her co-executives looked at her and saw a breeding mother rather than a brain and she longed to push the invading fetus out and get back to her respected shape.

“But not yet, not just yet,” she murmured to the mirror, stroking the taut thin sheet of tummy muscle.

In answer her babe seemed to shift a little and a heavy, cramping ache spread through her pelvis, an ache which was coming with increasing frequency in recent days and accompanied by a sense of increasing pressure deep below.

“Too long standing,” she muttered to herself and, pulling her panties carefully up over the great overhang of her belly then tugging a long robe about her distended form as best she could, she waddled over to the bed and sank down on it with a sigh.

Rebecca found that a surprising effect of her pregnancy was her greatly enhanced appetites. Although dinner was not far away, she felt a craving for a meat paste sandwich and so headed for the pantry behind the back stairs.

Tom, full time student and part time gardener had just sat down to a mug of coffee in the pantry when he looked up to see a vision of fertile loveliness enter. Her long blond hair framed a heart shaped face lush with the glow of pregnancy, her black dress was in the empire style snug across the plump high apples of her breasts, draped demurely by her tresses, and waisted close beneath them in order to flow out over her gloriously swollen mound. Tom envied the lucky bastard who had been able to plant his seed in that fruitful plot.

“Uhh, hi,” he said, “I’m Tom. I garden,” he added after a moment.

“Hello Tom,” replied the vision, “I’m Rebecca.”

He already knew she must be one of the sisters, well bred in all senses, who were the talk of the staff.

“Uhh, can I get you something?” he blurted.

She paused, her right hand running lightly over the outer curve of her roundness, and how Tom longed to do that! Then she sat at the table with a tiny grunt of effort.

“Thanks. Do you know where the meat paste is?”

It took some investigation for Tom, under direction from the table, to assemble the ingredients and make the sandwich, all the time sneaking greedy glances when he could. Then he brought it to her and sat as close as to her as he dared.

When the sandwich was consumed they continued talking. Tom was drinking in her sweet young beauty, and Rebecca was very conscious of his eyes upon her. It reminded her of her other appetite. The one that sometimes kept her awake at night. She was very aware of her tender nipples pressing hard against the cups of her bra, and she felt a tension high between her thighs which she did not think to be caused by the baby.

Rebecca had been devastated to finally realise the cause of her increasing plumpness. She had friends who had lost their adolescent slenderness as they reached late teens and thought little of her missing periods and slowly thickening waist. It was only after her sisters had revealed their embarrassing predicaments to her that she began to wonder about the increasing number of clothes which were no longer comfortable. When the doctor counselled her that she was a bare four months away from becoming a mother she nearly fainted.

She had always been a little shy around men and had certainly never lain with any. Now she increasingly regretted that she had not had the experience of gifting her precious cherry in a loving mating. She was still in her mind a virgin and no man was likely to want her with a baby either in her belly or bawling in the cradle. Still she found herself responding to Tom.

She leant back, lifting her hands from where they rested on the flat platform of her belly and pulled her hair back over her shoulders. Tom drank in the way her raised arms stretched the fabric of her bodice over her ripe breasts, apples was doing them an injustice now he could see them properly. He longed to cup his hands over the firm gourds as he longed to caress that full round tummy.

She stood up to go, rising carefully because of her bulk. Tom stood quickly, close enough now to almost brush against her huge mounded abdomen. Rebecca found her breathing becoming heated, she longed to throw herself into his arms and giggled at the thought. Then suddenly she sucked a little breath in. That cramping between her thighs definitely was the baby! Just as suddenly she was in Tom’s strong arms and any discomfort in her uterus was far from her mind.

Late evening and the sisters were having a confab. Three women sitting with knees well apart to accommodate massive, taut bellies pressing down between their thighs as their babes settled low in their pelvic girdles in preparation for birth.

Cassandra was looking flushed and worried. She had had another incident after dinner and she was experiencing insistent pressure on her pelvic floor. She had her hands behind her on the bed for support and her back arched to give her tightening uterus as much room as possible.

“I’m going to see it out,” she was insisting. “Anna is a lawyer and she says that ... well tell them Anna.”

“It does depend on the wording of the will, but you haven’t ‘had’ a child until it’s born and the question is: when does the will say the test is applied.”

“As I recall,” contributed Virginia, frowning. “When grandfather read it out to us he said ‘at the time this will is read’ or something similar.”

“That’s how I remembered it too,” Cassandra continued. “Well the will is due to be read tomorrow and so we only have the next day to get through without producing our sprogs.” Anna looked worriedly at Cassandra but the mother-to-be remained defiant.

Don’t you think it’s all too coincidental,” interjected Rebecca. “I mean Cassie, no disrespect,” she smiled ruefully at her sister, “is pretty much on the way. I don’t know about you Ginnie but I’m certainly feeling like this baby is ready to come at any time,” Virginia grimaced in response and stroked her big belly a little more insistently. “I mean how likely is it that all three of us get knocked up by surprise and, judging by the fact we are all getting ready to birth at the same time, we must have all been nailed together. When were we all together nine months ago? Answer: here. Who stands to gain from our embarrassment? Answer: David Potter and his bloody charity. Who else was here nine months ago? I think we’ve been set up!”

“Raped and impregnated,” murmured Virginia. “The evil bastard.!”

“Yeah. Like I said,” concluded Cassandra. “We’ve got to hang on until tomorrow. Beat what he’s tried to do to us!”

Anna clung nervously but proudly to her woman and Cassandra was glad to be able to sag against her support. Deep within, her uterine muscles were tightening another notch.

As dawn broke, Virginia awoke from the deep sleep she had finally fallen into after some hours of discomfort from her aching back and the weightiness of her fetus. From the light she judged that it was yet early morning. Her body was telling her she needed the toilet and so, puffing with effort, she sleepily rose to her feet. The urgency increased sharply when she reached a vertical position and with a sudden panic she realised that the intense cramping pain and the awful pressure was coming from her womb.

“HHhhoooooo! ... HHhhoooooo!” she gasped, and sat down quickly, her thighs involuntarily spread as wide as her nightdress would allow. She clutched anxiously at her belly which felt tense and hard.

“Not now little one,” she moaned. “Give mummy another day!” But there was no answer save the groan which was forced from between Virginia’s gritted teeth from the pain of her clenching uterus.

Cassandra had fared worse over the night, however, much of it spent propped up against the pillows, her legs stretched out on the bed wide apart. At regular intervals her face would crease with pain and she would begin to blow and pant as Anna urged her to do in a desperate effort to take pressure off her tightening womb. Still, as the sky began to lighten outside with the new day, she felt a sense of triumph that her child remained unborn, even if a small voice told her that the pressure building in her pelvis with every bout of contractions could not be denied forever. Even if the last few agonising pains had brought with them an urgent need to stretch herself wide and push.

As an athlete she was accustomed to pain and so had so far been able to suppress the urge to cry out as the searing pain gripped her swollen belly, but Anna could see what it cost her: her face and upper body flushed and streaked with sweat, and she put her arms about her beloved to soothe her.

“If the baby comes, it comes,” she crooned. “You and the baby are more important than a silly inheritance.”

Rebecca had risen early, her interrupted sleep only partly due to an increasing feeling of tightness in her abdomen, for her womanly parts were tense and agitated also by the constant memory of how it felt to have Tom’s arms around her, and her fantasies of where else Tom’s hands might go.

She went to her bottom drawer and pulled out her most sexy bra and panties. The bra, a flimsy lacy number, was no longer a comfortable fit, but fortunately stretched to almost accommodate her firm plump mounds. The skimpy panties clung embarrassingly tightly to her enlarged bottom but that at least kept them up given the lack of hip to lodge them on. She then pulled on a white stretch dress, which was called on to stretch very greatly over her hugely gravid body. She blushed as she got a glimpse of herself in the mirror, Her dress left little to the imagination, clinging to every slope and curve of her distended belly and clearly displaying both her distorted belly button and her thick, stiffened nipples.

Tom was in the back pantry, as they had arranged, and in a moment she was in his arms again.

“How are you,” he asked anxiously.

“No problems,” she assured him, suppressing a wince as she did so as a cramping ache started up in her belly.

Then his lips were on hers and his hands were caressing her, stroking the turgid, aching nipples thrusting firmly through her dress.

She gave a low moan at the intense feelings rolling through her body. In truth it was hard to separate the tension between her thighs caused by her hot arousal from the increased tightness she was suddenly feeling in her tummy. When she gasped and moaned again, however, Tom suddenly stepped back, his hands on her huge abdomen where he could feel taut ripples in the sheet of muscle clasping her babe.

“Rebecca, shouldn’t you get to a doctor?” He exclaimed worriedly.

“No,” She cried firmly. “It’s nothing, and anyway I’ve got to be here at the Hall today.”

“Why?” he asked, mystified.

And so she told him the story.

When Melissa Strongman arrived, the briefcase containing the Thorneycroft Will under her arm, she was greeted by the oldest of the granddaughters, Virginia she recalled, looking elegant as usual, although far from unruffled.

Ms Strongman was aware of the general terms of the will and so was immediately curious to note how pregnant, how very, very pregnant, the woman was. She wore a brown silk maternity blouse which molded closely to the heavy swell of her breasts and the low-hanging bowl of her belly. Below a loose flowing black skirt was pressed down in front by her gravid womb. Her right hand was cupped protectively over her straining abdomen and rubbed distractedly at her massive mound in a manner Ms Strongman associated from her own pregnancies with that time when her uterus was tightening towards delivery. She thought that Virginia Thorneycroft would become a mother in a very short time, and she was interested to reflect that she was not aware of any recent wedding in the family.

“Thank god you’re here,” Virginia said. “We will hear the Will in the front drawing room. We can start as soon as you are ready.”

Immediately there appeared beside her a slender man of slightly unctuous appearance. “No not at all!” he exclaimed. “I really must advise a postponement. One of the potential beneficiaries is really in no condition to attend a reading. Perhaps towards the end of the week?”

“Nonsense,” interjected Virginia robustly. “On the contrary, I and my sisters insist that the will be read with the least possible delay!”

I can see why you at least would say that, thought Melissa with a cynical glance at the huge belly nearly bursting out of Virginia’s shirt. “Perhaps you could take me to the beneficiary in question?”

“Absolutely!” gushed the man gleefully. Probably old Harold’s spiritual advisor and the representative of that improbable charity, Melissa thought, David Potter if she recalled correctly. “Just come this way and you can certainly judge for yourself.” He immediately set off for the stairs leaving the two women struggling in his wake.

Struggling indeed, thought Melissa, as they climbed the stairs, poor Virginia becoming red faced and huffing with the effort of levering her swollen abdomen up each step. Suddenly she sucked in a long sharp breath and stopped, both hands clutched below her womb. Melissa realised that Virginia was holding her breath, her face drawn and tense, looking for all the world as if she might squat down there on the stairs and begin to push her baby into the world.

Melissa reached out sympathetically to the other woman and was greeted with a look of angry resolve. “It’s nothing,” she hissed, “Just a cramp. I’m nearly full term,” she added, somewhat redundantly. If Melissa was any judge, the woman might well deliver in the next 24 hours. If she was to benefit from the will it had better be read today.

There was no doubt whatsoever regarding the condition of the woman, Melissa understood it to be the second sister, Cassandra, who lay propped up on the bed, knees up and splayed apart, her only garment a light sweatshirt which although rucked up above her very round belly, still clung tightly to her high, plump, heavy nippled breasts.

“HHHnnngggHH!,” she moaned urgently, twisting her hips uncomfortably, “OOOhhhhh Godddd!! ... Here it comes again ... OOhhhhooooowww!!”

A pretty girl, flushed and anxious, fussed at her side. With a furious look at the man who had led them in she tried to pull the sheets up to cover the labouring woman’s modesty, but in vain for with an agonised cry the poor woman lifted her feet up.

“AArrrrrrrggghhhh!! ... ” she grated, “Can’t stop!! ... Have to ... Hhff ... Hhff ... puuuuuuUUUUSHH ... HHHnnnggg!! ... HHHHHnnngggHH!!!” and, grasping her solid thighs behind her knees, she tugged them furiously back beside her enormous heaving belly and as wide apart as she possibly could, her strong, muscular legs flailing the air before the various onlookers.

“OOooohhhh! ... HHhaaaarrrrrrggh!! ... HHhaaaarrrrrrggh!! ...” she wailed despairingly “... Hurts! ... OOhhhhooooowww!! ... HHhhfffff!! ...HHhhfffff!! ... Oohhh!! ... someone help meeeee!! ...HHhhfffff!! ...HHhhfffff!! ...”

“You see,” said David Potter to Melissa, “there’s surely no question of reading the will at present.”

“Well,” she replied, with a doubtful glance at Virginia who was looking very uncomfortable, although whether at her sister’s distress or some urgency in her own swollen tummy Melissa was unable to guess, if Cassandra wishes to be present I suppose ...”

”Nooo!!!” hissed Cassandra from the bed panting in the aftermath of her contraction. The baby’s not out yet! Ginny make them get on with it! ... OOhhhhooooowww!! ... “ and any further comment was cut off by a scream of agony as another contraction wracked her tummy and she began to push uncontrollably. Sweat poured from her straining body and the assembled audience could see between her widely gaping thighs the tight, hairy lips begin to bulge outward and slide apart under the pressure of her child’s head.

“You heard Cassie!” exclaimed Virginia urgently, “There is not a moment to lose. The reading should begin in the front drawing room without delay!”

The pretty girl soothing her labouring friend looked up anxiously to Virginia. “The doctor’s coming,” she said, “I just don’t know...”

“The sooner we start the sooner we finish,” Virginia replied and began to shoo the assembled group from the room.

The front drawing room was a long gallery with a view of the extensive gardens and with a number of plush armchairs that were now gathered in a rough circle around a low table that had been placed for Ms Strongman to sit behind.

Virginia bent awkwardly and seated herself with a barely suppressed groan. She propped herself carefully against the cushions and braced for the fiery pain she felt building in her uterus, her hands clawing at the soft upholstered arms of the chair and perspiration starting at her brow.

Of a sudden a distant shriek echoed through the house. Virginia imagined her poor sister crowning her baby. She was very conscious of a large bony mass jamming deeper into her own pelvis.

Rebecca sat at the other end of the line of chairs beside a man Virginia couldn’t place, although he seemed familiar. Her face was flushed and Virginia looked quickly at her abdomen, boldly displayed in a tight white dress, but her youngest sister showed none of the worried tension she knew would be visible on her own face.

Between them sat retainers of old Harold who were in line for small bequests to recognise years of faithful service, and of course David Potter.

“We are gathered here to read the last will and testament of Harold James Alfred Thorneycroft,” Ms Strongman began.

“ ... being of sound mind and body and resolved that the fruits of such success as has been vouchsafed to me in this uncertain and and wicked world as a result not of undue merit but of the great grace of God and my own humble efforts ...”

As the reading droned on Virginia tensed her body and bit down hard on her knuckle. The pains were coming hard and regularly now, her tummy clenching each time to a sheet of tortured muscle. She told herself to keep her legs together, to resist the terrible pressure, but she could not, she could not! It felt like a cruel stony boulder was forcing itself through her pelvis. Her bones were creaking with the impossible stress: she was too small, and that was all that was keeping the baby inside! But the downward pressure, increasing all the time was pushing her legs apart under the loose skirt.

“ ... and to my housekeeper Patricia Nixon, in recognition of her long and selfless devotion ...”

Rebecca was looking anxiously across at her sister. Something was wrong. She could sense it. Ginny’s face was twisting with effort and she was making small uncomfortable squirming movements with her hips, her hand clutched at her tummy and then immediately clamped back down on the arm of the chair as if needing something to hold onto.

Rebecca reached over to take Tom’s hand for reassurance, and then she felt it: a sudden hot searing band across the widest part of her belly. She gasped and looked down at the source of the pain. Through the clinging fabric of her dress she could almost see the tightening of her tummy. A contraction, she thought in something of a panic. I’m having a contraction!

“ ... then the remainder of my estate is to be dealt with as follows.

“To my three granddaughters or to such of them as shall survive me and meet the conditions attached to this bequest hereinafter set forth in equal parts ...”

Rebecca was trying to make sense of the words, Virginia was far too far immersed in the terrible agony building in her pelvis to take the words in, but Tom understood immediately. So long as any one of the three sisters could contrive not to become a mother by the end of the reading of the will then David Potter would be cheated of the fruits of his evil plan!

He turned to say something to Rebecca and saw at once on her face that her time was upon her.

At that moment Virginia felt a hard, hard contraction grip her. Her child’s bony head was driven with brutal force into the hole in her pelvis and excruciating pain lanced through her body forcing an moan of distress from her lips.

“HHOOooooowww!! ...” she cried, “OOhhhh!! ... HHOoooohh!! ... AAuuurrrrghh!!! ...” and she felt her ligaments rip apart and the massive head of her babe begin to grind agonisingly downwards.

Immediately a new feeling overwhelmed her, the desperation of a woman whose delicate sensitive vaginal membranes are suddenly being stretched beyond endurance by her child’s full grown head: the desperate need to push and bring her terrible ordeal to an end.

Before the astonished eyes of those assembled to read the will, moaning with the pain and the need and the effort, she pushed herself forward to the edge of the chair and tugged up the long loose skirt exposing her widespread legs. Her eyes wide and straining, her lips apart, panting and emitting short urgent moans, she lifted herself up and hauled down her lacy maternity panties. Barely stretching them past her knees, she pooled them at her feet and then sank to the floor in a squat, tugging her thighs as far apart as possible. Caring nothing that she was baring her widely gaping, thickly furred vulva to the eyes of all, she gave a long, mighty push.

“HHHHnnnnnnnggggggggg!!! ...”

Rebecca cried out in dismay at the distress of her sister and lumbered awkwardly to her feet. Immediately she gave a wild keening cry of shock and pain. Her tummy convulsed on its overlarge burden.

“AAAaaeeeeeee!! ...” she howled, “HHoooooohhh!! ...HHoooooohhh!! ...” and, as she doubled up in pain clutching with both hands at the hard burning sheet of muscle holding her fetus, she felt liquid burst from her, drenching her panties, gushing down her thighs and splashing messily on the floor.

Tom leapt to her side, taking her in his arms. As she clung to him she looked into his eyes, white-faced and trembling. “I’ve done my bag of waters,” she said in a horrified whisper.

David Potter was also on his feet in an instant.

“The reading must stop!” he demanded. “These poor women need attention!”

Virginia could hardly register the statement. Her crisis was fully upon her as inch by inch she pushed big bony baby-head down her maidenly, little used vagina. With each groaning push her labia stretched wider and rounder.

Rebecca, however, recovering from her pain, moaned “Nnnooooo!! ... Tom, make them go on!”

“You must read on, Madam,” Tom said, addressing Ms Strongman but glaring at the Reverend Potter.

“I insist ...” the latter interjected.

Easing Rebecca’s great bulk back into the chair, Tom moved menacingly towards David Potter. “You! Keep your great gob shut!” he growled.

“OOOoowwwwww!! ...” moaned Virginia, “HHhuuffffffff!! ... HHhuuffffffff!! ... HHHHnnnnnnnggggggggg!!! ...”

From where Tom had moved to he could now see directly between the banker’s desperately widespread legs. Her gash was now huge and round and, as he watched, a big gooey head slid forward into her opening, snapping her labia into a thin taut ring, before her effort collapsed and the child slid back from view. He had never attended a birth before but there seemed precious minutes only if she were to receive her part of the inheritance.

Melissa Strongman was in a quandary. Her sympathies lay entirely with the women in the matter of the inheritance. One had, in all probability, probably already succumbed to her child’s need to be born, one would only inherit if the reading were quickly concluded, and the last would probably not outlast a lengthy adjournment. On the other hand, the conditions were hardly conducive to a reading.

Virginia was desperately striving not to push. The pain was intense, the urgency extreme, but she knew she must give as much time as possible for her ageing cuntal tissues to stretch enough to accommodate the passage of a fully grown child.

“Hhhooooooohh!! ... Hhhooooooohh!! ... Hhhooooooohh!! ...” she panted, trying to relax and take pressure off her tummy. Seeking distraction, she looked wildly about, her eyes locking with the concerned gaze of the solicitor. Her clenched, red, sweat streaked face seemed to plead for help, and the only help the solicitor could give was to continue the reading.

She looked down, found her place.

“ ... in equal parts to the maximum sum of ten million to be divided between them or such of them who shall, at the time of the reading of this, my last will and ...”

Virginia could resist no more. A cruel, agonising contraction gripped her. Sobbing with pain and effort she scrabbled behind her to find purchase on the chair and raised herself off the floor, knees spread until they pointed in almost opposite directions, the effort reinforcing her clamping tummy muscles and propelling the body of her child like a battering ram towards the gate of her vulva.

“AAAAAIIiiiiiiieeeeeeee!! ...” she screamed in torment as the hard fist of her baby’s head thrust out of her vagina and stretched her opening beyond endurance. For a moment it stuck there, she felt a searing burning where her clitoral hood should be, then roughly it thrust out of her, bumpy nose and ears sending shards of pain ripping through her. Gasping for breath she looked down. There was a baby’s face poking out of her gaping sex and looking up at her.

“ ... any such residue as shall remain after the aforesaid distributions have been made in accordance with the clauses above ...” Melissa gabbled.

“OOooooohhh nnoooooo!!! ...” came a wail from Rebecca this time. “Tom it’s happening again!” She clutched at her belly. Her tight white dress was visibly soaked with the fluids of her womb and she tugged it up showing her sweet, lacy panties, drenched to transparency, through which her tight, pale haired slit could be clearly seen. How is the baby supposed to get through there, thought Tom anxiously.

“I protest!” interjected David Potter noting Tom’s attention diverted elsewhere, but Melissa ignored him.

“ ... shall be transferred to the organisation known as The St Agatha Society of Fallen Angels, or any successor organisation or organisations formed for the same ...”

But it was too late for Virginia.

“OOoooooohhhhhhhfffffff!!! ...” she groaned, the next contraction gripping her as she subsided into a deep squat, one hand underneath her to hold her babe’s head. With a slight squirm of the hips she freed its shoulders from her tortured vulva and it slithered from her like a fish, plopping onto the floor.

The door opened and Doctor Maguire bustled into the room. Having attended to Cassandra upstairs, he had been told of the crisis unfolding below. As he entered he could see a pretty young blonde sitting to one side, flushed and panting, her knees apart, and on the other a mature brunette slumped on hands and knees panting and blowing and with a baby on the floor between her thighs still slick with birth fluids and still attached to a thick, angry red cord curling out of her loosely gaping vulva.

In the face of this dramatic interruption Melissa had been unable to maintain the reading and now, as Doctor Maguire hastened to attend to the older sister, the younger cried out.

“Tom! Ohh Godd Tom ... it’s happening .. the baby ... it’s coming! OOoooohhh!! ... HHHhhuuufff!! ... HHHhhuuufff!! ... AAarggghhhhh!!! ...HHHhhuuufff!! ... HHHhhuuufff!! ... Tom! Help meeee!! ... panties ... got to get my panties off!”

Tom rushed to her side. He helped her tug the sodden dress up over her head. In any other situation his prick would have been rigid at the sight of her swollen, blue veined breasts overflowing her lacy bra cups, but below them her tummy was moving, standing up round and hard with the convulsive clench of her muscles. She moaned and raised her bottom from the chair, clutching at the waistband of her panties. Tom grabbed them and peeled them down, past her straining knees and off her ankles. With a sob of relief Rebecca jacknifed her legs wide and gave along groaning cry, which Tom recognised from her sister minutes before.

He turned towards the stunned solicitor. “Please,” he cried desperately, “You have to finish, we don’t have much time.

Rebecca threw her hands back, gripping the seat back behind her. She pulled up her legs onto the broad seat of the armchair.

“HHhhnnnnnnggghhh!! ... HHhuuuff!! ... HHhuuuff!! ...” she panted, riding the contractions as best she could.

“ ... and if no such organisation or organisations shall in the sole discretion of my executors be deemed to exist ...” Melissa soldiered on.

“Please. I don’t think this is the time ...” interrupted Doctor Maguire, efficiently bundling up Virginia’s baby in a soft blanket brought by one of the maids.

“Nooooooooo!! ..” wailed Rebecca, “OOOoooohhhh ... HHHhhuuufff!! ... HHHhhuuufff!! ... HHhhnnnnnnggghhh!! ...” At each contraction now her tummy was tightening awfully, she was trying to keep from pushing like the books said but she just couldn’t and she could feel the baby grinding lower and lower in her. I’m the only one left she thought. If I can’t hold out that bastard will get the lot!

Tom was desperate for Rebecca. He could see the straining effort on her face every time a contraction hit. He didn’t know anything about managing labour but, after Virginia’s example he thought he could recognise its final stages well enough.

“You don’t understand,” he said frantically to the doctor. Turning to the solicitor: “You have to finish, you have to!”

The solicitor was looking very stressed. Tom thought that she might not be far from abandoning the place. Maybe one last chance.

“ ... then my said executors may at their sole discretion dispose of any such residue as hereinbefore defined to the benefit of any charity or charities whose purpose ...”

Doctor Maguire moved over to the labouring Rebecca. He thrust two fingers into her tight vagina and was startled to immediately find the hard plate of her child’s head coming the other way.

“... HHHuuuuhhh ... HHhhnnnnnnggghhh!! ...” she panted, the sudden invasion of the doctor’s fingers disrupting her control and causing her to give the hardest push yet. Her belly stood up, tightly defined and drawn as hard as a drum. With a panic she felt the babe shoved definitely lower.

“HHoooooowwwww!! ...” she wailed harshly. Unbeknown to the desperate teenager, the head of her fetus had cleared her pelvis and was suddenly stretching her slender, barely used vagina unimaginably.

“ ... in witness hereof.”

The intoning voice of the solicitor came to a stop. After a moment Tom looked up. She was tidying the papers. That was it! Rebecca had won! He turned back in triumph.

“You’ve done it Rebecca!” he crowed. Doctor Maguire looked at him strangely, but Rebecca grinned in triumph, a grin which never left her face in the last urgent, huffing, draining ten minutes it took to squeeze her baby into the world.

Four weeks later three sisters met for morning coffee. Their own needs met each then turned to her recently born babe, opened her shirt and freed a milk laden breast from her nursing bra.

“You know you really didn’t have to do it, Becky,” said Cassandra, as she lifted her plump, greedy son high to where her overfilled breast stood tautly out, thickly knotted with purple veins, the pink, quivering teat already forming droplets of thin white milk. “If anyone should have had the muscle control to earn a share of the money it should have been me!”

Rebecca already had her little daughter sipping daintily at her enlarged, and somewhat drooping boob, the lazy action of her gums on her mother’s stiffly extended nipple stalk sending little thrills down Rebecca’s spine.

“Oh, I was always going to share with you. We were in this together. you would have done the same for me, you know you would!”

Virginia was bent a little forward, her fast growing boy in her lap, her heavy, mature, down pointing udder stretching to where its thick, maternal nipple was engulfed by his tiny mouth. She felt nourishment gushing from her ducts and knew from the tingling in her other nipple that within her generously cut blouse, the baby feeder still imprisoned in her industrial strength brassiere would be starting to drench her nipple pads.

“Well I’m going to put my share into a trust for little Sarah,” she said fondly. “After all we owe it all to her impeccable sense of timing!” The sisters laughed, the jiggling of their mammary glands slightly increasing the flow of sustenance to three tiny grateful gulping throats.

War Babies - Part I by Dropster

The wailing cries of pain were now echoing down the corridor, the hands clutching convulsively at the rails beside the birthing bed, the young shapely legs lifted high and apart by the stirrups were twisting and straining against the restraints.

“Push! Monica, Puuush!!” urged the doctor, her hand pressing on the hard mound of the young woman’s labouring belly.

“Aaarrrgggh, .... hoooooph, hoooooph, hoooooph,” came Monica’s guttural cries, sweat pouring from her contorted face as she heaved against the boulder wedged in her bottom.

“Aahhh hoooo,” she sobbed, “Can’t! ... it’s too BIG! ... AAARRRGGGH!! ... No ROOM!!” And with that shriek her pent up breath burst out of her and the tension of her straining body ebbed.

“Please, doctor, it hurts!” she whimpered pitifully, “I can’t take it any more!”

“Yes you can, Monica, your baby’s head is right down into your vagina now. That means it will soon be over and you’ll have a darling little baby,” said Doctor Eve Crowther soothingly. “Now breath deeply for me and get ready to push really hard on the next contraction.”

Nurse Alice Jones looked sympathetically at the pain wracked body spread open on the bed. So many young first timers these days with the troops passing through and out to get some pleasure for what might be, for many, the last time. The hospital so short handed too, with the male doctors mostly away with the forces. Who would have thought she’d see the day when a young female doctor would be delivering babies! Not that Dr Crowther wasn’t a good doctor, but in her condition too! The nurse glanced at where the doctor’s white coat stretched tautly over the hugely swollen abdomen of a woman obviously in the very final stages of pregnancy. I wonder if she’s only carrying one, she thought to herself__, surreptitiously appraising the bulk of the doctor’s fully stretched womb.

At that moment Monica gave a gasp, her pretty brown eyes went wide in fear, and then her instincts took over and her hands clenched the rails in an iron grip.

“Uuunnngghh! ... UUuunnngghh!! ... UUUuuunnngghh!!!” she grunted, the tendons in her neck standing out like steel hawsers with the terrible effort.

“That’s it! Good girl!” encouraged the doctor, lifting up the bottom of the girl’s sweat drenched nightdress to expose the full dome of Monica’s tortured belly, smaller now than when her agony began but standing up narrow and hard as a drum from her wide feminine hips.

“Aaarrrgggh ... Aaarrrgggh,” screamed the poor girl, “It’s tooooo big! You’ve got to make it stop, doctor, please!!”

“Serve you right you silly girl,” muttered Nurse Jones, “Spreading your legs for a negro.” For Alice Jones had seen the anxious face of the man who had brought young Monica to the hospital. “Everyone knows that negro babies are too big for white women to handle.”

Oh god, I hope not, thought the doctor and she felt the child twist and kick out heavily in her swollen tummy. In her mind’s eye she could see the beautiful and very black face of her lover as, on the very last day before he left for the front, his urgent caresses finally overcame the resistance of her throbbing body and she let him pull off her silken underpants and push his glorious weapon into her virginal, but very wet, vagina.

That was so very close to 9 months ago that she didn’t like to keep track any more, and she leant her weight on the birthing bed for a moment, bracing herself for the cramping pain that in recent days always followed the rebellious movements of her baby.

Monica was still pushing, screaming with pain, her hands clawing at the bed rails and now there was suddenly progress as the broad furry mat spread out between her thighs began to bow outwards, the demure lips of her slit gaping apart.

“Come on, harder! Puuush, Puuush!” snapped Nurse Jones.

The only response was a harsh, desperate screaming from the writhing form on the bed.

The Nurse glanced at the Doctor and her eyes narrowed at the sight of the young woman hunched over, resting her weight on the bed and with a pinched, distant expression on her slender face.

Won’t be long before she’s on her back on this bed pushing her own wee one out I shouldn’t wonder, she thought to herself.

Monica was now panting and sobbing on the bed, her contraction past. Eve Crowther was breathing a little hard herself as her cramp eased. Did the cramps seem to be getting more painful? She didn’t like to draw attention to her condition but she allowed herself a soothing rub of her palm on the tender stretched surface of her huge abdomen, and a secret probing with her fingers on the underside of the outstretched globe to assure herself that her child’s head was still high in her belly. She told herself firmly that it was no lower, definitely not creeping down towards its narrow escape route through her pelvis!

“The baby’s coming now, Monica!” she said brightly to the girl, recalling herself to her duty. “Two or three more pushes and you’ll be a mother!”

“Huuuurts!!” moaned the girl and then, gasping, “Ooohh god noooo! Not again so soon??”

“Let’s sit you up a bit more this time,” said the doctor, “Nurse, hold her shoulders up.”

Nurse Jones put a strong arm around Monica’s girlish shoulders.

Monica gave an agonizing shriek and her hands stabbed down between her legs. As her body drove uncontrollably down, expelling the fetus that stretched the delicate membranes of her vagina so unbearably, the head, like a battering ram, drove through the gap in her pelvic floor and drew her sweet young labia as taut as a bowstring. Nurse Jones looked down disapprovingly as the lady doctor bent awkwardly forward, pressing her belly to the bed, and put a hand to Monica’s overstressed opening, pushing against the baby’s head as it struggled to emerge.

Nurse Jones had never approved of the newfangled notion of Doctor Crowther that shunned episiotomy, the making of a neat little slit to widen the mother’s cunny and let the baby out nice and quickly. Instead she preferred to torture her patients a little longer by slowing down the pushing out and allowing the cunny to stretch enough on its own. Nurse Jones had to admit that the method seemed to work, but she had little time for the argument of Doctor Crowther that for the mother to get her cunny back in working order faster was worth the extra pain. We’ll see how she likes it when it’s her on her back with a baby stretching her cunny, she chuckled meaningfully to herself.

Monica was screaming harshly. “My slit!! Oooohh God, my slit!! Uuunnnggg .... It’s tearing me apart!!!” she moaned, an indeed the petite ring of her labia was stretched paper thin, white and bloodless, around the massive black dome thrusting remorselessly from within.

Eve Crowther worked her fingers around the taut lips, trying to massage some blood into them. “Easy, now, slow and easy!” she crooned warningly, “Let the baby come in its own time.”

“OOhhh, __...OOhhh,” the desperate girl panted in shock, her contraction easing off but the big black baby remaining wedged in her enormously widened cunt ring. “The burning!!! ... I can’t take it any more!!!”

“Trust me Monica,” soothed the Doctor, “You’re nearly finished, just put your hands under your knees, ... yes, like that, pull very wide and try to relax your bottom to let the baby out.”

The young girl felt her contraction building again, she took a deep breath and then, with a terrible shriek, which echoed from one end of the hospital to the other, her labia stretched open and the baby’s negroid head popped out.

For a moment she lay there panting with relief from the reduced stretching of her womanhood, and then her throes were on her again.

“Ohhhhhh God, uunnngggghh, uunnngggghh, it’s stuck!!!” she wailed in panic.

“Just the shoulders, you silly girl,” chuckled Nurse Jones, “you didn’t think that you would get away that lightly did you?”

Eve Crowther thrust her hand into the gaping maw of the girl’s overstretched vagina and grappled with the slippery shoulders of the child, trying to ease one past Monica’s now significantly distended lips. The girl sobbed and thrashed, the pain of the baby jammed in her twat together with the doctor’s ruthless probing hand tugging at the tender membranes of her vagina was unbearable. Then the doctor succeeded in prizing one shoulder free and, with a sudden surge and a mighty gush of fluid, the baby spurted out between Monica’s gaping thighs.

Nurse Jones rested the exhausted girl’s shoulders back on the birthing bed and moved to scoop up the wrinkled dusky child. “Congratulations,” she said, “You have a little baby girl.”

Five minutes later the Doctor had helped Monica uncover one thick brown nipple standing stiffly up from a plumply sagging breast and the baby was happily sucking her mother’s thick pre-milk up from the swollen glands beneath her distended areolas.

Leaving the Nurse to attend to the afterbirth, Eve Crowther waddled heavily from the room to check whether any of the other women in the hospital’s maternity ward had progressed into serious labour.

There were four beds in the ward and all were occupied, two having been admitted while the doctor had been attending to Monica. Eve quickly consulted with the Sister on duty.

One woman at 36 weeks with twins, had been admitted with contractions and was now on strict orders to rest in the hope that her labour symptoms would subside and she could carry the babies a little longer. So far her labour had not progressed further and the Sister hoped she would get through at least another night.

There was a middle class woman at full term with her second child, having had a difficult time with the first. She was a private patient of Doctor Evans, who would be on duty shortly, and was being prepared for a caesarian to be performed later in the evening.

Of the two new patients, one was a young girl who had complained of a sore tummy and, when her mother examined her, was discovered to be pregnant and about to deliver. Doctor Crowther’s heart sank a the possibility of having to attend to another delivery before going off duty, but the Sister said that the girl’s condition had stabilized and there was no immediate need for her to go to the delivery suite.

The other new patient was a wealthy woman, sitting up in bed in a very expensive silk nightdress. She had expected a home delivery, attended by her specialist obstetrician, but he had left for a weekend conference when her contractions had started unexpectedly and she had had no option but to come into the hospital due to the current shortage of doctors. She was complaining loudly to anyone who could hear about the lack of service, pausing only now and then to wince and rub gingerly at the enormous belly pressing against the shining surface of her nightdress. The Sister explained that she was a special case, her husband being on the board of trustees of the hospital, and, as she might go into full blown labour at any time, Eve would need to be on hand until Doctor Evans arrived in about half an hour.

Altogether not too bad, Eve thought. The prospect of dragging herself through another delivery or two, as could sometimes happen after a long day shift, was suddenly very daunting in her present condition. Hopefully, however, nothing would happen until Doctor Evans, an older man with a cruel, cynical streak and roving hands, who she had no desire to work alongside, had arrived and taken over.

She decided to examine the patients in the time remaining to her shift but then realized that she was feeling an urgent urge in her bladder. Plodding carefully down the corridor she entered the female staff cloakroom and lumbered swiftly towards the nearest open stall as she felt pressure building rapidly in her bottom and she realized that her underpants were becoming wet. Reaching the stall she quickly tugged the white medical coat and the maternity petticoat she was wearing underneath up to her waist and folded down the soft elastic top of her maternity underwear. As she bent awkwardly to push the damp garment past her knees, however, she was suddenly seized with a sharp, agonizing band of pain across the low swell of her abdomen.

“Hoo!!,” she cried out, “Oh Heavens!” and she plumped down abruptly on the toilet seat cupping with her open hands the broad expanse of her aching lower belly.

She sat for a moment in shock, barely noticing the water cascading from her widespread thighs as she contemplated this new development. With her hands assiduously massaging her massive womb, she probed again for her baby’s head. There was no doubt that it was dropping lower, she conceded, barely now able to be felt above her pelvis. She would need to take things very gently if she was not to risk putting herself into labour, and she certainly did not intend to end up with an emergency labour under the leering and unsympathetic eye of Doctor Evans, especially with the colour of the offspring she would be producing. In the morning she would definitely make her way across the city to the Catholic hospital where she had made arrangements for her confinement, arrangements, she now realized, whose time had come.

In the time remaining before she could go off duty, she thought to sooth her weary and aching body with a restorative shower. She waddled down to the shower stall at the end of the cloakroom and turned on the taps. Unbuttoning her white coat she placed it on the nearby clothes peg and then, grunting with effort, she peeled her maternity petticoat up over her great, gravid abdomen and then her taut, swollen breasts. She was now standing naked, as she had earlier discarded her sodden underpants, and she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

Her brown hair was set in the short wavy style currently popular, framing an intelligent, strong featured face, currently looking rounded and youthful in the ‘bloom’ often associated with pregnancy, albeit with tired lines about the eyes after her hard day’s work. However, set almost incongruously against her slight, feminine shoulders and slender arms, were her breasts. Although at 27 they had lost the jutting firmness of her teens, she had been nevertheless still proud of their petite shapeliness. Now she looked sadly at the udders sagging weightily onto the upper shelf of her tummy, their elongated shape, like two fat mortar rounds, tipped by wide expanses of rough darkened areola from the centre of which two thick, distended nipple stalks stood like the long rubber teats on a baby’s bottle.

And beneath her swollen bosom stood revealed the full fruit of her night of passion. Although she knew she was not carrying particularly large, it was nevertheless a shock to Eve each time she saw the terribly, impossibly stretched skin of her poor, overburdened tummy. Settled heavy, round and very low into her hips like a hugely overripe fruit, her abdomen had been spared the more lurid stretch marks she had seen in the course of her practice, but a thick dark line capped the outward curve of her belly from the profuseness of her womanly hair below, to just above her widely stretched navel, pushed out to almost arms length in front of her, and a network of streaks and fine burst blood vessels was beginning to spread over the base of her mound where her abdominal muscles were struggling against the weight of her uterus.

The water now hot Eve stepped beneath the shower. Her soapy hands ran gently over her large rounded breasts feeling the tense, tender mammary glands grown hard and massy beneath the surface, their presence betrayed by the network of thick blue veins clearly visible under the milky skin. Her sensitive nipples sprang out, long and stiff under the teasing pattering of the shower against their tips. She spread her hands down, feeling the stretched skin of her belly, feeling raw and paper thin as it stretched over her uterine burden. Slowly the massaging stream of water soothed the tightness and aching away.

Then it came. “Owwooohh!!” she gasped, as it felt like someone had tightened a belt of red hot metal around the broad swell of her belly. “OOhhhh hooooff,” and she tottered against the wall of the shower clutching at her burning midriff. “Ohh Lord, my tummy! ... Got to ride through it! ... Breathe deeply! ... Hoooff! ... Hoooff!” and she placed her hands flat on the wall and tried to lift her diaphragm to create room for her straining uterus.

Never had she felt such pain before and it seemed to go on and on searing at her abdomen as she counted off the seconds and struggled to keep her breathing regular, “Eleven, ... hooooo, Twelve, .. huunggh, Thirteen, ... hooofff ...”

Finally the pain ebbed away and left her weak kneed and puffing against the wall of the shower.

“Goodness,” she panted, “That can’t have been more than fifteen minutes since the last one. Have to get home and lie down, Doctor Crowther, if you don’t want to have an unfortunate accident!” and she chuckled nervously at the thought of being found in the staff shower with a half caste child popping out of her bottom. Not that there would be too much pop about it, she thought running an exploratory finger into her tightly furled labia, for she was sure that hers was among the more modestly sized vulvas she had observed.

Having toweled dry she replaced the petticoat and, over the top, her maternity dress, sensible grey___ twill with a high waist and a single commodious pleat in the centre of the skirt which, however, stretched flat against her protruding tummy. She walked gingerly back into the ward, her hand protectively stroking the top of her mound.

“There you are,” said the Sister distractedly before Eve could get a word in. “Things are getting rather hot.” Eve noticed then the level of noise in the ward.

The wealthy lady, Mrs. Hill, was still propped up in bed but her hands were now clasped urgently to the great boulder of her abdomen, her face had gone red and she was calling stridently for a doctor. The young girl who was the other recent admission was, Eve saw, lying on her side, her out-thrust uterus therefore resting on the bed beside her, and was moaning softly while forcefully kneading the base of her mound with one hand, usually a sign that her abdominal muscles were forcing the baby’s head hard into her pelvis.

Of more concern was Doctor Evans’ caesarian who was lying on her back, white-faced, knees in the air and widespread and making the kind of gasping cries that Eve herself had been emitting a short while before.

“Golly,” thought Eve, “If she is going fully into labour we will need to operate immediately,” and she quickly waddled over to examine her progress.

“I say are you a doctor?” demanded Mrs. Hill from the next bed as she saw Eve raise the caesarian patient’s nightgown and carefully insert two fingers into her puffy, finely haired slit.

“Now, Mrs. Hill,” soothed the Sister, “Doctor Evans will be here shortly and I am sure he will want to examine you immediately.”

“Ooooohhh,” Mrs. Hill groaned, “My pains are getting stronger, I need some help!”

Meanwhile Doctor Crowther had determined that the cervix of the caesarian patient seemed to be holding although her child felt fully engaged in the bony trap of her pelvis.

“Just lie quietly, try to keep your legs together, and whatever you do don’t push,” she advised her, “Doctor Evans will be along shortly.”

With that, Doctor Evans breezed in, cruised quickly around the ward introducing himself to the patients and started issuing orders. In the best traditions of private medical practice, he quickly identified as Mrs. Hill as a lucrative new potential payment, and in moments had whisked her off into the delivery suite.

In the confusion, Mrs. Buddle, carrying the twins, announced that she needed to use the bathroom. Levering herself slowly out of bed, panting hard with the exertion, she stood, swaying slightly to get her balance. Although she was only at 36 weeks, she had much the most swollen uterus in the ward, her belly straining and bulging against the thin cotton nightdress she was wearing, her breasts, in almost anticlimax, flat and flopping either side of her enormous abdomen, although their nipples were sticking through the fabric, dark and fat. “Got to go,” she mumbled heading off with the awkward, wide legged gait of the heavily gravid woman.

Eve was now morally entitled to go home, and indeed she was making increasing efforts to ignore a gathering pressure in her lower abdomen, surreptitiously cupping a hand to the under swell in what her medical knowledge told her was a vain attempt to ease the pressure she felt sure the baby’s head was placing on her cervix. However she was concerned about the young girl two beds over who she could see was crying with pain, her body hunched around her heavy curved tummy.

As Eve went over to her she lifted her head, her pretty face, framed with sweetly bobbed hair. full lipped and with lush, plump cheeks, was streaked with tears. “Miss___, I don’t know what’s happening to me,” she sobbed, “My tummy hurts awfully!”

“Your labour pains have started, my dear,” said Eve, taken aback. “You will soon have your own darling little baby.”

“But I can’t be expecting!” the poor girl wailed, “I’m too young to be a mother!”

There is an obvious answer to that, thought Eve grimly, but instead she said briskly, “Well there’s nothing can be done about that now, I need you to be a brave girl and prepare to give birth. Sister!” she called, “Help me take this patient to the delivery suite. What’s your name my dear?”

“Celia,” whispered the child in a frightened voice and then, as Doctor Crowther helped her to sit up she gave a piteous moan, “Ooowwwww, help me Miss. The pain! It’s so bad!!”

“I know Celia,” Eve said, with feeling, acutely conscious of her own tummy (So tight! So very tight!) She bent forward to help haul Celia off the bed, putting pressure on the straining sheet of abdominal muscle wrapped around her womb (Oh my goodness! Here it comes again!)

Again that agonizing ring of fire took the young doctor’s lower abdomen in its terrible grip. “Ooohhh!” she said desperately, “Hooooofff!! Celia breath with me! ... Hooooofff!! ... Hooooofff!!”

Celia sat on the edge of the bed, her nightdress, too small for the ripeness of her womb, rucked up over her protruding mound and out-poking belly button, and stared, wide eyed with alarm at the glazed expression on the doctor’s flushed and panting face. “Hooooo!! ... Come on Celia, breathe! ... Hooooofff!! ... Hooooofff!!” Eve continued helplessly (Dear Lord, help me get through this! Oh Lord, have mercy on your daughter in her need!}

“Miss?” said Celia, hesitantly. “Ooohhhh Miss!! My back! It hurts!” and, putting her arms behind her on the bed, she arched her slender back, pushing her bare gravid tummy far out in front of her.

“Breathe, Celia,” repeated Eve, sweat now a heavy dew on her flushed forehead but the fiery band beginning to relax its grip on her swollen uterus (Oh thank you Lord!), and the girl on the bed began to moan and pant as she had seen the doctor do moments before.

At that instant, the Mrs. Buddle suddenly appeared at the door into the ward, her nightdress tucked up over her massive, heavily stretch-marked belly, her face contorted with effort.

“Baby coming ... !!” she screamed, “Uuuunnnnngghhh!! ... Got to PUSHHHH!!” She staggered towards her bed. “Uuuunnnnngghhh!!” she groaned again, her hands clutching fiercely at her mound which seemed to clench and bulge out from her body with a life of its own, “Aaarrrgghh!! ... Got to ... !!” and with that her knees seemed to buckle and she folded heavily to the floor, first to her knees and then to all fours, her back bowed by the weight of the great, balled tummy hanging beneath her.

“Hooowwwwww ... Uuuunnnnngghhh!!” she howled, “Puuuuuuuushing!! and the shocked lookers on saw the generous, fat-lipped gash of her womanhood gape swiftly, wider and wider, and a little hairy dome appear in the circle of her outstretch labia. “UUhhhh Huuuuhh,” she gasped, “Uuuunnnnngghhh!!” and suddenly the crinkled head of the first of her babies popped from between her upturned buttocks.

Doctor Crowther clapped a hand in support to her painful uterus and tried awkwardly to dash to the side of the birthing woman, but she need not have bothered because, before she could reach her, the ward sister was kneeled at the woman’s bottom to catch the baby as it slithered easily out of its mother’s tunnel accompanied by a fountain of fluid which splashed freely over the ward floor.

“I’ll hold that,” said Eve, coming alongside, “Get something to cut the cord.

“You have a little boy,” she said to the woman, holding him upside down so that he gave a little shudder and began to cry, and:

“Breathe, Celia, breathe!!” she shouted over her shoulder to the young girl sitting wailing with pain on the edge of her bed.

“That damned Evans,” she said to the sister when she returned with a scalpel to cut the knotted cord running out of the hairy sex of the labouring woman on the floor, “Get him out here! That Mrs. Hill doesn’t need full time treatment and there are three other patients needing attention. Tell him I think that his caesarian needs to be examined. Oh, and tell him I’m off duty!” With that she cut the cord and handed the first of the twins to the Sister.

The woman on all fours in front of her, with the cord of one child still hanging from her ravaged gash and the other child still in her, was panting and blowing from her exertions. Eve knew that she must get her back into bed which meant that Eve herself would have to get up from where she squatted on the floor, her knees apart and her tender uterus pressing heavily on the sheet of muscle supporting her baby. Putting one hand on the bed the doctor pressed upwards with her knees, wincing as her abdominal muscles took up the strain and clamped against the burden within.

Panting and flushed she clambered to her feet and helped Mrs. Buddle up in turn.

“I’m OK love,” gasped the other woman, looking at the doctor’s swollen belly as she clambered onto the bed, “You look like you’re about ready to go yourself!”

Eve smiled wanly, not even wanting to admit to herself how close she was feeling. She bent forward to examine the woman’s tummy and it came again.

Whenever I bend over! she said to herself. (I can get through this! I will not begin moaning in front of the patients!)

Gritting her teeth against the iron cramping of her lower tummy, her hands probed the much softened but still bulging belly before her. The second child was not far away but felt well positioned and the woman could be left to recover for a moment.

Eve gasped and straightened as the pain gripped her back. She desperately kneaded her back, arching it against the pain, sending her mound straining out under the stretched fabric of her maternity dress. She held her breath and prayed for her cramped muscles to relax. (Please Lord, make it go away! Please make this not the time!)

Breathing deeply, she tried to waddle over to where Celia was sitting forlornly on the side of her bed, her arms wrapped protectively around her swollen belly. At that moment Dr Evans breezed back into the ward. He went over to the caesarian patient.

“Mrs. Parker,” he said cheerily, at which she groaned painfully. “Lets have a look.” Without ceremony he whipped the sheet from over her, tossed her nightdress up over her belly and stabbed two fingers up the startled woman’s canal. “Coming on strong, eh!” he chortled. “We’d better get to work!

“Dr Crowther,” turning to Eve, “I’ll do Mrs. Hill and Mrs. Parker, if you’ll do the others.”

“I’m off duty,” Eve snapped, frowning under the pain which was, thankfully, beginning to ebb as she walked across the ward (Not so bad that time, Maybe if I rest they’ll go away for a while!)

“Patients come first, my dear,” said Dr Evans, reprovingly.

“Tired ... Been a long day ... Got to get home,” mumbled Eve despairingly.

“Worried about that tummy of yours I suppose,” sneered Evans. “Getting a few twinges are we?”

Eve had a sudden vision of him thrusting those invading fingers under her skirt to check her out right there in the middle of the ward and became determined not to enter into any debate over her condition with the man.

“Not at all,” she snapped. “I’ve finished a long shift and I’m sure you are capable of coping as well as I have today.”

“Well given that you’ll be going into labour at any moment,” the man continued, as if she hadn’t spoken, “There’s really nowhere better to be than here, when you think about it. We’ll soon find you a bed when your pains get too much to bear, won’t we Sister.” The Sister grimaced at Eve in sympathy.

War Babies – Part II by Dropster

Eve was about to turn and walk out without a further word when Celia gave a gulping sob and a wail: “Oooohhhhh, ... Hhhhooowwww!! ... Miss, help me!!” At that moment Nurse Jones appeared at the ward door calling for Doctor Evans.

The Doctor disappeared and Eve lumbered over to Celia’s bedside.

“Ooohhh, ... Ooohhh, ... It hurts!!” she gasped, her mouth open wide in shock, her eyes rolling upwards. One hand was supporting her on the bed and the other was clamped to the bottom of her swollen abdomen. Eve could see the muscles in her thighs straining to part her legs in response to the pressure her descending foetus was putting on her pretty little bottom.

“Come on now, Celia,” urged Doctor Crowther, “Breathe; like you did before.”

“Huuuuuffff!! ... Huuuuuffff!! ... Huuuuuffff!!” panted the young girl, as tears started up in her big brown eyes and her face went deep red with effort.

“OOooohh Miss, something moved!!” said the girl in a terrified moan. “I need to use the toilet!”

“It’s just your baby coming,” Eve told her.

“I’M NOT HAVING A BABY!!” Celia screamed. “There’s something wrong with my tummy, I need to go to the toilet!”

“Let’s have a look dear,” said Doctor Crowther sympathetically, resting her tired body by settling with a heavy grunt on the bed beside Celia. She lifted the girl’s nightdress and gently eased two fingers into her demure, maidenly slit, stroking the lips a little first to help lubricate the passage.

Tears were now rolling down Celia’s cheeks. “Hhoooffff!! ... Hhoooffff!!” she panted, her round swollen belly contracted into a tight ball of muscle.

With a shock Eve realised that she could feel a wide disk at the end of the girl’s vagina, her cervix was nearly fully effaced.

“Your child’s ready to come,” she told the panting girl, we need to get you on a birthing bed.

Suddenly bedlam broke out in the ward.

Mrs Parker, who the Sister was helping to hobble painfully out of the ward towards the theatre where her caesarian would be performed, gave a shriek of pain and water gushed from between her legs onto the ward floor.

“Aaaiiiiieeeee!!!” she screamed, “The pain! The pain! I can’t stand it!!” as her legs buckled and she collapsed to the floor, despite the best efforts of the Sister.

“Help me get her up,” appealed the Sister to Eve.

“I can’t,” Eve gasped, her hand reflexively stroking her massive tummy at the thought of what the weight of the heavily pregnant Mrs Parker would do to her sore and straining abdomen. Nevertheless she stood awkwardly and went over to offer assistance and between them they got the wailing, traumatised woman back to her bed.

Eve puffed and panted, sweat beading on her forehead from the effort. Suddenly the ward seemed so hot, and she desperately undid the top two buttons of her conservatively necked dress to allow air to get to her heaving chest.

Meanwhile Mrs Buddle had commenced the delivery of something else from between her large, muscular thighs, and from the effort she was making, it sounded like the second baby. She lay on her back, nightdress pulled up far enough even to show her dangling, huge-nippled breasts. Her hands grasped her thighs just behind her knees, tugging her knees wide and back, almost level with her nipples, her feet waving in the air. Her face was puce red and screwed up with effort as she groaned: “Puuuuussshhh!! ... Puuuuussshhh!!” to herself.

Mrs Parker was still screaming: “Aaaiiiiieeeee!!! ... The pain!! Got to have something for the pain!!”

“Get Evans, now!!” Eve shrieked desperately at the Sister.

Celia’s wails were also rising to a crescendo: “Hoooowwwww!! ... Hoooowwwww!! ... Hhuuuunnghhh!!” and with that guttural cry Eve recognised somehow the age old response of a woman whose child’s head has finally rammed its cruel way into the delicate, sensitive membranes of her narrow vaginal sheath. Eve saw Celia roll back onto her bed, curling up on her side, arms around her labouring belly. Then, to the doctor’s surprise, she saw instinct take over as the young girl brought her upper knee up beside her belly, wrapped both arms tightly around it and tugged with all her might, stretching her fleecy cunt and, although she still might not be admitting it to herself, squeezing the babe inside her down into the gap in her pelvic girdle.

Eve was close to tears of despair as Doctor Evans appeared once more: three women in the preparation ward all screaming, wailing and groaning as they struggled to push their babies down the narrow canals between their thighs.

“Looks like you’re losing control here,” snapped Evans, taking in the scene. “Pull yourself together woman!”

“Hhoooooooo!! ... Hhoooooooo!! ... Hhuuuffffff!!” howled the young lady doctor, leaning forward a little and going red in the face.

For a moment Evans thought that she was throwing a childish tantrum, and then he saw how her hands clutched and massaged her gravid belly and realised that the stress must have given her an abdominal contraction.

All thought of disguising her state had gone from Eve’s mind at the sheer intensity of this pain. Her whole belly had clenched and squeezed, driving her baby’s head mercilessly into her pelvic bones. Dimly she was conscious of something giving way inside, a surrender to the unbearable downward pressure exerted by the powerful sheet of her belly muscles. Knees. Got to keep my knees together, she thought in panic, but her knees wobbled as the pain built up in her pelvis and her body sought the relief of opening up to expel the terrible ravaging invader within.

“OOoooohhhh, UUuuuuuunnggghh,” she moaned, straightening with an effort and grabbing at her aching back.

“A contraction is it? said Doctor Evans leering interestedly at the young doctor. “Well we had better deal with some of these patients so that we will have a bed for you to deliver in.

“Noooooooo!!” howled Eve. “HHhuuuuuffff!!, ... HHhuuuuuffff!! ... HHHUUUuuffff!!

“HHUUUUUUUNNGGGG!!!” echoed Mrs Buddle from across the ward as her second child stretched her bruised and gaping cunt to its fullest extent.

Meanwhile Mrs Parker was on all fours on her bed, knees far apart, bottom in the air and knuckles clenched white on the rails at the head of the bed. She was screaming harshly at the agony of her baby’s enormous head jammed in her narrow hips causing her ligaments to bruise and tear.

Some part of Eve’s tortured mind could find sympathy for the woman’s dreadful suffering. She should at least be on gas for the pain, she thought. And she realised that she herself would need gas very soon if she couldn’t somehow stop what was happening to her. Rest, she thought frantically. Must lie down!

But just then, as Eve brought her desperate panting under control, came the pleading cries of Celia: “Miss, oooooohhhh Miss!!! Please do something! I can’t stand the pain anymore!!”

“Must get her to the delivery suite, ... ” panted Eve. “... gas.”

“With us again are we?” sneered Evans good-naturedly. “Let’s see. The twins look like they’ve come without our help. Mrs Parker ...” he frowned, “Looks a bit late for the caesarian. Better get her to the theatre where at least I can gas her. You can get Celia into the other delivery bed next door.”

“But, ... but,” Eve gasped.

“Don’t worry about the contraction, my dear,” Evans said, condescendingly. “First child, isn’t it? You know perfectly well that you have hours before anything much is going to happen. Keep busy, that’s the thing!” and before Eve could stop him he reached forward and patted her affectionately on the top of her protruding tummy.

Eve’s body felt frail and limp from the wracking pain s she had been enduring but, as Doctor Evans and the Sister bustled about helping the distraught Mrs Parker down the hall, Eve knew that she had no alternative but to help the frightened Celia into the birthing suite.

I suppose I’m a little frightened myself, she thought, but at least I am not suffering like Mrs Parker.

Celia’s contractions seemed to have ebbed for the moment so there was no time like the present and Eve helped her painfully onto her feet, wincing as the girl’s weight sagged onto her aching body.

At some point Mrs Buddle’s second twin had been processed and swaddled and she caught Eve’s eye as she sat in bed with a baby’s mouth locked onto each of her flopping breasts. “You’re a brave one, deary,” she said with a reassuring smile. “I hope it goes easily with you when the time comes!”

Eve and Celia waddled awkwardly across the corridor to the birthing suite, belly pressed to massive belly, each able to feel the tense rippling of the other’s cramping abdomen.

“Oh Miss!” Celia cried tearfully, “I felt something move! I’m having a baby aren’t I?” and she raised her frightened face to Eve.

“Yes dear,” the doctor replied, rubbing urgently at her rapidly tightening uterus.

“And you’re having one too, aren’t you?” whispered the girl.

“Ooh yes, Oooooowwww yes!!” moaned Eve, reaching out blindly to the wall for support as her tummy stood out hard and the baby’s head drove down into her pelvis. “HHhuuuuuffff!!, ... HHhuuuuuffff!! ... HHHUUUuuffff!!

“Huuunngggg!!” wailed Celia, her belly spasming in sympathy. “Hhhuuuuufffff, ... Hurts!! ... Hhhuuuuufffff!! ... Want my Mummy! ... Hhhuuuuufffff!!”

The two labouring women clung to each other for a time, panting and moaning, riding their urgent, painful contractions. Then Doctor Crowther managed to propel Eve into the birthing suite and over to the spare bed.

Nurse Jones was poised at the foot of the other bed in which Mrs Hill was lying, feet lifted in the stirrups and spread wide, the expensive silk nightgown bunched up around her neck baring the taut dome of her belly and two shapely, stiff nippled breasts.

“OOwwwwwww!!!” she was wailing woozily. “Gassss ... need more gas!”

“You can’t have any more,” admonished the nurse, “You have to stay awake to push the baby out.”

“Hurts too much ...” moaned the woman.

“I need the gas for Celia,” panted Eve as she helped the girl to lift herself onto the bed. Immediately Celia’s knees shot apart and she clutched her belly with both hands, screaming with pain. I’m going to need it soon for myself if my cervix gives way she thought to herself. She had no intention of enduring the agony she had seen in some of her patients, particularly other first timers, who had eschewed anaesthetic gas.

“Could be a problem,” replied the nurse cheerfully. “We only have the one cylinder left which Doctor is using in the theatre. Don’t know how much will be left after that.”

She turned to look at the doctor, noticing her flushed, distracted expression and hands cradling her gravid womb. She saw the young woman’s eyes go suddenly wide with shock and the huge tummy seem to leap under the tight fabric of her maternity dress.

“AAAeeeii!!!” Eve gave a short, harsh scream as, for the first time she felt for herself what she had witnessed so many times in the course of her practice: the burning agony of the contracting uterus hauling the cervical ring fully over the bony skull of a full grown baby, pulling after it in a single awful moment the tender, exquisitely sensitive membranes of the vagina.

“HHhuuuuuffff!!, ... Got to puushhhhh!!” Eve panted. “OOOooooowww!!!” and she descended sharply to the floor in a squat, her knees drawn up either side of the wide ball of her belly, her face screwed up with the instinctive effort of a woman with her delicate love canal distended by the unbearable girth of her child, desperate to expel the massive invader.

Never in Nurse Jones’ career could she have imagined such a scene. Mrs Hill on her back in one bed moaning distractedly, Celia screaming and thrashing on the other while the doctor who should be attending them was instead labouring urgently on the floor.

“HHhhhuuuuuunggg!!!” Eve ground out between clenched teeth as she pushed and pushed against the seemingly endless contraction of her abdomen. In her distraction her hands knotted in her voluminous skirts, tugging them up over her heaving belly. Nurse Jones was shocked to see Doctor Crowther was wearing no underwear and as a result her plump hairy vulva was displayed indecently between her wide stretched thighs.

“Oohhh Hhhoooo ...” Eve panted, gulping in air as her contraction began to ebb, sweat dripping off her face after the intensity of her effort. “Nurse, please, help me up!”

Celia also had quietened down and was sobbing softly as the nurse managed, with much grunting and puffing, to get Doctor Crowther to her feet.

“Oh Nurse,” mumbled the dazed doctor, “I don’t know what came over me. It can’t be coming that quickly!”

“Just turn and rest your hands against the bed for a moment my dear,” responded the nurse, “That’s right, spread your legs a little ...” and she lifted the doctor’s skirts at the back and reached into the damp cleft between her thighs.

Eve started at the sudden penetration of her maidenly vagina by two long, probing fingers, but with a sinking heart she could feel the pressure already building once again in her aching bottom and she knew in her heart that it would not be long before she was stretched by something much bigger.

“Fully effaced, my dear,” pronounced the Nurse, “But still quite high”

Doctor Crowther knew now that she would become a mother here in the birthing room that night and she knew now what she must do. She set about securing the thrashing Celia into the birthing position on the bed, legs high and tugged wide by the stirrups, her pretty girlish vulva stretched out and vulnerable. All the time the doctor felt the desperate urgent pangs clenching in her own tummy, screaming at her to spread her legs wide and push. Got to hold on! she told herself, sweat streaming down her face from the effort ... Got to keep my legs together until Celia gives birth ... Not going to squat on the floor like a savage!

Instinct had completely taken over with Celia now, she moaned and screamed incoherently but she heaved and pushed with each contraction, working harder than ever before in her young life, her tummy standing up rigid and tight with each great shove she gave the enormous battering ram in her pelvis. At each push now her tightly furled labia slid out and apart showing a grey shiny roundness between them; but as her effort broke and she sobbed and gasped for breath her firm young muscles pushed it back within.

“Ooohhhooooo!!” she wailed, “Hhhuhhhhh ... Hhhuhhhhh ... I can’t make it come! ... there isn’t room!!”

“UUnnggghh ... Celia,” grunted the doctor, trying to speak through the grinding pain between her own hips. “It’s coming beautifully, try to ... HHhuuunnggg!! ... relax your bottom and ... Hoooo!! ... Hoooo!! ... open up.”

An intense wave of pain overcame Eve, stabbing at her pelvic bones, and she could not prevent herself, with a piteous cry, slumping forward resting all her weight on the birthing bed (Knees!! Must keep my knees together!!) to ride the pain. Fortunately Celia was too far gone in her own new contraction to notice (Oh Lord!! My knees are going!! Must not push!!)

Just then the tone of Celia’s screaming changed abruptly and her eyes went suddenly wide with shock. Something had given inside her and the little gaping roundness of her labia was suddenly thrust out almost to tearing point by the unbelievable width of her baby’s head.

“AAhhhhh HHooooo ... HHooooo,” panted Eve (Oh! I’m pushing!! No my Lord, please don’t make me push!) “Celia, easy now, .... AAhhhhh HHooooo ... Let your labia ... HHooooo ... adjust!”

She tried to reach out to put reverse pressure on the young girl’s perineum but her scrabbling legs wouldn’t take her weight.

“UUUUnnnnnnggggghhhh!!!” she screamed as she surrendered to a massive push, driving her child fully into her agonised vagina.

“AAeeeeiiiiiiii!! ... My cunny ... Can’t take it .... Tooooo bigg,” screamed Celia back at her. The young girl’s nether lips were stretched white and paper thin, her clitoral hood pulled wide and back to show the nubile bud within. Helplessly Eve watched the lips stretch out and out, cupping the head of her baby but the girl was overcome by her throes despite her demented screams of pain, and continued to madly push.

Eve’s own push had eased her situation temporarily but she could only look on in fear as the adolescent vulva before her was stretched to its limit and beyond. Before her eyes she saw a sudden split at the bottom of the enormous opening, and then, with an audible pop, the baby’s head burst clear and Celia’s labia closed a little around its neck.

“Ohh Celia!” cried Eve. “You’ve almost done it! Rest a moment and then one last push!”

Doctor Crowther was astonished at how quickly Celia’s resilient young flesh had crowned her baby without more than a tiny tear, and wished herself a little younger to be bearing her first child.

Eve’s tortured hips could barely now support her weight, but she pulled herself upright somehow to tug at the side of Celia’s stretched out vulva as the girl strained mightily again to deliver her child’s shoulders. A despairing wail and then a slithery gush brought the baby squirting from the young girl’s vagina to plop on the bed between its mother’s thighs.

“Celia, you’re a mummy!” Eve cried, “OOOOhhhhhh, ... a boy, .... HHnnngghhh,” as her belly convulsed and she sagged helplessly against the birthing bed watching the newborn turning slowly blue in front of her. Wider, her body was screaming at her, wider!! and she drove down into a wide-kneed squat at the foot of the bed. She was panting and groaning with effort and sweat was pouring down her face pooling in the open neck of her maternity dress.

Meanwhile Mrs Hill was progressing only slowly, the intoxication brought on by the gas she had taken for the pain preventing her from focussing on her task. Nurse Jones therefore looked around to monitor the other patient and was astonished to see that the young girl had popped her baby out already and the puffing and moaning of a desperately labouring woman were coming from the doctor squatting by the bed. The tenting effect of the doctor’s dress stopped her situation from being clearly visible, but to an experienced maternity nurse the sounds she was making left no doubt that her baby was forcing its way into the world through her narrow gateway.

Quickly Nurse Jones snatched up the newborn child, slapped it on the back to bring forth its first lusty wail, severed its umbilical cord and then helped the mother to stagger out of the birthing suite to the post partum ward next door, her placenta still inside and the stubby end of the cord poking out of her ravaged cunny.

Eve was crying bitter tears of shock at the pain which was wracking her body, How had it come to this? One moment of weakness to allow that mad penetration of her virgin body, of course, but then her carefully laid plans for a dignified birth under medication and expert assistance in the Catholic hospital across town had been destroyed by the insidious onset of her emergency. How could she, an experienced obstetrician, have failed to recognise the signs in herself? But now all her training and her hard won career meant nothing. She was squatted on the floor like a slattern and nothing mattered in the world to her or would ever matter again except the agony of her need to force out the bony blockage jammed in her creaking pelvis. She was barely conscious of the departure of Celia from the bed above her, or of the panting efforts of Nurse Jones to haul her to her feet so that she could replace the girl in the birthing bed.

She tottered and fell, half sprawling across the bed and screamed as her traumatised abdomen came in contact with the bed. Then, with the sudden extra pressure, she felt her hip cartilages seem to pop. She screamed again, louder, and, as she scrabbled to get her knees onto the bed to take the pressure of her agonised tummy, her belly thrust and heaved almost of its own volition and she felt the cannon ball in her vagina move down.

Hands rolled her on her back and she suddenly saw all her nightmares come true. Her dress and petticoat were rolled up over her round, convulsing belly and her plump, fat-nippled breasts, her legs were tugged apart and fastened into the cruelly spread stirrups high above the bed and there, leering complacently down into her obscenely stretched womanhood, was Doctor Evans!

“A fast operator I see,” he remarked, “This is your first I suppose Miss Crowther?”

At that deliberate reference to her unmarried status Eve flushed a deeper crimson and wished she could die, but the next wrenching contraction arrived causing her to arch her back and bury her head back into the pillow with a savage guttural scream. Her hands stabbed out blindly and clutched at the rails above her head as her hips writhed and shook with the force of her convulsions.

She could now definitely feel herself stretching appallingly in the tender place between her thighs. She peered down, although she could see nothing beyond the dome of her belly, glistening with perspiration, and her breasts, lesser hillocks capped with long stiffened nipples on whose tips little drops of white liquid had sprung forth.

“That’s it, squeeze it out,” said Doctor Evans robustly. “Put some real effort into the next one!”

Eve shrieked curses at the man, which he took with equanimity, but she put every ounce of effort she possessed into the next contraction, and the next, and for many others after that.

Unlike the controlled shoving she had performed in her ignominious squatting earlier, Eve found it hard to get good solid purchase on her burden in this helpless prone position. The hours went by in agony as she worked the massive invader a tiny bit at a time down her battered and burning vagina, all the time stretching the tight outer muscles at her womanly gate wider and wider until she was almost ready to pass out from the excruciating pain.

“My, she’s a tight one,” commented Doctor Evans pruriently as, from time to time, he inserted his fingers roughly into Doctor Crowther’s gaping vulva and tugged her lips wider in what he presumably thought was a help to the desperate woman.

In the meantime all the other women had given birth and gone to a well earned sleep, but Eve laboured on. Finally she seemed to find a position for her hips that aimed the battering head of her child at her opening and her child began to crown.

“Episiotomy Miss Crowther?” asked Evans briskly. Eve shook her head violently grinding her teeth and groaning as she sought to find a way to open her sex wider to accommodate the awful span of the skull wedged in her lips.

“Might need to be counter-pressure then,” mused Evans, “What do you think Nurse?”

“Yes, ... hhhoooofffffff, ... Counter-pressure, Mustn’t tear!!, ... HHHOOOOFFF ... AAAAIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEE!!” wailed Eve as the band of her labia stretched to its full, enormous extent and still the baby didn’t come.

She just knew she would tear. There was no effective resistance now and her entrance had been tested and found wanting. The next push must certainly break her open.

“Oh my Lord,” she sobbed, “Do it, ... Hhooooooh! ... Quickly, ... HHooooOH, Cut me!”

“Scalpel, Nurse,” said Evans calmly.

“AAAAIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEE ...” screamed Eve as the urge to push overwhelmed her again and her bottom was stretched beyond its endurance. She waited for the signs of her vulva tearing, perhaps at the top around her screaming clitoris or at the bottom towards her anus, but no such sign came. Instead the head jammed in her lips at full extent, the little nose adding extra torture to her over-stretched clitoris.

She screamed and realised that Nurse Jones was holding back the head to prevent it emerging.

“BITCH!!!” she shrieked, “I can’t stand it!! ... It’s killing me!! ... Let it OOoowwwtt!!!”

Nurse Jones gave her an evil glare as the pain wracked doctor writhed in agony on the sodden bedsheets before her. “Not too fast, my dear,” she said piously, “Leave time for your little cunny to adapt!”

“OOhhhhhh NNoooooo!!” wailed Eve, her eyes rolling back in her head. She was past the point of believing that she would survive the birth and her body sagged limply on the bed, but with that relaxation her opening stretched the necessary fraction of an inch more and suddenly her baby slid all the way out in a huge gush of fluid.

“Well well!” said Doctor Evans seriously, holding up the dark, very obviously negroid child which had just popped out of the doctor. “I don’t think it would do your position here any good for news of this to get around! The baby could just fail to survive the birth you know...” he said in an understanding tone.

But to Eve she was the most beautiful baby in the whole world and she found she didn’t give fig what others might think. She reached for her little negress and held her to one of her thick brown nipples. The baby turned her head and wrapped her gums around Eve’s tender teat and Eve felt a surge of joy to offset the terrible ravaging of her body.

Nurse Jones just sighed and turned away. “War Babies!” was all she said.

Rewards and Consequences
by Dropster

April Danner bent awkwardly over, tugging her nightdress, her very voluminous nightdress, clear of her head and picking up, in the same economical movement her full cupped brassiere. As a mature mother, her latest pregnancy, so surprising to her colleagues and friends, had brought a return to lactation as it reached its final stage, her mammary glands recovering the function they had held in her younger days of motherhood, and accordingly she required padded maternity cups to absorb any embarrassing leaks. She passed her arms through the wide shoulder straps and straightened with a slight huff of effort, tugging the cups down to capture the plump drooping mounds of her swollen chest, then biting her lip as she lifted and stretched, up and back, to support and secure herself in the soft shapely garment. With firm high maternity panties already tightly cupping her great straining tummy, she waddled heavily to the wardrobe and selected a dark blue dress, meant to discretely accommodate the growing figure of the pregnant executive but, in the case of the almost due older mother, stretching tautly and revealingly over her very gravid body.
The hot and tiring work of rolling that dress over her mammary and uterine swelling at last done, April hastened uncomfortably downstairs to where her daughter was already preparing breakfast. As she approached she heard her daughter give a sudden gasp and grip the kitchen bench with clenched, widespread hands.
“Paige, darling, is everything alright?” asked April anxiously.
“I don’t know mummy,” replied the teen fearfully turning towards her mother. She was wearing a green sleeveless knitted top over full braless breasts whose nipples were visibly raised beneath the fabric, but April’s concerned mother’s eyes were only on the great globe of her daughter’s heavily pregnant abdomen, stretching the green top to its limit, and which was surely pressing lower than it had even the evening before.
That mother and daughter should face each other that morning with equally distended abdomens arose from the shameful fact that both had been impregnated by the same rampant penis on the same night 39 weeks before.
Paige had persuaded her reluctant mother to allow her latest boyfriend Tristan to spend the night. It was late and April was only just home from a tiring day at the office.
“”Wouldn’t you rather we were here where you can keep an eye on us than spending the night out?” wheedled Paige cunningly.
“Well all right, young lady,” replied April distractedly, noting not for the first time how alluring her slender young daughter was becoming,
“But separate rooms OK. You can make up the spare room for Tristan.”
“Oh Mom!” pouted the teen. But she went to the linen cupboard anyway.
April had grave misgivings for Tristan was a stunning, brooding, dark-haired boy whose smouldering gaze left not even forty year old April unaffected. Furthermore he had a reputation for being a heartbreaker who had bedded every just about female in the school (including some teachers) and April had no doubt that Paige was heading for disillusion.
“Men!” she sighed to herself. “Who needs them!”
But the truth was that she was not altogether immune to Tristan’s attractions herself.
It was fifteen years since Paige’s father had left her for a younger woman and for most of that time she had not regretted putting aside the complications of a man in her life for the satisfying achievements of her career, but every now and then...
Shortly after dinner she told her daughter that she was heading for bed early, deciding that leaving the living room to the teens was better than encouraging them to go to Paige’s bedroom. “I know I can trust you alone with him, sweetheart,” she murmured, “Just remember: rewards and consequences, OK?”
In bed she read a report she had brought home from the office for a short time then put out the light, determined not to worry about what the youngsters were up to.
She awoke at an unknown hour in the night. She had been dreaming a disturbing libidinous fantasy of being taken, vigorously by a man whose face she could never quite see. She was aroused, her nipples urgent and without thinking her hand probed between her legs to soothe the throbbing itch there. Then she became aware of the probable cause of her disquiet.
From the bedroom next door came a rhythmic creak and squeak of the bed, getting subtly louder and quicker, and then audible gasps in rhythm with the movements that sounded like Paige. April’s mind was in a whirl. Was Paige ‘amusing’ herself, as April felt every inclination to do? Or had Tristan sneaked into her daughter’s bed against her express instruction?
The sounds continued. April got up and padded to Paige’s bedroom door. Again she paused. Quietly she opened the door. She gasped. The teens were on the bed. Paige’s moaning body was thrusting upwards, her legs wrapped around the midriff of her lover, whose big, hard curved, weapon was pistoning furiously in and out of her tight young slit.
The musky smell of sex was strong, Paige’s copious juices glistened on her ravisher’s organ as it scythed in and out, back and forward. Paige turned her head and saw her mother standing there. At the same instant
Tristan spotted her.
“Ohh fuck!” he bellowed. “OOooohhhh God, Yeeeessss!”
He drove hard and deep into Paige and stayed there. In the subdued light from the window April saw his balls tighten and pulse.
Suddenly Paige was shouting: “Shit. Shit. You came in me! Christ.
Get off me! You promised! Shit!”
“OOhh babe“ groaned Tristan pulling his rampant dick out of Paige with an audible squelch. “That was fucking good! And in front of your Mom too!” he added with a leer. “Hope you enjoyed the show Misses.”
“Mom!” cried Paige. “Were you watching! Oh god this is so fucked up!”
“You! Get out of that bed this instant!” spat April.
“OK,” said Tristan, climbing to his feet. “And do what? Maybe you want some of this for yourself? You know you’re not too bad looking for an older babe.”
“Were you watching?” repeated Paige, increasing hysteria in her voice. “Oh God you evil bitch. You distracted him and made him come in me!”
“That’s right,” snarled Tristan. “it’s her fault. I reckon she’s hot for it. She’s jealous you know?” He advanced menacingly towards her.
“Mom?” gasped Paige.
“Get away from me!” cried April, backing nervously to the wall, her heart pounding.
“Oh she wants it all right!” drawled Tristan, “Look at those nipples!”
And it was true. April was gasping for breath, her chest heaving beneath the her expensive silken nightgown thrusting rigid nipples starkly against the fabric in the shadowed light of the room. Her eyes seemed mesmerised by the long, partially stiff penis of the beautiful naked boy walking towards her.
“No, stay off me!” she pleaded, her voice cracking with panic.
“What do you reckon? Should I tame the bitch?” he tossed over his shoulder to the bed where Paige was still breathing hard from her own mating.
“Paige ...” April pleaded.
“Yeah. Give the sleazy bitch what she deserves,” wailed Paige hysterically.
“Nooooooo!” April moaned but Tristan backed her against the wall and ran exploring hands down her body. “Still pretty good I reckon,” he said, lifting the hem of her nightgown up to her hips and thrusting his hand into her thick curly thatch.
April moaned incoherently, but her body was beginning to betray her. Already somewhat aroused when she entered the room, the threat from the rampant, virile man, the sight of his organ, which was rising to full stiffness again as he fondled her charms, and even the sight of his thick cream running slowly out between her daughter’s still well spread legs was reaching subliminally to nipple and clitoris and vagina. She was about to be raped and her body, not mated now for many years, was primed and ready.
He took her standing there, pressed up against the wall, sliding easily in her wet, 40 year old maternal pussy. She didn’t climax but she couldn’t prevent the wanton thrusting of her hips as he arrogantly pleasured her in front of her astonished daughter.
For the second time he drove deep and hard. He was long and April could feel him somewhere up around her cervix. For the second time he unloaded three, four, five, six big spurts into a Danner family vagina. He pulled free, wiped himself on her nightgown, grabbed his clothes and was gone, leaving April collapsed on the floor in shame and humiliation.
She knew she was at her fertile time, as she knew her daughter really wasn’t, “But at least he has already dropped a big load,” she reassured herself, “Won’t have enough left to tag a tough 40 year old egg in one go.”
They didn’t speak of that night, mother and daughter. So far as
April knew Paige never saw Tristan again. “So at least some good came of it,” she told herself.
Both put the events determinedly out of their minds as their lives moved on. April gave no thought to the increasing irregularity of her periods, or maybe it was that they had gone for good? She gave no thought to it a month or two later when she and Paige were a little off colour. She gave no thought to the funny look Paige gave her when she commented that she was getting a little old for her ‘little black dress’, “it shows my tummy too much. At my age I’m not as firm as I used to be!” She gave no thought to the increasing tightness and discomfort of her brassieres or the extra inches she was putting on at her waistline.
Finally one day at work April noticed her secretary eyeing her appraisingly.
“What?”
“Do you mind ... I thought you might say something, but I’ve been dying to ask .... When are you due?”
April turned crimson with embarrassment, mumbled something incomprehensible and, at the first opportunity, raced to the bathroom. There she took off her jacket, sucked her tummy in to release her skirt where it strained on the last available button, lifted her new, larger-size designer blouse, and gazed in the mirror. She realised with horror that she was looking at a flowering four, or could it be ... no it must be: nearly five month belly!
Her head was in a whirl as she came home and immediately sought out her daughter.
“Paige, I’ve got some rather shocking news,” she blurted. “I’m pregnant!”
Her daughter’s face crumpled in tears. “Oh my god, I didn’t know how to tell you,” she sobbed. And tugged up the baggy sweatshirt she was wearing to show her horrified mother a still small, but nevertheless clearly defined pot in her once flat tummy.
“Oh Paige darling, how long ... I mean when ...”
“That night,” said the young girl in sepulchral tones. “It must have been.”
“Snap,” said April succinctly. “The bastard!”
“Oh mommy, I’m scared. I’m too young to have a baby,” wailed Paige, throwing herself into her mother’s arms.
“It’s too late now,” replied her mother grimly. “Rewards and consequences remember. We’re two thoroughly knocked up women and the babies are coming whether we like it or not. But I’ll always be here for you my sweetheart.”
April waddled anxiously to her daughter’s side. She rolled up the green top baring the young girl’s big, taut belly above a hip hugging skirt which April noted with concern remained undone at the very top button where Paige’s steeply swelling uterus pushed deeply down. Paige’s abdomen had remained thankfully compact even into her eighth month, but over the last weeks it had pressed aggressively out becoming huge and tight.
Paige was otherwise a slender child and the awful size of her distended uterus was therefore even more shocking to the eye in comparison.
April ran her hands over her daughter’s big, hard tummy. She could feel plainly the lusty limbs of her grandchild beneath the thinly stretched sheet of muscle covering it. The skin felt tense and hot to touch, as if Paige’s muscles were already working vigorously beneath the surface of her tummy.
“Oh Mommy!” Paige gulped, “I’m scared. What’s happening to me?”
April quickly revised the calculation. Based on their last periods,
Paige was due a little after her mother but, since they were impregnated in the same hour they should presumably both be due at April’s date, which was a week away at present.
“Don’t be frightened, sweetheart” she said. “It’s just your body getting ready for the birth, but you need to avoid stress so that you don’t bring labour on early.” Paige was in the process of completing her graduation exams. “I’ll phone and tell them that you can’t make the exam.
I’ll take the day off and we’ll go into town and see the doctor.” And she hugged Paige into an embrace. “Don’t worry, I’m here for you.”
The two women clung together awkwardly. As their tummies had ripened they had learned to twist so that their bellies were side to side as they leaned over them to comfort one another. In these final days of their gestation, their babes were so tightly packed into maternal wombs that it seemed they could sense each other through thin walls of muscle thus pressed together and they squirmed in mutual recognition. Each felt her anxiety melt away to be replaced by the deep contentment known only by a woman who feels her offspring moving eagerly within her.
“I’m here for you my sweetheart,” April murmured.
As April made phone calls, Paige continued to get breakfast. She so wanted to trust her mother that she determinedly ignored the painful, heavy cramp when it returned to her. She clung to the kitchen bench and took deep surreptitious breaths so that her mother would not hear her. “These pains are not that bad,” she told herself, “Not like labour is supposed to be.”
But during breakfast there was nowhere to hide when the renewed constriction in her tummy brought a sudden gasp.
“Paige?” exclaimed her mother, looking up sharply. And Paige could only nod miserably.
April sucked in a deep breath, levered herself out of her chair and lumbered carefully around the table to her stricken daughter. She bent quickly, and then immediately regretted it as her swollen tummy seemed to tighten and she felt sudden pressure low in her pelvis. She stroked her daughter’s lower abdomen. It felt hot and hard. She wished that she knew how to push her fingers up her daughter’s delicate vagina and test her cervix to tell whether she was going into labour.
“How does it feel, sweetheart?” she asked.
“It’s quite sore, mommy,” the young girl replied anxiously. “This is just those Braxton-Hicks thingeys, right?”
“Of course, darling,” her mother said reassuringly, “But we’ll get to the doctor just as soon as possible anyway.”
April clambered awkwardly back upstairs to the office. She needed to check her e-mail as she wasn’t going to work that day. Meanwhile Paige was in the kitchen washing up.
She had just grabbed a handful of dishes to dry when she felt the telltale cramping of her abdomen. “Here it comes again,” she thought. She sucked air as the cramp built and built. And then she felt the sharp stitch in her side. “Oooooffff!” she moaned in dismay, clutching her right hand to the side of her belly. And then she felt the big, red hot band of pain searing right across her poor swollen tummy. She dropped the plates with an almighty crash and hunched over, clinging to the bench top with one hand while she clutched at her convulsing belly with the other.
“Ohmigod! ... OOOhmigoood! ...” she wailed, “MOMMY!! ... MOMMEEEE!!”
April heard her daughter’s screaming from the kitchen. Her heart pounding, she threw herself to her feet and stumbled clumsily from the room.
“I’m coming ... I’m coming!” she shouted, her breath already coming in harsh pants as she waddled urgently down the stairs, each jarring step bouncing her heavy fetus painfully against her pelvis.
“Help me! ... Help me!” sobbed the hysterical teen and threw herself into her mother’s arms, their massive bellies colliding with a heavy smack.
“It’s all right, baby, it’s going to be all right,” April crooned distractedly, conscious of the furious thumping of her overwrought heart and the pain of the collision rolling over her own belly.
“Hhooooo! ... Hhooooo! ...” Paige panted, the tension draining from her. “Feeling better ....Hhooooo! ... Hhooooo! ...”
“Just sit here for a moment while I clean this up, and then we’re definitely off to the doctor.”
April bent painfully to clear up the shards of crockery. Her tummy was still tender and in this position she felt so much pressure. So much pressure that she suddenly needed to straighten quite badly.
“I can get the rest later,” she puffed. “Now, purse and car keys. Purse and ... Ooohhh! ...”
She suddenly stiffened and clutched her back.
Paige, who was feeling weakened but more comfortable again, watched uncomprehendingly as her mother’s face tightened in alarm, the older woman’s eyes focussed on her enormous belly where it strained against the blue fabric of her expensive maternity dress. Her hands pressed hard into her back and her tummy pushed forward, hard and round. Then she gasped harshly and her face screwed up with pain.
“OOOhhhhhh!! ...” she moaned, “... HHnnngggghgh ...”
“Mommy, what’s wrong!”
“A moment ... OOOhhhhhh!! ... HHaaaahhhhh!! ... Just a moment!...” April fumbled behind her for support from the kitchen bench and rubbed her other hand in soothing circular motions over her cramping belly.
“Oh mommy, you can’t be! ... Please don’t say ..”
“Oh Paige ... darling ... Got to get to the toilet ... leaking,” April gasped.
“Mommy, let me help,” Paige cried, climbing to her feet and grasping her mother’s shoulder for support. She was shocked to feel how tense and shaking her mother was.
Together they stumbled into the downstairs bathroom, April, for her daughter’s sake, trying not to moan at the sharp pain still gripping her belly.
She could feel liquid running out of her, drenching her panties and beginning to trickle down her thighs.
She bent to lift her dress as they reached the toilet and cried out as the pain intensified.
“Paige! Ring for an ambulance quickly!” she gasped.
Paige waddled quickly to the hall phone and returned to the bathroom to see her mother seated on the toilet, back arched and belly, the blue dress rolled high, stretched far out between her widespread thighs. Her mother’s face was screwed up, her mouth wide open and she moaned urgently, her hands clawing at the taut bulk of her abdomen.
Suddenly a great gush of fluid spewed out from the profuse thatch at the base of her belly and cascaded into the toilet.
“Ohmigod! Mommeeeee!! ... Your waters ... You broke your waters! ... Ohmigod! ... Ohmigod!” babbled the panicking teen and she stumbled against the wall and sent the phone flying in a graceful arc, down between her mother’s open thighs and into the toilet bowl with a great splash.
The discharge of her waters had eased the pressure in April's womb and she was now recovering from her sustained contraction. She gazed silently up at Paige. Both knew what this meant: their house, in its little development beyond the outskirts of town, was out of mobile phone range and so they had just lost their only means of communication with the outside world.
April reached awkwardly down between her legs and fished the phone out of her pungent birth fluids. She flicked a few buttons. Nope.
“Oh mommy,” gasped Paige, “ ... Mommeeeee!! ...”
A sense of panic came into her voice and she bent over clutching at her tummy. “... Ooohhh God! ... OOoohhh! ... OOoohhh! ...” and before her mother’s anxious gaze her legs buckled and she crumpled to her knees.
“Help meeee!! ... “ she wailed.
“Breathe, breathe,” April urged, “Like I taught you: Hooooo! ...Hooooo! ... Hooooo! ...”
“HHoooooofff! ... HHoooooofff! ... Oh God it hurts! ...HHoooooofff! ... HHoooooofff! ... HHoooooofff! ...” panted the stricken teen.
April struggled to her feet and went to comfort her daughter. It was becoming clear that they needed urgently to get to some help.
While Paige recovered, April clambered painfully up the stairs once again to throw some things in a bag for the two of them. She was very conscious of her unborn child low in her pelvis, its head pushing into the ring of bone which had been widened by Paige’s passing through it all those years before.
As she threw clothes into a bag and changed into something more suited to delivering a child than the tight blue dress, she heard Paige seized with another contraction:
“HHoooooofff! ... HHoooooofff! ... Haaaaaaahhhhh! ...” Paige’s moans echoed through the house. And then: “ ... Hhnnnnnghggh!! ...”
“Paige,” she called in alarm, “You’re not pushing, sweetheart? You mustn’t push yet!”
“HHoooooofff! ... Haaaaaaaaahhhhh!! ... Trying ... Hurts so much ... OOhhhh! ... Hhnnnnnghggh!! ...”
“Don’t push sweety, breath! Breathe!” cried her worried mother, grunting softly with pain as she waddled as quickly as possible back down the stairs. The bag, with the merest necessities in it, was like a lead weight in her arms as she held it across the top of her tautly swollen abdomen. Her daughter was seated on a kitchen chair, leaning forward, her legs well spread, her face flushed with effort.
“Hhhhaaahhhhh! ... Hhhhaaahhhhh! ...” she panted obediently, the worst of her contraction apparently past.
“Oh Paige, darling. Don’t worry, we’ll get you to doctor just as soon as possible,” said April
Paige looked up, her tear streaked face catching at April’s heartstrings.
“Oh mommy,” she pleaded, running her hands protectively over her huge, low hanging belly, its hard, stretched underside now exposed below the tight green top. “It hurts so badly. Does it get worse than this? I need something for the pain.”
“You just can’t think about the pain,” said April gently. “Not until we get to the doctor. Then he will give you something to take it away.”
Paige bit her lip in consternation, then seemed to notice what her mother was wearing for the first time.
April had removed her tightly constraining dress and brassiere and now wore a long loose skirt fastened under her jutting uterus and a white t-shirt which, although the baggiest she owned, nonetheless, in her present state, clung tightly to her gravid body. For the first time Paige could see just how full and weighty her mother’s breasts had become, slumping heavily onto the shelf of her outstretched womb, their thick, stiff, slightly down pointing nipples poking out almost an inch long and half that across against the thinly stretched fabric, through which their deep chocolate colour and that of April’s broad areolae could be clearly distinguished from the surrounding flesh.
Paige’s own top was now sweat-dampened from her exertions and clung revealingly to her tense, plump but still high breasts and their long erect nipples but, oblivious of her appearance she gasped: “Mother! You can’t go out looking like that!”
“Darling,” April replied reprovingly, “We are about to spread our legs wide open and stretch our vaginas to the limit in front of assorted doctors and nurses. There’s no point in worrying about our appearance where we’re going!”
“Oh Mommy ..” wailed the teen, but no answer came from her mother.
April stretched her back and walked gingerly to the table. She sucked in a deep breath, determined not to further frighten her distraught daughter, but there was, deep within her, an urgency which could not be denied. She placed both hands flat on the table. She felt her great, swollen belly flex ferociously and then her abdomen exploded in a sheet of flame.
Sweat sprang up on her forehead and her mouth twisted and worked in silent agony.
“Hhhaaaaarrggghhh!! ... Hhhaaaaarrggghhh!! ...” she panted hoarsely.
The downward pressure on her bones was immense and she shifted her feet reflexively, in desperate, instinctive need to work her child’s into the best position to pass through her.
“Hhhaaaaarrggghhh!! ...Hhhaaaaarrggghhh!! ...”
If Paige’s contractions were coming faster and more often, her mother’s were longer and she could do nothing but endure, aware of her daughter’s growing terror.
“Hhhaaaaarrggghhh!! ... Hhoohhhhhhh!! ... Hhoohhhh!! ...
Hhhfffff! ...” she panted, allowing her body to slump, drained as her uterus relented.
“Oh mommy,” whispered Paige. “What are we to do?”
“Drive,” April replied implacably.
The two women waddled painfully to the vehicle waiting in the drive, barely noticing the first drop of rain beginning to fall. They clung to each other for support, their wombs clasped firmly together so that their babies sat, elbow to elbow, side by side, heads burrowed in their mother’s pelvises, separated only by two rippling, tightening uterine walls. Paige was whimpering with pain as April helped to ease her into the passenger seat and swing her slender legs into the foot well. Gathering up her skirts and grimacing at the intense discomfort the older woman then squeezed her own enormous belly into the driver’s seat, set as far back as possible.
Fighting to ignore the gathering pressure in her bottom April reversed the car jerkily down the drive and bounced over the curb onto the road.
“Mommeeeeee! ...” screamed Paige in agony. Her hands tugged up the green top and clutched at her tight, protruding tummy.
“AAAaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiieeeeee!! ...” she howled, her sweet young face contorted in agony. “HHhhhooooo ... HHhhhooooo ... AAAaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiieeeeee!! ...” and from between her straining thighs burst a fierce stream of fluid raining down into a swiftly growing puddle at her feet.
“Ohhh Mommeeee! ... Ohh God it hurts!!” she sobbed, “I can’t do it... I just can’t ... it’s not fair!”
“You can do it Paige Danner,” replied her mother fiercely, struggling to keep the vehicle on the road as the awful cramping sensation built up around her own pelvis. “You have to do it. There are rewards and there are consequences, remember!”
“It’s all your fault!” Paige bawled hysterically, “He never would have come in me if you hadn’t been watching. What kind of deviant mom watches her daughter getting screwed?”
“I wasn’t watching!” shouted April hotly, “And who spread her slutty legs in the first place!”
“Hoooo! ... Hoooo! ...” Paige was sobbing and gasping with pain at the same time.
“... And who urged him on to rape me!” April was starting to lose it,
“... Your own mother! ... I’m too old for this! ... AAAaaarrrrrrgggghhh!!!...”
April’s eyes closed over and she just had the presence of mind to bring them to a halt in the middle of the road as a white hot band of pain gripped the great ball of her belly. She rucked up her skirt, baring an even bigger belly than her daughter’s in the seat alongside, and hunched over the steering wheel, legs spread.
Paige realised with a shock that her mother was wearing no panties.
Between her parted thighs meaty maternal labia poked out, inflamed and swollen, from her wide, thick bush.
“Hhhaaaaarrggghhh!! ... Hhhaaaaarrggghhh!! ...” April ground out, willing herself not to push against the desperate urgency gripping her pelvic floor. “HHHNNgggggggghhhh!! ... Ooohhhhhh ... Hhhaaaaarrggghhh!! ... Hhhaaaaarrggghhh!! ... HhhnnggggggGGHHhh!! ...” she groaned as the battle was lost and, gripping the steering wheel for leverage, she relieved her pressure in the only way possible, by pushing: tightening up her abdominal muscles and thrusting her baby down until her 40 year old pelvis creaked and gave, sending pain stabbing through her.
Her face was screwed up and purple with effort and her chin pressed down onto her chest. Sweat was running in rivers down her neck and soaking into her t-shirt. And still the intense contraction gripped her.
“Hhhaaaaarrggghhh!! ... Hooooooofff! ... Hooooooofff! ... Hhhaaaaarrggghhh!! ...” she roared, squirming uncomfortably, her body instinctively trying to free the bulky fetal head lodged in her bony gap.
“Ooooohhh Paige!! ... Hooooooofff! ... Hooooooofff! ... Oooohh darling I’m sorry! ... Hooooooofff! ... Hooooooofff! ... We’ll get through this sweetheart!”
Paige was crying softly, her labouring in remission for the moment.
Her mother was so strong and brave and she needed her so much. “I know we will, Mommy,” she whispered. “I love you.”
The rain was coming down more strongly now. As soon as April had recovered from her latest ordeal she fumbled a shaking foot onto the accelerator pedal and set them in motion once again. There was no traffic at this time of day up here but if they could only get down to the main road there might be people and aid. She no longer had confidence that she could drive them all the way to the doctor.
Paige was beginning to breath harder again. “Ohh Mommy,” she moaned, “I can feel it again! Oh God, Mommy ... Please ... Help Meeee!! ...HHooooo!! ... HHooooo!! ... AAaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!! ... HHNnnnnnngggghhh!! ...” and her young legs jacknifed up and out, colliding with the door and the steering wheel as she clutched her convulsing tummy in both hands.
April could tell that her daughter was in hard, pushing labour now, her face distressed and scarlet as she fought to bring her baby to birth. She wished that she knew whether Paige’s cervix was fully dilated but she could tell from the desperate working of Paige’s thighs that her poor daughter was being gripped by forces beyond her control.
“HHooooo!! ... HHooooo!! ... HHooooo!! ... HHNnnnnnngggghhh!!...”
April brought them to a halt once more. Paige was sagging back, gasping raggedly. “Ohhhh God, Mommy ... Hhhoooo ... Hhhoooo ... I can’t take any more ... Hhhoooo ... It’s too big, I can’t make it come!!”
“Here, sweetest,” she said, reaching over to the back seat and retrieving a blanket. “Turn this way and put this behind you.”
She pushed the passenger seat back into a reclined position and helped her daughter, wincing with pain, to twist in the seat so that she faced April with her back against the door. In this position there was more room for Paige to spread her legs. “Lets get these off you,” she said, easing
Paige’s sopping panties down her slim thighs. The skimpy, girlish panties seemed such a forlorn scrap of material in her hands, drenched as they were with her daughter’s birthing fluids and symbolising her rushed transition to adulthood. Her heart ached to see the sweet teenage vulva revealed by their removal, the short, sparse, silken hair framing Paige’s small, tightly furled slit, and to know that by the end of the day that organ would resemble her own stretched and large lipped entrance.
“Hhaahh! ... Hhaahh! ...”” Paige’s pains were already coming again. “HHhhnnnnggghh!!” she moaned and April could see her daughter’s tense abdomen tighten and bulge out, its sides sucked in by the strength of Paige’s desperate pushing.
“OOooowwwwoohh!! ...” she wailed, “Mommeee!! It HURTS!! ...”
Breathe, sweetie,” urged her mother, “HHoooohh! ... HHoooohh!...”
“HHaaaahh!! ... HHaaaahh!! ...” gasped the distressed teen,
“HHhhnnnnggghh!! ... HHaaaahh!! ... HHaaaahh!! ...”
“Keep breathing darling, I’ve got to get us to the doctor,” And April set them once again in cautious motion.
The rain was falling steadily now and the windows were fogging up from the intense panting of the two labouring women. April peered blearily forward and tried to ignore the pain gripping her pelvis.
“Oooohhh Mommeeee!! I need help ... NOW!!” screamed her daughter beside her. I can’t make it come! ... Mommeee!!”
“Oh God, Paige, No! ... Not now!! ... Noooooo!!” moaned hermother as the car veered alarmingly on the road. April tried so hard to keep their speed up but her legs were pushing apart under the unbearable pressure of her descending babe and her belly knotted up under an immense, gut wrenching contraction.
“AAAaaaarrrggghhhh!!! ...” her agonised scream echoed deafeningly in the narrow space as she wrapped her arms around the steering wheel and violently tugged it towards her, half lifting herself out ofher seat her knees straining wide, pushing and pushing at the huge bulk of her fetus. Her pelvic bones gave with a loud crack and suddenly she had the full width of her baby’s head in her bony gap. Somehow in all of this she managed to keep them, albeit slowing, on the road.
“Mommmeeee??!! ...” shrieked her hysterical daughter.
“God ... Whhhhooooo!! ... Whhhhooooo!! ...” panted her mother,
“I’m sorry my darling ...Whhhhooooo!! ... Whhhhooooo!! ... Can’t do it anymore ... Whhhhooooo!! ... Whhhhooooo!! ... My baby’s coming ... Got to push! ... HHHnnnnnnnngggghghhh!!”
After that last heavy push she was close now, very close, and so she brought the vehicle shakily to the side of the road under the overhanging trees and switched the motor off.
Grunting frantically with effort she put her own seat back andtwisted and squirmed until she faced her daughter belly to belly, their widespread legs almost touching.
“Breathe, darling ... Whhhhooooo!! ... Whhhhooooo!! ... like me!” she gasped.
Paige gazed in wonder at her sight of her mother’s fattened thighs spread wide and high, stretching the generous, full-lipped vulva. Her great, round belly was heaving and rippling with muscular effort and, above, her thick brown nipples stood long and hard, clearly visible now through the t-shirt made transparent by big round patches of moisture that Paige recognised with shock must be milk seeping from her mother’s heavy, swollen breasts.
Before her daughter’s shocked gaze, April’s lips stretched open, her gash assuming a tight teardrop shape. In the gap Paige could see gooey hair.
“Ohmigod ... OOhmigod ...” gasped the teen. “Whhhhooooo!! ...
Whhhhooooo!! ... Mommy! I can see the head!” Then she banged her head back with a painful thump on the door as her own agony spiked:“AAAoooooowwwww!! ... Whhhhooooo!! ... Whhhhooooo!! ...AAAiiiieeeeeee!!!”
April knew that her daughter was at her wits end with pain and panic and desperately needed her mother’s comfort and support but her own crisis was now fully upon her. Grasping each leg just behind the knee, she stretched herself as wide as possible, lowered her chin to her heaving chest and bore down with all her might.
“HHHHhhhhnnnnnnggggghhhh!!! ...” she howled.
Her baby moved. Scraping pitilessly against her pelvic girdle the big bony head eased lower.
Her cries and those of her distressed daughter bounced crazily about the walls of the vehicle as she bent again to her urgent task.
“HHHHhhhhnnnnnnggggghhhh!!! ...” She felt the awful stinging of her baby’s head stretching her labia to the limit, as Paige’s had done so many years before. Gasping she slumped back, feeling the baby slide back into her, propelled by the tension in her violated pussy ring.
Paige was in shock at the awful sight of her mother’s intimate gash bulging uncontrollably outwards and stretching into a tortured, yawning O.
And even more so at the impossible size of the cruel, curved boulder forcing its way out which her mother’s painfully stretched sex had no more than begun to accommodate. Her heart pounded with fear and her belly immediately contracted with more ferocity than ever before.
“HHaaaaaiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeee!!! ...” she bawled, “Whhhhooooo!! ...
Whhhhooooo!! ... Mommeeee!! ... Whhhhooooo!! ... Whhhhooooo!! ... I don’t want to die!! ...”
April knew a mother’s desperation to tend her terrified child and knew she must birth her own baby as quickly as possible. She knew that her ageing tissues needed time to adjust to the passing of a fully grown baby from her vagina but, in the face of her daughter’s need, she gritted her teeth and bore furiously down, ramming the great bowl of her baby’s cranium against the throbbing ring of her labia. She felt her vulva snap hard as a bowstring around the bony skull and fiery stinging pain shot through her. Yet this time she did not relax but, gritting her teeth, she kept shoving against the obstruction, shoving and shoving until something seemed to tear and the baby’s head popped out of her.
In the midst of her hard, cramping agony, Paige looked on in horror as her mother stretched and stretched, her once full, fleshy lips going paper thin and white as all the blood was squeezed from them. And then, just when it seemed that there could not possibly be room for the baby to emerge, the head slid forcefully out and lodged there, protruding from her mother’s bruised and bleeding vulva.
Her mother gasped convulsively, forcing air back into her lungs then, with heart-rending cries of pain, she leant forward, grasping her baby’s head, and began twisting and tugging at it.
“Oh God ... Here I go ... Another one!” she cried as a contraction rolled over her and she managed to dislodge a shoulder, sending the baby squirting out of her in a gush of fluid, tumbling across into the passenger seat to land between Paige’s astonished legs.
Paige looked tremulously into her mother’s sweat-streaked and haggard face.
“Whhhhooooo!! ... Whhhhooooo!! ... Mommy, you did it! ...” she managed to gasp.
“Oh Paige, darling,” her mother gulped, suppressing sobs of joy and relief as she leant across and lifted up her new-born child. It was a boy.
April flipped her t-shirt up and cradled her son to her belly. Her full, heavy breasts dangled low, pushing a dark teat, like a fat, ripe fruit, into the new-born’s face. From instinct the tiny wrinkled form opened his mouth and engulfed the long, thick nipple which was already dripping with pearls of life-giving milk.
April’s first born child was no longer noticing however, she was pushing and pushing, painfully and despairingly.
Still puffing with effort, April carefully put her baby aside into the back seat, still attached to the cord which twisted and spiralled from her gaping vagina and turned her attention to the frightened, labouring teen.
“OOOoohhhhh Mommeeeee!! It Huuuurrts!...” Paige howled,
“Oowwww! ... OOOoooooowww!!! ...”
“Paige sweetie, you’re doing great!” her mother reassured her.
“OOhhhhhh God!! ... Not moving! ... Can’t do it! ... Hooohhhh!! ...
Hooohhh!!” the girl gasped, her red and sweat streaked face taut with fear.
“Yes you can! You can do it, darling!” April urged, “When the next pain comes on I want you to push as hard as you can!”
“That’s what I’ve been doing Mommeeeeee!!” Paige blubbed.
“Oohh Migod ... Oohh Migod ... here comes another one! ...”
April leant forward and grabbed her daughter’s slender, girlish legs and forced them out and wide into the splits. “Puuuush!! ... Puuuush!! ...” she shouted at her daughter.
“HHhhnnnnggghh!! ...” Paige moaned, her face screwing up and going purple with effort. “... OOooohhh God ... HHhhnnnnggghh!! ... “
“Breathe sweetie ...” April urged, “Deep breath ... then Puuuush!!...”
Excruciating pain burned through Paige’s body. She howled and squirmed, twisting her hips and flailing her legs, one banging on the dashboard, the other the other stubbing her toes on the roof.
“Mommeee!! It moved! ...” she wailed. “Ooohhh ...HHHHhhnnnnnggggghhhh!!! ...”
“Ohh Sweetie, its coming!!” April cried, and it was true, her daughter’s sweet little vulva had parted slightly, and between the soft lips was the white glistening shape of her baby’s head, covered in birthing goo.
“Breathe hard baby,” she instructed, “Deep breaths like you learnt.
You’ve got to give a big push with the next one.”
The rain drummed on the roof. The windows of the vehicle were heavy with fog. Puddles of birth fluid sloshed in the foot wells. Paige’s cries rang out, loud and harsh in the confined space. Her vulva became a tight bulging ring, about two inches in diameter April guessed, but that was not good enough, four would be required before the baby was out.
Paige collapsed again, panting desperately: “Whhhooooo ... Whhhooooo ... Not big enough! ... can’t do it! ...” she cried “... Ooohhhh! God! What can I do? ... Whhhooooo ... Whhhooooo ...”
“This is great!” her mother assured her, “Take it steadily, your body needs time to stretch and adjust. Now breathe!”
“OOoooowww ... HHHHhhnnnnnggggghhhh!!! ...” and again the young girl pushed with all her might.
April was astonished at the flexibility of young flesh. The head, which had slipped back, immediately thrust forward, straining her daughter’s modest opening to the full, but this time the flesh continued to stretch, to stretch impossibly to about three inches wide and curve outward around the huge battering ram punching through her maidenly tunnel.
Paige’s eyes bulged wide with agony.
“AAAaaaeeeeeiiiiiii!!!...” she screeched. “It HUUUUUURTS ...!!!”
“STOP PUSHING! ... STOP PUSHING! ...” her mother screamed
“Let it adjust!”
“Oohhhhh God, my pussy!! ...” Paige wailed. “Got to get it out! ...
Hurts too much! ... Got to push!! ...”
April clapped her hand to her daughter’s delicate vulva, as she had seen the midwives do in the birth videos they had watched together, holding the baby in so that her daughter’s labia would have time to stretch the remaining inch that was needed without tearing.
“Oomigod what’s happening? ... Its going back in!! ...” sobbed the distraught teen. The head of her babe had retreated a little under the strong elasticity of her overstretched flesh and her mother’s firm hand but her gap was still distended by its wide, bony curve.
“One more, sweeting ...” April crooned, “One more good push and the baby will be here!”
“You stopped it coming! ...” wailed her traumatised daughter. “You evil bitch you pushed it back in!! ...”
“Oh Paige, I had to darling ...” April gulped, her heart torn by her daughter’s terrible ordeal.
“Mommmeeeee ...” Paige whimpered, “It’s coming again! ... I’ve got to push!! ... OOOOOOHH!!! NOOO!! My pusseeeEEEEE!!!! ...”
April winced as her young daughter threw her head forward, clutched her knees and bore down with her woman’s birthing instinct. Her vulva stretched slowly wider and wider, gradually folding out until it resembled a long, paper-thin tube of tight membrane drawn around the blessedly slimy bones of her baby’s skull.
“AAAAAaaaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiii!!! ...” Paige gave a long drawn out howl of agony as the massive, sliding head squeezed out of the vice-like grip of her sheath, stabbing her with pain as every bump and notch of her babe’s face and head gouged at her cruelly overstretched sex. Then:
“UUuuuurrrrhghhhhhh ...” as the head popped out in a cascade of fluid and an audible snap of her young, elastic vulva.
“Oh God. You’ve done it Paige! You’ve done it!! ...” her mother babbled with joy and relief. Her elder child lay back panting with the shock and effort. The baby’s adorable little face was staring upwards in surprise from between Paige’s teenaged thighs.
Suddenly April felt something tighten and cramp within her.
“NNnnnggghh! ..” she groaned with the pain. “OOoooohhhh! ...” and she leaned back grabbing at her loose and swollen tummy.
“Ohmigod Mommeee! ... What’s wrong!! ...” cried Paige anxiously, as her mother’s puffy, battered vulva began to ooze dark red clots of blood.
“OOoofffffff ...” April panted, squirming uncomfortably with her renewed contractions. “It’s the afterbirth, darling ... Oooohhhh! ... Hhhnngggghh!! ... Got to push! ...”
“Mommeeeeee!! ...” Paige wailed, “Help meeee!! ... It’s coming again! ... OOOooohhh!! ... HHHHhhnnnnnggggghhhh!!! ...” and both women were now straining their legs apart, thrusting their hips urgently forward towards each other.
“OOooooooowwwww!! ... “ Paige shrieked, “Oh God! ... HHHHhhnnnggghhhh!!! ... It’s not moving!! MommEEEEEEEE!! ... I need you! HELP MEEEEEE!! ...”
“Can’t right now, sweetie,” April gasped, reaching between her bloody thighs for the cord protruding from her gaping sex. Her womb was contracting sharply now and she could feel a squishy mass moving down her channel.
“Ooohhh Mommeeee!! Mommeeee!! ...” Paige was crying, her limbs flailing in panic as she found herself stuck with her baby’s head poking out of her tender vagina. Then “... OOOOoooooo!! ...” Her eyes bulged in shock as her mother’s entrance stretched out again and a heavy, round, veiny mass pushed out.
“Aaaahhh! ... Aaaaahhh!! ...” April gasped, stretching herself wide and tugging on the cord to draw her afterbirth clear.
“AAAHOOOOOOO!! ...” echoed Paige in astonishment, for the panic stricken twisting of her pelvis had released the shoulder of her baby and it now shot like a projectile out of her tight young vagina, splatting meatily into its half-siblings placenta which, at the same instant, plopped wetly from her mother’s rather looser sex.
At this unkind collision the new-born set up a lusty wail.
April put aside the red spongy mass which had nurtured her precious infant son, picked up her new grandchild, a girl, and handed her to Paige who was still puffing and blowing from the shock of delivery. She helped Paige lift her top and bare her swollen, jutting breasts, streaked beneath with the red stripy marks of motherhood. Two thick, crimson nipple stalks stood high on her chest, quiveringly erect, and April showed Paige how to bring the baby’s mouth to one of them. Paige gave a little mew of pleasure as the baby instinctively turned and gulped the plump teat into her tiny mouth.
Reaching to the back seat, April was at last able to return her new son to her own much lower dangling breast, which was already dribbling milk from the arousing sight of her nursing daughter.
Paige cradled her baby above an abdomen which, resilient with youth, was already much flattened, even though she had yet to expel her afterbirth, while April rested her suckling son on her ageing belly, still round and swollen although softened now with the emptying of her womb.
She wondered whether, at her age, she would ever again recover a proper flatness to her tummy.
For a time the two women sat, feeding their babes, nipples stiffened with pleasure by the softly sucking mouths, vaginas throbbing and sore from the cruel punishment they had endured.
“Mommy,” Paige puzzled at length. “Was this the consequence or the reward?”
“Both, I think, my darling,” was the reply.

Remembered about this one:

The Laboring Midwife
by Blurred-Vision099


Summary: A woman named Willow is being assisted in a home birth by her best friend, Fran. However, Fran begins showing signs she may be beginning labor herself...even though she's not pregnant. Or...is she? Before she knows it, Willow will have to go from patient to midwife. Can a laboring woman be able to help her friend while giving birth herself?

_____________________________________________________________

"Just breathe, it'll be alright." I heard her say. I felt her hand gently pat my shoulder.
I hadn't been in labor for very long. Fran and I had been friends for years, and had planned in college to have our children around the same time. Well, it looked like our plans were going to be cut a little short. I'd gotten pregnant unexpectedly on a one-night stand nine months ago, and now Fran was helping me with my at-home birth. We lived separately, but were just like sisters. The father of my baby had never come back after we slept together, and Fran had promised to be like an aunt to it. It made me feel so much better that I wouldn't be raising it alone.
Fran was at my bedside, helping me breath through contractions and letting me squeeze her hand when the pain got too bad. I was still hours away from being done with birthing my daughter, so I was just laying there listening to my best friend's soothing voice. I'd been squeezing my hand for quite some time...so imagine my surprise when I suddenly felt Fran squeeze mine.
"Fran?" I asked. "Are you alright?"
"Of course, Willow." My brunette friend smiled at me. I knew her smile, and I could tell she was hiding something behind it.
Several hours passed, and I noticed Fran fidgeting more and more often. I didn't pay that much attention to it, I was too involved in my own world of pain. My contractions were coming closer and closer together, and I was starting to feel the stabbing pains of my cervix starting to open.
Fran, despite her slightly off behavior, was as attentive to me as ever. She made frequent trips to the bathroom to re-wet the washcloth she kept pressed to my forehead. She lifted up my shirt and rubbed scented oils over my belly when she sat at my feet to check my dilation. After about two hours of relaxation, Fran finally declared I was fully dilated.
I sighed with relief, knowing that progress had been made. Suddenly, Fran moaned and put a hand over her stomach.
"Are you sure you're alright?" I asked her. "You look really uncomfortable."
"My stomach's been upset all day long." Fran shrugged. "It's getting really bad, though."
"Do you have to go to the bathroom?" I asked.
"Feels like I have to pee, actually." She answered. "But I can't leave you!"
"Go ahead." I smiled. "I'll be..." I grimaced with a contraction. "...fine."
"No, you..." Fran grimaced even harder than I did and crossed her legs. "Well...okay."
She got up and quickly walked to the door. "Be right back."
She vanished into my bathroom. She was in there for a while. I had several more contractions in her absence. I began to get worried as I felt the baby begin to slide through my cervix. The pain was beginning to intensify, and I was easily breaking out into a sweat. I moaned after a particularly long and hard contraction, gripping the sides of my bed with my fingernails.
"Fran?" I cried out, sweat dripping down my contorted face. "You almost done?"
Fran opened the door and came out wiping her hands on her shirt. I noticed she was wearing a different pair of jeans.
My contraction ended, and I relaxed again. "What happened?" I asked her. "What took you?"
"I..." Fran looked embarrassed. "Had a big accident. Didn't make it to the toilet in time. I hope you don't mind that I borrowed a pair of your jeans from the laundry basket?"
"It's fine." I waved it off quickly, throwing my head back and groaning as another contraction hit. I felt my daughter's head slide further into my birth canal. "She's on her way." I panted, rubbing my bare belly.
"Yes, she is." Fran patted my cheek with her soft hand. "You'll make a great mother, Willow." She looked a bit sad. "I just wish I could've gotten pregnant, too. I was hoping our kids would be the same age. Just like we planned in school!"
"Well..." I sighed, letting Fran dap my brow with the washcloth. "That's life."
Fran smiled and sat at the end of the bed, spreading my legs to inspect me. I felt her fingers go inside. "Alright, Willow." She said. "I feel the head. Next contraction you feel, just....AAAHH!"
Fran grabbed her midsection and doubled over on my bed, screaming bloody murder.
"Fran?!" I cried, panicking for my friend. "Fran! What is it?"
"I don't know!" Fran rolled over on her back, her hands pressed into her toned stomach. "It feels...it feels like everything's moving down!"
"Fran, that sounds like internal bleeding or something!" I said, sitting up to look at her as she rolled off my bed and lay on the floor of my bedroom.
"AAAHH!" Fran screamed again as she touched between her pant legs and saw the blood left on her fingers. "No, no, no! It is bleeding! Oh, God it hurts!"
"Call 911!" I said, pinned to the bed as another contraction racked me.
"I can't...move!" Fran was in a heap on the floor, bleeding from the bottom and clutching her middle.
The two of us screamed for help, but it was soon clear that the neighbors were too far away to hear us from across the street. My dear, sweet Fran. Even in her state, whenever she heard me scream in pain, she'd mutter kind words to me.
I spread my legs, feeling my baby's head bulge out my vaginal lips. A tiny skull pressed painfully against my pelvis.
"That's it, sweetie." Fran said softly from the floor, still in her heap. "Push now."
I bore down, pressing my chin to my chest.
"That's it!" Fran grinned. "Good girl. Push, push, push!"
I realized both of us were stuck in this horrid situation. I was stuck as I was until I gave birth, while my friend lay dying at my bedside. Tears flowed down my cheeks and I began sobbing as I forced my child further downward. "I'm sorry, Fran!" I sobbed as I pushed my child to full crown. "I'm so sorry!"
Fran didn't respond. She simply screamed. That's all she'd been doing when not talking to me. Suddenly, that's all she was doing. Screaming at the top of her voice. I looked down at her, and I suddenly let out a scream, too. A large, bloody bulge stained the jeans in the space between Fran's legs.
"Oh my god!" I cried. Honestly, at that moment I was convinced that my friends internal organs were falling out. I almost fainted.
Fran apparently thought the same thing. "I feel something coming out!" She screamed, tears also falling down her face. "My insides are coming out! I'm dying! Oh, god! I'm dying!" She rolled onto her back, still gripping her stomach.
With Fran going off the deep end, I was left on my own to push my child out. I strained and grunted, listening to Fran's panicked screams all the while without rest. Then, in a flood of fluid, I felt the head come out onto the towels beneath me. As I laid back and sighed at the orgasmic release of pressure, I heard Fran cry out: "It's a head!"
"Yes, the head's finally out." I breathed.
"No! It's a HEAD!"
I looked down. To my absolute horror, I saw that Fran had somehow removed the bloody jeans. There, peeking out at full crown between her legs, was a baby's head! My mind went wild. Fran didn't look pregnant at all! She was thin as a rake! How...how was this possible?! Was the baby alive?
I suddenly realized that my best friend needed me a lot more than I needed her. Carefully moving my sore body, I stood at a squat, carefully cradling my baby's head in my hands. I took the damp towel I'd been laying on and covered my hands with it. Squatting in front of Fran on the floor, my baby's head hanging between my legs, I cupped the emerging head in my hands with the towel.
"Fran," I said, trying to steady my breathing as I resisted the strong urge to push that gravity was creating. "Your baby's about to come. I need you to push."
"No, Willow! I'm supposed to be helping you! AAAHH!" A fresh leakage of blood came from around the baby's head as her body tried to expel its secret occupant.
"Now!" I cried. The pressure in my pelvis was unbearable, hopefully seeing someone else push would take my mind off it.
Fran obeyed, straining her thin frame and spreading her legs to make more room. I watched closely as the head slid out more, revealing the baby's eyebrows.
"It's coming fast, Fran." I smiled weakly. "Keep going."
Fran screamed loud enough to hurt my ears as she pushed. I found myself repeating the same words of encouragement she'd used on my just hours earlier: "That's it, good girl! Push, push, push! Harder now!"
Fran was a trooper. With that long first push, she delivered half the head. I gulped as I felt my baby turn, ready to drop at any second. "Oh, god almighty!" I cried out. I deepened my squat and pushed, unable to take it any longer.
"Willow, your baby!" In an impressive feat, Fran sat up enough to cup her hands around my baby as a shoulder emerged. She looked up at me, our faces only inches apart. Her green eyes flooded with tears. "This wasn't the way it was supposed to go." She sniffled. She tried to glance down at the head emerging slowly from her womanhood, but closed her eyes and looked away. "I didn't tell you, because the doctors said I had miscarried." She said as a tear fell down.
"Look at...the positives." I said to her in jagged, labored breaths. "We're getting...what we wanted...after all!" I clenched my teeth as another urge came. "It's coming."
"It's alright..." Fran's face contorted as she too felt the urge. "Just let it all out."
Together, we let out piercing, animalistic screams as we bore down. I kept my eyes on Fran's baby as she forced out the head a little further. I saw Fran keep her attention on my baby as the second shoulder began to slide down. Fran's scream ended, but mine lingered on. I lost focus on Fran and stopped cupping her baby's head. Right then, my only focus was getting my baby out of me. I braced my hands on Fran's knees and continued my long scream as I pushed with all my might, arms and legs shaking with effort.
A rush of movement, and I suddenly felt little feet kicking the insides of my thighs. A loud wail, and Fran held up my tiny, squirming daughter.
"Here she is, Willow!" Fran panted, sweat pouring into her eyes. "You did such a great job!"
"My little Sage." I openly wept. I'd picked out her name the day I found out she was a girl. I wanted to hold my baby, I wanted to collapse from exhaustion...but Fran was still in labor. She was even more scared than I was. She still needed me, and so I couldn't rest yet.
"Keep holding her, Fran." I said, cupping Fran's baby's head again with the bloodied towel. "Yours is almost here."
"I don't want it to!" Fran said. "I'm not ready to be a mother like you! you've had months to prepare...I don't have anything ready for a baby!"
"Shh...we'll figure that out later." I shushed her, patting her hand gently. Her hand was now covered in my birthing fluids. "Right now, focus on getting this baby out. When you feel the next contraction, I want you to push. Ready?"
Fran nodded, holding my squalling daughter to her chest to try and keep her warm. "I'm pushing." She grunted, curling in on herself.
"Good, good!" I smiled as I saw the rest of the head slide out. "That was wonderful! The heads already out." There was so much blood, I couldn't help but still be terrified, but I ignored it for the sake of my friend.
I could tell Fran's baby was small, it's head barely fit into my hands. Again, I hoped it was actually alive.
Fran held Sage as she pushed, screaming right long with her with each shove she gave. I supported the emerging infant as it came, watching as both shoulders tried to emerge at the same time. All this time, Fran kept her eyes focused on the baby between her legs. Without a pregnant belly blocking her view, she had a perfect view of every minute of it. She watched herself with both fear and awe as she gave the final shove and dropped her surprise baby into my hands like a present.
It was a little girl. Immediately I rubbed the baby's grey skin with the towel. For a while, it didn't move or make a sound.
"No..." I whispered. "Please."
"What?' Fran's eyes welled up. "Is...is my baby alright?!"
Like an answer to her mother, the baby let out a hardy wail and started flailing. I sighed with relief. "Yes, I said, wrapping the baby in the towel. "Yes, she is."
"I have a girl!" The biggest smile I've ever seen Fran produce spread across her face.
We sat/squatted there on the floor for a few minutes, holding each other's newborns in our arms. Fran's bleeding gradually stopped, and we used the scissors we had collected to cut the cords. Our incredible experience over, Fran and I wrapped our daughters up in the baby blankets we'd brought into the room and laid down on the bed together. side-by-side we laid there, admiring the little miracles we'd created.
"I'm pretty sure your daddy's that one waiter I dated named Joe." Fran whispered to her new daughter. "I think Josephine sounds like a good name for you. Joe was a pretty nice guy."
"So..." I said, reaching for my cell phone on the nightstand to call 911 for us. "Looks like it all worked out in the end, huh?"
"Yeah," Fran answered with a weak smile. "It really did, didn't it