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Winteryday
I have read this story quite a while back and it was suddenly in my mind again.

a heavily pregnant lady board the car with her child. then the driver drove to let the child off to school.
after that she started having contractions. Due to a traffic jam, instead of going to the hospital of choice.
it went to a rural hospital and end up the child was lost in the hospital.
Natas1889
I think you are talking about An Inconvenient Birth by Dropster. A classic work of preggo literature.

An Inconvenient Birth
by DropsterC

Calvin brought the big Mercedes purring softly around the corner of the house and up to the grand front door. It was 8.05am precisely and Calvin kept the motor running because he knew that his employer, Cecily Hardcastle, valued punctuality above all things and would be within a minute of the appointed time. The summer job was valuable to Calvin as he saved for his first year at university and he had no intention of giving cause for complaint.
Less than 60 seconds later, the front door opened and Anton, the four year old Hardcastle boy emerged followed by the cautiously waddling form of his mother. She was wearing an outfit he had seen several times over the weeks he had been working for the family, although never before had it seemed quite as tight and straining over Mrs Hardcastle’s heavily pregnant form. The blouse was black silk, cut high at the neck and long to drape over her gravid womb. Below it she wore a worsted maternity skirt, cut fashionably close to her mature, but still shapely, legs.
Calvin leapt out of the car and hastened to open the rear door.
Anton scrambled nimbly into the back seat, but his mother was forced to turn, grasp the car door and sill with both hands and, with a slight gasp of effort, lower her swollen body into the car. As she did so, Calvin caught a troubled wince on her face and she paused for a moment, breathing harder than usual, before pushing herself heavily back into the seat and swinging her legs into the car. Calvin noted that she had not done that before, in fact had always been a lady who prided herself on allowing minimal concession in the vigour of her movement to the increasingly advanced state of her pregnancy. He wondered whether it would indeed be the several more weeks officially expected before Mrs Hardcastle was delivered of her second child.
As he eased the car out of the drive and into the leafy street of exclusive homes, Calvin was able to covertly view his employer in the back seat. In her late thirties and a mother of one, Cecily Hardcastle remained an attractive woman. Her haircut was short and businesslike as befitted the Financial Vice President of a substantial corporation but her features were full and womanly. There were lines on her face but they bespoke intelligence and maturity rather than age. Likewise, apart from her enormously swollen belly, her body was trim and muscular. Her breasts, while plump and pressing firmly against her blouse in affirmation of her readiness to feed her offspring, remained high and shapely. But then again, Calvin thought, perhaps a woman of her status would not risk the shapeliness of her breasts to the ravages of prolonged milk production.
Her belly, however, was the feature hardest to ignore. Seated, it protruded even more dramatically, big and high and very, very round. The blouse, which seemed designed to drape elegantly over, instead stretched tightly across its breadth, the lower buttons under palpable strain. Calvin was accustomed to seeing her fussing with her son’s appearance, or her own, or quickly reviewing her PDA. But today she sat back in the seat, a slightly distracted frown on her face and both her hands roaming over and around the huge curves of her swollen womb as if trying to soothe the pressures within.
Cecily Hardcastle was never unaware, despite appearances, of the eyes of her handsome young black driver in the rear view mirror. She was proud of her ability to attract male attention, to be desired but unattainable.
But today her mind was sunk in worried foreboding.
She knew to the day, 34 carefully counted weeks ago, when her child must have been conceived. Her husband had returned from a four month overseas secondment and that night in bed he had tugged her long designer nightgown up to her hips and mounted her urgently, his long pentup demand bringing him to a satisfactory and copious conclusion for one of the rare occasions since Cecily’s vagina had been left loose and stretched by Anton’s birth. She had therefore been surprised and puzzled by the speed with which her tummy, flattened again with great effort after Anton’s birth, had begun to stretch and protrude. Now, at eight months, her breasts could barely be accommodated within the softest and most elastic of her brassieres and with her maternity leave still a week away, her third trimester business wear was scarcely able to stretch over her hugely swollen abdomen. Her ultrasounds had revealed only one fetus in her straining uterus so she was able to discount suggestions that she was carrying twins; she must just be carrying large. Her doctor said that could happen with subsequent babies.
She tried not to think what the consequences might be for a vaginal birth if her child continued to grow for another month!
But in recent days Cecily had become increasingly aware of the weight of her fetus pressing down into her pelvis, and now, today, the cramping twinges which had been occurring with increasing frequency in her tightly stretched tummy had begun to bite harder and longer and more regularly. Since she awoke two hours ago she had counted four of them. But it was surely too early for her labour to be starting?
As she lightly massaged the great globe of her belly, feeling beneath her questing fingers how thin and tense was the sheet of enormously stretched abdominal skin and muscle which cupped and supported her fetus, a small voice in the back of her head said, as it had said increasingly in recent weeks: if not 34 weeks ago then when? There was only one possible answer. Just four weeks before at a conference she had had too much to drink, far too much to drink. She hazily remembered strong male hands on her body. Being forcefully lifted against a wall. Her pantyhose ripped apart between her thighs. The gusset of her lace panties, sopping as result of her frustrated libido, tugged to one side exposing her gooey cunt lips, the thick loose lips of a woman who has given vaginal birth. And then the delicious shock of her gaping vagina being deeply penetrated by a hard knobbly penis.
She had no idea who might have seen them there, the female executive pinned against the wall like a whore with her legs wrapped around the waist of the man ruthlessly pumping her sloppy vagina. He left her there and she remembered collapsing onto hands and knees with seemingly pints of slimy white seed oozing out of her open gash, flowing down her inner thighs and plopping onto the floor. Oh, and she remembered one other detail: that long hard rod thrusting between her legs had been very black.
Mortified by the spectacle she must have made, the wealthy and successful executive behaving like trailer trash, she took the morning after pill and banished all thought of the incident from her mind. So that couldn’t be connected with the strange progress of her pregnancy, could it?
After leading her son into the day-care centre, Cecily re-emerged and Calvin noticed again how heavily and awkwardly she was walking, her handsome face looking distracted and a little flushed with effort. Then, as she reached the car, and Calvin opened the door for her to get in, she gave a sharp gasp: her face went rigid with surprise, one hand groped for the top of the car door while the other clutched at the side of her huge belly. For a moment she paused there, slightly bent over and seeming unable either to fold herself into the back seat or to straighten, Her face went redder and Calvin realised that she was holding her breath. Then she exhaled a little raggedly and stood gingerly up.
“Are you alright Madam?” asked Calvin anxiously.
He was treated to a furious glare from his discomforted employer.
“I’m perfectly fine!” she snapped haughtily. “Now we haven’t got all day, I would like to be at the office by 8.45 and the traffic won’t get any easier while we stand around here!”
With that she disappeared into the car, although Calvin noted that she took a deep breath before doing so and, for the rest of the drive, her hands seemed to stroke compulsively over and around the great curves of her abdomen.
Calvin was outside his employer’s office precisely at the designated time of 4.30pm. His treatment earlier in the day had gnawed away at him inside. He was certain that the high and mighty Cecily Hardcastle treated him so arrogantly because he was black, but there was nothing he could do about it if he wanted to keep his well paying job. Although he wondered how long he would have the job anyway if Ms Hardcastle was truly on the verge of dropping her sprog ...
“Stuck up bitch,” he thought to himself, “I bet she’s too up herself to even know when she got knocked up!”
But knocked up she well and truly was, he reflected, as the doors to her building opened and she lumbered carefully out, her back bent to balance her burden and her huge belly swaying awkwardly with each waddling step. Close to he could see that her face was creased with discomfort and she groaned audibly as she bent over to twist her bottom into the car.
“Get moving please!” she demanded peremptorily as soon as she was fully inside the car. Calvin swore under his breath and hustled back to the driver’s seat.
As soon as they were moving Calvin saw that Ms Hardcastle had her cell phone out.
“Ryan, check your phone for God’s sake!” she shouted into the mouthpiece. “I don’t feel right and I want to get to the clinic so I need you to pick up Anton.” She slammed the clamshell shut and sagged back into the seat, one hand clamped to the out thrust curve of her abdomen, pressing skin-tight against the silky fabric of her blouse.
“Where to, madam?” Calvin asked cautiously.
“Where the hell do you think?” she snapped back sarcastically.
“Remember Anton? The little boy you drive to and from day-care every day?”
Calvin swallowed an angry retort. She really doesn’t think I’m here when she’s talking on the phone, he realised.
Cecily closed her eyes and tried to relax. The day had been a severe trial. No more incidents like the pang which had embarrassed her in front of the driver, thank god, but a dull cramping ache had steadily built in her lower tummy along with a stronger and stronger sense of pressure deep in her pelvis. Age-old female instinct told her that her fetus was preparing to push its way out of her uterus and she knew that she must seek medical help if she was to defer labour much longer. She cursed her unavailable husband.
Even in rush hour traffic she could be at the obstetric clinic in half an hour but with Anton to pick up and take home it could be two hours or more before she could get treatment.
She stroked and soothed her aching abdomen, feeling the firmness and tension of her overstretched muscular walls. Suddenly she could no longer bear the tightness of her blouse on the taut and sensitive skin.
Reaching under her protruding mound, she undid the two lowest buttons of her blouse which immediately gaped open over her lower belly. With a sigh she pushed her hand into the gap and began to massage the thinly drawn skin around her down-tilted belly button.
Looking back in the rear view mirror, Calvin became a little aroused by the sight of the mature fertile beauty, her expensively coiffure hair framing her lush features rapt in concentration on her overripe belly, the straining milky white globe tantalisingly revealed beneath her caressing hand. The release of the pressure of her bulging womb against her blouse merely allowed it to sit more tightly over the plump fullness of her maternal breasts, powerfully advertising their size and weight. She was forbidden fruit for the likes of him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t fantasize.
Then, as he watched, the lines on that lovely face deepened into a troubled frown, she clutched more urgently at her tummy and then sucked in a harsh breath, her breasts lifting and straining against their containment.
“Hhhooooo! ... Hhhooooo!,” she gasped softly, her eyes widening
with anxiety.
“Ooooooohh, ... MMmmmmhh,” she groaned, biting her lip. Her two hands were now both cupped beneath the bared underside of her belly.
Her mouth opened in a big surprised O and then snapped shut again as her face crumpled into a grimace of pain. Her face went slowly red as a single strangled grunt burst through her clenched teeth.
“NNNggggggghh!! ...” she moaned and then “Aaaaaahhhhh!” as the tension began to ebb away and her breathing returned somewhat raggedly.
Catching Calvin’s alarmed gaze in the mirror, she glared at him furiously then ostentatiously turned away. A moment later she checked the time on her watch. It was 4.38pm.
As the car neared the day care center, the harried mother slowly recovered from her painful contraction only to become aware of another urgency building swiftly within her. All day the stealthy tightening of her uterus about her fetus had been forcing its head lower and lower in her pelvic girdle crushing her bowel with its big, bony head and pressing the contents down towards her opening. Now she suddenly felt a different pressure, the pressing need to evacuate her packed bowels. She shifted uncomfortably, the tightness of her skirt made it difficult to spread her knees as much as she needed to accommodate her aching tummy, and a little fart escaped her. With a gasp of alarm she felt a shit log slide south and clamped the cheeks of her bottom together. If she didn’t find a toilet really really soon, she realised with rising panic, she would be dumping a big smelly load into her expensive panties.
She looked anxiously about. They were fortunately closing in on the day care centre and she steeled herself to last the distance. Calvin slowed down as he negotiated mothers and children and cars pulling up and pulling away. Without waiting even for him to get out and open the door, Cecily pushed herself out with a heavy groan the second the car rolled to a stop in front of the building.
“Just be a moment,” she grunted, as she lumbered straight past a surprised Anton and the young teacher who had brought him to the pavement as she saw the car pull up, and headed up the steps and into the building.
“Christ, she looks ready to drop” thought the teacher unsympathetically. The arrogant Cecily Hardcastle was not a favourite with the staff.
Cecily headed with as much speed as her condition would allow to the end of the corridor where she knew the toilets were. At this time they were blessedly empty. Hastening into the nearest cubicle, she didn’t even have time to lock the door before tugging her skirt up frantically and peeling in awkward haste the pantyhose and panties from her massive tummy.
Panting with effort she bent, pushing the garments down her thighs and letting off a thick heavy fart. Her anus was already starting to stretch open as her bottom hit the seat and in a moment she was sighing with relief as a wide log slid out of her and plopped meatily into the bowl.
As a well trained woman, Cecily never went anywhere without her purse and she now paused for a moment to try her husband’s number again.
“Come on you bastard, answer ... answer!’ she hissed
“You have reached the voicemail of Ryan ...”
“Ohh Shit! FOR GOD’S SAKE RING ME!” she shouted, “I’ve had a ... OOhh!! ... Oh GODDdd!! ... Not so SOON!! ... OOohhhhhh ...” and she bent over cradling her tummy as the hot burning pain griped her enormous mound making it stand up hard and tight.
“Please, please Ryan honey,” she groaned, pleading with the phone.
“I’m having another contra ... aaaaaahhhhHHH!! ... HHHooooo!! ... HHHooooo!! ... Aaahhuuufff ... contraction. I’m going into labour, for Christ’s sake, I need you! ... HHHooooo!! ... HHHooooo!!”
In her throes she had not noticed the cubicle door drifting open and now she cringed with embarrassment at the spectacle she would make should anyone enter the bathroom: skirt crumpled up to her waist, thighs splayed apart displaying her full-lipped, hairy vulva beneath the great, tense mountain of her labouring belly.
As the pain began to ebb away, she pushed the door to. No sooner had she done so than she heard the bathroom door open.
“Are you all right in there, Ms Hardcastle,” came a tentative voice.
“Fine thank you,” she replied icily, between deep ragged breaths.
She glanced at her watch. It was 5.04pm.

The lights were on in the house as they pulled into the drive. Calvin could hear Anton chattering in the back as he prattled to his mother about the day. Cecily Hardcastle’s face was tight and drawn and she had barely uttered a word in the drive home.
Once Calvin opened the car door, Anton scooted out and up the steps to the house. His mother sucked in a deep breath and winced as she shifted her swollen body gingerly to the edge of the seat. Her legs swung out of the car, braced wide apart and with a groan of effort she bent forward and dragged herself to her feet. Still holding the door, Calvin found himself standing close to her as she paused, breathing heavily. In the glancing light from the house he could see how her blouse seemed to cling damply to her straining curves, with a shock he realised her nipples were visibly standing, thick and succulent through her clothing, and her bulging womb seemed to thrust purposefully through the gape where the lower buttons should be.
Cecily felt the brooding presence of her handsome young negro driver and grimaced at the weakness which left her panting in front of him, weak and vulnerable. But she sensed her time was short and she needed him yet.
“Keep the car out front,” she ordered in clipped tones, “We will be going out again shortly.”
“Yes Ma’am!” he repeated savagely to himself for the umpteenth time as he wandered idly around the drive. “What about my dinner Ma’am?
Am I getting paid extra for this Ma’am? Do I have anything to do other than wait out here for you Ma’am?”
As he wandered and seethed a light came on above him. The drive here curved a distance from the house and as a result he could see well into the upper storey room: a bedroom. As he watched, Mrs Hardcastle appeared, enveloped in a soft, voluminous towelling robe. She moved carefully towards the window with the evident intention of lowering the blind when
Calvin saw pain grip her face and her right hand clutch at her belly, outlining its huge projection against the fabric of her robe. For a moment she tensed and rubbed but then she bent forward, hands apart and braced on something beneath the window and her mouth open as if she was panting and blowing against the pain. She tossed her head distractedly, her hair swirling around the face twisted tight with discomfort. As she struggled with her pain, bent over at the window, her robe began to fall open; parting at first across that great, shiny, taut belly then dropping away to display her low-hanging, mature, swollen breasts at the long, extended ends of which swayed dark brown, thickly protruding nipples.
Her head sagged wearily and her body slumped between her supporting arms. Her huge belly now hung, tightly defined, from her back, heavily curved from the weight it suspended, and her breasts hung free, plump and drooping to either side.
Calvin felt his prick stiffen at the sight of the lush, fertile, mature charms on shameless display before him. And then he realised, with alarm, where they were going tonight. The stuck up Mrs Hardcastle was getting her childbirth pains early. He looked at his watch by the light from the window.
It was 5.23pm.
Cecily Hardcastle waddled out of the house wearing a loose flowing skirt which barely lodged on her hips, pushed down by the low overhang of her belly, over which she had a big bulky sweater which flopped over her abdomen and hid the fact that, beneath, she wore only a flimsy t-shirt, her breasts suddenly feeling too swollen and tender to be strapped back into a constraining brassiere.
She had been on the phone to the obstetric clinic to tell them that she was experiencing premature contractions. She had been able to assure them that the precious bag of waters protecting her babe remained intact and they had urged her to come down to the clinic without delay. At each heavy step she took now, in her sensible flat-soled shoes, the weight of her baby’s unyielding head ground painfully at her constricting bones making her back stiffen and her belly soreness intensify. She steeled herself not to betray her weakness before her waiting driver. Only a handful of steps now to the blissful rest of the car. Her tightening abdomen would surely let her get that far. How long was it now since her last contraction? Calvin was opening the car door then ...
“OOOOhhnggghh!! ...” she cried out in alarm. Her back was suddenly aflame and she bent backwards clutching at it with both hands.
The flame flowed forward, a searing band of pain flaring around the widest part of her outstretched tummy. Her hands followed, groping at the white-hot ring of fire tightening around her uterus.
“NNNggghhhhh! ...” she groaned, her face clenched in agony, past caring how she appeared to the staff. Sweat was starting up on her face and her legs were trembling. She stumbled forward and put both hands on the roof of the car.
“AAAOOoooowww!! ....”
Must breath, must breath, she told herself.
“WHoooohhhh!! ... WHoooohhhh!! ..” but the pain was too great:“HHhhuuuuungggh!! ...” and suddenly there was fluid filling her panties and coursing down her thighs. Warm fluid which gushed and gushed, splashing off her knees and drenching her calves.
“WHoooohhhh!! ... WHoooohhhh!! ...” she panted,
“HHhhuuuuungggh!! ...” as fluid surged and splattered out of her and down to the driveway between her legs.
“OOOhhhhhh God! ... OOOhhhhh Noooooo!!” she wailed, “My waters! ... Oh God, I’ve broken my bag! ... Hhhhooooohhh! ...
Hhhhooooohhh!” ...”
With relief she realised that the unbearable pressure was subsiding.
In losing her waters all over the driveway in front of her negro driver her humiliation was complete but she had no time for anything now but the urgency of her condition.
“Got to get to the clinic!” she gasped, panting hard and trying to catch her breath. She thought for a second. Her underwear was soaked but her skirt was only spotted with her baby’s fluids. Before Calvin’s astonished gaze she bent awkwardly over, rucked up her skirt, and tugged her panties down her plump thighs, now glistening wet, then wrung them out quickly and mopped up her embarrassment as best she could.
“Quickly!” she cried, tumbling heavily into the car on hands and knees. Calvin ran to the driver’s door. By the bright electronic clock on the car’s dashboard it was 5.37 pm.
The car pulled out of the driveway in the gathering dark and into the heavy city traffic. Soon progress was slowed to a crawl. Calvin observed his mistress in the rear view mirror, her face flushed and strained. She was slumped back awkwardly in the seat, her skirt appearing to cling damply to the great protruding ball of her belly, her somewhat parted thighs seeming to twitch with nervous tension beneath the loose fabric. And between those thighs, Calvin knew, lay her naked sex.
Cecily Hardcastle gazed despairingly out of the window at the crawling progress of the traffic. Her fingers ran anxiously over the aching sheet of muscle clasping her womb feeling how firm and tight it had become over the bony limbs of her child. Her tummy was in remission between the terrible contractions, but she knew the pain would be not long delayed and all the time now she felt heavy pressure between her legs as her fetus jammed its head deeper into the gap in her pelvis.
“Must hold my legs together,” she told herself. “Just got to hang on.” But the drive to the clinic, half an hour in normal traffic, would take double that at the present rate, and she could only pray for no further increase in the frequency and severity of her contractions.
Calvin concentrated on his driving. Then: “HHhhuuuuuffff ...HHhhuuuuuffff ... HHhhuuuuuffff ... ”
He glanced back.
Mrs Hardcastle’s face was drawn fiercely tight, her head thrown back, her hands clawing at her upstanding belly.
“OOhhhhhh!! ... Nnnooooo!! ...HHnnnngggh!! ...” she moaned,“HHhhuuuuuffff ... HHhhuuuuuffff ...”
Her face screwed up with pain as she simultaneously squirmed to the side on the car seat and lifted one knee. Her shoe fell off and Calvin could see her toes curling and clenching. Her head had dropped to her to her chest now and her breathing had stopped, almost as if she didn’t trust herself to pant as she had been doing. Her face went dark red and she gnawed her lower lip, the strain etched on her features.
“HHhhooooooohhhh ...” she groaned after a time, “Hhuuhhh! ... Hhuuhhh! ...” and the tension seemed slowly to leech from her body.
“Oohhh Calvin,” she panted, “Please hurry. I’ve got to get to the clinic. I’ve got to get there soon. Can’t we go just a bit faster.”
“Traffic ma’am,” replied Calvin stoically. “Can’t do no more than the traffic allows.”
“Any more, Calvin” his mistress corrected in a shaky voice, and then gave a muffled sob. She consulted her watch: 5.48pm.
In the heat of the car Cecily’s exertions were dampening her clothes with perspiration. Suddenly she felt oppressed by her clothing and reached down, tugging the hem of her sweater up and over her head. She was past caring that her t-shirt barely stretched over her hard, rounded belly and left a sizeable gap of shiny, tightly stretched skin above the waist band of her skirt. She cradled and stroked her cramping tummy with dismay. She was in no doubt that her child was close, she could feel its head battering at her pelvic ring, feel the full size of the bony skull she would need to find a way to somehow pass through her maternal gateway, and she knew beyond doubt that this was no fragile premature babe but a lusty full term fetus. And so she knew now beyond doubt that she would shortly push into the world a black baby.
Up the bridge approaches and over the freeway. Calvin manoeuvred urgently through the traffic but it was still slow going, and starting to rain which would likely make things worse. He glanced back. Cecily Hardcastle looked flushed and exhausted. Her flimsy tee shirt clung to her swollen body and Calvin’s eyes were drawn to her plump breasts, unbrassiered, he realised with a jolt, and resting heavily on her great mound, her nipples poking thick and stiff through the fabric, the wide areolas darkly outlined.
“OOOOOOhhh!! ...” she cried, “HHhhuuuuuffff ... HHhhuuuuuffff...” and another bout overtook her, her hands cupping around the very base of her belly as if she sought to lift her babe from forcing its way down but her knees quivered and then jerked further apart.
Calvin glanced at the clock. 5.51. Her pains were coming more and more rapidly.
“We’re not going to make it,” he told himself in a panic. “She’s going to push it out right here in the car! What am I going to do?”
What he did know was that if anything went wrong it would be the nigger driver who would get the heat. “What do I know about squeezing out sprogs?” he thought desperately. “I’ve got to dump the bitch somewhere.”
Then he had a brain wave.
Cecily Hardcastle was moaning and sobbing with pain leaning back into the soft leather back seat of the Mercedes as she tried to take the pressure off the big battering ram wedged cruelly in her pelvic gap. Her face was twisted with effort as she fought to keep her thighs together and deny her fetus room to descend any further. Despite the sweat running freely down her body it was a battle she was losing. She glanced out the window of the car: surely they must be getting to the clinic soon? To her horror he realised they had not crossed the freeway, but were driving along it. Calvin was not taking her to the clinic at all! She had been kidnapped in the desperate throes of her labour!
Despair griped her and her iron resolve began to crumble.
“HHoooooooNNNGgghhh! ...” she wailed, her panting turning into something more urgent as she gave way to the terrible need to allow her cramping muscles to do their thing, “HHHhhnnnnnngggggghhhh!! ...” and the awful girth of her baby’s head inched lower inside her sending agonizing pain through her creaking, almost 40 year old bones.
Immediately, her knees jacknifed up, either side of her wide uterus, rucking up her skirt and putting on lewd display the full spread of her womanly thighs and maternal fat-lipped, thickly haired vulva.
Calvin glanced in the rear view mirror and nearly lost control of the car as he found himself staring directly down the softly gaping vagina of his employer.
It was 5.55pm as Calvin made a swift exit from the freeway.
Approaching this way, from the south, the traffic was much lighter. He needed speed because his employer was now in constant hard-panting labour. Her mature, womanly legs were splayed and braced against the seats in front, thighs corded with rigid muscle as she fought with her convulsing womb. Her hairy lips were perhaps creeping further apart but there was not yet any sign of her baby emerging.
A sign flashed by. Ms Hardcastle, her head rolling from side to side in her agony, caught sight. A shriek of terror was ripped from her.
“NOOOOOOO!!! ... Calvin! ... Oh please God, Noooooo! Not here!! Anywhere but here!!”
Calvin swung into the accessway.
“No choice Ms. Had to get you to a doctor and this was the only place we could make in time.”
“OOhhhhhh!! ...HHnnnnnngggh!! ...” was the only reply,
“HHhhuuuuuffff ... HHhhuuuuuffff ... HHnnnnnnnngggggh!!”
“And only just in time,” he thought, as the bright lights on the front of the building shone down on the gap between Ms Cecily Hardcastle's widely spread thighs and clearly showed her vulva stretch apart into an open tear shape and the flesh surrounding her prominent lips bulge outwards hinting at the great mass waiting within.
Pulling up in front of the City Memorial Hospital, Calvin raced to open the back door of the car and manhandle his dazed and gasping employer out. There was no sign of help but a blazing light emerged from big double doors. Supporting Ms Hardcastle as best he could he staggered inside. The clock over the door read 5.56pm.
Cecily was in shock as she stumbled from the car. Her baby was so close now, her ligaments at full stretch as it bulldozed a way through her pelvis, but being hauled to her feet brutally closed her entrance, slamming her bones like a vice around the vulnerable head of her child. She cried out piteously and her knees bowed outwards in a desperate effort to accommodate the boulder between her legs and yet she found a way to waddle drunkenly into the hospital reception.
“She’s going to have a baby! She’s going to have a baby!” Calvin was shouting wildly.
“I can see that honey,” drawled a slovenly nurse behind the counter.
“Ain’t no need to carry on.”
Cecily groaned and slumped further against her chauffeur as her knees began to cave outwards, her muscular agony increasing in intensity.
The cavernous room was crowded with mainly black patients. “Low lifes and druggies,” she told herself, “How could Calvin bring me here!” She knew terror that her last reserves of control would break and she would sprawl in front of this unsavoury mob, her bottom bare and spread, and treat them to the entertaining sight of her wealthy white vulva stretched and ravaged as it pushed out a big black baby.
“Privacy ... baby coming ... can’t hold it!” she mumbled incoherently, “OOoooohhhhhhh, ... NNNNNgggggaaaahhh!! ...”
Calvin felt her body tense with effort, her weight going fully onto him, her legs spreading beneath her long loose skirt and he knew that her condition was becoming urgent.
“Where can I take her!” he demanded from the nurse.
“Well I don’t rightly ...” she began, grinning hugely at the young man’s predicament, but then, spotting the one harassed doctor on duty she bawled: “Hey Doc, boy wants somewhere to take his white ho!”
The doctor, thin, balding and black, glanced over uninterestedly.
“Second booth on the right’s empty,” he said, jerking his thumb towards a corridor.
“There you go,” said the nurse, “Hope she can make it before she drops!” cackling at her own humour.
“That it?” demanded Calvin. “She needs a doctor!”
“Don’t we all,” drawled a voice from the overcrowded room and there was a chorus of laughter.
But Calvin couldn’t afford to hang around and argue. His employer was panting and moaning in her pain and he knew he needed to get her somewhere where she could deliver right now..
The corridor proved to contain rows of curtained off booths. Second on the right was, indeed empty, containing a chair and a high bed. Ms Hardcastle's arm around his neck, Calvin managed to lift her labouring body onto the bed
She collapsed on her back with a cry of pain and immediately groped at her belly, tugging her skirt up baring her rounded thighs, the wide hairy expanse between them and the rock hard mountain of her straining uterus.
“OOhhhhh God!! ...” she wailed, gasping at the relief of being able to stretch her thighs wide.
Then: “AAAAaaaaarrrrggggggghHH ...” as her muscles clamped ferociously and she felt the full force of her fetus battering at her tender womanhood. She had given birth before and she could tell that she was producing a big one.
“Not yet! Not yet!” Calvin was shouting in panic. “Doctor coming!”
But Cecily was no longer capable of control.
“HHHHNNNNNNGGGGGGHHH!! ...” she groaned, her face scarlet with exertion, tendons standing out like steel hawsers, legs kicking wide. The lips of her vulva, stretched and floppy from her previous birthing, snapped into a tight circle and Calvin winced to see them stretch and go white as all blood was squeezed from them.
“HHhhhaaaaagghhaaaaagg ...” Cecily gasped in anguish as her heaving thrust gave out, the enormous bony head she could feel still firmly locked in her burning canal. “HHhhhhhooooo!! ... HHhhhhhooooo!! ...”
“Soooo big,” she moaned to herself in panic, “Musn’t tear! Got to take it slow!”
“HHnnnn! ... HHnnnn! ... HHHHNNNNNNGGGGGGHHH!! ...” It was no good, she couldn’t possibly control the desperate, urgent need to evacuate her overstretched vagina.
Calvin watched goggle-eyed as the curved plate he had seen a moment before, covered in black curly hair, shoved out once more and again the lips of his employer’s vulva thrust out and locked to the same straining diameter.
Cecily’s body twisted in torment. At the head of the bed was an iron railing and her hands stabbed out, fingers curling like talons around the bars.
Her sweat drenched body went rigid with effort, every muscle straining to the utmost.
“HHhhoooooowwwwww!! ...” she howled. Her tortured labia stretched a little wider. “Hhooooo! ... Hhooooo! ...” she tried to catch her breath, “God noooo!! ...” as the head started to squeeze back inside.
“HHhhoooooowwwwww!! ... AAAaaaaarrrrrrrrrgggghhhhh!! ...” Her screams were echoing about the corridor, but her labia were giving. Wider and wider by agonising degrees, folding out around the impossible girth of her baby’s big, curly haired head.
Calvin was riveted by the sight. His perfectly groomed, mature employer in her moment of most intimate vulnerability. Her body heaving on the stark hospital bed, swollen fat-nippled breasts surging against the thin damp fabric restraining them, thighs straining painfully wide and between them the vast black ball of her baby’s emerging head.
“HHHnnnggggghhhh!! ...” she squealed in agony and suddenly the huge head was sliding free, twisting sharply in her tender sheath, nose and ears flicking cruelly at her awfully stretched membranes as they popped clear. Calvin looked and looked again. He was in no doubt that new-born babies could be strange looking creatures, but that head poking out of his employer’s twat was undeniably black!
Cecily Hardcastle looked down reluctantly at what was sticking out between her legs and began to whimper. It was 6.01pm. In Ms Hardcastle’s purse back in the car a cell phone was ringing. The caller ID read ‘Ryan’.

Epilogue
They say all things happen for a purpose and Calvin had to laugh. The little trip down to City Memorial had its benefit for stuck-up Ms Hardcastle as, lo and behold, she was able to claim that there had been a mix up in the hospital and the half-caste baby she was given to take home was not, of course, the blue blooded baby she had given birth to. The Hardcastle lawyers made a terrible stink about it and the hospital searched and searched but were, strangely, unable to find trace of a white baby born at the hospital that day. Of course there was no question of not raising the little cuckoo. A black baby is quite the fashion accessory these days after all.
There was benefit for Calvin too. After all he had been there. It was most generous of Ms Hardcastle to pay his way through medical school after he found that he had a bent (if that was the right way to put it) for ob-gyn. Mind you, there was downside as well. Ms Hardcastle found herself unable, try as she might, to birth her baby’s shoulders unaided, and Calvin guessed that the 20 minutes she spent with her vagina filled to breaking point by the body of her unbirthed baby before he had managed to tug it clumsily clear would have stretched her sexual organs beyond hope of ever again being able to feel anything in there so modest as a male penis.

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