Work Text:
by Dropster
A daughter shouldn’t have to warn her mother against the perils of unprotected sex, it should be the other way around!
Kimmy had not seen her mother for nine months before this holiday she was taking from her boarding school. Looking expectantly around the airport she spotted her mother standing at the back of the waiting crowd, and the slim auburn haired fifteen year old raced into her arms.
Immediately she drew back in confusion. Pamela, her mother, smiled ruefully at her daughter and opened her coat. Her face, still attractive at 38, looked a little plumper than usual, despite some signs of tiredness around the eyes, but it was not that which had caught Kimmy’s attention. Her mother was wearing a long knitwear top which should normally have hung loosely on her fit, slender body. However now it was in fact stretched tautly over her mother’s tummy. The tummy of a woman very advanced in pregnancy!
“I … I didn’t know,” stammered Kimmy. Her parents had separated some years before and she hadn’t even heard that her mother was in a new relationship.
“I haven’t been exactly advertising it,” said her mother, pulling an embarrassed face. “Come on, I’ll tell you about it as we drive.”
Mother and daughter were to spend a week at a cabin in the mountains, at Kimmy’s request. It wasn’t the skiing season so prices weren’t too bad and Kimmy had been looking forward to long walks together in the woods. Watching her mother walking slowly and carefully to the car, her back sharply curved to counterbalance the weight of her massive forward thrusting belly, she guessed that long walks would be off.
They were soon on the highway out of town and her mother began to explain, shamefacedly, about a party to celebrate a particularly valuable contract at work. Pamela had drunk too much, and had allowed herself to be cornered by one of the more insistent young office predators. It was a long time since she had last had intercourse and she was not prepared for the overwhelming wave of horniness which came over her when the man put his hand up her skirt and expertly fingered her labia. She had put up only token resistance when he tugged her tights and panties to her knees, and none at all when he lifted her slim bottom against the wall and drilled his long hard cock deep inside her wet, welcoming vagina.
She finally noticed she had missed several periods about the time she became conscious that her bras were becoming too tight and that the top buttons on her slacks no longer really reached the buttonholes. By then she was well past the first trimester and abortion was no longer a practical option.
As her mother related her story, Kimmy was stealing sidelong glances at her gravid body. Her seated position, by leaving less room within, had the effect of greatly accentuating the size of her belly. The coat had fallen open and her mother had lifted the knitted top in the process of absent mindedly stroking her massive bulge. Beneath, she was wearing heavy duty maternity denims with a stretch panel in the front which appeared to be strained to its very limit by the hard, out-thrust curve of her belly. So tight did the panel cling to her mother’s swollen abdomen that Kimmy could see the outline of her distorted belly button standing hard and gaping against the fabric.
“Euww, gross,” she thought with a shudder, suddenly brought in mind of her own sweet little navel, discreetly tucked in the narrowest point of her willowy teenaged waist.
Then, as she watched, her mother gave a little gasp and Kimmy saw the swollen tummy appear to tense and change shape. Pamela quickly looked for a break in the traffic and pulled over.
“Oooff,” she said, exhaling gingerly and tenderly rubbing the underside of her mound. Kimmy saw that it appeared to slowly relax again. “I think maybe you’d better drive,” her mother said apologetically.
“Yeah, sure,” said Kimmy. “But Mummy, are you OK? Should we take you to a hospital? We don’t need to do this trip you know.”
“No need to worry, honey,” said Pamela with a smile. “My due date’s a couple of weeks away yet and I was late with both you and your brother. It’s just that, as you get closer, you get these little pretend contractions. It’s nature’s way of saying that it’s getting pretty tight in there,” she said, looking down resignedly at her bump. More than a bump these days, she thought, more like a fucking mountain. She was glad of her daughter’s aid when Kimmy ran around to the driver’s side and helped to support her as she struggled to manoeuvre her heavily out-of-balance body out of the car.
“Pheww,” she panted, when she had at last hauled herself precariously upright. “They don’t make cars with pregnant women in mind.”
Kimmy looked at her dubiously, but got in and continued the drive up into the mountains.
The cabin they had rented had one proper bedroom with a convertible bed/sofa in the lounge. As the toilet led off the lounge, Pamela said that she would take the bed/sofa.
“You’ve got no idea how many times a night a pregnant woman needs to use the bathroom,” she said, in explanation. “Not much room in there,” she smiled, rubbing her belly softly.
The next morning Kimmy came out as her mother was dressing. Bending over to manoeuvre her legs into her panties, Pamela’s huge belly hung long and heavy towards the floor. Kimmy’s heart lurched at the sight of her mother’s terrible burden. Pamela swayed upright cautiously, dragging her plain white panties up thighs grown full and round, and over her soft, puffy bottom. Kimmy then saw that her mother’s panties were specialised maternity wear, soft and stretchy and cut full to pull up over her great swollen abdomen. As her mother bent forward and tugged the waistband to its fullest extent so as to squeeze her straining tummy into it, Kimmy saw how the tautly stretched panty weave was matched by her mother’s tightly drawn skin, pale stretch marks skidding down the sides of her tummy, her belly button tugged apart and popped out.
With her belly tightly encased in the supportive panties, Pamela leant forward again for her brassiere and Kimmy saw with alarm what the pregnancy had done to her mother’s formerly soft but shapely breasts: for rolling heavily to either side of the broad high shelf of her uterus, but supported by it nonetheless, were two distended gourds, looking firm and round, but elongated and desperately heavy.
My God, thought Kimmy, her mother’s normal comfortable C cup must be a DD at least! And those nipples! Broad splotchy chocolate-brown aureoles, in place of her mother’s normal petite pink ovals, with thick long fingers of the same startling colour quivering stiffly in their centres.
Kimmy’s heart wept for her mother’s swollen, ruined bosom. She thought self consciously of her own pert, springy B cups with their tiny, coral pink tips, which occasionally stood up as sweet little needles under her t shirt, but nothing like that big. “Goddam, those teats must be an inch long at least,” she thought to herself, “No way I’m letting any guy do that to me!”
Pamela straightened again, bra in hand. Normally, when she didn’t look like a whale, she took the easy route of doing up the bra clasp around her waist, twisting it around to bring the cups to the front, tugging the band up under her breasts and then lifting the shoulder straps up into place, cupping her breasts in the process. Now, there was no room between tummy and breasts and so she was forced to shoulder the garment first, tug down on the cups while leaning forward so as to bag the heavy, down-pointing torpedoes, not easy but with some bouncing and jiggling it could be done, and then reach around, high up her back, to do up the clasp.
Kimmy watched her mother arch her back painfully, groaning with effort as she fought to stretch the bra strap against her swollen breast mounds, her tummy standing out hard and taut under the strain.
“Oooff,” her mother complained, wincing, and Kimmy suddenly saw ripples of movement under the thinly stretched surface of her mother’s belly and panty gusset.
Pamela exhaled her pent up breath with a hiss and rubbed a hand protectively over her mound, soothing the churning motion within. She smiled ruefully at the grave, wide-eyed face of her daughter.
Wishing to reassure Kimmy, she waddled as easily as possible to the closet where she had hung her clothes and selected one of her favourite dresses. It was of a simple grey textured fabric, with ample give, cut in a wide curve from thick shoulder straps to bra edge, showing off a little of the cleavage which is every expectant woman’s chief pride, the cut narrowing in a little below the breasts for shape but without a waist as such, and then spreading in a full flowing cut to lower shin level. She quickly gathered up the ample folds of the dress, threw it over her head and tugged it down over her body. At one time the dress had fallen easily and loosely over her pregnant form, but now even late pregnancy garments like this were tightly fitting over firstly her swollen breasts and then her hugely distended abdomen. She tugged and eased it over the tightest places and then turned to face her daughter.
“Sorry to be so late up,” she grinned. “I move a little slower these days.”
“No problem, Mum,” said Kimmy quickly. “Now, you just sit here and I’ll get breakfast organised.”
Each day they walked in the woods around the cabin. Not the energetic rambles they would both have normally enjoyed, but slow easy strolls suited to Pamela’s gait. At first Kimmy twitched nervously every time she saw her mother’s hands stray to her protruding tummy, but after a time she relaxed, taking in her mother’s calmness and seeing the soft stroking of her ripe uterus for the instinctive gesture it was.
They talked at length on every subject under the sun as they wandered under the dappled light of falling through the trees. Every subject except that of Pamela’s condition; Kimmy out of consideration for her mother’s feelings, who she sensed needed this break from the concerns which would soon be thrust upon her with the birth of her baby, Pamela because she realised how difficult and confusing it must be for her young daughter to confront her mother’s shame and sensing how alarming the innocent girl found the close examination of the ruin wrought in the female form by the bearing of a child.
And so they walked: Kimmy the vigorous slender nymph with long legged stride, and Pamela, of similar height and colouring, with a slow rolling step, her heavy tummy pointing subtly to right and then left with each successive step.
Occasionally Pamela would give a little gasp and then they would stop while Pamela stood, swaying slightly, her hands clasped tight around the lower curve of her belly. Kimmy found it difficult on these occasions not to stare with dread fascination at the flexing which would follow in her mother’s tummy, made stark by her mother’s pressing of her clothes about her mound, but she always found reassurance in the slightly tense and absent smile on her mother’s face as she seemingly communed with the restless child within her.
Had she spent less time in her mother’s company Kimmy might have noticed the slow change that took place in Pamela’s movement in the week they spent at the cabin. The slow but firm pace of her mother’s footsteps, her belly presented high and proud, gave way by degrees so slight that Pamela herself was barely aware of them to a more lumbering and awkward waddle. The belly, which it seemed could grow no higher, pressed up as it was under Pamela’s breastbone, began to push out and down, dragging on Pamela’s pelvis. The heavy dragging weight on her pelvic floor now made Pamela feel uncomfortable with her legs other than some little way apart. Nor could she now sit comfortably without her back tightening painfully against the kneading of her complaining womb.
And so there came a day when Pamela was plodding heavily along beside her daughter in a loose floral skirt, which lodged with soft elastic on the shelf above her uterus and stretched smooth over her thrusting navel before billowing about her thighs, and a stretch top tugged down at its fullest extent to cup the massive swell of her overloaded womb.
Pamela had been feeling a growing ache in her back and was about to call a halt to stretch and massage it when she felt the now familiar clenching flex of her tummy begin. Only now there was something different about it. She felt immediately that this was not just the same teasing, flexing ripple she was accustomed to: this was a synchronised cramping over the full round sheet of her tummy muscles.
“UUnnggg!” she groaned, her heart beginning to thump as she recognised the dimly remembered feeling of a full-blown uterine contraction.
“Oooff, oooff,” she gasped, her hands grabbing at her hardened belly in a attempt to ease the stiff, cramping pain.
“Mom, your skirt!” cried Kimmy in dismay, and Pamela looked down to see a broad wet stain spreading over the gay floral bouquets covering her thighs.
“Oh no!” she thought in panic, “I can’t have lost my waters already!” as she anxiously calculated how far it was back to the cabin and the car.
But just at the moment she didn’t have leisure to think of anything other than the hard knotted pain stabbing lower and lower in her belly.
Kimmy stood alarmed as her mother’s gasping breaths suddenly stopped and her face went rigid and flushed, her hands gripped under her belly as if she were trying to lift her massive uterus.
“Aaooowww,” moaned Pamela after a moment and gasped convulsively, and then the crisis seemed to abate, her shoulders slumped and her hands relaxed and began to rub her belly soothingly. Kimmy put her slender arms around her mother’s shoulders and Pamela leaned gratefully against her, panting softly.
“Mommy, what’s happening? It’s starting isn’t it?” the worried teen asked.
“Yes, honey, that was a real contraction … caught me by surprise,” said her mother, who Kimmy could feel still shaking a little from her recent ordeal.
“Don’t worry mom, the cabin’s not far back. Do you reckon you can make it?”
“I’ll have to won’t I,” Pamela retorted, “I’m sure not giving birth out here!”
She immediately regretted the remark when she saw her young daughter go white at the thought.
“Don’t worry baby,” she said in turn, “Things don’t happen that quickly. This is just the start of a long haul!”
So they turned back and retraced their steps through the forest. It had taken them less than twenty minutes to get out this far, Pamela calculated, but with the awkward clumsy gait which was all she found that she could now manage (should walking be this hard after only one contraction?) it would take them much longer to return.
Suddenly Pamela felt the signs again: the dull ache in her back flared into pain and the muscles of her abdomen clutched and tightened.
“Nooo,” she screamed silently to herself in alarm, “It hasn’t even been five minutes, I can’t be that far gone already!” This time, however, she was determined not to add to her daughter’s distress by voicing her pain and so she focused herself and launched into her breathing.
“Hhoooff, … Hhoooff, … Hhoooff,” she panted, arching her lower back and clutching it with both hands to ease the pain.
This stretched the fabric of her skirt tightly over her labouring abdomen and Kimmy watched in shocked fascination as her mother’s tummy seemed to come alive, flexing and stretching out like a caged animal which, thought Kimmy with a shudder, in a way it was.
“OOhhhh,” moaned Pamela, “Hhoooff, … Hhoooff, … Hhoooff!” Kimmy saw that her mother’s face was screwed up tight with effort, sweat starting up on her brow. Then the lurching tummy seemed to slowly relax again and Pamela sagged slightly into her daughter’s arms.
There were half a dozen more incidents like this in the forty minutes it took them to return to the cabin, sometimes more than five minutes apart, often less. Pamela knew that her daughter was focused on getting them to the car so she could drive her mother to a hospital but, although there was little on the surface to show progress in her labour, Pamela could feel a growing pressure on her bottom muscles, a sense of fullness between her increasingly wobbly legs and a burning sensation in her hips that told her that her labour was frighteningly advanced, that she would soon be wracked with the full blown pain of childbirth out here in the wilderness with no one but her terrified teenaged daughter for assistance.
“Oh, thank god, there’s the car!” cried Kimmy as they came out from the trees. Pamela was mercifully between contractions and she paused, put one arm on her daughter’s shoulder for support, and probed her aching lower belly with the other.
Kimmy watched with astonishment as her mother pressed her fingers deeply into the momentarily softened muscles surrounding her child.
“Mommy, what’s wrong?” she sobbed in confusion.
“Can’t feel … the head,” grunted her mother, breathlessly. “I’m fully engaged … need to push soon!”
“Ohh mommy, no! Don’t push yet!” wailed Kimmy in panic, “We can be in town in a couple of hours, or I can call an ambulance to come up here!”
But her mother’s eyes were glazing over: “Whhooof, … Haaahh, …Whhooof, … Haaahh, …Whhooof, … Haaahh!” Harder and quicker than before, her face red and damp with the exertion.
Then, as the pressure eased and she began to think of making her way over to the cabin, Pamela realised that she had a new problem: an urgent need to shit.
“I can make it to the toilet,” she told herself and then, as she took a step forward, “Oh no I can’t! … No control”
She stood for a moment paralysed with doubt. She just knew that if she took another step forward the log which had suddenly dropped into her lower bowel would slide all the way out into her panties. On the other hand she daren’t squat down to relieve herself, not here, she felt that she might never get up: might be forced to push the baby out right here in the rough grass by the trees.
“Kimmy, honey,” she said, her face turned away and crimson with shame, “I’ve got to do a shit. Right Now!” she added for emphasis. “Could you please pull my panties down for me.”
Kimmy looked at her mother dubiously, but then reached up high under the pretty floral skirt and peeled down the supportive, belly hugging panties, soaked with her mother’s amniotic fluid, tugged them down her mother’s trembling thighs and held them for her to step out of.
“That’s it, now stand here so I can hold you like this, …” Pamela put her hands on her daughter’s slim shoulders. “Now can you just reach down behind and pull up my skirt for me, … thank you honey, … oof, … yes, …uughh,” and from her position bent forward somewhat, her feet a little apart Pamela gently squeezed the log out of her arsehole and heard it smack into the grass behind her with a loud wet plop.
The subsequent walk across the grass to the cabin was one of the longest in Pamela’s life. For one thing her child’s head, now clamped uncompromisingly into her pelvic girdle, rubbed agonisingly against the bones at every step, for another she felt that at any time a contraction might well push her over the edge, might squeeze the little bowling ball of her baby’s head finally out from her cervix into the tender, sensitive membranes of her vagina, and when that happened she’d be on the ground howling and pushing: no woman could stay in control with something that big stretching her vagina.
A short time later she was inside and seated on the toilet. She had pushed out another small poop and emptied her bladder and was now cleaning herself up, considering her predicament.
In the living area she could hear Kimmy’s voice on the phone: “… it’s my mum, she’s gone into labour, … how soon can you get here? … TWO HOURS? I don’t think she can last that long!”
“That’d be right,” thought Pamela ruefully.
“Well just get here as soon as you can,” came Kimmy’s tearful voice.
Pamela couldn’t understand how it had come to this. She couldn’t have miscalculated the date so badly could she? It was true that she was carrying much larger than she remembered from her earlier two pregnancies, and perhaps the need not to lose this time with her daughter had blinded her to the tell tale signs of early labour. The consequence, however, was that the innocent schoolgirl was now in danger of being confronted with a spectacle that Pamela would have done anything to keep from her impressionable young eyes.
But some things were outside Pamela’s control. She stood and went into the main room of the cabin. She looked about and knew that, without conscious volition, her body was looking for a nest, somewhere to settle down to birth her child.
Having experienced two traditional childbirths on her back in bed, and remembering the severe back pain, despite the medication, she knew she needed something different this time. There would be no medication here if the baby came before the paramedics and so she would be on her own with the pain. The thought of squatting attracted her, but she wondered whether that would be possible with no one but her slender daughter to hold her.
“Mummy, do you think you could make it to the car, …” began Kimmy tentatively, but she was greeted with an expression of infinite love and concern and then a glazing over of her mother’s lovely eyes and the by now all too familiar bending forward and clutching at her tummy.
“Whhooff, … Whhooff, …Haaahh, …Whhooff, …Whhooff, … Haaahh, …Whhooff, …Whhooff, … Haaahh!” her mother panted urgently, fighting for breath and staggering. Kimmy ran to her and helped her over to the couch.
Pamela plopped down, her legs apart, her hard belly drooping like low hanging fruit between her thighs. “Oooouuhh!” she moaned, her hands grabbing compulsively at her spasming muscles.
“Must … lift the diaphragm,” she thought dimly through the pain. She pushed herself back on the couch, lifted her arms to run along its back.
“Whhoooooff, … Whhoooooff, …Haaagghh … ,” she cried, “ … Aaarrgghhh,” as the pain crested and began to ebb away leaving her breathless and shaken.
“Can’t … go anywhere …” she got out between breaths, “Baby coming soon!”
“OK Mom,” said her white faced daughter, “there’s going to be an ambulance here any time. Just promise me you won’t push until then!”
“Can’t promise,” replied Pamela sorrowfully, “ When it comes it comes. You just promise me you’ll be brave. Remember, whatever I might do or say, it’s all about getting the baby out and then everything will be good again.”
Pamela could feel that the heavy ache between her legs had not gone away after the last contraction and knew that she might be close to the final crisis. She should have someone put their hand up her vagina to feel her cervix but she couldn’t ask Kimmy and her own hands were shaking too much for her to concentrate.
Suddenly she felt too constricted in her clothes.
“Kimmy, honey,” she said, levering herself gingerly forward to the edge of the couch, “Help me take these off.”
Poised on the edge of the couch she grasped the bottom of the stretch top she wore, which had already ridden up under her breasts through the convulsing and the rubbing of her tummy, and dragged it up over her head.
“Let me do that Mom,” said Kimmy as her mother reached back to feel for the clasp of her brassiere, and Pamela gratefully leant forward a little to let her daughter unhook her and then take the garment from where it fell forward down her arms, releasing the swollen, fat-nippled breasts to flop heavily onto her belly. Kimmy was surprised to realise that the bra was damp and smelt faintly of milk.
Next Pamela reached forward to grasp her daughter’s arms and, with a heavy groan, prised herself up into an awkward standing position, knees trembling and well apart, so that Kimmy could bend over and ease the waistband of her skirt down from her belly to pool at her feet.
Her face thus brought close to her mother’s straining pumpkin, Kimmy could see just how low and down-pointing her mother’s bulge now was, pressed tightly over the low bony girdle of her mother’s pelvis.
As Pamela went to step out of the fallen skirt she gave a gasp and moan and Kimmy was startled to see from only inches away the massive tummy ripple and writhe, lift sharply and become starkly outlined, no longer smoothly round but painfully faceted and drawn tight and thin over what was surely the little legs and bottom of her mother’s head-down child; the head, Kimmy realised fearfully, buried deeply in her mother’s pelvis.
“Ooowwwoooohh,” wailed Pamela, feeling something stretching her legs apart, sending agonising pains shooting through her hips and thighs, “Hhhuffff, … Hhhuffff, … Ooowwwoooohh.” Kimmy scrambled to her feet and tried to support her mother’s tottering body.
“Chair, … Hhhuffff, … Hhhuffff, …. Chair,” Pamela managed to get out between gasping breaths, pointing to the armchair beside the couch. With her daughter’s help she stumbled to it, moaning hoarsely and trying to keep up her breathing. Her breathing was important she knew to keeping her baby back, lifting her diaphragm to give her cramping womb more space, and Lord knew she needed all the help she could get. With every step she took she could feel something moving inside her, stretching and painfully ravaging her body, and deep within her straining muscles the first stirrings of an urge to push.
“Mustn’t push, … mustn’t push,” she repeated to herself like a mantra in between panting breaths, and she gave vent to a long howling moan which seemed to help relax her tensing bottom.
“Keep legs together, … keep legs together,” Pamela told herself as her daughter helped her into the chair, but it was hard with her belly forced now well down between her thighs.
She sat well back in the chair to get the support of the cushion for her back and on an impulse reached up and over the head of the chair, lifting her rib cage and tugging her belly muscles upward. It helped a little but it was hard, so hard, the contractions now not letting up but rolling on and on in a continuous sheet of pain.
Kimmy looked helplessly on at her mother’s hot sweaty face, screwed up with effort and pain, the hot flush which extended down over her rolling chocolate capped breasts, where the broad tracks of her sweat seemed to mingle with a more milky track coming down from her thick, stiffened nipples onto the tight rippling uterus struggling fiercely to expel its contents.
“Oohhoooo, Oohhoooo, … Hhuhh, Hhuhh, … Oohhoooo,” moaned Pamela, and then, at once, she knew the crisis was on her, that her cervix had at last given way under the crushing strain of her contractions. She felt the hard coconut of her baby’s head bulldoze into the petite, sensitive membranes of her vagina and her horribly overstretched sex organ sent a screaming message to her brain for relief, a message that neither Pamela or any woman would have the strength to deny.
“Got to … pushhhhh!” hissed the labouring woman.
“Nooooo Mom,” wailed her panicking daughter, “not yet!!”
“GOT TO PUSHHHH!” screamed Pamela and Kimmy saw her body twist uncontrollably. Where her legs had been positioned tolerably together beside her belly, she now hoisted her left knee up and over the padded left arm of the chair, opening up her full-lipped, hairy vulva to her daughter’s mortified gaze and then, to Kimmy’s absolute horror, she twisted again and somehow lifted her right knee up and over the right arm of the chair, stretching her vulnerable, unprotected sex wider than her innocent teenaged daughter could have believed possible.
In this position, her mother’s thick shaggy pubic hair and her loose fleshy labia were tugged apart to show damp folds of flesh within, capped above by her starkly prominent clitoral hood and below by the small cave of her vaginal opening. Although understanding how much better suited her mother’s large gaping vulva was to the ordeal before it, Kimmy was stunned at the contrast with her own demure, small lipped slit.
Pamela could see her daughter’s pale worried face, but she had no time for sympathy because her belly was rigid with agonising pain and nothing in the world mattered to her but pushing out the massive invader in her upper vagina. Gripping her legs, not by the thighs under her bent knees but by her upper shins in front of her knees to get maximum leverage, she heaved with her arms and shoulders and pushed with her tummy for all she was worth. Pain shrieked at her from her straining bones and she shrieked back:
“Aaaaaiiiieeeeee …” she screamed, and felt something impossibly large jammed between her legs move down an inch.
Kimmy saw her mother’s belly flatten and go white as the tightness of the contraction squeezed the blood from her dome. Her vulva pouted outwards and gaped wider with the effort but nothing was yet to be seen. Her mother was now slumping and gasping with the effort and sweat was pouring from her. Kimmy ran quickly to the bathroom and returned with a towel drenched with cold water to wipe her mother’s face and chest.
Pamela looked up gratefully to her daughter. “Anything to see yet?” she asked in a weak voice.
“Not yet Mom,” replied the teen.
“Soon,” murmured her mother. “So big, … feels bigger than with you or your brother ..” Then her face darkened. “Uunngggg, …” she groaned, renewing her grip on her legs, “Aaaaaiiiieeeeee …”
Was there a movement this time? Pamela wasn’t sure and she began to feel anxiety welling up inside her. It did feel different, this baby, much larger than her previous two. She was conscious of being miles away from professional help. What if she couldn’t do it unaided? What if the baby was stuck in her pelvis, if her uterus tore in its inability to push the baby out. Her daughter was wiping her fevered body down and her pains were coming again and again. Oh god, where was that ambulance.
Watching her mother wracked with pain, Kimmy was thinking the same thing. Maybe she should call them again, but what could she say? And her mother needed her right now, she felt that, even though the exhausting efforts of the labouring woman prevented her from acknowledging her daughter.
Pamela was close to panic now. She had to do something to move the huge watermelon in her vagina. Summoning her last strength she reached down inside her knees and grasped her ankles, pulling them back over the arms of the chair and in towards her vulva. In this position her knees jackknifed outwards and her thighs were driven mercilessly apart.
“AAaaaooooowwww, … ” howled Pamela desperately, her hips feeling on the point of dislocation, “ … AAaaaooooowwww.”
Kimmy saw her mother’s face turn deep crimson with strain, tendons stood out like steel hawsers in her neck.
“AAAhhhhhoooohhoooo, … ” screamed Pamela, with the last of her strength and something suddenly gave within her. All at once she had a different agony, a searing burning pain as her love canal, last stretched with the 2 inch diameter penis which had got her into this dilemma, was now reamed to near breaking point by the 6 inch diameter head of her child.
Kimmy’s eyes widened as the soft curve of her mother’s splayed sex suddenly bulged outward. The gap between her lips assumed a fat tear shape, round at the bottom and pointed at the top where the lips gathered around her pushed out clitoris. And within the tear shape was no longer an empty cave but a solid grey lump.
“Mommy!” cried the teen, “Something’s coming out!”
“Hhhoooohh, … Hhhoooohh,” moaned her mother, slumping back after her effort and gasping for breath.
“Try to help me honey, …” she panted, “… don’t want to tear.”
“What’ve I got to do?” asked Kimmy in trepidation.
“Membranes, here and here,” said her mother, reaching down and pointing out the vulnerable flesh of her perineum. “Ooohh hhoohhh … OOoowwww,” as her muscles cramped again, forcing the gigantic raping head of her child further down her agonised sheath.
“AAAwwwww, the PAIN!!!” she screamed, “… Can’t stand the PAIN!!!!
As her mother screamed, Kimmy was overcome by panic. The dome of her mother’s sex pushed out and the tear shaped opening between her lips yawned into a round straining hole. Her mother’s ample, floppy lips were now stretched in a taut thin band. Surely they must tear! They couldn’t stretch further; and her mother hadn’t really told her what to do.
The sudden shooting, stinging torment in Pamela’s labia, plus the panic stricken face of her daughter alerted Pamela to the danger.
“NNngggghh, … , too fast, … , nngggghh,” she groaned, fighting back the uncontrollable urge to push. Her contraction died away leaving her panting and moaning softly at the anguish in her vagina. Kimmy was relieved to see the bulge in her mother’s sex subside and some of the tension go out of the straining labia.
“What do I do, mommy?” wailed Kimmy.
“Hold my cunt, honey, … , support my ring, … try to stop the baby coming too fast, … give it time to stretch,” panted her mother through the unrelenting agony of her massively overstretched vagina.
Then it was coming again, the pain sharpened to a knife edge and Pamela found herself pushing uncontrollably, her hands grasping convulsively and ineffectually at her thighs: no need to pull her legs further apart with the child now at her lips.
Anxious sweat now formed on her daughter’s brow as she reached for her mother’s straining sex. The great cannon ball between her legs surged brutally outwards splitting her mother wide open with shocking speed.
“AAAAeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiii!” screamed Pamela as the ring of her labia minora snapped taut and sent a white sheet of pain arcing into her brain. Her body only knew it had to expel the monstrous invader, to end the terrible pain, and she howled “Nooooooooooo!!” with venomous hatred at her daughter as she felt her pressing back on her child, holding it in, prolonging her torment.
Kimmy pushed, panic stricken on her mother’s slick membranes, felt how thin and traumatised they felt stretched like crepe paper over the hard ball below. She couldn’t believe how the plump floppy lips she had first seen so little time before had now become these huge glassy sheets of flesh struggling to make room for an entire child to pass. They stretched alarmingly under her fingers and she found the presence of mind to push back, holding her mother’s precious ring and supporting it just this side of ripping apart.
Her mother’s pent up breath exploded out and the pressure eased on her distended vulva, the raping boulder retreating a little.
“Can’t do it, … too big, … tearing me apart,” she moaned between gasping breaths.
“Yes you can, mommy, it was nearly there the last time,” lied the teen, pleadingly, “Just take it easy, everything will be alright.”
Her mother fixed Kimmy with a loving, hopeless expression, her brown eyes wide and staring.
“Oh god,” the exhausted woman thought, desperately, “I’m going to have to get Kimmy to cut my twat open with a kitchen knife to let the baby out!” The idea of holding back until the ambulance arrived was just not an option her agonised vagina would allow.
Then: “AAAAeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiii!” she was screaming again and shoving, “AAAaeeennNNNNGGG,” she shrieked, biting down on her tongue as, despite her daughter’s counter-pressure, her ring was shouldered aside to breaking point causing the little knot of muscle around her clitoris to tighten like a lasso on that tender out thrust organ and send her whole bottom and vulva into spasms of shock.
Kimmy felt her mother’s delicate membranes thrust outwards and stretch unimaginably wide. There was nothing she could do as the slick lips slid under her fingers except push the baby’s head back in by brute force, and that she didn’t have the heart to do.
Suddenly she realised that the front part of the head was out, that her mother’s thin, bloodless lips were curling out and the baby’s head was being gripped by a wider band of flesh forced outwards an inch or more from her mothers bulging vulva, her clit lying flattened against its bony head. But still the stretching continued, the widest part of the head had not yet reached the opening. It couldn’t be possible, the amount of head now visible was big enough for both Kimmy’s hands to cover it, it filled all the vast expanse between Pamela’s widespread thighs, how could her mother’s slit stretch this far? Surely any more would be impossible? Her mothers screams grew louder and more intense.
“Hold on, mom, you’ve nearly done it!” Kimmy shouted in desperation, and this time, when her mother’s effort subsided, the boulder didn’t recede but remained gripped in her horribly straining, ferociously raped lips.
Her screams continued piteously, her body writhed and twisted at the unbearable pain, but she knew that she had to hold, to allow her body to do the work, allow maximum time for her opening to stretch. She might never be able to grip a male dick again but what was most important was that she do everything to avoid a tear.
Then it was on her, the urgency in her tummy and in her sex. She bellowed and shoved, the agony was excruciating, but then she felt a giving and a sliding and her bellow turned into a primordial howl of triumph as she crowned her child and popped its head out of her vulva.
Kimmy, in her position between her mother’s legs, rocked back on her heels as the baby thrust forward at her, spreading her mother to the ultimate and wringing a wail of pain from her contorted face. Suddenly she was drenched with a gush of blood and fluid squirting past the obstruction and she saw the child’s head peering from her mother’s sex.
“Mommy, you’ve done it, it’s out!” she cried to her mother who was sobbing at the relief from the pain of her overstretched labia.
“Kimmy, darling … get ready to catch the baby, … it might be slippery,” she panted. How easily would the rest of it come? She couldn’t remember much about this part before which suggested it wasn’t too difficult.
Her tummy convulsed again and she shoved with it. “Uuunnnggghh, …” Nothing was happening. “UUUNNNGGGHH, …” Oh yes it was! With a painful stretch of her poor stressed vulva, the child suddenly shot clear and launched into the trembling hands of her teenaged daughter.
Kimmy had never thought that she would one day be holding an illegitimate baby fresh out of her mother’s 38 year old tummy. She lifted it gingerly up.
“It’s a boy! She held him out to her mother. Pamela reached for him with weak and sweaty hands. Her legs went down to the floor, wide apart displaying her messy, cavernously wide but still mercifully intact sex from which a grey, ropey, throbbing cord stretched to the tummy of her son. She cradled the baby on her belly, still round and full, from which he had so recently come and bent over him so that one of her long fat brown nipples plopped into his face. He nudged at it once or twice with eyes shut and then opened his little jaw as wide as it would go and sucked his mother’s tender swollen teat deep into his mouth. Pamela felt her breast tingle and begin to flow.
Twenty minutes later the paramedics arrived to find the new mother in bed cradling her newborn son, still attached to his recently delivered placenta. They cut the cord, weighed the baby and were astonished that she had delivered his 12 pounds 4 ounces with no drugs, episiotomy or tears.
“I had the best little helper in the world,” she said smiling and squeezing her daughter’s hand.