Even drugged out my mind, this is the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. My poor, ravaged hole is forced to stretch even further as his fat wrist widens the tear at the bottom. My overworked cervix is still contracting even as he digs around in my uterus for what seems like hours. I’m shrieking, pleading for him to stop ripping me apart. I just know I’m about to die – and I’d welcome it if it means an end to the agony. Finally, he tugs the baby out and, in my medicated state, I allow myself to imagine it might be over. That fantasy is quickly dashed as he pushes his hand back inside and starts digging around for the placentas. I’m shaking so hard the nurses have to hold me down as he roots around in my wrecked pussy for another 15 minutes. By the time he’s done I’m almost unconscious from the long labor, the pain, the whole horrible ordeal. The last thing I hear before passing out is a nurse commenting on my bruised, gaping cunt, saying that it will definitely never be the same.
My most recent fantasy involves twilight sleep, a horrible practice from the 1950’s and 60’s where women were given a mix of drugs during labor and delivery that made them forget the whole experience. It was said to relieve pain but, in fact, the women were suffering natural labor and delivery, just too drugged out of their minds up to make any sense out of the whole thing.
It was three weeks until his due date and they were holed up at home due to the presence of Hurricane Irene. Their little home was far enough inland that the damage wouldn’t be too severe and they wouldn’t have to board up or anything like they did in Florida, but it was bad enough that weathermen were expecting downed trees and probable power outages.
The second baby comes quickly, far too fast for my bruised, aching cunt hole. By the time the shoulders come out I’m sobbing in agony, pleading for the pain to end. The doctor, ready to go home, jerks the baby out too fast and causes a deep, angry tear all the way to my asshole. I whimper and moan as I wait for the final baby to come but, despite the hard contractions and my body’s innate attempts to push, it doesn’t. Finally the impatient doctor has had enough. He snaps on an elbow high glove and plunges his hand deep inside me.
“I know and I’m sorry for that. I’d never have hurt you, Merlin. I was…well, I was in shock. And yes, I was angry. You told me you hadn’t ever planned to tell me about the baby. You weren’t ever going to tell me I had a son. I mean, I was mad about the lies and the magic but it really hurt that you were planning to never tell me that you were having my baby.”
It was the stench that woke her. The smell of musk and decay taking her from pleasant dreams. She looked unhappily about. The cell she was trapped in was cold and damp and the short chains bound to her wrist bit deep, letting scars heal from past self-inflicted injuries. She could only guess at how long she had been kept a prisoner and it wasn't wasn't by etching each hopeless day upon her cell walls. She looked over her naked body with disgust, her eyes stuck upon her now swollen belly. She was in her third trimester her captives claimed. Thus she estimated she had been here a little over nine months. She bit back tears as memories flooded with renewed vigor. Though the days had long passed when the men would enter her cell and take her, ravaging her until their seed had planted, she dreaded this time the most.
Not Your Typical PrisonerThe gavel came down with a loud thud. "The defendant, Jonathan Randoll, is sentenced to a 16 year prison sentence without chance of parole." I looked at my feet thinking of the life that would be wasted. At only 18, I wouldn't get out until I was 34 years old. It all started when I was growing up in a tough neighborhood. Desperate for protection, I joined a gang and was forced to do some initiation crimes. Over time I had been caught stealing and this was the third strike, meaning that I was not going to be spared when it came to sentencing. I knew I had to keep my poker face, though, because some of the gang members were in the courtroom and I couldn't show my fear, my frustration with where my life had gone.
Merlin listened in dismay. He really didn’t want Arthur present for this, didn’t think he could stand to have Arthur pressed up against him under such humiliating circumstances. He’d witnessed enough births to know exactly what was likely to happen to him. He certainly didn’t want Arthur, of all people, to witness to his tears, to hear his cries, to watch the other indignities that were likely to be inflicted on him.
Like a turtle on its back, Jensen was stuck on the floor. He’d squatted down to pick something up, was thrown off balance by their huge monstrosity of a dog, Harley, and when he tried to catch himself, his hand slipped on the tile. Jensen ended up flat on his back on the floor with Harley licking his face. If he really wanted to try, Jensen was sure he could get up, but decided just to lay there instead, just for a few moments until he could muster enough energy to pull himself up. Two minutes turned into twenty and Jensen was still lying on the floor weighing the pros and cons of staying there and waiting for Jared to find him, or attempting to try now to get up.
When an hour later, Tom finally came out to the ER, covered in Jensen’s blood, and told him Jensen was stable and going to be just fine, Jared had buried his head in brother’s shoulder and started sobbing all over again. After being ushered into his still unconscious husband’s hospital room, they brought in little baby Mason, who despite initial worries about being born three weeks early, was a perfectly healthy baby boy. The relief he felt at knowing his family was going to be okay, was staggering and he’d become so lightheaded and dizzy that he nearly passed out. Thankfully, Tom ushered him to a seat next before he fainted.
He was right. Who knew if the snipers were still there or not? Bending over, he allowed John's arm about his neck as he got him to his feet before beginning the agonizingly slow walk to the dressing rooms. It seemed that John could only walk so far before having to stop to breathe through contractions that were now right on top of each other. And it hurt Sherlock nearly as much to see John in that much pain. Why Omegas chose to do this at all seemed completely illogical to him... Desperate to ease some of the pain, he pulled John close to him; letting his head rest against his chest and swaying together until John decided to move again. And from the look on John's face, it was the best thing he could have done. It was during one of these 'dances' that Shelock was alarmed to discover that John was now trembling under his touch even though he couldn't possibly be cold.
Huge baby, born breech, with the head stuck inside the mother. The doctors put her out and use no less than seven instruments – forceps, scalpels, scissors – to hack away at her vulva, pulling, pushing on her stomach, wrenching her legs wider until finally the head comes free. I don’t know what the doctor is doing at the end, punching his whole hand into her horribly ripped slit, but it’s for damn sure she woke up after it was all over, screaming for pain meds and unable to sit or walk for weeks!