Waiting For The Baby To Start Crowning.

Hex My Ex! (13)

I Fucked up with the skin color qwq

“OH!! OH GOD!!! I’M GIVING BIRTH!! ”

still thinking about those EGGS

Del-Ken's Curse was the alpha and omega for so many of us. This primal, horrific pregnancy curse that grows relentlessly, kicking to life slowly despite being unwanted.

So much of modern belly expansion and pregnancy horror comes from this single comic - the phrase, "hard and unyeilding to the touch," alone - that it is a travesty to not celebrate this masterpiece on Tumblr.

Raise a glass to Del-Ken and Curse.

Del-Ken: https://www.deviantart.com/del-ken

Poor little bird-folk who has a condition that makes their eggs grow unusually large. It means they almost always get egg bound and spend days laying a clutch when all their friends do it in an afternoon. It doesn't help that they're small and slight with narrow hips that strain against every huge egg.

As they get closer to laying their stomach swells up immensely, looking ridiculous on their small frame. Everyone else they know gets a regular, manageable bump in the weeks before they lay. Usually only restricting their movements in the last few days. But their stomach is huge and obvious and horribly sore for weeks. They spend almost a month too heavy to fly and by the last week they can barely walk. You would think that going through this every year would mean they're used to it, but every time they are caught off guard by how heavy and sore and uncomfortable their giant eggs make them. Their fragile pelvis wasn't made to carry so much weight. Their skin stretches so far that they start to lose feathers on their belly and red, angry stretch marks are visible on the exposed skin. It's miserable but they know the worst is still yet to come.

Their body is designed to lay quickly. Half a day of laboring, an hour of pushing and you've got a clutch. But with their eggs three or four times bigger than they should be that timeline is simply impossible. They dread those first contractions. Once they start they are trapped in a horrible storm as their body shoves the first egg down brutally hard and fast. The pressure in their hips increases ten fold. They squawk and cry, paralyzed by the intensity and trying desperately to find a position that will ease some of the pressure.

It's not long before the tip of the first egg begins to press down through their cloaca. This is when the real trouble starts. They are gripped with the urge to push. The first push begins to stretch their hole, the heavy egg bulging out the skin between their legs, the very tip visible just inside. But there is not enough space. Two, maybe three pushes should be enough for a regular egg. But their egg is so, so big. It gets stuck almost immediately. A few desperate pushes might bring it down just a bit more, enough than the stretch of their cloaca really starts to sting. But then it lodges itself and won't budge no matter how much they push.

No matter how many times they're forced to do this they are always gripped with horrible panic when they realize the egg won't move. The pain of contractions, the spasming of their stretched hole, the mind numbing pressure, all make it impossible to think. They'll thrash and scream, crying that it's stuck! It's stuck! Oh god please, it won't come! By now they know to have a healer on hand. But during their first lay they cried alone for hours, sure they were going to die.

There isn't actually much the healer can do. The bird-folk must now go through a horrible process of slow stretching. The healer takes some oil and rubs it around the rim of their hole, gently stretching the already taught skin, trying to work them open. They moan as their tortured hole is stretched. The burn is constant and terrible and they feel like they could rip open at any second. The healer stretches them and then they are forced to stand on shaking legs and hobble back and forth, bowlegged around their crowning egg. They shift their hips as best they can, trying to work the egg down. They are still beset by contractions and every few the urge to push becomes too great and they have to squat down and push. On every fourth or fifth push the egg will inch out the slightest bit more.

The progress is glacial and agonizing. They are trapped in a desperate cycle. Once they collapse from exhaustion the healer applies more oil, wedging their finger in alongside the egg and making them stretch. Then after a fruitless push or two they are dragged back to their feet. They rock and sway and squat intermittently, pushing and crying, until their legs give out once again and they slump to the ground in an exhausted heap. Then the healer approaches with more oil.

This goes on for hour after miserable hour. Slowly the egg crowns out of their tortured cloaca. The liberal application of oil and constant stretching protects them from tearing but the burn is indescribable. They are stretched so tight around something much bigger than it should be. At a certain point they go numb, their nerves unable to keep up with the stretch.

It's usually at that point that they break down completely, going limp and weeping, saying the egg will never come out, just leave them, they're too tired to push anymore. Every time they're sure this is it, it's over. They just want the pressure and the pain to end but their will is completely broken. The healer lets them cry and writhe through several contractions then hauls them up on their hands and knees, forces some water down their throat, and tells them to get pushing. It's hard but they've done it every year and this won't be the year they die on the healer's watch. Still crying and hiccuping miserably they bear down and push again.

By the next day they are usually close to the widest part of the egg. The end is in sight but still so far away. The cycles of oil, stretching, and pushing have gotten shorter and shorter. They are no longer able to stand, the egg forcing their legs too wide. It looks obscene sticking out of their hole, taking up the entire space between their legs. They alternate between squatting and rocking back and forth on their hands and knees. By now they are in a kind of trance-like state. Their world shrunk down to just the giant egg holding them brutally open. They emit a constant quiet lowing, their broken voice peaking in distress with every push.

Finally after one push they feel it, on instinct they know that one more push will get them past the widest point. They suck in a breath and push with every desperate ounce of strength left in their exhausted body. The egg moves. The pressure gives. In an almost orgasmic gush the egg bursts through and slides out of their spasming hole. They slump to the ground and sob in relief.

They get maybe an hour of rest. Then the pains return and their body starts working the next giant egg down to their hole. They're stretched now so this one will not take quite as long but they still have hours more of pushing ahead. And after that two more eggs lie in wait.

When all of the eggs are finally out they sleep for days, completely drained. The relief of finally being empty is always tainted by the knowledge that they will have to do it all again next year.

I thought of the unthinkable in that moment. What I was about to do would cause you more pain on top of the labor and ring of fire that would take you soon.

This wasn't the romantic or intimate birth either of us had imagined, but it was the one we were having. We're an hour away from making the descent and this is my last resort. The small pushes you were giving slowly increased in strength as your body took the reigns of the birth of our baby. The counter pressure I provided was the only thing slowing it down. Your entire body heaves between the short reprieves, the quickly tightens and shakes with resistance

"Your doing so well, babe. You're being so strong," I kiss you on the cheek and hold your hand tight.

You barely respond in anything more than a muted moan as you lose another struggle to your body demanding strong pushes. The head is filling your canal to the point I can feel your crotch bulge against my hand.

"Need...out..." You say through barely parted lips. Your sweat soaked shirt twists with your belly. "It stings, oh babe it burns. I-I-"

Your voice slips into a silent weep.

I grit my teeth and look away from your struggling body. I cup my hand around the small sliver of the crown. This baby wasn't going to be born on this plane if I could help it.

Each contraction unravels you further, yet I keep my hand steady to hold our baby in. I can't let your whimpering undo me now when we've come so far.

I continue to hold it there as the plane begins to come to life with activity and your begging becomes more audible. The descent is about to begin.

[Part I] [Part II]

I could barely breathe, barely think. Everything was on fire… stretching, burning, squeezing. I wanted to throw up; I wanted fresh air; I wanted to push, but I wanted to keep this baby in until we landed… My wants didn’t matter though, this baby, our baby, was working on their own schedule.

The lights in the aircraft came on and crew began their routine checks throughout the cabin, getting the plane ready to land.

“You’re doing so well sweetheart. Just half an hour to go until we land.” You whisper softly in my ear.

“I c-can’t do it…” I sob, my sweaty hair falling across my face. “H-hurts… so b-bad… mnnnghh… is the baby nearly o-out?”

I don’t notice the hesitation in your voice when you assure me the baby is not nearly out and that we have plenty of time. It certainly didn’t feel like it…. My eyes were watering with the pain, I’d been pushing so hard, I don’t know how the baby wasn’t crowning by now. I would have moved my hands to feel but they were gripped so tight on each arm rest I daren’t let go, it was the only thing keeping me semi-grounded and held off my screaming.

“We need to put your seatbelt back on honey.” You said fearfully. “And put your chair back upright.”

“You can’t be- hoooo- serious! I’m trying not to have a baby here and you wanna mnnnghh move me?!” I grit through my teeth.

“Yes, we’re so close, nearly home. Just a little bit longer I promise.” You say gently. “Are you having a contraction or can I move my hand? You can’t push when my hand isn’t there okay?”

“Ooooh okay, yeah go - do it.” I panted.

Moving the chair was easy enough but the time it took to get the seatbelt over my heavy swell another contraction was already happening.

“Mnnnnnnghhh gotta-pushhhhh!” I grunted, my body contorting as it pushed the baby further out and I felt it reach a full crown.

“No babe don’t!” You tried to say but my chin was already on my chest, hair falling over my face, as I pushed again with all my strength.

“Is everything alright?” Came the voice of an air steward from the aisle.

With my head dipped it wasn’t obvious I was a woman deep in labour and actively pushing, so it was easy for you to assure the crew member everything was fine and that I was just a little tired and unwell.

Despite my pushing the baby stayed at full crown, stuck by the tight denim of my shorts. I pushed and grunted again, gasping for breath and begging you to help me.

Spread out widely on the large bed, screaming is all you can do now as the biggest head ever struggles to free its entrapment. You are thrashing wildly against the sheets, begging for relief but it will not happen for hours and hours....

you feel so full. your cunt is agonizingly stretched, too tight to accommodate the huge baby inside. you scream and thrash and beg for mercy, but your partner can’t do anything. they just hold your hand and wipe your sweat and mutter anxious encouragements. more and more painful contractions hit you back to back, your belly visibly tightening with each one. you feel the massive weight squirming inside you as it tries to force its way out, but it’s too BIG. you’ve never been in so much pain, and you just want it to be OVER. but it wont be anytime soon <3

God~ it’s so biggg~! I think I’m gonna need some help pushing them out!!~ 🥵🥵🥵

To say Lydia was struggling was an understatement. Going from single and partying to overstuffed and overburdened in the course of a few days took a lot out of a girl. Though it was hard to pin down exactly what cause her sudden and incredibly active pregnancy, her only clue was her date. She took a chance on a guy who seemed to have a fascination with sci fi and aliens. He claimed to have found and befriend one. Of course Lydia thought he was just messing around but he took it very seriously. She excused herself to use the bathroom, considering just leaving him and trying to salvage the night elsewhere. Yet his peculiar nature didn't make him a bad date. He was engaging and actively listening in conversation, he took enough care in his appearance that he was at least kind of cute and he make it clear he'd pay for whatever she asked.

After she returned to the table, the night was a blur and she woke up in her bed with a sweet aftertaste lingering in her mouth. From that point on it began. The stomach pains, the swelling of her belly as well as her breasts and the insane cravings that seemed to possess her any time her stomach growled. She practically ate enough for five guys in a single day.

Currently bedridden with her brood, Lydia didn't have any explanation for her condition. Her only saving grace, if she could even call it that, was the ACC was fast acting. She remembered her date mentioning it that night, calling them hacks and selfish. He apparently took issue with them capturing and containing alien offspring.

---------------------------------

Agents Lawrence and Jennings took the official report, both surprised by what they saw. Hearing of radical individuals was new for both of them, though their supervisor was familiar with the circumstances. Young women being impregnated, sometimes covertly, by fanatics seeking to 'assist' alien population growth. Thankfully, there were no complications and Lydia gave birth several days later. The specimen was contained and is under observation. Meanwhile Lydia's date is under investigation and local law enforcement are alerted to his activities.