KINKTOBER: DAY 11 (Patreon)

Day 11: Handcuffs

WORD COUNT: 1K

SUMMARY: Imagine a trans man who doesn't know he's pregnant, and neither does the policemen who just arrested him.

TAGS: tmpreg, birth kink, labor, birth denial, clothing birth public birth, car birth, cryptic pregnancy (character didn't know he was pregnant), unnasisted birth, character genitalia is refered as 'pussy' and 'cunt' and afab terms, nsfw, +18

No one could ever suspect that he is pregnant. It's just not feasible: this brawny, beefy man, all muscle and hair, a proper big boy with a thick beard, big arms, a scary-looking guy that you don't feel like messing with at all.

His belly is the first thing that anyone's eyes land on. The tight gut protruding from his middle, the one that his shirts had become barely able to cover over the months. He blames it on his lack of physical effort and the indulgence of fast food. He just looks like someone's uncle who went overboard with the turkey on Thanksgiving.

He's at his usual sports bar, enjoying a drink, when a bad move with some jerk in the crowd initiates a fight. A bloody nose blown out of proportion later, and he's sitting in the tight back of a police car, his hands tied behind his back, a dull ache rising on his shoulders at the tension of being pulled back so tight for so long.

The handcuffs are a bit too tight around his wrists. He's able to be just fine for the first minutes, until the cops started to work on some bullshit paperwork, and he was forgotten in the back of the police car. Of course, he expects some bureaucracy. That doesn’t erase the tension from his body or his mind because, after all, he is about to get in some big trouble for some stupid fight. 

It can't get any worse than this, right? He just has to remain calm, breathe in, breathe out, and probably think about calling a lawyer.

It can't cross anyone's mind, it’s just a stupid idea, a man like that, pregnant? Not even in a million years. Not even he would think that he’s pregnant. That one fast and messy hookup nine months ago with some guy, where both of them had been so, so horny they didn't even remember to bring up birth control, letting the other guy fill his pussy with his cum is long forgotten in the back of his mind.

None of it crosses his mind when he feels the first ache in his tight stomach. Not when the dull pain at the base of his stomach becomes something stronger. Not when he has to soothe himself and try to convince it’s just his nerves, the situation.

By the time the pain starts to become annoying, to the point where it becomes hard to sit straight, and his body starts to tingle with something, his hands restrained behind his back, sweating, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, something is wrong. 

He tries to convince himself to just breathe. Calm down. The last thing he needs is some induced panic attack in the back of a fucking police car. 

His stomach feels weird. A deep pain, like the worst stomach cramp he has ever felt, was taking over his abdomen. He can feel the tension of the muscles of his middle, the stiffness of his body, his body hot as a million needles dig against the rock-hard surface of his belly.

He hopes it will go away, but it doesn't. It doesn't go away even when he's hunched himself in the seat, his forehead pressing against the security grill that divides the backseat from the front of the police car, his breath slow and controlled as his heart thumps in his chest.

Something was wrong. Something was wrong, and he could tell because of the weird pressure inside of him, the tightness of his stomach, the weight of something big and heavy crashing down on his pelvic bones, making his hips ache.

When he feels the unshakable feeling that he needs to go to the bathroom, the first groan escapes his mouth. He tilts his body towards the window, screams to the cops that he needs to go to the bathroom, that he needs fresh air. They either pretend they don’t hear him, or maybe they're actually busy with the paperwork. It doesn't matter; he can't be bothered to do any kind of rational thinking because as soon as he moves his body back in place, his hips move forward, back arching, and legs spreading wide when he feels it. 

Liquid is coming out of him. The first thing that crosses his mind is that he’s wetting himself, for fuck’s sake. Just what he fucking needed. His legs snap close together, and he forces his body forward, trying to stop it. He can’t stop the streaming of liquid coming from inside his body, no matter how much he tries. 

Of course, it doesn't even cross his mind that what he's feeling is the head of a huge, overdue baby moving fast past his birth canal, no longer cushioned by the amniotic sac, ready to come out. It doesn't register to him that what he is feeling is the intense pressure of the baby's body stretching his cervix open as it moves down. Not even when he feels oh so clearly something trying to come out of him.

It doesn't cross his mind that the result of a careless hookup nine months ago is being expelled out of him right now, in the backseat of a police car. 

The moment it clicks, the moment his brain feels struck by lightning as the gears in his mind grind as he realizes what is happening is the moment he feels the sudden stretch of his cunt as the head presses right behind his pussy lips, his legs jerking open as much as his tight shorts allow, his eyes snapping to stare down at his own tight stomach.

The moment his brain finally concluded he was giving birth, right here, right now, was when he felt something spreading him open from the inside, his lips spreading around the girth of something huge coming out of his pussy, when the burning spread through his crotch.

His body trembles in the seat, his back pressing against the cushions, all the muscles of his body tensing at the spasms of his womb, at the sudden pressure filling his pussy. He wants to reach forward, to pull his shorts down, but all he can do is twitch in place; the movement is truncated halfway because of the handcuffs. The desperation comes first, before the pain. Not even the sudden feeling of the head moving even lower, pushing against the fabric of his wet boxers, can distract him from the panic of the restriction. 

His body is still pushing, and he can do nothing but let himself scream and tremble against the seat, let his hips move forward by reflex against the burning, legs flexing, the soles of his shoes pressing down hard against the car mats that shift beneath him. The round bulge in the crotch of his shorts grows.

The people walking on the sidewalk peep through the window with cautious eyes at the groans, the screams. The only thing they see is a man putting on a freak show in the backseat of a police car. Some people stop and start filming, ready to get a viral video.

It doesn’t cross anyone’s mind that he’s giving birth. No one believes him when he pleads and moans that he's having a baby as the head slides out further outside of him, pressing against the tight fabric of his pants, amniotic liquid gushing out of his wrecked pussy as the fire of pushing burns through him.

One of the policemen finally approaches the car, a clipboard still in hand with unfinished paperwork, leaning in to knock on the window, ready to tell him to shut up, only to find him with his legs spread open, one propped up against the security grill, his head threw back against the headrest in an awkward angle, hands still tied behind his back and the head of a baby sliding out of the legs of one of his shorts as the blood and amniotic liquid run down on the new upholstery they just barely managed to get for last Christmas.