KINKTOBER: DAY 16 (Patreon)

Day 16: Remote control

WORD COUNT: 3K

SUMMARY: Inspired by Rachel’s first birth and this. 

TAGS: AOF, fpreg, birth kink, public birth, clothing birth, rapid pregnancy, forced rapid pregnancy, nsfw, +18

YOU

It was as if someone had put a giant, huge red button in front of your face and then put a sign that said DO NOT PUSH. Like facing a dog with the fleshiest piece of meat and expecting them not to run to sink their teeth into it. 

The meeting had started fifteen minutes ago. You had been bored since the beginning of your shift.

It was not fair that you were here, stuck in Mrs. Carter's office, while the action happened in the boardroom.

I mean, it was not probably like they were having any more fun over there than what you were having here, but at least they weren't confined to sit still like a plant in an empty office with nothing else to do. If you were in that meeting, at least staring at the clock hands moving would be a bit more entertaining with Higgins' voice in the background.

Or you could use all your focus to not laugh at Higgins's lisp or focus all your vital energy into trying to make your arch-enemy, Darcy from accounting, burst into flames.

Or better: being able to let your mind wander and distract yourself with the very revealing cleavage of Mrs. Carter's blouse. That was a fun one.

But instead, you were here, sitting in your boss's desk (which, spoiler, you had not been allowed to, she left you on the couch, not in her chair), staring at that weird remote resting on the keyboard of her computer.

You weren't aware they were testing any kind of new product.

Your eyes drifted from the remote to scan the room. There was nothing that could be turned on by it. No mini-split on the walls, no weird-looking machine.

Huh, weird. What other features did Mrs. Carter's office have that yours didn't? Besides the nice chair and the real mahogany desk instead of the faux wood in your office.

Your hands were itching. The logical part of your brain told you what you already knew: don't touch shit you weren't asked to touch or you didn't know what it was for. 

But that damn remote. 

It was almost batting its eyelashes at you.

MRS. CARTER

Higgins was going on about something the competition had done that increased their sales by 150 percent in nine months. Incredible. 

Mrs. Carter crossed one leg over the other and leaned back on her chair. The next slide appeared on screen. 

It was going to be a long meeting.

YOU

It was asking for it, come on. You couldn't be blamed when the damn thing was just there, looking… grabbable. 

The moment you took it, the theories you had formed in your mind about what it was for started to vanish one by one: it didn't look like it would work on any kind of lamp or lights, it did not look like something you could use on a TV, a computer, or a projector. It was a very simple gadget. Rudimentary, almost. 

One button at the top with the word START, and one with the word FINISH at the bottom. A pause button in the middle. On the sides, like a phone, two small buttons that looked like they were something to raise or lower the volume, but not quite there.

Anyway, it was a shame that it just didn't work. You pressed the start button once, and nothing happened. 

MRS. CARTER

Her stomach twisted. Not because of the awfully designed PowerPoint in front of her that used Comic Sans at one point, but something in her insides churned, the muscles of her middle tightening.

Mrs. Carter's hand moved to her stomach, her palm pressing down on the bloated surface, rubbing a soothing circle. When the twisting turned into a rumble, something moving on her lower abdomen, the frown made it to her face.

Damn. Maybe she shouldn't have gone overboard with the Indian food for lunch after all. 

She cleared her throat. The wheels of her chair sank slightly into the carpet, halting the movement when she pushed it back. Mrs. Carter's body curled over itself at the weird feeling in her stomach. 

YOU

But it had to do something. 

You pressed start again. And again. And again. 

Still, nothing happened. 

You tried one more time, listening carefully after you pressed the button. Maybe, like some fantasy game, it had started some kind of secret mechanism in your boss's office you couldn't see. Something hidden inside the walls or under the floor.

Nothing. Your fingers moved down to the finish button, hovered over it. 

The button that looked the most used, its surface worn smooth, was the pause button.

MRS. CARTER

The chair creaked when she pushed her weight back against the rest, heels digging at the carpeted floor and fingers tightening around the armrests. 

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Mrs. Carter was one second away from standing up and excusing herself to the bathroom when she felt it. Her eyes moved down her lap, her eyes freezing in a horrified look as the first button of her blouse started to yield against the surface of her stomach.

Or rather, how her stomach was starting to push out against the surface of her blouse. 

Her head snapped up, her eyes flicking over her employees. Thank god the people in front of her were paying attention, their eyes staring at Higgins' PowerPoint. No one had heard the small gasp that escaped her lips or seen the horrified grimace her face had morphed into. 

Her hand moved to her stomach, pressing at the face where she could feel the muscle shifting, her belly growing beneath her touch, starting to bulge against the fabric.

Fuck. The remote. This shouldn't be happening right now. 

Her body glitched for a moment. She wasn't sure if she wanted to get up and run or sit her ass down and pray that this was just a mistake. A malfunction that was going to stop in just a few seconds.

She breathed. Alright, even if the process did not stop in a few seconds, she knew how this went. It was supposed to last for hours since the procedure started, right? She definitely had time.

If her math was right —and she was always right, there was a reason she was the boss— she could get out of this meeting looking just a bit bloated. Normal.

But.

But she felt, again, her stomach contracting. The muscles tensed, and she stared down as the mild bloat at the base of her stomach growled, the skin rippling as her belly doubled in size in a matter of seconds.

The first button of her blouse popped off without glory, just barely hanging by a thread, exposing the skin of the base of her distended stomach.

Mrs. Carter swallowed. Her hands flew to her mouth to cover it, avoiding the moan that threatened to escape at the feeling: the feeling of her own womb expanding, definitely not something that should be happening this fast or right now.

YOU

Your fingers hovered over the allegedly up button. Then, just because it was there and it looked like it should be pressed by your thumb, you pressed it down. 

Once, twice. 

Nothing. 

You pressed it again. Put the controller down for a moment, straining to hear if anything was working now. 

More meant up, right? Turn the volume up. You listened for a moment to see if something was actually working. 

Nothing. All you could hear was the faint sound of Higgins' voice going on about number and projections from a few rooms away, in the dead quiet the office had sunk into.

MRS. CARTER

Mrs. Carter's fingers tightened around the armrest of her chair. On screen, a new slide showed the company's numbers for the last six months. One particular thing Higgins had pointed out got the attention of the employees,  and now the people were arguing very passionately about it.

She should've been listening, but her mind was racing, her attention on the way her belly was fucking swelling, how something was growing inside of her.

Someone turned to face her.

One person turned to her. His body reacted before her mind could; by reflex, her body curled in on itself as she rested her elbows on the table, dragging the chair closer to it. She felt the pressure when her tight stomach was pushed against the edge of he table in an attempt to hide it, a sharp breath escaping her lips.

A question. She cleared her throat.

“Uh, yeah, yes—” she nodded, her nails digging into the pads of her hands, “of course.

Her last word came out as a strangled sound when a sharp pain took over her stomach, but she managed to mask it with a cough, her hand covering her mouth. The person who asked the question seemed satisfied and turned back to face Higgins.

As soon as the attention was back on the screen, she let her face contort in pain. Her stomach hurt as if someone was just twisting a knife in her guts, the well-known sensation of a contraction taking over her. If she moved her hands from the table, if she were to dare and touch her swollen middle, she would have found the muscles of her womb tight and hard to the touch.

Well, she didn't have to touch to know.

Her own body was telling her. Mrs. Carter was painfully aware of the way her body had distorted and morphed into this in the literal span of what, a few minutes?

The way her center of gravity had shifted, her legs forcedly spread open and her hips shifted forward, her back arched as the weight of a baby started to settle in her middle, forcing her body to accommodate to fast change. 

And something was moving down. Fast. Too fast.

YOU

Your fingers pressed the up button. Once. Then the down button. Then the up button again. 

Nothing. 

Well, the thing must not be working at all.

Like a child, your thumb sweeps over the whole thing, pressing down all the buttons at once. 

MRS. CARTER

Her hand flew to her mouth, her teeth sinking into her index finger. Her knees jerked close together in an automatic response, her body responding to the feeling of something moving down, fighting against the sensation of something trying to make its way out of her.  

Her eyes went wide. Higgins was still talking about numbers.

The soft surface of the office chair beneath her dampened when a gush of liquid streamed out of her pussy, leaking through her pantyhose,  through the thick fabric of her skirt. God damn, and she thought today was a good day to go partially commando.

Something moved down. The pressure between her legs grew as she felt it crashing down on her hips, the baby's head sliding down her birth canal.

Mrs. Carter's thighs trembled as the pressure mounted in her middle, a burning starting to spread through her crotch. 

The baby's head moved lower. 

Her body tensed. A new slide appeared on the screen. The lights of the boardroom dimmed as a video began playing on the screen. Everyone's attention was still on the screen in front of her. 

A drop of sweat slid from her forehead down her chin, falling onto the papers scattered in front of her on the table, staining and blurring the letters in the paper.

Her eyes moved down. Her stomach was still pulsating and moving under the strained fabric of her shirt.

She bit her finger harder.

YOU

The chair creaked when you leaned back, letting your head fall back against the ergonomic neck support. 

Your body almost deflated as a long sigh escaped your lips. You turned to the watch on the wall. God, this meeting was taking forever. 

You listened again. The ticking of the clock. The rumbling of the streets outside, a car honking somewhere. A monotone voice that probably came from a video leaking from the boardroom through the paper-thin walls.

The control flipped in the air before it landed again on your hand, your fist closing around it like a useless toy, definitely pressing some buttons. Then, it landed back on the desk.

MRS. CARTER

It was an absolute miracle that no one was paying attention to her or else.

There would have been more than one worried look or more than one obvious welcome comment about the way her body was now contorted in her seat, how she was hunched over herself, trying to hide the painfully obvious way her stomach had turned into a gravid dome sitting between her parted thighs.

This wasn't the way any of this was supposed to happen. There were protocols and guidelines to ensure that exactly this happened in the safe way. Of course, the safe way was the way it was intended to work, and not this manufacturing defect that caused her to put on this damn show in the middle of a meeting.

And worse, she was stuck. Mrs. Carter cursed herself mentally. She should have left the room the moment she realized something was wrong.

And now she couldn’t move. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she could not move her hips without a sharp pain bolting through her bones, she couldn’t move without her stomach tensing and the pressure between her legs burning. 

And she could feel the way her pussy lips were stretching and spreading around the head of the baby, trying to come out of her. 

And she could not, for the life of her, predict what was going to happen next. 

YOU

This was a way nicer office than yours, you thought as your fingers drummed against the wooden surface of Mrs. Carter's desk.

Your left leg was bouncing restlessly while your hand toyed with the remote control, throwing it in the air and catching it like your own little fidget toy.  

The thing beeped. You startled, almost letting it fall in the air when a small bip came from the remote. Uh. Oh.

Not good.

You swallowed, turning the little thing around in your hands. There were no lights or sounds or anything that would signal that it was on or working, but the small noise definitely came from there.

You held the remote next to your ear. The beep came again.

Oh, shit. 

Well, what now? There was no kind of restart button that would undo any kind of possible damage you just may or may not have caused by pressing on all those buttons like a beast?

Ok, so… you pressed the start button twice. Then, just in case, the pause button. 

You weren't sure if you had heard correctly at first. A scream echoed through the building. Loud enough to force you to get on your feet, the remote was forgotten on the chair.

Another scream. Two. Three— you recognized Higgins' voice squealing from the boardroom, joining the panicked chorus of other people who had also started screaming.

Oh. You fucked up something really bad.

You scrambled, tripping over your own feet as you ran towards the boardroom. Through the translucent curtains, you could see a swarm of people buzzing in the room, not seated at the long table as expected. You could see the silhouettes of the men scurrying around, their panicked voices carrying into the hallway as you made your way towards the door.

No one paid attention to your dramatic entrance; everyone's attention was on the head of the table.

Your eyes drifted from the forms of your coworkers towards the end of the room. Your boss, Mrs. Carter, was wrenched in her chair, her legs propped upon the table, legs spread wide, in quite a position that HR would not classify as appropriate for the workplace.

Where there was supposed to be the loose-fitting clothing of her blouse hanging around her middle, there was a huge, gravid stomach protruding, threatening to pop the few buttons of her blouse that had bravely stayed in place. One of her heels was on the floor, the other scraping against the wood of the table. Her hands were pulling at the hem of her skirt, forcing the fabric to ride up her thighs, nails desperately clawing at her clothing as if she needed to get rid of them.

You took a step closer, pushing past the crowd. Mrs. Carter finally managed to get her skirt as high up her legs as possible, leaving a clear view for everyone to be able to see between her legs.

Oh.

The huge head of a baby was crowning between her legs, dampening the fabric of the chair as amniotic fluid gushed out of her stretched, wrecked pussy. Her swollen lips were red and puffy, stretching around the huge head that pushed outwards, pressing against the fabric of her pantyhose. You watched as she let out a scream, her face turning red as you saw her body tremble and tense as she pushed.

The head didn't move.

Another scream. Someone mumbled something about calling 911 or an ambulance. Someone had an obvious boner in his pants.

You watched as Mrs. Carter continued to squirm, as her body continued to tense and untense, her swollen stomach contracting as she pushed. The head didn't move an inch.

The moment she lifted her head, wide eyes scanning the room until they landed on you, you swallowed. She knew that you knew you had fucked it up.

"You...nhgn...you!" she shrieked, one furious finger pointing at you, "Unpause it, damn it…ughnn…!”