The Horrible Hospital

To the beautiful Cecilia,

a horrible tale of woe and kinkiness...

The Horrible Hospital

"Get me to the hospital, and quick!" I yell at the taxi driver as I struggle to fasten the seat belt over my bloated stomach. "I'm going to have a baby!"

The driver eyes me critically. "Are you sure you're not just fat? You look kind of fat to me."

"I'm pregnant, damn it!" I yell, as a contraction courses through me. "NOW GET ME TO THE HOSPITAL!"

"God damn it, woman, there's no reason to yell!" The driver says, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. "And there's sure as hell no reason for you to swear."

"Oh, for heaven's sake get me to the hospital," I plead. "I don't want to have this baby here!"

"And you're sure you're pregnant?" the driver asks.

"Good God, yes! I'm giving birth, for crying out loud! Why aren't you listening to me?"

"Oh, and now you've gone and taken the Lord's name in vain," the driver clucks. "Irreverent bitch."

I gasp. Imagine calling me a name like that! I force myself to take a deep breath and will myself to speak. "If you have any mercy in your body, please just drive," I say as calmly and evenly as I can manage, rubbing my stomach, trying to force myself to relax. The driver doesn't say anything. After a moment, I hear the engine start and the cab pulls away from the curb.

Everything's going to be all right, after all. I'm going to a hospital to deliver my baby. I'm too happy for words.

I hear the driver begin speaking and my heart sinks. "What hospital do you want to go to?" he asks.

"Whichever one is closest."

"You don't know which hospital you need to go to?!"

"It doesn't really matter, does it? As long as I get there, and quick!"

"Listen woman, I'm trying to help you. If you go to the wrong hospital, your insurance isn't going to cover it. Now if you're smart, you'll figure out which hospital you need to go to."

"Look, I can't tell you off the top of my head. Anyway, this is an emergency. Just take me to whatever's closest."

"Whatever you like," the driver says with a shrug.

We continue driving. I can tell that my contractions are getting closer and closer together. I try to relax and not think about it. I still have plenty of time. The cab drives into the parking lot of the nearest hospital. I reach around the seat, looking for my wallet to pay my cab fare. Oh my God, it's in the pocket of my coat! And my coat is still at the restaurant!

"Driver?" I say timidly. "I seem to have left my wallet in the restaurant. But if you don't mind waiting in the parking lot, I'm sure my husband will gladly give you a handsome tip as soon as he's able to get off work."

"You don't have money?!" The driver yells, slamming on the breaks.

"But my husband will pay you, if you just wait..."

He parks in an empty spot and pulls the handbrake up noisily.

"Listen girlie, I'm not letting you out of this car until you pay me one way or another."

"But I told you! My wallet's still at the restaurant. I don't have any other money. I need to get to the emergency room! My husband will be here in half an hour to pay you, can't you just wait?"

"You've got pretty big tits," the driver interrupts.

"Yeah, well, I'm nine months pregnant, thank you very much."

"Will you let me hold 'em?"

"I'm in labor. Are you really going to hold me a prisoner in your taxi cab so you can fondle my breasts? You must be one sick bastard." I unbelt myself and open the door. I have trouble getting out of the car because of my belly, and by the time I close the door, he's standing in front of me, waiting.

"You know I am, sweetie," he says, taking my nipple in his hand and squeezing it. I cry out in pain as he begins to ease up and starts cupping and massaging my breasts.

"No bra! I knew you were a naughty girl," he says in a rugged voice.

"Leave me alone!" I protest.

"You know, your breasts are kind of sagging. Oh well, I guess you're just old," he sighs.

"I'm pregnant!" I yell.

He pushes me down onto the ground with a thud. Just as my back hits the concrete, another contraction races through my body causing me to cry out. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" I watch his crotch harden. I don't know what's worse, the fact that he intends to rape me, or the fact that the there are police cars parked all over the place and no one's going to do a thing about it.

"I want you to suck my dick," he says, fumbling with his fly.

"My, aren't you the romantic one."

"Suck my dick!"

"No way."

"Suck my dick!"

He thrusts the wretched hunk of meat into my mouth, almost causing me to choke. It feels gross and dirty in my mouth. Now I've sucked a dick or two in my life, so I feel free to tell you, this one is gross! It tastes like a bad pit toilet and fills my mouth almost entirely, making me feel as though I'm going to gag as it thrusts its way down my throat. He grabs me by the head and pushes me into him, my nose scraping his zipper. Fighting back tears, I bite down hard on his member. The pain causes him to cum, spilling a load of his nasty sperm into my mouth. He moans and writhes, and in the process lets go of my hair.

I stand up slowly, holding my stomach in my one hand and clutching at the pain in my back with the other. I spit the goo out of my mouth, wipe it with the back of my hand and force myself to talk.

"My husband will be here soon. And he'll give you your money. Let me go now and I won't tell him what happened, and he won't feel the need to call the police." The man stares at me, as if he hasn't understood a word.

"You don't have no right to call the police! You know you loved sucking my big beautiful cock."

"I most certainly did not!"

"You wanted it. You know you did. It's not rape unless you fight back!"

"I bit you!" I exclaim. "I'm nine months pregnant and going through labor, I just want to get to the hospital! How much more can I fight?"

"I like it rough," the driver says, as if he hasn't heard anything I said. "Now go, woman! We're right across the parking lot from your precious hospital."

"Goodbye," I say politely and waddle off.

It feels like forever before I make it to the door of the emergency room. My back is killing me. I open the door with my left hand, kneading the sore spot with my right. The door has one of those automatic closing devices with make it nearly impossible to open with my weaker hand. I inch the door open slowly, trying desperately to ignore the pain in my back and forearm. I've almost managed to squeeze my belly through when an eight-year-old boy slams into my gut. Wham. And I'm flat on my back. The door slams closed on my swollen ankle. The boy rushes into the street. His young mother opens the door, yells something I don't catch, and takes off after him, letting the door slam shut again. Whack. I push myself into a sitting position using my arms, ignoring the bruises forming on my ankle.

"Hey, what are you doing sitting there? Either get in or get out. I can't have you blocking the door like that!" a nearby security guard barks at me.

"Would you mind helping me up? I'm in labor. I need to see a doctor as soon as possible."

"If you need to see a doctor so badly, why are you lying there blocking the door? What are you, drunk?"

"No, I'm pregnant. Some kid knocked me over and that's why I'm lying here. I'm not lazy and I'm not drunk. I fell, and now I'm having trouble getting back up. Won't you help me? It's not good for the baby, for me to be lying around like this."

"Do you want me to find the kid who did this to you?"

"No, I want you to help me up."

"Sorry ma'am, I can't do that. Union policy. I'm not allowed to lift more than half my body weight on the job or I could lose my membership privileges. One man lifts more than he can handle, and then we all have to lift too much. But if you like, I'll find the kid who did this to you and make him apologize."

"That won't be necessary," I say, grabbing the brick of the building with my fingernails and using it to slowly and painfully pull myself to standing, sort of diagonally, half in, half out of the emergency room. My left ankle feels like it going to crumple under my weight and my back hurts like an old woman's, but keeping my balance with my right hand, I'm able to ease the door open slowly with my left.

"You sure act like you're drunk!" the guard insists, his eyes fixed on my bottom.

"I assure you, I haven't had a drop of alcohol in over seven months."

"You in rehab?" the guard asks, reluctantly removing his eyes from my butt, long enough to eye the rest of me suspiciously.

"I've been pregnant!"

"Well, you do look a little fat."

"Pregnant!" I exclaim.

"Whatever," the guard scoffs.

I push the door open the rest of the way and carefully ease myself through. The door slams behind me, barely missing skinning me alive. I take a couple of steps forward towards the check-in desk, smug at my success at getting this far. Suddenly, as I inch forward, I hear a terrible ripping sound and turn to find my dress lying on the floor in rags.

"Oh my god!" I squeal frantically, covering my breasts with my arms. The whole room stares at me. A man with a nail through his hand grins toothily, a noticeable bulge forming in his pants. A mother of three smiles self-consciously and then looks away.

I feel a hand on my ass and wheel around to find the guard groping me. "I need you to come with me, lady. We can't have you walking around without clothing. Let's see if some of the donation clothes fit you."

"Oh thank God!" I reply. "Please lead the way!"

The guard takes me to a back room full of boxes and locks the door behind us.

"Most of the larger clothes are in that box in the corner. Feel free to rummage around, see if there's anything you want." I bend over the box to open it, and the guard begins rubbing my bottom with his hand.

"Do you mind?" I snap irritably.

"Not at all, take your time," the guard says off-handedly.

"That's not what I meant!" I exclaim.

"Of course not," he says, his hand still on my buttocks.

I continue rummaging through the box. Most of the clothing looks like it was taken off of a dead prostitute, and the rest, from an oversized transvestite with worse than average fashion sense.

"You know, you have been acting rather suspiciously," the guard says suggestively, his crotch inching closer to the seat of my panties. "I might have to try a full cavity search."

"This is sexual harassment!" I protest.

"I'm just doing my job, ma'am, protecting the hospital from terrorists. You think I like cavity searching fat naked women? But you see, I've really got no choice here. We all have to do our part in the war on terror."

"But I'm a pregnant woman going through labor!"

"You're a security threat," he says calmly.

"I am not!" I protest.

"Ma'am, I found you lying in front of the door blocking the entrance, and I'm still nice enough to let you into the building. You can't even get through the waiting room without ripping off your clothing and parading out naked. That puts you at high risk of being either crazy or some sort of terrorist threat. So, either you be good and cooperate, or I call a team from the psychiatric ward down to sedate you and bring you upstairs for observation." His erection touches the seat of my underwear. I can feel it hard and swollen against my tender bottom. My body tenses automatically and I can feel my nether region beginning to get very damp. I find the slipperiness uncomfortable. It makes me feel too vulnerable.

"You will be a good little girl, won't you?" he whispers hungrily. I shiver. Apparently, he takes that as a sign of submission. "Good," he whispers and slides his plump fingers under the elastic band of my panties. His touch feels warm against my skin, and I find myself whimpering despite myself.

"Please, please stop," I moan. "I haven't done anything wrong. All I want is to check into the hospital and deliver my baby. I'd never do anything like smuggle a gun up my rectum. I'm a normal, average woman, just trying to be a good wife and mother."

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I really have no choice in the matter," he says, ripping my panties off of me, leaving my bare bottom cold and naked. "Now, if you cooperate, it will all be over soon, but if you resist..." He shoves one of his plump fingers up my butt. "...it's going to be slower and more painful."

"Oh please, no! I'm innocent!" I plead pathetically. The guard wiggles his finger in my rectum, as though searching it. I squirm uncomfortably.

"Well I don't feel anything suspicious yet, but then again, my finger's not quite what I'd call a sensitive instrument." I hear him unzip his fly. I turn my head and see his hard member in his hand.

"Oh please no, not without lubricant!" I gasp. "I've never had one in my butt before. It's too dirty!" The guard smiles.

"Don't think of it as a cock up your ass. It's a finally tuned, terrorist-stopping machine."

"It's just a cock and you know it!" I exclaim self righteously. "You have no business sticking it up me! It's sexual abuse, nothing else! You're not interested in protecting anything or anybody, all you care about is getting off!"

"What a funny thing to say," the guard replies stoically, his dick rubbing against the inside of my butt cheek. "Quite insane really. I'm sure the psycho ward would love to hear all about it."

"I'm sure they would! I bet the whole hospital would like to hear about a rogue security guard who likes to whisk women away into storage rooms on false pretenses!"

"It would be your word against mine, and let's face it, you haven't been acting exactly sane, now have you? No one's going to believe that I wanted to rape such a fat woman."

"I'm pregnant!"

"You're nuts. Now bend over and stick your ass in the air so I can get a better angle." I glare at him. "It's for you own good. No matter what, this cock is going in that ass of yours. Now, are you going to make it easy on yourself, or not?" So I bend over and stick out my butt.

Now I read somewhere, I think it was Cosmo, that the secret to anal sex is to relax all the muscles in your butt. But how can I relax when there is a man standing behind me, planning on raping me? I take a deep breath and try to think peaceful thoughts. The feel of a rock hard cock in my butt brings an end to my meditation. I feel my flesh ripped and torn, my rectum full like never before, my pussy a gaping hole, completely useless. My stomach feels bigger and harder than ever before, as though it is held up by a steel framework. I almost wish I could give birth on the spot, just to feel more whole again. The cock plunges deeper and I scream. Before the noise can escape, I feel a hand cover my mouth to smother it. I try to bite it, but I've lost control of my jaw and my mouth hangs open, uselessly.

"Behave or it will take longer!" the guard barks, plunging deeper. I whimper in pain. "Now that's a good girl," the guard moans, pushing still deeper into me. This time, I stifle my cry and try to imagine myself someplace else. Green grass, yellow flowers, blue sky. There's just no way! I can't concentrate on anything with a cock pounding into me!

"Oh, oh, oh!" I whimper, trying to moan my way through the pain.

"I don't feel anything suspicious yet," the guard grunts. "I guess I'll just have to check deeper."

"You know there's nothing up there!"

"I might suspect that there's nothing up your ass, but how am I supposed to know for sure unless I check? You wouldn't want me taking unreasonable chances with public safety, would you?"

"There's nothing reasonable about what you're doing!"

"Oh yeah?" He slams his dick into me the rest of the way. "You have strong beliefs for a crazy woman."

"I'm not crazy!"

The guard pulls his dick all the way out and then quickly thrusts it back in, impaling me. I try to scream, but the guard muffles it again by covering my mouth and jerking my head back by the hair. "I'm afraid you're not qualified to judge that," the guard replies darkly. "It takes a certified psychiatrist to determine sanity."

I try to reply, to tell him that he's wrong, that I'm perfectly able to judge my own sanity, but I can't. His hand is still over my mouth and I'm helpless to do anything about it. The guard laughs and thrusts into me again, sending unpleasant spasms all throughout my body.

I moan and writhe as his member skewers me over and over again, my breasts banging against the charity box. My rectum feels full and heavy, I need to go to the bathroom.

"Please stop!" I beg. "I need to use the facilities!"

"That's just the probe, ma'am, doing its job," grunts the guard, skewering me again with his penis. "And if you really were pregnant, I couldn't let you go take a shit! You could give birth right on the toilet and the baby could drown! You baby-murdering terrorist!"

Suddenly, I feel the sharp pain of another contraction, coursing through me, all-consuming. I try to scream, but am once again muffled by my captor.

"You are a horny bitch, aren't you?" the guard says, plunging into me again and convulsing in orgasm, shooting a load of hot white cum into my tender little bottom.

"Oh, I think I feel something!" the guard moans, his now limp penis falling out of my rectum. "But my terrorist-stopping machine is malfunctioning! I need to call for backup!"

Now that I am free of his organ, I am absolutely certain of my need to defecate. I struggle with all my might to keep mother nature from taking its course on the storage room floor while the guard talks incomprehensibly on his radio.

"Oh please, oh please, I need to go to the bathroom!" I moan, clutching my sore rear.

"I can't let you do that, lady," says the guard sternly. "You're a terrorist suspect and I've just called for backup to complete your search."

"But there's nothing in my rectum except feces and semen! Oh please, if you have any mercy in your soul, let me go to the bathroom?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I already told you I couldn't. Now just sit tight and wait for backup to arrive. They will be here soon."

So I set myself down on the box of ugly clothing and try desperately to keep myself from defecating on the spot, waiting pathetically for more guards to arrive and rape me. What else can I do? The man watching me would surely not let me leave the room, and at any rate, I would not want to be seen running through the hospital naked. Despite myself, I feel my crotch becoming very damp. How long has it been since I've last had sex? Three months, or four? My husband has been reluctant to touch me since I began showing my condition.

A few minutes later, three other guards enter, and I find that I am relieved to see them. Finally, my torture may be coming to an end, but at this point, I can hardly expect that.

The guards are all overweight, and at least one of them is very old. They seem rather pleased to see me. One of them produces a video camera and a tripod out of a leather bag and begins setting it up.

"I hope you don't mind, ma'am, this examination must be videotaped for security purposes. Now, you know what to do. Bend over the box and spread your ass cheeks apart!" says the guard.

"Not again!" I groan, my rectum threatening to erupt.

"This guy here found something dangerous in your ass and we need to check what it is!" He grabs me and throws me across the box, my elbows scraping painfully across the edge of the cardboard, my bare bottom exposed to the camera. Moments later, I feel his member plunging into me, stretching me, ripping me, making my already full rectum feel as though it will explode. He plunges deeper, tearing into me, making me squeal in pain.

"Oh, please, no, I need to go to the bathroom! I need to give birth! I need to get into the emergency room and see a doctor! I DON'T NEED TO GET FUCKED IN THE ASS ANYMORE!!!"