FROM THE AUTHOR: A version of this story was originally published in the Loving Wives category where it received an...interesting response. Please check this story's tags on the righthand side under "Story Info" before you read it. Otherwise, enjoy!
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It's early in the morning and only about a dozen people are in the hospital reception area when the automatic doors open, and two more patients arrive. Actually, one patient waddling slowly across the threshold and groaning as she supports her heavily pregnant belly while her husband physically supports her as if her swollen belly might cause her to keel over at any moment.
They make it to the reception desk without that happening, and the wife leans against the desk and takes deep breaths while her husband catches the attention of the receptionist. The young woman looks up and notices a scrawny Asian man with jet-black hair, a flat nose, and metal-rimmed spectacles addressing her.
"Morning. My wife went into labor a few hours ago. We need to get to a delivery room--"
"Slow down, sir," the receptionist deftly cuts him off. She's dealt with countless laboring wives and anxious husbands before. "I just need to take your name first."
"Choi. Well, I'm Dae-Won Choi. My wife is Sora Choi."
The receptionist searches for their names in the database and hardly notices Mr. Choi fidgeting uncomfortably. Mrs. Choi continues her deep breathing, brushing her copper-brown hair away from her moon-shaped face and glancing at the receptionist with beautiful black eyes.
"Ok, one of the nurses is coming down now with a wheelchair for Mrs. Choi, she'll take you to the delivery room." The receptionist informs the Asian couple. "How far apart are they?"
The husband looks confused by the question. "What do you mean, I--"
"Ten minutes," Mrs. Choi answers for him, "the last one was about fifteen minutes before."
"Alright, roughly ten minutes between contractions." The receptionist types a note into Sora's patient file. "When the nurse gets here, she'll ask you some more questions for the medical side of things. But in the meantime, we do allow patients in labor to have one guest present in the delivery room. Would you like the father to watch the birth?"
A strange look flashes across each of their faces. The receptionist could have sworn that Mr. Choi just squirmed at the question while a grimace passed across his wife's face -- or was it a smirk? Both expressions were gone before she could tell what they were.
"I would love for the father to watch his child being born," Mrs. Choi replies before turning to look pointedly at her husband. "But would you like to watch the birth, honey?"
The receptionist looks very confused, as if there's some hidden joke that only the couple can understand. The husband is just standing there squirming. He glances back and forth between his wife and the receptionist as if he's too embarrassed to reply.
"The nurse is gonna be here soon," the receptionist interjects. "Do you want your husband to be present in the delivery room or don't you?"
"Yes, please." Mrs. Choi turns to address the receptionist. "He's pretty squeamish about this sort of thing, but I really want him to witness the birth and remember it forever."
The receptionist nods slowly and adds another note to the file just as the doors open and a nurse shows up pushing an empty wheelchair in front of her. She doesn't need to call their names as Mrs. Choi waddles over to the wheelchair and lowers herself into it with the assistance of her dutiful husband who still looks very uncomfortable.
"Congratulations!" The receptionist calls after them.
***
By the time they reach the delivery room, another contraction is already roiling Mrs. Choi's guts, and they have to take a moment to let her breathe before proceeding. The nurse asks her a round of questions about her medical history and if she's had any unusual symptoms while the rest of the team gets the birthing chair ready.
Mrs. Choi is wearing only a pair of loose jogging pants and a baggy T-shirt which still barely covers her swollen belly. The jogging pants come off easily, revealing no underwear and no embarrassment from the mother-to-be. She seems very comfortable with being exposed in front of a group of strangers while her husband stands aloof, waiting to be called over.
Mrs. Choi eventually beckons him to come over, and he obediently stands by her side. The supervising doctor informs the expecting couple that she can't start pushing until she's at least ten centimeters dilated. Mr. Choi pulls up a chair and holds his loving wife's hand.
While they wait for the baby to move into position, Mrs. Choi insists that the staff call her Sora, and seems remarkably at ease with the situation. She's sitting in a high-backed birthing chair with her legs spread wide and her feet resting in special stirrups. Her entire lower body is exposed from the waist down with a perfect view of her bare pussy and the moderately dilated labia stretching little by little to allow the baby to pass through.
Sora pulls her T-shirt up over her pregnant belly to expose even more skin while ensuring her breasts remain covered. Her skin is milky white, except for a tattoo above her right ankle: a black ace of spades symbol with a white letter Q in the middle. She's also wearing an anklet with a silver key dangling from the chain.
An especially powerful contraction arrives and Sora groans in pain, squeezing her husband's hand. He winces from having his hand crushed by his wife while still being aware that it's only a fraction of the pain she's enduring. The nurse comes over to examine her and decides that she's dilated enough to start pushing when the next contraction arrives.
Sora already knows she's ready to push. The stretching of her birth canal and the overpowering instinct to bear down are all the proof she needs. When the next wave of muscular movement arrives, she takes a deep breath and pushes hard.
Her cries fill the room, and her legs shake with every contraction, causing the silver key on her anklet to jangle like a good luck charm. The baby strains her vaginal walls, but each push helps to squeeze the baby a tiny bit closer to her entrance and a tiny bit closer to being born.
An hour passes as Sora grunts and groans and screams, struggling to work in sync with the rolling waves of pain and muscular movement roiling deep in her belly. Each contraction feels like throwing up but oriented downwards through her gut and between her legs.
Every so often, a nurse offers Sora a sip of fruit juice to keep her energy levels high, and she drinks greedily through the straw. The moments of respite between contractions are getting briefer, each wave of gut pain squeezing her baby closer to her increasingly stretched opening.
Beads of sweat collect on Sora's brow like a glistening crown, some of them rolling down her face and neck like raindrops on a window. Her rolled-up T-shirt is drenched in perspiration, and her skin is almost pallid from the adrenaline coursing through her body.
