I have been enjoying the new stories on the board too much to find time to write any more of my own, so here is a story I wrote a while back.
The New Nursery (preg, cons, snuff, MF + g-unborn)
The pregnancy happened by surprise, but they started getting ready for the new arrival the day the home test came up positive. She didn't have any plans to make, since she hadn't yet started looking for a job after getting her computer science degree. His schedule at the hospital was flexible, and with male nurses in short supply, he had no trouble working extra shifts so that he could take off work completely for several months. She turned her home office into the nursery. As her due date drew nearer, and irregular contractions reminded them that they needed to hurry, they painted it in a jungle print pattern, with light and dark green, accented with an orange-red sky. They planned ahead, and the smell of paint was long gone now. But they never did get around to pulling up the protective plastic tarp that covered the wood floor, and all the baby furniture was pushed to the middle of the room.
With her contractions starting, though, it was time to move the furniture back into place. They moved the crib and changing table, though of course he did most of the lifting. Even so, perhaps because of the moving, or perhaps just from seeing the baby's room take shape, she noticed that her contractions were becoming more regular. The small guest bed and the baby's dresser were still in the wrong place, so she sat on the end of the bed and breathed through the contraction. He came over and kissed her on the lips, then between her breasts, and then pulled up her T-shirt and kissed her bulging belly.
"You're contracting," he said. "Ten minutes apart," she whispered, loving the feeling of his hands on her belly. "Kiss me more," she said in a low voice.
He pulled the shirt up to reveal her breasts, dark nipples full of milk, pulling to the sides but too engorged to go far. He kissed her left nipple, drawing it into his mouth and feeling the hot milk on his tongue. In just a few minutes, they were both naked, as he knelt at the foot of the bed between her legs, teasing her femininity. This had been their favorite position for the last two months, with her scooted to the end of the bed, legs hanging off the edge or on his shoulders, vulva exposed as though ready to give birth. As he nibbled her labia, teasing her vagina, he noticed how she tasted different, sweeter, and he could feel his desire building. This was it, he
realized, the end of nine months of hidden, secret desire. Could he really do what his soul begged him to do? Could he really experience his ultimate fantasy?
He rose to his knees, where the low bed raised her cunt to his hip level. They had made love so many times this way, as her belly grew larger and larger. Many times he had thought about the equipment in the drawers of the baby dresser, which at the moment was misplaced, standing next to him at the foot of the guest bed. "Yes," she said, as he guided himself inside her. With gentle thrusts he moved deeper. They had planned this part, knowing that semen contains hormones to soften the cervix. The baby's birth would be gentle and easy, because they would make love often, over and over. "Here it comes," she moaned, as the contraction and the orgasm combined to make
her bear down. He felt her cervix push on the end of his manhood, but it was opening. A little bit, and then as the contraction continued, enough to feel himself slip just slightly inside her womb.
The drawer opened almost by itself. As he wrapped his left arm around her tightening belly, he reached into the drawer with his right hand. He pushed through the cloth diapers and touched metal. He looked at his wife's face, and saw her eyes close as the orgasm brought her closer to delivery. He grasped the handle of the small gun, which he knew was loaded with six .22 caliber bullets. He squeezed her abdomen, thrusting hard into her body, feeling the smoothness of the baby's amniotic sac as he came, and came, preparing her cervix to deliver the miracle of life.
He pulled the gun from the drawer, and carefully pointed it at her head, between her temple and her ear. They were still thrusting, making love like never before, like never again. He bent over her nine month baby belly, looking into her beautiful face. She never wore makeup, and the glow of pregnancy showed in every pore, in every annoying blackhead. "I'm sorry," he whispered, even though he knew in his heart that he would never be sorry for something so beautiful.
She opened her eyes then. He saw the love as she looked into his face, and watched it change to surprise as she saw the gun he was holding. Then something unexpected happened. She smiled, and closed her eyes again. "It's ok," she whispered. "I know you want me. You've always wanted me. Take me, I love you, take me..."
"How..." he started, but she continued, "Honey, I know your fantasies. I know about your favorite pages, I know about those sites. I knew I would give myself to you some day." She paused. "I thought it would be the next pregnancy, though."
His mind went blank for a moment, realizing that every time they made love, she knew all along it could be her last. He wondered what it would be like to wait, like she said. She would come in from her eight month sonogram appointment, and he would greet her at the door, nude, streaked with blood. "Has it happened," she would say, and he would reply "Come and see." She would untie her maternity dress strap and let it fall to the ground, and would follow it with her nursing bra and maternity panties. She would take his bloody hand, and he would lead her to the nursery. She would see her 14 month old daughter's blonde hair, matted with blood, and see her chest heaving with difficult breaths. She would walk over and see the gash from the baby's sternum to between her legs. Mom would bend over her baby girl, placing her left breast in her mouth as her right breast falls into her opened abdomen. The baby would suckle, biting her nipple, grasping Mom's breast with her hands, with all the strength she has left. Mom would trace the edge of the cut, feeling her baby's stomach, liver, intestines, bladder, uterus. The baby in her own uterus would kick in response. As Mom followed the cut across her daughter's pubic bone, she would feel Dad's fingers enter her vagina. She would feel how the knife split her daughter's clitoris as Dad
spread her vulva apart. She would slide down and find that he left the baby's hymen for her. As Dad's knife entered Mom's cunt, she would take her daughter's virginity. As she pushed on the little girl's cervix, the tip of Dad's knife would enter her own cervix, cutting through it, finding their unborn baby's skull, cutting into her brain.
With a start, he opened his eyes. She was staring into his face, completely his as no woman had ever belonged to a man before. He started to pull the gun away, but she stopped him, grabbing his wrist and pushing the barrel into her skin. "No!" she said. "Don't you see? It has to be now, it can never be this way again! It can never be this way again..." She was crying now, tears flowing down to pool on the sheet. Underneath was a waterproof lining, to prevent "accidents". "It has to be now," she repeated, quietly.
He bent over her, still inside her, pressing uncomfortably on the baby. He kissed her gently on the cheek, and whispered in her ear, "I want to tie you up."
She thought about the fantasies she had seen, and wondered what he was thinking. She could be strangled slowly, over and over, until her baby died and then her. There was a machete in the closet that they used to make a path in the thick forest around their home, and he could do wonderful things to her with that instrument. She didn't think he had a bow and arrow, but he really liked the stories of women shot in the pregnant belly and milky breasts, over and over, until a shot finds her beating heart. He could even wait for the baby to be born, and then do something completely unexpected.
"Yes," she said. "I'm yours. Tie me to the bed."
He nodded. Standing up fully, he withdrew from her pussy, and turned to the misplaced dresser. He opened the top drawer further, and set the gun back in it. They wouldn't need it after all. He grabbed a stack of diapers, and the kitchen scissors he had hidden under them. He looked her up and down, diapers in one hand and scissors in another, focused on his task. He didn't even notice her gasp as she saw the scissors, long and sharp, designed for cutting easily through flesh. But he didn't plunge them into her belly, not yet. He cut a diaper into two halves. Kneeling again between her legs, he tied her ankle to the leg of the low bed.
As he turned to the other leg, she whispered, "tighter." He looked up, and saw her vulva right in front of him, still wet, loose from their lovemaking and her labor. She was right. He could not tie her up like a lover. She wasn't his lover now. She was much, much more. She was his victim. Leaving the first tie in place, he tied the other strip of the diaper around her ankle, pulling the ends until the cloth cut into her skin. She flinched involuntarily, trying to kick him away, but the first tie prevented him from losing her foot. He smiled at his unexpected discovery, and pulled tight again, pinching her skin, tying it firmly. He repeated the task on her other leg, preparing another diaper, tying her loosely, then tying her up hard.
He moved to the head of the bed. There were more tears streaming down her face, but he didn't notice them. He only saw that her legs were bent, and he realized that when she really felt pain, she would move her entire body to get away. "Scoot up," he ordered, in a voice he'd never heard before. Without thinking, she pushed with her hands and legs and moved her head as far as she could toward him. Cutting another diaper in half, he pulled her hands together above her head and tied them together at the wrists, first loosely, then again very tight. Again she pulled involuntarily against the pain, but he pinned her arms above her head and waited for her thrashing to stop. Then he cut another strip of diaper, passed it between her arms, and pulled it around the bar under the mattress. He tied this one loosely, leaving her arms sticking out comfortably. Then, with the final strip, he pulled her arms toward the ground, gently at first but forcefully, until she scooted even further up the bed to relieve the pressure on her forearms. He wrapped this loop around the bar, and pulled as tight as he could before tying it off. Her arms and legs were twisted unnaturally, and she could hardly move at all to relieve the discomfort.
Her pussy was still exposed and open, with her legs curled around the mattress and tied to the foot of the bed. As he walked around to the dresser again, he stopped, and brushed her vulva. Spreading her lips apart with his left hand, he pushed in with the fingers of his right hand to check her cervix. Three centimeters, he noticed to himself, saying nothing. He continued around to the dresser, reached in the drawer, and pulled out another surprise. He knew he would need to intubate her after shooting her, to preserve the airway, but the paralytic required to prevent the gag reflex was tightly controlled. So he had something even better, a tracheostomy kit. He opened the sterile package, and discarded everything but a silver cylinder with strings dangling from the sides. He grabbed another handful of diapers, and a wide-bladed hunting knife.
He had told her plenty of stories of his work in the emergency room, so she gasped when she recognized the trach tube. Then, she gasped again, as her body responded to her emotions with the start of a contraction. He knelt next to her, folded the wad of diapers into a roll, and stuck it under her neck to present her esophagus to him. He took the knife in his hand, looked at her, and then grunted in disgust, because he was on the wrong side. As she breathed through the building contraction, he walked to the other side of the bed.
With no warning, he pushed his left hand into her cunt, seeking her cervix to check her progress. She was still wet, he noticed, but to him this was simply a helpful fact that would make it easier to monitor the trial of labor. Her bag of waters was just beyond her cervix, and he pushed on it, testing the pressure. He turned the blade vertically, and placed its point on her neck. Her breathing suddenly increased, and she drew a deep breath as the contraction squeezed her uterus. The pressure from her amniotic sac increased, pushing its way out of her cervix, and he pressed harder with his fingers, refusing to give her body any ground. He pushed the point into her skin, drawing the first blood, stopping at the protective cartilage of her esophagus. She bent her head away from the blade, but it followed her remorselessly. She took another deep breath. The thin membrane protecting her baby burst around his fingers, finally pushing him out of her cunt, flooding the bedspread with sweet-smelling slippery fluid. The knife cut through between the rings of cartilage, and having penetrated, slid right through the other side, the blade ripping through the connective tissue. Her breath exploded in an abortive scream, spraying a thin mist of blood that sprinkled her face with red freckles. He released the knife, grabbed it again at a new angle, and pulled it up through the front of her throat, completing the tracheostomy.
There was very little blood, actually. He picked up the cylinder, looked at the gash in her throat, and grunted again. It was designed for a carefully cut one-centimeter hole in a throat, not a nearly bisected esophagus! She watched him with wide eyes as he bent over the wound, and threw her head hard when he reached his fingers into the gap to check her airway. Her forehead smacked his jaw, knocking him over. Instantly, he punched her, hard, and she heard the bone crack by her eye. If she lived long enough, it would turn into a heck of a black eye. It was the first time he had ever hit her, and she knew it was not in anger. His emotions were no longer those of a lover, but of a killer, and her actions were those of a woman about to die. There would never be any regrets, ever again.
Holding her head down with his right hand this time, he checked her airway again, from a safe distance. She thrashed as he traced the cut edges with his fingers, and he could feel her breath, gasping, uneven, but soundless. He concluded that the incision would be sufficient to allow her to breathe through the rest of the procedure, walked to the dresser, and removed another hunting knife.
This one was not as wide, but the tip was curved back to make a gut hook. Watching her head, he used his left hand to reflect the skin at the bottom edge of the incision. He caught the flap with the gut hook and pulled down. She bucked up and down, making the cut uneven, but it was only a short way to the top of her sternum.
Now, he switched to the cutting edge. He grabbed her breasts in turn, first her right, then across to her left, considering their weight and firmness. With his thumb and forefinger, he worked her right nipple and areole in a stripping motion, squeezing and releasing up and down, until clear colostrum appeared. He squeezed the base of her areole again and pulled upward, and the milk sprayed into the air. Nodding, he noticed that the action had calmed her breathing, and a quick check showed that her vagina was remaining moist and receptive. He put the blade of the knife to her sternum and continued the cut, slicing down to the bone, drawing the knife between her breasts and cutting deeply. He pulled the knife through the meat quickly, feeling her shudder with the sensations, and then traced the edge of her ribcage back toward him until the wound extended from her throat to her right side.
She was panting now, her chest heaving. It took a couple of tries to grab the edge of the incision with his left hand, but he dug his fingers into her flesh and pulled it toward him. The skin separated from the muscle, helped along with occasional cuts with the knife. He cut deeply along her clavicle to free the top of her chest, and her breast was now removed from her ribs with the rest of the flesh, lying on its side on the bed. Engorged with milk, it didn't collapse like the breasts of the women in the morgue. He pulled the fleshy flap further, turning her breast nipple side down, and admired the white fat under a glistening film. He snagged the tissue with the gut hook and opened the back of her breast. This made her body twist from side to side, as though she were going to roll away. But then she took another deep breath. She couldn't hold it, but she tried again and again. He dropped the flap of her chest back on the bed, where it landed with a sort of splashing sound, and pushed his hand into her cunt.
She was very loose now. He had no trouble introducing her fist into her vagina with a slight twisting motion. Her cervix was already becoming effaced, and was dilated to five centimeters. He pushed on it with his fist, and felt the baby's head come down to meet him. Twisting his fist around, he could feel the baby's hair. Labor would be very short.
He returned to her right side and picked up the breast again, nipple down. He cut across it again and again with the gut hook, and the smooth white surface revealed itself to be bumpy with milk-swollen glands. Squeezing the breast, he pushed the knife's tip in and pulled it out, shredding the tissues with the hook. He pushed it in again, and with his other hand, he pushed the nipple up into her breast, feeling himself cut. And then, for the first time since he started cutting, he looked into his wife's face.
A change had come over her. Her eyes were no longer wide with fear, but slowly blinking. Her breathing was rapid but regular, and her lips were slightly parted. The breath came from the oozing hole in her throat. He pulled the knife slowly out of her breast, twisting it a little, and he saw her eyes close. Her lips pursed as if in a kiss, then parted. Setting the knife aside, he plunged his fingers into the fat and glands, massaging her tit from inside and out, and her mouth opened wide in a breathless moan. Her eyes opened again and she drew a breath and held it. Setting the breast on the bed, he continued to mangle the insides with his left hand as he reached for her cunt with his right.
This time, he gently penetrated her with four fingers, pressing on her clitoris with his thumb. This contraction was building quickly, and she thrust her hips rhythmically. Her cervix was completely effaced now, and he could just feel the baby's head as the powerful contraction pushed it through the seven centimeter opening. Time was running out.
He went to the head of the bed, and using the kitchen scissors, cut through the strips of cloth holding her arms to the bed frame. Then, he cut off the fabric binding her hands. They dangled like a puppet without strings, so he put her left hand on her left breast, and her right hand on the white and red streaked remains of her right breast, turned wrong side out. He watched her close her eyes again and squeeze, first her left, then her right. White glands and milk oozed between her fingers as she squeezed hard, her head tipping back, opening the tracheotomy further, bringing valuable oxygen to her body as more and more blood drained onto the sheets.
He cut her feet free, and gently pulled her back down the bed. Her legs hardly moved, as all her energy was directed to her uterus, her pussy, and the hands squeezing her breasts. The intact breast was now oozing milk and colostrum, as her hormones surged with the baby's movement into the birth canal. He heard a squishing sound, and saw that she had grasped the tissues in her right hand hard as another contraction started to build.
Her vulva was so beautiful now, dripping amniotic fluid, and soon the baby would be crowning. He sat on his knees and entered her. Her vagina had shortened greatly, and he pushed against the baby's head, feeling the little girl's soft spot with his own penis. He picked up the scissors, opened them, and put his left hand on top of her swollen tummy. It was criss crossed with beautiful stretch marks, but her navel was not protruding. He remembered when she told him that none of her relatives had an outie when they were pregnant, and smiled. He traced his finger down, along the very faint brown line from her navel to her cunt. He stopped just inside her untrimmed hairline, pushing down, feeling for her pelvic bone.
He used the left hand to guide the tip of the scissors into place. The sharp point easily penetrated her skin, and he felt her vagina twinge around him. He pushed a little further, and the blade sank through her muscle and fat to rest on her pelvis. A small adjustment to a shallower angle, and he pressed forward. He felt it slip off her pelvic bone, and he pressed forward, firmly but carefully. When the blade penetrated her bladder, she bucked hard, once, twice, three times, but he controlled the scissors with both hands now, not readly to penetrate her uterus yet. Instead, he closed the scissors, opening a vertical gash at the bottom of her belly. She took a deep breath, as the next contraction came, pushing the baby far enough to eject him from her cunt altogether. He looked down and saw that she was crowning, her vulva pushing outward like a balloon.
Working quickly now, he plunged his left hand into the gash, wet with blood and piss from her ruptured bladder. Lifting the skin and muscle away from her uterus, he cut through all the layers at once. One cut with the long scissors, and he was up to her navel. Angled to his right to avoid the gristle, he cut again. He turned the scissors to his left and brought them together again, diagonally across the top of her belly. One more cut brought him to the existing cut at the base of her right ribcage. He moved to her right, and quickly cut across her abdomen, pushing her stomach, liver, and intestines out of the way with his left hand while scissoring with his right. He yanked the ragged, uneven halves of her abdomen apart, exposing her pink-red uterus on a bed of grey intestines, with her dark red liver sliding towards the large open space on her right side.
After a quick look around, he found the wide hunting knife, the one without the gut hook. He was back between her legs, and he could see her perenium swelling and pulling back as her exposed uterus tried to contract. He traced with his finger around her anus, also swollen with labor, and found the soft spot between her anus and her backbone. He thrust the knife into the fat between her rectum and spine, and started sawing through the tissues. He cut to the left first, slicing until he felt the pelvic opening. He turned the knife vertically and sawed along the side of her cunt, angling the knife carefully to avoid cutting through the birth canal. He withdrew the knife, inserted it again below her anus, and cut along the right side.
Her body was trembling now, fighting death and attempting birth. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, and her breathing was more shallow than before. She could no longer feel her pussy, because the nerves had been severed by his knife, but she could still feel her uterus trying to contract. He reached his left hand into the incision above her cunt again, and used it to guide the knife across the top of her pelvic outlet. Her vulva was free now. He grasped the bottom of her uterus and pulled it up. The ligaments that had held it in place were still keeping it attached to her abdomen, but the birth canal was dangling in the air. He looked around the pulsing organ, and saw that she was looking at it, trying to focus, trying to understand the beauty that she was seeing.
"Push, baby" he said to her, gently, the first words anyone had said since before the first cut, an eternity ago. "Push," he repeated, holding her uterus in his arms. He could feel her trying, as the powerful muscles pulsed under his hands, but she couldn't do it alone, not any more.
He set the uterus back in her abdomen, on top of the flap of her left side, her right side reflected onto the bed and her intestines flowing out. He picked up the scissors again, and followed the curve of the uterus down to the bisected bladder and the remains of her cunt, no longer between her legs but lying among the rest of her abdominal organs. He rubbed the clitoris, but it was no longer connected to her nervous system. She didn't feel him slide the bottom blade of the scissors into her vagina, feeling with his finger so that he could cut through her cervix without hurting their baby girl. She watched the fundus of her uterus as he worked on the other end, closing the blade through her unfeeling clitoris and opening her vagina, then moving along to open her cervix, releasing the rest of the amniotic fluid. She felt a warm sensation as the fluid flowed around her intestines and flooded her abdomen. He continued until she saw the scissors come around the top, not stopping until he cut into the placenta, on the back of her uterus just past the fundus.
Now, he lifted their daughter out of the pool of remaining fluid. She was moving, but not breathing. He held her to his chest, squeezing firmly, simulating her aborted birth, and she coughed. He turned her upside down, and fluid poured out of her mouth, and she hiccuped. But she didn't cry, even as he lifted her back up to show her to his dying wife.
Mom's left hand lifted from her breast, but she didn't have the strength to raise it any higher and it fell back down. Dad picked up her arm, and put the baby to the still intact breast. The baby brushed the nipple, opened her mouth, and started to nurse. Her mom smiled, as much as she could, looked at the baby, and looked at the baby's daddy.
He picked up her hand and set it on the nursing baby, feet tangled in a loop of her mom's intestine. He watched as she struggled to move her hand down the baby's back, to her tiny bottom, between her legs. It really was a girl, a girl just like her. As she felt for the baby's hymen, she couldn't remember why she was dying on a blood-covered birth bed, her uterus and cunt ripped from her body, squeezing her right hand into the remains of her own ruined breast. She only
knew that it was right.