FSE

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Ben relaxed. It was something he didn't get to do a lot.

He lived in a cottage on the outskirts of a small town that was noplace special. It was quite a big cottage, as it sometimes doubled as a clinic. But at the moment, it was just his cottage. He had nowhere special to travel, no outstanding patients, no plans whatsoever except to spend the evening in front of the fire with a good book.

He wished he could have been surprised when the knock came at his door. He really did.

Sighing, he threw on a robe and paced over to the door. He had been looking forward to relaxing. If this was a patient, he would be sorely tempted to tell her to come back when the child was hanging out of her. He knew he could never do this, but it amused him briefly to think it.

He threw open the door, and very nearly slammed it shut again.

"Imposing" would have been an understatement. The figure before him loomed. It was tall, and covered head to toe with yellow-brown fur, patterned with black spots. It had canine features, particularly suggesting a hyena, with a dirty, matted mane of dark hair strewn with beads and dreadlocks. And she – yes, that was definitely the right pronoun – was heavily pregnant, her furry middle that Ben would estimate at eight or nine months were she human.

She was carrying a long, flint-topped spear, but it wasn't pointed at at Ben; rather, she was leaning on it for support. Given the teeth and claws that were also evident, this was not reassuring.

"Y...you're...um..." said Ben. "I don't have much money. I have some food. Take what you want."

She snorted at him. "You're the midwife, yes?" she said. "The 'miracle worker', I hear."

Ben quirked an eyebrow, his initial panic subsiding. "Miracle worker?" he said.

"That's what Thunderstep called you," she said. "His tribe trades with mine. I don't want your food or money, though I wouldn't say no to a seat."

Ben nodded meekly. "Um, yes, come in," he said, stepping aside. She pushed past him and collapsed heavily into a nearby chair.

Unsure of what else to do, Ben made tea. His mother had taught him that there was never a bad time for tea.

"So," he said, pouring some tea, "if you don't mind my saying so, I've never seen a gnoll come this far into the lowlands."

She sniffed the tea suspiciously, but quickly drained the cup. "I'm probably the first," she said. "I am Marra of the Firefang clan. And I wish to ask for your help. I can pay."

From a cord wrapped around her waist, she removed a pouch and threw it onto the table. Ben opened it; it was full of gold and silver coins of various denominations."

"Spoils of war," she said, with a grim chuckle.

"So what can I do for you?" asked Ben. "As far as I know, the only assosiation gnolls tend to have with humans is the occasional skirmish."

She snorted again. "You got that right," she said. "How much do you know about gnolls, little man?"

"Enough to know that I would not want to fight one," said Ben frankly.

"Smart," she said. "Then let me show you something."

She leaned back, spread her legs and pulled aside her leather loincloth, the only article of clothing she was wearing. Ben nearly choked on his tea.

"Take a good, long look," said Marra, grinning nastily. "You're probably the first human to see this and live."

Hanging between her legs was what looked for all the world like a flacid penis, easily seven inches long even in this state, complete with a small, fatty lump resembling a scrotum. She obviously was not a male, but what...

"When the gods made gnollkind, their favor shined upon the women," she said. "We are stronger than the men. Faster than them. Tougher than them. There is no area in which our men rival us. None at all."

"I can...see that," said Ben. "What is it?"

Her face scrunched up, thoughtfully.

"There is no appropriate word in your language," she said. "Give me your hand, I will show you."

Worried but strangely curious, Ben gave her his hand. She ran it along her length, which began to engorge slightly. She squeezed his hand around it; it felt soft and spongy, rather than firm. She led his hand to the tip. There was an opening there, wide and stretchy enough for her to slip one of his fingers into it.

"Amazing..." said Ben, his eyes wide. His initial sense of shock had given way to curiosity.

"As I said," said Marra, "we surpass men in all ways. But not without price. Our birthing pains are agonizing, and our firstborn cubs seldom survive being born, a sacrifice to the gods for the strength they have given us."

Ben looked up at her. Her features had softened somewhat, and her ears were flat against her head. "I have lost three," she said quietly. "It seems as though the gods have cursed me."

"...and you don't want to lose this one," said Ben, sitting back down.

Marra nodded. "Thunderstep told me that you helped his daughter when his medicine men could do nothing," she said. "I've traveled a long way to get here; my cub could come at any day now. Is there anything you can do?"

Ben had seen some strangeness in his time, but this was a new high. What could he do to help someone he knew so little about? He looked up at her. From what little he could glean about their culture, he suspected that it took a lot for her to come to him like this asking for help, from a human, and a man besides. He was reminded briefly of the amazon queen.

But he knew he couldn't say no. Hadn't he saved lives, children and mothers alike, when they had already been deemed lost causes?

"I will do whatever I can," said Ben.

"Thank you," she said.

Marra stayed with him for the next few days. It was somewhat maddening for her, having to stay in such an enclosed space constantly, but she agreed that it was better than what would happen if somebody found a gnoll staying here.

Ben went through everything in his books to help ensure a safe delivering, hoping that at least one method would work.

He taught her how to exercize and strengthen her pelvic muscles. He gave her massages to relax her. She took frequent baths in herbal solutions, to help keep her skin pliant. He gave her regular doses of a draught of vegetable extracts that the old village midwife had sworn by. He even advised her to masturbate frequently, which she did with gusto, sometimes right in front of him. It seemed that another thing gnolls did not have a word for was "modesty". After the first day, she had forsaken the loincloth.

When she was resting, she and Ben could converse. The majority of said conversations were about gnoll culture. He knew that this may have been the first friendly contact between humans and gnolls in living memory, and he certainly did not want to squander the opportunity.

This went on over four days. She was resting in front of the fire presently, idly chatting with Ben while he went over a book.

"Ngh," she said, rubbing her swollen belly. Ben immediately perked up.

"What's wrong?" he said, moving by her side.

"I felt something," she said. "It could be just a cramp, but- nngh!"

She winced and clutched her middle. Ben ran a hand along her belly; it felt like the cub had shifted into position.

"I think it's time," said Ben. "Don't panic. Remember what I taught you. Come on."

She nodded and righted herself, groaning all the way. Ben led her over to the section of his home that served as his clinic when need be. Large sections of it had fur rugs rolled out upon it, and Ben had gotten both the birthing stool and the squat bar prepared.

Marra let out a growl and bent nearly double as a pain struck her. She sat down on one of the furs and began to pant.

"Remember the breathing exercises we went over," he said. "And take it slow."

"The cub...is not taking it slow!" she hissed through clenched teeth. "Feels like I'm being tortured!"

Ben nodded, trying not to look worried. It was not uncommon for labors to be shorter for mothers who had been pregnant before.

Slowly, Marra scooted backwards over to the stool and lifted herself onto onto it. Once she was situated, she spread her legs, put her hand between them, and began to rapidly stroke her appendage. Ben was unsurprised; he had discussed this with her as a way to relieve labor pains.

She continued like this for about a minute, before growling and clutching her middle again.

"It's...not enough!" she said, her teeth clenched. "I...need help..."

She looked up at Ben. His face pinkened slightly. He had brought up the posibility to her, but she had dismissed it out of hand. But now...

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes!" she snarled."Hurry!"

Ben knelt before her, and, cautiously, stroked her...member, for want of a better word. The common tongue didn't have the right terminology. It still didn't feel like a penis. Granted, the only one he was intimately aquainted with was his own.

He gave it a squeeze, and Marra let out a sort of pleased growl. Satisfied, he began to stroke it like he would a male member. Some sort of fluid began to leak from its tip. Ben put a finger to it; it was slick to the touch. Marra shivered when he touched the tip.

“Yes,” she said. “Do more of that...”

Pleased that he was doing something right, Ben rubbed the tip of her long womanhood with his thumb. She continued to pant, her tongue lolling out. As Ben rubbed, more of her fluids were produced. Curious, Ben pushed down, his fingertip slipping inside of it. Marra thrashed a little. Ben didn't know if it was pain, pleasure or both.

“I can feel it moving,” she said. “Do it harder...I'm not a delicate flower!”

Ben worked his thumb in and out and squeezed a bit harder, eliciting moans.

“More,” said Marra, her muscles visibly contracting, “more!”

Ben idly wondered if all gnolls were this intense. He thought for a moment about what to do next, until an idea hit him. Removing his thumb, he leaned in and wrapped his lips around the tip, sucking and licking at it. If the sounds she was making were any indication, it was going over well, and Ben pressed on, running his tongue all over it and even slipping it inside briefly.

He recoiled back when she let out an earsplitting howl.

“It's coming!” she shouted. “It's coming now! I have to get it out!”

He looked down at her...pseudo-penis? It was still engorged, and a trickle of fluids was flowing from the tip.

“Don't be too hasty,” said Ben. “Think of your cub. Take it slow. Push only when you have pains!”

Marra growled at him, but nodded. Ben looked back down at her. With her unusual anatomy, it was impossible to check her dilation. He had to trust that her body would know what to do, and go with her instincts, as well as his own.

She let out another long, piercing howl, every muscle in her body tensing up. Ben could see the beginning of a lump at the base of her member. He gently laid a hand on it. There was no mistaking it; it was a head.

Marra snarled. There were tears in her eyes, but her expression was pure determination.

“Take it slow,” Ben repeated. “Think of your cub!”

Marra blew out a long breath, visibly calming a bit.

“Good,” said Ben. “Wait for your next contraction, and then push, nice and easy.”

The gnoll took several deep breaths, like they had practiced, until her muscles began to tense again.

“Nnnnnngh!” she grunted. “Not...this one! NGH!”

Slowly, the lump began to move up the long tube. It was a bit smaller than a human baby would have been, and Ben supposed they would have to be. More and more, it moved on up; the tip steadily dripped out fluids, now tinged with blood.

“Not this one!” she repeated. “This one...is mine! Nnnnnngh!”

Inch by inch, the cub moved further and further out, and the hole at the tip began to widen. Until finally...

“I can see it,” said Ben, supporting he child, still mostly inside its mother's body. “Take it easy, you've almost got it...”

Marra swallowed hard. It was clear that she was in more pain than she could find words for, but she nodded. She began to mutter to herself in an unknown language. Ben supposed it was her native tongue. Her words had a sort of rhythm to them...was she singing to her cub?

Another contraction began, and with a mighty roar, Marra pushed. The cub began to crown, the tip of her womanhood opening wider and wider, stretching to its limits around the emerging head, until it popped out with a splash of fluids.

It was certainly one of the most bizarre things Ben had ever seen, the head of the baby emerging from her mother via a part that looked like it wasn't intended for the function. But he couldn't dwell on that now.

“Almost!” shouted Ben. “Push!”

Marra's shouts shook the walls as she pushed again, and her claws were leaving grooves in the wooden arms of the birthing stool. The cub's shoulders (very narrow shoulders, Ben noticed) slowly slipped out, followed by the body and finally the legs, a rush of fluids following it.

Marra looked down between her legs, something like panic spreading over her face. Ben looked over the cub; were it a human baby, he would have thought it premature. It – she – was covered in thin fur, with only a tiny stub of cord attached to it; it seemed it had snapped on the way out. Time stood still for a moment. It seemed Marra had stopped drawing breath.

Time started again as the cub began to wail, and Marra heaved a deep sigh of relief.

Ben made quick work of examining her. Though the genetalia gave little indication as to the sex of the child, there were other signs that Ben had been told to check for. “You have a very healthy daughter,” he said, finally passing her

Marra held her daughter close, rocking her gently.

“She'll grow up to be fierce, for her coming is blessed,” said Marra. “I'll call her Benni. She'll always know how she got here.”

Ben blushed. That was another first for him; he'd never had a namesake before.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Like I got whacked in the crotch with a battering ram,” she said. “But good.”

Ben smiled. “Excellent. Get some rest. You've both had a long day.”

Ben went to bed not long after the delivery. In the morning, Marra and her daughter were gone. Her spear had been left behind, and one of her braids had been wrapped around the head.

Ben picked it up. It had a good heft to it. He leaned it against the wall in his study, made himself a cup of tea, and sat down with a good book.

It was nice to relax.