I'm not sure I would let you give birth, or at least not very easily.
I'd hold you from behind, helping you breathe through the contractions and hold off pushing for as long as possible. When you couldn't hold back any longer, I'd press my hand against the crowning head, slowing it's advance when you push and helping it slip back inside you between contractions.
While you're slowly stretching yourself out around the head, I'd edge your clit and encourage you to push just a little more for me. Only once the head was fully crowned would I let you feel that overwhelming, burning stretch for just a moment before bringing you over the edge to orgasm.
It wouldn't matter how hard you push as I hold the crowning head firmly in place while you cum. I'd whisper in your ear how you'd done such a good job stretching and cumming for me while I hold the head back and you push as you cum.
Once the contraction was over, I'd let you feel the head stretch you for a little longer before gently, ever so gently, easing the head all the way back inside. I'd feel you relax in my arms as we'd both just enjoy the moment together before you have to push again.
We can, of course, make things a little harder for you next time. There's a pair of tight leather shorts that I think would do a wonderful job of making pushing harder, or you could (try) to give birth into a pair of leggings, or a one-piece swimsuit, or even just a pair of panties.
The possibilities are endless, and we're just getting started.
I’d do everything I possibly could to stall labor for as long as possible. I’d keep my legs pressed together, a pillow under my hips to make the baby have to fight gravity, everything I could to make it all take so long, so I could feel my body slowly opening up. I’d relish each and every moment as the baby slides through my well dilated cervix, my own refusal to push dragging the process out as my body works to birth on its own while I writhe in your arms.
I’d squeal and cry out when you start to work against the progress my body makes, pressing back against the bulging head until it’s not bulging anymore. I’d tell you how full it makes me feel, how big it is, how it’s filling up my whole pelvis, how I have to push, but I don’t want to be empty, not yet. Please.
I’d no doubt ruin my own progress countless times as you edge me, my hips squirming and head thrown back as I alternate between pushing and trying to chase my orgasm, overwhelmed with sensation.
When I cum, I don’t even know if my scream is one of pleasure, or fear that the head will rush out of me and it’ll all be over. I’d cum again, my lips fluttering around the huge crowning skull, when I realize you’re not going to let that happen, you’re no more done than I am.
There would no doubt be screaming when you push the head all the way back inside, but by the time your hand can lay flat where moments ago was a full crown I’d be deliriously thanking you, trembling all over, nestling myself deep in your arms and shuddering.
I’m nowhere near ready for this to be over, and it's a wonderful relief to know you aren’t either.