Medication, Part 12

Story Directory: $5 Patrons
Story Directory: $10 Patrons
Story Directory: $20 Patrons

Story Schedule

Summary: All his life, Tristan’s mother forced him to take a daily medication, but never really told him why. After Tristan goes off to college, he starts skipping doses, and finally realizes just what the medication is for. Monthly mpreg. Contains: Male: belly expansion, breast expansion, butt expansion.

Previous Chapter

-

Tristan felt his mother come up behind his shoulder, and as he glanced back at her, he could see how terrified she was.

Adam was dressed in a black suit, jacket unbuttoned, and hands pocketed. He had thick brows and a sharp jaw. His hair was somewhat tousled and his face with fixed with an unyielding frown.

Adam regarded Tristan a moment, his eyes trailing along his form with rapt attention. They stopped on Tristan’s belly. “My child,” Adam murmured, his voice deeper than expected.

Tristan reddened slightly, both in frustration and embarrassment that the man would claim he had fathered them. “Triplets,” he mumbled with a small amount of anguish. It was clear that the curse was exacerbating.

“Sit,” said Adam.

“That had been the plan,” Tristan snarked. Holding the underside of his mound, he eased himself down on the couch with a groan. Instantly he regretted the decision. The couch was too low for him now, and it would be hell to get up. His shirt dragged up against his swell as he fidgeted.

Adam still had not taken his eyes off Tristan. They were dark and wild, even with the prim way Adam carried himself. “You have been electing to have them despite the counter potion.”

“You must be referring to the pills,” said Tristan flippantly, leaning back, trying to find a position to accommodate the shudders of movement and the twinges of pain in his back. “It’s not by choice,” he said breathlessly, rubbing his bloated flanks with the heels of his hands. “There were…extenuating circumstances.” His stomach was doing weird things. “Ohhhh…” It felt as though they babies were performing backflips under Adam’s sharp gaze.

His mother came over and rubbed his arm.

“What do you want?” Tristan managed, to Adam.

“My family,” Adam responded, words apathetic despite the depth of them.

Tristan paled. “We’re not a family. I don’t even know you.”

“And yet what you carry is mine.” Adam approached, and with a long, thin digit, he ran his pointer finger down the face of Tristan’s belly.

Tristan grunted as his skin prickled and pressure surged in his gut. He couldn’t believe it, but the mound shifted, pushing outward, actually growing right before his eyes, his face reddening as he tried to bear it all. “I’m not—” Tristan grunted as his belly jerked with tension. He squirmed and hugged what he could of the pulsating mound. “Stop it! I’ll burst!” he cried.

“You’re mine,” Adam seethed.

“F-fine.”

The growth abruptly stopped, the pressure dissolving. Tristan was left a gasping, sweaty mess, his belly bobbing with his heavy breathing. It was noticeably larger, and…his tits were leaking into his shirt. He was mortified to find that his cheeks were also wet. Tristan grimaced down at himself in self-deprecation.

“I will come tomorrow to collect you and my offspring,” said Adam. He turned and left the house, and Tristan was left a flustered mess, slumped on the couch, trying to figure out what had just happened.

“Oh, honey.” His mother embraced him—well, as much as she could of him, her tears soaking into the sleeve of his shirt.

Tristan felt dazed. His life had somehow just gotten even more outlandish and bizarre. He reached out to uneasily cup the side of his now larger, heavier mound. “What’s going to happen to me?”

His mother pulled back. Biting her lip, she appraised him. “I’m not sure, Tris. This may be the first time anyone’s coming in contact with him in centuries.”

Great. Just great. Tristan swallowed. “I can’t believe what a mess I’ve made.” It was all he could really think or say.

His mother was crying again. “It’s not your fault.”

Tristan barely heard her. He heaved himself up, groaning from the effort, gasping once he was standing, his hands going to the underside of his belly, trying to support the increased weight. He didn’t know what Adam had done to his babies, but they were still moving—well, squirming. And feeling extremely cramped at that point.

In a weird, robotic state, he proceeded to pack. It was slow, and he took plenty of breaks, grimacing when a baby made a particularly rough move, panting as he tried to balance this task with feedings and generally helping his mother take care of the infants.

He was the biggest he’d ever been. He felt like a whale. He lay in bed fidgeting all night, as sleep evaded him. And it wasn’t as though he had been well-rested from the start. His mother was one person, and could only do so much. He had to attend to his children almost constantly.

In the morning, Adam returned, just as he had assured. Tristan’s heart sank at seeing him. He struggled to his feet, hips tight and aching. He couldn’t believe how heavy he was. He felt like he had a beach ball attached to him.

And he was getting so close to his due date. He felt like he could drop at any moment, and didn’t want to be on his feet, with the pressure heavy and low, almost pushing.

“Your medication,” said his mother, pushing a fresh bottle of pills into his hand. “For after these ones are born.” She lightly touched his heaving stomach.

The bottle of pills disintegrated. Tristan watched in shock as it narrowed to nothing, until shining specks were trickling from his fist and onto the floor. He opened his hand and stared blankly at his empty palm.

“That won’t be necessary,” said Adam.

Tristan looked up into the magician’s stony eyes. Tristan wanted to yell at him. To demand to know why? And yet he clamped his mouth shut, and restrained himself from making things worse. He was already in a substantial mess as it was.

Adam waved his hand in a lazy motion, and all Tristan’s luggage disappeared. “Let’s go,” he said with weariness.

Adam, inexplicably, had a van. Loading the kids in was a complicated process. Erica was politely curious, but Andrew wouldn’t stop sobbing. The five newborns just wailed and fretted. Adam watched them all blankly, as though he had conveniently gone deaf. Tristan’s mother gave him one more hug, before he struggled his way into the passenger’s seat of the vehicle.

His head was throbbing, and he felt absolutely terrified. But he tried to man up, and remain aloof. He could do little now in his advanced state, but once he gave birth, maybe he could fight this. “What did you do to them yesterday?” Tristan asked as Adam pulled out of the driveway. Tristan nodded to his stomach.

“I made them slightly larger,” Adam responded, not taking his eyes off the windshield. He reached over, Tristan tensing as Adam stroked his belly. “You are the first person to bare for me in generations. I do enjoy seeing you so fertile.”

Tristan’s shirt seemed to tighten, sliding upwards over his mass. Tristan reddened and tugged it down. Belatedly, he realized he had suffered another growth spurt.

“…and you are rather small,” Adam continued.

“I have to give birth to them!” Tristan snapped, aggrieved. He hugged what he could of his belly, as though this could protect him from Adam’s continued intervention.

Adam withdrew his hand, both now resting on the steering wheel. “Then perhaps you should know better than to defy me.”

Tristan swallowed. “I haven’t—” But he stopped himself. Struggled to control his temper amidst the reeling hormones, the growing panic, and the uncomfortable pressure that throbbed in his massive abdomen. “Will I—be able to see my mother?” he managed.

“Eventually,” said Adam.

“How long will I have to keep going through pregnancies?”

Adam didn’t answer.

-

Adam’s residence was a sumptuous, if rather dated, mansion, about an hour outside of the city. There was a full staff that swooped down on the children and carted them off before Tristan could get a word in.

Tristan reddened. He could feel his fear and indignation swelling, but he breathed thought it. They’ll be fine.

He was exhausted anyway. He allowed Adam to usher him inside, only then realizing that his stride had devolved to a snail’s pace. He supposed he hadn’t had to walk much at his mother’s quaint residence, and also, that he had barely tested his mobility since the couple of Adam-induced episodes of growth he had experienced.

“God, they’re heavy,” Tristan breathed out, finding himself stopping, while his left hand unconsciouly took a firm grip of Adam’s arm. He wasn’t in labor and wasn’t at term, but he felt almost like he could start pushing them out. He didn’t know whether to clench his ass or squat down. They were getting too big for him. He felt like they could drop at any moment. Tristan gasped out, pouring sweat, “I—I think I have to—”

“You’re not even at term,” Adam interrupted. “Not for another three days. You will not risk our children by having them prematurely.”

Tristan was pulled along on shaky legs, belly rocking with every step he took. He was led to a dining room with an expansive mahogany table. Adam helped him into a chair with a gentleness Tristan had not anticipated. He spread his legs to make room for his stomach, arching as much as he could manage, his belly pressing into the edge of the table. His breasts were bloated full, and his nipples pulsed. “Have to nurse,” he managed wearily. This was usually the time that he fed Nina and Tommy.

“My staff will handle it for now,” said Adam firmly. “I want you to focus on these.” Then he cradled Tristan’s belly with clear adulation. Tristan felt his pulse quicken. He simultaneously wanted to push into the contact and recoil.

Adam took a seat beside Tristan, so that Tristan was at the head of the table, and Adam was adjacent.

“We will take dinner now,” Adam told him, and as he did, several servers strode inside, lowering beverages and platters, then portioning food onto dishes.

“I’m not hungry,” said Tristan breathlessly, now partially slumped in his chair. “Just tired.”

“Nonsense,” said Adam. He picked up Tristan’s fork and cut a small piece of steak off his plate. He lifted it up to Tristan’s lips. Tristan hesitated, then opened his mouth.

It tasted exactly the way it looked: delicious. The flavor was rich and savory. Tristan’s eyes flicked down to his plate. Everything was so exquisite, so refined. He thought if he could name the dishes, they would have an international influence. The plates were well decorated and garnished, the servings small, still steaming on the plates.

Adam lifted another serving of steak, and Tristan opened his mouth to receive it. He knew he willingly did it to be obedient, but there was something extremely strange about being fed by the stranger. Tristan worked his way through the rest of the meat, some vegetables, and a fancy grain. When he was finished he felt full and drowsy. A waiter came to pick up the empty dish only to replace it with another.

“That was only the first course,” Adam answered Tristan’s surprised expression. “My children shall not want for anything.”

Tristan gulped. “How many servings…are there?” he managed.

Adam did not respond, he simply cut into the pork on Tristan’s plate.

Tristan accepted each bite as it was presented. He ate and ate, even beyond satiation. He managed to work his way through another two plates of fancy food, each made with a different style and taste, like a variety of chefs had participated in their creation. He felt uncomfortably full, his belly tight and hot. But he refused to show weakness or complain. He met each fork with parted lips, even as his eyelids drooped and his stomach lurched.

A cool hand rested against the face of his belly. A thumb stroked against his swollen belly button. Tristan’s gaze lowered to Adam’s fingers, as the magician caressed Tristan’s belly almost lovingly, even as it shuddered and ached. He was so full, somehow in a different way than he was with the pregnancy. He felt like he could burst all the same. “I c-can’t take anymore,” he admitted weakly.

“You can,” Adam disagreed. He dabbed at Tristan’s lips with a napkin, and wiped under his eyes, at which point Tristan realized he was crying again. He felt so pathetic and weak.

Angry more at himself now, Tristan took in another several bites. Somehow he even managed to eat his way through the rest of the plate, but was rewarded with a potent surge of nausea. His hands flew to his mouth and he struggled against it.

Adam shot him a disturbed look.

“Mm—sorry,” Tristan forced out, as he breathed, truly struggling not to retch.

“This is…disappointing,” Adam said. “You will do better in the future.”

Yet Tristan could hardly conceive the notion of having to do this again.

Next Chapter