Medication, Part 10

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

-

When Tristan burst into the cabin, he was in so much pain he could hardly even speak. He was bigger than he had ever been, his belly flushed and throbbing. The tension was so bad, he felt like he was going to burst.

There were a few people present, standing about, some of their faces familiar, some of them not, but Tristan could hardly even register them. He caught a glimpse of their shock, but then he was assaulted by a new explosion of pain that made him partly keel down, the babies against him wailing.

“What the—holy hell,” said Martha in astonishment. Hers was one of the familiar faces.

“Take them,” Tristan wheezed out. He was too exhausted to offer up the babies. His body was barely holding him up on all fours, but somehow, he had to give birth because he was certain the labor would kill him if he put it off a moment longer. “Ohhhhh…” He pushed, and felt something crown, tears streaming down his face. He no longer cared about keeping his secret, he just wanted to get through this. “Quick,” he rasped.

Thankfully, Derek and James came forward, and removed the wailing infants strapped to Tristan’s back and chest. He no longer had to worry about staying upright, and could have collapsed right then, were it not for the mass presently exiting him, pushing out against his pants seat. Panicked, he struggled with his rope belt.

“Mr. Smith, where did you get these children?” Martha asked, watching as James tried to sooth the two in his arms.

“Oh god,” Tristan croaked, hardly hearing her. The baby that he was birthing was unable to proceed further, stuck there by the pants he was wearing. He fumbled to untie the belt, to push it down. No one moved forward to help, they just stared on speechlessly. Maybe they hadn’t noticed the way the back of his pants had started to tent out.

“He’s developed some sort of tumor,” Derek said. “He’s in pain. We need to tranquilize him until we can—”

“N-no,” Tristan stammered. That was the last thing he needed. It was a strain to talk, to advocate for himself, but he couldn’t let them do anything to hurt him and his unborn babies. He gave a pained sob, hands shaking on his rope belt. “H-help me t-t-t—” But a powerful contraction nearly knocked him down, body trembling and straining to eject the crowned baby. When he finally managed to untie the rope, he gave a long moan and hunched low on his elbows, belly pressing the floor.

It was like that, with his ass sticking out of his clothes, in the air, on full display, that his labor proceeded. He felt a terrible, wrenching pain as the head popped fully out, so abruptly that his insides twisted, and he was sure that something was severely damaged inside of him. He muffled a wail in his arm, then just tried to catch his breath.

“Christ!” someone shouted, as they had probably never seen a young man giving birth out of his anus.

Tristan just tried to bare the pain and catch his breath. “Hahhhh…hahhhh…” he panted, flushed, dizzy. He lifted his head slightly, making out the matching looks of horror on his spectators’ faces. “C-catch,” he managed, reaching feebly, as another contraction caused his belly to compact on itself, forcing the baby along.

Martha snapped out of her reverie just in time to catch the baby before it could fall to the ground.

Tristan dropped to his side, boneless, even as more contractions tore through his body.

“Tristan, what the…jesus,” said James.

Tristan just laid there, breathing, and aware of the second twin that was coming, but not too soon, thankfully. He grunted and fidgeted somewhat, cupping his throbbing stomach. “I…” he finally managed. “…pregnant. I’m…intersex.”

It wasn’t exactly true, but it was the only explanation he could think of. Being intersex hardly made sense, as it certainly didn’t explain his being able to give birth out of his ass. Yet, to Tristan, it seemed like a more sensible explanation than “family curse.”

“P-please…help me,” Tristan whispered as he cradled his still-round belly. “T-twins.”

The surrounding group of people seemed absolutely stunned. A young woman looked like she might faint. But slowly, one by one, they gathered their composure

“Derek, h…he’s too weak to give birth again,” said Martha. “He may need surgery.”

“That isn’t an option,” the medic responded. “The nearest hospital is a three-hour flight, and his contractions are—”

“Let’s get him into a cot—”

“Turner, get some water!”

Tristan was peeled off the floor and helped to a cot in a spare room. He was too tired to be humiliated as he was stripped and examined. His swollen belly was contracting more powerfully now, his overdue unborn determined to join its sibling in the outside world.

It wasn’t long before the contractions were on top of each other, and Tristan felt the need to start pushing again. Derek and Martha supported him in an awkwardly contorted position with his knees drawn high, when he just wanted them to go away, to stop ogling him like the anomaly he was.

Derek gave him a shot. A mild pain medication. Anything stronger might be bad in your state, Derek explained. It helped, but was still a little disorientating. Tristan appreciated it, because this baby was giving him a hard fucking time of it. He pushed and pushed for what had to be hours, until he was giving pained hums, or strangled cries when they somehow escaped his tightly pressed lips. He panted and twisted, body flushed and hot. Soon his vision was blurring, and at least once he passed out, but he was brought back into vicious consciousness by the pain of yet another contraction, Derek urging him to keep going with light slaps to his face.

Finally, the pain peaked to impossible levels, and there was a squalling cry, and Tristan was crying too. He felt utterly wrecked.

Derek raised a healthy-sized baby. Fuck, it was big. The medic just looked down at the infant in amazement. “It’s a—”

But by then, Tristan had already passed out.

-

Recovery was faster this time around.

He had the aid of trained medics, like Derek and James, to give him an IV line to make sure that he stayed hydrated, and to give him medication for pain, nausea, dizziness, and so on. They ensured that he ate regularly and frequently, as well as kept his vitals within the normal range. All of these measures had Tristan back on his (weary) feet in only two days.

He had five newborn children now, and they were constantly wailing, but Tristan was still too weak to do much other than look at them from time to time. James was mainly keeping an eye on them, and they were kept separately from Tristan for the most part. Tristan hated himself for feeling grateful in that regard.

He belatedly noticed that he was set up in a supply closet, but it was nice to have a space of his own. It had the sterile smell of having been recently scrubbed of any stray dust or grime. The medics checked on him constantly, often adjusting the medication and fluids in his IV line. Apparently there were still some people sick with the virus, so they wanted to keep Tristan and the babies as far from the medical room as possible.

Tristan tried to catch up on as much rest as he could. When he wasn’t dozing, he leafed through a few of the botany books Martha had given him to pass the time. That afternoon, when he was conscious but only just, the door to his makeshift bedroom creaked open, and Derek came in to take a seat at Tristan’s bedside.

Tristan braced himself for the questioning. He had known it was coming.

Derek did not disappoint: “Tristan…we’re trying to figure out what happened to you these past couple of weeks,” Derek said. “James says your group was attacked by the indigenous tribe in the forest. Afterwards, everyone was separated. But you were out there for over two months. And heavily pregnant, apparently. How on earth did you survive?”

Tristan wanted to tell the truth, to testify about the warm welcome the isolated tribe had given him. But he knew it would only lead to more questions, and possibly land him in hot water for violating international law and entering the indigenous territory.

“I found an abandoned old research station. Don’t ask me where it was—I can’t remember. But there was a stream, and some canned food stuff. I was in and out of consciousness for a while, and…yeah,” he mumbled.

“Did you get sick?” said Derek.

“I’m not sure,” Tristan lied. He knew that getting follow-up treatment would only be to his benefit, but he just wanted to go home before things became even more of a mess than they already were. The last thing he needed was to be quarantined because of suspected residual illness.

Derek nodded absently, his eyes thoughtfully drifting to Tristan’s chest. “God Peterson, you should have told us,” he said, eyes darting back up. “Why the hell would you come out here pregnant?”

“I didn’t realize.”

Derek gave him a dubious look. “But you would have already been in your—right, okay.” He stopped himself from arguing, lightly shaking his head.

There was an awkward silence, Tristan wanting to sink down and be swallowed by the cot. Instead, he managed, “What happened to the others?”

Derek sighed. “Most made it back fine. James is still pretty shaken. Some got back sooner than others.” He gave Tristan a pointed look. “But Tim—he’s still missing. He was almost declared dead. But your arrival is giving us new hope. The local authorities have agreed to send out a new search party.”

“Right,” said Tristan grimly. Tim was a classmate of his. Tristan couldn’t help thinking that he could easily be in Tim’s shoes, still missing in the forest, unlikely to ever be found.

“There’s concern that the indigenous tribe captured him, for whatever reason. They’re the ones who shot darts at you, right?”

“Yeah,” said Tristan quietly.

“I knew that route was risky. It may have been seen as trespassing.”

“Yeah.” Tristan leaned back on his pillows and stared at the ceiling. He allowed his eyelids to lower, and hoped that Derek would leave him be to process it all.

“But I’m glad you’re doing well,” Derek continued, clearly not getting the hint. “The babies are doing good too. All…five of them. We don’t have much milk powder left, obviously. We hadn’t anticipated a particular need for milk.”

Tristan opened his eyes.

“I noticed that you—well, it could help if you…” His eyes again darted to Tristan’s chest.

Tristan’s cheeks colored. “Right, okay,” he said.

“You may have to do two at a time. If you need help—”

“It’s fine,” said Tristan, embarrassed. “You can bring one, I mean—two of them in.” It was probably time he properly bonded with the newborns anyway.

“Five is a lot to feed,” Derek went on, shifting easily back into his role as a medic. “You’re going to have to stay hydrated, and increase your calorie intake. We’ll set you up on 3,000 calories a day, though it might not be…”

Tristan nodded politely, but internally, just zoned him out. He still couldn’t believe that he had been fit, athletic, and childless not too long ago. A happily carless, terribly irresponsibly young man, and not an overwhelmed mother of—fuck—seven.

Derek finished, and the room lapsed back into silence. Tristan hoped this was the end of the informal meeting, when Derek said:

“Something just doesn’t add up, Tristan. If you were pregnant with twins, then where did the other three babies come from?”

Tristan’s throat tightened. He had been hoping that this massive hole in his story would be blithely ignored and forgotten.

He couldn’t deny that the other three babies were his. That would put them at risk of being taken away. Besides that, it hardly made sense. They all looked alike, and even had some of his features.

But they were all extremely close in age, all having been born in the past two months. Tristan wasn’t sure if he could convince Derek that he had been, in fact, pregnant with quints and was halfway through labor when he arrived to the cabin. Probably not, as the age difference was fairly obvious, even if that difference was only a month or two. The two newest infants had the newborn flush and feebleness, whereas the older three had a level of familiarity with him that attested to his already having bonded with them. And they were bigger.

Not to mention that a sudden new story would severely contradict the old one.

Tristan saw his secret unravelling. He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. He just stared off, a little dazed with the knowledge that his whole world was crumpling around him. Everyone would figure out what he was.

“We did a few exams after the birth,” said Derek. “You might not remember them all. You were pretty out of it. To stop the bleeding, improve your vitals, make sure everything was okay. We did a full work up. Tristan…I know that you’re pregnant again, though I don’t know quite—how. You—you’ve been pregnant more than once out here. Somehow you’re having rapid—”

“Can we keep this quiet?” Tristan cut him off.

Next Chapter