Medication, Part 3

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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

-

“Oh Tristan!” said his mother the moment she opened the door.

She looked from the breasts protruding evidently even in Tristan’s baggy sweater, to the squirming bundle in his arms. Eyes filling with tears, she pulled Tristan into a gentle hug.

A few moments later Tristan was seated on an armchair in the living room, the infant gurgling in his lap. She started making fretful whimpers, as though threatening to cry.

His mother brought over a cup of tea. “How are you feeling?”

“Frankly, exhausted.” Tristan held her eyes.

His mother sat down opposite him, biting her lip.

“I was understandably—surprised—by this little one’s arrival.” He returned his gaze to the baby.

“What’s her name?”

“Haven’t gotten to that yet,” Tristan admitted. “Mom—what the hell is going on?”

His mother gazed absently on the newborn. “I’m sorry I never told you…I was honestly hoping you wouldn’t find out. And certainly not like this,” she choked out.

“Mum, just tell me,” Tristan entreated wearily.

His mother sat back against the couch cushions, her face grim. “It’s the family curse, Tris. You see…a few hundred years ago, our bloodline was cursed by a strong magician named Adam. Now the first person to come of age in our family within each new century will spontaneously begin to—well…”

Tristan looked down at the child in his lap, and swallowed.

“You’ll notice, Tristan, that you don’t have any cousins. We’ve done our best to contain our bloodline over the years, figuring that eventually we would die out. My aunt Patricia may have been hit by the curse, but of course, she died before she even came of age. And then it passed to me.”

Tristan’s eyes widened. “Was I—?”

“No, dear,” said his mother hurriedly. “I didn’t need any children, but your father wanted you so badly. We planned for you. We chose for you to come to be. You are not a product of the curse,” she told him firmly.

Tristan managed a nod. His eyes instinctively flickered to the framed photo of him and his father sitting on the coffee table. They stood together on the beach, displaying a bright orange kite proudly. Tristan had to be eight or so. Right before his father had fallen ill.

Tristan returned his attention to his mother.

“The curse affects the descendent, regardless of gender,” she continued. “But there are work-arounds. The pill—it’s a form of birth control.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” said Tristan in frustration. He grimaced as the baby started to cry.

“I was just trying to protect you,” said his mother, her tears spilling from her eyes.

“Mom—don’t.” But Tristan hardly had the energy to comfort his mother in addition to the infant as well as himself. He cringed as his nipples burned and seeped into his sweater, his body betraying him, in favor of this newborn. “I…I think I have to…” His cheeks reddened.

His mother immediately stood. “I’ll give you some privacy.” And she walked out of the room.

With a sigh, Tristan began to peel back his layers of clothing, to reveal his breasts, which were plump and round, nipples dripping keenly. He lifted the baby gingerly and allowed her to attach. The snuffles ceased.

He closed his eyes, dropped his head back, and vowed not to miss another dose ever again.

-

He named her Erica.

Tristan spent a week at his mother’s house bonding with his daughter, at least until his mother began to pester him to go back to college.

It seemed an unreasonable request. He was a brand new parent, and had been thrust into things completely unprepared. He was exhausted, and anxious, and his body had not recovered at all from the birth. He could hardly remember the baby’s feeding schedule, let alone his readings for his upcoming finals.

But his mother was insistent that he continue his education, that it couldn’t be delayed just because of a missed pill.

At first Tristan outright refused. He was too new to parenthood. He was just getting to know the baby. He was affronted that his mother would simplify his child’s existence in such crass terms. It took him a day of sulking, but he slowly came to sympathize with her perspective on things.

His mother did not want him to disrupt his life because of a curse. As it was, the magician—Adam—was winning. The curse had thrown Tristan’s life off-kilter, and had put everything that he had been working for on hold.

The baby was loved dearly by his mother. Tristan knew that. It didn’t make it any easier to kiss her goodbye.

-

By sophomore year, Tristan had gotten back into shape.

It had taken several periods of extreme dieting, in combination with two hours daily at the gym.

He visited his mother, and Erica, on weekends and holidays, and thought about the baby constantly, but he tried to resume being a normal nineteen-year-old. You can worry about parenting later, his mother would tell him following each of his many daily calls to inquire about the infant.

Tristan allowed himself to relax a little. He resumed sports, and occasionally would go out drinking with his friends.

“Oh—sorry,” said Tristan at a club one evening, after crashing into a stranger on his way out of the bathroom. He was surprised he hadn’t knocked the both of them down, but the stranger stood firm.

“No worries,” said the dark-eyed man, helping keep Tristan balanced by holding his shoulders. There was something about his gaze that was unnerving, but Tristan brushed it off.

Tristan joined his friends back at the bar, where he bought the next round of shots, and laughed the night away. He drank and danced, and stepped outside to smoke weed on several occasions. Soon the club was a vortex of flashing lights, pulsing music, and throbbing bodies.

Tristan was so hungover the following day, he slept through two different phone alarms.

-

It didn’t take long for Tristan to take notice of his rounding abdomen. He had been denial for almost a week, but it was becoming fairly evident. He cursed profusely, and put a hole through the wall. Then he closed his eyes, and tried to breathe through his panic.

He had missed a dose. Obviously. He tried to think back to when it had occurred, but did it even matter? It made no difference when it had happened, because regardless, he was pregnant again.

His belly was expanding rapidly throughout the month. For once, he could see how profoundly this pregnancy was changing his body, on a day-to-day basis. His firm pecs were softening, nipples getting larger, and protruding visibly.

He tried to eat healthier this time around, and hopefully avoid the weight gain getting completely out of control.

He didn’t know what he was going to tell his mother. He was mortified and ashamed that he had made such a monumental mistake twice in two years. His mum had her work cut out for her with Erica, and now he was dumping another baby into her arms.

Tristan continued to play sports for as long as he thought it was safe. He tried not to become overwhelmed by how distraught and panicked he felt, and tried to reflect on his pregnancy with composure. He did some research on childbirth—unconventional though his would be—and he felt fairly confident about enduring it alone. He had done it before, after all, and in that case, he hadn’t even known what was happening.

Tristan stood in the locker room one afternoon, breathing through his uneasiness. His right hand was planted firmly on his lower belly. He was already showing a good deal, not quite hiding his mound in his jersey. Beneath his fingers, he could feel the gentle kicks and nudges under his skin, that he had blithely dismissed as extraordinary gas during his first go-around. He wondered if he had been in denial during the whole month he had been carrying Erica.

Tristan sighed as the movements winded down. If he was lucky, coach wouldn’t bother to call him into play. Coach hadn’t questioned Tristan about his weight gain this time around, he just seemed to stare and accept it. It was the last game that Tristan would allow himself to participate in before he feared his balance issues, and the prominence of his belly, would make it too dangerous to continue with sports.

He still hadn’t called his mother. He had been putting it off, but he was just getting larger. He didn’t know what to say to her, what would mitigate the shame and horror in her voice at his confession. So he procrastinated, despite that he was getting closer. He focused on ensuring that he had a healthy baby. He could worry about the rest later.

Tristan noted that he wasn’t nearly as fat as he had gotten during his last pregnancy, though there was time yet, he supposed. He wasn’t sure. He was still rather uncertain about the day he had conceived this one.

He turned to his side, examining his small breasts, telling himself that they were still impossible to make out under his jersey. His eyes drifted over his bloated ass, before finally settling on his round navel, which was already rather obvious. He slid his fingers down, absently tugging at his shirt, but there was no more leverage. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, continuing to adjust the unyielding material. He cringed at the way the jersey stretched across his form. It had fit him fine just the other day.

But he could handle this. Tristan forced himself to turn away from the mirror. He fixed his face with a grin, even though he was miserable. And then he walked out onto the field, crossing his fingers, hoping to be sitting on the bench for the game.

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