Medication, Part 2

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

-

Day 29

His ass was getting bigger.

He began to notice the increasing effort it took to jerk his basketball shorts and sweatpants up in the back.

Now they could hardly triumph his ass, instead inches of crack bulging out over the waistband.

This was getting ridiculous. His belly looked ready to pop.

He could hardly walk anymore. Instead he sort of just waddled about, uncoordinated and ungainly, and he felt like an elephant.

He was becoming a shut-in. He left his bedroom only at night when his dorm mates were asleep. He would visit the campus market, ignoring the staring shop clerk as he hastily stuffed his basket with as much junk food as he could fit into it.

Much as Tristan tried to will his problems away, they only seemed to be exacerbating, and his body continued to balloon out of control. He was sore, uncomfortable, exhausted, heavy, and could hardly find a position in which he could sleep anymore. The strange tapping on his insides was getting frighteningly stronger.

Clutching his bags that night, Ryan made his way back into his bedroom, and eased himself down onto his bed, breathing heavily. He shrugged out of the jacket that was draped about his shoulders and had no hope of zipping closed over his mass. His T-shirt was moist with sweat, the entire lower half of his belly bulging out of the tautly stretched material. His protruding nipples were evidently pushing against the cotton, as was the accumulating pudge, the horrible moobs that he had developed there. He was becoming such a slob.

Astoundingly, aside from his belly, chest, and ass, the rest of his body remained slim. Which probably explained how bizarrely unbalanced he had gotten.

Holding his abdomen with one hand, Tristan caught his breath for several moments, while with his free hand, he reached for his purchases.

He ate his way through packaged cookies, various bags of chips, granola bars, dry cereal, a few chocolate bars, a jar of peanut butter, a bag of marshmallows, and several stale breakfast burritos the cashier had chucked into a paper bag for him.

“No wonder I’m becoming a whale,” Tristian wheezed out self-depreciatingly, once he was finished. His hand slid to his back, and rubbed at a pain arbitrarily spiking there. Through his window, he could see the sun beginning to rise on the horizon.

Tristian eased himself back against his pillows, grimacing at a sudden tension in his belly. His body was under a lot of stress lately. Hopefully it would subside after a well-deserved nap.

It took Tristian a while until his anxiety allowed for him to succumb to exhaustion. When he awoke, it was still dark outside his bedroom windows. For a few bleary moments, he blinked around, confused as to what had awoke him.

And then it hit him. Pain gripped his body, rolling through his stomach, which tightened, automatically, whether he clenched his muscles or not. As the pain held him frozen and trembling, he was hardly able to breathe. And then it rolled away as fluidly as it had arrived, and Tristian was left gasping and starting to sweat.

What was that? he wondered, rubbing his swollen abdomen. It had been intense. Frightening. He noticed his belly felt odd and tense. And had it been that low before?

Tristian shifted to get up. Maybe he was having some muscle spasms from all the new weight. He awkwardly heaved up his torso, his low belly shifting into his lap, when the pain suddenly seized him up again.

“Ohhhhh…” Tristian groaned out, trying desperately to stay quiet so not to wake his dorm mates. Though maybe that would be for the best. Should he have been calling for help?

Tristian didn’t think he could stand the humiliation of several college freshmen bursting through his door. He trembled until the pain tapered off, when he noticed that his face was wet with tears. With some difficulty, he climbed to his feet, but everything was off. He could hardly move save for an awkward wobble. He gasped and clutched at his awkwardly low belly. He felt an uncomfortable pressure in his backside.

Tristian wobbled around a bit, oblivious and panicked. Should he have called an ambulance? “Mmmggh…” He rubbed at his tense, and throbbing stomach. But moving about felt right for some reason. Like something was loosening up, or dislodging within him. As he passed his dresser, he noticed his cellphone, the face of it indicting a missed call from his mother. Reluctantly freeing up one of his hands, Tristian reached out for it.

“Nrrggghhh…” He gripped hard onto the dresser, just to keep himself from toppling over. His belly tightened immensely, his insides burning, and for some reason, his backside quavering.

Tristan breathed in gasps as the waves of pain began to overlap each other. His clothes were stuck to him with sweat, his whole body flushed, his cheeks red.

“Ohh…ohhhhh!” He sunk to his knees, still clutching at the underside of his belly. “No…stop…!” He dropped to his side, oblivious as to what he was protesting, or to whom. Somehow he managed to wiggle out of his sweat-drenched clothes.

Tristan weakly rolled to his back, watching his swollen midriff heave up and down like a mountain against him. He rubbed it desperately, and wondered if he was going to die.

Now the pain was shooting from his stomach to his ass, his bottom plump and shuddering. By some instinct, Tristan opened his thighs.

The pressure was getting worse than ever. He almost felt as though he had to defecate. Something was shifting—something large—was approaching his opening, Tristian struggling to muffle his whimpers by clutching his fist to his mouth.

He could feel his round cheeks parting. He tried to hold it in, but it was just too painful. He felt as though something was tearing him apart! He sat up partially, for leverage, his belly heaving. Something was exiting—pushing out of him. “Nrrggghhhhh…” His face reddened more as Tristan grunted, struggled, and bore down.

Finally, something pushed out. There was a hoarse, shrill—crying. Stunned and exhausted, Tristian leaned down between his legs. “Oh god,” he croaked out. It was…it was a baby!

Tristan held the tiny human against him, lost as to what else to do.

There was a knock on his door, and someone called, “Tris, are you alright in there?”

But Tristan was speechless. He clutched the flushed infant closer, tighter, until the crying was slightly muffled. Soon the knocking stopped.

Tristan was certain this was some foul delusion. He struggled to catch his breath. His muscles trembling, he somehow got to his feet, and dragged his sore, exhausted body to the bed.

He collapsed on his back, the baby still clutched against his chest, and whimpering. Tristan cradled its, wearily, and soon things quieted down. Or so he imagined.

He passed out.

-

When Tristan awoke again, the room was bright and warm. He shifted, grimacing when he realized how sore and weak his body felt. Only when Tristan heard a sucking noise, and felt a stinging in his chest, did he recall the events of the previous night.

Tristan’s eyes snapped open, and he abruptly found himself staring at the newborn infant laid on his chest instinctively sucked on his stinging nipple.

“Oh god,” Tristan breathed out, quickly detaching the baby. He winced as he sat up. A glance at his chest told him that his nipples were darker than ever, his pecks even softer and fuller than they had been the prior day, and only when a white droplet of liquid fell from his nipple, did Tristan realize that he was—lactating. His jaw fell.

The infant began to wail.

“Oh,” said Tristan stupidly. He returned the baby to his chest, and it promptly began to—suckle—again. He winced, and blinked, and stared off, feeling helpless.

He had given birth.

Tristan bit his lip, wanting to scream, but minding the baby.

He—a male—a college student—a virgin—had endured a rapid pregnancy and then given birth.

Tristan felt his heart race and breathing thin. He absently rubbed the baby's back as it continued to feed, because, of course, he also lactated now!

“…the hell,” he whispered, feeling his eyes burn, to his further self-resentment. None of this made sense. And his body, it was—christ. What was he going to do with a baby? As his shoulders trembled, the baby detached again. It—she—she was a girl—and she started to whimper, as Tristan did his best to pacify her, cooing, rocking, as he also tried to calm himself.

He appraised the healthy-sized baby. Despite that he wanted to go back to sleep, and despite the fact that he was fatigued and sore, and his body no longer felt familiar to him—in fact, had practically betrayed him—Tristan got up from his bed and carried the infant to his private bathroom, where he cleaned her up the best he could as she dozed, gurgled, and grasped feebly at his fingers.

He bundled her up in one of his sweaters, feeling relieved that she had fallen asleep by then.

The child had jet black hair, very unlike his own dirty blonde. She had his round face, but her lips and brows were unfamiliar. Still, it didn’t make sense. How could she have been born from just one person’s genetic material, and so distinct, at that?

Slowly, Tristan’s mind shifted to his one medical anomaly that had never added up. The necessity of the daily pills his mother had never identified for him.

Tristan deeply inhaled.

It was time to pay his mother a visit.