Clause III - Alternate Ending

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Clause II on DeviantArt

-

Together Dean and Dr. Reed read over the latest stipulation that Maroon had provided. Apparently, Maroon was mandated to present a new one to Dean prior to each of his pregnancies.

“Dean must maintain an average to low body fat percentage throughout his third pregnancy,” Reed murmured aloud. “Further, this clause cancels out the lactation stipulations of Clause 3.”

“But that makes no sense,” Dean complained. The young woman was still quite plump since his delivery two weeks before. His belly was round and bloated, making him look as though he was still seven months pregnant with one child. His breasts were massively round, and already beginning to seep through the maternity bra he was wearing. “I’m supposed to be at my peak weight with each pregnancy according to Clause 1. How is it even possible to do that while keeping a low percentage of body fat?”

“It’s possible,” Reed frowned down at the newest Clause, then lowered it. “But you’re not going to like it. First you’re going to have to lose the weight. And fast.”

Dean bit his bottom lip. That gave him less than three months to get down to an ‘average to low body fat percentage.’ Then he would have to get pregnant by the end of March in order to give birth before the end of the year. “So I won’t be able to nurse?” he said.

“I don’t think milk constitutes as body fat,” said Reed lovingly. She patted the side of one of Dean’s breasts, causing Dean’s face to redden.

“Right,” said Dean. “Okay. But it still doesn’t make sense. I would have to get to over three-hundred pounds somehow.”

“Dean,” said Reed. “You’re going to have to have a lot of babies.”

Dean swallowed.

“Fat babies. Well, think of it this way—the more babies we can impregnate you with, the less fat they’ll have to be. Healthier for them, and an easier labor for you. Win win.” Reed grinned.

“But a lot of babies,” said Dean weakly. He was already overwhelmed with the fourteen he had at home.

-

Over the next few months, Dean started an aggressive workout routine. It was painful and exhausting, but he made it his full-time job to work out. He did cardio for several hours every morning, some strength training in the afternoon, focusing mostly on squats and sit-ups, and then it was more cardio throughout the evening. When he was too tired to run he biked. When he was too tired to bike, he did the row machine. His muscles were in hell, but he was dropping weight fast. He ate little more than salads. He knew that he was looking fitter and fitter, but his routine was anything but healthy.

He just kept reminding himself that he wasn’t doing this for himself. He was doing it for his children. Abiding by the will was his only way of supporting them at that point.

Dean got some cat calls and wolf whistles on his way to his next appointment with Reed two months later. He was wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt that was somewhat tight at the chest. All the attention was jarring. He hurried inside.

“Twenty-eight percent,” said Reed as the body-fat tester beeped. “High for a male, but perfect for a young lady such as yourself.”

Dean grimaced.

“We’ll inseminate right away.”

“Wait,” said Dean abruptly. He reddened somewhat. “Do we have to do it…right away?”

Reed gave him a sympathetic smile. “Not necessarily. You do have two weeks.”

And Dean planned to take full advantage of those two weeks. It was his first time being in shape in over two years. Sure, the circumstances weren’t ideal, him being trapped in a woman’s body and all—but he would take small wins where he could.

His body was now completely fit, not one bulge of stray fat, not one unsightly mound in sight. Even his breasts had shrunken down somewhat—still, they were present, plump FFF-cups that they were, looking disproportionately massive on his otherwise slim frame. But Dean didn’t have complaints. If anything, it made him look…really rather…sexual.

“For now, it might help if you start taking fertility drugs,” said Reed, pulling a prescription bottle out from a cupboard. “One pill every day.”

“Right,” said Dean noncommittally. He took the bottle.

“I’m serious, Dean.”

“Wouldn’t it be accurate to say that I’m already really quite fertile as it is?”

“Dean.”

Dean frowned at the bottle of pills, a little disturbed by the thought of intentionally knocking himself up with a large amount of multiples. But then he popped it open, and took one right there. “Satisfied?” he said, after he had swallowed the pill down.

Reed simply smiled back at him.

The next evening was Dean’s first time going out as a woman. It was also his first time drinking in a long while. He had never previously tested out the way his female body metabolized alcohol, let alone a slim female-body. After one drink, he was already feeling quite tipsy.

So he drank and danced, somewhat alarmed by the number of males who approached him with drink offers. He was again reminded that he was a woman. An attractive one. He finally submitted to dancing with a muscular male, following another drink, and an internal surrender. He had given birth to fourteen children. It seemed like it was time to accept the fact that he was no longer male.

-

Dean was sore…and wet. His nipples ached as though he had overdone it nursing. His groin was hot and tingly and sore.

And then he remembered.

Dean sat up, gasping. He was in an unfamiliar bed. He looked down at the prone male form beside him, partially covered in blankets. I didn’t, Dean thought, in partial denial. Oh god. He climbed up and began to gather his clothes.

“Hey.”

Dean slowly looked up to the handsome face grinning up from him on the bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The man sat up, and Dean was reacquainted with his muscled body, and his massive organ, how that very organ had filled him up the night before.

Dean’s nipples began to drip. He quickly pulled on his shirt. “I have to go.” He began to jerk on his pants.

“But-”

Dean was already out the door.

-

Dean’s insemination appointment was two weeks later. He walked into Reed’s office an hour late, in a sweatshirt, looking pale, and hunching slightly.

Reed quickly ushered him into the bathroom to change into a medical gown. When he exited, he had his arms awkwardly folded against himself to keep the gown closed.

Reed frowned at him. “Dean, what’s wrong.”

Dean gulped. “Reed, I think I’m…already pregnant.”

Reed tilted her head in confusion. “What?”

Dean opened the gown. He was only wearing a pair of panties and a bra. His swollen breasts were bulging over the cups. More notably, his belly had become bloated round, his belly button looking on the brink of popping out. He resembled someone who was six months pregnant.

Reed’s jaw fell open. It had only been two weeks. “W-what happened?”

“I got drunk,” said Dean weakly. “I met this guy, and we did it once—m-maybe twice. This has to be g-good, right?”

Reed continued to merely stare.