Kompera
patreon
Medication, Part 4
🕑 Added 2018-10-16 20:19:08 +0000 UTC Story Directory: $5 PatronsStory Directory: $10 Patrons
Story Directory: $20 Patrons
Summary: All his life, Tristans 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.
-
Tristan was dismayed when his soccer coach sent him into the game as a starter. Worse, he was doing offense. Huffing, he jogged onto the field.
He figured he looked six months pregnant. His body was hot, skin burning, heart pounding, and he could hardly catch his breath. He felt undeniably dizzy, and often took to holding his abdomen, as if to reassure the creature inside of it. He just hoped the baby wasnt nearly as uncomfortable as he was.
When Tristan dragged himself off the field, his hips were aching, and his lower back was stinging. He felt a comforting nudge of movement somewhere below his ribs. He was just glad that it was over.
You did great out there.
Thanks, coach, Tristan panted, as he half-staggered towards the locker rooms.
Were just a match away from winning the finals. And with the way youre playing, itll be a cake walk.
Tristan felt himself freeze. About next weeks match
What about it?
Tristan forced himself to turn around to face the coach. I I cant play.
Coachs thick brows furrowed. What are you talking about?
Im not playing. Tristan absently rubbed his belly, too fatigued to care about who was watching him anymore. I havent been feeling well, and I just
Tris, we need you in this match. Youre our star player.
I know coach, its just
We dont stand a chance without you.
Tristan grinded his teeth. Coach was really laying it on thick. I He felt a twinge in his gut, and closed his eyes, a bit concerned. He couldnt deal with all this. He wasnt going to fight with his coach. He was under enough stress as it was. Tristan turned back towards the locker room and started to walk off.
Youre playing, Tris! Coach called after him.
Rolling his eyes, Tristan ignored him. Once he got to the lockers, he grabbed his duffle bag, knowing that he couldnt shower here, not with his teammates present to see what had become of his physique.
Someone took notice. Tristan, whats been going on with you? Sam asked.
Tristan kept his head down and stayed focused on his task at hand. I um I have to go. Not for the first time, Tristan regretted how reclusive he was becoming. He was treating his friends with an aloofness that was sure to bite him in the ass later. But what choice did he have? He was fucking pregnant, and everyone he encountered seemed to want to suck him in to some activity or the other that was sure to be bad for him.
And even with this pregnancy being a short-term thing, it was his selfish waysgoing out, playing sports, drinkingthat had probably gotten him into this mess in the first place. He was irresponsible. He had to stop acting like a teenager and start focusing on being a parent.
Nice talk, said Sam sarcastically as Tristan left.
Over the next few days Tristan focused on his studies and maintaining a healthy pregnancy, but coach was on a mission. He hounded Tristan with letters, voicemails, emails, and even posted a missive on the notice board demanding that applicable students focus on their extracurriculars, especially those on related scholarships. This got Tristans attention. It was a blatant threat to his funding.
It was after six days of this covert bullying that Tristan showed up to the final match of the season. It was ridiculous because he was getting so big, it being towards the end and all. Confronting his mother about the new baby would be bad enough, he couldnt get booted from school because coach had kicked him out of his scholarship program.
Tristan had found a large jersey that had once accommodated a huge defender several years back. On Tristan it looked loose around his shoulders but snug around the waist.
Tristan was practically waddling by then, and he had to blink back tears between the hormones, embarrassment, discomfort, and worry. His breasts were engorged and aching, and he looked blatantly pregnant. His teammates stared at him, no one knowing quite what to say.
Tristan was slow and ungainly when he got onto the field. He looked as though he was nine months along, and felt like he might pop. The baby weighed heavily on his hips, its kicks persistent and distracting. Somehow Tristan awkwardly got a goal, and he nearly lost his balance. By the second goal, he did fall, and barely managed to avoid hitting his stomach.
He started crying again, and just wanted to go home to his mother, even despite the consequences of doing so. He felt on the cusp of a full meltdown, when a hand shot out over him.
Tristan hesitated, and grabbed it. He was pulled to his feet.
Perhaps Sam mistook his tears for sweat, or just pretended they were. Good goal. He said awkwardly. That put us in the lead.
Tristan was useless in the second half, doing his best to stay out of the way, avoid the ball, and decline passes, as he shifted and tried to adjust to his stinging back and straining hips, and his heavy bump that felt lower or maybe he was imagining it.
Finally, coach accepted his uselessness and took him out of the match. Good job out there. He patted Tristans shoulder, his gaze, as usual, flickering down to Tristans swollen belly and the mounds on his chest, which were barely discreet, sweaty as Tristan had gotten himself.
Tristan just grimaced. He gingerly lowered himself to the bench, where he arched his back, and fidgeted, trying to shift his hips to accommodate his low belly. He refrained from cupping the mound. The baby was alright, still active and kicking. That was all that mattered, really. And he would have hours to get prepped even if this was the start of labor.
It wasnt.
The following day was the first day of spring exams, and Tristan felt like a whale. He had wanted to get this over with before term ended, but his body showed no signs of labor, and the baby seemed content as ever, if judging by its pattering.
Youve got this, he told himself, and he repeated it like a mantra as he attended review classes and study sessions. He stayed up late studying throughout the week, even though he was exhausted, and he knew would definitely pay for it once the baby came.
The actual exams were awful, from the moment he waddled his way into the testing rooms and somehow wedged himself into his too-small desks, to his weary departures at the end when he just wanted to collapse in his bed. People continued to stare, blatantly now, teachers looking as though they wanted to inquire about something, but not knowing what, exactly.
This went on for another five days, Tristan growing larger and larger, till he felt like he might burst. He was miserable, and wondered if he should have tried to induce himself somehow. He was so tight and uncomfortable, he could hardly focus on his exams. He mostly thought about his aching back, his straining bladder, and ow, why would you kick me there?
Worse, it was getting hot, and he could hardly dress himself in the layers necessary to make his condition slightly less obvious. His breasts were plump and hot, and even starting to drip from time to him. He was always sweaty and breathless, and following the longer exams, feeling unnervingly foggy.
He was at one such exam, and it was going into its fifth hour. Tristan tried to focus on his essay, but was continually groaning and fidgeting, his back stinging so badly that day, he could hardly stand to be upright anymore. He wanted to give up, to call his mother, and just drop out of college as he should have done in the first place. He was fat, humiliated, exhausted, now responsible for two babies, friendless, hobbyless, would lose his scholarship if he didnt get back into shape within three months. He was barely getting through his exams, and had doubts as to whether he would even pass even one of them. He efforts were wasted. It was time to just
Ohhh He covered his mouth as glares shot his way from the surrounding students. He waited a moment and took a deep breath. That had been a a contraction. He was certain. He rubbed his belly where it was uncomfortably wedged beneath his desk, and with his free hand, sped through the rest of his essay.
He pressed his lips and toughed out the subsequent contractions, tensing through them but doing his best not to grunt out. He finished his essay and got up without dismissal, not caring about the consequences, because they were coming faster now, and he had tohad to get back to his dorm.
He made his way up a staircase, having to stop every several steps to clutch his gut, tears of pain by then flowing down his flushed cheeks. People gaped at him as they passed, but he ignored them. Finally he made it to his dormitory, staggered inside, and collapsed to his knees, hugging his belly.
Was he too big? What if this was a hard labor, like the last one? What would hewhat would he do, if he couldnt Nrrgghhh
He had one more exam tomorrow, but he might have to miss that one. Tristan wondered if he would still pass the class. He released harsh pants and did his best to work his way out of his clothes. Then he climbed onto his bed with just his socks on, whimpering softly, curling up around himself, tensing upright every so often as another contraction tore through his heaving belly.
I should have told mom, he thought after several hours had passed, and he was nearly delirious between the fatigue and pain periodically assaulting him. She could have helped him through this. He was stupid to be so ashamed. She would find out eventually. Why did he have to be so fucking stubborn? Errhhhohhhhhh! He sat up, clutching his mound, until his groans tapered back down to a whimper. He muffled his remaining cries in his hand, his nipples dripping. Ahhhh baby he pleaded as he tried to recover. They were getting stronger, faster, yet still taking so fucking long somehow. He didnt know whether he wanted to speed through it or somehow suspend his episodic torture. He trembled. Slow slow down He rubbed circles on his mound. Murmured to his baby. He thought of his first, of Erica. His eyes watered. Stupid hormones.
Against his better judgement, he managed to climb up. He tried to walk a little, the baby sitting very low in his hips. He stopped in the kitchenette, gripping the counter, releasing a long groan. Ahhh .ohhhhhhhh . And then he panted, his gaze clouded by tears. Hahhh hahhh A new contraction hit, right at the tail end of the previous one. Mmmmghhhh . He gripped the counter harder, his knuckles turning white. He felt thirsty, almost dizzy with thirst, but he felthe suddenly felt like he had to get back to the bed. The baby he had to Arrrgghhhh! He threw his head back. Holding the underside of his mound, he carefully lowered himself to his knees, sobbing.
It was time.
