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Medication, Part 9 - Female Version
🕑 Added 2020-12-22 14:23:56 +0000 UTCStory Directory: $5 Patrons
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Note: This is a female version of Medication.
Summary: All her life, Tris’s mother forced her to take a daily medication, but never really told her why. After Tris goes off to college, she starts skipping doses, and finally realizes just what the medication is for. Monthly expansion. Contains: Female: belly expansion, breast expansion, and more.
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Over the next few days, Tris made a keen effort to regain her strength as quickly as she could. She ate and drank until she felt sick, and she forced herself to walk every day, even if just dragging herself. She added more time on each day, grateful that she had been involved in an endurance sport throughout her college career. Despite her achy weariness, she found herself growing more independent.
Of course, it had taken her two weeks just to get to that point.
Tris would cup the curve of her belly with the uneasy knowledge that if she gave birth again, she would be back at square one, feeble and helpless.
The indigenous tribe continued to find her fascinating, not seeming at all deterred by her new spontaneous pregnancy. They saw her as some sort of auspicious idol rather than the oddity she actually was.
Tris knew she had to leave.
The idea still terrified her.
She would be alone, and pregnant, in the middle of a forest with three newborn infants during a two-week trip to the retrieval site. She wouldn’t have much time, and she would have no one to help her if she went into labor. She and the babies could be at the mercy of the surrounding wildlife.
But she had no choice but to go. No one was going to come for her. Even if they somehow could, the tribal lands would likely be the last place they’d look.
Tris had to leave because she knew if she gave birth one more time, she would almost certainly be stuck there with the babies, and enduring constant monthly pregnancies for the rest of her days with no way to support them all.
So that second week of the month, Tris knew she couldn’t put off her journey any longer. She had to time things so that she didn’t give birth on the tribal lands or alone in the forest. Being that she was almost midway through her pregnancy, she only had two weeks and some days to spare. And it was a two-week journey.
She was already showing noticeably, her belly again protruding more than she would have expected for her stage. Tris tried to ignore it.
That night, she packed up what few things she could as discreetly as she could manage. She would say no goodbyes at the risk of the tribe not taking it well. Even though she couldn’t imagine the tribespeople protesting her departure, she wasn’t willing to risk it.
She had made a makeshift harness for the three babies over the past couple of nights, so that two were strapped to her chest, and one to her back. As Tris gently set them in place, the twins began to cry. Tris opened the top of her shirt. The harness gave the babies perfect access to her breasts, and she got them to suckle, while praying that the infant on her back didn’t start to make noise as well.
Tris snuck off, not looking back, just walking as rapidly and steadily as she could, even with her fatigue from juggling three newborns the past few weeks, what with changings, soothing, and late-night feedings. One was always hungry, and she found herself pausing frequently in the forest to catch her breath, or to shift one baby for its turn to nurse. It was scary to try to navigate with them in the darkness, and she was continually phobic that some creature would swoop down and try to take them from her. She did her best to work beneath the moonlight when it managed to peek down through the trees.
When she felt that she was a good enough distance away from the tribe, Tris settled down on the grass, too fatigued to even think about putting together a camp fire. The babies were exhausted, and making it known by whimpering against her skin. She kept them as close and as warm as she could.
She must have dozed, because when she awoke, she was relieved to see that the sun was out. Tris sighed and started about the task of feedings, and changing the makeshift diapers she had made the infants out of cloth.
Days went on and Tris continued to move at a sluggish place, doing her best to negotiate the forest without the assistance of a guide. She had to ration her supplies of food and water scrupulously yet her belly continued to surge with growth. As her mound grew, so did her three fretful newborns, increasing her load and decreasing the pace that she moved.
Her breasts were larger than they had ever gotten before. Then again, she had never had to nourish this number of children at once. Her milk was keeping up with the demand, filling her breasts until they resembled plump DD-cups, and were constantly hot and tingling, nipples leaking. Yet another heavy weight to contend with.
Her back was sore. She looked at term with child, even though she knew she had another week of walking to go—if not longer. She was certain she was days behind from her horrible pace. She tried not to panic, or to just keep that panic internal.
It was just so much. The babies were constantly fretful, flushed, and exhausted, always whining against her. She was worried about them, and she took as many rest breaks as she dared. The baby inside of her would squirm and kick constantly, as though as restless as its three siblings.
She was running low on supplies. She hadn’t been able to carry much at all, with three babies already strapped against her body, and a fourth taking residence in her abdomen. Food was the first thing she ran out of, and then water. The babies began to struggle with nursing and cry in hunger. She wasn’t producing the amount of milk that she needed to.
Her hips ached. Her back was in agony. Soon she was waddling though the woods, and had to stop at least every hour to cool her flushed skin and catch her breath.
Sometimes she would slump back at the base of a tree, her three infants laid out on the grass. She would shift and groan as she ran her hands over her massive mound, currently straining against the ragged tunic she was wearing. She was huge and round, looking overdue or with—with twins again. She gulped. It was like the curse was exacerbating with every time it ravaged her body.
But she couldn’t give up. She had to keep pushing forward, otherwise she would be stuck in the forest with another baby (or more), which would only result in a multiplication of her problems.
They couldn’t survive out here. She had to keep moving.
Tris gave herself another minute to rest there. As she did, she looked at her newborns, and reflected on their appearances.
Of the three, two had jet black hair, just like their two elder siblings at her mother’s house. The last had wavy, lighter hair like Tris’s. It was odd because there were no members of Tris’s family who had straight black hair that she knew of.
Brushing these thoughts aside, Tris leaned heavily on the tree trunk behind her, and began to heave herself up.
Strapping the babies back up to her back and chest took a lot of time, energy, and careful maneuvering as she struggled to stay balanced.
She waddled for another hour, until she could barely feel her legs beneath her, except for the pain in her ankles. She came upon a stream. Based on the direction and speed of the water, she was able to determine that it was likely safe enough to drink, so she took in as much as she could. She felt hot and flustered, and hoped she wasn’t getting sick again. She didn’t know if she would be able to go on much longer. Yet she couldn’t stop.
Her belly had dropped, the simple rope belt on her waist pushed low on her hips to keep her worn pants in place. She found herself clutching her gut continuously as she huffed and waddled, truly struggling through every step she took. She often rubbed her hips, which felt heavy and sore. She knew she was running out of time, and so Tris moved all the faster.
But she knew that she had reached her time limit the day that contractions began to shudder through her belly.
Trying to contain her grunts of pain, Tris lowered the babies as carefully as she could, wrapping them up in cloth to protect them against insect bites, as her fingers shook, body shuddering.
She then found herself curled up on the forest floor, groaning, sobbing, and hugging herself. She knew that if she birthed them, she wouldn’t be able to carry them, weak and burdened as she was. There was no space left in her arms or on her chest. She would be too weak to build a fire, too malnourished to feed the five of them. And Tris knew she was carrying twins again. It was evident in the expanse of her girth, in the way her gut churned and twisted in all directions, eight limbs prodding at her in turn.
If she gave birth now, she and the babies were as good as dead. She had been stupid to leave the tribal lands. She should have realized she never would have made it through the forest on her own.
“Ngghhh!” she groaned, rolling, gripping at herself as she wheezed in pain, the pressure inside her shooting downwards. One—no two of the newborns were crying. A third joined in the shrill chorus of hoarse voices. She couldn’t abandon them, not for hours on end as she gave birth and clawed her way through the recovery, growing weaker and hungrier all the while.
Tris forced herself up, still twitching in pain, hunching down and gripping a tree as another forceful contraction plowed through her, her belly visibly jerking as she struggled to breathe. Tears trailed her cheeks by the time it was over. Somehow she managed to lean down and gather up the babies again, attaching them to her. She let the top of her shirt hang open, so the two infants there could try to eat, or just suck for comfort. The baby on her back continued to wail, but Tris was too stressed to do much about it. They all probably needed changing. And nourishment. And rest. But she couldn’t stop, couldn’t even think about any of that. She just had to keep moving before it was too late.
Her belly by then was sticking out from the bottom of her shirt, from her navel onwards. She had been wearing it from her smaller stages, more than two weeks before. She was truly massive now, the weight of the two infants attached to her front not helping with her extreme discomfort there. She staggered slightly but continued to trudge forward, then had to stop at a new forceful contraction.
Her back arched and she tried to suppress her groan of pain as she clutched her gut but remained balanced, the intense pressure shooting down so heavily that fluid began to spill into the groin of her pants. Her water had broken. Things would only go faster from here.
Releasing wheezy gasps, Tris continued to move even as her body continued to clench. She staggered as contractions assaulted her. She could feel the steady pressure in her gut, knew she was still rapidly growing. She felt like she couldn’t contain them anymore, like she was stuffed to bursting. She felt the urgent need to push, yet somehow fought the pain and pressure as she staggered forward for another several hours. She nearly collapsed at times, but managed to grip trees for balance. The sky was rapidly darkening. She knew she was doomed.
Tris soon did drop to her knees, and found herself barely managing to crawl, her massive gut actually dragging against the twigs and leaves, as she tried to muffle her cries.
The babies strapped to her were giving pathetic whimpers and wails, their faces flushed red from exhaustion. She patted their backs as comfortingly as she could on the occasions that she wasn’t contorted in pain and crying herself.
“Ohhhh…” she grunted at a sharp twist in her gut. She knew she couldn’t hold off the birth any longer. It was too much.
She lifted her head, as if to contemplate her demise, when she saw it. A narrow beam of synthetic light. A window. The cabin. The retrieval site was only yards away. Though the process of doing it made her vision blur in and out, Tris somehow managed to drag herself up to her feet again.
