Medication, Part 4 - Female Version (Patreon)

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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.

Previous Chapter

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Tris was dismayed when her soccer coach sent her into the game as a starter. Worse, Tris was doing offense. Huffing, she jogged onto the field.

She looked six months pregnant. Her body was hot, skin burning, heart pounding, and she could hardly catch her breath. She felt undeniably dizzy, and often took to holding her abdomen, as if to reassure the creature inside of it. She just hoped the baby wasn’t as uncomfortable as she was.

When Tris dragged herself off the field, her hips were aching, and her lower back was stinging. She felt a comforting nudge of movement somewhere below her ribs. She was just glad it was over.

“You did great out there.”

“Thanks, coach,” Tris panted, as she half-staggered towards the locker rooms.

“We’re just a match away from winning the finals. And with the way you’re playing, it’ll be a cake walk.”

Tris felt herself freeze. “About next week’s match…”

“What about it?”

Tris forced herself to turn around to face the coach. “I…I can’t play.”

Coach’s brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not playing.” Tris absently rubbed her belly, too fatigued to care about who was watching her anymore. “I haven’t been feeling well, and I just—”

“Tris, we need you in this match. You’re our star player.”

“I know coach, it’s just—”

“We don’t stand a chance without you.”

Tris grinded her teeth. Coach was really laying it on thick. “I…” She felt a twinge in her gut, and closed her eyes, a bit concerned. She couldn’t deal with all this. She wasn’t going to fight with her coach. She was under enough stress as it was. Tris turned back towards the locker room and started to walk off.

“You’re playing, Tris!” Coach called after her.

Rolling her eyes, Tris elected not to respond. Once she got to the lockers, she grabbed her duffle bag, knowing that she couldn’t shower here, not with her teammates present to see what had become of her physique.

Someone took notice. “Tris, what’s been going on with you?” Sam asked.

Tris kept her head down and stayed focused on her task at hand. “I…um…I have to go.” Not for the first time, Tris regretted how reclusive she was becoming. She was treating her friends with an aloofness that was sure to bite her in the ass later. But what choice did she have? She was fucking pregnant, and everyone she encountered seemed to want to suck her in to some activity or the other that was sure to be bad for her.

And even with this pregnancy being a short-term thing, it was her selfish ways—going out, playing sports, drinking—that had probably gotten her into this mess in the first place. She was irresponsible. She had to stop acting like a teenager and start focusing on being a parent.

“Nice talk,” said Sam sarcastically as Tris left.

Over the next few days Tris focused on her studies and maintaining a healthy pregnancy, but coach was on a mission. Tris was hounded with letters, voicemails, emails, and coach even posted a missive on the notice board demanding that applicable students focus on their extracurriculars, especially those on related scholarships. This got Tris’s attention. It was a blatant threat to her funding.

It was after six days of this covert bullying that Tris showed up to the final match of the season. It was ridiculous because she was getting so big, it being towards the end and all. Confronting her mother about the new baby would be bad enough, she couldn’t get booted from school because coach had kicked her out of her scholarship program.

Tris had found a large jersey that had once accommodated a huge defender several years back on the male soccer team. On Tris it looked loose around her shoulders but snug around the waist.

Tris was practically waddling by then, and she had to blink back tears between the hormones, embarrassment, discomfort, and worry. Her breasts were engorged and aching, and she looked blatantly pregnant. Her teammates stared at her, no one knowing quite what to say.

Tris was slow and ungainly when she got onto the field. She looked as though she was nine months along, and felt like she might pop. The baby weighed heavily on her hips, the kicks persistent and distracting. Somehow Tris awkwardly got a goal, and she nearly lost her balance. By the second goal, she did fall, and barely managed to avoid hitting her stomach.

She started crying again, and just wanted to go home to her mother, even despite the consequences of doing so. She felt on the cusp of a full meltdown, when a hand shot out over her.

Tris hesitated, and grabbed it. She was pulled to her feet.

Perhaps Sam mistook her tears for sweat, or just pretended they were. “Good goal.” She said awkwardly. “That put us in the lead.”

Tris was useless in the second half, doing her best to stay out of the way, avoid the ball, and decline passes, as she shifted and tried to adjust to her stinging back, straining hips, and heavy bump that felt…lower…or…maybe she was imagining it.

Finally, coach accepted Tris’s uselessness and took her out of the match. “Good job out there.” Tris was rewarded with an awkward pat on her shoulder for her efforts, coach’s gaze flickering down to Tris’s swollen belly and the engorged mounds on Tris’s chest, which were barely discreet, sweaty as Tris had gotten herself.

Tris just grimaced. She gingerly lowered herself to the bench, where she arched her back, and fidgeted, trying to shift her hips to accommodate her low belly. She refrained from cupping the mound. The baby was alright, still active and kicking. That was all that mattered, really. And she would have hours to get prepped even if this was the start of labor.

It wasn’t.

The following day was the first day of spring exams, and Tris felt like a whale. She had wanted to get this over with before term ended, but her body showed no signs of labor, and the baby seemed content as ever, if judging by its pattering.

You’ve got this, she told herself, and she repeated it like a mantra as she attended review classes and study sessions. She stayed up late studying throughout the week, even though she was exhausted, and she knew she would definitely pay for it once the baby came.

The actual exams were awful, from the moment she waddled her way into the testing rooms and somehow wedged herself into her too-small desks, to her weary departures at the end when she just wanted to collapse in her bed. People continued to stare, blatantly now, teachers looking as though they wanted to inquire about something.

This went on for another five days, Tris growing larger and larger, till she felt like she might burst. She was miserable, and wondered if she should have tried to induce herself somehow. She was so tight and uncomfortable, she could hardly focus on her exams. She mostly thought about her aching back, her straining bladder, and ow, why would you kick me there?

Worse, it was getting hot, and she could hardly dress herself in the layers necessary to make her condition slightly less obvious. Her breasts were plump and hot, and even starting to drip from time to time. She was always sweaty and breathless, and following the longer exams, feeling unnervingly foggy.

She was at one such exam, and it was going into its fifth hour. Tris tried to focus on her essay, but was continually groaning and fidgeting, her back stinging so badly that day, she could hardly stand to be upright anymore. She wanted to give up, to call her mother, and just drop out of college as she should have done in the first place. She was fat, humiliated, exhausted, now responsible for two babies, friendless, hobbyless, and would lose her scholarship if she didn’t get back into shape within three months. She was barely getting through her exams, and had doubts as to whether she would pass even one of them. She efforts were wasted. It was time to just—

“Ohhh…” She covered her mouth as glares shot her way from the surrounding students. She waited a moment and took a deep breath. That had been a…a contraction. She was certain. She rubbed her belly where it was uncomfortably wedged beneath her desk, and with her free hand, sped through the rest of her essay.

She pressed her lips and toughed out the subsequent contractions, tensing through them but doing her best not to grunt out. She finished her essay and got up without dismissal, not caring about the consequences, because they were coming faster now, and she had to—had to get back to her dorm.

She made her way up a staircase, having to stop every several steps to clutch her gut, tears of pain by then flowing down her flushed cheeks. People eyed her as they passed, but she ignored them. Finally she made it to her dormitory, staggered inside, and collapsed to her knees, hugging her belly.

Was she too big? What if this was a hard labor, like the last one? What would she—what would she do, if she couldn’t— “Nrrgghhh…”

She had one more exam tomorrow, but she might have to miss that one. Tris wondered if she would still pass the class. She released harsh pants and did her best to work her way out of her clothes. Then she climbed onto her bed with just her socks on, whimpering softly, curling up around herself, tensing upright every so often as another contraction tore through her heaving belly.

I should have told mum, she thought after several hours had passed, and she was nearly delirious between the fatigue and pain periodically assaulting her. Her mother could have helped her through this. Tris was stupid to be so ashamed. Her mother would find out eventually. Why did she have to be so fucking stubborn? “Errhhh—ohhhhhh!” She sat up, clutching her mound, until her groans mitigated back down to a whimper. She muffled her remaining cries in her hand, her nipples dripping. “Ahhhh…baby…” she pleaded as she tried to recover. They were getting stronger, faster, yet still taking so fucking long somehow. She didn’t know whether she wanted to speed through it or somehow suspend her episodic torture. She trembled. “Slow…slow down…” She rubbed circles on her mound. Murmured to her baby. She thought of her firstborn. Her eyes watered. Stupid hormones.

Against her better judgement, she managed to climb up. She tried to walk a little, the baby sitting very low in her hips. She stopped in the kitchenette, gripping the counter, releasing a long groan. “Ahhh….ohhhhhhhh….” And then she panted, her gaze clouded by tears. “Hahhh…hahhh…” A new contraction hit, right at the tail end of the previous one. “Mmmmghhhh….” She gripped the counter harder, her knuckles turning white. She felt thirsty, almost dizzy with thirst, but she felt—she suddenly felt like she had to get back to the bed. The baby…she had to… “Arrrgghhhh!” She threw her head back. Holding the underside of her mound, she carefully lowered herself to her knees, sobbing.

It was time.