Medication, Part 6 - Female Version (Patreon)

Story Directory: $5 Patrons
Story Directory: $10 Patrons
Story Directory: $20 Patrons

Story Schedule

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

-

Tris continued to frantically search the campsite, even after the others had packed up the tents, loaded themselves with gear, and stood by waiting, many giving her odd looks.

“Tris, what is the hold up?” said an impatient voice.

Tris froze. The team leader, John, had come to stand beside her.

“It’s already close to noon,” John added, tapping his watch for emphasis. “What the hell are you looking for?”

“Er…my pack,” Tris admitted.

“You left it out?” John raised an eyebrow. “I warned all you idiots against leaving stuff out!” John raised his voice and glared around at the others, as though they had disobeyed him as well. Finally, he turned back to Tris. “The pack’s gone. Let’s go.”

“No!” Tris blurted out, causing John to shoot her a wary look. “I mean—can you give me another five minutes? I’m sure it’s here somewhere.”

“We’re losing daylight every moment we stand here watching you flounder around like an imbecile. What the hell was inside of it anyway?”

“Just…my radio,” said Tris, trying to temper herself. “Some rations, my mosquito net, a journal, some gear, and…and my medication.”

John’s eyebrow raised higher. “Your medication?”

“Yeah…” said Tris awkwardly.

John rubbed his temple. “Is it serious. Life-threatening?”

“Not…not life-threatening…” It was the exact opposite. “But—”

“You’re going to have to go without it. I’m not calling an emergency airlift because an intern is having a panic attack.”

“It is an emergency.”

“Then convince me.”

Tris hesitated and pressed her lips.

“You made a commitment, Tris.”

Tris’s stomach lurched, and she folded her arms tightly against it, feeling herself blanch as she realized she had missed the deadline to take the pill. She was pregnant. She sagged.

“We’re just another two weeks to the retrieval site. Grab your shit. You have thirty seconds.” With that, John walked off to join the others, who by then, we murmuring as they surveyed the scene.

Tris hastily and gracelessly packed (or rather, crumpled) her tent into a spare hiking backpack, unceremoniously shoving all her other belongings in after it. She loaded the heavy weight onto her back, unsure of whether she should have even been lifting thirty-plus pounds of crap, considering. Crap, she thought, biting her lip. Between the heavy load, the constant walking, and the small food portions, she couldn’t imagine this pregnancy would be a healthy one. Then again, she had done sports throughout the previous two. She would probably…probably be fine.

Then she had to consider her meager clothing supply. What would she do when she got too fat to squeeze into anything?

Only two weeks, she reminded herself, though her nerves were shattered as she trudged after the others. She was barely pregnant. Not even a day in. In two weeks, she would definitely be showing, but not enough that anyone would notice, and certainly not to the point that she couldn’t fit her clothes. As long as the next two weeks went smoothly, and on-schedule, everything was going to be fine.

-

“Are you okay?” Fiona asked as Tris stumbled back into the clearing.

Tris forced a smile. “Fine.” She wondered if Fiona had heard her throwing up. Tris knew she was pale. The morning sickness had been relentless the past few days.

Fiona gazed at her a moment longer before they both turned their gazes to John, who was seated on the floor of the clearing, his legs akimbo, and his face twisted in pain.

It was the fourteenth day into their journey to the retrieval site, which would mark the end of the expedition. In fact, they were mere hours away. Of course, John had decided to go ahead and break his ankle, which had resulted in the present delay.

Tris paced, trying not to look or listen as two of the physicians worked to set John’s twisted, purple ankle. Tris was nauseous enough as it was.

Her chest was tender, her stomach pressurized beneath the growing curve there. Her clothes were just beginning to get tight, her pants especially hard to button now.

Thankfully, no one else seemed to notice. Everyone was too exhausted from the continuous hiking, trying to make up for lost time—most of it being Tris’s fault. Between her increasing sluggishness, and all the times she’d had run off to suffer bouts of vomiting, most of the delay was entirely on her, and she probably shouldn’t have been as pissed off as she was that John had gotten himself hurt.

“There’s nothing we can do for the pain,” Derek, one of the medics, was saying to John in an apologetic tone. “Are you up for continuing on?”

Tris absently pressed her hand against the wisps of movement she had only begun to suffer recently. It was bound to get strong and disrupt her ability to sleep in another week or two. She couldn’t believe there was another baby in there.

She continued to pace, even though she was drained, and her back was sore, and she felt like she could collapse at any moment. Her hiking backpack was too heavy, and she had gotten worried, so had begun to secretly throw away a lot of her gear to lighten it. She mooched off Fiona a lot now for food and supplies, and Fiona was quietly baffled by the large amounts of things Tris claimed to have lost two weeks ago when the monkeys had taken her small pack.

Tris pressed the heel of her hand to her navel. She knew she was going to start blowing up at any moment, what with it being the midpoint now.

“Yeah,” said John roughly, though he looked like he wanted to cry.

Tris breathed a sigh of relief.

“Let’s go,” said Derek.

The ankle-break had delayed them two hours, but if they hurried—if they kept a good pace—they would make it just in time for transport out of the forest.

“Yeah,” said Tris, swinging on her, admittedly light, backpack. She covered a belch, reddening.

Fiona sneezed.

-

“Helicopter left a half hour ago,” said Martha. She was the middle-aged woman who maintained the departure site. Tris had met her briefly before the expedition had started.

Shelves of supplies lined the walls of the cabin. Through a back window was a large helipad, which looked out of place on the edge of the forest.

“Your group is welcome to stay here, but the next flight doesn’t leave til next week,” Martha went on.

Tris’s stomach flipped. Covering her mouth, she ran into what she hoped was the bathroom, and found herself on her knees purging what little her stomach contained into a ceramic toilet.

The feel of the ceramic was nice—Tris tried to see the bright side of things. She was grungy, sweaty, and sore, and had been living in the forest for the past four weeks. The hard, cool, synthetic surfaces was a refreshing change, as was the sound of water pouring out of the tap as she leaned down to rinse her mouth. She liked the cool, crisp taste of the tap water, in contrast to the muddiness of lake water. To say this was a stressful pregnancy would be a momentous understatement. She was chronically worried about the baby. But she tried to stay on the bright side.

When Tris exited the bathroom, John had already been laid out in a cot, one of his arms covering his eyes, his chest heaving gently. The others were being led through a door off the main room. Tris followed to find a large, empty room, with wood floors, and some sleeping bags piled in the corner.

“It isn’t much.” Martha shrugged unrepentantly.

“It’s an improvement,” Fiona insisted, as she sniffed and rubbed her nose. She grabbed one of the sleeping bags.

“Thank you,” said Tris, though she couldn’t bring herself to smile. The sight of the hard floors made her almost want to go back outside and sleep on the dirt.

Martha peered at her. “Are you alright?”

“Fine.”

Martha nodded. “Try to get some rest.” She walked out of the room and glanced back at them. “Plenty of food. Help yourselves.”

Tris knew she’d take her up on that.

-

It was the eighteenth day into her pregnancy, and Tris couldn’t get comfortable.

She tossed and turned into the early morning, fidgeting in her sleeping bag. She vacillated between being too hot and too cold. Her back was killing her. She curled onto her side, huffing out a sigh. Then she sniffed.

Her nipples were dark, sore and swollen, sticking out obviously in her shirts. The areolas had widened and gotten puffy. She could feel her small breasts growing again, could see her chest bloating with fat, mammary glands swelling.

Her belly was rounded and pressurized, sticking out as though she was almost six months pregnant. She absently rubbed her hands against the tension and movement, circling her fingers on her navel and grimacing. It was so uncomfortable there, and she pressed into the skin, trying to alleviate some phantom irritation. It was tense, and she massaged the tight skin. It was almost like…

Tris gasped as she belly button popped outwards. She cursed under her breath, frustrated with her own stupidity. How am I going to hide this!?

She froze as Fiona began to have a coughing fit on the other side of the room. As it subsided, Tris stared at the wall, somehow knowing that sleep was a hopeless aspiration by then. She climbed up, crossed her arms over her waist, and slipped out of the room.

Once in the main room of the cabin, Tris grabbed a few cans of beans, a loaf of bread, and sat down at Martha’s work table, where she began to munch. She knew supplies were limited, yet she ate as much as she could when no one was watching. She had been ravenous lately. And she was really rounding, just like she’d anticipated. 

Her waistband was uncomfortably digging into her flesh, the button holding on by a hair by then. She was swelling every day. She could hardly hide it anymore.

Just three more days, she reminded herself.

Tris had withdrawn from the others in her continued efforts to hide her condition. She kept her head down and remained apart from the group, not even socializing with the other students anymore. They thought she was depressed, or going a little crazy, which suited Tris fine. As long as she was left alone, she could get through this without her pregnancy becoming some spectacle.

“She’s getting worse.”

Tris’s eyes snapped up. It was only then that she noticed the front door was ajar, and with the cool night air, voices wafted in from the porch.

“Are you certain it’s the same disease the tribespeople are suffering?” said Martha’s voice.

“Yes,” Derek responded. “I didn’t want to alarm her but…as things are, she won’t make the trip back to the north. Not without the antidote.”

“And it’s just Fiona?” said Martha.

“I suspect James is sick as well. We might all be infected by now.”

Martha huffed out a sigh. “The medical bay is only a day and a half walk from here.”

“Right. I can be ready to leave in—”

“No. I want all the medical staff to stay here in case things take a turn for the worst.”

“But with John down, that only leaves Tris, Tim, and Miguel.”

“That will have to do.”

When the door opened, Tris felt some strange compulsion to dive under the table. Instead she remained frozen stiff, her baby kicking at her navel in a way that made her heart sink.

Martha nodded to her. “I’m guessing you heard.”

“Yeah,” Tris managed. She wanted to talk her way out of it, but there was no way she would succeed, not when lives were at stake. Not without looking like a selfish asshole. So instead, she nodded, absently hugging her girth. “I’ll go pack,” she said, as she stood and trudged into the next room.

Next Chapter