Bad Roommate, Part 8 - Female Version (Patreon)

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Note: This is a female version of Bad Roommate.

Summary: Violet’s roommate secretly doses her with experimental drugs, causing Violet’s stomach to progressively transform into a giant breast. Violet is oblivious and horrified as to what is happening to her body. In the meantime, her roommate secretly documents the transformation. Contains: Female: belly expansion, breast expansion, belly-breast, and more.

Previous Chapter

-

When Violet awoke again, she was curled up against a rather thin mattress, on a bed that just barely managed to fit her. She was in a small, unfamiliar room. The walls were scuffed and chipped in places, long overdue for a paint job. There was an old wooden dresser and a shelf with some worn books and miscellaneous household items strewn about it.

Violet shifted and was immediately reminded how overdue she was to be pumped. Not that the pump worked for her anymore… Milk was seeping out of her belly-nipple, but at a slow and lazy pace, oozing onto the bed. It wasn’t substantial, and it didn’t offer any sort of relief to the pressure. She grunted and arched, trying to force her body to expel more of the milk. This barely helped at all. She wondered how long she had been at this place. And what had she been thinking, even coming to this country? She’d had no real plan. Violet supposed she had just been trying to get away. But right now, she needed Alex. That much was evident.

“Gnhh…dammit,” she hissed, sweat pouring down her flushed face. She tried her best to relax, but even then, her mound pulsed.

The door creaked. Violet managed to turn her head just enough to see a woman peek her head into the room. “You’re awake?” the woman said in good-enough english.

“Who are you?” Violet managed. “Why am I here? Is this your house?”

The door opened wider. The woman entered, and Violet was stunned by how thin she was, just skin and bones, really. “You were lying in the street. We didn’t want to leave you there…not in your condition. It isn’t safe. Not for a foreigner. We brought you to our home.”

“Right,” Violet grunted, squeezing her eyes shut, drawing a long breath and for a moment trying to bear the incredible strain. Her hand lightly cupped the side of her mound.

“We’ve never seen anyone so heavy with child,” said the woman.

Violet huffed out a bitter laugh. “It’s…complicated.”

“I also have a baby. He is almost six months.”

At this, Violet was a little surprised. The woman seemed so small and…frail. Violet had always associated motherhood with, well, health.

The woman finally seemed to take notice of the large moist patch on Violet’s shirt and the growing dampness of the bed. “What is that? Why is there fluid? Are you hurt? Is — is the baby —?”

“No,” said Violet. “No, I’m fine, I just —um —” she wasn’t sure how to explain it. She didn’t think there was an explanation. “I’m fine. Sorry. Thank you for taking me in, and...well, thank you.”

The woman nodded, bringing her hands together to fidget somewhat. “My name is Marta. Will…would you like to join my family for dinner?”

It seemed a tall order, but Violet was at the mercy and generosity of strangers. She had no rights to be here, and yet they were taking care of her. So it would be wise not to insult them.

She pressed her hands to the mattress behind her, shifting her legs to the edge of the bed. She knew this wouldn’t be pretty, but she braced her muscles, and heaved. She released a hoarse cry as she managed to push herself upright, putting pressure on her already over-packed belly, causing her shirt to slide up and her huge belly-nipple to squirt out, splashing milk across the room and into the shelf. Violet was left red and gasping as the spray eased back down to an ooze. Marta was staring in utter shock.

“I’d love to,” said Violet breathlessly.

-

Violet managed to waddle to the kitchen, repetitively insisting that she didn’t need help, while huffing and puffing, trying to navigate with the weight of the heavy fluid packed inside of her. It wasn’t until after she had plopped down in the spare wooden seat at the old kitchen table that she looked up, catching her breath, and taking inventory of the people around her.

There was a middle-aged woman with graying hair who closely resembled Marta. The older woman practically looked offended at the sight of Violet, and turned her head away when Violet caught her eyes. “Dios mios,” she murmured.

The baby looked smaller than Violet expected it to be. He was whimpering in a high chair that looked secondhand and was rather wobbly. Violet didn’t think the chair seemed safe, but it wasn’t her place to mention that. Her own chair creaked rather ominously beneath her. She gulped.

“This is my mother, Pilar,” Marta said. “And this is my son, Hector.” She lifted the baby, who just started to wail in response, burying his face in his mother’s shirt. “My father has a farm outside of town. But he comes by on the weekends.”

Violet managed to nod, feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt as she looked around the broken down kitchen. She was always wrapped up in her own problems, forgetting what was going on in the world around her.

Marta began to serve them a very modest meal of rice and beans. It wasn’t nearly enough, but Violet expressed nothing but gratitude, even as her stomach grumbled. Pilar threw her an irritated look, causing Violet to blush in embarrassment. Pilar muttered something in Spanish Violet didn’t understand.

“Mami!” Marta scolded the older woman. She sighed. “Ignore her. She’s not used to…new people.”

“It’s fine,” said Violet.

“You’re still hungry. Do you want more?”

Violet grimaced. It was true that she felt starved, but the pressure inside her was getting unbearable. If she added to it, it was going to be painful.

Marta’s face fell at seeing Violet’s expression.

Violet fumbled on her words, “No — I mean I — it’s just —” she paused, feeling helpless. “Sure. It was delicious. I would love another serving.”

Pilar muttered under her breath again. Marta just ignored her as she got another plate of rice. Violet ate slowly, trying to pace herself as she felt sweat trickle down the side of her face. Her belly heaved up and down, her hand cupping it under the table. God, this was just too much.

The baby wailed throughout the whole meal, and Violet developed her first headache in years. She was just grateful when dinner was over and she was allowed to return to her room to rest, and perhaps brainstorm solutions to her exacerbating condition. Her eyes were tearing by then, her body feeling like it might burst right open. There had to be something she could do. She walked at a painfully slow pace, breathing in long, harsh breaths. She could feel Marta staring after her in concern.

Just before Violet could enter her room, she felt a hand lightly touch her shoulder. She turned her head to see Marta standing there, looking uneasy as she fidgeted her hands like before.

“I wanted to know…” Marta glanced at Violet’s chest. “Since you’re so…” Marta trailed off, losing her courage.

“What is it?” said Violet, desperate to get off her feet.

“I can barely feed him,” Marta blurted.

It took a moment for Violet to make sense of her remark. Oh. Marta was talking about the baby.

“I can’t make any milk, myself. And formula is expensive. Most of the time we dilute it with water. We do our best, but he’s small for his age, and he’s always crying, and I — I’m just so scared.”

Violet nodded, feeling just awful to hear this.

“My husband died last year, and —”

“I don’t have much money,” Violet blurted. “But I can see what I can do. I’m sure if I can get in touch with my parents —”

Marta looked at her in confusion. “No, no. I just wanted to know if you’d be willing to feedhim. Since you’re expecting, and it looks like you — you have milk already. Right?” Again, Marta’s eyes flickered to Violet’s chest.

Violet was mortified. For some reason, the idea hadn’t even crossed her mind, which was ridiculous, given the state she was in. Of course that was what Marta wanted. And how could Violet refuse?

“O-okay,” Violet said.

It was awkward. Marta led her back to the kitchen, where Violet soon found herself seated at the table again. But this time, instead of dinner, Violet was offered an infant that was gently lowered to her arms. Hector’s noisy wails made Violet wince.

And then the three of them were just there, in awkward silence, except for the baby. Marta nodded encouragingly.

“So…you want me to just…?”

“Go ahead,” said Martha.

Her shirt proved difficult to pull down, but Violet stretched the collar as much as she could, wanting to avoid removing her shirt altogether and having to explain her breast-belly.

Marta helped her, guiding the baby gently to her chest.

And suddenly Violet was nursing. Productively. She was feeding an actual baby.

-

Hector was a lot less fitful after that. Violet nursed him again in the morning and throughout the following day. Overnight, she even got up at 2AM when she heard Hector crying. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as it had been initially. Now Violet saw it as her duty. It was a small way that she could help these people. The baby was hungry, and Violet could feed him.

But there was still the matter of the others.

The more Violet looked at Marta and Pilar, the more she saw how truly rundown they were. They were bony and weak, surviving on rice most days. Yet Marta was always so happy and appreciative. She continually asked Violet how she was feeling; how her “baby” was doing. And Marta always gave Violet more food than herself or Pilar during meals, and sometimes asked if her nursing Hector was too draining on her energy. Violet always insisted that it was no issue; she was happy and willing.

Marta even seemed to have forgotten about the whole incident of Violet’s belly nipple squirting. Maybe she had convinced herself that she had imagined the whole thing.

In the end, Violet could hardly believe how kind the woman was. Even Pilar, despite her prickly demeanor, always looked in on Violet when she was perched on the couch in the evening. Occasionally, Pilar brought Violet a cup of tea, urging her to drink. She thought that Violet had to stay strong, for her own “baby.”

It was still hard for Violet to believe that she was pretending to be pregnant, and successfully. This level of deceit just wasn’t her. And yet the truth was outrageous. It didn’t make sense!—This unbelievable reality of having grown a giant breaston her abdomen.

But Violet was starting to realize the potential in letting Marta and her family know the truth. She could do so much more for them. They just had to…let her.

After the first two days or so, Violet stopped moving around much. She was too uncomfortable. She remained on the bed, panting and sweating all day, her skin flushed and drum-tight. She supposed her belly really did resemble a pregnancy, albeit a rather extreme and advanced one. She was almost fantastically large. It would have had to be multiples in any case. Even then, with the nipple bulge, it hardly made sense. But Marta and Pilar had convinced themselves that it did.

The door opened. Marta entered the room, carefully balancing a bowl of soup that was undoubtedly thin, almost water, likely. Her face was filled with worry, as it tended to be lately. She looked at Violet’s belly with almost a sense of trepidation, and Violet didn’t blame her. The mound actually trembled at times. The family couldn’t have afforded a doctor for her, even if Violet consented to seeing one. They probably thought she was in danger, or that her nonexistent babies were. Though Violet wasn’t full of life, but something far less delicate.

Violet swallowed. She was strained and sleep deprived, and at her absolute limit. She knew she wouldn’t have ever done this had she not been under so much strain and so desperate, almost delirious with fatigue and discomfort, pain spiking under her flesh at any given moment. The heat might have been the worst of it. She was constantly pouring sweat, and dehydrated, ironically enough. Her belly had become a furnace that she couldn’t detach.

“I’m not pregnant,” Violet managed, her voice raspy.

Marta looked at her with puzzlement. She probably thought Violet was insane.

With a shaking hand, Violet shoved away the blankets, and gripped the thin dress Pilar had made her out of some old bedsheets. Even then, it barely managed to stretch down over her mass of swollen flesh. Violet pulled it up before she could stop herself, allowing her belly breast to bulge free and exposed.

The soup bowl clattered to the ground.

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