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Description
At first it had seemed like easy money. Lord knew Dorothy needed extra money. She had recently graduated with a hundred twenty grand in debt, and no real job prospects. She saw the advertisement in the student newspaper, looking for volunteers for a clinical trial. The "volunteer" part wasn't exactly as it sounded, because they were going to pay for all expenses, plus a stipend, and then a hefty bonus at the conclusion of the trial.

The trial was for a drug to prevent premature birth. The requirements were that she be not already pregnant, but planning to get pregnant in the next six months, with a family history of preterm labor. She lied about an imaginary boyfriend, and their plans to start a family together, and the heartbreak of how she had been born at twenty-eight weeks and barely survived. None of it was true, but she got a free medical exam and bloodwork out of it, and a cash allowance for the duration of the trial, which would last until the end of her pregnancy.

Dorothy heard of people enrolling in more than one trial at a time, to make extra money. She looked around, and sure enough there were more clinical trials she could enroll in. She signed up for a trial to test a drug to improve birth weight, and one for low sex drive, one for gestational hypertension, and one for improving milk production in mothers who had difficulty nursing. Finally she signed up for a trial for a new class of fertility enhancing drugs for women who had been unable to conceive despite their best efforts. That one paid the best of all of them.

With the combined stipends, she was able to pay off a big chunk of her student loan. With the remainder, she didn't even have to think about getting a job right away. Every day she popped her pills and every week she checked her bank account for the direct deposits. Once a month she had to go in and get checkups at several different clinics.

She noticed the changes in her breasts first. They grew full and hot, filling out dramatically. She had been a B-cup before, but when she went shopping she couldn't get anything smaller than a DD-cup to fit. One week later, she had to go shopping again for G-cup bras, which were tight.

The drug that was supposed to fix her low sex drive worked spectactularly, too. She hadn't actually had a low sex drive, but after a few weeks of taking the little green pills, she was ready to rape a tree stump. Her mind was constantly full of pornographic scenes. She couldn't walk through a mall without checking out all the bulges in men's pants.

She met her doom in a bar down in the warehouse district. He was six five, built like a linebacker and she could tell by the bulge in his pants that he was well equipped. Fortunately, he was a boob man, too. He kept surreptitiously checking out her shirt, stretched over JJ-cup breasts. He hardly needed any urging to go home with her. She had to control herself to keep from tearing his pants off right in the parking lot. He said he didn't have any condoms, so she had to put off her urges for a few minutes more while they stopped at a drug store.

They barely made it through the door before she threw herself at him. She was like a wild beast, arms around him, humping him fully dressed. Her pants were already soaked through. His were getting there. The condoms she had gotten were for a normal man, but this guy was a freak. By the time she threw him on the bed pulled his pants down, his erection was already halfway down his leg. His cock had to be at least a foot long, and as thick as her wrist. She fumbled to tear open a condom package and pull it over his slippery cock. He was already dribbling copiously. She guided him in and started riding him hard. Some time during the next several orgasms, the condom got lost. She had a sinking feeling of dread, but that was outweighed by her urge to absolutely drain him.

Not suprisingly, she missed her next period. The next clinic appointment for the clinical trial confirmed it. She asked about options, and they told her she was free to end the pregnancy, but that would end her participation in the trial, and according to the contract, she would need to refund all that she had already been paid, plus pay the cost of her checkups since the beignning of the trial!

There was no way she could come up with that kind of money. They were sympathetic to changing circumstance, etc, and suggested she could put the baby up for adoption. It was a bizarre situation, but that seemed like the most plausible course of action, especially since they were going to cover all her medical costs during the pregnancy.

At her first ultrasound, the technician looked very perplexed. He called in the OB-Gyn, who was also very perplexed. They called in another doctor for consultatin, and all of them stood around the ultrasound machine making perplexed noises until Dorothy demanded to know what they were looking at. They showed her the screen and the shadowy cross-section that looked like a cluster of grapes. Each of those, they explained, was an embryo, and they couldn't even count them. The image was just too complex.

They offered her selective reduction, but there was a risk that it could terminate the entire pregnancy if it did not go perfectly, and she would be on the hook for a vast amount of money, again. The doctors tried to talk her into it, but she deflected. They told her that she would lose all of them, because there were far too many to carry to term. They warned her that none of them would survive past the first trimester.

Under her trial contract, though, that was an acceptable outcome. If the pregnancy spontaneously ended, she would still get the end-of-trial bonus. After days of negotiations, and hundreds of calls between doctors, lawyers, medical ethicists and the drug companies, she was in the clear. All she had to do was wait for the horde in her belly to outgrow their resources and die, and she'd be in the clear.

It didn't work that way, though. She passed the first trimester without any spotting or cramps. Her belly swelled astoundingly. By the end of twelve weeks, she looked like she had swallowed a jumbo watermellon. Month after month went by, she ate ravenously, and her uterus grew and grew, pushing forward relentlessly. The drug to prevent premature birth was working far better than any had expected. The drug to prevent low birth weight was working also, possibly too well. By the twentieth week, the measurements of the babies they could image by ultrasound indicated tha they were as large as fully-developed babies, estimated at six to eight pounds. Still her belly grew.

By the thirtieth week, when she sat down, her belly swelled beyond her feet. She hardly had to bend over for her navel to drag on the floor. She had gained over six hundred pounds. And still she grew.

Thirty-seven weeks came and went, and still she showed no signs of being ready to deliver. The babies were too large to image on ultrasound, but bone legth measurements indicated they were roughly the size of tw0-year-olds, weighing around twenty-five pounds. The drug to prevent premature labor was also working better than expected.

Dorothy was offered the option of inducing labor, or entering into an entirely new study phase, with her as the sole subject. The money they offered her would set her up for life. She was honestly handling the pregnancy without too much difficulty. Despite gaining over a thousand pounds, she wasn't in distress. The babies--or perhaps young children would be more appropriate--were in good health, and growing rapidly. She agreed to their offer and moved into the research hospital full-time.

That was a year ago. Now she is in her twenty-first month of pregnancy. Nobody knows, still, now many babies she's carrying, but it is estimated that they are the size of five-year-olds, weighing nearly forty pounds each. Giving birth naturally, even were she to ever to into labor, had long since become an impossibility. She wondered how long they intended to keep her pregnant. And just how big was she going to get?

Description
At first it had seemed like easy money. Lord knew Dorothy needed extra money. She had recently graduated with a hundred twenty grand in debt, and no real job prospects. She saw the advertisement in the student newspaper, looking for volunteers for a clinical trial. The "volunteer" part wasn't exactly as it sounded, because they were going to pay for all expenses, plus a stipend, and then a hefty bonus at the conclusion of the trial.

The trial was for a drug to prevent premature birth. The requirements were that she be not already pregnant, but planning to get pregnant in the next six months, with a family history of preterm labor. She lied about an imaginary boyfriend, and their plans to start a family together, and the heartbreak of how she had been born at twenty-eight weeks and barely survived. None of it was true, but she got a free medical exam and bloodwork out of it, and a cash allowance for the duration of the trial, which would last until the end of her pregnancy.

Dorothy heard of people enrolling in more than one trial at a time, to make extra money. She looked around, and sure enough there were more clinical trials she could enroll in. She signed up for a trial to test a drug to improve birth weight, and one for low sex drive, one for gestational hypertension, and one for improving milk production in mothers who had difficulty nursing. Finally she signed up for a trial for a new class of fertility enhancing drugs for women who had been unable to conceive despite their best efforts. That one paid the best of all of them.

With the combined stipends, she was able to pay off a big chunk of her student loan. With the remainder, she didn't even have to think about getting a job right away. Every day she popped her pills and every week she checked her bank account for the direct deposits. Once a month she had to go in and get checkups at several different clinics.

She noticed the changes in her breasts first. They grew full and hot, filling out dramatically. She had been a B-cup before, but when she went shopping she couldn't get anything smaller than a DD-cup to fit. One week later, she had to go shopping again for G-cup bras, which were tight.

The drug that was supposed to fix her low sex drive worked spectactularly, too. She hadn't actually had a low sex drive, but after a few weeks of taking the little green pills, she was ready to rape a tree stump. Her mind was constantly full of pornographic scenes. She couldn't walk through a mall without checking out all the bulges in men's pants.

She met her doom in a bar down in the warehouse district. He was six five, built like a linebacker and she could tell by the bulge in his pants that he was well equipped. Fortunately, he was a boob man, too. He kept surreptitiously checking out her shirt, stretched over JJ-cup breasts. He hardly needed any urging to go home with her. She had to control herself to keep from tearing his pants off right in the parking lot. He said he didn't have any condoms, so she had to put off her urges for a few minutes more while they stopped at a drug store.

They barely made it through the door before she threw herself at him. She was like a wild beast, arms around him, humping him fully dressed. Her pants were already soaked through. His were getting there. The condoms she had gotten were for a normal man, but this guy was a freak. By the time she threw him on the bed pulled his pants down, his erection was already halfway down his leg. His cock had to be at least a foot long, and as thick as her wrist. She fumbled to tear open a condom package and pull it over his slippery cock. He was already dribbling copiously. She guided him in and started riding him hard. Some time during the next several orgasms, the condom got lost. She had a sinking feeling of dread, but that was outweighed by her urge to absolutely drain him.

Not suprisingly, she missed her next period. The next clinic appointment for the clinical trial confirmed it. She asked about options, and they told her she was free to end the pregnancy, but that would end her participation in the trial, and according to the contract, she would need to refund all that she had already been paid, plus pay the cost of her checkups since the beignning of the trial!

There was no way she could come up with that kind of money. They were sympathetic to changing circumstance, etc, and suggested she could put the baby up for adoption. It was a bizarre situation, but that seemed like the most plausible course of action, especially since they were going to cover all her medical costs during the pregnancy.

At her first ultrasound, the technician looked very perplexed. He called in the OB-Gyn, who was also very perplexed. They called in another doctor for consultatin, and all of them stood around the ultrasound machine making perplexed noises until Dorothy demanded to know what they were looking at. They showed her the screen and the shadowy cross-section that looked like a cluster of grapes. Each of those, they explained, was an embryo, and they couldn't even count them. The image was just too complex.

They offered her selective reduction, but there was a risk that it could terminate the entire pregnancy if it did not go perfectly, and she would be on the hook for a vast amount of money, again. The doctors tried to talk her into it, but she deflected. They told her that she would lose all of them, because there were far too many to carry to term. They warned her that none of them would survive past the first trimester.

Under her trial contract, though, that was an acceptable outcome. If the pregnancy spontaneously ended, she would still get the end-of-trial bonus. After days of negotiations, and hundreds of calls between doctors, lawyers, medical ethicists and the drug companies, she was in the clear. All she had to do was wait for the horde in her belly to outgrow their resources and die, and she'd be in the clear.

It didn't work that way, though. She passed the first trimester without any spotting or cramps. Her belly swelled astoundingly. By the end of twelve weeks, she looked like she had swallowed a jumbo watermellon. Month after month went by, she ate ravenously, and her uterus grew and grew, pushing forward relentlessly. The drug to prevent premature birth was working far better than any had expected. The drug to prevent low birth weight was working also, possibly too well. By the twentieth week, the measurements of the babies they could image by ultrasound indicated tha they were as large as fully-developed babies, estimated at six to eight pounds. Still her belly grew.

By the thirtieth week, when she sat down, her belly swelled beyond her feet. She hardly had to bend over for her navel to drag on the floor. She had gained over six hundred pounds. And still she grew.

Thirty-seven weeks came and went, and still she showed no signs of being ready to deliver. The babies were too large to image on ultrasound, but bone legth measurements indicated they were roughly the size of tw0-year-olds, weighing around twenty-five pounds. The drug to prevent premature labor was also working better than expected.

Dorothy was offered the option of inducing labor, or entering into an entirely new study phase, with her as the sole subject. The money they offered her would set her up for life. She was honestly handling the pregnancy without too much difficulty. Despite gaining over a thousand pounds, she wasn't in distress. The babies--or perhaps young children would be more appropriate--were in good health, and growing rapidly. She agreed to their offer and moved into the research hospital full-time.

That was a year ago. Now she is in her twenty-first month of pregnancy. Nobody knows, still, now many babies she's carrying, but it is estimated that they are the size of five-year-olds, weighing nearly forty pounds each. Giving birth naturally, even were she to ever to into labor, had long since become an impossibility. She wondered how long they intended to keep her pregnant. And just how big was she going to get?