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darkest_fate
machina erotica
- Joined
- Dec 17, 2009
- Location
- the INTERNET
At least the office felt welcoming. It wasn't, like, welcoming in a welcome home sense, more in a "we know what we're doing and we're totally professionals" sense. Demi probably wouldn't have agreed to join the final trial otherwise. She'd been leery enough at the start, since pledging her support for any kind of drug made her a little queasy. But her people had checked this out, then the first visit to the office had been a rousing success. All the trials were in place and the sheer possibility of this was astronomical.
Completely safe and completely certain birth control: very minor side effects, and at a price low enough to even be granted to low income families. The sheer possibilities had appealed to every bit of the young singer, enough to surmount her initial discomfort with the proceedings. That next visit had come. There had been the physical, a rather thorough one, actually. They'd gotten precise measurements of every inch of Demi's body. Weight and height made sense, and she impressed there. But they'd also insisted on measuring the breadth of her hips, and how well her ass bulged out. The latter had always been plump, almost fleshy, despite Demi's workout and dance regime. Still, odd given the circumstances. Her breasts, at least, made some sense.
That last was part of the reason a moderately uncomfortable Demi squirmed in a chair now. Said breasts were on the high "B" end, and perfectly perky and shaped. Her dusky nipples had often been targets for teasing boyfriends and girlfriends. Now, however, they felt... tender was the word she'd used when contacting. The nipples themselves hurt, but Demi almost swore that her breasts felt a little fuller than before. There hadn't been any real sign that she could tell beyond that feeling, but it had been a start. When she'd gotten a few cramps in her lower abdomen, Demi decided it was time to head in for a followup appointment.
She'd dressed for comfort then. A loose flannel shirt hung on her svelte dancer's frame. The bra underneath was far more supportive than sexy, and made of a soft cotton. A pair of matching boy short panties rode her hips underneath a relatively snug pair of denim cut-offs. She'd dressed for a doctor's office and for icognito, not for a runway.
A door opened, and Demi nearly leaped to her feet. Nervous hands fidgeted, and she slightly blew at a few bits of dark bank that threatened to fall into her eyes. "I'm definitely ready now," she said, resisting the urge to push her arms together or even begin massaging her breasts or abdomen. She could only hope that this was just some minor setback, her cycle adjusting or something along those lines. It wasn't too bad, not really, she supposed...
Completely safe and completely certain birth control: very minor side effects, and at a price low enough to even be granted to low income families. The sheer possibilities had appealed to every bit of the young singer, enough to surmount her initial discomfort with the proceedings. That next visit had come. There had been the physical, a rather thorough one, actually. They'd gotten precise measurements of every inch of Demi's body. Weight and height made sense, and she impressed there. But they'd also insisted on measuring the breadth of her hips, and how well her ass bulged out. The latter had always been plump, almost fleshy, despite Demi's workout and dance regime. Still, odd given the circumstances. Her breasts, at least, made some sense.
That last was part of the reason a moderately uncomfortable Demi squirmed in a chair now. Said breasts were on the high "B" end, and perfectly perky and shaped. Her dusky nipples had often been targets for teasing boyfriends and girlfriends. Now, however, they felt... tender was the word she'd used when contacting. The nipples themselves hurt, but Demi almost swore that her breasts felt a little fuller than before. There hadn't been any real sign that she could tell beyond that feeling, but it had been a start. When she'd gotten a few cramps in her lower abdomen, Demi decided it was time to head in for a followup appointment.
She'd dressed for comfort then. A loose flannel shirt hung on her svelte dancer's frame. The bra underneath was far more supportive than sexy, and made of a soft cotton. A pair of matching boy short panties rode her hips underneath a relatively snug pair of denim cut-offs. She'd dressed for a doctor's office and for icognito, not for a runway.
A door opened, and Demi nearly leaped to her feet. Nervous hands fidgeted, and she slightly blew at a few bits of dark bank that threatened to fall into her eyes. "I'm definitely ready now," she said, resisting the urge to push her arms together or even begin massaging her breasts or abdomen. She could only hope that this was just some minor setback, her cycle adjusting or something along those lines. It wasn't too bad, not really, she supposed...