The Parasite, Part 6 - Male Version (Patreon)

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Summary: Following infection by an alien parasite, Charles begins to hear a commanding voice in his head that demands him to stuff his face with food, massage various body parts, insert edibles into his orifices, and partake in other unusual activities. Charles’s belly grows and grows as the parasite swells in consequence. Charles’s efforts to balance his busy work life with the frightening voice of the parasite proves to be disastrous. Contains: Belly expansion, breast expansion, possible egg-laying and more.

Previous Chapter

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You should relax, human. Enjoy. Carrying me and my young should be a comforting experience.

In his panic, Charles grabbed his blazer off the back of his chair, and did his best to pull it around his swelling body—it was no use. He gasped for breath and thought for several moments, before remembering the baggy T-shirt he usually kept for company picnics and other events. Wobbling over to his filing cabinet, Charles opened a drawer and pulled out the green shirt with the company logo. He shrugged out of the remains of his button-down, and hurriedly jerked the T-shirt over his head.

Some of his belly protruded from the bottom of the tightly-stretched material. Charles did his best to tug it down, and he waddled for the door.

He had almost made his way out of the building, when a small hand connected with his shoulder.

“Great job on the Felder account.”

Charles stood stiffly as his boss, Sue, spoke behind him.

“Charles?”

Three… the voice groaned.

Charles did his best not to groan as well. He shuddered as he gripped his tightening mass with one hand, still tugging down the shirt with the other. Doing his best to contain his gasps for breath, he slowly managed to revolve to face his boss.

Sue’s eyes widened almost comically. Her lips fell apart. She mouthed for words, but couldn’t seem to get anything out. Finally she managed, “You look—erm—well, great job.” She awkwardly nodded, though her gaze never left his throbbing abdomen as sweat seeped into his shirt.

“Thanks,” Charles forced out, feeling immensely exhausted. His eyes widened as his nipples began to sting again, and he quickly raised one of his arms to cover his chest. “I think I’m going to head out. I’m n-not feeling that great,” he managed, knowing that he was flushed, sweaty, and probably looked like a mess.

Sue continued to mechanically nod. He wasn’t sure if she had ever stopped. “Right…right, of course. Feel better.”

Charles nodded back, turned around, and waddled as fast as he could for the door.

“Nrrrggh…” he grunted, as the pressure pushed his belly out another two inches. It swayed with his awkward movements, and his skin prickled about his navel.

I’m tiring, but there are still morrreeee…

“Ohhh,” Charles choked, nearly slumping over as he reached his car door. He gripped the hood and held on for dear life. “Just…ohhh…just let me sit down.”

This in itself wasn’t an easy process. He felt that with the wrong move his midriff might explode. But soon Charles found himself seated, leaned back, his heaving belly consistently pressing into the steering wheel. He looked overdue by then. He knew another egg was about to develop. He could feel the pressure growing, slow and steady. “Aahhhhh!” He arched his back, causing his belly to press harder into the steering wheel as he grew. His T-shirt had developed damp spots over both breasts by then, his unusually large nipples visibly protruding in the tight, wet material, which, in turn, was dripping milk. His dick was hard, and squished uncomfortably beneath his stomach. Charles shuddered as he released.

When the growth spurt ended, Charles sank against his seat, tossing his head left and right, feeling helpless. “Five?” he croaked.

I’ll weaken in the coming days, the voice murmured. Afterwards, they will be your responsibility.

“But I can’t,” Charles moaned. “I’m not meant to—ohhhh…” He twisted and fidgeted somewhat, cupping his navel gently as it trembled.

Calm yourself child. The voice sounded weak. I cannot speak to you for much longer. This was a terrible strain. Why don’t you help the process along…and eat…

“C-can’t—” Charles protested. “I’m already so tight!”

Eat…

Charles whined and opened his glove compartment. He found a bag of chocolate bars, and he fumbled awkwardly, as it was more difficult than ever to reach his anus now that he was so large. He messily jammed down his boxers. “It hurts,” he grunted as he maneuvered the first bar of chocolate into his opening.

Don’t lie, the voice hissed. It is only pressure.

Feeling as graceful as a hippopotamus, Charles managed to insert one chocolate bar after another, until all eight had been jammed into his hole. The voice had claimed that food would help alleviate the tension, but he only felt worse. Tighter, heavier, more burdened than before. By then, he was gasping, and felt faint.

More… the voice commanded.

Charles weakly nodded, though he knew he was almost out of food. With trembling fingers, he dug into his briefcase and withdrew his keys, before starting the car. “I’m going, I’m going…” he muttered as he drove off, having to lean uncomfortably against his compacted mound to reach his steering wheel, given how much he had grown.

His nipples ached and seeped more than ever as they were squished against the tight mass of his belly. He had relinquished his efforts to tug down his shirt, and the hem had slid up over his impressively-swollen belly button.

Charles did his best to pacify the voice, which seemed agitated now. At red lights, he would dig the odd snack out of his briefcase—usually a cheese stick—and hurriedly navigate it into his opening. But he could tell that the voice was still displeased. It wanted more this time—much more. Charles cradled his belly and drove as fast as he dared, all while mumbling assurances, to himself and to the voice.

It was only ten minutes before Charles reached the drive-thru, by which point he could already feel the pulses of icy pain throbbing in the back of his head. The voice thrummed impatiently in his consciousness, wanting to feed its—its eggs, or whatever they were. Charles gasped out his order into the microphone, before speeding off to the pick-up window, narrowly avoiding rear-ending another car in the process.

He had chosen a restaurant that was both close by and convenient to his purpose. Bob’s Hot Dogs. Charles practically salivated over the five bulging bags of weiners the baffled employee was holding as he handed her some bills.

Charles drove one-handedly, his free hand digging through the fifty individually-wrapped hot dogs, separating them from their buns, and pushing the thick pink sausages directly into his ass. He could feel the sense that he was still growing, but it wasn’t as horrifying or uncomfortable as before. After Charles pulled into his driveway, he lowered his seat so that he was lying back somewhat, and continued to feed his hole. He licked his lips, and watched his fat breasts bob on his chest as one hotdog after the next was shoved into his burning opening.

His eyes went wide as his dick throbbed, a hoarse grunt escaping his lips as electricity coursed through his body. The sensation shot from his groin to his belly then battered his nerve endings, filling his body with raw, hot pleasure until his vision blurred.

And then there was only blackness.

-

When Charles awoke, his hips felt tight. His opening had an uncomfortable, almost constipated sensation of pain, and Charles’s first instinct told him that something too large was inside of him. Was this an awkward hook-up? Or—ohh—a food product? “Errghhh…” He wriggled and pushed, still only partially conscious.

Do not release them.

“What...?” Charles opened his eyes and blinked a few times to notice that he was still sprawled in his car, only it was dark outside now. He gasped as he took notice of the large ball perched against him, gently throbbing as though it was alive. It was uncomfortably squished against his steering wheel, and with some struggle, Charles pushed his seat back the remaining three inches that it could go. This left his belly still snugly pressing the steering wheel, which was now out of reach of his arms. His cock shot to attention as he again shifted against the incredible tightness within his asshole. His dick began to weep as it jabbed against the underside of his belly.

“Mggghhh…” His hips bucked despite his weight, almost by instinct. He felt as though something was—lodged—inside of him. “Ohhh god…” he moaned, his body quivering, seeping. His face burned.

Don’t you dare.

“Why?” Charles grunted, rocking, as something pushed, crowned in his opening. He released a grasp, and spread his thighs the best he could. He gripped his arm rest, struggling for leverage.

There will be consequences.

The waves of coldness were back, as was the drilling pain in his head, and Charles was at a loss of which of his problems were the most excruciating.

I will fill you with twice as many if any harm comes to even one of my children. I will ensure that you burst!

Charles’s breasts jiggled as he panted. Something was coming out of him, something that didn’t belong. And yet, he had no choice but to abide by the voice’s commands. He reached down and navigated his hand to his crack. His fingers traced over his swollen bottom, between which bulged a hard, rounded—egg-like—object. A sob tore from Charles’s lips, but he pushed at the intrusive mass, pushed it back inside of him. He choked in pain, his hips aching, his insides feeling as though they were tearing apart. He cried out as he shoved the mass as far as it could go. His belly pulsed more pronouncedly for several beats as he tried to orient himself.

Charles laid there in the dark, releasing sharp gasps for a while. He clamped his thighs shut by impulse even though they were going numb. “What now?” he croaked. “When will I be allowed to d-deliver?”

But the voice had gone silent, and despite his burden, Charles had never felt so alone.

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