Manhunt, Part 3 (Patreon)

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Summary: After a one-night-stand, a charming young Spaceforce captain unknowingly impregnates an alien woman who is on the run from galactic authorities. Months later, said alien woman ambushes the young captain, and transfers her massive litter to his body, against his will, just before it is time for the children to be born. She leaves the litter with him for safekeeping. As a male, he cannot birth the litter. Instead he grows and grows as he and his crew struggle to track her so that he can transfer the offspring back over to her. Contains: Male: Pregnancy/belly expansion, breast expansion, butt expansion. Some female pregnancy.

Previous Chapter

-

After spending another full day sprawled back wallowing in self-pity while twitching under the discomfort of his new girth, Tom realized that it wasn’t sustainable. He felt uncomfortable, achy, and frightened of what was going to happen to him. His gut churned with nauseating movement, and more than once he found himself waddling hurriedly to the bathroom. He was also getting dizzy from hunger, and had received more than one admonishing message from Ren regarding his behavior. Worst of all, the isolation was beginning to set, and he found himself going mad in his thoughts as they reeled about in his head. It took a tremendous amount of effort, but Tom hauled himself up, stretched a shirt over his form, took a deep breath, and finally exited his quarters.

A uniform stood in the corridor waiting for him, as though she had been stationed there for the past few days. “Sir!” she shrieked, saluting to his face, as she deliberately and painstakingly didn’t look at his swollen abdomen.

Tom moved passed her, down the corridor, his gait devolved to an unpleasant waddle. His hips ached and trembled as they tried to acclimate to the weight of the girth, the—offspring.

When Tom walked out onto the command deck, everything seemed to freeze. Each officer kept his or her eyes on their respective control panels, as though they were afraid to turn around. Finally Dane steeled himself and faced Tom.

“Captain,” he said, saluting. He eyes darted, briefly, to the turgid mound stretching out Tom’s shirt.

Tom self-consciously tugged the shirt down, the material determined to slide back up against his bloated flesh. His insides continued to lurch with queasy movement, the pressure exacerbated by the sensation that he had a heap of fat slugs lethargically lurching around within him. “Do we…do we have any leads on where she went?” he said, his voice strengthening with his renewed indignation.

Dane’s face twisted in a frown. “Sir?”

“Iglina. Where is she?” Tom reiterated.

Dane swallowed. “The last trace showed her headed northwest towards the spule galaxies. But her cloaking technology was substantial. Beyond anything I had ever seen in my thirty years on the force. The probability of finding her is infinitesimal.” Dan walked over to Tom, his voice lowering so only the two of them could hear. “I spoke to L’ren’ztha. Your body is on a time clock. Iglina knew was she was doing to you. You may have to come to terms with…” Dane trailed off, unwilling to say it. His eyes lowered from Tom’s, again darting to Tom’s gut. “We can…keep you comfortable.”

Tom pressed his lips into a thin line. “We’re headed towards the spule galaxies,” he said, loudly, so everyone on the deck could hear it.

“Sir, this is a fool’s mission. Just the amount of resources it would take to try to pursue her—”

“I am your captain, and I will dictate where this ship will go and what it will pursue as long as I have that authority,” Tom cut him off. “And you will heed my directives, Dane, unless you prefer to be stripped of your own title.”

Dane grimaced before turning towards the present crew members. “Towards the spule galaxies,” he said.

-

Dane perfectly embodied the hopelessness of Tom’s situation. Tom was a time bomb, tight to bursting. He wondered why Ren had been comfortable admitting it to Dane, but not to him. Maybe it was an act of mercy.

But Tom refused to bow down to his fate. He would have already died five times over if he hadn’t been stubbornly persistent in the perilous situations he often found himself in.

He lasted only an hour at his post on the deck before the discomfort got to be too much. Back twinging, and belly pulsing, he grudgingly left command to Dane, who he could hardly stand to trust behind the controls anymore.

His ass felt weirdly tight and pressurized in his trousers. He found a quiet corner, where he took a break to lean back and arch in an effort to alleviate some of the strain. His hand slid to his back. He couldn’t believe how tight he was feeling again, even after the treatment before. He took long, deep breaths, trying to calm himself. A weird, alien sensation, crawled against his navel, and his eyes darted downwards just in time to see his belly button twitch.

Tom groaned. It was so bizarre, so disgusting. He cupped his belly button as it twitched again, his nose wrinkling. Worse, he felt his loins, bizarrely begin to stir, the horrifyingly weird sensation of packed movement arousing him somehow. “Eugh…”

He waited several moments, and thankfully the movements calmed, but his gut was left with an embarrassingly loud gurgling that seemed to go on and on, and was eventually accompanied by waves of hunger. “The hell…” he grumbled, infuriated with his body. Tom was not a fan of food, eating being more of a chore to him. He was irate by the way his condition was changing every aspect of his life. It was violating. To think, Iglina had actually dumped spawn, inside of him.

His belly button wriggled, causing him to grunt and shift the weight on his pelvis, but no matter how he adjusted it, it was still uncomfortable, and the movement was intensifying. In his tight shirt, there was no way of hiding his throbbing navel. He wanted nothing more than to retire in his quarters again, but the hunger was getting almost painful, and he wondered if the forceful lurches were a symptom.

Clutching the side of his swollen gut with one tense, calloused hand, Tom waddled his way towards the mess hall, not looking forward to more encounters with his astonished crew. When he arrived, the whole room, predictably, fell silent. There were at least two dozen people present enjoying a late lunch, and they all paused to ogle their newly fecund captain. One man dropped his fork with an audible clatter.

Tom was panting quietly, high face feeling hot, from the exertion, he was sure. Before he could react to the awkward welcome, one of the kitchen attendants hurried forward. “Sir, a word? In the back?”

Tom frowned, and followed the attendant through the kitchens into a private room behind them where he sometimes had meetings with his senior officers over meals. His hips felt tense and uncomfortable, still struggling to accommodate his large mound. Gingerly, he sank down in a chair at the table present, not knowing whether or not he regretted it a moment later when much of his tension shifted to his lower back. He deeply wanted to lie down.

“We had a word with chief medic L’ren’ztha,” said the attendant, uncomfortably wringing his scaly green hands.

Of course, thought Tom sarcastically, finding himself rubbing hard into his flanks, not in any display of nurturing, just trying to kneed the tension away. “What did Ren contribute this time?” said Tom coldly, as he grew increasingly irritated with the woman’s sudden involvement in his life.

“Ah yes…it is surmised, based on your condition, and your…assailants abilities, that the creatures inside of you are likely carnivorous.”

“What?” The word fell out of Tom’s mouth as he tried to process what was being said. He felt a new surge of disgust rise in his chest.

“We would like to start you off on a meat diet.”

Tom felt like he could throw up. He was vegetarian. In fact, he could barely stand the sight of some of his alien crew members furiously gobbling their ways through slabs of raw meats, some of it still dripping blood.

“An individualized meal is being prepared…”

Tom swallowed hard, his belly still audibly gurgling, and he felt dizzy between the hunger, nausea, and fatigue. “Can it be…cooked, at least?”

The attendant agreed and hurried off. Tom put his head in his hands.

He was soon provided with an exorbitant amount of meat. A heaping pile of several varieties, the sigh of the amorphous, smoldering lumps rather grotesque to him. He picked at it, but had to stop after just a moment. He got up to leave, unable to cave to his condition anymore, but his belly lurched and heaved almost violently, his abdomen seizing with pain as his legs grew weak. The attendant helped guide him back to the chair.

“Please, Captain, you are famished.”

“Do I look famished to you?” Tom groused, motioning to his gut, which was quivering slightly, his belly button again twitching.

The attendant seemed fascinated by it, but tore his gaze away. “Please, sir, just another bite.”

Under the command of the attendant (and by extension, Ren), Tom obeyed. He took a second bite, and even forced down some more, the food growing decreasingly disgusting, though retaining a fundamental level of revolting. His stomach lurched less with every gulp. Ren even appeared, supervising in that irritating way of hers.

Tom glared accusingly at the attendant who gracelessly backed out of the room and left him to his medic.

Ren rubbed his arm.

“I hate this,” Tom grumbled.

“I know,” she said.

Tom continued to pick at the food. It was mostly fat, and he was surprised that he was still eating it, but his mouth seemed to have a mind of its own now. He had an appetite, which was something he wasn’t accustomed to. Soon his belly was no longer churning or gurgling at all.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” said Ren.

Tom just glared at her.

He refused her help getting up, and waddled back to his quarters, feeling uncomfortably heavy and stuffed, not just with spawn, but food now as well.

He shoved off his clothes as he got to his bed, doffing everything except his boxers. He marveled at the way they strained now against his hips, shoved down by his massive belly. It was obscene, the way the mound jutted out of his thin form. He looked at term, perhaps larger, at least by earth standards. He eased his ass down against the mattress. His nipples were stinging slightly for some reason. Undoubtedly another pregnancy thing. He rubbed his fingers against them, but grunted, and quickly retracted his hands. They looked pinker than usual, and remained hard no matter how long he waited.

Tom awkwardly wriggled himself to the center of the bed, where he writhed awkwardly beneath his mass, struggling to find a comfortable position, which he failed at, before he passed out.

He got some rest, at least.

-

The next morning, he awoke slowly.

He blinked a few times, gradually registering the aches, pains, and tenderness littering his body. He groaned, and shifted so that some of the strain moved from one place to another. This whole thing was miserable, and there was no end in sight, just exacerbation, at least until he found the witch who had done this.

He was incredibly, painfully hard, his cock jabbing against the underside of his belly. His nipples also looked larger, and pinker than they had the night before, swollen and sensitive, his chest slightly puffy, and pointy, creating small mountains where his skin had previously been flat only a few hours earlier.

He groaned again. This whole thing was repulsive. His belly felt ridiculously tight, skin tense and tingling. He would need more of the cream soon. But didn’t that facilitate growth? “Eugh…”

Body shuddering, he reached down and wrapped his hand tightly around his gender. “Uhh…” Panting, he began to jerk himself, nipples stinging, insides lurching. He came fast and hard, splattering the underside of his mound with his sticky seed. He spent the next several moments gasping, sprawled back on his heap of pillows. He grunted and clutched himself, absently rubbing his tight skin, rubbing his seed in. He grimaced at the action. He really needed to see Ren. Then the stinging in his chest peaked, causing him to wince. He felt the sensation of warm wetness, and as he frowned down at himself in scrutiny, he could see a trail of moisture on his chest. He stared for a while, unable to truly commutate what had occurred, until his nipples stung again, causing him to hiss quietly. He watched a white bead of fluid form at the tip of his left nipple, before giving under its own weight, and rolling down his chest. It was milk. His body was producing…baby food.

He dropped his head back against his pillow and stared at the ceiling, aghast.