Delicacy, Part 6 - Male Version (Patreon)

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Summary: After being abducted by aliens, Tyler, who is  pregnant with multiples, is  fattened relentlessly, to be served as a delicacy at an upcoming holiday feast for alien royalty. Unfortunately, the heavily pregnant Tyler goes into labor a week before the feast, and the babies want out. Knowing that the moment he gives birth, he will  be of no value to the alien captors, Tyler struggles to contain the children, all while plotting an (increasingly hopeless) escape. Contains: Male: pregnancy, belly expansion, breast expansion, butt expansion, and more.

Previous Chapter 

-

That night, Tyler went in and out of consciousness in a restive sleep. At times, through his bleary eyes, he could see Sree and Frisk huddled together, whispering to each other through the darkness. Then he would fall asleep again. By morning, Frisk and Sree were back in their usual corners of the room, not looking at each other or at Tyler. He knew they were plotting escape, yet Tyler detected a sense of secrecy and it unnerved him. Were they excluding him?

Then again, Tyler was tired. His companions knew as much. They were letting him rest and he was getting paranoid. Frisk and Sree would not betray him. And even if they did, could he really blame them? He was a liability — huge and hardly mobile. Bringing him along on their escape plans would not only decrease the chance of success, but it was foolish.

Often, sacrifices had to be made to ensure the greatest chance of survival to the largest number of people. Frisk was a captain, and he knew as much. It was ironic that Tyler, the greatest liability in this situation, was also the only thing keeping everyone alive at that moment.

Tyler was anxious.

-

His thoughts would race and cycle as he sat perched on that bed, feeling trapped. He couldn’t believe what one mistake on Glork had transformed him into. He would try to remind himself that it was a blessing, and that his condition was keeping him of use to his captors. But it was hard to see it as anything but a curse. Maybe it would have been better to receive a quick death like the rest of the crew, rather than having to endure these weeks of psychological and physical torment.

Tyler’s complete dependence on food was only exacerbating. Any moment he was conscious, he was eating. He was relentless and slovenly, constantly stuffing food into his mouth greedily and voraciously, even snorting like some pig. The aches and pressure spikes didn’t deter him, Tyler simply pausing as his belly tensed up and tightened. He would groan and clutch it, but still managed to shovel food into his mouth with his free hand. He was constantly coated in the foreign alien food, greases, gravies, and sticky jellies covering his hands, face, chest, and even his belly.

“Gods,” Tyler moaned that day, during a particularly forceful episode of lurching, his babies squirming relentlessly inside of him. He rubbed the side of his belly with his dirty hand. “Calm…down…” he puffed out, urging them to relax. He was sat upright, thighs spread wide, belly perched on the bed between them, but also partially squashing against his legs which couldn’t extend far enough to avoid the huge mass. He gasped for breath, belly heaving and throbbing as he sagged against it, honeydew sized-breasts shelved atop it, while squashing against his chin. He was completely overwhelmed by the massiveness of his own body.

And still, he stuffed his mouth, whimpering and whining as his insides churned in protest. His belly ached and pumped, stretching and pulsing. Yet he couldn’t stop. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He could feel his comrades staring, but could hardly explain his state of mind, and didn’t try. It was like he was addicted to the food. He was eating yet anguished.

The door burst open, startling all of them. Tyler looked up to see several Zulians march in, bucket in hand. They visited erratically, but it was always the same. Tyler hardly had the chance to gulp down the food in his mouth before he was being shoved back against his pillows, the funnel forced between his lips.

He gulped eagerly, feeling dizzy and vision blurring. But he continued to drink, filling himself beyond his capacity, consuming as much as he could. The babies wanted more. He needed more. At some point, he heard Serse’s voice.

“What a good little pig. Fattening itself up. Almost immobilized by its ssize.”

Tyler choked slightly as he felt Serse’s clawed hand prodding at his abdomen. Tyler could still feel Sree and Frisk gazing at him in morbid fascination, his eyes wide and staring at nothing, as he gulped and gulped. Because when he wasn’t eating, hunger pains assailed him, and he felt like he could pass out.

Tyler had recently been given a change of clothes, though he hardly considered them to be clothes at all. It was a full-length garment that was decidedly feminine as his hugged his body, the soft beige material rendered transparent from its thinness. It pulled taut against his form while still offering room to stretch more. The Zulian’s wanted to display him at any opportunity. He was their upcoming feast. A delicacy.

Serse patted his belly again, Tyler grunting and belching, feeling like he would regurgitate, but he managed not to. Tears poured down Tyler’s full cheeks as he snorted and panted, but one of the Zulian’s grabbed hold of his hair, keeping his head steady, and shoved the funnel deeper into his mouth. Tyler gagged only briefly, then resumed drinking, consuming the downpour so he would not choke on it. But he wanted it regardless. He could feel the fabric stretching more, rendered so tight it was nearly invisible. He wasn’t sure how much more his body could take.

Tyler managed to finish the bucket of slop in no time at all. By then he was trembling and quaking, desperate sobs coming up his throat. “P-please —m-more!”

The Zulians were surprised but amused. Serse motioned for his men to step aside as he crept forward to approach Tyler. Serse climbed onto the bed with him. Took hold of Tyler’s garb, unbuttoning and peeling it open, until Tyler’s round, leaking breasts and swollen nipples were exposed. Serse leaned forward and began to drink.

As Tyler groaned, he was provided with more food. He grabbed up morsels with clumsy hands, shoving them into his mouth, as Serse fed in the meantime. When he could, Tyler took in gasps of breath. There was suddenly a deep, unfamiliar, twisting sensation in his belly. He gasped out and dropped his latest piece of food, his hands instead shooting to his flanks. “Ohhhh…” His belly clenched with a surge of tension that was more violent and forceful, causing the whole mass to jerk.

Serse pulled off Tyler’s nipple with a wet pop, glancing up at the pregnant young man. “Finally full, are you?” he said with a sneer.

Tyler didn’t think he could speak. He just sniffed, and managed a nod.

Serse leaned back down to continue drinking, the half-dozen Zulians surrounding them watching Tyler warily.

The sensation occurred again. Tyler grunted but tried not to react too evidently, instead pressing his lips and squeezing his eyes shut. It was unlike anything he had experienced so far, accompanied by a growing pain that reverberated along his body, as his belly somehow, impossibly, grew heavier. Like it was sinking. Dropping. He arched and whined out but tried to press his mouth shut.

Too accustomed to Tyler’s moans, the Zulians did not react much. Serse got his fill, and finally pulled off, breathing heavily with a satisfied smile. He lightly patted Tyler’s breast, watching the flesh jiggle as Tyler grimaced.

“Every part of you this creature is deliciouss. Truly a gift. I wonder why it is that we never farmed humans. Because the Federation illegalized it? I grow weary of their archaic lawss.”

There were mutterings of agreement amongst his guards.

“Let the bitch rest. We want our meat untroubled. Soft and ssupple,” Serse said with a smirk.

Tyler did not get much sleep that night. He was panting through episodes of pain, by then fully aware that he was in labor. He dozed in and out but never submerged into a deep sleep, because every several minutes the forceful clenching would overcome him. His belly would squeeze, causing him to grunt out as he tried to endure the escalating pressure. He knew that he didn’t have much time left. But he had to keep his babies safe.

At some point in the night, Serse came by, which wasn’t too unusual. He slipped over to drink from Tyler, still enamored by the human’s milk; seduced by the taste of it. Tyler had never consumed any of it, himself. He didn’t want any additional reminders of what his body had become—this motherly machine; a foul vessel of production. A feast to alien lizards. Tyler had become incidental to the throbbing orb attached to his body.

As Serse suckled, blithely pressing into Tyler’s fecund body, Tyler did everything he could to disguise his contractions. He breathed through them, his body flushed and sweaty. He pretended the tremors weren’t anything unusual as his belly squeezed and shoved his cargo downwards. He could feel labor advancing, the pressure sinking. He wanted to wail out, but instead just grimaced and clenched his jaw, waiting until Serse was finished.

This was the end. It was the inevitability that they had all been waiting for. Tyler couldn’t contain them forever. He had to give birth or he was certain they would burst out on their own.

He cupped his flushed navel, where his belly button bulged out the size of a golf ball. His abdomen shuddered, the skin tight and tense, weeping sweat.

“Tyler,” a voice whispered.

Tyler was pulled out of his reverie as another groan escaped his throat. His clothing was pasted against him. He was dimly aware that Serse was no longer present. He must have left at some point.

“It’s time,” Sree murmured.

“What…” At first Tyler didn’t understand. Then, he thought she was talking about the babies. “No,” he protested groggily. “I c-can’t let them —”

“It’s time to go.”

Tyler blinked the weariness from his eyes. He looked up, through the darkness, to see Frisk and Sree standing beside the bed. “Oh…” he said hoarsely. “Yes. Gods, yes.”

Escape.

They helped him to stand. It took some effort. Tyler staggered to the wall, leaning his belly against it for support. It gave a forceful jerk, causing him to whine out. Frisk shushed him with a harsh look, and Tyler pressed his fist against his mouth.

Sree looked concerned. “You’re —?”

Tyler nodded as he blinked back the tears in his eyes. “I think they’re…the babies—I-I’m in labor.” He clutched what he could of his mass, accepting that he and his children might very well be doomed.

“Okay,” Frisk said calmly, like he might have already considered this possibility. “You’re going to have to hold on a little longer. I’ll go out, through the grate. Wait for my signal.”

Frisk disappeared into the bathroom. Sree and Tyler waited there in the darkness, Tyler’s legs feeling like gelatin. The pain was throbbing from his core down his back and thighs. He could feel something shifting, pressing harder on his pelvis, then lower. He fidgeted, and clutched his aching back, desperately wanting to sit down. But he forced in air and pushed it out, not knowing how much time had passed before he heard something. The smallest of sounds, like a scratching on the door of a careful finger. “That’s him,” Tyler managed.

The lock turned slowly. The door creaked open to reveal Frisk now standing there in the corridor. And suddenly they were free, if just marginally.

Tyler's belly brushed against either side of the door frame as he staggered out of the room. He would arch for balance, but then hunch from fatigue. His belly would jerk, or puff out, causing him to lose his breath and wheeze. He clutched what he could reach of his mass with his arms, forceful contractions assailing him at unpredictable intervals.

He could barely make any ground, instead stopping to lean on the wall, struggling not to moan out. Frisk and Sree went to his sides, taking his arms about their shoulders, trying to offer some aid and support. But it was still unbelievably arduous. He was just so heavy; so full. This wasn’t going to work. He couldn’t help sobbing as another contraction overwhelmed his body, causing him to freeze up again.

“Keep moving,” Frisk warned, his tone offering no room to argument. All of their lives were on the line, but these babies seemed determined to sabotage.

Tyler pushed forward. He felt delirious from the pain and pressure. When it seemed he could no longer contain his moans, Sree covered his mouth with an apologetic expression. “Come on Tyler, just a little farther,” she urged, her voice strangled. She looked to be in pain just offering the little support that she could. He was just so heavy, and only getting heavier as his legs fumbled and his belly rocked.

He needed to keep the babies inside of him. Safe. Because the moment they were out, it would be over. Tyler couldn’t afford to slow down or stop, not now, not now when they were so close to getting off this awful planet.

He was hot and sweaty, his clothing soaked. His abdomen was now overcome by a heated throbbing. His hips felt tight and his backside felt odd. Uncomfortable, and sore, pain steadily blooming. Pressure was shifting lower and lower, Tyler’s grunts muffled by Sree’s hand nearly smothering him.

They got to a part of the building Tyler had never been to before, though he had often seen men in flight-suits coming in and out of this wing. The metallic lift looked so out of place in the otherwise antiquated, stone-based architecture.

“This will lead to the deck on the roof,” said Frisk, as he pressed a button to open the elevator door. “There should be something I can hotwire. A ship or even a pod.”

The door slid open with a hiss that made Sree flinch and look around in panic. But they had not been captured. Not yet. Tyler could have cried from relief as they started forward. This was almost over.

The trio proceeded, into the lift. Frisk, then Sree, and then —

But Tyler was stopped. He couldn’t continue. Physically. He looked down at himself, horrified to see that his belly could not fit through the opening.