Delayed, Part 2 - Male Version (Patreon)

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Note: This is a male version of Delayed.

Summary: A man makes web cam videos, and is paid to display his  pregnancy online. The bigger he grows, the more money he makes. He  even takes drugs to delay labor to maximize his income, and promises his clients that he will give birth naturally, and livestream it. People even start  placing bets on the day he’ll finally give birth. The man  pushes himself to his absolute limit, and finally can’t hold his babies in any longer. He makes the final arrangements and gets ready to  induce himself, when suddenly, at the very last moment, an anonymous  follower offers him $10,000,000 to put off his delivery for another month, and sends an advance of $1,000,000 just so he knows he’s  serious. Contains: Male: pregnancy, belly expansion, breast expansion, and more.

Previous Chapter

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Peter didn’t think he could hold his babies in a moment longer. Birth was something he had done a couple times before and he was sure he could handle it.

He had waited out the requisite two weeks for the labor-delaying drug to wear off and it was finally time. Though the idea of giving birth to overdue triplets outside of a hospital was daunting, Peter was far from alone. He had hired a doula to see him along through the birth in case there were any complications. In addition to that, he had his livestream going. His hundreds of thousands of subscribers would be watching him through every step of the process, adding their support, among the less innocent commentary.

“God,” said Peter, breathing heavily, watching his belly heave. He was seated on his bed, hands leaning back on the mattress to support him. He was wearing a silky babydoll lingerie piece, silly as it felt. The babydoll piece was undone at the bottom so that it pulled apart to reveal his huge, heaving globe. Lingerie probably wasn’t the most practical wear for giving birth, but Peter was a business man and people-pleaser. He would give his fans what they wanted.

The low neckline felt tighter on his breasts than it had when he had first tried the set on a week prior, and Peter knew his breasts were decently engorged. He admired the plump DD-cups, and the way his distended nipples bulged visibly against the silk. His body was beyond ready to have these babies.

The doula was a matronly woman named Maeve. She looked decidedly apprehensive as she regarded Peter’s sheer size. Peter had admittedly fibbed and claimed he was only a couple of days overdue rather than two full weeks. He hadn’t wanted to risk being rejected as a client because of the high-risk nature of his condition. Peter had researched Maeve well, and had confidence in the middle-aged woman. Maeve had been doing this for decades and Peter was sure she was up for the challenge.

Maeve pressed her lips in a thin line, any uncertainty determinedly withdrawn from her face. She gave dubious looks towards Peter’s get up, and hadn’t even noticed the camera directed to the bed. There was at least a filter set up that would blur out Maeve’s face. “Are you sure you want to wear that?” said the woman.

“Yes,” responded Peter, rather breathless from the nerves and the strain. “It makes me feel um—good. Empowered. It makes me feel comfortable, and I know it will help me through this.”

Maeve couldn’t argue with that. “Good. You’re going to need all the strength you can get.”

Peter nodded and tried to smile.

Maeve went into her medical bag and withdrew a bottle of what looked like cough syrup. She unscrewed the cap and handed it to Peter. “It’s time, Peter. Past time, don’t you think? This is an herbal tonic that will help induce labor. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.” Maeve nodded for Peter to consume the syrup.

“Right. Okay,” said Peter dazedly.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to call anyone?”

“It’s fine.”

Brad was presently at work. He was the stock manager at the local supermarket. Peter had chosen this day particularly because he knew it was Brad’s longest shift of the week. The store wasn’t far and Peter could have summoned him easily, but the fewer people involved, the better. Peter didn’t need another figure hoovering over him, blocking the camera or just questioning the whole affair. He didn’t need his subscribers to get annoyed or jealous of Brad. And he didn’t want to deal with Brad getting all blubbery and emotional, disrupting the tone of things when his viewers were watching the birth for decidedly more amorous purposes.

Vaguely, Peter wondered if Brad would accept his claim that everything had happened “so fast” that it had been impossible to contact him before all three of the babies were born. Peter didn’t consider Brad dumb per se, but Brad was certainly gullible. He never questioned things, at least not persistently. It was why Brad was the perfect guy for Peter, even if there were occasionally…things to be desired. Intellectual stimulation, for a start.

In the end, there was nothing fast about delivering triplets. Peter would be lucky if he finished before Brad returned at midnight.

“You’ve given birth several times before,” Maeve noted, at seeing Peter’s hesitancy. Maeve reached down, her calloused hand cupping the underside of the large mound. “They’re sitting low and heavy on your pelvis. Should expect a fairly rapid labor, no more than a few hours.”

At the end of his last pregnancy, Peter had barely made it to the hospital before he couldn’t fight the urge to push anymore. He had been very close to giving birth in the car. Peter said as much, and Maeve nodded.

“It’s a good thing,” Maeve said. “You’ll have more energy than someone going through days of contractions.”

“It’ll still be hell,” Peter couldn’t help noting, bringing the tonic to his lips. This pregnancy had been easy and profitable. He had just forced himself not to think about the labor, even as he swelled up huge and overdue. He was not looking forward to the pain, the strain, the pressure, heat, and tension. The sweat, tears, and pushing. But it would all be over soon, preferably before Brad got home. “Bottoms up,” he muttered, beginning to tip the bottle to his lips.

Across the room, his computer made a dinging noise that was followed by a fruity melody that distracted Peter, causing him to lower the still-full bottle.

The melody was an alert that corresponded to a particularly large donation—one that exceeded one-thousand dollars. Those didn’t occur often. “Just a second,” said Peter, causing Maeve’s face to twist in irritation. Peter handed Maeve the undrunk tonic and worked his way to the edge of the bed, where he paused, drew a breath, and heaved himself up with effort.

Cupping his huge orb, Peter waddled his way over to his laptop. The least he could do was thank the donor promptly. Perhaps whoever it was had submitted the donation just to enjoy the sight of Peter having to struggle his way off the bed and subsequently waddle to the computer. Everything was being broadcast live, and some of his viewers found a certain pleasure in disrupting him, inconveniencing him, or watching him struggle. It was just another part of the appeal.

Peter eased himself onto his desk chair, and as he looked at the latest donation, he was certain it was a mistake. He blinked a few times then clicked on it to verify the details. The payment was fully processed, and the donor had forfeited any option of a refund. A user named MakeYou97had just submitted a payment of one million dollars. Peter was certain that it was more money than he had earned in his life, altogether. He was stunned.

Rather numb, he selected the user and opened a chat box. Hello, he typed. This is PeteyPreg. I just wanted to thank you for your donation and verify that it wasn’t done in error. It is extremely…generous.

MakeYouresponded almost immediately with, My pleasure, and, It’s only a start. I would love to make a special request.

Peter was a little flustered. The payment had been legitimate. He even had the payer’s consent on record. And the money was everything. He could fix up the house, buy things for the kids, even get started on college funds. The fact that MakeYou97 would imply that he was willing to send Peter even more money was just overwhelming. Request?he wrote, rubbing at his tight, lurching midsection. His heart was racing. There was a long pause. Peter half-thought he had imagined the whole thing.

And then MakeYou wrote, I will send you an additional 9 mil if you put off the delivery another month.

“God,” Peter breathed. This was the craziest request he had ever gotten. MakeYou wanted Peter to hold his two-week-overdue babies inside of him for a whole additional month? It was insane. It was dangerous. It was just too personal of a request to be anywhere close to acceptable.

Yet it was a lot of money. Nine-million-dollars, and Peter could hardly even fathom the one million he had already received. If he stayed pregnant a little longer, he would be extremely wealthy. A multi-millionaire. And it suddenly didn’t seem all that hard. He was overdue already. Delaying labor was really just a matter of inaction.

“We really have to get started,” said Maeve, drawing Peter out of his reverie.

Peter absently nodded as he continued to stare at the computer screen. He took a gulp. “I’m fine here.”

“What?” said Maeve.

Peter wheeled himself around in his chair, grimacing at the way the arms dug into his swollen flanks. “Sorry Maeve. I’ve had a change of heart. I don’t need your services right now.”

“You’re not giving birth?” Maeve asked. As Peter nodded, Maeve looked at him as though he was insane. “This isn’t right. It’s dangerous. You have to give birth, you’re already pushed past your limit.”

“I’m fine,” said Peter as firmly and calmly as he could. He could feel the hot sweat rolling along his nape. “You can leave.”

Maeve opened her mouth, looking as though she wanted to argue some more. But then, as though realizing the futility of it, she just clamped his lips and shook her head. There was obviously no precedent for this, and the doula had been rendered speechless. Maeve began to gather up her supplies, throwing Peter uneasy glances all the while.

Peter watched Maeve leave and heard the front door snap shut behind her. He resisted the urge to call the doula back. Instead he breathed heavily, feeling so full and tight, already tight enough to pop.

Peter turned back to his computer screen and took it off mute. Giving a short laugh that he suspected sounded terrified, he said, “Change of plans. Looks like I have some refunds to issue.”

-

The refund process was messy and exhausting. He had to issue thousands of them, and somehow managed to convince his platform to automate the process (at a lofty fee, of course). In the end, Peter lost almost forty-grand. Of course, that was nothing compared to the one-million he had earned from one single user.

Waiting for the money to clear into his bank account was both nerve-wracking and thrilling. Going to the bank, and withdrawing some of it, actually holding the cash, just brought his new fortune to another level of realness. This was life-changing. His condition, his online fame, his three big babies packed in his belly, were completely changing his life, and all for the better.

Peter felt lighter—mentally, at least—and couldn’t help smiling despite his constant state of fluster. The day following the million-dollar payment proceeded like normal, but Brad couldn’t help noticing how cheerful he was.

“Just excited,” Peter claimed when Brad inquired, rubbing his orb.

Brad melted a little. “I am too,” he said, as he gave Peter a peck on the lips.

Just twenty-nine more days.

When Richard came to pick up or drop off the kids, he gave Peter looks of increasing alarm, but he refrained from commenting, for the most part. Part of the reason Peter and Richard had not worked out was because they both had strong personalities. Had they still been together, Richard would have seen through Peter’s bullshit easily. Richard knew him better than anyone else.

Brad, on the other hand, was an opposite extreme. Painfully passive. He was clearly concerned, and he would often look for subtle ways to inquire about when the delivery would be.

“The babies will come when they’re good and ready,” Peter snapped, watching Brad flinch like an animal being trained against bad behavior. “I want everything to be natural. I’m not taking those horrible induction drugs.” On the contrary, Peter had resumed his usage of the labor-delaying drugs, and Brad had no idea.

His breasts were swollen DDs that sat high on his chest, nipples erect and tingling. His ass was a round, plump mound that bulged out behind him. His belly was a swollen dome that felt overwhelming on his narrow body. It was steadily growing wider than the rest of him, and whenever it tensed or lurched, Peter went red, and gasped, and had to grab onto the nearest fixed object for leverage.

His maternity clothes were all tight on him, and the shops had run out of larger sizes. He often wore sweatpants and shirts that stretched taut over him, his belly positively throbbing for release. He rubbed the mound constantly, trying to get the triplets to calm down. Just a little longer, Peter would tell himself.

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