Midlife, Part 6 (Repost) (Patreon)

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Summary: Tom is in his mid-forties. Comfortably married in suburbia  with his wife, office job, and his 2.5 kids getting ready for college, Jim finds himself immersed in an affair with a fit young biogeneticist. Jim  has no idea why he's gaining so much weight, and his wife has started making remarks about it. Little does he know, his secret boyfriend is not only experimenting on him but breeding him. Worse, Jim can apparently get pregnant additional times while already pregnant, and end up carrying multiple babies of different gestational ages. Its only a matter of time before his secret affair comes to light. That, in addition to other things. Contains: Male: pregnancy, breast expansion, belly expansion, butt expansion, stuffing, weight gain.

Previous Chapter 

-

Tom's body was now capable of superfetation. Prone to it, in fact. The tests didn't lie.

It meant that he was capable of carrying fetuses of different gestational ages. He could get pregnant while already carrying. Reimpregnated.

Ian watched smugly as Tom struggled to button himself into the large sweater he had arrived in, before Ian had taken it off and fucked him slowly. Before Ian had imagined, with every thrust, that he was filling Tom even more. With more babies. Cramming them in with the one already in there nearly fully grown.

But that wasn't entirely inaccurate. Tom probably already had well-developed multiples sitting in his belly. With the way they had been going at it, Ian would be surprised if Tom wasn't carrying twins or more.

Tom grunted, his button's straining as he stretched the fabric as far as he could, trying to encompass his massive stomach. The sweater objectively didn't fit him but Tom wasn't giving up. He was growing faster than the wife could shop for him. It was all so sick and beautiful.

"Nrgghh...guhhhh..." Tom panted when he finally got the final button closed. Well, “closed” might have been a liberal term for it. Gaps of flesh pushed out from the diamonds formed between the straining buttons. The fabric was coming loose in spots, yarn and thread drawing apart, close to snapping. The sweater was barely holding together and it was utterly beautiful, this blatant display of extreme fertility.

Tom was like a breeding bitch, filling more and more, taking on additional babies. And he had no idea. He barely questioned his unusual size. He was fat and happy, kept complacent by the frequent fucks and feedings.

Even then, he gave a tired smile, cheeks flushed, fat tits heaving. He didn't seem to notice the sexy fold of cleavage bulging out where his top button had come loose. It looked like he was showing them off, the D-cups swollen and protruding atop his massive belly.

“Don't go yet,” said Ian. “You should eat something. I don't want you getting dizzy again.”

“That only happened once,” Tom was quick to argue. “I'm pretty sure I just got up too fast. I can’t eat another bite. God Ian, you just had me gorge half a pan of lasagna an hour ago.”

Ian put on a concerned expression. “You know I worry. I mean, you're one of a kind, Tom. This has never been done before. And men—they don't store fat like woman and—”

“God, not another lecture,” Tom interrupted. “If I have a snack will you shut up long enough for me to get out of here? I want to at least be home before Penny finishes at work.”

“Just a snack,” Ian agreed, guiding Tom gently back towards the kitchen. Was it that Tom couldn't tell how unusually large he was or was it the fact that Ian had convinced himself it was normal? Ian didn't know but the whole thing was delectable. Tom heavily exhaled as Ian helped him ease down into a seat at the kitchen table.

“Two minutes,” Ian assured before he turned towards a pot on the stove.

Ian was not beyond drugging Tom. He did it regularly. Every bite of food or sip of drink that Tom consumed in Ian's apartment was heavily concentrated with appetite enhancers, growth hormone, and chemical aids that ensured every calorie Tom consumed rapidly turned to fat and was nearly impossible to shed. It went to Tom. It went to the babies. He was the ultimate breeder. The whole thing was magnificent.

Ian liked to feed Tom starches. It was one of the easiest ways to pack him with fat. Tom was oblivious. He'd never had a need to educate himself on nutrition. Tom licked his lips as Ian lowered the massive bowl of gooey, buttery, macaroni and cheese onto the table in front of him.

“You're cruel,” muttered Tom as he lifted his fork.

“You have no idea,” Ian smiled back.

Then Ian watched in satisfaction as Tom dug into the meal with the fervor of a man who had not eaten in days. Tom had become a bottomless pit. He thought it was just another part of the pregnancy. He was so quick to accept the lies. There was no precedent on the situation, after all.

When Tom finished what had to be eight servings worth of calories, he groaned quietly, resting his hands on either side of his belly. Ian helped him stand and Tom grunted, arching. His gut heaved with his heavy breaths but Ian could swear that it was advancing, inching forward. A button snapped and Tom cursed. “I am not buying any more clothes.”

“Gonna go without? I wouldn’t mind that.” Ian got behind Tom, wrapping his arms around him to cradle the mound. He could look down and see the way Tom's breasts were bulging against the cups of his bra, flesh bubbling over the material. He was swelling and swelling, full of life and nourishment for their babies. The outcome would be quite the surprise. Ian had elected not to spoil it.

“Don't forget to take your vitamins,” Ian murmured, kissing his neck. Tom would need the extra resources for the ongoing pregnancies.

“I won't,” said Tom, and Ian could tell he was rolling his eyes.

“Your sweater is torn,” said Ian as he idly pushed the fabric off Tom's shoulder. Ian could feel him shiver but Tom still tried to protest.

“I can't. God. I feel like I'm about to explode.”

Ian rubbed Tom’s flanks lazily then allowed his hands to trail downward. Tom didn't resist, he just moaned.

Ian's hands moved up again, then down in a cruel rhythm. “Do you want me to stop?”

“God no. Unnghh...these fucking hormones.”

And when Ian fucked him, he tried to pump him with more babies. Tom was his.

Tom cried out as Ian came.

Ian wanted everyone to know who Tom truly belonged to. He wanted Tom bigger, always huge. There would be no question as to who owned him, whose babies he was practically bursting with. Who Tom bent down for every evening, filling himself more and more, beyond capacity, just because he needed Ian inside him.

The sweater burst open, Tom's belly popping free as he panted like a dog. His hands shook where they gripped the table. He whimpered. He came. His seed sprang against the underside of his belly. “Fuhck,” he breathed, pouring sweat. They sunk to the ground together, Tom fidgeting and whining. Then he just panted. “Oh god, oh god…” his hands desperately rubbed into his flushed flesh, trying to pacify its contents.

“You're so fucking beautiful,” was all Ian could think. He littered Tom's shoulders with soft pecks and nips.

Ian knew he was antagonizing things with the wife. The bigger Tom grew the more tense things would be at home. But it was due time she got the hint. Tom wasn't hers anymore.

-

He looked due with triplets.

He was almost certain he did, at least from the embarrassing process of browsing images of pregnant women on the internet.

Tom was huge. He didn’t know why Ian kept insisting that it wasn't time; that Tom wasn't due. And if what Ian was saying was true, Tom had bigger problems than his size. Honestly, it freaked him out just to think about it.

Tom custom ordered all his clothes now. He would have given up if it wasn't for his family. As such, he tried to maintain at least a shred of dignity. To look in control and not like he was crumbling. To hide his shame and pretend that everything was okay; that they could all be a family. He knew the situation was incredibly strange and overwhelming even for someone not personally experiencing it. Though the kids feigned indifference, there was undeniable anxiety.

Most days, Tom donned a button-down shirt as he had typically worn before this whole thing. It was hardly functional and left him continuously fidgeting in the stiff material. And he outgrew them rapidly even when he purchased ones several sizes large.

He paired them with a pair of sweatpants pushed low by the jut of his abdomen. Most of his time at home was spent on the bed or the couch but he tried to look alive and productive when others were around him.

One day he attempted the simple task of watering the lawn, but even that left him panting heavily and sweating profusely.

When his kids arrived home from school, they were not hesitant to express their embarrassment with the sight of him.

“God, what are you doing?” Sid groaned as he hurried into the house.

Kim just sneered and shook her head as she followed her brother. “What a joke!” she spat from the door before slamming it shut behind her.

Ironic that he was doing this almost specifically for their benefit. As if to say, ‘I'm your same old dad. Everything's going to be fine.’

Tom huffed out a breath, free hand sliding to the strip of skin exposed beneath the tight fabric of the button-down. This was useless. Somehow he feared that if he entirely gave in to his inclinations towards greed and indigence, it would only worsen things.

He managed to turn off the hose and lumber back towards the front door, ignoring one of the neighbor's kids who had stopped in his tracks to blatantly stare at Tom, jaw hanging.

Tom hobbled inside, where he found Sid sprawled across the couch, facedown, and Kim leaning on the kitchen counter busily typing away at her phone.

“You guys want a snack?” said Tom casually.

As if on cue, and with the most horrendous timing imaginable, he felt his nipples tingle as moisture seeped into his top. And he wasn't wearing any padding. It gushed right through the cotton, swollen nipples protruding prominently against his soaked shirt material.

Kim threw him a glance and immediately noticed. “Ew!” she cried, throwing up her arms and storming off.

“Hey, watch your mouth,” Tom shouted after her even though he was breathless and mortified.

Sid lifted his head from the couch and scrutinized Tom for a moment, taking a bit longer to register the change. Tom folded his arms at his chest but by then it was too late.

“Oh my god,” said Sid, getting up. “Disgusting.” He hurried off to his bedroom.

Tom opened his mouth but couldn't think of any additional retort. Besides, he agreed with his son.

Tom didn't even tell Penny about the incident when she arrived home from work a few hours later. It was just too humiliating. And he truly felt guilty about reaching out to Penny for any additional physical or emotional support than she already provided him happily and willingly.

This whole situation was sick.

“Hope you’re hungry,” Penny said as she stirred some chicken stewing on the stove, even after working all day. Asking nothing of him.

“When am I not?” said Tom bitterly.

Penny just laughed. “How was your day?”

Tom gulped. “Good,” he said. “Watered the lawn.”

This pregnancy couldn't end fast enough.

-

A few days later, Penny threw him a surprise baby shower.

A surprise baby shower.

A surprise, fucking, baby shower.

This had to be some form of revenge. Or torture.

There were balloons in soft pinks and blues as well as a large vanilla cake etched in icing with the queasy image of a baby, all bundled up.

Intrinsically, he knew that Penny wasn't capable of the twisted cruelty this event seemed indicative of. The party was forged purely from her benevolent (and a bit oblivious) nature.

Tom was in hell.

He's supposed he deserved it. He sat stiffly as guests arrived one by one, looking around in confusion. They would eye Tom in wry amusement. Obviously they thought this was some weird joke.

There was the occasional guest who looked shocked, or somehow, personally violated.

Mr. Paulson next door sat at Tom's side the whole time, staring, shaking his head, then staring some more. “This isn’t natural,” he’d mutter.

Tom looked like a blimp. He didn't dare rise from his seat even though his back was killing him. His belly sat in his lap resembling the size of a beach ball, he thought. He'd somehow convinced Penny that he felt nippy in the hot summer heat. She had thrown a quilt over him though it didn't do much to hide his belly. At least it softened the swell of his unbelievable tits.

“Some party,” said Mrs. Feldman as she grinned at Tom, shaking her head. “You and Penelope taking advantage of that new weed legislation?”

Tom forced a chuckle. His insides churned.

“Son, did you sign up for this?” asked Mr. Paulson, grimacing.

Tom's awkward chuckle trailed into desperate panting. He wished he could disintegrate at that very moment.

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