The Janitor, Part 7 (Patreon)

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Summary: Derek Carter, CorpaCorp's Chief Executive Vice President, gets knocked up…by the janitor. And subsequently blackmailed by said janitor into carrying the baby (babies?) to term. And further blackmailed into doing various other disturbing things that exacerbate his expanding condition. All while fruitlessly battling an unwanted addiction to the aforementioned janitor's...impressive portfolio. Contains: Male: belly expansion, breast expansion, stuffing, weight gain, butt expansion, pregnancy.

Previous Chapter 

-

The company’s stock prices were skyrocketing. Everyone was just obsessed with Derek’s strange pregnancy. The liberal media called him ‘ultra-progressive.’ The conservatives called him a freak of nature.

“What is he incubating in there, an elephant?” inquired some C-list media personality, rousing audience laughter. It was one of those daytime television shows where a group of nattering women discussed current events around an asymmetrical table.

“When is this guy even due—?” another started.

“Some people are saying it’s fake,” the eldest of the group piped in. “Some PR stunt.”

“Yeah, but where does someone even come up with something like that?”

“Well it’s working, is in it? CorpaCorp is obviously profiti—”

“Well if it isa stunt, it is the most insane idea I’ve ever heard,” said the first woman, talking over her colleague. “Can we play the clip again?”

Then they aired theclip. Derek’s growth spurt on live television. News outlets had been replaying the clip all day on every station, and for the upteenth time, Derek stared at his image sweating and squirming on screen.

He looked as though he was inflating. The shade of his face was incrementally increasing until it was beet red. He was arching and sobbing, clutching at his outlandishly huge midsection as his shirt tightened and strained against him, flesh pushing through, buttons popping off as he whined and struggled beneath it.

It was still hard to believe that this was him. This was what he had become. There was no way this was remotely normal.

“Oh, turn that off!” Amy chided.

Derek blankly looked up at his sister as she grabbed the remote and turned off his television. He was slumped on his living room couch in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that didn’t pull down far enough. An empty gallon container of vanilla ice cream sat beside him, dirty spoon lying inside of it. He should have been truly embarrassed by his slovenly state, but he had somehow transcended that. He just felt numb.

“You are perfectly normal. I don’t care what those harpies say. Derek, you are one of only a handful of men to ever get pregnant, and some idiots just can’t handle that everything’s not going to be typical. You are doing just fine.” Amy was walking around, cleaning, organizing, and chattering on the phone to boot.

Derek didn’t respond, he just looked at the blank television screen. He had been trying to ignore his sister, but now she was all he could hear. She resumed her telephone conversation as she walked around the couch sweeping up crumbs from the cookies he had gobbled down earlier.

“Yes, the crib on page 2. K7. That’s the one. How soon can it be delivered?”

Amy was trying too hard, wanting to be supportive, to perhaps distract herself from her jealousy. This situation was pure irony. The only thing she had ever wanted was a baby, a family of her own. Yet here he was, her brother, heavily pregnant with four babies in what he would characterize as pure torture. This whole thing was sick.

If he could, he would trade his situation with her in a heartbeat. He would happily give her hisbabies. But he knew that would be next to impossible now. It was too public. The whole world knew about his condition, and he was traipsing around pretending to be happy about it. There was no way he could get away with getting rid of them. Even if he sent them to as loving a home as his sister’s, he would be called out for hypocrisy. He would become a public pariah and his company would unquestionably fire him for being the antiphrasis of the image he was marketing so hard.

“And the breast pumps on page 12, how much are those? Of course he’s going to nurse, just lookat him.”

Derek felt nauseous.

“My brother plans to do everything naturally. He’s fucking ecstatic. Only the best of the best for this baby.”

Derek ran his hand down his face and whispered a curse.

-

Derek could feel the janitor appraising him as he got dressed following their latest session. The sick bastard. Derek ignored him despite that his cheeks burned, because he knew his body was deformed and disgusting. Only the janitor would crave a man so swollen and huge. Derek supposed that worked in his advantage, because he needed it constantly. This pregnancy was driving him crazy.

Derek buttoned himself into his ever-tightening shirt. He had new ones custom-made biweekly. He outgrew them almost faster than he could wear them all. This was just getting insane.

He felt like a fucking monkey doing tricks. His company was riding him for all it was worth, making him talk about his pregnancy, show off the bump. His regular job duties had been tossed aside, Derek demoted to some obscene spokesperson, relentlessly doing media and outreach, trying to get people interested or just intrigued. Reporters seemed to swarm him wherever he went. It was a nightmare.

He wished that his company would just give him leave considering the fact that he was a fucking blimp by now. But there was no chance of that. Not with the value his condition seemed to bring. And not with the mess he had almost gotten them in. He was just lucky he hadn’t been fired. So for now, he was stuck paying his dues.

Derek winced after he finished putting on a bra. It was a new thing, but lately, a necessity. It kept his breasts from jiggling around, kept his nipples from rubbing torturously into his shirts. It prevented the nubs from sticking out ludicrously swollen, practically staring at people. He couldn’t believe he was actually wearing brasnow. His condition had left him with little masculinity left to salvage.

“No bra.”

Derek blinked, his lips twisting in irritation. He looked at the janitor through the mirror, the stocky man still sprawled across Derek’s bed. “What?”

“No bra,” the janitor repeated; the audacity.

“Fuck off,” Derek snapped.

The janitor started to get up. He sat on the edge of the mattress and stretched his arms above him. Then he stood and walked up behind Derek, using the mirror to leer indulgently the way he always did. “You want to test me, boss?”

Derek glared hatefully at him.

“These puppies are too perfect not to show off,” the janitor said, reaching around to cup the sides of Derek swollen breasts. They were D’s by then. Swollen D’s, and the contact made Derek wince.

“I’ve really outdone myself,” the janitor went on. “They’re beautiful. And fucking huge. Not even done growing yet.” The janitor pressed himself into Derek’s back, allowing his hands to grip Derek roughly, now reaching for the nipples, rubbing and squeezing.

Derek groaned, his body shaking.

“We’re gonna grow you a good pair of udders. Porn star tits. How does that sound?”

“Fucking pervert,” Derek managed, jaw clenched, face flushed. He honestly couldn’t imagine his breasts any bigger. They were ridiculous as it was. He could hardly hide them anymore. “I’m a fucking man.”

“You’re a needy bitch.” The janitor gave a particularly hard squeeze, causing an undignified noise to come up Derek’s throat. “Now turn around. I’ll have you splittin’ that bra so fast you won’t think of buying another one.”

-

Derek’s bra was tight.

Really tight. His tits were bulging heavily out of the cups, close to spilling free. The thing was so confining, he found it hard to breathe. The janitor had made good on his threat.

It was the following afternoon and Derek was hosting a ‘Mommy and Me’ class. Another PR thing. Each one seemed more nightmarish than the last, but Derek had to do it. What the investors wanted, they got.

Which was how he found himself in front of a conference room full of pregnant women, standing before a folding table littered with items including lotions, oils, a fake baby, as well as weird sexual tools that were supposed to…supposed to help, or something. There was a portable back massager, what looked like a scarf, an exercise ball, a nursing bra, some candles, a variety of pillows, a sock monkey, a pregnancy girdle, a stress ball, and other offensive things.

It was ridiculous. Derek could hardly stand all the estrogen in the air. Honestly, pregnant people disgusted him .

“And that’s how this one works,” Derek said with faux-enthusiasm, halfheartedly squeezing the stress ball a couple of times. He had spent most of the event picking up miscellaneous items and pretending that he knew how the hell they worked. The items he couldn’t come up with explanations for, he skipped. His audience was holding onto his every word.

He felt exhausted. This was so stupid. It was supposed to be more outreach, “male mommies” encouraged to attend. But it wasn’t like pregnant men were just flooding the city, attending stupid events. Even if there were other pregnant men around, Derek didn’t see why they would leave their houses.

The men in attendance seemed to be mostly supportive partners and husbands to the women. There were a couple of male reporters and cameramen, the continual flashing of lights in his eyes something Derek was getting used to. A couple of men hung around not overtly with anyone. Presumably their wives were on the ever-increasing line to the bathrooms. One or two could be spies for rival companies, trying to figure out how the hell Derek was pulling off this whole ludicrous thing.

Derek absently fiddled with the latest trinket he had grabbed up. He belatedly noticed that it appeared to be some sort of giant dildo or something. He quickly shoved it aside, cheeks flushing. He cleared his throat. “Now time for the question portion of the event,” he said, breathy with fatigue.

Someone’s hand shot up. “What you’re doing is amazing,” squeaked out a small woman with a large belly. “I’d just like to say that I think you’re, like, really brave!”

There was applause, several women tearing at the eyes.

“Thank you,” said Derek, his cheek twitching, “Though…questions. Does anyone have an actual question?”

Another hand shot up. “Male pregnancy seems like, er, a lot of work…”

Derek nodded, biting the inside of his cheek, waiting for the woman to get to the point.

“I mean, it’s so different. Well, it’s fascinating. The growth spurt and everything…”

“Do you have a question?” Derek cut her off.

“Right, um, should you be on your feet? When is your baby due?”

“That’s actually a personal matter,” Derek said, resisting the urge to fidget. His hand was constantly hovering towards his chest, wanting to rub. The janitor had been relentless. Worked his breasts, rubbing, squeezing, nipping, sucking. He’d been at it for hours as Derek arched and moaned and let him. Now they felt sore, but also hot and tingly. And they more bloated than ever. They must have gone up a fucking cup size just overnight. Despite the janitor forbidding him from wearing a bra, Derek had stubbornly crammed his sore tits into one. He was regretting that decision. His breathing shuddered as he felt more of his breast flesh heaving out of the cups, spilling free.

“But why is it a secret?” the woman wanted to know.

“I don’t need…erghhh…” Derek grimaced, his right nipple stinging. His nipples were swollen to the size of marbles, and erect, bulging. He heard a tearing noise, his eyes widening as the bra started to rupture. “I don’t need to be hounded by paparazzi when the time comes,” he said breathlessly. It wasn’t entirely true. Derek didn’t divulge his due date because he was embarrassed that it was still over a month away. Everyone thought he was at term or past it already. And he hadn’t gone public with the fact that he was carrying multiples either. It would just make him a bigger freak than he already was.

The woman nodded robotically, her eyes pinned to his huge belly.

“Next question,” Derek forced out.

A new woman spoke, “so you avoided this at a previous event…”

Derek huffed out a breath, feeling the tear lengthen. The bra just couldn’t contain him anymore. His breasts rose like dough as they were freed, filling out the chest of his shirt, stretching it. The twin mounds were no longer restricted by his efforts to hide them. And they were so round and swollen, his nipples bulging prominently. Several people noticed and stared in astonishment at the fat DDs now heaving on his chest.

“…but do you feel that men should nurse?”

Derek’s face heated even more. He felt odd. The tension. His nipples were insanely stiff. He pressed his lips, his breasts feeling tighter than ever.

“I mean obviously, sir, with all due respect, you look like you’re…”

He remember how the janitor had sucked and sucked, but never quite itched the scratch on Derek’s need. How Derek had begged him to suck harder, as the pressure intensified, and Derek whined, never reaching the pleasure and relief just out of his reach.

“Mgghhh…” It came. Derek gripped the table, arching and groaning as his breasts contracted and his nipples burned. Eyes watering, he resented how tightly his clothes were fitting him. The janitor had picked out his outfit. Chosen the shirt he had truly outgrown. His breasts were just so tight, so full. He tried to hold it in, he truly did. But Derek was past the tipping point. The janitor had worked Derek’s breasts until they were full to bursting.

His shirt dampened with heat and…and milk. He felt the pressure in his bloated breasts mitigating, if just slightly. His face was flushed and sweaty. As his shirt got wetter, it hugged against him, his nipples becoming more prominent in the material, almost painfully swollen. Just fucking huge.

Derek whimpered, hunching down and hugging his belly. The flashing lights were blinding.