The Janitor, Part 9 (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 

-

Derek was just getting huge.

The janitor was fucking him constantly, but also making him eat or drink during.

Derek nearly choked on the shake he was glugging as the janitor gave another hard thrust. Derek was trying desperately the gulp the substance rather than let it pour down his chin, but it was decidedly hard to focus when he was seeing stars, his whole body tingling, the pleasure surging deep in his core.

Then the janitor slowed, and Derek remembered himself. He remembered the game. He had to consume everything. So Derek continued to force down the two-liter shake, trying not to gag or choke when the janitor hit his prostate. Derek tried not to think about the mountain of pastries he had already gobbled down during this torturously slow rendezvous. What the janitor wanted, he got. Because Derek was helpless to refuse, he was desperate to be fucked, and he had an empty deck as far as he could tell. All that was left was to follow the rules and intersperse his misery with these outrageous pleasure highs.

“Mmmgggh…” Derek always tried to hide the intensity of his orgasms, but with his head going back, and his back arching almost painfully, it was a fools errand. He was panting and drooling as he slumped against the cleaning cart he’d been clutching, feeling dizzy as his insides lurched slowly. He felt warm and boneless, waves of sensation continuing to roll over his body from his fingers to his toes. Derek felt wonderfully depleted and severely wished there was a bed for him to collapse against. But then, he was at work.

There were cramped in the dusty little supply room. As Derek feebly tried to get his footing, the janitor came over to offer him overflowing glass. This had to be a joke. He couldn’t really expect him to—

Derek felt a bit nauseous as he took it. He was still trying to keep down the last shake. He drew in a deep breath, hesitating.

“Don’t fuck with me, Chambers,” the janitor warned.

Derek chugged it. He got the whole thing down in less than a minute, forcing himself to gulp as his belly tightened and his insides stung in protest. When he finished, he was gasping for breath between coughs. A large belch tore up his throat as his skin grew hot, his nipples starting to ache. “Ohhh…”

Derek’s nipples started squirting, just spraying milk all over the place. He whined as he pushed his chest out, for once regretting that the janitor hadn’t attended to his huge fucking cow tits before they could start leaking.

The janitor just crossed his arms, leaned back, and enjoyed the show, a smirk spreading across his face. Derek’s E-cups were so round and plump, not sagging in the least, just completely saturated with milk. They sat shelved on his belly, his nipples huge nipples dark and distended. Derek was afraid to even touch them. Gasping for breath, he fumbled with his briefcase, to finally find what he was looking for: the breast pumps Amy had given him.

The janitor was amused. “You know that’s just gonna make them fatter.”

Derek ignored him, panting as he carefully attached the suction to each of his sore nipples. He released a groan as he turned the machine on, then his eyes dropped shut.

-

Derek would see Nick, the intern, walking around the office with a little bulge in his button down, always looking so troubled. And when Nick laid eyes on Derek, Nick’s expression would shift to pure horror. Like he was scared of what Derek represented. Like he was terrified of becoming him.

Derek sneered at the thought of the kid. The stupid little intern needn’t be worried. After all, the janitor himself had said he’d only given him one. ‘A big one.’

Also, fuck them both. Derek had his own problems.

It had taken a while to build up the courage and motivation to do so, but Derek finally looked up the name his private investigator had given him. It was the former CEO of Micronacore, a rival company. Though in his thirties and at the prime of his career, Benjamin Whitman had retired from corporate America abruptly and unexpectedly, walking away from a multimillion dollar contract in the process. Derek remembered years ago when it had been all the business media could talk about. There was speculation of some company scandal that Whitman was preemptively trying to distance himself from, but nothing had ever emerged. He had simply disappeared. No one had seen or heard from the man in years.

And apparently, the janitor had something to do with it.

Derek had had to put in some research and call in a few favors, as well as hire a tracing firm, but he had finally gotten an address. And it was fairly local. Just outside of the city.

That evening, on his way home from work, Derek drove by the place, just to see what he was working with. He was surprised to find a rather quaint and private residence. A house. It was nice enough, if rather suburban and unremarkable. The lights were on, and from his car window, Derek could hear voices inside. Children, specifically.

Derek didn’t know why, but he parked.

The nearest neighbors were probably half a mile away, at least. Derek couldn’t help noting how isolated the property seemed. He opened his car door, moving one of his feet outside. He couldn’t deny that he was hungry for answers. He had been waiting for so long, and this is the closest he had gotten to learning anything at all about the janitor, his identity, and his motivations. Why had the janitor forced Derek to go on with the pregnancy?

Derek was looking for answers. Further, he was looking for something he could use againstthe janitor.

It took some effort to climb out of the car, using the steering wheel for leverage, then gripping hard on the frame. Derek managed to heave himself up to a standing position, by which point he was panting.

Derek clutched his belly as it rose and fell with his heavy breathing and he absently wondered what the hell he was doing. He was in the suburbs, for crissakes. In the suburbs, and pregnant, hugely pregnant with multiples. Maybe in the city people were liberal enough to just stare innocuously, but here, out in the sticks, he was the next level of odd. People would be baffled. Maybe even hostile. He was a stranger, some strange man, strange pregnant man, at some random person’s door, a person who clearly didn’t want to be found, a person Derek had actuallytracked. This was unquestionably a bad idea. Derek should turn around and go home.

Yet everything seemed so cozy and safe. The sound of the children had only intensified now that Derek was outside of his car. It didn’t feel like a hostile environment. Derek knew he should have turned back, but suddenly his legs were moving. He was waddling up the walkway. Maybe if he could just get a whiff. A peek.

But there was nothing to see, at least not from the outside. There is nothing visible from the blinds, just the illumination inside hedging it.

Before Derek could stop himself, his right hand had balled up, and was knocking against the door.

The noise intensified. The laughter, the crying, what had to be the padding of bare little feet against floorboards. Little else occurred for a while, as Derek stood there, breathing heavily, rigid with uneasiness. He suddenly remembered his heaviness and fatigue, the soreness of his back, and tenseness of his hips. Minutes seemed to pass and he considered how logical it would be to go back to his car. That was the thing to do. Turn away, and stop digging. Let it go and move on with his life. He was having these babies whether he liked it or not. Derek started to turn.

The door cracked open. “Who the hell are you?” said a male voice.

Both his own surprise and the hostility in the voice left Derek a little shaken. Though a corporate executive and typically an excellent communicator, Derek found himself fumbling, “Hi I’m — I’m Derek Carter,” he said.

“Derek Carter?” the voice responded in clear shock. “From CorpaCorp?” The door opened a little wider, and Derek could see wide eyes on a chubby face. The extra weight took years off the man, as Derek immediately recognized Benjamin Whitman looking back at him. He should have been deep into his thirties, but could have passed to someone in their late twenties or even younger. “What the hell happened to you?” Whitman demanded.

Derek swallowed, feeling heat rise to his face. “That’s, erm, what I wanted to speak to you about. Do you have any affiliation with the — the fifth floor janitor at my offices? His — his name is —”

As Whitman opened the door the rest of the way, Derek lost what he’d been meaning to say.

Whitman was pregnant. Not just pregnant, really fucking pregnant. He was a blimp. Gripping the doorframe for support, Whitman was panting and arching to balance the hugest belly Derek ever seen, as it bulged out like a beach ball from torso. It pulsed and quavered, Whitman clearly straining just to support the thing.

And behind him, was a horde of children. It looked like he was running a daycare center. Kids of varying ages were either crawling or wobbling about on clumsy legs. Several were under a year, sitting in diapers as they fumbled with toys or sucked their thumbs. There had to be dozens of them.

“Fuck,” Whitman panted, as he clutched the side of his belly, his face contorted with discomfort. His bellybutton was the size of the golf ball, sticking out like an oven timer. Derek had no idea how the man was able to haul his massive gut around. “Fuck, come in, I don’t want anyone to see,” Whitman grunted out, throwing a wary glance out at the property. Then he stepped back, making way.

Numbly, Derek entered the house. He suddenly felt slim and spry next to Whitman. Derek gulped, and tried to articulate words over the intensified noise of the children and his own pounding heart. “Wh-what —?”

“So now you know,” said Whitman, panting heavily as he leaned back on the wall and cupped his gigantic belly. It gave a slight jump, causing Whitman to grunt out, arching his throat. His legs fumbled. “I used to be CEO of one of the biggest companies in the world,” Whitman managed. He had a pair of breasts; some perky C-cups. Nothing too outrageous. Not like Derek’s huge, milk-filled jugs. “Now I’m —t-this.” Whitman met Derek’s eyes. “I swear, it’s like I’m addicted to the janitor’s cock. Being pregnant with his babies helps a little.” He shifted his hips and rubbed his hands over the swell, trying to pacify the visible movements.

Derek’s mind was reeling. Suddenly his legs felt weak, and he sincerely knew that coming here had been a bad idea. He wished he’d never found out. Because this was – this was too much.

“He comes back every nine months,” Whitman choked out, still fidgeting, trying to bear the weight somehow. “Sometimes more often. Keeps me — keeps me full. Somehow he can even add babies when I’m already pregnant.”

Something in Derek’s mind burst. For an instant, all he saw was white.

“But I — I thought I was only one,” Whitman went on, now looking desperate, his expression contorting in pain and fury. “How many others are there? How many? Tell me!”

Derek couldn’t handle this. This was far beyond the realm of what he had expected to find. It was just—insane. He was not mentally prepared to process any of it, from the house full of gurgling babies and their cacophony of background noise to the monstrously pregnant businessman forced into retirement to become some demented breeder.

Derek took a step back. “I…this was a mistake,” he managed, feeling dizzy.

“No —” Whitman started, but Derek was already taking his leave.

In a haze of panic and nausea, Derek managed to push his way out the door, and waddle down the walkway, not looking back as he tried to breathe around the lump in his throat.

“Answer me!” Whitman screamed after him.

But Derek was already shoving himself back into his car, belly jabbing against the steering wheel, causing him to wince and quickly adjust himself. He slammed his door shut and fumbled with his keys, desperate to get the car started. He could still hear Whitman shouting. The roar of the engine helped drown him out.

Then Derek was on the expressway, driving back to the city, staring ahead, his mind blank as he submerged himself in the monotony of the passing road signs, dividers, and forestry. He tried not to think about what he had just witnessed. Because if he did, he would fall apart. He needed some time. He needed…to digest this. He just couldn’t think about it, not now.

Despite it, Derek’s feelings of violation only swelled within him. Alongside the shock and indignation was horror and fear.

Yet he needed more time. So Derek drove on, allowing numbness to erode everything else.