The Janitor, Part 11 (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 sitting on the mattress, leaning on the headboard, panting heavily just from the exertion of shifting up to this position. His belly was perched against his lap, heaving out and in. He didn’t want to get up. He never did, lately. Yet life had to go on.

Derek steadily shifted himself to the edge of the bed. He was wearing a worn tank top and some briefs, his belly shoving both articles of clothing out of its way. The tank top was bunched high, only covering his breasts. His briefs were shoved low, so his swell was open and bare.

Derek lowered his feet to the floor, gripping the nightstand as he steeled himself. Finally, he heaved himself up with a groan of effort, gasping and arching as he got himself balanced.

Every day it seemed to take a little more effort just to get up. He panted as he cupped the underside of the swell, feeling exhausted. There was a lot of movement lately and he hadn’t gotten much sleep the past couple of nights.

“Mghhhh…” Derek hummed as his nipples started seeping into his top. His tits were engorged. Needed to be pumped. Every morning was becoming such a process.

He opened his eyes and stared groggily at nothing in particular. Though he deeply wanted lie back down, he knew he had to get ready for work. Derek idly rubbed his hands over his orb. God, he was so tight. He kind of felt like the babies — like they wanted to come out. “Ohhhh…” Something shifted — a baby — to the side of his navel, his belly tenting slightly, then relaxing again. “Mghhhh…” He was just so…full… Derek leaned back on the wall for support, gasping for breath.

“Look at you, big boss man,” said the janitor, as he languidly stretched out on the bed. He hadn’t bothered to leave the night before. He was getting too comfortable, but not in an intimate way. Comfortable physically, on the $12,000 cashmere mattress, and comfortable watching Derek struggle and swell. He had no feelings aside from those of sick pleasure for the other man.

The janitor got up to walk around the bed and appraise his handiwork, that being Derek’s body.

“I know what you’re wondering,” the janitor said, as he cupped the side of Derek’s huge swell. “Did I give you another one? What do you think? You got another baby in there?”

Derek just focused on breathing, feeling too dazed and dizzy to articulate words. He moaned as more of his milk seeped into his straining tank top.

“Heh.” The janitor absently rubbed into the swell, and the squirming movements beneath the skin. His gaze drifted to the floor, encountering his rumpled jeans lying there. The janitor leaned down, retrieving an item from a pocket. “Got you something.”

Derek stared at the prescription bottle the janitor was now holding.

“I want you to take a couple of these pills every time you have another one of those false contractions.” He pressed the bottle to Derek’s palm.

Derek’s stomach gurgled. He covered a belch. “What if it’s not fals—”

“You take a couple pills,” the janitor reiterated.

Derek frowned. “Why should I?” he asked bitterly.

“Because if you don’t, I’ll punish you. You don’t want that, now do you, big guy?”

Derek grunted as the janitor roughly patted the swell.

“Heh…” The janitor now held both sides of the mound, watching the shifts and shudders of movement beneath. It was bigger than a beach ball. It was just fucking massive. “Now come back to bed. Gonna milk you good. Let’s make those things pop.”

Work would have to wait.

-

The babies were getting lower; Derek could feel it. His stride was even more uncomfortable than before. He always felt stuffed even when he wasn’t hungry. And he always felt vaguely unwell; sort of nauseous and slow. He was ripe; too ripe. Stuffed to bursting, babies just wanting to pop out of him.

“Surprise!” came a shrill cacophony.

“Fuck,” Derek hissed under his breath, clutching his belly.

What was supposed to be a standard budget meeting revealed a room full of grinning underlings and an expansive breakfast spread complete with pastries, waffles, crepes, a fruit plate, eggs, sausages, freshly baked breads, and more.

Derek felt sick just looking at it. He covered his mouth against another belch forcing its way up his throat. The pressure left him practically gagging at times. His body simply had no room left.

And yet the sight of food always brought him to base, animalistic hunger. It was out of his control, as much as he hated it, and as much as he resisted. The hunger always overpowered him.

“Just a little token of our appreciation,” said Claire in Finance.

“Especially with all the work you’ve been putting in,” said Lee, another executive.

Derek felt like he could hurl, but the opposite occurred. He smiled. Thanked them. And he immediately started eating. Belly pressing the table as he picked up bagels, pastries, and spoonfuls of eggs, loading his plate, popping morsels into his mouth. As he reached for a donut he almost tipped right over, but instead his belly fell heavily against the edge of the table. The table, in turn shuddered, as people startled and Derek groaned.

With effort, he re-orientated himself. His plate was fully loaded with a mountain of food, and he was already halfway through a bagel with at least a pound cream cheese packed between. Just before he could aim his plump backside at a leather seat, he felt a tap on the shoulder. Derek looked back at his secretary, Tina.

“Sir…” said Tina with clear uncertainty. “…there’s someone here to see you.”

“I don’t have any appointments scheduled,” Derek managed.

“Yes, but…” She hesitated, biting her lip. “It seems…er…important.”

Now Derek was curious. Moreso worried, honestly. He finished off the bagel and grabbed two dense donuts, his insides churning. He shamelessly stuffed them down as he walked out. Tina gave a nervous smile and returned to her desk.

His office was just down the hall. Derek was huffing and puffing and clutching his flanks as he made his way towards it. He had to stop when he felt a tight surge of tension shoot through his belly, his muscles spasming. Was that a – ? Grimacing, he fumbled in his pocket, withdrawing the bottle of pills the janitor had given him with a shaking fist. He stared at it for a moment, before tearing off the lid, and gulping several down. He gave a choked sob as the tension mitigated. Finally, he drew a deep breath and resumed his waddle for his office.

Derek cursed as he unintentionally bumped his belly into the door before he fumbled to open it, and pushed his way inside. His jaw dropped at what he saw.

There, in his brightly lit office, stood the hugely pregnant Benjamin Whitman, his face flushed beet red, and his body drenched in sweat as he groaned and arched while leaning back against Derek’s desk. Veins bulged on his temples as he forcefully puffed out breaths. His latest whine escalated to a yell as he clutched his swollen belly — at least what he could reach of it — with both hands. It was stretching out the sweatshirt he had on.

“What the fuck.” The words fell out of Derek’s mouth as he stared at Whitman, jaw hanging.

It wasn’t just Whitman’s presence or his state that had Derek standing there frozen in shock. It was his size. Whitman’s belly, which to Derek had been momentous, imposing, and absurdly large – the biggest pregnant belly Derek ever seen in his life — seemed comparatively smaller, now, a few weeks later. Though it had not gotten any smaller. Derek had simply grown. He had outgrown Whitman. Which meant that Derek was the one who was impossibly, dauntingly, massive.

“Goddd…” Whitman puffed out in a long whine, twitching as he hunched and clutched his swell.

“What are you doing here?” Derek stammered.

“The —the j-janitor sent me,” Whitman puffed.

This was a message.

“Said I can’t give birth until I do,” Whitman choked, tears now leaking from his eyes. “Ohhhhh…” Whitman arched again, now clutching at his very-plump backside. It looked as though it was throbbing. “FUCK! I have to get out of here!” Whitman feebly staggered towards the door, but then froze again, his eyes going wide. “OH GOD!” There was a splash of fluid.

Derek was numb in silent horror.

Whitman released a howl of pain that seemed to lance right through Derek’s soul. Then he keeled over, the back of his sweatpants tenting out.

“Oh my gosh!” cried Tina, who had suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Oh my GOSH! Someone call an ambulance!”

A clutter of employees appeared in the doorway with her, all of them wearing shocked expressions of their own. And just past them, the janitor approached, looking bored, mop in hand.

-

Derek was still in shock.

Disturbed looks followed him around the office; suspicious looks. Two pregnant men in one industry. In one office? Rare as the condition was, it was completely implausible. Which meant that it was no coincidence. This didn’t look good for Derek.

“Was that Benjamin Whitman!?” he heard someone whisper.

“‘the fuck happened to him?” another muttered.

Derek left work early that day. He had no hopes of being productive. He was too shaken by what had transpired – by what he’d seen. Whitman screaming, and bending, and pushing out fucking babies. Just the memory left Derek feeling sick and clammy, his heart racing, and his brain trying to retreat into the recesses of skull.

Even despite his better judgment, and any sense of self-preservation, Derek didn’t go home. His car pivoted at a vital intersection and instead raced to the hospital. After minutes of arduous waddling, wheezing, bumping into things with his belly, and being gawked at from every angle, Derek found himself in a massive maternity ward cluttered with pregnant women who looked just tiny with their cute little bumps. Silently resenting them, Derek found his way to Benjamin Whitman’s recovery room.

“So you’re…okay?” Derek said breathlessly once he had eased himself down in the squishy chair at Whitman’s bedside. The chair was a tight fit, squeezing his flanks, but Derek was used to it. He absently rubbed the top of his belly.

“Yeah…” said Whitman airily. He seemed a little dazed, a little out of it. There were a number of cribs on the far side of the room. Five of them. He’d given birth to quints. “I usually prefer homebirths – I’m practically a pro by now.” Whitman gave a weary laugh. “Yeah, guess I was caught out in public. Was bound to happen. A lot of fuss but whatever.”

Derek swallowed against the lump in his throat. He couldn’t believe how casually Whitman was just brushing it off. “Why not call the police?” he blurted.

Whitman’s face broke with amusement. “Are you kidding? This is all consensual.” He motioned to himself. “They would just laugh at us.”

It was only then that Derek took the time to study Whitman’s body, which was tucked under some thick sheets and blankets. But the curve was still there; the prominent swell of Whitman’s abdomen. It wasn’t as substantial, but still quite large. It looked as though Whitman was still at term with one child, at the least. Derek’s throat went dry. “Are you…” he managed, his lungs feeling compressed. “Are you still —?”

Whitman chuckled darkly. He shoved his blankets down, to reveal the thin hospital gown draped over him. Then he took Derek’s hand, guiding it to the bump, pressing Derek’s fingers flat against his navel.

And Derek felt it.

Movement.

“Yeah,” said Whitman weakly. “I am.”

-

Derek desperately wanted to give birth.

He had feared it for so long. He’d avoided thinking about it; refused to acknowledge the inevitability of it.

But now he wanted it. Desperately. He needed to get these babies out of him.

He arranged to see a team of the best obstetric physicians in the country, many of them even specializing in male pregnancy.

The appointment was scheduled for late at night, when he would have the best chance of avoiding the paparazzi. The press had been watching him obsessively, every entertainment, business, and news media station counting down the days till he “popped.” There was increasing suspicion that this was all some elaborate hoax. After all, Derek was enormous.

“The induction drugs aren’t working,” said Dr. Roberts following a series of very thorough and violating exams. Derek was exhausted. He had already been at the hospital for two hours and it was nearing 4AM. “And you’re at the limit. It would be dangerous to increase the dosage anymore.”

“What does that mean?” said Derek breathlessly. He was lying upright in a hospital bed, leaning against some pillows. The weight of his belly was perched mostly against his numbing lap, which was at least better than it pressing directly on his torso.

Dr. Roberts frowned. He threw a glance at his colleague, a physician named Grant.

Grant approached. “Mr. Carter, have you been on any unusual…drugs? Medications?”

Derek’s heart rate increased. “No… Of course not,” he lied, far too mortified to come clean about what the janitor was doing to him. Derek didn’t even know what most of the drugs he was taking were. And if it got out, it would be a huge scandal. Derek would be fired, maybe even jailed. “Why would I be taking any drugs?” he said indignantly.

“Mr. Carter, your babies are past ready to be born. Their combined weights and size is causing a lot of stress on your body. This situation is completely unprecedented, and we need you to be as honest with us as you possibly can,” said Grant calmly.

Derek fumbled, “Can’t you just c-cut them out of me?”

“A male cesarean is far too experimental, especially considering the extremely unique nature of your condition. You’re the first man on record to ever carry multiples — we’re not even sure how many at this point. The scans can only show so much. We’re going to need to keep you on bed rest until we figure out what’s preventing you from going into labor. I would like to have you admitted for observation —”

“No,” Derek blurted out, panicked. What if they found out about the drugs and the janitor and — it would be humiliating. Worse, it would ruin him. Derek would never work in this city again. Things would be better if he just went back to work. There was that meeting on the new product rollout that morning and everyone was counting on him. He was the face of CorpaCorp. Derek needed to be there.

He couldn’t just sit in bed, knitting, waiting for his bloodwork to come back with incriminating red flags. They would think the worst of him. That he had done this on purpose. They would think that he was some depraved lunatic.

No, he just couldn’t.

“I’m leaving,” said Derek, already pulling out the many IV lines pumping nutrition into his body.

Grant and Roberts tried to stop him. “Derek, that would be highly inadvisable –”

“Get off of me!” Derek tore his arms away from the physicians. “You’re all incompetent! I’ve had enough!”

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