The Janitor, Part 12 (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

-

“Jesus fuck, you’re huge.”

It seemed a little ironic to be hearing that from Benjamin Whitman, of all people, who stood there still heavily pregnant, with a chubby newborn clutched against each of his C-cups.

The two of them had developed a strange companionship since Derek had gone to see him at the hospital.

“Yeah…” Derek managed.

He was perched on his living room couch, back in the bandeau he was practically bursting out of, round fat tits the size of honeydews and throbbing with milk. He couldn’t keep up with the pumping. He was just fucking exhausted. Derek shifted and groaned, huge belly squashing his lap, wider than the rest of him, outspanning his body. He couldn’t come close to circling it with his arms. It was just fucking huge. It felt like a bolder, pinning him there.

Derek had a thin sheet draped over the mountainous swell. He hadn’t invested much in home wear. He just kept outgrowing everything.

“Let me get you some water or something.” Whitman made his way to the kitchen, the two babies harnessed to his chest contentedly suckling.

Derek couldn’t help staring at the infants. Would that be him soon? Nursing, and caretaking, like some woman? He cringed at the thought, but then his belly gave a forceful rumble, causing him to groan and arch, massaging it frantically.

“God, he did a number on you,” said Whitman as he returned with a picture of juice and a glass. “How often are you letting him…you know?”

Derek didn’t dignify that with an answer. He was too busy puffing in and out, trying to breathe and get his rabid babies to calm the hell down. His hands rubbed up and down what they could reach of his heaving belly. He was fucking packed to bursting.

Derek’s life was in shambles. His parents had pretty much disowned him. His sister was worried. He was stuffed full of overgrown babies past ready to be born, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. “He has it out for me,” Derek whimpered, defeated. Even Whitman found Derek’s condition to be extreme.

“Or maybe he just likes you,” said Whitman uneasily.

Derek couldn’t decide which was worse.

-

“Things never went this far with anyone else before. This is kind of insane,” the janitor remarked, darkly amused.

Derek was squished into his desk chair which hardly accommodated him anymore, the arms digging into his flanks. He was gasping for breath, mound overfilling his lap.

“Can’t believe you’re still letting me fuck you,” the janitor taunted.

Derek couldn’t believe it either. A stray whimper came up his throat as his insides throbbed.

“They usually pop by now. Even with the drugs. Fuck, how are you doing it, Carter? God, you’re something else.”

Derek was panting and sweating, hands cupping his momentous midsection. He could hardly seem to catch his breath anymore.

Derek didn’t fit behind his desk. He literally couldn’t reach his paperwork, his keyboard, or even the desk top. Instead his belly pressed into it, dividing him from it by several feet. It was absurd, how huge he was getting. This shouldn’t have been possible.

And he was the biggest. That was what the janitor was saying, right? Of all the previous victims, Derek had grown the largest. Just further affirming what a freak he was. He was definitely being punished by some higher deity for all the covert gay hookups between the club, the gym, and the fucking workplace.

God, fuck this. “Then can I – can I give birth?” Derek gasped out.

The janitor chuckled, just as Derek knew he would. “No,” he responded cruelly. “We’re gonna keep going.”

-

Derek felt like an elephant.

The media was relentless.

New rumors were circulating regarding Derek’s advanced state. People wanted to know why he wasn’t giving birth when it was obvious that he needed to. There were questions of whether he was having issues with induction. Theories that Derek was somehow prolonging this on purpose. Many outlets correctly suspected that there were drugs involved. Derek wouldn’t have been surprised if there had been leaks from his late night visit at the hospital.

CorpaCorp was pleased as ever. The attention Derek drew just increased their stock prices. People were absolutely obsessed with his growing body. They wanted to know every detail. And CorpaCorp, in response, wanted Derek front and center.

“I’m extremely p-proud of all the hard w-work the team has been putting in here at C-CorpaCorp,” Derek gasped out. He was heading another press conference even though he had just been fucked in the executive bathroom on the fifth floor, tits bouncing as his belly bumped against the door of the stall he and the janitor had been wedged in, just cramped in there, till the door just burst right open and Derek could hardly keep upright even with the janitor gripping onto him. “The new product rollout has been a huge s-success.” After the sex, Derek had gobbled down three fat rotisserie chickens. Three of them, under the janitor’s supervision. And now his stomach was throbbing; visibly pulsating, and Derek was under so much pain and pressure, he was close to tears.

Dessert had been a handful of pills. Then the janitor had squeezed and fondled Derek’s breasts, making Derek promise not to leak a drop.

It wasn’t an option anyway.

Not here, with this audience staring at him, completely mystified, as usual, by his state. Derek took in a shuddering breath. He just had to get through the next fifteen minutes. Wrap it up, he told himself. He could hold on. He was gonna— “Mmmghhh…” He squeezed his eyes shut at a heave of pressure, belly puffing out. But then it relaxed, and he tried to breathe; tried to keep going. He opened his eyes and deliriously continued, “for the —f-for next quarter, we intend t-to —” he paused again, attempting his best to grip the podium he could hardly reach. He felt so unbearably tight and could feel a growth spurt coming on. He clutched his side, willing the babies to relax. He could feel sweat dripping off his face as he struggled.

Someone came over. An assistant — no, it was some intern. They offered him a cool beverage. Derek hardly registered taking the large glass, his eyes catching a glimpse of a rounded belly stretching out a button-down. It looked tiny even though it had to be close to term.

Derek turned back to the crowd. “I think I’m going to have t-to wrap this up.” He tried to smile and make it light. The investors wouldn’t be happy. These press conferences were important but Derek couldn’t go on. He felt like he was gonna blow, or pass out, or both. He took a large gulp of the water, and nearly spat it out. It was –fuck – his eyes darted to the edge of the stage, where the janitor was watching. It was one of the drugged shakes.  Disoriented and hopeless, Derek lifted the glass and chugged it.

The reporters were restless.

“Sir, sir, we were wondering if you decided on your successor — just for the duration of your maternity leave, of course,” one reporter called.

“Derek, is it true that Benjamin Whitman was seen at your offices? And in a comparable position, to put things lightly? Just what’s going on here at CorpaCorp?”

Derek finished the shake as though he was contractually obligated to. He didn’t know why, he’d just been groomed into this state of masochism and obedience. He did what the janitor told him to even though he had nothing left to lose.

Derek truly felt ill now. He gasped for breath as he lowered the glass. Suddenly his belly jumped, causing him to arch and grunt out, clutching it. A security guard hurried over, supporting his shoulder.

“Is everything okay sir?” the security guard asked.

Derek grimaced through his efforts to catch his breath. What did it matter? He still had to put on these puppet shows.

He unintentionally belched right into the mic. The crowd stared, looks ranging from disgust to concern.

“S-sorry,” Derek gasped out. His swell shuddered, causing him to hunch down, moaning. God, he had overdone things with that fucking lunch. He felt tears stinging the corners of his eyes. “Nrrgghhh…” He almost toppled, but two security guards kept him upright. His belly bounced, bumping right into the podium, causing it to topple. Derek could hear the commotion beyond his pulse pounding in his ears.

Dizzily, he rubbed his hands up and down his swell and feebly, he tried to explain. “Well the babies, I think I – well, they’re v-very active a-annd —ohhhhh!”

His breasts surged all of a sudden, heaving and bubbling over his bra cups as he cried out. The front of his shirt tore apart, cleavage showing through, plump and supple. His nipples swelled to strange degrees, causing him to wail at the sensitivity, as they expanded and distended, pushing hard against of his tearing shirt. They were abnormally large, probably the size of golf balls, and growing, extending, like little teats or something. He was groaning and struggling to hold it in, not wanting to make a mess. He truly tried. “C-can’t,” he choked, and the dam broke. His milk exploded free, gushing into his custom-made shirt as he moaned helplessly. It rapidly soaked through his clothes and splattered onto the platform as Derek whimpered, clutching the overfilled mounds.

Now the rest of his shirt was tightening, lower on his torso. “Nrrgggghhh…!” His belly was swelling, rolling forward as buttons popped off one by one. He was flushed red, soaked in tears and sweat, as he struggled to bear it. But it was just too much.

His vision blurred. He reached out to grasp onto something, but his hands only found his own massive body.

His belly shuddered again. He could feel the babies lurching restlessly, just squished inside him. The remainder of the air puffed out of Derek’s lungs, then everything went black.

-

When Derek came to, he was terribly uncomfortable. He was lying on a hard surface for who knew what fucking reason, and his abdomen was still trembling fitfully, in episodes. He groaned, hugging what he could reach of it. It would ease, then shiver, then relax in an erratic cycle. He tried to take inventory of himself. Someone had thrown a sheet over him.

It was dark, and shadowy, but there were a few lights somewhere in his periphery. There were impromptu curtains hanging around him, some boxes, a table, and he saw…the podium?

“He’s awake,” someone said in a hushed voice.

“What’s going on?” Derek slurred as several of his employees cluttered around.

“You passed out, sir. Hours ago. We didn’t want to move you, what with the —the pregnancy. We had some paramedics check you out. They said you’ll be fine.”

Derek groaned. His whole body was aching. They said that they hadn’t wanted to move him, but he doubted that any one of them physically could. At least not while he was unconscious deadweight with a mass of oversized babies spinning him there. They probably needed a forklift or fucking zoo equipment just to get him up, like in those documentaries about people who weighed a thousand fucking pounds.

“Fuck this,” he groaned, struggling to sit up, but when he pushed those muscles his gut tremored and felt like it would burst right open. He dropped back against the ground, whining and clutching it. He gasped for breath. “Fucking—help me,” he choked.

It was a group effort, his employees grunting and straining, gripping his arms, shoulders, back, and whatever else seemed wise, as his belly shuddered forcefully, babies writhing inside his overstretched torso.

It seemed to take ages just to get to a sitting position, by which point he was moaning and crying, fucking crying again, tears and all.

Someone conjured up an extra-large wheelchair and somehow they got him into it. He stayed slumped there for a while, just trying to catch his breath as his breasts jiggled and belly throbbed. This was ridiculous. Just, comically outlandish. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be his fucking existence.

“Just need – a minute,” he rasped, with his workers cluttered around him, wearing looks ranging from worry, fatigue, amazement, and amusement. Standing there at night, outside of their work hours, to attend to him while marveling at the bizarre state of his body. With his cartoonish dimensions, his fat breasts shelved so high by his boulder belly that they squished into his chin when he was sitting down.

This just couldn’t be his life now.

And yet it was.

-

‘Derek Chambers fainted at a press conference yesterday afternoon in a frightening scene. The Chief Executive Vice President of CorpaCorp is heavily pregnant, and is believed to be the first man ever to carry multiples. His pregnancy is notably extreme — unbelievable to many. It is reported that he has fully recovered since the episode, and is at home on bed rest, happily anticipating the expansion of his family. This morning, CorpaCorp put out a statement as follows – ‘Mr. Carter is a vital part of our organization, and we are happy to report that he and the babies are doing fine. Since the unfortunate events yesterday, he has decided to decrease his workload substantially, and is taking a well-deserved break. Though Mr. Carter has been eligible for maternity leave for several weeks now, he has insisted on continuing to work through these late stages of his condition, and we are doing our best be supportive and accommodating while he continues to make huge strides for expectant parents in the corporate workplace. We could not be more proud—’

Derek scoffed and turned off the TV in his office. “Bedrest” indeed. The press reported whatever bullshit they could find. He was still a hostage to his company. If he didn’t serve his purpose, they would dispose of him. That was just how the corporate world worked.

But the news had been a distraction, at least. Now Derek was back in the shit show that was his reality.

He reluctantly returned his attention to the young man seated on the couch across his office. The kid looked miserable and fidgety, arms folded over his rounded belly.

The intern.

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