The Janitor, Part 13 (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 intern’s belly looked so small; barely there. Supposedly his size was the equivalent of someone who was at term. Was that what nine months really looked like? Derek supposed he had little perspective of what a normal pregnancy would be.

“I’m just really scared,” the intern practically sobbed out. His name was—Nick, if Derek recalled correctly. “I just want to give birth but the janitor won’t let me. I’m not due yet, but the baby’s so big. If it grows any more, I’m not sure how I’m going to be able to get it out.” Nick’s hands rubbed up and down his bump. This had to be some bad joke, Derek thought. This intern, sitting in Derek’s office – crying?

Then their gazes met, and Derek realized the true nature of the kid’s fear. Derek saw the daunted in Nick’s face as his brown eyes flickered downwards.

The intern was afraid of becoming Derek.

“Mmghhh…” Derek pressed his lips against a moan. He could hardly focus, not with the continuous, erratic twitches, shudders, and surges of tension assailing his belly. It was massive. It was like in independent being, a sleeping creature, stirring and threatening to wrench right away from him. The mound gave a jump that left Derek gagging.

Derek couldn’t handle this. This intern, and his audacity to fuck the janitor then sit around Derek’s office whining about his comparatively insignificant problems.

Derek heaved himself to his feet with a roar of effort. His abdomen chose that moment to contract, causing Derek to cry out.

He could feel his backside swelling, his painfully sensitive nipples squirting into the padding that lined his shirt. Derek scrambled to grab up the pill bottle on his desk, tearing it open with shaking fingers. He gulped several tablets down.

Then he stood there, leaning on the desk for support, gasping for breath, in his perpetual, exhausted daze. He could feel the intern staring at him in absolute horror.

Derek, himself, just fantasized about giving birth. He felt so close. On the cusp. Some nights he sat up in bed, groaning, and dry-pushing, just indulging that bodily impulse until he was red and sweaty, panting and groaning. He wanted relief. His system desperately wanted to eject this these fat, overgrown babies.

But then the janitor always showed up and fucked more drugs and babies into him. It was a relentless cycle of growth and there was no end that Derek knew of.

Derek couldn’t hold it together. Not in meetings, not with clients. There was seldom a moment he wasn’t panting and groaning, practically drooling from the pressure. Sometimes even gagging. His belly quaking and lurching, as his body struggled to hold it all in.

He gave a wheeze as the most recent Braxton hicks knocked the air out of his lungs. “Oh god,” he gasped, before gulping down some more pills.

His eyes arbitrarily started dampening, tears leaking down his cheeks. Jesus fuck, why was he crying again?

“S-sir?” said the intern nervously.

But life went on. And so did his job.

-

At the end of the week, it finally fucking happened. It felt surreal. And no amount of pills could stop the forceful contractions tearing through his body. Derek didn’t know why he struggled. Resisted. Wasn’t this what he’d wanted? Why was he fighting it? The latest handful of pills spilled between his fingers as another forceful contraction barreled through his shuddering midsection. There was a splash of fluid. “Fuck…” he breathed.

This was happening.

Derek slumped forward, groaning, feet squirming. He didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t as though he — he had a plan, or anything. He’d never really thought about this part. The janitor had always had full control of everything regarding Derek’s pregnancy.

“Errghhhhh…” Why were the contractions coming so fast, and so hard already?

It was after work hours. Derek was alone in his office, lingering as he did lately, trying to build up the energy to depart. He had the whole floor to himself. No one else was around. It must have been 9 PM by then and the building was closed.

“Fuck,” he grunted, shifting his hips, cupping his orb, pushing it out. How could this be happening? This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be real. Him? Pregnant? Babies? Plural!? “Fuhhhh…” No, he couldn’t. That had never been the plan. There was no way he could do this. It was too much. There were too many! He couldn’t – not like this, not now, he just hadn’t thought — that this was actually real. That it would actually happen. This had to be some fucked up joke.

“Nrgggghhh…!” It was getting worse. How could the pain be this bad already? “Oh goddddd!” It felt like they were lurching, pushing, shoving through him, migrating to his ass, belly clenching and trying to squeeze them out. He was beyond capacity. He couldn’t take anymore.

He felt the urge, felt them low and deep, felt his insides puffing, contorting, and twisting, then he—he felt the pressure, a pressure on his hole.

He was dazed and delirious. He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t handle—he felt the next contraction beginning to build, and heard himself whimpering like a fucking animal. “Mggghhhhh!” He had to—he couldn’t—felt the urge to push. “No, stop…” he pleaded, clutching his belly, as though urging them to stop their assault on his body. “God—DON’T—” he choked out.

He couldn’t do this—oh fuck it was painful. He couldn’t fight it, he had to—

The urge to push was unbearably powerful, but he was still sitting there on his ass behind his desk, squashed beneath his trembling, throbbing orb as his squirting milk soaked through his clothing.

He fought against the compulsion to push, because he was still sitting down, he couldn’t — “Errggggghhhhh!” He felt foolish, grunting and yelling, crying out, like a fucking woman. He was just so heavy, just so full, the force of his abdomen contracting around god-knows-how-many overgrown babies. He felt like he could shred to pieces.

Derek scrabbled helplessly at his desk. At his size, he had few options for positioning. But he had to — had to move. Had to get off his backside.

He couldn’t possibly do this, not on his own; had to call for help. He tried to reach his phone. At least until the next one contraction hit him.

Derek screamed. Positively fucking screamed, for what felt like forever until the pain mitigated, and he was left sopping pathetically, all the strength leaving him.

It was only getting worse. He had to move.

Somehow — “ARRGHHHHH!” – he managed to —“GODDDD!” – He got down from his chair without completely toppling. Onto knees that he could barely feel between the numbness and pain, as his boulder of the belly bumped against the floor, too hard, and squished on his thighs as he tried to spread them. They said the all-fours position was best for men, but that wasn’t remotely achievable. Not at his extreme dimensions. He was left on his knees, belly perched on the floor, as he gave choked gasps, clutching his mound for leverage—there was nothing else he could reach.

He could feel his ass swelling. Somehow he undid his pants. Shoved it to his knees, as he whined and cursed, prayed and protested. It was so big. He could feel it against his hole, shoving and shuddering — fucking huge! No way it could —

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHH!” His breasts bounced as his head flew back and his whole body arched. He was — opening. He was –

Derek gave a choked noise, in too much pain even to form a scream. Instead there were tears and drool, as he was forced painfully wide— inhumanly, torturously, wide—until he was sure he would tear, but his abdomen kept contracting and squeezing, forcing the thing along, and he couldn’t help pushing despite how excruciating it was. It was taking too long. His vision blurred, and he feared he would pass out. Something was partway—bulging out of him. He wished Whitman was here, he would know what to…what to…

“AANNGHHHH!” Derek cried as the thing finally broke free, dropping onto the floor. Then he was just shaking and crying, wanting to crawl away, escape his own being, but he could hardly move, and this wasn’t nearly finished. His insides heaved. He covered his mouth against a bout of nausea. Then he slumped against his mass, for as long as he could, before he sunk down, collapsing to his side.

There was a horse wail, and somehow he managed to take hold of the squirming, slippery thing beside him. The baby was big. Far beyond newborn size. Derek realized that his shirt had completely torn open at the chest only when the newborn quickly found a nipple and started suckling. Derek was dazed. He had a…

A baby.

“Mpphhhgghhhh…” There was another forceful, squeezing contraction that caused all his muscles to clench and the infant to detach. As the baby burst into hoarse, heartbreaking cries, Derek was reminded of his predicament.

“I can’t…” he babbled helplessly, hardly able to breathe. “Oh no, I…” He couldn’t imagine having to go through that again. He couldn’t.

And yet he didn’t have a choice. These babies were coming now, whether he liked it or not. Derek no longer had to say on their residency in his body.

-

For his first couple of days after the birth, Derek could hardly stay awake for more than an hour or two before he started dozing off again.

But before a week was up, he was fully alert in his hospital bed, and he could properly process the fact that he had naturally, and by himself, given birth to five, extremely large, overdue, babies.

His secretary had found him the morning after the births sprawled on his office floor, barely conscious, surrounded by wailing newborns. He was rushed to the hospital, where he was pronounced well, if dehydrated and exhausted.

It felt good to have them out of him. He was no longer breathless and uncomfortable, so utterly stuffed he could hardly function.

And yet, he was still…

Derek cupped the prominent swell on his abdomen with shaking hands. He was still pregnant. He looked past-term with child, at least.

The doctors had been baffled. Superfetation was rare in humans, and this level of it was just unheard of. They looked at Derek like the freak he was. They thought the whole thing was just bizarre.

At least Derek had been prepared. He had known what to expect, with all that — Whitman had told him.

Would he become Whitman?

Derek fidgeted in his bed. He didn’t know where his life went from here, or if there was any end to this. But he knew he couldn’t just live like this. He couldn’t keep doing this. This couldn’t be his life now.

Several employees and executives visited. It was awkward. Derek was laconic, but he managed nods, and grimaces of smiles, as they offered well wishes and marveled at his huge babies and then his still-huge belly, and he didn’t know how to explain it, so he didn’t try.

The intern came by too, bringing flowers. It had only been two weeks since Derek had last seen him, yet the kid had grown significantly larger.

It didn’t help that the intern was all belly, the rest of his body remaining relatively slim.

“I know. It’s been crazy,” the intern—Nick—mentioned when he saw Derek’s gaze on him. “I’m a bottomless pit lately,” he added nervously. He was eating even then, viciously gnawing through the large a box of pastries clutched under his arm—brought along not as a gift for Derek, but as the intern’s snack while visiting. Derek could only assume that the janitor had Nick on some potent appetite enhancers and maybe weight gain supplements.

The kid visited every day, sometimes lingering for hours, almost like he didn’t want to leave. He was always staring from Derek to the babies. He seemed so uneasy. Rightfully so. Maybe he was looking for the light at the end of the tunnel. Truth be told, there wasn’t one.

“They’re refusing the formula,” Derek deadpanned when the intern gawked as Derek opened his hospital gown over his huge, swollen breasts before starting to nurse the two infants clutched in his arms. Derek had never imagined that he would actually nurse them. Yet it had just sort of — happened, after the birth. And with everything that had transpired in this ordeal, he was far past the point of embarrassment.

The intern averted his eyes, mumbling something indecipherable. He went to get Derek some water. Trying to look helpful. Nick was really waddling now. And growing. Derek could see it every day. Even his shirt looked tighter than it had been that morning, stretching against the intern where it had been loose before. Nick was still eating continuously and voraciously, even frequenting the hospital cafeteria, or ordering takeout right to Derek’s hospital room some days. The janitor was really having fun with him. Maybe the kid was the janitor’s current focus, what with Derek having given birth.

Derek didn’t really know what to say to him. Who was Derek to be handing out advice or assurances? There was no bright side. No point where this all somehow became “worth it,” like in some made-for-TV movie. The truth was, the whole thing was a shit show. Derek was kind enough not to say it out loud.

Well… Derek thought reluctantly. The kid did have one, admitted, perk. The janitor had been far more moderate in his treatment of Nick. He’d resolved to impregnate Nick only with one baby.

‘A big one,’ the janitor had said.

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