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This is the March/April SUBMIT-A-PLOT reward.

Plot submitted by will taft: A personal assistant decides to kill two birds with one stone:  moving up the ranks and getting rid of her boss, usurping his power.  After slipping progressively more hormone and appetite enhancers into the boss's coffee he's horny, ravenous, and growing curves.  As he outgrows his outfits and starts to gestate heavy babies the assistant provides increasingly feminine clothes to match his breasts, ass, and heavy pregnant torpedo belly along with constant food and snacks to encourage growth.  she culminates months of turning him into a fat gravid femboy during a "company wide fitness session" she forces him to lead.

-

Dear Ms Cook,

Unfortunately, we did not receive a nomination letter with your application. Because of this, your request for advancement has been denied, however we welcome you to reapply after six…

Diane crumpled the letter in her fist.

She has asked Maxwell to submit that recommendation for her five times.

The position had been perfect. She’d exceeded the qualifications. It would have increased her salary significantly and given her more meaningful work than picking up dry-cleaning and handing out coffee orders.

Maxwell had assured her he would do it this time.

Footsteps approached. “Any calls, Diane?”

Diane was still looking down at the crumpled letter in her hand. It took everything she had to draw a deep breath, relax her face, and look up at her boss with a neutral expression. “Not since you left for lunch, Max. Oh, Porter didsend an email. He wants to push your meeting to two.”

“That’s going to conflict with —”

“I already adjusted your schedule.”

“Good,” said Maxwell, as he walked past her desk and into his office. There was no “thank you.” No, “I appreciate it,” or her favorite — “You’re the best.” Her old boss, Jonathan, had always said that, back before Maxwell had stolen her away. Max had had a client in Madrid and needed a secretary who could speak Spanish. Diane had been excited about moving to the executive floor, only to find that the work was the same, and the treatment was worse. Her new position hadn’t even included a pay raise, and all her hopes for advancement seemed to have shriveled away.

And now, Diane was furious.

It wasn’t the first time Maxwell had lied about submitting a recommendation for her. She knew he preferred her in her current role as his secretary—after all, she was great at her job—but she had always intended for her secretarial work to be short term. It certainly didn’t pay the bills, and this is getting personal.

Her intercom buzzed. “Diane, can you pick up some coffee. The usual?” said Max.

“Right away sir,” Diane responded with an angry smile.

Because at that moment, she had made up her mind. Max was going to pay. She was going to ruin him.

-

Most scandals that shook the corporate world usually involved some sort of sexual deviancy, especially regarding men’s dealings with women. This included harmful and offensive kinks, solicitation of prostitutes, cheating, misogyny, allegations of abuse — that sort of thing.

Diane knew Maxwell inside out. She knew his mother’s maiden name and his social security number. He knew that his drink of choice was scotch around other bigwigs, but he actually favored a good cosmo.

She knew that he was closeted, and she knew about his late-night hookups at that rickety old dive bar on Main.

But there was nothing obscene, offensive, or incriminating. Everything about him was pretty tame. He had never gotten involved with a colleague, had never slept with anyone on company property, had never made an inappropriate comment, and had never even looked at anyone the wrong way. The guy was a clean slate—professionally speaking.

Diane had considered outing Maxwell as gay—not that there was anything wrong with it, other than his own apparent shame. And honestly, his outing would probably just help his image, while ruining Diane for trying to use it against him.

Diane decided that she needed to get a bit more inventive. She thought of the repetitiveness of scandal; of how the women in these narratives were always the abused, the hired, the objectified, or the impregnated. It was often the woman’s burden of shame until the scandal got out and blew up.

-

“Your coffee,” Diane offered, a few days later as she entered his office, handing Maxwell an extra large Colombian roast with a double shot.

“Good,” said Maxwell, as he always did, not even looking up from his paperwork. It was as though he was contractually obligated to be an ass to her.

Diane watched him take a sip. He didn’t seem to notice that anything was different.

“Your 9 o’clock is here,” said Diane as she left.

She wondered if she had gotten carried away with herself.

-

As the days passed, Diane continued to spike Maxwell’s coffee with increasing amounts of drugs, as she watched, and waited.

Typically, Max was always clean-cut, dressed in perfectly tailored suits, not a hair out of place on his dirty blonde head. He was young and handsome, but cold; almost robotic. It was interesting to see his composure steadily thrown off alignment.

He had a flush to his cheeks, now. And his appetite had surged. A slim guy, Maxwell had never been much for eating, but lately, Diane could see him snacking almost constantly. He departing from his turkey wraps for lunch, now ordering pizza, or sending Diane to pick up a couple of greasy sandwiches from the deli on the corner.

He was hungry, flushed, and even starting to put on a weight.

-

The hormones were potent.

Diane had been modest at first, but now found herself emptying several capsules into Maxwell’s beverages.

He was getting fidgety; agitated, uncomfortable, and warm. Sometimes he would bite his lip or stare off, his mind, perhaps, wandering to more amorous things than paperwork.

That would be the fertility drugs kicking it. They were known to make the user really, really horny, amusingly enough. Those, combined with the other hormones and appetite enhancers, resulted in Maxwell starting to physically change.

It was subtle enough, for now. Even Max himself might not have noticed yet.

But Diane could see that he was softer in general, his crisp shirts and trousers fitting him a little more snugly.

And interestingly, his chest was a bit softer, little hills starting to form there. His nipples were prominent to an usual degree, really protruding in his shirts. They were big, swollen, and probably sensitive.

Sometimes Diane found her gaze lingering on his abdomen. Maxwell’s stomach, which had previously been concave, was fuller now. It was visibly rounded, his shirt now tight against it.

Perhaps it was just weight gain, but the shape of it was almost toouniform—the curve. Sometimes Diane wondered if he could possibly be…

There was just no way…

Male pregnancy was still extremely rare. It had only happened to a couple people on the news, as far as Diane knew. Then again, she had been pumping Max with the fertility drugs to knock up a damn toaster.

Still, he just couldn’t be.

Or maybe...

-

“Diane, can you bring me those printouts?” Maxwell spoke into the intercom.

Scowling, Diane got up from her desk and made yet another trip to the printer.

Maxwell was leaning on her more than ever, his requests constant, and frankly, irritating. She wished he would get off his lazy ass and pick up his own forms once in a blue moon. If she wasn’t getting coffee, or food, or picking up his dry-cleaning, he had her delivering random items around the office; things he could very well get himself.

On top of that, she had a huge pile of paperwork waiting for her on her desk. Diane was annoyed and exhausted, to the point that she was just dumping drugs into his drinks without reservation. She was even dosing his food orders as they came in to the office. It felt innocuous by then. This certainly wasn’t turning out as fun as it was supposed to be.

Maxwell was keeping to his office, food constantly going in, containers coming out. He remained hunched behind his computer, working on the Foly project. He seldom got up, or even looked at her, instead rubbing tired eyes or stuffing nachos into his mouth. He was wearing a baggy blazer; not as clean-cut as he usually was. Stress could do that. She wondered if this project was really getting to him. It was so uncharacteristic.

“Max, you can’t be late for this meeting,” Diane reminded him. “Carmine wants you to start things off with that finance report.”

“Go on ahead, Diane. I’ll be there in a minute, just let me save this document.”

Gathering up some folders, Diane headed to the meeting room, where she found a seat at the far end of table squeezed between two executives. A couple of the other secretaries were standing along walls. It wasn’t the best set up, but the end of the quarter was always hectic.

“Thank you all for coming,” said Maxwell when he walked in, and he just looked off for some reason. Before Diane could properly register why, he shed his blazer, and her jaw dropped.

Diane wasn’t the only one taken aback. Everyone was staring, mouths gaping, eyes locked, because Maxwell…

He had grown. It wasn’t just the weight gain. He had a—a belly. A fairly prominent one, sticking out, straining his shirt, round and firm, just protruding out of his torso.

He had also developed – well —breasts. There was no denying the soft mounds bulging against his thin shirt, fat nipples sticking out even worse.

How could she have missed this? Diane ran through dates in her head, trying to figure out the last time she had seen Maxwell standing and not hunched at his desk. It couldn’t have been more than three weeks ago.

There was no question as to whether or not he was pregnant. He already looked as though he was six months along.

Max covered a small belch as he turned to the screen with his laser pointer, unwittingly showing off his surprisingly plump ass. “Now if we look at these figures, you’ll see the steady growth of our stocks since…”

Diane was highly doubtful that anyone was looking at the figures.

-

Maxwell was surging; just blowing up. His pregnancy was advancing faster than she thought was even possible. It was several days later that Diane walked into his office early one morning to drop off some paperwork. She was surprised to see that Maxwell was already in the room, presently struggling with his crisp white-down shirt, where one of the buttons appeared to have popped off.

“Oh, sorry,” Diane blurted.

“Right.” Maxwell quickly folded his arms, as though this would help hide it. He was red and looked completely humiliated. “I think I’m…” He trailed off, blushing deeper.

After an awkward pause, Diane said, “Well…congrats…Max.”

Max just looked troubled. “Do you think anyone else has noticed?”

Diane found herself again pausing, this time at the ridiculous question. Obviously!“Of course not! You’re barely showing.”

Maxwell swallowed and frowned down at the swell, which looked even bigger than it had at the meeting. He was probably wondering how the hell this had happened.

Diane thought she’d died and gone to heaven.

“Actually, I have something that might be…helpful,” she said as she adjusted the papers in her arms, shrugging her shoulder to slide a paper bag down to her elbow. “I brought your dry cleaning. And I may have picked up a thing or two at the store that I thought you might like.”

Dubiously, Max accepted the bag from her. He looked down into it, his eyebrows furrowing. “Are you sure this is mine?”

“Max, you have that meeting with Johnson in fifteen.”

“Right. Okay.” Still trying to cover the swell, he headed to his office bathroom.

-

Maxwell wasn’t happy with the clothes.

The “shirt” (or rather, blouse) was low-cut, showing a decent slice of his budding cleavage. The pants were so tight they might as well have been leggings. The outfit as a whole showed off his rapidly growing curves.

“It’s practically impossible to find maternity-wear for men,” Diane defended herself. “You’re just going to have to settle for stuff from the women’s section.”

Of course there were more conservative options, but Diane had severe doubts that Maxwell would be willing to do his own maternity shopping.

She buried him in work, pulling up contracts and dealings they had left on ice, and presenting it all to him with fabricated urgency. It wasn’t as though he was in any rush to leave his office these days. He preferred to stay there, huddled behind his desk, hiding away his rapidly advancing waistline.

When Diane wasn’t bringing Maxwell extra work, she was pushing food on him. She brought him bagels, pastries, pizzas, milkshakes, breakfast sandwiches, burgers, pasta, and everything in between. She kept him perpetually stuffed, just blowing him up. Despite it, she could hardly keep up with his appetite. He was positively ravenousthese days.

And Maxwell was so overwhelmed, he couldn’t look at his situation objectively. He was too busy to take any control over anything regarding his body.

“Diane, I…I’m having a bit of an issue. Can you bring me a spare shirt?” said Max over the intercom one afternoon.

Diane felt a thrill. Had he popped another button already?

Fortunately, Diane kept a decent supply of maternity tops in advancing sizes. She reached into her desk and pulled out one she thought would just barelyfit him. When she went into Maxwell’s office, she was met with quite the surprise.

He’d had a…spill. His shirt was all wet at the chest, against the D-cups he had growing there. Maxwell wouldn’t meet her eyes, his cheeks flaming.

He was lactating!

“Oh,” Diane breathed, stunned and delighted. “Not to worry Max, it’s…completely natural,” she rambled. “We’ll get you fixed right up.” She handed him the shirt then hurried to get some tissues from the bathroom.

The next day, she had the audacity to bring him a breast pump, even at the risk of him firing her right there. But he didn’t. He just stared queasily the device, and she ducked back out of the office, wondering if he would try it, if he might like it, and if you would overdo things and pop up a couple more cup sizes.

-

Maxwell started canceling meetings. He left his office even less often than before, embarrassed about the bulge, which Diane could only glimpse occasionally when Max wasn’t parked on his ass with the desk to conceal the majority of it.

He refused to attend a meeting so vital, Diane had no choice but to step in and host it herself.

She nailed it!

“Great job in there,” said Daniel Waters, a senior executive. He was utterly charmed. “You’re really stepping it up, Cook. When are we getting you into a management position?”

Diane was stunned that he even knew her name. “I would l-love a recommendation,” she stammered.

“Consider it done.”

Diane had an application to work on.

In the days that followed, she found herself stepping in for Maxwell more and more often. She met with his clients; hosted conferences on his behalf. No one seemed to mind. As a matter of fact, they loved her.

As much as all this was benefiting her career, there was one event that Diane wasn’t going to let Max get out of.

-

It was a company-wide fitness weekend, one that Maxwell had participated in annually for years. His team usually won everything, from the tennis matches, to the basketball games, and even the relay races. He had always been competitive, always prideful about his physical fitness. A shelf in his office was lined with MVP trophies from years past.

Conveniently enough, Maxwell had agreed to host the event this year. Of course, that had been before he’d gotten himself pregnant.

Diane practically dragged him there.

She had gotten him to squeeze his transformed body into a very low-cut tank top and some spandex shorts, both pieces of clothing skin-tight on him.

By then, he was huge. He had milk-filled honeydew-sized breasts that seemed to start gushing at any moment these days. His ass was huge, bulging out behind him, bouncing and rocking as he waddled around. His whole body was now thick and curvy, plump and voluptuous, so incredibly feminine and fertile.

Maxwell was humiliated as he stood there, on the grass, hands helplessly cupping his massive torpedo belly as it throbbed, or shivered with movement.

The swell was just massive, shelving his breasts, shoving them higher. His belly outspanned his waist, just taking over his body. Diane could only wonder how many babies he had packed in there.

All around them, hundreds of executives and employees gawked at Maxwell, shocked by the transformation. Some blinked hard, as though they didn’t believe their own eyes. Others just looked aghast; like they might flee at any moment.

“Let’s s-start with some s-stretches,” Maxwell stammered out between grunts of discomfort. He was constantly fidgeting, stretching his back, pushing that mass out even farther. He was flushed and sweaty; perpetually breathless. He looked like he just wanted to collapse.

Beside him, Diane gazed proudly at her handiwork. She had achieved her goal. The mission was a success. Singlehandedly, she had ruined Maxwell Carmine. There was no scenario where his career resumed after this.

Maxwell then made the poor decision to attempt to bend forward, as he clutched his heaving midsection, which he couldn’t even encircle with his arms. It shuddered as he groaned. He managed to incline only a few inches, before one of his hands suddenly shot back to clutch his plush ass. “Nrrgghhh…!”

There was a splash of fluid, Maxwell crying out as the back of his pants were soaked.

Someone shrieked as others cursed and gasped, and Diane just gave herself a figurative pat on the back.

“GODDDDD!” Maxwell cried at a vicious contraction.

Job well done.