Malcolm, Part 6 (Patreon)

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Summary: Malcolm has a unique ability. Though male pregnancy is so rare most people don't believe in it, Malcolm can impregnate any guy. Not only does Malcolm have this ability, but he quite enjoys using it. Malcolm loves to give unsuspecting men the night of their lives, before he disappears, and leaves them oblivious of the fact that they are pregnant--likely with multiples. Malcolm enjoys watching his victims as they progressively blow up with his babies. He likes targeting men already under stress--college students, athletes, CEOs, engaged men, family men, interns--the list goes on. This is a story about Malcolm watching his various victims as they struggle to conceal or adapt to their conditions. Contains: Male: belly expansion, breast expansion, stuffing, weight gain, butt expansion, pregnancy.

Previous Chapter 

-

Introducing…

Jax with the Tats

“Not bad,” Jax said as he held the handgun at arm’s length, feeling the weight of it. He ignored the strands of hair hanging in his eyes as he aimed at the dumpster on the opposite end of the alleyway.

“Trust me, it’s a good deal,” said Rocko, his grin warped by the scar crossing his lips.

“It better be,” Jax said, shoving the gun into his waistband. The neckline of his tank top was loose, hanging low enough to reveal the narrow tattoos on his chest. A simple pair of horns, the sleek design curving up from between his pecs to either side of his collarbone. Jax had several other tattoos, including a full left sleeve. He pulled some cash out of his pocket, shoving the money into Rocko’s sternum.

“Hey, what’s the rush?” Rocko said, pocketing the money regardless. “I’ve got something else for you.” He withdrew a crumpled bag from the depths of his jacket. “Pure Colombian snow.”

But just the scent of it left Jax’s stomach roiling. “Shit, Rocko, get that out of my face. You know I’m clean now,” Jax said, unable to help looking away. He hoped Rocko hadn’t seen the way he had almost gagged.

“Since when?” Rocko said incredulously.

“Since, fuck off!” Jax snapped back. “Now get out of here with that, you dumb fuck! I’m not trying to end up back in jail.”

Rocko’s grin returned. He tucked the drugs back into his jacket. “A pleasure doing business with you.”

Jax just waved him off as he headed to the front of the apartment building. His free hand slid down to his abdomen. This stomach bug just wasn’t letting up.

-

Simon the Soccer Player

Simon still couldn’t believe that he was actually trying to put on weight. It seemed counterproductive. But it was what that prick— that Malcolm guy — had called for. Malcolm had said that Simon needed to be bigger if he wanted to get induced. So Simon was going to do anything he could to make that happen, short of waiting. And so he found himself pigging out.

He kept it simple. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He would eat loads of them each day, sloppily throwing them together. Heavy, and easy, and at least there was some protein. Between sandwiches, he would snack on cheese sticks, ice cream, and corn chips, suddenly feeling like a kid again. It was all his favorite junk food from childhood, the kind of stuff you stop eating once you hit adulthood. In the evenings he ordered take-out, usually burgers or pizza, sometimes Chinese. He felt like a total slob, but he tried to treat it as some sort of cheat week.

He was an athlete, after all. As good as junk food tasted, Simon had gotten accustomed to taking care of his body. It didn’t feel good to gorge himself with fattening, processed foods. It made him feel drowsy, heavy, and generally lethargic.

He had ordered meal bars online, specialty ones meant to help boost weight in the elderly and people suffering from malnutrition for varied reasons. Simon had almost flinched when he read the nutrition facts. They were 1,000 calories a piece.

Yet he ate those as well, chomping them down, having one on hand for the seldom moments he wasn’t already stuffing down sandwiches or other crap.

Simon found himself watching a lot of television. He had always been outdoorsy, but had lost all will to go outside ever since the pregnancy had started showing. He didn’t even like running errands anymore. All his trips seemed limited to going to the hotel and back, with his head down. If he needed food or other items, they had to be delivered. Being locked in his apartment all the time was certainly isolating, but at least he had the TV to keep him company until his pregnancy was over with.

It must have been hours that Simon had been sitting there that day, feeling rather wedged in the used recliner he had purchased through the classifieds.

He heaved himself up, grimacing as it took more effort than ever before. Frowning to himself, he waddled to the bathroom. He relieved his bladder then went to the sink, where he found himself confronted by the mirror.

Simon was wearing just some briefs and a tank top, both feeling too small on him. The top was clearly too tight, stretched over his abdomen, yet unable to contain his large belly, several inches of which were pushing out visibly beneath the hem.

Simon had rapidly outgrown everything in his closet. He was a little stunned by how quickly and easily he had managed to put on weight. Pregnancy was proving to be fucking weird. It was still hard to rationalize how the human body could just blow up like a balloon.

Simon continued to study his reflection. His clients seemed to be enjoying it, at least. He was a little softer at the hips and ass, even his chest appearing a little…fuller now, in a way that made him wrinkle his nose. But most of the calories were going straight his belly. He swore, he looked like a damn whale. He looked at term, at the very least. Yet he was still actively packing on pounds, just to be safe. Just so Malcolm couldn’t argue. But of course, the prick hadn’t bothered to show up yet.

Simon covered his mouth against a belch, his cheeks heating at his increasingly gluttonous appearance. He just wished there was a way to contact the man. It had already been two weeks, which was one more than it should have been. Yet no sign of that Malcolm guy. What if he didn’t bother to show up at all? Simon cursed under his breath, his hand absently cupping an uncomfortable twinge of movement under his navel.

He tried to look at the upside of things. His “clients” were loving his changes, each willing to pay him nearly double his original fee. Simon was accumulating a nice little stash of savings and would soon be able to afford to get himself induced even without Malcolm’s help.

Of course, Simon was exhausted, and it was harder to get around now. He had a heavy waddle and no flexibility, his body feeling awkward, fragile, and huge. He was often dozing or just feeling lethargic, and could hardly bring himself to get up from the recliner most evenings. He had cut back on his “dates” with clients, barely seeing even one a week now. He had even missed a couple of his appointments at the hotel. Though he was making more money per client, it wasn’t as though his income had increased much, if at all, given how much he was slacking.

Who could blame him? He was a blimp.

Simon was so exhausted, he’d even started seeing some clients right at his apartment rather than going through the trouble of hauling himself to the hotel. He knew it probably wasn’t smart, but Simon doubted it would matter in another few days — a few weeks, max. The bare-bones apartment was just a temporary living space for him. After he gave birth, Simon would go back to college, keep his head down, and disappear into the masses of students. He would be forgotten and so would his odd foray into maternity. This pregnancy was some ludicrous side quest, but soon Simon would be resuming his normal life. Just the thought was comforting.

Simon glanced up at the clock. It was a good thing he had gotten up. He had a client coming in the next couple minutes, and suspected he would have been dozing in the living room at this very moment had he not hauled himself up to use the bathroom.

After a quick stop in the kitchen, Simon waddled toward his bedroom, a hand clutching his belly, as though to stabilize the plump, prominent swell jutting out from his body. His free hand clutched a double-stacked peanut butter sandwich and there was a a spare meal bar tucked into the waistband of his briefs.

Between bites of food, Simon did his best to get dressed, but his new custom clothing order hadn’t arrived yet. Everything he put on refused to either fit, button, or be pulled down over his abdomen. After several minutes of straining and struggling, his face red, Simon finally managed to get a button-down closed around him. As he released the breath he had been holding, several buttons popped off, ricocheting into the wall. He cursed, cupping the underside of his belly. He had really liked this shirt. Which seemed silly, as there would never be another occasion to warrant it.

There was a pounding on his apartment door. Simon released another curse, looking down at his state. He just had on some sweatpants and the shirt, his belly protruding through gaping openings as the last few buttons struggled to hold on.

“Fuck it,” Simon muttered. It wasn’t as though he would be needing clothes for this “job” anyway. He took another bite of his sandwich as he made his way to the living room, not caring about his sloppy appearance.

He absently rubbed his chest with the heel of his free hand, uncomfortable with how soft he was getting there. His nipples were often sore and tingly, which didn’t bode well for him based on some of his online research…

Simon finally made it over to the door, unlocked it, and slid it open. He stared in surprise at who it was. Then a relieved sigh puffed out of his lungs. “Finally,” he said, stepping aside. This could finally be over.

Malcolm was here.

Malcolm walked in, looking around. “You got a nice place here,” he said as he sat down on the couch, making himself comfortable.

“Yeah, thanks,” Simon said sarcastically, closing and locking the door behind him. “Let’s get this over with.” He felt a rush of nerves at the thought of what male labor would entail, but fuck, it would be worth it. He just wanted this pregnancy to be over.

Malcolm raised a questioning brow, playing stupid for some reason.

“I did what you wanted,” Simon said, his face flushing in irritation. This guy had better not be fucking with him. “I made myself a fucking whale.” Simon motioned at his huge, heaving belly. He felt breathless and tired. “Let’s go. Chop, chop. Time to induce me.”

But Malcolm seemed all but interested in the frantic college flunky. His gaze had drifted to some paperwork on the cheap coffee table. He reached out, lifting a pamphlet. “Adoption, huh?”

Simon was puzzled by the diversion. “Well, yeah. I’m in college.” Malcolm gave him a dubious look. “I mean, I’ll be going back to college. I’m not up for raising a kid, so yeah, I’m going the adoption route.”

Malcolm sighed, dropping the pamphlet, allowing it to flutter back onto the pile of adoption paperwork. He leaned back in his seat, looking up at Simon again as he crossed a leg over his knee. “I’m not a fan,” he said, simply.

Simon was breathing heavily. His back was tense, starting to ache, and he deeply wanted to sit down. But not now. Not until this was handled. His hands absently rubbed his swell, trying to pacify a sudden onslaught of activity. “You want it?” Simon wasn’t too certain about giving his kid up to such a sketchy character, but Malcolm was technically the father – other father. And at that point Simon was probably willing to do anything not to be the size of a fucking woolly mammoth anymore.

“I’m not really the parental type,” Malcolm admitted.

“Then what the fuck do you want!?” Simon demanded indignantly.

“I was hoping you would take to motherhood,” Malcolm went on casually. “They say that pregnancy changes people. Biologically. It’s the connection, all the hormones. After the birth, it only intensifies. And you’re already doing such a good job. You seem so protective and nurturing.” Malcolm nodded to the way Simon was rubbing the swell with this hands.

Simon’s hands froze as he stood there stunned, certain that this was some demented joke. “You don’t even know me,” he said in bafflement. “I don’t know you. Why the hell would you expect me to raise your kid? Haven’t you fucked up my life enough as it is? Are you insane?”

Malcolm just sat there and watched him, and by his silence—by that subtle curve of his lips—Simon realized that this went beyond the appeal. This was just pure sadism.

“Please,” Simon blurted, beyond shame, and desperate enough to beg. “Please, I’ll do anything.” Somehow he got himself down on his knees, grunting at the shift in gravity. He clasped Malcolm’s legs. “You like this, right? Me all big and fat with your baby? Tell me what you want.” He slid his hands along Malcolm’s thighs. “I’ll make you feel good—”

“Get up.”

Simon breathlessly looked up at Malcolm’s stern face. He weakly nodded, gripping onto Malcolm’s knees for leverage. He once again heaved himself up to his feet, struggling and groaning in effort, his back shuddering. He stumbled slightly as he straightened, another button snapping off his shirt.

Malcolm leaned forward in his chair. Close enough for his nose to graze Simon’s swollen abdomen. “Skinny little soccer kid,” he muttered, as he idly cupped the swell. “Look at you now. Look what I did to you.”

Simon whimpered. Malcolm’s calloused hand continued to rub along his bare flesh.

“Maybe…” Malcolm muttered. He tore open the remnants of the shirt, allowing Simon’s bare abdomen to protrude fully out. “Maybe a little bigger.”

Simon’s breath shuddered in his throat.

“Keep doing what you’re doing. We’ll give it more time.”

“No…” Simon protested.

But Malcolm was standing, his hand holding Simon’s hips to keep the younger man steady in their close proximity to each other. He ushered Simon back a step.

“You’ll be there in no time,” Malcolm said as he pulled out his wallet.

Malcolm left a money clip, with a fresh stack of hundred-dollar bills, on the coffee table. Then he walked to the door and left the apartment, Simon standing frozen, lips parted.