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Malcolm, Part 14
🕑 Added 2025-06-28 16:08:42 +0000 UTC$7/Bronze Directory
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Summary: Malcolm has a unique ability. Contains: Male: belly expansion, breast expansion, stuffing, weight gain, butt expansion, pregnancy.
This story is a work of fiction. As specified throughout the story, all characters featured in this work are 18 years of age or older.
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White-Collar Tim
His phone alarm went off.
Tim wasn’t sure why he had it on anymore. It wasn’t as though he had a job.
He groggily reached out to his nightstand, grabbing his phone and turning the alarm off. He grimaced as he kicked at his bed, pushing himself into an upright position against his pillows. Then he lay there for a moment, just breathing. He stared at the ceiling, silently wishing for his living nightmare to fade. But to no avail. This was all entirely real.
Tim looked down at himself. At what had become of his formerly fit body.
“Eugh…” He was disgusted with himself. Tim had a pair of the biggest tits he had ever seen, each larger than a basketball. Huge as they were, they were round and fluffy because of how packed they were. Engorged with the surplus of milk his body was constantly producing. Tim never imagined something like this was even possible. He had been completely transformed.
Tim fumbled to reach for his nightstand again, this time wrapping his hands around a bottle of water. He brought it to his lips and chugged the 16oz beverage in only a moment. He lowered the empty bottle, panting as he wiped his mouth. His lips twisted into a frown as he thought of the long and miserable day ahead of him.
Fatigued even after a full ten hours of sleep, Tim slowly shifted himself to the edge of the bed, letting his feet hang off the mattress. Now that he was fully sitting up, he took a moment to adjust again, drawing long breaths as his hands clutched the enormous breasts protruding from his chest.
Tim felt dizzy. It had something to do with his circulation. All the disproportion and whatnot. He saw a doctor inconsistently, but she always told him the same thing. They couldn’t do anything about his massive tit growth until his pregnancy was over.
His pregnancy was almost an afterthought. He regularly forgot about it. It was just a bloat. A minor swelling of his stomach. The curve was small. He looked as though he was only six months gone. As such, it was nothing in comparison to the tremendous overhang of his massive breasts.
Tim reached into a drawer on the nightstand, pulling out his custom-manufactured breast pumps as well as a custom-made bra that was comically large. He set the bra on the mattress beside him, then went about the process of lifting his shirt and attaching the suction part of the breast pumps. The machine worked by drawing his milk through tubing to collect in a gallon-sized plastic jug.
He leaned back again against the pillows, spreading his legs out over the mattress. His teeth grit in anticipation as he turned the machine on.
All his muscles tensed, his face instantly reddening as the machine started the work of pumping his milk out of him. He did his best to breathe through the overstimulation. He twitched and grunted, but tried to stay still. Not for the first time, Tim wondered if this whole process was just pointless.
The problem with the breast pump was that it was very stimulating to his mammary tissue. And his body’s response to stimulation was to produce more milk. So, while the pump alleviated him of several pounds of weight and the discomfort of carrying so much fluid, it didn’t take long for the milk to come gushing back, filling him to capacity. Tim hardly made it three hours before he was so full that he was close to tears, and desperate for another milking.
It was an exhausting, detrimental cycle, but Tim couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t think he had any hopes of resolving his dilemma until the parasite inside him was extricated.
Malcolm was probably laughing it up somewhere. That was his whole thing. The sadist.
Tim released a long groan as the pump stopped, beeping to indicate that the container had filled up. Cursing under his breath, he heaved himself upright to retrieve the spare container sitting empty on the nightstand. Another half-gallon of output and he would be done for the time being.
After Tim had finished pumping both of his breasts of as much milk as he could, he felt a good deal more comfortable. The ache in his back had dumbed down to a stiffness. He looked at his output in the second jug of milk, and noted that he was a bit above the halfway point now. He estimated that it was about two thirds of the way full now. With a grimace, he lightly rubbed the side of his left breast. He was making more milk every day. He was becoming a fucking cow. He chuckled darkly to himself.
As Tim shifted to the edge of the bed again, he was certainly lighter. His two breasts were no longer painfully round, but still quite plump and perky.
Tim stood. He hummed in pleasure as he stretched his back. He tugged his tank top back down over his chest, shivering slightly as the worn cotton dragged over his fat nipples. The top didn’t pull down over his rounded belly, which was protruding out over the waistband of his boxers.
Tim threw a glance down at his bra. He would wait to put it on. Maybe after he washed up. It wasn’t every day that he had the strength to take a shower, but Tim felt surprisingly good about this morning, and wanted to take advantage of it.
Before going to the bathroom, Tim made a stop in the kitchen. As he walked, his hands cupped the side of his breasts out of habit, steadying them. He withdrew a liter-sized bottle of juice, unscrewing the cover, and drinking directly from the opening. He chugged it all down in only moments, breathing heavily once he had finished. He tossed the bottle in a nearby trashcan. His eyes trailed over the numerous containers of beverages that lined the fridge door and the bottom shelves. Juices, sodas, protein shakes, and even a few jugs of milk. His thirst was relentless lately. He imagined it had something to do with all the fluid he was releasing through his breast milk.
Tim took a shower. He tried to be economic with his time. He could practically feel himself getting heavier.
Yet somehow he still able to enjoy himself, stumbling back against the wall, the pleasure of the cool water proving to be as blissful as it was arousing. He gazed at the way the soapsuds sluiced between his heaving orbs. He reached down towards his groin and decided to give himself an extra five minutes.
Despite the cool shower, Tim was sweating by the time he headed back to his bedroom to get dressed. He was still wearing just a robe when he realized he had forgotten to clean up the jugs of milk from his early morning pumping session. Tim sighed as he retrieved them. A gallon and 2/3rds. Clutching the containers at his sides, he made his way back to the kitchen, grimacing as his tits wobbled. He could already feel the latest batch coming in.
He poured the containers of milk into the sink. It seemed like a waste, but he could never think of anything more creative to do with it. His milk just felt…unholy, somehow. Like it needed to be purged. Tim’s throat felt dry as he watched the creamy fluid flow down the drain.
Once Tim went back to his bedroom, he got into the custom-made bra he had laid out. It certainly compressed things, but it felt better than the alternative, which was having his tits wobble around restrained. He frowned at the way his flesh seemed to overflow in it, the top of the cups pinching into his skin. But it should last him a few weeks longer. And maybe by then, his pregnancy would be over.
Tim got into some clean boxers then pulled on another tank top. Though it was huge,and stretchy, it barely managed to pull over his tits.
Finally, Tim dragged on a pair of sweatpants, the waistband sitting beneath the bulge of his belly.
That’s better, he thought, as he gave himself a onceover in the mirror. He couldn’t help reflecting on how absurd he looked. Even on the days when he found the energy to get up and get dressed, he hardly left the house anymore. Now that he was unemployed, there was no reason it. He had his groceries delivered. He hired people through apps for errands. His life had gotten quite easy and sedentary.
Tim could feel his strength declining even as he stood there. His stomach grumbled as a reminder. It was breakfast time.
Before starting his meal, Tim chugged down another beverage, this time a protein shake. Normally he would make himself a massive egg scramble, but he just didn’t want to be on his feet anymore. He pulled a bag of frozen pancakes out of the freezer, dumped it all into a huge bowl, and shoved the bowl into the microwave. After only three minutes, they were sufficiently warm. He poured some butter and syrup over them. More than some. Lots. But that wasn’t enough. Tim went into his freezer and got a gallon of chocolate ice cream. He dumped that over his breakfast as well, until the pancakes were just swimming in fluids.
He brought the bowl to the kitchen table and eased himself down. He released a sigh and dug in.
Tim ate voraciously, his belly gurgling in appreciation. He ate and ate until he was red in the face. Once he had finished, he released a belch, and leaned back, feeling uncomfortably stuffed, yet still contemplating on all the other processed treats he had in his freezer. His hand idly cradled his belly, smearing it with cream and icing. It felt firmer than it had before his meal. He released another belch.
Tim was slumped in his seat.
The fatigue was really getting extreme. His gaze wandered to the window and he couldn’t help noting how bright and breezy it looked outside.
Sometimes he thought of just taking a drive. Getting out of the house and cruising around the neighborhood.
Maybe another day, Tim told himself.
He didn’t want to stand, but his back was getting sore again, and he could hardly hold his head up. He needed rest. Tim braced his hands against the table edge and got his feet beneath him. He did his best to sit straighter as he pushed his chair out a bit.
He heaved himself to his feet, keeping a hold of the table as he steadied himself. Panting, he took a tentative step forward, and then another. Breakfast always made him sleepy. He practically staggered to the living room, where he eased himself down across the couch, sinking into the soft cushions. It felt heavenly. His eyelids grew heavier.
Yet again, he considered the irony of how small his baby-bump was. He was sure that he could have hidden it easily enough. Gone to work, and no one would have been the wiser.
But instead, he had grown a freakishly massive pair of lactating breasts.
Tim’s eyelids connected. Before he knew it, he had dozed off.
-
When Tim awoke, it took him a while to figure out where he was and what time it was. All his days had begun to bleed into each other. It was always the same routine of mundane nothingness. Which was ironic, being that he was in an exceptionally condition.
Tim rubbed his eyes.
The first thing he registered was the stinging of his nipples and the wetness of his shirt. He looked down to see he was leaking, to the point that the couch cushions beneath him were getting damp. His breasts were visibly engorged, now uncomfortably round and heavy, his nipples looking as though they had doubled in size since he had passed out.
He groaned and shifted, fumbling, but realizing he had left his electric breast pump in the bedroom. He cursed under his breath, shifting some more, cupping the sides of his orbs. The bra had grown painfully constricting, his flesh feeling hot and tight, tight enough to burst.
His stomach whined. One of his hands reached down to rub it. It seemed he had several different needs to attend to.
