Kompera
patreon
Malcolm, Part 5
🕑 Added 2025-02-15 00:56:26 +0000 UTC$4/Base Directory
$7/Bronze Directory
$12/Silver Directory
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.
-
Brooks and his boyfriend had a huge fight. It seemed clear what it was about. The boyfriend wanted Brooks to go to the hospital and get induced; get that baby out of him.
Brooks refused.
Malcolm could see the tension on the live stream. He could see them arguing while gesticulating wildly. Finally, the boyfriend stormed off, leaving the house. Leaving Brooks alone and pregnant. It didn't seem like the boyfriend was coming back.
And so, Brooks continued to panic, anguish, and procrastinate. Now that his boyfriend was gone, there was nothing stopping him from doing just what he was supposed to. Going to the hospital and getting himself induced the less-natural way.
Instead, Brooks sat slumped on the couch, staring off, sort of dazed. And fuck, he was only getting bigger by the day. He looked past-term with twins, his huge belly perched on his lap, stretching out his sweatshirt.
He had sprouted some tits recently---B-cups that were rapidly growing; preparing for that baby past ready to be born. But Brooks was too stubborn, or scared, or in denial. He didn't go to the hospital. Instead, he sat in his house, rubbed his belly, and stared off. Malcolm hoped it would go on forever. He would choose this over television any day.
At home, Malcolm idled away. Peter was away again for work. Malcolm was feeling horny and lonely, and a little hungry. His favorite ice cream shop across town never let him down. He decided to go and indulge his craving.
The door chimed sweetly as Malcolm entered Brain-FrEEz. The place was empty, it being a weekday and too far from the lunch hour to draw much interest. Of course, Malcolm had anticipated this. It was his favorite time of day to stop by.
"Coming," someone called, a man near thirty, as he came out of the back room. He stopped in his tracks upon seeing Malcolm. "Oh. It's you," he said, blushing.
"Hey Drew," Malcolm said, allowing his eyes to wander over the attractive blonde. Drew was pretty in a way; effeminate by nature. He looked neat and tidy in his crisp, tan work shirt, a white apron tied over it. Even with that, Malcolm could see the very cute curve underneath it, his stomach rounded enough that he looked to be six months pregnant.
"You\'re a little--ahm--early," Drew said, patting his belly for emphasis. He tore his eyes away from Malcolm to look off, coyly.
"I just wanted to see you," Malcolm responded as he stepped closer to the chilly counter that contained all the ice cream flavors. "You look good."
"Can't get much sleep juggling six screaming kids all day, but I try," Drew responded, his tongue flicking over his chapped bottom lip.
Malcolm pushed through the swinging door that served as entry behind the counter, letting himself in. He reached out, cupping Drew's cheek.
Drew's eyelids fluttered down. He bit his lip for a moment, then said, "Last time I let you touch me, I ended up with twins."
"Is that so bad?"
"Malcolm..."
But Drew had already given in. He always did. Malcolm kissed him roughly, pressing hard into Drew's body. He navigated them to the back, his fingers pushing down a light switch he was very familiar with. Then he got them to the cot Drew kept there for the times he wanted to rest his back, which was always sore because Drew was always pregnant.
Drew loved being pregnant. He loved everything about it. Something about the feel of it, the sensation of fullness, the movement and the weight, the hormones that flooded him. He always wanted it. Even as his horde grew to be more than he could handle, he never stopped. He always welcomed Malcolm for his next fix. And Malcolm always gave Drew what he wanted.
Drew was always a good time. Malcolm took Drew from the front this round. He wasn't too big yet.
Drew groaned and arched, his legs wrapping around Malcolm's waist as they rocked together, Malcolm pumping hard inside of him. Seconds turned to minutes, Drew gripping Malcolm hard enough to leave marks. Drew's eyes seemed to go cross as he moaned and Malcolm grunted, then exploded inside of him.
Drew whined out, arching harder, his shirt pressed more firmly against Malcolm, as though --- no, it really was getting tighter. The shirt was now fitting Drew snugly where it had been loose, Drew's belly pushing and swelling, as though a month had transpired in only a couple of seconds. Malcolm just watched, licking his lips, eyes glued to Drew's expanding body.
When it was over, Drew was gasping for breath, his face pink and sweaty. "Oh god," he gasped out, clutching his swell. "H-how is this even p-possible?"
"Fuck if I know," Malcolm grinned.
Outside, the door jingled. Likely an actual customer.
"Guess you better get back to work," Malcolm said as he continued to admire his handiwork.
Drew made a wheezy noise then threw his arm across his eyes.
White-Collar Tim
Tim Harris pulled all the right strings to ensure that he could work from home as often as possible.
After all, it was getting impossible to hide what was going on with his body: the big, volleyball-sized tits bouncing on his chest, refusing to be contained even by compression garments.
He stayed home for a full week straight, doing the bare minimum of his online work, while spending the rest of his time just playing with his body. His insatiable body. His nipples were always begging to be touched, squeezed, or milked vigorously.
Malcolm stopped by a time or two, offering the attention Tim was desperately craving. Other times, Tim would go on the latest gay hookup app and find guys who were looking for something on the weirder side. This would usually lead to Tim inviting some rando to his house. Tim would straddle their laps and make them suck his tits until they were practically suffocated by the pillowy flesh and struggling to breathe.
Other times he would get fucked so hard that his nipples would squirt and spray all over the place.
The pleasure was unreal. Tim couldn't fight it. He couldn't keep his hands off his fat tits, always squeezing and massaging them.
He could hardly comprehend what had happened to him. He would stare in the mirror, astonished by his transformation. These were the biggest breasts he'd ever seen, real or fake, on anyone. Constantly bobbing and heaving. Squirting and seeping. They were so round and plump, full of milk instead of sagging the way they might have, were they not engorged.
His doctor had told him repeatedly to avoid unnecessary stimulation and lactation, but Tim just couldn't stop himself. He was practically addicted.
"The holiday?" Tim managed. He was on speakerphone with his mother, and she was asking him to come by, or something. "I d-don't know if I can," he stammered as he gave his tits another squeeze, pressing them together, watching as they squirted milk hard enough to splatter the TV several feet away from him. Tim moaned quietly, one finger sliding down to play with his fat, sensitized nipple.
"Tim, are you all right?" his mother demanded.
"F-fine," Tim stammered, coming out of his reverie.
"I'm worried about you, Timmy. You haven't been yourself lately. That's it, I'm coming over ---"
"Oh god." Tim hung up the phone, his mind too scattered to make much sense of the interaction. He just couldn't deal with it right now.
He sank back across his couch, dressed only in a pair of briefs, as he watched his sweaty tits heave up and down with his heavy breathing. They were so big, so full. They were taking over his chest. Together they were wider than the rest of his torso.
The pressure was the most intense of the sensations that littered them. That throbbing heat of his milk filling him more and more.
With a shaking hand, he reached out to grab the breast pumps off the coffee table. As much as he would prefer someone's lips deliberately teasing and sucking, the fact remained that he had to be pumped if he didn't want to jump up another cup size by the morning.
Tim attached the suction cups and turned on the machine, groaning as his breasts were pumped rhythmically. He dropped his head back, body shivering.
His pleasure-filled tits were absolutely taking over his life, and Tim just didn't know what to do about it.
Simon the Soccer Player
It was a couple weeks later, and...the classifieds ad had actually worked out.
Simon was getting "clients" regularly. At least one or two a week. Sometimes more. Sometimes enough that he could reject a few. But he tried to take a client at least once a week, and each time, he raised the price a little. Tentatively curious as to whether they would laugh in his face.
But no one ever did. They always paid him as much as he wanted, even when Simon himself thought the prices were getting to be ridiculous. It was just bizarre and kind of crazy. He had thought that the pregnancy would disgust and repel people, but these guys --- they were actually into it. In fact, they wanted him specifically for his rare affliction: the round belly bulging out from his body.
Simon was getting bigger. This worked to his advantage, as well. The bigger he got, the more desperate people were to see him, and touch him. Cup his swell as they fucked him, rambling that Simon was the most wonderful thing they had ever seen.
It was just insane. He still couldn't believe that people liked him for this. Sexually, at least. They found male pregnancy to be fascinating. A fetish, really. Or just something unique to indulge and check off their perverted lists.
Simon was now able to afford an apartment not far from the hotel. When he wasn't "working," he spent his time reading, web browsing, or watching shows on a used television he had purchased off the very site where he got his clients.
He got lonely at times, but his clients were company enough for the time being. At least until this was over with.
Simon frowned down at his belly. It was rather annoying that none of the dozen or so men he'd had sex with so far had managed to induce him. Maybe the genetic marker he needed was less common than the others. Or maybe he was just plain unlucky. This theory seemed consistent with the crappiness of the last few months. At least things were improving, finally.
Simon eased himself down on the edge of his bed with a grunt. He habitually ran his hands over his belly, if just in an effort to quell the movement lurching inside, the intensity increasing by the day. For the umpteenth time, he wondered how far along he was. He looked as though he was eight months pregnant by then, but that just didn't seem right. It couldn't have been that long.
Most of his weight gain went straight to his abdomen. He was still slim, but seemed a bit softer lately, and his nipples were strangely pointy and swollen. They were more sensitive than they had ever been.
That was the extent of his changes. To think, this would soon all be over. Simon had also made a good deal of headway in saving money to get induced at the hospital. If he kept it up with "work," he could get this whole thing taken care of in just a couple more weeks.
It was overwhelming to think about. Especially when he was confronted with the idea of a living, breathing baby. He had called a couple different adoption agencies for details. They always responded with a ton of information, so much that it rattled his brain. There was just a lot of paperwork, and so many steps as well as verification processes. He supposed he just had to take things one step at a time. Sooner rather than later, considering how big he was getting.
Simon glanced down at his watch and frowned. It was almost time to meet with his latest client at the hotel. And so, he heaved himself up with a groan then got washed up. For clients, he usually dressed himself in some of the new clothes he had purchased. Fitting, but not loose. A little tight, to be honest.
His clients liked his belly. They liked it looking as big as possible, several people hooking up with him regularly just to see how much he had grown since their prior visit. It did Simon well to emphasize the curve as much as he could. It certainly got him some good tips.
The client he was meeting that evening had promised Simon more money than he had asked for. Simon decided he might as well go all out.
He wore a button-down short-sleeved black shirt he had purchased a few weeks ago, when he had first adopted this new "occupation." It had fit him fine back then, but now it stretched tightly against his swollen belly, diamonds of flesh bulging out between straining buttons.
The material was pasted against him, stretched to maximum capacity. Simon snorted at his sight in the mirror. A couple weeks ago, the sight would have truly disgusted him. Now he just went with it.
Simon put on some jeans that had a discrete elastic waistband, then left his apartment. His driver was waiting outside.
When he got to the hotel, the people at reception still gave odd looks, but they were used to him by then. One of the workers passed over his key card with a frigid smile. "Enjoy your stay."
Indifferently, Simon took the card and headed to the elevator, hating that he was waddling now. He rubbed his belly with one hand as the lift ascended. He hoped this one was quick. His back was killing him, and he just wanted a hot bath.
Simon got his usual room, 418. He had a decent view and even a panic button if things got too wild. He left the door open just a crack as he made his way inside, sat on the bed, and drew a deep breath.
It was only a couple of moments later that the client arrived. Simon's eyes went wide. "It's you!"
"Yeah," said the guy. Big, brawny, a little roguish. He was the one who had gotten Simon into this mess; the one who\'d fucked the baby into him. "It's Malcolm, actually. I doubt you remember. We were both kind of drunk that night." His gaze trailed down to Simon's belly, drinking it in.
"What the fuck," Simon stammered, his hands clutching his swell. "How --- how did you even --- you ---y-you're here to ---"
"I'm not trying to fuck you," Malcolm clarified. "Just wanted to see you." He closed the door behind him then came over to Simon in a few comfortable strides and sat down beside him.
Simon didn't know how Malcolm had found him, or if he had even intended to. It didn't seem like this meeting was an accident. Was Malcolm stalking him?
Despite the frenzied questions circulating Simon's head, and on the tip of his tongue, Simon knew he had to prioritize. This was a rare opportunity. "You have to induce me!"
"Mmmm," Malcolm hummed, cupping Simon's belly, admiring his handiwork. "I don't know..."
"P-please," Simon felt himself falling apart. He wanted this more than anything.
"I don't think you're ready," Malcolm responded, still rubbing Simon's abdomen with his large, callused hand. "You're still so small. You don't even look at term yet."
"What does it matter?" Simon choked out. He looked close to term as far as he could tell.
Malcolm seemed to consider this. "Why don't we give it another week?" he suggested. "It'll be better. Can you be ready by then? I'll come see you in another week, and if you look ready, I'll induce you."
This was just ridiculous. Malcolm wanted him to be bigger? To look at term? How the hell was Simon supposed to...fuck it. "F-fine," Simon stammered.
"Beautiful," Malcolm murmured, though it was unclear as to whether he was addressing the agreement or Simon's belly, which his eyes were still affixed to.
Finally, Malcolm stood. He threw a clip of money onto the bed. A stack of hundred dollar bills. "Until then, kid."
Simon swallowed as he watched Malcolm leave, a determined frown etched across Simon's lips. As soon as the door closed behind the older man, he quickly grabbed the money and started counting it out.
