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The Janitor, Part 3
🕑 Added 2022-03-07 01:16:35 +0000 UTCStory Directory: $5 Patrons
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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.
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The janitor liked to fuck him during work hours, in Derek’s office, his large, calloused hand covering Derek’s mouth against the grunts trying to escape.
Derek hated the man, and yet somehow he was still allowing this. Succumbing to it. Every time it happened, Derek told himself that it was the last time. But it was never the last time because he was addicted.
When it was over, Derek usually pretended that nothing had happened, if just for the sake of his own sanity. He was presently smoothing down his trousers and buttoning himself back into his shirt. But then he felt a bloom of tension that made him groan, his face flushing, and his back arching, as an unfamiliar sensation of strain filled him to the brim. His shirt tightened against him, buttons straining as he clutched his stomach which impudently shoved outwards. He looked down at himself, gasping for breath as he took in the way his clothes had grown tighter in just moments, the pressure mitigating but not taking with it the bloat. He looked as though he could’ve gained at least two inches in the past couple seconds. “What the fuck?” he breathed. There was no way this could be normal. He looked at the janitor who just gave a languid smile as he buttoned himself back into his uniform.
Breathless and sweaty, Derek sunk into his desk chair. “Fuck,” he repeated.
The janitor finished getting dressed and came over to face Derek. He reached down and idly cupped the swell of Derek’s belly. It was getting huge.
The janitor’s hand slid up, now caressing Derek’s chest.
Derek slapped the hand away. Face red, Derek folded his arms over his chest, grimacing at the sensation this produced. His skin there had gotten puffy and sensitive; almost plump.
“Getting big,” said the janitor, looking quite smug.
Derek responded with a rude hand gesture.
The janitor went over to his cart and began to rummage around. He withdrew a massive thermos as well as a glass, before pouring some of the contents of the thermos into the glass. It was thick and white. Derek recognized it as the same milkshake the janitor had given him previously.
The janitor placed it on the desk in front of Derek. “Drink,” he ordered.
Derek shot a glare. “You can leave now,” he deadpanned.
The janitor gave him one more wary look, before taking hold of his cart and rolling it to the door. He left, maybe to go do some work for a change. As the door shut behind him, Derek slumped deeper into his seat, holding his temples. Sometimes he wondered what the hell he was doing with his life. Not that fucking the janitor could make his predicament any worse. Still, there had to be a strategy other than fucking, eating, and working, while desperately hoping that no one noticed he had several illegitimate children trying to explode out of his torso.
The stares were getting worse. Or perhaps Derek was imagining it. Lately he was withdrawn around the office, which was atypical for him, considering his executive position. But the more he holed up in his office, the more people seemed to seek him out, and look at him, and gawk at what had become of his midsection. This could hardly pass as a beer belly anymore.
Derek had canceled a slew of meetings just that week. He leaned more heavily on junior executives to oversee accounts and meet with investors. But his steady withdrawal from responsibility was not going unnoticed. There were whispers and stirrings. Derek knew he couldn’t keep this up. Not if he didn’t want to be pushed out entirely.
“You’re underweight,” Dr. Porter said at Derek’s monthly checkup.
Derek was appalled. “You have to be kidding. I can’t stop eating. I’m a damn blimp!”
The OB/GYN — yes, Derek was seeing a fucking OB/GYN — seemed all but impressed with Derek’s metaphor. “Indeed. But you’re carrying triplets. And men already have lower fat stores than women. Additionally, men have narrower pelvises, so the fetuses tend to protrude outwards a bit more. I’m going to prescribe you some supplements.” He scribbled something down then handed the paper over to Derek.
Derek scanned the words with his eyes. The doctor wanted him on some nutritional beverages. Three a day. They were the ones Derek used to bring for his frail grandmother before she passed away. Derek grimaced at the physician. “Is that all?”
“As you know, your condition is completely unprecedented. You are only the second male client I’ve worked with, and the first known man to be carrying multiples. I think it would be wise to increase your checkups to biweekly instead of —”
“Once a month is more than enough,” Derek grumbled, sitting up with more effort than he was used to needing. He couldn’t believe how rapidly his body was transforming. He hardly recognized himself anymore. He cupped his belly, frowning down at it. Absolutely disgusting.
Derek spent the weekend at home in sweatpants, drinking chocolate-flavored nutritional shakes. They actually weren’t as bad as he had thought they would be. He chugged down his fifth for the day before lowering the empty bottle and releasing a belch. His stomach gurgled. Well, he thought facetiously, the babies seem to like it. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and threw the bottle in the trash bin.
He was already six months pregnant, but he swore he looked nine. Fucking triplets. The waistband of his sweatpants were shoved low beneath the jutting swell of his belly. He had a tank top stretched over the mound, though it didn’t pull down all the way, his belly bulging out at the bottom. He hadn’t been willing to invest in new clothes, at least not new casual-wear. Work clothes were a necessity, but he wouldn’t pretend that his condition was anything but a freakish one-off by buying a whole fucking pregnancy wardrobe.
He couldn’t stop eating. His condition left him ravenous. How could he be underweight? But then, he was carrying three damn babies.
His phone rang at some point between his shoving a handful of butter-slathered popcorn into his mouth, and watching a third episode of a police procedural he just couldn’t remember the name of. Derek answered it. “Yeah?”
“Hey bro. I’m in town for work, thought I’d swing by. Maybe we can get drinks or something.”
Derek tensed. It was his brother, Evan. Derek hadn’t seen him in months, probably not since the start of this whole thing, back when Derek hadn’t known what was happening. “R-Really?” he choked out. “I’ve been kinda busy with work myself. W-when were you planning to pass through?”
The doorbell rang. “I’m outside,” Evan laughed. “Well if you’re busy, I guess I’ll just say hi and bye. Open up.”
Derek cursed under his breath. “Hold on,” he said, hanging up. He heaved himself off the couch, grunting with effort. He swore, in the matter of weeks, he had turned into a whale. He looked around his living room. The place was a mess, junk and food wrappings everywhere. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered, cupping his belly and staring down at it in dread. There was no hiding this thing. Derek made his way to his bedroom, refusing to acknowledge how awkward his gait was getting lately. He rummaged in his closet, eventually pulling out the largest shirt he owned. It was a gift from an old girlfriend. He hadn’t cared enough to tell her that it was the wrong size. Derek pulled it on, and it wasn’t extremely tight, but it did nothing to conceal the bump, the fabric still stretching over the odd shape of his form. It did cover his skin, at least. Then Derek just froze, staring down at himself. He couldn’t do this. He felt his breathing go thin.
The doorbell rang several more times in quick succession. Then his cell phone started ringing again as well. Maybe he could tell Evan that he didn’t feel well. Maybe he could convince his brother to just leave.
Then, as Derek was walking back into the living room, he remembered the spare key he kept at the top edge of the door frame. And it seemed that Evan had remembered it as well. The lock started to turn. Derek froze in panic, fruitlessly trying to cover the bulge with his arms.
Evan walked inside, looking around with an incredulous expression. “What the hell…” He trailed off as he finally turned his attention to Derek. His eyes went huge, his mouth falling open.
“I’m — pregnant,” Derek forced out.
It took Evan a moment to speak. “What?” He coughed. “Is this a weird joke?” But as Evan scrutinized him, he took in Derek’s other changes. Derek’s rounder face, flushed cheeks, and the puffiness of his chest. Evan realized that this wasn’t fake.
“Yes, it’s…a thing now,” Derek managed. “It—it’s rare, but it’s b-been happening to men all over the world. I’m — I’m only the forty-sixth case.” He could feel his voice weakening, his energy draining. He was completely mortified. He tried to swallow against the growing lump in his throat and blamed the fucking hormones. His hands clutched his swell. Why couldn’t he stop touching the thing?
Evan appeared a mixture of horrified and disgusted. “How…how did this even happen?” His eyes lifted from Derek’s abdomen, holding his gaze, asking. And Derek knew his mortification gave it away, Derek eyes shooting to the floor. “Did you — did you fuck a dude?” Evan said. “I didn’t even know you were…”
“Uh…well…” It was brutally uncomfortable to discuss his sexual exploits with his brother. Derek had never really acknowledged himself as being gay. That much was painfully obvious now. Closeted, homosexual, and fucking pregnant. His family was conservative. They didn’t believe in this shit. Hell, Derek hardly believed in it either. He would never settle down with a guy or anything; it was just a little fun.
“Do mom and dad know?” said Evan tightly. He was looking away, his disgust only compounding. “Or Amy?”
“God, no.” Derek’s younger sister had been struggling to get pregnant for at least a year. “Please don’t tell them.”
“I think they’re going to find out. And soon,” said Evan coldly.
But maybe not. Derek had yet to make any decisions on what he planned to do after they were born. “I still have three months to go…” he said weakly.
“What?” said Evan in clear bafflement. “But you’re—you’re—”
“Huge,” Derek agreed, his face growing hotter. He felt a strange shift of sensation, and groaned, rubbing the side of his bump.
“What is it?” said Evan.
“I think…movement,” said Derek breathlessly. “Its, uh, triplets.”
Evan had heard enough. “This is — I have to go,” he turned back to the door, opening it, but then paused. “Derek, why would you do this to yourself?”
“I didn’t do it on purpose. It’s a freak accident.”
“I find that kind of hard to believe,” said Evan, before he walked out. And Derek had no doubt that his whole family would find out.
-
The janitor was always leering at him.
Derek pretended not to notice, but it was as uncomfortable as it was arousing, Derek’s skin starting to prickle wherever the janitor’s eyes caught it.
Derek called the janitor to his office often lately. A spilled beverage. A dusty banister. Derek would make up excuses to get the janitor alone. And maybe Derek’s work was suffering, but his body, his body felt amazing to be fucked so frequently and diligently.
After their latest session over Derek’s lunch break, Derek struggled with his pants button, where it was shoved down by the sharp curve of his abdomen. The janitor just watched, enjoying the way Derek’s wardrobe seemed to get tighter on him every day. The janitor smirked as if to say, I did this to you, and everyone can see it. I made you fat. I filled you with babies. You’re my bitch, and I own you. And soon there won’t be one person at this company who doesn’t know it.
Derek felt a flush come on, his eyelids fluttering. It was hard to get used to the constant bombardment of emotions. Disgust, hatred, excitement, arousal. It was all illogical, and yet he was enduring it. He would never get used to his condition. He honestly didn’t know why any person would subject themself to this sort of thing.
The arousal was all-consuming, and as much as he enjoyed it, it was a strange relief to get away. The separation was sobering, and Derek could see his life through a broader lens and clearer perspective. There was nothing impairing his judgment and his decision-making when he left the office and the janitor’s purview while broaching that crucial separation between work and life. Lately, there seemed like too much of an overlap. With the janitor, and the pregnancy, and everything.
That evening, John wanted to meet for coffee. It made sense. As a private investigator, John obviously knew that sharing information in person was the most secure way to go about it these days.
Derek just didn’t want to have to introduce the awkwardness of his form. At the workplace, his changes were gradual, not as sharp as when he saw someone for the first time in a long time. In that case, the changes would pop out to the other person. Then again, it was a stupid thing to dwell on, when he had far greater problems than his looks. He doubted he was hiding anything from anyone lately. The grunts at work would give him the most puzzled of looks. All it would take was a web search, and everyone would know his secret, if they didn’t already.
And so, wearing his largest work shirt — which didn’t seem very large lately — Derek went to the chosen coffee shop to meet John without delay.
