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Malcolm, Part 12
🕑 Added 2025-02-14 20:17:08 +0000 UTC$4/Base Directory
$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.
-
Simon the Soccer Player
Some of Simon’s clients liked to feed him.
It was becoming a thing.
Usually they just fed him candy bars from the hotel minibar, or sometimes Simon let them feed him his high-calorie protein bars.
A trusted client named Josh had even started bringing food to their meetings. He would feed Simon cookies, pastries, or sometimes chunks of mozzarella cheese.
Josh would listen to Simon’s belly gurgle, or watch Simon’s clothes get tighter. Sometimes he would make Simon eat while he was fucking him, and as awkward as that was, Simon was hit with a strange but potent surge of pleasure that shot him straight over the edge. He had never experienced anything like it, and was left gasping for breath as his belly rose and fell, his body boneless where he was sprawled across the mattress.
“Whoa,” Josh breathed. Maybe he had felt it too. He lay down beside Simon and pulled out a cigarette. After sticking into his mouth, he retrieved a lighter, but then hesitated. As though thinking better than to light it, he put the lighter away, throwing Simon a tired glance.
“God, you’re blowing up, kid. I just wanna watch you. What are you eating next?” Josh said.
Simon gulped. He already felt decidedly stuffed. He laid his hands against his overinflated midsection. God, he was just so full, so tight.
Simon must have had a weary look on his face, because Josh backed down.
“Just let me suck your nipples,” Josh said, gazing hungrily at Simon’s chest.
Simon thought for a moment. “That’ll be extra,” he managed.
“Fuck yes,” Josh said, leaning over him.
-
The following morning, Simon had a scheduled meeting with a social worker. This was his third such meeting, and he was starting to come to the disappointing conclusion that it was all entirely pointless.
Simon fidgeted somewhat from the awkwardness of the compression vest he was wearing under his shirt. It was new, but rather necessary, just to temper the decided awkwardness of the…developments on his chest. That being its growth. That being…possibly the start of…breasts.
“There have been a lot of delays, but it’s not all bad news,” Janna, the social worker, was saying. “Care Alliance reviewed your application. They just want you to make a few amendments.” Janna offered him what had to be six pages of forms, in tiny font.
If she said anything else, Simon must have tuned her out. He was feeling too dazed and anxious to take on anymore.
“I know it’s a long process,” Janna was saying as she stood.
Simon hurriedly struggled to haul his ass up from the couch cushions.
“But there’s little precedence on this. Society is still catching up. I know it’s unfair, and I’m so very sorry you’re going through this.” She threw a morbid look at his belly.
Yet more meaningless words. They had sent out countless applications. Simon had been waitlisted for a few things, but that was the best she could offer.
He watched her depart, feeling very huge and uncomfortable, and strangely indifferent about their meeting.
He gave a sigh after he locked the door, practically staggering to his bedroom, where he at least had snacks and his phone to keep him entertained as he rested.
Soon he was laying back against a pile of pillows, returning to his text conversation which seemed to be going on perpetually. He didn’t mind it.
That was pointless. Remind me not to do that again, he wrote.
srsly? Brad responded. they couldn’t help at all?
I told you, they give no fucks about people like me, Simon typed back. Belatedly, he added a laughing/crying emoji, just so that Brad wouldn’t worry that he was too upset or something.
that sucks, man. I’m so sorry.
I’ve gotten used to the disappointment. and gotten used to being a blimp.
Brad gave Simon’s latest comment of thumbs down. u should come over we should hang out.
Simon hesitated. He inhaled deeply. It’s…getting kinda bad, he admitted, his cheeks burning.
what do you mean? thre’s nothing wrong with u. actually, ur amazing. How many men do you know that can get fucking pregnant? It’s just crazy, you’re like a fuckin unicorn lol
Simon didn’t feel amazing. He felt like a freak. He hesitated for a long while, his heart racing. His free hand cupped the side of his belly. can’t come over, he finally wrote. He didn’t want Brad to see him like this. He was fucking enormous.
Brad responded only with a frowning emoji.
Dropping his head back, Simon put down the phone.
-
Simon had another client at the hotel that evening. It was a new guy. Simon was trying to see someone at least every evening. He was positively desperate to find someone that could induce him. He just wanted this damn pregnancy to be over.
Simon was surprised to find himself face-to-face not with a new client, but with Malcolm.
His body gave an almost physical reaction. He felt his insides clench, his passenger squirming. His chest felt tight and constricted, and he suddenly felt quite weak in the knees.
Though he felt like he might fall apart, he leaned back on the wall and did his damnedest to keep his composure. “You’re back,” Simon said through gritted teeth.
“You know I love to see my handiwork,” Malcolm said, gazing at Simon’s belly.
Simon swore, he probably looked as though it was at term with triplets by then. The appearance of his belly was made even bigger by how slim the rest of his body had remained. Every pound of weight Simon put on seemed to go straight to his midsection. He looked absolutely ridiculous.
“Finally ready to induce me?” Simon had to ask, hopeless as he felt.
Malcolm’s smirk widened. “I need you to do me a favor, kid.”
Simon nearly rolled his eyes. They started to sting, but he refused to cry. Malcolm loved his games, but Simon wouldn’t succumb to them.
“I want you to dress up for me. You still got one of your soccer uniforms?”
Simon stared at him.
“I know you do,” Malcolm went on. “Of course you do. That’s like your whole thing. Why wouldn’t you?”
Simon’s face heated. Of course, it was true. Soccer had been his passion. It had been a huge part of his identity. And thinking about it, he realized that he did have a uniform on hand. He practically lived in the hotel part-time now, and kept a good number of his belongings there.
“I…can,” Simon admitted, mortified that he was conceding. But he always did. “Then, will…” He coughed. “Will you help remove this little thing you left in me?” He cupped his belly.
Malcolm regarded him, his expression unchanging. “Put on the uniform,” he repeated.
Dick.
Simon hated being controlled. But it was a minor concession for…for a potential solution to all his problems. And so, with a glare, he turned and waddled over to the dresser.
It didn’t take him long to find the uniform. He remembered exactly where he’d left it, after all. He went into the bathroom, if just to deprive Malcolm the pleasure of watching him change, before he doffed the clothes he had on.
Simon pulled up the shorts first. He managed to get them on, but was surprised at how tight they had gotten at the back. Had his ass gotten larger? He grimaced at the thought.
The front waistband of the shorts were shoved down significantly by the prominent jut of his belly, but thankfully, the waistband was tight enough that the pants didn’t entirely fall down.
Simon lifted his jersey, holding it out to gaze at it, and feeling stunned by its smallness. It was tiny. It practically seemed like baby clothing. He looked at his belly with doubt.
Nevertheless, Simon pulled the jersey on.
It went down over his chest, but it was far tighter than he remembered it ever being. And unsurprisingly, it was halted by the sharp jut of his belly.
Simon sighed and tugged at it in vain, attempting to stretch the material down over his massive abdomen. It went as far as a few inches but slid back up every time.
He looked ridiculous. Shaking his head, Simon opened the door and waddled back out of the bathroom.
Malcolm barked out a laugh. “Christ,” he said.
Simon felt awkward and exposed, standing there with his huge belly sticking out in the open.
Malcolm stepped closer. “Does it remind you’ve of what you lost?” he inquired. “Look at you. Have you told your ‘clients’ who you used to be? A star soccer player?”
Simon said nothing; he simply glared.
Malcolm continued to close the distance. “You think you’re going back to playing? By the look of you, you’re on your way to being a full-time breeder.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Simon retorted, giving Malcolm a disgusted look. “Is this how you get your kicks? Fucking creep.”
“Maybe.” Malcolm was finally right in front of him, his torso mere centimeters from making contact with Simon’s jutting belly.
Simon crossed his arms over the orb, still scowling as he leaned back against the wall. His insides felt tense and particularly lurchy, but he tried not to grimace. He didn’t want to reveal his discomfort.
“They say the pheromones are insane,” Malcolm taunted. “Being around the father is supposed to turn you on. It can even make you grow.”
Simon’s lips twisted to one side, his nose wrinkling. “That’s some musk. I think it’s actually having the opposite effect,” he mocked, even though his skin was warm and prickling, as though he was burning up from within.
“You have a soccer ball?” Malcolm asked, eyeing Simon up. “I bet you could fit two of those inside that thing.”
Simon tried not envision himself holding a soccer ball, or think of the way it would certainly be dwarfed by his belly.
“Promise me you’ll keep them,” Malcolm said arbitrarily.
Simon experienced a jolt of shock. He might as well have been slapped. “Are you out of your mind?” he breathed.
“Promise me,” Malcolm repeated.
“Do you know how much time and money I’ve put into the adoption?” Simon retorted. “The whole process was hell. And I finally found a nice couple to take on your demon spawn.”
Idly, Malcolm took his chin. “God, you look good like this.”
Simon pulled out of his hold. “Care to explain your angle here? If I cancel the adoption, will you at least induce me?”
“I certainly won’t if you’re just gonna give up my kid,” Malcolm responded coldly. Then he lightly stroked Simon’s swell. “Pregnancy looks so damn good on you.”
Simon groaned at the contact, his groin stirring. Maybe there was something to this pheromones thing.
“So fucking good,” Malcolm went on. “How about a little more? Think you can grow a little more for me?”
“You’ve gotta be kidding,” Simon choked out, practically pleading. “I can’t.”
“You can,” Malcolm countered, leaning in, as though he might kiss him, as though he might—
But Malcolm pulled back. “I’ll come around again soon,” he promised. “Just don’t disappoint me.”
With that, he left.
-
Gwendolyn and Charles — the couple who had been planning to adopt the baby – did not take the news well.
Gwendolyn wouldn’t stop crying. She just sat there, with her face in her hands, sobbing audibly.
The situation could not have been more uncomfortable for Simon.
“But why?” Charles demanded for what felt like fiftieth time.
“I just…I just had a change of heart,” Simon managed.
Gwendolyn lifted her tear-streaked face. She gazed at the way Simon rubbed his massive, bulging abdomen, as though he was trying to rub it in her face.
“What about all the money we put into this?” Charles said. “The paperwork, the filing fees, hell, we even paid for your groceries!”
Simon’s throat felt tight. “I – shit, I can give you back the money,” he said quickly, even though he wasn’t sure he could. At the very least, it would drain his whole account—every bit of his savings.
Still sobbing, Gwendolyn gave a jerky nod of agreement.
Simon tried to remain composed. He could feel a lot of movement, and as tight as his clothes had gotten lately, he was certain they could see it. The couple continued to stare at his gargantuan belly, as though baffled that a single young man like him would even want to keep the thing.
Simon silently agreed that it made no damn sense. All the same, he offered a pained smile. “Why don’t we…calculate what I owe you?”
