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Delayed, Part 3 - Male Version
🕑 Added 2022-07-27 17:29:09 +0000 UTCStory Directory: $5 Patrons
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Note: This is a male version of Delayed.
Summary: A man makes web cam videos, and is paid to display his pregnancy online. The bigger he grows, the more money he makes. He even takes drugs to delay labor to maximize his income, and promises his clients that he will give birth naturally, and livestream it. People even start placing bets on the day he’ll finally give birth. The man pushes himself to his absolute limit, and finally can’t hold his babies in any longer. He makes the final arrangements and gets ready to induce himself, when suddenly, at the very last moment, an anonymous follower offers him $10,000,000 to put off his delivery for another month, and sends an advance of $1,000,000 just so he knows he’s serious. Contains: Male: pregnancy, belly expansion, breast expansion, and more.
-
A large part of Peter’s life became about trying to hide his extreme discomfort from Brad.
When Brad was around, Peter was pleasant and composed, always presenting himself as content and comfortable in his extreme state of pregnancy.
But when they were apart, Peter became a flushed, gasping mess. He grunted out just to bear the pressure sometimes. Other times, his belly would actually shudder, and he feared he might burst right there.
But he, of course, never did. The human body was truly something. It’s capacity for adaptation was remarkable.
People stared wherever Peter went. He had grown beyond the point of earning sympathy. Instead people offered looks of shock and fascination as he hauled his mound around on his torso. He was certain that the onlookers had never seen anyone quite as pregnant as he was. He hadn’t himself.
Peter’s ass and breasts were filling out, his belly resembling a beachball in its massiveness. And he couldn’t seem to stop eating. If he wasn’t indulging in long, heavy meals, he was snacking constantly. Sometimes Peter could hardly bring himself up to a standing position, instead finding himself planted on his living room recliner for hours on end, groaning and rubbing his girth.
Somehow he managed to keep up with work. He continued to livestream regularly, his face straining to maintain its smile, though his viewers pleasured in his discomfort anyway. Some were simply mystified.
i thought he was supposed to give birth…
Should u rly be pushing urself so far?
Dis shit is crzy
God, it’s so hot.
keep going. Never give birth!
Peter just gave a sexy smirk and assured them, “I’m riding this out as long as I can.”
His skin remained smooth and unblemished in consequence of the creams and oils Peter used continuously. Often his belly was decorated with bulges and twitches, where limbs poked and jabbed, squirming in the tight space, testing their parent’s capacity.
“Goddd…” Peter breathed one morning as his belly gave a forceful jerk. Face flushing, he rubbed hard into his flanks, willing the babies to calm down. The mound gave another powerful heave that left him squirming and breathless. His right hand unconsciously slid down, towards his swollen groin. His babies were so low and heavy, almost pushing for release. He wasn’t in labor, but he felt as though they might start popping right out. “Mmmmghhhh…” His thighs squirmed and his ass clenched. He felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He struggled to contain it all.
The doorbell rang, pulling Peter out of his overwhelmed state. He blinked a few times, while panting. Right, he thought, trying to regain some semblance of composure. That would be Richard with the kids.
“Fudge,” Peter grunted, frowning down at the huge orb settled in his lap. Standing up was a process that he was truly starting to resent.
He rested his hands against the kitchen table and steeled himself as he took a deep breath. It took two attempts, but with a prolonged moan, he managed to get himself to his feet. One of his hands automatically slid to his tense back, the other clutching the underside of his belly, not that this offered much in terms of support.
Panting heavily, Peter waddled his way to the door. He opened it and tried to breathe evenly. He tried to look put-together, and not like a straining, flustered, overpacked mess, his babies quavering for freedom inside him.
Richer didn’t buy it. He gave Peter an odd look as he walked inside, a twin clutched to either hip. He was keeping the other three children over the weekend, thank goodness. Richard lowered the girls carefully, allowing them to toddle off as he continued to appraise his ex. “Peter…” he said slowly.
Peter was wearing some shorts that showed off his straining legs and plump bubble of an ass, as well as a T-shirt that had already been altered and extended to accommodate the huge mass of his belly. He had outgrown it in the past week or two, his breasts straining the chest. The hem only pulled down just under his navel. Richard’s eyes seemed to gravitate to that exposed curve of flesh. Richard had never really been able to control himself when Peter was pregnant, especially when he was far along.
Of course, now he was beyond term. Richard’s gaze travelled steadily, truly taking in the curves of Peter’s fecund body.
“Thanks for dropping them off,” said Peter neutrally. He grimaced and arched somewhat against a baby’s squirming inside him. His belly button twitched visibly. His top slid, and he couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped his throat. Please, just five minutes, he pleaded internally.
Richard’s eyes absorbed everything. Finally, they snapped to Peter’s face. “Are you…okay?” he said in a careful manner.
Peter wasn’t sure if Richard cared or not, but Peter was undeniably his primary focus at that moment. “Fine,” Peter forced out. “Everything’s fine.” He wished he was sitting on the couch or the recliner, but he refused to show weakness before Richard was out of the house.
“Why are you pushing your body so far?” said Richard, his eyes narrowing. There was no concern, just his usual contempt and suspicion overlapping his arousal. “And don’t lie—I’m not an idiot. There’s no way you aren’t past term by now. How many are you even carrying, Peter? You’re huge.”
“None of your business, Richard,” said Peter with pleasure. “Not anymore.”
Richard sneered. “Is this about your ridiculous videos?”
“Like you don’t watch them.”
Richard’s cheeks colored, but he continued to glare. “You’re insane,” he muttered. “I feel sorry for those kids.” His eyes again flickered to Peter’s abdomen. “But you’re right. They’re not my problem.”
Peter gave a harsh laugh. “Don’t you wish it, Richard. Well guess what. They’re yours.” He realized his blunder a moment too late, his eyes going wide and face going pale.
Richard looked just as stunned. “What?” he snapped, his expression contorting with fury.
“R-Richard—” Peter stammered, both of his hands sliding down to clutch his lower belly.
“You had me believe—all this time—what the fuck, Pete?” Richard said, beginning to pace. “What the fuck is wrong with you? They’re mine?My god.” He stopped and held his head, chest heaving.
“I’m…sorry,” Peter managed, though he didn’t know if it was true. It was all he could think to say. Richard was completely freaking out.
Richard turned to meet Peter’s eyes with his furious ones. “I should have known you’d pull something like this. You never change. Only ever thinking about yourself. And god, you have Brad running around playing house, thinking he’s responsible for this mess.” He waved vaguely at Peter’s body.
“I-I care about Brad,” Peter choked out. He couldn’t lose Brad. Peter groaned, deeply wanting to get off his feet.
Richard scoffed, “You’re not capable of caring about anyone but you.” With that he stormed off, but Peter knew the conversation was far from over. Richard was an attorney after all. Tenacity was part of his nature.
Peter gingerly made his way over to the couch, sinking in, feeling it swallow a good part of his body until his belly was protruding out like a growth.
Would Richard tell Brad? No, that wasn’t his style. He would leave the dirty work to Peter. Maximize Peter’s suffering while getting exactly what he wanted.
I can’t deal with this right now, Peter thought, dropping his head back. He was scared. He didn’t know what he would do if he lost Brad. Brad took care of him. Peter would be alone and huge, barely able to handle five young children in his overburdened state. There is the money, he reminded himself. It offered some consolation, some cushion to the consequences of his revelation. There were his subscribers as well. Peter could think of few things that his fans wouldn't be willing to do for him, though he doubted accepting anything from them would be a good idea.
Peter was just so tired, and so heavy. He didn’t even have the energy to be appropriately panicked. I’ll deal with this later, Peter promised himself. He allowed his eyelids to droop and dozed off right there on the couch.
-
He was making more money than ever, his subscribers confused, even daunted, but excited. Peter never bothered to explain what was going on, which just added to the nervous energy that saturated the following these days.
His breasts were beyond ready to nurse, nipples swollen huge and hard. The mounds bobbed on his chest where they were shelved on his belly. They were hot and heavy, and he knew they were full of milk. He was trying to keep them dry but his fans wanted the opposite.
want those puppies to leak.
Drip drip drip
Wen u gonna squirt?
“Peter?” said Brad as the door opened behind him.
Peter gasped. Brad was supposed to have still been at work. Peter quickly closed his laptop while throwing a towel over the camera. Thankfully, he had only been in the beginning of his stream and was still mostly dressed, or what he would claim to be “dressed” in a tight bra and boxers, belly out in the open and breasts close to spilling free.
Brad blinked at him. “What are you doing? And why’s it so dark in here?” He turned on a light.
“Just doing my meditation,” said Peter breathily. “You’re home early.”
“Yeah. The store was dead and I thought I’d check in. You got a letter in the mail. It’s from…Richard’s firm,” he said in puzzlement.
“What?” said Peter, accepting the large brown envelope and tearing it open. It was a court summons. Richard was trying to charge him for child endangerment and petitioning for the shutdown of his channel. “That prick,” he hissed.
“What is it?” said Brad.
Peter looked up at him from his place squashed down in his seat. His thighs were already starting to go numb beneath his huge belly. He squirmed feebly.
It was now or never. Peter had to tell Brad the truth before he found out second-handedly through court or more documents, or from Richard himself. Peter had known this moment was coming for at least the past several days. Richard was more vindictive than ever, summoning Peter to court in his delicate state. Peter bit hard down on his bottom lip, his heart racing. He drew a deep breath. “Brad…” he managed, aware that his life was about to implode while his body was on the cusp of doing the opposite. “Brad, about my pregnancy—”
A tremor ran through him. Maybe it was the stress. Maybe it was…something else. “Nghhhh…” he grunted as his body quaked, his belly pushing and stretching as fretful cuffs and kicks manifested on the surface of his tight skin. He was only a week in. He had to make it through the month. There were literally millions of dollarsriding on it. But as he grunted and strained, it became evident that he wasn’t going into labor. His belly was shivering, pushing. More of it was filling his lap. He was growing right there as he whined and tried to contain the mounting pressure.
“Peter, what’s going on?” said Brad in panic, his eyes pinned to Peter’s gut in morbid fascination. “Is it time? What the—? We have to get you to a hospital!”
“Nooo!” Peter roared out, pouring sweat, hands clutching his flanks. He felt blurry, but hoped he didn’t pass out. He couldn’t risk any medical authorities getting involved—making him give birth. His belly continued to inch forward as he moaned and struggled.
Then it stopped.
Peter was struggling to breathe, his body drained, and his belly heaving up and down with his gasping breaths. He peeked up at Brad’s shocked face. This was the time when he was supposed to reassure him that this whole thing was normal; everything was okay. Peter just didn’t have the energy. With a shaking hand, he managed to grasp at Brad’s sleeve. “I’m fine,” he whispered.
Brad continued to simply stare. It was clear that he didn’t believe him. “I think—I think you should go to the hospital. What if something’s wrong with the babies?”
“They’re kicking up a storm,” Peter managed.
“Pete, you’re huge!” Brad snapped. He blushed in guilt. “I mean—I think it’s time. You need to have these babies. This is getting scary.”
Peter weakly shook his head. “I d-don’t have the energy t-to argue right now,” he managed through his panting.
“I don’t want to argue either,” said Brad. The fact that he would push was a testament to how extreme things must have been getting by then. “But you’re past your due date. You need help.”
Peter gave a weak, bitter laugh. “You’re starting to sound like Richard.”
As if on cue, Brad’s face darkened. Peter knew how insecure he got. Peter didn’t try to protest as Brad turned and stalked off. It was a temporary reprieve, but Peter knew that his fight to continue to carry was only getting harder.
