Shark, Part 18 - Male Version (Patreon)

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Summary: In his career, Logan likes to fuck his competition. Literally. He gets them pregnant and they get out of his way. Contains: Male: pregnancy, belly expansion, breast expansion, lactation, multiples, weight gain, stuffing.

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Colton could not escape the dreaded annual company retreat. All the top company executives were expected to attend. Colton needed to be among their ranks. Last year, one of the senior vice presidents, Peter Thomas, had skipped out because he’d had a sick kid at home. Recently, Colton had heard that Peter was now working stock at a convenience store a few streets down from Colton’s penthouse on Main.

Colton felt as though he was constantly at work, and thus perpetually uncomfortable, feeling smothered in all the layers he was wearing. He swore he must have looked seven months pregnant by then! He felt itchy and sweaty, his appetite insatiable, and his bladder always seeming to be compressed.

He hated rural areas with a burning passion, yet that was precisely where this conference had brought him. The main Boddims factory was hidden away in some dying town in the boonies, several hours’ drive outside of the city, run by peasant folk with bad teeth.

Colton never once put down his briefcase, still using it to cover up his swell. His button-down shirt was damp with sweat beneath the amorphous blazer he had buttoned over it. The sheer act of existing had become truly annoying to him. He absolutely hated being pregnant! And what the hell had Logan put in him!? He was starting to look like a whale! His belly gurgled, his lips twisting as he hugged his briefcase closer against his torso.

In nearby seats, some people threw him glances.

Colton couldn’t take it anymore. The latest speech was going into its second hour. The heat was stifling, and his stiff clothing felt awful on his sensitive form.

He stood, drawing even more curious looks.

“Bathroom,” he mouthed as he forced a smile, edging his way out of the row of cheap folding chairs. Thankfully he only had to pass two people to the right of him before he made it to the aisle. He made his way out of the conference.

But perhaps wandering around a factory by oneself wasn’t the best of ideas. Colton quickly got turned around by all the identical passages. In every room he peeked into, he encountered macabre machinery or puzzled laborers. He was starting to wonder if the workers just shat outside, since there didn’t seem to be any restrooms. Not that he needed one, it had just seemed like the most reasonable excuse for stepping out.

He turned a corner and encountered a person he would have preferred not to.

“Colton?” Logan greeted him, glancing up from his phone. Slacking off, as usual. “Why aren’t you in the conference?”

“Why aren’t you bleeding out in a dumpster?” Colton countered. “I guess we all have unfulfilled desires.”

“Oh, you fulfilled mine.”

Colton’s jaw clenched.

“How’s…” As Logan hesitated, trying to keep his cool, Colton saw the flicker of a smile, and there was nothing but cruelty there. “How’s the baby?”

“Fuck off,” said Colton hotly.

“Still thinking about getting rid of it?” Logan was taunting him. The asshole! “You know it's impossible. It's not gonna happen, Colt. You're already showing so much. When do you think Roger's gonna find out?”

Colton’s inhaled deeply. Logan wasn’t worth his time or energy. Colton started to walk past the other man, but Logan grabbed his shoulder.

“You look good,” Logan remarked.

“You look like you want to get your teeth knocked out.”

Logan released his arm but chuckled condescendingly. “Seriously, how are my kiddos doing in there? Taking good care of them, aren’t you?

The fucking audacity.

Colton’s hand twitched, but he didn’t take the bait. Instead he gave Logan his most hateful glare, then walked off, turned a corner, and storming through the first door he found.

Colton breathed deeply, looking around. More machinery, but no workers this time. And it wasn’t too sketchy – just a conveyor belt with some metal barrels suspended over it.

Colton dumped his briefcase on the floor, belly rumbling and gurgling. God, it was so embarrassing. He was just grateful that his stomach had been relatively quiet during his confrontation with Logan. He truly hated everything about his condition. There wasn’t a paternal bone in his body!

Colton took a few more moments to allow his breathing to even out. Once he was confident that he had gathered his composure (at least partly), he turned back to the door and tried to open it.

It was locked.

Colton tried the doorknob again, shaking it in frustration. He started banging on the door, shouting for aid, but then abruptly stopped at the thought that Logan might hear him, and that he might be Colton’s savior. It was too intolerable a notion to even risk. So Colton stepped away. He would much rather be stuck here.

He huffed and leaned back against the door.

Colton found himself studying the mechanism of the factory equipment. There were half a dozen barrels, the tops of them disappearing into the ceiling. They were connected to each other by tubing. There was a hose protruding from the bottom of each, pointed down at the conveyor belt.

Colton read the faded lettering on one of the barrels. READY BATTER, it said.

The barrels had condensation on the surface. Colton knew that they each had to be at least partway full.

He didn’t know how many minutes he stood there stubbornly, his belly bubbling and grumbling as hunger pains started to assail him. A sweet smell flowed through the room, causing him to unconsciously salivate.

Colton was a high ranking executive. He practically ran things here. Though he wasn’t sure how that translated to him getting provided with food at that moment, let alone cake batter.

Yet the combined craving and hunger was overpowering. He wished he had a way to just taste it. Health standards were high; they were critical here. But Colton was a clean person. And it wasn’t as though anyone would find out about his potential tampering. This was just a fantasy anyway, getting a taste of the sweet batter in some random room in this maze of a factory. Colton doubted that there would even be a way to actually gain access…

He found himself walking forward, toward the conveyor belt, reaching out, extending himself to the point of discomfort, his fingers just barely able to reach the tip of the first hose dangling from the barrels. Somehow he took hold of one, pulling at it, and it actually descended. He pulled it further, so that it came right down to his face. He puffed out a breath, rather stunned by how easy it had been. The smell of the vanilla batter only grew more potent. His fingers wrapped around the plastic nozzle. How could he get it out?

The answer to that question became obvious once he spotted the large buttons on the adjacent wall at shoulder level. He had seen them before but hadn’t paid them much attention. Red and green. Off and on.

Colton hesitated, then walked toward the buttons. The hose followed him, extending further with clicking noises. Colton assumed it was retractable. He could put everything back in order once he tasted the batter, and no one would find out. Colton assumed that the product wasn’t finished anyway. It would probably taste too bland or oily, or have chunky bits in it. He grimaced at the thought.

Just a taste.

His palm pressed against the broad green button. A thick, beige-colored batter immediately started to squish out of the hose, splattering onto the floor. Eyes widening, Colton quickly stuck the nozzle between his lips. Batter filled his mouth at a steady pace.

It was delicious. Perhaps more delicious than the pastries themselves—this unfinished, highly-concentrated version of them. Colton hummed in satisfaction as he continued to drink it down.

This was exactly what he had needed. The batter was soft and sweet, oily and creamy. The nozzle was the perfect size for him to cradle between his lips, the flow steady but not overwhelming, enough for him to gulp at a comfortable rhythm.

Hunger pains went away almost immediately, yet his appetite remained strong, his desire only growing. His eyelids fluttered down, and Colton did not know how long he stood there, hungrily consuming. He leaned back on the wall, knees growing weak, and his stomach filling. He knew that he could press the red button at any moment, but he just didn’t. He couldn’t.

He wanted more.

He inhaled sharply through his nose in the seconds he could manage, when he didn’t have to gulp, when his cheeks weren’t overly full and close to spilling. It wasn’t too much. He could handle it.

His legs were getting tired, his body growing lethargic. Colton looked around and hesitated, not wanting to sit on the floor, especially not with the uncomfortable dimensions of his swollen body. He shuffled over to the conveyor belt, making sure to gulp consistently, as the batter continued to flow. The belt was as motionless as it had been when he had entered the room. This part of the factory was not being utilized right now. Colton pressed his ass back against the belt, struggling to heave himself onto it. He eventually managed to get on, his feet kicking out at air. It wasn’t excessively high, it just felt like being on a chair that was slightly too big for him.

It felt good to be sitting down. He still didn’t have back support, but he made do, pressing his hand against the belt to lean on his wrist, his other hand still cradling the nozzle in his mouth as he indulged.

He felt like he should stop by then. He knew he was pushing things, but his appetite was just relentless. It felt like he was a machine, his only purpose being to consume. It was like he was a peon to the demands of this insatiable creature inside of him.

His stomach was no longer gurgling from hunger, but now gurgling from fullness. He couldn’t win. He felt full and tight, his skin flushed and dewy, his body packed with the concentrated fat and sugar he was forcing into it. It was just so good.

He would have taken a break, but it seemed like too much effort to get off the conveyor belt, press the button, and stand there on legs that too felt weak to support him.

He would just have to push through. Whatever that meant. His back was aching terribly. He needed better support than his awkward position perched there.

Colton hesitated, then leaned back. He lowered himself against the conveyor belt, so that he was fully reclined. The weight of his belly against him was uncomfortable, but it was far preferable to the position he had been in before.

His free hand absently rubbed over his swollen abdomen. God, he was tight. But the warmth was nice, filling him inside out, spreading from his core to the tips of his toes and fingers. The tension was only growing, pushing and tightening, progressing from uncomfortable to unbearable. Yet it was a sensation he craved somehow. It was like something deep and internal, something fundamental to his being, urging him to keep eating. Keep consuming. Grow more.

“Mmghh…” He was hard. The pressure on his loins — fuck, how could he be getting off from this? Colton moaned as he gazed at the tanks above him, his mind drifting back to the reality of that moment, him lying there, in the factory, illegally contaminating food product out of sheer greed.

He shifted, wincing. His belly felt like a tight ball, yet he was still filling it more. He had to stop. He had to get up and turn this thing off.

Colton tried to get up, but nearly choked on his latest gulp because he was too tight and it was painful. His body felt round and inflexible. God, what had he done? He tried to move, more gingerly this time, when suddenly a mechanical hum filled the room. To Colton’s shock, the conveyor belt started to move.

He proceeded with it, the belt pushing him toward a large square hole in the wall that went into a different part of the factory. He drank blankly, now by impulse, feeling like a small child as he stared on toward whatever fate awaited him. Where did the passage go? Fuck, would he fit? Should he jump off the belt? What if—?

Before Colton could even make a decision, he was proceeding through the square, his clothes snagging on the edges, his skin scraping, and his belly just managing to fit through with the rest of him. His heart was racing, and he finally released the hose – not by conscious decision, but because it ran out of length and was plucked from his lips.

His belly was a throbbing, tight ball, the discomfort making him wince. He didn’t know where the conveyor belt was taking him until he saw, deep into the new room, that he was proceeding toward a pool built into the ground. It was full of a white substance.

“Shit!” Colton yelped, having no time to react as he was thrown into a vat of icing.

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