Malcolm, Part 7 (Patreon)

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Summary: Malcolm has a unique ability. Though male pregnancy is so rare most people don't believe in it, Malcolm can impregnate any guy. Not only does Malcolm have this ability, but he quite enjoys using it. Malcolm loves to give unsuspecting men the night of their lives, before he disappears, and leaves them oblivious of the fact that they are pregnant--likely with multiples. Malcolm enjoys watching his victims as they progressively blow up with his babies. He likes targeting men already under stress--college students, athletes, CEOs, engaged men, family men, interns--the list goes on. This is a story about Malcolm watching his various victims as they struggle to conceal or adapt to their conditions. Contains: Male: belly expansion, breast expansion, stuffing, weight gain, butt expansion, pregnancy.

Previous Chapter

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White-Collar Tim

Eventually, Tim had to go in to the office. He had no choice if he wanted to keep his job.

He went early in hopes of encountering as few people as possible. A clerical worker did a double take when she saw him, and the janitor stopped mopping to stare in disbelief.

Tim felt much more at ease once he was in his office. He situated himself behind his desk where he inhaled deeply, his mind hazy. It always was these days.

It was hard to think about anything past the compression and heat in his chest, the pressure climbing as he sat there, breathing in and out. Tim’s fingers absently tugged at his clothing. He was wearing a custom-made button-down and blazer, both of which he had ordered online. Beneath the clothing, he had a compression garment pulled over him, trying to flatten the huge globes protruding from his chest. But Tim had grown so big, his breasts could not be hidden, only softened. The garment had brought them down to DDDs, which meant they were still blatantly evident, even with the loose blazer pulled over him.

Tim tried to do some paperwork despite the uncomfortable tightness of his body. He kept his head down and mostly stayed in his office in an attempt to have as few interactions as possible. When the pressure grew to be more than he could bear, Tim would hold his suitcase against his torso in his effort to conceal himself as he made his way to the bathroom, making sure not to meet anyone’s eyes. Some people didn’t notice him, but others stopped in their tracks and stared.

When he got into the bathroom, Tim locked the door with clammy hands, feeling jittery. He barely seemed to last more than an hour these days before he needed relief. Otherwise, things became painful, and the swelling got insane.

Panting, Tim laid his suitcase on the counter by the sink, unlatching it. He undid his tie and tugged the hem of his shirt out of his trousers, before starting to unbutton it. The shirt felt tighter on him than when he’d put it on that morning…

His hands momentarily rested on the skin below his navel. He was starting to get a little belly. The fact that his pregnancy was starting to show seemed rather anticlimactic, somehow. Tim lightly shook his head and reached for the pumps in his briefcase.

His shirt and blazer hung open, but he didn’t bother with shrugging them off his shoulders. He had to try to be quick about this. Too many long breaks and someone might come looking for him. His forehead had started to sweat, his whole body overheated from the warmth radiating from his chest. His breasts were packed with fresh milk at the prime temperature for consumption. A surplus of it. He still couldn’t believe how much his body was producing.

It was uncomfortable. The growth was relentless. He seemed to get tighter every day, tighter and bigger. Every morning he woke up, there was an unwelcome surprise of new growth, because it was just so hard to keep up with it. He was repeatedly awoken in the night by the sharp ache of his body being stretched to new limits. Tim just felt exhausted, and heavy. Dazed. It was all so fucking stimulating.

With a trembling hand, he took hold of the zipper in the center of the compression vest he was wearing, the garment squeezing him tightly, to the point that he was breathless. It was just so uncomfortable; it was getting painful. The manufacturer had made this exceptional size, for which Tim had paid generously.

Tim hesitated with the zipper, fearful he would regret this. When he was at home, this was easier. At home, he wasn’t trying to hide it and squish it down. He inhaled half a breath, his lungs feeling too compressed to expand further. He just had to get through the rest of the day. Finally, he tugged at the zipper, wincing and groaning as it slid down and more of his body was freed.

“Unggghhhh…” Tim’s fat, round tits wobbled forcefully as they popped out. He gripped the counter for support, arching his back as he grunted. The heat in his body only seemed to increase; his face flushed as he finally surveyed himself in the mirror.

Each of his tits had to be the size of a fucking basketball, each packed to bursting with milk as they heaved on his chest, topped off by puffy areolas and nipples the size of golf balls. Tim yelped as they squirted, his skin seeming to contract against the surplus of warm sustenance. It didn’t seem possible to be this huge. His tits were fucking unbelievable, and yet they just kept growing.

He felt unbalanced. He had to arch his back, sending a fresh spray against the mirror as he moaned and tried to acclimate to being freed from constriction, but also from support. His breasts gurgled oddly, his skin sore and tingling. He gingerly cradled the sides of them with his hands. God, he had to drain these things. He looked like an overinflated balloon animal, fit to pop.

It was a vicious cycle. Every time Tim thought the growth and engorgement might have at least been stabilizing, Malcolm would show up, and Tim could never manage to turn him away. Tim would almost flinch even when he thought of Malcolm. And his chest would tighten every time, nipples seeping.

Tim attached the first suction cup. It was far too small, barely containing his swollen nipple, but he made do. He had put in an order for something pricier, meant for fucking zoo animals, but it was taking weeks to arrive.

Tim turned the machine on. It hummed, then sputtered, then got started, Tim grunting at the abrupt pull on his sensitive, swollen nubs. Soon the milk was flowing out of him, pulsing with the rhythm of the machine as Tim tried to breathe, still gripping onto the sink. He tried to relax but blood was shooting to his cock. It was incredibly arousing despite everything. He closed his eyes as his milk poured through the tubing then into the sink, though his flesh didn’t feel any lighter or any less saturated. That would take a while if he achieved it at all.

There was a beeping noise. Tim opened his eyes and furrowed his brows, before distractedly reaching into one of his pockets. He peered down at the calendar notification on his phone screen. A meeting today, with Smith? That was his boss. When had that been added?

“Fuck,” Tim muttered. The meeting was in fifteen minutes. He reached out and slammed his hand on the power button of the pump, crying out at the recoil, his breasts feeling like they might burst.

He grunted and groaned as he tried to clean up, squirts of milk shooting forward as he detached each suction cup. He grunted as he did his best to rinse the machine and pack it back into his briefcase. He gulped and gazed at his image in the mirror once he had done everything but get dressed. It was a daunting task.

He took the ends of his compression vest, bringing them together and tugging the zipper upwards. It went easily enough over the curve on his abdomen. It wasn’t too tight there; it would not do harm.

Tim pulled the zipper slowly and fully over his belly before he was stopped at the sharp jut where two globes sprang from his chest.

He inhaled deeply – one last, full gulp of air – before he forcibly tried to pull his zipper higher.

It was an arduous struggle. He grunted and strained, his arms trembling. He pushed all the air out of his lungs, struggling to shove and compress his breasts inwards. It was painfully tight, his body feeling like a dam about the break, but he did his best to hold the pressure in. Centimeter by centimeter, he tugged the zipper higher. This is what women must have felt like in the Victorian era when they were squeezed into those tiny corsets.

Somehow, he got this zipper pulled over the mounds. He hadn’t thought it possible, not with how engorged he was. Tim was breathing thinly, feeling rather faint as he did up the buttons on his shirt. His nipples were hard and stinging – keen to release the latest flood of hot milk, but somehow he was able to hold it in. Just a little while, he told himself.

Tim felt close to tears when he left the bathroom. He knew the compression vest was doing an even worse job than it had earlier, just judging by all the odd looks he was getting. He made his way to Smith’s office and knocked lightly on the door.

“Harris, is that you? Come on in!” Smith called.

Tim turned the doorknob and let himself in, while awkwardly holding his briefcase up at chest level. He gave a pained smile.

“Have a seat,” Smith offered, nodding to the chair opposite his desk.

Slowly, Tim eased himself down, trying not to wince as the compression vest hugged him even more tightly, his tits aching and throbbing, desperate for relief.

Smith gave him a peculiar look, finally noticing that something was off. “You okay, son?” He quirked a brow.

Tim offered a jerky nod. “Y-yes sir,” he lied.

But Tim wasn’t okay. As Smith started to discuss team incentives and quarterly earnings, Tim could hardly hear a word. Instead, he squirmed in his seat, his clothing only seeming to grow more confining.

“…moving some guys over to finance,” Smith was saying. “The new division is at full capacity and—”

Milk gushed into Tim’s shirt. He grunted and flinched, then stared down at himself in horror as his clothing pulled yet tighter. Smith trailed off, staring at the growing patches of moisture. He seemed to notice Tim’s chest for the first time, and stared as Tim’s clothing was soaked through.

“I c-can explain,” Tim managed, as he struggled to get things under control. But the dam had been opened. His body wasn’t relaxing, it was just pushing harder. There was a ripping noise, and Tim was aghast to realize his compression vest was tearing down the middle. “Fuck,” he whimpered.

He didn’t even have the chance to react. His breasts sprouted forward, seeming to burst up out of nowhere, as several of Tim’s shirt buttons tore off. Smith jerked as he was splattered, nearly falling out of his seat from the shock.

“Ohhh…” Tim was panting as he gripped the sides of his torn shirt, feebly attempting to cover his nipples at the least, his huge breasts bulging out visibly in a top that could no longer contain them. Milk was gushing, forcefully. He felt flustered and dizzy, and had no hope of getting it under control, he was just so full. “God…” Tim stammered.

Smith was looking completely nonplussed, and who could blame him? Tim wouldn’t have been surprised if Smith fired him on the spot.

“I am extremely s-sorry, sir. This is — it’s a side effect. You see, I’m p-pregnant.” Tim gave the humiliating revelation. He had never told anyone, but now his job was on the line.

Smith’s morbid stare only seemed to grow more puzzled. He was at a loss for words.

“The — the breast development is a side effect,” Tim forced himself to go on, milk now splattering against his lap and the chair as well the floor beneath him, starting a puddle. His breasts pulsed, causing him to groan as yet more milk poured free. “Oh god,” Tim choked, still feebly gripping at the shirt that could barely cover him.

Smith stood abruptly. “Er…I’ll give you some privacy.”

Tim nodded gratefully as Smith hurried out of his own office. Tim was just so heavy, so packed. His breasts gave another throb that made Tim’s eyes go cross. His hands found his briefcase and opened it up. He fumbled mindlessly with the pumps; maybe if he could just drain them a little…

Tim tried to connect the suction cups, but they could barely pull over his huge nipples anymore. He turned the machine on, grunting in discomfort as it attempted to extract his milk, failing to do so at his size.

Tim tried again. He turned off the machine, detached and reattached the cups, but it still wouldn’t work. Frustrated sobs escaped his throat, his hands cupping both sides of his heated flesh. The milk output had slowed down to a trickle, as it always did after the initial surge. Tim squeezed, experimentally, somehow paying no mind to the fact that he was making a complete mess in Smith’s office. He yelped, milk splashing free from his nipples. But it again declined to a trickle, as Tim breathed heavily, his tits wiggling as his chest rose and fell.

His hands rubbed absently at his tingling flesh. It was no use. He had to get out of there.

By then, his eyes had begun to tear up. He was a pathetic, hormonal mess. He got up with a groan of effort, gripping his shirt, still trying to cover his nipples.

Public exposure and indecency. Crude and unusual behavior. Those would be just some of the grounds for his firing. Tim gulped, and before he could change his mind, he walked out of the office and made a beeline for the exit, never looking back at all the astonished faces he passed.

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