#a voxlette

This is a sequel to a two-part story I submitted about two years ago called Incidental: The Procedure (Pt. 1) (Pt. 2)

a. Voxlette

(Part 7 of 7)

“Not enough?” Dean was terminally focused on Henry’s big, shiny, heaving, flexing belly. He was growing more desperate. He kept thinking of his ex-wife, how difficult her labor had been. This was clearly as difficult for Henry - a cisgender man, with scientific equipment for birth but no mental armor. They were running out of time.

“Henry, I’m sorry,” he said. He couldn’t meet the other man’s eyes. “I’m the one who put that baby in you. I’m the one that made you like this. I fucked it into you and…now I’m going to fuck it out.”

“W-what?”

“It’s the only way,” he spread Henry’s legs to the side, pinning them before he could move. He leveraged his body weight onto Henry’s bent knees with his hands.

“N-no - Dean - stop -” Henry lifted an arm to push against Dean’s chest, but he gently swatted it away “- You can’t - you can’t, this is INSANE! My family, they’re going to be back any minute!”

Elise watched, cooly satisfied. “Prostate stimulation might do the trick. Who knows, daddy? Your semen might add something interesting to the mix as well.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean was crying himself as he lined up his dick, hatefully hard, against Henry’s soft and abused asshole. “It’s the only way. I can’t watch you die.”

“Then let me die!” Henry screamed, and then screamed without words as Dean pushed inside. “STOP! STOP! THEY CAN’T SEE ME LIKE THIS!”

“There’s the Henry I know and remember!” Elise cried.

Dean began to thrust. Henry’s bowels were loose in preparation for birth and offered him little resistance. He was hard, but he was going to need more than that to come.

Henry was squirming, as much as he could manage, weighted down by his belly and by Dean. He screamed with the struggle, and thrashed against every thrust. Then he stilled, and with a cry, grabbed his middle as it contracted. Henry’s prostate was reacting to the stimulation, his cock growing semi-hard.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!”

As Dean watched the muscles tense and jiggle the mountain of his form, there was an echo of the contraction in Henry’s intestines. His bowels gripped Dean, formed tightly around him for a few moments, and then let go.

“Henry, on the next contraction,” he gave another thrust, getting erratic. It was building in him now. “…I’m going to come.”

“NOOO!” Henry cried. “Not inside! Not again!”

He tried to roll away, he held his belly between his hands as if begging it to stop, begging for release, begging  it to stop working to expel it’s contents. But the machinery of his pseudo-womb was now greased. The next contraction drew a howl from Henry and seed from Dean.

In the midst of their throes, the bedroom door opened.

…

Henry felt invaded and violated once more. He wept with weariness and exhaustion, pain and arousal. The baby turned and kicked inside of him, restless and searching for escape. He didn’t think he was strong enough to give it. He could feel himself growing aroused, in spite of everything, and he hated his stupid body for it. His stupid fucking body that couldn’t help but get pregnant. In the haze of crying and protesting, he wished more than anything he’d had a condom on him last Christmas.

Dean came with a shuddering grunt and locked in place, but Henry himself had not come. This was integral to the procedure. Dean, rocking away with his still hard penis, lowered his mouth onto Henry’s erect and puffy nipple. He bit it gently, twisted it in his teeth. Dean licked it, and began to suck. It felt good. The low, tight feeling of orgasm coiled beneath the ring of agony which banded across Henry’s middle, back, and legs. He was so close. He didn’t want it.

It was so much. It was so much like last time, only awful and painful in their own unique ways. Nine months of betrayal, and then some. Demeaning, embarrassment, shame. Henry looked to the side, and screamed from the terrified core of his being.

He met his mother’s wide and horrified eyes, the slack-jawed stares of his brother and father.

“DON’T LOOK! DON’T LOOK AT ME!” he screamed. Breathless, full of baby and cum and flaccid dick, he came.

…

Loretta screamed. Her son, her beautiful boy, gravidly swollen and ravished. She hadn’t seen him without clothes on, and the sight of his naked body underneath that of another man brought her almost to a dead faint. She collapsed against the doorway, still screaming.

She watched her husband charge the unknown stranger, and watched as he was knocked effortlessly backwards, stunned. Adrenaline and power thrived in the muscled form that was still pistoning in and out of Henry’s anus.

“You can’t stop us!” he cried. “It’s the only way to get it out!”

“Mom, mom, momma, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” Henry wept, broken as she watched.

She looked at his belly, now, not hidden. Stretch marks striped up and down his sides in angry reds and pinks, they were around his breasts. His nipples were dark and brown, leaking milky white fluid. His belly button was popped and ostentatious. The curve of him was known to her, for she had lived it twice. He was massive. Bigger than she’d ever been. But it was impossible.

“You’re…you’re a man…” she whispered.

…

Henry had no time to process anything. Pregnant, for the second time, birthing in his bedroom at his parent’s house, Tallis watching, pitocin not working, baby not coming, Dean assaulting, coming, not wanting too, and then all revealed to his parents not a moment later. That he was gay. That he was pregnant. That he was a freak of the scientific process.

And then, after so much fruitlessness, the combination of Dean’s seed and his orgasm did something. Tallis was right. Tallis was right. All at once, massive contractions, more mighty than anything he’d ever experienced, took hold of him. His breasts leaked continuously. His belly button quivered. Massive undulations shook his globe of flesh, his baby twisting and kicking inside of it all, pummeling his narrow pelvis.

“OUT! OUT!” He meant it to Dean, to his family, to the baby, but it seemed that Dean could not extract himself from inside. The force of the contraction was such that the man was trapped inside Henry, who screamed and pushed with muscles he didn’t know existed until he’d effectively unbirthed the cock that made him pregnant in the first place. And of course his family didn’t leave.

Stunned, they drew closer.

“AWAY! OOOHHHHhhh…OOHHHHH….GO!” He gripped the headboard behind him.

Each contraction opened him up inside. One contraction. One more centimeter. Second contraction. Three centimeters. Third contraction. Four centimeters. Fourth contraction. Five centimeters. Fifth contraction. Six centimeters. Sixth contraction. Seven centimeters. Seventh contraction. Eight centimeters. Eighth contraction. Nine centimeters. Ninth contraction. Ten centimeters. Full dilation. Fully effaced.

It was coming out.

The world narrowed down to only him. He was what mattered. He and the baby. He wasn’t breathing correctly, taking short gasps that were edging him towards hyperventilation. But how could he be doing anything differently? He didn’t know he was pregnant until two hours ago. He had no time to practice.

The pain was blinding. He pushed and breathed, pushed and breathed, as it began to make it’s way from the cervix of his pseudo-womb and into his lower intestinal tract. The pain mounted, higher, higher, more and more unbearable. Impossible to withstand. His insides stretched to their absolute limits. Something was horribly wrong.

…

“Ohh god oh god oh god…ohh god..god…,” Henry was out of breath for screaming. His words came from him in pathetic little breaths, completely severed from all planes of awareness. The pain had severed his ties, but his belly still labored, his mother still shrieked, his father was calling 911, and his brother Christopher was pulling out his phone to record everything.

Dean watched this, dick wet from Henry’s juices and limp. He grabbed his phone with a sweaty hand and shouted, “ELISE! Tell me what to do!”

She looked at Henry. “Get him on his side. Now. Being on his back reduces his pelvis capacity by thirty percent. I only make them give birth that way because…well, I like it. Open him up.”

Dean crawled back on the bed and kicked away everyone who tried to grab him. Christopher kept recording. He shifted Henry onto his side and lifted his leg, propping it on his shoulder.

“Now what?”

“Massage his belly. Downwards, circular motion. Like squeezing the last sauce out of a condiment packet.”

Dean began making broad circular strokes on Henry’s slippery skin.

“Harder than that.”

…

The registration of progress brought Henry somewhat back to himself. He focused his eyes, blinking, taking deeper breaths.

Contraction. “OOoohhhhh….ohhhhhhh…..”

Contraction. “NNNNnggnnn…ngnnnnhhh…”

He was on his side, his belly stretched and defeated-looking before him. Dean’s strong hands made massaging motions, encouraging the baby lower and deeper. Something inside of Henry finally shifted with a wrenching pain at the end of one of these. He grunted, unable to control himself. A wet fluid gushed from his hole as the baby inside of him shifted, releasing amniotic fluid that hadn’t escaped in the great rush on his walk yesterday.

Contraction. “Ooooouughghh…”

He met eyes with his mother. She was shaking her head. Shaking her head. Shaking her head. His father was speaking frantically into his phone. Christopher was….watching. Recording. Finally the older perfect brother was not so perfect.

“Here it comes, Henry,” Dean said, somehow calm. He was still stroking his belly.

“Good job, Henry,” Elise cooed. “Excellent work.”

…

Dean watched the head begin to stretch Henry’s anus. It started as a little gap, and with each grunt he gave the gap grew wider. More filled.

“Good work,” he said.

Loretta drew herself up from the floor and shuffled over to witness the birth of her first grandchild. “Oh…” she whispered.

“What is that?! What’s coming out of him? What’s happening!” Henry’s father was weeping in shock.

“Oh my god…that’s fucking disgusting…” Christopher retched behind his screen. “I’ve seen some preggy porn but nothing like this shit.”

“You’re crowning, Henry! You’re doing so good!” said Elise.

Henry gasped and tightened his grip on the headboard. “Hnnnng…”

“That’s it. That’s the way. Good. Good,” Henry planted a light kiss on the leg balanced on his shoulder. The head kept crowing, drawing all the blood from the surrounding membranes. Henry’s hormone enriched anus began to tear.

…

Henry winced and gasped. “OH MY GOD!”

He was on fire. Everything was so full, and so painful, and so tight. He strained, but felt Dean’s warm fingers on his stretched skin.

“You need to let it stretch.”

“Let it out!”

“You’re tearing.”

Henry strained, but Dean held fast. One minute, two. Tears ran down Henry’s face and he didn’t even notice anymore. One more contraction took hold of him, and it gave him the force to push out the head. He felt it give with a pop, and then a quick painful slide as the shoulders and legs followed.

He didn’t see it, but he felt the placenta’s delivery only moment’s afterwards. And then there was a baby on his belly instead of inside it, and he did the only thing that made sense. He brought his daughter up to his breast to feed.

 HAPPY ENDING:

Dean, Henry, and Elise leave with the baby to live in hiding. They live in a mountain side cabin, and Dean and Henry have worked together to have a much healthier relationship. Henry and Elise still don’t get along, but they keep to their separate spheres. You can’t be choosy about allies when you’re on the run. And Elise will come in handy, eventually, because despite their best efforts - Henry is pregnant again.

 ALTERNATE ENDING:

To be continued…

This is a sequel to a two-part story I submitted about two years ago called Incidental: The Procedure (Pt. 1) (Pt. 2)

a. Voxlette

(Part 6 of 7)

It was a nice neighborhood. Middle-class, the lawns trimmed. Cars in every driveway. Stifling, honestly. This was the sort of place where people actually listened to their Housing Association. Dean was sure that every one who lived here was very concerned about appearing “respectable.” He sped through the streets, following the prompts of the GPS. Henry’s family home was in a cul-de-sac, and Dean ditched the car along the curb, barely remembering to turn off the ignition.

It was a sunday morning, and most of the neighborhood was at church.

He needed to get in, grab Henry, and get out. Time was of the essence. Dean wasn’t sure what he was going to say to him that would make him come with. He rang the doorbell impatiently.

Nothing. He had to get inside! He walked around the back of the house, and broke the patio door with a rock from the flowerbed. He waited, in case of alarm.

Nothing.

He stepped inside. It was a nice house, but he had no eye for it. He just wanted to find Henry, who was hiding, or hurting, or maybe not even here.

Dean tried to look calm as he walked upstairs. All the doors were open save one. There were family pictures lining the way to Henry’s room - it was clear he was the favorite child. He was front and center in most of them, another younger boy looking almost like an angry afterthought.

“Henry?” he knocked. Somewhere around here was a man with a belly full to bursting with intellectual property of dubious origin, and it was Dean’s responsibility to help him get it out. He did not wait for a response. He opened the door, and stopped. Henry was in his ensuite bathroom, shivering and straining completely naked on the toilet. His belly had taken on an almost legendary proportion since he’d last seen him, spilling onto the meat of the younger man’s thighs as he sat. His breasts were still a modest size, but his nipples were dark and full. That lovely dark linea nigra cut down his middle.

“Henry!”

Henry had been so involved in whatever was happening to him - which was certainly labor - he hadn’t noticed Dean until he spoke. He looked up fearfully.

“Dean!” he gasped in confusion. “What the fuck are you doing at my parent’s house?”

Dean strode into the ensuite and surveyed; piled clothes, water in the tub with a pinkish hue. “I’m here to help you.”

“With what?!” Henry cried, grimacing and leaning forward. He crumpled around his belly as the surface rippled in contraction. “This? This is….nnngnhh…I need a doctor for this…ohhhhh…”

“Henry,” Dean got onto his knees in front of him and grabbed his face in his hands. “You cannot go to the doctor for this.”

“What?” he panted. “Why not?”

Dean took a breath, “Because you don’t have a tumor. You don’t have allergies. You don’t have a thyroid problem and you haven’t been overeating. Henry, you’re pregnant. With my baby.”

…

Henry wanted to laugh and scream. PREGNANT? No! That was a joke.

“Stop fucking around with me,” he whimpered, pulling his face away from Dean’s hands and leaning it against the cool granite of the bathroom countertop. “Haven’t you toyed with me enough?”

Dean’s face was grim. “Last year, when you were hired, I sent you to the doctor for some incidental tests. I told you it was for health insurance purposes. Do you remember what happened next?”

“I -” he paused, a smaller pain crawling across the globe of his abdomen. He soothed it with an open palm. “I had my height and weight taken. Then I got really sick and went home. My parents were so pissed, I was supposed to visit that weekend.”

Dean pulled out his phone and queued up a video, holding it in front of his eyes.

“What is this?”

“Watch.”

Henry watched, annoyed, agonized, furious. These feelings soon melted away, replaced with horror and confusion. He recognized himself. There was that doctor, the one from his strange dreams.

“No, please, please I need to go! I don’t feel good!”

He sounded so upset in the recording. He didn’t remember any of this. Cold dread, snatches of sensation and memory seeped through him as it continued. The thrusting and sucking. The fondling of his breasts.

“NO! NO, PLEASE!”

Trying to get her hand out of him as she checked his dilation, the hand of his rapist.

“Get it out, get out me! Get out of my ass!”

Pushing his heels on the stirrups as she feels his belly, sexual in every nature.

“It fucking burns! Please, please, I’m so scared, make it stop Dr. Tallis, I’ll do anything!”

Henry felt sick, and in real time experienced what he now knew to be a contraction seizing the contents of his middle. The baby that was inside. Which was now coming out.

“Turn it off,” he whispered, fit to sob. “I remember.”

Dean pocketed the phone and grabbed his hand. “Do you believe me now?”

Henry cried quietly, in pain and fury and the shock of unburied trauma. “It hurt so bad last time, so fucking bad.” He curled around his middle once more, rocking slightly back and forth on the toilet seat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”

“You have me to help you now.”

Henry glared at him with tears in his eyes. “You made me like this.” He struggled to straighten, but when he did he placed his hands presentationally at the low part of his swell. “You ruined my body.”

“Yes. But I didn’t know…not at first. I’m sorry.”

Henry wanted to rage. But he was too tired. He had been at this for over twelve hours. “Get me to the bed.”

Dean carried him bridal style, and the pain at closing his legs together made Henry gasp. Once on the bed, he immediately got onto his hands and knees. It felt better than laying on his back. His belly hung down heavily, angry and red. His penis was flaccid, shrunken with pain. Sweat dripped from his hair.

Slowly, another pain overtook him. “Hhhhhhnnnng….hhhhhhhnnnnngggh…”

Dean situated himself behind Henry, in full view of his anus.

…

Dean wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at. Henry’s anus was red and swollen, but other than his discomfort and the low sway of his belly nothing looked like progressed labor.

“Henry, I need to call someone.”

Henry was engrossed in the process of his body, and didn’t register the words.

Elise picked up on the first ring. “Facetime?” she said eagerly. “How is he?”

“I need your help. I’m not sure what’s going on…” he flipped the camera and gave her a good look.

“No, Dean, the whole thing,” she sounded amused.

Henry glanced back in distaste, hearing and recognizing her voice. He met Dean’s eyes and gave a begrudging nod. Dean slowly walked around the bed, taking in every part of Henry’s body. His breasts, his belly, his face, his anus, his penis. Close up and far away. Contracting and not contracting: again, a contrast between all the body parts. He flipped the camera back.

“Is that enough?”

Elise looked pleased and thoughtful. “He’s huge, Dean! Henry, son, you’re such an impressive specimen! That your body would take so hungrily to motherhood is-”

“Elise.”

She course-corrected with clear reluctance. “He’s been laboring for over a day, I would wager. He needs the pitocin immediately.”

Dean felt the syringe he had in his pocket. It would certainly speed things up. In fact, it was required.

“Pitocin?” Henry looked back at him through a haze of pain.

“Yes,” Elise answered Henry without invitation. “The pseudo-womb in your abdomen wall is not strong enough to deliver your baby without it. If your labor is prolonged much further, I am afraid the uterine wall will grow so thin as to rupture.”

Henry’s eyes grew wide and he tensed as another contraction took him, he let out a little sob. “Noooo…no, please.”

The reality of the situation, and the stakes regarding his life, was getting sharper. “Dean, I’m scared.”

“It’ll be okay. It’ll be fine. I’m giving it to you right now.”

…

It had been at least an hour and Henry didn’t feel any better. He felt worse. In the front of his mind was the pain, his peril. Right behind that was the all consuming fear that his family was due home from church within the half hour. They couldn’t see him like this! But what could he do?

He bore down, or tired too. His body had no instinct for it. The contractions tore through his body without direction or purpose other than what it had been engineered to do, and it wasn’t enough.

“UUUUUUGggh….uuuughhhh….”

Dr. Tallis, contemptible woman, was still watching him from Dean’s phone. He looked away. Meeting eyes with her made him feel like more of an animal than he already did. Rut, gestate, and labor. Basic mammalian function.

He could feel Dean’s hands on his lower back, pressing to try and provide some relief. Henry was glad he got to pick his position, this time. He was kneeling now, hands braced on his headboard. None of that “on your back” business. The king who wanted to watch his heir getting pushed out of his wife’s cunt must have been a pervert to match the likes of Dean and Elise.

“It’s not enough,” Tallis surveyed. He wanted to tell her to fuck off, but didn’t have the breath. “You have to pleasure him.”

“Pleasure him?” Dean sounded wary, but Henry could detect a trace of eagerness in his voice. Traitor.

“The hormones generated by his orgasm might be enough to kick start dilation. He’s still at one centimeter.”

Henry groaned deeply. One centimeter!?

Dean took Tallis’s coaching, and the brief hope Henry had that he might have had a true ally in the father of his child vanished. He felt Dean’s hand circle around his penis, and gave the shaft a few experimental tugs.

“That’s miserable,” Henry murmured.

“Well, here, let me just -” Dean flipped him over onto his back, to Henry’s deep dismay.

“I don’t like this position.”

“Just for now,” Dean said as he lowered himself down to Henry’s flaccid cock. He took it in his mouth, and Henry closed his eyes. He tried to let himself be transported past the pain, to remember a time when hands on his belly got him harder than almost anything else. He started getting hard, and Dean responded by taking him deeper into his throat. He came with only a little fanfare, a few clumsy involuntary bucks of his hips. He didn’t feel any different.

“Ohhhhh….oohhh…”

“It’s not enough,” Tallis said.

Henry looked at her directly for the first time. “Fuck off.”

“Oh ho ho ho! Look how fiesty he gets when he’s vulnerable. You weren’t like this last time, pet. No, I had you eating out of my hand…or more accurately, I was eating you out,” she smiled. “Your ass was delicious.”

Downstairs, the garage door opened.

This is a sequel to a two-part submission I wrote about two years ago called Incidental: The Procedure (Pt. 1) (Pt. 2)

a. Voxlette

(Part 5 of 7)

Henry felt absolutely disgusting. It was hard to do everything. He was huge. Nothing fit anymore. His back hurt, his small breasts ached. His guts churned, especially at night. During one of these uncomfortable bouts of internal movement, he was cradling the bottom of his naked belly with a relaxed hand. Rubbing gently over the spot with the most trouble in small circles, he sighed and leaned back against his headboard. He’d even take the months of nausea over this. He’d spent the last two days practically shitting out his insides. He was honestly surprised he still had anything left inside of him - solid, liquid, or otherwise.

And his mother fretted, feeding him saltine crackers and water even though he insisted he wasn’t hungry. And he wasn’t, was the odd thing. After months of starving practically every single moment, putting on pounds and tens of sizes in waistbands, his appetite had finally seemed to burn out. All he wanted to do now was clean. He wrinkled his nose as he looked around his bedroom, which he’d waddled around all day in an attempt to be happy with. He’d dusted, reorganized, decluttered - it wasn’t enough. Everything seemed too old, too dirty. Too used. And he wasn’t mobile enough to do much else. He couldn’t bend over to save his life, couldn’t even squat.

He felt a familiar grumble inside of his intestines and heaved himself out of bed, steadying himself against the headboard and using his belly as ballast. He got to his toilet just in time. After a good amount of time spent relieving himself (but without any help for feeling bloated) Henry, wiped, stood, and turned to flush - and startled at what he saw. A kind of reddish brown gelatin gunk floated there. Had that come from inside him?

He spread his ass cheeks, slightly panicked, in front of the mirror. His anus looked…puffy. Well, that was understandable, given what the past few days had looked like. But still, he couldn’t help but feel afraid. He’d been able to rationalize just about everything that had happened since December, but what if there was something seriously wrong with him? Something like a tumor, or a parasite. He relaxed in front of the mirror, hand resting on top of the dome.

He had no choice. He was going to have to go to the doctor tomorrow. He shuddered.

 …

 “Henry?” the nurse called, smiling and holding a clipboard. She looked very kind. But not kind enough to be able to completely hide her shock when he stood up. Henry was used to the stares and the odd looks, the way people seemed hyper-focused on the gravid mound that hung off his frame. Here at the doctor’s office, it bothered him more. Henry felt more like an other, more like he should’ve come to the doctor sooner. He hadn’t been able to find a shirt that fit, having grown out of the shirts he’d brought with him three weeks ago already. The bottom of his belly peeked out from underneath an extra large t-shirt borrowed from his dad’s closet. The waistband of his exercise shorts weren’t up to the task of encompassing his girth, slipping down every chance they had. He held them in place as he walked with the nurse into the examination room. He was trying to keep calm.

“Alright, on the scale, please,” the nurse instructed.

“I can keep my clothes on, right?” he whispered.

“For height and weight? Oh, yes,” she didn’t seem to register the cagey way he held himself, trying to crunch down. “Stand tall as you can, Henry.”

He straightened, feeling vulnerable for reasons he could not name, the little plastic marker coming down to tap the top of his head.

“Five feet, three inches,” she checked the chart. “Is that shorter than the last time you were here?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so.” He wondered if the weight his growing belly was putting on his spine had anything to do with it. He rubbed the small of his back with one worrying hand.

“And your weight is….one-hundred and eighty pounds. That’s up a bit.”

They both looked covertly at his belly. Yes. A bit. Thirty-five pounds, to be exact.

“Well, take a seat. Dr. Paulson should be in soon - he’ll want to do an internal examination to be sure. There’s a gown on the table for you.”

“Thank you,” Henry remembered his manners just in time before she left, distracted by the ghosts of his nightmares. He paced in a small circle, taking in the sights. There weren’t any odd posters on the walls. Everything looked like a typical doctor’s office fixture, except for Henry himself.

He started peeling off his clothes, hooking his thumbs into his pants and underwear from behind because he couldn’t reach completely underneath the swell. The shirt came off easily because it was big, but the feeling of the fabric dragging across his swollen nipples stimulated them. Henry sighed and tried to press them into his pectoral muscle, to sheath them and their embarrassing pertness. No use. Just as stiff and prominent as ever. He winced at the tender feeling. A bead of the milky fluid slipped out, and he wiped it away with his thumb.

The gown rubbed at his belly-button. It was hard to reach behind himself to tie the strings closed, but he managed it. He’d just settled onto the exam table, breathing as deeply as he was able to, when Dr. Paulson knocked on the door and entered with a smile.

“Henry -” he, too, tried and failed to hide his shock at the sight of the ripe young man “- it’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” Henry mustered a smile. “Since my nineteenth physical, I think.”

“And how old are you now - twenty-one? Twenty-two? The years keep getting away from me,” Dr. Paulson was washing his hands.

And the months, Henry thought mournfully. What a year this was shaping up to be. “Twenty-two.”

“What brings you in today?” Dr. Paulson situated himself behind the computer and looked at the symptoms Henry had indicated during check-in. “Intestinal troubles, back-pain, sore pectorals, hunger, insomnia…quite a list. But you mentioned something when you made the appointment about your stool?”

Henry nodded. He was already feeling a little better, emotionally - someone was taking care of him, or trying to, at least. “I had diarrhea the past two days. Hardly left the bathroom. Then last night I went again, and there was some blood…I think…in the toilet.” It all sounded so silly now.

“Hmm…” Dr. Paulson looked at his newest measurements. “Well, I wonder how much of that could be attributed to your weight gain.”

Henry’s heart began to sink. “Yeah…it all came on so suddenly. Well, I mean, since December. I was normal then. My mom thinks it’s allergies.”

“Lay back for me, Henry. I’m going to an external exam first.”

Henry complied, trying to swallow the fear that was beginning to throttle him again. He was just lying down!

Dr. Paulson pushed the gown over Henry’s belly, bringing it to rest underneath his collarbone. Everything from his neck to his penis was exposed to the cold, open air.

“It almost looks as if you’re pregnant,” Dr. Paulson laughed, and Henry joined him with a small chuckle. Dr. Paulson began feeling around the outside of the belly, palpating and chewing his lip. “I don’t think all of your symptoms can be attributed to your weight, Henry, if I’m honest. You’re feeling very….firm.”

Henry nodded, as if this was new information, as if he hadn’t spent the past nine months noting the non-gelatinous nature of his bellyful of fat.

“This could be a presentation of an underlying condition,” Dr. Paulson gently cupped and uncupped his leaking breasts, palpating first across, then up and down, and then in a spiral motion. His cold fingers reached up into Henry’s armpits, fondled for his lymph nodes. Henry withstood it all, trying not to scream.

“I’ll have you get up now - time for the internal exam. I can’t remember, have you had one before?”

“Um….I think so,” he muttered. He didn’t recall ever submitting himself to such a procedure, but it felt factually incorrect to say he never had. He practically rolled off the table, land let Dr. Paulson guide him into an uncomfortable leaning position. The weight of his belly was really straining his back now, gravity pulling it’s roiling contents towards the ground. His forearms pressed into the table. Something did feel familiar. He was terrified. Deep breaths started becoming short.

“Legs apart just a little more, please,” Dr. Paulson said. “I’m going to be inserting two of my fingers into your anal cavity. I’m noting some external irritation.”

Dr. Paulson was professional about the process. He gently pushed inside of Henry, who tried very, very hard not to become aroused. He was so sensitive, he cursed himself.

“Very uh…elastic…” Dr. Paulson inched his fingers in ever-so-further. “Hold it there, Henry….Henry?”

Henry was sagging under the weight of his belly. “Sorry-” he gasped, straightening.

Then Dr. Paulson brushed something that made him see stars.

“All done,” Dr. Paulson withdrew and snapped off his gloves. “I have to ask you, Henry….have you been sexually active?”

Henry flipped himself around with difficulty. “Uh…,” thoughts of Dean filled his mind. “Yeah.”

“Have you used protection every time?” Dr. Paulson looked both concerned and stern.

“We - I - I tried to. But not…” he trailed off. “It is an STD?”

Dr. Paulson shrugged noncommittally. “It could be complications from one. We won’t know more until we run some tests.”

“W-what kind?” Henry had experienced all the medical intervention he could withstand.

“Bloodwork, an ultrasound, some kind of imaging. Frankly, and this is just a hunch, I’m worried about where your odds stand with some kind of HPV-related cancer. You had unprotected sex with a partner in your rectum, and now there is some kind of immobile and firm mass growing inside of you. When I was examining your anal cavity, I could feel some kind of growth there as well.”

Cancer. Henry felt struck cold.

“This is all preliminary findings, Henry. It could be a hormonal imbalance, which is why you’ve developed breasts. But in order to rule out the worst, we’re going to have to stick you a few times. I can arrange for Sharon at the desk to send you to hematology for a blood work-up before you go, but I won’t have an open slot in radiology for another couple days.”

“That’s fine,” Henry choked out. “Take everything…everything you need.” His guts, which throughout the examination had been extremely docile, gave a very violent churn that made him gasp and grab at the table.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine -” Henry waved off the doctor. “I’m surprised, that’s all.” A thought suddenly came to him, and it struck him colder than the thought of cancer. “You won’t tell my family, will you? That I’ve had…that I’ve had anal sex.” You won’t tell my family I’m gay?

“Of course not. That’s all strictly between you and me.”

“Thank you, Dr. Paulson.”

 …

 “So the doctor called to set up your…ultrasound,” Christopher told Henry, while Henry was trying to watch a movie in the basement.

Henry’s heart stuttered. “It’s just routine.”

“Are they going to try and figure out what’s inside that huge fucking gut of yours?” Christopher sat down heavily on the couch, jostling Henry in a way that was extremely uncomfortable. Henry grabbed the arm of the couch with one hand, and the top of his belly with the other.

Christopher frowned. “It’s really weird that you touch it all the time, did you know that?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Christopher. It’s just what feels…nice, I guess.”

“So fucking weird…men don’t get ultrasounds. Only pregnant women do. You have a baby stuffed up there or something?”

“Men get ultrasounds all the time.” Christopher was a sociopathic idiot.

“Sure. Sure. Maybe you got pregnant though, because you’re just so gay. Am I right? You’re so gay your body thought you were a woman, haha.”

Henry froze, trying to think of a response. He was too slow. Christopher’s eyes  widened.

“Oh shit? For real? You’re gay?”

“No, no, Christopher -”

“Oh man, mom and dad are going to be so sad, especially mom…” Christopher rolled his eyes in an evil-looking way. “Unless you make it worth my while.”

Jesus. “What do you want?”

“Money.”

“Fine. I’ll give you the fucking money.”

“One-thousand bucks a month, and your dirty dirty secret is safe with me. As long as you keep up on payments.”

Henry scowled. “Blackmailing your brother. Nice.”

“Nice for my wallet, you mean.”

 …

 Dinner that night was tense.

“So, you went to the clinic today?” his mother asked. “What’d Dr. Paulson say about everything?”

Henry hadn’t told anyone about the blood in the toilet. He wasn’t going to tell anyone about the cancer suspicions, either.

“He said I was under a lot of stress. That I needed to start working out and eating less. I have a follow-up with a nutritionist later this week.” He picked at his food, heavy fare from the crock-pot. It didn’t look or smell good, and he still hadn’t gotten his appetite back.

“Well, now you know the issue,” his father was happy to put it to bed.

Christopher was smirking at Henry across the table. He thought he knew so much. He knew nothing. He’d probably say cancer was what Henry deserved. Henry resisted the temptation to throw his water at him.

“Good, maybe you can-”

“I’m going for a walk after dinner,” he interrupted his mother. He couldn’t stand any more advice. And maybe it would help the heavy soreness that settled in his pelvis, or the cramping twinges that jiggled their way across his belly a few times an hour. Exercise solved a lot of things. He pushed away from the table. “I’ll be back in a while.”

The night was oddly hot and sticky for September, and the ache in his hips and back just wasn’t going away. It had started up not long after Christopher threatened him with blackmail. So much for brotherly love. He’d take a bath after getting back - that was a dependable remedy to the point he’d been spending more time in the water than out of it.

It was slow going, his belly carving the air of the path before him. He was waddling around the neighborhood, his heavy middle wagging from side-to-side with the beat of his footsteps. He was glad it was dark out. No one could stare at him, this freak of nature. Another twinge shook his insides, and he brought up a hand to quiet it. His hand rested on the top of his dome, sandwiched in the crease between the belly and his over-full breasts. He kept walking. Was it his imagination, or was his back pain getting worse? The pressure seemed so intense. Maybe a walk wasn’t such a good idea after all. He’d keep it up to the end of the block, and then he’d turn around and walk back. He was only about a mile from home.

On the next step, Henry felt a sudden painful lurch that brought him to all fours, scraping his knees and his palms. He brought a hand up to his low belly, the weight of his body too heavy for one hand to support, and collapsed onto his forearm, ass still held high in the air by his knees.

“Uhhuhh…” he groaned through the pain, a deeper and more excruciating feeling than anything he’d felt up to that point. Then something lurched again, and a gush of something warm and wet came out of him. At first he thought he’d pissed himself, but the feeling wasn’t right. It ran down his legs in rivulets, sticky and odorless. It pooled on the cement beneath him. He couldn’t see the color - it was too dark. Henry, breathing hard, tried to tighten his bottom to staunch the flow without success.  He waited for the pain to subside, and then, somehow, he stood up. He was hunched over, supporting the bottom of his belly with two hands. He stifled a sob.

What was happening to him? What was going on? This couldn’t be cancer. This was too strange. He needed to get home. He needed to hide. No one could see him like this. It was too weird, and then what would they think of him? Slowly, Henry started walking back home. The pain came and went only a few times, and he was able to pause and breathe through it when it happened. He leaked a trail of mystery fluid behind him all the while, large gushes coming out in time with the pains. But it seemed to all be out of him by the time he got home.

When he opened the door, his mother said from the kitchen, “Henry? How was your -”

“It was fine, mom!” he called, trying to sound cheerful. “But I’m very tired. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He hauled himself up the stairs as quickly as he could - if they saw him like this, they would call an ambulance. He got to his bedroom and locked the door. Another ache gripped him, and Henry sunk to the floor, holding himself.

“Ohhh….ohhh…” he breathed through it. He inspected his legs. Only sticky tracks of the fluid remained, and it didn’t look like they had any color. He started crawling towards the bathroom. He wanted to take a bath. He glimpsed himself in the mirror - flushed, with tired-looking eyes. His breasts hung as heavy as their B-cup size would allow, and the weight of  his belly looped so low the bottom seemed about ready to brush his thighs. His penis was shrunken and almost obscured by everything. He started drawing the bath. It was already feeling like a long night.

This is a sequel to a two-part submission I wrote about two years ago called Incidental: The Procedure (Pt. 1) (Pt. 2)

a. Voxlette

(Part 4 of 7)

Month 8

Henry sat on the couch in his living room and cried. His dog was missing, and he had no clue where she’d gone to. He’d spent the last four hours putting up posters, waddling around the neighborhood with his sore feet and creaking pelvis.

He couldn’t see his legs anymore. Henry had taken to wearing slip-on shoes. Even if he could have clapped eyes on the laces, he wouldn’t have been able to reach them from around his middle. He’d run out of pants that would fit, and instead kept his pants aloft by buying the largest sizes of sweatpants he could find, and pulling them up over the top of his belly. He’d noticed recently that the heavy weight of his middle was beginning to encourage the formation of some varicose veins in his legs - not anything he needed to worry about in particular, but something that he certainly noticed. His belly itched, and he spent at least twenty minutes before bed rubbing lotion on its wide and curvaceous surface. He started by his penis (which he could not see), worked around the sides, up over the top, his bellybutton. Sometimes even his nippes, which were becoming sore and weepy. A strange yellow fluid was leaking out of his constantly erect nipples, which had seemed to be transforming along with his growing stomach. They stuck straight out from his small breasts, doubled in size from what they’d resemble months ago.

His job was hard to do in this condition. It was hard on his system, which rebelled against him at every turn. His stomach flipped, his lungs spasmed. His hands and feet swelled after spending all day active. He was constantly hungry, and no amount of water could quench his thirst. He had to go to the bathroom constantly. He’d get home, shovel some takeout into his face, and fall asleep almost immediately. He would do the same tonight, out of grief for his missing dog more than exhaustion.

He had no idea of knowing how orchestrated it was.

…

He had a strange dream that night, after devouring his takeout, going to bed feeling uncomfortably stuffed. He dreamed that a woman - who seemed familiar for a reason he couldn’t quite place - came quietly into his room. She dragged some equipment with her, something out of a doctor’s office. He couldn’t move. He could only breathe, and look at her through a screen of his own eyelashes. He lay on his side, but she moved him onto his back. The weight of his belly pressed the breath from him somewhat, but she didn’t seem to care. She smiled, and rubbed a hand - proudly? - over it’s apex. It felt kind of…nice. And yet apprehensive. She wasn’t doing anything that seemed like it would harm him. But it felt like a nightmare nonetheless.

Then she gelled up the space between his cock and his high-flying belly button. The coolness was electrifying, lighting up the space in Henry’s brain that wanted to run away. This all felt too familiar. She rubbed it in for a long time, longer than was necessary. Taking her time to explore the shape of his body, before pressing what seemed like an ultrasound wand to his middle. A quiet heartbeat filled his bedroom.

“You’re doing excellently,” the woman whispered, giving his side a reverant rub. “Thirty-six centimeters. A little large for thirty-two weeks, but right on track.”

She poked at his breasts and was very excited by the yellow fluid. She hummed with excitement.

Then she pulled his legs up into a crouched position, and things began to feel dangerous for real. This position - it was too familiar, and too exposed. She should not be touching him like this, maneuvering him so easily. He should be fighting back, resisting. But he couldn’t. The rise and fall of his belly as he breathed in his dream made the woman bob and and out of view from her crouched position at the end of the bed. He hadn’t put on any pants before going to sleep, and his dream reflected that. He was open and bare for her to see. He felt her fingers examine his cock, take the length in her hand. Her fingers toyed gently with his testicles, circled the rim of his anus before forcing themselves inside. If he was awake, he would have whimpered at the invasive feeling.

She kept exploring inside of him - deeper, deeper, deeper - poking and prodding and massaging places that no one, not even lovers, had ever touched or seen. His heart stuttered in fear. Why did this feel so routine? Then she withdrew from him, snapping off an examination glove. She wiped the gel from his belly, gathered her equipment, and left as quietly as she had appeared.

…

He had to go. He had to go very, very badly. The pressure in his bladder was exacerbated by the pressure in his belly, the odd internal movements and gases in his intestines. He waddled slowly from table to table, delivering drinks with a personal apology because it took so long to make them. As he neared the last table, he felt like he was about to burst.

“There you go,” he handed the patrons their drinks, and they were accepted with thanks. Henry smiled and started on his way to the bathroom. He would be able to relieve himself and -

“Excuse me?” a sharp, irritated voice drew his attention to the front of the cafe. A very pinched-looking woman stood by the counter, tapping her foot impatiently on the salvaged wood floor.

“Yes?” he glanced at the bathroom, just within reach.

“Aren’t you going to take my order? I’ve been waiting, and I’m very busy this morning.” Her eyes were stormy.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I have to use the restroom, and then I’ll be right -”

“You’re seriously doing this to me? Good fucking God,” the woman huffed, rummaging in her purse for her cellphone. “Is there a manager I can call? Someone needs to do something about your attitude.”

Henry sighed, and shifted urgently from foot to foot. He really needed to go, but he also needed this job. “No need.”

He shuffled slowly over to the counter, feeling with each footstep the urgent need to empty himself. “What can I get for you.”

“Caramel cappuccino. Skim,” she sniffed with a not-so-subtle look at his rotund middle.

Henry took her money, gave her the change. He made the drink and handed it over the counter. His insides rolled, and he tried to ignore them. He thought about getting to the bathroom, closing the door, releasing himself…

The woman took a sip and made a face. “This needs more caramel. Are you new?”

“Sort of,” Henry was on the verge of an emergency. The rest of the people in the cafe were beginning to take notice, watch the interaction with wide and curious eyes. “Ma’am, please, I promise I’ll help you as soon as I get back from the restroom.”

“It’ll only take you a few seconds. Fix it,” she held out her cup expectantly.

Henry reached for it, and as he did so, the bottom of his swollen middle pressed against the counter. It was too much pressure - it was a slow leak at first, but it was already unstoppable.

“Oh, no…” He backed away, mortified, watching the dark stain on his work pants grow larger, his bladder feel lighter and lighter. He tried to hide it to no avail - everyone had seen.

The difficult woman gasped. “Oh my god!”

…

Henry got home that night feeling more miserable than he had in a long time. His dog was still missing. No sign of her whatsoever. He was still angry with convincing himself Dean meant something. He didn’t have his job anymore. He didn’t see any other option - he was going to have to go back to his parents.

Month 9

“Henry!” his mother answered the door, her mouth hanging open. “L-look at you!”

“Hey, kiddo,” his father approached as well, “Good to see…”

They both stared. Henry blushed. Christopher popped up from behind them and yelled, “WOW! So did you get fat, or what?”

“Christopher, that’s so unkind!” their mother snapped. “You are eighteen years old, you should know better!”

Christopher shrugged. “One more month and I’m out of here, then I can say whatever the fuck I want.” Henry’s brother disappeared back into the house.

“Can I…come inside?” His suitcase was feeling extremely heavy all of a sudden. His back was giving twinges after the exertion of travel. Henry hadn’t been able to find one position that was comfortable the whole journey. He’d taken countless breaks to stretch his legs and empty his shrunken bladder, adding an extra hour and a half onto his drive.

“Yes, of course sweetheart,” his mother stood back, and his father leaned forward to grab the suitcase and Henry crossed the threshold.

“Let me help you with that,” he gave the underside of Henry’s swollen belly a playful slap. “Always knew you’d end up taking after my side of the family. Really packed it on there, huh, kiddo?”

With a wink and a smile, his father rushed upstairs. His attempt at levity did not encourage Henry. The opposite, in fact. Henry was four times the size of his father, even at his largest. And all (or mostly) in the gut. He looked grotesque.

“Is it…allergies?” his mother still seemed in shock. She drew him into a frantic hug. “Are you sick? You can tell me.”

“It’s nothing, mom,” Henry lied, because it certainly was something. But he wasn’t ready to face that reality yet. “It’s just what dad said. You know, work was stressful, I lost my job, I’ve been eating a lot…it adds up.”

“Well…” she hovered to the side, releasing him, still looking at the swell between them. “I’ve made your favorite for your first night back. Grandma’s spaghetti.”

Henry’s stomach growled impatiently, and he unconsciously brought a hand to it’s side to quiet it. “Oh, mom. That sounds delicious.”

“Then maybe after that, we can talk about a diet plan?”

Henry wanted to take a bath first. Anything to help the aches and strains that criss-crossed his body below his breasts.

…

Loretta watched her sons. Christopher - Christopher resented her for it. She couldn’t wait until he was out of the house. His toxic language and abhorrence of her God had hardened her heart towards him for years. She watched for his mistakes, and they both knew it. She watched Henry because he was perfect, her confidante and her friend and everything she ever needed in a son. God-loving. Parent-fearing. Obedient and polite. But now…

Henry had spent a few days getting settled in. He seemed like he missed his old apartment, his friends, his job - soon that would be yesterday’s memory. She would remake his home here, even if he wasn’t so…perfect anymore. Loretta chewed her fingernail, stirring the pot on the stove and staring at the globular mass her formerly fit son had turned into. How would he find a beautiful wife for himself like that?

God provides, she needed to remind herself. God will provide Henry with the means to fix himself, and the means with which to find a wife as perfect as Henry was.

“So,” she tried for jovial. “Any luck in the girlfriend department?” He always got so shy whenever they talked about this. Maybe this time she could squeeze some secrets out of him.

“Umm…,” Henry’s hand was underneath his shirt, rubbing circular, soothing-looking motions on it’s apex. He looked like he was in a stupor on the couch. “Not yet. Some pretty girls at the office though. But I don’t think they’re interested in me anymore.”

“You should come to church with me tomorrow,” she pressed. “Helen Campbell’s daughter is back from college….I think she always had a thing for you.”

“Sure,” he said, sounding tired and faraway. “Are you listening?” she put an edge in her voice.

“…Yeah, mom, I’m sorry…it’s just really hard to think right now…”

Well, he’d lost everything hadn’t he? Even still. College must have made him soft, four years of talking about mental illnesses and all those ridiculous things. Her family didn’t get mental illness, they got on their feet and fixed themselves.

“Come here and help me set the table,” she commanded. “If you’re going to stay with us, you’re going to pull your weight around here.”

She watched in disgust as he slowly heaved himself up from the couch, catching his balance, and slowly came over to help her put the dishes on the table. It was hard for him to reach the nice plates on the high shelf - he was short, like her, and his middle made it even harder for him to extend his arms to their full height.

“Let me do it,” she lost her patience. “You stir.”

She grabbed them and began putting the dishes down on the table as hard as she could without having them shatter, to show her anger. Henry just stirred forlornly at the stove, withdrawn, hand still rubbing absent circles on his belly. She hated that. Why did she hate that? Suddenly, the realization came to her. It looked so feminine. It looked so wrong on his body. Everything, from the way he looked to the way he moved. To the way he touched himself. He reminded her of herself, all those years ago. He looked like…she couldn’t even think about it. It was too horrid. And impossible. Though - she thought, as she slammed down glasses and cutlery to match the tableware - if Henry was a Henrietta, there would be no doubt in her mind.

…

The park was empty. Luckily. Dean sat angrily on a shaded bench, thinking about the ruin his life had become. He had no one, anymore, and Elise was the woman he had to thank for that.

“Good! You showed up,” Elise plopped down at the far end of the bench. “We’d be fucked if you didn’t.”

“We’re fucked already. Why are we meeting here? We should be preparing to go into hiding.”

“Our Henry should be ready to pop out that little secret project soon,” she scrolled across some information on her phone. “His oxytocin and prolactin levels are almost at their peak. They’ll start working on him soon, if they aren’t already. The pseudo-womb will get things going, and when they get going, you know they don’t stop.”

“Why are you telling me this? It’s not like we can do anything.”

Elise nodded, still looking at her phone, studying numbers. “You’re right - or, you would be, if I didn’t happen to know where Henry is.”

“What do you mean, you know where he is?” Dean snapped. “You lied to me that the company asked for this, had me participate in this sham of an experiment, and now you’re telling me you know where he went?”

Elise waved an open GPS app in front of his face. “I took the liberty to chip him before I sent him back out into the world, after he birthed the twins last March.”

“Why in the fuck would you do that?” She’d chipped Henry? His Henry?! He was more than some animal, more than a labrat!

“Oh, Dean,” she took a small sip of coffee, smiling. “I know better than to let a belly bursting with intellectual property walk around unmonitored.”

“Why on earth did you do this?”

“Well, I saw how you looked at them all. Slurping up my sloppy seconds that would have you, almost as quickly as I could release them. And I felt bad that they’d never, you know -” she mimed full breasts and a swollen pregnant belly “ - for you….because I know that’s why you want them. The fact that they all got pregnant. Pushed babies out of their holes.”

“That’s not true. I’m not like you.”

“Ohhhh…and Henry was so good, too, you know? He trusted me. He did everything I asked him to.”

“I’ve seen the tapes, Elise.”

“Sliding inside of him, it was like he wanted me there. He wanted to get pregnant. He was screaming and crying about it at the time, but I know he got some enjoyment out of it. Making the babies is always fun. And having them is even more fun. He got sooooo big, Dean,” she held her arms wide apart. “The video files don’t compare to the real thing. And the sounds he made…! He cried for mommy as he became a mommy. He gasped. He moaned so deliciously when I took him in my mouth. He couldn’t get away from me when I examined him, he was so fucking scared…oh, jesus, I’m getting hard just thinking about it.” She crossed her legs.

“And you thought I’d….like that?” he tried to sound disgusted, tried to hide the eagerness in his voice to hear more. God, he was a vile man.

“I knew you would. And I gave it to you natural, too. I wanted you to be able to savor the experience. Watching him have that slow realization….the transition of his body. Small gains at first, and then undeniable. Getting so big and full for you, with your seed. I only get five minutes of that. You could call it scientific curiosity. I desperately wanted to see what would happen.”

“And now we’re fucked, Elise. Thanks. We’re all going to lose our jobs.”

“Hmm…it’s a bit more than that,” she curled her hair around her finger. “He’s going to need some help, I think.”

“Help?”

“Mmmm…with the birth. I was surprised that you and Kelly only had one child, a man as virile as you with appetites like mine. And then I looked at her medical records…. You really did ruin her tight little pussy, didn’t you. Was it worth that one moment of ecstasy? Did you have any idea as you watched your wife grow that she would never be able to get that big again after straining her body around your fully developed seed?”

“Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” But it was true, and it was the cornerstone of their broken marriage. Sixteen years of resentment, all for coming in his girlfriend at the age of twenty. He’d watched Kelly grow and swell, excited, trying to hide it. She didn’t feel sexy but he convinced her she was, ogling over the changes in her body and touching her every chance he could get. He tried to hide how hard he got, just from looking at her. Now he had an empty bachelor’s apartment.

“And now you’ve gone and done it to Henry, only by my calculations, worse this time. Poor thing won’t know what’s happening, his pseudo-uterus won’t be strong enough to push it out, and he’ll strain and struggle until…well. I wonder what will happen. Are you going to let that be a part of the experiment? Or are you going to risk it all and go to him in his hour of deepest need?”

Dean frowned and turned towards her. “You know what the consequences will be. We’ll have to go into hiding.”

Elise shrugged. “I can have arrangements made for the three - excuse me, soon to be four - of us within 48 hours. You’ll need to go and extract him. That’s the dangerous part. The company’s metaphorical buzzards are beginning to circle. They suspect…something.”

Dean extended his open hand. “Give me the damn pitocin.”

This is a sequel to a two-part submission I wrote about two years ago called Incidental: The Procedure (Pt. 1) (Pt. 2)

a. Voxlette

(Part 3 of 7)

Month 5

It was the middle of a meeting when Henry felt it the first time. A slight fluttering, right behind his navel. He gasped a little, and grabbed his middle. “Oh!” He drew a few looks, and regretted his noises. He noticed Dean looking at him out of the corner of his eye, and tried to avoid it. If he met his gaze, he’d be so embarrassed. The fluttering kept up intermittently throughout the day, and didn’t stop.

He figured it was indigestion.

“What are you feeding this man?” Elise tutted with a knowing smile. “Look at the size of him! If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s two months more along than he actually is.”

Henry laid stretched out on his back, drugged to stupor once more, his belly arcing up dramatically from the space between his groin and his sternum.

“Look at those stretch marks!” Elise traced the pinkish lines which spidered across the flesh of Henry’s underbelly. “Dean - you’ve absolutely ruined his figure. I admire your handiwork.”

Dean tried not to smile.

Elise pulled out a tape measure and ran it over Henry’s dome - it was a motion he was very familiar with after watching the video files.

“Thirty centimeters,” she breathed. “Very large for five months…”

“He’s been complaining of constipation lately,” Dean disclosed. It was beginning to ruin Henry’s libido. He didn’t want to stuff himself full of Dean’s cock when he already felt stuffed full of food and shit.

“I’m not surprised, with a fetus this size. It has to be putting massive pressure on his digestive system,” Elise felt his belly. “I think I have a solution. Something I’ve whipped up in the lab. Help me get him on his side -”

Dean grabbed Henry’s legs and carefully flipped him to the right in time with Elise. She rummaged in her medical cases, emerging with a banana bag filled with unlabeled reddish fluid and a tube.

“What’s that?”

“This is a serum,” Elise explained as she connected the tube to the bag, and handed him the end of it, “that will keep him regular. It only needs to be administered once. It’ll add a little bit of pressure and discomfort for a while, but he won’t feel anything while he’s asleep.” She sounded sad about that. “You get the honors, daddy. Stick that in his anus, nice and deep.”

Dean gently pushed the tube inside Henry, threading it until Elise told him to stop.

“Now, we’ll administer the serum,” she released the fluid, and gravity fed it down, down, down. Henry jerked a little in his sleep the moment the fluid entered him. Dean startled.

“It’s okay, Henry,” Elise said, even though Henry couldn’t hear. “This’ll make you feel nice and normal.”

A strange, unnatural gurgling came from deep inside of Henry’s belly. Dean put his hand on the globe, and could feel the squirming of guts and baby inside.

“The intestines don’t like this very much,” Elise muttered. As the fluid drained from the bag, Henry’s belly grew outward ever-so-slightly. Dean felt the skin stretch under his hands, felt it rise in time with Henry’s deep breathing.

“Uh-oh, look -” Elise pointed to Henry’s middle. His belly button, already stretched to the limit, was beginning to slowly inflate. To pop-out.

“It’s the pressure inside him that’s doing this,” she whispered. Slowly and then all at once, like a time-lapse of a rare flower, his belly-button bloomed.

Dean took out the tube.

“Does that…stay inside of him?” he asked. It would be messy if it didn’t.

“Yes. It stays put. It absorbs into his intestinal lining. He stays this big, though. And only bigger from here.” She took a look at his growing breasts, palpating them. “They’re not just filled with fluid anymore, they’re starting to bud.”

She stepped back. “It’s all going extremely well.”

…

Henry woke up that morning with Dean’s arms wrapped around him.

“Hey -” he said sleepily, rolling over with a wince and moan. His middle was so sore - like he’d been doing sit-ups all night. It was all oddly tender. Eyes closed, he rubbed at the side, and the top, and - stopped. What had happened to his belly button? It was sticking outside of him….it had never done that before. And did he look…bigger?

“Huh!” Dean was waking up now, too. “Would you look at that.”

Dean placed his hand over Henry’s belly button, cupping it. It felt kind of nice.

Month 6

It was a night in for Henry. Dean was off on some business trip, so he was cuddled at home in his apartment. A pint of ice cream was the perfect dessert for the Chinese take-out he’d indulged in earlier that evening. Dolly was snuggled beside him, after whining about the lost real-estate on his lap. The space where Dolly used to sit was now inhabited by his belly. Henry ate spoonful after spoonful of the ice cream, telling himself I’ll stop after this one. But it was too tasty, and it felt nice in his stomach. His guts weren’t getting up to their weird movements and flutters. The ice cream must be making them happy, he figured.

The medical drama on TV was playing on low volume, but the presenting case this episode was a pregnant woman. He watched the doctor press a stethoscope to the swell beneath her belly button. The prosthetic the costuming department used had a popped one - one that looked strikingly like his own. The whole figure of the actress, in fact, was familiar. He pulled his shirt up and splayed his fingers across his belly’s surface. He was so swollen…he guessed he was starting to look a little like her.

Everything about him had been getting bigger. His breasts, for one, and his feet. They’d been hurting, and he discovered his shoes were a size too small.

“Oh!” the woman on TV grabbed her middle, a pained expression on her face. “Honey, it’s time!” Her breathing deepened, and the medical staff rushed to make her comfortable.

What would that feel like, Henry wondered? Was it like a light switch - a sudden urge to give birth? It sure seemed like that from Hollywood’s perspective.

His insomnia had been acting up lately, ever since the twitches and ripples in his guts had started. It was easy, then, to fall down a warren of “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant” videos. People forced to give birth in their cars, their beds, their bathrooms. Or arriving at the hospital with a “burst appendix” and being told they were ten-centimeteres dilated and ready to push, instead. Henry shook his head. How did that happen to people?

He couldn’t understand how someone could spend almost a year not knowing the contents of their body. He took a moment to rub at the faint brown line that was beginning to develop between the root of his penis and his popped belly-button. It felt nice to trace it up and down. Relaxing.

Really, he had no idea.

Month 7

Dean couldn’t do it anymore. He kept looking at Henry, his belly. He felt like a liar when they were having sex. He’d revelled in the secret at first, but Henry was more than just a breeding machine. More than an experiment. He was Dean’s lover. And it was because of this condition of their relationship Dean felt he had to end things.

“I’m sorry, Henry,” he said. They were enjoying coffee at an outdoor bistro. He couldn’t meet the other man’s eyes.

“S-sorry?” An indignant flush crept up Henry’s neck.

…

“Henry, I’m afraid we have to let you go,” the office of HR was too cold. Henry shifted in his chair trying not to cry, but also wanting to hide the stiffness of his nipples through his shirt.

“Why?” he almost whimpered.

“Downsizing. The economy. You were one of the people lower on the seniority ladder. First in, first out.” HR gave him a thin smile. “I’m sorry.”

…

He qualified for unemployment benefits, but he felt incredibly low. Sitting at home, searching for another job like the one he’d just been fired from, would make him feel worse. So instead, Henry applied to the first business he saw with a HIRING sign in the window.

…

“We are a non-discriminatory workplace,” Sharone, the owner of the cafe, smiled. “And when the time comes, we will gladly offer you parental leave.”

“What?” Henry cocked his head.

“Well…um…aren’t you expecting?” Sharon looked unsure, now.

“No. I’m not pregnant? I can’t get pregnant. I’m a cis man.”

“Oh. Oh! Well, I suppose I assumed that….nevermind. I’m sorry for the miscommunication.”

Henry left Sharon’s office feeling embarrassed, even though Sharon probably felt more so. He couldn’t believe she thought he looked so pregnant, she’d made such assumptions. He shook his head. Some people.

This is a sequel to a two-part submission I wrote about two years ago called Incidental: The Procedure (Pt. 1) (Pt. 2)

a. Voxlette

(Part 2 of 7)

Month 4

Henry struggled to button his shirt. Or at least, button it and make it look like it fit. He’d noticed he was putting on a little weight around the middle - he hadn’t realized he’d put on that much. This shirt had fit him fine a few weeks ago. The fabric strained at the buttons, leaving open gaps where you could see through to his skin. His pants were the same, refusing to pull closed those last couple of inches. He could hold them up by keeping them unbuttoned, and hiding it with a belt. A belt that was a few notches looser than last month. His belly button was there, hidden only by the buckle.

…

Henry couldn’t get comfortable at the office, shifting in his chair. He had this strange soreness in his abdomen - perhaps it was because his clothes were too tight. He’d been distracted on all of his sales calls, and he was nowhere near his goal for the morning. He needed to find a solution to his discomfort, and quickly. He tried covertly rubbing at his abdomen in the sore spots, but even in his cubicle, felt like he was getting some odd looks. He couldn’t stand to be a public spectacle. What would people say? Would they whisper about how odd he was acting in the breakroom…the thought made his chest feel tight.

Maybe Dean would help him. He made his way to Dean’s office, opening and closing the door, closing the blinds in the glass walls.

“Hey,” Dean said, glancing up from his computer. “Something wrong?”

“Dean, can you help me?” Henry stammered over his request. “I need you to…massage me. I feel too bloated….too full…and - nevermind, nevermind.” He made to go again.

“Wait!” Dean stood up. He had that look on his face. The bedroom look. That was…interesting. Henry didn’t figure he’d be into this. “Come over here.”

Henry obliged, and Dean switched places with him so that Henry was tucked safely in the corner of the office. He felt his shoulders press against the wall.

“Where does it hurt?” Dean looked so…concerned.

“Um, well -” he indicated his pectorals and his round ligaments that stretched up and down the sides of his increasingly rotund stomach.

Without a word, Dean began rubbing gently. It felt surprisingly nice.

“Is that better?” he asked quietly.

“Hmmm…yes.” Henry closed his eyes and savored it, as odd as it was.

“You know, Henry, this gives me an idea.”

 …

“You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to,” Dean was speaking through the bathroom door at home. “I just thought it might be fun, is all.”

Henry looked at the lingerie in his hands. Lacy and light blue. This would do his growing body no favors, highlight only the worst parts of him. But Dean was asking….

“It’s fine,” he said. “Go to the bedroom so it’s a surprise.”

He unhooked the bra - what looked like the smallest cup available - and shrugged it onto his shoulders. Henry was very surprised that his breasts felt constrained by the padded cups - like it was too small. He loosened the straps and hooked it on the last set of eyelets - that helped a little bit, but the underwire still pressed tightly into him. He looked in the mirror. He was practically spilling out of it.

Next, the panties. He bent down and drew it over his thighs, which had gotten a little bit thicker. It would be hard to get them off again. He winced as the lacy mesh fabric pressed against his penis, finding relief only when he let the glans get some breathing room out of the side. He fussed and shifted for a few minutes, feeling his testicles with the tips of his fingers as he sought for more comfort. There were some fancy straps on the side, just decorative, that traced the curve of his belly. They connected to some snaps on the cup of the bra, almost like suspenders. But sexy, he supposed. Sexy on someone without his stomach. Henry self-consciously swiped a hand down his slight curvaceousness.

He was going to have to start running some more.

 …

 “Well, here I am…” Henry’s voice shook a little.

Sitting on the bed, Dean turned to face him and almost immediately grew stiff. The lingerie made Henry look so delicate - the bra and the panties were too small, Dean could see that right off. His estimations of Henry’s size were wrong. Henry was already too pregnant to fit comfortably inside of them.

Dean cleared his throat. “Looks good.”

Henry sighed and situated himself, standing between Dean’s open thighs. The small curve of his belly brushed against Dean’s hard cock.

“I feel too…fat for this,” he grabbed Dean’s hips with his hands. Dean responded by pulling Henry closer by the small of his back, sweeping the smaller man into his lap.

“You could never be too big for me.” And how big would the small Henry get? Like a watermelon in his belly? A beachball? He was sure Henry could feel the way Dean’s body was responding, and the thought made him harder.

Henry frowned up at him, breasts squished together, hand lightly laying on his belly. “Are you sure?”

Dean responded by turning and laying Henry on the bed, and Henry let Dean pose him like a doll. He propped his legs up on the sheets, and opened them wide. The straps that rounded over his little dome were straining, as was his cock inside the tight underwear. The back of the underwear was made of some delicate mesh.

“Let me prove it to you.” He drew himself over Henry on the bed, who looked up at him eagerly. Dean started cupping Henry’s straining cock, teasing it with the pressure of his palm. “Like that?”

“Yes,” Henry breathed, pressing upwards into Dean’s touch. Dean grabbed some handcuffs from the drawer and closed them around Henry’s wrists after looping them through the headboard. Henry was trying to maintain his dignity. He would take that away from him. Though, maybe there already wasn’t much there to begin with, unknowingly gestating a baby in his guts. Dean felt a confusing twinge of guilt, but continued anyway.

He grabbed Henry’s breasts over the cups, and Henry winced and moaned, but in a good way.

“Feels nice?”

“Yeah….that feels really good…”

Dean slipped his hands under the wire of the bra. “It looks really tight. Want me to let you out of it?”

“Hmm…yes.”

“You’ll have to earn it.” He lay a kiss on Henry’s neck, then his chest, then down his belly, stopping a moment to flick his tongue inside Henry’s belly button. And what lay beneath that belly button, Dean had put there.

“Hey, Dean, that tickles…” the blush of arousal was creeping up Henry’s neck. Dean responded by kissing beneath it, and then kissing the bulge of Henry’s genitalia crammed into the panties. Henry gave a little kick of his legs, a little gasp. He couldn’t move his arms…he was cracking.

He teased Henry. “Oh no, there’s these panties in the way….they look really tight, too.”

“Take them off? Please?”

“I don’t think so. I think I know another way inside.” Dean raised Henry’s hips up onto his naked lap, and pinched the fabric between his fingers. With a slight ripping motion, he tore open the back of the flimsy panties. Henry’s twitching anus was in full view.

“Oh please….please…” Henry was whimpering.

“I haven’t even started yet,” Dean mumbled around the three fingers he was sucking on. “You need to learn patience.” He took his fingers out of his mouth and started by circling Henry’s tight sphincter, preparing it for his cock. Henry’s anus was getting more flexible, more pliable. It had only been four months, and Henry’s body was already preparing to push out it’s secret contents. He had no idea what was hiding inside of him.

He pushed all three fingers inside at once, to test the flexibility. Henry mewled and gasped, wriggling in his grasp. “You like that?”

“Yes, yes, I like it….the underwear is tight…please take it off…”

“You have to earn it, remember?”

Dean gave a few more thrusts with his fingers, then lay Henry’s ass back onto the bed. He gave himself a few strokes, bringing himself almost to orgasm. He leaned forward, guiding his cock through the rips in the fabric, finding the soft and pliable target of Henry’s insides. Henry gasped and tried to squirm as Dean sheathed his full length into his guts. Dean savored the pressure, tight and hot, maybe even pulsing. Pulling him in deeper with each thrust. Henry was stuffed - full of baby, and full of Dean.

“Oh, oh my god,” Henry pulled at the handcuffs. “That’s so good…” He was breathing heavily, cock straining in the panties.

Dean started thrusting harder, and as Henry rocked with the thrusts, Dean started grabbing his small belly, smoothing it up and down. Seeing if he could feel what was inside yet.

“Oh, Dean, that’s not a good part of me,” Henry was red, but his cock was still hard.

“It’s beautiful,” Dean thrust again, and Henry gasped, thrusting his hips and belly upwards - the snaps released from the bra and flew to the sides. Henry’s belly was now naked, unrestrained. Dean came, his thrusts becoming less methodical before slipping out of Henry’s anus. He pulled the younger man’s ass cheeks apart, and looked at the slightly gaping hole.

“Push the cum out,” he commanded.

Henry flexed his abdominal wall as best he could with a hidden baby slowly splitting apart his muscles, bearing down and pulling his wrists against the handcuffs….only to leak little gushes. Small dribbles of Dean’s heavy load. The rest was lost inside of him, but it was no mystery where it went. Henry breathed heavily, belly going up, and down.

“Did I do good?” he gasped.

“You did perfectly,” Dean grabbed ahold of the small panties and pulled them slowly over Henry’s thighs. He undid the clasp of the bra. There were noticeable imprints left on Henry’s skin; circling the tops of his legs, the circumference of his gut, the underside of his breasts. Dean rubbed at the spots gently to make them disappear faster, Henry humming with pleasure while he did so.

…

Henry was asleep. Dean was in his study. The glow of his computer was the only light in the room. Why was he starting to feel bad? Like a liar? It hadn’t been like this with any of the other men. He closed the video file he had just finished reviewing, John’s accelerated pregnancy and birth. Elise was right. It wasn’t that exciting when they weren’t awake for it. But the thought of someone going to sleep looking normal, and then awakening to the first pains of labor in the middle of the night - his cock responded.

He looked to the door. Henry was fast asleep. Dean pulled up his favorite file - Henry’s.

““No, please, please I need to go! I don’t feel good!” Henry was immobile on the bed, trapped by his belly.

“Shhh,” Elise said, grabbing a handful of his swollen breasts.

“Don’t - don’t touch them!”

“Don’t be shy, Mr. Felix. You know what they say - the best amount of breast is just enough to fit in a champagne glass.” Then she began to thrust and suck.

“Ohhhhhh…oh god…,” Henry was getting hard - when Elise made him come, he couldn’t breathe.

“There. That got you breathing, didn’t it, Mr. Felix? I’m so glad I could make you more comfortable.”

Then he was screaming again, grabbing himself, Elise situating him back into the stirrups.

“NO! NO, PLEASE!” he cried.

“Just checking your dilation Mr. Felix,” she turned her fist and he bucked his hips weakly in protest.

“Get it out, get out me! Get out of my ass!”

“You’re at ten centimeters. It’s time to start pushing in earnest,” that smile was back on her face again. Henry grabbed the railing and screamed. Elise put her hands on the top of his low, low belly, to feel. He pushed his heels against the stirrups in agony.

“It fucking burns!” he sobbed. “Please, please, I’m so scared, make it stop Dr. Tallis, I’ll do anything!”

“Just push, Mr. Felix. Breathe and push.”

“Oohoooooohh….oh…AH…! Noo….!”

“That’s it,” Elise massaged his belly, moving in time with his contractions. “Keep going, keep pushing.”

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Henry screamed. “MOM! MOM! MOM, I’M SORRY, JUST PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!” His last word was drawn out in a loud halting sob. “STOP! STOP!”

The baby cried in Elise’s arms. Henry sobbed, hands hiding his face a few moments before he grabbed his still-swollen middle, feet still in the stirrups. “Oh…”

“That would be the afterbirth, Mr. Felix. The placenta. I’ll be over to attend to you shortly. Your daughter is healthy and passing all her tests with flying colors.”

“I don’t have a daughter,” he slurred, looking minutes away from complete oblivion.

“Oh…! OH!”

Elise looked up from her station and hurried over to her patient.

“You haven’t delivered the afterbirth,” she muttered to herself, palpating him. “Hmmm…”

“What?” he gasped, gripping the sides of the bed, clearly in pain.“What’s wrong?”

Elise whipped out the ultrasound machine, pressing the sensor to Henry’s flesh.

“There’s another one.”

“Another what?”

“Another baby - you’re having twins, Mr. Felix,” she grew serious. “But there’s a problem.”

“W-what?” he strained with the contraction.

“Ohh…,” he moaned as she rubbed the gel into his skin. Elise played with Henry a little, tugged at his belly button. The heartbeat was very faint on the audio.

“Going strong. But the baby needs to be turned. It’s on it’s shoulder.”

“Shoulder?”

Dr. Tallis turned off the machine and turned to him, “Brace yourself, Mr. Felix. This might cause you some discomfort.”

“What are you going to do?” His voice wavered. “OHHHH!”

She grabbed both sides of his belly with that contraction.“STOP!” he screamed, his voice hoarse. “STOP! IT HURTS!”

“Applying fundal pressure,” she said, obscuring the good views of Henry’s belly. But his kicking, straining, gasping limbs were easy to see. He was distressed.

“STOP! I’M NOT HAVING A CONTRACTION!”

“We need to get it out as soon as possible.”

Henry looked overwhelmed by the physical sensations of birth.

“That’s it! Push! Good boy! Excellent! He’s here!” And Henry’s head lolled to the side, unconscious.

Dean wiped the cum off of his lap and closed the file. How long were they going to get away with this? Would Henry make it the full nine months without realizing what Dean had put inside of him? He felt bad. But he felt excited, too. Henry was going to do that again, and because Dean had stuck it in him. God, he needed help.

This is part one a sequel to a two-part submission I wrote about two years ago called Incidental: The Procedure (Pt. 1) (Pt. 2)

a. Voxlette

(Part 1 of 7)

Henry was enjoying himself at the Christmas party. He was enjoying himself very much. He was drunk - something that was coming very easily to him tonight. It gave everything - the chatter, the music, the lights - soft edges. It didn’t matter that the upscale venue had double booked and they were forced to have the party at the office. He almost liked it better this way.

“Henry!” Liza, a work friend squealed. She too, was drunk. “Do you think you’re gonna get lucky tonight?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Oh, shhhh…” he wavered slightly on his feet, straddling the edge of coherence and complete inebriation.

“Caroline has a crush on you, I’ve heard.”

“She’s nice…” Not a chance. He wandered over to her for show, though, and she happened to be standing next to Dean. His manager. Dean looked at him over the top of his cup. Caroline nattered away until she felt ignored and went to go talk to someone else. There was a beat of silence, Henry waiting for confirmation for what he’d suspected for so long.

“Want to get out of here?” Dean jerked his hand back towards their offices, Henry smiled and nodded, following him away from the sounds of the Christmas Party.

Dean closed and locked the door of his office behind them.

Dean was so handsome, Henry could hardly stand it. He tried to stay calm as Dean unbuttoned his shirt for him, slowly, one button at a time. He marked a kiss on every inch of Henry’s skin he exposed as he worked his way down. He nosed the fabric aside and lightly tongued Henry’s nipple. The alcohol heightened their awareness of both their arousals, tenting the crotches of their pants. Henry set to work to unbutton Dean’s fashionable slacks, wanting to take his cock in his mouth, suck it dry - but Dean stopped him.

“Let’s do the big stuff first,” he breathed. “I’m older, I’m drunk…might not have another one in me.”

“Alright,” Henry let Dean take him by the hand, and lead him over to the desk. Dean sat down in the chair, shucking his pants off. He was still wearing his underwear - briefs, and Henry could see the outline of his decently-sized cock through them. Straining against containment. He knew from the heat pooling in his own belly that he was in the same state. He would give Dean a little show.

Henry peeled off his shirt and let it drop to the floor. He popped the button on his pants pointedly, pausing before tugging them down. Dean was transfixed. Henry hooked his thumbs under his underwear waistband and slowly dragged them down. The elastic was tight and caught on the head of his erect cock, dragging it down. His penis sprang back into place when his underwear released him. His cock curved up to meet his abdomen. Dean let out a breath at the sight.

“Come here,” he beckoned, and Henry heeded him. He straddled Dean’s lap, putting the pressure of his weight on the other man’s groin. Dean groaned. His erection was firm. Henry began dry humping Dean over his clothes.

“Do you have anything?” he asked, feeling a little embarrassed. “To make it easier.”

Dean moaned, “We’ll do it the old-fashioned way.” He stuck three fingers in his mouth and coated them with saliva. Then he brought them around Henry’s behind, pulling him close, pulling him up with his other arm. His fingers started by gently circling Henry’s rim, testing and teasing his flexibility.

“Relax,” Dean whispered, and he pushed his fingers in slowly. Henry arched against the burn, but he knew it would start feeling good. He winced.

“Ow,” he gasped. “Don’t…stop.”

“I won’t,” Dean’s fingers were pumping in and out of him - Henry bobbed up and down to meet his gentle thrusts. His anus was loosening up with the stimulation, from his arousal. Then Dean fumbled with his crotch, and his cock took the place of his fingers. Henry felt him pushing in, the burn turning to ecstasy as Henry lowered his pelvis onto Dean’s. Dean was filling up his guts, and he was filling them easily.

“We need to be…quiet! Ah!” he whimpered. He didn’t want anyone finding them. Word would get back to his parents, somehow. He couldn’t explain away being found at the Christmas Party with his manager’s dick buried in his ass.

“Almost there,” Dean said, bottoming out. He was buried in Henry up to the base of his cock. Henry could feel every inch of it, pulsing inside of him. Then Dean gave a sudden thrust upwards. Henry moaned in spite of himself. Another thrust. Another. Each one deep and powerful. He grabbed Dean’s shoulders.

Dean stood up then, easily carrying Henry’s weight, and the gravity of Henry’s body brought him even more solidly onto Dean’s cock.

“Oh, oh god!”

Dean laid Henry down so his back was on the desk, and he took a foot in each of his hands, pushing them up and bowing out Henry’s legs.

“You look so good like this, nice and open for me,” he whispered, giving another thrust. Each rock into Henry was punctuated by the slap of skin on skin. “I can’t wait to come inside you.”

“Please,” Henry whispered, a plea and a prayer. “Please…” Dean’s hands roved around Henry’s body as he resumed thrusting, running his palms up and down Henry’s sides. Squeezing his chest. Henry let himself be rocked into oblivion, the heat in his belly growing tighter and tighter as Dean pressed repeatedly against his prostate.

“I’m…gonna come…” Dean grunted. Henry buried his fingers in Dean’s hair, drew his head down. He pressed his lips up to Dean’s face, pushing his tongue through Dean’s lips. Dean’s mouth opened for him, bit his lip just a little. Dean’s hands stopped roaming Henry’s chest and found the other man’s cock instead, pulling it in long, firm strokes.

“Oh my god!” Henry cried as Dean pulled his face away, his cock ejaculating cum like an unclogged fountain pen. He tensed around Dean, and was confirmed of the other man’s orgasm when he felt wet, sticky warmth spread and seep inside his bowels. The internal pulses of Henry’s own climax was milking the older man of every drop he had inside him.

Dean pulled out, and suddenly the vibe changed. It wasn’t bad, exactly, but it was different. They began pulling on their clothes.

“I should go home. Have to let my dog out,” Henry explained. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

 …

Month 2

 Henry wiped his mouth and grimaced. He was convinced there was bile in his sinuses. The coolness of porcelain against his skin would’ve felt nice if the porcelain didn’t belong to a toilet.

“Ugh,” he stood up and flushed.

“Sick again?” Dean came up from behind him, sliding his arms around Henry’s waist, depositing a kiss on his ear. Dean had almost a foot on him, and could easily rest his chin on the top of Henry’s head.

“It’s cold out…you sure you don’t want to drive in with me?”

“And let the whole office know about….us?” Henry didn’t know if “dating” was the right word for what he and Dean shared. They’d been fucking like rabbbits since they’d slept together in December - mostly at Dean’s place, as Henry was embarrassed by the smallness of his apartment. They didn’t do anything other than that, though - they didn’t go out on dates or act like they were together at the office. Henry thought that would be nice, but what if Dean didn’t want that?

“I guess you’re right,” Dean withdrew. Henry hoped he hadn’t disappointed him.

Dean was recently divorced - Henry navigated through the one room of Dean’s apartment that wasn’t yet unpacked; the living room - and maybe the older man just wasn’t ready to be public.

He cupped his abdomen, which had been feeling a strange kind of pressure recently. Maybe he needed to up his fiber. Or cut out gluten? Something. The nausea had been coming on so strongly and suddenly for over a week now. He couldn’t stand the smell of his own sickness either, which made it all worse. Whatever it was, he was sure it was nothing.

“I think I’m going to stop by that bakery and get a scone, I’m starving. Should I get you something and leave it in the breakroom?” he wanted to make Dean feel better - if he was hurt.

“That sounds great!” Dean smiled and disappeared back into the bedroom. Henry shut the front door behind him as the shower turned on.

 …

 “You look tired,” Dean told Henry that night. The young man shrugged. They were sitting in Dean’s kitchen and drinking mint tea - a suggestion from the internet to help with nausea. Dean winced when the mint taste hit his tongue, but Henry couldn’t seem to get enough.

“This is really helping, thanks,” he said into his mug.

“Of course.”

Henry really did look tired. These past couple of weeks, they’d get back to Dean’s place and it was all Henry could do to eat and sleep. The first time he stayed the whole night was because he fell asleep after they’d fucked, and Dean didn’t have it in him to wake Henry up. They’d watch movies and he’d fall asleep before the end.

“Thinking of staying the night?” he asked.

“No, no, I think I’ll hang out for a while and go.”

“If you don’t fall asleep first.”

Henry blushed.

“No, it’s fine,” Dean reassured him. “I spend too much time alone, nowadays.” Without Kelly and Hannah in the picture, things were exceptionally bleak. Even if he and Kelly couldn’t spare one kind word for the other.

 Month 3

 Henry got up to go to the bathroom for the fifth time that morning. “This is so ridiculous,” he muttered to himself. Between this and the nausea, his body seemed determined to keep him in the bathroom. At least the bathroom was clean in the office building, plush and upscale for sure. Lots of glass.

He took his penis out at the urinal and was startled by a jolt of pleasure shooting through his groin. In an instant, he was semi-hard.

“Oh no,” he moaned. Why was he so sensitive, all of a sudden? He tried to relax, eke out a few drops of urine to relieve the pressure in his bladder, but he was too stiff. Henry looked at the stalls to make sure he was alone, locking himself inside of one. He carefully drew his full length into his hand. He was blushing bright red. What Dean say? Or his mother?

Dean - he needed to focus on Dean if he was going to resolve this problem. Henry started stroking himself, thinking about last night.

“You’re so easy to get off tonight,” Dean had said. “I’ve hardly touched you.”

“I’m sorry,” Henry gasped, his hands twisted in the sheets, his own cum hot on his belly. “I’ve just been really…easy to arouse, lately. I don’t know why.”

“Think you’ve got another one in you before you do me?”

“Yes….yes…”

Dean started circling the ring of Henry’s anus then, and -

“Oh - !” Back in the stall, Henry came. It helped a little.

 …

 “What happened, Elise?” Dean narrowed his eyes at the doctor. This was supposed to be a normal, routine check-up on a post-natal subject, but Elise was sporting the beginnings of a nasty bruise on her jaw.

“Oh, this?” she gestured. “John here decked me when I started fucking him.”

John, a tall and wide young man who was a recent hire, lay unconscious on the bed.

“I had to sedate him,” Elise complained, clearly disappointed. “And it’s no fun to deliver the babies that way.”

The baby in question was sleeping beside his father, trussed up and ready to travel back to the main lab in Virginia.

She handed him an encrypted disk. “This isn’t going to be much fun for you to review.”

Dean frowned. “I don’t watch these for fun.” Any sense of enjoyment he got out of Elise’s experiments was….circumstantial. Wasn’t it?

Elise gave John an injection. “Suit yourself,” she purred, shooting her eyes his way. “How is that one by the way….Henry?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Only it seemed like you two had a special connection.”

He had to admit to having a lot of “special connections” with more or less half of the men Elise subjected to pregnancy, but they never lasted very long. Henry, however…

“We’re keeping it casual,” he said.

“And is everything going well in the bedroom? Using protection?”

Henry stepped back to stare at her. “How is that any of your business?”

Elise smiled like she had a secret. “Come into my office. I have something to share with you.”

They went into her office, which looked all the world like any other doctor’s, except for her “art” pieces of men in all stages of pregnancy. Posters and models, like the kind used for instruction if they featured women. Dean struggled to keep his eyes on Elise, and sat down.

“What is it?” He wasn’t very amused.

Elise leaned back in her chair. “Henry was selected by the company for further study.”

“Oh,” he felt a surge of protection he hadn’t felt when he recommended Henry for experimentation all those months ago. “Do I need to…get him back in here again?”

“No, no. I’m assuming that part is already done. As long as you’ve come inside of him without a condom, at least.”

Dean blinked in surprise, which was apparently all the confirmation Elise needed. “You’re saying, he’s -”

“Pregnant, yes. When did you do it?”

“Christmas…..without. We were drunk. The condom broke once a couple weeks ago, but-”

“ His pseudo-womb makes him highly fertile. Once is all you need,” Elise steepled her fingers. “He should be three months pregnant, and I need to find a way to get inside and do scans. Without him knowing, of course. I don’t want to use the memory-serum on him because we don’t know what it does to fetuses. Will you help me? I’ll give you some safe sedatives to slip him when he stays at your apartment, once every couple of months.”

“I….I….yes…” It was all happening so quickly, Dean was in shock - he’d impregnated a man.

“If he starts feeling scared, lie to him. You and I are sworn to confidentiality on account of the company.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Now, when’s good for me to come and do the first scan?”

 …

 By ten o’clock the next night, Henry was drugged into an impenetrable sleep. He was laying on top of the covers, splayed out in his underwear. A tank-top showed the barest sliver of his midriff. Was Dean’s baby really in there? Dean reached out a hand, laying it on top of Henry’s middle. He couldn’t feel anything, except for maybe the slightest curve that came up to fill his palm.

“Are you done?” Elise asked. “I want to get through this quickly.”

Dean stepped back. It had been easy to slip Henry the drugs - his appetite had become so voracious it was almost like he couldn’t taste the food before swallowing it. An appetite which, Dean now figured, was the result of growing a baby in his belly. He felt his cock stir and shifted his weight to hide it.

Elise drew up Henry’s tank top, pushing it over the top of his pectorals.

“His nipples are stiff,” she said. “Those will start to grow and darken, soon. Watch for that.” She felt his middle. ‘Feels normal…but then, this belly managed to hide some twins from me.”

She gelled him up and started her portable ultrasound machine. Dean watched Elise rub the gel across Henry’s abs, slowly and deliberately. She started the machine and then, there it was - the heartbeat, the tiny little fetus on the screen. Dean stared in wonder.

“Only one,” Elise sounded a little sad about that. “Oh, well. It seems a little big, though. I guess we’ll see.”