Intern, Part 2

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Summary: Jim hooks up with one of the male interns. Not that the intern remembers. Bothwere pretty drunk that night. And whenever Jim has sex with someone, healways gets them pregnant, often with multiples—rare though male pregnancy may be. Jim knows that he should probably come clean, but he’d muchrather watch his young intern rapidly “bloom” while struggling with hisincreasing job duties and figuring out what is going on with his body.Contains: Male: pregnancy, belly expansion, breast expansion, butt expansion, and possibly more.

Previous Chapter

-

One night, Jim saw a guy at the convenience store who immediately drew his attention. He was sort of chubby, and wearing a baggy sweatshirt on top of basketball shorts. What really attracted Jim was the gentle swell of the man’s belly which the guy had been unsuccessful in completely hiding. Jim immediately approached him, speaking so smoothly, she was a little astonished by his own confidence. Somehow the two of them ended up back and Jim’s place, and as Jim fucked him, he marveled at the heaviness of the guy. Peter was his name. For a while Peter refused to remove his sweatshirt, but Jim got under it eventually. Peter was bigger than he had looked under his clothes. Jim caressed the rounded belly and pert tits that jiggled with every thrust.

After they were done, Peter was in a hurry to get home.

“Does the wife know?” Jim guessed as he casually leaned back on the pillows. “Or girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

Peter pressed his lips for a moment. “The wife doesn’t,” he said with a bitter edge to his voice. “I’m still trying to figure out how to break the news gently.” He frowned down at his belly.

Jim snorted. “If she hasn’t noticed, she’s either blind or an idiot.”

Peter ignored him, now struggling into his shapeware, some horrible contraption that sought to compress and flatten. Did they really sell these things to men nowadays?

“That’s not gonna do you good for much longer,” Jim pointed out.

Peter panted as he finished pulling on his sweatershirt. “This was nice,” he said flatly. With that, he left.

-

At the office, Ryan was sick for days, pale and wobbly while apologizing profusely every time he abruptly darted off in the direction of the bathroom. But he just kept repeating it, all while insisting he was fine.

“You should really take a sick day,” Jim told him. “Even though I wanted to show you how we manage the Reese portfolio…”

“I’m fine!” said Ryan quickly, his eyes bright and keen as always.

Jim contained a smirk. “Are you sure?” he scrutinized the intern, more to indulge himself than out of actual concern. Jim pressed his intercom. “V, do we have crackers or something? Smith is green.”

Ryan looked helpless, opening his mouth as though trying to figure out how to protest.

“Checking, sir,” responded Veronica.

“Sir, I really couldn’t impose—” Ryan started.

“It’s not an imposition, Smith. I’m just tired of thinking about what you’re doing in that bathroom.”

Ryan flushed a gorgeous pink.

Veronica entered in her usual dirty-librarian aesthetic, tits sticking out like usual. She was carrying a huge circular platter of crackers, obviously meant to be served at a client meeting and not to a queasy intern. She set it on the desk. Jim got up, and gestured to one of the chairs.

“I’m getting a smoke. Smith, sit. Eat. Don’t come out of here until you finish it. I’m serious.”

Ryan watched on helplessly as Jim headed for the door. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim caught the sight of Ryan hastily stuffing crackers into his mouth. Ambitious as Ryan was, Jim was certain he would gobble down the whole platter, as ordered. And Jim wondered what else he could make him do.

-

Ryan stayed late at the office every night, even though he looked uncharacteristically drained these days. Sometimes he seemed like he was dead on his feet. He tried to hide his yawns, but he was always tired, and his shirts were getting tighter. They weren’t fitting him properly at all. It was unprofessional, but then, it had probably snuck up on him. Jim wondered if Ryan had noticed anything yet. Well, he’d have to have had at this point.

His nipples were protruding, and his chest looked…pointier, in a weird and awkward way. Maybe Ryan thought he was just getting out of shape. He probably couldn’t afford to see a doctor. But the morning sickness was mitigating, so he was probably putting it off.

He was slowing down. The accumulation of the free labor, constant intensity, and unknown pregnancy was sucking his energy. Jim remembered the grind and didn’t miss it. Of course, there was no comparison. He had never been pregnant. He sort of pitied the intern. All this work, and most likely for nothing. The company would cut him loose once the pregnancy got evident. Jim promised himself that he would advocate for Ryan to stay as long as possible. And it had nothing to do with Jim’s indulgent need to watch Ryan through his condition, or that’s what he told himself.

-

Smoking was a nasty habit. Jim had all but quit, but he suddenly found himself reaching out again. He wondered if it was the divorce. Or just the general excitement and agitation of everything going on in his life at the moment.

Most of the time, Jim was seriously jonesing, for cigarettes, among other things.

The Oven was an extremely specialized club. Jim found himself driving out to visit that weekend. It was a four-hour trip, which was ridiculously inconvenient, but it was the only club of its kind in the very eccentric, metropolitan area he hadn’t visited in months. The Oven also served as a sort of “community.” The only one, actually. You didn’t see this sort of gathering anywhere else.

It wasn’t cheap. Jim put down $300 just for entrance. Fucking steep price, especially considering the fact that you weren’t allowed to fuck any of the guys. There was that fear of induction, which obviously wasn’t good for business, Jim supposed.

There were preggos of every size and shape, dressed in every sort of attire imaginable. There was a stripper who wasn’t pregnant, just had huge fucking knockers. Apparently the guy had had some sort of hormonal condition, and one day had started playing with himself. He had rubbed and kneaded his small tits for months, until they had swelled up to the size of cantaloupes. He just couldn’t stop.

And now they leaked, apparently. Jim licked his lips as he watched them seep into the too-small bra he was stuffed into. Tit-guy shot another patron a weary smile, and Jim could never tell whether he was pleased or ashamed of what he had done to himself.

The club was huge. There was a scatter of tables and loveseats, with a big stage up front. The entertainers were everywhere, and occupied every role. Whether it was a dancer, host, server, or bartender, that person was pregnant or swollen in some other way.

There wasn’t a large amount of patrons, but it was more than enough to keep the rent paid, that was certain.

“Can I, er, show you to a table, sir?”

Jim looked at the host. He was dressed rather conservatively compared to most of the other employees, and seemed a little nervous. Self-deprecation was written across his face.

“I can arrange for a seat up front, or if you prefer one of the booths—”

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” said Jim.

The host looked momentarily surprised. Sam, read his nametag. “Yeah,” he admitted. “This happened…” He motioned to his stomach, which was only just budding, pushing out like it was just a little extra weight in his loose button-down shirt. “…and I ended up down on my luck, out of a job, lost my place, and somehow I…ended up here.” He seemed defeated, but also wry.

Jim thought of the prospect of his intern losing his job and having to come to this place to work. Ryan would be a star, that was for sure. He would get so huge, the way they ran things here. Jim felt himself hardening just at the thought. He almost considered getting Ryan fired right at that moment with a phone call.

Sam gave a perfunctory smile. Most of the staff walked around topless or in lingerie, but Sam was all prim and covered up, but some people liked that kind of thing. Hell, Jim liked that kind of thing. The shy-guy, still-trying-to-hide-it routine. It was a definite turn-on. But most of them were.

“I’m looking for Wesley.”

Sam’s eyes shot up from the clipboard he was holding. “One moment.”

Sam went over to the bar and leaned down to speak to a man seated there nursing a drink—the one member of the staff who had no growths or bulges, just thick brows and a thicker mustache. The man was Dirkman, the person who ran this whole operation. He threw a glance at Jim and nodded as he muttered something. Sam quickly returned to Jim’s side.

“Allow me to show you to the staff room.”

“I know the way,” said Jim, but he followed Sam anyway.

Two doors and a passage later, Jim was at the entrance to the staff room as Sam slipped off. There were a dozen or so pregnant guys here, some talking or on their phones, but the majority eating.

They were pigging out. There was a buffet set-up, as usual, and the guys were industriously stuffing food into their mouths, sweaty and flushed as they were, eagerly packing their bellies. It was so fucking hot, just watching them blow themselves up. The bigger they were, the better the pay. Stuffing themselves was in fact a requirement of the job.

While shoving a few mozzarella sticks into his hand, a guy looked up, his eyes widening at spotting Jim. Wesley strained and stood, and as he did, Jim could see that he was far into the latest pregnancy. Wesley gulped down the food bulging his cheeks out, before he breathlessly said, “Back for more?”

“Aren’t I always?” said Jim, smiling.

Wesley was dressed in a black leather bra and hotpants pushed low on his hips, his bloated ass sticking out behind him. Wesley walked over to hug him, and Jim tried not to shudder. Wesley looked nine months pregnant, maybe even a little beyond that. Jim had clearly come at the right time. He had caught Wesley good and ripe, tits plump as they ever got, about DD-cups.

“You always come to see me when I’m about to pop,” said Wesley. “Never to knock me up. Do you know how rare multiples are in men?”

“Practically nonexistent,” said Jim.

“And you won’t give me some,” Wesley scolded, a few blonde strands of hair falling into his face.

“Too much baggage,” said Jim apologetically.

“It doesn’t have to be! You know all mine get adopted.” Wesley held his heaving belly.

Jim shrugged. He was thinking of a different kind of baggage. He knew that if he knocked Wesley up, he would be obsessed with watching him grow. He’d never be able to be tear himself away. Jim swallowed.

“Speaking of multiples, we actually have a new guy. He’s carrying some.”

“What?” said Jim, snapping out of his reverie.

“I know. It’s like a fucking unicorn. Wanna see? Nowadays he only does private parties, but you can sneak a peek.”

“Fuck yeah,” said Jim.

Wesley smirked. Jim could see a ripple of movement shallow on the surface of his stomach. Jim idly cupped it with his hand as Wesley dragged him out of the room and through halls.

He was brought to an area in the back, one of the spaces for private shows. A couple of guys were setting up glasses and wine buckets, while another was tidying up. Against the wall was a man who looked so young, he couldn’t have been anything over twenty. He was flushed, sweaty, and breathing heavily, looking completely overwhelmed. And he was fucking huge. He looked overdue with triplets. His small tits were only just budding, but his belly was massive. He was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt that strained where it pulled down only as far as his navel. He was arched and fidgety, his hands aimlessly roaming his belly, cupping spots while rubbing others in a habitual manner. He wasn’t on duty or acting. He looked genuinely overwhelmed and a bit miserable, panting, grimacing, throwing his head back and hugging his huge mound as though he could barely handle the strain of it.

“Fuck,” Jim muttered, his cock straining against his trousers.

He looked shy, oddly enough. It was a little late to be meek about things. He let out a wheezy little statement Jim couldn’t make out, and it was only then that Jim realized he was talking to someone. Dirkman was present. He and the kid were discussing something.

He watched the kid’s whole belly tremble. Dirkman idly reached out to pet it, still talking. The belly quavered and jumped, causing the kid to grunt. Dirkman gave a laugh and pet it some more.

Jim was about to lose it.

“His name’s Eli,” said Wesley, startling Jim a little. “Want to meet him?”

“Yes. I mean. I can’t,” said Jim, trying to maintain control. He wouldn’t allow himself to obsess. He had the intern. This Eli kid was nothing. Jim just hadn’t seen a big one in a while, but this kid wasn’t impressive. Wasn’t one of his. He was too small.

Wesley laughed. “You never cease to amuse me.”