Manhunt, Part 7

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Summary: After a one-night-stand, a charming young Spaceforce captain unknowingly impregnates an alien woman who is on the run from galactic authorities. Months later, said alien woman ambushes the young captain, and transfers her massive litter to his body, against his will, just before it is time for the children to be born. She leaves the litter with him for safekeeping. As a male, he cannot birth the litter. Instead he grows and grows as he and his crew struggle to track her so that he can transfer the offspring back over to her. Contains: Male: Pregnancy/belly expansion, breast expansion, multiple breasts, butt expansion, pregnancy transfer. Some female pregnancy.

Previous Chapter

-

It was another week before Tom found himself back in Suls’ dilapidated old residence.

“Fasscinating,” Suls remarked of the two pairs of breasts bulging out on Tom’s chest. “The spawn is changing your anatomy.”

“Evidently,” said Tom coolly. His belly was bulging out, stretching the shirt he was wearing. “They’re also growing again. Well, growing faster.”

“The human body iss alwayss adapting. Much like my own speciesss.”

Tom held himself from scoffing. He offered the disk, and Suls grabbed it with a roughness that conflicted with the delicacy of the thing. He made a pattern on the surface with his clawed fingers, causing the face to light up with symbols, and then he was tinkering around, Tom’s face twitching as his insides clenched or lurched.

“In addition to sstunting the increassing hormone levelsss,” said Suls as he tinkered. “I shall sstop the milk production—”

Tom grunted out as an ache shot through all four of his breasts. He felt them heat up and tighten, before they were visibly pushing out, each of his nipples dribbling milk.

“Fuck!” snapped Tom, snatching the disk, panting and hunching down, breasts wobbling. He tried to control himself from cuffing the doctor.

“Your body iss fighting it,” said Suls in fascinated glee. “I’ve never sseen the disk fail at such a bassse directive.”

“Be more fucking careful,” Tom spat once he had regained his breath. Reluctantly, he handed the disk back to Suls. “Just—finish up. Slow the growth of the—things—the babies. Forget about everything else.”

“I’ll do better,” said Suls, continuing to blithely dial upon the disk.

Tom continued to twitch and spasm, until he backed himself into the wall to brace himself, closing his eyes and breathing heavily as he felt shudders run through his insides.

He felt strain lifting from his back and hips, his spine relaxing against a tension that had grown there. There was a stabbing pain low in his stomach, but it went away almost instantly. Tom gasped.

“It took ssome time to work it out, but thisss new programming may help you give birth.”

Tom’s eyes snapped up. “That is not possible,” he said.

“It might not be,” said Suls, leering. “It is a sstrenuousss process, changing an unchanging anatomy. The disssk will take things ssslow, and it may not work, though if it does, you will be unlike any other human.” He said it with a sick pleasure as he offered the disk back.

“I think we’re past that,” said Tom sardonically, though he was a little unnerved by Suls’ remarks. He didn’t know how he felt about it, so he leaned on the wall a moment longer. He felt oddly drained compared to his last appointment with the reptilian doctor. Finally, he took the disk back and departed for his ship.

Suls had given him hope in his doomed state. It seemed stupid to start fighting the doctor’s directives now.

-

Tom suffered aches and twinges in the weeks that followed, and his body felt weird, like it was working at something. Though his belly growth had slowed down again, and he felt even stronger physically, he often succumbed to episodes of fatigue, and things were subtly changing.

His hips were widening slightly, and his ass was getting larger. He was often flushed and sweaty, and felt a weird tension inside him, not growth, but a sense of unrest. His breasts were leaking even more frequently than before, and he suffered from infrequent, painful twinges low in his gut.

Tom was struggling to get into his clothes one morning, stretching his uniform to accommodate his swollen body. There had been gaps of flesh poking out between the straining buttons of for at least a few weeks, but he had been testing the hold, pushing the limits, trying to see how slowly things truly were progressing.

He had gotten only as far as putting on some briefs and two pairs of strapless bras, his uniform hanging on his shoulders, when there was a frantic banging on the door to his quarters.

Tom stiffened. It was very atypical for someone to summon him in such a manner, when all communications were computerized aboard the ship. “Captain!” an officer cried outside the door.

An alert sounded, a harsh low beeping tone, red lights flashing in the highest level of warning.

Tom quickly went to the door. A breathless young officer clung onto the frame. His eyes momentarily bugged out at Tom’s lack of dress, but then he managed to focus. “Captain, the ship is rapidly approaching a meteor field. We think it was cloaked by the S’rilians. We cannot outmaneuver it sir, impact is expected in—”

Tom shoved past the young officer and ran to the command deck. He got there in only moments and joined his first engineer at the controls. “What do we have, Rick?”

“It is too large,” said Rictor, indicating a vast approaching meteor on the wide screen before them. “I cannot evade it.”

A computerize voice droned, “All nonessential ship personnel please proceed to the escape pods in your sector,” amongst the buzzing alarms and flashing lights as people hurried about in clear panic.

Tom tried to isolate his focus. “Get up.”

Ricktor didn’t hesitate to get out of his seat at the panel. Tom quickly replaced him, his belly pressing into the edge of the console as he leaned over it and began to furiously dial the controls. “Cut off engines Alpha H through zed.”

“But captain, that will leave us completely unstable.”

“Redirect power to all the ket engines, cut all the others off!” said Tom, his tone brooking no argument.

Ricktor hesitated, but nodded, and hurried off to an adjacent control panel. In Tom’s periphery, he could see that the communications officer had silent tears running down his gills. Dane was helping Pirtha, who had stumbled as the ship jolted. Tom belatedly grabbed his seatbelt, straining to wrap it around his tremendously swollen body. “Do it!” he snarled.

Ricktor nodded, and dragged a lever, gripping the console as the ship harshly veered upward almost entirely vertical, and people stumbled, collapsed, or gripped their stations and tried to buckle in. Tom felt himself being pinned to the back of his seat, his belly rocking uncomfortably with the pressure shooting against it, insides lurching, back arching back, and milk pouring into his two bras.

There was a harsh screeching, the ship trembling violently as it scraped on the space rock. People screamed. Someone flew back into one of the walls, and sparks of electricity flew through the air as they impacted with one of the battery routers.

“Gods,” Ricktor groaned, gripping the lever, struggling to pull it back to its original position, the ship congruently tipping back in a sensation that made Tom’s insides flip.

And then everything was even and balanced, and the meteor field was behind them. Tom could hear someone retching in a corner. “We did it,” he gasped out. There was a moment of calm, people gasping or sobbing, trying to gather their composure. Tom sunk down, heaving a deep sigh.

Two young officers hurried over to him. “Are you okay, Captain?” said a mousy girl, visibly shaking. “Are your—are the offspring alright?”

“Fine,” said Tom, though he honestly wasn’t sure. “Return to your post, officer.”

The girl hesitated, looking pale and frightful. But she managed a tiny smile. “Thank you captain.”

Tom nodded.

She and the other both saluted and hurried off. Tom took a moment to catch his breath. He belatedly took inventory of himself. He was still only wearing a pair of straining briefs, his ass bulging against the waistband, and two pairs of strapless bras his four breasts were bulging over, having started to outgrow the cups. Large wet patches had formed, and were rapidly saturating the material with milk.

His too-small uniform top had been shoved off his shoulders at some point during the fiasco. Now Tom felt how exposed he was, and he could sense as the relief in the room was slowly shifting to shock and polite embarrassment.

Tom’s golf ball-sized bellybutton gave an emphatic twitch. Alive then, Tom mused.

“Pirtha, get me a shirt,” said Tom, unwilling to move from the command deck, not when his heart was still racing, and he wasn’t sure if the ordeal was behind them. They might not have completely evaded the meteor field; there could still be more.

Pirtha snapped out of his reverie. “Sir!” he said, and hurried off.

Tom shifted his seat back slightly, so that his abdomen was no longer uncomfortably jammed against the console. The mound sat heavily in his lap, huge as ever, his skin beginning to writhe with excited movement. The spawn were all decidedly awake and alert in the aftermath of the high gravitational pressure they had been subjected to.

He should have been embarrassed, half naked, seeping, swollen as he was.

Instead he just sat there, expression stern, as he tried and failed to fold his arms, mounds and leakage and whatnot.

Pirtha returned, fidgety and mortified. He kept his gaze above Tom’s neck. “Captain, was there something you would like me to retrieve from your quarters?”

“I’m sure what you got is fine, Pirtha,” said Tom impatiently. He could see the officer was holding something behind his waist.

Pirtha hesitated, then finally brandished what looked like an extra-large sized T-shirt. Tom gave him an unimpressed look.

“This was the, erm, most accommodating shirt I could find for you sir.”

Tom shook his head. He took the shirt and dragged it on, but not really on. The shirt just managed to cover his two pairs of Ds, but not much else.

Tom was just glad no one could see how hard he was beneath the distraction of his tremendous body. He just tired not to move, tried not to go too far with it, as his belly shivered and pressed against his throbbing gender.

And then there was the pressure. He had only felt an inkling of it since he had left Zuul, but he could feel it exacerbating every day. It wasn’t growth, or at least not solely. It was deep, heavy on his hips, and lower. His pelvis, his ass, pressing, inching down, and sometimes he wondered if his belly was getting lower.

The shirt didn’t offer much in terms of coverage. In minutes, it was soaked and transparent, his large nipples protruding visibly against the white material, the fat flesh almost seeming to bulge more against the tight bra cups. It was a shame that Suls had not been able to do anything about that. It was irksome and unnecessary. And worse of all, it was exacerbating. Lately, the output just astonished him. In fact, since the last recalibration, a lot had changed with his body.

Sometimes he caught his officers staring at his chest, or deliberately trying not to, with clear effort. He knew that he was a profound oddity, and that in itself would draw attention. It wasn’t every day that one saw a male with large developed breasts, let alone two pairs that frequently lactated on top of everything else.

But Tom had also begun to notice a different kind of attention. Lingering glances. Rapt and heated stares.

It was strange that some would be aroused by him, heavy and deformed as he had become. Usually pregnancy repelled that sort of interest. The fact that he was a pregnant male brought the matter to a baffling level of confounding. But those who looked at him seemed almost as confused as he was. They would catch themselves, and distract themselves with other things, and Tom just hoped that things didn’t escalate.

Tom’s navel gave a strong wiggle, causing him to grimace. He rubbed the front of his belly with the heels of his hands, quietly cursing the creatures who insisted on being so fretful.

As he mused on it, he acknowledged that not only was he overdue, the spawn was past-due to be born. They were supposed to be more active. They were supposed to be free outside of him, not still compressed and contained in his tight confines.

After the ship had not encountered another meteor for two hours, Tom finally got up. His shirt was dripping by then, belly bulging out beneath it. As he stood, the pressure in his posterior seemed to shift slightly, and he hardly kept himself from clutching his ass, a small gasp escaping his throat. Tom managed to conceal it with a cough.

“Dane can take over from here.” Tom nodded to his most senior officer.

But before Tom could go, Dane pulled him aside. His belly bobbed slightly as he joined Dane in the corridor, and he resisted the urge to lay his hands on the underside, wrapping it tightly. He wasn’t in pain or discomfort, he just felt a little odd.

“Are you alright, Tom?” Dane wanted to know.

Tom gave Dane a quizzical look.

“You’ve been rubbing your stomach. Quite a lot.”

Tom paused to notice he was doing it right at that moment. He lowered his hands. “Back to work, commander,” he dismissed Dane brusquely, then he turned and headed back to his quarters.