Laying, Part 9

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Summary: Aiden is livestock on a farm, and every day produces five or so unfertilized eggs, which the farm sells as food with their other products. But when the farm gets esteemed visitor, Dean Chambers, Dean chooses Aiden as a bed-mate, and Aiden has no choice but to produce fertilized eggs, which are not sellable. When Dean leaves, the farmer gives Aiden hormones to double his egg output to make up for lost time, which makes it harder for Aiden to lay his eggs in a timely manner. Even worse, Dean unexpectedly returns, again causing Aiden’s eggs to become fertilized, and Dean isn’t too keen about letting Aiden lay them. Contains: Male: belly expansion, pregnancy, egg laying, breast expansion, stuffing, and more.

Previous Chapter

-

Aiden’s belly was a massive, throbbing ball. His tunic felt impossibly tight.

It was getting late, but the dinner party was still in full swing. Dean was uncharacteristically merciful. He guided Aiden to a guest wing on the first floor, Aiden leaning heavily, practically collapsing against his side.

“Get some rest,” Dean encouraged. “I will come to get you when the party is over, and we’ll go up to bed together.”

“Are you sure?” Aiden gasped, though he was already settling against the soft mattress. His belly seemed to be trembling slightly, his abdominals shuddering against the strain of it.

“Go to sleep,” Dean ordered, before leaving.

Aiden’s hand’s shook. He could barely undo several of the clasps on his tunic—those against his abdomen—before his eyelids were drifting shut, and he was curling slightly against the heat of his massive belly perched on the mattress beside him.

-

Aiden was partaking in a shallow, uncomfortable sleep, when something roused him.

He squirmed his way to consciousness.

He was not sure how long he had been out, but he could detect that the party was still on. He could hear the enthusiastic chatter, the laughing voices, and the melodious music drifting in from several rooms away.

But that was not what had stirred him. After all, he had drifted off to the sound of it.

Aiden felt a chill in the room. He shifted his sleepy gaze to the large bay windows, and was startled to that they were pulled wide open and several figures were standing around them. Three other people now occupied the dark room.

Aiden was suddenly wide awake.

His first thought was that some party guests had gotten lost, or had simply come by to ogle him while he was unconscious. His second thought was that the first one was fallible, ridiculous, and perhaps optimistic, because even if they were party guests, there was nothing auspicious about their dark clothing, eerie demeanor, and the fact that the French doors were hanging open behind them—wide, towering, and grand, much like the rest of the property. Open, and crooked, as though one door had been forced, hinges damaged. Though Aiden could not make out faces, he got the sense that he was being leered at, and he shivered.

“What do you want?” Aiden managed, trying to hoist himself into a sitting position, but hardly capable of even that on his own. He scrambled somewhat, his arms trembling as they supported him. Aiden tried to back away from the window, at least, but if he somehow got up from the bed, he had serious doubts that he would ever make it to the door in his breathless state. Not before the strangers could do some damage. “I’ll yell.”

Someone raised their arm and a weapon clicked. Aiden flinched. As he made out the outline of a gun, his heart pounded furiously. “Better not,” said the figure in a deep, gravelly timbre.

Aiden’s belly gave a vicious heave that made him choke slightly, muscles spasming, body clenching against the massive weight occupying it. He sobbed and hiccupped. “I—I’m with child.”

“Get up,” the same man ordered.

It was a steep request. Even when he wasn’t racked with panic and exhausted, it was a strain to get to his feet, sometimes an impossibility. His wheelchair stood in the corner, but the strangers ignored it.

Aiden shifted to the edge of the bed. He wearily swung his legs off.

“Faster.” The gun jerked threateningly.

Aiden tried. He planted his hands hard against the too-soft bed and swung himself forward with every bit of strength he had.

He failed to get up, only managing to produce a pathetic, choked wheeze.

Face red with the strain, he tried again, but it was all just—too—much.

One of the strangers marched forward. Aiden instinctively recoiled. The person snatched his elbow, and gave a sharp jerk that nearly pulled Aiden’s arm out of its socket.

But it got him to his feet.

Aiden gave a pained whine, clutching the side of his mound as he struggled to keep his balance. He was panting heavily, sweaty and shaky. “I—” He said breathlessly. “I—c-can’t—”

“Move!” the stranger hissed, still gripping his arm. Aiden felt something jabbed against his back, right behind his stomach. It was another gun. His eyes watered.

He wondered whether he should scream. How his abductors would react. They wouldn’t want to risk the noise of a gunshot. Dean’s security team would ensure a medieval punishment.

But Aiden realized that it wasn’t worth the risk to him of screaming. Not when he was so burdened with child. He was completely terrified.

Hoping that he and the baby would survive this ordeal, Aiden allowed himself to be dragged towards the window doors, struggling not to lose his balance. He couldn’t catch his breath, his belly aching and throbbing, and feeling like it would burst right open. He almost toppled, and found himself instinctively grabbing onto his escort’s coat. The man startled slightly, but he didn’t react violently, he just gave Aiden a disgusted look and dragged him all the harder.

The window doors weren’t meant for his size, and Aiden’s belly barely fit through. It was an uncomfortable squeeze, his mound scraping either side of it, as his kidnappers awkwardly had to rearrange themselves, one in front of Aiden, and the other two behind, while the thickest one and apparent leader quietly threatened Aiden with a lurid death if the pregnant man dared to try anything.

Aiden found the prospect of “trying anything” to be almost laughable in his state.

Soon Aiden was waddling through the expansive, verdant grounds in the cover of the outlining forest, his chest burning. He was so breathless, at times it was as though he was choking. If someone looked down from the dining room window, they might see him and his small, hostile ushers. But no one did. After all, the party was in full swing. Aiden was led towards a black van tucked in a narrow dirt service road used by Dean’s staff members.

He was shoved inside, barely managing not to collapse to the floor. He somehow maneuvered his straining, trembling body, easing his mound against his lap as he gasped like a fish out of water grasping onto its final moments of life.

By compulsion, his hands moved to his hot, pulsing mound, rubbing, massaging, easing the baby within. He couldn’t believe that this was happening, that he had been abducted from the house, right under Dean’s nose. There was an undeniable fallacy to wealth, abundance, and popularity, that being a false sense of security.

Several doors slammed shut. The van sped along the bumpy roads, Aiden groaning and whimpering as his belly quaked almost painfully. He gave one last glance towards Dean’s mansion, at safety and security rapidly slipping away from him.

But the van windows were deeply tinted, the poor visibility only exacerbated by the night. Aiden could see nothing but darkness beyond them.

-

Aiden could barely remember how he had gotten where he was now.

He had been riding in the van for so long, his body sweating and straining, lungs burning, hips throbbing, and eyes stinging. It could have been hours. It could have been days. He had been groggy for most of it. At some point, a bitter fluid had been forced down his throat. He didn’t even remember getting out of the van, but his body carried the aches and pains of overexertion, legs feeling like jello, splayed and useless, sort of twitching from overwork.

He appeared to be in a basement.

Not a nice or furnished one. Just a cement room with an exposed toilet in the corner, pipes dripping, a dirty sink, a wash bucket, and an old mattress lying on the floor.

Someone had brought down a space heater. That was nice, Aiden supposed, though the rising panic. He was on the cool floor, sitting against the rough, cement wall, in a position that had him uncomfortably slumped against his mass, thighs going numb beneath the weight of it. He tried to spread them a bit, to shift some of the weight to the floor between his legs. But it was a futile enterprise. He was too disoriented.

“We just want the heir,” someone said.

Aiden lifted his gaze.

His group of kidnappers appeared to have shrunken. Only one remained. It was the one with the deep, husky voice, and the thick body. The leader. Now, looking at him, Aiden could see his scarred, wrinkled face, his tangled beard, the dirty winter hat, and his wide, red eyes, sort of crazed in their emptiness. He had to be mid-fifties, but still looked strong; capable. “If you give up the heir, we will let you go.”

So this was about Dean. They wanted what was his. Aiden had never imaged that Dean could have enemies. Everyone seemed to love and adore him, to the point of being sycophantic in their praise of him. He was smart, handsome, generous, and charming. If he ever was selfish or greedy, these quiet faults were kept strictly in the confines of his own home.

“If you birth it right now—”

“I—I c-cant,” Aiden choked out, hating as he heard himself sob. There were already tears streaming down his face, but he blamed the damn hormones. “Even if I wanted to, I c-can’t give b-birth to this.” He motioned to his jutting abdomen. “I-it’s—t-too—big.”

The man gave him a baffled look. “There must have been a plan.” He now looked highly suspicious; doubtful of Aiden’s explanation.

“I d-don’t know,” Aiden forced out.

The man gave Aiden a long, grim look, standing there, appraising him, any hint of negotiability fading into his calloused features.

“My name is Curtis,” he said in an apathetic tone. “We’ll be getting to know each other.”

-

Aiden was exhausted.

He remained slumped on the floor. He was provided with a dirty bucket of what he could only describe as slop. Yet he ate it enthusiastically, as he felt absolutely starved.

He felt like an animal, slumped there, stuffing fistfuls of the lumpy gray gruel into his mouth. It was slimy and had unpleasant lumps of fat and wheat—dumplings of sorts. It also seemed to be littered with additional starches—rice, pasta, potato chunks. It had an underlying taste of lard, and some chemical. The more Aiden ate, the hungrier he seemed to become. It could have been poison, yet he gobbled his way through the entire bucket, before releasing a loud belch, and groaning, and still feeling strangely ravenous.

He tried to make his way towards the mattress, which laid flat in the center of the room. It was a long, arduous, process of shifting himself, inch by inch, while sweating profusely. Crawling hardly worked, because his belly pressed into the floor.

Soon he was curled on his side, gasping for breath, breasts aching. They seemed to be growing with his agitation. He stared down at the fat E-cups on his chest, nipples erect, stinging, throbbing. He was sweating profusely. Feebly, he reached up to his chest, undoing the fastenings on his tunic, allowing his breasts to bulge free.

The basement had no windows, and Aiden was oblivious of what sort of place he was being held in. A residence, he presumed. Somewhere remote. There was a staircase leading upwards to a door out of the basement. The door opened when Curtis came and went.

It creaked open at that moment. Curtis descended the staircase with his slow, even footfalls.

Aiden’s breasts felt unbearably hot, and he heard himself release a pained groan. Both his nipples started squirting, to his mortification. He struggled feebly to tug the opening of his tunic closed over them.

Aiden gave harsh gasps for breath as Curtis came over to survey him. The older man lowered himself to a crouch.

Aiden shuddered as a large, calloused hand, reached down, to roughly cup Aiden’s mound through the stretched material of his top. Aiden felt his back arch, belly jutting against the hand, his whole torso shuddering as he struggled to contain the pressure. “Ngghhhhh…”

“You know, the stuff I’m feeding you is incredibly heavy. It is all specifically engineered to make that baby of yours put on weight.”

“Hahhhhh…hahhhh….” Aiden panted.

“It will only make you grow larger. Faster,” Curtis continued. “Your only option is to give birth now.” He gave the mound a squeeze that made Aiden yelp.

“I…can’t….” Aiden groaned, flushed and quavering. He clutched what he could of his belly, breathing thinly.

“It’s your decision,” said Curtis coldly.

It wasn’t a decision at all.