Tentacles, Parts 21-23 - Male Version

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Note: This is a male version of Tentacles.

Summary: Connor unwittingly impregnates himself with tentacles. Contains: Male: tentacle pregnancy, belly expansion, breast expansion, butt expansion, egg laying, unbirthing, multiple breasts, partial transformation.

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21.

Connor stirred awake.

He was on his back, his body sore. He glanced to his left to see Brad sprawled face-down on the bed beside him.

Connor opened his mouth and tried to speak, but what came out was unintelligible. He felt an uncomfortable dizziness, and the sensation of the tentacle slithering between the crease of his ass. At that point, he was so disoriented that he couldn’t tell whether it was going in or out of him.

The tentacle appeared before his weary eyes, looking longer and thicker than ever. It idly waved left and right for a few moments, before abruptly tensing then plunging forward, to his face, between his lips, down his throat as Connor’s protest was choked down, replaced by muffled grunts and groans.

He struggled, but the heaviness of his torso seemed to be almost pressing him to the bed as it rolled and bobbed with his heaving movements. The tentacle pulsed gently, and a fluid was pumped into Connor’s mouth. It was thick and creamy as it poured down his throat, and Connor was suddenly very tired. His eyelids lowered and his struggles subsided.

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Connor awoke for a second time. For a moment he stared at the ceiling, trying to register where he was and what was going on. His eyes shifted.

Brad was still out, still lying in the same position on the bed beside him.

The tentacles were out of sight, buried in Connor’s womb, at least for the time being.

Connor shifted, slowly, not wanted to agitate them. His stomach churned, but they remained largely inactive, at least for the moment.

It was difficult, and it took him several minutes, but Connor managed to get himself up to a sitting position. He pressed his lips to muffle a moan as he slowly allowed his weight to shift to his pelvis. He felt a pressure on his ass. Not as though he had to push, and not as though a tentacle was going to pop out. Just an heaviness against his hole that made him feel like he had something permanently lodged just within it.

Connor carefully got up onto his feet, groaning quietly as he did so. He shifted slowly, waddling forward, as he continued to hope that the tentacles didn’t take notice of the fact that he was awake. Connor looked back at Brad in regret. The situation had descended into truly dangerous territory.

Not knowing whether it was weariness or just his sheer size, Connor made a painfully slow progression to the bathroom down the hall. His belly trembled here and there but the tentacles were otherwise complacent. Once he made it inside, Connor locked the door behind him, and he took a moment to try to gather himself, as he gripped the sink, his body trembling and his face reddening…

Not reddening. A glance in the mirror told Connor that his cheeks had not darkened red…but green. After a few moments, he watched the darker green tint fade away, his cheeks against becoming the pale green hue that the rest of his body had taken on. Connor stared for a while.

22.

He closed in on the full-length mirror.

Connor felt sick just looking at himself, his body wanting nothing more than to collapse. He rubbed his hands over the expanse of his belly. It was so large and plump. It was presently throbbing. He gripped the sink, a grunt escaping his lips. He was absolutely huge. His narrow body could barely even support his condition anymore. His belly was big—bigger than any pregnant woman’s he had seen. Even the woman at work who had gotten herself pregnant with quints was no match for Connor’s size.

There was a tingling in his hole, and Connor didn’t think he would be able to stay upright. He made his way to the toilet and eased himself down, spreading his legs wide just as a tentacle popped free, sliding out of his pants. “Nnnghhh…” Connor groaned as the tentacle went straight for his shirt. It slithered into its tight confines, this time, directing its sucker to his right nipple, and it did just that. It sucked.

Connor’s cheeks darkened, rhythmic grunts escaping his throat, his belly bobbing in his lap as he fidgeted and squirmed. A second tentacle popped free of him and joined the first one, this one wrapping around his plump left E-cup, squeezing and rubbing as Connor whimpered and squirmed.

It had become painfully evident that he was completely at their mercy. The tentacles had easily powered both him and Brad. Who knew what else they could do?

Finally, a third tentacle appeared, this one also diving into his overly-stretched top, and prodding against the plumpened skin beneath his breasts.

Connor took in a sharp breath of air. He had not realized how sore and heated the skin there had become. He slowly, carefully reached up to touch his flesh there. Despite the tentacle-slime that it was presently coated with, the flesh was heated, as though with infection.

Connor waited almost an hour for the three tentacles to recoil back into his body, before he got up and waddled his way back over to the mirror.

His belly protruded completely free of the shirt, which was presently pasted tightly against his round breasts. Taking a deep breath, Connor lifted his fingers to the hem and slowly peeled the shirt up over the mounds. He surveyed himself for a while. For breasts, they were unusually plump and fat—maybe even moreso, almost engorged. “Eugh,” Connor groaned. With the pale green skin and forest green nipples, everything seemed business as usual.

Just that final matter.

Connor hesitated before he again lifted his arms to gently raise his breasts off his chest.

He stared at the heated mounds of fat perched just beneath them. He gaped at the dark green nubs they revealed. Small though they were, he had grown a second pair of breasts!

Connor barely had the chance to panic. At the familiar sensation of tightness in his belly, he dropped his breasts, instead gripping his primary point of concern. But the tension faded, Connor panting as his belly heaved up and down.

Despite this, Connor felt his hole tightening uncomfortably behind him. He waited, but nothing else occurred.

Connor reached down and curiously cupped his plump backside, but then he shuddered, and had to again grip the sink with his free hand. His ass quavered and he felt like he could drop at any moment. But it wasn’t a tentacle or anything else making an exit. It was the mass as a whole pushing against him, as though his body was so completely stuffed with it, there was no room left. Even as he retracted his hand, he could feel his swollen ass pressing against the strained fabric, some of the translucent green slime seeping out of him. Connor felt as though he was going to be sick.

23.

There was a knock on the door. “Connor?” Brad called.

Breathing heavily, Connor glanced at the bathroom door, but then he returned his attention to the mirror. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone. Brad couldn’t help him. If anything, he was just being pulled into the madness that Connor had started. Connor didn’t want him to get hurt, not again. And so, he lifted his phone to his ear and tried calling Doctor Rogers for the umpteenth time.

And to his shock, the doctor picked up.

“Can’t talk,” said Rogers, breathing heavily on the other line. “Too dangerous.”

“Rogers—” Connor stated.

“It isn’t safe,” said Rogers with finality. With that, the line went dead.

Connor stared at his phone in shock for several moments. His face burned and his heart pounded as he was overcome with indignation.

He made his way to Brad’s bathroom closet, the act of walking twice as uncomfortable with the pressure on his hole. It made him flushed and weak in the knees, which just made the matter of his mobility several times more uncomfortable.

Connor rummaged in the closet for something to put on. He didn’t find much, the only thing that he had any hopes of fitting him being a large black cloak from one of Brad’s old Halloween costumes. He remembered when Brad had worn it as a warlock last year during Professor Webber’s end-of-the-fall costume party. Everyone had shown up in elaborate costumes if just to salvage their post-neuroscience GPAs. Connor had been running late, and had thrown on his scrubs and lab coat, sans the shirt. He called himself a sexy doctor, and he and Brad had idly flirted and mocked each other most of the night.

That blithe student seemed miles away now, his lean frame lost to layers of flesh, fat, and alien entity.

Connor wrapped the cloak around his shoulders. It barely managed to close over his belly. He found some clothes pins, and tried to fashion it into an awkward tunic. He tugged up the back of his sweatpants, but it was near useless. The waistband continuously slid down his plump ass, and if not, the material strained to the point that it looked like it would burst open.

Heaving a sigh, Connor again lifted his phone, this time calling a cab company.

“Connor,” called Brad, knocking more briskly now.

But Connor did his best to ignore him. “Yes, the place is right after exit seven,” he spoke into the line. “Ten minutes? Yes, that’s perfect.” He hung up the phone.

It was time to give Rogers a house call.

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