The Fruit, Epilogue - Male Version

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Note: This is a male version of The Fruit.

Summary: After being stranded on a deserted island, a group of men discover that there is only one source of food, and it is reproduced in the strangest of ways. Inspired by “A Most Peculiar Pregnancy in Paradise” by The Lurker At The Threshold. Contains: Male: belly expansion, breast expansion, lactation, and more.

Previous Chapter

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Charles held the baby in his arms. It was a lively girl, and she was growing fast. Almost too fast.

They called her Jessica.

Try as Charles did to pacify the three-week-old, he could not get Jessica to stop crying. The baby resembled Connor more than anything else, but with Charles’ light eyes and pointed nose. Jessica’s creation continued to quietly baffle the young captain. From the fruits, to the vine, and the birth of the child—none of it made any sense. But who was he to contest it.

Jessica was crying more loudly now, tears streaming down her red cheeks. Climbing up from his seat on the sand against a palm tree, Charles walked along the beach with the child against his shoulder. He approached the site of where his shelter once had been.

In its place was a much larger structure built from bamboo. The thick bark roofing tapered—it almost resembled a temple. And if that wasn’t enough, Fredrick, Isaac, and some others were praying outside of it, perched on their knees, hands clasped together.

“Oh kind producer…” Isaac muttered, seeming deep in prayer. Like the other men, his eyes were closed, and he seemed intent about his purpose.

As Connor had, and the beach had, the men had begun to change. They were hefty now. Getting plump, even. Perhaps some were over-indulging in the fruit. Or perhaps the nutrient content was just too rich for their simplistic, human bodies to compromise. Clothes stretched and buttons pulled to accommodate each man’s increasing girth.

Charles had put on some weight himself. He tried not to over-eat, but there was just such an abundance of the fruit that it was hard to resist consuming it throughout the day.

Endless vines weaved through the sand between kneeling bodies, twisting, turning, branching off of each other, crawling up the temple to cover the jagged walls, extending yards across the beach, some of them, even going into the water. They created a maze on that side of the beach, with their swollen buds and drooping stems. Plump red fruits littered the ground, dozens, just lying there, available for anyone to pluck up and bite into. The thickest vine disappeared into the structure. The opposite end ran straight, and went into the water.

Among the buds coming off of the central vine was a white one that gave Charles pause. It was large, bigger than the others, and throbbing. Charles stared at it for a moment. He gulped, before awkwardly bouncing the crying child against his shoulder. “Easy…easy…” he whispered as he ducked through the vines draping down from the structure’s entrance.

As always, Connor was a sight to behold. He was leaning back on his hands, his back arched, and chest thrust out. One of his knees were drawn on one side of him, the other laying straight, while the massive, heaving orb of his belly was perched on the floor between his legs. Charles could not help marveling at the mound as it pulsated, up and down, Connor restricted by the weight of it. Charles could hardly imagine the things that filled it. Life, and harvest, and sweet blessings, he supposed. They had once discussed breaking the central vine that grew from him, but Connor had been too frightened of what would happen to him and the contents of his belly. Charles had been concerned that such an action would destroy their supply of food. Thus, things were left as they were. The boy grew, produced, and grew some more. There was no end, and he accepted that.

Connor’s eyes watered at the sight of the child. He fidgeted, as though to get up, but was quickly reminded of his uncompromising condition. He hiccupped, causing his belly to give a violent thrust, and a new knot to push out of him, his face reddening as it did. The knot rolled along the central vine and disappear through the doorframe where it would undoubtedly develop into another bud. His harvest was endless. Deeply breathing, Connor held the side of his heaving belly.

“I’ve been trying to take things slow,” he said breathlessly, rubbing his hand up and down his massive mound. “It feels like everything wants to…hahhh..ngghhhh…b-burst out of me at once.” His belly continued to throb, two inches outward then two inches in.

“Why don’t you let it?” Charles said as he observed him.

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Connor shook his head. “For every bud that I produce, it feels like my body just…nngghhhh…ohhhh…” A bead of sweat ran down his brow. “Just swells up with two more. Hahhh…hahhh…” he panted, his breasts heaving. Holding his belly, he leaned back as much as he could.

Charles gazed down at the intricate, unbreakable vine. The root—where it met Connor’s opening—was swelling again, as though something was crowning, slowly pushing its way out of him, and Connor seemed none too pleased. “Mmmmggghhh…” he moaned as the knot grew bigger and bigger until it seemed the size of a grapefruit. “Oh god…this one…its…nngghhh…ahhhhh…” It finally popped free of him and entered the vine. Connor looked exhausted and had to lean back on both hands again. He blushed as Charles met his eyes with his solemn ones. He suspected that it would become another white bud. That would make three.

Charles tried to brush these thoughts aside. He would worry about that matter when it became due time. At present, he didn’t think he could rationalize that Connor was continuing to produce infants from their singular coupling some weeks before. “The child is hungry,” he said, kneeling beside Connor, helping support his back with one arm as he carefully passed him the baby with the other.

A look of contentment washed over Connor’s face as he took the child and held her to his large boson. The child couldn’t quite get her mouth around his nipple, but she did her best to nurse. Connor held her close.

Connor’s body felt heated and moist beside Charles’s, and his mounds pulsed with the rhythm of his steady heart. Connor offered Charles a strained smile. Even as flushed, and plump, and sweaty as he was at that moment, he could not have looked any more like a god. So Charles simply smiled back.

The End