The Parasite, Part 7 - Male Version

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Summary: Following infection by an alien parasite, Charles begins to hear a commanding voice in his head that demands him to stuff his face with food, massage various body parts, insert edibles into his orifices, and partake in other unusual activities. Charles’s belly grows and grows as the parasite swells in consequence. Charles’s efforts to balance his busy work life with the frightening voice of the parasite proves to be disastrous. Contains: Belly expansion, breast expansion, possible egg-laying and more.

Previous Chapter

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He looked as though he was overdue with twins, as though something was very wrong with him, and he should be in treatment for some sort of medical anomaly—certainly not going to work, struggling through the usual office monotony, smiling flippantly but internally terrified.

People would stare at him, but Charles did his best to ignore it.

He tried not to think about the numerous eggs presently incubating inside of him, or how the voice offered its commands, but now infrequently, and sounding terribly weak. Charles tried not to think about how he now snuck off, to push food into his ass, of his own volition, because he could no longer imagine the prospect of feeding himself in any other capacity.

And he tried not to think about the fact that he was still steadily growing, and he had gone from looking as though he was overdue with twins to triplets in only a matter of days. How he struggled about clutching his increasingly swollen girth as people ogled him, almost as though in fear.

He could barely fit into the bathroom stalls at work, but Charles just managed. He leaned back on the door, panting, his breasts gently bobbing. His nipples seeped milk continuously, and he had to change the padding of his—god—his maternity bra several times throughout the day now. His belly was hot, and had the perpetual sense that it was pulsating. He was constantly exhausted. Sometimes he could barely catch his breath.

“What do I do?” he whispered feebly, for once, seeking the voice out for guidance.

But again, only silence answered. And it frightened him. The voice had been mute for days now—it had never been silent for this long. Something about the silence was profound and overwhelming. There was an absence where something had been blatantly present for so long. Charles closed his eyes and breathed through his anxiety.

He rubbed the sides of his mass, his stretched button-down sticking to his sweaty body.

It seemed like an appropriate time to give up. To lay down at home, and wait for whatever was meant to happen to happen. But he refused. He cared about his life, and his career, and would not just throw it away. Where would he be now if he had been supine in the first place? He was certain the voice would have managed to split his head open by now, if judging by the relentless pressure and pain it routinely dealt in his skull.

But Charles was alone now, and lost to his next move. Should he just go ahead and birth the eggs? Would there be consequences? What if the voice returned with malice? What if it owned up to the threat to bursting him?

I’m on that track either way… Charles mused, continuing to survey his taut belly, his face blank.

There was also the concern that he couldn’t give birth anymore. The egg had been exceedingly tight in his opening when it had begun to crown several days before, and he had only grown since then. He didn’t even feel the compulsion to push anymore. Then again, he hadn’t tried, had he? Charles sighed and closed his eyes.

He knew that he should consider finally going to the hospital, but that option was just as precarious as all the others. The voice could retaliate from a hospital birth, just as it could if he managed to give birth on his own. And with a hospital, there was the added threat of shock, disgust, and media coverage. He could become a pariah, or worse, a lab experiment.

So Charles stood there, continuing to absently stroke his mass. He hissed out as his belly button twitched, his face reddening in his discomfort. He waited, but things seemed to calm down again. Everything was alright. Charles heaved a sigh.

-

Over the weekend, Charles took a cab back up to his family’s lake house, the baffled driver giving him wary looks through the rearview mirror.

He could barely waddle his way up the drive, by which point he was huffing and puffing, sweat-drenched and lactating profusely.

He dumped his duffle bag in the threshold of the cabin, then exited again, and headed directly for the lake.

He was dressed in a massive tank top, in fact, the largest one he could find online. The fabric was pasted against his swollen D-cup breasts, which were bulging against the low neckline, cleavage flushed. His swollen abdomen bulged out heavily beneath the hem, which barely pulled down to his navel.

He was basketball shorts, which preserved what little he could of his modesty. It took Charles a lot of careful maneuvering to ease himself down on the grass beside the lake.

The water looked normal today.

He panted heavily. He looked overdue with quads by then, not that he was certain what that even looked like. He just felt huge, as though he was attached to an overfilled beach ball. His thighs were already going numb beneath his girth.

By some strange compulsion, Charles fidgeted somewhat, easing himself toward the shore, and the water seemed to draw him in.

Soon he was immersed in the cool, refreshing lake. The surface began to almost glow a faint…purple. He stared at it. His face flushed when his belly suddenly tightened. “Nnghh!”

A contraction.

Things were moving rapidly. He could feel an egg pushing toward his opening, bigger, and more painful than the last time. He clamped his legs shut by instinct. What if he wasn’t supposed to? He needed to get out!

But attempting to exit the lake was futile. He was too large, too ungainly. He would never be able to climb back up the slippery banks without some sort of aid.

His stomach was shuddering and aching, the egg pushing, and Charles thoughtlessly reached down, quickly clamping his hand over his plump backside.

“Tell me what to do,” he groaned out, breasts hot and throbbing, beginning to push free of his neckline. “What do I—ohhhh…!” His hips bucked automatically. It was stretching him, splitting him apart. “Mgggghhh!”

And just before the egg could force its way free, he sensed it.

The presence had returned.

The End