The Parasite, Part 4 - 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. Charless belly grows and grows as the parasite swells in consequence. Charless 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.
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Charles tried his best to compensate at work for his frequent breaks and the voices continual demands. During his temporary reprieves from the voice, he put in bursts of effort so not to fall behind. Charles also found himself staying late at the bank more often than not, volunteering to balance out the registers, participate in cleanup, and supervise the evening vault checks with the security team. He hoped that it showed a general picture of composure and attentiveness rather than the fluster and panic that he was truly experiencing.
Charless efforts seemed to backfire, however. A promotion? he said in astonishment. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Ive noticed all the hard work youve been putting in lately, said his boss, Sue, who was seated opposite him behind her broad mahogany desk. And youve always been frank about your aspirations to become a banker. I think its time. Sue reached out, offering her hand.
Ironically enough, this was the worst time that his promotion could have come through. Despite it, Charles numbly reached out and accepted the handshake. His knuckles rubbed together as Sue gripped his hand far too hard. She gave it a firm shake and let go.
We already moved you into Jims old office.
Right, Charles managed.
Keep up the good work. Sue gave a nod, and Charles climbed out of his chair, knowing that the meeting was over.
Rather than checking out his inherited office, Charles felt his body carrying him outside. He walked down the sidewalk into an alcove on the side of the building that was surrounded by hedges intended to hide some pipes from view. His coworker, Parker, was there, taking a cigarette break. Charles leaned on the wall and stared blankly at the way his rounded belly bloated out over the waistband of his pants making him look as though he was six months pregnant. It wouldnt be long before the voice was active again.
Smoke? said Parker, holding out his box of cigarettes.
Um no thanks, said Charles. He didnt mention how the last time he had indulged in the occasional habit had resulted in the voice screaming in protest, causing his head to feel like it might split in two.
He took a few more deep breaths of the cool air, before pushing himself off the wall and going back inside.
Over the next few days, Charles was immersed in client meetings as he slowly adapted to his increase in responsibilities. The voice was keener than ever, and Charles was reluctantly relieved to find that having his own desk offered the added benefit of discretion when the voice began its frequent demands.
His belly was low, plump, and round, squishing against his lap when he sat down. Sometimes Charles could feel his coworkers staring at his increasingly taut shirts, though they proved too polite to inquire about his rapid weight gain.
The mounds on his chest had gotten breast-like and womanly, probably B-cups by then. They had gotten very bloated and full. Uncomfortable and tingly. Lately they felt sore, and his nipples were positively aching.
He was growing and growing, but doing his best to adapt to his unusual circumstances.
One morning Charles was hosting a client breakfast in one of the meeting rooms at the bank. He was wearing a pair of trousers, the belt jammed down to make way for his rounded abdomen. It was uncomfortable, but not enough to distract him from his work duties; he wanted to get the meeting over with quickly. He ran his hand over his button-down shirt. It was a newer purchase, but already quite tight at his chest and stomach. He hated how evident it made his bloated profile the way it was tucked into his trousers, though the alternative was looking yet more unprofessional.
He just hoped it wasnt too obvious that he wasnt wearing his usual bands of athletic bandages around his chest. Instead, he had just pulled on a restrictive undershirt. The bandages had become uncomfortable anyway, his chest far too tender now to tolerate being compressed so much. His mounds were continuously sweaty, nipples hard and swollen and almost unnaturally erect. He was sure that they stuck out in the shirt, where they rubbed rousingly on the hard cotton. He just hoped that the customers were too polite to take notice.
He tried not to meet any of their eyes. He certainly didnt glimpse the stares.
Charles quickly passed out leaflets and started the projector, before going over the benefits of varying business accounts.
As Charles presented, the clients absently munched on eggs, bacon, bagels, cream cheese, donuts, sausages, fruits, and a variety of other delicious breakfast foods on an elaborate spread in the center of the meeting table.
Charles tried not to pay the food any mind, though he could feel his innards beginning to thrum, as though agitated. He did his best to ignore it, and continued the presentation, more hurriedly.
Hungry the voice said, finally.
It was a new word in its vocabulary, and spoken in a rather elegant, possibly even female voice. Charles was so stunned, he stopped mid-sentence. When Mr. Cortez cleared his throat in the otherwise silent room, Charles immediately regained himself, and tried to remember where he had left off. So, uhm, in conclusion, Id like to welcome you to explore the lucrative investment options offered to our more loyal customers, such as yourself. Any questions? He hoped there would be no questions. To his dismay, Mrs. Rivington raised her hand.
Hungry must eat You. Must. Eat
After barely hearing Mrs. Rivingtons query, Charles rambled on, hoping that he was somehow addressing the question. He could feel the coldness beginning to trickle down his spine, slow and steady. His mind was throbbing. He needed to wrap this up.
Since there are no more inquiries, said Charles, blatantly ignoring the clients who did look like they had something to say, I would like to thank you all for coming. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.
As the clients filtered out of the room, taking their time, Charles shook their hands one by one, and kept to monosyllabic responses when they tried to start conversation with him.
Need food. Need food NOW!
When the last client was finally gone, Charles was trembling. He had snacks in his office. He just needed to get there.
Charles made for the door, but a sharp pain shot through his skull, making him reel slightly. He couldnt walk through the bank in such a sorry state.
Instead Charles dizzily closed the blinds and locked the door. He staggered to the table, hoping there was something to salvage, at least until he could get back to his office and the cover of his desk.
EAT!!!
Charles shuddered, and blinked a few times. He was stunned that there was nothing left of the breakfast spread. Well, nothing, except for an ear of corn that seemed more of a decorative display than something intended to eat for breakfast.
Just looking at the uncut corn made him wince, but Charles grabbed it up, desperate by then. He collapsed to his knees and dropped to his back on the uncomfortable rug, partially shielded by the meeting table. He drew his knees up and spread them wide.
EAT EAT MUST EAT
Charles cupped one side of his chest, groaning at how full it felt, both mounds now pulling hard on his shirt buttons due to his position supine there on the ground. With his free hand, he desperately undid his trousers, sucked his pointer finger, and slipped his hand into his boxers to stroke his hole. He dove in and stretched himself hurriedly. Another shudder accompanied the ice cold pain twisting at his insides. Was he getting off on this?
MUST MUST EAT NOW
The voices little eloquence was gone in lieu of a pressing urgency. Charless thighs trembled as he wigged out of his boxers, his vision going in and out from the explosive pains reverberating in his head. He slid the corns tapered end to his entrance, squeezed his eyes shut, and pushed it in.
Despite seeming decorative, the corn was cooked to his relief, which was more than he could have hoped for.
Charles groaned as he pushed harder, feeling himself stretch painfully, until his eyes began to tear. He rocked his hips compulsively as the corn pushed farther and farther through his opening. Soon his fingers had dipped through, and the end of the corn disappeared, as food usually did, slipping inside him completely, as though being sucked by some internal force.
Good the voice praised. Good
Charles lay there gasping, holding his belly, which felt congruently firm. He could swear he looked seven months pregnant by then. He remained sprawled there, legs spread and ass aching. To his shock, his cock had become partially hard. Charles jerked at the sound of a knock on the door.
Charles? Do you need any help with clean-up? his coworker, Frank, called. He rattled the doorknob.
No! Charles gasped out, scrambling to fix his trousers. He forced himself back to his feet, hastily tidied up the table, and opened the door. It was only when he had limped to his office that he noticed that the stretched fabric between his shirt buttons had been spread to reveal the plump flesh within.
