Bitch II

Note: This is a story-prompt for Marcus Nelson.

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It was only another week before Frank was alone, struggling in a tight janitor’s closet, his belly heaving, as his chest ached, and his skin burned so hot he feared he might pass out. He fidgeted and struggled in that small, uncomfortable space, as his body labored for two days, sweat soaking through his jumpsuit. After a while he did start to pass out, in small periods. It was difficult, and incredibly painful, and he could hardly keep his fat, stupid mouth shut, lest someone came and found him there in his most disgusting, pathetic, and vulnerable state. In the dead of the night, he finally managed to give birth to all three babies. But it was incredibly painful. Apparently the male body wasn’t designed for that shit.

After it was over, the crooked guard, Smith, took the babies away, as previously arranged. Frank didn’t even look at them, just glad his ordeal was over and done with.

He felt the guard jerk his clothes back around him, before practically dragging him back to his cell. Frank was barely conscious by the time he was dumped unceremoniously back onto his bunk. He could see his cellmates peering at him, probably wondering where the fuck he had been for the past two and a half days, but Frank was too exhausted to care. Barely able to move his body by then, he promptly passed out.

When Frank woke up, his whole body was still aching, his hips, his ass, and his chest. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed—probably at least a day, judging by the fact that it was evening again. He looked down at himself, and nearly gasped when he realized that everything, in fact, had not returned to normalcy.

His chest was bigger, not having shrunk as he had thought it would. Instead it was bloated and round, his nipples stinging. They had to be DDs—no, E-cups, by then, and were stretching tightly against his jumpsuit.

His jump suit felt entirely odd. Frank shifted uncomfortably on the plump platform of his ass, and came to realize how truly massive it was. A prerequisite to delivering babies, he supposed. But when the fuck was his body going to return to the way it had been before?

Frank looked up to see that one of his cellmates, Jamison, wasn’t sleeping, but casting him a fixed gaze. Frank stared back, his ass and chest tingling for some reason. He grunted and winced as his nipples stung, before he felt the two spots on his jumpsuit they were pressing against moisten, as the hard, swollen nubs pressed harder, as though to tunnel through the stretched material. “Fuck,” he hissed, as he folded his arms across his chest. He was fucking lactating!

Now Jamison’s eyes were gleaming. “I heard the rumors, you know,” he said with a crooked grin. “You waddle around looking like a blimp, disappear, then come back with stripper tits. People are saying you’re a bitch.”

Frank swallowed. “That is not entirely fucking accurate,” he growled.

“I don’t mind.” Jamison bared his teeth. “They say Smith knocked you up. Though probably time to move on from prison guards.”

Frank shuddered as heat washed over his bloated, fertile body. He groaned as his breasts tightened, and his zipper began to push down, almost invitingly.