Slugs II, Part 4 - Male Version

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Summary: Connor is impregnated with a massive, mutated slug. And unfortunately for those around him, the condition proves contagious. Contains: belly expansion, breast expansion, butt expansion, bug expansion, unbirthing.

This story is a work of fiction. All characters featured in this work are 18 years of age or older.

Previous Chapter

-

Connor was stunned. "What?" he said weakly.

"Connor, the slug in your abdomen has grown too big for us to pump it out of you the way we did with your friend," Gary explained. "There is no way that thing would ever fit through your esophagus. There is, however, one orifice that it can still come out of..."

Connor stood there staring, absently cupping his mound with both hands.

"So you're going to have to birth it, so to speak," said Gary. He walked towards the fridge, now peering through it. "No, no, this won’t do," Gary muttered under his breath as he dug around.

"You c-can't be serious," said Connor, now leaning back more heavily on the counter than before. His stomach lurched and he didn't know if it was the creature inside or generalized nausea.

Gary looked up. "I don't think I could be more serious about this, Connor, and I advise you to take this seriously as well. This is a time-sensitive matter. It requires the perfect balance. The last think we'd want is for the creature to get too big."

Connor gulped.

"At the same time, it needs to be just large enough for your body to interpret it as a fetus. It will shift deeper into your pelvis in preparation for ejection."

"Ejection?" said Connor, now sweating. "I'm a man."

"With this species, it doesn't matter," said Gary. "You saw what happened back there."

Connor thought about the mounds that had grown on Zack's chest after only the short while that Zack had been forced to incubate the slug creatures. Zack's nipples had gotten big and swollen, almost like he might start lactating.

"As I said, if you get heavy enough, your body will naturally equip you to give birth to this creature."

Connor had to sit down. But as he moved away from the counter, he began to stumble. Gary grabbed his arm and ushered him over to the living room couch.

Connor eased himself down, slowly, very slowly. He didn't want to upset the creature in any way. He had seen how powerful the slugs could be.

Gary waved him off. "The creature is flexible and highly resilient. It doesn't mind a little jostling."

"Easy for you to say," Connor snapped. He was sweaty and breathless as he continued to process all of the new information. "Can't you just cut it out? You're a doctor, right?" His voice was frantic.

Gary shook his head. "Though flexible, and welcome to movement, this creature is also quite volatile. And it is incredibly resistant to removal. It is a parasite, after all. It needs a host to survive, breed, and grow."

Connor stared at Gary.

"And it could react...aggressively if it feels that its home is threatened. The last place we'd want you is open on an operation table if that happens, Connor.”

"Oh god," said Connor, now rocking himself. "Did you say that it's...it's breeding?" He stared down at his heated belly. Uneasily, he lifted his shirt to stare at the plump mound.

"That appears to be a feature of the slugs that I myself don't fully understand. But it may be capable of asexual reproduction, as evidenced by the nymphs in your vomit.  Connor, it's important that you don't resist the urge when you have to be sick. Even more crucial is that you pour sodium over whatever you produce. Ordinary kitchen salt should suffice. We do not want to make this situation any worse than it already is."

Connor simply shook his head, still staring at his mound.

"You'll see the signs when your body is ready to deliver. Your chest will be engorged and your bottom will have gotten larger. Your hips may also widen some. Your belly might even drop as the slug shifts more heavily into your pelvis. By then you'll be able to try birthing. I recommend you meet with me periodically to check your progress. We do not want this thing getting any larger than a full-term fetus."

"You mean I have to wait?" said Connor, horrified.

"Only as long as it takes for the slug to grow big enough. I recommend a high-calorie diet. You don't have much on hand, but..." Gary thought for a moment, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet. He withdrew a business card. "This catering company is great. Open all hours. They handled my last Christmas party."

Connor numbly took the card.

"I'll drop by tomorrow," Gary promised, as he gave Connor an encouraging pat on the shoulder. With that, Gary got up and walked out, and Connor was left alone with his thoughts.

Connor sat there, staring at the wall. He glanced at this belly and jerked down his button-down shirt, but it was so uncomfortably tight.

Connor's eyes widened as he felt a new wave of nausea. He hurried to the bathroom, but not before snatching a canister of salt from his kitchen counter. He then kneeled down in front of the toilet and threw up.

"Eugh..." Connor groaned as he laid his head on the porcelain seat, his belly heaving as he panted. He remained like that, resigned for a couple of minutes, before he slowly lifted his head and looked down into the bowl.

Whereas at first his vomit had seemed beige and grainy, like sand, Connor could now see things floating around in an arbitrary pattern. They were roughly the size of peas, and seemed to be growing larger by the moment.

Feeling a surge of panic, Connor lifted the salt, but for some reason he hesitated. He continued to gaze down at the small, growing nymphs, as they progressively took up more space in the bowl of the toilet.

Roughly shaking himself out of his reverie, Connor quickly poured the salt into the bowl. There was a sizzling as the water frothed. Groaning in disgust, Connor closed the lid and flushed the toilet.

Connor heaved himself off the bathroom floor and went to his bedroom where he stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed. He didn’t think that he would be able to handle work in his current mental state. He couldn’t believe that he had to get even fatter. To the point that he looked at-term with child. People already looked at him funny as it was.

Connor’s stomach lurched, causing his dick to harden and his face to redden. He didn’t know why he was getting off on this. He felt a squirming sensation, and curled around his mound, hugging it, rubbing it, hoping it would stop. “No …” he whispered, as he creature squirmed some more, making him short of breath. “Nnghhhhh…ohhhhhh…” He came, and felt nothing short of mortified even though he was alone. His plump belly wiggled as he gasped for breath. “Just relax…relax…” he whispered. He didn’t know if he was saying it to himself or to the slug, but he continued to rub the mound, and things winded down. Feeling physically and emotionally drained, Connor closed his eyes and fell asleep.

-

Connor’s eyes snapped open. He glanced at the clock radio on his nightstand to see that it was 5 in the afternoon. He had been asleep for hours, and it didn’t take Connor long to realize what had awoken him. He groaned as he was assaulted by another hunger pain.

Connor climbed out of bed, holding his belly with one hand. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt that stretched tightly over his girth, revealing a few inches of the mound beneath the hem.

Connor tried not to glance at the mirror as he exited the room, but it was unavoidable.

His sweats were snug in the back where his ass protruded, and his bloated chest was visible in the too-tight T-shirt, but he was no different than he had been prior to when he had gone to sleep. His belly was round, but plump rather than firm. It bobbed slightly as he walked, and Connor held the underside of the mound to help stabilize it. His round belly button protruded visibly against the stretched shirt material.

Connor was panting by the time he made it to the kitchen, though it had nothing to do with fatigue. Connor looked into his fridge, but it contained nothing but condiments. He spotted the card for the catering company that Gary had given him on the couch. Connor walked over to the couch and lifted it, before pulling out his cell phone and dialing the number with a trembling hand.

“Hi, I wanted to order, ohhhh…” He groaned. “Can you…can you just give me one of everything on the menu?” Connor breathed heavily, continuing to rub his mound. It seemed to be throbbing by then. “How…how long will that take? Okay, okay, I—I can wait. Just hurry.” Connor eased himself down on the couch, continuing to hold the phone to his ear. “Can you charge it to a credit card? The number is…” Connor wrapped up the call, and was left alone, with the slug. He leaned back and closed his eyes, his belly perched in his lap. He tried to breathe though the worsening hunger pains. “Nnnngghh…” But they were getting bad.

Connor didn’ t know how much time passed. It could have been five minutes. It could have been thirty. But by then, he was flushed, and hot, and his belly was full of tension, the slug lurching non-stop. Unable to sit still any longer, Connor climbed up and walked to the fridge. He opened it, looked around, and finally grabbed a bottle of ketchup. He stared at it for a moment, a little disgusted with himself. Unable to hold out any longer, he unscrewed the cap and lifted it to his lips.

There was a knock on the door.

Lowering the ketchup bottle, Connor hurried over to the door, and opened it, not caring about his bloated, disheveled appearance. There was a man carrying five large disposable pans of food. “Connor Smith?”

Connor nodded desperately.

The delivery man let himself in, and Connor was surprised to see three other men follow behind him, each carrying a similar pile of pans. They piled food onto the table and counters, and when they ran out of surface space, Connor just urged them to put the remaining pans on the couch. Each pan was two feet wide and two feet long. There was enough food to feed dozens of people.

“You having a party?” said one of the caterers looking around skeptically.

“You could say that,” said Connor, anxiously fishing a $100 bill out of his pocket. He shoved it into the delivery man’s hand. “Thanks. Thank you,” he said hastily.

All of them giving Connor an odd look, the delivery men filed back out of the apartment. Connor quickly closed the door behind them, then turned back to the meal, his stomach churning by then.

Feeling a familiar loss of control, he launched himself at the table.

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