Political, Part 2

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Summary: A politician's scandal about a pregnant mistress breaks shortly after passing some misogynistic legislation. He soon finds a new mistress however their first date ends very unexpectedly. After a period where he can't figure out why he is constantly either stuffing his face or nauseous it occurs to him that his swelling chest, new potbelly, and widening hips may be more than just some stress-eating. Due to his legislation he is stuck carrying but once he starts to campaign for re-election something interesting happens. Despite his growing disgust with his radically changing body the bigger he grows and the rounder he gets the better he polls. Contains: Feminization, Mpreg, Weight gain. Idea by will taft.

This story is a work of fiction. As specified throughout the story, all characters featured in this work are 18 years of age or older.

Previous Chapter

-

“Sir, it’s almost time for your interview with Burgundy.”

Justin raised his pointer finger to indicate he had heard her. He was at the tail end of a two-hour conference call so dull, he had spent most of it either dozing off or fishing balls of mozzarella out of the salad his assistant had brought him.

“Okay, let’s wrap this up,” he said into his headset. “Okay great. Let’s talk again in two weeks.” He, gratefully, ended the call.

As Justin stood up from behind his desk, stretching out his tense back, Teresa paused to give him a onceover. “Shall I bring you your…spare shirt, sir?”

Justin felt heat rise to his face. He quickly shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah,” he said, fidgeting a little, awkwardly trying to cover himself up. “This one seems to have…shrunken.” He frowned down at the way his button-down shirt strained against his body, the buttons struggling so much that small ovals of his skin were pushing out between them.

Smiling awkwardly, Teresa nodded and marched off. Only moments later, she returned to his office with a crisp white shirt dangling from a hanger.

Justin took the fresh shirt and headed to his office bathroom. He locked the door behind him before walking to the mirror, where he grimaced at his reflection.

Though he highly suspected the shirt he had on wasn’t the issue, he doffed it anyway, hoping against hope that the new one was a better fit.

It wasn’t. The fresh shirt was very much identical to the one it was replacing. Justin struggled with the buttons for a moment, before just letting them go. He breathed heavily as he frowned at his reflection. The mirror revealed a bulging beer belly and the start of an impressive set of manboobs.

Justin knew he was getting older, but this just seemed ridiculous. How could his weight be climbing so fast? He was outgrowing his clothes and looked like a damn mess. “Fuck,” he muttered, cupping the curve. He was becoming a fucking pig.

His appetite didn’t help. Justin was a bottomless pit lately. There was seldom a moment that he wasn’t at least mildly hungry. He was constantly munching on something or the other, and his staff were damn enablers. It was as though they were fattening him up. He would chastise them, only to be reminded that he had requested everything they had served him.

As disgusted as he was with himself, Justin knew he could drop the weight fast. He had dropped 20 pounds in two weeks just to qualify for the swim team in college. But it was decidedly difficult to focus on things like dieting when he had a whole damn campaign to run, and dozens on his staff awaiting his instruction.

Belatedly, Justin noticed the hair on his torso had been thinned out so much, it was practically nonexistent. Something odd was certainly going on with his body. He studied his hips and wondered if they looked a bit…wider. He hadn’t missed how the seats of all his pants had tightened on him.

Shaking his head, Justin started a new attempt at getting the fresh shirt on. This time he sucked in his gut as much as he could, which was a surprisingly unsubstantial amount. Nevertheless, he managed to close his buttons. As he had expected, this shirt was just as tight as the other one.

As Justin walked out of the bathroom, Teresa threw an alarmed look his way but deemed it best not to say anything. What could she say? He was her boss. It wasn’t like she could call him a fat ass and tell him to get in shape.

Justin went straight to his desk and pulled his blazer off the back of his chair. It was a warm spring day, and he was sure to start sweating, but he still pulled the blazer on, buttoning it over his gut. It was a snug fit, but the buttons at least closed without strain. “I’m off,” he muttered as he grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door.

“The driver is outside,” Teresa assured him. “Good luck with the interview, sir,” she called after him.

The door swung shut behind him as he industriously ignored her. He tried not to pay too much attention to Teresa. He was still dealing with the fallout from his last long-legged assistant.

Thirty minutes later, Justin walked into the NewsCorp building, where one of his handlers was at the entrance waiting for him.

“Head up, boss,” Vincent said as he patted Justin’s shoulders with his large, calloused hands. “We need you looking bright and energized for this one.”

“I look like a fucking doughboy,” Justin muttered bitterly, not quite under his breath. He kept walking, hearing Vincent snicker behind him.

“So you put on some weight,” Vincent said. “They want a leader, not Mr. Universe. And you’re looking sharp. A nice suit. Your body is your business, and I think you look alright.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Justin said bitterly. He knew that at the very least, his most loyal followers would be able to tell that he had completely let himself go. But sure, to others, he was just a soundbite.

“Get out there,” Vincent said, shoving him toward the studio.

Justin heaved a sigh and headed in for his interview.

-

“Maybe you should see a doctor,” Nora mentioned a few days later as she grimaced at his abdomen.

Justin spat a mouthful of toothpaste into the bathroom sink. “I’m fine,” he told her for what he was sure was the thousandth time. His free hand absently tugged down his wifebeater, which couldn’t entirely cover his protruding stomach. “I gained weight. It happens. Give me a month, I’ll be back to normal.”

“I don’t know, Justin. Maybe you’re sick,” Nora said, her eyes trailing up to his chest then down again. He could tell by the look on her face that his body grossed her out. “It could be serious.”

“Just a beer gut.”

“You don’t even drink that much.”

Admittedly, he hadn’t been able to keep a drink down in weeks. He figured it was some stomach bug. His issues were starting to pile up.

“You were puking half the day yesterday,” Nora went on. “You really should see a doctor. Maybe they can…catch whatever it is, early. Well, God forbid it’s something serious. But…I just don’t think this is normal.” She wrinkled her nose as she continued to study his form.

Justin frowned down at himself. Maybe he really should have been worried. It had been a while since Nora had expressed concern about him. Did he really look that bad? He turned to his side, eyeing his abdomen in the mirror, really taking in how round it was getting. And it wasn’t just that. It was weirdly firm. This didn’t seem like fat. More like a tumor. He bit the inside of his cheek, wondering if he was just in denial of a significant issue.

“I know you’re busy with the campaign, but your health should take priority,” Nora said, giving him a commiserating look as though she was already mentally constructing his eulogy. “Seriously.” She threw one more morbid look at his chest, then lightly shook her head and walked off. He heard her grab her keys.

Justin heaved a sigh. Maybe she was right. He trailed his hands lightly up his abdomen, then to his chest, and shivered.

He couldn’t believe how sensitive his nipples had gotten. It was just weird. He explored his chest more carefully, his nose wrinkling as he was again acquainted with how pudgy he had gotten there. They were like small tits. And they weren’t the least bit saggy.

It was gross. Abruptly, he wondered if he had some sort of hormonal issue. No, that was blowing things out of proportion. It was just a little weight gain. Nothing serious.

Lightly shaking himself, Justin rinsed off his toothbrush, then gargled some mouthwash and spat it out. He would worry about this later. It was time for work.

-

A few days later, Justin was at his office. Every time he was reminded of his changes, he just told himself nothing was wrong, but he was starting to suspect that he really was in denial.

He still hadn’t made an appointment. Justin was paranoid about doctors. He would not have cared to know even if he was deathly ill.

But that day, he was desperately uncomfortable. His stomach felt tight and bloated like an overinflated balloon, and he wondered if he had overdone things with the breakfast waffles — three servings of them.

For the past hour, his belly had been releasing these obnoxious whines and gurgling noises. He tried to cover it up with coughs and ramblings, but he could see the looks being sent his way from all around the meeting table. Everyone had heard the embarrassing noises, and worse, were starting to realize that said noises were coming from Justin.

His senior advisor, Catherine Sneed, stared blankly at him for a moment, before clearing her throat. “I certainly think that there is value in speaking at universities, sir. Students might not be as…receptive to your views as we would prefer, but just appearing would be a significant gesture toward hearing them out.”

Justin stiffened in his seat. As if the gurgling noises hadn’t been enough, he could now feel a weird lurching deep in his gut. It was horrifying. He tried to tell himself he was imagining it, but it just wouldn’t stop.

“I…erm…” All eyes were on him, but he had nothing to say. He wanted to jump out the window. He wanted to escape from his own body. He felt like he was housing an alien that was gonna tear right out of him!

His belly gave its loudest whine yet. Everyone was staring at him with odd looks on their faces.

Justin stood. If anything, it just put his round belly front and center for everyone to stare at.

“Well, um…” Justin was sweating. His stomach felt so tight, it was starting to hurt. He unconsciously cupped it, his face twisting. What the hell was wrong with him? “Fuck,” he hissed, hunching slightly, the tension only intensifying. His face scrunched as he groaned, the pressure surging, and —

There was a popping sensation. Justin was gasping for breath. Had something happened? Had he — ruptured? His hand slid to his navel, then his eyes went wide.

His belly button, it was — “What the fuck?” —  it was protruding outward! His inward belly button had become an outie somehow. “I have to go to the bathroom,” he choked out, covering his mouth.

The half-dozen people sitting around the meeting table stared in shock as Justin ran out.

-

Justin had never puked so much in his life. And horrifically enough, the lurching continued. When he had the occasional reprieve from all the vomiting, he could hear the muttering voices outside the door. What were they saying about him? He doubted it was anything good.

Eventually he heard the bathroom door open. A pair of footsteps approached his stall.

“Are you okay, sir?” It was Teresa.

Justin coughed a bit. “I’m fine.”

“Yes, sir.” His assistant hesitated. “Do you want—”

“Call my doctor,” Justin cut her off. He was sitting miserably on the floor beside the toilet. “Make me an appointment for…for as soon as possible. Do you think you can do that?”

“Of course, Justin,” she said with sympathy.

Justin sniffed, feeling entirely pathetic. But Teresa was making him the appointment. It was a start, he supposed.

So he leaned back against the side of the stall and closed his eyes.

Everything was going to be fine.

-

Dr. Norris’ good humor only served to clash with Justin’s frayed nerves.

“I have to admit, I suspected your diagnosis from just looking at you,” Norris said as he walked back into the room, glancing over the clipboard he was holding. “But your tests came back, and—”

“Is it cancer?” Justin cut him off, wishing the smiling old man would just get to the point already. “How long do I have left?”

“Oh no, you’re certainly not dying,” Norris said, looking humored as he waved his hand as though to dispel the notion. “It’s quite the opposite, Mr. Foster. You’re actually creating life,” he laughed.

“I’m what?”

“You’re pregnant.”

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