Malcolm, Part 11

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Summary: Malcolm has a unique ability. Contains: Male: belly expansion, breast expansion, stuffing, weight gain, butt expansion, pregnancy.

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

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Jax with the Tats

In prison, Jax was at the bottom of the totem pole. He was lucky his gang took him in, though they did it reluctantly, and with certain caveats. Otherwise, they barely tolerated him.

Unfortunately for Jax, he still got a lot of unwanted attention. The other inmates stared at him wherever he went, sometimes wearing looks of disgust, and other times, just appearing bemused. They drank him in like a piece of meat and they didn’t know whether to destroy or devour him.

Jax just tried to keep his head down, not that it did him much good. There was no way to make himself more inconspicuous, or smaller.

On the contrary, he was getting bigger.

The cheap prison food was doing Jax no favors. It was fatty and processed, and made him feel like his belly would pop. His crew seemed to have caught on to how the food was affecting him. Jax clearly wasn’t good at hiding the discomfort and bloating, or the constant gurgling being emitted by his over-packed gut.

“Got you something,” Kurt quipped as he poured a small mountain of cheesy pasta off his lunch tray and onto Jax’s.

Jax pressed his lips together but managed not to groan. The others had taken to giving him food off their plates at every meal. They would gather around him, finding entertainment in watching him struggle to get it all down. They would give Jax an extra chicken leg, pizza slice, serving of rice, meatballs—whatever they had. Sometimes they would even give him the packages of chips and pastries they bought at the commissary. At meal times, Jax would be forced to eat nearly triple what everyone else got, as the others watched, heckled, snickered, or just gazed strangely at his straining body.

He knew what they were thinking: that he was their bitch. He was vulnerable and round — practically up for grabs. A few of the guys would “innocently” poke and prod him, sometimes rubbing up against him in a not-so-accidental manner. They were getting more intrusive every day, and it had only been three weeks since Jax had gotten himself locked up. Suffice to say, he didn’t like where things were heading.

Jax was flushed and hot that day as he finished up the third serving of pasta he had been provided with. He breathed heavily once he was done, struggling not to gag or throw up. By impulse, his right hand clutched his over-packed belly. In the corner, a corrections officer indifferently presided over the scene. As usual, the antics going on with Jax and his crew were ignored.

The others were conversing amongst themselves as Jax breathed evenly, trying to be nonchalant rather than drawing attention to himself and his discomfort.

His efforts were in vain.

“Look at this guy. Pantin’ like a bitch in heat,” Jimmy laughed.

Manuel chuckled. “We got our very own prison breeder.”

Everyone cackled. Jax just focused on breathing.

“So who’s up next? Who needs to pass down their precious genes?” mocked Tony, scratching his tattooed arm.

“I called dibs,” said Kurt. He was large and muscular, with a goatee.

“I don’t know, Marcus seems really interested.”

“Maybe you guys should fight,” Manuel quipped. “What do you think, Jax? Wanna see these guys brawl for the honor of pumping you full of more baby juice?”

Jax’s expression remained cool. He was used to the gibes. He didn’t let it get to him. At that moment, he still felt nauseatingly stuffed, but he tried to maintain a controlled demeanor. Anything else would be his undoing.

His cheeks were flushed and his stomach was so painfully tight, it felt like it was throbbing. He was fat and pink, like a damn bitch. There was nothing masculine about the state he was in.

His jumpsuit must have been at least two sizes too small, squeezing his midsection, but the corrections officers weren’t exactly racing to ensure the inmates were comfortable and accommodated.

Jax just took long breaths, in and out. Somehow it felt like the jumpsuit was getting tighter by the moment, squeezing against him, diamonds of skin pushing out between the buttons over his abdomen. Between the spectators, the awkwardness of his clothing, and the throbbing discomfort in his packed gut, it was hard to focus on anything at all.

Something snapped, a piece of plastic ricocheting off the side of the table before clattering onto the floor. Jax looked down at himself and was mortified to confirm that one of his jumpsuit buttons had popped right off, leaving a diamond of his belly-skin exposed. His eyes widened, his heart racing.

“What the fuck!” Tony blurted, the others bursting into laughter. They were causing such a scene that inmates from neighboring tables started coming over to see what was going on.

“He’s fucking inflating!” someone else said.

“What the hell’s he got in there?”

“It’s Vincent’s kid, isn’t it?” Manuel mentioned.

“Oh yeah, Vinny did a number on him.”

“He’s got that love gravy.” Tony thrusted his hips suggestively.

For the upteenth time, Jax silently vowed to murder Mouse for getting him in this stupid fucking predicament. He stared at the table, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Jax had managed to convince everyone that he had been impregnated by Vincent — a high-ranking enforcer in their gang. No one messed with Vincent. Of course, Jax was doing just that by using the man’s name for protection.

An alarm started blaring. Lunch hour was over.

Jax had to grip the table to heave himself up, grimacing at how heavy and unbalanced his body was becoming. Even his stride was getting strangely awkward. The other inmates grinned at him. He was a joke. A spectacle.

Keeping his face fixed in a scowl, Jax followed the crowd out to the yard.

He walked with his crew to the basketball courts where he lingered by the gate, crossing his arms. It had gotten too difficult to lift weights or play ball anymore. And most of the time, his efforts just got him even more unwanted attention, so it wasn’t worth trying. Sure, it was important to stay fit and strong while locked up, but Jax was starting to realize his limitations. He wasn’t exactly a typical prisoner anymore.

He was jolted out of his reverie when a large hand patted his belly.

“For good luck,” Kurt cackled, before running off to join others on the court.

Jax gritted his teeth but stayed calm. He was constantly tempering himself; trying not to think about what was actually happening. Because if he did, he was liable to having a meltdown. Which didn’t seem prudent when one was in prison.

After yard time was over, Jax took the quickest of quick showers, feeling numerous pairs of eyes on him as more people came into the room. He had barely dried himself off before he pulled a fresh jumpsuit on, this one straining just as the prior one had, the fabric taut and buttons pulling so hard that Jax was afraid of breathing too hard.

Then he felt something that made him freeze and cover his mouth against the urge to retch.

Another faint lurch of movement.

Most days he told himself that this couldn’t seriously be happening. And yet there it was, moving inside of him.

In his bunk that night, Jax could hardly relax. Between the increasing occurrences of the weird movements, and the creepiness of his cellmate, Reggie, Jax tended not to get much rest.

Reggie was unhinged. He was often seen pacing and muttering to himself. He was an older man, but still sturdy. He would alternate between glaring at Jax, and scratching markings into the wall with an old coin he had found.

Jax had come into some close calls with other inmates, often being cornered and groped—once even in the showers. A member of his gang would usually step in to save him. But in his cell, Jax was on his own, and Reggie was unnerving. Jax slept for small intervals, but never too long. Most of his nights were spent just keeping an eye on the bed opposite his.

By that night, Jax was at his limits. He found his eyelids fluttering consistently, sometimes closing entirely. Reggie was prone in his bed, snoring quietly. He seemed harmless, but Jax knew better. He knew why Reggie was incarcerated. The man had murdered two people.

Reggie also had a knack for making crude weapons. He regularly went crazy and attacked other inmates.

Jax jolted awake yet again, blinking around, disoriented. He wasn’t sure how long he had been out this time, but Reggie hadn’t moved an inch. Jax yawned and rubbed his chest, then winced.

Everything was getting so sensitive. Jax rubbed his chest more slowly this time, the palm of his hand massaging into the soft heaps of fat growing there. If he didn’t know better, it seemed like he was developing…

Jax dropped the thought, because suddenly it wasn’t just an amusing concept. Actually, it seemed unnervingly plausible. After growing his belly, there was little else that would surprise him. So Jax shoved the thought to the back of his mind.

He tried to relax once more, sinking into his pillow. He was laying on his side, not quite comfortable. No position was comfortable anymore anyway. He shifted somewhat, grimacing as he turned onto his back, the bulk of his new weight now pressing down on his torso. Jax breathed heavily, cupping his belly. He couldn’t believe how much he was growing.

Was he really pregnant? All signs would suggest it. Which meant he really was a freak. A pregnant man. Just the thought was revolting.

Jax’s eyelids fluttered and sank. He belatedly opened them again. Tiredly, he recounted several of Reggie’s disturbing remarks over the past few weeks.

“Wow, a pregnant man, you’re really a pregnant man!”

“You’re getting so big.”

“Soft mommy.”

“Gotta take care of the baby.”

“You’re so soft and sweet, you look so soft.”

“I’ll take good care of ya.”

Jax dozed.

-

Jax jolted awake.

Something was on him. He blinked several times, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. His heart abruptly became lodged in his throat.

He was face-to-face with Reggie. The older man was on Jax’s bed, straddling Jax’s thighs, and grinning maniacally.

“Fuck,” Jax breathed.

Before Jax could try to extricate himself from the situation, Reggie pulled something out, pressing it to Jax’s throat.

It felt sharp.

Jax went stiff, hardly breathing, his arms spread out on either side of him in a show of capitulation.

“Just saying hi,” Reggie said, slowly withdrawing what appeared to be a sharpened toothbrush. He slid it down, now pointing it at Jax’s belly. He pulled up Jax’s nightshirt to expose the mound, then slid the pointed tip of his weapon along Jax’s swollen curve. “How’s it doing? A girl, right? Two girls, and a boy? Two of each?”

Jax just gave a jerky nod even though he had no clue what Reggie was talking about. The man was insane.

And then Jax’s insides chose that moment, of all times, to start lurching.

Visibly. Jax’s eyes widened. He had never checked, or even thought it was possible, but he suddenly found himself staring at his round, swollen abdomen, as his skin bulged and shifted in…movement. His breathing shallowed.

The sharpened toothbrush was lowered. Instead, Reggie used his free hand to cup the movement. The contact was unsettling. Everything about that moment was terrifying and queasy, and made Jax want to separate from his accursed body. His life felt like it had become a damn horror movie.

“My baby…” Reggie murmured, as though in realization.

Suddenly the lights went on, bright and blinding, the blaring prison alarm echoing off the walls.

“Mess hall!” an officer shouted, unlocking the cell then moving onto the next one. If he had noticed Jax and Reggie’s dubious positioning, he did not react to it.

Reggie sprung up from Jax’s bed, taking his crude weapon with him. “Food time!” he said with glee, but then he hopped back onto his own bed, rummaging around in the sheets for something.

Jax did his best to remain calm, straightening himself up slowly. He shifted to the edge of the bunk, swinging his feet down.

This was nothing. Reggie was just some crazy old man. Jax could handle his deranged cellmate, at the very least.

He might need a weapon.

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