Malcolm, Part 15

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

Previous Chapter

-

Jax with the Tats

Breakfast was a repeat of Jax forcing down his prison food. By lunch, he was truly uncomfortable, but he did it again. He was getting used to the routine. He binged on cheap, processed foods, and his gang mates stood around spectating. It had gotten strangely voyeuristic. The crowd grew every day, even men from other gangs joining in to watch and laugh at him.

Jax finished up with a belch and just sat there panting and clutching his belly. He didn’t care about appearances anymore. Everybody knew he was packed tight. That was the whole point.

People were conversing enthusiastically around him, laughing, making quips, gesticulating wildly. Jax had gotten so accustomed to it, he barely heard it anymore. Instead he was sweating profusely, grimacing through his discomfort.

“What’s going on, big man?” someone asked.

Jax didn’t think he could speak. He was just so tight and uncomfortable. Something felt off. He belched again, but the pressure only seemed to be increasing, and it was starting to hurt. He tried to stretch his back out, wondering if he was having a health issue. His eyes stung with tears, which was fucking shameful. But something was off. He grimaced as his belly pulsed, tension filling it, a grunt coming up his throat.

The surrounding prisoners quieted down. Jax groaned and cursed, clutching his belly.

It pushed into the edge of the table, Jax’s face going red from the insane pressure. He could hardly do anything but sit there, trembling, afraid to move. It took him a moment to realize he was changing. Growing?

It didn’t seem possible, but his body was giving way to the throbs of pressure, his belly pushing harder against the table’s edge. Growing. Inflating. He made a wheezy sound, clutching his swell, wanting to shove it back in. This was bad enough, and he didn’t need it getting any worse.

But it was stubbornly pushing out, inching forward.

“What the hell’s wrong with him!?” someone said.

Two of his buttons popped off in quick succession.

People jeered.

“What the fuck!” another person yelled.

Jax was huffing and puffing like he was doing lamaze. He was mortified and horrified, helpless to stop his own body’s betrayal. He was expanding. Getting rounder; getting more visibly pregnant. Stuffed to bursting. Bred like a bitch, his body trying to show it off.

His dick stiffened despite it. Jax threw his head back, groaning. A third button broke off, and then another, his swollen belly sticking out through his jumpsuit. He looked at term, maybe farther.

When things finally winded down, he was gasping for breath, his chest heaving. His abdomen was nearly pitching the table over. Someone shoved the table out of the way. And then everyone just stood around, staring at the orb as it rose and fell with Jax’s breathing. Manuel gave a low whistle.

The cafeteria alarm blared.

“Courtyard!” a guard yelled as the exit doors opened.

Jax struggled. He was among the last of the crowd to head outside. He was practically staggering as he clutched his belly, sweat still pouring down his face. He didn’t dare ask for help. He didn’t want to be “claimed” by anyone.

He had barely recovered from his bizarre growth spurt when he found himself outside, gripping the chain-link fence, puffing for air as he tried not to collapse.

Suddenly he felt hands on his shoulders, turning him around. Jax gasped for breath as he faced his crew, and other spectators as well – basically the same crowd that had been watching him gorge himself over lunch and breakfast.

“So that’s what you’ve been hiding,” someone mocked, nodding to Jax’s considerable swell, which was still protruding out nakedly in the hole it had made in Jax’s jumpsuit.

Everyone was leering.

“It’s V-Vincent’s,” Jax breathed, just as a reminder for them to watch themselves. Most were unwilling to get on the enforcer’s bad side. There would be consequences. Or, so Jax had claimed.

“Vincent isn’t here, bitch,” said Kurt, grinning. He reached out, and before Jax could stop him, ripped apart the remaining two buttons on Jax’s jumpsuit.

This revealed the tight undershirt Jax was wearing, and the soft hills beneath it. Jax fruitlessly tugged at the hem of the shirt, but it only pulled down over his chest, with no hope of enclosing his huge belly.

As Jax looked at his chest, and the little tits he seemed to be growing there, he realized they appeared bigger than he remembered. The thought was unnerving.

He felt a wave of dizziness. His belly was still throbbing, and now that nauseating lurching sensation was starting up. It gurgled audibly as he groaned, clutching it. He realized he had gotten hard from all the pressure and activity.

It seemed the others had noticed as well.

“You dirty boy,” said Tony.

“He likes it,” said Manuel. “Look at that. Fuckin perve. He likes being a breeder. He wants to be packed with more kids.”

Jax’s face was hot. He continued to breathe, evenly.

“Look at those pillows!” It seemed that someone had taken notice of his tits. “Our boy’s got B-cups.”

“Where the fuck did those come from?”

“Holy hell, look at them things!”

“I wouldn’t mind giving a squeeze.” Someone gestured crassly.

“You gonna keep growing, bitch? Gonna get bigger?”

“He’s blowing up.”

Jax’s world was spinning. It felt like they were closing in.

“Looks like he could drop any day,” Marcus remarked.

“I hear he’s not even close. Still has months to go.”

“Fuck, he’s gonna be huge!”

Though Jax’s cheeks were burning, he tried to remain expressionless and stoic.

“You’re doing this on purpose, you freak,” someone continued to heckle.

“Could you imagine bending him over,” said a guy as he rocked his hips.

“Nothing to say, breeder?”

People laughed.

“Look at the freak,” said Tony. “He did this to himself. He’s trying to get big and fat for us.”

“Fuck Vincent. I want a turn with him,” Marcus growled, approaching.

“Clear out!” A corrections officer had arrived, and was cupping the hilt of his baton.

The surrounding prisoners dispersed, several of them heading to the basketball court as they snickered. The rest wandered towards the weights, or continued to observe Jax from a greater distance.

The officer’s name was Brant, according to his nametag. He had an unfamiliar face and Jax wondered if he was new. Brant lingered for a while, looking Jax up and down, his expression disgusted.

Jax just tried to catch his breath, still leaning heavily on the gate behind him.

“Get dressed,” said Brant acerbically.

Easier said than done, Jax thought as he gripped at his torn jumpsuit.

The officer looked around at the others who had decided to linger. “It’s time for some laps,” he said with a sneer, causing the prisoners to shake their heads or curse. “Get moving. Three times around the yard.”

Jax watched them go, his fellow four inmates starting to jog.

“What are you waiting for?”

Jax’s attention turned back to the correctional officer.

“That’s four laps for you, fat boy,” said Brant, his cold gaze again sweeping over Jax’s inflated abdomen. “Want to make it five?”

Jax started jogging.

His stomach jolted with every step. His back was aching, the constant, forceful rocking of his abdomen making him dizzy. He stumbled several times, even having to stop one time just to breathe while hugging himself. He almost threw up several times, but gulped against the impulse. He was pouring sweat, but he couldn’t stop. He could still see Brant watching him. By the time Jax finished his fourth lap, his lungs were burning and he was struggling not to collapse. He dropped to his knees instead.

Most of the other inmates in the yard gathered around, their reactions ranging from amused to disturbed. Jax must have looked like a fucking pig – flushed, panting, and practically spilling out of his jumpsuit. His shirt was soaked in sweat; pasted against the tits he was growing. Despite his fatigue, Jax could feel Brant glowering down at him.

-

After failing at several attempts to stand, Jax was dragged off to the medical bay, where he was put on IV fluids.

Jax was surprised to be given a private room. This type of treatment was usually reserved for serious situations. The prison medical staff looked decidedly puzzled whenever they surveyed his big, round belly.

“This is not normal,” remarked Dr. Díaz when he arrived. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves. “It could be fluid, a tumor, or…we’re going to need to run some scans,” he deadpanned.

“Fuck that,” Jax retorted. He wasn’t interested.

The physician ostensibly ignored him. As Díaz looked at a chart and pulled something out of a drawer, a pair of men in scrubs entered the room. Without warning, they walked to either side of Jax’s bed, and took hold of his shoulders, pinning him flat.

“What the fuck!” snapped Jax, hardly struggling. He was exhausted. He wondered if it was from his pathetic jog, or from whatever fluids they were pumping him with.

The doctor dragged a table over. There was a small monitor with cords coming out of the bottom panel. Díaz lifted a device that was oval in shape, and about the size of a remote. Without even asking permission, he drew up Jax’s hospital gown, pausing a moment to stare at Jax’s smooth, round belly. Jax’s boxers were pushed low by the sharp jut of the orb. Frowning, Dr. Díaz used his free hand to lift a tub. He squirted a cool gel onto Jax’s abdomen.

Jax grimaced at the ceiling.

“He looks fucking pregnant,” muttered one of the men holding Jax still.

Díaz lowered the tube and brought the probe-like device to Jax’s lower abdomen, pressing it firmly against Jax’s skin. He massaged Jax’s belly with the tool.

Dr. Díaz paused, the probe going still against Jax’s stomach as the doctor stared at the screen. It looked like nothing but static to Jax.

Jax was uncomfortable, his back aching from the weight of his stomach against it, his shoulders getting sore from the continued pressure on them. He cursed under his breath.

Díaz still hadn’t moved. “How the hell…” He finally shifted the probe again, shoving it up and to the right, then down and left, continuing to scan Jax’s heavy orb while muttering to himself. Finally, he turned his gaze away from the screen. He stared at Jax, his eyes wide and his face some mixture of disturbed bafflement. “Did you know?” he questioned.

Jax said nothing, he just glared stubbornly back.

“How does something like this even happen?” Díaz muttered, dropping the probe against the table roughly enough that it clattered. He tore off his gloves. “What the actual fuck? Did you do this on purpose?”

“Díaz?” said one of the aides in scrubs, finally releasing Jax’s right shoulder.

“I have to speak to the warden,” Díaz said, lightly shaking his head. He gave Jax one more disgusted look before sweeping out of the room.

-

They tried to tell him their findings.

Jax didn't want to hear it.

But they gave him a new jumpsuit—one that actually fit him. And his schedule was adjusted. Instead of going into the yard after lunch, Jax was given a job at the prison library. It was a spacious but sad room with only about a dozen shelves of antiquated literature. While another prisoner worked in the back, keeping things organized, Jax was to spend an few hours every day sitting at the window, helping inmates check out books.

In terms of prison jobs, it was considered a cozy position. A lot of sitting. At least it gave Jax some time to peacefully digest whatever his gang had fed him that day. It felt safer than the yard. Nowadays, everyone was calling him the “gang breeder.” Treating him like some hot commodity. Like they wanted a turn at him. Jax ran his hand down his face and tried to shake off his uneasiness.

It was his third day on the job.

His back was stinging.

It often was these days. Which was no surprise, given that he was the size of a fucking elephant. All the sitting wasn’t helping.

Jax braced his hands against the counter, grimacing as he heaved himself up. He couldn’t believe how hard that was getting lately, or how quickly he had blown up. He couldn’t have been in prison for more than a handful of weeks. Yet he had positively inflated.

Jax arched his tense back, groaning from the relief of stretching it out. But suddenly he heard movement behind him. His coworker. He knew the shift had changed; just hadn’t bothered to check who had come in. But then he felt someone press up behind him.

“I hear you know me?” said a husky voice.

Jax went pale. He’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Vincent.