Enjoy the Ride - Part 8

Mr. Griffin didn’t yell. He didn’t even raise his voice. He only stood there, holding his phone out to me, showing the image from the security footage frozen on the screen.

“Explain, please,” Mr. Griffin said, staring at me. “What were you thinking, sneaking out of the penthouse like that? You think I wouldn’t find out? You think it’s acceptable to risk your health—and the babies’—only to sneak off behind my back?” He didn’t ask about Greg or why I was with him. It was like he didn’t care about that part, or at least he hid it well.

My throat went dry. I had no excuses. Heat rose in my cheeks, and shame burned in my chest. I had this overwhelming urge to cradle my belly, so I instinctively moved my hands to the massive curve of it. The babies were calm now, but I could still feel their weight. I could still feel the tension beneath. He was right. I had risked the babies because I couldn’t handle my hormones. I had risked them because I was too horny to stay away from Greg.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, barely able to push the words out. “I—I wasn’t thinking.”

Mr. Griffin’s jaw clenched. “What else could you possibly need, Adam?” he asked. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was cutting. “Everything you could ask for is here. You have food, privacy, entertainment, and care. I’ve given the best medical attention money can buy. I even made sure you’d have the attention your body needs. I’ve done everything in my power to make you feel comfortable.”

I blushed hard and instinctively wrapped my arms around my belly, like trying to protect myself from his words. But there was no cruelty in them. He was only disappointed and hurt. Deeply hurt. I could see his broken heart behind his eyes, masked by control and the armor of pride. He didn’t say it, but I could feel it. I had betrayed more than his trust—I had bruised his heart. This man, who had given me everything, had expected that he was enough for me. 

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Mr. Griffin was right.

He looked at me for a long time. Then turned away. “Your little boyfriend is unemployed now, by the way,” he said as he walked toward the door. “And he better stop texting you. Or he’ll never work in this city again. Believe me, Adam. I’ll find out if you’re still talking.”

He left without waiting for a response. I couldn’t help but cry. Mr. Griffin had been kind even after finding out I had been sneaking away from the safety he had so carefully built for me. And it made me feel more guilty.

Everything was different after that day. The sweetness that had flooded into our daily routines, the gentle kisses, how he’d rub my belly, and how he used to look at me like I was something precious; it had all gone. He was colder now. He was polite, efficient, and still present. He made sure I took my vitamins. Checked in with the doctor. Made sure I ate. But everything he did was with a businesslike detachment. As if he were caring for an investment, not someone he had once called beautiful while brushing my hair behind my ears.

What stung most was knowing that, beneath that polite distance, Mr. Griffin wasn’t angry—he was hurt. He never said it outright, of course. Mr. Griffin would never admit to something so vulnerable. But I saw it when he avoided my eyes, and his lips tightened when he walked into a room and found me there. I’d looked for comfort elsewhere when he had given me everything, and though he hid it well, I had cut him deep. It bruised his pride. It bruised something softer, too, something he would never let me touch again.

But even with that coldness and silence, he was still the best with Marco. It was like my son reminded him of the good parts of our arrangement. Marco’s excitement and innocent love soothed something in Mr. Griffin that I couldn’t reach anymore. He laughed with my son, helped with his homework, and let him fall asleep on his shoulder at night. Marco didn’t see the distance. And maybe Mr. Griffin liked it that way. Maybe Marco helped him forget, if only for a little while, that I had betrayed him.

And all along, even though I felt guilty about everything that had happened, I missed Greg terribly. Every part of me ached for him, not only for the comfort of his arms but also for the loving words and how he’d tease me about being the most radiant pregnant man in the world.

As if my emotional storm wasn’t enough, my body was reaching a point where I could hardly move anymore. My hips were perpetually sore, my thighs rubbed so much I had to keep powder nearby, and my tits felt heavy and hot all the time. My belly was so taut and distended that I could only sleep propped upright by a mountain of pillows. Even then, sleep came in short bursts. The babies were strong now, kicking and shifting at all hours.

Some nights, I stayed up only to watch the babies move beneath the taut surface of my skin. I loved it when Marco would rest his little head against the top curve while he giggled at a strong kick. My boy was my light. He never judged, never questioned. Every day, he brought his crayons and schoolbooks into bed with me, tucking himself beside my belly or lovingly hugging it. We read books together, and he sometimes drew comics about being a big brother to “a whole soccer team of babies.”

One day, he pressed his hand to my belly. “I think this one’s gonna be a goalie. Look how strong he kicks!” He whispered, and I laughed. Then I cried with joy.

The hormones still drove me crazy at random and small things. And on top of it all, the arousal that they brought was the cruelest part of all. My body didn’t care that I was alone now, that neither Greg nor Mr. Griffin touched me anymore. My body only knew that it was bursting with life, ripe with it, and every nerve ending was on fire. I was heavy and aching and always flushed.

The worst was when I had to shift positions in bed, and the feeling of my belly brushing against my inner thighs would make me moan with need and then sob because there was nothing I could do. I was alone, unable to give myself relief. Alone, without the two men I loved so much.

*

Then, November 18th arrived, my 36-week pregnant mark with the sextuplets. The doctor came to check on me like he did a couple of times a week and said my weight had reached 331 pounds, and I felt every ounce of it. I was clumsy, feeling like a beached whale, but knowing that the babies were healthy helped me feel better.

When the doctor left, Mr. Griffin approached, and I saw a slight grin on his face for the first time in weeks. “The doctor says the babies could come any day now,” he said without looking at me. “You’ve done well.”

I smiled, unable to respond, but excited to see him smile at least a little. Because even though he barely showed it, I could tell he was happy to hear that. There was a gleam in his eye, a tension in his shoulders that softened slightly. And that was enough.

A few days later, on Thanksgiving, I heard clanging in the kitchen. Mr. Griffin had planned a dinner and was cooking it himself. I shifted in bed, struggling to push myself upright. My belly rose like a giant hill before me. I rubbed it lovingly. I wanted to look nice for dinner—even if I didn’t know what to expect anymore, even if the man hosting it barely spoke to me now. Still, it felt important to try.

The problem was that nothing fit me anymore. I ended up in a soft tank top that barely covered my chest, and the bottom hem rode up constantly over the top curve of my belly. I struggled to pull my sweatpants over my wide hips, and the fabric clung tightly to my thighs and butt like a second skin. I blushed when I caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked like a fertility goddess gone rogue. But I shuffled to the dining room anyway.

The table was gorgeous. Candles, flowers, and more food than we could eat. Marco was already sitting, smiling excitedly. But when I entered the room, everything shifted. Mr. Griffin saw me and froze. His expression was initially unreadable, but the flicker in his eyes betrayed him. It looked like surprise or awe. For a brief second, I saw the softness in his eyes return, the old fondness that used to settle in his features when he looked at me. But just as quickly, he looked away, tightening his jaw and ignoring me.

He sat at the head of the table, but when I waddled slowly forward and lowered myself carefully into the chair he had pulled out, I noticed he had waited to seat me. It was a tiny gesture. A crack in the wall he’d built. But he didn’t say anything. And neither did I.

The dinner was quiet and slightly strained. Marco did most of the talking, happily talking between bites. Mr. Griffin responded excitedly, smiling, like the two of them were best friends catching up. They laughed, talking about a movie they had watched together recently. It was such a sweet exchange that I almost couldn’t bear to watch. Mr. Griffin’s eyes sparkled when he looked at Marco. He leaned in close when the boy whispered something and ruffled his hair when he giggled.

But he barely looked at me. I sat in silence mostly, smiling weakly, stroking my belly with one hand, feeling more like a guest than Marco’s dad or Mr. Griffin’s baby daddy. It hurt, even if I understood it. Marco adored him. And somehow, Mr. Griffin adored Marco right back. That bond only made my isolation feel sharper, but it also confirmed that Mr. Griffin would be a great dad to the babies I had inside me.

“What are we gonna do for Christmas when the babies are here? Can we all go see the lights together?” Marco asked, and I froze.

Mr. Griffin paused and looked at me. “I don’t know,” he said calmly. “I don’t know how long you and your dad will stay. Our contract says he’s free once the first babies are born,” he said, and I knew each word was positioned and spoken in a certain way to cause an effect.

And it worked. My heart broke. Tears spilled over before I could stop them. Hormones. Regret. Love. Everything crashed over me in a blink. I cried into my napkin, Marco looked confused, and Mr. Griffin didn’t react. The mention of the contract was another way to ignore our feelings for each other. The mention of the first babies implied that I wouldn’t stay with him until the birth of the second batch. He thought I wanted to escape from him, but I didn’t. I wanted to be with him.

A few minutes later, as we ate dessert, he cleared his throat. “I’ll be out of town for a couple of weeks. Business. I already arranged everything to keep things going here,” he said, plain and unemotional, not asking if I’d be okay.

I wanted to scream because I didn’t want him to go. Because I didn’t want to be alone. Because I didn’t want this to end when the babies came. Everything was too much. I sat in bed that night, all 336 pounds of me, feeling the babies shifting like a restless sea beneath my hands, and I cried.

Mr. Griffin left the following morning. He hired a driver to take Marco to and from school. The lady who cleaned the penthouse brought my meals to my room. She was silent, entering and leaving like a shadow. She never spoke to me. Sometimes, when I waddled around the penthouse trying to shake the numbness from my legs or feel less like a beached whale, I’d pass her in the hallway. She’d nod politely. Nothing more.

Everything that had once been exciting—every thrill that came with growing this enormous, carrying life—had faded. I was too big to enjoy anything now. I missed being touched, not only in the romantic sense. I missed how Mr. Griffin looked at me, and how Greg admired my shape. My body had become this strange, beautiful, overwhelming thing, and no one acknowledged it anymore. Not Mr. Griffin. Not Greg. Not even myself, not really.

Marco was the only one who still made me feel like I mattered. He’d burst into the room like a whirlwind of life and joy every afternoon after school. Tossing his backpack on the floor, he climbed into bed beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world. He’d curl up next to my belly, bring his homework and his comics, talk about school or the new video game he wanted, and sometimes only lean against me with his cheek resting on the firm side of my bump.

“This one’s still kicking a lot,” he’d giggle. “Maybe he’s doing karate.”

“I hope not,” I’d groan. “It feels like the babies are trying to break free through my skin.”

He’d laugh and start talking to my belly directly, whispering to the babies or telling them how cool it would be once they were born. It hurt me that his dreams about having little brothers were slowly going away. But those were the only times I smiled without forcing it. The only times I felt like more than a vessel. I felt like a dad. Marco and the babies needed me.

But still, I couldn’t deny I was a vessel. I’d become one. By December 2nd, I was thirty-eight weeks pregnant and tipping the scale at 349 pounds. That morning, the doctor made another house visit and was taken aback by my size and the unrelenting growth of my body.

“You’ve reached your limit, Adam,” he said, though the worry in his eyes was plain. “Your body is doing something extraordinary. But I’m not recommending permanent bed rest anymore. I’m ordering it.”

I didn’t argue. I just nodded. I didn’t even cry. There was no energy left for tears. But a while later, when I told this to Marco, I couldn’t help but laugh because he was upset.

“So you can’t come out to the living room anymore?” he asked, frowning hard.

“Not unless I roll like a beach ball,” I said, managing a weak chuckle. “No, buddy. I have to stay in bed for a few weeks.”

“But we can still hang out here, right?” He asked, looking hopefully at me.

I nodded and reached for his hand. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. And your baby brothers love it when you talk to them. It’s the only time when they don’t kick so much.”

The days passed slowly after that. I woke up to sunlight, feeling the ache in my hips and the dull pull of gravity on my belly. I spent my time propped up with pillows, rubbing cocoa butter into my middle to soothe the burning stretch, and trying not to go crazy with boredom and longing. When I had a job, I used to dream of days like this, but not having anything else to do but grow and expand in all directions wasn’t as fun as anyone would’ve expected.

Then, about a week after the doctor’s visit, I heard voices, clanking, scraping, footsteps, and furniture being wheeled through the front hallway. I knew it was the nursery. Mr. Griffin must’ve sent the order. Of course he did. Even with all his distance, he was planning for the babies. He hadn’t abandoned them—only me.

I listened as the workers moved around outside the room. They didn’t know I was here. I stayed silent, half-naked in my boxer briefs, not wanting to make a scene. Not wanting to be seen like this—sweaty, swollen, breathless with the effort of even sitting up.

Then, I heard my door opening, just a crack, but I froze. Suddenly, it pushed open all the way, and someone slipped inside and shut it behind him, quick and quiet. My heart skipped before I realized who it was.

“Greg?” I said, feeling my heart beating faster.

He smiled at me, melting my heart. “Adam,” he said, running to the bed as I tried, clumsily, to sit up straighter, but my belly was too heavy. It pinned me down like an anchor.

But it didn’t matter. Greg approached and grabbed my face in both hands, and then we kissed. It was desperate and hot and wet with tears. I cried first. Then he did. I could taste the salty tears on his lips and feel the tremble in his fingers as they moved to stroke my hair, my cheeks, and my swollen tits.

“Greg, what are you doing here?” I asked, moving my hands over his muscular arms.

“I missed you so much,” he said. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”

“I thought about you every day,” I whispered. “I didn’t want to stop. But Mr. Griffin—”

“I know,” he said between kisses. “I didn’t reach out because I was afraid. Afraid he’d do something to you. I didn’t want to make anything harder for you.”

“He wouldn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t do anything against me. He’s only hurt.” I shook my head, smiling. “But how did you get in?”

Greg pushed his forehead against mine. “I’m working for the delivery company bringing the nursery stuff. When I saw the address, I begged my boss to assign me to it. I had to see you. I needed to.”

I couldn’t stop touching his face. “I need you so much,” I whispered.

He leaned back just enough to get a look at me, and his eyes widened. “Holy hell, Adam. You’ve grown so much.”

I blushed hard, trying in vain to pull the sheet over my belly.

Greg gently tugged it down again. “Don’t. Let me see. You’re huge, even your pecs. You’ve gotten so soft. So ripe and hot.”

His hands smoothed over the enormous swell, exploring every curve and contour. He didn’t only touch me—he studied me, tracing the arc of my belly, then running his hands up over my sides, my hips, and the heavy softness of my tits. He slid his hands beneath them, lifting gently as if weighing their fullness, and then let them settle back with a tender sigh. Each touch was slow and careful. It was as if he was reminding himself—and me—that I was still beautiful.

I moaned quietly at his touch, shifting my hips beneath the weight of my belly. “I can’t help it,” I said breathlessly. “I know this isn’t right. I know it’s messy. But I need you, Greg.”

“I’ve been thinking about it all along. I’ve missed you so much,” Greg said. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

He undressed slowly, and I gasped. His body was even better than I remembered. His muscles looked bigger, fuller, and bulgier. His broad chest was thicker than I remembered, his abs looked as hard as a brick wall, and his arms were thick, veined, and perfect. His legs were ridiculously tight and his cock rose to full mast in a blink, making my mouth water. But it was how he looked at me that made me gasp.

He crawled into bed beside me. I struggled to roll toward him, but he helped me, cupping the underside of my belly with one strong hand to guide me.

“You feel like a whole planet,” he whispered, awestruck. “A planet I’d love to live on.”

He helped me lie on my back and gently spread my legs open as far as they’d go with the bump in the way. He leaned forward to kiss my belly, whispering how proud he was of me, how good I looked, and how much he’d missed this. Then, pushing his hips forward, I felt his massive cock slowly entering my hole as our eyes locked into each other.

I gasped. It had been so long. I was so sensitive, so swollen with need. The stretch, pressure, and release. It was all too much and felt so right. I moaned, clinging to Greg’s shoulders as my thighs trembled around him, and I felt my body melting into the sensation. He pounded slowly and passionately, and I couldn’t help but moan. My belly shifted with every slow thrust, swaying heavily between us and leaving me breathless, but I didn’t care. I needed this. I needed him.

His hips bucked faster, and my eyes rolled in my head. I could barely breathe in pure bliss. I felt his cock stretching and stimulating me so much that my cock leaked pre-cum like a fountain. Things were complicated, and I knew Greg’s visit was a risk. But I didn’t care. I needed his cock inside me. I needed his touch and his love. I needed that man in my life as much as I needed Mr. Griffin.

...

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