Unprotected - Part 2 (Patreon)

Patreon-Exclusive Halloween Special🎃

The campus clinic isn’t the best, but it’s good enough for a confused young man who wants to keep his condition as secret as possible. Jake tries to disguise his belly by standing behind some objects or standing a certain way to make it less obvious, but the roundness is too evident. At this point, not even his largest clothes can hide it.

“Hi—Jake, right?” the nurse at the intake says as he walks in, scanning his plump body when she recognizes him. “You’re a wrestler, I think? I’ve been to some of your matches. Impressive,” she added, kindly smiling at him.

“Thanks,” he says, blushing and trying to smile like he has come to solve a simple issue. “So, something’s off today, and I’m wondering if you could take a look?” He gestures vaguely at his middle, and the nurse playfully lifts her brows, faking surprise.

“Sure, follow me,” she says, instinctively offering him a hand for support as if knowing he is battling with balance.

In the exam room, the physician takes Jake’s history, glancing up periodically like his brain is trying to connect dots that refuse to be part of the same picture. He has Jake lie back and expose his middle. The young man hesitates but eventually reveals his taut, rounded abdomen. Despite the doctor’s professionalism, he can’t help but widen his eyes in surprise at the size and shape of the dome—it’s definitely not fat.

When the doctor palpates his firm belly, applying gentle pressure in methodical quadrants, Jake gasps despite himself when the doctor presses his lower abdomen. It’s not exactly painful, but it’s an intense sensation that spreads through his core, a sense that the pressure met something more organized than bloat.

“I’m sorry,” Jake says, blushing at his own reaction.

“It’s okay,” the doctor says. “Any tenderness?”

“I’m just sensitive around the middle,” Jake manages to say, staring at the ceiling tile like it might offer a solution. “It’s probably something I ate.”

The doctor nods and then listens with a stethoscope, carefully moving it over Jake’s abdomen while frowning in evident confusion. He freezes for a second as if his ear might be lying, then he moves the bell slightly to the right, and clears his throat. He blinks and shakes his head in disbelief, clearly struggling to make sense of the situation.

“What?” Jake looks at the doctor, trying to find a hint of what is happening.

“Your bowel sounds are interesting, almost like—” the doctor lies and forces a tiny laugh. “If I didn’t know better—and I do know better—I’d say…” He lets it trail again. “Let’s run some labs and imaging, okay?”

Bloodwork and a urine sample later, an ultrasound technician comes in for “a quick look.” During the scan, the man pauses, frowning and adjusting the angle several times. The black-and-white image shows shifting shadows and a flicker where none should be. His lips press tight, looking at Jake’s face and back to the monitor. He swallows, whispering something about interference, then saves the frame, claiming a need to check the device in another room.

As the technician exits, Jake catches a last glimpse of the monitor, turning pale as he sees something small moving within the bright screen, and the realization that it’s his insides gives him chills. However, he prefers to remain silent and let the professionals run more tests on him. By the time late morning leans toward noon, Jake is exhausted after too many touches and the peculiar indignity of being observed.

When the doctor comes back to give him his diagnosis, he looks at Jake for a while, evidently confused. “I’m going to be honest,” he says. “Your results are contradictory. We found hormonal markers that shouldn’t be present, but other indicators are normal. The imaging is well—” He shakes his head in disbelief. “If you weren’t a man, I’d say you look like someone in the second trimester of pregnancy. But that’s not possible. So either our equipment is misreading, or there’s another explanation I’m not seeing. I’d like you to come back tomorrow morning so we can repeat everything.”

Jake laughs out loud, rolling his eyes. “Pregnant,” he repeats. He absentmindedly slides a hand over the dome beneath the hoodie as if processing the absurd idea. “Right, I’ll be back tomorrow,” he says, standing, and the weight in his middle suddenly becomes more than visual as it drags at his balance and forces him to take a slower gait. He leaves the clinic more confused and frightened than when he arrived, with the ultrasound moment printed on his mind.

He doesn’t have classes at noon, so he heads for the athletic complex for his wrestling practice. The locker room is empty when he walks in, thankfully. He undresses slowly, conscious of every stretch and bend, and pulls on his singlet. The fabric has always fit like a second skin, but today it’s tighter and shinier where it slides over his rounded abdomen. The silhouette in the dented mirror is breathtaking: strong thighs, a broad chest, thick arms, a big bulge, and the unbelievable curve of a belly cradled by elastic.

He looks down and can’t avoid touching it, spreading his fingers as if to confirm it is really him, and then something shifts faintly under his hand, making him gasp. His eyes widen and his mouth opens in shock, but the sound of the door opening snaps him back to reality.

“Bro!” Miles stops dead when he sees Jake. “What the hell happened to you?” He approaches, scanning Jake’s body. “Is that real? Are you hiding a watermelon in there or what?” He says as a half-dozen teammates walk in behind him, giving reactions ranging from laughter to slack-jawed confusion.

Jake blushes but forces a grin. “Bloat,” he says. “Food poisoning. Don’t worry about it.”

The teammates roll their eyes and pass by Jake, unable to stop looking at his middle. Jake follows them out to the mats and makes it through exactly one set of hip circles before a cramp knifes low across his abdomen. He doubles over, tries to disguise it by going to one knee to fuss with his shoe, but finds out that even that motion is a struggle.

The coach, misreading Jake’s actions, blows the whistle and points him to the bench. “Enough jokes, Jake. Sit it out if you’ll keep that fake belly on.”

Jake doesn’t argue, secretly thankful that he can relax. On the bench, he folds forward, braces his arms across the top of his bump, and breathes until the cramp fades into a throb. The world spins around as he tries to remain calm, but the sounds in the room and the smells are driving him crazy. He suddenly feels as if he doesn’t belong there, even though he’s been a wrestler for years. Now he can only think about getting more snacks and relaxing.

When he finally enters his room at the frat house, Jake sits cross-legged on his bed, looking at the empty pie tins and the bottle of ketchup. He instinctively rubs his belly in an attempt to soothe the tightness and the pressure from within. Every so often, he feels a faint movement under his hand, but he insists it’s gas, not really believing himself at all but preferring to see it that way instead of accepting the nonsense.

As Jake tries to act casual and focus on something other than his belly, he checks his phone and instinctively opens Sander’s contact. He hesitates, as his pride hates the idea of reaching out first—especially because Sander is a man and Jake still feels weird about desiring him so much. But in the end, confusion is louder because he feels like his rounded middle has something to do with his night with the blonde man.

“Hey. Are you around?” He types and watches the message hang there. He calls, and it goes to voicemail after a single ring. It’s classic, but he has never been on the other side of this. He’s the one who always rejects calls.

He leans back against the headboard, arranging pillows until his belly and hips feel comfortable enough to relax. Lying flat is already a negotiation he can’t win because his belly pulls at his core, his back protests, and his chest tightens. He takes a deep breath and looks down at his middle, slowly tracing his fingers over the highest point, marveling at its tautness and how heavy it feels.

He can’t help but think of Sander as he rubs his belly. Then he reaches lower, stroking his cock until it hardens and lengthens to a foot-long of hugeness. He can’t help but imagine Sander there, riding his cock and repeating the best fuck ever. Jake has never been a man to give himself pleasure—someone else always helps, but tonight he can’t help it. He feels like his body is demanding it, an intense horniness he hasn’t experienced before.

When he finally falls asleep, it’s with one hand spread over the warm dome of his middle, as if his body knows something his mind ignores about it, and the other is still around his cock, coated with cum but still gripping the fuck tool as if he needs to hold it together. Even in his sleep, Jake can’t forget the heaviness and roundness reshaping his muscular body, and the memory of Sander’s plump ass floods his dreams.

****

October 31

The following morning, Jake wakes with a guttural groan and his chest heaving in discomfort. The room feels too small and the air too thin, and for a long minute, he can’t tell if he’s awake or trapped in some fevered dream. But then he looks down, and the dream solidifies into something far more terrifying.

His belly has grown even more during the night, stretching high and forward and pushing his skin to the limit. The surface gleams under the light, adorned with faint silver stretch marks. His belly button has popped outward, like a crowning point atop the massive dome. Every movement makes him pant. He’s clumsy and off-balance, and every breath drags through his throat as if he has forgotten how to breathe.

He runs his hand across his middle in disbelief. The skin is hot beneath his touch, and the weight feels immense. When he shifts, he realizes that even his chest feels heavier and his frame thicker, with his hips and ass pressing wider against the mattress. He gasps, curling instinctively, then uncurling as the motion only deepens the pressure. He suddenly feels dizzy, and his stomach turns upside down, but he claps his hand to his mouth and waits for the sensation to pass or the shock to fade.

For a while, he can only stare, breathing heavily and trying to process what his eyes see. He slowly reaches for his belly, then higher to inspect the darkened and enlarged nipples on his plump chest. He should be frightened—he is—but deep down, there’s something feral and unstoppable that won’t let him process the horror of his situation. He’s hungry, starving even, as if he hasn’t eaten in days, and no matter how scared he is, he staggers from the bed, cradling the massive swell, and stumbles down the hall toward the kitchen, only wearing briefs.

Jake opens the fridge door and doesn’t hesitate, devouring cold pizza, candy corn, leftover chili from last night’s dinner—anything within reach. He eats in wild, greedy handfuls, groaning between mouthfuls. The more he eats, the fuller he grows, and the louder his stomach growls. His belly shifts under its own weight, pressing into the counter’s edge, but he’s too busy satisfying his endless cravings to mind it.

“Jake?” Chase says from the door, watching the formerly fit man eating everything they have in stock. Two more brothers, Miles and Paul, crowd the doorway, equally stunned by the sight. Their eyes widen as they scan the scene: Jake, shirtless, devouring food like a starving man, with his body grotesquely swollen. “Dude—what the hell happened to you?”

Jake freezes, chewing and swallowing the food in his mouth. “It’s an allergic reaction,” he mumbles through crumbs. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment later.”

The others exchange a look between horror and awe. Jake tries to stand, but the sudden motion sends a sharp spasm through his middle, making him double over and clutch his abdomen. A strangled sound escapes his mouth, leaving him breathless.

“Jake?” Chase moves forward. “Man, you need a hospital.”

“I said I’m fine!” Jake snaps, forcing a grin that cracks at the edges. But when he straightens, another wave hits, stronger, and makes him brace against the wall, breathing hard. Deep down, he knows something is wrong, but he can’t name it.

He goes back to his room despite his friends’ concerns, collapsing onto the bed. The briefs feel suddenly suffocating, so he tears them off, gasping as cool air touches the overheated skin of his crotch. He looks down and groans because he can’t see his cock with the massive belly on the way, but he can tell something’s odd. He can feel his cock and balls pulling heavier at his groin. His breathing quickens, and his hands instinctively move over his belly as he feels the pressure within rising by the second. Then, his phone buzzes.

When he opens the notifications, he finds a simple message from Sander: an address. That’s it. No words, no explanation. Jake stares, struggling to breathe steadily. He doesn’t know why, but something deep down insists he should go. He takes a deep breath and drags on a shirt, leaving it open over the massive curve of his belly that it can’t contain. He yanks the bedsheet, wraps it loosely around his waist like a makeshift cover, and stumbles for the door.

When he makes his way downstairs, he hears voices coming. Jake turns the corner and nearly collides with a cluster of his brothers, each holding cups, and a poster with a giant 62.

“Jake! You legend! Record breaker! 62 women and counting!” One brother says, lifting a crown to put it on Jake’s head. “We have a Halloween party tonight. That number’s going up.”

He blinks, dazed and evidently in pain. “Not now, guys.”

“C’mon, man, tradition!” Another brother shoves the poster at him. “We hang your number on the wall! Sixty-two conquests! That’s insane, dude!”

“I don’t have time—” Jake starts, but they’ve already lifted him, laughing, unaware of the horror under his breath.

They don’t notice he’s naked from the waist down, and prefer to ignore the massive bare belly he’s sporting. They carry him around the room as if presenting a king among a crowd in a ballroom. Jake can barely stand the pressure building deep in his middle, and to make things worse, he feels his cock stirring at the worst moment. The movement wrings another cramp from deep within, and his whole body tenses, shaking in anticipation of something big.

“Man, you’re heavy,” someone jokes, bouncing Jake’s body atop them.

“Put me down,” Jake whispers through gritted teeth.

As the brothers get him close to the wall to hang the poster, he screams, and the sound rips through the room as a gush of white, sticky fluid bursts from Jake’s cock and over the brothers holding him, soaking their faces and arms before splashing across the hardwood. Jake convulses and moans loudly as his cock shoots endlessly, making it feel like he’s having the most intense orgasm ever. For a second, no one moves, then one of them slips in the puddle, crashing down with a shout as the others put Jake down and stumble back in shock.

“What the—Jake?!” Miles shouts, looking at the creamy substance covering all their faces. “The fuck happened, man? Is that—”

Jake groans and interrupts, looking harshly at his friends. “Give me my keys. NOW!”

He doesn’t wait when Chase hands him the keys. He pushes past them, dragging the sheet behind him as he feels his belly tightening and his cock throbbing. He reaches the car and somehow manages to fit into the driver’s seat. The steering wheel presses hard against his middle, leaving barely enough space to breathe. Still, he can’t stop now.

He starts the engine and starts driving, with one hand on the wheel and the other atop his massive belly. Every bump sends shudders through him, making him groan in pain and discomfort. It feels as if something is rewriting his inside with each passing second.

When he arrives at the address, he barely parks before a sharp pain doubles him over, making him cry out. Still, he somehow stumbles to the porch and reaches for the door, which opens before he can knock. A tall man stands there, older but unmistakably similar to Sander—the same eyes, the same hair, and the same faint smirk. He takes one look at Jake’s trembling body and sighs like this scene is one he’s watched too many times.

“So he chose you,” the man says quietly. “I’ll have a serious talk with that guy.”

Jake collapses to his knees, clutching his abdomen. “Please—help me.”

The man’s expression softens in resignation. “Okay. You’ll live if you cooperate,” he says, pulling Jake inside. “You frat guys never learn not to trust strangers, right?”

The man takes Jake to a room with a large table that seems normal but has strange mechanical stirrups and leather straps. Jake is too far gone to question. The man helps him onto it, removing his shirt and the sheets around his waist, and guiding him to lie back as another sharp pain hits his body. He checks between Jake’s legs and sighs, moving around to gather some towels and scissors he keeps within reach.

Jake grips the edges until his knuckles whiten, and a strangled cry escapes his mouth. “What’s happening to me?” he gasps between breaths.

“You’re having a child,” the man replies calmly as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “Haven’t you noticed all the signs?”

Jake shakes his head violently. “No. No, that’s not—can’t—I’m a man!” He says, but the pressure only intensifies, and his body moves without permission, urging him to push.

Then, Jake hears footsteps and sees Sander walking into the room, leaning against the wall, and smirking at the scene. “Hey there, big guy. You look ripe.”

“What did you do to me?” Jake shouts, arching his back as the pain worsens.

“I didn’t do anything,” Sander says, moving closer. “I told you it was important to wear protection, and you didn’t. It’s not my fault.”

Jake freezes, aware that discarding the condom has never been a good idea. He looks at Sander’s dad, and the man smirks with a judgmental tone that borders on playful. “I… didn’t think you—Ugh!” He tries to argue, but the pain is too intense.

Sander tilts his head and stands by the table. “Actions have consequences. You’re used to leaving others to face the consequences of your acts; now it’s your time.” His phone buzzes, and Sander glances at it with a smile. “Duty calls. I have a big guy waiting for me at a party. He doesn’t mind condoms, so he’ll be fine.” He turns to leave, and Jake tries to grab his arm, but another contraction makes him scream, cutting the words off before they come out.

Jake breathes heavily and arches his back, surrendering to what’s about to happen. “Where’s it coming out?” Jake grits between clenched teeth as the older man prepares the tools.

The man looks down at Jake’s crotch and raises his brows. “The same way it went in.”

Jake’s eyes widen as he feels the pressure building low, deep, and merciless, driving downward until his whole body trembles. He can feel the movement inside him pushing lower and lower through his middle toward his groin. His muscles flex involuntarily, and his legs spread as the force bears down, shaking with effort. His hands clamp to the edge of the table as his body stretches beyond comprehension. The weight drives downward like a brutal, searing burn that makes him arch his back, cry out, and fight to survive.

He screams as the pressure peaks. He feels an impossible shift; his cock thickens and stretches as the force inside presses outward. The skin pulls tight, burning as if it were about to tear. The older man’s voice is distant, urging him to breathe and push, but Jake can barely hear past his own cries. The world spins around him, but he focuses on surviving.

Jake spreads his thighs even more, shaking as the pain takes over his whole body. He gasps and screams even more as the head presses against the base of his cock, feeling immense against the narrow exit. The sensation focuses there with an unbearable, tightening pressure. His cock strains but somehow stretches to let the baby pass through. It’s not only the pain of getting the baby into the slit, but also the effort to push it through the whole shaft.

He pushes again, and the stretch becomes a brutal burn as the head begins to force its way through. The slit parts wider, slowly, agonizingly, until the crown emerges, slick, red, and impossibly large. He sobs through clenched teeth, fighting for air as the pressure grows. Inch by inch, the head moves through as his cock throbs and stretches beyond belief. When it finally pops out, the relief is momentary.

The shoulders follow, one pressing hard from within the slit until it finally pops out, then the other, forcing another raw cry as his body stretches to accommodate each. Finally, the rest of the small body slides free in a slick, trembling motion, leaving Jake shaking, gasping, and drenched in sweat. His cock slowly goes almost back to normal, retaining some of the length and thickness it has gained during the arduous pushing. Against all odds, he has survived.

The older man lifts a big baby boy and places it on Jake’s chest despite the young man’s weakness. The weight feels tiny and warm, even though the baby is larger than a regular newborn. Jake looks down, trembling, and something opens inside him. Awe swallows terror as he clutches the newborn boy, afraid he might break him just by breathing. The baby’s blonde, like Sander, but has Jake’s strong features all over his face.

“He’s yours,” Sander’s dad says, watching Jake’s shaking hands cradle the child. “He’ll be hungry soon. They’re always hungry.”

Jake blinks, still gasping. “Hungry?” he repeats. The older man nods toward Jake’s chest, and for a moment, Jake doesn’t understand. Then, the realization hits him. He hesitates, but the man gives him a knowing nod.

Jake slowly shifts the infant closer, awkwardly positioning him as he’s seen others do. The baby instinctively opens his mouth and latches on to Jake’s nipple, sucking and swallowing the rich milk. The tension in Jake’s body eases as he hears his baby drinking from his chest. He exhales a broken, disbelieving laugh that turns into a sigh as he holds the baby closer and softly caresses his little back.

Jake hears footsteps again and can’t help but gasp when he sees Sander standing in the doorway again, now in a dark coat, ready for some Halloween party elsewhere. He watches them for a long moment, then smiles.

“You did great, Jake,” Sander says softly. “But the nightmare’s not over. You’ve got a debt to pay.” He walks closer, brushing his hand over Jake’s midsection, which is now soft but still rounded. “What was the number? 62?”

Jake swallows hard, immediately understanding what Sander means. “Yeah, 62.”

Sander smirks and leans in to kiss Jake’s cheek. “Then we’ve got sixty-one more to go, but the process will be faster, one baby each day. We have work to do, Jake.” He glances toward the door. “Anyways, I’ve got a date and a party to attend. Rest up. When I get back, we’ll start again. I promise, no condoms for a while, so you’ll have lots of fun. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jake responds willingly despite the soreness and horror. He stares at Sander as he leaves, cradling the baby to his chest and already thinking about doing it all 61 more times, once a day. The aftermath feels worse than the initial nightmare, but at least he survived.

THE END

********

[Previous] | [●] |

PS: Hey everyone, this is a Halloween-special story based on the well-known mpreg segment of "The Mortuary Collection" (2019), with some personal twists. ENJOY! Btw: Thanks to The MPREG Physician for bringing up the initial idea and for the AI pics to illustrate the scenes. Go check out his Patreon content, and you'll find fantastic pics!