The story of a man with a rare condition which allows him to adapt to he size of the people who fuck him. He doesn't feel anything but pleasure without any pain even as he gives birth thanks to a womb connected to his anus. Everytime someone cums inside of him, he goes through a massive rapid pregnancy and gives birth an hour later. He has big breasts that lactates a lot with dark areolae. He also has massives balls the size of huge melons and a huge dick. He doesn't feel fatigue nor pain, just immense pleasure. Each time he cums, his balls grow and he shoots out more sperm. He his fucked on a public platform in front of a crowd where people take turn fucking his ass, his mouth and making him mastirbate them all at the same time. Every one who fucks him as gigantic balls and a massive penis. Every person who cums inside him inflate him with semen, making him swell in turn with life.

Chapter 4: Endless Public Breeding

The man in Elias's mouth was new.

He'd shoved his way through the crowd with his cock already out, already hard, already leaking. Thick and veined and longer than the others. He didn't waste time with preamble. Just grabbed Elias by the hair with both hands, tilted his head back, and drove himself in to the root.

Elias's throat convulsed. His eyes watered. But his body didn't fight—it never fought. Just relaxed, opened, accepted.

"That's it," the man grunted. "Take that fucking cock."

His balls were enormous. Heavy and low-hanging, swinging like pendulums with every thrust. They slapped against Elias's chin with a wet, meaty sound—smack, smack, smack—matching the rhythm of Marcus's hips behind him. A filthy percussion. The crowd could hear it. The crowd was watching.

"Fuck, look at those balls," someone muttered.

"Look at how they're slapping his face."

"Fucking beautiful."

The man fucked harder. His balls swung higher, slapped louder. Elias's jaw ached, his throat burned, but he swallowed around the thick shaft anyway, tongue working the underside, saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth and running down his neck.

Marcus slammed into him from behind.

The sound was brutal—wet, sloppy, obscene. His massive balls, swollen and heavy, swung forward with every thrust and slapped against Elias's thighs with a heavy thud. The skin-on-skin impact echoed across the platform. The crowd groaned.

"Fuck, he's still going."

"Has he stopped at all?"

"Don't think so."

Marcus didn't respond. Didn't speak. Just kept pounding, kept thrusting, kept filling Elias with load after load of seed. His cock never softened. Never slowed. Just drove in and out, in and out, stretching Elias's ass wider with every stroke.

Two men grabbed Elias's hands.

They'd been waiting—stroking themselves in the crowd, watching, getting ready. Now they pushed forward, wrapped Elias's fingers around their cocks, and started fucking his fists with desperate, jerky thrusts.

The one on the left was stocky, with a thick cock and heavy balls that swung between his legs. The one on the right was taller, leaner, his shaft curved slightly upward. Both were slick with pre-cum and sweat, and they fucked his grip like it was the only thing keeping them alive.

"Tighter," the stocky one grunted. "Fucking squeeze it tighter."

Elias squeezed. His fingers locked around the shaft, and the man hissed through his teeth.

"Fuck yeah. Just like that."

The taller one didn't speak. Just fucked faster, his hips snapping forward, his balls slapping against Elias's wrist. He was close—his breathing ragged, his grip on Elias's wrist almost bruising.

Then he came.

Thick ropes of seed splattered across Elias's forearm, his wrist, his knuckles. The man kept thrusting through it, using his own come to slick the way, until his knees buckled and he had to lean forward to stay upright.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck, that was good."

He pulled back and stumbled into the crowd. Another man took his place before the come had time to drip off Elias's fingers.

Two men were at his breasts now.

They'd been there before—the same bearded man with hands like slabs of meat, the same wiry one with the tattoo. They'd already come once, their seed drying on Elias's chest. But they weren't done.

"Again," the bearded man muttered. "Fucking again."

He grabbed Elias's left breast and squeezed, forcing milk to spurt from the nipple. The wiry man grabbed the other, and together they mashed the heavy, slick flesh together, creating a tight channel between them.

Then they shoved their cocks in.

Two shafts, one on each side, sliding through the milk-slicked valley of Elias's chest. The bearded man grabbed his own cock and aimed it at Elias's nipple, jerking himself off with quick, brutal strokes. The wiry one just fucked the channel, his balls slapping against Elias's slick skin with every thrust.

"Fuck, these tits," the bearded man groaned. "These fucking tits."

Milk ran down Elias's chest in steady streams, pooling in the curves of his belly, dripping onto the velvet beneath. The men were slick with it—their cocks, their balls, their hands all coated in the warm, white fluid.

The wiry one came first.

His cock pulsed and jerked, and thick ropes of seed splattered across Elias's chest, mixing with the milk. He kept thrusting, kept using his own come as lube, until his hips stuttered and he had to pull back.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck."

The bearded man wasn't far behind. He jerked himself off faster, his hand a blur, aiming at Elias's nipple. Then he came—thick and hot, painting Elias's breast with seed that dripped down the curve of his chest.

"Fucking beautiful," he muttered.

He pulled back, and two more men took his place. Then two more. Then two more.

The crowd kept coming.

Marcus roared.

Another flood. Another wave of heat and pressure and fullness pouring into Elias's already-bloated guts. His belly stretched visibly, the skin pulling tight, his navel popping further outward. He could feel the weight of it now—heavy and round, pressing against the velvet beneath him.

And still Marcus kept thrusting.

His balls, swollen and heavy, swung forward and slapped against Elias's thighs. Again. Again. Again. The sound was wet and meaty, and the crowd groaned every time they heard it.

"Fuck, those balls are huge."

"Look at the size of them."

"They're getting bigger."

They were. Marcus's balls, already the size of melons, pulsed and swelled with every orgasm. The skin was stretched tight, shiny, and with every load he pumped into Elias, they grew a little more.

The man in Elias's mouth came with a grunt.

His balls drew up tight, and then he was flooding Elias's throat—thick and bitter and endless. Elias swallowed, choked, swallowed again. It spilled past his lips, dripped down his chin, joined the mess already coating his chest.

The man pulled out and stumbled back. Another took his place before Elias could draw a full breath.

This one was different. He didn't fuck Elias's mouth. Just knelt beside his head and grabbed his hair, pulling his face up. His cock was thick and red, leaking pre-cum onto Elias's cheek. He stroked himself slowly, deliberately.

"You like this," he said. Not a question.

Elias couldn't answer. His mouth was full of another man's cock. But his eyes—green and glassy and half-lidded—said everything.

The man laughed. Low and filthy. Then he shoved his cock into Elias's mouth alongside the other, stretching his jaw impossibly wide.

Two cocks in his mouth. Two cocks in his hands. One cock in his ass, with another pressed against it, trying to push in.

Elias's body stretched. Adapted. Accepted.

The men in his mouth fucked him in tandem—one pulling out as the other pushed in, a relentless, alternating assault that never gave him a moment's rest. Their balls slapped against his chin, his cheeks, his throat. Their hands grabbed his hair, his ears, his jaw.

"That's it," one of them grunted. "Take it. Take all of it."

Elias took it.

A man knelt behind Marcus and grabbed his balls.

Marcus didn't stop. Didn't even slow down. Just kept thrusting, kept pounding, kept filling Elias with seed as the man weighed his balls in his hands.

"Fuck," the man whispered. "Fuck, they're so heavy."

They were. Heavy and full and pulsing with seed. The man squeezed them gently, and Marcus groaned—a low, guttural sound—and thrust harder.

"You like that?" the man asked. "You like having your balls played with while you breed him?"

Marcus didn't answer. Just fucked harder.

The man laughed and squeezed again.

Elias's belly was enormous now.

Round and tight and heavy, stretched so far the skin had gone shiny. His navel—that small, popped knot—jutted from the curve like a swollen pearl. He could feel the weight of it pressing against the velvet beneath him, could feel the stretch of his muscles, the strain of his spine.

And still they kept coming.

The men in his mouth came again—thick and bitter, flooding his throat faster than he could swallow. It spilled past his lips, dripped down his chin, joined the mess already coating his chest. They pulled out and were replaced instantly.

The men using his hands came—one after the other, their seed splattering across his knuckles, his wrists, his forearms. They were replaced instantly.

The men at his breasts came—again and again, painting his chest with seed that mixed with the milk pooling there. They were replaced instantly.

The crowd pressed closer. Men were stroking themselves everywhere—some kneeling on the platform, some standing at the edges, some climbing over each other to get a better view. They aimed at Elias's face, his hair, his shoulders, his back. They came on his cheeks, his chin, his neck. They came in his eyes, forcing him to blink through the sting.

"Fucking paint him," someone said.

They did. Load after load, rope after rope, until Elias's face was slick with it, dripping with it, coated in a layer of seed that ran down his neck and pooled in the hollow of his throat.

Marcus roared again.

Another flood. Another wave of heat and pressure and fullness. Elias's belly stretched, rounder and tighter, and he could feel the skin pulling, straining, struggling to contain it all.

His muscles clenched. His body shuddered.

And still Marcus kept thrusting.

The man behind Marcus was still playing with his balls, squeezing and rolling them in his palms. Marcus groaned with every squeeze, his hips snapping forward harder, faster.

"You gonna come again?" the man asked. "You gonna fill him up again?"

Marcus didn't answer. Just fucked harder.

The man laughed. "Fuck yeah. Fill him up. Make him fucking burst."

Marcus roared.

Another flood. Another wave of heat and pressure and fullness pouring into Elias's already-bloated guts. His belly stretched visibly, the skin pulling tight, his navel popping further outward.

And still Marcus kept thrusting.

The crowd was in a frenzy now. Men were stroking themselves faster, harder, aiming at Elias's face and chest and belly. They came and came and came, dousing him in seed, covering him in it.

"Fuck, look at him."

"Look at his fucking belly."

"He's gonna fucking burst."

"He won't. He never does."

"How the fuck do you know?"

"Look at him. Look at his body. He's built for this."

They were right. Elias was built for this. His body adapted, stretched, accommodated. His belly grew and grew, rounder and heavier, and still he took more.

More cocks. More seed. More hands grabbing his breasts, his hips, his hair.

The men in his mouth came again—thick and bitter, flooding his throat. He swallowed, choked, swallowed again. They pulled out and were replaced.

The men using his hands came—one after the other, their seed splattering across his knuckles, his wrists, his forearms. They were replaced.

The men at his breasts came—again and again, painting his chest with seed. They were replaced.

And Marcus kept thrusting.

His balls, swollen and heavy, swung forward and slapped against Elias's thighs. Again. Again. Again. The sound was wet and meaty, and the crowd groaned every time they heard it.

"Fuck, those balls."

"Look at the size of them."

"They're getting bigger."

They were. Marcus's balls pulsed and swelled with every orgasm, the skin stretching tighter, shinier. And with every load he pumped into Elias, they grew a little more.

The man behind Marcus squeezed them again.

Marcus groaned. His hips snapped forward, harder than before, and Elias felt the cock inside him swell.

Then Marcus came.

Another flood. Another wave of heat and pressure and fullness. Elias's belly stretched, rounder and tighter, and he could feel the skin pulling, straining, struggling to contain it all.

His navel popped further.

His muscles clenched.

His body shuddered.

And still Marcus kept thrusting.

The crowd roared. They were close now—so close—their hands moving faster, their breathing ragged, their eyes fixed on Elias's swollen belly and Marcus's massive balls.

"Fuck, he's still going."

"Has he stopped at all?"

"Don't think so."

"Fuck, look at those balls."

"Look at the size of them."

"He's gonna come again."

"He's gonna fill him up again."

"Fuck yeah. Fill him up."

Marcus roared.

Another flood. Another wave of heat and pressure and fullness. Elias's belly stretched, rounder and tighter, and he could feel the skin pulling, straining, struggling to contain it all.

His navel popped further.

His muscles clenched.

His body shuddered.

And still Marcus kept thrusting.

The men in his mouth came—thick and bitter, flooding his throat. He swallowed, choked, swallowed again. They pulled out and were replaced.

The men using his hands came—their seed splattering across his knuckles, his wrists, his forearms. They were replaced.

The men at his breasts came—painting his chest with seed that mixed with the milk. They were replaced.

The crowd came—dousing him in semen, covering him in it, painting his face and hair and shoulders and back.

And Marcus kept thrusting.

His balls, swollen and heavy, swung forward and slapped against Elias's thighs. Again. Again. Again.

Elias's belly swelled larger. His navel popped further. His body stretched and strained and adapted.

And still they kept coming.

They kept taking turns. Marcus in his ass. Another in his mouth. Two others using his hands. Others using his breasts for titjobs. The rest gathered around and doused him in semen.

The ones fucking him inflated him with seed. His belly swelled with semen and life, rounder and tighter, and his navel popped further with every load.

His skin stretched. His muscles strained. His body swelled larger and larger.

And still they kept coming.

Marcus roared again.

Another flood. Another wave of heat and pressure and fullness. Elias's belly stretched, rounder and tighter, and he could feel the skin pulling, straining, struggling to contain it all.

His navel popped further.

His muscles clenched.

His body shuddered.

And still Marcus kept thrusting.

The man in Elias's mouth came with a grunt, flooding his throat faster than he could swallow. It spilled past his lips, dripped down his chin, joined the mess already coating his chest. He pulled out and was replaced.

The men using his hands came—one after the other, their seed splattering across his knuckles, his wrists, his forearms. They were replaced.

The men at his breasts came—again and again, painting his chest with seed. They were replaced.

And Marcus kept thrusting.

His balls, swollen and heavy, swung forward and slapped against Elias's thighs. Again. Again. Again.

Elias's belly swelled larger. His navel popped further. His body stretched and strained and adapted.

The men in his mouth switched again.

A new cock, thicker than the last, shoved past his lips and hit the back of his throat before he could brace for it. The man attached to it didn't ease in. Just grabbed Elias's curls with both fists and started jackhammering, his heavy sac swinging forward to slap wetly against Elias's chin with every stroke.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

The sound was obscene. Rhythmic. It matched the slap of Marcus's balls against his thighs, the wet squelch of cocks sliding through the milk-slicked channel of his tits, the frantic jerk of fists pumping up and down his forearms.

Two men were using his hands now—different from the last pair. The one on his left had a cock that curved hard to the right, and every time Elias's grip slid down the shaft, the man groaned like he was being gutted. The one on his right was quieter, but his balls were heavy and full, and they swung low enough to brush against Elias's wrist with every thrust.

"Tighter," the left one grunted. "Fucking tighter."

Elias's fingers locked. His palm slid up, slick with pre-cum and sweat, and the man's hips stuttered. "Fuck. Fuck. Just like that."

At his chest, two more men had taken over. They weren't just fucking his tits—they were devouring them. The first had his mouth clamped over Elias's left nipple, sucking hard enough to pull milk in thick, hot spurts that dribbled down his chin. The second had both hands wrapped around Elias's right breast, squeezing and kneading while he rutted against the slick flesh.

"These fucking things," the second one muttered. He pinched the nipple hard, and milk sprayed across his knuckles. "They just keep giving."

He shoved his cock between the mashed-together breasts and fucked the channel with short, brutal strokes. His balls, tight and heavy, slapped against Elias's ribs with every thrust. "Fuck, I'm gonna come. I'm gonna come all over these fucking tits."

He did. Hot ropes of seed splattered across Elias's chest, mixing with the milk pooling in the hollow of his throat. The man kept thrusting through it, using his own load as lube, until his knees buckled and he had to grab Elias's shoulder to stay upright.

Behind him, Marcus hadn't stopped.

Not for a second. Not for a breath. His cock was still buried in Elias's ass, still pistoning in and out with that same brutal, unyielding rhythm. His balls—enormous, swollen, growing—swung forward and slapped against Elias's thighs with a wet, meaty thud that echoed across the platform.

"Fuck," someone whispered. "Look at those things."

Marcus's balls were massive. The size of melons, just like before, but bigger. Fuller. The skin was stretched so tight it looked like it might split, and with every thrust, they pulsed and swelled with another load of seed.

"Those are the biggest balls I've ever seen."

"He keeps coming. He never fucking stops."

"Look at his ass. Look how stretched out he is."

Elias's ass was stretched. Red and swollen and slick with seed, clenching around Marcus's cock with every thrust. It made a wet, sucking sound every time Marcus pulled out, like it didn't want to let him go.

A man knelt behind Marcus and cupped his balls.

Just held them. Weighed them. His palms were calloused and rough, and they scraped against the stretched skin in a way that made Marcus groan low in his throat.

"Fuck," the man breathed. "Fuck, they're so heavy."

He squeezed. Gentle at first, then harder. Marcus's hips jerked forward, driving his cock deeper into Elias's ass, and Elias's whole body shuddered.

"You like that?" the man asked. "You like having your balls played with while you breed him?"

Marcus didn't answer. Just fucked harder.

The man laughed. Low and filthy. He squeezed again, rolling the massive testicles in his palms, and Marcus roared—a guttural, animal sound—and came.

Another flood. Another wave of heat and pressure and fullness pouring into Elias's already-bloated guts. The belly stretched visibly, the skin pulling tight, the popped navel jutting further outward.

And still Marcus kept thrusting.

The men in Elias's mouth came—one after the other, their loads spilling past his lips and dripping down his chin. They pulled out and were replaced instantly. The men using his hands came—their seed splattering across his knuckles, his wrists, his forearms. They were replaced instantly. The men at his breasts came—painting his chest with thick ropes of seed that mixed with the milk. They were replaced instantly.

The crowd pressed closer. The ones who weren't fucking him were stroking themselves with frantic urgency, aiming at his face, his hair, his shoulders, his back. They came and came and came, dousing him in semen, covering him in it.

"Fucking paint him," someone said.

"Yeah. Cover that fucking face."

"Look at him. Look at his fucking belly."

Elias's belly was enormous. A tight, round sphere of flesh, stretched so far the skin had gone shiny. The popped navel jutted from the center like a swollen pearl, and when Marcus thrust forward, the whole mass of it shook.

"He's gonna fucking burst."

"He won't. Look at him. He's built for this."

"How many loads has he taken?"

"Lost count."

"Fuck, look at those balls."

They were looking. Everyone was looking. Marcus's balls—already enormous—pulsed and swelled with every orgasm. The skin stretched tighter, shinier, and with every load he pumped into Elias, they grew a little more.

The man behind Marcus was still squeezing them.

"Fuck," he whispered. "Fuck, they're getting bigger."

He rolled them in his palms. Weighed them. Squeezed them until Marcus groaned and fucked harder.

"You gonna come again?" the man asked. "You gonna fill him up again?"

Marcus didn't answer. Just thrust.

The man laughed. "Fuck yeah. Fill him up. Make him fucking burst."

Marcus roared.

Another flood. Another wave of heat and pressure and fullness. Elias's belly stretched, rounder and tighter, and his navel popped further outward.

And still Marcus kept thrusting.

The men in his mouth switched again. Two at once now—both shoving their cocks past his lips, stretching his jaw wide. They fucked him in tandem, one pulling out as the other pushed in, their balls slapping against his chin with every stroke.

He couldn't breathe. Didn't need to. Just swallowed around them, tongue working the undersides, saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth and running down his neck.

"That's it," one of them grunted. "Take it. Take all of it."

Elias took it.

The men using his hands came again—thick and hot, splattering across his knuckles. They were replaced. The men at his breasts came again—painting his chest with seed. They were replaced. The crowd came again—dousing his face, his hair, his shoulders, his back.

And Marcus kept thrusting.

His balls, swollen and heavy, swung forward and slapped against Elias's thighs. Again. Again. Again. The sound was wet and meaty, and the crowd groaned every time they heard it.

"Fuck, those balls."

"Look at the size of them."

"They're getting bigger."

They were. Marcus's balls pulsed and swelled with every orgasm, the skin stretching tighter, shinier. And with every load he pumped into Elias, they grew a little more.

The man behind Marcus squeezed them again.

Marcus groaned. His hips snapped forward, harder than before, and Elias felt the cock inside him swell.

Then Marcus came.

Another flood. Another wave of heat and pressure and fullness. Elias's belly stretched, rounder and tighter, and his navel popped further outward.

His muscles clenched. His body shuddered.

And still Marcus kept thrusting.

The crowd was in a frenzy. Men were stroking themselves faster, harder, aiming at Elias's face and chest and belly. They came and came and came, dousing him in seed, covering him in it.

"Fuck, look at him."

"Look at his fucking belly."

"He's gonna fucking burst."

"He won't. He never does."

"How the fuck do you know?"

"Look at him. Look at his body. He's built for this."

They were right. Elias was built for this. His body adapted, stretched, accommodated. His belly grew and grew, rounder and heavier, and still he took more.

More cocks. More seed. More hands grabbing his breasts, his hips, his hair.

The men in his mouth came again—thick and bitter, flooding his throat. He swallowed, choked, swallowed again. They pulled out and were replaced.

The men using his hands came—one after the other, their seed splattering across his knuckles, his wrists, his forearms. They were replaced.

The men at his breasts came—again and again, painting his chest with seed. They were replaced.

And Marcus kept thrusting.

His balls, swollen and heavy, swung forward and slapped against Elias's thighs. Again. Again. Again.

Elias's belly swelled larger. His navel popped further. His body stretched and strained and adapted.

And still they kept coming.

They kept taking turns. Marcus in his ass, his balls slapping against Elias's thighs with every thrust. Another in his mouth, his heavy sac swinging forward to slap against Elias's chin. Two others using his hands, their cocks sliding through his slick grip. Others using his breasts for titjobs, their balls slapping against his ribs as they fucked the milk-slicked channel.

The rest gathered around and doused him in semen.

They came on his face, his hair, his shoulders, his back. They came in his eyes, forcing him to blink through the sting. They came on his belly, on his chest, on his thighs. They came and came and came, and the ones fucking him inflated him with seed.

His belly swelled with semen and life. Rounder. Tighter. Heavier. His navel popped further with every load, the skin stretching so far it looked like it might tear.

And still they kept coming.

Marcus roared again.

Another flood. Another wave of heat and pressure and fullness. Elias's belly stretched, rounder and tighter, and he could feel the skin pulling, straining, struggling to contain it all.

The man in his mouth came with a grunt, flooding his throat faster than he could swallow. It spilled past his lips, dripped down his chin, joined the mess already coating his chest. He pulled out and was replaced.

The men using his hands came—one after the other, their seed splattering across his knuckles, his wrists, his forearms. They were replaced.

The men at his breasts came—again and again, painting his chest with seed. They were replaced.

And Marcus kept thrusting.

His balls, swollen and heavy, swung forward and slapped against Elias's thighs. Again. Again. Again.

Elias's belly swelled larger. His navel popped further. His body stretched and strained and adapted.

And still they kept coming.

They kept taking turns. Marcus in his ass. Another in his mouth. Two others using his hands. Others using his breasts for titjobs. The rest gathered around and doused him in semen. The ones fucking him inflated him with seed.

His belly swelled with semen and life.

His navel popped further.

His body stretched and strained and adapted.

And still they kept coming.

The men in his mouth switched again. A new cock, thicker than the last, shoved past his lips and hit the back of his throat. The man attached to it grabbed Elias's curls with both fists and started jackhammering, his heavy sac swinging forward to slap wetly against Elias's chin with every stroke.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

Two men were using his hands now—different from the last pair. The one on his left had a cock that curved hard to the right. The one on his right had balls that swung low enough to brush against Elias's wrist with every thrust.

At his chest, two more men had taken over. One had his mouth clamped over Elias's left nipple, sucking hard enough to pull milk in thick, hot spurts. The other had both hands wrapped around Elias's right breast, squeezing and kneading while he rutted against the slick flesh.

"These fucking things," the second one muttered. He pinched the nipple hard, and milk sprayed across his knuckles. "They just keep giving."

He shoved his cock between the mashed-together breasts and fucked the channel with short, brutal strokes. His balls, tight and heavy, slapped against Elias's ribs with every thrust.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come. I'm gonna come all over these fucking tits."

Behind him, Marcus hadn't stopped.

His cock was still buried in Elias's ass, still pistoning in and out with that same brutal, unyielding rhythm. His balls—enormous, swollen, growing—swung forward and slapped against Elias's thighs with a wet, meaty thud.

A man knelt behind Marcus and cupped his balls. Just held them. Weighed them. His palms were calloused and rough, and they scraped against the stretched skin in a way that made Marcus groan low in his throat.

"Fuck," the man breathed. "Fuck, they're so heavy."

He squeezed. Gentle at first, then harder. Marcus's hips jerked forward, driving his cock deeper into Elias's ass, and Elias's whole body shuddered.

"You like that?" the man asked. "You like having your balls played with while you breed him?"

Marcus didn't answer. Just fucked harder.

The man laughed. Low and filthy. He squeezed again, rolling the massive testicles in his palms, and Marcus roared and came.

Another flood. Another wave of heat and pressure and fullness pouring into Elias's already-bloated guts. His belly stretched, the skin pulling tight, the popped navel jutting further outward.

And still Marcus kept thrusting.

Marcus's balls—already enormous—pulsed and swelled with every orgasm. The skin stretched tighter, shinier, and with every load he pumped into Elias, they grew a little more.

The man behind Marcus was still squeezing them. "Fuck, they're getting bigger."

He rolled them in his palms. Weighed them. Squeezed them until Marcus groaned and fucked harder.

"You gonna come again?" the man asked. "You gonna fill him up again?"

Marcus didn't answer. Just thrust.

The man laughed. "Fuck yeah. Fill him up. Make him fucking burst."

Marcus roared.

Another flood. Another wave of heat and pressure and fullness. Elias's belly stretched, rounder and tighter, and his navel popped further outward.

And still Marcus kept thrusting.

He couldn't breathe. Didn't need to.

And Marcus kept thrusting.

His balls, swollen and heavy, swung forward and slapped against Elias's thighs. Again. Again. Again.

Elias's belly swelled larger. His navel popped further. His body stretched and strained and adapted.

And still they kept coming.

They kept taking turns—Marcus in his ass, his massive balls swinging forward to slap against Elias's thighs. Another in his mouth, his heavy sac slapping against Elias's chin. Two others using his hands, their cocks sliding through his slick grip. Others using his breasts for titjobs, their balls slapping against his ribs.

The rest gathered around and doused him in semen—his face, his hair, his shoulders, his back, his belly, his chest. They came and came and came, and the ones fucking him inflated him with seed.

His belly swelled with semen and life.

His navel popped further.

His body stretched and strained and adapted.

And still they kept coming.