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Unprotected - Part 1
🕑 Added 2025-10-23 17:00:12 +0000 UTCPatreon-exclusive Halloween Special🎃
Jake walks through the crowd with his usual cocky attitude, winking at random girls and making guys look his way with envy. He has that effect on everybody; they have to stare and admire him, no matter how much they hate his manners. Like any other college jock, he rejoices in that attention, but more than anything, he loves to show off his power and control over everything and everyone. Tonight is no different. Halloween is coming close, and the frat has decided to throw a party in advance, only because Jake wanted it.
People can’t ignore him. Jake is tall at 6’5”, easily the biggest guy at the party, physically and ego-wise. His broad shoulders seem to fill doorways, and his chest makes button-downs dangerously close to snapping every time he takes a breath in. The shirt he wears tonight is a pale, soft cotton that fought him at the buttons even before the party. The sleeves are rolled to the elbow, displaying his forearms and accentuating his bulging biceps. His pants are snug to accentuate his intimidating bulge, powerful thighs, and massive bubble butt. He’s the frat poster come to life: strong, good-looking, cocky, naturally flirtatious, and overly proud of his looks.
He knows how to stand, how to pose, and how to move to show off the bulging muscles on his upper body, the sculpted abs, tapered waist, broad hips, and perfect ass he had earned from years of wrestling and careful training. It isn’t just vanity; it’s a practiced showmanship that characterizes him everywhere he goes. His charisma is overwhelming—always moving, joking with one group, clapping shoulders in another, slipping through clusters with a word and a disarming wink.
He’s flirty without effort. A brunette on the stairwell points at his rolled sleeves, and he poses to show off. A redhead in the kitchen asks him about his deadlift, and he responds by saying that the number is lower than it should be because he’s saving energy for later. They laugh. Other girls can only stare and admire how he moves, gasping at his devastatingly captivating smirk and wink. Women like him because he’s bright, playful, and seems to enjoy their attention in the open. The arrogance is evident, but he masks it as charm.
“Yo!” Chase, one of Jake’s frat brothers, calls out and punches Jake’s broad pec with a wicked grin. He slings an arm around Jake’s neck. “What’s the count this semester, Mister President of Extracurriculars?”
Jake’s grin widens, instinctively inflating his chest with pride as he remembers his most recent hookups. “Sixty-one,” he says, savoring the gasp from someone nearby. He’s famous for sleeping around with any woman he wants. At this point, each one is merely a number in his tally, intended solely to elevate his personal record beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. That’s the goal of tonight’s party. “Tied last semester. Tonight, I’m breaking it.”
Chase laughs hard and thumps his chest. “This guy. Record-setting season.”
Another brother yells something obscene from the beer pong table. Jake lifts his cup in salute, turning the room’s attention toward him as if they were looking at a legend. It’s a role he knows and relishes: king of the room, crowned by stories he tells with a shrug, which other people repeat with awe.
He turns to cut back across the living room and collides with someone he somehow didn’t see, despite seeing everyone. He feels a sudden jolt that makes him step back as his hands reach for the other person’s shoulders to hold them. For a brief moment, his cockiness and pride give way to an odd concern, thinking he could’ve made the other person fall to the ground, even though he had never worried about something like that before.
“Whoa—sorry,” Jake says, then actually looks at the man standing before him.
The young man is a couple of inches shorter than Jake, with blond hair falling imperfectly across his forehead, and his mouth slightly curved at the corners like he’s halfway to a private joke. There’s something disarmingly open about him—cute, but also composed, with a sweetness that seems playful rather than shy. His t-shirt hugs his defined upper torso at all the right places, and his pants leave nothing of his bubble butt and thick thighs to the imagination.
“All good,” the person says. His voice is light, almost musical, and made Jake stir. “I should’ve watched where I was going. You have places to be and people to scandalize.” The joke lands with a soft grin.
Jake blinks as something unfamiliar—interest with an edge of unease—slides through him. He’s used to reading everybody in a room quickly, slotting people into boxes, but this one refuses to fit. He registers blue eyes, clear as the open ocean, and a warmth that pulls like gravity. He couldn’t deny the strikingly good looks of this man.
“I’m Jake,” he responds, trying to go back to his usual cockiness.
“Sander,” the man replies, grinning and making Jake’s stomach flutter. “And I know you, Jake. You’re quite famous around, you know. Now I can see why.”
Jake puts on the disarming grin, but it falters at the edges. “Thanks. I guess.” He glances around, suddenly aware of his brothers at every sightline. The back of his neck prickles, dreading for anyone to notice how Sander is making him feel. He leans in half a step, almost talking into Sander’s ears. “You, uh—enjoying the party?”
Sander looks around and shrugs. “It’s loud. Not my favorite type of place. But I like the view,” he said, softly moving his hand over Jake’s exposed forearm and making the big guy shiver. “Do you lift, or were you just born rude to shirts?”
Jake laughs, blushing for the first time in ages. He’s often the one making others blush, never giving others that reaction. Still, he flexes without thinking, making his biceps swell in his sleeves as his chest strains the buttons even more. “Wrestle,” Jake hears himself say. “And lift. And run more than I want to. It’s a whole thing.”
Sander raises his brows, admiring the sight and making Jake smile without even knowing the reason. “Looks like it pays off,” Sander says casually, and Jake inflates his chest even more. The compliment lands differently than the ones he’s used to.
Jake’s eyes flick to the staircase, then to the kitchen, where Chase is lining up a shot. He doesn’t want to be seen wanting and desiring a guy. Not tonight. Not ever. He swallows, then puts on his bravado armor again. “Yeah, it does,” he says, casually, bouncing his pecs to show off. “I could show you more. In private,” he added.
Sander’s smile slowly turns into a playful smirk that devastates Jake’s control. “Maybe you could. I would love to see up close what all those girls talk about.”
They quickly go upstairs, with Jake making sure none of his frat bros notice that Sander is going with him instead of a girl. They quickly close the door and lock it, looking into each other with open desire. They move toward each other, taking a moment to enjoy the closeness as Sander’s hands move over Jake’s chest, softly caressing the muscle through the fabric and biting his lower lip in lust. Jake grins, thinking it is his game, while Sander’s fingers undo the buttons like a magician’s trick.
Once the shirt is open, Sander grins and pulls Jake into a deep kiss that steals the big guy’s breath. Sander pulls back enough to say how perfect Jake looks, making his pulse quicken. Then, as Sander removes his own t-shirt, Jake’s overwhelming confidence returns. Jake laughs and lifts Sander easily, spinning him toward the bed. They tumble down, and the rest of their clothes fall away between kisses. For a moment, Jake believes entirely in his own control, reveling in the way Sander’s eyes drink him in.
Jake’s cock lengthens and hardens between them, quickly reaching a foot long as it rubs against Sander’s abs. Despite it being his first time with another man, Jake moves and acts like he’s the man in control, and Sander knows how to play his role to make him believe it. Sander slowly spread his legs as his hands moved over Jake’s torso with such tenderness that Jake’s body trembled in reaction.
“Before you show me what you do with that huge cock, you should put on a condom, you know,” Sander said, teasingly wrapping his legs around Jake’s waist. “Protection is important for me, big guy. And I bet it is for you as well, right?”
Jake nods and reaches for the nightstand, bringing one of the condoms he has there. “You’re right. Safe for both. And no risk of pregnancy,” he jokes and starts moving as if opening the package and sliding it on his cock, but it’s only an act as he tells himself it’s fine, that he’s invincible. The packet slips to the floor as he leans forward into a kiss.
Sander smiles, pretending not to notice Jake had discarded the condom, and spreads his legs in preparation for the big cock to stretch him. Jake smirks and slowly pushes in, marveling at how tight but welcoming Sander’s hole feels. Both men moan loudly as Jake goes all the way in, rearranging Sander’s guts and leaking pre-cum even before starting the actual thing. Jake gasps and starts pounding without warning, drunk in the most fantastic sensation he has ever experienced coursing through his cock, still thinking he’s in control.
****
The following morning, Jake wakes to a room that looks like the party kept going without him. His head throbs on a slow, punishing beat, something he’s used to at this point in life after countless frat parties. For a moment, he only breathes, staring at the ceiling like he’s hypnotized. Then, the memory of Sander rises—the way those blue eyes lit up the room when he smiled—and Jake smirks despite himself.
“Not what I pictured to break a record,” he whispers, remembering how Sander’s big bubble butt felt around his cock. “But—wow.” The word feels too small for the astonishment of it. He had never pictured himself doing anything with a man, but his night with Sander had been by far the most amazing hookup in his record.
He’s still thinking about the several rounds they had the night before when his phone, lost in the sheets, buzzes. He fishes it out to find a cascade of messages in the frat group chat.
Chase: “You scored again, king.”
Miles: “Didn’t catch who she was; you better fill us in!”
Derek: “62? 62?? Legend!”
Jake huffs a laugh and replies with a string of crown and flame emojis, playing along even though he knows his brothers have no idea what really happened. He doesn’t correct them, letting them think that he had spent the night with a hot girl. He let them have the story they already wanted, making his legend greater. Everybody wins.
He swings his legs over the bed, and the world spins immediately. Nausea strikes with such force that he barely gets upright before he’s stumbling for the bathroom, with one forearm clamped over his stomach like it could hold everything inside. He makes it to the toilet and doesn’t stop. His stomach convulses until there’s nothing left, and the spasms become dry and mean. When it finally loosens its grip, he sags sideways to sit on the tile. He’s panting heavily with his forearm braced across the closed lid as sweat beads at his hairline.
When his breathing steadies, he glances down, and his heart gives a startled kick. His abdomen, usually tight and chiseled, now feels rounded. Not soft from laziness but pushed outward, as if something beneath the surface has claimed more room. He prods, frowning, pressing his fingers into the firmness that doesn’t feel like bloat.
“The fuck is this?” He whispers, still dizzy after the nausea. “Damn. Maybe I should cut the parties for a week. More gym, less beer. That’s it.”
He scrubs his face in the sink, swishes mouthwash until the chemical bite chases away the sour taste, and decides to bully the morning back into normal. He takes a shower, a hot one, then a cold one. Back in his room, he pulls on a clean button-down, noticing how it meets resistance at his middle, which had never happened. The fabric tugs before it settles, slightly straining over a subtle curve that wasn’t there yesterday. He digs for jeans, groaning at the stiff denim, losing the battle. The waistband bites across the odd new roundness. He drops them with a curse and reaches for the worn-in sweats he usually reserves for Sundays and shame. The cotton is loose and forgiving, and he exhales as they slide up and settle under his navel.
He grabs his sneakers, backpack, and baseball cap to shade his throbbing head. He tells the mirror he’s fine, that this is a hangover with delusions of grandeur, and then heads for class. The day feels endlessly terrible as Jake moves from lecture to lecture with his stomach doing somersaults that he tries—and fails—to ignore. He’s ravenous and repulsed by food at the same time, confusing him despite his insistence that it is all fine.
Despite the upset stomach, by 10 AM, hunger takes over him. He buys a packet of salted pretzels and a plastic cup of green grapes from the café. Then, inexplicably, he adds a pumpkin hand pie to the tray even though he hates pumpkin. Or he did until the scent hit him. He eats it standing, barely tasting anything as he swallows. A while later, in econ, he devours a second pie and a bag of cheddar popcorn. In sociology, it’s gummy candy, a yogurt parfait he drowns in granola, and another pumpkin mini-pie that leaves orange crumbs on his notebook.
Between classes, he keeps absentmindedly rubbing his midsection, half to soothe the pressure and half to confirm it’s truly changing. The curve has become more pronounced, but he blames all the food he’s eaten throughout the day. When he sits, his belly pushes forward solidly, pressing into the desk’s edge until he has to shove the chair back. In the bathroom mirror, he lifts his shirt and stares. The fluorescents accentuate the roundness and how the taut skin stretches with a faint shine. He firmly presses his belly and swallows in concern.
During the next few hours, nausea returns in cruel waves that leave him panting. Twice, he excuses himself mid-lecture, mumbling apologies as he runs into the hall. At the sink, he runs cold water and breathes through his nose, counting to four, out to six, until his stomach settles again. Returning, he catches classmates’ sidelong glances and sees them whispering random comments to each other.
By afternoon, things have crossed from strange to undeniable. Jake’s shirt stretches smoothly and shiny across a belly that strains the waistband of his sweats. The roundness isn’t shy anymore; it leads the way when he walks. He tells himself it’s bloat, aggressive food poisoning, or something that a night of careful eating will fix. However, the plan to make his body feel better didn’t match the fact that he’s starving again.
On the way to the frat house, he stops at the campus café and buys three pumpkin pies. The cashier arches a brow, and Jake flashes his best grin and says they’re for the house. Once he arrives at the house, he goes into the frat kitchen, snatches a bottle of ketchup on a whim so bizarre that he laughs at himself, and runs to his room before anyone can ask questions.
With the door closed, he removes his shirt and pauses. The mirror steals his breath. His belly is unmistakably round now—taut and high, with the line of his navel smoothed into a shallow oval. He runs a hand over the curve, marveling at the sensation. It’s hot and firm and shockingly heavy in a way that makes his back want to arch to compensate.
His stomach suddenly growls, snapping him out of his trance and reminding him that no matter how full and heavy he looks, his body needs more. He looks at the pies and at the absurd ketchup and bites his lower lip. “I’ll be better in the morning,” he tells himself, trying to convince himself of something that felt impossible. “Cut the snacks. If not, clinic. But that’ll be tomorrow. I’m starving right now.”
He climbs onto the bed, shifting to sit comfortably against the headboard, and pulls the first pie into his lap. The first forkful makes him moan in delight, and he eats like someone who hasn’t eaten in days. Halfway through, he does the unthinkable and spreads ketchup over the pie’s surface. The combination should be a crime; it feels like it, but it’s what his body craves.
He devours the first pie, then the second, then the third, with crumbs snowing his bare chest and belly. The skin feels stretched and glossy under his hand afterward. He touches it in disbelief as a part of him is weirdly fascinated by his own fullness.
“I’ll be fine in the morning,” he says again, groaning as his hand moves slowly over the taut surface that feels ready to tear. However, deep down, he enjoys the sensation.
****
The next morning, he wakes as if the night had pinned him to the mattress and filled him with sand. Everything is heavier, especially the weight at his front. He blinks, and the ceiling swims in and out of focus before settling. When he sits up, the position reveals a merciless truth that makes him pale. He initially thinks it is a dream, or a nightmare, but the weight makes it impossible to doubt.
His belly now pushes forward even more, curving into something unmistakable—a high and firm roundness that made him gasp in shock. His chest feels tender, as if the muscles are oversensitive. Even the cotton of the sheets dragging across his skin makes his whole body shiver. His lower back aches more than the previous day, demanding a hand pressed there when he stands. There’s a pressure from within in his middle that he can barely stand, but he breathes slowly, trying to remain composed despite the dizziness.
Then he felt the same early-morning nausea he felt the day before, but heavy breathing got him past it. However, the urge to pretend this isn’t happening dissolves under the weight he literally can’t ignore. His belly is too big and round to ignore. He pulls on a fresh T-shirt and immediately removes it because the fabric outlines everything too clearly. He chooses a soft hoodie, leaves it unzipped, and puts on the same worn-out sweats from yesterday.
“The fuck is happening?” He says, looking at his reflection in the mirror and placing a hand on his middle. He knows something’s wrong, and despite his thoughts, his usual confidence, and the dread of being discovered, he decides to go to the campus clinic.
...
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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!
