Bad Roommate, Part 8

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Summary: Justin’s roommate secretly doses him with experimental drugs, causing Justin’s stomach to progressively transform  into a giant breast. Justin is oblivious and horrified as to what is  happening to his body. In the meantime, his roommate secretly  documents the transformation. Contains: Male: belly expansion, breast expansion, belly-breast, and more.

Previous Chapter 

-

When Justin awoke again, he was curled up against a rather thin mattress, on a bed that just barely managed to fit him. He was in a small, unfamiliar room. The walls were scuffed and chipped in places, long overdue for a paint job. There was an old wooden dresser and a shelf with some worn books and miscellaneous household items strewn about it.

Justin shifted and was immediately reminded how overdue he was to be pumped. Not that the pump worked for him anymore… Milk was seeping out of his belly-nipple, but at a slow and lazy pace, oozing onto the bed. It wasn’t substantial, and it didn’t offer any sort of relief to the pressure. He grunted and arched, trying to force his body to release more of the milk. This barely helped at all. He wondered how long he had been at this place. And what had he been thinking, even coming to this country? He’d had no real plan. Justin supposed he’d just been trying to get away. But right now, he needed Kyle. That much was evident.

“Gnhh…dammit,” he hissed, sweat pouring down his flushed face. He tried his best to relax, but even then, his mound pulsed.

The door creaked. Justin managed to turn his head just enough to see a woman peek her head into the room. “You’re awake?” she said in good-enough English.

“Who are you?” Justin managed. “Why am I here? Is this your house?”

The door opened wider. The woman entered, and Justin was stunned by how thin she was, just skin and bones, really. “You were lying in the street. We didn’t want to leave you there…not in your condition. It isn’t safe. Not for a foreigner. We brought you to our home.”

“Right,” Justin grunted, squeezing his eyes shut, drawing a long breath and for a moment trying to bear the incredible strain. His hand lightly cupped the side of his mound.

“We’ve never seen anyone so heavy with child,” said the woman.

Justin huffed out a bitter laugh. “It’s…complicated.”

“My husband and I also have a baby. He is almost six months.”

At this, Justin was a little surprised. The woman seemed so small and…frail. He had always associated motherhood with, well, health.

The woman finally seemed to take notice of the large moist patch on Justin’s shirt and the growing dampness of the bed. “What is that? Why is there fluid? Are you hurt? Is — is the baby —?”

“No,” said Justin. “No, I’m fine, I just —um —” he wasn’t sure how to explain it. He didn’t think there was an explanation. “I’m fine. Sorry. Thank you for taking me in, and...well, thank you.”

The woman nodded, bringing her hands together to fidget somewhat. “My name is Marta. Will…would you like to join my family for dinner?”

It seemed a tall order, but Justin was at the mercy and generosity of strangers. He had no rights to be here, and yet they were taking care of him. So it would be wise not to insult them.

He pressed his hands to the mattress behind him, shifting his legs to the edge of the bed. He knew this wouldn’t be pretty, but he braced his muscles, and heaved. He released a hoarse roar as he managed to push himself upright, putting pressure on his already over-packed belly, causing his shirt to slide up and his huge belly-nipple to squirt out, splashing milk across the room and into the shelf. Justin was left red and gasping as the spray eased back down to an ooze. The woman was staring at him in utter shock.

“I’d love to,” said Justin breathlessly.

-

He managed to waddle to the kitchen, repetitively insisting that he didn’t need help, while huffing and puffing, trying to navigate with the weight of the heavy fluid packed inside of him. It wasn’t until after he had plopped down in the spare wooden seat at the old kitchen table that he looked up, catching his breath, and taking inventory of the people around him.

Aside from Marta, there was a middle aged woman with graying hair, who closely resembled her. The older woman practically looked offended at the sight of him, and turned her head away as he caught her eyes. “Dios mios,” she murmured.

The baby looks smaller than Justin expected it to be. He was whimpering in a high chair that looked secondhand and was rather wobbly. Justin didn’t think the chair seemed safe, but it wasn’t his place to mention that. His own chair creaked rather ominously beneath him. He gulped.

“This is my mother, Pilar,” Marta said. “And this is my son, Hector.” She lifted the baby, who just started to wail in response, burying his face in his mother’s shirt. “My father has a farm outside of town. But he comes by on the weekends.”

Justin managed to nod, feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt as he looked around the broken down kitchen. He was always wrapped up in his own problems, forgetting what was going on in the world around him.

Marta began to serve them a very modest meal of rice and beans. It wasn’t nearly enough, but Justin expressed nothing but gratitude, even as his stomach grumbled. Pilar threw him an irritated look, causing Justin to blush in embarrassment. She muttered something in Spanish he didn’t understand.

“Mommy!” Marta scolded the other woman. She sighed. “Ignore her. She’s not used to…new people.”

“It’s fine,” said Justin.

“You’re still hungry. Do you want more?”

Justin grimaced. It was true that he felt starved, but the pressure inside him was getting unbearable. If he added to it, it was going to be painful.

Marta’s face fell at seeing his expression.

Justin fumbled on his words, “No — I mean I — it’s just —” he paused, feeling helpless. “Sure. It was delicious. I would love another serving.”

Pilar muttered under her breath again. Marta just ignored her as she got another plate of rice. Justin ate slowly, trying to pace himself as he felt sweat trickle down the side of his face. His belly heaved up and down, his hand cupping it under the table. God, this was just too much.

The baby wailed throughout the whole meal, and Justin had developed his first headache in years. He was just grateful when dinner was over and he was allowed to return to his room to rest, and perhaps brainstorm solutions to his exacerbating condition. His eyes were tearing by then, his body feeling like it might burst right open. There had to be something he could do. He walked at a painfully slow pace, breathing in long, harsh breaths. He could feel Marta staring after him in concern.

Just before he could enter his room, he felt a hand lightly touches shoulder. He turned his head to see Marta standing there, looking uneasy as she fidgeted her hands like before.

“I wanted to know…” She glanced at his chest. “Since you’re so…” She trailed off, losing her courage.

“What is it?” said Justin, desperate to get off his feet.

“I can barely feed him,” Marta blurted.

It took a moment for Justin to make sense of her remark. Oh. She was talking about the baby.

“I can’t make any milk. And it’s expensive. Most of the time we dilute it with water. We do our best, but he’s small for his age, and he’s always crying, and I — I’m just so scared.”

Justin nodded, feeling just awful to hear this.

“My husband died last year, and —”

“I don’t have much money,” Justin blurted. “But I can see what I can do. I’m sure if I can get in touch with my parents —”

Marta looked at him in confusion. “No, no. I just wanted to know if you’d be willing to feed him. Since your expecting, and it looks like you — you have milk already. Right?” Again her eyes flickered to his chest.

Justin was horrified. For some reason, the idea hadn’t even crossed his mind, which was ridiculous, given the state he was in. Of course that was what she wanted. And how could he refuse?

“O-okay,” he said.

It was very awkward. Marta led him back to the kitchen, and he found himself seated at the table again. But this time, instead of dinner, she gently lowered her infant to his arms. Hector’s noisy wails made Justin wince.

And then the three of them were just there, in awkward silence, except for the baby. Marta nodded encouragingly.

“So…you want me to just…?”

“Go ahead,” said Martha.

His shirt proved difficult to pull down, but he stretched the collar as much as he could, wanting to avoid removing his shirt altogether and having to display his breast-belly again.

Marta helped him, guiding the baby gently to his chest.

And suddenly Justin was nursing. Productively. He was feeding an actual baby.

-

Hector was a lot less fitful after that. Justin nursed him again in the morning and throughout the following day. Overnight, he even got up at 2AM when he heard Hector crying. It wasn’t as weird and uncomfortable as it had been initially. Now Justin saw it as his duty. A small way he could help these people. The baby was hungry, and Justin could feed him.

But there was still the matter of the others.

The more he looked at Marta and Pilar, the more he saw how rundown they were. They were bony and weak, surviving on rice most days. Yet Marta was always so happy and appreciative towards him. She continually asked how he was feeling; how his “baby” was doing. The one she thought to be inside of him. She always gave him more food than herself or Pilar during meals, and sometimes asked if his nursing Eric was too draining on his energy. Justin always insisted that it was no issue; he was keen and willing.

Marta even seemed to have forgotten about the whole incident of his belly nipple squirting. Maybe she had convinced herself that she had imagined the whole thing.

In the end, he couldn’t believe how kind she was. Even Pilar, despite her prickly demeanor, always looked in on him when he was perched on the couch in the evening. Occasionally, she even brought him a cup of tea, urging him to drink. He had to stay strong, for his own baby.

It was hard to believe his disheveled old wig had convinced them he was a woman, and a pregnant one at that. Though if he thought about it, there was little else for them to believe. Because the alternative was unbelievable. He didn’t make sense if he wasn’t what he claimed himself to be.

But Justin was starting to realize the potential in letting them know the truth. Who he was… Whathe was. He could do more for them. They just had to…let him.

After the first two days or so, Justin stopped moving around much. He was too uncomfortable. He remained on the bed, panting and sweating all day, his skin flushed and drum tight. He supposed his belly really did resemble a pregnancy, albeit a rather extreme and advanced one. He was almost fantastically large. It would’ve had to be multiples in any case. Even then, with the nipple bulge, it hardly made sense. But Marta and Pilar had convinced themselves that it did.

The door opened. Marta entered the room, carefully balancing a bowl of soup that was undoubtedly thin, almost water, likely. Her face was filled with worry, as it tended to be lately. She looked at his belly with almost a sense of trepidation, and Justin didn’t blame her. It actually trembled at times. The family couldn’t have afforded a doctor for him, even if he consented to seeing one. They probably thought he was in danger, or that his nonexistent babies were. He wasn’t full of life, but something far less delicate.

Justin swallowed. He was strained and sleep deprived, and at his absolute limits. He knew he wouldn’t have ever done this had he not been under so much strain and so desperate, almost delirious with fatigue and discomfort, pain spiking under his flesh at any given moment. The heat might have been the worst of it. He was constantly pouring sweat, and dehydrated, ironically enough. His belly had become a furnace that he couldn’t detach from.

“I’m not a woman,” he managed, his voice raspy.

Marta stared at him with no comprehension.

Justin tore off the wig. She gasped.

“And I’m not pregnant,” he said. With a shaking hand, Justin shoved away the blankets, and gripped the thin dress Pilar had made him out of some old bedsheets. Even then, it barely managed to stretch down over his mass of swollen flesh. He pulled it up before he could stop himself, allowing his belly breast to bulge free and exposed.

The soup bowl clattered to the ground.