Farm Boy, Part 7

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Summary: A high school senior, Max noticed that his older brother has been dipping into the chemical on his parents' farm, and has been gaining a lot of weight. A bit disgusted, a bit curious, Fred tries the chemical hormones himself, and experiences the best high of his life. He quickly introduces the chemical to his two best friends, and the three progressively get addicted, all while experiencing incidental changes, such as butt growth, breast development, belly expansion, in addition to other, stranger, things. Contains: Male: pregnancy, breast expansion, multiple breasts, breast-belly, butt expansion, weight gain, and more. Also, issues of drug addiction.

Previous Chapter

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Max tried to bandage his lower tits down, but they were just so tender. And they were getting unquestionably large. It hardly helped. So he kept his arms folded against them most of the time, inconveniently enough, heaving up the upper pair, but it was worth it if is helped to hide the lower pair just a little better.

Most of the time, Max was flushed and fidgeting. He felt stimulated and uncomfortable beneath the bandages and his layers of clothes. He was constantly sweaty, and dazed, hardly paying attention to anything aside from the conflicting sensations of pain and pleasure caused by the compression. The bandages always felt as though they were tighter by the end of the school day. It was almost unbearable to be squeezed and compacted in such a way.

He was a guy with breasts. Two pairs. He had actually transformed from a slim young man to a guy with huge, bobbing tits, and the rest of the school didn’t really know how to react to it, other than to point, giggle, or gawk at him continuously. Some teachers and students thought it was a foul joke. Others just seemed utterly confused and concerned. Max was sure that the varying reactions to his appearance would have bothered him were he not continuously riding at least a low grade high. As such, he could barely pay attention or care. Not until things got physical.

Max was roughly shoved in the hallway one day after school. He was so absent to the world around him that he hardly registered that someone had not simply bumped into him, but was in fact shoving him into the nearby bathroom.

“Hey, get off me.” Max tried to tear away from the grip on his arm, but instead found himself being pushed hard against the bathroom wall by someone taller, broader, and stronger than he was. Max looked up and vaguely recognized one of the hockey players in his year. The other guy was fairly new to the school, and Max didn’t think they had any classes together.

His name was Roger, and it was odd for Max to see him in this context. Roger usually spent his time bullying other people. Fat kids, and kids with bad skin, or ugly faces. Poor kids and kids with disabilities, or lisps, or the ones who ceaselessly talked about how cool their parents were. The weirdos, goths, and freaks with no friends. Roger bullied the stand-outs, not the ones who stood indifferently on the sidelines. Not kids like Max.

Oh, Max registered, belatedly. He had become one of those kids.

Max gasped as Roger roughly grabbed his upper tits.

“What the fuck do you have stuffed under here? They can’t actually be…” Roger trailed off.

Max was shuddering, his legs closed to buckling beneath him. His breasts were outrageously sensitive to his own touch, but he hadn’t anticipated that the touch of another person, even rough and sloppy, with no amorous intension, would completely send his body into overdrive. His dick was rapidly hardening, heat pooling in his stomach as his tits ached and tightened, nipples distending significantly, almost painfully. He could feel the areolas puffing out, could feel his milk surging the bloated tissue. He had no hope of containing the dam. “Oh god,” Max breathed as milk poured into his shirt.

“’The fuck?” said Roger, pulling back against the flow of warm wetness. But he furrowed his eyebrows and returned to his rough investigation, intruding and surely violating, as he groped at Max’s chest, feeling the masses, the bloated tenderness, the round heft of them. Impatiently, Roger began to jerk up Max’s shirt. “No way,” he said. “You can’t actually have real tits under there.”

“Stop!” Max tried to pull away, but his legs were jello, and he just ended up tripping on his own feet and slumping down the wall. Roger followed him, crouching down, staring at what he had uncovered. Max’s shirt had been drawn up under his chin, and his upper breasts were on full display, bulging heavily from the E-cup bra straining to contain them.

“Holy shit,” Roger breathed, and to Max’s horror, Roger continued to explore. He saw bulging bandages beneath Max’s upper mounds. “Don’t tell my you did this to yourself?” said Roger, trailing his fingers on the bandages. “Cosmetic surgery?” He looked at Max as though he was completely insane.

“No, I…” Max wasn’t sure why he would disagree. It was probably a better explanation than what had actually happened, that he had mysteriously sprouted them while on snorting cow feed.

He imagined a scenario where he was so depraved and perverted that he would invest thousands of dollars of savings into getting freakishly huge breasts implanted onto his decidedly male physique, for all to see and marvel.

Roger’s fingers continued to trail over the bandages. What he thought was just swollen flesh and a surgery wound was another set of breasts. Even through the layers, it was insanely arousing. The lower mounds were so new, and sensitive, practically starved for attention. Just as Roger’s hand finally pulled away, just as he was backing down, like he wasn’t cruel enough to unravel a potentially unhealed wound, it happened. Max’s lowered breasts tightened, and pushed, and surged, as though to follow Roger’s hand. Max cried out as the bandages pulled and squeezed him, face reddening and ribs compressing. “Fuuhhhh…ngghhhhh…” He groaned, twitching, until there was a tearing noise, and the bandages rapidly came apart.

He gasped for breath, face red, body shuddering. It was just too much, too stimulating, the sensation of his lower breasts pushing and throbbing while squished beneath the upper pair. By instinct, Max reached down and quickly lifted the upper pair to alleviate the debilitating pressure. Twin spurts of milk splattered forward, causing Roger’s jaw to drop. But Roger’s attention was quickly captured by the masses beneath them, his eyes becoming impossibly wide. A choking noise escaped his throat.

Max couldn’t see his lower breasts, but he knew they were bigger, and growing. He could fucking feel it, and it was all he could do not to reach down and squeeze them. He could feel them throbbing and fattening, beginning to press together in a new forming line of cleavage. The pressure was impossible to tolerate, and he was sweating buckets just trying to stand it. “I t-think…oh god…th-they’re gonna…”

They were engorged. They were fucking engorged. His milk was coming in, and he needed release.

Max shivered. He tried to slide his hands down, but it was so awkward and uncomfortable, but his lower nipples were stinging, flesh aching and tingling. He shifted slightly, and abruptly came in his pants. He moaned and tried to hold himself upright. He didn’t think Roger had noticed, he was still busily gawking at Max’s lower pair of breasts.

“What…the fuck…have you done to yourself?” Roger said slowly. “I mean, fucking, how? You’re—‘the fuck.” He seemed to be at a loss for words outside of obscenities.

Max opened his mouth, intending to excuse himself, but all that came out was a whimper. His dick was hard again, though he wasn’t sure how that was even possible. Every move he made left his hips twitching and thighs quavering. He needed to get away but wasn’t even sure how.

He yelped when he suddenly felt warm hands on his lower breasts.

Roger’s hands.

He began to rub and squeeze the flesh, as if to see if it was real. Max heard himself release an undignified squeak. It was the most mortifying situation he had ever been in. If his friends could see him now, he would never live it down.

“Please,” he gasped out, though he wasn’t sure what he was requesting. For Roger to leave him alone and go away? For Roger to…to not, leave him alone? Max shuddered as Roger’s fingers zeroed in on his nipples.

“T-they need to…” Max gulped. “T-think they’re gonna…”

They squirted. He could feel it—then see it. Thin, sweet little streams of pale milk, not the dark, thick fluid that the upper pair produced. But milk all the same. It was his first time lactating from them. Max sighed in sweet relief, leaning more heavily on the wall. He thought it would only be a small amount, but if anything the output seemed to be increasing, his flesh tingly and warm. Roger’s fingers continued to roll and squeeze the nubs. He felt himself arching against the touch.

“They’re really full,” Max said dumbly, he wasn’t sure why, it just sort of came out of his mouth.

Roger gave him another speculative, and confused sort of look. “You’re a fucking mutant, Sturge.”

“Nnghhhh…yeah…” Max agreed.

And then Roger did the unthinkable. The leaned down to Max’s lower left tit and took a long suck.

“Oh fuck, oh f-f-fuck.”

Max came again.

-

Max was a flustered, disheveled mess, by the time he made it home, arms folded against his torso yet doing little to hide his bulging breasts.

They were swollen and sore, throbbing and growing, pushing mutinously against his arms.

They bobbed uncomfortably as Max finally made it to his room. He sunk down the wall, slumping on the carpeted floor, and immediately pulled up his shirt, gasping for breath as the four sweaty mounds were exposed to the cool air.

He didn’t actually want to touch them. They were so sensitive, he was on the brink of tears. But Max found himself gently, gingerly cradling the side of one, avoiding his nipples, just laying his hand against the hot flesh. Something had changed. He felt it blatantly. His upper breasts were now sitting atop the lower pair, no longer hiding them with their mass. Heart racing, Max climbed up with a groan. He hesitated, then walked to his full-length mirror.

Beneath the fat pair of E-cups on his chest, proudly sat a pair of plump, round Ds. They had gone up two cup-sizes just that afternoon, and were rapidly catching up to the upper pair in girth. His lower-breasts were unquestionably large now, and could no longer be hidden.

It was uncomfortable, all four sitting there, stacked and jiggling. Max went to his dresser and dug around. He pulled out one of the bras he had purchased online, and grimaced as he latched it around him, easing his upper breasts into the wide cups. They still bulged against them, but it would have to do.

Max looked again, this time unearthing a strapless bra. It was a smaller sizer, and was slightly stretched from when he had outgrown it when using it to support the upper pair. This time, Max put the bra on his lower pair of breasts, hissing in discomfort as he adjusted to the confining material. But it was an improvement, and it offered the support he needed at that moment. Breathing thinly, Max threw another glance to the mirror, at the odd arrangement his four breasts in their two bras made on his chest. He then got on his bed and carefully lowered himself across the mattress. His chest heaved and milk poured from all four breasts, sometimes stopping, but continuing again.

Max reached up and plucked his lower right breast out of the cup. He lightly squeezed his nipple, his face heating, and a thin stream of milk squirting into the air. It was already thickening, getting whiter, and making a mess. But the pressure was intensely painful and arousing, and the milk was coming so fast, he knew he would rapidly go up several more cup sizes if he didn’t—well—milk himself.

So Max plucked out his lower left breast, and repeated the process, squeezing and milking every few minutes or so, releasing the building warmth the bulk. He was exhausted, but stayed up between dozing, repeating the process again and again. It was hours before he could tell that the milk in his lower breasts was no longer developing faster than it was naturally oozing from his nipples. With that vague assurance, Max finally allowed himself to fall asleep. He didn’t get up when he heard his friends ringing the doorbell, or later, when his parents came home from work. He was drained.