Farm Boy, Part 6

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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

-

James came over just as they were sobering up from their latest high.

He was wearing a pair of tight black leggings with a huge pair of basketball shorts atop them, but his ass was still stretching the material of the shorts to drastic extremes, the material riding up his crack, as his ass-cheeks bobbed, actually bobbed behind him.

Max found himself staring, sort of entranced by the rocking and swaying masses, big as fucking basketballs behind James’ back.

Scott was sprawled on his bed, somewhat more relaxed, though he still tensed up and twitched every now and then.

Max finally tore his gaze away from James’ ass. “This stuff is really fucking with our bodies,” he heard himself blurt. “I mean—my hormones—they’re out of wack. Really—weird shit keeps happening.” He drew a deep breath. “I’m gonna try to quit.”

His friends gave him blank, dubious stares.

James repeatedly reached into his hair, rubbing, scratching, his face screwed up in uncertainty.

-

Max’s tits were growing.

All four of them.

The lower pair was progressing much more rapidly than the upper pair, but each of the four mounds was undeniably getting fatter and fatter.

He was seriously jonesing. He tried to distract himself with school work and video games. He often went to Scott’s house, where Scott was uncomfortable, irritable, and in a small amount of pain.

Scott would fumble against his mass. He looked ludicrous and deformed. His belly was practically as big as he was, and he could hardly get up, not without the aid of Max and James supporting either side of him. He had taken sick leave from school.

Scott’s pain wasn’t constant. His belly tensed every so often, causing Scott to grimace and groan and clutch it, before the episode passed and he was panting, “I’m fine, I’m fine,” even though the claim was ludicrous.

He was blowing up, mutinous and uncomfortable, and somehow resistant to his own body. He just said he was okay. And he wanted to get high, again and again, as though to subdue the discomfort. He outright refused to see a doctor. Then one day, as he tried to heave himself up, he collapsed to the floor and lay there moaning and clutching what he could of his mass with his hands.

Scott’s belly jerked, and he released a scream. Max was frozen in shock as Scott floundered on the floor.

James must have been more lucid than he was, because he heaved his ass out of his chair with some effort. “Call an ambulance!” he said, hurrying to Scott’s side, crouching down, and holding Scott’s shoulder.

Scott was writhing, his gargantuan belly jerking and heaving forcefully like a rocking boulder. It genuinely looked like it was about to burst, and his pants—the back of his pants seemed to be tenting out for some reason.

Snapping out of his reverie, Max managed to get on the phone despite his pounding head and excessive sweating. Through the withdrawal, he somehow stammered his way through his friend’s odd predicament.

Paramedics arrived in moments, and Scott—well, he—delivered.

-

The doctors were mystified. So was the media. So was Scott.

Experts were flown in from all over the world. Scott was the headliner of every news report. A mousy adolescent boy had given birth to triplets. It was outrageous and baffling, and Max…was rather queasy.

He hadn’t seen Scott in days, not since he had been carted off to the hospital and become famous (or infamous). Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Max saw him whenever he turned on his TV, Scott looking weary and pale, and overwhelmed.

It was a lot to take in. So much so that Max found himself hitting the hormones again.

The drug had somehow changed Scott, at a biological, anatomical, physiological level. The thought was terrifying and nausea-inducing. The drug had somehow allowed for Scott to become pregnant.

James seemed almost as stunned as Max was. He sat and stared off, persistently scratching at the top of his head, where the bone spur things were worsening. “This stuff is really messed up,” James mentioned one day.

“Yeah…” Max agreed. Daily, he tried to resist the drug, and failed. It was the only thing that felt remotely right anymore.

He continued to try to hide his growing breasts from his family, but his efforts increased in futility alongside his size. It got to the point that he couldn’t be bothered to care much anymore. He impatiently jammed his tits into tank tops that steadily shrank against his girth. Half the school already ostracized him, the other half looking at him like the freak he was. But Max didn’t care about that either. All that ever mattered was his next high.

-

It was an entire month since his departure that Scott showed up again.

He was no longer towing an enormous globe of straining flesh, but looked very fat around the middle, rounded, but softer.

His belly bobbed and swayed somewhat. Reliably, the rest of him was still small and thin.

Scott looked flustered, awkward, and weary. He was inexpertly clutching a baby with one of his arms.

The baby gave one look at Max and released a high-pitched wail. Max cursed as his upper breasts immediately started squirting, soaking through his shirt. It was bizarre, like the baby had activated something in his anatomy.

“Get that thing away from me!” Max snapped, hugging his chest. Even his hidden lower nipples were aching.

Scott threw him a frown. James just regarded Scott in shock.

By that point, James’ bone spurs seemed more like two little horns protruding from the top of his head. “What are you doing here?” James ogled Scott as though he was an alien.

Scott hesitated, flushing worse. “I—I’ve just been really overwhelmed lately,” he said, looking helpless. “I thought we could just hang out. It’s been a lot of stress.”

“Why did you bring…that?” James asked, nodding to the baby.

Scott frowned. “My mom’s been on my ass about stepping up. Being a parent. Fuck off,” he said, unceremoniously heaving the baby up from where it had been sliding down his hip. “So what are you guys up to?” His eyes trailed about the room, as though he was looking for something.

Max fidgeted in his wet shirt.

His upper breasts had become E-cups by then, and served as a sort of overhang to the developing lower pair. They were B-cups, but Max didn’t think anyone had noticed them yet. He folded his arms over his lower mounds. He wanted to change into a dry shirt, though it would be pointless. The baby was still gabbing and he was still leaking. “Can you shut it up?”

“Dude, that’s my baby,” said Scott wearily. “And it’s a she.”

And with that, Scott jerked down the collar of his shirt, and stuffed the baby into his chest. It was just weird. Max couldn’t help gawking. He knew he had tits of his own—huge ones at that—but it was just different, seeing his friend with breasts, exposed ones, that were being employed in the way that breasts were…designed to.

They were round and full, but not that impressive. C-cups at best. Max tore his gaze away as the sound of the baby suckling filtered through the room, Scott grimacing every once in a while.

“It sucks,” Scott supplied, though no one had asked. “Not only did I have to push them out of my…er…but now I’m their twenty-four hour buffet. I hate nursing. Mom says I have to.”

The silence went on, Max and James left speechless by the awkward train of the discussion.

“So…do you have any powder?” Scott asked.

Max snapped out of his reverie. “You’re kidding, right?”

Scott looked desperate, almost pained. “I’m not,” he said.

Max’s attention shifted back to the newborn suckling on Scott’s chest. “Should you really be taking drugs while you’re…”

“How am I supposed to know?” said Scott impatiently. He rubbed his face with his free hand. “Does it look like I care?”

“Man, isn’t the hormone what got you into this mess?” said James uneasily.

“Are you going to give me some or not?” said Scott.

The behavior was so uncharacteristic for his usually meek and mild-mannered friend, that Max was rendered mute again.

But after a moment, James lightly shook his head. He retrieved a baggy of the hormone from the desk on the far side of the room and handed it over to Scott.

“Thanks,” said Scott faintly as he accepted the bag. He was practically salivating as he opened it.

He took a sniff, and momentarily froze, his eyes closing as a long hum escaped his throat. He stood there like that for at least a full moment, before gingerly making his way towards the bed, still clutching the infant to his chest. He sat down heavily, and reclined, and sort of just zoned out as he stared at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes, while remaining distinctly mindful of the baby against him.

After that, things went back to normal. Or as normal as things could be after a teenage boy popped out three children.

Scott seemed to mostly dump the infants on his parents. Sometimes he would attend to his breasts with an electric pump, the sight of which made Max dizzy. But he mostly hung out with Max and James in the evenings, and they spoke lethargically of dubious plans to leave their small town someday. Possibly sooner than later.

Max had somehow gotten into college. He wondered if his strong grades for the first half of the school year had counterbalanced his apathy in the latter half.

People were talking about orientations and ISBN numbers, and all he could think about was how his four tits were getting bigger and bigger, the lower ones pushing, heaving the other ones upwards, and it was like some terrible nightmare that his freakish anomaly would soon be blatant on his chest.

In a weird way, he was jealous of Scott. Scott had effectively shat out his abnormalities in the form of three large babies. Even James seemed to have it better that Max. Yes, James’ ass cheeks were fucking massive, but it wasn’t as though he had four of them. Shit, that would be trippy.

Max felt as though he spent a lot of his time tugging on his shirt hems as his tops were drawn higher and tighter. His upper breasts were unnaturally perky, sticking up uncomfortably atop the shelf that the lower ones created.

Max’s upper breasts were blatant and huge, and he no longer made any efforts to hide them, because it was absolutely futile to try to disguise volleyball’s sticking out from one’s torso. His lower breasts had to be D-cups by then, and were undeniably starting to peek out beneath.

His parents just seemed numb, disturbed, mute. Astonishingly, they hadn’t said anything. But really, what could they? They were awkward and mortified and could hardly even look at him anymore. Their son was transforming, and they were helpless to stop it.

One morning, his mother did finally address it.

“What’s going on with you?” she said, gazing at him, then back down at her scrambled eggs. “Have you just been…um…do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Max weakly responded. “I mean I just…I don’t really know what’s going on.” His face was hot, and he was so embarrassed, he sort of wanted to die.

But somehow he had opened the flood gates, literally. Tears flooded down his mother’s face, which just made everything so much worse. He failed to evade her as she hugged him, hugged into his breasts, and it was as uncomfortable as it was stimulating, the whole thing altogether horrifying. He patted her arm as he grimaced and struggled for dear life not to start squirting milk, thus exacerbating everything (including his humiliation).

After that, his parents went into his options, as he sat and vacantly nodded in his flustered, tender state. They started consulting specialists. Apparently they couldn’t afford treatment for a potential hormone imbalance or his “cosmetic deformity” as it was not considered medically necessary by his insurance. They promised they would start saving for breast reduction surgery. Apparently they hadn’t noticed the lower pair yet. But then, Max spent most of his time with his arms folded against them.

Though Max nodded and indulged them with short, auspicious responses, as he retired to his room that evening, he laid down, feeling very doubtful that any treatment would be helpful. Especially considering fact that he was still using.

He took his late-night hit of the hormone and dozed away.