To Science, Part 11

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Summary: After Connor's comatose body is donated to science, he wakes up to find himself adorning large, expanding breasts. Contains: Male: breast expansion, lactation, possible breast impregnation later on.

Previous Chapter

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Epilogue

“I was called in again,” Pete said, the moment Connor entered the cabin, large breasts bobbing, grocery bags hanging from his fists.

Connor’s face fell. “Again?” He winced slightly at the sounds of the twins wailing in the next room. He rubbed the side of a mound as it tightened at the sound. Even braless, his breasts were full, round, and impeccable.

“It’ll just be a few hours,” said Pete apologetically as he licked his lips. He absently pulled his lab coat around himself. Of course, the buttons didn’t meet anymore. Pete was supposed to be on a diet, no thanks to Connor’s delicious milk.

Connor sighed, lowering the grocery bags to the table. “See you later, then,” he grumbled, mounds bobbing with his most miniscule movements. His nipples pressed hard against the stretched fabric of his shirt. It was hard to believe that Connor was capable of going out like that. It had taken a lengthy process, but Connor was finally beginning to feel comfortable in his own skin.

“Sorry,” said Pete.

Connor ignored him. He was not the biggest fan of Pete’s new job at the lab.

“Hey. I’ll see you tonight,” said Pete, squeezing Connor shoulder.

Connor cringed away from him, and Pete knew why. The previous day, Pete had made a lighthearted comment about wanting more children. Obviously, Connor wasn’t game.

Pete sighed and left.

When Pete walked into the lab, he smiled at the female scientists who surrounded him, before going into his office and closing the door.

He in fact hadn’t been called in to work that day, but he was so excited about his newest project, he couldn’t bring himself to stay away.

Pete shed his lab coat and looked down at his form.

His button-down shirt stretched tightly against his large, soft, beer-gut—he didn’t mind it much. It was worth it, to be able to drink from Connor every day.

What had Pete’s focus were the budding mounds on his chest. They were small—very small—breasts. It was the start of something. He must have been reacting to whatever residual chemical remained in Connor’s milk.

It had been six months, and slow to develop, but still—it was something. Pete rubbed his chest every day, trying to cultivate the fat there. He personally had no desire for breasts of his own, but he wanted—needed—to replicate the experiment.

One of Pete’s greatest regrets was that he had been too high and uncaring to document Connor’s pregnancy. But if he replicated it, he would be set for life. A male pregnancy—and done through breast tissue at that—was such a profound discovery, it would likely make him one of the richest people in the world.

Granted he actually achieved it. All the remaining cream had been confiscated by government agents shortly after the birth of the twins. Apparently Reynolds had tried to sell it on some sordid Asian markets, and the FDA had swooped in, banning it internationally for its precarious properties.

All Pete had left to depend on was Connor’s milk. He sighed.

After months of trying to cultivate the small mounds on his chest, he was tired of waiting. He was going to attempt insemination. Of course the experiment was dangerous, and he wasn’t the ideal test subject—he was no Connor. But there was no way Connor would be willing to go through another breast-pregnancy, so Pete’s small mounds were the next best thing. He was confident in his skin’s capacity and elasticity that he was sure to have adopted from Connor’s milk. He just had to inseminate himself though his nipples, as he had with Connor, and then encourage as much growth as he could. Hopefully his pregnancy would be as short as Connor’s had been, even though he had only gotten exposure to the cream in a second-hand capacity.

Nodding to himself, Pete walked out of his office to find a syringe. He would dose himself with more lactation agents and then proceed with insemination. Just as he stepped into the corridor, someone crashed into him, and he was splashed with fluid. He looked down at the pale green liquid covering his shirt.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” said Gina, a young intern. “You need to be decontaminated immediately sir. That was the experimental fertility serum. If you have even a trace of another person’s DNA on you—”

“It’s fine,” said Pete calmly. “I’ll head to the decontamination unit immediately.”

Gina breathed a sigh of relief, apologized again, then hurried off. Once she had turned a corner, a broad grin spread over Pete’s face.

He was familiar with the accelerated fertility serum. It had been quite promising in causing spontaneous pregnancy in rats. If the body had a trace of another person’s DNA inside it, the serum could cause spontaneous pregnancy. Pete gazed down at where the serum had soaked into the chest of his shirt.

Not bothering to change, in fact, relishing in the sensation of the moist fabric pressing his skin, Pete went home, surprising Connor, who was sprawled back on the couch feeding both of their children.

“What happened?” said Connor, brow raised. His shirt was drawn up, each baby clutching at him.

“They didn’t need me after all,” said Pete, pulling up a chair and smiling at his family.

-

Pete hadn’t been certain that the serum would have any effect on him, but within days, he could already see and feel his body changing. His breasts were gradually bloating, already fat C-cups in two weeks time. He tried to be discreet about it, but Connor would often send him odd looks every now and then.

“Maybe you should ease up on my milk…” Connor would say uncertainly.

“Never,” Pete would joke back, pulling him close, feeding from him greedily.

In the bathroom, Pete would often look at himself in the mirror. His breasts were uncomfortably full and bloated, still struggling to drop as they took on the continuous pressure. They were round and full, nipples having doubled in size already. It was all consistent with breast pregnancy, and Pete couldn’t have been more thrilled.

His next step would be to gain confirmation with a sonogram, and then to…break the news to Connor. He wasn’t looking forward to that conversation. They were overwhelmed with two children as it was.

The thought of birthing these babies actually made him wince, but, it was…all in the name of science! And it would be worth it in the end.

Pete glided his finger over his right nipple, and grimaced at the soreness. His nipples were dark, areola puffed out, and almost looked engorged. He hesitated, and experimentally pulled and tweaked his nipple, with as much gentleness as he could. He huffed a few grunts of discomfort, before his fingers were coated in warm moisture.

Pete stared blankly down at himself as droplets of milk fell from his right, tingling nipple. That…wasn’t consistent. Connor had always stopped lactating during gestation.

Now his left breast was feeling engorged, and Pete tended to it with some gently squeezes of his nipple. Soon both breasts were dripping, and he was sighing in both discomfort and relief. He thought about how it was sort of inconvenient now, trying to keep his breasts concealed at work, and now having to hide the fact that he was lactating. He had no idea how Connor had gone through it himself. And unwillingly.

Pete reminded himself that he was doing this by choice. He had it far easier, certainly. And lactating was probably a good sign. It would encourage circulation. Maybe it would even help when he went into labor. Pete tried to dry himself the best he could, but both nipples continued to persistently drip. He would have to see about a…nursing bra, or something. He wondered if a pump would be okay? His mind circling with these thoughts, Pete began to get dressed, and hoped that no one would notice the moisture.

As he was buttoning his shirt, it was tighter on him than usual, and he gazed down at his stomach, which seemed to have surged in growth over the past few days, now a truly impressive beer-gut. He really was getting huge, but Connor’s milk was addictive.

Pete smiled to himself. His weight was the least of his concerns at the moment. He stretched his shirt against his, admittedly bloated, belly, and continued to get ready for work.

Within another week, Pete was getting uncomfortable. His stomach was tight and gurgling. After a large breakfast, he busted through five buttons of his shirt.

“Pete, what’s going on?” Connor demanded. “You’re blowing up.” Though irritated, Connor looked truly worried.

Pete stood, awkwardly, pulling his too-small labcoat around himself . “I’m running late.”

“You can barely fit your clothes, and you—you’ve got breasts now, Pete. Is this me? Is it my fault?”

“No, of course not,” Pete insisted. He cornered Connor and kissed his plump cleavage. “I know I owe you an explanation, and I’ll give it to you. Tonight. I just…I just have to check something at work.”

Connor frowned, but agreed.

When Pete got to work that evening, he had never felt so nervous. He locked himself in his office, pulled off his top, and ran a sonogram on the dripping D-cups on his chest. The left one squirted as he pressed the remote into it, causing him to wince. It was getting harder to hide. His colleagues often stared now, but no one dared to ask. He just hoped they didn’t try to intrude on things.

Sticking his tongue out from the corner of his lip, Pete scrutinized the screen. Eyes widening in horror, he tried his other breast, then ran the exam again and again, but nothing changed.

There was no baby.

He was stunned.

“Nghhh…” Pete clutched his stomach as the pressure spiked. He really did need to get his weight under control. Connor’s milk was extremely heavy. It was breast-milk after all.

Pete gave the screen one more glance, then whispered a curse, and rolled the table aside.

How could he have failed at this? He had been so certain he was pregnant.

Impatiently pulling on his stretched T-shirt, Pete returned to his desk, plopped down, and pored over some paperwork, muttering under his breath all the while. He absently rubbed his rounded gut and remained peacefully unaware of the ten embryos being incubated in his belly at that very moment.

The End