To Science, Part 7

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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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Each of Connor’s nipples had a distinct pore in their centers through which they expressed milk. Pete’s tongue circled it as he sucked.

“They’re so large now,” Pete mused, and Connor felt it. Pete could practically fit his tongue in them. Connor shuddered.

As Pete pulled back, Connor shrugged, blushing in his inebriation. His breasts were lazily dripping milk. His nipples were pulsing, and his whole body felt heated.

Now Pete was holding a carton of eggs. “Not even cold yet.”

“Oh?” said Connor.

Pete sprinkled Connor’s breasts with light kisses. “Just got them from the farmer’s market. Nice and fresh,” he said. “Hm, I wonder...”

Connor was still sort of dazed from the weed, and was hardly aware of what Pete was doing, until he felt something hard and rounded pressed against the pore of his right nipple. “What are you—” Connor moaned as Pete pushed the egg harder against his nipple, until the pore began to open around it, the egg pushing through, getting soaked in milk as it stretched the pore wide. Finally the pore swallowed it, before closing again. Connor groaned all the while. The egg was gone.

Connor blinked, panting. ‘What did you do?” he said, slightly panicked.

“How does it feel?”

Weird, Connor decided. He felt around his breast, and even tried to squeeze the egg out, but there was no sign of it. He was stunned to also find that his right breast was no longer dripping any milk.

Connor gasped as Pete pushed him against the wall, with a second egg in hand. Pete began to methodically squeeze his left nipple, and Connor found himself incapacitated by arousal. Pete pushed the second egg into Connor’s left breast, but didn’t stop there. Two more eggs were shoved through the pore of each nipple. Now Connor’s breasts were stinging.

Still intoxicated, Pete burst into giggles.

Connor was disturbed. “That wasn’t funny—eugh—what did you do!” he said, holding his breasts. But the slightest touch left him hard and panting. They were so sensitive now. Pete just laughed harder. Connor began to giggle as well.

When Connor awoke the next morning, he was sober, and unsure as to whether any of that had really happened. Both of his breasts had stopped leaking milk. The pores wouldn’t seem to open. It was a relief, but he still felt engorged.

Pete plopped down on the couch beside him. “Pillows,” he chuckled, as he rested his head lightly on Connor’s breasts.

Connor grunted slightly. There was a strange new tightness to his breasts. He suspected that the egg thing had actually happened, which sort of grossed him out. What if he got an infection or something?

For the remainder of the day, Connor did his best not to think about it, and kept his eye out for any irregularities or sign of infection. By evening, he noticed a weird…tickling…sensation. He dropped the joystick from his hands, Pete easily defeating him in the video game they were playing.

“What’s wrong?” Pete glanced his way.

Connor’s body shuddered. “Nn...ngghh...”

Pete came over and crouched beside him to cup the mounds. “Shit!” Pete jumped back, falling on his ass. “What the hell was that?”

Connor contorted his face in discomfort. The tickling sensations were escalating, and now his nipples were aching, pulsing, pushing out. Then retracting, and doing it all over again. Connor groaned in pain, his eyes wet. What was happening to him!? Connor simply gawked, speechless.

The nipple surges were getting more and more pronounced, larger than seemed even possible. They swelled to the size of tennis balls, Connor’s squeezed his eyes shut, his face wet with tears. “I’m—gonna burst!”

Pete continued to watch, almost in morbid fascination. Connor’s nipples began to ooze milk, but not enough to offer much relief. Something was happening, something…different. Something yellow and…fuzzy…seemed to crown at Connor’s right nipple pore, Connor grunting all the while, his face flushed from the strain and discomfort. His breasts tightened, and the thing popped out of his right nipple. And then it happened again with the left one.

Connor’s nipples relaxed, and the two young men were left to gape at two yellow balls trembling on the floor, both sleek with milk. And then there was a chirping noise.

“Ch-chicks?” Connor stammered.

The two chicks began to squirm about, orientating themselves. Connor grunted as both his nipples swelled up again, and he gripped Pete’s arm, muttering obscenities and threats to his life as Pete continued to ogle the chicks.

In the aftermath, each of Connor’s breasts had produced three chicks. Connor and Pete sat and stared at the adorable infant animals, Connor sweaty and panting, and Pete rather bemused.

“What the hell was that?” said Connor after a while.

“You—you gave birth.”

Connor’s face reddened yet more. “No—I—”

“Can we keep them?”

“No. I don’t care. Whatever. We’re never talking about this again.” Connor heaved himself up and walked off, clutching his sore nipples, both of which had returned to their previous size and were leaking milk profusely.

-

Pete was amazed. Connor’s breasts had somehow served as incubators. It was unprecedented and outlandish. Pete suspected it far exceeded the expectations of the original experiment.

That evening, Pete approached the couch, where Connor was sprawled back looking exhausted. Pete knelt beside him and kissed his breasts, causing Connor to wince. Pete could tell that they were still sore. “This is amazing,” said Pete.

“What is?” said Connor, rather irritable.

“Your boobs.”

“Pete…”

Pete gently pulled up Connor’s shirt and closed his mouth around Connor’s left nipple, causing Connor’s breast to shudder on his chest. He circled the large nub tauntingly with his tongue. But then he pulled back, and walked off, causing Connor to call him a rude name in his wake. Pete smiled in amusement. Connor was getting rather mouthy. Maybe his old personality was beginning to come back.

Pete dropped down behind his desk chair and began to flip through some of his notes, trying to figure out what one did with such an intriguing discovery as Connor. As an independent researcher, Pete’s options were limited. He had applied repetitively to the lab, but had been denied every time. He had been called reckless and unstable after each application. Pete scoffed at the thought.

Pete went to the fridge and grabbed a beer, before opening a drawer sectioned off to experiments. He withdrew a petri dish and returned to his desk, where he slid it under his microscope and examined it.

Over the course of the evening, Pete carefully sectioned off some male sperm and added an accelerant. He wanted to test the incubation abilities of Connor’s breasts—see whether it could function as actual wombs.

It was in the early hours of the morning that Pete returned to the couch with the product of his work. To his relief, Connor was still sleeping, his chest gently rising and falling with his long breaths.

Though he was a bit tipsy, Pete managed to navigate a sample of the altered sperm into each of Connor’s nipple-pores using a dropper. When it was done, Connor’s twisted his face slightly, and fidgeted somewhat, but seemed otherwise unaffected by the procedure. Connor opened his eyes, and Pete quickly jammed his medical tools into his pockets.

“What are you doing?” said Connor drowsily, heaving himself up onto his elbows.

“Just making sure you’re feeling better?” said Pete.

“I feel fine.”

“Then my mission has been a success,” said Pete cheekily, and Connor rolled his eyes.

Over the next few days, Connor stopped producing milk again, and Pete knew it was a good sign, but Connor seemed concerned. Pete watched as Connor rubbed the side of his breast as he play their video game distractedly and mostly with one hand.

“You okay?” Pete asked, after Connor had lost several game-fights back to back.

“Just a weird…pressure,” Connor grumbled moodily and shrugged.

Pete raised his brows and said nothing.

Within only two weeks, Pete saw distinct changes in Connor, and he couldn’t help himself. He had to do an exam. He dosed Connor’s soda that evening with sleeping pills, and the moment Connor passed out on the couch, Pete began to conduct a sonogram.

Pete was amazed by the results. He had never thought that it would actually work! Connor had a healthy embryo in each breast—blatantly visible—in fact, they looked far older than two weeks. They more closely resembled embryos at the two month mark.

It explained Connor’s complaints of discomfort. The babies were already growing. It also made Pete increasingly astonished and excited about the capabilities of Connor’s breasts.

Pete began to take pictures and document as much as he could without rousing Connor from his sleep. It wasn’t exactly a clinical trial, but it was still a noteworthy accomplishment, even at this fragile stage! And it would be sure to get Pete the recognition he needed to pursue a professional career as a scientist.

Over the next few days, Pete was ecstatic. The scientific implications of his experiment were endless. It could be a method of conceiving for men, or for people who were otherwise infertile. It could be a new means of reproduction for society as a whole.

Connor did not share Pete’s excitement, mostly because he was oblivious as to what was going on. So instead, Connor just gave Pete odd looks, and assumed he was getting high more frequently in lieu of job-hunting. The chicks continued to follow Connor all about the apartment, thinking him to be his mother—which he ultimately was, Pete supposed. And so things proceeded for a while.