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MANBOOBS By Compera He hadn't seen the woman since he was three, apparently. When he met his aunt at the train station, she didn't look much like the rest of his family. "Ryan?" Gina had said, approaching him tentatively. "You've gotten so big!" Ryan gasped as she embraced him. As she pulled back, he noticed she was a very thin woman, with no hips or breasts to speak of. Her stomach, however, was swollen. No one had mentioned his aunt was pregnant. She had to be seven months or so along. "Well, we better be on our way," said Gina, taking his hand and hurrying him off to her car. Ryan didn't notice the other woman at the station looking around for her nephew. The car was very old, and Gina took back routes and empty lanes shrouded in hills, farms, and cornfields. Bored already with the country scenery, Ryan pulled out his cell phone and began to dial his girlfriend only to realize he had no signal. "No cell phone towers around here, I'm afraid," said aunt Gina. "But there's a landline at the house." Oh great, thought Ryan sarcastically, withholding a long sigh. At eighteen, he had recently graduated from high school. Rather than applying to colleges, he had decided he would take a year off to relax. His parents had been decidedly...dissatisfied with this proposition. Hence, his trip to the country, to help his aunt out around her farm. Gina drove up a long driveway into an endless expanse of dried farm land. There were a few overweight cows and chickens waddling about unrestrained. Everything seemed rather bleak and hopeless. Ryan suspected business wasn't booming as they reached an old Victorian house with wooden patchwork, a rattling gutter, and steps missing on the porch. It creaked precariously as they entered the threshold. "Here's the kitchen," said Gina, showing him around. "And the living room-" which was just off the kitchen. Ryan quickly found the phone, picking it up and listening to the dial tone. He input his girlfriend's phone number, but got a busy signal. "Oh, I'm sorry dear, I forgot to mention there's no long distance," said Gina, smiling apologetically at him. "You won't be able to call the city. Local only." Ryan, defeated, dropped the phone back onto the receiver. This really was punishment. His parents were genius. "I can tell you're disappointed," said Gina, as she entered the kitchen and began opening cupboards and pulling out dishes. "So why were you sent here, exactly," she asked. He heard a hint of amusement in her voice. Ryan sighed, following her into the kitchen. There was no point in beating around the bush. "To help you out around the farm. And to - contemplate career goals," he rehearsed what his parents had instructed. "Oh?" said Gina, as she pulled a raw chicken out of her fridge. "What do you have in mind so far?" Ryan glanced away. "Nothing really," he mentioned, slightly obstinate. "Well that's all right," his aunt sympathized. "Sometimes it takes time. Sometimes you just have to focus on what you want." If anything, he appreciated her impartiality. That night they sat down to dinner for chicken, corn, and broccoli. For dessert, his aunt served her homemade sweet potato pie, which he expected to be bland and unappealing - but it was surprisingly good. There was something very soft and creamy in the ingredients - maybe cream, or butter. Ryan mulled over it that night as he drifted off to sleep. Over the next few days Ryan took to farm work: milking cows, feeding the chickens, and picking corn. Sometimes his aunt let him take her car into the town several miles off to run errands for her, but otherwise things were pretty bland. He pitied his aunt's farm animals as he tended to them - all fat, graceless creatures. Cows with udders that were grossly swollen, and chicken that laid eggs almost every hour. He could tell they were being fed growth hormones and fertility drugs. Even small businesses now, he mused as he headed back to the house at the end of the day. After dinner, his aunt would always serve her sweet potato pie. He had never been one for deserts before, but it was so rich and creamy, he couldn't help but indulge. Sometimes he requested a second helping. Sometimes he even slipped out of bed for an extra sliver - or two, or three. And it was catching up to him. He noticed he was beginning to gain weight, especially on his...upper torso. On his chest he had developed anthills where he had been previously lean. Annoyed with himself, Ryan tried his best to diet, but nothing could seem to control his insatiable hunger for his aunt's country cooking and her sweet potato pie. Getting dressed one day after showering, Ryan paused at his mirror. He cupped the pudge on his chest, and it duly wobbled. The anthills had officially become manboobs. His cheeks burned in embarrassment. What would his girlfriend think? Over the next few days, Ryan took to wearing wifebeaters under his shirts in an effort to hide the weight gain. His aunt didn't seem to notice, still as content as ever to pile food onto his plate. Ryan started hunching, especially when he went into town, consciously and not, but very aware of his ever-tightening wifebeater. When he was alone in his room, he'd glare at his mirror. Still, he was getting fatter and fatter - plump, even. Just weird. Gross. He was such a moron! Why was he letting his weight get so out of hand? And why was the weight localized on his chest!? Over the next few days, Ryan continued to unconsciously hunch down, or fold his arms over his chest. He took to working out once a day in shorts and his wifebeater, an uncomfortable heap within it as he jogged. Seated in his room one night, catching his breath after an hour on the treadmill, Ryan glanced down at his chest. They had gone from anthills to manboobs, but then had descended slightly, becoming plumper, tear-shaped, like... breasts. Ryan deeply breathed. He was becoming an outcast, a loser, a - a fat freak! He couldn't live like this! He couldn't take it anymore! But what the fuck could he do? He resorted to several rolls of athletic tape, pulling it out and wrapping it tightly around his chest. In the aftermath, Ryan felt awkward with the fat mounds compressed on his chest, looking pleasantly like pecs- But they weren't. It was tight, and uncomfortable as all hell. He went downstairs to an awkward dinner, not meeting his aunt's eyes, but he felt her gaze on him. "That should do," she murmured. Ryan glanced up. "What?" "Oh nothing, hun." Ryan lightly shook himself. "Can you pass the sweet potatoes?" "We're all out, dear." After dinner, Gina announced she would be going away a few weeks for a farmer's convention. "There's spare cash in my bedroom," she assured him. Ryan could only look at her oddly. He found the idea odd, since she looked almost nine months pregnant by then. Still, the rest of her torso was flat as a board. She headed off the next morning, taking her car, and his only means off the farm. But Ryan was appreciative to have the house to himself for the time being, and kept himself busy with farm work, trying his best to ignore his mounting anxiety and the growing weight on his chest. With his newfound privacy, Ryan allowed himself to remove the athletic tape bounding his chest. His manboob - things - things were getting bigger still, uncomfortably pressed in his wifebeater, so he removed that as well. He took to walking about the house in only a pair of shorts, the awkward heaps jigging uncomfortably. Occasionally he pulled on a t-shirt or a tank top, but still, they left him feeling uneasy, especially when his nipples rubbed the fabric. It was just getting weird. He'd sometimes rub his chest in efforts to alleviate the irritation, but most of his time was just spent shirtless, whether he was watching television, or working out. And yet his - manboobs still continued to - plumpen. It was unnerving. They were just getting strangely - big. Well, his aunt had internet, at least. Ryan started going online in search of solutions. He came across a bunch of weird fetish websites, some derogative websites, and alas, some health sites. Their solutions all entailed diet and weight loss - which decidedly wasn't proving helpful for him. Yet other websites claimed genetics were the problem, but Ryan knew of no others in his family who suffered with his particular - issue. Lastly, he found a website that suggested reductive surgery, and he clenched his jaw. Yeah, like that would be discreet. Besides, Ryan didn't think it would be especially effective for him, since the things were still...growing. The manboobs admittedly were getting kind of fat. They were becoming full blown - breasts. And yet the remainder of his body remained slim. The things jiggled uncomfortably when he moved around, painfully slapping against each other or bouncing down on his chest when he tried to work out on his aunt's treadmill. They were constantly jerking, wobbling, and aching when he exercised. He clutched them at times if just to keep them steady. How the hell did girls tolerate this? One day while searching his aunt's bedroom for that spare cash she had mentioned, Ryan noticed something red and lacy hanging out of one of her dresser drawers. Curiously, he reached out and lifted it by a strap, eying what it was. A bra. Blushing slightly, Ryan stuffed the undergarment back into his aunt's drawer and quickly left the room, cash left forgotten. That night he tossed and turned in his sleep, unaccustomed to the new pressure against his lungs. When he turned onto his stomach, he groaned as his manboobs were squished beneath him. And during the day, when he went about shirtless, Ryan noticed that his nipples were a little - different. A little puffier, and - harder, even. Erect, he admitted. They were constantly erect. It added an uncomfortable necessity to his anti-shirt protocol, and a few trips to the bathroom during his exercise regiment. It was shockingly arousing when anything even brushed his nipples, causing an instant tightness in his shorts and a shiver to run down his spine. His breasts would heave and bounce as he attended to his arousal. He'd peer at them as he did so, gasping, moaning, becoming even more turned on, and congruously disgusted with himself. They were so plump, so pert - it just didn't seem natural for a male to develop this amount of localized weight gain. He'd later reflect that if he'd had these tits on a chick, he'd have been a lucky man. But instead, of course, they were attached to him. Over the next few days, strange coincidences kept bringing Ryan his back to his aunt's room, whether he was looking for spare cash or just things she had left for him on her bureau to attend to, like checks to send off to the electric company, or keys to the back shed. And whenever he entered his aunt's room, Ryan would again notice the red lacy bra peeking out from her bureau. He couldn't determine, or admit, why his gaze would always seem to linger there. Finally, when he could take no more of how impatient and disgusted he was with himself, he snatched the thing and shoved it into his pocket. Ryan hurried to his room, slamming and locking the door, though he very well knew there wasn't a person around for miles. He pulled out the bra and examined it. Strapless. D-cups. He raised his eyebrows. What was his aunt doing with D-cups? They would never fit her, let alone...him. Deeply inhaling, he decided to try it on regardless. More accustomed to removing the contraption from other people, Ryan awkwardly hooked the bra around his waste, before turning it around and tugging it up to his chest. He eased his plump breasts into the cups, and stared down at the result. A perfect fit. It took him a while to get used to the concept of wearing a bra - and of having D-cup breasts! He regularly fell into denial, taking off the contraption and throwing it against a wall. He'd later retrieve it in his discomfort, reflecting on how supportive the stupid device was. More than anything else, he was simply alarmed. Ryan was beginning to think something was seriously wrong with him. He returned to the internet, with slight more desperation, going to search engines and inputting terms like "severe hormone imbalance" and "male breast growth." Still, he came up empty-handed, so he buried his anxiety, instead, in exercise. Sit-ups, push-ups, weightlifting - just what would target the breasts!? During his breaks he walked around the house in only the bra and shorts, the manboob - things - pressed together in the strapless bra, creating a fat mound of cleavage above it, flushed, and usually gleaming with sweat. His nipples, puffier still, stuck out in the red fabric, and Ryan could consciously feel their continuous arousal, but he struggled his best to ignore it. Sometimes he just gazed blankly down at the breasts, feeling rather dazed. The mounds bulged just the slightest over the bra cups when he inhaled. But over the next few days, Ryan found the bra getting steadily tighter, until they were bulging a little more out of the cups, and then yet more. Soon the puffy mounds were painfully compressed in the tight bra, and Ryan could no longer ignore it. They were still - fucking - growing. His face was red from the exertion of trying to breathe as he adjusted and readjusted the bra in the bathroom mirror, but nothing he did could seem to loosen it enough to accommodate his girth. "It - got shrunk in the dryer," he told the mirror, and his reflection stared blankly back at him. Ryan turned away, lowering the bra, his breasts bobbing with his heavy breathing. He grit his teeth. What the hell was happening to him? What was he going to do? What was he going to do? He remained stationary for what felt like an hour, before finally exiting the bathroom and finding his aunt's bedroom. Opening one of the drawers of her bureau, he snatched a handful of bras and hurried back out of the room. When he returned to his room and looked down at his findings, Ryan could only stare. There was a bra of every color. They came strapped and strapless, silk and lace, cotton and transparent, there were push-ups, underwired, overwired, bodices - just everything imaginable, and all owned by the woman who had no tits to speak of. Curiously, Ryan looked at the sizes and was further stunned. Most of them were DDs, and Es - if not larger! He had no idea what his aunt was doing with them, but Ryan tried some on before he could lose the nerve. He was subsequently peeved with the results. They fit. Rejecting the concept that he could have grown breasts that large Ryan dropped his aunt's ill-labeled bras and left the room, burying his woes in television, exercise, and whatever leftover sweet potato pie Gina had left for him in the fridge. He noticed that he was running low on milk. With his collection - well pair - of personal dilemmas, he had gradually slacked off from his duties on the farm, though he suspected the animals weren't appreciative. Ryan pulled on a shirt that had originally been loose on him but was now skin tight around his chest, and exposing some of his midriff. Brows furrowed, he fruitlessly tugged the T-shirt down. Stalking out the door and down to the farm, the things on his chest bouncing awkwardly, Ryan headed first to the henhouse, and paused. He had left an abundance of chicken feed in his growing reluctance to tend to them, but maybe it had been a bad call on his part. The chickens had grown so grossly obese, they had alas plopped down in their feed, and were surrounded by piles of jumbo-sized eggs that poured out of the henhouse. Staring dazedly at the animals, Ryan knelt down and collected as many as he could into buckets, his face a mixture of disgust and fascination. His aunt really needed to ease up on the fertility drugs she put in the animal food. After putting aside two buckets of eggs for his trip back to the house, Ryan headed to the barn. There he heard the cows moaning unpleasantly, and as he approached the first stall and knelt down before one, he stared blankly at their engorged udders, all fat, seeping milk, some even extending as far as to perch on the ground. Ryan felt suddenly nauseous, but took a stool nonetheless, and reached down to milk the first cow. But with every jerk he did on the swollen udder, his breasts bobbed, and his nipples rubbed against his shirt, getting harder and more swollen with each exertion. He deeply breathed through the ritual, until he could continue no longer. All the - movement - was just too arousing. Ryan stood and staggered out of the barn, leaving the discontent cow to its suffering. He stopped just outside, but instead of stuffing his hand into his pants, he reached into his shirt, clutching both breasts as he squeezed and rubbed them, his nipples seeming unusually plump as he pressed them between his fingers. He groaned, continuing to massage his breasts until his arousal was satisfied. They were so fucking pert and round, like a woman's - no, like a fucking supermodel's. It didn't make sense that they were on him. It didn't make sense how he could be so simultaneously aroused and disgusted by himself. When Ryan got back to the house, closing the front door behind him, deeply breathing, he pulled up his shirt and stared down at the breasts. They were flushed, and even more - swollen-looking, if that made any sense. His nipples were fatter, sticking out more than ever. Heart pounding in his anxiety, Ryan suspected he could do to wear a bra after all. Over the next few days, Ryan began to work out harder, burying his frustration and desperation in exercise. He usually donned just a bra, or sometimes pulled on a tank top, but was always unnerved by the mass of gleaming cleavage bulging over it. Push-ups became newly difficult with the weight of his breasts. Once or twice his biceps surrendered to their burden and he collapsed upon them, before yelping in pain and immediately curling to his side, clutching them. His nipples practically pulsated, round as golf balls and hard enough to be cupped through his clothes, always seeming to push outwards against his palms, to his heavy breathing and unwilling grunts of stimulation. His breasts bounced uncomfortably even when he wore a bra. They continued to grow bigger and bigger, becoming increasingly disproportionate with the rest of him, becoming strangely massive regardless of his gender. He'd fretfully tug up the bras as they reliably stretched and sank beneath their growing burden. Maybe it was a biological problem? Or a hormone imbalance? Ryan continued to scavenge the internet for answers as his problem exacerbated in the meantime. It wasn't that he hadn't considered seeing a doctor. It was just that he was too mortified to. He didn't even step outside onto the property anymore, even if the farm was relatively isolated. The prospect of someone - anyone - seeing him in his condition scared him into seclusion. And as the days passed, he grew and grew. Soon enough his breasts pressed against each other, fighting for room on his chest. Why were they so...round, and - pert, pink nipples sticking out, looking ready to pop off like corkscrews. He grunted, disgusted that it was pleasurable - even a little painful. He'd come to notice a weird, building sensation of pressure within them over the passed few days. At times he'd tentatively reach down and grab hold of the side of one of the mounds, only to groan in regret. They had become so fucking sensitive. He'd deeply breathe while waiting for his arousal to semi- subside. It never completely subsided anymore. That night, hours after going to bed, Ryan grunted in discomfort, groggily opening one of his eyes. He'd been awoken by a new, stinging sensation in his nipples. Cursing irritably and propping himself up on one of his elbows, he reached down and touched one, before pausing. He opened his other eye. Moisture. Ryan fumbled for the light switch beside his bed. The room was illuminated for him to spot twin patches of moisture on his shirt. "What...?" Suddenly wide awake, he abruptly sat up, wincing as he breasts slapped together in his nightshirt, refusing to collaborate with the movement. As they continued to jiggle even after his body had frozen, the stinging in his nipples seemed to intensify. There was a visible dampening in the front of his shirt as the patches of moisture slowly expanded. "No," said Ryan, struggling to rip off his shirt. He subsequently stared at the twin globes on his chest, plump nipples looking innocent enough. That's when a single white droplet dripped from the tip of his left nipple. "No!" Ryan shouted, climbing to his feet and ignoring his discomfort. He began to pace the room, his breasts sore as they swung and bounced with his movement. Ryan curled one of his arms beneath them, distractedly supporting them. His heart was racing in panic. This couldn't be happening. Males didn't - lactate! Most females didn't even do it! The trade was reserved for nursing mothers. Grabbing his skull and gasping for breath, Ryan arched his back and stared up at the ceiling, as though the heavens could offer him some sort of consolation. Slowly, he looked back down at his heaving breasts, to spot more white droplets inconspicuously dribbling from his nipples. Shit. He retreated to the bathroom adjoining his bedroom, wads of paper towels grasped in his fists and clutched against his nipples. Still frantically pacing about, he became aware that he may very well have become hysterical, but at that moment he couldn't care less. All that could register was his pounding heart, burning nipples, and those strange sensations building within his overabundance. Numbness. A tingling. Pressure. Ryan slowly removed the paper towels, and blinked. He waited a few moments, but still found no additional milk exuding from his nipples. He cautiously went back to his bedroom, spotting one of the bras slung carelessly over his desk. It was a cotton purple GG-cup that had been a little loose on him. Grabbing the article of lingerie, Ryan secured it around his waist before tugging it up to his breasts as gently as possible and slipping his arms into the straps. To his shock, it seemed to fit him a little tightly today, his breasts bulging slightly against the cups. They felt increasingly sore within the confining material, but they felt mercifully more supported and there was considerably less activity. Still panting, he stared at his breasts as though expecting a rebut. Maybe it had been a...false alarm. Maybe just a spontaneous, outlandish, one-time occurrence, courtesy to his unusual size. Maybe he had even been tired or confused. Men just didn't lactate. Or maybe he was in denial. Ryan resumed his pacing, arms folded under breasts, perching them yet higher on his chest. Consistently he glanced back down at them. False alarm...it was just a false alarm. Tentatively allowing his muscles to relax, he released an awkward chuckle. He was losing his mind. Trying to calm down, Ryan pulled on a shirt and went downstairs. He'd put on a tank top stretched taut to accommodate his girth, and a simple pair of boxers out of habit. He hastily put together some scrabbled eggs and microwaved bacon before plopping down at the kitchen table. Ryan ran his hand through his hair and wiped some sweat off his temple. He felt so warm - hot - kind of suffocated. Attributing it to his panic attack, he gripped the front his tank top with one hand and distractedly grasped his knife with the other. He then cut a long opening in the front of his stretched tank top that allowed his cleavage to bubble through the fabric, successfully turning the collar it into a makeshift v-neck. The tear extended yet more from the pressure of containing the mounds. They rose and fell with Ryan's sighs of relief. Like his temple, Ryans cleavage was sleek with sweat. Finally, he gobbled down his breakfast like only a teenage boy could, before gulping down a glass of water, and then a second, if just to cool down. A trail of water rolled down his chin and into his cleavage, his breasts still bulging over the bra it was outgrowing. Ryan lowered the glass and leaned back, for the first time in days feeling relaxed and content. He heard his shirt tear an inch more. So fucking big... And not just big - they were plump, round, not sagging in the least despite their expeditious development. And they'd gotten so fucking heavy as of late. Ryan reached down and arbitrarily starched one of his nipples. Moisture. Again, he slowly looked down. Dishes dumped unceremoniously in the sink, Ryan retreated to his bedroom and tore off his shirt, leaving only the bra and the growing patches of moisture that were slowly encompassing it. They were so hot and so fucking heavy as though they were full of the foul fluid, the fucking - Ryan swallowed - milk? Ryan turned to his mirror and could only gaze at the massive mammarys, the bra pinching deeper and deeper into his flesh, nipples stinging and seeping from the external pressure. "Shit." Discarding the impotent bra, Ryan returned downstairs to the living room clutching wads of paper towel against his nipples. Despite his refusal to move, the - the lactation - seeming to be intensifying. He could do little more than whimper in pain, pleasure, and mortification. What the hell was he going to do. He stiffened when he suddenly heard a jingling of keys. Turning toward the front door, he heard the sound of it unlocking and saw the knob turning. Gasping as the door began to open, Ryan tugged down his shirt and ran into the kitchen, his breasts heaving even after his body had stopped. Hiding behind the doorframe, he remained frozen in panic. Little did Ryan know, his breasts were so large they could be seen from the living room even though the rest of his body could not. Shamelessly round and pert, they practically demanded attention. He grunted as his nipples arbitrarily tightened, sticking out more than ever. He suddenly regretted that he wasn't wearing a bra. "My name is Mindy," said the high, girlish voice of the intruder. Ryan's eyes widened. He'd been sure it was his aunt. Not risking a peek at the unknown visitor, Ryan clenched his jaw. "Who are you? How the hell did you get in here?" he demanded, sweating. His breasts continued to bob with his heavy breathing. He grunted as a few fresh droplets of milk seeped from them. "I'm a neighbor. Though you probably can't see my house from here, I live at the top of the hill. Your aunt gave me a spare key - for emergencies," Mindy said, still standing stationary in the living room. Ryan furrowed his eyebrows. "Then what are you doing here?" The girl fell momentarily silent. He remained unaware of her staring at his mounds. "I, um - saw you on the property a few days ago," said Mindy, awkwardly. "I couldn't believe - I didn't think it was true - but it is!" Ryan's eyes widened as he heard the girl begin to approach. "No - stay away from me! Get out!" he yelled, but Mindy suddenly turned the corner. In one swift move, Mindy jerked his shirt up over his breasts, grabbed one, and clamped her lips over the other. Ryan grunted in shock as she took one great suck. He shoved her away from him, his body flushed and shaky. She clutched the throbbing nipple she had suckled, milk continuing to pour out of it and through his fingers. Ryan gasped for breath, trying to fend of the soreness, and those disturbing sensations of pleasure. "What the hell is wrong with you? Get-" But he was interrupted when Mindy was again upon him, accosting him, and he was too stunned to rebut. Kissing and nipping his nipples, she thrust her hands into his pants, and his arousal made itself known, on his torso and in his shorts. The two stumbled to the living room couch, and Ryan pushed her down, climbing over her, his bravado quickly taking over. He hadn't been with a girl in ages. He yanked down Mindy's shorts and quickly undid his, before entering her as abruptly as she had suckled him. Mindy moaned, and they began, his breasts bobbing between them, and sending spurts of milk in her face. Gasping, Mindy grabbed hold of one, squeezing, and aiming his nipple for her mouth. Ryan grunted from her handling, and as the lactation intensified, his nipples stinging and breasts feeling taut as they submitted to her demand. Wincing, he too submitted, and lowered himself slightly to allow her better access. He could barely breathe as his nipples and penis were simultaneously pumped for all they were worth. He awoke hours later, sprawled on the couch with Mindy, soaked in sweat and...milk. Arching his back in discomfort, he opened his eyes to notice Mindy was already up, and back to obsessing over his mounds. She began to kiss them, tenderly at first, before moving on to his nipples, licking them, blowing them, and then licking them some more. Ryan felt them swell up even more than he'd thought possible, tightening unbearably, and aching deliciously. "No...stop," he grunted, too aroused to do anything about it. His nipples felt like they would explode. He listened to Mindy fit her lips around one, and begin to suckle all over again. He grunted as she again took hold of his breast, squeezing, urging milk into her mouth in faster and faster gushes. Ryan groaned when it seemed he could produce no more, but Mindy continued to suck regardless. She then moved on to his other nipple, Ryan gasping for breath. When Mindy was finished attending to his latter breast, the former felt strangely...bloated again, his areola tingling. Giggling, Mindy massaged it, and Ryan reluctantly opened his eyes, spotting fresh droplets of milk drip from it. He deeply breathed. As they lay there, basking in the afterglow, he could feel his breasts quickly returning to their previous states. He tried his best to hide his discomfort and fend off her attentions as he felt his breasts continue to bloat, and quickly, as though to serve a demand. They became hotter, heavier, flushed with their fresh burden. He felt a pressure develop behind his nipples, and felt them start to ache again, as though in preparation for a hungry mouth. Finally, they both began to seep without provocation. Mindy unfortunately noticed, and resumed with her rubbing and giggling. "Are you okay?" she asked. Ryan grunted. "Not...at all." As he caught his breath and stared at his heaving mounds, he realized they weren't heaving. He could see them shifting...bloating...right before his eyes. He could physically feel them tightening, and see them pressing upward, downward...against each other, out at his sides. Against the delighted Mindy, who continued to massage them, as though urging them to grow more. His nipples burned, and milk continued to seep from them, but not fast enough to counter the pressure. Ryan grasped the underside of one of his breasts, feeling to tremble precariously against him. "They're gorgeous," Mindy declared. "W-what?" Ryan managed. "Fantastic," said Mindy. She again leaned down to his nipples, which Ryan could barely even see anymore. He pushed her off him. Mindy looked up at him, blinking, and looking hurt. Ryan tugged down his wet shirt, but it could barely stretch over the top half of his mounds, and threatened to explode to shreds against them. He climbed heavily to his feat nonetheless, thrown off by the weight on his chest. Panting, he stared down at himself. He looked like two basketballs had been stuffed in the front of his shirt. His nipples resembled tennis balls, if they could ache, seep, and pulsate they way they did. His heart pounded and arms shook. "Get out." "What?" said Mindy. "GET OUT!" Hastily grabbing and putting on what she could of her clothes, Mindy hurried out of the house. As the door slammed shut behind her, Ryan leaned down, holding the couch for leverage. With his free hand, he grasped what he could of his breasts, but they were just too large, and too heavy, spilling out of his hands and splattering the floor with more milk. A male shouldn't have been able to develop breasts this large, and so rapidly. Not even a female should have been capable of such a feat. This wasn't anywhere near normal. This was the opposite of normal. Ryan reluctantly, straightened, trying to adjust to the new weight on his chest. He tried not to look at them, but it was simply impossible not to. What have I done to myself? he wondered, agonized by the sight of himself. He would have cried if he was a more confident boy, but simply choked back his contempt and forced himself to ascend the staircase. By the time he reached his aunt's bedroom, he was gasping for breath. He rummaged through her dresser, struggling to see into it beyond his mounds, and grabbed one of the largest bras he could find. It looked comically gigantic, and was left thankfully unlabeled. Ryan didn't want to know what one would consider his size. Struggling with his balance, and the new limits on the flexibility of his arms, he tugged the bra on as gently as he could and slipped into the straps. The mounds heaved up uncomfortably, pressing his lungs, and leaving him to gasp for breath. He stared into his large expanse of cleavage, trembles running through it though his body remained inanimate. Ryan continued to breathe. He turned and ambled to his room. The bra did help with his balance problems, and did take some of the weight off his back. He felt exhausted. He felt like a fucking cow. Ryan sunk to his bed, and was out before his head touched the pillow. - - - He did little more than toss and turn in disturbing dreams and terrible discomfort, until the early hours of the morning, at which point he finally did sink into a deeper sleep, only to gasp awake again a few hours later, his body clenched in pain. He had neglected to take off the bra that evening before going to bed, and now the thing was - strangling him! Struggling to breathe, Ryan turned on the lights and yanked at the contraption binding his chest, breasts so large they bulged from all sides of it. The bra was stretched to its limits and diggings into his shoulders, the stitching pulling apart and threatening to tear. But not soon enough, Ryan thought, eyes tearing as the bra snagged against his nipples with his struggles, until finally the hooks snapped and it fell listlessly against his chest. His breasts burst free, bouncing painfully, and causing his bed to be splattered with milk. They continued to jiggle and the leaking subsequently intensified. Ryan clutched the undersides his breasts, both rising and rising with each of his deep breaths. He watched impotently as milk continued to seep from both nipples with increasing speed and volume. He had suffered another growths spurt, it seemed. Again, his bed and clothes were soaked in milk. Ryan climbed out of bed, feeling nauseous. Peeling off his wet boxers, he entered his bathroom and climbed into the shower, trying his best to clean himself without arousing himself. The mounds could barely fit comfortably in the small space anymore, and he had to clutch the shower doors just not to slip and lose his balance. His mounds tightened and tingled as they were splattered with water. Eugh, they were beginning to feel so fucking tight. But still they were soft and round, with considerable resistance when he touched them or when they wobbled. His back ached like all hell. Nothing made sense anymore. Climbing heavily out of the shower, Ryan wrapped a towel around his waist. His breasts were pressed together, and slowly becoming wider than his shoulders, sticking out like mutant melons and dominating the rest of his physique. In the bathroom mirror, he raised one slightly. Still so heavy. But the leaking had stopped for the time being. Ryan dressed himself, dealing with his breasts as tenderly as possibly. He had finally reached his aunt's final, and largest bra, sliding it up his torso and easing the mounds into the cups. It was strapless, and gave his sore shoulders a break from all the weight, but left a considerable burden on his back. His mounds didn't sink, as one would expect. They were spherical from top to bottom, and perpetually looking for more room to fill out. That afternoon, Ryan tried to relax, lest his pounding heart finally exploded. Climbing onto the couch, he exhaustedly reclined, ignoring as the phone began to ring. Though the television was on, Ryan stared blankly down at his breasts, heaving innocently, even if his lungs weren't. Heaving on his chest of their own accord, looking glorious and horrifying as they bulged just the slightest from his aunt's massive bra. To his dismay, dark spots were beginning to appear on his shirt over his nipples. And his nipples, in turn, seemed to be getting more pronounced, as though in preparation to start releasing a fresh batch of milk. They began to pulsate, and he tried not to moan. On fourth ring, Ryan distractedly grasped for the phone and held it to his ear. "Yeah?" he breathed. "Ryan, it's your aunt Gina! I just wanted to let you know I'm on my way home from the train station..." Ryan's jaw fell slack. "I should be there in five min-" Ryan hung up the phone. Heavily climbing off the couch, clutching his breasts the best he could with one of his arms, he paused to catch his breath. They had gotten very difficult to navigate as of late, breasts wobbling about independent from the rest of him. As quickly as they would allow him, Ryan gathered garbage and food wrappings off the living room floor, leaning down carefully with each thing he collected. Straightening again was twice as difficult, his spine burning in protest. Next, Ryan hurried upstairs to his room and gathered up all the bras he'd borrowed from his aunt, then went back to her room and stuffed them unceremoniously into her bureau, stretched and misshapen as they were. Some were even torn. Lastly, Ryan reached behind him and unlatched the bra he donned, wincing as his breasts slapped down on his chest. He shoved that as well into a drawer, before exiting her bedroom and heading back to his, clutching the mounds with both hands as he did so. He closed his bedroom door behind him just as he heard the front door open. What was he going to do? He couldn't let her see him like this! "I'm home!" Gina called. Opening his door just a crack, Ryan paused, furrowing his brows. Annoyed that his breasts were impeding him by putting an unwanted distance between his body and the door, he pressed them against it and did his best to peer into the hallway. He heard his aunt begin to bound up the stairs before spotting her enter the second floor landing. "Ryan!" she cried, approaching. Ryan forced a smile. "Hey..." he said, not opening the door any further. "What are you doing in there?" said his aunt, raising her eyebrows. "I'm just...not feeling well," Ryan lied awkwardly. He watched his aunt's eyes fill with concern. She began to approach his door...with a noticeable waddle. It was only then that Ryan looked down, and noticed her gravid abdomen. His eyes widened. She looked as though she could have been overdue with triplets. "Really, I'm fine aunt Gina. I'm gonna turn in early. Goodnight," said Ryan, quickly snapping the door shut. Heaving a sigh, he leaded against his closed bedroom door. He couldn't hide from her forever. What was he going to do? Tell her the truth? Show it to her? Set himself on fire? The latter option felt incredibly appealing at that moment, especially since he suspected he could no longer fit out the bedroom window. Even if he could, he didn't think his aunt's gutters would be able to support his weight during a climb to the ground. And hypothetically speaking, if he did accomplish these things, then where to next? The circus? The fact that he was actually deliberating all this scared him to death. Really - what the hell was he going to do? Teeth grit in his anxiety, Ryan grabbed a wifebeater off his dresser and pulled it on, struggling to force it over his massive mounds, but the moment he finally succeeded, it tore right down the middle, unwilling to accommodate his girth. Hissing a curse, Ryan managed to pull on a tanktop instead, stretched taut against the globes and threatening to spill out of it in the meantime. His cleavage was flushed, sweaty, flawless. And none of it made any sense. Tense in frustration, Ryan climbed into his bed and curled up, his body nuzzling his bloated bosom. He somehow managed to drift off for a couple of hours, at least until he was awoken by a presence in the room. Groggily, he recognized the figure hovering over him as aunt Gina, if just because of her boulder-sized belly. Unfortunately his benumbed mind didn't register the ramifications of this until a moment later. "What are you doing in here?" said Ryan, gasping awake. "Oh come now, Ryan. You can show me." His aunt was suddenly beside him, eying the miniature mountains tucked beneath his blankets. Ryan felt himself go cold. "What-? Errgh, I'm trying to sleep!" He unconsciously clutched his mounds under the sheets, feeling himself shake in panic. It was dark in the room. Maybe she wouldn't notice. "No need to be shy about it," said Gina. "We all go through changes." What? She knew-? No way she knew! "What are you talking about-?" He gasped as Gina ripped the sheets off him, leaving his massive breasts on display, still crammed uncomfortably in his shrinking tanktop. The thing was stretched to its seams, a tear developing beneath his cleavage. Ryan flushed deeply as Gina reached down and extended the tear, until both of his breasts plopped out into open air, the tanktop rendered impotent. Ryan gasped for breath, his mounds heaving and face burning. He stared into his aunt's pleased eyes. "You-!" Ryan was cut off when Gina pinched both of his nipples tightly in her fists, rolling them between her fingers. He yelped in pain, but she didn't release them, and he could do little more than cry out, cupping the undersides of his breasts, and feeling that strange sensation of pressure within them, building, until he could take no more. He could physically feel and see his breasts expanding. Ryan moaned in agony. Gina finally released his nipples, but little good this did. Ryan's breasts continued to get tighter and tighter, sinking, then bobbing, hot, flushed, full. He was sure they would explode. "No...nnngh..." He yelped as his nipples puckered outwards, and twin streams of milk burst out of them. He could only gasp for breath as the fluid poured into his lap and pooled on his sheets, spraying with enough momentum to splatter Gina. "What are you doing to me?" Ryan cried, trying his best to grasp his nipples. Between the discomfort and the pleasure, he'd had an accident in his shorts. "Well what do you think those things are for, dear?" Gina responded cheerfully. Ryan watched her gingerly stand and walk to the door, holding her large belly lovingly. "I'll be back tomorrow to help you with some - exercises," she grinned. "We must make sure you're nice and ample when my babies arrive." Ryan watched her exit the room and heard a lock turn following her exit. Following her leave, he struggled to a sitting position. "Eugh." His breasts had become large enough to hover just over his lap when he was sitting up. Still round and fat as ever, jiggled precariously, threatening to spill away from him and throw him off balance. His back and shoulders ached as they fought to keep him upright. His nipples continued to not seep, but spray thick torrents of milk, and it was as painful as it was arousing. Clutching the mounds as best and as carefully as he could, Ryan climbed to his feet and staggered to the door. He had to turn sideways just to reach the knob, and his suspicions were confirmed. It was locked. Struggling to straighten while hugging the sides of the globes on his chest, he wobbled to the window, and only then noticed that it was nailed shut. He slowly came to realize that Gina wasn't his aunt, but his abductor. Holding the wall, Ryan moved to the bathroom adjoining his room and took minutes to find a way to navigate himself through the doorway. Once inside, he hunched over the sink to catch some of the milk flow. He was soaking wet, regardless. Splattered milk covered the walls and floor. He groaned as the counter took some weight off his back, and then stared down at himself. He could no longer see the latter half of his body. Here he was a lactating, fucking, man. Fuck. How had he gotten into such a mess? That evening, the lactation never subsided, but the momentum did lessen, until milk was back to lazily oozing from his pulsating nipples. Most of his night was spent reclined on a collection of pillows, moaning in discomfort, and tense in apprehension of what was to come. Regardless of it all, he found his body was still painfully aroused. He barely caught an hour of sleep. What was going to happen to him? When the sun rose in the morning, his mounds had predictably expanded, leaving him trying to breathe, in and out, as he dealt with the pressure on his lungs. There was no longer any space on his chest, and the mounds simply grew forwards and outwards, overlapping his arms, and drooping only the slightest. Struggling to move, he couldn't help fantasizing about the mounds swallowing him whole. Then it would be over. He groaned as his breasts trembled forebodingly. Ryan looked up when there was a knock on his door. His "aunt" entered the room, seeming pleased with the sight of him. The woman was completely insane. He would have attempted to get passed her, but her belly looked even larger today. He couldn't fathom how she'd anchored it through the doorframe, and he didn't have the heart to hit a pregnant woman. Besides, he suspected that even if he could make it to the door, he wouldn't fit through it, let alone make it off the farm. Her pleased smile transforming into a wicked grin, Gina approached. What was that in her arms? "Stay away from me," said Ryan, impotently trying to back away from her. His breasts seemed to tighten despite him, his nipples puffing out, keen. Taking advantage of his discomposure, Gina easily cornered him, pushing him down and pinning his legs with her massive belly. She fitted the device to his breasts. Extra, large cattle pumps. They could barely cover his areola, but they functioned nonetheless. Soon enough, it would become another part of his daily - sometimes hourly routine. He yelled, and protested, and groaned throughout the ordeal, milk pumping out of him, and yet with each pump, the pressure seemed to grow and grow, his breasts simply tightening. He felt, indeed, like a cow, or maybe like a beached whale, where he was perched heavily on his mattress. He couldn't do much but grunt and whimper, until he didn't know how much time had passed, and the cups fell off him, his breasts too large for any hope of their accommodation. Gina's heavy weight was lifted from his legs, and she stared thoughtfully down at his mounds as they feebly wobbled. "Well, that'll be enough for today," she said. Soon his breasts got fat enough to plop down in his lap. He tried his best to clutch them any of the times he attempted to stand. Sometimes Gina humored him with large t-shirts, but all they really covered was his collarbone, his breasts jutting out beneath the taut hem. She seemed amused nonetheless, and he could only pant, and concentrate on getting through his latest session of milking. Gina came back when each of the sessions were over, lotioning his mounds to maximize elasticity, she said, but it mostly seemed to just stimulate them further. In the evenings when he was free to sleep, shifting onto his pillows was another trial. He'd feel hot, and sweaty, full to the brim despite everything that had transpired. The pressure perpetually mounted in his breasts, but he'd try his best not to release it, shifting inch by inch toward a more comfortable position. Of course, he consistently failed, and the dam broke, milk spurting out from both his nipples. He suspected his aunt was pleased by the agonized groans coming from his room. He wasn't getting any sleep, and the daytime milkings had become a barely-conscious ritual. Seeking out more room to expand as his lap impeded them, the mounds fattened and fattened toward his collarbone and chin. They had practically become creatures in themselves, keen to be milked, and to grow. They oozed unattractively; spitting, spewing, belching white bubbles. Soon he could rarely sit upright anymore, and didn't want to for that matter. He remained sprawled on his bed, perched awkwardly on his breasts, which had quickly expanded to the size of beach balls. He groaned uncomfortably, but tried his best to keep still. His nipples sprayed milk perpetually, and especially large and painful torrents when he shifted, or gasped, or when Gina entered the room. "Eugh." He watched the hugely pregnant woman waddle over for his latest milking session. She was determined to keep him nice and "supple" for her evil litter. She looked as though she was overdue with octuplets by then. The doorframe had been widened for her one night when he was asleep or delirious, but he couldn't have cared less. He didn't want to think about who else was involved in the madness. Just as Gina reached him she paused to gasp before hunching over to clutch her belly. Alas, labor. The End