After The Pandemic free porn video

After the pandemic Author's note: This is a work of imagination loosely based on real events. I don't want to belittle the work of those that give their lives and energy to fight diseases every day, and I don't mean to offend those whose life has changed for the worse during real pandemics. My thoughts are with them every day. This is just a short work of fiction written in a couple of days. I hope you enjoy. --------------------- My name is Alex and I still remember when the pandemic exploded four years ago. I was fourteen years old and I recall being stuck at home in London for six months straight. My parents were both working from home and all I could do was to hide in my bedroom watching por... err... playing with the Playstation or hang out in our small garden playing darts against myself. All school exams had been suspended and I didn't have much motivation to study, so I was simply getting bored from morning to evening. From what I could gather from the news, a vaccine was a long way away and so was a cure, so we all had to stay at home to avoid catching and spreading the bug. Nobody was allowed outside their home unless it was for the bare necessities. Fast forward six months and ideas about how to go back to life started emerging. People were tired of staying at home and a sizeable part of the population had lost their jobs. A referendum was called among the older people, the "Martyr referendum" they called, where they agreed to loosen the protective belt around themselves even if this could have cost them their lives. At the same time, everything that could help to immunize the population was being made more or less mandatory for the different parts of the population. While older people would still choose to isolate as much as possible, adults were given quarterly shots of strong anti-virals that their grown-up bodies could stand, babies and kids were almost immune, women, in general, seemed to be less targeted by the virus, and the only uncovered part of the population was the late teen males. Between 16 and 25 years of age seemed to be the time when males were catching the virus more easily and they were spreading it the most because they were sweating like fountains and moving all the time. A decision was soon taken that the lockdown would only continue for that age group unless it was possible to adopt different measures. And I was a part of that age group. While I wasn't eager to go back to school, I understood that remaining at home for many years would have killed my chances to get a better job in the future, and nobody knew what society would look like after all that mess, so I was hoping for some solution to become available. When I turned 17 and I had been at home for over a year, a scientist released a study saying that women's hormones were what was keeping the virus away from them and it was reducing the chances of further propagation even if they caught it. Healthy adult women did not catch the virus as much as men, and pregnant women seemed to be the most resistant to the bug. Some tests were done in the male population, and while they were treated with estrogens and progesterone, the virus seemed to stay away from the subjects. In a further test, in some test subjects, the level of hormones was regulated to match that of pregnant women, and they never caught the virus at all. A law was quickly passed and every teenager between 18 and 25 could decide to adhere to the program and be given the hormones. This, obviously, came at a cost. While the VDHT (Virus defense hormone therapy) would not give the most obvious signs of pregnancy like an inflated belly, other changes might occur in the body of the subjects. The program was 12 months long because it included some "post-delivery" hormonal control needed to change back hormonal levels to what they used to be. Some of my older friends grew some man-boobs before the therapy was over, others lost muscle mass, others developed a larger ass. Most of those things could go away with a lot of exercises, something that I disliked as much as studying, and society started to accept chubbier young adults as normal. There were some guys who at 18 had a body strong enough to be able to take the anti-virals, and who didn't have the side effects, but the VDHT seemed to be a somehow better solution because the immunization was permanent at the end. When I turned 18 I was faced with the choice of living at home for another 7 years or to go through the VDHT. It wasn't much of a choice, to be honest. Even my parents said that whatever happened to my body I could just do some pushups and by the time I'd be out of university it would all seem like a big joke. The week after I turned 18, an ambulance took me to my General Practitioner and I signed the papers for VDHT. At that point, things had been streamlined and all I had to do was to get my one shot. The hormones were administered through a small capsule injected in my left ass cheek. It would automatically release what was needed, and in just fifteen days I would be able to go out in the wide world once again. ---- MONTH ONE ---- The world is a big place. And with "the world" I mean the park next to my home. I was sitting on a bench at the park after playing basketball with some of my older friends, and I admired how I could see most of London from that part of the park. It doesn't seem like much but after four years in isolation, the sense of depth and perspective changes drastically. As soon as I could go out, I was happy to drop my Playstation controller and do something outside. I discovered that walking was more fun than I ever thought, and many things had changed in four years so I had plenty of stuff to discover. I tried to do as much sport as I could, but I had to get used to running and jumping again. Some of my friends also reported that during the first two months of VDHT they had to take it easy because the extra hormones were lowering their energy. Thankfully, they had all been through it and nobody made fun of me. Sam, the oldest guy in the group, was the one that was hit the most by the side effects of the meds and he showed me that working out a lot he was reducing the amount of soft fat left on his chest. His nipples were enlarged but not to an obscene level, and he didn't care. ---- MONTH TWO ---- School has started at the end of that month. It's not as hard as it used to be because many people are coming back after years of isolation and they need to take everyone to the same level. This year will probably be spent just catching up with stuff we should have studied at home. The really good thing is that I go to a coed school and I can finally look at some members of the opposite sex once again. The only female I have seen for way too long was my mother and I needed something to clean my eyes with. Some of my classmates were quite hot. The doctor sent me a pamphlet with details on what to expect from VDHT each month. In month two I could expect my skin to be a bit softer all over my body and my facial hair to slow its growth. I didn't notice either, so I dropped the booklet in a corner and I went on with my life. ---- MONTH THREE ---- Ok, so maybe the doctor's flier was right. My skin has become a bit more sensitive and the little bit of facial hair I have is now growing at a reduced rate. It's nothing alarming, from what I can see, but I had to throw away some old boxers and t-shirts and buy new ones because the old cotton felt like sandpaper on me. It was of some comfort to know that almost every guy now goes through this stuff. When I went to the shop to get the boxer shorts, the first time I hit a clothing shop in over four years, things were a bit different from what I remembered. The adult section of the store was organized from men to women with a unisex section in the middle. Funny enough, bras were in this middle section with the pinkier towards women's and the plainer towards men's. I knew that some boys had to use some protection because their man-boobs were hurting but the idea of selling bras to boys or men seemed quite silly to me. I bought one pack of boxers and a few plain colored t-shirts and I just forgot about it. ---- MONTH FOUR ---- "Ouch!" I screamed loudly as one of my friends hit me on the chest while playing basketball. He apologized because he said that he had also been through a time when things were hurting a lot. The pain didn't go away for hours and my mother asked me what was wrong when she saw that I was holding my chest. "Nothing, mum! One of my mates landed his elbow on my chest and it hurts like hell! It'll pass!" I told her. "He didn't land on a nipple, by any chance?" she asked. "How do you know?" I looked at her. "I think that you might be going through a stage called Budding! You may want to read about it on that booklet that the doctor sent!" She suggested. "Budding is the first stage of breast growth..." I read, rolling my eyes not really happy about the news. Budding was on the page about month five, while I was still at month four. That difference made me hope that the pain was just coming from a bruise, but then I read that a nodule may appear behind each nipple ad that it could hurt if pushed or squashed. Undeniably, I had two small lumps behind my nipples. "Fuck!" is all I could say. The booklet said that the lumps would quickly go away and stop hurting. It explained that those things are the first bit of breast tissue and that it would expand and seemingly disappear, although it could grow in size over time and give the chest a rounded appearance. Finally, in a more reassuring tone, there was an explanation of how testosterone, being naturally high in young men, would counteract the growth and lead to a smaller increase in size than in a woman's body. For the rest of the month, I was extra careful about anything that could hit my chest and I even got to the point that when a friend threw a ball at me I covered my upper torso instead of my groin. During a cold day in Autumn, when I was wearing a hoodie while playing with my mates, a ball landed on my right nipple and produced a pain that was sharp but not as much as the time I was hit by an elbow. That's when I understood that padding was the key to less pain. The next day I wore a sweater under my hoodie so I would have enough thick fabric to protect me. Unfortunately, I had troubles shooting and moving because of the added layers. Sam suggested that I looked for some padded tops at the shop. ---- MONTH FIVE ---- "Where are the padded tops?" I asked myself while browsing the men's section at the clothing store. I asked a sales associate if she knew what I was talking about and, to my dismay, she guided me to the unisex section. She looked at me and took me to the sports bras section, pointing at a range of products in size 34/AAA. I thanked her, pretended to look at the bras, and quickly made my way out of the store. There was no way that I would buy a bra, and I promised myself that I'd be more careful. Being careful didn't help. My game was getting worse and, as a result, I was being bounced between my friends like a ball in a pinball machine. One Friday evening I got back home from the court in absolute pain. Both sides of my chest were hurting and they were swollen. I tried to take it like a man and pretend nothing happened, but I rolled in bed almost crying for half an hour before sleeping that night. The next day the pain was gone, but my chest was still swollen. It wasn't red or anything and it didn't look like the swelling from a bruise. It was as if my nipples and areolas were being pushed out above a small cone. "No no no no no!!!!" I silently screamed as I grabbed the booklet. A few drawings about month six illustrated what the stages of breast tissue growth could look like. Needless to say, conical mounds were the first visible stage. "Please tell me that you'll stop!" I told to myself looking down. I put on my regular clothes and I tried to ignore what was happening, although I avoided going to the basketball court that day. An erection in school is annoying enough for a teenager. If the erection doesn't come from looking at a girl, or a boy depending on your tastes, it's even worse. That day, I couldn't find a comfortable position at my desk, where my nipples wouldn't rub against something. Because they were pushing out a bit, they would hit my desk through my shirt whenever I was resting my arms on it. Or they would make me uncomfortable if I crossed my arms. The reason why the discomfort was giving me an erection was alien to me. After the last lesson of the day, the teacher, a woman in her forties, approached me. "Look, Alex, this may all be fun for you but it's not much fun from my point of view!" she said. "I am not sure I understand!" I told her. She pointed down to my trousers where a very revealing wet spot appeared on my crotch. "I have seen you moving through and forth to stimulate your chest. It's not how you should behave in a social environment, and you have to stop!" she said, then turned on her heels and walked away. "I will send an email to your parents to let them know of your behavior before it turns into something more indecent!" When I got home, my mom and dad were talking animatedly about something. As soon as I entered they stopped. I hung my jacket to the hangers behind the door and my father looked at my mother rolling his eyes. "Ok, you are right! Go ahead!" He said. My mother came towards me, gave me back my jacket, took her car keys, and told me to get in the car. We drove to a town nearby, to a shopping center open until late. In there, we went to a clothing store belonging to the same chain as the one I had recently been. "What are we doing here?" I asked. "We are fixing your problem with your teacher!" she said. She took me to the infamous unisex isle and went straight to the bras section. "Mom, I don't think I need one of those!" I said, looking at the bras as if they were torture instruments. "Then tell me what those are!" She pointed at my chest where two small but definite mounds were tenting under the shirt. "These? I have been a bit swollen since playing basketball the other day with the boys! It'll go away, I think! They are just a bit sensitive and that's all!" I explained. "Alex, I hate to break it to you but, for the time being, you will need to control those. I know that you don't want to hear this, but you are growing little breasts and you will need a bra to protect them!" She told me. One thing is to read it on a flier and one thing is to hear it from your mother. The second is way worse because she has been through it, because she knows what she is talking about, and because she is your mother. "If you want to keep playing basketball with your friends you'll need a padded sports bra. And you'll need something for school that can stop the brushing against your clothes." She picked three sports bras and then asked, "How would you rate the discomfort of your nipples on your shirts from one to ten? Be honest!" "Seven..." I admitted reluctantly. She picked a few more bras from the other racks and placed them in her basket. She lined up for the till while I waited as far from it as possible. She even exchanged a few words with the cashier, which made me feel mortified since they were probably talking about me, and then we left the store to go home where my father confessed that it found all of that weird but I still had to do what was necessary to avoid embarrassment. The bras that my mother chose for me for the school were a pale shade of gray. They were nowhere near fancy or frilly, and she explained that they were made on purpose for boys with the same problem I had. They were made of a cotton blend. They were slightly padded and the inside lining was silky and soft. The first day I wore one to school I felt extremely self- conscious, but I also observed the other guys and I could tell that some of them were wearing something similar because I could make up the shape of their straps on their back. It only took a few days to get used to the bras and forget that I was wearing them. The only annoying thing was the shoulder straps that kept moving towards my shoulders and I had to pull them up every once in a while. The warmth I was getting from the garment was quite nice, to be honest, and I welcomed the lack of distraction from my nipples. On the basketball court, the sports bra was a godsend. I could freely move and bounce around my mates as much as I wanted. I felt protected and not in pain anymore. A couple of them saw that I was wearing a protective bra and complimented me for being brave and wear one rather than letting the circumstances overtake me. ---- MONTH SIX ---- December arrived and with it came the very cold weather. It hardly ever snows in London, but humidity is terrible and it makes you feel like a wet rug most of the time. School holidays would start soon but I wasn't too happy about it. Some of my friends would go away for a few weeks and I'd be stuck alone at home with nothing but my video games to cheer me up. Five years ago I would have sold my soul for two weeks of screen time but after years in isolation, I would rather be outside than inside. My parents didn't have many days of holiday to take from work, and they were extremely busy, so we couldn't travel anywhere during Christmas time. On top of that, people doing VDHT were not allowed to leave the country because we could need some health check at any moment and not all countries were prepared for it. My days at home started around the twentieth of the month. I got instantly lazy, laying in bed the first day and waking up late the second one. When I was bored enough I decided to go for a couple of shots at the basketball court even if the floor was covered in frost. Since I wouldn't have to play with anyone, I decided against putting a bra on and I just left the house with my coat over my tracksuit and t-shirt. It didn't take me long to realize my mistake. Even just running without a bra was becoming painful for several reasons. First, my nipples were brushing against the cotton of my t-shirt and it wasn't nice. Second, at that point I was used to the warmth of wearing a bra and my chest was freezing. Third, and that was new, I could feel a very unpleasant bounce on my chest whenever I jumped. I only stayed at the court for about one hour, doing free throws and as fewer movements as possible, then I went home quite saddened by the realization that I actually needed a bra. My mother saw me walking and she could immediately tell that something was wrong. "Are you OK, Alex?" she asked me. I explained what happened and how annoyed I was with the whole VDHT situation. When I told her the part about the bouncing she asked me to lift my t-shirt and show her my chest. "Mom, it's embarrassing enough to know that they are there!" I argued. "Please! It's not for curiosity! I just want to make sure that the bras you have are still fit for their purpose!" She insisted. "Whatever!" And I lifted my t-shirt. "As I imagined. We'll have to do some extra shopping!" she said. "Oh, no!" I sighed. The shops were still open and a lot of people were buying Christmas presents for their families. Once again we went straight for the unisex section where, next to the classic men's gray bras, there were a few more colorful ones with Christmas motifs and patterns. My mother checked out a few of them. "Mom, please don't make me feel like a weirdo more than I already do!" I pleaded. "That's not my intention! The fact is that the bras you need are sold out in the plain gray style!" she explained. "What do you mean? The isle where we took them from is almost full!" I said. She proceeded to explain to me that bras came in different sizes for cups and band. She could see that my bras were still OK in terms of band size, but she said that I needed a proper A cup at that stage. That added to my sadness about the whole situation. Not only I had to wear bras, but I had to wear something for which an official size existed. It was a legitimation of the fact that I had breasts and it was not something I wanted to rationalize. I got home with two new bras. One had an underwire that lined the cups, no padding, and it was made of some silky material. The second one did not have the underwire and it was more padded but it was still shaped like a regular bra and not a sports bra. They had a red and gray pattern that wasn't too disturbing as it made them a little more colorful without being "cute" or anything. I tried them on in turn. The padded one was comfortable and warm but it had the side effect of pushing my breasts up a bit and, in the mirror, it looked like I had cleavage. Since I would never wear anything with a low neck, that was not much of a problem for me. The underwired one was a completely different story. It was warm and it was preventing all the brushing on my nipples, but the metal wire was shaping the bottom of my breasts in a round shape and they looked like they belonged to a young girl. Christmas came and Christmas went. As a present, I got some accessories for the Playstation and a new expensive basketball. On Boxing day my mother went online and bought me some more bras from some online shops. I protested, but she was right when she said that I needed more than a couple for my everyday use. We talked about how the different bras felt on me, and we agreed that the underwired would work better for school because it would help to avoid random erections, while the padded ones would work better for the rest of the time when I wasn't playing basketball. "Do they have to be different colors?" I asked her. "That helps me recognizing them when I wash them through the week!" she explained. The bras arrived before New Year's Eve and I was there when my mother opened the box in the living room. Each bra came with underwear of the same color, and they weren't boxer shorts. "Mom, those are not boy's bras, are they?" I asked, guessing that something that comes with panties is not marketed for guys. "They are built the same way as yours, and you don't have to wear the panties, even if your sensitive skin would appreciate something softer than your boxers! These were in the Boxing Day sale and since I had to buy fourteen of them it made sense to save some money!" she explained. "I'll wash them and put them in your drawer!" "Pffffff..." I just went to play some games on my Playstation to try and forget that conversation. ---- MONTH SEVEN ---- School restarted in mid-January and the weather was still very cold. The first day I wore one of the new bras to class I was extremely self- conscious but nobody said anything, so I quickly forgot about it. It was a white underwired satin bra that came with the online order and, even if it felt horribly feminine when I put it on that morning, it really helped to avoid having two cones sticking out from under my shirt. We resumed our games of basketball twice weekly and things went well. I couldn't ignore the increased bounce on my chest, but the sports bras were helping to keep things under control. One week before the end of the month, the same teacher that once raised the problem with my pants asked me to have a few words in private. "Alex, I really do appreciate that you acted on my previous advice. I understand that a man does not understand all the details connected with breast growth, and that's why I took the freedom to tell you and your parents what was going on," she told me. "That's ok, Miss! I guess that you were right! Have a good day!" I said as I turned around. "Not so fast!" She stopped me. "I couldn't ignore the fact that there is more going on with you, and I must now ask that you always keep your blazer on, and buttoned, while at school!" "Pardon?" I did not understand what the problem was. She took a small mirror and told me to look into it, pointing at my breasts. While the overall shape of the chest was not out of order, my nipples seemed to be pushing out a lot and their shape was clearly visible through the fabric. When I got home that evening I stood in front of the mirror in my bathroom and I couldn't ignore that the teacher was right. My nipples had enlarged and stood to attention and they were easily visible through the unpadded bras and my shirt. "Shit! Will this thing never end?" I asked myself rhetorically. I tried a combination of sports bras, padded bras, and other silky bras with my shirt. While the padded ones were helping a bit, the nipples had become thick enough to still peak through the fabric. I decided not to talk to my mother about that new issue and I just followed the teacher's advice to cover up properly buttoning my blazer. ---- MONTH EIGHT ---- The first two weeks of February have been a living nightmare for me. I had continuous pain in my breasts that I couldn't ignore. It was becoming more and more uncomfortable to sleep facing down, and when I was laying sideways my breasts would touch each other, something that I was not used to and that was plain annoying. Towards half of the month, I tried sleeping with a bra on and it helped a bit, but my mother quickly saw the increased amount of bras in the wash and asked me what was going on. I told her about the problem at night but also about the fact that my bras were becoming smaller as if she were washing them with too hot water. Following a familiar pattern, she asked me to lift my top and one hour later we were at the shopping center. What was not usual, is that instead of going towards the boy's bra section she headed straight for the girl's side. "Mom, aren't you on the wrong side?" I asked her. "I might be! See if you find a 34B on that side while I browse here!" she told me. I scanned through the label of the bras hanging on the boy's side and they were all ranging from AAA to A, but not a single B. I had the horrible epiphany that my breasts were now beyond the normal growth for a male on VDHT. I waited for a few minutes before I went back to my mother that was still browsing. "Are you sure that I am a B cup?" I asked, keeping my eyes on the floor. "There is only one way to know. Hold on!" She waved at a sales associate and asked her to fit me. "Mom, no!" I said in disbelief. "Come on, be a man!" she told me, holding back a smile on her face. The woman who measured me must have been in her early thirties. She measured my band size and then she moved the tape over my nipples. "That's 38 overbust and 34 band, which is a 34B!" she told me. "I saw how you were looking at your mother like I saw many more young men do the same before you. It's normal these days to have a small pair of breasts, nothing to worry about. Girls are used to wearing bras and they don't find it weird at all if their boyfriends do!" I walked out reassured and went back to my mother telling her that her estimation of my size was correct. She kept shopping and we went back home with a few new bras that replaced the 38As of the same color. She even bought me a couple of sleep bras to help things stay in place at night. They were made of a cotton blend and quite elasticated. They seemed massive compared to the other bras that I wore but they were soft and indeed granted me a few more hours of sleep per night. On a Saturday morning after a week of extremely hard work from both my parents, I woke up to find that my boxers were all in the wash. I elected to use my purple and red bras during the weekend as I still thought that they were too feminine to use them at school, so I put on the purple one and out of necessity I also put on the panties that went with it. Both bra and underwear had a bow in the center, which would have been cute on a girl but I felt a bit weird about them. I went about my day, went walking around the neighborhood, played some video games, and slacked like any other Saturday. I completely forgot what I was wearing and I almost had a double-take when I took the panties off to get changed before bedtime. Since I didn't have any other underwear, I put on another pair before going to bed, this time yellow. It only took me a couple of days to get used to wearing matching bras and panties to school. My teacher was happy that nothing showed from under my blazer and I was quite relaxed until one day, walking home for school, I squatted to pick up a coin from the ground. RRRRIIIIIP! A horrible noise came from my back. I ran home with my green panties almost exposed and I wondered why my pants broke that way just for squatting. I had to ask my mother if she knew anyone who could repair them and she had a look at me. "I think that there's no use in repairing these!" she argued. "You may need a different model altogether!" I rolled my eyes most of the time as we went through a store that provided clothes compatible with my school uniform. I had to accept that my body had changed again and that at that point I was sporting a rounder girl's ass. Lucky for me, we found a pair of slacks that looked a lot like boy's pants. Apart from the lack of pockets, they looked like any other pair of pants I had owned. I tried them on at the store and I noticed that they were resting on my hips without even needing a belt. "Great! I have hips!" I muttered. On the way home I calculated that I was two-thirds into VDHT and hopefully nothing more would happen in the last four months. ---- MONTH NINE ---- My hopes were shattered towards the end of the ninth month when my mother had to drive me to the doctor. I was at the point of VDHT called "dry delivery", meaning that the nine months of fake pregnancy were over and that my body would be guided to readjust hormone levels in the following three months. That month passed without much trouble, apart from my breasts swinging a bit more and my skin getting more sensitive. I dropped basketball altogether, my friends understood, and I spent more time walking around. Apart from another trip to the shop where we bought larger sports bras, there was nothing to report. Until that day. We sat in the doctor's waiting room. I had to hold my breasts up because they were painful under their own weight. They seemed far heavier than I was used to and I had no clue what was going on. Even the softest of my bras were hurting me because they felt like they were pushing my breasts in all places. When we entered the doctor's office, she was reading my medical record. "Alex, please, take off your top and bra!" she told me after I explained my symptoms. "I have to manually check the situation if you don't mind," she informed me. I let her do her job. If it hadn't been for the horrible pain in my chest, I would have found the whole thing weirdly erotic. Once she was done she looked at my mother and asked her if she was familiar with the name "mastitis". My mom seemed a bit worried and she said that she had it after she delivered me. "Looks like Alex had an early dry delivery, which is common, and he is now in the nursing phase. The hormones released by the capsule shouldn't be strong enough to actually induce lactation, but it's not unseen that this may happen!" the doctor explained. "English?" I asked. "If you allow me to touch you again, I can better explain. Take a deep breath!" she said. She once again manipulated my breasts but in a different way. She focused on massaging down from the top and she twisted and pulled gently on my nipples a few times. I was overtaken by a mix of pain and pleasure and I kept my eyes glued to the ceiling to avoid looking at her hands directly. "This is the problem," she said, and I looked down. To my horror, while she squeezed my breast and worked on the areola, a few drops of a white substance started flowing out from my right nipple. "That can't be!" I said. "It's milk," the doctor said as if it was a normal thing to tell a boy. "You are lactating and this is your milk. Colostrum, to be precise, but soon you will start producing milk." I could only stare in horror as she described the problem. "As I was saying, it's not unforeseen that a boy produces milk at the end of DVHT and it usually is just a matter of a few drops. They wake up with a wet bra for a couple of days, and that's it. But you have mastitis going on, which is a condition that usually hits women when their milk is not expressed sufficiently. Given that you don't have a baby to feed, everything you have produced so far has remained inside your breasts and it's causing an infection," she explained. "Am I going to die?" I asked, panicking. "Of course not!" the doctor laughed. "Even your mum went through it. It's a common issue. But I am not sure if you are going to like the cure. I will prescribe two weeks of antibiotics..." "Ok, I can live with that!" I said, stopping her. "... and you will have to get that milk to come out, and some more after that until you dry up naturally," she concluded. "How am I supposed to do that?" I asked with my eyes popping out of their orbits. She opened a web page on her computer and showed me the image of a strange tool. "This is a breast pump. It does what a baby usually does: it sucks milk from your breasts. I would advise that you get a double pump to accelerate the process. The sooner you start the better. It may take about two months for the whole process to finish." She told me. Then she looked at my mother and suggested: "Obviously, with lactation going on, I suggest that you consider the appropriate clothing. Right now the breasts are swollen and the pain will go down, but that bra is likely to be too small very soon." ---- MONTH TEN ---- Because of my condition, I was excused from school and I could follow online lessons until the year would finish. I wasn't happy about more isolation but the alternative was going to school with two lactating breasts and that was less than ideal. We bought the pump the same day we went to the doctor and we followed the instructions that came with it. I had to attach it to my breasts every two hours or so for the first four weeks, then once every four hours for the following month, and finally once or twice a day if I felt that I needed to until the milk was all gone. The last thing I wanted was for my parents to see me half naked with a weird machine attached to my breasts, so I set up the whole thing at my desk in a way that would allow me to follow the online lessons while pumping. Having to do it every two hours was really annoying, but the feeling in my breasts, if I skipped a session, was so bad that I preferred to stick to the routine. At the beginning of April, my mother ordered some more clothes for me. For once, I was really happy that she did. My breasts had almost doubled in size while producing milk and the 34D nursing bras that she got me were really helping. They were made entirely out of fabric and the cups could be unhooked from the straps when I needed to attach to the pump. She also bought me some nursing tops that, as plain as they could be for an article of clothing only made for women, were like sweaters with a flap that I could open to access my breasts at any time. My father was completely weirded out by the situation. His son was walking around the house with a massive pair of tits, a women's top, and bras, and my mother also told him that I was wearing panties. If I were in him I would have completely freaked out. We didn't talk too much as he felt weird in my presence, but we both acknowledged that there would be better times once the whole situation went back to normal. For the whole of April, my life rotated around my desk. Whenever I felt that I needed to, I would run to my room, attach the two bottles to the pump's valves, uncover my breasts, and ease them through the funnels. The noise the pump made was a repetitive buzz that sometimes would send me to sleep, but I admit that once I got used to the idea of pumping I started finding the whole thing quite erotic. My nipples were indeed sending some good vibes through my body and more than once I masturbated while I looked at my nipples being stretched inside the plastic funnels. ---- MONTH ELEVEN ---- In May I was able to reduce the pumping sessions to one every four hours and sometimes I could sleep through the night without pumping. My breasts had not decreased in size and my nipples had even grown to a very unmanly proportion. The idea of pumping less should have appealed to me, but I sometimes missed the feeling of suction on my breasts. It was normal for me to turn the pump on whenever I masturbated, which was a daily occurrence. Sometimes I would just pump even if I didn't need to, and I did it just because I really liked the feeling. To my mother's surprise, I did some online shopping by myself and I bought some more nursing bras. I even came up with the excuse that my pump was making weird noises and I bought a more expensive and stronger one. Since I was stuck at home, I didn't have to worry about hiding my large breasts, so I simply let myself go and got used to the fact that I would need to wear a bra for the foreseeable future. I reckoned that if Sam had to work out two years to blend a small A cup with his pecs, for my D cups it would be almost impossible to go back to a normal male appearance. Between my newly found attachment to bras and my erotic likings for the pump, I ended up pumping too much and, by the end of May, I was back to one session every two hours. I knew that I was screwing everything up, but the pull was way too strong. I searched the internet for men like me who grew a serious pair of breasts from the hormones and I found hundreds. Not only, I even found that there were many women out there who were attracted by men with large breasts and that lactating guys were a sought-after rarity. ---- MONTH TWELVE ---- I told my mother that I wanted to drop out of school when I opened a delivery box in front of her. Inside the carton were a dozen pairs of 34DD bras, some for nursing and some not, and a variety of women's clothing like tops, sweaters, and pants. My parents did not understand what I was doing when I moved out of their home, and neither did my friends when I said that I would move out of the city to a town in the West Midlands. What they didn't know is that for most of June I had chatted with a woman that I met on a fetish social network and she was very interested in my big breasts and my ability to produce a lot of milk. She owned a startup company which produced milking machines for erotic play, and she wanted me to become their testimonial and tester. I would have to move closer to the factory and she also offered me free accommodation on the premises. The factory was located inside an old farm and they had some flats available for the employees in the main building. Considering how much I hated to study and how boring my life was in a small house in London when she told me how much money I would make I didn't think twice. I did not explain every detail to my family so it was natural that they were worried when I left on the last day of my twelfth month of DVHT. I packed all the bras that I owned with a D cup or larger and, after some hugs and a few tears with my mother and father, I jumped on the van that the company had sent to pick me up from home. "The drive will be about five hours long!" said the driver from his seat in the front. "For your convenience, Miss Mirella has installed a fully powered double pump on the back of the passenger seat and a curtain to grant you some privacy. Feel free to use the pump as much as you like and don't worry about the milk you produce as it will be disposed of at our destination by our technical staff." I made myself comfortable in the seat, placed the two large funnels on my breasts making sure that the nipples and areolas were perfectly centered, and I started the pump letting a continuous and abundant stream of mill flow through the tubing. "I'm gonna enjoy this!" I thought on my way to ManHuFarm's factory.