Farrow, Part 37 (Patreon)

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Piglets on DeviantArt

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Summary: Gina is impregnated with piglets. Contains: Female: Belly expansion, multiple breasts (3 pairs), breast expansion, and more. Spin-off of Piglets.

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Gina was, for once, grateful that Jack was such a heavy sleeper. He didn’t hear her phone alarm go off every hour, on the hour, after which Gina would groan awake, and sleepily reach into the bucket tucked under her side of the bed.

Oddly enough, the dough balls did not seem to necessitate refrigeration, as they remained cool in their container, and showed no signs of going sour. Gina would tiredly stuff them into her mouth, chewing lethargically, and trying to gulp them down before she could fall back asleep.

Sometimes she was so disoriented, she was not sure whether or not she had taken the dough ball as scheduled, so she took an extra one just in case. Other times, she was just paranoid that she had slept through her alarm. It was truly exasperating. By morning time, she felt completely exhausted.

“Did you sleep okay, honey?” Jack asked, looking up from his coffee. “You sure were squirming quite a lot.” He smiled gently.

Gina lightly shook herself, and tried to focus on Jack, who sat opposite her at their small kitchen table. “Oh, not really. The, um…the things were moving,” she said, hoping that Jack would believe her.

He squeezed her hand. “It’ll all be over before you know it.”

She desperately hoped that was true.

In addition to weary, Gina felt heavy. She slumped lethargically in the passengers seat of Jack’s car as he drove them both to work.

Once at work, Gina was quickly immersed in staff meetings as well as client meetings. The lab seemed to be giving her even more responsibilities, despite the increasing burden of her size. She was charged with training interns, which she found odd, and the new interns seemed to concur. They stared at her in shock and bafflement. Some marveled, and others just looked alarmed. Their commonality was in their wordless staring as she lectured them, in a monotone, on company policy.

Gina waddled around and covered belches, feeling heavy and tired and stuffed. Her six breasts wiggled gently on her chest as she arbitrarily pointed at charts and diagrams, and talked about company goals.

The new interns had the healthy tendency of disappearing during bathroom breaks. One simply got up and stormed out of the room midway through Gina’s lecture. By the end of the day, a brave few remained, even despite the incredulous looks Gina aimed their way.

As Jack drove Gina home that evening, she absently rubbed her hands up and down her mound, which was hot, and sweaty, almost seeming to be throbbing. To her disgust, the padding of fat was reappearing on her mass, as though just a day of the dough-balls had resulted in a notable amount of fat. How many of them had she been forced to eat so far? Twenty-six or so? Probably even more.

Gina’s hourly phone alarm went off again just as she and Jack were getting into the house. Jack sent a curious look her way from the kitchen as he pulled an apron on. Gina simply hurried off to the bedroom, and gracelessly managed to drag the bucket out from under the bed.

She had decided it best to keep the bucket at home. Before work, she had packed about nine dough balls to take with her in a tuppoware container, to consume throughout the day.

Again peeling the cover off the bucket, Gina lifted one of the tangerine-sized balls and promptly stuffed into her mouth. She almost groaned. It was so heavy, so greasy. She worked it in her cheek for several moments, before, with some difficulty, gulping the whole thing down.

Then she held her belly as she felt it slither down her throat. Finally, it hit her abdomen, and she groaned again, her mound heaving.

“Everything alright in there?” Jack called from the kitchen.

“Fine!” Gina gasped back, replacing the lid on the bucket, then pushing it back under the bed.

Gina did not know how she forced her way through the heavy lasagna dinner Jack had produced an hour later, but somehow she did, stuffing forkful after forkful into her mouth, just wanting to get the whole thing over thing. It was probably stupid, but she felt paranoid. As though, if she skipped even a single dinner in her own house, Warren would somehow find out, and make her pay for it.

When Gina managed to heave herself up from the dining room table, her back was twinging, and her belly felt as though it was pulsating again. She stared at her strangely large, bulging belly button, and mused that she probably looked as though she was overdue with child by then. Ignoring as Jack began to clear the table, she waddled back to the bedroom, and through her exhausted state, somehow managed to undress and pull on a nightgown.

It was getting too tight on her, the stretchy material taut against her bloated physique. It was a formfitting purple number, and ended just below her bloated ass. She grunted and cupped her lowest two breasts, which felt sorer than ever, nipples swollen and erect, and feeling as though they might tunnel right through the material. Perhaps the support of her, now E-cup, bras, disguised how heavy and round they were getting when she was at work. Moving carefully, Gina eased her bloated body down onto her bed.

She fell asleep within seconds.

When Gina awoke the following morning, she felt wonderfully rested. She blinked absently in the sunlit room, and smiled wearily to the smell of bacon frying in the kitchen. She stretched her back and shoulders, and reflected on how unusual it was that she, for once, had an appetite.

And then her jaw dropped.

Her phone alarms—they hadn’t gone off! She had missed eight—no, more likely ten—dough balls. “Oh, fuck,” she hissed under her breath, screwing up her face as she heaved herself up, then dragging the bucket out from under the bed. Her heart pounded as she stared at the greasy mounds of dough, knowing that she had to catch up.

“You up, honey?” Jack called from the kitchen. “Breakfast is ready—don’t want you to be late.”

Gina’s wide eyes darted to the door. She waddled over to it. “I’m up. Just getting dressed!” Then she closed and locked it, and waddled back to the bucket. Somehow she managed to ease herself onto the ground.

“Ohhhh…” Gina moaned, holding her belly as it nestled down into her lap. It was just getting fatter. Her gown felt as though it was squeezing her.

Grabbing up a dough ball, Gina stuffed it into her mouth, and began to desperately work it with her teeth into something more pliant, that she might be able to digest.

“Gina?” Jack called, his voice muffled by the barrier of the door.

God, what an idiot, Gina thought helplessly, as she choked down the first dough ball, and quickly replaced it. “Mmnnghh…” she grunted, as she felt a twinge in her two uppermost nipples. I don’t have time for this. Gina got to work on her third dough ball, already beginning to feel sick.

As she chewed, she came to realize that she was stifling. Uncomfortable as she felt, and fidgeted until she had managed to wrench her gown up over her belly. More gently, she slid the tight material up over her breasts, all six of which looked unusually bloated, pressing together, nipples sticking out like small corks, as the mounds jiggled on her chest.

Four, Gina counted, as she plucked another dough ball into her mouth. She grabbed up and fifth one and tried to soften it in her hand.

Despite this, Gina found herself transfixed on her breasts. They heaved gently where they were shelved on the mound of her belly. And for some reason, they were sleek with sweat. Gina shifted awkwardly, squishing down against her fat posterior. She could feel that her hips were wider, thighs, somewhat thicker. She was so voluptuous now. And her breasts only seemed to be getting tighter, bigger.

Another twinge of pain, this one from her middle left nipple, caused Gina to wince, even as she continued to chomp on her fifth dough ball. God, they were so heavy. Her belly felt so tight, almost shuddering now, as it was stretched beyond reasonable capacity. Her discomfort was steadily turning into pain, her face flushing, as she took deep breaths, in and out. She felt the creatures squirming and fruitlessly rubbed the mound. “Ohhh…mmgghhhh…” Gina reluctantly stuffed a sixth dough ball into her mouth.

There was a knocking on the door. “Everything alright in there?” Jack called.

“F-fine,” said Gina, her mouth stuffed and voice muffled. She chewed more desperately, even despite the building discomfort and nauseau. If the pressure of the quantity wasn’t bad enough, now she had to deal with Jack as well. Sometimes she fucking hated being married. “Jack, just give me a—oww—oh!” she yelped as her lowest right nipple stung more than ever.

The doorknob rattled. “Gina? Honey, are you okay?”

No, she was not okay.

Her lowest right breast was dripping, something white and thick, her nipple gently throbbing.

So it had started.

She was lactating.