Pet Shop, Part 4 - Female Version (Patreon)

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Summary: An animal breeder is cursed to start personally giving birth to supply her pet shop with animals. Contains: Female: belly expansion, breast expansion, lactation, multiple breasts.

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She was lactating.

Maggie felt numb. She stared at the gentle swell of each small mound. She had noticed the gradual bloating, but she had missed the part where they had swelled up with tender heat. She was engorged, and consequently, lactating.

Maggie gulped.

She supposed that it wasn’t the oddest thing to happen to her. She was pregnant with a litter of kittens, after all. The lactation seemed incidental, and sort of mild in comparison. Maggie grabbed up a towel and dabbed the droplets away. Her nipples were a deep pink, erect, sore, and dripping only sporadically. Maggie hastily patted off the remainder of the milk, then waited a while. To her relief, the dripping subsided.

Maggie got ready for work, lips twisted in a moue of disgust. She hated how she was practically waddling now, her hips tense, back aching. She couldn’t stand the way she could no longer fit into her blouses, instead, stretching T-shirts over her ever-growing expanse of belly-flesh.

She looked undeniably huge, and her loose blazers hardly did anything to conceal that. Her employees were both suspicious, often staring at her in astonishment or concern. Big as she was, Maggie was certain she should have given birth by now. She began to worry about the risk of not going into labor naturally. What if she just grew and grew?

She knew that it would not be a good situation. Yet she watched her growth advance closer and closer to it being a reality. She would eventually have to see a doctor, for surgical intervention, or to get induced. In the best case scenario, Maggie’s stock of rare kittens would be confiscated after their removal from her. In the worst case scenario, she would be apprehended, studied, and subjected to experimentation. Maybe the authorities would be called, and they’d think she’d been experimenting on animals herself. She’d be jailed for abuse. Maggie grimaced at the prospect.

When she waddled her way into work that morning, Amelia was flustered behind a register while trying to placate a long line of customers.

“Dean called in sick!” Amelia called to her.

Fuck, Maggie thought, freezing in her tracks. If Dean was out, that meant Maggie would actually have to do work. She wouldn’t be able to spend the day parked on her ass in her office, rubbing her belly and urging the creatures to get out.

“No problem,” said Maggie with a faux-smile. “I’m just going to put down my things. I’ll be right out.”

Maggie made her way to her office, doing her best to walk like a healthy, normal young woman, though she suspected she was still evidently waddling. She entered her office, closed the door, and leaned back against it, dumping her bag on the floor beside her. She could already feel her underarms getting damp in her blazer, but there was no way she could get away with removing the extra layer. Not without broadcasting the fact that she had grown to the size of an elephant in only a few weeks.

Maggie panted quietly, her skin hot and flushed. It was part fatigue and part anxiety. She knew she should have stayed home today.

-

Maggie let Amelia handle the customers as she went about the shop feeding the remaining animals, cleaning up after them, and stocking shelves to the best of her ability, despite her sore hips, aching back, and shuddering belly. The kittens were distractingly active, and she was desperately uncomfortable. She felt as though she was swelling by the moment. She cupped the underside of her mound and suppressed a groan.

Her nipples were aching. Maggie did her best to ignore them, but there was no denying how erect they were. It wasn’t long before Maggie could see small, damp spots forming, and with disgust, she pulled her blazer tighter around her.

The blazer didn’t conceal much. Whenever a customer came by her aisle, Maggie would awkwardly turn and aim her belly in the opposite direction, despite that it was bulging out conspicuously, barely fitting into her tightly-stretching T-shirt.

It was worse when customers directly asked her questions. Maggie would have no choice but to face them, plaster her face with an inane smile as they in turn frowned at her in concern. Maggie would nod informatively and answer their inquiries all while pretending that she wasn’t practically bursting with offspring.

Offspring? That seemed an odd term for them. The animals weren’t actually her offspring. They were just—there.

In the afternoon, Maggie couldn’t take anymore of the heat, the gawking, the pain, and the fatigue. She began to take increasingly lengthy bathroom breaks, hiding out in a stall, avoiding Amelia. It was almost as though Maggie wasn’t in charge. She should have just closed down the store and taken the rest of the day off, but she knew it would get back to her parents somehow. They would probably intimate that she was self-sabotaging, and further solidify her status as a failure.

Maggie leaned her arms on the door of the cramped bathroom stall, her large belly brushing against the cool metal door. Her belly rose and fell with her heavy breathing, quivering from time to time. She shrugged her blazer off and drew the slightly-moist T-shirt up over her gut. Hissing at the sensation of her heated mound making contact with the cool metal, Maggie closed her eyes and continued to draw long breaths.

A belch tore through her, leaving her mound trembling. It gurgled, and Maggie absently rubbed at one of the knots bulging on the surface. She shifted her hips. “Ahhhh…” She was just so heavy. She didn’t think she could take much more growth. She slid her hand down, under her navel, as though to support its weight, but it did little if anything to alleviate the tension. Think of it as an investment… Maggie reminded herself as she rubbed circles on her mound. An investment. You’re not growing kittens. You’re growing money. Maggie almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Her hand slid up, into the hem of her shirt, over the bloated masses on her chest. She grimaced at the wet heat there. Her hand glided over the itchy spots. She shuddered somewhat. Was she getting a mole? Just as she began to investigate the hint of tapering, some unknown growth beneath her left breast, there was a knock on the stall door.

Maggie tensed, quickly jerking her hand out of her shirt.

“Maggie?”

“Amelia, this is the bathroom.” Her words came out petulant. She hastily tried to tug down her shirt.

“It’s just…the goldfish tanks are getting kind of smelly. Customers are starting to complain. Dean usually—”

“Yes, Dean usually cleans them on Tuesdays. I’ll handle it, Amelia,” Maggie struggled to get her blazer back up her sweaty arms.

There was no movement outside of the stall. She could picture Amelia standing there, biting her bottom lip. “I know I’ve already asked but…are you sure you’re okay, Maggie?”

Maggie heaved a deep sigh. “Peachy,” she murmured.

After Amelia finally left, Maggie remained in the stall for several minutes longer, massaging her tense gut with her fingers. Finally, she lightly shook herself, hunched somewhat over her swollen mound, and opened the door.

-

She looked bigger than any pregnant woman she had ever seen. She looked overdue, or as though she was due with twins or something. This wasn’t typical, even if she had been carrying a baby. This was atypical, the sort of thing that necessitated guidance, treatment, and specialized attention, which Maggie noted was far beyond an understatement, considering that she was carrying animals.

Large as she was growing, Maggie’s appetite did not taper. She found herself gobbling down food on a continual basis, eating more rapidly than was healthy or prudent, regularly stuffing herself to the point of discomfort.

She belched frequently, and under the most embarrassing of circumstances. Sometimes she could do nothing except belch, during which she usually holed herself up in her office, massaging different parts of her mound in her attempts to kneed away the gas.

She spent a good part of the day slowly pacing, hoping that it would stimulate labor, as awkward as it was to balance the weight on her loins, her back arched and body straining.

She also indulged in spicy foods, pineapple—whatever arbitrary things she had heard could stimulate labor in women. She was getting truly worried. The kittens were continually moving, tickling and prodding her from the inside out. She didn’t want to have to go to a hospital. Her life would be over.

Maggie was constantly shifting the weight on her hips in search of a slightly more comfortable position. It didn’t take her long to realize that she was beyond that. No position was comfortable anymore, not even sprawled in bed on her side like a beached whale, her mound perched before her as it rose and fell eerily.

Her hips were getting wider, her ass slightly plumper. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Maggie had an investor meeting coming up, one that she couldn’t miss. Humiliated as she was, she knew that she would have to attend it regardless of her condition.

She awoke one morning, to find that the process of getting out of bed was even more awkward than usual. She slowly rose, her right hand instinctively shooting down to cradle the underside of her belly.

The mound was definitely lower. She heaved a deep sigh in her combined relief and uneasiness.

Maggie experimentally moved forward, to find her waddle more pronounced than ever before. Most if it was accredited to compensatory movements, because she felt as though her mound might spill away from her somehow. The pressure was queasily arousing. Her hips strained and ached, but in a way that felt productive. It felt as though she wasn’t far from relief. She wrinkled her nose at the way her groin tingled with heat, and she did her best to ignore it as she made her way to the bathroom door.

“Shit,” Maggie hissed as she took a glance at her wall calendar. The investor meeting was that afternoon. Releasing a defeated whimper, she wobbled her way into the bathroom, and began the slow process of getting ready for work.

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