Pet Shop, Part 4 - Male Version (Patreon)

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

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He was lactating.

Jack felt numb. He had never thought of his softened pecs as breasts before. But between the softness and flabbiness, they sort of were. He stared at the gentle swell of each slight mound. He had noticed the gradual sagging and waning of his pectoral muscles, but he had missed the part where they had swelled up with tender heat. He had breasts, and he was lactating.

Jack gulped.

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

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

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

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

When he waddled his way into work that morning, Mindy was flustered behind a register while trying to placate a long line of customers.

“Dean called in sick!” she called to him.

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

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

Jack made his way to his office, doing his best to walk like a healthy, normal young man, though he suspected he was still evidently waddling, if based on the stares he could feel on his back. He entered his office, closed the door, and leaned back against it, dumping his briefcase on the floor beside him. He could already feel his underarms getting damp in his blazer, but there was no way he could get away with removing the extra layer. Not without broadcasting the fact that he had grown to the size of an elephant.

Jack panted quietly, his skin hot and flushed. It was part fatigue and part anxiety. He knew he should have stayed home today.

-

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

His nipples were aching. Jack did his best to ignore them, but there was no denying the way they rubbed on the fabric of his shirt. It wasn’t long before Jack could see small, damp spots forming, and with disgust, he pulled his blazer tighter around him.

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

It was worse when customers directly asked him questions. Jack would have no choice but to face them, plaster his face with an inane grin, and answer them all while pretending that he wasn’t practically bursting with offspring.

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

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

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

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

Jack tensed, quickly jerking his hand out of his shirt.

“Jack?”

“Mindy, this is the men’s room.” His words came out petulant. He hastily tried to tug down his 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, Mindy,” Jack struggled to get his blazer back up his sweaty arms.

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

Jack heaved a deep sigh. “Peachy,” he muttered.

After Mindy finally left, Jack remained in the stall for several minutes longer, massaging his tense gut with his fingers. Finally, he lightly shook himself, hunched somewhat over his swollen mound, and opened the door.

-

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

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

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

He 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 his loins and the pressure on his bottom, his back arched and body straining.

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

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

His ass was getting plumper. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Jack had an investor meeting coming up, one that he couldn’t miss. Humiliated as he was, he knew that he would have to attend it regardless of his condition.

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

The mound was definitely lower. He heaved a deep sigh in his combined relief and uneasiness.

Jack experimentally moved forward, to find his waddle more pronounced than ever before. Most if it was accredited to compensatory movements, because he felt as though his mound might spill away from him somehow. The pressure was queasily arousing. His hips strained and ached, but in a way that felt productive. It felt as though he wasn’t far from relief. He wrinkled his nose at the way his gender prodded the underside of his belly, and did his best to ignore it as he made his way to the bathroom door.

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

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