To Science, Part 9 (Patreon)

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Summary: After Connor's comatose body is donated to science, he wakes up to find himself adorning large, expanding breasts. Contains: Male: breast expansion, lactation, possible breast impregnation later on.

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Connor blinked up at the ceiling when he awoke. It took him a moment to realize he was back in his old room at the lab. Everything was the same as before, the cool marble floors, the unadorned expanses of pale wall and floor. Everything was clean, crisp, and unpleasantly sterile.

There was a glass of water on the nightstand. Connor chugged it down, enjoying the trickle of fluid that rolled down his chest, between his cleavage. After finished the water he caught breath, but then felt numb again.

The door slid open with an industrial hiss. Sarah smiled tentatively as she stepped inside. “Glad you decided to stay.”

Connor nodded.

“After all, the progression of your condition should be a sight to s- study.” She caught herself, a gleam of excitement plain in her eyes.

He was just another experiment for the lab to feed on. “If I could do a brief exam…”

Connor allowed it without comment, surrendering his body, as it was hardly his to start with.

He did his best to breathe evenly as she pressed her cool stethoscope to his heated breasts. She gingerly and examined his plump nipples, ghosting over them with her fingers. They pushed outwards accordingly as he continued to breathe. She then touched his areola with gentle pressure as she tried to examine the fetuses.

“Everything looks in order – well, as far as I can tell. The babies seem healthy. I’d like to wish you congratulations.”

Connor remained silent as he stared blankly down at his chest, at the massive mounds there, now cultivating children.

Sarah cleared her throat and left. Connor absently rubbed the side of one of his mounds.

Within a week, his breasts were already bulging out of the latest bras the scientists had specifically made for his drastic form. After struggling with it for several moments, Connor flung it aside with a frustrated huff. He arched his back and grimaced, hating the way his breasts continually pressed into each other, continually sweat and heaved, now pushing out ahead of him wider than his shoulders. They were unnaturally round but still soft. His pulsating nipples were visible in his tight, clinging shirt, almost making the mounds seem animated. There was a weird tremble in his right breast, causing Connor to grunt out and clutch it. He watched and waited in his unease, but nothing else followed. He wiped some sweat back from his temple. This wasn’t easy.

Walking—more like trudging—about the lab one day, Connor was surprised to see another subject undergoing exams. It was a female, who was conscious, and willing. She was flat-chested, and through a glass window, Connor could see Reed and Reynolds holding up one of the tubes of cream while explaining something to her. Connor walked on, keeping his head down.

He couldn’t deny that he had noticed that everyone else’s breast-growth seemed to have come to a stand-still. All of the female scientists had somehow developed plump Cs, and the occasional D-cups on their chest, but no one had grown beyond that, and Connor doubted it was from a lack of effort. They had stopped growing for some reason, and now they were trying to…resolve this? Connor sighed and shook his head.

He did his best to ignore the way Sarah frowned at him sometimes, a pensive look on her face. He would fold his arms to support his mounds somewhat, and keep to his quarters most days.

Some lab techs taught him to do meditation and some breathing exercises. Connor was too scared to ask how the babies would be delivered, but his breasts were growing rapidly, and so was his anxiety.

One night, Connor awoke to a weird squirming sensation in his plump mounds. He covered his mouth and hurried out of bed, where he stumbled to the bathroom, and retched.

The squirming persisted, and intensified, and he couldn’t fall asleep, too disturbed by the sensation. By morning he had heavy shadows under his eyes. Sarah was startled when his breasts quavered during his physical exam that afternoon.

“Movement!” she gasped.

Connor nodded weakly, not meeting her eyes.

Nearly rapturous in her excitement, Sarah poked and prodded him, and even ran a new scan. Connor sat through it in a daze, trying not to listen to her eager murmuring. She wrapped his chest in a tape measure, scribbled things down near-frantically, and even weighing each mound individually. It was an hour before she finally dismissed him.

His back was aching. His skin was flushed and tingling, from his cheeks down to each fat breast. His custom-made clothing was getting more constricting on him every day, as his massive pillows heaved out and in, as though they were breathing.

Connor had taken to clutching them as he went about, fully aware of the weight of each, with no need for Sarah’s measurements. He felt full, heavy, and chronically uncomfortable. Each breast continued to grow progressively fatter and away from his torso.

His breasts were now trembling constantly—if not one then the other. It left him queasy, and the scientists, pleased.

“You’re about six months along,” Reynolds told him one day.

He was only six weeks.

Connor gave a tense smile and returned to his room, rubbing the sides of his mounds where they tightly stretched his thin tanktop, which was practically pasted to his skin by then.

The mounds bulged considerably at his flanks. He was no longer close to reaching around them. He felt increasingly confined and claustrophobic, though nothing was getting smaller. He was simply getting bigger.

Weary with it all, Connor made a rare trip to the lake one afternoon. The scientists were hesitant to let him go, but after all that had transpired, they didn’t stop him. They just entreated that he was careful, reminded him that his balance would be precarious now, and encouraged him to be back “soon,” though in the end, that was entirely Connor’s decision.

Finding the lake was easier than it had ever been before. Connor was accustomed to the layout of the forest by then, following an invisible trail until he was clutching his chest as he wobbled along the muddy banks, his feet dipping into the cool water.

He sighed, and slowly eased himself down on the shore, not caring as he got more mud on his clothes. His mounds hovered over his lap.

They continued to quaver and shift. His left nipple bulged outward suddenly, causing him to gasp out and arch, then cradle it in his discomfort. Something—a limb?—was pushing out at it, tormenting the tender numb. It subsided, and left Connor quietly panting, his cheeks hot, shoulders tense, and lips pressed in a thin line.

“Connor?”

Connor looked up abruptly, stiffening at seeing Pete only a few yards away, standing barefoot on the banks. Connor should have expected he would find him, that Pete would be waiting around, biding his time until Connor came around.

“Get away from me,” Connor said, struggling to get up. It took some time and exertion, and he was gasping for breath by the time he clambered to his feet. He held onto a tree and did his best to back away.

“Easy,” Pete intoned, his hands suspended in front of him as he approached, as though he feared Connor might fall. Pete’s eyes were wide, drinking in Connor’s swollen form. “I just want to talk.”

Connor scoffed and made to turn, but Pete was too fast. Suddenly he was standing right before him, cornering him, Connor’s breasts close to touching Pete’s chest as they heaved with Connor’s breathing. Pete reached out, and unabashedly palmed at the side of Connor’s right breast, causing Connor to release a choked whimper. Without waiting, Pete leaned forward, and abruptly—kissed him. Connor stood there, wide-eyed, stunned.

“You’ve gotten so big,” Pete murmured, as he pulled back.

Connor tried and failed to form a response.

“They’re my babies too,” Pete was on the defensive. He hesitated, and sighed. “Come back to the cabin. Let me take care of you.”

He tugged on Connor’s hand, and for some reason…Connor followed.

Connor told himself it was because he wanted answers. Even when he found himself perched on a stool, in the cabin, enjoying a back massage, he tried to convince himself of this. “Mmmmghhh…” he moaned.

His breasts were perched before him on Pete’s desk, relieving his back of a good deal of weight. Connor continued to enjoy the massage. This was something that the scientists decidedly didn’t offer.

His right breast gave a powerful shove, which left the whole mound jiggling. Pete’s hands paused.

“Movement,” Connor managed.

“Wow,” Pete laughed.

The movement returned, small jabs pushing out at Connor’s skin, in a way that was uncomfortable but tolerable, and left Pete giggling. Connor couldn’t help it. He chuckled as well. A lightness had come over him that he hadn’t felt in weeks. His breasts continued to wobble, and suddenly it was playful rather than queasy.

The movements travelled downwards, developing into a twitch behind Connor’s nipple that caused him to grunt. He straightened and clutched the undersides of his breasts because he was almost afraid to make contact with his twinging nipples. Shocks of electricity shot through him with every jerked. Connor’s face twisted in discomfort as his right nipple swelled and protruded, pushing farther out, distorting his mound and pushing him to the cusp of pain.

“What’s happening?” said Pete, stunned.

“I think it’s trying to...” Connor groaned as his nipple shoved out again, pore straining.

“But you’re not at term yet!”

Connor feebly shook his head, too uncomfortable to say anything else. He watched his nipple sink and surge in unsteady rhythms, swelling outwards the way it had for the chicks. The it sunk down one more time, and the movement ceased. Connor was left gasping, his whole body dripping sweat.

“Oh god,” Pete said with tangible fear. He wrapped his arms around him from behind, cradling what he could of his mounds. “Are you okay?” He was worried about Connor. Worried about the babies.

“Fine,” Connor forced out. “Just an…episode.”

They were silent for a while.

Thankfully it didn’t happen again for the rest of the week, yet the movements continued to grow steadily stronger, irritating Connor, but amusing them both a little as well.

Connor was more uncomfortable than ever before. His breasts were like fat pumpkins, round and large, and almost big enough to rest on his lap when he was sitting down. As much as he hated how much he was growing, Connor couldn’t deny that he was eagerly anticipating that. At least it would take some of the strain off his back. His arms were sore and weary, and could hardly support them anymore, heavy as the mounds were getting.

Connor found himself spending a lot of time at the desk, breathing in relief as he allowed his breasts to perch atop the surface.

He could hardly reach past his mounds sometimes, and it was getting increasingly awkward just to reach his meals perched on the coffee table when he and Pete were seated on the couch in the evenings. Video games were out of the question, with his limited arm capacity, so Connor had no choice but to sit back and watch Pete play.

As bitter and distrustful as he felt towards Pete, Connor couldn’t deny that the warmth of the cabin was preferable to the synthetic environment of the lab, where the scientists didn’t even try to mask their objectification of him, and still treated him much like a comatose body they could profit from.

Pete was different. Pete actually…cared about him, as warped as this all was.

Their eyes catching, Pete threw him a sly smile. Connor rolled his eyes and averted his gaze.

He still couldn’t believe he had gotten himself into such a mess. He was pregnant—in his breasts—and he was scared out of his mind.

Connor sunk back and stared blankly at the screen.