Pet Shop, Part 8 - 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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Jack was resistant to the bras for a while. But the more he went about his ordinary routine, the more he realized how uncomfortable it was to walk around with his puffy nipples either exposed to the cool air of the house or rubbing against the inside of his shirt. It was unbearable, and he found himself frequently wandering back over to the box and staring down into it with weakening resolve.

They fit snugly the first time he tried them on. It was almost suspicious, how well they fit. He looked at himself in the mirror wearing two strapless bras, and felt like even more of a freak than before. But it was a relief to pull down his T-shirt, and not have to endure the torturous sensation of the rough material dragging against the overly-sensitive nubs. He sighed.

Jack continued to increase his calorie consumption to keep up with all the feeding. As the puppies grew stronger, they seemed to require more of his milk. Forcing down all the extra food often made Jack feel like a slob. His face was getting rounder, and he didn’t like it. He felt miserable, exhausted, gross, and was putting on weight. He was beginning to truly sympathize with women who regularly had to endure the unpleasantness of nursing.

One of the few positive things that Jack managed to derive from the situation was the fact that the puppies appeared to be getting stronger, and at an unprecedented rate. They were growing, and thriving, and could have passed as weeks older than they actually were. It meant that he would be able to ween them off his milk sooner rather than later.

Jack began to experiment with bottles of puppy formula, but continued to meet resistance, as he suspected he would. He grimaced, and tried squeezing some of his own milk into a fresh bottle (nearly flinching at the sight of milk shooting out of his nipple), before trying again. The puppy was hesitant, but decreasingly so, until Jack had managed to nudge the nipple of the bottle into its mouth, after which the puppy took to sucking with enthusiasm.

It was…progress, Jack supposed.

The puppies were strong enough that Jack finally felt comfortable bringing them to his bed with him, and it was a relief to be off the floor. He no longer timed and sorted them strategically, instead allowing them to run amuck on the mattress and his body as he flipped through channels and tried to ignore it all. He laid there shirtless, allowing them to fight over his nipples, and he eventually dozed without concern about switching them out. He would only wake up, wincing, when a puppy was particularly rough. They each seemed to get their fill rapidly enough, his milk gushing into their little mouths at the vaguest stimulation. He supposed that having human breasts made for faster feeding than a female dog’s limited mammaries, which necessitated time and diligence on the part of the offspring.

In the morning, Jack would wake up covered in sleeping puppies. He would rub his face, feeling a weird mixture of tenderness and queasiness about the whole, bizarre, scenario.

The breast pumps he ordered took only three days to arrive in the mail. That afternoon Jack sat in his living room, staring at the devices as uneasily as he had stared at the bras. Swallowing his nerves, he turned them on, gingerly attaching one pair of suction cups to his upper breasts, and the second pair to his lower breasts. He tried to distract himself with a movie, fidgeting as he felt his nipples squeezed and tugged, thin streams of milk rolling down the twin hoses and into the two waiting collection containers. It flowed in a steady trickle, forming puddles that rose, warm, and thick, and actually coming out of him. It had never been so real until that moment.

“Nnghhhh…” He unconsciously arched, his face flushing, and his efforts to relax proving a futile enterprise. He panted quietly, feeling beads of sweat form on his temple. He was horrified to feel himself begin to harden in his sweatpants. He couldn’t be getting off on this. He had half a mind to detach the horrible contraption, but it just felt so good to—to be relieved of the milk-weight, was all.

He couldn’t believe how much he was producing. He breathed long breaths as his chest gradually grew lighter. Finally the machine attached to his upper breasts beeped and turned off, the suction ceasing, and the cups detaching. The second machine followed a moment later, then all four suction cups were lying in his lap.

Jack looked down at his chest.

He was astonished by the lack of heaviness that he had gotten so used to. They remained full and round, but no longer weighted and sore. They might have even gotten a little smaller, no longer bloated with hot sustenance. His nipples were still puffy, but no longer stinging or dripping. Jack hesitated, and trailed his fingers over the soft flesh, which was still flushed from the recent abuse.

He reached out to the spot beside him on the couch, his hand closing around the roll of athletic tape he had set there. He had been brainstorming ways in which he could hide the deformity, and now seemed an appropriate time to experiment. Jack unraveled the tape, simultaneously wrapping it around his chest. He layered it tightly enough to compress his fatty lower mounds. He tucked the end, and looked down at the result.

It wasn’t, by any means, comfortable. In fact, it made him, strangely, long for the bra cups. He felt as though he was being squeezed unnaturally, as though he was wearing unresisting clothing that was several sizes too small. But when he pulled on his shirt, his lower breasts were undetectable. If he repeated the process with the upper ones, he was certain he could go back to work without anyone noticing the bobbing globes protruding from his torso.

Sufficient though it was, it still felt unpleasant. Jack pulled off his shirt and unraveled the tape, sighing as his chest was freed from the tight confinement. He pulled on a pair of bras, and returned to his movie. In a half hour or so, he would go check on the puppies.

Jack proceeded with his lightening routine of caretaking the baby animals. All of the stimulation was undeniably making his tits bigger. He continued to be disgusted with himself in a chronic, depressing way, which wasn’t aided by his isolation. He was still eating a lot from all the nursing. Also, from other things.

Jack pumped his breasts at least daily, trying to stock up on bottles of his milk. One morning after pumping himself, he wrapped both his upper and lower pairs of breasts in athletic tape. He set up a stand with some bottles for the puppies. Though many of them were still resistant to bottles, he knew they would succumb to drinking from them if they were truly hungry, and if they didn’t, they would be fine (albeit crabbily hungry) until he returned.

He packed the ten puppies he deemed to be the strongest into a carrier. He then filled a small cooler with the dozen or so bottles of his milk he had managed to save up in the fridge. Everything was loaded into the back of his car before Jack went inside to grab his briefcase. He pulled a loose blazer around his shoulders as he headed for the front door. It was weird to leave the house, puppies yipping in protest from his bedroom as he exited. It was his first time being apart from them, and he was only just realizing how attached he had become.

Shoving down his traitorous sentiments, Jack climbed into his car, took a deep breath, and headed off for his first half-day back at work.

-

When he arrived, the shop was in surprisingly good condition, if rather bereft of customers. They were low on stock after all.

“Jack!” Mindy squealed at the sight of him.

Dean started. He seemed to have been dozing off behind the register.

Jack smiled wearily. “Look what I’ve brought with me.” He nodded to the carrier in his arms, the yips coming from within making no allusions as to what was inside.

“They’re okay?” Mindy hurried over, peeking into the carrier. “Oh my god, how did they get so big? What have you been feeding them?”

Jack felt himself blush. “It’s a special formula I found in the backwoods of the internet. I bought a ton of it. Got some packed in my car.”

“You have to tell me the site,” Mindy insisted in amazement.

“I think I have it written down,” Jack hedged. “Can you set these guys up in a pen?” He handed the puppies off to Mindy, ignoring the way his throat tightened as he did.

After handing his car keys off to Dean, Jack went to his office, and was unsurprised to see that his desk was covered in unopened mail, mostly bills. He sunk down in his chair, staring off. A rare batch of dogs would bring in good income, and dig them out of the financial hole they had begun to sink into since the lull after all the cats had sold. Puppies went for higher prices than dogs, so the earlier they sold, the better. Jack estimated that he could triple the profits that the cats had brought in—no, probably do even better than that.

There was still something intrinsically wrong about the whole thing. He was essentially selling his—his babies, bizarre as that concept was. If it even made sense. It was all a confusing muddle in his mind, reeling in endless cycles, leaving him conflicted about what the puppies (and kittens) actually meant to him.

Jack distracted himself with computer work, keeping focused on diagrams and charts, and yielding productive results. Every so often, he couldn’t help getting up and wander the store, to eventually check on the pups, which had been delegated to a large pen in the back of the shop.

They were happily rolling around, playing with each other, and even feeding from a couple of bottles of his milk that Dean had set up on a stand. But at the sight of Jack, they yipped and fumbled, trying to scale the barrier in their desperation to reach him.

“They’re very attached to you,” said Dean, giving Jack a dubious look.

“Not like I raised them or anything,” Jack responded sarcastically. He didn’t usually make a habit of being rude to his employees, but he was drained and confused and just—dealing with things.

“Did you enjoy your little vacay, Jack?” Mindy piped in, happily cuddling one of the puppies to her neck even as it tried to squirm away from her. “Your cheeks are looking a little rounder,” he added playfully.

“I have an eating disorder,” Jack deadpanned, successfully shutting her up. It was a sensitive enough subject that neither of them would ask about his weight ever again, while it also helped explain Jack’s many weight fluctuations. Mindy looked horrified, and Jack tried not to seem smug.

Dean simply raised an eyebrow and continued to give Jack an odd look.

Jack went back to his office and again tried to focus. It took several moments to realize that he was unconsciously fidgeting, frequently rubbing at his chest.

He felt breathless. The tape was already getting tighter, and he knew his milk was coming in. He tried to ignore it for a little bit longer. Soon an hour passed, and Jack was groaning. His tits were absolutely aching. A glance at the clock told him that lunch was near enough that he could get away with a private break. So he locked his office door, reached under his shirt, and tugged the binds free, allowing them to unravel slowly. His four breasts surged outwards, creating fat lumps against his shirt, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

The mounds were all C-cups by then, but he thought they were nearly done growing. The growth had at least slowed down, which was good, because he felt almost pained at the sight of them bulging slightly from his bra-cups in threat of outgrowing them. He didn’t think he would be able to hide them if they got any larger.

He was sure that once he stopped nursing, they would get smaller—well, hopefully. For now, Jack just had to worry about how he was going to squeeze himself back into the athletic tape. He hesitated, and lifted his briefcase, opened it, and looked down at the portable breast pump laid within it.

Just as Jack reached down to lift the device, he heard a knock on his office door. “I’m taking a break!” Jack called.

“Mr. Price,” someone responded, their voice muffled through the door. “I just wanted a quick word.”

Jack’s breath caught in his throat.

It was Bennett.

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