Farm Boy, Part 17 (Patreon)

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Summary: A high school senior, Max noticed that his older brother has been dipping into the chemical on his parents' farm, and has been gaining a lot of weight. A bit disgusted, a bit curious, Max tries the chemical hormones himself, and experiences the best high of his life. He quickly introduces the chemical to his two best friends, and the three progressively get addicted, all while experiencing incidental changes, such as butt growth, breast development, belly expansion, in addition to other, stranger, things. Contains: Male: pregnancy, breast expansion, multiple breasts, breast-belly, butt expansion, weight gain, and more. Also, issues of drug addiction.

Previous Chapter

-

“You haven’t posted in months,” said Paige blithely. “Your followers were desperate for new content. Do you know how much money you’re bringing in with this stream?”

“Turn—it—off,” said Max, face hot and heart pounding. He couldn’t believe her. The audacity!

“You’re kidding, right?” Paige crossed her arms and leaned back on the doorframe. “That would be like throwing away money.”

“I don’t care!” Max retorted, breathless and furious. “Paige, this—this is personal!” He cut off to groan and grip his flanks, face contorted in discomfort.

Roger was baffled, looking from one to the other.

Scott entered. “What are you guys fighting about?”

“Maxy’s throwing a fit over nothing.” Paige smacked her gum.

“Paige, he can drop at any moment.”

“Drop? He’s about to explode.”

Max released another long groan. His mountainous belly was protruding freely for all his followers to see, bobbing with his gasping breaths and grunts of discomfort. The mound was wider than his flanks, his belly button the size of a golf ball. He was implausibly massive, completely stuffed with baby. The tank top he had on only pulled over his four huge volleyball-sized breasts, and barely. It was stretched to transparency against his sweaty body, inches of his lower breasts pushing out under the tautly stretched hem. His shorts were pushed low by his massive midsection, while feeling extremely tight at his backside, which had seen inches of growth in recent days, crack bulging over the waistband. The bedsheets were bunched at his feet, but even if they were covering him, Max had doubts that they would offer much to conceal his condition.

Max was under too much stress to continue to fight with his deranged roommate. Words were proving useless anyway. He would cut off the stream himself. Before really thinking about it, he somehow pushed himself off the bed, nearly losing his balance once the massive weight of his belly was hanging in front of him. Max watched it heave up and down, face reddening, sweat pouring. This had been a mistake. One of his hands slid to the underside of his belly. He found the other unconsciously swinging behind him to clutch his newly plump ass.

“Max, what are you doing? You shouldn’t be on your feet,” said Roger, already up and wrapping an arm behind Max in support.

“Ngghhhh…” was Max’s only response, his belly tensing and tightening, seeming to shift and push forward right before his eyes. He felt his shorts growing tighter, and shifting lower, the coverage worsening, as though his ass was somehow fattening right at that moment. What the fuck? was all Max could think as he balanced, whined, and leaned into Roger’s support.

A pressure inside of him burst, and there was a splash of fluid. Tears leaked from his eyes.

“Get that off him,” someone said, and Max felt hands touching him, guiding him, pulling at his shorts, supporting his belly. Felt himself being lowered to his knees. His four tits tightened and began to spray milk, the overstressed tank top finally beginning to tear. “What’s happening?” was all he could manage through another groan.

“You’re amazing,” Roger murmured against his ear.

Max was crying. Pain shot through his stomach, ass, and hips, but he already knew.

He was going into labor.

-

Max was exhausted.

He couldn’t believe he’d just had seven freaking babies.

They were all a healthy size. Oversized in Max’s opinion.

He felt weirdly gutted. Deflated. Empty. His belly was still round and fat, but no longer a bolder pinning him down. But the weight was still there in the form of the seven babies presently covering his body, four nursing, one sleeping, and the other two just quietly sobbing in a way that was painful to listen to. He wished he could feed them all simultaneously, but he only had four breasts. Four too many, to be perfectly honest. Not that he hadn’t gotten used to them. Grown to appreciate them. Roger certainly appreciated them.

“Max, fuck,” Roger murmured beside him, continuing to stare at the infants, sort of mystified, even though at least an hour had passed since Max had created them.

“Yeah,” Max whispered, because he was equally stunned. He’d just given birth. He was a parent. It was a lot to process. He wasn’t sure if he ever would.

His breasts only seemed to be getting full and heavier, filling more to meet the demand of seven hungry mouths. He was glad he was lying down. He didn’t what to think about the strain the huge masses would be on his spent body. I’m a college sophomore, Max realized, dazedly. How did he expect to juggle coursework with nursing and caretaking?

“We’ll figure it out,” said Roger, as though reading his mind. Roger absently rubbed Max’s arm though his eyes never shifted from the newborns. “God, Max. You’re fucking amazing.”

Max rolled his eyes. You only mentioned twelve times, he said, quietly satisfied. Only, his lips didn’t move. And his eyes were closed now.

“Go ahead. Rest. I’ll handle this for now.”

Max would had expressed his reluctance were he not already halfway to dreamland.

-

It was a few weeks later, and Paige had moved out. She said all the crying was disruptive to her peepshows (and apparently she required sleep at night. An odd notion to Max who was mostly fueled by caffeine and a chorus of screams).

Roger hadn’t technically moved in, but he was there all night every night, and most days as well. The two were doing most of the coursework online, though Roger still tried to make lacrosse meets.

Max’s tits were the size of basketballs and he was almost always nursing. They were full and heavy, and he had to lie down almost hourly. Sometimes they got so tight, he would wake up crying, and Roger would push him back into the mattress, and relieve some of the tension until the babies were up and wailing to feed.

It was strange, the first time Roger had sucked him since the birth. Alternating from feeding his children to feeding Roger—it was an entirely different sensation, and a bit confusing, so Max preferred to avoid it, though that wasn’t exactly working.

“God Max, I didn’t even imagine you could get this big,” Roger murmured to him in the dark of early morning one day when everything was blissfully silent. At least for the moment.

Max squirmed against Roger, grunting slightly as some of Roger’s weight shifted against his chest. He hadn’t imagined getting to this size either. But he was quickly learning to have no expectations when it came to his body’s capacity for growth.

Max’s belly was still plump and round, making him look as though he was still quite pregnanct, maybe with one child rather than a fucking litter though. Roger indulgently rubbed Max’s belly, hand kneading into the doughy bloat of it. In the meantime, he kissed every inch of Max’s four huge tits.

“God, you look so hot,” said Roger breathily. “Can’t wait to get you pregnant again.”

Max’s four nipples squirted, his dick so hard it almost hurt. Despite his body’s reaction to the notion, he tried to gain control of the situation. “Are you nuts? You’re never doing that to me again.” He breath shuddered, and he unconsciously arched as Roger ran his tongue along the cleavage of his upper breasts. “We have seven,” said Max shakily. “I have to finish college and—and do shit besides nursing.”

“I was just…talking,” said Roger, pulling back and meeting Max’s eyes through the dark. He didn’t look very sincere or convinced, himself. “I didn’t actually mean it.”

Max frowned, sighed, and shook his head. He closed his eyes and leaned back in a cue for Roger to continue. Roger did.

“It is hot,” Max admitted weakly. “Sometimes. When you…when you talk about stuff like that.”

“Mmmm,” Roger hummed.

Max went rigid when Roger put Max’s upper left nipple into his mouth and gave a forceful suck.

“But seriously. We’re never doing that again,” Max breathed.

Roger hummed again in what Max presumed was agreement.

Of course, there had never been much self-control between the two of them. They were eighteen and nineteen, and not the most responsible. Not the most restrained.

-

Max belatedly noticed that he was off the hormone.

He never really registered when he had actually quit it. It had to have been sometime early in the pregnancy. It wasn’t a conscious decision. The addiction had just vanished, replaced with panic, stress, and perhaps a supplemental addiction to video games.

What had previously been an impossibility had become the easiest thing in the world. He had his babies to thank, he supposed.

After six months of nursing, Max’s tits, thankfully, went down to a more manageable size. By manageable, they were HHH-cups, and resembled ripe honeydews, but he would take it. It was a relief to not have to haul around four full mounds each the size of a basketball anymore.

Perhaps in his current state, he could have fit into a particularly amorphous jacket, or several layers of baggy sweaters, but Max stopped trying to hide his abnormalities. It became a frivolous concept when he was so busy with juggling school, caretaking, and nursing. He couldn’t further complicate things by trying to be covert about his body.

He got used to the stares, the gaps, and the pointing. The snorts, the snickers, the shrieks—even the occasional attempts at groping.

He just couldn’t care anymore. He didn’t mind his breasts. And he was decidedly preoccupied. On top of everything else, he was still trying to figure out how to introduce all this—his four breasts, gay lover, and seven babies—to his family. He hadn’t contacted them in at least a year. Had they heard anything about what he’d become?

-

Max snapped out of his reverie at the sound of footsteps. “Thanks for coming,” he said, eyes meeting James’. “You look—you look great.”

“Thanks,” James grinned. “Sober four weeks.”

“That’s amazing.”

“Couldn’t have done it without Scott’s help. And yours too. Thanks for putting up with my three AM phone calls.”

“I was up anyway,” said Max with a snort.

James chuckled. “Scott wanted to come. But I told him he better skip this one. You know, he’s preggers again?”

Max hesitated. “Yeah…” he responded. He absently ran his hand over the curve of his belly.

Both boys turned their attention towards the apartment door they were outside of.

“Did you knock?” said James.

“No answer,” said Max.

James turned the knob. “It’s open,” he said, brows raising.

“After you,” said Max. It was well-worth the offer. In addition to the horns protruding from James’ head, he had developed a tail, a cow-tail, protruding just above his ass. It swished occasionally, and just drew extra attention to the huge globes James had bobbing behind him. They had only gotten larger since Max had seen James at the club. Just massive. Probably bigger than each of Max’s tits had been at their peak size.

As they walked into the apartment, Max’s attention was roughly jerked from James’ ass.

The place was a mess, furniture askew, damp spots on the floor and walls, dirty clothes and dishes lying around the living room where they had entered. There were four or so people in the room, among them, Max’s brother. It had taken a while, but Max had managed to track Adam here, and Max was shocked by the sight of his older sibling.

Adam looked delirious, mouth ajar, drool pouring down his chin. He was sprawled back on the couch beneath his massive orb of a belly which had only inflated since Max had last seen it. Some guy was leaning on Adam’s belly, mouth spread wide over Adam’s navel, Adam’s belly-nipple filling the guy’s mouth. The guy was nursing, but Adam barely seemed to register it. He was gazing at the ceiling mumbling indecipherably.

“Get off him,” said Max, him and James moving forward to pull the guy off. Once Adam’s belly-nipple was free, is released a forceful spurt, then just began to ooze a thick substance that looked more like pudding than milk.

Up-close, Adam’s belly was massive. Bigger than Max’s at the height of pregnancy. Bigger than Adam, Max thought. It was visibly pulsing and looked incredibly strained. There was no way his brother would be able to get up. The mound was huge, practically crushing him.

“Woah…” James muttered, staring.

Max looked at the other people around the room. They all seemed to be in their twenties, perhaps college classmate’s of Adams. One guy had to be four-hundred pounds, and had his face buried in a canvas bag of what looked like more hormone. A girl was hoovering around nervously. She had a big, bouncy ass that looked unnatural, two nubs pushing out against her shorts in the center of each cheek. Ass-breasts?

The guy they had pulled off Adam had a huge rack but it was nothing compared to Max’s.

Max just shook his head. “Get out of here!” he yelled. “Get yourselves some help.”

The hormone addicts froze up just for a moment before they all shuffled for the door.

“Don’t come back,” James added, locking the door after them.

Max sighed, again regarding his brother. “Adam? Adam, can you hear me? We’re gonna get you cleaned up.”

The End