Obsessed, Part 3 (Patreon)

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Summary: Formerly titled "Secret Obsession." Though he knows it is odd, Theodore desperately wants breasts. Through diet, drug treatments, massages, and more, he develops C-cups, and he thinks the size is perfect. They're not too extravagant, and he doesn't mind the stares he gets. He couldn't be happier. But someone in Theodore's life is really turned on by Theodore's breasts, and isn't satisfied, he wants them bigger. He proceeds to secretly drug Theodore, and Theodore has no idea why his breasts are suddenly starting to grow again. Contains: Male: breast expansion, weight gain, lactation, eventual pregnancy.

Previous Chapter 

-

When Theodore returned to his office, he felt stiflingly hot. Against his better judgment, he pulled off his sweater, breathing heavily as he gazed down at the way his jugs strained against the button-down shirt he was presently squeezed into.

The mounds were beautiful, perky, and Theodore really did adore them. But they were getting beyond the size of management and comfortably hiding. E-cups, he recalled as he bit his bottom lip in uneasiness. He didn’t want to be seen as a freak or pervert at work. And in a perfect world, that would be a ludicrous notion.

But as things were, Theodore was young and heavily-scrutinized. He was scarcely taken seriously by his colleagues, all of them middle-aged and conservative. Flaunting a pair of big, bouncing breasts around campus might as well be his resignation, as far as Theodore saw things.

It was settled, then. His breasts would not be allowed to grow another centimeter. And Mike would be kept out of the picture.

Even if it drained Theodore just thinking about the inevitable loneliness to follow.

-

At age forty-two, Professor John Cohen was not one for crowded venues or even social outings in general.

But it had been a long day, and he needed a drink, badly. Options were limited in the area, as was his familiarity with the bar scene. Which was how he found himself at the garish gay bar he couldn’t believe had once been his favorite. It had been a while, though. Five, maybe up to ten years.

It was early enough that the place wasn’t completely congested with drunk twenty-somethings (yet). John went to the bar and ordered something simple — a whiskey and coke — hoping they could get that right, at least.

John’s divorce had finally gone through, that morning. He just wanted to turn his mind off, for a moment.

He should have known better than to let his eyes wander. He saw a familiar face, only briefly. A young man disappearing around a corner.

Was that the new English professor?

Closely following Professor-toddler was another young man who John recognized to be a student. The duo were headed straight for the bathroom together, and John could only stare at their turned backs.

Well, shit.

It wasn’t his business. Maybe on another night, an easier night, John would have been more concerned. But tonight… No, it just wasn’t his problem. If the whiz-kid wanted to fool around with one of the students, he could have at it. John was too fatigued to care. After all, it wasn’t his career being gambled for a clumsy hookup in a public shitter.

John downed his drink. The soda portion seemed excessive. “Shot of whiskey,” he told the bartender with a generous tip.

He was decidedly hung over the next morning, and many mornings to follow, yet John still couldn’t help noticing certain things.

He caught a glimpse of the new English professor — Theodore Torres was his name — arguing with the student with whom Torres was illicitly seeing. Mike Dawson was a senior, and too cocky for his own good. Still, he had gotten A’s in both the Economics and Calculus courses John taught. John had thought he was smarter than this.

The lack of discretion was getting wearisome. As a senior professor, John knew he should step in. And maybe some small part of him craved the satisfaction he would derive from Dawson’s fear and Torres’ humiliation. He could hold it over both of them. He could single-handedly end both of their careers at any given moment.

He wouldn’t. But it was an amusing thought to indulge.

That afternoon, as John approached Torres’ office door, he could hear the two idiots arguing yet again. The door was open a crack. How truly careless; how idiotic.

“No Mike, this discussion is over. I can’t risk them growing anymore,” Torres was complaining. “I mean look at these things.”

“What’s the big deal,” Mike Dawson responded. “I’ll be more gentle, man. We don’t even have to...”

John didn’t hear whatever else Mike had said, because he had unconsciously looked through the crack in the door, and had spotted something that left him stunned. He blinked hard, but he was still seeing it.

Torres had…well…there was no other way to put it. He had tits.

John was so astonished, whatever he had been intending to do was lost to him. He stepped away from the door to lean on the wall, wondering if he should cut back on his drinking after all.

Another glance reinforced John’s certainty that Torres had somehow sprouted a sizeable pair of tits out of nowhere. They were presently stretching out his shirt, cleavage bulging over his neckline. John tried to recall the last few times he had seen Torres around campus, the younger professor often going to the faculty lounge to retrieve his thermos. John couldn’t remember Torres ever having these funbags on his chest. Then again, Torres was often hunched down, clutching his briefcase like a lifeline, or wearing these truly awful, amorphous sweaters.

What the fuck? John wondered as he walked off, stumbling a bit. Was Torres trans? If so, he had never mentioned it. And everyone seemed to address him with masculine synonyms. It could be that he was trying to hide an ongoing — and clearly significant — transition. Fuck, those things just looked so natural. As a matter of fact, Torres had been wearing nothing but a tank top a few weeks earlier at a company retreat on the coast. Back then, his chest had been completely flat. Courses had been in session ever since, and John doubted that Torres would have had the time to get surgery. Even if he had, there was no way he could have healed so quickly. None of this made sense.

-

John stayed late at work that evening.

He would have almost felt guilty if he hadn’t done this before, to other faculty members, several times in the past. Sometimes John had issues with… boundaries.

John had master keys to all the offices and facilities on campus. As a head professor, he sometimes covered for the Dean and other senior administration members when they were out of the office for various emergencies. Every time, he was given control of all the campus keys. Eventually, John had just decided to make himself copies.

By 9 PM, there were few people around except for maintenance and whichever students were doing cram sessions in the library.

John went into Torres’ office and went through his desk. He found pamphlets, papers, and some old literature. There was a stress ball, plastic utensils, dozens of pens and pencils, a miniature bottle of vodka, a half-eaten granola bar, and some other teaching paraphernalia but there was nothing particularly interesting or incriminating. No evidence of what the hell was going on with Torres’ body. John was stumped. He was about to head home, but suddenly had a thought.

He went to the faculty lounge, and this time unlocked Torres’ cupboard there. Every faculty member had one. Just a place to store food or snacks for long days at work.

John found some crackers, a box of cereal, coffee mix, powdered creamer, and…tucked in the back…

Curiously…John retrieved a small bottle of pills.

John scanned the label, his eyes widening.

…growth supplement…

…bovine…

…mammary development…

…highly potent…

…satisfaction guaranteed…

“Jesus christ,” John muttered.

Torres had grown himself some big natural breasts.

-

A little over a week passed since Theodore had let Mike touch him, and Theodore was certain that his breast size was going down a little. His clothing and undergarments no longer felt so unbearably tight on him. Theodore had gotten a new compression vest to wear when at work, and things were going well.

Of course, it had since occurred to Theodore that growing woman breasts yet not being able to touch them might have defeated the purpose, to an extent. Well, he could still touch them a little. Granted he avoided the nipple area. And sometimes his hands wandered when he was half-asleep, though Theodore always managed to stop himself short of getting too indulgent. As good as his nipples felt to be teased, squeezed, and tugged, he couldn’t afford the risk of making his breasts grow any larger.

Theodore continued to frequent the gay bar scene, if just occasionally. He enjoyed the liberation and socialization, yet he found himself a little more careful now. He was still adjusting to the newness of his breasts and their predilection for growing. On top of that, he was decidedly paranoid about bumping into another one of his students, and even worse — not realizing it.

As if on cue, Theodore glimpsed a familiar face. Mike, Theodore thought, feeling a flood of irritation as he watched the college student start to shove his way through the crowd, and towards Theodore. Since their last argument, Theodore was honestly fed up. So he finished off his drink and took his leave before Mike could catch up with him.

-

On campus the next day, Theodore rummaged through his cupboard in the faculty lounge, still annoyed that his weekend had been cut short. After leaving the bar, Theodore had spent the remainder of his Sunday night playing a game on his computer while simultaneously watching some god-awful rom-coms. He could have been out dancing, but instead, he had gone home just to avoid his very-persistent and increasingly-problematic student.

Fucking, Mike.

While digging around for some extra coffee stirrers, Theodore’s hand unexpectedly made contact with a pill bottle. He lifted the item, bringing it to his face. He scoffed as he unscrewed the cover. Theodore even entertained the concept of taking some. Mike would just love that. He would absolutely love to watch Theodore’s breasts just blow up like damn balloons.

With a sigh, Theodore went over to the sink and poured the pills down the drain. He had achieved his goal and he didn’t need the supplements anymore. His breasts looked great and it was time to move on to other things.

“You know, you’re not supposed to pour pills down the sink. That’s bad for the water supply,” said a gruff voice.

Theodore startled. He hadn’t even realized that someone else had entered the lounge. He turned to see one of the math professors sitting at one of the circular tables sprinkled the room.

“Sorry,” Theodore stammered, blushing. “You’re right, John. I wasn’t thinking. Just…just throwing away some expired allergy pills.”

John gave a slight nod, but his eyes continued to scrutinize. “Everything okay, Torres?”

“’course,” Theodore managed. He probably looked like a lunatic, all flustered and guilty. John’s penetrating gaze certainly wasn’t helping things. “I’m running late to class. See you later.” Absently adjusting his shirt, Theodore left.

-

John couldn’t deny that he found this situation with Torres to be entirely fascinating. It occupied his mind even when he was trying to focus on other things. Sometimes he would look at the discrete curve in Torres’ button down shirts and wonder how the kid was able to even hide those things. Because from what John had seen, Torres’ tits were objectively huge. He had a pair of fat knockers that would have been considered big even if Torres was a natural-born woman. As they said, ‘go hard or go home.’ Clearly, Torres had gone all out.

And John just couldn’t stop thinking about it. Which was hardly his fault. He’d never seen this kind of thing. A new English professor had joined the staff then sprouted tits out of nowhere. Big, fat, fluffy ones. He had come along and thrown everything off-kilter. Invading the school with his progressive, dastardly perverseness, now holding John and the administration hostage because they couldn’t say a word. About Torres’ big, bouncing pillows. Jesus, fuck.

But to call John obsessed seemed unwarranted. He was just trying to…adjust to it. His understanding of reality had been turned on its head. It made sense to be intrigued by it.

Yet that didn’t explain why John found himself at home on his laptop late one night, nursing a cool glass of whiskey. Some compulsion had incited him to look up those cow-pills Torres had taken to grow his tits. It took a while, as well as a highly-specific farm-supply search engine. Once John finally found it in the results, he saw that the drug had been discontinued globally. He wondered how Torres had gotten it.

As John scrolled, a different drug appeared under ‘alternative medication.’ John found himself staring, clicking on it. He felt insane.

Lacphora, the drug was called. John scanned the description.

Significantly increases fertility and milk production in cows, goats, and most other livestock.

Concentrated formula.

Large and healthy calves, guaranteed.

Well, the kid was into cow-products anyway.

Before John could even register his actions, he was entering his shipping information. His ex was a vet, and he still had her license ID memorized from the weeks that their cat had had pneumonia. John rapidly put in an order for Lacphora.

Then he put his laptop off to the side and wondered what the hell he was doing.