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Bad Roommate, Part 22
🕑 Added 2025-02-14 19:03:36 +0000 UTC$4/Base Directory
$7/Bronze Directory
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Summary: Justin's stomach progressively transforms into a giant breast. Contains: Male: belly expansion, breast expansion, belly-breast, and more.
This story is a work of fiction. As specified throughout the story, all characters featured in this work are 18 years of age or older.
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“You can’t keep me in here!” Ryan Roland shouted. He was in the basements of the mansion, locked up behind the bars of a hidden cell there. All he had was a toilet, a small bed with a thin mattress, and a camera attached to the ceiling in the corner, pointing down at him and following his movements. “This is illegal! You have no right!”
Ryan didn’t even know if anyone could hear him down there. His voice echoed off the walls, then left him again in silence.
He was understandably agitated. Restless and exhausted. It must have been hours since he had been thrown down there. He dropped to his knees, fatigued.
There was a creaking noise as the large wooden door across the room slowly began to open. Ryan stared through the bars as a servant entered. The man was wearing a plastic mask that covered his face, rendering him unidentifiable.
“Please,” Ryan begged hoarsely. “You have to get me out of here.”
The servant did not respond, only sliding a tray through the small gap beneath the bars, before retreating again. After the man exited, Ryan could hear a key turning in the lock.
“This is bullshit!” Ryan cried. He panted a little, feeling dizzy. He spotted a thermos lying horizontally on the tray, and grabbed it up. He unscrewed the cover and took a swig, his mouth filling with cool water.
It was only after he had taken several gulps that Ryan lowered the thermos and registered the odd, synthetic aftertaste to the water. Was it contaminated? Was he being drugged?
Frowning, Ryan looked back down at the tray. The meal there was sad and simple, just a sandwich, an apple, and some soggy greens.
He suddenly felt very tired. Perhaps now that he had stopped fighting, the exhaustion was hitting him. It was a lot of stress, after all. It wasn’t every day that one was kidnapped by their own employer.
So Ryan heaved himself up on weak legs and made his way towards the bed. His backside bobbed with his movements in a way that he was getting weirdly accustomed to. Ryan was careful to climb onto the mattress on all fours, lowering himself against his stomach. He moaned wearily into the rough sheets, and fell asleep in only seconds.
-
It was the third day into Ryan’s incarceration at Milton’s mansion. As he had done the prior two days, he paced around his cell.
He just wished that he knew why he was being kept there, or for how long. Nothing had changed. There was no indication that he was being freed anytime soon. Each day proved to be the same as the prior one. Ryan was left alone, and occasionally brought food and water. Potentially, this could go on for several more days or weeks…even longer. What if he was kept there indefinitely? The thought was maddening.
But Ryan tried not to get ahead of himself. It had only been three days, so far. Someone must have been looking for him by then. He simply had to wait this out.
He absently scratched his posterior, causing it to jiggle somewhat. He usually tried to limit contact with his odd development, but his backside felt especially irritated lately. And the…the nipples there were more swollen than usual. Ryan still got rather dazed when he reflected on the fact that he had grown a pair of breasts on his butt-cheeks.
Ryan stopped pacing. He knew that he had to relax. His feet were starting to hurt from his constant movement, so he walked to the wooden chair in the corner, and hesitated.
He eased himself down as gingerly as he could, hissing as his bloated flesh was steadily squashed between him and the firm wood. He moaned quietly, but stayed in place, seated there on his ass, trying not to move much. It was getting so uncomfortable to sit against the mounds, but he tried to tolerate it. He was tired of pacing, and he was tired of lying on his stomach.
He just wished he knew what was happening to his body. He had never heard of anything as bizarre as his affliction. Clearly it was contagious. He had caught this from that guy — Kyle. Ryan cringed at the sheer thought of the man — just a fat pile of masses. Breasts upon breasts, taking over his body. How so very strange and disturbing. Ryan supposed that he should have been grateful that he wasn’t like that. Not nearly.
A key turned in the lock. Ryan looked up to see a masked servant walk in. It was hard to tell whether it was a different person from the one who had dropped off his meals the day before. Ryan supposed it didn’t matter.
But rather than dropping off a meal, the masked man walked over to Ryan’s cell and unlocked it. Eagerly, Ryan stood. His hands instinctively shot back to stabilize his butt-breasts, which were jiggling from the abrupt movement.
The masked man didn’t speak, but motioned for Ryan to move. Obligingly, and rather gratefully, Ryan shuffled out of the cell. Were they finally releasing him?
Unfortunately for Ryan, he was does not led out of the room. Instead, the masked man motioned to a door on the wall adjacent to the exit.
Ryan hesitated.
The man grabbed his arm, dragging Ryan towards the indicated door, and opening it.
It was a brightly lit bathroom. Its immaculate state clashed oddly with the dingy room and cell in which Ryan had been held.
“Fifteen minutes,” said the masked servant.
Fifteen minutes…to clean himself up. Ryan was being allowed to bathe after three days of captivity.
Though the idea of a bath was welcoming, Ryan just wanted to go home. Briefly, he contemplated running for the door, but there was no knob, just a keyhole, and it was certain to be locked. He would need the key to open it.
Even more fleetingly, Ryan thought of trying to overpower the masked servant, but he was doubtful that he could. The man was taller and broader than Ryan, who was slim, and exceptionally weary after being stuck in a dark basement for three days with nothing but his thoughts to entertain him.
It was frustrating. The moment his cell door had been unlocked, Ryan had gotten a taste of hope. And now this letdown.
With a grimace, he walked into the bathroom, slamming the door shut in the masked man’s face. He had to admit that it felt good.
Ryan then he sighed and stood there, not knowing what was next. There were no windows, and no items that he could try to use as a tool or weapon. And so, resignedly, he proceeded with what he had been brought here for: bathing.
As he got in the shower and lathered himself up, he could not deny how good it felt to have clean, hot water splattering against his body, loosening up the tension along his muscles.
A certain amount of contact with his backside simply could not be avoided in the process of cleansing. And as much as Ryan tried to control himself, his hands would wander there repeatedly. It felt so good to be touched there, even by his own hands. He lightly traced the area a few times, then applied more pressure, starting to rub firmly. His cock hardened as he panted, and started fully massaging the mounds. Two plump globes of fatty flesh that simply did not belong.
He felt vaguely the way he had in his cell — as though he was being watched. And still, Ryan couldn’t help himself. His hands groped at the heated, tingling masses. This was madness. He had to stop. He had goddamn breasts growing on his ass.
There was a forceful pounding on the bathroom door. “Three minutes!” the masked servant called.
It jolted Ryan out of his debauched enterprise. Shakily, he turned off the shower, breathing heavily.
Ryan got out of the tub and hurriedly patted himself dry with some of the fluffy towels hanging from a rack. Again he was astonished by the contrast between this pristine bathroom and the dank jail just outside of it.
Lightly shaking his head, Ryan started to get dressed in the clothing he had previously doffed. He pulled on his shirt, flinching only a little when the cotton dragged on his chest-nipples, which were just a bit more sensitive than usual.
As he wrapped his scarf around his ass, he could not ignore the fact that the garment seemed smaller than ever before. It was running out of length. But he made do, managing to tie it tightly: a makeshift brassiere for the round masses jiggling behind him. He grimaced at how truly odd things had become.
“Times up!” the masked servant called, just as Ryan was pulling on his pants.
Ryan hurried to zip his trousers, but they were tighter than ever, and he nearly didn’t get the button closed. The pants were uncomfortably snug at the seat. He found himself shifting awkwardly.
The door banged open. “Let’s go,” said his escort, seeming to leer through the beady eyes of the mask.
Frowning, Ryan walked out of the bathroom, and allowed himself to be locked back in his cell.
-
Another few days passed. Admittedly, Ryan was losing track of time. It was hard to pay attention when the environment was consistently dark with just a few pale lights, and when he was bored out of his mind. On top of that, the discomfort of his backside was proving a significant preoccupation.
Ryan paced slowly. He absently rubbed his chest, but then stopped himself. When they weren’t wandering to his ass, his hands seemed magnetized to his chest and the small hills growing there. Ryan gulped, and for the umpteenth time tried to forget the fact that he was clearly developing a new pair of breasts.
He couldn’t sit at all anymore—it was just too painful. So either he paced, or he would lay on his stomach. Sometimes he would get on his hands and knees, just for a different position. He was exhausted from it all. Not being able to sit. Constantly fighting the urge to touch and soothe the soft mounds growing on his irritated body. Maybe things would have been better if he had a proper distraction, but it was just him in the cell, with occasional appearances from a masked attendant.
His pants were tight. Almost painfully so. Ryan knew that he should have taken them off, but something in his mind equated that to giving in. It would be acknowledging, and accepting, this strange condition. Ryan simply couldn’t do it. It would be the ultimate shame and embarrassment.
Another part of him was fearful that the sheer act of removing his pants would somehow cause his ass to grow more.
The camera continued to follow his slow, awkward movements. Indeed, his stride was awkward now. Ryan had to take care with every step, given the fatty orbs wobbling on his backside. One wrong move could leave him achingly hard. He swore, each ass cheek must have been the size of a honeydew now.
Ryan froze as his trousers quavered. Before he could react, there was a tearing noise, and he could feel the fabric giving way, ripping down the middle. “Unghh!” His ass burst free. Ryan reached back, clutching the globes. He groaned, fighting back the waves of arousal building in his lower belly. Instead he allowed the panic to take hold, because he had fucking outgrown his pants. He had only been there a week or so. Two, max. How were these things growing so fast?
His butt-breasts felt pressurized, even in the absence of the seat of his pants constricting them. Ryan moaned, dropping to his knees. He just wished that he could see what was going on back there.
He got down to all fours, grunting as the pressure surged. He could feel his ass pulsing with heat, tightening and expanding as he arched, groaning. Something stung, then there was the oddest sensation yet. Wet release. Almost a…squirting?
Ryan craned his neck, struggling to look back. He twisted his hips, sticking his ass even higher. High enough to get a peek. He gaped at what he saw. The two swollen nipples protruding from his butt-cheeks were…leaking. They were spraying milk!
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