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Virus (5 Parts)
🕑 Added 2025-04-07 22:32:17 +0000 UTCNote: This is a story-prompt for Kush Destroyer.
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1.
Tristan couldn’t take his eyes off of the news. It looked like the whole town was going into quarantine. This new virus seemed really serious. And what unfortunate timing. The city was still recovering from the last epidemic.
Well at least he got a break from college. Tristan supposed that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. He needed an education after all; these days it was hard to get a decent job without it. Then again, he supposed he could always become a content creator or something. His RatMan fanfics had gotten some pretty decent reception online…
The door burst open. Tristan turned his head so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. Stumbling through the door was his roommate, Rob. “Dude, it’s madness out there!” said Rob, kicking off his sneakers. He coughed into his hand then wiped it on his T-shirt, leaving a green-tinged smear.
“I know,” said Tristan, pointing towards the TV. The news was covering the situation nonstop. “They’re saying they don’t even know what this new virus is capable of. They’re calling it Bovid-19, I think.”
“For real, all my classes are canceled.”
“They’re shutting down the whole campus, dumbass.”
Rob walked over and plopped down on the opposite side of the couch. “Aahhh-cheww!” he sneezed in Tristan’s direction, before sniffing and wiping his nose. “Eugh, sorry man.”
Tristan sat there with his eyes shut and face contorted, the speckles of saliva still covering him. He wiped his hand down his visage and gave Rob an incredulous look. Then he sighed, shook his head, and directed his attention back towards the television.
Rob sneezed again.
-
Almost immediately following that, Tristan started putting on weight. Some might rationalize that it was due to the fact that he was now stuck inside, and deprived of his usual active lifestyle in addition to his daily gym visits. But it was just too fast and too intense, and Tristan was eating nonstop, positively stuffing himself. And the same was happening with Rob. The two were becoming complete slobs. There wasn’t a day that they didn’t put in massive food orders, draining their college funds for burgers and pizza. There was one occasion where the two got into a fight over a bean burrito, and Tristan had damn near killed the other guy!
In less than a week, the two of them had grown blatantly chubby. But not normal-chubby, they were putting on weight in all the wrong places. Rob’s thighs were now squishing together, his hips getting plump and fat. And his backside — what the hell was going on with Rob’s ass? It was just ballooning.
Tristan hated to admit it, but he was experiencing similar changes. His growth was most blatant at his gut and his…his chest, for some reason. It was getting softer, and…fuller, sort of like a girls’. But not really, because he wasn’t a girl. It was just a little weight gain. He probably needed to ease up on the fried chicken wings.
The updates on the virus were concerning. Tristan sat there watching, uncomfortably conscious of the way his rounded belly was now stretching out his T-shirt.
“Every course of the virus seems to run the same,” the reporter was saying. “It spreads to humans of any gender, and will infect them permanently. Over the course of a month, those infected will develop hyper-feminine, cow-like features. The sufferer will gain a significant amount of weight, in addition to experiencing things such as breast development and growth, but also buttocks growth, hips widening, in addition to other, more unusual, symptoms. Initial signs are often coughing and sneezing, shortly followed by a significant increase in appetite. Again, the effects of the virus usually take place over the course of a month. A very minuscule percentage of people are immune, though to everyone else, this virus is extremely contagious.”
Tristan gulped. No way, just…no way. He zoned out.
“Still watching the news?” said Rob as he walked out of his bedroom. “Man, you’re obsessed.” Rob’s usually-lose jersey and basketball shorts were presently skin-tight and stretching against him. His pudgy backside was bulging out at all edges of the material. His shirt was pulling taut over the increased width of his waist. “I don’t watch that stuff, it rots your brain.” Rob scratched at his enlarged backside, causing it to shiver a bit.
Tristan closed his eyes for a moment to gather his thoughts. When he looked back up at Rob, he said, as calmly as he could, “Rob, do you notice anything…odd, going on with us?”
“Yeah,” said Rob, as he walked languidly towards the fridge. “You’ve definitely been bulking up.”
“We’re getting fat!” Tristan yelled in panic.
Rob just gave him an odd look as he pulled a large container of rice pudding out of the fridge. “Yeah, happens every spring break. We’ll hit the gym after quarantine.”
“Rob, I think this is more serious than that –”
But Rob seemed all but interested as he started to guzzle down the rice pudding, not even bothering to use a spoon.
2.
As much as Tristan tried to embrace denial, at a certain point he had to admit it. He was infected. He was personally experiencing the effects of Bovid-19, and the extent of his ongoing changes was truly alarming.
He couldn’t stop eating. Sometimes he felt like crying while still frantically stuffing his mouth with food. He was desperately hungry at any time of the day. When he wasn’t ordering burgers, Chinese, sub sandwiches, or loaded extra-large pizzas just for himself, he would throw something together on his own, in a vain effort to save money. He would boil several boxes of macaroni and cheese in a big soup pot, or bake some potatoes and drown it all in melted butter. Sometimes he would make simple rice, with butter. Butter with everything, really. Butter was fucking amazing. How had he never noticed that before?
Rob wasn’t faring much better. He too had become a bottomless pit when it came to food. Their apartment was a mess, covered in food wrappings, dirty pots, pans, and dishes, and full trash bags that were accumulating faster than they could be taken out.
Their relentless appetites corresponded directly with their growth. Tristan had tried to ignore it for a while, but he was undeniably developing breasts. The only reason he really acknowledged it was because it was uncomfortable, feeling the mounds bounce around on his chest anytime he moved around. He needed support.
One morning he went to his bedroom mirror, took a gulp, and truly surveyed himself. In addition to his newly plump hips, thighs, backside, his rounder face, and softer shoulders, Tristan had grown a decent pair of breasts. Well, decent, if they were attached to someone else. They had to already be C-cups, where they sat full and perky on his chest, pushing his already straining shirt outward, bulging out visibly so there was no denying them.
“Fuck,” Tristan whispered, shaking his head. His hands moved up, cupping the undersides of the soft mounds, a small groan escaping his throat as his body shivered. Damn, they were sensitive. Like, really sensitive. Was this normal? It wasn’t as though he knew how they were supposed to feel attached to one’s own body. He lightly shook his head. He couldn’t believe this. He was really turning into a hu-cow.
Hu-cow. That’s what the media was dubbing the victims. Fertile, plump, voluptuous men and woman who were afflicted with the virus, many developing strange cow features. It was all so disturbing, Tristan didn’t like thinking about it.
Rob, who was somehow even more voracious than Tristan was, was even bigger in the chest area now. His tits must have been D-cups, based on Tristan’s estimation. They were round and bouncy, sweaty cleavage bulging out in Rob’s tank tops. The college student in question would spend most of his time perched on the couch, eating his most recent food order. His skin was flushed and dewy, tits wobbling merrily. Sometimes he would scratch one, then groan. Sometimes he would squeeze a nipple, experimentally, until he grunted out, giving no fucks about whether or not Tristan was around to see him do it.
Tristan frowned at his reflection and pulled a jacket around his shoulders, though it didn’t come close to closing around him. He couldn’t exactly afford a new wardrobe. Not while he was still growing. Better to wait till the end of the month, when the transformation stopped, and he became…whatever he was becoming. Every day he browsed the internet for news of a cure, but nothing yet. But he was hopeful.
Folding his arms awkwardly against his chest, and wincing a little while doing so, Tristan walked out of his room. He paused at the sight of Rob standing in the kitchenette, glugging from a milk gallon, some of the fluid trickling down his chin, and into his deep fold of sweaty cleavage.
Tristan couldn’t help staring. Rob’s breasts looked as though they had grown significantly since the previous day. They had to be EEs already, his shirt looking as though it might tear right open.
Odder, was how perky they were. They were so full and round, not sagging even vaguely. His nipples were huge, bulging visibly against his top. They had to be at least the size of marbles, albeit more elliptical. Sticking out way too far.
Rob finished the milk gallon and lowered the jug to the table, panting as he wiped his mouth, one of his hands cupping the side of his right breast. “Can’t believe how thirsty I was,” he remarked, is huge ass bobbing slightly as he turned to face Tristan. “Man, my body’s been out of control. Could you believe how much weight I’m putting on?”
“Rob, we’re obviously infected,” said Tristan irritably.
But as usual, Rob was hardly listening. Instead he grimaced, now cupping his breasts with both hands, as he arched and grunted. “Errghhh…not again…” he groaned, and then moisture blossomed on the front of his shirt against his nipples, making the material even thinner than before, making his nipples look as though they were growing as they pressed outward, against the semi-transparent, now-damp cotton.
There was fluid coming out of Rob’s nipples. Rob was…lactating.
“Ohhh…” Rob moaned, panting now. “Seems like such a waste.” He threw Tristan a weary glance. “Maybe we could use it for our cereal or something,” he added blithely.
How could Rob be so chill about this? Tristan’s mind went hazy. “I think I have to sit down.”
Rob shrugged and scratched at an itch above his groin as Tristan made his way to a chair.
3.
In a matter of days, Tristan’s breasts had managed to swell up to the size of Rob’s, and they felt terribly bloated. His flesh tingled and his nipples ached. The mounds were just so hot, full, and round. He suspected he knew what was going on, but he didn’t want to admit it.
Rob was irritatingly blasé about the whole situation. He had indeed started to use his breastmilk in his cereal. Tristan thought it was insane, but Rob was as happy as could be.
“Dude, you’ve got to try it. It’s fucking delicious,” Rob called around a mouthful of fruity-Os. He was sprawled across the couch, where his ass seemed to be permanently parked lately.
“Man, you are insane,” Tristan responded, where he was hunched at the kitchen table, staring down at a bowl of oatmeal that he hadn’t touched so far. He was trying to eat healthier, but all he could think about at that moment was the box of donuts sitting in the fridge, practically calling out to him.
To further distract him, his nipples were stinging, and he could hardly focus. They ached to be touched somehow, but he had resisted the temptation up until that point. He groaned and arched, stretching out his spine, while shoving his tits farther out into his shirt, as his swollen nipples pressed into the cotton. Damn, that felt good. He shifted, encouraging the friction. He was so damn close. He groaned again, the heat of his chest practically suffocating. He needed relief.
“You just have to let go, brah,” Rob called from the couch.
Tristan’s eyes snapped open. “What?” he said, getting a little defensive. He quickly returned to hunching, not that he was hiding anything. His growth was blatantly obvious.
“Let go, man. Let those babies squirt.” Rob cackled.
Tristan wrinkled his nose and returned his attention to his oatmeal.
He felt as though the more he gave in, the worse his condition would get. He knew it wasn’t true, yet he couldn’t accept what was happening to him; not yet. It was like giving up his masculinity altogether.
He seemed to be suffering all the symptoms the virus had to offer. Tristan had noticed, in recent days, that his genitals seemed to be getting smaller. At first he had told himself that he was imagining it, but now it was quite obvious. At this point, his dick was already down to half its original size, and he couldn’t get hard no matter the amount of effort he put into it. In contrast, his nipples were constantly hard and bulging, constantly so sensitive that it left his whole body shivering.
He was continuing to pile on weight, the layer of fat that covered his body only thickening. His gut had become soft and plump, his ass round and jiggling when he walked around. His hips were just massive, his thighs, fat and squishing together whenever he moved.
And there was another development transpiring, directly below his waistband. At his pubic region, the hair had thinned out over the past couple of days, until it had become entirely bare. Tristan could see that the skin had turned a faint pink color, that was deepening every day. In addition to that, the flesh was becoming fuller and bloated. And itchy at times. He could see small bumps, like mosquito bites, forming on the surface. This was the worst development yet. It was said that a small percentage of people with the virus actually developed a functional udder.
Tristan could tell that Rob was experiencing the same thing. Their rates of growth seemed to have synced up somehow. He could see the curve in Rob sweatpants; the gentle swell of his own udder developing there.
At a sharp stinging in his nipples, Tristan’s whole body tensed up. “Guhhh…” he groaned, then his fingers were moving before he could stop himself. His hands slid along the undersides of his breasts, moving up his nipples, fingering them through his top. He rubbed the nubs, moaning quietly, desperate for relief of the heat and pressure. “Nghhhh…” He arched, finally squeezing one of his nipples. He felt the material of his shirt dampening, his face flushing, as he gasped for breath.
And so he was lactating.
-
It took a couple of days before Tristan tried it, mainly out of morbid curiosity. Rob seemed completely hooked on his own milk, drinking it continuously, trying to incorporate it into every meal. When he wasn’t gobbling down cereal, he was drinking shakes, or even making homemade ice cream, which seemed like more effort than was even logical. That day, Tristan saw Rob boiling his milk into some sort of pudding, and he could no longer take it. Tristan went into his room, closed and locked the door, then wrenched up his shirt. He stared at the swollen mounds, easily the size of honeydews where they wobbled on his chest, full and round, nipples swollen and dripping. He drew a deep breath, and allowed some of his own milk to splatter onto the palm of his hand. He lifted it to his face, sniffed it, and finally flicked his tongue out to lick it.
His eyes went wide.
It was good.
4.
Tristan knew he was getting lazier. It wasn’t like he had much to do being quarantined in the small apartment. He soon found himself spending a lot of his time parked on the couch right beside Rob. They would eat, watch movies, or play video games when they weren’t feeling too lethargic. Tristan also found himself consuming his own milk with relative frequency. And his growth seemed to be truly surging in consequence. Every time he took inventory of himself, he could see that he had gotten larger. The weight was continuing to pile on, his whole body covered in a thick, squishy coating. His backside was getting enormous, and his breasts were just surging. They had to be the size of honeydews by then, bulging out on his chest, nipples the size of golf balls. His shirt was strained taut on him, barely fitting, barely covering even his nipples. Sometimes it was a struggle just not to touch his own body, as it was littered with sensation at unpredictable times. Tingling, numbness, aches, and heat. Often he tried not to acknowledge the most unnatural of his changes, that being the…the udder thing.
It had only grown larger over the past several days. It was now a round, rubbery ball bulging out from his pubic region. Like his breasts, it was filled with a heated, bloated sensation. The nubs had grown out by inches, protruding like little fingers. Often they stung, tingled, or ached, much the way his nipples did. Sometimes he just leaned back and tried to breathe through it, trying to fight the urge to explore it.
Avoidance proved useless. “Mgghhhh…” Tristan groaned as both of his nipples arbitrarily squirted.
Rob threw him a grin. “Nice,” he said. Everything was like a game to him. He was just so blasé. It could be infuriating. But Tristan couldn’t worry about that right now. He took in a gasp of breath.
Rob had unabashedly plucked his own udder completely out from the waistband of the sweats he was wearing. Between watching the movie and throwing grins at Tristan, he was massaging it, fingering the rubbery pink flesh and stroking the nubs with idle fingers. He squeezed one of his teats, causing it to squirt a thin stream of milk. He grunted slightly, but continued to smile, as he absently milked it as though he’d done it before. He pointed the teat towards his own face, giving it a small tug while trying to catch the squirt of milk in his mouth, but instead it splashed against the underside of his huge, quaking jugs.
Tristan just threw his head back, his face pouring sweat. His nipples were now gushing heavily all down his torso, and his udder was positively prickling. He groaned as the mound tensed up.
“You know Tristan, I can help you out,” Rob offered. “If you want.” His eyes trailed up and down Tristan as he licked his lips.
Tristan’s body was aching. He threw Rob a weary glance. “Okay,” he managed before even thinking, then found himself shocked by what he had agreed to. He told himself to retract the invitation, but then found himself frozen, his heart pounding as Rob’s grin widened.
Rob came closer. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to taste this,” he said, as he reached down to cup Tristan’s breasts, causing Tristan to shiver. Finally, Rob leaned in, closing his lips around one of Tristan’s swollen pink nipples. He took a strong suck that left Tristan groaning out. It felt incredible. Tristan arched, shoving his tit harder into Rob’s mouth as he gasped for breath.
Rob drained him. It took an hour, but Rob hardly seemed to mind. He suckled one breast, and then the other, causing Tristan to melt in pleasure and relief, his body feeling tempered for the first time in a while.
Just when Tristan was about to doze, Rob crawled down. Tristan squirmed sleepily as his waistband was tugged down, allowing his udder to pop entirely free. He gasped and started as he felt something take hold of one of his teats.
Rob’s mouth.
“Nghhhhh!” Tristan groaned as Rob took a long suck.
Things were turning out…unexpectedly.
5.
A large belch erupted from Tristan’s throat.
It was a week later, and the transformation had continued to rapidly progress.
He moaned as he dipped his hand into the large mixing bowl filled with buttered pasta perched beside him. He grabbed up a handful and stuffed it into his mouth, before gulping it down with minimal effort. He repeated the process again and again, packing as much food as he could into his body. He was still chronically hungry and was eating constantly, his only obstacles being the sheer size and weight of his form, and the consequential lethargy, but Tristan made do. He and Rob helped each other, at least when they weren’t too distracted by food.
Tristan threw a glance at Rob who was perched beside him on the large couch. “Hey man, pass those burritos.” Tristan nodded to a large platter piled with oil-dripping burritos sitting on the coffee table in front of Rob.
“Fuck no,” Rob responded as he started to rapidly shove burritos into his mouth, practically sucking them down. He got through three before he started choking.
Tristan shrugged and grabbed up another handful of pasta.
The two students had gained massive amounts of weight in only days. Both of their bodies were as wide as large door frames, and Tristan had the sneaking suspicion that he and Rob could no longer fit out of the apartment because of their own massiveness — not that they had any desire or need to attempt it. All that mattered these days was eating.
Despite the pleasant sleepiness, the sugar-induced dopamine hits, and the interesting squishiness of his own body, there was a fair amount of discomfort. In addition to putting on a massive amount of weight from fat, Tristan was full and practically bursting with milk at any given moment. Even at that moment, his hot milk was spraying from all four of his teats and both of his nipples. His breasts were huge, each as large as a basketball, heaving and throbbing against his swollen body. His udder was even larger, perched on his thighs, teats squirting in all directions.
Rob’s body was equally as huge, squishy, and voluptuous. It was rare that either of them got off the couch anymore, except to occasionally waddle to bed. Sometimes one of them managed to drag himself to the kitchen for more snacks, though, for the most part, they ordered food. It was just too much effort to put anything together themselves these days. Frankly, any movement was difficult and exhausting.
It was a pleasant cycle. Schoolwork and aspirations had been abandoned. Lately, all Tristan could think about was eating, drinking, consuming, and growing. These base needs had become addictions and Tristan didn’t even answer the phone anymore. Sometimes he had the vague recollection that someone might have been trying to inquire about him. His family, or something. What did it matter, though?
“M’thirsty,” Rob mumbled after several moments of choking on the burritos. Despite his struggles, he’d managed to gobble down the whole plate, his plump face and deep fold of cleavage covered in cheese, sauce, and grease stains. He was wearing a brutally stretched tank top that barely pulled down over his nipples. Tristan wasn’t sure where he had gotten the thing. He himself had been nude for at least the past couple of days.
“C’mere,” Tristan invited, more for himself than Rob. He was insanely tight and overwhelmingly hot. The pressure inside his breasts and udder was only intensifying, adding to the discomfort and tension of steady growth. His nipples and teats pulsed as they continued their relentless spraying.
Rob leaned over, his huge body squishing against Tristan’s. He popped a nipple into his mouth, groaning in pleasure as his mouth was flooded with milk. He didn’t have to suck, but he did anyway, causing Tristan to groan out, his eyelids fluttering.
Rob’s cheeks bulged, some of the hot milk leaking out and rolling down his chin. There was just so much of it. Tristan was producing it faster than Rob could drink it, but Rob sucked it down anyway; as much as he could.
“Mgghhh…delicious...” Rob moaned, as he took another draw, getting milk all over him so his body was sleek and dripping.
Tristan just struggled to breathe, his face hot, body throbbing.
“Me next,” Rob said, before he leaned down to Tristan’s udder, sucking a teat deep into his mouth.
Tristan couldn’t deny that he was thirsty. He moaned and nodded.
As it turned out, this virus thing wasn’t too bad after all.
