Neighbors - Part 14 (Patreon)

Heavy Days

On Sunday, May 24, Chris woke up feeling ready to burst at 36 weeks pregnant. That morning, he weighed 244.8 pounds, about 60 pounds heavier than before getting pregnant. He was much smaller than Ryan, but that didn’t make things easier. His twin-filled belly pushed far out in front of him in a firm dome that changed the way he stood, walked, sat, slept, and even breathed when the babies crowded high under his ribs.

The first thing he noticed when he shifted under the sheets was how full his chest felt. Each tit was painfully engorged, so heavy that he felt them pressing firmly against the top of his belly. His nipples were thick and sensitive under the loose undershirt he slept in. Part of him still struggled to believe his previously firm chest had changed so much, but when he reached up to rub it and test how plump it was, the touch reminded him that it was all true.

“Oh, hell no,” he whispered as the subtle touch triggered the unstoppable leaking.

Wet spots immediately spread across the front of his undershirt, so he had to move before dampening the sheets—which had already happened more often than not recently. He slowly rolled into a sitting position, grunting because everything felt heavier. It took him a few seconds, but eventually he stood beside the bed, with one hand pressed into his lower back and the other softly caressing the side of his belly. He waited for his balance to settle before taking the first step toward the bathroom, and by then the leaking had gotten worse.

He stood in front of the mirror, removed the damp undershirt, and stared in disbelief as milk kept coming from his engorged nipples. He slowly reached up and cupped one of his boobs, weighing it as if trying to estimate how much liquid volume was inside. His free hand moved over the taut skin of his belly, feeling the babies stretch and roll.

Chris sighed, but a smile spread across his lips. “At least I can still drive,” he joked to himself, thinking about Ryan’s struggles with the sextuplet pregnancy. “That doesn’t mean you can get much bigger, you hear me?” he said, looking down at his belly. “And stop using my bladder as a punching bag. I’ve already got enough wet issues up here,” he added, pressing his fingers into the swollen tit and forcing a rush of milk so strong that it hit the mirror.

By the time he came downstairs, Renee already had Rory in his high chair, and breakfast spread across the kitchen. He sat carefully, using the table for support, and looked across at Rory, who was busy smashing bananas into the tray with total concentration. The sight made him smile. There had been so much noise around them for months, but their family life had started feeling softer again—which was good enough.

“I was thinking,” Renee said, wiping some banana off Rory’s hand, “we could do something normal today,” she added, smiling at Chris. “Just us three. Somewhere nice. Lunch, maybe walk around a little if you’re up for it.”

Chris looked down at his belly as one of the twins stretched at the top. “You say ‘walk around,’ and I only hear ‘destroying my feet and back.’”

Renee laughed. “Then we don’t walk much. We go out before everything gets insane with two more babies in the house.”

Chris knew she was right. His doctor had repeatedly insisted that the babies could come “any day now,” so they were running out of time as a family of three. He looked at Rory again, then at Renee. “Okay,” he said. “But somewhere with comfortable chairs, accessible parking, and a bathroom that isn’t half a mile away.”

“You’re becoming very high maintenance.” Renee laughed softly. “And I know, I know. You’re carrying twins. But that excuse is gonna stop working soon.”

Chris snorted. “I’m going to use it until the second they’re out.”

They settled on a family restaurant about 20 minutes away. The first obstacle for their plan was getting Chris dressed for the place—not formal but far from his recent comfort zone. The first problem was his tits because they had gotten so round that even loose fabric rested over them differently. He still resisted wearing the bra outside, but without it, the heavy mounds dropped over the top of his belly, and his nipples pushed too visibly against the fabric.

He picked a thick undershirt and two nursing pads tucked awkwardly inside. Then he put on an open blue shirt over it. He looked at himself in the mirror afterward and sighed. His abdomen pushed the undershirt so forward that the shirt barely fell straight around it because there was too much belly in the way. His chest looked full even with the extra fabric, and his nipples were still faintly visible through both layers whenever he moved.

“I look extremely pregnant,” he said, frowning.

“You are extremely pregnant,” Renee answered, smirking.

“Thanks,” he added, rolling his eyes. “Very helpful for my self-esteem.”

They arrived at the restaurant a while later, and the place was already busy. Sunday lunch meant families everywhere: toddlers, grandparents, couples with babies, kids coloring at tables, and high chairs lined against the hostess stand. Chris realized that might have been a mistake because being around crying babies was the most reliable way to trigger the leaking.

He looked at Renee as they walked through the door. “There are too many babies here.”

“You’ll be fine. Did you bring the pads?” She asked, and Chris nodded. “Then you’ll survive. If anything happens, Rory always loves to help drain the excess milk.”

Chris blushed and looked around to see if anyone had heard their short conversation. Everybody seemed to be minding their business until they saw him. Chris had gotten used to people looking at his belly, but he still didn’t like it. A woman waiting near the entrance looked from Chris to Renee to Rory, clearly trying to work out what she was seeing. Chris ignored them and kept walking with one hand resting atop his belly.

The booth they got was wide, which immediately improved his mood. Once seated, Chris shifted back until his belly settled comfortably, then spread his knees a little underneath the table to make room. He noticed another couple at the next table looking over. The woman was visibly pregnant herself, maybe 7 months, and her eyes kept dropping to Chris’s belly with obvious confusion.

Everything felt normal for a while. Rory ate small pieces off Renee’s plate, and Chris relaxed despite the continuous stares. He ate more than he meant to, partly because pregnancy hunger had become unpredictable. Some days he could barely finish half a meal because the twins crowded his stomach, but other days he felt like he could eat everything in sight. That afternoon, he finished most of his sandwich, stole fries from Renee, and complained when Rory grabbed one from his plate.

“Seriously?” Chris said, looking at him. “You have your own.”

Rory grinned in the cutest way.

Renee laughed. “He learned from you.”

The family next to them had a baby in a carrier, maybe 4 or 5 months old. Chris noticed because he had become weirdly aware of babies lately. He could hear the soft noises, the little coos, and the occasional fuss. For a while it was fine, but then the baby started crying. Chris froze with his glass halfway to his mouth.

“Oh, no, no,” he said, looking down at his chest and lowering the glass as his nipples tightened and a familiar pressure spread under his skin. His tits suddenly felt heavier, fuller, and swollen in seconds. “Please, no. Not here,” he whispered to himself.

The baby cried again, and Chris immediately felt the warmth spreading under his shirt. He tightened his jaw and closed his eyes as two dark spots formed through the undershirt.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he said. “I pumped before leaving home.”

Chris shifted in the booth, trying to discreetly adjust the pads, which was a terrible idea. The pressure and motion made the leaking worse. He pulled his hands away, but it was too late. The dampness spread across both sides of his chest, darker against the undershirt, and the open overshirt couldn’t hide it.

Rory noticed, stared for a second, and then reached both hands toward his dad with a small impatient sound. “Dada,” he repeated.

Chris looked at his baby. “Oh, great,” he said. “Now the actual customer noticed.”

Renee covered her mouth to hide a laugh.

Chris slid out of the booth as quickly as his body allowed. He had to scoot sideways and stand carefully while keeping one arm across his chest. He walked across the restaurant aware that people were looking. The dampness had spread wildly so it was visible even under the open shirt, and his nipples had tightened so much from the letdown that their shape showed clearly through the wet fabric.

He reached the family restroom, pushed the door open, and locked it behind himself. Chris stared at himself in the mirror for a moment, noticing how the pads had absorbed all the milk they could and then gave up. He pulled the shirt away from his skin and saw more milk flowing from his nipples like rivers.

“Fantastic. I’m a dairy cow,” he said, sighing.

A minute later, he heard a knock and Renee’s voice outside. “Chris?” She called, and he unlocked the door. She walked in carrying Rory, who immediately reached toward him.

Chris stared at his wife and their son. “You brought him.”

“He was asking for you,” she replied. “And you know he can help.”

Renee handed Rory over, and Chris adjusted the baby against his hip while trying not to press him directly against the soaked shirt. The movement made his belly shift forward, and he leaned back slightly to compensate.

Rory turned his face toward Chris’s chest and pressed his hand against it.

Chris looked down. “You realize I brought you here to eat restaurant food, right?”

He sighed and sat on a small changing bench along one wall, big enough for him to sit with Rory without feeling cramped. Once seated, he pulled the soaked shirt and undershirt up and away from his chest. Both tits looked rounder than they had that morning, and his nipples were damp and swollen from the letdown.

Chris shifted Rory into position, and the second he brought the baby close, Rory opened his mouth and latched. The pressure started easing immediately, and Chris’s shoulders dropped. Renee watched him with a smile as Rory settled into a calm rhythm.

The whole situation was absurd when Chris thought about it. He was sitting in a family restaurant bathroom at 36 weeks pregnant with twins, breastfeeding his 1-year-old son because another baby had cried two rooms away.

It took a while, but Rory eventually slowed, and Chris moved him to the other side. Rory sucked and swallowed just as eagerly, spreading his little hands across the tight skin to knead it.

“I’m telling you, I’m just a dairy cow to him,” Chris said, looking down at his son and how eagerly he nursed. “A dairy cow with a law degree.”

Renee laughed. “Well, just wait ‘til you have two more to feed.”

Chris’s eyes widened slightly. “I’ll need another nipple,” he said, and both laughed.

Eventually, Rory grew sleepy in Chris’s arms. He carefully adjusted the baby upright and let him rest against his shoulder. Renee opened the diaper bag and pulled out a folded shirt.

Chris stared at it. “You brought another shirt?”

She looked at him like the answer was obvious. “I’m married to a dairy cow with a law degree. Of course I brought another shirt.”

Chris snorted and slowly handed Rory to Renee for a moment so he could change into the spare shirt. The fresh fabric felt much better, though his chest was still tender and his nipples were visible through the shirt even more than when they first arrived.

When they returned to the table, the family beside them looked over. The mother who had been looking at Chris earlier gave him a longer look this time, scanning the fresh shirt and Rory sleeping against his shoulder. Chris could almost see the question forming again, but sat down before she could say anything.

They stayed for dessert, and Chris claimed he was too full but still ate half of Renee’s. Rory slept through most of it, curled against him, while the twins rolled lazily under his shirt. When they finally left, Chris walked slowly because the meal had made his belly feel tighter, and the babies seemed to be sitting lower, putting pressure on his pelvis. At this point, he knew labor could get started soon, but it felt like it wasn’t soon enough.

Days passed, and by the 37th week, the pregnancies started feeling different because they knew things were finally coming to an end. Chris still had it easier, which was saying very little. His belly had dropped slightly over the past week, so the pressure on his hips was worse. His waddling was more pronounced, and it was impossible to find a good enough position to give his lower back a break. He often had to use furniture for support without even thinking about it. His body was slowly surrendering beneath the increasing weight and size of his belly.

Ryan was struggling even worse. His sextuplet belly had gotten so large and heavy that sitting required him to spread his thighs incredibly wide to let the lower belly rest in between. The discomfort was intense, not only on his back and hips but also on his sensitive cock and balls, which always got crushed beneath the immense weight of his abdomen. The worst part was that each morning he woke up heavier, rounder, fuller, and more desperate to finally pop.

Things around the house were starting to look like obstacles or threats because they seemed unprepared to handle his proportions and weight. The first time the dining chair creaked loudly beneath him, Ryan froze halfway down and stared at it.

Tammy looked at the chair, then at him. “It’s warning you,” she said.

Ryan groaned and slowly lowered himself the rest of the way anyway. “If it breaks, I’m blaming the babies and charging Wilkerson for it.”

Tammy chuckled, looking at his hips and at the massive ass stretching the fabric of his shorts. “Sure. The babies. Not sure if they’re responsible for how much you eat.”

Ryan grunted in response but ended up going through several servings of dinner like a man who hadn’t eaten in months—even after 4 full meals and several snacks throughout the day. His appetite had reached ridiculous levels. Ryan was hungrier than ever, but the babies had crowded his stomach so badly that the enormous meals he had managed earlier in pregnancy were impossible to handle in one sitting.

Still, he was convinced he could eat everything Tammy put in front of him, so he changed the strategy. He would work through a plate, then suddenly slow, press a hand against his belly, and lean back with a miserable expression while heartburn spread into his chest. After a short break, he was hungry again, so he kept going, repeating the same cycle until he had eaten enough food to feed a whole household.

Tammy eventually stopped thinking in terms of breakfast, lunch, and dinner and kept food within reach throughout the house. There were crackers by the couch, fruit in the refrigerator already cut up, sandwiches wrapped on a shelf, cereal bars on Ryan’s nightstand, and a small container of cookies in the garage because he complained that walking back to the kitchen defeated the point of being hungry.

The cycle fed itself. The more he ate, the bigger the babies got, and the more food his body demanded to maintain six enormous and active babies.

Earlier in the pregnancy, Ryan’s belly had rolled and shook differently. But by the time he was close to reaching 38 weeks pregnant, his abdomen was so crowded that there was barely room for that. Instead, individual knees, heels, elbows, and feet pushed outward in “little” bulges, stretching his skin into strange shapes. The motion was slower but stronger.

One baby almost always pushed high under Ryan’s right ribs, so hard that he had to raise an arm and lean sideways to make space. Another stayed low and seemed personally committed to crushing his bladder. A third one was wildly active whenever his daddy drank anything cold. Between them all, there was always something happening, so Ryan, Tammy, and the boys spent some time each day watching the belly change forms.

The rest of the time, Ryan still insisted on trying to stay mobile even though his body resisted the positivism. He still crossed the street to Chris’s house almost every day because he refused to admit that 30 feet of pavement could leave him breathless. The trips got slower, and Chris eventually noticed how ridiculous they had gotten when he saw Ryan through the front window one afternoon, already halfway across the street, with one hand underneath his belly and the other pressed into his lower back.

Ryan paused near the center, breathing through his mouth, then started again with the heavy side-to-side gait his body had forced on him. Chris was alone with Rory, so he put the baby down in the playpen, walked to the kitchen, poured himself water, drank half of it, and returned to the front door before Ryan reached the porch. When he finally opened it, Ryan was flushed and annoyed.

Chris looked past him toward Ryan’s house, then back at him. “Long trip?” he asked.

Ryan grunted softly. “Shut up.”

Chris stepped aside, smiling anyway. “I was going to offer you water.”

Ryan waddled inside and headed straight for the couch. “Offer me food instead.”

Ryan definitely had it worse because he was bigger and heavier, but Chris had increasingly ridiculous problems as well. His tits had gone from inconvenient to almost impossible to manage. He was producing far more milk than Rory needed, and nursing Rory regularly seemed to have encouraged his body to produce more rather than relieved it.

Some mornings, Renee woke to find Chris asleep on his side with a damp sleep shirt and the nursing pads inside completely soaked through. Other mornings he woke first because the pressure all over his body was intense. He needed to pee, pump, feed Rory, change his shirt, or somehow do all four to get remotely comfortable.

Their freezer began filling with bags of milk because throwing it away felt stupid when they knew two newborns were coming. Chris opened the freezer one afternoon looking for frozen waffles and stared at several neat rows of labeled bags instead.

“This is getting ridiculous,” he said.

Renee, standing behind him with Rory on her hip, looked over his shoulder. “Well, you’re the one who’s filling everything with milk. Don’t act like you’re surprised.”

Chris sighed and shut the door. “I’m being outproduced by myself.”

To make things worse, his letdowns were less predictable with each passing day. Rory crying still triggered them instantly, but so did babies crying on television, warm showers, pressure from a seat belt, one of the twins moving particularly hard, and sometimes nothing Chris could identify at all. He could be sitting at the table laughing at something Renee said and suddenly stop because both nipples tightened and wetness began spreading under his shirt.

He kept towels in the bedroom, living room, nursery, kitchen, and car—which Renee found deeply funny because Chris had spent weeks insisting he was not going to become the kind of person who carried supplies for his tits. By almost 38 weeks, he didn’t argue when she handed him a fresh pad or clean shirt. He took it, sighed in defeat, and dealt with it.

...

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PS: Thanks to my dear friend woodywood101 for helping me with the plot for this story (Illustrations are coming soon. Please, go check out his Patreon content. You'll love it!