#second puberty

It had been weeks now and Stacy still hadn't gotten used to her new size. Her body was still learning that she could no longer sleep on her back and so, as her alarm blared, she did her best to reach out for the snooze button. Every movement, every flail of her arm sent ripples and wobbles through the enormous tits that say heavy on her chest, pinning her in place beneath them. By the time she finally managed to turn off the alarm, she was sweating, heart pounding, chest heaving. The few minutes that the snooze button earned her would pass in frustration and exhaustion but not a wink of sleep. As she caught her breath, she tried to roll onto her side, rocking back and forth to build up enough momentum. She had gotten pretty good at it by now and, as she tried not to let herself get distracted by the massive mounds on her chest, she finally was able to swing her breasts over and-

FWUMP!

The warmth of the bed and the covers was quickly replaced by the cold of the floor beneath Stacy, no longer under her tits bust resting on top of them. Her focus had been on getting out from beneath her breasts, which meant she wasn't thinking about how close the edge of the bed was. Her tits found the edge, though, and dragged her right over it, gravity winning out the floor rising up to meet her. She groaned, flailing her legs in frustration, burying her face in her own cleavage and letting out a scream. Above her head, once more just out of reach, her alarm started again.

Her life wasn't supposed to turn out this way. Her body wasn't supposed to turn out this way. She was just frustrated, that's all. Boys she thought had crushes on her, boys she invited over to her place, turned out to just be interested in her mom. And, if she was honest with herself, Stacy couldn't blame them. Her mother really did have it going on. She had a flawless hourglass figure, breasts big enough to dwarf her head and wide, womanly hips to match. Curiosity got the better of her once when doing the laundry, but knowing that her mother was a 34K did nothing to quell her anger. And puberty had left Stacy a perfectly good body! Her friends were jealous of her! F-cups and a nice ass to go with them. Half the school, guys and girls, ought to have been drooling over her! But she just couldn't compare to her mother's enormous figure and that left her overlooked.

After calming down and buckling in from her morning frustration, Stacy managed to rise up to her feet, nearly losing her balance. Her tank top, mercilessly stretched by her gargantuan bust, had ended up flossed between her tits, one of them bursting out. She adjusted, slipping it back in, though she didn't know why. A deep sigh rattled out of her as she lifted one of her few remaining bras out of her dresser, the cup taking up almost the entire drawer. As she turned it over in her hands, her eyes caught a small tear forming near the front of the band, where the two cups came together. It was a small tear, not even half an inch, but experience had taught her that small tears like that had ways of turning into big tears with a single jump or jostle. She groaned, making a mental note to order a new one before slipping it on anyway. It might be on its last legs, but it was all she had.

From everything she had read online, it was only supposed to give her a little boost. Most women were happy if they managed to get three cup sizes out of the medley of supplements and lotions and that was all Stacy was really looking for. While it would be nice to beat her mother, she just wanted to be able to compete! She was excited at the first cup size she gained. Elated at the second. Content at the third. Concerned at the fourth. Anxious at the fifth. Worried enough at the sixth to finally talk to a doctor. A bevy of tests and three more cup sizes later, she at least had something of an answer. The best guess of the team of doctors that oversaw her case was that her second puberty was either latent or dormant and the cocktail of treatments she had given herself was enough to jump start the process. Having a reason why she was changing so much and so rapidly was reassuring, but less reassuring was the fact that they couldn't tell her when it would stop. Or, for that matter, if it would stop.

The sheer size of her breasts had turned going down the stairs into an athletic challenge. Not only did her breasts bounce every time she dropped down to the next step, nearly brushing against her chin, but they blocked out a huge portion of her view. It came down to grace and balance, keeping herself upright so that she didn't go tumbling downward. The narrow walls on either side of the staircase gave her pause but, at least for now, there was an inch or two of clearance on either side so she wasn't at risk of getting stuck. Yet. She begged her mother to make sure the stairs were clear for her; if there were something sitting on a step, she wouldn't know it was there until she stepped on it and that would almost definitely mean a long, bumpy, bouncy ride down to the bottom. She'd be lucky if her shirt remained intact.

Stacy struggled to adapt to her breasts. Clothing was a constant hassle, buying a new wardrobe only to outgrow it a week later. Her friends' playful teasing turned into faux jealousy which, eventually, turned into real jealousy. Julia, one of her oldest friends, refused to speak to her. She didn't think there was any actual cheating going on, but hearing her boyfriend moan Stacy's name was enough to blame the growing woman for the failing relationship. Even baggy, oversized sweatshirts couldn't hide her gargantuan bust, pulling them tight and a bit of tit spilling out underneath. Just walking down the sidewalk made a scene, people gawking and whispering and, occasionally, outright yelling at her for being obscene. She avoided the produce section at the grocery store entirely, worried that just holding a cucumber would be enough to send some pearl-clutching religious bit into conniptions. The worst part is that they weren't entirely wrong, as their sensitivity had increased almost in proportion to her size. It wasn't uncommon for her to greet the dawn, sweaty and exhausted, still kneading her tits, having lost count of the orgasms around 2am.

As Stacy made her way towards the front door, already bracing herself to go through it at an angle to keep her breast from getting stuck, something in the laundry room caught her eye. She squeezed inside and there, on top of a pile of laundry, was her mother's bra. Her lips broke into a smirk, her first positive expression of the day, as she read the tag: still 34K. Stacy glanced over her shoulder, making sure her mother wasn't anywhere nearby before pressing the bra up to one of her tits. She bit her lip, shuddering as she realized that just one of the cups wasn't quite big enough to cover her areola and the entire bra, band and all, wouldn't reach around one of her tits, let alone both. She set the bra back in its spot and made her way outside, a new spring in her step and a smile on her lips.

You're a totally normal boy until one day at school you notice that your nipples just kinda itch.

It's weird and it keeps happening for like a week and you think you should tell your parents and maybe go to the doctor but school is busy and you've got a lot on your mind and one day in English class another student says "bro what's that on your shirt"

There's a tiny damp patch spreading through the navy blue fabric of your sweatshirt, right over your nipple, a pale bead welling up on the cotton. As you move you see a matching wet spot on the other side of your chest.

And the guy on the desk across suddenly shuts the fuck up because he knows what's happening to you and doesn't want to let the whole class know because that's just cruel and clumsy but he goes so quiet and looks so horrified that the people around you notice

Oh, you still try to hide it. A few students know, sure. You're being talked about, but it's just talk. You come to school in baggy clothes and tape sanitary pads over your nipples. You even wear a sports bra to flatten them down.

You collapse in gym class the next week. Mastitis. Blocked milk ducts. Swelling, redness, fever. A few more days and it would have gone septic.

Then you have to show the nurse. You're too weak to put the breast pumps on. The nurse acts like you're testing her patience. It feels more like a TSA patdown than a medical procedure.

Later, with your parents, a doctor gives you the rundown. Bovine anthropoidism. It's not a genetic disorder, though it sometimes runs in families. You're turning into a cowgirl. Its progress can be halted with a full orchiectomy, but no doctor in any decent insurance network will perform that operation on a healthy young man with no children.

Your parents are upset. Your mom is acting like it's her fault, and your dad is acting like it's your fault. They had to cancel their weekend plans to take you shopping for a breast pump.

You learn that the thick, dull haze over your mind wasn't feverishness. The mental fog is your body's signal to stop what you're doing and get milked. As soon as those ducts are full, trying to think about anything is like trying to do a math test with a stinking cold.

Your male puberty stops overnight. Those dozen wisps of hair on your chin, which you shave every five or six days, are the most you're getting. You didn't put on much muscle in high school, but you're going to lose what little you did. You're a lot hungrier all of a sudden, like you've always missed a meal. Your parents don't like that. You feel like you need an extra three hours of sleep each night. They don't like that either.

When the news gets out at school, the girls you know are mostly ok to you. The boys are weird and mean about it. Punching you in the chest to see if the rumors are true, mooing at you, making gross milkshake-slurping noises as they walk past you in the halls.

Your test scores drop a little from the stress and the distractions but it seems to have a serious knock-on effect where teachers just… don't take you seriously as a student any more. They all think cows are just dopey all the time.

They get really annoyed that you keep asking to be excused to get your breasts milked. They think it's a sign that you're distracted or just trying to avoid the lesson, openly telling you that you're distracting the whole class every time you slouch off to the nurses office.

Some boys spread a rumour that you did this to yourself deliberately. You ordered bovine hormones because you're a weird pervert. Another goes that you tried to convince another boy to start taking bovine hormones because you're gay and a creep

After that the boys bathrooms are basically unusable for you. Boys start taking their phones out and live streaming you like you're Chris Chan. One of your "friends" mentions to you, out of faithful devotion to your welfare, that you've got your own kiwifarms thread.

You delete your socials after that. The harrassment dies down and in the next school year you find that you can recover a small social circle, as long as you're careful. You even go to a couple of parties.

Your first kiss is an assault from a guy whose name you don't know, who puts a hand on your tit until he feels his palm get wet, and presses his lips to yours as you open your mouth in shock. You hadn't paid him much mind before that. You'd been stealing glances at the pretty girl he was striking out with, and he took you for easier prey.

He was right, you think.

Bovine puberty stops normal erections from happening. You only realise that you can still even get erections when another boy rests his hand on your lower back. It's really hard to figure out what your body wants. It's harder still to figure out what you want. You don't know what's your body and what's your brain and what's just you freaking out like a dumb teenager. You seem to have lost your fight response. It's all freeze or flight now whenever your hackles get up. Anger just turns to fear and timidity.

Really you're lucky. You're still probably going to college. Yeah you got harassed a lot and turned into a bit of a hermit but hey, more time to study. Your family obviously resent it and think you made a stupid mistake but they don't kick you out or anything. You aren't traumatized or anything like that.

"Well, thank you for your astute understa~aaahn~ding of Second Puberty." Raelyne whimpered out as the chair she was sitting on groaned under her burgeoning weight. "I forgot to take my hormone regulator this morning, I was on a major phone conference." Raelyne said, answering Anthony's question. "So, now I need you to focus, okay! I need you to open my desk, get my hormone regulator, inject it into my thigh, and then, i want you to fuck me silly! I'm so horny I can't think straight!" Raelyne panted out as she gyrated her hips for Anthony.

"Oh, come on, big boy~ I've seen your search history. I'm giving you carte blanche to do whatever you want with me, just so long as you make me cum~!" The jiggling plumper mewled as her curves surged several inches in the blink of an eye. "W~without my regulator, my Second Puberty will be permanent! A~and then no one will t~aaahn~ke me seriously."