Growth
The summer sun beat down on Sweet Apple Acres. The air was hot and thick with dust, stinging the eyes and making it almost impossible to breathe. As Big Macintosh hauled the last of the apple baskets into the barn, he could feel the sweat pouring down his flanks, dripping from every pore in an unrelenting torrent. His throat felt like he'd swallowed a handful of sand. Every breath was more difficult than the last. Setting the basket down next to the rest, an immense stack that filled half of the cavernous barn, the big red stallion let out a sigh and collapsed on his haunches, breathing deeply. He'd been in the fields since before dawn, and now, if he was reading the sun's position right, it was almost three in the afternoon. Harvest season was always a pain, but with Applejack visiting their cousins in Appleoosa, and Applebloom busy with school, it fell to him to buck, pick, and store the year's crop.
Any other stallion would've balked at such a task, but not Mac; With heroic endurance, he bucked till his legs were ready to give out, then hauled every last one into the barn, where Miss Sparkle's stasis field would keep them from rotting. It was cheaper and easier than the bulky refrigeration unit they'd used in the past, with its complex system of magical crystals amplifying the cold of a single snowflake, but unlike that old machine, this field did nothing to cool the overheated stallion.
“Landsakes,” He muttered, slowly rising to his hooves, “Gotta get m'self somethin' t' drink 'fore Ah keel over.”
Tucked away in the back of the barn was a rusty old refrigerator. His father used to store his beer in there, but Mac was more of a cider drinker, so it mostly went unused. The other day, however, he'd seen Applejack stashing a bottle in there. Trudging over, he pulled it open and sighed as a wave of cold air washed over him. Sitting on the top shelf was a tall, slender bottle filled with what appeared to be milk. Rather strange, Mac thought; The cows hadn't produced so much as a drop this summer. It was a real problem, one Applejack had fretted about to no end. Somehow, she must've managed to squeeze enough for this one, single bottle. Mac's face broke out in a broad grin as he pulled it out, uncorking it and chugging the contents as quickly as his dry throat could swallow.
When it was empty, he set the bottle aside, shut the fridge door, and let out a long, deep belch. As he ventured back out into the hot sun, he couldn't help but notice a strange aftertaste. He smacked his parched lips together, trying to place it – Was the milk sour? He sure hoped not, otherwise he was in for a long and miserable evening. He should've just hiked out to the water pump, it was only a short walk through the fields... But it was too late to worry about that now. A wave of exhaustion washed over him, taking his mind off the funny, almost metallic taste clinging to the back of his throat. Climbing the steps to the farmstead, he clambered upstairs and collapsed in his bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
It was the pressure that woke him up. At first, he wasn't sure exactly what it was; It felt a bit like he had to pee, but as he rolled over, peeling away the sweat-soaked covers, something warm and squishy pressed against his hind legs, sloshing audibly. Groaning groggily, he tried to kick whatever it was out of the way, only to feel a sharp bolt of pain. At first he thought he'd hit himself in the nuts, but no, this was too far away, almost a foot away from his body. Confused, he opened his eyes and peered down the bed. Right there, right between his hind legs, sat a pair of big red balloons.
He blinked, staring in confusion at the strange things. Those hadn't been there when he went to bed. For a moment, he wondered if his balls had somehow swollen to a comical size – He hadn't whacked off in days, being far too busy to waste time with personal pleasure. That was a ridiculous idea, of course. Blueballs or not, no stallion had a ballsack the size of watermelons! Scooting into a sitting position, he winced at the unfamiliar weight in his groin.
Now that he had a better view, it was obvious that they weren't his balls. No, those softball-sized orbs were situated exactly where they belonged, right beneath his sheathed cock, whose tip just barely poked out between them. Pressing a hoof into one of the spheres, he winced at the pressure. Whatever they were, whatever was in them, there was far too much of it. Then he noticed the little nubs poking out the far end, and the pieces fell into place.
“Ah... Ah've got boobs,” He said slowly, unable to believe what he was saying, let alone seeing and feeling. Reaching out, he prodded one of those nubs – Nipples, he realized – And felt a funny tingling sensation as something warm and wet leaked out. The tip of his hoof was white, and a cautious lick proved it to be nothing other than milk! The revelation sent a thrill of panic down his spine. A million thoughts filled his head at once, questions with no apparent answers. How? Why? What strange magic could've caused a stallion – A very masculine stallion, thank you very much – To have grown such a massive pair of knockers overnight? And what in Equestria's name was he going to do about it?
“Maac!” Granny Smith's voice called out from downstairs, “Breakfast is ready!”
Snapping back to reality, Mac's stomach dropped at the thought of facing his family in this state. How could he explain this? Slowly, the busty stallion moved to the edge of the bed and winced as his new teats flopped down. Droplets of milk sprinkled across the floorboards, leaking from his heavy knockers. The pressure was hard to bear; Before he did anything else, he'd have to find some way of milking himself.
Slowly shuffling over to the door, he tried to ignore the sloshing as his breasts swayed back and forth, bumping against his inner thighs. Peering into the hall, it was deserted – Applebloom was probably at school by now. Darting into the bathroom, he locked the door behind him and climbed into the bathtub. It was the only thing he could think to do. The toilet was too small, the sink too high to rest his breasts upon. Lowering himself onto the cold porcelain, he reached out a tentative hoof and squeezed one of his nipples, letting loose a spurt of milk. Something warm and tight rose up in his chest as he caressed the stiff little member, and a stirring sensation told him that his cock was starting to harden. It felt so strange, so wrong, yet so... Good?
Biting his lip, he gave another squeeze, and couldn't quite stifle a moan as more milk shot out, smacking the far side of the tub and trickling down the drain. Dimly, he realized that this must be how a cow felt. Between those massive mounds, his cock stirred to life, twitching and pulsing even as he worked his new teats. Pressed between them, it was like grinding his dick between a pair of warm pillows. Every sloshing motion sent twinges of pleasure through his loins, and with a perverted smile, he let go of his turgid nipples and pressed his hooves against his teats, squishing them against his cock. Gyrating his hips, his cock rose up and down between them, harder than it had ever been before. Pearlescent jizz leaked from the flat tip, sliding down a foot and a half of manmeat before disappearing between his breasts.
“H-horseapples!” The stallion howled as he came. A third white stream joined the two others, this one shooting straight up from his throbbing dick, splattering the ceiling and sending a sticky rain down upon his head.
Mac wheezed, leaning against the cold porcelain side of the tub as the last of his orgasm oozed down the drain. Slowly, his pounding heart slowed to a steady drumbeat, and he groaned, rising to his hooves. His fur made a ripping sound as the half-dried cum and milk pulled away from the tub, leaving a few red strands on the white. The bathroom looked like somepony had dumped a jar of mayonnaise in a ceiling fan – Cum and milk covered the tiled walls, the floor, the ceiling, there were even a few drops on the mirror! As he approached, he noticed splotches in his blonde mane, and groaned.
Showering was a difficult task, as was cleaning the bathroom. By the time the stallion made it downstairs, Granny Smith was plucking the last few stray hashbrowns from her plate. She glanced up at her grandson with a look of inscrutable amusement, then turned back to her meal. She didn't say a word as Mac slowly waddled past, being careful to keep the table between the two of them, to keep her from seeing the red balloons sloshing betwixt his thick applebucking thighs.
“Bathroom trouble, eh?” She chuckled, “Ah heard all o' dat gruntin' n' such. Don'cha worry none, Ah know a thing 'er two 'bout that. This ol' keister gives me nothin' but trouble these days, Ah swear. Say,” Leaning over the table, she peered down, squinting. Mac shifted uncomfortably, like a child trying to hide a stolen sweet behind his back, “Y'all are lookin' a bit funny this mornin'. Didja put on weight?”
“Uh, eeyup,” Mac said, “Think Ah'll skip breakfast t'day an' head inta town. Gotta see Miss Sparkle 'bout somethin'.”
Granny laughed and shook her head. “Now, Mac, y'all eat more 'n any stallion Ah ever knew, save for yer father, Faust rest his soul,” She nodded respectfully, and so did Mac, “If'n y'all skip breakfast, yer never gonna be able t' finish yer chores fer t'day!”
“Ch-chores?” Mac stammered. The bottom dropped out of his stomach. His head swirled – He forgot! There was still a whole list of chores for the day, his work, Applejack's, and even Applebloom's small share all rested on his shoulders. Looking at the fully-loaded plate, he felt vaguely sick as, one by one, the pieces fell into place.
“Oh, an' while yer in town, mind pickin' up a bottle o' milk? T'ain't as good as our own heifers, but it'll do in a pinch.”
Mac's face turned an even deeper shade of red at that. His teats let out a gurgle of their own, and he hastily excused himself, hustling to the door as quickly as his milkbags would allow. Before leaving, he grabbed a long overcoat from a peg and draped it over himself, before venturing out into the morning heat.
“Poor boy. He's definitely got th' runs,” Granny muttered to herself as the door slammed shut, and she heard his hoofsteps pounding down the stairs.