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"It-it's kind of embarrassing," Trample muttered as he stepped into the doctor's office. The young bull was dressed in a heavy parka, which was at odds with the unseasonable warmth the region was experiencing.

Errol J. Smaugson, MD, was a reasonable dragon, or so he liked to think. He was good with patients. People liked him. But, watching the young man stagger through his office, soaked in sweat and hunched over like a man five times his age, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance. The boy stood over him for a moment, and it was only with a gesture that he finally sat down on the examination table, the paper crunching beneath his jeans.

"Well?" Smaugson said, straightening his glasses, "Out with it."

Trample stared at him for a second, and sighed, before slowly unzipping his coat and shrugging it reluctantly from his shoulders. For a second, Doctor Smaugson simply stared at the young bull. He was well-versed in the annals of medical science, and understood the anatomy of most species better than they themselves did. He knew, therefore, that male bovines were naturally more muscular than most species, with upper body strength unmatched by any herbivore. But this...

"Your, uh," He stammered, twirling a pen in his fingers, "Your pectoral muscles appear to be swollen."

Trample blushed, raising his arms over his chest, but it did nothing to hide his massive breasts. They looked like half-deflated basketballs, heaving up and down with each breath, barely contained within a shirt that would otherwise have been several sizes too large for the young bull. The parka had caused him to sweat tremendously, and now, the shirt clung to his rack like the results of a wet t-shirt contest.

After a long moment, Smaugson's incredulity was overruled by his medical curiosity. Setting the pen aside, he stood up and grabbed his stethoscope. He motioned for the boy to lift his shirt, to which he slowly, reluctantly complied, letting his sweaty rack swing free. Smaugson's eyes drifted toward his nipples; Two thick nubs poked out from either breast, hardening as they came in contact with the cool air, each one just about big enough to wrap a hand around. They were the ideal size and shape for a mature dairy cow; Less so for a twenty year old bull.

"They-they just sort of appeared overnight," Trample whimpered, staring at the lines on the floor, "I don't know what to do..."

Even with his extensive medical expertise, the dragon was at a loss. Men couldn't just develop breasts anymore than a woman could grow a cock and balls. Still, he was a professional, and quickly decided on a course of action. Setting his stethoscope aside, he grabbed the boy's pecs and gave them a squeeze. Trample let out a low moo as a bit of milk dribbled from his nipples, splashing the paper table cover below.

"They're s-sensitive," He moaned quietly, W-what-"

"Relax, I'm just examining them for abnormalities," Smaugson responded, though the slight bulge in his pants said otherwise. It wasn't his fault, he told himself; A rack like this would be enough to get anyone going. It wasn't like he was about to drop his trousers and start titfucking the poor lad. Besides, Trample was clearly feeling similarly, if the tent currently throbbing against his zipper was anything to go by.

He wasn't so blinded by lust that he failed in his doctoral duties. Groping gently around the base, where the firm orbs met the muscular chest beneath, he noticed no bumps, no abnormalities that might have indicated some sort of plastic surgery procedure. Not that he suspected it to begin with; Cosmetic muscle grafts were difficult and expensive, and activating the male's dormant milk glands would involve years of extensive genetic therapy. Impossible as it seemed, he was inclined to believe the boy's story of having just woken up like this.

His scaled hands slid along the bottom of the boy's breasts, hefting them up and eliciting a squirt of milk across the front of his labcoat.

"I can f-feel them sloshing," Trample muttered, biting his lip as milk continued to dribble to the floor. The boy's eyes were cast down, and Smaugson followed his gaze, only to blush deeply as he saw the boy's erection straining against his pants, a dark spot spreading where pre had leaked through the denim. He was in no position to judge; He could feel his own cock throbbing, and shifted his legs slightly in an attempt to hide it as he continued the examination.

He groped and squeezed the boy's teats, giving them all the standard tests; Feeling for lumps and finding none, he moved on to testing the muscle reflex. Giving the base of the pec a sharp tap, the muscle flexed involuntarily, and Trample moaned as another blast of milk squirted from his twitching nipples. The size and frequency of his lactation was concerning; Admittedly, he only had female examples to go on, but most cows only lactated for a short period during milking sessions. To be squirting freely with the slightest stimulation was unusual, only observed in extreme cases, where subjects hadn't been milked in a month or more.

The dragon crouched down, eye-level with his patient's massive pecs. Looking up, he saw the bull's conflicted face; It was obvious that the boy needed to be milked, and soon. The boy was lucky he had come in when he did instead; Any longer, and he could have been in serious danger. But the clinic lacked the proper facilities for such a procedure, and the nearest dairy farm was miles away - And, by the look of the bull's shifting, quivering teats, there wasn't much time left.

There was only one thing he could do. Doctor Smaugson took off his glasses and placed them into his pocket for safe keeping. Then, wrapping his lips around one of the boy's teats, he began to suck. Trample moaned and squirmed as milk flooded the doctor's mouth; At the same time, the bull's other nipples began oozing with the same force.

A puddle swiftly grew as Smaugson gulped, an inch from drowning in the sheer overflow at any moment. Well, maybe that was dramatic - But the dragon was beginning to feel full. Beneath his lab coat, he could feel his belly pressing slightly against the buttons of his shirt, and he knew it wasn't just his regular paunch.

Trample let out a bellowing moo, and Smaugson thanked his lucky stars the examination rooms were soundproofed. An unwelcome guest would disrupt the treatment, and probably call the police about the doctor and patient apparently having sex in the office. But Smaugson was smart, and always made sure to lock the door for privacy, unlike some doctors he could name.

The dragon's shirt began to strain as his milkgut pressed against it, but the bull's teats had barely gone down. He needed to drink until they were dry, or at least small enough to send him for professional milking. Holding the lad's pec to his mouth with one hand, he unbuttoned his shirt with the other, just in time for a sudden gush of milk to stretch his belly out another inch.

The feeling was strange, but oddly satisfying, and he found his cock straining his zipper. He was nothing if not professional, however, and refused to pay it any heed... At least until he noticed a long, slender bullcock less than an inch from his face, with a pair of meaty hands stroking it frantically. A glob of sticky bovine jizz squirted out, landing with a splat on the dragon's cheek. He paused a moment as his serpentine tongue snaked out, licking up the splatter. Warm, sweet, and slightly salty, with a viscosity not unlike warm honey - He licked his lips. The lad's internals seemed to be in perfect order.

If he imagined his patient was a beautiful cowgirl, the whole thing didn't seem as weird. Yes, he thought, a cowgirl, with udders as big as her head and an ass fit for the saddle. He tried to ignore the patient's deep, bellowing moans, focusing instead on the image of a barnyard; The sun shining, the birds chirping, a gorgeous saddlehand shaking her ass...

The illusion sent a chill up his spine, and a wave of pre oozing from his cock, and he suckled twice as hard as he imagined a soft bovine hand running through his head-spines. The illusion broke, and he realized there was[/] a hand; Trample's meaty fingers pressed the back of the dragon's head, squishing his face into the firm flesh of his teat.

"D-doc," Trample grunted, "I-I'm gonna-"

Smaugson's eyes widened as the bull's cockhead began to throb. The boy's breasts gurgled audibly as the lactation sped up, turning from a steady flow to a rushing torrent; The dragon's belly creaked, the scales stretching to reveal the soft pink flesh beneath. In an instant, his belly button popped out, causing him to choke. The faucet-like nipple slide from his mouth as he hacked out a lungful of milk. He turned his head, trying to catch his breath, just in time to intercept Trample's ejaculation to his face.

The doctor fell back in shock, landing hard on his ass. Trample's bellow rattled the furniture, sending pens and papers alike sliding from the doctor's desk as rope after rope of thick, sloppy cum sprayed from his cock like a turgid firehose. His nipples opened up, letting a milky waterfall wash over the room, pouring over his body and across the tiled floor.

Grabbing hold of his teats, Trample squeezed and jerked them, mooing and howling in pleasure as they coated his hands in slippery fluid. His fingers felt numb and clumsy as endorphins pulsed like lightning through his bloodstream, and within moments, he found himself slipping back, the soaked paper table cover ripping apart beneath him.

Slowly, agonizingly, the orgasm began to die down. His balls clenched, but every last drop had already been wringed out and splattered across the walls and floor. He twisted and yanked on his teats, but nevertheless, the flow waned, until all that remained of their former fury was a slow, steady drip.

Trample leaned against the wall, panting in exhaustion. His cock, finally flaccid, slid back into its sheath. Milk continued to trickle from his pecs, which were swiftly shrinking to a more normal size, leaving them only slightly larger than the average for a particularly chest-obsessed bodybuilder.

Doctor Smaugson groaned as he got up, careful not to slip on the flooded floor. The whole room was covered in milk and jizz, from the puddle-strewn floor to the cum-splattered wall behind him; A few strands of cum even clung to the ceiling light, dripping slowly like liquid stalactites. He stretched his back, feeling it pop, and leaned against the exam table, his open shirt framing his new, milk-filled gut.

He staggered a couple of steps over and collapsed in his accustomed chair, the wheels creaking under the added weight. For a moment, the two sat in silence, save for Trample's wheezing, and the barely-audible gurgling of the doctor's globular belly.

"D-doc?" Trample finally said, groaning as he pulled himself into a sitting position, "W-what next?"

"Next..." Smaugson trailed off, glancing between the boy's smaller, but still turgid udders, and his own tight gut, "I recommend you contact your insurance. Given your unique situation, I'm sure they'll be amenable to paying for a proper milking machine."

"Isn't there anything you can..." Now, it was the bull's turn to trail off, as his eyes focused on the doctor's bulging stomach.

"Regular treatment?" The doctor groaned, letting out a milky belch, "I'm afraid I'd wind up as big as this room before long," Upon seeing the boy's dejected expression, he continued, "But I insist you visit for regular checkups on your condition. How about..." He glanced through his notebook, carefully prying the damp pages apart, "Two weeks from today?"

Trample nodded affirmatively, zipping up his pants and collecting his clothes. The sunshine outside would dry them out, but the doctor doubted the milky smell would ever really go away. Too bad, too; The shirt looked good on him, even if it hung like a bag across his shrunken chest.

"What should I do in the meantime?"

"I, er," Doctor Smaugson wiped the milk from his glasses in an attempt to compose himself, but only succeeded in smearing it around. Sliding them into his pocket, he continued, "I suppose you could always go into business as a dairy farmer."

Trample stared at him incredulously. Slinging his ruined parka over his shoulder, he silently walked to the door, leaving a trail of white footprints across the few unstained sections of floor.

"Sorry, bad joke," Smaugson sighed, as Trample shut the door behind him.

Smaugson chuckled, glancing around his destroyed office. He didn't envy the janitor tonight. Patting his gut, he slid open the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a half-full bottle of bourbon. He took a deep swig, the alcohol easing the tension in his aching stomach.

"Doctor Smaugson," The nurse called from the other side of the door, "Your next patient is ready to see you."

The bottle slipped from his fingers as the door cracked open, the amber contents splashing out and mixing with the flooded floor. Three figures stood in the doorway; A mother, a child, and the nurse, confusion and horror mingling on their faces.

Smaugson gulped. Practicing medicine wasn't all it was cracked up to be.