Working a Shift at The Milk Cafe

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Author’s note: All characters are 18 years of age or older.

My new boobs jigged as I walked through the hallway. I didn’t know which way to turn. My mind was foggy so I went down the steps and sat on the couch. It was such a strange feeling. One…two…three. I counted my breathes. My boobs were bigger. I crossed my arms underneath them and felt them over top. Where they getting bigger? I didn’t know what time my parents were going to be home. Were they going to see their daughter on the couch topless like this? But I couldn’t get up. I could hardly think. All I could do was feel the weight growing. They took up the space in front of me, like there were two big, hulking obstacle in the room. How much bigger could I get? My breathing picked up. Everything made me nervous. I felt very tense, like a mild panic attack was setting in. My boobs were getting really big now. They were starting to eat up all the space in front of me and cover my arms completely. I wanted to move but couldn’t for some reason.

What was my boyfriend going to think? What was everyone at school going to think? I had my internship interviews next week. What was I going to wear? What were they going to think of me? I wanted to work in art galleries but no company would hire a girl that looked like me. Suddenly, I fell to my knees and my breasts dropped under me and onto the rug. I closed my eyes and focused on the feeling. Bigger, bigger. Now they rested on the ground. What were my grandparents going to think? They wouldn’t understand. They’re immigrants from a country where everyone was 100 pounds. I looked like a stripper, a Hooters waitress, Pamela Anderson, Kate Upton. I was bigger than them though, a circus act, a Guinness book of records picture, someone who dressed up for boardwalk pictures and appeared as opening acts for sleezy, no-name town bars where men shouted with stale beer breathe. I fell on my side and watched my boobs grow outwards on top of lezbiyen seks hikayeleri each other.

“Please, don’t make me any bigger. This isn’t me. I don’t want to be this. This is not how I meant to be. I’m supposed to be a normal girl and get a good job and live a regular life.” Was I going to start lactating too? Was I going to have to work around the clock to milk my self? Always needing to know where the nearest bathroom was? Never being able to really take a moment’s rest because my next milking was coming up? Couldn’t sit through a movie or a meal? I’d always be off to the next milking, really just chatting between stops and barely taking part in anything other than keeping my huge boobs milked and cared for. Was that all people would know me for? “There she goes. She’s off to the bathroom. We’ll see her again soon.”

And then I’d lay at night alone and feel myself grow bigger. I’d know I needed to milk myself soon but I might as well try to sleep now because the swelling would simply start again if I milked so any time was as good as any. I would have to go to sleep knowing that I was going to wake up a couple hours later with that same bulging great pain and my breasts tight and high over my head. I’d get up and turn the milking machine on high and just wait a painful fifteen minutes and go back to bed. The best I could do was three milkings a night and even then I’d fill up the gallon container and sometimes need to change it before the night was over, which meant I had to get up and lift it and feel how heavy it was. There would be no escaping from that every night. I was going to get bigger every day. I was going to have to spend more and more time milking.

Maybe one day, I would be hired. It would have to be at some scientific research lab or a weird Japanese kinky café where they’d hook you up to a milk machine and make dairy drinks like milkshakes and ice cream. I wouldn’t be able to do much then. I’d hardly move but I wouldn’t have to worry about not being able to pump at least. Never again would I leak all over the place because I’d forgotten to pump since I’d be hooked up on a low volume at all times, six hours at a time. Even though it exhausted me, I’d wish I could work more because I’d have nothing better to do at home. I’d just sit around and have to use homemade milking equipment while watching TV. It was much better to be out with people. Most people were kind. They’d treated me like a sort of local, village legend, like I was a must-see attraction for tourists. The only problem was I’d eventually have trouble standing for long. I’d be more comfortable sitting with my breasts on top of the counter. I’d leaned my head against the milk tank and listen to the container fill. As the milk rose, the suction would get tighter. The cool glass would feel good against my head. Sometimes someone would come in with a big order and I’d feels a great rush as milk drained out of the machine and the pump accelerated around my nipples to compensate.

Another man would order and the container would drop another third. He’d get another order again and the machine would gurgle as the milk pooled at the bottom and swirled into the drain. The machine would leap into high-gear, pumping my breasts not just with suction but with the hose itself thrusting in and out of my nipples. It would be working my boobs and making them make more milk and swell faster. I’d feel my milk glands enlarge from not just around my nipple area but the whole boob. My chest would get super heavy and I’d to lean them on the counter and balance the runoff on my legs at the same time. The man would keep hitting the bell and placing order while the machine increased delivery. Now I’d leak out milk like a faucet, two big faucets that made milk for this greedy guy. Order would pile up near him as the original ice cream orders got warm and melted and went to no one. He’d sip from a glass of milk and smile. He’d walks around the counter to me and start to pet the top of my breast like a soon-to-be conquest.

I’d be concentrating on my breathing while little sweat beads rolled down my forehead. He’d pull his pants down and starts to have sex with me, pressing his body into my breasts. Boom, boom, boom. He’d push more milk out of my breast from his thrusts. He’d try to lift up as much of my boob as he could and I’d feel the gush. The milk machine would start to fill up, rising three inches, four inches, and he’d keep fucking and I’d keep pumping and more and more milk would squirt out. I’d nod my head and signal for him to keep fucking me. Slowly, I was catching up on my orders. The milk machines would be up to half full again but new customers would come in, two more men. As soon as they saw what’s happening, they’d pull down their pants too and get on either side of me and start fucking under my breasts. They’d fuck right into them. My boobs would be so soft and big that the feeling of three people fucking them all at the same time plus the milk machine sucking would make me moo. “Moo, moo, mooo. I’m going to cu– oh shit. Don’t put in another order. I have to keep up. Will you three, please, keep fucking?”

But no. This couldn’t happen. This was all just a bad dream. I woke up shortly after the climax of the dream to the sound of my little voice mooing subconsciously in the dark of my empty bedroom. I looked down through my tired eyes at my shapely D-cups and held them gently, knowing these were my real breasts. No milk and no super growth. How weird. These dreams were happening more and more often and getting more elaborate. What was this one about? I was at the dairy cafe again, this time with some guy buying a bunch of orders all at once. I was having trouble filling them but I don’t remember anything after that. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me if these dreams don’t quit it. My boobs haven’t grown in real life in years but now, I just don’t know. Where else is this story going to go?

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Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


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