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Disclaimer: All individuals in this story are eighteen or older. This is intended as a work of fiction. The author does not condone sexual acts with non-consenting participants. Please enjoy. Constructive feedback is appreciated.
It started out like any other day. I think it was a Tuesday in fact. I was reading the classifieds in yet another ill-fated attempt to find employment, while my boyfriend, Ryan, fooled around on the Internet. Every now and then he’d drop a random bit of web trivia on me, which often triggered a debate about the validity of said trivia.
“Hey Sadie, check this out,” Ryan said enthusiastically. “Did you know that an ounce of breast milk costs two and a half bucks?”
“Really?” I replied, surprised.
“Uh huh. There’s this woman in Texas who made like thirty grand just from selling her breast milk,” he continued.
“That’s insane, I scoffed. “Who would pay that much for breast milk?” I looked over Ryan’s shoulder skimmed the article. Apparently this woman had sold eighty-six gallons of breast milk over a nine month period. Indignant as I was, I had to admit I was kind of impressed.
“Rich people I guess. Apparently there’s a lot of demand for it,” Ryan mused.
“Well, it’s settled then. Let me just get these panties off so you can knock me up and I can start my new career as a human dairy cow,” I joked.
“You know, there’s other ways to get a woman to lactate. Hormones and herbs and stuff,” he said, a little defensively.
I sensed this conversation had another purpose to it. Ryan had the same look in his eye when he mentioned, off hand, the merits of owning a motorcycle. Two weeks later there was a used Kawasaki parked in our garage.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” I asked with a slight edge.
“It’s damn good money, a lot better than you could do slaving away for minimum wage in some fast food hell hole,” Ryan countered. A fair point, even if it was a little below the belt.
“Not to mention my tits would grow a cup size or two,” I snorted. I suspected that was a relevant motive. Actually, that part I wouldn’t mind so much. While my C cups were perfectly adequate, I always thought there was room for improvement in the boob department, a thought I chose not to share with my boyfriend.
“That is a perk,” he admitted.
“For you maybe. You’re not the one getting milked here.”
“You know,” Ryan continued, “the article says this chick was breastfeeding at the time. Since you wouldn’t have a baby to worry about, I bet you could sell twice as much.”
“Sixty thousand dollars…” I murmured. For an eighteen-year-old with not marketable skills, that seemed like a small fortune.
“Not bad for working at home, huh?”
I had to admit I was intrigued. As I read further into the article, I started to appreciate more and more how well this could potentially work out. Allison, the woman in the article, pumped about five or six times a day for about three hours total, and was able to multitask while doing it, since she used a hands-free pump.
I looked down at my breasts, imagining what they would look like as Ds or double Ds. I pictured myself riding Ryan’s cock, my swollen tits gyrating up and down, milk running down my chest.
“If we were to do this…how would we go about it?” I asked hesitantly.
“Well, I know a guy at the hospital. I’m pretty sure he can get us some hormones for cheap,” Ryan replied hopefully.
“And you’re sure about this? You’re not going to be freaked out by me lactating or anything?”
Ryan grinned sheepishly. “It’s actually kind of a turn on,” he admitted.
Of course it was, not that I needed any more convincing. “Call him.” I said, scared and thrilled at the same time. I just hoped I knew what I was getting into.
The next day Ryan came home from work late with a white plastic case in his hand. He popped it open, withdrawing a bundle of packaged alcohol swabs along with a very large syringe. I started to feel queasy. I was hoping for pills or something a little less like a giant needle.
“You ready?” Ryan asked gently.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I gritted, lifting up my sleeve to expose my upper arm.
“Um, it actually has to go in your ass,” Ryan muttered.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I moaned. I stared at the syringe, trying to will it out of existence. When that failed, I decided not to delay the inevitable. I stood behind the couch and unbuckled my jeans. I let my jeans and panties slide to the floor, then bent over the back of the couch.
“Let’s just get it over with,” I grimaced.
I felt a sudden chill as Ryan rubbed the swab against my butt cheek. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, I felt the firm pinch as the needle was jabbed deep into my backside. I yelped as I felt a burning sensation start to radiate, one that didn’t fade when he withdrew the needle.
I glared at my boyfriend as I pulled my pants back up. It wasn’t till after I buttoned my jeans that I realized I hadn’t actually seen what I’d been injected with. Not that I didn’t trust Ryan, but I felt a little foolish allowing karşıyaka escort him to drug me without seeing the contents.
“What kind of drug was that anyway?” I asked casually.
“It’s a hormone booster. Bill hooked me up with it,” Ryan replied.
I frowned. There was only one Bill in our lives that I knew of, and he didn’t work at a hospital. He worked at a veterinary clinic.
“Am I to understand that you got this from a vet’s office?” I asked as calmly and evenly as I could.
“It’s the same chemicals, just in a different dose. Bill said it would be better suited to what we were trying to do,” Ryan explained.
“You told him!” I yelled incredulously.
“I wanted to make sure it was safe. I mean, technically these are bovine hormone supplements, but they’re supposed to be perfectly safe for humans.”
“Bovine? As in cow?” I demanded.
Ryan just shrugged.
A few hours later, once I had time to cool off, Ryan and I sat down on the couch together to enjoy some of our favorite sitcoms. I had to sit favoring one ass cheek, since the other was still tender. As we followed the adventures of a dysfunctional, formerly wealthy family, which included a plethora of incest jokes and other cringe humor, I started to notice another uncomfortable sensation.
There was a strange tightness in my chest. It was like bloating, only it radiated from inside my breasts instead of my abdomen. A quick inspection revealed that I was starting to spill out of my lacy black bra, the seam of the cup digging painfully into my flesh. I ignored it at first, not wanting to interrupt our marathon, but after a while the pressure was too much to ignore. I slipped my hands behind me and unclasped my bra, slipping each strap around my arms. Finally, I reached down the front and pulled the offending undergarment out, breathing a sigh of relief as my breasts were released.
Ryan tried very hard to pretend he was still interested in the show, but I could see the hint of a grin on his face. I smiled myself, making a mental note to shop for a new bra in the morning.
I’m not sure when we fell asleep, but it was still pitch black out when I woke up. The slight ache in my chest that I felt a few hours earlier had increased in intensity exponentially. I instinctively reached for my breasts, trying to massage the soreness away. When my hands reached my chest, another unexpected sensation greeted me.
I thought it was sweat at first, but there was far too much of it and it far too sticky to be sweat. My shirt was absolutely soaked with it, the highest concentration radiating from around my nipples. “Ruh-Ryan,” I stammered, poking him repeatedly.
“Mmmhmm, what’s is?” he murmured, still half-asleep.
“Ryan, wake up. I need your help,” I said, trying to remain calm.
“What’s going on?” he yawned, rubbing his eyes.
“See for yourself,” I said, cupping my swollen breasts.
Ryan’s eyes opened wide, fixated on the dark damp circles that adorned my chest. Milk was starting to pool in the space between my fingers and my breast.
“Holy shit,” Ryan whispered.
“Ryan, they hurt,” I whimpered.
“Ok, ok. Don’t worry. Let’s get that shirt off,” he said confidently.
The lights were still on in the living room, and since we hadn’t gotten around to buying curtains, stripping down would give anyone outside our apartment a free show. Still, I was in too much discomfort to care. I slipped off my soaking t-shirt, exposing my engorged tits to my boyfriend and the rest of the world.
I pressed down on top of each breast with my fingertips, trying to release some of the tension. As my fingers slid down, twin jets of white liquid cascaded in the air. Most of the spray landed on Ryan, some on his shirt, some on his face.
“Sorry,” I cringed, mortified.
He just laughed, licking his lips. “Don’t be. It actually tastes pretty good!”
“Really?” I asked shyly.
“Uh huh. In fact…” Ryan trailed off as he leaned into me. What happened next caught me off guard. Ryan brought his lips to my swollen right tit, took my nipple into his mouth, and began to suck.
The release was instantaneous. I could feel the rush of milk flowing from my ducts into my lover’s mouth. I was overwhelmed by the simultaneous onset of relief mingled with arousal. Ryan suckled vigorously at my teat, pausing occasionally to tease my nipple with this tongue. After a few minutes, he switched breasts, latching on just as firmly to the left as he had the right.
I wanted to move onto his lap, desperate to grind my moistening slit against him. He refused to give up my breast though, although he obliged the additional stimulation, rubbing his fingers over my sex through my jeans.
Then, without warning he stopped. My breasts, though no longer on the edge of bursting, were still heavy with milk, and the orgasm that had been building inside me had yet to manifest. “Keep going. Don’t stop,” I panted.
“I have to Sadie. I forgot about the pump!” he grunted.
He leapt off the couch and ran to the dining kartal escort room, returning with an opened cardboard box in hand. He withdrew a white bra, as well as a pair of clear bottles attached to plastic funnels. Clear tubing ran down towards a plastic casing adorned with various buttons and a digital display.
“Behold, the Mac-Daddy of breasts pumps,” Ryan proclaimed proudly.
I gazed at his trophies with a mixture of amusement and indignation. I was happy that he had the foresight to purchase these items before my milk came in, but I was annoyed that he had apparently opened them before he was certain our little experiment would bear fruit.
“How does it work?” I asked.
“Well, you put on the nursing bra,” he said, demonstrating the clasps at the top of the cup that exposed the nipple. “Then you just insert the funnels into the holes, switch it on, and you’re good to go. The pump has an automatic program, which you can adjust with these buttons. Wanna try it out?”
“Why not?” I shrugged. This was what I signed up for after all.
I slipped on the bra, noting, with a little pride, that Ryan had accounted for the increase in size. The bra was quite comfortable, so I made a mental note of the “34DD” on the tag. Damn, two cup sizes in less than twelve hours. Those hormones were potent.
I unclasped the cup Ryan hadn’t opened as he fumbled with the breast pump. I sat up with my arms at on my hips, allowing him unrestricted access. He slipped his finger into the hole, brushing my nipple as he did so. He stretched the opening, making room for the wide brim of the funnel to be inserted. The cool plastic made me bristle as it made contact with the sensitive skin. Ryan repeated the process on the other side, then did a final check of the hose and pump.
“Ready?” he asked. I nodded. With that, he pressed the bright green “START” button.
A dull buzzing sound filled the air, which alternated loud and soft. I could feel my nipples being stretched as they were pulled firmly into the cones, then released. After a few pulls, fresh streams of warm milked sprayed into the semi-transparent funnels, then dripped down into the clear collection bottles as the pressure subsided.
This new sensation wasn’t quite as nuanced and delicate as Ryan’s suckling, but it more than made up for it in intensity. I moaned as the machine slowly and steadily drained my breasts.
“How’s it going?” Ryan smirked.
“Oh my gawd, you have no idea how fucking good this feels,” I groaned.
Ryan took the initiative, standing me up so he could slip my jeans and panties off. Once again, I was too turned on to care about the exposure. I sat back down and he knelt down in front of my slit, inhaling deeply before he plunged his tongue inside me.
The man knew how to eat pussy. He licked teasingly at my folds, working his way up to my clit. The moment he brushed the stiffened nub, my body began to spasm as the first orgasm took me. As the world came back into focused, I realized that the bottles were full already. I wasn’t sure of the time, but the whole process couldn’t have taken more than twenty minutes.
Reluctantly, I brought Ryan up from my sex so that he could see my handiwork. The milk regained his focus, and I could see that he was appropriately impressed.
“Sixteen ounces,” he murmured. “That’s forty bucks right there.”
“I didn’t think there would be so much. And to think, there’d probably be more if you didn’t drink so much of it,” I teased.
“True,” he admitted.
“Well, there’ll be plenty more where that came from,” I said as I slipped the funnels out of my bra. “But right now, I really need you to fuck me.”
He didn’t have to be asked twice. He dropped his pants to the floor and took a seat on the couch. I straddled him, naked save for the nursing bra. As I slid onto him, I idly wondered if the injection may have messed up my birth control. But that, I mused, was future Sadie’s problem.
I love cowgirl. I love how deep Ryan can penetrate me in this position. As an added bonus, it gave Ryan perfect access to nurse. He latched on immediately, suckling deeply as I gyrated on his cock. I felt Ryan tense, and, knowing he wouldn’t last long, I ground down as hard as I could into his pelvis, my legs quaking as he spammed inside me.
I sat there for a moment, his erect penis still inside me, enjoying the warmth as my own orgasm tapered off. He continued nursing at my breast, pausing only when I sat up. Sticky warmness ran down my leg, and I silently hoped my birth control was still in effect. The whole point of the shot was so that I could lactate without getting pregnant after all.
“Thank you,” Ryan said as he stood up and kissed me.
“For what?” I asked.
“For doing this. I know this is going to be a huge hassle, but I think it’s going to work out well.”
I smiled. “Ryan, if I had known that lactating was going to feel this good, I would have had you shoot me up with cow hormones a long time ago.”
A familiar ache greeted me when I woke up the next kastamonu escort morning. Ryan was already on his way to work, so I was left to my own devices. The pump was on the night stand waiting for me, clean empty bottles loaded and ready. In addition to the engorgement, I felt slight irritation as the seam of my new bra was starting to dig into my flesh. I hoped that it was merely engorgement, not further growth, which caused the poor fit.
The bottles seemed larger than before, and on closer inspection I could see that they could hold sixteen ounces each. I was pleased with this, as I suspected there was far too much milk in me for the smaller bottles.
As pressing as the need to be milked was, I decided to get dressed first, determined to attempt to function as usual during the process. I slipped on a fresh pair of panties and jeans, but I decided against a shirt for the moment, fearing my wardrobe lacked anything that wouldn’t get in the way. Satisfied with being half-dressed at the moment, I slipped the funnels into my bra, then hooked the pump onto my belt.
Once I switched it on, I had serious misgivings about my mobility. The pump was fine. Even with the larger bottles, nothing was in my way. The problem was the effect the pump was having on me. Even without Ryan there, I was just as aroused as I was last night. I tried brushing my teeth, reading the newspaper, even thinking about baseball, but nothing helped slow the steady dampness that was collecting in my panties.
Eventually, when the dampness threatened to show on my jeans, I gave up. I slipped into the bathroom and discarded my soiled garments. I sat down on the toilet, hands on my knees, determined not to give in to the urge to touch myself. It didn’t matter. Within a few minutes I was crying out in agony as I succumbed to my first milking induced orgasm.
I never knew I could come just from stimulating my breasts, and I never suspected that the breast pump would be so…efficient at doing so. I hoped that as I grew accustomed to the sensations that my self-control would return. As it was, this was becoming addictive.
I milked myself three more times before Ryan made it home. I never managed to fill the larger bottles, but I came closer and closer each time, netting a total of eighty-one ounces. When I looked up statistics on the topic, I was a little alarmed. Apparently the average output was around twenty-five to thirty-five ounces per day. They day wasn’t over yet and I had already nearly tripled that.
Also, as I suspected earlier, the engorgement was only partially responsible for the problems with my new bra. My breasts were well drained after my most recent pumping session, but the cups were still painfully tight. I gave up on it and threw it on the bedroom floor. I slipped on one of Ryan’s t-shirts in its place, mostly because I had a feeling that my new tits wouldn’t fit into anything cute I owned and I didn’t want to deal with the prospect of replacing my wardrobe at the moment.
I jumped Ryan the moment he stepped through the door. Even though I was starting to fill up again, I refused to let him nurse, as I was curious what the grand total for the day would be without his influence. I hadn’t bothered putting on pants since the first fiasco, so it only took Ryan a second to expose me. I bent over the back of the couch, musing that I was the exact same position when this whole thing started. Instead of a needle though, I was treated to Ryan’s cock sliding inside my nether region.
We didn’t speak. The only sounds were our groans and the slapping of flesh on flesh. There was something raw and animal about the way he was fucking me. Like he owned me.
Fresh milked sprayed as I climaxed, soaking through the t-shirt and dripping onto the floor. I felt Ryan’s cum, some if it oozing out of me, some of it on my ass. Not wanting to make a mess and waste precious milk, I hurried to the bathroom. The bra was forgotten, so I was forced to hold the cups to my breasts as I milked myself.
For the first time, I could see my nipples being stretched, see the jets of white fluid forcefully drawn from inside them. I cursed my lack of foresight. I desperately wanted to finger myself, but both hands were occupied.
“Sadie, are you ok?” Ryan knocked.
Suddenly I was ashamed. I didn’t want him to see me like this. I felt indecent, sitting on the toilet, a fresh load of cum dripping from my snatch, being milked like an animal. I closed my eyes as the door opened, biting my lip as I started to cum.
Ryan had to order my new nursing bra off the Internet. They weren’t stocked locally in that size. It took a few days to ship, so I was forced to rely on my hands to keep the funnels in place. When he was home, Ryan was kind enough to do it for me. Occasionally he would substitute for the machine, drinking deeply from me in an aroused stupor. Sometimes we made love, sometimes it was all about the milk.
My milk production continued to increase, and by the time my new bra arrived, I was well over a hundred ounces per day, just shy of a gallon. Hydration was key. I drank water constantly, and Ryan kept a steady supply of bread, rice, and pasta on hand. I was disappointed when I slipped on the new bra. The band size was perfect, but the cups were woefully inadequate. I didn’t blame Ryan. I thought a G cup was beyond the bounds of reason, but my breasts continued to surprise us.
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