The XXXorcist Just TRY Not To Cum Ch. 03

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Third and last part. If it seems a little hokey, I ask you to remember that I wrote this 20 years ago — before there was a BE community, before we even knew there was an Internet!

Also — THANK YOU to the people who commented! YOU made the rest of the story happen.


By now, my wife Cara’s milk-making breasts were pretty well taking over her days. When I was home, I think I was erect more than not, because I was that turned on by her. After all, what could possibly be better than insanely big mammaries? Insanely big mammaries that actually WORK, that’s what. I LOVED her milk, and her milking. When she would squeeze her areolas for me, her nipples would pour out solid streams of the creamy stuff, faster than I thought possible.

When I found out she was being awoken several times a night by her production, we started donating to the good people at the local hospital’s breast-milk bank. I told them I had five sisters, all of whom were lactating and charitable. They told me how impressed they were that five women could produce that much. Eventually I had to make up a gaggle of friends for each fictional sister — friends who re-lactated to shed calories — because the hospital staff couldn’t believe that just five women were making all the milk I’d bring in from my wife.

And that wasn’t half of her bounty, I knew. Most of it was still splashed onto or into me, or one of her many lovers. She spent her days in sexual ecstasy, or hooked up to the breast pump — a turn-on for her, in and of itself.

Her breasts kept on growing. By now I couldn’t sleep in the same bed with her. If she sat up in bed, they were actually up to her chin, and if they filled with milk, they’d start to rise and block her face! They were so heavy that it was pretty hard for her to leave bed. Her nipples were thick as bananas, and half as long! I asked her if she felt she should stop lactating, and she answered that she was very happy with her present condition. I pointed out that she had to sleep with an industrial milk pump on one of the other nipple. She said I should get a second pump, so she could sleep with them both attached. And she did.

Set on slow, those pumps would milk her for nine hours a night, and even so she had to set them to high, once she got up, to catch up on the backlog. Her milk helped innumerable people, but I really felt it had taken over her life. Sure, I was living out a fantasy. That Sunday morning, while we sat and read the paper, she had both pumps going at full speed for an hour, sucking away at her massive nipples, while I got harder and harder. But this was getting bizarre.

Eventually, she had to pump one or the other of her breasts most hours of the day. Even when I was suckling her, the other breast was being drained. And THAT wasn’t enough to keep up — she’d sometimes lug her giant breasts to the tub and “go manual” (express her milk by hand) because there was more milk being made than was getting out. When I say “expressing the milk by hand” I should point out that she would use her hands just to get going. Once she relaxed, the milk would start streaming of its own accord. Then it would blast free, Ataşehir Yabancı Escort firing out of her. All of this, hands-free. And that was in normal times. When she got turned on, the amount of milk she made increased geometrically. From the minute she got turned on, those nipples would stiffen up and let fly — and not stop! Her mammaries grew so much she couldn’t reach her nipples without some effort. And she was not always herself — she was acting pretty strangely.

As I mentioned, when she’d get turned on, they’d swell even huger. I was so often shocked by the size of them, you’d think I couldn’t be shocked any more — but I was. I found her one day lying on her back, with a man lying full-length across the pinnacles of her breasts. Even with the entire weight of a person on them, they were so big and firm that they stood a yard in the air. He was lying perpendicularly to her, across that vast expanse of titflesh. I saw him climb on — her streams of milk became gushers, pounding him all the harder as they took on his weight. He looked like he couldn’t believe where he was. You couldn’t blame him, either. His dick looked harder than anything I’d ever seen. He just lay there, dazed. The throbbing of his pecker gave his dick a bit of friction against her foot-wide areola, and in a moment, his hips were jerking involuntarily. His prong rubbed back and forth over the milk-slick surface. Her fist-sized nipple was trapped between his hot penis and his torso, spraying milk wildly all over the room.

She moaned for him to suck on her other nipple, and he struggled across the sea of white breasts that rolled before him. He managed to grab her other red, fountaining point. I think his mind was gone and he was working on instinct — his hips still jerked as if someone else was pulling the strings. The moment his mouth closed over her spouting tip, his cock gushed and gushed out streams and strings and wads and ribbons of sperm all over her mounds, but he seemed unaware of it. He was hungrily attacking the nipple in his mouth, never mind that no one could drink that fast, he set to the task with both hands encircling the stalk of her brobdignagian nip.

Still his cock spurt and spurt and sprayed and spurt, and when the leaping rivers of cum finally died down, he still humped against her breast, stiff as ever. In two minutes flat, he was cumming again, and it coincided with her third explosion. She shook and quaked, but he grasped her monstrous mounds with his elbows and knees, and kept his perch.

He finally seemed to arrive back at himself, and tried fucking her milk-soaked cleavage, then her areola, then back to her cleavage, then . . . his rod seemed so stiff that it pained him, but he gamely tried to make the whole thing last. As he’d already cum pints, he was able to hold out for perhaps fifteen minutes until the pressure was too great inside him. His cum-restraint broke, and the semen leapt out of him. He fell to the floor in deranged ecstasy, with the white bolts still shooting. I saw that her twin supra-boobs were now bigger than her body — this couldn’t be normal!

I asked my rabbi for his advice, Ataşehir Yeni Escort and he said it was either an unheard-of medical phenomenon, or her boobs were possessed. He added that he hoped the TV people didn’t find out. I didn’t really know what to think, and when I got home she grabbed me and led me through an exhausting lovemaking session. I fell asleep in her bed, to the hum of breast pumps running at full speed.

I dreamt that someone was holding my nose. When I gasped for breath, something was shoved into my mouth — I snapped awake to see nothing but boob. I was lying on one, but it had my arms pinned to my sides, and the other nipple was forcing its way into my mouth as far as it would go. Milk — of course — was running from it like an open tap. I couldn’t scream. I tossed and struggled, swallowing the milk being forced down my throat. The breast bore down on me. With panic strength, I freed one arm, and unstoppered my mouth. My yells woke Cara, and her breasts settled down. I told her what happened. I don’t blame her for not believing me, but . . .

I told her that her breasts had taken over her life. She wouldn’t listen. I got out a picture of that stripper with the ever-expanding string implants, and asked Cara what she thought. “Well, she’s pretty, but those tits are pretty small for a stripper, don’t you think?” Clearly, her mind and her perceptions were being affected. I asked her if she thought her breasts were big enough. She said she liked them very much, but wished they were a bit bigger. I sighed.

“Look, do you know ANYONE with breasts this size?” I asked her, as I led her to the specially prepared de-programming room. She shook her head. “You are the only person I know who can’t shower with her breasts in the stall! You can’t reach your nipples on the first try — think about that! Cara, I love you and I want you back — your breasts have always been awesome, but . . . you’re not YOU, anymore. I want the woman I love back!” She got quiet. I noticed she was trembling. I said “You’re giving over 90 gallons a day. And you’re not doing anything else!”

Suddenly she started crying. She cried loudly, saying they HAD taken over her life, and she wanted things back the way they had been. I kissed her and held her as best I could, and promised to help her. I laid her down on the bed in the de-programming room (okay, it was the spare bedroom — happy?) I told her that breasts give more when you demand more — so we were going to go cold turkey on milking her breasts. Whatever sentience was in them depended on our cooperation — and we were just not going to play anymore. No more pumping. No sex until she was back to herself. And absolutely no more milking!

She knew it would be tough, but I got out the second-to-last bra she had ever fit into (the woman who sewed it for us said it was an MMMM cup) and gave it to hold on to — it was our goal.

Hour after hour, her breasts swelled with the unexpelled milk in them. There were seven feet between the mattress and the ceiling. Her breasts were actually coming near to it. When I came to the door, her breasts flushed an angry red, and turned Ataşehir Masaj Salonu on me. I ran. I’d made a trapdoor in the wall, near her face, so I could be with her without being in the room. I held her hand and talked with her. The giant boobs tried to reach me, but they were too massive — they couldn’t reach through the little trap door in the wall.

We knew not to touch them — the slightest pressure could set off a milkalanche. I knew this might be the weirdest day of our lives. For instance, her nipples would firehose milk when she was turned on, but we’d never seen them do so with no provocation. Today, however, we didn’t know what to expect. I read to her, and cast nervous glances at the bazooms swelling nearer and nearer the ceiling. Then a deep, deep rumble — the breasts seemed to take in a giant breath — I mean, they swelled suddenly — and then WHAM — the downpour of milk began.

Those tits fought with the only weapon at their disposal, their amazing production. The air was white around us — it was a hurricane of milk from angry breasts. The bed held her thirty inches off the floor — and after the first few minutes, I realized the tits meant business. The floor was a foot-and-a-half deep in milk! I ran outside to take a pickaxe to the wall, so my Cara wouldn’t drown in the rising milk. A fierce wind was blowing — but only around OUR house! When I pierced through the wall, a white river flowed into the yard. I came back to the trapdoor to check on her state of mind, and . . . shit! She was masturbating! The breasts must have sent incredible ecstasy through her. “NO! CARA!” I shouted, but she couldn’t hear me above the maelstrom.

The breasts were now flush up against the ceiling, and the bed creaked dangerously. Her coffee-can-sized nipples were letting loose waterfalls — milkfalls, that is. I saw from her face that she was almost at the point of climax. The breasts swelled triumphantly. She came! She shook and cried out, and — impossibly — MORE milk flew out of those mammaries.

But when she came down, she saw me and said “Oh, don’t leave me! I want you back! I want my mind back! I want the man I love back! I want YOU!” I stayed by her side for hours, as those monstrous things poured out their fury. But hours and hours of pouring — and no resupply — brought them down. They no longer touched the ceiling. When dusk came, we were exhausted, but the breasts were down to the size of medium beach balls again, and the milk only dripped a bit. After some more time, she reached out and squeezed a nipple — no milk at all came out. She wept with joy — whispering “We’ve won! We’ve won!” over and over. We fell asleep with smiles on and the milk pumps off.

Eventually she was able to fit into the JJ-cup bras we had, and those can be special-ordered. Her boobs looked great — though remarkably heavy and meaty. Anyone who hadn’t been through what we had would call ’em tremendous. When we made love (JUST we, and nobody else but we) she liked having them sucked. They’d swell a bit when she was excited, but they always went back to normal. Everything was fine in our happy home.

One day she knelt before me and blew me, as only she can, and I gave her an impressive and intense cumshot. She stayed there, licking me and waiting for it to get soft. It wouldn’t. I was feeling rather proud of myself, when she licked it again and said “You know, I could swear this thing has gotten bigger since I blew you yesterday!”

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