Look Upon My Works, Ye Mighty, And Despair

Hi there! Glad to hear you're finding success and making progress on your journey towards the soft, milky, bouncy, hucow life of your dreams!

The situation you're describing is totally normal! While it doesn't happen for every hucow, the gradual lessening of speech is not an uncommon result of the hucowification process. Nothing in the supplements or subliminals is making you talk less, but this particular side effect emerges naturally from other, more commonly known changes.

The first is the general brain-drain that comes from hucowification. Most cows experience some kind of lessening of intelligence, with the degree varying from cow to cow. In this instance, you're not becoming too brainless to speak, as indicated by your willingness and ability to write out your thoughts, either on your body or on paper. Instead, talking just becomes work. You have to listen, formulate a response, think of the words, and then say them in the right order. For most people, this may require some effort but not much. As you become more and more cow-like, or when you start getting horny and enter "cow mode", the scale of that effort increases dramatically. You don't want to talk. Talking is hard. You just want to be a lazy cow, happily mooing and lowing, grazing and milking. And if you can communicate in other ways, easier ways, ways that don't put as much stress on your blissed-out cowbrain, then why wouldn't you?

That leads us to the second aspect leading to your mute tendencies, which is simple streamlining. To some degree, you used to have to use your words to get your partner in the mood. As your body changed, the need for words lessened. Your swollen, engorged udders, hanging bigger and heavier on your chest than ever before, and the deep, pure, primal desire in your eyes speak so much louder than your words ever did. You don't need to describe how badly you want his cock inside you; you can simply push your soft, milky tits against him and plead with your eyes as you grind yourself against his thigh. Even the most oblivious of men would get the hint at that point, no words necessary. So, again, if you can use your body just as effectively, if not more so than your words, and using words to begin with takes so much effort when you're in cow mode, then there's really no need to use them at all!

The only thing you'd have to worry about, as far as losing your speech altogether goes, is if you decided to surrender yourself as a person and live your life as a cow. As long as you keep solid boundaries between real life and cow life, then you'll be fine! If you let the lines blur, however, and slowly let cow life bleed into your regular life, let the time you spend as a cow start to eclipse the time you spend as a person, then there's a good chance you might stop talking altogether. But you won't really need them. I doubt you'll miss your words at all. You'll be too busy pawing at your humongous udders while the suction cups drain your seemingly endless supply of milk. When you're on your back, being bred by your owner boyfriend, you wouldn't have been able to think of anything to say anyway. And all the time in between, when you've let yourself be simple and brainless and you've embraced being an obedient cow, all of your needs taken care of, your mind eroded away by pleasure until it's smooth and empty, words just won't matter anymore.

It was magnetic. Dana thought taking breast growth pills might be a tiny boost in self-esteem, something to help fill out her figure going into University. Instead it changed everything about her life. Men noticed her more, sure. Catcalling her, groping her, lifting her top from time to time in public. Just men being men, nothing new there. But something much more exciting happened....

As much as you told yourself otherwise, it wasn't exactly your average titfuck. the way she encouraged you was rather odd. Dirty talk can vary from person to person and you were enjoying it enough to not be an issue, but she seemed very insistent on making you cum with her tits, not for your sake, but for hers. She looked up at you with a sultry look and kept saying things like "That's right, baby, cum right between them. Fill up my cleavage. I just need one more. Give it to me. I just need one more!" It was weird, especially when one thought about it in relation to the fact that she only wanted to give you a titfuck, refusing to do anything else, but it certainly wasn't a deal breaker. The other main way it sat apart from every other titfuck you had ever gotten was the sheer enormity of her tits. They were gigantic, looking even larger as she dragged them out of the overworked bra they had been bulging out of and feeling larger still as she wrapped them around your cock and slid them up and down your shaft.

Her skill with her tits was unmatched and it didn't take long before you tensed your hips and thrust them forward, shooting thick ropes of cum into her cleavage. The pressure of her hands squeezing her breasts from the sides forced your cum to bubble up to her cleavage, filling it like a small, milky white pool. You had never seen anyone react to a successful titfuck with the kind of excitement she expressed, openly celebrating it like a victory. So pleased with herself was she that she seemed to glow. You blinked. Wait, no, she was actually glowing! A pale, golden light danced across her skin, quickly fading as she excitedly stood up, letting your cum-slick cock slide free. She pumped her fist in the air with a victorious grunt, sending her massive tits swaying.

"Fuck yes! That's how you do it! Getting both is going to give me so many upgrade points..."

For a moment, you thought that the post-orgasmic bliss was just making it hard to tell what was going on, but the clarity set in shortly afterwards and, no, this didn't make any kind of sense. "Uh... what? Upgrade? What are you talking about?"

She talked as if every word she said absolutely insane. "I'm on a tits-only challenge run right now. You were the tenth person I got off with my tits this week and you put me over the edge for the next Cumulative Cumshots on Tits milestone! Those two achievements gave me enough experience to level up, too! Oh, man, I am just rolling in it! The challenge run goes until the end of the month, so all of these upgrade points are going right back into these big, juicy udders! High score table, here I come!"

Her explanation only raised more questions. Who was keeping track of this? How does one 'level up' from titfucking? What the hell was she talking about?

You didn't have time to ask any of those questions before her body started to glow again. This time, however, it seemed to shimmer in a pale, pearlescent rainbow. Gradually at first but rapidly picking up speed, her tits swelled outwards. They grew bigger, rounder, fuller, standing prouder and perkier on her chest despite their immense size. At first, you thought it was just her presence in the room feeling stronger, but you quickly realized she was actually getting taller, too. It wasn't a lot of extra height, maybe an inch or two, but the effect was dramatic. WeGrowing in proportion with the rest of her body as it grew in tandem just made her breasts expand faster. After a few seconds, the light faded and she breathed out a satisfied sigh. Soft flesh overflowed her hands as she scooped her large breasts from underneath. Watching the jiggle made her giggle, which just made them jiggle more. Her breasts held her attention so totally that it almost seemed like she had forgotten you were there. She hadn't, though, and the suddenness with which she turned her attention towards you made you jump.

"Hey guys just a quick vid. Week 14 on Damsel. I'm starting to freak out because I'm outgrowing everything FAST. Like on one hand I'm glad my girlfriend, Alexis, came out and told me she loves big boobs but I'm starting to feel like this is getting out of hand. She's kind of a spoiled girl already so I'm wondering if I should enable her this much. Alexis is a total brat. Rich parents who give her all the money she could want. No job. She sits home masturbating all day and brags about it like a total spoiled princess. Doesn't have to lift a finger to help out at home and her parents very openly enable her.

You don't notice it at first.

*fwoomp*

But after a while…

*Fwoomp*

You can't ignore just how big your lips are getting.

*Fwooomp*

You can only stare in awe as the two crimson pillows on your face continue to expand.

*Fwoooomp*

Bigger and bigger, your chin eventually disappears behind the ever-increasing size of your lips.

*Fwooooomp*

Touching them feels like squeezing the softest pillow you could possibly imagine, the mounds of flesh rising between your fingers as your lips continue to obscure more of your face.

*FwoooooOOOMP*

It’s getting harder for any discernible speech to make it out of your mouth with each lip rivaling your forearm in thickness. All that can come out is various forms of “Mmmmh!” as your mouth becomes a giant overinflated fuckhole.

*FWOOoooOOOOOOMP*

Listen to me. This is very important. If you are "afraid" that you might start liking it, then you are definitely going to start liking it. That "fear", such as it is, is just you recognizing the inevitable. This may seem, at first blush, like bad news, but that couldn't be further from the truth. The sooner you stop fighting against what you know, deep down, to be inevitable, the sooner you can embrace it!

There's nothing that says you have to stop being a dude. You can be whatever you want to be, whatever feels right. If you want to be a dude with massive, milky knockers, an ass that enters a room minutes after the rest of you, and lips that could suck the chrome off of a trailer hitch, then that's fine! However, if you try to fight against something you enjoy, something that feels good, then you're just wasting time. You can already feel yourself enjoying it. That's why you're afraid, because you're already loving it. The sensations of your body bouncing and jiggling, the attention it brings you, the sensitivity and the way it feels when you rub your hands over your sensual, growing curves. Who knows when you're going to stop growing? It could be tomorrow. It could be a month from now. It could be a year from now, when your tits are too big to reach your swollen, gushing nipples and your ass takes up an entire couch! You could spend all that time trying to pretend that you don't enjoy watching your shirts get tighter, that you hate the mind-melting pleasure of sucking the milk out of your own udders, that you resent all the people looking at you with lust and envy, but that's so much effort.

What's the worst that could happen if you embrace it? Hm? You start dressing to accentuate your curves? You start showing off your body to anyone and everyone just to see the looks on their faces? You spend a little extra time every day standing in front of the mirror, groping yourself and salivating over your own body? Untold amounts of pleasure wash over you as you fully let yourself enjoy getting your colossal, milky udders pumped and drained? You have your pick of people who would give anything to just see your body, let alone touch it or play with it? And you're going to deny yourself all that because you're hung up on whether or not a dude should have a body like that.

At a party, some mean girls slip something into your drink that makes your tiddies start to expand in the middle of everything. As they see it taking effect, they come over and start bullying you about it, how big you’re getting, how their cute perky breasts are so much prettier than these udders you’re growing >.<

"Oh, my fucking god! Looking at her! The cow is actually fucking enjoying this!"

You want to deny it. You're desperate to deny it. All you can do, however, is bite your lip and whine. Between the alcohol and the hormones, you know that the moment you open your mouth, any words you could think to say would immediately be overpowered by either an uninhibited moan or, worse, a needy, desperate moo!

Every eye in the living room is focused on you. The bigger your breasts grow, the growth drug slipped into your drink clearly working wonders, the harder it is for anyone to look away. You try your best to focus on the slim girls standing above you, but the arousal surging through you makes your eyes flutter, threatening to cross. So you can't speak, you can't look at them, you can't do anything. All that's left is biting your lip and letting out a keening whine as you shake your head back and forth. The slender blonde looming over you just laughs.

"Who's going to want to play with those udders? They're so fucking gross; the way they sag is gonna make me sick!"

Your mouth is finally forced open by the blonde's hand reaching down and scooping underneath your breast. The soft, wobbling, still growing flesh overflows her palm and spills over the side. She lifts it up as high as she can, nearly mashing it against your face, before letting it drop and slap against your torso. The shifting weight jerks your shoulders forward, gasping and then letting out the breath in a long, low, cow-like moan. The perky brunette to her left makes a retching sound, pretending to gag.

"Ugh, such a greedy cow! We saw the way you looked at us!" The blonde to her right nods. The brunette continues. "It took us a while before we realized what you were actually looking at! You wanted boobs like ours, perky and perfect, the ideal C-cups to please anyone. We thought it was endearing, at first. But you just wouldn't... stop... staring!"

The brunette reaches down and, to punctuate each word, squeezes your breasts together, deepening the line of your cleavage and forcing their growing mass to bulge even more out of your increasingly inadequate top. As she does so, the blonde leans over you once more, grabbing her tits through her sheer top. Perfect handfuls, just like her friend said. While the brunette is busy teasing you, the blonde takes over the taunting.

"Like we'd ever let you be perfect like us! You're already bigger than both of us combined, but the night is young, don't you think?" From her purse, she pulls out a small bottle, twisting the cap and dumping out a handful of the pills into her hand. You do your best to say "No", but you really only get as far as "N....", pleasure making it impossible to go further. What's left of the rapidly dwindling, rational part of your brain tries to calm you down by saying that you can just refuse to swallow! You won't even open your mouth! You'll-

At that moment, the brunette pulls the straps together and your tits flop out. Your nipples, bigger and more sensitive than ever, quiver and twitch as cool air rushes in on them. They aren't left long on their own, though, and the brunette pinches one, lifting it and dragging your whole breast to her lips. As her tongue, warm and wet and lightly course, drags over your nipple, your brain shuts down. Behind your eyes, there's only white. Your jaw drops open, preparing to bellow out a moan to rattle the windows, but all of that gets interrupted as the blonde clamps her hand over your mouth, forcing the pills into it.

not the Regina George route but in reverse

Scenario-wise:

Catrina had set out to sabotage you and, as much as you hate to admit it, she did succeed to a degree. The first third of your interview had gone well! Extremely well, in fact. Almost suspiciously well. Your answers were nearly perfect in every respect and it flowed like a casual, friendly conversation more than an interview. You knew your qualifications,.you knew you were right for the role, so there was no reason to stress. Besides, Catrina was a bitch. Nobody liked working with her and you knew the quality of your work was better than hers, so you could relax. And all of this despite the slight discomfort in your stomach. This role was really yours to lose.

The first sign was the adjustment of a bra strap. You didn't think anything of it at the time, too distracted by the ease of the interview. Another adjustment came shortly afterwards. You silently cursed yourself for tripping over your words and, suddenly, the room felt warm. Your clothes squeezed you like a second skin, growing tighter with each breath. You did your very best to keep the interview going, to not let whatever was happening distract you from your goal. Then, as you rolled your shoulders back to stretch and try to relax again—PING! A button broke off of your shirt and launched across the table. Finally, the situation couldn't be ignored. You looked down and your eyes went wide at the sight. Your little B cups were gone. Bulging over and under and out of your tiny bra, straining the limits of your professional shirt, were the biggest pair of tits you had ever seen. They were so big in fact that it took you a few seconds to accept that they were your own and a few seconds more to realize they were still growing. The clasp behind your back was creaking and groaning under the strain and you knew your shirt wouldn't last much longer. You wanted to cry. For a moment, you nearly did. And then, inspiration!

Common sentiment held that Gamma-Rho-Omega recruited only outrageously busty women. One simply had to look at the kinds of women who graduated, their hot pink motorboards only being the second more obvious indication of their membership. The bouncing of their gargantuan tits couldn't be hidden by their loose graduation gowns. But that wasn't the whole story. In reality, most of those women joined their sorority with C cups or smaller. Gamma-Rho-Omega didn't recruit women with huge tits; they recruited women with potential.

On the last night of Rush Week, the sorority holds a party. Attendance is by invitation only, a mixture of potential new members and a small handful of friendly fraternities. To be invited to this party was a sign of immense status on campus. Entire rivalries could spring up or shift depending on which houses got to go and which ones were left out. As soon as you enter, you can feel the electric anticipation in the air. Everyone is having a good time, drinking and hanging out, mixing and mingling. Really, though, they're all just waiting. They know it'll happen; someone is going to be first. They just don't know who or when.

At some point during the night, the chapter president brings out Theodora's Gift. So the legend goes, Theodora Pierce was a biochemistry student and Recruitment Chair for their chapter a few decades ago. After years of declining numbers, she was searching desperately to grow their membership and, well, she found it. The pale blue tincture, still made using Theodora's original recipe, mixes easily into the punch bowl without altering taste or color or odor. The rushes don't know when it gets added, but that's part of the fun. A signal goes out to the Executive Board that the Gift has been "bestowed" and then it's their turn to wait. But they rarely have to wait long.

An excited scream rings out from one of the bedrooms upstairs. Everyone in the party knows what that means: it's started. While it doesn't always translate to membership, being the first to grow at one of these parties is considered a positive sign. She gropes her tits as they swell, stretching out her shirt and bulging over the cups of her bra. She knows that everyone's waiting to see her, but she holds them in suspense a few moments longer, both for the drama of it and to see how big she can get before she has to show someone. By the time she emerges, her B cup bra is struggling to hold back tits twice as big as they had been when she arrived and the buttons of her shirt are struggling.

There's a small contingency waiting outside the bedroom to congratulate her, but the crowd isn't as big as she expected. She had missed her moment. Bouncing down the stairs threatens to break her bra but she needs to know where everyone is! She pushes her way through the crowd in the living room only for her jaw to drop when she sees what's holding everyone's attention. Empty, red cups are strewn about the floor, their contents stolen and drained in seconds by the greedy girl in the center of the circle. Her bra rests near her chin, her tits broken free of it and propping it up on her chest. Her tits rest in her lap, swollen and huge and, much to the delight of the crowd, still visibly growing. The first girl grits her teeth.

It's not fair. It's not fair. That phrase burns into her mind as she pushes back out of the crowd. As she makes her way, she can hear the excited cries of women all around her, their growth finally kicking in, echoed by the cheers of the men in attendance. She throws herself into a chair, huffing at her breasts, now only slightly larger than her head. She gropes them angrily, disappointed, dejected, feeling her hopes for the future slipping away. Luckily for her, her pity party is in just the right spot for her to watch the president sneak out and add a few more drops of the Gift to the new batch of punch. Her heart races. Her- shit!

Just an idea inspired by your original story. If it strikes you, I would love to see what kind of story and/or image pairing you could conjure with it. 💋

P.s. your work is so good, it’s why I made a tumblr.

Goodness, you flatter me! Thank you very much for the kind words! I'm always a bit astonished at the idea that I could be inspirational, but I'm very glad that you found me to be so! And I'm glad you joined us! I really like your idea, too!

Addison sat up in bed and was immediately pulled back down. The impact back onto the soft mattress made the colossal udders that sat on either side of her slender torso jiggle and slosh like they were full of water or, more accurately, full of milk. A deep, frustrated groan built in her chest, rising with her anger. These stupid fucking udders! God, she fucking hated them! She just wanted C cups! She just wanted to not be flat as a board! But they never stopped growing, never stopped swelling, never stopped engorging with- Shit.

A damp spot near her fingertips reminded Addison that her little pity party had a time limit. If she was to go about her day, she'd need to milk her udders, another huge fucking waste of her time that wouldn't be necessary with the cute breasts she had wanted. Sliding off the side of her bed nearly brought her crashing to the ground. The swing and hang of her boulder-like tits threatened to drag her off her feet and, as much as she hated to admit it, she knew it was only a matter of time before they did. She could practically feel them growing and, while engorging with milk overnight made it hard to tell, she knew she was waking up bigger than when she went to sleep.

With gravity pulling in a new direction, Addison had to fight back against the instinctive letdown that her gargantuan udders wanted. She needed to get over to her breast pumps first. While she could have moved the milking station closer to her bed, she refused to do so on principle. She refused to let her tits take over her life. Every inch of ground they took was wrested from her by force and she wasn't ready to surrender. She wasn't some big titty bimbo, after all. She never wanted to be bigger than a D cup. She had read online that DD tits start to cross into the territory where you have more tits than brains and the thought of that had been sickening. Now, she tried her best not to think about it, especially as she all but dragged her enormous udders across the room. Each heavy footfall sent her tits wobbling and swinging and every time they clapped together, however lightly, Addison tensed. She ignored the light patter of her leaking milk hitting the floor. She refused to acknowledge her tits in any way. She wasn't a bimbo. She was better than this. She-

The world spun and the ground slid out from underneath Addison's foot. Stepping right into a puddle of her own milk, she slipped, gravity finally winning out. Thankfully for Addison, there was a table there to help catch her fall. Unfortunately for Addison, she landed on the table tit-first. Between the weight of her own body and the force of the fall, she squeezed her tit against the table a milk fired like a jet from her nipple. Despite herself, despite everything, Addison howled out a moan. With a pathetic look on her face, she glanced at the milk now gushing from her tit and then over to the milking station. It was just a few feet away, but she told herself it was too late. She was just going to have to do it manually.

As she wrapped her hand around her nipple, having to really reach around to the other side of her udder, another moan trumpeted from Addison's throat. "Fuuuuck! Fuck these fucking udders! They're so fucking biiiiig!" Each squeeze sent milk spraying out and waves of pleasure washing over her. Her arousal was like a spring. Shame and denial had wound it up right and now all that pent-up energy was being released. One tit rested on the table while the other hung down from her chest, the perfect spot for her to push her hips forward and grind against it. "Uughnn, fuuuuuck! My huge, milky titties are turning me into a fucking bimbo cow! I've got more tits than brains ten times over!"

Slightly repositioning her hips wedged her tit between them and the side of the desk. Once she knew it wasn't going anywhere, her hips started to move in earnest. Each thrust came a little bit faster than the last. Milk splattered at her feet. "I didn't want these fucking udders for this exact reason! They're turning me into a boobie-obsessed slut! Can't go more than a few hours without milking my huge udders! Can't go outside without everyone gawking at my gargantuan, slutty titties! Everyone wants to touch them! Squeeze them! Suck on them! Drink from them! I should just give in and fucking let them!"

With a sudden lurch, Addison's body bent forward. Her face was smothered by her own udder, perfect to muffle the lewd scream that ripped out of her throat. Her hips started to properly swing, the steady sound of her thighs clapping against her tit filling the air. Her face was red when she lifted it up again and hair matted to her forehead, but her eyes were rolled almost completely back. She bit her lip. "I should just give up being normal and enjoy them while I can! I won't fucking stop growing! I'm gonna get bigger and bigger until I can't even fucking lift them anymore! Then all I'll be able to do is hump! My! Fucking! Udders! All! Fucking! DAY!"

Addison punctuated each word by doing exactly that, finishing by squeezing her breast between her thighs. Her hands kneaded all the tit she could reach. Her throat was hoarse. She was so fucking close. "I'm just tits! I'm just fucking tits! Not Addison! Not Addie! No future! No life! Just tits! Just big, huge, gigantic, jiggly, juicy, milky TITS!"

The first week of Stella's thirties were a blur. She could hardly tell where one day ended and the next one began. If she had really focused, she might have been able to tell the difference between warm daylight and the cool streetlamps peeking in around her blackout curtains, but her focus was entirely elsewhere. The smell of sex hung heavy in the air of her bedroom. Under her desk, a wastebasket sat overflowing, lost in a mountain of spent tissues caked in cum that was at varying stages of drying and hardening. Thick ropes of it were splattered across the walls and over her bed. More so than ever, her room had become a den of hedonistic pleasure. The lewd moaning and the sounds of sex blasted out of Stella's headphones, almost completely covering the rhythmic plap! plap! plap! of her colossal tits slapping against her thighs, her cleavage lubed up by the precum that gushed from the tip of her pillar of a cock.

This time last week, Stella had been completely different. For starters, she was monstrously drunk. Who could blame her? It was her thirtieth birthday, one that represented the threshold into the life she truly wanted to live. The first half of her twenties had been spent figuring out who she was and the second half had been spent becoming who she was always meant to be. Her thirties would be the time to finally just be that person! If you had asked her sober, she would have said she was happy with the body the hormones had given her. Drunk, however, there was one shortcoming that she was desperate to fix. She staggered around the bar, going up to each one of her friends, thrusting her chest forward and begging them to pinch her tits. "Come on, please? A pinch for an inch? All I need is a couple of inches and I'll be good! I promish!" Stella giggled at the stunned flustered expressions on her friends' faces. Her giddiness only grew as she finally did get a pair of pinches, two on each breasts. But, it came at a (playful) cost, one of her friends pinching her bulge, suggesting that the extra inch down there was a birthday present from her. Stella tried her best to hang on to her faux indignity for as long as she could before erupting in yet more giggles, collapsing into her friends. She was just so happy.

"Guughhnnn..."

Stella grunted. Her hips tensed, pushing the nearly three-foot-long column of cock upward through her own cleavage. Her arms did their best to wrap around a pair of tits that had made two laps around the alphabet and were making their way towards a third. Between her thighs, her swollen balls (each nearly as big as her head) tensed and yet another in a countless line of loads sprayed from the tip of her cock. Most of it rained back down on her own tits, adding to the slick mess between them, while some of it landed on the floor and a little landed in her own hair.

The front door clicked shut behind Dr. Marcus Hale as he stepped into the apartment. The chaos of the precinct briefing still echoed in his head. The Patient Zero, had escaped custody hours earlier. The pathogen’s details were still murky: confirmed oral transmission, rapid-onset gigantomastia and galactorrhea. The rest was unknown, but the early cases were already overwhelming hospitals with women whose bodies were changing in extreme, uncontrollable ways.

“Emily?” he called, loosening his tie. “Babe, I’m home. Today was insane.”

He stopped dead in the living room doorway.

There she was on the sofa: a stunning, long-haired blonde with an impossibly exaggerated figure. The sweet, shy brunette he’d left that morning had been completely transformed. Emily’s new, voluptuous body spilled luxuriously across the cushions. Her breasts were absurdly massive, each one easily an O-cup or larger, round, heavy, and glistening. Thick streams of milk leaked continuously from her swollen, puffy nipples, running in shiny rivulets down the vast curves of her chest and dripping onto her thighs and the sofa below. She cradled the undersides of her enormous tits with both hands, as if trying to support their immense weight, while her legs were tucked beneath her in those strappy white-and-pink heels.

Her face, still recognizably Emily but now framed by silky blonde hair and flushed with overwhelming arousal, turned toward him. Her full lips parted, blue eyes glassy.

“Marcus…” she breathed, voice husky and needy. Another thick spurt of milk arced from her right nipple as she shifted. “Thank God you’re home. I’ve been like this for hours.”

He crossed the room in a daze, dropping to his knees in front of the sofa. Up close the sight was even more overwhelming, the sheer size, the constant lactation, and the sweet-creamy scent filling the air. Her breasts were taut and veined, skin stretched shiny, nipples thick and perpetually dripping.

“What happened?” he asked, voice rough. His doctor’s mind was screaming quarantine protocols. The rest of him was transfixed.

“That woman from the case, Elena,” Emily whispered, biting her lip as another warm gush of milk ran down her belly. “She showed up at the door this afternoon. She said she needed to speak with you urgently. She was so charming, Marcus. Tall, confident, and her own chest was even bigger than mine is now. I tried to send her away, but she smiled at me, pulled me close, and offered her breast. I couldn’t stop myself. Her milk was so warm and sweet. I drank and drank while she stroked my hair and told me how good it felt. I could feel it happening immediately, the heat, the swelling. My chest ballooned so fast. Within minutes I was already huge, and the milk just started pouring out. She kept feeding me until I was like this.”

Emily lifted her massive left breast slightly toward him. The motion caused a heavy spray of milk to splash across his shirt. She moaned softly, thighs pressing together.

“They haven’t stopped growing. They’re so heavy and so sensitive. Every little movement makes more milk come out. I’ve been sitting here leaking for hours, getting hornier and hornier. I keep thinking about how much bigger I might still get and how much more I could take.”

Marcus’s hands moved almost on their own, cupping the warm, overflowing undersides of her breasts. Emily gasped, back arching as fresh streams of milk sprayed over his fingers.

“Fuck, Em…” he groaned.

She looked down at him with that same shy-yet-eager smile he’d always loved, now paired with this obscene, hyper-sexualized body.

“Are you going to help your patient, Doctor?” she whispered, gently guiding his head forward until his lips brushed her dripping nipple. “Or are you going to let me keep changing until I’m even bigger than her?”

Stephanie ran towards the Royal Greenhouse of Clover Castle. Above her, mysterious pink magic shimmered in the air. The Clover Mages couldn’t identify the magic nor could they dispel it, and so the entire castle was now on full alert.  

“Princess? Princess!” she called out as ran through the garden.

No one had seen the princess since the pink magic appeared but Stephanie knew that Princess Triffoli loved the gardens, especially the more exotic flowers that bloomed in the greenhouse, so that was the first place the Royal Druidess thought to look.

“Princess?” Stephanie shouted as she pulled open the doors.

The sweet, pleasant aroma of flowers welcomed Stephanie as soon as she entered the greenhouse. For a moment, she was overcome with a sense of calm. Of relaxation. She smiled as she breathed in the warm scent. What she saw, however, pulled her back from her daydream. Gone were the flowers she had helped the princess cultivate and nurture. In their place, strange new flora filled the beds of the greenhouse and had turned it into a garden of paradise. Bright pinks and blues and purples as far as Stephanie could see. It was one of the most beautiful sights Stephanie had ever laid her eyes on.