Pumping the Breaks

Chapter 3

The three friends addressed Janet and Odette’s expanding breasts and came to two important conclusions:

That Odette and Janet were entitled to keep secrets from Amanda, particularly secrets as sensitive as growing breasts and “super galactorrhea”—which was a made-up combination of the first results of Amanda’s “lactation without pregnancy” phone search and the first explanatory prefix out of Odette’s mouth after hearing about it.

The second important conclusion was that a visit to the grocery store was in order. The herbs in Odette’s kitchen were—apparently—insufficient to make a vegetable broth worthy of Amanda’s cooking talents.

And since there was little to be done about the first conclusion—besides a supportive hug and showing enthusiastic empathy, what was one to do after learning their friends had boobs that inflated with breastmilk on an hourly basis?—the three devoted themselves to resolving conclusion two.

What followed was a deliberation of tasks and assignments, led by Amanda, the de facto mom of the house while Pari was incapacitated.

“My car’s a junker,” Amanda admitted, after sitting Theo, Janet, and Odette down in the den for a meeting. “I don’t trust it with any of your lives, and I only barely trust it with fresh produce. So, we’ll be taking Ms. Pari’s car—with permission we got from Odette. Isn’t that right, Odette?”

Odette pulled her straight blond hair down over the fronts of her ballooned chest. She was still wearing the shrunken top she hadn’t been able to escape from earlier, its stressed ridges pulling tight around her breasts like deep cracks in a sheet of thin ice. “It depends,” Odette said. “Is this an emergency?”

“It’s a food emergency,” replied Amanda.

“Then we’re good. We can use the car for emergencies.”

“Perfect!” Amanda proclaimed.

“Umm. . .” moaned Theo, worried.

And after the awkward conversation with Janet mere minutes prior, Odette couldn’t help but be attentive to everything Theo said or did. So, at the sound of his anxious “Umm”, her head twitched in his direction, like she had to double check to make sure it wasn’t her answer that had caused his unease.

She was jumpy around him now, like Theo was fragile and she alone held the tool that might break him. She could hardly stand it—hated that her mind had been changed by the news of his “like-liking” her. Ignorance would have been so, so much better, and part of the young blonde wished Janet hadn’t said anything.

She couldn't pin the blame on her busty Japanese friend, though, especially not after interrogating her in such jiggly, squishy, milky ways.

Now, the three of them sat like children on the same couch, like they’d been caught swearing at the dinner table or sneaking an extra desert. It vaguely reminded Odette of when her dad would scold her, Summer, and Jules, back when they all still lived at home. That was ages ago.

Her friends were even seated in the right spots: Odette at the far end, Janet at Odette’s hip, and Theo at the other end, small in posture and size.

It was almost nostalgic if not for the lack of adequate soup seasonings and the like-like.

“Ms. Pari’s got the good car,” Amanda noted, hand on her jean-clad hip. “But it’s really small. We’ll only be able to take three people if we want room for groceries.”

“D-Doesn’t it have a trunk?” asked Janet.

“Yes, a trunk I plan on filling. Three people. Max.”

“Do we need that much stuff for soup?”

“It’s more than soup. It’s medicine,” Amanda said, then brought her hands to her chest. “For the soul.”

Theo muttered, twisting a strand of blond hair. “I think Pari will appreciate the effort.”

“That’s the spirit, Theo. Glad you’re on board—because you’re our driver!”

“I’m what?”

Amanda brought judgement down on the boy with a pointed finger. “My job is making and maintaining the grocery list, which means you have to drive.”

“Sh-Shouldn’t Odette drive Ms. Pari’s expensive car?”

“Odette doesn’t drive.”

“Wait. She doesn’t?”

Odette craned her head out, peeking over Janet’s enormous tits to look at Theo. “I’m philosophically against it.”

“Against driving?” asked Theo.

Odette shook her head. “Suicide. Cars are screaming metal death traps. I don’t know how anyone trusts anyone to drive anywhere. If you ask me, we should go back to horses and buggies.”

“Like ForeverAge 2?” asked Theo with a slight smile.

“I ride a dragon in ForeverAge 2.”

“Oh, so you got your mount drops? I wondered how close you were.”

“Yup, just got it a few days ago. The drop rate was abysmal. I thought I’d never get it.”

“They were bound to have another event even if you didn’t.”

“But that’ll be next year and I couldn’t wait that long or risk them changing it. I like this year’s mount.”

Janet whimpered before addressing the prattling nerds using her breasts as a pavilion. “Amanda, help! They’re talking about gamer stuff!”

Odette grinned, happy to talk gamer talk until it made Janet, a budding gamer, confused. It was exactly how Summer would have reacted had Odette and Jude talked about games with her around.

But when Odette looked across Janet’s boobs for her brother’s wicked grin, she found a blushing Theo fumbling back to his seat. It looked like he was embarrassed at being called out for his nerdiness. But was it only that? Or was there more?

Was the like-like making him even more embarrassed—for launching into a fun, natural conversation, for using Janet’s shelf of titty as a meeting place, or for having a fun conversation with Janet’s shelf of titty as a meeting place while talking to Odette?

Odette slumped back into her seat as well, arms folded over her own boobs. Then, she remembered the like-like and put them into her lap instead.

“Sorry,” Odette muttered.

Amanda regarded her for a while before continuing. “Glad you got your mount. Now then, for the shopping. . .”

Amanda elaborated on her plan. She and Theo had their orders for prepping the trip while Odette and Janet were assigned to take care of their mutually inflating gazongas. This was veiled with a shroud of mystery that Amanda was deft enough to describe as “lady problems”, which was sufficient enough a description to ward off Theo’s curious expressions.

Afterward, Janet would stay behind to prep the meals—she had the second most cooking experience among the group, which wasn’t saying much—and Odette would tag along to the store with Amanda and Theo.

Given their orders, the group split.

Janet and Odette rushed back to Odette’s expansive bathroom and stripped to start their milking.

Odette’s breasts reached down to her narrow hips and entered the bathroom a full second before the rest of her did. The shirt she’d struggled with before ended up having to be cut off to be removed, her boobs having grown too much and too fast to remove it by normal means. When they got to the department store, she’d have to beg Amanda to buy a replacement so Pari wouldn’t notice another missing shirt—because those were the types of things Odette’s caretaker noticed.

However, such worries would come after she and Janet contended with the swirling, sloshing cream being produced by their beach ball breasts.

Odette was sensitive. She always was at such a larger size. She was on her knees with both titties propped up on the narrow lip of the bathtub and each of her small hands rested at the roots of her mega mammaries. In the quiet, she could hear them churning. In the stillness, she felt them wobbling gently as she adjusted.

She began with a slow massage, both because it was all that could be managed and because it seemed to “warm up” her body to deal with the euphoria that would arrive as each breast offered its syrupy thick bounty to the drain. She didn’t understand the science of it. That was more of Pari’s thing. However, if Pari thought it best to start with the roots, focusing her gentle strokes and squeezes at the roots of her breasts, closest to her pectorals, then Odette was in agreement.

Few people knew titties like Pari.

Thinking about Pari put the milky blond at ease. That ease was short-lived, however.

Unease crept up as she watched her beachball boobies slowly bending under the heel of her hands. The softness of her skin in her hands and the tingles that drummed through her expansive, veiny breasts were welcome but, somehow, muted. Before her, she watched her rose-pink nipples start as buttons before thrusting into towers, thick enough to be pulled and twisted by her small hands.

Usually, the idea would excite her. She loved to be milked, and enjoyed the feel of letting loose what had been pent up. It had taken her years to learn to like the process.

Now, it felt as it had years ago: utilitarian. Monochrome. A job.

Was it the time crunch? There was no way she’d get herself milked completely before the trip to the store—maybe enough to uncomfortably stuff a bra, but not even close to a “normal” size. In fact, she’d be lucky to pump half of her milk in that amount of time.

Maybe she missed her family. Jules and Summer. She thought she talked to them enough, but perhaps this disparate feeling meant she needed more of them.

Maybe it was the like-like.

At that, Odette felt a pang. The milk that had just started to drip away from her thick nipples choked up at that thought.

Must’ve been the like-like.

She struggled, squeezing harder and forcing her cream to leave her. Fast quantities fled from her chest in response to her pressure. Its volumes were so vast that it drowned out the sound of Janet behind her. Its thickness immediately began to clog up the tub, a viscous syrupy white swirling around the special-order drain. The tingles came. The sensitivity blazed through each of her body pillows, lending to temporary pleasure.

But no amount of milk could drown the idea of the like-like—could help Odette see Theo as a friend again.

She wished it wasn’t such a big deal, even though it clearly was. She wished she hadn’t known about Theo’s feelings. She wished Theo didn’t have feelings—wished he could just talk to her about events and mounts and stay friends forever, his paladin to her archmage.

But now, she could feel the awkwardness swimming through her chest. She was aware that he was aware of her in a new, terrifying way.

And after years of being over such a feeling, Odette hugged at her chest, wishing there was just a little less of her for people to look at. . .

Knock. Knock!

Janet yelped. Her shriek filled the large bathroom. The doorknob spun and Amanda appeared in the doorway.

“I forgot to lock the door again?” Janet asked. “No, I know I locked it. Didn’t I?”

Amanda laughed. “You didn’t, but you had a lot on your plate. I came to check on you two. We leave in fifteen.” She came further into the bathroom, stopping momentarily to talk small with Janet. The two discussed Janet’s progress, the amount of milk she was getting out through gentle tugs. Soon, the awkward conversation about breast milk flowed and Janet opened up to Amanda fully, regaling her with the story of her initial milk production linked to a reaction she had to a drink Odette had given her.

Something about taking a leadership role in running the gaming club at the local community college had given Amanda charisma. Or, more likely, coming out of her comfort zone with the gaming club had enhanced what was already there in Amanda: an intimate, slow, friendly soul that won people over with her simple, unquestionable regard for those around her.

When Janet was made to feel listened to and loved, Amanda crossed the bathroom and crouched on Odette’s right. Her soft, full body looked flatteringly fluffy when made small beside the milking blond.

“And what about you? How are things over here?” Amanda asked.

Odette forced a smile despite the jittering she felt in her entire body. “I-It’s good. Just a little slower going.”

“Wait. This is slow going?” Amanda glanced over the lip of the tub at the river of milk that rolled toward the silver drain.

“Hmm, yes. Pretty slow,” Odette replied.

“That’s wild. I’m sorry, Odette, but when people say ‘slow going’ I don’t think they’re referring to a bathtub of milk.”

Amanda was light with her tone, but it didn’t affect Odette’s mood. Instead, the blonde flinched at a twisting pinch in her chest.

“It’s not a whole tub. It’s just an inch deep,” Odette retorted.

Amanda shrugged. “I guess I’m just super green to all of this. You must be used to putting out way more milk.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m going to have to get used to that.” Amanda said. Her attention turned to Odette’s hands, which sandwiched her right breast on top and bottom. “You know, I always had a suspicion that something was going on with your boobies.”

“Oh. . . It was supposed to be a secret.”

“I never would have guessed milk was the cause,” said Amanda. “But sometimes you’d get to school and be one size, and by the end of the day you’d be a completely different size. Petite in the morning but busty by lunch time. Well, okay, you’ve never been ‘petite’. But you have gone from top heavy to ‘top heaviest’ before. I thought that maybe you were hiding them or something.”

This was Odette’s first time hearing this. She hadn’t entertained the thought of others paying all that much attention to her—enough to notice her changing size. Even if some did, they never brought it up, and it was much easier when she wasn’t thinking that others cared about her changing body.

Now, there was Theo and the like-like.

“I would usually milk between classes. Sometimes, Pari would come to help. Other times, Janet and I would help each other. There’s bottles and pumps and stuff in some of the classrooms that we keep there just for us. We keep our sizes and discomfort down that way.”

“I can’t believe you were going through all of this and I didn’t even know.” Amanda said, though immediately afterward, her voice dropped low—not so low that Janet couldn’t hear, but intimate, meant for Odette specifically. “Is there anything else you’re going through that you want to talk about? Maybe a Theo thing?”

“Hmph,” Odette pouted. She’d stopped milking herself completely at this point, her hands using her shelf of flesh as a soft, warm resting place. “I don’t like it. I don’t. Not a bit. I can’t handle romantic feelings, Amanda. I don’t know how.”

“Sort of like learning to drive a car then, right? It’s a hard ‘no’?”

“Exactly.”

“Because cars get in accidents and get totalled and—”

“They explode and catch on fire and the people inside are cooked alive before anyone can do anything about it.”

Janet made a whimpering sound. “D-Does that happen all that much?”

Amanda didn’t answer. “So when Odette gets scared, she gets rather. . . descriptive. I see. No wonder you and Janet make such a solid creative duo.”

Odette beamed a grin at the praise.

But Amanda continued. “Which is why I’ve decided that I’m going to teach you how to drive right after you teach me how to milk your boobies.”

“What? No! That sounds awful, I mean great! I mean—I’m not driving and you can milk my boobies. . . and also, why?”

Amanda stood with a groan and came up behind Odette. The milky blond stood too, knowing to raise her arms a little so Amanda could sneak in underneath. The first thing she felt were Amanda’s comfortingly squishy breasts pressing into her back followed by the tickle of embarrassed fingers. The blonde couldn’t suppress a giggle at this, the lightness with which Amanda treated her mammaries, like they would bite her if touched the wrong way.

“You asked me why?” Amanda began, though there was a tremble in her voice. “Well, you need to learn how to drive because it’s an important life skill, but mostly because you’re afraid of how things will go wrong with cars in the same way that you’re afraid things will go wrong with people, and I want to help you take the first step to fixing both.”

“I politely decline and reject all notion that boys are like cars.”

“Actually, my mom once told me that boys are like cars,” Janet said. “It’s why they love them so much. They see themselves in them.”

Amanda nodded along. “See? Advice from Janet’s happily-married mother: boys are cars and cars are boys. Same thing.”

“Well, I don’t want to marry Theo,” Odette clarified. “I just don’t want to hurt Theo.”

“People don’t marry cars,” Amanda retorted.

Janet glanced at the milking duo using the mirror in front of her. “But boys are cars, so I guess people do marry cars, in a sense. . .”

“Okay, fair. But what they do that’s more important than marrying a car is avoiding accidents. That’s the point of all of this. If you can avoid wrecking Pari’s car, you can avoid wrecking your relationship with Theo.”

Odette didn’t get it, but her gut told her that Amanda was onto something. As she kept running it through her mind, it made more and more sense—not boys being cars, but boys and cars requiring similar levels of consideration.

Still, she was thinking more about boys and cars than ever before, and a slight headache was developing as a result.

“Maybe they aren’t exactly the same,” Odette mused. “But if I can’t handle something with buttons and knobs, what chance do I have with a flesh-and-blood human being?”

“Now you’re getting it,” Amanda cheered. “Which is why you, dear, are going to get your first driving lesson once we’ve milked you down—which you need to teach me how to do.”

Odette tilted her head straight back and found Amanda angling her chin straight down. “Why do you want to learn to milk me, anyways?”

“I just want to. I mean, I’m your friend like Pari and Janet. I thought the least I could do is learn about this part of you—especially after you went through the trouble of explaining it to me.”

“I didn’t have a choice, did I?”

“You always have a choice, Odette. Always.”

Odette smiled. She felt better after chatting with Amanda. She always did.

“Great! Then I choose to never, ever learn to drive. I’ll spend my whole life demonstrating how awesome our public transit system is, and—. . .”

“What? You said squeeze them here? Sure! I’ll squeeze them right here, at ten and two, just like I’m driving. A. Car.”

Odette wilted into Amanda’s hands as they squeezed her enormous breasts. When using her own hands, Odette always struggled to surrender fully to her lactation. In the hands—or, occasionally, mouth—of a friend, she never had that issue. Even with Amanda being inexperienced and far too careful at first to do any serious milking, Odette’s milk churned approvingly, arresting her small body with bliss while the drip from her beach balls steadied into a stream.

The blistering pleasure was too much for words at first. It felt fantastic. Amanda was certainly no expert. She came at Odette’s boobies from every angle imagineable—above, below, on the sides. There was no technique, but there didn’t have to be. The view was as arousing as it was amusing, Amanda’s fingers and hands pawing at more breast than they ever had before. Occasionally, the weight of Odette’s milk factories would slip and slide, flopping or sloshing out of Amanda’s grip and clapping against the blonde’s ribs from the fall.

After the third or fourth instance of this, on an occasion where Amanda let Odette’s soft, pale creameries slip at the same time, she gave a cute, frustrated harrumph.

“You’re supposed to be teaching me,” whined Amanda. She wrapped her arms around Odette’s shoulders, squirming as she squeezed.

Odette glowed with the warmth of the hug. “You were doing fine! Milk was coming out.”

“I don’t want to do fine—I don’t want to stay a casual milker forever.”

“You want to rank up your milking skill, then?” asked Odette. Amanda replied in the positive, squeezing again, her soft, silky mounds rising and falling along Odette’s spine. She couldn’t turn her friend down—even if it was cute watching her attempts. “Okay, so you don’t have to lift them so much. They’re heavy, and you’ll get tired quickly that way. Just start by squeezing at the root—. . .”

“Show me.”

Amanda held out her hands, giving the air in front of her a “honk honk” gesture with clawed fingers.

Odette chortled, took Amanda’s wrists, and guided them to her body at the very top of her pectorals. The warmth of her palms were just over Odette’s heart.

“Here,” Odette said. She was already getting listless, the drunken pleasure of being milked by someone else’s hands causing the fuzziness that filled her body to obscure her vision behind a blurry, pink haze. “At the part closest to me, then work your way out toward the tips.”’

“Wh-Which way? There’s a lot of booby from here to your nipples, Odette,” Amanda giggled.

“Uh, just straight down.”

“But what about all of this?” Amanda’s hands followed the curve of Odette’s massive forms along their sides, dipping to their flanks. She gave them a playful pat in various spaces. Ripples raced across the ivory bluffs at the impacts. “Isn’t there—whoa, you’re big. Umm, isn’t there, uh, milk in all sorts of places inside your boobies?”

At the additional attention, tremors of pleasure worked their way up Odette’s tits from both sides, and as much of a formal tutorial as this was—which it wasn’t by any means—Odette couldn’t stop herself from gently swaying into Amanda’s drumming hands.

With a short twist at her waist, her boobies sloshed back and forth, their size so immense that even a tiny movement on the creamy blonde’s part was more than enough to send her weighty mammaries fishtailing a full second behind the initial swing. At the edges of each swing were Amanda’s waiting hands, which caught and tossed the gurgling gazongas.

The two silently collaborated, making a show out of swinging Odette’s milk filled titties back and forth. It was so easy to be hypnotized by them, two jugs that hung like an awning two feet away from their wielder, dripping milk profusely from their fullness at a slow, playful trickle.

They worked the same motion faster and faster. Odette’s effortful swinging improved, her groans of effort beginning to sound like moans. Meanwhile Amanda peeked even further over Odette’s right shoulder, putting more into the push off of each of her hands. What had begun unconsciously turned into a game, a tennis match with both parties determined to light a fire in the other, lobbing the immense, milk-filled pillows back and forth and moaning with each of their efforts.

Odette could swear that she felt Amanda’s hard nipples against her shoulder blades. She certainly heard the low sighing in her ear, which made her hiss in delight. Her brain was fortunately, finally quiet, and her hips rolled backward in celebration, urging herself closer to Amanda’s back, pulling her body into a shape that better matched her partner’s frame.

“They’re so soft,” Amanda said, a shy laugh causing her sentence to fade toward the end. “We could just keep playing like this until all the milk is gone.”

“I-I’m making more. I think this is just making me bigger—. . .” Odette admitted.

Smack!

“Mmph!” Odette moaned.

Her flesh rushed straight up as Amanda’s grip came from both her flanks and put a stop to the swaying. The roughness of the squeezing shot milk in innumerable strings and ropes, a volley of thick cream blasting the entirety of the bathtub wall in a deluge.

“We’re on a clock. N-No more,” Amanda said, shrill. “U-Until later. . . S-So I just go from here to the tips?”

“B-But—. . .”

“Odette, we need to hurry,” Janet said, in a way that was annoyed somehow. Perhaps she was having trouble milking.

And if neither of them were any smaller by the end of this, it could cause some serious trouble.

“O-Okay,” replied Odette. “Fingers together and press with your palm. Then, slowly and firmly. . . Good. Just like that. And I’ll tell you if I feel any pockets of milk you missed.”

“You can feel your milk like that?” Amanda asked.

“Sure. Not exact, but I know pretty well.”

“Wait, you do?” Janet asked, her back still turned to the duo, working her soft, ivory balloons over the sink. “I can tell if I’m emptier or fuller, but I can’t really tell where the breast milk is. . .”

Odette pondered that. “Maybe it’s because mine are so big? And full? It’s how much milk is actually in each booby that makes the difference, I guess.”

“There’s a ton of it. I can feel it.” Amanda’s palms rolled over the incredible softness of Odette’s buoy tits. Two feet in front of them both, a production of milk turned into a stream and shot away from Odette’s erect nipples. “Was that me? Did I do that? I was pressing at the top of them, and it’s hard to—. . .”

Odette giggled. “Yup. That was you.”

“Whoa. It’s. . . oddly satisfying,” Amanda murmured. “In a different way from before. Like, that time I was trying.”

“‘Oddly’? Hmph!” Janet pouted, muttering about the blond’s impeccable breast quality.

With careful instruction from Odette, Amanda learned all about milking the young blonde’s breasts. By no means was she an expert, as she was still far too light on the touch. It tickled the entire time, Odette having to fight off the titters.

But sometimes, Amanda’s hands would apply just the right amount of pressure and a fast pocket of milk would roll down Odette’s immense mammary and stretch her nipples as it ejected like a hose. The trembling of pleasure produced sent Odette shivering from tooth to toe. When milked, she was slowly undone, a woman drowning in urges and instinct to produce and provide.

There was only so much that Janet could take of hearing Odette behind her, however, and within a few minutes of hearing the blonde moan from being milked, Janet appeared on Odette’s left. Her fingers were glittered beautifully from the milk that dripped from her nipples, appearing like ivory rings, priceless jewelry.

Together, the three worked each of the four lactating breasts, taking turns, trading hands and globes and giggles and moans.

Odette truly proved herself the milkiest—if there was any competition at all to begin with. In fact, it would have taken four or five additional Janets to approach the output of milk that Odette produced, even with inexperienced hands squeezing her. On occasion, Amanda would get busy talking or teasing and stop milking, and in the short time that she poked fun at Janet for developing an impressively round rump over the past few months, Odette would have grown another half cup size.

At such a speed, Odette’s milk factories required a constant, tireless effort, an effort that the blonde herself couldn’t sustain with a head that felt as fluffy as cotton. She had the feeling that nothing in the world could beat what was happening right there, in her bathroom:

A long-overdue bonding session made possible by milk, breasts, and the milking of said breasts.

Odette’s tatas were still overflowing her own and Amanda’s hands when an alarm went off in Amanda’s back pocket.

“Oh. Guess we need to go,” Amanda declared.

The three women turned to the two creamy question marks in the room:

Janet’s breasts were noticeably smaller. With their slower production, it was merely a matter of working away the cream that was already inside. She was left with two pert, bouncy mounds that were no less feminine but many times more pliable.

Odette, meanwhile. . .

“I-I think they’re a little smaller?” Janet said.

“I, uh, maybe should have let the two of you handle this,” Amanda chuckled nervously.

Odette was the expert on her own body, however. She looked over and around her soft, creamy bluffs. Each was the size of a small bin, both so full of liquid that her skin rippled at the slightest move, the shifting of her thick cream making her boobies wobble seductively. Her nipples raged for more, despite it being the end of the milking session.

“Hmm, I’m smaller,” Odette concluded.

“Really?” Janet asked.

“Yup. Though, I’m still producing at a high rate from earlier, so I’ll end up a few cup sizes bigger by the end of it, I think.”

Amanda sighed. She was already behind Odette, so she gave her a comforting hug. “Sorry. I let you down.”

“It’s okay! You did a great job for your first try. It’s not the most intuitive thing, milking a person’s breasts.”

“It just seemed so straightforward on the surface.”

Janet shook her head. “You also had the milkiest girl we know as your first attempt. Her boobies fight back when you try to milk them. It’s hard stuff. There’s only one person who has the technique to beat out Odette when she’s this big.”

“Who?”

Odette giggled. “She’s sleeping right now.”

“Wow, Pari must have magic hands.”

Both Odette and Janet sighed pleasantly. “Very magic,” they said together.

“Well, what do we do with these now? You don’t have a bra you can put on, do you?”

“I can go out like this. I’ve done it before. And there’ll be other chances to milk me if you want.”

Amanda finally removed her hands from Odette’s breasts, positioning herself closer to the door. “You mean, you milk—. . . Whoa. I can still feel how soft you are when I let go.” Odette grinned smugly, but Amanda continued. “You’re okay with being milked in public?”

“Sure.” Odette replied, matter of factly.

“Oh.”

“Yup. Maybe somewhere at the market.”

“That easy?”

“Yup.”

“Great! So, I guess it’s time for your driving lesson?”

Odette paused, mouth sliding open into an unsaid word. “O-On second thought, I don’t think I can go out. Just look at how large and difficult my boobs are. None of my bras will fit. Golly gee. . .”

Janet parotted her friend. “G-Golly Gee?”

“Shoot. No shopping for me. I’d better stay here and milk myself. Wouldn’t want to be irresponsible or—. . . N-No! Amanda, please! Stop! I’m begging. I’ll do anything!”

Amanda marched over, took Odette by the wrists, and hauled her from the bathroom. “Anything? Then come learn how to drive.”

“Anything but that! You can have anything! My love, my gaming PC, my body—. . .”

“Fine, your gaming PC.”

“. . .” Odette pouted. “Sure you don’t want my body?”

Janet slowly raised her hand, blushing.

But it was no use. Amanda hauled Odette like construction equipment, the blonde’s wrecking balls heaving in milky, melodious wobbles as the three left the bathroom. The utter chaos of dressing an unwilling boob doll like Odette proved a challenge more due to her noncompliance than the fact that there wasn’t a single article of clothing that didn’t show that she had beachballs stitched to her pectorals.

Amanda and Janet raided Odette’s closet and settled on a blouse with a ruffled waist, a pair of tights, and a light, knee-length sweater left unbuttoned—because Odette’s bust wouldn’t play nice with buttons of any sort. Even the blouse was only doing half of its job. The ruffles were meant to add volume to Odette’s body, disguising her body’s true shape under a number of cutesy folds. It would have succeeded on either Amanda or Janet, adding a flowy distraction to keep eyes away from their curves.

But on Odette, whose chest was larger than either of her friend’s breasts—put together—the blouse still looked absurdly stretched. Amanda continuously pinched at the fabric, trying to pull it and stretch it to cover more and more of Odette’s flesh. When the futility of her efforts became clear to her, she shrugged her shoulders and asked Odette if she minded walking around with cleavage “that opened up like an unzipped backpack”.

“Doesn’t bother me much,” Odette answered, rubbing her hands down her breasts again, smoothing out the sky blue blouse. The blouse was like a second skin over her titties. They covered her nipples, but didn’t disguise them well. The unbuttoned sweater helped, however, if she draped it over her fronts like a tent. “Again, the secret is that they grow. I’m okay with being big.”

And in the end, Odette would have approved of any outfit because being dressed by her friends was fun and the result was a cuteness that she couldn’t have put together herself.

What she did not approve of was being pushed through the halls of her house, less so screaming than kicking, until she stood face to face with Pari’s car.

It was a stylish, white two door. The hood was down. People at school would always stop and stare when Pari dropped Odette off at the college in the pristine, alabaster ride. It had its own spot in the garage, kept at a reasonable distance from shelving, freezers, and other junk that Odette’s siblings had left behind when they moved out. Nothing was allowed to be in range enough to damage the exterior of the Audi.

The only allowable threat were the milk factories that Odette toted around. They regularly threatened the interior with their dripping and staining and jostling, but both Pari and Odette had implemented countermeasures to reduce the risk.

Those countermeasures included being recently milked, which Odette was, in the strictest sense.

Just not perceptibly. . .

“You know, I always wondered what the ‘Got Milk?’ vanity plate was for. I thought it was some gag gift or something, but it makes so much sense now,” Amanda said. “Alright, Odette. Ready to get behind the wheel?”

Odette looked over her shoulder, frowning as she batted her eyelashes. “Don’t make me do it.”

“Do what?” Amanda asked, innocently.

“Drive.”

“I would never make you do anything you’re uncomfortable with,” Amanda imitated Odette’s flapping eyelashes. “At least, not right away.”

Janet came close to Odette, her hand on the shorter blonde’s shoulder. “Remember why you’re doing this, okay? Pari needs soul medicine and you need to learn how to deal with Theo, like Amanda said.”

Odette pressed her lips together. She looked back and forth from each of Janet’s almond shaped eyes. “I can’t believe you’d betray me like this by agreeing with Amanda. In my time of need.”

Janet panicked and held Odette by the shoulders, arms fully extended. Even so, the distance that Odette’s tits now jutted made them kiss at Janet’s waist as they faced one another.

Janet changed her tune. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to drive. I’ll never betray you again. She’s not driving, Amanda.”

Amanda rolled her eyes, surrendering with a snickering smile. “Theo is driving, remember? I said that at the briefing. Odette just needs to take the first step: sitting in the driver’s seat.” When neither Janet nor Odette budged, Amanda fished out the keys and walked past the two to unlock the driver’s side door. “We won’t turn on the car. She just has to sit and feel what it’s like.”

Odette and Janet held one another, glancing at the gaping car door and the luxury interior. Any of the students at their college would have jumped at the chance to have a seat behind the wheel, what with the sleek console, chrome finish, and fancy steering wheel.

“Sit in this fancy chair. Don’t mind the straps or wires or buttons. It definitely won’t kill you,” Odette muttered.

“It won’t kill you if the engine’s not running,” Amanda said, comfortingly. Then, just like Janet, she changed her tone. “I’ll drag you inside if you don’t go yourself. We’re burning daylight here, sweety.”

A few more retaliatory remarks came from the blonde’s mouth, but most died before they reached their target. There wasn’t much choice, but it was okay for fears not to have a choice. The rest of Odette—yearning for chances to prove her competence, feeling the support of her closest friends, ready to be rid of the anxiety that came from the like-like—already knew what she had to do.

She held Janet’s arm and shuffled toward the car. The door looked like the jagged wing of some mystical beast, its tapering forms reminiscent of a monster’s fanged maw. The seat was tan, and even though she knew it was synthetic leather, she couldn’t help but feel like she was about to use the skins of dead animals as a throne.

Her concerns magnified themselves, growing larger and larger the closer she got.

“I don’t—. . .” she muttered, the swell of her breasts just inside the threshold.

“You can do it,” Amanda soothed.

“You just have to sit,” Janet echoed.

And the two of them were right. “I’ve sat in this car hundreds of times. Nothing to be worried about.”

Even so, her worries brought her pause several more times: after placing her right foot onto the floorboard, after ducking her head under the roof, and for the moment after she let her full weight take her down, the seat swallowing her due to its size.

Beeeeeeeeeeeee—. . .

“I’M DEAD!” Odette yelped!

“It’s the horn! Your airbags are smothering the airbags!” Amanda yelled.

“Right. . .”