Pumping the Breaks

Chapter 8

[ Summary: Odette quickly gets in over head while shopping as her airbag breasts fill with milk.]

“This is bad,” Theo repeated. He straightened his back and lifted his chin, trying to peer above the crowd.

Odette hopped down from their buggy to stand beside him at the edge of the chaos. A vast hive of humans buzzed before them. Shouting shoppers raced their buggies in a maze of concentric circles, forming a series of nesting roundabouts that moved with enough speed to throw small gusts at Odette and Theo. Carried by said gusts was the smell of food being prepared at sample carts, and those shoppers that required a moment’s break from their competitive grocery grabbing made regular pit stops at the fragrant stands.

This group of strangers performed their consumerist theater without a hitch, and with such convincing, urgent certainty that Odette found her heart resting at the bottom of her belly at the sight of it.

The fact that such things existed in real life boggled her mind.

And her confidence came unmoored when she remembered that had to find a way to overcome it.

“Really bad,” Odette echoed. “Do you think any of these people ever check out? Like, what if they just raced around in circles all day, fueled by tiny sandwiches and the desire to purchase food at slightly lower prices?”

Theo replied. “They would have to leave when the store closed, wouldn’t they?”

“I guess. But I pity the soul that has to try and put a stop to all of this.”

“That would be the worst.”

“I don’t know what that staff member makes,” Odette shook her head. “But it’s not enough.”

“Notice anything else that’s bad about all of this?”

“There’s plenty of ‘bad’ about it. What did you have in mind?” Odette stood up on her tiptoes. “I mean, the fact that the deli section is on the other side is pretty bad, too.”

“That’s what I was worried about,” Theo replied. He sucked his bottom lip under his teeth and glanced up and down the surrounding aisles. “Gimme a second to think.”

“Think about. . .”

“How we’re going to get cooked chicken when there’s no way to the deli.” Theo closed his eyes. He dragged his nails over his chin, a chin that Odette noticed was showing a bit of scruff.

“You, uh, scratch your chin when you think?” Odette asked.

“Hmm?”

“Does it help you think?” Odette mimicked him, rubbing at her smooth, bump of a chin. “Or do you do it because you’re supposed to rub your chin when you think.”

“Oh,” Theo said. He glanced at his fingers like they’d moved themselves. “I hadn’t realized. Guess I do—maybe it’s just a tick. Why?”

“I can relate, that's all.”

“You rub your chin?”

Odette shook her head. “Nah, I rub my. . .”

Boobs. She was about to admit to rubbing her boobs the way that Theo rubbed his chin.

It had come up so naturally with Janet earlier and was coming up again now. Janet was her friend, just like Theo. She was comfortable talking about her boobs with Janet, just like Theo. She had something in common with Janet—the need to rub her breasts as they filled with milk to help her think.

But sharing that milky detail with Theo? The one who would worry if he found out how full of fresh breast milk she was—and who would have a public freakout if he discovered that Odette produced breast milk at all?

And with the like-like stuff from before, and the weird amount of worrying we’ve been doing. . .

“I-I—. . . Erm,” Odette stopped herself. She particularly stopped her hands, as they were already hovering close to the fronts of her large, heavy boobies to soothe them. It was not a good time for that. “I have this, uh, friend who also rubs something when she thinks about things.”

Nailed it.

“Oh,” Theo replied, casual until he’d had time to hear how it sounded. “Wait. She rubs something?”

“Yup.”

“B-But not her chin?”

“Nope. Something else.”

Theo glanced around at some of the people waiting for free samples. He looked suddenly ravenous, like he wished he was already in line.

“Sh-Should I ask what your friend rubs while she thinks?” Theo asked at last. “O-Or is that inappropriate?”

“Oh, uh, it’s—. . .”

“It’s inappropriate. I should think about something else—anything besides what your friend rubs. . .” Theo said, then blushed. “But I can’t think of anything now. Like, could Amanda use canned chicken instead? Or maybe we should turn back and make a second stop at a different grocery store? Or maybe we should drop the idea of using chicken all together. Would a chicken flavored spice or stock work, instead? No, no, that’s stupid. I-I—. . .”

Oh no. . . The nervous rambling.

They were too close to completing their goal. Odette couldn’t let Theo have a negative thought spiral now.

“How about you keep thinking about that,” said Odette. She had to circle Theo and stand in front of him just to get his attention. “And meanwhile, I’ll. . . Uh, I’ll go over to the deli and get the cooked chicken we need. Yea! I’ll do it. I can do it. I-It’ll be just like the chakalaka spice before—I’ll have what you need before you know it.”

Theo’s lips dipped at the edges. “How are you going to get there and back? This place is packed.”

Odette flattened her expression. “I’m going to walk. With my feet. Between the people—I’m small, Theo. I can make it—. . .”

Grrbl Grrbl. . .

Odette’s eyes went wide. She slapped a palm over her heart, hoping that Theo didn’t hear her overactive breasts spiking in production.

“You. . . good?” Theo asked.

“Fine.”

“I thought I heard something like—. . .”

“My stomach,” Odette answered. A full second afterward, she recalled where her hand was placed and dropped her palm to her flat abdomen below her boobies. “It just growled. I’m a little hungry. Bet you’re hungry, too—I saw you looking at those samples. I’ll grab a few on my way back, okay?”

“But Odette—”

“I’m going now. Bye!”

“Odette, wait!”

“I can make it, Theo.”

Odette had already spun away from him and was about to leap into the flow of marching buggies. Theo caught her by the wrist, however, drawing her out of the stream before her toe could dip into it. Odette hoped her panic wasn’t on her face when she turned to question him, because it was certainly everywhere else inside of her.

“Let me have my phone,” he said. “While you’re gone, I can text. . . A-Amanda and let her know where we are.”

Odette sucked at telling whether or not people were lying. But Theo. . . was absolutely lying. He paused too long when trying to remember Amanda’s name. Even if he wasn’t staring forthrightly at Odette’s chest, he wouldn’t have forgotten one of his best friend’s names.

Still, Odette didn’t fight him on it. She wanted to, but she could see a point in both of them having some way to communicate with the outside world and each other.

And she could see how leaving him without his phone would cause all sorts of terrible anxiety in him.

Better to nip that negative spiral in the bud before it became an issue.

Odette held her shirt open and fished into the tight, warm depths of her cleavage for his phone. After submerging two-thirds of her forearm, she returned with a slender slab of plastic and glass and delivered it to Theo with a nod.

“Sure. Text Amanda,” Odette said, then decided to tease him a bit to try and lift both their spirits. “And let her know that your best friend Odette would love to meet her one day; to see if she’s good enough for my max level paladin player.”

Theo tilted his head up and away. “I-It’s not like that at all. Really. . .”

“Uh-huh. Be right back!” Odette grinned.

Theo’s hand clamped down on Odette’s wrist once more. “Wait.”

“What, Theo?”

“Be. . . careful, okay? And answer me if I call you.”

“Ugh, relax,” Odette said, for the both of them. “The carts are moving quickly, right? I just gotta get into the flow of buggies, follow it to the deli, pick up a cooked chicken, then follow the flow right back to you. Shouldn’t be hard at all.”

“Still.”

“It’s like driving,” Odette lowered her voice, stepping closer to Theo, hoping he felt the comfort she was trying to impart. “But without the scary cars. I can do it if there’s no scary cars.”

Thoe’s expression was too complex to read: brow lowered but strong, pupils large with fear but eyes resolved, jaw set when it wasn’t trembling. Odette could see him thinking, measuring, and calculating. She wished she could be inside him so she could shut down whatever factory in his mind produced such contradictory thoughts in him.

His Adam's apple bobbed. Theo spoke as he exhaled. “Carts. . . are scarier than cars. And so are the old ladies that drive them.”

Odette tilted her head, scrunching her nose at him. “I’ll look out for the old ladies, then.”

She then took a step back and waited for Theo to wilfully drop her arm. Then, she turned and waited her turn before diving into the crowd, only vaguely hearing another of Theo’s “be careful”s behind her.

The sea of bodies closed in around Odette. Right away, she became part of a line of shoppers looking to bundle new satellite systems with three-month subscriptions to grill-friendly meatless meat patties magazine, among other things. She cut straight through to a slower lane of shoppers in the innermost ring, taking advantage of her smaller stature to position herself against a large, white freezer with price tags on the front. Farm Fresh Salmon Cuts $6.99. 18oz Shrimp Platter, $16.99. She could barely see over the lip of it, and would have liked to believe that it was entirely due to her limited verticality. In reality, the closer she got to the lip of the freezer, the more her huge boobies would press into its side, keeping her at a distance. She tried a few times to overcome her inflating bodily blimps but found them too springy to overcome.

She did like reasonably-priced shrimp, but she had more important missions—like not getting trampled before getting to the deli.

On her right, the fast-flowing line of buggies whizzed around her, clattering, chirping, and chugging by, a rickety stampede. Stepping out right away would have gotten her toes crushed. She waited for someone who wasn’t distracted by their smartphone and threw out her hand like a middle schooler in class. Odette made fierce eye contact, staring down a middle-aged woman until she slowed and waved Odette in.

“Thank you!” she shouted, and joined a lane at a jog before slowing into a power walk. “There. That wasn’t so bad. I-I just have to see a chance, signal, and take it. Easy. So easy.”

Odette swung around a bend with the other buggies, trotting along, following her nose and ears instead of her eyes. She heard sizzling and a fatty, meaty smell wafted between the bodies to her nose. Smelled like sausage. She swooned. Not only had she not eaten lunch, but milk production was a calorically demanding bodily process. And there she was, her body in clear need of nutrition, trying to keep up with buggies and people that were far more motivated than she.

What was one stop? Nothing! It couldn’t take her that long. . . She just needed to get out of line long enough to survey the space for the nearest cart.

There was a perfect spot against a long wall of candy with just one family standing nearby. Just when she found a gap in the buggies wide enough for her to insist on going through, Odette burst free from the crowd of people.

However, she didn’t see a buggy swinging free from the outer circle. She had every intention of winding up right beside the family she’d seen, placing her right in front of the snack cakes. Instead, she felt a quick, sharp pinch that sent pain shooting through her starting at the heel.

“OWW! What the—. . . Hey! Ooof.”

She went spiraling, barely sticking out a foot to stop herself. Then, the rest of her body caught up with her leg and she was thrown over it, her entire frontside crashing into the snack cake shelves she’d seen but a glance of earlier. She heard the crunch of flimsy boxes and the clattering of some metal part of the racks.

Worse was her heel, which had been run over by an impatient buggy driver.

When she realized she’d stopped, she opened her eyes. On both sides, boxes were sliding off of their shelves. She was too stunned to reach for them.

“No no no. . “

“Gottem’!”

Two young adults—the ones from the family—appeared to flank Odette. They caught the sliding boxes, stack upon stack of glittery rectangles dropping into their arms. They wouldn’t have been damaged from the fall, but the noise would have gotten more attention than Odette’s stumbling had.

The boy and girl placed their boxes on the floor near the collision. Meanwhile, the adult came away from his parked buggy and helped Odette extract herself from the situation.

“Are you alright?”

Odette waved him off. “Yes. Yea, I’m fine. I just. . .”

The blonde stepped away from the stacks and trailed off when she saw the full extent of the damage. Scrunched to the back of the shelf were three boxes of snack cakes, all crushed by her sudden fall. The rest were dented but not ruined, stacked on the ground on her left and right.

As she retreated, her titties flopped down from the shelf that they’d been caught on. Their motion was absurdly exaggerated, and much like an earthquake, she had to pause and brace until all the shaking was done. Fortunately, much of the movement was contained by her blouse, but internally the amount of milk Odette’s titties had brewed had granted them weight and wobble that their wielder hadn’t had space or time to acclimate to.

Odette’s breathing hitched as pleasure pumped through her, eyelashes fluttering as if to take off. The milk shifted in each of her orbs, her sensitivity heightening in proportion to her increased production. She wrapped her arms around her torso, failing to adequately hide it all. Even so, having something pressed against her chest felt much, much better.

Except, the fact that pressure on her chest felt blissful was an ominous sign.

“You gonna be able to make it, hon?” said the father. He had a black beard and mustache that covered much of his face from the nostrils down and a distinct twang to his voice. “Tyler, would you quit gawking at her like that? She needs a minute! Cool your jets!”

“Argh! Sorry!” said the guy, voice squeaking. He had been on Odette’s left and turned away from her now that his father was scolding him, though for what Odette wasn’t sure. He looked like an adult, but acted boyish, wearing a highly detailed t-shirt and a pair of expensive sneakers.

“I-It’s okay,” Odette called. “Really!”

“Don’t you apologize for anything. I’m sorry for raising that boy to think looking at a vulnerable woman is—” said the dad.

“Pfft. Please. I bet he wishes he was one of those squished boxes right now,” replied the daughter, who—now that Odette was actually able to take in her surroundings—looked just like her brother. Twins, maybe. She followed her brother, teasing him. “Dont’cha, Ty? You perv, hehe.”

Tyler shoved his sister. “Quit it!”

“You quit it.”

“Both of you quit it while I call your father,” said the older man. He placed a comforting hand on Odette’s upper back and leaned in to look her in the eye. Odette felt like she’d seen him before, but couldn’t place him. “He’s a nurse. He can have a look, make sure nothing’s broken or bruised.”

“You’re so sweet,” Odette smiled, busy resisting the building pressure and pleasure in her chest. “But no, it’s alright. I, uh, I can keep going. I’m tougher than I look.”

“I’m sure you are. He’ll only be a little while, I promise. He just went over to the deli.”

“It’s fine! Really,” Odette insisted. Grrbl Grrblrblrblrbl. . . “Ngh! I, uh. . . I should just go. I need to go to the. . . wait, you said the Deli?”

The bearded father nodded. He fetched his phone from his back jean pocket. “He’s grabbing us a rotisserie chicken.”

“I need a rotisserie chicken!”

“It’s ringin’. I’ll let him know,” the man replied with a wink.

Odette then stood by and waited for the kind father to explain the situation to his father: “Cute little girl, possibly injured, in need of poultry”. Things took a turn for the worse quickly, however, as the man’s face dropped and his “Uh-huh”s came out low and disappointed.

Not wanting to eavesdrop, though also desperately impatient, Odette glanced up and down the flowing line of rushing bumper buggies. There was nowhere to go. She was stuck with this family—all of whom seemed lovely and none of whom she wanted to worsen her relationship with by having a wardrobe malfunction.

She kept both arms wrapped loosely around her chest, wary as they gained in size and shape. Every second, she’d feel a little tremor coursing through her soft flesh, a different part of her being pulled even tighter by the growing expanse of her boobs. With each growth, her arm was pushed further and further away from her body, her chest gaining tiny victories over her decency. She whimpered out a moan as a short, quick growth spurt caused her flesh to brush against her arm, mentally scolding her body and bidding it to slow its growth. Each of her titties reached the size of dodgeballs, and the bearded man was still on the phone with his husband.

“So. . . full,” she whispered, attempting to appease her soft bluffs with careful squeezing using the insides of her arms. Her creameries gurgled a reply, still heavy laden with her pent up cream. “I can’t take it. . .”

“Quit staring, Tyler!”

“Ouch! Dammit Rose!”

“Jeez. . .”

Odette’s head whipped over to the family buggy where Rose was shaking her fist and Tyler was rubbing the spot on his upper arm where he’d likely been slugged.

“If you like her, then say so,” Rose said, her voice a twang like her father’s, her matching brown eyes a slant. “But don’t just stand there starin’ at her. It’s creepy.”

Odette couldn’t help but feel flustered. In such a short time, her breast growth had changed her balance and weight, a fact she discovered as she turned toward the arguing twins. “He’s okay. Really. It’s not every day you meet someone like me.”

“I-I don’t. . .” Tyler began.

Odette had to fight to keep her true feelings bottled up, but did so long enough to give a nod of encouragement. The nod was enthusiastic, throwing her hair into her eyes in a way she’d have to stop holding her breasts to fix.

Tyler, for his part, looked mortified. He must’ve been so embarrassed after being called out by his sister twice and his father once. It wasn’t like any of it had been said when Odette wasn’t standing just feet away, either. They’d wanted Odette to know what was going on—had said it loudly and publicly so that Odette and whoever happened to be walking by in the sea of buggies could know that Tyler couldn’t help but look at a girl with large breasts.

Odette’s heart squeezed at the thought. “Tyler?”

“Y-Yea?!” he replied, shoulders hiked like a cornered cat. He looked eerily like Theo, freezing at his own name being called.

Fortunately, Odette had learned how to deal with Theo today. “You have a cool shirt,” Odette smiled. “And nice shoes, too.”

“Th-Thanks. You like shoes?” he asked.

“Nope. I don’t know anything about them. But they look like shoes that shoe people would like. You probably worked hard to find them, then saved up for them, and keep them clean and stuff.”

“Y-Yea.”

“Cool.”

Then, Odette stuffed as much enthusiasm and joy as she could into a smile, trying to sell him on her positivity. It wasn’t that she was exaggerating much—Tyler did have nice-looking shoes. But if she looked the way she felt, then her urgency was probably quite strong and she didn’t want it to read like she wanted to get away from him, even though that was exactly what she would have to do shortly.

Tyler thanked Odette, then glanced at his chattering father before walking over to Odette’s side. “I-I meant to tell you,” he started, leaning in half just to get the words close enough to Odette’s hear. “My dad means well, but he’ll be on the phone forever. If you need to go, you shouldn’t wait. Just go. I-I can even help you if you want.”

Odette brightened, shoulders rising toward her ears. “Sure! Okay, yes. Thank you. I didn’t want to be rude and just leave—. . .”

“You’re not rude. Nothing wrong with taking care of yourself.”

“Nice, loverboy,” Rose said, shifting her weight onto a hip and crossing her arms, approvingly.

“Shush, Rose,” Tyler hissed before returning his attention to Odette. “You’re going to the deli, yea?”

“Yes, please.”

Tyler stood up straight, demonstrating that despite his boyishness, he towered over Odette much the same way his father did. “You’re going to merge into the crowd again and stick with it until you pass the frozen yogurt sample cart. Hang a right at the vegan mini slider cart, then a sharp left into the deli. If you wind up next to the garbage cans, you’ve gone too far.”

“Uh. . . was there, perhaps, a sausage stall anywhere?”

Tyler made a short, high pitched squeal. “A what?”

Rose snorted.

Odette asked again. “I smelled something good on my way over her. It, uh, smelled like a sausage stall. Is there anything like that nearby?”

Tyler’s eyes bugged and he scanned the crowd with a new desperate fervor. At first, Odette figured that he really liked sausages and was excited to hear that there might be a sample cart nearby. But after a few seconds of looking, and a few more odd, falsetto squeaks, he started to look nervous, like he might be allergic to sausage and now had to be careful to avoid it.

“Tyler,” Odette placed a hand on the boy’s arm. “It’s fine. I probably mis-smelled it.”

“R-Right—. . .” Tyler stopped, cleared his throat, and slammed his fist into his chest until he could get his voice back down. Now he really did seem like Theo, as his brown eyes found the quickest route from Odette’s eyes to her cleavage before rebounding. “I mean, right. Sorry. I didn’t see anything. But the deli directions should still work, if you’re feeling fine enough to go.”

In truth, Odette’s right heel and ankle still ached from where she’d been hit. Still, she figured she’d caused enough trouble for the family. Her pit stop was over. “I’ll make it. Thank you. You’re a gem. Tell your dad I said thank you, too.”

Tyler attempted some manner of response, but Odette couldn't hear it as it trailed away. She tried to wave to the father, but his back was turned as he stood tall, the type of person that spoke on the phone in a way so exaggerated that it looked like a person pretending to talk on the phone.

Guess Tyler was right about his dad. Better go.

She stepped up to a place right on the edge of where buggies were stopping and starting, her chest still clutched under one arm. Now, the bulk of her hefty, overfilled bosom was too large for her to carry on her own. One whole breast occupied the entire span of her forearm, the other left to flop idly below.

She’d gotten lucky this time to have a place to stop and rest, and was even luckier to have met Tyler and his family.

But Odette could imagine Pari waking up from a post-fever nap, her eyes crusty, her stomach empty. Better yet, she dreamed of what she wanted most: to have Pari halfway through a bowl of soup and cheesy animal crackers, her fingers in Odette’s hair with a prideful expression on her face.

“Good job, Odette. This is delicious. Thank you so much.”

Those words and that head pat were so close. So close.

Grrblrblrblrbl. . . Grrblrblrblrbl. . .

She could make it before her breasts got too full.

She could. . .

“Hey! Wait!” Rose called, a hand on Odette’s shoulder. Odette half-turned, catching the sister looking longingly at her breasts in a way even more laschevious than Tyler had. “This is random, but you’re, like, the first girl to be nice to my brother, like, ever. And he’s too shy to ask you himself because you’re hot—you know, in that anime character kind of way? And he’s the only straight person in this family, so we give him shit, but I’m older and I know he’d like to learn more about you.”

“Uh huh. . .”

“Could you go on a date with him?” Rose stretched out the last word of her question, jamming in an amendment to it before long. “God, I don’t even know your name, but I’m asking you out for my little brother?”

Odette saw an opening in the buggies. She didn’t have much time. “I’m Odette. And, umm, I’m not sure. . .”

“He’s eighteen, I swear. He’s just really skinny and tall so he looks like a stretched out toddler.”

“Rose!” Tyler whined, a safe few feet from the conversation.

“Hush. Girls are talking.”

The opening and the buggies neared. As refreshingly fun as a sibling dynamic was to observe, Odette couldn’t delay any longer. She spoke like a machine gun, already plunging back into the traffic’s flow as she finished her thoughts. “He’s very nice, and very capable of expressing interest on his own, so no thank you. I’m sure there’s a nice lady who will happily date him, if he asks, okay? Maybe one who likes shoes? Thank you again!” And before Rose could ask anything else on her brother’s behalf, Odette assumed her powerwalk and was swallowed up once again in the highway of buggies.

With both of her tall, male navigators on the sidelines, Odette was left alone to follow the instructions she’d been given:

Straight past the frozen yogurt sample cart, a right at the vegan mini slider cart, and a sharp left into the deli.

She did her best to keep that in mind.

But no sooner than having entered the various lanes of full buggies and people did she run into her former issue: she couldn’t see where she was going.

Only now, it was worse.

As she walked, buggies nipped at her from behind, egging her forward, biting into her heels—including the injured one. She feared being launched forward as a buggy slammed into her from behind as Theo had earlier, so she skipped every couple steps to keep herself in the middle of the stampede. But keeping up was effortful. She needed to swing both arms as she went to keep pace, her strides half the length of the average adult in the crowd and needing the extra pump for power and speed.

So she did. She swung her fisted hands, twisting her hips and kicking out her feet, bobbing up and down. It was an awkward sort of skipping march, made more awkward by the heavy weight of her tits.

Her breasts slapped against her ribs, trouncing about in front of her, leaping in accordance with her exaggerated steps. They were huge, but their hugeness was so much more obvious now that Odette’s petite frame was tasked with staying upright as they bounced in erratic swings.

Breasts that were simply “large” had a neat, round bounce to them. Odette actually didn’t mind her bouncing boobies when she was an F or G cup, which seemed to be a sort of sweet spot between size, weight, and motion on her frame. But her boobs easily dwarfed such sizes now, a shelf that began just below the collarbone, bowed outward past her toes, and scooped down almost as low as her belly button. Her sky blue blouse made terrifying noises as her titties—she had a sense of them being M or N cups now—kicked up and away from her body before dropping like bean bags made of lead.

Each step, she felt the need for another break. With each bounce, she knew how needy she was for a milking. But there was no going back anymore, and she was so, so close.

She had to have been walking for a while, right?

Right?

“Oh man. . . It feels so tight—. . . Mnnh! Mmm. Mmm. Mmph—. . . Froyo!”

The blonde grunted, a sharp exhale accenting each step, but glanced to the side just in time to see a broad sample cart with a miniature freezer set up beside it. She was in the dairy section. Tall doors with glass panes formed a wall, behind which were racks of egg, coffee creamer, yogurt and, of course, milk.

Grblblblbl. . .

“Mmmh. . .” Odette moaned, puffing out a breath. There was plenty of milk to worry about already, and it wasn’t the cartons behind the glass doors.

At her size, she could have filled a small freezer on her own. She could have sponsored and supplied her own designated section:

Eggs, coffee creamer, yogurt, milk, Odette’s milk—extra creamy.

Milk sloshed around in her melons. At least the store was noisy enough that nobody in the cart traffic seemed to notice or hear. Still, Odette knew, and being in the dairy section was an apt reminder of the current state of her own creameries. Each one was alarmingly full. The bigger her blimping boobies became, the more they moved and the more sensitive they became. As her blouse tugged at her soft flesh, bunching it together, the sensitivity redoubled, and the blonde was bombarded, almost instinctively, with the need to express her breast milk.

Odette couldn’t focus. Her body flipped itself on and off of autopilot, images flashing in her head of the previous moments of milky relief:

Amanda’s new, eager hands squeezing from behind, holding the weight of Odette’s engorged titties while she pressed them together, launching warm cream into Odette’s bathtub.

Janet’s warm embrace as their boobs pressed into one another, the pressure a pleasant distraction from their inflating breasts and a moment of bonding between friends.

And the previous night, there was Pari; the expert, the guide. Pari sometimes knew Odette’s titties better than even Odette. It was like she’d mapped them out, able to poke, prod, squeeze, and pinch to draw the breast milk down and away from Odette’s burdensome breweries—even when they grew to sizes that made her current boulders pale in comparison.

Pari would do whatever it took for as long as it took. . . Using her strong hands, warm mouth, soft lips. . .

Grblblblbl. . .

God, she wanted to let down. Her legs became weak at the thought of being with Pari, then, wrapped up in a fantasy sponsored by breasts that nearly weighed as much together as she did without them.

Fresh Farmers faded away for just a bit too long. Odette didn’t notice in time. Distracted by the fantasy of being able to lactate freely, unimpaired, in the arms of her best friends, she failed to see that the unstoppable line of buggies and their pushers had stopped.

She ran boob first into a woman in front of her. Her cheek pressed into the back of a stranger, her momentum carrying her forward.

“Argh! Ah! S-Sorry!” cried Odette. “I didn’t mean—. . . Mmmh! Ooo. . .”

She would have continued her pleasantries, had her titties not been experiencing pleasantries of a different sort. They’d acted like airbags, keeping most of her body from falling atop the woman. But having them pressed against something—or someone—filled them with an intoxicating pleasure, a pleasure she was too familiar with today after her run-in with Theo.

Warmth danced like fresh kisses up her sensitive skin. Her clothing offered no protection. She had felt the entirety of the stranger’s aft in the casting mold of breast flesh.

And when the shape and size of the person she bumped into finally registered, Odette couldn’t help but be embarrassed.

“Hey! No pushing! We’re all trying to get to the. . . Oh,” the woman said. She turned and found another middle aged woman behind her, then surveyed the space slightly below her eye level and found Odette. “I’m sorry, hon. Didn’t see you there.”

“My mistake. Really—. . .”

“No worries.” The woman warmly smiled, then turned back to her buggy without a second thought, momentary anger extinguished.

Though in her turning, Odette was once more faced with the woman’s backside, which was wrapped in a large, athletic hoodie whose bottom inconveniently ended precisely where her bottocks began.

They weren’t particularly noteworthy buttocks. She was wearing athletic shorts to match her athletic top, and not even the sort that was worn to gain attention. The woman was top-to-bottom average—an average shopper on an ordinary day at her local Fresh Farmer, with her average, if a little on the squarish side, booty.

“Mnn!” Odette stifled a moan.

But to Odette’s breasts, it didn’t matter. Her body became warmer and warmer, the heat on her skin making even the stuffiest air found in the maze of shoppers feel cool against her cleavage as she stood mere inches from some stranger’s rear. The proximity made the tingles in her boobies all the more fierce. Her breathing swallowed. She tried looking elsewhere but found only buggies and disinterested shoppers.

A large bulge of pleasure began in the increasingly creamy parts of her breasts and made her wince around it as it traveled through her body. Her breasts surged. She reached for them, taking them in her arms again, finding that she had even less of a hold on them. It was like they’d leaped for the woman's shorts, craving the sensation of being pressed against her again. That was a lot of growth, Odette thought, though her inner voice was being drowned out by the parade that was her heartbeat in her ears and her gurgling milk production.

She willed the line to move, sweat beading at the corner of her brow. Every second, her flesh burgeoned into her arms, closing the gap between her enormous swells and the woman behind her. Odette leaned back, hefting her titties higher, drawing them further and further back to compensate for the lingering growth that drew them away from her.

“Hah. Hah. Hah—. . . Mmmh!” Odette panted, then groaned.

Production was immense. The pressure in each of her breasts had begun to brush the bottom threshold of pain. She felt a strong bubbling sensation, another powerful, liquid sloshing building like the groaning of a digesting stomach.

Though just as her boobies reached a new zenith and the sound of her built up cream rumbled, the woman in front of her took a step. Then another.

“Thank goodness,” Odette sighed. “The line is moving—. . .”

She must’ve been close to the mini sliders by now. Just a little while longer. Just a bit further.

But then, Odette felt a firm push at her back and heard the clatter of a buggy. Before she knew it, she was tilting at the push of an impatient buggy behind her, and with two breasts that were in competition with the ripest melons in Fresh Farmers, Odette couldn’t help that her top heavy frame threw her into yet another stumble.

She didn’t recover. Instead, she was caught once more by the woman’s perky, boxish ass, thrust forward into the one thing she’d tried not to stare at for the past minute.

“Mmmh!” she moaned. “N-No! Sorry! Sorry, again.”

“You’re fine,” said the woman, though she seemed rather confused, like Odette might be the cause of the aggravated driving rather than a victim of it.

But even the passing swipe of her titties against the person in front of her set her nipples off, causing a dizzying amount of pleasure to rush through Odette just when the line managed to move.

She grew again, quickly, more pronounced. Each breast was as big as a cluster of double-bagged groceries. Their shape might’ve resembled two elongated teardrops, but the stretched blue blouse kept the breasts that would have spilled onto her belly aloft. Instead, they packed tighter and tighter into her ribcage, making it harder to breathe as flesh raced up to find a new perch at her clavicles.

She trundled forward, her breasts in her hands, sheer will power and determination the last lines of defense against a body that needed sweet, milky release. There was a person behind her that needed her scolding, and a person in front of her who she still felt she hadn’t adequately apologized to, but she couldn’t trust herself not to moan if she opened her mouth—could only hope that the line was the fastest path to her destination.

Before, it had looked like a well-functioning machine, the grocery store equivalent of riding an inner tube down a quickly flowing stream.

But that all seemed to change the closer Odette got the deli.

She was constantly made to stop and start, her pleasure-addled brain made to make predictions based on little more than cart wheels squealing to a stop and the groans of frustrated patrons. She managed, though not without bumping into the bootiful stranger in front of her time and time again. Her breasts were too large to stop on a dime anymore. They grew and grew, earning gazes from those around her on all sides. Even the stranger wasn’t as polite anymore, glancing at Odette over her shoulder with a sort of grim curiosity, her eyes narrowed, nostrils flared.

All the while, Odette grew grander. Nothing in the line could adequately subtract from how tight her blouse had become around her fat, soft creameries. She’d changed her grip slightly, no longer wanting—or able—to hold them back. She instead pushed them down with flat palms, simultaneously guarding her cleavage from those that watched from above. Except, the constant jiggling motion caused her hands to slip, inadvertently giving the appearance of her stroking her chesty body as she alternated between jogging to keep up with traffic and idling in line.

More than her shirt was coming apart. Her plan was being torn to pieces by the stalled line and the ticking time bombs strapped to her chest.

If only there was a way to keep from feeling so. . . aroused.

But there was not but the feel of her growing chest in her arms and the view of a woman’s ass standing, then walking at a quickened pace, then standing again.

Nothing but the increasingly urgent babbles in her breasts.

Nothing besides the growing temptation to collapse where she stood and let fly, creating the largest mess that Fresh Farmers had ever seen.

Attention Fresh Farmers Staff. Clean up in the dairy section. Bring every mop and towel you can find—and maybe a supplier contract so this girl can start selling.

Odette was one stray poke, bump, or baby’s cry away from such a disaster. Her breasts claimed almost all of her stomach about the same time that her blouse ran out of fabric and revealed the undersides of her bosoms.

She may have made it if the line had been kind, but in its current form, ten minutes of stopping and starting was far past her limit.

She whimpered.

Her eyes felt hot and wet. The pressure was too much. . .

“Can’t—. . .” Odette winced.

And before she could finish the sentence, she felt far greater heat and moisture at the front of her breasts. She yelped. Squeezed her chest under her arms. Her legs carried her toward the edge of the crowd. An arm in front, she pushed and fought frantically for freedom, an embarrassing and impressive amount of moisture racing down her front, causing a sapphire-colored stain to appear at the peaks of each breast. People complained. Swore. Buggies blocked her, but she pushed through anyhow, head down, wheezing turning into shivers and hiccups.

She burst free from the line of traffic far too late. Her milk was pouring down her stomach, racing down her legs; into socks and shoes, warm and then, too quickly, cold.

Still she moved on, hand on those cold, glass doors, passing panel after panel until they fell away into a small side path lined by yet more freezers.

Odette ducked down the path, finding the lack of eyes a comfort. She came to the end of that aisle, then braced her arm against the freezer. Her hair was in her face. Her fingers clawed into her wrists, creating a circle around part of her pillows while the rest tumbled above and below as her boobs continued to grow growing into her arms, milk leaking from her fronts.

Though leaking implied a small, accidental, almost unnoticeable incident. In hatching her escape, Odette was sure her leakage had out-milked most breastfeeding women’s entire milking sessions.

The space around her was like an alley made of freezers. As she caught her breath and fought to compose herself, her eyes fell on the grocery items being stored behind the frost on the glass. Inside were giant, white plastic bags that looked designed for freezers in school cafeterias or restaurants. She read the label on the first one: “Pre-Cooked Frozen Chicken Breast, 40lbs”.

She’d. . . found it.

By sheer, dumb luck, she’d found a sort of pre-cooked chicken.

But the moment was robbed by the milk that she’d trailed into the alley and the disappointment in having come so far just to be bested by her breasts once again.

Odette sniffled. She spun ungracefully and slumped onto her rear. At the sudden drop of all her body weight, she heard a long, pronounced SHHHHHKRRTT! and surveyed her blouse to find a garish tear down the front. Surrounded by freezers, she felt the chill on her exposed skin, her nipples turned to staffs. Her boobies used the wobbles from her fall and their newfound space to expand down into Odette’s lap, filling it, and taking more of her blouse with it as their furthest reaches rested innocently on her thighs, mere inches from her knees.

She cared, but was drunk on pleasure and resigned to whatever creamy, immobile fate she was left to. Her brain, which was slow with plans and logic, only offered her actions to take when she was finally discovered: how to explain her condition to Fresh Farmer staff, how to talk to Pari about what happened, how she would spend the next six months trying to earn back Pari’s trust and would be housebound for that period of time until she’d proven herself.

And her last memory outside her home?

Hungry, frustrated, and hurting on the floor of a Fresh Farmers, using the heat from her titties to keep her warm until help eventually arrived.

Odette’s head leaned back on the coolness of the nearest freezer, breath labored.

She sniffled. “Crap. . .”

It was over.

Then, as she looked from whence she’d come, she saw familiar silhouettes at the end of the aisle.

She couldn’t believe her eyes.

First came Tyler, the boy from before. He gestured to someone behind him, and out popped. . . Theo.

Behind him came Amanda.

And Janet.

And Pari. . .