Lactation Tea

Morph by femalemorphlover

Lactation Tea as a gag gift.

Natali’s collection of tea was too selective to feature such a gimmicky addition as ‘lactation tea’—and she too prideful tea snob to allow it. That same pride extended to her sexuality, a raging lesbian without plans for nursing anyone—especially not some snotty kid whose existence would hormonally demand she transform into someone’s dairy cow.

Her girlfriend was aware of both of these facts, making Triss’s extravagantly garnished, twelve-bag box of ‘luxury milk tea’ all the greater of a tease.

This time, Natali decided to tease back.

“Can’t believe I ran out of my good tea on such a chilly night! Guess I’ll have to drink this garbage. See you in milk town, babe,” read the text message. Alongside it, she sent a tongue-out emoji and a beguiling selfie, enhanced by the combined powers of pushed-up D-cups presented within a comfy, red house robe.

That ought’a show Triss what she’s missing, sending crappy joke tea from three states over instead of cuddling with me. . .

Sending the text and knowing Triss was likely in a meeting where she couldn’t respond made loneliness ache within Natali. Not-safe-for-work pictures were flirty and fun, but not fulfilling. Robe still open, she examined the intricately designed parcel from her lover.

Dammit. Guess I should actually drink this stuff. . .

Anything to feel closer to Triss.

Alone in their shared townhome, Natali brewed the tea while perusing the internet for articles to read while she unwound on a chilly winter’s evening. During a transition from one blogger to another, she was surprised by a rich, nuanced scent wafting from her black mug. Tickles of mint and familiar fennel. Bold, sweet vanilla, too. Then, when steeping was done, a cloudy burst of seductive steam curled like a dancer away from the innocent little mug.

Natali must have really missed Triss for her to vaguely make out the image of a woman’s body in the swirling fog. . .

She fully expected the tea to help, so she maneuvered to the hazel-colored loveseat with her concoction and whipped out the first article, commencing what was sure to be an hour or so of total relaxation.

‘Guide to hacking a long-distance relationship for mind-blowing intimacy’ baited her attention first, but as she went to read she also sipped at her mug and found the taste of her tea almost criminally distracting. “. . . the hell?” Natali asked, glancing down into the golden, swirling sheen of liquid. “It’s good?”

So good, in fact, that instead of learning how people in long-distance relationships have more explosive sex, she drained her whole mug in quick, scalding gulps, gasping for breath by the end. She could usually make a mug stretch for half an hour or more. This mug barely lasted a minute.

She jumped up and brewed another mug, puzzled by what had taken place, and proceeded to drink again to make sure her tastebuds weren’t being deceptive. Shortly after, she filled yet another empty mug. Then, she steeped another bag, the agony of the three-minute steep time clawing at her insides in a pining usually reserved for truly premium tea leaves. Then, for a fourth time, she swallowed her girlfriend’s queerly delicious gift and found the bottom of her black mug as liquid warmth eddied through her body.

Suddenly toasty, she peeled her gingham robe open, conscious of a feverish spell that was working its way to her head. Was there alcohol in the tea? Drugs? None of the labels looked like warnings, but she couldn’t read whatever language they were in. She sat to prevent stumbling over the rug or coffee table and ended up slouched in the crook of her couch, the fifth mug of ‘garbage’ tea in her hand. A tingling warmth webbed through her as her body settled, her curves taking extra time to settle now that they could jiggle unencumbered. Except, why did it feel so good to have them jiggle? Why did her titties, specifically, blind her with sheer delight as they moved?

Natali looked down under heavy lashes. Vast mazes of indigo veins wound through her G cup breasts. . . G cup breasts? Wasn’t she a D cup? When did she start looking so. . . engorged?

“Oh no,” Natali muttered.

Oh yes. . .

Her body shuddered as she carefully palmed one of her new tits. A rush of light and pleasure flashed through her gray eyes. “They feel so good,” she mused, the briefest caress inviting her to move forward, stroking her unfamiliar size with well-practiced enthusiasm. Her girlfriend was particularly busty as well, so Natali had accumulated experience turning big, beautiful boobies into adult toys that made evenings stretch into lengthy, rapturous pleasure sessions.

Nights weren’t the only thing stretching tonight, however.

Her skin grew tight, illuminated by lush amber den lights as her breasts became tauter—heavier, more sensitive. Her mug, a suspected accomplice to whatever anomaly caused her to feel so full, was relegated to the end table while groping her inflated, glutted mammaries took utmost prominence in Natali’s mind. Her hands explored the new swells, staking claim to them. And, thanks to her dutiful service to her improved bosom, Natali was blessed enough to feel them growing, active and creamy against her palms and painted fingers.

“Mmph! You girls look so full. And you’re so needy—. . . No way that ‘Lactation’ tea. . .”

Sure enough, in bubbling vibrations, her chest continued to grow, coaxed toward her touch until each breast hanged a solid half-foot away from her body. Her areola disappeared, stretched by the widening of her fronts as small pink bumps emerged as textured invitations. Her nipples erected at once, tiny thumbs snuggling against her palms. Their snuggling only intensified, however, as her nipples continued to lengthen. Like her breasts, her nipples were stubborn growers that forced their way between her fingers in a dire search for freedom and companionship.

“I’ve got to call Triss. I’ve got to. . . Mmm, jeez. You girls feel good.”

Natali looked for her phone, figuring it was between the couch cushions and not caring enough about that fact to pull her hands away from her swelling gazongas. Another surge of growth hit her, launching her more than halfway to orgasm—not to mention the whole way to K cups. The sloshing in her titties wasn’t faint any longer. Milk produced in her delicious jugs enhanced the size, shape, and even the sound of her already-attractive breasts. They were almost unbearably glutted!

As much as she’d scoffed at the idea, Natali had to eat her words now. It felt amazing to be brimming with cream, stuffed with female ambrosia, latent with a need to express. Her jugs swelled all the grander, rushing down her rib cage to eager hands that now extended even further just to catch them. She moved the increasing weight of her milky mounds in circles; smacking them together to make them clap and, likewise, having a fantastic time with the overripened set of funbags.

“Mmh! Mmm! MMMH!” she said, putting muscle behind the motion. She ducked her head to kiss her taut softness, burying her nose in her plump, inflating lady lumps. “So damn sensitive. Gosh I. . . I need to—. . .”

To slow down? To stop? Why?

She hadn’t felt this good alone in months and the bigger she got, the more sensitive every part of her skin became. Her tits dwarfed her torso, bubbly boobs brushing onto the path of her soft stomach. They were so big that they began to wrap around her, like two beanbags being held by her insufficient arms. Natali played with herself all the more the bigger they became, and the more frequent the growth spurts, the deeper she was hypnotized by her own body.

It was too much.

“Dammit! Mmh, too—. . . too fast. You girls are going to make me—. . . Nngh! Ahhnm!”

The neighbors likely blushed at the saccharine sweet moan of the young twenty-something, her chest dragging an orgasm of thrice the usual intensity up from her womanhood. The length of her groan of release matched the length of the next bloating, her boobs surging forward in a grand finale as the rest of her seizing body shrank in comparison. When Natali’s eyes parted at the end, fluttering open to a changed self, she awakened to an exciting revelation:

She had the biggest, creamiest-looking boulders she’d ever seen on a woman. And she loved it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mug and spared a few seconds away from her fat, addicting boobs to down the cooled tea it in yet another gulp. It tasted so good that it made her needy tits weep with globs of freshly made cream. It seemed that six was the magic number—or, perhaps, twenty-six, as she fully believed that she had tits that outpaced the alphabet with her orgasm. At such a size and sensitivity, she couldn’t help but let down with a powerful release of pressure. Creamy ropes spewed from her fronts, jetting half across the den to the coffee table, rug, and opposite couch. Natali went to grab at her nipples, worried about the mess she would have to clean. She found instead that squeezing her nipples and relieving pressure was much more satisfying than trying to stop her flow by force. Just a few seconds of her creamy sprinklers had already thoroughly soaked a six-foot cone in front of her. She wasn’t going to save anything by stopping—if it was even possible to stop what felt like the most natural, sexy process that had ever worked in her body.

Dammit. . . Lactation had turned her into a dairy cow. At least it was for her long-distance lover rather than some pudgy little kid.

Within the hour, Natali was brewing yet another mug of tea while scrolling through Faywair for new furnishings for the den, disappointed by the lack of liquid-resistant furniture options. A text from Triss came in at last.

Enjoy the tea, you big-tittied beauty. Just got out of my meeting and planning on using your picture to help me unwind. Might get home before Sunday. Missing you <3

Something felt damned sinful about Triss masturbating to that old image, so Natali posed much the same way with her current breasts, groping them just so that large, white dollops of her new production hanged weighty and creamy at the ends of her suckable teats.

“Enjoyed the tea a little too much. And you’d better hurry up and get over her here so my new tits can thank you properly. . . or punish you for how huge you made them with no warning. Hope you’re thirsty. . .”

Triss replied back almost immediately with a Cow emoji.