“Observe, everyone, as I create a great work of art out of nothing!” This proclamation comes from the reptilian spell caster. Her staff is high, and Tania waves her hand, focusing the mana on lifting the stones of the quarry. Her brow furrows as she concentrates, and she casts the spell by spreading her fingers.

In what was once a pile of rubble, there now sits a statue in the queen's likeness, rendered beautifully as if by a master’s hand.

The townsfolk cheer, and festivities play loudly, but Tania grasps her staff and leans upon it, her head throbbing.

The journeyman mage hobbles away from the loud display and toward the mayor’s house. “I’ve come for my pay,” she grumbles.

“And such pay it is!” says the mayor, handing her a sack of coins.

She weighs it in her palm and nods, turning towards the inn, only to be interrupted when a hand falls upon her shoulder.

“And where are you going?” asks the mayor. “Off to some other great magical work?”

“Off to rest,” Tania says, rubbing her eyes. “I must restore my mana.”

“Surely, that one spell wasn’t enough to drain such a powerful mage as you?” The mayor scoffs. But he stops, holding his hands up. “No, no, I shouldn’t be prying into your needs. You’ve done us a great service—the queen will look favorably on our little town now.”

Tania nods. “Greatness is measured differently by different people,” the mage says, slithering away and heading back to her room. It would, after all, be a long journey to return home.

But as she collapses in her bed at the inn, staring up at the ceiling, the mayor’s words resonate. “Am I so great?” Tania asks herself. “I can perform such great feats with such rudimentary magic, yet it drains me.” She closes her eyes, finding the headache pounding furiously at her.

The nap is long, but not long enough that the day is spent, and so Tania climbs out of bed and down to grab something to eat. As she heads to the dining room, she passes by the pleasantly plump matron, carrying a small bundle of joy in her hands.

The mage apologizes, her hand moving to cover her sight of the nursing mother.

“Aw, it ain’t nothin’ to be upset over, miss!” says the mother. “Tis but a natural thing to feed a baby.”

“My kind doesn’t nurse our young,” the wizard admits, " to me it is.”
“Aw, well, here at this inn, we ensure no one ever goes hungry. I’m sure This’n will grow big and strong, and extra smart too.”

Tania frowns. “And how can you possibly know such a thing?”

“Gooorh, why wouldn’t I? I’ve been feedin’ myself only the best of the foods available in the town. What goes in is what comes out is what me mah used to say.”

Tania blinks, lowering her hand. The babe pulls its mouth free, yawning and snuggling against its mother.

“What goes in is what comes out,” Tania repeats, stroking her snout.

* * *

The spell caster took her little episode to heart as she returned to the great libraries where many spell casters did their research, and from the many great tomes, Tania pulls anatomy and histories of motherhood in the mammalian form. She read about the alchemists, the transmutation of one matter to another, and the universal dogmas of mana and magic.

“It is the simple matter,” she writes her hypothesis for her own notes and future publication, “that energy cannot be created nor destroyed. It can be changed, and it can be stored.”

Tania stands in her research chambers, draped in a robe, in front of a full-body mirror. The stone is cold to her feet, and she shivers, but this is what must be done. She takes a deep breath and lowers her robe, exposing herself to the cold and looking, for the first time, at her body from a magical angle.

Her hands move down over her face and neck, over her sides, but then up and to her chest. How flat she is—the slight and weak frame of one who works her mind and not her body—but not just that—there is the matter of her chest.

Experts speculate that all species that walk on two legs are related in some way, and from that kinship, some species have used parts, and others have those same parts unused. There are, for example, those who do not have the impressive tail she and her kin have, but others, such as that matronly innkeeper, have such bountiful breasts filled with milk.

She cups her chest, thumbs rubbing over the slight nubs—vestigial nipples none of her people ever used. They are so sensitive, but as she pinches them and rubs her fingers and thumbs over them, she sighs, shuddering at the sensitivity but realizing that just like that mother’s, they too have the mechanisms for dispensing fluid.

Other magi have used various bladders and pouches of natural design to hold the source of magic itself. For instance, the dragons contain great fires within themselves within their reservoirs of mana. Could she affect her body by allowing such tremendous energy to be stored herself?

Would the attempt cost the budding sorceress her very identity?”

She slips her hands down off of her and clenches them into fists. Staring at herself in the mirror, she furrows her brows and says. “If I am to be truly great,” she says, trembling, “then I cannot continue to be as I am now.”

The experiment begins simply enough as Tania moves her hands over her body. She lets the magic coalesce on her fingertips. The little bit she could carry rests in those fine points, not finding any particular place to dissipate. She runs those fingers over her chest, massaging the small, nearly non-existent lumps. It would be a lie to say that she does not enjoy the sensation of the tingling of the magic, nor the squeezing and the supple actions that bring her to a shivering sensation. However, it would not be enough to satisfy her desired effect.

However, once she pulls her hands away, she feels the tingling remain there. It is a modified healing spell that she used upon her breast. When she was done, Tania stretches her arms up high over her head, poking her chest out, frowning that she saw no results. But results would come, indeed. So she wraps a measuring tape around her chest, marking the scant measurement in her log for future study.

Every day, she partakes in this ritual, and every day, she looks at the results. The spell work should be sound. It was based on all of her research, after all. But the results, if any, are minuscule.

Another way of thinking was that the results were tiny, but they were there.

Tania notices the change in her appearance when she gets into her robes, and the upper garments run high, exposing some of her tummy. It is because he did not account for a prominent breast when the tailor made them. 

Tania performs her ritual again that day, but when she stikes her chest out, she has to step back to keep her new tits centered. For the first time, she notices the roundness of her chest and the shadow made by the way the light cast itself upon its form. When she slides her hands over her breast, she can get a hand on it, cupping the tiny things and sighing gently.

If nothing else, she could market this new spell for cosmetic alterations. But indeed, there were more effective means of producing such results. What she needs are breasts that can house the reservoirs of mana, not ones that would make people jealous.

* * *

The next time Tania was hired, she was tasked with warding a noble’s garden. Quite the size, this garden. By most other measures, it would be a farm.

“Can you do it?” asks the aristocratic woman. “You  seem unsure.”

Tania calculates the amount of mana in her head but holds her hand close to her chest. “I can,” she says. “With no problem.”

“Good, good. The ants here are such nuisances. Your protection will keep them at bay, for sure.”

“Just leave me to it, and I’ll have it done in an hour.”

Left alone, Tania steps slowly around the garden's perimeter, chanting what she needs while holding her hands out toward the fields. It’s hard work for someone like her—a simple spell requiring a lot of focus, especially when stretching the mana thin. She can’t afford to just throw what was in her reservoir untested into a client’s land for fear of unforeseen circumstances.

It takes a full day to complete the task, and Tania is dizzy as she makes it to the last square foot of land. Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes and concentrates, trying to find something to draw out of herself but not from her breasts. There is a tiny mote of magical power left, and she summons up the courage to take it, even though it would leave her fatigued the rest of the day.

But under her feet, the ground rumbles, and Tania gasps, falling as the dirt explodes, and from it erupts a large ant, its mandibles clacking, antennae bouncing here and there and looking straight at her.

The sorceress stumbles back, scurrying away from the enormous insect. It approaches her with alacrity, clicking and chittering its chiton gleaming in the fading sun.

With a snap, it clamps at her leg, pinning her and pulling her closer. She thrusts her arm forward, firing off her last ounce of magic. While she cannot possibly devastate anyone with her spell work, even a minor attack could distract a beast this size.

A puff of smoke rises from her palm, the fading gasp of the last of her magic.

The ant lets go and grabs higher, pulling her closer to its den. There’s nothing else she can do. She has no weapons. She has no mana.

Except she does.

A field test against an opponent in a life-or-death scenario? It’s not the ideal situation to draw upon these reserves, but it is all she has. So, in one hand, Tania grips her tit, and in the other, she channels the magic.

The collective weeks of unspent mana siphon out of her, making her gasp as she finds the magic drawn from her breast and channeled into her arms. The flow is unlike anything she had felt before. Could this be what true magi feel when they cast their potent abilities?

Before the ant knows what hits it, a blast of pure magical energy fires from her, sending the creature flying off into the sky like a great gust of wind.

Tania collapses on the ground, gasping, panting, and smiling.

“It works…” she gasps, her hands falling ot her sides. She laughs, a hearty, chest-bouncing laugh.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” The voice comes from a guard armed with a pike. “Heard some screams and… ah…”

The guard shuts his mouth, a blush rising on his face.

Tania blinks and picks herself up, rubbing her chest, only to realize that her magical attack had shredded her top. Also, when she pulls her hand away, a white substance reflects the light in her palm.

The reptilian spell caster, once so weak and out of magic, is not only able to destroy her enemies with a thought—she can also lactate.

* * *

After the first instance of lactation, Tania’s research takes a different approach. She now continues to apply the mana to her body, letting it tingle throughout her larger, sensitive breasts. The measurements take on a whole new meaning. The sensitivity is nothing like what she has encountered before, and even that is becoming more and more pronounced.

One evening, Tania finds herself staring at her full-body mirror, her clothing gone, her hands holding onto those now rather impressive breasts. They compliment her wide hips, and she recalls the looks she got from people during her job and return home.

“What have I become?” she thinks to herself. “Something wonderful, perhaps?”

She gives her tits a squeeze, and the life-giving milk rolls out between her fingers and finds her luscious mounds. Biting her lips, she stares at this reaction, shuddering as a shot of delight surges down her back, and she lifts those mammaries up, rolling them around, pressing her palms to the nipples. The more she does this, the more the milk trickles down her body.

It’s so fascinating. How do the women who gain these through their natural lifecycle not find themselves playing with tier bodies more often? Perhaps they do, actually. It is not like Tania is in the habit of asking people about their sexual delights.

With droplets falling onto the floor, the mage realizes this might not be the best opportunity for such study and shuffles haphazardly back into her outfit. As she passes through the streets this time, she gets even more eyes on her form because she bounces as she walks, her breast not well supported in her haste to get to a more appropriate place for her experiment.

The bathhouse is precisely what she needs, and the bovine lady in charge of it smiles and nods as Tania pays for a private luxury tub. However, the wizard notices how the cow shifts and presses her arms against her breasts, perhaps in a sign of jealousy? Possibly, she’ll get a lot of looks like that from now on.

Undressed and in her private room, Tania slips into the tub, which is large enough for a woman her size to lie comfortably in. She finally places her hands on her chest, nodding, sighing, and squeezing.

She lets the warm milk roll down her body and around her sides, dripping little droplets that form on the basin.

Her tongue slithers out, and her sighs delighted as she massages her tits. Of course, as she works them, she wonders how long she can keep this up before she finally has depleted her reserves. It is not so much a concern as a lingering thought left behind as the final dangling bit of pretense that this is more than what she knows it to be—simple indulgence of her desires.

As she works on herself, her eyes closed and her body squirming in the warm liquid, she realizes she created such a shallow pool of stuff. She lets go of her tits, her hands falling around her and letting out a soft splash. Breathing, she stares down over herself, her chest squished against her body, leaking more of the delightful white delight from her body.

How much can she produce? That is a question to ask in a battle of endurance, indeed. Does she dare attempt to squeeze all the mana out of her? She checks again, focusing inwardly on herself. Her mana is still there!

Is the milk a byproduct of the mana instead of a representation of the mana itself? If that is the case, it should be safe to squeeze as much of it out as she wants. But even so, would she even want to do it? What else can she do with this substance?

She lifts her hand, staring at her glistening palm. Gulping, she steels herself for such a strange but delightful idea. Her tongue slithers out, tasting the milk in her hand.

Such an exquisite thing! Unlike anything she’s had before! And to come from her body, well, that is so magnificent!

Tania grabs a tit and lifts it up. It’s so massive that she can just make it to it when she bends forward, rolling her shoulders. Her other hand moves and lifts her other tit, bringing the two breasts together, their nipples pressed and dripping. At that new configuration, Tania takes both tits into her mouth and she squeezes with her arms.

Milk streams from her mouth and into her mouth, wetting her tongue with its warm wonder. She squeals and shudders, suckling, drawing out more and more of the nourishing stuff. If her body produces so much, it must be magical, and the slight tingle she feels in the back of her throat reminds her that it is.

So she rolls onto her stomach and chest, letting the additional pressure of the ground make her squeeze out more and more, increasing the release and filling her mouth. Soon enough, milk dribbles out from her maw, as she cannot hold any more, and with the pressure, she finally breaks, opening her mouth, letting more of the stuff fall about her from between her teeth and from her nipples.

Tania pants, coos, and pushes herself up, a mess of her nourishing discharge. She licks her lips and places a hand firmly on the basin. Closing her eyes, she senses the magic all around her and laughs.

Beyond any expectation she had, she has found one inarguable truth.

The milk in the tub still holds on to the lingering remnants of her magic.

She isn’t just lactating. She has become a generator of mana herself!

Tania’s time in the tub must end, and the luscious lizard pulls herself free, the milk dripping off her scales and sloshing into the tub. When she stands at the edge of the bath, she leans in over it, watching the pool of milk, so white and pure and so full of magic.

Tania dips her hand into the liquid, moving back and forth, feeling the flow of the life-giving liquid and the spark of mana that suffuses it. “It’s magnificent,” she breathes out to herself. “And it all comes from me. Is it even possible that such a wondrous thing is so undiscovered? What a waste those mammals have, not knowing how powerful their milk truly is.” She sighs, lifting her hand and watching liquid pour back into the tub.

She stares at the pool as if it were some mesmerizing reflection, showing her a truth she had not yet considered. She wiggles her fingers, looking over her arm, noticing the milk that sticks to her scaled body. Almost every inch of her still has that covering, and practically every inch of her feels the delightful tingle of the latent lactative energies.

She focuses her mind on that milk, her magical reserves filled inside her chest and throughout her body. She holds her hand out before her, palms out toward the pool. Her lids flicker, her mouth murmurs in half-formed words, and her fingers twitch. Soon, very soon, the pool bubbles, boiling with the magical influence she exerts upon it.

And it flows upward, milk rising from the pool and forming into a sphere upon her palm. Tania rolls it over the back of her hand. Along the ridges of her fingers, she holds her hand facing upwards, fingers pointing, and that sphere, much more solid than a liquid now, rests upon those tips.

Tania opens her eyes and focuses on the object, which shifts and changes color, first becoming clear, then blood red, and finally back to its milky normalcy.

The mage laughs, thrusting her arm forward, and the sphere in her hand turns into a deadly burst of liquid, a whip that lashes at the wall, carving into the stone with its magical power. With one hand dipped into the liquid and another orchestrating magical movement, she makes the bathing fluid flow up her body and leave, making a milky construct that dances to her whim.

“This is it!” she shouts, clapping her hands together. “This is what I’ve been seeking my entire life!” Licking her lips, she can hardly contain herself. She has made the most extraordinary discoveries here in this tiny little room. How simple, and yet how profound. Milky magic, no lactomancy, she shall call it.

The milk spills beside her as she walks out of her room, strutting her stuff. “And there’s only one name that would fit the mistress of this new magic,” Tania says, running her hands over her head and down over her body. “My perfect, voluptuous form. My milky magic. There is no room for a weakling such as Tania. I am reborn in milk. I am… Lactania!”