Achtung! This story contains graphic descriptions of big, milk-swollen breasts and other indecorously salacious content (that�s kind of why I wrote it, actually).� If that�s not your thing, then I would advise you to read one of the other 83 gazillion things out there on the Internet that aren�t all about boobs and stuff.

10 Days In the Life of a Librarian: Part III

By: Kodos

Day 5

����������� The alarm buzzed; I rolled over to hit it and- ouch! I rolled onto the floor.� I was still downstairs next to the couch- I must have heard a car horn or something outside and- crap, was I late for work?� I sat up and winced again- my breasts were awfully tender this morning.� I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and looked down; they weren't just tender, they'd grown larger too, not lap-fillingly gigantic like in my dream, but I'd definitely gained at least another cup size overnight.� Even hanging naked and free, they barely touched each other; it was incredible to look down at myself and have my view of my body so tantalizingly obscured by my recent additions.� I gave my boobs an experimental squeeze and flinched again; they looked amazing, but they felt like they'd been bruised to a pulp.

����������� As I stepped onto the living room floor, gingerly, trying to arrange my bathrobe to keep me warm, I found that even its soft fabric chafed uncomfortably again my breasts.� They hadn't hurt like this the last few mornings; was my body having some kind of a reaction, or was this a sign that I'd been drinking way too much of the serum and my boobs were growing too fast for my body to support?� That was enough to get me worrying; if I kept growing, and I desperately wanted to, was this something that would go away once my body adjusted to it, like how it only hurts for a week or so when you decide to start hitting the gym the day after New Year�s?� Or was this something more serious, like my body literally couldn't deal with how fast my boobs were growing and if I kept pumping myself full of the serum they'd start getting all bruised and veiny-looking or something?� If I pushed myself too far, just how painful would they get?� I mean, I could actually make my boobs so fat they were in danger of actually exploding, could I?

����������� I found my glasses on the coffee table and caught the kitchen clock out of the corner of my eye.� I was late, but not very- no time to stop and figure out if this whole sore boobs thing was a real problem or just a passing inconvenience, I had to get to work.� I found my clothes from the day before in a rumpled pile; I barely tried to stuff my breasts into yesterday's bra before I gave up- I was just too sore and there was no denying I'd already outgrown it.� Onwards and upwards then, out came my D cup, in, as tenderly as I could handle them, went my girls, and then the nursing pads to give me at least a little more cushioning in there.� I filled the cups perfectly, but every time I moved I could barely stop myself from cringing; I finally had enough of bust to jiggle respectably, but as sore as I was, jiggling was anything but fun right now.

����������� I didn't have time to mess around with my breasts right now; I dug a bottle of aspirin out of the bathroom cabinet and tossed back a couple, hoping they'd at least take the edge off so I could make it through work without looking like something was wrong with me, stepped into some slacks, and tugged a nice, frilly top over my head.� It was super light, which suited with my aching boobs just fine, and its lines didn't draw too much attraction to the fact that, well, I was starting to get pretty impressive up top.� I'd spent yesterday hoping someone would notice my expanding bust, but today the last thing I felt like was trying to explain away my tender tits to anyone.

����������� In the car, I carefully took the shoulder strap of my seat belt and ran it behind my back.� Safety be damned; even its gentle pressure against my chest hurt just to think about right now.� Every pothole, every bump, every rough spot on the road made me acutely aware of what felt like every single raw molecule of boob I owned; I felt like I'd spent the day before bouncing topless on a trampoline, but at least the aspirin was starting to kick in by the time I got to work, or maybe I was just getting used to the dull, throbbing pain that filled my chest, though I had my doubts.

����������� Kylie shot me a worried glance as I walked in; I was going to have to do a better job of moving like I wasn't made of glass if I wanted to avoid any awkward questions.� I poured myself a cup of coffee, sat down at my desk, and checked my mail; at least now I could sit still and relax without too much discomfort.� Even sitting perfectly still though, I could still feel the soft edges of the nursing pads digging against my boobs, and even the gentle tapping of my fingers on the keys sent irritating vibrations reverberating through my breasts.

����������� �Hey Seph, you got anything big going on today?� Kylie asked as she leaned into my office, �One of the pages called in sick, and we don't have any volunteers scheduled for Wednesday morning; would you mind shelving a cart or two?� I'd do it myself but I've got a meeting I need to get to, um, seven minutes ago.�

����������� �Uh, sure thing, no problem,� I agreed without thinking, �You go on to your meeting; I've got stuff here under control.�

����������� �Awesome; you rock,� Kylie beamed as she hurried out of the office, �I'll see you around two, if they let us out on time.�

����������� I had no idea the morning of torment I had just gotten myself into.� I'd always been fine with shelving books before; it was actually kind of relaxing to just get into the zone and let everything else kind of fade into the background while I let my mind wander, but today the job was anything but that.

����������� I guess I hadn't really thought much about how having big boobs would change my life aside from all the awesome ways I had fantasized about, and I wasn't� remotely prepared at all for how sporting a pair of big, painfully sore ones was going to affect me.� I lost count of how many times I reached up to put something on the top shelf only to feel my breasts rubbing painfully against the uneven spines of our collection.� When I crouched down to reach the bottom row, my boobs were squeezed between my legs and my chest, I almost sobbed; I felt like they were being crushed in a vise and ready to pop.� I was lucky it was a slow morning; I can only think of what anyone would have thought had the seen me standing in the stacks clutching my chest and adjusting my bra for the twentieth time in less than an hour.� Even just leaning over made them hang away from my body uncomfortably, gravity pushing more deeply into the constraining cups of my bra.� By the time I'd finished the second cart I was sore all over, every muscle in my body burning from spending the morning with my body as tense as possible.

����������� At least things started looking up at lunchtime.� I warmed up a bowl of chicken soup for myself, and now that I could finally sit still at my desk for a while the tension started to drain from my body.� Even my boobs didn't hurt so much anymore.� Don't get me wrong, I'd still rather have eaten a bug than gone out and jogged half a mile, but it was getting more manageable.� I was just getting ready to head out to the front desk when Kylie found me in the kitchen.

����������� �Hey, thanks for getting all the books put up,� she said, �Are you, um, are you feeling okay today?� You looked kind of stressed out this morning when you first came in.�

����������� �I'm fine,� I sighed, �I just- I just woke up a little sore this morning and it took a while for the aspirin to kick in.� I'm feeling a lot better now.�

����������� �Oh, and how did you wind up sore, hmm?� Kylie asked with a conspiratorial glint in her eye, �New workout routine, or new boyfriend?�

����������� �Oh, I wish it were either of those,� I said, smiling in spite of myself, �No such luck though; it's just one of those girl things, you know.�

����������� �Believe me; I know all about that,� Kylie commiserated, �Well, I'm glad you're feeling more like yourself again.� Now if you've got the desk, I think I'm going to run out and get something to eat myself; I'm absolutely starving.�

����������� The rest of the afternoon went by uneventfully enough; I even had the chance to do some reading and see if this whole sore boobs thing was something I should be more worried about.� It turned out that the two most common causes were early pregnancy (not very likely unless that serum had even more miraculous powers than advertised) or a precursor to lactation.� That seemed a more likely to me; the whole point of the recipe had been to help encourage new mothers with, well, making more milk, and I'd actually been starting to wonder when my girls were going to start producing.� The answer, apparently, was soon.� Also, I was heartened to read that while my breasts would probably be more sensitive than I was used to as long as I was lactating, this whole thousand-needles-stabbing-into-my-tits sensation would probably subside in a day or two, which came as a huge relief.

����������� By the time I got off work, I was almost feeling normal; I was even able to wear my seatbelt the right way, and felt up to stopping by the grocery store because, well, I was so hungry I felt like I could eat a horse.� I grabbed three frozen pizzas out of the case, a box of wine, and then headed home to relax and get closer to naked.

����������� The second I closed the front door behind me, off came my top and, as soon as I could undo the hooks, my bra followed it to the floor.� Feeling indecently liberated, I marched topless into the kitchen- damn, getting used to having breasts heavy enough that just walking made them bounce was still going to take some getting used to- put on the first pizza, poured myself a mug full of wine (don't judge me- I had a hard day) and stepped into the bathroom to take inventory.� Standing in front of the mirror I sized myself up.

����������� So this was what a pair of D cup tits looked like on me.� They were round, full, and every inch as wide as my body, proudly thrusting out from my chest even without support.� When I felt them, they were weirdly hard, and kind of warm to the touch, like I had boob fever or something, which I was pretty sure I remembered reading were two more symptoms that they were going to start getting very maternal soon.� It was still a little bit uncomfortable, but the more I touched them, the more it turned me on.� If the timer on the oven hadn't gone off when it did, I probably would have forgotten about dinner and wound up in the shower appreciating all the ways that my hypersensitive boobs could be a good thing.

����������� While I waited for the pizza to cool off, I slipped out of the rest of my clothes and pulled my robe on.� It was a new experience needing to stretch the robe across my chest to cover all of me, though once I got it wrapped around, it stayed in place well enough.� I loaded up a plate with, well, more than half a pizza, found my wine, and settled myself into the corner of the couch in front of the TV.� I don't even remember what was on, I think it was one of those shows about British people a hundred years ago having complicated emotions about each other, but really I just wanted some background noise while I mulled the day over, savored the sensation of being bra-free and stationary, and stuffed my face with El Cheapo brand pizza until my tummy was too full to complain.

����������� I was trying to wrap my head around everything that was happening to my body and whether I was really sure I wanted to keep pushing myself to get bigger like this.� I knew last Saturday I'd been positive I wanted big boobs, like, really huge ones, but now that I actually had a several tender pounds of flesh bundled against my chest, did I still feel the same?� I guess I'd always had kind of an idealized view of being busty; I'd never had to experience ill-fitting bras or had to think about having breasts big enough to actually interfere with me doing stuff.� A week ago I'd never in my life had to stop before I acted and think, �Are my boobs going to get in the way?� and it was going to take getting used to.� For the first time, I actually felt a touch of sympathy for the bustier women in my family, after years of feigning compassion when my mom complained about bra straps cutting into her shoulders, or my sister lamenting that she had to quit the school volleyball team junior year because she had grown too large to play without exploding right out of her sports bra.� Even cousin Cora's fussing about how much money she spent on custom undergarments didn't seem quite so- okay, no, I still didn't feel sorry for her; I'm pretty sure that all the free drinks she got when we were out over the years more than made up for needing to drop a few extra bucks for her bespoke boulder holders.

����������� Somehow though, finally feeling the real weight, the irresistible reality of having breasts close to the large end of normal only made me want to keep growing more, I decided as I went to refill my glass and put on another pizza.� I guess I'd always thought of having big boobs in the abstract, like life with them would be exactly the same as before except, well, big boobs, and maybe when I was at the mall all the clerks wouldn't ignore me in favor of my more bosomy friends and relations.� Actually getting through a workday with a decent-sized bust though- well, soreness aside, it was amazing, and I wanted more!� I looked down at my chest; as big as I had gotten over the last few days, I'd still be the smallest woman in our family picture this summer if I stopped now.� Even if my resolve didn't hold out long enough to make me bigger than Cora, I was more than willing to put up with a bit of discomfort if it meant I could have the kind of figure I'd always lusted after.

����������� Honestly, the inconveniences of being so delightfully encumbered were more of a turn-on than I'd imagined.� As much as it hurt banging my boobs against the shelves all morning, there was a part of me that reveled in it.� Just the thought of being big enough to ever need to say, �Sorry about my breasts, they're just so huge they get in the way sometimes,� got me aroused.� I wanted the awkwardness, the weight, the back pain, the stares- all of it only made me more certain I wanted to be even bigger, to keep on growing until Cora had to listen to my complaints about how much of a challenge it was to get on in the world with tits bigger than watermelons- or however huge I ended up becoming.

����������� I went back to the kitchen to put the last pizza in (had I really finished two of them already? I must have been hungrier than I realized), I still had room for at least another slice or two and, damn, had I already eaten it?� I must have gotten so wrapped up in my fantasies that I didn't even remember, though the half-empty box of wine next to the stack of empty pizza boxes might have had something to do with that too.� I poured myself another glass of wine anyway and, eager to see my desires made flesh, took down another empty cup and filled it to the brim with the serum.� As cool and sweet as it felt in my mouth, by the time I gulped down the last drop of it I felt like a python that had just swallowed a cow.� I felt my tummy; it bulged out considerably more than usual, and felt almost painfully hard, the gnawing hunger that had followed me home exchanged for the distress of having glutted my belly so wantonly.� I unbelted my robe and stood sidelong in front of the bathroom mirror; it was a good thing I didn't have any more to eat, my belly already stuck out nearly beyond my boobs.

����������� The room was beginning to spin.� I was tired, sore, with a bellyful of pizza and magic boob-enlarging potion, and more than a little drunk to boot.� I eyed the bathtub wistfully; if I wasn't feeling quite so exhausted and woozy I could have really gone for a shower, but I felt like right now I'd be lucky to make it up to bed before passing out, and if I'd been sore today, the last thing I needed was to wind up spending the night passed out on the cold bathroom floor.� I managed to get up to my room, fumbled my way under the covers, gave the chain on my lamp a yank, and the last thing I remember before sleep took me was giving a sigh of satisfaction at the way the heavy quilt pressed my boobs against my body.

����������� The setting sun was warm against my skin as I drove across the long, undulant bridge, one arm hanging out the window, the ocean breeze bringing a perfect end to a hot day behind the wheel.� I'd been on the road for four hours; I closed at the library last night, overslept, and traffic had been a mess ever since I got out of town.� My phone buzzed, sending a gentle ripple coursing through my right breast.� I smiled, a jolt of arousal running through my body as I reached down my bra to pull it out; I was going to have to figure out some way to keep my phone from slipping down so deep into my bra if I didn't want to wind up very embarrassed some day when I was in a meeting or something and couldn't answer an incoming call.

����������� �Hello?� I asked, not needing to check the number as I picked up.

����������� �Persephone; we're running out of daylight here,� my mother's voice crackled through the ether, �How far out are you now?�

����������� �Sorry, I ran into another knot of traffic right before the bridge,� I protested, �I can't drive any faster than the guy right in front of me, you know; it's only a two lane road.�

����������� �But Aunt June has to leave first thing in the morning,� she insisted, �Today is the only chance we'll have everyone together for the family picture this year.� Your father already has the camera all set up; Cousin Cora already had her swimsuit on.�

����������� �I bet she does�, I whispered to myself, �I know, Mom, I know, if I don't get held up again, I should be there in, like, another fifteen minutes, tops.�

����������� �Okay, that should be enough time, I suppose,� Mom fretted, �You did get the swimsuit I sent you, right?� It would break family tradition if you and your cousin didn't match this year, you know?�

����������� �Don't worry Mom, I got it last week,� I assured her as I turned towards the huge, old beach house our family rented every year, �It's right here on the seat beside me.�

����������� �Did you try it on yet?� Mom pushed, �I know a couple of times lately Cora's has been too small and she's had to send it back for one that fits.�

����������� �Mom, I tried it on already,� I sighed, �Don't worry, I've got a feeling me and Cora are going to be a lot closer to matching this year than we've been since high school.�

����������� �Okay, honey, you just try and get here as soon as you can,� my mom answered, �You just drive safe, okay?�

����������� �I'll be there soon,� I promised, �Just be on the lookout for me.�

����������� Without drawing out the conversation any longer, I ran a finger across the End Call button, and kept my eyes on the road.� The air was thick with salt; sand dunes and twisted live oaks flanking the narrow old highway.� I'd be at the house soon, but first I needed a place to- there!� A small parking lot for the beach, and a low, cinderblock building for people to change and shower off.� I had the whole place to myself; the evening's rising tide having long since driven the bathers away as it beat against the rough, pebbly sand of the upper shore.�

����������� I pulled in, grabbed my swimsuit, and ran inside.� Even though I was sure I was alone, I still locked myself in one of the alcoves- as happy as I was with my new figure, I was still just a little too self-conscious to not mind getting caught topless by another woman.� I stepped out of my sun skirt and my panties, tying the bottom of my bikini around my hips a little awkwardly- I still wasn't used to doing this kind of thing without being able to see what I was doing.� My shirt came off next, then my bra, after carefully removing my phone, iPod, and a small wad of slightly sweaty bills from its cups, and I untangled my top's strings before I slipped it on.� My mom did have a point; it was a good thing I had tried it on as week ago, though since I hadn't seen most of my family since Thanksgiving, I would have had to have been a fool to think that she'd have ordered me one big enough to fit without a few alterations.�

����������� Even with my best efforts, it was a challenge to arrange everything so that I'd even be presentable, much less safe from the danger of slipping loose from my moorings.� I arranged myself in front of the mirror; if this display wasn't enough to pay back for nearly ten years of embarrassment, well, at least it was going to be a decent-sized down payment.� I pushed and stuffed a little more; I was half afraid that seeing me like this would give my grandmother a heart attack; I didn't need to invite even more scandal my showing up with a rosy pink arc of areola peeking out over half my top.

����������� Okay, I looked good enough, and I didn't have time to go for perfect.� I pulled on a t-shirt that was baggy enough not to give away my game before I was ready, took the rubber band out of my hair and shook my ponytail out in favor of my long and lustrous tresses, and hurried back to my car- carefully- it felt like anything more energetic than a modest pace would snap this bikini apart in short order.�

����������� The road was short from here.� I pulled up the long driveway, sun-bleached clam shells crunching beneath my tires, stopped and took a moment for one last bit of repositioning before my big reveal, and stepped out of the car, announcing my arrival with a loud slam of the door.� As I walked up to the front steps as nonchalantly as I could- I was giddy with anticipation- I saw Cora peek out from around the side of the house, her fulsome melons straining against their confinement in her red and white striped top.

����������� �Persephone, what took you so long?� Everyone's waiting,� she called cheerfully as she waved me onwards, squinting a little at the sun sinking behind me, �Come on, hurry on out to the deck so we can get a shot with the ocean behind us.�

����������� �Just, ah, give me a second,� I stalled as I tried to climb the steps carefully enough not to give my secret away, and determined not to jiggle myself out of my swimsuit too scandalously, �I, um, I pulled something in my back a couple days ago; it's still giving me a little trouble.� No worries, I'm coming.�

����������� Cora flashed me a smile and disappeared around the corner of the house to tell everyone I'd finally come.� I'd been worried that she'd get close enough to tell how much I'd changed before I was ready to show the world, so thing couldn't have been going better for me so far.

����������� �Hey y'all, sorry to keep everyone waiting,� I shouted as I came around the corner to the huge deck that looked out over the sun-blazed evening sea, �Sorry, I couldn't get out of work stuff, but I got here as fast as I could.�

����������� �That's okay honey; you're here now,� my mom assured me, several of my relations nodding in agreement, with varying degrees of cheerfulness at having been kept waiting all afternoon, �Here, go ahead and take that shirt off; we've saved you a spot right next to Cora, like always.�

����������� �Oh, right,� I said, as if I'd forgotten what I was wearing,� Here, give me a second.�

����������� I kicked out of my sandals and shrugged off my wrap.� Then, as I stepped out into full view of everyone in the warm radiance of an August evening, I whipped my shirt off over my head and beamed.

����������� Everyone stared.� Even the ocean seemed to have grown a little more quiet, and I'm sure that if anyone had a record player nearby, it would have done that needle scratch thing that entrances like this call for.

����������� �Well, what's wrong?� I asked, wobbling my chest from side to side just to make sure everybody got an eyeful, �Isn't this the outfit you sent me?�

����������� It was a moment of glorious triumph, as I drunk in the stupefied shock of my entire family, though none of their looks were quite so delicious to behold as Cora's.� All these years she'd outclassed me by roughly the same amount that the Hindenburg dwarfs a party balloon, and now here she was staring numbly at a pair of tits at least six inches bigger and broader than hers, restrained only by a pair of tiny cloth triangles barely large enough to cover up my saucier bits.

����������� �Sorry, I know I should have tried it on earlier and it didn't fit quite right when I started packing yesterday,� I confessed with feigned sheepishness, �It's okay though; see, I had a couple yards of elastic laying around so I was able to extend the straps enough to keep everything in place, well, at least as long as no one manages to talk me into a game of beach volleyball!�

����������� �Persephone; what happened to you?� my mom's stunned voice broke the silence of the crowd around me.

����������� �I dunno, maybe the company you order these things from changed their sizing system or something this year,� I shrugged bountifully, �Anyways, I know we're burning daylight here, so let's make this picture happen!�

����������� I savored every second as the same family (each and every one of whom I loved dearly, to be sure) did their best to try not to stare as I sauntered up to the front row and plunked myself down next to Cora.� After years of feeling her big boobs squashing awkwardly against my arm when we sat beside each other, it was incredible to see my swollen melons pushing hers off center, since I apparently had about an extra fifteen or twenty pounds of bosom compared to her and my boobs were, not like it was a competition or anything, a visibly fuller and firmer than hers.

����������� �Oops, sorry about that,� I apologized good-naturedly as the taut skin of my breasts rubbed against Cora's, �We all just wind up so jammed in here together so that everyone can fit in the picture and there's only so much I can do to make myself smaller.�

����������� �Don't mention it,� Cora mumbled, looking splendidly chastened.

����������� A moment later the timer beeped, the camera clicked, and everyone went their ways to set about putting dinner together.� I hung around for a while, relishing all the probing questions from family, �So, anything big happening in your life lately?� �I haven't seen you since last summer, dear; any changes since then?� and answering each by happily relating what new projects I was involved with at work, the new restaurants that I'd discovered in town, and even a few tame admissions about my romantic life.� Right before dinner was served, I politely declared myself tired from a long day on the road, gave my shell-shocked Aunt June an enveloping embrace since she might be gone tomorrow morning before I woke up, bid everyone else good night and retired to my and Cora's small, slope-ceilinged room to put on something that didn't leave me a fraction of an inch in every direction from flashing at least a dozen kids and was a little more comfortable to boot.

����������� A couple hours later Cora came in, having exchanged her bikini for a pair of jorts and a tight magenta tank top, holding a couple of freshly-opened beers, to find me relaxing on my bed in a pair of old shorts and the same baggy t-shirt I'd arrived in, though this time unencumbered by anything underneath it.� I looked up from my book and smiled as winsomely as I was able.

����������� �Well, I guess I don't have to tell you what everyone's talking about at dinner down there,� Cora said with a smile as she came over and plopped herself down beside me, �Here, Leroy picked up a case of the good stuff up in Pittsburgh before he came down yesterday; I snagged you one; I've already had three.�

����������� �Hey, thanks,� I said as I accepted the wet bottle and held it out towards my cousin, �Here, cheers!�

����������� �Cheers,� she responded, taking a long swig and then fixing me, or at least my chest, with a penetrating stare, �So, I know you were playing coy with everyone out on the deck earlier, but what's the real story behind with these?� The two leading theories down in the kitchen are that either this is some kind of elaborate prank or sometime over the past few months you saved up enough for a truly epic pair of implants.�

����������� �And here I never thought anyone would be talking about my boobs here except in terms of how tiny they were compared to yours,� I mused, cradling one of my free-hanging melons with my free hand and winking at Cora, �Why don't you tell me your theory?�

����������� �I'm a big enough woman to admit I'm clueless,� she admitted, studying my chest with unblushing single-mindedness, �I'm no expert of fake boobs, but I know from more than ample personal experience what really ones look like and, well, if it wasn't for the fact this this time last year you were flat as an ironing board, I'd have to say that those monsters are all you, little cousin.�

����������� �Well, you're not wrong,� I told her, giving one boob a squeeze to emphasize just how real they really were, �As to the how, just look at how busty all the women in our family are; hell, you only need to cast your eyes downwards to see what kind of genes we're all pumped up to the gills with.� Maybe I'm just a late bloomer and now I'm, well, blooming in a big way.� A woman's gotta make up for lost time, you know?�

����������� �Alright, every girl's got her secrets,� Cora said, shooting a conspiratorial glance in my direction as she moved in closer, �It's just- well, all speculation about how you got to be so enormous all of a sudden aside, I'm just curious about how you managed to grow a pair of tits so huge and still have them be so firm and round.�

����������� �What do you mean?� I asked, for the first time feeling kind of self-conscious as Cora undressed me with her eyes.

����������� �I mean,� Cora explained, �you've got boobs way bigger than your head and nothing but that baggy shirt to keep them in place and they're still riding so full and high on your chest they might as well be weightless.�

����������� �Believe me,� I assured her, massaging my lower back ruefully, �These two are about as heavy as they come.� Aren't yours like this?�

����������� �I wish,� Cora admitted poking herself in the bosom resignedly, �I'm afraid my girls need more than a little help these days to give me that kind of a profile.� Here, look.�

����������� And without another word Cora pulled her top over her head, reached behind herself to unhook her bra, and shrugged out of it, baring her magnificent breasts to me.� The sun-bronzed skin of her chest only highlighted how pale and smooth the lower half of her bosom was, where her bathing suits and low-cut tops had kept her skin nearly as fair as my own.� More importantly, I saw she had a point.� Her breasts hung full and heavy against her chest.� The way she was sitting, they almost reached her thighs.� It wasn't that they sagged, not by a long shot; she was still so beguiling I felt a flash of warmth blaze up inside me as I stared at all that exposed flesh, but seeing her topless erased any doubt that her huge breasts were absolutely real, and their size was paid for by all the pains and inconveniences that come with such a bountiful bust.

����������� �See, ten years from now I'll be lucky if I can still show up at the beach in a two-piece without my boobs being so soft they just spill right out of it,� Cora said, before giving me a teasing wink, �So then, I've shown you mine; why don't you go and show me yours?� It's not often I meet a girl bustier than me, and I never in a million years thought it would be you.�

����������� �Well, okay,� I said, my voice wavering as I took a long drink from the beer Cora had given me, �If you really want the full tour, I guess you can have a little peek.�

����������� I grabbed the edge of my shirt and pulled it up over my head; my breasts slapping against my chest heavily as they slipped free.� It felt weird; as thrilling as it had been to stand in front of everybody with nothing but a couple of undersized triangles of fabric protecting my modesty, taking my shirt off with just Cora around felt unsettlingly, I dunno, intimate.

����������� �Wow, they're even bigger than I thought,� Cora said admiringly, tentatively reaching towards my chest before pulling her hand back with a shiver, �Okay, now I'm calling bullshit on that whole 'I'm just a late bloomer making up for lost time' story.� What really happened to you?�

����������� �Alright, I'll tell you the truth,� I whispered, leaning in so close to be heard that my breasts lay tantalizingly close to Cora's, �They didn't grow this big all by themselves; I kind of discovered a way to give Mother Nature a little help.�

����������� �Mmm, I'm not sure I'd use the word 'little' to describe anything about those,� Cora purred, leaning in closer, her breasts swaying away from her body as she moved, their tender flesh brushing against my own for a fleeting moment, �I don't imagine there's anything I could do to make it worth your while to share your little secret with me, is there?� You know, I've never been one of those girls who's fascinated with big tits- I've always had more than enough myself to keep my curiosity satisfied- but you; I dunno, maybe it's just because I'm so used to seeing you so flat-chested, or because seeing you like this makes me think about how I'd look with a pair of jugs like those hanging from my chest, maybe it's just because it's been a long day, and I've been drinking, but-�

����������� �But what?� I asked, intoxicated at having busty Cousin Cora fawning over my breasts.

����������� �Can I-� her voice faltered, �Can I touch them?�

����������� �I won't fight you off if you try,� I murmured, taking a deep breath, partly to make myself look as massive as I could and partly because I was getting so dizzy I might faint, �I'm sure you've got a lot more experience handling a set of fat, heavy melons than I have.� Maybe you could show me how it's done.�

����������� Cora smiled, finished her drink in one long pull and tenderly pressed her palms against my breasts.� I shuddered; her hands still cold from holding her glass, and I looked down to see my nipples getting long and hard between her fanned fingers.� With a smile like a drunken sorority girl with a new playmate, Cora drew them together, pinching my ripening peaks self-assuredly.�

����������� �Oh!� I cried through clenched teeth, as two thick jets of milk shot from my nipples and spattered against Cora's breasts.

����������� �Ah, no wonder you're so firm and tight,� Cora said with a giggle, her chest glistening with milk in the dim light, �I wonder just how much you've got sloshing around inside those big, sensitive milk balloons of yours.� I think we've got a very memorable night ahead of us.�

����������� She didn't ask for my permission; even if I was the bigger one now, she was still in control and she knew it.� Cora gave my taut tips another tug, giggling as my milk sprayed against her chest and dripped down onto the bed we now shared.� She leaned in, our breasts, hot and slick, squeezing and sliding between our bodies.� I could feel her breath on my face, the pounding of her heart where were pressed together with soft urgency.� She tilted her head to the side, and drew me in for a deep, wet kiss-

����������� My alarm rang.

Day 6

����������� The first thing I felt was the softness of my bathrobe rubbing against the underside of my breasts.� The second was how uncomfortably tight they'd grown overnight.� I pulled down the covers, sat up, and stared down at my chest in amazement.� I'd gotten bigger, and not just by a little; there was no way I'd be able to stuff these into yesterday's bra.� There was more though; my boobs looked every bit as full and taut as they felt, thrusting proudly away from my chest like a pair of pink-tipped torpedoes, my nipples even fatter and longer than they'd been last night, and insistently erect, though I hadn't so much as touched them yet.� I gave them a gentle squeeze and shivered; they didn't exactly hurt, but it wasn't like they were sore either; they felt kind of like my legs always do after a really long car ride, like they were aching for some exercise.� Bracing for another shock, I set my jaw and gave one of my nipples a tentative pull, fully expecting a stream of milk to squirt out.� Nothing came, though I felt such a bolt of pleasure arc through my breast that if I kept this up much longer, I'd be coming myself soon enough.

����������� Maybe milk wasn't the answer after all, I worried; maybe I was overdosing on the serum so hard that something else was going on, like my boobs were ballooning with flesh faster than my skin could stretch to hold it all.� That seemed like it probably wasn't going to end well; if I kept this up long enough could my breasts actually explode?� Then again, as I gave my impressively perky pair a thorough examination-jeez, they were bigger than my hands now- it wasn't like I'd developed any stretch marks overnight, so, as I tried to justify my plan of drinking all the serum I could hold and not worrying that my breasts were going to burst if I kept this up for another week, it seemed to me that if my skin didn't look like it was being stretched too far, too fast, then I was probably safe, at least for now.� If I woke up tomorrow with angry red marks stretching across my boobs, like the ones that my college roommate had developed when she started a new prescription for birth control and gained like, six cup sizes in two months, then I'd know I needed to stop before I glutted my tits with more than they could hold, or at least, I could hold myself to half a glass of serum a day until my body caught up with itself.

����������� Okay, enough playing around, I had to be at work soon and sitting in bed fondling myself all morning wasn't going to get me there.� Just getting up and walking across the room was deliciously stimulating; my boobs felt twice as heavy as they had when I'd come to bed, each step was so arousing now, as the increasing weight of my breasts tugged at my chest and tried to round my shoulders forward.� No wonder girls this size weren't in the habit of going around without support; if I tried to do anything but sit around the house, I'd so sore and turned on that I'd be utterly useless before lunchtime.

����������� I picked up the biggest bra from my trip to the lingerie shop, the E cup, and slipped it on. �It was too small.� Well, maybe not too small exactly, I thought as I adjusted the straps and tried to coax my expanding girls into the cups.� If my breasts hadn't been quite so firm, I think I would have been okay, but as it was, my boobs threatened to pop out of the bra every time I moved, and the straps stood away from by chest between my shoulders and my projecting peaks, tight as the cables on a suspension bridge.� Even after stuffing an extra set of nursing pads in, my nipples still looked hard enough to poke someone's eye out.� I tried on one of my looser blouses and struggled to close it up.� The top buttons were hard because I had to pull like crazy just to stretch this thing across my chest, and the lower ones were a problem because, well, for the first time in my life I couldn't see them because my boobs were in the way.� I'd always heard top-heavy girls joke about not knowing what color their shoes were, but holy crap, it was actually a thing; standing up and looking down at my body, all the territory under my bustline was blocked by the ample vista of my cleavage.

����������� Okay, this wasn't going to work.� Five seconds after I walked through the door, someone was going to say something.� Even if my growth hadn't been that conspicuous before, today I looked like I had a couple of honeydew melons stuffed into my top, and the fact that it was about two sizes too small for accommodate my girls didn't exactly make me look more professional, well, unless the profession I was going for was stripper, or slutty secretary.� I sighed, the foremost button of my blouse popping off and bouncing across the floor as I inhaled- this wasn't going to work.� I slipped out of my blouse, glanced at the clock in dismay, and dug through my closed until I found what I needed.

����������� It was a sweater, mottled orange and red, tailored to be extra huge and cozy, with thick cuffs, one of those oversized collars that made me feel like a wizard every time I wore it, and enough extra folds of heavy knitting that I probably could have put on a hundred pounds and still fooled everyone if I wore it.� I pulled it over my head, down past my boobs, and appraised my reflection.� If I stood up too straight, I could still definitely tell I was lugging around close to ten pounds of bosom under there, if I slouched a little I imagined I could pass for something close to flat-chested, at least for the day.� There was no time left for anything else; I pulled on a skirt that I'd thrown over the radiator the week before, and stepped into the first pair of shoes I could find.

����������� It was surreal, racing down the stairs; every step set my swollen breasts in rebellion against my bra, straining its straps and making it impossible to ignore how very full, tight, and sensitive every ounce of my bosom had grown since last night, my nipples chafing against their confinement so distractingly that I had to slow myself down before I reached the landing, because at this rate, I was going to make it downstairs just in time to tear off my skirt, collapse on the couch, and spend the next hour laying there touching every inch of my achingly full and hyper-stimulated body.

����������� I rushed out the door; my shoes knocking out a clipped beat on the cracked brick walk to the driveway.� It was warmer today than I'd expected; I was already sweating when I pushed my key into the car door.� Why did the one day I needed to wear a heavy sweater this week have to be the day hotter than seventy at just nine in the morning?� I climbed into the car; damn, if I gained a few more inches up front, I was going to have to get used to driving with my tits resting on the steering wheel.� Even now my bust how expanded to the point where I had to hold my arms out awkwardly if I didn't want to be squashing my boobs between my elbows the whole time I was driving. �And the seatbelt- I actually had to thread it in between my breasts to keep it from pressing against either one of them too tightly, though I still belt its tension against my breasts every single bump on the way to work.� I was in luck; I hit just enough red lights to get my makeup on, but not so many they made me much later than I already was.� I parked at the library, ran to the front door trying to force myself to think about anything except how my body was boiling over with arousal, and stepped inside, face flushed and panting.

����������� �Hey Seph; you're just in time,� Kylie called out with a cheerful wave as she sat with a few of my colleagues around the low tables of the children's section, �I was afraid you'd forgotten we had a staff meeting today.�

����������� �What, me forget something like that?� I lied shamelessly as I came over and pulled out one of the too-small chairs around the table, �I just ran into a bit of traffic this morning, you know; so what's on the agenda for today?�

����������� I was sitting right across from Kylie at a table designed for five-year-olds, and if there was one thing that could have made my recent developments more obvious than sitting up straight with my shoulders back, it was being huddled around a tiny table in a chair so low that my boobs nearly rested on it in front of me.� Couldn't we have done this in the meeting room?� It wasn't like this was any better for Kylie, with the edge of the table digging into her plump belly so far she had to lean past it just to check things off her list. �Seriously, I was grateful I hadn't had the presence of mind to bring a notepad with me, because I would have been poking myself in the tits with the top of my pen if I'd actually tried to take notes in a position like this.

����������� �Good deal,� Kylie said brightly, her self-indulgent belly rolling over the top of the table a bit more as she leafed through her agenda, �So, we already covered the big weeding project, but you'll already have the email about that, so no worries, and there's the Thanksgiving potluck coming up in a few weeks, and the sign-up sheet is on the break room door just like last year, so I'm sure you won't have any trouble with that and- Oh! You do need to know that Maggie's called in sick today, and I've got to be in a meeting until one at least, and I know it's not your favorite thing, but would you mind handling story time this morning?�

����������� �Uh, no, I'd be happy to,� I said, beginning to sweat for reasons that had nothing to do with the heat, �Do I need to throw something together, or did Maggie already get all that taken care of?�

����������� �She said it's all in a stack on her desk,� Kylie assured me, as if that made everything okay, �I think she said today's theme was farms or something, �You know, most of the other stuff I have to cover here is more about circ than reference staff; if you want to go and spend some time going over story time stuff so you'll feel more prepared when the kids come in, I can always catch you up on the rest of the meeting later.�

����������� �Um, thanks, that would be great actually,� I stammered, �Thanks for letting me go get ready a bit early.�

����������� �No worries,� Kylie beamed, �I know the kids aren't exactly your forte.�

����������� I didn't waste time saying anything else; I just heaved myself up out of my awkwardly low seat and made for the workroom.� It wasn't that I didn't like working with kids, I just never really felt like I was good at it.� I had two younger sisters; I should have been a natural at this kind of thing, and it wasn't like I didn't like kids.� Story time just always stressed me out, like every time I had to lead it there'd be some kid who wouldn't stop crying, or someone's toddler would fall off the bookcase he was climbing on, or one of the moms would obliviously put her phone on speaker and carry on an entire conversation with her personal trainer while I was trying to read or hang cutout dinosaurs on the flannel board.� Oh well, there was no help for it today; I was just going to have to do my best.� At least I'd made a good call wearing this sweater today; the last thing I needed was to be sitting on the floor with a bunch of preschoolers with tits more than ten times the size they'd been last week and fit to burst out of my top.

����������� I found the books in Maggie's office; it looked like cows were the flavor of the day, and I smiled as I absent-mindedly reached inside my sweater and rubbed one of my swollen breasts appreciatively.� The coloring sheet even had a picture of a smiling dairy cow with a girl seated beside her, obviously hard at work on her morning's labors.� Ow, I felt a weird twinge in my boobs again, like they'd just gotten tighter, though my bra was no more ill-fitting than it had been a moment before.

����������� I tried to breathe deep- I was going to get through this, no need to come down with a case of stage-fright for something as silly as story time.� I sat down and leafed through the books in front of me; I hadn't read either one of them before, but they were simple enough I thought I could get through them without any stumbles.� Coloring page?� Check.� Crayons?� Check.� Okay, I had this under control.� I heard the clack of the lock as Kylie opened the front door; the kids would be here any minute.�

����������� I gathered up all my supplies, self-consciously clutching them to my chest, not that I could have very well held the further away, now that I had grown so amply-appointed in front, and walked unevenly through the workroom.

����������� �Persephone, you're not coming down with something too, are you?� Kylie asked as she walked through the door, her brow furrowing with concern as she glanced at me, �You look like you're ready to faint.� And isn't that sweater a little heavy? I'd be burning up if I wore something like that on a day like this, though I guess I do have a fair bit more natural insulation than you do.�

����������� �I'm okay,� I lied, forcing a wan smile, �I just don't do these very often, so I get a little nervous.� I'll be fine once I get rolling out there.� I think I might be coming down with a bit of a cold too, I just felt a little off this morning and wanted to cover up a little more than usual.� Don't worry; I'm good.�

����������� �Okay, if you say so,� Kylie demurred, looking deeply unconvinced, �But if you still look like you're about to collapse after lunch, I'm sending you home for your own good; I can't afford to have two sick librarians for the rest of the week and you need to look after yourself.�

����������� �Thanks,� I said, smiling a little more honestly, �I'll be okay, just let me get through this.�

����������� There was already a gaggle of little kids and moms gathered in the children's section.� They turned to watch me as I tottered up, some of them looking more than a little disappointed that they weren't getting Miss Maggie, who really was the mistress of this kind of thing.� I tried to look excited; I don't think it worked.

����������� �Hey kids, are you ready for some stories?� I called, waving an arm in a way that I hoped looked cheerful and welcoming, �I'm sorry Miss Maggie is out sick today, but we'll have fun today, I promise!�

����������� All eyes were on me as I sat down on the overstuffed purple chair in the middle of the room, at least thirty kids arrayed at my feet on a huge rug emblazoned with yaks and walruses.� They were looking at me funny; I'd already done something wrong.� One kid near the back was standing with her arms over her head, somewhere between excited and confused.� A couple of the moms looked up from their iPhones and shot me caustic glares.� Oh right.

����������� �But first,� I said, standing up so fast that I almost yelped from the feeling as my very full-feeling boobs bounced against my chest, �We need to shake our sillies out, don't we?�

����������� A cheer went up from the crowd as the kids rose to their feet, hands above their heads already.

����������� �Okay then!� I announced, hoping my voice was half as perky as my tits felt right now, �Let's start at the top aaaaaand shake!�

����������� The kids gleefully threw themselves into a frenzy of wiggling like some adorable tiny St. Vitus dance.� I tried to follow along and- shook for about point-three seconds before the straps of my bra dug into my shoulders like razorwire, and my nipples surged against their prison so hard that I had to bite my tongue to keep from repeating my performance in church when the stalwart and bosomy Mrs. Calhoun had given me a rib-cracking hug.� I nearly crumpled to the floor, but somehow managed to sink into the warm embrace of the purple chair and salvage at least a touch of my dignity.� Everyone stopped and stared like I'd just sprouted another head.� One of the moms was staring at my chest, hard, and another one, sitting in the back with an infant on her lap looked at me like I was crazy.

����������� �Um, sorry,� I explained sheepishly, �I pulled a muscle over the weekend playing church, ah- I mean, field hockey.� I guess it's still not quite healed up yet.� I think- I think maybe I'd just better get on with today's stories.�

����������� Desperate not to give anyone a chance to object, I cracked open the first book and started reading to my little multitude.� Like most picture books, it wasn't exactly Shakespeare, or even Dr. Seuss.� Still as I read it aloud, I found it affecting me very strongly all the same.

����������� �Bessie has been waiting all night, and she's got plenty of milk for the farmer this morning,� I heard myself saying, though my thoughts were focused solely on the increasing tightness in my chest, �Splash, splash it goes as Farmer Macgregor fills up her milk bucket!�

����������� At least it was short, and the kids seemed to be enjoying it enough to have forgotten how badly I'd muffed the ceremonial shaking out of sillies earlier.

����������� �Wasn't that a fun book?� I asked, closing it with relief and picking up my sheaf of coloring pages and tub of chewed and broken crayons, �Can you all pass these around while I get my next story ready for you?�

����������� A couple enterprising tots grabbed them from my hands to pass to the rest of the crowd; the boy sitting right at my feet was already drawing horns (yes, extra horns) and a twirly mustache on his cow.� The baby in the back started crying, and his mother tried to rock him into a less fractious state.� It wasn't working, and I felt that weird pinch in my breasts again, kind of that restless feeling you get in your legs sometimes when you're trying to sleep after a day of too much coffee and not enough exercise.

����������� �Okay then, let's see what our next story is!� I lamely enthused, the infant's crying and the growing discomfort in my chest making me more and more eager to just be done with this.

����������� I don't even remember reading the story; I was just wading through a haze of distraction as I felt sweat pouring down my body, the room growing hotter by the second.� About halfway through the book, I watched as the mother with the crying baby sighed, pulled a blue blanket from her bag, draped it over her shoulder, unfastened something about her top and slipped her child underneath to nurse.

����������� Instantly, my boobs felt ready to burst.� I don't even know how I stayed coherent, and maybe I didn't, as the pressure inside my breasts soared violently.� I didn't dare look down; I was sure they were inflating like balloons, though all the looks I was getting seemed to be more because I was a total ditz who sucked at story time than because I was a total ditz whose tits were inflating like balloons right in front of everyone.

����������� �Okay then, thank you all for coming you today,� I told them, dropping the book unceremoniously to the floor the moment 'The End' dropped from my lips, �Come back next week, and MissMaggiewillbeheretoseeyouthengoodbye!�

����������� I didn't look back as I ran from the kids section.� I needed privacy, and I needed it now.� I could barely force myself to walk past the women's room; my breasts were on fire and ready to pop.� I dodged back into the management side of the building, there was a single bathroom there with that I could lock, and for the first time of the day, luck was on my side, no one appeared to distract me from my ever more urgent needs.

����������� In one swift motion, I slammed the door closed, drove the bolt home, and pulled my sweater off over my head.� I was standing at the sink, my pallid, sweat-slick face staring back at me.� I was panting, my boobs were bulging out of my bra so far that I was surprised they hadn't popped clear out while I'd been racing to get here.� Their skin was flushed an angry crimson, and just as I suspected, my cups were marked by a pair of large and expanding wet spots in front.� I shrugged out of my bra; my tits were rock-hard, burning hot and so tender that I wouldn't have dared to touch them if there was any other way to help myself.

����������� For a long moment I stood there and looked at myself in the mirror, as fat, white drops gathered and grew at the tips of my plumped-up nipples.� A few seconds longer and milk began to flow down the underside of my breasts, dripping into the sink before it reached my chest.� It had finally happened- I was full of milk.� As much of a relief as it was to just be out of my bra, the pressure, the tightness in my breasts was only increasing; however much was dribbling out on its own was nowhere near enough to offset what my body was pumping into them.

����������� I cupped my burning breasts and gulped; I'd spent the last half hour talking about this, I should be able to do it well enough now.� I gently pinched my nipples (not gently enough, as I stifled a moan of desire), leaned over the sink, and tugged.�

����������� Milk sprayed from my nipples so powerfully that it splashed against the mirror.� My knees buckled beneath me as I came, massively, unexpectedly, and I screamed as I clutched at the sink, my swollen breasts slapping against it as I went down, sending another jet pouring from each of my aching peaks.� It was like all the pressure that had been building up in my tits all morning was being transformed into pure, orgasmic bliss, now finally relieved.� I was quivering as I gathered my strength for another try; my legs barely strong enough to support me, my hands trembling as grabbed myself again.�

����������� I bit my lip to stifle the scream I knew was coming and pulled on my hard peaks again.� Again, milk gushed into the basin; I could feel the heat rising from it, as hot as the inferno burning between my thighs.� I came again, but at least I was expecting it this time, though I did taste a hint of blood from biting down on my lip as the burst of pleasure exploded from my nipples and filled my entire body.� I'd never climaxed this hard in my life; I literally felt like my body might explode if I kept going.� But what choice did I have? I smiled as I looked at my reflection.� My skin was slick with sweat; a deep pink blush was spreading across my chest. And I still held, with hands now overwhelmed by their burden, two painfully full and milky breasts.

����������� I spent the next hour in there squeezing my milk into the sink, willing myself not to pass out or get any louder than I already had; the last thing I needed right now was for someone to come in at closing time and find me laying on the tiles completely naked, my skin flecked with sweat and milk, my breasts bloated to the size of honeydew melons.� It wasn't easy, and every time I thought about stopping, stuffing my growing girls back into my sweater, and quitting before I was overcome, the tightness, the pressure accumulating inside of them started to increase before I could so much as put on my bra.

����������� I stood there helplessly trying to arrange myself after I finally managed to wring every drop from my tits that they were willing to give-I somehow managed to look like I'd spent the last hour having wild sex on a bathroom floor and being violently ill simultaneously, but at least I didn't feel uncontrollably horny now, and my boobs were actually soft enough that they filled into my bra almost comfortably, though my nipples were still prodigiously swollen and sensitive.

����������� I hadn't made it ten steps out of the door when Kylie came running up.

����������� �Seph, are you okay?� You look like you've been through hell,� she asked, �One of the story time moms said you just kind of ran away after you were done, and then just a few minutes ago Annie from admin said she thought she heard you crying in the restroom here.�

����������� �No, I'm okay, now,� I told her, mind reeling to find an excuse that might plausibly explain all this, �I just- well- you know how I had that panic attack last year at the summer reading party when the clown tried to hug me?� I guess I just let the stress of leading story time and everything else that's going on get to me too much for me; I just needed somewhere quiet to hide and freak out for a while until I felt like I was in control again.� Sorry, I've gone and left you alone on the desk all morning, haven't I?� This hour can count as my lunch break; I'm here if you need me.�

����������� �Persephone, don't worry; it's been dead in here since the story time kids finished descending on the circ desk like a swarm of locusts, and that was forty five minutes ago,� Kylie said, �Are you sure you don't want to go home?� I can hold down the fort for the next few hours if you need to go lay down and get some rest.�

����������� �No, no, I'm good,� I insisted, trying, with imperfect success, to stand up straight and look like I wasn't seconds from collapsing to the floor, �I'm feeling a lot better, see?� Why don't you go take five?� I bet you haven't sat down since the second you walked through the front door this morning, and if it's really that quiet out there, then even if I'm not quite a hundred percent right now, I'll be more than able to answer the phones and renew stuff for people for a couple hours.�

����������� �Alright, as long as you really are feeling better,� Kylie said as she came up and wrapped me tight in her enveloping embrace, �If there's something bigger going on, you know you can always talk to me about it, right?�

����������� Kylie had always been a hugger, but this time feeling her plump arms around me aroused feelings like this before.� The warmth of her body against mine was stirring up sensations I thought I'd purged myself of when I was done milking myself, and the softness of her full, heavy belly against me had me toying at the thought of kissing her before I came to my senses and awkwardly disengaged myself from her embrace.

����������� �It's okay, really,� I said, feeling like even if I wasn't in trouble for being a total spaz, I was lying to a good friend and being really weird to boot, �There's nothing else going on; I'll get through this afternoon okay, and I promise I'll drink a nice, tall glass of milk and go to bed early tonight.�

����������� �Alright, missy; you'd better,� Kylie said with mock sternness, her hands planted on her hips as she started me down and smiled, �If you come in here sick on Monday, I'm not going to let you just tough it out again, okay?�

����������� �Thanks, Kylie, you're about the best boss a librarian could ask for,� I said, fighting the urge to go in for another hug, and heading back towards the front desk instead, �and you're a really good friend.� Thanks for that.�

����������� �Hey, don't mention it,� Kylie called after me as she patted her ample belly, �But if you really are okay, I think I'll take you up on that and go and get myself a bite of lunch; my stomach's been growling since we opened this morning.�

����������� I spent the rest of the afternoon in a fog of exhausted distraction, barely stirring myself to leave my seat behind the reference desk unless I had to, though after she got back from lunch, Kylie seemed more than happy to step up and help customers out on the floor who needed stuff done.� Five thirty took forever to arrive, and each hour left my boobs feeling just a little bit fuller, and me slightly more worried that they'd reach the point where I'd need to go hide out in the restroom again and give myself some relief.� Luckily, by the time my shift was up, they were still only moderately swollen with milk, and with mumbled goodbye's to my colleagues staying until closing, I staggered out to my car and all but collapsed into the driver's seat.

����������� I was barely out of the parking lot when I felt a knot in my stomach; between skipping lunch and whatever demands producing so much milk had laid upon my body, I was absolutely starving.� I was in no condition to cook right now; I wasn't even sure I was feeling up to waiting my turn at a drive through place, but I needed calories, and I needed them now.� I pulled in at the grocery store without thinking, and before I knew it I was wandering the aisles with a basket on my arm.� In a daze, I passed by all the shelves holding stuff that might have actually been nutritious, salads and steaks, even pizza, ramen noodles and those deliciously greasy chips they sell for bar food.� Nothing really caught my eye until I wandered by the clearance aisle.� Halloween had just been the week before, and all the leftover candy was ridiculously marked-down.� Chocolate-milk chocolate-that was what I needed, and lots of it.� I all but swept the bags of discounted foil-wrapped pumpkins and leering moons into my basket, stopping only when I started having trouble keeping it all from spilling out, the weight of it all making my arm ache.

����������� I thought I was done, but as I passed the booze section, I caught myself wondering just how much wine I still had at home, and, on the sound theory that nothing I bought was likely to stay in my kitchen long enough to go bad, I picked up a box of a dry red, which felt like it would pair nicely with, well, a chocolate binge worthy of a really, really fat Aztec priestess.� Satisfyingly loaded down, I dodged the embarrassing judgment of a cashier, made it through the self-checkout lane, and headed back to the parking lot, with two bulging bags of chocolate in one hand, and a about three liters of wine in the other, already feeling strangely fortified.

����������� As soon as I hauled my provisions through the door, I was out of my sweater, and a moment later, my bra as well.� I still wasn't used to the sensation of looking down at my body and seeing nothing but a pair of firm, fulsome breasts jutting from my chest, and I almost surrendered to the urge to just go to bed right now and let my unfed desires run amok, but I was still starving, and I fancied that if I didn't milk myself at least one more time before I came to bed, I wake up to either find myself painfully distended with the fruits of my last few hours, or soaked bone-deep in everything that had leaked from my boobs before the pressure grew strong enough to wake me.

����������� I flopped onto the couch, so satisfied with the way my breasts bounced against my chest that I didn't care how sore and sensitive they were.� I went to pour myself a cup of wine- damn, I needed to get one from the kitchen; I wasn't nearly desperate enough to just drink it straight from the spigot, at least not yet-and wobbled my way to the cupboard where I retrieved a half-quart mason jar, which seemed about right for the degree of classiness I was bound for.� Falling back into the sofa cushions, I threw back a glass or two of red in a state of heavenly self-indulgence, while stuffing myself with chocolates so thoughtlessly that by the time I realized I was doing it I'd already plowed through more than half a pound of my delicious bounty.

����������� My belly was pleasantly full, and I was already drunk enough that I wasn't really thinking too straight when I glanced at the coffee table and saw one of the copies of the busty woman's recipe still laying there.� I picked it up and read through it again, pouring myself another drink as I did so, and looked down at my increasingly impressive bosom, musing about just how far I meant to push my luck with this.�

����������� On one hand, I was already worried about what everyone at the library would think when they discovered how much I'd grown, and honestly, even if I stopped right at this size, it was just a matter of time until they found out, but on the other, I still wanted so much more.� Visions of the flame-haired lactation specialist danced in my head, and I couldn't restrain myself from fantasizing about what it must be like to have boobs bigger than basketballs, wondering how incredible it would be to feel that kind of weight suspended from my chest, and how breathtaking it must be to come home at night and drain a day's worth of milk from tits that could hold more than a gallon each before they reached their limit.

����������� �I poured myself another glass of wine, sipping away as I idly fondled my new endowments.� Nothing too energetic, I wasn't trying to work myself into a lather, at least not just yet, but just playing with my growing boobs, cupping them and savoring how warm they were against my palms, how much bigger they were than my outstretched fingers could hope to hold.� They wobbled deliciously whenever I breathed, though they were obviously becoming firmer as the load of milk within them grew.� I rolled over to grab another handful of chocolates; clearly I was a growing girl who needed plenty of fat and calories to maintain this kind of pace, and shivered with pleasure as they both flopped toward my side as I turned, one hanging full and fat against my arm, while the other rested atop its sister, the soft, welcoming cleft between them catching my eye. I wondered just how much I could hold between them now; if I took some lucky guy to bed and he wanted to tittyfuck me, was I finally busty enough to absorb his entire length?� I wasn't sure; this was all still so new, so exciting to me.� I couldn't stop now; even if I did wind up with boobs so big that they got me stared at in the library, or so heavy that I had to join a gym just to keep my back from rebelling against their burden, being too big, even way too big was enormously preferable to being too small.� I'd had my entire life to get used to knowing what that felt like, and even if having huge breasts came with a few inconveniences, I looked forward to getting used to each and every one of them.

����������� My cup was empty again, the bag of chocolates was quickly heading that way too, and- ouch- my boobs were feeling pretty full.� They weren't quite as tender and hot as they had been at work a few hours before, but then again they had plenty of room to expand with me laying on the couch topless like this, and I could have sworn they'd already gained another inch or so since when I had them hanging over the sink earlier.� I stuffed another handful of chocolates into my mouth, stood up- yup, they were definitely heavier than when I came home- and made my way to the bathroom.

����������� Walking only aroused them more; by the time I was standing in front of the mirror I was leaking from both tits, and I smiled as I took hold of my gently throbbing nipples and tugged; at least at home I didn't have to worry about attracting the wrong sort of attention if I enjoyed myself a little more than a good girl should.

����������� I squeezed, milk sprayed into the sink, and I screamed.� Maybe getting myself all worked up on the couch hadn't been such a good idea; I felt like I was going to collapse if I did this again, though all the drinking I'd been doing probably wasn't doing much to help my self-control.

����������� I turned on the bath, and stripped out of the rest of my clothes, stepping in once the water was high enough to keep me comfortably warm.� Laying in the tub, I tried milking myself again, and aside from me banging my knee on the soap dish as my legs spasmed wildly as I came, this seemed like a much better arrangement.� When I pinched myself, two hot, white geysers erupted from my peaks, spouting a good two feet into the air before they came back down, flecking my skin with cream, and the thick rivulets leaking from my nipples ran down my breasts to turn the water around my body a cloudy white.

����������� I was half-tempted to reach a reach a little lower, but I couldn't imagine this feeling any better with only one hand gently massaging the evening's milk from my thrusting tips.� I screamed again as I came; I'd already lost count of how many times this was, and I few drops fell against my tongue.� I was delicious, as sweet and rich as buttermilk, and I wanted more.

����������� I'd always had boobs so small that they didn't even bounce when I ran, so it felt momentous as I carefully reached under one of my blossoming melons and tried to raise it to my mouth.� I'd seen girls online with tits so huge they could suck on them (don't judge me; it was college and I was experimenting, that's all), but I hadn't become quite huge enough for that yet, and all I could do was aim a jet of milk at my mouth, and hope that most of it went in.� Oh well, all the more reason to keep on growing.� Fuck; it tasted even more incredible than I'd expected; if I wasn't already too drunk/stuffed/aroused to walk, I think I would have gone and gotten myself a cup from the kitchen so I could catch it all and just guzzle it down.� I was definitely going to have to get myself a breast pump tomorrow.

����������� I don't know exactly how long I stayed there in the tub, milking every drop of ecstasy my body could endure, but when I came to, the water was cold, my fingers were all pruney, and my boobs, though every bit as big as before, lay comfortably soft against my body.� I bundled myself in a thick towel, hurried to the living room to find my bathrobe, and, having wrapped myself in its cozy embrace, poured myself another cup of wine while I sat on the couch, drying off and thinking, through a pleasant wine and sex-soaked fog, about what I should do next.

����������� I was going to keep drinking the serum, for one thing.� I didn't just want tits big enough for me to suck on because that was totally hot (though the idea sent a quiver through my still-burning depths), it was practical too.� Boobs were made to me sucked on, I reasoned, so what more natural way to drain mine next time they started becoming too full?� Besides, I'd had a taste of what I was filling up with, and I was hooked; I could just take my girls out, suck them both dry a couple times a day, and let the pressure off while I had my fun.� I'd been absolutely famished all week, and what was more nourishing than milk?� It all made perfect sense to me, at least at the time, as I patted my bare breasts approvingly, murmuring to them that I wouldn't stop until they were big enough for me to give them every last bit of the personal attention they were begging for.

����������� I was stuffed with wine and chocolate, and so exhausted I could barely stand, but I had one last thing to do before I came to bed.� I staggered into the kitchen, one hand braced against the wall as I walked, my boobs, jiggling freely within my robe, took the jug of serum from the fridge, and poured myself another double dose (or, at least double what I had decided was one dose; for all I knew I was about to gulp down a month's supply of the stuff), and drank it without hesitation.�

����������� My stomach felt, well, really full, as I reached beneath my bust and felt it distended against my hand and alarmingly hard, but there was something else too, like mixing the serum with milk and chocolate and at least a couple liters of wine wasn't quite the best thing I could have done to myself.� I stumbled up the stairs; I felt like I might be sick, but no sooner had I hit the mattress than I fell asleep.

����������� I was back at the library, at my usual perch behind the reference desk, alone.� It was after closing- only the safety lights were still on, and when I looked down I saw I was wearing my oversized sweater again, my breasts, impressive as they were, no bigger than when I poured them back into my bra after my first milking.� Aside from the rumble of the boilers and the faint whirr of a dozen computer fans, it was quiet, which you might think was just what I'd expect in a library, but the stillness sent a shiver down my spine, as if all around me something enchanting and inconceivable was about to burst through and set itself upon me.

����������� There was the click and buzz of fluorescent lights cutting on, and near the back of the building I saw the lights come up.� A moment there was the cold, quiet clink of a coin rolling into the cash box of the copier, and, drawn up from my seat, I walked dazedly back to investigate.� I approached, and caught a glimpse of red hair and a stiffly starched collar between the shelves, and I knew exactly who I'd find as I rounded the last bookcase and saw the flame-haired, lush-bosomed woman who had started me off on my road to voluptuousness, bent over the keypad, a mild frown on her face, her massive bust squeezed tight between her body and the near corner of the machine.� She saw me.

����������� �Oh, it's you, young lady,� she said with a note of pleasant surprise as she smiled at me warmly, �Well, I was going to ask how you make this infernal thing do double-sided copies, but since you're the one who's come to help me, well, we've got weightier matters to discuss, now haven't we?,�

����������� �What, ah- what do you mean?� I asked, gulping as she grinned at me with piercing eyes, my chest suddenly becoming distractingly warm.

����������� �Oh, come now, my dear, don't even think of playing coy with me,� she purred, waving an outstretched hand languidly towards my chest, �That sweater might be enough to hide your new toys from your colleagues, but a woman's breasts are my bread and butter; I know you've been using my recipe, and quite a lot of it too, if I'm not mistaken.�

����������� �Yeah, I'm sorry,� I said, looking away from her eyes as I gave a halfhearted shrug, �I just couldn't pass on the chance that it was real and, well, I guess I don't have to tell you how potent that stuff is.�

����������� �Mmm, mm, mm, and here after I explicitly told you to shred those pages,� she said, her hand placed accusingly on one curvaceous hip, �What a naughty and headstrong young woman you must be.� Well, there's no help for it now, I suppose; you might as well go ahead and take that sweater off so I can see what you've done to yourself with my serum.�

����������� �Wait, what?� I stammered, sure that I'd misheard.

����������� �Come on then, don't dawdle; I'm a professional and I usually charge by the hour,� the red-haired woman scolded, �Just a few days ago you were positively flat as a board, and now, well, it's hard to be certain with all those loose fold getting in the way, but I'd guess you're at least a double D now.� So, come on and let me see how you've abused your body; maybe the damage won't be too bad.�

����������� �Ah, actually they're an E now,� I meekly corrected her, as I began to pull my sweater off over my head, �At least they were this morning when I got dressed.�

����������� �Well, it looks like you must not have messed the recipe up too badly,� she said with muted respect as I laid my d�colletage bare before her, my modesty now protected only by a bra that was beginning to feel unpleasantly constrictive, �No marks yet, at least that I can see, all nice and firm; you know, if I didn't know better I'd say I'd mixed up the batch you've been taking myself.� Come on then, off with your brassiere too; I've got to see what I'm working with, now haven't I?�

����������� �What do you mean?� I asked as I arched my back and undid the hooks that held my charms in check, a frisson of forbidden excitement running through me now that I was standing here topless and very busty at my job, �Is that something that can happen?�

����������� �Oh, heavens, yes,� the woman assured me in a conspiratorial whisper, �Getting the proportions of your ingredients right is utterly essential.� When I first started out on my own in this work, I got distracted and mismeasured a single teaspoon in a batch I was whipping up for a young mother who had a splendidly well-developed pair of breasts, and when I came back to check on her two weeks later, she was producing plenty of milk, certainly, but her breasts had swollen up like balloons, tight as drums, bigger than her head, and so marred with stretchmarks that I was almost afraid to examine them for fear the poor girl might explode when I touched her.� It all turned out well enough; I know how to make a more than a few balms and lotions that can help in such situations, and she was philosophical enough about gaining twenty pounds of bosom in as many days, but I was a lot more careful after that, I can promise you.� Just look at you there, with your nipples all rosy and taut; have you started giving milk yet, dear?�

����������� �Yeah, just today, actually,� I admitted, my breasts feeling strangely heavy, even accounting for the fact that they didn't have my bra to support them anymore, �It happened at work today; I felt kind of weird all morning and then, all of a sudden at story time, I just felt like if I didn't do something to relieve the pressure I was going to pop.�

����������� �And everything went smoothly enough with expressing your milk?� she asked solicitously, giving one of my breasts a calculating squeeze, �My, but you must be producing an awful lot of milk to be swelling up like this after just a few days; I won't even ask just how much of my serum you've been taking.�

����������� �Everything went okay, I guess,� I said, feeling another surge of tightness flowing into my breasts. Jeez, they really were getting bigger; if I hadn't taken my bra off already I'd be pouring out of it by now, �I must still me getting used to it though; it took a lot longer than I was expecting and, well, the whole time I was doing it, it felt, well, really good, if you know what I mean.�

����������� �Oh yes, a decent share of my girls go through something like that; spontaneous arousal and orgasm purely due to active lactation, �she said brightly, as if this was a side effect of the same order as slight drowsiness and an admonition against operating heavy equipment, �For most of them, it subsides in a few months; in the rest, well, I know at least a couple have gone right on milking and pumping long after their babies are beyond nursing.� As for the other challenges; it can take a bit of effort to really develop the right technique, and a good breast pump will make your life ever so much easier, especially as your production keeps growing, but here, if you're willing, I can give you a little hands-on instruction.�

����������� The dull ache of overfullness in my breasts was giving way to sharp discomfort; I really did need to be milked, even if I wasn't quite sure about letting this buxom near-stranger fondle my boobs.� I looked down- damn I could actually see myself expanding, my nipples almost painfully erect and my breasts, they were twice as big as they'd been a few minutes ago, so taut and round that I looked like I'd gotten a set of those ultra-huge stripper implants.� My back was starting to hurt just from supporting them, and I could actually feel my skin stretching farther and farther as the amount of milk inside of me grew.� Well, she was a professional, so it wasn't that weird, right?� And I did need to get some of this milk out, and fast, and my only other option was to flee into the dark of the library, distended tits bouncing excruciatingly against my chest, so I could hide out in the restroom and awkwardly squeeze it out myself.

����������� �Okay,� I told her feeling very vulnerable, �What do you need me to do?�

����������� �You just stand right there and relax while I pull up a chair,� she assured me as she dragged one over from the wall, �Bless me, of course you're not comfortable, you've probably got at least a gallon inside you that needs letting out.� Here, a lot of new girls need a bit of help learning what how to use their hands to get some relief; let me show you how it's done.�

����������� She sat down in front of me; my feet were between hers, her lead just level with my increasingly overladen bosom.� As she leaned forwards, her own bloated boobs rubbed insistently against my belly; I was already getting starting to feel hot. I had to stifle a cry as she gently took hold of one of my throbbing nipples and explained.

����������� �You see, if you just tug on the nipple itself, like this,� she said, giving my tip a firm tug that nearly left me writhing on the floor, as a few white drops trickled out, �It's like stepping on a garden hose; you're closing off the milk ducts that you want to make as open as possible if you're trying to express a lot in a hurry.�

����������� �Okay, that makes sense,� I said, trying to sound half as calm and businesslike as she did, through the sensation of her nimble fingers on my tender skin was driving me mad.

����������� �Sometime it can help get things flowing more freely if you massage you breasts some before you really get down to business, �she said as she nonchalantly fondled me, starting where my boobs blossomed from my chest and working her way down to my throbbing peaks, �You're still awfully firm right now, so I'm trying to go as gently as possible and still get your breasts primed, but once you've been lactating for a while and you've grown larger, you can really massage your breasts very deeply to get everything open and ready.� Are you feeling quite alright, aside from the mammary distention, I mean; you're looking awfully pale?�

����������� �I'm uh, just feeling a little weak in the knees,� I said, though in truth I felt like if I didn't let myself come soon I was going to come apart at the seams.�

����������� �Oh, how thoughtless of me; this is probably all terribly stimulating for you night now, isn't it?� the woman apologized, standing up quickly, �Here, why don't you sit down here, and I can just be on the floor?�

����������� �Ah, sure, okay,� I said as I gingerly settled myself into the chair, my boobs now so swollen that they bulged over the worn wooden arms and rested heavy and warm against my thighs, �Are you sure this works for you?�

����������� �Of course, dear,� she said cheerily as she knelt down on the floor in front on me, her boobs, now not that much bigger than my own, rubbing against my knees, and lifting up one of my milk-engorged breasts so my nipple wasn't hidden beyond its swollen horizon, �I've been helping girls like you for so long I've learned to work on my knees if I have to.� Now then, what you want to do is start much further out on the areola, like this, and then gently squeeze the milk towards the nipple.�

����������� She spread her thumb and fingers apart, her scarlet-painted nails brilliant against the white flesh of my breast, and gently squeezed.� Several streams of milk sprayed from its tip, hitting her in the face and showering her cleavage, which didn't seem to bother her in the least.� I felt like a keg of dynamite in a burning house, ready to explode any second.� I tried not to scream, but a small cry escaped my lips all the same.

����������� �I'm sorry; I'm not being too rough for you, am I?� she asked, producing a handkerchief from somewhere and mopping her face, �You do know I am a professional; if you are feeling a little, well, overstimulated, you should just do what comes naturally; everything that's happening to your body is perfectly natural and healthy; there's no reason for you to be embarrassed.� Just try not to get so caught up in it the moment you don't pay attention to what I'm telling you.�

����������� �Okay, thank you,� I sighed, slumping into the chair a little deeper and parting my knees a bit, �I'm ready; keep going.�

����������� �So by doing it this way, you're working with your breasts, instead of against them, and I think you'll find your efforts much more productive, �she said patiently as she squeezed, teasing the milk from my body, pausing politely as I let myself come, shuddering helplessly at her touch.� When I opened my eyes, she was still at it, though her face was wet with my milk now, dripping down her neck and into her cleavage, �This mimics the natural sucking action that your breasts were made to respond to; done right, it should not only be painless, but prompt your brain to release hormones promoting contentment and relaxation; once you learn how to handle yourself, this time can be deeply enjoyable for you and anyone you share it with.�

����������� �Oohh!� I gasped, a surge of ecstasy wracking my body, �Oh, sorry, that just feels really, well, ah, you know-�

����������� �Don't be sorry; this is the most natural thing in the world; you should embrace it,� she said, �Just listen to the sound of my voice and be as comfortable as if I wasn't even here.� Did you really just start giving milk today?� You've got even more of it in here than I thought.� Do you mind if I start working on your other breast too?�

����������� �Mmm, please,� was all I could force myself to say as she deftly took my other breast and started to drain it just as skillfully, not so much as looking up as I moaned, coming again.

����������� I was in heaven; the rest of the world faded into the sea of bliss flooding into my body.� All I could feel was climax after climax rolling through me, the warmth of this woman's breath against my heaving breasts, and her fingers milking me like a beloved cow who'd been out to pasture far too long.

����������� I don't know how many time I came; each time melted into the next after a while, just kind of carrying me along, faintly conscious of my sighing and pleading for more.� I heard the quiet spraying of milk as ounce by ounce, the aching fullness in my breasts subsided.� Distantly I caught the sound of wet, heavy drops raining against the carpet.� At last, I was drawn from my trance by the sound of her voice, and a gentle pat on one of my boobs.

����������� �There was are, I bet that feels much better, now doesn't it?� she asked as I opened my eyes, �I remember when I was first experimenting with the serum, how painful it was to have my breasts so distended with milk like that, and how splendid it felt to get some relief.�

����������� �Ooh, thank you sooo much,� I breathed, before giving a start as I caught sight of my benefactrix standing before me, �Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!�

����������� She was absolutely soaking with milk.� Her hair was plastered to her face by it, her eye shadow all but washed away.� Her blouse was absolutely saturated; so wet that it was nearly transparent, revealing the shadow of her bra, and the wet fabric clinging to the upper hemispheres of her breasts.� Even as I stared, milk was still falling from her overhanging bosom to the floor in fat, heavy drops that exploded like little bombs as they struck ground.� She looked utterly unfazed.

����������� �Don't worry, dear; this is hardly the first time this has happened to me; a little milk is good for the skin actually; how do you think I've kept my looks at this age?� she laughed as she took of her milk-streaked glasses and began to undo the straining button of her top, �still it wouldn't do to go and catch cold once this starts cooling off; I hope you won't mind if I lose this blouse before that happens, will you?�

����������� I sat there, stunned, my own breasts now resting soft and heavy in my lap like fat, quiversome teardrops, while the red-haired woman disrobed before me.� She stripped off her wet shirt and laid it carefully on the table, pulled the chopsticks out of her hair and shook it out, so that it fell bewitchingly around her shoulders, making her look much younger.� A moment later she reached behind her back and undid her bra with practiced grace, releasing her own breasts to the cool air.

����������� Somehow they managed to look even more enormous this way.� Glistening wet with my own milk, they hung just a couple inches lower than before, right to the waist of her skirt, though still impressively round and full.� Her nipples and areolae looked so small against all that fair skin, though surely they were more than enough to get the job done.� Now that they were unsupported, I could see that life with boobs this immense did come at a price.� White striations stretched across their upper regions, where their weight strained her skin the most, while lower, where they swelled to such luscious fullness, I could see the faint shadows of blue veins here and there beneath her skin.� I was having a hard time keeping myself from touching them.

����������� �See what you have to look forward to, then?� Keep going at this rate and you might even wind up with a more impressive bustline than me� she said with a playful smile, before running a finger down the curving side of one breast, then raising it to her lips for a lick, �Mmm, you're so sweet too; I hope you can find a good use for all the milk you're producing; it would be a shame to let it go to waste.�

����������� I was staring at her in shock, the only thing she could have done that would have surprised me more would be if she had gone down on her knees again and started sucking one of my tits.

����������� �Don't look at me that way; it's milk, this is what it's for,� she said as she knelt down in front of me again, �And it's not as if I didn't already get more than a mouthful while I was milking you just now.� Here, let me show you something.�

����������� She was even closer than before now, her vast, milk-slickened breasts pressed tantalizingly against my own.� I could feel her pulse; surely she could feel my heart racing.

����������� �Here, you're not completely dry,� she said, holding on of my breasts with both hands and lifting it up, �You've got such a lovely shape too, like your breasts were just made to keep growing.� It would be a shame not to explore every last inch of their potential.� Here, why don't you have a taste?�

����������� Without another word, she gently leaned in and pressed my own nipple to my lips, and as I began to suck, all I knew was the sweet taste filling my mouth, the warm, womanly body held close to mine, and the touch of that stunning red hair as it brushed against my skin.