Bubblensqueak Lake Milk Maidens
Luke DeOderway: Again I thank each and every one of you throughout this fine state for doing your part to make this first two weeks of our new reality calm, respectful, and most of all: peaceful. We can all look forward to a new year of harmony and adventures, the latter especially relevant to those of us who’ve mutated. This concludes my prepared speech. (switches mouths) I shall now take questions from the media.
I look back fondly on this peaceful time in the four of our lives: myself, Rose, Sara, and Helia. We’d been calling ourselves udder girls, lower-case or capitalized, and indeed this remained true for all four of us. Hearing Mr. Nabbit one day yell out across the lake “Hey there, Bubblensqueak Lake Milk Maidens!” and being tickled pleased by the term as was Rose, she and I lobbied the others for adoption of the phrase in place of the cow-centric phrase udder girls. We were all plenty young enough to be maidens, and it sounded so much more human than bovine!
It was a lot more fun sharing Governor DeOderway’s New Year’s speech all cuddled together in the media room under a soft blanket, nude for convenience and because, well, we all remained lovers of each other, than any of the far more stressful times we’d streamed them when rolling along in the motorhome. Not that we all felt the attraction equally strongly between each of us in any combination, much less even felt moved to get into the same things with each other, which we weren’t even all equipped to do anyway. Nevertheless each of us had some form of both romantic and sexual bonds with each other, rendering the term “lovers of each other” apt.
This day’s nudity was more about convenience of not dealing with clothing than any sort of arousal. As far as I could tell it was really only Rose playing with the dick tip of my nearest-to-her tentacle with her lowest pair of hands occasionally lightly rubbing it against her labia lips that was in any way sexual.
Two weeks from escaping prison was far less time than we’d been—let’s be honest—incarcerated, therefore too soon to have everything in place for a fully sustainable life going forward. While it was true that not everything was in place, some things were, others were close, and everything so far was tending in a good direction.
This was less true for the current state of the post-speech press conference.
LDO: Go on, Vanna.
Vanna VaVoom: Does the state plan to gather any statistics on the dramatic increase in the number and size of genitals amongst those of us who’ve mutated?
“There goes his hat” Sara giggled, with Rose adding, “Going uuuuuuuuuuuup!”
Ms. VaVoom herself had mutated, in a manner that offended many not already offended by her prior existence, actions, and antics. She now sported outsized pairs of bosoms both front where she’d always had them and symmetrically on her back. Her vulva was now so big and deep that its camel-toe outline was visible at least 2 blocks away during clear weather, and she now had a matching one symmetrically towards the back. What really got a lot of people raging were the two unusually long and flexible (albeit average in girth) peni now projecting from each of her otherwise-shapely hips. Over the years she’d often been told to go fuck herself, and now that she was equipped to literally do so with ease, she made a point of actually doing so in public whenever anyone was injudicious enough to aim that epithet at her.
LDO: I am unaware of any pending legislation to that effect.
VVaV: In terms of the executive branch you double-head? Policy decision or recommendation, perhaps?
LDO: With thousands of more pressing issues facing our state, I have no plans to authorize any such study originating from departments reporting to me.
VVaV: What about a study on the rise of hypersexuality and its implications?
“Higher up! Higher up!” Rose gleefully laughed, watching our governor’s fedora hat rise further up off his head.
LDO: Same answer.
VVaV: Study of average number and duration of orgasms, which anecdotally we know have increased measurably?
LDO: No. You only get one more question, then we’re moving on. Choose it wisely.
VVaV: Decriminalization of open public sexuality?
LDO: That would require an act of our legislature.
“Hat’s up high enough to see his head shaft!”
“Let‘s not get personal about shafts” Sara smiled towards Rose, blushing slightly.
As usual, Rose found gently multi-hand caressing Sara’s nearest far-larger shaft superior to any form of expression related to our governor’s latest head erection. Also as usual she brought my at-the-moment most convenient to her tentacle into the mix, gently rubbing the sides of it and Sara’s held shaft.
Helia had nothing to say, happily cuddled into us as usual. She didn’t especially care what either of our governor’s known peni were doing, as long as our area, our state, our nation, and as much as possible the world remained at peace, striving for more of it and more love.
In terms of things being in place in our lives, life was already good, and looking to get better.
Rose and I had the easiest time settling back in: we already lived there, and had never wanted to leave in the first place. Income would be a problem long-term, but with no one hassling us and no costs building up from repeated relocation and/or running or rolling away, and with some help from the ’rents in my case, we were on track to be OK until I could re-establish what I could of my former jobs and add what I could of new ones.
Financially Rose had been all set from before I moved to Bubblensqueak Lake. There were some issues related to the near-collapse of the TodlinTown Boys and her inextricable history with them, but she had enough in place to keep her household utilities and property taxes and so on going, and fairly contribute to our food and sundries budget.
Set up for a nomadic life before crossing paths with us, nearly carefree Helia’s main adjustment was getting used to staying one place for an extended period of time. She had some measurable nesting instinct in her, which worked well for living with us though had long conflicted with her drive to roam in order to experience first-lips milks of North America (for starters). It wasn’t so much living with us that failed to scratch her itch as it was going to the same stores over and over, having already sampled every brand and grade and type of milk they each carried.
“Let’s go for a road trip!” she’d urged us one day.
“Helia: it’s winter!” I remember Rose griping. “Snow! On the ground! Slippery crashy snow!”
“But I hear there’s a new microdairy down in Pipestone, with three yummy varieties!”
“That’s at the bottom west of the state,” Sara objected, “nearly at the border with South Dakota!”
“I know!” Helia’s eyes lit up. She gently touched the back of Sara’s hand, dropping to a loud whisper, “We can sneak across the border and try some other brands in Trent, or Dell Rapids, or both!”
“Nuh uh, no law breaking for milk tasting” I admonished, playfully poking her with several of my tentacle ends when I added, “Mail order, Milk Momma”.
In a way it was too bad that it was winter, thus harder to get around safely on the roads. While none of us apart from Helia wanted to get into long road trips, Rose and myself in particular very much looked forward to once again being able to freely go into pretty much any store we might choose and be treated well, no matter what the current state of our respective mutations.
While understandably upset that their precious daughter had mutated and wouldn’t let them see or even know in any manner the nature and extent of her mutations, Sara’s parents were so relieved that she was alive, well, and had a nice safe home with us after learning of the loss of her former home and having not heard from her that they gladly set up and funded half a year’s living expenses with us for her, to give her time to re-establish herself after this major disruption. She sometimes fretted about the loss of the life she’d expected to lead—as I did. Thankfully, living amongst us was helping her adjust to her mutated ultra-prongy humantaur body, and for all of us expressing milk was a basic (and usually fun) bodily function. Even better: so far when she shared fully orgasmic sex she wasn’t mutating in any new, profound manner: no third penis, huge, small, or otherwise. Mostly what she had grew, and mostly all over. She was OK with this on her boobs, udders and their teats, and even her two schlongs we so very much lavished love upon (and their growth was quite modest, needing actual measurement to discern). She hated her butt getting bigger and curvier, even though it too just about needed instrument measurement to notice and notwithstanding that the rest of us loved this changed aspect of her.
“I can feel the jiggle!” she griped about her butt and rear hips one day.
“I can feel my butt jiggle when I land on my hands as hard as you’re stomping your back feet, and I barely have a butt!” Rose countered.
“Give in to the softness” Helia purred, gently grinding her currently-nude butt against similarly-situated Sara’s.
“Butt love!” Rose handspring leapt and dove boobs-first atop Helia’s and Sara’s rears, easily grabbing on for more stable boob grinding.
Yes I took a video. No, I’m not sending you a copy. Don’t look for it online: it’s not there.
Winter kept us indoors much of the time, as we worked into our new lives in the new year.
Rose spent many of her days over at her house in her sewing room making us all warm clothes that fit, in my case additions to what she was playfully calling her Tent Woot! line. Sara very much liked the warm soft wool full-length skirts and plush warm tops Rose made for her, the former carefully tailored so her butt didn’t look so big (at least to her from her front vantage point). Helia preferred her garments loose and warm, for reasons I’ll get to soon. All the confusion the day we arrived home when she wore the tent dress and wanted to be called Tent ensured that Rose made nothing for her that any reasonable person could call a tent dress, no matter how otherwise loose the fit. We didn’t do any further name swapping after that one day, thankfully!
Naturally Rose made warm clothes for herself too, as she’d done now and then several times over the years prior to mutating. Her biggest personal project was a full set of warm, strong, flexible, well-padded, well-fitting gloves for all her hands. At least two if not three pairs served as de-facto shoes, needing that same level of durability, strength, fit, and comfort, hence in no way off-the-shelf readily purchasable items. Back when she first lost her legs and gained her lower pairs of hands, I wondered whether the bones and everything else in these new hands could withstand taking the repeated impacts for which human feet evolved. Turns out that bones can grow bigger and stronger faster than I’d imagined, even apart from mutations.
I spent most of my time getting back into website creation, studying more about handheld app development since those use the same WWW technologies for the most part, and there might be more of a market there. Nobody really cares what their web maven or app angel looks like, as long as the job is done to their satisfaction.
Sara drifted between activities. Some days she acted as my assistant. Others she felt more useful doing homemaker things. Still others found her absorbed in reading medical research both of us wished we could be doing, else learning other things related to any number of subjects.
Despite its lack of built-in heating, I’d built Milk Palace well-insulated enough that it was livable most days. This sparse space is where Helia preferred to be, oriented as it was towards milk-related activities. She spent her days mostly in her milk-centric world, keeping up with her milk blog, fans, and milk-obsessed colleagues. Beyond that she was all about peace and love, spending significant virtual/online/electronic time in these other realms.
There were no major problems in our immediate Bubblensqueak Lake community during this blissful time span, neither for any of us four Milk Maidens, nor our crusty old prospector-type (despite his assuring us he’d never been anything close to a prospector) reclusive neighbor Dag Nabbit.
Several of us Maidens considered there to be minor problems with the other of us, to the point where we felt a gentle, loving intervention was needed.
“She’s not going to like this, you guys” Sara warned Rose and myself, on our very short group walk from the main house (originally mine, de-facto all of ours) to Milk Palace.
I wasn’t fully listening, my mind preoccupied with optimizing the architecture of an inter-building covered hallway I intended to build over the warmer months, so that next year we’d not have to do what we were doing right now: freezing our asses off going between the adjacent structures. Then again this wasn’t so much of a problem for Rose, who had not much ass left, and no problem at all for me, who no longer had an ass.
“We agreed we need to do this, and we’re in the midst of doing it, so let’s do it!” exclaimed Rose.
Since Milk Palace was a shared space and we all needed to use it for expressing our very tasty and dangerous milk on a daily basis, there was no need to knock. First Rose, then Sara, then I filed in, quickly closing the door to keep the heat in.
Rose kicked things off, “I know Helia’s in here somewhere.”
We all knew it: we could all see her… sort of.
“Mrm rurrt hrr.”
Helia had grown so chronically massive that under normal circumstances her face was buried nearly up to her nose in her own ridiculously giant cleavage. She could just barely see over herself and we could see the top of her head just after she’d milked, but if she was anywhere near full, those sight lines wholly vanished. The only way she could speak clearly and be heard was to use her singular pair of hands to shove her top boob flesh down away from her mouth, which she had to do at this time. “I’m right here! I really didn’t think it was possible for any normally-sighted individual to miss me.”
“I’ll say! You’re pretty much just a giant pair of boobs and an enormous udder now!”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Rose. Need a hug? Or are you here to express, allowing me to partake of my latest delicious serving of Pinnacle Premium Creamy?”
“We’re here to convince you that it may not be in your best interest to continue drinking so much of our milks” Sara diplomatically suggested.
“What? There’s plenty of room in here to grow.”
Rose’s impatience with those failing to accept the obvious came to the fore, “You don’t fit through any of the doors in the main house, even when you’re drained down!”
“I remodeled those doors once this past year already” I noted. “I really don’t want to do so again so soon, nor is it structurally possible for several of them.”
“How about a nice big pair of exterior doors on the bathroom, sized like these here on Milk Palace? Then I could at least get myself in and out of there and live in here” she smiled in tone and barely-visible expression.
Now it was Sara’s turn to express her shock, “Helia! Your udder’s getting nearly as big as Tent’s! You don’t have anywhere near the height of which she’s capable to get yours to even come close to clearing the ground!”
“I’m still shopping on Whole Infinifat Access for a sufficiently-dimensioned and high-weight-capacity belly board, to keep me udderly mobile. This is doable, I know it is!”
“Wouldn’t it be easier and cheaper to simply lose some of the flesh, so you could maybe see what’s in front of you normally again?” I strove to respectfully suggest.
“Why would I want to do that when it feels so goooooood to be so biiiiiiiiig and sooooffft?”
Our intervention got nowhere, at least in terms of persuading Helia to change her ways. It got everywhere in terms of kicking off an hours-long simmering sensual excursion amongst all 4 of us, orchestrated by her. In a way, the joke was on us: these restful hours of pleasant burbling arousal convinced the 3 of us that it would be absolutely crazy for her to be doing anything other than following the path she was following, and that really we three needed to invest more time in our individual and couples and other groupings’ sensuality, even or especially if that meant any one or more of us becoming and remaining bigger and softer.
Open as this sensual experience was, one subject which had recently arisen as Helia grew from drinking so much of each of our milk remained taboo: her milk had become creamier and more delicious than Rose’s. We all four knew it, none of us speaking of it. It was quite a number of months later when the subject came out into the open and we three all admitted that we’d each on different days and times cornered Helia at various points around the property, begging her to let us suckle her milk. Equally: all 3 of us had caught the others of us doing this, pretending not to have noticed.