Miracle Med Milk

For right about another month after ever-sexier Dag Nabbit started lactating and became the fifth Milk Maiden, life remained peaceful on Bubblensqueak Lake, as well as elsewhere across most of the state now being called Mutant Minnesota (and variations thereof).

My website and related online work was stable, though not a huge income earner with all the competition out there.

Rose moved further in the direction of custom tailoring for mutants, currently doing limited beta test runs with acquaintances from her past (but not the mafia kind) who’d mutated in ways not amenable to typical clothing.

Helia continued to do her milk thing, so far able to scratch the itch for sampling new milks via online ordering and delivery. As well she continued to push the limits of how big her breasts and udder could grow and how much milk she could comfortably hold in them without becoming wholly immobile or otherwise nonfunctional. It didn’t make sense to the rest of us, but then each of us had at least one of our own equally-inexplicable-to-others quirks. Her milk blog didn’t really earn money, yet the rest of us liked having her around so much and she was enough of a light touch on the budget that all was well amongst us.

Powerful love eased the path of fiancees Dag and Sara finding common ground for their life together. She found a great willingness and interest in learning many survival skills from him, including her first use of a firearm, occasionally able to share some medical survival tips he’d not discovered. From her he found the motivation to make their rural cabin homestead more of a refreshed, brighter, cozy home, getting rid of things no longer serving a purpose and generally cleaning up decades of dinge.

If life could have gone on like this for months or years, I suspect we all would have been tranquilly contented at a minimum. As usual in my adult life so far, change was inevitable, sudden, and disturbing.

One unusually warm late winter’s day when Rose and myself were out hanging laundry on the clothes line (we didn’t have a dryer, due to insufficient funds to buy one), the sound and sight of a state police cruiser quite like the ones on the day of our capture and imprisonment suddenly making the final turn in towards the lake and visibility made my heart figuratively plummet to my feet. “NOOOOOOOO!” I screamed, dropping the laundry basket and starting to slither-run I didn’t know where.

Only a second after I started yelling Rose looked up and saw the same thing. “Fuck no! Get out! Get out! Get out!”

Dag charged out of his cabin, rifle in hand, running faster than I thought he could in his humantaur form with so much wobbly back end, with Sara packing smaller heat behind him.

“Please stand down with your armaments” came over the car’s loudspeaker. “Our weapons are locked. This is a peaceful visit, seeking your help.”

The voice sounded familiar, but over the bullhorn-fidelity sound system I couldn’t identify it. The next voice I could.

“Ms. Armitage: Doctor Wazzinit here, along with Doctor Cursor, who worked with Ms. Trotter. Please let us all get out and meet with you all in peace.”

Sara’s weapon dropped to her side soon as she heard her med school adviser and professor’s name. Dag more slowly lowered his rifle, following her lead.

The cruiser eased to a stop a good 12 meters from us. I immediately recognized the driver, soon as he got out: one of the guards from Mustinka Penitentiary, though not one whose name stuck with me. He’d mutated, a small child-scale leg sticking straight out of each side at waist level.

At the same time from the rear passenger-side door emerged Dr. Wazzinit, now with two heads, coming out of a central point where a person’s singular neck usually starts, each extended neck exiting at a 45° angle for 90° between them. This so deeply shocked me, I didn’t notice whether there were any other visible mutations, nor consider why he’d be opening the front passenger door and lifting out a large basket.

Sara’s gasp seeing the arachnid-human emerging from the rear seat behind the driver strongly suggested that this was Dr. Cursor. The tell-tale shape of the sock-clothed ends of each of his huge spider-shaped human flesh legs strongly suggested to me that each ended in a penis tip.

Helia appeared near the front of my house, having been in Milk Palace, wondering what was going on and apparently deciding to hold back and keep her distance once she saw the cruiser.

The threesome approached, upsetting me anew with what I saw in the large basket Dr. Wazzinit carried. “How dare you come in here and try to… melt my heart with that cute kitten and that adorable puppy?!”

Both the black kitten with pretty green eyes and the wiggly pointer puppy looked glad to see me. What I hadn’t expected was for them to be able to speak English.

“Don’t you recognize mmmeeeeeOOOWWWWW, Tent?” said the kitten, immediately followed by the puppy, “I was there when you Bark!Bark!Bark!Bark!Bark!Bark!Barked orders to her and her and her” the puppy paw pointed at Rose, Sara, and off in the distance Helia, “and ViriiiiiiiRRRRRRRgil” apparently-he ended in a howl.

To write that I was confused is putting it mildly. “Officer Hetch?! Which one are you?”

“Both meeOOWWW–”

“–And huffa huffa huffa Here! Here! Here!”

“Wait, so you mutated into two entirely separate bodies?!”

The pettable pets blew my mind further, standing up on 3 short human legs, exposing a larger-than average human vulva on the kitten side and a potent above-average-hung human penis and scrotum on the puppy side! Separate furry tails, separate kitten and puppy butts, tapering to these outsized human parts and three scaled-down human rear legs, one the axis of conjunction between puppy and kitten.

“It’s been an arf! arf! arf! arful lot of trouble, living like this.”

“I regret that this had to happen to meeeeee, since it’s so impurrrrrrfect.”

“PleasemayIcuddleandlickyourboobs? Huh huh huh? Can I? May I? AaaOOOOOOWWWW!”

“Promise me you won’t bite or otherwise hurt any part of me or any of the rest of us, on either your kitten or puppy side?”

“Purrrrromise!”

“I bowwwwwww down to you in honor that I will not do that!”

Not going to lie to you: carefully taking puppy-cat Hetch into a pair of my tentacles (a pair for safety, so I wouldn’t drop him) and nestling his two-creature self into the depths of my warm cleavage felt nice. His kitten half purred up a storm and dropped some vulvar moisture as it sandpaper-licked my left nipple in a highly stimulating manner. No less stimulating was his puppy half excitedly dog licking my right nip, growing a raging erection therefrom which poked well into my boob flesh.

“The reason we’re here, Margaret, is that several of us around the world including myself and Dr. Cursor have found evidence of profound healing abilities of your and Ms. Trotter’s and Ms. Bush’s milk.” This is where Dr. Wazzinit paused, having noticed Rose’s noisy snickering and likely my tentacle thwock delivered on her. “Did I say something funny?” his other head asked.

“She hates being called Margaret” Rose explained, snickering and snorting. “I didn’t even know her name wasn’t Tent for the longest time.”

“Don’t make me trim your blooms, Rose Bush!” I taunted back.

“My name is beautiful, and I don’t mind any of it.”

During this exchange, Sara and Dag cautiously drew closer. “What are you finding, Dr. Cursor?” she asked.

“Impressive things—all tentative results so far, though under carefully controlled laboratory conditions, reproducible.”

Dr. Wazzinit continued from there, “When consumed in minute quantities more typical of pharmaceuticals, there is strong evidence that several of your milks possess healing abilities well beyond any known drugs so far discovered or created. Yours, Marg– erm, Tent, for example, has been exceedingly effective as an antiviral, especially against the coronavirus class, including COVID-19 and its mutations to date but more critically the HCoV family behind a whole segment of what gets lumped into the common cold. Because the corona group is only some of what gets called the common cold your milk alone will not cure all of it, but on a preliminary basis it shows promise for curing a wide swath of it.”

“What does mine do?”

“Sara, the few samples we have of your milk present something I find extremely exciting, and I think you will too” replied Dr. Cursor, gazing directly into her eyes, “Stem cells.”

“Hhhhh! That’s my area of interest!”

“Pluripotent stem cells” he smiled. “Quite the coincidence, yes?”

“Yes!”

“So the reason we’re here is to urge you two, Tent and Sara, to join us at a new medical research facility just now opening not far from here in Wimoweh Valley.”

“This is a teaching institution as well” Dr. Cursor elaborated on Dr. Wazzinit’s point. “Ideally we need you there for your milk, as fresh as possible from the source and tracking its chemistry and performance over variations with time, diet, and any other parameters we can measure. But in no way do we intend for you to be just passive milk sources.”

“We hope that you’ll be able to each continue your educations at the same time you’re doing actual crucial lab work helping us figure all of this out, including under what conditions mutations happen, and what forces drive mutations in certain directions.”

“What about my milk?”

“Yours, Ms. Bush, shows promise in areas too numerous to mention, albeit so far not stably reproducible enough to put into production.”

“Not even close” Dr. Cursor shook his spider head.

“But I’m not a med student, and I don’t know that I want to be there all the time.”

“These are all things we hope and expect to be able to work out, assuming at least one of Sara and/or Marg– uh, Tent agree to resume their studies and/or otherwise materially contribute on an ongoing basis.”

“We didn’t set up the new institution in Wimoweh Valley solely to be close to you two, or you all, though that was one of a number of factors including quality of mutated life issues, affordable housing for faculty and staff, real estate costs for the institution, transportation corridors, and so on” added Dr. Wazzinit.

Helia tentatively made her way over, pushing her boob top flesh away from her mouth to meekly ask, “What about my milk?”

“Yours hasn’t been sufficiently studied, Ms. Melonowski.”

“I have plenty, available right now.”

“AAAWOOOOOOOOOH!” “Prrrrtprrrrrtprrrrt” Officer Hetch responded from both sides.

“Were we down in the Valley having this conversation and near the labs of the Borden Institute, we would be quite interested in testing your current samples.”

“Elsie Borden Institute?!”

“Indeed.”

Helia almost had those pinwheel eyes going again as she rushed over and grabbed Sara’s arm, then one of Rose’s, then my nearest tentacle, “We’ve got to do this! This is how we’ll ensure all our milk is safe and put to good use!”

“We’re not requiring anyone to make a decision here and now” explained Dr. Cursor.

“Purrrrrrese?”

“You’re melting my heart, Hetch!” I complained, wholly taken in by his pretty kitty half and then devastated the rest of the way by his sad literal puppy dog eyes.

“Life like this is awfully rrrrrrrrough!” his puppy half softly barked. “Maybe you’ll find a cure? Sure ya can! Sure ya can!”

“OK I’m in!”

Sara had a figurative set of puppy dog eyes doing their own pleading for a different outcome. “Much as I really want to be studying, I don’t want to be away from my betrothed, living on campus or anything like that.”

“There’s no reason you can’t live here and commute, Ms. Trotter” said Dr. Cursor.

Dag wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer and whispering, “You have to follow your passion, or you’ll get sick.”

“Alright, yes, I want to participate in research and continue with my studies and so on. Given that my fiancee is now lactating too, I think that he should be brought in at some point to have his milk tested.”

“Any mutated individual routinely producing at least a few milliliters of milk a day is a candidate for study.”

“Agreed,” Dr. Wazzinit concurred with his colleague, “however given the immediate potential of at least Tent’s and your milk, Sara, I at least hope that we can fast track deeper studies on those.”

“Absolutely. The research world profoundly needs new reliable pluripotent stem cell lines available in quantity, hence a focus on your milk may make that a sooner reality. My point is that there is no reason you and your fiancee need to be apart longer than a typical working day plus the minor commute time to and from here. Maybe not even that if he… he?”

“Yes. This is my husband-to-be Mr. Dag Nabbit, so I will soon be Sara Nabbit.”

“Good to meet you, sir.”

Dag looked confused regarding how to shake his hand with the clothed rounded penis-like end of what amounted to a human-spider leg.

“Just pretend it’s a hand, else we can COVID-19 wave.”

“I want Sara to resume her medical schooling and so on to the full degree she’s interested and opportunities present themselves, without me or considerations related to me holding her back” he explained during the awkward shake. “She saved my life, you know.”

They didn’t, and they were all interested.

We Bubblensqueakers collectively invited the group to stay for lunch, which we held on the deck. Yours truly provided comfortable tentacle-based seating for our visitors, other than Hetch, who happily ate out of a big bowl both his cat and dog heads shared, the cat end slowly moving its tail in a happy pattern as the dog end’s tail intensely wagged. Helia found it easier to sit on her own udder (as she did frequently). When Rose, Dag, and Sara weren’t prepping food or serving, they made use of some of my other tentacles as backrests at least.

Truly, it took an event like this for those of us who’d been imprisoned to start healing from instant panic upon seeing a state police vehicle, with the one which drove in today resting peacefully next to the lake in the springtime-like warm sun this day.

This wasn’t the only healing which took place. After lunch as we all continued chatting, the purring kitten and contented puppy now resting in my cleavage took me to a loving place beyond affection.

“Hetch” I whispered.

“Mrrrrow?” “Huh?Huh?Huh?Huh?”

“Wanna have sex? I mean it, for real this time—no subterfuge.”

I could feel the answer before he said anything, though his puppy side said “Oh please yes! Oh please yes! Oh please yes!” while his kitten side purred loudly.

The other guests wanting to clean up the lunch dishes and related serving ware allowed me to slip-slither away holding kitten-puppy Hetch into the master bedroom. Without going into too much detail, let’s just say that that puppy knew how to bone, and I had a great time packing that puss—as did the puss being packed.