The Morning After

Tent awakens in bed, face-palming. Rose is crashed out asleep atop Tent’s again-ginormous overfilled milky udder.

Waking up the following morning was when I discovered that having so much sex for an entire day was not without its consequences: I awoke with a wicked hangover.

Even opening my eyes somehow felt painful. The pain of opening them paled in comparison to the pain in my mind processing what I saw, and soon enough felt: my perpetually-huge breasts were brimming with milk, as was my udder—the latter once more the size of a small car! The pattern couldn’t have been more clear: every time I have sex, whether solo or with another, I turn into mega-octo-hucow: unreasonably, seemingly impossibly full of milk. The mere act of passing through the recently-enlarged doorway of my bedroom could in no way happen until after a full day of milking myself until I was down to a size able to fit through.

Panic overtook me as I recalled something else equally important: {Crap! Where’s Rose?!}

Seconds later, as my senses came to me with further awakening, I readily saw and felt her: lying peacefully asleep atop my unreasonably enormous udder. What I’d attributed to more-extreme-than-ever milk pressure was at least in part her body weight.

As uncomfortable as I was in many ways, I couldn’t afford to wake Rose up before she herself naturally awoke. While I knew what my body had previously done after sex, I’d given her absolutely no context for what she and myself could expect to find in the morning. Then again, going to bed together was in no way a planned event…. All I could do was hope that she didn’t freak out upon awakening to my overly-milky-engorged reality.

Feeling her warm, slightly soft body atop my obscenely massive udder plus hearing her very gentle almost imperceptible snoring soothed me. While there was no way to know how she’d feel about my body and me today, as of all day yesterday through when we fell asleep together, she was wholly enchanted with my body. In some ways, I think she may love my body more than I do!

So far, yesterday’s interactions with Rose could not have gone better: she’d clearly be on my side in a conflict situation, as I would be on hers. I felt strongly that I could trust her… as long as she didn’t have a change of heart or mind.

A slight stirring and change of breathing patterns way up atop my massive milk gland alerted me to Rose’s impending awakening. I struggled with all my might to remain relaxed and breathing calmly, to minimize any reason for an upset response from her.

To my profound relief, she remained outwardly calm as she more fully awoke, shifting around atop my udder to face me enough to make eye contact without actually getting up at all. “Hey” was her first word of the day.

“Good morning, Rose. Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah I…”–at this point she sat up, noticing unexpected changes on her body, as well as mine.

Seated atop Tent’s profoundly distended milky udder, Rose is startled by her sudden asymmetrical breast growth

“What the fuuuuck…?”

Daggers of painful anguish shot through me in an instant. Struggling in vain against tensing up, my top priority became keeping her calm, and hopefully rational. It was obvious to both of us her approximately 32C breasts had doubled in size overnight. Not only this, they’d done so asymmetrically to a very obvious degree: her left breast was much larger than a doubling, hanging lower from its greater size and mass.

“What the?!… How the?!… Why are my nipple and areola on this bigger left boob offset so far from their normal position?!

My heart sunk further. “The logical explanation is that you’ve mutated.”

While obviously not pleased with the changes overall, Rose’s expression became an inscrutable mix of anger, frustration, and very clearly (to me) enjoying hefting and holding her bigger breasts, arguably malformed though at least one of them appeared. “Maybe you’re contagious” she said, never making eye contact with me as she continued staring at her visible physical changes. “I can’t think of any other reasonable explanation.”

“Neither can I, unless it’s something in the air or water or other aspect of our shared environment, rather than something passed directly from me to you.”

“Doubt it. I’ve been in this environment for over a year. If it’s not you yourself, it would have to be something you brought with you… maybe a piece of furniture or clothing with some exotic gnat or mosquito or whatever.”

My mind raced, thinking of all that could go wrong with this innocent neighbor, wondering how she’d handle whatever happened. {Will she bring it to the attention of authorities? No she can’t, because she’ll lose her freedom too! But if she suffers…. Oh my Gaia, this is not at all good!} Aloud I said, “I’m so sorry, Rose! A little voice inside warned me not to share fluids nor any similar aspects of my body with you, but I ignored it because it all seemed and felt so correct, and wonderful!”

A half-smile crept over her face. “Had you spurned my affections after dazzling me with your sexy body unlike any I’ve ever even imagined, I’d not have taken that well.” To my surprise, she began very gently petting part of my overfull udder within her reach as she continued speaking, “If anything truly bad, such as fatal or agonizingly painful for extended periods of time, happens to me—or you!—then I’ll feel regret for what we got into. Other than that, hhhhhhhhhhh” she sighed deeply and long, “it is what it is, and in the balance will likely prove worth it overall. Don’t know about you, but all of yesterday was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

Our lusty smiles towards one another proved heavily diluted by the sex hangover effects in my case, and I could only guess in her case.

“It’s a mutual decision we both made, whether explicitly or implicitly from passions overtaking our rational decision-making. Therefore, to the degree there’s any blame, we share it equally, lover.”

“But we don’t know if what’s happened to you so far is an endpoint, or just the beginning of something much more!”

“How does it matter to me, when I’ve for so long been a recluse in my standard body? If it stays about like this, then I’m no worse off than a formerly busty woman who had a botched reduction job: suboptimal, yet workable and livable. If it goes beyond that, well…”–she laid back down atop my udder, where she’d been sitting, resuming gentle caressing–“then we’re both in this together equally, and maybe I have even more in common with my new friend, lover, and nearest neighbor.”

“Tell me again why you chose to move out here alone?”

“Yeah, no, not ready to get into that yet. Suffice it to say that not all seriously bad stuff that happens in a person’s life that may require social isolation is visible on the outside.”

The rapidity with which she emotionally withdrew due to my innocent question startled me, reminding me of my primary objective of ensuring she remained contented and on my side. “I’m honored to be your new friend, lover, and nearest neighbor” I gently smiled. “Is there anything else that we should discuss?”

“Yes! Ya know what really pisses me off?”

I tensed up immediately. “No. What?”

“All this time together, all this intimate lovemaking, and I still don’t even know your name. It’s a personal policy of mine to at least know the first name of all my few lovers.”

Of all the things about which Rose could rightfully be angry, not knowing my name struck me as so trivial, it left me speechless.

“Fine. I’ll pick one: I’m gonna call you mutant!

“Take off the first part and shift the emphasis: Tent. I’m an octo-woman with tentacles, and it pretty much takes a tent to cover me up.”

Her growing smile suggested she accepted my proposal. Her smile broadened further as she claimed my right front tentacle near its penis-like end, bringing it close and rubbing its glans against her left cheek, “Love your tentacles, Tent”, ending with kissing it. So what’s on your schedule today?”

“It should be obvious that my options are limited to basically nothing, until I’m milked down to a size that I can move out of this room.”

“Yeah, what’s up with all this milky bloat that has me riding here up high, not all that far from hitting my head against the ceiling?”

“From prior experience I already knew that solo sex kicks my milk production into overdrive. Apparently that’s equally true for partnered sex.”


“Yeah. Lot of milking to do today. Care to help with that?”

Her eyes lit up to full glitter, “Do I get to ride up here atop your breathtakingly gigantic udder as I milk it—you?”

“Yes. A girl could get used to a sweet new lover-friend up there” I smiled, striving to keep my smile sweet.

Still sitting atop Tent’s insanely distended udder, Rose milks Tent’s upper left teat as Tent herself via her tentacles milks the other three, and her hands milk her left boob

We spent the rest of the day milking me, which gave us plenty of additional time to converse.

“How’s life up there?” I asked after an extended mutual silence, during a pail change-out so I could continue emptying my ridiculously enormous milky right breast. Which, while not especially fun when it’s completely full of milk, makes an awesome and awesomely soft warm pillow the rest of the time.

“An experience worth having” Rose replied in a dreamy tone. “In some ways it’s very relaxing and zen-like, with the slow pace and simple repetitiveness. In other ways my mind is anything but quiet, often racing as it struggles to come to terms with how your udder can possibly have expanded this much and hold so many gallons of milk—and me on top!—without bursting. And how this teat I’m currently tugging is bigger around than my thigh and 3/4s as long as my leg,” she gave me some especially expressive tugs, with what felt to me like particularly long, caressing strokes. “And how this is only one of four equally gasp-inducingly huge teats. And how your presumably still human heart and lungs and everything else can power all this and keep you in what seems like good health with the same ease of existence I’ve so far over the course of life enjoyed in my body.”

“Mysteries all, to me as well. All I can tell you is that I’m about as full of gratitude as I was of milk when we first started milking this morning—gratitude that so far I am healthy and OK and somehow this all works. Gratitude that you’re willing to stay here and do so much work helping milk me. Profound gratitude that so far you seem OK with all this, so maybe I can stop worrying that you’ll report me or otherwise blow my cover.”

“Much as my mind continues to nearly explode as I struggle to wrap it around all this new reality, so far I wouldn’t trade our new private life together here on the lake for anything. Beyond being a friend I badly need more than I realized, and a lover raising the bar of sexual bliss so many levels above sex as I knew it that I feel like a sexual olympics champion along with you, being able to actually help like this gives my life a sense of purpose it and I were sorely lacking. Bucket.”

That last word was her cue to me to swap out buckets for her. She patiently held up the obscenely enormous teat she’d been working during the swap, speaking the whole time, “How is it that you’re so calm about suddenly being so enormous in several ways this morning?”

“I told you this morning soon after we awoke: this isn’t the first time this has happened.”

“Now I’m intrigued! It can’t be every day, given that these last couple of days you’ve been large but not so large that you couldn’t pass through doorways and move around. What’s the pattern?”

“Were you not brain-awake this morning?”

“Honestly, I was so wracked with my own bodily changes that it was like day before yesterday when I barged in on you then became overwhelmed and my brain partly shut down.”

“Alright. Here’s the pattern: this milk production overdrive happens after I have sex.”

I left it at just that one sentence for awhile, hoping the point would sink in deeper.

Her milking slowed down. She appeared to be studying my body anew, all around and behind her—all she could see from her vantage point riding my deflating (but still huge!) udder.

“Well… that proves that even with all these tentacle dicks—tentadicks?”


“Even with all of them, you must still be all-woman. After all, after conventional sex, we’re the ones who’re more filled up, whereas our cisgender men are deflated. That’s obviously not the case for you. Who else have you shared this special love with, asks your current lover, struggling to suppress my jealousy?”

“No one but you and me, Rose. This only happened one other time before, here at this cabin home. Ever since the mutations started months ago I’d been so stressed and worried about my health and my future and what was going on that I hadn’t felt secure enough for sexual desires to bloom. Finally there came a day when I felt settled here enough and relaxed enough after a hard day of construction work on the addition that those feelings found a safe space to emerge.” I chose to leave out the part about the wine consumption. “I started touching myself in new ways never before possible. It felt good and those feelings grew stronger, so I kept going. Before I knew it the feelings were far too good to stop and it had been so very long that I dove all the way into them.”

“Into the lake?!”

“No: figuratively dove in, to the feelings. You’re my first non-solo sex since mutating, which I thought I made clear this morning.”

“Apologies again that I was on low comprehension.” She hesitated, swallowing hard, “How was I?”

I decided it was worth briefly directing a couple of tentacle ends up to her, using their tips to kiss each of her cheeks at the same time as I answered, “Wonderful. But we’ve gotta keep milking, because I have no idea what might happen with more sex before emptying myself out, and I’m not ready to find that out just yet.”

Whether you prefer to think in gallons, as the majority of my fellow Americans do, or liters as I myself prefer, I’d already put out well into the double digits of either of those units of liquid measure, with no end in sight (other than Rose’s cute one from time to time). Bucket after bucket after bucket, which thankfully I had the tentacle reach to stack far enough out of harm’s way without getting up. Thankfully I had plenty of them, having won the Nantucket Bucket Company limerick contest (free shipping!) mere days after discovering that my Paleface Pails order had been insufficient.

Even the best new friends are likely to run out of things to talk about after hours of immersive 100% time together. So it was with Rose and me: both of us found ourselves more fully in the zen-like tranquil milking zone. For me it was pleasant and mildly arousing: a more peaceful version of sex, in a way. More than sex it was bonding in a loving manner. It meant a lot to me that Rose never looked bored, sad, angry, upset, nor showing any other sign of unhappy emotion. Nice and calm and restful… very pleasant.

Very pleasant also describes what it was like for me from time to time studying Rose’s body as she went about her business milking me, now down much nearer ground level after our hours of milking effort. I know beyond any doubt from sexy visions of dreamy hunky guys that I’m still very much into men for love and sex, as historically I always was in the past. True as that is, I cannot deny that now I have these same sorts of strong sexual (and maybe even romantic) feelings towards Rose. Maybe whatever it is about the mutations which has given me tentacles with big thick penis ends that get hard and shoot off in orgasm like a man (except with milk) has reprogrammed my hormones and/or my mind directly to change my sexual attraction profile. Whatever the case, I have bigger things to worry about than possible changes to my sexual attraction nature. At the moment on this day, I found pansexual to be an ideal way to be!

I chose not to say anything about what to me was Rose’s obvious breast growth since we awoke this morning, not daring to stir anything up. I could only hope that whatever the asymmetry was about would clear up, and that if hers continued to grow that she’d eventually learn to love them as much as I was learning to love my impractically massive (and milky) boobs.

There was no question whatsoever that being milked by a friend along with milking myself was dozens of times better than milking myself alone. Solitude is well and good and I do appreciate its merits, but when one has been repeatedly whacked by the mysterious mutation stick for reasons unknown, having friendly social company whilst working through mutation side-effects I find superior. As much as needing to remain anonymous to the outer world, I felt a strong need to find a way to maintain my friendship with Rose at a minimum where she’d continue to want to help milking me.

The zen-like tranquility suddenly broke when out of nowhere (as far as I was concerned) Rose shot a stream of my udder milk directly into her mouth rather than the current bucket she was filling.

“What are you doing?!” I nearly screamed. “Are you crazy?!”

“I’m thirsty is what I am! And hungry too, since from the sun it’s obvious that it’s past noon and neither of us have had anything to eat or drink yet.”

Shame overcame me like a breaking ocean wave: here Rose was being so very kind giving up her whole day to help milk me and the thought hadn’t even occurred to me to offer her as much as a snack, much less the proper meals she deserved! For me being this full of milk was so massively uncomfortable, nothing much else mattered until I could be drained down most if not all the way, coincidentally around the point where I could again fit through the doorways (expanded as they were since my remodeling work).

“It’s not like you’re going to run out or anything” she smirked, taking another direct-squirt shot. “Tastes like milk to me: sweet, warm, and damn fine! In fact, I rate your milk delicious!

“What about possible effects from consuming my milk?”

“In for a dime,” she replied, hefting her right breast, then letting go and moving to her bigger left one, “in for a dollar.”

Too stunned to continue discussing the matter, offer her a proper meal, or do much of anything else, despite my reluctance regarding possible effects, I had to know: I sampled some milk, directly from my left nipple. Rose was correct: it tasted sweet, warm, and surprisingly delicious!

“I think we could sell this.”

Thinking she was joking, I didn’t pay much attention, instead resuming milking myself.

“I’m serious, Tent! I have connections with a livestock co-op not all that far from here. Long as I’ve known of them since moving here, seems they’re usually economically struggling, seeking new sources of quality products as well as new markets for what they already have from existing members. Having now tasted your deliciousness, I'm confident they’re likely to accept your milk for sale, you beautifully productive ultra-special hu-cow, you” she ended with a smile and a kiss blown at me.

“I dunno, Rose. Seems risky to me.”

“Risky how? What are you even doing with all this milk right now anyway?”

“Last time I poured it down the drain and hoped my septic system could take the volume.”

“No no no no no. This milkalicious joy juice is worth money.”

“Not when authorities want to know more about its origin and come inspect the cow!” I shot back, tensing up somewhat.

“OK, so here’s the deal. I wasn’t ready to get into this, but it’s obviously time. There are several reasons I’m living here on the lake in isolation. One major one is that in my former big city life, as a regular everyday office manager and similar do-all catch-all titles across several jobs at different organizations, I kept inadvertently crossing paths with Mafia figures.”

Hhhh! No!”

“Yes. Totally unintentionally. But this was notorious Chicago: from the depths of the Gilded Age through the flourishing of organized crime a century ago to the mid-century machine politics of Daley, all the way through more modern eras with Rahm Emanuel and Blagojevich, Chicago’s been a never-ending clusterfuck of graft, corruption, and related unethical often violent abusive criminal bully behavior in basically one-party glory for a majority of that time. Nothing will make a person reconsider and likely cease being a Democrat like living in Chicago” she sighed.

Rose apparently felt the need for more of my milk, direct from the source. Given how worked up she was getting, how hungry and thirsty she must have been, and how important it remained for me to keep her contented and on my team, I set aside my reservations regarding what drinking more of my milk might do to her.

“So anyway, there came a point where it became clear that to stay alive, I had to get far, far away from all that… and anywhere else with active Mob activity or similar connections to this violent underground. Imagine my surprise and dismay when I visited this seemingly friendly rural livestock and farming co-op in this whole other state we’re in and found a familiar face from my all-too-recent Chicago days.”

“Oh dear.”

She strove to settle me with a pat and caress of my udder teat she was currently working, “Here’s the thing, Tent: Urbi’s like me: caught in the thicket of the mess, as I prefer to phrase it, with no intent nor desire to be in it. She already had enough trouble as a transgender woman in Chi Town before stumbling into the mob and political corruption mess. She passes well enough that despite some social conservatism amongst existing co-op members, they welcomed her—especially her up-to-date technical infrastructure security skills. Problem was and is: she’s unique, thus easy to find. Mafia found her, and before anyone could stop it, brought the livestock co-op at least partly into their orbit. This is not a bad thing like it sounds: all they want is money, as usual. As long as they get their green—or digital equivalent in cryptocurrency—no one gets hurt. They wouldn’t care if the milk came from a hyperactive space alien with bad breath, as long as it sells well. And this, my milky friend, will sell well.”

She took another long drink, which I have to admit stimulated me more than I wanted to be stimulated in the moment. “No one in the co-op is dangerous. The Mafia crew has a vested interest in keeping the milk source a secret, once I let them through Urbi know that it’s legit—as in not stolen, available in reliable quantity, and marketable.”

“What about the safety profile, of which we know nothing and can make no promises?” I pointedly pointed out.

She let out a deep sigh. “I know sooo much more than I wish I knew about the organized crime underground. Think about all the stereotypes of machine gun murders. That’s dated, and not how they do things now, but the corporate culture if you will of that remains. What I’m saying is this Mafia doesn’t do safety, beyond protecting their own.”

“I am having major trouble believing that if people start drinking my milk and mutating that that’s not going to be a newsworthy problem.”

“You underestimate this particular Mafia. They have their tentacles all throughout Chicago media, old and new, as well as the political machine and law enforcement such as it is.”

My left eyebrow went up, “Their what?

“Pardon the expression, Tent friend” she patted my nearest tentacle a quarter meter from its glandular tip. “They’ve got information control sufficient to quash news of issues with any of the products in which they’re invested. If they can’t silence the information totally, they have the ability to frame the whistleblowers as unhinged fringe nut jobs pushing personal agendas, to be ignored by reasonable, rational people, who believe in science as spoon-fed to them by official scientists vetted and filtered by Google/Alphabet, Facebook, etc.”

“Surely the Chicago Mafia doesn’t control those major corporations!”

“My name’s Rose, not Shirley” she teased, to my great annoyance at the time. “Control isn’t necessary when goals are aligned, is all I have to say on that matter. The point is this: with several layers of intermediary indirection isolating you from your milk consumers, they get your great milk, you get income from something you’d otherwise be tossing out. You remain anonymous, the intermediaries other than me get their mostly-fair cut—everybody’s happy.”

“Why aren’t you in on the money?”

She shot another long milk stream into her mouth, this time with my still-big teat tip tantalizingly against her lips. “Non-monetary benefits” she explained with a happy lusty smile soon as she finished.

“This is madness, Rose! You’re already mutating!”

“Yes, and that could just as well be from your having shot so much milk into my vag yesterday! Or, as theorized earlier, from some other cause such as an unnoticed insect bite from something you brought that bit you to cause your mutations. I’m not recommending anyone other than yourself and me take in your milk anywhere other than their mouths. I’ve been drinking your milk for awhile now today, and I’m neither feeling nor otherwise noticing any changes beyond what was already happening before I got any of your milk in my mouth. In fact, thankfully the daytime breast growth I’ve been experiencing seems to have stopped.”

I had to agree: she’d gotten bigger between morning and earlier, but no bigger since. Very much wishing for a legitimate use of my milk, and with Rose making some valid points based upon her unwanted apparently extensive experience with the criminal underground, she had me very close to convinced. “You sure about this? This plan?”

Yes.” She defiantly enjoyed another spray of milk to emphasize her point.

“OK, let’s do this: once we’re done with milking me today, take all the milk you can or think appropriate to the co-op and try to sell it or broker it or however that works, but only today—don’t promise any more just yet. Tell them you’re test marketing it or whatever, and want to know how customers react and whether you’re bringing in enough money—which amount I leave wholly up to you—before committing to regular production.”

“Regular production implies that you ought to be milked daily” she salaciously grinned, sending a shiver through me when she kissed the tip of my teat.

“We’ll talk” I smiled back, again caressing her cheek (just one this time) with one of my tentacle glans. “I certainly don’t have room to refrigerate even one full bucket of milk, so if you’re serious about trying to make a sale, you’d best be getting dressed, loading up, and jamming outta here over to the co-op while the milk’s still relatively fresh.”

“I suppose you’re right” she sighed, starting to slide off my udder, now a very short distance before her feet touched the floor. “Hate to miss out on any of this, but you are very correct that this udderly tentaciously tasty milk may not keep. Plan on leaving a bucket out on the counter and putting a pint or two at least in your refrigerator, so we can figure out how short or long it lasts under those conditions.”

This time it was my right eyebrow which went up, “What? In the food testing chem lab we don’t have?”

“We repeatedly taste it, silly! Until it smells or tastes bad. Then we use a safety factor such as cutting the duration-to-badness in half and call it measured.”

I folded my arms atop my now far more comfortable perpetually big boobs.

I’ll taste it. Geez!” She patted the side of my udder on her way out, “Gotta get dressed and loaded up and get going, during which I’ll be checking in every few minutes ’til I leave. Until then: happy milking!”

{Less happy without you, but this is the only way your wacky plan might actually work} I thought.

Despite my ongoing sense of trepidation and that anyone consuming my milk really wasn’t a good idea without an extended battery of intense testing which for sure would reveal me, I went along with believing that maybe Rose’s plan would actually work out. Now that Rose herself was mutating and so far seemingly adjusting to it, I felt I could trust her more than ever before. {Extra income would be nice} I found myself thinking. {Certainly with everything that’s been happening my website work and related online business activities have been declining.}

I set aside exciting thoughts of “having” to have sex often enough to produce enough milk, in order to finish extracting the sex-generated milk remaining within me.

Rose’s boobs are vastly falling out of her bra

I didn’t get very far with additional milking before Rose was back, wearing only her underpants and bra, the latter only kinda sorta on her.

“You’re not looking especially at peace right now” I couldn’t help sharing aloud with her.

“I remain displeased with the degree of asymmetry, but I’d be lying to say anything other than I’m digging the bigger boobs. Unfortunately right now the bra itself is digging me back… and shoulders… and elsewhere. I’ll like them much better in a properly-fitting bra, or at least one closer to a decent fit than this. Have anything like that?”

“Unfortunately no. I grew so fast and had so much else going on with the tentacles that I wasn’t going out in public, hence didn’t need underwear. Nor truly even clothes, other than minimal cover for occasionally taking deliveries.”

“Alright”–she was already taking her bra back off. “Braless it is. Say ‘ta’, tas!” she teased, making her boobs wave goodbye to me with her hands.

Rose carries two milk cans out the front door, one in each hand

As Rose continued to go about loading up and heading out, I returned to worrying that no matter what the triggering cause was in her case, Rose’s mutations might likely be just beginning. Certainly for me the changes started out shocking albeit relatively minor, growing more and more extreme from there, all the way to the giant creature I’ve become. And I’m still growing!

Brrreet Brrreet! my phone sounded off.

I’d been done milking for close to an hour, currently out in the kitchen getting my first meal of the day, barely an hour or two before conventional dinnertime (or supper, for suckers who use the word supper. ’Sup with that?!). Apologies; I’m in a bad mood today as I type this out for you. All synonyms for meals are good synonyms. Ignore that parenthetic comment.

Despite not recognizing the number, I had a strong sense of whom it was. “Hello?”

“Your milk’s a hit, Tent.”

As expected, it was Rose. “How can you know that already?”

“Everyone at the co-op tried some and loved it!”

I set aside the sudden queasy feeling in my gut, striving to accept the news as good. “Great! But we’re still going to wait a day or several at least, aren’t we?”

Oh yeah. One of the members has his own home test lab for testing what he sells, and is going to run tests on one of the gallons.”

Roooose! We had an agreement there wasn’t going to be testing! What happens when the test shows a problem?!”

“All Barton has is an ‘Is it spoiled? Is it nominally consumable?’ test setup. He’s not doing any sort of deep chemical analysis. If it comes back with a problem, all I have to do is an ‘Oh dear! Thank you so much!’, reach out to everyone who bought samples—all of whose contact information I have, because most are interested in buying for themselves or family or whatever—instructing them to detox and dump any remaining milk they may still have, then we drop the whole pursuit. So besides that, I wanted to let you know all voice-personal like this that I’m wiped from this last two days and much as I want to come back to your place and get into stuff, I need to crash into a deep sleep at my house in my own bed tonight.”

“Fine by me. I’m tired too.”

“Cool. OK if I drop over tomorrow morning early?”

“Come have breakfast with me. It won’t be fancy, but it ought to be tasty and satisfying enough.”

“What should I bring?”

“Yourself. I still feel bad about unintentionally starving you so much that in desperation you went for my milk.”

“While I don’t know that I’m quite ready to make a meal of it, it’s awfully good stuff! Sure you don’t want me to bring something?”

“Call tomorrow before you come over. Say around 8 for breakfast? Is that early enough?”

“Yes, especially given that I’ll be lucky for my head to hit the pillow much before quarter past 9. See you tomorrow, Tent!”

“Looking forward to it, Rose! Bye!”


Tent and Rose having breakfast in Tent’s kitchen, seated across from each other at the peninsular area of the kitchen counter

Breakfast with Rose in my kitchen brought forth powerful feelings of bonding, friendship, and—yes—amorous passions. The strongest feeling was of comfort and companionship, as though this was something which would enrich my life if it happened every day.

“You look really good this morning” I couldn’t help sharing, as we got into our coffee.

She truly did: wearing well-fitting blue jeans and somehow having found a compatible denim overshirt that managed to more or less contain her burgeoning breasts. Open at the front, the actual boob containment was left up to the stretchy medium dark red crew neck top she had on.

“Thank you. You do too.”

“I’m just my usual nude self, not dressed nicely like you.”

She blushed, redirecting the conversation to small talk of non-contentious matters.

Well into our omelettes, I grew concerned. No problem with the ongoing quiet as we ate, but Rose’s not especially happy pensive look bothered me. “What’s up?”


“If you can’t tell your good friend Tent the obscenely busty penis-tip-tentacled udderly hu-cowrific octo-woman who’s beyond fond of you, who can you tell?”

My overly-long self-description brought a momentary smile to her face before it reverted to her unhappy pensive look. “I’m letting worry get the better of me.”

“Worry regarding?”

“The potential extent of my mutations.”

“What’s going on? More changes already?”

“Not overtly” she sighed. “Anxiety of what may come, rather than crisis in the present. Seriously: I’m just having a down moment. Hormones and stuff, most likely.”

It seemed appropriate to rub her clothed thigh with my nearest tentacle tip, affectionately rather than sexually. “You know I’m here for you no matter what, don’t you?”

Her downcast eyes jumped up, meeting mine, “I do, and I appreciate it greatly. Please know that full reciprocity applies: I’m equally here for you.”

“I know… and I’m grateful.”

“Please don’t think ill of me Tent, but I’ve gotta go home and lie down awhile.”

“Of course! Anything you need, Rose, that between the two of us we can manage. My door’s open to you, and so far today I have no particular plans or deadlines, so should you feel like coming back over, please do so and let yourself in like you live here. Because being honest, I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

A heartfelt smile along with moisture in her eyes just short of the point of tears arose as did she from her chair. She cuddled into me front-to-front for a mutually very breasty extended hug before swaying away, taking her leave.

I didn’t hear again from Rose until late morning the following day, in the form of a knock on my front door.

Leaning out her front door, Tent is shocked seeing Rose somewhat changed, though Rose looks no different to the viewer

“I told you that you’re welcome to just come in like you live here!” was my somewhat strange initial greeting as I opened the door.

“That was yesterday. For all I know, you’re deep in the middle of one of your online jobs.”

Her nicely-fitting outfit of the day prior was replaced by what looked like something between a blanket and a thick loose-fitting nightgown or bathrobe.

“Well yes, I was getting back into a project, but it’s not at all on a tight deadline. I mean what I said, and not just for yesterday: I trust and like you enough and we’re close enough that I want you to please consider this your home as well, and just come on in whenever. Have time for a chat?”

“I need a chat.”

“Come on in!”

I knew something was not right from the tension Rose held in her body, and her reluctance in choosing a place to sit. As well: that blanket-robe clung to her figure oddly. Given her evasiveness yesterday, I chose to focus on keeping her comfortable. “So how did the rest of your day go yesterday?”

“The extra rest helped, for sure.”

“Excellent” I smiled. “Tea? Or coffee? Sorry but I’m out of milk at the present time.”

Her very brief, sudden, and intense wince at my milk comment startled me. Before I could mentally process her response much less follow up on it, she said, “Speaking of milk, the test results are in: No problem.”


“That’s what Barton sent to me via email, so yes, and it’s in writing… or typing, I suppose. Not only that, but everything and everyone is in place for accepting and distributing as much milk as you can make.”

“And you can deliver to the co-op in a timely manner.”

“They’ll pick up from here. Not here here!… the starting end of our private dirt road to the lake, where it meets the highway.”

“That’s dangerously close to here.”

“OK, well I want to talk about all that some more and get us on the same page and all good with everything, but something else is on my mind, and my chest.”

“What do you mean?”

She stood up and solemnly took off her robe-like garment.

Rose holds her much larger upper left breast, now with 4 nipples. Beneath it and her enlarged right breast are a new pair of breasts the size of her now-top pair before she started mutating.

“Things have progressed beyond mere augmentation” she stated dryly, immediately following my loud gasp of shocked surprise.

Whatever the root cause, there could be no question in either of our minds that, so far, Rose continued to mutate. I struggled not to stare in shock at the four nipples on her still-much-larger left breast—as of now her upper left breast, given that she now sported a new pair which looked quite like her originals, down below her uppers in roughly the upper middle of her formerly-flat belly.

“Your look of shock isn’t helping, Tent. I’m… worried!

Indeed, Rose looked and sounded upset, more so as time passed. Beyond doing what I could to erase my shocked expression, I knew I had to be there for her in every way: as her mutation mentor, who’d mutated before her, and to date more severely.

Her voice remained highly agitated, “You’re a med student—you were. Please tell me this is going to be OK!”

I had no factual way of knowing that, for her or myself. Rationality had to take a back seat: seeing my very best friend in the world and my sexy lover on the verge of breakdown into what would likely be a puddle of tears compelled me to throw my arms wide open, as well as very gently ease her with my nearest tentacles (left-right center front pair) towards me.

My tentacle work wasn’t necessary: Rose ran towards me and leapt atop my giant boobs, her big quad-nip breast and the rest of her crashing into me as she threw her arms around my neck, holding on for dear life and gently weeping. I held her lovingly, in the moment as much mother figure as friend, gently and repeatedly stroking her hair to calm us both. She relaxed more once some of my tentacles joined my arms gently holding her—I felt this clearly.

“Is the offer still open for me to live here with you? So we can be… mutant bestie friends?!”

Yes, Rose! One hundred times yes!” I definitively assured her, clutching her much tighter with my arms and tentacles.

“I’m going to keep my house for now, because it’s too much so fast!–”

“–Of course yes!” I interrupted. “Anything you need that we can do!”

“And… and we don’t know… what’s happening. So we might need the space.”

“We might.”

“We might… get… so huge that—hhhhh—we might have to build more additions across our two adjoining huge lots until we have… our lake mansion.”

Seemed like a lot of work to me. But far be it from me to interrupt this sudden new dream to which she was clinging as she struggled to come to terms with her new reality.

“It’ll be our private place, where we’re safe, and we live and love and thrive. And we’ll call it our love shack, even though it’s a log cabin one story grand mansion.”

“Sounds dreamy.”

“But right now I have to stay here, because I’m scared just short of shitless right about now.”

“How do you feel physically? Upset emotionally we know, and I totally understand.”

“I can’t answer that now. Keep holding me please, so I can feel that I matter to you and you’re here for me.”

It was an honor to hold my special friend in need for as long as she might want—the one who’d already done so much to help protect me, make my life better, and even find a source of additional income from what I’d been pouring down the drain.

After nearly 40 minutes of quiet restful loving holding time, Rose softly requested some private time in the bathroom.

Rose inspects herself in Tent’s bathroom, currently squeezing her new lower breasts

Little did I realize how important it was for her to have extended alone time studying herself in the mirror, until the wave of realization came (back) to me that I’d done exactly the same thing, particularly when I first started mutating.

With difficulty, I left her alone for over an hour, turning my attention to my online contract work.

There came a point where my legitimate need to use the bathroom along with my ongoing curiosity regarding what Rose was up to all this time allowed me to head that direction.

Hesitating before I entered, I looked through the doorway and saw her repeatedly fondling her new lower pair of breasts, seemingly in a trance. It seemed as though she was struggling to accept them as real.

A minute or so later, she noticed me, redirecting what had been her blank gaze towards me (with life behind it rather than emptiness). “This is the most unreal real experience I’ve ever had.”

“Any conclusions?”

“Yes: my mutation includes behavioral changes.”

I decided it was safe to enter the bathroom. As well, I did need to use the toilet soon. “Such as?”

“Autoeroticism” she replied, along with demonstrative deeper bottom boob gropes.

“Guess that answers my question regarding how you feel physically” I commented on my slow slither towards doing my business. “Beyond autoerotic, do you truly feel OK physically?”

“Yes. On the physical plane I actually feel very good, and very sexy. Not sure I actually believe in karma, but if there’s anything to it, my envy of your and others’ big boobs may have contributed to this specific outcome. Will you be offended if I remain in this state of nearly full undress?”

Noo. Why would I? I’m nude of necessity close to all the time. This is a house of nudism, Rose: you know this!”

“OK just… wanted to make sure. Need me to get outta here, so you can have some privacy?”

“Up to you. We’re already lovers and besties, so it seems to me if we’re living together as I’ve dreamt of for some time now, we might as well share everything like we’re ma–…” I cut myself off. “I love you!”

“I love you too, Tent. And I’m quite liking watching you use the toilet while I fondle myself.”