“Just in time for the next group of guests tomorrow!” She twirled, making her skirt flair out and revealing that she wasn’t wearing any panties.
Most of the dairy maids wore the medium blue of the average producer, a few, like that bitch Rita, wore light blue, meaning they averaged less than five ounces per breast every six hours. But they were still lactating. Amy was the only girl in red gingham, an imposter of a dairy maid, new and still dry. She hadn’t produced any milk at all. Yet. She kept telling herself it was only a matter of time, but three weeks of her month’s probation were already gone. Her breasts had swelled to the point she didn’t recognize herself in the mirror when she’d worn a C-cup before, but no matter how much she pumped, her bottles remained stubbornly empty. Looking like a 5 foot 3 inch Barbie doll was a little consolation.
“Congratulations!” and “How wonderful!” rang through the room. All the other dairy maids jumped up to hug Mindy, an elfin redhead who seemed dwarfed by her breasts. What a great bunch of girls, always ready to encourage each other, and help each other along. Except for Rita, but only one crankybuns in a group this big was nearly miraculous. Mindy and the rest had been kind to Amy, which was how she’d gotten to an F cup, and now it was her turn to give back.
“That’s wonderful,” she told Mindy, and tried to hug her. Unfortunately, they were about the same height and their dueling titties didn’t let them get close enough to hug very hard. Maybe it would be enough to rub Mindy’s good luck onto Amy.
“Don’t squish me too hard, or I’ll milk on you!” Mindy jested. “Or maybe hug harder and your tatas will get the right idea.”
Amy pulled closer. She really needed to start lactating, or she wouldn’t be able to stay at the Manley Dairy. Demand for the girls’ milk was so high that even the poorer producers had a place here, but a dry girl ended up washing dishes or making beds, or leaving. Dirk Manley ran a happy, milky “dairy,” and no one ever really wanted to leave, even the dishwashers, so if Amy’s breasts stayed stubborn, she’d be packing her bags.
“I’ll help you, hon, really I will,” Mindy whispered. “It’s probably time for you to pump again, isn’t it?”
It was always time to pump. Amy thought she lived with the breast pump, and when she wasn’t getting suckled by her little blue machine, she was on the big milkers with a vibrator in her cunt. “Yeah, it is,” she whispered back. If Mindy would help, then she had a better chance. Mindy wore dark blue to prove she knew what she was doing, and Amy didn’t. Not with all the accessories to the breast pump, or her hand, or anything else.
Dozens of hugs and kisses later, Mindy was back. “Come on, ladies, we need to get this gal into blue!” she announced with one arm around Amy, who blushed red as her skirt. So she was going to make it a group effort? Well, okay, Amy would take the help, but it embarrassed her so much that she had an even worse time than she did alone. They were going to find out her secret.
“I could use some help too,” Rita suggested, but the dairy maids didn’t respond. “Please?” she asked, but it sounded like the polite word hurt her to say. She lifted the hem of her light-blue skirt. “I really need to get my production up.”
“Oh, all right,” India grumbled. India was big, loud, and probably the dairy maid who had the most clout around here. Even Rita did what India told her to do, mostly. And now India was telling the group to give the dairy bitch some help. “Blouses down, skirts up, you two. Panties off if you wear ‘em.”
Read the rest: the Dairy Maids want to help, and Dr. Busby has the treatment she needs, in 10700 sizzling words.
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