Excerpt: The Dairy Maid's Decision

Chapter 1 Bras, Bras Everywhere, and Not A One That Fits

Lara wandered between the racks of lingerie, growing despondent about finding the F cup bras she needed so desperately. The nicest department store in Pennington was her last hope; they’d take her cash. Buying on-line only worked for people who had enough stability to own credit cards.

If she didn’t have these huge breasts, she’d have an easier time finding work, but every job she’d been able to get in the last two years ended because no one was willing to let her have enough time to take care of her breasts. She had to pump every few hours, or else she’d be in pain and leak.

Oh, Lara had tried to stop pumping, hoping her breasts would dry up now that she wasn’t nursing her son. Every single time, she’d hurt so much she had to pump, and of course, the more she pumped the more milk she produced. The more milk in her breasts, the more she needed to pump. She was so fucked.

More so after the elastic on her only other bra came unraveled.

Lara sorted through the sizes on the round rack, finding D and DD, and even DDD, but nothing large enough to support her huge jugs. Jugs full of milk, she thought bitterly, and gave up trying to find a pretty bra, or an ugly one. Maybe two tents stitched together would work.

Other shoppers eyed her sideways, like she’d paid too much money to an unscrupulous plastic surgeon to get twin Hindenburgs installed on her chest. No, they’re home grown and totally functional. Want some milk? She glared at a stick-thin, tanned-to-leather, and over-Botoxed matron who held bras from the beginning of the alphabet. Might do you good to drink something besides a martini.

Oh, this was hopeless: nothing on these racks was remotely large enough. Maybe the exotic lingerie store had bras big enough that didn’t also have nipple cut-outs. Keeping her nipples from poking out at the world was another goal, but keeping them from leaking when she was as full as she was now was impossible. Maybe she could squeeze some milk out into the sink in the ladies’ room. And have Mrs. Snooty sniff at her at the same time. Oh joy. Lara could feel the wet spots on her tits, chilly from evaporation. Which would make her nipples even harder.
Crying seemed almost reasonable, but then she’d only get stared at more, and if someone actually did offer to help, she couldn’t explain… Lara closed her eyes and willed her tears not to fall: she’d put on her nicest clothes and makeup to try to blend in with the other shoppers, like a girl with a twenty-four inch waist, thirty-six inch hips, and breasts the size of cantaloupes blended in anywhere. Hell, she’d stick out at the Playboy Mansion.
 She’d almost cleared the lingerie section on her way to the ladies’ room. Lara tried to squeeze between a young woman with long blonde hair and the racks of sheer baby-doll jammies. The other woman turned and bumped her with breasts as large as Lara’s own.

“Oh honey! I’m sorry!” she cried. “There just isn’t much space here. Did I hurt you?” The woman was lovely, all blue eyes and pouty lips and wheat-colored curls spilling over shoulders clad in a summery frock that had to cost more than Lara’s last unemployment check.

“N-no,” Lara stammered. “Are you all right?” Are you all wet? she really meant.

“I’m fine,” the woman assured her, “but you aren’t. Did you come out from the dairy without your pump? You must be really uncomfortable.”

Only half of that made sense. Lara nodded, as if a puny word like “uncomfortable” described skin stretched taut over full milk glands.

“I’ll help you, honey,” the woman assured her. “Let’s go into the dressing room, and I can fix this.”

She could? How? This woman was like a force of nature, dragging Lara along between the racks. She waved at a man one department over in the fine housewares, and when he waved back, she pointed at the dressing room and blew a kiss. “That’s my husband Roger. I’ll have to rescue him from the bridal registry or Sailor will end up with crystal vases and no forks. But first we look after you. Didn’t you bring any of the others along? How are Brianna and India and Patti…?” She prattled of people Lara didn’t know and didn’t know why she should know, but the lure of relief from her aching breasts was too much to make her tear away from the crazy woman towing her to the most private place they could find quickly.

“I’m Ginny, and you must be new since I got married.” Crazy Lady pulled the curtain across the dressing room door, and never stopped talking to hear what Lara might have to say.  “You must be really popular, I bet you’re dark blue, you look like you’ve earned dark blue or are about to, and here, let’s get you ready—” Ginny yanked Lara’s shirt over her breasts. The fabric groaned in protest, and so did Lara, but this woman clearly understood lactating boobies. “A nursing bra? Oh, honey, didn’t Elspeth have anything sexier in her magic chest of drawers? Or do you like this style?”  She unfastened the hook and exposed Lara’s enormous, dripping breast.

“You poor thing, you must be hurting.”  With that, crazy Ginny sat down on the bench and pulled Lara closer, both hands on her breast. Lara had no choice but to step forward, straddling one of Ginny’s thighs.  Then Ginny popped her mouth right over Lara’s nipple!

This was insane! Here she was with a total stranger sucking on her tit! But—this crazy woman knew exactly what she was doing, with a big mouthful of breast, not just the bud. She used her lips over her teeth to pull the milk right through Lara’s nipple, like she’d done it a thousand times, and expected a woman’s breast to reward her with mouthfuls of sweet, white fluid. Which Lara’s breast was doing.

Lara could feel every spurt of milk gushing out through the little ducts. She had a lot of milk, more than usual today, and this madwoman might not be so nutty after all. She suckled like an expert. For the first time since her baby weaned, Lara was getting a good, solid milking.

Read the rest. You know you want to.