Code White Emergency - Part 1 (Patreon Commission+ for Wanderer-Rychen)

TAGS: Taur/Boobtaur, Multi/Hyper Multi, Growth/Hyper Growth, Lactation/Hyper Milk, Hyper Hyper

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The day had already been a loss from the start, and it only ever got worse.

Overdosing on those potions seemed like the best idea that she’d never had. What had been little more than a random urge, an impulse to do something horny really, had turned into a brand new lease on life for Starry once the effects became permanent. Yes, she had to wake up every morning on a bed of breasts larger than most people, and was beset by a whole host of issues regarding lactation, milk storage, and the occasional breaking of doorframes, but, on the other hand… well, those things were true, and they were their own reward.

Getting up from bed was so much easier when said bed were her own multiple busts, doubly so considering she spent her eight hours being actively drained by wall-mounted machinery. Now, the main issue there was that her new state of being existed in an unstable equilibrium: everything was fine so long as it went according to schedule and didn’t deviate even an inch from the norm, but throw off her plans even the slightest bit, and suddenly everything came crashing down.

This made it especially difficult for the taurvix when no one around her seemed to realise she was having an especially productive day. Normally she’d have dozens of mouths all ready to service her, without even having to ask for any volunteers; hell, at times it was genuinely difficult for her to get anything done with how many people wanted to get close to her to “help”, enough so that, perhaps, she’d grown accustomed to it. Grown to take it for granted, in addition to just grown in general.

With a lack of relief came a need for draining, but all she had were her own two hands, and these weren’t nearly enough to handle even one of her pairs, alone all four. With her tauric paws being far too clumsy to do anything other than paw at her milky udders, it fell on others to provide assistance when she filled up too quickly; with no one there, the vixen had nowhere to go but out, as she filled up more and more over the course of the morning, as she was ignored for the entirety of lunch, and as her body continued to try and vent pressure for the rest of the afternoon.

Of course, the way her physiology decided to make due for the lack of external help was about as constrained as it itself was on a regular basis. A body as excessively self-indulgent as Starry’s needed equally ridiculous measures to be kept in line, and in practice, without anyone there to help her drain out her ludicrous quantities of milk, the only reasonable solution was to add more storage space.

The first extra row came in without the vixen even realising it, but by the time her taurso was extended a couple of feet so another rack could grow in for the second and then third times, Starry was already well-aware of how terribly screwed she was unless she found some help. Alas, no matter how big she bloated, no matter how many more tits grew in, no one seemed to care; if anything, by the time she was allowed to go home from work, people seemed to be actively ignoring her, leaving the vixen both interminably confused, and endlessly horny.

She didn’t even go home. Why should she? None of her supplies would be able to milk her in the state she was in: two rows of milkers on her chest, and an almost inconceivable ten down below on an expanded taurso, each one so impossibly stuffed that she literally wouldn’t be able to fit through her front door anyway, so why even try? Her one solution, the one way out of that emergency, was finding someone who could milk her themselves; so, armed with the very last of her mobility (even if her body had to be warped and stretched just to maintain it), Starry headed off, away from town, down a nature trail that was supposedly rife with tourists that time of year.

Surely, visitors would be more than happy to get their hands on a local attraction. She was famous… right? Everyone could hear her at least: slorshing and churning aggressively, her immense body leaking milk from every tired-sized teat, the countless gallons not nearly enough to help her vent all the pressure she felt inside her. They’d certainly be able to see her too: it was hard to tell how tall she was, given how much of it was boob height; how exactly she still managed to walk was anyone’s guess, but Starry wasn’t about to start asking questions, lest the universe decide to ask some back.

All she could hear was the milk inside her, the cacophonous currents of dairy all begging to be let out, along with her own moans as she dragged her sensitive buds across the ground. No clothes on, of course; there could be nothing big enough to cover a body like hers, and even if there was, Starry was sure to throw it out: she needed to be seen, after all, to make it fully known how desperately in need of a good milking she was.

Nevertheless, nothing and no one made themselves known, to the point where the taurvix was left wondering if they were just going to cross the line there. A horrifying thought: ever since her transformation she’d lived under the threat of crossing this dreaded tipping point, of overproducing to such an extent that she’d become too big, too milky to drain down. Of becoming so enormous that no one would be able to bring her back to what counted as her “normal”, of diving straight off the deep end and becoming nothing but an uncontrollable dairy factory. And with no one around to help, this was exactly what was going to happen… except for those lights out in front.

Normally, she wouldn’t dare go into a house in such a state. For one, she was far too large to fit, and beyond that, she didn’t have the money to pay for the damages she was sure to produce; she needed to be outside to be milked when she reached sizes like those, but with her mind quickly shattering into tiny pieces, and her willpower going along with it, Starry no longer cared: she needed to be milked, and there was a large inn just off the road up ahead, in a lone stretch of trail, with no signs or parking lot, and no movement from tourists whatsoever. Suspicious, yes, but it was there and the lights were on, so it passed through what remained of Starry’s standards.

How she managed to drag herself all the way to the front door was anyone’s guess. How she managed to angle herself such that she was capable of going through the front door was nothing if not an outright miracle. But even here, cold reality had to set in: the doors to the inn might be double-wide and perfect for a large amount of people to move through them, but they weren’t built to withstand all that Starry had to offer. The vixen had to push each one of her breasts through the much-too-small opening, individually, one by one, painstakingly, squeezing herself down hard enough that she nearly managed to milk those things dry for one.

Two pairs up top and fourteen down below, all of them needing to be slowly pushed from one side of the two-storey structure to the other, Starry not even thinking about how little room there would be once she was in there. All she cared about was the next goal, the next breast; her mind was focused entirely on getting through, on squeezing each individual tit, and everything else became secondary. The only moment when her mind veered towards a different direction came only when her very last breast got stuck in the doorframe, and for a brief second or two, Starry panicked: had she finally grown too large to fit through? Had it begun? Had her body’s upwards collapse begun?

But then the frame itself broke, the wall around it cracked, and she lost her balance… only to find herself still sitting on a throne of milky udders, on account of them being too big for her to trip in any direction. Instead, she just… wobbled, before returning to a resting state, still stuck atop herself, but now with plenty of room to breathe. More than enough room to breathe, actually; once actually inside the inn, even Starry, in the horned-up, milk-hazed state of mind she was in, could recognise that the place was significantly wider and taller than it should be, the ceiling rising to what felt like much more than two stories tall. Similarly, the entrance foyer was spacious enough to house her and probably a few more like her, which at the very least left her feeling far less claustrophobic than she had been until then.

Her body thought so too. Now free from the constraint of fear, and knowing it had plenty of room to grow into, as well as an entire building potentially filled with people to help, it more or less unfurled. With a mighty, ear-splitting glorsh, the vixtaur’s body exploded in every direction, her tits surging outwards as they packed on weight, size, mass, stuffing, pools’ worth of dairy spilling from her nipples as each of her breasts filled to take up around as much room as two full shipping containers… in addition to the four extra pairs of tits that sprouted on her chest, and the six extra that found enough space downstairs to intrude upon the existing ten.

She was unravelling, and she knew it. She was bloating, filling, growing, and there was nothing she could do to stop it, and gods above, why did it feel so good? Why was she staring down at a poor, defenceless clerk, a tiny little lynx who barely reached one of her nips, and thinking of bringing him over just so he could drink to his little heart’s content? The pressure, heavens, the pressure!

“H-Hum, hello!” the small feline tried their best to say, stumbling over even those two simple words, “M-may I ask if you h-h-ave a reservation?”

“I am in the middle of a lactation-based emergency,” Starry rattled out, moreso by instinct than anything else; it wasn’t her talking, it was her brain, “and if you don’t get me someone to milk me right now, right fucking now, there isn’t going to be an inn left for you to milk me in.”

She doubled over. As if in response to her statement, her body resolved to throw another wave of pressure and pleasure at her, leaving the vixen unable to think properly for a few seconds… just enough for another transformation to wreak havoc with her form. All she heard was a sloshing noise, just one: rumbling, from a low volume to one high enough to nearly pierce her eardrums, shaking the whole structure around her as her tits grew to make their previous size seem tiny in comparison. If they were about as big as two cargo containers, now they were around as wide as two of those things stacked in a line, with all the extra size that came with it; and, lacking any reason not to, her form burst forth with even more udders: by the end, she was saddled with ten racks on her extended chest and twenty on a taurso that looked more like an extended train carriage by that point, thoroughly stranding her on… well, herself.

“I don’t care what you do. I don’t care what you need to do. I don’t care what eldritch creatures you need to make a pact with,” Starry enunciated, very carefully picking her tone… before exploding into a shout, “but you’re going to MILK ME THIS FUCKING INSTANT!”

The lynx didn’t flinch: he jumped backwards, eyes wide and mouth trembling as if he were a moment away from breaking into a crying fit, before he cleared his throat and recomposed himself as best as he could; only so much one could do when presented with someone like Starry, though, to his credit, the young man performed admirably… even if his voice came shaky and ready to crack at any moment when he did speak up again.

“Apologies, but our employer insisted that you be welcomed in this manner. We apologise for any inconvenience this might’ve caused, but we must also insist that you please follow protocol. A moment.”

Starry was one second away from leaning down and grabbing that disobedient kitten by the scruff of the neck when she noticed he wasn’t there anymore. He didn’t move around her, to where her tits would block her field of view; rather, he simply poofed out of existence in between blinks, like he’d never been there to begin with. The taurvix was so confused that, for a fleeting moment, she retained her lucidity in more than just an emergency manner, long enough to see the air around her was rippling much like a heat mirage.

Absent the heat, oddly enough. In fact, she felt quite comfortable in there, at just the right temperature that she might as well have left a warm bath and walked into a heated bathroom, ready and waiting for her to dry herself off. It was the sort of familiar sensation that automatically brought her defences down, since clearly she had to be at home or somewhere similar to experience it.

It wasn’t long before Starry wrested control of herself from whatever force had taken it, but it was long enough to distract her from why it had happened in the first place. In front of her, “standing” on a patch of empty air, was the clerk, smiling with his head tipped slightly to the side, his fuzzy ears twitching with each of the vixen’s own heartbeats. The smile was genuine, the teeth even more so, and when he opened his mouth, what came out was not his voice, but something else entirely.

It was deep, in the sense that, were it true noise, it would rumble like gravel rolling over rocks, the slow but inevitable fury of a mountain as it was risen from the depths of the planet over countless ages. Deep in that it brought to mind images of a great and awesome beast, far greater than the Earth itself, capable of swallowing it in a single gulp, presumably without noticing it was there at all. But rather than spoken, the words were thought, directly into Starry’s own brain, as if her own mind was producing them.

“A suitable specimen. A lively one, ready for the harvest,” the thing intoned, each sound echoing inside the vixen’s head, “one more fallen to the trap, but perhaps, one that can live up to expectations.”

The rippling air around her was split. It brought to mind images of cleaved planes, of a sword cutting through a piece of paper and the and bottom halves misaligning; the world behind the “cuts” was the same as before, but visually, there was a tear that shouldn’t be there, one that opened multiple times in different spots, one that revealed nothing but inky blackness on the other side.

“There have been so many,” the ‘voice’ continued, “so many that sought us, so many that fell to us, and not one has made it to the end we desired for them. Too weak. Too lustful. Too easily led astray by their own desires. Not one was able to hold onto what had to be done, to turn it into the duty that it was; not one remained sane for long once we entered them.”

The intrusion continued in earnest, the darkness beyond writhing, squirming as slithering appendages poured through the cracks, pulling them apart wider like gaping, slavering mouths filled with a myriad of misshapen tongues. Dozens of them, approaching her far too quickly for her liking, leaving the vixen… looking more annoyed than anything else.

“But you, kit, you sh-”

“Listen, first off, fuck you,” Starry shouted back, staring down a lynx that was likely not even there anymore, “secondly, whatever? Thirdly, tentacles: I got tits, you got pumps, now shut up, stick yourself in, and MILK ME before I blow this whole place up into shrapnel, alright?!”

There was a moment of silence where even the sounds of the intruding tongues ceased entirely. A moment where nothing happened, and the voice stopped resonating; a moment where, perhaps, whatever entity was responsible for the show had to stop and take stock of what had just happened, on account of… well, Starry herself.

She hadn’t stopped filling, and though the room had done its best to keep up with her rate of growth, even demonic not-beings from beyond the veil had limits to how much they could stretch reality before it threw its hands up and walked out. For whatever was speaking to her, this limit was fast-approaching, and were it not for its certainty in its own dominion, the entity might very well have been worried by this.

It would learn to be regardless.

“If you so desire,” were its last words before its body erupted from the cracks it produced, lunging for Starry with enough speed that even the vixtaur’s hungry eyes failed to see it coming. One moment she was seeing the very tips of whatever those tentacles were, and the next they were wrapped around her many teats, tugging on them as their grip tightened with each passing second.

But it wasn’t painful, nor did she scream for it to stop. Others might feel violated, perhaps worse even, but not her; she was stuffed, she was desperate for a draining, and she needed to be milked, so as long as this thing was happy to do that, she wasn’t going to spurn it. In fact, she was going to encourage it; how, exactly, she had no clue, but Starry was certain that trying to move herself around, providing a minimal amount of jiggle to her immense self, might do the trick.

Mixed results at best, but the intention definitely counted. Her body was too big for her to have any effect on it just on muscle power alone, but her enthusiasm was duly noted when, right after she tried wiggling, every tentacle plunged into her tits simultaneously. The vixen blacked out, in the same way one would after being clocked in the head by a particularly heavy rock; thankfully, when she came back to, there was no concussion or heavy bleeding, just a few dozen tentacles jackhammering into her multiple arrays of breasts.

Just. She liked that word. It denoted normalcy, almost as if what she was going through wasn’t the fever dream of a size enthusiast after being given enough hallucinogenics to knock out a large land mammal… like herself, now that she thought about it. A recursive form of excess, where merely thinking about it was enough to trigger further development, where the arousal that came from having her form made Starry even bigger, even milkier, even harder to handle. How the whole inn wasn’t creaking was anyone’s guess, but given the interdimensional tentacle things, there was probably something sinister going on behind the scenes there.

The voice tried speaking to her many more times, of course. It attempted many great schemes to subvert the vixen’s mind, to force her to bend the knee, as it were, to its perceived superiority and dominance. Maybe it thought it had the upper hand; maybe, because its tentacles were all up in Starry’s business, the creature believed itself to be in control of the situation, which was about as laughable as anything could be in that scenario. No one could control her; hell, she didn’t even control herself, let alone give anyone the chance! Her body was a force of nature, existing outside the bounds of regular mortality, and it wasn’t going to be some slithery, slimy goo thing stuffing her tits that made that untrue.

And it would learn it. It would learn this the hard way, when it tried pushing deeper into Starry’s breasts and found that the pressure was too great for it to do so; it hesitated, enough that the taurvix could tell, when it knew that it could no longer get any more of itself inside of her. There was space, theoretically speaking, in that the tentacles could technically push some milk out and force their way in; technically, because in practice, the state of matter that Starry’s dairy was in was so hyper-compressed that it might as well have gone beyond solid, into some exotic form that defied comprehension by even the greatest of thinking mind.

So, definitely not hers. Mostly because she was too busy screaming at the beast beyond to go harder, much to the creature’s apparent confusion. Maybe it wasn’t used to not being able to do something, or perhaps the fact that Starry was demanding more of it when it was already giving it its all was… demeaning. Whatever the case, there was clearly effort being put in there, clearly plenty of energy spent trying to pleasure the vixen; it just wasn’t enough.

The more the entity tried, the more Starry’s body fought back. It didn’t matter how deep the tentacles went, because a moment later the vixtaur’s tits would be so much larger that the appendages were barely in at all. It didn’t matter how many tentacles were produced; their combined length wasn’t enough to cover the full circumference of those titanic milkers, nor were their numbers sufficient to handle all of what Starry had on her. It was as she had feared: her tipping point had been reached, crossed, and happily sailed over, leaving her entirely in the hands of her own physiology. And that… that was dangerous.

She had no clue where her limits lay; she may not even have them at all! For all she knew, she was perfectly capable of growing infinitely until all the universe was nothing but vixen in every direction, soft and milky and warm and sloshy, and ready to birth a new reality as soon as climax struck. A pity that she was yet ignoring of all the other alter-selves looking down at her, waiting for the perfect moment to strike; they’d been waiting for an opportunity such as that one for a long while already, hence why they even allowed it to happen.

The mewling wretch trying to break through to the plane Starry was on did truly believe itself the master of its domain… and, to a certain extent, it was, though mostly because all the other Starries allowed it to be. It made for a wonderful way to reach other vixens in that wide multiverse of theirs; rather than needing to individually search for one that was close to ascension, they could just let loose their pet lust monstrosity and it would soon learn what it was like to deal with someone of their calibre.

This one, however, was different. This Starry wasn’t nearly as big or productive as others were; there were plenty of alter-vixens who could wipe the floor with her in absolute numbers, but she was still… different, in some odd and indeterminable way. Less predictable, maybe, more uncontrollable, like her body was an engine constantly on overclock, having blown through its safety limits years prior, constantly on the edge of a complete meltdown. All she needed was a little push, just a little something to get her to not be on schedule for just long enough that it became a legitimate issue, until finally, she arrived at where she needed to be. At where she deserved to be.

Eternal, never ending climax. And an ocean’s worth of milk to go with it.