The French Affair (Commission for yips)

TAGS: F/F, Inflation, Cumflation, Expansion, Milk, Lactation, Hyper, Bottomless

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“... and we’ve reliable information from the French resistance in the area that the armored column will be passing through just south of Calais in and around seven o’clock sharp, assuming no delays…”

Amelia listened attentively, already coming up with potential ways to minimize danger on approach to her target; ever since the air raids had escalated in intensity, getting in and out of active combat areas had become even harder than it already was before, especially with the Germans going on the defensive and growing more desperate by the day. This was, in part, why it was her in the command tent and no one else; the ‘chilla had a reputation for being able to survive some of the most ridiculous odds, a reputation that had spread far too wide for her liking. Not that she didn’t appreciate the extra pay and recognition, but being shot at was never on top of her priority list.

An hour passed with her being briefed on the specifics, which boiled down to the same-old: take off, fly over the Channel, locate armored column and blow as much of it into the air, then come back and hope not to get intercepted by a squadron of angry rookies out for blood. She’d done that a hundred times before and would do it a hundred more if necessary; her and her trusty Thunderbolt, a good half of the reason why she was still alive and not chopped up into bits at the bottom of the North Sea.

Once everything was ready, Amelia provided the customary salute, got up from her seat and went straight to the barracks to get ready for the mission itself; owing to her unique nature and proportions, she was afforded a few dispensations that others weren’t, such as being allowed without uniform unless absolutely required. No one wanted to deal with the mess that was a horny ‘chilla pressed into something that spiked her arousal to absurd levels, so she was allowed to walk around in casual wear most of the time; for missions though, she still relied on her heavily-modified flightsuit, which, credit where it was due, was surprisingly sturdy and well-made for something that had to handle the sort of assets squeezing into it. Everyone told her that joining the Air Force would’ve been impossible when, even at its smallest, her cock was easily big enough to cover a good chunk of her torso, to say nothing of those bigger-than-head-sized melons on her chest and nuts between her legs; it was a dream, and though the recruiters did try to dissuade her, she went the full mile. How exactly she aced every physical was still anyone’s guess, but what mattered was that she was there now, she was ready, and she was about to take off.

Amelia squeezed into the cockpit of her P-47, specially made just for her with as much room as could be afforded. Pre-flight checks could’ve become routine months prior, but she made sure to deliberately check everything as carefully as on the first day she flew that thing, lest she grow too careless and forget about something crucial. Once she was certain the plane was ready to go, she pulled her helmet over her head, her zipper over her tits, and gave the flight crew a thumbs-up; within minutes, the runway was clear and Amelia was soaring through the air, her breathing stabilizing from the frantic rhythm it had taken before take-off. From there, things went exactly as they always did; RAF dominance over British airspace ensured that she had a smooth ride all the way out to the coast, with radar coverage giving her advance warning of any potential interceptors headed her way. With nothing on the radio, the ‘chilla proceeded towards Calais, veering slightly southwards as soon as she saw water underneath her; going in alone, even in a Thunderbolt, was considered borderline suicidal, and Amelia made it actively worse by flying at a dangerously low altitude, lest she be unable to dive properly once the time came. Given that she was working off of sparse intel provided by local resistance groups, it ultimately fell on visual recognition, needing her to be perilously close to the ground.

That day, however, things were going to be different, because unbeknownst to the ‘chilla, the local flak teams assigned to the area she was to operate in were on the receiving end of a surprise visit by one of their superiors on what seemed to be an inspection, leading to them being on even higher alert than normal. Normally, Amelia could get close enough to be nearly on top of the coastal villages before the first flak shells went off; now she was still over water and actively having to dodge those signature black puffs of smoke, shrapnel clanking like hail against the aluminum skin of her aircraft.

“I have the sun behind me, you fuckers!” she screamed, wrestling with the controls as the shockwaves threw her plane around., “How can you even see me?!”

The flak continued to pound at her plane with unrelenting strength, the artillery teams below her relishing the opportunity to prove their aim hadn’t gone rusty since being assigned to the Atlantic Wall. Try as she might, there was no way Amelia could go through with the mission… but being the stubborn warrior she was, she refused to admit this and carried on regardless. She would regret this but a minute later, when one of her wings was shredded to pieces after a lucky shot from one of the flak cannons, sending her into an uncontrolled spin that she just barely managed to recover from; with instinct taking over and the thought of survival now hanging in the air on the roll of the dice, Amelia did what she could to recover, leveling the aircraft mere feet from the ground... and plowed the eight ton beast straight onto a soft, grassy field, the impact knocking her head into the gunsight, rendering her unconscious. With her windscreen obstructed by God knows how much dirt was being kicked up, the wrecked Thunderbolt came to a halt mere yards away from a barn.

She awoke shortly after coming to a halt, to screaming in the distance. She had to move.

Squeezing out of her cockpit was hard enough on a good day, and now she had a bunch of angry Germans closing in on her position, the Thunderbolt was probably on fire, and the blasted straps were all caught up and wouldn’t let her get out! The ‘chilla had to practically bite her way through them, and even then had to resort to kicking the canopy outwards after it refused to budge; sure enough, flames were beginning to engulf the aircraft, forcing her to high-tail it out of there as quickly as her oversized body allowed it.

This is where her biggest assets (literally) worked against her, as she hadn’t had enough time to “fill up” that the sloshing quieted down, making it imperative for her to not run too much or else the constant churning of milk and cum inside of her would give her away; as if to make matters worse, it had been just enough time since her last draining that her body was starting to make up for being empty, and if she didn’t find some place to hide soon, she’d be complaining about something else entirely within a couple of short hours. And of course, it was getting darker by the minute, with the sun already under the horizon; there were flashlights out in the distance, approaching the wreckage of her plane as Amelia dashed through the hedges, cutting parts of her flight suit and covering her face in leaves and mud from the occasional tripping.

Thus began a game of cat and mouse; a game between Ameliaand a group of extremely hungry cats come to hunt her down. If it weren’t for the overgrown vegetation, there was no doubt in Amelia’s mind that she would’ve been caught within minutes. she had lost count of the amount of times a patrol nearly stumbled onto her, sometimes by just a few inches, and if it weren’t for her body slowly filling up so much it stopped making as much noise, her constant slorshing would’ve given her away near-instantly. Then again, it was hard to appreciate the sudden tightness when it was making her life hell in other, completely different ways. Usually she would’ve been back at base by now, locked inside a bathroom where she could empty out; instead, the ‘chilla was forced to hide from an entire platoon of hunters while slowly feeling her suit grow tighter and tighter with each passing minute, until finally she had to acquiesce to her own body and start moving the zipper down her front, exposing enough cleavage that she could probably charm any would-be subduers, if it weren’t for the absurd spillage making it hard to focus.

Eventually though, Amelia made her way to a small village close to her crash site, which she could only hope was Escalles, from where they had initially received their communications from the French resistance forces. Dodging a few more near-misses, the ‘chilla ran as quickly as she could under the growing cover of darkness, stopping for just long enough near a sign to make out a few letters, which she could only assume, in her mad dash to safety, spelled out what she wanted them to. Left without options, she ran towards the nearest building, flattening her back against an outer wall.

There was silence there, but the enemy patrols were just off in the distance; there was no way the Germans were going to just pass by without scouring every inch of the place, so if she was to stay there, and she was going to stay there, Amelia needed to find help immediately.

“Madame!”

The whispered voice came from just above her, through a window that had silently opened directly over her head. Another mouse was staring down at her, though her features were hidden by the lack of light; curiously, her house was dark as well, signalling perhaps that she wanted to avoid attracting attention?

“Madame!” she repeated, just loudly enough that Amelia couldn’t ignore her, “Êtes-vous américain?”

There was only one thing she could be asking, and quite frankly, the ‘chilla was ready to take the chances. It was either that or face down the patrols headed down her way; she looked up, nodded urgently, and within moments the window above closed. Frantic movement could be heard from within, followed by the sound of steps down stairs, and finally a side door, which Amelia had missed until then, flying open, along with a hand pulling at her from within the darkness.

“Here! Here!” the same woman repeated in her odd accent, pointing at what appeared to be a trapdoor, “Here! Safe!”

Must be some sort of crawlspace or hidey-hole; much as Amelia detested the idea of stuffing herself into somewhere cramped, she did so anyway. Miraculously, she somehow fit, though it became hard to breathe after the lid was closed over her head. She spent an unknown amount of time in the darkness after a carpet was pulled over the cover, with her mysterious savior making her way upstairs, presumably to fake normality; didn’t help much when the Germans came knocking and she was forced to open the front door, offering some much-needed distraction by either offering to brew them tea or telling them she had sandwiches in the kitchen; Amelia could barely understand, as her French wasn’t the best. Nonetheless, her pursuers poked around for what felt like hours before finally leaving, the ‘chilla holding her breath with both hands to prevent even a squeak from coming out; it felt like at any moment, they were going to find her… but they never did. The felines stormed out, leaving Amelia and her savior to breathe a sigh of relief, and the ‘chilla to wonder how she was going to squeeze out.

As it turned out, the sheer amount of nervous sweat covering her body was enough to let her pop out of her hiding spot, even if just barely; with the zipper halfway to her nipples and ample amounts of milk-stuffed breastflesh already spilling out, Amelia thanked her lucky stars the the house was as dark as it was, or else she might’ve had to answer a few uncomfortable questions. Instead, she tried her best to get it through to her saviour that she needed some time to clean up, a savior who, mercifully, turned out to know how to speak English properly; within minutes, the ‘chilla was finally alone in a cozy washroom, staring at herself in a slightly grimy mirror.

Her face was covered in small scratches and her fur matted with dirt, bits of leaves and an endless amount of sweat, leaving her looking like an utter mess. What was worse, her escape from the German patrols had taken so long that she looked about ready to burst; not only were her tits absolutely stuffed to the brim, enough that they had become almost perfectly spherical, but the nuts she was dragging between her legs had already reached her knees, and from the way they were gurgling, seemed intent on going further until she got busy draining them. Even her cock was starting to harden, throbbing hard against her chest even after she unzipped the rest of her suit and allowed it to hang free; all of her body screamed at her to give it some attention, leaving Amelia to bite her lip and hope her host wouldn’t mind her making too much of a mess.

As it turned out though, the ‘chilla wouldn’t have to wait for an answer, because the other rodent just walked right into the bathroom unannounced, carrying a stack of towels and getting about three steps inside before she looked up, saw the immense amount of backboob and nut spillage both in front of her and on the mirror’s reflection, and had to stifle a yelp from how shocked she was. Amelia was so used to that reaction that all she could do was chuckle and shake her head; there was no turning back now, so why not try and make the best out of a bad situation? She turned around, slowly, letting the mouse get a good look of her rescue’s body as it outright refused to bounce, sway or even so much as jiggle; the ‘chilla was full to the point where her fluid contents were hyper-pressurized to near-bursting, leaving her tits and nuts to look about half a second away from exploding.

“I-I-I… I…” the little mouse stammered, surprisingly enough not averting or eyes or even so much as trying to, “T-Towels…”

“Thank you,” Amelia replied, offering a warm smile, “I was just about to take a shower to get all the dirt off. Would you care to join me?”

No words were needed, given the other mouse’s cheeks lit up like a lightbulb at the mere mention of hopping into the tub with the size monster she had just rescued from an untimely death. The ‘chilla didn’t wait either, marching over to the tub and spending a good couple of minutes wrestling with herself in order to get in; she already barely fit as it was, and judging from how she felt, she was going to be stuffing herself in even tighter before finally getting some release. Her saviour, while initially too stunned to do anything, eventually snapped out of her funk and began eagerly stripping off her clothes as well; Amelia could only suppose that a cock like hers wasn’t something most people saw every day, and what was better than a good “Glad we survived” fucking? Her rescuer seemed to be having the same thoughts as well, given that, now that they had the time to process what had happened, they practically jumped onto that throbbing member on proud display, their eyes glazed over as drool trickled from their lips.

But a rubdown wasn’t enough; Amelia gently took their hands into hers, guiding them over to her engorged nipples and moving them in just the right way to let her soon-to-be-lover know what they needed to do. At first, even after gladly stepping up to the challenge, the other rodent seemed reticent to milk the ‘chilla, given how stuffed she appeared to be… but after seeing the first droplets of cream turn into outright bursts of lactic bliss, they were more than happy to open their mouths and let the milk flow underneath their attentive care, all while moving her body up and down that shaft they were hugging, a shaft that was about as thick as their own torso was.

Despite this, Amelia had no relief whatsoever; she was past the point where simple draining would help, and in fact, despite having a very excited partner milking her like a dairy cow, her tits just kept swelling nonetheless… much like her nuts down below. She was approaching a critical stage, where the only thing that could save her would be a true and proper release… but God those were good hands; the ‘chilla hadn’t been milked like that in months, making her think she lucked out and found the one member of the resistance that must’ve owned a small ranch as well. It was getting harder to keep hold of her sanity, Amelia ready to throw herself into the throes of passion with reckless abandon, ready to take advantage of a loving partner that was as aroused as she was… but not in a bathtub. That wouldn’t do.

The ‘chilla wrapped her arms around her saviour’s neck, bringing the two of them together into an unashamedly tongue-filled kiss, at around the same time she felt her cock be enveloped by her milky udders, signalling that the danger zone had just been entered. She didn’t have a lot of time before nature took care of things for her, so as soon as the embrace was broken, she uttered a single word:

“Bedroom.”

Moments later, the door was being knocked off its hinges by the weight of the ‘chilla’s cock slamming into it, and shortly after that, the smaller mouse was getting thrown onto the bed with one of Amelia’s hands over their head, another midway down their back, and their eyes open wide as their whole body was pressed face-down against the mattress. Normally, Amelia would’ve given them some time to get used to the insertion, maybe play around with her naturally lubricating pre, but her tits were bloated enough to cover most of her torso and her nuts were about ready to drag on the floor, so she needed some release and needed it immediately; though it pained her, it pained the other rodent a lot more when suddenly they felt that colossus of a cock they’d just been hugging pierce their insides, stretching them out hard enough that a good half of their body mass was now Amelia’s shaft, protruding so much from their belly that the rodent looked more like a living, breathing, fur-covered condom than anything else.

The ‘chilla didn’t like being that rough, especially not with someone who was both as eager as that mouse and to whom she owed such a debt, but it was either that or plaster her whole house with a fresh coat of white paint, and Amelia was certain her saviour wouldn’t mind taking one for the team. Besides, they wouldn’t have to endure the experience of having her innards rearranged by a cock the size of their whole upper body for too long; the ‘chilla was pent-up enough that it barely took five minutes of manic, frantic thrusting before the proverbial dam was broken and the floodwaters came rushing in, her immense nuts clenching loudly enough to be heard, pumping out gallons of her thick, potent seed each time they did so. Up above, her tits were going absolutely wild, jets of milk firing from each teat with enough force to slam against the bed’s frame opposite where she stood and then backblast onto the mouse, leaving the sheets a complete mess… though not as much as the deluge of cum oozing out from within the poor thing’s stretched-out nethers, even the titanic girth of Amelia’s cock not enough to prevent so, so much from pouring back out. Each pump visibly impacted against the mouse’s stuffed belly, forcing her skin outwards before it settled back into an increasingly-larger sphere, growing and bloating and filling and stuffing for the full duration of the ‘chilla’s climax; it was hard to tell how long it lasted, but by the time Amelia was done, her small saviour was… anything but small. The last thing the ‘chilla recalled before collapsing backwards and splashing onto the cum-covered floor was the sight of the mouse and their rotund cumgut shattering their mattress, before exhaustion crept up and sent Amelia straight into a deep, dreamless sleep.

She awoke… some time later, it was hard to tell. The sun was shining outside, the room was warm, and her back was absolutely soaked, but at least she didn’t feel nearly as tight as she had hours before. It took a while before the memories of the previous night’s events came rushing in, after which Amelia was quick to open her eyes and scan her environs for whatever happened to her lover; predictably, the poor thing was still stuck on the bed, holding onto a cumgut the size of a large chair and groaning in what was either pain or the best continuous orgasm they’d ever experienced in their life… though judging by the amount of gushing happening downstairs, the latter was far more likely.

It took a significant amount of time before either of them were anywhere near close to being able to hold a conversation, and even then Amelia had to help her lover move around, as they were no longer able to do so on their own; each step produced a thick spurt of the ‘chilla’s spunk, coating the floor in a mess that she was happy she wouldn’t be around to have to clean. Still in a half-sedated state, the tiny mouse introduced herself as Isabelle; while she wasn’t the one responsible for communications, she was involved with the local resistance cell in Calais, and while she had no idea how to get Amelia out of the country, she were certain someone ought to have a clue on what to do. To that end, they wrote down a name on a scrap of paper, told their ‘chilla lover to head to a very specific location and utter a very specific phrase to a very specific person… and then heaved themselves upwards to give them a farewell kiss.

Getting the ‘chilla clothed was… difficult, and she ended up having to use some dirty overalls that didn’t really hide her full girth all that well; it was just her luck that none of the patrols saw how big she was, otherwise her cover would immediately be blown… though given how out of place her size happened to be, it was likely she’d be found out almost immediately after stepping foot anywhere. To that end, Isabelle dragged herself off to a cupboard and punched a small, moving panel on the side, opening a secret compartment with a radio stashed within; what followed was a conversation held entirely in French, all of which completely eluded the ‘chilla, who stood there awkwardly as the voice on the other end of the line began sounding distressingly familiar. After a few minutes, the radio was hidden again, and Isabelled turned to face her.

“Help is coming,” she stated, “transport, for Calais. Please, be safe.”

“Are you sure you’ll be uh… f-fine?” Amelia dared to ask, looking at the absolute mess that had been made of the bedroom, “You need help cleaning up or…”

“No, no, I will be fine!” the mouse was quick to reply, “You stay safe! And after the war… well…”

Amelia knew that look. She’d seen it in countless lovers before and knew exactly what sort of thoughts hid behind it. With a smile, she approached her impromptu partner and the two exchanged a final embrace, feeling the pulsating throb of the ‘chilla’s massive rod between them; it was oddly romantic, or at least as much as it could be when something like that was in the way.

Ten minutes and a lot of tongue later, Amelia was waiting by the front door, just inside of it so no one would notice her presence. A car drove in from the north, a pristine Renault model that Amelia had never seen before; though, when it slowed to a halt outside the house and the driver got out from her seat, there was at least one thing familiar about it. With her jaw dropping and her eyes widening, the ‘chilla stepped out into the light, no longer bothering to think about keeping herself hidden; who else could’ve showed up but her…

“Mom?!”