Prompt of the Week - Week 16

Not big enough.

These were the words around which she organized her entire life, the one expression of everything that was wrong with her, her existence in this world and everything bad that could ever come with it. Not money, not the non-existent social circles beyond acquaintances at work, not the absence of a love life or the fact she hadn’t invited anyone to warm her bedsheets in the past three or so years. Not rent, not luxuries, not anything; nothing but the simple, undeniable fact that she. Wasn’t. Big enough.

It was as plain as day and it brought her no end of shame and despair whenever her mind focused too much on it. Caroline could mostly pretend to lead a normal life, waking up every day and going to work, where the usual pleasantries would be exchanged between coworkers, paperwork would be filed, taxes evaded and everything carried on as usual. Maybe sometimes she would accept the invitations to head out and do something “interesting” after work, mostly getting shitfaced at some local bar before calling a cab to go back home and reconsider her life choices. Very rarely, she allowed herself to flirt with whoever caught her fancy, though opportunities to do this were few and far between, and besides, nothing had come from it in a very long time. This was because the Delphox’s mind was almost always occupied with that singular thought, and whenever she wasn’t deliberately attempting to steer her stream of consciousness away from it, everything inevitably ended up circling around the fact that, again, she wasn’t big enough.

This was, of course, a fact only to her; if anyone else was asked what they thought about the fox’s bust, they would most likely stutter and blush heavily before trying to find an excuse, any excuse to get as far away from the conversation as possible. The end result of years of trying to make herself bigger had left Caroline quite a bit more blessed in the upstairs department than most people around her, if one was in the mood for euphemisms as immense as the mounds on her chest; truth be told, the Delphox was anything but small, and often had to contend with the logistical issues that came with having a pair of breasts big enough to completely obscure her chest even when they were stuffed into a bra and pushed as far up as they could go. That she insisted these things were tiny made for no end of embarrassment for everyone else around her, who had to deal with the fallout of someone who was both actively delusional, self-deceiving and also incredibly hazardous to be around; each tit was heavy enough to cause serious bodily harm if it ever slammed into anyone at full speed, and the Delphox moved around as if they weren’t even there, causing such an immense amount of close calls that it was a wonder the constant reminders by HR hadn’t somehow managed to break through her fantasy out of sheer attrition. Her coworkers’ attempts at getting her to do something other than working and obsessing over her own breasts were their way of trying to help, hoping that if they showed acceptance and love for who she was, then Caroline would finally learn to be ok with her size.

Unfortunately for all of them, the Delphox was perfectly aware of all this; she just didn’t care.

Every day was now the same routine: wake up, feel the weight on her chest making it hard to breathe, roll over and almost collapse onto the floor from the sudden shift in center of gravity. Use the metal handle she drilled into the wall to get up on her feet, drag herself to the bathroom and fix up the damage done by sleeping as haphazardly as she did, followed by the customary ten to fifteen minutes of trying to shove her tits into custom-made bras that were consistently at least a size too short, and finally going to the kitchen for her breakfast before heading out to work. Once back home, and during her days off, all of her time was spent dedicating herself to the pursuit of a larger bust, by any means necessary.

In order to accomplish this, Caroline had accumulated an impressive collection over the years, ranging from all-natural lotions, less snake-oil-y alternatives, breast growth pills, radio wave generators, magic crystals, at least fifteen handbooks on diets “guaranteed” to make your breasts grow, among dozens of other items and assorted paraphernalia of questionable authenticity and efficiency. What was truly impressive was that a significant chunk of those materials actually did have some degree of effect on her, though whether it was because of dumb luck or just the compounded action of everything she did at once remained to be seen; what mattered was that, before she began her search in earnest, the Delphox was barely even a B-cup. And yet now, despite having a pair of breasts bigger than literally anyone else’s she’d ever seen, Caroline refused to accept that this was in any way acceptable; she’d seen the pictures, she’d read the stories, she knew that somewhere, out there, there existed someone who was not only bigger than her, but much bigger than her, and that made her so angry on such a fundamental level that her life’s work turned to making that phantom, hypothetical person sorry they ever tried to beat her in a size competition that didn’t exist.

As a result, it wasn’t altogether odd for the Delphox to take a couple of days off during the weekend and then come back on Monday with her bust looking slightly bigger than it had been the previous Friday; it was a continuous process, one whose instigator even Caroline wasn’t sure of anymore, leading to her trying everything on rotation in the hopes that it would keep going, all while expanding her gallery of growth-related items in the hopes of finding that one, miraculous thing that would make all of her problems go away. It wasn’t enough that she had made herself ridiculously stacked over the course of three years without having to resort to implants; the Delphox wouldn’t be satisfied until… well, honestly, she wasn’t even sure where to go with that thought. Would she ever be satisfied? Would there ever be a possible future in which she’d look at her own tits and declare her project to be finished and her work to be complete? This was highly doubtful, to say the least, but having a goal in mind, even an impossible one, gave her the energy required to pursue it, so she kept feeding that lie to herself for the sake of carrying on.

There was one thing that poised itself to be a game changer though, and that was a very recent change to the way her body functioned. As usual, the Delphox had no clue what caused it or where it came from, but one day she woke up to a very damp, humid set of sheets that closer inspection revealed to be stained by what was, unmistakably, milk. Now, there was only one real way for that to happen, barring some sort of sleepwalking condition she never knew she had, but Caroline held her enthusiasm back just long enough to get confirmation, a few days afterwards when she had to rush to the bathroom thanks to her nipples starting to leak in the middle of a meeting. There, she had the wonderful sensation of watching her swollen teats drip with thick, creamy beads of her own milk, small droplets of it forming all over their reddened surface before falling onto the linoleum below. A simple tug was all that was required to prove that it wasn’t just her imagination, and for the ten minutes that followed, anyone walking into that bathroom would get an earful of the Delphox unashamedly mooing like a cow as she pulled and tugged at her own breasts, emptying out into one the toilets… but most onto the ground, where she figured a janitor would later on be very lucky to clean up after her mess.

The days that followed this incident were rife with expectation and, for the first time in what felt like forever, contentedness; there, finally, she had found a way to make herself bigger without having to resort to ineffectual medications or pseudoscientific quackery. There she had a method by which her breasts could be coaxed into becoming larger on demand, requiring only her dedication and hard work, all of which would be put towards something that left her weak-kneed just thinking about it: milking herself regularly like some kind of dairy producer. It tickled a great number of buttons inside of her and slammed straight down on pretty much every other one, leaving the Delphox a blushing mess that could barely put one word in front of another whenever anyone pointed out she was “running” again; to her, this would be her new normal, the ability to produce milk whenever she damn well wanted to while holding it back just enough to force her tits to bloat.

Initial results were… less than satisfactory. It took far too long for her to get any appreciable growth, courtesy of her low production, but it was at least a proof of concept; now that Caroline knew she could lactate, it was only a matter of making said lactation more powerful. This was easily accomplished by regular milkings, a daily regimen of emptying herself out at specific intervals; additionally, there was a preponderance of written research on the subject matter right there at her fingertips, if only she bothered to look it up. As usual though, doing things the normal way just wasn’t something the Delphox was interested in doing; other women might try and increase their milkiness by draining themselves into a bowl or using pumps or any other method designed to draw cream from inside of them, but she was looking for something more than just a handful of cup sizes and a few tiny spurts of milk that went nowhere. She was looking to produce a deluge of the stuff from each of her teats simply by brushing against the surface of her breasts, which would necessarily have to be so immense that simply moving around would cause them to release, seeing as they would obviously be brushing against the ground at all times.

Not being one for half-measures, Caroline invested heavily into lactation supplements; at least now she knew what to look for, and the fact that it was mundane and very much scientifically proven only added to the enjoyment. No longer would she have to rely on random articles written on websites from the past decade or third-hand accounts from people with odd usernames; all that was required of her was to down seven or eight times the required dosage whenever she was feeling bored and wait until her body turned into what she knew it should be: a thing of lactic beauty.

Of course, science doesn’t really work that way, and despite her best efforts to bring her productivity to insane levels, all she succeeded was in making it be slightly above average while causing no end of mental discomfort thanks to how slow the process still was. In a moment of desperation, Caroline decided that if modern medical science wasn’t going to help her, then she’d just help herself, and thus the Delphox began to store her own milk and leaving it in the refrigerator whenever she emptied herself out, hoping to fill a large gallon jug in order to down it all at a later date. It took her a few days, but as soon as that container was topped up, the vulpine didn’t even bother putting a cap on it; instead, she tipped it over her head, opened her mouth wide and let her own milk flow down her throat.

It was surprisingly sweet, more so than the regular stuff, and yet a lot thicker than she expected, almost as if it was halfway to becoming actual cream rather than a fluid. It was immensely filling, so much so that the Delphox felt as if her stomach was about to burst after just a handful of gulps; luckily for her, it appeared that most of it wasn’t even going to her stomach, and that drinking from her own supply had finally produced the physics-defying effect that she had been looking for.

It was subtle at first, thanks to her head being tilted backwards, but it was definitely there: a movement at the edge of her vision, an increase of weight on her chest that couldn’t be explained by her regular fill-up rate. This continued as the gallon jug was slowly emptied out, until it came into view a few seconds later, courtesy of both of her tits having inexplicably bloated so much that their sag had been all but completely eliminated; both mounds were now perky and stuffed, enough that they clung to her chest almost as artificially as a pair of silicone implants would, with the exception that hers were now about as wide and long as she herself was tall, and after Caroline took the time to stop drinking and admire them, that’s when she noticed they were still growing… or rather, filling.

There was no doubt about it; despite the immense size of those blimps, each one was still a hyperactive milk factory, producing so much of her sweet cream that her nipples, those poor, battered things that looked more woefully undersized by the second, failed to vent properly. Without a way to get rid of all that excess production, it was forced to stay inside and back up, pushing the limits of her body and creating more room for the milk to condense and lead to more milkiness as the glands responsible for the process multiplied upon themselves… or so she assumed; Caroline was too far enamored by the sight of her titties growing to really put any kind of rational, reasonable thought into it, especially given how she had barely five seconds before the weight became too much and she collapsed forward, her fall softened by her milkers, the impact drawing such a large spurt of her fluids that it knocked several things off her kitchen counter.

The rumbling emanating from those things would have been a warning sign to everyone else: the growth had begun, so she should sit back, wait until it was done and then think about her next move. Even without any further gulps of her homemade drink, Caroline’s mounds continued expand outwards in every direction, until finally she was unable to keep her feet on the ground; the sensation of lift-off acted as an affirmation of… everything, really; it was her efforts, her choices, her decisions which had led to that moment, where her milky tits had grown so massive that they pushed her off the ground and onto a bed of breastflesh that seemed intent on growing ever faster. Maybe her suppositions over the milky glands were entirely correct, because the longer Caroline stared at herself, the quicker the transformation seemed to go, until she was knocking back her chairs and pressing heavily against both walls on either side of her kitchen. A low groaning came from her bust, the first signs that her skin was starting to struggle, but in the absence of any stretch marks, there was only one way to go.

Looking at her hand, the Delphox couldn’t help but notice that most of the gallon jug’s contents were still there, two thirds at the very least. It stood to reason that, if the comparatively small amount of cream she gorged herself on had caused such drastic effects, then surely consuming the rest would only make said effects even worse (or better, in her case); either way, they would compound upon themselves and accelerate the growth, thus making it easier to produce more milk, therefore leading to a vicious cycle where she would overrun her house, her neighbors’ houses and everything around them. This plan was ingenious, and when she thought about it, even addressed the issue of how to grow past the point where the container was empty: the container itself.

The milk splashing all over her kitchen was no longer constrained to the ground or walls, but was being produced and ejected at such speed that it splashed off every surface… including the ceiling. Her back was already soaked by it, and the longer she kept the jug pointed upwards, the more it was filled back up, thus providing an endless supply of her entropy-defying, sweet fluids on which to feast. It was so simple, and yet it addressed every single problem; or at least every problem that was “how to get even bigger”, which by that point was all that Caroline could really think about. Nothing else mattered but the ability to develop ever more gigantic breasts, and if that meant breaking through several walls, then so be it; she could already feel the ones surrounding her kitchen start to falter underneath the onslaught of boobs pressing on them from the inside… so why wait?

With a demented, near-psychotic grin stamped on her face, the Delphox lifted the gallon jug back to her lips and began to drink. She drank greedily, and deeply, and kept doing it for far longer than she had breath. It was nourishment in and of itself, she didn’t need oxygen; in fact, the only times where she inhaled were when she had to refill the damned thing, the few precious seconds in which she wasn’t forcing herself to grow even faster than she already was.

The vulpine didn’t notice when her house disappeared all around her, vanished from existence by a pair of tits filling up faster than biology allowed. Certainly didn’t care when the apartment block she lived in was vaporized by that set of milkers, and absolutely paid no heed to the panic around her once she spilled onto the street below. For a simple reason, really.

She wasn’t big enough.