A Mimic's Fantasy - Part 2 (Random Writing for TheGentlebro)

The past couple of days had been the absolute best of Kyoob’s life. Not only did she get to experience the kind of lactic bliss that had been the purview of her wildest fantasies for real, but, just as she had hoped, the enchantment-driven transformation had left some very deep, very curvaceous scars on her figure.

By the time her boss came into her room to demand some explanation as to why she hadn’t replied to multiple calls from his office, there wasn’t any room left for the door to swing open. Getting the mimic out of there required so much geometric and spatial magic, not to mention the combined power of half a dozen battery gems, that she was informed the costs would be docked from her pay. Of course, at the time, Kyoob was slightly too busy having her room-sized milkers drained into a vat, so she wasn’t in the best of places to complain about it. Not that she would; the results of her “little” binge had left her with a bust so large that it made up for any pay cut.

Despite the medical team’s best efforts, they couldn’t reduce her past a certain point. In fact, Kyoob had to visit the R&D department at least once a day to get milked, or else she might snap free of her bra, which as far as she cared was the absolute best thing about the transformation. Even at her smallest, the mimic had to completely renew her whole wardrobe, because nothing in there even remotely fit her anymore. Left to hang loose, her breasts not only covered most of her front all the way down to the knee, but still managed to protrude several feet in front of her, and have so much spillage on either side of her torso that her silhouette was more tit than anything else… and that’s just the way she liked it. It was great being able to flaunt a pair of tits that massive, especially when the only thing she had to cover herself up with in the immediate aftermath was a strip of cloth and a whole lot of prayer; the looks on her coworkers’ faces made her day, as did their obvious arousal. It was great to be indisputably on top for once.

Perhaps the best part of it all wasn’t even the obvious; while sashaying into a room and pretending not to see how bouncy her chest was being was delightful, it was the casual flexing that really made it delicious. The best experience yet was the day immediately after, when she walked into the cantina during lunch wearing a shirt that left negative amounts of her to the imagination and sat down at the usual table, greeting her friends with an enthusiastic “Hey guys!” before dropping her full weight on the rickety thing in front of her… and promptly breaking it in half from the weight of her breasts alone, giving her a reason to bring a hand to her mouth and excuse herself with absurd amounts of pretend sheepishness.

The rest of the day was filled with such nonsense, until one of her fellow mimics politely asked her to stop swinging those things around so much; she was liable to literally break someone’s neck if she wasn’t careful, plus most of the people around her were having trouble concentrating on doing their jobs after she made such an… impression on them. Kyoob was well-aware of this; it was the whole reason she was doing it at all, so it was working as planned and intended in her mind. Still, pushing her luck too much might result in her boss taking some active measures to shrink her back down to size, so the mimic reluctantly agreed to keep her teasing down to a minimum going forward… with her coworkers at least.

At no point would Kyoob pass up on the opportunity to strut her stuff with the people trying to get into the compound. She was incredibly lucky that the first person to try and do so after her transformation was one of the regulars: Silva, an old spelunker-turned-dungeon diver and, to date, the only person to have successfully penetrated deep enough into the complex to breach the vault. Nowadays he mostly worked to instruct new members of the Guild on how best to infiltrate large warded fortifications; he showed up every once in a while to test the defences, map as much of the floor plan as he could, and then exchange some pleasantries before leaving. The perfect opportunity to make an entrance, Kyoob thought to herself, which is precisely why she set up a char in front of the main vault door and sat on it, reading that day’s newspaper. The moment she heard the man’s heavy footsteps she threw the old thing over her head and crossed her hands over her waist… then waited.

She couldn’t see the corridor, not with how much she was leaning back. Were her back straight she wouldn’t have any problem, but where was the fun in having a pair of milkers that huge if they weren’t deliberately made to look even larger than they already were? Besides, the sight of Silva’s face when he walked into view on her left side was about as close to priceless as expressions could be; he struggled to say anything, reduced to inelegant spluttering and wide eyes, before finally shrugging, sighing and turning back around, muttering something about not being paid enough.

“And they’re all natural too!” Kyoob shouted back at him, hoping he was still close enough to hear, “I had a second puberty, lots of milk in these!”

Absolutely priceless. She was beaming with pride all day long.

Of course, no good thing could exist without her trying to make it even better. If anything, the cow-print’s effects on her had only proven that her dreams could come true, and now that she had that confirmation it was hard to let go of her desire to push the line even more and see how far it could go. What’s best, she had the ability to do so without having to abuse the enchantments on any other piece of clothing; the secret was in holding back!

She never really stopped producing after her incident with the bra. Her daily visits to R&D downstairs were the only thing keeping her mobile, with the researchers having assured her that, if not for her constant draining, she could very well keep bloating until she was no longer able to move from place to place. And while Kyoob wanted nothing more than for that to be true, she had to be sneaky about it; the mimic couldn’t just forgo her milkings, that would attract attention! A stealthier approach was needed, and she had just the idea: reduce the number of daily “sessions” to just one.

While that was the minimum established by her boss, in practice she had the decency to visit the draining vats at least two or three times, but after a few weeks of running around at her new size, Kyoob felt confident enough that people had acclimatized that she could push her luck somewhat. After a long talk with the technicians downstairs, she convinced them to reduce the number of daily milkings to just one, to take place just after her shift; nominally, this was to get rid of all the “excess weight” that had built up before she went to her bedroom or wherever else for the night, but in reality it allowed her to produce and store milk inside of her for a full twenty-four hour cycle. What effect this would have on her she didn’t know, but hoped it’d be something good!

And, much to her wonderment and glee, that’s exactly what happened. It took a while before the effects were made visible to her, even if the mimic took to measuring her bustline every day just after she was done emptying herself, but after a week or so of stretching her capacity to the limit, sometimes going so far as to nearly have her tits graze against the floor, the result were obvious: she was growing. Or rather, her tits were being forced to carry so much cream around that they began to “stretch out” to accommodate it all, ending with her bustline steadily becoming that much larger every day. It got to the point where even the techies noticed it, after which they insisted on increasing the number of visits back to what they used to be, but the damage was done; even going downstairs thrice a day didn’t get rid of the fact she’d grown several more cup sizes, enough for her breasts’ “empty” curvature to hang beneath her waist even when they were pushed up as far as they could go. Which was an achievement, considering how taut all of her bras were; her mounds were practically perfectly spherical from how hard they were stuffed into those!

That wasn’t the only weapon in her arsenal, however, though it was certainly the only one with any backing in reality or empirical data. Her next move was as potentially dangerous as it was certifiably stupid, not to mention it barely qualified as more than grasping at straws.

Her milking sessions were performed in one of the many, many underground sections of the complex, more specifically in an area where the chemical vats were kept. Most of those were sealed and filled with a variety of useful compounds that were drained and used as needed, but a few were kept empty just in case they were needed for anything; in Kyoob’s case, the staff had to magic up a milking machine that could both fit on her enormous breasts and drain them without causing too much of a mess, and under orders from their boss kept the resulting fluids in storage. No one knew what to do with it; it was just… there. And being there it was ripe for a little bit of unfortunate bureaucratic miscalculations; they weren’t short a bottle or two, they just didn’t write it down properly! Meanwhile, the mimic made off with her own milk at the end of every draining, storing it inside her expansive cleavage and pretending that the clinking everyone heard was just in their heads. With the amount of visits to the vats increasing, so too did the number of bottles she kept in the fridge in her room, until eventually she had to start getting rid of them to make room for more… which was her whole idea in the first place; stockpiling it was more of an unfortunate side effect of her wanting to binge rather than taking it slowly.

Kyoob had wanted to fill that thing up and then practically drown herself in her own cream, but as the days went on and she kept adding more and more bottles it quickly became clear that no amount of milk would ever satisfy the ravenous beast inside of her. As soon as she understood that it became surprisingly easy to take another logical step, this time in a completely different direction: she already had quite a lot of fun slowly stretching the limits before she was called out on it, so why not do so again? Assuming that drinking from her own supply did to her body what she hoped it would, then why not try for something a bit more long-term? Besides, it gave her an even better alibi if she only nicked one bottle a day rather than several; less suspicion was raised and it made the vintage that much more special.

The night she came to this conclusion was the first one she savoured her own milk. As it was expected it carried a slight hint of strawberry to it, though not enough to be immediately noticeable; it went down easily and left its aftertaste, simultaneously making her long for more right after being done with the first gulp. It was so slippery that she barely noticed how quickly the contents vanished into her, leaving her stomach grumbling for more and her breasts feeling dreadfully empty… but self-control was paramount; she needed a baseline to compare herself to, lest things go completely out of hand before she knew exactly how to make them worse!

That night, oddly enough, was one spent in absolute peace and quiet. Ever since her initial growth spurt the mimic had constant trouble falling asleep thanks to the immense weights slung out in front of her, and more often than not took a good hour or so before her brain finally shut itself down. After gorging on her own cream, however, all of her body was permeated by this supernaturally warm feeling of comfort, like her whole form was being cradled in the softest of blankets and whisked away to some heavenly realm; she fell asleep almost instantly after closing her eyes, the dreamless night going by in an instant and yet leaving her more refreshed and restored than any other rest ever had in her life.

For about ten seconds. Then she noticed what happened to her.

After she was done growing out into her “second stage”, as she called it, Kyoob had had time to monitor and gauge how much she grew and what her productivity was like. She never quite got to experience the sight of her bosom almost reaching the ground after the technicians caught on to her deception, but even with three straight visits to the milking vats a day she was still able to grow to quite respectable sizes, often reaching her knees and blocking her view in front just before they were made to empty out. Kyoob often joked that she could be looking literally anywhere when talking with someone in that state and they wouldn’t be able to tell; indeed, on several occasions even the mimic herself failed to account for someone using a reflection to see how she wasn’t paying the slightest amount of attention to whatever conversation she was embroiled in. All in all, a very good size, respectable even.

It was nothing compared to what she was like just after waking up.

She’d been bigger, sure; the cow-print bra did a number on her that had yet to be repeated, but that? That was a very close second. Even while lying down, unmoving, Kyoob could hear the currents of milk inside of her sloshing about, the sheer amount of it enough to leave her feeling stuffed and nearly uncomfortably hot. Those things completely covered her bed and were very obviously full to bursting, enough that the mimic had to call maintenance to ask to be transported from her bedroom directly to the laboratories, coming up with some random nonsense excuse about a sudden burst of productivity derived from a wet dream; it was better than admitting the truth, honestly.

Once down there, the morning shift workers were quick to bring the biggest pump they had over to her, latching the suction cups onto her head-sized teats and turning the machine on. As per usual, the rhythmic pulsating of the tubes and continuous thrumming of the gears made for a wonderful massage, and though Kyoob was still worried about the effects her milk had, she could afford to relax… again, for about five minutes, before something else happened that threw everyone for a loop.

Productive as she might be, the mimic still had limits to how much milk she could store in herself; hook her up to a milking machine and let it go on for about fifteen minutes and she’d be empty and ready to fill up again. The number had been steadily rising, of course; used to be that it only took five, but after Kyoob had her wonderful idea of reducing herself to a milking a day, things stopped being so simple. That morning, however, marked a paradigm shift of proportions as large as her bust’s, because no matter what anyone did or what anyone tried, she wasn’t getting any smaller.

She was still getting milked, that much was obvious from the flow of light-pink fluid being extracted from her tits, but while she wasn’t growing any larger she wasn’t shrinking either. Preliminary testing revealed that this was not the result of a sudden spurt in size; turning the machines off and letting her produce didn’t lead to any explosion in mass, but rather her usual, slow-paced growth. Turn the milkers back on though, and nothing really happened to her size, apart from stabilizing back at what it had been right after she woke up.

No one wanted to say it, mostly because whoever did had to write it down and then go report it to their boss, and no one wanted to be the poor bastard who had to tell the man his most prized worker had gone off the deep end again and reached a new size goal far beyond what could even be considered unreasonable. But while they argued amongst themselves over who should be the one to be the bearer of milky news, Kyoob was off in her own little world, adrift in a sea of content from which she hoped never to return from.

Her arms were spread wide, sunken into her breasts with her soft flesh bulging over them. She could feel her heartbeat coursing through her, pulsating through the endless oceans of milk built up inside of her. She could feel the machines attempting to drain her, to empty her, only to come up short. And above all, she could feel the sheer size, the enormity of what her breasts had become. Above all, the mimic could feel what she would become right after the bureaucracy decided what to do with her.

After all, this has been the result of just one bottle. She had a fridge in her bedroom filled with dozens of them, all of which were there and ready for her take at her leisure.

One was never going to be enough.