Chapter 13: Amazon Worship
The climb to Elise’s penthouse was a pilgrimage. Each step in the sleek, silent elevator made Danni aware of the weight she carried, the soft sway of her hips, the heavy pull of her breasts against the thin, floral fabric of her sundress. It was a cheap thing, meant for a smaller girl, and it strained at every seam. The hem rode high on her thick thighs. The neckline, which should have lain flat, was dragged into a deep, tense V by the shelf of her bust, the tops of her areolae peeking over the lace trim with every breath. She carried the lingering, sweet-musk scent of the creamery on her skin like a perfume.
The doors opened directly into a vast, sun-washed space. The city sprawled below in a glittering grid, but the light inside was diffused, cool. Everything was minimalist, all sharp angles and muted grays. The air smelled of lemon polish and expensive candles, a sterile cleanness that made Danni feel wildly, obscenely organic.
Elise stood by the windows, a silhouette against the skyline. She turned, and for a long moment, she didn’t speak. Her eyes, usually so analytical, performed a slow, comprehensive scan. They started at Danni’s face, flushed from the climb, then journeyed down—over the impossible swell of her chest that refused to be contained, the tiny waist flaring into wide, soft hips, the thick pillars of her thighs, all the way to her painted toes peeking from sandals.
“You’ve progressed,” Elise said finally, her voice clipped. But there was a hitch in it. A barely-there breathlessness.
Danni waddled forward, her hips rolling with a natural, pendulous rhythm. “The shakes are working.”
“Evidently.” Elise approached, circling her. Danni could feel the heat of her gaze like a physical touch. “The mammary tissue continues to develop at a remarkable rate. The quadrant expansion here,” she said, her finger hovering an inch from the side of Danni’s right breast, “is disproportionate to last week’s images. Fascinating.”
She was talking like a scientist, but her cheeks were flushed. Her breathing had deepened.
“Are you… comfortable?” Elise asked, the clinical mask slipping for a second.
“They’re heavy,” Danni sighed, a genuine ache in her voice. She cupped her breasts from beneath, lifting their weight, and a soft moan escaped her. Two small, dark circles of dampness immediately bloomed on the floral print over her nipples.
Elise froze. Her eyes locked on the spreading stains. “You’re lactating. Spontaneously.”
“It happens. When they’re full.”
The word ‘full’ hung in the sterile air. Elise’s tongue darted out to wet her lips. “Come. To the kitchen. You require replenishment.”
The kitchen was a chef’s fantasy of marble and stainless steel. But on the central island, instead of gleaming utensils, stood a blender, a carton of raw, grass-fed milk, a pint of the thickest clotted cream Danni had ever seen, and a small bowl of fresh, golden egg yolks. It was a shrine to fat.
“Sit,” Elise instructed, pulling out a stool. Danni lowered herself onto it, her ass spreading, the sundress riding up further. Elise didn’t look away. She began to cook. It was a silent, focused ritual. She warmed the milk and cream in a copper saucepan, watching it with an intensity usually reserved for alchemy. She whisked in the yolks and raw honey until the mixture was a pale, velvety custard. She poured it into the blender with a scoop of pure whey protein and a dash of nutmeg.
The sound of the blender was a violent roar in the quiet loft. When she poured it into a tall, chilled glass, it wasn’t a shake. It was a nutrient-rich libation, a golden nectar.
“Drink,” Elise said, placing it before Danni.
Danni brought the glass to her lips. The flavor was profound, rich and eggy and decadent. She drank greedily, gulping, a little trickle escaping the corner of her mouth and tracing a path down her chin to her neck. Elise watched the working of her throat, the heave of her chest with each swallow.
“Good girl,” Elise whispered, and the phrase was electric. It wasn’t Becky’s possessive praise. It was colder, more evaluative, and it made Danni’s cunt clench hotly.
When the glass was empty, Danni exhaled, a shudder running through her. The deep, cellular ache in her breasts intensified, a throbbing pulse of need. She was visibly fuller, the damp circles on her dress wider.
“They hurt,” Danni whimpered, the bimbo persona merging with real sensation.
“I know.” Elise’s voice was barely audible. She stepped between Danni’s spread thighs. Up close, Danni could see the fine tremor in her hands. “The congestion must be relieved. For the study.”
Elise’s fingers, cool and precise, found the thin straps of Danni’s sundress. She pushed them down over Danni’s shoulders. The dress slumped to her waist, pinning her arms softly. Her breasts burst free into the cool air, monumentally heavy, the nipples dark and desperately erect, gleaming with beads of milk.
Elise made a choked sound in her throat. All pretense of detachment vanished. Her eyes were pure, unvarnished hunger.
“Look at you,” she breathed, not touching yet. “You perfect, prolific thing.”
Then her hands were on them. Not kneading like Becky’s, but weighing. Cupping the full, hot underswell, testing the density. Her thumbs swept over the tight, dusty-rose skin of the areolae. “The vascularity is incredible,” she murmured, but it was a prayer.
She bent her head.
Her mouth was not desperate like Becky’s. It was deliberate. Hungry, but controlled. She sealed her lips around the left nipple and drew with a firm, steady suction. The pull was divine, an immediate release of sweet pressure. Danni cried out, her head lolling back. Elise suckled deeply, rhythmically, her throat working as she swallowed the warm, rich flow. The sound was obscenely wet, a gentle gulping in the silent room.
She switched to the other breast, her hand coming up to massage the one she’d just emptied, her fingers working the remaining fullness toward the nipple. She drank from Danni with a focus that was both clinical and devout, like a scholar consuming a sacred text.
Danni was panting, her back arching, offering more. The dual sensations—the relief in her breasts, the throbbing heat between her legs—were overwhelming. She was a vessel being emptied and filled with pleasure simultaneously.
Elise pulled off, a strand of milk connecting her lip to Danni’s glistening nipple. Her lips were slick, her breathing ragged. The controlled fitness guru was gone. In her place was a woman possessed by a deep, devouring need.
“On the floor,” Elise commanded, her voice rough. “On your back. Now.”
Danni slid off the stool, the dress falling completely away. She lay back on the cool, polished concrete, a sprawl of abundant flesh against the hard gray. The city lights twinkled far below, indifferent spectators.
Elise didn’t undress. She simply shucked her tailored trousers and silk underwear, kicking them aside. She knelt between Danni’s thighs, which fell open willingly. Danni’s cunt was fully exposed, plump lips glistening with her own arousal, the blond curls damp.
Elise didn’t kiss her there. She just looked, her gaze ravenous. “The transformation is total,” she whispered, more to herself than to Danni. Then she lowered her head.
Her tongue was flat and firm, tracing a slow, meticulous path from Danni’s perineum all the way up to her clit. Danni jerked, a sharp cry echoing off the high ceilings. Elise ignored it, her analysis becoming physical. She explored Danni’s folds with her tongue, mapping her, parting her, tasting her with small, appreciative hums. It was worship and examination fused into one.
When her mouth finally closed over Danni’s clit, she didn’t suck frantically. She applied a precise, relentless pressure, her tongue flicking against the hardened nub in a measured, scientific rhythm designed to trigger a specific response.
Danni unraveled. Her hips bucked off the floor, but Elise held her down with a firm hand on her stomach. The orgasm built not as a wave, but as a slow, inevitable tide, coaxed forth by Elise’s unerring expertise. It crested and broke, tearing through Danni in a series of silent, breathless spasms, her body bowing, milk leaking from her unattended breast in a small, warm trickle onto her ribs.
Elise didn’t stop. She drank Danni’s release, then pushed two fingers inside her, curling them to press against the spongy front wall. She scissored them, stretching Danni, watching her face. “Capacity has increased,” Elise noted, her voice muffled against Danni’s flesh. “Pelvic floor elasticity is exceptional.”
She began to fuck Danni with her fingers, her thumb resuming its precise work on her clit. It was too much, an overload. Danni thrashed, overstimulated, but Elise was merciless. A second, sharper climax was wrung from her, this one with a guttural sob. Her cunt clenched like a fist around Elise’s fingers.
Only then did Elise stop. She withdrew her glistening fingers and brought them to her own mouth, tasting Danni with a thoughtful expression, as if cataloging the flavor profile. She was still fully dressed from the waist up, a disheveled executive kneeling in a pool of discarded clothes.
She stood up, looking down at Danni’s wrecked, glistening form. Danni panted on the floor, her chest heaving, milk still dotting her skin, her sex exposed and throbbing.
“The project is exceeding parameters,” Elise said, tucking herself back into her trousers with swift, efficient motions. But her hands were still shaking. “You will return on Thursday. I will have a new formulation prepared. Heavier. More caloric density.”
She turned toward the window, composing herself, her silhouette once again crisp against the sky. “Dress. Your lipids need stabilizing. There is a carafe of full-fat kefir in the fridge. Drink it before you go.”
Danni clumsily got to her feet, her body humming, sore, profoundly used. She pulled on the sundress, the fabric now sticking to her damp skin. She drank the tart, thick kefir obediently, feeling it join the churning reservoir inside her.
At the elevator, Elise spoke without looking at her. “You are a testament to applied science. Do not let the sentiment of your… caretakers… dilute your purpose. You are becoming something unique. Something that belongs to the data.”
The doors slid shut. In the descending silence, Danni leaned against the mirrored wall. Her reflection showed a flushed, milk-smeared goddess in a too-small dress. Elise’s words echoed, cold and seductive. Belongs to the data.
But the phantom feeling of Becky’s greedy mouth and Katie’s possessive hands was a warmer, darker claim. The elevator descended, taking her back down to the world of cream and sweat and sticky floors. The battle for her wasn’t about love or science. It was about hunger. And she was the feast. She touched a tender nipple through the damp fabric, a shiver of anticipation running through her. She wondered, idly, how much more she could possibly hold.