Chapter 12: Growing Following
The air in Megan’s apartment had grown thicker, sweeter, permanently laced with the scent of warm lactose and the underlying, musky perfume of Jesse’s skin. He was a constant presence on the oversized cream-colored sofa, a mountain of soft, yielding flesh swaddled in pastel cashmere and silk. His laughter, once infrequent and shy, now bubbled up frequently—a high, airy sound that seemed to lack any anchor in complex thought.
Lana watched from the kitchen island, her textbook on nutritional chemistry forgotten. Her eyes traced the scene in the living room. Two girls from the home ec program, Chloe and Isabelle, were kneeling on the plush rug before Jesse. Their faces were upturned, reverent. Jesse, beaming, his eyes half-lidded and content, cradled one heavy, breathtaking breast in each hand. They were obscenely large now, truly monumental spheres that strained the fabric of his lilac bralette, the pale blue veins mapping their surface like rivers on a swollen moon.
“You’re both so good to me,” Jesse cooed, his voice a drowsy murmur. He guided a swollen, dark nipple toward Chloe’s waiting mouth. “She gets so achy if you don’t help.”
Chloe latched on with a practiced ease, her throat working in steady, hungry pulls. A thin trickle of cream escaped the corner of her lips. On the other side, Isabelle nuzzled the other breast, her fingers gently kneading the impossibly full curve before she took him into her mouth with a soft, desperate sigh.
Lana’s own mouth went dry. It was a ritual now. After class, they’d come. They’d bring him pastries he’d giggle over and devour, they’d rub lavender and fenugreek oil into his stretch-marked hips and burgeoning thighs, and then they’d drink. The milk wasn’t like anything from a carton. It was rich, cloyingly sweet, with a hint of vanilla and something else, something earthy and potent that made the drinkers’ eyes glaze with bliss. It was, Lana knew in some clinical part of her mind, laden with hormones and pheromones. A feedback loop of desire and nourishment.
Megan orchestrated it all from her armchair, a queen on her throne. “See how they love you, Jess?” she purred, sipping her own glass of his milk, taken earlier and chilled. “You’re their perfect little goddess. Their own personal fountain.”
Jesse sighed, a shudder of pleasure running through his vast body. His hand stroked Chloe’s hair. “I love being useful,” he slurred. His gaze, drifting across the room, met Lana’s. A slow, dopey smile spread across his face. “Lanaaa. You’re staring. Do you want a turn? You look so thirsty, all skinny over there.”
The other girls giggled, not unkindly, but with a shared secret. Lana felt a hot flush creep up her neck. She was thirsty. The envy was a physical ache. She wanted that weight, that undeniable, curvaceous proof of being cherished. She also wanted to bury her face in that softness, to taste what addicted them all.
“She’s shy, Jess,” Megan said, her eyes sharp on Lana. “But everyone contributes, don’t they, Lana? You’ve done the research on lipid infusion. Theory is nothing without practice.”
The ultimatum from weeks prior—her mouth on him, Megan’s fingers on her—hung in the air. Lana had become a permanent fixture, a silent apprentice to Jesse’s transformation. She prepared the shakes, measured the supplements, and watched, endlessly watched, as he expanded.
And he had expanded. Under the loving ministrations of his home ec followers, Jesse bloomed further into H-cups full of rich creamy milk. They were colossal, each one the size of his former head, hanging heavy and ripe. He could no longer see his own feet, his own lap. His world had narrowed to the sensations of his body: the pleasant weight, the constant, low thrum of fullness in his mammary glands, the admiring touches of his devotees.
He’d started dressing to showcase them. Today’s bralette was a joke, mere decorative lace struggling to contain the massive orbs. He wore billowy satin shorts that clung to his new hips, hips that swayed with a ponderous, deliberate grace when he waddled to the bathroom.
“Come on, Lana,” Jesse insisted, his voice taking on a petulant, coaxing tone. He gently disengaged from Chloe, whose lips popped free with a wet, sucking sound. A bead of pearly milk welled instantly on his nipple. “I wanna share with you. You always look at them. Don’t you think they’re pretty?”
His phrasing was that of a child showing off a prized toy. Lana’s legs moved before her mind could protest. She crossed the room, the scent of him enveloping her—sweet milk, lavender, the warm salt of his skin. She sank to her knees on the rug, feeling the judgmental and encouraging stares of the other girls.
Up close, the reality was overwhelming. The sheer scale of his breast dwarfed her face. The skin was translucent-stretched, glowing. The nipple, large and dark, was wet from Chloe’s mouth. Jesse cupped the monumental weight, lifting it supportively, an offering.
“Go on,” Megan whispered, her voice a serpentine thread in the quiet room. “Taste what you’ve helped create.”
Lana’s defiance, her academic distance, crumbled. She leaned in, closing her eyes as her lips met the warm, giving skin. She opened her mouth and took the nipple in. The taste exploded on her tongue—that profound, saccharine cream. It was richer than last time, more potent. She sucked, tentatively at first, then driven by a gnawing hunger she couldn’t name. Her hands came up, not to push away, but to hold the immense, soft burden. Her fingers sank into the flesh, feeling the hot milk flow within.
A deep, guttural moan rumbled from Jesse’s chest. “Oh, fuck yeah,” he breathed, his head lolling back. “That’s it. You’re a natural, Lana. Suck it. Drink me.”
The filthy words, spoken in his dreamy voice, sent a lightning bolt of arousal straight to Lana’s core. She fed, gulping down the warm streams, her own body responding with a shameful, soaking heat. One of his hands left his other breast and settled on the back of her head, not forcing, but cradling, pressing her gently closer.
“She’s good, Megan,” Jesse sighed contentedly. “Real good. Her mouth is so little and eager.”
Lana was lost in the sensation, in the giving and taking. She heard rustling, the soft sounds of the other girls resuming their places, a symphony of hungry swallows and contented hums. Then she felt another presence at her back. Megan’s hands, cool and precise, settled on Lana’s shoulders.
“See?” Megan whispered into Lana’s ear, her breath hot. “You needed this. You needed to serve. To worship.”
Megan’s hands slid down, over Lana’s slender frame, so starkly angular against the soft pillowy world of Jesse. They slipped under the hem of Lana’s sweater, touching the bare skin of her stomach. Lana flinched but didn’t pull away from Jesse’s breast, her suck becoming more frantic, a desperate anchor.
“She’s so wet for you, Jess,” Megan reported, her fingers dipping beneath the waistband of Lana’s jeans, into her plain cotton panties. Lana whimpered, the sound muffled against Jesse’s skin. Megan’s touch was clinical, exploring. “Dripping. All this time, watching him grow, making him perfect… it’s made you so empty, hasn’t it, Lana?”
Lana couldn’t speak. She could only drink and feel. Megan’s fingers found her clit, rubbing tight, insistent circles. The dual assault—the filling of her mouth and stomach with his addictive milk, the sudden, ruthless friction on her clit—shattered her. A violent orgasm ripped through her, silent and staggering. Her body convulsed, her jaws clamping rhythmically on Jesse’s nipple, drawing a sharp, delighted cry from him.
“Oh, she came! She came from drinking me!” Jesse giggled, the sound dizzy and triumphant. “I made her do that.”
As Lana shuddered, spent and mortified, Megan withdrew her hand, bringing her glistening fingers to her own mouth. She tasted them, her eyes locked on Lana’s tear-filled ones. “Now you’re really part of it,” Megan said simply. “You’re not just the researcher. You’re part of the system.”
Jesse, blissfully unaware of the rupture inside Lana, gently patted her head. “You can have some anytime, Lana. You don’t gotta be so tense. Just let go.” He gestured grandly to his spectacular chest. “There’s plenty for everyone.”
Lana pulled back, milk glistening on her chin. She looked at Jesse’s beaming, empty face, at the adoring girls now cuddling against his vast hips, and finally at Megan’s serene, victorious expression. The apartment wasn’t a sanctuary. It was a soft, sweetly-scented engine, and she was now a cog, lubricated by her own shame and a hunger that his milk had only deepened. She had helped build this. And now, irrevocably, she belonged to it.
And now, irrevocably, she belonged to it. The knowledge settled in Lana’s gut, cold and heavy, even as the phantom sweetness of his milk clung to her tongue. Weeks bled together in a haze of enforced devotion, the apartment’s perpetual warmth seeping into her bones. She came after her last class without being asked, her textbooks gathering dust in her bag, her own cramped dorm room feeling like a relic from someone else’s life.
Jesse was changing again. It was subtle at first. Lana, who measured everything, noticed. The doorway to the bathroom seemed to frame him differently. The oversized sofa, which once swallowed him, now seemed merely to accommodate his sprawling form. “Do I look… bigger to you?” he’d ask, not with concern, but with a vacant, hopeful curiosity, his hands roaming the colossal shelves of his breasts. “Megan says I’m blooming.”
“You’re perfect, Jess,” Chloe or Isabelle would always chirp, nuzzling into his side. But Lana saw it. The top of his head, which once aligned with a particular floral pattern on the wallpaper, now cleared it by a full inch. His shoulders had broadened, not with muscle, but with a framework meant to carry monumental weight. His limbs, still swathed in soft fat, were simply longer. When he stood, he had to dip his head slightly under the door frame, a motion that was becoming less of a slouch and more of a necessary cant. He was growing taller. The hormonal cocktail flooding his system, amplified by the constant worship and demand, was reshaping his very skeleton. He was becoming an architecture of fecundity.
The ritual evolved. It was no longer just feeding. It was veneration. One afternoon, the sunlight streamed in, highlighting the downy golden hair on Jesse’s newly elongated arms as he lay propped on a mountain of pillows. Chloe was between his thighs, her face buried in the softness there, her tongue tracing the swollen folds that had become another feature of his transformation. Jesse moaned, a sound so deep it vibrated through the floorboards. “Yeah, right there,” he slurred. “Feels so fucking good.”
Isabelle was at his breast, sucking with a frantic rhythm. Megan watched from her chair, her fingers idly stroking the front of her jeans. “Lana,” Megan said, her voice a low command. “His skin is looking dry. The oil. Now.”
Lana fetched the bottle of warm, infused oil. She knelt beside his massive hip, her own frame dwarfed. She poured the glossy liquid onto his flank, the scent of lavender and fenugreek rising thickly. As her hands spread it, she felt the new expanse of him. The sheer acreage of warm, yielding flesh. Her fingers trailed over the striations of silver stretch marks, now mapping his sides from armpit to hip like tributaries on a wide, pale plain. He shuddered at her touch.
“Your hands are so little,” Jesse murmured, looking down at her from what felt like a great height. His eyes were glassy with pleasure. “They feel so good. Do my tits, Lana. They’re so full they’re aching.”
She moved, compelled. She oiled the terrifying curve of his under-breast, her hands struggling to span the width. The skin was fever-hot, stretched drum-tight over the mammary flesh within. He sighed, arching his back, which now made a more pronounced curve against the pillows. Chloe’s ministrations between his legs grew wetter, louder.
“Want you to taste me again,” Jesse said to Lana, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, though everyone could hear. “Wanna see you get all shaky like last time. C’mon.”
He didn’t wait for assent. His large hand, fingers now surprisingly long and elegant, came to the back of her neck. He guided her with a gentle, undeniable pressure toward his other nipple, the one Isabelle had just released, glistening and puffed. Lana’s resistance was a ghost, a faint echo. She opened her mouth. The taste was even richer, more complex, like condensed cream and honey and something profoundly animal. She suckled, and the let-down was immediate, a hot flood that coated her throat.
“Fuck, yes,” Jesse groaned. His hips began a slow, grinding roll against Chloe’s face. “Everybody’s… working on me. I’m so… full. I’m gonna…”
His free hand fumbled between his own legs, joining Chloe’s, his thick fingers sliding through soaked folds to find his swollen clit. “Gonna come,” he panted, his breath hitching. “Gonna come while my pretty girls drink me up. Don’t stop, Lana. Swallow it all.”
The room filled with the sounds of him: ragged breaths, choked curses, the wet, rhythmic smack of his fingers and Chloe’s tongue working in tandem. Lana drank, the milk a continuous flow, her own body responding with a traitorous, pooling heat. Isabelle moaned against his other breast, her hand darting into her own pants. Megan’s breathing had sharpened, her gaze fixed on Jesse’s face as it contorted in release.
Jesse’s body seized, a magnificent tremor running through his enlarged frame from his toes to the crown of his head. A raw, guttural cry tore from his throat, not feminine, but purely, wildly ecstatic. “FUCK! Oh GOD!” His back arched violently, lifting Lana with him for a moment. The hand on her neck held her firm, locked to his nipple as he pulsed and shook. Chloe lapped furiously at the climax spilling from him, and Lana felt the milk in her mouth grow even hotter, sweeter, as his orgasm triggered another desperate surge from his ducts.
He collapsed, panting, a behemoth sated. Sweat dewed his hairline and the magnificent valley between his breasts. He looked down, his expression soft and unfocused. “You’re all so good,” he breathed. He finally released Lana’s neck. She pulled back, gasping, milk smeared across her chin and cheeks.
“Look at you,” Jesse giggled, exhausted. He reached out a trembling, oily hand and cupped Lana’s face, his thumb smearing the mess. “My good girl.” His eyes drifted past her, toward the mirror on the far wall. He paused, his head tilting. A slow, wondering smile spread across his face.
“Hey, Meg?” he said, his voice drowsy with post-coital bliss. “I think I’m taller than you now. For real.”
Everyone went still. Megan rose from her chair. She walked over, her steps measured. She stood beside the sofa, directly next to where Jesse’s shoulders lay. It was undeniable. Even reclined, the scale of him was obvious. Standing, his height would surpass hers by several inches. He was no longer just a bloated curio. He was monumental.
Megan’s hand came to rest on his oil-slick shoulder, her fingers digging in possessively. A fierce, triumphant light ignited in her eyes. “I know, baby,” she said, her voice thick with victory. “I know. You’re everything I dreamed you’d be.” She looked down at Lana, still on her knees, and the other girls. “And you all get to witness it.”
Jesse’s smile was beatific, empty of everything except a profound, nourished pride. He was a mountain. And they were all, now, permanent residents on his slopes.