Addiction
A quick little piece by Loquacious Jango

A modest glimpse at Tasha wouldn’t exactly paint her as the picture of self-discipline. She didn’t even seem to put much effort into her punk aesthetic, with naught but a ragged set of clothes and a fading purple dye job in an already outgrown Mohawk to signify her as someone who pretended to not care what other people thought of her. Nowadays, she looked like someone who actually didn’t care what other people thought of her.

That suited Tasha just fine. Most of her life had been a string of those oh so precious “people” disappointing her in some way shape or form. There were friends that had up and left, deciding that they needed to “distance themselves from their past”. There was the occasional boyfriend that finally decided that she was too much of a handful and bailed, the last one leaving his mark by way of a heart shaped tattoo on her left breast that had seemed like a lovely idea at the time. And, of course, there was everyone else, a world that seemed to only focus on what was right in front of them and barrel through life with their head low to the ground.

Tasha had grown tired of it all. It was so easy to develop a toughened shell of healthy cynicism against those around her; she had hardly realized it until the barrier was already up. She didn’t want anything from the throngs of people around her, though it was becoming increasingly obvious that they wanted something from her.

The young woman could feel her hefty bust shifting and folding on itself as she marched out of the supermarket, clutching twin fistfuls of groceries. She also felt eyes on her, the crowd surveying her protruding chest and deep valley of tanned cleavage. It wasn’t helped by the ragged top that was barely stretched across her heaving orbs, one of the few articles of clothing that actually fit anymore, albeit thanks to a new neckline that she had torn herself.  Natasha wriggled slightly, her full hands forcing her to attempt scratching an itch on one of her breasts by encouraging the fabric to rub her in the right spot. All she managed was to set off another bout of jiggling, like jell-o in an earthquake.

Tasha sincerely despised her newfound assets. They seemed like a curse from on high, bestowed on her specifically to make life difficult and draw the eyes of every Tom, Dick and occasional Mary that she passed by. The weight wasn’t an issue, oddly enough. Whatever was affecting her sweater puppies also seemed to be strengthening her spine, so take that as a small mercy. But they were still two very large, sensitive pillows attached to her chest that were good for nothing but getting in the way.  It seemed that for every time she knocked something over, it came with an unwanted spike of sensation that served to shatter her resolve and further destroy her ability to stay on task. Nobody seemed capable of maintaining eye contact with her anymore, and plus, she couldn’t remember the last time she saw her own feet without the help of an elaborate system of pulleys and winches.
As far as she told herself, Tasha’s new endowments were only good for a makeshift pocket and nothing else, her music player shoved into the fleshy crevasse under her chin in a half-hearted attempt to legitimize this opinion. What really burned her in all of this was that it was her own damn fault. She’d never be in this state if she had just figured out how to say no to herself. What had started as an innocent bit of experimentation with a glass of some rather odd milk had quickly morphed into obsession, then full blown dependency. At first it was just fun, a quick little thrill at the end of the day with no long-lasting side effects. Then it had changed from something she wanted to something she needed, just as the repercussions of her actions started to develop on her body. Tasha had told herself she could stop, that she should, but it was almost too late. It wasn’t a voice that pressed her onwards, or even a sense of pressure that set her ears ringing when she stopped. Her new habit had simply opened up a hole, or rather, shown her that one existed. And it was too much to ask to stop trying to fill up that hole.

Tasha grunted as the itch from before returned with a vengeance, though it seemed to be travelling, slowly creeping along the circumference of her breast. What was merely an annoyance quickly turned into a curiosity as she felt an identical sensation crop up on her other boob. A symmetrical pair of tingling itches that were migrating towards one another was more than a curiosity. In fact, it was a point of worry.

Tasha lamented the groceries that she was gripping as she could feel both points of pressure settle, of course, behind her nipples. And if that weren’t enough, that pressing sensation was growing stronger. The worst case scenario as to what was happening suddenly crashed into place in the young woman’s mind, and she quickened pace, even if it meant a new bout of bouncing.

“I couldn’t be. That’s not part of it.” She told herself.  “That only happens to-”
Her train of thought was interrupted and her step faltered as the dam finally burst. Twin pricks of heat on her chest, followed by a warm, rushing sensation alerted her to the manifestation of her growing suspicion. The pink fabric of her top started to grow wet as warm, sweet smelling liquid started to trickle out of her, creating twin, growing dark spots on the front of her tank top.

“Dammit” she hissed. Her gait slowed, a brisk walk reduced to a resigned trudge in moments as she gazed down at herself.

If Tasha had been drawing eyes before, she was now positively a street performance. Her predicament was interesting, and definitely unusual, but not as rare as it should be. Many onlookers took a double take, some swiveled around as they passed, desiring to keep an eye on her and a few merely offered her an aside glance, having witnessed much weirder.
The centre of attention herself should have been humiliated, but the only emotion she could conjure was annoyance. Anger at herself for letting it come this far, frustration at her predicament and of course, a subtle contempt for her own body, which was always finding new ways to betray her. She glared with simmering distaste at her own bust. This was the last straw. It had to be. She had to stop now, before things got any worse, but that was miles easier said than done. Natasha doubted that she was able to do this on her own, and to be fair, she had one hell of an enabler…

“Did you get everything?” a voice called from the living room as Tasha burst through the front door of her apartment.

“Not now Maddy!” Natasha shot back as she hurried into the kitchen, finally depositing her bags of groceries next to the stove. She took the time to alleviate the weight her leaking breasts as well, which spread out slightly on the cool surface of the counter top. She struggled slightly as the damp cloth of her shirt clung to her skin, finally yanking off the waterlogged garment. A brassiere that could actually contain her had at best been theorized by half-mad fashion designers, so her breasts hung free in the open air. She let out a brief sigh of relief; they just felt so much better when there wasn’t anything against them. At least now she could concentrate. As Tasha grabbed a paper towel, stretching to reach her own nipples, her roommate called out again.

“Hey Natasha, you can drop the groceries? I think I kinda need you…”

Natasha steeled herself at this. “Sorry, but this is it” she told herself. “I can’t keep doing this. It’s becoming a problem.  For god’s sake, look at me!” She repeated these words over and over in her head, practising them for when she actually needed to speak out loud. It was ridiculous. She was just another problem. Tasha should just have been able to walk in that room, and tell Maddy to get out, to leave along with everyone else. Tasha needed to get her own life back, dammit. But…she couldn’t do that without hurting Madeline. And that was unacceptable.

The buxom young lady quickly stowed away the perishables amongst her purchases and tromped towards Madeline’s room, tossing the door wide. Within, her roommate seemed ready for her.  Madeline was reclined in her bed, draped in nothing but a sheet. Her own mammoth breasts dominated her form, rivaling even Tasha’s own. She scratched behind one of her long, drooping ears in slight embarrassment.

“Sorry” the bedridden woman offered. “I really need a hand, and it’s been a while”
Tasha’s heart rate spiked as she viewed looked over her friend. This is it dammit, don’t wuss out…She was ready to tell Madeline exactly what was necessary. It would have to be quick, like ripping off a band-aid. Going cold turkey was the only way, and that meant severing all ties.

“I need…” she said, feeling the cold air against her chest. It didn’t help.

“I need-” she started again.  Beneath the covers, Tasha could see Maddy’s tail swishing around, disturbing the sheet slightly with a collection of shifting creases.

“I need...” she spoke slowly, trying to look anywhere but Madeline’s wide, expectant brown eyes. She inwardly sighed, knowing that it had been a losing battle the second she walked through into the apartment.

“A bucket” Tasha finished, lamely surrendering to the yawning hole in her gut. “One second”

After nabbing an appropriate container from the kitchen, Nat returned to Maddy’s room, sitting down at the foot of her bed and beckoning the reclining young hybrid closer.
Maddy sat forward, bending over the receptacle but limited by her own bulky, shifting breasts. Almost automatically, Tasha delicately gripped one of the other girl’s heavy mammaries and started to feel her way around the orb.

“You know, your average milking machine isn’t exactly expensive, especially with what the court settlement gave you” Tasha offered in a last ditch attempt at independence as she placed her fingers around either side of Madeline’s thick, pink teat. “And I hear that there are new models coming out soon, specifically for people…people like you”

Maddy tilted her head, offering a small smile. “They’re still sending me checks; at least enough to afford a nurse or something. But then I wouldn’t need you.”

Natasha grunted in affirmation as she squeezed. Instantly, Madeline’s breath caught in her throat as she began to fill the bucket, her thick jets of milk a far cry from Natasha’s own dribbling emissions.

“So” Tasha offered as Maddy reigned in her panting “How did the support meeting go?”

“Pretty cool” she admitted, attempting to act nonchalant “We had a few new members. One of ‘em had to be rolled in”

“Huh” Nat raised an eyebrow, before switching to the other of Madeline’s swollen breasts. “Any other cases like you?”

“Nope, no new bovines. Besides, I’m pretty sure that those beef packagers pulled that hormone after what happened to me” Maddy admitted, rubbing one of the many brown patches that dotted her otherwise white skin. “Two of the girls actually had a breakthrough. You remember Kiko and…I think she’s started calling herself Roberta?” Madeline sharply sucked a breath through her teeth after a particularly heavy discharge, and then continued.  “Well, I think they really bonded today, ended up crying and hugging it out. Of course, there was a solid twelve boobs between them, so it was a bit difficult. Fun to watch though”

Tasha finished her task, now moving the filled bucket off the bed and onto the floor. Her hands were still moist from the task, and instinctively, she licked them clean. Smacking her lips, the makeshift milk maid glanced down at the opaque white surface of the liquid.
“Ugh, just a bit” she lied to herself, bending over and spreading her legs to make room for her bust. She cupped a handful of Madeline’s milk and brought it to her lips, drinking deeply. At once, she could feel the all-too familiar effects. The warm, flowing sensation as it passed down her throat, the tingling in her stomach and the odd, blossoming sensation in her breasts that signalled another growth spurt wasn’t far off. But most of all, she could feel Maddy. The girl on the bed was next to her and inside of her at the same time, every warm thought, every shudder and sensation. It was just a ghost of a feeling, but it made Natasha hungry for more. And there was only one way to get it.

She fell backwards, glancing off of Madeline’s curving bosom and onto a pillow. Tasha wormed her way closer to her roommate and placed both hands on her own chest, rubbing herself slightly.

“Look at what you’re doing to me” Tasha muttered. She glanced upwards into Maddie’s eyes. “I had some leakage of my own today. Nothing serious, but it’s a problem”

“Yikes” Madeline replied, picking at one of her roommate turned caretakers purple hairs. “Sorry”

“Not your fault” Tasha sighed, drinking in the honest concern in Maddie’s voice. “Not your fault at all. But I’m worried about what comes next…What if it doesn’t stop? What if WE don’t stop?”

“Well…” Madeline offered “We could always take turns. I scratch your back, you scratch mine and all that. I think I’ve got your technique nailed down”

“What if I become like you?” Tasha drew a shuddering breath. “And don’t joke. For once.”

“Like me? And what’s wrong with me?” Madeline inquired, slightly hurt.

Tasha could lose herself in that moment. In a way, she was losing herself already. All the armour that she had carefully constructed over the years seemed to crumble at Madeline’s slightest touch. A tilt of the head, a sigh, a laugh. Especially a laugh. Natasha told herself it couldn’t last, that she needed to stay tough, that it would all collapse just like everything else did. But she lacked the willpower. She couldn’t overcome it no matter how many times she told herself it was damaging. She was hooked.

“Nothing’s wrong with you” Tasha mumbled, curling up to her bedmate and closing her eyes. She was exhausted at the day’s tribulations and clinging to the one stable thing in her life.
“Nothing at all”