Divine Blessing, Mortal Bane
Today is very hot, much hotter than an average summer day according to the weather forecast, so Kotonoha decides a bath is in order after driving home. She lives in an expensive serviced apartment suite, not a very large one, for being optimized for a nuclear family's usage. Stripping off the bodycon-dress and the pantyhose in the bathroom, leaving only the black chiffon lacy lingerie decorated with black, sketchy motifs of roses, leaves and vines, effectively serving as a foil for her flawless skin's snowiness, immediately the air is full with mixed fragrances, feminine and milky. The hotness of daylight really has taken its toll despite the air-condition installed in the car, as Kotonoha's skin is shimmering with sweat, in the form of countless micro, salt-grain-sized beads reflecting a gem-like lustre, and from a certain point of view this can be quite sexually excitatory to males.
Even her lingerie is soaked, especially the brassiere of a glorified big-soft-cup design, despite being extra absorbent. The damped fibers of bra-cups tightly clad to the skin of her massive bosom, and by being so, their default translucency has turned into virtual transparency, let alone this garment is already so oppressive in its own right. Inwardly, Kotonoha has to self-mock: It'd always been like this since elementary school, developing way faster than the bras made in her fatherland can catch up, forcing her to resort to those from abroad or to have them custom-made, as is the one she's wearing, and even this one had long since become painfully strained.
In the mirror, Kotonoha can clearly see the straps and bands are tensed to the verge of snapping despite already manually extended to maximum length, not to mention the almost non-adjustable cups appear as two small patches of textiles pasted on her breasts with the wavy edges snap into the tender flesh of this twin fully-ripen large-sized watermelons, further emphasizing their greatness yet also twisting their perfect curves for a little bit. Meanwhile right on the peak of each of these boob-fruits, where the black fabrics are specifically weaved to be much denser, thicker and opaque, an egg-shaped perky protrusion with the diameter equals to one and a quarter times of a tennis ball is vigorously poking underneath the constricting materials, obviously to be the wettest part and is getting wetter with each passing second, with white, dew-like drops being observed exuding out and falling off one after another. How ironic the very garment supposed to bring comfort to Kotonoha's hypersensitive breasts, now does exactly the opposite. What's more, it's actually not the sweat drenching her bra, nor is the pain merely caused by the straining.
Slowly removing the brassiere by unbuttoning the key joint connecting lower edges of both cups, which is blocked from her eyes by her breasts' massiveness, after taking off the pants, Kotonoha lets out a sigh of relief, the constraints on chest are gone, with nothing to hold them back, her boobs immediately become significantly loftier with a brief and subtle sway as if inflating balloons. There is still a pair of palm-sized, cotton-made pasties, each covers the "peak sector" of a breast, respectively. These heart-shaped objects of purple color are not clinging as bra-cups, instead being much more humid, not only looking semi-transparent, white liquid also endlessly drips and flows downward like streams from them, running along the boobs' undersides, to her belly and even further down. Kotonoha takes the bra to the handbasin to wring it as dry as she can before dumping it into the laundry basket specifically for its kind, then, after a short hesitation, she divests the pasties, freeing her nipples much larger than average yet disproportionately small compare with the bigness of her breasts, with their tips being where the white liquid comes out, as well as exposing her areolae so smooth and bulgy, even forming two half-orbs by their own. She makes a suppressed groan from throat with trembling and frowning when the pasties are off the tits, still unable to avoid being stimulated despite using utmost caution, as her cheeks blush and her breasts slightly heave synchronously with quickened breath, the streams coming out from nipple-tips also strengthen to arches of sprays, it takes a couple of minutes for her body to stabilize itself.
Nudity complete, the inordinately busty belle flexes in the mirror again, taking in the goddess-grade body the genetic lottery had bestowed upon her…or genetic destiny, instead of lottery, if take her family into account.
Sporting a bosom of this magnitude usually comes with ptosis or pseudoptosis, even problems of shoulders, back and spine. Her mother Manami already possesses a bust-size of 122 centimeters with a cup-size of U, and this measurement is obviously downplayed; as the daughter and by the Rule of the Progressing Specialization, now Kotonoha's "assets" way surpass Manami, having achieved the prodigious 132cm and Z-cup — most likely downplayed too, yet miraculously none of them has any said issues, maybe physics and physiques work differently in fictional universes, at least in her family. Still inconveniences do exist, for around the middle section of each of the gigantic and firm breasts of hers, there are a few pale-reddish marks marring the snowy surface and their arrangement roughly outlines the silhouette of the bra-cup, exhibitive of where it's edge had jabbed too deep into the flesh, also formed "sore spots" on the same positions. Carefully, Kotonoha puts her left hand under the left breast, to an appropriate sore-spots-free place best suitable for holding it steady, preparing to use her right hand's index finger and middle finger to massage those particularly tender, algesic points, not only for soothing the pain, more importantly, doing so is for preventing a certain fluid, commonly known as "milk", from forming blockages beneath.
As the left palm meets with the left breast, she can feel this entire mammary organ is literally like a balloon inflated to its limit that will burst if poking a needle against it, for the flesh is zero-elastic like a huge chunk of boulder, boulder with body warmth, faint heart pulsation and smoothness of skin. Kotonoha moans and trembles again for feeling a vaguely perceptible achy sensation diffuses into this fleshy mountain as the result of the physical contact, and once again the streamy discharge from the tip of the already-stiffened, ruby-like bud standing on the peak strengthens into spraying. Then, just a gentle touch on one of the sore spots, located on the upside of left breast, by the right hand's two fingers, her expression abruptly twists with a loud moan, almost like exclaiming, as a mild, spasm-like throb appears under the point of contact and flashes through the breast, and instantly several jets of white liquid shoot forcefully from the nipple-tip, making milk's unique, intoxicating aroma in the bathroom even further saturated. A different, vastly stronger and longer shiver, generated by the throb and the surpassingly pleasant sensation immediately follows it, runs down her spine, causing her mind to white-out for a dozen of seconds, with an eyes-widen shock on her face.
How…how good it feels, just like when…
Kotonoha's breasts are always her biggest weakpoints, susceptible to even the subtlest stimulation, be they physiological or psychological, not to mention the even weaker areolae, and nipples which are the weakest. Today's heat doesn't make things easier, on the way of driving home her already-overproductive mammary glands kept pumping out even more milk than usual, leaking from both nipples, drenching both the pasties ("milk-pads" to be precise) and the bra, also spilling all over the bosom and the belly, even forming a layer of membrane on them. Without a proper release, her boobs hurt internally and had become astonishingly solid, due to the severe engorgement; even their size was forced to increase, approximately half a cup bigger than usual, which in turn, making the bra-cups' edges snapped even more deeply into the skin, let alone the distended mammary tissue projecting through behind the areolae, puffing them and pushing them against the over-restrictive fibers along with the hardened nipples, creating more, worse discomfort and stimulating mammary glands to be further hyperactive. Too desperate to get the unbearable torment off the chest but unable to do anything because of the driving, the troubled goddess could only wish someone, anyone, to suckle her right there, better on both breasts simultaneously, even imaged a scene like that, and just ironic as the bra, it didn't help much but tortured her more, for such psychological activities gave mammary glands another boost of their functionality, even somehow hindering her breath… And now, faint itchiness and tickle linger inside her left breast, as if crawling ants and biting mosquitoes, after the body-warmth-bearing mammary fluid of both exceptional quantity and extraordinary quality hastily running through the breast's interior, straight from where it originates to where it exits, and her left nipple-tip feels like hit by a micro static spark.
Kotonoha continues with the masturbation-resembling ministrations and her milk keeps discharging in a highly pressurized and super-profuse manner, the soreness of unfitting bra and the pain of engorgement are gradually being extruded with the spouting nutrition-enriched nectar, as the freakishly ballooned breast softens up and the hemispheric-bulged areola on its top flattens down. However on the contrary, the nipple grows even more rock-hard and swollen in both length and width, meanwhile sensational feedback is being conducted into the depth of mammary glands ceaselessly from multiple directions to promote even more milk to be secreted and ejected, as if forcing the lactiferous ducts and the ductal orifices (a.k.a milk-pores or nipple-orifices) connected to them to dilate three sizes. Such carnal delight also scurries throughout her entire body, triggering systemic responses in the form of searing cheeks, accelerated breath, uncontrolled quivers, loud moans and orgastic expression. Minor orgasms occur before she's done, in the form of forceful letdown coupled with lubricated vagina, trivial convulsions, slight dizziness and paralysis of both legs…
The goddess sits in a "wariza (割座)" posture on the floor, in a pool of boob-juice and love-juice, panting heavily and tiredly. Time for the other breast, ever since she starts treating the left one of the twins, milk unleashes automatically, albeit much weaker, from the peak of the right one as well, the aching distension of the tissue inside of it also gets severer, as if to explode with a bang at any time even without being needle-poked, seems very angry for being neglected for so long and are urging an immediate care. Kotonoha is reluctant to do so, feeling guilty for the sexual pleasures she just experienced, also for despite having mastered all the techniques, breast self-massaging is still an exhausting task. But who can blame her? It isn't likely to be anyone else doing this for her, for a very long time. Therefore it's also not strange while massaging, her mind instinctively creates an illusion of two hands of a male, large and strong, milk her like milking a cow's udders. Sighing with a conflicting mood, her small hand holds the right breast steady from its underside, with the ivory index finger and middle finger of the other hand landing on its sore spots to gently press and rub, the right nipple reacts and shoots milk as the left nipple did and the left one auto-unleashes milk like the right one did, identical sensations and are being generated and are proliferating, as well as the same illusion, followed by minor orgasms too…
Under the sprinkling showerhead, Kotonoha beholds the twin-mountains of white-jade on the front of her torso in all their irresistible glory: Colossal, perfectly-shaped and firmly lofty, proudly declaring their own existence and defiantly defying gravity; atop each of them is the plump nipple longer than one and a half inches with the diameter of a 4-gauge shotgun shell even being unstimulated, also with the color of a fully-ripen strawberry, right stands in the very center of the smooth, modestly puffy, three-and-a-half-times-wider areola of the same color. Thoroughly massaged, the soreness has vanished with associated pale-reddish marks; and after unleashing an enormous amount of milk, the engorgement is relieved too with the "extra dimensions" it brought, also the painful solidness is replaced by the elasticity of ideally-balanced softness and firmness. But she knows it's just temporary since her breasts refill very fast, faster in hotter surroundings, so they are never truly emptied, evidenced by the milk-pores are still auto-streaming white amrita. Her mother is no stranger to this, having lactated way more than several women's life-long yields combined, as if to feed dozens of starving babies, during either her infancy or her younger sister Kokoro's infancy. Manami once told Kotonoha that she'd tried everything to combat the severe oversupply and the ensuing engorgement that occurs multiple times every single day: Diet, exercise, covering breasts with cabbage leaves (an approach not supported by any scientific bases, though), even medications, all but to no avail. Eventually a solution was found but Manami wouldn't say what, Kotonoha had a pretty good conclusion by herself: Either her mother was donating the excessive or secretly found work as wet-nurse, but most likely her father "helped" and continued to "help" after weaning. Kotonoha's own case only to be even more serious thanks to the Rule of the Progressing Specialization, the virtually "infinite" milk-production has resulted her breasts to engorge even more frequently as a daily routine, which really is a thorn in the chest, the very substance supposed to embody maternal love and meant to nourish newborn lives, has become clogged poison and trapped magma, what an irony.
Such persistent, exorbitant overabundance of milk even poses a threat to breasts themselves: Externally, constantly drenched bra-cups and milk-pads increase the incidence of thrush, yeast infection probably spread inside breasts via nipples to cause more complications; meanwhile internally, there's a risk of blocked lactiferous ducts, conditions may lead to galactocele, milk-filled sacs formed behind blockages also known as "milk-retention cysts", and will gradually solidify over time to be painful to touch; an even more dreadful deterioration is also possible, for the stagnant milk may seep into surrounding tissue and the tissue can get irritated by attempting to absorb it, triggering inflammatory reactions commonly known as "mastitis (depends on how it's defined, in a few countries blocked lactiferous ducts even mere breast engorgement are also considered incipient symptoms or light cases of mastitis)", initially noninfectious and subacute, but could further worsens to infectious and acute if the situation doesn't improve, in the worst-case scenario abscesses will develop in the infected areas and will need surgical attention, which could end in permanent deformation of breasts. Luckily those disorders above never occur to Kotonoha, nor to Manami, perhaps they have their competent immune systems to thank for, plus they can always manage an adequate milk-removal before too late also to change bras and milk-pads in time. On the other hand, however, both of them, especially Kotonoha, finds herself actually quite enjoys her breasts being engorged…or rather, highly enjoys the tremendous pleasure of milking out the engorgement, including the electricity-like sensation on nipple-tips when milk gushes, as well as the frictions generated by a plethora of milk rushing through mammary gland lobules and lactiferous ducts, same reason of why so many people are addicted to chili and mustard — the combination of pain and pleasure, or the polar contrast of fire and ice, ideal to excite the secretion of dopamine, or to trigger the so-called "reward system". In short, she's kinda drug dependent, albeit being self-sufficient and not health-harming, from a certain point of view.
A baby's crying suddenly blares from outside the bathroom, and, as if hearing an air-raid siren, the goddess quickly wipes herself dry and wraps herself in a towel, dashing to the source of the cries.
