by Miss Mouse
The afternoon’s rains gave way to a cloudy, quiet sunset. Quiet except for the splashing of rubber-booted feet through shallow puddles on the old country road. Sarah was late and had to hurry; she’d lost too much time already because of the weather and now was in danger of missing her bus.
She went as quickly as her condition allowed, being seven months pregnant, but things were not looking good. As she came up the muddy slope, she just caught a glimpse of the bus driving off from the stop a quarter of a mile down the road.
Momentarily overcome with despair, she stopped to huff and puff and stare off after it. The next bus wouldn’t be by for another hour, but she needed to get home. Sarah wished suddenly that she hadn’t hurried so much, as the jostling had made her breasts sore and the hem of her pastel-blue sundress was wet with puddle water.
She removed her broad sunhat, shaking out her long black locks and fanning herself for a minute before moving on. No need to hurry now; she had time before the next bus.
Yet there was a growing urge in her, one she could not suppress, and this urge became more and more worrisome as she splashed along the road. Sarah had never had large breasts, even after becoming pregnant, but in the last month or so, her milk had come in.
And boy had it come in hard.
In a matter of weeks, her breasts had grown to the size of large grapefruits, and her bras and wardrobe were only just keeping up. More worrying than the increased at the moment was the milk. She could feel a growing tightness in her chest, a soreness agitated by her running. She knew what it meant: she was getting full. Too full.
Sarah had gotten into a bit of a schedule with it, pumping every few hours to prevent any mishaps, but today she was running late, caught outside and away from home.
The bus stop stood on a level plane, an open field behind it and the road in front. Beyond the road, the land sloped down some ways into a valley. There were no trees, no bushes, no real chance at privacy here, and by the time Sarah reached the canopied bench, she was getting desperate. The last thing she wanted was to leak all over her dress and then suffer through the ride home, everyone seeing the wet spots and smelling that sweet, cloying scent.
Just the thought was enough to make heat rise to her face. No, she’d have to come up with something.
The bus stop afforded no privacy or comfort, being a metal bench surrounded on three sides and covered to keep out the elements. It wasn’t deep enough that she could really hide in it very well, and if a car passed by…
The grass of the field was long, at least, if fairly damp from the rain. Being behind the bus stop meant she was only covered on one side, but there was nothing in front of her for a long way and she had her umbrella.
Out of options, Sarah crouched down behind the bus stop panting from anxiety and exertion. She opened her umbrella and set it next to her, covering about half of herself with its curve. Her head was visible above it, but she didn’t have much of a choice. She was blushing furiously, and the heat was beginning to make her sweat, so she removed her hat and leaned it against the bus stop on the other side to try and give herself some more cover.
She took one more deep breath—her overfull breasts pressing uncomfortably against their confines—then wriggled her shoulders out of the top of her sundress, slipping the broad straps down and getting her arms through the neck. With a little work she got the top down just below her bust. Despite their size, her breasts remained high and round, supported by her round belly and strong bra. The bra was massive and utilitarian, being a uninteresting beige color and with no ornamentation, but it did its job without complaint. Her preference had always been for front-clasp bras and the ease of use would have been nice here, but she’d had no choice in selecting her current model.
With a resigned sigh, she reached around behind and unhooked the bra, which popped away, now free of its tension. As she removed it, she could feel the heat coming off her breasts, how it lingered in the cups of the bra. They were ready, a small bead of milk already forming upon one nipple.
Her breasts were large and pale, a hint of blue visible in places where a vein might be seen. Having grown so quickly, they retained a rather round shape, not yet fully drawn down by their own gravity. The areolas had grown larger and their pinkness had darkened greatly, their new appearance adding to the sense of strangeness about them.
The extreme changes they had undergone in the last few months had done a great deal to alienate Sarah from them, so much so that she relied wholly on her pump for milking. Now though, she had no choice but to face this part of herself.
She could not help but gasp a little at the first touch, a shiver passing through her whole body. They were hot and tight, more sensitive than she had ever thought they might be. Even the first exploratory touches of her fingertips had caused one nipple to expel a little line of white milk which now ran down the curve of the breast and dripped down onto her dress below. Realizing this, she shifted forward and wiped her hand up the underside—and the sensation hit her like an electric shock, a moan escaping her lips.
Sarah had never needed anything so badly in her entire life.
She took one brief look down at her hand as it cupped her breast from beneath, taking in the weight, the tightness, the heat… Her fingers did not even begin to reach around it. It was wild to her, unknown, unexplored.
She started slow, had to start slow—all her strength had left her. What kept her going was her will and her desire for more, the growing need for release. Her hand contracted slightly, pressing gently from the base, drawing the milk forward and out. It erupted from her in a white stream, arcing through the air to splash upon the grass before her. The flow continued in ernest, even as she stopped to marvel at what was happening.
Carefully, she pressed again, squeezing, then pulling outward. Milking. That’s what it was, and her body responded eagerly, releasing a flood of glistening white. She went at it with both hands, coaxing out the milk with a growing fervor. There was a steadily-increasing heat within her; one she hadn’t felt in a long time; one she couldn’t ignore.
Unbidden, her right hand let go and her left moved to take over its duties, bracing the now untended breast against her forearm. She bent her head, her lips reaching hungrily to wrap around the nipple. The softness of her mouth played against the teased nipple, sucking and massaging greedily at it. There was a brief shock as the thought of her actions passed over her mind, but it faded as the first drops of sweet milk reached her tongue.
Everything was on autopilot, her mind overcome with the feelings of tension and release. Her right hand climbed up her skirt, grasping clumsily at her damp panties and pulling them halfway off. Next it felt its way along her trembling thigh, touching briefly at the kiss of her sensitive lips before—at last—entering.
Sarah gave a muffled cry of shock and ecstasy, but did not stop sucking at her full breast, did not stop squeezing herself. She needed this—had needed this for a long, long time, and now it was here. Within her, her child shifted, a series of tentative motions its response to the growing excitement around it.
The motions of her child; the supple firmness of her engorged breasts; the sweet taste of milk filling her mouth; the ministrations of her own, probing fingers; all was heat and life and pleasure to her, and she devoured it all with an anxious greed.
The fire that had begun to burn within her was now at its brightest, the light and warmth overcoming her, overflowing her. She reached the peak of it all, coming with a ferocity that blinded her to the world. It all passed away in the rush of a violent and primal river, which carried her away into the darkness.
There was a ringing sound, a familiar “tring!-tring!” that carried across the open ground of the soggy afternoon and recalling Sarah’s wits to her. She was shocked and tired, her eyes reluctant to open, but she turned to see a cyclist coming towards her down the road.
This stimulus was enough to spur her to action, drawing her out of her stupor into a weak panic that took over and almost made her stand up then and there. Her hands fumbled across the grass to find her bra, slipping it over her shoulders in a clumsy rush. Her breasts were pink and sore, but visibly smaller and the pain was more a relief than a burden. She fastened the hooks just enough to hold it together, then pulled up her sundress to get her arms into it.
She found she had slid fully onto the ground—her legs having given out beneath her—and now stood to take up her sunhat and umbrella, only to almost trip over her panties which had worked their way down to the top of her rain boots. As she wobbled to her feet, she felt the uncomfortable sloshing of milk in her stomach. Oh, she was so full. She steadied herself against the back of the bus stop, one hand on the roundness of her belly, and the child within her gave a little kick against it.
When she was steady enough—she thought she might never be wholly steady again—she looked herself up and down and thought herself sufficiently in order, though she saw clearly full puddle of white milk on the ground at her feet. Hastily, she kicked the grass to try and cover it.
The cyclist braked in front of the bus stop and dismounted just as she was coming around from the back.
“Hey.” He a little younger than she, maybe college aged. “I—are you alright? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine!” She squeaked a little too quickly. Sarah was very conscious of the sweat on her forehead. “You know how it is in this heat.” She began to laugh in a not altogether convincing manner.
As if to bail her out, the bus came up over the rise down the road, which provided a convenient change of topics. It stopped with a welcomed screech of the brakes, and Sarah was up the stairs as soon as the doors were open.
“Um,” said the young man as he started up behind her.
She glanced back and realized the butt of her dress was wet from the grass and the cyclist was doing his best not to stare, looking off uncomfortably to one side.
Sarah could have died from embarrassment, covering her face and darting to the back of the bus to sit alone. Oh, it was awful!
And yet, when she looked back at the day as a whole, she couldn’t help but smile, a little flame of warm rekindling within her.