Sam and Hermea wake up and prepare for the day ahead of them.

---

Hermea stirred. Her alarm had finally completed its task, provoking her awake. An arm flailed at her phone, eventually picking it up and shutting off the alarm after a few bleary attempts. The phone fell to the carpeted floor as Hermea slowly booted up her brain for the coming day.

Slowly, she pushed herself up into a seated position, only to slump back against the cushion behind her. She was a mess in the mornings, honestly. Her curly, blonde hair adamantly refused to stay neat overnight, which is why she kept it cut close to her shoulders. When it actually cooperated, it was actually nice to have; anything to distract from the annoying tint of green of her eyes and how disproportionately tall and thin she was.

She pulled an arm up to brush some hair out of her face, but it brushed up against the tight skin on the side of her breasts. This shouldn’t have been so unusual to her- she was a morning milker, after all- but it nevertheless caught her off-guard just how full she could get. She had measured herself recently when she was empty- just one of these things was seventy-eight and a half centimeters around (bigger than a basketball, a friend had mentioned on a night out). She smiled, remembering fondly those times where she “forgot” to milk herself on the weekends, trying to see just how far she could go before her body called it for her.

She shook her head, kicking herself out of her reverie. Not time for this now. She had to deal with the current, pressing problem sitting on her chest. And almost obscuring her navel. Fuck, she remembered that one time where she got her tits to finally sit on her lap after two whole days of swelling with her bounty. She had finally achieved that dream of hers, and Sam was so proud of her–

‘Sam! Milking! Morning routine! Dammit, focus!’

Hermea shook herself again, pushing herself off the cushion and finally off the bed. Looking back at the bed, she admired her better half still dead to the world, lost in her dreams. That ‘cushion’ she rested against wasn’t made of fabric, but was one of the massive, oblong spheres attached to her wife’s chest. They each radiated a comforting warmth that Hermea loved to drift off to sleep to, and that always had made waking up difficult. While they piled up on either side of her, each stretching half a meter across, they still managed to meet in the middle, making a sizable cleft between them. Sam smiled, mumbling something in her sleep, the oddity of this making Hermea pause. She remembered Sam talking at length about some wonderful dreams she had, but that she clammed up when she asked what, exactly, those dreams were about.

Sam… oh, Sam. She wasn’t an easy one to get used to. Always so loud and thinking of the strangest things. A month ago, out of nowhere, she chopped off most of her hair and dyed what little she had left blue, explaining it all with something about the “drapes matching the windows”. Sam had a short, stocky build, and her thin arms betrayed just how muscular she was beneath the swells of her breasts. Hermea would be remiss to not note the fourth thing Sam told everyone new she met: that her breasts had “broken the meter”. Whether that meant that they were a full meter from side to side, a meter around, or whether they could break a meterstick if dropped on one, Hermea could never know. Looking down at Sam’s breasts, she noticed a pearl of milk that had formed on one of her nipples sometime after Hermea had stood up.

She decided it was time for an experiment.

Hermea left the room, returning with a ruler. Carefully, she leaned forward and slipped it between Sam’s breasts, gently slipping it down until it refused to move lower. As she pulled back, she noticed that the ‘3’ on the inches side stuck half-out above the mountain of flesh around it, as well as the fact that Sam’s breasts pushed against each other enough to keep the ruler upright. The first data point taken, Hermea turned to their bathroom.

Hermea grabbed the chair and moved it closer to the milker in the corner. Living with someone under the colloquially-called “hyper program” had its benefits. Sam’s excessive milking requirements meant that Hermea always had access to a proper milker. None of that half-assed pumping power she suffered with growing up that slowed down whenever she got down to her cream. This thing didn’t slow down in the slightest, for better and for worse. Sure, sometimes she found herself sore after a longer session, but nothing was so satisfying as hearing your pump keep chugging along while your tits were doing their damnedest to slow it down.

She grabbed the smaller set of pumps, made sure the machine had the right set selected, and started the pump. She sat down as the set first one nozzle, then the other over her eager nipples, feeling them first get sealed over, then start to reluctantly offer up their milk a few drops at a time. Before long, she would start to see streams of her hard-produced milk get pulled in by the machine. She settled in and waited for the milker to finish its task and started planning out her day.

---

The sensation of getting milked, of one’s breasts slowly starting to push streams of light milk, then eventually standard milk, then the increased effort of releasing the cream was something Hermea never got tired of. The slow progression was heaven to her, but before she used these heavier pumps, it always led to the most frustrating part of the whole process: determining whether it was just the pump struggling with some of the heavier cream, or if she really was letting out the last drops of her milk. Thankfully, whatever software these pumps were running on could tell when someone really was at the end, as a series of short beeps broker her from her reverie.

Damn. She forgot to make the list this morning. Again.

Sighing, she pulled the nozzles off her breasts and stood up, pushing the chair back to its usual location. It was technically Sam’s pump, so the least she could do is make sure she set everything back in place for her. Even with the few movements since the pump shut off, she could definitely feel the difference from before she sat down. It never really got into her mind just how much milk she was carrying before she pumps, but it never ceased to surprise her after the fact. Had she been making more recently? She’d have to check next time, as the lights flashing her amount were off and were usually ignored by her after her sessions.

She yawned as she returned to the bedroom, and glanced at Sam, still fast asleep and muttering. Hermea leaned in and looked at the ruler again. The ‘3’ was definitely swallowed up by the tit flesh around it, as were a few tick marks after it. This was definitely one of “those dreams” that she didn’t want to share, and that definitely would make Sam’s morning mobility worse if left unchecked. Time to step in.

“Sam, come on, wake up.” Hermea shook Sam’s shoulder- something she had to put a little more force into it than she was used to, given the massive dampeners attached not too far away.

“Mnh–!” Sam picked her head up, then brought a hand to her face to rub the sleep from her eyes. “Did you need to wake me up just as I got to the good part?”

“Sorry. Out of curiosity, what is ’the good part’?”

Sam froze, and Hermea could tell she wasn’t trying to meet her eyes. Unfortunately, what her eyes did land on was the remnants of her impromptu experiment nestled in her cleavage. Going for the change of topic, Sam reached forward and pulled the ruler out, brandishing it towards Hermea.

“I’m sorry, but what was this for?”

“Oh, nothing. Just trying to measure your patience, Sammy.” She turned to the kitchen, trying to hide the smile on her face, but couldn’t escape Sammy giving her ass a playful slap with the ruler.

Deep down, Hermea wanted to stay and help Sam get up- in her mind, standing up with Sam’s breasts could be an ordeal in and of itself, but she knew that Sam highly valued her independence and would only suffer the blow to her pride if the circumstances were dire. It had happened a few times, to be fair, but Sam wouldn’t allow herself to be forgiven for those infractions. Still, it was Sam’s life and Sam’s situation. She knew her limits, and Hermea didn’t want to overstep a boundary. But every morning, she still felt that pang of worry.

By now, Hermea had grabbed her granola bars and tablet and sat down at the table. That was another oddity of Sam’s that didn’t make sense at first- she bought one of those really short tables from Japan that you basically sat on the floor to get under. Hermea could never remember the name. Everyone that visited their apartment found this decision an odd one, given that she had no other proclivities toward that nation, but Hermea knew the singular reason Sam wanted this.

Speaking of which, Hermea heard the bed give its final creak, followed by a slapping noise and a soft “oof”. A few moments later, Sam appeared at the kitchen doorway and maneuvered one tit in, then her body, then the other tit. She shuffled around the kitchen, grabbing a bowl and a bag of cereal before landing on the other side of the table with meaty thump. Hermea spotted a few dots of milk that appeared on Sam’s massive nipples. Sam poured some cereal in the bowl, set the bag aside, then very carefully set the bowl down on the table, making minute adjustments to where it sat and where her right tit pointed. After a minute, she sat back, satisfied.

She then bent forward and purposefully landed face-first into her tit.

She pressed down in a rehearsed manner, squeezing in a very particular way with her hands. Her reward was expressed unseen by herself- several streams of milk arcing half a foot into her bowl. Hermea noted with surprise that only two of those streams managed to miss their mark, a new record for the eccentric girl.

A few seconds later, Sam pulled herself back up and eased off her breast, her heavy breaths likely a sign that she held her breath for the entire duration, but Hermea couldn’t be sure. “You know,” she said, between crunching mouthfuls of her granola, “there are easier ways to do that.”

“But are they as fun?” Sam challenged, taking her first spoonful.

“They require less cleanup.”

“Pfft. The more cleanup’s required, the more fun you had.” As Sam chuckled to herself, Hermea couldn’t help but remember the long nights they spent together- of how much they truly enjoyed each other, but also how much of a mess Sam single-handedly made. “Oi!” Sam snapped Hermea from her thoughts. “I know that face. You know what I meant.”

Hermea smiled. “Oh, come on. Tell me you didn’t have fun, too.”

Sam blushed and pulled her bowl closer. Hermea knew better than to keep teasing to early in the morning- she learned her lesson quick after helping Sam lug a pair of boobs out of the kitchen that were noticeably larger than when they went in.

---

“Alright,” Hermea buttoned up her jacket, “I’m off to work.”

“Have fun!” Sam held her arms out wide, and Hermea leaned in. They kissed each other on one cheek, then the other. “Do lots of science!”

“I will when they finally decide to further the grants. I swear, they– No, sorry, you wouldn’t know about that. I’ll tell you when I get back. Don’t keep your work waiting too long.”

“Ugh, I know, I know. I’ll keep my milking quick.”

“Good to hear.” Hermea opened the front door, turning to give a last wave, “Have a nice day.”

“You too!” Sam kept waving until the door closed behind Hermea. She waited a few seconds until she knew her wife wouldn’t hear, then turned to look down at the bloated tits sitting in her lap.

“Alright, you two. Let’s get you dealt with.”

~

Sam checked the milking machine over before settling down, ensuring everything was on its proper settings. Didn’t want to have to break off and adjust something that wasn’t set up right. She moved the chair out of the way, and sat herself down on the cold tile. Normally, she would have just used the chair, but she needed this today. Those dreams just kept coming back, and good God, did they rile her up.

She pulled the larger set of nozzles down, and pulled first one engorged nipple up to insert it, then the other one. She slumped down and flipped the milker to “on”, letting herself get lost in the sensations. First, oozing out all those droplets, her tits would reluctantly give up their bounty, shyly flirting their first gifts. But soon enough, they would start to get braver, unlocking more and more of their stores to–

Hang on. How did that…? Sam pulled her hand up, out of her sweatpants and panties. Had she subconsciously slipped her hand down there? She frowned at the revelation. She wasn’t someone who subconsciously did things.

She actively did them.

She grabbed the waistbands of both layers and carelessly shoved them out of the way, then reached over to the remote and pushed the intensity up a few notches. ‘Game on, you fucking tits. Game. On.’

She slapped the side of her boobs, the dumb orbs who only knew how to engorge themselves, cramming every single drop of milk they could into their endless bulk, and how to release it all after some convincing. The pumps, pressure, Hermea’s mouth, fuck, Hermea knew how to speak to them, dare to them, challenge them. It was like she insulted their output. ‘What, a few droplets? A few meager streams? For all that bulk insinuates, you fuckers don’t live up to your name, do you?’

Sam’s hand went deep, and she felt herself squeeze down hard on it as a bolt of energy seized her being. Fuck yes, this was it. When Hermea really got into it, she could toy with her nipples hard enough to really mess with her. Sam pulled her hand up, circling with her clit for a moment as she tried to stretch the moment out. She slammed her hand back inside her and pushed down on her tit with all her might.

Hermea teased her, but was never rough enough. Sam needed her tits to be slapped, her milk to be taken. She could be gentle and kind on her own time, but now she needed to remind those fat fucking tits of hers who was in charge and what the dynamic was. How rebellious they were on their own time, and the lessons they needed to learn.

Fuck, fuck! Sam eased off. Not yet, she wasn’t feeling the cream come out yet. She grabbed a wide handful of titflesh and felt herself. All that mass between her fingers and under her palm, the milk glands deep in her flesh all giving up their load, releasing the tide. The endless torrent that coalesced at her nipples and the countless streams that her dumb, fat tits eagerly kept spitting out. Soon enough, the reservoirs would have to turn to–

Fuck, yes! The cream! “Loved” wasn’t strong enough for the sensation. Desired. Craved. The slow switch from the freely-flowing milk to the fucking cream that tests your nipples, that sits in your mouth as you swallow, that makes people and pumps alike choke slightly from its thick consistency.

Sam was losing herself in her thoughts. The sensations burned together, from between her legs to the ends of her breasts. She clamped down on her hand with her legs, slammed an arm into her massive tits, and buried her head in her cleavage, hoping to bury the scream.

Breathless, she slowly picked her head up. Her hand ached from the flurry of attention she gave her clit, and she could feel a few drips of milk that seeped out of the nozzles. God, she loved it when she proved herself better than technology. She softly let her head back down on top of the pile of her breasts, and relished in the afterglow mingling with the slow, subtle satisfaction of the last of her cream slowly being drained from her breasts.

–

“Welcome back!”

“Thanks, Sam. How much did you make this morning?”

“I… don’t pay attention to that.”

“Hm. Yeah, I can get that. A liter makes at your size doesn’t make that much of a difference.”

---

End content