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Molly shivered in the campus medical room as she sat shirtless on the examination table. A nurse with a spray tan and dark roots poked and prodded the kiwi sized lumps just below the line of Molly’s bra.
“So…” Molly breathed slowly, “What’s the verdict?”
The nurse answered by tapping her acrylics on the paper of the examination table. Molly smiled when she saw that lying back flattened her stomach enough to give her abs some definition. She was grateful she’d kept her hair long, as the brown locks made a silky barrier between her back and the cool paper.
“Hmmm,” the nurse said, digging into the two excess pudge-bumps on Molly’s bottom ribs. Her hands were papery and frictionless against Molly’s bare skin.
Molly’s breath came faster and harder–she kept finding herself wanting to curl up around those probing hands.
After several minutes of massaging, the nurse said, “I don’t feel any hard lumps. No tumors, no lipomas, just fatty tissue.”
“But they grew so fast! And why are they…” Molly breathed again, then said quietly, “why do they look like a tiny pair of boobs?”
The nurse smiled at Molly the way adults grin at ignorant kindergartners.
The nurse said, “Well, it could be that they are, in a sense, extra boobs.”
Molly blinked.
The nurse leaned forward and pinched a prominent dark speck on one of Molly’s mini mounds. It was gentle, but the sensation sent lightning through Molly’s stomach to her groin.
“Mmf,” Molly said, managing to disguise the moan as a grunt.
“You probably thought this was a freckle your whole life. Oh, I almost didn’t see the other.” The nurse reached for the other “boob” and tweaked it up so Molly could see the dark speck on it, too.
“Oooooh,” Molly said. “I mean, so?”
The nurse looked at her sideways, but kept her grip on the bitty breasts. “Humans are mammals, meaning we and our mammalian cousins all evolved from a common ancestor that also had mammaries. Except many mammals, including some of our ancestors, had multiple pairs of breasts. It’s rare, but sometimes ancient traits show up in modern species. They’re called atavistic traits. Some people are born with little gills behind their ears, some have webbed toes, and some…” she pulled harder at the two lumps for emphasis.
“Muh…” Molly groaned.
“… some have what are called supernumerary nipples. These large freckles are right along your milk line–meaning they aren’t freckles, but extra nipples. My guess is that whatever genes triggered the extra nipples might have also triggered fat to collect beneath them the way fat collects in the usual pair.”
“My freckles… are nipples?” Molly said, looking down in shock at the body she thought she knew. “But, I have three freckles like that on each side. Am I going to have eight boobs?”
This time the nurse laughed outright.
“Noooo,” she laughed some more, “no, don’t fret it, dear. Most kids gain some weight in college, the ‘freshman five’ you know.”
“But I’m not a freshman!”
The nurse rolled her eyes. “Well, any change in diet or lifestyle will–“
“I’m living exactly the way I have for the last two years!”
“Well… hm,” the nurse said, pinching her chin. “That is a little odd… but I’m sure it’s fine!” The nurse slowly ran a long nail over the bumps of Molly’s six-pack as she said, “You seem to stay in shape, so if you keep that up you shouldn’t have any fat to collect. And even if you do gain some weight, it’s unlikely to significantly gather in the extra boobs.”
Molly shivered, and the nurse jerked her hand away.
“I’m sorry! Didn’t mean to tickle you,” the nurse laughed.
Molly croaked, “It’s fine.”
“I see them now,” the nurse said, leaning close to Molly’s stomach. “They’re tiny, but wow, you really do have six extra! I don’t think I’ve ever heard of more than three. You’re lucky Dr. Zions doesn’t know about you–she’d turn you into a real experiment!” she laughed. “Anyway, unless they keep growing, I wouldn’t worry about it. You’re young and should be having fun. Your body won’t betray you for some time, still.”
***
“Having fun,” Molly grumbled as she steered her car through a tidy suburb. “Failing Business 431 because I have too much overhead and extra underboob is the friggin’ time of my life.”
She parked on the street rather than the empty driveway. The square hedges blocked any view of Molly’s sedan from the house, buying her time to plan her attack.
“Mom, I know you keep saying I’m not ready… Mom, I need you to give me… no… Mom, I need your help with my school project. Yeah… yeah, ok, the help angle, she can’t resist that.”
The sound of sprinklers and the smell of weed and feed assaulted her as soon as she stepped out of the car. She had an overwhelming urge to close her eyes and feel the mild air on her skin, but she pushed it down and focused on her mission as she walked.
“Mom, I really need… Mom, please, I need…”
She stared at the pastel flowers of the wreath hanging on the door.
“Hello Spring!” gorukle escort read the lacy lettering in the middle of the wreath.
Molly rang the bell.
The door swung open.
“Mom, I need your–oh. Hi, Bambi. Blue now, huh?”
A rail thin girl with short and messy blue hair, dark clothes, dark makeup, and a darker glower stood in the open door.
“B. And mom’s downstairs.”
Though Bambi tried to keep her voice indifferently flat, her timbre was naturally bright, taking the edge away from her sour vibe.
Bambi glided away. She probably thought she looked like a specter, but to Molly she looked more like a goth ice skater.
Or a gloomy Roomba.
“B is for bitchy, that’s good enough for me,” Molly muttered.
Molly shuffled down the basement steps and into the laundry room. Her mother was pulling a load from the dryer–Molly winced as she recognized a frilly pair of panties.
“Mom, you need to stop doing my laundry!” Molly said, rushing to seize the full basket and keep her mom from seeing any of the other intimates.
Molly’s mother stood straight, and Molly–not for the first time–thought of a mother hen.
Or a double scoop ice cream cone.
Mina Muchow had a large torso, supported by strong but skinny legs. As far as Molly could tell, her mom had no extra fat on her body–she had toned thighs, muscular glutes, and a solid jaw line. But for whatever reason, her chest and stomach remained huge.
Her eyes had hints of wrinkles, and her short haircut almost looked like it would be at home at a Blink-182 concert.
Almost.
“And you, Missy, need to tell me more!”
Molly’s hands instinctively went to her extra tits.
How did Mom know?
“You should tell me what’s going on in your life in general,” Mom held up a finger, “tell me when you’re coming home,” a second and third finger went up, “and… tell me where you got those cute panties! Do you think I could pull them off?”
Molly choked on a laugh and a sigh of relief. “I’m not having this conversation.”
Mina gave a fake pout, then held her arms open wide. “You haven’t even said hello yet.”
Molly swallowed and stepped in for the hug she knew her mother would insist upon. First she would squeeze too tight…
Mina wrapped her arms around Molly and started her usual hydraulic press routine.
Check.
Then she would hold the hug a little too long.
“Uh, ok Mom, you can stop counting my ribs.”
“I just miss you,” Mina said.
“There are 24 unbroken ribs, I’d like to leave them that way.”
Check.
And now she would find some reason to stare at Molly’s chest.
“Is that shirt new?” Mina said, brushing at the apex of Molly’s chest.
And check.
Molly considered asking her mother why this had been their routine since she’d left home, but, as always, decided to just let it be.
“No, Mom, I’ve had this forever.”
Molly batted her mother’s hand away and saw something flicker in her eyes. Relief? Disappointment?
The look was gone before Molly could fully read it, replaced by the usual look of motherly concern.
“Molly, you know you can tell me anything, right? I won’t ever judge you.”
“I know.”
“Promise you’ll tell me if anything… ever happens.”
Molly almost reached for her mini mammaries again, but folded her arms at the last second.
“Mom, I need the latte.”
Mina held Molly’s gaze, then sighed as she turned away and moved wet clothes from the washer to the dryer.
“I can’t pass my class without your recipe.”
“Are you going to stay for dinner? I have some chicken marinating for me and Bambi. If you’d told me you were coming I would have put some in for you, too, but I’m sure Bambi won’t finish all of hers. Again.”
“Sure, I’ll have some chicken, but the coffee, Mom.”
Mina slammed the dryer shut and started it. “Coffee, coffee, always with the coffee.”
“I’ll be the only Muchow to fail if you don’t help me.”
“I told you I’ll show you how to make it when you’re ready.”
“I’m 21 years old! How much more ready do I have to be?”
“It’s not about age, Molly, it’s–“
“About maturity, yeah yeah,” Molly huffed, picking up her basket of clothes. “Bambi better finish her own food tonight–I have homework waiting back home.”
“Molly, don’t be like that, I really wish I could help!”
“You can!”
“I… no. Not yet.”
“Tell Bambi to move back out of my room–I’ll need it when Honeycutt fails me next week.”
“Molly…”
Molly stomped up the stairs then turned to the door.
Then she stopped.
She walked back to the kitchen, basket still in hand.
The coffee maker was empty.
Molly put her basket down and looked in the fridge.
“Where is it where…”
There it was, tucked between three and a half pineapples–
A full carafe of Mom’s perfect latte.
***
“No no no wrong!” Molly said, spitting out another mouthful of brew. She dumped out her own carafe, then took a sip from the bursa görükle escort stolen one.
“It can’t be that bad,” said a voice behind her.
Molly whirled to face her roommate, a tall girl with long dark hair and a lithe figure. “Jesus, you scared me, Iona!”
Iona smiled and shrugged. “Thought I’d see if I can grab some of your coffee, since I have to stay up studying anyway.”
“Yeah, sure, swing by tonight.”
“Dude,” Iona laughed, pointing at the oven clock.
Bright green bars spelled out 1:24.
“Oh my god, sorry if I woke you up.”
“Nah, I was awake already. So… about the joe.”
Molly pointed at the barstool under the living room side of the high counter.
Iona sighed and left, returning a moment later with her study book.
Molly handed Iona the stolen carafe. “This is the target.”
Iona sipped. Her eyes widened, and she tilted her head back further.
“No no no!” Molly said, yanking the jug back. “We need this as a control, we can’t drink it all!”
“That’s literally the best latte I’ve ever had, dude.”
“I know!” Molly started to scream, then lowered her voice. “I know. I’ve been trying to get my mom to tell me how she makes it for years but she keeps saying I’m not ready yet.”
“Hm.”
Iona opened her textbook and started reading.
“Just ‘hm’?”
“Hm?” Iona looked up. “Oh, I mean, I dunno. You never really know what other people are dealing with. I’m sure she has a good reason for not telling you. Your mom seems super nice.”
Molly sighed, “Do your homework.”
“Yeah, Mom,” Iona said with a smirk, turning back to her book.
Molly took a sip of the special latte. The flavor was beyond creamy and sweet and rich: it was transcendent. It brought Molly back to when she was younger, reading books in the nook while a thunderstorm outside rattled the china in its display. This sip held the promise of adventure, atmosphere, and the beautiful smell of petrichor.
She took another sip and she was on the porch swing, watching fireflies meander in the citrus light of sunset.
One last sip, and she was sobbing in her mother’s arms, surrounded by warmth and comfort even as the rest of their world fell apart.
Molly took a deep breath, then started blending.
***
Molly groaned as she walked to class.
Her stomach echoed the groan like some perverse yodeler.
Everything felt off today. Her real boobs ached for some reason and her extra pair had grown in the night, so much that the little nipples had height to them now. She had been cold when she threw her white hoodie on that morning, but now she was burning up.
Worst of all, she was absolutely starving. She wished she’d had some of that fried chicken last night–the instant ramen she’d shared with Iona at 3 a.m. had left her feeling full for about seven minutes.
“Just get to class, sit through it, then go home and stuff your piggy face,” Molly muttered. “Get to class. Get to… unnnghh.”
Her breasts and her stomach both knotted as she walked.
“What the fuck?”
A guy passing her gave her a weirded-out glance.
Gotta learn to talk in my head like a normal lunatic, she thought as she picked up her pace.
She pussyfooted into the small lecture hall ten minutes early, so the room was relatively private.
“Ugghhooohhh,” she groaned as her hunger and soreness spiked again.
“Hello?” a voice called from the front of the room.
A man shaped like a spinning top stepped through the door of the preparation room and adjusted his tweed jacket as he squinted around the dim hall.
“Molly!” Professor Honeycutt called when he spotted her. His brown toupee nearly bounced off his pate as he covered the steps two at a time.
“Hello, Professor,” Molly said, trying to sound normal.
“Are you alright, my dear?” he said, stopping in the row in front of her. “You look pale.”
“I’m fine, just walked here a little too fast.”
“Well, I’m glad you got here early so I could discuss your project.”
“I’ll have my proposal finished on time, sir.”
He looked at her sternly. “Are you still fixed on your little ‘Get Up and Go’? My answer is still no.”
“Sir, when you taste my coffee–“
“We’ve been over this, so I’m going to be brief. You have three well-established competitors on campus already. You have too much overhead. And, most importantly, I’ve seen dozens of failed coffee stops in this course. Only one ever made a profit, and it had literally the best latte I’ve ever tasted.”
“So I keep hearing.”
“Until you prove you have a better product–“
“I will! I… just need to get it.”
The professor’s face softened. “Will you at least make a backup proposal? I’ve seen some very successful fry stands in Europe, I wish any of the students would try one here. Sure, fries aren’t glamorous, but business isn’t always… uh, Molly. Your shirt is wet.”
Molly snapped her chin to her collar bone and saw two big wet patches–one atop each boob.
“I… uh, fever,” Molly said, then loped for the door.
“Molly, wait, I–“
She didn’t hear the rest as the heavy door clicked behind her.
The halls were starting to fill with traffic as class time drew nearer.
She saw a sign for the restrooms and dashed for them. When a group of kids rounded a corner, Molly slowed down and put her arms over her chest, trying to look natural as she covered… whatever it was.
The kids glanced at her but were too engrossed in their conversation to pay Molly any special attention as she sidled past them into the women’s bathroom.
She went to the mirror to study the fist sized wet patches, but another girl came from a toilet to the sinks so Molly ducked into a stall, plopping onto the toilet lid in exhaustion.
Her chest heaved up and down as she breathed. A cold bead of sweat zipped down her back, making her spine stiffen in shock.
A sweet, musty smell hit Molly’s nose as she pulled the hoodie over her head.
She looked down.
“Oh shit.”
Except for the very top and very bottom, the front of her shirt was completely soaked. She pulled the shirt off and was again hit by the saccharine smell.
Her bra was ruined. She pulled at the top of the saturated cups to look in, but the top of the bra clung like it had been glued on. She pried at it, watching the malleable flesh of her breasts stretch with the bra then pull free. Inside, a small pool of white fluid shivered between her boobs and the cloth.
Molly leaned forward and sniffed again. Again, that cloying smell.
It’s milk. I’m lactating. How am I making milk?!
She poked at a breast and felt the same pain from earlier. She’d heard of this, women getting sore boobies if they didn’t milk. But she shouldn’t need to milk!
It’s been… She counted to seven on her fingers then quit a long time since I’ve been with a guy. No way I’m pregnant.
She hung her shirt and her hoodie on the stall door’s coat hanger. Then she stood, raised the toilet lid, and carefully removed her bra so that the gathered ounces of milk splashed into the open toilet.
Her engorged nipples were spraying. Sure, the streams were only as thick as a donkey’s hair, but the fact was she wasn’t dripping, she wasn’t leaking, she was fucking spraying!
A tiny voice inside her was screaming to do something, but the larger part of her mind was blanking at the sight of her swollen breasts protruding, almost erect, because of the load tautening them from the inside. Her normally pale mounds now sported thick blue veins.
“Like worms coming up for air,” she said, poking one of the more prominent ones.
Her nipples–god, her nipples. Her areolae, usually pink and flat, had darkened and pushed into wide domes. Her nipples looked like a stack of Rolos!
The darkness of her nipples made the white of the milk stream even more visible.
It just… keeps going.
It was like she had gone into someone else’s mind and could only watch helplessly as their tits exploded in slow motion.
She blinked and twitched her head as a warmth on her foot interrupted her hypnosis.
While she had been staring at her headlights like a deer, she’d leaked all over her shoes!
Cursing and muttering, Molly leaned over to take her shoe off.
This was a mistake.
Leaning forward made her supply gush even faster, soaking her pants.
“First things first,” she said standing up, “drain these things.”
She turned her torso so lefty was pointing toward the open toilet.
“Just… squeeze,” she said, putting a palm on either side of the aimed tit.
She pushed.
“Ohhhhhh!”
The already swollen nipple pushed out even farther as the torrent tried to escape even faster than before. Molly couldn’t decide if it felt good or bad, it was pure sensation as the pressure built.
It surprised Molly that when she squeezed, smaller streams squirt off from the sides of her nipple. She had known milk didn’t leave through a central tunnel or anything, but she hadn’t expected it to just splash out willy-nilly. It reminded her of the old cartoons when one character was shot a hundred times, then acted fine as they took a drink of water–only for the water to fountain out of the many previously unseen bullet holes.
I did not just compare my nipple to Tom Cat.
Molly leaned forward so that the offshoots would also fall in the toilet. This made her other boob pick up the pace again.
She tried aiming both of them at the same time, but they were so full that they couldn’t be squished together well enough for a joint aim.
What to do? Let one make a white lake on the tile while the other lands in the toilet? Give up completely and let both run their course? Pinch one shut?
She tried the last option, squeezing a tall nipple.
“Ah!” she screamed. The pain of stopping the flow and the pleasure of stimulating her nipple were just too much, so she let go like she’d been electrocuted.
The attempt had covered her fingers in milk, so as she wondered what to do, she distractedly brought her fingers to her mouth and sucked them clean.
Suddenly, she didn’t feel the panic of creating a small flood in the public restroom.
She felt the promise of adventure and smelled petrichor.
