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A Short Visit (Random Writing for Grammatik/Vern)
🕑 Added 2021-04-01 13:01:13 +0000 UTCTAGS: Shork, Hyper, Milk/Lactation, BE, Udders
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The voicemail was enthusiastic enough that Vern couldn’t help but keep one eyebrow raised all the way over to her aunt’s place. She couldn’t fathom why Amalthea would practically beg her to brave the cold winter day just to see some poorly-explained “surprise” that they had lined up for her, but it was Amalthea; whatever it turned out to be, Vern was certain that it’d be worth her time… to some extent. Either that or she’d have to pretend like she really liked whatever the other sharkess had prepared while trying to keep a convincing smile up at all times.
Things didn’t get better when she reached the front door and knocked on it, receiving no response in return. Vern held her arms even tighter against her body, tail coiling against one of her legs to escape the bitter cold, her breath forming small clouds as she waited for something, anything to happen; she was going to have to knock on it again, but that meant taking her hand out of her pocket, which was not something the shark had any intention of doing if she could avoid it. Turning her face from side to side to check for any signs of movement, the sounds of crunching snow filled the hoodie she had pulled up as she walked over to the nearest window, unable to see anyone at all inside the house; was Amalthea even there?
Scowling, Vern resolved to shoulder-check the door just hard enough for it to technically count as a knock, only to almost lose her balance the damned thing just opened when she put the slightest amount of weight on it; now the sharkess was feeling slightly worried, if only because it wasn’t normal for her aunt to leave her front door unlocked like that. Add to it the fact that the house was completely deserted and suddenly there were a lot of uncomfortable possibilities being raised, none of which would survive the moment that Vern removed her hoodie and actually listened to the ambient noises surrounding her.
She knew what that was, well enough that her cheeks began glowing a bright red and the grimace she sported didn’t last too long before she remembered to keep it on. Vern had heard those sounds before a few times, just enough that they were burned into the back of her head and never left, courtesy of Amalthea being far too open about her unique “issues” than she should be. It was a mixture of low groaning, the slightest amount of creaking, and the kind of noises that could be reproduced by filling a very large bucket with water, putting a lid on it, then throwing it down a flight of stairs… just without the water and with something else entirely, the thought of which was already enough to get Vern to gulp at the mere thought of what she was going to see when walking into the downstairs bathroom; because where else would Amalthea be?
As the sharkess expected, the sloshing only got louder the closer they got to the bathroom door, and as soon as she turned a corner into the hallway proper, it became seasoned with the occasional moan on the other shark’s part, not to mention what sounded like them trying to heave themselves onto the side of a very unhappy bathtub that wasn’t liking the kind of weight being placed on it; a very specific comparison, to be sure, but one that Vern herself knew for a fact was entirely correct, and would only confirm the moment she took a deep breath, took a deep gulp, and then walked straight through the door where Amalthea was waiting for her.
And there she was, kneeling on the cold floor and struggling to get a single one of her tits over the side of the bathtub after it had slid off and slammed onto the floor, leaving Vern’s aunt incredibly lopsided and in an odd leaning position as she struggled to keep her other milk tank in place while using one arm to lift the other mound; this was obviously not possible given the sheer size of those things, but Amalthea wasn’t known for making the best of decisions when she was stuffed like that: her legs alone were splayed at a wide angle in order to make room for her udders, which had taken in so much run-off milk that they could probably serve as a seat on their own, assuming the sharkess they were stuck to dared to put any pressure on them. Her tits weren’t any better, easily big enough to cover her entire torso and then go all the way down to her knees (to say nothing of the couple of feet of backboob on either side of her torso) and stuffed to the point where, even without any stimulation whatsoever, they leaked openly with thick cream, rivulets of it running down their front and onto the ground; with one of those monsters stuck out of the tub, Amalthea had made a right mess of herself and the space immediately around her, which was only made worse once she caught sight of Vern and reacted by leaning backwards to say hello… promptly tipping over and getting buried underneath her own tits, while her udders remained immobile, forcing her legs to remain wide open.
“Hyia Veeeeeeeern!” Amalthea greeted her niece aloud, stretching their name out as far as it could go without sounding too irritating, “Auntie Amalthea had a bit of a slip-up with her milking schedule and now she needs help!”
There were so many things that Vern wanted to say at that point that the only thing she managed to do was bring a hand up to her eyes to rub them while shaking her head and barely containing a sigh of utmost disappointment. The blush was still there, of that there was no doubt; the sharkess just wished that things didn’t always end up in some kind of milk-based growth spurt when it came to Amalthea’s surprises… again, to a certain extent. The blush was still there, after all.
“Did you? Or did you do it on purpose just to see what I’d do?” Vern replied, trying her best not to sound too accusatory, “Because you told me that you had a surprise lined up.”
“And I did! I still do!” - Amalthea gesticulated wildly towards her own bust - “Surprise!”
It was hard to keep a straight face, though Vern didn’t really know whether to start laughing at the sheer excitement in her aunt’s voice or slap her own forehead and start grunting at how ridiculous the entire situation was; whatever the case, one thing was for certain though: Amalthea needed help, and she she was the only one who could do so. Now, if only the other sharkess wasn’t so unbelievably heavy that it took all of Vern’s considerable strength to even start to get her to move from the ground, then things would’ve been a lot simpler; as it stood though, with the immense pair of tits splayed on either side of them and the enormously stuffed udders between their legs, getting Amalthea to move anywhere was a chore and a half, taking nearly five minutes of constant effort just to get them back on their wobbly legs.
This wasn’t made easier by the size difference between the two. Vern might be big, but her aunt was something else, easily topping out at the twelve-foot mark and looking positively gigantic whenever she “forgot” to drain herself like she had; it was like staring at a mobile dairy factory, what with the constant leaking, the audible sloshing and churning, and the occasional moans that sounded suspiciously like a moo being produced by the bottom of the giant sharkess’ throat… sounds that were a lot louder than they usually were, even given the circumstances, sounds that alerted Vern to the fact that something was wrong. It was an instinctive reaction that coursed through her, chilling her spine as her primal, lizard brain shouted at her to move out of the way or else risk being hit by something; this confusion set of signals, seemingly coming from nothing, left Vern so utterly flabbergasted at what her own body was telling her that, by the time she realized why this was happening, it was already too late.
The signs were all there, to be fair: Amalthea’s broken-but-wide grin, the sloshing getting louder despite their size remaining stable, how they somehow managed to go from completely helpless to suddenly turning towards their niece without losing their balance… even the extra-large amounts of dripping and leaking were probably an indicator if Vern gave it a second’s thought, which was made remarkably harder by how her aunt used their superior size and weight to turn the tables on the “smaller” sharkess and immediately plop herself on top of her.
It happened quickly enough that Vern couldn’t react aside from a short yelp and a frankly pointless shove; within moments of Amalthea getting up and straightening her back out, their entire form seemed to collapse onto the other shark in the bathroom, their hands pushing Vern’s shoulders down just enough that their body could do the rest of the work. With an impact strong enough to knock the air out of her lungs, the niece suddenly found herself with her back to the cold floor and an extremely set of udders sitting directly on top of her chest, making it hard to breathe and concentrate, though for entirely different reasons when it came to those two. It was, after all, slightly difficult to focus when one had a milktank of that size literally within squeezing range, along with two more looming above… more difficult still when Amalthea leaned down just enough to grab one of their swollen teats and, much to their niece’s protestations, shoved it directly into Vern’s mouth.
Vern herself would’ve liked to say that she fought back, perhaps resisted this intrusion upon her private space, but the truth of the matter was that, past a certain point, what she did didn’t really matter anymore. There was simply no way she was going to pull her aunt off of her, and with the warmth of her body and the rumbling of the lactic production building up inside of her assets, it was hard to resist the allure of a very warm, very sweet, very filling meal when it was presented to her, especially given her part-bovine ancestry. There was just something about milk that tickled every button she had, doubly so when she was the one consuming it, so as soon as the first droplets of the creamy fluid touched the tip of her tongue, Amalthea needed no further effort to keep their niece pinned down.
In fact, they didn’t even need to do anything at all; with her eyes rolling upwards into her skull and muscle memory taking over, Vern’s hands moved almost automatically towards the udders smushed against her chest, forgoing the proper milking massage that they usually received in favor of just sinking her hands into the milkstuffed pudge until they were swallowed all the way up to their wrists. This, of course, led to a serious increase in the amount of milk pouring down her throat, but that hardly mattered; more milk was more good, as far as Vern was concerned, and whatever she could do that would make her drink more of it was, therefore, the best thing she could do at that point.
The bathroom, and the whole house after a certain point, was filled by the rather undignified noises coming out of Amalthea’s mouth, what with Vern’s being slightly occupied at that time. The larger shark’s neighbors however, accustomed as they were to the sort of debauchery that went on within those walls, were the first to notice that whatever was happening in there on that day was anything but normal; the cries were louder, sharper, more… charged, somehow. Whatever Amalthea was doing, it was something special.
And special it was, considering she was effectively going to be dumping all of her pent-up production down Vern’s throat at maximum pressure, and not necessarily because she wanted to either, it was far more than that, something far more carnal and animalistic that the bigger sharkess was unable to control, something visceral that demanded it be done for the sake of satisfying her need for draining. She was, after all, so positively stuffed that her tits alone covered her upper body and part of her lower one, and this was with her udders having received so much run-off that they were more than capable of pinning her down to the ground as well; so, from the moment that one of her teats touched Vern’s mouth and the grounded shark’s eyes went half-lidded as their tongue touched soft flesh… there really wasn’t a lot that could be done to stop the inevitable.
Vern herself wasn’t about to resist either; she might’ve considered it at one point, maybe even formulated the thought to outright push her aunt off of herself, but the sounds, the smell, the touch of their immense body on hers, and now finally the taste of sweet milk dripping on her tongue, it all conspired to make it all-but impossible to resist. It was instinctive, in a way, so much that her hands even began to move towards those udders in order to give them a good rubdown, without Vern telling them to do so… or at least thinking about it, if that made any sense. It just had to happen, it was fate, and if it meant that her workout regimen had to be adjusted to deal an extra few pounds she developed overnight, then that was a perfectly acceptable trade-off for what was about to happen.
Or, at least, that’s what her lust-addled mind was telling her at that point. As soon as the milk started flowing in earnest, even that thought didn’t survive, the only things left being some basic instructions on how to breathe, how to keep her muscles functioning, and the prime directive: keep that udder nice and kneaded so that the cream could continue to flow. Up above Vern, Amalthea’s moans had already begun to take on a much more bovine countenance, her indistinct whorish noises mixing together with outright mooing that only got louder as she let them out, with the cow noises becoming increasingly more prevalent as time went on; Amalthea was, after all, part cow as well, and carried far more of that ancestry than Vern did… not to mention she was significantly more open about wanting to be used as a dairy factory, hence why she had these “overfilling incidents” several times a month and required some hot twenty-something to help “fix” the problem for as long as they could last with her. With Vern there, however, Amalthea was certain that she could go for much longer; after all, the smaller sharkess was a natural-born athlete, and wasn’t the kind of person to give up at the first sign of difficulty.
And she wouldn’t, at least not while her body could still keep going. The taste of her aunt’s milk left Vern unable to properly process what was actually going on: it was strong, almost too much so, and so sweet that it made her want to flinch and recoil away every time a single drop hit her tongue, like a much-too-cheap piece of candy that made up for its low quality by being absolutely drenched in sugar. Yet, as she continued to drink (for there was no other real alternative), the taste started to become… acquired, for lack of a better word, as if it was actually a lot better than Vern had given it credit for and she simply had to become acclimated, used to it in a way. Sure, it was still immensely sweet, but it wasn’t as overwhelming as before, and with its temperature being just enough to mimic a warm glass of hot chocolate in the cold day that it was, it invited the smaller of the two sharks to keep on drinking, deeply and greedily, from a font that seemed truly endless.
It was as if Amalthea was bottomless, because no matter how much Vern drank, their aunt refused to shrink down; or rather, her tits and udders continued to leak all over her, steadfast in their decision to remain exactly at the same size as before. How long had she been drinking for? A minute? An hour? It was hard to tell with the sensory overload that she was being assaulted by, and if not for the taste of milk serving as an enticing incentive, Vern might very well have just collapsed and remained semi-conscious, knocked out with a goofy grin on her face as she became drunk off the atmosphere. Instead, her mouth continued to work over the single teat she had access to, gulping down mouthful after mouthful of thick, sugary cream in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, it would help her aunt finally empty out properly.
In truth, Amalthea would eventually drain back to a more reasonable size; she wasn’t a bottomless pit from which literally endless quantities of milk sprang forth, and with enough effort, the smaller sharkess would be more than capable of bringing the bigger one back down to a state where they could walk properly again. It was what happened along the way that made the journey somewhat more difficult than it had to be, because it was one thing to simply lean Amalthea over the edge of her bathtub and milk her like a literal dairy cow; another one entirely for that sweet cream to be pumped down someone’s throat… someone who was, herself, genetically part cow as well.
Shouldn’t have come as a surprise, then, when Vern’s body reacted to all that milk she was drinking in the most obvious way: boosting her own lactic production and throwing all that mass she was gulping down directly into her own tits. It was one of the most wonderful quirks of her unique hybrid physiology, and the one she most often tried to keep under wraps, not necessarily because she didn’t like it, but because it was incredibly difficult to keep a hold of herself after it started happening; Amalthea knew this far more than the average person, making it very obvious that the entire sequence of events had been a convoluted plan of hers to extract some fun out of poking her niece’s bovine side, and while in any other circumstances Vern might’ve objected to it… right then and there she was stuck beneath a set of incredibly heavy udders and being fed milk so tasty that she really couldn’t say no.
Just like every other time, it fell down to instinct, with the younger sharkess’ hands moving on their own to massage the milktank she was drinking from, all while the rest of her body was becoming drenched in the copious amounts of cream being leaked not just from the unattended teats, but from the two colossal milk factories attached to Amalthea’s chest. Eventually, they would shrink down; those things had a tendency of “running off” their excess productivity into her udders, and the latter were being drained into Vern’s throat, so it was really just a matter of how long it took for the pinned shark to have her fill. It would’ve been easier if her own tits weren’t getting in the way, but after a certain point, it really stopped mattering.
Vern was… malleable, if nothing else. While she didn’t produce milk on her own without it being triggered by something like what Amalthea was doing to her, as soon as her body was commanded to start making it, then half-measures were immediately swept off the table. A combination of her aunt’s sweet nectar being directly reprocessed into additional mass and the constant infusion feeding her innate mikiness until it was off the charts ensured that not only did Vern’s tits begin to swell outwards at a frankly worrying pace, but they were doing so while actively leaking from all the internal pressure. She was managing to output more than her aunt was, and yet she still grew nonetheless, a process that only became worse the more she kept drinking… and she couldn’t just stop drinking, that’d be incredibly rude of her.
No, she had to keep going, had to keep gulping down mouthful after mouthful no matter how hazardous she knew it was for her and everything around her, had to keep forcing down who knows how many gallons of sweet milk into her stomach, where only a tiny fraction of it would actually be converted into body fat. It’d be enough to round out her belly and have her lose the physique she so dearly worked for, but it hardly mattered; Vern knew she could get that back with little effort, it was her tits that truly stole the show there: from sensibly average to respectably above so, stuffed and rounded and obviously full to bursting, the only way the perfect picture they created could be made better was if they also groaned and creaked as they began to take up more room on her chest. Sadly, no such sound effects came to pass, though the visual ones more than made up for it.
Like two air pumps had been attached to her breasts, Vern’s bust burgeoned outwards like rising dough, each gulp of milk she took adding onto their weight and fullness, causing them to gain a few inches more every time. It was as if the sweet, nurturing cream was being pumped directly from her mouth and into her tits, which wasn’t that far off from the truth all things considered; it made it progressively harder for Vern to keep holding onto the teat she was suckling from, given the amount of extra room she needed just to keep her breasts somewhat comfortable, and so it didn’t take too long before she began trying to push Amalthea off of her.
If the old Vern were still in her head, the one that had just walked into the bathroom to see her aunt sprawled over the bathtub trying to empty out, she would’ve taken the opportunity to pop her mouth from those udders she was so greedily gulping down from and then back away before things got any worse. But the old Vern wasn’t there at all, at least not in any meaningful way, and things weren’t getting any worse, they were getting better! Why should she care about the fact that, even with plenty of space for her to work with, her tits were already dragging across the ground when she pushed her aunt off to the side and crawled towards her? Why should she give a singular rat’s ass about whether or not she was becoming pinned down by her own weight, and would soon have to get back on her feet to avoid being permanently immobilized by her own milkers? Wasn’t this what she wanted? Because it certainly felt like it was.
The bathroom was filled with the sounds of the younger sharkess greedily drinking from the bottomless fountain that were Amalthea’s udders, occasionally stopping to take a long, deep breath in order to keep herself from collapsing. Amalthea herself had long-since gone limp, the stimulation she was getting having overloaded her pleasure centers and left her an insensate mess that could barely even keep her own tongue inside her mouth; drool and milk flowed with equal gusto, if not in equal quantities, and after a short while it became clear that the older shark’s tits had actually begun to shrink down, their stored cream running down into her udders for storage now that it had been drained some. It would appear that Vern would have to drink down every last drop if she wanted to be let out of the house, but that was perfectly fine by her; hell, she could go for seconds as far as she cared.
And so… she did. She kept drinking, gulp after gulp, mouthful after mouthful, going for seconds and thirds, fourths and tenths and whatever else one might want to call it, determined to empty her aunt out completely, or at least until there was no more milk to be had. There was no care or concern given to the fact that her own bust was inflating at a rapid pace, filling up beyond the point where it could be easily moved, even by her well-toned physique… a physique that, itself, had to be sacrificed in order for the emptying to carry on. More well rock-solid abs, just a flat belly and later on a bit of pudge added to it; no more muscular arms or legs, but softness all around as Vern’s body quite literally filled up from all the milk she was consuming; even if most of it was going straight to her own tits, a substantial amount was nonetheless still being reprocessed into extra shark, to the point where after the two women exchanged positions, with Vern pinning Amalthea down in order to better drain them, the former wouldn’t be going back on her feet any time soon.
Hours were spent with the niece dutifully helping her aunt out with their lactation issues, until said aunt no longer had any issue at all; it was almost impressive how much she had shrunk, going from literally body-sized tits to a pair that could actually fit snugly into a bra that was located somewhere on the first half of the alphabet, with their udders similarly emptying out until they could very easily be hidden away with sufficiently baggy pants and careful sitting arrangements. Though Amalthea was still positively gigantic in terms of height, at least her proportions had been returned to something some more people-sized, even if the older sharkess was still too out of it to appreciate what had happened to her; it’d take a while before her senses came back, and even then it’d be a slow, painful reawakening rather than the flip of switch.
The exact opposite, however, had happened with Vern, whose body looked exactly like one who had spent most of an afternoon drinking countless gallons of highly contagious, transformative milk directly from the tap without any sort of protection or filtering whatsoever. Where once had been a slim, athletic build, earned through months, years of hard work and dedication, was now a pudgy shark whose clothes barely even fit her anymore, carrying enough fat on her bones to spill over from her tight attire, or outright bulged out from the holes it ripped through the fabric. From the thicker thighs to the fatter ass, passing by a belly that hung just right below her, begging to have a couple of hands squeeze and squish that most sensitive part of her body until the sharkess was reduced to mewling and begging for more, her entire form would need plenty of work before it went back to the way that it was… but that didn’t take into account her tits.
Indisputably the winner of that day’s growth spurt, Vern was completely immobilized by her own bust. Even had her whole body been retained, not even all of her strength would’ve been enough to help her pull herself onto her two feet, not with the colossal milktanks she had attached to her chest. Not only had they taken most of the direct mass that Vern spent so long swallowing with uncharacteristic gusto, but the fact that it had been Amalthea’s milk triggered the older sharkess’ niece’s milk production in such a way that it was honestly hard to tell just whose milk had caused most of the “damage” there. One thing was for certain though: if Vern would’ve managed to stand up, in a hypothetical world where she was far stronger than she was at that point, a single one of her colossal milk factories, in the state they were in at that moment, would be enough to completely eclipse her. They were about as wide in diameter as Vern herself was tall, wider still if only by a few inches, and so heavy that they could probably be used to tear down walls if the sharkess happened to trip in the wrong direction. Each of their nipples had engorged to the point where it was about as big as Vern’s own head, leaking with thick spurts of cream that did absolutely nothing to the size of the milktanks they were capping; regardless of how much milk had covered the linoleum, not only did it do nothing to drain Vern’s size… but it didn’t stop her from producing more either.
The supply of Amalthea’s milk might’ve run dry, but that didn’t mean that their niece was anywhere close to being done. If anything, with her furnace having been stoked, the size she had at that moment in time was nothing if not the first step in what would be a milk-based emergency of her own; Vern was all-too aware of how easy it was for her body to engage in runaway lactic production, which was precisely why she went to great lengths to make sure to always have some kind device at hand to help keep her down whenever she felt it happening. A device that was not only too far away to be useful, locked in a closet in her own home, but which had no reasonable analogue within the confines of her aunt’s house; no pumps, no milking machines, and the one person that could’ve reasonably helped her with her problem was the exact same one that had caused it in the first place… and she was out for the count and wouldn’t be getting back up any time soon either.
Vern winced as she felt another pang of pressure, both of her tits bloating a few inches outwards.
Walls were going to come down before she was done.
