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Prompt of the Week - Week 5
🕑 Added 2020-07-26 13:57:44 +0000 UTC“This is a terrible idea.”
Robert looked at the vixen like he had just been gifted a poorly-knit sweater for Christmas. Of all the things he expected to receive in order to fix his financial woes, especially after his chief manager assured him that she’d found an answer to his problems, a hot piece of vulpine ass, while appreciated, was not exactly high up on his list. He was about ready to kick her out the moment he saw her, if not for the snep by his side practically begging for him to wait five minutes so the newcomer could “get ready.”
Even then, he expected this to mean the vixen would have some kind of presentation and thus needed to set up a projector or a laptop, anything but getting behind the counter and grabbing a bunch of empty glasses, only to then stare at them both like she was waiting for orders or something. The manager looked sideways at her incredibly annoyed boss, silently urging her friend to show off what her special talent was, then had to turn around and physically restrain the man next to her when the busty hiree removed her shirt and plopped both breasts onto the table.
Before the man could complain about it, however, he saw what he needed to see.
A couple of days later, the two were walking down the brewery’s storage vats, discussing the future of the establishment and what their plans were for the next few weeks. The vixen listened intently as her new boss explained the various types of alcohol he kept in stock and how they utterly failed to get his business any attention in comparison with other, more affordable alternatives. He had expected his expert hand to lend itself to a more refined clientele, one willing to pay more money for higher quality products, but instead it just translated into one continuous financial meltdown that refused to shoot upwards or even stabilize. With the vixen’s arrival, however, he was certain that things could be made to be better, even if they had to resort to less than wholesome marketing tactics in order to make that happen.
Nady’s unique biological traits allowed her to do something very few, if any others, could: it took some effort to control, even more so to master, but after years of training she could easily draw upon her special talent whenever required. And while it might be an odd choice to want to work for a craft brewery rather than making an absolute killing by going after better, more marketable targets, Nady herself had always wanted to work at a place like that; it was more intimate, more genuine in a way, not tainted by mass distribution and able to dedicate itself to the pursuit of true flavour. It was an artwork in and of itself, and one that she sought to learn and master as well.
Now, obviously, being able to reproduce any drink inside of her breasts would slightly cheapen the value of even the best-crafted ale, but the vixen still needed to drink and savour it before being able to replicate it, thus making an attentive hand and sharp mind still be a requirement in the business. When she approached her friend, knowing they were working for an establishment in desperate need of help, that’s when Nady saw an opportunity to break into the world of craft brewing, even if she had to do so boob-first.
Thus, it was imperative for her to become intimately familiar with every single aspect of every single brew currently kept in the storage rooms. Despite the rough first meeting, Nady learned that her new boss had a true passion for what he was doing, and the fact that his business was slowly sinking went a long way to explain his occasional disillusionment and obvious bitterness. He put a lot of effort into each brew, judging from the long-winded yet passionate rambling that came with every single damn barrel, and even though it often took a turn for the boring, the vixen had to give the man his dues for being able to remember so much, even regarding brews that he’d been working on for the better part of a decade. It made her want to be like him, renewed her dreams to have her own brewery one day and slightly aroused her, for whatever reason.
Her boss, meanwhile, was adamant that Nady learn everything he could teach her before sampling any of the drinks. His manager, he said, was good with the administrative and backstage affairs, but to truly succeed, a brewery must be able to stand on its own two feet with a good selection of alcoholic beverages, one that people would come from far and wide to taste. When Nady asked the obvious question, considering the business was failing and all, his face grew dark and his eyes averted hers for just long enough that the vixen learned not to ask that question ever again. She did get an answer of sorts, with him sort-of not-admitting to having bungled up the initial marketing campaign, leaving them relatively obscure in a city that was already teeming with other opportunities to get wasted on cheap beer. Word of mouth only so went so far, and thus while they consistently got good reviews from the few customers they did get, it just wasn’t enough to pay for overhead.
That’s where she came in.
As much as her boss detested the idea of having to resort to such cheap tactics, he had to buckle before the might of the capitalist system; it was either sacrifice some of his morals in the short run or go out of business and send everyone out into the gutter, potentially ruining a whole generation of dedicated brewers before their careers could even get off the ground. And if there was anything he refused to do, it was chop away at the already fragile foundation of what he deemed a “lost art”; not exactly the truth, all things considered, but the sheer passion behind the words made Nady let loose a small “Wow…” of genuine amazement.
The preparations for the vixen’s first day were already underway, with the manager being in charge of coming up with a brand new marketing approach, one that would make good use of Nady’s unique talents. The idea was that the initial influx of customers, attracted by the prospect of getting a high-quality drink directly from the “tap”, as it were, would eventually peter out, leaving behind only those who truly appreciated the quality in the spirits themselves, rather than who or what they came out of. It was a risky move, potentially bordering on being an outright pipe dream, but it was just about the only way anyone involved could see the brewery climbing out of the financial pit it had dug for itself.
Therefore, Nady’s training consisted both of learning the various specificities behind the brews and being instructed on proper serving technique; it wasn’t just enough that she could “lactate” alcohol on demand, a certain amount of flair and style was required if they wanted to keep the establishment’s image. Sure, it’d take a bit of a hit when it was being performed by a vixen baring her tits for everyone to see, but now was not the time to be picky.
The biggest hurdle came when they had to figure out a solution to the obvious problem: Nady only had two breasts, and therefore could only ever produce two distinct drinks at a time. She could change them on a dime if required, but a sample was required. Thus, and much to the consternation of the owner, who insisted it would foul the flavour, a large keg of each brew was taken up to the front counter, kept hidden from view so that Nady could easily produce any item on the menu.
What no one really thought about was what kind of effect this would have on her body, and not just the actual alcohol content; that Nady would get tipsy was a given, considering what she was offering to do, but none of the people involved spared a single thought to what might happen to an already-adaptable body being forced to cycle through so many different types of production in such little time. Even Nady herself, who usually kept a good enough head on her shoulders to think things through, was swept away by the sudden upsurge in hopeful thinking, allowing herself to believe that, against all odds, they’d be able to put the business back on track and get themselves on the road to success!
And then her first day happened.
The marketing campaign had been, for all intents and purposes, a resounding success, far more than their boss could’ve ever hoped for. The downside to it was that the kind of customers it attracted were obviously far less interested in the drinks than they were in the person serving them. It all banked on the assumption that only the interested ones would remain, hence why Nady could even swallow her pride and keep on serving people who were very clearly only there because of her tits.
Nonetheless, the opening night turned into a frenzied flurry of activity, bringing in so much well-needed money that her boss was left smiling for once, while the manager’s eternally-anxious demeanour calmed down just long enough for her to enjoy a coffee for its flavor for the first time in goodness knows how long. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief once the doors closed at around midnight… everyone except Nady.
She should’ve thought of the consequences beforehand. Hell, even during the rush she was feeling her actions coming back to bite her and still insisted on carrying on despite all the signs that she should be stopping immediately. Her need to help, as well as her desire to break into the business, kept her going far past the point where the vixen should’ve turned around and asked for a five minute break; after saying goodbye for the night and driving home as fast as possible, her real challenge began.
Forced to swap out between multiple different types of brew in quick succession, it wasn’t just enough for her tits to change what came out of them; seeing as they acted like kegs themselves, they had to work on overdrive to change whatever was inside of them so there wouldn’t be any mix-up in terms of taste. While the process itself was quick enough that Nady didn’t need to let anyone wait for too long, it did have the side-effect of slowly bloating her out as the night went on. It was unnoticeable at first, but the compound effect mounted on itself until, by the time the doors closed, the backed-up drinks inside of her chest made putting her shirt back on more or less an impossibility. It took her ten minutes just to get the topmost button in place, after which it flew off, hit the wall, and left her wanting to shout to get her feelings out. Considering the road was clear and she had her own garage, the vixen decided to forget about decency and drive home completely topless, though given the smell left inside of her car after she did that… there were regrets.
Locked inside of her bathroom, Nady took a good look at herself. Her breasts had swollen so much that her back demanded she go lie down, or at least do something about the sudden increase in weight. Never had she considered that putting that much strain on her tits would lead to that result; if anything, the vixen thought that she’d end up smaller thanks to all the draining, but her body clearly had other ideas.
She quite enjoyed the look though, to be perfectly honest; if not for how painful it was to carry around, Nady might actually have had to think twice before doing something to her size, especially considering how sloshy it was. She wasn’t at all unfamiliar with anything like that, what with her bosom being what it was, but it had been so long since they’d last inflated to that degree that the vixen had completely forgotten what it felt like. It was simultaneously power, dominance and a non-insignificant amount of pure joy at being able to be that big without having to spend money on expanders for all that extra noisy goodness. Still, there was a uniform regulation to maintain and she couldn’t fit in it in her current state, so the vixen turned to face her bathtub, let her breasts hang over the edge, and got to milking herself.
The draining session took the better part of an hour and left her feeling incredibly tipsy just from the smell alone. Without an ounce of milk between the two of her sweater puppies, her bathroom was left reeking of booze, an unwelcome addition to her household even if they were two well-crafted brews. Her work wasn’t done just because her breasts were back to their old size; Nady had to spend so long cleaning the tub and rinsing out the smell that, by the time she was finished, it was halfway to sunrise and she was feeling like collapsing and just sleeping there on the cold floor. Absolutely exhausted, she dragged herself back to bed, put her absorbent pads back on, and went to sleep.
Thankfully dry by the time morning came, most of her day was spent trying to come up with ideas on how to deal with the stuffing her tits got. Assuming that the number of customers would rise after such a successful debut, something her boss assured her would happen, she’d have even less time between customers to deal with the bloating. The biggest issue with that wasn’t even size as much as it was the cumulative effects of having to constantly shuffle around brews inside of her tits; the more the vixen worked them into overdrive, the higher the odds of their flavour being ruined by cross-contamination, ruining the whole point of even having her there to begin with.
Something had to be done, but any solution she could come up with was either impracticable or much too expensive for her to consider… unless…
There was always him. It’d be humiliating to some degree, not to mention quite likely to rile up the crowd even more than they already had been before, but it was the only way she could think of to keep her tits under control and avoid any dreaded fouling. The trip over to the dairy farm, at least, was mercifully short, even if the reunion with her old friend was incredibly embarrassing, especially given that he had to help her load the machine onto the back of the car. Awkward goodbyes were exchanged, and the vixen was off to the brewery.
To say her boss was surprised at seeing her drag a milking pump into the building would be an understatement, though it was less his usual irritation and more a lack of words to describe what was going on inside his head. He knew why it was there, but lacked the ability to express how befuddled the vixen’s choice had made him, choosing to just nod quietly and let her do her thing when Nady asked if she could set up the machine behind the counter.
As was expected, the influx of customers that night was even higher than the previous one, courtesy of both the marketing campaign and all the word of mouth that came from having someone like the vixen working in the establishment. As the first couple of hours went by with dozens upon dozens of orders, Nady thanked herself for having taken the initiative earlier that day, even if she only got a few seconds every other minute to relieve the pressure; it was more than enough to help compared to the previous night’s constant filling.
This, of course, left her quite surprised when suddenly the machine wasn’t working as well as it had been. At first, Nady assumed that maybe it was just the holding tank filling up, but a quick look at it revealed the cylinder to barely be a quarter-full; nevertheless, the pressure inside of her chest was mounting even quicker than in her first night there, leaving everyone around her in a state of barely-disguised panic as the vixen’s tits began to visibly grow despite the numbers of customers asking for refills having plateaued. Nady herself was looking at her boss with wide eyes, unable to explain what was happening, right before the milker’s suction cups were overloaded and popped off her thumb-sized teats, falling loudly onto the ground and letting everyone hear as two gouts of ale began splattering onto the floor.
Nady was absolutely enormous by that point, easily bigger than she had been by the end of her first shift, and still her body refused to stop; despite the vixen deliberately trying to hold back the tide, her breasts continued to produce the two brews they were last calibrated for like they were being actively drained, until, in a moment of desperation, the vixen brought all of her strength to bear and heaved those two colossal mounds onto the counter, slamming them down heavily enough for every customer to turn their heads toward her.
What they saw were the tips of Nady’s ears poking out the top of two gigantic, furred kegs, leaking heavily enough for the flow of booze to turn into two small arcs, gurgling and churning loudly enough to overpower the background chatter. The counter began to groan under the weight, the vixen herself barely holding back her mindless moaning as the effects of the alcohol began to take her over. Soon enough, the first few brave customers got up from their seats and approached her, believing this to just be another stunt; eager as they were to drink straight from the tap, they didn’t notice the rest of the staff looking like they’d just seen a ghost.
Then again, Nady’s boss had to hand it to his new worker; he’d never seen so many people clamoring for his drinks before.
