Trained for Milking (2 page)

Oh god, does
Drake notice?

This wasn't like me,
I never got so turned on out of the blue. I kept running, as if to
escape the growing wetness, the rising tingles shooting into my lower
belly, but I each step just took me closer to what I was afraid of.

I needed to stop
running, or I was going to make myself cum.

Anxiously, I shot a
pleading look at Drake, ready to just jump off. His eyes, though,
they were sharp as glass. As if reading my mind, he frowned and
commanded me with irritation, “don't even try to stop, Freya.
We have to make up for time lost, keep going, and faster!”

I felt insanely
ashamed about showing up late, but debated if it was worse to keep
running. Was it actually possible for me to orgasm like this? Could
my body really be getting that worked up?

In the mirror, I
watched myself, trying to make sense of what I saw. I had been in
pretty good shape before, but I was chasing a fitness gig, I needed
to tone up. Somehow, though, I thought that my outfit, my cleavage,
it all seemed to enhance how I looked. My chest had been alright
before, but the way it was bouncing, the bullets of my nipples
outlined, I wondered if my breasts didn't look a little... bigger?

No, that's crazy.
Worry about the real things, like how soaked your pussy is getting!

My cheeks were hot
as embers, my panting loud, and not just from exertion. I was visibly
excited, and the mounting pressure growing in my lower belly was
about to erupt.

I needed to stop, my
clit was getting rubbed faster and faster, but I couldn't. I just
couldn't let Drake down.

The chance to escape
was long gone, and with my head hanging down, I grabbed the handles
on the treadmill and groaned through clenched teeth. The fire between
my thighs spread, seeming to flow down to my toes, and everything
tightened as the climax ripped through my body.

I stumbled, losing
my balance, my panties ruined and my thin pants damp from my own
juices. Breathing heavy, humiliated and confused, I felt Drake
grabbing my shoulders as I still rippled with pleasure. I had cum,
and I had cum hard, in public.

“
Freya, are
you alright?” He sounded worried, but I couldn't meet his eyes.

“
I'm... I'm
fine,” I muttered, shaking as I let him help me off the
machine. I nearly collapsed, but he guided me to a chair, where I sat
down and blushed furiously as I felt my panties squish with my cum.
Drake bent down, looking into my face, forcing me to stare at him.

“
Hey, sorry, I
pushed you too hard.” His hand rested on my knee, and I
trembled. “Take a moment, and we'll start up again, okay?”

Swallowing, I nodded
quickly. “Sure, yeah, alright.”

I watched him stand,
walking away to get me some water. Looking around, I thought one of
the other people in the gym had been staring at me, but they darted
their eyes away and I couldn't be sure. Frowning, I casually tried to
adjust my sports bra, acutely feeling the material sliding over my
breasts.

Worse, there was no
way to fix the juicy wetness from my orgasm, and my pants were
clearly soaked. I wanted to leave, but I couldn't run away, not now.
Drake returned, offering me a cup of water that I chugged gratefully.

“
So, let's try
this again.” His smile was gentle. “Let's go do some
light weights.”

I should have said
no, but I didn't.

****

The workout was only
slightly better.

He had me facing the
mirror, telling me it was to check my form. Every time I pressed the
small dumbbells over my head, I moaned softly, the tight bra
straining over my chest. I was sure, now, that I felt more 'swollen'
all over than yesterday. I wondered if it was just from working out,
somehow, or retaining water.

When Drake finally
let me stop, I was relieved. Staring at the firm shape of my nipples,
and the gleaming sweat on my heaving cleavage was extremely
embarrassing. Somehow, though, he never commented on it.

What a
professional. I wonder if he got hot and bothered watching me at all?

Together, we sat,
and I chugged the thick shake without argument. I was starving, and
feeling burnt.

“
So,
tomorrow,” he said, scratching at his hair as if
he
had
reason to feel chagrin, “don't be late. Got it?”

“
Yeah,”
I sighed, adjusting in the chair and wondering how much of the liquid
coating me was sweat or cum, “I won't. I promise.”

****

In my dream, Drake
was kissing me. His mouth was hot, his fingers sliding down my curves
and making me gasp. His touch was perfect, amazing; he seemed to know
my body more than I did.

He explored my neck,
my long hair, licked the curve of my ear.

It wasn't until he
started fondling my breasts that I truly understood this was a dream.
My chest was huge, pliant and resilient. These were not breasts, no,
these were massive tits.

His palms were
swallowed by my creamy flesh, brushing my hard pink tips until I
cried out. Everything was warm, everything was wet.

When he suckled me,
and I felt the sensation of milk flowing free, I woke up with a
surprised yelp.

Staring at my
ceiling, trying to come out of the fog, I still felt the lingering
sensation of his lips on my chest. Absently, I touched the front of
my night shirt, not expecting to feel anything different. The
roundness, the way my skin swelled, and the dampness soaking the
material...

I jumped up, gasping
and wide eyed as I fondled my breasts.

“
Impossible,”
I murmured out loud, cupping the larger mounds. I knew I wasn't
dreaming, but still, this clearly couldn't be real. My mind buzzed,
trying to understand, until I finally flew from my bed.

In front of my
mirror, I lifted my shirt, confirming my disbelief. My chest was,
indeed, at least another cup size larger. Testing one of my bras made
it all the more real when I couldn't clasp it shut. “Fuck,”
I breathed, shaking my head and making my long strands of hair tickle
over my tingling breasts. “Fuck, fuck!”

Turning away, I felt
my thighs, coated in slippery liquid, and paused to reach between. In
the process, I bumped my protruding clit, giving a passionate hiss.
My dream came to mind, Drake's touch, his kisses, and I knew I was
still reeling from the erotic images.

There was no time
for any of that though. I pulled my hand free with a grimace,
resisting the urge to roll on my bed and tease an orgasm free. I had
to do something, I had to figure out how to fix this sudden, random
growth...

The ring of my phone
made me jump, eliciting a moan when my new breasts jostled. They were
far too sensitive, like every cell was begging for attention.
Grabbing my phone, I almost didn't answer until I saw the name.

Drake.

Clicking the button,
I flinched at the tone of his voice. “Freya! Where are you?
You're fifteen minutes late!”

“
I'm sorry, I
know, I just--”

“
No excuses,
do you want that fitness gig or not?”

“
Of course I
do, but--”

“
No, no
complaining. Get down here now, or our contract is through. I won't
let you make me look bad by failing.”

The click of the
phone disconnecting made my stomach drop, my skin cold and clammy. I
couldn't possibly work out like this, could I?

My guilt, my sense
of never giving up, it was strong. With a resigned sob, I pulled my
night clothes free, feeling the air on my anxious body. My normal
bras didn't fit, but my sports bras could stretch. Still, it was a
chore getting it on, and my cleavage was obscenely deep. If I wasn't
careful, my nipples would be exposed out of the top.

My only option was
to throw on a large shirt, which I combined with a pair of shorts. It
would have to do, because Drake was already upset, and I didn't have
time to make a new plan.

Groaning, I hurried
out the door.

****

I'll be honest, I
wasn't prepared for what was to come.

Drake was furious,
and he pointed me towards the squat rack right away. This, on its
own, would have been a little embarrassing. I was no good at it, and
the instructions he gave me just made me frustrated.

“
Stick your
ass out,” he'd demand, and I would bite my lip and give it a
shot. I felt silly, but he was the trainer.

“
Like this?”

“
No, no,”
he grumbled, grabbing my shoulders and pushing them, adjusting the
light bar laying across my back. “You need to arch... Look,
Freya.” His sigh was dramatic, and I blinked, standing there
with the weight balanced and feeling foolish. “I can't correct
your form with that giant shirt on. Take it off.”

“
W-what?”
I gasped, looking side to side at the other people working out. “I
can't do that!”

“
Why?”
He tilted his head, his voice doubtful. “Are you wearing a
sports bra?”

I nodded, chewing my
lip and thinking about my strangely expanded breasts. “Uh, yes,
but...”

Drake pointed at
another woman who was running on a machine, wearing nothing but
tights and a crop top. “Look at her. See? Lots of women work
out in sports bras. Take off that shirt so I can train you
correctly.” I wanted to argue, but he lifted the weighted bar
off of me, and held out a hand expectantly for my clothing.

Oh god, what the
hell do I do?

His eyes narrowed,
making my pulse quicken. I had no other choice, so I reluctantly slid
the baggy shirt over my head, exposing my ridiculously too small bra
where it squeezed my chest together. Drake took my shirt, balling it
up and tossing it aside. Wordless, he motion me to grab the bar
again.

Shivering, I bent
under it, lifting the weight and trying not to lean too far forward.
But I felt his fingers between my shoulders, forcing me down, giving
a deep view to the men working out in front of me. I saw them
looking, knew they could see easily down into my bra, into the wide
swatch of soft flesh. My nipples were clear outlines against the
material, and the more I moved, the more I was scared they'd slip
free.

Drake slid his palm
down my spine, making me gasp in delight and shock. That voice of his
was low, a dark whisper. “Good, better. Now, stick that ass
back, towards me, as you go down.”

Swallowing the lump
in my throat, I did as he said, and watched the other men staring at
my descent. They were clearly enjoying the show, and the more I
leaned, the more the tight bra teased my pink nubs. They ached by the
end of the first squat, but Drake didn't stop at one, not ever.

My skin was shining,
my breathing labored as he kept me working. The people watching were
not even subtle, they ogled me as my breasts bounced from the motion.
Each time I came up, I groaned, and hoped Drake took it for a sign of
workout exertion. His touch on my lower back was driving me wild, and
I couldn't make any sense of why.

My chest grows,
I'm crazy horny, what's wrong with me?

My clit was
throbbing when he finally told me to stop, and I was relieved to
quit. “Good job,” he beamed, handing me a towel. I wiped
my face and stomach down, as well as the top of my chest. The patch
of dampness only served to highlight my firm nipples.

I frowned, giving
the front of my bra a covert rub, to try and dry some of the liquid.
The result was a surprised, animalistic groan from me as my nipples
tingled. The inside of the material confining me felt strange, like
it was wetter than it should have been.

I wanted to check
what was wrong, but Drake had me by the arm, leading me to a bench.
“Alright, time for some presses.”

Trying to act
normal, I stretched out on the long device, grabbing the bar above.
My trainer smiled down at me, and it occurred to me that he could see
down my bra. Blushing red as an apple, I tried to focus as he made me
bench press the light bar.

The hard, cold pole
came down when I lowered it, settling right on my pliant flesh
roughly. A few times, it brushed my firm pink tips where they were
hidden, making me hiss. I could see, now, that somehow the front of
my bra was getting soaked. Two little patches of wetness, and I had a
nervous suspicion as to why.