FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

This story was originally meant to include more artistic content within, but unfortunately I scrapped about 3 illustrations simply because I felt they weren't up to the quality I expect from myself, and I really wanted to get this story posted.

I did leave a single illustration in, just for fun.

Chai is a very important character, to me, and I am proud to finally be writing about her.

Please be sure to leave feedback, both positive and negative: it helps motivate me to keep going.

Chapter 1

"Order up!"

The familiar words came from the back of the crowded diner, somehow uninhibited by the cacophony of screeching silverware on plates, raucous patrons, and screaming children. This amalgamation of sounds, fluorescent lighting, and the stench of grease and coffee combined into a lackluster symphony I had become depressingly familiar with. I straightened my apron, which despite having just been washed a few hours ago, looked as though I had painted it with every form of preserved fruit on the planet, and quickly returned to the outgoing window to retrieve the food for my table.

Jurgen, a heavyset gorilla with a foreboding presence about him, eyed me as I approached the window from his place on the kitchen side. "Chai, you look tired." I knew he was right. Tonight was my ninth shift in a row, and I still had several to go before I was expected to have a day off. Of course, that day would be spent cleaning the apartment until the evening event for which I had requested the time off in the first place: my daughter's school play. I was up every morning at six to drive Angel, my daughter, to her school, and then spent the day prepping meals, cleaning our home, fetching groceries or balancing our checkbook so that this inconsequential job could amount to enough money to barely squeak by month-to-month.

Jurgen was a pain in the ass, and usually worked every single day. This wasn't so bad, because it meant that he allowed me to work as many hours as I wanted, so long as I kept up with the grind. At that moment, I truly wished to unload all of my stress onto him, a willing listener, even if I was sure he wouldn't actually care to hear it. Instead, I simply smiled, my eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses to denote any indication of my lie. "I'm fine, just a little tired." I couldn't just lay my problems on the table for someone else to take unto themselves: They were mine to deal with.

He seemed to pause from his next response, as if he were scrying past the facade of my face and into my mind in search of the truth. Either he couldn't find it or he did and simply didn't care, because his response was an unsympathetic shrug of his hulking shoulders, "have it your way, but pick up the pace, there's a bus coming in." He lifted a thick finger and pointed out the window that spanned the entire front of the diner. Outside, in the streetlamp-lit parking lot, a large charter bus had pulled up. Its logo was in Spanish, so I could ascertain that the passengers were likely tourists of some sort. An iota of my soul felt as though it had died at that exact moment, seeing the two dozen or so people step down from the stairs, but I bolstered my resolve and pushed onward, anyway.

Carefully balancing all six plates along my arms, I glided with all the grace of an experienced server until I arrived at table fifteen. The table contained an American family, each wearing a shirt they had likely acquired at some tourist trap in town. The nuclear family consisted of a father who was a heavyset raccoon, the mother who was some sort of mixed canine, and a young boy and a girl who seemed to get their genes from the father. Cautiously, I slid the first plate down my hand and onto the empty spot at the table, directly before the father who was wearing a shirt that just read "Guten Tag from Germany." Apparently the shirt creator thought "Hallo aus Deutschland" would be too complicated for simple tourists.

I slid the next two plates down my arm as well, one after another, until my right arm was completely clear, then used my right hand to distribute the final plates to the children.

"Donkey!" the little boy shouted excitedly. It took a brief moment to realize what had happened, and I probably looked like an unprepared student called upon to answer a question in class until the fog of exhaustion cleared enough to catch his obvious mispronunciation of 'danke.'

"O-oh! Bitte!" I offered with a smile, and turned to leave.

"Excuse me," I heard the father speak up, and I stopped in my tracks, swiveling on my heel to face the family with a smile. His eyes drifted to my chest, which was something that I have become... more than accustomed to, but I was pleased to see that, rather than giving me my expected nightly ogle, he was simply searching for my name tag, "Chai."

"Ja?" I offered; I always attempted to give the tourists the whole 'German experience,' without confusing them too much. A million questions ran through my head: Was he going to reprimand me for something being amiss, regarding their meal? No, I observed, he seemed to be smiling. Oh god, was he going to try talking to me in butchered German? Was I going to have to smile and play along? I felt my teeth clench at the thought, but I'm sure I just looked as though I were smiling nervously.

"I was wondering if you realized you were wearing sunglasses at night." He offered, "I know I've worn them and forgotten to take them off before." He spoke with a jovial chuckle in his voice, and I felt relieved to have only been asked such a simple question.

I smiled in return and lowered my glasses to reveal my pink-red irises. Instantly, the fluorescent light began to glare like the light of a billion flashlights, and my lids twitched to stay open against the uncomfortable sensation. "I am Albino." I offered, thinking that my ivory hair and fur should logically have been an adequate indicator, despite the blue streaks I had dyed in. I replaced my glasses, feeling relieved that the headache-inducing blaze was over.

He looked apologetic and held up his hands in submission, "Oh! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to...."

I waved my hand dismissively and smiled, cutting him off mid-apology. "You're fine. I assure you that it's no secret."

I felt a gentle tug on my apron, and spied the little girl gazing up at me with a surprised expression, "You speak really good English!"

There it was. "Oh... thanks... Actually English is a second language here. Most of us learn it in school. I studied it a little extra because I used to travel for work."

Oh? What did you do?" The mother chimed in, looking interested, now

I opened my mouth to respond, but found the answer stuck in my throat. I knew what came next, if I revealed this glimpse into my history: The awkward looks. Still, they were waiting for a response and I couldn't just leave them hanging. "I...was... a model."

The family sized me up accordingly, as though they didn't quite believe me or, perhaps they were simply trying to see what I looked like before pregnancy and five years of letting myself go. I suddenly found myself wishing I were anywhere but that place at that moment.

"Order up!" Sweet relief washed over me at the call to duty. This conversation had become awkward, and I was eager for any excuse to end it. Smiling warmly to the family, who were still awkwardly looking for something to say, I returned to the window again, before realizing that I didn't actually have any tables left to serve. I shot Jurgen a confused expression, and he motioned to the front door. The busload of late night travelers had just begun to line up at the podium by the door, but what had actually caught my eye was the familiar shape of Sophie, our other night server, leaving the building.

"W-what? What's going on!?" I blurted out nervously.

"Sophie says she's sick; probably full of shit, but I can't have her here if she's got the plague." while he spoke, he continued flipping the bacon and sausages that were laid out on the griddle, not even needing to look at them to see if they were correct after all these years of practice.

"Wait. But... Hold on: how am I supposed to serve everyone, myself!?" My heart felt like it had dropped into my gut, and I felt my breath growing more unsteady by the moment.

The big ape pointed to the griddle, "The same way I cook everything myself every night: Busting ass. Let's get to it, I'm counting on you." With my legs feeling like they were simply about to give out on me, I stared, astonished, at my boss. I was ready to tell him to screw off; to tell him that this was his fault and he could deal with it. I don't know if he sensed my anger or not, but he didn't say anything to me, and I was finally pulled from my moment of resilience by a rude, heavily accented "Um, Excuse me?" from the bus crowd. All of my resistance melted away, and I found myself slipping back into the obedient zombie that I needed to be in order to get through each day.

I needed this job: I couldn't risk it over pride.

It was three AM when I finally arrived home, and I was so exhausted that I hadn't even noticed that the front door was already unlocked before I attempted to try my key. Stepping inside, I spotted my roommate, Emilia asleep on the couch. Emilia worked during the day at an office job of some import, so she was home at night. This worked out for me, because it meant there was someone I trusted in the apartment with Angel while I was working. She was a bit boisterous and obnoxious at times, and I wished she'd lock the door before she conked out, but she was dependable as a babysitter and that was much more important at that stage of my life.

I considered waking her so she could go to bed, but decided that she'd likely be up soon anyway, and there was truly nothing worse than being dragged awake an hour or so before your alarm. Instead, I wandered down the hallway toward my own room; I could still get a few hours' sleep before I needed to get Angel to school. By now, my feet were in agonizing pain, the dull pinch having led way to a driving sensation like nails in my heels, and I felt as though they might not support me much longer.

As per my usual routine, I staggered into the bathroom and began to disrobe, dimming the lights to a manageable level before throwing my soiled apron into the dirty clothes bin. Unbuttoning my uniform top, I watched in the mirror as my body, beneath began to become more and more exposed to view. Soon, I was topless, save for my cheap, woefully-undersized bra which I had bought at a thrift store, my pudgy tummy lapping out over my skirt slightly. I made a disgusted face at the fat chinchilla before me.

"Yeah... you were a model once. Definitely not one now..." I muttered at myself and began work on unhooking my bra, in the back, grunting as I strained to reach. The band, which had been uncomfortably cutting into my torso all night, sat just out of reach of my fingertips, and despite my constant scratching and digging, I simply could not dislodge it. I fought and fought, my frustration building, but eventually just sagged to my knees as the mixture of exhaustion and shame brought me to unstoppable tears. My shoulders drooped and I ended up supporting my bowing body with both hands as the sobbing took hold.

How long I cried on the floor of the bathroom, I couldn't tell you, but I remember being pulled from my unrest by a tiny paw on my shoulder.

"Mama? Are you okay?"

I gasped and wiped my eyes with my arm as quickly as I could. Finding that my eyeliner now smeared my silky white fur, I turned to face away from the tiny jaguar. "Y-yes. Sorry. Mommy just needs a few minutes, okay? You should get back to bed, Angel. You have to be up for school in a little while."

I could hear her rubbing her eyes with her own hands and knew that she was likely very tired still, "Mama, why are you crying?"

Taking a deep breath, I stood back at the sink, refusing to look her way as I ran the water and began washing it over my face, "It's nothing, Mama stubbed her toe. I'll be fine."

Her eyes burned into me curiously, and I could feel them without even looking. Finally, she nodded, whether or not she believed me, "Okay Mama." I sighed and silently thanked her youthful gullibility as she turned to go back to bed: She couldn't know when I was weak.

"Hey, Angel..." I attempted to stop her.

She turned and looked at me, still looking sleepy, "Yeah, Mama?"

Kneeling beside her, I embraced her with my arms and sighed, "I love you."

"I love you too, Mama." she offered back as I got the toddler-equivalent of a hug, which is mostly just a half-hearted lean into the aforementioned embrace.

As I held the tiny girl, from my back I felt a familiar snap and nearly groaned in frustration. Waiting until she was safely back in her room, I ripped away the broken bra and threw it in the trash with a muffled scream through clenched teeth. Now I had to buy a new one.

Rushing back into the bathroom, I glared at my figure in the mirror. Angrily I stood in silent judgment of my fat tummy, my over-sized tits, my flabby arms, and my enormous hips. "This has gone too far! You need to get your shit together." A memory flashed in my mind of a small gym built into the office of our apartment complex. Today I was going to go. Today would be the first step in a long trek to remove the disgusting creature I saw in the mirror.

I had time, right? What was a half hour out of my day?

Chapter 2

[https://www.dropbox.com/s/u9tl7o5fjk1tec0/chai%20illus1.jpg?dl=0Illustration available]

I had managed to get very little sleep in the last two hours before my alarm went off. I didn't feel remarkably well-rested, but enough so that I was ready to help Angel prepare for school. After checking her homework, packing her bag, preparing her lunch and then making a quick breakfast of pop tarts and eggs while she got into her uniform, we were on our way. She wasn't a chatty child, in the morning, so the car ride was a bit quiet, though I managed to get some conversation out of her by asking her about her friends and classes, as well as her evening. Before we knew it, we had arrived and she was climbing out of the passenger seat, bag in hand. I gave her a goodbye kiss and then headed back to the apartment complex.

Morning traffic wasn't particularly bad on the route to and from her school, and I found myself pulling in within thirty minutes of leaving. Instead of driving the last leg of the journey back to our apartment, I pulled in at the complex's office, a building that looked much nicer than any other part of the connecting neighborhood, and made my way around the back. One painted-black, metal gate was all that separated me from the pool and gym area, and after fishing around on my keychain, I finally located the very-unfamiliar key to the complex's amenities. Honestly, I couldn't remember ever needing it before that point. Pressing the metal object into its respective receptacle, I found that the key itself didn't actually fit at all.

"...what?" I muttered to nobody but myself. I began fidgeting with my key ring again, seeing if perhaps I had somehow picked the wrong one, but found that I could easily identify every other key at my disposal.

"They changed the locks last week." A male voice came from the other side of the gate, and I found myself looking up, through the bars, startled. He was a tall fellow, even for one such as myself who finds everyone being at least marginally taller than she is. He was built sturdy: Strong and muscular, but with a thick midsection that indicated a healthy diet or perhaps an affection for beer. He was a handsome hybrid, which made him a rarity to say the least. His face was an odd, but pleasant mixture of canine and some sort of antelope or deer, and between the blotchy pattern and tell-tale ears, I could ascertain that he was likely a wild dog on his canine side. The other half was a mystery. His hair consisted of thick dreadlocks that he must have been growing for half of his life, for despite their heavily-woven structure, they still reached his mid-back. Even at that moment, I couldn't help feeling like that was some dedication.

Wiping sweat from his face with his tank top, he offered a pleasant smile and opened the gate for me.

"W-..what... Oh... um..." I muttered near-incoherently. Oh no, I hadn't considered that there might be someone else at the gym! I couldn't work out my flabby body in front of someone else, least of all someone this fit! 'No,' I assured myself, 'I'm only here to walk on the treadmill for a while, he's not going to judge me for that.' It was at that point, I realized that I had been silently staring at his immense pectorals for quite some time, and hadn't actually said anything to him. "Sorry, I just..."

He smiled and continued holding the gate for me, ignoring the fact that I appeared to be ogling him, "It's okay. It's early. I understand." I nodded appreciatively and walked through the threshold, increasing my walk speed to try and avoid a conversation. I could hear his cervine hooves clacking upon the ground behind me, and knew that he was returning to the gym, as well. I suppose he could sense my unease, because he didn't attempt to speak to me further, and simply returned to the weight bench he had previously been working with. I watched, out of the corner of my eye, as he began to curl with no difficulty at all, using a wire and pulley system. I felt stupid and out of place, but I also felt guilty; like some kind of Peeping Tom. How much weight was he working with? I strained to see without letting on that I was staring, but it was simply too far away: I could at least tell that it was more than I've ever had to lift with my entire body, let alone one arm.

I shook my head to remove the distraction from my mind and climbed onto the nearest treadmill, taking a deep breath before attempting to start the machine. I realized that beyond the start-stop button, I wasn't exactly sure what any of the keys actually did. I began reading them over, one-by-one. 'Incline up, incline down': those were obvious. 'Speed up, Speed down': again, Obvious. Those were all I needed, right? Certain that I had all of the information that I needed, I pressed start and squeaked slightly as the conveyor belt at my feet jerked back, sending me lurching forward slightly. That instant, as I corrected my posture and began to walk, was when I realized a glaring flaw in my plan for the day: In my rush to get to the gym and begin on this new chapter of my life, I had forgotten to buy a new bra at the store.

I felt an anxious sensation in my chest at the realization: How on Earth could I POSSIBLY have forgotten: It wasn't as if I couldn't feel their weight all morning. I attributed it to exhaustion and reassured myself that it would be fine. Sure, I was braless in front of a stranger, but he seemed to be quite distracted by his own regimen. Taking a deep breath, I calmed my nerves and focused on the walk.

Minutes went by, and with nothing to do but observe the room around me, I began watching the hunky half-breed across the room. He had switched to a new position, and was currently lying flat, atop the bench and lifting the weights with his eye-drawing legs. With each curl, I watched his gluts tighten, and found myself amazed at the astounding sight of his muscles working like a complex machine. I hadn't seen a man with such a perfect hindquarters since Angel's father. That bastard. I shook my head as the memory tainted my delirium, transforming my daydream into a ping of anger. As I came to, I realized I had been slack-jawed in my observation.

I became faintly aware of a bit more bounce in my step, and felt my tummy lurch from time to time, along with my overabundant chest. Had I turned up the speed? No, I assured myself, my hands were planted firmly on the handles at either side of me. Nevertheless, the more I became aware of it, the more I noticed that the fabric of my top was starting to aggravate my nipples as everything shifted beneath. It wasn't altogether unpleasant, but it certainly wasn't an enjoyable experience. I did my best to push the discomfort out of my mind and remain vigilant in my walk.

To my shame, within a few short minutes, I had become lost in the male across the room again, drawn in my the rhythmic beat of the metal weights slamming down behind him. His back was to me, this time, and he was pulling his bent arms forward simultaneously, creating a wing-flapping motion as he fought effortlessly against a weight I could scarcely fathom. I watched as that muscular back of his shifted and flexed with each millimeter he moved, trying to imagine just what it would be like to glide my hands across that tightly-wound form.

I was so lost in my fantasies that I barely registered a jerk in the floor beneath me, and gasped as my daydream came crashing to an end. I was power-walking now, and I could feel my heart pounding and my lungs afire from being so unaccustomed to such activity. Had the machine been slowly raising speed this entire time!? Not only that, but I could tell that the incline had been increased as well. "Ah!" I squeaked as I felt my breasts nearly flailing within my top. I couldn't keep up this speed, be it from the agonizing pain in my unrestrained bust, the soreness in my feet from the night before, or simply being so unfamiliar with this grade of effort.

I tried pressing the stop button as I reached a near-jog, still hanging on tightly to the support handle with my free paw, but nothing happened. I glanced desperately at the big fellow who had been distracting me across the room, and saw that he was returning my gaze with an apprehensive look, as though he would jump to my aid if I asked, but didn't want to presume. My nipples felt raw, my thighs were beginning to sting, and I just wanted off that horrible device, but I couldn't find the shut-off and it was now moving much too fast to simply jump off.

"I... Um... Can you..." I was so embarrassed that I didn't even know how to ask for help, so I ended up sputtering out fragments of words between labored breaths. He lunged from his bench and rushed to the offending machine, despite my inability to voice my request for aid, and grabbed onto a small string dangling off the console in front of me. Upon pulling the chord, a small, flat piece of plastic came loose of the board and the machine instantly came to a stop. The abrupt cessation caused me to lurch forward, face-planting into the console.

I felt a massive hand rest reassuringly upon my back and a concerned voice in my ear, "Are you okay? You really should take it slower, if you aren't used to it. You don't want to hurt yourself." His voice, now that I heard it more clearly, was clearly an American accent.

I gasped for air and sank to my knees as my legs turned to jello beneath me. "Yes. Sorry. I don't know what happened..." I leaned back and sat on my legs, then found this to be so incredibly uncomfortable that I simply flopped down on my butt on the treadmill belt, probably looking pathetic. "Thanks for stopping it... I think it increased speed on its own."

He nodded, as though he were pretty sure he knew what had happened the instant I had suggested it, "You must have been using a preset setting that someone else had used before y..." He paused. I searched his expression for some sign of what had caused him to lapse, and found his gaze glued to my chest. This again. I sighed, ready to call him out on the rude behavior, but found myself, as always, unable to find myself capable of the words necessary to defend myself.

"You, uhm..." He nervously muttered, "Is that going to be a problem?"

I followed his gaze, more concerned than annoyed, now and recognized two wet spots in my top just over my nipples, which had both become heinously visible through the soggy material. Worst of all, the spots were continuing to grow as the ejected liquid from within began soaking and dripping further and further down my front. I gasped and clutched my chest, arms crushing my leaking tits against me and trying to hide what I could. What was happening!? I hadn't lactated since Angel was just over a year old! And as I felt it drip down my arms and tummy, I could tell that this wasn't a small relapse: They were completely full. My nipples were so numb from all the damn rubbing that I hadn't even noticed the drip until he had pointed it out.

Frantically I escaped to the nearby bathroom, scrambling along the floor like a teenager in a horror movie and slammed the door behind me, locking it tight from my place on the floor. I tore my top away and leaned forward so that the silky droplets dribbled onto the unclean linoleum tiles, nearly disappearing into the white flooring. This was all too much: I felt so humiliated. Surely the man outside was disgusted by my body's infirmity. 'Please go, please go, please go.' I begged in my head, sitting on all-fours with my fatty deposits hanging below me. The droplets had begun to meld together until there was now a puddle of milk seeping into the grouting of the tiles.

"Hey, are you okay? You don't need to be embarrassed. Do you want me to call someone?" Came a voice from outside.

Who could he call? I couldn't tell anyone about this travesty, "N-no! Sorry, I'm just trying to get this under control." I spoke weakly: Just talking about it was making me uncomfortable.

"Okay well, I'm going to stay here with you until you come out, okay?"

I began frantically breathing. I knew he was trying to be kind, but all I could feel was that I was trapped in this porcelain prison until he left. I couldn't let him or anyone else see me like this. I started to pant uncontrollably; my heart was thundering in my chest and I felt my head become light from everything that had happened. I reached for the paper towel dispenser, and found that there were none to be had. I grabbed my top from the floor nearby and began sopping up the mess that was still escaping a tap that should have shut off years ago. My brain was a whirlwind of confusion, and my sunglasses had fallen off outside the door resulting in a horrific glare from the light overhead.

'Clean up.' I kept telling myself, 'don't stop.' the shirt felt wet and ragged, and despite my dulled senses, I was sure that I was merely spreading the liquid around, by now.

"Hello?" his voice again. Shit, I hadn't answered.

"Yeah I..."

Chapter 3

Everything was black. I could hear garbled noises all around me: a slow, but steady beeping sound; people murmuring nearby. As my consciousness began to return, I realized that the sounds weren't necessarily hard to hear, so much as I was in a very quiet location. I opened my eyes, and was instantly blinded by the overhead lighting, and instinctively sucked air through my teeth as I recoiled from it.

"Oh! These must be yours!" I felt the sensation of plastic brushing against the back of my ears and a weight upon the bridge of my snout, and realized that my sunglasses had been, once more, placed upon my face. I sighed a breath of relief and opened my eyes, at last. I was lying on a rather-simple bed in a room that was bland and consisted of a lot of white and pastels. Expensive machinery and computers were tucked into every corner and various people walked about in lab coats and paper gowns just outside the door to my room; I was in the hospital.

To my right, a thin, mousy-looking weasel of sorts with giant glasses sat beside me with a clipboard, waiting for me to acknowledge him, "How are you feeling, Miss Teetassen?" I was about to ask how he knew my name, then realized that I, too was in a hospital gown and that my personal affects were all laying on the table aside my bed. "Teetassen, that's a pretty name." He added as he read over the clipboard before him.

I blinked a bit, still fighting off the disorienting sensation of having passed out, "Thank you. My grandfather was an immigrant and took the name when his own last name was so hard to pronounce. He was a ceramics master."

The doctor, whose name I had ascertained, from his name tag to be 'Dr. Ivan Muller,' looked curiously at me. "What was your original last name?"

I shrugged, "He never told me. Something from Southeast Asia. Himalaya mountains or something." I was growing restless with the line of questioning, "I'm sorry, but what's going on?"

Motioned to his stethoscope, the doctor offered a smile "May I?" I nodded patiently, and he continued, pressing the cold steel against my bare chest. I silently mused that this was the furthest anyone had tried to get with me in years, "A big guy brought you in; said you had overexerted yourself at the gym. He also said you had some personal health issues you'd likely wish to discuss with us."

Heat rose to my cheeks as I felt my face flush with the return of the memories of what had happened before I fell unconscious. "I... I don't know. How long have I been out?"

By now he had finished work with the stethoscope and had begun checking my eyes, which was always a horrible to process to endure, my ears, and my nose. "Well if what he says is completely correct, you've been out for about five hours. Have you been getting enough sleep?"

I shrugged, "Some nights."

"Eating well?"

I nodded and poked my tummy, "Too well, I think. That's why I went to the gym."

He finished his work and looked over the clipboard, "You're a big girl, but I wouldn't worry too much. Your blood pressure and resting heart rate are actually fine for your age. I don't think that your weight is the cause of your fainting." Now I was scared. I'm not sure why this tidbit of information, negating my obesity as a cause of my condition somehow made me feel more terrified; perhaps because, until that point, I had a face to put with my ailment. I searched him, desperately for some kind of answer.

"Miss Teetassen, are you under a lot of stress, right now?"

"I..." Of course I was, but I couldn't go telling him that. What would they tell me to do? Stop taking extra hours? Stop taking my daughter to school? Stop keeping a clean home? There just weren't enough hours in the day. "No.. I'm fine."

I don't think he fell for my attempt to lie, because I received a sideways glance almost immediately. Still, he didn't press the matter, possibly because he knew a waste of time when he saw one, "Please be careful, anyway. Stress on the body can cause so many issues: Fatigue, heart disease, ulcers, the list is honestly a mile long. There are as many effects as your body has functions, if not more." I wasn't sure if he was trying to help, but I was becoming more stressed just hearing the list.

"Like, lactating for no reason?" I asked before I could reconsider.

"Do what?" He paused, halfway to his feet.

"Nothing." I quickly corrected.

He looked at me a moment, "I... can't say it's a common symptom, but I also can't say it hasn't happened before. Your body does a lot of things when it can't keep up. We are going to keep you here for a bit, feed you, and then get you on your way after a few tests, is that okay?"

I sighed, "Yeah.. I just need to be out in time to pick up my daughter from school."

He shook his head, "we actually recommend you do not drive or operate heavy machinery for a few days. Honestly you should be off your feet, altogether."

"Sure" I said without any real commitment.

He began to leave again, and then stopped at the door, resting his hand on the painted, metal frame"Oh, your friend who dropped you off is out here, should I tell him he can come in, now?"

Wait, that guy had waited for four hours!? He was still outside!? Why?! Oh god... could I even look him in the face after everything that had happened? My breathing quickened, but I managed to curb it through several deep breaths. He had rushed me to the hospital and even waited around to see if I was okay... it would be rude to deny him. "Y-yeah, let him in." I had a few minutes to prepare myself, but there was nothing around to help me assist with my disheveled state, so I accepted my frumpy look and leaned back into the pillows.

The figure that entered was familiar, though instead of the bike shorts and sweaty tank that he had been wearing previously, he was done-up in a bespoke gray suit that fit his wide frame like a glove, accenting those broad shoulders and arms. He had a powerful presence, and yet that look on his face seemed so kind and jovial that I was put, almost instantly, at-ease when I saw it.

"Hey! Glad to see you're awake!" He sat in the chair beside my bed and I offered a weak smile in return.

"Yeah. Thank you for looking out for me... I'm sorry you had to see... all that." I muttered.

"You're welcome, and don't sweat it. You aren't the first mom in history to spring a leak in public... I would advise against strenuous activity without proper restraint, in the future, though." I was about to explain my lapse in judgment or the utter surprise of my body's new trick, when another doctor peeped through the door and offered him a stack of discharge papers. He smiled back and took them with a 'thank you.' I reached out to receive them, and he laughed and tucked them away, "Actually these are mine."

"W-what? Are you okay?"

He waved it off, nonchalantly. "Of course. Dislocated my shoulder when I broke the bathroom door down. No big deal."

With my mouth agape, I probably looked like a fish on a hook. He caught my surprise and, instead of attributing it to my astonishment at his strength, assumed I was upset about the assumption, "Sorry, you didn't respond for some time, and I heard a loud thud and got worried. When you didn't answer after that, I started ramming the door until I broke the hinges... thinking back, it was probably a bad idea, but luckily you weren't behind the door.

I shook my head vigorously, "You don't have to explain. Thank you. I'm glad you were there."

He nodded once more, then stood and approached the door, "No problem. Did you want me to give you a ride home, when you're ready? I kind of drove you here."

I realized that he was right, and I certainly couldn't afford a taxi. "I... I don't want to be a bother." I mumbled nervously.

"No bother at all. I'm sure I would enjoy your company." I felt my cheeks flush.

"Oh... well, I can't go anywhere for a bit... don't suppose you'd like to sit with me?"

He shrugged and sat back in the chair, "I'd love to."

Some part of me was still flustered over my embarrassing encounter, but some other part of me, which I hadn't experienced in quite some time, was excited just to be in the same room as him. Unfortunately, it was also incredibly awkward. We sat in silence for a minute or two, both of us waiting for the other to speak, but neither coming up with anything interesting to discuss. I looked him over, again and was suddenly reminded that beneath that perfectly-fitted material, a sculpted Hercules was hidden. He was handsome, strong, and by the looks of the suit, very well-off.

It occurred to me that this all seemed like some kind of trick.

"Why..." I paused: was I really going to say this? Was I really going to be so unappreciative? "Why are you being so nice to me?"

He tilted his head and widened his eyes, looking comically-similar to a confused dog. "I need a reason?"

"I mean... I'm... me. I'm a fat, nervous mess with no career or future and you are.... you."

He smiled playfully, "What am I?"

I rolled my eyes, "You're handsome. You're clearly working a decent job, and you're just... level headed. I mean look at you. You're so far out of my league that I may as well be on the bleachers."

He laughed, "First off, Hi, my name is Kyrone."

I bit my lip, feeling like such a bitch for not asking sooner, "Chai, sorry."

"It's fine. Secondly, you don't have to be a supermodel to deserve the kindness and respect of others." The ironic part was that, I used to be a model, and in that time I had commanded more appreciation and respect in my short-lived career than I had ever experienced in the five years since. I felt like his statement was completely false.

"Thirdly..." I snapped my attention back to him: I hadn't expected there to be more, "I think you are beautiful in your own way, Miss Chai."

I made a face, "Are you some kind of chubby chaser?"

He laughed again, "I don't discern. Anyway the most important thing here is that I never once said I was flirting with you. I barely know you"

He was right. Why was I getting so suspicious? "Sorry I just... I have trouble trusting men who are... nice. The last time I let my guard down, I lost my career and wound up with a daughter. I mean I don't regret my daughter, but I do regret trusting her father."

He offered a sagely nod, "That's a reasonable concern. That actually complicates things for me, because once you were feeling better, I was hoping to ask you out to dinner."

I feigned annoyance, though a tiny voice in my head was screaming excitement, "So you WERE flirting with me."

He shook his head, "Not at all, but I did plan to later. You've had a harrowing day and I wouldn't dream of taking advantage of a lady who was in a compromised situation. I glared at him, dangerously: What was the catch? There was always a catch and it was never me. "Truthfully, when I saw you at the gate of the pool, I thought you had a cute face. When I saw you up close, I was able to confirm that you were actually very attractive."

I blushed heavily, "You can't be serious..."

A matter-of-fact-nod was given, "One-hundred percent."

"You don't know anything about me..." I argued.

"That's what dating is, Miss Chai. You find someone you think looks cute, and you spend time together to find out more about them."

I couldn't argue with that logic. "Can I... Can I think it over?"

Kyrone leaned back in his chair, "Of course. I think I'd be worried if you had said yes, so readily after the day you've had... but there is something I need you to do."

I pursed my lips and lowered my eyes dubiously, but didn't argue, giving him the opportunity to continue.

"If you choose to join me for dinner, you are not allowed to say anything self-depreciating. No more calling yourself fat, no more saying you're a mess."

"I am fat."

"You are..." he paused, "a big girl, yes, but you should be proud of who you are."

I rolled my eyes, "That's easy for you to say."

He laughed, "I'm not slim, either, Miss Chai, but I can assure you that I am who I am, and I am proud of that person, regardless of my shape. I think you need to look inside and find out what you are most proud of in yourself." I pondered on this for a moment. It was odd, to me, that he was laying down ground rules for dating him, when I was the one who had to decide, though I couldn't deny that the request was beneficial for me, if I accepted.

"One last question," I muttered, "Why are you trying to fix me?"

He shrugged, "I'm not? I think you're cute, and I would love to get to know you. I can't do that if you're telling me that I'm 'out of your league' or downing yourself. A relationship like that won't last."

I sighed and bowed my head in defeat, "Well... you did break your arm to save me."

"Just dislocated," he corrected playfully.

"I... I guess I can find time to have dinner with you... but I'm a single mom with a sixty hour a week job, I don't really have an open schedule.

Kyrone smiled, "Well then let's take this slow, okay? How about we exchange numbers and go from there?"

I laughed in defeat, feeling my features warm nervously, "y-yeah sure. Okay." I couldn't believe the kind of day I was having. My body was a wreck and I had just added one more obligation to my already-overflowing plate. The strange part was: I was more excited than I had been in some time.

Chapter 4

Riding home, I learned a lot about Kyrone. He was an only child: son of a bongo father and a wild dog mother, and grew up alone with his father in a small fishing town in the Northeastern United States. Currently, he worked as project manager for a lab floor at a research and development company downtown. He was a Scorpio. He liked football, though he commonly corrected himself when calling it soccer, despite the fact that I knew what he meant. He was big on outdoor activities, which he attributed to growing up in a quiet, undeveloped town. Honestly, he was an open book, and had no trouble answering any questions I had.

I tried to be as forthcoming with my own answers, but there was no doubt that I was a bit more ashamed of my own background. I had a happy childhood, although my mother had been a model and pushed me for years to prepare me for that life. From age seven, I was forced into photo-shoots and child runways, and it had drastically inhibited my education. Until I was eighteen, my mother squandered my earnings and frittered it away on any and everything that interested her. I had only been a model for two years by the time I had Angel, and hadn't really worked up much of a nest-egg. I waited for him to ask what I looked like when I was a model: everyone did. Everyone always had to see what the fat 'chilla looked like before she let it all go.

The request never came. He didn't even ask about it, or comment playfully about it. He simply asked if I enjoyed the modeling life, to which I laughed and told him, "I wouldn't return to it, but it was fun at the time." Somewhere in my head, I was surprised.

As we reached the complex, I took a long look at the filthy establishment and wondered why someone who made as much as he did would live in such a dump. Perhaps he was frugal? Then another question popped into my head:

"So... you aren't bothered by the fact that I've got a child?"

He didn't turn my way, trying too hard to steer around some of the less-intelligent parking jobs in the neighborhood, "I like kids. I won't say I'm an expert at them, but I planned to be a dad someday, anyway."

I shook my head and smiled in disbelief. "You're a little too good to be true..." I muttered, then got an idea, "Okay, tell me something bad about you. Something you aren't proud of."

Chuckling, he pulled into an empty parking space outside building five. I was two buildings down from him, apparently. "Well... I have temper: I try to keep myself in check, but I often lose my cool when I'm driving." He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest in a thoughtful gesture, his bottom lip pushing out as a puzzled expression pushed onto his features, "I mean... I'm not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree."

"You work in an R&D lab." I pointed out.

"I'm a project manager. My job is to keep staff happy and busy, but I have a consultant who has to dumb down any of the projects they're working on."

"Well that's not really a flaw, these are scientists, I'm sure whatever they're working on is above most people's heads." I offered.

"Okay a better example: yesterday I bought a coffee and then walked out. Completely forgot to wait until it was done." He could tell I was about to justify such forgetfulness, and interrupted, "Earlier this week I couldn't remember the German word for Kindergarten."

"Kindergarten IS German." I started laughing, and he seemed to laugh along. I still wasn't convinced that he was dim in any way, but he was charming enough that I didn't care.

He got serious, as his laughter subsided, "So.. what did the doctor say?"

I wasn't surprised that he'd moved the conversation in this direction. Shaking my head, I exhaled deeply, "Said I'm stressed out. Tell the presses, we have the story of the year: Single mom is stressed out."

"You should take a personal day. If you're working as much as you say you are." He spoke plainly, as if ignoring my ploy at nonchalance.

My shoulders slumped as I slid down the seat slightly. "I... I don't know. I really don't think I can afford to take time off."

"Why do you work so much?" The question wasn't judgmental in nature; it was presented like one might ask on a survey to gain additional knowledge about the recipient.

"I have to, for Angel."

"I'm sure Angel appreciates all you do, but you know what she won't appreciate? " I opened my mouth to protest, but he interrupted, "Losing her mother." My voice caught in my throat in a sort-of gasp, and I simply stared at my knees, unable to respond. I knew I had no right to object to someone who had lost his mother at an early age.

"Were you and your mother close?" I asked, knowing full-well that it was likely a touchy subject.

As usual, he had no trouble responding to my question, "No... she died when I was born, but my father always blamed me for it. He turned to the bottle and became violent at every opportunity.

Guilt filled me for having brought up such a bad memory, "I'm sorry, I..."

"Don't be. The past isn't something you try to forget. It's part of who you are, and whether you grow from it or dwell on it defines you. I never hated my father for being the way he was, but I did always wish my mother had been there." He shot me a look as the coup de grace in his little lesson, and I blew a soft, defeated raspberry from my lips.

"Alright... I guess I can take a night off." I mumbled, trying to hide my smile and failing.

"That sounds like a good idea," He winked and unbuckled his seat belt, finally climbing out of the car; I followed suit.

"I was expecting you to ask me out, now that you knew I was free." I said with a look of surprise.

"Why would I do that? You need a night to relax and there is absolutely nothing relaxing about a first date..." I felt my muzzle twitch as I fought back a smile. As he waltzed to his front door, he waved back, calling out a final addition, "but... if you want to text me, I'd be happy to hear from you."

Chapter 5

The rest of the afternoon was like any other: I picked Angel up from school, took her to the park for a few hours to play on the playground and then brought her home and prepared dinner. She was in good spirits and I must say that I was, as well. I called the diner while I was in the car line to pick her up, and spoke to Jurgen. Informing him that I would not be able to make it in, that night, he responded with a relieved sound, which surprised me. He instructed me not to tell him the reason, despite my attempts to make an excuse for myself. Clearly everyone felt I needed this night off.

Emilia was at her own job until about six o'clock, and upon entering the apartment, grabbed a beer almost immediately and took to the couch. She wasn't particularly useful around the apartment, but at least I wouldn't be bothered. After dinner, Angel and I joined her in the living room and proceeded to watch whatever ancient sitcoms played on local television for several hours, until she had grown sleepy and needed to be carried to bed. I attempted to read her favorite story, 'Mr. Caterpillar and the Giant Radish.', though she was far too exhausted to remain awake through its entirety. As I closed the door to her room with a gentle 'click', the evening became mine at last.

Everything had been planned out, and began with a hot bath and a cinnamon roll scented bath bomb I had been saving for... well.. I had bought it two years ago and never had time to use it. The tub wasn't particularly glamorous, but it was at least large enough to lie in and had enough incline in the back to allow one to recline leisurely. I tested the water temperature with my hand and shuddered at the delightful sensation of near-hot water across my hand, relishing in the prospect that I'd soon be submerged in it. After some time struggling to unwrap the bath bomb from the plastic wrapping, I finally succeeded and dropped it into the rising water: It fizzed slightly, but clearly was not going to function as it was likely meant to. Still, the scent of fresh cinnamon bun reached my nose and I felt a twinge of delight wash over me.

With the lights dimmed, I felt less shame in disrobing in front of the mirror than I typically did, and even took a moment to study myself. What did Kyrone see that I didn't? I was curvaceous, that was true: I had the hips of a mother, but unfortunately the thighs and tummy as well. Grabbing heaping handfuls of my breasts, I hefted them up in the mirror, "That's probably what it is... if there's anything my fat ass has to be proud of, it's these." I muttered. They were firmer and heavier than usual, having nearly swelled an extra cup in the last few days. The pent-up addition had begun leaving my breasts incredibly sore, a sensation I hadn't experienced since Angel was still breastfeeding. My handling of myself was rewarded with a bead of cream on the tip of my right nipple, and I sighed in frustration. "That needs to go away, and fast." I knew I had to just ignore it and my body would eventually take the hint and stop production.

Nearby, the tub had reached the maximum capacity of water that it could hold without the risk of spilling over when I climbed in, and I twisted the knobs to stop the faucet. I began lighting candles around the room which, until tonight, had only been arranged for decorative purposes, then completely switched off the overhead light. My eyes aren't particularly gifted and are nearly useless in the dark, but I was somehow able to guide myself to the tub nevertheless, climbing inside and sinking until I reached bottom. The water wasn't amazingly deep, and came to just about halfway up my arms, but it was enough to feel warmth fill my body. I think I read somewhere that feral 'chillas had to bathe in some kind of volcanic ash because water was harmful to their skin. I don't know anything about that, but I love a hot bath as much as anyone with a frequently sore back.

I kept a set of towels by the tub, and used one to dry my paw immediately so that I could send a text to Kyrone. Pulling up his number, I opened a new message and typed a "Well, my night off has begun, just drew a bath." before resting my phone on the ground outside the tub and giving in to the soothing warmth around me.

The response came immediately, but I took my time in checking it. No need to seem too eager. When I did, I found that it was a fairly standard, "That's great! Is it everything you'd hoped for?"

"And more," I added as I set the phone down and reached for the cold beer that I had left sitting beside the commode. Twisting off the cap, I took three hearty gulps of the sweet but bitter stout and exhaled in delight once the thick brown beverage had finished tickling my buds. When was the last time I had enjoyed a good alcoholic beverage? It was some time before I had gotten pregnant, possibly a wild party. Likely the very party in which Angel was conceived.

Another response came and I fumbled for my phone again. "What else do you have on the agenda?"

I quickly typed out the schedule from my head, "Well I'm drinking no less than three beers tonight and eating a giant slice of cheesecake from the bakery down the road. I'm going to lie in my bed and watch one of the eight dozen movies I've missed over the last three years and get fatter for a night." I sent the message and then instantly thought about my epiphany in the mirror. A wry smile spread across my face as I added another message before he could respond. "So I think I finally figured out what you like about me, and I think it should've been a lot more obvious. It's the boobs, right?"I patted my right breast and laughed quietly to myself, anxiously awaiting his response. I wanted to play with him a bit.

A telltale buzz came. "I'd be lying if I said they aren't an impressive feature, but I assure you that I'm not that shallow." Was that shallow? I guess I hadn't thought about it. I was so used to the objectification of being ogled by strange men and women alike that I hadn't considered that, perhaps there was more to me than that. Then again, maybe he was just trying to say the chivalrous thing to sound nicer than he was.

"Oh yeah? So I'm sitting here with everything out, and you'd object to me sending you a picture of it?" I smirked, 'He acts like his heart is in the right place... but as soon as he feels like the offer is on the table, he'll start acting like a horny schoolboy.' I smugly opened his response.

"I don't think that's a good idea. I'm sure it's a fantastic sight, but we've only just met and you've had a harrowing day."

"Well shit..." I muttered to myself in surprise: I hadn't expected that, at all. I responded with a simple 'That's a surprise.' and set my phone down again, sinking deeper into the water. He really was too good to be true, and I wouldn't have believed a single word he'd said if I hadn't known that he'd injured himself to keep me safe. Maybe my life was starting to go in a better direction, after all these years.

Just as I let my guard down and started to believe that there had been a positive shift in my life, the powers that be had decided it was time for a reminder that things could always go South. Without warning, the door to the bathroom thrust open, and I yelped in response, spitting out the last gulp of my beer into the tub as Emilia staggered in. She flipped on the overhead lights, and with my sunglasses on the countertop, out of reach, I squinted against the offending glare. Without even the slightest indication that I was nearby, Emilia dropped her pants, belched loudly, and flopped down on the toilet with a grunt.

I stared in disbelief as she sat six inches from me and peed a god-damn torrent as though I weren't there; any Zen I had reached before that point was about to be flushed, any moment. "OCCUPIED." I blurted out, finally finding the courage to speak out against this intrusion.

Emilia practically screamed in surprise and nearly fell off the seat, "Chai what the fuck!? Why aren't you at work!?"

"I took the night off! How did you not hear me tell you that!? How did you not see the candles!? I swear I locked the door!" I didn't even have to guess that she was too drunk to have noticed any of the obvious signs that the room was in use. As my frustration cooled mildly, I caught her gaze and realized that she was staring at me with curious eyes. "...what... what is it?"

She squinted at me and leaned closer to the tub, still completely dropped-trou. To say that I was becoming uncomfortable was an understatement, especially when I realized that she was eyeballing my chest half-submerged in the water. I quickly wrapped my arms around my bust, attempting to shield my swollen shame from view. "What!?"

"Chai are you... uh..."

I looked to the water, which was still mostly-clear, despite the best efforts of the ancient bath bomb (which still floated unceremoniously nearby), and saw that the water immediately surrounding me was murkier than it should have been, though it seemed to dissipate into the rest of the tub, the further it got from my body. Removing my arms, I found the culprit to be a steady stream of milk that was exiting my nipples and creating a cloudy mess in the water around them until it dispersed.

"You are! You're milking in the tub, Holy shit!" Emilia pointed and bounced in an aggravating display of drunken amusement.

I growled and tried to cover my nipples knowing that capping the pink fleshy bits would do absolutely nothing to restrain the escape of fluids. "Yes, okay I'm lactating. I don't know why, it just started today!"

She laughed, "Oh man, that sucks. I just assumed you were still keeping it going for Angel."

"What!? She's five!"

"Hey, some people can't cut the cord. I've read stories." I visibly shuddered at the thought, and she continued to stand there in a drunken haze, watching the white cloud seep between my fingers. Why wouldn't she leave!? I nearly spoke up when she asked, "So what does it taste like?"

"I don't know! I've never tried it! What kind of.. how could... Get out! Oh my god!" I threw the failure of a bomb at her, watching as it hit her shoulder and fell to the floor, crumbling on impact. She yelped and rushed out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her and leaving the light on.

There went my bath. I fumed in the tub, watching as the whole of the water began to hold a cloudy look to it after having absorbed so much of my breasts' expelled contents. How long had I been like this? When did my let-down begin? Had I been sitting there, soaking in my own milk for over half an hour? Hell, how much was even in there? When I was feeding Angel, I had been known to reach up to forty ounces of the juice, which the doctors had told me was amazing.

Her question lingered in my mind as I hopelessly watched my tits unload their bounty into my bath water. 'What does it taste like?' I'm not sure if it was the alcohol or curiosity, but my interest was suddenly piqued for the answer to this question. Using my right paw, I hoisted the adjacent, swollen mammary out of the water and eyed it thoughtfully. The entire area was soaking wet, but I could still make out the roiling mist of white that was practically pouring from my relaxed nipple.

'I suppose it wouldn't hurt to find out...' I considered as I observed the little creek of water and milk dripping down my fleshy areola and into my fur. Hesitantly, I rolled the engorged mass onto my arm and lifted it higher until the fleshy pink tip was within range. With nothing left to lose, being this close to my objective, I latched onto the drooling nub and suctioned onto it, holding it in place while I re-positioned my hand to help support it in place. Instantly, I felt a spray of warm liquid coat my tongue and found myself instinctively running the muscle along the underside of the nipple, coaxing the contents to release further. I moved further up, taking the entire areola in my mouth and biting down behind my lips, slightly. Using my paw as a guide, I allowed the gravity to take the overabundant weight of my milk jug and held fast to my bite, forcing out one, long spray into my mouth until the nipple simply popped free, the entire sack flopping back into the tub with a splash.

The entire ordeal had felt nice, though not exceptionally so, and I was left sloshing a mouthful of my own milk for examination. It wasn't altogether different from store-bought dairy, although there was a certain sweetness to it that I hadn't expected. I ran my tongue through the heavy substance and felt a dribble escape the side of my muzzle, seeping into my fur. Finally, with a loud gulp, I swallowed the contents of my mouth. I couldn't help but take a deep breath, partially because I had been holding it for so long during my taste-test, but also to steel myself as I considered the unconventional act I had just taken part in.

The strangest part was that nothing about the transaction was altogether unpleasant. I had stimulated my nipple, which felt nice, I had relieved myself of a sizable amount of pressure, and it had tasted rather delicious to boot.

What else could I do? I went back for seconds.

Chapter 6

I spent another fifteen minutes in the tub. I drank about six hearty gulps of my own sweet cream and could feel it sloshing about in my belly as I moved about. I bathed myself in the soiled water, knowing that it was likely a moot point and hoping that I wouldn't dry smelling of foul milk in the next day.

As the high of exploration cleared, I found myself feeling really awkward about the thick white liquid in my tummy. Had I really just done that? I couldn't do that again: if I kept stimulating it, it would never cease. Lastly, I made extra sure that my let-down had subsided before wrapping myself in a towel and entering the hallway.

Grabbing another beer from the fridge and avoiding the obvious grinning from Emilia as I passed, I retired to my bedroom and flopped down on the bed, tossing open my towel and letting the fan cool my still-soggy fur. My phone had been wedged between my tits while they were wrapped in the towel, and now laid atop my body as the spent swells relaxed their weight to either side of my rib cage. I grabbed it and began sending a message to Kyrone, "You won't believe this, I just tasted my own m"

I stopped typing, before reaching the end of the sentence. Was I that drunk? What made me think that this was a good idea? I started backspacing the message until it was completely erased, and replaced it with, "That was great. I haven't had a hot bath in years."

I unscrewed the new bottle of beer and looked at it cautiously. "I trust you not to let me me say anything stupid." I said gravely before knocking it back, gulping down half the bottle in one, long swig. I hadn't eaten, tonight, save for what equated to an entire glass of my own milk and two bottles of thick stout. I was more than a little tipsy by this point, and had to filter myself when it came to communications devices.

"That's great! I have needed to take a long bath for months. The tubs in this complex aren't really built for a guy my size, you know?" I thought about it, and I did know: he was a big fellow. I attempted to guess the dimensions of the big beast on the receiving end of my messages, but was sure that I was wrong. Guessing height and weight aren't really a skill I had ever picked up.

"You're a big guy. Mind if I ask just how big?" I didn't register the implications of my wording, but I didn't really have to worry, regardless: He'd been pretty careful to avoid getting immensely personal, thus far. Reaching for the remote, I flipped on my television and began to cycle through the local channels. To save money, I hadn't spent the extra for cable, though we had paid a small sum just to ensure that we had some kid-friendly stations for Angel.

Another message, "Lol, I'm going to assume you mean my height and weight.? 6'7. 352." That clarifying moment washed over me, as I re-read my message and felt silly. Whoops. Honestly, I don't think I felt that bad about it at all: My head was swimming.

After some time, I grew bored with the local stations and simply flipped off the television, laying flat on the bed with a loud groan. My mind began to wander, the longer I remained horizontal and unmoving, and I thought back to that morning at the gym. I thought about Kyrone; about that thick, blocky form as it flexed and sweated beneath the bench. I thought about how he'd come to my rescue as the treadmill had failed to function properly. Lastly, I thought about my new problem, which I had found a certain comfort in, just a few short minutes earlier.

Drifting among every sensual visualization churning through my overactive mind, I somehow zoned out for a few minutes, and upon regaining my train of thought, realized that my paw had pushed past my chubby breast and tummy and was now firmly wedged between my thighs, middle finger soaked in my own juices. Beside me, the beer had left my hand and now, what little contents remained were soaking the sheets beside me. I was so delirious that I didn't register it. What was happening to me? I hadn't been this worked up since I was pregnant.

For a brief moment, a latent fear bubbled up from the depths, and I felt all relaxation leave me. What if I was pregnant!? The worry left as quickly as it came: I realized that there was absolutely no way that could be a possibility, when I hadn't been sexually active in several years. It wasn't that the desire wasn't there, but I simply didn't have the time to devote to seeking out a decent partner. Partner- I thought back to Kyrone, and quickly retrieved my phone again. While I knew that he was simply giving me space so that I wouldn't feel pressured, I was anxious to hear from him again, so I pushed the conversation again.

"Hey Handsome." I began to type, but thought better of it, and replaced it with a less-impulsive "Hey, what are you up to?"

"Watching the game, you?" Came a message back, almost instantly. He must have been waiting. I almost giggled at the idea that he was so eager.

"Lying in bed, finishing a beer. Who's playing? I don't get anything besides local channels. Too poor. :("

There was a delay in his response, but eventually I received, "Warriors Vs Demons. Did you enjoy your bath and beer?" Were those football teams? I couldn't remember hearing of them before that point, but I wasn't active enough in sports to know if they were legitimate team names. Besides that, I had no reason not to believe him.

"The bath was fine, the beer was a bit old, but I'm perfectly relaxed, so I guess it did the job. Who's winning?" Warriors versus demons made me think back to my younger years where I'd sneak away from my mother and join my friends in school for tabletop games. I enjoyed those game nights thoroughly, and although I wasn't a gifted player, by any means, there was simply something exciting about getting lost in the fantasy of it. I realized that I hadn't heard from any of the old team since Angel's birth, not that I blamed them for the distance: I had dropped off the face of the Earth. I considered that maybe, if I made a regular thing out of this 'me time' I should try to get back in touch with them.

"Warriors. Do you drink often?" I studied the question, and remembered that his father had a history of alcoholism. Luckily, I could answer this question honestly and not feel guilty.

"First time since before I got pregnant. It didn't take much to knock me on my ass, Lol." It was true, my head was swimming after only two beers: I was officially a lightweight.

"Yeah, I try not to often, but tonight I've had a beer myself. Needed a little help winding down." So he had been drinking, too? This made things more interesting. I wondered if I could get some extra-steamy information out of him. Laying back thoughtfully, I pondered on a question worth asking; something that wouldn't be too inappropriate, assuming it failed.

"So you ever had sex with a pregnant lady before?" I sent the message just as my inhibitions kicked in: What!? How was that subtle!? Oh god, no! What kind of question even was that!? I scolded and belittled myself over and over until his response came.

"So we're at the sexy questions now? Are you sure, you're ready for that?"

I hesitated: Was I ready? He seemed willing to comply, but he was also kind enough to consider my inebriated state before beginning. Still, he had my heart aflutter long before I had started drinking. "Yeah. It's been a long time, and I think I need a little intimate interaction in my life."

"Very well then, to answer your question: I have not. Why, are you pregnant?"

I felt my face heat up. "No! I'm just... round and full of milk so... I figure the experience is very likely similar.

"Ha. A fair point. It's my turn: You don't strike me as the type to breastfeed a child to five years old, so what's the deal?"

Oddly, I felt relieved at an opportunity to explain my predicament, "Well... it actually started today. Took me by complete surprise. Doctor says it's likely stress-related. You seem really interested."

"Lol. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't intrigued. Is that a problem?"

Was it? I didn't want this little dairy disaster to continue indefinitely. "No, but it's not going to last forever; not if I can help it."

I peered down at my fresh-squeezed melons, thoughtfully. Maybe it could? Maybe if I could start pumping again, like I had in the past, maybe I could keep it under control? I had to admit that there was something intoxicating about servicing myself in the tub. I considered what it might be like to feel someone else doing the job and bit my lip behind my buck teeth.

"That's fair. Maybe I'll get to try it before it stops again... you know... depending on how well this relationship goes."

"My aren't you presumptuous!" I teased back.

"More 'hopeful, honestly." I smiled, and he added, "Have you tried it?"

I nearly blurted out the answer to him, still excited by my odd experience earlier, but quickly stopped myself: It wasn't his turn. "Now, now. I believe I get the next question."

"Ha! You got me. Go ahead."

I decided to go for broke, "So... you're a hybrid... anything else of yours a hybrid?" I sent the question excitedly, a teensy shred of apprehension nipping at the back of my mind: It was a very personal question. This time, no response came. Where before I had seen him typing just seconds after my message, this time he read it and then instantly closed the messenger. I felt ill, but hoped that maybe I was simply concerned over nothing. I waited... and waited. I waited for what felt like twenty minutes, and might very well have been, but I had lost track of the time and was hovering over my phone, ready to type an apology at any moment. Still nothing came. Had he fallen asleep? No he had read the message. Was he on the phone? Unlikely, it was nearly midnight.

A thousand options drifted through my brain, and ultimately, I decided to distract myself by looking for my old pumping kit. I spent the next ten minutes on my knees, in the closet, digging through old luggage I hadn't used since my modeling days, storage trunks, and boxes that hadn't been unpacked since our arrival in the apartment. At last, I found the device, a simple, electric pump connected to two large cups via long plastic tubes. It was all dismally dusty, and I managed to find twelve ten ounce bottles that attached to the cups. I laughed to myself in my drunken haze and mused, "Man... I used to fill four of these in a sitting. Was throwing out more than I was giving to Angel."

Climbing out of the closet, I flopped on the bed again and looked over the device, rolling onto my tummy to reach the plug toward the wall socket behind my nightstand. Surprisingly, it hummed to life, and I heard the familiar, mechanical undulating sound as the pump began tugging air through the tubes. I looked over the device thoughtfully, ignoring the fact that it was clearly in need of a thorough cleaning and, against my better judgment, latched either cup to a respective nipple. My previously-stimulated nubs, engorged and restless from the attentions of my own lips, from before, were swallowed by the suction of the device, their wide surface nearly filling the width of the tubes. I let out a gasp of surprise, despite knowing what was coming: I had forgotten just how relentlessly the device could tug.

Wuh-wump-wuh-wump-wuh-wump. The sound of the suctioning device as it tugged and released my buttons began to convert to a white noise, and I watched as my release came, not slow and gentle, as I had expected, but as a full-on let-down. The tube between the cup and the attached receptacle was filled with ivory cream with each pull, and then dripped like a fountain into bottom of the bottle. I watched as the bottles both started to collect my sustenance and was amazed that, after all I had managed to extract before, there was still enough pressure built up within my tremendous rack to emit such a tempestuous flow.

Instantaneously, the flaw in this little venture dawned on me: I had only meant to test the old girl, I hadn't intended to sit here and let it do its job to completion. Unfortunately, seeing the non-stop flow into the collecting bottles, which were already nearly a third full, I realized that I couldn't pull away without risking my bounteous contents dripping or even spraying all over the bed. Sighing, I reached for my still-moist towel and laid it atop my lap, settling in as the industrious machine powered away at it's milking duty.

I laughed at the potential look on Kyrone's face if he saw me in such a compromised position... Oh! Had he responded yet? I lunged for my phone, though cautiously keeping the girls hooked to the cups, and flipped it on to see a single message from him.

What a message it was!

The message contained a single image: the abdominal section of the godlike half-breed from just below his swollen pectorals to just mid-thigh. I could make out the astoundingly tight musculature at his rib cage and the round shape of his thick, solid keg. Most importantly: There, laying flat atop his shallow, dome-like tummy from the sheer weight it presented, was a solid black, fleshy erection of monumental proportions. It was as thick as an arm, though obviously one much smaller than my own, and long enough that the sight instilled a tight clenching of my thighs from a mixture of fear and excitement so muddled that I couldn't tell where one emotion began and one ended. I looked over the tapered, cervine shape and length, and followed it to the swell at the base that clearly belonged to a hidden knot that would present itself in the 'seventh inning stretch,' of any climactic activity. The entire protuberance erupted from a sheath that was thick and fluffy and ended in two balls that might as well have been oranges smuggled in a fur satchel.

I was dumbstruck for a number of reasons: First and foremost was the grandeur of the presented package, of course, but as the shock wore off and my conscious brain gained a foothold over my hormones, a new thought occurred: Could I even take a monster like that? Could anyone!?

"Hey, you've been quiet. Was that too much? Sorry I figured it would be easier to show you than tell you..." Right, I was supposed to respond. I felt something cold drip down the curve of my breast and realized that I had been in awe for so long that the left bottle had completely filled and milk was pooling in the tube between it and the cup. I unscrewed it, a heavy pouring of cream escaping onto the towel in my lap as the line cleared, and quickly replaced it with a fresh new bottle. Seeing that the container suctioned to my left breast was nearly full, as well, I decided to replace it, too

Once I was satisfied that I could take my attention safely away from the pumps' progress, I reached for my phone, giving that picture one final look-over before typing out a new message. "Yeah, sorry. I decided to pull out my old pump and see if it still worked." Wait, did I really just tell him that? "You know, just for curiosity's sake, nothing else." I added the last bit to denounce any thoughts that I might be some kind of weirdo.

I then followed up, flustered, with, "That is certainly impressive... do you have trouble finding partners who are... uh..."

"I do. That's why I don't lead with sex." I had to admit, he had been downplaying the dirty talk and flirting. I guess when your ability to partake was hit-or-miss, it was best to focus on other aspects of a relationship first. Looking at it, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to take such a gorgeous instrument, but I was certainly willing to try.

In that time, my hand had been eagerly back to work between my thighs, index and middle fingers eagerly rubbing over my aching lips. My hormones were going positively crazy, and I wasn't sure why now, after nearly five years of inactivity.

"Well, I think it's about time I nodded off." came the next message. He was right, it was well-past midnight at this point, and I still needed to get Angel to school the next morning.

"Yeah..." I responded, then glanced down at the nursing cups to see that they had adequately depleted my supply, the flow having slowed to less than a trickle; Thank goodness. I set the now-full bottles aside and capped them, rather surprised by my output. Once everything had been put away, I splayed out beneath my ceiling fan, diving a paw into my thick, padded thighs and resuming my desperate spelunking session.

From below I could hear the familiar, distant squelching sound of digits sloshing within damp folds. With my free paw, I retrieved my phone and used my arms to push up my freshly-tended tits, nipples still strained and crimson from so much intimate attention. Holding the phone just right and making the best 'sexy' face I could, I snapped a picture from the breasts, up, careful to hide my offending tummy. Without allowing myself to reconsider, I sent the image with a playful 'Night!' and scrolled back to the spectacular snapshot I had been privileged with before.

Wetting my lips with my tongue, I found myself breathing through my mouth more as I began jamming my joy-buzzer more actively with each pass of my fingers into the slippery pink valley. I trained my eyes on that formidable beast which lay heavily atop him in the image. I imagined licking it: running my tongue over that warm, fleshy length. I imagined tasting it and briefly wondered if I could get my mouth around it's expounded girth. Finally I visualized feeling it invade deep inside me, pushing through my defenses like some sort of unstoppable force. I was panting now, stroking my inner folds with ring and index, while my middle finger hammered my clit desperately.

I hadn't been this hot-and-bothered in so long: it was like I was filled with five years of pent-up need and it was all boiling over at that moment. I gasped and rolled onto my side, clutching my thighs together and breathing into the bed sheets as I drew nearer to my finale. Tiny squeaks escaped my mouth from held breaths being released after long bouts of forgetting to exhale in my concentration, and at last the final sound erupted from my mouth as everything came crashing to a close. I turned my head, shouting explicit appellation into the plush comforter as my lower extremities contracted and convulsed in rhythmic succession. I shuddered from head to toe and felt a warmth drip down the cavern in my thighs created by my mushed paw and wrist.

...and that was it. My arm was tired, my body was spent, and my damn nipples were still numb from overuse. I didn't have an ounce of energy left, and fell asleep in the most undignified position: Face-down, ass-up with part of my comforter still wedged in my mouth. It's a good thing I would wake up before anyone else.

---

I awoke to the sound of cackling. I wasn't hung over, but I was certainly in no mood to get out of bed, today. From the pain in my neck and other parts, I could tell that I was still in that unceremonious position from the night before, save that my paw had been dislodged from between my thighs and now rested beside me. The cackling grew more defined, and I recognized it as Emilia. I quickly rolled over and dragged the comforter across my naked body. The instant my eyes opened, I was blinded by the horrid glare from the world outside my window: the sun was out. "Wha... WHAT!? What time is it!?"

She laughed again, standing in my doorway, and tossed me the sunglasses I had left in the bathroom the night before. "It's eleven. Did you sleep well?"

I scrambled out of bed, rolling onto the floor and landing face-first with a yelp. "No! No! Oh God Angel is late for school, Why didn't anyone wake me?!"

"It's Saturday." She mused, "She's watching cartoons."

From my cocoon of bed sheets, dangling half-off the bed, I felt all of my panic escape like a deflating balloon. That's right. It was the weekend, I could've slept in. With my heartbeat beginning to return to its normal pace, I managed to shoo Emilia from my room and untangle myself from the blankets. I thought back on the night before; on how nice it had been to take time for myself. Then, I recalled the exchange of messages that had transpired between myself and my new romantic interest. I searched the bed for my phone and located it folded into the mass of disheveled sheets.

Opening the messenger app, I got a preview message from Kyrone. It was short, but as soon as I clicked on our chat, the message vanished, indicating that it had been deleted quite some time before, leaving me with a ghost notification. My heart sank at the words I had seen and I simply dropped the phone to the bed. The message read: "Sure Anna, My place tomorrow night?"