A Drop of Milk, Misplaced

You release your plank hold with a satisfied groan, heavy breasts squishing beneath you as you push off your headphones and reach for your bottle of water. It wasn't something that had ever come up in your previous life, but fuck if there is any goth music that you particularly want to work out to. A bit of Trent Reznor is fine for running, and you could probably made do with some electronica here and there, but when you started setting up for your fifteen minute ab circuit the only thing you really wanted was Beyoncé. Which, you know, fine. Maybe that loses you spooky points, but she's the goddamn Queen for a reason.

Either way, you're feeling damn good as you roll yourself up to your feet, polishing off your water before turning to grin at yourself in the mirror. And fuck do you look good. The light sweat you've worked up makes your sleek, flawless peaches-and-cream skin glow in the faint light of your room, your pale complexion thrown into sharp contrast by your massive black sports bra, tight black gym shorts and lack of a single other stitch of clothing. You're not ripped to the point of being a fitness model or anything like that, and that is just fine by you. Your current display of toned form and womanly abundance suits you straight down to the ground. Those are for real abs. These are the greatest tits in the world. Both of them are yours. Why mess with perfection?

You give your reflection a parting wink and your rack a teasing little smack on the side before throwing yourself down onto your bed with a contented sigh. God, you really should be more apprehensive about all the stuff that is going on, but it is so hard to be negative after a good sweat. Carol Jones should be sending you the security tapes from Starbucks soon, and you can worry about the Mysterious Voice when she does. For now, all you want to do is take a bath, play with yourself a bit, and then find something trashy to watch until bedtime. And then maybe finger yourself again. You can play it by ear.

Better plug in your phone before all of that, though. You pick up the device, only to notice that you've got a few missed texts. Oh right, you wouldn't have heard it through your headphones, would you? Ooo, is that from Isabelle? Before you can open the first message, though, your phone suddenly starts to buzz with a call from Jenny. How's that for timing? You boop the answer button, raising the device to your ear. "Hey, what's up?"

Jenny's voice sounds dishearteningly urgent. "I'm outside, are you coming or what?!"

Uh-oh. "What?"

"Did you seriously not read Isabelle's texts?! Fucking hell Ash, just get out here already!"

The line cuts off and you quickly struggle into whatever clothes were handy. Goddamn it. Baths and fingering yourself are going to have to go on hold, apparently.

"So what happened? Is Isabelle okay?!"

Jenny can only shake her head as the two of you zoom down the highway, thankfully empty in the otherwise still early autumn dusk. "I don't know. Something must have happened."

You frown nervously, looking down at your phone to read Isabelle's messages again. The first one was just to you, and is simple enough: "Hey Ash, I've got a kinda crazy idea". Then, about ten minutes later, a message to both you and Jenny. "Okay don't be mad, I used some of the milk but it worked! :) :)". Isabelle is not really much of an emoji user, so clearly whatever happened was pretty exciting. It's the third and final message, not even a minute later, that sinks in your gut.

"Oh shit I think I messed up this is so fucking weird I didn't"

The message ends there, and the texts and calls you and Jenny have since made have gone unanswered. And so here you are, still in your gym shorts with your sports bra barely covered by the crop-top hoodie you blindly snagged, trying your best to urge Jenny's already flooring car on faster. "Are her parents home, do you think?"

Jenny shakes her head again. "No, they live so far from the college that her mom usually crashes there on weekdays. And her dad's out of town at some conference." She blinks, tilting her head as she seems to realize something. "I guess you've never really met them, huh?"

You're immediately awash with both relief and disappointment. On one hand, thank God you don't have to pretend to know things you absolutely don't know. But on the other hand...I mean, you'd have liked to have met Isabelle's parents...ugh, no Ash, this is not the time to get caught up in that. "Um, yeah. What's their deal, again?"

"I mean, they're cool. They're pretty much Gen X hippies." By this point you've left the highway entirely, Jenny having pulled off onto some private road that leads deeper into a pretty heavily forested area. "You've more or less got the idea of her mom, probably. Her dad was, like, a tech guy in the nineties; I'm pretty sure he had some search engine that Google swallowed up for an obscene amount of money. Now I think he cycles through hobbies. It's either beekeeping or making goat cheese right now."

"They sure live far out."

"Yeah, no kidding." Jenny finally brings the car to a stop in front of a sprawling farm style house nestled in what seems to be a pretty significant property, with multiple gardens and a barn visible from where the two of you stand in the driveway. Is that a greenhouse too? Jenny quickly makes her way up to the front door, snagging a rather conspicuous looking rock which she cracks open to reveal a spare key. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah, right behind you." You scurry after her, following your friend into the quiet of Isabelle's house. Your immediate impression is that the Vargas-Holt household is what a hobbit hole would look like, if a hobbit had millions of dollars and a need for things like electrical sockets and wireless Internet. You know you should be focused on more important things right now, but you have a sudden whimsy to see how many Kokopellis you can find and manage to spot three before something more interesting catches you eye. It's a photo of a Junior Girl Scout troop, with a little Jenny looking rather smart in her pin-strewn vest. And who should be standing next to her but a twelve year old Isabelle, looking particularly adorable with her owlish glasses and long chestnut-colored hair. "This is cute."

Jenny glances back, rolling her eyes when she spots the object of your interest. "You're goddamn right it's cute, now stop getting distracted!"

Oh shit, right. You move to start up the stairs, but stop short when your eyes are drawn to something outside the window. "Jenny, the lights are on in the barn!" Your friend moves to look for herself, then gives you a firm nod before the two of you dart back outside and start making your way towards the building set behind the house proper. God, there is just something ominous about the dull glow coming from its window and through its cracked door, the barn seeming to loom over you as you cautiously creep towards it. Once you are close enough, the faint sound of muffled voices becomes unmistakable; Isabelle may very well be inside, and if she is she is certainly not alone. Jenny reaches down to grab a fallen tree branch as you reach the door, pauses only long enough for the two of you to share a resolved thumbs up, and then the two of you burst through the barn door.

Isabelle sounds at once relieved and exasperated to see you. "Oh my god FINALLY; what the fuck are we going to do with them?!"

Uh, what indeed. The branch falls forgotten from Jenny's hand as the two of you can only stare in dumb silence at the scene before you. Isabelle is frantically yelling something, but you don't hear a single word of it over the sounds of delighted frolic coming from the dozen or so very noisy, very naked girls that are cavorting around. It's like fucking Spring Break has come and, through some quirk in the space-time continuum, Daytona Beach has been transported to the inside of this barn. They are without exception gorgeous and bursting with curves, with bubble buts and big boobs as far as the eye can see. Not as big as yours, though. You are absolutely certain of that.

Several of them are squealing and laughing as they dance gleefully, a few loudly singing what seems to be a slightly off-key Carly Rae Jepson song with every single word wrong. A freckled beauty with gorgeous monarch orange curls giggles as she and a sultry olive-skinned heartbreaker compare breasts, apparently coming to the conclusion that they've both won because they decide to just smoosh their fat racks together and begin hungrily making out. The mystery of why Isabelle wasn't answering your texts or calls is answered when you spot the device in the hands of identical blondes, the two bombshells posing for photos with an apparently Japanese girl that alternate between duck face shots and close-up pics of their own pussies. If you weren't certain that magical cat fuckery was involved here, the only conclusion you'd have been able to draw was that Isabelle's parents are apparently hosting a particularly debauched Sorority in their barn.

Then one of the blondes pushes her long hair back with an arm as she poses for the next shot, and you notice finally notice the little horns cutely sticking out of her luxurious mane. You quickly whip your head over to the dancing group, and sure enough find fluffy little tails merrily waggling atop their rounded butts. "So, um, I guess this means your dad's hobby is still making goat cheese?"

Isabelle lets out an anguished groan at that, and the goats-turned-bimbos finally notice your presence. They chorus out thrilled greetings as they spot you and Jenny, and soon you find yourself engulfed in a sea of cooing girls and wobbling breasts. God, this is such a complicated situation? But all you can think about right now is how much you wish you'd had a chance to rub that first one out before coming here. Because while this is still a problem, it is for sure a Sexy Problem.