As it turns out, it's not Pastor Clarke's LAST prayer that will be answered...

Pastor Clarke was somewhere between sleeping and waking, featureless nothing surrounding him. He felt his breasts ache even in this fugue state, the milk inside stretching the skin - but they didn't seem to be as painfully sore as yesterday morning, letting him linger in this half-imagined plane. Indistinct, humanoid shapes seemed to circle him, closing in slowly but surely, until one of them let its hand run over his stomach, pushing up his pajama, until his firm left breast was freed, and Pastor Clarke imagined he felt soft lips suck his nipple in, milk squirting out with every gentle slurp, pressure diminishing ever so slightly as the shape was breastfeeding from him.

It felt... nice. Sensual. Different than when Pastor Clarke milked himself, maybe even more pleasurable. Groaning in his sleep, the pastor reached out to this night specter, but it pulled back and just dissolved into thin air, leaving his aching, leaking nipple throbbing. Yet Pastor Clarke didn't quite wake, falling back into a deeper sleep instead.

When Pastor Clarke finally opened his eyes, the sun shone into his bedroom - he'd overslept. Why hadn't his alarm gone off? Or his breasts filled up enough to wake-- His breasts. Cursing under his breath, Pastor Clarke shot up and felt the firm orbs bounce under his pajamas - to his brief confusion, they weren't pushed up to expose his chest. Which, to his much longer lasting dismay, had undeniably swollen bigger overnight.

The pastor's heart dropped - they looked almost twice as big, although that wasn't saying much with how small they had been, heavy and firm with milk. And they weren't even full, it seemed, their skin not yet taut and stinging, nipples stiff, but not yet leaking; although there was a wet spot over his left breast. Had he been leaking in his sleep? But why only the left...? And so much so that the Pastor was noticeably lopsided? Should the wet spot then not be bigger than it was?

Pastor Clarke realized that he was focusing on details so he didn't have to face the bigger picture - his condition was obviously getting worse. How long would the pastor's breasts keep getting bigger?! They felt huge already, so round and aching... And somehow, Pastor Clarke didn't find himself flying into a panic. Hadn't Doctor Martens said that the lactation was harmless, that it would end on its own? So all the pastor had to do was enjo-- bear with it as long as it lasted. And definitely get to milking himself before he filled up anymore.

Pulling off his pajama top, Nicholas shuddered lustfully as the fabric dragged over his erect nipples; they, too, had grown a little, plumping up to almost the size of pencil erasers. They looked just a little too large for Nicholas' breasts, rising proudly over his puffy areola as milk began to bead on them, the droplets growing rapidly. Fishing a new condom out of the heap on his bedside table, the pastor realized that Sarah had already been in, setting the freshly cleaned bowl and a few towels down next to the door.

Smiling thankfully, Nicholas felt a tent grow in his pants, heart beating quicker in anticipation of his morning milking as he walked over to the door, taking care to put the sock over the handle outside before kneeling down in front of the bowl and wrapping his cock with a condom. Apparently, he'd grabbed a smaller one than yesterday; it felt a little tight around his shaft. Warm cream was slowly running down the swell of his breasts already, reminding Nicholas how much bigger they had grown over night. Not huge by any means, but...

"Hnnnh~..." Milk arced into the bowl at the slightest touch from Nicholas' fingers. He had been more backed up than he had realized, and not yet even full!

Speaking of full: Nicholas' hands felt so much fuller now as he cupped his larger breasts. They were not yet overflowing Nicholas' palms, but he nevertheless felt a shameful thrill at their increased size. The longing for a bigger bust that he had felt yesterday was back again, undeniable and unavoidable. It made Nicholas face burn hotly as he pushed his boobs together with both palms, biting his lip as he felt their soft, creamy skin slide over each other. It wasn't much, but it felt so nice...

But of course, Nicholas was already late and didn't have the time to play with his titties. As much as he would have liked to take his time, Nicholas employed the technique he had discovered yesterday. Pinch, tug, squeeze, pinch, tug, squeeze, and the feeling of fullness rapidly diminished - and this time, Nicholas managed something he never had before: As he neared the end of his milking, an actual orgasm was still a little ways away.

And Nicholas found himself disappointed in that fact. After the last dribbles of milk had splashed into the bowl, he kept playing with his breasts, marveling at the way the sensitive mounds now bulged out between Nicholas' fingers when he squeezed down, their sensitivity not diminished in the slightest by their increased size. He could feel his shaft throb and lurch, the condom stretching around it as pre began to bubble forth. Just a little more...

A knock on the door interrupted him.

"Hey, uhm, Nicholas?" Sarah sounded rather nervous. "I know we said that the sock is your 'Do Not Disturb' sign, but... it's almost 10, and I was getting worried. Everything okay?"

Fifteen minutes later, Pastor Clarke sat in the kitchen and felt thoroughly frustrated as he munched on his toast. In part because he hadn't managed to achieve a climax, and in part because he even cared enough to be frustrated in the first place. He was a man of God, should he not be above these things? It was bad enough that he had to milk himself due to his condition, but...

"You look... angry." Sarah's concerned voice pulled the pastor from his darkening thoughts. "Is it because they're... well, they're bigger, aren't they?"

"Hm?" Swallowing the last bite of his toast, Pastor Clarke looked first down at his chest, those two big mounds under his shirt, and then at Sarah. "Yeah, it's really noticeable, right?"

Upon Sarah's awkward nod, he continued.

"No, that's not the reason, it's..." The pastor sighed and took a sip of orange juice. "It's stupid, really. I... let's not talk about it, it's really not worth it."

"If you say so..." Sarah didn't sound completely convinced, but she left it at that. "Just remember that I'm always..."

Sarah stopped talking, looking slightly uncomfortable all of a sudden. Confused, Pastor Clarke looked at her - it seemed she barely dared to breathe, lips pressed together tightly. But only when the pastor's eyes dipped lower, something catching his attention as his housekeeper's breath hitched, making her chest bounce, did Pastor Clarke see why.

There were two dark, growing blotches on Sarah's red t-shirt, right over her modest breasts.