Black coffee with breastmilk... I mean breast-milk... I mean Breast Milk?

She looks at you puzzled before answering in her robinesque voice, "Of course! One pump or two?" Somewhere along the line you blinked, and in that blink this woman gained massive DDD breasts and lost everything but her apron. You had't noticed because you were in too much awe of her bodacious boobies but her hair seems to have changed color to a wavy blonde, her eyes have gone from a sparkling green to a warm brown, her face seems to have taken on some age from a 18 year old to a barely 30 woman, and her smile and mouth transmogrified into something fuller. Entirely her face became much more sultry, for lack of a better term you have created... A MILF.

"Any way I could get more than two pumps?" She replies with a new velvet tone, "Honey, say when." She turns to the counter behind her to brew your coffee and you get a fine look at the ass you've designed. While the only thing covering her chest was an apron held with two strings, the only thing covering her bottom was a pair of grey leggings. Are you dissappointed? You made this happen. Perhaps somewhere in the rear of your mind, you like the idea of a pair of thin leggings barricading you from raw sodomy. Yes, you designed these leggings with unknowing care, to ride her asscrack like the most beautiful mountain road in the country. Please, to call this woman "Apple-Bottomed" would be a disservice, apples took their shape from her. Two eloquently moulded globes of flesh sitting on bone and thick thigh, not too pert to look fake, not the true Apple-Bottom of a younger woman, but the perfectly placed geometry of a 30-something woman who frequents the gym and the Subway next door.

The coffee's almost done by now, and you came to appreciate such a fine grey fabric that turns dark so easily when moistened. The coffee momma spins to your attention. "Alright, I have your coffee. I'll start and you just say when you've had enough." She places a cup half-full of morning brew on the counter, and reaches behind to undo her apron. With tension, harking back to the moment before Lincoln was shot, she drops her apron and you're more rigid than honest Abe's corpse. Gracefully, two fleshed orbs fall from their pedestal. Beautifully perky with slight stretch of age and inarguably natural, you kiss your fingers and "MWAH" like a chef. A #BC8F8F tit-topper is gently kneaded over the mile-long counter in front of you, and creamy gold flows into the blackness of your drink. You don't even like coffee. However, you do like milk... The cup is filling fast, too fast, and in order to get the entire experience that you seek from this establishment, you will one more thing. The dam nears breaching, you are yet to say when, and panic is setting into her face though not for reasons one might think. Her mind is racing inside, ''Why won't he say when? Why do I feel so full?'' The cup is overflowing and she can't stop.

You reach for the nearby tip jar to redirect the river and soak some cold hard cash in warm soft milk. You need not even convince her of what needs to happen, she asks you. "Um...Sir... Can you help me with this by maybe drinking some of the milk?" You were already suckling before she finished her sentence. The room is packed with moans and surprisingly no people? Strange magic? *Wink wink* Her milk is rich and sweet, closer to creamer than it is two percent. "Oh fuck yes!" She's getting a little too much pleasure out of this, it'd be strange for a child, but not a 20 year old man. Your perverted real-life fantasy woman is dripping with sweat, and you can tell from the moans she's getting close to orgasm. You know this and decide to push her over the edge, if only there were some way around the counter.

Fuck that walk through the counter. Amazed at your abilities but too horny to give a shit, she lies on her back and massages her milk into a floor drain. Spit is bubbling and frothing at her mouth, this woman is so overcome with lust you can only see the whites of her eyes as they roll back into her head. One of her free hands is deep into her panties, past the leggings, and creating a dark patch in her perfectly gray pants. The barista is a knuckle past her labia into her vagina, she's fingering herself expertly but she is missing something to push her over the edge. That last thing is you... You drank her milk, but you haven't had satiated your thirst. You meet her on the ground and peel off her panties, admiring your handiwork and the sheen of labia lemonade coating most of her leggings and panties, and dive into that muff.

Simply scrumptious, sensational. You would attack this pussy with all you have, but you prefer to soak in the flavor at the moment. Sweet, tangy, salty, barbecue? *The author doesn't know either* It's an explosion of flavor. You question whether she tasted like this before you changed her? Does your fantasy woman taste like a McRib? That's sad. After not enough minutes of exploring the inside of her crotch with your tongue and lips, grazing every nerve with the textured buds of your mouth muscle, and tantalizing her bean with your fat lips, she starts shaking. On her back, on the floor, pants removed, she has a cervical orgasm three feet into the distance, though you're disappointed. You would imagine your fantasy woman could squirt harder than that, and as you turn to take another look at your Moan-a Lisa you get another chance.

She sprays an inhuman amount of pussy prosecco at your chest. So much girl cum is shooting out of her at such a speed, that the pressure is carving into your chest and pushing her backwards across the floor. You don't know whether it was the mind-melting orgasm, or her hitting her head after sliding at 15 miles per hour, but she is out cold. Finding the ability to stand, you will the flesh back onto your chest, and your crewneck to be clean and fly as fuck. Satisfied with yourself, you exit this temporal Starfucks, not wondering if it was real, but treasuring the friends you made along the way.

END OF THIS PATH