Pink String, Pink Door

The plain pink door somehow draws your attention and you follow the similarly colored string to it. The door swings open and what you see inside is... a bakery?

Stepping through the doorway for a better look around you see that, yes, it is indeed a bakery. It seems to be in a city you cannot identify from what is right outside the front doors and the time is early morning. You hear sounds coming from behind the doors that lead to the kitchen area and walk around the front counter to enter them... though you phase through the doors instead of pushing them open, making you question how tenuous your connection to this dream realm is.

Once inside you see several ovens lined up against the wall, filled with bread and other confectioneries being prepared for the day's business. Warmth and delicious odors waft in your direction... or at least you are imagining such things well enough to make yourself think you are since your senses feel so strange in this dream state.

Your attention is drawn elsewhere by the sound of tuneless humming as you see Parisa dressed in a short white skirt with an equally white, button down baker's shirt and a cute little chef's hat on her head. She is currently mixing together cookie dough (chocolate chip, it looks like) with a small smile on her face as she works and gives the occasional shy glance to someone working next to her. Said person is... hard to make out. It looks like a man dressed in a baker's outfit of his own (but with pants instead of a skirt, of course) and whisking dry ingredients together for some pastry you cannot identify at this stage of creation.

The man himself is also hard to identify as shadows cast by his hair (which is the same color as yours) obscure the upper part of his face, leaving only his mouth and chin visible. His body seems basically in shape but also unmemorable so you wonder if Parisa is not dreaming of someone in particular but just of general features she likes.

For a minute or two, Parisa and the mystery chef just continue mixing and you begin to wonder if this quiet moment is all that is going to happen, which is cute and all but a little disappointing as well. However, that soon changes as the chef suddenly sighs and puts the bowl he is working on down. Putting down her own bowl and looking over more fully in concern, Parisa asks, "What's wrong, darling?"

The chef reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a small vial of blue-ish colored liquid that glows ever so slightly. A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he replies in a voice that somewhat sounds like yours and yet not, "We're out of fresh milk."

Parisa's face tints a deep red at her cheeks, her eyes widening as she shouts out, "A-Already? I-I can run down to the deli next door real fast for mo--"

The chef uses his free hand to wrap his arm around her waist, pulling her close to hold the vial in his other hand up towards her mouth, popping the cork with his thumb. "I said," he growls in a low voice, "We're out of FRESH milk."

Parisa swallows nervously but then nods and opens her mouth, letting her tongue stick out as the chef pours the contents of the vial down her throat. Parisa swallows again, this time to ingest the liquid and gives the chef a glare that is one part frustration and two parts arousal. "You're so mean about this," she whines, licking her lips to make sure she has gotten every drop.

"You love it," the chef replies as Parisa's breathing grows heavier and he places her on her back on the table which is somehow now clear of clutter, "You're a good little... resource."

The brunette can only gasp and pant as the chef then steps away from her for a moment and you are treated to the sight of her splayed out on the table, groaning as she arches her back and somehow her top has gotten might more tightly wrapped around her chest than it was already. Actually, looking closer it seems to be getting tighter by the second and then Parisa's hands almost frantically go for the buttons of her shirt, undoing them as quickly as possible to reveal that she was not wearing a bra beneath it.

Not only that, it becomes very obvious that her breasts are indeed growing. They were already quite large to start with but now they are at least the same size as Vicki's

and getting larger still. Her nipples are impossibly stiff looking and she lets out a sharp cry of pleasure as you notice them starting to twitch and a white fluid begins leaking from the tips.

You blink in shock as you realize Parisa is lactating. Somehow you never considered this something a girl would be into as the chef returns holding two breast shields connected by long, clear hoses to a motorized pumping machine that filters into several milk jugs lined on a shelf. The chef leans his head down, licking up the excess milk leaking out of Parisa and wrapping his lips over one of her nipples to suck up a mouthful before pulling back and pressing the breast shields into place over her aureola. "Delicious," he coos, a small dribble of milk leaking down the side of his mouth, "Parisa's milk really is the tastiest."

Parisa blushes deeper at both the lewd compliment and the sensation of the breast pump beginning to milk her, the liquid turning the hoses white as it begins to trickle down them and start filling the jugs slowly. The chef reaches down to lovingly stroke Parisa's hair as he looks back over at the jugs. "Hmmm," he says, "A little slow. We need you to produce quicker if we want to have enough time to finish cooking."

Licking her lips at his words, Parisa spreads her legs, letting you see she was wearing no panties as well. Her brown pubic hair is framed around her pussy in a way that serves to highlight how obviously wet she is. While you are entranced by the sight, the chef has already unzipped his fly and pulled out his rock hard manhood by the time you are aware of him again.

Without wasting a moment on further foreplay, the chef all but shoves his cock into Parisa's pussy, making your classmate cry out in joy as she easily takes him to the hilt in one thrust. He also wastes no time in getting to work, flexing his hips hard and fast and mercilessly fucking her. Parisa shouts out loudly with each loud, wet smack of his body against hers, the now gigantic breasts on her chest wobbling back and forth wildly as the pump continues to try and drain them. The flow of milk does seem to have increased, though you are unsure how that works and it is a secondary concern compared to the erotic sight of Parisa being used so utterly.

Parisa's eyes glitter with loving lust as she coos, moans and pants at each thrust of the dick inside of her, shivering whenever the breast pump suckles on her tits particularly strongly. Reaching up a hand to rest on the chef's indistinct cheek, she opens her mouth and you jump slightly as she all but screams, "Yeeeeeees! Milk me! Fuck me! Milk me! Fuck me! MILK ME! FUCK MEEEEEEEEE!"

Her body tenses, her mouth widening further as she screams out her orgasm, the chef gritting his teeth at what must obviously be the sensation of her tightening down around his length and, after a few more thrusts, he hilts himself one last time and groans as well as he begins filling her core with a white substance of his own. Parisa bounces up and down on the table and, in the blink of an eye, the jugs of milk are filled, her breasts and nipples still enlarged but slowly starting to shrink back to a normal size.

The chef pulls out of her with a satisfied sigh, reaching up to undo the breast shields over her nipples. Looking down, Parisa reaches for her snatch and spreads the lower lips open with her fore and middle fingers, a good amount of cum leaking out to show just how much he shot inside of her. "Jeeze," she coos, "If you keep stuffing me this full I'm going to start making milk for the natural reason."

The mystery man smiles again as he replies, "Then we'd have to save that milk for him or her and make due with one of your willing friends in the meantime."

Parisa's smirk takes on a mischievous bent as well as she sits up, smooths down her skirt and says, "I can think of a few."

You are almost hopeful for some kind of time skip or continuation to see who she might mean... but suddenly the surroundings grow dark as Parisa and her indistinct lover freeze in place and you find yourself **** back out onto the cobblestone road, the pink door squeaking closed before vanishing from sight.

It seems you have milked that dream for all it was worth.