Work at a Maid Cafe!

And then, finally, one guy sporting a suspiciously wide grin handed her a sheet full of Japanese characters and told her "Yes, job! Next street! Maid Cafe OK?"

She looked back at him with interest. A maid cafe? Brea had heard about those already. Weird Japanese inventions. It wouldn't hurt to check it out.

The guy showed her the way and a few moments later she was standing in a little coffee shop packed full of people. Her guide started to talk enthusiastically with an older man who finally approached her.

"You Ms... Cow...ie?"

"Yes, that's me. Brea Cowie. You have a job for me?"

"Yes, yes I have. So you know about job? Milk serve? New idea! Very good job! Paying very good!"

Brea glanced around. The place seemed fine. She saw some girls in rather skimpy outfits serving customers. They had little horns on their head and a black and white pattern similar to that one on her card on their way too small dresses.

Cows. They looked a bit like cows. And it made sense somehow. The cafe almost exclusively served dishes and drinks made of milk.

So that would be her job. Serving milk to customers. In a skimpy outfit. Well, there were certainly better jobs, but she had not much choice.

Brea nodded, "Yes, I take it. When can I start?"

"Please sign. Also need take measure. Start Monday next OK? 6pm Monday OK?"

Brea nodded again as she signed the ineligible paper that he thrusted in her face. The man nodded happily as he pushed her into a tiny room behind the counter where they barely fitted inside. He motioned one of the waitresses over and started talking to her.

The young girl nodded several times and said 'Hi' all the time, which didn't irritate Brea any more. She was used to that behavior by now. Then the man left and the girl turned to Brea and hushed "Wait please?" She dashed out of the room only to return a moment later, brandishing a flexible measurement tape that she unceremoniously slung around Brea's waist.

Brea stood still, imagining herself in one of those cute dresses that all those pretty girls at the cafe wore. She followed the girl's gestures, let her push her arms and legs around. Then the girl murmured "Excuse me, please?" as her tiny hands reached for the seam of Brea's shirt and quickly pulled it over her head.

Brea was startled. Why would they need such exact measurements that a simple shirt would be in the way? Still in thought she jumped as the cold hands of the strange girl touched her again, this time at her back. And then her bra was gone. Brea gasped in surprise, her head flushing, her hands shooting forward to cover her massive breasts.

"What the fuck?" she screamed, more in surprise than in anger. The poor young waitress seemed to be equally startled by her sudden outburst, or probably by her leaking nipples. She leapt away and hushed "So sorry!" with her head lowered. She looked up again and said "Sorry but important! Please?"

The waitress stepped closer again, the measuring tape in her hand. She hesitated, tried to judge Brea's reaction. Brea felt sorry for the young girl and decided to play along. Whatever she was up to, it certainly wasn't dangerous. So Brea held still and let the girl do her job.

She was wondering though why the hell they needed to measure the circumference of her hurting boobs. Anything about her breasts seemed to be of special interest to the girl as she spent ages on measuring and documenting any possible fact about Brea's chest area. Finally the tiny woman nodded, smiled brightly and, with an enthusiastic "Thank you!" handed the clothes back to Brea.

"What the fuck was that?" Brea murmured as she stepped out of the strange place and into the bustling streets of Akiba. She couldn't really make sense of this experience and decided to just ignore it for now. She would see on Monday if that place was reasonable or not.

Brea spent the next days studying while trying to keep her expenses down. The Japanese language turned out way more complicated than she had thought and she was about to give up on learning it. Three different character sets, one of them made up of thousands upon thousands of weird symbols was just too much for her little brain.

Thankfully, her trusty little milking machine worked wonders as ever and Brea could be productive in her free time, more or less satisfied with the little she had.

Monday however was a different story. Not only got she up late, but her pump broke down just when she tried to empty herself in the morning. She was miserable and angry. Her roommate tried to be of help but she couldn't do anything either. Once Brea calmed down a bit she barely had time to shower and eat before she dashed out of the door and to university.

The morning went kind of OK except for the slowly building pressure in her breasts. Brea tried to express some milk in the bathroom but it was so ineffective and she just hadn't had the time nor the patience for it. And then, once lunch was over, she suddenly got nervous. What would the evening bring? Would the job be worth it or an utter disaster? It was hard to tell. She felt queasy.

As she entered the small cafe at 6pm she felt rather stressed and way too nervous for her liking. Her breasts were full and bloated and she yearned for a good milking. Brea looked for the old man but the room was bustling with younger people. No old guy to be found. She saw the same waitress though. Brea approached her, bag still over her shoulder and asked "Job?"

The girl nodded, motioned outside and said "Next door up!"

Brea was confused. This was the cafe where she was supposed to work at, right? She shook her head and said "No, I have a job here, at this cafe!" The girl nodded, "Yes, yes, next door up please?" Brea gave up and went outside looking for the door the girl had mentioned. She found a hazardous looking flight of wooden stairs that led to a small, unassuming door on the second floor. There was a card reader at the side. Brea tried to open the door but it was locked. Suddenly the lock buzzed and the door swung open. And Brea struggled to put some sense in what she saw.

The tiny room was crammed full of stuff, boxes of food and supplies covering every nook and cranny. Except for a small, wooden structure that was painted with the same black and white pattern and some bright, Japanese letters. The oddest part about that thing was the large hole in its middle section and the bright arrows pointing towards it. Suddenly a man appeared from behind the stall and greeted her. It was the same old man that offered her the job in the first place.

"Private room," he grinned, "For special guests. Breast milk is speciality! This your workplace. This your costume. Please wear!"

Brea hesitated. What the hell did she sign up for? Breast milk? Yes, she lactated, but... He face flushed, she stammered "I.. I don't know I…"

"Please? You signed!"

She nodded and reluctantly took the package with her new uniform. Brea entered the stall, shaking her head, mumbling to herself. She slowly stripped to her underwear, desperately trying to come up with an excuse to flee. She tried to put her new clothes on. It only got worse.

The so-called uniform was a cow costume, complete with shoes that looked like hooves, a tight-fitting, black-and-white cow-pattern leotard and a huge, rather cute cow head made of plush that resembled the many mascots of Japan. Brea struggled quite a bit but somehow managed to get everything on, including the giant head, her bra-clad breasts straining against the tight confines of the leotard. She stumbled back outside, barely able to see anything let alone walk with her new shoes.

Her boss smiled happily as he saw her new outfit.

"Very nice! But breast out, please?"

"What?"

"Go inside and put breast out? Your job!"

Brea still didn't understand. The man suddenly walked up to her and reached out. His hands found her tight bra and efficiently opened the clasp. Brea froze as he nonchalantly removed this essential piece of clothing and hefted her large, shaking boobs up and out, the seam of the leotard pushing uncomfortably against the soft undersides of her large, tender breasts.

Brea shrieked. But the man didn't flinch and pushed her gently back in the stall.

"Now serve customers, please. Put breasts through hole so accessible."

The confused girl didn't know how to react to his demands so she complied, taking her position behind the hole. She pushed her chest forward and lifted her tits up a bit until they fitted through the rather small opening, her heavy assets resting on a ledge on the outside of the stall.

Something wet engulfed her right nipple, sucking gently on her teat. Brea gasped, surprised by the new sensation. She wanted to complain, to object to the blatant violation of her privacy, but instead she only could lean forward, pushing her bloated breasts into whatever was causing her to shudder in pleasure. The young woman was moaning joyfully and hoped the gentle sucking would never end.

After a while she came to her senses again, curious about what had happened to her. The pleasant tugging on her sensitive nubs continued relentlessly as she peeked through the gaps of the wooden stall. She saw the old man sucking on her tender breasts, emptying her milk-ladden udders slowly but steadily. He switched from one side to the other, causing her to moan again. Brea was almost sad when he finally let go of her, giving her tender tits a parting slap as he left.

Brea was alone in the tiny room and soon missed the pleasant sucking. By now she understood what was expected of her and was actually looking forward to serving her customers. Soon a new guest entered the room, her room, and Brea didn't have to wait long for the sucking to start again.

When she finally went back home that evening she whistled happily. For the first time since her pump broke she felt pleasantly empty again. Those gentle lips teasing her thick, hard nipples were the best thing that could have happened to her, and the young woman couldn't wait to go back to work. And she wouldn't need to spend any money on a new pump.

Every evening, as soon as she ended her study, Brea went back into her stall. She even started to like her strange costume as it brought back the memories of those delicious mouths. But unfortunately not all those customers were as well behaved. Sometimes those mouths were too eager, sucking with so much that it hurt. Sometimes their hands would maul and pinch her breasts, and sometimes they would slap her tits so brutally that she felt the stings days later. But she was ready to put up with those nuisances. What she wasn't willing to accept where those enterprising fingers that tried to break through the hole and into her costume. And unfortunately those expeditions got more and more frequent, with the most successful ones sneaking past her leotard and into her panties. It was only a matter of time until they would reach her honey pot.

Brea complained, first to the waitress, then to her boss. She wasn't so sure if she got her point across, but the guy seemed quite happy with her services in general. He kept smiling at her, nodding whenever Brea said anything, and when she finally took a pen and some paper and tried to illustrate her complaints - doodling some hands that went to inappropriate places on a hand-drawn, sexy goddess - he emphatically voiced his support for preventing the undue touching.

Nothing really changed for a week and Brea assumed her explanation had simply failed. Then, one day, just when she was about to raise the issue again, her boss pulled her into the restaurant, served her a giant pot of ramen and beamed, "Ready! Please eat! Long service!"

Brea once again did not understand a thing. But her boss seemed so happy that she simply did as she was told and downed the steaming hot pot of noodles. As soon as she finished, the old man led her up to the room again and showed her his surprise.