A fresh new morning.

An insistent tugging interrupts your peaceful sleep.

You try to ignore it for a while, but it's no use, the blissful floating sensation melts away, and you're left supported by some cushiony material pressing against your naked back.

You open your eyes.

It's your living room ceiling, which means, tilting your head downwards, that you're lying on the sofa at home. There's a profound sense of contentment still filling you, so when you look down and see that your breasts, already enlarged today, look a little bit bigger, it's no big deal. You're comfy where you are; why would it even matter that much?

That feeling is also probably the reason why the first think you noticed wasn't your sister's mouth clamped over one of your nipples, eyes closed in relaxed joy. You reach up and, with what little energy you can muster, push her off of you.

She doesn't mind, simply rolling off and onto the floor, eyes still closed, a damp smile on her lips.

Damp? You look back at your breasts. It seems like another enlargement isn't all that's changed. You reach up, and, hefting one round tit, pull it up to your mouth. You get the feeling that being able to do this with your own breasts would normally worry you, but all you do is flick out your tongue at one of the droplets forming on your nipple.

Mmmmmm.

The flavour swims around your mouth. It's similar to your mother's, but a little different; you smile to yourself and wonder whether someone could tell the difference between your milk and hers. Like fine wine. Really know the differences between the two of you.

There's really only one way to find out.

It's much later, you don't know when, when someone finally shows up to find the room with three outrageously busty, leaking women lying in. Perhaps they see the trails of wet milk on the floor, where you, your sister, and your mom have dragged yourselves along the floor, and understand it's because you could no longer even reach your own nipple to drink from anymore. Perhaps when they reach down to squeeze one of your sister's breasts, and you moan as the flow of delicious milk into your mouth increases, they even know what's going on, and what's happened to you. Perhaps it's one of the people behind all this.

Perhaps it's a man. Perhaps it's a woman.

Perhaps they can undo this.

You don't really care anymore.

- END -