Attempt to escape through the newly opened doorway before fully recovering

You lurch forward toward the newly opened doorway, **** to escape before having to fully adjust to your transformed body. Your massive milk-filled breasts swing wildly with the sudden movement, throwing you completely off balance. Milk sprays from your nipples in arcing streams as you stumble forward.

"No more!" you gasp, reaching out toward the doorway that seems to waver in your vision.

Your center of gravity has shifted dramatically, and your body hasn't adapted to compensate. Each step becomes a dangerous gamble as your engorged breasts pull you forward with their momentum. You trip over your own feet, unable to see them past the massive orbs of flesh hanging from your chest.

You crash to the stone floor with a cry of pain and surprise, landing hard on your hands and knees. The impact sends shockwaves through your sensitive breasts, causing them to bounce and slap against each other. Fresh torrents of milk spray across the temple floor, creating puddles beneath you.

"The transformation requires adaptation," the temple voice comments dispassionately. "Haste leads to injury."

You try to push yourself up, but your arms tremble with the effort of supporting your new top-heavy form. Milk continues to stream from your nipples, seemingly triggered by any movement or exertion. The sensation is overwhelming—a constant stimulation you can't escape.

"I need... help," you admit through gritted teeth, your pride crumbling under the weight of your transformation.

From the shadows step two stone figures—not Varro and Nyssa from before, but new servant manifestations. These are female forms with exaggerated breasts similar to your own, though carved from marble. Their faces bear serene expressions as they approach.

"This is Meret and Bastet," the temple voice introduces. "They will assist you in learning to bear your gifts."

The stone women kneel beside you, their cool hands supporting your shoulders and helping you to a seated position. Their touch is surprisingly gentle for beings made of stone, and they move with practiced efficiency.

Meret, distinguished by the cat-like ears adorning her head, produces a wide fabric band from seemingly nowhere. With Bastet's help, she wraps it around your chest, creating a supportive binding for your milk-heavy breasts. The pressure feels immediately relieving, though milk still leaks continuously from your nipples, soaking through the fabric.

"The binding will help you walk," Meret explains, her voice a melodious whisper that seems to emanate not from her mouth but from the stone itself. "Until you learn to balance."

"Your milk is sacred now," Bastet adds, her fingers tracing the wet spots forming on your new binding. "It should not be wasted on the floor."

She produces a set of small caps, placing them over your nipples. They don't stop the milk flow entirely but collect it in small reservoirs that can be emptied when full.

"Rise now," Meret instructs, both statues helping you to your feet. "Walk slowly. Feel the weight. Become one with your new form."

With their support on either side, you take tentative steps, learning to counterbalance the heavy, swaying mass on your chest. Each movement sends pleasure signals through your body as milk shifts within your transformed breasts.

"When you are ready," Bastet says, gesturing to the open doorway, "the purification chamber awaits. Your journey continues deeper into the temple's embrace."