Diet-dairy Sup-plump-ment

Diet-dairy Sup-plump-ment

(F/F, chub, milk; see desc for more)

Denise took a glance at the packet of Yvonne's Dreamy Cream she held in her hand, and then shifted her gaze to the large platter of Mexican food below.

"Do you think this is enough?" Denise asked her partner sitting on the other side of the table.

"Well, it's enough food for a family of three." Michelle joked.

"No, not the food." She whined slightly; wasn't her fault so much of El Feastro's menu sounded especially tasty. "I mean the Yvonne's. Do you think I should use just one packet, or more?"

"Depends. How much of this are you going to eat?" Michelle asked. Six months ago, Denise had somehow gotten into some kind of brand deal with Bells-Mick. The terms were simple: for $150 a week, Denise was to sprinkle or mix at least one packet of Yvonne's Dreamy Cream (which they generously supplied her with) with everything she ate or drank. Sure, she had to go through some questionable procedures to prove that she was holding up her end of the bargain, but given how much they were paying her, it was surely a series of reasonable precautions.

"A lot of it." Denise replied. Her unused hand felt her soft tummy.

"Okay, so how about you use a packet on each piece of food you'll eat?"

"That sounds fair." Denise agreed. The first of the flavorless Yvonne's packets Denise brought with her was promptly mixed in with a serving of refried beans. Another went inside a burrito, another was spread across a quartet of fajitas, and so on and so forth until three-fourths of Denise's piled and varied platter was cleared off.

\ - - - -/

On the other side of the table, Michelle would check in from time to time on Denise's "progress," giving only a raised brow or a nod in response. Personally, she (or maybe even Denise seven months ago) would've stopped at the beans and enchiladas, but then again, she wasn't the one having a tablespoon or something of Dreamy Cream every day.

/- - - -\

As Denise waited on their waiter to come back with some to-go boxes, she felt something in her chest. Her first inclination was to ignore it; ever since she started this agreement with Bells-Mick, something was always pestering her breasts. Her clothes started to shrink due to some fluke with their washing machine, and almost everything she found in stores that should've fit her didn't for some reason. Michelle even used to insist that her breasts had grown for a while! Granted, they probably went from a B to a DD (maybe), but not to the extent that Michelle was claiming. What was the last thing she compared them to, watermelons? Yeah, something ridiculous like that.

However, Denise started getting second thoughts when she felt a tingling around her areolae and nipples. She gulped with worry; the last time she felt this way was when she ate a couple dozen packets of Yvonne's straight. She and Michelle needed a lot of towels to deal with the aftermath...

"Michelle, I'm feeling full." Denise whispered.

"I bet; that was quite a meal you had."

"No, I mean full..." she insisted, rubbing the breast-flesh rising out of her neckline. Michelle easily picked up on the hint, but she seemed unsure of what to do. They were still waiting for the waiter for the check; they couldn't just leave. However, a single look in Denise's eyes made her situation clear to Michelle. With a huff, she took back her credit card, placed two twenties on the table, and got out of her seat.

\- - - -/

Michelle more or less led Denise out of the bustling restaurant, with the people waiting for a table getting an eyeful of the latter lady. Once they were outside, Michelle turned to her well-rounded roommate.

"Think you can last till we get home?" She asked, looking down at Denise's tent-pitching nipples.

"I don't think- oh no..." Denise said in dismay. A familiar warmth spread across her swollen chest, soaking another one of her tops. She groaned as she tried to not squeeze out more of her milk in public.

"Come on." Michelle grabbed Denise's arm and practically dragged her behind her as she weaved through the dense crowd. Denise mumbled apologies to everyone she bumped into, but she refused to look them in the eye out of sheer embarrassment.

Several minutes later, the girls stopped behind the strip mall that El Feastro's was a part of and took a moment to catch their breath.

"Did anyone follow us?" Michelle asked. Like second-hand smoke, she was indirectly effected by Denise's steady consumption of Yvonne's Dreamy Cream, and was undergoing similar changes that Denise went through (though to a lesser degree). A rounded booty, a pliable tummy, and a rack a couple cup sizes larger were all hers, all seemingly caused by Denise's presence. It didn't do any favors for her stamina, though.

"I don't think so." Denise panted as she turned towards Michelle. "So could you help me out?"

"With what?" Michelle asked. Of course, she knew what Denise wanted, but she felt like having her work for it this time.

"You know, my breasts." Denise hefted her fantastically-large breasts for emphasis.

"Oh my," Michelle gasped in mock-surprise. "they're ginormous!"

"They're not that big." Denise bit her lip. Another surge of fullness swept through her bust, followed by a wave of release.

Michelle grinned at Denise's denial as she approached her friend's propane tank-sized mounds. Up close, she could see the wide splotches left behind from the milk pouring out of her stocky nipples.

"Ooh, you must be so engorged right now!" Michelle cooed as she held Denise's right milk jug.

"I am. So if you could, please, just milk me." Denise squirmed where she stood.

"Are you sure?" Michelle asked, slightly pushing her fingers into Denise's breast-flesh. A couple arcs of milk sprayed through the wool of Denise's sweater.

"Yes! It's the only thing I can think about right now." Denise confessed.

"Well, if you insist, I guess I can treat myself to a tiny bit of your milk." Michelle said. She had let go of her partner's laden tit in favor of the hem of Denise's sweater. Grabbing the fabric between her mounds, Michelle repeatedly yanked the hem upwards. At first, it didn't seem like she was doing anything other than causing an 8.5 magnitude boob-quake, but increasingly large slivers of under-udder flesh began to reveal themselves. Michelle redoubled her efforts, eager to see more. She didn't have to wait too long before gravity did its work.

Without warning, Denise's melons tumbled out of her sweater, slapping her flabby tummy with a bold WHAP!. The cold night air stiffened Denise's already outstanding nipples as the wet flesh around them became speckled with goose pimples. Michelle held one of those jugs using both of her arms. She looked up at Denise, wanting to say one last witty remark. Nothing came to her, though. The milk staining her stretched shirt seemed to be the only thing she could focus on. Milk she could be drinking. That thought alone was more than enough to get her lips wrapped around her girlfriend's  percolating peak. To think that she saw this as a problem when this first happened to Denise!

In fact, Michelle had her misgivings about Bells-Mick and their deal with Denise from the beginning. The effects of the diet they had Denise follow became apparent within six weeks. However, Denise's newfound interest (and talent) in the culinary arts gave her pause, and the milk she produced more or less ensured Michelle's compliance.

What a great choice.