~BBW, Lactation, ~~WG - A large breasted woman contracts a rare genetic disease
(Author’s Note: This story contains elements of lactation. If this isn’t your sort of thing, that’s fine, but do know what you’re getting into. Hope those who read enjoy!)
Gemma had boobs.
Of the many things that could be said of Gemma Arthurs, this was perhaps the truest. Now you might point out that this shouldn’t be surprising. After all, you would say, boobs are a defining characteristic of the female sex. That, however, is just patently not true.
It is true that all women have breasts in the anatomical sense, but that glosses over the wonderful array of busts sported by women. There are breasts and then there are boobs. Tits are, as their name suggests, a fair sight less significant than jugs, and tatas conjure up little better. One shouldn’t dare to blur the fine line between melons and hooters. Gazongas…well they’re just a class of their own. Even mammaries, despite their clinical sound, has its own distinctive properties. Though many use them interchangeably, jugs always carry a different weight than knockers. And while fun bags might be an accurate description as to purpose for many men, the baldness of the term makes it seem vulgar next to other choices. Now it should be noted that these terms are used interchangeably in the poetry of life, but when one says that a girl “has tits”, one does not mean that she “has melons”.
In any event, this is all a roundabout way of saying that it was a particular statement to assert that Gemma had boobs. Perhaps more particularly, Gemma had a rack that one took notice of. Her bust was a round and pleasing one, bouncy and pert, but not without being soft and large. These were the sort of breasts one dreamed about. They were the breasts of a sensual woman, not a scrawny girl. They seemed made for pleasure, inviting a squeeze or a caress. Indeed, many men who met Gemma wanted to accept that invitation.
The rest of Gemma was sufficiently sized to fit her gorgeous gazongas. Gemma was a plump girl and always had been. Accordingly, she didn’t give the situation a second thought. There wasn’t a reason to. Besides, she had boobs and that was rather useful. After all, boobs got things done. Why endanger two of her biggest assets by doing a silly thing like lose weight?
To return to the rest of Gemma’s body, she was tubby to say the least. Gemma’s gut was a plush, pillowy paradise. Though well short in circumference from her breasts, her belly was no small thing. It was a serious tummy, the work of years of culinary indulgence. Though it appeared to be monolithic, one could see definite rolls on each side beneath Gemma’s bust when she wore tight shirts, betraying the fact that her breasts’ impressive size made a big belly look smaller than it was. Gemma’s belly didn’t sag as much as it bounced, almost as if in imitation of the twins above it. Her jelly roll sat contentedly, a giant muffin top, above her pants.
Her belly and breasts weren’t the only things that were big about Gemma either. She had hips the size of a life preserver and an ass of seemingly equal width. When Gemma walked her butt had as much bounce in it as an over-inflated beach ball. Gemma’s thighs were large and thick, resembling plump, delectable sausages. When Gemma wanted to turn up the heat she’d rub her thighs together, swinging her rump to and fro, letting it bounce rhythmically, hypnotically up and down, up and down, up and down for all the boys to see. One would have been tempted to call Gemma an hourglass on the strength of her boobs and hips if it wasn’t for her bulging belly.
Gemma also had arms that were exquisitely fatter than one would think. Perhaps it had to do with their proximity to Gemma’s titillating tits, but more likely it was because the rest of her was so fat that no body part was spared from chunkiness. Her upper arms carried the bulk of the weight and could accurately be called flabby. They jiggled whenever Gemma moved her arms for any reason at all. Her forearm, however, was just plain plump. There was little motion to it when Gemma would reach for the next piece of chocolate, but that only made it look deceptively thin in comparison to her wobbling upper arms where one could pinch an inch. As soon as one touched Gemma’s forearm, however, one discovered that her arms were plenty soft and plump, almost heavenly.
But, believe it or not, this all ignored one of Gemma’s most eye-catching qualities. Gemma had red hair of the most gorgeous copper that you’ve ever seen. It ran well past her shoulders, almost into her cleavage when she cared to let it, in full, sensual ringlets. Her curls were tentacles that ensnared the souls of men. It was no surprise that Gemma was a fair skinned girl of a milky white complexion with such red hair, for the two often went hand in hand. With that thick, stunning red hair and breasts that were the stuff of dreams it was a deadly arsenal that Gemma packed.
This was to say nothing of her face, which was cute in such a way that it was attractive. You’d never call it attractive, of course, but Gemma’s chubby cheeked face was as good as stunning for some reason that couldn’t be pinned down. She had a pretty smile set between pink lips that would have looked wrong if Gemma had painted them red. The sparkle of her blue eyes might have been slightly dimmed behind her thick rectangular glasses, but it didn’t matter. Looking at Gemma, one thought that without her glasses she would be a decidedly less attractive woman. There was just something about the way they accented her face with its cute nose that was inexplicably beautiful.
That’s what just about everyone thought about Gemma. Even those who weren’t chubby chasers had to admit that Gemma had it going on. Gemma knew it too—and she reveled in it. The men she’d dated were of all types and sorts, whatever caught her fancy at the moment. It didn’t matter if they “didn’t usually like bigger girls”. Gemma was happy to oblige regardless. Granted, in her experience it was only a man who enjoyed more pushin’ for the cushion that could truly savor her. The other men were simply blinded by the blimps protruding from her chest. They failed to see the pleasure that was present in every inch of her, not just her boobs. It was only the ones who liked bigger girls even when they weren’t Gemma, regardless of whether they would admit it or not, who could realize her full potential.
Ian Bullock was just such a person. When he first met Gemma, he wasn’t the sort of man to trumpet about the fact that he liked fatties. He’d only dated one in his life and it was short-lived since it hadn’t been a good fit for either of them. That changed when he met Gemma. He was spellbound by her the moment he saw her in that bar. Without even realizing that his legs were moving he walked over to Gemma and said, “I have never done this in my life, but you are without question the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen.”
“Never before? And yet you’re so original,” Gemma said playfully.
“Then let me blow you away with another original line: would you mind if I bought you a drink?” Ian asked.
She let him and that was the beginning of a wonderful relationship. Indeed, for the previous few months Gemma had engaged exclusively in one night stands. Life was an ice cream parlor and Gemma had decided that she wasn’t going to confine herself to one flavor. Perhaps Ian just walked in when Gemma had decided she’d sampled enough to settle down with a favorite, or maybe Ian tasted better than the others. Either way, it didn’t matter. Ian and Gemma hit it off wonderfully.
His relationship with Gemma awakened the long-suppressed impulses within Ian. No longer was he ashamed to like fat girls. Gemma seemed to validate everything that had lain dormant within him. He fondled her belly incessantly, even in public. He would stroke her thigh or squeeze a love handle whenever the fancy struck him, always rewarded by a giggle from Gemma that only encouraged his friskiness. Ian had no hesitation about telling his male friends that sex with Gemma was so much better because there was so much more sensual flesh. For their part, Ian’s friends, a generally understanding bunch, kept their differing opinions to themselves and were simply glad Ian had found happiness. However, after meeting Gemma for the first time, they had to admit that their colleague had impeccable taste.
And so there they were: Gemma, the cute ginger fatty with the hefty hooters, and Ian, the blossoming fat admirer, in bed, breathing heavily as they recovered from the ecstasy of sex.
“Phew!” Ian panted, “Was it me or was that the best yet?”
“Top three for sure baby,” Gemma said, turning her head to look at her man. He was slightly fuzzy on the pillow next to her since she didn’t have her glasses on. “I’ve got to say you were pretty impressive the first time, for a first time you know.”
“Home run first time at bat?” Ian suggested playfully, “I must be quite a slugger.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” Gemma rolled over to kiss Ian to show she meant no ill will. “More like a triple,” Gemma breathed into his ear.
“It’s surprisingly hard to hit a triple, you know,” Ian said.
“I do know. That was my point,” Gemma said with a smile.
“You are a magnificent woman,” Ian replied.
“And you are pretty damn fine yourself man,” Gemma responded.
Ian drew Gemma into his arms, enjoying the feel of her heavy breasts pressing up against his chest, her large nipples erect and firm. “Gemma Arthurs, how did I ever live without you?”
“Miserably,” Gemma said, “Oh sure, you thought you were happy, but that was only because you didn’t know better. Society didn’t want you to know how much fun you could have with a stout girl like me.”
“Stout?” Ian said with raised eyebrows. He gently poked a finger into her belly. “The only thing stout about you is your beer. You’re well past stout girl.”
“Ah, but don’t you remember? I like my beer like I like my body—extra stout,” Gemma said with a grin.
“Say, that reminds me,” Ian said suddenly, “want to have lunch tomorrow?”
“I would, but I’ve got to see my doctor tomorrow,” Gemma replied.
“But you just saw her a few weeks ago. Why must you go in again when I want to have lunch with you?” Ian groused.
“She said she wanted to discuss some test results with me from my visit,” Gemma said, “She didn’t sound that concerned, so I doubt it’s anything major.”
“I know exactly what it’s going to be. ‘Miss Arthurs, we’ve done some tests and we’ve determined that you are fat. You should begin dieting forthwith,’” Ian said, attempting to mimic whatever he though Gemma’s doctor sounded like.
“You’re probably more right than you are wrong,” Gemma said, “They’re always telling me that I’m overweight. Then I tell them that I don’t much care seeing as I’ve got a rack that’d impress a bull moose.” Gemma thrust her knockers into Ian to punctuate the point.
“And right you are,” Ian said, “Though still, I can’t help but think that maybe you shouldn’t get a little more exercise before you go see the doctor tomorrow as an olive branch.”
“What, you too now?” Gemma said, “Traitor!” She rolled away from Ian in a huff, though both of them knew she was only playing.
“I just thought we could burn some calories off your fat ass while having a little fun…” Ian said as he came up behind Gemma, giving her butt a playful slap.
“Now that’s one exercise I don’t mind!” Gemma said, turning her head to smile at Ian, “But I get to be on top!”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Ian said as he readied himself for another round of pleasure.
***
“Gemma, nice to see you again,” Dr. Nehru said as she shook hands with the redhead. Dr. Nehru was Indian with rich brown skin and lush black hair. She was also as thin as a sheet of paper, which made the contrast between doctor and patient rather pronounced.
“So, what’s up?” Gemma asked pleasantly as she took a seat in the doctor’s office.
“Well, I ran some tests after your last visit because I had a bit of a suspicion,” Dr. Nehru said, “I do have a few questions first. Have you noticed anything different in your sex life lately?”
“Just that it’s been excellent,” Gemma said with a broad smile and no embarrassment.
“Uh huh. And has anything been off with your breasts, by chance?”
“Nope. The girls have been their usual impressive selves,” Gemma replied.
“And have they always been this big?”
“Other women have been shooting me dirty looks for as long as I can remember whenever I show them off, so yeah.”
“And how’s your appetite?”
“Same as always, which is to say quite healthy.”
“And have you ever been pregnant?”
“Nope.”
“Well, that’s pretty much what I expected to hear,” Dr. Nehru said, “Gemma, you’ve tested positive for a genetic condition that is currently being called Human Bovinia Syndrome.”
“What?” Gemma exclaimed.
“Yeah, that’s usually the initial reaction,” Dr. Nehru said.
“So what exactly is this Human Bovinia thing?” Gemma said.
“Well, its name comes from the fact that there have been cases of obese women—”
“I am not obese,” Gemma said, swiftly and sternly.
“I speak of course in the strictest clinical sense,” Dr. Nehru quickly added, “But anyways, these women seem to store fat much more readily than other women. More than that, however, these women begin producing breast milk and lactating even when they haven’t gone through a pregnancy. It usually doesn’t seem to manifest itself until the mid-twenties, once the body is fully developed.”
“But I haven’t experienced any…lactation, I guess you’d call it,” Gemma said.
“As best as I can tell, you’re only in the early stages so you may not have experienced anything. Our tests have determined that you are producing breast milk, however,” Dr. Nehru said, “Some cases report that sexual activity can set it off, but these tend to be few and far between.”
“So should I put up plastic sheets in my bedroom before sex?” Gemma asked, “I mean, is this going to just start spraying all over or what?”
“Well, it’s clear you haven’t been pregnant before,” Dr. Nehru said with an amused smile, “No, you don’t need to worry about that sort of thing. I’d just warn your partner beforehand that there’s a possibility some discharge.”
“How much are we talking about here?” Gemma continued.
“It’s usually directly proportional to breast size so…”
“…so I could be in for quite a bit?” Gemma guessed.
“Relatively, but I’d like you to come back for some more tests. We can actually measure how much you produce and with what sort of frequency here so we can get a better idea of what sort of effects you’re going to experience. Shall I put you down for an appointment day after next?”
***
“So…what exactly does all of this mean?” Ian asked Gemma that night at dinner.
“It means when you called me a cow in bed that one time, you were right,” Gemma said with a smirk.
“So did the doctor say when you’re going to start…you know?” Ian said.
“Could be any time now. Probably during sex,” Gemma said coolly.
“That’s going to be a little weird,” Ian replied.
“Sure it is—at first, anyways,” Gemma said, “But then again, isn’t being proud that your girlfriend’s fat a little weird at first too?”
“Not when she’s you,” Ian said, leaning over and kissing Gemma on the cheek.
“So maybe this won’t be weird at all either,” Gemma said.
“Well, we’ll find out when it happens I guess,” Ian replied.
“The only question is…are you feeling lucky tonight?” Gemma asked.
“I think I am,” Ian smiled.
***
“Gemma, nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Rockwell,” the man in the white lab coat said, “How are you doing?”
“Just dandy doc,” Gemma said.
“Everything all right with your breasts?”
“Just fine. Even tried that sexual stimulation thing and didn’t do anything,” Gemma said, “Maybe you guys got your tests wrong and I’m just a fat girl.”
“Ummm…did you just say that you tried to induce lactation by engaging in copulation?” Dr. Rockwell said, blinking furiously in surprise.
“Well, girl’s got urges, you know doc?” Gemma said, “Besides, wanted to see what all the hubbub was about.”
“I…uh…see. That’s a bit of a first for me,” Dr. Rockwell said, still not having recovered his composure, “Well, umm, let’s get down to business then, shall we? Would you mind having a seat in the reclining chair there after you’ve taken off your shirt and bra?”
“Sure,” Gemma said brightly as she began pulling her polo shirt over her head, “You know, I think I see why you decided to go into this field doc. Bet all the other guys in med school were jealous of you.”
“Well, I…uh…” Dr. Rockwell stammered. He declined to make any response at all, realizing it was rather futile to try and form words as he watched Gemma undress.
Gemma unhooked her bra and threw it on a chair, letting her massive melons swing free, her large nipples erect against the cool hospital air. Gemma knew that Rockwell was trying not to look, but failing as he’d steal a glance and then look quickly away. She took her seat and Dr. Rockwell brought over a machine.
“Now this is essentially an industrial breast pump, which will do what you expect. Though you may not be lactating at this point, we’ll be able to get an idea of what your capacity is and then at your future visits we’ll be able to find out how quickly it replenishes,” Dr. Rockwell said as he hoisted each hooter into a contraption with a pump placed over her nipple.
“How long should this take?” Gemma asked.
“Shouldn’t take too long. Maybe five minutes.” Rockwell examined the control board. “I’ll start it up and then check up on you then.”
“Wait a second!” Gemma said, “I’ve seen enough movies to know that when the doctor leaves the room something goes horribly wrong with the machine and then causes me to become a mutant or something. Shouldn’t you stick around to make sure that won’t happen?”
“I’m just going to be across the hall in my office. The machine will set off an alarm if anything goes wrong and there’s a button by your right hand in case you want assistance. Someone will be here in six seconds either way, so you can feel perfectly at ease,” Dr. Rockwell said.
“So how will I know if something’s going wrong since I’ve never done this before?” Gemma asked.
“The procedure is totally painless. If you’re in any pain, let us know immediately,” Rockwell said as he flipped a switch, “It should begin momentarily. See you in five.”
Rockwell left, though Gemma was pretty sure that he wanted to stay. It was only because he’d been able to fall into the routine medical mumbo jumbo that he’d regained his composure before. A lot of men wanted to see her knockers naked and she knew that—
All of a sudden, Gemma felt the beginning of a wave of pleasure, emanating out from her breasts. Gemma opened her lips ever so slightly at the sensation. An “Mmmmmmmm,” slipped from her lips unconsciously. This wasn’t half bad. In fact, the pleasure was beginning to increase bit by bit. She could feel the milk beginning to flow, induced by the sweet suction of the breast pump. Gemma began to moan a little louder as she arched her back to press her breasts firmer into the pump. Her bliss was growing, blooming, blossoming, expanding. Gemma grasped the armrests of the chair firmly as she was wracked by this new ecstasy. It grew and grew and grew as more and more milk coursed from her breasts.
“Yes, yes, yes, YES!” Gemma shouted as her rapture mounted.
And then it tapered off abruptly, the milk extracted, leaving Gemma limp and panting in the chair. She ran a hand through her rich red hair.
“Wow,” was all Gemma could say as she exhaled.
Dr. Rockwell stepped into the room about a minute later. “So, how did it go?”
“Doc, that wasn’t painless. That was freaking amazing,” Gemma said, still recovering from the intense pleasure, “That was almost as good as an orgasm.”
Rockwell actually jumped in surprise. “What?”
“Why didn’t you tell me that was going to rock my socks?” Gemma continued.
“You mean that was actually…pleasurable?” Dr. Rockwell said, turning red in the face.
“Isn’t it for everyone?” Gemma asked.
“If so they haven’t said so, but something tells me that they would have…” Dr. Rockwell said as he removed the breast pumps.
“So, how’d I do?” Gemma inquired as she sat up and put her bra back on.
“As I suspected, you’ve got quite the capacity there,” Rockwell said as he examined the flask into which the breast milk had been sent, “Well above average.”
“So exactly what are you guys going to do with it now?” Gemma asked before she put her shirt back on.
“You mean they didn’t tell you?” Dr. Rockwell said, rather surprised.
“Tell me what?” Gemma said, somewhat muffled by the fact she hadn’t gotten the bottom half of her head out of her shirt yet.
“You’d better sit down,” Dr. Rockwell said, motioning to a chair.
***
(Author’s Note: This story contains elements of lactation. If this isn’t your sort of thing, that’s fine, but do know what you’re getting into. Hope those who read enjoy!)
Gemma’s Jugs
By Id
By Id
Gemma had boobs.
Of the many things that could be said of Gemma Arthurs, this was perhaps the truest. Now you might point out that this shouldn’t be surprising. After all, you would say, boobs are a defining characteristic of the female sex. That, however, is just patently not true.
It is true that all women have breasts in the anatomical sense, but that glosses over the wonderful array of busts sported by women. There are breasts and then there are boobs. Tits are, as their name suggests, a fair sight less significant than jugs, and tatas conjure up little better. One shouldn’t dare to blur the fine line between melons and hooters. Gazongas…well they’re just a class of their own. Even mammaries, despite their clinical sound, has its own distinctive properties. Though many use them interchangeably, jugs always carry a different weight than knockers. And while fun bags might be an accurate description as to purpose for many men, the baldness of the term makes it seem vulgar next to other choices. Now it should be noted that these terms are used interchangeably in the poetry of life, but when one says that a girl “has tits”, one does not mean that she “has melons”.
In any event, this is all a roundabout way of saying that it was a particular statement to assert that Gemma had boobs. Perhaps more particularly, Gemma had a rack that one took notice of. Her bust was a round and pleasing one, bouncy and pert, but not without being soft and large. These were the sort of breasts one dreamed about. They were the breasts of a sensual woman, not a scrawny girl. They seemed made for pleasure, inviting a squeeze or a caress. Indeed, many men who met Gemma wanted to accept that invitation.
The rest of Gemma was sufficiently sized to fit her gorgeous gazongas. Gemma was a plump girl and always had been. Accordingly, she didn’t give the situation a second thought. There wasn’t a reason to. Besides, she had boobs and that was rather useful. After all, boobs got things done. Why endanger two of her biggest assets by doing a silly thing like lose weight?
To return to the rest of Gemma’s body, she was tubby to say the least. Gemma’s gut was a plush, pillowy paradise. Though well short in circumference from her breasts, her belly was no small thing. It was a serious tummy, the work of years of culinary indulgence. Though it appeared to be monolithic, one could see definite rolls on each side beneath Gemma’s bust when she wore tight shirts, betraying the fact that her breasts’ impressive size made a big belly look smaller than it was. Gemma’s belly didn’t sag as much as it bounced, almost as if in imitation of the twins above it. Her jelly roll sat contentedly, a giant muffin top, above her pants.
Her belly and breasts weren’t the only things that were big about Gemma either. She had hips the size of a life preserver and an ass of seemingly equal width. When Gemma walked her butt had as much bounce in it as an over-inflated beach ball. Gemma’s thighs were large and thick, resembling plump, delectable sausages. When Gemma wanted to turn up the heat she’d rub her thighs together, swinging her rump to and fro, letting it bounce rhythmically, hypnotically up and down, up and down, up and down for all the boys to see. One would have been tempted to call Gemma an hourglass on the strength of her boobs and hips if it wasn’t for her bulging belly.
Gemma also had arms that were exquisitely fatter than one would think. Perhaps it had to do with their proximity to Gemma’s titillating tits, but more likely it was because the rest of her was so fat that no body part was spared from chunkiness. Her upper arms carried the bulk of the weight and could accurately be called flabby. They jiggled whenever Gemma moved her arms for any reason at all. Her forearm, however, was just plain plump. There was little motion to it when Gemma would reach for the next piece of chocolate, but that only made it look deceptively thin in comparison to her wobbling upper arms where one could pinch an inch. As soon as one touched Gemma’s forearm, however, one discovered that her arms were plenty soft and plump, almost heavenly.
But, believe it or not, this all ignored one of Gemma’s most eye-catching qualities. Gemma had red hair of the most gorgeous copper that you’ve ever seen. It ran well past her shoulders, almost into her cleavage when she cared to let it, in full, sensual ringlets. Her curls were tentacles that ensnared the souls of men. It was no surprise that Gemma was a fair skinned girl of a milky white complexion with such red hair, for the two often went hand in hand. With that thick, stunning red hair and breasts that were the stuff of dreams it was a deadly arsenal that Gemma packed.
This was to say nothing of her face, which was cute in such a way that it was attractive. You’d never call it attractive, of course, but Gemma’s chubby cheeked face was as good as stunning for some reason that couldn’t be pinned down. She had a pretty smile set between pink lips that would have looked wrong if Gemma had painted them red. The sparkle of her blue eyes might have been slightly dimmed behind her thick rectangular glasses, but it didn’t matter. Looking at Gemma, one thought that without her glasses she would be a decidedly less attractive woman. There was just something about the way they accented her face with its cute nose that was inexplicably beautiful.
That’s what just about everyone thought about Gemma. Even those who weren’t chubby chasers had to admit that Gemma had it going on. Gemma knew it too—and she reveled in it. The men she’d dated were of all types and sorts, whatever caught her fancy at the moment. It didn’t matter if they “didn’t usually like bigger girls”. Gemma was happy to oblige regardless. Granted, in her experience it was only a man who enjoyed more pushin’ for the cushion that could truly savor her. The other men were simply blinded by the blimps protruding from her chest. They failed to see the pleasure that was present in every inch of her, not just her boobs. It was only the ones who liked bigger girls even when they weren’t Gemma, regardless of whether they would admit it or not, who could realize her full potential.
Ian Bullock was just such a person. When he first met Gemma, he wasn’t the sort of man to trumpet about the fact that he liked fatties. He’d only dated one in his life and it was short-lived since it hadn’t been a good fit for either of them. That changed when he met Gemma. He was spellbound by her the moment he saw her in that bar. Without even realizing that his legs were moving he walked over to Gemma and said, “I have never done this in my life, but you are without question the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen.”
“Never before? And yet you’re so original,” Gemma said playfully.
“Then let me blow you away with another original line: would you mind if I bought you a drink?” Ian asked.
She let him and that was the beginning of a wonderful relationship. Indeed, for the previous few months Gemma had engaged exclusively in one night stands. Life was an ice cream parlor and Gemma had decided that she wasn’t going to confine herself to one flavor. Perhaps Ian just walked in when Gemma had decided she’d sampled enough to settle down with a favorite, or maybe Ian tasted better than the others. Either way, it didn’t matter. Ian and Gemma hit it off wonderfully.
His relationship with Gemma awakened the long-suppressed impulses within Ian. No longer was he ashamed to like fat girls. Gemma seemed to validate everything that had lain dormant within him. He fondled her belly incessantly, even in public. He would stroke her thigh or squeeze a love handle whenever the fancy struck him, always rewarded by a giggle from Gemma that only encouraged his friskiness. Ian had no hesitation about telling his male friends that sex with Gemma was so much better because there was so much more sensual flesh. For their part, Ian’s friends, a generally understanding bunch, kept their differing opinions to themselves and were simply glad Ian had found happiness. However, after meeting Gemma for the first time, they had to admit that their colleague had impeccable taste.
And so there they were: Gemma, the cute ginger fatty with the hefty hooters, and Ian, the blossoming fat admirer, in bed, breathing heavily as they recovered from the ecstasy of sex.
“Phew!” Ian panted, “Was it me or was that the best yet?”
“Top three for sure baby,” Gemma said, turning her head to look at her man. He was slightly fuzzy on the pillow next to her since she didn’t have her glasses on. “I’ve got to say you were pretty impressive the first time, for a first time you know.”
“Home run first time at bat?” Ian suggested playfully, “I must be quite a slugger.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” Gemma rolled over to kiss Ian to show she meant no ill will. “More like a triple,” Gemma breathed into his ear.
“It’s surprisingly hard to hit a triple, you know,” Ian said.
“I do know. That was my point,” Gemma said with a smile.
“You are a magnificent woman,” Ian replied.
“And you are pretty damn fine yourself man,” Gemma responded.
Ian drew Gemma into his arms, enjoying the feel of her heavy breasts pressing up against his chest, her large nipples erect and firm. “Gemma Arthurs, how did I ever live without you?”
“Miserably,” Gemma said, “Oh sure, you thought you were happy, but that was only because you didn’t know better. Society didn’t want you to know how much fun you could have with a stout girl like me.”
“Stout?” Ian said with raised eyebrows. He gently poked a finger into her belly. “The only thing stout about you is your beer. You’re well past stout girl.”
“Ah, but don’t you remember? I like my beer like I like my body—extra stout,” Gemma said with a grin.
“Say, that reminds me,” Ian said suddenly, “want to have lunch tomorrow?”
“I would, but I’ve got to see my doctor tomorrow,” Gemma replied.
“But you just saw her a few weeks ago. Why must you go in again when I want to have lunch with you?” Ian groused.
“She said she wanted to discuss some test results with me from my visit,” Gemma said, “She didn’t sound that concerned, so I doubt it’s anything major.”
“I know exactly what it’s going to be. ‘Miss Arthurs, we’ve done some tests and we’ve determined that you are fat. You should begin dieting forthwith,’” Ian said, attempting to mimic whatever he though Gemma’s doctor sounded like.
“You’re probably more right than you are wrong,” Gemma said, “They’re always telling me that I’m overweight. Then I tell them that I don’t much care seeing as I’ve got a rack that’d impress a bull moose.” Gemma thrust her knockers into Ian to punctuate the point.
“And right you are,” Ian said, “Though still, I can’t help but think that maybe you shouldn’t get a little more exercise before you go see the doctor tomorrow as an olive branch.”
“What, you too now?” Gemma said, “Traitor!” She rolled away from Ian in a huff, though both of them knew she was only playing.
“I just thought we could burn some calories off your fat ass while having a little fun…” Ian said as he came up behind Gemma, giving her butt a playful slap.
“Now that’s one exercise I don’t mind!” Gemma said, turning her head to smile at Ian, “But I get to be on top!”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Ian said as he readied himself for another round of pleasure.
***
“Gemma, nice to see you again,” Dr. Nehru said as she shook hands with the redhead. Dr. Nehru was Indian with rich brown skin and lush black hair. She was also as thin as a sheet of paper, which made the contrast between doctor and patient rather pronounced.
“So, what’s up?” Gemma asked pleasantly as she took a seat in the doctor’s office.
“Well, I ran some tests after your last visit because I had a bit of a suspicion,” Dr. Nehru said, “I do have a few questions first. Have you noticed anything different in your sex life lately?”
“Just that it’s been excellent,” Gemma said with a broad smile and no embarrassment.
“Uh huh. And has anything been off with your breasts, by chance?”
“Nope. The girls have been their usual impressive selves,” Gemma replied.
“And have they always been this big?”
“Other women have been shooting me dirty looks for as long as I can remember whenever I show them off, so yeah.”
“And how’s your appetite?”
“Same as always, which is to say quite healthy.”
“And have you ever been pregnant?”
“Nope.”
“Well, that’s pretty much what I expected to hear,” Dr. Nehru said, “Gemma, you’ve tested positive for a genetic condition that is currently being called Human Bovinia Syndrome.”
“What?” Gemma exclaimed.
“Yeah, that’s usually the initial reaction,” Dr. Nehru said.
“So what exactly is this Human Bovinia thing?” Gemma said.
“Well, its name comes from the fact that there have been cases of obese women—”
“I am not obese,” Gemma said, swiftly and sternly.
“I speak of course in the strictest clinical sense,” Dr. Nehru quickly added, “But anyways, these women seem to store fat much more readily than other women. More than that, however, these women begin producing breast milk and lactating even when they haven’t gone through a pregnancy. It usually doesn’t seem to manifest itself until the mid-twenties, once the body is fully developed.”
“But I haven’t experienced any…lactation, I guess you’d call it,” Gemma said.
“As best as I can tell, you’re only in the early stages so you may not have experienced anything. Our tests have determined that you are producing breast milk, however,” Dr. Nehru said, “Some cases report that sexual activity can set it off, but these tend to be few and far between.”
“So should I put up plastic sheets in my bedroom before sex?” Gemma asked, “I mean, is this going to just start spraying all over or what?”
“Well, it’s clear you haven’t been pregnant before,” Dr. Nehru said with an amused smile, “No, you don’t need to worry about that sort of thing. I’d just warn your partner beforehand that there’s a possibility some discharge.”
“How much are we talking about here?” Gemma continued.
“It’s usually directly proportional to breast size so…”
“…so I could be in for quite a bit?” Gemma guessed.
“Relatively, but I’d like you to come back for some more tests. We can actually measure how much you produce and with what sort of frequency here so we can get a better idea of what sort of effects you’re going to experience. Shall I put you down for an appointment day after next?”
***
“So…what exactly does all of this mean?” Ian asked Gemma that night at dinner.
“It means when you called me a cow in bed that one time, you were right,” Gemma said with a smirk.
“So did the doctor say when you’re going to start…you know?” Ian said.
“Could be any time now. Probably during sex,” Gemma said coolly.
“That’s going to be a little weird,” Ian replied.
“Sure it is—at first, anyways,” Gemma said, “But then again, isn’t being proud that your girlfriend’s fat a little weird at first too?”
“Not when she’s you,” Ian said, leaning over and kissing Gemma on the cheek.
“So maybe this won’t be weird at all either,” Gemma said.
“Well, we’ll find out when it happens I guess,” Ian replied.
“The only question is…are you feeling lucky tonight?” Gemma asked.
“I think I am,” Ian smiled.
***
“Gemma, nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Rockwell,” the man in the white lab coat said, “How are you doing?”
“Just dandy doc,” Gemma said.
“Everything all right with your breasts?”
“Just fine. Even tried that sexual stimulation thing and didn’t do anything,” Gemma said, “Maybe you guys got your tests wrong and I’m just a fat girl.”
“Ummm…did you just say that you tried to induce lactation by engaging in copulation?” Dr. Rockwell said, blinking furiously in surprise.
“Well, girl’s got urges, you know doc?” Gemma said, “Besides, wanted to see what all the hubbub was about.”
“I…uh…see. That’s a bit of a first for me,” Dr. Rockwell said, still not having recovered his composure, “Well, umm, let’s get down to business then, shall we? Would you mind having a seat in the reclining chair there after you’ve taken off your shirt and bra?”
“Sure,” Gemma said brightly as she began pulling her polo shirt over her head, “You know, I think I see why you decided to go into this field doc. Bet all the other guys in med school were jealous of you.”
“Well, I…uh…” Dr. Rockwell stammered. He declined to make any response at all, realizing it was rather futile to try and form words as he watched Gemma undress.
Gemma unhooked her bra and threw it on a chair, letting her massive melons swing free, her large nipples erect against the cool hospital air. Gemma knew that Rockwell was trying not to look, but failing as he’d steal a glance and then look quickly away. She took her seat and Dr. Rockwell brought over a machine.
“Now this is essentially an industrial breast pump, which will do what you expect. Though you may not be lactating at this point, we’ll be able to get an idea of what your capacity is and then at your future visits we’ll be able to find out how quickly it replenishes,” Dr. Rockwell said as he hoisted each hooter into a contraption with a pump placed over her nipple.
“How long should this take?” Gemma asked.
“Shouldn’t take too long. Maybe five minutes.” Rockwell examined the control board. “I’ll start it up and then check up on you then.”
“Wait a second!” Gemma said, “I’ve seen enough movies to know that when the doctor leaves the room something goes horribly wrong with the machine and then causes me to become a mutant or something. Shouldn’t you stick around to make sure that won’t happen?”
“I’m just going to be across the hall in my office. The machine will set off an alarm if anything goes wrong and there’s a button by your right hand in case you want assistance. Someone will be here in six seconds either way, so you can feel perfectly at ease,” Dr. Rockwell said.
“So how will I know if something’s going wrong since I’ve never done this before?” Gemma asked.
“The procedure is totally painless. If you’re in any pain, let us know immediately,” Rockwell said as he flipped a switch, “It should begin momentarily. See you in five.”
Rockwell left, though Gemma was pretty sure that he wanted to stay. It was only because he’d been able to fall into the routine medical mumbo jumbo that he’d regained his composure before. A lot of men wanted to see her knockers naked and she knew that—
All of a sudden, Gemma felt the beginning of a wave of pleasure, emanating out from her breasts. Gemma opened her lips ever so slightly at the sensation. An “Mmmmmmmm,” slipped from her lips unconsciously. This wasn’t half bad. In fact, the pleasure was beginning to increase bit by bit. She could feel the milk beginning to flow, induced by the sweet suction of the breast pump. Gemma began to moan a little louder as she arched her back to press her breasts firmer into the pump. Her bliss was growing, blooming, blossoming, expanding. Gemma grasped the armrests of the chair firmly as she was wracked by this new ecstasy. It grew and grew and grew as more and more milk coursed from her breasts.
“Yes, yes, yes, YES!” Gemma shouted as her rapture mounted.
And then it tapered off abruptly, the milk extracted, leaving Gemma limp and panting in the chair. She ran a hand through her rich red hair.
“Wow,” was all Gemma could say as she exhaled.
Dr. Rockwell stepped into the room about a minute later. “So, how did it go?”
“Doc, that wasn’t painless. That was freaking amazing,” Gemma said, still recovering from the intense pleasure, “That was almost as good as an orgasm.”
Rockwell actually jumped in surprise. “What?”
“Why didn’t you tell me that was going to rock my socks?” Gemma continued.
“You mean that was actually…pleasurable?” Dr. Rockwell said, turning red in the face.
“Isn’t it for everyone?” Gemma asked.
“If so they haven’t said so, but something tells me that they would have…” Dr. Rockwell said as he removed the breast pumps.
“So, how’d I do?” Gemma inquired as she sat up and put her bra back on.
“As I suspected, you’ve got quite the capacity there,” Rockwell said as he examined the flask into which the breast milk had been sent, “Well above average.”
“So exactly what are you guys going to do with it now?” Gemma asked before she put her shirt back on.
“You mean they didn’t tell you?” Dr. Rockwell said, rather surprised.
“Tell me what?” Gemma said, somewhat muffled by the fact she hadn’t gotten the bottom half of her head out of her shirt yet.
“You’d better sit down,” Dr. Rockwell said, motioning to a chair.
***
