Erotic short. Two students of magic enjoy the results of a potions mix-up.
Silly and sexy!
Explicit M/M short with two cis witches, with one spontaneously growing lactating breasts. Features transformation, teasing/banter, milking, lactation, oral sex, competence kink. 2.7k.
Terms used are cock, dick, balls; breasts, tits, chest.
“I think I drank the wrong thing,” said Abe.
It was late in the evening, and in their shared dormitory, the highest in the southside tower, the air was warm and sticky. There was a storm coming in according to the various instruments Abe had hanging from the window, which was slightly ajar in a hopeless attempt to usher in a breeze, and for once Castor actually believed them.
Not that they’d ever been wrong, just yet, and he and Abe had been roommates for two years — Castor just resented anything he didn’t much understand the science of, and as soon as Abe started talking about calculations and magical flow and a combination of meteorological and magical factors, Castor’s consciousness clouded rapidly over.
It was a Wednesday night, so it wasn’t as though they were missing out on any big social events at the university or in Camelot proper, and over the city Castor was able to see a thick, grey pallor that didn’t match the heat he felt. The streets seemed strangely empty, even though it hadn’t yet started to rain, but the heat in the air was oppressive, and he wouldn’t want to be out in it either.
Castor didn’t turn around to look at Abe when he answered: theoretically, he was marking some of the essays from the undergrads in the enchantment history module he’d been tutoring, but in actuality, he’d been staring at the same page and making no progress for about twenty-five minutes. The student had evident difficulty with English spelling, and Castor wondered if it was worth telling her she could submit her essays in Welsh if she wanted.
“What makes you say that?” asked Castor.
Behind him, Abe coughed.
Castor spun slowly around in his chair, and for a long moment he stayed still with his pen in his lap, his lips loosely pursed. For a few moments, he stared at Abe through his reading glasses, although it somewhat blurred what exactly he was looking at, and then he lowered them down the bridge of his nose.
Abe and Castor had very different fields of study, and typically worked on different sides of the campus, but this actually well-contributed to their living together and their relationship, Castor thought. The both of them worked their own soft magics — Castor in enchantment and brewing, Abraham in numerology, magical astronomy, and divination — but their crossovers typically allowed them to complement one another’s area of study without starting to argue over them.
Abe had been feeling congested.
Castor wasn’t sure if he was still feeling congested now.
“When I told you,” said Castor slowly, “to take the blue, corked potion from the far left of my cabinet on the third shelf, you in fact took…?”
Abe shifted on his feet, putting his hands on his hips. The effect was striking, and when Castor raised his eyebrows, Abe scowled at him.
“I thought you said the far right on your workbench,” muttered Abe.
“On my workbench,” said Castor, disbelieving. “You drank from the cauldron currently steeping? The open cauldron in which I am actively brewing? You thought I recommended this for your stuffy nose?”
Abe stared at him for a long few moments, and Castor stared back.
“It was blue. And it wasn’t hot,” said Abe.
“Nor should it be — it’s over a deadman’s flame to keep it from congealing, but it’s not meant to be heating, the potion evaporates at room temperature. How much of it did you have?”
“Does it fucking matter?” demanded Abe, and Castor put his cap on his pen.
“I suppose it doesn’t now,” he murmured, and stood to his feet.
Abe had already changed into a loose t-shirt and some boxers to go to bed — it was actually one of Castor’s t-shirts, so it really was loose, until now. Abe’s chest was abruptly bountiful, making it look like he was smuggling two small melons under the fabric, and the fabric had two dark patches of wetness showing through.
“Are you less congested?” asked Castor.
“Fix me,” snapped Abe, and Castor gently took hold of the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head, struggling slightly to squeeze it over his chest and his shoulders — in the process, he made milk dribble down Abe’s belly, and Abe shivered. “Who the fuck is this for?”
“It’s for adoptive parents or parents who struggle lactating,” said Castor mildly. “It needs to steep for three days and nights to temper its effects, so that it takes a few weeks to develop rather than making you balloon like this. Do they hurt?”
“A little,” said Abe, shifting on his feet. “I guess. I’m not sure — it’s… pressure. Discomfort.”
Abe, for all he was taller and squarer than Castor, was skinny and extremely flat-chested, and the breasts were each half the size of his head and made him seem tremendously top heavy — to keep his balance, Castor noticed, he was leaning back on his heels.
They were round, plump, and covered over with hair, and Abe’s nipples, which were usually small, delicate pebbles of pink flesh, had darkened a little in colour and his areolae had widened and flattened out.
“You’re looking at me like you look at your experiments,” growled Abe, and Castor cupped his heavy breasts in his hands, not massaging, not squeezing, just holding them and lifting them slightly off the surface of his chest. Abe let out a gasping, keening sound from back in his throat, turning pink.
“You might keep the stretch marks,” said Castor apologetically.
“Fix it,” said Abe through gritted teeth.
“I can’t fix it, sweetheart, you’ll have to go down to the infirmary tomorrow,” said Castor. “I’m an apothecary, not a physician — and what you drank was about twelve times as powerful as it should be, I wouldn’t give the brew at that strength to a giant, let alone another human. You’ll just have to suffer through the night. I did ask if you’d heard me the second time, I wish you’d just told me you weren’t sure.”
“I thought I was sure,” muttered Abe, and he shivered as Castor weighed each of his tits between his hands, interested in how incredibly heavy they were, heavier than any breast he’d touched before on a woman or a man. “Can you make them ache less?”
“I believe I can,” said Castor. “There’s a rather traditional solution to that.”
“Fuck,” whined Abe, standing almost on his tiptoes, not to get away from Castor’s hands but simply, it seemed, because he couldn’t stay still. “Are you — Are you fucking serious? Is that safe?”
“It’s perfectly safe,” said Castor. “I really don’t think it likely you’ll have any long-term effects, and you probably won’t have to wait it out either — if they can’t reverse it immediately, a fleshturner can. There’s nothing magical about the milk, you know, it’s your own body’s production, just sped up. The most you might have to deal with is a few uncomfortable hormonal imbalances — having trouble getting it up?”
“I think you know I’m not,” growled Abe, and Castor smiled at him, and squeezed.
The look on Abe’s face was really something, the way his eyes watered as he screwed them up, his mouth open, the way he gasped. A sharp keen came from deep in his throat and he grabbed at Castor’s arms, knees spreading apart, hips tipping forward, cock hard in his boxers.
Warm wetness was dribbling over Castor’s fingers, not really in a stream but just spurting messily on each side, and he waited to make sure Abe was watching before he brought his fingers up to his mouth and sucked the tips of them.
It was thinner than cow’s milk, the texture oddly watery, but the taste was sweet, like melted ice cream.
Abe’s face was turning the most incredible colours.
“I’ll lay some towels down, shall I?” asked Castor.
“I hate you,” said Abe.
“Your cock doesn’t seem to,” replied Castor pleasantly, and asked, “Do you want me to get you the decongestant while I’m at it?”
Abe rolled his eyes.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Castor, and wiped his hands on the t-shirt.
* * *
Lying back on the pillows, embarrassed and excited and so turned on he felt like exploding, what Abe couldn’t get over was how heavy his fucking chest was. He was unsteady walking from the bathroom, ended up having to lean right back to keep from tipping forward like a fucking spinning top. He could feel the weight of them not just on his back but hanging at the front of him, could feel each side of his chest and all the extra skin, like a whole bag of extra flesh —
“I can’t believe Christine signed up for these,” he mumbled, and Castor laughed at the foot of the bed, not stopping as he undid the fastenings on the teaching robe he was still wearing from earlier that afternoon. “How the fuck did she learn how to walk?”
“Well, Christine’s didn’t pop up overnight like yours did,” pointed out Castor, and Abe rubbed his hard cock through his boxers as he shimmied out of the tunic he was wearing underneath his robe, the silk sliding back and showing Castor’s own rounded chest, his belly. He still had a few hickeys fading on the sides of his plump hips from last night. “She was on hormones for four or five months at least before they became very noticeable — although I’m sure she’ll be disappointed to know her chest is no rival for yours.”
“We’re not going to tell her about this,” said Abe, and felt his cock twitch at the sight of Castor bending over to pick his socks up, watching his arse squeezed by the tight fabric of his boxers. Abe’s cock was wet at the tip and there was a wet patch on the front of his own, but he didn’t want to get himself out just yet, didn’t want to squeeze it, just like he wasn’t squeezing his temporary tits.
They felt heavy but more than that, they felt full and tight, not quite itchy but he didn’t know another way to describe it, the sense of tension and almost-pain that came with how full they were, and they were full.
“Some people are into this, right?” asked Abe, looking down at them, amazed to think it was his own body that was like this — it wasn’t a turn-on, really, but it wasn’t upsetting as other weird accidents he’d had over the years, like when he’d turned all his leg hair green or when he’d gotten hit with a hex that had reversed his fucking kneecaps. It was weird, definitely, and he didn’t want to keep them, but it wasn’t as viscerally upsetting as he thought it might be.
“Superlatively large breasts on skinny bodies?” asked Castor, and Abe threw cushion at him, which he caught, still laughing, and tossed back. “Lactation?”
“Turns people on,” said Abe. “They have machines.”
“You want me to ask in a group chat and see if I can’t source you a milking machine?”
Abe looked at Castor’s infuriatingly neutral expression, his easy smile. “Are you kidding?” asked Abe.
“Depends on what your answer is,” replied Castor, and threw his own underwear into the laundry basket, coming onto the bed and sliding forward. “All of our friends are perverts and degenerates, darling, with very few exceptions. I’m sure I could get you three varieties of breast pump within the hour.”
Abe didn’t think his cock jerked at that because of the actual breast pump thing — the idea was intriguing, and he was curious about what it felt like, but it didn’t necessarily sound hot — but because of Castor’s expression, because of his smooth, confident tones, because when Castor told him he could get something, get anything, Abe knew he could.
“You’re either going to be a politician or a criminal one day,” said Abe.
“I think I’ll simply remain an academic and use my criminal and politicking skills for evil,” replied Castor, and sucked Abe’s left nipple into his mouth.
The sensation was impossible. His tit, which had felt swollen and full and too heavy and just a little sore, felt like it exploded with the sheer sense of relief: he felt like a catch inside him had been released, letting down the milk, and more than that he could feel Castor’s tongue, could feel the way he sucked so hard Abe felt dizzy, the heat of his mouth, his tongue, the slight press of his teeth on the flesh around his nipple, and the suction itself, it was electric.
He was aware of the noises he was making only distantly — he was far more aware of how hard he was gripping at Castor’s hair, dragging Castor right against his chest and trying to mash more of his chest into his mouth; he was grinding his hips up against the air, begging wordlessly for Castor to put his thigh or his hand between his legs.
On the other side, his untouched tit was leaking in sympathy, and it wasn’t the same relief at all, felt almost impotent somehow, and all he wished for was that Castor could suck at him from two sides at once.
Castor’s other hand gripped loosely at his swollen nipple on the other side, not stopping the hollow of his cheeks and the suck of it for a moment, and he squeezed on it either side as he pulled.
The sensations from both sides was overwhelming, and he could feel his balls drawn so tightly he could fucking burst, cock almost ready to pulse just from Castor sucking at his chest and squeezing on the other side, but he didn’t quite reach the plateau.
It just —
Kept going.
There was a point where he was lost in it, the impossible pleasure of it, felt as though his ears were ringing and that Castor was somehow touching him everywhere at once: there was milk running down Castor’s chin, dribbled wet and sticky over Abe’s belly, his thighs, onto the towels Castor had spread out underneath them.
Castor sat back on his knees and pulled on each of his nipples at once, and Abe squeaked, unable to hold back the sound, feeling the drip and release on each side. The pull actually felt good, somehow, and he wondered if this was what a pump would feel like, if it would just be like this, this hard pressure and release as Castor pulled at him on each side, like it was easy, like he knew the rhythm as naturally as anything.
“How am I not dry yet?” whined Abe with Castor still milking, dragging downward and making Abe gasp and pant with the sensation, and Abe only realised he’d been moving down his body when Castor shoved his face between his legs and mouthed at his cock through his boxers.
He felt his whole body jerk, let alone his cock, as he thrust his hips up against Castor’s open, sucking mouth, gripping so hard at his hair he worried he’d pull some of it out, but his eyes were closed tightly shut and he could still feel Castor pulling at his chest —
Afterwards, he lay there, sticky in his boxers, chest and belly wet, breathing heavy, which made his tits, which still had a little of the lingering fullness but nothing like the tension and almost-pain he had before, move exaggeratedly.
“Good?” asked Castor.
“I’m not keeping them,” said Abe sternly.
“I wouldn’t want you to,” said Castor, patting the towels either side of his hips. “Think of the extra laundry. May I fuck them?”
“Fuck them?” repeated Abe, feeling suddenly so hot again he could barely stand it, his spent cock trying desperately to stand to attention again and barely managing a twitch. “Like, bet — between…?”
“Yes,” said Castor simply, in that utterly unflustered way he had. “I want to fuck between your tits and come in your mouth. May I?”
Abe swallowed, rubbing at his sweaty face. “I don’t know how you just fucking say the shit you do out loud.”
Castor sighed. “Is that a no?”
“No, it’s not a fucking no. Just — get me a washcloth for my dick and then — yeah. Fine. Good.”
Castor picked up one of his tits and kissed it like he was kissing the back of Abe’s hand, and Abe hated that he found it hot.
“Your wish is my command,” purred Castor, and Abe kneed him in the side as he laughed and walked away.
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