Milk and Honey

Milk and Honey

A Milky Way in the Vogonverse Story

A New World, New Discoveries, and you call this MILK?!

Waking up was certainly something that Sydney wasn’t exactly ready for. Having saved his house guest yesterday was one thing, letting her stay another, but forgetting that the unforgiving sun loved to shine in through the window, down on the couch, was the line he forgotten to draw in the proverbial sand. Groaning, he sat up, and his eyes landed on the rising and falling of the chest of the mare in his bed.

He considered what it was that he should do in this moment. Were he his brother, most likely he’d try to sneak a peek at the beauty lying in there. Instead he had a bit more refinement and understanding than that. Instead, he got up, walked toward the wardrobe, opened it, and found a suit of clothes that would work for today.

Once dressed he walked toward the kitchen, dug through his refrigerator, and realized that there was absolutely nothing for him to make breakfast with. That meant that his entire idea of cooking a breakfast at home was shot. He’d have to go grocery shopping. Grabbing a tablet he began to let his refrigerator connect to it and indicate what perishables he needed. After a moment it sounded a slight dinging sound, and he knew that the transfer was complete.

Going from there, he started to walk toward the cabinets, but stopped and decided to just ask Billy what he had consumed from the non perishables. Billy complied, indicating that he was out of coffee, out of peanut butter, bread, low on cooking oil, and completely out of any snack foods.

As Sydney spoke with Billy he didn’t notice the Equestrian slowly getting up and out of bed. Milky yawned as she sat up. Her breasts felt fuller, heavier, and she knew what that meant. Unfortunately she didn’t have her milking pumps. She knew from experience that her bra wouldn’t be able to handle the increased size. She felt the heaviness of them, and let out a sigh. She’d have to do it manually.

She stood up and looked at her clothes. Her only clothes…

“You’re awake?”

She turned toward the voice and saw Sydney standing there.

“I am, but I fear that I have nothing to wear. I do hate to ask, but would it be possible for me to borrow something?”

Her response was a head nod, and a mouth opening and closing without saying any words. She watched him, seeing that he was still looking at her, and nodding, she assumed that he was saying yes. She walked over toward the wardrobe, pulled it open, and saw dozens upon dozens of suits, but also within it was a pair of sweatpants, and a plain white tee shirt. She pulled the pants on first, finding it fitting fairly well, but the shirt seemed to strain over her breasts.

There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that she was going to have to milk herself, and soon. A couple of tall glasses would do. She could wait for another few hours and produce a full gallon. Of course that meant that her breasts would be tender, sore, and desperately needing some lotion and massage done to them. If she knew where those Spa Ponies where that was in Ponyville she’d seek them out for the massage portion.

Sure, they giggled over the fact that she had asked them to massage her breasts, but they did a wonderful job, and they did make her coat gleam. Not to mention she met that mare with the gorgeous mane, Rarity she believed her name was, when she was there. She was such a nice pony, and perhaps the most generous pony she had ever known. She walked out from behind the half wall and found Sydney sitting down, his hand on the counter, the other holding the tablet, and talking softly to himself.

“Thank you for letting me borrow some clothes.”

He looked up at her, his smile a warm and inviting one, and nodded, “It’s fine, really it is, and don’t worry about it. I’ve got to go and get some groceries, and if you want to join me I’d be more than happy to get you some clothes of your own.”

She nodded, and soon they were heading out of the apartment. She looked at the businesses near them and noticed that there was several that didn’t seem to have anypony working inside of them. They stopped at one of these places and walked inside of it. He stopped at a small device, pressed a few places on a black looking screen, and then touched an indented area. It beeped and she watched as six canvas bags fell down. He picked them up, motioned toward her, and she followed him. They walked toward the machines and he activated the device he was holding. After a moment she heard one of the machines rumble and he pressed his thumb against the indention. When he did she could see several items moving from inside of it.

Milk, cheese, and a package of cookies fell. He took them out, placing them into a bag, and then looked at her.

“Would you like anything special?”

She looked at the machines and noticed that one of them had a small bag of about five apples.

“Do you mind if we get these?” she asked pointing to the fruit.

He shook his head, pressed a few buttons on the machine, pressed his thumb against the indention again, and just like with the other things the apples simply dropped down. She reached into the bottom of the machine, feeling the cool bag, and lifted it out. She handed to Sydney, who then placed it into one of the larger bags.

“Okay, we’ve got just a few more things to get, and then we’ll stop and get you some clothes.”

It didn’t take long to get the rest of the groceries, and when they were finished they walked across the street to another store much like the grocery they had went into. The big difference was that there was two black booths standing in the middle.

“What do we do?” Milky asked.

“Step inside of one of the booths, and follow the instructions,” Sydney answered.

She did, feeling booth rub against her breasts. She cursed herself for not milking herself this morning.

“Welcome to the Right Fit, please, undress, place your clothes on the shelf behind you, and stand still. The Automated booth will scan your measurements, and once it is finished it will send your measurements to the vending machines making your selection easier!”

Milky did as the voice directed, stood still, and once more she felt something rubbing against her breasts for a second before it moved away. It seemed to move further down, and when it was finished Milky’s measurements flashed on the screen.

“Fifty-six, Twenty-Eight, Thirty-Nine,” Milky read, “Celestia, I should have milked myself.”

She didn’t try to get dressed in the booth, since it was so enclosed, but instead she brought her clothes out with her. When she got out she bumped into Sydney, pressing her mammaries against him, and causing him to nearly lose his balance. She caught him, pulling him close to her, and at the same time squishing him against her rather full glands.

Sidney noticed a couple of things right off the bat. One, Milky was just a little shorter than himself, two, her breasts were a mixture of soft and firm that he had believed to be impossible, and three, that there was something wet on him. Slowly, he moved, able to back up, and noticed two wet spots on his shirt. He noticed that there was bead of something white on her nipples, and what was wet on his shirt was suddenly very evident.

He watched as her eyes widened, and she tried to wipe the wet marks off, “Sorry, sorry, normally I’d already milked myself by now, but I seemed to have left my pump at home, and I didn’t want to bother you for a couple of glasses to use to collect the milk either.”

“Are you, pregnant?”

She looked at Sydney as he asked the question, and slowly it occurred to him why he asked. Obviously she wasn’t in Equestria anymore. Sure she was well known in Equestria, but that was because of what her milk could do. She shook her head and smiled.

“No, it’s my special talent. I… produce quite a bit of milk. Normally I would have my pump along with me, and I would pump it out and store it,” she replied before putting on the clothes she borrowed, “It just seems that I pretty much left without anything that I would normally bring along with me.”

“So you just produce milk?” he asked.

She nodded, and he decided to hold more questions about it until after they had finished getting her some clothes. Walking around the machines she found a pair of jeans she liked, a top, and then she picked up a maternity bra, and type of panties she liked. Making her selections she ended up with three tops, two pairs of jeans, six bras, and six pairs of panties. It was a start. Together they walked back toward his apartment. Once they were inside and standing in his apartment he began to put the groceries away, with the exception of what it was that he wanted to fix for breakfast. Growing up Sydney had always enjoyed making French Toast. It wasn’t that difficult to make, and he hoped that his guest would enjoy the sweet and crispy breakfast food as well.

Milky watched as he began to prepare the meal, and she walked over to see if there was something she could do to help. Seeing him mixing the ingredients together she realized that he was making Prench Toast. She had eaten it once, when she was in Ponyville, but she didn’t want to tell her cousin Bon Bon that the breakfast dish wasn’t really a Prench Dish from Prance. It wasn’t even called Prench Toast until it was made in Trottingham.

She heard that it originated in the old world, before the Windigos, and the Earth Ponies had created it as a treat for their foals. A special treat made from their grains and milk from their teats. In truth, when she made Prench toast she tried to follow the oldest recipe she could, and often that meant using some of her own milk for it. Of course she often would serve it to those who were sick.

“Need some help?”

Looking at her Sydney nodded, and moved a couple of bowls toward her. She looked at the milk, which seemed a little too white. The jug they had gotten had said whole milk, but milk itself tended to have a yellowish tint to it. She could smell a difference in it too. It smelled kind of like milk, but there was something off in it. It almost smelled like somepony had mixed something strange into the milk before selling it. She dipped the bread into it, feeling it become just slightly soggy, and then placed it into the mixture of sugar and cinnamon.

She could already smell some of the break cooking in the pan he had on the stove, and she passed the plate with four more pieces on it. As it cooked she looked at the milk in the bowl, picked it up, and took a small sip from it. Instantly she tried to spit the foul taste out. She sat the bowl down and shook her head.

“That is not milk.”

The statement was direct, to the point, and as far as she was concerned completely justified. It was just- wrong. It was all manner of wrongness, from the taste, the consistency, the smell, there was nothing about this that was right. Milky was half-tempted to throw it out.

“What do you mean?” Sydney queried, “I’ve had milk like that for years and I’ve never had any problem with it.”

“That’s because you do not know what real milk is,” Milky said, reaching for the jug and reading the contents of the label, “‘homogenized?’ What is this?”

“Oh,” Sydney said, “when we get milk from the cows, it's typically full of germs and things, so we heat it up to certain temperature to kill the germs, then it’s chilled and transported to its sale destination. I think. I’m not that well versed in milk production.”

“I see,” Milky replied, taking a wiff of the contents of the jug, “disgusting! How do you ponies grow so big with such terrible milk?!”

“Ugh,” Sydney began, taking a moment to formulate a response, “we eat a lot meat, I guess? Our diets are rather- meat centric. If I remember right, we humans are considered- omnivores? I think?”

“You mean like minotaurs?” Milky asked.

“Uh, I don’t know, maybe?” Sydney answered.

“Hmm,” Milky mused, “this is a bother. Poor nutrition, faulty taste buds, it’s a wonder how you ponies managed to survive for so long.”

Sydney just shrugged, not knowing how to answer/

“Luck may have something to do with it,” Milky said, almost as an aside, “in any case, I can not, in all consciousness, allow such a travesty of a kind continue.”

“What do you mean?”Sydney asked.

Milky looked at the confused stallion, then down to her still overburdened bust. She knew what she had to do, even if she had to do it in front of a complete stranger. (A rather cute, if deformed, stranger, true.) It needed to be done anyway and it was already getting to the point were Milky was more than likely to leak insistently if she didn’t milk herself soon.

“Mr. Sydney,” Milky commanded, I am in need of the biggest pitcher you have here, maybe two. A bit of priv-a-cy, and a stool or chair, if you please. I shall provide you with quality milk, such as you have never had before, or my name isn’t Milky Way!”

Opening up one of his cabinets Sydney pulled down a large glass pitcher. It was heavy, old, and had a picture of a strange smiling face on the front of it. The words Kool-Aide engraved on the back of it. It was easily a gallon pitcher, but from the weight of her bosoms she would need at least one more pitcher. Lifting her shirt, thankful she didn’t have on a bra to work against her, she began gripping the sides of her left breast and began to squeeze. This was why she loved her pump. The pump, while clunky and awkward, didn’t hurt as much as she squeezed her breast.

The river was unleashed in a moment and Sydney watched as the pitcher was nearly full. She looked at him and smiled, “Another, if you have it available.”

He reached into a cabinet, pulling down a taller, skinnier, and lighter jug. Taking her right breast she repeated the same process and soon it too was nearly full. A sigh of relief washed over her. Her breasts had shrunk, quite a bit, back down to a more manageable forty-four double d. She slipped the shirt back on, no longer feeling the material being stretched nearly beyond it’s ability, and looked at the slightly yellow tinted milk on the counter.

“You can taste it if you want.”

Sydney was still standing there, in awe, unable to really wrap his head around what he had just seen. First, he had witnessed what was perhaps the largest set of breasts he’d ever laid eyes on before. And then he had watched as those same breasts practically filled up two gallon pitchers with fresh milk. Allowing his body to act on its own he reached for a glass, finding one, and placed it down. Milky poured a glass for him, and he lifted it to his mouth.

He’d heard stories that milk straight from the source was always sweeter, thicker, and richer than the milk bought at a store. Those stories were right. It was indeed sweeter, thicker, richer, and far more full bodied than what he had bought. It tasted more like cream than milk. He placed the glass down and stood amazed for a few moments until he smelled something starting to burn. Quickly he attended the french toast, turning it, getting it out, and placing the other pieces that Milky had prepared into the pan.

I wonder what it would taste like if I cooked it with that milk?

He waved away the thought. He didn’t want to seem rude, and even though she seemed content to let him drink what she had produced, he didn’t want her to think ill of him. No, he simply cooked what they had prepared, and when he turned around there was two glasses of slightly yellow tinted milk on the counter. He noticed that the pitchers of milk were nowhere in sight, and there was an empty gallon jug of milk in the sink. Regardless of what he thought Milky had already made the decision for them. From now on they would be using what she produced instead of what he could buy at the store.

He placed the two plates on the counter, turned to see Milky exploring the apartment, looking over the glass topped table, the billiards table off to the side, and the seating arrangements. He smiled, seeing how she was exploring what was there, touching the fabrics, seemingly happy enough to see and experience everything around her in an almost innocent manner. He took their breakfast over to the glass topped table, placing it on it, then returned with the glasses of milk.

“Ready for breakfast?”

She nodded and walked toward him. Sitting down Sydney looked over her clothes and realized that he could do better. Being a fashion designer was what he did, and maybe, just maybe, if she was willing, he could get her to model for the line he had in mind.