Deep within the bowels of the Canterlot castle, away from prying eyes, Celestia knit her brow and peered over at her protege. “And this is the best we’ve been able to come up with?”
“For now,” Twilight sighed, “but we still need to run a few trials. If my calculations are correct, this should marginally increase a mare’s bust size while significantly increasing their milk production - then again, until we can find a few volunteers to test it, we won’t know for certain.”
Celestia folded her arms beneath her bust and considered her options. Between the combined might of earth ponies, pegasi, and unicorns, not to mention their allies from other lands, it never felt like there would be an insurmountable problem. Threats to the land were dealt with, negotiations almost always went smoothly, and everything was as it should be - that was until a wholly unforeseen dilemma reared its ugly head.
Peering down at her chest, she scrunched her snout. With birth rates at an all-time high, her loyal subjects had begun voicing a concern over a lack of milk for their newborns. If the citizenry weren’t as fertile as they were, with twins or even triplets being far more common than they had once been, there wouldn’t have been a predicament - sadly, that wasn’t the case. There simply wasn’t enough milk to go around, and since ponies were hesitant to use anything synthetic - well, she and her fellow Princesses had been exploring alternative options.
“Would this work on any mare?” she asked, picking up a flask of the experimental potion.
Twilight paused and thoughtfully rubbed her chin. “It should, yes. The formulation was designed to - H…hey!” she bleated. Before she could finish, the diarch lifted the bottle, wrapped her lips around its mouth, and coolly drank the elixir.
“Twilight,” Celestia began, setting the emptied vessel down, “as a Princesses, it’s our job - no, our duty to do what we can for Equestria. I simply could not endanger any of my subjects with such an experiment - as such, I’ll document any of the effects and then, should they be beneficial and in line with your predictions, we can seek out participants for a larger trial.”
“I…I mean, I guess that’s ok,” the Princess of Friendship stammered, rubbing the back of her neck. “I would have liked to test it on a mare who - uh…” she trailed off, glancing at her mentor’s generous chest.
Though Celestia maintained her smile, the unspoken comment didn’t go unnoticed. “I’m aware and, for the record, that should make our little test all the more valuable. If this potion works as intended, my size should have little bearing on the matter - in fact, should its effects be as potent as we hope, I’d say I’m the perfect guinea pig.”
Crossing the chamber and moving towards the exit, the sound of her clicking heels resonating off the stone walls, she saw herself out. She knew Twilight hadn’t meant anything by the comment about her breasts, or lack thereof, but she’d meant what she’d said. Having always been on the hefty side, when it came to her rack, she was the perfect candidate to try the potion on.
Twilight, Zecora, Sunburst, and a small team of alchemists had spent months formulating the perfect mixture to boost the milk production of a mare by an order of magnitude. Like most potions, the effects would be temporary, meaning ponies would have to take regular doses, but that wouldn’t be a huge issue. Once the elixir was proven successful, ramping up production would be easy enough to pull off.
As she trotted up the winding stairwell and to her chamber, she sighed and cupped her bosoms. While she would never admit it to anyone, she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t guzzled the arcane brew purely for the betterment of Equestria. She took no umbrage with her looks, actually finding herself rather attractive, yet she harbored a desire for more, to be even more glorious. She was the most illustrious Princess in all the land, and her matronly, fertile physique should reflect such.
Though it would have been a trivial matter to sorcerously or alchemically alter her appearance, she would have a devil of a time explaining that to her sister, the castle staff, or the public at large. She was a Princess, the oldest and arguably the most influential in all the land, so she held herself to a higher standard than most. For her to needlessly and vainly change her body to suit her own interests would set a terrible precedent - after all, ponies should take joy in who and what they were.
At worst, should the potion fail, nothing would change; the other Princess and herself would go back to the drawing board to find a solution for Equestria’s disastrous deficiency of dairy. If the elixir did perform as expected, she’d be elated - not just because she and her companions would have averted a small catastrophe, but because she’d have the perfect excuse to flaunt what she hoped to be an even more impressive pair of big, succulent bosoms. She wasn’t typically one for such self-indulgent things, aside from the occasional dessert for breakfast, yet the thought of parading around with an engorged bust would be immeasurably fun.
Fantasizing about what it would be like to be a bit more top heavy, she made her way back to her room, showered, and curled up in bed for the night. Regardless of how her little experiment went, she needed to get some rest. With Prince Rutherford and a band of his dignitaries set to arrive in the morning, looking anything but her best would be a travesty. As she rested her head on her pillow, weary from her late-night endeavors, she drifted off to sleep.
Though she felt like she had only just shut her eyes, her alarm shook her from her slumber. Reaching over toward her nightstand, she attempted to roll to her side to silence her clock - attempted in that, upon shifting her weight, she found herself unable to move properly. Groggy and more than a little perplexed by the bizarre development, feeling an odd pressure against her chest, she lifted her blanket, peered down at herself, and gasped.
Where once her pair of perky E-cup breasts had sat, two basket ball sized bosoms lay affixed to her torso. Panic and confusion struck her, her brain struggling to comprehend what was going on, until she recalled the evening prior. She’d assumed the potion would take days to fully effect her, since it had been formulated to gradually affect a mare’s physiology, yet she’d sprouted a pair of I-cups or bigger in a single night!
Glancing over to her vanity, more enthusiastic than she had any right to be, she swung her legs off the bed, got to her feet, and nearly toppled over. The added heft of her newfound bust sent her reeling, but she was able to catch herself on the headboard, if only just. As she carefully trotted over to her mirror, transfixed by the sight of her cleavage, her surprise only deepend. She’d been rather large before, but now she may well have sported the largest rack in all the land.
She couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit naughty, as she turned and admired her reflection. Her rack was, in a word, hypnotic. Her breasts followed even her slightest movements, bouncing or swaying as she shifted and walked, and she could already tell they were going to give her trouble, though not necessarily in a bad way. In spite of having a booked schedule, she made a mental note to treat herself with a nice, long bath and maybe some time properly acquaint herself with her novel knockers that evening.
Her team of crack researchers had done it - they’d actually done it! Over the course of just a few hours, her chest had grown to double its original size! Lifting her head and peering at her reflection, she gingerly squeezed one breast in each hand, watched her fingers sink into the yielding flesh, and stifled a moan. Stars above - they didn’t just look fantastic, they felt absolutely incredible.
It wasn’t uncommon for her to play with her bosoms while getting off, so she instantaneously realized just how sensitive her tits had become. Shifting her hands ever so slightly, grazing her nipples, she gnawed her bottom lip. Maybe it was the excitement of it all, but it sure seemed like her teats were as or possibly even more stimulating than her clit - still, pleasant byproduct of their experiment aside, there was one very important element she needed to check.
Tweaking and tugging on her nipples, she was rewarded with a warm, wet sensation against her slender digits. Sure enough, just as they’d planned, her mammary glands had activated and, judging from just how large her breasts had become, she’d accrued nearly a pint of milk while she’d slept. As she squeezed and coaxed more of the rich, white cream from herself with one hand, beaming like an overjoyed school filly, she slowly reached toward her groin.
Scandalous though it was, the one-two punch being turned on by her reflection and the blissful sensation her teats afforded proved too much to bear - not to mention the satisfaction of knowing the ponies of Equestria would soon have more milk than they could ever need. Caressing the fabric over her groin, she gnawed her lip and pulled her panties to the side. Buck it - it was a bit shameful, but she just couldn’t help herself.
As she stepped back and rested her back against the left bedpost of her footboard, taking care to make sure she could watch herself, she sank two fingers into her marehood. Ordinarily speaking, when she was feeling amorous, she’d lay down to scratch a sensual itch - that said, she couldn’t keep her eyes off herself. Milk weakly dribbled from her diamond-hard nipples, her fingers sailed over her clit, and the sound of her heavy breaths drifted through to her ears, while she inched closer and closer to her limit.
Unlike when she usually got off, she didn’t hold back in the slightest. It wasn’t like she didn’t want to take her time and savor the blissful sensations coursing through her, but the physical and psychological stimulation was too much to bear. She’d longed to be more curvy since blossoming into adulthood, imagining how wonderful it would be to be more alluring, and she’d finally been granted her wish.
Bucking into one hand, while her other twisted and tugged on her nipple, she subconsciously grew louder and louder until the breath hitched in her throat. Her legs stiffened, and her marehood rhythmically clenched upon itself, as she was wracked with bliss. Ancients forgive her - she hadn’t gotten off that quickly since - well, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten off that fast! With a warm euphoria settling over her, while she wandered to her bathroom to shower off, the gravity of the situation settled on her.
She had a very busy day ahead, and she suddenly found herself with two rather sizable issues. First and foremost, her typical attire may not fit her buxom aesthetic - secondly and just as troublingly, there was an all too real chance that she may leak through whatever garment she wore. Thinking fast, opting to simply rinse herself off in the shower, she scampered to and into her closet to find something - anything that would accommodate her curvaceous form.
Mercifully, after several minutes of rooting around in her wardrobe while silently cursing to herself, she found just what she was looking for. Nearly a century ago, she’d ordered a dress for the Grand Galloping Gala that wound up being a bit too loose in the chest area. The gown was gorgeous, to the point where she’d periodically told herself to have it tailored to properly fit, and was just what she needed.
Stepping back into her room and snugging her panties up to her slightly dampened nethers, she found herself facing a second issue - a bra or lack thereof. There was no way she’d have time to sneak out and buy a brassière that fit, and knowing there was nobody with a chest large enough to borrow a garment from, so she did the next best thing. As she stepped into and pulled the dress up her frame, struggling only briefly to get it fitted around her bust, she stuffed the chest area with a number of tissues. If she wound up drawing an unwarranted amount of attention to herself, she may well have to ask Twilight about a spell to conceal herself - nevertheless, given the circumstances, she wasn’t too concerned.
Her outfit may have been slightly unconventional, but it would suffice for the time being. Though her cleavage was practically spilling out of the top of her breasts, the added padding would ensure she didn’t suffer through a dairy-based disaster. Hearing her stomach grumble, she glanced at her clock and gave an annoyed snort. Between the distraction of admiring herself and squeezing into her clothes, she was left with less than an hour to get some breakfast before meeting Prince Rutherford.
Having prepared herself to tend to her duties, despite her prolific development, she strutted out of her room to begin her day in earnest. Her first stop, as with almost every morning, was to the royal dining hall for some breakfast. While she’d always had a bit of an appetite, she was feeling particularly peckish - quite possibly due to the calories needed to fuel her growth.
The kitchen staff, as well as a small handful of guards and servants she passed, noticed her metamorphosis straight away, yet not a single one made mention of it. Either out of respect, fear, or simply being too flustered to speak, the ponies she ran across treated her no different than usual, though their actions spoke volumes. Fleeting glances, blushing cheeks, hushed whispers, and the occasional pair of tented pants were as amusing as they were endearing, forcing her to act no different than normal.
With a particularly delicious breakfast of blueberry pancakes, a fruit salad, and a parfait settling in her belly, she thanked the lead chef with a curt bow. Her gratitude was as genuine as ever, yet the sight of her sweeping cleavage proved too much for the culinary master. Doing his best to hide what appeared to be a growing erection and a nose bleed, he briskly excused himself and scampered away.
She had to admit, all things considered, the first few hours of her day had gone swimmingly, but things took a turn after the emissaries from Yakyakistan arrived. As she greeted the small band of yaks in her conference hall, demurely shaking hands and giving welcomes, a particular sensation wrenched her attention away from the greetings and to her dress - specifically the portion struggling to contain her bosoms. Smoothly withdrawing a hand and turning to take her seat, waving her guests to follow suit, she brushed the fabric over one breast.
Her worst fears were confirmed in an instant, feeling the wetted fabric. Not only had she begun lactating without any stimulation, leaking through the tissues she’d swaddled her teats with, but she was doing so at an alarming rate. To make matters worse, though it may have been her panic-stricken imagination, she could swear her bust was marginally bigger than it had been only a few hours ago!
Thinking fast, with her back to her visitors, she ignited her horn and instantly dried the cloth supporting her rack. She was never one to rely on luck or fortune, but she issued a silent prayer that she wasn’t about to make a scene. Though she had every intention of keeping her meeting with Prince Rutherford short, an option only acceptable due to his people’s terse nature, there was no guarantee the milk seeping from her wouldn’t go unnoticed.
As she sat and listened to the yak’s proposal to send more students to the School of Friendship, while offering to teach traditional Yakyakistani arts and skills to show appreciation for the exchange program, the worst possible thing happened. Shifting in place and crossing her arms, a gesture she subconsciously did on a regular basis, she unintentionally squeezed her tits together and made quite the unbecoming spectacle of herself. The sound of ripping cloth, while the upper portion of her dress reached a failure point, would have been embarrassing enough, but a small jet of milk shot through the garment to patter onto the polished table’s surface.
In the blink of an eye, the room went deathly silent. Raven, her trusty secretary, sat slack-jawed beside her, as motionless as a statue, yet the yaks weren’t disturbed in the slightest. The large, shaggy bovine didn’t flinch, didn’t blush, nor did they make comment on the development, though Rutherford did crack the barest hint of a smile at the unexpected sight. It was only due to having millennia of diplomatic practice was Celestia able to maintain her composure.
“Raven, please draft an exchange agreement for Prince Rutherford and the Yakyakistani kingdom regarding the School of Friendship,” she curtly began, turning her eyes over to the trio of yaks. “I beg your forgiveness, but you must excuse me. Prince Rutherford, I look forward to meeting these musicians that will be tutoring at Twilight’s academy. Good day.”
Giving her polite, albeit curt adieu, she teleported herself to her room. A part of her felt awful for departing so abruptly, but it was the only reasonable thing she could do. Well-mannered and unshakable though the yaks were, she simply couldn’t continue their meeting in such an unseemly state! Faster than a single beat of her heart, she reappeared in her chamber and started pacing back and forth.
“Alright, first things first,” she muttered to herself. “Rarity should be able to -”
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip
She fell silent and paused, watching her bosoms spill out of the tattered remnants of her gown. To add insult to injury, as if ruining her dress hadn’t been ignominious enough, each tit sprayed fine jets of milk through the air and onto her carpet. Swallowing hard, her alarm growing worse by the second, she closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, and focused herself. She’d faced down villains, weathered natural disasters, and seen her people through some of the hardest times in history - compared to the trials she’d endured, this was nothing.
As she slowly exhaled, she turned and stomped into her bathroom - at least she made to, before catching sight of herself in her vanity. She hadn’t just imagined it; though it had only been a few hours since she’d gotten up, her bust had grown yet again. Now more akin to a pair of small beach balls, her plump, succulent jugs had evolved into a duo of milk tanks! Only dallying for a moment, giving herself but a single squeeze of her rack, she continued undeterred.
There were a few things she had to do, but some took precedence over others. Making an express, custom order to several tailors would have to wait, as would procuring a gift-basket of sweets for Prince Rutherford before he left - for the time being, watching her rack sprinkling the floor with dairy, she had a more pressing issue to address. Rushing into her bathroom, she seated herself on the rim of her tub, spun to face the basin, and grabbed her tits.
She may never have milked anyone or anything herself, excluding the brief, experimental stint earlier that morning, but she figured it couldn’t be that hard of an undertaking. Moving her hands away from her chest, pressing her breasts together all the while, she increased the flow of milk from her bust. Instead of a weak spray, streams of cream showered into the tub from her titanic jugs.
The relief from the mounting pressure in her mammaries was immediate, yet that was only one element to her enjoyment. As she watched the milk splash around her feet and creep toward the drain, a particular ache crept into her loins. Though she hadn’t been turned on minutes beforehand, being too preoccupied with the minor debacle in the conference hall, sinful thoughts evoked by the blissful sensations her bosoms afforded danced through her mind.
She glanced over her shoulder and behind herself, ensuring she wasn’t being watched, before slamming and locking her bathroom door. It was perfectly reasonable that she had some privacy for such an unbecoming moment, especially because a sudden curiosity had seized her. Hefting one breast upward, guiding her engorged areola toward her face, she leaned forward and wrapped her lips around her nipple.
Merely touching her teats had been a delight, but suckling upon one was vastly more enjoyable then it had any right to be. With her eyelids fluttering, as the sweet, rich cream coursed over her taste buds and coursed over her palate, she swallowed down one mouthful of milk, then a second and third, until she groaned and withdrew. Heaven help her - the flavor was astoundingly good, almost intoxicating, and it did nothing to quell the carnal desires welling up within her.
Leaning back and propping herself on the counter behind her, she spread her legs. Considering her dress was thoroughly ruined, the mess she’d made in her room and boudoir, and that her meeting with the yaks had been her final scheduled event for the day, she saw no harm in blowing off a bit of steam. As she thrust a hand between her thighs, nursing on herself all the while, she caved to her lecherous wants.
Could anyone truthfully blame her for killing two birds with one stone? If she was going to milk herself and ease the pressure in her rack, she may as well enjoy herself while doing it ~ right? Kneading her clit and freeing her bosom, she levitated a hand mirror from beside her sink and brought it to herself. Narcissistic though it was, she couldn’t take her eyes off herself while getting off.
Though she could have freely looked at any part of herself, she couldn’t take her eyes off her heaving chest. Her massive, snow-white tits practically blocked the view of her entire torso, putting any other mare on the planet to shame. It was a bit of a pity - if she hadn’t held such a regal position, she would make an absolute killing as an exotic dancer or provocateur, yet she wasn’t bothered in the slightest because she was her own entertainment.
On and on she went for what felt like an eternity, until it happened. Rolling her head back, her tits still dribbling cream over herself and the basin, she gushed her climactic nectar into the tub. The ecstasy coursing through her was almost as strong as it had been that morning - almost, but there was something amiss. She felt incredible, sure, yet the lack of having her breasts stimulated detracted from the moment.
Shakily standing to her full height, she undressed, fetched a clean towel, and nearly toppled over. If she hadn’t immediately arcanely augmented her strength, the added weight of her chest would have sent her crashing to the floor, yet that wasn’t a problem for her. Ensuring she could withstand the added heaviness of her upper torso, she set the shower to warm while pondering on the situation. As fantastic as having her knockers played with was, there was no way in Tartarus she would ever ask anyone to help her with such a hedonistic affair, but she wasn’t completely out of options - not by a long shot. As she stepped under the warm, refreshing water, closing her eyes and reaching for her shampoo, she formulated a small plan.
It was rare for her to use them, but she had contingencies in place to cover for her in the event of illness, injury, or emergencies - emergencies which may include suddenly having a massive, leaking pair of sweater puppies. Even when she could get some properly fitting clothing, she felt certain she’d make a scene wherever she went. Sporting two giant jugs was one thing, but her condition was toeing the obscene - nonetheless, she could take steps to mitigate the issue.
Before she did anything else, she needed to fall back on a long-held contingency plan. Given that there had been several staff recently who’d taken sick leave because of a particularly nasty virus, nobody would question her if she sequestered herself for a few days to study the potion’s work - in fact, having thought about it, she’d be remiss for not taking some time to document how the elixir worked, how productive she’d become, and if there were any side effects. Chuckling lightly, pleased with her stroke of genius, she completed her shower and put her little scheme into action.
The first thing she needed to do was alert Luna and Raven that she would be out of commission for a week, so she did just that. While she didn’t quite lie in the letter she hastily penned, she certainly bent the truth to its limit. Stricken by an odd affliction, she ensured her sister and assistant that, yes, she would dutifully raise the sun each and every day, but that she needed to remain isolated to spare the castle’s staff from being infected.
Once she’d written, sealed, and teleported the two scrolls to their destinations, she moved onto the more difficult portion of her plot - one which required some equipment. Simply put, she wanted - no, needed a breast pump. With how much milk she was producing, having a machine to help drain her would be immeasurably useful - that and the contraption would leave her hands free for other purposes.
Her afternoon was spent laying the foundations of her scheme, writing correspondence, making orders to several coutures, and instructing the castle’s staff that she was not to be disturbed. Be darned if she knew how long her condition would persist, but she wanted to take every precaution that she wouldn’t be bothered while thoroughly documenting her status. It was only after she’d devoured a generous meal delivered to her door, had another spontaneous bout of masturbation, and tidied her room that she finally allowed herself to get some rest.
Unfortunately, after many hours of tossing and turning, she awoke to a somewhat concerning development. Throughout the night, her bust had grown again - in and of itself, this wasn’t completely unexpected, but the rate of her expansion seemed to be getting exponentially faster. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, she stared down at her beach ball sized tits.
To make matters worse, milk wasn’t streaming from her teats - it was practically pouring from them. Both herself, her mattress, and her sheets were positively drenched, cream pooled on the floor around the bed, yet that wasn’t the worst part; even with the constant flow of dairy, her breasts were exceptionally tender - so sensitive that even the slightest touch sent bolts of pleasure coursing through her frame. Calling upon her magic to suspend her bosoms, she slipped from the bed, managed to get to her feet, and attempted to pinch the bridge of her snout.
Things had well and thoroughly gotten out of hand, but she hesitated to call upon assistance. While she felt like Twilight or even Luna would understand her plight, asking for help would, imagined or not, would mar her autonomy. She was the oldest Princess in Equestria, she’d ruled the kingdom by herself for a millennia, and she wasn’t going to rely on anyone but herself unless it was absolutely, unquestionably needed. Having taken a moment to analyze the pickle she was in, she teleported herself off to procure a useful piece of equipment.
She reappeared within the storage room of the Canterlot maternity clinic - well reappeared in a sense. Though she materialized as she should have, she cloaked herself in an invisibility spell to conceal herself from prying eyes. It would have been laughably easy to simply visit the facility and ask for their assistance, but she’d much, much rather avoid the endless questions and gawking from the nurses or any patients present.
As she mutely stood in the middle of the chamber, turning her head and scanning the racks of medical supplies, tools, and machinery, she found just what she was looking for. The clinic saw ponies for all sorts of issues, ranging from unexpected injuries to routine checkups, so it was no surprise that they regularly dealt with new mothers. Maintaining the levitation spell on her bust, she stepped to a rack of shelves, extended an arm, and cursed under her breath.
Her chest, as breathtaking as it was, was so absurdly big that she couldn’t even reach the breast pump she’d spotted. Summoning more of her arcane might, she hovered the contraption from the shelf, surged power into her horn, and teleported back to her chamber before anyone even knew she was there - sure, someone may question why someone had spilled a gallon of milk in the storage room, but that wasn’t her problem. With a pop of displaced air, keeping the machine floating next to her, she crossed to her vanity and set the pump on the floor beneath herself.
It wasn’t that she wouldn’t enjoy manually milking herself, but things had progressed to such a point where that wasn’t exactly possible. Her arms simply weren’t long enough to reach her dinner plate-sized areola, so relying on a device solely designed for such a process was the only feasible thing she could do. Leaning forward and resting her elbows on her vanity, allowing her breasts to hang beneath her, she sorcerously guided the plastic cups of the machine to and over her engorged nipples, turned the contraption on, and howled in delight.
She’d half expected the cold, unfeeling touch of the contraption to be unpleasant, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. With both teats stimulated, the little piece of equipment rhythmically sucking and siphoning milk into its onboard tank, she broadened her stance, spread her legs, and shot one hand to her nethers. To Tartarus with it - it wasn’t like anyone would ever know she took such joy from being milked like a cow, in fact…
In a fit of pique, she magically wrenched the mirror from her vanity, sat it by herself, and observed herself getting off while being drained. The sight was equal parts absurd and arousing, yet she couldn’t look away. She was just so huge, her bosoms nearly touching the floor beneath her, and she wouldn’t be at all surprised if her output rivaled that of a dairy cow.
As she imagined herself painted with black spots, or alternatively adorned in a cow-print bikini with a pair of novelty horns, the fires of her passion roared into an unstoppable inferno. Tempered by centuries upon centuries of experience, having endured times of woe and joy alike, she was unprepared for the depravity that her experiment had wrought. Unable to look away from herself, she suffered through the first of several climaxes.
One orgasm bled into another, while all manner of sinful thoughts and imaginings assailed her mind. If a paltry machine felt as phenomenal as it did, she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have someone, perhaps a handsome, well-built stud milking her by hand. As absurd as the concept was, the idea of sneaking onto a farm to have some countryside adonis nurse on her was nearly as intoxicating as the physical sensations surging through her.
Her back arched, she brayed to the heavens, and she trembled from head to toe, as her fantasy brought her to the gates of nirvana. Under ordinary circumstances, before this debacle had ever started, she may have masturbated once a week, if that - as things were, she’d gotten off more in forty-eight hours than she had in the last few months. With her thighs trembling, fighting through the ecstasy, she caught sight of herself and began the process again.
The hours that followed saw her room become nothing less than a charnel house of perversion. She got off on the bed, in the bathroom, in her closet, and everywhere in between, only taking small breaks to empty the swiftly overfilling tank of the breast pump she’d borrowed. By the time the sun had set, having foregone anything to eat, she’d successfully managed to drain her breasts of most of their load.
Heaving air into her chest, lying supine on the floor, she peered up at the ceiling in a weary stupor. If she’d considered the matter a bit harder, she would have purloined a more robust, industrial milking machine from someone, possibly the Apple family, but that could wait for a later time. As she glanced to the exit and held her breath, listening for any signs of movement outside, she hastily opened the door, levitated a covered, silver tray containing her dinner inside, then slammed the door closed.
Her meal, consisting of a caesar salad, sweet potato fries, a pair of hay burgers, and a fruit cocktail, didn’t even scratch the surface of her voracious hunger. As commonsensical as it was, it wasn’t until she’d ordered and consumed three additional dinners, claiming that she was entertaining company in her room, that she was even slightly satisfied. Her rack and the titanic amount of milk she produced took a heavy caloric toll on her system - an element she’d failed to account for with her scheming.
Aside from her appetite and unseemly state, she actually felt incredible. It may have been a bit troublesome to constantly maintain the spellcraft around her bust, but she didn’t consider it or having to milk herself on an hourly basis a chore - if anything, she enjoyed the act of draining her jugs quite pleasant. Steeling her resolve, after having wolfed down her third ice cream sundae of the night, she resigned herself to ride out her metamorphosis until she regained her usual form..
Her best guess was, if Twilight’s calculations were correct, the potion would begin to wear off in a day or two, a week at most, before she gradually returned to normal. Regrettably, as the week slowly rolled by, she discovered that the elixir’s effects were more potent and long lasting than anyone had predicted. After nearly a week of solitude, she finally decided that she genuinely needed some assistance.
Having sent a message to Twilight, Luna, and Zecora, she shakily peered over at the mirror resting against her wall. Her bosoms were, in a word, catastrophically comical; each tit was larger than her bed, fully immobilizing her and keeping her affixed in place. It was only with a great exertion of her magical powers, utilizing a shrinking spell and gravity suspending spells, was she able to accomplish even the most mundane tasks like moving or using her restroom.
Pails of milk littered the floor, with a great many surrounding a larger, far more powerful milking machine she’d liberated from a dairy farmer just outside of Canterlot, as well as a novel, fetishistic cow outfit she’d express ordered. There were few moments of shame in her life, yet she knew one doozy of one was going to grace her shortly. It would be impossible for her companions not to judge her for her wholly immodest activities, regardless of if they were in the name of science or not, and she would bear that burden for the rest of her life - still, she had no regrets. Once the potion was refined and properly crafted, her people’s plight would be dealt with - that and she’d have a more stable way to satisfy herself when she had bouts of free time…
