Swollen Secrets in the Boardroom
She stumbled out of the cab, the humid city air hitting her like a slap, carrying the faint tang of exhaust and street food vendors hawking their greasy delights. Elena’s heart pounded as she clutched her oversized purse, trying to shield the obscene swell of her chest from prying eyes on the bustling sidewalk. It had been a week of hellish isolation in her cramped apartment, ignoring the relentless pressure building in her tits—god, they were monsters now, each one heavier than a bowling ball, straining against the flimsy fabric of her emergency blouse. The buttons gaped like desperate mouths, and she could feel the warm trickle of milk seeping through, soaking her skin in sticky warmth.
Why today? Why force herself into this corporate jungle of glass towers and power suits? But the voice in her head—the one from that twisted dream she couldn’t shake—demanded it. “Stay the course, or pay the price.” Punishment? No way. Not when her body already betrayed her like this. Elena adjusted her stance, the weight pulling her forward, nipples hardening against the rough lace of her bra that did nothing to contain the flood.
The elevator ride up to the 15th floor was a nightmare of mirrors and muffled coughs from strangers. Every jolt made her breasts jiggle, sending sparks of unwanted pleasure shooting through her core. She bit her lip, tasting the faint metallic tang of blood, as she imagined the stares waiting for her in the open-plan office. Her colleagues at Apex Marketing—sharp, ambitious types—would whisper, judge. To them, this was her choice, some vanity surgery gone wild. Little did they know the truth: a subconscious sabotage during her blackout week, trying on Mia’s slutty gifts and snapping pics like a mindless doll.
Dive into Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Jump to Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
Chapter 1: The Unwelcome Arrival 🔥
Elena pushed through the revolving doors, the cool blast of air conditioning hitting her like icy fingers on fevered skin. The lobby smelled of polished marble and fresh coffee from the nearby kiosk, but all she could focus on was the squelch of her soaked shirt clinging to her underboob. Her heels clicked unevenly on the floor, each step a battle against the sway of her massive rack. They weren’t just big anymore; they were a spectacle, twin peaks that blocked her view of her own feet, nipples poking like insistent thumbs through the damp material.
“Morning, Elena!” chirped Sarah from reception, her eyes widening as they dropped to Elena’s chest. Sarah’s voice faltered, a mix of shock and poorly hidden curiosity. “Whoa, uh… new look?”
Elena forced a smile, cheeks burning. “Yeah, just… embracing change.” Her voice came out breathy, strained. Inside, she screamed. This wasn’t her—prim account manager turned lactating freak show. But the challenge echoed: endure the day, all meetings intact, or face worse. What worse could there be? Her mind flashed to the package from Mia: that ridiculous nurse outfit, complete with a stethoscope that she’d apparently modeled, milk dribbling down her cleavage in the selfie she’d sent without thinking.
She hurried to her desk, weaving through cubicles where heads turned like sunflowers to the light. The hum of keyboards and phone murmurs faded into white noise as she collapsed into her chair. The seat creaked under her, but it was her tits that protested most, smooshing against the desk edge with a soft thud. A fresh gush of milk warmed her belly, and she crossed her arms—bad idea. The pressure sent a jolt straight to her pussy, making her thighs clench. “Fuck,” she whispered, tasting the salt of her own sweat.
Her computer screen flickered to life, inbox overflowing. First up: the team huddle in ten minutes. No escape. Elena shifted, feeling the fabric rasp against her hypersensitive skin, each nerve ending alive and screaming for relief. She needed to pump, to drain these udders before they burst. But where? The office bathroom was a glass-walled joke, no privacy. Desperation clawed at her as she remembered Mia’s texts: “Own those jugs, girl! David’s gonna worship them.” Worship? More like drown.
Minutes ticked by. A coworker, Tom—tall, bearded, always leering—strolled past. “Elena, looking… full today.” His grin was wolfish, eyes glued to her chest. She wanted to slap him, but instead, her body betrayed her again, nipples tightening under his gaze. Heat pooled between her legs, shameful and insistent.
The meeting room loomed. Elena stood, hauling her breasts upward with tentative hands, the touch electric. She could smell her own milk now, sweet and musky, mingling with her arousal. This day was going to break her—or remake her into something filthy and free.
Chapter 2: Boardroom Burdens
The conference room was a sterile box of whiteboards and ergonomic chairs, the scent of dry-erase markers sharp in the air. Elena entered last, her entrance drawing every eye like magnets to steel. She chose a seat at the far end of the table, but even then, her tits rested heavily on the edge, the wood cool against the feverish flesh. Mr. Hargrove, her boss—a stern man in his fifties with a perpetual scowl—cleared his throat as the team settled.
“Alright, folks, quarterly projections. Elena, kick us off with the client updates.”
Her mouth went dry. Standing meant displaying the full glory of her predicament. She rose slowly, hands pressing down to steady the bounce, but it was futile. They wobbled like overripe fruit, milk spots blooming darker on her blouse. The room fell silent, save for the distant whir of the AC. She could hear her own heartbeat, feel the slick slide of sweat down her spine.
“So, uh, the Reynolds account is up 15%,” she stammered, voice husky from the strain. As she gestured to the projector screen, her arm brushed a nipple, and a moan nearly escaped. Pleasure ripped through her, raw and unbidden, making her knees buckle slightly. Tom smirked from across the table, shifting in his seat. Did he smell it? The creamy sweetness leaking from her?
Halfway through, disaster struck. A button popped—ping!—rolling across the floor like a gunshot. Gasps rippled through the room. Elena’s face flamed as she clutched the halves together, but it was too late. Pale, veined skin spilled out, nipples erect and glistening. “Oh god, sorry,” she gasped, tasting humiliation bitter on her tongue.
Hargrove averted his eyes, coughing. “Perhaps… take a moment, Elena.”
She bolted to the adjoining break room, locking the door with trembling fingers. Alone at last, she yanked open her blouse, the fabric tearing with a satisfying rip. Her breasts tumbled free, enormous orbs that filled her palms and then some. Milk beaded at the tips, dripping in lazy rivulets down her stomach. Touching them was agony and ecstasy—fingers sinking into soft, yielding flesh, squeezing until jets arced into the sink. “Nngh… yes,” she groaned, the relief flooding her like an orgasm building. Her free hand dipped lower, circling her clit through soaked panties, the scent of her need thick in the air.
But voices approached. Panic surged. She buttoned what she could, milk still trickling, and slipped back in. The meeting dragged on, her body a live wire of sensation. By the end, she was drenched, pussy throbbing with denied release. Tom caught her eye, mouthing, “Need help?” Filthy bastard. Part of her wanted to say yes.
As the team filed out, Hargrove pulled her aside. “Everything alright? You seem… distracted.”
“Just a rough morning,” she lied, feeling another leak. His gaze dipped, lingering. Power shifted in that moment—her shame becoming something potent, erotic.
Chapter 3: Hidden Desires Unleashed 💋
Lunch hour brought no respite. Elena hid in the supply closet, a dim space reeking of paper and toner, the door barely latching behind her. She needed more than a quick squeeze; these tits were factories of milk, endless and demanding. Hiking up her skirt, she wedged a storage box between her thighs for leverage, then attacked her chest with both hands. Milk sprayed in forceful streams, hitting the wall with wet slaps, the sound echoing like perverse applause.
“Fuck, so full,” she panted, pinching her nipples hard, twisting until pain blurred into bliss. Her pussy clenched around nothing, juices soaking her stockings. Memories intruded: that blackout week, slipping into Mia’s gifts. The French maid getup, feathers tickling her skin as she posed, snapping pics with milk-smeared lips. Or the sheer teddy that left nothing to imagination, her subconscious sending it to David with a winky emoji. He’d replied: “Can’t wait to bury my face in those.” God, what had she unleashed?
A knock shattered her frenzy. “Elena? You in there?” Tom’s voice, low and teasing.
She froze, milk dripping onto her shoes. “Occupied!”
“Heard some noises. Sounded… intense. Need a hand?” The door rattled.
Her body screamed yes, mind recoiled. But the challenge pushed her: endure, adapt. “Fine. But make it quick.”
He slipped in, eyes darkening at the sight—blouse agape, tits heaving, floor slick. “Jesus, Elena. You’re a walking wet dream.” His hands replaced hers, rough palms kneading, mouth latching onto one nipple. He sucked greedily, milk flooding his throat with greedy gulps, the pull sending shockwaves to her core.
“Mmmph, tastes like heaven,” he murmured, tongue swirling. Elena’s hands fisted his hair, hips bucking against the box. “Harder, you prick. Drain me.” Dialogue turned crude, desperate. He obliged, biting down, fingers plunging into her panties to finger-fuck her sopping hole. The closet filled with slurps and moans, her climax crashing like thunder—body shuddering, milk squirting across his shirt.
He pulled back, lips shiny. “Your secret’s safe. But we do this again.” He left her panting, composed but forever changed. The taboo thrill lingered, a new hunger awakened.
Chapter 4: Afternoon Agonies and Ecstasies
The afternoon blurred into a haze of emails and calls, Elena’s desk a fortress against the stares. But her body wouldn’t quit; every shift in her chair rubbed her swollen clit against the seam of her pants, building friction like a slow burn. She crossed her legs, uncrossed them, the touch of leather seats on bare thighs a tease. The office air hummed with productivity, but her mind replayed Tom’s mouth, the relief of his suckling.
A new scene unfolded in the client call—virtual, thank god. On screen, Mr. Vance from the east coast droned about budgets, but Elena’s camera angle betrayed her. Midway, she felt the leak start, a warm rivulet snaking down her cleavage. Panic. She muted, grabbed tissues, dabbing frantically. But the motion jiggled her tits, and Vance’s eyes sharpened. “Elena, you okay? Looking a bit… flushed.”
“Fine, just warm,” she lied, voice pitching high. Unmuting, she powered through, but her free hand sneaked under the desk, rubbing circles over her mound. The dual torment—professional facade and private pleasure—pushed her over the edge mid-sentence. “And as for ROI, oh fuck— I mean, returns on investment…” She clamped her mouth shut, orgasm rippling silently, milk soaking her lap.
Call ended, she slumped, tasting victory and shame. But the day wasn’t done. A one-on-one with Hargrove in his office—private, wood-paneled, smelling of leather and cologne. He closed the door, expression unreadable. “Elena, about earlier. If you need… accommodations.”
Her pulse raced. Was he offering help? Or judgment? “Sir, it’s… personal.”
He stepped closer, the air thickening. “I see potential in you. But distractions like this…” His hand brushed her arm, then lower. Bold. She should stop him. Instead, she arched, offering. “Then help me focus.”
What followed was raw, forbidden. He freed her breasts, groaning at their size. “Magnificent.” His mouth claimed one, sucking deep, while fingers worked her skirt up, plunging into her wetness. “So tight, dripping for it.” Elena rode his hand, tits bouncing, milk spraying his tie. “Yes, boss, fuck me with your fingers. Make these cows empty.” Climax hit again, her cries muffled against his shoulder, the taste of his skin salty on her tongue.
He straightened, composed. “Back to work. And Elena? Discretion.” She nodded, body humming, the power dynamic flipped in delicious ways.
Chapter 5: End-of-Day Eruptions 🔥
As the clock ticked toward five, Elena’s resolve frayed. Her breasts, though somewhat drained, ached with residual fullness, nipples raw from attention. The office thinned out, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like angry bees. She lingered at her desk, fingers flying over keys, but her mind wandered to the week’s humiliations: Mia’s cheerleading uniform pic, pom-poms framing her leaking tits; the leather harness that made her feel like a bound slut, sent to David with “Ready to play?” Her fiancé’s responses had been enthusiastic, clueless to the subconscious driver.
A final interruption: the after-hours chat with the interns. Bright-eyed kids, barely out of college, gathered in the break room for “mentorship.” Elena joined reluctantly, her presence commanding instant awe. “Ms. Rivera, your… style is inspiring,” one girl blurted, blushing.
“Call me Elena.” She sat, tits resting on her knees, the pressure igniting fresh sparks. Conversation turned personal—career advice morphing into body positivity. “How do you handle the attention?” a guy asked, eyes wide.
Emboldened by the day’s conquests, she leaned in. “Own it. Like this.” Unbuttoning slightly, she let a hint of cleavage show, milk beading visibly. Gasps, then silence. The girl reached out tentatively. “Can I…?”
Elena nodded, guiding her hand. Soft touch turned firm, squeezing until milk flowed. “Oh!” the intern exclaimed, tasting a drop. “Sweet!” Chaos ensued—hands everywhere, mouths latching, the room alive with slurps and giggles turning to moans. Elena was the center, tits worshipped by eager novices. “Suck harder, darlings. Drink me dry.” Her pussy throbbed as fingers explored, a young man’s cock pressing against her thigh through pants.
It devolved into an orgy of excess: her on the table, breasts milked into cups, shared like communion. One intern fucked her from behind, cock slamming deep while another nursed, the dual sensations overwhelming. “Yes, fill me up while you empty me,” she cried, tasting milk on shared lips, the air thick with sex and cream. Orgasms chained—hers, theirs—until she was spent, body slick and sated.
As they dispersed, whispering promises of secrecy, Elena gathered herself. The challenge complete, no punishment loomed. But as she exited the building, sunset painting the streets gold, she felt transformed. These tits weren’t a curse; they were power, pleasure unbound. David waited at home, oblivious. Tonight, she’d show him—raw, extreme, no holding back. The milky mayhem had just begun.
She hailed a cab, breasts still tingling, the night’s possibilities humming like the city’s pulse. Freedom tasted like milk and cum, sweet and unending.
Chapter 6: Homecoming Revelations 💋
The cab ride home was a torturous tease, every pothole jolting her sensitive flesh. Elena paid the driver with shaky hands, the cool evening breeze whispering over her damp skin as she climbed the stairs to her apartment. The hallway smelled of her neighbor’s cooking—garlic and herbs—but her senses were overwhelmed by her own aroma, that pervasive milky sweetness mixed with the musky evidence of the day’s indulgences.
David was in the kitchen when she entered, humming to some podcast, his broad back to her. He turned, fork midway to his mouth, and froze. “Elena? Holy shit, babe. What happened to you?” His eyes locked on her chest, the blouse barely containing the swells, dark patches blooming anew.
She dropped her bag, the thud echoing her pounding heart. “Long story. But I need you. Now.” No explanations, no shame—just hunger. She grabbed his shirt, pulling him close, the taste of his surprise on her lips as she kissed him fiercely. His hands roamed instinctively, cupping her tits, thumbs circling nipples through fabric. Milk seeped immediately, soaking his palms.
“You’re… leaking? Fuck, that’s hot.” He groaned, stripping her blouse away, the buttons scattering like confetti. Naked from the waist up, she was a vision of excess—tits hanging heavy, veins pulsing, nipples dripping like faucets. David knelt, worshipping with mouth and hands, sucking one while kneading the other. “Taste so good, like fucking nectar.” Jets hit his tongue, and he drank deep, the sounds wet and obscene.
Elena moaned, fingers tangling in his hair, guiding him. “More, David. I’ve been holding this all day. Milk me like the cow I am.” Her words spurred him; he lifted her onto the counter, skirt hiked, panties discarded. His cock sprang free, thick and ready, as he positioned between her thighs. One thrust, and he was buried, pounding while latched to her breast. The rhythm was brutal—slap of skin, squirt of milk, her cries filling the room.
“Your pussy’s gripping me so tight, babe. These tits… god, they’re everything.” He switched sides, milk spraying across her face; she licked it off, the flavor creamy and her own. Orgasm built fast, coiling like a spring. “Cum in me, fill your milky slut,” she begged, nails raking his back. He did, roaring as he flooded her, her climax milking him dry just as he drained her tits.
They collapsed in a heap, bodies sticky, breaths mingling. “Tell me everything,” he whispered later, tracing patterns on her skin. She did— the growth, the challenge, the office sins—omitting nothing. His eyes lit with arousal. “We explore this. Together.” No judgment, just acceptance. As night fell, they tangled again, her breasts the stars of their private show, pleasure endless and untabooed.
Elena’s world had shifted, from emergency to empowerment, one explicit drop at a time.
