Zoe the Maid, Part 8

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Summary: Zoe accepts a job as a maid. Contains: Female: udder, multi-breast, cow-girl, pregnancy, belly expansion, breast expansion, lactation, multiples, weight gain, stuffing, and more.

This story is a work of fiction. As specified throughout the story, all characters featured in this work are 18 years of age or older.

Previous Chapter

-

“Good lord, are you stuffing your bra?” her mother snapped in a hushed whisper. “You look ridiculous.”

Zoe felt overheated. Her cheeks were certainly hot. Her head was swimming as she tried to formulate a response. “I…er…” Should she answer ‘Yes?’ ‘No?’ The former seemed the farthest from the truth. So, she bobbed her head in a nod.

“What has gotten into you?” her mother went on. Several of the surrounding relatives threw glances their way. “You look like you have a pair of beanbags stuffed into your top.”

Zoe’s face heated even more. She was extremely aware of their audience. But alongside her embarrassment was a sense of indignation. She didn’t take too kindly to being scolded by her mother, let alone in public.

“Last time I checked, I was an adult and could make my own decisions,” said Zoe frigidly, her chest heaving while her mother eyed the movement.

“Zo—”

But Zoe was already stalking off, feeling flustered, the udder bobbing.

The nerve, Zoe thought. Who is she to talk to me like that? After what she’s done? Starting all over — a whole new family. As if I wasn’t enough.

The thoughts came in an unexpected onslaught. Zoe walked into a room at random. She felt overheated, her mind spinning. She found a dresser, gripping onto it. I support myself. I’m an adult.

God, her body felt like it was throbbing. She can’t just—

“Zoe, dear?”

Zoe looked up, surprised to see her grandmother sitting on the edge of the bed on the far side of the room. The elderly woman was watching her.

“Nana?” Zoe responded stupidly. Belatedly, she adjusted her clothing, trying to ensure that every odd curve was covered as sufficiently as possible.

“Come closer,” her grandmother ordered.

Zoe obediently walked over to the bed so that she was standing right before the older woman. She averted her eyes, knowing that she was blushing. Zoe was practically squirming under her grandmother’s assessing gaze.

“Well — happy birthday,” Zoe managed. “It’s so good to see you —”

“You put on weight,” Nana cut in.

Zoe flinched.

“It looks fine, dear,” Nana added. “Now help me up.” She held out her arms.

Zoe allowed her grandmother to lean on her shoulder. She wrapped her arm behind her grandmother’s back as she helped her to stand, guiding her over to her walker.

Once Nana looked comfortably balanced, she smiled and shuffled towards the door. Zoe tried to linger back.

“What are you waiting for?” Nana said, once she was halfway out the bedroom door. “We have to celebrate my birthday!”

Zoe gave an awkward chuckle, trailing her grandmother out of the room. Nana, and the walker, were headed for the living room where most of the guests were convened.

“I’ll be right there, Nana. I’m just gonna get a glass of water,” Zoe called to her.

“It’s almost time to blow out my candles,” Nana noted as she shuffled around the corner.

Zoe sighed and wandered down the hallway in the opposite direction. She found her way to the kitchen.

She actually was rather thirsty.

Zoe went straight to the fridge and was grateful to find a full water pitcher inside of it. She took it out and poured herself a glass. She downed the water, the fluid feeling heavenly as it ran through her overheated body. Zoe breathed heavily as she poured another glass. She was aware that her appetite and thirst were quite profound lately. The source of it all, she couldn’t pin down, but she wondered if it had to do with all the milk her body was making.

She looked down at her chest.

Why did she always have to be so hot, heavy, and full? She could feel how bloated her breasts were, and the tingling strain on her skin. Engorged. It was a frustrating cycle. The fuller her breasts became, the more aroused she felt. The hornier she felt, the more likely she was to end up in bed with Garrett. And then after he sucked her dry, she just filled up even more. With the added guilt of betraying Josephine, Zoe felt completely hopeless. How the hell was she going to get out of this mess?

She was still so thirsty. She went back to the fridge, finding a carton of fruit juice. She unscrewed the cap and drank directly from the container, but nearly choked when she heard singing outside the room.

Crap, Zoe thought. She put the carton back and made her way for the door, her hand shooting down to cradle her increasingly tender udder.

She stepped out of the kitchen, and the volume of the singing increased. Zoe went down the hallway and entered the dining room, subtly joining the group of people assembled around the table, all singing happy birthday to her grandmother, who was seated in front of a big cake. Zoe smiled and joined in, momentarily forgetting her own problems. The room was dark except for the illumination of the candlelight that was flickering across her grandmother’s happy face.

As the song came to an end, Zoe could not deny that she was feeling feverish. Her relatives exchanged some friendly banter and her grandmother made several attempts at blowing out the candles. Zoe could feel her bra pinching uncomfortably into her skin, and she knew she was growing. What the fuck, she couldn’t help thinking. If she kept at this rate of milk production, her tits were gonna get massive!

Her face scrunched as her bra dug even more into her flesh. It was only then, by candlelight, that Zoe saw her mother looking her way from across the table. Zoe inhaled deeply, trying to keep her cool.

And then she felt it. Moisture. Her face went scarlet. Her mother appeared alarmed. Surely she couldn’t see anything? Zoe looked down at herself, at the rapid dampening of her top. She was just releasing so much of the fluid. A droplet broke away, falling towards the floor. Zoe released a high, shaky grunt.

Some of her cousins glanced her way. Zoe quickly spun in the opposite direction, folding her arms across her achingly tight breasts. “Bathroom,” she hissed in explanation, even as she headed for the front door. She just hoped no one was paying her any mind as she slipped out of the house, and hurried to her car.

-

A few days passed.

Zoe was dodging calls from her mother. Her voicemail box was rapidly filling with messages from the woman, but Zoe did not have the nerve to listen to any of them.

She was preoccupied anyway.

At present, she was sitting in her bedroom, leaning against the headboard, breathing heavily as her breasts gently wobbled with the heaving of her chest. She was wearing a tight white tank top, pulled up over the mounds. Her legs were spread wide, and her sweatpants were shoved low, so that the pink udder could protrude out freely. Her tits were incredibly hot and needed all the air exposure she could offer them.

As if things weren’t bad enough, Zoe was itchy. She attributed it to all her sweating. She found herself fidgeting constantly, her fingers especially gravitating to the hot, pink skin under her breasts. But she was sure she had seen some of her large-chested friends complain about it in the past. Under-boob sweat. Perhaps the occasional rash.

Zoe couldn’t help scratching at the area, but she was only making things worse. She had to consciously try to keep her hands at her sides. When she didn’t, her fingers seemed to automatically wander right back to her under-boob area.

She was just irritating the area more. She could feel a rash forming, a subtle pair of bumps forming there.

Yet again realizing herself, Zoe snapped her hands to her sides. “Fuck,” she whispered. It was early spring, but one might have thought it was the depth of summer by how unclothed and sweaty she was, even with the air-conditioner on its highest setting.

“I could use a snack,” she muttered to herself arbitrarily.

No surprise there.

It flabbergasted her: the as flushed, heavy, tight, and full as she felt, she could still muster an appetite out of nowhere. And usually, a big one.

At least consumption was a distraction from her various discomforts and her need for relief. Sometimes she tossed and turned in her bed, wanting to go to Garrett, wanting to ask him to suck and milk her.

Zoe stood up from the bed, the movement feeling awkward and heavy, her mounds jiggling. She missed the days when she could spring up with no issue. She couldn’t even imagine herself trying to do anything remotely athletic — not in this state. And so, she had to resort to continually sitting around, her existence becoming abruptly sedentary. Likely, this was only exacerbating her problems.

She stretched out her stiff back, her face twisting as she was reacquainted with how bloated her stomach felt, especially in this position. Clearly she was putting on fat in addition to milk weight. Her hands cupped the gentle curve she had developed against her abdomen. A small belch came up her throat.

Zoe went over to her dresser, pulling a large package of cookies out of a drawer. It was a family pack of chocolate cookies with sweet, creamy icing stuffed between each pair of them. She should have been ashamed, but she just salivated and started to stuff cookie sandwiches into her mouth, two at a time. It tasted so good, she he could do little else but chew and consume them.

It was when she was halfway through the package that Zoe noticed the thin layer of dust on her bureau. She hadn’t cleaned in at least a week. She had been meticulously avoiding Garrett, but he was liable to come by to complain at any moment. Zoe was so heavy and taut with milk, if she saw Garrett up-close, she would start spraying.

It took another few minutes for her to gobble down the remainder of the cookies, breathing heavily once she had finished, her tongue idly dragging over her lips. Enjoying the slight rush that came with the sugar high, she looked around her bedroom, until her gaze locked on the uniform hanging from the back of her closet.

Brushing some crumbs off the drawn up folds of her tank top, Zoe made her way over to the uniform, the awkwardness of the weight of the udder drawing down on her front, giving her an odd gait indeed. She ripped the maid’s uniform off the hanger and grimaced at it, before hastily doffing the clothes she was wearing, and dragging the dress on.

The fit was undeniably tighter. She couldn’t even get the top buttons done, her cleavage bulging heavily over the straining neckline. The buttons that did close were clearly hanging on by a thread, making diamonds of her flesh bulge out between them.

Zoe fidgeted as she tugged the material to-and-fro, but the tightness remained. The sensation of her already-pressurized breasts being compressed by the material was almost unbearable. She grunted as she clutched the mounds, her face red and strained.

But she would handle it like she handled everything. There was nothing else for it. And so, Zoe drew a deep breath (the material hugging her even more tightly, practically clutching her in a death grip), before lowering her hands, and easing her way towards the door.

Intriguingly enough, the udder felt fine, settled in a sort of pocket in the interior of the maid uniform, beneath the waist apron.

It further corroborated her theory that Garrett planned all this.

Shaking her head, Zoe closed her bedroom door behind her and headed for the kitchen closet to gather the cleaning supplies.

She had little energy for fretting, and lots of work to get done that evening.

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