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Infirm (Ben Robertson x Devilla Roche)

"No way..." I repeat, still disbelieving what I'm hearing, that THIS is my only hope, "Absolutely not, doc. There's got to be another way..."

The doctor, behind his wooden desk, is now just shaking his head, hands crossed on the pile of papers between us.

Until all hours yesterday, the middle of the night, I went through that treatment, the worst one yet, to hear this. It was the only thing keeping me going, the hope. That, and Milly by my side. She had been taken away from me for a bit, for what I didn't know...but now I do. After a night spent on clinic cots, she sits by my side now. She's watching me with concern and pity, watching me try to come to terms with this new information - something she's known since yesterday.

The fact of the matter is that my treatments aren't working. Well, they're working less and less well in that they're not keeping up with my condition, which is accelerating. My long bones are shrinking and softening faster, and to keep up I'll very quickly be on a regimen of this irradiated cow's milk every day to keep the rest of me shrinking alongside them. And, with the misery they bring - that's just not a life...wasting away in pain.

But there are so many reasons I just can't accept this new form of the treatment they're proposing. And I can't see why she would either. It would be pain free, they say. It would work indefinitely, they say, until my condition stabilizes (though I almost heard an "if"). And, best of all, I could continue my treatments at home.

But...but...No!

"Please, doc," I implore, trying to sound calm, "please tell me you have other ideas.."

No succor, no change of demeanor from the doctor, I look over pleadingly at Milly...
 
I see how Ben is responding to this, very irrationally...so what he doesn't know he fears...and I understand that he is embarrassed...its not my first choice either, but if this is the only way then it has got to be done....Ben continues to ramble on...I sit there trying to be the supportive wife, but the doctors have explained it all to me and things are all so crystal clear to me....I know what has to be done...

Motherly instincts are deep inside of me and I look over at Ben...he rants like a child...well, its my turn to take charge, to do what needs to be done...

I place my hand on Ben and give him a very serious look, like a mother scolding a child, but without saying a word...then I turn to the doctor....

I crack a smile at the doctor then say, "Doctor, is there a place that Ben and I can speak in private?"

The doctor is more than accommodating, "Of course."
...he hits a button on the intercom on his desk...
"Nurse Williams?"

NW: Yes Doctor?

"Could you come into my office and show the Robertson's into one of the exam rooms?"

NW: Certainly Doctor.

A pretty young nurse with blonde hair comes in and, with a smile on her face, escorts us to one of the examination rooms....I thank the nurse, Ben walking in under protest, but I look at him like a child having a tantrum....once inside I lock the door, to make sure we are not disturbed....

In a scolding tone...
"Ben have a seat on that exam table."

He doesn't budge...never raising my voice, but being very firm...
"Ben Robertson, do you wish to see an ugly side to your loving wife? If not, then sit down. We need to talk about this new treatment right now."

I prefer to stand, my arms folded, I tap my shoe to the floor and wait...
 
"Milly!" I state, in my most commanding voice and trying not to sputter, "No!" Standing over me, though, from her position with arms crossed over an impressive bosom, she seems more in charge than I. She's had nearly a day of time to deal with this information, and I've had...none!

"D-do you know what this will mean?!" I continue, sweating with the indignity, imagining the shame, "it's...it's inappropriate..! It's improper, immoral..! It's...wrong!!"

It's drinking my wife's breastmilk.

She just looks at me, patiently, waiting for me to cool down. Yes, I know it's my only likely hope. Yes I know my body can't accept the cow's milk linked with the medication anymore, that human milk is the only acceptable vehicle, now. And yes I know that Milly is the only viable carrier....but...but....

No!

"The pumping, the swelling - it's going to be uncomfortable, and...maybe painful. And besides!" I continue. "It's got to be dangerous, implanting a radioactive seed next to your...your...pituitary gland, to stimulate you to..." I struggle with this "make milk...and for it to make the chemical...that's got such risks! In the cow that's one thing - it just got fatter. But we don't know how it will affect you! You have to live with it, maybe forever! We can't BOTH be sick!"

She looks unruffled, unperturbed, and looks down on me with composure. She's obviously come to terms with the risks - weighed them against the chance of me dying otherwise (i.e.: 100%) - and has found peace with it. She's ready to be pumped full of her own radioactive hormones, come what may, to keep me alive.

I look up at her, and feel my resolve soften, my face fall. I may be about to cry.

Oh my god I love her.
 
I see him go through his emotions...he's a proud man, he wants to find a way to keep me out of it and keep me safe...that is to be commended and I love him for that, but desperate times call for desperate measures and this is definitely one of those times...I watch him and listen and he knows this is the only way, he must come to terms...I watch him begin to shrink on that examination table as he goes from a very erect seated position, to a man coiled up, his face now practically in his lap and about to cry....at this I decide that he needs to see my tender side again...he needs to know why I love him so very much....

I advance forward and move closer and closer to him...I then push up his head and allow his face to sit snugly into my bosom...I then wrap my arms around him and stroke his head with my left hand....

I smile in the most loving manner...
"Ben, over the last several weeks and since you were first diagnosed with this dreaded disease, I have watched, stood idly by as this dreaded disease took root inside of your body like the devil himself. I had little or no understanding and the doctors gave me nothing to grab onto in terms of hope. All I could do was pray to the Lord. Pray to him at home and in church; pray to him tirelessly for some miracle, for something to help you." ~I embrace him tighter, his head going deeper into my cleavage, despite my bra~ "The doctors spoke those words that I've been waiting to hear. That there is real possibility to keep you alive. When they explained how I would be the one, the only one to help, that I, could do this for you, well..." ~I pause, my face very emotional~ "Do you have any idea how I am feeling, to be able to this for the husband that I love, well, I didn't care about the risks. How could I?? Ben, this is for us. The Lord has set his hand upon my bosom and told us that there is an answer."

~My eyes well up, and I embrace Ben even more, before finally letting go~
 
I'm hard, driving home, goddamn me. Hard, because I'm remembering that...that...MmmmmMMMF!!

She had held me so tight. She was so soft, she smelled so good. I was all but snuffling into her bodice as she spoke, told me of how she thought this was an answer to her prayers. And when she released me, my face was red not just from emotion but from actual heat - that of her chest and the flush of my own chagrin. I was just face-buried in bosom! Was anyone watching?! But I can still feel it, the dress, the firm foundation of her underwire, the soft swell of breast beneath.

And when she released me, and I looked up at her, I saw the belief in her eyes - and that was all I needed. I'm a man - THE man, in our relationship - but I knew there was no more fighting this one. She was firm, she was determined, and she was right. Was this a gift from God? An answer to her prayers? That SHE was the one who finally would release me from my pain, that held the key to my survival? Her eyes gave me no doubt: she had belief. And me..? I...I really had no choice.

Though we went back to the doctor to tell him of my decision, Milly and I said our real goodbye there. A new chapter was starting for us, right after this moment. We knew that once I agreed to the new treatments, the doctors would whisk her away to start her own regimen. They needed to prepare her, with hormones and medications and finally with the radioactive implant. The procedure sounded horrendous: "Endonasal Endoscopic Surgery" - but recovery was going to be nearly immediate. I'd have to leave her here for three days, and then I would come back - for a new treatment, a check if it worked...and then to take her home.

So here I am, driving. At least my goddamn erection is fading, though I'm still not alone. I have my thoughts, pummeling each other, Liston vs. Patterson vs. Clay vs...me. Pugilists, stubborn, tenacious. I should be thankful, I know, thankful that I may be able to be kept alive for much longer than we had feared. But - would it be long enough to allow my condition to stabilize? I had, at my last measurement, been 5'10" on the nose. Three inches I've lost since my sickness started, and it's been progressing quicker. Where would it end? I couldn't shrink forever, could I? It was physically impossible. Something's got to give out first: my body or the disease. Hopefully these new treatments will give my body the time.

But these treatments! Milly, when she finally arrives home, will have to pump breastmilk for me to drink. I've said this before, I'm no egghead. My understanding of this whole thing is pretty limited. But if I understand the situation it's like this: the medication, produced in her body under the control of her irradiated pituitary gland, will be altered by her system and made safe for me. It will be what I need to keep the rest of my body shrinking alongside these bones. Which - god help me it's only been one day - seem to have a hint of ache in them already.

But what will the treatments do to Milly? The doctor's can't tell us exactly. They have to get her lactating, they have to mess with her hormones, her pituitary gland. The hope is that she feels fine, that most everything is normal. But she could get sick, badly, immediately. She could develop cancers, later in life. She could die, right there in the clinic.

I cringe, thinking that I'm going to be putting her through this. As much as she loves me...this is such a sacrifice. I also flush with embarrassment, even driving here by myself on this nearly empty highway, thinking about what it's going to be like. Who ever heard of it? A man drinking his own wife's milk? I could have never imagined it...

...or at least that's what I'd like everyone to think.
 
I looked at myself in the full length mirror in almost disbelief...

"Is this really me? Is it?," I asked myself those questions again and again as I touched and caressed my naked body, "How can they do this? Miracle of modern medicine I suppose," I continued to think to myself, "But how, how can my bosom be that much bigger? And, how could my areolae look like that? My nipples, oh my gosh my nipples."

I giggle and put my hands over my mouth, smiling...then I see something else...I walk closer and look at my eyes....

"Oh my, they're green," I think to myself, "But, they're gorgeous and go so well with my auburn hair."

Again, I smile....

Then I pull back and view my waistline...amazing...so curvaceous...is this me?? I then turn to myself and view my backside...my derriere, even my derriere is different...it's larger, it's rounder...so perfect...

I continue to rub myself all over....I'm so happy...oh and the hormones inside of me...it's like I'm about to have a baby or just had one...I cannot believe the sensation inside of my breasts...I can feel the milk inside of me...oh, how I want it to be suckled out...how I need, need a...

"Oh gosh Milly, you can't possibly think of Ben that way. Get that thought out of your mind. He is your husband, a grown man. But still??"

I also can feel my hormones raging down below, down deep in my loins...oh my Lord, please forgive me for these thoughts, but I cannot get them out of my head....the doctor warned me that they would happen...I, I will need to do something down there, I, I will need a release...Lord, you know that I did this for all the right reasons, not for my own pleasure...I cannot help them...it is not my doing....

Finally, I put on all the new clothes they gave me...the larger bra...the custom sized panties...the form-fitting dress with the belt for my narrower waist...the heels...interesting, I used to be a size seven and those say size eight....hmm...again I look at the mirror...

I smile at the look...I like it a lot...who knew...like Jackie...she has such style...my oh my, how traditional I looked in my dresses before, but this, this makes me feel, well, different....

Suddenly a knock on the door....

"Yes, yes, I'm dressed, doctor, please come in."
 
And now I'm driving back. I got the call from the clinic early this morning: Milly is ready. I can come to the clinic, get my first new treatment and - if it does what it's supposed to - I can take her home.

I thank my lucky stars that there were no delays in preparing her, in getting her treatments done. My own pain has come on even earlier this time and I am definitely in need. Another day and I'd be afraid of driving myself. The pain came on slowly, but now it's here, in spades.

I was, over the last few days, able to get into work. I'll miss today but with any luck we'll be home tonight and I can get back into the office tomorrow. The partners have all been understanding, allowing me the time to take care of my "medical issues", and no one has noticed - or mentioned, at least - my loss in height. Real above-board people, the crew I work with. Like with the little incident with the drawings I'd done, a few years ago - nothing's been said for months. Everyone's forgotten about it, I guess! Good people.

Pulling in to the parking garage, finding my spot, I steel myself. I take a big breath. I take the walk to the clinic and check in, nervously, in reception.

"Here for cocktail hour again, Mr. Robertson?" Kathy behind the desk jokes, as she picks up the phone to let the team know I'm here. I flush with embarrassment - she must know how different my 'cocktail' is to be today - and am in no mood for joking, but try my best to laugh before taking a seat in the waiting room. My thoughts are a mess, and get messier still in picturing what's happening right now: they know I'm here, so in place of taking that as their cue to start milking the cow in the out building lab...they've probably started Milly pumping. After that she'll come to see me and we'll go together to the room where I'll take the treatment.

After a bit, twenty minutes or so, Kathy announces to me that "Mrs. Robertson will be right down," and suddenly I get more nervous. This is a whole new step. They had let me speak with her on the phone last night. She'd recovered well from the procedure and was able to talk. She sounded great! She said she felt great, just a little...swollen...tender...

What will she look like? I think, in a selfish aside. One of many disappointing things about not being able to conceive had always been for me - and I'd never, ever tell her this - the knowledge that I'd never get to see her breasts grow during pregnancy, fill with milk for our child. But it was never to be. Or, at least I had so thought, until just recently. What might she look like now? They had to stimulate lactation...could she have grown a full cup size? Two?

The door handle clicks, I stand to greet her. She steps into the room and....wowwwwww...

...it's more than just cup sizes...
 
I see the look in his eyes as he takes a gander at me for the first time, post-procedure...I wonder if it is me or this red and white knitted dress...it really does show of my new and improved curves...and the belt wrapped tightly around my narrower waist really accentuates my chest and my hips...my knees are exposed, just a bit, but so what....somehow the dress, the curves makes me feel so confident...I feel in control...I can't describe it...

I stop and do a half-twirl and look back at Ben, smiling from ear to ear....
"You like Ben? What a difference, right?"

I turn back to face him, with my hands on my hips, still smiling...
"Darling, just look at me! Can you believe it? Look at my body, look how much better I look and I was not that bad before, I know that. I'm curvier than ever. I don't know how they did it, but even my curves have curves."

I turn around and show him my backside again...and then place my hand on my derriere, not caring about how this all looks...
"And, here are one of those curves. Can you believe it? Look at this, isn't it just gorgeous? I was so much flatter down there before. Just look how I fill out this dress."

Then I step up close to him...in these heels, I'm as tall as Ben....I give him a quick smack of my lips on his cheek...
"I'm so glad to see you Ben. I've missed you so."

The intercom goes on and its the doctor....Kathy gets up from her desk and comes over to us....
"All right Mr. Robertson, it's time for your treatment."

I then speak up confidently...
"Kathy, I'd like to be with Ben in there, would the doctor mind?"

Kathy: "No, not at all. Please go in."

I can sense Ben is nervous...I hold his hand as if he were a scared little boy...
"Come on Ben, lets get you in to have your treatment. You know its best to just get it over with. Maybe afterwards, we can get some breakfast at the local diner. I'm starved."
 
<gulp> 'W-wow, honey, you look like a million bucks!" I offer, feigning levity but clearly wide-eyed at the changes in my wife, "Those curves do have curves..!..heheh..."

As shocked as I am, Milly doesn't seem troubled at all. In fact - hands on her hips - she's obviously proud of these dramatic changes in her figure as she turns her backside to me and pushes out her now enormous rear. In the skirt of her tight knitted dress, I can see every detail of its impressive shape, looking so much bigger than ever before especially in comparison to a waist made waspish by a wide belt of white leather. Good god what have they done to her!? It takes me a moment to recover and feel the eyes of the receptionist on us, but I'm suddenly self-conscious. Milly, though, seems unconcerned that...that...that she's flaunting herself like a floozy!

"...just look how I fill out this dress..!"
Click to expand...

"Yes yes, <heh heh> very nice honey," I laugh nervously, as I step up to her, to rein her in. What's got into her? She, at the same time, steps up to me and we're suddenly face-to-face...as in really face-to-face...I don't have to look down even the slightest to...

Holy god her eyes...

I'm looking into her eyes, and she sees my bewilderment. Her eyes are...are...

They're not the same eyes I knew. They're not the same warm brown as my wife's. Well, they're brown and they're warm and they're hers but they're also green and they're golden and deep and glittering and...

...and they're n-not my wife's eyes. But they are. But they aren't...and they're looking right into me. My heart flutters. They're beautiful eyes. They're unusual eyes. So strikingly bright and exotic, so....alive. So...

"H-h-honey..." I sputter, "y-your eyes..."

Again seemingly unconcerned, she giggles and kisses me on the cheek, before purposefully widening her eyes and meeting my gaze once again, intensely, this time her smile barely restraining her excitement. She lets me look into them, telling me she's missed me.

Looking into her, I see something. Just a hint, but something I haven't seen for many years. An inner Milly, one that's been missing since...well, for a long time. It's a look that's less...domesticated? Less...tame? Less...sensible, balanced...or sane.

It's a look that stirs my loins.

Thankfully, perhaps, the intercom calls for us, and I break eye contact with her. But my mind is still in turmoil...this is much more than I expected. As she takes my hand, comfortingly, and we follow the nurse through the door and down the hall to the treatment room, I can't help but wonder what else this treatment has done to her. I should be thankful, I realize, I should count my lucky stars that she's still alive, for god's sake. And not only alive, but she seems...vibrant. Healthy. Spirited. She has a glow that I can't quite place, but it's something - even if it's a bit, dare I say, feral - that makes me feel protected.

In the treatment room everything is the same, seemingly, as it's always been. There's a seat for me, and several seats for visitors. My seat, though, sits directly in front of a machine, a large contraption of tubes, pumps and valves. There's a glass pipette - a straw, really, from which I will soon be sucking. And lastly - nearly filling a glass chamber in the forefront of the machine - there's her milk. It doesn't look too much different than the cow's milk...but to me it represents a new life.

The machine is built to regulate the flow of milk into me, as we've found that taking the liquid in too fast resulted in much more pain, and drinking it too slow diminished its effects. At home, I'll be able to just drink slowly out of a glass because Milly's milk shouldn't bring on the cramping the cow's milk did, but for this first treatment they want to regulate the flow since I'm at the clinic anyway.

There's also an exam table in the room, and a hospital bed in the corner. A bed I have spent too many hours on, writhing with agony after my previous treatments. As I sit I look up at Milly and squeeze her hand again. Hopefully I won't spend a minute on that bed today.

My doctor walks into the room, and greets us. He doesn't mention Milly's new appearance, but it's an unspoken weight in the room. He asks me if I'm ready, and I tell him yes...

"Let's get to it..."
 
I watch in utter deep fascination at everything before me...it was the first time I decided to come in and watch...staring at the myriad of tubes, knobs, buttons, valves and gauges, I watch as my milk is slowly pumped, methodically processed through the machine and finally brought to my husbands lips as he sits there and drinks my milk...I still can't get over it, my milk...I want to grab at my own, new improved boobs knowing that milk production is happening inside of me at this moment...I can almost feel it, and I have such a personal connection to what is happening inside of me and in that machinery right now...so much so that I get up out of my seat...

Rather than go straight to my husband, I move forward to the machine...I look at the doctor, who can see the intent look on my face as I reach out to touch the glass chamber...
"May I doctor?"

Doctor: "Yes, sure. As long as you don't touch the rest of the machine."

Me: "Now doctor, I won't. I promise."

I place my hand on the glass chamber and stare at my breastmilk...I can feel the machine vibrating, but I stare..."My milk." I think to myself. "The liquid that can give life to a baby. The liquid that will save Ben's life. My milk."

I turn and look at Ben...I smile in his direction, still touching the glass chamber...I can see my milk as it gets pumped from the machine to a flexible tube, to the straw, to Ben's lips...he is so embarrassed, it's all over his face, and his cheeks are red...he's hunched over looking so meek...I then walk over to him....I place my hand on his back...I find that I am standing very tall, more so than before, it must be the after effects of the treatment...I do feel different, very different...I look down at Ben...he's like a little puppy that needs looking after...looking after by...me...well he needn't worry, I will take good care of him, always...
 
I'm glad she's here, I guess, but this is...humiliating. I'm sucking on this tube, as the machine titrates milk to me in little pulses and I try to keep rhythm with my sucking....suck, suck, suck, suck...all as the machine whirrs and whines and hums, and the level of milk in the chamber slowly falls. Six ounces...five ounces...four...It's familiar; I've done this all before, multiple times. But it's completely different. It's her milk, and she's here.

Milly is clearly fascinated. With the whole process, and especially with the idea that it's her milk flowing through this thing, into me. It makes the abashment even more acute, and as I feel her hand on my back the protective, affectionate pride flowing through her is palpable. I can feel it radiating off her, as strongly as I can feel the effects of her milk radiating into my system. Easing my pain, already. Shrinking me, by tiny degrees with each suck, but easing me. Comforting me. And...yes...yes...it seems to be working! I try not to get too excited, trying to keep my rhythm, but this is just about when the stomach cramps would start...I'm just at about three ounces...and I feel fine!

Fine fine fine better than fine. The last two ounces are usually a struggle for me. It usually takes all my concentration and composure to work through the cramping, finish the treatment. But I feel great...great...

...wow I'm so happy...

almost done and huh huhhuh uh huhhhuu h...

am i geting hhhardd ?

huhuuhh....u hh h

almust dun and i look up at hr as i suk anshe iz soo beautifullll everythin elz fuzzzzyyy... huhhh unn hh h...
 
I watch as Ben goes from looking okay and even smiling and then he becomes, well he loos sort of high...I continue to rub his back and Ben's face has this sort of odd catatonic look...I then look down at his pants and notice the tent in it...oh my! He's - he's getting hard!! Whatever from? Is this how he always reacts before his usual cramping? I can't imagine so. He finishes his milk...

In the meantime, the doctor shuts down the machine, I then stand in front of Ben and then make a request of the doctor...

"Doctor, may I have a word with you?"

Doctor Francis: "Yes, Mrs. Robertson?"

"Could I have a moment alone with my husband?"

Doctor Francis: "Certainly. I'm glad to see he's tolerating the medicine, so far, but we will need to observe him over the course of the next few hours."

"Yes, yes I know. If anything changes, I'll come right out and get you doctor."

The doctor smiles, walks out the door....I go ahead and lock it so that Ben and I won't be disturbed...I then walk over to Ben...I look at him and the chamber that had my milk in it...then I look back at Ben....I then talk out loud, but really to myself...

"Hmm. So Ben drinks my breast milk and becomes very relaxed, like in a different state of mind. But then he gets hard. There is a connection here, I know it."

I then approach Ben....
"Ben darling, I see you need me to make you feel better. Not to worry, I can help you along."

I bend forward at my hips and undo his pants...I unzip him, take down his pants to his knees and take down his boxers...his cock springs to life, in it's full glory...I stare at it and then place my hand over it....I start to run it up and down his shaft....I keep doing it...Ben smiles, but says nothing...he is still in this sort of catatonic state...

"Don't worry Honey, Milly is going to make this thing go away. I'll let you come. Don't worry."

I continue at it stroking him again and again and again...I then realize I can't have a mess...I decide to do something I would never do....the girls and I talked about this before...this fellatio thing...what the teens call "sucking cock"...so I place my mouth on his head...bob my head up and down on his length and wait....I feel his warmth, I feel the veins and then I feel Ben get rigid, very rigid...his cock pulsates a few times and a warm, creamy material enters my mouth...I taste the salty pleasantness of it and then swallow it...

Done.....

I then pick up Ben's boxers and then his pants and put everything back in its place...
"Well Ben, you were very good. It looks like you - "

Something's wrong...he still has that odd look in his face...he then suddenly passes out....I then run for the door, unlock it and go get the doctor....
 
The next thing I remembered I was laying on the bed in the procedure room...feeling great. Like I was waking from a brief, but deep and refreshing nap...which I guess I was. The doctors - there were two in the room along with a nurse and my wife - explained that I'd been out for an hour or so. And...

...they also told me that the new treatment was a total success!

They're telling me now about the results. The treatment did exactly what it was supposed to, without any pain; the other tissues and organs of my body have caught up with my shrinking bones. I'm five-nine and a half, now, they tell me. A hundred and fifty-seven pounds.

"Still got half-an-inch on you, doll..!" I joke, looking up at Milly with my best smile, which I hope looks brave and cheeky. She places a hand on my shoulder and smiles tenderly back down. "And, one-fifty-seven, huh?" I continue, smile cracking crooked up her way, "Honey how much do you w-"

She stifles me with a slap and an incredulous gasp of mock outrage, and tells me that a gentleman never asks about a lady's weight. I should know better!

The doctors also talk to me about what they've seen as to the side effects so far. My vital signs, my breathing, my lung sounds - it all seems great right now. But when I was finishing the treatment, apparently I slipped into some sort of delirium. They way they describe it, it sounds like it began with me acting like half a moron, sounding like a goof. And then I became slowly more catatonic, which only got better after - and I can't believe this happened - Milly "relieved" me of what sounded like a boner of epic proportions. Come to think of it, I do remember some sort of dream about sitting in the chair here and getting a hummer from a drop-dead gorgeous redhead...but that's wayyyy out of Milly's league. Some dream!

All in all, they're very happy. The side effects seem manageable, and might actually be lessened, they tell me, if I take my treatment a little slower next time. I'll have to really work on drinking it verrrry slow, my next treatment at home. Hopefully that helps.

The doctors now turn their attention to Milly, and are both suddenly a little uncomfortable. The older Doctor of the two, Doc Francis, starts off. "We also realize that there have been some, ah..." he starts to struggle, "changes to Mrs. Robertson's...uh...figure..."

I look up, again, at Milly, who is straight-faced and attentive, waiting for Dr. Francis to continue.

Which he does. "We knew there would be some...possible..weight gain. B-but, ah...there was a bit more than we anticipated, this soon after implantation of the seed near her pituitary..."

"...and as the seed continues to emit, changes may slowly continue, progress..." the younger Doctor, Dr. Coleman, injects.

"So, out of concern for her health," Doc Francis resumes, casting a look at his colleague, "we have a pill we'd like her to take daily, at home, to fend off any further...developments."

Again, I look up at Milly, whose expression hasn't changed. I may see a hint of amusement under her otherwise earnest, attentive expression. But she doesn't say anything, and just nods in understanding.

"But, otherwise," Dr. Francis says, "you two are just about ready to go home. Nurse, have you prepared the home breast pump for the Robertsons?"

"Yes it's all ready doctor, we'll have someone help get it in their car"

"Well great!" I exclaim, feeling like a million bucks, sitting up and, before standing, offering Milly my arm - and a smile. "Did I hear you say something about breakfast?"
 
As we ride in the car home I reflect back on things and oddly enough the late breakfast I just had...

"Ben, I hope I didn't look like a cow back in that diner. I have never been so hungry in my life. Did you see what I ate? Did you? I mean, I had breakfast that three longshoreman could eat. I thought the eggs and the pancakes were enough, but when I was hungry for the sausage, bacon, ham, and sweet potato pie, I couldn't believe it. And then I even helped you finish your breakfast. I suppose it must be another side-effect of sorts, what do you think?"

....somehow it felt good, and I don't feel as full as I thought I'd feel...my body is just very hungry for food....hmmm???
 
Back home....

I watch as Ben has our box of 'goodies' and tell him to place it on the kitchen counter...I hang up my coat and place my purse on the side table by the front door and get a gander at that box...

Ben and I are both looking at....I smile nervously and then decide to open it up...I pull out the breast pump first...and take a good look at it...an immediate reaction, I never had an object speak to me the way this one is doing right now....

I show it to Ben....
"Oh Ben, this is what it would have been like to have a baby. Remember how it felt before, before we knew that I could not conceive? This thing I hold in my hand would have been a part of what could of been."

....I well up in the eyes, but then gain my composure...

"It's all right darling. Now I do this for you. It's not the same as having a baby, but being able to lactate, having my own milk inside of me is very, very exciting. The Lord is telling us something. I don't know what it is, but you having this disease and me being the giver of life for you, we cannot ignore that."

****************

Later on in the evening....after supper....

Somehow I still don't feel that full...the doctors want me to take a pill? I've never felt better after that procedure...I pick up the pills in the box and take a look at them...why would I take medicine, when I'm feeling fine? ...even better than fine...I take them out and place them in my purse....if Ben asks, I'll tell a little white lie and let him know I took it...

Then in our bedroom...right before bedtime....

I'm looking in my closet smiling....then I turn to Ben...standing there in my peach babydoll and my Marabou slippers...
"Ben darling, I'm going to have to get a whole new wardrobe. Nothing in my closet is going to fit me anymore. Not with my new figure. Even this babydoll is kind of tight."

I turn to him standing very straight, not realizing that by big boobs could be a distraction for him...I then see that face again, like the one in the doctors office...that 'happy' but silent look...I then run up to him and jump up on the bed...
"Ben, are you all right. Are you having another reaction darling?"
 
Ostensibly reading the paper, I'm laying in bed in my striped, button-front pajamas. In truth, I'm not getting much reading done, spending most of my time peeking over the paper to watch Milly from behind as she's rummaging through her closet and marvel at her shape.

It's remarkable, almost unbelievable. Don't get me wrong. Milly was a fine looking gal before, a real looker. Jayne, or Marilyn, or Sophia - they didn't have much on he in the figure department. But after these treatments...well, let's just say what she's got now would make them all look like little girls. Her gams have always been long, and though they now seem thicker they somehow taper to even narrower ankles, shapelier knees than before. And from behind, as she shuffles through her clothes, her waist looks absolutely tiny as it flares out to a set of hips the word "womanly" doesn't even begin to describe. God, it's amazing...

I think back to earlier today, when we first got home. How Milly was talking about things, how she feels that the Lord is "telling us something". How she thinks that her being the "giver of life" to me has some higher meaning. I remember her face, as she was saying all this...how earnest she looked. With those new eyes of hers, which were burning suddenly so intense, she looked so ardent, so zealous, so...impassioned. I would not have ever called her a "holy roller", but Milly was always the more religious of the two of us. But this was a religious zeal beyond anything I'd ever seen of her...and it made me a little nervous. I tried to put it out of my head...the poor girl has been through a lot, and this may just pass, I thought, this new spirituality.

...and there is certainly nothing piously demure about the way she looks in that silk nightie tonight.

Because when she turns around, telling me about her need for a new wardrobe, how none of her dresses fit, and...

"...with my new figure, even this babydoll is kind of tight."
Click to expand...

...she's standing lock-straight, ankles together, shoulders back, chest out, rocking back and forth in those fuzzy, heeled slippers of hers. A little pout on her face, eyes big and wide and vacant...she knows exactly what she's doing.

Her proportions are astounding, and she's showing them to me. A wife, showing her husband what is his. What is his for the taking. It's an abundance, it's ungodly, it's...a little frightening. How different she looks. How much there is of her. It's...it's...

...wow...what's happening to me?

I feel...a little lightheaded.

I had something to say to her, I know I did. It was going to be smart. A smart wisecrack.

But suddenly I don't feel very smart.

But I feel...nnnnngghhh....haha...very harrrrrrdddd....

I smile, and remember a little about this morning...this is how I felt this morning, sort of. I was hard...and she made me feel so nice...

I watch her mouth...what a beautiful set of red painted lips, a full mouth, I remember that...as she kitten-steps towards me I watch it until...

oh god watch her boobs bounce...

I smile more.

She climbz onto the bed wit me. I lookk upp at hur...

"Are you having another reaction darling?"
Click to expand...

uh huh...uhh huh huh huh...
 
I watch as Ben goes into what I can call his "happy mode" as a tent in his pajamas emerges...hmm, I have to figure what sets him off like this...I mean he would be frisky from time to time, but it wasn't necessarily a weekly thing and my God, it certainly wasn't a daily thing...but here he is, hard, twice in one day...

"All right Ben, I think I know what you need. But remember, I do this only because of your situation."

I take off his pajama bottoms, then his boxers...there it is...it looks to be even harder than this morning's hard-on...I take hold of it and begin the ritual of jerking him off....

"Well Ben, I hope you don't pass out again or we'll never have sex again!" I then giggle at my words....but I am concerned...I continue to whack him off my hand running up and down his penis....

"I suppose if you do pass out, your in our bed. That's a good place I suppose. And, I'm here to take good care of you, so not to worry."

He still has that goofy face, only it's gotten a lot goofier....he makes these moans at time, which I guess is to be expected, after all I am making him feel real good....

Then his moans get louder....

"I guess I might as well do what I did this morning. It certainly will keep the sheets clean if I do."

I bend over his body and place my mouth on his cock and run it up and down his shaft...I have to admit...the warmth, the feel of his hardness is incredible...I hate to admit it, but I actually do like this...suddenly, his thing goes into action, stiffening, getting bigger, harder, and then...it flexes and a whole load of warm sperm enters my mouth...I swallow and continue to run my lips tightly up and down his shaft, making sure he is clean....

"There we go, all better Ben."

I put is boxers back on and his pajama bottoms and then lay him down...in no time he's asleep, with a smile on his face....
 
Next morning...

I yell up to my darling hubby...
"Ben, get up. Time to get ready for work! Get in the shower!!"

I get up and just like yesterday, I'm famished...I get the coffee started and read through all the material for the breast pump...I get to it and latch it on to my breast and start the electric pump...at first it tickles...and then my hormones go to work...I can feel it and now I find myself feeling, well lets just say, I could have sex right now...my vagina is super-wet...I can feel it right as my milk begins to come out of my left nipple into the tube and into the glass jar...it fills and fills and fills and then no more...I move to the right nipple and do the same....I touch my left areola and nipple...ohhhh....my....God, that feels wonderful...I also love the way it looks, the areola puffy, my nipple extended and engorged...I could ravage Ben right now...

Finally, I finish, close the jar and place it in the refrigerator...

A half hour later....

Breakfast plates everywhere...the smdell of cooking in the air...home made waffles, eggs, and bacon.....

I watch as Ben comes down the stairs...he looks a bit groggy...

In a cheery sounding voice...
"Good morning Honey."

I give him a kiss on the cheek...
"Time for your breakfast."

I grab the jar, open it up and place a straw in it...
"Okay darling, time for breakfast. Get to work on this as you need to have it in you within the hour. Oh, and I don't want you to be late for work either."

I place the breast milk at the table where he always sits...
"You might as well get it over with now."

I start to clean up the kitchen, clearing off my dishes...
"You have no idea how hungry expressing milk makes me. It was just like yesterday at the diner, but somehow I don't feel that full. I guess I should weigh myself by the end of the week to see if I'm gaining, huh?"
 
"Good Morning Honey!" she says, brightly, with a peck on the cheek, "Time for your breakfast!"
Click to expand...

That kiss: she used to have to get on tiptoes for that.

I sit myself down at the kitchen table, feeling a little more wiped out than usual for a morning, and sit myself down at the table. Wait, did I just say that?

I watch Milly bounce around the kitchen and when I say bounce, I mean bounce. There is a lot more going on under that short silk house robe than I've ever seen before during our weekday breakfasts. Her legs, bare below the knee-length robe, are shapely and muscled. Her hair is all but glowing in its warm, auburn fire. Is this, in fact, the same woman? I find myself marveling, or has she been replaced by a Plan 9 space alien?

My concerns are anything but eased when she leans over the table to place a glass of her milk in front of me. It's not the milk, or even the miraculous glimpse of cleavage I sneak...it's the eyes. Those eyes are so...different.

But the milk grabs my attention, too.

I know the doctors had told me: don't hesitate to take a treatment. I don't have to wait for my bones to ache, I shouldn't put off a dose. It's better, in fact, for me to get ahead of the pain rather than wait for it to start, to keep the rest of my body shrinking at the same rate as my skeleton rather than playing catch-up...gulp... every few days now.

But it's only been one day...

"Do I really need to take this now..." I ask.

Yes, she tells me, every morning. Just like the doctors recommended. Do I remember them saying that?

"You might as well get it over with now."
Click to expand...

Yes, yes, yes...okay...

Though she seems to be going about her business cleaning the kitchen, paying me little mind as I sit here, I can feel her eyes on me. It makes me uneasy...this is uncomfortable for me. Yes, yesterday I drank her milk, but that was at the clinic. It was more...clinical. This is...here. At our home. It feels...weird. Intimate. I won't admit, especially to her, the things it makes me think - or feel - drinking her breast milk.

With trepidation, I pick up the little jar. It's...warm, still. And there's no getting around it, it's a baby bottle. Without the nipple, but it's a baby bottle.

I don't have the guts to ask if I can pour it into a regular glass. Then she'd know it bothers me. I'll drink it right out of here. Like a man.

...but I'm not doing it with that straw.

I take the straw out, lay it on the table, and take my first sip. Yes, it's still warm. And it tastes...sweet. There's no hint of any chemicals or the medicine in it that is probably already making it's way into my system. I keep my eyes down, not bold enough to meet her gaze which has found itself my way, and sip again, a little more. I know she disapproves that I took out the straw, but she says nothing about it.

She reminds me I need to drink it slow. Yes yes yes...sure. I feel myself flushing; I just want to get this over with. I tip the glass jar, and I drink, trying not to dwell too much on the moment.

She turns away, back to the sink, and I take another little gulp. She says something about feeling a little heavier, or eating a little more these days. She asks me if she should weigh herself...or, I think she does...

..something's happening.

I'm feeling a little lightheaded and...fuck, my cock's getting hard and...oh fuck...the cramps...they're back...noooo.....

I groan, and ball up right there at the table.

Milly is by my side in a flash, and - my eyes clamped shut against the pain - I feel her hand on my forehead, the other on my back. She crouches down aside me.

"w-w-w-why..?!?!" I sob....
 
Sometimes men can be so pigheaded and stupid in a lot of ways...I do so much for Ben and with all the concerns I have for him these days, he can't listen to me this once....

In a scolding tone....
"Why, you want to know why?!? Oh Ben, why can't you listen to me when I tell you to do something! See?!? See what happens?!? Look at you like this, doubled over. You should have used the straw like the doctor instructed! Drink within the hour. Drink slowly. And, use the straw! But no, you have to be a man, right?? Well, so what if you look like a child. Next time you'll use that straw, doctors orders and wife's orders too!"

I help him get showered, I help him get dressed, and then I drive him to work...now in the car, halfway into the trip, it looks like he's much better....
"Ben, you look better. Does it still hurt?"

He tells me that it's not too bad, that it has subsided....

"Well Ben, if it continues throughout the day or worsens, you have to call Dr. Francis' office and get in there today. Either way, call me to pick you up."

We arrive....I go into the back seat and get his briefcase...then I present it to him and give him a smile....
"Here you go honey, here's your briefcase."

I kiss him on the cheek....
"I'm sorry I raised my voice to you, that wasn't right of me, I know."
~I wag my finger and give him a look~
"But don't put me in a scare like that again, please Ben, I have enough to worry about. Think of me, okay?"

He nods and I kiss him again on the cheek....then run back to the car, wave goodbye, blow a kiss and I'm off....I sure hope he'll be okay today....
 
What was that, I wonder, as I sit here at my drafting desk working on the sketches for Big Walter's Burgers, what was going on in my head this morning?

I erase, furiously, an errant line.

She was scolding me. Scolding! Me! Like a...like a child! And I...I did nothing! I said nothing! I just sat there and took it. Even with the pain, even through the confusion, I could have said something. But there was something going on inside of me, something that kept me from arguing. Something that made me just lower my head, cast my gaze, and listen. As she scolded me, I just sat there and listened to her. I listened, and - again despite the pain - I kept getting harder, and harder, and harder. Because something...something inside of me liked it.

No no no..! That shading's all wrong! <erase erase erase>

The next hour or so I remember only vaguely, as Milly helped me through the cramps (which honestly were nowhere near as bad as they'd been in the past) and ready myself for work. I couldn't afford to miss another day, so with her assistance and a dutiful handjob in the shower (that boner was just not going away by itself) I got dressed, and she drove me to work. That in itself was rather humbling, and I was still sheepish in the car, but I was a little relieved to see her demeanor change as we drove. She was starting to feel bad about speaking out of turn with me, and by the time she dropped me off she was smiling again, blowing me a kiss, and waving goodbye.

Just as I toss my pencil down and rub at my eyes in frustration, Maude comes in with my coffee.

"You look like you could use this, boss," she quips, placing the mug right in front of me. I look up at her and smile wanly in thanks.

Boss, I think ruefully, that's a joke. Yes, I am Head of the Art Department here at Jackson & James. Leader of a team. A team, a department that consists of...Maude. Just me and Maude, now that Harold is Head of Creative, and on track to being a partner. Harold!! It shoulda been me but...

The drawings. The stupid, stupid drawings!

My blood chills, my skin crawls in shame even now as I remember those first days, those few weeks, after those drawings had been found in my trash basket. How could I be so dumb?!? The meetings, the scoldings by the partners were bad enough, but the thought that darkened my days, the fear that that everybody knew[/u]...and wasn't saying anything...that was even worse.

So here I am...still in the Art Department, penciling in plates of French fries for a new spot in the paper, averting my eyes from Maude's shapely rear just before she turns around again. She was prattling on about something...a deadline for something...

"...oh yeah...thanks," I say, and get back to work...
 
I push the cart through Sipperstein's market and do some weekly shopping...I still can't believe the hunger I feel, how my body is in need of such food, so I buy a lot more in dairy - more eggs, more milk...then onto other foods from the meat department to more non-perishables, more beans, more rice, more pasta, more of everything...

As I walk up and down the aisles my bra feels tight as hell on me...I try to straighten it out, thinking that that is the problem, by moving my arm up and around....no good...I find myself in an aisle with no one in it and I push up my bra the best I can...no good...maybe this is an old one...wait a minute...I bought all those new bras after I was let go from the doctor, after my treatments, after I grew to a EE cup...so why so tight, hmm? I'll go tomorrow down to Gloria's to get - on second thought maybe I'd better go to the department store...

I keep walking up and down the aisle and find that my shoes are still a bit snug...I must be getting fatter...its all this eating that I'm doing...Milly Robertson have some self-control...when your feet get fat, that's a problem....
 
Thursday morning...

I sit there, very erect at the breakfast table my arms folded under my bosom....my faux fur robe on, I give Ben a look, quite the look as a matter of fact, wanting him to know how serious I am...now I went through the trouble of expressing my milk for him not even fifteen minutes ago...the least he can do is get this right, use the straw, sip it slowly and do as the doctor instructed...

As I stare, I look back at him...is he trying to make me feel sorry for him...he's hunched over like that, looking so small, like a child...I can see that he's thinking about it, thinking about removing the straw...well I won't let him...if he does, I will do everything in my power to make sure he gets this right...he's so like a little boy being asked to take his medicine....

I bring up my left eyebrow and give him quite the look while I tap my feet making sure he knows I mean business....If he even touches that straw to take it out, I swear I'm going to put him over my knee...
 
I try to not let it look like things bother me. Even when they do, I do my best to keep up appearances. It's the American way. Like earlier today when I needed Maude to help me finish the mock-ups for the burger place by the 4pm deadline...I just kept joking around with her, no matter how much it burned my biscuit that i couldn't get it finished myself. Or when the ham sandwich I pulled from the Automat down in the lobby tasted like cardboard. Or when I had to suffer the indignity of calling Milly for a ride home. Just keep plugging along, just keep smiling, that's my motto. But here, sitting across the table from my wife - drinking her breast milk through a child's straw - I know I look miserable.

Because I hate this. Or rather I hate the stigma and humiliation of it. It's infantile, and I know I must look ridiculous. But I think what bothers me the most is the thought that Millie may, even in the smallest amount, realize how the situation plays into some of my deepest, most secretly held fantasies. That would kill me, absolutely crush me, if she were to find out about…that stuff. Especially now. I would wilt in mortification.

So, yes, as I sit across the table from her where she sits, sternly, arms crossed under her full chest, I look miserable. Sheepish. Like I'd rather be doing anything else but this. Drinking, I can't talk, and she's not really talking either. But our eyes are locked. I want to show her that - yes - I'm doing exactly what I'm supposed to, drinking this very very slowly through the straw, sucking at it. Like a goddamn kindergartner. She's watching me like a hawk to make sure I do it, with those glimmering gemstone eyes unflinching. But I'm fighting the impulse to glance down at where her newly engorged boobs are bubbling above the neckline of her nightee underneath the pink, fur-lined robe.

As I suck at the straw, and after I have pulled about half the milk out of the jar, I start to feel some of the familiar effects....along with a flush of dismay, but then a pause. Maybe this isn't as bad. My cock starts to swell, yes. And my mind starts to drift, though not as much as before. And the stomach pain is creeping in, but nowhere near as intense as what it was even just yesterday morning, but it still...

...hmmmmmm...

Yes stomach hurts a little but it's really not that bad..! And this stuf of hers tastes really good. <suck succk sukk>. And, even though I know she's being stern, she's doing it because she loves me. I'm not finishd drinking yet - I want to do it slow! - but I feel my face crinkel into a smile. Winces of pain in my eyes, but I try to show her a smile. I want her to know I'm doing good. That I'm doing what she told me...

<suckk suck suc suckk suck...>
 
I continue to watch him drink my milk, to put the fear of God in him, making sure he is getting better not only for himself, but for us...I just love him so much...he sits there like a little boy, he looks so much smaller, hunched, so weak...do I make him feel like that?? Do I make him feel like I'm the one in control here?? That I'm in charge of him?? Admittedly, and if that is the case, I must say there is something...powerful...about that...me in charge of my husband...

Every now and again he looks up, but not at my eyes, not at my face...I think he is looking at my cleavage...I observe him intently...there it is again...he looked, then averted his eyes...it's these new boobs, these bigger boobs, he's fixated like an immature adolescent...what's happening to my husband?? Is it my milk or is it something else, hmm...

I think about closing up my robe even more, but then an idea comes to me...maybe, just maybe...

Slowly, I open up my robe...I change me demeanor from harsh to downright sexy mixed in with a certain gentleness...then I push up with my arms...my boobs swell and give the illusion of growing...Ben becomes fixated, his eyes almost popping out...I smile and then say...

"You can look Ben, but under one condition, that you keep drinking my milk in the correct manner. If I catch you sipping too fast or without the straw, these big things ~I grab them with my hands~ go back inside of my robe, understand?"
 
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