Some New Disaster

Chapter 7
Lesson VI: Breastfeeding

Chapter Description: F/F physical AR

Jody regretted her antagonism towards Tricia -- regretted their entire relationship -- about a half a second after being laid across her ex-girlfriend’s lap. Four blue plastic chairs had been arranged side-by-side to serve as a makeshift couch.

There wasn’t a lot of explaining to be done. At Miss Berdette’s instruction, Tricia had lifted up her clothing and unhooked her bra, revealing her breasts to the class, to Jody. And at Miss Berdette’s increasingly adroit command of magic, Tricia was lactating rather fiercely. Her breasts had ballooned as if she had just given birth, and her nipples were turgid with the need for release.

The look of horror on Jody’s face was something Tricia wanted to capture digitally and with which she’d have endeavored to bombard the internet. She settled for writing it to the flash drive in her mind.

Suddenly, the carrots seemed worth it.

“Studies invariably show,” Miss Berdette began, “that breastfeeding encourages superior physical health, mental acuity, and a permanent emotional bond between mother and daughter. Jody and Tricia will demonstrate this now.

“But, as with the magic with which I imbued the high chair, I’ve provided Tricia with a very special kind of breast milk. The most delicious, fulfilling, addictive breast milk the supernatural can conjure. And, the more of it Jody drinks, the younger she becomes. I think that constitutes proportionate retribution-- wouldn’t you say so, class?”

Much of the class cheered, but some of its students had begun to wonder why Miss Berdette had started to drift away from practical knowledge and into boundless humiliation with little redemptive value.

The man in the back continued to scrawl on his notebook paper. Completed, somewhat crinkled stacks of it surrounded him as if he were constructing a World War I bunker.

Jody had been intimate with Tricia in a similar manner during the course of their relationship-- though, Tricia had usually been the one to take the submissive role, and the suckling of each other’s breasts had been a purely sexual undertaking. None of this mother-daughter bullshit that, frankly, terrified the hell out of the girl in Tricia’s lap.

The urine with which Tricia had saturated her jean shorts in the high chair was beginning to soak through the small of Jody’s top. The latter couldn’t muster up the ability to care. Instead, she turned her face towards the class, away from her ex-girlfriend’s leaking tits, silently begging them with wide eyes and a look of contrition to intervene, to do something, to pull her out of the fire. She was used to being pulled out of the fire with such stark regularity that her peers’ refusal to bail her out this time confused her. Her eyes became moist.

Tricia’s nipple brushed against Jody’s cheek. “Here you go, little one,” Tricia cooed. “Time for your snack.”

A bizarre instinct overwhelmed Jody. The girl snapped her head away from the class and straight into her ex-girlfriend’s breast. Then, her lips were around Tricia’s nipple... and she was nursing.

Warm, sweet milk -- as thick and delicious as the amaretto-flavored coffee creamer of which Jody had grown so fond over the years -- washed over the girl’s tongue in endless squirting waves. Every infantile sucking motion Jody produced elicited a fresh jet of the bizarrely addictive nectar. It painted the insides of her mouth, bathed her esophagus, and began filling her stomach.

Jody began to shrink.

The 16-year-old, who had been 18 years old mere seconds prior, realized the gravity of Miss Berdette’s candor. If she didn’t stop nursing from Tricia’s productive breast, there was no telling how young the 14-year-old would get. Jody’s own chest had already diminished by an order of magnitude, and she had begun to cry-- her cheeks lined with hot, salty tears, even as they inflated and deflated with a fevered suckling motion the girl had abandoned after infancy. All of Jody’s accrued high school knowledge had bled out of her brain... and then the twisted magic of the lesson began chipping away at her memories of junior high.

But Tricia’s milk tasted so good. So, so good.

Ten-year-old Jody brought her hands up to the ex-girlfriend’s tit from which she was nursing and wrapped them around it, squeezing gently, hoping to get more, faster.

It was not the easiest thing in the world for Tricia to free Jody from her clothes, which had already become disproportionately large and threatened to swallow the eight-year-old whole. The little girl which laid naked across Tricia’s lap featured none of the trappings of adolescence... her chest flat, her vagina bare, her wailing more pathetic than ever. But her insistent nursing persisted. It had to. Jody was no longer a prisoner to self-preservation. At six years old, immediate gratification was her only priority.

When Jody finally had her fill of her ex-girlfriend’s breastmilk, when her shrunken tummy had distended and trapped an almost painful amount of air, the girl was a two-year-old toddler. Ironically, it was the very moment during which it had begun to look natural for her to be nursing from her new mommy-figure that Jody pulled off Tricia’s swollen and abused nipple, crying loudly and kicking her little feet as two stray lines of milk slid down her chin.

The little girl knew her name. And the names of some colors. And the fiery singe of humiliation as her former peers laughed at her. But everything else had been stripped away. Jody was doomed to spend the next 16 years struggling to reclaim it.

Jody’s bare butt was exposed to the entire class when Tricia stood her up on her little feet. After reiterating its purpose, Miss Berdette slung a thick terrycloth towel over Tricia’s shoulder. When she felt her ex pat her back, Jody also felt tiny pockets of air and milk shoot up through her throat and out of her mouth, a loud burp spilling an embarrassing mess over the downy towel.

To Jody, breastmilk -- and not just Tricia’s, she concluded in her toddler mind -- had become as addictive as advertised. She saw no reason, and had no compulsion, to grow out of it. And it was unlikely she ever would.