Second Kiss (Work in Progress)

"A gallon?"

"That's right, Ms. Dowd. A gallon so far."

Sarah gaped at the whirring machine. Industrial strength, the doctor said. With it's sleek, art nouveau design, the milk pump looked more like it belonged in a barn than in her hospital room. She watched the slightly sallow liquid splash, with surprising force, into the tank. The milk, her milk, approached the 4-liter mark. She followed the clear, plastic tube, channeling the nutritious fluid, from the machine to her left breast.

Her left breast, a symetrical match to her right, was easily the size of a medicine ball. It's pale, veiny surface was tight and heavy, aching for release. The machine, originally built to milk dairy cows and modified to fit her nipples, made easy work of her outsized breast, easing the pressure with each pull.

Thank God.

Her right breast had been pumped nearly dry. As her milk was only trickling from that nipple, the doctors thought it safe to give Fiona another try at breastfeeding. The hungry newborn suckled like an old pro, making adorable mewling sounds as she did so. Sarah wished she could see her baby. Instead, when she looked down, she saw two large, nearly spherical lumps of flesh resting on her chest. Fiona was somewhere behind them, drinking. Occationaly, the baby would prop her tiny hand atop Sarah's breast, as if hugging a giant balloon.

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Her delivery went off without a hitch. 3 hours of drug-diluted labor, and out came a new baby. The nurses laughed when they handed Sarah her new daughter and Sarah's non-existant breasts started to, quite literally, gush. She was dismissed from the hospital the next day. Fiona was nursing very well. Everything was textbook.

Until that night.

She woke up sweaty and feverish, and her breasts felt like they were on fire. She'd soaked completely through the breast pads, bra, nightgown, sheets, and comforter. She was covered in her own milk. She leapt from the bed, turned on the light, tore off her nightgown, and looked down at her trickling breasts.

Her breasts! She actually had breasts.

Sarah was normally flat-chested. The knockers she saw now had overgrown her A-cup bra and were easily as big as her sister's.

"They have to be C's," Sarah dreamily gasped to herself. Fiona, in the cradle beside Sarah's bed, heard her mother's dreary celebration. And cried.

"Oh, shit," Sarah grimaced as her new boobs responded to the baby's needs, and painfully throbbing, began to squirt. Snapping off her bra, she unceremoniously grabbed her new baby and shoved Fiona's head into her weeping nipple. Fiona ate greedily. Sarah sighed as she let down. She drifted off to sleep as she fed her daughter.

As Fiona ate, though, the pressure in Sarah's breasts wasn't abating. It was steadily getting worse. Try as she might, little Fiona couldn't take the torrent her mother was feeding her. Overwhelmed, the baby sputtered and cried, waking Sarah.

"WassamahhOh my God!" As Sar