Above Average

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Babes

Above AverageX-post (greatperssonhooray)Growing Pains 2: Above AverageWhile I was greatly enjoying the changes, they were not without difficulty. Taking care of my breasts and their associated lactation was beginning to be a part-time job. The struggles continued to grow at the same pace as my breasts. That is to say, very rapidly.Thanks to my breast pump, I tended to be sufficiently empty before school which greatly reduced my anxiety and paranoia. No longer did I have to worry about my breasts bursting at the seams or my clothes being soaked by milk. Life was a lot less painful now that I was engorged less frequently. I could almost, almost be a fully-functioning student.As I said earlier, however, life isn’t perfect. I noticed my grades starting to slip. I feared this was due to my social anxiety as well as the reduced free time I had for studying. My masturbation had really begun to impact my homework time, and oftentimes I found myself reaching for the breast pump or between my legs before the pencil. At school, I simply craved release as my mind wandered. I was a lonely, horny teenage virgin.I was stunned that no men had approached me now that I had noticeable breasts. I was officially above average. It didn’t compute in my head. Was I really that socially awkward? Was I seen as the weird girl because I had no friends? Some women complained so long of men who thought only of women physically, and now I so dearly wished for one. Yet there seemed to be nobody in sight. I could have approached a man myself, but I hadn’t the faintest idea and was sure I would break down into a nervous wreck. Plus there was the issue of my lactation, something that might be a bit of a turn-off to many.So the single life it was for me. For now.—Math was always a productive class. Everyone worked hard, and they worked silently, alone by themselves. It was my type of class because it meant that I did not have to embarrass myself in front of others. This particular course was Algebra II. Not my favorite subject but I was still perfectly good at it.I was lost in my work, deep in the long worksheet we had been assigned to do while the teacher was busy. I had pumped during lunch so I knew I had no milk-related worries. Just when I had almost lost all connection to the world outside my desk, I felt a tap on my shoulder. A girl, Mikayla, handed me a note and giggled. I took it from her and opened it.“What’s up with the breasts? Paper or plastic?” the note read. My bras were not stuffed and my breasts were certainly not filled with silicone. I was furious. My pale face flushed red in an instant and I fought back tears.A group of girls behind me laughed. The class sluts. The cheerleaders and athletes. Practically canlı kaçak iddaa braindead but dead set on ruining the lives of others. I wanted desperately to punch their leader, Jennifer. She had bullied me for years because of my flat chest. I knew, however, that I would be punished greatly for anything I did to confront her. I put my head back down and continued working on the assignment.—My last class of the day was physical education. I was thankful I didn’t have this class last term when I was experiencing the leaking. It used to be an easy class for me, but with the growth of my breasts I found it growing more and more difficult. I had no funds for sports bras or comfortable exercise clothes, so I relied on old shorts, t-shirts, and the same old bra I wore every day. Whenever I jumped, my tits would flop around. I was thankful for the pump, for without it I can’t even imagine how much leaky embarrassment I might have faced.I was glad the gym teacher pushed everyone so hard, because it kept my peers distracted from me. It made this class into the happiest moment of my school day, my one break (aside from my lunch pumping sessions) from harassment. After class, I always took a nice long shower after the others had gone home. Sometimes I even milked myself into the drain as the warm shower seemed to trigger my letdown reflex.—It seemed that day in the math class had been the tipping point. In the days since I suffered new levels of annoyance. Now peers, mostly girls, were not afraid to torment me. They were bold, and cruel. Some jokes, I admit, were clever. Most were dumb, and had no thought behind them other than the intent to hurt.What irked me was that my breasts were not overly large by any means. In fact, a number of the girls bothering me probably had larger breasts. What they took offense to was the fact that I was once flat, and had broken free of that prison. Somehow my growth pissed them off in the most extreme way.School had become hell, but I still had home to look forward to. Nice and quiet, where I could unwind. For most of my life, I had come home to do my homework right away. Nowadays, though, I found myself settling into the chair in the living room or flopping down on the couch. I had entered a period of depression. I thought having breasts would have fixed everything for me.What a silly thought. I dismissed it as I walked in the door to my house. I had grown bolder in the past week and had stopped wearing sweaters and instead proper shirts. No fears from catastrophic milk leaking, after all. Today I was wearing a loose white button-up blouse. I retrieved my breast pump then threw my backpack down on the floor and laid down on the couch.My breasts were starting tipobet to fill up as they tended to do after school, so I unbuttoned the blouse and revealed my bra. This bra was too small, that much I knew. I wouldn’t have any money to deal with it for another week, so I just sucked it up and went along with it. I carefully slid each breast out and over the cups that struggled to contain them. The blobs of fatty flesh poured over the edges of the bra and rested my hand on one of them. I decided then that my next bra would probably be a nursing bra, for ease of access.I turned the TV on and flipped between house shows and food shows. Relaxing stuff and unlikely to get me too aroused. I placed the greedy pump on my right breast and started pumping away. I wasn’t full, probably only 75%, but I figured I might as well avoid the pain of being full. I couldn’t help but let out a soft moan as the device sucked my mammary dry. I really did love this thing.I switched to the other, less-productive breast, and started draining that one as well. A few minutes later and I had emptied my breasts of their bounty. Six ounces. This meant that I could have probably been looking at around Eight ounces if I had been full. My production was definitely increasing, and that I thought was most welcome.I placed the milk bottle in the refrigerator, hoping to drink it down later at dinner. I laid back down on the couch with my blouse open and breasts spilling out. It was a good, lazy day. A part at the back of my mind kept urging me to complete my homework, but I knew it was really no worry. School sucks, now it was me time. I zoned out to the TV as I watched a couple looking for a house in New York. I thought it would be fun to visit there someday…There was a knock at the door and I bolted upright. Nobody ever knocked at my door. Not ever. I was perplexed. I turned the TV off and hid the pump, and then stuffed my breasts back into their bra holder and buttoned up my blouse. I stood up, straightened my hair, and went to open the door. Outside stood a classmate.“Good afternoon, Natalie! It’s me, Mike!” said the short young man. I knew very well who he was, even though he was one of the quiet k**s.“Oh uh, hello there Mike!” I answered. Why was he here?“Everyone at school has been wondering for a while now about your breasts. I’ve been dying to know; are they real or are you stuffing your bra?” the boy asked.“I uhh… I…” I stammered.“No, it’s okay. It’s really forward. I just really wanted to know because I am pretty sure those are real. You don’t have to worry, though, your secret’s safe with me.” he assured.“They’re… they’re definitely real!” I sputtered out.“Could I see some sort of proof? tipobet giriş Even just a quick glance?” “I really don’t think-” I started.“I’ve got $100 for you if you take that shirt off and show me,” Mike interrupted. $100 was a lot of money for me. I could buy a nursing bra and save myself a hassle at every pumping. I could buy new clothes. I felt dirty. It was like prostitution, or at least like stripping. I needed the money, though.“$50 now and $50 after I’m done, alright?” I offered.“You got it, Nat,” he accepted, pulling out five ten dollar bills and handing them over to me.Now was the hard part. I motioned for him to enter the house and closed the door behind us. I looked up at him and he had a look of pure anticipation on his face. He was pretty nice. He’d even called me Nat, a nickname I had been hoping would catch on for years. I decided that I had to go through with it since I’d accepted the money and welcomed him in.I fumbled with the buttons on my blouse, starting from the bottom and working my way up. Towards the end, I hesitated, but I pushed on. After what felt like an eternity, I finished the final button. I pulled my blouse to the side to reveal my breasts crushed in my oppressive bra. The tops of my pillowy breasts spilled out ever so slightly over the rim of the bras like muffin tops.“Is that good enough,” I asked nervously. This was my first time ever displaying my chest to the opposite sex. I wanted desperately for him to like it what he saw, but I still had my woes regarding modesty.“Going to need to actually see them, sorry,” he instructed.I sighed and reached around to unclasp my bra. I hoped he wouldn’t see the pads under the cups as I slowly removed the undergarment. My breasts bounced slightly, happy to be free. The nipples hardened rapidly due to the cool air and stood at attention, pointing slightly to either side. I was glad I had just pumped because to leak right now would be truly humiliating. I wanted the fact I was lactating kept hidden under wraps.“Oh my goodness, they are real!” Mike exclaimed, eyes widening.“I mean of course they are?” I asked him.“Damn, I just lost a bet,” he announced. I froze. It hadn’t occurred that people would be betting on whether my breasts were real or not. Just as I was about to ask more questions, Mike thanked me and ran out the door, tossing $50 inside before he slammed it behind him.I had no opinion of what had just happened apart from a sense of discomfort and confusion. He had made no indication of whether he liked what he had seen or not. Before worry depression set in, I decided enough was enough, and that I had experienced a long day. I went to the kitchen and took out two sleeping pills. It was an early bedtime for me. I reached into the fridge and downed the pills with my bottle of milk. Never stops being satisfying.I pulled my pants and blouse off entirely, and laid down in my bed. All I had on were my panties, and to be honest they were not needed

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir cevap yazın

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir