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Marnie’s Choice


by


Moira T. Moore

Lights Out Press

Marnie’s Choice

Moira T. Moore

Copyright © 2017 by Lights Out Press

All Rights Reserved


Cover Design: For the Muse Designs


All rights reserved. This book was published by Lights Out Press. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any means without the express permission of the publisher. This includes reprints, excerpts, photocopying, recording or any future means of reproducing text.


Published in the United States by Lights Out Press

Lights Out Press Disclaimer

This work is an adult fantasy.


Lights Out Press does not promote or condone non-consensual sexual activities in any form. We do not advocate for a particular lifestyle. We do acknowledge that people have different kinks that turn them on, either through fantasy or consensual acting out between two or more adults (over 18 at the very least).


Enjoy the story and remember it is ONLY a story.

Contents

Beginning

Change

Commitment


Beginning



Marnie

As soon as I found out the real purpose of my breasts, I knew what I wanted in my life.

But that wasn’t to be for a long time.

I followed the normal course of a teenage girl in America—football games, the prom, groping hands in the back of the car, before going on to college. Those four years passed quickly and quite normally. There was no sign of the deviant thoughts in my brain. At the end of four years I had my degree in accounting and an engagement ring on my finger.

I started a new job in a large city in the Midwest, not too far from where my future husband lived. We’d agreed to wait a year to have time to plan the wedding. There were plenty of towns between us that would make for a good location once we were married.

My new job was at a good-sized firm. My boss, David, was in his thirties and unmarried, but he never did any funny stuff if you know what I mean. My life was set.

All went well until I happened to notice a woman discretely feeding a baby in a nearby park. I couldn’t see anything, but a great yearning erupted. I became hyperaware of my breasts.

They seemed so empty.

I pushed the sensation away. I was normal. I was getting married in less than a year. We’d agreed to wait a few years and then have kids. I’d breastfeed them for a year, then that would be that. I’d have the experience.

Then it would be gone.

I concentrated even more on work and wedding plans.

“Can you stay late tonight?” David asked one Wednesday evening. “I need to finalize these numbers one more time.”

“Sure.”

“But you can never talk about this account.”

“I wouldn’t do that anyway.”

He stared at me a long time. “You may find things that shock you. I need you to ignore that and concentrate on the numbers.”

“No problem.”

I dove right into the spreadsheets. I loved numbers in rows and columns. It was so orderly.

At first everything seemed like a normal account. Probably a farmer. Goats, probably, since they seemed to need a lot of parts for goat milking machines.

The output seemed small, though. Most dairy producers, even those who milked goats, had tallies of hundreds of quarts a day. This outfit didn’t even break a hundred.

Still, they were profitable. How could they charge so much for their product?

My breasts seemed to demand attention that night. I caressed them for a long time before I feel asleep. It was the deepest, most satisfying sleep I’d had in ages. In the shower in the morning, I couldn’t help but play with them again, tugging on the nipples. As the water sluiced off them, it seemed to turn white.

What would it feel like to be so engorged that milk poured from my nipples?

“Good morning, Marnie,” David said when I came in a little later than normal the next day. “I’m disappointed you weren’t here at your normal time. Unless we discuss it before hand, you should never be late.”

“I’m so sorry, David. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

“See that it doesn’t.”

I was miserable. I’d let him down. I ate at my desk, a form of self-punishment.

He smiled and nodded when he saw me.

My relief was immediate.

How could I explain the desire to please my boss? Especially to my fiancé? The only person I needed to please was William. I needed to forget about anyone else but him.

I made an extra effort that weekend when I visited. I dressed nicely—in a dress, no less! I cooked his favorite food. When he fell asleep in front of the television, I rubbed his feet for a while until he half woke.

“Tough week. Going to bed. Sorry, honey.” A light peck on the lips.

Maybe he was right. My disappointment wasn’t important. I’d try again tomorrow.

But I wasn’t tired. I pulled out my phone. With trembling fingers, I searched for lactation. No harm, right? Just a little fantasy.

My breasts throbbed with need.

Even though the site I found was scientific in nature—full of foods to eat and supplements to take to increase a woman’s ability to lactate and the amount of milk she produced, I took it all in. When I was lucky enough to have milky breasts, I’d come back. If I was only going to be able to produce milk once or twice in my life, I wanted it to be good.

After an hour of study, I crawled into bed, my body tingling with need.

The next morning I took my time waking up William. I caressed his balls as I licked my way up and down his cock. When he stirred, I took it in my mouth, slurping my tongue to get him wet and hard. He groaned when I released him and trailed my tits up his chest, his hair tickling my nipples.

They were rigid.

I hung them over his mouth. He’d sucked on them a few times before, but it wasn’t something he did a lot.

This time he pulled the nipple deep in his mouth and sucked hard.

Oh, my god.

I rubbed my throbbing pussy on him, arching my back so he could still get at my nipple.

He released it, and I presented the other one.

Ignoring it, he thrust his cock into my pussy.

I rode him, my breasts bouncing up and down.

His hands on my hips, it only took a few moments for him to cum.

I never did.

Instead my pussy ached and my nipples were engorged with need.

It never used to matter. My life was set. These cravings would set it on end.

I smiled politely and returned his kiss when I left. Next weekend would be at my apartment. Who would I be then?

Out of defiance, I picked up some of the foods I’d read about on the way home: oatmeal, carrots, yams, and sesame seeds to sprinkle on everything. It wouldn’t do any harm.

“What are you eating?” David asked me the next day when I once again ate my lunch at my desk. It had made him happy once, doing it again pleased me.

“Baked yam. Filling.” I smiled up at him.

“And that stuff sprinkled on the top?”

“Oh. Sesame seeds. I like the flavor.”

“I see.” And it seemed to me he did see—far more than I wanted him to do.

A few nights later, he asked me to work late again. One by one my co-workers left, until there were only the two of us on the floor. This time the accounts were for a dairy distributor, with the same kinds of discrepancies I’d noticed before: low volume and high profits. I was clearly missing a lucrative way of earning a living.

My breasts began to throb again, as they’d been doing on and off for days. Sometimes I could think of nothing else. They seemed to be focusing the essence of who I was. As soon as I got home these days, I’d strip off my bra. It was too confining. It wasn’t that my breasts were getting bigger, it was just I was more aware of their need to be free.

I shifted and twitched, trying to get comfortable, tugging at the strap under my breasts.

“You could take it off,” David said.

My mouse clattered on the desk.

“No one else is here. I probably shouldn’t say this, but I know you won’t report me.”

He leaned over my cubicle wall. His expression was neutral.

Slowly, I shook my head.

“So go ahead. Take it off,” he repeated.

“Here?”

“Why not?” He made no move to leave.

He was the boss.

I turned away. Reaching behind, I unhooked the bra. I unbuttoned a few buttons, enough to maneuver off the offending garment, contorting myself in the way women do when they’re trying to get comfortable without showing anything.

I threw the thing in a drawer.

“Feel better?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you.” I turned toward him. “Is there anything else you need?” Belatedly, I realized I’d forgotten to button up my blouse.

It didn’t matter. My nipples were hard as rocks.

“They’re nice,” he said, and walked away.

As much as I could, I worked on the spreadsheets. Numbers had never seemed so difficult. Every few minutes, I had to stop and caress my breasts, stroking the strange nipples I seem to have sprouted. Never had they been so firm.

I dropped the spreadsheet back into the shared folder and packed up to go. I didn’t dare walk to his office. He’d seen enough already.

He must have anticipated my flight, because he stood in the doorway as I turned. My bra was in my hand. I intended to put it back on before I left the building.

“How about I take that?” He held out his hand.

“But, I need to put it back on.” Nonetheless, my arm started to extend toward him.

“You should get used to not wearing one. They aren’t good for you.”

For some reason, that made sense, and I completed the gesture.

What was I doing? Going braless in an office building made sense?

He took it and nodded. “Good girl.”

Pleasure coursed through my body.

It shouldn’t. I was a professional.

I was going to get married next year … to a normal, slightly boring fellow accountant. Life was going to be perfect.

I didn’t ask for my garment back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. “Don’t be late.”

“I won’t.”

Feeling almost naked, I walked to my car and drove home, smiling the whole way. He was right. Life was so much better without a bra.

I stayed that way until the weekend. No one said anything, but I did catch some sidelong glances from some of the guys. It didn’t matter. In fact, it made me rather pleased.

Everything was fine, right up to the point that William and I were getting ready to go to the mall. I needed a gift for a friend who was having a baby shower. He needed some new electronic gizmo.

“You’re not going out like that, are you?” he asked, gesturing toward my top.

I looked down. There weren’t any spots or tears.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“You aren’t wearing a bra.” His sigh was exasperated.

“I know.”

“You can’t go out like that.”

I had a slow burn. Somehow mentioning that I’d gone to work for several days without one didn’t seem like a good idea.


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