NovelAI Scenario: Breast Boss Ever

Description

A prompt about a boss who tries to keep up appearances while her full breasts yearn to be milked.

Tags

public, milk, lactation, office, office lady, 3rd person, past tense, milking, breasts

Prompt

Olive Collins was a no-nonsense boss to her employees. She had to be; employee performance needed to be cultivated and optimized every quarter to appeal to her superiors and to her personal drive to succeed. Being the best boss and being the benevolent boss were contradictory; if the two aspirations placed themselves before her, Olive would choose the former every time. There was no room for parties, get-togethers, or festivities when the time could be spent getting jobs done. Work defined her—to where her weekends were spent at home, mulling over reports due next week and reports she'd expected to get back the week after. Previous potential dating partners would say that made her "tough" or "hard to love". They didn't know any better, so who could blame their baseless assumptions? She didn't need anyone; Olive found that out long ago. Though there was one inconvenient part to her idyllic life. Intimidated, the doctor had told her it was a rare and manageable affliction, which did nothing but add to her frustration. Galactorrhea, it was called; the spontaneous development and flow of milk from the breast. Olive knew something was wrong the first time she felt it happen, many years ago, back when she was a mere assistant waking up to start her day. Her breasts had gotten much bigger—though in the original state they were anything but small—and upon closer inspection with the bathroom mirror, thin streams of milk spurted out of her swollen nipples at the slightest provocation with a single finger. It felt good, and that was the worst part of it. Every day, she had to pump her breasts in the morning shortly after waking up, filling up bottles with warm, sweet liquid. That process took around an hour each day. It wasn't like she enjoyed pumping herself silly, but she couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to have someone else do it instead. A man's hands on her body... as stoic as she often was, even Olive couldn't stop herself from the occasional fantasy. And it didn't help that her workplace was filled with only the best workers; men in their prime who followed her orders without question. Sometimes in moments of weakness she even thought about requesting more lurid things from them, and knowing her workers, they'd probably oblige. This was such a moment, stuck at her office desk, feeling the familiar feeling of her full breasts yearning to release their milky payload. It was particularly worse, due to some hooligans playing outside her apartment window she hadn't gotten much sleep and had breezed through her morning routine, completely forgetting her full breasts and the daily milking session that came along with it until now. Being still was paramount, she couldn't let her work clothes rub against her erect nipples. She needed to be careful not to touch her sensitive skin, lest she accidentally trigger another wave of milk. Instead she just sat there, legs crossed under her, arms folded across her chest, leaning forward over the table.... [Click to expand]

Olive Collins was a no-nonsense boss to her employees. She had to be; employee performance needed to be cultivated and optimized every quarter to appeal to her superiors and to her personal drive to succeed. Being the best boss and being the benevolent boss were contradictory; if the two aspirations placed themselves before her, Olive would choose the former every time. There was no room for parties, get-togethers, or festivities when the time could be spent getting jobs done. Work defined her—to where her weekends were spent at home, mulling over reports due next week and reports she'd expected to get back the week after. Previous potential dating partners would say that made her "tough" or "hard to love". They didn't know any better, so who could blame their baseless assumptions? She didn't need anyone; Olive found that out long ago.

Though there was one inconvenient part to her idyllic life. Intimidated, the doctor had told her it was a rare and manageable affliction, which did nothing but add to her frustration. Galactorrhea, it was called; the spontaneous development and flow of milk from the breast. Olive knew something was wrong the first time she felt it happen, many years ago, back when she was a mere assistant waking up to start her day. Her breasts had gotten much bigger—though in the original state they were anything but small—and upon closer inspection with the bathroom mirror, thin streams of milk spurted out of her swollen nipples at the slightest provocation with a single finger.

It felt good, and that was the worst part of it. Every day, she had to pump her breasts in the morning shortly after waking up, filling up bottles with warm, sweet liquid. That process took around an hour each day. It wasn't like she enjoyed pumping herself silly, but she couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to have someone else do it instead. A man's hands on her body... as stoic as she often was, even Olive couldn't stop herself from the occasional fantasy. And it didn't help that her workplace was filled with only the best workers; men in their prime who followed her orders without question. Sometimes in moments of weakness she even thought about requesting more lurid things from them, and knowing her workers, they'd probably oblige.

This was such a moment, stuck at her office desk, feeling the familiar feeling of her full breasts yearning to release their milky payload. It was particularly worse, due to some hooligans playing outside her apartment window she hadn't gotten much sleep and had breezed through her morning routine, completely forgetting her full breasts and the daily milking session that came along with it until now. Being still was paramount, she couldn't let her work clothes rub against her erect nipples. She needed to be careful not to touch her sensitive skin, lest she accidentally trigger another wave of milk. Instead she just sat there, legs crossed under her, arms folded across her chest, leaning forward over the table.

Author Notes

[Author's note: This story, as erotic as it was detailed, chronicled Olive's failure to resist a desire to be milked while at work.]

Memory

The imposing businesswoman who held sway over a rigid corporate environment was Ms. Olive Collins. Aided by her aloof, composed attitude, Olive was known for being the most work-oriented person around and only accepting high-quality work from employees and herself. Olive had shoulder-length, jet-black hair, black-framed glasses over cold blue eyes, and a figure accentuated by a sexy, form-fitting, black business suit. Her breasts, though not overly large, were easily the most visible feature of her body, and the reason for this was her constant milk production caused by Galactorrhoea.

The men who worked for Olive were usually in their prime, attractive, obedient, and always willing to do whatever she told them. The desire to abuse this for more sexual purposes dominated Olive's thoughts—especially when her breasts were full of milk.

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