Post 270: I Could Bring You Your...

“H-hi doctor,” came the tentative knock at my door, as I was signing off on a pile of pharmacy pre-authorizations at my desk, “can I come in?”

I looked up and fought to keep my eyes from going wide. It was Cynthia, my longtime worker from the scheduling desk, and she was enormous. She was a quiet girl that generally kept to herself, holed up in a back office where we had some phones, and I don’t think I’d seen her this week. Recently she, like so many of the women who worked at my office, had been putting on pounds, inches everywhere. “S-sure hi,” I managed, after my pause, and set to quickly gathering myself, “What’s up?”

”c-can I talk to you?” she posited, stepping through the entry and - notably - closing the door behind herself.

My eyes had taken the moment to shoot down her figure, while she was turned away. She’d been, if I remember, a frumpy young woman of indeterminate hair color that dressed like a schoolteacher twice her age and smelled of cough drops. Recent weeks had, though, seen a sea-change in “Cici”, as some of the girls called her, and she now stood well over six-feet tall and had somehow dropped pounds from her middle and put them everywhere else. What was in the water around this place? She’d also obviously learned how to dress to show off a figure that was, now, shockingly jaw-dropping. This was Cynthia?!? I marveled incredulously as she turned back again, revealing an ample bosom proudly displayed in a tight, white, see-through tank under which a workhorse of a bra managed to contain her prodigious assets. She was carrying a coffee mug.

“S-sure,” I stammered, wincing as I saw the little hint of an electrified smile as she caught my eyes shooting up from her chest, noticed me inappropriately ogling her surprising curves, “of course.” Was this about some of the things Randi had told me? That Cynthia’s work had been suffering recently? She’d been, as far as I knew, a diligent worker all through the years she’d worked with us. I’d hired her right out of her training, and never heard of a problem with her. But apparently she’d been making mistakes, and I’d seen it in my daily schedule recently: patients misbooked, whole mornings left empty, or slots double- and triple-full. Maybe this is what she wanted to discuss?

I had a feeling that wasn’t it.

Stepping into the room one tentative pace, Cynthia bit her lower lip as her eyes fixed on me, then shot away. “Melissa’s n-not here today?” she asked, a bit nervously. She was wearing what looked like an old pair of men’s running shoes and black jeans that looked ready to be burst apart by her thick hips and big thighs.

“N-no, she has the day off,” I answered, remembering the strange flurry of texts and FaceTime recordings I’d gotten from Melissa earlier, “she’s, um, not feeling well.”

“Oh,” she remarked, a new glitter of what looked like confidence emboldening her mien as she stepped in closer, right up to my desk. Her eyes were fixed on me as she peered down to where I sat, and her hands worried with the white mug she still held. “Does that make you lonely?”

That took me aback.

”Wh-what do u mean?” I stammered, looking up at her. She’d been, in the past, a quiet, mousy thing known for her nervous, awkward ways. But today her eyes were locked on mine, not breaking contact, watching my face as I struggled yet again not to glance down at her newly-voluptuous chest.

“I hear you went on a date,” she asked strangely, “Do you miss her?”

I looked away. “W-well,” I began, suddenly struggling with - yes - my own emotions and the feelings I’d developed for Melissa, none of which I could admit to, here, “sh-she’s very important around the office, managing the staff, k-keeping things, uh, running smoothly…”

Cynthia was nodding, listening, intent on my every word but also somehow distracted. She had an agenda, I could see it in her eyes.

“…b-but, y’know, we’ll manage, we’ll get by,” I continued, still unsettled with the odd turn this conversation was taking, “she’s allowed to have some days aw-“

“Well, I’m here today,” Cynthia suddenly interjected, her voice having grown a new, deeper firmness, an unspoken anger brought about by years of being ignored, “I’ve been here every day. For years.”

“y-y-yes you have,” I stuttered, getting suddenly nervous. There was a volume to her voice that I hadn’t expected, and it made me shrink a bit into my seat, sitting there below her. Her eyes were still fixed on me, and seemed to pulse with a barely-bridled energy. I’d had conversations with disgruntled employees before, and knew enough not to escalate matters. Plus, as small as I’d gotten, and as big as she was here this morning, Cici sorta scared me. “I really appreciate all your hard work through the years, Cynthia,” I finally managed.

“You do??” she replied, mouth dropping open, eyes still fixed on my face. Her breath came deep, swelled her big pale bosom up into her neckline. “Say that again…”

“Say…what again?”

“My name…” she clarified, “Say it again…”

“‘C-Cynthia’?” okay what the hell was happening?

“Yes…” she groaned, like she was relishing a private celebration, and then spoke, “You th-think I’m a good worker..?”

“y-yes of course,” I responded, shivering a little under the unconstrained attention of this huge, awkward young woman who was maybe having a weird day. I knew I needed to get her out of here, and definitely not look at her tits. “So…wh-what is it you wanted…Cynthia?” I just said her name again for her, didn’t I? I thought, as I watched her shiver.

“Uhmmmm….” Cici was, once more, nervous, her demeanor ungainly as she wrestled with something hard for her. She fidgeted with the mug - my mug, I’d noticed - in her hands, and her gaze dropped to my desk. “I was, well, uh hoping…” she began, in her own clumsy way, “kinda thinking that I could maybe have a… promotion.”

“A promotion?” I countered, a bit surprised by a boldness - as ungainly as it was - that I wouldn’t have expected from Cynthia. Did she want Randi’s job? To manage the scheduling desk? That wouldn’t be an unreasonable request, with her greater experience. But what to do with R-

“I could be your personal assistant,” Cici immediately offered, eyes brightening again, expectant, “I…I know you’re someone who needs some…extra attention, now, from time to time. At l-least, that’s, uh…what I hear. And, um…I could do that.” Her voice was quickening, as her energy started to boil, quickly being stirred to a fever, “All I’d do all day is take care of you, you’d have me all to yourself. I could h-help with…paperwork. I could keep everything…organized. And I could bring you your…your…your coffee...”

At that Cynthia placed the mug she’d been holding down on the desk in front of me, her hands still wrapped around it. Her big white breasts, squashed now between her upper arms, volumed out towards me.

That didn’t look like coffee.

“th-that looks like milk…” I stammered, my voice sounding suddenly, fraughtly weak.

“It is…” Cici hushed, her voice husky and just above a whisper, “…it’s my milk.”

“It’s what??” I must have misheard her.

Cynthia’s voice was shaking, whether with nerves or arousal I couldn’t be sure, as she answered me. “I-I h-hear you haven’t been drinking coffee anymore,” she began, “th-that she’s switched you to milk. My breasts are…are…y’know...” As her words trailed off, she swelled up in her top with a breath inflating her lungs. I couldn’t help it, my eyes flitted down to them for a moment, saw the faint network of blue veins which pulsed below the surface of overstretched skin. “So I thought you’d like to try-“

At that, Cici picked up the mug again - which I now eyed with confounded disbelief - and leaned in closer towards me, raising it towards my lips.

“...human milk.”

“C-Cynthia!!” I exclaimed, suddenly pitching myself back in my oversized desk chair and throwing my hands up in defense, “Wh-what?!? N-no..!!”

Oh my god!

”Wh-what?” she faltered, sounding suddenly perplexed, “It’s…it’s nice and warm, still…”

”Cynthia no that’s…that’s…!-!-!” I declared, flummoxed for the right words, eyes wide in shock, glued in fright to the white mug she was still pushing towards me. She was trying to feed me her breastmilk!!

“That’s what?” she asked, still apparently confused, starting to sound hurt, “Lots of boys like it, these days, drinking girls' milk…”

“Cynthia no…!” I insisted, shaking my head back and forth. This girl is crazy!

“...and I heard you had a mommy-thing, a boobie-thing,” she continued, pressing on. My chair could only back up so far; I’d hit the wall behind me. But…she couldn’t quite reach me. “I can be your mommy,” she said, “ I can be your boobies.”

At that, she lifted a knee up onto my desk.

”Cynthia oh my god I think you need to leave!”

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