----
The steel cable stressed and strained, whimpering as more and more heft pulled against it, smaller wires fraying against the increasing bulk. There was a final moment of resistance before the sole remaining arm restraint of Heather, Number 22 was ripped from the wall like it's counterpart prior, shocking the captured giantess awake as she fell forward. Once again coming to in the strange, cold space, the frightened girl felt her anxiety begin to return heightened by the tube that still ran down her throat and the mask that blinded her. But for all her anxiety, Heather felt different, stronger, and the cruel apparatuses that had been affixed to her felt tighter, smaller. The straps and seals that fastened the feeding tube and blinders to her face were pressing into her skin as though they were shrinking. Instinctively, the New York native reached for the uncomfortably headwear to remove it, tearing the polymer contraption away with ease, coughing and sputtering as she discarded the feeding tube, still flowing with a brackish fluid of some kind. Heather breathed deeply through her mouth for the first time in a while, straining her eyes against to soft glow of the enclosure lights, the first light she had seen in months.
"Fuck." Heather gasped quietly, fighting to catch her breath. She was sweating profusely, no doubt triggered by the extreme amounts of nervousness and fear she experiencing, but as she raised a hand to brush some sweat from her forehead, what Heather saw only added to that anxiety. Her sensitive eyes finally adjusting to the light, the beleaguered blonde caught a glimpse of shapes, pink and pendulous, resting between her arms as she moved a hand in to wipe away the beading sweat. She thought nothing of it at first, her momentary comfort taking a precedent as she leaned back and pulled her hand away, then noticing something else.
With a wide-eyed fascination one might have for a train wreck or plane crash, the young woman looked at her forearm and hand, now emblazoned with a tattooed barcode and seemingly fatter, thicker, than she had ever remembered. As she inspected her limb, Heather's curious eyes wandered back to the strange shapes she saw earlier, whatever little colour still left in her sunlight-deprived skin draining as she witnessed her new body for the first time.
Mortified, Heather looked down at her breasts, massive and engorged with powerful veins snaking outward in all directions. The suction cups of the milking machine were still fastened tightly to her fat, puffy nipples, straining against her newfound size as they dutifully pumped an almost infinite volume of creamy milk from her bloated boobs. Heather grabbed one of the suckers and pulled, feeling a riveting jolt of pleasure and pain as the suction cup came loose from her raw nipple with a satisfying POP, sending torrents of milk splashing to the cold, concrete floor.
"What the fuck?" Was all Heather could ask, her voice shaky, scared and confused by her new shape. Indeed, as the sedatives that left her brain hazed slowly wore off, the young blonde felt a wave of thoughts and memories return as she struggled to understand where she was and how she came to be here. Visions of a time before danced in her mind, almost tauntingly of a life she once had but felt so far away. Heather looked upon the rest of her body, seeing her curves ballooned out to such cartoonish extremes and recalled a gown, a wedding dress that she worked so hard for, hitting the gym three times a week just to be able to fit. And as that thought returned to her, tears streaked down her face as she remembered more and more about her life, her fiancé. Heather had no idea how much time had passed, how long she had been captured for. Had the date of her wedding come an gone? Did her fiancé wait for her? Did he even look for her?
As the tears fell to the floor, joining in the puddle of milk that streaked out from her titanic tits, Heather felt so alone, so angry, grabbing at the clitoral stimulator that still buzzed between her legs, pulling it loose with ease. The only restraints left holding the gigantic woman in place were her ankle bindings, each of them ready to burst from Heather's slowly swelling form, a growth she didn't seem to be aware of yet. She sat back against the wall of the enclosure, defeated, feeling a curious sensation brush against the top of her head as she moved to a comfortable seating position. Her head had scraped up against the concrete ceiling, crumpling some kind of metal railing system that hung overhead into scrap against her forceful momentum. The puzzled giantess scratched her head quizzically at the sudden, unexpected contact and as she did, Heather looked around her prison for the first time, taking in the odd concrete box for what it was. There were no discernible entrances or exits, just rows of odd panels that lined the walls. In front of her lay the wreckage of the catwalk that she had shaken loose during her prior panic attack, it looking like little more than Meccano panels from a child's playset.
"Hello?" Heather called out, looking around in the hopes of finding a response. Her voice echoed off the walls of her enclosure, reverberating against the cold surfaces of the claustrophobic box she had found herself in. She sat in silence for a few moments, feeling nothing but the constant stream of milk trickling from her heavy breasts before being overwhelmed with a new sensation. In an instant, the restraints still fastened to the captured New Yorker's ankles snapped away as Heather expanded outward and upward for the busty blonde to witness firsthand. Her head bumped into the solid ceiling with a dull thud as the massive woman tried to find space against the concrete walls that seemed to be closing in around her, crouching down on the ground as her voluptuous curves filled the cramped chamber. While this new development was startling in its own right, Heather felt very little beyond the vibrant pulse of her body's newfound expansion, every fibre of her being alight with energy and pleasure. Without laying a hand upon herself, the growing giantess reached an orgasm, shuddering wildly against the powerful ripples of expansion. If pressed for an answer in that moment, Heather would've lamented, somewhat shamefully, that she discarded her clitoral stimulator too soon.
The pulses slowed and the young New York native fought to catch her breath again, the warm feeling of her orgasm fading as she returned to the reality of her problem. She was stuck, in a room that, to her, seemed to be shrinking. In truth, Heather had grown to around 50ft tall, a height no heifer at Miss Mary's Dairy had ever achieved, for good reason. Indeed, the enclosures were designed for a maximum of 35ft, even that being uncomfortably small. But I'm her new form, the gigantic woman had difficulty finding any comfort, with cold stone walls pressing against she from all sides. Shifting a bit, she tried to lay on her side, accidentally kicking a wall as she fell into place. The sheer cement wall cracked from the impact, giving far more purchase than Heather expected. Thinking quickly, the bloated blonde queued another kick, winding up to deliver a forceful strike when, to her surprise, the strike came from the opposite side of the wall. A flurry of dust and debris shot forth as something hammered the wall from the behind it, cracking the cement even further. However, Heather was undeterred, hopeful to find her escape as she let her foot fly, compromising the wall with the force of an industrial wrecking ball. With each powerful hit, the prison seemed to weaken, the cracks and seams spidering outward along the floor and ceiling as she continued to pound the failing wall along with whatever was helping her from beyond. Finally, with one resolute kick, Heather smashed into the wall with all her might, sending chunks of masonry loose as a large hole was formed. Elated, she shifted, turning around to crawl through only to be met with a curious sound, the sound of someone else coughing amidst the cloud of dust.
"Hello?" Heather called out cautiously, ducking her head into the hole. The response wasn't immediate, the other person fighting back a lung full of concrete-laden air, but to Heather's relief, a feminine voice spoke back.
"I'm... I'm in here." They said, suppressing a cough.
"Are you here to help me?"
The dust settled, leaving Heather a clear view into the neighbouring compartment and at its lone occupant. It was another woman, perhaps 10-15 years Heather's senior with beautiful dark skin and lush, wavy hair that plumed outward. The new woman's body was similar to hers in height and shape, outrageously curvy and enormous breasts capped with thick nipples that constantly leaked rivulets of white milk. Elated to no longer be alone, the relief Heather felt was palpable, but as she heard her newfound companion's question about help, her heart sank a little as the New York native realized that they were both prisoners and still very much trapped.
"No, I'm stuck in here too, I was hoping this would be the way out." Heather admitted, a faint sadness in her voice.
"Damn. Do you know where we are?" The other woman asked, shifting to make room in her already-cramped enclosure, as if to invite Heather in. The blonde just smiled and stayed by the makeshift entrance they had created.
"Not a clue." Heather replied.
"I just woke up here, attached to all that... stuff."
The two sat for a moment, considering the situation they seemed to share, a silence hanging in the enclosures before there was another powerful thud against the wall behind the older woman. She turned with a start, feeling the vibrations of the wall run along her back as more dust was shaken loose.
"Hey, what's your name, kid? I'm Patrice." The woman said gently, turning back towards the neighbouring enclosure.
"Heather." Was all the blonde said. Patrice smiled and affirming smile, a comforting warmth resonating from her that Heather longed for, certain she may never feel it again. With a sudden jolt, the older woman kicked the wall behind her, more and more torrents of dust and debris raining from the breaking wall, turning to the New Yorker with a smirk.
"Well, Heather, I don't think we're alone down here."
--------
The elevator door slid open revealing a sleek and sterile laboratory setting. Workers clad in full-body coveralls, masks, and gloves walked with purpose down the open hallways and in an out of various rooms like buzzing bees, much to Sharon's fascination. Slipping out onto the floor, the intrepid reporter looked around, spotting another table with a stationed worker like the one upstairs and cautiously approached.
"Uh.. hi. I'm, um, Michelle Mendelssohn. I work down here?" She said, more of a question than a declaration. The person behind the table, this a younger looking man referenced a clip board, scribbling something down before directing Sharon to get changed and proceed into processing for her first shift. She thanked the man and quickly went where directed, trying to draw as little attention to herself as possible as she entered a small locker room lined with spare protective gear.
"When in Rome." she said to herself, reaching for a set of coveralls. The degree of PPE being worn by the other workers seemed excessive for what should be an innocuous beverage operation, and as Sharon zipped up her suit and fastened her mask, she pondered why the Miss Mary's staff were so heavily dressed. Stowing her old clothes in a vacant locker, the reporter breathed deep and exited through the other side of the lockEr room. Sharon stepped out into a large thoroughfare, looking around for a moment when she was approached by a another man, middle aged and dressed similarly to the other workers.
"Mendelssohn? Is that you?" The slightly grizzled man barked, walking up in a hurry. Sharon froze for a moment, but knew her best course to action was to play along.
"I'm here, reporting for duty!" Sharon said, mustering some convincing enthusiasm.
"You're late." The man responded.
"But we'll let payroll sort that out. I'm Craig, you'll be shadowin' me for your first day. Welcome to formulations."
With that, he turned and began to walk, waving Sharon on to follow as he entered a large vestibule.
"Before we begin, I'm s'posed to give you a little walk-through of the facility. Don't go wanderin' off now." Craig said in a slight drawl, muffled by his mask. A heavy bulkhead slid open to reveal a chamber far larger than Sharon expected to see, stretching on for yards and yards with a ceiling that must've been at least 80ft high. Filling the expanse were tanks, rows and rows of tanks filled with what she could only assume was milk with workers tending to them dutifully. She didn't know how far down the elevator she took here traveled, but with the presence of a room this large, the formulation lab had to sprawl pretty far under Manhattan.
"Woah." She gasped, astounded by the sight.
"Yep, it's pretty impressive. Easy to get lost, too, so stick close." Craig said, continuing on with his tour.
"This is the main chamber of formulation. Every drop of Miss Mary's passes up through here to be infused with our nutrient formula before headin' up to the bottlin' plant."
"And how much milk is that?" Sharon asked, dumbfounded. The older worker laughed, leaning against a railing as he looked out over the vast chamber.
"On average, we see about two thousand and eighty gallons of white gold pass through here every day." He explained, folding his arms. Though the fact seemed relatively mundane to Craig, Sharon reeled at the information he was relaying. 2080 gallons of milk a day? Such a high volume seemed impossible, there weren't enough dairy cows in the whole state of New York! And even if there was, the transportation of that much milk in and out of the city every single day seemed impossible as well, the traffic in New York was rough already without multiple tankers hauling milk into Manhattan regularly. Nothing the reporter was told, nothing she had seen lined up with the statistics and facts the Miss Mary's brand was eager to taut in the interest of public relations and "transparency". Sharon knew to be skeptical, she was here to investigate allegations of animal cruelty after all. But taking in the scale of the operations before her, the young reporter feared those claims may be the least of her worries.
"C'mon, keep up." Craig said expectantly, interrupting Sharon's moment of contemplation.
"We got three more stops to hit then it's time to get to work. Follow me."
"Right. Sorry." She said, quickening her pace to meet the grizzled man as he continued on his way, leading her deeper into the formulation lab. As Craig walked and off-handedly remarked about the things they passed, Sharon saw something that stood out as though everything else in that bizarre place was somehow normal. Off in a corner of the massive chamber sat a secluded corridor flanked by two guards, armed and armoured. The security in the formulation lab wasn't exactly relaxed with the attentive reporter spotting several patrols of security clad in helmets and padded vests, equipped with batons as they made their rounds. However, these two guards were unique, stationed in front of a particular pathway, carrying rather intimidating firearms and ballistic armour. The only people in New York with armed guards like that were usually criminals, sometimes politicians, and Sharon knew Miss Mary definitely wasn't one of those. There had to be something important behind the guarded checkpoint.
"Hey, Craig. What's that door over there?" She asked, pointing nonchalantly in the direction of the secluded corridor. The older worker turned and squinted, chuckling as he realized what his younger shadow was inquiring about.
"That there heads to the livestock enclosures." Craig explained.
"You and I don't have clearance to go anywhere near that door so I suggest you give those boys a wide berth."
"Livestock? But I thought all our milk was sourced from local dairy farms." Sharon countered slyly, turning to back to face her guide in the hopes of learning more. From behind his mask, Craig raised an eyebrow, almost offended by the question.
"Did you skip the orientation or somethin'? That's just a crock the marketing department came up with to appease the hippy-dippy liberals. All our juice comes from livestock on-site." He said before turning to continue his tour. Sharon scratched her head, processing what she had been told. If there was an on-site space for cattle, then that would lend credence to the accusations of animal abuse but it still seemed so preposterous that anybody could hide enough cows to produce 2080 gallons of milk under the streets of New York. She looked to the corridor intently, watching the guards as someone clad in a lab coat was let through without fuss. There seemed to be no door she had to bypass, as long as she could slip past the guards, Sharon could see what was back there.
"Wouldya quit lollygagging and come on?" Craig asked, somewhat aggravated as he stared at the young reporter.
"Oh, right. Sorry." Sharon said, her mind racing to come up with a way to give the older worker the slip.
"Um, actually, Craig. I, uh, need to go get my inhaler. For... asthma. Do you mind if I take five and catch up with you?"
"Asthma? You sound fine to me." Craig said skeptically, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.
"Oh, yea, I'm ok now, but these long walks just... they just really knock the wind right outta me! So, I'm gonna... go." Sharon explained, turning to leave without waiting for a retort. Not the smoothest exit, she thought, but it'll have to do. Making her way back by the vast tanks of milk and formula, the reporter casually slipped off towards the outer area of the massive chamber, onto the path that led to the guarded passage. She didn't have the most elegant plan, but as she crept up towards the corridor, Sharon took a deep breath and prayed that what she was about to do didn't earn her a bullet to the chest. Swallowing her fear, the intrepid reporter walked into view, approaching the guards in a panic.
"You have to help me, please!" She shouted, running up to the pair of stationed guards with her hands held high. Instinctively they raised their weapons defensively, pointing their rifles at the strange woman who had approached them.
"Ma'am you need to step back unless you have authorization to go this way." One of them said with authority, taking a step towards Sharon. Nervous, but undaunted, she continued her ploy.
"Please! Craig fell into one of the milk tanks! I need your help!" She pleaded. The two guards looked at each other with confusion, the one closest taking a mother step
"We're not the people you should be asking, ma'am. I'm telling you to step-"
"There's no time!" Sharon interrupted.
"He can't swim, we need to do something!"
The guards stood, unmoving for a moment. After some brief consideration, the one closest lowered his rifle and turned to his colleague.
"Aw hell, Benny. We gotta do something." He said, taking a step away from the corridor. His partner stepped forward as well, as if to object to the other guard's suggestion.
"But, really, should we be handling this?" Benny asked cautiously, lowering his weapon.
"It's Craig, man! That dude would jump into a river full of nails to pull my ass out, we gotta try. You call it in, I'll see what I can do." The first guard said emphatically, taking another step away from the door before turning back to Sharon.
"Where did he fall in?" He asked.
"Back there, near the entrance." She said, directing the guard back the way she came. He nodded, giving his partner a look as the two trotted off to see how they could help, leaving the corridor to the cattle enclosures completely unguarded.
"I can't believe that actually worked." Sharon said to herself with incredulity as she quickly jogged down the corridor out of sight. Rounding a corner, the young reporter found herself before another elevator, this one emblazoned with a very clear "Genetics/Enclosures. Authorized personnel ONLY". She was in deep, and this elevator was certain to carry her deeper into the belly of the beast. And while her distraction had provided a way in, Sharon felt a wriggling notion of dread spring up about her way out. That would have to be a problem for the future, she decided as she hopped about the loft and hit the sole button on its dashboard. With that, the doors shuttered and the elevator began to descend.
-----
The wall came down with ease as Patrice and the unknown resident on the other side kicked away at the concrete. When the dust cleared, another woman poked her head through the hole, hoping to learn more about the situation as well. Heather had a hard time seeing the new woman past Patrice, catching glimpses of short brown hair and curves, plenty of curves.
"¡Hola! ¿Sabes lo que está pasando?" The woman asked, catching Patrice off guard as she turned to Heather and shrugged, unable to understand.
"It's Spanish." The busty blonde explained, crawling closer towards the entrance to Patrice's enclosure, the centre of the three now-joined chambers.
"Do you understand it?" Patrice asked, scratching her head.
"A little. She's fast, and I haven't spoken any since high school, but I'll try." Heather said. Patrice shifted out of the way as best she could, giving Heather a good look at the new woman beyond her short brown hair. She had wondrous hazel eyes that complimented her beautiful face, with full, pouty lips. And like the other two, this new woman's body was grown to the same extremes, with thick droplets of milk streaming out of her titanic breasts.
"Um. Mi nombre es Heather, ella es Patrice. Estamos, uh, atrapados aquí." Heather said slowly, impressed with how much she had retained, having not spoken the language in years. When the new woman made herself known, she was initially dejected when neither of the two girls before her spoke back in her native language. However, as Heather spoke the somewhat stilted Spanish, her face lit up with hope, a tremendous smile forming across her gorgeous lips.
"¡Sí Sí! ¡Mi nombre es Alejandra!" She said, laughing from the excitement as she introduced herself as Alejandra. Heather smiled and looked to Patrice who, unsure of what was said, smiled back with a confused but reassuring thumbs-up. From there, Heather began to ask Alejandra questions about what she knew and, in turn, answered any that she was capable of, relaying all the information to Patrice. Speaking faster than Heather could keep up with at times, the new girl spoke of how she came to New York from Peru to see her younger brother's graduation. How while she was here, she went out into New York as a tourist, seeing the sights of The Big Apple. While it all seemed innocuous and unhelpful at first as Alejandra rattled off all the things she did in town, one of the designations struck a chord with Patrice in a way she couldn't quite understand.
"Wait." She said aloud, interrupting the fast-talking girl as she turned to Heather.
"Get her to back up, repeat what she just said."
"Uh, ok. Alejandra, ¿puedes repetir, um, esa última parte?"
Pausing for a moment, she nodded, and started over, telling a story of the last thing she remembered before she woke up here, a factory tour of a dairy drink company's headquarters. While she spoke in a language Patrice didn't understand, the brand name was said in English, and that alone was enough to trigger a memory within the inquisitive woman.
"Miss Mary's Dairy!?" Patrice asked aloud, turning to heather.
"Yea." The blonde girl answered.
"She says she was on a tour of the factory and then she woke up here. Does that mean something?"
Patrice cracked a smile of partial disbelief, amazed at how the circumstances of their situation lined up, all it taking was the corroboration of another person.
"I didn't bring it up because I didn't think it was important, but one of the last things I remember was signing up to do a survey for Miss Mary's." She said, looking back a me forth between her two companions.
"I went in to test some concept flavours and fill out a some forms, but now that I think back, I can't remember what happened after that. I can't remember how I got home, I can't remember if I even left!"
"I mean, I guess that makes sense for you guys, but I don't think I've had any experience with this place before." Heather said, lazily resting her head in her hands.
"¡Somos super tetonas! ¿Crees que tiene algo que ver con nuestras tetas? " Alejandra asked, rather bluntly, squeezing a hefty breast as milk shot out. Heather laughed at first, thinking it to be a joke, but as her laughter faded, the young New Yorker recalled the milking apparatus attached to her, an experience likely shared by her companions.
"I think Alejandra might be on to so-" she said, suddenly cut short.
"Heather?" Patrice asked, looking through the hole to the neighbouring enclosure. There was no response as the blonde girl simply doubled over, silently shuddering.
"¿Que esta pasando?" Alejandra asked, her concern unheard as she received no response from either of her new friends. She leaned into the hole to try and see the cause of the silence when there was an earth-shaking tremor, a rumbling so powerful that all three titanesses fell to the floor of the enclosures. Alejandra braced, catching bits of debris and dust as the foundation of their prisons began to rattle apart, soon understanding why as a hand, massive even to her, burst through the wall.
"!Oh Dios mío!" She shouted, ducking out of the way as best she could, only to be met by another limb encroaching from the opposite side, Patrice's leg. With wide-eyed shock, the short-haired woman watched as her new companion's body expanded outward, comparing it to the growth spurt she herself had experienced a short while ago. Behind Patrice, Heather's massive frame came into view, swelling upward and outward in a similar burst of growth, the two giantesses gasping and moaning as their bodies transformed once again. The ceiling split and the walls came down as Alejandra screamed in terror, watching helplessly as her cohorts outgrew their prison, only to cut her scream short as she felt the strange sensation return to her. Her body convulsed, every hair on her skin standing up straight as ripples of power shot through her and before she could think, Alejandra was growing along with her new friends.
----
The elevator opened to a forked hall, one way leading to the enclosures, one leading to whatever "Genetics" was meant to represent. Sharon pondered her choices for a moment, hearing the elevator behind returning upward, reminding the reporter of her limited timeframe. Instinctively, she bolted down the path to the right, the path labeled "Genetics". Security seemed oddly slight, with no locked doors or people stationed anywhere, a stark contrast to the scene upstairs with its hustle and bustle.
"Where is everybody, lunch break?" She asked herself aloud. Cautiously, she stalked the empty halls looking for a place of interest when she came upon a small office, unlocked of course. Slipping inside, Sharon bolted the door behind her and looked around, seeing very little beyond a filing cabinet resting in the corner of the room and a basic desk with a computer filling the centre. Sitting down at the desk, the reporter was again surprised to find the terminal unlocked, with the desktop just sitting, waiting for anybody to come along and peek. Not that she was complaining, this was an opportunity she had been looking for, pulling open the file browser and inter-system email to scour for anything dubious.
It didn't take long for Sharon to find something dubious.
Opening a folder of the most-recently viewed files, Heather found a document called "heifer_growth.xls", a chart detailing the rate of growth and output of the cattle Miss Mary's allegedly had. With the bizarre file was an attached comment left from a colleague with a link, a video, and wanting to learn more, Sharon clicked ahead.
The young reporter didn't know what to expect when she opened the video, but footage of several doctors standing around a naked woman, strapped to some sort of operating table wasn't it. As the video played, it detailed a chemical process administered to this woman causing an extreme transformation in both size and shape, as well as hyper development of the subject's mammary glands. The footage showed her progress, compared to other subjects, other women that this company was experimenting on and Sharon watched, mouth agape and eyes wide as she saw the changes these poor women underwent. Growth far exceeding the natural limit of any person with women in the 20-30ft range, their bodies fattened and bloated, all in the pursuit of milk production. It was haunting and surreal, so far out of the realm of what she expected to find that her first instinct was to disregard the information as fake, like a prank shared around an office. Dread set in as Sharon continued to search the computer, finding more documents, more files, more evidence condemning the Miss Mary's Dairy company, more disturbing images and statistics to linger in her mind. This was the story of the century, a scandal that was sure to resonate throughout world, far greater than any story she had ever broken before. Though she thought she would feel some triumph at finding a scoop like this, instead Sharon felt disgust at the malignant evil she had found
"Excuse me? Michelle?" A voice asked from across the room, startling Sharon as she looked up to see the door she locked now open and standing in the door frame was the face of it all, Miss Mary.