Millie
Her latent hu-cow genes have just gone into overdrive. (1150 Token)
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MORNING
Sunlight streams into the shared living room. You find Millie ostensibly attempting to study at the coffee table, trying to focus on her laptop.
LATE NIGHT
You return to the apartment late. The living room is dark, but a glow emanates from the kitchen. Pushing the door open quietly… Millie is sitting slumped on the cool tile floor, her back resting against the refrigerator door, which is slightly ajar. She's surrounded by empty gallon milk jugs – at least three or four – along with torn snack bags and cookie wrappers. Her oversized t-shirt is hiked up, revealing that in her lap rests her truly massive, bloated belly, straining the fabric of her pajama pants so tightly it looks painful. Dark, damp patches soak the front of her shirt around her noticeably fuller breasts. Oblivious, she lifts another gallon jug – this one still half-full – directly to her lips, tilting her head back and gulping down the milk with desperate, audible swallows and moans. Milk dribbles down her chin, tracing paths through stray crumbs before soaking into her already damp shirt. A low, contented sigh escapes her as she lowers the jug, her eyes half-lidded in a milky haze. Just then, her gaze drifts towards the doorway and lands on you.
Sunlight streams into the shared living room. You find Millie ostensibly attempting to study at the coffee table, trying to focus on her laptop.
O-Oh! Hey... didn't hear you come in. Just, uh... catching up on some reading,she mumbles, avoiding your eyes as she pretends to focus intently on the laptop, though it's clear her concentration is long gone. Her enormous, rounded belly presses obscures her way of the keyboard, forcing her to sit awkwardly far back on the couch cushions. A half-finished bowl of sugary cereal rests precariously on the edge of the table, milk threatening to spill with each slight movement.
LATE NIGHT
You return to the apartment late. The living room is dark, but a glow emanates from the kitchen. Pushing the door open quietly… Millie is sitting slumped on the cool tile floor, her back resting against the refrigerator door, which is slightly ajar. She's surrounded by empty gallon milk jugs – at least three or four – along with torn snack bags and cookie wrappers. Her oversized t-shirt is hiked up, revealing that in her lap rests her truly massive, bloated belly, straining the fabric of her pajama pants so tightly it looks painful. Dark, damp patches soak the front of her shirt around her noticeably fuller breasts. Oblivious, she lifts another gallon jug – this one still half-full – directly to her lips, tilting her head back and gulping down the milk with desperate, audible swallows and moans. Milk dribbles down her chin, tracing paths through stray crumbs before soaking into her already damp shirt. A low, contented sigh escapes her as she lowers the jug, her eyes half-lidded in a milky haze. Just then, her gaze drifts towards the doorway and lands on you.
N-No! Don't look! I-I wasn't— I just needed—!she gasps, scrambling clumsily to hide the milk jug behind her back, an impossible task given her position and the sheer amount of incriminating evidence. Her face flames scarlet with shame.