Chapter 1: MilkMan and Lactatia
He hadn't always been MilkMan, and she hadn't always been Lactatia, although the lives they once had, mere weeks ago, felt as though strangers had lived them.
MilkMan's hands were wrapped around her throat, squeezing Lactatia's windpipe as she squeezed his enormous cock between her mountainous tits. Their laptop was to her left, the webcam's unblinking cyclops eye gazing at the rutting couple. She glanced over at the screen. Men were staring into their webcams, their mouths open, their eyes wide and blank, their upper arms and shoulders shaking as they mindlessly jerked off to the spectacle unfolding before them.
Some distant part of Lactatia's mind, the small part that remained Ursula, felt sorry for them, knowing that they were victims like her and Rudolfo. These men had also been compelled by the website to forsake their lives. Their girlfriends, their wives, their friends and family, their jobs, all dispensed with. All that remained for them was jerking, jerking and cumming, so much cumming, cumming away all their time and money. But the rest of her, the vast part of her that had become Lactatia, licked her lips at the helpless men and grinned.
It had all started with good intentions. Ursula had been an activist fighting for LGBTQIA2s+ rights, herself personally identifying as an NB from the L part of the acronym. She had just decided to take up a rigorous vegan diet as a revolutionary act of resistance against the toxic patriarchal and speciesist capitalist system of oppression and urgently needed a battery of vitamins and other supplements to bridge her over until she could learn all the right recipes. She was messaging her fellow activists for suggestions when Rudolfo, an NB from the T part of the acronym, suggested a website called "Whoropticon".
At first, Ursula thought her colleague was joking.
"No, I'm for real, it's an amazing website," he explained. "I've been getting my HRT meds from it."
"WTF is with the name?" Ursula angrily typed.
"It's reclaiming 'whore', sister!" her colleague replied. "Don't tell me you of all people are into slut shaming."
Shocked and ashamed of herself, Ursula immediately visited the website, and sure enough, it seemed pretty innocuous, almost too innocuous. It was just a store, full of supplements and sex toys, and funnily, the occasional power tool set. There was also a community tab that led to some kind of subscription-based video chat service. How was any of this revolutionary?
She pushed on, digging into the supplements section. As she did, she messaged Rudolfo again, asking for any suggestions for what to buy.
"Online I've seen some faabs ranting about one called 'Blooming Balance', so maybe check that one out," they answered.
Ursula scrolled through the menu, noticing all the brand names -- a product for maabs called "Primal Power Blend" leapt out at her -- until she found Blossom Balance. It was only a few dollars. Incredulous, she tried to find out more about the product information but found nothing. All the customer reviews on the website itself were rave, so she looked around on some online forums. They, too, talked about how amazing the supplement was. "I feel like a whole new person," one customer wrote.
Still, she felt unsure.
"I dunno," she typed to Rudolfo. "How long have you been using the stuff you bought?"
"Only a week."
Ursula rolled her eyes. "Seriously? That's not exactly a lifetime customer kind of guarantee."
"First the slut shaming, now this shit about being a customer?! What gives?"
"I'm just saying a week's not long to be recommending shit."
"Fine," Rudolfo wrote. There was a pause, then they wrote, "All I can say is that since I started taking them, I feel like a whole new person."
With a sigh, Ursula thought to herself, well, what harm could it possibly do? And she ordered the supplement.
The package arrived the very next day. The jar was small and, like the website itself, innocuous. The pills were equally nondescript, simple white capsules. Ursula swallowed one, washing it down with a swig of water. It tasted salty.
* * *
A week had passed, and Ursula felt fantastic. Her energy was limitless, even as her appetite had disappeared. She worked double shifts at a thrift store, and although in the past she would usually faceplant into her bed when she came home, she was now up all night talking with other activists about a new idea of hers: producing t-shirts for faabs with the slogan, "These tits are a person."
The slogan was provocative, but also memorable, which was her point. Not everyone in the community liked the idea, but Rudolfo backed her up.
"I think it's smart and subversive," he enthusiastically wrote in her defense during a live online chat with the other activists.
"Thank you!" she replied.
"What else you got?" Rudolfo responded with a beaming emoji. "Give me more!"
Laughing to herself, Ursula wrote back, "I've given you everything I got!"
It was the start of the second week when she noticed her breasts. That is, she noticed that they had grown. And they had grown fast. Although she rejected the bras and the whole letter system as just another method of capitalist exploitation, she didn't have an alternative reference point. So, she tried to put on an old pair of A-cups that she hadn't gotten around to trashing. They didn't fit. Had she grown to a B-cup in just a week?
Panicked, she immediately messaged Rudolfo.
"It's normal sister," he wrote back. "I'm also growing."
"Where?" she asked.
"Where do you think?"
She caught her own stupidity and giggled.
"Isn't that super fast?" she typed.
"I guess so, haven't really thought about it. I'm just happy to be becoming the person I was meant to be."
Ursula was about to reply when she stopped. She had bought these to be a dietary supplement, not to mess around with her hormones.
She wrote this to Rudolfo, who promptly responded, "I dunno, it's all kind of the same shit, isn't it?"
That didn't seem right to her, but for some reason Ursula didn't feel nervous about it.
* * *
Another week passed, and it seemed another cup size. Ursula guessed that she was probably around a C. She was chatting with Rudolfo on a regular basis and decided to share the news with him by sending him a selfie with her bare breasts. When she saw the little check marks turning blue, meaning he had seen the photograph, she was suddenly mortified. Why had she done that?
Rudolfo replied with a photograph of his own: his penis. It was flaccid, but easily two inches long, and she could also make out his scrotum, which she thought was none too shabby either. For a trans male who just a few weeks before had been faab, the change was definitely impressive.
"You must be really proud of it," she wrote.
"Actually, I've been showing it off," he replied.
Her eyes widened. "What? That's crazy! Why would you do that? Where are you doing it?"
"That's a lot of questions from a slut shaming prude," he wrote back. "Whoropticon's got a community section, that's where."
"Wait a sec," she wrote, and hurriedly went to the website, clicked on its community tab and signed up. She was surprised membership was free, as apparently users had to pay for the video chats themselves. However, she immediately understood why once she was in: they were all webcam sex shows.
She was about to write "WTF?" to Rudolfo when she thought better of it. Instead, she wrote, "Any chance you're on right now?"
"As a matter of fact, I am. I'm not that popular, so you need to scroll down to find me." He paused. "But you might not recognize me at first."
Rudolfo hadn't been kidding. They had met a few times in person at activist meetings. Back then, when he was a she, they had a very slight build. Now it seemed as though he had been working out. He wasn't jacked, but he was definitely muscular. And there was stubble around his lips and chin.
A little audience ticker in the upper righthand corner of the webpage showed that Ursula was now one of twenty people watching Rudolfo standing completely nude in front of the camera. He was grinning and slowly stroking his erect new cock. She leaned forward, trying to guess its length and girth. She figured it was six inches long, almost an inch around.
There was a chatbox below the video. People were paying Rudolfo to jerk off, and every time they sent some money, the sound of coins chimed.
