Eric on Tap (Patreon)

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As Eric moved down the street, it was impossible not to notice how much of him there was. At 350 pounds on a 6’1” frame, his body didn’t only take up space—it demanded attention. His stride was slow and hypnotic, like he knew exactly how heavy he was and enjoyed feeling that weight shift and settle through his body.

His hips rolled just enough to keep everything balanced. Thick thighs brushed close together with every step. Even at rest, they looked packed solid—dense, heavy muscles working constantly. Above that, his shoulders were so wide they seemed to defy everything around him. Thick delts rolled subtly, pulling his arms along in a heavy swing. His arms hung low and full at his sides, so thick they never quite rested flat. Something was always touching—triceps pressing into his lats, biceps against his ribs, forearms grazing his waist.

The tank top he wore was losing a battle. It stretched tight across his massive chest, pulled forward by its immense volume. The neckline rode higher than intended, caught on the upper curve of his pecs, while the hem clung to the thickness of his midsection. The armholes dug deep into his rounded delts and upper arms, bunching where they physically couldn’t stretch any further. Every seam looked tense, as if it was constantly on the edge.

His shorts weren’t doing any better. The fabric was pulled taut over his huge thighs, stretched to the limit across broad hips, and barely holding together around his immense ass. Even up front, his cock and balls formed a heavy, obvious bulge that made the seams visibly strain trying to contain it.

Every piece of clothing he wore had to work overtime to keep up with him.

But it was his chest that truly stole the show. It moved when he walked, bouncing constantly. Each step sent a subtle pull through his torso, a forward-and-downward sway he felt instantly. His tits sat broad and full on his frame—thick slabs of muscle that heaved with every breath, pushing insistently against the stretched fabric.

When he inhaled, his ribcage expanded visibly, and the thick muscle lifted together as one. The tank top tightened even more, thinning across his chest and upper abdomen. When he exhaled, everything settled again. His breathing was slow and deep, calm—the breathing of someone who had learned how to live in a body this massive and knew how to move inside it.

Even the smallest motions looked dramatic. A slight roll of Eric’s shoulders sent ripples through his upper body. A turn of his torso made the fabric creak under strain. When he straightened his posture just a bit, his chest pulled forward again, reminding him exactly how much of him sat up front. He liked that feeling—the way his body never let him forget how large, dense, and powerful he was.

People around him seemed smaller without him doing anything at all. He moved easily, but the effort behind carrying this much mass was obvious—not strain, but power. As he walked confidently, he enjoyed every single second of it.

That was when he noticed the dampness.

At first, it was just warmth on his tits, moisture spreading against his skin, trapped under tight fabric. He let out a slow breath, knowing the feeling well. His body was doing what it always did when the pressure got too high. Darker patches bloomed across the tank top as milk began leaking from his thick nipples, and the fabric clung even closer as it soaked in.

He needed help—immediately.

Eric sat down on a nearby bench, calm despite the drama of it, and the wood creaked faintly under his weight. He filled the bench like it had been built for someone half his size. Someone passing by slowed, then stopped altogether. Eric noticed immediately. He always did.

The guy looked average to Eric—early twenties, lean, fit without bulk, in a plain T-shirt and shorts. His green eyes scanned Eric’s body and stalled there, wide and stunned, like his brain was struggling to process the sight in front of him. The guy flushed hard, caught between staring and forcing himself to look away.

Eric smiled and looked over at him. “Hey,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“J‑Johnny,” the guy answered, a little too fast. His voice wobbled, and his eyes betrayed him, flicking back to Eric’s tits before he could stop himself. He swallowed and tried to focus, clearly overwhelmed by what he was seeing.

Eric didn’t call him out on it. He just nodded and spoke calmly, like this was nothing unusual. “So, uh… this happens sometimes,” he said, gesturing vaguely at his tits and the dark spots on his tank top. “My milk production goes kind of wild at the worst moments.”

Johnny blinked, staring now, fully frozen. “Y‑your… milk?”

“Yeah,” Eric said. “Pressure builds up, and it doesn’t stop on its own.” He shrugged, relaxed. “If I don’t deal with it, it just keeps leaking.”

Johnny flushed even deeper, breathing heavily as he processed that. His gaze dropped, then drifted right back up again despite himself.

“I could use some help,” Eric added, meeting his eyes. “No pressure. But if you’re willing, I’d really appreciate it.”

Johnny hesitated, visibly surprised, but curiosity won out. “Su—Sure.” He nodded.

Eric pulled his tank top up and off, and without the fabric, the sight stole Johnny’s breath.

His tits sat forward and heavy, packed so full they looked swollen beyond logic. The skin stretched tight and glossy over the mass beneath. His nipples were impossible to miss—large, dark, and visibly engorged, standing out thick and swollen against his chest. Milk leaked from them constantly in steady, messy streams that ran down over his pecs, splitting and rejoining as they followed the shape of his chest. Some of it spilled straight down, and some smeared across the muscle as his chest moved.

The leaking only got worse as he breathed, and every inhale pushed his chest forward, forcing more milk out. Every exhale sent fresh rivulets sliding lower, so it never stopped. There was a faint, sweet smell of milk in the air now, making Eric smile at the familiar scent.

Johnny only stared, eyes wide and unblinking, completely locked on the sight like his brain couldn’t quite catch up with what was in front of him.

“The only way to stop the leaking is to drain these,” Eric said casually, gesturing at his tits. “And the best way to do that is by sucking on them and drinking straight from the tap.” He gave his pecs a firm squeeze. A burst of milk shot forward, splashing the pavement near Johnny’s shoes.

Johnny didn’t hesitate anymore. He dropped to his knees in front of Eric, overwhelmed but careful, staring for half a second before instinct took over. He leaned in and latched onto Eric’s right nipple, sealing his mouth around it and sucking hard.

The reaction was immediate. Eric sucked in a sharp breath and groaned. His hand came down to Johnny’s head without thinking, spreading his fingers through his hair to keep him right there. Milk surged as soon as Johnny started, flooding his mouth faster than he expected. Johnny groaned around the nipple, and the vibration rolled straight into Eric’s pecs.

That was all it took.

Eric’s chest responded like it had been waiting for permission. His tits swelled visibly, pushing forward as the pressure dumped all at once. Milk poured out in overwhelming volume, flooding Johnny’s mouth and spilling around his lips, running down over Eric’s chest in heavy streams. The wet sounds grew louder—messy, constant, and impossible to ignore.

“Oh—fuck,” Eric breathed as another wave of intense bliss hit him.

It snowballed fast. The harder Johnny sucked, the more Eric’s body answered back as the milk production ramped up instead of easing. His chest felt huge and tight, and heat spread through the muscle as it pumped and leaked at the same time.

Eric praised Johnny through rough breaths, low and steady, despite the intensity. “Yeah… you’re doing great. Take your time. Use your hands.”

Johnny obeyed instantly. He reached up to squeeze, digging his fingers into the heavy muscle, and milk surged again, spilling and splashing as the pressure changed. Eric groaned louder this time, and his tits jumped under Johnny’s grip.

Johnny stayed locked in, alternating sides, sucking and swallowing without pause. Milk kept coming in unstoppable waves, soaking his mouth, dripping down his chin, and streaking over Eric’s chest. The sounds layered together—wet sucking, soft splashing, Eric’s low moans building and breaking as the release kept intensifying instead of slowing.

Eric’s body felt overwhelmed in the best way. His chest expanded and emptied at the same time, and the ridiculous volume poured out as Johnny worked him harder and harder, until it felt less like relief and more like a full-body release.

Eric’s moans slipped out between instructions. “Yeah… just like that. Keep going,” he said as the pressure slowly eased. His shoulders dropped, and his breathing smoothed out. The tight, almost painful fullness gave way to a heavy warmth that spread through his chest instead. 

Johnny was startled by how much there was and by how responsive Eric was, but he didn’t stop. He kept sucking and swallowing as his own belly began to round out with the ridiculous volume of milk he was taking in. He touched his middle briefly in disbelief, without stopping his steady sucking. Eric smirked at the sight, marveling at how much milk the young man was able to take at a time. He was impressed, to say the least.

They stayed like that for a while. Eric relaxed, enjoying the care without urgency. Johnny stayed focused, awed, and breathless, but committed, draining as much as he could. By the time the pressure finally faded, Eric looked visibly calmer, and his massive tits settled, no longer strained tight. Johnny stood slowly, clumsy now with a basketball-sized belly sloshing with milk, smiling wider than he ever had.

Johnny just stared at him, still trying to wrap his head around how someone could exist with that much mass and milk. “I—uh,” Johnny started, then stopped, shaking his head with a breathless laugh. “I don’t even know how that’s possible.”

Eric caught the look and chuckled softly. “Yeah, I get that a lot,” he said. He shifted a little, relaxed now. “Tell you what—if you ever want more, you can have as much as you want.”

Johnny blinked. “More?”

“Anytime,” Eric said, smiling. “Straight from the tap.”

********

Plot submitted by a Support-tier member as part of the tier's benefits. Scenario based on a muscle morph I did of Eric Janicki.