Susan walked from the warehouse to an aircraft hangar at night; surrounded by a full military convoy and a rigid no fly zone was set with a radius of twenty miles around her route.

It was the first time she had been outside in weeks and she was loving the freedom afforded her, even if it was just momentary. Her problem was they wanted her to travel so slowly… Of course the quicker she went the less chance she would be spotted but even at a walking pace she easily outstripped the patrol cars that were supposed to be ahead of her. They were tiny little thing; like matchbox toy cars, each smaller than her feet. They told her each car was sitting at 80 miles an hour but she felt like she was barely moving; inching forward step by step. And with every passing hour the pressure in her breasts grew and she became more and more impatient for the relief of the pumps once again.

“How does it feel Jason?” she whispered at the tiny man sat in the palm of her hand. She held him tightly; it wasn’t comfortable to keep her hand extended before her at all times. A little too firm perhaps; she had felt him struggling a bit to remind her to loosen off every now and then, but her little passenger was used to her rough handling by now. She held her hand flat now and he spread out in her spacious palm, as large as a king size bed only much, much warmer.  “To be carried around by the statue of liberty?”

Doctor Forman had announced that morning that she had reached 46 m tall; the same height as the great woman outside New York. Susan had struck a pose, lifting her arm aloft, holding an imaginary torch.

“You look nothing like the statue of liberty,” Jason said, pointing down at her prestigious chest. It was covered by a great pale blue sheet; at her size and stature a full bra was beyond their capability but for this night stroll they had at least bowed to her need for modesty. After more than a month stark naked she had forgotten what it was like; the tarpauling tugged at her, pushing her breasts together. 8 m tall, almost as wide and protruding 5 m from her chest she they bounced and jiggled wife a life of their own. Susan grinned; she wasn’t just endowed, the full bosom that she’d inherited from her mother had morphed to dominate her entire upper body. With each step they swung up and down, mesmerising her entourage below who  couldn’t fathom how something so massive could travel so swiftly. “You look amazing!”

“Trying to earn yourself a closer look?” she grinned down at the little man in her hand. “I think at my current size if you tried that I might crush you little man.”

“There are worse ways to go,” Jason replied curtly, instinctively rolling sideways as her hand curled around him. Her fingers, that from a distance looked delicate and nimble, were each as long as he was tall and more than a foot across. She held him so delicately, he never once felt in danger than she might squeeze the life out of him (which she so easily could) but he was still in awe of her supreme power.

And she was only going to get bigger. Doctor Forman was certain now, they had slowed the growth as much as they could, so now a 1% increase a month was inevitable. She would be as tall as the hangar that was being repurposed as her home in 2.8 years, 100 m tall in six and a half and as tall as the Eiffel Tower in 16 years. How long could they keep that secret?

They couldn’t. Susan had expressed, several times, that she wanted to visit the Eiffel Tower before she outgrew it. She wanted to door a tour of world monuments whilst she was still small enough to fit on public streets without crushing everything around her. She didn’t have many firm demands but this was one of them…

Which left Doctor Forman with a massive headache. When would they tell the world? When would they admit that in 25 years they would have a woman half a mile tall. When would they explain to every world leader there was no stopping her; not without disastrous consequences. Who would accept the inevitability that keeping Susan sweet on the human race, very shortly to be reduced to no more than tiny little insects compared to her vastness, was the only acceptable outcome? He was planning ahead in the firm knowledge that when retired she would be 2 miles tall and he, and every other human on the planet, would to her be no more than 1 puny centimetre.

At least he’d be gone before the real trauma started.

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3 months earlier

Susan sat in the centre of the warehouse.

Doctor Forman, three of his lackeys, General Dodgson, two of his lackeys, four lawyers and two women in black suits who hadn’t given their names stood around her. The twelve of them formed a circle focused in on her. Even sat on her ass she was taller than any of them; the shortest (black suit, red hair) was level with the whirring breast pumps that had been going nonstop since she had arrived that morning.

“We want to set up a company,” Doctor Forman explained, glancing up at Susan for reassurance as he said it. Ever since he had proposed his plan to her he’d been nervous. To her relief she’d accepted every word; agreed it was the perfect thing to do; only she’d insisted no decisions be made without her. If Susan’s Milk Company (name to be decided later) was to exist then she would be the chair-woman. After all she was the source; it was only right she have final say on what happened to her offering. “As her production rate will only increase exponentially we want to start exploring distribution routes as soon as possible.”

“How long have you been wearing those?” the red head asked Susan directly, almost ignoring Doctor Forman entirely.

“About four hours.”

“Your nipples must be chafing horribly,” the red head winced, her own hand dropping to her own pudgy breasts reflexively. “You do realise what this will require?”

“She requires it anyway,” Doctor Forman explained softly; “The more we milk the slower she will grow. The mass has to go somewhere; we re-divert it into usable produce. Perfectly safe for human consumption, full of both energy and nutrients. Of course we can’t tell anyone where it’s coming from, not at first.”

“Not ever if possible,” General Dodgson replied. He looked awkward, stood between these scientists and federal lawyers, completely out of place. He hadn’t been hostile in the slightest, not yet, but his attitude had been getting on Susan’s nerves. And one of his aides had been openly gawking at her all day.

She knew she was beautiful; she knew her sheer size and half nakedness (extra- extra large hot pants had been acquired for her groin but for her top half only the pumps themselves would fit) would turn heads, but whilst most of the men and women around her stared they at least managed to contain it to short glances. This man was practically drooling.

“We will have to at some point General,” Susan replied before anyone else could reply. “We did discuss this.”

“But that will be years away,” Doctor Forman suggested trying to smooth the general over, aware at the same time of the disapproving glance Susan was shooting his way. “We have plenty of time to plan for that eventuality. In the mean time we could feed thousands of starving children; the supply is almost endless.”

“As is the potential for market collapse,” one of the lawyers chimed in with something he’d clearly been pondering for some time; “You’ll devalue the entire market if you flood it with new produce.”

“We won’t sell it as normal milk;” Susan replied curtly; “It’s got to be special. Market it as some form of budget pro-biotic, one made sweet and specifically mixed for human consumption.”

“And we can use it for other things. It’s a little known fact milk can make an excellent fertilizer, I’ve been doing some tests and Susan’s milk is excellent for house plants. We can sell it as a GM free additive for farmers, we can mix it into a thousand other products; the possibilities are endless. What isn’t endless is our capacity to store it; we must start right away or we will be sitting on a lake of sour milk in no time.”

“Well we don’t want an ecological disaster,” the red head smiled; “Doctor Forman, I think we are all in agreement. I suggest we reconvene tomorrow once the lawyers have drawn up the initial plans and we give Susan a pen as soon as possible. I’m sure she’ll want to sign her own name whilst she’s still able.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Susan said, blinking furiously. “I’d forgotten how small pens were. I’m not sure I could even hold one now.”

“We’ll have an extra-large one brought specially,” the red head smiled. “If that’s all gentlemen I’d like a few minutes with Susan alone.” Most of the circle began to turn to go but Doctor Forman began to stutter as though he wanted to protest but didn’t dare. “Don’t worry Doctor; I just want to check Susan is comfortable; that you haven’t been mistreating her.”

“He’s been the perfect host,” Susan replied. Doctor Forman nodded meekly and followed the others out of the circle. The red head slowly approached until she was just inches away from the pumps. Her eyes were narrow, her smile broad, her hands clenched by her sides not with anger but excitement. “Do you want a closer look?”

“I need to see,” the red head replied; “I’m sorry Susan but your body… You don’t know what a marvel you are. Ever since I learnt about you I’ve wanted to come visit; I knew I had to be assigned your case, but in the flesh you are so…”

“Come here,” Susan reached the pump and, with some effort, popped it off her engorged breast. Her enflamed nipple hovered in the air, inches from the red-head’s face, droplets of thick white fluid coalescing around the tip. Susan grinned down at the woman, watching with glee as she took in a breast several times larger than her own head. “Don’t be scared; I won’t bite.”

“But I might,” the woman whispered before diving in.

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When Susan arrived at the hangar she was pleasantly surprised.

There was a good 15 m gap between her head and the ceiling so she didn’t need to worry about banging her head any time soon. Several industrial heaters had been set around the room in a desperate attempt to raise the air temperature. It was a futile attempt but she didn’t mind; the larger she got the less she noticed the cold.

Most importantly the new pump system, installed only the other day, was ready and waiting for her. She went straight to it, depositing little Jason on the floor whilst she hooked herself up to the parachute sized cups. Her milk was flowing in seconds; her breasts were always ready these days to start flowing at a moment’s notice.

The sun was only an hour from rising so she didn’t get much sleep. She dozed in the corner of the room, half away but mostly just enjoying the sensation of relief after holding it in all night. She ignored the little men and woman swarming around outside the building, getting everything in place for her.

Little servants…

The idea tickled her. Technically they were working for Doctor Forman but ever since she had signed the contract labelling her CEO of ‘Lait Probiotique Ltd.’ they were all working for her. The French name had been her idea; she thought it added a romantic and continental element that people would appreciate. And one day, years from now, she’d get to put one breast on either side of the Eiffel Tower for a photoshoot that would go down in living memory.

She had plans for what she’d do when she outgrew this hangar. Every day, cooped up, waiting for the inevitable she mulled them over. But she was in no rush; the slower the grew the easier the transition would be. Each inch was to be savoured not ignored.

But the Jeddah Tower in Saudi Arabia better be ready. They hadn’t even finished building it yet but she knew, had a conviction, that in 25 years, if Doctor Forman had done his sums right, she’d be paying that construction site a visit to show the world that she was tallest man made thing on the planet.