your gf knows you all too well
specifically, she knows what you really want, but she wants to hear you say it
so you finally tell her your fantasy
"I want a milky macro girlfriend, alright? Lay off."
and she does lay off
she gives you a smooch, flashes a satisfied grin and leaves it be
until a few days later

she ducks through the door wearing nothing but some skimpy cowprint and some super-platform heels
no, wait, no heels
just incredibly long legs that end in impossibly thick thighs
you're wondering just how much bigger she is when she jumps your bones, shoves a too-fat nipple in your mouth and orders you to start chugging

a whirlwind of filthy milky loving exhausting heaving love later
you're wrapped up in her embrace, half smothered in boob
you struggle to eke out an expression of gratitude before you pass out
as you slip into pillowy darkness, you here her giggle
"this was just the 'milky' part, the 'macro' part will take a bit."

when she's somewhere around twice your height, you ask if she'd have done anything different if she could change the way it ended
she says she's concerned that she's making too much milk for you
you tell her you're not worried about that, and ask if she'd like to start sharing her overproduction with the neighbors

when she's somewhere around four times your height, she asks you if there's anything you would have done differently
two things come to mind
if you had known production and growth were so closely related, you would have milked her more thoroughly early on
and instead of asking for a milky macro gf, you would have asked for a milky macro wife