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, Susan wouldn't have to go without breastmilk while we're away at college!"
Danica laughed. "That's actually not a bad idea! My mom's right. Feeding is great too, trust me. I think you'll love it, and I'm sure that sister of mine will be quite happy to humor your curiosity!" I decided right then and there that I would try inducing lactation and began picking Danica's brain for how to do so.
After learning most of what I needed from her and doing a bit of research online, I very nearly called Susan that very evening, but another sudden idea struck me, this time one that put a sly grin on my face, and I promptly put my phone away. No, I would not say a word to her. Instead, I would wait until we moved into our dorm and surprise her! It would at least be better than getting her hopes up before I found out how well and how much I could lactate, and I could only imagine the look on her face when I told her she wouldn't have to give up what was arguably her favorite snack food after all!
Having decided that, I spent the next six weeks routinely stimulating my breasts. I massaged them for about fifteen minutes at a time for at least three sessions per day. I began by cupping each one broadly near its base and firmly sliding my hands forward against the supple flesh until I neared the crest. Then, the massage would turn seamlessly into more of a vigorous squeezing motion around the areola, peaking at the nipple. I did this rhythmically to both breasts simultaneously and repeatedly. After I managed to procure a breast pump, I integrated it into my routine, using it to more specifically emulate the suction of a hungry mouth.
I beamed secretively when an evening stimulation session finally yielded the first definite drops of what I recognized as most likely colostrum, based on what Danica had told me. Encouraged, I increased the proportion of my stimulation routine that involved pumping, and not long at all after that, I was at last rewarded at the start of another evening session, when multiple milky white drops emerged from each breast as I finished the very first round of massaging and squeezing. I beamed again. I continued my usual procedure with renewed vigor, feeling more and more pleased as each cycle consistently brought out a dollop of milk (enough to keep my areolas moist throughout the session). I let out a gleefully gaping chuckle when a particularly firm squeeze pressed the milk out in a thin projectile jet. As a final step, I applied the pump, unable to help feeling proud of myself when I actually managed to somewhat fill the jars.
After that, I resolved to not express any more in any way until I started to really feel the pressure as my supply freely accumulated. I was encouraged with every hour that passed without even the slightest discomfort, and after about nine hours or so, when I finally noticed the pressure becoming palpable and my boobs getting a bit tender, I immediately drained them both with my pump and noted the volume, which turned out to be 19 ounces per breast. I repeated this process ten times over the course of the following week, and my average output consistently hovered closely around 19 ounces in each boob, which my online sources confirmed to be near the highest storage capacity within the average range found among healthy women. When I shared my success with Danica, she actually narrowed her eyes at me in a playful glare. "Show-off!" she teased before digressing with a genuinely excited smile. "That'll be plenty for Susan! Mom's maximum is about 16 ounces, and mine is about 13."
Susan and I had hoped to live in the same dorm ever since we were admitted to the same university and decided to accept that admission, but with my secret decision to become my cousin's new milk provider, it took on extra appeal for me, since sharing a room would make breastfeeding even more convenient for the two of us.