Accidentally induced lactation
It's a (warning) (edit: very) long story of adhd and hypersexuality winning over common sense, scheduling and language. It might be a bit of a mess, I doubt adhd will let me write stuff organised if it's not a bulletpoint list (being non-native speaker doesn't help).
I have a... rather big fixation with nipple and breast play in general, so my girls have been getting plenty of loving over the years. I've used nipple clamps, suckers, and other similar toys over the years, briefly had nipple piercings (until recent), so I always got a bit lost when it comes to boob stuff, even outside of sex.
At the beginning of this year we (husband, ENM partner and I) got REALLY into breastfeeding and petplay. So far so good, even if a bit kinky given hubby's tendency to go all out with accessories (cow bikini and collar arrived VERY fast after we started the rp). It wouldn't be that weird for a bunch of kinksters if it was only this much though, sucking some boobs before bed while falling asleep plus sexy cowgirl play is basically still vanilla.
Mid-February though, I've started seeing milk during playtime. Nothing drastic, just couple of drops, but got immediately panicked since it's usually not a good sign, so I went to see a doctor. Standard "can be a bunch of shit, let's get you through 20 appointments" kinda stuff, was told to not worry about milk itself showing up, and later scary shit thankfully came out negative. Follow-up visit told me to see my psychiatrist, since it was most likely meds I take sending my boobs drooling, but that there was no "need to worry too much anymore, since it's usually a no biggie". Month almost gone already, still had no idea what to do, but at least was told there was nothing lifethreatening going on. Time off-work booked for March, "I will sign up with my doctor when he's free, since other ones are assholes, and I don't want to stress more, will have plenty of time".
Meanwhile, my husband went away for a couple of weeks, leaving me a present after I half-jokingly mentioned that he should come back fast, since I might have troubles falling asleep without our "evening suckling", as it helped me wind down. Hands free breast pumps, nice. I was only half-joking, since stimulation actually calms me down. I tend to touch myself a lot without thinking when working from home, or getting through mindnumbingly boring parts of stuff I do/read. Soooo, hand-free boob/nipple stimulation, whenever I feel like it, but would rather have my hands free? Sign me up, especially since it took my mind off stuff around the doctor rush.
Doctor rescheduled, but in the end managed to squeeze myself in early after I let their reception know that I noticed "possible side-effects of their prescribed meds" might be getting worse (Mid-march, milk started to leak more heavily under lighter stimulation, breasts ached each now and then, nipples became darker and... different, which was making partner feral during our playtime, but made me anxious again).
End of march, doctor visit, I arrive with a stack of results, consults and other stuff. Typical start, have a seat, what is happening, stuff like that. He starts browsing the paperwork I brought in, nods along, keeps putting them aside, noting couple of stuff, looking at me, noting some more, couple more questions about the other consults, more nodding. Papers end, he looks at me again, into his own computer to check something, does a long "aaaaaaa!", looks at me surprised, finally putting everything but notes aside.
Doctor: "Sooo... I assume the (new anti-anxiety med I was prescribed recently) didn't happen to lower your libido?"
Me, fidgeting: "N-no? But I try to not let it get out of hand..." (we worked on my hypersexuality before)
I describe vaguely my usual routines and recent adjustment, he presses for details slowly, humms to himself, double checks blood results, asks some more questions, sighs and does one of the worst attempts at a poker face I've seen recently before going on with a conclusion.
In the daily stress, work rush and other stuff, it completely slipped my mind to think that continued... rather intense breast play could make "the problem" (initial drops of milk) worse. Mostly because before then I had no idea you could actually induce lactation mechanically without being pregnant. I'd probably get enough of a hint if I ever googled breast pumps' non-english name, which literally is translates to "lactator" here, but I barely read the english instructions on the box, let alone check if there's a local version deeper in the box.
Got the whole thing explained like a dummy, he mentioned that ssri likely could've made it worse on their own, but it's hard to tell since we haven't had post-meds blood work where I didn't "go to town" on my boobs. That we have a couple options, but it basically boils down to slowly dropping the new meds (that have been working really well so far, so I don't really like the sound of that), or visiting a specialist to plan how to supress the lactation itself and see how that goes (which I was told about during the first consult as a last step when we eliminate scary stuff).
Dropping the new pills sounded horrible, so I told him I'd rather do the latter. Got a nice printout with nearby lactation consultants so I wouldn't procrastinate for months again (he knows me sooooo well by now, also, foreshadowing), we signed for the next visit to consult new meds more in depth and so on.
Now comes the 2nd real "fuck up" (1st one being a oblivious, horny, reckless-pumping dummy). I DID forget about calling the places and setting an appointment (imagining explaining to an older, often-judgemental lady what I did to get to this state didn't really put me into a mood for immediate call, and I was supposed to call next morning but it obviously slipped my mind once the whole thing AGAIN left the "dangerous, immediate-response-needed affliction" zone), and I didn't tone down my routine noticeably either.
... almost a month later (today). I went for a quick supply run to a corner store, since I forgot to stock up snacks before the weekend. Business as usual, arrived at the store, spent good 5 minutes deciding on the flavour, into the checkout line. In a rush before store closing, I didn't put on a bra, especially since the jacket would hide the nipples poking through anyway, so girls jingled happily the whole (short) way there aching since I was... giving them some idle attention before while watching stuff.
It was not the best time to find out how the early steps of a let-down feels like without accompaniment of sex or flicking the bean. "Warm? Ahh, nice, it's cold today, nice that the place is toasty. Funny feeling? Girls rubbing freely underneath tank top and jacket. Wetn... wtf?! why is my top wet?!"
Seconds pass, I connect the dots, boobs start to full on wet myself as I zip up the jacket quickly, pray for the only person in front of me to FINALLY DECIDE what kind of sauce do they want with their shitty hot dog, so I can pay and run.
Thankfully I left in a jacket and not a coat, or I'd be adding a washing service to the snack bill. Clothes go all into the washing mashine, I'm forced to stomach additional shower in today's routine.
Now it's time to order breast pads in bulk so it doesn't happen again (I'd die if it happened at work), and set dozen reminders to decide what to do with increasingly milky girls. I'm definitely going to call for a consult first time in the morning, but I keep thinking about a joking "suggestion" I was given along the way (after noting how relaxing, surprisingly fun, and... hot the milking process was for me), that I could call local milk bank and possibly become a donor if my adhd medication (or its current dose) isn't a no-no, since I could probably justify continuing with pumping, and "people" finding out, if it was "for a good cause".
tl;dr - Induced lactation using breast pumps to get off, without knowing regular pumping could cause that. Milk showing led to multi-month chase between doctors to do check-ups before realising I was a dummy, adding extensive breast play to my routine to get off and stim. Ended up swollen, leaking, and having to shoo away husband approaching me with every black coffee... and more specialist's visits.