by Big Kahuna
“I mean, what’s going on with you, oatmeal girl?” the leggy brunette replied across the plastic table, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “If your boobs get any bigger I could rent you out for a pool toy.”
Melissa smiled, likewise narrowing her eyes at her lunch buddy, a tacit plea for decorum. “Dunno, Jan,” she said, her voice low. “I’m probably just hormonal right now. My boobs sometimes grow a bit when I get my period.”
Janice shook her head in amazement. “A bit? Christ, Mel, your tits are big enough to influence the tides. I’m sure you’ve noticed the gravitational effect they’ve been exerting around this place.”
That was certainly true. Over the last several days it had become obvious to most of her co-workers that there was something different about her. She liked to think that it was her improved attitude that was responsible, but she knew well enough it was her expanding bosom that was the cause. The increased attention she had been lavishing on her breasts was paying a dividend in the form of friendly smiles and compliments, with the exception of old lady Masterson, who never missed a chance to scowl at the walking tits whenever they passed by.
Emboldened by her improved appearance, Melissa had brought back some of the clothing from the ‘skinny’ side of her closet, items she had known that she would be unlikely to wear again, but still hopeful that they might one day see some use. Today she was wearing one of her favorites, a knee-length denim skirt, boots, and a red blouse that did nothing to de-emphasize her impressive bosom. Fuck old lady Masterson, she’d thought while looking at herself in the mirror before leaving home that morning. I’m looking pretty damn good.
“You’re looking pretty damn good, Mel,” Janice said, shaking her head slowly. “Losing weight and growing hooters. Some girls have all the luck.”
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Melissa hit the Mothers’ Room after lunch, desiring to stick to her schedule. She inspected her breasts, as she always did, especially her nipples, as she knew that was where the real magic was going to happen.
They were getting bigger now, longer and thicker, so much so that they had begun protruding through her nursing bra like the nosecones of missiles, which she was sure was what had caused Johnny from Geology to walk into a doorjamb earlier in the week. She didn’t think he had been too badly hurt, what with his erection cushioning the blow. She began wearing bandages over her nipples the following day.
She would have thought that the constant pumping might make them less sensitive, but it seemed that almost the opposite was happening. Each and every time the breast pump sucked her teats into the breast shields, it was all she could do not to climax on the spot. She couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to have milk flow through them.
She did her ten minutes worth, feeling refreshed afterwards, the Vivaldi so restful that she sometimes thought she could do it all day. She went back to work, humming happily to herself, and trying to keep from smiling whenever some engineer dropped by to ogle her rack.
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Melissa arrived home at the usual time, doffing her clothes the second she walked through the door. It was going to happen soon, her milk, and the last thing she wanted was for clothing to get in the way. She fed Maggie, her ponderous boobs wobbling about with every movement. She could not keep from touching them all the time, cradling them and petting them, even talking to them every so often.
“That’s all right, girls,” she’d said after her first pumping of the evening, a little disappointed that the plastic bottles attached to the breast shields had remained dry, “you’ll start producing soon. Once you start, I bet you won’t stop.”
She had a veggie wrap for dinner, but was still hungry, so followed that up with more steel-cut oats. She sat at her kitchen counter, trying to remember the last time she’d eaten meat. It had been at least a week, a tuna-noodle casserole if she remembered correctly. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but somewhere over the last two weeks she had begun turning vegan, the idea of eating animal flesh having become abhorrent to her, unnatural.
She watched TV for a while, but it was the usual nonsense, the same people blathering on about the same incomprehensible things. She could barely understand them anymore.
It was too early to go to bed, and she wasn’t tired anyway. She felt antsy, come to that. Perhaps she should put her headphones on and let the Vivaldi relax her. Her breasts instantly began feeling tingly, having associated the sweet classical music with pumping. “Steady, girls,” she cooed to her heavy breasts. “There’s still an hour and a half yet until your next pumping.” She patted them lightly, reassuring them.
She grabbed her iPod and put on the headphones, then lay down on the couch. It took all of a minute to create a ninety-minute playlist from the music Rance had sent her, which she followed with a jarring bit of heavy metal that would awaken her should she accidentally fall asleep, and thus miss two pumping sessions before bed.
The music carried her away almost instantly. Even without the rhythmic sucking action of the breast pump, the music allowed her to drift into a peaceful state, a place in her unconscious mind where there were no worries or cares, just a perfectly contented state of being, a life lived purely in the moment.
She didn’t know when her trance drifted into sleep, was unaware of the passage through that gossamer veil. She was on a hilltop, a low rise above green pasture. It was pasture here too, the grass cool on her bare knees, just tall enough to tickle her udders as they swayed beneath her.
It was a beautiful sunny day, fat white clouds scudding lazily across a blue sky. She looked up at them in mute curiosity, wondering where they were going.
She put her head down and sniffed at the grass. It smelled good, a clean scent that made her stomachs rumble with hunger. She opened her mouth to take in a few of the sweet blades, when she heard a voice upon the air.
“Well, looky here, Clell. Looks like we got ourselfs a stray.”
Melissa turned her head in the direction the voice had come from. There were two Men sitting on horses, looking down at her. One of them turned to the side and spit some brown liquid from his mouth. He wore a tall hat. “I guess we have, Ed,” he said.
“What d’you think we should do with this un?” asked the first Man. He was shorter than the one who had spit, and he had a tooth missing in the front of his face. “Got some awful big udders on her.”
“That she does.” He spit again.
“I expect this un’d be a champion milker, don’t ya think?”
“I expect you’re right about that, little brother.” He looked at her for a long moment, then threw a leg backward and dismounted from his horse.
Ed snickered. “What you gonna do, Clell?”
“What comes natural, Ed,” he replied, removing his gun belt and looping it over the pommel of his horse’s saddle. “What’s the point of bein a cowpoke if you don’t poke the occasional cow?” He turned and began walking up to her, slowly so as not to spook her. “Easy, girl,” he drawled, undoing his belt. “I got somethin for ya.”
She looked back at him, no longer curious. There was brown juice running from his lower lip down into his scrubby beard. He was going to fuck her, not that it mattered. Cows were put on earth to be milked or bred. She put her head back down and sniffed at the grass. A few moments later she felt his hands on her rump, stroking her flank. It felt nice.
“Just relax now,” she heard him say. “You need this, girl.” She felt him slip inside her, heard him grunt with pleasure as his hips surged forward, burying himself to the hilt.
“Shit, Ed,” she heard the Man say. “She’s a tight un. You ain’t never felt no cow pussy like this!” Melissa looked back to see that the Man was kneeling behind her now, his pants shucked down around his knees, pumping away at her hind end. She lowered her head and went back to grazing.
“Shit, Clell, why do you always git to go first? I don’t want no sloppy seconds!”
“Aw, quit yer belly achin, runt.
She’s got a other end, ain’t she?”
Half a minute later, the other Man was kneeling in front of her, his pants already around his ankles, his stiff prick bobbing in her face. “Come on, Bossy. Open wide. It’s milkin time.”
She sniffed it. The grass smelled better. The Man began pulling on her head, trying to pull her mouth onto his cock, which was actually quite a big one, fatter than his brother’s by the feel of things, though not as long as the shaft of the arrow that had just erupted from his chest.
The Man quickly let go of her head, one hand scrabbling at the gory shaft sticking out of him, his breathing wet and raspy. “Cl—” he coughed weakly, but then keeled over sideways.
“Yi-yi-yi-yi-yi!” came a yell from behind him, a high-pitched ululation intended to frighten, which judging by the rapidly dwindling penis inside her was having the desired effect. A figure came running up over the rise—it was Janice!—though not as she had ever seen her before, nor even imagined her for that matter. She was naked, or nearly so, dressed in little more than a Comanche warrior’s breechclout and breastplate. She crested the hillock, her long legs pumping, her little girl breasts wobbling stiffly on either side of the breastplate, a long knife in her hand. With a piercing scream, she vaulted over the terrified cow, launching her lean body into the rapist feet first.
Melissa felt the flaccid penis instantly ejected from her as the Man’s body was forced back by the weight of his attacker. She turned just in time to see the warrior-Janice kneeling on the cowboy’s stomach and driving a fist into his face, the additional weight of the knife handle in her hand instantly knocking him unconscious.
That done, Janice straightened up, her tanned back gleaming in the summer sun, and let loose a victory cry, sending a chill through the frightened cow. She turned then, her long braid whipping about as she seized her defenseless enemy’s scrotum in a claw grip and severed it at the base of the withered penis in a clean, decisive stroke. Clell’s cowpoking days were over.
Melissa watched in fear as the warrior-Janice stood up, her chest heaving, a bloody nutsack clenched in her fist and bloodlust in her dark eyes. Smiling darkly, Janice cast aside the now useless testicles and hurled the knife blade into the ground, then launched herself at Melissa, tipping the frightened cow over on her side. Janice’s mouth clamped on to a fat udder in an instant, and began savagely sucking her milk straight from the teat.
Melissa tried to scream, but all that came out was a lowing sound, a resonant groan that betrayed her pleasure despite the ferocity of her savior-attacker. Janice continued to suck, using lips and teeth and tongue, gorging herself on Melissa’s milk, her strong hands gripping the fat udders, warm milk spraying everywhere.
Melissa awoke, gasping hoarsely, her chest heaving as she rode out yet another wet dream, to find that her dream really was wet, and that the hands gripping her overfull tits were her own, white liquid streaming from her taut nipples in high arcs.
Her milk had come in.
Chapter 4
Sweet Product
For the first few seconds after waking, Melissa’s eyes were locked on her heaving udders, unable to believe that it was happening. She had done it, had successfully turned herself into a human cow. Some people might not consider that to be a laudable goal, but she had never felt happier.
Her breasts felt heavy and hot, not to mention full. There were puddles of milk all over them, not to mention the couch, the coffee table, her face, her belly, and her thighs. She reached up and removed her headphones, mindful of the fact that she would have to wash them later, along with everything else her milk had come in contact with.
She turned and sat up on the couch, her heavy milkers swaying more ponderously than ever. Giddy, she shook them, noting with a slight disappointment that they didn’t slosh. She wondered what she should do next, the shock of having achieved her goal putting her in a state of mild confusion. But even if her mind was having trouble coming to grips with this new facet of her life, her body knew what to do. Without even being consciously aware of it, her hands were under her fat tits, raising them upward.
She knew what was about to happen, had known since that very first night when she had dribbled ice cream on her breasts, only it was her cream that was now on offer. Everything over the last few weeks had been leading to this moment. She brought her right breast up to her nose, the heavy udder tight, almost unbearably full, needing the bounty within to be released by the only one who could do it.
Her nipple, or teat, as it now truly was, was fully erect and waiting, waiting to be latched onto. It was almost as big as her little finger to the first knuckle, swollen and shining, drops of sticky nectar clinging to the pebbled flesh. She sniffed it, much as she had sniffed at the grass in her dream. Her milk had a sweetish smell. A wholesome, fresh scent that caused her to lick her lips. She was going to enjoy this like a fine wine.
“Mmm…” she moaned, taking the fat nipple between her lips, her whole body tingling. She took a long pull at the teat, and was rewarded with the sensation of her milk, thick and creamy flowing over her tongue. It tasted wonderful, better than any milk she could ever remember drinking. It was sweet, as though lightly sugared, with perhaps just the faintest hint of licorice.
Drops of warm liquid on her thigh told her that her unoccupied teat was leaking, the pressure of the milk within forcing it out drop by drop. Breathing heavily, her face shining with her creamy harvest, she switched udders, the milk within practically exploding into her mouth. “Mmmh,” she moaned again, almost a whine, the vibration of her lips on her tingling flesh further blotting out the rest of the world. There was only her and her tits. Nothing else mattered.
She drank, repeatedly switching from one heavy udder to the other until she he had drunk her fill, then lay back upon the couch, obscenely sated. She looked lazily over her slightly softened milkers to discover that Maggie the cat was sitting on the coffee table, looking at her interestedly, as though she were some new breed of animal she had never seen before. Melissa also couldn’t help but notice that the milk that had sprayed on the coffee table had been licked up. She hoped Maggie wouldn’t be expecting the gourmet stuff as part of her regular diet in the future.
It was eight o’clock now, time for her regular pumping, but she no longer needed the stimulation, nor was there anything left to pump out as she had drunk herself dry. This was a good thing, having learned from Janice that a cow’s udders needed to be emptied at every milking, lest they stop producing. The memory of that conversation reminded her of the dream-Janice, her lean body shining in the afternoon sun. Surely she didn’t have sexual feelings for her friend, did she? Buried somewhere down deep? No, of course she didn’t. It was just a dream. A very intense dream that had caused her to fountain like Vesuvius.
She shook her head. No, what she needed to do was clean up and then take a shower. She began by sponging off the couch, humming to herself all the while, her fat udders swaying beneath her as she worked. It was funny how she had come to think of them that way, but that was what they were now. As a woman she’d had breasts, but now that she was a cow could they really be called anything else?
She stopped mid-wipe, her milkers coming to rest several seconds later. A cow? No, she wasn’t a cow. She was a woman, a woman with breasts. She could already feel them filling up with milk, a subtle pressure growing within, a pressure that would soon need to be relieved. “No, honey,” she whispered to herself, “you’re a cow.”
“Then I’ll be the best cow,” she said, no longer whispering. “I’ll be blue ribbon. Right, Maggie?”
Maggie the cat responded with an interested look, her feline eyes watching the twin milk bags as they began swaying about again.
Melissa finished up by wiping down everything else that had been sprayed on or touched with sticky hands, and then dropped the sponge off at the kitchen sink, feeling slightly sad. Tonight was probably the most important night of her life, so far, yet she had no one to share it with. Her parents had been with he
r when she’d graduated high school, and college, and losing her virginity hadn’t been a solitary experience, but this time around she was utterly alone.
No, come to think of it, she wasn’t alone. There was someone she could share this experience with, someone who would understand it for what it was, and not something weird or unnatural. She picked up her cell phone and opened up her webmail. What should she say? What was the best way to announce such a momentous occasion? Just then the answer occurred to her, the idea making her snort with silent laughter.
To: [email protected]
Subject: I know what you need.
Moo.
~Buttercup~
Laughing, she put down her cell phone and headed for the shower. This was one cow that definitely needed to be sprayed down.
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Her shower was the most pleasurable one she’d had in a long time, the endorphins zinging through her nervous system putting her in a relaxed state that was almost meditative. Of course, playing the pulsating shower head over her clitoris for ten minutes certainly helped.
Clean and dry, she was back on the couch by nine o’clock, feeling the pleasant pressure already building, another milking on the horizon. Her laptop beeped, signaling the response she had been expecting, a Skype message from Rance.
DairyMan_Rance: Moo? Does that mean what I think it means?
Buttercup_CowGirl: It does. I am now a fully fledged cow. I have milked myself.
DairyMan_Rance: Good girl. How did it taste?
She started to type a response but then stopped. How did he know that she had sampled her milk? Would a normal woman do that? Then again, would a normal woman turn herself into a cow just so she wouldn’t have to ride the bus anymore?